#egghead marketers

[eggheadmarketers]

[tragedy-of-commons]

RUE.

── march 7th x gn!reader

summary: On Valentine's Day, rumors reach your ears that your best friend - and coincidentally, your mega crush - March 7th, has inexplicably started dating someone else. Is everything here really as it seems, or is Cupid just using you as target practice?

contains: modern & highschool au, misunderstanding trope, comedic tone but there is Angst Kinda™, inspired by my very american experiences (sorry), not actually unrequited love, happy ending, perhaps some wlw-coding icl but anyone can read

word count: 5.6k

notes: written for this event, requested by @plebejus-argus (prompt rue + indelible, lacuna)! umm. i got a little carried away. enjoy.

The world is ending as you know it.

“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, smile turning terse. “What was that?”

“I said she’s with someone else,” Herta, the Robotics Club president, informs you. She slams her locker shut (normally you’d make a comment about her barely reaching the knob, but right now you think your insides are dissolving), the sound reverberating throughout the chasmic hallway.

“Why you or anyone else would want to date Little Miss Pink is beyond me, but you’re encroaching on a taken lady, twerp. For your own benefit, you should back off.”

You knew something was off when the aloof academic genius herself dragged you away from your lunch to walk with her. But you didn’t expect this. March, your bestest friend in the whole wide world, suddenly off the market? And the news is being broken to you on the day of your planned confession? 

This can’t be right, your gut urges, she would’ve told me.

Why wouldn’t she? March 7th tells you everything! She even confided in you about accidentally pushing that TA into the courtyard fountain that one time. Hell, the pink-haired girl even triple texts you about the drama she overhears (eavesdrops on) in the library, excessive emojis included.

You text her during calculus when you should be working, and she responds immediately, both of your souls almost intertwined in some type of procrastination symbiosis. When you’re riding the bus together, she’ll rest her head on your shoulder and doze for twenty minutes while you watch the rise and fall of her chest.

And on days like these, Valentine’s, you hold apprehensive hope in your heart that today may be the day I tell her how I feel.

Your chest tightens painfully. What if that day will never come? 

“How do you know that?” you rasp, throat now dry, “And more importantly, why do you care? You didn’t even come to my party last week! You’re a geek, not a gossip—”

Herta whirls around to face you, amethyst eyes narrowed. “I’m not stupid. If you require anecdotal evidence, fine: I saw her canoodling with her presumed lover this morning. I can’t remember his name, and frankly, he was repulsive - but he was holding a bouquet, she was giving him googoo eyes, et cetera.”

You are going to die. 

If it were not for your stubborn brain, you’d buckle to your knees and beat on the linoleum floor while lamenting how every single divine being out there must be praying on your downfall. But you stay as still as a statue, probably burning holes into this egghead’s face.

It makes a little sense, you suppose. March 7th is fun, hilarious, thoughtful, beautiful, and full of joy; she’s a total catch, so it’s not as surprising as you’d like that others would be vying for her attention. She’s already befriended just about everyone in this school, including all of the teachers and the stray dogs near the gate. Who wouldn’t try to confess to her?

You blanch. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’!” Herta stomps her foot, pulling you from your impending breakdown. “I’m never wrong, by the way. Everyone and their mother sees how you look at her. But,” she rocks up on her tiptoes to flick your forehead, “you’re too late. Pity.”

“There’s gotta be more to it than that,” you reason, huffing and rubbing the wounded spot. “Even if this did happen, she would’ve told me, like, right after! Her suddenly acquiring a boyfriend is kind of a big deal.”

“Maybe she forgot. Young love is inebriating.”

No, she wouldn’t forget. You know March like the back of your hand, and though important stuff can slip her mind, it’s moreso… assignment deadlines, instead of interpersonal drama. She’s a pro at cataloguing the latter.

“You’re overthinking it!” Herta crosses her arms over her chest. “Consider your options carefully. If I were you - which would be a travesty - I’d tell her how I feel, and before the end of the day, too.”

“That doesn’t sound like something you’d say. You were just telling me to back o—”

…then she stalks down the hallway with purpose, shockingly fast on her short legs.

Something is very wrong in the world today. You can’t even go back to lunch, your appetite lost among a whirlwind of thoughts. It’s disconcerting; you’ve, admittedly, not seen March since morning, and she was absent from the cafeteria too. 

She could be off somewhere with this… this guy. Solidifying the thought in your mind is devastating. 

One time - both of you were about thirteen, the subject of romance (what you knew about it against your will) was breached over a mess of glittery pens and scented stationery. All day, instead of working on a dreaded animal cell diagram, you’d been indulging in the sacred, prophetic game of M.A.S.H. and the crafting of paper fortune tellers. 

“I don’t see what you find fun about this,” you’d grumbled. 

“Well, that’s ‘cause you’re weird,” she’d responded matter-of-factly, scribbling numbers on sectioned folds of loose leaf. “Don’t you wanna know who you’ll marry?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s too-bad-so-sad. Now, pick a color!”

Minutes earlier, you’d been slyly watching out of the corner of your eye when she’d decided which person to put under which flap of the fortune teller (her big, looping handwriting can be discerned from a mile away), and you’d taken great care to remember which numbers and colors to pick to land on her name. 

Notably, March had put her name and yours into the craft - forever cementing the possibility that both of you could end up together, if someone just picked the right combination. 

Perhaps, back then, you were trying to puppeteer fate. It seemed to work, because when you picked 3 and pink, March 7th was revealed to you after some mere hand-shuffling and genius scheming. Back then, you’d felt a little guilty, but not guilty enough to tell her that you were probably going to get struck down for blasphemy or hubris or something. You’d just internalized that part.

…but most clearly, you remember the giant, blinding smile on her face.

“Oh my gosh!” she’d exclaimed, cheering like she was competing with the shot heard ‘round the world, “Me! You’re gonna marry me! This is awesome news. We already know everything about each other; we both like puppies and kittens, and we both suck at science!”

March was, and still is, the most beautiful person alive.

You remember your heart pounding traitorously. “...yeah. This is awesome news.”

“I want red velvet for our wedding cake!”

Of course, as you’ve grown older, you recognize that it was just a silly game. But the memories you’ve made with her between then and now, were not. If anything, they’ve only made you realize how much - how badly - you do want to marry her, one day in the future. There’s no one else for you. 

But is there someone else for her? Like this mysterious guy giving her flowers that may or may not exist? You need to talk to March or else you’re going to explode. If that happens, then the already underpaid janitors are going to have to scrape your remains off the floor. Ugh.

However, the feat of communicating with your best friend today is starting to seem impossible. 

“Now, not to call anybody out,” a warm but monotone voice interrupts your spiraling, “but please try to pay attention. This will be on your exam.”

Mr. Yang is clearly talking about you, but you cannot bring yourself to tear your gaze away from March 7th’s empty seat. This isn’t funny anymore, where is she? Out of the four classes you have today, you share three of them with her. Though sometimes she skips to nap in the abandoned bio lab, she always texts, and she always invites you.

Is she with her new boyfriend? The one she didn’t care to tell you about? You hope not. Whoever this guy is, he’s definitely not good enough for he—

A hand is placed on your shoulder. You jump. 

“Mr. Yang! Sorry!” you blurt, looking up at your history teacher with a visceral type of embarrassment. He’s assessing you with an arched eyebrow and a frown, even as his hand reels back and he formulates a response.

Your cheeks feel hot, especially because, surely, everyone is watching - judging - and you’re just floundering with your mouth hanging open like an idiot. 

…wait, where is everyone?

“Are you alright? The bell rang two minutes ago,” he informs you, gesturing to the very empty classroom. Everyone’s already filed out, and it dawns on you that you’re going to be late for your next class if you keep this up.

You swiftly counter, standing rigid in your seat while beginning to gather your things, “Yes! Again, I’m sorry, I’ve just been skimping on sleep. I’ll get the notes from someone, I promise!”

Your explanation sounds unconvincing even to you, but you’d rather die before bringing up your dilemma to someone so kind like Mr. Yang. He’s so chill that lets everyone eat in class, allows cheat sheets on midterms, and lets you sit next to your friends.

Your friends. You stop cramming papers into your backpack, bottom lip trembling.

“Sit down. I’ll write you a note, so don’t worry about being tardy.”

Slumping back down, you give up on lying, the despair clear as day on your face and in the tears clumping in shimmering globs on your lashes. “Okay.”

A pregnant pause settles over the classroom, making the cooler side of you inwardly cringe. The other side wants to rant and rave to Mr. Yang until your tongue falls off. You do neither, waiting for him to speak first. He brushes past you and drags a chair over from an adjacent desk, the metal scraping against the floor like a death knell. When he levels with you, index finger drumming against the wooden surface below, he sighs.

“I couldn’t help but notice someone isn’t here today,” he retrieves a patterned handkerchief from his jacket pocket, paternally offering it to you. “I can’t say your reaction is abnormal. March 7th usually shows up, what with you two being the best of friends. Did something happen between you guys?”

You sniffle pathetically, wiping your tears and snot on the cloth, making a mental note to wash and return it later. Y’know, if you make it through today. Exploding is still a viable option.

“Um, not really. I just think she’s avoiding me? It’s not like her at all, and now, out of nowhere, people are saying that she’s dating this mysterious guy, and—”

The look Welt Yang gives you is still one of concern, but there’s a knowing spark in his eyes that makes you pause. God, how mortifying. Have you made it that obvious that you’re jealous? Seething in envy? Ready to burn down this school and raze the fields in her honor? You bite your tongue, muttering to yourself in embarrassment.

“I’d be remiss not to tell you that rumors can be just that - rumors,” he adjusts his glasses. “I’m sure you understand; you’re a smart kid, I’ve graded your quizzes myself. Once you determine the truth, things will get easier. I’m quite familiar with you and March 7th. She’ll turn up.”

“I know, I-I just…” you swallow. “I really like her. And I guess I underestimated how much until I heard she was with someone else.” 

“I figured,” Mr. Yang smiles at you, eyes crinkling and crow’s feet elongating with the shift of his facial muscles. “It is Valentine’s Day, after all. It makes sense you’re troubled about love - the atmosphere really amps up the pressure.”

Love. He used the L word. Spontaneous human combustion therefore must commence.

Without a doubt, you know you love March. But have you ever said it? Have you ever taken the initiative to make something more out of your friendship with her? No. You’ve been… waiting, and because you’ve been waiting, you’ve missed your shot with her. Someone more candid, more confident, has wooed her first.

You can’t stew in your inaction any longer! Something must be done… maybe Herta was right. Maybe you need to confess, get this all out of your system, even if she’s taken now. There’s no other prime time for it - you feel a burn in your calves that urges you to get the hell up right now, get moving, and go tell her. 

You want to tell your best friend that you love and cherish her company more than anything in the world, even if she knows. Even if she doesn’t love you back with that knowledge. 

“I guess it does.” Sneaking another glance at March’s empty desk, you breathe out hot air and stand up again to continue gathering your belongings, stuffing Mr. Yang’s handkerchief in your pocket. “Um, I think I know what to do now. If I could get that note…”

He nods sagely. “Of course,” the brown-haired gentleman eyes the clock, “if you ever want to talk about anything else, my door is always open. Well, except for when it’s not, I suppose.”

You don’t see it as you get ready to leave, your resolve strengthened and obscuring the big picture, but Welt Yang puffs his chest out in pride for a fleeting second as you go, note in hand.

You decide to head to the last period of the day, but not quite. What you mean by that is…

“Dan Heng! Psst, Dan Heng!”

You knock on the window perhaps a little too harshly, but you have to be at least a little loud so he can hear you, right? 

The repetitive racket eventually penetrates the walls of the science building, finally earning the attention of Dan Heng. If March 7th is your bestest friend (and hopefully more soon), Dan Heng would be your number two - your sidechick. Wait, actually, not sidechick, ‘cause you don’t like him that way.

He’s the guy you drag along to the mall or to the skating rink so he can actually get out of the house a little. Smart, bit of a nerd, but he’s a stand-up dude. 

His eyes are widened marginally, and he sits up straight in his seat at your display. You can see most of him, but your fellow classmates are littered about, his desk smack dab in the middle of them and the room itself. It’s a miracle the teacher hasn’t noticed you, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you’re caught and promptly sent to detention (again).

And this guy doesn’t answer his phone in the middle of classes, either. In fact, he turns the device off completely, something you can’t fathom doing. So simply texting him and demanding that he rendezvous with you right now for an emergency meeting is out of the question.

You must look a little… unkempt. Oh well. You seek the counsel of Dan Heng the Wise.

“Meet me in the bio lab,” you painstakingly enunciate your syllables, mouthing the words as clear as you can. To drive your point home, you jut out your arm and gesture to the left, where the abandoned room lies. You’ll have to go back in the building to meet him once he understands. 

Dan Heng’s eye twitches. He glimpses back and forth between the teacher and you.

“Please! E-mer-gen-cy!!!” you frantically wave. 

You spot your dark-haired friend sigh; victory is yours. He raises his hand and rattles off some convincing excuse, throwing one last look over his shoulder before exiting the classroom when granted permission. 

Quickly, and with an exhilarated smile, you rush around the corner and push open the metal swinging doors, heading inside.

You’re sufficiently sweaty by now, faced with Dan Heng’s crossed arms and ever-present judgment. The lab, room 104 to be specific, is cluttered with all sorts of crap.

Spare desks are stacked high in all corners, spillage giving way to boxes of used equipment containing microscopes and bunsen burners - or just everything you’d expect. Large tables meant for conducting experiments are riddled with wear and tear. 

But there’s a reason a lot of people ditch to come here. Under one of the tables rests a communal snack box that every burnout, delinquent, and tired student contributes to - always leaving something in return for seeking respite from classes and the like. 

You’ve sure taken your fair share of stale pretzels and fruit bars. Lastly, the lights always stay off, giving way to the natural light seeping through the windows, illuminating floating dust particles that tie everything together. 

Wow, you should come here more often. Grades be damned. 

“What could possibly be so important as to—what’s wrong? Is someone hurt?”

Oh, right.

Dan Heng looks frazzled by your unresponsiveness, and you can’t blame him. Steeling yourself, you bring up what’s been on your mind. 

“I’m gonna confess to her,” you breathe, “March, I mean.”

It feels so good to say it to him. But if you were in his average-sized tennis shoes, you’d be miffed to be called out of class for something as frivolous as this too - a crush, one so life-altering that it’s holding your sensibility hostage and making you act like you’ve lost all your marbles.

“Has the day gotten to you too, then?” your friend actually facepalms. The hand splayed over his visage eventually cracks open so he can peer through the gaps of his fingers at you, no doubt in contemplation. “But I can tell you find this important. Is that all this is about?”

“Um… if you know where she is, do you mind telling me?”

He shakes his head, sarcastic. “I don’t happen to track her hyperactivity all day long.”

“Right, right,” you fiddle with your hands and pick at your nails. You want to specifically ask for advice, because if there’s another thing to note about Dan Heng, it’s his levelheaded nature; this cornerstone of his personality has gotten you out of trouble in the past, and though he isn’t exactly a romance guru, there’s no one else you can think of turning to. 

“What?” he sighs.

“I’m gonna tell her no matter what, I swear, but… do you think that’s the right thing to do?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“Well, because Herta told me she was sucking face with some dude this morning—”

Dan Heng coughs abruptly, “Actually, save it. I don’t want to know. Regardless of any external circumstances, you’re still partial to her. That’s love, and it will only hurt you later if you bottle it up inside. Plus… if you ask me, you two work well together. I’ve never seen March happier than when she’s with you.”

You think of cute plushies and pillow forts. You think of snacks and dual-toned eyes that are always crinkling in a jubilant, idealistic kind of hope. You think of funny faces and bunny ears, of candids and camera lenses. 

“Thank you,” you smile. “You’re always the guy I can call on, huh?”

“Not in the middle of class, at least,” he sternly reminds you, though the fond pinch of his brows gives him away. “Please.”

“Understood!”

By the time the bell rings, signifying the end of the school day, you have somewhat of a plan. 

There are a bunch of weeds gathered up in your arms - dandelions, daisies, onion blooms, just a myriad of general wildflowers you’d picked from the campus’s track field. They itch at your exposed arms, bared from the feat of your rolled up sleeves, but it’s better than nothing. You’ve even shorn some of the stems and arranged them just so to give off the illusion of propriety.

They probably won’t hold a candle to whatever roses or carnations March 7th was given earlier. But that’s okay! You’ve tried your best, even pilfering a lavender ribbon from the art room to tie around the makeshift bouquet, sufficiently beautifying their otherwise lackluster appeal.

Now comes the issue of finding her. Just as you pull out your phone to send another text (the past few hours have filled her contact with unanswered messages), the device pings in your hand. Startled and hopeful, you shiftily survey the area before reading the notification.

April 8th: Omg!!! I’m sooo sorry for not responding all day (╥﹏╥)!!!

Phew, she’s alright! The animated typing indicator pops up again, so you wait.

April 8th: I promise I have a really good reason! You’re probably at the bus stop right now, so why don’t you take it to Purrfect Pastries? I’m there rn

April 8th: With a surprise for you, of course :3 and the kitties are waiting~

She’s of course referring to the cat cafe you’re both prone to frequenting. It has a cozy atmosphere, serves sweet things, and isn’t far off the normal commute to school… so it’s been purrfect, the past few years, for unproductive study sessions and shared laughter. 

Oh. She’s probably going to gush to you about her new lover. That makes sense - she was so caught up all day having fun and basking in the warmth of her new fling. 

But now is your time to shine. You’ll show up with your shitty flowers and you’ll win her over! Or maybe not that. Ideally that, yes, but March deserves to be happy; she’ll pick whoever she wants, even if that person is not you.

You: Okay haha glad you’re safe ^^

You: I’m omw On my way!

Damn autocorrect. 

“Hey, you finally made it!”

Even after a day like today, where nothing and everything made sense, one word comes to mind: Lovely. March is lovely.

As if your life depends on it, you shove the wildflowers behind your back. The stakes certainly feel that high when your eyes land on your friend. She’s at the table in the corner - the one you both always sit at, so much so that you’re told some of the feline residents curl up under the chairs, waiting for either one of you to walk through the door.

You make a beeline for the table. Normally, you’d at least greet Mittens, the host cat who lounges on the order counter, but you’re itching to deal with your pounding heart and sweaty palms right now.

However, when you wave at March and begin making your way over, you almost trip. Walking fluffballs swarm your legs, mewling up a storm and demanding your utmost attention.

“Oof! Hey, I’m here, calm down,” you laugh, kneeling briefly to scratch some bellies and chins. You beckon the pink-haired girl over to lend you a hand, too nervous to look at her, but you hear a giggle and the scraping of a chair as she presumably comes to your rescue. “They’re so clingy today!”

“Well, we haven’t been here in forever,” she hums, kneeling down with you to say hi to everyone. She coos and simpers, and while she’s distracted, then you ogle all you want. 

March is positively beaming, radiant as ever in the midst of dim lamplight and dark wood. For some reason, a hidden, sardonic part of you thought she’d look different after entering a relationship. More affected, maybe, like she’s getting used to the company of a person that hasn’t been there since the beginning. Like she’s getting used to the company of a person that isn’t you.

Selfishly, maybe you’d hoped she’d look a little dissatisfied with the affections of someone else. 

No time for that now, you remind yourself. Stay grounded.

You watch as she works her magic; the uppity cats disperse after being fussed over a little. “I guess it has been a while. I’m a bit jealous - Mittens and the others prefer you over me any day.”

“Nah, they just missed us is all,” she grins. “Actually, mostly me, ‘cause I’m an animal whisperer and probably the reincarnation of Snow White. But you’re pretty awesome too.”

I missed you more than they did, you agonize.

March 7th grabs your hand. “Now come on, we have a lot to talk about!”

Dread courses through your veins as you take your rightful seat across from her. All of a sudden the gingham tablecloth looks very interesting. You decide to stuff your weed bouquet into your pocket, too ruffled to present it to her now. 

After March tells you all about her new sweetheart, you’ll come clean - if you don’t chicken out, that is. You’ll come clean about the explosion of wonderful and awful feelings in your chest, about the years of wanting. 

How could that admission change things? Ideally, she dumps this guy and threads her fingers through yours, giving you a shot at her heart and actualizing your idea of paradise.

Unfortunately, that fantasy is just a fantasy - realistically, she’ll react with sympathy, but tell you she doesn’t feel the same. That’s what you expect; friendly touches will cease, there’ll be a foreign, awkward lull in the air, and she’ll excessively tiptoe around anything that could upset you. 

March is considerate like that. God, why does this have to be so difficult? You want to back out, but Dan Heng will forever see you as a chicken (his eyes will say it for him), and you’ll be stuck yearning until the heat death of the universe.

“Again, I’m really sorry for being kinda AWOL all day, but I was planni—”

You don’t even think about what you do next. You just blurt,

“I cheated when we were making fortune tellers.”

You don’t register the bewildered look on her face, you just keep going. It’s a bit crazy how your hesitance just vanished - leaving your true feelings to lead the situation, for better or for worse. 

“W-When, uh, we were in eighth grade. You asked me to come over to your house so we could work on science, or fucking—whatever it was—and we never ending up working. You showed me how to make those paper fortune tellers and I thought it was really stupid. I thought it was stupid until you… until you put our names in it.” 

March’s lips are parted in surprise. You want to kiss them. Also, you want to projectile vomit. The Exorcist style.

“So I totally tuned you out while you talked so I could spy. I remembered where you put your name specifically,” you stutter, “I also r-remember how many jumbles it would take, so your section would—yeah. I picked you. I chose to marry you, and I cheated.”

You choke out the last word, tears rolling down your cheeks. You’re crying, and you haven’t even made a lick of sense so far - this the second time today you’ve had a breakdown and have gotten nothing out of it! Watching as the droplets land on the tablecloth, you don’t dare look up. 

At least you still have Mr. Yang’s handkerchief.

“I cheated because you’re the best, and I wouldn’t wanna be with anyone else, ever,” your vision blurs, thankfully giving you some courage. “But I know you’re dating someone else now, and I’m happy for you. I know that’s like… a cliche thing to say, b-but it’s true.”

March’s first reaction is not what you expect.

“Huh?! What on Earth are you talking about?! I’m not dating anyone! Dummy, where did you even hear that? I… oh you’re crying, I’m so sorry!” she panics, grabbing your hand once more. “Please don’t cry, it’ll make me cry.”

You’ve closed your eyes, but her sobering words make them shoot right back open.

“What?” you manage dumbly (hopefully).

“Is that why you think…? Oh my god, no! I wasn’t avoiding you all day because I was out tying the knot or something. I was avoiding you because I was busy planning this.”

March 7th stretches her arms out, concerned. She gestures to the cafe interior, and when you gather the strength to determine what she means, you notice something you hadn’t before.

Purrfect Pastries is empty, save for the two of you and the cats. Other tables normally teeming with couples and introverts alike are barren - there aren’t even menus set out. There are no empty coffee cups or muffin wrappers to be cleaned up by staff.

Speaking of, where are the staff? Sushang and Guinaifen are usually clamoring about, even on the clock. 

…other stuff, too. Besides the banker’s lamps tinged emerald and gold, there are flowers - they look to be paper - scattered over the whole expanse of the floor. Some of the waxy petals seem to have been shredded by the claws of none other than Mittens and his gang, while others remain intact, distinctly imitating a trail of roses. 

“I wanted candles, but Little Gui said they’d be a safety hazard. Honestly, I’m surprised she can talk, considering she swallows swords and fireballs as a side hustle,” she laughs, though it’s strained and unnatural. “You were really making a girl wait to be asked out, so I decided to take the initiative. Pretty smart, huh?”

You gawk. 

“This… this is a date?” Oh my god. Oh my god. “And you’re not seeing anyone?!”

“Yeah, duh,” her tone softens. “You’re so silly. Um, I skipped school to work a daytime shift here as payment, that way we could have the place to ourselves tonight. Turns out it’s a lot of work to secure Purrfect Pastries… I begged and bothered Ms. Siobhan until she said yes. Turns out my charm is, in fact, irresistible!”

“But—huh?”

She wipes your tears, all the while chattering like you’re not gonna have a heart attack. “And I was so, so nervous that I’d ruin the surprise! Sushang made me turn off my phone so I wouldn’t spoil anything - she almost threw it into the deep fryer too - but it was all worth it.”

“What I’m trying to say is… I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark, ‘cause it seems like I’ve missed a lot. I hope you’re okay… and, also, Happy Valentine’s.”

You bite back a hiccup and shakily retrieve your real - but undeniably pathetic - bouquet from your pocket. It’s completely squashed, the ribbon is almost unraveled, and the flowers have lost most of their color, already colored a soft brown.

Speaking is out of the question, because if you attempt it, you’re convinced that you will vomit The Exorcist style. So you just press the bundle into her hand, hoping it will say what you can’t.

“Are these for me?” March asks, breathy and on the verge of squealy. 

Don’t vomit. “Y-Yeah. Can you believe it? I was gonna try and win you back with them.”

Under regular circumstances, you wholeheartedly believe she would’ve poked harmless fun at this sad attempt at a romantic gift. She’d probably say something charming like “It looks like Bigfoot stepped on them,” or “Did you get this bouquet from the time of consumption?”

But the girl you love does not do that. Everything is too much, what with the realization that today was just some hellish misunderstanding, and you’re so… so happy. You don’t think you deserve to feel such joy after coming to believe untrue rumors about March 7th, but you’ll deal with that later.

“That’s so romantic!” she swoons, “Like in the movies where the noblemen are fighting over the hand of the princess, trying to win her over…”

“You’re the one who rented out a whole cafe for me, March.”

“Huh… I guess I did! When you put it like that, maybe you should bake me scones.”

“What?”

She fluffs the proffered weeds, making them look a bit livelier (despite most of the petals being lost to time), before setting them down on the table. It makes for a shitty centerpiece, but she seems more than content, a rosy color adorning her cheeks and allowing her to glow.

“Well, we can’t have a date without food, can we? Before clocking out, everyone helped me bake scones for us to eat. I’ll go get them, okay? I’m starving!”

Getting up and looking just as she always does, you speak up, somewhat coherent now.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. Shit, it seems silly to ask now, but… will you be my girlfriend?”

The pink-haired girl, your best friend, stops and turns. With a giggle and a wink, she once again, turns your world upside down.

“I already am! Heh. Also, I definitely knew you cheated back in eighth grade - with the fortune teller. I’m not so ditzy that I didn’t notice your staring, y’know.”

She disappears behind the counter and into the kitchen, petting Mittens on the way, but you still hear her - muffled, but still quite audible - squealing from here. What a delightful sound.

Just as you begin to decompress and recover, a burning question flares at the forefront of your mind.

Just what was Herta talking about, then? What about the dude March was supposedly ‘canoodling’ with? 

Almost prophetically, your phone pings several times. You dare to check it after a brief panic attack.

Herta: Well, it’s about time I tell you, I suppose

Herta: Ruan Mei and I made a little wager yesterday. She bet, in the interest of human compatibility, that you wouldn’t make a good pair with Little Miss Pink, and that you’d wuss out and spend Valentine’s Day alone

Herta: You should know by now that I don’t lose. Simply put, I lied to your face - there was never a John Doe trying to steal her from you. However, if my deductions are correct…

Herta: You and Little Miss Pink are now an item. I expect many thanks and perhaps your unwavering monetary support on my next project. You’re welcome 💜

…

You: Fguck Duck you

Herta: lol duck

Damn autocorrect! 

…you’ll just have to kill her tomorrow. 

taglist: @kazuinvocation HELP i'm too scared to tag anyone else

vday heart dividers by @/strangergraphics!!! rue on ao3

[mushiemellows]

✨UPDATED!✨

All of my Frobin fics I have written from December 2023 when I first started writing, up through my most recent work posted October 2024, stored in one convenient place! 🌸

🍔 Staying Right Here (and not a step closer)

RATING: E

words: 317,056 status: COMPLETE chapters: 14

Set the week Post-Enies Lobby. The core lore mostly canon compliant getting together fic. Weird sex, fast food, and an accidental wedding. My first big fic, and an adventure into writing smut. Epilogues go up through timeskip/Fishman Island reunion.

🐊 These Foolish Things

RATING: M

words: 14,178 status: ONE SHOT

Includes the Wanihana ship to tell a story of Robin's healing over time. A songfic that uses a whole catalog of Frank Sinatra songs to frame Franky and Crocodile's differing relationships to Robin. A bit more serious, as it discusses abuse. This one was a practice in writing in complex tense.

✈️ Floating Through the Stratosphere

RATING: E

words: 30,742 status: COMPLETE chapters: 2

Modern day airplane pilot AU except they are only rarely on the plane. Half one-bed-rom-com, half amnesia medical drama. This was a really fun world to build up, and I've been considering writing more stories within this world.

🕵🏻‍♀️ The Sunday Affair

RATING: E

Words: 108,898 status: COMPLETE chapters: 11

Robin is a Russian spy, Franky is an American spy. Its 1967 Cold War DC. Franky is assigned to find and kill an assassin named Sunday, Robin has to assassinate an agent named Flam. Oh, and they're married.

⏱ Another Day in the Sun

RATING: T

words: 43,413 status: ONGOING chapters: 7/ ???

The crew is stuck in a time loop, living the same day over and over again, but only some can tell. Matchmakers Robin and Franky have to get everyone to kiss each other. A thinly veiled fun little excuse to make everyone make out. And also its a bit (lot) poly (Paradise+EB5). An adventure in keeping things T.

👌 The Contest

Rating: M

Words: 10,220 status: ONE SHOT

Nami has the crew bet how long they can all go without…finding their satisfaction, so to speak. She’s determined to make it out of the contest eight hundred thousand beri richer, but that will mean making plenty of sacrifices. Will the crew be able to hold it together or will the pressure make them pop? (EB5+Frob+a bit of Paradise with Jinbe+some NamiRobin tease)

🍼 Super Troupers

RATING: M

words: 11,130 status: ONGOING chapters: 1 (/3)

A baby fic! Chapter 1 is mostly set up, pregnancy, and delivery. But I'm still working at the follow up chapters, I want to tell more little stories with each of the boys. A bit sweet and sappy and emotionally indulgent but I don't care I love this fambly. M rating only for blood and a few intense discussions around pregnancy.

⚡️ What Makes a Man

RATING: M

words: 58,073 status: ONGOING chapters: 14 (/25)

Putting the Franky in Frankenstein. A reanimation fic. Franky dies at Laugh Tale but leaves behind instructions for Robin to put him back together. Mainly meant to be little pocket character studies. BACK FROM THE DEAD, NOT ABANDONED FIC! I told ya I'd update it.

💀 For the Thrill of It

RATING: E

words: 46,551 status: COMPLETE chapters: 2

Nasty spooky Thriller Bark monsterfucker erotica. Brook joins the party and things get Weird. 5+1 but more like a 5+2. Established Frob with added skeleton. Chapter 2 has now been added, Robin's pov + bonus scenes. And perhaps a chapter 3 still lives in the back of my brain.

🤖 Handle With Care

RATING: E

words: 13,365 status: ONE SHOT

More nasty erotica for the sake of itself. Franky gets hurt, needing significant repairs and a full service tune up. This one is distinctly T4T. This one was written simply because no one else had written like, proper robot shit with Franky on ao3 and I was so appalled to see the hole in the market that I just HAD to fill it.

🧰 Showoff (the devil’s in the details)

RATING: E

words: 16,929 status: ONE SHOT

Even MORE pwp. Post-Egghead on the run to Elbaf, Franky shows Lilith Sunny and all of his little inventions. Things heat up between him, her, and Robin, but Vegapunk keeps all the praise to herself. This one was written in gut reaction to the most recent chapter, and I think I wrote it for entirely personal reasons lol. Franky just wants to be told he did a good job.

That's all I wrote! 610,000 words this year (of just my posted fics, not counting other works and wips) (and 45,000 words posted Halloweek alone!). I'm really proud about how my writing has developed over the year, I hadn't written much in the past so this was a huge journey, but a really fun one. Thanks for growing with me! Enjoy the works!

[guillotinesandroses]

Washed Ashore; Chapter 7 - Doubly Doomed

Platonic Sonic Boom x Ex-Villain!Reader.

Washed Ashore Masterlist

Birds chirp in the forest's trees, singing for the golden sun. Accustomed to the noise, their song continues in spite of a loud rumble in the ground. A crevice opens and the vibrations shatter a boulder above it into pieces. 

Observing your friend's movements, you know you need to take a different approach. Instead of bashing your fists into the dirt, you circle a boulder of your own. You scan over it, locate a crack and slice it first in half, then to smaller pieces. Once you are done, you land and analyze your work. The cuts are clean and precice, but the pieces left behind are much bigger than the ones from your friend's rock. 

"Hm... still some work left to do. I'm not as efficient as you are." You unsummon your swords, dusting off your clothing. 

"Hey, it's okay! I mean, not everyone can be as strong as I am. Could you imagine that? It would be chaos!" Knuckles exclaims. 

"Certainly." You chuckle, turning to him. "I think I'm done for the day. Three hours is a pretty good cut off point for me." 

"Aw, man, really? I've still got plenty of energy to burn!" 

"You can keep going without me." You stretch your sore arms. "There's no one stopping you from doing that."

"Yeah... but I don't know what I want to do yet." 

"Well, I could keep you company until you've figured it out." 

"That would be great!" He smiles and the ground trembles as he drops to sit down. "Hm... what should we discuss..?" 

You follow his example and sit down as well. "There hasn't been a whole lot going on recently." 

"Yeah, at this point you almost start to miss Egghead's attacks!" Knuckles laughs. 

"Yeah... almost." You smile. Then you pause, thinking to yourself. 

"Something on your mind?" 

"Oh, it's just... something I've been meaning to ask you about." 

"What is it? I know I've got a lot of interesting stories to tell, so you have to be pretty specific." 

"Well, I'm just curious. I've heard you worked alongside Eggman once. How did that happen?" 

"Ugh... that one." Knuckles groans. "He tricked me into it, both times. He said Sonic wanted to steal the Master Emerald, so I obviously went after him. Once I realized what was going on, which I obviously did rather fast, I saved Sonic from Eggman!" 

You smile, knowing to take his recollection of the events with a grain of salt. "Right, you have been a guardian of something as well. You know why I left, but why aren't you hanging around your emerald anymore?" 

"Well, it's not like I've abandoned my duty. No, never, not in a million, billion, bazillion years! I just managed to work together a fool-proof safe for with magic and technology, which only I can open. Otherwise I wouldn't feel safe leaving my post, but now that I have that, I'm free to go wherever I want to! I do check up on the old gem every once in a while though... just to be safe." 

"That makes sense. How is it? Getting to travel for once?" 

"It's been great! I've been going on all sorts of adventures. None quite as trecherous as our visits to Meh Burger, though." 

"I still can't believe that is the only restaurant on this whole island." 

"I know, right? You'd think someone would do something about that." 

Knuckles pauses for a moment. You go on to say something, but get cut off. 

"I know what to do now!" He jumps up with a grin. 

"What is it?" 

"While I push down more rocks for us to break later, I'm gonna look for ingredients in the mountains! If I make a better place than Meh Burger, they're gonna be forced to improve their quality!" 

"Ah, competition." You smile. "That'd be pretty good, you'd be doing all of us a favor." 

"Helping those in distress, like a true hero!" He declares with his chest puffed up. Right after his dramatic moment, he runs off and you barely get the chance to say goodbye. 

While walking home, you decide to pay a visit to the market first instead. The last time you saw Tails, he was almost done with his reverse polarizer, the uses of which he had demonstrated to you and Sonic by unplugging the toilet in his house. Since he was done with that, he needed new materials for his next project. Knowing how busy he usually was, you looked for and bought the stuff he had mentioned. However, upon arriving at his house to drop them off, you are met with two of your friends in full emergency mode. 

"Hey, I got the stuff you needed for-" 

"Thanks, but no time! We've gotta get going!" Tails dashes to his airplane. 

"Wait, what's the situation?" You drop the groceries and follow after. 

"Eggman, for whatever totally good reason activated not only one, but two doomsday devices," Sonic says sarcastically from the airplane's passenger seat. 

"Huh? Really?" You blink in shock, then climb into the plane as well. 

"Yeah, really." 

"Wow, that's a bit much, even for Eggman. I always had the impression he was more of a 'rule the world for eternity' and not the 'destroy everything including myself' kind of guy." 

"So did I, but that doesn't change the fact that there are two doomsday-level intensity concentrations of power at his lair right now." Tails settles into the driver's seat. 

"Well, enough yapping, let's go stop him before the world explodes!" 

Following Sonic's words, the plane takes off. Tails flies as fast as the plane can go and drops Sonic off to try to stop Eggman. Minutes later, Tails receives a status update from Sonic, which you overhear. 

"Bad news, there's no off-switch." 

"Well, yeah," Tails says matter of factly. "Who puts an off-switch on a doomsday device?" 

Sonic responds something you cannot hear since Tails is the one with the headset. "This is a long shot, but it's our only chance. If we increase the energy output of both devices and get them vibrating at opposite frequencies, then there's a small chance they'll challenge each other out. Get Eggman to increase his device's power. I'll do the same with Dave." 

Tails flies over to Dave's window, setting the plane into hover-mode as he knocks on the glass. The window soon opens, revealing the villain-in-training's dead inside expression. "I'm sorry, we're closed." 

His instinctive response was automatic. He then glances around in confused shock and snaps. "Wait, this isn't the drive through. What do you want?!" 

"We're here to help!" 

"I don't need your help!" 

"I guess not... if you're okay with Eggman destroying the world bigger than you." Tails examines his nails, then looks at Dave smugly. 

Dave gasps. "No way! Drive up to the next window and come in!" 

Tails does just that, and the two of you enter the building. The pair gets straight to work, messing with the wiring and energy output of the machine. Standing back, you lean against a counter and shift your foot back and forth. Frankly, you have absolutely no idea what the two are doing at the present moment. You have never been any sort of scientist or mechanic, all of your talent lies in the art of battle, so you decide to simply observe until your aid is requested. 

Dave, the young aspiring supervillain, has not paid any sort of attention to you thus far. At most, he has spared you several uncaring glances, neither perceiving you as a threat nor as someone useful. However, this last glance lasts a little longer until he gasps. 

"Wait-! No way!" He jumps up with a giddy grin. "Wow..." 

You raise an eyebrow at the sparkles in his eyes. "What?" 

"You're (Name) the Sword Wielder, right? You're such a famous villain, everyone knows you! I can't believe I didn't recognize you at first, could I get an autograph-" 

"Ex-villain," you cut him off. "I'm flattered but I quit several months ago." 

He stares at you for a moment, wide-eyed, then shakes his head. The blatant admiration on his face is quick to turn into a scowl. "Right... you have not only quit but turned good, the ultimate disgrace a villain could ever commit!" 

Dave turns back to the doomsday device with a huff. Even so, he still steals a few more glances at you over the course of the preparation process. His glare is conflicted, judging and perhaps envious in a way. You ignore him the whole time, keeping an eye on the surroundings and the current situation. The preparations are eventually finished and tails walks away from the machine. 

Tails takes several steps until he is out of Dave's hearing range and calls Sonic. "Alright, Dave's device is good to go. How's everything over there?" 

Everything is ready and the doom of the world is fast approaching. The devices go and all you can do is hope for the best. Two balls of blinding light blast the roof into bits and arise to the sky, one blue and one yellow. The colors collide, flashing a shade of green for a moment, blue overpowering it. They circle and mix for a while, then melt into one another and vanish. 

"What the- what?!" Dave yells. 

"Hey, sweet! We did it!" Tails celebrates. However, the celebration came far too early. 

Where the balls of light collided, the sky rips open. A large, purple and black tordano forms above the lair. The wind crashes into your face as the rift tries to pull the world into itself. 

"There must have been some small power discrepancy!" Tails exclaims. 

Sonic reaches into his pocket, realizing he had the needed battery. Tails sends him a deadpan glare. Your own judgemental, exasperated stare bores into his soul. 

"Let's not point fingers," he says as if it could have been anyone's fault. "The important thing is how do we reverse it?" 

Tails' eyes light up. "That's it! My reverse polarizer! If you can get close enough, you can reverse the gravitational pull and force it to close in on itself!" 

"But?" 

"But if you're too slow, you'll be pulled into the blackhole forever and all existence will be erased." 

"Too slow? Ha, you forgot who you're talking to!" Sonic snatches the device from Tails' hold. 

He parkours up to the blackhole without much effort. Getting up by using the furniture and throwing the device in came easy. However, getting down causes Sonic problems. 

Fighting against the overpowering pull of the blackhole, he has to dodge debris, which sets him back. Several times a piece of rubble or a household item knocks straight into him and forces him backwards. As the reverse polarizer's antennae glow a brighter and brighter shade of yellow, you jump into action. Launching yourself off from pieces of furniture, you reach him just in time. Pulling him to your chest, you kick off from a floating bathtub and get out of the tornado. 

You land effortlessly on your feet. As soon as you hit the ground, the hedgehog, who had been clinging onto you like a lifeline earlier, jumps straight out of your arms. Dusting himself off, he congratulates himself on a job well done, ignoring the fact that he almost died. 

"You still think a plunger would work just as well?" Tails, used to his nonsense, strikes back. He laughs, giving an exasperated smile. 

The drive back is calm, filled with jokes to lighten the atmosphere. You part ways with the two after landing and wander for a while, realizing you are oddly calm in spite of having come near a universe-destruction experience. Perhaps you really do have that much trust in your friends. There is no need to worry at all, their skills can take care of it, especially if you are around to help. A small smile falls onto your face as you walk into the middle of the village, wanting to check something. 

Lo and behold, your assumption is absolutely right. In spite of having tried to destroy the world, Dave the intern stands behind the counter of Meh Burger. He barely even acknowledges you as you make your order, continuing to mumble maliciously under his breath. 

"They'll pay for this..! They're all gonna pay!" Dave breaks into maniacal laughter. 

Your deadpan stare persists, wondering if you ever were that obnoxious in the past. "Yes... I am, in fact, ready to pay for the burger of questionable consumption quality." 

His evil grin dissolves into a soulless stare as he plummets back into reality. "Yeah... you want fries with that? They're on sale." 

"No thanks." Checking that the line is still empty, you turn back to him. "Say... why do you want to become a villain?" 

"Uh... isn't it obvious? To become respected. Duh!" 

"Well, there are other ways to become respected. Some less destructive than, you know, trying to erase the whole universe." 

"Oh yeah? What's bigger and more impressive than planetary devastation? Hm?" 

"What's the point of doing something irreversible of that scale? No one will be around to marvel at your victory, not even you will be around to enjoy it. You could make useful inventions, become an artist, save people-" 

"And what good would that do?! I could do all of those and people would still walk all over me! But they can't do that if I have lazers pointed at their heads!" 

You pause for a moment, hitting your fingers against the counter in a soft rhythm. Perhaps it is not the right time for you to try to lecture others about the joys of redemption. Although you have begun to feel better about your situation during the last few weeks, a part of you still longs to return to your old ways. Every kid who cuts you in line, every elder nagging about your sense of fashion and every pretentious adult, they all make you wish to revert back into your old self, the stoic, threatening figure who always had a pair of swords out, ready for use. The appeal he sees in villainy is the very same you used to see; a way to gain respect and recognition. 

Shaking your head, you decide to let it go for now. Grabbing your tray, you spare him one final look. "Alright, well, you do you. As a former villain, all that I'm going to say is, that it's a lonely path you long to walk on." 

He scoffs crossing his arms. "Well, that's the point, isn't it? Now leave, you disgrace to villainy!" 

Although you usually would bite back, being the bigger person in this sort of situation is important. So, without another word, you walk off, just in time to let a new customer order. Sitting down at an empty table, you sigh, racking your brain to try to figure out how you should go about this situation. Beginners like him do not give up easy, so convincing him to stop is going to be a challenge for your whole team. However, the only challenge you yourself are facing at this very moment is trying to shove this horrid mistake of a burger down your throat, which you had only ordered as an excuse to talk to him. 

[cryingpariah]

Jackie: *🌟👄🌟* I-I think I’m speechless

Sentomaru: Egghead does seem to have that effect of people.

Jackie: They do say the island of the future is so beyond they haven’t even invented the words for it yet!

Sentomaru: That’s an awfully braggy slogan

Jackie: Killer market strategy though you must admit- *jumps back in shock* OH MY SEAS

Sentomaru: Oh don’t worry the kaiju are just holograms. They can’t touch you-

Jackie: YOU GUYS CAN HAVE BREAKFAST FOR DINNER HERE?!

Sentomaru: Huh? Yeah I mean that’s an option but-

Jackie: MORGANS WOULD NEVER LET US DO THAT ON THE SHIP, HOLD ON! *grabs den den and calls* Boss, do you know what I’m looking at right now?

Big News Morgans: Jackie we are not doing this again!

Jackie: I am on Egghead, the Future Island, and they have-

Big News Morgans: Jackie breakfast for dinner is anarchy!

Jackie: IT'S FUN MORGANS! IT'S WHIMSICAL!

Big News Morgans: IT'S RIDICULOUS! PANCAKES ARE NOT A NIGHTTIME FOOD!

Jackie: YOU'RE RIDICULOUS! *hangs up*

Sentomaru: Breakfast for Dinner is a real hot button issue for you journalists, huh?

Jackie: You have no idea.

[theinternetisaweboflies]

Jägermeister

Chapter Seventeen: Black Market

PPDC-43-CA-10963842491 ATTN: UNITED NATIONS OFFICE OF INTERNAL OVERSIGHT SERVICES  HONG KONG SHATTERDOME BUNKER 47B (17-B-3) 01/23/25 1441  TRANSCRIPT EXCERPT ORCON Classified by: LER-OPNS-IDH Dated: 2025JAN23 Not Releasable to Foreign Nationals

R. MORI: Excuse me! 

DOG HOWLING 

R. MORI: I need to see the Marshal immediately! 

DOG HOWLING 

S.O. TEBUTT: He’s in a meeting with the Secretary General!

DOG HOWLING 

R. MORI: It will only take [unintelligible]!

DOG HOWLING 

S.O. LINDUM: You can’t just [unintelligible]!

DOOR OPENING

DOG HOWLING 

S.G. KRIEGER: What the [unintelligible] is going on?

DOG HOWLING 

S.O.: TEBUTT: Ranger Mori is here to see you, sir!

DOG HOWLING

S.G. KRIEGER: I’m in a meeting! 

DOG HOWLING

R. MORI: I’m so sorry to interrupt, Secretary General! It’s Max- He won’t stop crying! 

DOG HOWLING

M. HANSEN: Come here, you ugly old mutt. 

R. MORI: I think he’s missing his master.

M. HANSEN: Yeah, I know you miss him, Max. I do too. Thank you, Ranger Mori, I’ll take him from here. Dismissed. 

R. MORI: Yes, sir. 

DOOR CLOSING

PAUSE

S.G. KRIEGER: Oh, that’s right. I don’t believe I’ve expressed my condolences yet. 

HANSEN: Thank you, Secretary Krieger. 

S.G. KRIEGER: Please, call me Dustin! There’s no need to be so formal when it’s just the two of us!

M. HANSEN: Oh, well, thank you, uh, Dustin. You can call me Herc. 

S.G. KRIEGER: Of course, Herc!

M. HANSEN: I’m sorry about Max, and once more, I’m really sorry for being so late. There was a fire in the men’s loo off the Jaeger Bay. I don’t know why they called me. I’m not that kind of bloody Marshal. 

S.G. KRIEGER: Don’t worry about it! I know what it’s like to get bothered with a problem well below your paygrade! 

PAUSE

M. HANSEN: Right. Well, enough small talk. Why don’t we get down to brass tacks? 

S.G. KRIEGER: You're a straightforward guy. I like that. I’m the same way. 

M. HANSEN: Glad to hear it, Dustin.

PAUSE

S.G. KRIEGER: Since the end of the war, there have been talks to dissolve the PPDC. I know, that’s gratitude for you, but people want to put the war behind them. If we want to save the PPDC, we need to restructure it as a fully civilian organization, bringing everything under my umbrella: Security, Medical, transport- even the eggheads in the science division. 

M. HANSEN: To do what exactly?

PAUSE

S.G. KRIEGER: Robots for Humanity. 

M. HANSEN: I beg your pardon?

S.G. KRIEGER: Just picture it. Jaegers rebuilding the regions around the Pacific Rim that were most damaged by the kaiju. We would rebrand as the Pan Pacific Development Corp. Wouldn’t even need to print new mugs. 

M. HANSEN: You want to use Jaegers to.. build houses? I think they’re a bit better at knocking ‘em down, mate. 

S.G. KRIEGER: Oh, it would mostly be for publicity, of course. We don’t want robots taking away people’s jobs! Just kidding, but we can get labor for cheap with the Wall of Life project now defunct. The Jaegers would ostensibly be to bring in donors, but we would keep development going, just in case the kaiju came back. 

M. HANSEN: The Breach is closed. 

S.G. KRIEGER: For now. Even if it’s closed for good, well, there have always been wars of one kind or another. How long do you really think we can all hold hands and sing Kumbaya, Herc? Soon enough, peacetime will come to an end. There will be war. Jaegers will be used to fight it. By the time that happens, the UN will have ceded control of the PPDC to the United States of America.

M. HANSEN: Wh- What? Why would they do that?

S.G. KRIEGER: We have a plan in place, but I’ll be honest: If we could bring the Jaegers directly into the U.S. Armed Forces, it would turn our ten-year plan into a five-year one. The only reason we were going to jettison the military division was because we knew Pentecost would never go for it, but I think you might be different, Herc. You know how the world works. You could still have a place at the new PPDC. Now, I know you’re technically Australian, but you don’t have to be.  

PAUSE

M. HANSEN: That’s very generous of you. I feel obliged to accept. 

S.G. KRIEGER: I knew it. I’ve never gone wrong trusting my gut. 

M. HANSEN: Do you really think people will let the U.S. take control of the PPDC like that?

S.G. KRIEGER: Of course they will! We stopped the war. Everybody knows Mori ejected before the payload was delivered. That was our guy! An American! Not to mention your Dr. Geizer. I will admit, I didn’t anticipate his level of celebrity, but well, if anything… people love a martyr even more. 

M. HANSEN: What are you saying?

S.G. KRIEGER: Don't act naive, Herc. I thought you were supposed to be the war-hardened vet. The doctor is an important asset, but we aren’t unrealistic about his chances for long-term survival. We’ll tell everyone it was a tragic consequence of his drift with the kaiju. It'll barely be lying. 

PAUSE

M. HANSEN: Let me make sure I understand. Dr. Geiszler is part of this- our plan?

S.G. KRIEGER: It’s called Operation Keepsake. Well, his involvement was also unanticipated, but now we’re hoping to use him to understand the hive mind. That was how he put it in his official report, right? A hive mind. Fascinating stuff, I’m sure. Of course, I didn’t understand most of it myself, but I got the gist. If two humans can pilot a 250-foot Jaeger, just think about what we could accomplish by applying hive mind technology.

PAUSE

M. HANSEN: So that’s why you asked Dr. Geiszler to meet you off-site.

S.G. KRIEGER: Well, he could hardly disappear from the hotel either! We needed to take custody of him, officially, but we needed an excuse to do it, since he was about to be cleared by medical. Fortunately, the Buenakai were already providing us with a Kaiju brain. All we had to do was pay them a little extra. 

M. HANSEN: Then why did you raid the bunker?

S.G. KRIEGER: Oh, well, that’s not important. The import-

M. HANSEN: Oh. I get it. They cut you out. You were used to the American Buenakai, who come from Kentucky and have never seen a Kaiju outside the 1:100th scale statues in their megachurches, but this wasn’t them. This was the Hau Wong Buenakai, who saw the double event and didn’t blink. Basically, they took the ransom and tried to kill the hostage anyway. Did I get that right?

S.G. KRIEGER: Well, of course the Chinazis sold us out, but we had everything under control.

M. HANSEN: So now you’re going to make Dr. Geiszler drift with the kaiju brain again. 

S.G. KRIEGER: Exactly!

M. HANSEN: Which is exactly how the damn doomsday cult was planning to reopen the Breach.

S.G. KRIEGER: That’s completely different. Besides, with the hive mind on our side, we could take the fight to them!

M. HANSEN: Well, I can see why you’re so keen on the idea of the hive mind.

S.G. KRIEGER: I knew you would be-

M. HANSEN: Considering you don’t seem to have one of your own. 

S.G. KRIEGER: Excuse me?

M. HANSEN: Well, you did just monologue your evil plan. The cult didn't even do that.

PAUSE

S.G. KRIEGER: You- You’re making a big mistake, Marshal. You have no idea what you’re going up against. It'll be your word against mine, and Representative Taylor is an old col-

M. HANSEN: Actually, it’ll be your word against the both of ours. 

PAUSE

S.G. KRIEGER: What- What are you talking about?

M. HANSEN: Secretary Taylor isn’t going to want anything to do with you if this recording goes public.

S.G. KRIEGER: You bugged the damn dog?

M. HANSEN: He has a name, you know. 

S.G. KRIEGER: Officer Tebutt! Get-

M. HANSEN: Before you try anything especially stupid, you should know that I took some precautions. I had Dr. Gottleib handle the cybersecurity, so this recording is already backed up to the cloud. If he doesn't enter a code once a day, the news goes straight to the UN and TMZ. You should also know that he is a very punctual man. 

S.G. KRIEGER: This is blackmail! 

M. HANSEN: I’m so glad you understand.

PAUSE

S.G. KRIEGER: What do you want?

M. HANSEN: Dr. Gottleib will keep entering that code on three conditions. One: You leave the Hong Kong Shatterdome now. Two: You resign from the PPDC tomorrow morning. Three: You never come near me or mine again.

S.G. KRIEGER: You- You’re just a damn grunt. I should have known you wouldn’t understand politics. You forget that I still have a piece in the game.

M. HANSEN: This isn’t a damn game, mate.  

S.G. KRIEGER: I still have your man. 

M. HANSEN: No, you don’t. 

PAUSE

S.G. KRIEGER: Dr. Geizer-

M. HANSEN: Dr. Geiszler is safe and sound. You can check in with the officers you assigned to him, if they pick up for you. The Security Office is still under my command, and more importantly, they’re my goddamn comrades- brothers, sisters, and siblings-in-arms, every last one of them. We were here at the end of the world, while you were cooling your heels Stateside. I may not understand politics, Dustin, but I don’t think you understand war.

...

@lastdaysofwar

[cptn-m]

The Future of One Piece's Digital Colour Manga

It may not be universal knowledge that the One Piece has a completely official (and quite high quality) full colour release, due to it being Japanese only and digital only, and therefore only readable via scanlations.

But it does exist, and unfortunately it has stalled following the release of volume 99 in September 2022. That’s long enough that some fans have come to wonder if it’s been abandoned entirely.

But there’s evidence Shueisha is still working on the colour release behind the scenes, in the panels from volumes 100 and beyond that keep appearing in marketing materials such as the official Twitter and YouTube, the card game, and the Vivre Card Databook.

I’ve saved all I’ve spotted. I’m sharing cutouts of the folders I use for them to give an idea of how much of each volume has been done. The quality on many is not great, particularly those sourced from the Vivre Cards because they’re screen caps of photos of relatively small printed material, but they offer a preview of what’s to come.

Filenames represent the chapter, but may not be accurate to the order within the chapter. That just comes from the order I saved them. And yes, there are a couple of double-ups where the same panel was used by two different sources.

Volume 100:

Volume 101:

Volume 102:

Volume 103:

Volume 104:

Volume 105:

Volume 106:

Volume 107:

Volume 108:

So what? Could Shueisha just drop all the way up to vol 108 (the second latest release!) in full colour whenever they want? Eh, probably not. I imagine for things that recent, they pick and choose the panels they need for promo material and leave the rest for later. Some of the colours may not yet be final. (We can see that the grid-texture ground in the Egghead Fabriophase is purple here when the anime made it green, and there’s no evidence to say either way if that’s one of the places where the anime is contradicting Oda, or if the colour just wasn’t finalised at the time these colourings were done.)

But give how long it’s been, I’d be surprised if they didn’t have at least up to the end of Wano ready to pull the trigger on. Hopefully soon. Maybe alongside the digital release of volume 109 in early August?

My fingers will remain crossed.

[miss-nerd-alert]

So I FINALLY got my copy of Veilguard in the mail, and I’ve been playing obsessively. Random thoughts so far:

I was not a fan of the new combat system at first, but it’s growing on me. Granted, I’ve only played as a mage so far, so that could change once I start branching into the other classes.

The character creator caused some frustration. Wasn’t happy to see that they’ve once again thrown all the hair options in together, instead of having them separated between male and female, but that’s just a personal gripe. Was also a bit bummed by the lack of nice updos; what’s with the Vegeta widow’s peak that so many hairstyles had? I did laugh out loud at the Sabrina Carpenter hair, though. Overall neutral to positive reaction, but clear room for improvement.

I was so glad Rook got to call Solas out in that first chat. Not having to sit there and take that asshole’s crap was lovely.

Treviso is GORGEOUS. The market, the music, the architecture. 10/10 no notes.

So glad they didn’t make Bellara another Merrill. She actually feels like her own character, and her banter with Harding is a delight to listen to.

The Ossuary was such a unique level. Elven Atlantis? Stunning. Every time I think I’ve seen all that Thedas has to offer, I’m proven wrong.

The fact that I can actually hear Neve’s prosthetic foot when she walks? Fantastic.

Lucanis’ first personal quest is buying groceries for the team and a coffee date. And the way he gets excited if you buy something for him? I love this man.

Delighted and surprised to hear Teia is voiced by the same gal who voices Sombra in Overwatch. Haven’t played it since they paywalled the story mode, but it was still nice to hear.

I only know Harding’s ma through codex entries, but I adore her.

The fact that Solas just fucking hates you after trashing his ritual makes it 1000% funnier that you full on move into his house. Like yeah I trashed your ritual, and I’ve ALSO moved into your home and unpacked my stuff. Suck it, egghead.

Companions actually finishing banter after getting interrupted?!?!? 1000/10

[themarginalthinker]

RPM

(Prompt for @ria-coolgirl, who suggested a sleepover with the boys listening to cheesy pop music! Sorry if this kinda got away from that, but hopefully you'll think it's cute lol)

Paul likes music, and wants something to keep him and everyone occupied. He decides to hit up his favorite record store.

-

Call him crazy, call him a tippy-tapping fool, but if ever one was to meet Paul Harris meandering down the Boardwalk, you'd almost have to call it dancing.

Always a tune in his head, always something playing that only he could hear the melody of. Paul danced to the beat of his own drums, and it was some damn good music if he did say so.

Such wandering, feeling the rhythm, took him lots of places. Little pop-up stores that happened over the summer months, here and gone again for the warm nights. Markets and art fairs that stayed active after sunset were fun, Marko liked those. Sometimes he'd mosey into a shop just following an idle thought, see what was about, and under the stares of the clerks (who tried their best to pretend they weren't staring) he'd make his way back out. Usually with something tucked into his jacket or pocket they weren't aware of. (Hey, you can't leave a store without getting something, that was just stupid.)

Tonight, the music in Paul's head was quiet, and disorganized, like a radio you just couldn't get to pick up a signal. It needed tuning - and he needed something to sink his (metaphorical this time) teeth into.

Streetlight Records, his haven away from haven.

Tucked neatly between two much larger buildings, the door for it almost hidden away just around the corner and in an alcove, one might have almost walked right past it. The doorway, however, was lit with garlands of twinkling lights they put out in the summer, and the base of something was humming out into the street, advertising for all who wished to open their eyes and ears, and take a chance.

Paul slips into to the doorway.

The shop was longer than it was wide, and it wasn't a whole lot of that to begin with. Along the left wall and down the straight middle isle, starting basically at the door so close you'd bump into it if you weren't careful, shelves upon shelves of LPs and EPs. Bins filled, racks a mash and collection that a vinyl dragon would go green with envy over. Some were arranged by year, others by genera. Artists' faces in posters and their album art, if they were popular enough, hung from the light strands wound around the ceiling and support beams. Under those were cases of cassettes, displays for tape recorders and the empty tapes to go with them.

The right side was a little less packed, but no less interesting. The glass case under the counter top and register boasted more gift-shoppy material, for those who only knew what played on the radio and when confronted with the font of auditory wonders before them, chose to stay in shallower waters. Racks of post cards, books of music history for the well-listened eggheads, more expensive maintenance tools for people's instruments.

And speaking of, further in the back sat displays of sound equipment for bands. Paul had spent more hours than he could reliably remember giving the old Fender some much-needed love and attention, here with lights and amps where it's rich, rolling sounds could be appreciated.

The place was a feast for anyone looking to discover something about themselves, and Paul was never satiated.

Paul slips past the immediate shelves to get to the front register, hands finding the glass surface and beginning to tap along to the muted cacophony in his head. It was deserted for the moment, but you didn't need supernatural senses to smell that someone had been here not too long ago, partaking in something that made the music sound even better. Paul leans over the desk and eyes the thick, beaded curtain that lead to the back rooms.

"Hey Randy! If you don't come out here someone's gonna come in and steal your signed Grateful Dead shirt!"

Indeed, said shirt was hanging up, proudly displayed on the wall behind the counter. It was a much prized possession - and in some real amount of danger from some fingers more sticky than not. It was also a surefire way to get the attention of a certain shop owner.

There's some sounds from behind the curtain, shuffling and maybe something falling over as someone jumped up, either at the threat or the owner of the voice issuing it. Paul hears the shout back before he can actually make out the words. If there were words being said at all.

Judging from the practically-visible cloud that follows the man who emerges from behind the curtain, it's more likely the latter.

Randy's and older dude, not 'old' but certainly a decade and a half Paul's (visible) elder. His hair is crow black, shoulder length and wavy, held back with a tie and a wrapped, psychedelic bandana. His eyes are blown to space, he's got a red press mark on his face, clearly the picture of a man getting ready to close up for the night and getting the evening come-down started a little early.

He'd probably known who had come in from the shout, but seeing him at the counter changes something in his face. How his back straightens. Eyes dart to the doorway, and then into the depths of the store. Looking for people who follow like ghosts in each other's wake.

His shoulders only relax a little when he finds it's only Paul, still looking at him expectantly. His half-smile could simply be the weed, and being tired. Paul lets it be.

"The man of the hour," Paul says, holding out a hand.

Randy huffs a laugh, and reaches out to take it, grasping it and pulling it in to touch forearms. To his credit, he no longer reacts to the cool skin as it touches him. One too many smokes - or maybe one too many touches with something like Paul to bother reacting.

"Yeah, sure. Only for you."

Paul takes his hand back and places it on his chest. "I consider it the highest honor, dude."

Randy nods a little.

These were words exchanged back and forth easily enough. Informal formalities, but a certain script maintained all the same. Like the glass counter between them. Crystal clear, but a barrier.

The shopkeep shrugs, and leans on his elbow. "Well, you got me here. What's up?"

Paul keeps drumming his fingers on the counter. A pattern only he can make sense of.

"Well, believe it or not, I'm actually not here for anything in particular," Paul says. "I'm uh. Actually looking for something along the lines of. New."

Randy blinks, cocking his head a little. "New?"

"Ya."

Believe it or not, immortality came with downsides. Well. Maybe not downsides so much as reoccurring stumbles. One of which being that the 'new' turned into 'old' faster than one would think, and even for someone who could listen to the same song on repeat for a whole day, there was a whole world of new things being made. New songs, new artists, new sounds. Collecting them to preserve perfectly forever like all the trinkets of the past stored in the cave. Immortal memory.

Randy however, looked over Paul like he'd started growing a second head. However, he knew better than to quibble. The script had run out, and Paul was looking at him expectantly. He was the expert in these things, and his customer had asked for goods.

"Well, we do got some stuff here, towards the front-"

Paul knew what Randy was pointing out, but he shakes his head. The silver bangles Marko had threaded into his hair shake with a metallic clicking, his blade of his earring glinting in the low lights. Randy stops mid-sentence, not about to waste Paul's time on the air it took to make the words. He knew better.

"Nah, man, I don't mean like, new releases. I mean just. Like. New. Somethin' different."

Something to scratch the constant itch of eternal stagnation amidst constant, unstoppable change.

Randy is silent, looking at him. There isn't much of a semblance of the polite, sleepy smile he'd been wearing earlier. Paul keeps looking right back at him, fingers drumming, drumming, drumming away at the counter. Nails clicking against the glass. Dragging.

It's only when Paul moves, shifting from one foot to the other, in a fidget, that Randy comes back into motion.

"Right. Sure. Okay, yeah, I just- hang on."

Paul nods a couple times, a little 'sure' thrown in as well as Randy moves off with maybe a little too much pep in his step, especially considering it's back behind the curtain and into another room. Where Paul's relaxed stare isn't on him the whole time.

There's the sound of boxes being moved, the clack of plastic cases - ans to ears more sensitive, dark mutterings. Paul pretends it's the rattling of the old water pipes along the ceiling.

He reaches over, to one side of the counter, and snatches up a couple jacket patches from the bins left out for sale. Marko had mentioned wanting to potentially start a new jacket project soon. Paul tucks them into his pocket.

Randy comes back after a few minutes. In his hands is a box, and in that box is a mess of things. A couple records, their sleeves looking a little battered, more than a few cassette tapes that looked much more recent, though one had a cracked case.

Paul reaches forward before Randy can say anything and pulls out something from the lot - a magazine, and from the provided pouch in the back of it, a small disc.

"Oh, I love Flexis!" Paul says, grin wide. "They're not making them much anymore."

He holds up the small, colorful record disk, and Randy's shoulders relax a little. He'd pleased the beast.

"There's not a whole lot, I think they only ran that edition with the Flexi for a while, but I had it kinda lying around, so."

Paul snorts. "What, you're using this to pawn your junk off on me, man?"

He flicks a finger at the box, tapping it rather harshly. Randy, again to his credit, doesn't flinch. But from the twitch under his eye, it's a near thing.

Paul grabs the box from him before he can try to say anything else. "I'm joshing you, dude. Jeez. You need some stronger stuff if you're this wound up. You know I'll take anything. You got good taste."

Randy lets Paul take the box from him, fingertips meeting for only a second. Paul's nails are sharp against his skin.

Paul tucks his prize under one arm. With his other, he digs into some pocket or another in his coat. From it, he produces a set of bills. He slaps them down on the countertop.

"You're a pal, Ran-the-man. Catch ya next week!"

Without waiting for Randy to open the till or count the money, or even a goodbye, Paul is already out the door. Barely a sound follows him, just the now empty store, playing its low background music under soft lighting.

When the man does blink out of his stupor, and counts the amount given to him for his motley collection of odds and ends, it's enough to make even his mouth go dry.

He doesn't ask, though. Never does. He simply straightens out the notes, and sets the stained paper in the drawer.

-

"Oh, I wanna dance with somebody! I wanna feel the heat with somebody!"

The music echoed in the main hall, the voices rising and falling with it perhaps not the most in-tune, but the enthusiasm was all that was really necessary.

David watches Star try to keep her smile down at Paul as he strikes a pose, singing into an invisible microphone, swaying her own head side to side with the melody. He lets himself smile with her.

Marko and Dwayne occupy the couch on either side of her, critiquing the performance.

"Good hip movement."

"You know, if he permed his hair, he might actually kinda look like Whitney."

"I vote eight point seven."

"No way, this is freestyle, tens across the board."

"No, there's always room for improvement."

The tall blond shimmies his way over to her, and Star can't help but let out the suppressed giggle at his exaggerated lip-syncing. She protests a fair bit as she's pulled up, and brought to the 'dance floor', her eyes flitting over to David who only raises an eyebrow, before Paul is pulling her in, spinning them around in a dance that doesn't exist and is made purely of the need to move and feel the music.

"Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody! With somebody who loves me!"

The tune in his step matching the music in his head, and all around him. Harmony.

[eggheadmarketers]

Unleash Your Website's Potential with the Best SEO Company. Elevate your online presence and dominate search engine rankings with our expert SEO solutions. Our proven strategies drive targeted traffic, boost visibility, and maximize ROI. Trust our experienced team to optimize your website, enhance user experience, and convert visitors into loyal customers.

[ripgray-moved]

𖤐  ⸻ Most people don't know that Peter enjoys reading. While not an egghead by any means, he most certainly gets struck with the urge to occupy the downstairs window seat when it's raining, a coffee by his knee and a book in his lap.

❛ It's really cool that they're doing the bookstall market thing again this year, ❜ he says, keeping stride with Bella as they make their way to the town centre, ❛ you find all sorts of shit for dirt-cheap. It's sick. ❜

@pluviacuratio encountered the king!

[muckduckgoose]

Jurassic Jumble Reboot Recap

((I delayed on this long enough. Here's a general concept of how the plotline of "Jurassic Jumble" would go in the DT17 universe with my Honker, featuring my takes on the characters Stegmutt and Dr. Fossil as well as the reboot versions of Darkwing and Gosalyn/Quiverwing, who I will be writing out the parts of myself.))

There's been a rash of computer components stolen across multiple parts of Saint Canard, with witnesses from every crime scene claiming to have been distracted by the sight of a giant figure stomping around just out of sight in the shadows, slipping away just before anyone can get on the scene and get a good enough look at it to see what it is. Those distractions had apparently been enough for an unseen party to slip in and grab the goods and then hightail it by the time anyone was looking again.

Honker working with WANDA manages to build up a solid hypothesis of what the unknown burglar may be attempting to build with the stolen parts and where they may strike next. Team Darkwing have a stakeout to catch the criminal(s) in the act. When something causes a ruckus outside, DW and LP go to confront the source while the kids stay behind to guard the module predicted to be the target.

While the adults end up confronting what they get just a good enough look at to identify as seemingly a bipedal stegosaurus before it runs off and loses them, someone unseen knocks out the kids with sleeping gas and has already made off with the module piece by the time they wake up. Darkwing, however, had planted a tracer on the module just in case. Honker, back at base, runs a GPS scan for the tracer and is shocked that it pings underground at the coordinates of the St. Canard Natural History Museum.

The team infiltrates the museum after hours, eventually finding the secret passage to an underground base and split up for clues. Gos and Honk end up finding a collection of artifacts, including one in the forefront held in a clear biohazard-marked container: a glowing blue piece of rock. Gosalyn immediately recognizes it as the missing piece of the Stone of What Was, one of numerous artifacts from FOWL's Library of Alexandria base that SHUSH failed to locate during the post-battle raid.

The two are caught by a large, talking bipetal stegosaurus. But as soon as he starts talking--both due to the familiar voice and the stegosaurus seemingly recognizing Honker and becoming awkward at seeing him there under these circumstances--Honker realizes that the anthropomorphic dinosaur is the museum custodian Mutt, whom he'd met a few months back during a visit with an elf friend from Duckburg. Upon being identified, Mutt claims that he goes by Stegmutt now, vaguely gesturing to his current form as the reason why.

A pterodactyl in a snug-fitting lab coat and relatively small square glasses appears behind Stegmutt, harshly chastising him for not locking away the intruders on the spot. Stegmutt, crumbling to the other dinosaur's authority, very reluctantly pushes the kids into a holding cell (virtually identical to the ones FOWL used in the Library of Alexandria) and locks them in with an apologetic look. Honker also recognizes the pterodactyl, as he was once the elderly chicken scientist named Dr. Barnabas Klykos, who corrects him by saying the Klykos is no more and identifying himself in dramatic fashion as Doctor Fossil. Both he and Stegmutt had apparently come in contact with the Stone Fragment of What Was while holding a piece of fossil; the latter accidentally and the former on purpose after seeing the effects.

Dr. Fossil proceeds to go into a big rant about how the scientific community scoffed at his dream of bringing humanity back to its prehistoric roots, yet he had everything he could've needed to make his vision a reality except a form of genetic bonding agent (The Stone Fragment of What Was, which he recently acquired on the black market from a former FOWL Egghead) and the proper relay antenna to broadcast the signal far and wide (just built from all the stolen parts). Just as he's boasting there's no one to stop him at this stage of his plan, cue the purple smoke bomb and an "I am the terror..." speech.

While the adults confront Dr. Fossil, Honker sympathetically reaches out Stegmutt, who he recognizes deep down doesn't really want any part in this. Stegmutt, however, feels he has no say in the matter, as Dr. Fossil seems to have convinced him he'll have nothing left outside of servitude to him, especially considering what he's now become. Honker, with Gosalyn quickly joining in, try to encourage him to find a better life for himself with people who respect him and his feelings, something that surprises and touches Stegmutt.

Dr. Fossil, however, quickly barks at him to come handle Darkwing and Launchpad, and Stegmutt quickly folds to his authority again. As he leaves to do that, Stegmutt looks back at the kids and assures them that, while Dr. Fossil maybe has been acting nuttier than usual lately, nobody's gonna get hurt too badly from this; people are just gonna become cool new prehistoric versions of themselves. But he's clearly trying to convince himself in the moment just as much.

As Stegmutt reluctantly fights back against the Masked Mallard and the pilot, Dr. Fossil rushes to the next room where his relay antenna is completed and carefully slots the Stone Fragment of What Was into its place before powering up the machine. Once the antenna powers up and connects to a satellite network above, random people all over are hit by the effects and start devolving into prehistoric versions of themselves.

The kids have a good view of what's happening from the vantage point of their holding cell, and Honker starts talking to Fossil as he runs his equipment over concerns that dinosaurs and such wouldn't exactly fit in with the current era. The mad scientist laughs it off by claiming that the current era is about at an end anyway. Humans are already priming their planet for an extinction-level event as it is with their various environmental crimes as deforestation and greenhouse gasses; the meteor scheduled to pass by will finish the job once the hacked satellite network draws it in.

Honker's horrified at what he spells out is Dr. Fossil's attempt to artificially generate a mass extinction-level event that'll kill off anyone that doesn't get affected by the devolution ray. Someone else is also horrified, as it turns out the fight between the two older ducks and the stegosaurus got close enough that Stegmutt heard everything. Stegmutt calls his mentor out on using him for such a cruel and genocidal scheme, but Dr. Fossil insults him back by saying the young janitor was clearly too stupid to see it for himself and that he has no life for himself away from him. Fossil also claims that it's too late to stop him anyway.

Feeling hurt and betrayed, Stegmutt challenges that notion by stepping aside to let DW and LP tackle him and then turns to smash the controls of the kids' holding cell with his tail, freeing them. Honker has just enough time to rush to the controls of the relay antenna to have the satellite network repel the meteor it had just latched onto and then reverse the effects of the outgoing devolution rays. Dr. Fossil is taken down, and SHUSH is called in to clean up.

While Darkwing and SHUSH works to accommodate for Stegmutt's living conditions, as he's effectively homeless due to Dr. Klykos having provided his apartment space (which probably wouldn't be able to accommodate a stegosaurus man anyway), the agency's scientists determine that while those affected by the ray could be returned to normal, physical contact with any part of the Stone of What Was resulted in what was (for the foreseeable future, as they were still studying the artifact) an essentially permanent transformation.

Team Darkwing comfort Stegmutt, who's feeling lost and unsure of his future now. Uplifted by their assurance that they'll help him find a place for himself, Stegmutt decides he wants to use his new dinosaur form for the greater good and help those in need. By the end of this adventure, there's a new hero in St. Canard. Stegmutt gets his superhero origin story, and Dr. Fossil gets jailtime.

[twistedtummies2]

The Price May Be Right - Number 20

Welcome to “The Price May Be Right!” I’m counting down My Top 31 Favorite Vincent Price Performances & Appearances! The countdown will cover movies, TV productions, and many more forms of media. Today we move into the Top 20 for this countdown! The time has come to focus on my choice for Number 20: Egghead, from the 60s Batman Series.

In recent years, the 1960s Batman TV Series – starring Adam West & Burt Ward as the Caped Crusader and the Boy Wonder – has been making a bit of a comeback. This pleases me, because I’ve always loved the series, but for many years, the show was treated in a very backhanded and dismissive manner: people believed it ruined the world of comics, since for a long time it was blamed for the perception of comics as silly kid’s stuff and campy nonsense. Ironically, with so many comics and their adaptations nowadays growing darker and more “edgy” as time has gone on, especially on DC’s side of the market, this has led to a resurgence of popularity with the goofiness of the Silly Sixties. The 60s Batman show featured many great villains from the comics, all portrayed excellently for the time (and sometimes for ALL time) by fine actors of the period. However, it also had its fair share of original villains made just for the series itself. Most of these characters – such as Shame, the Minstrel, and Zelda the Great – never really caught on or went anywhere. A few of these original villains, however, were pretty popular, and often proved to be antagonists just as effective as such famous rogues as the Joker or the Penguin. One of the most well-known of these original villains was Vincent Price’s memorable mastermind, Egghead. His true name unknown (which was the case for most of the villains in the show, to be fair), Egghead was a supervillain who claimed to be the second smartest man in the world. His intelligence was attributed to his unusually oversized and incredibly bald cranium, which was the cause of his alias. Garbed in a dapper cream-and-gold suit, he was one of the slickest sleazebags the Dynamic Duo ever faced. Egghead lived up to his name well: not only was Price’s dialogue littered with egg puns in just about every line, but the character apparently ate nothing but eggs and bacon, and used a variety of explosive gadgets hidden inside of eggshells. From tear gas grenades to pressure-based bombs, his egg-scruciating weapons were no yolk! Of course, he’d always be caught at the end of each story, proving that the life of an outlaw was not all it was cracked up to be. …I am SO sorry, I won’t make any more egg puns, I swear. XD Anywho…Vincent always claimed that playing Egghead was one of the most fun jobs he had, and the character remains iconic, as well as one of Price’s most lauded performances. My only issue with Egghead is that, as the show went on, it felt like the character went through a sort of de-evolution: in his first two-parter appearance, Egghead basically worked alone, barring the usual band of hired mooks and his personal biographer, Miss Bacon. However, later appearances teamed him up with another original villain – Olga, Queen of the Cossacks – and it often felt like the two stepped on each other’s toes. In some episodes, Olga seemed like little more than an overblown moll; in other episodes, it seemed like Egghead had gone from being a crafty crook in his own right to just becoming a bumbling stooge for the Queen of the Cossacks. Still, the character was fun no matter how smart he actually seemed. Fun fact: not so long before his sad departure, Adam West visited my hometown for our local ComicCon. I sadly did not get the opportunity to meet him, but a friend of mine did, and agreed to ask a question for me. They asked Adam West what it was like working with Vincent Price. West apparently answered: “Well, it was exactly what you would imagine it would be like, working with a man who loved his wine, loved his art, and loved his work. In that order.” How I wish I could have heard those golden words firsthand. Tomorrow, the countdown continues with Number 19!

[lunawantsmurder]

That‘s the thing. Every damn company has figured out that they can raise the price so much that only by themselves, their wares seem affordable enough to consider buying them. But, if you need to buy groceries for a month and suddenly your cart is 250 FUCKING DOLLARS it all unravels. The eggheads who thought up this fucking sales tactic are half the reason that the cheapest 400g pack of plain sliced gouda cheese is 4 BUCKS

Every single corporation who employs a marketing psychologist should instantly and irrevocably be turned over to the state, without exception, and their CFOs and CEOs should be publicly humiliated, then imprisoned.

the worst thing about 4.99 purchases is that one is fine. but if you do two of them you spent ten bucks. and ten bucks these days is like fifty bucks. if youre fucking lucky

[cryingpariah]

Pari, not only do I have the Beeping S-Hawk art, or at the very least I have the Pinterest screenshot of it but look what I just discovered!!!

New Mugimugis straight from Egghead!

First and foremost thank you cause that art is ADORABLE OMG!!

Secondly, THEY TURNED THE EGGHEAD SERAPHIMS INTO MARKETABLE PLUSHIES 😱😱

I can totally see Gryphon, Thea, Jimmy and Jinta being so hyped over their plushie selves! I mean, not just anyone gets to be plushie, y'know? It’s totally within their rights to do a little bragging! I mean these could totally exist in universe, the warlords have merch so why not them?

[troymperry]

Daily reminder that eggheads get no play👀

Women are "attracted" to this archetype because of his money - but when they walk the markets in a foreign country, the babes ain't checkin 'em out!

I 1000% think the warrior-esc frame doesn't negate a scholastic-mindset. The idea that an aesthetically-pleasing individual equals a low IQ is insane.