#Eeah

[inherittheearth-comic]

Deck the Eeah With Boughs of Holly

2024 Holidays Special Strip #1

[o-i-w-u]

here, some cookies for you. 🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

oh what a nice surprise!!

thank you ::3

[coeuranxieux]

I feel like Emil would have mental shutdowns/unresponsive moments sometimes

It's actually one of the few problems he has that isn't a direct result of the asylum's mistreatment, but it's kind of hard to notice when you're already drifting anyway, you know?

oh yeah this too. he's so sleepy all the time and he's used to being dazed (it's literally his only like listed on the wiki) so he wouldn't notice but andrew and luca do and they're both kind of freaking out

[dafpork]

FREE BLURB-OF-A-FIC FOR YOU ALL!! this isn't really new (and i've already shared it with some friends.. hi Tom hi Charlie) but there's a freedom in knowing this actor au is gonna be so big and take me so long that it honestly doesn't really matter if i share way-far-ahead WIPs. especially because i might end up totally changing this when i actually get to it, depending on how the au goes! i started this in September 2023, pretty sure before i started writing chapter 4 of the actor au, if that gives any insight

BUT ANYWAY! i didn't get to finish it because this is gonna be a mini arc of sorts and i kinda wanted to wait until everything was in place... and because i felt guilty for indulging myself (which is silly LOL). but here's a chunk about Daffy meeting Porky's family for the first time--i imagine this takes place during the early '40s or so, Porky and Daffy are very close at this point and probably living together

Porky found that a tremble lingered in his fingers as he turned the ignition off. 

Daffy found it, too.

“You’re shakin’ like a leaf!” 

His usual glee pinched the ends of his voice as he swallowed his passenger with those familiarly hungry, burning, inquisitive eyes. There were moments where Porky appreciated his imposition more than others; it was safe to assume that this was not one of those instances.

Likewise, Daffy had become so attuned to Porky’s instincts that he knew his mumbling reply of “I ehh-jeeah-jeh-just forgot eh-how cold it gets out here, ‘s all,” was an instant lie. Even if his deliberate lack of eye contact wasn’t so obvious—he was staring down at his lap—his idle fidgeting and addendum of “‘s all,” gave it away. Porky Pig was not someone who said “‘s all.” He had too proud of a personality for such a subconsciously unconfident omission—even in his many moments of on and off meekness. 

Of course, Porky knew this, too. He knew that he was lying, and he knew that Daffy knew he was lying. That’s just the sort of bond they had. Still enigmatic enough to occasionally puzzle and mystify the other (often to a degree of endearment), but have worked together and been friends for so long that the impulses of the other registered with a disarming ease.

“Eight years is a leh-lo-luh-luugh-eh-l-long time to-to leave your famuh-meeeah-mih-family hangin’,” was his means of edging towards a concession. “Ehs-eeah-ss-ih-eh-especially weh-when you up an’ leave ‘em.”

“But’cha write t’ them all the time! Didn’t’cha say everyone flew the nest anyhow?”

“Peh-ih-Patrick didn’t,” Porky pressed with an urgency that was all too available. He jerked his head up as he said it, his eyes reading both of instinctual indignation and perhaps even surprise. This only prompted Daffy’s grin to splinter even further into his beak.

He could tell Porky wanted to argue more. He could also tell that Porky didn’t want to argue at all, and his retort was pure impulse. Instead, Porky wilted in his seat, casting a shy look across the street. It proved somewhat difficult to get a good luck of the house from the confines of the car.

“Yeh-yeeh-eh-yeh-you’re crazy for wantin’ to come along,” was all he said after a beat, his tone resigned. “Just ehhh-dih-deuh-deh-eh-don’t say I didn’t we-warn you.”

It was amusing how quickly he turned his head to look at Daffy after he clapped a feathery hand on his shoulder. Daffy maintained that same fire of playfulness, even in a moment of more grounded sincerity—at least, for his standards. Nothing could ever dim his spirit.

“Ya haven’t stopped warnin’ me since we got on the road! Three days ago!” The rouge that threatened to flare on Porky’s cheeks only made Daffy’s grip on his shoulder tighten, thrusting his face closer as his eyes glittered with additional warmth. “I wanna check up on this family business, and we won’t do that wastin’ away in the car!”

Porky didn’t smile. Granted, he didn’t frown, either. Instead, that little apologetic tug at the corners of his mouth when he found himself at a loss of words made its way back onto his mug. Daffy got the message and gave him another pat on the shoulder.

With that unspoken cue enacted, both tugged at their respective door handles in near perfect synchronization. The trunk was already in Daffy’s possession before Porky even untangled himself from the driver’s seat—it had been hours since he stretched his legs. Trembling in his hooves was from equal parts fatigue as it was boiling trepidation.

A suitcase suddenly found its way in his arms. Then another. 

Then another. 

Before he had time to think, Daffy was lobbing their belongings at him and already slamming the trunk door shut. Porky knew they’d overpacked, as they always did. It was out of punctuality for him, a constant desire to be prepared and account for any and all potentials of what-ifs.

Daffy, he was convinced just threw whichever object was closest to him in the moment into any suitcase he could find. How one duck could pack so much for a three day trip, he had no idea. Perhaps it was a mystery best left unsolved. Or, at the very least, unquestioned.

So, across the dirt road they went. The soil was cold and hard underfoot, stiffened through the clinging winter air.

Much to Daffy’s fascination, the house had two separate pathways to enter, being at the street corner. They followed a shorter stretch of dirt that seemed to lead right up to the front porch, interrupted only through the (in)convenience of a wooden gate. That gate was adjoined to a sprawling picket fence that hugged the entire property together in an L shape, cascading to the other gate on the other side.

Such is where the second pathway came into play. If anything, it was like a mini road in itself; it led not only to the house, but snaked off towards a barn, past the barn and the adjoining fields, and away from the house. A traffic intersection of domesticity and farm life. Even in the winter, Daffy found himself enamored at how well kept the whole property seemed to be.

“I-it’s eh-peeahh-pih-purrtier in the spring a-an’ summertime when Ma ck-kih-ehh-can do her gardening,” Porky explained as he caught Daffy gawking. “The bushes an’ flowers are all neat ug-gihh-gainst the fence, ehh-theh-that ol’ tree’s been there feh-ff-for years a-and years… eh-gee-eh-gosh, they still have the sweh-swih-ih-swing up.”

A gasp of enticement choked silently in Daffy’s throat as he caught wind of the swing. It looked as lonely as it did loved, hovering low to the ground as tall, snaking, spindly ropes twined down from the voluptuous branches of the tree. Discoloration on the wooden seat indicated that it got a lot of use and sun and attention over a span of years and years.

He loved it.

His awestruck declaration of “I can’t believe you left all this just sittin’ here!” was reciprocated with a brief glare from Porky; even all of this years later, the subject of Petunia dragging him out to the city of the cinema with no prior warning seemed to leave him sore.

Moreover, even if he wanted to retort back with a smart comment, he couldn’t. The two of them found themselves door to snout and beak to door, respectively—they’d made it onto the front porch. Porky hesitated.

“You did call, didn’t you?”

Porky’s “Eh-deeah-Daffy,” proved as an adequate reply to the duck’s evocative coo. He knew that it was Daffy’s way of lightening the mood—Porky wasn’t known for his excellence in muting his troubles, and he did, deep down, appreciate the gesture. 

As if to demonstrate as such, he cast a look at Daffy. Apprehension clouded his expression. His eyebrows were slightly knit, raised, a permanent curiosity still prevailing in his hesitant, wide-eyed stare. He was grateful for Daffy’s company, even—especially—if he tried to argue otherwise. 

A V for victory indicated with his fingers, opening and closing his two fingers together repeatedly, was Daffy’s means of encouragement. 

Porky pressed the doorbell.

It was then when Daffy recognized the root of Porky’s apprehension: even for someone like him, constantly living life at a high, frenetic caliber, he hadn’t expected for a second the excitement and hysteria that came with the housewarming party.

“Porky!”

“I told you that was his car!”

“Lookit what the cat dragged in!”

“Eh-h’lo, Portis—“

“Did you pack all that?”

“Where is he? Where—oh, Porky! 

“Hi, meh-mee-eh-Ma—“

“Hey ma, don’t crush him t’ death!”

“Look at how handsome you’ve gotten!”

“Yeah, look at how handsome he is!”

“Aw, eh-ceeah-c’mon, Peter—“

“Have you been eating well? Look at you! You’re so skinny!”

“‘Course he’s been eating well, he’s a big shot now! He can actually afford to!”

“How’s Petunia, Porky? Did you tell her I miss her?”

“She’s fi-fi-eh-feh-feeah-eh-fi—ow! Eh-Percy, you’re on my feh-fee-ih-ihf-uh-foot!”

“When will we get to star in a picture with ya?”

“Yeah, when will ya let us meet Clark Gable?”

“Weh-wee-ih-where’s Pa?”

“Patrick’s helping him in the barn—Priscilla, shut that door! Porky’ll catch his death a cold; you too, dear, come on in…”

“Aw, deh-eh-Daffy’s not a dear, Ma—“

“Hey now, speak for yourself!”

“Porky, go show him to your room…”

“I-I-I can’t if you don’t let go, meh-meeah-ih-m-mm-M—pih-Portis, ck-keh-quit that!”

“I wasn’t doin’ nothin’!”

“They’re starting already?”

“I toldja fame didn’t completely go to his head!”

“Neh-nee-ih-nn-now just what is that ehs-eeah-sih-su-ppeah-ih-pposed to mean?!”

Eternally fleeting. Fleetingly eternal. An explosion of hugs and greetings and observations, of how-do-you-do’s and hi’s and aw stop it’s all erupted at once at the front door. Constant chatter and hustle and bustle and movement—Daffy understood Porky’s reluctance now. All of this constant attention and cooing had to have been his worst nightmare. To learn that it ran in his blood gave Daffy an absolute thrill he would refuse to live down. 

Slowly but surely, Porky’s familial paparazzi dispersed as he finally managed to squeeze his way out of the arms and grasps and nudges of mothers and brothers and sisters. Face beet red from the amalgamation of a constant limelight and the effort of being squeezed through so many people, he flashed an apologetic look at Daffy.

“Eh-ceeah-c’mon,” was all he had the awareness to say. It took a few moments to recalibrate from the hubbub.

Taking the lead, Porky guided Daffy up a towering staircase as they each lugged their baggage up. This, too—the sensation of climbing higher and higher, the hollow thunks and slaps of their feet against the wooden steps, the anticipation of a whole other floor to be discovered—injected further helium into Daffy’s chest. Porky’s house didn’t have a second floor back home. Ditto for Petunia. He was completely enraptured by the novelty of something as stupidly simple as a staircase.

In a matter of moments, they reached the landing. How was it that even a hallway could seem inviting and homely: a tartan rug ran down the middle, adding an aesthetic and tactile cushion against the wooden floors. A nightstand bearing a blue vase filled with flowers—Daffy couldn’t tell if they were real or fake, but he didn’t care—lie in an empty nook between doors. Porky was already pressing on ahead, leaving little time to gawk sufficiently, but picture frames hanging on the walls all throughout added further incentive for snooping and anticipation later.

“Eh-theeah-eh-this one’s mine.”

Porky stood in front of a wooden door at the very end of the hallway, nestled in the rightmost wall from where they had come up. Daffy could see the vestiges of a smile broiling on the pig’s face. He seemed sheepish, embarrassed of the commotion downstairs as if he were complacent in initiating it, but that was soon being replaced by the desire to show off. Humble as he may be (or act like he may be), Daffy knew Porky was on the same wavelength. He, too, understood the excitement of allowing Daffy into the formative environments and experiences and memories of his being.

So, bearing that same shy, inquisitive, repressively playful raise of the cheeks, he turned the doorknob. Daffy was quick to rubberneck.

Instead of a plain, rectangular room, the architecture was slightly varied. A bed was nestled in the far corner of the room, with a window positioned near the foot—immediately next to the bed was a wall that jut out slightly. Thus, the bed had its own little notch to hide in; the only way to get in and out would be to crawl at the base of the bed and hoist oneself back into the nook. A shelf hanging on the wall with the window, both adjacent to and above the bed, furthered the illusion of this cozy little cranny.

Wooden closet doors made up most of the wall that jut out into the room. The walls were painted a baby blue—very much a Porky color, Daffy mused to himself—and spotted with the occasional shelf or picture frame or two. A tall wooden vanity was shoved against the wall adjacent to the doorway, bearing a few decorative trinkets such as a candle and bottle of cologne. Neither looked used. 

Opposite of that wall was a dresser doubling as a bookshelf, with tiny framed portraits and neatly lined stacks of books arranged on top. Elsewhere, a modest green armchair sat nestled in the corner of the room, joined by a brass floor lamp that was even taller than Porky.

The room was both very Porky and not Porky at all—Daffy, again, loved it. 

“I-it’s the same,” breathed the voice next to him. That terminally petrified, wide, curious stare was even wider, mouth ever so slightly agape as he hazarded the first steps into the room. Squeaks and creaks in the floorboard underfoot bid a warm greeting of how d’you do, welcome back, hi, hello.

An unintelligible, unreasonable pang of guilt lodged in Porky’s chest as he made his way to the bed. Suitcases hung as dead weights in his hands. He was almost certain they would have renovated the room—maybe storage, maybe to capitalize on the chance of having a formal guest room for a change.

To see everything arranged exactly as he left it was almost more of an insult than if the room had changed entirely. 

Daffy observed as Porky sat down on his bed, made up neatly with a blue and white quilt that seemed homemade. It was a tiny little twin bed—not one made to comfortably fit two people—but it seemed homely and cozy. At least, more cozy than anything that warranted the distressed frown on Porky’s face as he felt up the mattress, pressing his palms down, shifting his weight, even momentarily laying down.

A repetitious gasp of “I-it’s all the seh-sih-ehh-sehh-same,” followed after he had completed his inspection. As borderline terrified as he seemed of the bed, he looked just as reluctant to get off of it. Instead, he carefully placed his suitcases towards the foot of the bed, never once tearing his eyes away. 

“Nn-now why d’you suppose they’d eh-ck-kih-eh-kee-eh-k-keep it the-ehhh-the same?” Daffy flicked his eyebrows upwards in shared amusement and surprise at Porky’s tone. He was still staring at the bed, a scowl furrowing on his face and a bite pinching his voice.

“Weh, eh, weh-why couldn’t they earn some extra deh-dee-ehhh-do-eh-do-ehh… eh-deh-do-deh-do-do–dehh.. meh-mee-ehh-mon-eh-meh-mih-ehh-mehh–seh-some smackers cheh-charging a reh-ree-ih-room? A-a whole room, for seh-seeahh-eh-steh-storage, for rih-eh-reh-rent–” At this point, he raised his arms incredulously, breaking eye contact with the bed to stare at Daffy with bewildered, feisty, hurt, and even touched eyes–”a-an’-an’ they hafta let it collect dust an’ meh-mih-ehh-make me feel bad!”

Despite it likely being the wrong means of reacting, Daffy only continued to stare vacantly, a bemused grin hesitantly shuffling its way onto his beak. It was very rare for Porky to make such concessions and trade vulnerabilities like these in his speech–asking questions, conceding his wounded pride. There was a spontaneous rawness to his monologuing that Daffy found positively intriguing. It was a burst that he usually tried to keep under wraps; he was of course candid with Daffy, but there was a certain vulnerability here that proved additionally intriguing.

Just as Daffy was about to say something, Porky blinked. It was as if a light were flickering back to life, his pupils dilating and a rouge kissing his cheeks. He seemed to have forgotten that Daffy was even there and listening.

In an attempt to change the subject and deflect, he gestured meekly to the suitcases dangling in Daffy’s grip. “Uh-juh-ji-ee-just put ‘em anywuh-wee-where.” 

Daffy dropped them right where he stood. A loud thud emanated as the leather bound safes containing who-knows-what slammed against the floorboards. That, in conjunction with his expecting grin, was enough to fully lure Porky back into the moment. 

Porky normally would have glared or made a snide comment to Daffy about such a careless commotion; instead, another shy tug at the corners of his mouth indicated his gratitude for the duck’s own awareness. It was another one of his ways to lighten the mood. 

Daffy knew Porky would give him the grand tour later, when he wasn’t completely inebriated with the suffocation of catching himself back up to speed and digesting eight year’s worth of catching up to do. Still, that didn’t stop him from picking up a small photograph sitting on the dresser. It was protected by a tiny, silver frame—he had to hold it close to his face and squint to get a good look.

“Say—that looks like Petunia!”

Almost immediately, Porky flanked his side, peering over his shoulder. Another slightly bashful grin spread on his face as he confirmed “Eh-thee-eh-ih-th-that’s because it is.”

Clearly, the photo wasn’t taken anytime recently: the girl who Daffy pinned as Petunia couldn’t have been older than 5. Her black hair was tied into pigtails, held together by two, prominent bows. Even as a kid, her fashion sense—as much fashion sense a toddler could have—was indicative of her personality. A floral patterned dress with a prominent white collar still seemed like something she’d be able to wear and pull off today, if only for casual wear. It was certainly fancier than anything Daffy had at that age.

Likewise for the girl standing next to her. Her hair was longer and lighter, curls cascading down her tiny shoulders and pulled back into a particularly obtrusive bow. Her own white dress was more modest in comparison to Petunia’s, but still had enough ruffles and creases in its hemming for Daffy to find it similarly fancy. He noticed that her face shape was a bit more angular, like Porky’s.

And then…

He didn’t even have time to say anything. It was as if Porky had expected it—the moment Daffy raised his eyebrows, his cheeks even entertaining the mere idea of raising into a smile, a polite chuckle shook in the swine’s voice as he hovered closer to the duck’s shoulder.

“Uh-gi-eh-get it out while you can,” he said with that same smile. A dry, sarcastic yet wholly warm and amused tone coated his voice as he observed Daffy’s reaction. Instead, all Daffy could do was grin even further.

Each of the girls had one hand on the shoulders of the toddler—said toddler now looking over Daffy’s own shoulders—between them. Even if Porky hadn’t told Daffy he was the youngest of the family, he still would have recognized him in an instant. 

For one thing, both girls were smiling: Porky was not. Granted, he wasn’t frowning, either. That same all consuming, inquisitive, suspended gawk on his face as he stared at the camera was what instantly clued Daffy in. It was the all consuming, inquisitive, suspended gawk he looked at every day. He’d never grown out of it.

As a tyke, Porky was a round little thing—the prominence of his cheeks and general softness of his face reminded Daffy of how he looked when he first met him. He’d lost a considerable amount of weight even by that time, but that vacant baby-face was much more prominent then.

Perhaps the most notable difference was the way in which his ears were bent at the tips—just like the girl behind him, who Daffy took to interpret as his sister. 

He turned around to look at the Porky of now. The Porky of now with his erect, decidedly unbent ears. The Porky of now with his face reddening out of playful embarrassment, his lips tightening and the vestiges of an insincere scowl flickering above his brow.

Of course, he wasn’t mad at all. He shared the same gleeful intoxication that gripped Daffy—he’d just be damned if he’d let him know it.

“Eh-deh-dee-eh-don’t you say it—“

“Lookit how cute you are!”

“I-I eh-seeah-said not to say it!”

“Why dont’cha wear that sailor suit more often?”

“I dih-didn’t wanna wear it! Beh-bee-ih-ih-b-b’sides, i-it was for a special uh-ceeah-cay-cay-ehhh—speh-ih-eh-sehh—eh-speh-sih-special occeh-ih-ceh—for feh-fancy stuff—“

“An’ your little cheeks—“

“Ow! Ow! Seh-stop it! Deh-dee-ih-Daffy, leggo!” Daffy’s grin snaked even wider as he wiggled Porky’s cheeks in his grip. Porky, on the other hand, was pawing at him to stop.

“I could just eat you up!”

“A-an-an’ I could just bih-beat you!” 

And that was that. The waltz they did across the room, Daffy holding the picture frame in his hand, poking and prodding at Porky who reached and grabbed at him, unsteady chuckles unfurling out of his lips in spite of his efforts to cork them—all of that was enough to make Porky feel less like a stranger in his own home. 

Perhaps part of that was owed to completely expecting this. He knew Daffy’s remarks were all in good humor and jest, but even before they left, he had absolutely been anticipating him to poke and prod and snicker and gasp at his personal belongings. 

Not that he didn’t necessarily do that anyway, of course. The anxiety of suddenly appearing back in front of his family after disappearing for 8 years, his face on billboards and posters and the big screen while his siblings and parents tended to the farm or worked paycheck to paycheck—that sort of guilt and responsibility, for lack of a better word, amalgamated in a tenderness that inflated his apprehension.

So, if anything, their familiar playful bickering, their familiar banter, their familiar company made him feel at ease. A reminder of normalcy when he felt anything but.

Daffy finally relented as he placed the portrait back on its rightful place upon the dresser. Even though their teasing and tripping and grabbing had subsided, the fire in his eye and smirk on his face had not. 

“T’ think I get three days a’ this!” He rubbed his hands as Porky led them to the door, a smile still lingering on his face.

“Yeah. Me-eh-me too.” A dry irony sanded his own voice, which prompted another smirk from Daffy.

So, with Porky’s mood stabilized, the two headed back downstairs. They said nothing—they didn’t need to. Porky flashed Daffy a look through the simple raise of his eyebrows. Just as Daffy was about to question what that look meant, he got the answer.

It manifested through Porky’s family swarming them as they came back into the foyer. One would think that the initial hubbub of the arrival would have died down once they left to put their things upstairs. Instead, it was as though they had just walked through the front door for the first time all over again.

“Eh-ckeh-eh-c’mon,” Porky protested over the hugs and the noogies and the shoulder claps. “Seee-eh-ehh-seh-stop it! I-I can’t even get a wee-weh-word in eh-edgewise!”

“That’s news to me!”

Daffy couldn’t identify the source of the wise crack, but a smile tugged at his beak as he heard a dull thunking noise. Porky’s mom had caught the culprit.

So, with the illusion of some quiet, Porky spared a sigh. It was only a moment later that Daffy felt a gentle pressure in the crook of his back. Peering over his shoulder, he noticed that Porky was both beckoning him forward and placing him on display, arm wrapping firm around his back. 

Mr. Worrywart was now showing him off like his prize at the country fair. The grin on Daffy’s face wasn’t entirely a result of trying to appear pleasant. 

“I’d like you all to meet Daffy.” It proved difficult to suppress the snicker tickling the roof of Daffy’s mouth—the control and haughtiness in Porky’s voice as he held him close, chest out, snout up, chin out. He was really doing his damnest to gather some semblance of authority. Being the youngest, Daffy assumed that wasn’t a role that came naturally.

Perhaps Porky knew it himself, given that he didn’t say anything more. Instead, his eyes flicked expectantly to his compatriot, the most minuscule turn of the head following after. All of that fuss to immediately throw Daffy the torch.

So, with that, Daffy waved his hand in a flourish as he took a playful, dramatic bow. His “Pleased ta meetcha!” was genuine as it slid out of his mouth in a bubbly, perhaps exorbitant drawl, but he “I’ll try not t’ rustle up too much trouble, but I guess you’re used to it by havin’ to keep an eye on this one.” 

Just as he had planned, an indignant “Hey!” squeaked from Porky, who scowled at him. Daffy broke out of his bow to tussle Porky on the head, which prompted Porky to swat back at him. Daffy’s grin only grew wider.

“You’re fightin’ with him like he’s one of us!” Daffy couldn’t parse which of the siblings contributed this commentary, as he was still busy deflecting against Porky’s nudges and swats as he retaliated—as well as the little matter of not having been introduced to begin with—but it was enough to make Porky stop his act and remember he was supposed to be cordial.

[smallpwbbles]

Why do I feel like one of World MK's threats is gonna backfire splendidly? Another close friend finds out and obviously lashes out so he say 'Do you want me to erase you?' Their response?

"Yes, every last bit until nothing remains. It's a better option than living a massive life made from by the thing inside my friend's corpse."

Y EEAh

He can only talk shit for so long because he actually wouldn’t erase any of them of course

It will get to a point where he’s too emotionally unstable to interact with them safely but he wouldn’t consciously try to hurt them

Only reason he’s the way he is with Mac is because of the lingering resentment from their previous encounters, MK when coherent was forgiving but it’s starting to turn back into resentment

[martshet]

Telegram channel: martshet (Marty)

Телеграм канал: martshet (Marty)

König kinger eeah

[inherittheearth-comic]

Gruel-ling Accomplishment

Inherit the Earth #989

[mchasmfiend]

"And what a train it was, gilded with gold and swirls of bismuth mosaic."

Bifrost Incident fans, we can make a bismuth sweep and show everyone the might of the Mechanisms fandom!

This is the final round and will last a week.

[lumiagardite]

OliKase yeah

This is fan art, but more related to the "Shards and Stars" alternate universe. However, the situation there has changed a bit, so this drawing is only partially canon. In our AU canon, they will be hiding under a tree when they first kiss (in the drawing, it's after it happened), and here, there's no tree, so PPFPPFPF THIS CANNOT BE CANON BECAUSE !!THE TREE!! IS SO IMPORTANT!! Eeah...

[hzbhsnamu]

the r m

wd

eeah

g

[goopy-stars]

ok so this is how I see it

:D = "EEAH"

:))) = "hr.rmrmm.n.jn"

:3 = "phffrhshrhff"

>:D = "MHEAH"

:] = "gmm*mrfer"

:O = "OWAO"

[basil-thoth]

Page 10: learning to talk

Previous: Page 9

Next: Page 11

Masterpost here

transcription below cut

Panel 1: [Gaster is in a room with Subject 1. There are a couple folding tables and many boxes. Subject 1 is sitting on the floor by himself, seemingly bored. His SOUL is lit up blue to signify that Gaster is keeping him there with blue magic. Gaster pulls a bitless drill out of a box.]

Gaster’s Notes: AN UNEXPECTED DEVELOPMENT.

Gaster’s Notes: I LEFT THEM WITHIN EARSHOT OF ONE ANOTHER WHILE I WAS CLEARING ONE OF THE WORK ROOMS FOR FUTURE USE.

Panel 2: [Gaster is kneeling in front of a box in the background. 1’S is sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking at his feet, bored.]

Gaster’s Notes: IT DIDN’T TAKE THEM LONG TO REALIZE THE OTHER WAS NEARBY-

Panel 3: [Gaster is still at the box. Subject 1 sits up and takes notice of Subject 2, who has begun making noises in a different room.]

Subject 2: H-UUUUUUUUWAAAAAAAA

Subject 1: !

Gaster’s Notes: PERHAPS A SIDE EFFECT OF THE NATURE OF THEIR SOULS.

Panel 4: [Gaster has turned his attention to Subject 1, observing silently.]

Gaster’s Notes: THEY MADE MEANINGLESS ANIMAL NOISES AT EACH OTHER.

Subject 2: snf UUUUWAAAAAAAAAA

Subject 1: ah? awah?

Subject 2: AAAAA- NNH? ANH?

Subject 1: unh! nnh!! Awah!!

Gaster’s Notes: (SUBJECT 1 IS CAPABLE OF IT AFTER ALL)

Panel 5: [Subject 1 is excited, and looks thrilled to be talking to Subject 2, even if it is from different rooms)

Subject 2: AAA, AUUUWA??

Subject 1: gah aauu waah!

Subject 2: NNHH! EEHHH, AH!

Subject 1: gau! ngrh- agah! aba…

Gaster’s Notes: NOTHING UNUSUAL OR NOTEWORTHY, BUT THEN…

Panel 6: [Gaster becomes shocked as he realises something.]

Gaster’s Notes: THEY BEGAN TO BABBLE.

Subject 1: agabadah?

Subject 2: ABJUH WOO! DAH?

Subject 1: abibaba dobaga

Subject 2: BIBIBI JAGAWAHBO

Panel 7: [Gaster cautiously regards Subject 1, as if not intervening may decrease the subject’s sentience.]

Subject 1: abjuh co wuh oh da!

Subject 2: ABJUH WOO BE GAIEH

Subject 1: amuh da, no no, daba dah!

Subject 2: DISPABAGEH

Subject 1: spespuh nao!

Gaster’s Notes: I COULD RECOGNIZE THE NOISES THEY WERE STRINGING TOGETHER.

Panel 8: [Gaster’s body language becomes tense.]

Gaster’s Notes: BITS AND PIECES OF THINGS I’D SAID TO THEM…

Subject 1: oo wan gabadah, daboh?

Subject 2: AH OO ISSU, DON

Gaster’s Notes: THEY EVEN MIMICKED MY TONE OF VOICE, THOUGH CLEARLY WITHOUT UNDERSTANDING.

Subject 1: fo baba deebo no no

Panel 9: [Subject 1 looks very excited, and is happily still babbling to Subject 2 offscreen]

Gaster’s Notes: THEY CAN SPEAK.

Subject 1: abjuh wuh!

Subject 2: ABJUH DOO!

Subject 1 um heeah 

Subject 2: ISSNUNG?

Gaster’s Notes: THEY CAN LEARN.

Panel 10: [Blank panel]

Gaster’s Notes: THEY ARE SENTIENT AFTER ALL.

Panel 11: [Gaster presses a hand to his face as he grips the table, and his moral dilemma.]

Gaster’s Notes: I DON’T KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS.

Panel 12: [Gaster grabs his head in distress.]

Gaster’s Notes: I SPECIFICALLY ACCELERATED THEIR GROWTH BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT THEM TO LOOK LIKE CHILDREN, I DON’T WANT THEM TO SOUND LIKE CHILDREN-!

Gaster’s Notes: IT’S…

Panel 13: [Gaster forces his body to relax, at least a bit, though his hand lingers thoughtfully on the side of his skull]

Gaster’s Notes: …UNNECESSARY.

Subject 1: abaja gadeeba top!

Subject 2: BBABABABABA!!

Subject 1: bibiblblblbl

Panel 14: [Gaster thoughtfully puts his hand on his chin, deep in thought]

Gaster’s Notes: THE RAPID GROWTH MAY APPLY TO THEIR MINDS AS WELL… IF THEY CAN PROGRESS TO AN ADULT LEVEL OF UNDERSTANDING, AT LEAST THEN…

Panel 15: [Subject 1 is sitting cross-legged again, but this time he seems much more energetic than before as he continues talking to Subject 2 from the other room.]

Gaster’s Notes: I WILL INTRODUCE THEM TO EACH OTHER TOMORROW WITH THE PROPER PRECAUTIONS IN PLACE.

Subject 1: abjuh wuh!

Subject 2: ABJUH WOO!!

Subject 1: abjuh woo!

Subject 2: ABJUH WUH!

Subject 1: waiiiuh!

Subject 2: GO EEAH!

Gaster’s Notes: THIS WASN’T IN MY PLANS, BUT ONE MUST ALWAYS BE READY TO IMPROVISE.

Gaster’s Notes: WE’LL SEE WHAT HAPPENS.

Note: In case you couldn’t make it out clearly, as Gaster notes, Subject 1 and Subject 2 are babbling repeated phrases that he’s said to them. The ones I can make out are:

Subject 1

Subject 2

Come here

[Previous] [Next] Don’t have a crisis of conscience now, Gaster. (he gets over it, sadly)

Another installment of this awful thing. Set shortly after this one, omg chronological order! Sort of.

[Index]

[postsofbabel]

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[rainbowsparklecur]

slowly taking poison damage eeah oug ouh auh eeh aueh ouh eeah

[glowling-posting]

buddy

eeah,,??

[hoodie-prince-kid-archived]

Eeah I can't think of anything to do so I shall lay here. Legs feel like they aren't mine.

Eastern Towhee :3

birb,,