#The Egg

[the-mcyt-crackships-brackets]

[impossibletragedykitten]

My friend asked me about Dragon Age.

[rbb-au]

The kids react to their egg sibling.

New Update is lit. Imma grab those new outfits.

[delicehm]

EGG PARTY! ALL EGGS ARE INVITED!

[polinashoroh]

[theredcuyo]

If i had a nickle for every time Bad has sacrificed himself with eldrich horror type of consecuences to get his family back and it didn't even work i'd have two nickles which isn't a lot but it's weird it's happened twice

[thatdepressedturtle]

I recently showed a friend of mine a meme,

I hadn't focused on everything in the meme, but the title was like

"is that a dsmp refrence?"

With a bunch of things that could be refrenced, as a joke, to the dsmp. Hamilton, blue sheep, compas, etc.

She then looks up in confession and was like

"A red egg?"

and I got war flashbacks.

Dsmp fans will get me here.

[cssandraa]

The egg but a very tall woman

Also this was made a month before the egg voice reveal

Lmao edit

Forgot to add this sketch

[heartkade]

Who is Sam Bucket?

[valrnyx]

I love how the whole of the English community just has major flashback after flashback screaming HISTORY IS REPEATING ITSELF for the thousandth time. I guess it was just never meant to be…

[the-mcyt-crackships-brackets]

[altaneen]

Egg content for you 🤲🥚

[roasteddelusion]

The eggman is actually funny i swear

[faghypnotizd]

wgat if we all held hands and died... ❤️‍🩹

[mysterious-secret-garden]

Alfred Kubin - The egg, 1902.

[hekateinhell]

Thinking about the fact that Armand has suffered so much love and loss in his very long life and yet when he attempts suicide, the vision that he sees is of his parents, and of the egg his dying mother had once gifted to him when he was seventeen years old.

The same egg that he slept with in his coffin every day as a newborn vampire in Venice until he was kidnapped by the cult and tortured into becoming one of them.

And there in the very center of her offering, this offering which she held up with shivering wrinkled arms, there lay the very egg which she had once so long ago entrusted to me, the light, raw egg so gorgeously decorated in brilliant ruby red with the star of gold in the very center of the framed oval, this precious egg which had surely been her finest creation, the finest achievement of her hours with the burning wax and boiling dye.

It wasn't lost. It had never been lost. It was there. But something was happening. I could hear it. Even under the great swelling song of the multitudes I could hear it, the tiny sound inside the egg, the tiny fluttering sound, the tiny cry.

"Mother," I said. I took it. I held it in both hands and brought my thumbs down against the brittle shell.

"No, my son!" she cried. She wailed. "No, no, my son, no!"

But it was too late. The lacquered shell was smashed beneath my thumbs and out of its fragments had risen a bird, a beautiful and full-grown bird, a bird of snow-white wings and tiny yellow beak and brilliant black eyes like bits of jet.

A long fall sigh came out of me.

Out of the egg, it rose, unfolding its perfectly feathered white wings, its tiny beak open in a sudden shrill cry. Up it flew, this bird, freed of the broken red shell, up and up, over the heads of the congregation, and up through the soft swirling rain of the green leaves and fluttering sparrows, up through the glorious clamour of the pealing bells, it flew. ~ Armand, TVA