The Last to Comment Wins
- Thread starter mrsimple
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Daydreamers
ⴼⵓⴰⴷ ⵃⴰⵊⴰⵣⵉ
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JayMark
It's Not Easy Being Nobody, But Somebody Has To.
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Navillus
The Humble Cat
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*Watches with interest*
Shiriru_B
Book binge in progress.
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*starts regenerating back*
JayMark
It's Not Easy Being Nobody, But Somebody Has To.
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When you regenerate back do your clothes regenerate too?
Tempokai
The Overworked One
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Being a giant insect, Jay Mark discovered, came with surprising perks.
For one, no one wanted to talk to him. No visiting nobles trying to sell snake oil potions. No long-lost cousins suddenly interested in “reconnecting” (and by reconnecting, they meant stealing inheritance). No warlords attempting to schedule honor duels over breakfast.
People—and by people, I mean sentient beings of every magical persuasion—tended to avoid you when you looked like something that should be extinguished with a broom and a prayer. Even the castle maids, who had once wept at the mere sight of Jay Mark’s rippling bull thighs, now squealed and threw buckets at him.
It was paradise.
He could finally think. Reflect. Meditate on the cruel absurdity of life while picking food out of the garbage.
And that, dear listener, is where things spiraled directly into the glittering toilet of reality.
Because while bull-Jay Mark had been discerning—preferring truffle-fed halfling boar and casks of wine aged in unicorn femurs—roach-Jay Mark had the instincts of a raccoon on meth.
He hadn’t even realized what he was eating. One minute he was following an enticing trail of moldy apple cores and glowing crumbs (glowing—always a good sign), the next he was halfway inside an unauthorized magical compost bin behind the Office of Correctional Shapeshifting.
And then…
Everything exploded into rainbow.
Not a rainbow. Just… rainbow. Singular. Omnipresent. Overwhelming. As if someone had taken a unicorn, juiced it, and sprayed its contents across the fabric of space and time.
Jay Mark stood up—or whatever roaches do that’s equivalent—and wobbled. The walls bent. The ground undulated like a seductive caterpillar. He looked at his claws and screamed when they started to sing the national anthem of a country that didn’t exist.
“Around the world… around the world… around the wooorld…” he sang, chirping like a Daft Punk tribute act composed entirely of sentient cockroach DJ equipment.
He flailed down the hallways of the Bureau like a disco ball of psychosis, tripping over his own legs, cackling and occasionally offering high-fives to fire hydrants that he was convinced were his old university friends.
At one point, he tried to surf on a filing cabinet.
At another, he challenged a coat rack to a duel, yelling, “YOU DARE QUESTION THE PRINCE OF SIX LEGS?! I AM THE DANCE, THE NIGHT, THE BULL THAT CRAWLS!”
A gnome clerk screamed, dropped his coffee, and fainted into a pile of half-signed shapeshifter misclassification forms.
Eventually, Jay Mark, now fully convinced he was a plane flying over a map of the world (which was, in fact, just the mosaic floor), screeched, “AROUND THE WORLD!” and ran face-first into a bureaucrat’s kneecap.
Darkness.
When Jay Mark awoke, the world was quiet. Too quiet. Like the silence you get just before a thunderstorm or just after someone realizes they’ve sent a sext to their family group chat.
He blinked his multifaceted eyes and found himself in what could only be described as… a holding cell for problematic shape anomalies. The walls pulsed softly. Bureaucratic enchantments shimmered like disapproving grandmothers.
In the far corner, a floating quill was writing something down about him. Which was rude. He tried to growl, but it came out as an oddly sultry chitter.
“Where am I?” he muttered.
A voice, chipper and disturbingly upbeat, piped in. “Oh, you’re in Processing! You caused a bit of a kerfuffle, you know. Hallucinating all over the regulations! Ate a Level 7 Chaos Muffin. Not smart.”
Jay Mark groaned, dragging himself upright.
Something felt… wrong. Extra wrong. Not just “I’m-a-cockroach” wrong. No. This was “My center of gravity has shifted and my carapace is suspiciously hourglass-shaped” wrong.
He stumbled toward the polished wall, dragging his surprisingly shapely exoskeleton behind him. His reflection greeted him.
And what stared back was…
A roach girl.
Yes. Jay Mark the 80th, son of House Horncleaver, bane of empires, master of stampedes, now boasted six legs, a glossy shell with an unsettlingly elegant curve, and what could only be described as chitinous cleavage.
His antennae were longer. Curlier. He blinked in horror. Were those… were those fluttery roach lashes?
“Oh,” said the chipper voice again. “Small update: during reconstitution, we couldn’t confirm your gender identity due to the data being absolutely obliterated by psychedelic pastry ingestion. So the system ran a probabilistic gender algorithm based on recent behavior.”
Jay Mark stared at the wall. “You made me a roach girl… because I hallucinated?”
“Well, statistically speaking, 87% of daft-punk-roach dancers in chaos-fueled scenarios identify as female. The algorithm doesn’t lie.”
Jay Mark opened his mouth, then closed it.
He was still trying to form words when the door to the cell clicked open. Two crab-legged clerks in enforcement sashes gestured politely but menacingly.
“Come along now, Miss Jay Mark. We’ve scheduled your re-education session. Followed by brunch.”
He didn’t resist. What would be the point?
As he shuffled forward, new hips swaying against his will, he could only reflect on the cosmic joke that was his life.
He had once leveled cities with his hooves. Now he was legally a six-legged disco diva with a body sculpted like a roach pin-up calendar.
The rainbow, the song, the chaos muffin… it was all too much.
He passed through the corridor of lost identities, past rooms full of misshapen chimera people and typo-induced disasters (one poor fellow had been turned into a “gryphcorn”—half eagle, half corn).
And just as he was being led to his next indignity, he whispered the truth that echoed through his soul:
“I kind of miss being the bull.”
And so…
As Jay Mark the 80th awoke second morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in someone’s bed into an insect girl.
For one, no one wanted to talk to him. No visiting nobles trying to sell snake oil potions. No long-lost cousins suddenly interested in “reconnecting” (and by reconnecting, they meant stealing inheritance). No warlords attempting to schedule honor duels over breakfast.
People—and by people, I mean sentient beings of every magical persuasion—tended to avoid you when you looked like something that should be extinguished with a broom and a prayer. Even the castle maids, who had once wept at the mere sight of Jay Mark’s rippling bull thighs, now squealed and threw buckets at him.
It was paradise.
He could finally think. Reflect. Meditate on the cruel absurdity of life while picking food out of the garbage.
And that, dear listener, is where things spiraled directly into the glittering toilet of reality.
Because while bull-Jay Mark had been discerning—preferring truffle-fed halfling boar and casks of wine aged in unicorn femurs—roach-Jay Mark had the instincts of a raccoon on meth.
He hadn’t even realized what he was eating. One minute he was following an enticing trail of moldy apple cores and glowing crumbs (glowing—always a good sign), the next he was halfway inside an unauthorized magical compost bin behind the Office of Correctional Shapeshifting.
And then…
Everything exploded into rainbow.
Not a rainbow. Just… rainbow. Singular. Omnipresent. Overwhelming. As if someone had taken a unicorn, juiced it, and sprayed its contents across the fabric of space and time.
Jay Mark stood up—or whatever roaches do that’s equivalent—and wobbled. The walls bent. The ground undulated like a seductive caterpillar. He looked at his claws and screamed when they started to sing the national anthem of a country that didn’t exist.
“Around the world… around the world… around the wooorld…” he sang, chirping like a Daft Punk tribute act composed entirely of sentient cockroach DJ equipment.
He flailed down the hallways of the Bureau like a disco ball of psychosis, tripping over his own legs, cackling and occasionally offering high-fives to fire hydrants that he was convinced were his old university friends.
At one point, he tried to surf on a filing cabinet.
At another, he challenged a coat rack to a duel, yelling, “YOU DARE QUESTION THE PRINCE OF SIX LEGS?! I AM THE DANCE, THE NIGHT, THE BULL THAT CRAWLS!”
A gnome clerk screamed, dropped his coffee, and fainted into a pile of half-signed shapeshifter misclassification forms.
Eventually, Jay Mark, now fully convinced he was a plane flying over a map of the world (which was, in fact, just the mosaic floor), screeched, “AROUND THE WORLD!” and ran face-first into a bureaucrat’s kneecap.
Darkness.
When Jay Mark awoke, the world was quiet. Too quiet. Like the silence you get just before a thunderstorm or just after someone realizes they’ve sent a sext to their family group chat.
He blinked his multifaceted eyes and found himself in what could only be described as… a holding cell for problematic shape anomalies. The walls pulsed softly. Bureaucratic enchantments shimmered like disapproving grandmothers.
In the far corner, a floating quill was writing something down about him. Which was rude. He tried to growl, but it came out as an oddly sultry chitter.
“Where am I?” he muttered.
A voice, chipper and disturbingly upbeat, piped in. “Oh, you’re in Processing! You caused a bit of a kerfuffle, you know. Hallucinating all over the regulations! Ate a Level 7 Chaos Muffin. Not smart.”
Jay Mark groaned, dragging himself upright.
Something felt… wrong. Extra wrong. Not just “I’m-a-cockroach” wrong. No. This was “My center of gravity has shifted and my carapace is suspiciously hourglass-shaped” wrong.
He stumbled toward the polished wall, dragging his surprisingly shapely exoskeleton behind him. His reflection greeted him.
And what stared back was…
A roach girl.
Yes. Jay Mark the 80th, son of House Horncleaver, bane of empires, master of stampedes, now boasted six legs, a glossy shell with an unsettlingly elegant curve, and what could only be described as chitinous cleavage.
His antennae were longer. Curlier. He blinked in horror. Were those… were those fluttery roach lashes?
“Oh,” said the chipper voice again. “Small update: during reconstitution, we couldn’t confirm your gender identity due to the data being absolutely obliterated by psychedelic pastry ingestion. So the system ran a probabilistic gender algorithm based on recent behavior.”
Jay Mark stared at the wall. “You made me a roach girl… because I hallucinated?”
“Well, statistically speaking, 87% of daft-punk-roach dancers in chaos-fueled scenarios identify as female. The algorithm doesn’t lie.”
Jay Mark opened his mouth, then closed it.
He was still trying to form words when the door to the cell clicked open. Two crab-legged clerks in enforcement sashes gestured politely but menacingly.
“Come along now, Miss Jay Mark. We’ve scheduled your re-education session. Followed by brunch.”
He didn’t resist. What would be the point?
As he shuffled forward, new hips swaying against his will, he could only reflect on the cosmic joke that was his life.
He had once leveled cities with his hooves. Now he was legally a six-legged disco diva with a body sculpted like a roach pin-up calendar.
The rainbow, the song, the chaos muffin… it was all too much.
He passed through the corridor of lost identities, past rooms full of misshapen chimera people and typo-induced disasters (one poor fellow had been turned into a “gryphcorn”—half eagle, half corn).
And just as he was being led to his next indignity, he whispered the truth that echoed through his soul:
“I kind of miss being the bull.”
And so…
As Jay Mark the 80th awoke second morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in someone’s bed into an insect girl.
JayMark
It's Not Easy Being Nobody, But Somebody Has To.
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Shiriru_B
Book binge in progress.
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Yes, as I can only regenerated in style (⌐■_■)
ElijahRyne
A Hermit that’s NOT that Lazy, currentlycomplainen
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I am winning currently.
JayMark
It's Not Easy Being Nobody, But Somebody Has To.
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Anonjohn20
Pen holding member
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?
ElijahRyne
A Hermit that’s NOT that Lazy, currentlycomplainen
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I am currently winning.
Anonjohn20
Pen holding member
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I am currently winning!
ElijahRyne
A Hermit that’s NOT that Lazy, currentlycomplainen
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I am winning currently.
Anonjohn20
Pen holding member
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?