Author's Note: characters and such belong to andrew hussie, concept belongs to lewis carroll nothing belongs to me not even i belong to me ahahahafrkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
"Hey Egderp I'm parched, imma get me some juice. You want any?" Dave asked sluggishly.
He paused in the doorway, leaning heavily against the doorframe. If his eyes were visible through those cool-guy shades, they'd probably be red as fuck. It was three in the morning, and John came all the way to Dave's place to spend the entire day watching shitty movies, and they would probably spend all night doing so too.
"No I'm good, thanks!"
John was obnoxiously chipper for it being so late; fucking time difference. It was probably the middle of the day for that smiley little shit.
"Daaaaaaaave I have to tinkle where's your bathroom?" John yelled.
No reply.
"Seriously Dave your house is big and creepy and I don't want to pee on your bed!"
Still nothing. With his legs tightly crossed, he hobbled out into the hallway. Down the hall, a fluorescent light blinked in the kitchen. John hopped to the kitchen, cupping himself firmly.
"Goddammit it doesn't take that long to pour yourself a cup of apple juice!"
He noticed a significant lack of Strider in the kitchen, and that there was a large-ish pile of Dave's older brother's weird sex puppets sitting in front of the refrigerator with its door wide open. What a waste of cold air! The dairy products would soon spoil! John strained to reach over and close the door without touching any of the multicolored puppets, though it proved a bit difficult to do so while also keeping a bladder-full of urine inside him.
"You should really keep this closed when you're not using—OOOF!"
Who even says that? What a silly noise.
Sadly, John was far from flexible, and, in his effort to conserve energy, stumbled head first into the pile of smuppets. Down, down, down into the plush rump he tumbled. And free-falling down into a bottomless pit of fluffy puppet booty isn't as magical of an experience as it sounds.
It's actually fucking terrifying.
He landed on his shota bum with another "oof" noise.
"What the hell just happened?! Where am I even?!" he asked to no one in particular, not that there was anyone around to potentially ignore him.
The shock of the fall was too much for John's brittle gamerboy bones, and as he stood unsteadily, blood from his shattered hips trickled down his legs, soaking his socks and—oh shit nevermind that's piss. John Egbert just pissed himself wow ok.
"Awww fuck. I'm glad Dave's not here," he tittered nervously.
"Yeah man I'm totally right here though."
John whipped around to see Dave wearing a rather dapper burgundy tuxedo and tall white rabbit ears perched atop his head, standing behind him and looking at his piss-stained socks with a mostly disgusted and confused expression in his freckled features.
"Aha dude what are up with those ears?" John laughed.
"Shut the fuck up Egderp you just pissed yourself like a little manbaby bitch."
Welp. He wasn't going to live that down. Ever. John looked around at his surroundings; it seemed they were in a cave of some sort, except that the walls weren't made of average cave stuffs, but rather layers upon layers of smuppets, their arms and legs morphed together in a fairly unsettling manner.
"Um, where are we anyways? I mean, you just left to get a drink and then—"
"Shit, man I can't talk to you when you smell like a litter box," Dave grunted. "Seriously, change your clothes or something."
"It's not like I just bring emergency changes of clothes when I decide to jump into alternate fucking dimensions!"
"John. Take off your clothes."
"Whaaaaa—"
"Don't make this weird and just do it, okay? I got something you can change into."
Out of seemingly nowhere, he produced a crumpled mass of clothing that looked like John's Godtier outfit on a computer game he used to play. Upon unfolding it (if you could even call it folded to begin with), he also discovered a pair of navy booty shorts, cerulean and sky blue striped thigh-high socks, and a cream-colored apron, complete with fucking sissy frills and a big bow. Seems like Dave has an eye for Victorian-fusion fashion. Surprising.
"Wow ok what the actual fuck man? This is really weird to just be carrying around…"
John held the articles of clothing hesitantly. He thought he could probably just get away with only wearing the blue hooded tunic, but upon closer inspection, the hemline wouldn't even go past his balls. And one should never ask for help when lost if their testicles are exposed. It's just common courtesy.
John shook his head, blushing profusely, "Nononono I don't think I can wear this."
Dave suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders and stooped so that their faces were close and eye-level. Even at that proximity, Dave's sunglasses remained an empty abyss of slightly-reflective blackness.
"Dude," he said gravely. "It'll be ironic as fuck."
"But I don't even have shoes—"
"Two inch Mary Jane lolita heels in butter yellow."
"Fuck you Dave."
"And fuck you too, my ironic friend!" he cried out from the distance, having been well out of the smuppet-cave before John could even reply. "FFFFUuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkk yoooouuuu tooooooo~!"
At that point, it seemed like he had no choice: either smell like a hobo sandwich left out in the sun for too long, or change and get some answers about this place. But hey! You gotta do what you gotta do, and sometimes that thing you gotta do involves thigh-highs and humiliation.