cheesycatz

[cheesycatz]

(AU) do not buy car insurance from this man it is not real he is wearing a costume made of his own skin and he is shadowbanned from most public spaces do not give him the numbers on the back

[cheesycatz]

(AU) do not let this thing into your house he does not pay rent

[cheesycatz]

feed

[cheesycatz]

I have reached 160k words on the fic. Considering that three out of the five pieces of Wormton fanart I've received involve unmasked Wormton interacting with Blue in some positive/lighthearted way, I'm sure you will all be happy to hear that they are completely separated and Wormton's mental state is even worse! It's okay, though, because he found a new androgynous blue person to befriend, one who can actually help him with his original plan to make Cyber City his again. Wait, no, put the soul slurping silly straw AWAY—

I'll probably change some stuff, but here's my current concept of how Wormton would fit into Chapter 2.

Spamton first detects the Heroes of Light when they fall down in front of his burrow. His soul-sensing ability is immediately overwhelmed by the sheer presence of the red SOUL, infinitely more powerful than any darkner soul he's even encountered, and somehow still infinitely brighter than the souls of the monster lightners. He sees it as an answer to his prayers, a way to give him the power to make this city his. He is cautious, though, as a powerful soul reflects a powerful owner. He stalks Kris, learning their name as he tries to get them alone. Between NPCs (and the addisons he is avoiding like his life depends on it), battles, and Noelle, it takes a while for him to find the opportunity. But, as an ambush predator, he is very patient. He takes his disguise with him, hoping to use it to gain Kris's trust. Like Flowey in Undertale, the player may catch a glimpse of Spamton on the walls or roofs, disappearing into the darkness if they turn back.

Normal fight:

Disguised Spamton corners Kris in the same alleyway, popping out of the dumpster. He pretends he's never seen Kris as he requests to see the SOUL, jumping out of the dumpster on all fours before standing up. He fights them not with the intention to kill, but to keep them trapped in a battle so he can prattle on about his “deal.” Spamton speaks about it in the vaguest terms possible, promising riches, power, to be BIG, and whatever other word-slop comes out of his mouth. He also picks up on how Kris's stiff movements remind him of his disguised self—as in, a puppet being pulled around by metaphorical strings. He wonders out loud if Kris's body even matches the SOUL they carry, and perhaps that was just enough for Kris to genuinely consider his offer. Once the player accepts Spamton's extremely dubious deal, he tells Kris to come to the Trash Zone alone and scampers offscreen, soon removing his costume and resuming his stalking.

Shop?

If the player remembers to go back to the Trash Zone (genuinely every letsplayer I've watched forgets Spamton even exists if they're not trying to do the secret boss, so emphasis on the “remembers”), Spamton doesn't actually let them in. His nest only had one exit, and Susie and Ralsei were standing in front of it and would definitely check it if Kris never came out. Spamton isn't confident in his ability to fight them, so he unfortunately has to keep waiting.

Spamton continues to stalk the Heroes through the mansion, easily concealed by its high ceilings. He eventually finds the basement and sees it as the perfect place to lure Kris. He leaves his disguise on the floor and smashes whatever dingy lights remained in the basement, enveloping it in darkness. He leaves and whispers to Kris between room transitions, disappearing where the player, and Kris by extension, cannot look before the other party members appear. Eventually, he retreats back to the basement, waiting for Kris to enter. Because Spamton never previously broke into the basement, it doesn't have the security forcefield, heinous tea cup ride, or encryption wall. The player can only hear scratching as Spamton walks across the ceiling in the darkness, Kris's sword being the only source of light. He tells them to find him as a distraction. Once the player finds the empty husk of his disguise, he lunges at them while laughing. Kris's armor prevents his claws from puncturing their skin, but they are still immediately restrained. His proboscis is shown for the first time as he attempts to start feeding on the SOUL, but he is knocked over by Susie's Rude Buster. Sick of waiting, Spamton finally attacks.

Secret Boss Fight

In order to defeat Spamton mercifully, the player needs to destroy his disguise to get him to focus on something other than killing the Heroes. Any magic spells used during the fight by Ralsei or Susie produce light, which makes Spamton's attacks easier to see, but also makes him angry and causes his damage to increase. All three Heroes can act to damage Spamton's disguise, but Spamton doesn't initially notice it. Throughout the fight, he continues to speak about the future for Cyber City he plans, dumping some lore about what happened to his species, fondly describing their parasitic larvae, and making it clear how much he despises the antiviruses. He purposefully uses clips he gathered of the other lightners and the Heroes, which the player can hear as his dialogue soundbyte switching to different characters. Spamton is meant for ambush hunting, not endurance, so he begins to be worn out from having to chase after the Heroes. As he slows down, he finally notices his destroyed disguise, and panics. He can't safely get out of the mansion without it, and is terrified of being discovered. He's exhausted enough for Ralsei's pacify spell to finally work. Spamton gains enough clarity to start feeling remorseful, but he passes out before anyone can make amends. He's still alive, but his gray eyes and lack of visible breathing makes him appear dead. The player can raid his destroyed disguise to obtain a Shadow Crystal and the AppleFlower item (exact same abilities as DealMakers). Maybe the fact that Spamton believes he can't survive without the disguise he has to wear kind of correlates with how Kris can't survive without the SOUL they don't want, but it's a bit of a stretch. I think the fact that Spamton could tell that the SOUL didn't belong to Kris would have shook them a little bit, but, yeah, most of the symbolism from the original NEO fight is kind of lost here.

Violent Normal Route:

The player can still fight unmasked Spamton in the basement even if they attack him during his first fight. His exoskeleton is strong enough that he doesn't get seriously injured, just angrier. The player obtains the WormScarf (exact same abilities as PuppetScarf) instead.

Weird Route:

Spamton still assists the player by telling them how many darkners are left. Idk if he'd have the thorn ring, as I don't know why canon Spamton was carrying around a torture device in the first place. He takes over the mansion, but tries to stop Kris once he learns that destroying the fountain will destroy the city he just got control over. He may have high defense, but he's extremely weak to the cold in general and is killed the moment Noelle hits him.

I'll probably rewatch a chapter 2 playthrough to look at the dialogue and events. Maybe the Jerma playthrough? I've only seen the clips from that “starring Jerma985 as Spamton G. Spamton” video I watched like four times and not the rest.

[cheesycatz]

NOT A DAY OVER [ERR_INTEGER_OVERFLOW]

[cheesycatz]

Local Cryptid Spamton EX

Spamton didn't just control the NEO suit; he fused with it. NEO was completely reliant on the wires, so their combined being compressed into the Dealmakers after the bossfight. As Spamton, in his puppet form, tried to recover, NEO used any energy he had to grow back into their combined form. Horrified about his body changing against his will again, Spamton used the last of his energy to try and heal himself, resulting in NEO compromising his brain function in an attempt to continue growing. He shambled around like a feral animal as he grew larger, forced onto all fours from the weight of the wings dragging behind him. While he does eventually recover, he already gained a reputation as Castle Town's cryptid.

Or: Peeled Spamton NEO (Lobotomized Edition)

more art and 8k word lore dump below

LORE

Today's vocabulary terms (These WILL be on the test)

Pin feathers: also known as blood feathers, they are the undeveloped feathers that appear on baby birds and adult birds when they molt. Each pin feather is covered in a protective keratin sheath that resembles a quill. Once the feather has matured, the sheath can be broken off, allowing the new feather to unfurl. Pin feathers have a blood supply that they lose once they develop into full feathers. A damaged pin feather can cause heavy bleeding.

Flight feathers: The longest and stiffest feathers that make up the outer tips of a bird's wings (and tail, but that doesn't apply here). Birds can't fly without them.

Preening: The act of cleaning and rearranging a bird's feathers. Preening also includes the process of breaking sheaths off of matured pin feathers. Preening can be a group activity, especially to clean areas that a bird may have trouble reaching. It's generally a relaxing process for a bird, especially when done by someone else.

Content warnings:

body horror, transformation horror, many mentions of blood, amnesia, general blorbo suffering idk

Now reading “Some Assembly Required”

NEO's intended lightner user would've been able to freely enter and exit the suit at their will. However, because Spamton’s a darkner, and therefore made of the same darkness as NEO, his code combined with the body itself when he entered the disk. Spamton initially couldn't move after the disk was inserted into NEO. His code—organs, bones, fur, muscle, anything available—was spread and warped in order to rapidly fill the incomplete metal husk around him. The wires, acting as a bottomless source of magic power, burrowed into his body, reforming his veins, and allowed his code to stretch and intertwine with NEO's own, creating a new being entirely. Spamton and NEO, two incomplete messes of code, came together to form a new being, a conglomerate of flesh and metal: Spamton NEO.

Spamton's magic yield was far too low to support such a drastic size increase, so this new being was almost entirely reliant on the artificial power source of the wires. Spamton NEO fired off powerful attack after attack at the Heroes of Light, each a combination of NEO's and Spamton’s own magic. As the turns passed, he could feel the heavy strain in his weak, rapidly developed limbs, but, with the wires, he could do anything. Driven mad by his desperation to escape the only thing keeping him running, he wouldn’t acknowledge the way his feathered wings drooped and the way his arms and legs swung limply, even despite the assistance of the wires. Unaware of their true purpose, Spamton NEO was ecstatic to find only one wire left. It was the thicker, central one, which traveled under his skin and through his spine. It was the only reason he wasn't fully paralyzed yet. And so, when the final wire was cut, he collapsed to the ground within an instant, shaking the earth.

Without the wires, NEO was completely reliant on Spamton's magic capacity, and he would've been too weak to move even if he hadn't been using countless attacks. Most of NEO'S code purposefully became dormant so they wouldn't die. The tiny puppet, now heavier with his new code, was strung up with vines in an attempt to wake him up. He managed a small moment of clarity, enough to accept what must be his death, but even that was too much exertion. Fully prepared to die and serve the lightners, Spamton collapsed into an even smaller form: the Dealmakers. 

As a pair of glasses, Spamton couldn't feel or perceive anything. He was left on the nightstand of Kris's room in the castle, oblivious to the outside world. Eventually, he stirred, unceremoniously reappearing in his puppet form and falling onto the plush carpet, gasping like he had just been held underwater. A sharp pain stabbed through his chest as he fell to the floor. He awkwardly shuffled until he was against the bed, breathing heavily. Where the hell was he? He'd uploaded himself onto the disk, hadn't he? This clearly wasn't the basement. Had Kris bailed somehow? He struggled to ignore the deep ache coming from his chest, as though his very SOUL was itching. He partially unbuttoned his dress shirt, trying to scratch at it, but his blunt plastic fingers did nothing. He felt a seam across his chest that was not supposed to be there, then, a click, and suddenly his cracked soul forced its way out of his chest.

Normally, Spamton's soul forcing its way out would result in a giant bloody hole in his chest, but there was nothing but a small opening hidden under his shirt. Spamton tugged on his soul's chain, forcing it to look at him. It was then that he noticed a disk forcefully lodged into his SOUL, clipping through its eye socket. THE disk. How did this happen? Did the transfer process go wrong? Spamton immediately tried to pull the disk out, but the pain that shot through every nerve in his body stopped him. His own SOUL angrily nipped at his fingers and retreated back into his body, The painful itch worsened, and Spamton passed out again. 

Spamton slowly adjusted to, well, whatever happened. The blue coloration of the bedroom he woke up in reminded him of his room in the mansion, so Spamton tried to escape as quickly as possible. He soon realized that it wasn't actually the mansion, but he didn't particularly enjoy being in a foreign castle, either. After a daring escape (hugging the walls and stopping to take a break every 10 seconds), he was weary of the unfamiliar darkners outside. He essentially returned to being homeless as he tried to adjust to this new environment, more focused on avoiding people than attempting to sell anything.

Fortunately for Spamton, Castle Town was a little less capitalistic than Cyber World, and the Card Kingdom darkners weren't prepared for tiny puppets rummaging around in the trash. His only plan was to hopefully see if NEO had been brought here. If the disk was here, then surely the suit itself had to be somewhere, right? He hoped to find it and make it take its damn disk back, or, better yet, take him. In the meantime, Spamton kept trying to remove the disk, but any progress was reversed by severe glitching fits that made him pass out everytime he tried to yank it out. He wanted to bide his time until he could get more information. He also wanted to bide his time in hopes that the perpetual headache and static covering most of his vision would dissipate on its own.

But, something started to…change. The random panel allowing his soul to pop out should've been a dead giveaway, but Spamton wasn't exactly fully aware of his surroundings at this point. Eventually, while scratching at his furiously itchy neck, the shot nerves in his fingers finally registered that there was now fur growing out of his neck. He tried to forcefully rip it out, but the uselessly blunt tips of his fingers had no grip. The strands he did manage to pull out were colored a dark black, lacking the greasy, matted texture of the rest of his hair. The first new growth he's had since his fur and skin had fallen off 20 years ago.

Spamton panicked. After being transformed into a puppet, unrecognizable from what he had once been, the idea of anything more about his body changing against his will scared him. He hated being a puppet, but at least his body had stopped warping at a certain point. Now, though, something was wrong. It wasn't his addison fur growing back; the hair was just as black as his once-dyed-but-now permanently dark hair, forcing its way through his plastic exoskeleton rather than skin. No matter how many clumps he ripped out, it seemed to just grow back. He could feel it spreading, tickling his chin and spilling against his collar as the strands grew longer.

The fur got worse, but Spamton did his best to ignore it, just as he did when he was turning into a puppet. He continued trying to pull the disk out of his SOUL, but that was getting more painful by the day. Spamton also continued to search for NEO, now with the hope that it might reverse whatever was happening. Once long black claws split open his fingertips and new digits wiggled their way out, though, he could no longer ignore it.

The fur wasn't the strangest thing. He did have it as an addison, even if it used to be white. And, he did once have blunt, chewed claws, but not these shiny 2 inch long black talons. Somehow, he could feel that they were only the beginning. He really needed to find NEO; he knew from experience that no doctor could fix a supernatural transformation like this. NEO was the only hope he had when he was turning into a puppet, and it was the only thing he could pray to now. At least it was easier to tear open garbage bags now that he had miniature knives growing out of his fingers.

The fur continued to spread. Trapped underneath his clothes, it became tangled as Spamton ignored it out of spite. An ache, different from the one plaguing his SOUL, spread across his body. He could hear his plastic frame creak as something he couldn't identify slowly grew. One night, curled up inside of the small cave he had started living in, his jaw cracked open and formed new joints at the cheeks. This couldn't be traced to puppet feature or an addison feature. This was something horrifyingly new. As much as he wanted it to be just another nightmare, he was left with no other choice than to adapt to the tender muscles that now attached his mouth to his face. 

It quickly became apparent that the aches he was feeling were a sign of change. His jaw ached, and then it formed new joints. His feet ached, and then claws matching his fingers split them open. His gums ached, and new teeth grew in. His spine ached, and now the tail he lost 20 years ago was starting to grow back.The fact that the ache in his upper back had done nothing but grow worse without anything actually popping out was getting deeply concerning. Whatever was causing the changes, it must've been corrupting his code. He's heard of Cyber World darkners with code so corrupted that tumorous limbs grow out of their body, and the idea terrified him. Could something like that even be cured? Who would actually bother to help him?

It was only a matter of time before the things starting to twitch under his plastic skin broke free. The sickening feeling of something scraping from inside, of being trapped in an ever enclosing box, desperately trying to push against the advancing wall. Spamton curled up in his empty cave. He missed his dumpster’s pillow; all he had now was dead moss. Unaware that he even could control them, the two things trapped under his back tried to flex with each heartbeat of pain. Eventually, two sharp hooks finally cracked through the thinning layer of plastic, and the rest forced its way through. Thin plastic bones, now exposed to the cold air, shakily wrapped around their owner. Spamton passed out with the new pair of bloodied, featherless wings shivering against his tattered suit.

When Spamton woke up, it didn't take him very long to notice the highly sensitive wing bones twitching behind him. And, with his now concerningly flexible neck, he could see them in full detail. Spamton didn't recognize them as wings. Once he found enough water to clean the blood off with, he saw that they were pure white and ball-jointed, just like the rest of him. Well, except for the tiny black spines already growing out of them: pin feathers. He mistook them for more hair. Convinced he had somehow grown a pair of malformed arms out of his back, Spamton was becoming desperate for any sort of cure. He had tried to find NEO using what little energy he had, but Castle Town was dense, and he didn't know where to start looking outside of the castle he was definitely not allowed in. Was it ever going to end? Was he doomed to mutate into an unidentifiable mass of broken code? 

Spamton started picking at the lengthening pin feathers. It was clear they weren't hair, but he didn't want to think about what else the protrusions could possibly be. It had been just a day, and they were already all over the wing bones. Of course, he ended up breaking one, causing black blood to immediately start pouring out. He panicked as he failed to stem the bleeding, eventually trying to summon a healing spell. Static buzzed in his vision as he coughed out a tiny cherub. It was covered in so much of his own blood that it couldn't fly. He pressed the weak thing against the wound, hoping his healing magic would just work already! The cherub finally attempted its only job, and the migraine stabbing into his eye socket grew exponentially as the tiny angel disappeared, leaving a drying bloodstain. Spamton collapsed onto the ground.

(2)

NEO was as unfinished and buggy as the man who merged with it, and it was never designed to execute a task like this. It had been draining all of Spamton's magic reserve in an attempt to reform Spamton NEO again. The healing spell had used up the already extremely little supply he had, and NEO decided to sacrifice part of Spamton's mind for the sake of maintaining its rate of progress. Now forced into power saving mode, Spamton lost most of his ability to think. He began to operate on emotions rather than solid thought. Perpetually hungry from the constant drain of his body growing, all he did was scavenge, eat, and sleep. Anytime he digested something, he curled up in pain as NEO immediately used any energy he gained to continue growing. He had no ability to regain his mind until the transformation ended.

Spamton mostly relied on the instincts he had gained from living on the streets for so long. He avoided any darkners he saw, and would react violently if approached in an attempt to hide his severe weakness. This led to the first cryptid allegations. His glowing eyes (glasses), scruffy body, and extremely distorted yet humanoid face made him stand out to both Cyber World and Card Kingdom darkners. And so, his existence had become a rumor shared between a few. He wasn't a feral animal, but his mannerisms and the fact that he could barely speak even if he tried made him seem like one.

Because Spamton's recent memory had been compromised, he didn't remember what was happening to him and assumed he was just sick. He neglected his fledgling wings as they sprouted down feathers and grew larger, not registering that they even existed outside of angrily scratching at the itchy pin feathers. Because he never exercised them, the weak wings began to limply drag behind him. When the flight feathers grew in, they quickly became shredded from being dragged against concrete. He broke many pin feathers in the process, coated his wings in a layer of sticky blood. While he disliked the heavy “blanket” he thought was covering his back, Spamton decided to mostly ignore it. It wouldn't fall off no matter how hard he tried. Eventually, his increasingly top-heavy build forced him to start crawling on all fours. He became disoriented as the world around him seemed smaller and smaller and his tiny cave, lined with bloody feathers, had turned from an easy fit to a shoulder-scraping doorway. 

As Spamton grew larger, other darkners actually started to fear him. His limp wings made him look much bigger despite the fact that he was perpetually hunched over. Staticky, heavy breaths came out of his voice box as his throat reformed to accommodate NEO's white energy spitting abilities. With his claws and fur, most darkners assumed that he was some sort of beast rather than an actual person. He growled and blindly swiped at anyone that got too close to him, eventually resulting in a blurry photo of his shadowed form making it to the first page of Castle Town's local newspaper. Although his nose and glasses were the only thing that could be made out, Swatch instantly recognized who the “cryptid” was. Though, they naturally assumed the witness account was a bit exaggerated. 

Castle Town was small, and it would only be so long before the two encountered each other. One night, a swatchling taking out the trash was unfortunate enough to find a half-transformed Spamton eating out of the dumpster. Upon recognizing his face, the swatchling tried to enact the usual dumpster puppet removal protocol, but Spamton had nearly doubled in height already and was difficult to scruff. He scratched the swatchling during his wild thrashing, causing them to drop him. He slammed against the dumpster, crumbling into an unresponsive pile of fur and feathers.

When Swatch was called to the scene, he was understandably baffled by the fact that this… thing was Spamton, but the man's head and clothes were clearly attached to it. The lightners had informed Swatch about what had occurred in the basement. From his own personal investigation, Swatch surmised that NEO had been completely destroyed after the fight, as he found no remaining evidence of its existence. And, hearing that the only remnant of Spamton himself was his off brand glasses, Swatch assumed that the man had died alongside it.

Clearly, Swatch's hypothesis was incorrect. And, somehow, Spamtom was even less recognizable as the addison he once was. But, with NEO gone, and an entirely different café under Swatch's management, he wasn't technically required to forcefully remove Spamton from the premises anymore. Swatch really didn't like the guy, but they weren't cruel enough to leave a heavily injured and unconscious man on the concrete.

As a feathered darkner himself, Swatch was appalled by the state of the wings Spamton apparently had now. Covered in a strange mess of adult feathers and dark gray down, tattered fluff shed from his wings like spores. Swatch tried to coax Spamton's wings into folding shut as they half carried / half dragged Spamton inside, but they remained limp, showing the lengthened upper arm portions of the wings and the sharp hooks sprouting at each wrist joint. Every bird-like aspect of his new form was warped, like a failed replica made from memory.

Did Swatch mention that Spamton was covered in his own blood? They were going to have to sanitize the entire building after bringing him in. After half a stack of disposable rags and possibly an entire bottle of disinfectant, Spamton was mostly clean (can't be too sure when his hair and jacket are the same color as his blood), aside from his wings, which appeared to be the source of the majority of the damage. The base of each one was caked in a layer of dried, flaking blood, revealed by two relatively small tears in the back of his jacket. Swatch couldn't imagine shoving feathers through holes that small; no wonder Spamton's wings looked like they had been put through a wood chipper.

The group of fretful swatchlings hovering around them cooed in concern at the sheer amount of broken pin feathers, but Swatch wasn't generous enough to spend several hours preening the monstrosities hanging from Spamton's back. He figured that he should remove the loose feathers, lest their swatchlings had to sweep more crusty Spamton-colored fluff off the floor. As Swatch removed entire clumps from the wings, the muscles underneath twitched in response, but couldn't muster much movement. Well, at least Spamton's wings weren't completely paralyzed.

Eventually, Swatch's persistent touch was too much, and something moved in Spamton's chest before shoving its way past his lapel. It was Spamton's SOUL, cracked and corroded nearly beyond recognition (how was this guy even still alive?), with a very familiar disk lodged through it. Two smaller, disk-less copies of his SOUL popped out, taking turns glaring at them. Oh. That was where NEO went. NEO would explain the fact that his heart(s) could just pop out now. It kind of explained the wings, but all these feathers, claws, and fur must be connected to Spamton himself. Swatch raised their palms and stepped back as the main SOUL snapped at them, the chain rattling noisily. Swatch didn't know how NEO would've reacted to a darkner attempting to use it, but this was definitely not his first guess. Apparently pleased with their submission, the cracked hearts disappeared back into Spamton's chest.

Spamton slumped forward, falling off the bar stool Swatch had placed him on. They half expected him to still be unconscious (did he have a concussion from hitting the dumpster?), but a staticky groan confirmed that he was awake. Swatch tried to question him, but the only response they got was some sort of growl. Spamton shakily rose to all fours, his wings forming a ragged cloak behind him as they dragged. He frantically looked up at the flock of swatchlings around him through pink and green lenses, steam billowing from his jaws as he produced garbled sounds. Spamton charged through the still unlocked back door, clipping his wing on the way out and ripping out another massive chunk of dead feathers. 

Swatch no longer assumed that cryptid witness account was exaggerated. The fact that Spamton hadn't produced a single decipherable word was, for Spamton, a sign that something was very wrong. He had acted like an injured animal. Swatch decided to inform Prince Ralsei about the situation, who was surprisingly relieved that Spamton had been found. Apparently, Spamton had somehow transformed into a pair of glasses, then went missing just a few days later. Ralsei was interested in giving him a room in the castle, since he had technically agreed to help the Heroes of Light.. 

Swatch kept an eye out on behalf of the prince, but it would be a while before they saw him again. Spamton didn't really remember that he had even been there, instead just mindlessly wandering across the streets in search of food. As he got larger, gaining more and more of NEO's strength, the cryptid allegations got worse. He hadn't physically hurt anyone, but if how easily he punched a dent in a dumpster was evidence of anything, he could. The feathers he was leaving behind by now were far larger than could be explained by any normal darkner species; finding the biggest, least damaged feather of Castle Town’s Cryptid was a fun challenge for some darkners. There was plenty to go around, as Spamton was constantly molting and growing more feathers as his body grew. 

Mentally, Spamton hadn't been able to recover. He thought he was still in Cyber City, and was distressed about not recognizing any landmarks. But, with the constant hunger that plagued him, he didn't have time to dwell on it. He still despised the weighted blanket that dragged against the ground and forced him to crawl on all fours. But, he got a migraine anytime he contemplated why the “blanket” was physically stuck to him, or why he could feel how itchy it always was, so he stopped bothering. He was frustrated that his little cave had shrunk; only half his body actually fit in there anymore. The dumpsters here were weirdly small, too. The darkners in general were like… half? a third? of what they were supposed to be. The distress from that thought also gave him a migraine. The shredded remains of his suit were the only bedding he had other than moss and his own feathers.

Of course, Spamton wasn't the only secret-boss-turned-item up and about. Jevil enjoyed joining the heroes of light as the DEVILSKNIFE, but did poke around Castle Town a bit. He was genuinely too tired after the fight to enact too much violence, but not tired enough to not take joy in harassing Spamton once he found him. Jevil hadn't seen Spamton since his big shot days and was very curious about his new near unrecognizable form. Spamton wasn't opposed to slapping Jevil out of the air but wasn't coordinated enough to land a hit. When he got too tired to swat at Jevil, Spamton would (attempt to) ignore Jevil while he played with Spamton's wings. 

Swatch did coincidentally meet Spamton again. They had noticed increasingly large feathers showing up in the streets and on the local news (they did find it hard to believe that someone had actually found an 8 foot long flight feather), but assumed that it was just Spamton's wings developing, not the rest of him. So, Swatch was admittedly startled when he witnessed a much larger Spamton neck deep in their dumpster a month later. Spamton's chest heaved with each breath, his neck twisting backwards until he met them at eye level despite the fact that he was currently quadrupedal. His wings, still pinned to the ground, were longer than the building itself. He grumbled something that almost resembled a sentence, then entered a violent coughing fit, leaking an unhealthy amount of steam. Swatch decided to go back into the café and grab some expired leftovers. They did not want to deal with rotting food spilling into the dumpster because of a certain someone currently ripping the bags open outside. Predictably, Spamton ate everything Swatch threw at him. Swatch couldn't make out what he attempted to say, but they could imagine the sales pitch he was coming up with in an attempt to “trick” them into giving him more. At some point, Spamton keeled over as his body processed the nutrients, NEO in the final stages of forming their combined body. Most of what was left was internal, so Swatch didn't really know what was happening and let him be. Even if they could help, they didn't trust Spamton not to hurt someone when he was this large.

Eventually, the transformation was complete. Without its armor, NEO relied on Spamton's code to form as close to a complete version as it could; Spamton EX. Spamton was alone in his cave when he finally regained his mind. It felt like gradually waking up from a deep sleep, groggily coming to his senses. He first remembered what happened before he entered power saving mode, then…the NEO fight. He had merged, he had gained its power, he used it, it was HIS and—the strings. Everything was so heavy, but he was supposed to be free! A shock down his spine, then… nothing. He thought he was dying, but he woke up, still a broken puppet. That—that damn disk! Taking NEO from him wasn't enough; of course it had to corrupt his code in the process, causing… whatever was happening to him.

Spamton tried to get up, but his center of gravity was completely off. His back ached, but it was a normal ache, not the unnatural one that preceded a transformation. The pain traveled further down the—oh, the disfigured arms that popped out of his back. They could shrivel off for all he cared. Spamton forced his eyes to fully open, then froze at the vertigo that struck him as he saw how far away the ground was. His neck twisted in on itself like a snake as he recoiled, which did nothing but make him want to vomit more. 

Spamton pressed against the cold ground, his deep yet shallow breaths disturbing the feathers littered across the ground. Where did he find those? When did he find those? This was obviously a different cave than the one he passed out in, right? He tried to take a deep breath, but was quickly disturbed by the fact that his lung capacity had somehow tripled. Okay, he had definitely transformed more since the last time he was awake, as much as he would love to pretend he was still asleep. Spamton awkwardly rolled onto his side; he didn't think he could handle trying to sit up again right now. Time to assess the damage.

When Spamton looked over his shoulder, all he could see were feathers, the same color as the ones scattered across the floor. He noticed the random spikes sticking out of the limbs, alongside the long hook at the wrist. The arms he grew; they were wings. Nervously, he tried to move them. They twitched, and he could feel that they were alive and attached, but nothing happened. He tried again and again, but the wings wouldn't move. Spamton grabbed the wing's wrist with his hand, pausing at the sight of his jacket-less arm. He tried folding it in and out with his hand, but the wing refused to hold a pose. Spamton could've spent an hour trying to get the things to move, but all they did was weakly twitch. Just that made him feel like he had sprinted across the entire city twice. 

Spamton couldn't sit there forever. He was unfortunately already growing used to the long neck after fretting over his useless wings for so long, but the height was still an adjustment. The best he could manage was a kneel before the weight of his wings would knock him over. Why had he been given the gift of wings if they couldn't even move? Was it some kind of punishment? They were feathered, like an angel…a gift from NEO? A gift that had been blackened, losing all its color because of him. Him and his broken, broken, broken code, managing to corrupt even the wings of a god. A cruel joke. Can't fly to heaven with paralyzed wings.

He was starving, and what choice did he have but to go back to the disgusting lifestyle he was trapped in? Spamton tried to take a few experimental steps, but his legs shook the moment he took his hands off the ground. A plume of steam escaped his jaws from the effort, and he sputtered at the weird, warm taste. Something unidentifiable in his throat moved independently, and—he really did not want to think about that right now, or the faint trails of steam coming from the vents(?) slashed across his ribs like gills. This transformation was far more than skin deep. Distressed at how much easier it was to walk on all fours with his now digitigrade legs, Spamton hobbled toward the town.

Any progress Spamton made getting used to his new height was destroyed the moment he reached civilization. If he could actually stand up, he would've been taller than some of these damn buildings! He hated being a tiny puppet; it was one of the many reasons he wanted NEO, but he hadn't really considered the logistics. Could he even fit in a dumpster anymore? Not that he'd thought he'd have to hide or scavenge as NEO, but…he was still so weak. No armor, no arm cannon, no phone-hands, no bullets—no wires. That was good! He wasn't strung up anymore! Just dragging around broken wings, unable to support his own body weight, limbs strained from trying to crawl for more than a few minutes—he's fine! He doesn't need the strings, he can live without them, he can, he doesn't need them, he's just…tired. 

Spamton lugged his upper body over the edge of a dumpster, shredding open the bags easily. The long claws poking out of his fingertips were a bit more proportional now that the rest of his hands and arms had grown, but just as sharp. Perhaps it was a good thing he had an external layer of plastic instead of skin; he would've accidentally sliced himself open already if he didn't. Spamton ate his fill, but it barely impacted his hunger. He wondered what time it was as he looked for more dumpsters. Without a color-changing sky-grid for him to look at, it could be 3 am for all he knew. Spamton was still learning where the quietest alleys were in this town, so it wasn't surprising that he almost immediately ran into another darkner; something not from Cyber World that he didn't care to identify. God, they were tiny. He smiled at the fact that he had to look down, not up, to make eye contact. Before they could finish fearfully backing away from him (That was a bit extreme. He wasn't even doing anything!), he decided to be productive and ask for the time. 8pm? Could be worse. He asked if the darkner had any kromer, and, after he said several synonyms, they dropped a good amount of it before sprinting away. Hmmm, this could work. He wanted to be feared as NEO, but in a “groveling at his feet” way, not whatever that was. 

Regardless, the fear meant that Spamton was alone as he embarrassingly adjusted to his new form. He had managed to almost stand up with the assistance of a tree, but had no luck on his own. It was getting a little easier to hold a crouch, but walking was out of the question. The wings were as useless as ever. All they did was respond involuntarily to his emotions, which was uncomfortable to experience. The legs, the size, hell, even the tail wasn't the worst to adjust to, since he had one as an addison. But the wings were completely alien to him. He wouldn't be so frustrated if they didn't hurt and itch all the time! He found out that the hard spines growing throughout his wings housed feathers, but only sometimes. If he tried to force one open, it would start gushing blood. He thought feathers would grow in like hair (those damn swatchlings clearly didn't have quills growing out of them like he did!) but, apparently they were far more complicated than he thought. Regardless of their broken, bloodied state, he lost track of time while using his hand to open and close his wings, mesmerized by the way the feathers fanned and folded. As useless as they were, he couldn't bring himself to hate them.

While looking for food late one night, Spamton stumbled upon a familiar café. He couldn't remember ever being here, yet he somehow remembered that it had a lot of food. The dumpster wasn't too out of the ordinary, but food was food. He nearly choked when he heard Swatch's voice. What the hell was feather duster doing here? Unlike everyone else he'd encountered, Swatch was not fazed in the slightest. They seemed curious about the fact that Spamton seemed coherent now, explaining that he had been… growing for at least a month, unresponsive aside from growls and crawling on all fours. When Swatch disapprovingly pointed out that his wings were still dragging, Spamton bluffed about the fact that he physically couldn't move them. He got defensive when Swatch asked if they could inspect his wings. They bribed him with food that was going to be thrown away anyways, and Spamton reluctantly agreed. He promised to crush Swatch if they tried anything, but Swatch was still frustratingly unaffected by the threat. 

Spamton sat outside, since his wings were absolutely not fitting in there. Apparently Swatch was running a new café not associated with Queen, which admittedly relaxed him a bit. His relaxation was ruined the moment Swatch made it blatantly clear that he was only helping Spamton because Spamton’s wings were disgusting enough to be an insult to all feathered-kind (give or take). Spamton glared intermediately at Swatch, folding his arms like a pouting child as they prodded at his left wing. They asked him to try to move it a few times, inspecting the plastic “bone” of the wing as his muscles tensed and relaxed with no wing movement. They were prodding at the ball joint connecting the wing to his back when their finger suddenly dug into the ball joint’s slit. Spamton yelped, and his wing briefly flapped in response, the gust ruffling Swatch’s feathers. Spamton was torn between yelling at him and trying to get his wing to move again. Swatch said that his theory was that Spamton’s wings were underdeveloped. Assuming Spamton hadn't been using them at all in the past month, the muscles had adjusted to their lack of use and never grown properly. Considering how much Spamton had already grown, he could probably get the wings to develop if he kept exercising them. How the hell was he supposed to exercise if he couldn't even move them!? Spamton was about to storm off when Swatch mentioned that Prince Ralsei was looking for him, as he had prepared a room for Spamton in the castle. Who? Wait…that was one of Kris's friends, right? And, technically the ruler of Castle Town, Swatch pointed out. 

Spamton contemplated it for days before eventually deciding to accept Ralsei's offer. He was a bit suspicious of the kid's generosity, but if Ralsei was stupid enough to give even that damn clown a room, Spamton was going to take full advantage of that naivety. He was way too big for the bed (and the room in general), but it felt like heaven. The Castle had food! And showers! It was the first time Spamton had seen his face since… before he met Kris, actually. The green lens was new. The same bright, acid green as the wires. He thought it was a weak connection, but as he washed away the dirt caked in his joints, he could see them. Green veins, trailing through the gaps between his ball joints, spread across his entire body, pulsing with faint light. Leading to the interior of his chest panel, traveling up the chain of his SOUL, and illuminating the broken eye socket of his heart, the socket that corresponded with the green lens. The very fiber of his being had been permanently altered, his own blood traveling through NEO's wires. It wasn't his, no; he was it.

After the topic was awkwardly brought up, Ralsei made him a green sweater. Well, Spamton assumed it was custom made, because it was baggy even for him and had wing holes in the back. He was hoping that it would stop darkners from thinking he was some kind of animal. He was well aware of his “return to fame” as a cryptid, and hoped to move past it. Actually getting the knit sweater on was another ordeal, as his limp wings were not very helpful. He snagged his claws damn near every time he touched it, and tried filing them down to more manageable blunt tips. The claws grew back to their full length the next day. Apparently, NEO didn't understand how hair and nails work, as it regenerated anything he trimmed to its original unruly length as soon as possible.

Spamton was a little more comfortable leaving the castle once he had gotten better at walking. He was still hunched over enough to look like a velociraptor, but at least he was back to being bipedal. His wings were actually getting better! Most of their movement was involuntary (he refused to listen to Swatch’s advice to exercise them), but that was enough to stimulate growth. Each wing joint could actually manage a few degrees of motion. But, they were still constantly itchy and in pain. Spamton tried washing all the dirt and blood off of them, but having waterlogged wings somehow made him feel even worse. No matter how many he ripped out, loose feathers would follow him anywhere he went, since NEO regenerated them as fast as it regenerated fur and nails. 

Desperate (because he completely refused to speak to Swatch), Spamton summoned one of his F1 angels in an attempt to study it. He was a little nervous, considering what happened the last time he produced one, but it came out perfectly normal, if not confused when it saw what its creator now looked like. Spamton made it sit in his palm while he observed the way its pristine wings folded across its back. He gingerly pulled its wings open with two claws, watching how they opened and closed. He was tempted to destroy the angel after it started biting at his fingers in response, but decided to keep it around for observational purposes. He used his hands to manually fold his own wings closed, surprised at how much better they felt. Perhaps he should've expected it, but the tiny angel he kept didn't know how to keep its wings clean, either. The feathers he accidentally plucked out of it showed no signs of regrowing, and the leftover feathers looked progressively worse by the day, so he eventually put the thing out of its misery. 

As one could imagine, learning how to properly fold his wings and making an active effort to keep them from dragging on the ground quickly improved their health. His involuntary twitches became actual flaps. His wings started to naturally bend when he wasn't actively extending them. And, finally, they could support their own weight. He did it! He had fully functioning wings! He could finally fly too—he experienced a new terror—what if he couldn't actually fly? The shredded mess of feathers attached to each wing hadn't actually generated enough lift when he tried to ascend. Even if they were in perfect condition, was it enough?

In the meantime, Spamton tried to go back to selling junk. Capitalism still ran through his veins, whether those veins were green wires or not. He wasn't actively using the fear factor to get more kromer—okay, he might've been taking advantage of it a little bit. These cowards deserved it for treating him like filthy trash for decades! He's finally BIG. Let him enjoy it a little bit! Now he gets to be the one picking up little slimes by the scruff. He found (cornered) some Card Kingdom darkner who made clothes and asked (threatened) them to make him blazer in his size. And, because they weren't some petty addison, he actually (scammed) paid them! He needed something Spamton-y, not just a green sweater. This wasn't the comeback special he had planned for NEO, but he was starting to enjoy it. He always had food and a place to sleep, even if he didn't make any sales. But, he actually was making sales (scamming people)! And he was doing it all by himself, no strings required! What else could he want? He… he wasn't lonely. He doesn't need friends…

For absolutely no reason in particular at all of course Spamton decided to spend some of his new funds at Swatch's café. He just needed to rub it in their face how great he was doing, yeah. After definitely not struggling to fit his shoulders through the doorway, Spamton made the elective decision to sit on the floor rather than try and fit on a chair. He smugly flared his wings (once everyone found an excuse to leave the moment they saw him), but accidentally bashed them into the walls. To Spamton's chagrin, Swatch was not impressed whatsoever. They couldn't understand how he was fine keeping his wings in such a disgusting state. Hey! He washed them! H–his wings are fine! Swatch realized that they were getting nowhere by insulting him, so they asked Spamton if he knew how to preen his wings.

Preen? Spamton just said he was cleaning them! Daily, in fact, with how many loose feathers he had to pull out. Swatch tried to explain that it was more than that. He demonstrated with his own arm, showing how the feathers had to be arranged and layered, especially for flight. Spamton pretended he wasn't highly invested as he finally ordered the drink he came here for. He sat in the furthest corner, frowning as he looked at his own wings. Because his mere presence was driving away customers, Swatch could easily see that Spamton was trying to mimic what they did with their own feathers. They still weren't friends, but they could respect him if he was going to make actually paying for his food a habit. They would hate to see NEO's potential go to waste because of user error.

Okay, fine, he'll admit that bird brain knew more about feathers than he did, and his wings were looking better now. But, god, why did they need so much damn maintenance? He signed up for a mech suit, not this. Alas, now that his wings didn't look and feel like moldy shower curtains, Spamton knew the next step: flight. He summoned another angel to study. The laws of physics did apply to it at least somewhat, so it was a good starting point. He was back on the rocky outskirts of Castle Town, so he really didn't want to fall. He was nervous, but, now that he finally had a full set of flight feathers, it was possible. Probably. He hoped.

He cried the first time he truly flew. He was clumsy, constantly changing altitude, and practically crashed when he tried to land, but it was euphoric. It felt like the sky was where he was meant to be all along. The thought that he could fly straight up to heaven crossed his mind, but he knew he couldn't. He'd suffocate, or he'd run out of energy long before he reached it. But, he got a taste of the sky. Just enough to indulge, more than enough. It was beautiful.

Spamton has settled in the castle. He finds any excuse he can to go out flying, as it's easily his new favorite hobby. The novelty of scaring people into giving him money has worn off, but he'll never not enjoy scamming people out of money. He's still a spam program at heart, no matter how much his code has been changed. Outside of his exterior changes, Spamton kept NEO'S ability to spit white fireballs in the shape of his face, which is the root cause of the steam that leaks out of him whenever he's frustrated or has overexerted himself. He has three hearts, his own SOUL and the two smaller ones from NEO, that support his larger form. And, of course, the wires are now threaded through his body, powered by his own life-force. Spamton is definitely still lonely. Despite all his faux confidence, he's nervous around darkners both new and old, and keeps to himself when he isn't selling something. His life is far from perfect, and his deep-rooted issues haven't gone away, but he's more content, safer, then he ever has been. He just wishes that people would stop bringing up the whole “cryptid” thing. He'd rather forget that ever happened.

END

I hope that was an enjoyable read! Originally, I kind of forced myself to make a Spamton EX when chapter 2 came out, because everyone else was doing it. But, he wasn’t that fun to draw and didn’t have any story associated with him. It took me a while to come up with the idea for a “cryptid” Spamton EX, and even longer to create a story/setup I liked. I didn’t know whether to make him gremlin sized, comically large, or something in between (I think you can tell from the 41 ft wingspan which one I picked). I also wasn’t sure whether he should be completely unaware of his transformation until the end or mentally suffering the entire time. A mutual of mine suggested “why not both,” which led me to the final story here. Hooray! Maximum Spamton suffering!

I did try to make a happy ending, but it's hard to do that with a character like Spamton without making a multi-novel length fanfiction. He’s still very lonely, but he gets to fly so eh, he’ll probably be fine. I choose not to include the addisons at all, since my other AU (Wormton) is so focused on them. And, idk how to feel about the canon addisons considering that they seemingly knew that Spamton was both homeless and puppetified. I at least mentioned Jevil, but I’m honestly not sure how much he cares about Spamton, since all we know is that Spamton hates him and Spamton hates everyone he used to know, sooo… I didn’t plan for Swatch to be as prevalent, but Spamton definitely needed someone who actually knew how to care for feathers. I’m not a Swatch expert, but hopefully they aren’t crazy out-of-character or anything. 

THIS WAS FUN! HAHAHA I LOVE TRANSFORMATION HORROR A VERY NORMAL AMOUNT

[cheesycatz]

hi ive been lurking over your worm!spamton AU for awhile and i’m just so impressed with the detailed thoughts that went into it, i cant stop thinking about it sometimes. I’m super excited to see anything about it aaa

i’m also still just blown away how you made a lifesize plush version of him. He’s amazing, he’s precious. here’s art i made lol i’m not used to drawing creechurs and oh my god do i love his design, he’s such a …creature <3

[cheesycatz]

INSTAGRAM ASKS BELOW WOOHOO I CAN NOT SHUT UP ABOUT THIS FREAK

(I updated the lore posts on here in like May because there was outdated stuff I completely missed and finally updated it on instagram too woopsies🧍‍♂️)

He draws. In used school notebooks, across old books, over discarded mail. Broken pencils, dried up markers, dull crayons, chewed pens. He draws the trees he will never climb, fields and fields of flowers, discolored leaves and vines. Sometimes he adds himself.

He keeps a faded journal in one of the jacket's many hidden pockets. A way to pass the time while waiting for prey to… sell to. He only draws “Spamton” in it, not himself. Nothing incriminating.

…never drawn an addison before.

In all seriousness, I've dedicated a lot of thought to Wormton's art style and what he draws. It's relevant to the fic; as foreshadowing, as angst, as fluff, as a plot device. It's meant to appear childish—as in, made by someone who just wanted to make something without caring about what it looks like. The lines are jagged and dig into the page, often ripping through. I held the pencil with three fingers, and used my right (nondominant) hand to write the text and color. His face is drawn in an abstract way where it doesn't resemble his mask, but anyone who hasn't seen his real face would assume it is the mask. He draws himself bigger than he really is, draws his three fingers in place of his mittens, and colors his eyes in the wrong order because he uses his mirrored reflection as reference. He draws Blue's face nearly the exact same as his because he doesn't know how to draw anyone but himself, and forgets their fourth fingers and scribbles them on after the fact. His spelling and handwriting is incomprehensible half the time.

Other than drawing, he also spends a lot of time hunting for food. He explores the Trash Zone, looking for things to sell or keep. He spends time performing maintenance on his disguise, either attempting to clean it or do repairs. He takes time to groom his fur, genuinely hating how filthy his costume and having to look in dumpsters makes him. He likes to inspect and rearrange all the trinkets in his nest before he burrows into his vast pile of shredded blankets, stuffing, and old pillows for the night (or morning? He's not quite nocturnal but he goes to sleep at like 3 am).

Blue's fear definitely does not go away. They might not be as grossed out by certain things (like if they saw an insect or centipede rubbing its legs against its antennae, they'd now understand that it’s simply grooming itself in the same way Wormton cleans his nose). But, I think that the majority of their fear for “creepy crawlies” (and Wormton initially) come from how unpredictable and fast they can be. They're hard to keep track of, you can't tell if they're crawling on your face or if your brain is being paranoid, spiders and centipedes specifically come out when the lights are off, Wasps will sting you for doing absolutely nothing, it goes on. They invade your safe space, you can't tell which can kill you and which are harmless, and nothing you do will convince them to leave your home.

Fortunately for Blue, Wormton's pheromones scare away pretty much any animal with a sense of smell, and he eats whatever is left. There's no birdsong around their home. He's the only one they have to worry about raiding the pantry, building nests in the walls, and crawling on the ceiling.

Yeah, I imagine that Ralsei and/or Queen would have to announce to the general public that Spamton is under protection so that he can finally exist without his disguise. Out of the volunteer researchers who weren't killed and didn't leave Cyber City before Deltarune takes place, I don't think they would dare enter his presence. Personally I would not try to speak to the last surviving member of a genocide if I had previously experimented on and killed thousands of their people's children

There's a lot of hatred for invasive species, especially ones that cause severe damage to both property and people, like malworms do. Some take joy in killing as many as possible. But, I think it's important to remember that species don't choose to be invasive. This is especially apparent with malworms, since they're sapient (though that information isn't really known by darkners). They've been taken out of their natural cave-like environment in the Deep Web and thrown onto the Surface Web with no hope of returning. The bright lights, loud sounds, and open areas of the city are disorienting and terrifying. But, without natural predators or competition, malworms multiply quickly. They destroy buildings, chew power lines, and kill anything they come across. But, the malworms can't stay, can't be reasoned with, and eradicating them was the only option Cyber City had. I suppose it's a miserable fight on both ends. Nobody really wins.

Technically, the only plastic required in a malworm's diet is polyethylene, and gift cards are usually made of polyvinyl chloride acetate. But, malworms like chewing and eating inedible things in general, so it wouldn't be surprising if one did eat a gift card. They like stealing/eating physical money because it annoys people and because Cyber World's dark dollars happen to be made out of the plastic they need.

[cheesycatz]

The Wormton AU is officially two years old now! (I really gotta start writing faster...) For the occasion, I redrew the original two sketches of Wormton. I had a few ideas before I came up with the winner, but this was the first time he was a "computer worm" rather than just some worm on a string adjacent thing(s). Honestly, he hasn't changed that much; just became more fleshed out as a character and fictional species (and the fact that he used to be 3 feet tall).

The fic is officially at 150k words! That's about three Great Gatsbys, or one A Tale of Two Cities if you prefer. I'll yap about it below.

Ahh, is any "take him home" style Spamton fic complete without him running away from the person trying to help him at some point? This might be the second time, actually. Does it still count as running away if you stalk someone daily afterwards? Unrelated question.

I've got an entire pile of angst to get through before these guys' relationship can be salvaged. Spamton really doesn't want to address his feelings, so he plays into the addisons' assumptions that his motivations were entirely transactional and that he is physically incapable of caring about them. And, when the addisons have so little to work with in the first place, it's an easy lie for him to spread, to the point where even Blue thinks he hates them at this point. This story would be so much shorter if this mf was mentally stable enough to be honest about his positive feelings instead of trying to repress them. Bro is so deep in the platonic closet

I got to write a (mostly verbal) fight scene? It was fun writing Pink chew Spamton out, because, while they're definitely still grossed out by him, they never hold his malworm status against him. They see him as a parasite because of the way he acts, not because he physically is one. I want Pink and the others to seem justified in their anger/disappointment, even if the readers would know that's he's not really as heartless as he claims to be. Trying to remove the pissed off 16 ft long writhing mass of muscle, teeth, and claws freeloading in your friend's closet by hand was never a good idea, though.

Man, I wanna talk about the plot in detail so badly 😭 I must limit myself to scraps so that I spend more time writing the fic than rambling about it. Last thing I'll say for now is that I've finally got a good plan for the resolution! The final length depends on how much fluff I want to add to the end. I need at least a little bit to make up for all this angst

[cheesycatz]

We don't talk about September 18, 2022

[cheesycatz]

Happy 3 years of Spamton hyperfixation 🥰

this is a cry for help

[cheesycatz]

ITS FIFTH FINGER FRIDAY ‼️‼️

[cheesycatz]

Salutations!

🐌🎤What is the maximum possible lifespan of malworms?

I'm very curious about it.

Malworms, as I imagine any darkner based on code rather than a physical object would be, are technically immortal in terms of age, but can die or “be deleted” by numerous things.

A malworm's actual average lifespan is barely six months. In their natural environment, below the Surface Web and inside the dark and maze-like caverns of the Deep Web (the private part of the web that encompasses 90% of the internet, including anything from personal private files to the less than 0.01% Dark Web), malworms compete with other malworm species for resources, often killing and eating each other in the process. Malworms are considered such pests that other darkners will gladly kill them before their population can get out of control.

As an invasive species on the Surface Web, malworms still don't live long. While they can multiply quickly and easily find victims at the start, their prey fights back. Whether it's through antivirus robots, the burning of nests, parasite testing kits, tracking trips, evacuation—the malworms are eventually killed. And, if they aren't, they'll eat every last program and starve within the destroyed city they created.

Spamton himself is around 21 years old when the fic takes place (2018), though he'd mentally be considered closer to the middle aged dumpster man we all know and love (HATE GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET). Aside from malnourishment prolonging the time it took Spamton to reach adulthood, he gradually grew at a healthy rate from 10 ft to around 16 ft over 10 years.

Malworm growth plateaus past the 10 year mark. Their bodies keep regenerating cells and producing new eggs and venom indefinitely. However, their ability to successfully infect a victim typically declines, especially decades after their prime. Depending on what a malware program originally exploited, modern computers can easily detect and delete them, and other old malware can't even run on newer computers. So, older malworm infections are easy to detect, and sometimes can even be cured with modern medicine.

Some malworms do remain active, even 20 years later. Most notably is MyDoom, a 2004 computer worm widely considered the most destructive malware in history, which is still active to this day. I think it's much more exciting if Spamton's species falls under this group. The BIGSHOT malworm's whole thing is that it was an extremely destructive email worm that was forgotten because of its lack of any surviving records—whose to say it couldn't still steal all your passwords and brick your PC if someone actually could find a copy?

(One record does still exist. An unlabeled 3.5” floppy disk with a thousandth of a gigabyte of storage, buried in the dust of a cramped closet, and hidden within the obsolete computer room of a rural village's library. A poisoned apple, waiting for the bite, forgotten until the end of time.)

[cheesycatz]

Hatchling Wormton my beloved (AU)

1-3 days

- Ate all his siblings (host was too small)

- Better or worse than baby birds?

- Pipis: (smaller than a grain of rice) holds up to 16 larvae, known as hatchmates

- malworm larvae start out translucent, with no organs other than a digestive tract

24 days old

- All the blood acts as camouflage, I guess

- (Demonic screeching for a parent, a hatchmate, anyone, anything, why is it so cold the cold goes in and out it hurts it's so bright where am i what am i its so loud and silent the heart the beat the pulse the thump thump thump is gone its always been there but now it's not the warmth left with it and i )

The "adoptive parent" Wormton had for a few weeks, an unnamed malworm with an eye injury that never healed due to stress (they kept clawing the scab off). It knew as little about its own kind as Wormton does, and could only teach him how to survive. Both were malnourished and slept where they could. Wormton witnessed its "vaccination" (death) at the not-hands of an antivirus.

- "(WHY ISN'T IT GROWING?)"

- "(make nest?)"

- "(nest?)"

- "(NO.)"

- "(new nest?)"

- "(NO.)"

...

- "(no nest...)"

I definitely should've clarified sooner, but the antiviruses are kind of their own thing in this AU. The ambulances are more about malware awareness and prevention, while the antiviruses are the literal killing machines that takes care of actually deleting the malware. Here's a low-effort sketch because I keep forgetting how much worldbuilding in my head I haven't actually shared

[cheesycatz]

(Spider CW)

Too Many Legs - a Wormton AU comic based on a scene from the fic I'm currently writing

Original text version of this scene below

-------

H-hi, Spamton!” Blue said, a bit louder than usual. They hoped that he wouldn't notice the nervousness in their voice. Then again, he never really reacted when they anxiously stuttered or minced sentences. Maybe his vocal glitch desensitized him to it.

“HEY Y[Bluebird]!” Spamton responded, just as loudly, though the volume was normal for him. He stopped a short distance away from the store's front door, tilting his head and looking up at Blue.

Before Blue could get a word in, he stumbled back a bit, tail quickly curling back up from the lax position it had taken.

“WH WHAT? R YOU [[aFr41D…]] 0f?!??” The lights of his glasses flickered.

“Am I that obvious?” Blue chuckled nervously. “I found a huge spider on one of the back shelves,” they explained, stepping back into their shop and beckoning Spamton in. “I should get rid of it—it's bad for business, y'know?”

“Oh,” Spamton mumbled. “[Where's my] IS IT??” He leaned forward, presumably to see if he could find the spider from his position just outside the store's doorway.

“Right over there,” Blue said, dramatically pointing towards where the middle shelf met the wall. They hoped it hadn't moved anywhere in the last five minutes; spiders were much scarier when you didn't know where they were.

Spamton surged forward with confidence, tail brushing back and forth across the carpet. He peered into the darkness between the shelves with not even a millisecond of hesitation. Man, Blue would pay good money for a fraction of that bravery towards all things creepy-crawly.

“SER1USLY?” he scoffed. Blue jumped as his hand lunged into the gap. They saw something move in the darkness as he dragged his arm back out.

“YOUR AFRIAD OF [[This]]!!?” Blue yelped as his hand came into view; he was holding the spider in his bare hand—mitten—whatever! A gross layer of cobwebs and fuzzy dust coated his sleeve. “I'vE S33N 1’S [2wice] AS BIG!” he gloated, eyeing the spider that was already bigger than his palm. Its legs curled uselessly towards its underside, twitching disgustingly as Spamton poked at its large abdomen.

“EAHAHA!! ITS IS’nT EVEN TRYING TO [Get a Bite to Eat at]!!” he added. Spamton held the spider uncomfortably close to his face, its two fangs flexing angrily as it failed to defend itself.

“I know they don't usually bite people,” Blue admitted, “but they're just so creepy! Where do I even start? The giant fangs—teeth shouldn't be able to move like that! They have no pupils, but it's like you can feel them staring at you with those glowing eyes. And, I hate how… uncomfortably hairy they are. Something with an outer shell like that should not be growing hair.” Describing it might make it worse, actually.

“The way they crawl all over the walls, the way they hide until it's too dark to see anything,” Blue rambled. “How they lure and trap live prey just to suck the life-force out of them—and, most obviously, the legs. Nothing in this world needs that many legs!” Let alone such freakishly long, skinny segmented legs… Okay, they absolutely made their point by now.

“8'$ N0T E^0U6H!1!” Spamton claimed, voice sounding more glitchy than usual. He picked at the spider's legs as though he was fidgeting with them, almost curling in on himself.

“Y0UV3 G0T

Y0u'VE gOT

You'v3 G0T F0RE 4ND YOUR ONLY US1NG 2!! [Who you gonna call] IF 1 GETS [Injured? Call now]???”

“So do you,” Blue pointed out, not sure if his smug tone was actually intentional. Spamton briefly looked down at his own body as though he somehow needed to double-check how many limbs he had.

“EAHAHAH AHA SUR3 DO!” he said, head violently jolting back upwards. His tail tip twitched back and forth rapidly. “BUT I;M NOT [[DENIED]] The [supereority complex] OF [Baker's dozen] LEGS!!”

“You always chose the weirdest hills to die on,” Blue simply replied, fondly. Normally, they would've humored his strange opinion, but the still alive spider caged between his fingers was just a little distracting. And, so was Spamton's concerning amount of shaking.

“SPEAKING OF [DYEING]!” he stated abruptly. Blue waited for the second half of his comment, but it never came. Instead, Spamton suddenly skittered back out the front door, still tightly gripping the spider. Blue trailed after him at a much slower pace, and stopped in the doorway. All they saw was the last half of his tail as it disappeared into the alley that he came from.

Was he… getting rid of the spider for them? That would be nice of him. Usually, Blue called Orange and made them deal with any computer bugs invading their space. They suddenly regretted shaking his hand that first day more than they already did.

“Um, thanks?” Blue said as Spamton reappeared without the spider a couple minutes later, looking much calmer. As he got closer, it seemed like he was… chewing something? The jaw of his mask occasionally clacked open and closed, accompanied by a quieter wet sound and… some sort of scraping?

“Uh…” Blue started.

“[Deep Cleaning] MY T33TH.�� he said, unprompted.

“Aaaaalright then,” Blue responded. They knew they weren't getting any other context, and they weren't going to ask.

-------

This was one of my favorite scenes for the Wormton fic that I've come up with, and one I really wanted to share. We've got foreshadowing, dramatic irony, implied angst, and a surprise tool that will help us later

This is my first time turning part of rough draft into a fully written piece, and I think it turned out okay. Somehow Spamton'a dialogue was easier for me to write than Blue's; the bracket text and whatnot wasn't too hard to write with the guide (by Zarla) that I was referencing. As someone who will edit 8 month old posts just to fix one grammar mistake, it was so freeing to intentionally make spelling and grammatical errors for Spamton's dialogue. Hopefully I actually caught all the unintentional grammar mistakes for once...

Otherwise, I hope this scene was as enjoyable for everyone else as it was for me. I'm sure this will have no discernable impact on Wormton's life long self-loathing issues lol lmao haha lol

[cheesycatz]

Cheesycatz plush

[cheesycatz]

Happy 10 years of FNAF! Since 2014, it's had a huge impact on my art, even if I don't draw the characters as much anymore. Featured here is a modern remake of one of the oldest pieces of art I own, which I also redrew in 2020. It's crazy to me how much I've grown in this past decade. Here's to more spooky bear game <3