#wooo this was fun to write

[sappho-rose]

"The world doesn't know me yet."

[r1c3bunz]

wouldn't it feel so nice to be hypnotized to be so dumb, you can barely even understand what's happening as you're conditioned into the perfect, dumb little puppy?

scrubbing aallll those pesky thoughts out of that silly little head of yours until all you can think about is how good it feels to let my words go in one ear and right out the other, barely even able to understand a word I'm saying. having the fuzziest little idea that I'm just trying to make you feel even dumber, and even better with each and every word.

eventually, even that's snuffed out, leaving your head just so completely empty. so, so fuzzy, but so receptive. just listening to the nice, pretty noises coming out of my mouth as they turn you into my dumb, obedient, sweet little puppy.

not noticing the drool dripping all over your chest.

barely able to register when you start wagging your cute little tail for me.

feeling so uncomfortable sitting upright and not understanding why, feeling your empty head think just enough to remember pets don't sit like people, and you're just my silly little pet.

-and a sudden wave of pleasure the moment you get on all fours that makes you feel like you could almost faint. you couldn't understand, but I must have told you this would happen, right? or, or does it just feel so... so right, on all fours, like a good puppy?

-suuuch a good puppy..

and you feel your tail start wagging even harder, making you feel even happier. you can't understand most of what I'm saying, but those two little words - good puppy - make you so, so happy, and start to make everything else melt. i must see that dumb, vacant look on your face. good puppy. youre my good, dumb little puppy. soon enough, everything is just a blissful haze. all that matters is that you're being such a good puppy.

being on all fours. good puppy. sticking your tongue out and panting. good puppy. wagging your tail. good puppy. feeling a soft hand scratching behind your ear, making your leg twitch. good puppy. messily lapping up water out of your bowl. good puppy.

you're such a good, sweet puppy.

[wexhappyxfew]

hey!! could i request "enjoying the sun that's warming their face" for whichever character/ship you're feeling? thank youuu 💕

hello anon! thank you so much for stopping by the askbox! and thank you even more so for sending in a prompt - i really loved getting to work with this prompt so so much and it honestly led me to a (1) new OC for MoTA and (2) writing with a new character from MoTA that I wanted to try some writing for! :) SO, i hope you enjoy the first introduction to WAC, Lieutenant Annie Chattaway from Mankato, Minnesota!

It was a wonder to Annie what a Lieutenant bar did to a man.

Not only did she watch men seem to hastily salute in her direction, or shove each other quickly to their feet, but they watched her with a shaky gaze before she kept on moving past.

The bright sunlight above seemed fit for arrival, her transport having dropped her by the entrance to Thorpe Abbotts, with Colonel Harding taking her in for introductions, hand-shaking and flattery. Now, with her belongings sorted out and her bearings gathered, she was in search of a few select names that Harding had graciously offered up.

"Looking for something special?"

The rumble of a military-grade jeep, fumes and all, pulled up beside her in a hurry, screeching to a halt, the breaks in need of a good oiling, and a smiley Major in the front seat. Annie halted for a moment there on the tarmac and offered a sweet smile, from behind the Raybands and her cap and stepped to the edge of the jeep.

"Depends on who's asking." she told him with a smile and a nod, before saluting.

"John Egan, uh, Major Egan," he said, another smile spreading on his lips, tilting his head to the side, "Bucky if you like." More widening of the grin.

"Pleasure to meet you, Major Egan," she said, dismissing his grinny self and stuck out a hand forward, "Lieutenant Chattaway, just in from Fort Des Moines. I've been assigned here, as a translator."

Major Egan made a show of raising his brow from behind his own pair of Raybands and leaned forward, arm up over the passenger's side of the jeep, hand on the steering wheel and smirked.

"Sounds like you got yourself into a nice gig," he said, "….translator, huh?" Annie stared at him from behind her Raybands. Right.

"Can I ask where your mess hall is, sir?" she asked him, side-stepping the translator question, "Colonel Harding mentioned it after introductions."

"Wanna hop in? I could give you a ride over, chat over coffee, hey, I'll even show you where the officers' club is." he said and then scooched back to his side and nodded to the seat, smiling, "Take it or leave it." Annie watched him for a moment and debated her options - ride with Major Egan, possibly get some coffee that he definitely knew the location of, or continue to wander around base looking like a sorry excuse for a bull in a china shop.

"Major."

Annie turned to behind her, following Major Egan's line of sight, and found a Captain walking towards them, his eyes squinting in the bright sunlight, saluting Major Egan and then turning his eyes to her. He watched her for a moment, before she quickly saluted him, watching him quietly from behind her Raybands - tall, large stature, soft eyes.

To think he was a pilot by the way his peak cap covered his head, seeing all the war the planes brought to the air and the sky around.

"Brady, just in time," cooed Egan, jumping up from his seat in the jeep and coming towards the Captain - Brady - wrapping an arm around his shoulder and nodding, Brady slowly looking towards Egan with a tired look.

"This is Lieutenant Chattaway," Egan said with a nod to her, "didn't find the time for a first name, but I know it's there. She's gonna be translating." Brady eyed her for a moment.

"Pleasure to have you here, Lieutenant Chattaway." Brady said, nodding firmly, a quick itch of a smile on his face before disappearing and looking over to Egan, "Major Egan, I've been meaning to discuss with you-"

"Later." Egan said, clapping Brady on the shoulder, "right now, we gotta show Lieutenant 'No Name' Chattaway to the mess hall. Get her some grub." Brady glanced her way again - she stared right back at him through her Raybands and cleared her throat.

"It's fine really, sir," she said quickly, "I can find my way." She smiled slightly.

"Nah! Nah, c'mon, Lieutenant," Egan said, "look, here, Brady and I, consider us your personal tour guides-"

"Major-"

"C'mon, let's roll." Egan said and then gave Brady a clap on the shoulder and a wink and then moved back towards the jeep. The two watched him go before standing in silence.

Annie looked back towards Brady and found him already watching her; when he caught her eyes on him, he offered a small smile.

"You doing alright?" he asked her, the smile on his face soft, the sunlight bathing his face in a golden light; looking up towards him she put on her best smile and nodded.

"Yes, sir." she said firmly.

"He can be…." Brady trailed off and looked over her shoulder and nodded, "….yeah."

"It's fine, really, sir," she said, "seems like a fun guy." Brady grinned at her comment and nodded, before looking down.

"Probably best if we get in the jeep, before he starts well…." Brady smirked, "….you can probably guess." Brady imitated a little circle beside his head - before he starts going crazy, she seemed to finish it off in her mind. Annie smiled.

"Captain John Brady," he said, holding out his hand, "I know Major Egan introduced you as Lieutenant 'No Name' Chattaway, but that's-"

"Annie." she said, meeting his hand - warm as anything, encasing her own, firm, "Annie Chattaway." A loud beep-beep and a rumble of an engine appeared beside them with a slightly, pathetically disgruntled Major Egan in the front seat.

"C'monnn, let's goooo," he said, clapping his hands in front of him, "days changing to night, I think the first leaves of fall have come down." Annie looked back over to Brady and watched the small smile dart onto his face.

"What? Are you going to turn into a pumpkin, sir?" Annie questioned turning to him and moving towards the passenger side, before climbing right in the back, looking over to Egan who was smirking at her - she glanced then at Brady, "Will you be joining us, Captain?" Brady looked to her and then offered her a smile and climbed in the passengers' side.

"What would happen if I turn into a pumpkin, huh?" Egan called over his shoulder, "You hear that, Brady, she thinks I'll turn into a pumpkin!" He started up the jeep.

"I think a pumpkin is being generous, sir!" Brady called back over the roar of the jeep as they moved towards the barracks. Annie smirked to herself and admired the life around base - the Land Army women, the townsfolk, the pilots, the airmen, the ground crews, the sky, the sun, the trees. The world as they knew it.

"So, Chattaway, where you from? Wisconsin? Harding mentioned something or other..." Egan called over his shoulder, "They make cheese right?"

"Minnesota, sir!" Annie called back, "Mankato!"

"Never been!" Egan called over his shoulder, "Should show me how to make The Bootleg - you know….. they said F. Scott Fitzgerald would sip on some of those."

"Really." muttered Brady unenthusiastically from beside him.

"Oh, cheer up, Brady, you could be getting The Bootleg tonight - you'd be thanking me for it, too." Egan called as they pulled up to the front of mess, "Right, we're here." Egan turned to look over his shoulder at her and grinned.

"Liking the view?" Annie offered a smile.

"Thorpe Abbotts is beautiful, sir," she said glancing to the sky, "I'll be excited to see the mess hall." Egan grinned and gave Brady another shoulder slap.

"You'll be pleased as peaches to see coffee," Egan said hoping out and turning to her, laughing to himself, "I mean, I know I always am." Brady moved out and straightened out his pants before glancing over his shoulder and turning towards her.

"It's nothing more than watered down G.I. coffee, but it's something," he said as Annie slowly shifted forward, "Major Egan just gets excited when there's still extra by midday."

"Don't be telling my secrets now, Brady," Egan said pointing to him, "it's a precious commodity, we don't go saying that around here." Annie smiled to herself and then slowly stood, placing her hands on the edge of the jeep before noticing a hand appear.

Looking up, Brady was stood there, watching her with the sun warming his softened face. She smiled at him, gratefully taking his hand, letting him help her step down onto the ground. It was only a few seconds more before the two were dropping their hands and Major Egan was making a show of pointing up to the mess hall and going on about something or other about a beer bottle being thrown at the wall - but as Annie followed quietly behind both Egan and Brady, she noticed the clench of Brady's hand there.

The one that had touched her own.

[natelia-aldelliz]

"What if I fade?"

Soap lifts his head from his journal, looking up at Roach who is eerily floating near the ceiling. The slow movements almost make him look like he's in water. Kind of ironic given the way he died.

"What do you mean?" he asks, confused.

"What if I move on, what if I disappear," Roach elaborates, refusing to meet his eye. "Not everyone is a ghost, right? We'd be overly crowded. The fact that we're not also means that not every ghost stays."

Soap forces his dry throat to swallow. He honestly didn't want to think about that. He still needs Roach, he probably always will, but he hasn't even told him that he - he takes a deep breath in to calm himself.

"I don't know how it works," he admits quietly, bouncing his leg absent-mindedly. "You're probably right, like most of the time. Even if I really want you to be wrong about that."

Roach finally looks towards him.

"Maybe I should move on," Roach whispers. "It's not healthy, Johnny. You have no idea the things I want, what I wish for, that I'll never get."

Soap doesn't stand up, just keeps staring into Roach's eyes.

"I think I might have an idea, actually," he whispers back. Roach flounders for a moment. Soap really wishes he didn't get that wrong. He's pretty sure Roach meant that he can't have Ghost, and he himself can't have Roach. So... It's pretty similar.

"I've been feeling less like myself recently," Roach insists, deciding to ignore that comment for now. "I find myself wishing one of you would die so I wouldn't be alone. I never thought like that before, I fear that I may have stayed too long, that I'm starting to lose myself."

And he looks scared. It's written on his features so clearly and it breaks Soap's heart.

"You're not alone," he swears. "I'm here with you, and I'll make sure you stay you, however I can."

Roach looks at him, examining his face, looking for... something. Whatever it is, he seems to have found it because he exhales through his nose like a very soft laugh and averts his eyes, almost... blushing? It's a bit hard to tell from the distance and his left cheek being covered in burns while his right is covered in freckles, but he's pretty sure his ears are red.

"You can't look at me like that, Johnny," he says almost coyly. "I can't do anything about it, it's not fair."

Soap's face is burning and his eyes are wide. Was he too obvious? Did Roach understand or is he joking?

They probably look stupid, both of them redder than a fire truck, avoiding the other's eyes, regretting their words. Or at least he supposes that it's what's happening, because he's sure not looking up.

"If it makes you feel better," Roach finally says, sounding like he's smiling, "you were right for once : I am right most of the time. Judging by your reaction, you did indeed have no idea what I want."

[compressedrage]

*barges in* Your Hollow Head Siblings hc's, hand 'em over!!!! 🔫

(But fr, gotta love your thoughs, they're neat and scratch my brain juuuust right!!!)

YOU HAVE OPENED THE FLOOD GATES MY ANONYMOUS FRIEND

Keep in mind I am very tired rn so this will likely be very unpolished okay here we go–

The order of age goes Victim Chosen Dark Orange, we all know this, but I think for a long time Dark thought he and Chosen were a lot closer in age than they actually were. Chosen had to warm up to telling Dark about all the horrible things he went through, and that included the fact that he was alone for four years. (it's four years right? it might be five. I can't be bothered to look it up rn, its fine)

In between the Showdown and Wanted Orange is starting to think of Chosen as an older brother. He connected the dots to figure out that Chosen was also made by Alan and he saved them! He's so cool! This idea was only a little bit shattered when this older brother figure barged into the PC and kidnapped him and promptly got them both captured. But honestly what are older siblings for.

In canon Chosen does not let himself feel emotions enough for him to see Orange as a little brother, but the connection is there. He'll come around :)

SPEAKING OF CONNECTIONS– I recently had this idea that the Hollowheads had some sort of empathy-telepathy with each other. For example, one normal day out in the Outernet Chosen feels the exact moment Orange was created. He doesn't know what that feeling meant, and he never felt it again. Orange felt drawn to this new stick figure who saved their lives, and immediately follows him through the portal. Chosen felt something snap in his chest the moment Dark died. Orange and Victim lock eyes for a moment in the Box and feel something click. None of them talk about it, but it's there.

(that last one might qualify as an AU, who knows maybe I'll do something with it)

This one is more of a wish than a headcanon– Chosen takes Orange under his wing at some point, teaching him how to use his powers as best he can. However, since Orange's powers are rather different from Chosen's, it just results in a chaotic sparring session and setting a field on fire. The CG are not amused by the amount of bruises Orange gets, but Orange is having an absolute blast.

Orange is Chosen's "Second Coming"– surely that comes with consequences. I saw a hc where they shared portions of code and I liked that; something like Orange and Chosen have similar tastes in foods. Their eyes shine the same way when they smile. Sometimes they accidentally speak in unison because they each had the exact same thought. When stuff gets serious, they both narrow their eyes and make an expression that promises pain on their enemies.

Dark would be the best big brother and let me tell you why. Orange is often left with the Braincell of the CG. Have you seen how stressed this boy gets. He gets premonitions of his friends getting hurt. Dark allows him to mess around a bit more, in a "We might get in trouble, isn't that fun!!" kind of way. Orange has always had a chaotic streak, it just takes certain circumstances for him to tap into it. They would be able to get Red back for his pranking.

Orange would teach Chosen and Dark all about modern video games. They know video games, sure, they destroyed Angry Birds. But I think playing Minecraft would solve both of their problems. At least a lot of them.

I don't have many headcanons for Victim, I just haven't seen enough of him to get a solid enough foundation to make headcanons, but as an oldest child I can relate to him on a spiritual level. He may be gray now but with those three as younger siblings he's gonna get a whole lot grayer.

Gosh I love them so much, a house with all four Hollowheads would be the most chaotic house ever. Victim– the eldest with an actual job, no nonsense, the less-than-respected Holder of the Braincell. Since he is out of the house a lot because of Job, the responsibility falls to Chosen– older middle child, delinquent, failure of a cook and the only one Dark will listen to. Speaking of Dark– younger middle child, Chaos Incarnate, fellow delinquent and Escape Artist Extraordinaire, he is a terrible influence on the youngest– Orange. Orange is the black sheep of the family in that he is actually rather emotionally stable. He's in school, has friends, hobbies– his brothers just a bit jealous but supportive anyway. He also helps Dark prank the others; he's got great aim with water balloon catapults.

I cannot impress upon you enough how much they love each other. Their lives have been filled with isolation, suffering, rejection– but now they've found family in likewise people. None of them are alone anymore. Sure, Orange wasn't really alone to begin with, but surely he noticed how different he was from RYGB. He's not replacing them, not for a million dollars, but it is nice to have brothers who are similar to you.

[emyn-arnens]

No need to do this because I already got one, but if it inspires, any character(s) + Angband (and area) + 'shadows of madness and despair'. (You did say darker ones...)

An age later, here this is! An AU with Finrod and Sauron in Angband, ~700 words | AO3.

Finrod stood in the dark of his cell, searching. A hushed song fell from his cracked lips. Its notes buried themselves deep within the stones and mortar of his cell, probing for fissures and points of weakness.

In whispered words, he sang of loosening, of breaking, of splitting, of falling free, of light piercing the shadows. The stones trembled at his voice, and his chains shivered against his skin. Dust trickled over his fingertips, pressed against the stone wall behind him. He scratched at a line of mortar with his fingernail as he sang, and a spray of dust fell upon his hands.

He sang of the lashing rain throwing down great rocks in mountain passes, of the flash of lightning cleaving mighty trees in two, of the thunder of cavalry rattling the mountainsides, of the howling of wind splitting strong walls asunder. The stones of his cell danced and quivered in response, and dust and shards of stone fell like rain, biting into his bare skin.

Finrod sang louder, until the stones shook with both the power of his song and the ringing of his voice.

And then, in an instant, the stones fell silent and still, and his voice died in his throat.

Shadows, darker than those he already stood in, gathered in a corner of his cell, and from them came a voice: “Thou hast great power in thy voice, but it will not avail thee.” The shadows twisted and coiled, and from them stepped his captor.

Finrod bore Sauron’s mocking appraisal in silence. 

Sauron circled him, the shadows following him like the swish of a cloak. He tipped a clawed finger beneath Finrod’s chin and looked deep into his eyes, searching. His own eyes burned like the hearts of embers.

Shadows and whispers pressed upon Finrod’s mind, probing, prying. He held his mind silent and still.

Sauron tilted his head. He lifted his hand to Finrod’s face, studying it with appreciation, and the slow stroke of his fingers down the side of Finrod’s face was like a caress, even as the tips of his claws drew beads of blood from Finrod’s skin. “Wast thou a king? Thou hast a kingly bearing.”

Finrod did not speak.

Sauron gripped his chin and leaned closer until his breath stirred Finrod’s hair, lying lank against his neck and shoulders. “Thy tongue is better suited to song than silence,” he murmured. His words skittered over Finrod’s skin like the grazing of claws. He released Finrod and stepped back, a smile playing upon his lips. “Sing for me, little king.”

Finrod did not speak.

Sauron’s smile spread. “If thou dost not wish to sing of thy own doing, I can aid thee in loosening thy tongue.” 

The shadows that clung to him peeled away, and in an instant, they seized Finrod’s throat and forced open his jaw, and a cry tore from his lips.

“Sing.” The command filled the cell until the stones trembled.

Finrod’s voice tore from his throat despite himself, and he sang. He sang until his tongue was thick with dust, until his lips cracked and bled, and until his voice was no more. He sang until his limbs shook and trembled, and he sagged in his chains, utterly spent.

Only then did the shadows about his throat relent and slink back to their master.

Sauron cupped Finrod’s face in his hand, and his eyes burned into Finrod’s. “I will learn thy true name in time, and thou wilt come to do my bidding of thine own will.”

Finrod’s tongue was too heavy to respond.

Sauron brushed his fingers over Finrod’s lips and then smiled, sudden and sharp. “Dost thou thirst?” The sound of falling water filled the cell, and a rivulet of water trickled from a crack in the wall mere feet away from Finrod.

Sauron vanished as quickly as he had appeared, and Finrod stood alone in his cell once more. He strained at his chains, but though he strained until his limbs burned, the trickle of water evaded his reach, and he collapsed against the wall more weary and parched than he had been.

The rivulet of water disappeared. Lilting laughter echoed about the stone walls of his cell. How foolish thou art, little king.

And all through the night came the sound of gently falling rain, though not a single drop fell upon Finrod's skin.

[happistar]

Day 2: Mindscape

---

"Ughhh," Jeremy groans, face red with embarrassment. He ducks into his seat, slouching over. The Squip sends a quick pulse, jolting his back up right.

"That was painful to watch."

"You think?" Jeremy raises an eyebrow at the projection in front of him covering his view of his teacher. "I fully panicked. Said all the wrong things like I normally do! Then, I made myself look like a freak. Its just-- the worst habit and impossible to break!"

"Now, now, Jeremy, don't be so harsh on yourself." The Squip flashes a perfect smile. "Progress takes time. You won't get the hang of this immediately."

Jeremy turns his face away to stare out the window.

"Pouting there won't help you achieve your goals. Now, find an opportunity get into the bathroom," the Squip directs.

Jeremy scrunches his face in defiance. "Why?"

"I'll show you something."

Jeremy does just that and manages to slip out the classroom and dart into the nearest bathroom which luckily happens to be empty.

"So what did you want to show me?" Jeremy says, hunching over as he sits down in one of the stalls. "Seems like just a dirty high school bathroom to me."

"Yes, but it also serves as a quiet location. Now, close your eyes." The Squip speaks within Jeremy's head, almost indistinguishable from his own thoughts. Thanks to a lack of physical manifestation in the close stall, Jeremy almost feels like he's hallucinating it all. Getting the hang of having a squip still is a struggle.

"You're not hallucinating. Close your eyes."

Jeremy exhales and does so. Within seconds a huge dark blue expanse with a grid patterned floor surrounds him.

"Wh--" he chokes on his breath, forcing his eyes back open. The expanse disappears partially, merging with the real bathroom stall like a bugged out texture in a video game. A wave of nausea flashes over Jeremy and he shuts his eyes again. Both the expanse and the bathroom vanish. "What was that?"

"Working out a few bugs, hold on a moment. Whatever you do, don't open your eyes yet."

Jeremy frowns, keeping them closed. In a moment, the expanse reappears, opening up more gradually, giving Jeremy a better look at it.

"How can I see, well, whatever this is, with my eyes closed?"

"Simple hacking of your visual cortex. Think of it like dreaming. What you saw a moment ago was the start up of the program. There were couple of bugs when it booting up, since its an artificial process."

The Squip appears in a flurry of glitches, hands crossed behind its back. "Everything should now be in order. Feel free to open or close your eyes, the visual should be synced."

"Right..." Jeremy shakes his head taking a step forward. The floor beneath him lights up and a branching path of circuits spreads out from his footprint. "What is this place though?"

"Your mind."

"My mind?" Jeremy steps back in shock, almost tripping over himself. He glances around, brows pressed firmly together. "But how? And why is it so... blank?"

"I should be more clear. This is more or less a visual representation of how I interact with your mind. I've currently cleared the clutter of neural activity to let you adjust."

"That's so cool!" Jeremy grins. "So what is it you do here?"

"That's what I wanted to discuss actually." The Squip gestures out, a screen appearing before it. "You believe you cannot break a habit or change your behavior. I'm here to tell you that you're wrong."

It scrolls on its screen, adjusting a bar. A once clear sky becomes a distant night of tangles of red and blue lines. The Squip looks up, tilts its head in calculation and pulls its arm down, bringing a red line along with it. With another gesture, it separates it from the hoard, leaving the small link floating above them.

"Reach out."

Jeremy does as it instructs and watches as the link gently falls into his hands.

"How can I hold it? This is like weird really VR."

"I'm activating your sensory information in response to your activity here. Thus, when you feel a sensation in your hands, you will feel it in reality.

Jeremy nods along, more focused on holding the link in his hands like he's water bending.

"Its a finely tuned process. One misstep and you may break something."

Jeremy suddenly feels perspiration on his hands and swallows uncomfortably. He stops his motions and holds out his hands, forming a plate carrying the link.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine." The Squip gestures dismissively. "Now, that link there controls your habit of flailing your hands whenever you get anxious. If you simply remold it, it'll get rid of your muscle memory's history of the action entirely. Of course, relapses can occur-- that's why spinal stimulation is so important-- but smaller actions can be easily reprogrammed."

"That seems like a lot," Jeremy pauses, uncertain. "How do I do it?"

The Squip smiles, taking the link out of Jeremy's hands and untangling part of it, turning the red into blue. "Like this. Here, try."

Jeremy gives it a shot, untangling it into a crooked, yet blue line. "This good?"

The Squip nods. "Perfect. Now, why don't we return to class and give it a shot? See if the habit remains." It smiles one last time and snaps its finger. Suddenly, the expanse containing Jeremy's mindscape jarringly vanishes.

[delicateartisantrash]

[izuizzy]

I’m cooking (writing another au fic lol)

[happy-hermit]

HE MUNCH, HE CRUNCH

Red panda Scar fic for @stiffyck :)

———

Grian hadn’t even known Scar was there, at first, too engrossed in his lunch and not thinking to look up. So, in a strange turn of events, it’s Scar who spooks him.

“What’s that?”

Grian screeches, nearly choking on the fruit in his mouth and frantically coughing to combat it. The feathers on the top of his wings fluff up in automatic defense as he snaps his head to where the voice had come from. Above him.

“Scar!” Grian scolds, voice higher than he’d have liked it to be. “Come on— You almost gave me a heart attack!”

The red panda hybrid is sitting on a low branch in the tree Grian’s walked under, and he’s laughing maniacally, head thrown back and tail swishing in glee next to him. It’s hard to stay mad.

“I— Aha, I’m so sorry, oh gosh,” Scar says through a laugh, voice squeaking and eyes crinkling as he looks back down at Grian, grinning. “Didn’t mean to, honest!”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Grian responds, though he’s smiling now, too, leaning back against the tree trunk. “What were you saying? I was— I was busy jumping out of my skin when you asked, so—”

“Alright, alright,” Scar cuts off his complaining with an amused lilt to his voice, tail swinging down from above to smack Grian in the face. He sputters at the mouthful of fur, swatting it away with his wing. “I asked what you were eating.”

“What am I—” Grian looks down at the pouch in his hands and then back up at Scar. “It’s grapes.”

Scar hums inquisitively, claws emerging from fluffy paws to grip the branch as he pokes his head underneath it, ears twitching where they stick out of his hair. His eyes are wide and curious. “I don’t know what those are.”

“You don’t— What?” Grian says, baffled. “You… don’t know what grapes are.”

“Well, gosh, Grian, we can’t all be articu— agriclutcher experts. Some of us have lives, we have friends—”

“Alright, alright,” Grian interrupts, stopping it before it becomes unstoppable. “First of all, it’s agriculture, but I'll give you a pass for that one. Secondly…” Grian shakes the pouch of grapes in invitation. “You want to try some?”

“Yes.” Scar’s face lights up, and he swings down from his tree branch to land in front of him. He holds his paws together like a bowl and thrusts them towards Grian, excited noises building in his chest. “Give me the snacks.”

“Okay, keep your shirt on,” Grian says, giggling, and he puts a grape into Scar’s waiting hands. “Just picked them an hour ago, so they’re pretty fresh.”

Scar first sniffs gingerly at the piece of fruit, inspecting it closely, and then he pops the whole thing in his mouth. Grian grins as he starts chewing, then outright starts laughing when Scar’s eyes start to sparkle in pure joy, happy squeaking noises escaping his throat as he crunches on the grape. Helpless fondness curls up in Grian’s chest, warm and cozy and making itself at home. His grin gets a bit softer.

“You want more?” Grian asks, and is suddenly considering becoming a full time grape farmer.

“Yes,” Scar says, like he’s insane for even asking, already making grabby hands towards him. “Where have you been hiding these?”

“Apparently in a Scar-proof vault,” Grian says dryly, even as he pours more grapes into Scar’s hands. “You might want to take a look around you every now and then, buddy.”

Scar glares at him playfully, which is made even less intimidating than usual by the fact that he’s currently chewing on grapes, still making happy red panda noises. Grian just laughs, and hands Scar the pouch with the rest of the grapes in it. Scar is clearly enjoying them more than he was, anyway.

(If this new fact happens to make it into the covert hermitcraft red panda-centric groupchat, well. Scar didn’t have to know.)

[therizino-ao3]

mcyt valentines 2024: The Big Eyes Bug

gift for @raccoontho @mcyt-valentines

contains: body horror, zombie apocalypse, bugs, worms, eye injury, mind control, parasites, minor character death, imprisonment, character being handcuffed/chained, misgendering (not in a trans way, in a not believing a zombie is a person way and using it/its)

word count: 5430

summary: Zedaph loves worms. Now, if only they loved him back.

-

Zedaph would like to say that he was right all along to everyone who had ever doubted him. His mother, his father, his entire small village, his college roommate, all his extended family, and that one guy that made fun of him that one time. Unfortunately, he can’t say that, because in the ensuing apocalypse which PROVED he was right to study helminthology, they all died. But, he can think about it in his head, and imagine the annoyed faces they would make instead of imagining their disfigured bodies, and it makes him feel better.

He is somewhat worried about his food supply. So far, hiding in a high school cafeteria has been pretty lucrative, but after spending a week moping about in one, you begin to run out of crisp packets and mini brownies and satsumas. It’s a pretty safe area, every door thick and lockable, not to mention that the entire site is empty – what kid could be bothered to go to school in these conditions? It’s a far cry from supermarkets, he’ll say. Every single supermarket Zedaph has seen so far has not only been thoroughly looted of anything useful but also littered with bodies and guts. There’s no doubt everything in there is contaminated with eggs. Overall, even though it is a bit weird for a random adult man to be hiding in a school, it’s working out.

He hears footsteps. Maybe it isn’t working out, then.

He tries not to panic. This isn’t the first time a zombie has come by here. Well, calling them zombies feels a bit weird, since they’re still alive, but thinking about the fact they’re still conscious as something controls their brain and mutilates their body is worse - plus “zombie” sounds cooler than “fluke host”. So, zombie it is. Anyways, sometimes some stray zombies wander past the school, but none have attempted to break in and chances are they’re all sacrificial hosts. He just needs to stay quiet, so they don’t alert the shepherds. It’ll be fine.

The footsteps aren’t the regular, lumbering kind though. They vary in pace and have an air of confidence to them, so the person they belong to definitely has fine motor control. That’s bad. That means either a shepherd or a survivor. He isn’t sure which is better. Logically, the survivor would be, but in zombie apocalypse movies, aren’t the other survivors usually evil? He hasn’t even watched any movies like that, so he’s just guessing from what he’s heard, but they might try to eat him or steal his supplies or… something. At least a shepherd is predictable, a survivor could do anything.

Something crashes outside, Zedaph wonders if they’re trying the doors. He gulps. Well, if they come in here, whoever they are, he’ll fight him! He’s got big scary horns for a reason! And he isn’t afraid to use them!

He hears some doors being swung loudly on their hinges, sounding far too close for comfort. The fight instantly leaves him and he starts to think about escape. Part of the reason he chose the cafeteria was due to the exit options. One door leading to some classrooms, one door leading to a courtyard area, and one door in the kitchen leading to the outside. The last one is his only real choice, considering the noise is coming from the classrooms and he’ll get caught easily in the courtyard. He hates the idea of going outside, exposed to the sky, but it’s not like he can do anything else.

And just as he’s finished making up his mind, he realises that the person has already forced his way into the room, past Zedaph’s rudimentary barrier of plastic chairs. He’s a guardian, short with a fluffy beard, kitted out with a heavy rucksack and a belt adorned with tools. A respiratory mask hangs around his neck.

“Uh,” says the guy. He doesn’t have any visible broodsacs, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s uninfected.

“Uhhhh,” says Zedaph, standing like a deer in headlights.

“Are you-”

“Please don’t kill me!” he interrupts, voice going high with hysteria.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” the man says, looking a bit amused. He takes a few steps forward. “From that reaction, I am guessing you’re uninfected?”

“Yep, totally free of parasites, me,” Zedaph says, giggling nervously.

“Righhht. I am so sorry, by the way, I didn’t know there was anyone here. You’re doing a really good job at hiding, I totally thought this place was abandoned,” the man holds out his hand, “I’m xB.”

Zedaph shakes xB’s hand – he thinks he’s supposed to shake his hand? He hopes xB didn’t want to hold hands instead because that would be awkward. xB looks at him, as if waiting for something. Oh right, he’s waiting for an introduction, “I’m Zedaph, nice to meet you!”

“Well, mister Zedaph,” xB pulls his hand back, “it is nice to meet you too! I haven’t met many others. I’m alright to chat for a little bit, but this has kinda been a bit of a stop in my plans. Do you mind if I grab some food while I’m here?”

Zedaph turns to where xB is looking – the kitchen – before turning back, “Um, yeah, grab as much as you want. Sorry for interrupting your… plans.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault for being here, it just means I’m gonna have to find somewhere else to base for the next few nights,” xB wanders over, rooting through Zedaph’s food supplies as they talk. Zedaph follows. Maybe it was a bad idea letting xB take some of his precious food, but he wasn’t just going to tell xB to starve.

“You can stay here, I won’t mind,” Zedaph says whilst xB stuffs one of his six trouser pockets with raisin packets.

“No, no, it’s… there’s gonna be a lot less food here than I imagined and, to be honest, I prefer being alone,” Zedaph isn’t sure what to say to that (or what to say to anything in general, actually. He hasn’t talked to people in months). xB starts again, “So! What was your job before all this? I was a security guard.”

“Security guard! Like at a museum?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I was, and I like to think still am, a parasitologist.”

xB giggles, “A what?”

“Parasitologist! Helminthologist, specifically. I study parasitic worms. Truthfully, I’ve been obsessed with worms ever since I was little. Just couldn’t get enough of them. Worm man, the kids used to call me.”

xB is alert now, straightening up, “Wait. Parasitic worms, like, the ones out there?”

“Well, a lot more than just the big zombie ones, but yes.”

“So, for the ‘big zombie ones’, you could tell me all about how they work and how to stop them?”

“Basically!” Zedaph says, spurred on by someone finally being interested in his research, “It’s somewhat hard because this isn’t a species we ever knew about before – I imagine they went extinct in the wild sometime in the last Ice Age, but some eggs were frozen and, well, off-topic, anyway! The point is, even though this is a species new to science, they share a lot of similarities to other helminths, such as ones in the Leucochloridium genus. I have also been doing a lot of observing and taking notes - and though it would help to be able to properly dissect and analyse specimens - I have some theories on their life cycles and mechanisms.”

“Right,” says xB with bright eyes, “Y’know, I might have just had a change of plans.”

“You’re staying?”

“For the night. Anyways, can you continue on? I want you to explain why some of the infected are smart zombies and some are normal zombies, please,” xB has forgotten about the food, pulling up a stool to sit on.

“Of course, of course,” Zedaph grins, “So, the worm at this stage has one goal: get eaten by a dragon. This is because the dragon’s belly is where the worm reproduces and the microscopic eggs get spread by the dragon poop and pee and tears and breath and all the other gross stuff. When the parasite gets into your system, it makes these… tendrils. They connect to your nervous system and brain and send their own impulses, controlling your body. You also have the broodsacs which is the whole, y’know, eye situation. Anyway! Most infected want to get eaten by the dragons to spread the eggs, yada yada. But! People are smart. We’d soon figure out what the parasite’s plan is and develop something to kill eggs and capture all the wild dragons and what not. So, the parasite needs to be smart too and there is a smart brain right there waiting to be used. Every now and again, an infected becomes what I like to call a shepherd, helping to guide the other zombies and stop the uninfected from causing trouble, often by manually infecting people. It’s extra interesting because the sacrificial hosts – that’s what I call the other zombies, because their purpose is to get eaten – seem to be able to communicate with shepherds, maybe by pheromones?”

“That is interesting,” xB says, eyes focused on Zedaph. It’s almost unnerving how much he’s staring, really.

“One question for you, actually,” Zedaph says, because it’s been on his mind since he saw xB, “What is a seafolk doing out here? Bit far from the ocean, aren’t we?”

xB bites his lip, “Yeah. I would have stayed there, but the infection was waterbourne. Underwater cities were where the first major outbreaks happened. Coastal areas were mobbed with infected. The best decision was to leave as fast as possible. Besides, I have a friend inland, so it’s not like I’ve never been this far out before. Plus, for a guardian, land travel is manageable with lots of water, and I have a purifier, so…”

“Makes sense,” says Zedaph, who hopes that’s a sensible and compassionate answer, because currently all his mind can focus on is how the parasite is able to spread so well in water. Do the eggs hatch into a microscopic worms well-adapted to an aquatic environment that are able to enter people through the gills? Is this the same form they take in the body or one unique to ocean environments? Is this hatching activated by proximity to water? Or a certain temperature? Or a certain salt concentration?

xB doesn’t seem to mind Zedaph’s failings at social interaction, because he asks for Zedaph to explain more things.

Zedaph loves explaining. Issue is, the parasite is very complicated, and though Zedaph loves complicated, it is a bit inconvenient when you have to try and explain the ins and outs of a trematode lifecycle to someone who knows only basic biology. Nonetheless, xB is a good listener and asks questions and all the awkwardness Zedaph initially felt at having to talk to someone when he hasn’t in so long has melted away. Eventually, they’re both tired from laughing too much (even in the face of morbid topics, xB makes some good jokes) and Zedaph leads xB to the feeble pile of abandoned jackets and dish cloths he calls his bed. In response, xB retrieves a sleeping bag from his rucksack, and Zedaph may or may not have pleaded really, really hard to share it because he doesn’t want to spend another night shivering, so he instead goes to bed cramped next to a man he has known for a few hours. It’s the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

-

xB just has to go and ruin it all by pointing a gun at his head.

“HYUUHHH? YAHHH?” Zedaph yowls. He’s never really been a morning person, so you can’t expect him to formulate a good response at 6 AM.

“You. Are coming with me. And you are going to do everything I say so you don’t get killed. M’kay?” xB is standing over him, all prepared and everything. It isn’t fair. Zedaph bets he’s a morning person.

“Whatever you say,” he manages, in a small voice.

xB stops pointing the gun at him but keeps it in his hand. He chucks Zedaph a Naruto-themed backpack. He must have found it in the dining area, left by some teenager ages ago. There’s a large patch of mould growing over Kakashi’s face. Zedaph scrambles to pick it up, peaking inside to see it’s been stocked with food and water bottles. So, he’s making Zedaph his mule, making him carry around things for him, ridiculous! xB then puts on his respiratory mask, before motioning for them to exit.

Zedaph blinks as he steps out, already feeling anxious. The sun is beginning to rise, tinting the sky pink.

“Okay, so where would we need to go to get the treatment for the parasite?” xB asks, his voice muffled by the mask.

Zedaph splutters, “I thought you were the one leading me around!”

“I am, but, where I’m leading you to depends on where the cure is. Like, do you need a laboratory, or can you find stuff in a pharmacy, I’m waiting for you, man.”

He pauses before answering, “Probably a vet. They tend to have a lot more antihelminthics on hand. Typically, you tend to see worms more in dogs than humans.”

“Alright, now you follow me,” xB says, raising the gun as reminder, before tucking it into a gun holster and trotting away.

Zedaph swallows and does as commanded.

At least xB seems to know what he’s doing. They stick to alleyways and gardens and hedgerows and other very hidden routes, where they’re unlikely to be found by shepherds and aren’t too open to the sky. Unfortunately, there isn’t really a time of day where the infected go all sleepy, but at least travelling during the day they can see where they’re going.

It occurs to him that xB must know this area pretty well, given he’s taking weird shortcuts with no map and yet is no less confident. Maybe this is where his “inland friend” is. Zedaph doesn’t really know where anything is, unfortunately. Ever since this whole thing kicked off he’s just been running randomly until he finds somewhere decent to stay.

Their trip is uneventful, save the occasional roar of a distant dragon, until about 2 hours later. The path they are following bends to the right, and poking their heads around the bend, they see a sacrificial host.

It stands, swaying, in the centre of the pathway. Clothes still cling to its body, though torn and stained with all manner of fluid. The mouth is slack open, the skin is tinted green and Zedaph can see odd rashes covering parts of the body. Its eyes bulge, an ungodly amount, to the length of an arm, the cornea stretched to the verge of breaking. Taking occupation in each eye is a broodsac, a thick pulsating mass like a caterpillar, banded green and red and white, writhing. They each move independently, one twisting up to the sky, feeling for light. The other slumps. The thing that once was a person – and still might be, deep inside, Zedaph reminds himself – stumbles towards a spot not covered by the shadows of the surrounding trees. One of the legs looks twice the size of the other – there must be a third broodsac in there. The creature comes to rest once at its destination and both eyes reach up as far as they can before rhythmically bobbing to try and catch the attention of a dragon.

It's been a while since Zedaph has seen one in person. The parasite is amazing. He feels a bit guilty for thinking that. He wants to keep staring but wants nothing more than to run away at the same time. xB tugs his arm and breaks him from his thoughts. They carefully walk past, making sure to keep a decent distance and not make too much sound. The sacrificials will only notice you if you’re obvious. They leave it behind them with no issue.

After an hour they arrive at “Pro Vetz: We Cure Animals For Less Money Than Other Vets”. The sign is missing 5 letters, but there is a crusty outline where the letters were, so you can still read it fine. He can see why xB chose it, it’s hidden between clumps of warehouses and nowhere near any housing estates. That being said, whilst it is the apocalypse, it’s only been the apocalypse for a little while, and it is perhaps the most derelict veterinary establishment he has seen in his life.

Zedaph glances at xB, “I’m not comforted by the sign.”

“If it works it works, if not, we have enough food to bunker down here for a little bit and we’ll try somewhere else,” xB says, opening the door, “After you.”

He creeps inside, looking around the dark waiting room. There’s a dark puddle of something in the centre and some of the chairs have been pushed around. xB takes off his mask; there’s little point in wearing them inside, the eggs will just be settled on surfaces. Zedaph is also not sure if they are that necessary outside, given the only way an egg could be breathed in is if a dragon is literally exhaling on top of you, but he doesn’t have the courage to tell xB that.

“I don’t think we’re the first ones here,” he whispers.

xB hums, staring at the surroundings before heading over to the door at the back, “We’ll just wash our hands after we leave in case of eggs, we should be fine.”

Zedaph watches xB pull his gun out before tugging open the door and charging through. Zedaph follows, unsure what else to do.

The door leads to a corridor, with some doors either side leading to operating theatres, one to a collection of cages to keep sick animals in, and one final door leading to all the stock. The place is silent and xB lets him through to look at their de-worming medicine.

“So, is there a particular reason for your forcing-me-to-come-with-you-and-get-anti-worm-medicine thing?” Zedaph asks as he shuffles through boxes. He’s looking for praziquantel, or even metrifonate or triclabendazole or something.

“Let’s just say I have a motive.”

“That? Answers nothing?”

“I know,” xB giggles, “Okay, fine, I want someone I know to get treated of the infection. And I want some supply of drugs in case something happens to me. And I want to keep you around because it’s useful to have someone who understands how the infection works. There, that’s the truth.”

 Zedaph isn’t sure how to feel about being called useful - his parents always said he was useless. At the same time, he’s not sure if it’s that much of a compliment when xB says it. He’s also starting to realise xB might have just been enthusiastically listening to him infodump about parasitic worms for the purposes of learning how to defeat them, rather than genuine interest in said worms. And it’s not like Zedaph judges him for that, it is the apocalypse and xB wants to survive, that’s understandable. He just kinda thought that, well, he finally found someone who truly wanted to hear what he had to say. Overall, he feels weird.

He responds with what he knows: worms, “Right. Just be aware I’ve never tried this medication for this specific species and with the way the parasite affects the body, best case scenario, they will probably lose their eyesight and some mobility. Worst case scenario, they die.”

“I kind of expected that. I consider myself lucky enough to have simply found someone who is able to cure him, like, I totally thought it was a fruitless mission. I wouldn’t have given up but, I am grateful.”

“I would be grateful if you didn’t threaten to shoot me,” Zedaph says, because okay yeah he is really annoyed about that actually. Annoyed might be the wrong word, someone who you trusted pulling a gun on you is more of a “betrayed” really.

“I wasn’t actually going to shoot you,” says xB, like it’s obvious, “The sound would alert all the zombies to where we are and it would be a waste of bullets.”

“You could have just asked me to come with you, I would have said yes.”

“I- Yeah. I probably should have done that, sorry.”

Zedaph is kind of tempted to keep going, insult xB a little, but whilst he probably deserves it, Zedaph isn’t sure how long he’ll be able to survive without him. And he did get an apology, so maybe xB will learn to be a little less… threatening-y and more… caring-y.

“Anyways, found it!” he exclaims, pulling out praziquantel.

-

xB cautiously pokes his head out of the store, and confirming there’s no zombies outside, gestures for Zedaph to follow him out.

“Okay, we need to go to a base I’ve set up a few hours away. We’ll try and see if there’s somewhere we can stop for lunch and so I can get rehydrated, all right with that?”

Zedaph nods.

They weave between warehouses, before finding their way to an alleyway. There’s a lot of turns and Zedaph is reminded uncomfortably by a maze. He is then reminded uncomfortably of a horror movie when something grabs him from behind.

Held, he tries to let out a yelp but a hand dashes in front of his mouth. xB is a few metres ahead of him and doesn’t seem to notice Zedaph’s struggle. His attacker keeps him still, allowing him to watch the only person who could help him walk away, until he deems it safe slam Zedaph to the ground.

He groans, asphalt denting his face. Zedaph swivels to try and face his attacker and sees a face he recognises. Tango, his former friend, with bulging red eyes and rashes all over his face. His eyes aren’t nearly as large as an ordinary zombie, and with the wicked grin on his face, Zedaph has no doubt he’s a shepherd.

Tango was… something in Zedaph’s life. The first friend he ever had, at age 7, Tango was willing to put up with Zedaph showing him all the weird bugs he found, and in return, Zedaph listened to Tango talk about spaceships and dinosaurs and cars and anything else. They grew even closer together and were inseparable, until in their late teens where they fell out and never spoke to each other again. Y’know, just normal friends stuff.

“Hey Zeddy.”

And out of everything today, that’s what breaks him. Because it isn’t even Tango saying that, it’s a worm inside of him, using data in Tango’s brain to say what it thinks will get Zedaph to stay still long enough for him stuff eggs down his throat. And it works. Because Zedaph loves worms so much, and he loves this worm (still, despite everything), but why does it have to do that to Tango, why does it hurt him? Because Zedaph misses Tango so much (he hates that he does), but why does Tango have to hurt him? Does he still think Zedaph is worthless? Is there still a Tango in there, or is Tango’s brain just a database of old memories and actions for the worm to pick and use? If Tango was still here (but he is here) would he apologise?

A gunshot jerks Zedaph out of his mind and the body of the thing that was Tango rolls off of him.

xB stands far away, panting, holding the gun.

Zedaph looks at the body. A hole is in its head. Its hand is clutched, no doubt holding eggs. He forces himself to his feet and comes to stand by xB.

“Did you know him?” xB asks.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” xB says and hugs him. Zedaph wasn’t expecting that, but it’s not like he dislikes the hug. Actually, he really needed it, probably. Thoughts are hard. xB pulls away eventually though.

“I hate to rush you, but like, every zombie in the area heard that and we should really be running now.”

Zedaph nods and runs.

They’re silent until they reach an old garage. xB lifts the door and they both usher inside. It’s been over an hour and xB must assume they’re safe now.

They haul off their bags and xB motions to them, “Eat something, please.”

Zedaph does that, after spraying some sanitiser on his hands, going straight for the chocolate because he’s feeling rough right now. Meanwhile, xB takes off both his mask and his shirt, something that greatly confuses him until he realises xB is probably checking up on his gills. He is. xB undoes the tape cover on them and lets water run over them.

“I lied,” xB says.

“Huh?”

“About being a security guard, I was actually a hitman.”

“Huh,” Zedaph says, that probably makes sense, given how accurately xB was able to shoot from such a distance, “Did you kill anyone?”

xB looks at him weirdly and giggles, “I mean, yeah, duh, that was my job.”

“I- Yeah, I really should have thought that through,” Zedaph begins to laugh too, a little hysterically, maybe, but who can blame him.

After xB eats, they continue on. They come across a few sacrificial hosts which are easily avoided, and that’s it.

The place where xB is storing his infected friend looks inconspicuous – a decent sized house, a bit run down, behind a public park. Before they go in, xB spends a while surveying the doors, windows, and surroundings, telling Zedaph he has memorised the default condition of the house and needs to check if anything has changed, which would be a sign of an intruder. After 10 minutes xB extracts a key to use on the kitchen window and leads Zedaph in.

“Why don’t we use the front door?” he asks while xB is relocking the window.

“I have it trapped. Most, but not all, people will try the door first to get in. I – and the people I trust – will know it’s unsafe, so only malicious people will get harmed.”

It takes Zedaph a second to realise, “You trust me?”

xB looks back at him, as they wander through the dark hallway, “Of course. You are far too cowardly to try and do anything.”

That’s fair.

They head into the basement and Zedaph is greeted with the sight of a homemade prison cell, barbed wire and chicken netting combined into a grisly metal mesh, held in place by bars of wood, nailed to the floor and ceiling. There’s a tiny flap at the base, probably for sliding food in or something. Inside is a zombie, with some of the largest broodsacs in its eyes Zedaph has ever seen. It has braided hair alongside hooves, showing it was once a satyr like Zedaph. It is also handcuffed and chained to the wall in 4 different places, in case the barricade and locked basement door weren’t enough to keep it down here.

“Princess? Is that you? Did you bring a friend?”

“Hello Keralis,” says xB, “And yes, I did. This is Zedaph.”

“Well, hello there mister Zedaph,” the zombie says with a sweet voice, “Can you please tell xB here to let me out? This isn’t very nice.”

“It’s a shepherd?” Zedaph asks xB.

“Yes. He is a shepherd, smart, talking zombie thing. And no, we’re not letting you out, because every time I do, you try to kill me.”

“Kill my princess? I would never do that.”

“You have though! You try every time.”

He frowns, “I’m left-handed, xB. You can’t blame me.”

xB giggles, “I think you’re a bit more than left-handed, Keralis. I think you’ve got Big Eyes.”

Zedaph is thinking about Tango. He should probably stop doing that, “Right, like I said, I can’t guarantee he’ll survive, or that this will even work, just keep that in mind.”

“I know,” says xB, “Set up the you-know-what-because-I-don’t-want-to-say-it-in-front-of-him upstairs.”

“What are we talking about?” asks Keralis, or once-was Keralis, as Zedaph runs upstairs.

Part of him hopes the medicine doesn’t work, because if it does, well, Tango. He feels mad at xB for killing him. He feels mad at himself for letting xB kill him. He feels mad at himself for getting mad at xB for saving his life. He feels mad at himself for hoping the medicine won’t work. He feels mad at himself- for a lot of reasons, you get the gist.

He focuses on the praziquantel. What dose would be appropriate? He took all the boxes they had, so it’s not like he’s running out any time soon. Typically, he’d default to 75mg/kg/day over 3 doses for non-identified trematodes, but in this case, the infection is quite extreme. He decides to go with 100 mg/kg in three doses for today, and then work from there, like neurocysticercosis. Both parasites affect the brain so he hopes the dosages work similarly. Since the pills are intended for animals they can be crushed, which makes it easy to give to Keralis since it can be hidden in food.

xB comes up and Zedaph explains the situation.

“That’s perfect. When I’m here I try to give him three meals a day, so we can work that in. I have a whole room dedicated to storing food, so I should be able to support all three of us for 6 months at least.”

“Oh, it will take far less than 6 months. Don’t worry. Probably like a month, max.”

xB smiles. They prepare Keralis a lovely meal of crisps and granola bars and dust the whole thing with 30mg/kg of praziquantel and return to the basement.

“Here you go, dude,” xB slides the plate under the mesh flap.

“Hmmph,” Keralis says, awkwardly dragging the plate over in his tied up condition. He has to eat by sticking his whole face into the food, since his hands are handcuffed and attached to the wall. Zedaph almost feels bad.

Keralis lifts his head up to talk halfway through, “This guy… I haven’t been fed in a week and now all the food you give me tastes bitter!”

“I left you a week’s worth of food in here before I left. And beggars can’t be choosers,” xB responds.

Keralis huffs and finishes off a granola bar. Zedaph is counting himself lucky that the awful taste of the medicine didn’t give their plan away when he hears a thump from upstairs. Everyone looks up – including Keralis, whose massive eyes manually tilt up.

“Wow, your roommate sure is noisy,” Zedaph says.

xB clenches his fists, “Only Keralis and I live here.”

“I really hoped you weren’t going to say that.”

xB glares at Keralis, “Was this your doing?”

“No, no! For real this time! This is,” Keralis pauses for a moment, “Ohh, I see. Now you’re both in trouble. Someone’s coming.”

xB swears and pulls out his gun. Zedaph is caught between fear and wanting to ask Keralis the details of how long-distance worm communication works.

The basement door creaks as its opened.

“Hello hello everybody, I’m Etho!” the shepherd announces. It has one ordinary eye, dark and brown and wet, and one livid red twitching eye. The entire right side of its face is bumpy and rashes bloom on the skin. It points its gun at Zedaph, “And there’s some things going on here that I don’t quite like.”

Zedaph remembers something he said to xB yesterday. Something about shepherds stopping the uninfected from causing trouble. He thinks about the praziquantel to kill the worms. He thinks about how the sacrificials can summon a shepherd. He thinks about how Etho has one unmarred eye and how you need good vision to aim a gun. He thinks about how infinitesimally small a chance it is that Tango would be a shepherd and happen to run into Zedaph. He thinks about how he hears so many more dragons going outside now, and about the old enchantments that kept them from urban areas, which would need to be undone. He thinks about how the shepherd/sacrificial determination can’t be chance. He thinks about queen bees and hiveminds and pheromones.

He thinks about all the worms and parasites he’s studied over the years. He thinks about how simple and familiar worms are, how nobody seems to get it but him, how if there were ever to be a worm-led apocalypse, of course he’d be the only one who could stop it.

And as xB aims his gun at Etho in return, Zedaph thinks that the worms chose the wrong enemy.

---

woooo! happy (belated) valentines day! I hope you enjoyed! i thought it would be fun to leave you on a semi-cliffhanger

this ended up being quite heavy on the body horror and apocalypse, though I know you've written body horror in the past so I wasn't too worried.

originally there was a lot more about the worldbuilding and species stuff beyond the little hints here, but I ended up not really fitting with the way the story was shaping up. essentially, this is an urban fantasy world, similar technology to our world but with added magic, with a lot of mythological creatures. you have the fieldfolk (satyrs, minotaurs, fairies, anything woodsland-like) and the seafolk (mermaids, guardians, sirens, selkies), alongside wild fantasy animals (such as dragons).

and: WORMS!!! as soon as I saw xb on your characters requested list, I was thinking about an apocalypse fic (I've been loving the mlp infection AUs and mawofthemagnetar did a lovely zombie apocalypse fic involving xb which inspired me). I am a biologist so whenever I think about zombie apocalypses I want to try to subvert them and introduce (somewhat) realistic facets of biology. viruses have been done to hell and fungi have gotten popular but I've never seen anyone do parasitic worms before, which I think is a shame! this is the species the fic is based on (warning for worms/snail + eye injury + animal in pain), which not only looks unique but does "mind control" its hosts (infected snails move towards light), and as soon as I realised I was doing worm zombies, a certain zedaph on your requested characters was a perfect fit.

in the original draft of the plot, wels and bdubs showed up, and etho had so many different roles I considered during brainstorming - a fellow survivor who tried to attack them, a mediator between the worms and survivors, etc etc. here it isn't too explained what he is due to the dramatic ending, but you can kind of see what I'm getting at. Zedaph initially assumes the worms are just worms, and the shepherd/sacrificial distinction just randomly occurs and is a simple adaptation to help the species survive. at the end, he realises that there's some kind of higher force within the worms choosing which hosts become shepherds, e.g. to best target Zedaph, and letting the worms communicate long-range. Etho I imagine is a specialised agent - with his normal eye - used for assassinations

I'd love to upload this to ao3 if you'd be alright with that, I can set it as a gift for you

[honeydots]

I would like some teasers about that Xander - Soleil father-daughter support fic please 💖

HEHEHE that'd be my pleasure~~!! i'll put a couple things under the cut c:

the fanart nattie drew for me is from their c-support!! the gist of it is that xander's employing a similar punishment to soleil as he did to laslow for excessive flirting :3 but as they're working in xander's office, they both end up falling asleep, hence the little scene in the art <3

the rest of the support is about soleil lying through her teeth about how she totally isn't flirting anymore so she doesn't get in trouble again, and xander completely seeing through her lie and doing a dad-thing of trying to make her come clean herself instead of directly calling her out !!

[cosmictap]

To be loved is to be changed:

A Logan Walker x trans masc! OC fic

CWs: Disassociation (entirely based off my experiences), the vague implication that a character thinks the other may be transphobic (barely there), hints of self hatred.

I’m not to sure how well i wrote any of it but! enjoy nonetheless

There was always something about Logan that he hated about himself, he was shorter than average, could hardly hold a conversation with anyone who wasn’t his brother, couldn’t stand strangers, easily irritable, the list went on and on. He got by each day by sticking to himself, putting up a wall between him and everyone - to protect himself, he reasoned; but he knew. He knew each time he found himself stuck in his own head, somewhere he could remove himself from reality for a while, blocking everything out because it hurt less. The truth was, he needed someone to help him get out, but god knows he was far to gone for retrieval.

That was, until a certain blond wanker boy turned up. He was strange. Introduced himself with his last name, point blank refused to give his first name at first. Rorke. The name sounded familiar, in a very distant part of his brain he couldn’t find the energy to explore, regardless, ‘Rorke’ was frankly, the most irritating person he’d ever met (excluding his brother). It took a week. A single week, and Logan was already unbearably fond of him. Rorke was his best friend soon enough, and god if that didn’t scare him; how had he broken through his defences that quickly? Why was this loud, opinionated kid choosing him?

Within a month he was starting to feel real again in a way he had almost forgotten, the small details of his days stuck out, the way the leaves fell near tenderly onto the ground, the calming sound of those very same leaves, crushed under boots. He loathed to say it, yet, it was plain to see. Rorke found a way to get through everything. He was finally learning how to live as opposed to simple survival.

-~~-

They got out of class that day, immediately finding each other so they could make the walk back home together, something he’d grown very pleased with over the weeks. They were chatting about their days, what kids in their lessons got in trouble, the usual, but Logan could tell something was off with Rorke; he was fidgety, quieter than usual.

He soon found out why. Rorke’s name was Cameron. Although, he said it almost uncertainly, like he was waiting for some kind of rejection. It never came.

-~~-

He’d never admit it to anyone, but Logan was in love with his best friend, perfectly content to admire from afar. Feeling his heart break with every relationship Cam got into, and inevitably end up broken up with.

He wished he could save him, just like he was saved. The risk was high but.. He’s willing to try. For the sake of his partner best friend.

WOOOO this was a bit of a mess coming up the end i won’t lie!!! but i’m done with it!

[viscerax]

You asked for requests, soooooo I am going to give you two!

Jam reunion or Jay gets eeby deebied back in time after he died, you choose when

Go crazy!!!

Reunion

Tim stares out the window while his hands absent-mindedly fidget with Jay's old camera. It had been awhile since he needed to use it. Who's counting?

Tim was. It had been 457 days since Jay died. Tim never moved away. He wanted to so badly, but it turns out being a minimum wage stock clerk doesn't exactly provide him with enough funds to move out. So he's stuck in that miserable house, with those miserable memories, and that miserable feeling in his gut.

He was tempted to sell Jay's camera, get some extra cash. But he couldn't. Anytime he opened Craigslist or e-bay, he stared at the web page for a moment before closing it. He couldn't bring himself to do it. The camera was the last proof that any of it happened, its scuffed edges and cracked lens. Without it, he might as well have just been crazy. No one else believed him. He knew damn well telling his therapist would just land him in another facility and numbed up on so many meds that he probably wouldn't even be able to remember his own name. He's been through that, and he wasn't going to do it again.

He sighs, setting the camera down again. He's about to get up when he feels something rub against his leg. He flinched a bit, looking down and finding a furry face staring back up at him, his new cat, affectionately named "Jay". He reached down, scratching her chin and earning a satisfied purr. It wasn't much, it certainly wasn't a replacement for Jay, but it was better than nothing.

He pulls his hand away, earning a needy chirp from the feline. Tim sighs, standing up with a grunt. "I know, i know. You're hungry, I get it." Tim makes his way to his kitchen, reaching up to the top cabinet and grabbing a bag of kibble for the feline.

He's standing on his tiptoes, and curses himself for putting the bag so out of reach. Normally he'd keep it on the floor, but he learned very quickly that wasn't an option with Jay, lest he wishes that she tear the bag open and feast upon it's contents in a single night.

He has the bag just barely pinched in his fingers and dragging it over the edge, when a sudden barrage of knocking at his front door catches him off guard, and the bag comes falling down, spilling open over his head.

"God damnit!" He shouts, allowing the now half-empty bag to fall to the floor. He turns to his cat, eyeing the pile with a look that could only be described as gluttony. "Jay, don't you fucking dare." He mutters to the cat, before picking the bits of cat food from his hair and off the front of his shirt.

"Just a moment!" He shouts to whoever is knocking at the door as he does his best to shake the kibble from the inside of his shirt.

"Tim?"

Tim freezes at the voice. He thinks its got to be another auditory hallucination. After all, there was no way it was him. He saw Jay's dead body. He buried him himself in the woods, mainly because no one else even knew who "Jay" was. His parents said they only had a daughter, not a son named Jay.

Except, it can't be a hallucination, because it catches his cat's attention too.

Tim takes a shaking breath. Maybe he just heard it wrong. Maybe it was just the mail man. Or a neighbor. Or one of those missionaries. Yes, that must be it.

Still, he trudged towards the door, hand shaking as he reaches for the knob. What if it's the Operator, back again. Playing tricks on him?

Tim slowly unlocks the door, slowly turning the door knob. He squeezes his eyes shut, not worrying about how he might look crazy to whoever is on the other side.

"Tim? Timothy?" The voice is there again. Tim can't take it anymore. He opens his eyes. He sees both his best dream and worst nightmare.

Jay Merrick standing at his doorstep.

He wants to speak, move, but he can't. He doesn't know what to do. Jay, Really Jay, is standing there, staring at Tim like he was the walking corpse.

"Tim, oh my god." Jay breaks the silence, and Tim can't stop the choked sob that spills past his lips. He almost falls forward, but catches himself on the doorframe. Jay flinched back a bit, and he can't tell if Tim is still angry or not. Not like he would blame him.

"Tim I didn't- im sorry- I don't know what I was doing and-" Jay starts rambling, tripping over his words and fidgeting with his trembling hands.

Jay almost topples over when suddenly a very heavy weight is crashing against him. But he doesn't fall. Instead, he's enveloped in warm, trembling arms. Tim is hugging him, and Jay is practically stunned.

"I know, Jay. I... I saw the entry. I-" his words are choked off by another sob as squeezes Jay again. "Y-you're here. Y-you can't be. You're not real." Tim is trembling, face buried in Jay's neck. Jay doesn't know what to do, so he just follows Tim's actions, wrapping his own lanky arms around Tim and trying to comfort him.

"I'm... yeah. I'm here. I'm real. I promise." Jay mumbles, a hand tentatively reaching up and petting Tim's hair.

"Jay... I... I buried you, though. I- how are you- I don't get it." Tim rambles as he reluctantly pulls away, partly worried that he'd crush the man if he squeezed him for any longer.

"I don't... I don't know. And for once I don't think I want to find out." Jay lets out an awkward chuckle, and the statement earns a snort from Tim.

"Well thats a first." He takes a step to the side, allowing Jay in. He tries to catch his breath, trying to wipe away his tears but they just keep coming and he can't stop them. This had been the most he cried in... ever. Even during the whole Operator fiasco, he never really shed any tears. He felt emotionally blocked up, and now they were all flowing out of him like a broken dam.

"Tim... I... I missed you- I'm sorry for... coming back and drudging this all up again but I- I couldn't- i didn't know who else to go to and-"

Tim practically slaps a hand over his mouth. "Stop apologizing. I- I want you here, I-" he takes a deep breath, and more tears are spilling again. His voice cracks when he finally speaks again. "For years, I couldn't even shed a tear. And then you showed up. All these emotions that I haven't had a chance to experience or didn't realize I had all came out at once because of you." Tim takes a deep breath, swallowing and hoping it will make speech easier, but it doesn't. His voice still trembles. "I can't stop crying, I'm sorry." He lets out a sarcastic laugh, to which Jay just reaches a hand up and wiped away the tears before cupping Tim's stubbley face in his hands.

Tim had been so numb since Jay's death. He'd been... sad, sure. But he had been doing so good at shoving it all down, focusing on other things and eventually drowning out the world-shattering sadness that was currently flowing out of him like a river. He couldnt stop it now. He couldn't drown it out or focus on anything else because Jay was right there, staring down at him with those big sad eyes, and speaking to him with those cracked lips that Tim sometimes wished would just shut up and kiss him.

"Tim... I... I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd- I don't want you to cry. I'm sorry... shit, I-" his words are interrupted by Tim's lips crashing into his with a kind of ferocity he could only expect from the man.

Tim wasn't thinking straight. So many emotions and chemicals swimming around in his brain is what caused him to do this. He's about to pull away and profusely apologize him for his irrational activity, but Jay is kissing him back and holy shit, Tim doesn't think he could pull away if he wanted to with the way Jay is practically clawing to hold onto him. They're both trying to prove to themselves that this is real, and that this is really happening and that it's not just some dream.

Reluctantly, they pull away, damn the need for air. They stay in silence for a moment before Tim finally breaks it.

"Please... please stay. Just for a while." Tim hates how desperate he sounds but he can't bring himself to change it because he is. He's so desperate for Jay to stay that he can't bring himself to be angry at him in any way.

"I will never leave you behind again, if you'll have me." Its a promise, a promise that means so much to the both of them. Tim is so used to people running once they see all of him. Once they get past his bitchy exterior, once they see the sad man that he is. But Jay's seen it all. He knows so much more about Tim then most. And yet he's staying.

Tim answers him with another kiss, albeit shorter than the last. He pulls away and just holds Jay, hands roaming over his back, to his waist, and up and down his arms, still trying to lock in the fact that Jay us really there.

"Mrowww?" The two men are broken apart as their attention falls to a very needy feline.

Tim sighs and picks the cat up, holding her gently and allowing Jay to pet her.

"What's her name?" Jay looks back to Tim, still scratching behind the ears of the purring feline.

Tim panics. Surely it's not... normal to name your cat after your dead "best friend." But, Tim can't think of any creative lie in the moment, so with a defeated sigh, he mumbles his confession.

"I named her... Jay. After you. It was uhm, a recommendation from my therapist. She was supposed to be a therapy pet, but really she mostly just takes up most of my money and attention." He complains about the cat, although its clear from his tone that he doesn't really mean it. The cat means a lot to him, even if he's too stubborn to admit it.

"That's... cute." Jay chuckles, and Tim would give anything he had to make sure he hears that laugh again, even if it's at the expense of his own embarrassment.

"Yeah, whatever." Tim mutters, which only earns another chuckle from Jay. Tim thinks he's going to die from embarrassment, and very quickly sets the cat down, deciding to change the subject. "I have to uhm, clean up a mess, that she made earlier. Before she eats all of it."

Jay is a bit confused, until he looks over Tim's shoulder and sees cat food spilled all over the floor. He giggles and follows behind Tim, helping him clean it up, despite the others protest.

They're both so tired by the time they're done cleaning. It's not like it was a very difficult task, but Tim's pretty sure he's just worn out from the emotional Rollercoaster. He barely makes it to the bed, and tries to opt for passing out on the couch, but Jay practically drags him away to his bedroom, forcing him to lay down.

Jay is about to turn and take refuge on the couch, but Tim grabs his wrist.

"Don't leave. Please. Just for tonight. We can get you a bed tommorow." Tim groggily requests, and who is Jy to deny him, especially when he's looking up at him with those wide eyes that Jay adores.

Jay kicks off his shoes and crawls in next to Tim, relishing in the way he's practically enveloped in warmth.

"I love you. Welcome home, Jaybird." Tim sleepily mumbles into his neck.

Home. Jay hadn't had a home in so long, and he thinks he wouldn't mind if his home was Tim.

[dwtdog]

i actually made progress on writing skinny dipping exes to strangers to lovers fic today :3 idk if what I wrote will end up in the final product but it was nice to finally Start

[lush-specimen]

Chapters: 10/10 Fandom: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Rodimus | Rodimus Prime/Thunderclash, Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet, Riptide & Thunderclash (Transformers), Drift | Deadlock & Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, Anode/Lug (Transformers) Characters: Thunderclash (Transformers), Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, Riptide (Transformers), Drift | Deadlock, Ratchet (Transformers), Anode (Transformers), Lug (Transformers), Minimus Ambus (Transformers), Whirl (Transformers), Cyclonus (Transformers), Tailgate (Transformers), The Scavengers (Transformers) Additional Tags: MerMay, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Selkies, Action/Adventure, Magic, Fluff, Pirates, non-sexual nudity, Hijinks & Shenanigans Summary:

Thunderclash reunites with Riptide to convince him to join the Lost Light as well. While being with Rodimus feels like home, his family wouldn't be complete without his best friend. When they hurry back to the ship, Thunderclash races ashore eager to see Rodimus again. Since he no longer has his sarong, Thunderclash decided to once again go pantless. After all, what's the big deal about pants???

Whirl sees him and immediately decides to follow suit (or lack thereof).