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Hello!!
Ayyyeee it's 4 a.m. and I finally got Axl's design done for the Infection!AU , and because I didn't include X and Zero's stats in their designs, I added them below the cut! Hope ya like it, and if you have any questions , feel free to ask me!
Ayyyeee it's 10 a.m. and it's fricken Infection!AU tiiimmeee
I will put these below the cut because these are... interesting since I updated them this morning.
Feel free to ask any and all questions about this AU or to give ideas since I need to figure stuff out!
(Robo-gore, uncolored blood, foaming, and general zombie stuff under the cut.)
Hey, look! More Cosmo Doodles, yaaayy!!
Sorry it's been a day or two. It's been a busy week, cleaning our house and such, but I got the time to draw these, and I was also a bit bored.
I'm depicting Cosmo with a heart of some kind. I'm trying to decide whether to give it quantum cogs or not.
Also, the Infection!AU Cosmo in the top left corner is not mine. He rightfully belongs to @saltybouquetpenguin. Thank you for letting me draw him, friend. I also drew Cosmo from another universe reacting to it.
And, another attempt at anatomy. I think I like this better than the one I tried to do for Ten Cents.
There is a neat song I've been listening to, and I feel like it fits Cosmo well. Here is the song.
https://youtu.be/NJsa6-y4sDs?si=I_vgTRc1urUmCGF0
Locked with Charcel + infection!au please?
There’s a firm door between the two of them, covered with plastic sheeting taped around the edges in the event the pathogen travels in the air, however unlikely. It’s the panic. The paranoia. Even though the bruise was so obviously just from hitting the table, Crockett has carved a chunk of his own body out, burned it, and locked himself in quarantine. He thinks he’s protecting his people, but from what Ethan knows, they’re aware of this. At least the main leadership are, and have long since decided to just let him get through it.
He sighs and leans against the door, imagining that Crockett is just on the other side, although it’s far more likely that he’s curled up in the corner, checking his self-inflicted injury religiously in the monotony of isolation. There’s nothing else to do, although Ethan can occasionally hear him muttering to himself.
All he can think about is the very real possibility that Crockett has lost it. The pressure and trauma of dealing with these cases as a doctor before the collapse of the world, the demands of leading this commune and desperately trying to protect his people from carnage he’s seen first hand- anyone would come out of it changed. But Crockett isn’t just changed, he’s cracking. Back home, Ethan would have put him on a psych hold as a danger to himself, but now, there’s no such thing. He can only sit outside quarantine and worry.
“This is gonna hurt.” With charcel + infection!au please?
“Crockett. Stop.”
He holds up a hand to silence Ethan before adjusting his grip on his scalpel. “This is gonna hurt. I need to concentrate.”
“You need to stop.”
Over time, Ethan’s become familiar with all of Crockett’s scars, but it’s now that he’s realizing exactly where they all come from. Paranoia built of living in a wasteland and having to take care of people, deep seated fear of being infected and undergoing the painful ritual of his people burning him alive before he can spread the disease any further. It’s just a bruise on his hip that probably came from running into the table this morning at breakfast. It’s not an infection.
“Put the scalpel down.”
“Ethan, I need to get rid of it.”
“You’re not sick.”
He kneels beside Crockett and tries to take it away, but miscalculates and gets sliced across the palm for his trouble. Immediately he draws back, cursing, and Crockett seems torn between helping him cover the wound and getting back to carving himself up.
“Please. Don’t do this to yourself.”
“Dont be so rough. there can’t be any marks.” With Charcel + infection!au please.
Ethan thinks it’s been months, years, since he’s done this. Definitely at least before the apocalypse began. To lay with someone, kiss them, touch them despite what’s going on outside their little room and bedrolls that are slightly too scratchy to be completely comfortable. Crockett is soft, though. His palms, his lips. Rough stubble is nice too, soothing. He doesn’t push at the hems of Crockett’s long covering clothing, but he holds him and kisses the taste of bourbon off his lips, broken out just for this special occasion of being together.
“Don’t be rough now, sugar,” Crockett sighs as Ethan nips at his neck. “Can’t be marks. You know what everyone will think.”
A sensible comment, but one that forces Ethan back and leaves him sitting atop Crockett’s hips and looking down at him. The bruises will be interpreted as something else. There will be a riot. Crockett will be banished, if not killed and burned- not necessarily in that order. They had burned a heavily contaminated wanderer who happened upon their land alive. His screams sometimes still echo in Ethan’s mind.
“I didn’t say you had to stop.”
“This is a bad idea,” Ethan says, and pushes himself unsteadily to his feet. When was the last time he had felt so content? “I have to go.”
It hurts so badly to leave him laying in the small room, hurt written across his glossy eyes and flushed cheeks.
“Are you someone out there, who’s a little bit like me?” + Charcel with the infection!au.
When his quarantine ends, Crockett gives Ethan the grand tour of the compound. They have the residence, which is a former office building now filled with mattresses and clothes. People. Meals are cooked in an old coffee shop on the bottom floor, served around a slow-burning fire pit where anything one can find has turned into a sheet. Quarantine is an old RV that gets bleached if someone turns out to be infected. And there’s the medical building, which is a grocery store stripped clean of everything- probably stored in the hospital, now. The “employees only” area is where supplies are kept and Crockett looks for better treatments against the disease. The rest of the store has little stations for checkups and treating those sick with something other than the disease. When they tour medical, there’s a ten year old boy crying in his mother’s arms as someone pours rubbing alcohol over his scraped knee. Such a simple pain.
“Where are we?” he asks after the tour. “Geographically speaking. I’ve been walking for a long time. Forever, it feels like.”
Crockett bumps his shoulder lightly. “You’re in the middle of what’s left of New Orleans. About three quarters of us started here, but the rest are wanderers, like you. Some have the scars.”
“Scars?”
“Oh, you know.” He fiddles with the hem of his left sleeve. “You ever think, there’s someone out there, a little bit like you, but maybe they weren’t so lucky? The thing got to ‘em. Started killing them. And they carve it out, anything just to survive. Unless they do it perfect and sterile, though, they never last long. The nasty little thing never goes away. And if it doesn’t kill you, another infection probably will. Hard to find a bottle of amoxicillin when the world ended.”
All of it is said in such a blunt, casual tone of voice, like Crockett wasn’t just describing self-mutilation and death. How he’s so detached from it all, Ethan doesn’t understand. He gets nightmares every time he manages sleep. The initial outbreak, the bodies he’s seen on his journey here. Rotting from the inside out. And he knows he has a scar of his own from a battle with this plague that has rattled down upon them.
“There’s no way we can survive like this for a long time,” he says instead of responding properly. “No production, no contact with other people, the disease-”
“First of all, humans survived for thousands of years without telephones, antibiotics, or even baths. And second of all-” Crockett grabs his shoulder in a firm grip. “We don’t need to survive for a long time. We just need to survive today. And tomorrow, we’ll worry about tomorrow.”
Crockett pulls his mask back up over his face when they walk out of medical, and Ethan is left with more questions than he had before.
