YOU Think Its Terrifying. I Think The Fungi Would Simply Make Us Do A Coordinated YMCA Dance And Then

YOU think it’s terrifying. I think the fungi would simply make us do a coordinated YMCA dance and then just vibe.

You know, as the concept of “zombifying fungi” becomes more and more popular, I notice it still referred to everywhere as like a “brain parasite.” So I guess a lot of people overlooked or forgot how in 2019 it was discovered that cordyceps and other similar fungal parasites leave the brain and nervous system completely untouched. They only control the muscles. They use chemical signals to make the muscles flex in real time where they want to go :)

This story does have some of the “wake up, you’re in a dream” type plot, but it isn’t directed at the reader. Just wanted to give a warning because I know how damaging it can be.

“Beware the Ides,” someone whispered. James snapped his head around, but in the bustling market, he couldn’t locate who.

That was the seventh one today.

He cursed, and then hurried for his flat, letting the door bang open against the wall.

He locked it behind him, leaning against the door to catch his breath.

It didn’t mean anything. Just scared people who were more willing to fret about an upcoming day then actually take responsibilities for their problems.

That was all.

Somehow, James didn’t quite believe it.

From just outside his apartment door, someone viciously whispered “Beware the ides.”

When he opened it, the empty hallway stared back at him, as if mocking him.

He closed the door, and locked it.

“Hey, James,” Dahlia said, soothing a piece of his hair back. His respirator clicked in response. She swallowed.

“Your parents were supposed to be here but they—well. They couldn’t.”

His heart monitor beeped.

James whirled, but he couldn’t find the voice. Dahlia, it sounded like Dahlia, but she was dead. Years ago, in an accident.

A chair clattered over against his knees.

Dahlia felt a sob rising in her chest, and tamped it down.

“Celia wants to go to college,” she murmured, as if soothing a fussing child. “The doctors say they don’t think you’ll wake up.”

“Beware the ides,” the voice whispered, and this time, James screamed.

“Who are you?”

His flat didn’t answer him. His voice echoed off the walls.

Dahlia sucked in a breath, chest tight.

“They don’t have the money for you and Celia,” she explained. A nurse clattered by with a cart. “They didn’t want to choose, but Celia. They can still talk to her. But even after all these years, when they talk to you, you can’t respond.”

James grabbed a kitchen knife. The handle was cool to his palm, and it almost slipped with how much he shook. Something rustled in his apartment, and he bolted, slamming out his door and into the hall.

A doctor came in, and she motioned for him to continue. He nodded once, solemnly, and began to disconnect the machines.

She kissed his sleeping forehead once.

“I love you.”

A stranger slammed into him so hard, he almost didn’t feel the knife slide between his ribs.

“Beware the ides,” they hissed in his ear, and then they were gone, leaving him to slide gasping to the floor.

The heart monitor beeped one final time.

And flatlined.

Beware the ides.

“I just—I don’t think I love you anymore.”

It hurt—like a thousand suns burning in his core, a million white lies, a rockslide in his gut.

He swallowed, and tears threatened to spring to his eyes.

“What do you mean, you don’t love me. I made myself for you. Is the witty humor not enough anymore? The undying devotion? The kindness, all of it, I did it for you.”

Lila bit her lip.

“I’m sorry.”

“Tell me, did I not change quick enough, or did you change too fast?”

His voice was bitter, a winters cold bite, even to his own ears.

“Matt—“

“It’s Matthew.”

Lila paused.

His scoffed, angrily.

“You don’t love me anymore. I became Matt for you—I created myself around you, built myself upon you. I became the picture you painted in your mind. You can’t say you don’t want it and have it the same.”

A flush rose to her cheeks.

“You’re being ridiculous—“

“You stopped loving me!” He shouted, and after a moment, softer, “how could you not love me?”

A tear slipped down Lila’s cheek.

“You’re perfect. I just—I’m sorry. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t enough. How could it ever be enough? He had taken classes to be with her because she didn’t like to be alone, had started the track to become a vet because she loved animals and wanted to work with the love of her life, hd cut his hair, and changed his posture, had gotten superpowers, had been sexy and cute and smart and kind and wholesome and dorky and funny and yet—

He was perfect. And still, she had stopped loving him.

Somewhere between Matt—Matthew—he had remade himself in the negative space around her, and somehow, as he changed himself, she had changed too.

“I still love you,” he offered weakly, and she turned her head, as if slapped. “I could change—“

“Stop.”

A tear dropped off the end of his chin.

“I’d do it well—“

“Matthew.”

His name, a plea. No more Matt.

Lila had killed him.

Lila sniffed, as if steeling herself, then drew herself up.

She looked him directly in the eye.

“You need to stop changing for others.”

“You liked it when I changed for you,” he murmured, voice raw.

She swallowed.

“That was different.”

“How, Lila. Different because it was you? Because me changing was romantic, not sad, when it was you? God.”

“Matthew—“

“You didn’t love me for me,” he threw an arm out. “You don’t love Matt, and you don’t love whoever I am now.”

Lila closed her eyes.

“I said I was sorry—“

“I became a new person for you, and you relished it, and now you’re sorry?”

She pursed her lips.

“It’s not like that.”

“You know it is.”

And whatever was left of his heart broke.

A match lit itself inside his chest.

Lila opened her mouth, and he cut her off.

“No. Just—stop. Stop apologizing when you aren’t sorry. I am going to go out, and I am going to find someone who loves me, not for Matt, not for Matthew, but for me. And when I do, I am going to love them harder than I have ever loved anyone else. Even you.”

Lila looked like she didn’t know what to say, as if she had expected the collapse but hadn’t expected him to bare his teeth.

“Go.”

When she left, she slammed the door behind her.

Eight months later, he met a girl named Kaylie in a coffee shop.

They ruled the world, together, five years later.

No. The fungi don’t need robotics. Stop attempting to name drop things that are irrelevant to the fungal gods. They will lay siege on your home, your family, your mind, and I will laugh as you cry and do the YMCA unwillingly, past the point of vibes and into oblivion.

And then I will eat toast with my funky fresh fungi friends :)

You know, as the concept of “zombifying fungi” becomes more and more popular, I notice it still referred to everywhere as like a “brain parasite.” So I guess a lot of people overlooked or forgot how in 2019 it was discovered that cordyceps and other similar fungal parasites leave the brain and nervous system completely untouched. They only control the muscles. They use chemical signals to make the muscles flex in real time where they want to go :)

“I love you.”

A dying man’s confession of an admission.

The villain clenched their jaw.

“I’m aware.”

A broken laugh escaped the hero’s lips.

“What kind of answer is that?”

The villain pursed their lips.

“The one that keeps me alive.”

The hero reached for their hand. For some reason, the villain let them take it.

“You are alive. But are you living?”

The villain curled the ends of their fingers around the hero’s, just barely.

“I have everything I could possibly want—“

“Except me.”

It sat between them like a terrible truth, a dead body, a broken promise.

Don’t go falling in love with me, the hero had joked amidst battle, sarcasm and flirtations trading between them with their blows. The villain had scoffed.

Don’t overestimate yourself, hero.

They had both failed. They had wonderfully, horribly, failed.

The hero swallowed.

“Everything, except me.”

The villain’s eyes hardened.

“Would you like me to keep you, then? Lock you up in a pretty little cage, as an object of my affection. Is that what you want from me?”

“I would like for you stop pretending this is nothing—“

“Careful, hero. Falling for a monster like me? How masochistic.”

“Stop talking to me like you hate me.”

Unspoken, between them—

You don’t hate me, do you?

Something softened in the villains face.

“You are a weakness, and yet I cannot shake you.”

Tears welled unbidden in the hero’s eyes.

“Please.”

“Loving me will be your downfall,” the villain warned.

“Then down I shall go.”

The villain studied them for a moment, then dropped their hand.

“Down we shall go,” they murmured softly.

Down they went.

“We’re going to die,” the hero murmured, and the villain slammed their hand onto their mouth.

“If you keep talking, yes.”

The hero glared at them out of the side of their eye, and hissed against their palm.

“Let go of me—“

The super villain laughed, and it echoed through the warehouse; a place they had turned into a sprawling labyrinth of death traps and riddles.

“Little birds,” they sang, and in that moment, the hero hated their chosen profession.

Behind their back, the villain fiddled with the lock to the door.

Their other hand remained firmly fixed upon the hero’s mouth.

The super villain began to hum.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

The villain began to move faster.

“Please,” the hero mouthed against the villains palm, sweat and desperation coating them. There was blood cooling on their abdomen.

The villain simply clutched their face tighter.

The super villain turned the corner, gun propped on their shoulder, and smiled.

“Found you.”

The lock clicked, the door swung open, and together, they tumbled into freedom.

Two hours later, the hero was swaddled in a fluffy blanket on the villains couch. There were so many safe guards on the villains house that they should have felt trapped. The hero just felt safe.

The villain carefully taped a piece of cloth over their wound, a pristine white bandage covering a neat row of stitches, put there by the villain.

“Thank you,” the hero’s mouth was dry. “For. You know.”

The villain looked up at them, and by god, if they didn’t look like a fallen Angel.

They smiled.

“I couldn’t let you die, now could I,” they said. They tipped the hero’s chin up, and when they spoke next, it was a whisper over their lips. “I’d miss you.”

The hero shivered, and the villain’s smile curled wider.

A moment later, the settled onto the couch beside the hero. The hero stiffened.

“Oh, come now.”

The villains arm fell, lightly, around their shoulders, and then they were pulled, blanket and all, onto the villain’s shoulder.

“You—“

“Hush, hero. That’s the blood loss talking.”

The hero did not nuzzle further into the villain’s chest, and the villain did not tuck them closer.

Absolutely not.

The news report flicked on, and they watched it idly, together.

“We’ll kill them together, yes?” The hero said, voice small.

The villain hummed, then laughed, voice tinged with something dangerous.

If the hero had looked up, they would have seen something akin to murderous. The villain tucked a careful hand over the wound, as if to make sure it was safe, and protected, and no longer bleeding out.

The hero did not look up.

“Yes, hero. We’ll kill them together.”

But for now, they stayed there, huddled together, warm and safe and dry.

And if the hero didn’t leave, even after they had killed the supervillain? If the hero moved in, took up a place on the villain’s bed?

Then that wouldn’t be anyone’s business.

(The villain delighted in it, though.)

(The hero was just happy to no longer be alone.)

(The hero learned the Villain knew a startling amount about the human body, their body, and was especially adept at causing pleasure—)

(The villain delighted in that, too.)