You know, they say it's what's under the skin that counts!
Under The Skin (Worm Altpower- Body Horror)
- Thread starter Junebugtwin
- Start date
- Mature Superhero Horror
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 642
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 12
-
Statistics (12 threadmarks, 29k words)
User Total Junebugtwin 12
Helminth- One
If you don't do well with body horror, gore, or other such unpleasant aspects I recommend you do not read this fic. This story is going to get a tad bit gross at times- oh and Taylors mental health is a trash fire, so be wary of that as well, if that's not your thing. Otherwise, enjoy! Feel free to comment with thoughts, feelings or predictions about this fic, and have a good time!
She doesn't take anything with her other than what she was already wearing, though she does make sure to slip on a jacket. She waits before her dad falls asleep to leave, which doesn't take all that long- alcohol tends to make him sleepy after a few hours.
The night air is blessedly cold on her too-hot skin, a momentary reprieve from the fever like heat she seems to carry around endlessly. The keys jingle with the trembling of her fingers as she locks the front door.
Taylor coughs wetly, her hands still shaking slightly before she curls them into fists and begins to run.
The pavement is still wet from the afternoons rain, and everything smells damp and smoky- garbage and mud mixing together into a sort of awful slurry that lingers in the corners between buildings and under streetlamps.
Brockton Bay is the sort of city that can only look beautiful at a specific angle- when the sun setting and the sky is painted pink and orange, the light catching the sides of the taller buildings on the nicer side of town. Here- in the poor parts, the parts that aren't patrolled by the heroes but the gangs- where most buildings are as slumped as the people, cracked and hopeless and vaguely waterlogged- it is impossible to see the city as anything else but ugly.
Sometimes she finds herself outraged by it- that her home has fallen into such utter disrepair, it stirs within her a potent sort of frustration, a sense that somebody- or more likely, several somebodies- has dropped the ball. Given up. Left the rest of them to rot.
Sometimes though, she can't find it within herself to care. The city is awful, it's falling apart, one gunshot at a time- yes- but when has it not been? Her father used to tell her that Brockton Bay had been different once, and maybe it was, but not in her lifetime.
Taylor winces as her footsteps stumble over a piece of cracked cement, the action jarring her sore body painfully. She likes running, now more than ever really, but she's not sure it helps. It might even be harmful given her condition, but she finds that even so she can't stop herself.
Sure, it hurts, but most things hurt now. And maybe it's slowly making things worse, speeding things up, but she can't stand waiting- can't stand the moments where she has to be still- when she's in class, sitting and starring and waiting for her teacher to shut up, or worse, when she's in bed, begging for sleep.
It's at those times that she feels them the most keenly- wriggling and pulsing like a second heartbeat under every inch of her skin. Bones hollowed out one painful bite at a time, muscle burrowed into and spine cracking under the pressure of the millions of legs pushing against it.
Laying in her bed, praying for sleep, praying for nightmares or dreams or anything but awareness- that's when she feels that she is nothing but a piece of unwieldy skin, that she is empty inside except for those things.
Movement feels almost vindictive in contrast- a stubborn mulishness to push forward, to press one foot against the cement and then another, flinching at each jolting migration, jaw clamped shut with pain. It's the good kind of pain though- because it's the kind she can control.
Eventually she has to slow, breath coming out in heaving gasps as she nears the towering corpses of the boatyard. The boogeyman of her childhood, a graveyard even in name- the old boats lie defeated and rusted in front of her, a perfect cover.
From what she could discover from PHO a lot of new tinkers come here to scavenge parts, which means sometimes gangs do sweeps- eager to spot anyone slipping metal into their bags.
Her smile is grim and pained, cheek twitching and bulging for a moment before settling.
It's a good thing she didn't come here to take anything- only to eat.
Her stomach- if she still has one- feels like its constantly twisted in pain- like she's been starving for weeks instead of having ate dinner merely a few hours ago. She's tall sure, but skinny as a twig- gangly and thin in a sort of ugly mantis like way- she shouldn't need to eat so much- to need to consume every waking moment.
But then, it's not her that she's really feeding.
Taylor walks until she finds a spot that seems secluded, trapped between two metal hulls and under a muddy dip- a few hardy plants grow alongside some rotted wooden planks, the grave ground clear of any recent footprints except bird.
She crouches down, keeping her head low and using her long tangled hair to hide her face.
Shakily she reaches down and digs at her sleeve with pale hands, baring the bruised and sweating skin of her forearm to the night air.
Her breathing is audible now, whistling through her clenched teeth- and just under that, barely discernable, is a low buzzing.
The things inside her are excited now, pushing against the confines of her flimsy skin grotesquely- flesh rippling and pulsing like waves about to break. Taylor pants like a dog, or maybe a woman in labor- clenching her eyes shut and letting her revulsion wrinkle her nose.
She doesn't want to do this.
She doesn't want to do this.
(But- a voice whispers, one that reminds her of flashes of red hair and cruel laughter- when has what you wanted ever mattered?)
It's hard to argue with that.
Her wrist doesn't split open so much as it peels, like an orange- layers of skin ripping and folding until a bloody hole appears, thick enough she could stick a rubber ball inside and set it rolling.
Blood, thick and brown red gushes from her arm, splashing onto the ground wetly and painting grotesque rivers along her palms. In the darkness of nighttime it's hard to distinguish it from anyone else's blood, but she's seen it in the harsh light of her bathroom bulbs- how her blood is thicker than it should be, chunky and slow like porridge or stew- with flecks of a disgusting clear liquid and clumps of some sort of repulsive greenish glue.
The sound it makes hitting the rocks is enough to make her gag even now, and she tries to look away but can't quite tear eyes off of the events to come.
It's horrifying, and strange, and bizarre in a way she would have never thought real until she witnessed it with her own eyes- but it's not even a few seconds before it happens.
The creatures that crawl out of her arm are bugs only in the loosest sense- their appearance some sort of awful frankenstein combination of multiple insects, some with shiny beetle backs and others with wet maggot like skin. None of them manage to actually look like one specific breed of bug, and even the ones that look similar to each other have different colors and bumps and ridges- which is unsettling in a way she can't quite name.
She aims to let out three but ends up with five- before she shuts the hole in her arm manually- using one knee to stop the flow and close the exit, and her hand to messily grasp at her own wet folds of flesh and hastily pin them back into place.
Weave- she thinks as forcefully as possible, trying to wrench one of the fat spider-like creatures in her wrist under her command. It responds lethargically- too hungry and too stubborn to want to bow to her whims, sowing the flaps of her arm closed slowly from the inside.
Taylor holds her breath until it's over, before cautiously getting off of her own arm. The result is not particularly pretty, but she doesn't need it to be- not when she's going to open it right back up again at the end of her excursion.
The five creatures she's let lose all look vaguely similar- stretched long with slimy worm-like bodies- the tops of their backs covered in rough plating and long eerie spiders legs sticking out almost haphazardly from their sides. Their pincers are razor sharp and far too long for comfort, and their eyes are fragmented and round like a flies.
She'd never felt one way or another about bugs before this- somewhat scared of spiders and fondly remembering her days of picking up worms and grasshoppers as a child. Now, she's sure she's never seen anything so despicable in her life.
Maybe, she thinks, trying to fight down her own dizzy nausea- maybe it's that they came from inside her- it's that she knows that there's more crawling around between her ribs.
She can even feel them, if she tries.
Taylor doesn't try.
They're pretty large considering, each about the size of a long pringles can, or maybe more- chattering impatiently up at her.
Taylor tries to straighten up, to make her mental commands sound more authoritarian, though she's shaky enough that it's no easy task.
Hunt- She orders, flashing images of rats, raccoons, crows, stray cats, seagulls and dead fish- letting the things before her properly view her thoughts before moving to the next. No humans- she thinks, as sternly as possible, showing pictures of humans screaming, alerting police, of them shooting or stabbing or stomping, of cars driving over their backs and cracking them like lobster.
She learned the hard way that trying to get the creatures inside her to follow her commands simply because she 'tells them to' or 'desperately wants them to' or 'morally disagrees with them eating her neighbor's cat' is a recipe for disaster. The insects inside her could not possibly give less of a shit what she wants and they don't care about morals or laws or her ending up in jail- they want to feed, and that's that.
She thinks she's probably a master, a parahuman title that misses the mark in her case so hard it might as well be shooting for a different object entirely. She can't master shit- not her life or her grades or her mental state- and especially not her fucking power!
Still, she is sort of their hive, and she thinks that the stupid bastards have some sort of instinct to keep her alive, deep down. She can communicate with them- send them thoughts or orders, and- much to her absolute horror- see, hear and smell through their senses. It might actually be kind of a good power- at least in terms of infiltration and observation, except for the whole 'barely listen to her on a good day' thing.
The creatures chitter in excitement, before rushing off into dark corners- grudgingly accepting her information as helpful despite their growing need to simply feed on the next biological thing that appears in front of them.
Taylor sighs, slumping slightly, her body inches away from the slowly spreading pile of her own blood and fluids.
She's desperately hungry, skin sweating and hot like she has lava instead of larva flowing in her veins, heart wearily beating to the sound of tiny pincers chewing her apart from the inside.
And it's a fucking school night.
Last edited:
Interesting this with be fun
Helminth- Two
Hey folks, uh, fair warning- this chapters a bit of a doozy! It's got references to suicide, self-hatred, more body horror, and sexual assault/ harassment. So please be careful! I promise things will get less dark...eventually?
She has to make a choice. It's the same choice she makes every morning- every morning since her trigger, and that was months ago.
Taylor stares at her face in the mirror. Her skin is pale and sweaty; her body twitches unevenly at times, like a marionette jerking on its strings. The skin under her eyes is a bruise-like dark plum purple; her normally well-maintained hair is limp and tangled. She's wearing as many layers as she can, shirts on top of shirts, a gigantic oversized hoodie, fingerless gloves hidden under the sleeves- slim tights underneath her rugged jeans, face mostly hidden by her hood, hair, and ball cap. What little she can see of her eyes is haunting- a brown so dark they look to be pitch black, gleaming like a snarling predators fangs in the shadows of her gaunt face.
It's hard to see her skin underneath all that, but then, that's the point. It used to be subtle, the shifting of her jaw, the slight wiggle of a patch of innocent skin. It's more obvious now- harder to see, in her face, where there's not much room for them, but they're there.
She tracks the patch of something long and wriggling, watching it distend her own facial features as it moves, cheek bulging rhythmically with its squirming.
She tentatively reaches a hand up to the spot, gently pressing down upon the wriggling creature. She hears a sort of vibrating inside her own body- a sound of offended chittering moving into her jaw and around the bone of her nose. Feeling it get pressed down upon her own cheekbone is disturbing, as is the sensation of it wriggling under her fingers. Like patting down your own pillow-case, only to feel a lump of heaving worms beneath the sheets.
It hurts too- hundreds of tiny jagged feet scraping desperately against the muscle of her facial structure- or even the awful sandpaper feeling of it's rough back grating against the inside of her skin. That part of it hardly registers to her now though- she's in pain almost constantly. She's not sure if being able to struggle through the pain is just part of her power or if she just genuinely got used to it. It's not impossible- she's found that one could get used to a lot.
Should she go. That was the question- the one she asked herself every morning. Should she go to school. Or should she just…go. Because those really are her two choices. She refuses to lie to herself about this, not when it's this important.
If she skips school- if she runs out of class- then that's it. She's using all the willpower she fucking has, just to keep herself together- just to keep them from spilling out. So if she leaves- if she lets herself go- even once- then she's gone. She's not quite sure what 'gone' means really. Maybe it means she leaves for good- becomes homeless, or becomes some sort of crazy full time superhero, or steals a car and drives to Canada. Maybe it means…maybe it means she doesn't come back. Anywhere. Maybe she takes a tour to the Bays tallest building at dusk and gets a look of the beautiful Brockton skyline. And then maybe it means she doesn't come back down.
At least not via the stairs.
So.
There's her choice.
"Taylor, you want any toast?" That was her dad. He sounded tired. He'd be upset if she never came back.
She dropped her hand, letting the outraged wriggling thing in her head scurry away- deeper into her skull.
It was fine. She could make it another day.
"Sure! Thanks dad!" She called out, not letting her own gaze stay from the familiar strangers in the mirror.
The boy in front of her had a scar on his arm. Not uncommon, not in a city like this- where the heroes were outnumbered significantly by gangs and villains- when basically everybody had a story of some explosion or mugging or gang skirmish.
Maybe it was rarer in the richer parts of the city- but she didn't really know, for obvious reasons. She wondered if most of the kids at Arcadia had seen someone die. There were rumors of Wards going there, so she supposed they probably did.
Then again the scar could always be from abuse. Not a lot of happy families in an area like this, not a lot of super-privileged kids going to the worst school in possibly the state.
Emma was kind of the exception to that she supposed. Taylor too, in a way- her father wasn't abusive; he just wasn't…there much. Not that she blamed him- she wasn't there much either.
A hand snapped rudely in front of her face, and Taylor flinched back a little- or she would, if she weren't pressed up against a dirty brick wall.
"-ello! Jesus they were right, she's totally fucking doped up right now!" The boy laughed, voice irritating in the same way putting your tongue against a bus seat and licking would be irritating. She felt like she needed to take a shower just from listening to him- and she was the one plastered in sweat with bugs crawling around in her guts.
His friend- the one on the right with his shitty mismatched shoes- squawked out his own obedient chuckle, and the one on the left just snorted with amusement. Left asshole was Mike F- or maybe Mike B? She could never keep them straight in her head; they both had the same shitty blonde hair.
The one on the right was called Buddy, though she was seventy eight percent sure that wasn't his real name. And she had honestly no idea what the guy in the middle was called.
Maybe something beginning with an E?
They were all white, obnoxious, and vaguely racist shitheads so it was hard to even tell them apart from each other- though to their credit, she had problems with doing that for most people. The consequences of spending most of your time looking down at the floor with a hoodie, hat and hair over your head to hide the fact you had horrible little 'the thing' fuckers dancing around in your face.
Not to mention zoning out of most conversations in an attempt to keep her focus on not letting the things inside her burst out and eat everybody.
"Hey, what about another show freak? I'd bet you'd like that!" Something with an E was saying, sneering voice lilting in a familiarly discomforting way.
Taylor swallowed, hands shaking in her hoodies pockets despite herself. She should be used to this by now.
But she couldn't be- if anything, she seemed to get worse. She was trying to breathe in through her nose to limit the sound- if she started full on panting with panic she'd only attract more attention.
There was a hand on one side of her, pressed up against the wall- blocking any escape even more thoroughly than his groupies already did. The other was touching her. Her hoodie. Grasping at the bottom like he was going to pull it up- like he-
Buzzing- buzzing from deep inside her, heart a ball of pulsating centipedes, veins crawling with spiderlike limbs, every inch of the meat of her crawling and squirming and frantically tearing itself apart.
"Get. Off." She growls out, voice choked and strangled out of her throat- almost wetly thanks to the insects bursting through it- using her vocal cords like a fleshy bridge to the other side of her neck.
The hand lingers on the fabric of her hoodie for a few tension filled moments, before lethargically moving off. None of the boys back away, in fact, the leader even leans his head in- having to bend down slightly despite the fact that she's easily his height because of the way she's bent protectively into herself.
"Such a fucking prude now- what happened to that attitude a few months ago?" He half whispers- loud enough that his two little buddies can listen in and laugh, but quiet enough that it's almost sensual in a sort of twistedly disturbing way.
She feels sick. Not sick enough to barf- though she wishes she could just vomit down the leg of his pants, or maybe directly into his smug leering face- if she could risk looking up at him that is.
She doesn't reply to him, and he seems to take it as the victory it is, finally moving away from her.
He and his friends part amicably, joking and shoving each other casually, like they hadn't just spent the past few minutes threatening to-
Taylor starts walking.
She'll be late to class at this rate.
Madison must have gained a new follower, or maybe paid someone.
Every time Taylor looks up at the board or at Gladly the person behind her jabs the bottom of their pencil at the back of her head.
It doesn't hurt anywhere near as bad as the pincers currently working away at the bottom of her lungs, but it's jolting in a way she can't help flinch from anyway. It makes her want to cover her skull and curl up into a protective ball, maybe retreat into a shell like a turtle or a snail.
Little tiny flea like creatures scratch around the base of her neck, scuttling curiously up towards the back of her skull- probably interested in the harsh vibrations coming from there.
It doesn't make the scenario any more bearable.
They're trying to train her, she thinks- wincing as her head gets jabbed harshly as she quickly looks up to make sure she'd written down her notes correctly. Pavlovian response- that's what it's called. Thay want her to associate daring to look upwards with pain- of trying to meet another person's eyes as too far above her lowly status to bear.
Something thick and brutish shoves the organs in her stomach aside painfully, carelessly marching over her intestines and picking at the membranes of her flesh. She wills herself to hold it in, to command it to stay, to tighten her muscles and make her skin rigid and impenetrable.
Her legs shake and sweat gathers in the creases of her palms- her stomach a mire of agony and discomfort.
If one gets out then they all might get out. If they all get out then everyone here is dead. They don't deserve death. They're kids. She has to keep them in, she can't- her head tilts upwards slightly, and the pack of her head throbs as the end of the pencil slams into it.
She goes back to staring at her desk.
She doesn't try to hide at lunch anymore. They always find her, so it's not really worth the hassle of tirelessly searching for somewhere to eat, or constantly looking over her shoulder and fretting.
If she just sort of… accepts that something bad is going to happen to her, then it's usually a lot more bearable. There's no let down, no moment where she's proven wrong. It's more honest.
So she sits in the hallway, on the floor, in an area that doesn't have much foot traffic so she doesn't get stepped on by accident. (She still gets trampled over on purpose, but that was going to happen regardless.)
This spot is not a secret- she's been sitting here for weeks, people definitely know about it. In fact, the janitor keeps having to waste his time cleaning up all the 'accidental' spills and mysteriously targeted graffiti in this area.
Sometimes she can tell he must have complained to Blackwell, because the woman will give her an irritated look as she walks by while she's having lunch- like Taylor should be on her knees apologising that the targeted harassment campaign that's been making her life actual hell for almost two years also incidentally happens to dirty some of Winslow's already disgusting walls.
It should make her angry. It would have, before her powers. Now she's just…tired.
Tired and hungry.
It's the type of ravenous hunger that won't be solved by one baloney sandwich, a granola bar, and a bag of chips- but then, Taylor would have a pretty fucking difficult time consuming enough to satisfy her needs on the down low. People tend to notice entire towns going missing, or so she's been told.
Still, she eats her food as quickly as possible, if only to save it from whatever terror will inevitably happen to her next.
The Trio don't try as hard as they used to when they bother her- partially because she can tell Madison and Sophia are getting bored, and partially because they don't have to. Their big stunt after break was a horrible type of sustained punishment- it almost had an area of effect. They didn't need to raise a finger against her, not as long as more than half the school could now find pleasure and amusement in taunting her about their 'prank'.
Which was not to say they left her alone- no they made sure to visit her at least once a day. It was almost touching, in a weird, potentially alarming sort of way. After all, they spent more time with her than literally anyone else- way more than her dad.
In other ways, it was not as touching.
"-sleeping with some wannabe Merchant probably, it's not like she could pay for the stuff herself." Cue laugh track. Madison giggled at Emma's fun 'joke' and Sophia snorted, kicking her knee semi-harshly with her foot- presumably, just to keep her head in the game. She probably got bored with watching one asshole and one crazy psychopath snark and sneer at the emotional equivalent of a brick wall.
She liked to imagine she and Sophia were equally unenthused with current events. If she could mentally 'talk' with Sophia the same way she did with the creatures inside of her she surely would have sent over a mental eye roll- or maybe a 'stay strong sister, they'll be done soon, and then you can go back to frying ants with a magnifying glass'.
It was weirdly entertaining to think about. And probably unhealthy. Stockholm syndrome was a thing right?
Her knee throbbed, and something swam through her legs and eagerly pressed at the weakness, looking for escape. Her ribs probably looked like one of those trees infested with ants.
"-god you know, Auntie Annette would be so disappointed to see this is what you've become- just a little whore who parades around the school-" Taylor slammed her hands over her ears, hunching in.
Stop. She had to stop- she had to- they were angry, furious, reacting to some sort of threat- starving hungry, their hive-stop- damaged- bubbling and bursting- stop- hot like magma, pressing pressing pressing at her skin, thin like a ripe rotted apple ready to break- stop-
Taylor had to concentrate- had to- her head was swimming and her pulse was leaping and she was covered in sweat and her shirts were sticking to her skin and her mouth tasted like blood and-
Her hands were mercilessly pried away and shoved aside- Emma crouched down in front of her, almost on top of her, gleaming eyes inches away as she talked, lips flapping and sound coming out and didn't she know- didn't she know Taylor was fucking trying-
"-aybe we could do it again if you're so desperate-" And suddenly she knew.
This was it.
She couldn't stop them.
She was trying- god she was fucking trying- but already she could feel them breaking through her skin- blood bursting and running down beneath her layers of cloth. It was too late.
They were going to be free. And they were going to kill everyone here. She didn't know how she knew that- she'd tried to let loose as few as them as possible before, but somehow she just knew-
Taylor was a threat. Taylor was a bomb- a monster, a soon to be villain. Stupid of her, to go to school- to put her own worthless life above all the others trapped here.
But it was too late for regrets now. In fact, it was rapidly becoming too late for anything. If she wanted to act, she had to do it fast.
She whipped her head up instantly, eyes locking onto Sophia and ignoring Emma completely. Sophia was the best choice out of the trio- faster and stronger and almost predatory- if there was anyone who could make it out, it was going to be her.
The other girl's eyes widened as she met her gaze- the look of someone who's just realized that they haven't actually seen someone's face properly in months, and realizing- too late- that something was wrong.
"Sophi-ahkk-" Taylor coughed, but ignored the way her voice sputtered and vibrated, as if she was talking through some sort of filter- or maybe insects crawling over her airway. "-alarm- PRT- -" Sophia's entire body tensed, eyes flashing alarmingly wide and hands jolting in a strange sort of flinch.
She didn't let the girl have any time to consider her words, because she still needed to get out a message- though this one wasn't just for her.
Taylor had wanted to be a hero after all, the least she could do was give them a head start.
"RUN!-" She screamed- and then-
Last edited:
Interesting. I don't know if you've ever heard of it, but this version of Taylor almost reminds me of Jane Prentiss, a character from the Magnus archives.
Prentiss is a creature that was targeted by the Corruption, an eldritch entity representing the fear of bugs and mold and all things gross as well as toxic love. She was chosen to become the Flesh Hive, a living corpse that is host to these carnivorous worms.
The only difference really is that rather than imbracing becoming the Flesh Hive, Taylor seems to be rejecting it with all her might (which is probably for the best)
Prentiss is a creature that was targeted by the Corruption, an eldritch entity representing the fear of bugs and mold and all things gross as well as toxic love. She was chosen to become the Flesh Hive, a living corpse that is host to these carnivorous worms.
Lurking_Badger
Cheese Enjoyer
- Location
- Wisconsin
This is quite possibly the largest shit storm that could happen. Taylor is mostly just a skin sack full of bones and ravenous bugs in the middle of a school. The only people she gets to warn about the impending bug-pocolypse are the very bullies that caused this mess. Hopefully Sophia decides to actually run to the PRT instead of thinking that killing Taylor will stop this mess (not likely.) No matter what, the aftermath is going to paint Taylor as a villain. I don't think any of the surviving students or teachers are going to say that they allowed a bullying campaign to put someone in the hospital and trigger them. The PRT is going shoot first ask questions later, because Piggot will see this as some bio-tinker horror show. Just, Christ.
Anyway, great story! I really do hope that there is at least some hope for Taylor but I'm not seeing it. I look forward to seeing the next update!
Anyway, great story! I really do hope that there is at least some hope for Taylor but I'm not seeing it. I look forward to seeing the next update!
A great summation of the giant trash fire poor Taylor is currently living through yes! So many poor choices made by so many people leading up to this mess- but what else can you expect from a story centered around Taylor Hebert? Thanks for commenting, and don't fret too much there's a (tiny) glimmer of hope somewhere here I'm sure!
What even would this be classified as? Not breaker, blaster, trump, tinker, or shaker. She can barely control them so could she even be considered a proper master? Changer? How much of her insides are still there vs. how much is 'bugs'? Is her body just a puppet with her mind copied into the shard similar to how Alexandrea functions?
I do believe that Taylor asking Sophia to do anything at all set off alarms in Sophia's head. That she is asking Sophia specifically, to alarm the PRT probably set off even more. Probably thinking "Does she know or have some idea about my connection to the PRT or was it just because I am the closest?".
I do believe that Taylor asking Sophia to do anything at all set off alarms in Sophia's head. That she is asking Sophia specifically, to alarm the PRT probably set off even more. Probably thinking "Does she know or have some idea about my connection to the PRT or was it just because I am the closest?".
I think at this point Taylors classified as a giant fucking disaster. Whether or not she's a master or a changer has, in some ways, more to do with how she perceives her situation that it's actual reality.
Also yeah, lol, imagine being Sophia at this point. Like, Taylors doing it for her own reasons, but for all Sophia knows, this girl she's been ceaselessly bullying (into triggering mind you) somehow has figured out her identity and for some reason hasn't said anything?? about it???
Lurking_Badger
Cheese Enjoyer
- Location
- Wisconsin
Crap, I just realized. If Sophia is distracted for long enough and close to Taylor, a bug might be able to get to her. If a bug is able to burrow into Sophia before she becomes intangible, it would go along with her. This assumes that things in Sophia travel with her and that the bugs don't have additional powers other than being terrifying.
Also, Taylor is just like a genderbent Breed with a slight power change. I'm sure that the consumption of a whole school won't attract the Slaughterhouse 9's attention and cause even more tragedy. Jack Slash will probably start feeling nostalgic if he learns about this situation.
And further wants her to go and get help. Which means that she doesn't want Sophia, Emma, or anyone else to die. That this is Carrie except Carrie doesn't want anything bad to happen but has no control.
And when she sees just what horrors she had forced upon Taylor. That she didn't give Taylor a power but rather a curse that she can only barely control even with her 'iron will' that she clearly has to have not gone full psycho.
If bugs can infect others do they even need Taylor past that point? If any of her bugs have the ability to reproduce inside other people to the same or even a lesser extent as Taylor there is no reason for them to keep her around. I...I do not like this train of thought.
Last edited:
Helminth- Three
This one gets brutal folks! There's a lot of gore, a lot of body horror and violence, and a brief allusion of sexual assault. Please take care of yourselves while reading! And uh, enjoy? I guess?
Things started to happen very quickly.
Taylors mouth widened like a gaping cavern, stretching and stretching until the flesh thinned and stretched too far- the meat of her cheeks ripping with a terrible wet squelch, her jaw cracking and shifting as her mouth opened and opened and opened-
-her scream of alarm stolen and defiled, filled with awful squeaking and buzzing and chirping-
-her teeth pushed forward and bent out of her mouth with the force of the torrent of insects exiting it, her tongue flattened and her gums scratched and torn until the inside of her mouth was nothing but shreds of blood, throat bulging like a too-full water balloon ready to burst, veins and muscle violently shoved aside and pushing fiercely against her skin-
-her chest expanding, filling, ribs spreading like a bugs wings unfurling under her skin, parting outwards under the never ending torrent before bursting though the bloody skin of her chest and snapping to their most vile position, spread out totally to open up her lungs and heart and thousands of crawling wriggling things to the air-
-her layers of shirts ripping under the pressure until it was just her oversized hoodie against the deadly stream of vermin erupting from her torso, to which the worn cloth didn't stand a chance, fabric tearing as easily as tissue paper under the onslaught of needle sharp pincers-
-the tear of her skin ever widening until it had split her down through the middle like two children giggling over cracking a wishbone, bones snapping and fracturing with a myriad of grisly pops-
-guts spilling and exploding with a flurry of digestive fluid and hairy flea-like creatures, stomach popping and pouring it's foul smelling contents onto the floor-
-her legs, now bent far too apart to possibly function again, twitching and bulging disgustingly at the ankles, before the skin shears apart from the inside, a giant armored spider-like creature bursting from the wound like a sprout from the soil or a baby-bird from the egg, it's repulsively human-like mouth opened in hungry delight-
-the toes of Taylors other foot protruding grotesquely, the toenails springing off from the pressure with a flurry of off-white pus, millions of tiny many legged pests swarming from the bloody discharge and onto the horrifically soiled floor-
-her arms peeling like they had just last night, only the skin did not stop it's flight from her gleaming muscles, pulling back and rolling up like an old carpet, the red insides painted with seemingly infinite white maggots, the muscles in her forearms quickly giving way to long noodle like creatures with mandibles half the size of their slithering bodies-
-her dark brown eyes streaming with dark crimson blood before her skull started to bulge, like a swim tube slowly being inflated, her nose breaking away at the lip and the rest of her skull flying upwards as if spring loaded, beetle-like creatures of every shape and size exploding forth in a visceral mass, her ears expanding and stretching until they were no longer recognizable as such, her precious hair limp with sweat and brain-matter and too-thick clumps of blood.
All this in a matter of moments. The next events were to be of equal efficiency.
Emma screamed- they all did of course, even Sophia- but Emma especially, seeing as she was targeted first. Maybe if she hadn't been practically perched over her ex-friend, holding her frail arms in her cruel grip- maybe then she would have at least had a chance.
Or maybe not. Either way, it no longer mattered to Emma- in fact, very few things would matter to Emma in just a few seconds.
Hundreds upon hundreds of tiny burrowing creatures buried into her like bullets, their faces equipped with horrifyingly sharp needles and powerful legs to dig with. Most of them entered through her chest, but were not quite strong enough to go straight through her collar bone, having to annoyingly go the long way around, using the bone as a walkway to shift their way awkwardly around and into deeper parts of her body.
A creature with razor sharp teeth on the outside of its head- pointed forwards like ramming horns but complete with its own set of tongue and digestive tract- leapt forward out of the swarm, landing with a wet thump onto the hysterical girls face, not waiting a moment before all four of its powerful legs latched on to the edges of her jaw and dug into her flawless skin- impossible to remove without tearing her own face off.
Fortunately, she wouldn't have a face to worry about for much longer. The insectoid reared its head back before slamming it forward, its massive teeth squishing into her head like a meat-hammer- blood spaying everywhere and the girls agonized screaming turning mushy- if not equally as panicked.
Then the creature bit down- denting the poor girls face inwards and ending her frightened struggle permanently.
Madison, at this point, had tried to leap to her feet and run, but lacked the coordination and clear head to do so- legs numb and shaky with shock and fear. She fell, her knees bruising heavily against the cold floor, her arms scrambling to lift herself back up.
It was not to be.
Her screams were quickly smothered by the thick smog of flying nipping stinging beasts, though somehow that made it all the more obvious when it stopped.
This had all happened within the span of a few seconds, but to Sophia's credit, she had already began to run- making a mad dash towards the nearest wall and shifting through it.
As a general rule, she- like most halfway-reasonable capes, did not want to out herself as one, and tried to maintain a proper civilian identity when she could afford to do so.
This was not one of those situations- and quite frankly, if she got in shit for it then that was a good thing- because it'd meant she'd be alive. She'd take Piggot's red face and waspish tone over this horror any day.
So she burst into the classroom without a second thought, reforming back into a solid form before swearing violently- it was lunchtime, nobody was here.
Still, she had a brief moment to act now, and so she did- throwing her bag down harshly onto the floor before digging through it carelessly, snatching up her work phone with violently shaking fingers.
She dialed the emergency number- the one that went straight to Armsmaster- as fast as her trembling hand would allow her.
The device only ringed for a second- and she had never been more happy to hear Armsmasters stern no-nonsense voice in her life.
She didn't even give him a second to get a word in, shouting into the receiver with no care for modulating her panicked tone or high volume.
"Emergency parahuman threat at Winslow! Get everyone fucking down here r-right fucking now! Evacuate nearby buildings, f-fucking horrible- insects but they're huge, and they- some sort of master or changer o-or, I don't-" Her voice collapsed onto itself, a animalistic sort of half sob half heave, stomach rolling nauseously at the memory of that thing perched horribly on Emma's face-
Armsmaster was saying something loudly- some sort of order, and she wanted to listen, she did- because actually, orders sounded fucking great right about now- but she couldn't hear him. Her ears were ringing and it felt like the building was shaking.
Wait.
She dropped the phone, turning around with practiced efficiency even in her fear- eyes popping open alarmingly wide as she saw them.
She hadn't thought she'd been safe here- not when she was so close, not when there were so many- but she'd expected them to crawl under the door, or to slowly break it down-
What she hadn't expected, was for them to burrow through the fucking wall.
A roughly textured carapace covered head popped through an emerging crack though the shoddily painted brick with apparent ease, tiny black eyes peering coldly at her, as if in contemplation.
Sophia didn't waste time picking up her bag or phone- it didn't have any weapons in it anyway.
She ran again, sprinting through classroom after classroom towards the principal's office- her body moving faster than she'd ever pushed it before, uncaring of the risk that she brought upon herself via electrical wiring.
She'd say it was luck she managed to make it into the room unharmed, but really, how lucky could she be- when Taylor fucking Hebert of all people had triggered.
Blackwell was in the process of moving towards her emergency phone- a horrifying reminder that the past events- which felt like they stretched for years within her own mind- really only had lasted a couple of minutes.
Which meant Blackwell had heard the screaming but still hadn't had enough time to properly react.
Sophia didn't care.
She rushed through the office, ignoring the woman's surprised and angry shouts, practically smashing through her chair and desk to slam her hand onto the loudspeaker button.
She held it for ten seconds consecutively, before taking her hand off and pushing it three times.
A high pitched beeping begun- close enough to the Endbringer wail to incite mass fear, but far enough apart that no one could mistake it for such.
A pre-recorded voice boomed over the shitty loudspeakers.
" ATTENTION! ALL STAFF AND STUDENTS MUST EVACUATE IMMEDATELY; THERE IS A CODE THREE PARAHUMAN THREAT IN THE BUILDING. PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY OUT OF THE BUILDING AND INTO YOUR GIVEN EMERGENCY ZONES- ATTENTION! ALL STAFF AND STUDENTS MUST EVACUATE IMMEDATELY; THERE IS A CODE THREE PARAHUMAN THREAT-"
Sophia didn't even wince at the overly loud and creepily robotic voice, though it grated on her ears as well, her entire body shaking like a single leaf torn apart in a hurricane. Her breath was coming out in great heaving gasps, even though- technically- she'd ran father for longer before without problems.
"S-sophia! Do you have your mask and-" Sophia didn't bother to listen to the rest of the pathetic woman's words, rushing out through the wooden door and towards her stash of weapons.
Even though she was running parallel to Hebert's position more and more bugs started appearing- mostly smaller faster moving ones- things that looked like flies but had creepy black string-like substances swaying behind them in the air. The ground had its fair share of problems as well- tiny masses of almost fluidly moving creatures spilled forth through cement and around corners- a wriggling multicolored carpet that would soon coat the entire floor.
Sophia didn't stop running, rushing into a girls bathroom- one which was thankfully empty- the last thing she wanted to deal with was panicking civilians- (though some small part of her couldn't blame them for panicking)- and leaping towards one of the stalls.
She practically shoved her hand intangibly through the wall, snatching her spare crossbow, arrows and old hockey mask with clumsy fingers.
She strapped her arrow satchel on as quickly as she could; stupidly slow fingers clumsy against the back of her head as she put her old mask on.
Some protection was better than no protection, and if she somehow hadn't outed herself then she wasn't going to try to do it on purpose now.
Sophia didn't stay in the bathroom and cry like someone weaker than her would have- not that it would have done them much good if they had. She couldn't picture those awful things stopping for anything, and certainly not for Winslow's cheap plastic stall doors.
She exited the bathroom quickly, flinching harshly at the sight that greeted her eyes.
There were dead students on the floor- and she honestly couldn't fucking say if she had missed them in her sheer minded determination to arm herself, or if they'd only recently been overtaken- but either way, it was fucking horrible.
She resolved to keep her eyes away from them when even a single glance made her want to vomit until she was empty.
Then she turned and ran.
Normally she wouldn't- she'd go straight for the source, pin stupid ugly worthless Taylor Hebert to the wall and spear a bolt straight through her eye and into her brain- but-
But one: Taylor Hebert was, to put it lightly, not doing very fucking well herself! Only that fucking dweeb would manage to get a power so self-destructive, that the moment she used it she completely fell- split- broke- fuck-
That she died.
And two: she- she was an idiotic little shitstain marring Sophia's boot, not worth mentioning even- nothing more than stress relief for her, yes- but- she-
She-
"Sophi-ahkk-" Taylor heaved, voice gargled like she had something caught in her throat, tone pitched high with agony- and not the fake stupid prey version of pain, no, the kind of pain that came when your ribs snapped and pierced through your lungs, when you lost a limb, when you needed Panacea in seconds or you were toast-
"-alarm- PRT- -" She croaked, and Sophia realized with some sort of sinking drowning feeling that she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen the weakling cry. That she wasn't crying, even now- she just looked desperate. She just looked sad. She just looked tired.
Sophia swallowed, throat irritatingly thick as she ran- probably from all the dust raining down from the ceiling that she was inhaling.
Hebert hadn't been lying though- she hadn't been bluffing or threatening or trying to trick her. It was a warning, her last words had been a warning.
Did she trigger? No- she wouldn't have, not over just some words, not when Emma said shit like that to her constantly- not when they'd done much- wo- more extreme stuff. If almost breaking her arm on the stairs hadn't been enough, or spreading that gross shit in her locker, or stealing all her stuff, or smashing her mother's flute, or stealing her clothes and-
oh. Oh shit. That was when it happened. That had to be it. She'd been worried even, when it occurred, that she was going to trigger. Of course, she wasn't like a fucking villain or anything, she hadn't planned for shit to go that far- but stupid Madison had forgotten which garbage can they tossed her clothes in and they had to search them all and by then-
She'd watched her after that- made sure she wasn't going to snap and try to kill someone at Sophia's school. But she hadn't- sure she'd been…quieter, more distant- but she'd just assumed that she was finally breaking down like she was supposed to. But. But it all fit- that was when she was sick a lot, and then she started coming to school wearing all these layers, and Sophia had thought it was because she…didn't want anyone to.. like, touch her or whatever- but she must have been trying to hide her power.
Or. Or even keep them in?
For some reason Sophia's nausea swelled, and she had to skid to a stop, lifting her mask up just in time to expel the contents of her lunch all over the dirty floor.
She was crying. Why the fuck was she crying! Predators didn't fucking cry- fucking Sophia Hess- Shadow Stalker- didn't fucking cry!
She harshly wiped at her mouth with one hand and her eyes with the other, pulling her mask down with a painful snap. Stupid. Weak. She had to get her shit together.
She had to- to meet Armsmaster. To give him her info on- on whatever Hebert was now. Maybe he could- could find a way to-
Sophia got up, and Sophia ran.
Last edited:
whoa very cool! But also, yeah, Taylors gonna take a hot minute to warm up to being a 'flesh hive' as you so aptly put itInteresting. I don't know if you've ever heard of it, but this version of Taylor almost reminds me of Jane Prentiss, a character from the Magnus archives.The only difference really is that rather than imbracing becoming the Flesh Hive, Taylor seems to be rejecting it with all her might (which is probably for the best)
Prentiss is a creature that was targeted by the Corruption, an eldritch entity representing the fear of bugs and mold and all things gross as well as toxic love. She was chosen to become the Flesh Hive, a living corpse that is host to these carnivorous worms.
TMTM™
Your New Waifu
- Location
- In Your Mind-Fuzz
Sickening to the point where I'm real curious as to how this will end up becoming less dark as promised in earlier chapters. There's hitting rock bottom, and then there's launching yourself straight into the mantle of the Earth saying "Fuck it, I'm heading straight through to China!".
XD yeah that's true! I'm a big fan of stories with supremely dark beginnings that then become less dark by the end. There's a kind of satisfaction to seeing someone go through hell, and thinking 'oh god, they're never going to get through this' and then, slowly, eventually, they do. I like happy endings, I like seeing characters who've suffered learn what kindness and love looks like. In someways Worm was pretty hard for me to read, because it starts out kind of dark and then gets darker and never really stops lol. I like Worm, but it's ending didn't really scratch that itch for me y'know? But I promise this will get better! I wouldn't enjoy writing it if it didn't, and ultimately, I just write things I'd like to read haha.
Thanks for commenting!
- Location
- universe
Fix the wall of text. I love this story so i want to read what's there without it being tainted by wall of text boredome. I've not read other comments in order to avoid spoilers, so apologies if this has been said already.
Edit:
Nevermind i was too impatient lol.
Edit:
Nevermind i was too impatient lol.
Last edited:
Yeah, there is not much anyone or anything can do to stop insects.
The Wall Of Text is there on purpose actually, it's a stylistic choice- if it feels overwhelming to read, well, that's kind of the point! It's a bit hard to just add in spaces between paragraphs because it's really just one paragraph? It's actually not even that- it's just one huge run-on sentence, with the only punctuation being commas.
Not these ones anyway lol, they're a bit more...uh, entrepreneurial than your average swarm of bugs.
First good for trying to stretch your writing muscles and try new things, but I have to say it doesn't really work, and just ends up as noise. As soon as you make it too hard to read people just stop reading it and skim down to the next bit, which is kind of a shame as you have some good descriptive writing there.
Call it a limitation of the media type.
Perversely it seems like, if this was a film this scene would be full of jump cuts and shots of recognizable human forms, ie eyes, hands, mouths, etc , being ripped apart from with in and becoming portals to bug hell. But this just sorta drags.
Maybe try a different formatting style for this chunk and possible break apart sentences to show the POV darting around? More readable but still off. Also allows the readers imagination to fill in some gaps.
Last edited:
Aurora Raven
(Verified Bird)
- Location
- Surrey, UK
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Is that a seed of respect I see in Sophia?
That and terror/fear.
ah well, you've convinced me! I edited things a bit, hopefully this reads a bit easier without necessarily loosing the mood? Thanks for the critique!
Mayhaps just a shred! To be fair, I'd be impressed too, if I knew someone was holding all that inside them constantly!
Sophia seems awfully sure that Taylor wouldn't trigger over just anything when she's going over events in her head doesn't she? Kick a person enough times, and no matter how much you hate them, it's going to start becoming a little impressive that they keep getting back up. ;p