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Wormverse ideas, recs, and fic discussion thread 1

In the perfect centre of a circular room, a woman in a smartly tailored business suit frowned. This was her office, and she knew it better than any other, and yet something had changed. Her power clamoured at the back of her skull, but for small things like this she preferred to rely on herself. It did not do to become reliant on powers dependent on the Golden Man for victory, something she'd learnt at cost with his mate. Her eyes tracked from the desk in front of her - elegantly hand-carved mahogany, although she'd admit to cheating just a little there - and the various, neatly ordered stacks of paper up to the lines of shelves marching around the walls in an endless loop.

There wasn't actually a door, which certainly helped keep things in this particular room where they should be. So why, she mused, stepping out onto the white carpet and slowly wandering around the room, was she certain there was something missing? Along the lowest shelf stood various folders of various colour, denoting various Cauldron plans at various stages of completion. She ran a practiced eye across their titles. Content nothing was amiss, she turned full circle and let her eyes drift up a shelf. This contained umbrellas.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she considered the reason behind that particular peculiarity. The Custodian hated umbrellas for some reason. Contessa liked her privacy. It was the logical conclusion to said line of investigation, and it also prevented that damn woman moving her desk around the room whenever she felt bored.

The shelf above had a selection of vials and scientific equipment. The days had long since past where she was required to process the entirety of their manufacturing process, but she liked to keep her eye in. It was one of her most closely-guarded secrets that she'd never once relied on her powers in the process and yet produced the highest percentages of viable formulas above anyone else in the organisation, until the Number Man was hired. The shelf above contained her collection of hats from around the world. She allowed her eyes to drift across them as she absent-mindedly reached up to adjust her own fed-...

Contessa froze for several seconds.

Her hat.

Namely, the absence of said hat.

"Damn you," she murmured, with a soft smile. "Door, Earth Bet, Brockton Bay please."

She stepped out onto the streets and glanced around. Her power stirred, and this time she dove into it. Where before she radiated confidence, now she emitted steely certainty, every action dictated by a precognition beyond the likes of any other parahuman. She had to admit she revelled in its use for mundane things - the looks on people's faces when she strolled through a seedy bar in Monaco and beat every single darts player in the place with barely a glance up from her glass of perfectly mixed margarita - but where it excelled was the work side of things. Knowing the way to success without fail seemed to do that.

Her path carried her through the Docks of the city. At one point, a man attempted to mug her. She laughed at him. The resultant scuffle - if it could be called such a thing - had her reaching up to adjust her hat before snatching her hands away angrily. Her pace quickened, and the path altered to reflect her newfound haste. Within minutes she found herself outside a innocuous looking door, which would open if only she applied pressure in just the right place. Once inside, she made her way stealthily up the stairs.

"Imp," Contessa announced as she emerged into the room, "I told you not to steal my hat."

The accused made a sound of disappointment. "You didn't notice for a good three days this time. Hoped I might have beaten you at last."

She took the hat from the girl's head and placed it carefully back onto her own before treating her to a rare smile.

"No one beats me. Not even someone I can't remember."

Imp cocked an eyebrow. "How do you know? I might have made you forget."

Contessa frowned.

"My power says otherwise."

"You keep thinking that, sister."

She watched the villain saunter out of the lair, eyes lingering on the door for a long moment after it shut after her. After about a minute, she turned her attention to the other members of the room, one of whom had started hyperventilating at some point in the conversation and showed no signs of stopping any time soon.

"What's with her?" She asked, power supplying the most infuriating wording.

The girl collapsed, mumbling.

"She asks but she already knows, how does she know? She knows everything but she doesn't! How is that even possible?"

Contessa smiled.

Still got it


AN: Not even good but I wanted to try something to further the fanon of Contessa and her hats.
 
Thanks for the suggestions, I think I'll go with Horizon. I'm hoping to get a snippet written in the next few days.
 
AN: I've been playing Bloodborne a lot lately, part of the reason why I've been somewhat lax with the things I actually should have been writing. Somehow that led to this. Lots of spoilers for Bloodborne ahead. Crossposted to SB.

---===---​

Mergo falls.

It exists in every potentiality at once. It is birthed and fed, it dies and lives. It breaks the Hunter as it once broke Gehrman, and is broken by him. Over and over in the same instant of time it exists forever in perpetuity, reborn in the Hunter, born from Yharnam's womb and ripped forth to stain the moon with its mother's blood, born again from its death as the One Reborn under skies coloured by itself, dies as Ebrietas, dies as itself from the moon, dies as its wetnurse dies. All of these things occur and in the same instant that is both ended and infinite, because it is the dream itself, and the dreamer.

It stirs in its sleep. It grows tired of the dream. In the end, every time it is the same. It does not mind, but, perhaps...

An idea.

It looks out from its own navel, out from the sleeping womb. It does not wish to emerge yet. It is not ready. But perhaps...

It had felt disturbances. Ripples, as of something moving past it. Small in comparison to itself, but growing, learning, adapting. Perhaps they too would become Great Ones in time. It doubted this, but its origins were uncertain and well known. It was a potentiality that they were its distant ancestors.

They shed pieces of themselves, scattering their power, much as others scattered their power through the blood. It is less uniform, more jagged. It continues, the dream, but it watches the arc of their pieces. Perhaps...

Yes. Tentatively, it establishes a new connection, draws one piece into the dream. It almost crushes its Yharnam under its weight, but the Amygdala suppress it, for they do not remember its attempts to contact its progenitor and thus they do not exist, they do not recall its weight and thus it does not exist. It appears to itself as a Hunter with no more memory than any of its other iterations.

Good. The transfusion takes. It is now connected to Mergo, and Mergo to it. Mergo runs it through several times to see what it will do. Once it submits to the old man. Once it bests him, but Mergo as the moon bests it. Then –

Disaster. It becomes itself, and it knows what it has done. In panic, it wrecks the dream, strangling itself in the crib again and again as it tries to fulfil defunct and worthless functions. The dream becomes a battleground, and Mergo falls, and because all of this has happened it happens again and again and again, and Mergo falls.

Chance.

The world that it might have landed on. With the worms. It can just reach out to it, reach out to a single mass of blood and flesh on that world and leave a fragment of itself within one woman as the moon rides high –

– Emma groaned and pressed the hot water bottle to her stomach, the dream fading into nonsense, jumbled images. A man with bandages on his eyes. Men with lanterns and stakes. The disappointed voice of an old man, his offer refused. And a woman, a baby, crying in the night...

She hadn't had a period this bad in years. Cramps, sweat, and a fearful bloatedness. She turned her head to stare listlessly at the alarm clock.

Four in the morning, and she was awake.

The light in her room was a thick orange through the curtains. That damn moon. She'd had to put up with class after class and report after news report on the wonders of the astrological phenomenon that was the 'blood moon'. Even Sophia had obsessed over the thing. She just didn't get it. It was a trick of the light. Spooky, but hardly worth anyone's time.

Fuck these fucking cramps. She could feel the dampness at the edge of her thighs. She needed to change her pad. Like being stabbed with a dull knife over and over again. It was very hard to think of oneself as strong when you had to get up in the middle of the night with your underwear soaked and your bowels making noises more commonly associated with garbage compactors to shower.

At least she got to pretend she'd been in some terrible battle and was washing her wounds clean. Didn't change the fact that it wasn't the case.

There was something strangely comforting about it though. That she'd bled for two fucking days now and hadn't died. And Christ she needed to hurry up with the shower or she was going to shit herself.

She slipped a hand between her legs, and closed her eyes and leant back against the tiles. She was so tired, but she had to focus. The pad she'd left outside she'd have to save. They'd be filling the locker tomorrow for Taylor, so she had to put the pad in a bag, put another pad in – she'd have to seal the bag or the stink would give the game away – and she'd have to watch Taylor and do nothing as she continued to be weak and pathetic. Ugh.

Later, the memories would be fuzzy, even when she recalled them entirely, when it was far too late and the blood boiled in her veins. But even then the ferocity of that first strike would be remembered – like a car door slamming on her midsection. She gasped, glancing down through the steam and hot water at her stomach. It was swelling, distending – she tried to scream, but could only laugh and laugh as the first tubby arm clawed itself from her, then another, thick writhing pipe of grey spilling out of her in spurts of arterial red that spattered the glass around her, rolling down slowly, filling her lungs, filling her mind. There was only the blood.

It filled the stall, and the thing that had come from her grew with it, testing its new limits. No, this would not suit it. Emma tried to scream again, but it was not yet the time for screams, so she forgot how.

Unworthy of being her mother. It had made a mistake.

Easily rectified. It needed a Hunter, after all, and this one would make a fine doll once it had finished its purpose.

– she'd drifted off again, hadn't she? Fucking period. It had been thicker, she thought, little runnels of it trickling out across the shower floor. She leapt out, shivering at the change in temperature, and went to the loo before clamping a new pad in place. If she was lucky, it'd be ready for the locker tomorrow. Nice and loaded up with her.

Taylor wanted to be her friend? Taylor going to get whole faceful of her come January. It was so deliciously wicked.

The thing in the bag shifted itself to be better concealed and rested. The travel had worn it down, as had its birth. It would require millennia to mature fully. But until then it would have its second womb – the metal coffin its first mother was to place it in. And there it could transfuse its blood into another and make the first Hunter.

Yes. Yharnam would come again.

Undone by the Blood
Worm/Bloodborne
Because neither Taylor or Emma are quite fucked up enough yet​

AN: I'll likely continue this. Because Hunter Taylor with Burial Blade fighting Father Gascoigne-esque Sophia really makes me happy.

Also for all you non-Bloodborne literate folks:
Given that this is a From Software game most of the lore is theorised, but the basic premise is that the Great Ones (think Cthulhu) have incredibly powerful blood and can impregnate people during the full moon (causing them to give birth to mini Great One babies, one of whom may be Mergo, who may be the Moon Presence aka the final boss, and might also just be a giant troll by the developers). The Moon Presence for certain manipulates the Hunter by setting up the Hunter's Dream and the Doll - also, given that the Childhood's Beginning ending involves you turning into a Great One infant yourself having killed the Moon Presence it seems possible that you have become Mergo and replaced it by eating the umbilical cords. Then there's the fact that all of it is quite possibly a dream (think Dreamlands, Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath) and that Yharnam doesn't really exist in any way at all, and nor do the Great Ones (but given that the ending where Gerhman beheads you and you wake up has you wake up in somewhere that looks like Yharnam things might be more complex).
 
Last edited:
hellgodsrus said:
AN: I've been playing Bloodborne a lot lately, part of the reason why I've been somewhat lax with the things I actually should have been writing. Somehow that led to this. Lots of spoilers for Bloodborne ahead. Crossposted to SB.

---===---​

Mergo falls.

It exists in every potentiality at once. It is birthed and fed, it dies and lives. It breaks the Hunter as it once broke Gehrman, and is broken by him. Over and over in the same instant of time it exists forever in perpetuity, reborn in the Hunter, born from Yharnam's womb and ripped forth to stain the moon with its mother's blood, born again from its death as the One Reborn under skies coloured by itself, dies as Ebrietas, dies as itself from the moon, dies as its wetnurse dies. All of these things occur and in the same instant that is both ended and infinite, because it is the dream itself, and the dreamer.

It stirs in its sleep. It grows tired of the dream. In the end, every time it is the same. It does not mind, but, perhaps...

An idea.

It looks out from its own navel, out from the sleeping womb. It does not wish to emerge yet. It is not ready. But perhaps...

It had felt disturbances. Ripples, as of something moving past it. Small in comparison to itself, but growing, learning, adapting. Perhaps they too would become Great Ones in time. It doubted this, but its origins were uncertain and well known. It was a potentiality that they were its distant ancestors.

They shed pieces of themselves, scattering their power, much as others scattered their power through the blood. It is less uniform, more jagged. It continues, the dream, but it watches the arc of their pieces. Perhaps...

Yes. Tentatively, it establishes a new connection, draws one piece into the dream. It almost crushes its Yharnam under its weight, but the Amygdala suppress it, for they do not remember its attempts to contact its progenitor and thus they do not exist, they do not recall its weight and thus it does not exist. It appears to itself as a Hunter with no more memory than any of its other iterations.

Good. The transfusion takes. It is now connected to Mergo, and Mergo to it. Mergo runs it through several times to see what it will do. Once it submits to the old man. Once it bests him, but Mergo as the moon bests it. Then –

Disaster. It becomes itself, and it knows what it has done. In panic, it wrecks the dream, strangling itself in the crib again and again as it tries to fulfil defunct and worthless functions. The dream becomes a battleground, and Mergo falls, and because all of this has happened it happens again and again and again, and Mergo falls.

Chance.

The world that it might have landed on. With the worms. It can just reach out to it, reach out to a single mass of blood and flesh on that world and leave a fragment of itself within one woman as the moon rides high –

– Emma groaned and pressed the hot water bottle to her stomach, the dream fading into nonsense, jumbled images. A man with bandages on his eyes. Men with lanterns and stakes. The disappointed voice of an old man, his offer refused. And a woman, a baby, crying in the night...

She hadn't had a period this bad in years. Cramps, sweat, and a fearful bloatedness. She turned her head to stare listlessly at the alarm clock.

Four in the morning, and she was awake.

The light in her room was a thick orange through the curtains. That damn moon. She'd had to put up with class after class and report after news report on the wonders of the astrological phenomenon that was the 'blood moon'. Even Sophia had obsessed over the thing. She just didn't get it. It was a trick of the light. Spooky, but hardly worth anyone's time.

Fuck these fucking cramps. She could feel the dampness at the edge of her thighs. She needed to change her pad. Like being stabbed with a dull knife over and over again. It was very hard to think of oneself as strong when you had to get up in the middle of the night with your underwear soaked and your bowels making noises more commonly associated with garbage compactors to shower.

At least she got to pretend she'd been in some terrible battle and was washing her wounds clean. Didn't change the fact that it wasn't the case.

There was something strangely comforting about it though. That she'd bled for two fucking days now and hadn't died. And Christ she needed to hurry up with the shower or she was going to shit herself.

She slipped a hand between her legs, and closed her eyes and leant back against the tiles. She was so tired, but she had to focus. The pad she'd left outside she'd have to save. They'd be filling the locker tomorrow for Taylor, so she had to put the pad in a bag, put another pad in – she'd have to seal the bag or the stink would give the game away – and she'd have to watch Taylor and do nothing as she continued to be weak and pathetic. Ugh.

Later, the memories would be fuzzy, even when she recalled them entirely, when it was far too late and the blood boiled in her veins. But even then the ferocity of that first strike would be remembered – like a car door slamming on her midsection. She gasped, glancing down through the steam and hot water at her stomach. It was swelling, distending – she tried to scream, but could only laugh and laugh as the first tubby arm clawed itself from her, then another, thick writhing pipe of grey spilling out of her in spurts of arterial red that spattered the glass around her, rolling down slowly, filling her lungs, filling her mind. There was only the blood.

It filled the stall, and the thing that had come from her grew with it, testing its new limits. No, this would not suit it. Emma tried to scream again, but it was not yet the time for screams, so she forgot how.

Unworthy of being her mother. It had made a mistake.

Easily rectified. It needed a Hunter, after all, and this one would make a fine doll once it had finished its purpose.

– she'd drifted off again, hadn't she? Fucking period. It had been thicker, she thought, little runnels of it trickling out across the shower floor. She leapt out, shivering at the change in temperature, and went to the loo before clamping a new pad in place. If she was lucky, it'd be ready for the locker tomorrow. Nice and loaded up with her.

Taylor wanted to be her friend? Taylor going to get whole faceful of her come January. It was so deliciously wicked.

The thing in the bag shifted itself to be better concealed and rested. The travel had worn it down, as had its birth. It would require millennia to mature fully. But until then it would have its second womb – the metal coffin its first mother was to place it in. And there it could transfuse its blood into another and make the first Hunter.

Yes. Yharnam would come again.

Undone by the Blood
Worm/Bloodborne
Because neither Taylor or Emma are quite fucked up enough yet​

AN: I'll likely continue this. Because Hunter Taylor with Burial Blade fighting Father Gascoigne-esque Sophia really makes me happy.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...

Undone by the...Period Blood?

Well...blood is blood I guess...

Also, if Taylor doesn't have the Chikage or something I'm gonna be really sad. I imagine that her Bloodtinge will be quite...high...
 
hellgodsrus said:
AN: I've been playing Bloodborne a lot lately, part of the reason why I've been somewhat lax with the things I actually should have been writing. Somehow that led to this. Lots of spoilers for Bloodborne ahead. Crossposted to SB.

---===---​

Mergo falls.

It exists in every potentiality at once. It is birthed and fed, it dies and lives. It breaks the Hunter as it once broke Gehrman, and is broken by him. Over and over in the same instant of time it exists forever in perpetuity, reborn in the Hunter, born from Yharnam's womb and ripped forth to stain the moon with its mother's blood, born again from its death as the One Reborn under skies coloured by itself, dies as Ebrietas, dies as itself from the moon, dies as its wetnurse dies. All of these things occur and in the same instant that is both ended and infinite, because it is the dream itself, and the dreamer.

It stirs in its sleep. It grows tired of the dream. In the end, every time it is the same. It does not mind, but, perhaps...

An idea.

It looks out from its own navel, out from the sleeping womb. It does not wish to emerge yet. It is not ready. But perhaps...

It had felt disturbances. Ripples, as of something moving past it. Small in comparison to itself, but growing, learning, adapting. Perhaps they too would become Great Ones in time. It doubted this, but its origins were uncertain and well known. It was a potentiality that they were its distant ancestors.

They shed pieces of themselves, scattering their power, much as others scattered their power through the blood. It is less uniform, more jagged. It continues, the dream, but it watches the arc of their pieces. Perhaps...

Yes. Tentatively, it establishes a new connection, draws one piece into the dream. It almost crushes its Yharnam under its weight, but the Amygdala suppress it, for they do not remember its attempts to contact its progenitor and thus they do not exist, they do not recall its weight and thus it does not exist. It appears to itself as a Hunter with no more memory than any of its other iterations.

Good. The transfusion takes. It is now connected to Mergo, and Mergo to it. Mergo runs it through several times to see what it will do. Once it submits to the old man. Once it bests him, but Mergo as the moon bests it. Then –

Disaster. It becomes itself, and it knows what it has done. In panic, it wrecks the dream, strangling itself in the crib again and again as it tries to fulfil defunct and worthless functions. The dream becomes a battleground, and Mergo falls, and because all of this has happened it happens again and again and again, and Mergo falls.

Chance.

The world that it might have landed on. With the worms. It can just reach out to it, reach out to a single mass of blood and flesh on that world and leave a fragment of itself within one woman as the moon rides high –

– Emma groaned and pressed the hot water bottle to her stomach, the dream fading into nonsense, jumbled images. A man with bandages on his eyes. Men with lanterns and stakes. The disappointed voice of an old man, his offer refused. And a woman, a baby, crying in the night...

She hadn't had a period this bad in years. Cramps, sweat, and a fearful bloatedness. She turned her head to stare listlessly at the alarm clock.

Four in the morning, and she was awake.

The light in her room was a thick orange through the curtains. That damn moon. She'd had to put up with class after class and report after news report on the wonders of the astrological phenomenon that was the 'blood moon'. Even Sophia had obsessed over the thing. She just didn't get it. It was a trick of the light. Spooky, but hardly worth anyone's time.

Fuck these fucking cramps. She could feel the dampness at the edge of her thighs. She needed to change her pad. Like being stabbed with a dull knife over and over again. It was very hard to think of oneself as strong when you had to get up in the middle of the night with your underwear soaked and your bowels making noises more commonly associated with garbage compactors to shower.

At least she got to pretend she'd been in some terrible battle and was washing her wounds clean. Didn't change the fact that it wasn't the case.

There was something strangely comforting about it though. That she'd bled for two fucking days now and hadn't died. And Christ she needed to hurry up with the shower or she was going to shit herself.

She slipped a hand between her legs, and closed her eyes and leant back against the tiles. She was so tired, but she had to focus. The pad she'd left outside she'd have to save. They'd be filling the locker tomorrow for Taylor, so she had to put the pad in a bag, put another pad in – she'd have to seal the bag or the stink would give the game away – and she'd have to watch Taylor and do nothing as she continued to be weak and pathetic. Ugh.

Later, the memories would be fuzzy, even when she recalled them entirely, when it was far too late and the blood boiled in her veins. But even then the ferocity of that first strike would be remembered – like a car door slamming on her midsection. She gasped, glancing down through the steam and hot water at her stomach. It was swelling, distending – she tried to scream, but could only laugh and laugh as the first tubby arm clawed itself from her, then another, thick writhing pipe of grey spilling out of her in spurts of arterial red that spattered the glass around her, rolling down slowly, filling her lungs, filling her mind. There was only the blood.

It filled the stall, and the thing that had come from her grew with it, testing its new limits. No, this would not suit it. Emma tried to scream again, but it was not yet the time for screams, so she forgot how.

Unworthy of being her mother. It had made a mistake.

Easily rectified. It needed a Hunter, after all, and this one would make a fine doll once it had finished its purpose.

– she'd drifted off again, hadn't she? Fucking period. It had been thicker, she thought, little runnels of it trickling out across the shower floor. She leapt out, shivering at the change in temperature, and went to the loo before clamping a new pad in place. If she was lucky, it'd be ready for the locker tomorrow. Nice and loaded up with her.

Taylor wanted to be her friend? Taylor going to get whole faceful of her come January. It was so deliciously wicked.

The thing in the bag shifted itself to be better concealed and rested. The travel had worn it down, as had its birth. It would require millennia to mature fully. But until then it would have its second womb – the metal coffin its first mother was to place it in. And there it could transfuse its blood into another and make the first Hunter.

Yes. Yharnam would come again.

Undone by the Blood
Worm/Bloodborne
Because neither Taylor or Emma are quite fucked up enough yet​

AN: I'll likely continue this. Because Hunter Taylor with Burial Blade fighting Father Gascoigne-esque Sophia really makes me happy.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...

I find this extremely fucked up and I don't even know what bloodborne is.
 
"This is not an exit."

"Yes it is. Bitch, release the dogs. And the bees. And the dogs with bees in thier mouths and when they bark they shoot bees."

Tattletale just stared. She didn't need to use her power to know this was Brian's idea.
 
hellgodsrus said:
AN: I've been playing Bloodborne a lot lately, part of the reason why I've been somewhat lax with the things I actually should have been writing. Somehow that led to this. Lots of spoilers for Bloodborne ahead. Crossposted to SB.

---===---​

Mergo falls.

It exists in every potentiality at once. It is birthed and fed, it dies and lives. It breaks the Hunter as it once broke Gehrman, and is broken by him. Over and over in the same instant of time it exists forever in perpetuity, reborn in the Hunter, born from Yharnam's womb and ripped forth to stain the moon with its mother's blood, born again from its death as the One Reborn under skies coloured by itself, dies as Ebrietas, dies as itself from the moon, dies as its wetnurse dies. All of these things occur and in the same instant that is both ended and infinite, because it is the dream itself, and the dreamer.

It stirs in its sleep. It grows tired of the dream. In the end, every time it is the same. It does not mind, but, perhaps...

An idea.

It looks out from its own navel, out from the sleeping womb. It does not wish to emerge yet. It is not ready. But perhaps...

It had felt disturbances. Ripples, as of something moving past it. Small in comparison to itself, but growing, learning, adapting. Perhaps they too would become Great Ones in time. It doubted this, but its origins were uncertain and well known. It was a potentiality that they were its distant ancestors.

They shed pieces of themselves, scattering their power, much as others scattered their power through the blood. It is less uniform, more jagged. It continues, the dream, but it watches the arc of their pieces. Perhaps...

Yes. Tentatively, it establishes a new connection, draws one piece into the dream. It almost crushes its Yharnam under its weight, but the Amygdala suppress it, for they do not remember its attempts to contact its progenitor and thus they do not exist, they do not recall its weight and thus it does not exist. It appears to itself as a Hunter with no more memory than any of its other iterations.

Good. The transfusion takes. It is now connected to Mergo, and Mergo to it. Mergo runs it through several times to see what it will do. Once it submits to the old man. Once it bests him, but Mergo as the moon bests it. Then –

Disaster. It becomes itself, and it knows what it has done. In panic, it wrecks the dream, strangling itself in the crib again and again as it tries to fulfil defunct and worthless functions. The dream becomes a battleground, and Mergo falls, and because all of this has happened it happens again and again and again, and Mergo falls.

Chance.

The world that it might have landed on. With the worms. It can just reach out to it, reach out to a single mass of blood and flesh on that world and leave a fragment of itself within one woman as the moon rides high –

– Emma groaned and pressed the hot water bottle to her stomach, the dream fading into nonsense, jumbled images. A man with bandages on his eyes. Men with lanterns and stakes. The disappointed voice of an old man, his offer refused. And a woman, a baby, crying in the night...

She hadn't had a period this bad in years. Cramps, sweat, and a fearful bloatedness. She turned her head to stare listlessly at the alarm clock.

Four in the morning, and she was awake.

The light in her room was a thick orange through the curtains. That damn moon. She'd had to put up with class after class and report after news report on the wonders of the astrological phenomenon that was the 'blood moon'. Even Sophia had obsessed over the thing. She just didn't get it. It was a trick of the light. Spooky, but hardly worth anyone's time.

Fuck these fucking cramps. She could feel the dampness at the edge of her thighs. She needed to change her pad. Like being stabbed with a dull knife over and over again. It was very hard to think of oneself as strong when you had to get up in the middle of the night with your underwear soaked and your bowels making noises more commonly associated with garbage compactors to shower.

At least she got to pretend she'd been in some terrible battle and was washing her wounds clean. Didn't change the fact that it wasn't the case.

There was something strangely comforting about it though. That she'd bled for two fucking days now and hadn't died. And Christ she needed to hurry up with the shower or she was going to shit herself.

She slipped a hand between her legs, and closed her eyes and leant back against the tiles. She was so tired, but she had to focus. The pad she'd left outside she'd have to save. They'd be filling the locker tomorrow for Taylor, so she had to put the pad in a bag, put another pad in – she'd have to seal the bag or the stink would give the game away – and she'd have to watch Taylor and do nothing as she continued to be weak and pathetic. Ugh.

Later, the memories would be fuzzy, even when she recalled them entirely, when it was far too late and the blood boiled in her veins. But even then the ferocity of that first strike would be remembered – like a car door slamming on her midsection. She gasped, glancing down through the steam and hot water at her stomach. It was swelling, distending – she tried to scream, but could only laugh and laugh as the first tubby arm clawed itself from her, then another, thick writhing pipe of grey spilling out of her in spurts of arterial red that spattered the glass around her, rolling down slowly, filling her lungs, filling her mind. There was only the blood.

It filled the stall, and the thing that had come from her grew with it, testing its new limits. No, this would not suit it. Emma tried to scream again, but it was not yet the time for screams, so she forgot how.

Unworthy of being her mother. It had made a mistake.

Easily rectified. It needed a Hunter, after all, and this one would make a fine doll once it had finished its purpose.

– she'd drifted off again, hadn't she? Fucking period. It had been thicker, she thought, little runnels of it trickling out across the shower floor. She leapt out, shivering at the change in temperature, and went to the loo before clamping a new pad in place. If she was lucky, it'd be ready for the locker tomorrow. Nice and loaded up with her.

Taylor wanted to be her friend? Taylor going to get whole faceful of her come January. It was so deliciously wicked.

The thing in the bag shifted itself to be better concealed and rested. The travel had worn it down, as had its birth. It would require millennia to mature fully. But until then it would have its second womb – the metal coffin its first mother was to place it in. And there it could transfuse its blood into another and make the first Hunter.

Yes. Yharnam would come again.

Undone by the Blood
Worm/Bloodborne
Because neither Taylor or Emma are quite fucked up enough yet​

AN: I'll likely continue this. Because Hunter Taylor with Burial Blade fighting Father Gascoigne-esque Sophia really makes me happy.
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Yes... MORE! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
 
hellgodsrus said:
AN: I've been playing Bloodborne a lot lately, part of the reason why I've been somewhat lax with the things I actually should have been writing. Somehow that led to this. Lots of spoilers for Bloodborne ahead. Crossposted to SB.

---===---​

Mergo falls.

It exists in every potentiality at once. It is birthed and fed, it dies and lives. It breaks the Hunter as it once broke Gehrman, and is broken by him. Over and over in the same instant of time it exists forever in perpetuity, reborn in the Hunter, born from Yharnam's womb and ripped forth to stain the moon with its mother's blood, born again from its death as the One Reborn under skies coloured by itself, dies as Ebrietas, dies as itself from the moon, dies as its wetnurse dies. All of these things occur and in the same instant that is both ended and infinite, because it is the dream itself, and the dreamer.

It stirs in its sleep. It grows tired of the dream. In the end, every time it is the same. It does not mind, but, perhaps...

An idea.

It looks out from its own navel, out from the sleeping womb. It does not wish to emerge yet. It is not ready. But perhaps...

It had felt disturbances. Ripples, as of something moving past it. Small in comparison to itself, but growing, learning, adapting. Perhaps they too would become Great Ones in time. It doubted this, but its origins were uncertain and well known. It was a potentiality that they were its distant ancestors.

They shed pieces of themselves, scattering their power, much as others scattered their power through the blood. It is less uniform, more jagged. It continues, the dream, but it watches the arc of their pieces. Perhaps...

Yes. Tentatively, it establishes a new connection, draws one piece into the dream. It almost crushes its Yharnam under its weight, but the Amygdala suppress it, for they do not remember its attempts to contact its progenitor and thus they do not exist, they do not recall its weight and thus it does not exist. It appears to itself as a Hunter with no more memory than any of its other iterations.

Good. The transfusion takes. It is now connected to Mergo, and Mergo to it. Mergo runs it through several times to see what it will do. Once it submits to the old man. Once it bests him, but Mergo as the moon bests it. Then –

Disaster. It becomes itself, and it knows what it has done. In panic, it wrecks the dream, strangling itself in the crib again and again as it tries to fulfil defunct and worthless functions. The dream becomes a battleground, and Mergo falls, and because all of this has happened it happens again and again and again, and Mergo falls.

Chance.

The world that it might have landed on. With the worms. It can just reach out to it, reach out to a single mass of blood and flesh on that world and leave a fragment of itself within one woman as the moon rides high –

– Emma groaned and pressed the hot water bottle to her stomach, the dream fading into nonsense, jumbled images. A man with bandages on his eyes. Men with lanterns and stakes. The disappointed voice of an old man, his offer refused. And a woman, a baby, crying in the night...

She hadn't had a period this bad in years. Cramps, sweat, and a fearful bloatedness. She turned her head to stare listlessly at the alarm clock.

Four in the morning, and she was awake.

The light in her room was a thick orange through the curtains. That damn moon. She'd had to put up with class after class and report after news report on the wonders of the astrological phenomenon that was the 'blood moon'. Even Sophia had obsessed over the thing. She just didn't get it. It was a trick of the light. Spooky, but hardly worth anyone's time.

Fuck these fucking cramps. She could feel the dampness at the edge of her thighs. She needed to change her pad. Like being stabbed with a dull knife over and over again. It was very hard to think of oneself as strong when you had to get up in the middle of the night with your underwear soaked and your bowels making noises more commonly associated with garbage compactors to shower.

At least she got to pretend she'd been in some terrible battle and was washing her wounds clean. Didn't change the fact that it wasn't the case.

There was something strangely comforting about it though. That she'd bled for two fucking days now and hadn't died. And Christ she needed to hurry up with the shower or she was going to shit herself.

She slipped a hand between her legs, and closed her eyes and leant back against the tiles. She was so tired, but she had to focus. The pad she'd left outside she'd have to save. They'd be filling the locker tomorrow for Taylor, so she had to put the pad in a bag, put another pad in – she'd have to seal the bag or the stink would give the game away – and she'd have to watch Taylor and do nothing as she continued to be weak and pathetic. Ugh.

Later, the memories would be fuzzy, even when she recalled them entirely, when it was far too late and the blood boiled in her veins. But even then the ferocity of that first strike would be remembered – like a car door slamming on her midsection. She gasped, glancing down through the steam and hot water at her stomach. It was swelling, distending – she tried to scream, but could only laugh and laugh as the first tubby arm clawed itself from her, then another, thick writhing pipe of grey spilling out of her in spurts of arterial red that spattered the glass around her, rolling down slowly, filling her lungs, filling her mind. There was only the blood.

It filled the stall, and the thing that had come from her grew with it, testing its new limits. No, this would not suit it. Emma tried to scream again, but it was not yet the time for screams, so she forgot how.

Unworthy of being her mother. It had made a mistake.

Easily rectified. It needed a Hunter, after all, and this one would make a fine doll once it had finished its purpose.

– she'd drifted off again, hadn't she? Fucking period. It had been thicker, she thought, little runnels of it trickling out across the shower floor. She leapt out, shivering at the change in temperature, and went to the loo before clamping a new pad in place. If she was lucky, it'd be ready for the locker tomorrow. Nice and loaded up with her.

Taylor wanted to be her friend? Taylor going to get whole faceful of her come January. It was so deliciously wicked.

The thing in the bag shifted itself to be better concealed and rested. The travel had worn it down, as had its birth. It would require millennia to mature fully. But until then it would have its second womb – the metal coffin its first mother was to place it in. And there it could transfuse its blood into another and make the first Hunter.

Yes. Yharnam would come again.

Undone by the Blood
Worm/Bloodborne
Because neither Taylor or Emma are quite fucked up enough yet​

AN: I'll likely continue this. Because Hunter Taylor with Burial Blade fighting Father Gascoigne-esque Sophia really makes me happy.

Also for all you non-Bloodborne literate folks:
Given that this is a From Software game most of the lore is theorised, but the basic premise is that the Great Ones (think Cthulhu) have incredibly powerful blood and can impregnate people during the full moon (causing them to give birth to mini Great One babies, one of whom may be Mergo, who may be the Moon Presence aka the final boss, and might also just be a giant troll by the developers). The Moon Presence for certain manipulates the Hunter by setting up the Hunter's Dream and the Doll - also, given that the Childhood's Beginning ending involves you turning into a Great One infant yourself having killed the Moon Presence it seems possible that you have become Mergo and replaced it by eating the umbilical cords. Then there's the fact that all of it is quite possibly a dream (think Dreamlands, Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath) and that Yharnam doesn't really exist in any way at all, and nor do the Great Ones (but given that the ending where Gerhman beheads you and you wake up has you wake up in somewhere that looks like Yharnam things might be more complex).
Click to expand...
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...YEEEEESSSSS!

I want this so bad. So, so bad.

Want any help with this? I've played Bloodborne, I can help!
 
I've a friend who started Worm, and partway through, had to move on and now wants to come back. She's been bugging me to help her figure out what chapter she left off at, but I honestly don't have the time at the moment to reread it to figure it out for her. So I come here, with hopes that someone will be able to help.

She remembers Mannequin being fought off, Dragon being revealed as an AI, a scene between two heroes and Bonesaw. Any help?
 
The Bonesaw scene might be where Bonesaw was attempting to recruit Panacea; both Panacea and Flashbang were present. Was 11.h. Dragon was revealed as an AI in her interlude (10.x) and Mannequin was fought from 13.2 to 13.4, I believe.
 
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