#Those worm on a string tricks are harder than they look! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hermitcraftheadcanons · 4 years

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The first thing you notice is the bite. It stings, throbs, bleeds. It's not a clean wound, not like a minor bite from a dog or cat. Not a few neat little punctures, or some gashes that would at least stitch up neatly. No. It's an ugly rip, the torn flesh from blunt teeth that are not and never were designed for biting. It's still startling how the human's muscles are powerful enough to bite through skin like that anyway. Strong enough to rip out a chunk, if you got snagged in a soft, tender place.

The next thing you notice is the infection. If you're lucky, you can use some precious water to wash off the bite and some gauze to wrap it, but most people aren't so lucky. Most have to rely on strips of acceptably dirty, sweaty fabric from old clothes, if they can even spare that much. Most don't want to "waste" a resource as precious as clean, drinkable water. So infection sets in fast and hard. Within a few days, your wound is a stinking, oozing mess. It's painful. Painful to look at, painful to touch, painful to move. It's swollen as your body desperately tries to fight the concoction of bacteria introduced from being bitten by a decomposing mouth. Then it itches. It itches madly. It itches so much you won't be able to sleep. It itches so bad that if you stop focusing on it, you'll find a surge of new pain as you've absently scratched it and started to bleed again, so you have to keep thinking about how badly you should never scratch the itch. Maybe you'll have a raw spot, where you've been tricking your mind into relief by scratching just above the wound. You might even have dug new cuts into your flesh, more wounds to host infection, more places to sting with pain.

The itching is the virus taking hold, but you don't know that.

All you know is that you have a swollen, itchy, stinking bite.

Next comes from the infection. You'll start to get a fever. Your bite will swell more, and feel hot. But mostly, you get a fever. Nobody feels good then. You'll switch between being far too hot to freezing cold, you'll sweat in a tank top in the middle of the night or you'll shiver under as many layers as you could possibly procure. You'll get nauseous, so you won't want to eat or drink, leading to more nausea as you dehydrate. As it progresses, you'll feel weaker. It might be harder to breathe normally, you might even feel your heart racing as you sit still. Even just a ten minute walk will exhaust you, but your group has to keep moving. As it goes on, you'll find it harder to keep your grasp on reality. The pain, the nausea, the smell, the weakness, it all blends into one as the virus takes its hold in your mind.

Oh, yeah. It's now when the virus kicks into action, having made it to your brain. Maybe you were taking care of yourself, and the infection actually hadn't gotten that bad through sheer luck and winning the biological lottery. But now the virus has made it to its destination. The first thing it does is impair your immune system. After all, it can't have you fighting it off. It doesn't want you healthy. If you're healthy, things get complicated. That natural system has to go, so away it goes. If you were sick, you'll suddenly find yourself getting sicker.

Next, it overrides your appetite. Maybe you were just craving crackers and water, maybe you didn't want anything, maybe you ate through the nausea just fine. It changes that. Subtly, day by day, it makes you feel hungrier and hungrier. The kind of hunger that sits in your belly and gnaws at your bones from the inside. It's also an unnatural craving for meat. Fresh meat, red, straight from the bone. Still warm, still flowing with life. You'll be able to smell your friends now, or the recent tracks of others if you're alone. Of course, you've always been able to smell them, but it got filed away into your subconscious. But now you're aware of it, because that virus tells you it's important. And they will smell decadent.

It's all the virus, scrambling your neurons to connect hunger and appetite to humans instead of a plate of cookies, cake, fruit, veggies and juicy steak, mashed potatoes and meaty stew, anything you used to enjoy. It will change how you taste. Sweets will stick to your throat, bitters are more bitter, and if you're lucky to have a nice plate of steak, that fresh-grilled meat will taste rotten. What you crave is no longer any real sustenance, your mind has been altered. Now, you won't see a warm hand to hold, because the sight of bare, moving skin activates your salivary glands. The urge to sink your teeth into the soft flesh on a wrist or neck will be overwhelming in the blur of sickness from the infection. And if you do actually bite, especially if you taste blood, the virus will reward you. It'll flood your system with dopamine, and afterwards, for just a few moments, the edge of that hunger will release. It hopes you'll get addicted. It wants you to crave more biting, more flesh, because it feels right, because maybe, just maybe, if you eat enough the hunger will finally go away.

Finally, it'll change your sense of fear as well. Dangerous situations that instinctively make humans nervous won't affect you. If anything, you'll crave the rush that deadly moments give you, the rush of feeling real and grounded in the midst of the foggy world from the mess in your system. Just fourteen days, and the virus is fully mature and ready to spread. Now, it needs you to die. So it makes you reckless. It does its best to turn a regular, self-preserving person into an actual train wreck. It will actually give you dopamine and serotonin when you get an injury, in a ratio equal to the wound. So, you'll die the happiest you could possibly be from something like a knife through the heart, or a shot through the gut. Some people are driven to jump from heights and impale themselves on something below, or even just hit the pavement and let themselves die wrapped in the gentle hands of joy. Some will just injure themselves, without the help of gravity. Some will aggressively antagonize other humans, hoping they'll eg them into a violent, deadly fight. But generally those people were already jerks in the first place.

Once you've died, however you died, the virus can take over. Because, this whole time, it wasn't really a virus. It was a worm, which starts so tiny you would never stand a chance of noticing it. Tinier even than those little red bugs you might see crawling over paper when you're out in the woods, so small that if you brush your hand over them they become nothing more than a smear of coppery brown. So small and fragile, they couldn't possibly survive outside of a host. But inside a host, they grow. They grow and grow, so thoroughly burying themselves in your brain they may as well have always been in it. When you die, they can finally take control of your muscles, no longer held back by the complexities of the human mind. This is why zombies shuffle and jerk around so awkwardly. They're merely puppets, meaty sacks of flesh controlled from inside by a worm that's found the strings. It knows just which ones to pull which way to make motion happen. It doesn't breathe, not really, all it might use is that sense of smell it learned while you were alive. It will use hearing, because those little organs in your ear won't stop feeling sound just because your body is dead. All those other systems aren't essential for a worm that's single purpose in life is now to find hosts for its own horrible offspring. Because that worm isn't alone.

It's not one worm. It's dozens of them, all now breeding and gathering their safely hatched larvae on the cold teeth and tongue of the corpse within which they reside. And yes, they might have been able to spread before now, if your environment was just right to keep your mouth the right temperature for this breeding. Yes, you might have infected others while you still lived and breathed in your own skin.

You see, those adults can't reproduce at the natural body temperature of a human, let alone the temperatures they can reach during the height of a fever. So they need that host to die and cool off. It just takes a day. Just one day for enough eggs, enough larvae to let that monstrous parasite begin searching for a new host. Those larvae can't grow in the cold, decomposing bodies of the dead. Although, the adults are surprisingly resilient, uncharacteristically long-lived, for a parasite. And so, the zombie rises, shuffling after any hint of breathing humans to continue their cycle of life and death.

If you crack open a zombie's skull without blasting the contents within into oblivion, you might be able to find dozens of these foot-long worms wiggling in distaste at their unexpected situation.

Of course, all of this depends on the physical and mental toll that getting a severe infection does. Ideally, the parasite doesn't even get to the stage where it has to drive you to seek death, because septic shock has already come and destroyed you from the inside out. So, in theory, it is survivable. If you aren't wracked with sickness, if you have a strong will, you might be able to fight the parasites long enough for them to die. You might just be able to recover.

But that's never happened. Besides, would you even want to survive? How permanent, how treatable are the alterations these parasitic worms cause? No one knows.

Here it is, the zombie "virus" and how it works written in a weirdly disassociated perspective, specifically for the few bitten!hermit headcanons. Feel free to ask questions and write stories! Please tag me in them @basaltdragon, I wanna hear it all •v•

I'm sorry if this triggers anybody (including mod) in any way, it is... a Lot.

#tw gore #gore #tw #worms #tw worms #hcraft #hermitcraftheadcanons #zombie apocalypse au #auheadcanon #posted 18.05.20 #my word! you wrote a novel!#this makes so much sense too! you definetly did your medical research!#also I love how you didn't overlook how bites actually work #because funfact #an average human male has a bite force so strong if they bit through the front of the neck they could pull out the trachea #scary stuff #but yeah this is super good!#submission

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baekyeolife · 7 years

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26000 (Baekyeol)-- Part 3

WARNING: Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome and Rated R content/implications! Please do read at your own discretion.

Here are the links to part 1 and 2 for those who didn't read it before:

Part 1: http://baekyeolife.tumblr.com/post/150225337752/26000

Part 2: http://baekyeolife.tumblr.com/post/153612103862/26000-part-ii —————————————————————–

It was cold, but Baekhyun had adapted to such icy temperatures long ago. Now, however, it was more brutal as he stood bare in front of the man who had handed him this blizzard to begin with. He slid his callused finger up and down his leg, slow and steady. His gaze, however, was feisty and hungry.

“You’re so pretty. Imagine how delicious you’re going to look when I’m done with you.” Chanyeol’s murky voice wormed its way into Baekhyun’s dense ears. He swallowed and gasped when Chanyeol squeezed whatever was left of his manhood down below, inside that uncomfortable thong.

He grabbed the powdered leggings and pulled them up his twig-like legs in one stroke. They weren’t even that tight on him, nothing was anymore. Chanyeol then moved onto the tight charcoal skirt that barely reached Baekhyun’s mid thigh. He didn’t complain, though. He couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to.

“Twirl around for me.”

Baekhyun licked his lips at the request, but walked back one step and spun on his heel no less. Their gazes connected and he cowered down as Chanyeol approached him, towering over his small, dainty body. He placed his hands around both of his upper arms and squeezed. Not too hard, but not too soft either. Baekhyun looked straight at Chanyeol’s unkept v-neck.

“You’re something, something magical.” He tilted Baekhyun’s chin up to face him, then bent down to suck on the side of his neck. He tried not to writhe. “Come, let’s place the final touches.”

Chanyeol placed an auburn wig atop his head and gave him a once-over with the utmost amount of curiosity. But Baekhyun didn’t know what he even had to be curious about, Chanyeol knew him inside and out. He was the one who baited him and absorbed every inch of him until he was nothing but the naked truth. He molted him and built him up into a strong tower, then crashed the hard structure into the smallest of particles.

They ended up on the old mattress that had memorized the hard vibrations of their bodies. It knew Baekhyun and his whimpers, it knew Chanyeol and his forceful movements, it knew. It was the only one that knew.

Chanyeol touched him all over his body, leaving his marks whenever he felt inclined. Usually it was on his hips, ribs, the side of his stomach, and the corner between his neck and shoulder. After he bit each part that he desired, Baekhyun braced himself for the hard pounding.

Chanyeol never waited to stretch him out before slamming straight into him– he always went right down to business. Baekhyun snapped his head to the side as his eyes came to a tight close, back arching and lips folding in between his teeth. Chanyeol smirked as he picked up his speed. Oh how he loved the sight.

Baekhyun was so close to his peak, but he held it in. Chanyeol never let him come unless he told him to. He made the mistake of losing his willpower one day. He never saw a dinner plate for two weeks straight.

The intensity became so high that Baekhyun began to beg, “P-Please… C-Chanyeol, ah.”

Chanyeol didn’t falter in his speedy pace, but allowed him to come only after he had emptied his own strings into him.

They laid there like they always did. Baekhyun scooting closer to lay his head against Chanyeol’s sweaty chest, a plethora of thoughts going through his mind. It was shameful above all, because even though it hurt and dehumanized him, he still liked being touched by Chanyeol. Even though something was clearly wrong with Chanyeol, Baekhyun felt that he belonged there. Like he deserved all that was coming to him.

A knocking sound suddenly cut through his self-evaluation, however, and caused Chanyeol to sigh. “I’ll be back.” He had said, causing Baekhyun to push himself off to allow him to get up.

He watched as Chanyeol lazily put his briefs and wife beater back on, then saw him out the door. A few clinks and clacks echoed through the door, ensuring that there was no way for Baekhyun to get out. He was used to it, though. Chanyeol made sure of it every time he left the room.

Turning over to his side, Baekhyun stared at the vast darkness of the wall. He always found that it resembled his life. It was bland, cold, and shaded for all eternity. That was until it would eventually crack and perish with the wind, which was also how he predicted his end to be.

He thought about how unfaithful he had been to Chanyeol in the past. How he chose to leave like it was only his business, when it clearly had been Chanyeol’s as well. If only he had withstood the pain, the roughness, and the headaches he would not be there, confined in the middle of four walls. Or maybe he would be, who knows.

All he was aware of was that he deserved all that landed upon his cruel fate.

He released a groan at these irking cognitions and swiped dainty fingers over his angular face. They always knocked on the door of his conscience and brought him nothing but trouble. It made him crave for Chanyeol’s hard hand, for the chains that he would put on him when he acted wrongly, for the days where Chanyeol wouldn’t allow him to eat because he didn’t look pleasing. It made him long for them like they were essential to survival when in reality, they were detrimental.

Footsteps pounded against the ground and the locks jingled as Chanyeol reopened the door. This was usually when he came back to sleep with him for a couple more hours, until he would leave him to his demons.

In the morning, Baekhyun woke up to an otherwise empty bed as per usual. But when he turned to his side, he spotted something he hadn’t seen in years: a piece of paper. It was rather small, though, and very crumbled. He sat up and picked it up regardless, a spark of fascination keen in his eyes.

Byun Baekhyun, if you’ve received this message I want you to read each word carefully. I know that Chanyeol has you imprisoned inside, but I’m having trouble getting to you. Chanyeol won’t let me get close, so I need you to do something important. On the back of this note is a stamp, I want you to take it and stick it on the back of Chanyeol’s shirt so I know that you got this message. You must do this at 3 in the afternoon, alright? Please don’t hesitate. And whatever you do: DO NOT TELL CHANYEOL ABOUT THIS. Help is coming.

- Kim Jongdae

He turned the note around and surely enough, he found the stamp waiting for him to pull it out. And for the first time in years, Baekhyun had a new thing to think about. The first thing that came to mind was: what if this was a trick? What if Chanyeol had written this out to see if Baekhyun would be disloyal once more? What if this was just an elaborate ruse that will sentence him to more treachery?

But then again, he noticed how distinct the smell of this note was. It smelled of something sweet, something Baekhyun can’t quite put his finger on because of how long it’s been since he had smelt something other than dust and smoke. In short, it smelt nothing like Chanyeol.

He turned to look at the clock hung up on the ebony wall; it was 12:30. He only had two hours and thirty minutes to decide if he wished to remain in this helpless condition. He only had two hours and thirty minutes to think about something he never thought he would have the chance to ponder upon: freedom.

The clock struck 2:50 and Baekhyun was standing in front of the door like a lost puppy, thoughts in complete and utter disarray. He was shaking as his small fist reached for the door, hovering over it as sweat trickled all around the skin. Taking in one giant breath, he thought to himself, whoever you are Kim Jongdae, I hope that you are real.

Baekhyun pressed his knuckles against the surface and allowed the noise to echo outside the room for once. He knocked another time and another until he heard the locks begin to tick from the other side. He swallowed heavily.

“Why are you knocking? Were you trying something?” Chanyeol immediately questioned, to which Baekhyun’s heart beat ran through the roof. There was no turning back now.

“I-I just, u-uh, mi-missed you.” He wetted his lips and dared to look up at the deep set eyes. They were the color of the walls that he’s been staring at for years. The only color he knew.

Chanyeol smirked, “Hungry for more already, eh? Well baby, I wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon. Tonight we’ll go longer, harder.” He swung Baekhyun in with his arm so that their chests were pressed against each other, Chanyeol’s breath hovering over his neck. Without warning, he began to bite down on the flesh like it was his dinner platter.

Gritting his teeth together, he shakingly encircled his arm around Chanyeol’s tall frame and pressed his hands firmly against his back, praying that his sweat had not relieved the stamp of its job.

The rest was out of his hands, quite literally and metaphorically.

“Go back inside now, I’ll be back.” Chanyeol sent him back and filled his ears with the locking sounds once more.

Five minutes later, after laying his head against the headboard and biting on his misshapen nails, he heard a knock. It wasn’t against his door though, it must have been the front door. Instinctively, his eyes shot up at the clock. It read 3:00. His pulse quickened and he braced himself– for what, though, he had no idea. Such a rush was unfamiliar to him, he hadn’t felt anything like it in over a decade.

He waited, and waited, and waited, but nothing. For some reason this relieved him, he began to regret ever thinking about leaving Chanyeol. It’s all he ever thought about, and now he was returning to old habits–

Slicing right through his hectic thoughts, the door suddenly vibrated on its ground as a hard force pushed against it from the other side. “Baekhyun! Baekhyun are you in there?!” The voice strung a chord within him and brought his pulse back up to speed.

He swallowed and stood up, fingers muddling together nervously. He had no idea what to do, no idea what to think.

“J-Jongdae?” He questioned, uncertainty pronounced more than the actual name itself.

“Baekhyun! Step back, I’m breaking this door!”

He did as told and the thumping grew more aggressive with each hit until the door came tumbling down. A man about his height came flying along with it, and when their eyes met, Baekhyun habitually pressed his back on the wall.

“I don’t have a lot of time to explain, but we have to get out of here before Chanyeol comes back. I called the cops so they should be on their way.” He advanced towards him, and with that, Baekhyun grew more anxious. Thus, Jongdae’s expression loosened up. “Please, I am here to help you. I know that we have never met before, but you are going to have to trust me if you want to get out of here.”

He reached out a hand for him to take, and with much hesitance, Baekhyun settled his palm onto his and allowed Jongdae to lead him out. They walked up the flight of stairs and reached the main room, but as they ran towards the exit, the door was flung open and Chanyeol emerged with a gun in hand. He had it pointed out in their direction, Jongdae’s more than his.

“I told you to stay out of my business, Jongdae.” He spat out while walking closer to them. He stopped when the muzzle pressed against Jongdae’s forehead.

“Clearly this isn’t just your business– how dare you lock Baekhyun in here like some puppet? Have you no sanity?” Jongdae didn’t even consider the lethal weapon, whereas Baekhyun was squeezing his hand ever so tightly, signalling him to stop talking. That when Chanyeol is angry, it’s best not to fuel the fire. Jongdae squeezed back, though, in a more reassuring manner.

“Don’t act like you care about Baekhyun. You just want him for yourself, like with everything that was mine when we were younger! Well too bad, you can’t have Baekhyun. He’s mine, and always will be. You can’t steal him!” Chanyeol put strength in his gun hand, but Jongdae did not falter. Baekhyun noticed something in the glint of their eyes, the glint that had stayed prosperous no matter what obstacle was in the way– it was identical.

“Do you really have the guts to kill your own brother? And over what? Something as horrible as this? You’re commiting a crime Chanyeol, a crime. Don’t you realize–”

“–Shut up! I’m the one with the gun, I’m the one who decides your fate.”

Police sirens suddenly reverberated in the far distance, and Jongdae smirked. “Looks like you’re going to rot in prison regardless of what you choose.” And without a seconds notice, he threw himself at Chanyeol with such agility and swiftness that Baekhyun had trouble processing what had just happened.

Jongdae had wrestled Chanyeol to the ground and kicked the gun to the side. Baekhyun trembled as he watched the scene unravel before him, and what made things worse was that Chanyeol was the one who was on top now, but with a pocket knife. His eyes automatically flickered towards the gun on the ground and without a second thought, he reached out for it and pointed it at Chanyeol.

“Stop! Stop all of t-this right now!” His sore throat screeched, tears hot on his face.

Both Jongdae and Chanyeol’s head darted at him, but Chanyeol’s laugh penetrated through the tense mood like a bullet.

“Put that gun down, you don’t know how to use it. Go back to your room.” Chanyeol ordered, and although the wavering gun may have proven his point, he did not succumb as he would have.

“N-No. You-You’re not a real lover! You never were! You’ve tra-trapped me all these years as nothing but your s-sex slave! Y-You ruined me! I-I’m done following your orders!” He grasped onto the gun with both unsteady hands.

Chanyeol’s eyes widened, but he didn’t poke him further. He slowly began to get off of Jongdae, and with that, the gun followed. “Don’t m-make a move. I s-swear I’ll do it!”

“Think about this Baekhyun, would you really want to kill me? I’m all you have– all you’ll ever have. Ending me, would end you.” He released pure and utter venom, but after all these years, Baekhyun failed to notice that that was all he ever released.

“Don’t listen to him Baekhyun– you’ve got so much more to life for!” Jongdae got up and made sure to say, causing Chanyeol to flinch towards him, but Baekhyun reinforced the gun at him and halted his movements.

“Is freedom what you want? Because I’ll give it to you– just you and me. We can go anywhere you want, together. Don’t you love me? Everything I have ever done was to protect you. I love you, Baekhyun.” Chanyeol’s words slowly sank into Baekhyun’s brain and caused him to gradually lower the gun.

Just as his arms were giving out, he suddenly went in for Jongdae with the knife and Baekhyun’s arms acted without even thinking first. And like that, the shot was fired.

It echoed throughout his ears like a bomb, growing larger with each moment and then fading into oblivion. His breathing increased as he watched Chanyeol’s lifeless body plummet to the floor, limbless.

He was now free, but felt more caged up than ever.

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