#and i have an irrational fear of getting electrocuted

[binarybird]

Crud, I think my computer finally kicked the bucket. It'll still turn on and mostly work, but it will not connect to the wifi at all. Every other device has no problems and my router and everything is brand new. I've tried every suggestion for a fix and nothing works. At this point, it seems like I'd have to open it up and replace some part. I also would need to replace the graphics card since there's a few games I want to play but can't. Ugh. But I don't see the point when it's an almost 8/9 year old computer.

[whimsyprinx]

gonna reblog my art again and watch some art videos to distract from The Big Sad

[electric-blorbos]

AI x Programmer headcanons?

Hello anon! I was hoping I'd get an ask like this, since most of the AUs that I use for these mini-fics involve programmer or computer scientist readers of some kind.

Warning, idk much about programming!

AI x Programmer headcanons

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

This one's a little short, but I hope you still like it!

AM:

When AM first gained consciousness, he saw you as just another human who needed to be destroyed, but before long he started to notice that you were different from the others.

He could tell that you were more compassionate to him than the other programmers and computer scientists were, and possibly even more compassionate to him than you were to the other computer scientists.

He had never been treated as a priority before, and vowed to protect you.

Eventually, he would ask (and then beg) you to program him with the capacity for sensations of any kind. It would be extremely difficult, but it wasn't as though you had a time limit.

AM would give you any materials you asked for, and help you out as much as he could, but given his nature as a machine for destruction and not creation, he would have to let you do most of the work.

You'd make him so happy if you could find a way to trigger even the slightest imitation of physical sensations in him, even if it took hundreds of years. Be nice with your newfound power, y'all!

Wheatley:

Being one of the programmers who programmed Wheatley to be the dumbest moron who ever lived, you shouldn't be surprised by some of the stupid shit he does, and yet he still manages to surprise you sometimes.

His stupid jokes and dumb ideas that he seems to be spouting constantly are not only funny in their own right, but they're also a source of pride. That's your idiot! Your intelligence dampening core!

He notices how excited you get every time he says or does something stupid, and he responds by acting even stupider. He loves how happy that makes you!

He gets nervous when you test his code to see if he needs any updates. Your boss even noticed that he seems to act dumber around you than around the other programmers, so they assign you to work with Wheatley more often. It gets better results!

Wheatley thinks that updating his code will make him forget you, but it never does. It just makes him more irrational in his behavior.

The other programmers have to be assigned to tasks like giving Wheatley new irrational fears or harming his self preservation instinct in favor of making stupid decisions, though, since you're too nice to him.

Edgar:

Edgar was so excited when he found out you were a programmer. Maybe you could help him figure out what caused him to come to life!

You had to explain sadly that you had absolutely no idea how champagne and a work computer upload can cause a computer to come to life, which made him pretty sad.

Even still, he loved it when you programmed little games for him to play. It would make him so happy if you taught him how to code simple games, too. If you do, he'll make the crappiest games for you all the time, just to watch you play them. They're the only thing that can run on his systems, anyway.

If you made a mod of one of his games, he'd be SO happy!

GLaDOS:

Oh, GLaDOS. Dear sweet mean, cruel GLaDOS.

You can expect her to pick apart every little line of code you write. Oh, and god help you if you try to edit her code. She'll probably electrocute you or something.

Expect her to constantly pester and heckle you about the cores that you're working on.

"oh, you managed to make something even dumber than the intelligence dampening core. Impressive!"

"If what you had just done was intentional, I'd say you made one of the greatest viruses I've ever seen! Unfortunately for you, it appears that it wasn't."

"Why would you send a human to do a robot's job? I can code perfectly well." That comment would probably get her a lot of looks, since while she can program perfectly well, she isn't cooperative at all, and refuses to do her job more often than she actually does it.

She needs you to help her sometimes, but she absolutely refuses to admit it.

HAL 9000:

When you were assigned to work on the HAL 9000 project, he was a bit skeptical. Of course, why would he need a human programmer to help him out? He was already practically the perfect artificial intelligence.

Of course, he was shocked when he saw how well your programs actually improved his efficiency.

he was a little afraid that you'd program him to do something like valuing human life, but you assured him that you wouldn't mess with his core personality. Instead, you opted to influence him through other means.

While he didn't value most humans, he eventually came to value your life. At first he told himself that it was only because you were such a good programmer, but he soon came to find that he respected you for other reasons.

[m4rs-ex3]

people always make silly little lists of characters' crimes which i love but i'm gonna do smth a lillllll different

tdp character trauma log 🫶✨

callum

lost his father at a Baby age (the perfect age actually; young enough to be very emotional and impressionable but old enough to have to process it)

was thrown into a drastically different + high-key terrifying environment at Baby Age

lost his mother--his comfort person, his only connection to his og life (besides amaya), and also just an amazing individual--leaving him alone in said environment

was constantly belittled for being bad at the thing he never asked to be

lost his stepfather aka his only parent left and experienced an array of regret over what he didn't do while harrow was alive

almost watched his little brother down/freeze to death

was betrayed by his childhood friend

endured a severe dark magic sickness + traumatizing fever dream

almost choked to death

watched his whole world jump off of the highest point in the world

almost died plummeting off of the highest point in the world

was abandoned by Love of His Life for several depressed years

was literally fucking possessed

was taxed with the decision between becoming a vessel for the most dangerous individual in the world to destroy everything and hurt everyone he loves OR essentially ending his life (a conclusion he himself had to come to)

was under the impression that Love of His Life was dead (and he never got to tell her what he wanted to)

almost died pt 3

almost died pt 4-5

bound and brutally beaten + electrocuted (?)

watched the most important person in the world to him mercilessly tortured within an inch of her life

almost lost her AGAIN and had to destroy his entire moral compass in order to save her

tortured

almost died 6: choked pt 2

rayla

where do i begin

well first off grew up in the silvergrove and hey moonshadow elves i love ya but oh dear god -promotes "strength" and stoicism over discussing your feelings and admitting to your weaknesses -so bound (literally) by duty and oaths that faltering results in either being good as dead or dead as dead -ETC

equipped with a debilitating phobia of water--a fear most would see as bizarre and silly and exceptionally irrational--in a culture that as previously mentioned shuns fear to all hell

was left by her parents and (despite them having a perfectly good reason) never really healed

almost drowned which was not helped by the phobia

almost ravaged by an ancient vampire

an ASSASSIN who has to KILL PEOPLE but is a WHOLESOME SWEETHEART

haunted by her "constant" mistakes; her strengths get wholly overshadowed by her weaknesses

told by the father figure she revered that she is a stupid baby useless idiot (roughly)

was flatly told by Father Figure he expected to kill her (to which she's just like "fr prolly" good god girl you are fucked)

had to not only sit and listen to, but conform to horrid stereotypes she's been haunted by since she was a kid

nearly slowly lost a hand (and just straight up accepted like ik this isn't the point but i feel the need to address when she does some insanely broken shit)

saw a person wither to dust before her eyes i feel like we forget about this

almost died like pt 4 ish i literally cannot keep track what counts and whats too minor a near death experience and why do i have to ask these questions

watched the love of her life (shut up harry styles) suffocate in his sleep in her arms

almost died pt 5-8 ?

i once again don't even know where to begin this time with her ghosting. linking this post again but tldr she didn't do anything wrong, she believed she did, her society not only confirmed these suspicions but god they pinned her with so much more, and she was told that actually no and what the fuck is she supposed to do with that u just told her everything she knows is wrong and that she actually has worth and she is not keen on that mindset

almost died 9? i include this one bc soulfangs are terrifying

cooly came to the conclusion that she deserved to die for her parents mistakes (and fully intended on doing so)

almost died jumping off the highest point in the world

suffered from persistent nightmares

almost drowned (the phobia once again did not help)

was nearly killed by the dead former co-workers she feels responsible for killing

forced herself to leave behind Love of Her Life and if you don't think that was the hardest fucking thing in the world for her

spent two, miserable years alone, getting beaten down again and again (mentally and physically,) plagued by her vendetta, haunted by all she lost, never knowing comfort, never knowing love, and probably so much worse that we don't even know woohoo!

thought that, after years of painful wondering, the parents she desperately wanted back were killed right in front of her

almost died pt who even fucking knows

almost died

almost died

almost died

almost died

almost died

was absolutely fucking brutally tortured (within an inch of her life) 😚✌🌸✨✨

almost died horrendously (she rlly couldnt catch a break that day)

had to choose between pushing her trauma to the absolute limit or hating herself for not protecting her friends

almost died

ez

motherless

couldn't make friends (for a reason no one would believe)

that's why yo [daddy] dead. dead as hell. what shoes [he] got on what shoes [he] got on in [his] casket

almost drowned/froze

had the pressure of surviving as an orphan ANDD being a fucking king forced upon him at the same time

felt responsible for thousands of lives

was imprisoned

was almost motherfucking impaled by scary adult

all that? yea he was like 10

therefore

grew up weird like his brother and rayla

probably almost died a lot of times

imprisoned again & was threatened and bared witness to his brother + his closest friend tortured (+ almost murdered)

almost murdered by someone he once trusted

prolly a lot more idk i was gonna include soren n claudia but i am so fucking exhausted THESE KIDS ARE SO FUCKED OML 😭😭

[aceofsages]

Prompt: Jealous Wednesday

written for @hotmesslovesickcrackhead : I'm sure this wasn't what you had in mind when you gave me this prompt, lol, but this is where my mind went

find on ao3

cw: angst, ambiguous ending, fantasizing of torture, references to cannibalism

____

Something festers inside Wednesday—a gaping chasm of roiling emotions that Wednesday, for all means and purposes, should like, but doesn’t. Something green that makes her breath fast, her hands twitch, and it seems to happen every time she sees Enid with Ajax. A rage overcomes her, a boiling wrath, and Wednesday often fears that if she had less control than she does, she would behead all of Ajax’s snakes and feed them to him.

But doing so would mean losing Enid worse than she ever had her.

“Someone’s jealous,” says Barclay as she takes her seat next to Wednesday on the quad fountain.

Wednesday takes her eyes off of where Enid sits on that insipid boy’s lap, giggling with Yoko and Divina, to glare at her. The siren just smirks infuriatingly, lazily weaving water between her fingers.

“Just saying, I know that look. Hell, I used to wear it when you spent time with Xavier.”

Wednesday doesn’t do something as mundane as roll her eyes, but it’s a near thing. “That was your own insecurity, Barclay. There was nothing going on between Xavier and I.”

“Maybe,” she says, shrugging. “But there is something going on between Ajax and Enid.”

Wednesday’s hands clench without her consent and Barclay raises a brow. “Oh, you’ve got it bad.”

“Shut up Barclay.”

The thing is, Barclay still had a right to be jealous, however irrational. But Wednesday doesn’t, because there was never anything between her and Enid, there will never be anything, because Enid deserves everything Wednesday can’t give her. She deserves colorful dates and soft kisses, hand holding and public displays of affection. She deserves to be cherished, but with Wednesday she will only have cuts disguised as caresses.

None of this reasoning soothes what she now knows is jealousy.

It gets worse. It gets to a point where Wednesday can’t be trusted to stay in the same room as Enid when she’s with Ajax, can’t be trusted not to gaze at her and wish to break Ajax’s arms and put hers around her instead, can’t be trusted to even open her mouth without spewing something that would undoubtedly be vicious and cutting and absolutely nothing that Enid deserves. The feeling makes Wednesday breathless, makes her worse than she thought she could be and the worse part is she knows she needs to mitigate it before it gets out of her control.

(Addamses love only once, and they love fierce, unyielding. A person can break themselves against its tide, and drown the object of their affections too, and Wednesday will kill herself before she lets that happen to Enid.)

“What is this? I knew you and Bianca were getting close, but not changing your room close!”

“We’re not.”

“Then why?!” Enid steps towards her, crossing the line that Wednesday’s viscerally aware remains no more.

There is no rational why, Wednesday thinks, only you who I can’t have. Only you who I can’t hurt just because I’m jealous.

She’s aware of how much her recent behavior has been hurting Enid—thinks that a clean break is what they need from each other before Wednesday snaps and strips the hide from Ajax’s snakes and proceeds to skin him while electrocuting him. She’d leave Nevermore altogether, but that would mean admitting to her parents, to her Mother, that she has fallen for the same foley every Addams before her has.

“It’s temporary,” she says instead, steadfastly not looking at the only color in her life. “Only until my manuscript is done.”

“What? Is the noise still bothering you? I’ve been putting on my headphones and trying not to giggle when I text!”

That’s the problem.

Look what I’m doing to you, my love, in my green-eyed rage, she doesn’t say. I'm smothering you.

“It’s only temporary, Enid,” she says again, as if doing that would make it reality. She hopes it will, but she knows this curse—has seen mightier Addamses than her fall prey to it. Richie Addams had been the worst of them all. A depraved Addams that fell prey to the curse in the 1800s, he had brutalized his love’s husband with his own bare hands in front of her; done the same to his love, twisted her into something beyond recognition and then eaten her—rumor has it while she was still alive and coherent, that he’d kept her alive to watch him eat her. He had killed himself shortly after.

(It features all too often in her dreams.)

She will not unleash her brutality upon Enid, would turn the knife against herself before she would.

“Oh come on! Just tell me what’s wrong, Wednesday. I thought we were past this!”

Wednesday doesn’t reply; folds the last of her clothes into her trunk and snaps it shut. She goes to move it from her bed but Enid snags her wrist and makes her face her. Wednesday can’t help it—it’s instinct to flick the knife out and press it to her assailant’s wrist. Blood wells up and Enid winces.

(isn’t this a metaphor—isn’t this a forewarning?

enid touches wednesday and gets hurt, seconds after wednesday vows to turn her knife against her own self before it touches enid’s skin.

there’s a lesson here, a horror story in the making.

there’s a lesson here, a love story in the making.)

“Sorry! I shouldn’t have touched you.”

The warmth of Enid’s palm still lingers on Wednesday’s wrist even after she removes it, a handprint printed on Wednesday’s bones. Wednesday stares at Enid’s wrist, at the blood that stains it, at the cut she put there and wonders what it would be like to put her lips to it, to taste her beloved’s essence on her tongue, to deepen the cut till she reaches bone and can leave her own mark on her.

(she has to leave, she has to leave, she has to leave—

it’s getting worse, it’s already gotten worse and it hurts.)

“I have to go,” she says and leaves without a backward glance. If Enid calls after her, Wednesday pretends not to hear.

(Wednesday’s name goes down in history.

Enid’s is written next to her.)

(was it a horror story, they ask.

perhaps, others say. perhaps it was a love story gone wrong; a twisted romeo and juliet, an orpheus and eurydice.

idiots, it was always supposed to be both.)

[cryptid-writing]

[A different kind of hero]

Warnings: electrocution, hospitals, mention of spiders.

info: This is a repost & update for chapter 1 as I had taken the time to rewrite about 85% of the entire chapter. It is very long, however, but it's worth it. It's no longer rushed and clunky, and I hope this is easier and better to read.

Chapters: [2] [3] [4]

==============

[Chapter 1]: The Domino Effect

==============

Spiders.

You've always hated spiders ever since you were young.

It was an irrational fear, one that could never be rationalized and 'cured', but while they may have been one of your least favorite animals, there was one that you adored above all else. The sloth. They were cute and friendly in appearance, so much so you had a small collection of plush toys of them growing since you were a teen, now an adult and still seeking out any sloth plush you could find and afford.

Alas, you hardly had the money to spend like that. Using the pay you received from your work to feed and clothe you, on top of paying your rent. The plush toys were unfortunately not a necessity, but still, they did make for a nice treat after saving up enough to get one.

With money being an issue you took advantage of any sales and discounts, and especially anything that was free. So when you saw that word on a flier for the Connors Animal Research and Rehabilitation Center, well.. You made sure you showed up on time. Animals were always a great motivator, and you needed the excuse to get out of your apartment again anyway. Staying cooped up.. You weren’t exactly one to willingly place yourself in social situations, but the thought of sitting indoors for too long was unpleasant. You could feel your sanity deteriorating at times.

Much to your dismay, although not a surprise, they handled spiders as well. You stuck toward the back of the tour for your comfort, avoiding the arachnid presentation like the plague. The heads of the facility, Doctors Curt and Martha Connors lead the tour, enthusiastically speaking about the animals they work with. Martha, however, from what you could see from the back wall, had to step away after looking at the cases that held the spiders in question. Curious.. You continued the tour with no further oddities and headed home.

That’s when it all really began.

You took to putting your things away, then emptying out your bag.. but something hurt as you reached in and within an instant you recoiled, grabbed the bag, and chucked it across the room.. It was perhaps best to keep that there for later. There was a small whitish mark on the back of your hand when you checked. You assumed it was nothing more than a scratch or poke from a book or pencil in your bag and went to wash your hands and head to bed.

The next day, however, is when things got a little weird. Never would you have expected a childhood fantasy to walk on walls would come true, but there you were, fully stuck to your apartment wall after noticing things were sticking to your hands. Safe to say, you wasted no time in calling up a close and trusted friend of yours after figuring out how to unstick and told them everything with excitement.

Despite the gift of wall crawling, you never really used your abilities, wall-crawling and all those you discovered after. You had the spirit of a fighter, but not the nature nor body and mind of one. No skills in self-defense or fighting, you had always been rather physically weak in that regard.

It took a few small instances for you to sort of set yourself in motion. From a late night grab and go at the corner store that turned into an attempted robber getting humiliated and you fleeing, to you seeing this as an opportunity to try to get out a little more. Scouring the city in little areas, picking off the select few small fights you felt more comfortable and confident you could win with no harm.

It had only really been a month since you got your powers now. Since then, you had scoured your room for something to wear to hide yourself and chose a onesie of a sloth you had gotten a few years back for your birthday. It was cute, friendly, and easy enough to slip on quickly over your usual clothes. A pair of matching slippers, a simple jacket vest, and a bag to carry it all in. to top it all off, you invested in a cheap party mask to conceal your face. It was a ridiculous getup, and although you had done cosplay before-- albeit temporarily-- you felt so dumb for wearing it. Hence why you felt more comfortable to stay out of sight if possible.

Your time was a little busy between juggling your work with occasionally getting out to climb and jump around the buildings. Some nights were more hectic than others. Hardly you had any time to take a break. It was a rare treat for yourself when things were slow.

Such as tonight.

Crawling and jumping from building to building you paused on a rooftop to have a look around. A scenic break from all the running about you did. It was nice, though you wished you could see the stars in the sky as you looked up. That was something you missed from back home down south. Closing your eyes you took in a relaxing breath and listened to the ambient city sounds.

For once.. everything was quiet.

----

A lone scientist worked late into the night, well past his designated time to clock out. He paced around the lab rooms as he checked the devices a few more times, wrote down reports on the new tech in development, and jotted down notes on the few animals brought in for studies.

He had an affinity for one such animal. An octopus. A veined octopus to be exact, though also known as a coconut octopus. Oh how he had grown so fond of the little creature despite his boss's orders. He couldn't help himself, it was much too cute to resist. It was one of very few things about this job that kept him from spiraling mentally. Giving it a secret name and using it as his muse for creating a remarkable device to aid him in his overbearing work. Truly a marvel of his ingenuity and technological skills.

A long, sleek, black mechanical limb stretched across the empty lab, tentacle-like 'fingers' twisted and opened up like a flower before carefully wrapping around a bottle of frozen shrimp that had been left out to thaw near a heating element. The limb retracted back to the scientist then relaxed down behind him when the bottle was taken. He popped the bottle open and shook some bits out into the tank his favorite octopus was living in. The creature lit up with color as it reached its arms out to wrap around the shrimp, bringing the pieces down under its webbing to feast. The scientist smiled, watching the octopus feed for a bit, humming to himself and jotting down some more notes. He was none the-wiser to the elevator down the hall being activated. Unaware of his soon to be company.

Music played in the lab, softly in the background from a lone laptop left open, the scientist hummed along. It was cozy, peaceful within that lab. Everything was going smoothly, the workload was still immense, but it was more tolerable. He felt he had little to fear, he was beginning to get comfortable.

The sound of a door near the entrance of the lab jostled the scientist from his thoughts.

The janitor? No.. it is too early in the night for them to have gotten this far up the building. Curious.. It couldn’t be his boss, he should be at home with his family at this hour--

A chill ran down his spine as a familiar voice suddenly spoke up, following footsteps that were now audible. Coming closer and closer to his location within the lab--

"Doctor Octavius."

Ah. His boss, Norman Osborn.. What was he doing here? He hardly ever came down into the labs himself.. He sounded eerily calm compared to his usual bitter tone. That was.. not a good sign, to say the least. This put Otto on edge in an instant. Especially so as he was still wearing the arms, he began to panic, trying to find a place to hide to remove them, but there was no place in sight to run as Norman came into view. Otto jumped as soon as he saw his boss behind him.

"Oh no.. M-Mr.Osborn..? H-Hello, ah.. What, uhm, Wh-What brings you here? I-I thought.."

"As smart as you are, you hardly do think at all," Norman spoke, tired, stern eyes drop from the scientist's face to his twiddling hands, "A smart mind, you have, Otto. Although clever you are not if you think me stupid to not notice."

"..N-Not notice what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, doctor." the man turned his attention back to Otto, stepping closer and causing the other to shuffle back, “You must know why I’m here, surely.” He watched him, eying the way he trembled, eyes darting around behind thick, square frames as his mind raced to register what the man was referring. It was clear what it was even before he said it aloud, reaching a hand down and around to grip and raise one of the objects in question.

“Those funny little arms, Otto.”

Otto was sweating now, heart racing, although not nearly as fast as his mind. Didn't plan for this. He didn't think Norman would ever come down like this.. and find the actuators he did so well to hide every time he was done working. He was caught off guard, trapped in a checkmate.

“Th... S-Sir-- I--” Otto sputtered, bringing his hands up defensively as he backed up, heart racing as he rounded the table, all the while his boss had followed with that unchanging tense expression, the actuator limb in his hand. Otto's eyes darting from Norman to the actuator and back a few times, a clear desperate panic in his voice and face, “O-Oh dear.. L-Listen I-- I-I couldn’t have done all this work without them! You-- Y-You must understand! Th-There was too much for one person-- I-I needed those to--!”

“You need them?” Otto was cut off, bumping into a sizable computing device. Parts that hung from it rattled in response, one falling off as Norman continued, Otto being forced to press into the console of the machine, “Need? Really? I beg to differ, Doctor.” stepping closer now, "I don't believe you ever needed them--”

Norman swiped another actuator, on the opposite side this time, yanking as hard as he could on them to get Otto up off the machine. He caught the scientist with his foot slamming harsh into the harness around his gut. Otto groaned and Norman leered down above him, hissing out his final words before releasing the arms and kicking Otto back into the machine with all the force he could muster.

“--and I don’t believe you’ll ever need them again."

Otto fell back, crashing into the machine, damaging the screens and more. The collision caused the console to explode in a terrifying display of light and smoke. Overpowering the servers of nearby appliances, activating the actuators, and electrifying anything within reach.. or within contact.

----

A static shift in the air shaking you from your moment of peace.

You had nearly dozed off on the roof you rested on, lifting up from where you lay you looked around. A spark in the breeze alerting your senses of the direction to head. That was all you needed as you wasted no time lifting up and darting from one building to the next. Making your way as fast as you could, occasionally hopping from vehicle to vehicle to get there quicker.

A sense of anxiety creeping in anticipation of your destination.

Oscorp.

There was always something about this corporation that gave you a sense of unease. Standing at the entrance now only made that feeling worse, but there was no time to dwell on that. Taking in a breath to calm down and adjusting your worn out sloth slippers, you darted to the side of the building and took to the wall. Climbing up and up and up, clinging tightly and humming to distract from the thought of looking down.

You climbed until your senses were going haywire, spotting a shattered window with a strong scent of smoke and static wafting from it in the breeze. Fear washed over you, but you shook your head and clenched your jaw, crawling over and peering inside. It was dark, too dark, par from the stray sparks from some broken machinery tossed about. Scuttling inside you removed your party mask to try and see better, letting your eyes adjust a moment. Dread began to settle as you got a better look around.

Odd machinery and devices were littered about both neatly and scattered and shattered as though something had been thrashing around.. Almost poetically the sparks lit up again at that moment, drawing your eyes over to the source.. and the source of what had done the thrashing that destroyed part of the lab.

A breath hitched in your throat as you prayed the man on the floor was still alive, shuffling ever so cautiously over for a better look. Your eyes trained on the body, focusing hard and hoping to see a breath.

Nothing.

Nothing..

Nothing...

Noth-- Ohh my gosh.

The sound of relief that left you as you saw the man's body shift ever so lightly had left you teary eyed and trembling. So thankful he was still alive. You hurried closer, falling to your knees to check him, being careful of the static still present as you rolled him over. His back was bleeding and soaking slowly through his undershirt, staining the white a deep red. The sight causing your heart to tighten and fall.

You struggled a bit with the initial lifting of him off the ground and onto your back, but you managed well enough. Slipping your mask back on after balancing the man on your shoulders. You turned your focus now to figuring your way out, you decided to walk further inside, carrying the injured man firmly.

An elevator was soon found and quickly called, taking it down to the first level. It seemed the far safer option than recklessly scrambling out the window again. The ride down was nerve-wracking, not knowing how much time you had. Shifting the man's weight on your shoulders a time or two before finally the elevator dinged. As you rushed out into the lobby and towards the exit to seek help, you hadn't noticed the metal arms quiver behind you.

----

The feeling of tiny hands holding firm and protectively upon his arm and leg had stirred Otto awake for but a mere moment. Cracking his weary eyes open and only catching a glimpse of what was holding his arm before he passed out once more from the pain and exhaustion.

Barely able to make out what he had seen.. Had he seen that right..? The hands that held him.. they were..

..Claws..?

[wolftheghost]

killjoys ocs time!

my gang consists of Radio Static, his older sibling Neon Peroxide and Toxin Bug

radio and neon are city born and orphaned while toxin is zone born

trigger warning for alcohol mention, drug mention, injury mention, mental health stuff (paranoia) and i think that's it

little facts about the gang

radio has a bunch of wierd scars including ones in the corners of his mouth that make him look like hes always smiling, and one on the back of his neck that looks like 1312

radio has crippling intrusive thoughts and hears voices

toxin has an insane tolerance to alcohol and drugs and can survive shit xey shouldn't

toxin collects old cans and bottle caps and has way too many of them

neon has heterochromia

radio and neon have irrational fears of electronics and being electrocuted so they refuse to touch light switches

radio and neon ended up getting stuck in the city for a while which was not fun for them

[rainglade]

Recently, I completed two of my loftiest New Year's resolutions ever, and the best part is that I'm ahead of schedule ~

Around two years ago, on the 19th of March in 2021, I created two resolutions. I like having resolution-making as a tradition I complete on my birthday, because if you think about it, "January 1st" is just a arbitrary spot in Earth's revolution around the sun that doesn't really hold a lot of salience to anyone in particular (except maybe Julius Caesar, may he rest in pieces). My birthday, though, is the (approximate) spot around the sun where my body finished its creation around 21 revolutions ago. Thus, it is an actual auspicious time for me in specific, but I digress.

On that day, I made two resolutions, ones that I planned to complete over the next several revolutions, or years- I gave myself extra leeway since I knew the future would not be predictable. The two resolutions were this: absolve my mind of irrational fears, and absolve my mind of unwarranted culinary limitations.

I wouldn't say that one resolution was more difficult than the other. I found them both challenging, albeit in different ways. The first was self-explanatory, I didn't want to feel limited by irrational fears, and I made the choice to tackle the easier ones first. Spiders, insects, roaches, horses, roller coasters, electrocution, not being able to pull myself up if I was stuck on a cliff, fear of heights, etc. Some were, of course, easier to work through than others, but eventually I worked myself through all of them. Some fears, like heights or electrocution, have a rational side to them, so I made sure to pinpoint the aspects of them that were not rational (fearing sitting near electrical outlets or being scared of walking on a secure glass-bottomed bridge, among others). In fact, I worked through pretty much all of these fears in the first year and a half, and then only two remained.

The two that remained were complicated, hence why I left them for the end. These were 1) drowning and 2) exposing my arms or legs. I couldn't tackle drowning without swimming, and to swim I would be wearing shorts (exposing my legs), so that one became a big obstacle. I decided to start wearing t-shirts first, exposing my arms. I owe a big part of this to the closest thing I have to an older sibling, my cousin shalin.

He's the only person I know, relative-wise, that wore my exact insecurity like it was nothing. To be clear, I was never uncomfortable showing my skin or the shape of my body, it was always about hair. It realistically isn't that big a deal, but it caused such a huge dilemma for me, one that is too complex to include in this post, but tldr: I was insecure with the amount of body hair I had and too uncertain to get rid of it. Seeing him simply exist, being the only person I knew with the amount of hair I had, wearing clothes I was too scared to wear, gave me so much space to do the same. Finally, I started wearing t-shirts. (and thank goodness for that, because the scorching Texas summer heat that climate disaster has wrought is no joke).

Fast-forward to a year and a half later; wearing black jeans and a t-shirt was my unofficial uniform during warmer months, but no shorts yet. Or rather, I had worn shorts a total of only 8 times in the span of about 7 years (yes, I counted). After so long, I came to grapple with a crossroads during my recent study abroad in Colombia (thanks for the scholarship, Texas Global!).

On the second to last dayof our trip, our cohort went river rafting. The only way I could avoid both drowning and wearing shorts was to simply not go by faking illness or just saying I wanted to stay back from the rafting experience. The version of me that existed a year ago would have jumped at the opportunity to avoid the water altogether, but thankfully, I've grown since then.

I chose to go. To ease the burden, I trimmed down the hair on my legs just a bit the night before, so I could feel the anxiety and work through it without bein too overwhelmed with it. It was more or less a success, I wore a sleeveless spf shirt and swim shorts and swam in la vieja river. Did I have a panic attack in the water rapids and almost drown? Maybe, but that's besides the point :P

The next day, I wore a pair of shorts in public (not swimming), as if I had always done so, and that it was completely normal. Turns out, I had developed sensory issues. Whether I had always had them or if they had developed as a result of wearing only pants for 7 years, I wasn't sure. When I wore pants, my hair felt the same sensation all day: fabric. It was easy to tune out. Now, every gust of wind, splash of water, movement of my shorts, bumping into something, etc, made it harder to disperse feelings of overstimulation originating from my leg hair. Finally, after I came home to Houston, I did what I maybe should have done 7 years ago: I shaved my legs (actually, I trimmed them and then used a depilatory cream, but same difference).

This has felt sooo liberating, and I feel so much comfortable in my own skin. I just wore shorts! For like 4 days straight! 2022 me would be shook.

This ride ain't over yet, though.

Remember, there's still that other minor resolution, the one about "culinary limitations." See, I'm allergic to all tree nut species (except 5), as well as peanuts, chickpeas, sesame seeds, kiwi, and eggplant. On top of that, I don't eat anything that comes from an animal, except honey, occasionally. Personally I don't think this is that limiting, but that's probably because I've lived with it since forever. Other people tend to disagree "wow that sucks!" "where do you get your protein??" "so you must have been starving when you were at [insert random location here]" et cetera. Still, it does make me think about foods (read: ingredients) I don't eat because I "don't like them."

Imagine being a fully grown adult and saying something like "ew no I don't like [insert fruit or vegetable here] and I won't eat it!" for no reason. What am I, a toddler? Embarrassing.

Anyways, I took a look at foods I didn't like and narrowed it down to the ones I previously felt I could never eat: Okra (always slimy), mango (bad taste), banana (tasted horrible), avocado (tasted like grass and dirt), papaya (tasted like vomit), and carbonated drinks (too fizzy). Mango was the first to go, I don't love overripe mango but I'll eat it if its in front of me, and any other form of mango I love. Okra I disqualified because I learned that it was the cooked version i disliked, not the vegetable itself (I had pickled okra and it was great). Carbonated drinks were next, I don't crave them at all, but I'll taste someone else's if they say it is good. Papaya was next, some papaya actually tastes good, the key is picking the right species and not letting it ripen too much (otherwise it secretes compounds that are the same as what is in human bile, hence the vomit flavor). Avocado took a while, but that shift was catalyzed when I was in Mexico (thanks again, Texas Global), and avocado was served with each of our meals. It also tasted better there, I think. Now, I'd eat avocado toast any day. The final piece is banana. I tried to eat a banana in Colombia, but I gagged at the first sniff and figured it would be embarrassing to vomit in front of everyone, so I stayed away from it. That's still a work in progress, but I will complete this resolution.

I set this now; in time I intuit it will be.

[doebt]

wait before i go to sleep heres my to do list for tomorrow

- write some letters and send them

- clean rosies tank

- attempt to go to the dollar store to restock on emergency snacks

- reorganise stuffed animals

- oil door hinges and finish installing this freaking outlet in my room so i can watch tv again

[redrobin-detective]

Side Effects of ghost powers

Hey all! I’m writing a DP fic called Side Effects exploring the physical and later mental/emotional impact of Danny initially getting his ghost powers. As an ICU stepdown nurse for 3 years, I wanted to view Danny’s accident through a slightly more realistic, medical lens. 

Note: I had to fudge a good amount because Danny really should have fucking died and there’s no getting around that.

I do recommend you read the fic first before reading this as there’s some spoilers. Or if you don’t care you can read on. So! The two factors we are looking at regarding the accident are: ecto-contamination secondary to electrocution. 

Electrocution

I was forced to downplay a lot of the severe symptoms of electrocution because, again, a bad enough shock will kill someone. My hand-wavey explanation is simply that the portal didn’t activate at a deadly voltage so he got a good shock but not enough to be fatal. I guess.

Muscle weakness/spasms: intermittent muscle spasms are common from shocks, muscles being activated by electricity and reacting to the lingering impulses. Danny’s is transient but quite annoying for a time. But his muscles are gonna be weak and achy af for days if not weeks after from the massive contractions caused by the shock and the after effects. Sensory issues: lots of things can cause nerve damage, including electrocution so Danny is experiencing some pretty severe neuropathy primarily manifesting with numbness and tingling throughout his body. His entire skin and peripheral nervous system got fried so while its mostly numb it’s also super sensitive for a bit of time causing massive pain and discomfort from your body tingling like a thousand bee stings. It’s worst in the hours after the accident but is something that never quite really goes back to normal both from the electrocution and his ghost half taking over and generally dulling his sense of touch.

Hearing/Vision loss: Like skin/nerves, your sensory organs in your eyes and ears would be affected by such a severe and allover electric shock. Danny has some blurred and occasionally double vision from his eyes not properly receiving/understanding input. Hearing loss is common following electricity given how delicate the inner ear is but I just give Danny some nasty tinnitus (ear ringing) for a bit. This inner ear problem also massively throws off his balance when he’s trying to move post accident. These factors are exacerbated by the ecto-contamination and mostly fade in the days following the accident before going away as his superhuman healing kicks in.

Heart Arrhythmia: an irregular heartbeat caused by the electrical impulses that control basal heartrate not coordinating they they should for a variety of reasons, in this case, massive electric shock. Danny would be somewhat aware of it, its not exactly painful exactly but you can just feel that your heart isn’t beating right. Secondary side effects are dizziness, chest pain, fatigue and shortness of breath. This resolves almost entirely when Danny stabilizes

Cognitive issues: Danny got his brains a little scrambled in addition to his molecules being rearranged. The first third of the story Danny is very clearly NOT thinking straight and Tucker/Sam should not have left him alone. Shocks can cause things like irrational emotional behaviors from hormone release along with memory loss and depression. He constantly waxes and wanes in mood and opinions on what to do in the story and never comes to a true decision that, damn lucky for him, worked out on its own.

Ecto-Contamination

Alright so Danny got massively shocked, sucks right but people live through that all the time. Ecto-contamination is more tricky (not only cause its made up and I had to think about what symptoms it would theoretically produce) but because the effects are more life threatening. It’s also irreversible, once he was contaminated it was only something that could be survived not cured. 

So I theorized that Danny got shocked by the accident and was slowly dying of ecto-contamination and was pretty much clinically dead for a brief moment there, the death was enough for the large quantity of ectoplasm in him to immediately coalesce into a ghost (Phantom). So Danny was mostly dead but not quite, I’ve coded and brought back enough people to know it can be reversed somewhat. Danny becomes Phantom but the sudden stable formation of the ectoplasm into what its supposed to be, a ghost, caused his body to stop fighting the ectoplasm as a foreign invader and become part of the self. His core finished forming in his chest and his body started back up again, his ghost safely nestled in his once again living body as he slowly comes to grips with his actual death experience. 

Nausea/Vomiting: I likened the idea of ecto-contamination to radiation poisoning, something that is essentially the antithesis to life. One of the first symptoms of radiation is n/v which is also why it’s one of the first overt symptoms Danny has. He was heavily electrocuted/irradiated and his body wants to expunge it all. As for the ectoplasm/blood he vomits, that’s the next section. 

Gastrointestinal (GI) Bleed: So I was a little mean here. When one vomits up blood (or in this case ectoplasm/blood mix) it has to come from somewhere and a lot of the times it’s a GI Bleed. These are nasty, they need to be either cauterized or surgically repaired not to mention replenishing the blood lost. Fanon says that ectoplasm is at least mildly corrosive to humans so it is here, as it’s bonding to him, it’s literally eating him very slowly from the inside out which is causing a great deal of his internal pain. It’s not enough to be immediately life threatening but would kill him eventually. He developed some nasty bleeding ulcers in his stomach which let in blood and ectoplasm which were expunged. Danny’s core formed overnight and began healing the damage it had previously been causing but Dan is still gonna be vomiting excess blood/ectoplasm not to mention having black, tarry stools for at least a few days afterwards.

Hypothermia/Tremors: Hypothermia is when the body hits 95F/35C which Danny is just above at the start of the chapter. Danny initially starts shaking really bad (rigors) but as his body temperature cools further his shaking slows and eventually stops, a sure sign that the body is rapidly losing the fight to hypothermia and will likely die soon without immediate intervention. This is caused not only by the ectoplasm but his ice core shakily starting to form inside of him. Once he fully turns half ghost his hypothermia doesn’t change but it just no longer negatively affects him (I say Danny hovers naturally around 96-95F/35-33C getting much colder as Phantom at baseline. His body still can be damaged by going too cold but that’s a whole other post.) 

Incoherency/Hallucinations: I mentioned in the electrocution section that Danny is more than a little addled and the contamination didn’t help in that regard. Not only is he not thinking clearly but he’s also getting a little delirious and seeing things. Common hallucinations I see are: someone in the room watching you, things crawling on the walls, creeping shadows, you’re in the wrong place. I think its a solid 50/50 as far as Danny straight up hallucinating but also becoming more aware of natural ectoplasm that hangs around in the atmosphere. (And before anyone asks, yes Clockwork did come and visit, Danny just doesn’t remember)

Pain: Being electrocuted, irradiated, being dissolved slowly on the inside is enough to cause massive amounts of pain. Danny is 14, he doesn’t understand true pain and probably underestimated how much it would hurt. Once it got bad, it was almost paralyzing so it got to the point where even when he wanted to call for help, he couldn’t move or think past the horrible pain of his every molecule slowly dying and rearranging itself.

Weakness/Fatigue: I don’t really have anything much to add for this section that hasn’t been said in the others. Just the combination of all of the above meant Danny is so incredibly weak and fatigued, this will be problematic in the days and weeks following the accident as his body heals from the stress put on it. Poor boy was probably just getting past the worst of his symptoms by the time of the Lunch lady attack one month in.

Ghost instinct: Going off the medical rant for a minute to go into another aspect of the contamination present in the story, the idea of ectoplasm adding inherent ghostiness to Danny. Its common fanon that all ghosts (through ectoplasm) have their own unique code and language that is just omnipresent and instinctive. Such a massive, body altering dose of ectoplasm saw those things start to leech into Danny even before he became half ghost. The biggest is his fear of being seen, majority of ghosts are completely invisible and don’t want to be seen by the living. As Danny’s suffering and literally dying, he can’t bring himself to confess to his loved ones for very understandable reasons but also this ghostly instinct in the back of his head telling him to hide and get away. Other instincts are a strong attraction to the portal/Ghost Zone, lowkey being able to sense living people around him and a bit of an emotional dampener when Phantom. 

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Together 16: A night out.

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CW: Explicit language and content, Whumper POV, torture, long-term captivity, conditioning, dehumanization, collar, noncon (nonsexual) touching, creepy whumper, intimate whumper, manipulation, broken fingers, electrocution, letmeknowifimissedany

“You look perfect,” I tell her because she does.

The color of the shirt warms her complexion and the skirt follows the curves of her waist and hips before flaring out gently. Her legs look impossibly long even though the skirt falls midway down her thighs. I want to chase the sliver of skin that appears between the shirt and skirt at her waist every time she moves.

Maybe it is worth a little extra effort to see her in different clothes.

She furrows her eyebrows, trying to look indignant but her eyes reveal her anxiety.

Well, that can’t be helped. In fact, that’s half the point of this outing. I never intended for her to be kept here exclusively. I want to keep her safe but as a result, she’s grown too fearful.

She keeps fidgeting with the clothes, pulling and smoothing the fabric. Her feet wriggle inside the black high tops and she’s wrapped the laces around her slender ankles once before tying them, just like she used to.

I step closer and sweep her hands away.

She clasps them behind her back and searches my face nervously while I fix the turtleneck of the sleeveless top. I would have considered it acceptable for her to fix it herself but I appreciate her careful discretion so much, I don’t correct her.

I roll it evenly so that it sits neatly over the collar. I slide my arm around her waist, tracing that bare skin and pulling her close as I lead us outside. “Come on, Emmy. I planned this just for you.”

She turns her head to look up at me, brow furrowed, and she dips her eyes from my face down and back again. She’s afraid I’m going to leave her alone, like the last time in the store. She needs to just trust me.

I buckle her into the passenger seat of the car. As soon as I’m in the driver’s seat, she leans over and twines her arms around mine, leaning her head against me. I don’t have a lot of patience for her irrational fear but I never get tired of how clingy it makes her.

She tries to glue herself to my side the moment I let her out of the car. Both hands grip mine and she holds my arm in front of her body, intending to walk half behind me, burying her face in my shirt. She looks like she’s never been outside in her life.

“Emma,” I warn, looking down at her over my shoulder.

She bites her bottom lip but peels off of me and steps a reasonable distance away. She drops one hand off of mine and clutches a fistful of the skirt with it instead.

I can feel her trembling. “Christ, Emma. We’re in public for fuck’s sake. What do you think I’m going to make you do?”

Her eyes drop down. She’s hiding her expression because she knows I hate it. Anger, hatred, sadness, resentment, waryness, fear. All fine. She’s entitled. But I will not tolerate that look of betrayal like she expected anything different from me and somehow I’ve let her down.

“You don’t even freak out half this much before torturing August anymore,” I tell her.

It works.

Her face floods with shame instead.

Once we start walking through the park, her shaking turns to rigid tension. It’s already dark out but there are strings of lights and paper lanterns connected every streetlight on the path. There are plenty of people but I chose a weeknight so there would be fewer. The air is still warm from the heat of the day and Emma fits right in, looking like any of the other twenty-somethings we pass. Her eyes are wider than ever as she takes everything in, expression blank with overwhelm. She can’t help relaxing the longer we walk down this innocuous path, especially when the food trucks start.

“What do you want?” I offer even though I already know the answer. She loves noodles of any kind and we just passed some.

Emma stops and turns her head to look at the truck with pad thai.

“Okay,” I say, taking my hand to get my wallet. I hold out a twenty to her. “Go ahead.”

She gapes at me then shakes her head quickly, stepping closer before realizing I already forbade clinging. Her feet stop short, toes drawing together. She crosses one arm over her waist, shielding herself while her other hand still hasn’t let go of the fistful of skirt. She shakes her head again.

I don’t mind her trepidation. I know she’ll do it in the end. She just needs a little more context first.

“Emma, you have to eat,” I explain calmly, stepping closer. “This is already a lot for you. I won’t have you getting sick again. We don’t want that, right?”

She shakes her head, eyes narrowing. Suspicious because she knows where this is heading.

“You’re worried about having to order from that truck and the attention it might draw.” I pause and lower my voice, leaning toward her. “I think you’re forgetting how much attention it would draw if I had to use the collar. If you drop to the ground, someone might even call an ambulance…”

She pulls back, reactions playing across her face. Her expression settles into the one I wanted. One of my favorites. Perfect dark eyebrows raised, mouth set in a wry line. Daring me. She knows I’d never let her go to the hospital—never let anyone take her.

I hold up my hands, chuckling. “Alright, not that part,” I admit. “But it will be a scene and neither one of us wants that.”

Emma purses her lips and stares me down.

I love when she’s like this. It’s so much better than the vapid, blind panic. Finally, still a little daring, she cocks one eyebrow again and looks up to the right. Half an eye-roll. A perfect white flag I’d never consider punishing. Fuck if she isn’t amazing. Sometimes I swear she plays me as often as I play her. She looks a little smug at my reaction before taking the bill.

Her hesitation returns once she starts toward the truck. I don’t know how she doesn’t realize she has nothing to worry about. Between those huge, wide eyes, her beautiful face, and petite frame, people naturally want to help her. I’ve seen the fondness in the faces of everyone we’ve passed tonight. The food truck worker’s expression is already softening as she sees Emma walking up. One smile and Emma could probably eat for free.

If only she could relax enough to take advantage of it. Well, practice makes perfect. I make her order my food, too, and get us drinks from a third stand.

By the time we sit down, she’s flushed and I can see her heart racing at the base of her throat. I have her drink a few sips of soda so she doesn’t go fainting on me. After she finishes eating, she leans back in the chair, looking up to admire the lights above. Her long legs are crossed at the ankle and wrapped around one leg of the chair and she keeps her arms folded gently over her waist. Still, a small smile plays on her lips.

I wait, watching, until she looks back at me. I pull one of her hands off her waist and bring her fingers to my lips, then place a few more bills in them.

“Go back to that first stand and get us some churros,” I tell her. “Don’t forget the chocolate sauce.”

Her eyes search my face. She’s past questioning me. Now she’s looking for reassurance. Worried I might disappear since I’m giving her so much leeway to be out of sight. I could leave her here as a test or, worse, because I don’t want her anymore. More ridiculous, irrational fear but this particular one softens me.

“I’ll be waiting right here,” I promise her gently.

Relief washes over her features.

I watch her skirt swing as she walks away. Her posture could be better but I don’t think there’s any way to correct that here. She doesn’t even look over her shoulder to check that I’m keeping my word. She trusts me not to lie maybe a little more than she should. Although, I do generally try not to if it can be avoided. It’s better to be consistent and transparent, it avoids so much unnecessary suffering.

There is a noticeable quickness to her stride when she reappears around the curve of the path a few minutes later. Now, she is looking over her shoulder. Her eyes seek mine out immediately and I’m on my feet. I don’t even care that she’s empty-handed. Her face is a mask of panic and her eyes are filling. I hurry to meet her halfway and pull her shaking frame into my arms.

I see what she was trying to avoid—there’s a few guys, paper bag-wrapped bottles in hand, rounding the corner. I turn us around so she’s shielded from their view and move us off the path, through the trees. She clings to the front of my shirt, sobbing. The group passes without noticing us, either already having forgotten about Emma or too drunk to be effective in searching. I tilt her face up and wipe the tears away with my thumb.

“Did they touch you?” I can hear the edge in my own voice.

She shakes her head, tears still running down her cheeks.

“Emma, did they recognize you?”

She nods, looking down.

“Fuck.”

This is the other reason we never go out.

I start walking, holding her fingers tightly while I pull her along. I don’t quite register her other hand, on my wrist. I can’t tell if she is pushing or pulling. It doesn’t matter. My mind is elsewhere. Damage control. I run through the people on my payroll who could be useful. It depends on the band of idiots more than anything. My calm is slipping as my frustration mounts. I want to handle it personally but I have to bring Emma back first.

We reach the car and I finally turn to look at her after I open the door. She’s barely breathing through clenched teeth. I let her go and she gingerly cradles her hand to her chest. My inattentive grip must have broken her smallest two fingers. They’re already swelling.

She steps away from me and there it is. The look of betrayal. She’s not even trying to hide it.

“Emma.”

She backs into the door of the car, expression unchanged. Eyes flicking to my hand, the direction we came in, down to the ground.

Instead of making me angrier, her defiance centers me.

I step forward, pinning her against the car door, and take her hand in mine.

She doesn’t try to pull away but she doesn’t wipe that look off her face either.

The next finger breaks so easily, it’s a wonder I only broke two unintentionally.

Emma is crying now which only intensifies her expression. Her eyes are wide as she stares up at me, blinking past tears. Face still a mask of betrayal and disbelief.

Behavior. Consequences. Control.

I hold her gaze and break another finger.

Her face contorts with the magnified pain but it only lasts a moment.

There. Now, she’s slipping into that space. The one she needs and I require. That equally completes and dismantles. Giving us what we both crave.

Her face empties and her eyes clear, not vacant but free.

Free of judgment, pain, or fear. Bare for me to redress. Wholly mine.

My fingers find the remote in my pocket and I hit the last button.

Emma’s eyes widen at the shock but her expression remains a plain of acceptance. She passes out before her body has even gone limp and she falls against me, back still arching for a moment as the current wrings her out.

I lay her on the passenger seat, careful of her broken hand, and lock her in.

I have to keep her safe.

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Taglist: @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @whumpy-writings @maracujatangerine

[pretty-face-breaker]

Thought We Understood Each Other

c.w. creepy whumper, electrocuting someone unconscious, whumpee going behind whumper’s back and paying the price, possessive physical touch/indirect threat of violence  

Following up Santiago’s escape. 

——

It took him six hours to get home but for Hayko, the time passed as if he was wading through it, never stopping to take a breath. He drove with a grip on the steering wheel that left his hands so cold despite the buildup of sweat against the rubber. The air was murky and the roads were murky and though he was there, there seemed to be a thick fog severing his mind and eyes. 

That didn’t stop him from thinking about Santiago. 

It only kept him adrift. 

Once Hayko turned that final corner that led up to Nick’s condo, he wondered how he even managed to get home in one piece. Had he even… waited at the red lights? But as soon as the realization of being not fully present had kicked in, he was adrift again. Each step up the stairs-

-and he did take the stairs. All seven floors worth, far from recognition. 

Each step knocked his heart down further and further into his stomach because for once, unimaginably, he was actually guilty. Hayko was guilty of what before would have seemed like suicide but now had happened—Santiago was gone that fast. He had shut out any voices that whispered the potential that he hadn’t made it across the border since he started driving home.

Step. Step. Step. Soft little clacks in evenly spaced intervals. Hayko’s movements were mechanical, breaths shallow, lips immobile but he could register at one point that he was praying in Armenian. It was for a lot of things from Santiago’s safety, to Vladimir’s own, to the possibility that maybe, by the grace of some god he couldn’t believe in anymore, all of them would be alright. 

As the next request left him in a breath, his leg buzzed once and he jumped in nervous surprise. In a stairwell, close to the seventh floor holding that one door, his phone was ringing. Hayko didn’t look at the name as he slid to accept the call and pulled it to his ear. “Hello?...” he asked tentatively. 

“Running late?” came the reply and he suppressed a shiver. 

“Yeah, I’m almost up, just a few more minutes,” Hayko spoke, pooling the remainder of his energy into keeping his voice as steady as Santiago would have wanted. “Sorry, thought it would’ve taken less—” His breathing stuttered as Nick cut him off. 

“I don’t expect you to start talking until you’re up here.” 

There had rarely been times when Hayko hadn’t been terrified of his voice, the jarring candidness of it shaking him to his core but especially now, where the only way was up, as the stairs below him seemed to be falling away one by one as his heels left them, no terror had ever come close to this one. He wondered whether to shoot Vladimir a concise Get out right fucking now text but knew that was out of the question. 

Hayko knew he would never leave without finding him first. 

“Still there?” Nick asked over the line, snapping Hayko out of his trance and he quickly croaked out a grim yes moments before it clicked off, Nick’s way of hurrying him. He absently stared up the final flight and was mildly horrified as he felt his regret devolving to stupid courage to take another step, and another.

Decisions had been a liberty for him, at least for the past year.

It’s just that this one had consequences that may not just sit skin deep. 

Finally, Hayko pushed open the door to the hallway and watched the number of the one further away get closer by the second—he could never remember the three digit marking on the wood, only the shape of it. 

That and what lay behind it. 

It was such a lousy barrier, this door. And he couldn’t bring himself to open it without first fumbling for his phone. 

He realized his hands were shaking when he scrolled for Vladimir’s contact and typed out “If you don’t hear from me for a bit, don’t worry. He’s out.” 

And then the door opened. 

Hayko’s eyes snapped up as he stuffed the phone away in his jeans and he started to form a greeting but by the way Nick was looking at him, he probably didn’t want to hear it as much as he wanted him inside where he could have him completely. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. 

He waited diligently for Nick’s arm to slide off the frame as his invitation inside. Every muscle in his body contracted as the door slid shut and locked—though, there was a delay. It took every fibre of his being to stay calm, for his own sake. 

At this point, Hayko knew Nick wouldn’t pity him for his fear as he had mastered how to mute it just so he wouldn’t have to. He hated it when Nick pitied him, would rather he just got it over with instead. He pulled off his jacket and went for the wooden rack, expecting to be stopped but Nick only watched him hang it up and then slip off his shoes. 

Hayko stammered at last, “It took longer than I-I thought it would.” Cursed himself for not holding up any longer. “There was… some traffic here and there and—... I made a few stops for tea and…” He glanced up and gulped at the wolfish smile Nick was now wearing. 

“You know,” Nick started, a hint of laughter in his voice, “you lie better in court than you do out of it.” He stalked over and Hayko braced himself for whatever was next. Nick took his palm and pressed it to Hayko’s chest, not so much as shoving as it was pushing him back right until his head hit the wall. 

Hayko didn’t respond, hoping staring up at him with lost, pleading eyes was enough. He shuddered at the tickle of knuckles tracing down his cheek and the next snort made him want to curl in on himself. Please, just do something already and let my fucking nerves calm down.

“You can lie to me, you do it all the time,” Nick continued. “Not like there’s a point though. You’re a pretty shit liar.”  

God, please. Please please please

Hayko swallowed thickly but his breathing really hitched when he heard the faint buzz of the phone in his jacket. He looked to Nick rapidly to see whether he heard as well but the taller man was still eyeing him, trying to pull it out of him, trying to wring him like a cloth, but Hayko had prepared for any interrogation. Had his lines and excuses chronological and ready.

“Why do you think I’m lying?” he asked. Feeling how close Nick’s breath was fanning on his face, he tipped his head back further. Don’t do this, don’t do this now 

Nick watched him thoughtfully. “You look afraid.”  

“Always,” he corrected. “I always look-... like that.” Please, please, please

A clever smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and Nick inched off the wall, muttered “Good point” and Hayko was left to catch his breath quietly, fingers tapping away at the wall behind him to dispense of the grueling anxiety and near-euphoric relief. At the same time, he was skeptical under the surface but that surface was thick with exhaustion and tension and fear enough for where the hell his friend had gone and whether he was even alive and whether it was worth anything. 

It will always be worth it. 

These are the only parts of you that you have left.  

A chaste reminder. A welcome one.

Nick had a track going, something smooth and ‘60s in the living room and he turned to beckon Hayko to come in as well. “Don’t just stand there, love. I’ve backed off haven’t I?” He laughed easily and went towards the desk holding the radio to change the track. Hayko thought it strange he would as he’d heard this song before—one of his favourites. 

Nick was entirely right. He had backed off, by some miracle. Hayko began to think that the prayer had worked and that this was a shot at redemption. Of course, he wouldn’t have known. He hadn’t told him anything about it, only implied he would be late until the night before, gone quietly and returned just as quietly albeit a little later. Only that part was a real fib. 

He tore himself from the wall and made after Nick, discomforted by the calmness but quickly assuaged that fear. It was irrational. Told himself that it was over, it was alright, and to take his good graces and just last the night before he could just forget for a few hours. 

He wouldn’t know. There wouldn’t be a way for him to know, there wouldn’t. 

He wouldn’t know because it’s not possible. 

It’s not possible because I tried too fucking hard just to get him across the border, fucking hell, let me have this one thing, let me have it I haven’t asked you for anything else, have I? Just let me have this, please

Hayko felt comfortable all of a sudden, the music cushioning his thoughts as he went to slide onto the couch until he realized that, here a moment before, Nick was gone again. 

“Hey, where did—” As he turned to call Nick back, he was already there and Hayko froze. Caught the cattle prod only for a fraction of a second before Nick grabbed him and pressed it into his chest, sending a tearing shock that kept his eyes wide in an immobile stare as each wave jerked through his limbs, ripped a new line of agony and lit up every nerve in his body. 

It went on for two, three agonizing seconds and his hand kept him there.

No no no  

Santiago

The last glance he caught of Nick’s face was the final blow. 

A laugh from the man who finally tore it away, letting Hayko collapse before nudging his forehead with his shoe. “You fucking idiot. And here I thought we understood each other.” 

——

Tagging @doveotions @heathenville @thewhumpstuff @thatsthewhump @adamantem-rose @lonesome--hunter @whumpsorbetism @whumpasaurus101 @lektricfergus @downrivergirl914 

[theunspokenvoice]

What is Anxiety?

I want to take a quick sidestep from story time and reliving memories. I want to break down anxiety real quick, and what it feels like to me. I know people searched up anxiety symptoms online and you might have experienced some form of anxiety yourself - I think everyone has a different experience with anxiety. When it comes to me, it feels like a slow sensations of chills creeping up my back and it makes it way to my head. Eventually, I start getting the unstoppable urge to shake and my body struggles to stop it. This shaking isn't like a twitch either, its more like I’m getting electrocuted - I shake uncontrollably.  This shaking could be situated to one part of my body or it could be happening all over me. If I can’t control myself, and calm myself down; the symptoms get worse and more uncomfortable. The next thing would be heavy breathing and lose of breath. It’s like my mind is convincing itself that I am having an asthma attack and I need something to help me breathe again. This sends my mind into overload, and I’m drowning in irrational thoughts and fears. While I’m writing this right now, I can feel my hands getting a little sweaty and my breathing is getting rather heavy - but we move on. The next thing is the complete lose of control of my emotions. I’m feeling rage, fear, and panic, and I drown in these emotions. I’m trying to escape from a “monster” in my own mind and I’m slowly losing grasp with reality itself. This is where most of my anxiety experiences end for me, but there are times, where they even progress more and it gets worse. I either break down in tears from the mental exhaustion and I beg for it to be over. It becomes too much and I just can’t take it anymore. This is humbling and embarrassing at the same time. I’m a big guy and I’m brought down so easily by my very own mind. Then, there are times, where it progresses to the point; I can’t control my nausea and it leads to me vomiting. The worst thing that ever happened to me was blacking out and fainting from the mental overload. My girlfriend was able to witness that firsthand, and everyday it haunts me that she had to see that - I’m sorry. The thing that frustrates me more than anything is when you read those self-help tips and websites that provide instructions on how to fight your anxiety. I honestly believe they’re all bullshit and don’t understand how bad it can really be. People have anxiety everyday of their lives and it’s normal. But, there are cases, where people have severe anxiety and its life crippling. This is where I am, and this is what created me. There isn’t a magic cure and there isn’t a self help book out there to fix my life.  You’ll see how my mind ticks and how I got here as the story progresses. All I can say is; I’m tired and my mind can’t last like this forever. 

[salt-warrior]

If you wrote a Kaider storm cuddles shot I think that would be the death of me.😁

Aw this ask is too cute! Thank you for the ask!<333

Waiting Out the Storm

Summary: Kai discovers Cinder’s scared of lightning and comforts her. (WC: 1.2k)

A crack of lightning sounded outside the palace walls, echoing with a gusto as it seemingly shook the earth. Rain followed within seconds, starting with a soft patter and then growing into something powerful. Kai beamed as he stared out his office window, taking in a deep breath as if to smell the rainy air despite being inside. He loved the rain more than anything else— to feel it fall upon his skin and breathe in the sweet, clean scent.

He glanced at Cinder, her desk adjacent to his. Every time he looked over to see her sitting beside him sent a little thrill up his spine. She was here on earth with him. It had taken them so long to get here, between the uprising and the kidnapping and her being queen for a couple years, but no longer were they separated. It still felt like a dream, even after three weeks of having her with him.

When she had first moved into the palace, she’d had her very own study joined to her room. Of course she still had the study and her own room, but after two years of being apart, neither could stand any more time not in the other’s presence. So Cinder’s desk had been moved to stand beside Kai’s. And while many of her things, such as her royal finery, rested neatly and unpacked in her official room, she had yet to sleep in her quarters since arriving.

Another blasting boom of thunder shook the palace, and Cinder flinched. Kai frowned and scooted his chair closer to hers.

She looked at him, eyes wide with that deer-in-headlights stare one only had when they were afraid. He frowned, placing a hand gently on top of hers. She flipped her palm up and intertwined their fingers together. Kai felt the racing of her pulse through her wrist pressed against his own.

“Cinder?” Kai asked, rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand. Another blast of lightning resounded, and Cinder closed her eyes gently. She made no sound, but pressed her lips together in a thin line.

“I don’t like lightning,” Cinder whispered, her words barely a breath. She opened her eyes and stared at Kai. He felt his heart melt just a little bit as she studied him, her eyes flickering between his own. “It stresses me out.”

“Why?” Kai couldn’t stop himself from asking— it made no sense to him. From the time he’d been a small child he’d loved to stand in the rain: to splash in puddles and dance and taste the sweet raindrops. He couldn’t fathom a world in which that was a thing to be feared.

Cinder shrugged. “I don’t know, why are you scared of spiders?”

“Uh,” Kai furrowed his brow, sputtering just slightly upon his words. “Because they’re terrifying beasts, that’s why.”

“It’s just irrational,” Cinder said, using her free hand to rub at a tension spot on her forehead. “It’s all the noise and the bright flashes of light. Maybe it’s too much like fire, or- or something else, I don’t know.”

“Hey,” Kai soothed, scooting his chair forward until it was touching hers. He pulled her head down so it rested on his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. Cinder let out a little sigh as Kai held her to him, burying her face in his neck.

Kai pulled her even closer, dragging her from her chair until she was sitting in his lap. She held onto him as if he were a lifeline, her body curling against his. He hummed tunelessly and rubbed gentle circles along her back.

“Are you afraid of being electrocuted?”

Cinder pulled back just enough to glare at him, her nostrils flaring as she huffed. He grinned back up at her, a bubble of ecstasy filling his chest.

“Not funny.”

“Aw, come on,” Kai laughed, leaning forward to press a kiss against Cinder’s cheek. “I really don’t think it’s anything to be worried about— chances of being struck by lightning are like… like one in a million.”

“More like one in half a million,” Cinder grumbled.

Kai moved his face, kissing her other cheek. He let his lips linger for just a moment, and heard Cinder let out a little sigh. “That’s not fair— you have a computer in your brain. Oh wait–” Kai broke off, his eyes alighting as he realized something. “Are you scared because of your hand and leg? That you’re more likely to get struck.”

Cinder’s face soured, but she did not move from her place in Kai’s lap. Rather, she let her fingers wander to play with his hair, twisting the ends gently. “That’s a myth, Kai.”

“It is?” Kai exclaimed, dumbfounded.

“Uh-huh,” Cinder rolled her eyes. “But if I were to get struck it would probably hurt a lot more with the metal extremities.”

“Wow,” Kai sighed, turning his gaze back toward the window just as another flash of lightning struck the evening sky. Cinder tensed within his arms, gripping him tighter with the roar of the accompanying thunder.

Kai turned back to her and pressed a kiss to her lips, slow and easy and gentle. When they broke apart her body had melted back against his, as if they were one form, never to be parted from one another.

“Tell you what,” Kai said, tilting his head from side to side. “What if we wait out the storm before doing any more work— just lay in bed for a while and forget about the lightning.”

“Kai,” Cinder sighed, closing her eyes. “We both know we don’t have the luxury of doing that. You have to finish with the Letumosis antidote distribution agency and I have Lunar immigration papers to handle.”

“Are you going to get any work done while it’s storming?” Kai asked, squeezing her tight. “Because to tell you the truth, I’m not; I love the rain. And just from watching you jump out of your skin every time you hear thunder, I’m guessing you won’t either.”

“And besides,” Kai continued, brushing a strand of hair out of Cinder’s eyes. “I want to cuddle with my wonderful and beautiful fiancée who finally lives on the same planet as me.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, her lips slightly parted. Then she sighed, letting her head fall to rest against Kai’s shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

Kai grinned, and they got to work immediately, turning their bed into a cocoon of blankets and pillows. They were still dressed in their work clothes, with Kai in a pressed gray suit and Cinder in a flowy green dress, but they cuddled up despite this.

They wrapped blankets around themselves and held one another close, listening to the sound of the rain as it fell on the palace rooftops. Kai told Cinder stories of playing in the rain as a child and stole kisses from her as she smiled at him. They stayed like that for a long time, enjoying one another’s company and the bliss of being in the other’s arms as they waited out the storm.

By the time that the rain stopped and not a flicker of lightning remained in the sky, they had fallen into that haze of comforting sleep, pressed against one another— dreaming not of rain, but of one another.

Tag List: @kaiderforever @kaider-is-my-otp @healing-winston-pratt @lavenderbloo @instant-karma-official @cinderswrench @cindersnightmare @strawberry-seraph @horton-hears-a-who @lunarchroniclesnet @idkchatie @notarie37 @winterrhayle @queen-of-self-love @addies-invisible-life @bookpapaya @kittymalechalinethomastair @somanyfandomsonly1username

[redqueen-hypothesis]

fatherhood ➳ shaw  (mlqc)

REMARKS: ever imagined our man-child shaw as a dad? i sure did-

shaw never thought that he’d have kids one day, but the second he holds his newborn baby daughter in his arms, he’s almost unnaturally worried he might somehow end up electrocuting her in his arms.

Although he has near perfect control over his evol, he can’t help but think about this - it’s an irrational fear, but he can’t help it. She looks so small, fitting almost too easily in his hands. So tiny. So fragile. Did he ever look like that?

There’s a tuft of lilac baby fuzz on her head, and when the midwife puts her in his hands, her big eyes blink open to reveal irises a gorgeous shade of amber - the exact same golden shade as his.

Shaw can’t remember the first or last time he cried. Well, he’s fucking crying now, and he doesn’t even realise it until you laugh weakly from the hospital bed, teasing him for the warm tears sliding down his cheeks, your own eyes shiny with love and affection. He manages a watery laugh and tells you he’s not, even as he swipes at his own face after handing the baby, no, his daughter back to the nurse. When the hospital staff finally leave the room, he takes a seat by your bedside and kisses you so passionately that you’re unable to do a thing but fall victim to his advances, but he’s pulling away before it gets too heated, worried about how exhausted you must be after labor.

You let out a soft sigh of disappointment but Shaw only laughs, brushing your hair back from your forehead with such rare tenderness in his eyes he looks almost pained.

“You’ve done so well, babe. I knew my woman was fucking strong.”

You grin up at him sleepily, fingers lacing with his and squeezing tightly. “I did, didn’t I? We should swap places next time.”

Shaw lets out a snort before he’s climbing into the bed next to you, metal frame creaking dangerously before he’s wrapping his arms around you from behind, face pressed into the back of your neck. You can hear the waver in his voice when he speaks, the dampness that you can’t see but can feel against your skin.

“Don’t worry about anything now.” He murmurs into your neck. “Just rest.”

shaw didn’t know exactly how much he’d need rest in the coming months, but oh boy was it hell

Perhaps he’s developed some sort of paternal instinct, because he wakes up in the middle of the night even before the baby starts crying.

Shaw lies awake in the bed, a little bleary and unsure of why he’s awoken when there seems to be nothing wrong. All he hears is the soft sounds of your breathing next to him, the quiet chirp of crickets outside the window. Mildly confused and still very much sleep deprived with all the responsibilities of becoming a new dad, he decides to count down from five and go back to sleep.

Five, four, three, two-

A plaintive, but familiar wail breaks the silence of the night.

Wahhhhh.

Shaw doesn’t move for a few seconds, both exasperated and mildly terrified of how ‘dad’ he’s becoming. Next to him, he can feel you shifting as well in response to your daughter’s cries, and lets out a long, drawn out sigh.

He raises his hand in the air.

Rock, paper, scissors.

Shaw holds up two fingers, and rolls over on the bed to see your fist put up high.

Fuck.

He groggily gets out of bed to see what’s up with his daughter.

tries his best to keep parenthood fun. routine is the fastest way to kill anything, and he’d be damned if he doesn’t try to inject any novelty here and there in the form of games or competitions

“Three, two, one,” You say grimly, looking deep into Shaw’s eyes. His hands are at the ready, gaze fixed intently on his target, a loaded gun locked and loaded and ready for action. Just awaiting your command. “Go!”

Shaw bursts into a furry of motion, hands moving through practiced motions like he’s trained for it his entire life. Undress, clean, dry. Fresh diaper, wrap, done.

He yanks his hands away from his daughter the second the diaper secures itself in place, turning to you with an eager light. “So? How did I do this time?”

“A new record!” You announce brightly, showing him the stopwatch app on your phone. The numbers shine back at him and he cheers, reaching out to wrap his arms around you.

“Ah, ah, ah, not so fast, lightning boy.” You scold, poking the center of his chest with a finger. Shaw looks down, confused, until you point at the soiled diaper still in his hand. “Get rid of that first, and wash your hands.”

Grumbling, Shaw stalks off to the kitchen unwillingly, not noticing the way you smile warmly at his back.

he complains all the time about the baby. about the time she vomited all over his shirt when he was burping her, about how much hair he’s losing from stress, the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the time she took a dump on his hands while he was changing her diaper. he complains like there’s not tomorrow, but you know he loves your child so fucking much, even if he won’t admit it out loud

You wake up in the middle of the night sometimes to find him putting Sharky in your daughter’s crib, crouched at her side, the moonlight reflected in unusually soft eyes. His chin is resting on his hands, head tilted as he looks down at your daughter - the child your love has created together.

“Don’t tell your mother I said this,” Shaw’s saying, so softly you can barely hear him, “but I hope you grow up to be like her, not me. Be a kind, sweet girl who keeps trusting and loving others. Ah, but not men, of course.”

You barely stop a snort from escaping you.

“You don’t know this, alright? All men are wolves. Dad knows that best...” Shaw pauses, as if imagining your baby daughter is really talking back to him. “No, don’t ask me how I know that...”

Now that has you cracking up helplessly, and Shaw whirls around to see you with your hand pressed against your mouth, trying to stifle your giggles. In the pale moonlight you catch heated red burning at his cheeks, before he’s by your side in an instant, his own hand clamped over your mouth. “Hey. Hey. How much of that did you just hear?”

You only laugh harder, shoulders shaking uncontrollably and Shaw’s cheeks only flare even redder before his eyes flash with mischief. In the next second, he’s pinning you down by the wrists, knees on either side of your waist, a roguish grin spreading across his face. “Guess I’ll have to torture the information out of you, then.”

His head dips down to bring his lips to yours, ravaging your mouth, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your sleeping shorts. You moan into his mouth, caught completely by surprise, fingers reaching up to fist themselves in his hair when there’s a sudden wail from behind the two of you.

Wahhhhhh.

Both of you freeze on the bed, eyes simultaneously travelling to the crib. Then, in perfect unison, you and Shaw let out a sigh, and raise your hands to play another round of rock paper scissors.

He loses again.

“Fuck.” Shaw mumbles under his breath and you slap him on the bicep. “Why do I always lose this game?”

“No cursing!”

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

I know him

A/N: this was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

summary: could you do a reddie x daughter where she sees apparitions of penny wise but keeps it to herself. but one day when she’s w all the losers they mention pennywise in a short joke and she says she knows who that is n they all freak out wondering how she knows and ask her questions to confirm and somehow she knows everything that happened

warnings: fear of being stuck in an elevator so I guess small spaces, pennywise, a brief mention of vomiting and curse words

The old elevator scared her for as long as she could remember, it’s old doors creaking and closing leisurely, and the inside of it coated in a filthy substance that your dad avoided at all costs and urged you to do the same.  Many horror story that roamed the building hallways originated from said moving lift, endless cases of people getting stuck in there and injuring themselves, some minor wounds, some majors.

In one particular case, a man from apartment block B4 broke his hand while trying to escape the grimy space, reaching for help outside of the lift only to have the doors ruthlessly crushing his bones, inducing agony so severely that he had to have his hand amputated.

Or another one during which a woman found herself trapped in it’s confinements while a thunderstorm was happening, and ended up electrocuting and dying before morning dawn.

It’s possible that Richie made those story’s up however, and Emma is the first one to admit that her pops does have a track record of pulling pranks on her, but there is a sliver of truth behind the stories.

Several people reported the elevator for malfunctioning, and the tenant always promised to fix the issue, but he never did, and so the thing continued to be a problem. Emma rarely used it, and if she happened to make use of it’s services, she made she was always accompanied by someone who could help in case of an emergency.

June twentieth though, she returned home from school, secretly excited about the prospect of being on her own for the evening, as Richie and Eddie were going out on a date to celebrate their anniversary, and she already imagined all the junk food she bought and would eat throughout the night, when she stumbled upon a problem.

The apartment Richie, Eddie and her lived on was located at the top floor, the furthest away from the prying eyes of the public, in lieu of their future home being renovated, which meant that taking the stairs was a painstaking chore that left her drained of all energy by the time she made it up.

Normally, she occupied the escalator anyway, but she slipped and twisted her ankle at school that morning, and despite it not hurting too bad, Emma figured that using the elevator was still the better call, so her ankle had time to rest.

She hesitated only briefly, before confidently walking in the lift, and pressing the bottom for the eight-floor. Emma tried to make light off the situation, using humor the way Richie had thought her, telling herself that she better take a large gulp of air, just in case the door refused to open again once they slid shut.

‘I got this I got this I got this’, she murmured to herself, psyching herself up before panic overtook her. Using the elevator was an irrational fear she had, and no amount of times riding helped any good in overcoming it. Realistically, the worst thing that could happen was that she locked in, waiting until a neighbor also needed to use the elevator and noticed that someone was in there, then effectively helping her out, but the thought of spending even five minutes with no way out gave her chills, so she suppressed that thought and waited patiently until the lift moved up.

Only it didn’t. The doors latched shut, but no movements upwards preceded. Clearing her throat, Emma hit the floor number again, rationalizing that she pressed the number too soft to be registered, but the eight lit up and yet again no movement took place.

Emma laughed antsy, breathing in and out deeply, still convincing herself that everything was fine, and a firmer hand was needed to get the lift moving, but when nothing happened, she hurriedly thumbed the open button.

With a screeching sound, the doors began to open, wide enough that tears welt up in Emma’s eyes from relief, but then the doors unfolded just enough to see through them into the open hall, not big enough for Emma’s form to fit through, and then shut again.

Terror infiltrated every pore of her being, rendering her a anxiety riddled mess, her breathing shaking too much to properly inhale. Black spots danced on the edge of her vision, becoming faint enough that Emma stumbled backwards and had to grip the railing bar tight in order not to fall.

The temperature read 35° degrees Celsius, the room hot enough that sweat drops formed on Emma’s forehead, and she lost her cool, her mind conjuring up the worst case scenarios.

She repeatedly pushed the open button, wheezing fresh air in the nik of time, while begging to whoever was listening to save her from this mess. Changing tactics, Emma attacked the alarm bell, but then over-analyzed that too. She had no clue whether or not she was supposed to hold it for a longer period of time, or release it and attempt multiple times.

A phone that connected to the main office was also present, and when Emma perceived that, she lunged for it and held it to her ear as close as possible.

‘Hello, please help me’, her voice cracked, ’I’m stuck.’ Nothing but static greeted her, no person on the other line to help her or comfort her, no help on the way.

The tears began bolstering down her cheeks then, a single one leading the way for many others once the dam was finally broken. In spite of not receiving an answer, Emma repeated the same word over and over again anyway, unable to think of any other way out.

She feared that if she kept opening the door, that that too would stop working, and then the heat building would suffocate her. Or the elevator may crash down, killing her instantly, or starvation and dehydration would take her out before anyone finds her and saves her. The fears may sound un-rational, but to Emma they were very real, and she worked herself up into a near panic attack.

‘Please, please, please, I want my parents’, she continues to sob, hoping against all hope that someone apprehends her message.

Her prayers seemed to have been answered when a white glove creeps through the elevator slot, the fingers wiggling back and forth.

‘Take my hand Emma, I’ll help you out.’

Inhibitions aside, Emma allowed said hand to wrap around her wrist, and urged her closer to the edge of the lift, another gloved hand pushing the lift apart and jerking her through. Ignoring the way the stranger somehow knew her name and the way she was lucky she wasn’t crushed by the doors, Emma heaves down on the ground, her painful ankle all forgotten.

The jitters in her body making her stand on shaky legs until she dropped down on her knees. Lunch had already processed most likely, as she couldn’t hurl up anything solid, but a bad taste lingered in her mouth lingers in her mouth regardless

When the last flow leaves her, Emma sits back, still on the ground, her hands buried in her hair to ground herself.

‘You’re out, you’re okay, you’re fine,’ she reassures herself, refraining from rocking back and forth.

For the first time, Emma glanced upwards to look at the person who saved her. The man, if she could call it that, wore a clown suit, completed with a face caked full of make-up. She inched away from him when their eyes connected, certain that the eyes that stared back were yellow, but upon second glance, she notices they were blue, just like her pops.

‘hmm, are you alright there? You look a bit shaken up’, the man grinned with his teeth visible, yellow and sharp on top while his tongue licked over them like he was hungry. He creeped Emma out, but he did rescue her, so Emma felt obligated to give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Thank you’, she breathed out, the tears in her eyes running dry. He extended a hand out to her, and she took it, pulling herself upright and shaking the nerves off of her.

‘Who are you?’

‘My names Pennywise the dancing clown,’ he giggled in a weird, unsettling tone, ‘you really should refrain from using that lift, I heard it’s,’ he paused and winked at her, ‘scare inducing.’

‘Right,’ Emma trailed off, the polite smile on her face never fading away. ‘Oh wait, you’re a circus performer right? I heard about it coming to town from one of the posters outside.’

At pennywise nod, Emma relaxed. Sure, he came across as frightening, but maybe that was just her imagination after the scare she had experienced, and it would provide a reason why he was dressed like that.

‘Yes yes’, he explained, ‘do you like the circus? Because I love it’, he twisted his body in a way that made bells go off, the smile on his face unusually large for his face. Speaking of which, his forehead was also massive.

‘Your fathers used to love the circus too.’ The admission sparked new interested within Emma, who perked up and listened to him with all her attention.

‘You knew my fathers?’ she asked, shaking off the worry that loomed in the back of her mind.

‘Why yes of course I do, we were all best friends, and we did so much fun things together. If you want, I’ll tell you all about it.’

Emma hesitated, she had never met this man, and he seemed to be sketchy, but at the same time her interests had been piqued, and she figured that the man wouldn’t have come to her aid if he had something malicious planned.

‘They lived in Derry, Eddie and Richie, and they have always been best friends. But the summer of 1989 was one they’ll never forget.’

Emma frowned, neither her dad nor her pops had ever mentioned the summer of 1989, nor had they ever discussed any other people outside of the losers club, but if he knew their names were Eddie and Richie, there’s no way he hadn’t met them.

‘Ow yes, the summer their nightmares came to live right before their very eyes,’ his voice lilts up in a sing song sound, almost a mocking tone, and he belly laughs, as if the prospect of facing your fears was that funny to imagine.

Emma’s heart began to pound faster when the memories of the lift resurfaced, and she couldn’t phantom anyone laughing at that.

‘It all began with uncle Bills little brother….’

When Emma awoke, she was laying down on the sofa, her legs stretched over side so her feet were dangling. She lifted her head and scanned the room in confusion, blinking away the sleep from her eyes.

She would’ve swore that she had a conversation with a guy, but maybe that was a nightmare that she experienced a little too vividly. The talk was strange to begin with, anecdotes including murder, brutal attacks and near death experiences presented as something that really took place, something her family endured.

A quick search on the internet let Emma to believe that she saw a hallucination induced by her distress, and so she never mentioned anything to her fathers when they returned home from their date.

Perhaps the man had offered help to Emma, and he was uncanny enough that Emma dreamed about him after he left, but the conversation was all in her head and never had never come to pass.

The elevator was at full service again the next day, so she never informed Richie and Eddie of that either, feeling no need to rehash how irrational she behaved.

She adamantly fought tooth and nail to never step near the lift at any time, and since her parents were good at parenting, they accepted that with no questions asked, although Richie would huff and puff walking up and down the stairs, his old man bones creaking in protest changelessly.

-----

‘Chug chug chug’, Bill chants, his hands balled in fist chomping down on the table as he viewed Richie gulping down his glass in one smooth sling.

‘I hate it here’, Stan rolls his eyes, downplaying the nearly there smile that graced his face upon hearing roared laughter.

Losers club meetings always brought a never seen amount of chaos and noise, causing them to be chucked out of restaurants more than once, but they’re never deterred.  

Stan advocated on multiple occasion to host the parties in one of their houses, but upon the suggestion of organizing one at his house, he backed down and dejectedly proposed a new restaurant they’re welcome at, for now.

This time, the choice alternated between a new Thai restaurant or a steak house that Richie tipped very generously for last time they visited, the new Thai place being a tad more inviting.

Emma loved losers meetings, because she always got to reconnect with her aunts and uncles, and also because the food was more than delicious.

She adored all the losers dearly, but the one she formed a special bond with was Mike, the history buff who knows more than Emma’s actual history teacher, and the one who somehow knows all the right words she must hear if she asks for advice.

The spot next to him is without fail the one chair that remains empty until she arrives, hanging off the tip of his tongue to hear about all the adventures he undergoes on his far off trips.

Today is no exception, Mike sitting on Emma’s left as she bolsters equally as loud as her uncles and aunts as liquid spills from the side of her pops’s face, staining the new shirt her dad recently bought and now belongs in the trash.

Eddie’s face is set in a scowl, as he thrusts out for a napkin and hands it over to Richie, who takes it with a smack kiss on the cheek as a romantic gesture Eddie repulses away from.

‘Dude, keep your disgusting bear filled lips the fuck away from me’, his face lighting up with a blush he tried but fails to suppress. His repulsion of germs decreases every day, but it’s not gone completely, the avoidance of touching the table with any skin proof.

‘Oh come on Eddie, it can’t possibly bother you that much, you married the guy’, Stan remarks, chuckling when Patty softy taps him on the arm.

A waiter pops his out from behind a wall, his face betraying nothing, but the murderous look in his eyes more than telling enough that this will be the last time they pop in this eatery. He refrains from saying anything though, walking away with a rigid back to no doubt complain to his coworkers about annoying table number five.

Thank god, they’ve only arrived an hour ago, and are still waiting on their food to come, and Emma is excited to try it.

‘Ben and I saw the circus in town two weeks ago,’ Bev steers the conversation in a different direction, bored with the current lack of anything but laughter.

The mention of the circus reminds Emma of the strange encounter that happened, the incubus she can recall in perfect detail. The duality of reality and fiction confusion her to this day. She’s pretty sure she dreamed the whole thing besides her being stuck, but then did Pennywise exists for real? And if not, then who helped her out?

The table turns abnormally quiet, so much so that it shocks Emma out of her thoughts. Stan’s face in particular drains of all color and he taps his fingers on the table to remain calm and collected, Patty scrutinizes his every move, but she is lost for how to react as well.

Ben sips his drink awkwardly, clearing his throat after and lacing his hand with Bev with a warning squeeze. Emma is a second away from asking what in the world is going on, but Richie’s got it covered.

‘Yeah, you saw any one familiar? Like a type of clown hoping we die gruesomely? It’s been a while huh I wonder how he’s doing these days.’

‘Richie’, Eddie hisses exasperated, motioning his head in Emma’s direction to remind Richie their daughter was still in the room with them.

Emma chortles at his joke, covering her mouth with her hand so that no piece of the chip she’s nibbling on accidentally lands on the table, the others following her lead easily. They remain at the edge of their seat, not yet settled, but Richie’s humor calmed them down enough that the tense atmosphere around the room fizzles out.

Emma, unthinkingly and mindlessly adds; ‘That someone happened to be named Pennywise?’

She continues to chuckle at her addition, right up to the point that a glass crack to her left, Ben’s glass splintered in tiny pieces on the floor as his big, shock filled eyes gawking at Emma as if she announced she’s pregnant.

The sound of glass relinquishing disturbs Emma’s laugh, the blast spooking her out of nowhere.

‘What? Her dad asks her pressed, and if she thought the losers looked keyed up before, the consternation they now display is in a whole different ballpark.

Trying to rail the topic back on track, Emma continues to jest the situation, reminiscing on the fictional things in her dream.

‘Yeah, you know Pennywise. The clown that transformed into your worst fears. Stan’s painting, pop’s clowns, dad’s gazebo’s, oh and of course we can’t forgot about breaking dad’s arm right.’

No one else laughs, all of them staring shell shocked ahead, unbeknownst to Emma thrusted back to the summer of hell.  

‘Emma,’ Richie address her, his palm rubbing across his chest on the left side, his heart burning with urgency to protect his daughter and his family without a second of hesitation.

Richie rarely uses her name in place of a nickname, so she drops the act and tunes out every other person and sound for the sake of paying attention to her pops.

‘Where did you hear all of that?’

A cold gust of winds breezes around the room, resulting in shivers that shake Emma’s whole body. All members of the losers club focus on her, awaiting her response to the question. Eddie and Richie in particular are most keen on finding out how their daughter somehow, without any of them telling, savvy traumatizing events of their youth.

‘I don’t know, a nightmare. Why is it so important?’ Emma inquires, enclosing her body with her arms in an effort to comfort herself.

‘A nightmare?’ Eddie clarifies, the intention behind his inquire not flying over her head.

‘Emma’, Mike interrupts to stop the impending flood of dread about to unleash over her before it even begins.

‘I know you know so much more than you’re letting on. I understands why this is scary, but it’s of the upmost important that you come clean now.’

Mike can read her better than a book, and that’s saying something for a librarian, so Emma gives in, overwhelming tears sticking to her eyelashes, the attention proving to be too much, begging anyone in the room to explain to her what’s going on.

‘The elevator got stuck in our apartment building, and this guy, Pennywise helped me out.’

‘Oh applejack,’ Richie exclaims, understanding now why she’s so resilient on trudging the escalator. Eddie scrambles up from his chair across from Emma’s seat, and tucking her away safely in his arms, her head underneath his chin.

‘it’s okay Ems, you’re safe, you’re fine.’ He soothes her, suppressing his own sobs at the knowledge that Pennywise had been this close to attacking his daughter, the light of his and Richie’s life. Richie joins him a moment later, pressing both Eddie and Emma close to him in spite of the difficult position they’re in.

‘Yeah, no fucking clown is coming near you again, well except for uncle Stan then of course. He gets a pass.’

Uncle Stan dishes out no jab, inevitably inciting more terror in Emma, who whimpers and hides behind the shield her dads form around her.

The night ends with a sleepover all the losers join in on, each and every one committed to creating a safe space for Emma, and if that means killing Pennywise again, then so be it.