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isa-ah · 14 days

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gamers help me world build. the general genres are horror, speculative biology & shouldn't have gone there.

the generalized idea is a fantasy world that's not rlly all that different from ours, but magic and different creatures are an accepted and mundane part of life. the cast is a pentuplet of 3 researches / 1 adventurer / 1 body guard that are tasked with exploring a newly opened passage in the belly of a cave that seems to have tapped into a wholly new network with some very pronounced... oddities.

this network has been sealed off for milennia and has fostered an ecosystem entirely unique to itself. I'm rlly going for deep sea evolution vibes; half the critters are blind and go by hearing, vibrations or scent, the rest use some manner of bioluminescence to communicate in the dark. some fat lazy reptiles that stick to the walls and barely move or react, some semi aquatic, at least one carnivore w plenty of detritivores...

the plants have evolved over time their own brand of bioluminescence to attract the lower rungs of the food chain to themselves and so when they first arrive it's like breathtakingly beautiful and alien. just really bizarre and pretty and they're setting up camp right at the mouth of this juncture so they can make trips in without setting up entirely within the network.

the horror elements coming in with a specific type of fungus that strikes up like a cyan match underfoot and lets out clouds of glowing spores. they don't think too much of it but over the weeks to come they're going to be changed by it in really grotesque ways, I think. (and perhaps see this happen at a much faster scale to small critters with morbid realization).

glowing veins and bones and rotting, eventual blindness as the fungus grows over the wet surface of your eyes, yeah, but maybe it has almost rabies like effects where they become extremely photosensitive and claustrophilic, finding further, more narrow passages to cram into to better spread the fungus.

I've considered a lot of other horror angles to go with it too, like beginning to hallucinate pretty potently and becoming aggressively distrusting of their companions. maybe the body guard even kills one of the party and they scatter after that. a final girl moment where one of the researches has managed to stay safe but in her final escape attempt she hits a patch and realizes if she goes aboveground she'll only be spreading this beyond the passage, & so with the last vestiges of her autonomy she tries to seal it back in...

the types of plants, fruit, flowers, critters, etc... those are what I really want to dig into tho. the stuff they'd be researching and learning about. I haven't had a whole lot of ideas on what to use yet but anyone who does have thoughts send it to my inbox. 👀

restrictions are primarily nothing too big, and nothing that burrows. I think burrowers would have been discovered significantly sooner? so let's stay contained to preexisting tunnels. definitely got plenty of groundwater, springs trickling down the walls and pooling in flooded passageways etc. otherwise I don't have a lot of ideas yet!

also open to discussing the party. I think the final girl will be a magical researcher who's that clumsy kind of determined. the adventurer being any kind of smaller race (do I even want to use traditional fantasy races? idk!) and the body guard being the largest amongst them and by far the physically strongest.

thematically the horrors of spelunking at all, hypothermia being a constantly offset issue leading to paradoxical undressing as the fungus overrides basic control, stripping the last of your dignity and humanity, how prolonged darkness convinces you you can see (even after, say, fungal nodes have overtaken your eyes), no shortage of auditory hallucinations bc the white noise of trickling water is all you'd ever hear, the body guard becoming a very great threat after killing the adventurer, having become extremely hostile in response to the fungus.. u get the picture.

#what do i even tag this as #cave fungus project #<- lol. lmao even #horror #unsanitary

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half-oz-eddie · 7 months

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A Tight Squeeze

Steve reveals that he loves being closed into tight spaces. Billy suggests car sex in the Camaro.

C is for claustrophilia (the opposite of claustrophobia)

This is the 3rd fic in my Harringrove Kinktober ABCs A series of 26 unrelated ficlets about Billy and Steve, each one written for a kink that starts with every letter of the alphabet.

@harringrovekinktober

“What’s your weirdest kink?” Billy leaned forward with great interest.

Steve gulped. Were any of his kinks actually weird? Maybe just…oddly specific, but not weird. Not to him.

“Um…” He chuckled. “I’m a claustrophile.”

Billy leaned back against his chair, his eyes squinted. “S’that like…the opposite of claustrophobia?”

Steve firmly nodded.

Billy’s lips trembled before a snicker escaped him. “Well, you’ve got me beat. I don’t have any weird kinks. None as weird as that.” He shrugged. “But, I do enjoy car sex, so I’m sure that’s a tight space you’d like.”

“I—yeah, I guess so. My car’s pretty spacious. The seats recline all the way back, and—“

“I’m not talking about your car, pretty boy. I meant mine. She’s a little dated. Seats don’t even recline much and the back seat is pretty damn narrow.”

“Is it?” Steve’s eyes sparkled with intrigue and delight.

Billy rolled his eyes in response. “You’ve been in my car before, Steve.”

“Never in the back seat, though.”

“First time for everything…am I right?”

They smiled at each other before jumping up from their chairs. Billy grabbed his car keys on the way out.

Keep Reading On Ao3

#harringrove kinktober ABCs #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrovekinktober2k23 #claustrophobia tw

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thinplacesradio · 1 year

Photo

a stone wall covered in light gray paint, a silver elevator button panel installed, two circular white buttons in black squares with braille beside. the one on top points up. but the one on the bottom is pointing to the right. the image is distorted by VCR static. text reads:

[015] THE EXPERIMENT. A CALLER CATCHES A SHIFT CHANGE. THE HOST TAKES THE ELEVATOR.

listen here, or anywhere you find your podcasts. transcript under the cut:

[static, radio tuning]

[Traveling Sales Rep: Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back, after these short messages.] [static, radio tuning]

[click]

Hello and welcome to Thin Places Radio. I’m your host,

and it is the middle of the night. But don’t worry. You’re not alone.

[Thin Places theme]

[low rumbling, intermittent distant clanging and rumbling]

I’m coming to you claustrophilic from my studio, which is what I like to call this ornately dark-paneled elevator I am currently trapped in, who knows how many feet above the earth. The display is out, so there’s no light to tell me which floors I'm stuck in between - my money’s on 17 and 18, because I love a prime number. There aren’t any lights overhead, either. Just the pale yellow glow of the lobby button that I pushed. Or - was it the top floor? Because that one’s lit up, too.

I can hear a groaning down in the cavernous space below me. It sounds metallic, but not the way the elevator would creak and shudder along its own ropes. It’s getting a little bit louder every time I hear it. [metallic growl] Like it’s getting closer.

So what is Thin Places Radio?

Well, you can call in about anything strange that you've got going on in your life - feelings, omens, premonitions, hauntings.

Can you hear someone moving around on the floor above you, even though there isn’t a floor above you?

Are you having trouble believing what you’re seeing?

Is your house haunted? Do you kind of like it that way?

Call in, get it off your chest. Lines are open.

[click] [voicemail:]

Uh, have y'all ever heard of a change blindness experiment? You can find a bunch of them on YouTube, if you Google - they’re either called experiments, or pranks, they’re basically pranks. They’re made to demonstrate that people just don’t notice s**t? Typically what they’ll do is they’ll have someone behind, like, a register counter, and when someone looks down to, like, open their wallet, they’ll just switch people who are at the register. And no one ever says anything, or acts like it’s strange, or notices, at all, until it’s pointed out to them - and sometimes, not even then.

I don’t… think anyone’s pranking me? Like why… why would they… why. Because, especially ‘cuz it’s like, the same girl, over and over again. But it’s different people every - so - [huff]. The Family Dollar behind my house. There’s always this girl in there, working the register - she’s always there. And she’s really nice? She recognizes me, and I recognize her. It’s just, every single time I purchase anything, I - it - she gets replaced? By different people? But only for that - it’s only while money is being exchanged. I’ve kept my eyes open, I’ve, like - not looked down, at all, and it’s like - frame to frame, it’ll just - for one second, there’s a different frame and there’s a different person. But when I walk away? It’s her again.

I think - I think I’m just being pranked, but like, again, f***ing why? I didn’t agree to be pranked, or to be in some kind of experiment. Nothing bad ever happens? It’s just that. It makes me think like - do people not notice? Do people in the videos and the experiments not notice, or do they just never say anything? You know? Maybe they just - it’s easier to just be like, well, I guess I��m wrong, or just forget about it. Anyway. I guess I’ve said something now. Yep. Thank you.

[click]

It’s so easy to shy away from what’s right in front of us, caller. How can you trust yourself when that trust has led you astray? You must be getting pranked, you must be in some kind of experiment. How can you trust other people, either, when they haven’t been honest, or had your best interests at heart?

You know that what you’re seeing is real, even though it can’t be. It can. It is. You kept your senses sharp. You paid attention to the cashier at the Dollar General. Has anyone else? Maybe. Anyone else isn’t your responsibility. [searching music] It’s easy to say that the cashier might not be, either. But, I lied. Everyone else is always our responsibility. Not to try to control, or change. But to share in the fabric of reality, however strange a hue that fabric takes.

It’s so easy not to say anything. It’s easy not to pry, not to be rude, to see that crack in someone else’s armor and look away from the blood that’s coming out of it. I don’t know what’s happening to the cashier. I don’t know why she’s always there, or if she knows what’s happening to her, or how she feels about it. I don’t know how she’d react if you said something, anything. I don’t know how you would even bring something up - are you okay? How are you doing today? How was your week? At the start, that transition between someone you see and someone you know can feel impossible to navigate. Sometimes that change never happens. But something in her recognizes you. And you recognize her, no matter what she looks like in those in-between moments. It’s still her. It’s still you.

[click]

Something weird, listeners? The current price of Power Steering Fluid at the Dollar General closest to you is three dollars and seventy five cents. It is currently out of stock. Someone keeps drinking it.

[click] [groaning and rumbling, louder] [light flickering loudly]

All the buttons are lit up on the panel, now, flickering. There’s no one to boost me up to that panel I can see above my head, slightly out of line with the other squares in the ceiling. But that’s okay. Someone in the interconnected universal fabric left a box in here. I think I can reach it myself.

Something stopped the elevator on purpose. Some angler that swims through the earth. [clang] It’s hungry. But that’s not its fault. [rumble] It needs to eat. We all do. I just don’t think I'm going to stick around to figure out what its diet might be.

[creaking, clanging] [the host’s voice echoes:]

Ah, f***. Floor 13. Of course it’s floor 13. [pause] Prime number though.

Thank you for listening, callers, and thank you for calling, listeners. I hope you feel a little bit lighter. I know I do.

As always, our number is 717.382.8093. that's 717.382.8093. Until next time. [creak] I'll be somewhere around here.

[elevator dings, opens]

[static] [Traveling Sales Rep: visit us at the - diner just off -] [Various Garbled Voices: ]

Thin Places Radio is a podcast written by Kristen O’Neal and produced by Kaitlin Bruder. The voice of Your Host is Kristen O’Neal. Tonight’s voicemail was left for us by Hayes.

Editing and sound design are by Kaitlin Bruder, and the music tracks you heard in tonight’s episode are: the Thin Places theme, by Miles Morkri, and Umeed by RANA.

If you have a story to tell or a question to ask, give us a call at ‪(717) 382-8093‬. The lines are always open.

[Thin Places Theme outro]

#official psa!! do not drink power steering fluid!! thanks #thin places radio #tpr #glitches #glitch in the matrix #podcast #episodes #015 #the experiment #caller: hayes #fiction podcast #audio drama #liminal #surreal #advice

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 10 months

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*The Stars Are the Styx* is one of Theodore Sturgeon’s last books. It was put together by Sturgeon for Jim Frankles’ Blue Jay Books in 1979. The dedicatee was his last partner, Jayne Tannehill Englehart (who went by the name Jayne Sturgeon when they were together), to whom he was not actually married but was living with on the West Coast, who had a son by a former marriage, for whom Ted was a stepfather. It contains ten stories: “Tandy’s Story” (*Galaxy,* April 1961), “Rule of Three” (*Galaxy,* January 1951), “The Education of Drusilla Strange” (*Galaxy,* March 1954), “Granny Won’t Knit” (*Galaxy,* May 1954), “When You’re Smiling” (*Galaxy,* January 1955), “The Claustrophile” (*Galaxy,* August 1956), “The Other Man” (*Galaxy,* September 1956), the title tale, “The Stars Are the Styx” (*Galaxy,* October 1950), “Occam’s Scalpel” (*If,* July–August 1971), and “Dazed” (*Galaxy,* October 1971). Sturgeon (1918, 26 Feb--1985, 8 May) provides a brief introduction for each of the stories, all of which are from either *Galaxy* or If, which, after Frederick Pohl took it over, was known as the Galaxy Combine and also included Worlds of Tomorrow. First published by Dell, in 1979, the book won that year’s Locus Award, and in ’84, it was republished by Bluejay Books as a trade paperback with the same cover.

In his introduction to the second story, “The Rule of Three,” Sturgeon makes an interesting gaffe:

"My preoccupation for some time has been with the nature of marriage, and whether or not we haven’t gotten ourselves off on the wrong foot. Divorce statistics would seem to indicate that there is nothing more destructive of marriage than monogamy. “Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediment,” wrote Elizabeth Barrett (a monogamist if there ever was one), but she had a point there. Although the person who wrote Rule of Three clearly regarded the desirability of monogamy as axiomatic, the astute reader—another term for postgame quarter-backing—might find in it the seeds of later ideation. One tends to work out one’s own convictions in writing fiction—especially in science fiction—and to test them against possibilities, however untimely or unformed or wishful or improbable. . . ."

The line “Let me not to the marriage of true minds . . .” is not by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. It is the opening of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116 and was very possibly written about a young man the Bard was taken with, during his youth: the story of the Dark Lady and his young male friend has prompted some of the most interesting speculations from writers ranging from Oscar Wilde ("Portrait of Mr. W. H.") to much more sedate interpretations by Stephen Booth in 1933. For better or for worse, Shakespeare lived in a world and got his livelihood in a profession that welcomed transgendered performers so that Wilde’s assumptions—whether they be applied to the Earl of Oxford (who definitely had male lovers, as well as a wife) or simply to a refugee genius from Shropshire—is simply not all that far fetched. Almost certainly, the Elizabeth Barrett sonnet that Sturgeon initially had in mind was her Sonnet 43. To quote the editor of the book shown in the post: “This sonnet is perhaps the most famous of the entire series and the most frequently anthologized":

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day’s Most quiet need by sun and candle light. . . .

Likely, that would be Mrs. Browning’s sonnet he had in mind, though the entire series contains 44 of them, and—in this edition—each leads to a bit of biography prior to 1850.

[Samuel Delany]

#Science Fiction #Sci-Fi #Samuel R. Delany #Theodore Sturgeon #short stories #transgendered #Shakespeare #words and writing #literature #quotes

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jonaswpoetry · 3 years

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Claustrophile

She could’ve taken me out

then & there, but

I am not the type, and

honestly, that’s alright with me.

So I’ll head off to the bar

that's downstairs, to

kiss a friend goodbye, and

crawl away for the night, because

—

if there’s some gleam in my eye

that might’ve caught her own

it must be tricks of the light, so

we’re both better off alone.

I’ve wandered out & in to worlds

that’ll challenge my style, but

have never survived for more

than just a little while, ‘cos I’m

an overcome claustrophile.

—

He could’ve allowed me in

to the fold, but

I was easy prey, and

seriously, why not play with me?

So I’ll fall upon the block’s

stranglehold, to

expect a dropped blade, and

shed ‘sorry’s for the weight, because

—

each bitter breath I take

is of a better man’s air.

This body’s taking up space that

could’ve been yours, or theirs.

I’d walk continents for your love

while you’ll not give a mile.

I never asked for your judge-

ment, let alone a trial, yet I’m

your culpable claustrophile

—

I could’ve just given up

any time, but

I’m depended on, and

horribly, that’s what's wrong with me.

So I’ll stand in search of suns that

never rise, to

welcome warm their bronze, and

spread thin my shadow’s song, because

—

what little colour’s in me

is just a shade with no hue.

Although riddled by answers, I

lack a damn thing to prove.

I have to suck it up each day

like gulping down bile, and

it’s been feeling this way

since I was juvenile, ‘cos I’m

a cursed, chronic claustrophile

#poetry #writing #spilled ink #poetsontumblr #my poetry #my lyrics #lyrics #depression #anxiety #bullying #it's quite dramatic #such is art i guess

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finleyjayne · 4 years

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Everyone is Sad Sometimes

Steve Rodgers x Reader

Summary: During a depressive episode the end of the tunnel can seem impossible to reach. Your therapist says that you are not alone in your feelings but you don’t believe them. They don’t live in a compound with superheroes. After a run in with a certain super soldier, You can’t help but wish to bask your sorrows in your secret stash of icecream, what will happen when someone else has the same Idea?

Warnings: Angst, Panic Attacks

A/N: Sorry not sorry, Thank you for the photo Google. Also I’m going to tag @captain-rogers-beard because I am new and I want at least one person to read this.(Thank you Mimi)

Depression hits everyone at one time or another. That's what your therapist keeps telling you. It's just hard to see how the literal superheroes around you are dealing with depression. Like sure Tony locks himself into his bubble of work, Natasha goes missing for a week every month, and Bucky... don't even start with Bucky. Even Thor could be seen putting himself into the line of fire more after his brother's death. So maybe Dr. Pronce isn't wholly wrong.

At least that was what you were starting to believe. Until Steve walked into the small breakroom, you were currently using to meditate. Steve was a God among men, and he had yet to have an "off" day in your presence. Compared to your increasing lack of good days, Steve was perfect. Even now, he was whistling a jaunty tune, his steps bouncing as he set up his sketchpad in front of the windows.

Sitting in the corner, obscured by a stately, wingback chair as you were, he didn't even notice you. Which was great for people watching. Even better for you to get a nonpartial read on how the imposing, and reserved man before you was really feeling. Keeping quiet, you watched as he smiled to himself. A relaxed, carefree thing., full of contentment. You fought the urge to sigh.

How could he be so happy about what was going on outside? It was overcast, all the trees were dead, the snow was murky because of all the combat drills that had been done throughout the field since it had last snowed. Even the cardinals and squirrels that found their homes in the nearby trees were absent. Probably hunkering down for before the next storm was supposed to hit.

Your frown deepened at the thought. The winter storms did nothing to help your increasing hopelessness; in fact, they seemed to do the opposite. Not only did they make the impending sense of doom that you usually could keep at bay absolutely unbearable, but the dramatic pressure changes also made your very human body ache from all of the past abuse you've lived through.

Before you can realize how it would give you away, you start to rub at a particularly sore scar on the side of your forearm. Even after the Captain was staring surprised at you, you continued to stare at him.

"I hope you realize it's impolite to stare." He says casually, his eyes barely flickering to you before going back to the window.

You startle slightly at being noticed. "I've heard that before. I've also heard that it's impolite to do a great many other things, Captain. Most of which the population of America does every single day." You respond, continuing to stare.

Steve chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest as he takes the armchair across from your hiding place. "Oh, really? What would this list consist of?"

"Crossing your arms." you deadpan, pulling your knees closer.

"Touche," he states, leaning back into the chair, relaxing his arms. Going back to his leisure surveillance. His hands twirling a charcoal pencil between their lithe fingers.

After what was probably too long a silence, words pop out of your mouth. "What are you looking at? There are better views out of the other windows. The snow isn't even clean."

"Sometimes, the lack of beauty is where true beauty lies." He whispers, his voice convincingly soft.

"Who are you quoting, my mother?"

"Not quoting anyone. Just trying to remember what a friend. If I was to quote them, I would've said, 'Ugliness is just a failure of seeing.'" His voice wavered a bit as he continued to stare out the window. Turning to you, he cleared his throat. "What are you doing behind the chair instead of in it?"

You laugh sardonically, "Meditating. I'm a bit of a claustrophile."

He gives you a strange look. "Oh? Are you sure you aren't hiding from something."

"Steve, not that it's any of your business, but I am always hiding from something. It's daily life for me," you say. Not wanting to answer any more questions, you stand lithely make your way to the door.

He looked startled at your abrupt movement. "You don't have to go. I didn't mean to offend you."

"Look, Steve, I know you are just trying to be helpful. I also know that you can't really stop being yourself, and I don't really want to either. But I really can't handle being in the same room with your positivity right now. You're too happy, and it's not making me feel any better about my lack of happy. So stay, enjoy your sketching, see you at training tomorrow." You turn around before you could see the hurt playing over his face.

Later that night, you still felt awful at your inability to be content with any of the blessings you have been given since becoming one of the Avengers. Even when in sleep, the unending hopelessness caused your sinuses to burn until you woke yourself up with your tears. Finally, giving up around two in the morning, you make your way to the secondary kitchen in search of your hidden stash of comfort icecream.

To your surprise, the light in the kitchen is on when you round the corner. Trying to act like you aren't dying on the inside, you circle the island cupboards to see the weirdest sight of your life.

Captain America, sitting on the floor, eating a bowl of Kellog Flakes, talking seriously into the phone. "I don't know what to do. I ran into her today. She blatantly told me tha..." he looks up and freezes midword. You could faintly hear the other person on the line calling for him, but couldn't care less. Staring straight ahead as you got your icecream and a spoon as quickly as you could manage. Fighting off the new wave of tears.

Gods, what were you going to do? Your depression was going to lose you your spot on the team? Was it really that bad? You went to every training session, you made it a point to listen to all direction, and worked extra hard every mission to prevent this from happening. What would you do if you lost this too?

Your thoughts tore violently through your brain, leaving you unable to pay attention to your surroundings anymore. You were just outside of your door when a calloused hand caught your arm. The forlorn wail you were holding just behind your teeth severed the still night air, pulling the ripcord on the tears fighting to be free. Your distress shredded any sense of coordination you had as you collapsed into Steve's rock-hard chest.

"(Y/N), (Y/N), please, let me explain."

"NO," you sobbed. "Let go of me, If you wanted to get rid of me, all you had to do was ask. I'm a big girl, I can take a little tough love."

That seemed to shock Steve. "What?"

You yanked your arm harshly from Steve's stunned grip. "That's what you were talking to whoever that was about, wasn't it? You finally realized that I am not worth it. That I don't belong and weren't sure how to break the news to me since I'm so depressed. Well lucky you, you don't have to worry about it anymore. I'll have my stuff packed and be out by the end of the week." You turn away as tears waterfall down your face.

Before you can get a decent grip on the doorknob, Steve's hand finds its place on top of yours. "No. I don't want you to leave." He states confidently. "It's quite the opposite actually. I like you. I was asking Clint how to handle my feelings since you clearly don't feel the same."

That stops you in your struggle for the doorknob. You look up at the imposing man beside you through bleary eyes. "What did you just say?"

"I like you, sweetheart. I was worried about you, and I didn't know what to do. So I called Clint. He seems to know the most about women."

You stood there, shocked for a second. "You like me."

"You make it really hard not to."

"What do you mean?"

"Sweetheart, you are a gorgeous, strong, independent, caring, hardworking woman. I'd be stupid not to have feelings for you."

"But I'm so grumpy, and when I'm not grumpy, I'm sad," you argue, scrunching your eyes together in confusion.

"Everyone gets sad. You are just less adept at hiding your feelings than some of us are. That's okay. I know you don't see it right now, but you haven't always been this way, and even if you stay this way, I know that you are worth every ounce of love and respect that I've given you."

You just stare at him. Trying to find any hint at the lie. He just stood there, staring right back into your eyes and, you couldn't help the tiny flutter of hope that settled deep in your tummy. A slight twitch, like the flick of a cat's tail as it basks in the sun. You missed her, and you knew that if Steve continues to look at you like that, you were going to be feeling more than just the flick of her tail.

"You quoting my therapist now too? Or is it just more of your friends?"

#captain america x reader #steve rodgers x reader #fanfic #angst with a happy ending #depression #me dealing with my depression #quarentine sucks #fins reads #fins' fic recs #fins' recs #fins recs fics #fanfiction #fic reblog

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