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thehyperfixationspeedrunner · 5 months

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This is me trying

On ao3 too

Summary: It's been a month since what Cardan has been calling the "reptile accident" when he decides to get up before Jude, not knowing the consequences.

OR these two are traumatised and they may not acknowledge it, but I will.

Trigger warnings (already put in the tags but I'm not sure if I did it right so better safe than sorry): panic attack, cussing

It's weird how easily you fall into routine. It's barely been a month since what Cardan has started calling the "reptile accident" or the one he likes best "revealing his true form" (although that one isn't used in front of Jude, she's not sure why but she prefers it that way). Anyway, it's been a month since Cardan has been transformed into a snake, since Cardan and Jude has started to live together as the King and Queen of Elfhame but they have already established a routine, even if neither of them has noticed it until today.

Jude is always the first to wake up - Jude was raised by a general and Cardan by a prince, so that part is obvious. She dresses first, giving Mr. Lazy time to sleep, and then she wakes up sleeping beauty even though he always complains that while there aren't people busting into the room saying he's late, she's waking him up early. He never says he hates it. Jude suspects is because he can't lie. From then, Jude orders breakfast while Cardan dresses up, and they eat together before having to deal with their royal obligations.

Today, however, was different. Shockingly, Jude was able to have some good 6 hours of sleep and woke up a bit disoriented. See, this is the bad part about sleeping a lot. When you wake up, your senses take a while to turn on. That's definitely the reason why Jude barely sleeps, at least that's what she tells everyone when they ask her. Because of that, she took a bit to notice that she was alone in bed, which triggered something in her brain. She instantly gets out of bed and starts to look in every corner of their room repeating to herself that everything is fine, Cardan just woke up earlier and is dressing up or putting the hundred of layers that he puts every morning because "I know I look impressive naturally but I am the High King, Jude, I have to look perfect". Except he is nowhere to be found.

See, a small but important part of this quickly created routine was when Jude woke up and she would always look to the side and see Cardan relaxed and asleep, would look at his chest rise and fall and make sure that, yes, he's alive and, no, this last month was not a fever dream, he really is here. Without that confirmation, Jude is starting to spiral, and the fact that Cardan is not in the room doesn't help.

She tries to take a deep breath. She's the High Queen goddammit, she can't panic every time a minor routine change happens. But the truth is that she cannot take the deep breath. She cannot even take a small breath. She's pretty sure she's not breathing at all. But she has to because Cardan needs her. Jude goes through her options: one, he did wake up earlier, got knocked off in the room but somewhere hidden where she didn't check; two, he got knocked off somewhere in the castle and his unconscious body is lying there; three, he got abducted while he slept; four... Maybe last month was a fever dream. No, she is not going to think about option four.

While she does a more precise search through their room, she also tries to think of who would do this. He's the King of Elfhame, so it's obvious that he has a lot of enemies, but she is not remembering anyone who's this mad at him right now. However, her hands are trembling and there's still not enough air reaching her lungs, so maybe her memory is not the best at the moment. You were almost deadly stabbed before the incident.

Ok, he is not in the room, so option number two. This one is not the most likely. If someone knocked him off, they wouldn't just leave him in the middle of the corridor, and Faes don't just slip, so he couldn't have knocked himself out. Besides the palace is huge, it would take too long to search. Maybe you were less healed than you thought. Option number three it is. There are three windows in the room. The climb is hard but not impossible, she has done it herself while having a major injury. A major injury that could have been infected. Jude shakes her head and checks the three windows. None of them is broken and they are all locked from the inside, like they were when they went to sleep, which she knows because she always checks that before going to bed. Unless the person was a master spy (which is an option), she doesn't know how someone pulled that of. The other way into the room is through the door, so she quickly opens it, revealing two knights part of her security.

"Was there any disturbance last day?" She would be surprised that her voice somehow didn't fail if she was at all worried with that right now.

"We heard or seen nothing different than usual, your majesty."

"Have you fallen asleep or abandoned your post anytime during your shift?" The knights were visibly offended by that, but she had to clear all her options.

"No, your majesty. Is everyth-" Having her answers, Jude closes the door, leaving the knights to their jobs. If she was in her right mind she would have noticed that she was still in her bed clothes, her hair was mess, the room was worse and her hands still trembled and her breath was still labored. But she was not her in her right mind. Cardan is missing- He was not here at all. Her husband is missing and she is going to find him. Maybe he was taken outside their bedroom and there is going to be some kind of clue outside of it.

She is about to open the door again when a thought crosses her mind. The lover's bedroom. There is a pathway between that room and the High King and Queen's room. That is how whoever took Cardan got in. No one got in. Hallucinations caused by infections are common, at least for mortals. She slides through the pathway towards the other bedroom but is met with a similar scenario. No window was broken and all of them are closed from the inside, same with the door, no signs of breaking. Stop looking for what you won't find. You know you can barely remember anything after cutting Cardan's head off. It was the serpents head. You know that's the same thing. There was a battlefield where you broke down. You could have easily been stabbed. I would remember it. Would you? Sometimes, our mind purposely forgets traumatic memories. You could have passed out. No. You could have dreamt. Stop. Cardan is dead and you have been feeding yourself this fantasy because you can't deal with the guilt. STOP. You killed him and now you're living in a world without him and you'll keep living in it because that's the reality. I SAID STOP.

Jude. The sound of something breaking. She can't do it. She can't go back to those three days. She can't live without Cardan's mockery. She can't live without his laugh. She can't.

JUDE. She's shaking now, or someone is shaking her, she's not lucid enough to understand. God, he's her anchor. She doesn't know what to do without him. She wants to go back to sleep. She wants to go back to their routine. She wants to hear him complain about waking up early again. She wants to feel his fingers playing with her hair again. She wants-

JUDE! Cardan. She opens her eyes (since when were they closed?) and faces the love of her life's face. He looks adorably worried, full make up and hair nicely treated. She can't help but smile. "Cardan" she whispers, trying not to force her voice tired from screaming and crying (curious, she doesn't remember that). She puts her head in the space between his neck and shoulder and he starts rubbing circles on her back. "Stay" she pleads. Because that's what she's doing, pleading to the universe to let her stay in this fever dream, to have more time with Cardan, even if it isn't real, even if he's dead, even if that's her fault and there's just her to blame.

"Always" and that pisses her off. Because that's what Cardan would say, that's how Cardan looks, that's how Cardan acts and this mind prison has no right to be this close to reality.

"Liar" she spits. He looks mostly confused and a bit hurt but she doesn't care, this isn't real so nothing fucking matters.

"Jude, I would never abandon you-"

"But you did!" she's close to screaming now, but she doesn't care, her voice was cracking, but it doesn't matter. She has to get this out. "You abandoned me for three days because of that prophechy bullshit. You left me to rule Elfhame while simultaneously dealing with the schemings that my father and the frozen royalty was fucking doing and the fact that the love of my life was a goddam snake and then I, and I-" she can't get it out, she still can't believe it.

"You saved me."

"I killed you." she is fully sobbing now, but she can't stop. She gets up (she was sitting down?) and keeps going "You're dead and this is just a manifestation from my brain, because somewhere else I'm also dying and I hope I do because I can't live in a world where you're not. I physically will not be able to continue without you!" She sinks into the floor using the bed as support and Cardan sits in front of her. He has a puzzled expression in his face. They stay some time in silence, Jude catching her breath and Cardan trying to put pieces together.

"Why do you think I'm not real?" he finally asks, his voice tiny as if he's afraid of the answer.

"You weren't there." Jude matches his tone. "When I woke up. I always check to make sure you're there because if you are, then that means you're real and I'm not dreaming. At first, I thought you were kidnapped. That's why I'm here, I thought this was how whoever took you got in."

"My wife, scheming even when she's panicking." he's looking at her with that adoration in his eyes that never fails to take her breath away. "Let's keep scheming, shall we?" He looks at her, waiting for an answer so she nods. "You say that you are dreaming, you're in this coma and you can't wake up. Well, let's test this theory. Did you know that you can't read in dreams?" Another nod. Cardan gets up, picks a book from the bedside table and hands it to her. "Well, can you read?" The answer is yes. The book was a mortal romance that she was sure she had seen in Cardan's hands. That meant that this was real, Cardan was here and she hadn't killed him. Immediate relief washed over and with that came more tears that she hadn't noticed when they stopped. God, she was a mess. This is ridiculous, she is being ridiculous. Trying to look less like she just had a mental breakdown over nothing Jude attempts to clean the tears that don't stop. Of course this is reality, of course Cardan just woke up earlier and went to do god knows what. She's the fucking High Queen and she can't stand when her husband is out earlier, can't keep a cool head, can't-

"Stop." Cardan gently takes the hands that are trying to hide the tears that keep coming, why don't they stop? "Don't do that." His tone is gentle but secure and so goddamn grounding, how does he do it?

"Do what?"

"Close yourself. I could see the moment you realised that this was the reality because that was the moment the mask came back on. You're probably thinking that you don't have the right to feel this way because you can't show weaknesses or whatever bullshit your mind thinks of." Sometimes it's scary how well he knows her. "Don't close yourself from me." He is rubbing circles with his thumb on the back of her hand and it feels so right, everything about him feels so right.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not." His tone is becoming more frustrated. "This is obviously bothering you, but I had no idea and because of my ignorance you just had a fucking panic attack." Her eyebrows went up. "I may have been reading about mortal psychology, but that's not important, what's important is," he moves his hands to cup her face and cleans the tears - that have finally stopped - with his thumb. "You don't have to pretend with me."

"You're one to talk." She retaliates but doesn't push him away. "You haven't said another word about those three days since I asked what it was like being a snake on the same day you stopped being one." Cardan laughs because he's Cardan and he laughs when he's nervous and he is not the only one who knows the other too well, she can see in his eyes that the thought of having to speak of those three days of hell terrifies him as much as her.

He moves to her side and sighs. "We really are made for each other, aren't we?" He seems to consider something before saying. "Let's make a pact. Whenever we want the other to open up, we say a code word and they have to do it after we reveal something that has been bothering us. No lies, no tricks, just the plain truth. Deal?" He gives her his right hand. It is always dangerous to make a deal with a fae, but this is Cardan, they have passed the backstabbing phase when she came back from exile. She takes his hand and shakes it.

"Deal. But we have to choose the word, something that we won't say normally."

"California." The place they went on their honeymoon instead of being on the two weeks celebrations of the Mortal Queen's victory over the serpent. The place where they were just two teenagers in love and not The Queen and King of Elhame, not the warrior and the prince, not the people with traumatic childhood, not the two broken pieces of what should be two whole people.

"Sounds great."

"I said it, so I start." He takes a deep breath and speaks. "I woke up earlier today because I had a nightmare. I wasn't someone trapped inside the snake like people like to believe, I was the snake. When the snake died, I died, even if for a few seconds." Jude takes a sharp breath, she always took comfort in the fact that she hadn't cut his head, but what was trapping him, that he hadn't felt anything. Cardan notices and takes both her hands and looks at her straight in the eyes. "I don't blame you, nor will I ever. If I say something assumimg the opposite, you have the premission to cut my head because that is not me. But as I was saying, when I saw you taking out the sword, I couldn't help but feel relief, but when you dealt the blow I, I-" another deep breath "I couldn't feel anything. I don't remember anything. I died. And that terrifies me. I was. I wasn't there. I replay that in my mind countless days, but today was so vivid, I couldn't fall back asleep, so I got out. I needed fresh air. I needed to be alone with my thoughts. I should've come back when it was time to wake up, I should've woken you, I didn't know that you needed that, but if I did, I would have done it."

They stay a few moments in silence, taking deep breaths and deep in thoughts.

"Your turn."

She wants to sugar-coat it. She wants to say that it wasn't that bad, she doesn't want to see guilt in his face even if it isn't his fault. But Cardan didn't sugar-coated when he revealed that what she did hurt him even if he knew it was going to hurt her. So instead, she says:

"Those were the worst three days of my life. I honestly thought it was going to be ok when we were negotiating with Madoc. That we won, they were going to surrender and we would be fine. Then I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe when Grimsen said that only death would save you. I went to Baphen, I went to the Old King, but all of them had the same answer. Somehow I had to rule the fucking kingdom while grieving a death that I didn't believe in. On top of all of that the court of teeths was on my throat, making plans to try to turn you and me into their puppets like their daughter. The relief that I had when I saw you alive was bigger than anything I thought I could feel, but the time between that and when I cutted the sna- your head it was my lowest. It was a hole and I was at the deep end with no way out. I cannot live without you." She stops to look at him. Look at his black hair and his eyes that look like black holes. His pale skin and his small mouth. No, she can't imagine a world without him. But that moment was close, so close. "I am so scared that I will go back to that void, I'm so scared that the universe wasn't as kind as I thought, I'm so scared to not wake up next to you."

He puts his arm around her shoulder and she puts her head on his. Jude looks up and sees tears running down Cardan's face, so she hugs him, feeling his other arm surround her. They stay silent for some time while Carden cries in Jude's shoulder and Jude just holds him close, all her tears wasted a few minutes ago.

"I'm sorry." Cardan was the one to break the silence.

"Not your fault."

"Liar."

"I wouldn't lie to you." It's the truth.

"May I remind you that you said you were fine while bawling your eyes out a few minutes ago?" OK, half true.

"When you have a nightmare, find me. I don't care if I just went to sleep, I don't care if I hadn't slept in days, I don't care if I'm not even asleep and you have to drag me out of my work, find me."

"When you feel like this is not real, find me. I don't care if you have to send someone to do it, I don't care if you run around the palace screaming my name, I don't care if I'm in the most important reunion, find me."

They break the hug to look at each other and say at the same time, "Deal".

"Sooo, do you want to have breakfast in bed and completely run away from our responsibilities?"

"We're the King and Queen of Elfhame."

"Exactly, there is no one above to stop us."

"We have an entire kingdom depending on us."

"Well, as the High King, I order you to stay in bed with me."

"As the High Queen, I'm going to refuse that order."

"Come on, you're mortal, you can say that we are sick or something." Jude's going to retaliate, but honestly? She's exhausted and spending the night in bed with her husband doesn't seem the worst idea.

"You are a horrible influence, do you know that?"

"Does that mean I win?"

She sighs. "Yes, you win."

"Yay" He says, getting up and doing a little spin like a child who was able to negotiate bedtime with their parents. She can't help but smile at his shenanigans.

Next, he does an extremely exaggerated bow and continues. "After you, my queen."

At that, she fully laughs, takes his hand and goes down the pathway with him. She hates being vulnerable, but with him, it isn't that bad. How do we take the armour off? A piece at a time. She feels like they just took another one.

-‐----------------‐-----------------‐----------------‐----------------

So, I had this idea since I finished Queen of Nothing and since I didn't see any fic like this I decided to make it myself. The characters may be a bit OOC, I'm not tha familiar with them. I am not a writer and my first language is not English, so apologies for any mistake. 🫶

Btw this was way bigger than I thought, no idea how many words, but damn, I'm having a brain riot.

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biblicallycorrectangelvenom · 8 days

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I love my mother but

I still feel the fear of her pinning me against the laundry door by my throat at 12 years old over a lunchbox

I still feel the fear of her yelling at me at the same age for going through puberty and experiencing depression

I still feel the fear of her yelling at me to wear longer shorts because her husband was a pervert

I still feel the fear of her grabbing me up or screaming in my face over eating the last saltines and claiming that "this house is not a 24/7 buffet"

Now at 28, I love my mother but these things have made my adulthood so far very hard because now I'm burdened with unlearning these things and have to lock myself in the bathroom every time panic comes to visit

I love my mother but I never deserved this type of mother

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leviiackrman · 2 months

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I am fighting for my life to be mentally stable and it’s not working

#personal*#jess talks #trigger warning cus I’m feeling really low and might vent #but genuinely I want to give up #I don’t want to exist #I feel like a burden and a scrounger #I realised yesterday that everything I have is because of someone else #I haven’t earnt anything for myself or done anything with my life #I complain that I can’t support myself #yet I make no effort to fix that #im scared of my insecurity to do anything #I’m scared I’m not good enough #I’m scared to exist in my own home #it doesn’t feel like my home #I haven’t felt ‘at home’ since before uni #I’ve moved house 6 times in the past 7 years #I never feel secure or safe #and I feel responsible #I wish I could just go get a good paying job and support myself and my family #all I want is my independence back like I had at uni #but even at uni I was living off of a loan I’ll never be able to pay off #my whole existence is a waste #I’m contemplating giving up on my art and business because it’s getting me no where #I might as well give up entirely #I can’t see any positive resolutions in sight and I feel so helpless #but all I’m doing is feeling sorry for myself #my parents are sm worse off than I am currently yet I’m the one having panic attacks and terrified to leave my room??#I’m gonna be 26 still living with my parents achieving nothing for myself #with no relationship experience and not an inclining of self respect #grow up Jess

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rynneer · 3 months

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Blood of Durin: The Complete Edition

Chapters 1 & 2

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing: She’s carrying his child.

Updated weekly, or read the full story here

Chapter 1: Don’t Think, Just Run

all eyes on you, so much to prove...

–Don’t Think Just Run, Beth Crowley

“What… who is that?”

“‘Tis a lass!”

“Do we tie her up?”

“Wait—she’s moving!”

“Out of the way!”

Unfamiliar voices rouse you from sleep. You shift in your sleeping bag, but freeze as something cold touches your neck. Opening your eyes, you find yourself surrounded by dark, looming figures. A blade presses into your throat—not hard enough to draw blood, but firmly enough that you know whoever wields it means business.

Your mind races, survival instincts kicking in. There are rangers around the park where you’ve camped for the weekend, but you set up your site in a remote part of the woods. Your phone is in your backpack. Your backpack is by your sleeping bag. If you make a move for it, they slit your throat. You swallow. Time to talk your way out.

“Who are you?” The tallest figure stands over you. Backlit by the rising sun, you can’t quite make out his face, but his voice is oddly familiar.

“Let me go, or I’ll scream,” you rasp, voice rough both from sleep and the blade against your neck. “My… my boyfriend is on his way back.” It sounds stupid and desperate. It is stupid and desperate.

“You are the intruder here,” he growls. “How did you get here?”

Intruder? “It… it’s a state park…” you stammer. Time to change tactics. “Look, I can’t see your face. Let me go, and I swear I won’t tell the cops!”

“Cops?” one questions. He sounds younger.

“I say we just get rid of ‘er,” another one grunts from behind you.

You start to shake. “Please just let me go,” you say, your voice very, very small. This is it. You’re about to become the topic of an unsolved true crime podcast episode.

A sigh comes from your left. “Let her up, Dwalin. Thorin, look at her. The lass is terrified.”

The blade withdraws from your neck. Your mind spins. Dwalin? Thorin?

With your eyes adjusting to the early morning light, you finally get a chance to sit up and look around properly. “No way,” you mutter. “This is a dream.”

Around you are four short, bearded men. But they’re not men, are they? They’re dwarves, and you know these dwarves. Standing over you is a dark-haired dwarf, glowering down at you with folded arms. Flanking him, two younger dwarves: one blonde, one brunette, peering at you curiously. And at your left, an old, white-haired dwarf with a kind face. Another one—bald and tattooed, it’s Dwalin—steps into view, running his thumb along the blade of an axe. He must have been the one holding you down. Past Thorin, you see the others crouched around a fire pit or rising from their bedrolls, all eyes fixed on you.

You back out of your sleeping bag slowly and lift a shaky finger. “Balin, Dwalin… Fíli, Kíli…” you point at each of them in turn. “Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Óin, Glóin, Nori, Dori, Ori… and Thorin.”

There’s a few seconds of silence as all thirteen dwarves stare at you in bewilderment. Then, in a flash, you’re pushed back down, a knife at your throat.

“How do you know who we are?” Thorin demands, his hand pinning your shoulder to the ground roughly.

“Is there a reason you’re holding a young woman at knifepoint, Thorin Oakenshield?”

That voice. You’d know that voice anywhere.

Thorin hesitates as a tall man cloaked in gray emerges from the trees, sucking on a long-stemmed pipe. Gandalf’s eyes are curious, if guarded as he looks down at you. He motions to Thorin to let you up. Reluctantly, the dwarf does so, and you scramble away, pressing your back against a tree. This definitely isn’t the forest you went to sleep in. All that remains of your campsite is your sleeping bag and backpack. No tent, and no car. Just thirteen dwarves, a wizard, and, stumbling into the clearing behind Gandalf, a hobbit.

“Where am I?” you whisper.

“The woods,” Bofur supplies.

“We’re still within the borders of the hobbits’ lands,” Ori offers more helpfully.

“You mean I’m in Middle Earth? Like, J. R. R. Tolkien, Lord of the Rings, Shire and Gondor and Mordor Middle Earth?”

Gandalf frowns at that last addition, but nods. “This seems to be distressing to you.”

“But… but you’re not real, you’re just stories,” you protest. Your mind races and you scramble for your backpack, digging around for the book. The Hobbit. You brought it along for some thematically appropriate reading.

Fíli smacks Kíli on the back of the head, making him yelp. “Seems real enough to me.”

“No,” you insist. “No, no, you’re fiction. You were made up by a brilliant man who wrote some of the greatest books of all time, and you’re not real, and–” you halt, staring down at your book in disbelief. The well-thumbed pages are blank. You flip to the beginning. All that remains is the first two chapters, just barely. The book falls from your grasp and you put your face in your hands.

Spying the book, Bilbo moves closer to you, though still maintaining a cautious distance. “Does that say… hobbit?”

“The Hobbit,” you reply, voice muffled. “It’s the title of the story. The story of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield journeying to reclaim the Lonely Mountain from the dragon Smaug. Told from the perspective of Bilbo Baggins. There and Back Again, a Hobbit’s Tale. A book for children.” Peeking over your fingers, you find Thorin’s face. His brow is furrowed.

“You are saying… you are not of this world?” he asks, slowly putting the pieces together. “And in your world, our quest is a mere story for children?”

You nod and clear your throat. “Have you gotten to the… the…” you trail off, racking your brain.

Something’s wrong.

“…I don’t remember what comes next.” Your heart pounds in your ears and your breathing quickens. “I know the story by heart, why can’t I remember what happens next?”

It’s silent as the dwarves watch you.

“Well, ‘tis no different than the rest of us,” Óin remarks eventually. “No one knows what’s to come.”

You wipe at your eyes and sniff.

“So…” Fíli scratches his beard. “What do we do with her?” He grabs your arm, pulling you to your feet and looking at Thorin questioningly.

“We can’t just leave her in the middle of the woods, Thorin,” Balin says quietly.

Thorin looks from you, to Fíli, to Gandalf, to Balin. “We leave her in the next village the moment she becomes a burden,” he grumbles. He leans close to Kíli. “You two keep an eye on her,” he mutters, just barely audible. “Pack up your things. We stop again at midday.”

That breaks the dwarves out of their silence. The morning fills with hushed voices as they bustle around, packing bags and rolling up blankets and bedrolls. Bombur pours a small pot of water over the fire.

Kíli jerks his head towards the ponies. “Flip a coin for who she rides with, Fee?”

Fili lets go of you and brushes you off. “I’ll take her—I’m the better rider anyway.” He pauses to let you gather your things. You were so exhausted after setting up camp the night before that you crawled into bed fully clothed. Seeing you struggle with your sleeping bag, he bends over and rolls it up, fiddling with the elastic cords to tie it shut.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“No trouble.” He straightens up and gives you a small bow. “Fíli, at your service.”

“I know. I’m Y/N.” You keep your gaze lowered, hefting your backpack up on your shoulders and following Fíli to his pony. The tan beast snorts and stamps an impatient hoof. The others, even Bilbo, are already mounted and waiting.

Fíli plants a foot in the stirrup and swings his leg up and over. He holds out a hand. “Up you get, lass.”

Hesitantly, you grip his forearm, surprised at how easily he’s able to pull you up. You stand higher than the dwarf, but he clearly outmatches you in strength. The saddle doesn’t quite fit two, and you wobble, nearly slipping off the other side. Your arm flies forward reflexively to grab Fíli’s shoulder to steady yourself.

“Easy, there!” he cautions, scooting forward to allow you more room in the saddle. He looks back at you. “First time riding?”

You fidget, trying to settle comfortably. “It’s been a really long time.”

He smirks. “Try not to fall off, aye?” He moves your hand to his side and snaps his reins to catch up with the others. Gandalf brings up the rear.

Soon enough, the air is full of chattering and laughter as the Company trots along the path. Bofur starts up a rowdy riding song about a drunk horse. What a strange sight it must make for any passersby: thirteen dwarves with all manner of weapons, a stiff, nervous hobbit, a tall wizard on a great, white horse, and a young woman in strange clothing.

The April air is thick and humid, clouds heavy with the promise of storms to come. Woods gradually open up to rolling fields, back to more woods as your party leaves the Shire behind. Still clinging to the dwarf, you crane your neck and search your surroundings for anything to indicate where you are in the story. Your memories are fuzzy, something about trolls hovering at the back of your mind. All you can think about is losing supplies when a pony bolts and gets swept away in a river—how comforting.

“Lass?” Fíli elbows you, startling you from your thoughts. “We’re stopping.” He hops off the pony, holding out his arms to catch you.

You ignore them, sliding off yourself, but your heavy backpack causes you to stumble. Not completely zipped, its contents spill out onto the ground.

Fíli raises an eyebrow. “No shame in accepting help.” He crouches down to gather things up, but pauses with a puzzled expression. “What are these?” His hand lands on your phone first, staring at it in wonder as it lights up beneath his fingers. He nearly jumps out his skin when it vibrates, informing him that facial ID didn’t work.

You snatch it back from him and shove it in your pocket. “Later,” you grumble. With a sigh, your eyes sweep the rest of your stuff scattered across the leaves. A journal and pen, a few bags of trail mix, some granola bars, a bottle of water, and a half-finished soda from the drive up to the park. You hastily scoop them up and check your backpack for the rest. A fresh set of clothes, a hoodie, some pajamas, basic toiletries, and your solar phone charger. And, of course, The Hobbit.

Fíli frowns at the book. “Do you really know what happens on the journey? How it ends?”

You puff your cheeks out in a sigh. “I should, but it’s all… blurry. I can see the next couple days, though—we’re gonna lose a pony.”

“Fíli! Lass! Planning on joining us?” Balin calls from a short distance away.

You shake yourself, zipping your backpack shut and heaving it off the ground. Gandalf and a few others puff on long pipes, blowing out competing smoke rings. Ori and Kíli munch on apples in a circle of tree stumps. Thorin sits nearby, watching you through narrowed eyes.

“A lass looks good on you, Fee,” Kíli teases as his brother plops on the ground beside him. “Thought you’d never find love.”

Fíli rolls his eyes and punches Kíli’s arm.

You settle against a stump across from the siblings. Kíli rubs an apple on his shirt and tosses it your way. You catch it and nod your thanks. It’s large and sweet, sweeter than any apple you’d bought at the grocery store.

A shadow falls across your lap.

“You.” Thorin looms over you. “What is your name, daughter of Man?”

Daughter of Man? “Y/N,” you mumble.

“What skills do you possess? Can you wield a blade, a bow, tend to wounds? Fight, defend yourself?”

You get his point. “I, uh… I know how to throw a punch. And some basic first aid?”

He doesn’t look impressed.

Desperately, you search your brain for anything useful you could offer him. “I know a lot about Middle Earth history and lore?”

Across from you, a thoughtful look crosses Fíli’s face. “Y/N, what’d you say happens in a few days?”

“A pony bolts during a rainstorm and drowns in a river, and we lose supplies. Mostly food.” Your response is nearly automatic.

Fíli looks at Thorin pointedly. “Give it a couple days, and we shall see just how good of a prophet we have on our hands.”

Thorin presses his lips into a thin line. “We shall see.”

You knew the rainstorm was coming, but it’s still unpleasant. Your hoodie is soaked through, and you can only hope your things are safe inside the emergency plastic bag you keep in your backpack. Water seeps through your fingers from where you hold onto Fíli’s cloak. The wind tears at your hood, ripping it from your head. The only consolation is that the wind is breaking up the clouds, allowing a few rays of moonlight to filter through the woods.

At the head of the party, Thorin halts his pony. “We must find somewhere to take supper,” he mutters. “And where shall we get a dry patch to sleep on?”

“Should we not wait for Gandalf?” Bofur cries from the back of the group.

“What d’you mean, wait for Gandalf?” Kíli asks, puzzled.

“He wandered off a while ago,” you pipe up. “He’ll be back.”

Thorin grumbles something about “Mahal-damned wizards.”

Pulling their hoods tightly around their faces, Bifur and Glóin hop off their ponies, landing in the mud with a squelch and vanishing into the trees. Your butt is quite sore by the time they return.

“There’s nary a dry place to be seen,” Glóin reports. “We may as well camp as we stand.”

You slide from the pony with a groan. “Could’ve told you that myself.”

The rest of the Company seems no more pleased than you at setting up camp beneath the dripping leaves. To keep busy, you help Dori tie up the ponies, but you keep looking back over your shoulder off into the distance at the swollen river you’d forded.

Kíli frowns. “What’s wr–”

He’s interrupted by a screech from the pony Dori is handling. The rope rips from his hand and it bolts—straight for the river.

It happens in slow motion: Fíli and Kíli chase after it, ignoring your screams to stop. Kíli reaches the rope first, snagging it with a hand but instantly getting dragged to the ground. Fíli grabs his boot, only succeeding in yanking it off.

You sprint as fast as your legs will carry you, but Kíli’s already in the river, swept under. “Fíli, don’t you fucking dare–”

And Fíli dives in after, vanishing.

Footsteps pound behind you and a rope lands in your arms. “Move!” Thorin barks.

You run through the trees, chasing the current. Thorin pushes you forward. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you search the water. There!

You spot a dark patch in the water. You fling the rope at him. “Kíli!” you scream.

His hand shoots out and seizes the rope.

Thorin is at your side in an instant. “Pull!”

You yank on the rope for all you’re worth, bracing your legs against a rock. Thorin hollers back toward camp, bringing half a dozen dwarves racing through the forest. As they start hauling Kíli out of the water, you let go of the rope and scramble towards the riverbank. “Fíli?!”

A shout comes from further down the river. A yellow head pokes out over a log stuck in the bank, the dwarf clinging to it for dear life.

You struggle against the sucking mud, reaching out an arm. Fíli grips it tightly and you pull with all your might, clawing at his sopping wet sleeve. Strong arms wrap around your waist and heave, dragging you backwards, Fíli along with you. The momentum sends him crashing on top of you, and you both fall into the mud with a splat. The weight of the dwarf on your chest knocks the wind out of you. After fighting the current, the poor thing is too exhausted to do much more than collapse on top of you, his head resting on your shoulder.

You pat him on the back, chest heaving. “You alright?”

“I’m alive,” he wheezes.

You sigh and let your head fall back against the ground, for the moment not caring about the mud caking your hair. You’ll wash it out later.

Thorin’s face appears above you. He hauls Fíli off of you and offers you a hand. Pulling you from the ground, he wipes a smear of mud from your face.

“I told you,” you pant. “I told you we’d lose a pony.”

But Thorin doesn’t argue. He claps your shoulder. “Welcome to the Company,” he grunts.

Chapter 2: Quiet

Trigger warning: panic attack

and the heat and the shouting and my heart is pounding and my eyes are burning

–Quiet, the cast of Roald Dahl’s Matilda: The Musical

Something’s not right.

There’s a knot in your stomach that becomes more strained as you trek through the woods, yours and Fíli’s pony plodding tiredly beneath you. Thorin rides just ahead, grumbling under his breath. He’s been in a foul mood for days, under the combined stress of Gandalf’s sudden disappearance and the loss of the pony that carried a considerable amount of food. He won’t admit it, but you think Fíli and Kíli’s near-drowning has shaken him as well. It’s the first time so far the Company has encountered real danger, and for it to involve his closest family must weigh heavily on him.

Everyone’s nerves are strained, in fact. Even Bofur hasn’t felt up for a song. With one mount down, the dwarves are alternating between who gets to ride, and who has to walk. So far, you and Bilbo haven’t been in the line up—someone else is always quick to volunteer in your place.

“Something bad is going to happen soon,” you mutter in Fíli’s ear. “I can feel it.”

Thorin lets out a low growl. He may have accepted you as a member of the Company, but you can feel his patience waning. The warning you gave didn’t stop the pony’s loss, and since then all you’ve had to offer are vague, dark feelings.

Fíli reaches back and pats your thigh. “I’m sure we can handle whatever comes our way,” he says.

Thorin pulls back on his reins, halting his pony. “We’ll stop for the night,” he grunts. A sigh of relief ripples through the Company.

The knot of anxiety in your stomach tightens. Something about this decision feels wrong, but you try to ignore it as you slide off the pony and busy yourself setting up camp. But it only gets worse, escalating to physical pain. Briefly, you wonder if your period has come early. When you sit down next to Bombur’s small fire, you hiss. It feels like someone’s stabbed you with a hot poker.

“Something wrong, lass?” Bofur asks, dumping wood on the ground.

“I don’t know,” you reply through gritted teeth. “I don’t think we should be stopping.” As you say it, the pain eases slightly.

Thorin frowns from his place across the fire. “We stop when I say so.”

“Something doesn’t feel right about it,” you say again. “The story–”

Thorin’s eyes flash dangerously. “This is not one of your stories.”

“No, we have to keep going,” you protest. You can sense his anger about to boil over, but you press on. “You have to do what Tolkien said you’re supposed to do!” You regret your phrasing as soon as the words leave your mouth.

“I do not want to hear another word of this Mahal-damned Tolkien and whatever nonsense he penned in your world,” Thorin snaps. “I will not suffer a challenge, least of all from someone who is only on this quest by unfortunate chance!”

Kíli jumps to his feet. “Thorin, you shouldn’t speak to her like that!”

“Be quiet, Kíli!” Thorin rounds on his nephew.

Several others rise and the air fills with a clamor of voices—some coming to your defense, others supporting Thorin.

Shouts ring out.

It’s too loud.

The noise is overwhelming.

Get out.

You can’t hear anything anymore.

You’re useless.

Everything is blurry.

This is your fault.

Your hands begin to sweat.

You can’t change anything.

You’re consumed by just one thought.

I need to get out. Get out. Get out get out get out get out.

You scramble to your feet and bolt, ignoring the cries of the Company and running blindly through the woods.

Get out get out get out.

Your foot catches on a root and the ground rushes up to meet you.

Your pulse races. Your breaths come quick and shallow, barely taking in any air before it’s forced right back out. Somewhere, in a detached part of your mind, you’re aware of what’s happening, but you feel like a passenger in your body as waves of panic slam over you.

“Y/N?”

Arms find you in the shadows. You flinch away, curling into a ball and burying your face in your knees. “I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t–” you gasp, the words tumbling from your lips out of your control. “I can’t breathe, I can’t–”

A hand grips your shoulder, hesitantly at first, then more firmly. “Hey,” a voice murmurs. “Hey there. Easy, lass. You’re alright. You’re alright.”

Even as you stiffen against the touch, an arm works its way between your knees and your chest. It gently uncurls your body and pulls you into a tight embrace. The hand moves from your shoulder to the back of your head, pushing it down lightly. Your face is buried in a mane of soft hair, cool beads pressing into your cheeks.

“That’s it, lass. Breathe.”

With trembling hands, you dig your fingers into the back of whoever holds you. It takes tremendous effort, but you suck in a deep, shuddering breath. The scent in your nose is musky and sweaty, grounding you in the moment. This is real, a voice whispers in the back of your mind. This is safe.

Your stiff body finally loosens, and the hand lifts from your hair. You raise your head and meet a pair of kind eyes.

It’s Fíli. His brow is slightly creased as he searches your face. He eases his hold on you, but keeps his arm wrapped around your middle.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears spilling over your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”

He squeezes your side. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” There’s a dark patch on the shoulder of his tunic from your tears.

You duck your head, avoiding his face. “I knew this would happen,” you say softly, bitterness lacing your voice. As the adrenaline drains from your blood, hot shame replaces your fear.

“Does this…” he hesitates. “Does this happen often?” Fíli lowers his head to get in your line of sight. “Y/N?”

“Sometimes.” You pause to take a few more deep, steady breaths, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. “I ran out of my medicine last week. It was just a matter of time.”

“Medicine?” His eyes darken with worry. “Are you ill?”

You let out a hollow, mirthless laugh. “Mentally? Yeah. And all this…” you wave your hand in the air, “…it isn’t helping.”

“Nor is Thorin, I’m sure.”

“It’s not his fault,” you mutter.

Fíli shifts into a cross-legged position. He takes one of your arms and puts it around his neck, carefully pulling you into his lap. You sink against his chest, trying to match his even breathing and listening to his heartbeat. He rests his chin on your head and starts humming softly. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to him, to any of the dwarves, but you couldn’t care less. You’ll take comfort from any source. You close your eyes with a sigh.

“Uncle doesn’t mean it,” Fíli whispers after a long time. “He values you, I promise.” His chest vibrates as he chuckles. “If he didn’t, you’d have been left behind long ago.”

“Gandalf values me,” you reply morosely. “If it was up to Thorin, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. Or if it was up to me,” you add, voice small.

Fíli squeezes you. “Don’t say that,” he murmurs. “Kíli’s glad you’re here. Balin’s glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re here.”

You swallow down more tears. “Fíli, face it. The only thing I add to the party is a vague idea of what will happen in two or three days. And what good is that if Thorin won’t even listen?” You start to shake again as you finally put to words the thoughts that have plagued you for days. “I’m just dead weight.”

“You keep me going,” he whispers, voice cracking slightly. “You’re a member of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. You’re our lass.”

Silent tears course down your cheeks. Fíli starts humming again.

“I won’t let him say anything like that ever again,” he promises. He pulls back and gives you a small smile. “…markhûna.” [she who is desired]

The meaning of the Khuzdûl is lost on you, but you weakly return his smile.

“Y/N? Are you…”

Kíli pushes through the brush. You expect Fíli to push you away hastily or try to explain your entangled position, but he makes no attempt to move you. He merely stands with you in his arms, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist to support yourself.

“Has he cooled off?” Fíli asks warily.

Kíli shrugs. “He hasn’t said a word since she, uh…” he trails off, giving you a careful glance. “Yes. He’s cooled off.”

Fíli nods slowly, and you drop your legs, letting him place you on the ground. “Will you be alright?” he whispers in your ear.

You nod, releasing your arms from around his neck and untangling your fingers from his hair.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll look after you.” Kíli grins and pats you on the back heartily. “You’re one of us now.”

#fanfiction #fíli #fili x reader #fili x you #kíli #the hobbit #blood of durin #thorin oakenshield #everybody lives #update #trigger warning #panic attack

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rpedia · 7 months

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[Ask RPedia] Writing Panic Attacks?

@twodemigodtraveleroflorien asked: Any advice on how to RP a character having a panic attack

Sure! As usual, ‘show don’t tell’ is gonna be big here. By that, I mean describe what is going on through connected ideas, not straightforward ones. When someone is in love they smile, and gaze, and touch. When someone is angry they sneer. When someone is scared they sweat, and triple check nothing is behind them. Don’t ever just say ‘Mary was scared’ unless it’s a stylistic choice to give a certain feel to your writing. Pick it consciously as what your story needs, or not at all.

Beyond that, panic attacks can hit in a ton of different ways. We’ll get into this below, and describe not only panic attacks, but some methods on how to help them. If you’re sensitive to this material, please don’t walk in knowingly, fuck yourself up, and have a bad day. I love you kids too much for that. Also remember this is for roleplay, I will be discussing the awkward as fuck things, like “picking which symptoms match your character” and “using panic attacks in plot.”

Writers, amirite? (Please only continue if you’re in the mental space for it! It can get graphic and triggering. Take breaks as needed.)

To reassure my readers, yes, I have had panic attacks an awful lot. So I can actually speak from experience for once. But only my experience, so give me some slack if yours hits you differently, or if I don’t nail it. Give other writers that slack too, and don’t think one size fits all will ever work here. Give them the benefit of the doubt, so long as they make a decent effort. No one needs their panic attacks nitpicked, it’s either from personal experience or to further the plot. Do either of those things really need someone telling them right at that moment they’re not doing it right? If they’re just making a mockery of it OOCly, go ahead and rip ‘em with facts. ICly, well, Jan. It’s supposed to be problematic, that’s a plot hook for character growth. If it bugs you, communicate that OOCly you’d like to move on.

So anyways, let’s just waltz right into the thick of it. According to the diagnostic criteria listed in the DSM-5, panic attacks are experienced as a sudden sense of fear and dread plus four or more of the following mental, emotional, and physical symptoms:

Heart palpitations or accelerated heart rate

Feelings of numbness or tingling sensations

Excessive sweating

Trembling or shaking

Shortness of breath or smothering sensations

Feeling of choking

Chest pain or discomfort

Nausea or abdominal pain

Feeling dizzy, unsteady, lightheaded, or faint

Chills or hot flashes

Derealization and/or depersonalization

Fear of losing control or going crazy

Fear of dying

So immediately we realize, not everyone’s panic attacks are going to be the same thing. Some people get their heart beating a mile a minute, and feel like they’re miles away, are scared they’ll die, and be afraid they’ll lose control. Some people will have aggressive chest pains, start sweating and shaking, then feel like they’re going to pass out, choke, and vomit at the same time. Can you see why those would present differently in a roleplay, or how they’d fit different character models better, or even the outcomes of these on different personalities? That’s important to the writer right there. You have to understand your character and how they would experience fear, and sensations that are unpleasant, and which ones they’re feeling.

The only thing that is solidly in every panic attack is that sudden feeling of dread or fear. People who have not had one can relate to it, honestly. Have you ever turned off the lights in your bathroom or some dark spooky hallway and suddenly felt like something was in there? Then you have to fucking run before the thing gets you, or turn on a light to check, and the hairs rise on your neck and your eyes open up wide enough to suck in every photon of light for miles because suddenly your brain wants the power to see in the dark? Yeah. That creeping feeling of being prey is the dread and fear. Yes, people may feel these differently. Fear is not exactly one size fits all. But this is a pretty good start to understanding the drop of an ‘oh fuck’ barreling down on you from behind.

Myths abound on panic attack causes, but the truth is simple. Sometimes, they happen because something triggered it, but a lot of the time there is no trigger. Your body just decides to fuck you over because that seems like a great idea right now. You can’t even really avoid them by sleeping. That’s right, you can get panic attacks while dead asleep. That’s so thoughtful of them, they don’t want you miss out, I say in the most sarcastic voice ever.

The good thing is, no, you can’t die from a panic attack or be ‘driven insane’,and no they aren’t just you overreacting to fear or pain. They aren’t even always part of a panic disorder (other disorders bring them to the party too). The good news is, although they suck rancid eggs, they can be managed. If you treat some of the underlying causes, you can help lessen them over time.

What disorders are linked? Oh boy, that’s a hell of a list. Anxiety disorders are a big one, agoraphobia, OCD, depression, Bipolar disorder. They all like to invite panic attacks with them. Other fun party guests are eating disorders, personality disorders, and substance-related conditions. Heck, GERD, IBS, and sleeping disorders are also friends with panic attacks. So while writing your character, look at what might be the underlying cause of it. Whatever building blocks you pick end up visible in not only panic attacks you decided to throw in to make the scene worse, but a constant background noise to their lives.

That’s one of the important things you need to remember. If you choose to give your character a condition like the above, there’s a couple rules that make this go over a lot better with the community. Let’s look at them.

Do not only use it to get attention. It may be plot relevant, but if it comes up every single time the spotlight is off you, it gets old quick. This is a shitty medical thing, not your golden ticket to being fussed over.

Do not use the disorder as their only personality. You have a character who happens to have and live with the disorder, not a walking form of the disorder who happens to have some character stuck in there.

Do not use it to only have good things happen. Realistically, you may get a panic attack at the worst time ever and fuck everything up. Don’t make it a ‘get out of jail free’ card, balance it with bad timing and bad outcomes.

Do not play Sympathy Sue with it. We don’t want to have to coax, dote, and protect your character every step of the way in a story without them ever showing signs of doing anything but keeping the attention on them and their issues. In real life, real people have personalities beyond their issues, they have friends, they tend to learn how to manage things over time. So let your character grow, and show themselves too. In writing, we do this for fun and to escape bad things. We don’t want to shoulder something during playtime, we may encounter often in real life.

Do not go into this without research. Practice writing up little stories to describe the symptoms. Read everything you can. Look up webpages, blogs, and everything where people are offering the information on their struggles freely.

Make sure everyone in the group is comfortable playing this out. It can trigger things when you go whole hog descriptive about every symptom they have until they suddenly start having one in real life because fuck, they’re right there again. Never surprise someone with a panic attack in character unless you know it’s okay, or are willing to just skim over it.

Understand the gist of why these exist? Good. Go with the spirit of them, not the letter of them. Basically respect, even though as writers we intentionally use them for plot and growth, we should not abuse that ability by lacking respect for the real people who have them. Be tactful, be polite, be respectful as the person behind the keyboard. Anything that isn’t tactful, polite, or respectful had better be in character, and had better relate to the plot and characterization pretty damn well. You should also make it very obvious that you disagree with the character in narration. If they say something crass or obtuse, point out that they said something crass and obtuse.

“It’s not like it’s really that bad, you’re just scared right? Get over it, you whiner,” he said, sneering. His lack of empathy for the subject really showed his lack of experience with it.

Tada, by adding in one line, you’re a better writer in general, and have accurately explored characterization while pointing out you recognize he’s a total asshole. Doing things in a way that clearly shows you give a damn and understand what you’re choosing to let the character do is the key to not pissing someone else off.

Okay so back to the attacks! These symptoms are basically just names right now. You can say what’s happening straight out, and that’s cool, but... how do you make your reader empathize with them? You’re going to want to explore each of these feelings in writing, or at least the ones you know you’re going to use. This is homework! Explain each of these in detail in a way you can connect with them. Put yourself into your character’s position, and write from the heart.

Their heart racing, what do they feel when this happens? The skipping beats that feel awkward and clunky? The way you can feel it pounding along, a mile a minute, ready to burst out of your chest? Go running, when your heart rate gets up there, you’ll really fucking quickly pick up on how that part feels. The pounding, heaviness of a heart going so fast your shirt is trembling, and your hands can’t stay steady. Describe it, describe how that heartbeat going mad feels to you and how out of place it is.

Tingling and numbness? You might have had a limb go to sleep before, use that as a jumping off point. Except in a panic attack, it’s everywhere and the pins aren’t painful. They’re just a loss of feeling everywhere. Your hands tickle with them, your skin feels like it’s tightened up weird, and can’t feel like it used to even if you’re hypersensitive to touch. Sweating so much you soak the sheets? Use that experience, the dripping, the suddenness. How it contrasts with the temperature being comfortable. Sweating from anxiousness or nerves. Damp palms. I fucking hate flop sweats like that, because I end up with a disgusting feeling scalp, wet neck, and my body is just damp all over after I’ve been through an extreme.

Everyone’s probably trembled in their lives. A shiver through your limbs. What happens when you tremble? Is it harder to write, or grab onto things? Is your grip worse? Explore how trembling effects your environment as much as it effects you. It helps to understand that the tremble is sudden, violent. You cannot stop it, it’s beyond your control, and you struggle to keep yourself from showing it a lot if you’re that type of a person. Since it’s down to personality, someone might have a shaking quavering voice, or they might be hiding that shaking hand and stiffening up to hide it all from the others.

Choking, smothering, unable to breathe... well that sounds like running to me, but I’m out of shape as hella. Crying does it too though, unable to get past a throat filled with snot. The absolute lack of breath, it’s like you’re depressurized. Remember nothing, from the feeling of choking, to the stitch in your side, to feeling sick to your stomach, is exclusive to a panic attack. You’ll probably have encountered being dizzy or light headed in your life without ever seeing a panic attack. Chills and hot flashes too. They can be way more extreme, like sitting there shivering and teeth chattering despite being in a 85°F/29°C room. Just absolutely taken by how cold you are, and nothing can warm you because you’re already sweating. It looks a lot like a symptom of shock, which is why they throw those blankets over you after a severe accident of any kind, even if you’re not hurt.

While you’re looking at those, don’t just look at the symptom. Look at the character’s reaction to the symptoms. Does stomach pain make them cry? Does it make the shortness of breath worse? Do they have sweating, lightheadedness, hot flashes, and nausea and just wave it off as a thing that’s happening because they’re scared? Mix and match. Some characters handle things better than others. Some have different reactions. Find them, and pull them out and shove them in the light for other people to see.

The final symptoms are a bit more in-depth because we can’t find aspects of them to jump off of from real life. Derealization, depersonalization, a fear of losing control or not feeling ‘sane’, or a fear of dying? These we might not feel very often or at all if we’re neurotypical. So we’re going to rely on people who have experienced them to learn about what they’re like. That’s dangerous territory, be respectful when you explore it. Not sure where you’ll find details on these without stepping on toes? Hi! I’ve had all of them, so lemme get down to brass tacks and tell you what they may be like. Once again, one person’s experiences do not equal all people’s experiences, but as an intelligent person with critical thinking you knew that and were totally going to google Reddit threads and blogs about the subject if you intended to write them, right?

So, derealization and depersonalization are very interconnected, which is probably while they’re listed as a grouped symptom in the list. They are experiencing the feeling of becoming entirely unhinged from either reality, or yourself. It’s a wild sensation to be several feet outside of your body, watching as everything happens. It’s even more wild that it can vary, a few inches away, or even just ‘somewhere else’ while your body keeps going. You can lose your entire grip on a situation, your mind fully consumed with something else, to the point you don’t really feel like it’s you talking, or moving.

Same thing when everything stops feeling real. Like you’re in a movie, or a dream, watching shit play out you have no control over. Yet, you function through it. On autopilot, saying the things you would say, doing the things you would or should do. Even though you’re feeling a bubble or padding between you and there. In my case, I’ve definitely felt like I was underwater, and should be unable to breathe, but I was breathing fine, looking through this glassy feeling at a body that was going through a panic attack, but it wasn’t really me. It was a bunch of chemical firing, everything happening felt rehearsed, fake, and far away. Like, it had been predetermined to happen, and I had no control over it.

It’s varied between feeling like I, personally, am not the person doing shit. I look into a mirror, and some stranger is looking back at me, who has the wrong everything. Sometimes everything isn’t real, there’s no way everything can look like this can feel like this when the world is shutting down for me. I am empty, why is the world doing this, it cannot be real. Except it is. This is such a numbing, empty experience, that it leaves you really struggling to find something to anchor yourself to. Those are not my hands. My hands aren’t that size. This room is not my room, it looks wrong, the color is off in a way I can’t describe, the comfort isn’t for me. It’s really fucking mindboggling, and all this?

Is on top of other symptoms. At the same time. My dude lemme tell you, wearing another person’s skin and watching them unable to breath because they’re choking on air, while they suddenly go freezing cold, teeth chattering, is a TRIP!

Fear of losing control or going crazy is fun too, in the way that I can being super sarcastic on one hand because it’s not fun at all; and also very very genuine because I have an analytical mind and it’s cool to see my own brain degrade in front of me. When in the throes of this, I definitely know I’m not insane, but what if I am? What if this is the moment I snap and lose it entirely? What if this is the terrifying reality now, that I’m never going to get any of these other symptoms under control, and instead I’m going to get worse and start chewing the walls and attacking people left and right? What if this is my breaking point?

The terror just eats away at you, because no matter how much someone says that you’re gonna be fine, and that you’re not insane, they have no idea. They’re not a professional, and they don’t have some kind of little device that lets them see what’s going on in your head. When your thoughts get jumbled and frantic like that, it can super feel like you’re losing the plot entirely. You really do start to believe there’s no hope for you and they’re going drag you off and drug you up because everything that makes you you has spiderwebbed into this wild ass new person who has had their sanity ripped out of their hands.

I blame Hollywood for a lot of this, because you see this kind of thing happen. Someone becomes too emotional, and wa-bam, they never come back from it. They got comatose, or hysterical and have to be dragged away. They never quite make it back to their former selves, and that! Is! terrifying! And just the kind of unrealistic thing a mind having met it’s limit would throw at you because it can no longer keep track of what is actually happening.

Fear of dying is the last one, and after the things above, is it really any surprise that you might feel like you were dying in the middle of all this? Now the last time I got this, I had managed to get a head injury and a seizure so maybe it was an ickle bitty bit of a realistic fear. (Also, I’m fine, but obviously some things have happened since I last wrote for you guys, be nice to me.) With all these feelings of rushing inevitability, fear of the end of yourself is RIGHT up there waving its hands and demanding to be seen. This is, I also got this from... slightly cutting my thumb while cooking.

It doesn’t have to make sense, I knew my thumb was not going to bleed out, but I was ready to face death because oh no, something terrible has happened. My brain saw one big drop of blood, and it was done. I was officially dying. I would lose the thumb, I would get gangrene, I would die in a corner somewhere. It became something that overwhelmed all my senses and I had to lay down for a while and let it pass. All I wanted was someone to be there for me while I was inevitably dying of a boo boo. That’s how extreme it can go from literally nothing, so it’s super hard to shake off if you pick it as one of your character’s responses!

Now if you had to take a break during this at any time, that’s perfectly normal. It may be a sign that you shouldn’t RP this situation though, because that’s gonna be even more intense. Plus, if it’s tied to your character, and you’re the type to be inside your characters POV for the smoothest writing process? You might feel like it’s happening to you. Method acting can bite you in the ass if this is something you can trigger by experiencing it. On the other hand, RPing your way through it can help compartmentalize it, and putting those horrible feelings into a new situation can help you recontextualize it from an outside perspective. Making it easier later to go through a panic attack because now you have another experience to draw from. There’s a reason Therapists like it when you roleplay.

Just remember, roleplaying is for story and fun. If you find yourself far too deep, aftercare may be needed. You don’t have to always ask someone else for that, you can just give yourself something relaxing after play. Hit up your favorite goofy TV show. Eat a treat you really love and let yourself be in the moment while you savor it. Take a nice warm bath if that’s the kind of thing that relaxes you. Sure, it’s roleplay, but it can have a real emotional effect on you, same as any other experience! So, if you need to, find someone you can talk it out with. If not friends, then a professional who can give you the tools to make the most of your new experience in helping yourself. Hell, if you simply got to the end of this and feel drained or something, go give yourself a treat and cool off a bit!

Anyways thank you for reading! Hope this helps in really expressing panic attacks a little more clearly in text, but always remember to CHECK IN on your partner. Make SURE they’re comfortable with the level of detail you want to get into! If not, go for a lighter hand! Write a vignette on the side, and upload it to your Tumblr as a fanfic of your RP if you wanna prove your skills without effecting other people! Tag your shit! Be aware of those around you, and really do make sure everyone’s comfortable when you’re exploring topics like these.

If you try your best to get it right and do the research, it’s obvious to others. You’ll be fine. Happy RPing!

#RPedia #Ask RPedia #roleplaying #roleplaying help #roleplaying tips #rph #panic attacks #triggering material #trigger warning #panic #writing #writing a panic attack

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b1zmuth · 2 months

Text

The Mishaps of SITE:DD | Obey Me! x Reader

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[File 2] \\ 5K words

SC \\ Monsters, gore, the SCP foundation, you date everyone ig… slight angst but with a happy ending, fluff, sci-fi, experimenting, mentioned suicide, everyone is a little off their rocker, you are NOT innocent!! I'll add more tags later..

TL;DR - Think the SCP Foundation, but you are the researcher who unfortunately gets assigned to Seven Keter classified objects.

EXTREME TW's : graphic depictions of vomiting and death smelling objects + small suicide mentioning // be extremely wary of this when reading! thanks!

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Open FILE.[FOLDER_2]? > Please select one option. (Yes/Yes) . . . FILE.[FOLDER_2] Opening.. Please wait.

Oh, brother.

Now you were seriously in for it.

Just imagine; you decided to take a risky gamble on some paperwork that you didn't read thoroughly- ended up signing some… papers, that ended up with you viciously hurling the contents of your lunch right back up your windpipe and into the toilet.

Seriously! You were so screwed- unbelievably at that.

Due to your risky signage of those papers, you accidentally signed off on volunteering with a partner for ‘’SCP EXPERIMENTATIONS’’, which translated to ‘’Oh yeah btw we don't have enough on-fielders to sacrifice so heres a volunteering sheet with 4x the pay if you sign up and you have zero guarantee of not being assigned to a keter class so if you sign off on this your kinda fucked ngl lmao’’

And there goes another chunk of your overpriced egg and cheese sandwich.

‘’You are expendable.’’

‘’Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! I should have never took- that f-FUCKING risk, of course, Jesus Christ himself damns me to an early d-death by being slaughtered by a SCP. just fantastic! I should start writing a will- yes, yes! Write a will… but to who? I don't have any family… oh fuck me! Everything seems to get worse by the second in this hellhole!’’ You practically whisper-shouted at yourself, causing anyone who happened to pass by the private bathroom to start questioning your mental sanity- your hot tears and snot dripping down your face and dropping into the toilet, causing your somewhat visible reflection to ripple in the murky water- the ringing in your ears seeming to increase in volume with every shaky breath you managed to suck in.

“If only you didn’t take that risk. You know, this is all your fault.’’

You looked at your messy reflection, watching your own reflection slowly ripple into an undistinguishable mess of swirls and blobs of food- the pungent smell filling your nostrils and causing you to gag and quickly back up away from the toilet, a cold sweat rushing all over your body. ‘’Maybe you're right. It is my fault.’’ you let the tears fall once more, not even attempting to wipe your face for some type of decency if someone were to walk in.

‘’This is my penance for what I’ve done.’’ ‘’This is your penance for what you’ve done.’’

. . . Everything is getting brighter- so bright. Is this real life? . .

The door to the bathroom opens and quickly shuts- a mess of a purple and peachy-colored blob rushes in and kneels in front of you- waving a tanned…something, that you couldn’t even make out somewhere near your face- the ringing in your ears masking the already muffled voice of the purple blob- ‘’MC? God, it reeks in here- are you okay?’’

What did that walking grape say to you? This damn ringing almost wouldn't even allow the reverberated sounds of your heavy breathing to make it to your ears- you can forget about it if anyone said anything outside of your ear-’’MC! Shit- we might have to get a medic- SOLOMOOON! COME QUICK!’’

While the purple-colored grape desperately used any method to get you responsive, your mouth opened and closed repeatedly, as if you were trying to speak, but nothing audible would come out, much to your frustration, the blob still didn't catch your goldfish movements even with the way you were tugging and pulling borderline anything to catch its attention- the light was getting brighter, and your vision was starting to turn red..you guessed you wouldn’t have long before…whatever this was put you out of your misery- so in a last-ditch effort, you put all your energy into screaming your final words.

‘’TELL THIRTEEN THAT I ENTRUST EVERYTHING TO HER!’’ . . . Wow. Well, at least your figurines wouldn’t end up in a Goodwill somewhere in Timbuktu.

And that was the last thing you said, or well, what YOU remember saying before you promptly blacked out and fully embraced your incoming divine judgment and thirty-minute express Uber to the deepest pits of Hell.

The only setback to this heavenly gift was that you woke up in one of the facility med bays, the blinding white light fooling you into thinking that one of the angels in heaven accidentally ordered the wrong Uber and sent you to the wrong place, until you rubbed your eyes and noticed that you were, in fact, not in heaven- but in the one place you had been begging Jesus to take the wheel and lead you directly out of this shithole.

You groaned at the sight, nearly tearing up at the notion that you had just passed out, and didn’t suddenly keel over and die in Thirteen’s bathroom. Fuck!

Mentally cursing at the higher being that stopped you from leaving your misery, you swung yourself out of bed and made a straight B-line for the nearest exit- ‘’Uh, excuse me?! Your supposed to be in bed and resting!’’ you heard a shrill and child-like voice speak from behind you, making you turn around in surprise to reveal a blonde-haired boy with blue eyes dressed in a regular doctoral outfit- and wait just a second, now that you look at him… that's a not a boy but a whole ass KID?? My god and you thought this place was bad enough- this was just downright wrong, alongside the numerous violations of public safety and multiple HIPPA violations, having child labor added to the tall order of lawsuits would NOT look so pretty on paper- maybe it really was time to start looking for a casket..

‘’Cmon! Back to bed!’’ The blonde ordered, watching you sluggishly walk back to your bed and settle in before you turned your head and stared at him for a solid 30 seconds before he finally got uncomfortable and spoke up again- ‘’Dah! Quit staring at me! If you're really that bothered by my appearance, I'm actually thousands of years older than you!’’ he looked at you with an annoyed look and pulled up a chair next to your bed.

‘’Okay, so what I'm hearing here is that you look like a whole child, and act like one too- but supposedly you are thousands of years old…yeahhh, I don't buy it.’’ You shook your head at the kid, watching how he looked at you with utter disbelief and shock, his body lurching forward- ‘’I- You do work here, or did the impact from your head hitting the bottom of Miss Thirteen’s bathroom floor scramble your brain THAT bad?’’ the boy smirked at you before he triumphantly sat back in his seat- totally oblivious to the seething person in front of him.

You weren't going to argue with this kid anymore- the blinding whites of this room were going to drive you insane if you didn't make a hasty dash to the nearest exit within the next MINUTE.

‘’Anyways, let's go back to square one- my name is Luke, I'm an angel that was recruited by the foundation to heal injured workers!’’ He flashed you a bright smile before he got a small pack of sweets out of his pocket and handed them to you- ‘’These are medicated sweets, they’ll help ease any pain your blackout may cause later on, I highly recommend that you take one now that your fully awake.’’ you nodded your head and thanked him for the sweets, popping a wing-shaped cookie into your mouth- feeling the sugary taste of the cookie practically melt inside of your mouth, surprisingly, with no hint of medication in it- ‘’..so, Luke, how long have I been out?’’

‘’About a day, Simeon was looking after you for most of it.’’ Luke responded, tilting his head to the side as he shot a nervous smile at your terrified face- ‘’I’ll bring you a cold towel..’’ . . . . . ‘’And then I assume you blacked out…again, which led up to now- when you're finally awake… Should I buy you some nausea medicine?’’ A worried Thirteen asked you, starting to rise out of the chair Luke was previously sitting in before you passed out for the second time- ‘’Y’know, being an On-Fielder isn't as bad as your making it out to be- just look at me and Solomon for example, yes, he is a complete and utter dumbass…BUT! He wouldn’t hurt me even if i tore him limb from limb.’’ She said, giving you a gentle smile as she held your hand in hers- to which you just shook your head at the gesture.

You gave her a small giggle- ‘’The way you looked like you fought a fully grown bear two weeks ago would say otherwise- and you say he wouldn’t hurt you.’’

‘’You're not getting the point here, MC! Im saying that there's no guaranteed chance that you’ll end up with a shitty anomaly-’’ you cut off Thirteen, ‘’But there's a possibility, right? As if! I've lived the past six years, somewhat, unscathed! I’d rather not be turned into a smear on the wall by some random beedogcat hybrid thing!’’ you lurched forward and told Thirteen, who just responded with a loud sigh- ‘’You practically stressing yourself half to death worrying about getting an anomaly that could quite literally just be Safe or Elucid!’’ She shook her head and gestured towards Luke, who was floating towards the both of you with a certain look on his face.

‘’MC- Simeon just dropped off this package for you, he says HR wants a confirmation soon..’’ he looked worried as he handed the yellow package to you, running off towards the office of the med-bay to, presumably, fetch you some more medicine for your upcoming blackout.

You now held the package in your hands, gingerly running the tips of your fingers alongside the edges of it, before you shot a desperate look at Thirteen- ‘’Im gonna be so pissed if you did allat yapping in my ear just for me to be assigned a Keter class.’’ you said before you opened the package and read the contents.

SCP EXPERIMENTATION | RESULTS . . . Thank you for volunteering for [SCP EXPERIMENTATION], MC, [REDACTED]

We value your humble contribution towards a new dawn with the substitution of a looming threat to humanity as a whole, and the contribution towards further research into the nature and behaviors of SCPs.

After careful consideration and sorting of MC, [REDACTED]’s personal file, your results have culminated to bring out your full potential as an [EXPERIENCED] On-Field Researcher, and your SCP’s full potential as an addition.

Your SCP’s details are listed below.

Item #: SCP-6667 Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-6667 is highly dangerous and any movement and/or action needs to be exercised with extreme caution due to its ██████████████, ███████-███████, ███ ████ ██….…

We sincerely hope that you and your newfound SCP further our push for research and safety with SCPs, and with your considerable predicted efforts, your pay will follow suit. Please be ready to meet your newfound subject(s) at a.m. 0300 hours from the moment you receive your package. - Matt, from HR.

* NOTE: The SCP Foundation is not liable for any on-site accidents or injuries via Non-SCP Anomalies. personnel loved ones are required to claim liabilities through a Personal Insurance Firm. (PIF)

It felt like your mouth was stuck agape as you stared at the paper in horror- constantly reading over the same word like it was a religion to you; Keter, Keter, Keter Keter, Keter, Keter, Keter, Keter, Keter. A fucking Keter.

A Keter class. The damn near kill-on-sight class which few researchers ever, and you meant- a few EVER survived. You would have already been pushing your luck if you made it out on the first DAY in one piece- let alone surviving another encounter with that class.

YOU. had been assigned to a Keter.

Starting to hyperventilate you desperately tried to clamor out of your bed- only to find yourself restrained to the bed with brown leather belts. And even as you screamed for Thirteen to help you out, she only stared at you with a blank expression on her face before the corners of her lips slowly curled into a toothless smile- ‘’You are expendable.’’ ..what?

Her body starts to curl on itself- her eyes now becoming soulless and morphing into pits of the void, her smile still being toothless and making you feel uneasy whenever you looked into it- ‘’You are a disgusting human being.’’ you heard her talk to you…but her mouth never seemed to move? You were suddenly startled by her neck stretching inhumanely long, long enough to the point where her nose started brushing up against your own, her mouth that was too close for comfort permeating the gut-wrenching stench and displeasure of death, that same smell that you swore you had gotten used to.

“If only you didn’t take that risk. You know, this is all your fault.’’ Her mouth stretched open, the stench getting worse and worse until you started dry heaving due to it- your eyes betraying your mind and the rest of your body as it gazed into the inhumanly stretched mouth of the former friend you called ‘’Thirteen’’, and you screamed as you finally saw what laid inside of its throat- a pale hand, which adorned yellow painted nails, emerged from the back of its throat desperately trying to claw its way towards you- ‘’No. No. no-NO! This isn't real- THIS ISNT FUCKING REAL!’’ you screamed now trying any possible way to get out of your restraints, thrashing back and forth to wiggle your way out, sweat now adorning your body like a heavy winter coat, your hair stuck to your face while your eyes stayed glued on the thing that you once called your friend- your breathing getting harder and harder as you took in more of the putrid smell of death-

And then it all stopped.

Thirteen was gone. The smell was gone. That voice was gone.

You lay in a white room filled with a multitude of different shaped and colored flowers, a gentle breeze flowing through the room blew in your favorite scent, and your ragged breathing slowed down with every deep breath you took.

It felt calming. Like you could finally breathe fresh air for the first time.

Your shrunk pupils darted across every inch of the room, scanning it for any hint of danger before you realized that you could feel something on top of your eyelids since whatever it was slightly twitched every time you blinked- you slowly raised your hands towards your eyes, softly landing them on something..warm? It felt like a hand, but who’s hand? Are you dreaming?

‘’Come find me, MC. Save Me.’’ You felt drowsy listening to the voice, but it wasn’t like the voice from earlier- it felt more calm, less sinister…who really was this talking to you? It had to be thirteen..or that guy Luke was talking about….it..couldn’t..be any- anyone….else?

Your thoughts dragged out as you felt your muscles twitch and shake, your mind slowly shutting down- before you woke up in a cold sweat.

You now found yourself back in the Med-Bay, still sitting in this damned bed, but now you were accompanied by a gorgeous dark-skinned male with beautiful brown fringed hair which was parted on the sides of his head due to his…head wings? Is he deaf? Nevermind… He sat in the same chair that Thirteen did, his head was tilted downwards toward a clipboard which had something that you couldn’t discern written on it.

He seemed to notice your presence as he looked up from his clipboard, setting it aside on the nearby nightstand as he brushed himself off- ‘’Welcome back, MC! I assume that Luke has told you about me, no?’’ you nodded your head. ‘’That's great, do you happen to feel any discomfort or dizziness? Any worrying feelings?’’ you shook your head no- ‘’I'm happy to hear you feel fine, especially after what just happened- here, I'm giving you some fludrocortisone acetate to help with your fainting.’’ He said in a cheerful tone, smiling at you again after handing you a glass of water.

You were parched. Your mouth damn near felt like a desert with how dry it felt, so this glass of water was a blessing in disguise for you, thank god for Simeon- ‘’Don't fret too much about your meeting, you have an hour to properly rest and get yourself into a better headspace- I’ll be right here at your side if you need someone to talk to as well.’’ he said, getting up from the chair to walk over towards the nearby bookshelf. well, at least you had an hour to recollect your thoughts and mentally prepare yourself for what could be very well the last moments of your life, ‘’what a pain it's going to be loading my tomato soup-looking ass into a coffin.’’ you slightly snickered at your joke before you rolled over and your mind wandered off elsewhere, your eyes subconsciously drifting over towards the now sitting Simeon, who was quietly reading a book beside your bed.

‘’Simeon.’’ He looks over towards you, his eyebrows raised- ‘’Would it be rude to ask if you and Luke are…y’know, non-human?’’ you asked, expecting him to go ballistic on you for asking such a question- I mean, it did happen to you once before when asking an angel that Thirteen was watching over- guy got SUPER pissed that you didn’t just use common sense and look at the winds that were hidden on his back (which were covered by his long hair), god, that guy was a fucking dick now that you think back on it.

Simeon only smiled as the wings on either side of his head flapped happily- ‘’It's not rude to ask a question that has a clear answer, Luke has wings as I do but he is just too young for his wings to be fully visible!’’ you smiled back at him, happy that he wasn’t being as much of a dick like the last angel you asked this question to- ‘’How come you dont have a halo then?’’ ‘’It's too much of a problem to have floating on the back of my head, I tried to make it work but alas it ended up getting stuck trying to get through a door..’’ he shook his head whilst lowly chuckling to himself, ‘’Anyways, I'd love to keep on talking with you but I think we’re out of time here- but please don't start worrying! I specifically put in a medical request for Thirteen to accompany you during your time with your SCP…or well, Thirteen practically begged me to do something to aid with your panic attacks.’’

Your heart dropped hearing him say anything that hinted towards your looming death, but you just sucked it up since you would be with Thirteen- someone who could write out your will and put all of your figurines to good use. Simeon waved you off and shouted something along the lines of ‘’letting Luke know that you are bidding farewell!’’ with you shouting a happy ‘’See you later!’’ back at him.

The walk of shame towards the meeting room was absurd.

Totally absurd because there were people literally prancing around the main floor with whole-ass deers, frolicking around with bees, and JUMPING for joy at their newfound SCPs. The fuck?! Are you just the mayor of Frown Town or are these people actually on some type of hardcore drug? Because there is no possible way that the foundation didn't give all of these people Safe class SCPs- if they were going to do this then how come you didn't get something that wouldn’t kill me on sight?

‘’Your results have culminated to bring out your full potential as an [EXPERIENCED] On-Field Researcher’’ Right. They looked through your file to personally assign you a specific SCP.

Well, despite this unnerving fact, you pushed forward, determined to at least get a glimpse of your personal grim reaper, this fact pushed you forward with some pep in your step until you pushed open the doors to the meeting room- Matt. goddamn Matt.

Of COURSE they decided to let Matt be the tour guide for this whole shitshow- the one person you wanted to stay away from you at all times was HERE and going to be walking around with you for a solid five minutes to your new laboratory- Jesus fuck! Was the foundation that determined to get you to kill yourself?? ‘’MC! Oh, it is so, so, great to see my new favorite employee looking so delighted about their new job promotion! Come! Let's turn this frown upside down!’’ Matt said with a disgustingly cheery tone, his annoying ass smile seemed to get brighter as your frown drooped even more as he grabbed your hand and guided you towards your gravestone- I'm sure you will looooooove your new SCP! He is very docile and kind-hearted, his only setback is that he sleeps a ton, so getting research out of him will SURELY be a hassle!’’ he let go of your hand and twirled a bit before grabbing your hand, again, and further leading you to the airlocked door of your new laboratory.

Okay, now you were convinced that everyone was on this newfound hardcore drug and that you were the only sane fucker in the facility- because what fucking Keter class is DOCILE and KIND-HEARTED? Either Matt is a complete and utter dumbass who is totally oblivious to the most important aspect of his job or he genuinely didn’t know about the class you were assigned to.

Matt opened the door for you, ushering you inside as he explained the password system to your lab, giving you the code on a sticky note, and walking over to a panel that had several buttons on it as he flicked on a button which turned on the lights in the ‘’research station’’ as he calls it before he beckoned you over to him- ‘’And now for the grand reveal..! I, Matt, will be giving MC the honor of revealing their SCP!’’ he squealed, looking at you with a ‘’Hurry up and push that button’’ look as you just sighed and flicked on the switch next to the one he already turned on- with the lights slowly turning on to reveal a… Cow? No, human-cow cosplaying human curled up in the corner? What??

‘’Okay Matt, I'm going to be straight with you- what in the actual fuck is this? This isn't an SCP, it's some random guy cosplaying a cow that you plucked out of an anime convention!’’ You looked at Matt with a dumbfounded look as you looked back at the sleeping cow-cosplaying man before looking back at Matt- ‘’Oh yes it is, MC, that is in fact not a human but an SCP, he’s just assuming a human-like form to fool the task force into thinking he is docile. Not saying that he is violent, he just seems to not like his sleeping to be disturbed.’’ did Matt think you were that stupid? ‘’Matt, what the actual fuck are you talking about? ‘’Oh YeAh, He’S DoCiLe!’’ THAT MOTHERFUCKER IS ASSUMING A FORM TO FOOL PEOPLE INTO COMING INTO HIS ENCLOSURE! No, and I mean NO docile ANYTHING assumes a form to lure people into its habitat! How the hell can you actually look me in my face and tell me that it's DOCILE?!’’ you angrily pointed towards the still sleeping cowman

Matt's tone darkened, ‘’Let's not forget our positions here, or do you really want a black mark that badly? Either way, you have a job to do- valuable research to provide to the Foundation, i highly suggest you start moving to assess the SCP’s danger level- now, please. He told you, handing you a briefing file that you didn’t even know he had with him- your eyes quickly scanning over the material of said file, landing on one specific word before you looked up and stared into the soul of poor Matt.

It's like the fucker wanted you eliminated and wiped off of the face of the earth at his earliest convenience! This was downright ridiculous- get into the enclosure WITH a demon Keter class? Are you serious? fuuuuuck that.

You pinched the bridge of your nose in annoyance, ‘’Oh godfuckingdammit! Give me a break! A COW! A COW!! A DEMON COW AT THAT! You’ve got to be joking- seriously! If I walk in that THING’s enclosure I'm going to be not pushing 26 but fuckin’ DAISIES! Matt, I don't think you understand the problem here, You're putting me in the same room as a KETER- do you want me dead that bad?’’

Matt shook his head- ‘’Get in the enclosure, the black mark doesn't argue back nor does the rest of HR, after all, they will side with me, once again.’’

‘’Fuck you, Matt.’’ You said whilst angrily punching in the code to the enclosure- cautiously walking into the brightly lit room as you had a one-man staredown with the cow before you softly tapped your foot, attempting to wake it without immediately being torn limb from limb- and somehow you succeeded- having a grumbling, somewhat pissed, cow look at you like you just kicked a puppy and napalmed an orphanage, and kicked someone's grandma down a flight of stairs- god how much you missed the Med-Bay now…

Now that you could get a clear view of your short-time good ol’ buddy and pal- you could see his outfit clearly; somewhat blue hair with white streaks on the tips, a tired look adorning his face, and a blue jacket with a hood that he paired with an olive colored pair of pants, with damn near knee high brown boots- what in the actual fuck was this guy wearing? Damn, where did they FIND this man?

‘’What do you want?’’

What in the fuck- who said that? You thought to yourself, glancing back to an empty lab with no Matt in sight- oh that fucker REALLY wanted you dead. ‘’Fucking Matt…’’

Was it that voice that was nagging you about being a bad person and this that and the third earlier? Maybe it was… him?

‘’Was that you who just said that?’’ you stared at the cow who was lying down on the ground, watching it for any movement in its mouth before you heard the voice again- ‘’Yes, now answer my question already.’’- were you actually going schizophrenic or something? Because you were just staring at his mouth and didn't move one bit when you heard the voice- ‘’The fuck? Are you talking telepathically?’’ you asked the cow, only to get a now angry response- ‘’Are you deaf? Or just willfully being ignorant? Do you have zero sense of danger?’’

That's right, that cow was asking you to answer its question- ‘’I want the same thing as you do, for me to get the fuck outta here. I don't know if you saw that guy back there but he FORCED me to be in here with you.’’ You gestured to the empty room across from the both of you before you noticed something small and pink on the glass window- and you couldn’t get to it due to the walking threat lying down in front of you, especially the fact that any sudden movement could aggravate this guy and send you 6ft under, pushing daisies.

‘’So you're stuck here too, that guy wrote on that paper something about how he locked the doors for bonding time’’ The cow gestured towards the pink paper that was on the window, and then looked back at you.

Without missing a beat, he suddenly appeared in front of you and wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing it with some considerable force since your face slightly twitched at the sudden cutoff of oxygen, and the cow did NOT seem to like that result as he let up with the squeezing- ‘’You really don't have any sense of danger, huh?’’ at this point, you didn’t even try to fight his grip, you just shrugged and accepted your fate- ‘’I do have a sense of danger- I just knew what type of bullshit I would be going into, but y’know, I'm forced to work with you. No point in having a sense of danger if you're just going to die by the end of the business day.’��

He sighed and fully let go of you, walking back to his previous spot in the corner and curling up into a ball, hiding his face from the bright lights of the room- ‘’How boring, it's no fun killing you if you're already wanting to die, that's like im granting your shitty wish. I'm a demon, not a genie.

‘’If you're a demon then go do us both a solid and kill that fucker, Matt!’’ you thought to yourself, rolling your eyes at the thought of his eventual return- ‘’What exactly did this Matt guy do to you for his name to be accompanying some form of death every five fucking seconds in your head?! You need to take anger management classes or something.’’

This fucking sassy fuck- ‘’It's because Matt sat there and LOCKED me in a room with YOU, no offense by the way, all for the purpose of killing me- like what type of psychopath sits there and leaves the glory of watching your greatest enemy be killed in real-time to go frolic around in an imaginary field or whatever he does in his free time! It's borderline stupid!’’

‘’Not only that, the guy keeps on babbling on about how you're so docile and kind-hearted!’’ You finished your rant about Matt, laying down against the cold, hard tiles and staring up into the ceiling- ‘’what a dumbass.’’ ‘’Tell me about it- the guys been doing nothing but riding my ass for the past six years and the moment he got a promotion he starts going on a whole tangent about how he’s so important and that he’ll put a mark on me if I step out of line- fucking power-tripping!’’

‘’And he got this promotion because why?’’

‘’Because he [DATA EXPURGED BY ADMIN_M], [REDACTED].’’

The cow seemed to pause at your words before he uncurled himself and stared at you, much to your dismay- ‘’He… did what to [REDACTED]?’’

‘’Yeah, he did, the only and probably only SCP I will ever trust again. And he [DATA EXPURGED BY ADMIN_M], and I hate his fucking guts for it- I sometimes wonder about her family she used to tell me stories about… I really wanted to meet some of her older brothers if our plan worked.’’

‘’Tell me about these stories [REDACTED] told you, now.’’ ‘’It's not like I have anything better to do.’’ . . . . . . . . . ‘’She really was the light of the foundation, making the suicide rate in this damned place drop to an all-time low! Hell, even the SCPs themselves enjoyed her presence, and that's impressive to get that senile old man down the hallway to shut the fuck up with his happy-go-lucky attitude.’’

Rename FILE.[FOLDER_2]? > Please select one option. (Yes/Yes)

Enter a new name for FILE.[FOLDER_2]. > [Paranoia] . . .

Saving FILE.[PARANOIA].. Please wait..

<<< ''Do you really want to go back?'' || ''Are you sure you want to return?'' >>>

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hopelessromantic5 · 8 months

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Opening to a very long fic that I’ve been working on forever.

Merlin and Arthur meet as young teenagers instead of young adults. They grow and mature together. Arthur being aware of his magic the entire time. Also Igraine lives because I love her.

As far back as he could remember, life as a human, for Arthur Pendragon, was confusing.

When he celebrated his 5th name-day, and was gifted a brand new sparkling mirror for his chambers, Arthur would sit for hours looking at himself. At his body, wondering what was going on inside that he could not see, but could feel. The constant beat of his heart, the expanding of his lungs as he drew breath, of course he didn’t know the names of all these things yet, but he knew they were important. They must be, to be locked in a cage of bone and flesh. To be hidden from the world.

Some days, Arthur would peer into the looking glass and would not recognize himself. As if he were looking at a stranger, or a mythical creature that his mother liked to tell him stories of. It seemed so foreign, to have hands that flex and move muscles all the way up his arms, to stand on two legs and walk about the world, trying to do what, exactly? His young brain was attempting to compute things that no one has just one answer for.

There were times when Arthur could feel his mortality and physical limits like cold iron bars, he didn’t have a name for it, yet it always settled into his chest and left him staring at his canopy, unable to sleep.

But other times…

Other times he felt like he could fly off the ramparts, or take on an army with a hand tied behind his back. As he grew older, he learned to request leave from his father to practice riding when he felt this way.

By 10 summers, Arthur was more proficient with horses than most adult nobles, and nearly up to par with the infamous knights of Camelot.

His training started a year later.

#merthur #merlin #arthur pendragon #merthur fic #merlin and arthur #Igraine loves #Arthur knows about Merlin’s magic #teenager fic?#Uther is an AWFUL father #we’re not surprised are we?#background morgwen #Arthur has synesthesia #Arthur also has a toned down instinctual magic #but he doesn’t see it that way #Arthur also struggles with panic attacks due to past trauma involving Uther #when I post to ao3 there will be trigger warnings

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nebuladreamz · 2 years

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GAMERS!! WE'RE LIVE!!

I DIDN'T MEAN TO TAKE SO FUCKING LONG SORRY YALL U M-

#nebula writes #starlit skies #fnaf starlit skies #trigger warning for fucked nightmares #panic attacks and just overall a bad time in the beginning #i was feeling goofy #fnaf sun x reader #fnaf sun x y/n #fnaf moon x y/n #fnaf moon x reader #fnaf dca x reader #dca x reader #dca community #i pulled an all nighter for this please read (/hj)#edit: it may be- funky #i am writing this with 0 hours of sleep

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undertale-predator-au · 2 months

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Undertale AU Predatortale!Papyrus route- Chapter 7- Dance of the Spaghetti

TRIGGER WARNING: DDDNE, character death, blood, panic attacks

Silence. That was all that remained in the room where Papyrus was resting in his bed, peering at the ceiling through half-open eyes as he listened to the only audible sound being the soft breathing of the sleeping human close by. Although he was tired, exhausted even from his sudden onset of dizziness that nearly sent him to the floor earlier that evening, he was still struggling against the urge to finally drift off. Given how his brother had been acting, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of unease at what he may be planning to do should Papyrus finally drift off to sleep. However, as time passed, there was no sign of movement outside the door, no creeping shadow from underneath where light peered in from the hallway, just silence.

As he felt it become more difficult to fight against his body’s desire for rest, the tall skeleton had to wonder if perhaps he had this whole situation all wrong. After all, even though it was suspicious for him to suggest Papyrus have the human close to him, the way that Sans had presented the idea with obvious understanding of Papyrus’s doubt had left a twinge of guilt on his soul for having spoken so poorly about him to the human. Sans wasn’t a bad brother, far from it, he always acted with Papyrus’s wellbeing in mind, but this human child suddenly showing up was all too convenient.

Easy prey.

Papyrus jolted, his bones rattling for a moment before he slowly steady his breathing. Why on earth would that come to mind? They weren’t prey. Far from it in fact. They were lost, afraid, and of all the monsters in the underground to find them it was Sans. They needed help, they needed to be protected, they-

A sound echoed from where Frisk layed, drawing Papyrus’s gaze away from the door as he shifted his skull to see them stirring in their sleep. An audible whimper emanated from their trembling frame as they curled in on themselves. Then they spoke in a whisper. An apology mumbled into the quiet atmosphere as they then became still again. He had to wonder what they were apologizing for, let alone to who. Perhaps they had a fight and ran away from home? No doubt someone was worried about them, searching for them even.

Papyrus quietly exhaled, turning his skull away as he gazed at the door once more. Wherever this human child came from, they had to have had a home, a family, and just like how much Sans cared for him, no doubt they had someone who was equally concerned. Such a thought more than bolstered the tall skeleton’s resolve to see the child kept safe from harm. However, the longer he stared at the door, the more difficult it became to keep his eye sockets in focus. It was a matter of seconds before sleep finally took him, whisking him away into the peaceful cradle of his own dreams.

In the other room, Sans stared at the wall that separated his and Papyrus’s room. The silence on the other side had him grimace in annoyance as he lightly tapped his foot. He wasn’t sure how long it would be for the medicine to take effect, but he was starting to grow impatient. Where it was true that he did feel bad for the kid, he had to remember that this was for the good of his brother. Papyrus could not go on much longer just on substitute alone. Sans, Gaster as well, had both found means of retaining their strength, some less moral than the usual method of hunting humans, but Papyrus had gone on starving himself for much longer than their entrapment.

Sans never liked hunting anything that wasn’t full grown, especially given the lack of meat for the effort put in, but he had in the past needed to deal with such situations, as distasteful as they were. However, even though he felt bad for the human he had put in the lion's den, he still had a lingering feeling in him that somehow they deserved it. Sure, Sans’s inaction had led to a lot of trouble in the past where he almost dusted, but there was something deeper that made him resent this human in particular, even if he couldn’t put a finger on the reason why.

Perhaps because they have wronged you several times in the past?

The annoying shrill echoed in his head uninvited once more, causing him to growl in annoyance as he continued listening for any changes on the other side of the wall. They were in the middle of executing a very crucial part of the plan to save his brother and for some reason they felt the need to feed into a passing thought? Though he couldn’t help but feel there was truth in that, as to how he couldn’t draw up any conclusions on that matter. After all, he had never met the kid before seeing them in the woods before Snowdin in the last run, so when would they have done anything to make him think they deserved to be served up on a silver platter?

Ah…so you don’t recall? It might make you feel better~

They hummed as they held that thought out like bait on a stick, Sans huffing in annoyance.

“...I don’t know what you’re keeping from me, but now is not the time, yeah?”

The voice let out a huff as they seemed to pout, but couldn’t deny that the skeleton had a point. Right now they had to ensure the success of their carefully laid out plan. After all, there was no telling when they would get another chance like this. With Papyrus’s suspicion of what Sans was up to, not to mention Gaster’s close monitoring of his activities, they likely only had this once shot to guarantee the survival of his brother. Sure, Sans could always have forced Papyrus to cooperate, but it had to be by Papyrus’s own two hands, even if coaxed by some carefully administered medication.

In the other room, Papyrus had drifted off to dreamland as a delicious thought came to mind. Spaghetti. It was an affordable food source, a shared culinary delicacy favored amongst the masses. In his dreams, all around him were plates of spaghetti, each more delicious looking than the last. As he freely traversed through this buffet laid before him, one plate called out to him with the most enticing aromas his nose had ever caught whiff of. The color, the presentation, this was truly the perfect plate. A culinary masterpiece beyond all measure. He approached it, reaching out, not even aware he was drooling at the time, trying to grab hold of it as it seemingly darted out of reach. The plate bounced around, dodging his attempts to grab hold. Although such a thing was unheard of, he paid it no mind, his instincts driving him to pounce after it, blocking it from traversing the path behind him as he cornered the meal.

Spaghetti wasn’t supposed to cry. It doesn’t scream. It doesn’t beg for help. It doesn’t talk after all, so all of it was easy for him to ignore as just his imagination. With one final pounce, he found himself absolutely delighted with the flavor of the sauce, the perfectly cooked noodles, and the delicious meatballs seasoned to perfection. Enjoying his meal, the cries he knew he had imagined started to fade away, first into a weak gurgling in the sauce, then total silence. Papyrus continued to eat, eating the plate as though he hadn’t eaten in days or even years. It was far beyond anything he had ever had before, truly a work of art from whatever chef had crafted it. However, as he took note of the messy plate and the sauce all over his hands, he started to feel something was odd about this dish.

It was wearing a striped shirt and shorts? Spaghetti doesn’t wear clothes. It had hair? Why, such a silly notion, spaghetti didn’t even have heads upon which to grow it. Perhaps the chef had a particular taste in the art of his culinary works? Truly, a bit difficult for even Papyrus to understand, but perhaps it was just one of many things he had yet to learn about the vast world of the art of pasta and pasta related affairs. Even so, it felt strange, the plate he was consuming, for it to have hair, for it to have clothes, and for it to have been crying? However, no tears were being shed anymore, no words pleading for him to stop, there was only silence now, as well as a very satisfied feeling in the skeleton’s belly. Licking his hands, he blinked a couple of times, the colorful world with plates on plates of spaghetti seemingly fading away into darkness, a smell of iron overtaking his senses as he felt his consciousness returning.

The colorful, brightly lit room that once held the buffet of his dreams had faded away to a pitch black, one that his vision began to adjust to ever so slowly. However, upon recognizing it as his room, he found the smell to be unfamiliar, as well as intoxicating as his drool dripped from his mouth down his jaw bone. With his vision becoming clearer than it had ever been before, he gazed down upon where the plate of spaghetti had been. Blinking once again, his eye sockets widened, horror slowly creeping upon his face as he gazed upon the mess in front of him. The body of a dead human laid before him, beyond repair, as a red glowing soul weakly flickered in place.

Silence continued for an hour more before there was a sudden sound of shuffling in the other room, along with the sound of growling. Sans took a step towards the wall, listening intently, before hearing that blood curdling cry that he had grown so accustomed to during his hunts. The sound of struggle. The sound of begging. He had to admit that even his appetite was getting a little riled up from it, but as silence fell once more, he could smell it. Blood. That was all the signal he needed before he heard a loud thud against the wall, along with the sound of his brother hyperventilating loudly in a panic, as Sans found himself bursting out of his room and over to the door leading to his brother’s.

“P-Papyrus? PAPYRUS?! Are you okay?!”

Sans didn’t wait for a response, throwing open the door and being blasted in the face by the all too familiar metallic smell of blood, causing him to cover his mouth to hide the drool that was emanating from him. Even with how well fed he kept himself with other means of nutrition, the smell of a live kill was enough to put any monster into a frenzy. Now was not the time though, his brother needed him. Badly. Rushing over to Papyrus’s side, he checked him over, not seeing any harm done to his brother, not even a scratch, but it was obvious he was in mental turmoil.

“Papyrus, hey! Look-Look at me! HEY!”

His brother continued to rattle his bones in a mental breakdown unlike any he had ever seen before. Sans remembered how Papyrus had saved the human last time by exhausting his magic and sending them to Waterfall, but it was obvious that this time had not been the case. Keeping his focus, he stood between Papyrus’s gaze at the fallen human, blocking the tall skeleton’s view of his first ever hunt as he placed a hand on his brother’s cheek.

“Hey…it’s okay…Paps…I’m here…”

Sans remained there, keeping his brother’s view of the corpse obscured until finally his brother took note of his presence. Shaky quick breaths began to slow, the rattling remaining at its peak as tears started to fall. Choking out words of apologies, of guilt and regret, Papyrus trembled as he broke down sobbing. Hugging his brother tightly, he buried his view into his brother’s oversized jacket, not wanting to see what he had done to the one he swore he would protect. Wailing loudly as Sans tried his best to console him, gently rubbing his back as tears soaked the hoody straight through.

“Shhh…it’ll be okay…it’ll all be okay…I promise…”

The tall skeleton continued to tremble and rattle in his arms, just like he had done all those years ago as a babybones when Sans had killed the human who had kidnapped him right in front of his eyes. Sans never liked seeing Papyrus like this, knowing how much his brother blamed him despite understanding the circumstances. However, in this instance, it had been Papyrus’s doing, and that guilt was weighing heavily upon him.

“I…S-Sans…! I…I didn’t mean…!”

Continuing to hold him close, Sans quietly shushed him more, all the while checking for any signs of instability in his brother’s soul. Truth was, monster souls were resilient, more so than a human’s which only lingered for a time before fading into nothingness, which unfortunately meant they had a limited window for the next step of the plan, and thus the next lie he needed to tell. With a shaky breath, Sans pulled Papyrus off slightly, looking at him.

“We can fix this…we just need…we need to get the soul to the old man…okay?” Papyrus shook his head, there was no fixing what he did. The human was dead, there was no fixing it, but still Sans persisted.

“I know it seems impossible, but you gotta trust me on this one, Paps…” Although Papyrus knew there was no fixing this, that even with the soul he couldn’t undo the damage, he had to wonder what Sans was talking about. Sans had found this human, Papyrus sought to protect them, but now there was only a dimly lit soul that seemed like it was about ready to go out at any moment. There was no time for questioning what Sans meant, however, if it were a lie or if it was true he could fix it, so Papyrus reluctantly let go of his hold on his brother, allowing for Sans to stand once more and turn to the mess that had been left behind.

Sans slowly approached the soul, it seemed to almost shudder in horror at the sight of him, but Sans simply pulled out a container from his inventory, one that Gaster had provided him on such occasions that the human was unable to be delivered in their entirety to the lab.

“Sorry…this is why I hate making promises, kid…but don’t worry…I got ya… The doctor will fix you up…promise…” Lies seemed to come so naturally to him as of late, likely the influence of his benefactor pulling the strings, but in this moment he felt it was a needed comfort, if only for his brother to hold onto the false hope that all this could be ‘fixed’ in some way. The soul’s trembling seemed to lessen with his words as well, the container enclosing and protecting the soul from permanently fading away as Sans looked upon it with a sigh of relief. Returning the container to his inventory, he glanced back at his brother, his eye sockets widening at what he saw. Papyrus was licking his hands. Tears were still flowing, his bones still rattling, but his brother continued, almost like he couldn’t stop, and it was obviously making him weep all the more.

The first kill was a different experience for all monsters. Case by case basis often had feelings of guilt, some more than others in taking the life of another sentient creature, but once you got over that, became numb to it, it was something you could find methods to ignore for the sake of the hunt. It seemed Papyrus, although reaching the conclusion that all were forced to come to terms within monsterkind, was definitely one of those who would carry the guilt for a long time, perhaps even with his subsequent hunts. Even so, he didn’t stop cleaning his hand, his teeth, tears adding unwanted saltiness, but not deterring him from his actions. Soft apologies emanated from Papyrus’s trembling form as Sans walked over and knelt down in front of his brother, continuing to console him, embracing his trembling brother as the seemingly longest night of his life came to a close.

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#fanfiction #predatortale #foxy-sierra #undertale #undertale au #fanfic #predatortale!papyrus route #fan fiction #blood #death #character death #panic attack #mental health mention #tw #trigger warning #blood tw #death tw #character death tw

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