11-16-2018, 12:17 AM
— cw: drug use, vomiting, descriptions of violence
prompt words are bolded
By the time she started seeing Them again, Radeken realized that literally anything - carving herself open with a knife, or maybe somebody else, or a self-induced seizure, or a long fall off a steep cliff, even - would’ve been better for her mental state than this. Than running from phantoms all across the territory, dizzy and dry-mouthed and shaking all over. This was among her ugliest habits, her most ill-adviced methods of entertainment, her most unhealthy coping mechanisms. It wasn’t anything new and it wasn’t anything she didn’t do to herself willingly, but every single time the concoction hit and she found herself trembling in the dark like this, a wave of emotion the likes of which she’d never be so lucky to experience when sober (never mind that these feelings were all of panic and distress) had her repeating the same old thing to herself: This isn’t good. This is the worst thing I could have done to myself. Why did I do this?
She was near the Observatory. Close enough that she could consider going back to her room to lay down and ride the paranoia out, lock herself in place until the noises quieted and They stopped haunting the blurry corners of her vision. She wasn’t gonna do all that, though. Maybe she just wasn’t in a right enough state of mind to carry that thought out, or maybe it was masochism, or maybe They had appeared, twisted and sickening, blocking her path and chasing her off but whatever the reason, Radeken ran. A war drum cacophony echoed around her like thunder, dull and steady thrumming that could’ve been her heartbeat or another hallucination or just the weather taking a turn for the worse but the white hot bolt of alarm that shot through her chest in response only served to drive her further from sanctuary, running like the devil was after her (in her state, the thought wasn’t too far from wrong.)
This wasn’t by any means an elegant retreat. Radeken tripped and she fell numerous times, scrambling to her feet, failing to remain upright while her center of gravity refused to stay put and the ground squirmed and kicked back at her. She staggered across the plains panting, a black spot against a blacker sea of grass that writhed either as a product of her altered state or under the caress of storm winds. Is it always storming? Were the chills that wracked her body not just the dozens of icy raindrops that the sky had been threatening to release all this time? I’ll drown, she thought, wading through a river of grass and avoiding eye contact with the faces that appeared there. Was it getting deeper? Am I sinking? Am I drowning? The moonlight seem so distant, not light at all but the whitecaps of the ocean around her, and she was lost.
This is what happens, she supposed - or rather, something in her headspace supposed, with a too calm to possibly be hers in that moment. When you don’t scold a child for taking her own games too seriously. The whitecaps became the frothing spit in Their mouths and then they became the teeth she took from Them and the ocean Radeken was fighting through bared it’s teeth at her, gnawed her like a leg stuck in a trap. You were too gifted for your own good, but that’s all you are, isn’t it? Not-Radeken observed. The cold rain felt hot, suddenly. An ocean turned drool turned fangs felt thick, sticky, smelled like iron and irony. But you still bleed. Was she bleeding? She couldn’t tell if she was, she felt like she was, she felt horrible. Like she was dying.
She didn’t realize she was vomiting at first, not until she noticed that all that heat was inside of her and leaving rapidly — choking her, foam and bile and violence. This was it, this was drowning. Like a fly in amber, like all those dead oddities stuffed and preserved in glasses of formaldehyde. Hers would be modest, just a head (for her brain, for her terrible, wonderful brain) labeled She Thought Herself a God, but She Bled Anyway. Or perhaps, This is All That Was Left. Or Puke Girl (she didn’t want to be puke girl).
They were gaining on her rapidly, and she had finally learned how to swim well enough to escape again. They were going to kill her. To leave her just a head (All That Was Left) and do all they were owed to the rest of her. Tear and rip and snap. They weren’t here to talk, to complain, to reprimand her. They were here for her. For blood (She Bled Anyway). Radeken would be damned if she let them have their way. She won once, wasn’t that enough?
tl;dr / a lot of the things described as happening arent happening bc she’s fucked up so what’s what:
when rad gets bored she dips into some hallucinogens that she already knows make her paranoid & anxious and she runs around in Absolute Terror for a while to blow off steam.
she thinks it’s raining but it isn’t and she thinks she’s being chased, and then drowning, but she isn’t. her paws are a little cut up, she’s vomited, and she is terribly out of it.
she’s out running in the plains rn.
prompt words are bolded
By the time she started seeing Them again, Radeken realized that literally anything - carving herself open with a knife, or maybe somebody else, or a self-induced seizure, or a long fall off a steep cliff, even - would’ve been better for her mental state than this. Than running from phantoms all across the territory, dizzy and dry-mouthed and shaking all over. This was among her ugliest habits, her most ill-adviced methods of entertainment, her most unhealthy coping mechanisms. It wasn’t anything new and it wasn’t anything she didn’t do to herself willingly, but every single time the concoction hit and she found herself trembling in the dark like this, a wave of emotion the likes of which she’d never be so lucky to experience when sober (never mind that these feelings were all of panic and distress) had her repeating the same old thing to herself: This isn’t good. This is the worst thing I could have done to myself. Why did I do this?
She was near the Observatory. Close enough that she could consider going back to her room to lay down and ride the paranoia out, lock herself in place until the noises quieted and They stopped haunting the blurry corners of her vision. She wasn’t gonna do all that, though. Maybe she just wasn’t in a right enough state of mind to carry that thought out, or maybe it was masochism, or maybe They had appeared, twisted and sickening, blocking her path and chasing her off but whatever the reason, Radeken ran. A war drum cacophony echoed around her like thunder, dull and steady thrumming that could’ve been her heartbeat or another hallucination or just the weather taking a turn for the worse but the white hot bolt of alarm that shot through her chest in response only served to drive her further from sanctuary, running like the devil was after her (in her state, the thought wasn’t too far from wrong.)
This wasn’t by any means an elegant retreat. Radeken tripped and she fell numerous times, scrambling to her feet, failing to remain upright while her center of gravity refused to stay put and the ground squirmed and kicked back at her. She staggered across the plains panting, a black spot against a blacker sea of grass that writhed either as a product of her altered state or under the caress of storm winds. Is it always storming? Were the chills that wracked her body not just the dozens of icy raindrops that the sky had been threatening to release all this time? I’ll drown, she thought, wading through a river of grass and avoiding eye contact with the faces that appeared there. Was it getting deeper? Am I sinking? Am I drowning? The moonlight seem so distant, not light at all but the whitecaps of the ocean around her, and she was lost.
This is what happens, she supposed - or rather, something in her headspace supposed, with a too calm to possibly be hers in that moment. When you don’t scold a child for taking her own games too seriously. The whitecaps became the frothing spit in Their mouths and then they became the teeth she took from Them and the ocean Radeken was fighting through bared it’s teeth at her, gnawed her like a leg stuck in a trap. You were too gifted for your own good, but that’s all you are, isn’t it? Not-Radeken observed. The cold rain felt hot, suddenly. An ocean turned drool turned fangs felt thick, sticky, smelled like iron and irony. But you still bleed. Was she bleeding? She couldn’t tell if she was, she felt like she was, she felt horrible. Like she was dying.
She didn’t realize she was vomiting at first, not until she noticed that all that heat was inside of her and leaving rapidly — choking her, foam and bile and violence. This was it, this was drowning. Like a fly in amber, like all those dead oddities stuffed and preserved in glasses of formaldehyde. Hers would be modest, just a head (for her brain, for her terrible, wonderful brain) labeled She Thought Herself a God, but She Bled Anyway. Or perhaps, This is All That Was Left. Or Puke Girl (she didn’t want to be puke girl).
They were gaining on her rapidly, and she had finally learned how to swim well enough to escape again. They were going to kill her. To leave her just a head (All That Was Left) and do all they were owed to the rest of her. Tear and rip and snap. They weren’t here to talk, to complain, to reprimand her. They were here for her. For blood (She Bled Anyway). Radeken would be damned if she let them have their way. She won once, wasn’t that enough?
tl;dr / a lot of the things described as happening arent happening bc she’s fucked up so what’s what:
when rad gets bored she dips into some hallucinogens that she already knows make her paranoid & anxious and she runs around in Absolute Terror for a while to blow off steam.
she thinks it’s raining but it isn’t and she thinks she’s being chased, and then drowning, but she isn’t. her paws are a little cut up, she’s vomited, and she is terribly out of it.
she’s out running in the plains rn.