Warning(s):
This story contains violence (blood and gore accompanying), suicide, depression*, and sexual situations (some without consent). If any of this are triggering for you, do not force yourself to read further.
*Depression can appear in more forms than just "being sad." Some people do have little restraint with their emotions, but others are so drained they can't feel anymore and daily tasks are exhausting. The root of depression can be identified, but do be aware some can't explain why and never do find their answer almost as if it was inherited. This is included because the author does not want confusion about its portrayal. Yes, you can Google common symptoms but one's experience will not be the same as another.
Note:
The author understands the concept behind putting a self insert/oc into whatever media they like. It's pure wish fulfillment. However, the author also finds it somewhat overwhelming to see that trend on the rise – particularly in video games. But while very, very few stories with that set up catch their eye they at least want to get in the mindset of those who do. To put it simply: their intent with this story is to take the concept of an "ordinary person" into Skyrim without flashy abilities or Sue powers. They're not the Dragonborn by any means.
About the main character – her biography will be mentioned in the description, but be aware the author made her a woman because they've seen more female self inserts than male or neither and they've assumed that's trendy. There will also be other ocs in this story, only in the parts taking place in the real world. They shouldn't steal the spotlight, but are relevant enough as friends of hers.
The author doesn't know every minor detail about Skyrim, let alone the entire Elder Scrolls universe. Be aware. Be judgmental. Should you find blatant errors to lore, the author would appreciate correction.
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End of the Line
Chapter One
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Skyrim: home of the Nords. It's easy to look at it as a frozen wasteland from a bird's eye view, but look closer and you'll see beauty in the snow-covered mountains illuminated by the aurora and many tall waterfalls and even secluded areas of bushes and hot springs orange as far as the eye can see.
But it's not real.
Skyrim has its share of harsh weather conditions, large stretches of land with dangerous creatures and a lot of its architecture isn't the most colorful or different by other design choices in the series... But it has its own style. It can't be confused with any other location in Tamriel.
Even though it's not real.
The native people of Skyrim, Nords, are proud and strong people if not stubborn. They prioritize tradition above all else, don't take to change very well and would fight for what they believe in even at the cost of their own lives. There are things to criticize, there are things to admire. And while some have racist tendencies to elves and argonians, it's not fair to accuse everyone of it.
Why dwell on fictional people, however?
Joanne cared. She held her sketchbook with sweaty palms, eyebrows colliding whilst she colored in the orange leaves and sunset. This would be one of the best tries at recreating scenery from the game...at least that's what she told herself three hours ago. Finding a job? Well, she couldn't until she made sure each rock formation was unique and the deer dashing by had the right body shape. She never got too close to drawing people, and was only recently seeing animals almost resemble living creatures.
She scratched uncomfortably at her neck and shoulder, always turning inexplicably itchy when concentrating hard. Every therapist she went to never seemed concerned, insisting it was a typical reaction of anxiety. But she didn't have anxiety, praise the Divines. A lot of people in her position struggled with two enemies instead of just the big one.
The final patch of leaves were taunting her, daring her to color them in without accidentally leaving streaks of orange into the hotspring. That would suck. Getting the steam to add atmosphere was originally her worst nightmare when it came to this work. She sucked in a breath and ignored the wrist cramp, going forward.
Then her default ringtone went off.
Joanne let out an uncharacteristic swear, throwing herself across her mattress. She was glad to be alone when her phone went off; she only had her family and two friends to call. When she wasn't expecting them to call, her nerves got the best of her. She scrambled to gather her notebook, only to let out a sigh of relief as she did manage to color in the spot. It was complete. She hadn't smiled since five days ago when Sam and Chris invited her to an expensive restaurant - they paid for the dinner and everything.
But seeing her mom's contact flash on the screen did attempt to crush her mood. Joanne knew there was no putting off Mom unless she had a reason that would hold up in court. She braced herself as her thumb slid accept...
"How did the job hunt go?" Mom asked immediately, hope rising.
Joanne stuttered, heart sinking deeper. She didn't know if it was beating or not as she guiltily stared at the floor.
"Joanne?" Mom spoke up again, confused.
"I-I didn't exactly...find one." Was it a lie? Not in Joanne's mind.
Mom made a thoughtful sound in an uncomfortably long pause. Joanne panicked, fumbling with the phone and pulling it away from her ear. She needed to wave her arm around, that horrible nervous tic. "Don't worry about me, Mom! I haven't played a video game in two days! I think I'm gaining my eyesight back, and it's freaking me out and at least that'll be useful for work someday!"
"Joanne...I thought you would have given away or sold those consoles of yours by now." Mom continued with a thoroughly exasperated tone. "They have always been a distraction. Why didn't you go to college?"
Joanne looked across the room at the beloved console collection of various gens, the tangled wires coming out of one extension cord – a hazard she would remedy eventually – and her eyes finally landed on her drawing.
"I wanted to be a video game developer." Joanne answered quietly.
"But you realized you would need to pursue higher education, take some college courses." Mom finished for her, sounding like she was rolling her eyes.
"Mom-"
"You've made it clear to me and your dad higher education doesn't appeal to you. We've given you as much support as we can, helped you move into an apartment. But we're not going to pay those bills for you; if you don't give up your dream job you won't have anything."
"Is that how the world works?"
"Everyone has childhood dreams, Joanne. Part of being an adult is letting go of the past."
Joanne felt her entire mood shift. For a single minute she was beginning to feel pride in her work when it came to the drawing. She didn't have to think about keeping the power on or how she'd acquire a good meal. She hadn't been able to describe what happiness feels like in years, but had a clue then.
Her throat was dry as she pulled the phone back to her ear and grumbled. "I know I suck, Mom."
"Joanne-"
"Come on, it's not the first time you've heard it."
"Baby-"
"I don't want to think about work. I don't want to think about college, adulthood, responsibility...Maybe I just want to simulate nice feelings for a change." She couldn't stop her forceful arm movements accompanying each filthy word.
Just as she stopped to breathe, Mom couldn't choose between gasping and trying to cut in. She finally did relocate her vocal cords. "You were supposed to have a new mindset after your therapy sessions!"
"That's not how therapy works, Mom! Why do you think I went through four in three years? I couldn't find a breakthrough anywhere, feeling like wasted space every time I wasn't in the one place I could...pretend to be somebody. Inside the games." She hated how she ran out of force by the end, especially the feeling of wanting to cry. Already having dry eyes helped, at least.
Mom ran out of steam already. Joanne was tense and ready to fire back, but the opportunity never arose in the ensuing horrible twenty seconds.
"Will I ever be a responsible adult? I know you and Dad had expectations for your only child...shame that child had to be me. Shame nothing good's happened in twenty years." She accidentally hiccuped, eyes burning out of the sockets.
"Joanne, what happened for you to believe-"
Joanne ended the call and turned off her phone. She didn't mean to throw it back on her bed; it really did slip from her loose grasp. Now that the light in her mind was shoved out with darkness again, she dragged herself to a pile of boxes yet to be sorted through and collapsed against them. Mom was going to be pissed off. Dad was going to be a referee. She didn't even want Sam or Chris to find her in this state; she didn't know why they wanted to be friends with her at all since they knew her happy moods were few and far between.
She looked up at the full length mirror she had set up. It belonged to her great grandmother, and probably had a lot of family history. It was never confirmed to be a priceless antique, and Joanne hadn't looked at her reflection any more than she needed to since she was a teenager. She didn't want it, but she couldn't say that to Dad who insisted it wouldn't be in better hands.
She didn't want to look at the wasted sack of flesh and water staring back. But she did. She hated everything she saw. White skin filled with unsightly acne, limp short brown hair, dead inside brown eyes protected by slightly over-sized black glasses...and that was just the top half. She miserably wrapped her arms around her body, looking down everything she'd been taught from various media wasn't attractive. Everything from the scrawny body with teeny tiny breasts and hips. That couldn't even be blamed on her height; she was five fucking three.
When she was low video games were like crack for her. Was she addicted? Who cares? They helped her, especially fantasy settings. She never even thought she'd like Elder Scrolls, but one day she played Oblivion and didn't look back. Skyrim was the next logical step, and while it didn't measure up to Oblivion in her mind she discovered it at a time when she was feeling so lost and saddened by lack of progress in therapy that she needed something she could invest way too much time in.
One time she did a playthrough of Oblivion where she challenged herself to make it like "real life". She had to do things like eat, rest and sleep at reasonable hours. She couldn't commit to it, but for some reason managed just fine in Skyrim because sometimes she did agree with the complaints about quests not having enough variation or interest.
She could only go on a power trip in video games...as a completely different person. Maybe some players opted to recreate themselves with what customization was allowed, go even farther with mods. She found it intensely satisfying to be someone else entirely. She could be a dashing, charismatic woman or maybe even a man. She didn't judge. Either way she was powerful, attractive and as long as the game didn't run out of quests was always the center of attention. It sounded amazing. It wasn't realistic, but it didn't have to be.
It was too late to go back out and get a job. Joanne picked herself off the floor only to drag her feet across the room and sink into her computer chair. She wasn't much of a PC fan, finding the keyboard unsuitable to her chipped nails and stubby fingers. She did have some games not too high energy, but ignored them and clicked online. When she felt pathetic Sam and Chris's social media was used to "inspire" her to be better...she claimed. She didn't believe it yet.
Chris was beautiful. She always had pictures of herself smiling effortlessly, showing off new clothes she bought and somehow avoided people complaining when she was too covered or too revealing. Trolls would always be trolls, but the majority had no complaints about her. The crazy thing was that Chris wasn't a model and never even considered it as a genuine career. But Joanne didn't see why she couldn't march into a studio, bat her hazel eyes and lean her curves against the desk. It was humanly impossible to ignore her appearance.
Of course Sam was beautiful as well. They were on a more realistic level, although much more clumsy and awkward so they were usually considered cute more so than sexy. Sam didn't seem to realize there was a fanclub for stereotypical nerd qualities, and gave clueless adjusts to their over-sized glasses and vests. They were on the thinner side like Joanne, but their posts gave enthusiastic plans to finally "bulk up" as they called it. They wanted to feel good in their body. Joanne understood, and felt like they had a good chance of succeeding and that they would someday be like Chris taking pictures and being comfortable in their own skin.
Meanwhile Joanne wanted to cover every mirror she passed by, but didn't know how to explain it if her family or friends visited. She wanted to think Sam wouldn't judge her, but her mind wouldn't allow her to let that be the case. There was some kind of mental block. How could Sam or even Chris want to be friends with her? When she took her thoughts back to the past, she only saw static images of attempting to tell off their bullies on two separate occasions. Each time they stared at her wide eyed like she was a hero, but she didn't feel like one in the loosest sense because she was still terrified when the bullies turned their attention to her.
She sucked in a breath and typed messages on both friends' pages. Thank you for putting up with me. It was cryptic to the average person, but she thought Chris and Sam would know where it came from. Some people go out with a bang, but others aren't emotionally prepared to give custom farewells.
When she turned to look back at her sketchbook on the bed, she tried to force a smile. She was glad to have finished it, but she was never meant to be a professional artist. The smile wasn't sincere enough to stay on her face as she opened the top desk drawer and pulled out the rope. One day she was fortunate enough to be walking through the park when an old swing was being taken down for repairs, and it was perfect timing. Buying rope was quicker, but she didn't want anyone to become suspicious. A depression sufferer buys rope out of the blue? The implications were...spot on actually.
She couldn't think of anything to hold the rope. The ceiling fan? She wasn't heavy enough to rip it out of the ceiling, but the aftermath might cause a crash and some attention. She looked at it in her hands, caressed her ticket out. Was she meant to cry? Her eyes were just too tired and dry for that. It just gave her peace to think it might hurt at first but she would pass away before feeling her neck break or however it worked.
She wasn't physically strong, but she wrapped it around her own throat and thought about everything she missed out on in life. All her childhood hope for the future not amounting to anything. How she stacked up to her friends. How much she didn't want to be the loser who sat around and played video games for twenty one hours a day instead of contributing to society.
The pressure around her throat increased and through fading vision she thought she saw her final drawing, the one last source of some accomplishment, flash before her eyes with vivid colors.