#and very busy. college. was so deep in a depressive spiral i had pretty much accepted i would live and die completely alone and men didn’t | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vennilavee · 4 years ago

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the warm vortex

[main masterlist]

Pairing: bucky, sam, steve, natasha and reader. more platonic than anything really. and it’s mostly reader centric.

Please read the warnings before you read!!!

Summary: you’ve had high functioning depression for as long as you can remember. sometimes you can manage it, and sometimes it’s extremely difficult. you’re finding it hard to reel yourself in and you’re spiraling, but luckily you have some pretty great friends to help.

Warnings: really heavy discussions and inner thoughts of depression and anxiety. Also heavy use of alcohol. Please don’t read if any of these topics are hard for you to read about- you gotta do what’s best for you!

Word Count: 6596

A/N: written for @barnesandco‘s 1k challenge, with the prompt stay by rihanna ft mikky ekko. this was pretty therapeutic to write. this is also a rewrite of mutual and make me feel (undecided if i want to leave it up or not though).

It wasn’t always like this, that much you knew. You can’t think of a time when it wasn’t like this, but you knew there was a time when this bottomless pit didn’t exist on a permanent, full-time basis. There was a time when this darkness didn’t live rent free in your head, seeping energy from you in places you were hopeless to defend.

It’s not so bad most days. The darkness is mostly background noise, drowned out by the sweet taste of light. You have mostly healthy habits. You see a therapist once a week, and you text her sometimes, too. You have a journal. You paint. You read. You see your friends once in a while. You enjoy being in the presence of people who see you. The boxes are mostly checked. You’re just the perfect portrait, aren’t you? But you’re not immune to your vices. But you’re human, so wonderfully human. And you’re trying your best.

Just like anything else in life, things ebb and flow. Some days are relatively okay. Some days, you just want to be alone and let time pass you by. Some days, your mind is racing at a speed that you can’t catch up to. Some days, your mind and heart feel empty.

But somehow, you pull yourself up. Whether it’s by yourself or with the help of your friends.

The last time you felt that it was unbearable, that you felt numb, was when you were in college. You can’t remember the reason or the catalyst for it- perhaps you had always some of that numbness trailing along and blooming quietly. But you had finally found the word to describe it. You recall sleeping at any moment that you could, your appetite waxing and waning, seeds of hopelessness and guilt planting themselves in your heart and making homes there. It felt endless. An endless tunnel of...nothing. You recall drifting through your days, passively sitting in lectures, half listening to friends, somehow convincing them and yourself that you were okay. You were good at deflecting and you knew it.

Until it had become too much to bear by yourself. You couldn’t take the waves of uncharted sadness, the weight of the world on your shoulders. You were on the edge of something and everything was spinning out of control and yet you were standing still, unmoving.

Somehow you had gotten through college and graduate school, with the help of your long term therapist. For the first time in a long time, you felt a morsel of hope. For the first time in a long time, you could feel the sun illuminating your back.

After graduate school, you had managed to land a job at Stark Industries. It had taken you two video interviews and three in person panel interviews, but it was yours. You’d be right in the heart of Manhattan, in your favorite city. New York City was meant for you, and you were meant for it. You quite enjoyed the feeling of being in the midst of the chaos, bustle, and noise of the city and knowing that you were virtually a nobody. The anonymity of the city has always comforted you.

It had been about six or seven years since you had landed the job with Stark Industries. Now that your career had a solid start with Tony Stark, you were a well known name not just in the building, but amongst competitors and your peers in the industry as well. You were grateful that Tony encouraged your career development by letting you explore department to department. Tony often called you the jack of all trades because you were able to seamlessly offer perspectives and evidence based opinions for nearly any department at Stark Industries.

Which is why your agility and eagerness to learn had gotten you to a director role in less than ten years, a feat very nearly unheard of in corporate America. Let alone at Stark Industries.

And that meant that you knew many of the Avengers on a professional and personal level as well. You were quite fond of your relationships with them- the fact that you can call them friends has ceased to amaze you now. It feels normal. After all, they are only human.

You can recognize the tells of when things are getting bad. There isn’t a specific thing that you can pinpoint that makes it worse, even after all these years. It just comes when it wants. And it lifts a little bit when it wants. You’re constantly on edge, and yet at the same time you can feel the familiar pull of numbness. You’re not sleeping or you’re sleeping too much. And of course, you’re isolating yourself subtly. So as to shield yourself from perceived vulnerability and intimacy.

And yet, isn’t that just what you craved?

A dullness hangs over your head and you try your best to see through it.

You don’t really notice the concerned looks that you’ve been on the receiving end of from your friends. Bucky and Natasha, ever so perceptive. Steve and Sam, ever so observant. Or maybe you do notice, and you just avoid any display or discussion of vulnerability. They text you every so often, just to say hello. See how you’re doing. Or they’ll somehow find you in the tower, and they always come with snacks and water for you.

What great friends you have, and you can’t even look them in the eye. Your cheeks burn with shame, but you grin and bear it. Claiming that you’re just tired. Busy. You’ve got a lot on your calendar.

Bucky jokingly had asked if your executive assistant could pencil him in, even just for fifteen minutes. You had snorted and told him that you didn’t make enough money for an executive assistant. Yet.

Bucky often finds you around the labs and tech transfer rooms. Most of the time he sees you alone, completing some documentation and drawing up plans for the next day or week. Sometimes he sees you with your coworkers, discussing strategy. You always offer him a smile and a wave, even if you’re deep in heated debate with your team members. Maybe it’s something of a happy coincidence that you both are around there at the same time. Similar interests and all.

It’s the nights when he sees you alone in the laboratory corridors that you both get to know each other, beyond pleasantries. It takes a few weeks for you to even ask what he’s doing there. That’s when you learn of his interest in the industry part of ‘Stark Industries’, and how he is fascinated by the advancements of the century. The nights turn into almost daily hangouts, complete with takeout and snacks. Bucky finds himself comfortable enough to sit in your office with his legs up on the desk.

You always chide him with a roll of your eyes, but there’s never any heat behind it. Small talk had slowly evolved into a very real friendship between the both of you, and you looked forward to seeing him at the Tower whenever you could.

Natasha Romanoff was the one who had suggested you apply for a job at Stark Industries after graduation. While she was a former SHIELD agent, now Avenger, you had met her at your favorite coffee shop to study at. Perhaps it was destiny then, that you had met one of the most elusive spies of the 20th and 21st centuries and you hadn’t even recognized her. All she had asked you was for a pen, and you had stumbled over your words and nearly spilled your coffee on yourself in an attempt to reach over and hand her a pen.

What a menace. She still never lets you live that down. What were you meant to do when someone like Natasha Romanoff asks you for a pen?

From that day, you had made it a point to study at the same cafe, hoping to catch a glimpse of her once again. And maybe have a chance at a redemption arc for your terrible first impression. Eventually, she had come back and you had struck up a conversation with her. One conversation led to another, the seasons had changed, and suddenly, Natasha Romanoff was present at your graduate school graduation ceremony, looking onwards proudly.

Becoming friends with Sam had been easy. On your first day of work at your brand new big girl job, he had been one of the first people to poke his head around and introduce himself. He had even had lunch with you on your first day, and that is a memory you hold near and dear to your heart. To remind yourself that people do genuinely like you, and that you are not the version of yourself that you’ve created in your head. The version of yourself with virtually no redeemable qualities. The figment of yourself born from your own anxieties and insecurities, that truly does not exist anywhere but your own mind.

While it was in your own mind, it didn’t make it any less real.

You and Sam had fun together- he had managed to make himself a permanent fixture in your life by sharing music and movie recommendations with you. You had even established an exclusive impromptu movie club with him, where the both of you shared opinions and thoughts on movies while tasting new wines.

It wasn’t so much as an official club, as it was two friends hanging out and enjoying the company of the other.

You had been most intimidated by Steve Rogers, and you had no reason to be. You had seen Bucky and Sam tease him, you’ve run into Steve during late nights when you were working late, and you had seen him come into the Tower bruised up and bloody after missions. You had seen him during times of vulnerability, and for whatever reason, it took you the longest to open yourself up to him. You had mostly ignored him aside from pleasantries, if you could.

Until it was a cold winter’s night, around 1 AM.

You were just getting ready to leave the Tower, making a mental note to be better about your work/life integration. Whenever you left the Tower late, Tony always made sure you were protected so you wouldn’t have to walk home alone. He also had given you a guest room in the living quarters of the Tower, but you rarely stayed there.

The smell of burning sends your adrenaline into overdrive and you quickly found the source of the burning in the kitchen. It’s Steve and Natasha hovering over an oven as billows of smoke begin to engulf the area. Steve attempts to open the oven with his bare hand before Natasha whacks him over the head and hands him an oven mitt.

You’d laugh if you were sure that the kitchen wasn’t about to get burned down.

“Uh,” You say, “You guys need help or should I leave you to it?”

They both turn around at the same time. Steve looks like a deer caught in headlights while Natasha just looks exasperated.

“We were trying to make cookies. Apparently Steve can’t be left unattended.”

“Me?! You were the one who was supposed to keep an eye on them! Now they’re all burned!”

Apparently it takes seeing Steve and Natasha bickering about who left the cookies in the oven for longer than they should have for you to feel more comfortable around Steve. Nothing like burned cookies to humanize Steve Rogers.

And so you end up baking a new batch of cookies with Steve and Natasha, helping them clean out the burned bits. And you end up staying in that guest room that Tony had gifted you many months ago.

It’s a night of firsts.

Relatively speaking, the rational part of your brain knew that things could always be worse. But repeating that to yourself like a mantra didn’t seem to soothe the near constant ache in your heart. Sometimes the ache felt like a bleak numbness more than anything. In fact, you had come to at least appreciate the ache. Because then that meant you could at least feel something. It wasn’t fair to compare pain. Pain is pain. That became your new mantra, after your therapist had framed it in a way that just made sense to you.

You can’t be faulted for the way you feel, you know that. You can’t be faulted for constantly questioning everything and everyone around you, questioning intentions, and questioning yourself. Wondering if people even liked you, or if people merely tolerated you when you could barely even stand yourself.

Once those thoughts start coming, they don’t stop. Your friends notice you digging yourself into your work, isolating yourself and avoiding them. Perhaps this time, they’ll finally realize what you are.

And yet, they still find it in themselves to invite you out for a night out. They know you’ve been struggling and just want to show you that they’re here for you. They just want you to believe them.

***

You were at a quiet but vibrant bar near your apartment, one you frequented often with Natasha, Sam, and Steve. To be honest, you hadn’t really wanted to come. But they had been resilient in their efforts to see you and make sure that you were okay. You’re able to see through the fog for a moment, cracking a smile at Bucky who is sitting at one of the barstools, chatting up the bartender. He’d taken an interest in the art of crafting a drink lately, and you quite enjoyed seeing curiosity light up his eyes. You also enjoyed being his taste tester, but honestly you were game to try anything.

Months ago, you and Sam had told Bucky that maybe he should put himself out there. He looked at the pair of you like you had grown five heads each.

“Out where, exactly?”

“Meeting people. Getting into casual dating. You’re a catch and I wish you would realize that, too.” You had said it so genuinely that he finds himself nodding slowly. The memory nearly makes you cringe- it irritates you to no degree when people tell you that you should put yourself out there. Who were you to say the same to a friend?

God, how could anyone stand you?

You take another long sip of your drink and try to center yourself in the conversation around you. Bucky sits down across from you at the booth and tells you and Sam what tips the bartender gave him when making drinks.

“Maybe you could teach him a thing or two,” You remark and he grins appreciatively.

“I think I should get one of those bartending books. To see what mixes well with what,” Bucky muses.

“I feel like you’re enjoying the experimentation of it all. That’s half the fun,” Sam says, absentmindedly peeling the sticker off of the bottle of beer.

“Did you know that if you peel labels off of bottles, it means you’re sexually frustrated?” You say off-handedly, grinning when their eyebrows rise in unison.

“Sounds about right,” Sam sighs, “Lemme tell you somethin’. I’m hittin’ a real dry spell right now.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky agrees, taking a swig of his drink.

“I guess nobody wants what you’re selling,” You tease and glance over at Natasha, who is currently chatting up a man on the other side of the bar. She’s all charm and flirty smiles and you wave at her when she catches your eye.

“Someone wants what you’re selling,” Bucky muses, tearing your attention away from Natasha, “This guy has been looking over here for the last fifteen minutes. Think he’s tryin’ to be sexy or somethin’.”

“Is he? Bein’ sexy?” You laugh, “Maybe he’s lookin’ at you, Bucky.”

“No, it’s definitely you, baby girl. Bucky’s not half as nice to look at as you are,” Sam grins, earning himself a whack on the shoulder.

You turn your head and see the man in question, giving him a once over. He’s cute, you suppose. Part of you welcomes the new distraction, and the other part of you wants to stay within the walls of your comfort zone. Sam and Bucky look at you expectantly, wondering what your next move is going to be.

You shrug and chug the entirety of your drink, getting out of your booth to walk over to the bar. You’re certain that the man who had been eyeing you will join you in a few short minutes. Asking you what you’d like to drink.

“Let’s see what happens, boys.”

Little do Sam and Bucky know that you’re about to find yourself slipping into old habits, and fast.

***

A night of drinks, one night stands, and walks of shame had turned into a routine over the course of the next few weeks. It was a welcome distraction from reality and you couldn’t get enough of it.

You can almost hear Natasha’s voice in your head- ‘there’s nothing wrong with sleeping around. But you’re sleeping around to actively avoid something deeper and you have to talk about it.’

Even if she’s right, you’ll gamble on it.

You’re spiraling into a whirlwind of self-deprecation, and you know it. The thought flits around in your head and disappears as quickly as it had come. You quickly toss back a pair of tequila shots and thrust the lime in your mouth for sweet relief. You enjoyed the way the tequila burned your throat before settling in your stomach with a happy hum.

Admittedly, you had begun to pull away from your friends even more over the last week or so. You weren’t sure, you were losing track of time. Worried texts and phone calls went unanswered for hours. Which would gradually become days. You had shirked off scheduled therapy appointments several times. Voicemails from your therapist were left unlistened to. Bless her heart.

You threw yourself into work until that became your primary excuse and then you just stopped answering altogether. Sam, Steve, Natasha and Bucky had all come around knocking on your door. Both physically and digitally. But you pretended like you weren’t home most of the time. You wished they would break down the door and find you, a complete mess. But you didn’t have the physical or mental strength to just open the door yourself. They probably thought you needed space. Which maybe you did.

That night you had taken that random guy home from the bar had sparked something inside of you and you didn’t want to let it go. The recklessness made you feel alive, it made your blood burn, and it made your heart thump with anticipation.

They probably deserve better than someone who’s head is spinning from self-loathing, someone who can’t stand the sight of themselves anymore, someone who can't seem to get themselves together.

But they’re your friends. They love you regardless, comes a small voice that you’re easily able to quash.

You find yourself unable to even brush your teeth without a frown jarring your face. The thoughts that bounce around in your head are wrong and you know it, but they are relentless. And you find yourself powerless to argue with them. You can only focus on what’s right in front of you. Focusing on anything else hurts too much.

So you focus on the music pumping through your veins. The burn of alcohol seeping into your blood. You focus on the arms wrapped around you and the neon lights blaring at you.

You barely feel lips kissing your neck and you’re surprised to taste saltiness on your upper lip. You’re crying, you realize. You’re crying because all of a sudden, you get flashes of your friend’s concerned faces and you’re here. Alone, of your own accord.

***

The first week you started pulling away, Steve had suggested that they should break down your door. You had been completely unresponsive, sending all of them into a state of alarm and concern. They did toy with the idea, but they ultimately let it be. Maybe you needed space. After all, wouldn’t you come to them if you were upset?

But then, you didn’t.They wouldn’t have known how you threw yourself into alcohol, barely ate proper meals, barely slept properly. They wouldn’t have seen how much you were barely keeping your head above the water. You were good at hiding it, in the beginning. You were all smiles at work, making small-talk and doing what you did best. Then you stopped caring about hiding it. You had called out of work a few days and hadn’t left your apartment. Tony and Pepper were most definitely concerned- it wasn’t like you to pull away like this. They had reached out to you several times to no avail. You had only said you weren’t feeling well. They only knew you were going through something and didn’t know how to handle it. Did any of them know how to handle it?

You’re out again in Chelsea this time, at a club lined with smoke, mirrors, and strangers. You’re singing along to the music as the drink in your hand sloshes with your movements. A sudden wave of fatigue washes over you.

You don’t want to be there anymore. The realization feels like a weight has landed on your chest, but you feel the familiar wings of freedom embrace you. Maybe this is it- maybe you’re finally breaking out of your spell. You just want to go home. You think of your friends again. How you’ve ignored them for weeks now. How they still reach out to you and you just… do nothing.

Downing the rest of your drink- because you’d be damned if you’d ever let a drink purchased from a club in Chelsea go to waste- you hold your purse close and make the decision to leave. Once you’re in the comfort of your home in your pajamas and under the covers, you open up your messages app on your phone. Your finger hovers over Natasha’s name.

With the courage of a small lion, you finally text her, and it feels like liberation. You just text her saying hi, with a simple heart emoji. That’s the most you can muster for right now.

It takes another week or so for you to get sick of the long nights out and of partying the way you have been. Then another week to get sick of the alcohol. It doesn’t numb you anymore; instead, it just makes you feel disgusting. This week, you’ve spent most of your days in bed. You’re afraid to go into work, so you’ve worked from home as much as you can. You even reached out to Tony and Pepper. And mustered up the energy to make an appointment with your therapist.

The fact that you’ve come this far on your own is even a surprise to you. This spiral felt different to you. Looking back on it, in previous years, you felt that you were able to snap out of it more easily. Whatever it was. Even if it took weeks or months for you to snap out of it, somehow you always did. Whether it was by a momentous epiphany, an intervention, or a conversation with a stranger. Somehow, for whatever reason, you always snapped out of it. Even if you haven’t seen or spoken to the few friends you have and the people who care for you, they’re still on the forefront of your mind. Feeding you bits of strength to get you through the days, whether you realize it or not. The fog, while it still shrouds you, feels a little easier to see through.

You hope you’ll have the energy to see your friends again soon.

***

On days that you’re not working, you find yourself sleeping for most of the day and wide awake at night. You’ve taken to roaming the city during these nights, walking around familiar places. The idea of showing up at the Tower unannounced has crossed your mind once or twice. The thought scares you, so you decide against it every time.

You’ve been doing better about texting Natasha once in a while. To let her know that you’re still breathing, even if it’s barely. She has offered more than once to come over for company, but you can’t bring yourself to agree. Bucky, Steve, and Sam all still text you everyday, even after your lack of responses. They even call you once in a while and leave short voicemails, letting you know of their days and how they miss you.

And still, what kind of person are you to continue living as if you were empty when there was clearly all of this love and care surrounding you? You couldn’t help it. The dark cloud has lessened somewhat, but still floats over your head. It’s just there, and you try to think back to a time when the cloud didn’t exist.

Your therapist’s understanding eyes and warm gaze simultaneously makes you feel a little better and makes you want to cry. She validates your feelings and tells you that it’s okay for you to not be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. But she tells you that whether or not you can see it, it’s still there. And that you deserve that light and so much more. She’s keeping a close eye on you as well, texting you every so often to see how you’re doing. She sends you gentle reassurances, and you begin to echo those same reassurances to yourself. While the voice has gotten quieter for now, it’s still there but it doesn’t feel as loud as it did a few weeks ago.

What a ride it’s been. You’re exhausted from your own mind. If mental gymnastics was a sport, you’d surely achieve a perfect score.

It confuses you, how you’re sent into this dark shroud only to re-emerge on the other side. Well, sort of. Why did it even happen? Did something cause it? Or was it your own chemistry betraying you without any rhyme or reason?

Whatever the cause is… it’s not a great feeling and despite how overwhelming it feels, how it feels like you’re drowning. You still manage to keep your head above the water to get through the next minute. The next hour. The next day. The next week.

After neglecting your journal for longer than usual, you decide to buy some new pens and markers for doodling on the pages. Even if you can’t necessarily get the words out on paper, you still want to be able to focus some of the energy you have into something.

You can spend hours doodling and coloring in the pages. And so you do.

After your evening of doodling, you even dabble with the idea of calling Natasha. And so you do.

She’s ecstatic to hear from you, and she doesn’t bother to try to bottle it. Her enthusiasm makes you feel warm inside. It reminds you that you’re still here. That your friends are still here. In a display of courage, you ask her if she’d like to come over for pizza and ice cream. She immediately accepts, and you can’t help but feel slightly proud of yourself for taking that step.

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have reasons to smile.

***

You had cleaned your apartment in preparation for Natasha’s arrival, and had even lit her favorite candle scent that you owned. It’s called black cherry, but smells sultry with hints of sweet and spicy. Boxes of pizza were hot and ready on your counter and two tubs of ice cream were in your freezer.

When Natasha arrives, you nearly lose your breath from seeing your friend after so long. You don’t know what to do- should you hug her? Shake her hand? How awkward and formal of you. Both seem wrong and Natasha picks up on your unease.

“You gonna let me in or what?” She asks with a raised eyebrow and you beam at her. You welcome her inside, insisting that she sit down on your couch. You hand her a glass of water and place the boxes of pizza on your coffee table, feeling the cobwebs around your heart begin to melt away slowly.

It’s after a few slices of pizza and making small talk that you feel that you have to bring up the last few weeks-

“Natasha,” You begin, “I’m just- I don’t know. The last few weeks have been really hard. I’m just sorry I ghosted you. And everyone. You didn’t deserve that, when you were only trying to be my friends.”

“Hey,” Natasha shakes her head, “It’s okay. Believe me when I say that we all understand. Sometimes your mind takes you somewhere you don’t want to go. We just worry, you know? If you need space, then that’s what you need. But I don’t want you to… be alone because you think nobody’s here for you. Because we are. We are.”

Tears well up in your eyes at the sincerity in her voice, and you believe her. You believe her with everything in your bones and it lifts you up higher than you’ve felt in a long time. The rest of the night is spent in a flurry of laughter, some tears, and lots of pizza and ice cream. Your heart is singing by the time Natasha leaves, cotton candy clouds of contentment surrounding you as you fall asleep quickly.

***

You go back to work at the Tower the following week, where Tony and Pepper embrace you with open arms. You’re quite blessed to be surrounded by people who understand you and want the best for you. You can’t be helped if a few tears leak out of your eyes when you see Tony and Pepper after what feels like is years.

You clean up in your office, brushing off the thin layer of dust over your things. Opening the cover of your laptop, you go into your Outlook calendar. Too see what was on the agenda for today. And you schedule an impromptu lunch with Sam, at your favorite food truck two blocks from the Tower.

You had gotten over the fact that you were able to schedule something as mundane as meetings with the Avengers during your second week of working at Stark Industries.

It was time to see your friend again. The thought sends nervous butterflies fluttering in your belly, but you’re proud of yourself for reaching out when it felt impossible only a few weeks ago. Sam accepts the meeting almost immediately and a smile stays on your face until you meet him for lunch.

***

Despite the awkwardness you initially feel about seeing Sam after weeks, it dissipates quickly once you see him at the food truck. He’s waving at you, genuine excitement radiating from him at being able to see you after so long.

He’s already bought your favorites from the truck and he’s waiting for you. So you both can walk to the bench you usually sit at while having lunch together. Sam refers to it as ‘our bench’, and you do, too.

“You look good, baby girl,” Sam greets you with a smile, patting the space next to you.

“Yeah, I guess the aftermath of a six week long bender is the look I should strive for,” You say with a laugh, giving him a good-natured shove of his shoulder.

“You know what I mean,” Sam says pointedly, taking a bite out of his food.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you. You gaze out in front of you, taking in the people bustling past you. People on their phones, people with smiles on, people who look stressed. People in a hurry. The call of birds, the sound of people walking over leaves. It’s bright outside as the sun beams over the plush grass.

You tear your eyes away from the grass and turn to Sam, who is patiently waiting for you to speak.

“I really,” You murmur, “I really appreciated your texts. And phone calls. And voicemails. I’m sure you all would have come and broken down my door at some point.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Sam shrugs, “Breakin’ down doors. Steve did want to. But we were sure you wouldn’t have appreciated a broken down door, on top of everything.”

You let out a loud laugh at that.

“The real reason I asked you to come here,” You swallow nervously, “I just wanted to say. Thank you for believing in me, too. I know I get in my own head and it takes me time to snap out of it. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never snap out of it. And every time, I’m surprised that I do. So thank you. For not giving up on me, even when I was barely responsive. Even when I wanted to give up on myself.”

Tears are swimming in your eyes, as well as Sam’s. He sets his food down next to him, and wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tightly.

“I know this is something that we can’t control. And it feels like it’s here to stay. But so are we,” Sam says and you pull away to give him a watery smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

***

You see Steve when you have a really late night at the office a few days later. You’ve been trying to properly catch up on your work and you had lost track of time. Leaning back in your seat, you rub your eyes and stretch your neck.

You’ve been craving something sweet all day and have been unsuccessful in satisfying your sweet tooth.

You wonder if Steve is still awake. Maybe he’ll make cookies with you. Before you lose your nerve, you call him and familiar butterflies of nervousness flit around your belly.

“Hey, Steve,” You murmur, “Wanna make cookies with me?”

And so you find yourself in the kitchen with Steve at nearly 1:30 AM with mismatched oven mitts on. He’s quiet, as if he doesn’t know what to say.

“And look at that,” You grin, “We didn’t even burn the place down.”

“Don’t let Natasha know, she’ll get jealous,” Steve says and you laugh.

Another poignant pause.

“I-uh, I’m glad to see you again,” Steve says, scratching the back of his head, “Things are tough. But uh… we’re here. I mean, we’re here for you.”

“Thank you, Steve,” You murmur, “I know. And I appreciate everything. I’m glad to see you again, too. Who else would be here to make sure you didn’t burn the Tower down while making cookies?”

Steve snorts, and that’s that.

***

You see Bucky that same night. It had been close to 2:30 AM when you and Steve had finished making and eating cookies. You had both shared a few laughs and yawns when you decided you’d stay at your room in the Tower for tonight.

But before that, you decide to go down to the laboratories for a quick peek. Just to check on the progress of several projects and check the logs and data sheets. You haven’t been down here at night since… well, it’s been a while.

You end up just walking around, taking in the vastness of the room. You’ve always liked venturing down here at night, because the moon shines into the laboratories at an angle that it doesn’t anywhere else. Everything has a silvery hue to it, almost reminding you of something magical. And wasn’t it- wasn’t this the closest thing to magic that you would ever get?

You’re mesmerized by the jagged edges of one of the old trinkets on the workbench. It’s been here a while, it seems. Dust has gathered upon it, blanketing it in a coat of grey.

“You come here often?” A voice calls from behind you and you nearly drop the trinket in surprise. It’s Bucky, complete with a small smile and cozy sweatpants.

“Only when I want to be scared into having a heart attack,” You mumble, trying not to stare at him.

Your throat goes dry.

“How… How’ve you been?” You ask, leaning back against the workbench with your arms crossed.

“Been good. And how have you been?” Bucky asks.

“Well,” You begin, “I think you kind of know the answer to that. What with disappearing for weeks due to falling into a whirlwind of self-loathing, depression and who knows what else.”

“You’re talking to the king of disappearing for weeks due to a whirlwind of self-loathing, depression and who knows what else,” Bucky says with a quirk of his lips and it widens when you smile back.

“Two regular peas in a pod,” You murmur. He comes to stand next to you and bumps hips with you. You swallow again.

“I’m glad to see you again. This place was gettin’ boring without you.”

“Don’t I know it,” You reply, casting your gaze to the concrete floor with a deep breath, “Thanks for… Just thanks for understanding. And thanks for bein’ you.”

You meet Bucky’s eyes, and it feels like it’s in slow motion. His gaze is tender, illuminated by a splash of moonlight. He offers you a warm smile, one that you can’t help but return.

Even if he doesn’t quite say it, you feel it. You feel it in his gaze, the way he teases you lightly. You feel his unmistakable warmth and you allow yourself to feel warm, too.

***

The threshold for your depression feels like it’s been shifted higher. While it still exists and is very real and tangible... It feels like if depression was the ocean floor, you were hovering several hundred feet above it. With your continuous therapy sessions and better habits, you feel like you’re doing better. Even from before you had started spiraling.

Tonight, you were hosting a board game night at your apartment with your friends. You had asked them to only bring themselves and to not even think of bringing food or drink with them.

You were stocked with everything under the sun, from snacks to food to drinks. You had spent the better part of the day cooking and baking.

The familiar but unfamiliar feeling of warmth has you excited.

While some days still felt quite heavy and impossible, you had the courage to get through those days. You knew seeing your friends more often wouldn’t cure you… But it would certainly make you feel supported, cherished, and valued. And despite knowing that your friends would be there for you, you still sometimes can’t help but feel like too much. Those thoughts are sometimes hard to dismiss. Some days, you’re louder than those thoughts. And other days, those thoughts are louder than you.

But you get by.

Soon enough, your apartment is filled with the sounds of laughter and music, and you’re certain you haven’t quite stopped smiling. You wonder if this could be what the meaning of life is- this warmth that truly only came from a place of comfort with yourself and with others around you. You watch Bucky and Steve bicker while Sam instigates and Natasha looks on, shaking her head in amusement. Sam looks up at you, laughter fading into a gentle smile. You wonder if he knows what you’re thinking.

You wonder if the answer to the question that had transcended all of time could be found right here in the middle of your apartment.

#sam wilson x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #avengers x reader #tw: depression #tw: alcohol #im nervous lowkey for this LOL

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viktorfm · 4 years ago

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(MAXENCE DANET-FAUVEL, NONBINARY) - Have you seen VIKTOR SAMUELS? VIKTOR is in HIS/THEIR SENIOR year. The VISUAL ARTS MAJOR is 24 years old & is a CAPRICORN. People say HE/THEY are OBSERVANT, INGENIOUS, RETICENT and DEPENDENT. Rumors say they’re a member of KINCAID. I heard from the gossip blog that THEY'RE HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH THEIR THERAPIST. (JAMES. 21. EST. THEY/THEM.)

dont. look at me. i know. anyways if it wasnt obvs i abandoned cupid (n darrow) in order 2 bring the two ocs tht he ws inspired by n ws a combination of bt. theyre better as different ppl methinks.

DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS TW

aesthetic.

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts, graveyards and half-empty wine bottles, sitting there for hours and talking to nothing, about nothing, a god complex, gold rings adorning both hands, barbwire baseball bats, having never played baseball in your life, deep eyebags and broken mirrors, a permanent chip on one’s shoulder, yearning, longing, wishing.

basics.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - january 2nd, 1996

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: preaker, vermont

sexuality: pansexual uwu

stats

favorite song: disorder, joy division / it’s getting faster, moving faster / now it’s getting out of hand / on the tenth floor, down the back stairs / it’s a no man’s land / lights are flashing, cars are crashing / getting frequent now / i’ve got the spirit, lose the feeling / let it out somehow

background.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in preaker, vermont - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang.

was an awkward, quiet kid growing up, he didn’t interact well with others and preferred being left alone to dig up worms and draw on the walls of their childhood home. the only exception was his twin, really.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like … sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid … not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine.

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

being twins with tatiana was hard. they were near opposite besides both being quite mean-spirited. tatiana handled being in public better, left a better image behind - but viktor had talent, more than she did. they loved each other deeply - y’know, those unbreakable twin bonds as cliche as it sounds - but found each other as competition for their parents’ attention. a rivalry for affection.

in high school is when viktor really started to act out. it started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service & almost had an exorcism performed on him.

his only redeemable trait was like … just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3d art ap course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because he was the problem child, the one who deserved to be disciplined for all his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with whatever she wanted much easier. on the bright-side, for her, i guess.

not a very motivated person - wasn’t planning on going to college, much less going to yates but his parents literally wrote & sent his college application for him because they weren’t going to house a deadbeat but had too much heart to kick him out onto the streets. cool!

he’s actually pretty smart but he just doesn’t apply himself. has a minor in english because he didn’t care for an extra course-load, but he’s good at writing & analyzing literature. is going to use it to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s. not for the kids, but because he likes to leave a trail of terror in whatever he does.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just … not to his parents, who don’t really need to know.

if you asked him if he believed in twins having a psychic connection with each other - he’d tell you he wouldn’t know. it felt believable at times, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside of tatiana’as head. on the other hand - viktor had always felt oddly transparent to her, like she knew all of his moves before he did. the only person who could predict him accurately.

( tw death, grief, overdose / hospitalization beyond this point )

when tatiana disappeared, viktor knew something was up. it was a twist in his gut, pure instinct that something wasn’t right. and it wasn’t right - and when she was proclaimed missing, they couldn’t find her.

and when tatiana died - viktor knew. it felt wrong, something cut so severely in him he could pinpoint her death to the second. he didn’t know how, or why, but he knew it. knew it before anybody else had.

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point.

his mental health had also sunk to an all-time low, when it’d never been great to begin with. (manic & depressive episodes. once fixated on a sculpting project for six months and then knocked it off the table and destroyed it as soon as he finished it for no apparent reason.)

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was … viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to yates to finish his senior year because … for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief - causes him to spiral and be unpredictable in regards of his mental health. he stopped taking his medication, so. :/ some days are alright, other days are pretty bad.

personality & facts.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears … that’s them!

a big horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies & probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than they should because they just … love those black & white vertical-striped pants.

can appreciate the ~urban legends~ at yates and likes to feed into the fear that surrounds them. is probably the cause of a few ‘anomalies’ and ‘paranormal sightings’ because they’re just … a jerk.

fashion alternates between e-boy (they would be tiktok famous if they were 17 & didn’t think that a majorly minor based app was weird.), millennial beetlejuice, and goth in a crop top & sweatpants. big fan of crop tops and a big fan of sweatpants.

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like … sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s … a lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it.

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

pansexual & nonbinary, switches between he & they pronouns often and without a pattern, but they have such a fragile grip on their identity that you could call them ‘dog-faced bitch’ and they’d turn around like. sup.

vastly impulsive … like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all their money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

they’re very super dramatic. would play the organ at church when nobody was looking after them and service was about to start. would just churn out these super haunting, creepy melodies like they were phantom of the opera. would do the same exact thing at home on their keyboard with the pipe organ setting whenever they got grounded until their parents took it away hbdsjfngkh

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe … yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

that being said they’re absolutely not over tatiana’s death & it’s to the point of obsession over it. like there’s some kind of secret that needs to be uncovered, even though there just. isn’t. tatiana was their rock and they were pretty much dependent on her. kept them grounded. could control them when nobody else could, got into their head easier than others. it’s sort of like rosa lost two siblings that day because viktor hasn’t been the same since.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

will tell you straight up what they want from you, no bullshit & no beating around the bush. just blunt. if they want to fuck, nothing else, then that’s it. if they feel deviation or developing feelings then they’ll ghost in less than a second. is awful like that but feels no shame.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time … also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not … with their body or anything because they’re a twig but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

i don’t know if there’s a good to them somewhere deep down, but they don’t see any issues with themself either. nothing really breaks through to them anymore because the only person who ever made them stop and think about their actions was tatiana, and well, y’know. :/

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like … partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

religious trauma? oh worm ;; three cheers fr <3 guilt <3 anyways uh. just people tht viktor hs known thru the church in some way even tho hes a fkn. freak now. maybe even family friends.

the horror of our love :/ ;; hmm. any romance tht cld b toxic i think this cld fit. just rly a bad fit. viktor doesnt rly know hw to love so nothing rly lasts bt. maybe they try n try n nothing works bt they keep trying. cld also just be anything unrequited.

little fkn gremlins ;; theyre all evil n mean. bt theyre all friends. <3

you are nothing ;; uuh. enemy plots. spicy enemies. rly bad enemies. rivals. they r brutal towards each other bcos nothing viktor does is ever soft.

fuck u dont pity me ;; uh. people who try to get close to viktor n he just. bites at them. he’s like no. bc he assumes ppl who r kind in response 2 his vileness r. theres smth wrong w them. n it might hv to do with pity. n he hates pity.

ugh. locals x ;; ppl who also grew up around preaker, vermont. the samuels r <3 well known folks n the uh. hm. the murder is an ongoing case. so they cld know abt it <3

dont tell anybody x ;; this is for soft plots. i dont know much about soft plots but.

maybe i am part of the problem ;; the problem is chlamydiagate. this is a hook-ups connection. fwbs n one night stands. ppl viktor hs brutally ghosted. he doesnt acknowledge their existence outside of these events, perhaps.

dont u just wna go apeshit ;; this is where viktor becomes a bad influence.

bt uh. anything. pelase

#yatesintro #death tw #grief tw #murder tw #addiction tw #drug abuse tw #hospitalization tw #overdose tw #hypersexuality mention #religion mention #zooweemama

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viktcrr-alt · 5 years ago

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MAXENCE DANET FAUVAL / NONBINARY — don’t look now, but is that viktor samuels i see? the 24 year old visual arts student is in their senior year and he/they are a rochester alum. i hear they can be observant, ingenious, reticent and dependent, so maybe keep that in mind. i bet he/they will make a name for themselves living in garcia row. ( james. 20. est. she/they. )

LAST INTRO WOOOO !! u know what to mf DO !!

TW DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS, MENTAL ILLNESS

a e s t h e t i c s

general info !!

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - jan 2nd

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′0″

hometown: rochester, new york

sexuality: uuuhhh god … probably pan tbh

stats

biography !!

okay so … born and raised in rochester, new york to the well known samuels family. preacher father, a mother, a twin sister born 15 minutes before him - aka tatiana samuels, who died back in january.

kinda … grew up as a really awkward, quiet kid? like … just didn’t really interact with other kids super well, preferred being alone and like … digging up bugs in the dirt. only friend was like … his own sister.

grew out of this as they got older, instead sort of … becoming a bit of a dick? to compensate for years of awkwardness? will bite the hand that feeds him. was a full on nuisance by middle school. tatiana was not, at least, noticeably.

has always been a fan of darker materials, y’know - grim and creepy, morbid shit. big fan of tim burton ever since he was a kid, which isn’t … a good look for a preacher’s son, but he’s never really felt ~in~ with the rest of his family, anyway.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid probably tbh that prompted one or two or five phone calls home 2 assure everything was fine.

has always been really … good at art, in general - from drawing to painting to playing with clay, that’s always been viktor’s Thing.

aNyWaYs. being tatiana’s twin brother was kinda hard sometimes. tatiana and him were near opposites besides their same mean-spirited trait. she was better in the public than he was, but viktor was arguably more talented than tatiana. they both loved each other deeply and found each other as competition for their parents’ attention - a rivalry, of sorts.

high school is when viktor really started to act out - started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service. almost had an exorcism performed on him, probably.

the only redeemable trait was like … his sheer talent with art. was in a 3d art AP course, specialized in sculpting - could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because his parents would be focused on disciplining him for his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with stuff easier. so like, y’know, that’s on the bright-side of things.

never been particularly motivated to do much - wasn’t planning on attending lockwood but his parents kinda … did and sent in his application for him b/c they were Not on board with him Wasting Away (wanted him out of the house asap)

actually pretty smart !! just doesn’t like … want to apply himself ever. double majoring in english and visual arts because they’re like … two of his only interests :/ plus he wants to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s

he’d been experimenting since high school but college is where he really started to like … crack down on himself and figure himself out. was out as pan & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college, just … not to his family, necessarily. thinks tatiana always knew, but didn’t … really use it against him, blessedly enough

always felt like the whole twin - connection thing was … both wack and also not-wack? sometimes it felt believable but sometimes he had no idea what was going on in tatiana’s head. but he felt oddly transparent to her, always - like he was predictable to no one but her.

( TW DEATH, GRIEF, OVERDOSE / HOSPITALIZATION BEYOND THIS POINT )

but when tatiana disappeared - it was like, like viktor knew. the moment she had been kidnapped - felt something deeply wrong in his gut. and when tatiana died - viktor felt something cut so severely in him. he knew, he always knew exactly when. he couldn’t put his finger on how - but he knew. even when everybody else held out hope for her to be found - he knew.

went on a bender around the same time, had always struggled w/ drug addiction but it got worse the longer tatiana went without being found.

( also struggled heavily with his mental health, too ?? has manic and depressive episodes. will fixate on a sculpting project for six months and then purposely knock it off the table and destroy it in the matter of seconds once it’s finished for. no fucking reason. impulse spends A Lot. )

when her body was found, viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing and being hospitalized where he spent the next like … however long months … until they deemed him better.

has been back since the beginning of fall semester in an attempt to finish his senior year - mostly out of his parents’ insistence that he did, because he very much did not want to.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief, which was only amplified with dean lockwood’s death - causing him to spiral and be unpredictable with his mental health. some days are good, and some days are very bad.

personality !!

the human embodiment of a gremlin, fed after midnight. a goblin, if u will. one of those cats with a narrow head and big ass ears. that’s him.

b i g horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies. probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than he should. love those vertically striped pants!

fashion alternates between e-boy (would b tik tok famous if he were like … 17), millennial beetlejuice, and like … goth in a crop top and sweatpants. big fan of crop tops. big fan of sweatpants.

he can be fucking mean. petty, aggressive, instigator. will literally spit in ur face or no reason. kind of person who’ll stick his gum into other ppl’s hair. other than that he’s like … pretty okay. he’s not always mean, he’s just a dick like … 70% of the time lmao

i mean yeah okay he’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except He Feels Like It And Believes It. it’s fine he’s fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact tht he’s probably getting into fights whenever - considers himself 2 be a lover n not a fighter but that’s just because he Fucks a lot. kind of uses it like a coping mechanism, like he’s this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ may have a problem w/ hypersexuality but it’s nothing he’s fully. aware of.

the preacher’s whore son, basically

like i said he’s pan & nb, switches between he and they pronouns but like … he has such a fragile grip on his identity that u could call him ‘dog-faced bitch’ and he’d turn like hey wassup :)

vastly impulsive, like i’ve mentioned … destroys his own creations 4 the fun of it, spends all his money on useless shit, will cheat on someone bc he feels like it. screams into the night sky frequently, like a cat in heat.

i mean he also creates useless shit for no reason too. spent six months sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of him and then took a sledgehammer to it.

dramatic fuck. used to play the organ at the church like … when no one was looking after him and service was about to start. just these creepy as melodies. would do the same thing at home on his keyboard w/ the organ setting whenever he got grounded until his parents took away his keyboard sadjfkg

won’t talk about his time away b/c it’s not rly anybody’s business but ofc nothing is sacred to the watershed app, y’know, nothing’s private.

still like - he absolutely refuses to talk about tatiana’s death and like, his mental health or his addiction (he’s fallen back into it tbh but it hasn’t gotten bad again … yet) or like … anything involving his own emotions

will literally just change the topic! abruptly, no warning, asks about the jonas brothers instead.

that being said he’s obsessed with tatiana’s death. tatiana was very much a rock for him, kinda dependent on her in a way? just … being there, y’know, kept him grounded.

so he obv became a shepherd bc he wants to know Everything there is abt the app, wants to be deep inside it, wanted to know Who Exactly Killed Tatiana and like … not saying he wants 2 commit murder but :/ yknow. he’s very upset.

emotionally unavailable while also like crying twice a day.

will tell you straight up what he wants from you, no bullshit, no beating around the bush - just blunt. if he wants to just fuck, nothing else, then that’s that. if he feels deviation he’ll ghost in like. less than a second. kinda awful like that! feels no shame.

but like … also is emotional ?? as shit ?? it’s confusing. he’ll cry on a whim and then flip u off if u try to console him or like. ask him anything. will bite you.

he goes to therapy but he generally fucks around and wastes most of the time until the therapist threatens to like … idk what therapists r allowed to threaten. to send him off to another therapist? idk.

likes being intimidating but like … not with his body or nothing ‘cos he’s a TWIG, but like … uses his love for horror n creepy shit to his advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before.

( also a big fan of sfx makeup, has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids with a chainsaw (w/o the like … chain … or w/e … so it’s not actually Dangerous) around halloween

he’s generally never doing good, both mental health wise and morally.

would probably steal candy from a baby for the fun of it.

i don’t know if there’s a good to him, deep down, and i don’t know if he sees any issues with himself either !! nothing really breaks through to him anymore, the only person who ever really made him stop and Think about his actions was tatiana.

kinda introverted, recluse type who doesn’t rly like most people or going out, but he’ll go to parties if it means he’ll be high as shit.

pretty observant. likes to analyze people even though he’s probably not … fully right.

wanted connections !!

he lives alone currently but like … ex - roommates where viktor was just. a nightmare to live with.

feel like a lot of enemies is also a possibility !! viktor’s messy.

people that like … knew tatiana. dated tatiana, even, and viktor would pretty much try to intimidate / scare them at any given chance :/

close friends of tatiana too

people who hated tatiana but liked viktor. people who hated viktor but liked tatiana

people who take pity on him and he Hates it viciously and vocally.

a band of hooligan gremlin kids who do drugs and fuck shit up around town like they’re edgy teenagers even though they’re all early to mid 20s.

the girl he lost his virginity 2 in high school lmao … a distant memory

fellow rochester locals, from church or school or whatever

exes from the past !! good terms and bad terms, but i love bad terms a whole lot mainly b/c viktor’s a jackass.

don’t know if he’s soft towards anybody but we can try. we can Try.

friends, old friends, new friends, bad friends, good friends, close friends, frenemies, etc. etc. all of it

hookups !! so many hookups. fwbs, one night stands, whatever.

uuhhhh god. i don’t know. im so sleepy rn. people in the same major or similar majors.

maybe a ride or die.

people he’s a bad influence on / an enabler towards / all around toxic for them / each other.

people he’s fought !! people who’ve seen him get into random fights and were like ‘uh wtf’

fellow shepherds !!

literally anything im not picky.

#huntingtonintro #death tw #grief tw #overdose tw #drugs tw #addiction tw #hospitalization tw #hypersexuality tw #murder tw #religion mentions #mental health tw

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viktcrr-archive · 5 years ago

Text

MAXENCE DANET FAUVEL / NONBINARY. — viktor samuels is really making a name for themselves as a tier 3 shepherd. i think that he/they are studying english + visual arts in their senior year at lockwood, living in peregrinis. originally from rochester, new york, viktor is known to be observant & ingenious, but can also be reticent & dependent. — james / 20 / est / she/they.

3/5 !!! once again ... little edits

TW DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS, MENTAL ILLNESS

a e s t h e t i c s

general info !!

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - jan 2nd

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′0″

hometown: rochester, new york

sexuality: uuuhhh god … probably pan tbh

stats

biography !!

drew disturbing pictures as a kid probably tbh that prompted one or two or five phone calls home 2 assure everything was fine.

has always been really … good at art, in general - from drawing to painting to playing with clay, that’s always been viktor’s Thing.

the only redeemable trait was like … his sheer talent with art. was in a 3d art AP course, specialized in sculpting - could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because his parents would be focused on disciplining him for his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with stuff easier. so like, y’know, that’s on the bright-side of things.

( TW DEATH, GRIEF, OVERDOSE / HOSPITALIZATION BEYOND THIS POINT )

went on a bender around the same time, had always struggled w/ drug addiction but it got worse the longer tatiana went without being found.

when her body was found, viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing and being hospitalized where he spent the next like … however long months … until they deemed him better.

stayed out of school until very recently b/c he just … didn’t want to go back. didn’t want to deal with it. didn’t want to be known as the dead girl’s twin. but then his mom kinda just was like ‘u go back 2 school or god so help me’ n he was like FINE.

so ya !! viktor’s back after being gone since tatiana’s body was found. that’s it, that’s him, a lil glimpse of his life.

trying to finish his senior year b/c he … obviously left before he could.

finding out that it was george who killed tatiana has ultimately ... caused viktor to spiral. his lows are some of his lowest, his highs are ... very high, but very bad. unstable & unpredictable in his actions it’s ... a whole thing :/

personality !!

the human embodiment of a gremlin, fed after midnight. a goblin, if u will. one of those cats with a narrow head and big ass ears. that’s him.

fashion alternates between e-boy (would b tik tok famous if he were like … 17), millennial beetlejuice, and like … goth in a crop top and sweatpants. big fan of crop tops. big fan of sweatpants.

i mean yeah okay he’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except He Feels Like It And Believes It. it’s fine he’s fine, we’re fine.

the preacher’s whore son, basically

i mean he also creates useless shit for no reason too. spent six months sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of him and then took a sledgehammer to it.

won’t talk about his time away b/c it’s not rly anybody’s business but ofc nothing is sacred to the watershed app, y’know, nothing’s private.

will literally just change the topic! abruptly, no warning, asks about the jonas brothers instead.

that being said he’s obsessed with tatiana’s death. tatiana was very much a rock for him, kinda dependent on her in a way? just … being there, y’know, kept him grounded.

emotionally unavailable while also like crying twice a day.

but like … also is emotional ?? as shit ?? it’s confusing. he’ll cry on a whim and then flip u off if u try to console him or like. ask him anything. will bite you.

( also a big fan of sfx makeup, has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids with a chainsaw (w/o the like … chain … or w/e … so it’s not actually Dangerous) around halloween

he’s generally never doing good, both mental health wise and morally.

would probably steal candy from a baby for the fun of it.

kinda introverted, recluse type who doesn’t rly like most people or going out, but he’ll go to parties if it means he’ll be high as shit.

pretty observant. likes to analyze people even though he’s probably not … fully right.

connections to the victims !!

tatiana samuels / his twin sister, other half - the only one able to control viktor.

george craig iii / close family friends ... they could appreciate each other, when viktor wasn’t being an outright asshole.

hana williams / ‘friends’ with benefits, their relationship was rocky at best but she was a good lay. have often fought due to their clash in personalities and viktor’s history with christoph.

christoph wainwright / an ex-hook up, an infrequent occasion whenever christoph wanted to tick off hana. viktor was often on board, never the one to consider others’ feelings.

wanted connections !!

he lives alone currently but like … ex - roommates where viktor was just. a nightmare to live with.

feel like a lot of enemies is also a possibility !! viktor’s messy.

people that like … knew tatiana. dated tatiana, even, and viktor would pretty much try to intimidate / scare them at any given chance :/

close friends of tatiana too

people who hated tatiana but liked viktor. people who hated viktor but liked tatiana

people who take pity on him and he Hates it viciously and vocally.

a band of hooligan gremlin kids who do drugs and fuck shit up around town like they’re edgy teenagers even though they’re all early to mid 20s.

the girl he lost his virginity 2 in high school lmao … a distant memory

fellow rochester locals, from church or school or whatever

exes from the past !! good terms and bad terms, but i love bad terms a whole lot mainly b/c viktor’s a jackass.

don’t know if he’s soft towards anybody but we can try. we can Try.

friends, old friends, new friends, bad friends, good friends, close friends, frenemies, etc. etc. all of it

hookups !! so many hookups. fwbs, one night stands, whatever.

uuhhhh god. i don’t know. im so sleepy rn. people in the same major or similar majors.

maybe a ride or die.

people he’s a bad influence on / an enabler towards / all around toxic for them / each other.

people he’s fought !! people who’ve seen him get into random fights and were like ‘uh wtf’

fellow shepherds !!

literally anything im not picky.

#wshintro #grief tw #death tw #overdose tw #addiction tw #hospitalization tw #hypersexuality tw #religion mention #mental illness tw

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toxicityrp · 6 years ago

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NARCISSUS ● THE SOCIALITE ● CLOSED

❝ When this little shit came into the group, I had no idea what was running through Anthrax’s brain. But after a while, you really see their worth. They’re charming and get the connections we need. They tell me the gossip, I dish it out. Perfect duo or what? ❞

THE SINNER. TW: SUBSTANCE & FAMILIAL ABUSE, DEPRESSION, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

Here’s the thing about growing up in a house built entirely on looks and lies: a kid learns to get very, very good at things like working a room, hiding in plain sight, and flashing a grin so charming anyone could fall for it. Julian picked up everything they know about projecting confidence and style from their wreck of a home. Sure, it looked nice from the outside—both their parents had Wall Street ties, the houses they owned were huge and immaculate, and there was not a reason in the world that anyone could find to dislike them. All that money had to go to something, right? Too bad the smokescreen was only for outsiders. Mrs. Donovan was all smiles for everyone except her child, who could never quite seem to do anything right. Even when their skin was marred with bruises and cuts designed to sting unseen, who would believe their glamorous mother was anything other than perfect? Their father never seemed to care much for them, so no luck there either.

If that was just the way it was, then Julian would adapt. They became the perfect little prize to parade around at parties, dapper in little suits and a little too clever with sly jokes for their own good. They did well in school, they practiced hard at the piano, they did everything right. And it wasn’t enough. Still the criticism, still the accusations and insults and pain. They learned to dress so well because every single thread was nit-picked by their terror of a mother, and then that critical voice started to manifest inside of them, too. That’s too bland, that’s too trampy, you look like a sack, what’s wrong with your skin? Your hair? Your nose and teeth and shoulders and stomach? They tried so hard to keep being perfect anyway. They tried so hard they began to crack from the inside out. At the dinner table fourteen-year-old Julian would stare at their fork and think about all the places they wanted to jam it into their skin just to see what would happen. They never followed through on any of those impulses, not when their mother still followed them into dressing rooms and barged in on them showering to spout her spite. Any mark she could find was just another possible danger. No, the fantasy was less about pain (they already received so much of that) than about ceasing to exist as a physical entity. Being a perfect son, a fine young man, whatever everyone called them—it was all so exhausting. How did anyone do this?

Only two years later, they were clumsily picking the liquor cabinet lock and taking from it little by little. Never enough to get caught, but enough to get drunk. At first. Then they needed more, and more, and more and more, to drown out that horrid little voice in their head telling them everything was wrong. They’d wake up hungover as all hell and get trotted off to some rich man’s garden party, but somehow they always made it through with a smile and a thousand handshakes and no one the wiser. Or maybe, simply, no one cared enough to see.

In college they were supposed to be free, and sometimes they even felt like it. They had the chance to grow into their own identity for once in their life, and it constituted something of a radical shift. They found their pronouns and their people, bedmates and peers, hobbies besides networking and drinking. They still drank, of course, and it was celebrated as a fantastic party trick. Nobody notices the warning signs when they’re all also shitfaced! Julian tried so many drinks and drugs they thought they could rule the whole fucking world.

Then they ended up at home one winter break, locked up in the bathroom for making some unforgivable mistake. They’d been accused of so many over that they couldn’t be bothered to remember the details at this point. It always came back to them being a liar or a whore or something along those lines. If only she knew what a goddamn degenerate I really am, they’d thought, not bothering to wipe away the tears on their face. The eyes that stared back from the mirror looked lifeless. They would never be good enough. Why did they even keep trying? It would be so much easier to pick up that razor under the sink and just-

Oh. Their heart skipped a beat. That had scared them more than their own mother.

The next few years were a drunken, hazy blur, one big attempt to bury that frightening moment so deep in their soul that it never surfaced again. They graduated from college and business school while self-medicating with whatever anyone would sell them and got the hell out of the house as soon as they figured out how to leech from the family assets without being tracked down. All that training in smiling and smooth-talking helped them bounce from place to place without losing too many connections or giving up on their rather lavish lifestyle. Sometimes screwing preppy country club rats even made them feel good about themself, for an hour or so. Then it was right back to the oxy and rum. Did all that pretending to be pretty and charming and harmless do anything to help the spiraling emptiness in the pit of their being? No, but it was an effective enough distraction most of the time, and when even that failed they took up the kinds of hobbies rich people without much to lose could enjoy. They took cooking classes and learned how to screw around under the hoods of cars and found skill after skill to learn as if any of them made them feel alive.

They only went home once after that, when they got word that their father had up and left without a day’s hesitation. Stepping back into that gargantuan house was like walking right into a cage on their own free will, but something they hated inside of them drove them forward anyway. Maybe it was a desire to finally please their mother, just once. They didn’t accomplish it, since she spent the entire visit acting as if she was the victim of the whole universe’s cruelty. So he found out about the affair, she said. So I told him you’re not his. What did I ever do wrong?

That was a new and intriguing consideration. Though it pained them to spend a second more with her, they managed to wrangle out the name they needed to track down their real sire, only to discover a set of siblings to boot. Cruel trick, God, if you’re even there. You know I always wanted someone to play with.Anticipation lodged itself in every bone in their body as they planned out a trip to Dertosa to track down anyone who was willing to test the waters with them. Ben and Cecilia were such a surprise. They couldn’t fathom what they did to piss Nightshade off—usually they had to flirt with a girl before she went all icy on them—but the feeling was mutual, and that was fine. It wasn’t like they didn’t know how to smile oh-so-sweetly at a woman they despised. Ben was a different story. For the first time it was as if someone saw right through all the charm, right down to the weight dragging Julian down all their life. Ben got it. The word family finally felt like something.

After that, finding a fancy loft in Dertosa and joining up with the Poisons was a no-brainer. Julian had never had a clear idea of what to do with themself anyway, and it was like they had been sculpted and groomed just for this job. The job made them better, actually. That and being around Anthrax. Narcissus still binged on anything that sounded good in the moment and flirted their way into and out of every situation imaginable, but that voice in their head grew less powerful. They were good at this. They were doing something worthwhile and doing it well. If only they could rub that in their mother’s face now.

Almost five years strong, and then it all went to hell. Narcissus woke up in a cold sweat, tangled in their bedsheets as chaos raged around them, to the news of Anthrax’s murder. The voice surged back, drowning out everything else with one spiteful, sorrowful cry: it should have been you instead. It should have been me instead.

The past six months have been nothing short of rough. If there’s one thing Narcissus is sure about, though, it’s that Nightshade can and should pick up where their brother left off. They don’t want to lose the first real family they’ve ever had, or the first real sense of growth they’ve felt in pretty much their whole life. Besides, anyone who thinks they can run Toxic City’s resident keepers out of town with a couple petty scare tactics has clearly never met the Poisons before.

THE FACTS.

Narcissus is sticking by their sister and continuing their work as the Poisons’ marketing-and-sales brain. They’ve always got something to prove to someone. Gregarious and incorrigible, they’re good at making connections and digging up gossip, even if they sometimes cause a little gossiping with their behavior. They have a penchant for edible vices and a reputation for a long bedmate waitlist, though the former is a lot more serious than they make it sound and the latter is somewhat overblown by rumors. They’re covering up some serious issues that they should probably talk to someone about, but only Anthrax ever really knew what kind of darkness lurks behind that sly grin. Things were improving before his murder, but now Narcissus can feel themself slipping back into dangerous habits and they’re clawing desperately at any good thing they can hold onto. Maybe that’s the source of the sudden change in their attitude toward their sister—they may not admit it for fear of losing a few teeth, but they know the signs of someone sliding into a bad place. If they can’t help themself, why not help others?

THE MUN.

☾ Divya | PST | She/Her

#bob morley fc #narcissus #poisons #nb

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xurkitips · 7 years ago

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When Life Gives You Hellbrain...

Y’know what sucks? Depression. Y’know what sucks even more? Depression: Hard Mode. Also known as: coping with the fact that you’re tired and feel like garbage all the time without any medication or other help to combat the constant exhaustion and wallowing in sadness.

I’ve been battling this miserable hellbrain of mine since I was around thirteen, when I first noticed being inexplicably upset/self-hating, tired, and unable to enjoy things that used to make me happy.

Now I never got diagnosed back then, and didn’t until about a month ago, but it was absolutely a very real, ongoing issue that I regularly had to deal with. I’m twenty-four at the time of writing; so that’s about eleven years right there of brain gross. That, coupled with the joys of anxiety, made for a wonderful stew of hellbrain.

Much of that time was a massive struggle. However, going into adulthood I started to find, try, and utilize some healthy coping mechanisms. They may or may not work for you, but these are tried and true for me:

Physical exercise

This sounds like the worst idea ever. Why go do stuff when you feel like crap? But hear me out, it can help.

Sometimes in my low moods and depressive spells, I would be stewing in awful hellthoughts about myself, my future, stress from chaotic situations, school, etc. And as I would lay there wallowing in filth I’d be compelled to just sit in bed all day and not move.

In the warmer months from spring to fall, I started going for walks. For those of you reading this who are anxious about walking alone or feel unsafe, there’s no shame in inviting a friend to walk or taking the dog with you (if you have one). Fresh air and sunshine can do wonders, especially the latter which provides vitamin D and can help ward off depression.

If you can’t or don’t want to go outside, simple things like chores (dishes, laundry, cooking and cleaning) can also get you up and moving within your home. Small exercises depending on your physical limits such as lifting weights, stretches, and other things can help too. If you like shopping, need groceries, or have a nearby mall, they’re good places to walk around.

I found that, even if I ended up still thinking bad thoughts, the focus on my surroundings or the task at hand helped me ward them off for the moment. It also got some energy out, and provided some physical benefits.

Access to fresh fruits and vegetables.

Doesn’t seem like it would help much, but having a supply of fresh things not only provides nutrients, but it seems to help mentally. There’s satisfaction to biting into a crisp apple, smelling the tartness of an orange, the crunchy head of broccoli, the sweet taste of corn....

"Milo, why are you getting up on your soap box to talk to me about this.”

I just think they’re neat.

Not sure if there’s any strict science to it beyond nutrient intake, but boy. That freshness? Endlessly pleasant. I think there’s something to that old saying of, “You are what you eat.” Chowing down on largely fatty snacks, candies, and canned or heavily processed food is great, don’t get me wrong, but only ever eating those things? You do feel it, physically, which feeds into your hellbrain.

Supplementing with more healthy choices and a more balanced diet does help. In succession with the exercise blurb up there it sounds like I’m doing that neurotypical thing of, “Fix it with diet and exercise!” but. They’re genuinely good things to consider, so I’m getting them out of the way now.

(Consuming too much sugar makes acne worse, by the way. Learned that one the hard way.)

Changing your sheets weekly and clothes daily

Nothing smells and feels like depression more than laying down in disgustingly sweaty pajamas in a set of filthy bed sheets you changed three months ago.

I ended up in this cycle a lot, wearing the same shirt for a week if I could and never changing the sheets. Which sounds really gross, but a lot of us do it unconsciously, I think. The effort’s gone, we’re busy with other things, you feel too tired to do it.

But, my god, even doing those two simple things can make you feel a lot better. Or at least cleaner and more satisfied when you go to bed.

Sleeping on clean sheets and pillowcases also keeps acne at bay, so I’ve discovered. I found that I would also be sleeping a lot better, too. It can also help in being a small scheduled thing for you which brings me to my next point:

Scheduling dailies

Can be simple things. Eat breakfast, brush your teeth, take a shower, walk the dog, put laundry away. The important thing, though, is always doing those things at the same time every day.

In times when I got severely depressed, my schedule would completely fall to pieces. I slept anywhere from 12 to 5 AM, I ate randomly during the day or often not at all, left clean clothes unfolded on The Laundry Chair, and really wasn’t able to do much. I started making a set morning schedule for myself that I told myself I had to follow; get up, shower, put on fresh clothes, feed the cat.

It’s less combative of depression symptoms themselves, and more helpful with returning to a sense of normality. Also, having something to do that you maintain will effectively get you moving.

Self-affirmations and Use of language

After you complete something, compliment yourself. Sounds cheesy or undeserving, right? Wrong.

Even if it’s as simple as getting yourself out of bed in time, eating, or going to school when you don’t want to, it’s still an accomplishment. Maybe not one worth bragging about to your friends and neighbors, but when it was something you didn’t want to do or was difficult for you? It’s absolutely worth a compliment to yourself.

How you talk about things matters as well. Maybe you hate your job, hate school, hate chores, which leaves you inclined to complain and prepare yourself for another bad experience, which then makes you feel upset. Maybe you hate yourself, too, on top of that. It could be as bad as you think, but maybe it isn’t.

Instead of saying, “I hate this and it’s going to be horrible,” consider, “I don’t like this, but I can get through it.” Or instead of, “I’m a terrible person,” consider, “I’ve done something bad, but I can apologize and make up for it,” or, “I don’t like who I am now, but I can change that.”

Saying things with more positive mindsets can work wonders, and I used both that and compliments toward myself in college especially. I finished a project? Great job! I sat down, talked to, and apologized to a friend with sincerity? I’ve definitely grown and taken a step to be better. I did a presentation that I was terrified of? It was scary, but I could do it and I did it!

Saving heartfelt things from friends

You’re upset. Your friends are offline or busy. That person you’ve been talking to hasn’t responded to your texts or IM messages.

You’re there stewing in worry that they’ve found other friends, don’t want to deal with you, or even secretly hate you. You don’t want to ask them for another confirmation they still like you, or break out rambling. That would make you needy and therefore undesirable, right?

Oh no, you’re a bad person and a worse friend for even thinking about any of this. Here come the tears.

Pretty simple trick that I think helps a lot: when someone gives you a compliment, sends or gifts something that made them think of you, a message about how they do care--save it. Screenshot it, write it, put the item (digital or otherwise) where you can see it regularly. They’re little tokens of appreciation from them to you, reminders of your friendship with them.

Take a deep breath. Look at the screenshot or thing you have and remind yourself, “This person is likely occupied. I have no reason to think it’s out of dislike of me.”

Putting suicidal thoughts in context

This may not work for everyone, but this was the one and only way that I managed to handle this issue on my own.

I would get low a lot. Something would happen that upset me, causing an immediate spiraling into a massive depressive episode. I wasn’t trying hard enough, things were bad, I was bad, nobody like me, y’know how that is. On many, many occasions I would think that I needed to die, or deserved to. No, I never did act on those urges, but they were there. Constantly, at times.

Someone once told me about how suicidal thoughts or intentions were a direct response to the stressful situation you’re in. It’s an easy button, of sorts, to escape your problems.

It’s good to remind yourself that being in a stressed state of mine that at some point your situation is going to change. High school and college don’t last forever. You can get a better job. You can move out and away from your family. One failed school project can be made up for.

And that’s just it. I started to catch myself when my thoughts dipped into that dark place and stepped back. School was stressful, but did I really want to end it all? There were people who treated me poorly on a regular basis, but was it worth it to go through with that just to avoid them? In most cases, the answer to myself was no.

Changes can, and will, be made. There will be opportunities for you in the future. Remembering that there is still hope for you even in your darkest hour can help you pull yourself back out of it.

#milo's hellbrain experience #depression #self help #tw for mentions/discussion of suicidal thoughts #nothing graphic tho #what's up youtube

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heyellejaye · 6 years ago

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A History, of sorts.

There are so many factors that go into the person we become, and how we behave.

(This is such a long post, filled with hella real real life story, so hang with me here. I promise there’s a sweet little golden nugget of encouragement at the end. If you just want the nugget, scroll down - I won’t be mad if you do that)

**CW: drug use, neglect, suicidal thoughts**

For as long as I can remember, I was picked on for something.

Everything.

Anything.

Being fat (I’ve always been fat, unless I was sick)

Wearing clothes that were too promiscuous

Wearing clothes that were too christian

Being too sexual

Being a prude

Being poor

Having money

Wearing old clothes

Wearing new clothes

Being too loud

Not speaking up enough

Having normal hair

Having crazy hair

Listening to weird music

Listening to top 40 music

Eating kale and mushrooms and nutritional yeast and other vegan lovelies

Eating mcDonalds

Having only a dad at home.

Having only a mom at home.

Literally the broad spectrum of nonsense garnered ridicule from early on.

Those used to bother me, but I learned to kinda brush them off. Of course, it still sewed something of an awareness in my fabric of how “not enough” I was.

When I was little, I remember one night in particular, my mom making a comment about my “thunder thighs” and how I shouldn’t dance too hard because my belly and legs wobbled too much.

I was 9, she was 35.

To be fair, she was high as fuck with her friends and I was up at 11 pm watching TV on a school night in the 3rd grade, so there was far more wrong with that picture than just being mocked by my mom for being a chunky kid.

I looked at her that night and committed her image into my head. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t end up as ugly as her. She was 35, and weathered already. She had worn herself down... tired eyelids hung heavy over vacant, wild eyes, lined all the way around in messy black eyeliner, making her blue-green irises something of an oasis in the whole mess, soot smudges from her pipe or whatever she was smoking that night on the side of her lip. The image is burned in my mind with incredible detail.

That night shut me down. Vulnerability became a struggle ever since. I still don’t really dance, because of the wobble. I’m working on that.

I wasn’t in her care much longer after that. I saw so many really horrible things that addiction brings to users and the people in their wake. I can go into that another day, but there are a lot of things children shouldn’t have to deal with, and substance is the catalyst for a lot of that.

My dad got custody of my flock of siblings, and my mom spiraled into her own personal hell. I didn’t see her very often after that, and when I had a chance, I kinda avoided the opportunities. The mom that I remember when I was little was gone. Burned away by substance, and replaced with a shaky, tongue-chewing shell of her former self, at best.

Going through my adolescence and teen-years without a mom didn’t seem weird to me, because the years leading up to it were largely mom-less too. She was there, but kinda only on paper. Never really in practice. Except for the one time she told me that if I ever wanted to try drugs, that I should do them around her and not alone.

(looking back I just have to laugh at that statement, because again, I was 9 when it happened. bless’er tweakerass heart.)

When we went to live with my dad, we almost immediately started going to church. I’m pretty sure my dad didn’t really know what to do with all these dang kids, and my Grandma who was and still is in constant devotion to a loving Jesus, told him to get us in church, so he did.

When you come from a place of neglect and trauma, surrounded by drug abuse, attending little conservative baptist church is like jumping into an icy lake after a hot shower. It’s a shock to the system, and takes some pretty intense adjustment in behavior. You get used to it, but there’s a process.

So, while I know the shift from my previous life to church was beneficial, every time someone said “we don’t say those things here” or “you can’t wear that here” or “That’s not how we behave”, “you should”, “you shouldn’t” was a little icy stab into my person. Another patch sewn into my cloak of expectations, placed on my shoulders by outside individuals.

Going through middle school and high school and beyond I was given a whole collection of “You should” and “You shouldn’t” patches that would make any Girl Scout chartreuse with envy. Peers, adults, teachers, well-meaning relatives, church clergy, employers, boys who liked me, girls who liked me, boys and girls I liked... all sewed expectations into my personality that felt less like adornments and more like restraints. It was rare (and not until high school, really) that someone poured into -me- specifically, and made me feel like I can be/do/think bigger than my circumstances. There were four people that come to mind, two of whom have now passed.

(** NOTE - If you’re an educator and maybe you feel like you’re not getting through to the kids, I promise, I PROMISE, you are. You might be the reason they believe or even know that it’s possible to rearrange their stars**)

Somewhere along the way, I developed a chameleon soul.

The shoulds and shouldn’ts were so much to carry on one person, and so limiting, so the cloak became whatever the next person wanted it to be. It’s hard to shake the tendency to accommodate everyone else’s opinions and preferences for who I should be, but I’m working on that, too.

Take all of that life... All of those experiences, and mix media into that screwy little cake. Media that tells us that we need to be skinnier, blonder, taller, have better hair, better makeup, cooler activities, perfect boobs, plumpier lips, brighter eyes, better skills, whiter teeth, perfect mental health, three college degrees, a great job, sunny shiny happy days all the goddamn time. This part has been beaten to death, but in case you haven’t heard it yet... that’s not attainable.

I was FOREVER apologizing for who I was. I would always make excuses for why I wasn’t good enough for praise for anything. “You look so pretty” “yeah, but my hair is a mess” “I love this picture you took” “yeah, but the lighting was weird, sooo...” Gosh, Always excuses.

I didn’t really learn that lesson well enough early on though.

I tried. I did. But my chameleon soul tried so hard to be everything to everyone and eventually won.

Seasons came and went life happened and I met a boy. We went from zero to 60, right away.

I got pregnant fast. I got married fast. I lost the baby a week and a half after we got married. I convinced myself that it was God’s will that we lost the baby because we got a fresh start. I played house a while, had a couple more babies, I was attacked by depression, but still pretended to be happy. I did so much battle with my body. Not really for any reason, either.

I was married to a man who didn’t care how I looked, like... ever.

He didn’t care that I was getting pudgier after babies. He only ever made commentary when he was drunk. Which wasn’t super often, but it wasn’t super rare, either. And that’s not to say he was an alcoholic or anything, he was just more prone to poking fun when he had a few, and I was usually the target.

He wasn’t big on compliments, and never had favorites, so the only “feedback” I got from my husband was negative. It kicked me deeper into the need to look better to get positive affirmation, but also... I was SO depressed. I had two babies under two and I was drowning in my own life. I couldn’t let anyone know though, because a not-ok version of me was not who anyone wanted me to be. I apologized for the space I took up. I apologized for my chubby cheeks and post-baby tummy flab, and my armpit fat, and my wonky boobs and my tired eyes. I didn’t feel like I was worth compliments, honest hugs or good sex... but I pretended to be happy.

God, I worked my ass off to show everyone how happy I was.

(spoiler alert, I wasn’t. I wasn’t ever fucking happy. I wasn’t even interested in being alive anymore) I didn’t want anyone to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do to be a better version of myself, and GOD forbid I admit that my happy world was less than sterling. Why wouldn’t I be happy? I had a cute husband and cute kids and a cute business and a cute little chunk of land in a cute little town, I attended a trendy church... literally everything looked so perfect. Except for the person I saw in the mirror.

I looked in the mirror and saw those heavy eyelids over dead eyes. I saw the face of a woman I never wanted to become.

I never fell into chemical substance, instead I was addicted to being everything. The cloak I wore was my drug... and it wasted me away. It stole the life from my eyes. I didn’t actively seek deterioration with drugs or alcohol, but every morning, I’d lie in bed and wonder what I could do to end the parade.

I wasn’t ok, and I couldn’t talk about it with just anyone, but I had a couple of far-away friends with whom I could share the heavy thoughts. They were ears and shoulders when I needed them to be. They didn’t know JUST how heavy the thoughts were, but they were there for the parts I was willing to share. They encouraged. They challenged my self doubt and allowed space for me to be proud of myself for small reasons, and then big reasons. They spoke life into my too-tired heart.

I decided in that season of life that I would choose my good self. I would make choices that lead to a healthier mind. I would choose deep-down-in-my-bones joy. I decided that I would live. Not just be alive, but -live-. I decided that I would create things that I loved. I’d hug with my whole self. No ass-out hugs. When someone fell into my arms, they would know that I wanted them there.

I decided to be better for myself and wear a face that my children could remember with fondness and not be ashamed of when they saw the same face in the mirror.

I decided to choose to be a light for the people that cross my path, as often as I can. I can’t build their path, but I CAN shine a light so maybe they can find their own.

I’ve lived a whole life since that season, which is a completely different novel in itself, but the time between has been a healing space. It’s been a big mistake making space, and a growing space and a hurting space, but the forward motion is remarkable.

I’m a week away from 35. I hadn’t given a lot of thought to the significance of this age until lately. I look at my whole self in the mirror and I’m proud of who I am. I like the face I see in the mirror. I like the way my eyes shine in pictures.

I like the life they carry. I like my big soft body. I like that I’m a safe place to land for my children. I like that I can wrap hugs around my friends. I like that my big strong legs can carry me up a mountain, even if I get a little out of breath. I like that I’ve created humans and I’ve eaten yummy food with people I love. I am pretty active sometimes, and sometimes I lose a little weight, and sometimes I gain a little weight, and I can’t complain too much because this body serves me so well. I’m fat, but I also think I’m quite lovely. I don’t see those as opposing adjectives. Fatness and loveliness can hold hands and play happily.

I have shortcomings. I deal with some thick anxiety sometimes, and sometimes I eat too many pieces of pizza, then I feel like I need a nap, and sometimes I still take on too much, trying to be all of the things all of the time to everyone,and then I completely drop the ball and let people down... but I’m working on making better decisions and facing that kooky anxious stuff head on. It’s a process.

I’m a recovering chameleon. I’m trying my best every day to not attempt to be everything to everyone, but I struggle.

The shoulds and shouldn’ts still weigh heavy on my shoulders, and some days I wear the cloak longer than others. Trying to be free of it causes its own issues, but my feet are pointed in the right direction, I think.

(here’s the nugget if you’re just joining from the top)

I am not the words that other people have placed on me.

I am not the opinions of other people.

I am not the expectations of other people.

I am not the tragedy I have seen

I am not the circumstances from which I have walked.

I am not the mistakes I have made.

I am not the successes I have gathered.

I am not my illness

I am not my family

I am not everything to everyone.

And neither are you.

I’m not ok sometimes. And sometimes... I’m so ok.

I’m more than ok, I’m incredible, and I believe that the future is only more brilliant than the already radiant now.

I hope for you, if any of this resonates with you, that you also can see your own radiance. Not the cloak of shoulds and shouldn’ts that other people have put on your shoulders.

I hope you really live, and you do the things you love, and you overflow with abundant joy that spills onto the people around you. I hope that when people hug you, they know that you want them there, and I hope that you only hug people you want to hug.

I hope you know that the body you’re in is a miracle. The odds of you being here are FOUR TRILLION to one. You could have showed up in this life as a toaster. But you’re not. You’re an incredible being, capable of fat tears and belly laughs and loving someone so much it hurts and inspiring hope and surviving really heavy shit. Toasters can’t do any of that.

And I hope upon hope that the person you see in the mirror is someone you like.

#4-4-19

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wellf--ck · 4 years ago

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I nearly ruined my relationship because I took out the trash

Being a good-natured, helpful person can really fucking backfire sometimes. When you try to do something nice and it all just goes to shit? It’s the worst. This is a story about one of those well-meaning fuck ups.

I had just finished up my second year of college and it was one of the best years of my life. I had a fantastic group of friends and it felt like I was moving on up in the world. I’d found my place. Zen. That summer marked the beginning of a steep spiral into depression, but that’s a story for another time. I had hit really high, before I sunk way low--just for some perspective. As for nearly all college students, summer is a time of transition. Out with the old, in with the new. New classes. New people. New challenges. I welcomed it all. I love change; I crave it. I look forward to new things and that summer was no different.

As is custom for the summer college-student migration, I was helping some friends, the Olympians, clean up and move out of their apartment. Within the Olympians, was someone special. Her name was Vesta. We had a solid and simmering connection, so we started seeing each other some months prior to this incident. After much gossip and tip-toeing, we had finally found some footing in our relationship. Things were going well and naturally I wanted to help her with moving.

Throughout my second year of college, I lived in a dorm. If you know anything about dorm life, it’s depressing as hell. The Olympians’ apartment became a refuge, away from school and my increasingly, insufferable roommate. I was sad to see it go and willing to give those four walls the send off they deserved. We spent the whole day scrubbing carpets and walls, bickering and pickering about the division of work.

After much hard work, they decided to break for lunch at their new place. Before they left, the Olympians bagged all of the items they were going to abandon and let me know that I could take anything I wanted. How generous. Here I was, left alone with this bag of seemingly useless junk. Broken tv remotes, half full notebooks, random tchotchkes that had lost their charm, etc. Nothing really stood out to me. I dug through it some before deciding that none of it appealed to me. I decided to also head back home, so I dropped the bag by the dumpster on my way out.

Later on that evening, Vesta invited me over for drinks to toast to their final night in the apartment. I gratefully accepted. We all drank. We laughed. We reminisced about what the apartment had suffered through with the Olympians. It was pleasant. Nostalgic. Here comes the "well, fuck..."

“Oh, by the way. Did you go through the bag?”

“Yeah, I did. Didn’t really take anything, though.”

“Okay, good. Where’d you put it? Pluto accidentally put my coasters in the bag. I wanted to keep those.”

“Coasters?” I had seen the coasters before. A thick stack of water warped cardboard coasters that had lived on their coffee table. I had used one from time to time at various parties and kickbacks. I had no idea where they came from, but I never questioned it. They were odd, but went unnoticed.

What was unbeknownst to me was that my dear Vesta was a secret collector. She had spent the last five years collecting coasters from bars all over the world. Unassuming cardboard rounds from places as far as Austria, Greece, Norway, Turkey, and beyond. Years’ worth of drunken nights out and memories with old friends. Formative experiences and rosy nostalgia that made up the person I loved. Everything about Vesta’s stories and travels were soaked into those coasters. Tiny reminders of her past. Vesta is not a very sentimental person, but I came to learn they were her prized possession. The only collection she ever had. Her personal treasure.

I was beyond horrified. Mortified. The terror--the shame I felt was immense. Intense. Crushing. Devastating.

“I… I threw it away.”

Silence.

Then so much noise. When Vesta is angry, she cleans. Aggressively. She was banging pots in the sink as she scrubbed them. Slamming plates into the dishwasher. Furiously bashing silverware as she wiped the counter. The apartment was awash with the bangs and clangs or Vesta’s sorrow. It was the loudest thing I had ever heard. The worst I had ever felt.

In a daze of panic, I slipped out of the apartment and found myself elbows deep in the trash bins by the dumpster. I searched fruitlessly for what felt like an eternity, but it was impossible. There was no hope. They were gone.

Vesta didn’t talk to me for a while after that. I couldn’t blame her. I was pretty angry with me, too. If only I had just minded my own business. If only I had just done the bare minimum. It was far too late for that thinking. We didn’t break up, but our relationship was rocky and painful for the remainder of the summer. It felt like I had irreparably destroyed what we had. Everything was falling apart. I was falling apart.

We did recover, though. Not right away, of course. We had a handful of underlying issues, but we worked through them. We came out of it better. Healthier. Stronger. In fact, we are still together. Far from perfect, but happy.

We’ve never talked about the coasters. I still feel anguished and stupid over the whole ordeal. I don’t know if she ever forgiven me or let it go. Maybe the betrayal creeps into her mind latte at night too. I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to know.

***Author's note: All names have been changed for privacy. Shady? Maybe.

#nostalgia #essay #writing #catharsis #well fuck #good people #cringe #embarrasment #yikes #shame

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briellebataillephotography · 6 years ago

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I started writing this months ago…

My life has changed a lot since packing everything I owned in my sedan and moving across the country from Colorado to California on October 27, 2018. Since my move, my focus has completely shifted from a deep focus on my social life going to events, concerts, and parties pretty much 24/7 to dolphin diving deeper into what I believe is my SOUL WORK. I have found myself starting to seriously asking myself the question – WHAT IS IT THAT MY SOUL WANTS ME TO DO WITH THIS LIFE??

Why is it that I have spent YEARS of my life promoting shows? What about me has learned to accept this #ProductionBabe life of richly rewarding experience yet very little pay? The truth? After careful contemplation, it seems the foundation and mission of my business needs to be revisited, rewritten and reborn. I suppose this is “natural” for someone who is 26 and only 7 months in to being “fully self-employed”. All the cards say that self-employment is my magic path. Yet I will admit, sometimes the thought of a “normal job” with health benefits, a 401K, and other ruby red perks seems tempting.

I really never thought about or “planned” to become a digital concert marketer or event promoter. I am just a live music lover, a born and raised #Austin girl who ended up in the right place at the right time. As a freshman in College I started my journey in the streets of Denver in 2011 when #Colorado was on the brink of marijuana legalization and about to “blow up” as the “electronic music capitol of the world”. I started out as a street team member for AEG Live Rocky Mountains, promoting Avicii shows and other huge EDM names like Bassnectar. As my work ethic, network, and passion for live music and EDM grew, so did my opportunities to promote and work with music industry organizations like Cervantes Masterpiece Ballroom, ARISE Music Festival, SONIC BLOOM, Bus To Show, The Black Box and several others.

While I LOVED working and living in Colorado I had something of a “spiritual awakening” after my house burned down on 2/6/16. Ever since, I have been more focused on rebuilding and redesigning my life for maximum balance and harmony. Harmony with spirit, harmony with the earth, and most importantly harmony with myself. This refocus of my energy and intention guided me to ALOHA Kaua’i YOGA & PEACE Festival in Kauai, HI. Through this event I met a group of special people that have changed my life completely. One of them, connected me to my last job working with the producer of Mayan Heart Festival.

Mayan Heart Festival was a beautiful concept and well intentioned by the original lead producer. When I first met the team I got that little inner “ding” that let me know I was in the right place for the right reasons. I started working on the event the week I moved to California. It was the first week in November 2018 and I was initially committing about 20+ hours a week to the festival. The amount of work to be done between November 1st and the first day of the festival December 20th was enormous. The scope of the job spanned across every different aspect of my experience in events production. There was also a lot of aspects of the festival I was never talked to about or ever “questioned” as I was lead to believe by the producer verbally and energetically that “everything was taken care of”. While I noticed some “red flags” about what was happening with the core production team and lead producer right away, I decided to continue anyway. I felt inspired to help accomplish the “mission” no matter what. I had also just moved across the country and really needed the job/paycheck and loved the overall concept for the event. The lineup and marketing materials made the festival “look” really good.

Unfortunately, the reality of what Mayan Heart Festival advertised and what was actually produced and presented were worlds apart. This effected almost every aspect of the events production and significantly challenged our tiny team of unprepared staff in many different ways. Without getting into the details about what exactly went “wrong” I will say just a few words about my own personal experience.

One of the major challenges of this experience was that I was very clearly discriminated against for not speaking Spanish. A deep ancestral wound that dates back generations considering my grandmother was born in San Jose, Costa Rica and grew up speaking Spanish. When she immigrated to America she was forbidden from speaking Spanish due to discrimination in the public school she was attending. I have always wished I could speak Spanish and despite many classes and opportunities to learn, it just hasn’t ever fully “clicked” for me. When I confronted the producer about why he had hired a only Spanish speaking box office ticketing company for the Mayan Heart, which had primarily Americans and English only speaking attendees, he said something to the effect of “IT IS YOUR FAULT FOR NOT SPEAKING SPANISH”. As you could imagine, this took the wind out of my sails and caused me to lose a lot of respect for him.

Instead of following my initial gut reaction to quit working completely in that moment I continued to work hard and help the event in anyway I could. I clearly communicated this “burn” to him and let him know how I felt about what he said in hopes that it would help me feel better to get it off my chest, but I still felt sick about it.

For the 1st time in my career working events I was stiffed to the tune of just under $5,000. The producer did not pay me for any of the time I spent working to produce the festival on-site starting on December 13th a full week prior the the festival start. He also failed to pay my fathers company approximately $3500 for the merchandise that he purchased through me and sold at the event. Causing a riff not only between myself and the production but also between my father and I. The raw cost of the merchandise was taken directly out of my Dad’s paycheck and set him back financially in a major way. To put this in more perspective: my dad has been helping me with merchandise like t-shirts and stickers for my projects since I was on the swim team at 8 years old. To my knowledge we have never be ripped off like this before.

Additionally, I was not fully paid for the 17 tickets I sold through the festival affiliate program. I was also blatantly lied to and lead to believe that the festival had an investor to pay the artists they booked, this was obviously not true as I have inside information that many of the artists still have also yet to be paid. I do not and cannot support stealing and blatant false advertising/lies. I also do not support the concept of someone selling tickets to another “purification” event when they haven’t paid for the 1st event they produced. I am not sure if “purification” event even ever happened as I wasn’t invited to help or work on the event at the event in any capacity.

Believe it or not, this blog post isn’t about bashing a project I put a lot of time, energy, and heart into. This blog post is to celebrate and say I have fully recovered emotionally from the deep depression that this painful experience sent me spiraling into.

The point of this post is to say A BIG THANK YOU for the countless hours of love and support I received from THE AMAZING TEAM OF PEOPLE WHO I MET AT THE EVENT who continued to work hard despite many intense psychological, physical, and emotional “tests” of faith.

I have chosen to leave names out of this post but I feel the people who this thank you is directed to will know in their hearts.

I bow at your feet humbled and grateful for the love and support you showed me in this challenging transformational experience.

The result of this experience sent me thinking about “quitting” the music industry and getting a “real job” very seriously. After talking to several friends who work in events production and hearing stories of similar things happening in other productions, I had the heart to finally let it go. I have fully accepted now that in life and in business we sometimes experience “failures” as part of the process. I prefer not to think Mayan Heart as a failure, a financial failure maybe, but I have chosen to think of it more like that quote, “either you win or you learn”, this experience I learned a lot from. I am grateful for the opportunity to learn, for the connections I made, and for all of the experiences I had that ultimately made me a stronger person.

I am excited so say we are coming up on the next event I have been helping to promote called Portal to the New Earth gathering in Joshua Tree, CA! I am SO EXCITED to be heading to that May 3-5th.

Limited Tickets are available and I would LOVE to see you there!

Such abundant gratitude today to you for reading this!

Live in BLISS, LOVE, AND TRUTH,

Brielle Bataille

Expanding into the truth, photos and a note to Mayan Heart Festival for the many lessons learned. I started writing this months ago... My life has changed a lot since packing everything I owned in my sedan and moving across the country from Colorado to California on October 27, 2018.

#Festival Fails #Guatemala #Mayan Heart Festival

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