#so you ask if you can occasionally call 'real person time' to detox a little

[emkini]

Every once in awhile I remember that one toxic friendship I had as an 11-13 year old where our highly involved animal/keeper roleplay got so weird and intense that we had a safeword. Hope that girl is living the kinky life of her dreams nowadays because dear lord

[artificialqueens]

Level Up, Chapter Eleven (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

“I don’t think I could come up with anything negative about you.”

Brooke’s eyes are sincere as she says it, and Vanessa’s heart starts to beat just a little bit faster. Vanessa’s a person who’s always on the go, not one to slow down if she doesn’t have to but Brooke has the ability to make her world pause for just a second. Brooke changes Vanessa’s focus from what’s in front of her to solely her, and Vanessa almost wishes she could keep it there forever.

It’s never that hard for Vanessa to come up with words to reply with, especially not towards Brooke, but her brain feels like it has shuddered to a stop, pressing on the brakes because the small smile on Brooke’s face is more important to focus on. She could say something stupid, something funny, maybe return the sentiment but she doesn’t get a chance to decide on what to do before Yvie lets out a scoff.

“Except for your dislike of Chicken Little. That’s a negative if I’ve ever seen one.”

AN: Hi, I'm still alive, I promise. Popping back into this lovely fic nearly eight months later (a new job, a new apartment, a new city, and a new cat later too) and I love it just as much as I did in January. Eight months is good for plot to marinate and develop and I'm excited to get back to writing this fic again. If you're still around for this journey, thank you and know I'm so grateful for it. Please do tell me your thoughts if you read! Thank you writ for betaing ily <3

“So you have that interview with Glamour, I’ll set it up for some time this week, and Teen Vogue wants to do something on their Youtube channel. Who knew that was a thing? I’m working on Adidas’ rep to finagle a sponsorship outta them, and Under Armour on the backburner just in case-”

Vanessa bursts through the doors of the gym while Detox continues talking in her ear, not at all apologetic about the way that she has to interrupt her as she ambles towards Brooke’s office. “Just reached the gym. We’ll have to continue this later, ‘cause training waits for no one, right?”

“I see exactly what you’re doing, but I’m not mad at it. Go work on building those boxing skills that’ll keep lining your pockets for years. Toodles!”

Vanessa lets out a snort when Detox hangs up the phone. “Toodles? Who the hell says that?”

“Detox?” Brooke looks up from her book, an amused smile on her face. “I know that trick.”

“What trick?” Vanessa squints her eyes as she sits down, trying to read the cover of Brooke’s paperback. “Are you reading Chicken Soup for the Soul? ”

Brooke waves a hand. “Doesn’t matter. And the trick of dipping out of Detox’s phone calls. Why else would you get to the gym so early?”

“Oh, come on. I’m early sometimes. Occasionally,” Vanessa grins, and Brooke doesn’t buy it in the least from the way she raises an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe not. I like Detox, I really do, don’t get me wrong. She’s hysterical and good at her job, real good at it, but damn.”

“Detox works hard,” Brooke nods, understanding in her eyes. “It’s a lot to handle sometimes.”

“She cranks up the exposure by a million and targets it in specific places and it works, ‘cause I have a lot of followers and deals now but…”

“But what?”

Brooke leans forward, pushing her book to the side as she looks earnestly at Vanessa. It’s striking, sometimes, how Brooke gives her full attention. How much she cares sometimes.

It’s nice.

“It feels real wild, y’know? Like all I did was become a meme, and now my face is going to be in a Spotify commercial. How does that jump happen?” Vanessa shifts in her chair, letting out a sigh. “It’s only been a few weeks.”

It’s as if Vanessa is riding in a car that’s only getting faster and faster, not quite in control of the steering wheel or knowing when she’s going to be able to stop. Sure, the ride is fun, but it also feels like she’s driving without a license, as if she’s skipped the learner’s permit stage and hit the highway instead.

“She wants to capitalize on it as much as possible. Keep you in the spotlight even after the next big meme rolls around,” Brooke shrugs, before pausing for a second, a look of concern in her eyes. “It’s not too much, is it? I can always talk to Detox with you if you feel like it’s overwhelming-”

“Nah, I’ll survive,” Vanessa shrugs, giving her best reassuring smile to Brooke. “Lush sent me some free shit the other day. I like goodie bags.”

Brooke snorts. “Fair enough. Bath bombs are a reason to keep going.”

“Want some? I got enough for a month's worth of spa days.” Vanessa makes a mental note to bring some of the freebies for Brooke on their next practice. She’s earned half of everything, at least.

“You have any of the sakura ones?” Brooke is tentative with her question, and Vanessa nods enthusiastically.

“You’re getting all of ‘em.”

“Now, hold on a second-”

“It’s six. Don’t we have practice to start?” Vanessa’s up and out of the office before Brooke can protest any further. “I’m gonna go change.”

Practice is nice. Practice feels familiar amongst all the new chaos in Vanessa’s life. It lets her turn her brain off and get away from the people that recognize her out in public, the way her Instagram is now solely for sponsored posts. The way she feels like a caricature of herself, almost, because others have an opinion of who she is based on a ten second video clip.

But practice isn’t like that. In the gym, Brooke is the same as ever, pushing and pushing her until sweat is drenching her back and her mind is spinning and she feels more alive than she ever has. When Brooke throws moves at Vanessa that she has to work in overdrive to block and counter with some of her own, it’s familiar. Even though she’s tired and gasping for breath, it’s what she knows how to do, and in an environment that isn’t unsettling or foreign.

The best part about it? Vanessa can still feel herself learning. Growing. Stepping up to the challenges that Brooke throws at her. Sure, she’s not aching to get back into the competition ring anytime soon, but the approving smiles from Brooke when she gets in a good hit or when she avoids a shot that would previously knock her on the ground gives her a thrill every time.

The end of practice leaves Vanessa with a new sense of longing that’s only been present the last few weeks, since this whole meme mess has started. Leaving the gym is hard, because it means Vanessa has to go outside again, pull her hat down when passerby on the sidewalk give her a second look. She has to unlock her phone and pretend to be busy, but then she’s faced with comments pouring in on every social media account that she opens. She can text one of her friends but it’s hard to continue a conversation, really, after it starts with a rousing Miss Vanjie, no matter how much in jest.

Being outside the gym means that she’s reminded of her new loss of normalcy.

She takes her time switching back into her sweats after she showers, dragging her feet as she leaves the change room with her gym bag slung over her shoulder. When she squints her eyes she can see Brooke at the far end of the gym, teetering on a stool as she repositions one of the crooked banners. Brooke turns around almost as if she can tell Vanessa is there, a good natured smile and an easy wave following immediately.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Need any help?” Vanessa’s stalling a bit by asking, but maybe Brooke really could use a hand with the banners, or at least an extra set of eyes to make sure that they’re nice and straight.

She’s just helpful, that’s all.

Brooke, to her credit, doesn’t call Vanessa out for it as she squints, admiring her handiwork. “I think they’re as aligned as they’re ever going to be. I’m going to get ready to leave for the night, too.”

“Oh,” Vanessa doesn’t mean to sound a little disappointed as Brooke jumps off the stool, fiddling with the jacket that’s slung across her arm. “Already?”

“It’s almost eight thirty,” Brooke points out, padding past Vanessa towards her office door and grabbing her coat off of the hook. “You’re not tired and ready to go home yet?”

“I just…”

Vanessa trails off, looking down at the ground. She’s not sure what to say, really. All that’s waiting for her is her apartment, but she can’t mindlessly scroll Twitter or Instagram before bed without seeing her face again. She needs to reply to her friends’ texts, but the notifications are piling up on top of one another like a mountain that she’s not really sure how she’s going to climb.

Vanessa just wants to avoid it all.

Brooke pauses, and each second that passes makes Vanessa’s heart constrict because maybe she should just try to explain, but she doesn’t know how to and it feels like too much-

“C’mon. My roommate and I are having a late dinner and rewatching Chicken Little. Are you in for a nacho night?”

Brooke’s looking at her expectantly and Vanessa wants to say yes, but what pops out of her mouth is what’s pressing on her even more. “Did you say rewatching Chicken Little?”

“It’s a good movie!” Brooke’s defensiveness makes Vanessa crack a smile despite how restless she feels, how much she’s fidgeting while standing in place. “Come over and you’ll see.”

“Y’know, we haven’t talked about movies before, but this recommendation is making me question what your taste is like,” Vanessa lets out a giggle, when Brooke’s mock offense takes over her face as she puts a hand to her heart.

“The disrespect. You’re not getting nachos with those kinds of statements,” Brooke grabs Vanessa’s gym bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she holds the door open. “Now c’mon.”

Brooke’s apartment is not what Vanessa expects - there are colours and tapestries lining the walls and even one on the ceiling, and she’s pretty sure she sees a bong on top of the refrigerator. It’s pretty, though, with the art splashed across every free surface and the shelves filled with books upon books, piles of even more on the actual floor. Vanessa has to resist the urge to go and sit down on the wicker chair in front of the television that’s suspended from the ceiling.

“Yvie’s the one behind the decor.” Brooke has a knowing smile on her face and Vanessa can feel her cheeks heat up, from how easily Brooke can read her mind. “Moved in a few years ago after she broke up with a long term partner. Never really got around to adding things of my own to the walls.”

Vanessa snickers before she can even get her joke out properly. “What would you add? A Chicken Little poster?”

Brooke, for her part, doesn’t miss a beat. “Nah. A poster of your meme.”

“Wow-”

“I know we were thinking nachos, but picture this. Chicken nuggets while we watch Chicken Little.” A girl with bright green hair pops her head out from behind a door, waving at the two of them.

Vanessa waves back, her eyebrows lifting higher and higher on her forehead when she realizes how tall the girl is as she walks closer. Even Brooke has to look up at her which is a strange sight on its own, considering how much Brooke towers over Vanessa.

Then again, Vanessa’s used to being the short one.

“Vanessa here is doubting the movie’s genius,” Brooke raises an eyebrow, and the girl lets out a fake gasp.

“Um, not a movie. Chicken Little is a film. An artistic masterpiece.”

“Are you two the presidents of the Chicken Little fan club?” Vanessa asks, as Brooke sticks her tongue out at her.

“Yes. And no, you can’t join.”

It’s interesting how Brooke’s work demeanor has dropped now that she’s in her own apartment, her normally squared shoulders a little more relaxed. It reminds Vanessa of when they went roller skating, seeing how much fun Brooke had while pulling her around the rink.

Vanessa wants to see more of it.

Brooke points at her roommate as the girl sticks out a hand. “Ness, this is Yvie. Yvie, Vanessa. I’m coaching her.”

“You’re introducing her as if I haven’t heard you talk about her every single day for the last however many months,” Yvie drawls and Brooke’s sputter is immediate, making Vanessa’s breath hitch a little in her throat.

Brooke talks about her?

Yvie pats Brooke on the back as if she’s choking on her water rather than on some words, sticking her other hand out for Vanessa to shake. “You’re Brooke’s favourite student. Also her only student, technically, but still a favourite nonetheless.”

Brooke’s cheeks are bright pink and Vanessa can’t deny that the sight is adorable, seeing her flustered for once. Still. Brooke probably recaps their training sessions and nothing more.

“As long as it’s mostly positive,” Vanessa shrugs, and the way Brooke emphatically nods makes her feel better than she wants to admit.

“I don’t think I could come up with anything negative about you.”

Brooke’s eyes are sincere as she says it, and Vanessa’s heart starts to beat just a little bit faster. Vanessa’s a person who’s always on the go, not one to slow down if she doesn’t have to but Brooke has the ability to make her world pause for just a second. Brooke changes Vanessa’s focus from what’s in front of her to solely her, and Vanessa almost wishes she could keep it there forever.

It’s never that hard for Vanessa to come up with words to reply with, especially not towards Brooke, but her brain feels like it has shuddered to a stop, pressing on the brakes because the small smile on Brooke’s face is more important to focus on. She could say something stupid, something funny, maybe return the sentiment but she doesn’t get a chance to decide on what to do before Yvie lets out a scoff.

“Except for your dislike of Chicken Little. That’s a negative if I’ve ever seen one.”

The platter of chicken nuggets that Yvie places on the coffee table with a flourish is impressive, to say the least. There’s a little bowl of ketchup on the side, along with sweet and sour sauce and something that looks to be...ranch?

Whatever it is, Vanessa’s nose wrinkles at the sight. “Which one of you eats ranch with chicken nuggets? Is that legal?”

Yvie’s cackle and Brooke’s flushed cheeks tell Vanessa all she needs to know as she plops down beside Brooke on the couch, nudging her side. “Really?”

“The flavour combination is great!” Brooke mutters, grabbing a chicken nugget and dipping it in the ranch for posterity, holding it up close to Vanessa’s face. “Try it.”

Vanessa scooches herself towards the edge of the couch, away from the chicken nugget and the ranch that’s slowly dripping down like a melting ice cream. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s delicious-”

“It’s cursed-”

“More for me, then,” Brooke tosses the chicken nugget into her mouth, and Vanessa’s not sure, really, how she’s handling the flavours together without puking. “You’re missing out.”

“Very happy to miss out on that, thank you very much. I’ll take the ketchup.”

It turns out that Chicken Little isn’t so bad with Yvie and Brooke peppering in commentary as they watch, and Vanessa finds herself getting swept into the plot, as ridiculous as it is. The glass of cider that Yvie’s brought for each of them is making Vanessa feel a little more relaxed, her shoulders not as stiff anymore as she leans against the back of the couch. It’s fun to watch Brooke’s face, really, and the way she lights up while quoting the movie as it plays.

Vanessa makes a mental note to invite Brooke over to watch more movies. Better movies. Expand her palate. Chicken Little cannot be at the top of Brooke’s movie pyramid, not when there are better choices available, like Pretty Woman. Sure, Vanessa’s not exactly a film connoisseur herself, but still. Anything beats Chicken Little, right?

Maybe it’s just the cider settling in, maybe it’s the full stomach of chicken nuggets, but...it’s nice. Comfortable. Vanessa pulls her feet up behind her on the couch before grabbing a throw pillow to hug on her lap, and really, she could fall asleep right where she’s sitting, even to the dulcet tones of the main chicken character screaming about an alien invasion. Brooke looks over as Vanessa settles herself more into the couch, her expression unreadable but then she reaches over the back of the couch, grabbing the throw blanket behind them.

“Wanna share? It’s kinda cold.”

It’s not cold and Vanessa knows it, she knows that Brooke does too, but Brooke’s face is soft and tentative and adorable and sharing a blanket with her would make the couch situation even more cozy.

Plus, she can cuddle with Brooke, because Brooke is tall and thus is a tall, comfortable cushion to lean against.

Brooke throws the blanket across both of them and Vanessa scoots closer to her so that their laps are covered, the fabric fuzzy and warm. The side of Vanessa’s upper thigh leans against Brooke’s and she’s not sure why she’s so hyper aware of the fact, or why Brooke’s arm across the back of the couch makes her want to snuggle in even closer.

It’s just Brooke, after all. Brooke, who’s seen her when she’s all sweaty and about to collapse on the gym floor. Brooke, who had been there at her worst after the last tournament and still wants to coach her and spend time with her. Brooke, whose secret love for Twilight will never fail to make Vanessa laugh.

If it’s just Brooke, then why is Vanessa’s heart taking flight in her chest when Brooke starts to absentmindedly trace patterns on her palm? She doesn’t know why Brooke’s touch is lighting up a pattern of sparks on her skin either, or why Brooke’s side is so comfortable to lean against. Why Vanessa almost wishes that the movie could go on forever, so that she can stay warm and safe under Brooke’s arm that’s now draped across her shoulders.

Maybe Vanessa doesn’t need answers for all of those questions, not yet, not if finding out the answers would mean disrupting the delicate balance that hangs in the air between them. Brooke shuffles a little bit and when Vanessa’s head ends up against her chest, she can feel the way Brooke’s heart is beating, surely faster than any heart should. It’s a contrast from how seemingly relaxed the rest of Brooke’s body is, how her arms around Vanessa aren’t tense, restricting, but rather grounding, pulling her down.

Leaning back against Brooke is warm, familiar. It’s a feeling of home in a situation so novel, so different from how they usually are, like pulling on a sweater that Vanessa’s not sure how she’s ever lived without. Maybe, just maybe, Vanessa doesn’t ever have to take it off.

Vanessa doesn’t realize that the credits start rolling on the screen until Yvie rolls off of the lilac armchair, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. She lets out a yawn, stretching her arms up high before shutting off the TV. “I, for one, am exhausted. And as fun as this was, it’s my bedtime.”

Brooke snickers, and Vanessa can feel the way her chest reverberates underneath her. “You and I both know you’re about to go Facetime Scarlet.”

“That’s what bedtime means,” Yvie wiggles her eyebrows, and Brooke’s noise of disgust is immediate.

“Horrifying. You two better keep it down this time. My ears still haven’t recovered from overhearing you both last week,” Brooke shudders as Yvie cackles, shutting the door to her bedroom with a click.

Vanessa turns in Brooke’s grip, shooting a questioning look. Surely Yvie can’t be louder than the average person on Facetime. “Overhearing what?”

Brooke makes a face, the haunted look in her eyes almost comedic from the way that she sighs. “Let me put it this way. Yvie and her girlfriend are in a long distance relationship, which is hard on them for a multitude of reasons. One of them being their libidos.”

“Their libidos…” Vanessa trails off, her face falling when she realizes what Brooke means. “Oh no. Not that. Tell me not that.”

“Exactly that. They’re quieter over Facetime than they are when Scarlet visits, at least. That’s a blessing.”

Vanessa shudders. Sure, she’s not exactly quiet in bed either, but the thought of people on the other side of the wall being able to hear everything is horrifying, especially because of the fact that she lives with Alexis. Her sister does not need to know details about her sex life, that’s for sure.

Still, Vanessa wonders how loud Yvie must be. “How do they even make so much noise with phone sex, anyway? Yodel?”

“Mating calls that would fit in perfectly in a National Geographic documentary,” Brooke lets out a snicker, her hand clapping over her mouth when Yvie lets out an ‘I heard that!’ from behind her bedroom door. “Still, glad I’m not about to suffer through overhearing it alone. You’ve saved my evening.”

Vanessa snorts, pulling back from Brooke’s embrace to face her, leaning against the back of the couch. “Glad to be of service.”

Brooke is softness and kindness and contentment all at once, and the easy smile on her face is one that Vanessa feels so lucky to see the longer and longer that she knows her. It’s moments like these that Vanessa wants to hold on to forever - when Brooke’s guard is down, when her posture is relaxed and she’s looking over with eyes that Vanessa could drown in. She wants to package up this version of Brooke that isn’t tethered by reminders of her past, or with upholding a legacy that defines her whether she likes it or not. At times like this, Brooke isn’t a boxer with her father’s last name, or Vanessa’s coach responsible for facilitating her success. She’s just Brooke, a girl whose gaze is so mesmerizing that makes Vanessa’s breathing hitch in her throat without even realizing it.

Brooke holds out a hand and it’s almost second nature for Vanessa to link her fingers with hers, their hands fitting together in a way that doesn’t make sense, not when Vanessa’s hands are so much smaller. But Brooke’s grip is an anchor that keeps her from floating away, one that centers her and lets her focus on the upward curve of Brooke’s lips, the softness of her eyes when she smiles.

Except then Brooke’s brow is furrowing, a hint of concern in her eyes that Vanessa wants to brush away for her. “You okay? You’re quieter than usual.”

Vanessa can feel her face heating up as she stutters, pulling her eyes away from Brooke’s face to focus on the stitching along the couch cushions. “I’m fine. I...nothing.”

She can’t exactly go out and tell Brooke, someone who’s a coach and also a friend for that matter, that she’s just a little bit mesmerized by her face. Not something that’s likely to go over well.

Vanessa’s past relationships have been nothing short of peacocking, making herself known to those she’s had an interest in because they’d inevitably chase her right back. She knows her worth, knows how to go after what she wants, but…

What does she even want, now?

She doesn’t want Brooke, she can’t, not when Brooke is her coach and someone who’s becoming more and more important towards every aspect of her life, someone who she texts when she wakes up in the morning and who she’s messaging as she’s falling asleep.

Brooke’s not the type of person that Vanessa can parade around and go on a few dates with while drinking the cheapest wine on the menu for shits and giggles. She’s not someone that Vanessa can let go of easily, the way she’s had to with previous relationships that didn’t work out. Brooke is different from them.

She’s not disposable, not someone that Vanessa wants to let go of from her life. She isn’t someone that Vanessa can let go of at this point, because the thought of not seeing her amused expressions in the gym or the pride on her face while they’re training is too much to deal with. Vanessa’s only beginning to read through Brooke’s pages to learn more about her, and finding out little details that make her want to melt and pull Brooke just a little closer to her heart.

Brooke is too important.

Sure, Vanessa’s breath hitches in her chest whenever Brooke pulls her closer, and maybe Brooke’s smile is enough to drown out any background noise buzzing around them, but Vanessa also knows that she falls hard. And fast. She’s impulsive, following what her heart tells her to do and most of the time, she can deal with the consequences because she knows she’ll be able to get back up again.

But if this is a miscalculation? If saying something means that they’ll end up in pieces that neither of them will be able to put back together?

It’s too big of a risk. At least, for now.

Vanessa can’t be the one to take the jump off the cliff, not yet.

So she smiles, puts on the most reassuring expression that she can, hoping that it’s enough to soothe the concern that splays itself across Brooke’s features. “Really, I am. Just thinking about all the press shenanigans that Detox has lined up for me tomorrow.”

It’s enough for Brooke’s features to relax just a little bit, the smile on her face almost nostalgic. “I’m glad it’s you now, and not me, on Detox’s receiving end. She’s ruthless in the best way.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Vanessa’s chest by going for the cop out, but...she has no other choice. It’s not the way she normally handles situations like this, a fact made clear by how much she has to push down the butterflies in her stomach, and hide them behind a door so that they don’t escape and ruin stakes that feel too high, too much of a risk.

Still, Vanessa’s a bit of a sucker for punishment, and so when Brooke pulls her closer into a hug, it’s as easy as breathing to snuggle into her and rest her head against her chest, because Brooke’s arms are warm and safe and manage to slow her thinking down just a bit.

Part of Vanessa feels like she can handle it and hold herself back from doing anything stupid, if only to not mess everything up. She can be this close to Brooke and not have her chest split in two and maybe it’s a blessing, and something that she has to hold on to. Except that by leaning against Brooke, she can feel how fast Brooke’s heart is beating, threatening to escape from her chest before she can possibly stop it. It’s a contrast from the gentle way that Brooke’s fingers run through her hair, betraying the calmness on the outside that she’s trying so hard to convey.

Maybe Vanessa’s not the only one holding back. Maybe Brooke also feels it, maybe she’s also teetering on the bridge that Vanessa’s trying her best not to lose her footing on, and the thought gives Vanessa pause for a second, because maybe the risk is one they can manage, something they can work with...

No. No.

They can’t.

Not if it would lead to everything falling to pieces around them, not if it would mean no more training and no more Brooke in general. Because that’s how relationships always seem to end, don’t they?

As much as Vanessa has always wanted the romantic movie ending and a kiss in the rain, it hasn’t happened to her yet, much to her teenage self’s disappointment. There’s too much on the line to see if Brooke will be the one to veer her onto a different path and change the outcome.

So, Vanessa has to be happy with what she’s getting now, this friendship with Brooke and the coaching and accept it for all that it’s worth. Because Brooke’s important, maybe the most important person in Vanessa’s life and she has to take what she gets.

She’s lucky enough to have it in the first place, after all.

[eldritchsurveys]

930.

What may I call you? >> Mordred is fine.

Where are you right now, exactly? >> My bedroom.

Over or under 18? >> I’m over 18.

Have you been watching the Stanley Cup play-offs? (GO BRUINS!) >> No.

Ever believed your house was/is haunted? If yes, why; what happens? >> I lived in a studio in 2009 (my only time living alone) that I suspected had something hanging around. I was the first occupant, though (new building), so it couldn’t have been from a former resident, and I have no idea how else it could have accrued a haunting. Unless the site itself was haunted, I guess. I have no idea what kind of land the building was built on.

The building you live inside; how long ago was it built? >> According to the google search I just did, it was built in 1987, which makes me the same age as the building I live in.

Ever travel internationally? >> No.

If you could go anywhere RIGHT NOW, where would it be? And why? >> I don’t want to go anywhere right now.

Do you fancy someone currently? Tell me about them! >> No.

Ever have a big ol' crush on someone you've never met in person? If so, did you ever tell them you did? >> I’ve been attracted to people I knew online, yes. And yes, I’ve told most of them.

What makes you feel luxurious? >> I’m not sure. I don’t know when I last felt that exact way.

Do you enjoy drinking scotch as much as I do? >> Probably not.

What have you done that makes you proud of yourself? >> Well, I kept playing FFXIV instead of quitting forever in shame and telling myself I’ll never be any good at it. Believe it or not, that’s a milestone.

What makes you envy someone? >> Usually I envy people who seem to have had very little instability or suffering in their lives, because their brains work.

For you, is jealousy something that makes you more sad or angry-feeling? >> If you still mean envy, then it can be either one. I don’t experience jealousy as in relationship jealousy.

Do you get the munchies? >> I don’t smoke, so...

Every been to Germany? If so, what part? >> No.

Do you buy newspapers just for the puzzles? >> No, I have an app for newspaper crosswords.

Describe any tattoos or piercings you may have...? >> I don’t want to, I feel like I’ve described them a million times.

When's the last time you smacked someone's butt? (Or been smacked :P) >> That’s not a thing I do or encourage having done to me.

Do you enjoy making art? If so, what's your style like? >> I don’t make art.

Were you a shy child? >> I don’t know. I was mostly a distant child, I think.

Ever wanna run away with the circus? >> No.

What is the closest object to your feet right now? >> My weighted blanket, which is folded over the second half of the bed because it’s too hot to use.

Reach behind you- do you feel anything? What is it? >> The wall.

Is English your second language? >> No.

Have you ever designed and constructed your own clothing? >> I’ve altered clothing, but not designed and constructed from scratch.

What's the very last digit in your phone number? >> 3.

Is your house an odd or even number? >> This building is even-numbered.

Do you have a favorite superhero? Who? >> I like Iron Man and Doctor Strange. Also, does Promethea count?

What power would you like to receive, if given the option? >> I don’t know. The power of brain that work good.

Ever punch someone in the nose? >> No.

...will you write me a haiku? >> No.

What was the last thing that really delighted you? >> Probably a scene in FFXIV. For example, I did a lot of moogle sidequests today and moogles are fucking adorable.

Do you wear skin-colored clothes? >:C >> I don’t have any brown clothing, no.

Ever eat German cuisine? If so, what'd ya have? >> Yeah, I ate at Bavarian Inn on one of our yearly trips to Frankenmuth (which is a kind of... German-inspired tourist town or something -- we go there every fall for the giant world-famous Christmas store that’s also there). I don’t remember what I ordered, though. German cuisine, while hearty, isn’t dramatic or varied enough for me, though.

Do you have conversations with any animals? >> Well, yeah.

Do you have a little sibling? If so, are you protective of her/him? >> No.

Recommend me a good book? >> I don’t know you and I cannot recommend you a book.

Can you sleep on your back? (I can't, I feel too vulnerable!) >> I can, but I usually end up on my side eventually.

What's the last special thing you did for someone? (Buy, cook, etc.) >> I don’t know.

Did you cook something today? If so, what was it? >> No.

Ever baked ALL day? >> No.

Can you recognize the smell of death? >> A dead person? I mean, I could probably figure out what I’m smelling if I suddenly caught a whiff of a corpse. It seems pretty... singular.

Ever known a mortician or a coroner?? (Now you do!) >> Oh, that’s neat. Mortuary science is so fucking cool. Unfortunately, I don’t actually know you, so I still don’t know any morticians or coroners. :(

What makes you feel good about yourself? >> That’s a good question. I’m working on that.

Could you ever be some type of counselor for kids/teens? >> No.

Do you enjoy getting dressed up for no real reason? >> I imagine that could be fun. I don’t think it’d ever occur to me to do it, though.

What are you afraid of? >> Stuff.

Ever been to a maximum security prison? You, or just visiting? >> No.

Do you think mint toothpaste is too minty? >> I don’t.

How is a raven like a writing desk? >> Heh.

Are you currently eating or drinking something? If so, what? >> Aside from the occasional sip of water, no.

Do you own striped socks? What colors are your favorite ones? >> No.

Black Metal ist Krieg. Agree or Disagree? >> Eh. I mean, I listen to black metal, but I’m not going to make a big deal out of it.

Are there any numbers that have significance to you? >> Yes, 9 and 19.

Do you know how to read palms or tarot or anything else like that? >> I’m passable at reading tarot. For myself, that is.

Do you own any bones or other preserved organic ..things? >> Unfortunately not. Accepting all bone donations.

What do you think about internet piracy? >> I support the mateys.

Do you know anything about Nordic runes? >> I wouldn’t say I know anything about futhark, exactly. The fact that I have Mannaz tattooed on my hand notwithstanding.

How do you feel about children? >> I don’t have a particular feeling about children. It’s all dependent.

Whatcha looking forward to right now? >> Nothing.

How do you feel about clowns? >> I’m indifferent to clowns.

Are any of your friends clown by profession? >> No.

Do you put grated cheese on popcorn? (Yum!) >> I don’t eat popcorn.

Do you thing anyone ever actually gets in trouble for having milkcrates? >> Like, in their home? Who’s going to give a fuck unless a store employee literally saw you take it or something?

Do you tip street performers? (YOU SHOULD.) >> Not usually. I didn’t ask them to be there, I have no obligation to them. I’ll do it if I feel moved to (and if I happen to have cash, which is the other important variable here).

What are your virtues/morals? >> I don’t have a ready list.

What do you smoke, if anything? >> I don’t.

Does being an addict make someone a bad person, in your opinion? >> No.

Have you ever experienced any type of detox? >> No.

Ever been institutionalized? ...was it because of just one pepsi? >> Ha, I haven’t heard that song in a while. Anyway, yeah, I’ve been institutionalised.

Tie up, or be tied up? >> Well, I’m a switch, so.

Ever shoot a gun that wasn't a handgun? Rifle, shotgun, etc? >> No.

Is your mother a really cool lady? >> No.

Ever suddenly find a friend very attractive but had to keep it to yourself? >> Suddenly? That seems like a weird thing to have happen, lol. I imagine someone finally getting glasses after years of seeing everything kind of blurry and putting them on and going, “holy shit, my friend’s hot as fuck!”

What time is it right now? >> 7.42p EST.

Last time it's rained? >> Uh... a couple of nights ago, I think.

Ever been through a deadly natural disaster? >> No. I mean, I was in NYC when Hurricane Sandy came plowing through, but I wasn’t exactly in any of the parts of the city that got hit-hit.

What do you do when you lose power? >> I so rarely lose power that I don’t even know. I guess I would just read, if I could. Or go so deep into boredom that suddenly I become manically creative. They say that happens, or something.

Do you have a boot fetish too? >> No.

Have you ever done home-repair stuff? >> I mean, not really. I don’t live in a home, lmao. You’re supposed to call Maintenance if something needs fixing in these apartments. (I’m willing to bet that if you try fixing something yourself and you fuck up, you’re gonna be payin for it. Better to let Maintenance deal with it. At least if they fuck it up, the complex can deal with the consequences.)

Reason you last used a knife? >> I don’t remember.

Ever tattoo or pierce yourself? What, and how did it turn out? >> Yeah, I’ve pierced various parts of my ears a few times. Most of the time it turned out fine, but eventually all the holes closed up.

Have you ever assisted in a birth? >> No.

Have you ever had a bad trip? >> Yes.

Do you ever yell at your TV/computer/video games? >> Yes.

How long do you take in the shower? >> Like 10 minutes at most.

If you could ask someone ONE thing & get 100% honesty, what would you ask? >> ---

What's the best thing you've ever found in a thrift/second hand shop? >> I don’t know.

What's one skilled craft you like to learn? >> ---

How do you feel about magicians? >> Like, illusionists? I’m indifferent to them. I agree it’s clever work, but I don’t really care about it.

What do you smell like right now? >> I don’t know. Flesh.

Tell me about the last person that made you laugh. >> ---

Who was the last person to really make you feel special? >> ---

[studentville-struggles]

A Double Life

Chapter 2 

A self-indulgent Daniel Ricciardo fic.

Summary: Returning to old passions results in the start of chaos and living a double life. We say we hate chaos, but the thrill is unlike anything else.

Words: 2,236

Part 1 // Masterlist

Formula 3 was incredible, one of, if not the best years of your little life so far. You got to visit so many cities that you hadn’t been to before and you met so many people. Especially with the tracks overlapping with F2 and F1, you could chat to, learn from and in some cases, build friendships with people in the leagues above. It did also help that Lewis would pop in to see you every now and again, check up on things and introduce you to those he thought might stand you in good sted. Either way, you felt as though you gained two new families that year; one in academia within your research group, and one within the world of racing.

Your confirmation paper was accepted, critiqued and praised, meaning you had done everything you needed to progress in your PhD. You were relieved at being able to produce something of worth whilst living both of your lives with full intensity.

All too soon the season ended and you had achieved more than anyone could have predicted. Like a duck to water – albeit a sleep deprived duck - you had successfully readjusted to racing, finishing a staggering 3rd in your rookie year. You were so proud. You’d been balancing the move into your second year in your doctoral programme with racing and you were starting to see the results of your pre-race training. That, combined with your work ethic and results from this season, you could move up into Formula 2, having signed a contract with ART Grand Prix in August.  

After the last 12 months, you felt as though you had mastered the required routine for balancing your ‘two lives’ as you call it. Coming into the long break between seasons you didn’t want to lose that balance, but also wanted to give yourself a break from the long days you were accustomed to. Who knows, maybe you could go for lunch with friends, after all you can be somewhat laxer on your diet now. A real social life sounded divine, yet somewhat terrifying.  

You figured you were afraid that if you loosened your grip on your routine, you’d struggle even more with your move to formula 2. Comparing the two championships, formula two had significantly more traveling involved, with tracks from the middle east being included. Where the season was eight rounds between May and September for Formula 3, Formula 2 had 12 rounds between March and December. Formula 2 would potentially interfere with more of your lab work and conferences you attended. Could you handle an increase in workload and training? Would it be easier if you maintained your somewhat unhealthly work schedule?

You were already a little more intense than some of the other F3 drivers, with regards to diet and training routines, you knew that, but Lewis had always pushed you to be better, work smarter. You don’t improve without pushing yourself, why limit that to just the track?  

With the season coming to an end, it meant that season one of the Stewart show, one of Lewis’ many nicknames for it, would be airing soon. The camera crew were your one link between life on and off track, they saw it all and now the world would be able to as well. You were excited to see people’s reactions, but also concerned about how things might change as a result. Would drivers take you less seriously? Would people from your lab watch it and view you differently?

You had been talking through these thoughts and worries with Lewis as you met for a ‘detox weekend’ in London at his flat. He wanted to celebrate your fantastic season and pray over the year ahead without any distractions and to give you a break from work. There was a movie playing in the background but you were far more interested in hearing about the team shuffles and how he thought the season was going to play out in F1. You wanted to know everything: who he thought would shine, who he thought might struggle and which teams he thought would step up. The resulting strategy discussions would help you in ways you couldn’t imagine as you moved up the leagues.  

Lewis always found ways to teach you something whenever you were together, but he also made a point of turning drivers' mode off and connecting with you on a personal level as well, even if he had been your mentor for over a year. Your friendship continued to blossom; you were more like family than friends now. You knew each other well enough to tease each other over the gossip surrounding them and could share secrets with one another and trust them to keep it. Lewis would tell you stories about his niece and nephew – who insisted on calling you auntie Rachel – that would have you snorting and clapping like a seal, or about stupid things he’d seen in town on a night out. You would share stories from the lab, who’d fucked up what experiment, which couples had emerged recently and what you had been working on. However, what Lewis loved to hear more than anything, purely so he could tease you, was any gossip from your love life, or more accurately, the lack of it. He would tease you about not following the other boys and dating someone from the circuit, someone’s brother or cousin, ‘get your flirt on’ he would always say.  

Tonight, Lewis was dragging you hard, saying he would set you up with one of the F1 lads if only you would admit which one you thought was the cutest. Anyone with a pair of eyes knew those boys were pretty jaw-dropping, I mean what else did anyone expect from a bunch of athletes. However, there wasn’t a hope in hell that you would admit to Lewis who you had a small celeb crush on, not that there was anyone. Definitely not.  

“Won’t be long until you’re up in F1 with me you know.” Lewis announced out of nowhere, seemingly dropping the topic of ‘hot F1 drivers’

“I’m sorry what?”  

“If you keep doing what you’re doing; working hard and getting these kinds of results, I see no reason why they wouldn’t find a seat for you in F1.”

“Oh.” You were shocked.  

Yes, you wanted to drive in F1, who didn’t, but you knew it was a hard task to get a seat and you didn’t have anywhere near as much experience as some of the other drivers in F2 who would be pushing to move up. “I’m not so sure,” you started, “as long as I’m alive, driving and challenging myself, I’m happy.”

“Sure but I’d love to have you in F1, race against my own little sister.” You could hear the sincerity in his voice.

“Cute, till I beat you, then you’ll just be sulking” You stuck your tongue out at him.

“Nah but for reals, it’ll make it super easier to tell which of the boys you’re crushing on.” He smirked back at you.

“Oh piss off.”

---

Lewis decided that once you had settled into the season a bit you should start coming to the media days as his guest to get a feel for things, still adamant that you would be up there soon. Obviously, you agreed, wanting as much experience as you could afford to get, regardless of where you ended up racing. Before you knew it, a permanent VIP pass had been organised, allowing you to go to any grand prix you wished.  

You loved watching the races, especially from the pits. It made your hunger to improve and move up stronger than it ever was. Well that, and it meant you could chat to some of the drivers you knew.  

Having met them last year, you occasionally played esports with Max Verstappen and Lando Norris and so knew them relatively well and so would always chat to them over race weekends. You were so thrilled to be back and settled into the new season that you couldn’t help but have a laugh when you were catching up with everyone. Media days were some of your favourites as everyone was usually in good spirits and this time, unbeknown to you, you were getting far more involved than ever before.

Whilst you were pally with a few of the drivers, you were yet to meet them all, and you were looking forward to meeting a certain jokester more than others. Once Lewis had figured this out, he had teased you relentlessly, it was all over for you. Unfortunately, he was only gorgeous until he opened his mouth.

“Here to scout the boys out?” Ricciardo had spotted you wandering around the paddock earlier and finally cornered you outside the Mercedes hub.

“Oh yeah, got to see who my competitions gonna be.” You teased back.

“The WAGs usually meet in the coffee parlour over there then.” Excuse me?

“Come again?”  

“The wives and girlfriends, your competition?”

You could only shake your head. Of course, he assumed that you in the team merch, guest of Lewis Hamilton, were here only with the aim of getting a boyfriend. Oh no, when you said you were scouting competition, you meant competition for a seat.

Almost on cue, Lewis came wandering around and started laughing at the sight of you.  

“Don’t lock your jaw sugarsnap” Lewis chuckled, using his nickname for you. The tension and irritation clear on your face. He knew exactly who had caused it given the group you were with. “Ricciardo what did you say?”

“Why me? And ‘sugarsnap’?” Ricciardo quizzed? “You already a WAG, doll?” He asked turning back to you

Your jaw tensed again; you couldn’t really blame him for not knowing you but the assumptions still hurt. Though you also shouldn’t have assumed that he watched the lower leagues, nor even heard of your show.  

“Yeah, I know you, so what did you say and why are you calling her a WAG?” Lewis was both amused and concerned, it was a strange look.  

“Told her which canteen the WAGs usually go to but I’m guessing she already knows if she’s your guest, ay?” Ricciardo winked at you.  

“Oh, that’ll do it. I’m her mentor and self-imposed older brother so no she’s no WAG.” Lewis’ voice was stern but still held a small hint of humour. He then turned to you, a grin spreading across his face.  

“Suit up sugarsnap – you've got a hot lap to do.”

“Really?” The excitement of the day returned at that.  

“Yup and you’re driving me round, step to it.”

You ran back to your changing area squealing with excitement. You headed off so fast you missed the shocked look on Ricciardo’s face.

“She’s driving?”

“Mentor hot laps – a new Mercedes segment.”

“She’s a driver?”

“A damn good one – you'd know that if you checked any of the results from F2.”

“I do check!”

“Stewart? Placed 3rd in F3 last year?” Ricciardo was nodding, he knew that name, saw the results from last years F3 season too. “Yeah, she’s Rachel Stewart.”  

With that, Lewis headed to the garage to meet you.

You climbed into your GT-R, Lewis clambering into the passenger side, repeatedly commenting on how weird it felt given he was usually the one driving these laps. You could already see the joy on your media teams face, the camera catching this bickering and knowing full well how well received this sort of banter would be with fans.  

“You driven one of these before?” Lewis queried.

“Nope.” You replied, popping the ‘p’, “that an issue Lew?”

“Adds to the adventure. Don’t go above seventy on a corner or we’ll roll.” Fun, but something to learn.  

“Rollings fun.” You sassed back.

“Not your car Stewie.” Another nickname.  

“Roger that.”  

With a shared laugh, you were off on your lap.  

The mentor hotlaps segment had come about with Mercedes deciding that they wanted to start highlighting the impact a mentor could have, both on and off the track, and so were filming various challenges and fun tasks for their social media. They could showcase both mature and successful drivers, as well as the upcoming drivers they hoped would lead the next generation.  

You knew your lap was being filmed and so steered clear from bad language and uber personal topics but you laughed, chatted and teased your way round the hot lap, Lewis booing when you wouldn’t steal a second lap. As you climbed out you reminded Lewis that your name didn’t carry quite as much weight as his. Obviously, he couldn’t help but comment on how it wouldn’t be long till yours carried the same.  

Walking back towards your cool room several members of the Mercedes team congratulated you saying your lap was both impressive and hilarious. People seemed to love seeing the familial relationship you had developed with the five-time world champion. No one was quite as happy as Lewis’ press manager, quietly commenting how easy this would be to put out.

“Not bad at all doll.” An Australian accent called out as you left the main crowd in the garage.

Smirking up to the driver, one you may have had a crush on until he opened his mouth to speak earlier, you decided to play him at his own game.  

“Thanks. Say Ricciardo, when’s your contract up?”  

[sureivy]

is that HALSEY? no, that’s just IVY CALDER. SHE is TWENTY-FOUR years old and is an EMPLOYEE AT DON’T FRET & PAWS 4 LOVE. rumor has it they’ve been in town for FOUR MONTHS / TEN YEARS. on a good day, they’re CREATIVE & VERSATILE. but watch out! they can also be IRRESPONSIBLE & VOLATILE. TRIGGER BANG BY LILY ALLEN (FT. GIGGS) plays in my head whenever i think of them. can’t wait to see them around springhill!

hello my pals ! i’m amy ( 20 // est // she/her ) and i am super excited to be here! we also over here bringing back a fairly old muse (i,, apparently,, play her during election years,,) with a couple of tweaks, so we love that for me! also! pls forgive me if this is lowkey disorganized, we’ve been in and out of airports all day! can’t wait to contract that sexy corona!

QUICK FACTS:

full name: ivy rose calder

date of birth: may 2, 1995

*does not perfectly reflect the below big three zodiac chart because that’s too much math

zodiac big three: taurus sun, pisces moon, aquarius rising

gender & pronouns: cis woman & she/her

sexual orientation: bisexual ( preference for women bc we luv that for her but we also luv leaving things open to chemistry )

education: high school diploma

enneagram: 7w8?

mbti: enfp

moral alignment: chaotic neutral

positive traits: creative, versatile, passionate, compassionate

negative traits: irresponsible, volatile, impressionable, hedonistic

BACKGROUND INFO:

triggers: brief implied sexual abuse, suicide, a lot of death talk?, drug abuse ( desoxyn ), overdose

ivy lived the first eight years of her life in newark, nj. she had a mere family of three – her mother, a model-turned-stay-at-home-mom, her father, a politician, and herself. she was much closer to her mother, but she and her father were close at night.

when her mother finally found out about this, she wasted no time in taking ivy’s father’s side. what a good mom! instead, ya girl was already getting in touch with cps herself... but wow... it was gonna ruin his career in politics :\

“Now, one thing I lerned from Storys is, when something big is about to okur, a riter will go: Then it hapened! This tells the reeder: Get Reddy. Here I go: Then it hapened!” - fox 8

then it happened!

humiliated, clearly never getting a platform back, and absolutely bitter, ivy’s father killed himself before being sent to prison. 

Very Tragique™

ok. so. to distance themselves from the poor memories, but to save money, ivy and her mother moved to springhill, temporarily sharing ivy’s aunt’s apartment while her mother began collecting enough money to buy an apartment of their own and keep it.

during this time, ivy was seeing a lot of people and she didn’t know why! they asked questions about her mental health, but she didn’t know why! i mean, totally not traumatic, right?

yes. instead of managing communication well, she became very fascinated by the concept of death. she had many questions about it, she, a youth, had some extended conversations with clergymen about it –– she never killed any animals, god forbid, but she was absolutely fascinated when she ran across them.

SO CLEARLY THAT WAS ALSO TRYING TO BE DEALT WITH.

ok, i’m gonna skip ahead a little. now in teen years and still fascinated by death, but in a healthier way!, and no longer in therapy because... like... that costs a lot of money!

she dealt with it the best she could. became enamored with music... because why wouldn’t she? some covers here and there, some originals here and there, living that youtube lyf, but not expecting anything to come of it. just liked validation! mood!

she also dealt with it the worst she could! became enamored with drugs! naturally, it started out small. some weed, some lsd, some molly –– you know, just drugs that you don’t typically think of as addictive. although her grades suffered, it was harmless enough...

upon graduating high school, she figured... no college. instead, with barely any money to her name, she was like “i... will go to new york... and i will become famous.”

and she did! she did go to new york! she found a few sketchy places that didn’t charge much for a few nights as she began networking - both socially and “i would like to be known for music” (i literally just forgot the word for networking like..... employment wise.... y’all i’m so dumb). when she’d made some friends, she began crashing on couches that were not quite as sketchy! 

but :\ she did meet these friends in sketchy places :\ and they were like “ok here r some new and more addictive drugs for u to try!”

what she wound up abusing using the most was desoxyn. it kept her awake, it kept her focused, it even shed a few pounds to create an excellent figure! what wasn’t to love! 

i mean it’s literally a prescription methamphetamine,,, when abused,,, literally almost exact same effects as meth,,, but when meth mouth, skin lesions, acne, etc aren’t occurring as a side effect? who was she to care!

20, she released an actual ep with the help of a super cool friend who made everyone call him puppy mills! wow! things were excellent! it wasn’t necessarily seeing mainstream traction, but there was a decent enough following! enough to release an album at 22!

perfect timing, btw! desoxyn was starting to become too expensive for puppy to afford and trying to fake having such a severe form of adhd that desoxyn would be prescribed as opposed to something like ritalin or adderal when it’s literally illegal to prescribe in some countries now?? too hard :\ but the money from the album helped her and puppy!

*olaf vc* puppy died. *end vc*

she was there for it too. she thought it was just a freak-out, took a LITTLE too much, but not OVERDOSE worthy... then he l i t e r a l l y died. and it was a painful death!

“oh wow! maybe prescription meth isn’t super cool after all! shucks!” but that was also an opening?? to visit death herself?? like... she didn’t necessarily want to die (sort of), but she wanted... an answer to the question that had plagued her her entire life... so she was like “ok hope i die then someone revives me but if i die then :\ i guess i die!”

did not die. but also did not get a satisfying answer to her question. the only way it would’ve been truly satisfying? if she had been dead for longer than a minute - then it would’ve given a definite answer! because the answer she received was just nothingness which, while peaceful... is it true?

she tried to detox alone, what because rehab is a business, and it... only... sort of worked. she would be clean for a few weeks, then fall back in, then clean for a few weeks, then fall back in. whenever she wasn’t just naturally focused and awake, or whenever what she was focused on was the past, she would fall back in.

i mean, a side effect is memory loss, so win/win!

she made the semi-wise decision to move back to springhill. wisest would’ve been to just move to a town/city she had absolutely no memories in, but better than moving back to newark!

so... without much to show, and with an unreliable streak, she knew she wouldn’t be able to start looking for much of an occupation – but she still needed money! so she began working at don’t fret out of a love for music, then began working at the animal shelter after completing training.

the main training was, of course, for putting animals to sleep.

FULL CIRCLE.

ah yes. how she pretends it’s healthy... even tho there are studies and statistics relating suicide to veterinarians and shelter workers who euthanize animals... ah yes.

has been back for four months now. love that. do not know how to finish this.

TL ; DR:

born in newark. moved to springhill at 8. childhood trauma that she is still carrying causes fascination with death. “i love music.” moved to ny at 18 because realistic. childhood trauma also causes dependency on desoxyn. releases an ep and an album. does not become famous, but they both have decent traction. moves back after an overdose. relapses... often. now sells records and puts animals to sleep. miss american dream since she was 17, amirite?

PERSONALITY / MISCELLANEOUS INFO:

one person one week, a totally different person the next.

wants to please people, but also wants to be her own person? it’s a whole deal!

in spite of her slight icarian incident, she still hopes to maybe one day become a real musician and performer. until then, we selling records and saying ‘goodbye’ to sweet animals!

can truly flip like a switch in interactions! does love ruining things for herself! almost always feels bad after bc :\ damn :\ alright :\

i’m very bad at these sections i really hate that i always include them!

is still avoiding healthy coping mechanisms. love that for her.

favorite movie is, unironically, the bee movie. favorite horror movie is cats.

SO GOOD at memorizing random lines or trivia. could probably recite literally all of who’s afraid of virginia woolf? other than that?? her memory is so bad. hate drugs for that :\

she uses her hair to express herself! (that sounds really boring.) ...she uses her hair to express herself!

but no. seriously. wears the black shag weave the most, followed by the blue/yellow combo ( we stan the badlands aesthetic ). occasionally forays into other colors and styles when money permits, but it’s usually gonna be one of those two!!

was an envy on the coast stan in high school which makes an inappropriate amount of sense.

will go out and steal the dumbest shit when she’s drunk. has a history of stealing chickens.

once again: hate that i always include these!! feel free 2 j consult the personality parts in the quick facts!!

CONNECTION IDEAS:

ok we gonna list some general ones for right now! all are open to multiple people unless there’s an asterisk by it!

close friends –– moonie, teagan,

ride or die

childhood friends –– moonie,

bad influence ( mutual or her on them ) –– veronica ( mutual ),

good influence ( them on her ) –– presley, hayden, gabrielle,

exes ( can be from high school or something like that if based in springhill, can be from 20s in new york if based in new york )

fwb –– trent,

will they, won’t they –– presley,

someone who knew her music ( can be neutral, a fan of it, or hate it afhkjsl ) –– presley, moonie, teagan, indiana, 

will also possibly be sending in some wanted connections for things that are! more specific!

truly anything!! also up to brainstorm and/or look at yours if you have them!!

UPDATE: i have created a wc page so we luv that for me.

OK. like this or hmu if you’d like to plot!

[crazyblondelife]

My New Way of Eating

Could I please have a May do over please? It seems that I spent the whole month of May either in the hospital, feeling sick, going to the doctor or in pain! After I wrote the last update about how things were going after my appendectomy, I was back at the doctor having fluid drained from below my right lung! I am never sick and this has really taken it’s toll on me mentally as well as physically. I was so thrilled to be finished with my antibiotic, but am now back on antibiotics for a while longer. I’ll find out how long on Wednesday at my appointment with the infectious disease doctor (sounds terrifying). This has been a HUGE wakeup call for me! I want to live the rest of my life feeling good and having the energy to do the things I want to do! It’s all about quality of life. What’s the point in living a long life if you’re too sick and tired to do anything and a burden on the people around you?

I’ve been continuing to read and learn as much as I can about how to eat better and make sure that I’m healthy from now on. I really do believe that what we put in our bodies directly affects our health even more than genetics. Here are a few facts about how our diets have changed over the years in this country!

In this country, we went from eating about 10 pounds of sugar per person, per year in 1800 to 152 pounds of sugar (and 146 pounds of flour) per person, per year today. On average, that’s one pound of sugar every single day! Sugar is added to absolutely everything, including ketchup, so become a label reader!

Sugar is addictive and those sugar loaded foods literally become drugs that disrupt our metabolism and make us fat and sick. Since sugar is so addictive, our brains need to be rewired and this takes work and determination. It would be so easy to stay in the same patterns of eating convenience foods and brushing the facts under the rug, but our quality of life and health depends on our choices at the grocery store.

Let’s send the trillion-dollar junk food industry a message and eat real food. That means foods nature created, which don’t come with barcodes, fake ingredients, or an ingredient list at all. Let’s support local farmers by buying food from farmer’s markets when possible. It’s more nutritious and the money is directly supporting families in your community.

Our brain chemistry believe it or not…regulates our weight and metabolism. There is so much to learn about metabolism. We’ve all been taught that we want a fast metabolism, but actually, the opposite is true. When your metabolism is high, your body is working too hard to break down the bad foods that you’re putting into it. According to Dr. Steven R. Gundry who wrote the longevity paradox, a fast metabolism may not be what you want. ”LONGEVITY MYTH #2 — FASTER METABOLISM = LONGER LIFE

Have you always envied your friends with rocket-speed metabolisms? You know, the friends who can eat anything and still remain rail thin?

Well, the latest studies reveal that, although occasional increases in metabolic rate due to exercise are beneficial, a constantly higher metabolism may be harmful and lead to early mortality. So, the truth is, a lower metabolic rate is actually better for your health.

Life is a marathon. Not a sprint.

If you operate at high energy levels all the time, you’re sure to burn out. You’ll just be putting your body through too much oxidative stress. Of course, if you’re conserving more energy, you’ll likely be able to run longer running at a lower metabolic rate.

As Dr. Gundry says in The Longevity Paradox: It’s better to be a Prius than a Maserati. Don’t you want to be a more efficient fuel burner? Get 50 miles to the gallon instead of only 19? Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Eating the right foods sends a message to your brain to shut down hunger and cravings so you burn fat and feel great . Sugary, processed foods send the opposite message.

Making the right choices to opt for real, whole, unprocessed foods becomes crucial to ditching the junk food habit, but so do your emotional triggers and emotional health.

Whenever you get a strong desire for a chocolate chip cookie or other junk food, ask yourself two questions: What am I feeling?, and What do I need?. What you need can never be gotten by stuffing your face with junk. Emotional eating as a way of self medicating and whether it’s food or drugs or alcohol, self medicating is never the answer.

Changing lifestyle habits and making better choices isn’t always easy, but if you’re someone who cares about quality of life as you age, it is crucial! You have a chance, right now, to make the decision today to stop and detox, not only from junk food, but also from junk thoughts. We must de-clutter our bodies and our minds in order to live our best lives!

Cutting way back on sugar consumption is one thing that I’ll be working on, but the other and equally important thing is going back to being vegetarian (I will eat fish). I was a vegetarian for 18 years and honestly looking back, I felt better. Maybe it was because I was younger, but I also think it was because I was consciously making better food choices. I had endless energy and don’t ever remember feeling tired or sluggish. According to The Longevity Paradox as well as many many other sources, vegetarians live longer, healthier lives. You can find research that supports nearly anything, but the truth is…when you get down to the facts, no matter whether you eat meat or don’t, it’s about the quality of the food that goes into your body. You can be a vegetarian and eat nothing but M&M’s all day long. If you’re a person who doesn’t want to give up eating meat, consider cutting back to once or twice a week and make sure that the meat you eat comes from a good source, preferably local and organic. To read more about the pros and cons of being vegetarian, read this article from Mind Body Green written by Dr. B.J. Hardick.

Changing the way you eat can be a huge time commitment, but think about it this way…Is your quality of life worth a little bit of time spent planning and cooking meals and being mindful about what goes into your body? It really is that simple!

I’ve also heard the argument that eating more fruits and vegetables and shopping for quality food is more expensive, but I promise… it is much much much cheaper than the doctor bills you’ll receive if you don’t take care of yourself!

If you’re looking for guidance and inspiration, here are some of the books and websites that I feel are very helpful with information as well as recipes and lifestyle suggestions. I believe these sources to be legitimate and give sound advice.

As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I love anything by Dr. Christiane Northrup. I have had several of her books, Including Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom, for many years and use her as a reference regularly.

I’ve also mentioned The Longevity Paradox by Dr. Steven Gundry - this book will make so much sense if you read it all the way through! Dr. Gundry includes recipes and the science behind intermittent fasting.

The Blue Zones and The Blue Zones Solutions by Dan Buettner - Bestselling author Dan Buettner reveals how to transform your health using smart nutrition, lifestyle, and fitness habits gleaned from longevity research on the diets, eating habits, and lifestyle practices of the communities he's identified as "Blue Zones"—those places with the world's longest-lived, and thus healthiest, people

Website - Dr. B. J. Hardick - organic foodie and fanatic for green living and earthly sustainability. You’ll find recipes and great articles on living a healthy lifestyle.

Some of my favorite cookbooks are A Year In a Vegetarian Kitchen by Jack Bishop, Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone by Deborah Madison, and How to Cook Everything Vegetarian by Mark Bittman.

Having said all of this, I will not be a total crazy fanatic about my diet. If someone offers me a slice of homemade pie or a chocolate chip cookie fresh from the oven, I will say YES! I will also probably have the occasional slice of bacon with a garden fresh tomato in the summer and other “treats”, but for the most part, I will embrace and enjoy being a vegetarian, intermittent faster and all around healthy eater, knowing that I’m doing myself and those who love me the best favor ever!

You might enjoy these healthy recipes from past posts - Cilantro Lime Quinoa Bowls with Salmon, Strawberry Cocoa Energy Balls, Easy and Delicious Vegetarian Chili, and Roasted Carrot and Chickpea Bowls with Avocado.

I just want to mention one more thing. When I was a vegetarian before, I never felt as though I was depriving myself. Vegetables are delicious and there are so many ways to cook them. Combined with beans and grains and occasional pasta, you’ll never miss the meat!

[westallenfun]

My Best Friend's Almost Boyfriend - 1/3

Westallen Secret Santa gift from @backtothestart02 for @onthecyberseas

From your secret santa:

I loved writing this! Your AU idea sounded like such a cool idea, so I jumped on the opportunity right away. Hopefully you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

-Lauren

…

Chapter 1 -

Barry Allen. Iris wrinkled her nose in disgust at the very sound of his name as it bounced around in her mind. The singer. The popstar. The guy that had bailed on his first date with her best friend.

“Something came up,” Linda had said with a woeful sigh.

Given that it was three days later and he hadn’t so much as deigned to call and apologize, Iris had taken matters into her own annoyed hands. She stomped over to the karaoke bar he sometimes frequented – the height of his singing career at the time – and grilled the bartender for the location of his likely humble abode.

The bartender that night looked fifteen, not twenty-one, but Iris was not one to focus on the legalities of that situation in the moment, even if her dad was a cop. Still, on that note, she was glad a pretty brunette had intervened, quickly informing her she knew this Barry Allen – he was a friend of hers – and asking what exactly the problem was.

“I’ll tell you what the problem is,” Iris barked. “Your ‘friend’ bailed on my best friend two seconds after picking her up for a date three days ago. He hasn’t so much as called her to apologize, or – or sent her flowers, which is what he should be doing. She was excited for that date.”

A slightly shorter guy with dark flowing locks approached from behind the woman, looking concerned, but Iris only spared him a single glance before returning her fiery gaze to the brunette in front of her.

“Are…” She looked over to the new arrival before looking back at Iris. “Are you talking about Linda?”

Well, that took her off guard.

Iris’ shoulders slumped slightly, a myriad of questions racing through her mind.

“You…you guys know Linda?”

“Yeah, she’s great—”

“We don’t know her know her,” the woman clarified, cutting off her friend. “She’s the first person that got Barry to do a repeat performance up onstage after praising him the first time.” She lowered her voice slightly, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact. “It wasn’t one of my brightest moments. I don’t remember much, but apparently I was incredibly drunk and he took pity on me when I declared I was doing karaoke.” She cleared her throat.

“Which is why she’s great,” the man beside her said amidst her brief embarrassment.

Iris glanced between the two, sifting through the information she’d been given and wondering why Linda hadn’t told her this particular story.

“I have a date tonight!” she’d declared the night of said date.

Iris’ jaw had dropped. “With who?” she demanded, though she couldn’t help but smile.

“Just…a guy…at a bar…that I casually gave my phone number to via an app,” she said nonchalantly, but she was clearly gushing.

“That’s sooo not like you, Lin.” She lowered her voice. “Picking up a guy at a bar?”

“I know, I know, but I have a really good feeling about him, Iris. I think he’s one of the good ones.”

Iris had been happy for her, truly, but all that had gone up in smoke when moments after he met her at their workplace, and Linda had dashed off to her desk to get her jacket, Barry had quite lamely – and obviously – made up an excuse to leave on her return.

“Good to meet you, Iris,” he’d said by way of goodbye.

She’d glared and not said a single word, her best friend fighting not to look disappointed beside her.

“I really have to go,” he said regrettably, then turned to Linda. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” her best friend said far too brightly. “Things come up. I understand.”

“Right.”

“Maybe another time,” Linda had started to say, but he’d turned to leave before she could get all the words out, and he’d never contacted her again.

“If she’s so great,” Iris said, the memory of what drove her fury coursing through her veins as she crossed her arms tightly beneath her breasts. “Why did he ditch her two minutes after he picked her up for their date?” she seethed.

“I…” the man began.

“She didn’t tell you?” the woman asked, confused.

“No!” Iris threw her hands up in the air. “How could she have told me what she didn’t know herself? She hasn’t heard from him since he stormed out of CCPN three days ago saying something came up! The lying ass,” she muttered under her breath.

“Storming seems a little…un-Barry-like,” the man said in response.

“Yeah, I don’t think—”

“Okay, fine, he didn’t storm,” Iris allowed in a huff. “He walked normally.” Her brows furrowed, remembering. “He actually…stumbled a little, I think.”

“Now that sounds like Barry,” the man said, smiling brightly as he took a bite of a piece of red licorice he’d either pulled from his pocket or been holding in his hand the whole time.

“Definitely,” the woman muttered, laughing slightly under her breath.

“Forget the stumbling,” Iris brushed that aside, realizing she was getting nowhere with these two. She ignored their frowns when she said so. “Tell me where he is. I need to talk to him. He is going to be apologizing to my best friend, and at the very least he is going to take her on one date. She deserves that much. Or at least flowers. He can afford flowers, right? He can’t be that broke. Or-” A possibility dawned on her, and she felt guilty for the first time. “He’s not…he’s not broke, is he?” she lowered her voice. “Is that why he bailed on her? And why he never called her after that? He was too embarrassed to admit it?”

The two in front of her shared another look, which she was already tiring of.

“No, that’s not why…”

Her feeling of guilt evaporated.

“Then tell me where he is. I demand an explanation. Linda does too, because she deserve—”

The woman suddenly grasped her wrist in her hand. Iris fought the urge to pull away.

“Hey, I know you’re upset, but-”

This time Iris did pull away.

The woman sighed. “I just don’t think he can tell you anything that he didn’t already tell her.”

Iris’ brows furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

“It’s true,” the man piped up, bouncing up on his toes as he took another bite of his snack. “Barry called her up two days ago and told her what happened. He said she understood but was disappointed. He wanted to make it up to her somehow, but we pointed out to him that pursuing her would be unfair to both him and her, so he settled for sending her a bouquet of flowers. We never found out if she accepted them or not, and he never heard from her again.”

Iris was more confused than ever. She couldn’t remember seeing flowers on Linda’s desk ever in the past three days. She hadn’t noticed any when she stopped by her apartment one night for a detox after work either. Was it possible Barry Allen had sent flowers and her best friend had just been so upset by the whole ordeal that she threw them out immediately and didn’t even bother telling her?

Why wouldn’t she tell her? She pouted, feeling slightly betrayed now.

“So, I…I don’t…”

“Maybe you should ask Linda what he said?”

“No.” She shook her head. “If you guys are telling the truth-”

“We are!” They both declared simultaneously.

She blinked, briefly silenced.

“Then your friend must’ve really broken her heart if she didn’t feel like she could tell me, her best friend.” She sighed and shook her head, tugging her purse strap higher up over her shoulder. “I don’t want to know anymore.” She took a breath and looked at them before turning to leave. “But Barry Allen is no friend of mine.”

She filtered out their protests as she left the bar. She didn’t even know them, and she didn’t know Barry Allen, but she did know that his excuse must’ve been really shitty if Linda couldn’t tell her what was up. That was all she needed to know. Barry Allen was a scumbag, a real asshole. She wished him nothing but misery and failure in his life. And whatever happened, he better not fall in love.

Three years later, looking over a set-in-stone assignment on her desk, she knew the universe had heard her bitter wish and immediately thrown it in the trash. Barry Allen might not be in love – as far as was public knowledge – but he was no longer just occasionally singing karaoke in halfway decent bars. He was rising to stardom, and her boss had made it clear that an exclusive with him would spruce up the entertainment page of Central City Picture News, maybe draw in younger readers.

“We’re not a gossip rag,” she’d shot back two seconds after she asked to speak with him privately and shut the door behind her. He didn’t bother to offer her the vacant chair on the opposite side of his desk. She never took it. She was only ever in his office when his assignments irritated her, which was often.

“This could be your big break, Iris,” he said with a sigh, circling his desk to sit in his chair.

“I don’t care!”

He raised an eyebrow, and with some effort she reined herself in.

“There will be other stories,” she said. “And I’m sure there are several reporters here that would love to do a piece on him.”

“But I don’t want anyone else to write it. I want you.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“You’re not biased.”

She scoffed.

“You’re not biased in the way a lot of young people are. You don’t think he’s the best thing since sliced bread.”

“He’s scum.”

Her boss waited.

“That’s bias, right?” she pointed out.

“Do this for me, and I’ll consider letting you branch out with your stories.”

“What do you mean ‘branch out’?”

“I mean, you choose the next five stories you want to write. If I like the outcome, I’ll promote you to investigative reporter.”

She wished she’d been near the chair to sit down in it. Her mind was racing. She’d been writing puny little stories, small-time crimes or large-scale crimes that she wasn’t allowed to look into. She wanted to make a mark in the world, and she wanted to do it as a reporter. She’d been at CCPN four years and never achieved the level of success she wanted. Who knew when an opportunity like this might come again?

Finally, she looked up at her boss, taking a couple steps towards where he sat.

“All I have to do is interview the scumbag?”

He smiled serenely.

“All you have to do is interview the scumbag.”

Hesitantly, she smiled and then nodded.

“Do try to be somewhat objective though, Miss West,” he said before she reached the door.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, her brows furrowing as her hand came to rest on the door handle.

“This can’t be a revenge piece to get back at him for whatever he supposedly did to you.”

“It’s not me he did-”

He held up his hand to silence her, and she stopped.

“I want an honest piece. Can you do that?”

Gradually, she allowed the tiniest of smiles to slip through.

“I can certainly try.”

A week later, a date and time finally arranged, Iris sat in a nearly empty studio, nothing but white walls and light wood floor, and some stereo equipment that she guessed belonged in the soundproof room down the hall.

There was not a sound in the place. The security guy for the building happened to be walking by when she arrived and let her in once she told him who she was and why she was there.

He smiled genuinely.

“I heard you were coming. Just head on up. Fifth floor. He should be here soon.”

She forced a smile, quietly said her thanks and headed for the elevator.

The large floor-to-ceiling windows mesmerized her when she’d first walked in, but now she wanted to throw a rock through them and scuff the floor from one side to the next with her pretty new heels.

Linda was so, so lucky she never got so far as one date with him. She would’ve been nothing but disappointed and probably would’ve dumped him within a week of knowing him.

No girl could wait this long for a date to arrive. No call, no text, no doubt in her mind now that he had no one special in his life.

Barry Allen was two hours late. And counting.

[foxylexe]

Taking ova Fo' the '99 and tha 2000

Going into the 2017 Fall season (last official day of August) backing my ass up into better health. Physically, mentally & spiritually. It's honestly been a long time coming too. Trying to pick yourself up off of falling (in my case, derailing) the tracks can be quite the process. One that I feel I'm more than ready to go through. Starting with my body cleanse =) No, it's not a complete physical detox. Although, my small steps to drinking more water & hard press juices are a huge start. For me at least. Also, eating my veggies, maybe a little less (bitch, be real. ALOT less...) junk food. Orasi like to call it, speed snacks. You know, those occasional zebra cakes for a sweet, sugary boost or my go-to bag of original lays chips to give me the salt intake needed to keep me from dizziness & nausea. Sidenote; yall know I'm predisposed to becoming hypoglycemic. It's genetics due to my mom having it & my suffering from the EXACT same symptoms at such an early age. First warning signs at age 13, fuck! But ANYWAY... My physical health is an area I've been wanting to work on. Becoming more agile & limber as I used to be, keeping my stomach nice & tight -Teyana Taylor, I'm COMING for you. Let's be tummy sisters -and clearing my oily skin. Of course all of this can't happen until I cleanse my mind & mental space 1st. As much as I've tried to meditate & create quiet places for myself to take deep moments, it's usually just a failure. Not saying that it's a definite impossibility for me, but it's certainly been a challenge. I've realized that I'm WAY TOO MUCH in my head. Always in my thoughts. Constantly in the mansions of my mind, unraveling & also tangling up all my ideas, theories, thoughts etc. Now I've discovered that, my mind IS my quiet place. It's my creation. Granted, it's anything BUT quiet, but it takes practice to slow down my race track of a brain. And it IS possible. It's a learning thing and you know I'm all about my "things" NYC Soooo I actually just came back a few days ago from New York. My crazy, beautiful, now exploited/gentrification filled, humbling, culturally wonderful & aesthically pleasing home. And honestly, this was the most fun I've had back home since I left home in Sept 2015. I've missed the late night lounging, trying new restaurants, drinks galore (lol), meeting & having really dope conversations with exotic herb with exotic people, all my Caribbean & Brooklynites comrades... *sigh* only NYC can offer me that taste of diversity & the overall feeling of being alive & on the move. Next time, I plan to take my man with me with so that we can shine astronomical levels :=) not going into specifics mainly because I'll never stop typing, but I got to see my best friends, old friends, reconnect & be a lioness. Also a humbling visit too, as I took my final steps (and final shit) in the infamous 10M. The apartment that has birthed generations in my family. And truly seen the best of times & the absolute worst of times. If those fucking walls can talk. The 10M bandit house. The trap, the church, the refuge... 30+ years of total wholeness. You'll always be glorified. But NYC was an absolute blast. Definitely planning on going back before the year is out. Everything else under the sun has been just about that. Under the sun getting burned out. Work has taken me into new levels of stress & mind fucks. Another area I won't get too deep into, but I'm trying to not let things get to me or take me into a dark place where I definitely don't want to wander around in. Granted, the environment is hypersexualized & loaded with vices that can easily turn into dangerous & even deadly habits. I've been staying afloat (barely) of the chaos. I've been saying I'm ready for the next big move, next chapter, next job, but much like that FB status I reposted a few weeks back stated: You can't get that job, next opportunity, etc without WORKING for it. Prayer & asking the universe for these things without the work & perseverance won't equal to anything. And it's 100% true. I know that much like a lot of us in this generation (not the new generation, I'm not talking to the babies) it feels like a Rollercoaster or whirlwind of sorts trying to figure out what is it you like to do, or good at that you can parlay into your career. We all hate working these shit dead-end jobs that aren't fulfilling to your passions and skills. It's a struggle most of us can relate too. And now-RIGHT now - is the 1st time I'm admitting that publicily. For me personally, I have a plethora of friends who seem to appear to be doing great in their life. Great job, big advances, some have started families, brands, etc. It can be quite depressing to look around at yourself & your circumstances. And become even harder on yourself asking questions like, what's wrong with me? Am I not skilled or intelligent enough? Am I not self sufficient? What is the reason I am not where I need to be in my life as my peers are? These are all legitimate but not so legitimate questions. Let's face it, we are all human. It's just in our nature to sometimes question & even envy those around us who appear to have their shit together. I don't want to look at the world & friends / family through rose colored glasses thinking their lives are peaches & cream while life (or your life) is shit turds & clogged toilets. Because the truth is, we are ALL trying to make it in this day & age. Especially when there's SO much literally working against us. Another post for another time. But sometimes, we have to take a step back & look around us, analyze the blessings bestowed on us & the progression you've made thus far. Shit I'm life will throw us for a loop. Throw us off track, that's a given. But it's how you pick yourself back up or at least make the best out of every moment you have a breath in your body. Much easier said than done lol. But definitely attainable. This actually falls right in line with my goals for this autumn season. A few days ago my man & I were having a discussion about growing and having a support system around you needed to make progression and be the best possible version of yourself. He spspeficially said you HAVE to set goals for yourself. Even if they're small, minor goals. They can only help, not hinder you. And it stuck with me because he's right. Small steps help the bigger overall picture in life. I just want a few things. New job, to finally FUCKING FINALLY quit bulls hitting & put my podcast out, get my body in shape, read more, open my horizons even more on the possibility of relocating & become more in tune with my mind as far as aligning all my chakras. Being hella zen. Again, much easier said than done because I'm such a wired woman, but a definite possibility for anyone. Including my off the wall ass. And of course this post went on way longer than I planned, but much, MUCH needed vent post; one of which I'll start doing monthly check ins with you guys keeping you up to date with your girl. Hopefully if you're reading this, it's helped, you've got some laughs or you gained some wisdom. Keep lurking my page. I'll be on here watching as well with my cat eye ;-p

[thehouseofjohndeaf]

MORE ON ALCOHOLISM

Chapter 3 of the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous is dedicated to those who may be trying to diagnose themselves with this disease.  The examples given in the original text, including story of “whiskey in a glass of milk”, have been removed and adapted to speak to a more general public.  The emphasis on “Higher Power” as been altered to refer to a more secular humanistic view.  Again, all gender has been removed so that the message of Alcoholics Anonymous may reach a non-binary community.

Most of us have been unwilling to admit we were real alcoholics.  No person likes to the think they are bodily and mentally different from their fellows.  Therefore, it is not surprising that our drinking careers have been characterized by countless vain attempts to prove we could drink like other people.  The idea that somehow, someday we will control and enjoy our drinking is the great obsession of every abnormal drinker.  The persistence of this illusion is astonishing.  Many pursue it to the gates of insanity or death.

We learned that we had to fully concede to our innermost selves that we were alcoholics.  This is the first step in recovery.  The delusion that we are like other people, or presently may be, has to be smashed.

We alcoholics are people who have lost the ability to control our drinking.  We know that no real alcoholic ever recovers control.  All of us felt at times that we were regaining control, but such intervals - usually brief - were inevitably followed by still less control, which led in time to pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization.  We are convinced to a person that alcoholics of our type are in the grip of a progressive illness.  Over any considerable period we get worse, never better.

We are like bipeds who have lost their legs; we never grow new ones.  Neither does their appear to be any kind of treatment which will make alcoholics of our kind like other persons.  We have tried every imaginable remedy.  In some instances there has been brief recovery, followed always by a still worse relapse.  Physicians who are familiar with alcoholism agree there is no such thing as making a normal drinker out of an alcoholic.  Science may some day accomplish this, but it hasn’t done so yet.

Despite all we can say, many who are real alcoholics are not going to believe that are in that class.  By every form of self-deception and experimentation, they will try to prove themselves exceptions to the rule, therefore nonalcoholic.  If anyone who is showing inability to control their drinking can do the right-about-face and drink in true moderation, we are astonished, though not entirely envious.  We know for ourselves that we have tried hard enough and long enough to drink like other people!

Here are some methods we have tried: Drinking beer only, limiting the number of drinks, never drinking alone, never drinking in the morning, drinking only at home, never having it in the house, never drinking while working, drinking only at parties, switching from bottom shelf to top shelf, drinking sulfite-free wines, agreeing to resign if ever drunk of the job again, switching to marijuana, taking a trip, not taking a trip, only drinking home brew, swearing off forever, relabeling oneself as a connoisseur, participating in more physical exercise, reading self-help books, going to detox and/or rehab, psychiatry and/or therapy - we could increase the list ad infinitum.

We do not like to pronounce any individual as alcoholic, but you can quickly diagnose yourself.  The original text asks us to “step over to the nearest barroom and try some controlled drinking.  Try to drink and stop abruptly.  Try it more than once.  It will not take long for you to decide, if you are honest with yourself about it.”  Though this advice is dangerous, and in lieu of substance preferences we know that one may lead to another.  We know that alcohol withdrawals may cause a seizure, stroke, wet-brain, or death.  It may be just as useful to recall the plethora of attempts in moderated drinking, weighing one’s success with one’s slips back into a drunken fervor or black-out.

We believe that early in our drinking careers most of us could have stopped drinking.  The difficulty is that few alcoholics have enough desire to stop while there is yet time.  But there are many of us who have proven success with what is known as a “high bottom”, witnessed their downfall and recognizing where their bouts of drunkenness were taking them.

Young people may be encouraged by such stories to think they can stop on their own will power.  We doubt many of them can do it, because none all really want to stop, and hardly one of them, because of their peculiar mental twist already acquired, will find they can win out.  Several of our crowd, under thirty, has been drinking only a few years, but they found themselves as helpless as those who had been drinking twenty years.

To be gravely affected, one does not necessarily have to drink for a long time nor take the quantities some of us have.  Certain drinkers, who would be greatly insulted if called alcoholics, are astonished at their inability to stop.  We, who are familiar with these symptoms, see large numbers of potential alcoholics among young people everywhere.

As we look back, we feel we had gone on drinking many years beyond the point where we could quit on our own will power.  If anyone questions whether they have entered this dangerous area, let them try leaving liquor along for one year.  If they are a real alcoholic and very far advanced, there is scant chance of success.  To do so without the aide of other alcoholics or addicts is often known as “white knuckling”, meaning one may be hanging on for dear life.  The problem here truly is that once the alcohol is gone, all other problems still exist.  Drinking may have become to sole coping method of which to handle most situations.  Suddenly all problems are made to seem more complex by the lack of such a coping method.  Many alcoholics will return to the drink, for it is all they know in how to dilute the stressors of daily life.

In the early days of our drinking we occasionally remained sobers days, weeks, or months on end, slowly becoming more serious drinkers later.  Though you may have been able to stop a considerable period, you may yet be an alcoholic.  We think few, to whom this book will appeal, can stay dry anything like a year.  If so, they may be the caricature of the “dry drunk”, one who is not actively drinking but continues to maintain the same negatively effecting habits that co-existed with their liquor intake.  Such a person is often miserable and ornery.

Despite the complexities of emotion, for those unable to drink moderately the question in the forefront is how to stop altogether.  We are assuming, of course, that the reader desires to stop.  Whether such a person can quit upon a nonspiritual basis depends upon the extent to which one has already lost the power to choose whether they will drink or not.  Many of us felt that we had plenty of these alcoholic characteristics.  There was a tremendous urge to cease forever.  Yet we found it impossible.  This is the baffling feature of alcoholism as we know it - this utter inability to leave it alone, no matter how great the necessity or the wish.

How then shall we help our readers determine, to their own satisfaction, whether they are one of us?  

The experiment of quitting for a period of time will be helpful, but we think we can render an ever greater service to alcoholic sufferers and perhaps to the medical world.  So here we shall describe some of the mental states that precede a relapse into drinking, for this may be the crux of the problem.

What sort of thinking dominates an alcoholic who repeats time after time the desperate experiment of the first drink?  Friends who have reasoned with them after a spree which has brought them to the point of overwhelming debt or unwanted isolation are still mystified when they walk directly to the bar or liquor store.  Why?

The tales of insanity are abundant in Alcoholics Anonymous.  From parents who may lose custody of their children if they can’t maintain sobriety and complete sober programs failing breathalyzers, to others with organ failure and the promise of death leaving the ICU to get a bottom shelf bottle surely not made of glass, to another attending small event and promising to only consume a single beer quickly finding themself tying one on.  From the world that may call itself “normal” one may peer in on such relapses and call these alcoholics completely insane, suicidal, and selfish.  But this is the illness we have come to understand, a mental obsession and physical compulsion to remain intoxicated whatever the cost.

You may think these extreme cases.  To us it is not, for this kind of thinking has been characteristic of every single one of us.  We have sometimes reflected more on the consequences, but there was always the curious mental phenomenon that parallel with our sound reasoning there inevitably ran some insanely trivial excuse for taking the first drink.  Our sound reasoning failed to hold us in check.  The insane idea won out.  Next day we would ask ourselves, in all earnestness and sincerity, how it could have happened.

In some circumstances we have gone out deliberately to get drunk, feeling ourselves justified by nervousness, anger, worry, depression, jealousy, or the like.  But even in this type of beginning we are obliged to admit that our justification for a spree was insanely insufficient in the light of what always happened.  We now see that when we begin to drink deliberately, instead of casually, there was little serious or effective thought during the period of premeditation of what the terrific consequences might be.

Our behavior is as absurd and incomprehensible with respect to the first drink as that of an individual with a passion for, say, jay-walking.  They get a thrill out of jumping out in front f fast moving vehicles. Up to this point you would label them foolish.  Luck then deserts them as they are sightly injured several times in succession.  You would expect them, if they were normal, to cut it out.  Presently they are hit again and this time have a fractured skull.  Within a week of leaving the hospital a fast moving bus breaks their arms.  They tell you they have decided to stop jay-walking for good, but in a few weeks they break both legs.

On through the years this conduct continues, accompanied by continual promises to be careful or to keep off the streets all together.  Finally, they can no longer work, their partner leaves them and they’re held up to ridicule.  They try every known means to get the jay-walking idea out of their head.  They themself up in a rehabilitation facility, hoping to mend their ways.  But the day they’re released  they race out in front of a fire engine, which breaks their back.  Such a person would be crazy, wouldn’t they?

You may think our illustration is too ridiculous.  But is it?  It is in this manner that we find our complex relationship with alcohol may be no different from those with other addictions.  We, who have been through the wringer, have to admit if we substituted alcoholism for jay-walking the illustration would fit us exactly.  However intelligent we may have been in other respects, where alcohol was involved, we have been strangely insane.  It’s strong language, but isn’t it true?

Some may admit they have some of these symptoms, but have not gone to the extreme cases presented here, nor are you likely to.  Some may not have lost everything in life through drinking and certainly do not intend to.  Though, drinking foolishly and heavily at the present time, one may be able to stop or moderate, because one’s brain and body may not be as damaged as ours were.  But the actual alcoholic, with hardly an exception, will be absolutely unable to stop drinking on the basis of self-knowledge.  This is a point we wish to emphasize and re-emphasize, to smash home upon our alcoholic readers as it has been revealed to us out of bitter experience.

We identify with alcoholics who are in their beginning stages of the disease.  We want to reach out and save a life worth saving, but are reminded that most alcoholics have to be pretty badly mangled before they really commence to solve their problems.  The stubborn drinker who hasn’t lost much or enough is said to have “a case of the ‘yets’”.  

It is said, “I haven’t crashed a car (yet).”  “I haven’t lost my job (yet).”  “I haven’t flunked out of school (yet).”  “I haven’t been to jail (yet).”  “I haven’t lost my home (yet).”  Of all these statements, some are likely to come true if the habits of a heavy drinker remains chaotic or increases.

Physicians, psychiatrists, and therapists alike will often agree that the disease of alcoholism and addiction goes beyond medical aide.  For all the hospital visits, detoxes, rehabilitation centers, recovery homes, sober living, medications, psychical exercise, and diet there remains a missing factor to solve the alcoholics common problem.  This missing piece, we have come to know, is spirituality.

The alcoholic at certain times has no effective mental defense against the first drink.  Except in a few rare cases, neither they nor any other human being can provide such a defense.  Our defenses much come from a “Higher Power” or one’s spiritual understanding thereof.

Spirituality is what you make of it.  Be there religious ties or atheistic refute, we as alcoholics have come to know our disease as partially a social one.  Our disease impacts the way in which we function in social situations and often dictates the crowds of people we associate with.  Spirituality is the “inside job” most alcoholics refer to when referencing changing themselves, their lives, and controlling their drinking.  We recognize that the drink is but a symptom of our disease.  If alcohol was our problem, when alcohol is removed we would no longer have a problem.  However, when alcohol is removed many of our problems remain or continue to be exacerbated.  So how do we solve this mental obsession and physical compulsion of alcoholism?  How do we adapt the way in which we function in society, amongst our family and friends?  Some answers may come with the chapters: How It Works, Into Action, and Working With Others.

[artificialqueens]

E.V.O.L - Chapter 2 (Trixya) - VicThirteen

A/N: Hello! I meant to submit this earlier, but I prefer to post the chapters only when I have the next one ready, so it took a minute. Also, I’m a believer in building antici-

…pation to make every moment that little more special. Thank you so much for the comments, it makes my heart glow with joy <3

Chapter 2 – Lonely Hearts Club

Working with Katya turned out to be way more eventful than Trixie had expected. She imagined she would be getting coffee, picking up clothes from dry cleaning, taking unwanted calls and carrying shit around the studio. But now she found herself beside Katya in a hardware store, helping her choose little light bulbs for her newest art piece.

“You know, color is basically light, Trixie” The older woman said while looking through the shelves. “It absolutely changes how we see things, and shapes everything around us.”

“Yeah, like contouring your face with make-up” Trixie gestured to her own face.

“Yes! And like a dress that looks white and gold, but it’s actually blue and black.” The taller girl laughed at the silly meme reference and nodded. Katya threw an arm around her and squeezed her shoulders. “Ah, you’re so smart, young padawan! Thank God I chose you!”

Trixie blushed a little and pushed Katya’s arm away with a laugh, following her around the store. These were other two things that surprised Trixie: how nice and generous Katya could be to everyone around her, and how fucking smart she was. Katya could talk about anything and had opinions on everything. She never passed an opportunity to educate Trixie on something new, or add a little more to what she already knew. When Trixie made a joke about Katya’s particular taste in clothing – so many weird patterns and color combinations! - the older woman looked her dead in the eye and said:

“Trixie, pretty and ugly aren’t real things. Taste is a social construct, it’s a cultural trait. We’re programmed, from the day we are born, to think some things are pretty and others are ugly. Break free, mama. Look beyond!”

On another occasion, while Trixie gathered every red, orange and yellow paint tubes she could find in the supply cabinet behind Katya’s desk, by her request, the boss calculated her astrological chart and fully analyzed the girl back to front. And those were only a couple of moments when Katya left her speechless with a shocked smile. Trixie also loved the fact that Katya talked to her all the time, and not at her. She asked questions and paid attention to the answers. By the end of her second week working at the studio, she caught herself feeling sad about how time flew and it was already time to go home.

“So, Trixie, how are you liking your time here with us?” Katya asked from her chair, watching the tall girl gather her things from her brand new desk on the corner of the office.

“I…” Trixie hesitated. She wasn’t very comfortable sharing her feelings, especially when they were so good. She felt like they could be used against her, probably her dickhead father’s fault, or like being affectionate would make her seem weak. But she really felt like taking the opportunity to get a little bit closer to such a special woman. “You know what? I really fucking love it” she laughed a little. “I thought I would be bored all the time and treated like some random intern, but… turns out you’re really a great boss!”

Katya laughed at the comment, a genuine smile hitting her blue eyes along with the sunset coming in from the window. The yellow light almost made them look green. Trixie thought back to the color theory crash course Katya gave her and her heart skipped a beat. Damn, that woman was something.

“Why, thank you very much!” The older woman nodded and crossed her legs. “Since you like me so much, and everyone in this place seems to think you’re the best intern we’ve ever had…” she joked, and Trixie thought this was probably Tatianna’s doing. She and the brunette had become very good friends, bonding over make-up tricks and stage performance ideas. “You’re invited to the happy hour slash just a little company party tonight.”

“Oh wow! I’m honored!” Trixie replied a little sarcastically, laughing to show she was joking. “I would love to! What time and where?”

“Half the girls are going right after we leave, some are heading home to fix their faces. Not everyone is as lucky as us, you know.” She winked and laughed again, making Trixie’s heart skip another beat. “So, you decide. If you want, you can ride with me. It’s at my place, by the way.”

Her place. Trixie was going to a private party at Katya’s home. Imaginary photography flashes appeared in her mind and a headline “Katya’s new BFF: the new it girl in town”. She blinked herself awake from the fantasy and thought for a second. “Hm… Okay. If it doesn’t bother you, of course. It’s way better than taking the bus!” They both laughed again and Trixie added “I just have to call my roommate to let her know I’m coming home late.”

“Oh, invite her too! We’ll pick her up on our way!”

Kim gasped an oh my god on the phone. “Are you kidding me? Of fucking course I wanna go! Besides, you won’t shut up about this woman, I wanna meet this bitch and see if you’ve been lying to me.” Trixie rolled her eyes. Kim found it hard to believe Katya could be such a nice person, since all she knew about the retired actress was the shit she read on the internet.

The car ride was a little awkward. Trixie rode shotgun, the strong smell of cigarettes around her. Katya bumped her hand against her thigh a bunch of times while shifting the gears, mumbling a little I’m sorry every time. It felt like the physical proximity killed their never ending conversation for some reason. Trixie thought way too much, but Katya didn’t even want to. She knew herself and how she loved to go after what she shouldn’t have. Trixie was pretty and interesting, and a truly nice person, even if she put on a tough front. But she was her employee. Katya didn’t need any more trouble in her life. I’m not that person anymore, she thought to herself.

When Kim got into the backseat, the tension was a little lighter. Trixie introduced the two and Katya kept asking questions about the Korean girl, making the conversation flow all the way to her place. She opened the automatic garage door and parked inside a beautiful house. The walls outside were painted a cream color, with a cute garden at the front and wooden windows, almost like a grandma’s home. When they got inside, a few girls from he studio were already there.

“Finally! I used my copy of the keys, so we’re attacking your fridge, ok?” Ginger, the short redhead manager greeted them. “Detox brought the alcohol, don’t yell at me.”

Detox messed with painting, but she was actually a sculptor. In fact, she was so passionate about sculpting she had her whole body perfectly sculpted with plastic surgery. Her outfits were also works of art, always well planned and executed. Trixie thought she was one of the coolest people she’d ever met.

“Come on, Ginger. We’re just relaxing after a long week!” Detox walked up to Katya with a drink in her hand. “Don’t worry honey, this isn’t gonna get wild, I promise. We got you a fuck ton of Red Bulls too!”

“Thank God!” The blonde replied with a fake angry face. “I thought I was gonna have to kick you out of my house and my studio!” She laughed, then turned to take Kim by the hand. “Guys! This is Trixie’s roommate, Kim! Be nice to her or you’re all fired!” She smiled and turned to the younger girls “Let me take your bags and coats! You can go in the kitchen and make yourselves at home! I’ll be right back!”

Katya took the girls’ things and walked down a hall full of doors. The living room had one bright red wall, while the other four were white and covered in drawings and paintings, pretty much like the outside of Katya’s office. The house wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to make everyone comfortable and host the occasional house party. Trixie and Kim entered a door to the left, where they rightfully assumed was the kitchen. On the counter top were bottles of vodka and champagne, next to three packs of Red Bulls and a big gallon of orange juice. The two girls looked at each other and Trixie reached for the vodka, only to be interrupted by two bony hands.

“Nuh-uh-uh!” Katya swooped the bottle away from her. “I’m fully aware you’re not 21 yet.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Katya?”

“Nope. Consider this overtime work. You’re staying sober with me.” Katya gave her a cocky smile and pulled three Red Bulls out of the cold packs. “There you go! Now let’s have a fun time!”

Trixie grunted and walked out of the kitchen, Kim laughing behind her. She fucking hated being treated like a child. But on a second thought, she realized what Katya wanted. “You’re staying sober with me.”

Along with so many great things, Trixie had also learned that Katya went through hell after her breakdown and rehab. The whole world wouldn’t stop talking about her and her problems; she was being impersonated and made fun of, now seemingly only known for her substance abuse and erratic behavior. Trixie imagined how lonely it must have been to be so judged and misunderstood. And how lonely she probably still was, watching her friends have cocktails in her own living room while her inner demons fought.

But Trixie soon found out how wrong she was to think she was gonna be bored staying sober. Katya was a clown. Trixie spent so much time laughing and talking to her boss, she didn’t even notice the time pass. At three in the morning she found herself in Katya’s room looking at a collection of weird but cool jewelry.

“I bought this one at an antique store in New York.”

“So a thrift store in Brooklyn?”

“Yes” Katya let out a wheezing laughter for the hundredth time that night. After calming down, she looked at Trixie, her icy blue eyes now dark and heavy. “Trixie, after your internship ends and you’re no longer my employee, do you wanna go out with me?”

Trixie’s eyes widened and her chin fell. This couldn’t have been some drunk talk because they were both sober. A smile crept on her, now, lipstick-less lips. “Smart girl. You probably have tough lawyers, huh?”

“As a matter of fact, I do” The shorter woman replied before sighing. “I mean it, though.”

Trixie looked at her hands for a second and gave an embarrassed little laugh. Her heart was beating like danger was looking her in the eye, and she didn’t feel like she could look back at it. You don’t know her that well, she might be the homewrecker everyone talks about, she thought, but immediately felt guilty. Katya was being so nice to her, disproving every single nasty thing ever said about her. But then again, she had been tricked before and that was an emotional scar she couldn’t get rid of. Trixie’s father also acted like he loved her, despite her mother’s words of him being an asshole, just to take all the information he could use on court to leave her and her mother with nothing.

She really fucking needed some therapy, but first she needed to say something, because Katya started to look sad and took a step back.

“I’m sorry, Trixie. Fuck, I keep proving them right, don’t I? Such a slut!” She laughed with no joy and lit a cigarette. “Sorry, ok? Forget about it.”

“It’s okay” Trixie said so low it was almost a whisper. “You know, I’m not easily impressed. But you amaze me, every day.” She smiled at the woman standing in front of her. “And I’m also allergic to feelings. Daddy issues” she rolled her eyes, making Katya smile again. “So you might wanna excuse me for focusing on my career right now.” She made air quotes and finally got another huge laugh out of Katya, the shorter blonde recognizing the cliché excuse used by so many celebrities to hide their relationships, including herself in the past.

“Alright, Barbie. Maybe in six months then?”

“Maybe. And maybe if you stop smoking.” Trixie got up from the bed with a disgusted face, waving her hands to get rid of the smoke that circled her.

“Yeah, maybe!” Katya laughed, taking another drag before walking to the door. “Come on, you’re about to fall asleep standing up. I’ll drive you and Kim home.”

–

After she dropped off the girls at their dorm building, Katya couldn’t stop thinking. What was she doing? Did she really have a crush on that girl? Was it because she made Katya feel ordinary again? Or because she didn’t treat her like some alien being? Or was it because when Trixie laughed she would squeeze her blue eyes shut and throw her head back, making her golden curls dance? Or because her sweet perfume smelled so good to Katya that she started to avoid smoking inside her office, just in case that would help make the scent linger a little longer around her?

She shook her head and gripped the steering wheel tighter. Feelings are just like the weather. They come and they go, she thought. Get a grip, get a life and get over it.

But when she drove by the convenience store on her way home, she didn’t feel like getting a new pack of cigarettes.