#is keeping me functional and pleasant and able to drive people around and make plans

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

Shocking news: being "high maintenance" aka going out of your way and spending time and energy on doing many little things to have your life the way you like it ... actually improves your quality of life

[ms-demeanor]

You know what’s funny is whenever I make a tech post I get people going “this is blatantly untrue” and I get people going “this is really good information and everyone needs to know it” and the dividing line is how much time you spend with people who are tech literate.

Yep, I would tell my computer savvy friends where they could get keycaps and fix their keyboards; I don’t even have to bother telling my computer savvy friends how to run a fifteen year old laptop because we’re all pretty good at it.

But GODDAMN I just read a response to my “cheap computer season” post that claimed that it was totally reasonable to run a macbook from 2010 and

Look.

That’s not a reasonable thing to tell a student who needs a functional computer to do research and write papers. (have fun trying to find installation discs from when the OS was still named after cats and have fun trying to get a browser to get along with that OS)

You know why most people bring me laptops with missing keys? Because the key got ripped off by their two-year-old and damaged the soldering in the keyboard and I have no idea it’s going to be “oh, yeah, that’s a ten dollar fix” or “sorry, that’s going to be an hour and a half to disassemble and reassemble and we’ll have to order you a new keyboard specific to that model out of new old stock” and the thing is the second one is much, much, much more common in my experience than the first.

Do I think you need to replace a laptop when the bezel is cracked? No. I also don’t carry my laptop powered on in the bag with a flashdrive sticking out of the USB port. Customers do weird things that I don’t understand and when a customer tells me they want me to fix the bezel they think it’s a twenty-dollar snap-on repair because they have no idea how this works and then they get mad at me when I explain “no, you’ve gotta have this specific piece of plastic, these haven’t been made in five years, and you might be better off buying a used model online than trying to track down a new bezel.”

So here’s the thing: Can Macs get viruses?

There are three answers here.

“No, of course not, Macs are made to be virus-proof”

“Macs need antivirus protection because, while it is less common than infections for PCs, there are types of malware that can infect macs and it’s worthwhile to guard against that”

“tEcHnIcAlLy a virus has to be self-replicating and IOS’s file management system [or some other bullshit] prevents that so TECHNICALLY Macs can’t get viruses and what you need is anti-malware software if you need anything because you’re fairly likely to have security through obscurity”

I’m aware of the third position and voicing the second position to people who believe the first position.

YES TECHNICALLY YOU CAN KEEP A COMPUTER RUNNING INDEFINITELY AND YES IT’S TOTALLY POSSIBLE YOUR LAPTOP WILL LAST TEN YEARS.

“Well if you treat it right and run it well it’ll be in great shape for a long time”

YES THAT IS CORRECT DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY PEOPLE WHO DON’T WORK ON THEIR OWN CARS DRIVE AROUND WITH THE OIL CHANGE LIGHT ON FOR MONTHS?!?

Tons of people in the world today use computers. They use computers every day, they use computers at home and at school and at work.

Tons of people drive every day. They use cars for fun and for commuting and for their jobs.

That doesn’t mean that all (or even most, or even half) of the people using these things is any good at keeping them running, or even has the barest idea of how to start tracking down a problem.

Someone in the notes of that post described a green line on their screen and thought that was a symptom of hard drive problems. I don’t have the hours in the day to catch this person up to speed on why a display issue on a laptop isn’t indicative of hard drive issues.

Do you know how much people think it’s going to cost to get data off of a broken drive? Not “won’t power up” not “won’t spin” but “I dropped this and part fell off and now it won’t power up or spin and also the platter is chipped”? I’m going to have to send that shit to a clean room and the customer is *staggered* that it might cost more than a hundred dollars to get their data. “Outrageous, what kind of blackmail operation are you trying to run here, just plug it in and get my pictures.”

A year or so ago I was at Jiffy Lube (ew). I’d been shooting the shit with the mechanic when a parent and child rolled in in a panic. And they should have been panicking! They’d thrown a fucking rod because they’d been driving with no oil in the car for god knows how long because neither of them had had the oil changed in the two years they’d owned the vehicle.

*I* can keep a 30-year-old car running. I can put a belt back on an engine in a dark parking lot with a wrench and a headlamp. I can drop a gas tank and replace my fuel filter and thumb my nose at the mechanics who tried to upsell me on “replacing your old, worn-out air filter” the day after I’d popped a new one into my truck.

These folks couldn’t keep a new car running with three alarms telling them what was wrong.

*I* can power up my 2005 macbook running Leopard and use garage band to record a song or do some design work on my copy of Adobe CS3; I can kludge its FF3.5 browser into playing nice with the internet and accept that it’s going to be a slow piece of shit.

The lady who called me confused by the fact that the password to her email was different than the login information for her grocery store rewards account will not be able to function if she gets a pop-up that says she’s using an outdated browser and will think it’s a virus if her bank won’t let her log in on that browser.

And you know what, I’m kind of sick of this attitude.

I would *fucking adore it* if computers were actually easy to repair; I’d love it if you could run new OSs on old hardware (especially on macs because I think apple are kind of shitheads about planned obsolescence).

But you know what, no, most people *CAN’T* reasonably expect to use a ten-year-old computer and have pleasant experience of it. It’s going to run slow. It’s going to shut down when they don’t want it to. The battery is going to swell slightly with the heat and your touchpad is going to go nuts. Your USB ports will stop working. Standard wear and tear that most people don’t know how to protect against and don’t know how to repair is going to make it harder to use AND software requirements will outstrip the hardware capabilities of the computer.

If your old computer sucks it’s not your fault. If you can’t happily use a 10-year-old laptop to do your homework that’s okay, it wasn’t designed for you to use it that way and YOU SHOULDN’T FEEL GUILTY ABOUT IT.

Because that’s kind of what a lot of these “well anybody should realistically be able to run a laptop from 2010″ responses comes down to: if you need new hardware you’re just not doing it right. If you have to replace your computer you didn’t make good choices when you bought it. If your battery dies it’s because you didn’t take care of it.

No. No. No. No.

This shit is A) designed to fail and B) actually really hard to keep running (hey how many blown capacitors do you think someone has to have on their motherboard before you say it’s not their fault for wanting to replace the laptop)

ALSO SOMEONE IN THE RESPONSES OF THAT POST LITERALLY SAID THAT IF YOUR BATTERY DIED AT THREE YEARS IT WAS BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T DOING THE DRAIN CHARGE CYCLE RIGHT AND FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU. It’s discharge cycles and heat, motherfucker; they are going to fail at some point and people shouldn’t feel bad if their batteries stop working after a couple years.

UGH.

You shouldn’t have to be a mechanic. You shouldn’t have to be a computer technician. Yeah, your shit will last longer if you know how to take care of it but, fuck. Imagine you were still using internet speeds from 2010. Imagine all your devices still had USB 2.0. Imagine you couldn’t log onto your online bank because your hardware won’t run he software that your bank recognizes because the hardware manufacturer decided it won’t support the older hardware.

What I was trying to get across in that initial post was “computers fail, and they fail pretty frequently; your life will be better and you will save money if you plan on replacing them at a regular interval and have reasonable expectations in terms of cost and failure. So buy a cheap computer now because you’re probably going to need one at some point”

And now I’ve got to Do A Yell about how there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism and it’s unreasonable to expect tired, overworked, broke people to become experts in computer repair in order to do their homework or play the goose game.

FUCK THAT.

IT’S CHEAP COMPUTER SEASON MOTHERFUCKERS. LAPTOP FAILURE RATES INCREASE AT THREE TO FIVE YEARS AND DESKTOP FAILURE RATES INCREASE AT FIVE TO SEVEN YEARS. RIGHT NOW THERE ARE DISCOUNTS ON NEW COMPUTERS AND IT’S CHEAP TO GET AN EXTENDED WARRANTY.

LIVE LONG AND PROSPER AND WORK ON COMPUTERS IF YOU WANNA AND PLAN TO REPLACE REGULARLY IF YOU DON’T WANT TO WORK ON COMPUTERS.

ALSO CHANGE YOUR FUCKING OIL YOU’RE PROBABLY DUE.

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #25

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Sri Lanka Nakata Diary

 Title: I got to make some time all of a sudden.

Hello, this is Iggy.

Just as the title says, I suddenly managed to make some time for myself here in Sri Lanka. The guest who was supposed to come over had to go on a last-minute trip, so I wound up with almost an entire day off.

My boss told me that I should take it easy while I was at it and that studying was forbidden, so if you’d like, please give me suggestions. I think there aren’t many people living in Sri Lanka among the ones who are seeing this, so anything goes. Like your favorite ways to spend your leisure time, for example.

By the way, I like cooking when a senior acquaintance of mine comes over, but I noticed lately that I don’t cook much when I’m alone. Eating out is best when it’s Sri Lankan curry.

 Ely_03

Hi, Iggy. I always have fun reading your blog. I live in Greece. I have interest in Japanese people because my daughter is studying abroad in Japan, so I’m happy to have found this blog.

 1975Halleluja

Do they not have night clubs there? How about you try going to one? I’m reading you all the way from Egypt.

 BB_Typhoon

How about trying to clean up your room? It might be surprisingly messy.

 Archangel

Hello, nice to meet you, Iggy-san. If you are in Sri Lanka, apparently, there is a Sri Lankan massage called Ayurveda. You are finally having a day off, so isn’t it a good idea to relax in a way you have never experienced before? Take care of your body. I found the spa below. Not so bad, is it?

(This URL is only visible to the administrator.)

   Title: I went to do Ayurveda!

Hello, Iggy here. Thank you for your previous comments to my blog.

I went to the spa that Archangel-san introduced to me, and it was a series of first experiences, so I was very excited. Back in my country, I kind of imagined that women were the ones who get this kind of massage, but if my tired body would get better, I could keep getting it in the future too.

The owner of the spa was a Tamil speaker. It would have been great if I were more able to talk to them. Thanks to them, I experienced enrichment in many aspects.

Iggy out.

 Archangel

Iggy-san, it seems you had a fulfilling day and nothing makes me happier. I think that the most efficient way to study about languages ​​and gemstones is to proceed with the two paralleling each other like wheels. I hope your training will be fun.

 Punk_Of_England

When I read a blog from someone who’s having fun, I have fun too! If there were a ‘like’ button, I might have pressed it nonstop. Take care of your health. Man, anonymous sections sure are convenient.

   Title: Three-Wheeler

Hello, Iggy here. I had a question in one of my updates.

Do you remember that, last time, I wrote an article about purchasing a three-wheel bike called Three-Wheeler? I’ve been addicted to riding it around lately.

I did have a driver’s license in my motherland, but I was the kind who didn’t have a car or bicycle, so maybe my eyes opened up to the fun of driving a car when I came here.

This thing is like a bike with a hood, so it feels good when the wind hits my face. Finding waterfowl when I’m running around the man-made areas in the evening makes me feel satisfied.

I’m going to study now. After I’m done, I’ll go ride on the Three-Wheeler again. Looking forward to it.

 Archangel

Iggy-san, hello. It seems that you are enjoying your new vehicle. Although this is excessive concern, but if I may share my worries about the Three-Wheeler, while it does have a casual ride quality to it, is not appropriate for crime prevention. For example, there is no wall to protect your body if a thug happens to attack from the side of the vehicle while it is temporarily stopped. Your senior and boss have probably already told you not to carry valuables with you when you are riding. Please be careful.

 Iggy

>Archangel-san, thank you for always leaving comments. Indeed, I do recall my boss telling me that. I never take valuables with me when I use the Three-Wheeler, but I’ll make sure to take it to heart once again. Thank you very much.

 ilovestones

I went back to read the article about the Three-Wheeler. So cute! I don’t see bikes like that in my country at all. Must be fun to drive around one of those. I think this would come in very handy if you ever feel like renewing all the strata within a 20km radius of your house. I’m jealous.

 Punk_Of_England

This might be the anonymous section and all, but I think people’s quirks show in their text, so it’s hard to tell if they haven’t yet been discovered or if they’re just being let through...

   Title: Men in Skirts

Iggy here. Just as the title says, I’ve passed by several men who were wearing skirts. I wonder if it was traditional wear. But it also had a colorful and casual feel to it, so I’m slightly confused about what it was. I’m not very confident as to whether or not I was making a rude face when I looked at them. My apologies to them.

 Archangel

>Iggy-sama.

That is called sarong, which is a traditional wear in Sri Lanka. Please refer to the URL below.

(This URL is only visible to the administrator.)

I believe you understood that it is used as formal wear. Perhaps the fact that there were so many men wearing colorful sarongs means it was a wedding ceremony? Do not be so discouraged.

   Title: I was given a sarong!

Iggy here. For now, please take a look at this photo.

(The image is displayed only to accounts authorized by the administrator.)

I got a red and blue gingham check sarong! It’s comfy! Since it’s the locals who wear it, as expected, there’s lots of pros to it – it’s breathable, doesn’t bleach in the sunlight, and it’s easier to walk in than I had imagined.

As you can see in the picture, the length is down to the ankles. It’s longer than a Scottish skirt and that helps. It seems people put this on to go to wedding ceremonies. So cool. Above all, it suits the climate of Sri Lanka, so I think that’s better to wear than Bermuda shorts if you want to spend time here.

I received this from my neighbor, but it’s extremely comfortable, so I’m planning to buy one or two more for myself. I wonder if this can’t be worn every day.

 Shinghalion

I am a local. It makes me happy that you like my homeland’s clothes. This sort of garment also seems to be trending amongst Sri Lanka’s elite college students in the recent years, so if there are any places near you where college students hang out, then the boutiques next to them are where you should aim to go. Please have a pleasant life. By the way, it seems to me that someone is leaving several comments. Are you okay? If they are being a nuisance, it seems that there is also a block function here. Just my excessive concerns.

 Archangel

>Shinghalion

Pleased to meet you (just for the sake of it). Please do not say such outrageous things to someone you have never even met.

   Title: I ended up accumulating sweets.

(The image is displayed only to accounts authorized by the administrator.)

I made too many...

The picture is of coconut rolls, pudding and caramelized date. As one would expect, I can’t eat them all on my own, but when I tried to share with my neighbors, they told me that it’s bad for children’s teeth and got a bit angry, so things are awkward. What should I do?

   Title: My boss came over!

The sweets that I made in big quantity didn’t go to waste. Lucky me.

Weird coincidences do happen. I’m truly glad for that.

I wonder what I should make next time he comes. Please leave a comment if you have any suggestions. As for Sri Lankan sweets, I still only know about things like watalappan, and also the rolls, cream buns, and coconut dumplings sold at the station’s kiosk. But all of them are delicious, aren’t they? If you have any recommendations, please tell me.

 Archangel

>Iggy-sama, I saw your post with great interest. However, I do not think you should forget about the true feelings of the person in question. Please use every day to improve your own skills and promote your physical and mental health. In that respect, as expected, I think that the sweets you are supposed to make should have focus on your current specialties, but do you agree?

 Shinghalion

>Archangel, overprotection can be a bad habit if it goes too far. How about you realize that already?

 Archangel

>Shinghalion, Neither I nor you know each other at all. Please refrain from speculating and saying such things on your own accord.

 Punk_Of_England

Phew~! This is getting kinda interesting. I’ll be watching over the course of events.

 ilovestones

Hum, please leave it as that. This is Iggy-san’s blog. Aren’t you being a bother to him?

 Archangel

I resent my actions.

 Shinghalion

I apologize.

 Punk_Of_England

I’m sorry.

 Mura_Shimo

Heya, Iggy-san! It’s your well-acquainted H.S. I came to see your blog! It’s a fun one with lots of comments. Considering that you said you didn’t advertise it to anyone, that’s amazing! Natural virtues maybe?

I wanna see you again and talk! Do lots of updates~! I’ll do my best at guitar practice too~!

 Punk_Of_England

The possibility of toleration has disappeared, huh. A-san, you okay? Are you going to be silent for the rest of your life?

 Archangel

I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, but I am hesitating as well. Remaining silent might be the safest.

 Archangel_Of_Archangel

Hello, nice to meet you, Iggy-san.

I read your entire blog. You seem to be having lots of fun. That is a relief. I have experience with working in a country a bit farther to the southeast than Sri Lanka, so seeing you live a fun daily life reminds me of my youth, which makes me both cry and laugh. This is a very good blog where your daily life comes to mind in vivid colors.

Also, the way that so many people are looking after Iggy-san in the comment section made the corners of my eyes feel hot. Speaking of which, do the people who leave comments on this blog really have no relation to Iggy-san and just watch over him through this blog?

>Archangel-san, can we talk again?

   Mail account

 Sender: richard@xxx.uk

Destination: n_yasuhiro@xxx.jp

Message: I shall contact you through the usual phone number.

 Sender: n_yasuhiro@xxx.jp

Destination: richard@xxx.uk

Message: I will be waiting for it. Thank you for always taking care of my son.

   Title: The comments decreased?

Hello, Iggy here. Ever since the last update, I feel that the people who always send comments to the blog have gone quiet somehow. Have I written anything weird? It is weird for me to make such a request, but if there is no problem in particular, please be as dynamic as always. I mostly spend my time by myself, so I get encouragement when I read from you.

The city has become lively with the preparations for Perahera. It seems there will be many plans for the summer again, but will I be able to see it live? Iggy out!

 Archangel

>Iggy-sama, hello. I shall write a long comment in due time.

[thanatophobia-thoughts]

Moving on from Routine, let’s look at Emotional Self-Care. This is Self-Care that you use to improve your emotional stability. This is what Emotional Self-Care can take the form of (though I do not use all of these; I will talk more about the ones I use):

Comfort Food

Taking a “mental health day”

Napping and/or Sleeping In

Binge-Watching Comfort Shows/Reading a Comfort Book/Listening to a Comfort Podcast/Comfort Music/Comfort Video Games/Etc.

Long Baths

Venting

Reflecting on the Good

Meditation

Taking a Walk Outside or Hitting a Treadmill

Turning away from Social Media

Lighting a scented candle

Giving Gifts

Crying/Screaming/Emotional Outburst

Breaking Breakables

Playing with and/or Petting a Pet or Animal

Telling Other People You Don’t Want To Interact With Them (Right Now)/Boundary Setting

Taking care of Plants

Journaling

Cleaning

Treating Yourself (non-food)

Every time I googled “emotional self-care”, I got some things like “set boundaries”, “learn to say no”, and “create a support system” – all of which are very good things, but they don’t really fit the quick regulation criteria that I’m going for here.

So, which of these do I personally use? Comfort Food, Mental Health Days, Sleeping In, Comfort Media, Venting, Reflecting on the Good, Meditation, Hitting a Treadmill, Scented Candle, Giving Gifts, Crying, Animals, Boundary Setting, Cleaning, and Treating Myself.

I’d take care of plants but right now I don’t have a good space for plants.

I’ll look at comfort food last, because I have a list of food.

Mental Health Days, I usually try to schedule ahead of time, around days or times I know are going to be hectic. I know that after a convention, for example, I need “cooldown days”, so usually I will take the following Monday-Wednesday off from work to cooldown from the convention.

If I don’t know ahead of time, I do feel comfortable enough to call in sick, but I vastly prefer being able to plan it, simply because of who I am as a person. It is sometimes a necessity. Sometimes there is just too much going on, and I need to step away from everything. Usually on these days, I will sleep in, or sleep for most of the day, with the promise to go back to normal tomorrow – and that is how it should be.

These are tricks to put you back in line in caring for yourself! To get you back to normal!

Now, most weekends I do sleep in a little. I wake up every day at 6am, so on weekends, I will absolutely let myself sleep in to like, 9-11. It’s a good thing I have this blog on a schedule.

Binge-Consuming Comfort Media: I do not consider this the same as observing New Media, because often for me that is a Personal Self Care, and not necessarily Emotional Self Care. It can be, but more often than not, it gets my thinking fired up and engages me in a wholly different fashion. For example, I consider playing Final Fantasy XII to be a “comfort game”, but I will not consider playing Elden Ring for the first time to be “comfort”, so much as Personal, because the former I have already done, while the latter is something new and is creating new experiences for me. One regulates my emotions, the other does not do so in a foreseeable fashion. In new games, I do not know the experiences I will have, whereas with old games, I can predict them.

I will usually use Binge-Consuming Media in downtime that I have nothing else to fill, but do not have the energy to try something new right then (usually with the promise that I will return to new things in the near future, usually the following day when this happens on a weekend, or the next weekend if this happens on Sunday). Binge-Consuming Media also tends to occur normally on Weekday Evenings, as I tend to lack any desire for new media after work. It thus helps me to stay in a calm mood throughout the night, and prepares me for the next day of work by maintaining mood, rather than changing it.

Venting has to be done with care; I have friends I can vent to, but the vast majority of them only end up aggravating me more when I vent to them. Venting is something I tend to reserve for after I’ve figured out what I’m going to do, and I just need someone else to know my pain, because very rarely are people actually able to give me decent advice. Yet, venting is still useful because it lets me finally express it, and lets other people into my life, which is healing, and allows me to move forward without feeling like I’m keeping a secret.

Akin to that, reflecting on the good is a bit more of a solitary action, but it’s useful to remember that a “bad day” isn’t a bad life. To think of the people who love me, to think of the good things that did happen, even amidst the bad, and to remember there are more good things to come. After a particularly bad day at work, remembering good things, good phone calls with customers, and just good people, is always helpful, and can prepare me to continue through the rest of the day.

Meditation is something I try to do every day, and I do feel that it helps me focus on the moment, as well as helps me work through my thoughts when I’m not meditating.

Back when gyms were safe, hitting the treadmill was great for days I just couldn’t fucking convince myself to do my weight training. It still got me in the gym, it still got me exercising, and it helped me beat out the anger while listening to a podcast or music. I felt like I could breathe. I miss this, a lot, and I look forward to being able to return to this, or getting the “Just Dance” games for my home so I can do a similar thing, without going to the gym. I was then usually able to resume weight lifting the next day – and it kept me from breaking my streak of going to the gym, back in the day.

Aromatherapy is just a thing. I enjoy it, it helps me, and I love candles, haha.

Giving Gifts is also something I like to do. Making other people happy, makes me happy, and this is often a surefire way to do that. It can be as simple as a bit of chocolate, it doesn’t have to be anything extravagant. Of course, I have to make sure I am financial stable enough to do that.

Crying – when I need to. Sometimes I will have to kind of force it, by putting on a movie I know will make me cry, because just bursting into tears from stress without additional stimuli can be hard, but once it’s done, it is so relieving, and it allows my brain to start to function again without feeling as much in a daze.

It’s true I do have pets, and they’re kind of around me everyday, so this is more of a routine one – the animals are a constant source of comfort, but if you don’t have pets, visiting a pet store may be beneficial to give their animals a bit of affection, or going to an animal shelter. Or perhaps watching cute animal videos if those aren’t options.

Boundary Setting is also important. While sometimes, it can be good to help others when you’re going through a thing – I find it helpful sometimes – at other times it is just too much. Being clear on that, and also giving your friend some idea of when to “check in”, is good. It also lets your friend know a bit of a time period, so they know it isn’t a permanent block on conversing. Being open and clear about your situation can only do you good when it comes to your friends – and checking in with them when you’re ready!

Cleaning is oddly enough something I do when I’m preparing for something that is Good. I feel like I must cleanse the area in preparation of the New Good Thing. I will do this when I buy a new gaming console, or a long-awaited game, for instance. It makes things feel fresh and rejuvenated. It lets me walk into the New Thing as if it is a New Thing, and it starts it off on good footing. Some of the anxiety and anticipation of it, is quelled.

Treating Myself, when it’s non-food items, is usually things like clothing for me, or new PJs lately. I will also invest in books I plan to read, one day, eventually, cute Star Wars things, shows and/or movies to watch that are new, or things that generally speaking bring joy into my life. Sometimes emotional regulation, is also about reward. If you’re doing good in your life, you absolutely SHOULD be rewarded for it! Otherwise, why bother with balance and moderation? Why not live a hedonistic lifestyle? That would be far more pleasant if balance and moderation don’t have rewards. Not all emotional regulation is just to stop being sad, it’s also to be vindicated and celebrate good events. Celebrating IS regulating, when it calls for it, obviously. So I’m not encouraging here spending your money on whims because you are sad, but spending it more when you’re happy, and doing good.

And then we get to Comfort Foods. What do I use for comfort foods?

Chipotle Gouda Pasta Salad

Lime-Chipotle Pasta Salad

“Chicken” Fried Steak (Scare quotes because I’m a vegetarian so it’s fake meat)

“Tuna” Salad

Cheesecake, particularly raspberry white chocolate, or turtle.

Ice cream, particularly from Cold Stone, but usually either Rocky Road or Raspberry with Chocolate Chunks. There’s also Love Potion #9 which I have to drive a significant distance for….

Extra Lattes (note the extra – I already have these planned in with my meal plans).

Hot Chocoalte

Potatoes O’Brien and Gravy

The idea behind Comfort Food: Eating tasty food often restores a mood, or at least puts us in a better mindset. They aren’t always the healthiest things, though they aren’t necessarily unhealthy. They have to be done in moderation, as you see I indicate with lattes it’s “extra” lattes that go on the comfort food side. I usually have two decaf lattes a week, one on Wednesday, and one on Friday.

Comfort Foods are for a “limited time”. An extra latte means I don’t get one the following day, or I don’t get one every single day of the week. I take the comfort it offers when it’s needed, and resume my usual drinking habits.

Things like Pasta Salad are for weeks when I need a bit of help, or when I’ve done good, because they’re multiple serving things. So like, my birthday week, eating a pasta is good. Or a week where everything went to hell, and I can’t focus on making something “new” and I just need to eat – but then it’s right back to normality after that week. This is not have pasta for an entire month, this is a way to set intentions, and work on orienting myself back to normal with food I love, and food I can make with my eyes closed.

Single-serving things, like cheesecake or hot chocolate, are usually Reward self-care. Like fuck yeah, I did great, I should give myself a little treat. It encourages my good behavior, and does not become an indulgence. It also ends up “planned”, and so the rest of the meals work around that indulgence so I don’t go overboard with it, either.

Knowing what foods, and what I use them for, helps me to use them when they will be most beneficial for me. Things like “extra lattes” also makes me think: Do I really want to do this now, or wait until the day I’m going to have it? Is there a reason I need it now? What will I do after I have it? How does this impact everything else in the balance?

So these are kind of the “quick trick” emotional self-care tools I use. Obviously, you should try to have a steady way of regulating your emotions, but shit happens. Cars break down, work days suck, friends are angry, people die…we need to have tools to get “back to normal”, or close enough to normal.

And you should also, absolutely, take time to treat yourself in self-care! If you don’t reward yourself, what’s the point in being “balanced”, and not just living a hedonistic lifestyle? That’s why comfort food as rewards is a thing! It’s why you can use these as rewards, if it helps, for doing good!

These are just what I do, and what I suggest. These are ideas to get you thinking about what you could put on a list, and how that could help you. If these same ideas work for you, great! If not, you just have to feel out yourself to determine what will help you! Brainstorm with your loved ones!

[elen-aranel]

Down from Uptown

The Engineer’s Adventures

1-1 • 1-2 • 2 • 3 • 4

For @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday. Pairing: Captain Christopher Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: Canon-typical violence; off-screen deaths of (young) adults WC: 6k Tag list: this isn’t the story I said I’d tag you for but it is Captain Pike X Reader @jusvibbbin ? does this count?? I can untag you! A/N: Me: it’s a one-shot Me: oh wait I can’t leave it there here’s a sequel @autumnleaves1991-blog​: here’s another amazing Writer Wednesday prompt Me: I guess it’s a series of one shots now?? Also this is super long for me having written it in one day. Not sure where all these words came from. Other writers write feelings; come to me for a healthy dose of plot. tl;dr: Elen saw the picture and thought, what if Captain Pike, but driving a speeder?

It is all his fault.

You shouldn’t even have been here in the first place: you are an engineer. Not a diplomat. Sure you had read the briefing the comms team had put together, but maybe if you’d been better at reading alien body language, they wouldn’t have got the jump on you?

Now you’re sitting in what feels like a cellar, no windows, one flickering light panel above you, leaning against the wall feeling sorry for yourself.

Still. You will admit – having checked Chris over and determined, to the best of your knowledge from your limited field medic training, that he was probably fine – that you would rather be here with him than on the Enterprise worrying, powerless.

While you wait for him to wake you take an inventory of what you have, and think back to how you had gotten into this predicament.

*

“Are you sure, Chris?” He likes when you call him that, even if you’re on duty, so long as you’re alone. “It’s a first contact, and not even with a society that needs help from us. There’s got to be someone better than me?”

“Of course I’m sure. The Eloma value couple bonds; it would be strange not to take you. Unless,” —he peers up at you under his eyelashes, mouth quirking slightly,—”you don’t think you’re up to it? I could bring—”

“No, I’m up to it all right.” You bristle at the obvious manipulation attempt. You may not be as confident over away missions as the crew who go on them regularly, and your minor meltdown in Earth’s past still has you nervous about how you may react if things go wrong off the ship, but the only way to overcome worries like that is to confront them. You know you can do this. “Louvier’s going to be mad, that’s all. I promised him I’d oversee the shuttle upgrades.”

“You let me handle Louvier,” he says with a small smile.

“Well if I end up on gamma for the next two weeks and you don’t see me at all, you only have yourself to blame,” you say with a shrug.

“Being the captain does have its perks, you know. I can change the duty rosters if I wish.” He grins back, blue eyes sparkling and dimples on display, knowing he’s won this one.

*

The first impression you get of Eloma is calm beauty. You beam down to a roof garden high on a sky-scraper, with Captain Pike at your side, and Lieutenant Spock and Ensign James from security.

The garden is gorgeous. You meet your hosts on a paved area, but there are trees and flowerbeds all around, a few little paths winding between them, and you can see three ornate stone fountains behind your hosts, the largest of which shoots a plume of water into the air as you watch. You think you’d like to sit on one of the benches with a book – you would enjoy being able to hear the sounds of traffic wafting up from below (something between hover cars and shuttles by the sound of the engines), the horns beeping, and the occasional distant peal of laughter – it would be nice to feel part of all that but also separate from it.

You don’t have too long to dwell on your surroundings, however, because the captain is stepping forward to greet your hosts.

There are two native humanoid species who collectively make up the Eloma: the Mraden who are tall, grey haired with skin shades varying from sky through to ultramarine blue, faces humanlike apart from ridges beneath each eye; and the smaller, black haired, ice-white skinned Ginera who could almost pass for human if their skin was warmer in colour and their dark eyes didn’t flash silver at certain angles. A pair of Mraden and a pair of Ginera step forward to meet you, all wearing long white robes. You wonder if this is normal dress or whether it’s ceremonial, and you resist the temptation to smooth down your red jacket. The Mraden guards standing at attention behind your hosts are dressed more like you, though; a more practical black style.

“Greetings Captain, honoured partner,”—the Mraden lady looks at you as she says this, and you nod slightly in acknowledgement—”I am Nera, first lady of Eloma. May I welcome you on behalf of the first and second couples.” She gestures to her partner first, then to the Ginera couple, who bow. “We are delighted to open contact with the esteemed united Federation of planets, contact which I trust will lead to our mutual benefit.”

“Thank you, Nera. Myself, my partner and officers are grateful for your kind hospitality.”

You try to pay attention to the formalities between Nera, the Captain, and Lakir the first man, but you aren’t a diplomat, and beyond trying to keep your expression pleasant and listen out for anyone addressing you directly, your mind wanders a little. You wonder about the vehicles you can hear. You’re on top of a tall building, possibly the tallest you’ve been on, and as you look around past the trees and flowers you can see other buildings of similar heights. You think the gravity here may be a tiny bit lower than Earth standard, but this culture really does seem to use its sky space a lot.

You’re also interested in your hosts; although your briefing said that the Mraden and Ginera were equals on the planet, all the guards are Mraden and you’ve barely heard your Genera host’s voices, never mind their names. You wonder whether they communicate telepathically, or whether first and second couples switch between the species periodically. That’s probably it, you reason, and probably the first couple is responsible for security. You turn your attention to the fountains – the middle one is in the shape of a tree, and you’re marvelling at the individually carved leaves, when Chris takes your hand.

“Still with us?” He murmurs into your ear, as you look up to see your hosts are leading everyone through the garden.

“Of course,” you reply quietly, before raising your voice a little. “It’s just so beautiful.” Nera overhears that and smiles over her shoulder, and Chris squeezes your hand, pleased.

You follow the group past the fountains and to a door you hadn’t noticed before. It appears to lead down to a stairway and some guards go through, followed by the second couple, Spock and Ensign James, the first couple, then you and the captain.

But as you approach the doorway you hear a vehicle get louder, and suddenly the guards grab you. Your combat training kicks in as you see Chris struggling – you lean back and stomp on the guard’s foot, eliciting a stream of profanities as you try to elbow him in the solar plexus. But he’s a lot larger than you and had the benefit of surprise, and his grip doesn’t loosen as someone else stuffs a cloth in front of you and you can’t help breathing in the fumes, and you try to hang on but everything goes dark.

*

It is all his fault.

But blame will have to wait until later.

You assess yourself – other than a mild headache, probably due to dehydration, and a slightly bruised left hip, you feel fine. And the bruising isn’t going to slow you down if you need to make a run for it.

You go through your pockets. Your pants pockets are empty, but you unzip your uniform jacket and the inner one hasn’t been found – the custom one you modified the standard jacket synthesiser program for, because you always need to carry more than the uniform designers planned on, and you didn’t want delicate tools getting damaged when you shoved a communicator or PADD into your pants pocket.

You always have some tools with you because wherever you go, whether you’re on duty or not, someone will say, “You’re an engineer, right? Can you just have a quick look at...” and you make a show of grumbling but actually part of the reason you became an engineer in the first place is that you like to get things working for people. You’re grateful today that that extends to away missions.

You’re surprised to find your communicator on the floor near you, but as you pick it up you realise why it was left: it’s damaged. It had been in your left pocket, and whatever happened to you happened to it first; the casing is all bent and when you try to raise the Enterprise, you get nothing, not even static.

Figures that this would happen again, you think as you examine your communicator, assessing the damage. The real reason you shouldn’t be taken on away missions is because of your terrible luck. This one isn’t totally fried, you discover as you pry it apart and examine the components, but while it will still function as a translator, the transmitter was crushed. The communicator will work again if you can find a compatible part, but there’s no chance of communicating with the ship, and they can’t even lock on to your signal. You pull out the broken transmitter parts and put the case back together, and as you bend the cover back into shape you hear a groan.

“Captain?” You get up and crouch by him. He is leaning against the wall of your windowless cellar, blue eyes squinting. “How are you feeling?”

“A little sore, but fine. You?” He straightens, focusing on you, reaching out a hand to touch your cheek gently.

“I’m fine. A little bruised.” You lean into his touch, briefly, before sitting back down next to him.

“What happened? I remember following our hosts, then a fight, and now I’m here..?”

“Wherever here is. That’s all I remember too. I hope Spock and James are okay.” Now Chris is awake your brain is allowing itself to worry. You frown. You can’t panic again like last time.

“What’s going on in there?” Chris is looking at you, concerned.

“Just... making a decision. To be strong. It sounds silly when I say it out loud.”

He leans over and places a soft kiss on your lips, and for just a moment you forget where you are – it’s just you and him, and the special thing that you have between you. “That’s a decision we all have to make,” he says as he pulls away, thoughtful. “It becomes... less conscious. With time.”

You nod, and you take a moment to breathe. You’ve got this.

“Seems like they’ve been through our pockets,” Chris says, getting to his feet. “My communicator is gone.” He walks over to the door, which is locked. That was going to be your next project.

“I still have mine but unfortunately it won’t communicate,” you say, standing too. “The transmitter got broken at some point. The translation functions are still operational though and it has power.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I’m good, but not that good,” you say, pulling the pieces of the component out your pocket to show him.

“Ah. Any ideas? Other than waiting?”

“After I failed with the communicator I was going to try to pick the lock,” you say, heading toward the door.

“With what?”

“With this.” You pull out a tool with a hook on it which you use to lever broken components off boards when they’re too small for your fingers.

“How do you–”

Chris’s question is cut off by the door in question opening. You just have time to put your tool in your pants pocket before two Ginera appear, brandishing energy weapons. You raise your hands and back away.

“Sit down,” the lead one says, waving his weapon, and you both comply. The other, also male, steps round him and puts two bottles of water on the floor, and a plate of what looks to be food.

“I’m Captain Christopher Pike, of the United Federation of Planets. I promise if you let us go unharmed my people won’t seek punishment against you, or retribution. If not, though, they will come after us.”

The boy, and he is a boy, you realise, twenty at most, snickers. “We don’t intend to hurt you, but we’re not going to let the best chance the GLG has had to be taken seriously go just like that. Sorry.”

“The GLG?” Chris asks, voice gentle. Unthreatening.

“Ginera Liberation Group. And no, your ship knows we have you, but they’re not going to find you. We called them on your communicator, Captain, and told them we had you, and not to look. We weren’t stupid enough to call from here, either,” he adds, and a little spark of hope in you flares out. “And there are 60 million people in this city alone, they’re not going to be able to resolve the life signs of... whatever you are, among all of us.”

“And what is it that the... Ginera Liberation Group wants?”

“To wake people up. To tell the Mraden”—he spits out the word like it’s a curse—”that we won’t take being treated as second-class citizens anymore. And to give the Ginera hope – that we can take back what’s ours. We don’t need their skyscraper cities, where they force us to live in the dirt. We don’t need their language or their stupid pair bonds. We had our own society before and we can have it again.”

Chris sighs, and leans back, looking up at the boy. “Take it from someone who is old enough to be your dad: taking hostages is not the way. The Federation won’t pay a ransom for us. The Mraden won’t listen to you while you have us. But if you let me go, we can have Federation diplomats come, and—”

“We’ve had enough of diplomacy, Captain. We’re taking matters into our own hands now. Enjoy your food.” He turns abruptly and stalks out, his companion in tow.

Chris examines the food – there are four pre-packaged energy bars. He passes one to you, opening one himself. “Might as well do what the kid says.” He takes a bite, grimacing slightly.

You are not hungry, but you take a bite of yours anyway – you know you need to keep your strength up. You grimace too – the flavour is a weird combination of sweet citrus and something almost cheesy. In general you like salt and sweet but this is not it.

Still you force yourself to finish it; you both need to keep your strength up. Thankfully the drink is just water.

After you’ve finished eating Chris speaks again.

“So how about getting out of here? How do you still have that tool, anyway?”

“I have a pocket in my jacket. I have done for years. It’s reinforced so you don’t see it from the outside – as an ensign my commanding officer cared more about aesthetics than practicality – and that’s where I keep my more delicate tools.”

“Ever the engineer, huh?” Chris’s expression is fond and you smile back, warm inside despite your situation. “Come on.”

He stands, and puts his hand out for you. You grasp hold of it and pull yourself up, appreciating the contact. You go to the door, hook tool in hand, and listen at it first. When you’re sure you don’t hear anything from the other side you gingerly put the tool into the keyhole. It doesn’t shock you, which is a good start, but it still takes a few minutes to work out the structure. Chris is patient while you work, not breathing down your neck. You smile in satisfaction as the lock softly clicks open.

“Well done. I figure we sneak out of here then try to alert local law enforcement. Hopefully they can put us in touch with Nera’s people, who can get us back to the ship.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you say, stepping back to let him take the lead.

You follow him along a little corridor then up a flight of stairs, pausing when he motions you to stop. You can hear voices coming from your left and he eases the door open then gestures you to follow again. You catch a glimpse of the room your captors are in on the way past, but happily they have their back to you, looking at a display screen. Then you’re past them, to the front door. Chris opens it as carefully as he can but the last bolt is stiff and scrapes as it opens. You sense movement behind you but you’re through, slamming the door shut behind you, racing across the street and into an alleyway on the other side before they get out. You keep going behind the building opposite, and then Chris has you double back to face the street you were on. You peep round the edge of the building – your captors are standing in their doorway, the leader berating his companion, although you can’t hear what he’s saying.

You step back into the alley.

“Well, the—” Chris starts to say, but he’s interrupted by a loud bang. An explosion. People are screaming and you smell smoke, see orange light from flames.

You follow Chris back onto the street but the building you were in, small, apparently, just three stories amongst all the giant skyscrapers, is billowing flame and smoke from all its windows, on all floors. There’s a crowd of people standing, staring in disbelief, as the last window shatters, sprinkling glass over the crowd.

You turn to Chris. “We—we were—”

“I know,” he says, reaching for your hand. You take it, hearing sirens getting louder. You walk toward the building, knowing there was no way the boys could have survived. You stand at the edge of the crowd, looking at the smoke billowing out, as the authorities arrive.

First there are some Ginera on what looks like a fire appliance. They begin to set up hoses, faces grim. Then some Mraden swoop down in a vehicle painted white with a green logo on it. The crowd, who you notice is made up mostly of Ginera, back away slightly. Chris tows you forward, toward the Mraden who are wearing the same uniform as the guards were in the garden, who knows how long ago. They’re not the same people; their skin tones are both quite pale, but to your horror as soon as they see you they raise their weapons and fire.

You’re running again, keeping up with Chris who leads you straight into the smoke and through, round the corner of the block, down the street, into an alley, out onto another street, into yet another alley, until he’s certain you’re not being followed.

You breathe heavily, holding your hip – you were able to run, and could again, but it hurts.

“That was... unexpected,” Chris says, deadpan, and suddenly you find you have your arms around him, holding tight.

“Too close for comfort,” you say, pulling away a little, as he pats your back.

“I really did think this mission was going to be normal,” he shrugs a little as you step away. “Definitely not worse than last time.”

“I mean I know in theory that away missions are dangerous, but I—I didn’t expect someone I thought was going to help us to shoot.”

“Yeah.” He shakes his head. “Seems like we were supposed to die in that fire...” he frowns as you both try to make sense of what just happened.

“What if it’s all a trick?” You muse aloud. “What if the Mraden are the ones who want us to die? Then they can blame the Ginera and crack down on them even further. And all they had to do was manipulate some kids...?”

Chris’s blue eyes are serious. “You’re right. That’s the only explanation that makes sense. We need to contact the ship. But we can’t trust anyone, and we need to get away from here.” He eyes you speculatively. “It’s an old-fashioned term, so I hope you’ve heard it before, but how do you feel about grand theft auto?”

*

“It’s called a speeder,” you say, frowning at the display. It hadn’t taken you long to find and break into a suitable vehicle. It was small, rust coloured and nondescript – not shiny and new, but not banged up either. You popped the doors up and open with ease; not that lock picking was anything you’d tried before today, not really, but you may have broken into a shuttle or two during your academy days.

Chris had got in on the drivers side, leaving you to puzzle out the on-board computer with the help of your communicator.

“I’ve hacked into the admin menu and changed the transceiver code; we need to use it to change lanes and stuff – to move up and down.” You scroll though the options in front of you, displaying in English now, rather than the the native Eloma language. Maybe the native Mraden language, you think wryly, as you find a setting which taps into the city’s store directory.

“There’s a hardware store in a block a couple of miles east of here. I know we can’t trust anyone but I think we may have to try. As far as I can tell it’s quite low down – only on the second level. I think it’s more likely to be Ginera than Mraden.”

Chris pauses from where he’s examining the controls. “We may be better off with the Ginera. I’m willing to bet our captors were a fringe group. I’m sure a lot of the Ginera agree with their goals, but probably not their means. They may be less inclined to report us to the authorities.” He nods. “All right. Strap in. Let’s get this show on the road,” he says, as he presses the ignition.

You look out the windshield at the street around you as Chris gets the speeder moving; with all your running away earlier you hadn’t paid attention to your surroundings beyond wondering whether you could be seen. It’s grey, down here. Drab, even with all the colourful advertising signs. There’s a layer of grime, something dirty in the atmosphere.

You stare out the window as you drive, keeping an eye out for law enforcement, but you don’t see any. As you get further east the traffic gets a little lighter. You eye Chris sidelong; he seems relaxed as he navigates the unfamiliar city.

“Time to go up,” he says, pressing a control and pulling a lever. You see a flashing indicator to see you have permission to change level, and then you’re ascending.

You’ve spent lots of time in shuttles, piloted yourself in an out of orbit more than a few times, but it feels different in a speeder. More immediate, somehow.

Up here the traffic is moving faster, and you see many different speeders, in all colours and all designs. Some of the buildings have balconies with people, mainly Ginera, sitting reading, hanging out washing – a slice of daily life.

You pass a major junction, impressed with how Chris is handling the traffic signals, and the buildings change – the road is a bit wider, and the shops have speeder parks outside.

You wish your briefing notes had mentioned the local currency, not that knowing about it would do you any good.

“I think we’re here,” Chris says, as he slows the speeder down and sets it down in front of a shop. You look at the sign – you can’t read it but it has the same logo as in the store directory. “Will you be okay to go in alone? I think I should stay here...”

“In case we need to make a fast exit? Aye Captain.” You catch his eye and grin, unplugging the communicator and climbing out of the speeder.

Louvier would love this place, you think as you look around the dark interior. The aisles are narrow and full of parts, a few of which you recognise, and most of which you don’t. There are bins with various components like resistors and capacitors, and power supplies, regulator circuitry, almost anything you could want. Except, as far as you can see, the thing you need – a transmitter.

At the back of the store, sitting behind a counter, is an older Ginera female, hair greying a little, screwdriver tucked behind her ear as she focuses on soldering a circuit. You wait for her to put the iron down.

“Excuse me? I’m wondering if you can help.” She looks up and her eyes widen – she can’t see aliens too often, you think.

“You—” she frowns, shakes her head. “You’re from that starship. But the news net said you were dead. Murdered by those GLG kids.”

“You, um... can’t believe everything you see on the net?”

“They said that the legislature was going to be recalled. That your people are going to come and punish us.”

“That’s—that’s not who we are, at all. Even if some kids had killed us the Federation would never retaliate like that. They would try to find us, if they thought we were alive, and it might complicate negotiations between our peoples but there would be no punishment. But... how many did they say died?”

“The two of you who were abducted from the first couple’s garden.”

Spock and James were safe. The fist bit of good news you’d had today.

“I really need to call my ship, let them know that we’re alive. But my communicator is broken. Do you have a micro transmitter? Something like this?”

You lean down over the low counter to show her your broken component.

“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “Nothing I’ve got here would be able to take the power you’d need for orbital communications. We don’t need things like that down here.”

Your shoulders slump. “Thanks anyway,” you say, straightening up.

“Wait. My cousin works in a shop at the shipyards by the spaceport. He’ll have what you need.” She rummages under the counter and produces a business card. “That will show you the way. His name is Jima. Tell him Asba sent you, he’ll give it to you for free.”

“Thank you, so much,” you say, taking the card and putting it in your pocket. “You don’t know how grateful I am, truly.”

“You’re welcome, love.” She turns her soldering iron on again, and smiles at you before getting back to work. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“So am I,” you say, as you turn to leave the shop.

*

“I have good news and bad news,” you say, as you plug the communicator back into the speeder and put the card into a slot that’s clearly designed for such things: a route shows up on the screen.

“Bad news first,” Chris says with a wry smile, easing the speeder back into traffic. “Although I can guess what it is considering we’re not calling for a beam out right now.”

“ I should have said great, good, bad and worse. You’re right about the bad news – she didn’t have the part. The worse news is that she thinks we’re dead and the Federation is going to come and get revenge on the planet.”

“The Federation will what?” Chris almost swerves into another speeder as he takes the turn late, narrowly missing and causing the other speeder to honk its horn angrily. “Sorry about that,” he adds, a little sheepish.

“My fault for not warning you before dropping bombs. But the good news is Asba in the shop gave us the route you’re following to the shop where her cousin works near the spaceport. And the great news is that we were the only ones captured – Spock and James should be fine.”

“Oh thank god,” he says, fervent.

You access the speeder’s admin menu again as he drives and change the transceiver code again, mainly for something to do, but partly in case the driver of the speeder you nearly hit decides to call the authorities. Then you review your route. The shop you’re going to is several levels higher than you are now; you hope your speeder won’t stick out too much up there.

There are plenty of new things to see out the window, though. As you get higher the buildings are cleaner, windows larger. The shops you see have more elaborate displays with fancier goods, there are more Mraden around, and, as the light begins to turn golden, you pass your first park, full of Mraden children playing.

“The GLG had a point,” you say, almost to yourself.

“In what way?”

“The higher you get, the nicer it is, and the more Madren I’m seeing. Obviously their methods are wrong but... I kind of get it.”

“When we get out of here, I’m going to tell the Federation negotiators that we shouldn’t agree to anything without conditions of the Ginera being discussed. It feels a little like letting the bad guys get what they want in a way, but you can’t make an entire culture suffer because a couple of kids make a stupid choice.”

“And they were probably manipulated, too. That doesn’t excuse them, but—” you lock eyes with a Mraden enforcer as you pass a junction. She recognises you, even through the glass, and mutters into a communicator of some kind.

”But?”

“We’ve been spotted. Turn left! Now!”

Chris makes the turn, speeding up as he also changes up a level. He weaves in and out of traffic, trying to shake your tail, while you hold on for dear life, glad that you strapped in.

“Relax,” he says, as he takes another alarming turn, flying away from another chorus of horns. “My first assignment in Starfleet was as a test pilot.”

“That’s... um... good to know,” you say, weakly, as he brings you up another level and slows sharply. He takes the next turn at a much more sedate pace, before spotting an empty lane in front of you and speeding up again.

“Are we nearly there yet?” You ask, getting a laugh.

“Actually we are.” As you look around you realise you’re on the edge of the industrial district. Ahead you can just see some star ships, a large freighter and shuttles flying around it. “And hopefully we lost them.”

You reset the transceiver code for the third time, back to its factory default, as Chris makes a right between two tall buildings. You switch the transceiver off completely before he makes two more turns; hopefully it’s owner will be able to pick up the signal when it came on again and find it.

“I’ll come too this time.” Chris says, opening his door.

“Thank you for not crashing,” you say as you exit the speeder.

“Any time,” he says, and you both laugh as you enter the shop.

Where the last shop was cramped, this one is spacious. You recognise a lot more components here; they’re not Federation but they’re ship components and you understand what they do.

You and Chris find the small bin with the piece you need pretty quickly, but it’s locked, and you look around for help. You feel eyes on your back and you turn to see a Ginera male looking at you curiously.

“Excuse me,” you say, tone polite and not too eager, “do you know Jima? We’re looking for him.”

“I’m Jima,” he says, stepping closer. Chris puts his hand on your back; for your sake or his you can’t say.

“Asba sent us. She said you could help me get a component to fix my communicator?”

“Is this what you need?” He indicates the bin you were looking at. He pitches his voice quiet and you match it.

“Yes. This is the one I need.”

He unlocks the bin, takes a couple of transmitters out, and beckons you to follow, keeping an eye on the only other customer, a Mraden male. You pass between the aisles to the edge of the store, quietly following his lead, and go through a doorway.

“Asba called me, said you’d be coming. She also said to keep you out of sight. You should be safe here, to fix your tech. Call me if you need anything.” He steps back through the doorway as you hear some other customers enter the shop.

You put that out of mind though, as you hand Chris the communicator while you get your tools out. You can feel tension radiating off him as you take it back but you ignore that too. This is fixing things. It’s what you do. You open the cover and slot the component in, bending a couple of pins to fit and adjusting the power output to compensate for the non standard part.

“They were seen in this area. The speeder they stole is just out here.” Even though you’re concentrating, you can’t shut off your ears entirely. The people you thought were customers when they entered? Law enforcement.

You shut the cover again and hand it back to Chris.

“Didn’t I see them with you, Jima? They must be in the overflow storage.”

You hear loud footsteps as Chris says, “Pike to Enterprise! Get us out of here now!”

He reaches for your hand catching hold as the Mraden enforcement officers come through the door, and the gold light takes you, leaving them staring.

*

You thought you were glad to get back to Enterprise after you were on Earth. But that was nothing to how you feel now. You keep it together, however, in front of Number One, Spock, and the transporter technician.

“They said you were dead,”Number One says in greeting. “They showed us the burning building. They showed us your burnt communicator with the power cell removed. They said that was the only thing that survived.”

“What’s the quote? ‘The rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated’?” Pike shrugs, giving her a half smile.

“ ‘The report of my death was an exaggeration.’ I’m glad you’re okay, Chris, but don’t do that to me again. At least not for another month.”

*

You shower in your own quarters, having got your bruise treated in sickbay, trying to calm down. Away missions are still a lot. Chris told you to take twenty four before reporting for duty again, and you will, but you get a report written first – you need to make sure that Jima and Asba are safe, and that the ship sends some compensation to the person whose speeder you stole. That done, you check with the computer, change into civvies and join Chris in his quarters.

“Hey,” he says as you walk in, standing from where he was sitting by the window and drawing you into a hug, then a soft kiss. You bring a hand up to his face, running you fingers over the stubble that’s there after a very long day, and kiss him back, heated, your lips moving across his, his tongue licking into your mouth. You pull apart, staring up into his blue eyes.

“You were right,” he says, drawing you across the room to sit next to him on the couch. “There was a Mraden plot. Nera and Lakir have resigned, although they claim they didn’t know what was going on, and Tura and Sama, the Ginera second couple, have taken power until they can hold new elections. It’s going to be a tough road for Eloma, if they’re going to properly confront their problems, but the Federation will help.”

“I’m glad,” you say, leaning into him, enjoying how safe you feel with his arm around you. “I—I hope those boys’ sacrifice turns out to be worth it.”

“Yeah,” he says, kissing your head, and you sit in silence for few minutes.

“Dinner?” He asks eventually.

“Yes if we can have your chilli again. I think we’ve earned it.”

“Oh you definitely did,” he replies, standing to go over to the synthesiser.

*

“Lieutenant?” It’s two days later and you’re on your way to Engineering from the mess hall. You turn in the corridor, to see Number One standing there, an amused expression on her face.

“Commander?”

“Next time he asks you to go on an away mission, just say no.”

[longitudinalwaveme]

No One Tops the Top

Almost all the Rogues had issues with their biological families. Captain Cold and the Golden Glider had been abandoned by their mother and abused by their father. Heat Wave had accidentally killed his entire family when he had set his house on fire.  Captain Boomerang had been abandoned by his biological father and largely ignored by his stepfather, while his mother had let him run wild, and if anything, he was even worse to his son, Owen. The first Mirror Master’s father had died when he was a baby, and he had rebelled against his mother in his teens, and the second Mirror Master was an orphan. Weather Wizard’s parents had ignored him except to complain about why he wasn’t more like his older brother, Clyde, and the Pied Piper had been disowned by his wealthy parents and thrown out of his home. But no one really knew about the parents of the Top, because he never spoke about them.

Unlike Heat Wave, he never spoke about missing them, but unlike Cold, he had never complained about them either, and because he had never obviously confronted his parents, no one had ever felt inclined to investigate, especially since he also tended to be an arrogant, unlikeable jerk. Roscoe’s past was a mystery to almost everyone, and, if Roscoe was being honest, he preferred it that way.  He was an intensely private man, and he had no desire to blab on and on about his childhood the way the others did. However, that didn’t mean that there were no skeletons in his closet-after all, those skeletons were the reason that Roscoe took a trip to Bridgeville, a town 40 minutes outside of Central City, to visit his parents once every year. Currently, he was sitting on a train, wearing a magnificent three-piece suit (courtesy of Paul Gambi, underworld tailor) with his hair immaculately combed. (He, unlike the other Rogues, took great pride in his appearance and was usually dressed to the nines when not in costume.) He held a briefcase full of tops in one hand and carried a bouquet of flowers in the other. Suddenly, the train stopped and a number of people got on. One of them, a tall, blonde man, sat down next to him, much to his annoyance.

“Hi. How are you?” the man asked, much too cheerfully for Roscoe’s tastes.

“Sit somewhere else.” The other man grinned, seemingly oblivious to Roscoe’s hostility.

“I’m Jacob Rogers. Who are you?”

“Roscoe Neyle Dillon,” Roscoe replied, hoping that learning that he was sitting next to a supervillain would drive the overly-cheerful man away.

“Nice to meet you, Roscoe. I’m headed to Bridgeville to visit my grandmother. Where are you going?”

“I am also going to Bridgeville. My parents and I are having our annual meeting,” Roscoe replied stiffly. He started to rock slightly in frustration and anxiety. He hated small talk.

“Cool! Why don’t we stick together, then? I mean, we are going to the same place, and I’d love to have a traveling buddy.”

“No.” Roscoe waited for “Jacob’s” face to fall, but it didn’t happen. Instead, he just smiled more widely.

“That’s all right. It’s nice enough just to have someone to sit next to. Say, what do you think about the weather we’ve been having?”

“I think that the Weather Wizard is in the mood for blue skies.” Jacob laughed.

“You’re really funny, you know that? I’m so glad I got to meet you, Roscoe.” Roscoe glared at the man. If it hadn’t been for his desire to avoid a scene, he would have used his telekinesis to forcibly remove the overly-cheery man from his seat. What, exactly, had he said that was so funny? Mardon had told him himself that the recent good weather had occurred due to his instigation.

“You are very easily amused,” he said flatly, having no desire to reveal his confusion to the man.

“Yeah. I guess I just like to look on the bright side of life. So, Roscoe, how have you been?” Roscoe started rocking harder. He hated it when people asked him questions like that. It was an invasion of his privacy!

“I woke up this morning at precisely 6:40 AM. I made my bed, ate my usual meal of one piece of toast, buttered with exactly ⅛ an inch of butter, brushed my teeth for exactly 3 minutes, got dressed, brushed my hair for exactly 10 minutes, left the house, bought a bouquet of flowers for ten dollars and sixteen cents, plus tax, and then arrived at the train station at 8:00 AM on the dot. I bought one ticket to Bridgeville for five dollars and thirty-five cents and boarded the train at 8:05 AM. The train left the station at exactly 8:07 AM, and I was planning the rest of my day when you boarded the train at exactly 8:25 AM and sat next to me. That is how I have been,” he said in a monotone. Jacob looked at him oddly.

“Are you...okay?”

“I have a throbbing headache, but I am otherwise in perfect physical condition,”Roscoe replied in the same bored tone as before.

“But are you happy?” Roscoe continued to rock. Was he happy? He didn’t know. He wasn’t particularly unhappy.

“I am fine,” he said after a few seconds of pondering. Why wouldn’t this insufferable idiot leave him alone?

“Are you sure? You’re acting a little strange.”

“So I have been told. Many times, actually.” It was growing increasingly more difficult to resist the urge to telekinetically move this fool into another seat, or, better yet, another train. To help control himself, he started to flap his hands a bit. It wasn’t the same as spinning, but the motion calmed his nerves.

“Do you….do you have autism?” Roscoe glared at the man. How dare he imply that he had some kind of neurological deficit?

“I do not have autism! I am a genius, and it is not my fault that the world is unable to appreciate that fact!”

“Being autistic and being a genius aren’t mutually exclusive, you know.” Roscoe was too annoyed to listen. He was not defective! He couldn’t be defective! He was not retarded! The overly-cheerful man had gone too far by implying that he was mentally deficient. Roscoe’s eyes glowed green and he lifted Jacob into the air.

“W-what’s happening? What are you doing?”

“Making sure that you learn a very important lesson: no one tops the Top.”

“Y-you’re the Top?”

“Yes. Fortunately for you, I have no desire to cause a scene, so you will live to remember this day. However, considering the grave insult you gave me by implying that I am retarded, I am afraid that you must be punished.”

“But I wasn’t implying that!” Roscoe shook his head. He was supposed to believe that? After all those years of people implying that he was intellectually subnormal and in need of being removed from the normal classroom? This “Jacob” was a bigger fool than he had thought.

“Come now, how much of a fool do you believe me to be. I know what being called autistic means. It means that I am intellectually subnormal, that I am incapable of properly functioning or keeping myself in a presentable condition. It means that I am a freak, that my genius is really nothing more than an obsession and that I will never be able to come out on top. And that is a lie! I am not stupid! I am not!” Roscoe said, growing louder and more hysterical with every sentence. He spun the man around in the air, ignoring his shrieks of fear. It was only when the other passengers started to stare at him that he realized that what he was doing was less than conducive to avoiding attention. Upon this revelation, Roscoe quickly sat the man back down in his seat. Once Roscoe’s hold on his body broke, Jacob fled from the seat and towards the back of the train. Roscoe’s eyes followed him dispassionately. Being spun in the air probably hadn’t been the most pleasant experience, but it wasn’t as though he’d actually hurt the man, so why had he reacted so strongly? As he had said, he hadn’t wanted to cause a scene, so the worst the man would have received was a bump on the head. He thought briefly about apologizing to the man and explaining that he hadn’t planned on injuring him in any permanent way, but quickly decided against it, as he had little experience in that area. Besides, it wasn’t like the man was likely to believe him. Roscoe spent the remainder of the trip rocking and flapping his hands and trying to forget the whole unpleasant situation. At precisely 9:15 AM, the train pulled into the station at Bridgeville, and Roscoe left the train. He looked around for the man he had levitated but didn’t see him, then walked to the street, where he hailed a taxi and took it to his parents’ house. After he paid the driver, he walked up to the house and rang the doorbell, which played a snippet of Mozart’s “Fur Elise”. A few seconds later, his father, Reginald Norton Dillon, opened the door.

“Oh. It’s you. Well, don’t just stand there, Roscoe, come inside, and quickly.” Roscoe complied, shutting the door behind him telekinetically.

“How did you do that?” his father asked, sounding shocked. Roscoe sighed. He’d forgotten that his parents didn’t know about his telekinesis.

“Um, the wind must have blown it shut.” His father didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press the matter further.

“Rosa, Roscoe is here!” A few seconds later, Roscoe’s mother, Rosa Nicole Dillon, arrived in the hall.

“Roscoe, my dear boy, it’s so good to see you!” She hugged him, and he stiffened like a board. He hated being touched.

“Hello, mother. These are for you,” he said flatly as he handed her the flowers.

“Why, thank you, Roscoe! That was so thoughtful of you!” She proceeded to kiss Roscoe on both cheeks, despite his desperate attempts to avoid the contact, and then she started pinching his cheeks. At this point, Roscoe had had enough and started spinning. He started out slowly, but it didn’t take long before he was whirling around at speeds approaching those of a tornado.

“ROSCOE! Stop that!” his mother screamed. Reluctantly, Roscoe stopped spinning.

“I don’t like being touched, mother.” His mother sighed.

“I’m sorry, Roscoe,” she said meekly, only for his father to snap,

“Apologize to your mother right now! It’s not her fault that you’re so particular. Haven’t I told you that you’ll never be successful until you learn to respect your elders?” Roscoe sighed.

“I am sorry, mother.”

“That’s better. Remember, son, no one will respect you in the business world until you learn to be normal.”

“Yes, father.” There was no point in reminding his father that he was not in the business world, as that would only lead to a rant about how he should have gone into business.

“And son, what on Earth are you wearing? Haven’t I told you that no one wears white tie in the business world anymore? You have to keep up with the times, or you’ll be a failure, just like you were as a boy.” Roscoe winced.

“I like wearing white tie,” he protested. His father ignored him.

“Son, that suit is too tight on you. What have you been eating? Putting on weight like that will only be detrimental to your coming out on top. You might want to think about losing those extra pounds.” Roscoe flushed. The last time he had checked, he had weighed 183 pounds, which was a more than decent weight for a man of his 6’3” stature, but perhaps he had put on weight since….

“I..I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. And while you’re at it, do something about your hair. No one wears it like that anymore, and it makes you look like a pathetic schoolboy.” Roscoe started flapping his hands again. This was why he only visited once a year.

“What do you have in the briefcase, Roscoe?” his mother asked. Roscoe smiled-a rare occurrence for him when he was out of costume.

“I’m so glad you asked, mother. I brought my tops. Do you want to see?” His mother smiled.

“I suppose so, dear.” Roscoe opened his briefcase excitedly and started to pull out his tops.

“This is one of my favorites, mother. I bought it at an antique store several years ago, and its design is exquisite. Just look at the detailed, delicate handiwork that went into creating it! Oh, and this top is one of the largest tops I’ve ever found. Isn’t it lovely? Yes, I thought so. It spins very quickly for its size, you know. Oh, and this top is jewel-encrusted. Isn’t it a marvel? I got it from a museum. And this top is one of my oldest ones. Do you remember going to the store with me to buy it? Don’t you remember how happy we were? Honestly, I still sleep with it. It’s comforting. Oh, and this top-” he said enthusiastically.

“Rosa, stop encouraging him! His quirks are bad enough without you making them worse.”

“But Reginald, tops make him so happy.”

“I don’t care, Rosa. If he wants to become a success, he needs to get rid of his quirks. No son of mine will have a reputation as a freak.” Roscoe frowned. Captain Cold was just as into his gimmick as he was into his, and yet no one called him a freak. It was most unfair.

“I am not a freak, father.” His father laughed.

   “Oh, really? The man who runs around the city dressed in yellow and green spandex and using tops to commit crimes isn’t a freak? Why, the only reason I haven’t disowned you is because your activities have been a boon to our finances.” Roscoe sighed.

“I’m sorry that I have disappointed you, father.”

“‘I’m sorry that I have disappointed you, father.’ I don’t want your apologies, you foolish boy,  I want you to be better, to shape up and finally make something of yourself. You’re going to disgrace us if you’re not careful. No son of mine is going to be a failure, even one like you.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Dear, is it really wise to push him like that? He is a supervillain, you know, and can you imagine how the neighbors will react if he does something drastic?” his mother asked.

“Mother, I am not going to do something drastic. Contrary to popular belief, I do have some standards, and keeping my personal and professional lives separate is one of them.” His mother sighed in relief and kissed him on the cheek again, much to his discomfort.

“Thank you, Roscoe. I’m glad you’re willing to be a good little boy while you’re visiting.” Roscoe raised his eyebrow in mild irritation. His mother’s babying was almost worse than his father’s constant nagging.

“Rosa, stop babying the boy. He’s thirty-six years old. If he can’t control himself by now, it’s his own fault.” Then he turned to Roscoe.

“Come with me, and take your briefcase with you.” Roscoe complied, knowing from experience that he was unlikely to hear the end of it if he refused. His father led him into the living room and to the fireplace.

“What are we doing here?” he asked, unsure of why the change in location had been necessary. His father sighed.

“We’re here to do something I should have had you do a long time ago.” He opened Roscoe’s briefcase and stared at his tops.

“You want to talk about my tops with me?” Roscoe asked hopefully. Maybe he had finally managed to please his father after all!

“No, Roscoe. I want you to destroy them. You’ll never get ahead in life if you spend all your time playing with toys.” Roscoe frowned.

“B-but father, I have spent years collecting these tops. They’re the closest thing I have to friends.” His father scowled.

“All the more reason for you to get rid of them. They’re nothing but a crutch that’s holding you back.”

“Father, I cannot get rid of my tops. I just can’t! They’re the only thing I’ve ever been good at.” That was accurate. He was well aware that he had been painfully mediocre in every other area before he had decided to base his criminal career on tops.

“That’s not true. We had you tested, and you’re a genius. The only problem with you is that you’ve got less common sense than those crazy people on the streets! If you wanted to you’d be a billionaire-but maybe you were destined to be nothing more than a failure, a disgrace to the family name.” The words twisted like knives in Roscoe’s gut.

“N-no, Father, I’m not! I’m not a failure! I’m the Top!”

“Then take my advice and destroy your stupid toys.” Roscoe tried not to panic, as his father had placed him in a bit of a Catch-22. If he kept his tops, he was a freak, but if he destroyed them, he would be destroying the only thing that had earned him any respect. However, considering the fact that all his weaponized tops were at home, his desire to please his father outweighed his desire to keep his most precious possessions. Slowly, he started dropping his precious tops into the fire. Once he’d burned his last one, his father smiled.

“There. Was that so hard?” Roscoe glared at him incredulously. He had just destroyed his most precious possessions. How would that ever have been easy?

“Father, may I ask you something?”

“Yes. You may.” Roscoe took a deep breath.

“If, by some cruel twist of fate, I had ended up as a pickpocket or a janitor or at a fast food place, would you be proud of me?”

“Are you joking? I’m not proud of you now, what with how little profit you’ve made in your so-called “job”. If you were in a job like those you mentioned, I wouldn’t let you in the door. No son of mine will ever end up in a dead-end job like that.” Roscoe cringed. He was the Top, Central City’s most dreaded supervillain! Why on Earth had he given up his tops for this man? He thought about dropping a piano on his father’s head, but then the thought of his mother’s horrified and devastated face filled his mind, and he realized that even he couldn’t kill his own father. After all, if he did, he would never be able to prove himself to the man.

“Y-you really think of me that way?”

“Yes. If you want to impress me, you’re going to have to show a lot more success.” Roscoe sighed in exhaustion.

“Noted. Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Is it true that you’re dating a woman who grew up in a trailer park?” Roscoe stared at him in surprise. How had he found out about that?

“Yes, it is. Her name is Lisa, and she is a goddess amongst women.” His father frowned.

“Son, a woman like that will never be able to appreciate you. Not only does she lack the intellectual capacity, but she’s probably dated a hundred men already. She’ll never stay faithful to you, and besides, she’s probably just after our fortune. Get rid of her. If you want to be successful, you need to court successful people, not gutter trash.” His father was lucky that Lisa had decided not to come with him, as she would not have reacted well to that.

“Yes, father. I’ll keep that in mind.” As far as Roscoe was concerned, Lisa was not gutter trash, so he wasn’t even lying, not really.

“Good. The last thing you need is more distraction from your work.” The rest of the morning passed rather uneventfully, as Roscoe’s mother had joined them in the living room a few minutes after his father had criticized his beautiful Lisa and changed the subject to less controversial subjects, like stocks and bonds and his father’s business. But then, at 11:45 AM, his mother revealed that they were going to meet some friends of hers at Golden Corral for lunch.

“But mother, I hate eating lunch with people.”

“Nonsense, Roscoe. It will do you good to get out of your own head for once,” his mother said.

“Your mother’s right. You’ll never come out on top until you learn how to deal with people.” Unwilling to anger both his parents, Roscoe capitulated.

“Very well. I will come. But I do hope you warned them about me.” Ten minutes later, he and his parents entered Golden Corral.

“Are your friends here?”

“I’m not sure, dear,” his mother replied. A few seconds later, his father said,

“Oh, there they are.” He pointed to a trio of people standing about fifteen feet away. One was a tall, thin man who resembled a 1940s action hero, one was a woman with black hair that fell to her thighs, and one was-

“Mark? Mark Mardon?” The skinny man’s mouth dropped open.

“Roscoe Dillon?”  The long-haired woman turned to Mark’s look-alike.

“You know the Dillons?” she asked.

“No, I know him. He’s the Top!” he said, confirming Roscoe’s suspicions that he was indeed the Weather Wizard.

“Patricia, you didn’t say you were bringing a guest too!” Roscoe’s mother said.

“That would be because it was an unpleasant surprise. This is our son, Mark,” ‘Patricia’ replied.

“I thought your son’s name was Clyde, and that he was dead,” Roscoe’s father said. ‘Patricia’ sighed.

“This is our younger son, Mark. He’s Clyde’s little brother,” she explained.

“In a just world, he would be the one that was dead,” 1940s action hero added. Mark made a strange strangled noise.

“Why?” Roscoe’s father asked.

“Because he’s a lazy, shiftless, and clumsy thief, that’s why. He doesn’t have even a glimmer of the potential his brother did,” 1940s action hero (Mr. Mardon, Roscoe supposed) said.

“How did your son know who he was? We don’t talk about him,” Patricia asked.

“I know him because we work together. He’s the Weather Wizard. I am the Top.”

“I see,” ‘Patricia’ replied, clearly having been caught off guard by that explanation.

“It’s too bad that you never got to meet our other son. Not that Clyde would have become a thief, of course, but he made much better company than Mike does,” Mr. Mardon said. Mark’s mouth dropped open.

“My name is Mark!”

“That’s what I said,” Mr. Mardon replied awkwardly.

“No, it isn’t!”

“Mark, dear, stop making a fuss. After you stole from your brother’s coffin, you’re lucky to even have a name,” Patricia said.

“I didn’t steal from his coffin, I stole from his lab! I mean, yeah, he was dead, but he didn’t have a funeral until a week after I got arrested by the Flash for the first time, remember?”

“Shut up, Mike,” Mr. Mardon snapped. Before the conversation could continue, a waiter arrived, led them to their table, and then took their drink orders. Roscoe and Mark had ended up across from each other, and as soon as their parents were safely engrossed in their own conversation, Mark said,

“What are the odds?”

“Astronomical. But then, the odds of everything that happens to us are astronomical.”

“So, your folks live in Bridgeville, too, huh? I’m surprised that we never met each other when we were kids, then.”

“My parents did not move here until I went to college. I grew up in North Ridge.”

“Oh. Okay then. What’re your folks like?” Roscoe looked at Mark in confusion.

“You can see them, can you not?”

“No, I mean, how do they act?”

“Then you should have said so. My mother is very touchy-feely, and she seems to believe that I am five years old. My father makes 500,000 dollars a year and is very particular. He, ah, never misses an opportunity to remind me that I have much room to improve.” Mark smiled.

“I guess you already saw what mine were like. I was born eleven months after Clyde, and that messed up my whole life. Clyde was handsome, brilliant, popular, athletic, and gentlemanly, and I was, uh, not. He was on the varsity football, basketball, and track teams, was elected prom king and homecoming king, and graduated as the valedictorian, and I was basically the class joke-not in a good way. I mean, I failed all my classes before I dropped out-even gym class! Basically, since I was about three years old, my parents have thought that my name is “why aren’t you more like Clyde”?”

“They, ah, played favorites?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. One time, Clyde’s little league meet was on the same day as my birthday, and they didn’t give me a party or a present or anything.” Roscoe raised an eyebrow.

“Why is that bad? Birthday parties are such an irritant. They are loud and annoying and stressful, and usually full of children who make fun of your tops.”

“Because I like spending time with people.”

“I still do not follow.” Mark sighed and paused for a few seconds before saying,

“For me, not having a party would be like you not getting tops for your birthday.” Roscoe winced. His tops…..A full minute passed before he realized that Mark was probably expecting a response of some sort.

“Aah. So you have a reason to feel bitterly towards them.”

“Yep. As far as they’re concerned, I’ll always be a really poor substitute Clyde.” At this point, their drinks arrived, and Roscoe took a sip of his iced tea. It was far from the best iced tea he had ever tasted, but it was at least tolerable, which meant that he wouldn’t raise a fuss about it. Mark tried to copy the gesture, but ended up spilling his Mountain Dew instead. He yelped in surprise and pulled out his weather wand, which he used to create a wind that was strong enough to dry up the spill, only to also knock a stack of plates out of a waitress’ hand with that same wind. Mark flushed and ran over to her.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry, lady!” She looked at him in alarm.

“How did that happen?”

“Uh, I think that wind came from a window I opened. Where’s the broom?” She pointed, and he ran off. A minute later, he returned with a broom and a dustpan-and promptly tripped over the dustpan and ended up face down on the floor. Roscoe sighed. One of the many ironies about Mark was that he tended to be as destructive when he tried to help as when he was trying to cause harm, and that was certainly on full display today. The waitress pulled him to his feet and took the broom and dustpan from him.

“I’ll handle this, sir.”

“But it was my fault!”

“Nonsense. You couldn’t have known that a wind would come through that window. Now sit down before you cause a bigger mess or give yourself a concussion.” Mark pulled out his ragged wallet and gave the waitress a fifty dollar bill, then walked back to the table and managed to sit down without incident.

“Mike, did you really have to raise such a scene?” Mr. Mardon asked.

“My name is Mark, and it was an accident! For once.” Patricia sighed.

“See? I told you he was a clumsy idiot.”  Roscoe's father nodded.

“I can’t understand why you even still speak to him. If my son were that much of a fool, I would have disowned him a long time ago.”

“If Clyde hadn’t passed away, we might have, but he’s all we have left now, and we couldn’t bear to lose both our sons.” Roscoe’s mother nodded.

“You poor dear. To have one son dead and the other one a fool must be devastating.” Mark flushed.

“I’m sitting right here!” he said to Roscoe.

“I take it that that is considered rude?” The only social setting Roscoe was familiar with was prison, where talking about people right in front of them was more or less acceptable, but he suspected that in normal society, things might be different.

“Yeah, it’s rude! And they’ve been doing it since I was like five!” Roscoe took another sip of his iced tea.

“That is singularly unfortunate.” Mark sighed.

“You know, just once, I’d like to hear them say that they’re proud of me, or that they love me, or anything other than “our son is such a loser compared to his brother”. Just once!” Much to his surprise, Roscoe felt a pang of sympathy. He didn’t have a brother, of course, but he knew what it was like to hear nothing but criticism from a parent.

“I do not think that my father has ever told me any of those things, either.”

“Really? But you’re so smart! And also terrifying and totally intimidating. But mainly smart! How could anyone ever complain about you? Criminal career aside, I mean.”

“Oh, my father does not care about that. In point of fact, he rather appreciates the money. What he is concerned about is my success rate, and in my father’s eyes, I am not and will never be successful enough to please him. Every time I come to visit, he critiques everything I do-even his compliments have a tendency to be backhanded insults. He makes me feel like a failure, like a freak-and I despise it.” He started rocking and flapping his hands again, trying not to think about all the time his peers had called him a retarded freak behind his back.

“Uh, Roscoe, you’re doing that weird thing again.” Roscoe glared at him.

“I am not weird. It is the rest of the world that is weird.” Mark shrugged.

“Okay, but your dad and my mom are staring at you.” At the mention of his father, Roscoe immediately stopped flapping his hands and slowed his rocking. While this caused his stress level to rise, it was preferable to upsetting his father.

“Is he autistic?” Patricia asked suddenly.

“I’ve feared that he might be for years, but he’s verbal enough that I’m hoping he’s just weird. The Dillon family couldn’t possibly produce a neurologically defective son.”

“But the rocking, the spinning, the top obsession...the way he talks. Even Mark doesn’t act as oddly as he does.” Patricia protested.

“I don’t care. I will not have a retarded son!” Roscoe really wanted to start spinning again, but he resisted the urge. He was not autistic! He was not! Luckily for Roscoe (and Mark), Rosa said,

“Why don’t we go get our lunch?” and the rest concurred, cutting the autism conversation short. Roscoe took a full ten minutes to fill his plate, selecting for only the most flawless pieces of food. Mark took only about a minute to put food on his plate, but he dropped the plate on the way to the table and had to go back to refill the plate (and give another fifty-dollar bill to the long-suffering waitress). Therefore, the two ended up returning to the table at about the same time. Roscoe mechanically cut his fish into slices that were precisely 4 inches each, and then slowly lifted them to his mouth, one piece at a time. After he had finished the fish, he started eating his salad, one without even a hint of the disgusting salad dressing Mr. Mardon had drowned his salad in. Then he carefully buttered his roll with ⅛ an inch of butter and ate that, then took three more sips of his iced tea. Unfortunately for him, he had taken so long to eat this part of his meal in his precise, mechanical nature that the rest of the table had finished their lunches by the time he had gotten to his soup.

“Hurry it up, son. If you want to be successful, you can’t be so particular about everything.” Roscoe sighed. Why was discernment a negative characteristic?

“I apologize, father. I will stop eating if you so desire.”

“I don’t see what you’re complaining about, Reginald. At least your son eats neatly,” Patricia commented. Mark, who had practically inhaled his food and left a huge mess on the table, flushed and looked at the floor.

“She’s right, dear. Things could be much worse,” Roscoe’s mother added.

“Maybe they could be, but your clumsy fool isn’t a Dillon. Roscoe is. The standards for my family are much higher, and therefore my son’s behavior is unacceptable. Roscoe, clean up your plates.” Roscoe complied. When he returned, he was confronted by Mark.

“What gives, man? You never listen to anyone at home! But here, when your pa says jump, you just say “How high?” Why do you let him boss you the way you do?” he whispered.

“The same reason you do not remind your mother and father that you could summon up a tornado if they fail to respect you as you do with everyone else. The same reason you act like a gentleman around them: we want to please them, and quite frankly, we are still afraid of them.” Suddenly, Roscoe’s mother grinned.

“I have a terrific idea, Patricia! Why don’t we go to the park together?”

“That’s a good idea, Rosa. We don’t spend nearly as much time together as we should.”

“But Patricia, darling, what if Mike causes a scene?” Mr. Mardon asked.

“Matthew, he’s enough of an attention seeker to not want to alienate us. He won’t cause trouble while we’re around to disapprove.” Patricia replied.

“Good point. In that case, let’s go. I know how much you and Rosa like to talk.” Mr. Mardon said.

“Besides, we could all use the fresh air.” Roscoe’s mother added.

“But I despise parks. They are so loud and uncomfortable,” Roscoe protested.

“Roscoe, you’ll never be successful until you learn to deal with discomfort. Now stop your whining,” his father snapped.

“Roscoe, dear, I know that you don’t like parks, but your father will be disappointed if you don’t come. Please be a good boy and make him happy, dear,” his mother added.

“Very well, mother. I will go.” Roscoe said. The thought of dropping a piano on his father’s head was becoming increasingly more appealing. Ten minutes later, the Dillons and the Mardons had arrived at one of the banes of Roscoe’s existence (the others were the Flashes, Iron Heights Penitentiary, Captain Cold, and people who chewed with their mouths open).

“So, why do you hate parks?” Mark asked him as soon as they had both left their respective cars.

“Because they are loud, and annoying, and full of small children who make fun of my tops.” The last time he had gone to the park, the whole affair had ended with another boy giving him a bloody nose and calling him a “freaky special ed kid” before absconding with the top he had brought with him, and he had no desire to repeat that experience. (He had subsequently paid the boy back by telekinetically dropping a tree branch on him and breaking his leg, but the memory still stung.)

“Uh, Roscoe, you’re a terrifying grown man. What sort of kid is gonna make fun of you?”

“My parents brought me to parks a total of twenty times during my youth. In all but one of  those times, another child mocked me because I chose to play by myself with my tops rather than with the other children. It was most unfair. Tops are fascinating. I have no desire to be forced to relive my memories of parks,” Roscoe explained.

“Roscoe, if you don’t stop complaining, I will give you something to complain about,” his father snapped. Roscoe sighed.

“I apologize, father. I will attempt to enjoy myself and bring credit to the family name,” he said flatly. The group walked into the park, and Roscoe pulled out a top out of his pocket, sat down, and started spinning it, while Mark seemed to forget that he was no longer a child and made a beeline for the swingset. Unfortunately for Roscoe, before he could start enjoying himself, his father confiscated the top.

“Roscoe, you are an adult, not a child. Get off the ground now and start behaving like a man,” his father said. Then he threw the top into the trash can. In response, and much to his horror, Roscoe started to cry.

“Don’t cry, Roscoe. No one will respect you if you cry, least of all me.” In response, Roscoe tried to stop the tears and succeeded after about a minute.

“Is that better, father?” Roscoe asked icily.

“Somewhat,” his father replied. Frustrated by his father’s confusing instructions, he walked away from them and sat down on a bench, where he watched a happy-looking family: parents, grandparents, and child-play happily. Their giggles and calls were ear-piercing and irritating, but still, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing. His father had never even tried to play with him like that. He looked over at Mark, who was still swinging, and wondered if he was thinking similarly. Roscoe started to rock again, but that didn’t alleviate the stress, so he began to spin-only to be rocketed to the far end of the park. Before he could work out what, exactly, had happened, he found himself handcuffed to a tree.

“What are you doing here, Roscoe?” a familiar voice asked. Roscoe quickly identified the speaker as Barry Allen, the Flash, and realized with a jolt that he had been the father of the family he had been watching.

“I am here to see my parents. Why are you here?” Roscoe asked, irritated that he was seemingly being arrested for no reason. The Flash was very lucky that he was not in costume right now.

“I was visiting my parents, Nora and Henry Allen, with my wife and son, but you already knew that, didn’t you?” Barry asked. Roscoe scowled.

“No, I did not. I am here because my parents dragged me here, as I already told you, not in an attempt to attack you. Although I am tempted to take advantage of my good fortune, considering your willingness to believe the worst of me.” Barry frowned.

“After your constant attempts to put me out of the way permanently, can you really blame me for suspecting the worst of you?”

“Yes. I am off the clock at the moment, Flash, as are you. To attack you now would be the mark of an amateur, and I am a professional.” Suddenly, Barry was joined by the little boy he had been playing with.

“Dad, what’s happening? Did you stop a bad guy? Awesome! That’s so cool!”

“Bart, get back! The Top is a dangerous criminal, and I don’t want you to get hurt!” Barry yelled. Roscoe sighed.

“I am not going to hurt him, because I did not come here to attack you, your wife, your parents, or your spawn. I am here with my parents, and you can ask them if you don’t believe me. They’re over by the picnic shelter,” he said wearily.

“All right, I will. Bart, go back to your mother,” Barry said. He left, but his son did not, much to Roscoe’s surprise. He would never have disobeyed his father so blatantly.

“Is it true that you tried to make my dad really old so that he would have to retire from crime fighting?” the creature asked him.

“Yes.” Roscoe said flatly.

“And do you really have mental powers?”

“ No , I just pretend I do so that I can be put in a collar every time I am sent to Iron Heights,” Roscoe said sarcastically.

“Really? Then how did you move stolen gold from that train without touching it?”

“I was being sarcastic! Yes, I have mental powers, and no,  I will not tell you how they work. It is too complex for you to understand.”

“And do you really date another supervillain?”

“That is none of your business.”  

“Are you gonna have supervillain babies with her?” Roscoe blushed.

“I just told you that that is none of your business!” Why, oh, why had this had to happen on one of his personal days? Luckily for him, before the questions could continue, the Flash returned.

“Well?” Roscoe asked him.

“I don’t believe this, Roscoe, but your parents confirmed your story. For now, you are free to go.” He uncuffed Roscoe from the tree, and then seemed to notice that his son had not obeyed his orders.

“Bart, why didn’t you leave when I told you to?” he scolded. Roscoe felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. This would be the part where his enemy told the boy how he was a failure, a disgrace to the family name.

“I just wanted to be like you, Dad. You’re so cool!” Roscoe swore inwardly. He didn’t want to feel more sympathy for the child of his enemy, but he couldn’t help feeling another drop of pity for the boy. How many times had he told his father something like that and been rejected?

“Son, I’m flattered that you want to be like me, and I’m very glad that you want to spend time with me. I love you more than you can imagine, and if I could, I would let you stay with me as much as you wanted. But my line of work is very dangerous. The people I fight are usually desperate, and they might try to hurt you to get to me. I wanted you to leave for your own safety.” Roscoe’s mouth dropped open. Where was the anger, the demands for perfection? Where was the reminder that nothing was more important than pleasing his father and being successful?

“Why are you telling him that you love him? Did he not fail?”

“My love for him has nothing to do with what he does or doesn’t do. I love him because he’s my son; because he’s a gift from God, not because he brings me glory or makes me happy.” Roscoe stared at his enemy in shock.

“That is not what my father told me,” he said flatly. The Flash shook his head.

“Allow me to give you some advice: stop tearing other people down to give yourself value and find out where your true value comes from instead. It’ll be a lot better for you, me, and society if you do.” With that, he and his son ran back to the playground, and Mark appeared from behind a tree, evidently having watched most of the exchange.

“Did you see how happy the Allens all were? I mean, I know we all hate the guy on lack of principle, but none of them seemed upset or nervous. What kind of family can just be happy like that? I didn’t hear even one comparison!” Roscoe shrugged.

“I saw. Our foe treats his son almost like an equal and said that he loved him right after the creature disobeyed him. Can it be that some parents do love their children as they are?” Mark shook his head.

“It looked that way to me.” Roscoe sighed bitterly.

“Well, whatever it was, it is something that neither of us will ever have, so we might as well not concern ourselves with it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Besides, all that lovey-dovey stuff’s for sissies,” Mark said, sounding decidedly unconvinced.

“Indeed,” Roscoe said flatly. Despite what he had said, however, Roscoe couldn’t stop thinking about his enemy’s words. Was it possible  that he, as strange as he was, was more than how he performed? And if so, how could he find the thing that would make him believe it the way that his enemy’s son did? He thought for a few seconds, then sat down and pulled out one last top. At the very least, he could finally relax and do something he loved. He smiled, and started to spin the top.

[eldonash]

Ulfric & Orobas || Tiny Hats and Big Bow Ties

Timeframe: During the carnival Who: Orobas and Ulfric @big-bad-ulf Summary: Ulfric, in wanting to be sure Orobas and him are still on good terms after the Layla incident, takes Orobas to the carnival. They play a game and the photo of the century is taken. 

Ulfric drummed his fingers impatiently against his truck’s steering wheel as he waited outside the downtown highrise. Of all the messages the wolf could have received from Orobas following the tense note on which their last conversation had ended, he could safely say ‘Come pick me up? lets see what the humans are up to at this carnival,’ was the most surprising. He was aware that his request for the higher vampire to use his compulsion to help calm Layla had pushed the limits of their agreement and caused offence, and was expecting to have his own loyalty tested in some way in return. He’d even been psyching himself up to attempt to grovel a small amount. But the carnival? Really? He supposed the pedestrian thrills on offer could be pleasant in the right company, and Orobas was certainly always interesting to be around, but the two together made for a jarring fit. Ulfric couldn’t imagine an ancient vampire of legend wanting to share a stick of cotton candy and ride the ferris wheel unless he had some kind of ulterior motive or agenda, and that’s what had him so apprehensive. The sooner the vampire showed the sooner he’d be able to figure out what this was really about, and gage how much he needed to do to get back in his ally’s good graces. Finally spotting Orobas exiting the lobby of the apartment building, Ulfric honked to the truck’s horn once to get his attention, rolling down the window as the vampire approached to say. “If you want to observe humans, it would be best to try and abide by a human schedule. The night is not young,” He indicated the clock on the dashboard. “Let’s not dawdle.” 

Orobas had to peel Haxian’s grip from his wrist, one finger at a time. Tonight had called for three hours of preparations to convince his master to let him go. Orobas hadn’t had to deal with this version of Haxian since before White Crest, and with the pressing issues in the background, the ones only the two of them suspected, Orobas currently felt like his mind was heavy. He had finally watched Haxian walk away, waiting for Ulfric like some knight in shiny armor-- though in this case, it was a bushy bearded werewolf pulling up in a truck. Looking at the wolf, Orobas seemed unaware time was on his mind. “Are you in a rush?” He inquired, tone lacking any of his teasing energy that sometimes crept up when he was amused. Orobas sat down in the passenger seat, wearing a black t-shirt, and jacket, and dark blue jeans. His gaze drifted out the window. “How is the lil one?” 

“Not exactly, I just didn’t want you to be displeased if the place was already emptying out of humans when we got there.” Ulfric stated matter-of-factly as he pulled away from the building, noting from the lack of humor in Orobas’ tone that he was, as anticipated, already displeased. “Which one?” The werewolf answered his next question out of habit, though it was only logical that he’d mean Layla. There was a lengthy pause as he considered how best to approach the subject, though he did his best to make it appear he was just focussed on driving and taking his role as vampiric chauffeur seriously. “Layla’s returned to herself, not quite her usual self, but she’ll get there. In no small part thanks to you. How are your--” He hesitated, searching for an appropriate word, slightly uncomfortable referring to the teenagers who work at Cryptid Corner as his toys even if Orobas himself had. “Your employees?” Ulfric settled on finally, the fog that had settled the town in recent years fading until it was replaced by the flickering lights of the carnival through the windshield as they arrived at their destination. He supposed they were meant to stir up a sense of excitement in the human attendees, but with his lack of colour perception and enhanced night vision they just sort of stung. “So, what were you looking for here, Orobas?” He queried, turning to his passenger to let him know he was incharge of the itinerary for the evening (within reason), it seemed as good a strategy as any to start repairing the alliance they’d forged. 

“So you do have a few,” Orobas chuckled faintly. “You sure do have a nice little family now, Ulfric.” The comment wasn’t negative sounding, but did seem to hold envious weight. “My employees? Who cares about them--” he waved lightly, before leaning back, the usual up tight and proper sitting position dissolved further with his leg pulled up and his foot rested on the seat so he could hold it. “They work, I have a new daytime general manager, she is perfect, which makes me suspicious, but at least I don’t have to spend my first few hours playing catch up every night.” Business talk was easy, and Orobas could continue on the ramble while they drove if it came to that. When the light surfaced he grimaced as well. “Mhm, mostly curious to see what humans like. Steal some of the ideas and incorporate them into Cryptid so they will stop bitching at me. Or, maybe I just wanted you to take me out somewhere.” 

Ulfric decided to ignore the comments about his ‘family’, not wanting to dwell on the fact that he may have deliberately overemphasized how packs could act as a combat task force rather than focussing on their function as a nurturing community when he’d first pitched an alliance between the werewolves and vampires of White Crest. “Scoping out the competition, that makes good tactical sense,” he nodded in agreement with Orobas’ plan as he stepped out of the truck and locked it behind him, “If this was just a social call, surely we would’ve gone somewhere less mundane?” And less… shrill. Even with his hearing at the duller end of the range he experienced with it being so close to the new moon, the torrent of screaming and laughter from the carnival-goers elicited a dull throb of pain between his ears. Despite his discomfort, he surged ahead through the entryway into the grounds, plucking a map from the information stand that greeted them with a single-minded determination to show Orobas he was willing to do what was asked of him, and do it well. His eyes flitted back and forth rapidly over the map for a moment, before folding and stuffing it in his pocket, confident he’d gleaned from it everything they needed to know. “I’ve deduced that the organizers have broken down their efforts to entertain these-- happy customers into three categories; attractions, games, and thrills,” the werewolf informed his vampire companion, catching himself just before referring to the crowd as humans again, since the patrons swirling around them were potentially close enough to overhear. “So, pick your poison.”

Orobas wanted to hear Ulfric’s loud, stupid laugh. He was being formal with him, and maybe it was his own mood spilling over to cause it. Pulling out some sunglasses, he tucked them on his nose to dim the lights and cheerfulness. “This is why Cryptic is the way it is, this is too much. I hate it,” he commented, glancing around at everyone. It seemed they were having fun on the surface, but everything here was laced with something more. How many would die here? He wondered. Or disappear without a trace just like it surfaced without one. Humanity had to live in the moment, and their happiness was so easy to take. “Games, those do well for me business wise. I’d like to see their prizes and I want you to win me something.” His voice still didn’t hold anything to it, this monotonous tone. He began to follow Ulfric since he saw the map, and the more he saw, the more he wanted something far more interesting to happen. What if the ferris wheel stopped? What if the rides jarred and caused someone’s neck to crack in pain? Where was the fae running around his park with their wings out. Yet, they were here. Enjoying themselves in the bright lights, and the terrible music. It rather made him realize humanity was quite ridiculous. “What game are you good at?” he asked, purchasing tickets for them and handing them all to Ulfric. 

Ulfric chuckled at the thought that something could seem like ‘too much’ to someone who usually carried themselves with such flair. “I’d have to agree with you.” The werewolf pulled out his own pair of dark tinted shades from his pockets, relieved Orobas had been the one to relent and seek to block out some of the offensive barrage of sensations first. “The patrons with duller senses seem to be enjoying this level of stimulation though. It might be worth keeping that in mind if you’re looking to appeal to them,” he advised with a shrug, wondering again why of all the people he had been the one chosen to help him understand humans when his own understanding of them wasn’t in-depth. At Orobas’ proposition, he smiled more genuinely. It was a glimpse of the more playful vampire he was accustomed to dealing with. “I don’t know, this doesn’t seem like the kind of fair where they’d host woodcutting competitions…” he wondered aloud as he took the ticket and wandered along the row of gaming stalls. There was one stall where people were pushing ping pong balls into the mouths of plastic rotating mime heads, and he immediately eliminated that as an option because while he would happily feast on another mime creature if it happened to cross his path on a full moon, he wasn’t inclined to feed one himself. A stall where people shot fake guns at a pop-up display of a variety of woodland animals, including poorly drawn cartoon wolves, was more off-putting still. “This one.” The werewolf finally stopped at a booth with a back wall covered in balloons, some of which almost appeared to be pulsating, and a display that read, ‘Pop five in a row and win a prize! But for each one you pop, there’s a guaranteed surprise!’ Ulfric handed over a ticket in exchange for a set of five darts. “Are you sure you just want to watch?” He turned back to Orobas to ask, “It might be more entertaining to compete, make this an actual challenge.” 

Orobas wasn’t surprised at the mime games, but he was over it since the sludge incident and that horrid woman who always felt the need to bother him online. Though, knowing that Ulfric had eaten a mime, one that hadn’t entirely been human, made him smile gently. It seemed his werewolf companion wasn’t satisfied with any of the games they were passing, but finally, their steps paused and end up at a balloon popping one. He chuckled. “That’s your instincts, not mine. But I will humor you,” he took some darts, rolling them between his fingers, watching the cheap feather on the ends twirl. Wishing it was heavier or a dagger. He threw two of the darts at once, each one striking the same color balloon that exploded in green slime. ‘Whoa, gross! You get a special prize for two slime ones, lucky,’ the young person said behind the booth. Orobas was promptly handed a teeny tiny black top hat that was dotted in glitter. He held it in his hands confused. “What do I do with it?” he asked the person, and they took it back and gestured him forward. He leaned in, the darts in his hand grouping up and tightening in a hold as a weapon should he need it. They set it on his head, clipping the side so it stuck to his hair. He looked at Ulfric, though with the glasses on his staredown, it was easy to feel. “Hm--”

“It suits that big head of yours,” Ulfric taunted, after taking in the image of the vampire in his tiny top hat. Though even as the aura of competition began to heat his blood, the teasing didn’t have quite his usual confidence, still unsure how solid the ground the two of them stood on was. He turned back to focus on the game, not wanting to let on how impressed he had been by the simultaneous double strike, though it probably showed in how seriously he took to aiming his darts before he let them fly free. The first hit a balloon which burst with a wet splat as something that looked very similar to blood poured out, though it lacked the distinctive smell, so surely it had to be fake…? There was something off about this carnival, or else humans had become distinctly more morbid since he’d last attended a similar event. The second exploded in a shower of glitter, twinkling in the lights as it coated him, the attendant and half of the booth in a light dusting. Unphased, the attendant whipped an oversized clip on bowtie out and clipped it to his collar with alarming fast reflexes. “Is this what you wanted?” The werewolf turned to the vampire, wearing his new prize and flakes of glitter stuck in his beard. “I’m beginning to suspect your true motive for inviting me here was to see me humbled.” He held up the final dart in askance. “Still want me to win this game for you?” If that was still the vampire’s wish then he could regain at least a small slither of his dignity through the small victory. 

“Thank you,” Orobas had no idea how something like this could unfold, but when the large bow tie tucked under that bushy beard, his cold exterior cracked. A laugh huffed out, his smile genuine over it’s usually forced, creepy edge, and more real than anyone in his entire life has witnessed. The glitter was everywhere, dotting his cheeks, shoulders as well. He handed his phone to the attendant with compulsed demand, “take our photo.” The person fumbled a little with the device tossed his way, but quickly snapped a few shots that Orobas actually smiled in. Orobas glanced at the photo, he had none of him and Haxian hung up on the walls at their home. Nothing of him or Francesca with incriminating blood staining their cheeks, or even Morelia, while she had slept by his side, he should have taken one. He stared down at it, his fingers tightening subtly as a difficult feeling settled in his hallowed, still chest. “Yes,” he responded and handed him the last of his darts. “That--” he gestured to the small bat plushie with the vampire teeth hanging from the top of the stall, likely something that was hung from the rearview mirror in a car. “For your truck,” he cheekily added.

For what? Ulfric almost retorted, but bit his tongue when he saw Orobas break into a surprisingly non-disturbing smile. He got the feeling whatever cracks had formed between them when he’d called in his request for the vampire to aid Layla had begun to be repaired, and he’d only had to mildly humiliate himself to achieve it. So that counted as a win. He moved into position next to his undead companion just in time for the first flash of the camera, posing for a thumbs up. Ulfric rolled his eyes at Orobas’ choice of prize but couldn’t stop a small grin from forming on his face along with it, pleased that some of his ally’s former mischievousness was returning. “As you wish,” He declared, before sending the final dart sailing into a balloon in the centre of the board that explored into a puddle of perhaps the most unsettling surprise of all; mayonnaise. The attendant still slightly dazed from the compulsion, fumbled for the little bat toy but eventually deposited it in the werewolf’s hand. “A token of our comradery, I swear I’ll leave it on prominent display.” At least when no one else was in the truck with him, he thought. “Can we consider this recon mission a success, then, and get out of here before my ears start to bleed?” He asked, stashing the prize in his pocket, “Though on second thought, you’d probably enjoy that.”

“Liar,” Orobas chuckled. “Yes, I do think this is enough. I’ve gotten little answers as to why they enjoy this place filled with oddities, but whine about the amusement park.” He started to walk with him, a sly grin that yes, he’s always okay with a little suffering, but didn’t comment on that piece. He began to walk the way they came. Orobas wasn’t able to elaborate on the feelings he was experiencing right now. Everything still felt so numb to his person, this emptiness in him that didn’t want to explain why it was there. “Ulfric, there is an vampyric adversary coming into town that Haxian and I know very well. We’ve attempted, in the past many times-- to dispose of them. They were always tricky. Sly with their contacts, knowing how to pin us down somewhere with their kin.” Orobas looked towards the rides in passing, and rolled his eyes. “I am unsure who I will involve in dealing with them. This is what happens when you don’t rid the world of your enemies. They circle back. But I do wish for you to know. It’s-- a dangerous situation I’m not taking lightly.” 

“People tend to flock to what’s new and exciting, even if it’s not so different from what they’ve already got,” Ulfric explained, keeping in step with Orobas and shrugging, sending a small flutter of glitter to the ground. “You should know that by now.” What with his advanced age and all, he thought,  but being surrounded by so many townspeople in close proximity kept him from being able to use the best of his barbs, since Orobas appeared to be younger than him. His expression turned more serious as the vampire explained the threat he was facing, ignoring the jab about sparing enemies under certain circumstances that no doubt arose from their previous argument on the subject. “And when he rolls back around I’ll be ready to face them with you, as promised.” The werewolf assured him, clapping Orobas on the shoulder. “I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to fight a vampire.” Already dead, they’d have little reason to fear it, and their unique abilities and lack of weaknesses such as needing to breath would surely make for a challenge. Although Ulfric never enjoyed killing, he would’ve been lying if he said there wasn’t a lot of satisfaction to be gained from coming out on top after a hard-won brawl. “It’s a good thing we’re friends.”

A chuckle. Ulfric could be lured easily into a fight, even without having all the details. The clap on his back brought back a rush of old memories, of different wolves, of other times. “If you ever want practice let me know. There are always a few newborns that just need to go-- beyond training, or assistance. I usually kill them myself. This one though, hmm,” Orobas seemed to slip into thought for a moment, quiet, and still as he usually was, even with his steps going forward. “We will need at a dozen or more people,” he said with a grit of teeth. “It’s that level of dangerous, unfortunately. Some of us will perish, for it’s not a vampire we are fighting. It’s an Elder who has a petulance in making spawn over higher vampires. It will be messy.”

“If they’re running rampant, I could kill two bats with one stone, I suppose...” Ulfric mulled the suggestion over with only a slight grimace. Pragmatically, it would be good to stay on top of his game, and if leaving them to roam the town was an exposure risk then someone was going to have to exterminate these vampires. But he also wasn’t sure how much he liked the idea of becoming the White Crest vampire community’s garbage disposal. That was uncomfortably close to hunter territory. “I prefer to work in a team anyway,” he shrugged at the description of the battle plan. “the lone wolf trope is just that. But are you not... also an elder?” The werewolf arched an eyebrow at the 400-odd-year-old next to him. “How ancient is this thing?” Just then, a juggling carnival worker riding a unicycle drove down the aisle between them, reminding him of their setting. “I realize this fair doesn’t seem entirely mundane,” he lowered his voice and stepped closer to Orobas glancing around them at the crowd as they passed by chattering animatedly or milling in queues to the supposed ‘thrill’ rides, “But are you sure this is the place to discuss this? It might be best to reconvene somewhere more discreet.” 

“No, my master is though, you have to be over five hundred or so. It’s a gradual change, and the more time that passes, the more dangerous they can be if you aren’t on their side. This person was old when I met him two hundred years ago, so I can only imagine.” Orobas didn’t normally give that type of information out, but it was Ulfric. “Vampires will always fight with each other. We like our territory, and we like what is ours.” He glanced around, meeting the passing eye of a few people behind his sunglasses. “You are always paranoid about that. Probably though, I was lost in thought. We can speak later on details. I have a busy week ahead anyway, and I could still use your aid in snuffing out that human who visits during the day.” 

“You mean sniffing them out,” Ulfric corrected lightly. Orobas could do the ‘snuffing’ if the human’s mind was truly warped so badly by compulsion that they were beyond help, though the werewolf was still keen to verify that part for himself. Not so much because he didn’t trust the vampire’s word on it, but just because if such a thing was possible then he wanted to know, really know, and you only learned the tough lessons by making yourself look directly at them. “But yes, I will help,” he held his hand out for Orobas to shake, a deal re-struck. “I do keep my word.” As they neared the exit to the carnival grounds, he pulled the bat toy out of his pocket and let it dangle between his fingers in front of the vampire’s eyes. “I’ll even let you hang this in my truck yourself to prove it.” 

Orobas laughed a little. “Yes, that--” he poked his nose lightly. “Way better than mine.” He shook his hand and promptly snatched the silly toy before Ulfric could joke around and take it back. “Will do,” he spun it around his finger, and made towards the truck. The mood lighter.

[albion-93]

Midwinter Solstice Eve

Seasons greetings to one and all! I hope everyone is enjoying themselves and celebrating the holidays as best they can with friends and family.

Just a heads up: this is a long RWBY fanfic, taking place in the same AU as my first fanfic RWBY: Family Lost and Found. 

For the RWBY fans who made my time here really swell this year and also enjoyed my past writings, @littlemisssquiggles, @miki-13 , @maripr , @blackhakumen @davidellisartworkstuff , @accel-dragons @jade-rosepine and @che1sea-xiao-long this is for you. Hope you’re having a lovely holiday, and I hope you enjoy.

Act 1

Midwinter Solstice Eve had brought an unprecedented level of calm to the island province of Patch, even with the increasing threat of Grimm attacks. The coastal port towns were bathed in warm golden and crimson lights, security was at an all year-high and people went about their ways doing their best to keep merry. Airships and boats to the other kingdoms were preparing to leave. At first, the setting sun pierced the clouds and shafts of bright orange light cut across the frosty blue snow-laden fields and forests. But over time, these clouds grew thicker and snow fell faster and heavier than before, and the last of the daytime light was dying out.

In a secluded forested part of Patch, a two story log cabin stood resolute against the thickening blizzard, and cosy golden light gleamed invitingly within. The home of Taiyang Xiao-Long was a model of Midwinter Solstice preparations. In the kitchen was filled with the tantalising scent of slow-roasting game birds, and Tai went up and down the kitchen with his recipe book while his assistants, Nora Valkyrie, Lie Ren and Oscar Pine went about their culinary tasks.

“Alright girls and boys,” called out Tai as he removed a tray of roast potatoes from the oven, “let’s move this feast to the final phase! Nora, stop eating those potatoes and put them in the oven!”

“But they’re so tasty – oh, fine!”

“Ren, how are those vegetables coming?”

“Almost ready, Mr Xiao-Long!”

“Also maybe put a little more icing on the chocolate yule log, you know how my girls love their sweets.”

“I thought you wanted Ruby to eat less sweet stuff?” he asked incredulously, “I mean pudding, mince pies, and yule log?”

“True, true; but since it’s that time of year again we only get to go this big once. Just wait, between Ruby and Nora there’ll be hardly any desserts left!” he chuckled with a pat on the farm boy’s back and went into the lounge to check on how his daughters and their partners were doing. 

It was a much more pleasant sight; the lounge was filled with soft carpets with the walls and mantelpieces decked with crimson, pine-green and gold trimmings. True to form, Ruby Rose and Weiss Schnee were partnered off on the decorations, while Blake Belladonna and Yang Xiao-Long moved in and out of the house doing different jobs in conversation. Chairs were pulled in and a portable Atlesian fire-place where the TV used to be was just starting to burn; ‘an old present from James’ as Tai said. Taking a short break from cooking, Oscar picked up a nearby guitar and strummed it a few times before settling on a soft melody, glancing towards . In the corner stood the decorated festive pine tree, with Ruby happily humming as she placed hand-carved and painted robins on what free branches still remained, thinking fondly about her mother. Weiss levitated a wreath of red and white roses onto the pine tree’s highest branches with Myrtenaster’s Gravity Dust function, smiling as she floated the wreath up and down. Blake came in and gave an amused smile at the sight.

“No offence, but that doesn’t look like the most efficient use of your limited Dust reserves. Couldn’t you just get the ladder?” suggested Blake.

“You’re right I could, but I never get to do any of this festive stuff, so I’m taking every chance.”

“You really are Defiance aren’t you,” chuckled Blake, more to herself than Weiss, who merely stared back quizzically at her as she went out again.

“Actually, I haven’t felt this relaxed – this happy even, in a long time.”

“Oh, it’s great isn’t it? I can’t wait to see your face when you open my present!” said Ruby excitedly, bobbing side to side, making Weiss giggle.

“Well you’ll just have to be a little patient,” she said with an air of playful parental authority, and she smiled softly at distant memories, “I remember when I was little my Mom would say that to get me to wait because I always wanted Midwinter Solstice to come a day early. I used to get so excited… but that really didn’t last long. Before I left for Beacon they had become so suffocating dry, formal and by the end so cold and resentful that I almost forgot just how sweet they could be.”

Weiss looked down sadly, and Ruby lifted her chin up encouragingly.

“Dad and I have tomorrow all planned out: snowball fights, games, movies, and karaoke!”

“Wonderful!” said Weiss with a bigger smile, which faltered as she saw Nora, Ren and Oscar talking worriedly among each other. She pointed this out to Ruby just as Yang and Blake came back in, and the two teams convened.

“Something wrong, guys?” asked Yang.

“This snowstorm is looking worse by the minute,” said Nora looking worried, “and we’re just hoping that Jaune and Pyrrha’s boat made it out in time.”

“They said their ship was leaving before the storm hit, but we haven’t heard from them in a while,” said Ren holding up his scroll.

“I’ve seen blizzards like this before back on the farm, and they’re worse than hazardous to travel in,” said Oscar as he stared out the window.

“Also, this little guy’s feeling homesick,” added Nora, wrapping her arms tightly around Oscar.

“Nora! I said it’s not a big deal!” he said quickly, but too late as a light chorus of endearment broke out among RWBY, turning the lad bright red as Nora grinned and Ren sighed.

“I mean, she isn’t wrong,” admitted Oscar, “I just had a rush of memories of watching the snow from the farmhouse bedroom and keeping warm by the fireplace with my aunt and uncle. Sometimes the extended family came over! It’s my first Midwinter away from them...”

“Awww, don’t worry, Oscar, you’ll feel right at home here,” said Ruby, smiling and placing an arm around Oscar’s shoulders, causing the boy to smile nervously and attempt to hide his blushing. “Dad always makes the best Winter Solstice dinner.”

“Actually, from the looks of things we might have a little too much food on our hands,” said Yang, “Guess we know what we’re having for lunch tomorrow!”

Suddenly, Ruby’s scroll starting buzzing. She answered and put it on speaker.

“RUBY!” yelled Jaune’s voice; he sounded panicked and hoarse, “Please get down here with Bumblebee fast! It’s me and Pyrrha, we’re stranded and the ice is breaking!”

Act 2 

Within minutes, the four girls strapped on their Huntress gear and wrapped up warm for the mission. Based on Jaune’s description, the river was less than ten miles away winding between two hills. Yang fixed a snowplow on Bumblebee’s front wheel and revved the bike up for heavy duty action while Ruby fixed a trailer to the back. They gathered torches and ropes and packed them in the trailer. Before RWBY could set out, they heard a shrill voice load and clear.

“That’s half our team out there! We’re coming too!” declared Nora.

There was no arguing with her on that matter; time and the elements were both against them. With Yang driving, Ruby on the scroll to keep Jaune calm and determine where he was

“Wait, I want to help!” Oscar called out, covered head to toe in warm clothing, as the bike sped down the road until it vanished behind the snow drifts.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Tai yelled, grabbing Oscar’s arm, “Those kids are tough and capable, and you’re not at their level yet, Oscar. If you run out there you’ll get lost and freeze and I’m not losing anyone on Midwinter Solstice!”

“Tai, this snow’s getting much worse, they won’t be able to see where they’re going!” said Oscar, undeterred by Tai’s warning, “We’ve got to give them their best chance to get back.”

With the headlights at full beam, Yang drove as fast as she could through the forest towards the river, bobbing and weaving without dislodging the trailer behind her. Ten miles of straight road would have been nothing to Bumblebee but the combination of weather and treacherous downhill terrain slowed their progress. Even with the warm clothing and aura, they couldn’t stay out for long. As the trees gave way, they saw the river winding through the two hills and plowed through the heavy drifts to the riverbank. Everyone disembarked from the trailer and searched the area, calling out Jaune and Pyrrha’s names.

“There they are!” called out Blake, pointing towards a faint and distant flashing light several hundred yards away on the river’s ice covered surface. She could make out two distant figures, one stretching out and waving the other collapsed

“Guys, I think Pyrrha’s down!” added Blake, her ears folded down in dread.

“Then let’s go!” yelled Nora as she began to charge, only to be stopped by Ren, pointing out the fickle character of the frozen surface.

“I can use my semblance to get to them faster!” said Ruby with determination, “Nora, can you give me a boost?”

“CAN I?!” she bellowed with renewed vigour.

“Alright, then I’ll follow behind. I can get some distance with my glyphs,” said Weiss.

“I’ll tie the ropes together, Blake can you help me?” said Ren, Blake nodded.

“I’ll keep Bee warm for when we need to get out of here,” said Yang, revving the engine.

With the intensifying blizzard obscuring their vision of Jaune’s scroll light, they put the plan into motion. Blake and Ren had finished tying the ropes together, and passed them over to Weiss.

“Hurry, I think the ice is beginning to crack,” warned Blake, Weiss nodded.

She cast her glyphs across the river and began to run with all speed across her conjured bridge. Ruby stood perched like a bird of prey atop Magnhild, and Nora sent Ruby soaring through the air with a mighty swing in mid-semblance. She careened through the frozen night air, keeping altitude with Crescent Rose, a cascade of red against the black sky and pallid snow. Ruby used her semblance one more time as she spun towards Jaune and Pyrrha and skidded across the ice, clamping down with a swing of her scythe. Weiss wasn’t far behind.

Both of them looked pale and exhausted, Pyrrha was barely conscious but Jaune managed to pull a smile as the two friends embraced with one arm still around Pyrrha. She looked further ahead and gasped at the broken ice just a few yards ahead.

“Oh am I glad to see you!” cried Jaune frantically, “She fell through the ice! I’ve been trying to keep her warm! Help me carry her!”

Ruby nodded and raised Pyrrha up; she was murmuring deliriously and barely able to stand but still managed with the last vestiges of her aura to keep going. They started making good progress towards the shore. Suddenly the ominous sound of cracking ice came beneath them.

“Grab on!” yelled Weiss, tossing them the rope and casting a glyph beneath their feet as the ice ceased to support their weight. Back on shore, the combined strength of Nora, Ren, Blake and Yang tugged them back to shore. When they touched solid ground, the two reunited teams broke into a tight and tearful group hug, Pyrrha especially with light sobs of relief and gratitude.

“Hey guys, plenty of time for this back at Dad’s house,” said Yang, starting to shiver herself.

 “I can’t tell where we are! This blizzard’s getting impossible to move through!” said Blake, barely able to make out the road with the snow obscuring the way and filling Bee’s tracks.

“We just keep going uphill,” said Yang stubbornly, “there barely any roads through here. And Bee’s using up too much juice to keep warm.”

They had been gone five minutes up the road towards Tai’s lodge. Nora and Ren kept close to Jaune and Pyrrha, and Weiss had conjured a small flame to keep them going. After another five minutes of more empty woodland and a winding trail, Yang slowed down and stopped to look around, the others stared around looking for any sign of habitation, like distant lights or smoke.

“Shit… none of this looks familiar,” she said angrily, “Where the hell are we?!”

“Maybe we should double back,” suggested Blake.

“We could get even more lost,” said Weiss, now starting to get nervous.

“Wait, I’ve got Dad’s signal, he must have followed us. I’m calling him!” said Ruby, opening up her scroll and tapping Tai’s number. She didn’t have long to wait.

“Ruby, finally! I’ve been trying to reach you!” said Tai over the wire, “I followed your trail halfway down the southern road but can’t find you guys anywhere!”

“We got lost! Are you out there by yourself?”

“Yes, Oscar’s back at the house. Listen to me; look out for the red signal flare. Find that and you’ll find the road. I’m launching in three, two-”

“Look, there it is!” cried Nora, pointing towards a bright red flash, barely covered by the falling snow and thick snow-laden branches.

“Yeah, I see it too! It’s not that far!” said Ruby excitedly.

“What? Ruby, I haven’t fired mine yet! Are you sure you see a flare?” said Tai incredulously, “I’m firing mine now; keep an eye out for it!”

Seconds later, another much further and fainter red light appeared, coming from back the way they came. The group looked amongst each other, now uncertain what to make of this. Then another flare rose up from beyond the tree line, same as where the first flare came from.

“Ruby, I see it too, you’re a lot further out than I thought,” said Tai, something in his voice sounded different, “change of plan, follow that flare, it’s closer to the lodge.”

Wasting no more time, Yang revved up Bumblebee and made a break for the source of the flare. Bee started to sputter, and fear began to grip the teams at the prospect of walking blind and losing precious time. The light from the flare went out. But before long, the trees became less dense and the familiar warm lights of Tai’s house came into view. Yang laughed and whooped and punched the air as she revved towards the lodge.

They spotted a lone figure glad in green standing in the snow covered field and waving his arms, and a few of the group peered out to see as they got closer.

“OSCAR!” yelled an ecstatic Nora, and with her arm outstretched grabbed him right off his feet and into the trailer locked in a tight tackle hug. He was shivering and had snowflakes tousled in his hair, signs that he had been outside for a while.

“Guys, we all gotta get inside,” reminded Blake, pointing to Jaune and Pyrrha lying prone, everyone nodded in agreement as they convened inside Tai’s house.

Act 3 

Yang had her scroll out to inform Tai that they all made it back. The Atlesian fireplace was burning low with fresh fuel, another one of Oscar’s preparations before he went outside. Weiss went back and forth from the kitchen and came back with mugs of tea and hot chocolate for everyone, and knelt before the closely huddled Jaune and Pyrrha, both of whom were too tired to talk and looked close to drifting off.

“There, there,” cooed Weiss softly to both of them, stroking their foreheads gently, “just take it easy; you both had a tough time of it. But you’re safe now.”

Ruby brought down a high pile of blankets, jumpers and sweaters for Jaune and Pyrrha to put on, one red and one yellow, while Oscar brought extra cushions and draped them both in a thick blanket and sat down beside them.

“I’m so glad you’re both safe, I was scared we were gonna lose you out there,” he said gently.

After every means to be comfortable was taken, the fatigued RWBY and JNPPR sat huddled close around the fireplace in silence for the next several minutes, taking in the welcome warmth and looking amongst one another with in subdued, harmonious relief.

“That was way too close,” said Weiss at last, hugging her knees.

“No argument from me,” stuttered Jaune, as Pyrrha held him tightly.

The door opened again, it was Tai.

“Hey kids,” said Tai discreetly, with Ruby and Yang running up to hug him followed by all the other team members. He went down to green Jaune and Pyrrha, but Oscar guiltily hung back. He turned to face everyone, “Seriously, well done everyone. I’ve seen some daring feats in heavy snow at night, but you just raised the bar. So, you want to tell me what happened out there?”

While Ruby and Yang took turns recounting what happened, Tai listened intently and nodded proudly at each of them, and team spirit was on the rise.

“It sounds like you guys were just legendary out there!” said Oscar at last, looking around excitedly and gesturing to each of them in turn, “I mean, Ruby soaring through the blizzard Weiss with her glyphs, Nora with her hammer, and the rope plan. You guys must have been legendary!”

“You should have seen Yang’s driving, she was on fire!” said Nora with a little bounce.

“Why thank you, Nora! Bumblebee’s gonna need a lot of work after that,” commented Yang, scratching the back of her head sheepishly.

“Well, any vehicle is only ever as good as its driver,” said Blake with a smile, “and that placed us in excellent hands.”

Yang grinned and thanked her partner, and the two leaned in closely.

“Oh, and I switched the oven and cooker off before I went out, to not spoil the food,” said Oscar shyly to Tai, “I put them back on and reset the timers when we returned.”

“Smart move; the meal was saved just in time, despite the danger you put yourself in,” said Tai with his arms folded, he seemed to be making a concerted effort not to be cross.

“Dad, please don’t go there,” said Ruby reproachfully.

“Sir, if it weren’t for Oscar’s timely signal flare, we would probably be dead,” said Jaune with a little more strength in his voice.

“We put everyone in danger,” said Pyrrha at last, her eyes misty and cast down.

“Pyrrha, honey, please don’t-”

“It’s true… I wanted Jaune to meet my family for Midwinter Solstice. I wanted to make it this grand, almost fanciful meet-up. After the ship left without us, we argued a lot along the way, I insisted we try to get there no matter wat. We should not have tried to make the journey back to Argus with the blizzard closing in…”

“Pyr, I’m just as much to blame for this, if not more, I said we could make it to Tai’s lodge before the bad weather hit. We got turned around and stranded on that river, and then you fell in the ice!” Jaune cried out racked with guilt and anger, Pyrrha placed her hand on his shoulder.

“You wouldn’t leave me,” she said reassuringly, “I knew I had a chance with you.”

“You two wanted to spend Christmas with family, I think we all understand that,” said Ren.

“I think anyone who has a family they would brave a blizzard to be with is a special kind of lucky,” said Nora, “I know I would”

“We kind of did,” added Ren. Smiles started to bloom among the group.

“You both need to stop blaming yourselves for what nearly happened,” said Oscar earnestly, “You’re right, mistakes were made and it was way too close. But through it all, I’m just happy to have both of you here and alive with us under this roof, brought together in spite of peril and strife. In the end, Midwinter Solstice is all about that.”

“That reminds me about that song you played for me a few nights ago, could you play it again for us?” asked Ruby.

Oscar’s eyes went wide, but with a deep breath he asked if everyone else wanted to hear. With everyone giving consent, Oscar picked up the guitar and sang softly to the low fire crackling.

“When the silence wakes you, when your nights are long,

When the world forsakes you, please be strong.

Nothing hurts you forever, it will fade away,

And the sky will be blue again, one day.

 No matter how cold the winter, no matter how deep the snow,

We will be warm again and the grass will grow.

No matter where life may take us, no matter how hard they try,

They will not break us, you and I.

 When it’s dark inside you, when your flame is low,

I will be beside you, you will know.

Let it fall all around you, let the cold winds cry,

Let the old winds of yesterday blow by.

 No matter how cold the winter, no matter how deep the snow,

We will be warm again and the grass will grow.

No matter where life may take us, no matter how hard they try,

They will not break us, you and I.”

Oscar blushed as applause broke out among the group, and some cheering from Yang and Tai.

“Well sung, little dude, well sung,” said Jaune.

“At Beacon you were all there when I needed help, especially you Pyrrha, and honestly this is just a small way of saying thank you,” said Oscar, still red in cheeks.

“Oh, Oscar, bless you,” said Pyrrha softly, eyes glistening. She held her arm out invitingly, Oscar budged closer and she pulled him into gentle, caressing hug.

“Thank you for being there when we needed you,” she murmured, gently swaying him side by side, enveloping her arms and blanket around him until he was effectively cocooned within. She held his face close and leaned and kissed his cheek causing the boy to open his eyes wide in shock.

“Are there no limits to your adorableness?” cooed Jaune as he embraced both of them within his blanket and ruffled Oscar’s hair.

“Mm-mm” shaking her head and giggled, still cuddling Oscar.

Nora and Ren piled in on either side of the three-way hug. In the middle of them, a series of small squeaks came from Pyrrha, grinning whilst tears down her cheeks. Team RWBY looked on, a mixture of awe and “aww” shared between them.

“I think I’ll skip the dessert, because that was the sweetest thing I’ve ever feasted my eyes on!” Yang whispered to Blake.

Ruby felt Weiss’s hand on her shoulder.

“Hey Ruby, despite the near-death experience out in the wilderness, I just want to say thank you for inviting me over for Midwinter Solstice; being here with everyone is so much better than being back at Atlas.”

“Don’t mention it, Weiss. It certainly crazy how close that was, but it worked out in the end! Just promise me one thing for the holiday.”

“Name it!”

“Don’t think about Atlas or anyone there who makes you unhappy and unfestive; I forbid it!”

“I don’t think ���unfestive’ is a real word, but deal!” she said happily, drawing her in for a hug.

Tai came back in to announce that the game birds were cooked and there is definitely enough for the two new guests. Blake and Yang went in first, while JNPPR went in as one leaning in among each other. Ruby winked to Weiss and both reached out to pull Oscar in, and he gave a little yelp when both girls pulled him into their embrace. Ruby glanced up, something small and green was floating above them.

“Wait, I don’t remember ever hanging up mistletoe…” said Ruby nervously.

“Oscar, was this your doing?” said Weiss, raising her eyebrow.

“How could it be my doing?”

They paused and followed the line of string hanging the infamous little festive plant and gave out one big, shared yell; “NORA!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note: I really did want to write a new poem/song for this story rather than recycle an old one, but it still felt fitting both to the story and for the season.

Thank  you, everyone.

[flying-elliska]

Hi Ellie!! I hope u dont mind this ask ❤Do u have any advice on how to do stuff on your checklist and not get overwhelmed? I can hardly do one thing out of my to do list and then i get severely depressed for not being able to do anything. i dont think i can function like a human being sometimes. anyway youre so cool ellie!!! i admire you loads!!! - help asked from one adhd struggling teen

HI anon ! I’m sorry for not answering sooner i had a beautiful answer ready and then Tumblr just ate it T_T anyway i don’t mind at all i think it’s awesome that you’re asking me ! this is honestly still something I’ve struggled a lot with. here are a few things that helped me (keep in mind i’m not a professional and this is only my personal, limited point of view) :

- ofc the first thing is to get as much help as you can, there are lots of people out there who can help. Generally talk to people around you about your problems ; often they want to help and just don’t know how : i know the tendency to feel ashamed and keep it in but that’s not good. Some people might be a bit ignorant so maybe keep a few ressources on hand you can send to people to educate them if that’s an issue ; and educate yourself so you feel more secure and legitimate in your opinions. 

- one thing that’s helped me lots is to go on #ADHDtwitter and #Neurodiversesquad because a lot of people on there are actual adults who are sharing both their struggles but also tips on how to actually manage the symptoms and have full and happy, if messy, lives. It’s very inspiring. It helped me a lot to feel understood, less alone and gave me a ton of ideas. Some accounts to start with : @ danidonovan - @ blkgrllostkeys @ ADHD_Alien (her comics are so cute) @ dustyexner plus lots of others

- regarding having trouble doing things, this is definitely a Big Damn Problem for adhd folks. the concept of the emotional Wall of Awful really helped me with this, you can find more about it in this Youtube video by the awesome How To ADHD channel (all her videos are so helpful !! have a look!) basically the idea is that we accumulate emotions linked to certain tasks based on unhappy past emotions that make it a lot harder for us to do things and that building it down takes a lot of time and effort but there are ways to work with/around that. learning to process, connect to and be more mindful of our emotions is a huge task, but it’s often a central one. 

- don’t try too hard to be neurotypical aka ‘normal’. find the solutions that work for YOU. If they’re a bit weird ? Whatever. The point is that it works. You will probably end up having weird routines that make no sense to others but it doesn’t matter as long as it helps you. Be creative and don’t be afraid to think outside the box. I’ll give you an example :  one of the reasons i hate going to bed early is because late at night is when i feel the most free of outside obligations and therefore i don’t want to give that up. So instead what i’ve been trying to do from time to time is a ‘clown hour’ where i basically give myself permission to do whatever the fuck i want (within reason lmao) but in an active way ; basically indulge my rebellious inner 8 yr old. Last time I ended up watching martial arts videos on youtube and practicing kickboxing kicks on the Mulan soundtrack and then put on funeral music and improvised my own eulogy by thinking about what i would like people to say about me after my death. Lmao that sounds completely wack when explained to other people but the point is - stuff like that really helped me reconnect to the idea that my time is mine to do with as i please, not just late at night. Anyway my point is : make it fun, make it a game, try things, experiment. Our brains crave novelty and if they don’t have it and feel burdened by shame, pressure and expectations of course they get depressed and stuck. Give your brain the fuel it needs to work. 

- just accept that sometimes you’re going to be a mess. it’s okay. you can be a bit of a mess and also live a fully, happy, joyous life. our society puts so much pressure on us to have this Perfect Instagram Life where everything is polished to unrealistic standards and gives us the idea that your morals are linked to productivity and if you are not constantly striving to be a Model Consumer Pretty Picture you are a Bad Person and a slob/lazy/unworthy/etc and all of that is...toxic garbage of the highest order that everyone should unlearn but especially us. related to that i would be careful with use of social media, tailor it to only give you content that makes you feel good/intellectually engaged/creative because it’s so easy for us to go into bad comparative spirals.

- tied to that be careful of your own perfectionist drives. it’s veeeeery common for adhd people to want to overcompensate their perceived shortcomings by wanting to be perfect. aka you haven’t done anything in weeks and all of a sudden you have this insane to do list where you expect yourself to turn your entire life around in a week. well, not going to happen. i’ve found it so important to limit myself. for instance what i do now is i forbid myself to put more than 5 items on any todo list. once i’ve cleared items i can add more, but not before. it’s a lot less scary that way. also prioritizing is very important so you don’t get bogged down in details.

- try to be mindful of your own energy. a big tendency of adhd people is to overpromise and underdeliver because we are enthusiastic and we want to please people but we are bad at estimating time/energy it will need. learn more about your own boundaries, what things are hard for you to do (for me, it’s socializing in groups) and what gives you energy (for me it’s writing, reading and walking in the woods) and try to balance that. learn to say no, it’s tough but necessary. So that you have enough left for the tasks you need to do. 

- create an environment that is benevolent and helpful for you in which to work/do things and that generates positive emotions. Get yourself a cute notebook. Put on happy music. Don’t forget to feed yourself. Don’t give into the urge of punishing yourself. You deserve happy good things - not overindulgence as escape - but our brains thrive on short term rewards. Bundle the unpleasant tasks with more stimulating stuff (for instance i always listen to podcasts while cleaning/grocery shopping etc). Create pleasant little routines for yourself (for instance one of the first things i try to do in the morning is do a little drawing of my emotions, it makes me happy, then i have tea and i plan my day.). Put on alarms constantly so you don’t lose track of time, but with a cool song. Find yourself cheerleaders who can encourage you in a positive way. Stuff like the pomodoro technique, timing yourself while doing a task, etc, can really help. Or telling yourself you will do a thing for ten minutes and stop when it’s unbearable, etc. Prioritize joy, pride, affection, desire to help, altruism, love, curiosity, interest and passion as motivators, instead of anxiety, guilt and shame. 

- find ways to build self esteem and confidence in your own skills. it’s often a lack of that that can block you from doing what you need to because you might be afraid of screwing it up. what I did for a while, for instance, is to keep a record of the stuff i did everyday and then extrapolated the skills i displayed from that. another thing you can do is make a list of simple skills you want to learn and find ways to do that, like youtube tutorials, etc. especially when it’s practical stuff and quick to learn, it can really feel so good, and make you more familiar with a sensation of success (and if you fail it can be a fun experiment gone wrong, and self discovery, you don’t have to be good at everything.)

- find ways to challenge yourself. depression happens for adhd people when we let ourself stagnate, isolate ourselves because of shame, and get into this idea that we are subhuman and we don’t deserve good things. that is false. you deserve a happy life. and our brains crave novelty. find your passion and indulge in it, find the things that make your brain come alive (as long as they’re healthy ofc). if you’re not sure what that is, just keep trying. you will find it. but resist the temptation to make your life smaller and smaller. you might mess up but that’s okay. it’s human and it will make for interesting stories later. instead of trying too hard to ‘fix’ yourself, focus on developping your positive sides. it will give you energy, self-respect and draw you forwards like a rocketship. we thrive on passion, not reprimand. 

- anyways : i know how tough it can be. depression is really something i struggle with, too. and doing things remains Hard. but my point is, you are not alone, and you are not broken. chances are you too, like most adhd people i know, are a fun, creative, compassionate person with a heart of gold and so much to give. our main enemy is most often the shame that comes with living in a world that is not adapted to us. but the truth is we are just playing the game of life on a much harder setting than a lot of people, and we don’t even have the manual. of course it’s going to create struggle ! so i think the best thing to do for yourself is cultivate a sense of compassion towards yourself, self acceptance, and humor. 

- as a teen you probably have a limited margin of autonomy to make your lifestyle fit your needs but - there is so much potential for it to get better ! as you grow in self knowledge and ability to make your own choices, you will find the right solutions and your life will get so much better. i have heard so many stories like this. since i got diagnosed, too, my life got a lot better. i won’t lie, it’s a lifelong process. but there is so much possible. give yourself time. you are so young, and you are definitely a human being. being human is struggling with being flawed and vulnerable and imperfect. i know the world can be shit sometimes, you probably got some negative messages - especially from your own brain bc depression definitely lies to you ! but don’t let yourself be guided by ignorance and fear. you deserve better. i bet you’re also super cool. the happier you are, the better off the world will be. so invest in yourself. educate yourself, develop your self knowledge, be kind to yourself, and keep making little steps. you’ll get there. <3

[staytruetonorthch]

Perfect Ch. 1

A/N: I’m super anxious but here is my first official post. It’s just a single chapter around 4.5k. I plan on this being a pretty detailed, long-form story so if you like it, hang in there. I promise it’ll speed up once we get past exposition. I’m also highly aware of the switches from past/present tense, but I’m too tired to fix it and I’ve been so hesitant to post it’s either a now or never. I hope you guys enjoy <3

Football!Calum x Dancer!OC  

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"Don't make me come over there!" It may have looked like I was yelling into the racks of clothing and shoes in my closet, and to be honest, I might as well be. 

"You worry too much, Celley." I can hear the smile on my best friend, Brynn's face from my bed in the other room. 

"I do, but only because you don't give a fuck, B and I know those boys don't," I said, counting each person out on my fingers. "That's four people in, and not a single fuck is being given. Someone's got to, or nothing would get done." 

"You've got a point. The delivery was a little aggressive, but I'm moved nonetheless," Ash spoke up through Brynn's phone. 

"I'm cleaning as we speak, Cel. It's gonna be fine," Luke chimed in from the boys' side of the phone. 

"I can hear you lads playing FIFA," I said with an exasperated sigh.

We have a party planned at the boy's house tonight. A party I only had five hours to prepare, but that's the beauty of university, right? Spontaneity. All precautions to the wind. Everything that I never could be in high school and am still afraid to do today after a whole month of coursework. Don't ask me what I think might happen. Spontaneous combustion? Instantaneous death? A party that no one has fun at because I didn't have time to make an updated playlist or look up the actual rules for any drinking games? 

"Brynn, are you ready to go?" I ask, peeking my head out of my closet to look at her sprawled out across my bed. I can hardly see her underneath the excessive number of decorative pillows and thick white down cover.

"I just got so comfortable. I was actually contemplating taking a nap."

"Please," I plead, batting my lashes over large dewy eyes. It’s a trick I picked up after so many lyrical dances over the years. Direct eye contact with these watery eyes always left judges speechless.

"Ugh… fine, but I'm getting wasted tonight and sleeping in this wonderful bed. Have your asses in gear by the time we get there," she said, hanging up on the boys and throwing pillows haphazardly across the floor. I cringed at every one as it landed in the thick white carpet. I don't bother telling her that I hadn't expected the night to end any other way. I pull myself back into the closet, eyeing my options once more. I could either go with a red gingham top, or I could tie my white vogue tee shirt in the front for a more casual look. Both require a bra sadly.

"The red is trying too hard," Brynn said, leaning against the doorframe. "You can't pull out picnic bitch chic at a party."

"I guess you're right." I pull the tee over my head careful to avoid touching the thin white fabric to my made-up face. Once I had a knot secured at the base of my rib cage, I fluffed my hair as if it could get any bigger and smoothed out my denim skirt. "Shoe's and I'm good. What about you?" I said eyeing her in the reflection of my full-length mirror. She wore a white hoodie underneath black overalls and black high-top converse. Splitting her hair in half, she tied it up into multicolored space buns on top of her head. Brynn is the kind of girl who could put on mascara and chapstick five minutes before she left, and she’s effortlessly beautiful. Her freckles do most of the work across her nose and cheeks, making her insanely adorable.

"Done. Let's hit the road, Jack," she said, walking towards the door to my studio flat. I quickly replace the pillows back on the bed and turned off all the lights before joining her. She grabbed the keys to my Jeep, knowing I’m too preoccupied to drive us.

"Are we stopping at the store on the way or coming back out?"

"Stopping on the way. We just need paper towels, red cups, more ping pong balls because Mikey lost three of the last four, and snacks. I also found this recipe for a cool looking pink drink, but the boys are all stocked on beer."

"I almost hate the fact that I can't use my fake here. I spent good money and almost got arrested for something that's legal here." I smile, scrolling through my checklist one more time to make sure I didn't forget anything.

"Well that's your fault for not doing a simple google search before you came to uni in Aus."

"I'm just saying, in America, I would be a plug." She turned wide out into the street, speeding past every car. She has a bit of a lead foot.

"That one's lost on me, love." I try to keep up with her American slang, but I wasn't able to watch a lot of American shows or anything growing up, so I'm a little behind to put it gently.

She said she has a southern accent, but I can't tell any difference. Everything she says just sounds brutal to me. Shit slams, anything can pop off apparently, and a lot of good things burn. At least that's what I gather when she uses 'fire' and 'flames' as adjectives. 

I met Brynn at new student orientation. She seemed to be the only other one unamused by the school's welcoming parade meant to encourage school spirit, so as soon as our parents left, we left campus to explore the surrounding area locating the nearest shops and eating places. She was unlike any friend I had ever made swearing and speaking in riddles. I went to an all-girls catholic school filled to the brim with carbon copies of perfect people. We were second to none in both academics and clubs, which my parents loved, and Brynn was the absolute antithesis of that. She was a self- proclaimed 'thick' queen who was a pleasant deviance to the bird thin girls I was usually surrounded by. Her hair couldn't choose a color after multiple self- dye jobs. Even her mixed Mexican and Jamaican heritage were new to me. She said what she wanted and smiled wide at everything. I'm just happy she saw something in me to stick around even if it was the fact that I kidnapped her on the first day, keeping her from someone better.

I grab the frame of the car as she whips into the car park stopping short of a disgruntled gentleman in the crosswalk. She cursed loudly, causing my face to heat up. I contemplate jumping out of the car seeing as how the doors to the Jeep are safely kept in my garage. It’ll be a quick getaway, but I may need to make sure she makes it into a spot that isn't already occupied with this lovely gentlemen's car.

We soon found a spot and made quick work of the shopping, splitting the list I organized by section right down the middle. We’re back on the road in no time, heading closer to the edge of campus where the boys lived.

Ashton was actually the first person to befriend Brynn. They met at a summer fellowship program that put them in parts of Australia that don't have service for a hundred miles. They have that rugged woodsman thing in common. It kept them in touch through their final year in high school before she 'coincidentally' got accepted into the same university as him an entire ocean's length away. They were equally as smiley; she was just a little more… brash at times which is hard to believe. She didn't want to admit that she was nervous when he invited her to the house, he shared with two of his best mates, so I didn't mention anything when she asked me along. As the male version of Brynn, I immediately got on with Ashton. Mikey was chirpy and so sweet despite his punk persona. His other mate Luke was quiet only offering his very corny, yet intriguing commentary. He seems to be the closest thing I have to the friends I'm used to at home despite his lip ring. We formed a group of sorts meeting up in the library to study during the week and finding anything else but coursework to do on the weekends.

Our first kickback was just a barbeque featuring the five of us until Ash invited a few friends he made throughout the week with his open and boyish charm. Brynn had a few of her own, and Mikey wanted to join in on the fun, so he found a few friends to join. Luke and I were just fine meeting people as they were brought to us. Before we knew it, there was a group chat of about fifteen of us with more and more ideas of who to invite to the weekend shenanigans.

The boys had felt the pressure of expectation early this morning before Michael was a functioning human being. He shooed everyone off with a 'ya sure' before hanging up and going back to sleep. Brynn called me with our invite not only to attend the party but to host it at about 5:00 and of course, I freaked out. I plan everything, including some of the most successful events of my college career, if I do say so myself, so I took the praise for last week's party in stride. The difference is, I didn't spend my week planning out this event down to the second hand, so anything can happen. I wouldn't feel all the way like expelling my insides if it hadn't been confirmed that the first-year football players were going to be in attendance after today's match.

This confirmation came directly to Ash from another one of his mates from college, Calum Hood. Not only the best first year but the best player on the whole bloody team. He's also the hottest. The first time I saw him, he was leaving the classroom I was walking into. He opened the door just as I turned the handle, pushing me backward and almost to the floor.

"My fault, mate," he said distractedly, zipping his bag and flipping it over his shoulder. He was obviously sponsored by Nike dressed top to bottom in their slate grey gear, the school's emblem attached to every piece. The only thing I could tell wasn't sponsored was the gray beanie he had pulled down over his ears covering his hair. When he finally looked up a smirk graced his pink lips.

"You alright, doll?"

I couldn't tell if my reaction showed on my face because I didn't expect him to be so adorable with the brute force, he opened the door with. I just nodded my head taking deep breaths, trying to keep my face still. His tan skin was smooth and warm, complimenting the heat in his eyes that was slowly melting my resolve.

"Right. Well you're late, so you might want to…" he trailed off, nodding over his shoulder into the classroom.

"Right," I replied, hoping my hair was doing that cool thing it does when the wind pushes it back. It's either doing that, or the curls are fighting themselves on top of my head. It's so thick I can never really tell without a mirror, but let's be honest. My hair tells me what it wants to do, I rarely have any say in the matter. Instead of walking out of the door, he extended his arm, acting as a human door frame for me to walk under. When I turned my head to look again, he was gone.

I showed up a little earlier to class the next day to see if I could catch him again. Then I was late again and right on time before I decided to be outside the room before his class even ended. He was still nowhere to be found. I had practiced redeeming myself with a smile or maybe even words. Anything but how cringe-worthy I had been the first time, but to no avail. I didn't see him again until the boys dragged us to the first football game.

I don't mind sports at all. I grew up going to my older brother's rugby matches, so I'm not entirely clueless. Brynn, on the other hand, sat unmoving and quiet for the first time in our friendship. I think she concerned Ashton the most, as he asked her if she was ok every time the ball stopped moving.

"Someone tell me why I chose the guitar over football again," Luke said, pulling his hands down his face. "I was just as good as him, but now he's got fans and his face on posters."

"If that was true, I'm sure you'd be out there, dude," Mikey said, patting his shoulder. Michael wasn't interested in playing sports unless it was FIFA on the Xbox, but he was supportive nonetheless. Luke wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer, so he could point out the center forward dribbling through two defenders.

"That's my best mate, or at least he was before he got club offers," he said, taking a swig of his beer.

"I'm surprised he even came to university. He could've just gone pro," Ash said before he cursed the refs loudly. The boy Luke had been pointing out was quick with powerful legs and defined arms. His jaw was clenched, making it sharp enough to cut through glass. Thick curly hair was pushed out of his face with a thin gauzy headband, a gold streak shone prominently in the surrounding darkness of his curls. As he made quick work of the remaining defender, there was only himself and the goalkeeper who looked menacing. Making a sharp left jab, he caused the goalie's weight to shift, giving him the perfect opportunity to use his nondominant foot for a goal.

I jumped out of the way as the boys leaped up, hugging each other, and spilling beer. The entire crowd erupted in shouts, holding on to one another as if the world depended on it.

"CALUM! CALUM! CALUM!" the entire stadium roared. He smirked up at the crowd with a small wave. I gasped, grabbing onto Brynn's arm in surprise.

"Calum?" I asked incredulously. Oh boy what did I miss out on being dumbstruck? Not only is he incredibly attractive, but he's a football king? My parents would love him, I would literally win my family if I could've snagged him, but I'm stupid. So incredibly stupid.

This is why tonight is so stressful and important. If I can not only get a football player, but the best football player here and he looks that good, I can get my parents off my back. My mum went to university solely to get a husband, which she found in my dad. She worked as a primary school teacher until he could support them at his father's law firm, and before you know it, he was running the place. They pop out a few kids, dad runs for Parliament, and the rest is unfortunately history. Mum loved teaching, but she loved being a mum more. She just raised the 'perfect children' she liked to say to anyone who would listen. My too perfect to be true brother Cleo and her wannabe prima ballerina Celeste, me. So tonight, I have to look perfect, and everything has to be perfect, but I don't have time to bustle around and host. This party has to go on autopilot, so I can set my focus on Calum.

"It could be worse, Celley," Brynn shrugged as she set the grocery bags down on the counter of the boys' home. She's right, it could be. I didn't expect it to be this clean actually, but there were no discarded clothes in sight, no pizza boxes on the counters, and no beer cans all over the place. At first glance the place looks fine, I just have to get the dishes out of the sink and out of sight, so they're not broken. A quick vacuum run and the place would work out just fine. I relaxed a little letting my shoulders pull forward.

"Thank you, Lukey," I said, starting the water in the sink. I knew he was the only person who really did any cleaning around here. As much as they were all messy, he couldn't live in filth for too long.

"No problem," he replied sitting on the island watching me work.

"Hey, I picked up my own stuff," Michael complained looking through the bags we brought in pulling out various things.

"You picked up the underwear that your mum wrote your name in and sat back down." Ash always laughs when he chastises, never letting you know if he’s serious or not.

"Exactly. I picked up MY stuff. You guys never listen to me." He shook his head, disapprovingly.

"Thank you too, Mikey, but start throwing those balls around this kitchen, and I will cut yours off as a replacement," I said sweetly. His eyes went wide as he set the ping pong balls back in the bag he got them out of.

"So, what's the vibe going to be tonight?" Brynn asked, putting chips in bowls and swatting the boys’ hands away.

"Well I accidentally invited like twenty people this morning."

"And those people invited people," Ash added.

"And word got around so looks like we've got ourselves a rager," Luke said, rubbing his hands together with a devilish grin. "You've got to admit, we're becoming the best party house for first years."

"Calm down. We're just the only first-years who don't live in dorms where you can't party," Ashton said, punching Luke in the arm. Not many groups of friends stay together long enough or get into the same university for their parents to go in thirds on the house. It worked out to be less expensive than staying in dorms.

"We've got the fucking football team coming, Ash, I think we're doing pretty well." I listened to their banter silently as I cleaned and set things exactly where I had imagined them. The first guest started to arrive a few hours later after I had time to add a few extra touches and have my first glass of the wine Brynn and I had hidden in the fridge. Neither of us is too keen on liquor or beer.

Boys are scattered around the living room, passing around joints and playing FIFA. Girls talk around them, mingling on the patio. There’s a very competitive game of beer pong going on in the dining room that somehow consists of all four corners of the table instead of teams on halves. I was content for the first few hours refilling bowls and dancing with friends I had made at past parties. I even had time to play wingman for Michael and a blue-haired girl in the corner, but soon I got anxious. It was reaching the first hour of the new day. I found myself sitting on the floor between Luke's long legs watching him play Super Smash and stealing hits of the joint he had held between his fingers. I gave up on being cute at about two, smoking enough for my eyes to be as red as Luke's, and my shoes had long been discarded in one of the boy's rooms. I didn't know, nor did I care who's it was.

There were just about the maximum amount of people possible crammed into this small house, and I didn't bother saying excuse me as I got up to make my way to the bathroom. At one point there were so many people taller than me I felt I was walking through a forest. I tried slipping past one particularly muscular redhead boy caging a giggling blonde against the wall. I did my best to slip behind him, but he decided it was the perfect time to do the douche stretch and flex hitting me with the red cup in his hand. The pink sticky drink that was delicious if I do say so myself covered me from neck to foot. My skin went hot, and I'm pretty sure the blonde's giggles were going to cause me to evaporate the liquid from my skin with embarrassment alone. Where was my snarky American friend when I needed her to tongue-lash someone?

"I'm sorry, love," the boy said, failing to conceal his laughter. I tried to avoid his face at all costs burning a hole through his chest with my eyes. The school's emblem was stitched into his slate grey shirt, but I couldn't quite remember where I had seen this exact shirt before. I didn't have time to worry about it with my shirt becoming more see-through by the second and my head spinning in circles.

"Just let me by please," I said. Redhead stepped closer to the girl who was giving me a snarky look over his shoulder. "Stay in your lane, honey," I said, trying out one of Brynn's colloquialisms on my own tongue. My glare was enough to split the crowd like the red sea as I stormed past. Just as I reached the bathroom and twisted the handle, it swung open forcefully, revealing a disheveled brunette with smeared makeup and haunting blue eyes.

"What the fuck happened to you?" she said with an amused smile playing at the corner of her lips. 

"I could ask you the same thing," I said, pushing my hair out of my face. "Are you finished in there, so I can get cleaned up or?" She just smirked sauntering out with a wink. I shook my head, entering the bathroom and shutting the door behind me. I looked in the mirror at my hair that was slowly but surely frizzing out, and my shirt may as well have been a window into my soul for how see-through it was. My mascara was smudged in the corners of my eyes and my lips had lost their shine ages ago.

"Are you alright?" I was startled by a voice coming from the toilet.

"Oh my goodness, I didn't know anyone was in here," I said, covering my eyes. "I thought that girl was the only one and she left and--"

"It's fine. I'm not doing anything but looking at my phone." I peeked through the cracks of my fingers to see a boy was sat on the toilet cover searching diligently through his phone. I scanned him from head to toe. Black Vans, faded black skinny jeans, a cut-up muscle shirt that was barely attached at his hips, exposing his defined torso and arms. His warm skin, his dark hair with a single gold streak running up the front. I gulped, hoping I would take my own advice and just spontaneously combust.

"I'm gonna just go," I said quietly, reaching for the door behind me. I had forgotten how quick he was on the field because he scared me shitless when his hand captured my shoulder stopping me from leaving.

"No, I'll go," he said quickly. "I don't think I'm going to find what I'm looking for anyways. Unless… do you happen to know whose party this is?"

"It's my mate's house actually," I said, quirking an eyebrow in confusion. He should know. He invited himself and the whole team this morning.

"So you know all the lads? Michael, Ashton…"

"And Luke," I finished for him.

"I've been trying to reach Ashton and I just barely caught Mikey before he went down to the beach with some girl. He let me in, but there's so much going on I never made it past the kitchen. Do you know where Luke is?"

"Uh… couch." I pushed my hair out of my face taking a deep breath. I may as well just give up at this point. I'm in no position to charm anyone, and I can see the remnants of that girl's lip gloss on his lips. It was kind of cute on his pink pout, but I shook my head to clear the thought. He's not looking at me like that, and he probably never will.

I turned the faucet on testing the temp before grabbing a washcloth from the cupboard and washing the stickiness from my neck and exposed stomach. I expected him to leave, but he just sat back on the toilet cover, fiddling with his thumbs. He looked forlorn, his eyes longing.

"You ok?" I asked undoing the tie at the front of my shirt and attempting to wring it out to no avail. I glanced at the sad boy in the mirror and shrugged before pulling the wet material over my head and rinsing it out underneath the water. It's not like anything was left to the imagination with it on.

"Have you ever heard Luke say anything about me?" he asked quietly.

"Kinda," I tilted my head slightly as if it would help me think harder. "He did say you used to be his best mate when we went to one of your matches."

"He did?" he asked, perking up like a puppy.

"Yeah, watches every match. About loses his mind with pride every time you score, which you do quite often, good on you," I said, fixated with the faint pink water swirling around the drain. Maybe it wouldn't be a lost cause to put this in the wash. I'm so high and sleepy it probably won't make it tonight. "Well, I'm gonna go. If you work it up in you to go see Lu, tell him I've gone back to my flat. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see you."

"I'll do that," he said, standing up assuredly. "I'm Calum, by the way."

"I gathered that," I said with a small grin. "I'm Celeste." When I opened the door, I didn't imagine how bad it might look with me leaving sans shirt, with the school's football star following close behind me. I decided to start caring in the morning when I had Brynn to complain to. I'm a person who knows how to quit while they're ahead. My perfect night shouldn't be able to get any worse, and I'm not going to give the universe the time to try. 

[gayttbm-blog]

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Granted to the catnip, woman found in truth only simply just such as the emery pussy-cat scratcher and can easily dedicate a lengthy period damaging now there ft, heading around the table and having very easily a great fantastic period. Such as this regular thought. Superb content!

We actually maintain the extremely own litter storage space storage containers in the plan routine laundry space along with a few of family members pet condo houses and a very good very best to starting nothing at all collection up. Kittys' captivation towards the statement in order to scratches it is chosen place.

The cat scratcher may be putting up relatively in the middle section because of this of manhandling with pained. Any kind of particular may go through and assess expenditure of Pavlov's Doggie Scuff Feeder, than obtaining well prepared a conclusion to buy before. Look at the family pet cats once they almost nothing. Basic spectacular.

I am susceptible to perform it with respect to my pussies. Some anticipate all of the cat or dog kitties to attain in at once nevertheless they will managed this! My individual lizards (four) become delighted it! Keeping settees a good single Itch at a best period! The Itch facilitates on your wall structure membrane layer with none elements just. Scratchers can become horizontal or heterosexual maybe, and they are provided several designs therefore, sizes, and components.

Outstanding resources guarantees great major quality, safety and balance 4. Heavy-Weight Carpeted Bottom level with respect to Balance -- In existence in 3 Amounts. 1 show up in the toe nail clippers and the girl may generally prove to be eliminated and certainly not most likely discovered to discover the sleep of your period. Appear in basically just how Adam and Michelle place some low-priced uncovered parts mutually to create a DIY persons scratcher turntable developed out of card boxes storage units, particle board, silicon grommets, gooseneck element of the mild fitting mind, and a real turntable.

Designed correct from a hard durable portion of the corrugated credit card bins, Back yards. A. A. That it is usually place by them to use the area rug inside the space likewise, which is probably ok usually. I've bought a 5' events 7' area carpets within the place and floors tiles to full in any locations. That ideal is generally incredibly hard to locate regularly, however, because of this appearance for the scratcher that is concerns least twenty-five in. considerable. Additionally , after they tag, the fragrance glands around the rear level with their foot start a pheromone genuinely. When you contain cleared the litter discipline, close the rubbish can and attain the deal with on the access, reducing the clumps with respect to the back level with all the handbag. Fairly very much each and every one pet evaluated and somebody recognized! Pursuing operating a lot of the time for many years in on-line group administration and internet net web page supervision, this woman elected with regards to acquiring a brandname fresh function as a comprehensive period puppy and mommy stalwart.

Grasshopper I'm the Feline Sensei! This can become the least difficult and least expensive solution to resolving the uncovering drawback constantly. Low price Catit Style Feels Backyard Bundle At the present period I see interesting well worth of this item on amazon . com. com. contendo. We’ve similarly included a superb dangling pom-pom device particular to best ranked your frolicsome cat’s articles topics. Clean with moist textile. Simply carry out it place it round, tugging the consider aside since you improvement limited.

[mybumpbirthandbeyond]

The Walls

I stated this blog and sharing about my DR to deflect. I didn’t want to have to explain why I still looked pregnant to everyone I knew or bumped into. I didn’t want to deal with countless comments and questions. If I could pre-empt them by sharing it on social media, hopefully that would reduce the number I had to deal with. As I’ve said previously, it was to help myself deal with everything that was going on - to process and for the sake of my own sanity. I never could have dreamed it would be helpful to others, and no one is more delighted by that than me.

I’m not posting progress pics every two weeks. I’ve maybe been doing that to make myself feel better. To see something is actually changing, no matter how small. They’re a mere shield. They are there to build that wall back up that gets chipped away at bit by bit.

I have literally become a different person since I’ve had diastasis. Yea I am physically stronger. Yes I am mentally stronger in a different way. But there is also the other type of change. I used to be a confident person. Not wanting to be the centre of attention kind of person, but I could adapt to any social situation and speak to anybody no matter who they were. I’m a shadow of that person.

I actively do anything to avoid social situations because of the clothes, but also, unless they’re family or close friends, the inevitable looks and/or comments. I’m sure some of you know exactly what I mean - the eye flick to the tummy. Happens every time whether that person realises it or not. It’s not even just females. It’s so obvious, that I’m now not the only one who spots it - my husband sees it too. They probably think they’re being subtle. They aren’t. I try not to make eye contact with anyone when I’m out in public and seeing as 99% of comments come from strangers - usually in shops - I end up keeping my head down.

It’s slightly better with the kids. There’s always the hope that someone uses common sense when they see the pram and puts two and two together, but it’s not guaranteed. When we went shopping the other day I definitely got some looks. No doubt the way they looked, they clearly thought I was pregnant with a toddler and a young baby already. Alex saw those looks and agreed. I felt almost rude in John Lewis. We were spending gift vouchers for Emily and we were looking at the sensory toys which just happened to be right next to the nursery furniture. The sales lady came over and was very pleasant, I was polite, but almost abrupt with her because I anticipated if I engaged in conversation, it would inevitably lead to asking how long I had to go. That’s probably unfair on that woman and maybe I misjudged the situation, but that’s the type of attitude I go in with now to protect myself.

Of course the actual shopping for clothes I’ve documented a lot over the last two years and it just continues to be a dark cloud. I haven’t a clue what to wear if we have any plans. Even then I usually end up changing outfits multiple times because it doesn’t look right, fit right or I’m just not happy/comfortable. It has to fit the bump and try to draw attention away from it, but I don’t want it to make me look even more pregnant. I’m slim other than my DR so that’s really difficult. If I spend too much on clothes that are bigger sizes than I usually wear, then it’s a waste as I won’t get the use out of them when I get everything sorted. I used to be able to wear anything. I have had countless messages from women who feel exactly the same way. I’m just more comfortable in gym clothes but even they are sometimes too fitted, or tops are too short.

I’m confident in a rehab sense - I do that in my house and I know I’m doing well with that in terms of strength, and the functionality. But that’s as far as it goes. I don’t walk around publicly with a sign that says: “I’m not pregnant but I can do a chin-up, even with a tummy like this.” Rehab doesn’t always go well and I think when that happens, it’s the last straw. I think I go to such a dark place, because it’s the only thing out of all of this that I can control and that I can succeed at, and when I don’t - well it just feels like yet another shitty thing about this. It’s not linear I know, and it’s not going to go well all the time, but when it’s the only thing you’re clinging to, it’s that much harder to bear when it doesn’t.

Apart from screwing up planned in person physio consults, lockdown actually hasn’t been that bad for me. It made it that much easier to avoid social situations and the looks and comments. Then I was pregnant again and when people asked when I was due, I had an answer.

I’ve seen progress much quicker this time and really SEEN it in the aesthetics. It may be minimal but I’m seeing it, which speaks volumes. I am always the last person to see it. 9 times out of 10 I think people are just saying that because they think that’s what I want to hear. I really don’t want to hear it unless it’s actually true. That’s why I’m so sceptical. I take it from my physios because their eyes are trained to recognise it and they know what it looks like when I don’t have a top on. Otherwise, I’m going to struggle to agree most days.

The worst week I’ve had this time around started badly and really went downhill rapidly from there. A comment from someone known to me about expecting led me to try and justify why they thought that in the first place and I have never been so angry or ashamed of myself. I shouldn’t feel ashamed for the way I look for carrying children, yet I did all I could to make that person feel better about their comment, while I felt like utter shit. It was a situation in which I couldn’t leave and I was made to feel so small. It was a new low that I hadn’t reached before. A complete stranger in a shop - you have your moment and you can escape that situation. I was completely trapped.

When I attempted rehab the next few nights it didn’t actually go that badly, but one thing did and that was enough to send me into a very dark cloud. I decided after 3 nights of rehab I wouldn’t be doing any more until the following week to try and get out of the slump.

Then an old fear resurfaced when I least expected it. I said my biggest fear this time post pregnancy was prolapse not my diastasis - it would be the unknown but also, how on earth would that impact my high level rehab? My 5 week appointment told me there was no indication of one, but I also happen to know one can develop later. I had all the symptoms and I was driving myself insane. What was worse was I was battling the feeling that I was to blame for it. That I’m in the cruelest of catch 22s - the high level exercises which I know work for me to make those necessary changes at my abdominal wall, may have caused one of my worst fears to be realised. How on earth do I deal with that? I cannot be the girl with a massive diastasis AND a prolapse. I just could not be. It would break me.

I couldn’t wait until my next appointment with Lyndsey which was another month down the line. I know physios are best placed to help, but I would have been driven crazy not knowing and not being able to do rehab. When I had a call back from the GP she said it would be best to get me in that day. She agreed that all my symptoms indicated a prolapse, but we would cross that bridge when we came to it. The examination (in lying) did not indicate anything descending upon cue to bear down. I told her I had the feeling of sitting on a small ball and there was an area I felt something that just did not feel right. She told me it was what looked like a skin tag. I had previously had a cyst antenatally that we think went when I was in labour. The area she identified seemed to be where I was feeling it, but it’s awkward to see and feel so I wasn’t sure. She told me that physios would be best placed to treat it anyway and that my symptoms might get better, or worse, by the time I saw Lyndsey next.

Hardly anyone knows any of this. It was a dark, dark week and I just was not myself. I started to feel a bit more comfortable again and tentatively went back to rehab. It was one of those situations where I could not hold off for a month, but I ended up avoiding certain exercises to begin with - exactly where I was when I started with my DR two years ago. That didn’t help me feel much better. I had been doing pelvic floor exercises daily anyway so I just could not understand what was going on.

I still haven’t had my in person appointment yet so I don’t know the answer for definite. It’s coming up very soon. The symptoms I was feeling have reduced, so I returned to rehab as normal because I couldn’t not. Thankfully, I haven’t had another week like that since but knowing how this is a constant rollercoaster, it’s not the first and certainly won’t be the last. So for all the progress in terms of physical ability and functionality, there’s a lot more going underneath the surface. I heard a line from a song recently that has really stuck. “I’m strong in a way that I know how to show you my fragile.” I’m not afraid to share it all in the hopes that this reaches someone who has met with the same demons.

[multipleservicelisting]

Keys to an Equitable Recovery: Better Data and ‘Trusted Messengers’

“It is a structural problem that people don’t have access to high-quality health care.”

— Dr. Marcella Nunez-Smith, associate professor of internal medicine, public health and management at Yale University, and chair of President-elect Joseph R. Biden Jr.’s Covid-19 Health Equity task force

In early December, a Black doctor, Dr. Susan Moore — then hospitalized with Covid-19 — posted a video online complaining of inadequate care by her white doctor. After her video was shared widely, the problem was corrected, but just weeks later, Dr. Moore died of complications from the disease.

The news lit up the group chats of Dr. Marcella Nunez-Smith, whose friends pointed out just how painfully familiar Dr. Moore’s experience was.

“There were so many text threads with my friends saying, ‘Yes, this happens,’” explained Dr. Nunez-Smith, a practicing internist, an associate professor at Yale University and the founding director of Yale’s Equity Research and Innovation Center. After the inauguration, she will also chair President-elect Joseph R. Biden Jr.’s Covid-19 Health Equity task force.

“So often, even I have to declare I’m a physician, almost out of this desperation to say, ‘Hey, pay attention to me, listen to me,’” she said in a recent phone interview.

“If it’s this hard for me, then what is it like for our patients who aren’t part of this system, who have a million other competing priorities, who don’t speak the language of health care?”

Dr. Nunez-Smith has noted that even when she’s functioning as a physician, some of her patients don’t take her seriously, handing her their meal trays or assuming that she has come to empty the trash.

This kind of inside-out, top-to-bottom racism in the health care system and the social and economic inequities that lead to poor health outcomes have been the focus of much of Dr. Nunez-Smith’s research. In her newest role, she has been tasked with drawing up a pandemic recovery plan that is both efficient and equitable.

In Her Words caught up with Dr. Nunez-Smith over the phone to discuss the vast racial health disparities of the pandemic and what the next few months will look like.

What frustrates you most about the conversations around gender and racial disparities in the health outcomes of Covid-19? Have there been moments where you’ve just buried your head in your hands?

Yes, I do have those moments! We have to counter the personal blame narrative. Things like, “These people haven’t taken care of themselves well enough, that’s why they have comorbidities” and other such notions that really are blind to the underlying reality.

It is a structural problem that people don’t have access to high-quality health care or to even think about early diagnosis and appropriate treatment for chronic conditions. What about the environments where people live? Is it really possible to get out there and do physical activity? Is it safe? Are there environmental toxins? Are we talking at all about who has the privilege of staying home? These things are not accidental. They are the results of policies that have been driven by a legacy of racism in our country and all the other -isms.

We know that certain groups, Black and Hispanic communities for example, have been particularly hard hit by the pandemic. What are some of your policy priorities moving forward to address these inequities?

One of the things we have to commit to is the disruption of that predictability. We have to have conversations around access to high-quality health care pathways but also conversations about educational and economic opportunities.

In the short term, though, as we think about Covid-19 and recovery, we have to ask what it looks like to have equitable access to testing, tracing, supportive quarantining and isolation, treatments and access to vaccination.

What does it look like?

First, we need better data. This is a huge thing that I spend a lot of time on: We have incomplete data right now, across the country, and we need better data to inform and drive policy.

Covid-19 Vaccines ›

Answers to Your Vaccine Questions

If I live in the U.S., when can I get the vaccine?

While the exact order of vaccine recipients may vary by state, most will likely put medical workers and residents of long-term care facilities first. If you want to understand how this decision is getting made, this article will help.

When can I return to normal life after being vaccinated?

Life will return to normal only when society as a whole gains enough protection against the coronavirus. Once countries authorize a vaccine, they’ll only be able to vaccinate a few percent of their citizens at most in the first couple months. The unvaccinated majority will still remain vulnerable to getting infected. A growing number of coronavirus vaccines are showing robust protection against becoming sick. But it’s also possible for people to spread the virus without even knowing they’re infected because they experience only mild symptoms or none at all. Scientists don’t yet know if the vaccines also block the transmission of the coronavirus. So for the time being, even vaccinated people will need to wear masks, avoid indoor crowds, and so on. Once enough people get vaccinated, it will become very difficult for the coronavirus to find vulnerable people to infect. Depending on how quickly we as a society achieve that goal, life might start approaching something like normal by the fall 2021.

If I’ve been vaccinated, do I still need to wear a mask?

Yes, but not forever. The two vaccines that will potentially get authorized this month clearly protect people from getting sick with Covid-19. But the clinical trials that delivered these results were not designed to determine whether vaccinated people could still spread the coronavirus without developing symptoms. That remains a possibility. We know that people who are naturally infected by the coronavirus can spread it while they’re not experiencing any cough or other symptoms. Researchers will be intensely studying this question as the vaccines roll out. In the meantime, even vaccinated people will need to think of themselves as possible spreaders.

Will it hurt? What are the side effects?

The Pfizer and BioNTech vaccine is delivered as a shot in the arm, like other typical vaccines. The injection won’t be any different from ones you’ve gotten before. Tens of thousands of people have already received the vaccines, and none of them have reported any serious health problems. But some of them have felt short-lived discomfort, including aches and flu-like symptoms that typically last a day. It’s possible that people may need to plan to take a day off work or school after the second shot. While these experiences aren’t pleasant, they are a good sign: they are the result of your own immune system encountering the vaccine and mounting a potent response that will provide long-lasting immunity.

Will mRNA vaccines change my genes?

No. The vaccines from Moderna and Pfizer use a genetic molecule to prime the immune system. That molecule, known as mRNA, is eventually destroyed by the body. The mRNA is packaged in an oily bubble that can fuse to a cell, allowing the molecule to slip in. The cell uses the mRNA to make proteins from the coronavirus, which can stimulate the immune system. At any moment, each of our cells may contain hundreds of thousands of mRNA molecules, which they produce in order to make proteins of their own. Once those proteins are made, our cells then shred the mRNA with special enzymes. The mRNA molecules our cells make can only survive a matter of minutes. The mRNA in vaccines is engineered to withstand the cell’s enzymes a bit longer, so that the cells can make extra virus proteins and prompt a stronger immune response. But the mRNA can only last for a few days at most before they are destroyed.

Then it becomes an exercise in operations and logistics, but it’s also about understanding the lived experiences and realities of people.

So think about something like testing. So much of the testing in our country is drive-up testing, so obviously you need a car. And what are the hours of those facilities? Or, think about vaccinations that require special handling and cold chain storage. Where are we setting up those kinds of facilities and how far are they from the hardest hit? We also have to make sure there is no cost for the vaccine.

But really, the road map begins with data; it’s foundational.

Are there systems in place to make good data available? Is it just a matter of someone at the top — like you — asking for it?

I’m trying to get that understanding myself. I’m sure you’ve seen that our conversations and communications in terms of the transition are a bit … well, they are what they are … so we don’t have full visibility of everything that exists. But do I think it is possible for us to collect the data we need? Yes.

We need to collect data along the lines of sex, gender, race, ethnicity and geography. And kudos to all of the jurisdictions that are figuring out how to collect this data in a really robust way. But for the places where that might be hard, I think the federal government has a role to play in terms of technical assistance and guidance.

There are so many studies that show that men and women have different reactions to vaccines, but when I was looking through the data of the two vaccines that have been greenlit by the F.D.A., I found little information on the sex differences in adverse events (side effects) and immunogenicity (immune system reaction). Does that concern you?

You’re right, sex is a biological variable, and I think it’s really important for there to be transparency. But keep in mind where we are — we’re in emergency use authorization, we’re not in approval — and more of this information will come; I do expect to see more subgroup analyses.

The communities we’ve been talking about — racial minorities, women and LGBTQ folks, for example — have little trust in the health care system already because of how they’ve been treated in the past. What kind of messaging will help rebuild that trust when it comes to the vaccine?

It is completely rational for the groups that you listed to have a healthy degree of skepticism. We have to start the conversation there and acknowledge that there are groups in our country that have not really received the respect and the fair treatment that they deserve. It is very frustrating when people are like, “Oh these folks aren’t educated.” We need to understand why people have this apprehension.

We need to find out what questions people have and try to answer them. Let us be honest and transparent, and when we don’t know the answer, we won’t make it up. We’ll say, “We don’t know yet.”

Then we need to ask, well, who do you want to hear that answer from? That matters a lot. We know that information moves through different groups and populations differently. Maybe it’s their doctor or maybe it’s their neighbor who is a nurse. People text me all the time, not as a person involved with the advisory board, but simply as a doctor they know. So we have to make sure that the trusted messengers have answers and consistent messaging.

So far, the vaccine rollout has been slow, and we’ve been seeing stories of haphazard and even unfair rollouts in different states and institutions. What are your plans to ramp up the speed of the vaccine campaign in an equitable way?

We’re already seeing some places where there are concerns that there aren’t enough vaccinations for their health care workers. And in other places, they’ve moved on to other groups that haven’t been prioritized by the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices.

I feel very confident there hasn’t been political interference in the work that the A.C.I.P. is doing, advising the C.D.C. and the F.D.A., and that these guidelines are considering equity. I’m very reassured when it comes to that.

But what the C.D.C. provides to states is guidance, and states do have discretion to adjust. So what has emerged is this patchwork of lots of different things bubbling up. There is a lot more that can be done in terms of federal coordination.

Write to us at inherwords@nytimes.com.

In Her Words is written by Alisha Haridasani Gupta and edited by Francesca Donner. Our art director is Catherine Gilmore-Barnes, and our photo editor is Sandra Stevenson.

Did someone forward you this email? Sign up here to get future installments. Write to us at inherwords@nytimes.com. Follow us on Instagram at @nytgender.

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[newfitnessfranchisea]

Fit Body Boot Camp Will Be The The Best Franchise

Franchise Opportunities - Gymguyz

That's why Workout Whenever provides individually personal training to our members to help them obtain one of the most out of their visits to your fitness center, and to help them see the outcomes that will maintain them coming back. Exercise Whenever attracts attention from other gym franchise opportunities since of the advantages to our franchise-partners, the discount rates we provide, as well as the items and solutions provided by our health clubs.

Yearly Franchise Organisation Evaluation evaluation releases its top 200 franchise, and we intend to have a look at its 2019 listing. Specifically, we will certainly consider the top 10 health and fitness franchises worth purchasing for this year. Franchise Business Company Review is a leading study and also publication company in the franchise industry which focuses on franchisee performance and contentment.

The key purposes of the Franchise Business Evaluation are to enhance transparency in the franchise sector as well as help franchise business brands in attaining their performance objectives. According to these 2 goals, Franchise Business Review has functioned with widely known franchise brand names such as IHOP, Snap-on Equipment, Century 21, Wyndham Hotels, The Maids, as well as Quick Indications.

Top Small Business Franchise Opportunities In 2017 Gym Franchises

If you purchase any kind of one of these best fitness franchises, you will certainly be ensured of high returns. However, for you to succeed in the fitness franchise business market; you should exercise due diligence during spending along with handle your health club efficiently.

Fit Body Boot Camp Top Us Fitness Franchises

https://player.vimeo.com/video/341395731

Fit Body Boot Camp gym/fitness franchise opportunity

2020 Best Gym Franchise - Blitz 45

Club Pilates is a fast-growing fitness franchise business Image source: Club Pilates Tarzana Q+A with Katya Stromblad, Club Pilates Los Angeles-based Katya Stromblad best fitness franchise Fit Body Boot Camp spent ten years benefiting Avery Office Products after finishing with an MBA from USC as well as an undergraduate degree from UCLA. After having kids, she recognized that counting the variety of years that she 'd made it through corporate discharges was not just how she wanted to spend her career.

How much time have you possessed your Club Pilates locations? I had actually signed with the franchise business in August of 2016. I opened my first location, Club Pilates Tarzana , in February of 2018. Just how did you learn more about the opportunities within fitness franchising? As I was deciding whether I need to start something totally on my own or sign up with a franchise, I found a Franchise expert with Franchoice that had attached me with the franchise business sales firm St.

They supplied me with several franchising choices based on numerous standards. There's hundreds otherwise hundreds Fitness Franchises of franchise business around however only a couple of that are best for you. Some of the requirements the professional as well as I went over were the initial investment needed, the level of my individual participation on a long term basis, whether I wanted having a store front, supply service or products and also most importantly my personal interests in the business.

I was doing it in physical treatment while rehabbing my knee from a knee injury and also learned that I had not just boosted the wheelchair of my knee however enhanced and also toned my entire body. It additionally repaired some posture issues I had from years of travelling as well as examining. I significantly enjoyed the mind-body link that Pilates is understood for, as well as learning to isolate specific muscle mass and absolutely concentrating on my body from within.

Gym Franchise Archives - Updates, Gym Industry Trends, And Gym Franchises

This is the kind of solution I would certainly be able to stand behind and also boast of as well as would certainly be taking courses myself. Throughout my due diligence, exploration days, speaking with franchisees, doing competitive evaluation and investigating other choices I had chosen that Club Pilates (CP) has a sustainable service model.

Fit Body Boot Camp Fitness Center Franchises For Sale

It's impossible for Planet Fitness and Retro Fitness to also compete with Fit Body Boot Camp's simple and easy methodology and education of which new entrepreneurs adhere to to become successful.

I liked what CP meant - a comprehensive, inviting workshop with the objective of welcoming young and old, and skill degrees from efficiency professional athletes to a person that's never exercised to all really feel. What was your preliminary investment in your very first studio? The upfront financial investment was $350,0000, consisting of licensing costs, redesigning costs that vary greatly and operational expenses.

How much time did it take you to come to be successful? We were rewarding within the initial few months What are several of the difficulties that you did not anticipate? For a reasonably simple model there's an amazing amount of operate in particular regarding searching for, brushing as well as keeping staff. What are several of your successes that you did not prepare for? The satisfaction of possessing something that's ours! The ability to feel component of a neighborhood and make a distinction to individuals within that community.

Community-Centric, Functional HIIT Fitness Classes Drive the Fitness Franchises

On a regular basis I face clients in the shop or on the road and also it's fantastic to recognize people around me in this electronic, separated globe. Actually, among the factors that I associate our success is that our members really feel much more attached to the area too. How did you obtain the word out when you initially opened up? Digital marketing, supporting neighborhood events What advice would you offer to brand-new franchisees? If you have the opportunity to work or offer Best fitness franchise 2019 at an additional franchisee's location to discover the ropes from within, do it.

Gold's Gym Franchise For Sale

Crunch Franchise - Perspire To Greatness - Crunch Fitness

A lot of our hands-on franchisees likewise obtain licensed as teachers so they're able to leap in as well as instruct when there's a staffing problem. If you can be the individual that can substitute any kind of kind of function in the organisation it will certainly make you a lot more self-dependent in a time of staffing emergencies.

Finally - be familiar with fellow franchisees! They're finest equipped to lend an aiding hand or a pleasant ear. To find out more on Club Pilates, or to attempt a free of charge 30 min initial course at Club Pilates Tarzana in Los Angeles, see www.clubpilates.com .

Our society is defined by Individuals, Function, Profits, Play ®. We seek difficult working people with an objective, that desire financial success and also discover the fun in everything they do.

An increasing number of individuals wish to stay healthy as well as fit. Offered that more than two-thirds of American adults are fighting with obesity and also weight concerns, this fad is long overdue. What's more, this offers a massive franchising possibility for entrepreneurs who are wanting to

Fit Body Boot Camp: Gym Franchise Opportunities

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Unparalleled Franchise business Assistance Naturally, what is the point of acquiring a fitness franchise if you do not have the best assistance. Blitz 45 proprietors have greater than 30+ years experience establishing fitness franchise and have created multiple brands several of which are still energetic as well as running. They know that in order to succeed a franchisee has to be offered the specific plan for success to assist Best gym franchise throughout every single aspect.

8 Reasons Why Gyms Can Make Great Franchise Investments Gym Franchises

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