#i suspect if i go my manager might give me monday off so ill still have a day off but 🤷‍♂️

[aidenwaites]

Every day I commit myself to more things

[bamfdaddio]

X-Men Abridged: 1981 - the Body-Swap

The X-Men, those body-swapping mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. We’ve been untangling that history for a while, but sometimes, you really want a more in-depth look. Interested? Then read the (un)Abridged X-Men!

(Uncanny X-Men 151 - 152) - by Chris Claremont and Josef Rubinstein

Emma Frost and her frenemy Ororo Munroe have not been getting along! One fateful evening, as the two quibble away, they mysteriously switch bodies and minds. Talk about your Freaky Friday! What lessons will they learn, walking a mile in one another’s shoes? And will they be able to switch back, or will they stay in each other’s bodies forever? Mutant Monday, coming soon to a cinema near you. Starring: Elizabeth Banks, Angela Bassett and Elliot Page. (PG-13)

For a moment, we’re in a proper period drama: a letter delivers ill tidings!

I love that Kitty’s parents are so self-involved that it took them A WHOLE YEAR to realize that it’s weird that Kitty is the only non-adult attending the Xavier Institute.

I can only assume the mailman interrupted a pool party of some kind? Or a communal shower? I get why Kurt would not swim a lot - all that fur - but did Scott wear that while they were splashing around? Was it a beach volleyball competition where one half got to wear swimsuits and the other half superhero costumes? Most importantly, was Scott’s costume always this tight?

Not that I’m complaining, mind you.

The awful thing is that Kitty’s parents are transferring her to the Massachusetts Academy, not realizing that headmistress Emma Frost is, in fact, a terrible human being. Charles, uncharacteristically, says that changing their minds telepathically is a line he does not cross (any more) and half the viewing audience bursts out in laughter. More importantly, last they saw Emma, she was kind of dead-by-Phoenix, so it might be better there this time? Kitty does a Classic Teenage Stomp-Off and Storm comes to comfort her. Kitty cries that life is unfair (“My parents are only doing this because they’re splitting up”) and Ororo tells her that yes, life is unfair. You just gotta roll with the punches as best you can.

To be fair, bald men are technically all cheek, so it doesn’t matter where you kiss them.

While I enjoy the relationship Kitty has with the other X-Men (Scott gave her a compliment! Logan told her his name!), especially the mother-daughter-bond she shares with Ororo, the whole Piotr-thing always gives me pause. Even if we’re being very generous with age, Kitty is, what? 14 going on 15? And Piotr is… 19? At best? I get why Kitty would have a crush on him: he’s a gentle hunky giant: at fifteen, my teenage ass would have felt the exact same viz-a-viz Colossus’ upper arms. The fact that Piotr reciprocates feels skeevy, though, especially because they’re always treated like star-crossed idiots these days.

Skee-vy.

Ororo drives Kitty to Massachusetts, where her young ward is greeted by someone named Muffy and whisked away for orientation. All seems well. Ororo stands in a parlour, surveying the grounds and considering that they should have fought harder for Kitty. Still, nothing seems too wrong just yet: this Academy just seems very preppy.

Not-at-all-dead Emma takes her cue and jumps out, saying (essentially): “Surprise motherfucker.”

There’s a flash of light, and then...

I’m willing to bet that Emma’s EVIL journal has the following to-do-list: - Steal Storm’s body. - Experiment with her powers. - See how good Storm looks in white. (Leather? Fur?! Both!??) - REWARD: Smoke break.

I wonder if Emma’s plan hinged on being able to body-swap with Storm, or whether any X-Man would have sufficed. Was her original target Xavier? Cyclops? What if one of Kitty’s parents had brought her to Massachusetts, would she have taken Kitty instead?

In a locked cell, Storm wakes up in Emma’s body and is horrified. I wonder why Emma didn’t take any more precautions. Couldn’t the guy who made the freaky friday-gizmo also make a power dampener to nullify not!Emma’s telepathic abilities? Or did Emma count on her victim being so utterly incapacitated by her mind-powers that they’d be driven mad? (This would actually tie in with some of Emma’s later-revealed history: when her powers first emerged, she also got locked away in a padded room because of her madness.)

Emma is not wrong, by the way: Storm can’t get a handle on Emma’s powers. What follows is possibly the sweetest moment in an arc filled with sweet moments:

This arc isn’t drawn by any of the regulars - not Byrne, not Cockrum - but Josef Rubinstein brings his own kind of panache to the pages. I love the way he draws women’s faces: in a story that’s all about women, their faces are actually distinguishable. Kudoz.

Emma, meanwhile, coordinates with Sebastian Shaw to execute the second part of their two-pronged attack on the X-Men. They both laugh evilly in their phones while the mansion is attacked by Sentinels! These androids take out Cyclops and Xavier with some sleeping gas and knock out Nightcrawler, but the rest of the X-Men manage to trounce these robots. Then ‘Storm’ appears! She zaps the rest of the X-Men (and Amanda Sefton), successfully finishing their master-plan.

It’s not entirely clear what the Hellfire Club wants with the X-Men this time, but I’m assuming it’s more experimentation to improve the sentinels? Eh, doesn’t matter! Nefarious Hellfire Club is nefarious.

The real Storm, meanwhile, comes to claim Kitty, forgetting that she looks like the one and only Emma Frost. Kitty spooks and Storm accidentally reaches out, knocking her out telepathically. Whoops! Storm takes Kitty and flees in a car, while Emma gives chase. (How dare Ororo run off with her body, which is absolutely the kind of hypocritical hilariousness we all love Emma for.)

Kitty awakens and jumps from the car, causing Storm to swerve and...

JETSTREAM!? Speaking of which, where are the Hellions in all of this?

Kitty sees that an unconscious ‘Emma’ is about to burn to a tender and moist little crisp and she is faced with the hero’s dilemma: would you save a villain that would never save you?

Emma, meanwhile, has realized the downside to body-swapping: somebody else gets to run around with your body too. Shaw, of all people, talks her down from her anger.

You can’t just introduce a persona exchange gun to the plot WITHOUT EXPLAINING WHERE THE FUCK YOU GOT IT FROM.

My favorite detail is that Emma keeps calling Kitty brat, like she’s some sort of Pokémon-villain.

Kitty, meanwhile, has saved ‘Emma’ and tied her up with a special knot. Storm tries to convince Kitty, going for the “ask me something only Storm would know”, but Kitty’s all: “Duh, you’re a telepath.” Ororo insists, but the thing that clinches it is when she breaks free of her ties without breaking a sweat. That knot was taught to Kitty by Ororo and she’d be the only one who knew how to break out of it.

Storm and Kitty recruit Stevie Hunter to come pick them up and during the ride, Storm-being-angry-mother!Storm convinces Kitty more than anything else:

After all, Storm was voted most likely to say: “If you don’t stop this nonsense immediately, I will turn this Blackbird around, so help me God!”

Ororo and Kitty sneak inside. Ororo even uses Emma’s telepathy to help her pick a lock after phasing through a door. (Kind of funny: Kitty’s still such a neophyte that she can’t even phase with anyone else yet.) Emma, meanwhile, taunts the captured X-Men, presenting herself as the new white queen:

Anybody feel the inclination to point out that the Hellfire Club did this exact same thing last year, except then they tried it with a redhead?

I secretly suspect that the Hellfire Club’s plots always revolve around seducing X-Men to their side and dressing them up in sexy lingerie. (Which: fair.) There’s also a subplot where the guys Wolverine cut apart last year want to exact revenge on him for being made bionic, but eh. We’ll start paying attention to them when they become actual Reavers.

Kitty phases through the locks of the X-Men, freeing them, and a kerfuffle ensues. Emma starts using Storm’s powers, but they grow out of control. Colossus tosses Shaw out of the window - which should just be company policy, really: all Shaws should be defenestrated - where he’s promptly hit by a rogue thunderbolt.

When he doesn’t get up, Emma starts to lose it. The weather goes wild. Storm intervenes, using her telepathic power to help calm down Emma (and the raging storm), but she also manages to get a hold of the swap-gun. There’s a zap, and with a satisfied sigh, the status-quo is restored again.

My favorite implication is that, apparently, Emma decides which school Kitty attends and not her parents.

While this little arc is neither the most iconic nor the most profound of 1981 -- those would be Days of Future Past and I, Magneto, respectively -- I still love this for a couple of reasons.

As a lover of Freaky Friday, 17 Again and the new Jumanji-film, I just have a soft spot for body swap plots. (Hi Psylocke!)

It focuses on the Xavier Institute as a school, planting seeds for the upcoming New Mutants.

It is very female-driven without beating you over the head with it. (Looking at you, Birds of Prey.)

It has three definitive main characters, who all get fleshed out in fun and interesting ways. It starts the trend of robbing Ororo of some of her powers and tossing her into against-the-odds circumstances, only for her to come out on top.

It solidifies the Storm/Kitty mother/daughter (or older/younger sibling) dynamic. Kitty is a believable teenager when it comes to Storm - clever and kind, but also looking for answers and prone to rash decisions - and I love how much they care for each other.

Jean/Storm-friendship-callback, yay!

Emma gets fleshed out as a villain. Resourceful and petty, powerful and vain. It’s no wonder she’s one of the break-out antagonists of the X-Men, because, like Magneto, Claremont is not afraid of giving her depth. Arguably, she is the most three-dimensional of the Hellfire Club at this point.

Yay! And fuck completely sensible plots, if you don’t know what to do with your plot, just introduce a random persona exchange gun. Let’s use it on Xavier and Legion in Way of X next!

[swimmingnewsie]

Of Coffee and Cookies (Chapter 7)

...You know I used to be patient and methodical with my upload schedule. But now I just want to share with the world my work <3 So enjoy two chapters in less than 24 hours.

Link to AO3

---

"I just don't understand why she can't tell me what's wrong. Obviously there's something, and maybe I could help if she would just let me in!" Maren said in frustration as Ryder drove.

It had been three days since Maren had walked out on Elsa in the cafe, and she hadn't heard from the woman since. What was so bad that Elsa couldn't bring herself to talk about? It wasn't like they hadn't had deep conversations before. They had talked about everything from miscarriages to the death of parents to mental health crises. What was so bad Elsa couldn't even name?

"Have you considered the chance that maybe she's still processing whatever it is? And that she wants some sort of grasp before she tries to talk about it with someone else?" Ryder suggested, eyes focused on the open road ahead of them. There was no destination today, but Maren had a feeling that Ryder was doing this so she would talk candidly. They had never been good at a direct face-to-face conversation. Driving provided an easy environment for them both.

"Maybe, but she's my girlfriend, Ry. I'm supposed to be there to help her with stuff," she exasperated. All she wanted was to be there for Elsa. Why was that so hard?

"You may be her girlfriend, but she's still her own person. She's allowed to keep her secrets if she wants. That's just something she does. Have you tried talking to her about it?"

Maren shook her head. "I told her to come back when she was ready to be mature about things. She needs to come to me first."

Ryder raised an eyebrow. "But is that fair? You're the one who walked out on her because she wasn't talking. Do you really think that's the best way to get what you want?"

Maren rolled her eyes. "No, but- but- I don't know!"

"Then put your stubbornness aside and apologize. She may have done things wrong, but so did you." Ryder said, looking at her. "You yelled at her for not opening up when you knew full well the shit show that the last week has been for her with Anna being so sick.

"Look I don't know Elsa as well as you do, obviously, but I do know this: she internalizes her feelings while you externalize your feelings. If you guys are gonna make this work, you’re gonna have to learn to deal with that."

Maren looked stunned at her brother. Where the hell had all that come from? Her brother had grown a lot from that flighty boy who wouldn't talk to anyone for anything. Maren laid her head back on the seat. "When did you get so wise?"

"I'm dating a self-proclaimed love expert who was raised by actual love expert marriage counselors. You pick up on this kind of shit," he said simply. Ryder sighed, turning the car back towards home.

Maren could hear the sadness in her brother's sigh. She was far more adept at her brother's emotions than anyone else's. "Well, I may not be able to pick at my girlfriend's mind right now, but I can pick at yours. What's running in that pretty little head of yours?"

Ryder gave a hint of a laugh. "Just trying to solve all the world's problems today, aren't you?"

She nudged her brother in the shoulder. "Maybe," she said with a slight smile.

"You're worse than Anna about meddling!" he teased.

"Am not!" Maren slapped her brother's shoulder.

"Hey! Hey! No hitting the driver!" Ryder called out laughing. "And answering your question would require whiskey, and considering we both have work tomorrow, that is not an option."

Maren rolled her eyes. "So you're not going to tell me? Even after everything I've gone through with Elsa?"

"Dramatic much?" he asked, mirroring her eye roll. "We'll talk about it Friday. I promise."

Ryder held out a pinky that Maren happily linked. "Friday," she agreed.

"And in the meantime, you are going to your girlfriend's and talking this out."

"As you command, Mr. Love Expert."

---

"Hi, Maren! I wasn't expecting to see you today." Maren was greeted at the door by a sleepy looking Anna. She looked much healthier than the last time she had been by. Her face had more color, and she seemed far perkier.

"Hi, Anna. How are you feeling?"

"Tired still," she admitted coughing in the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "But what can you expect when you get the flu and strep throat at the same time?"

"Oh, Anna, that's terrible," Maren frowned. "I'm sorry. Have they been able to give you anything to make you feel better?"

Anna nodded. "Antibiotics for the strep and cough syrup to help me sleep at night. Seems to be doing well enough. Elsa's in her room if you want to come in." Maren nodded in reply, entering the apartment. "She had headphones in earlier, so she might not hear you if you knock."

"Thanks, Anna," she said sincerely. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Honestly? Get my sister to go to bed," she said with tired eyes. "She won't say anything, but I heard her coughing all night and I'm worried."

Maren's eyes softened. Of course Elsa wouldn't say anything while Anna was still sick. "I'll do my best."

"Elsa?" she said as she entered the bedroom quietly. Her heart ached at the sight. Books and tissues were scattered on Elsa's bed while Elsa herself was passed out in the middle with her laptop open on a half finished word document and Marshmallow curled up at her side. Her face was much paler than usual- something Maren had thought was impossible- and she shivered violently on the bed clinging to the fluffy cat for warmth. Maren placed a gentle hand to get girlfriend's head; she was burning up. Their discussion could certainly wait, she thought.

Marshmallow meowed up at her. Maren didn't know cats could looked worried, but he certainly did. She gave him a comforting pet. "Don't worry, Marshie. We'll take care of her." He meowed in reply before rubbing up on his owner again, pleased with her words.

"Hey snowflake. Can you wake up for me?" she asked softly. Elsa couldn't be comfortable like that, and if she was hiding her illness like Maren suspected she was, then she was going to get her the rest and medicine she needed.

Elsa's eyes slowly opened to reveal glassy blue eyes. "Maren? What are you doing here? You were mad at me. I'm- I'm sorry," she managed before coughs overtook her chest, scaring Marshmallow off the bed. She sounded terrible.

Maren shook her head, patting Elsa's back to help with the cough. "That's not important right now. How long have you been feeling sick?"

"'m not sick," she said, sniffling as her runny nose betrayed her.

"While you make a very compelling argument, snowflake, do you think you could you tell me the truth?" Maren asked wrapping an arm around Elsa.

Elsa tried to recoil from the touch. "Don't want you to get sick," she said hazily.

"So you admit you're sick," she said with a small smirk. "Love, I teach middle schoolers. My fear of catching a cold is long gone. Now how long have you been feeling bad?"

"Monday."

Monday. Monday was when they fought. A wave of guilt passed over her. "And have you been going to school and work every day like a bad sick person?" Elsa nodded wearily. "Oh, love," she sighed.

Maren moved from the bed, beginning to pick her up her papers and books. "What are you doing?" Elsa asked, clutching at some of her books. "I still have work to do."

"That may be true. But if you have the same thing Anna does, you need to rest more than you need to work. Did you even tell your sister you weren't feeling well?"

Elsa shook her head. "I didn't want to worry her. She has enough to worry about."

"I think you failed that mission, snowflake. She told me she heard you coughing all night last night. Meaning you probably didn't sleep and that you definitely shouldn't have been teaching today." Maren turned to Elsa's drawers. "What pajamas do you want? You aren't resting in those clothes."

Elsa slowly relinquished control, allowing Maren to help her change, something the brunette was very happy about. How Elsa had still been pushing on stunned her. She was running a temperature of 103 and yet here she was still working away on research. But Maren had told her enough was enough, and Elsa was settled in bed with two quilts and a dose of nighttime cold medicine.

"I'm sorry," she said sleepily looking at Maren.

"What for, snowflake?"

"For not calling, not talking to you, not telling you. I know you just wanted to help," Elsa said teary eyed. The combined illnesses must have been making her more emotional than usual, Maren thought.

"I'm sorry too. For yelling and running away on you. But we can talk about those things when you're feeling better, okay?"

"But I was so mean to you," she said before being interrupted by a sneeze.

"Bless you. You were getting sick and under a lot of stress, sweetheart. I can't hold that against you. Especially when you're still so unwell."

"But I don't- but I don't want to sweep it under the rug like it never happened." Her voice cracked, clearly strained by all the talking.

"We won't. There's a difference between sweeping an argument under the rug and waiting until you're well enough to talk without your body interrupting." Maren brushed a hand against her girlfriend's hot forehead. "We will talk about all this another day."

"Promise?" she asked.

"I promise. Now shush, don't strain your voice anymore." Elsa happily snuggled up against Maren, eyes shut. Soon enough, her wheezy breathing evened; and Elsa was fast asleep.

Maren was still just as confused as she was three days ago, but that didn't matter. Elsa was here with her, willing to talk. They would take it one step at a time, one breath at a time. They would figure this out. They would be fine.

[theshapeshifter100]

Guess What? I’m Not a Robot Epilogue

Summary: Android Allies protest in Washington

Chapter Warnings: Some casual swearing, implied anxiety

Word Count: 1,211

There’s a long A/N at the end, but it has some important information, so please read it.

11AM Monday 22nd November 2038

“This is insane,” Megan looked at the crowd of people. Alex had put the protest on social media, and it had exploded.

Thousands of people were crammed into a few wide streets in Washington. Most were bearing signs, either cardboard or electric. Some had banners and others even had megaphones.

The crowd was mostly human, but androids who had managed to avoid the massacre were in the crowd. Hats covering their LEDs just in case, but Paul pointed them out with ease.

The three main chapters of Android Allies were here, with the leaders all where Megan was standing. That included everyone in the Detroit Chapter, Lucas’s sister and her group, and Megan’s brother James.

Hank Anderson was also there, although no one could explain why. Not even him, but here he was, grumbling like an old man.

Alex grinned broadly as Megan spoke. “You’re not kidding!” was it her, or was their smile strained? “We’ll easily counter the anti android protest!”

“We’ll certainly be able to drown them out,” Megan agreed, looking around again. The march hadn’t started yet, so the leaders were standing on some steps to get a feel for who was there. In the distance it looked like someone had brought a freaking marching band!

Someone clapped her hard on the back and she stumbled for a second. She wasn’t worried though, only one person announced themselves like that.

“James! I am not one of your football buddies!” Megan protested loudly. She was still wearing the sling, and she hoped that her brother had spotted that.

“I know you’re tougher than you look,” she could hear the smug grin in his voice. They had the same colour hair, but that was where all similarities ended; while she was short and skinny, he was tall and broad. However, he wasn’t as large as Oscar. Megan suspected they played different positions in football, but what those positions were she had no idea.

“Yes, but I still have a hole in my shoulder,” she reminded him. “And I’d like to keep the stitches as they are.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t told mom and dad about that?”

“No, and you won’t either.”

“Gotcha.”

“Why won’t you be telling your parents?” Paul asked, having watched the exchange between the two blood siblings.

“Because they’ll fuss and demand I come home, again,” Megan sighed. “I’ll probably have to go home for Christmas, and make sure I book a flight back so that they can’t keep me at home.”

“They would do that?”

“Oh, they’d try,” Megan assured.

“You can come for Christmas with me and my folks,” Alex offered, overhearing.

“That’s, a lovely offer, thank you,” Megan was uncomfortable now, looking at her shuffling feet.

“It’s cool, my parents always cook loads anyway,” Alex easily shrugged it off. They then checked their watch. “We’ll have to put Christmas plans aside. It’s time to get going!”

They grabbed a megaphone from next to them and brought it to their lips. There was a loud squeal of feedback which managed to catch everyone’s attention.

“Alright people! We’re about to move out!” Alex announced. “I will be at the front with the rest of the Detroit chapter, all of whom you should know by now. Hopefully enough of you have the route to hand in case anyone gets lost. And remember! We’re here to protest peacefully! If the other protest starts something, that does not mean we can retaliate in kind! Leave the confrontation to Nathan and the marching band!”

There was some laughing at that, but that was the actual plan.

“Who the fuck hired a marching band?” Hank asked, more to himself.

“I did,” responded Nathan, like it was obvious.

“Of course.”

“Finally, we’re all friends here! There’s enough water and snacks to hopefully keep everyone going. If someone’s struggling, stop and help! We’re here to show the best of humanity and that we can live with androids. Most importantly, have fun!”

There was a cheer as Alex put down the megaphone. On their face was an odd expression. Nervousness.

Julia was quick to put a hand on their shoulder as the rest of the chapters took their place in the crowd. “You’ll be great,” she reassured, and Alex nodded.

“Thanks Jules,” they swallowed. “I never, seriously thought, that it would get this big.”

“This is your baby,” Megan added with a lopsided shrug. “Be proud of it,”

Alex nodded again. “I am. Let’s take our places.”

The Detroit chapter made their way to the front of the crowd. Without having to say anything Paul put Megan on his shoulders. Megan could almost hear James huffing in annoyance, but too bad, James had never done it when he had the chance.

She held a sign in one hand, with Paul holding the massive banner in front of them along with the rest of the Detroit chapter. On it the name ‘Android Allies’ was emblazoned in blue with Markus’s stick figure/peace sign, the CyberLife triangle and the initials ‘AA’ in various colours on the white background.

Alex stood in front of all them, holding a megaphone. Usually Allison or Ivy would be standing with them, but they all recognised this as their brainchild. They deserved the credit for this.

“What do we want?!” they bellowed into a megaphone, and the crowd chanted back.

“Android rights!”

“When do we want it?!”

“Now!”

The crowd, several thousand strong, began to march through Washington. Alex kept up their chant, while at the back different chants were popping up.

“Androids Are Alive!”

“Equal right for androids!”

“The tin man has his heart!”

That one threw Megan off, but it made some sense. The tin man went with Dorothy looking for a heart, but it turned out that he had it the entire time. Oddly fitting.

Paul never faltered in his pace as he walked. Even when James forced himself to the front to offer to give him a break.

“I’m fine James,” he assured. “Perhaps we should talk later, over a coffee or something?”

“Can you drink?”

“No, but the offer still stands.”

James looked at him oddly for a second before nodding. “Sure, okay. I’d like that.”

“I’ll leave you two to your budding bromance then,” Megan smirked. “Finally, Alex will have another ship!”

“I’ve just met him!” James protested.

“I’m messing with you!” Megan laughed. “But seriously, I’ll leave you two to talk it out. I’ll probably hang around Alex or something. We’re in DC for a few days after all.”

“Sure, whatever,” James huffed before chanting again.

Megan looked around at the crowd, and felt a surge of pride. She had contributed to this. She had helped make this happen. Now, there was a partnership with Markus, the government was starting to listen, people were starting to change.

It wasn’t over, and of course this wasn’t solely down to them. Most of this was down to Markus and his revolution. But one week won’t change a country, won’t change laws. Markus had laid the groundwork, Android Allies had been on the sidelines, helping with the public opinion and both efforts had lead to this.

This wasn’t over, but it was another step in the right direction. They intended to keep walking.

Yeah, this is it. The epilogue. This has been a wild ride from start to finish, in a genre I never really tried before. I tried a few new things with this, the slice of life opening, the flowchart things at the end and the connection between Paul and Megan. I deliberately did it like that, and it was surprisingly easy. I did have to watch myself a couple of times to stop it going romantic, but overall, not as hard as I thought it would be. I just had to think of fluff for them.

In the chapter itself. I understand why it might seem a little out of left field that Alex has the glory moment at the end, but Android Allies is their brain child. It always was, Megan and Paul just got caught up in it, and yeah had the most to lose or gain, but this is still Alex's group, their idea, their baby. We also finally meet James, I know his mental health side story never really went anywhere, it was more to showcase that any can suffer from mental illness, especially the people we least expect.

A few reasons why I wrote this story. One, was because of some complainants I saw on tumblr about the main game, primarly, where are the human pro android supporters. The game says they exist, but we never see them. Here we go, I made some!I also did this, a little out of spite. I am incredibly sick of seeing stories, original and fanfic, where there's two leads of different genders and they end up in a romantic relationship. I hate it, despise it. It's not necessary and it pops up all the damn time, heck I'm guilty of it! So, I wrote Megan and Paul, and made them deliberately adorable just to piss off anyone who thinks that they'd make a good romantic couple. Which, actually, even if Megan wasn't Ace/Aro they wouldn't be a good romantic couple, I don't that would be healthy. I'm not quite done with this yet. I've got a list of the alternative endings and how to get them almost ready, with some 'post credit scenes' for them. There is also a completely different ending. You know how in the main game you can have Deviant/Machine, Pacifist/Revolution and Canada/Camp. Well, there is an alternate ending for this as well, where Paul gets arrested and sent to one of these Recycling Camps.It's not finished. Not yet, and given that I'm on holiday right now and will be for another three weeks, I can't guarantee when it will be up. I'll get the alternate endings list up some time next week, but other than that I make no promises.I think that's all I had, and no flowchart this time. It's the ending cutscene, there is nothing left to influence.

Tags: @nightmarejim @septicart-appreciation thank you both for sticking with this. To your, and everyone else reading, thank you for sticking with this.

[emospritelet]

Back in Business - Chapter 2/3

Part 2 of my RCIJ gift for @winterswanderlust

Rating: whole fic E, this chapter T

Word count: whole fic 20,067, this chapter 7,763

[Chapter 1]

AO3 link

The storm had passed by the time the next morning dawned, but the skies were still grey and dull, and the air had grown colder. Snow was coming, according to the too-cheerful weatherman on the local news, and Belle shuddered as she ate toast and peanut butter. She felt good, though. There was a spring in her step and a flutter of excitement in her belly at the thought of getting one step closer to opening her very own library. Assuming the Mayor would agree, of course, but now that she had Mr Gold’s permission to use the building, she hoped that would be forthcoming.

Ms Gale looked surprised when Belle told her the news, but smiled warmly.

“I can’t believe he agreed,” she said. “You’re not the first to try, but you’re certainly the first to succeed. Did you like - agree to give him your first born, or something?”

“Nothing that drastic,” said Belle, with a grin. “He definitely wasn’t keen on the idea, but I managed to talk him around. Maybe I played on his sense of community spirit.”

“If he has one, that’s the first I’ve heard of it,” said Ms Gale dryly. “Still, I guess the ‘why’ isn’t important. I’ll get this before Mayor Mills today. If we’re lucky, she could make an initial decision without waiting for the Council meeting. It’s not a huge expense, after all.”

“I - did want to get some funds to buy more books, though,” said Belle, and Ms Gale nodded.

“Yeah, that part might have to wait until the Council meeting, but at least if you get her agreement you can start getting the place ready, right?”

Belle beamed at her, feeling confident.

“Right.”

Belle had to wait most of the day to hear the Mayor’s decision, and the waiting was torture. She helped her father in the shop to take her mind off things, setting up the racks of aluminium shelving he had bought, making up bunches of bright flowers for sale, and watering and feeding the plants that he was growing. It was after four when Ms Gale called to tell her that her proposal had been approved and that she would hold the position of librarian, starting the following Monday. After thanking her politely, putting down the phone and letting out the squeal of excitement she had been desperately holding in, Belle bounced on her toes, glancing around and snatching up her bag before bolting out to head over to Mr Gold’s shop to give him the news.

She entered the pawn shop at a rush, the little bell tinkling above her as she stepped inside. Mr Gold was standing behind the counter, hands poised on the tips of his fingers, as though he had been waiting for her. His suit jacket was off, and she noticed that gold sleeve garters had pushed up the sleeves of his blue silk shirt. A gold chain hung from one of the buttons of his waistcoat and looped down before disappearing into the pocket, and she suspected that it was attached to a watch. Because of course it would be. For a brief moment she entertained the fantasy that he was a time-traveller, a man from the nineteen-hundreds, trapped in the present day and trying to preserve of much of his old existence as he could. The thought made her want to giggle. He had a tiny smile on his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Miss French,” he said pleasantly. “From the absurdly cheerful look on your face I take it the Mayor has agreed to your proposal?”

“Yes!” said Belle, a little breathlessly. “At least - she’s agreed to pay my salary. I haven’t had a decision on whether she’ll give me any funds to restock yet.”

“In that case, it seems congratulations are in order.” He reached to the side, opening up a drawer and holding out a key with a round tag. “Here. I believe this belongs to you.”

She stepped forward, holding out her hand, and he placed the key in her palm. She turned the tab over with her thumb. Library was written on it in a thin, slanting script. A wide grin spread across her face, and she met his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“The pleasure was all mine."

He was watching her intently, and she could feel herself blushing. She wondered whether he found her as attractive as she found him. Perhaps he had thought about her when he lay in bed the previous night, wondering how it would feel to kiss her, to touch her. To pull her by the hand into that back room and lay her down on the bench, and—

“Was there something else, Miss French?”

His voice made her jump, pulling her out of her brief daydream, and her blush deepened.

“Oh!  Oh, yes…” She reached into her bag for the shawl he had lent her, holding it out to him. “Thank you for this.”

“Ah. And I have your coat.”

He turned and pushed the curtain aside, emerging moments later with her coat in his hand, now dry. Belle took it from him with a nod, and he folded his hands over the cane, flicking back his hair.

“Will you be exploring your new dominion, then?” he asked.

“I’ll be cleaning it,” she said, a little ruefully. “Lot of dust on everything.”

“I could always get one of my teams in to do that, you know.”

“You have - teams?” she said neutrally.

“I have people I employ to take care of the more unpleasant aspects of my businesses, yes.”

His voice was soft, almost a caress, but the way he phrased the sentence made him sound as though he ran an organised crime network, and for the first time Belle understood why the rest of the townsfolk seemed leery of him. There was an air of menace about him, steel beneath the silk. She wasn’t afraid, and she didn’t feel that he meant her any ill will, but she could still sense it. A darkness swirling within the seething intensity that he seemed to keep a tight grip on. Passion and rage, buried deep and almost forgotten until he let it burst forth. She wondered how spectacular it was when he lost his temper, and decided that she probably didn’t want to find out.

“That - that won’t be necessary, thank you,” she said. “I’d quite like to go through everything. It’ll feel more like my place then, you know?”

“As you wish.”

“It can wait until tomorrow,” she added. “I’ll look over the apartment as well, see what needs doing.”

“Let me know if there’s anything that requires the services of a tradesman,” he said. “I keep the place as well-maintained as I can, but I daresay they may be some small repairs to be made that I’ve overlooked. I can get someone out to fix them straight away.”

“Another one of your ‘team’?” she asked, amused.

Mr Gold showed his teeth.

“Precisely.”

“Can I paint the walls?” she asked suddenly, and he inclined his head.

“Of course.”

“Great.” She clutched the key in her hand. “Well, in that case, I guess I’ll get out of your hair. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said. “I look forward to seeing what you do with the place.”

Belle grinned, but shifted from foot to foot, feeling a little awkward.

“You want to ask me a question,” he said, and she nodded.

“You - you didn’t want to open it, did you?” she said.

Mr Gold eyed her steadily.

“No.”

“Ms Gale at the Town Hall told me that you turned down like six offers, or something.”

“Seventeen in total,” he said, “although I suspect most of them were before her time.”

“So…” Belle floundered a little. “So - I guess I’m wondering why you decided to say yes to me.”

He hesitated for a moment, and shrugged.

“Because you reminded me that the world turns and time moves on, and that perhaps it was time to move with it,” he said. “That perhaps it doesn’t help to hold onto the past.”

“Right.”  She didn’t understand what he meant, but she supposed it didn’t matter. “Well - I guess I’ll see you around.”

He smiled, a brief twist of his mouth.

“Good day, Miss French.”

She started early the next morning. Her father had gone to the shop, and she spent a little time collecting together a plastic bucket, all the cleaning materials she thought she’d need and a thick roll of garbage bags. The weather had grown colder, flecks of snow just starting to fall, and she shivered as she locked the house, hurrying into town as quickly as she could.

When she reached the library she dug into her pocket for the key that Mr Gold had given her and unlocked the doors. They opened with a faint squeak, and she pushed them wide, feeling a surge of pride as she entered the library: her library. She set down her bucket of cleaning materials and flicked on the lights, a broad smile spreading across her face as she watched the light gleam faintly on the dust-strewn wooden floor and cast shadows amongst the stacks of books. Her eyes turned towards the circulation desk, and she blinked. On top of the desk sat a large bunch of sunflowers, yellow bursts of colour bright against the dark wood, the blooms wrapped in purple paper and tied with gold ribbon. Belle stepped forward, reaching for the bundle of flowers, fingers stroking the velvet petals. She looked in vain for a card, but had a suspicion where the sunflowers had come from. There was only one other person who had a key to the library, after all. And who knew about her favourite flowers.

She didn’t have a vase, and so she had to make do with a beer glass from the caretaker’s apartment, filled with water. The apartment was small, but looked as though it could be comfortable once it was thoroughly cleaned and the furniture replaced with something new. Not that she was thinking of leaving her father’s place that day, but it made sense to plan ahead. She wanted her independence, after all, and she suspected that rental prices in Storybrooke were somewhat lower than in Melbourne, where she had had no choice but to stay with her father. It had made dating almost impossible. Not that she was thinking about that either, of course. Not much, anyway.

She wrapped the glass with the purple paper, tying it securely with the gold ribbon, and placed the bunch of sunflowers back on the desk, smiling at their cheerful colours. Time to clean the place up.

By the end of the day she was exhausted, aching from head to toe and covered in grime, but the library and apartment were free from dust and empty of anything that was outdated, broken or too dirty to clean. Belle had seen more spiders than she was comfortable with, but they had scuttled out of her way through cracks in the floorboards and under the skirting, and as far as she was concerned they could stay there. Closing the last empty drawer of the circulation desk, she ran a tired hand over her face, grimacing as it came away smeared with dark grey. She badly needed to shower. She skirted the desk, taking a pile of books that she had already marked for removal and stacking them in a cardboard box. Turning, she caught a glimpse of the bunch of sunflowers out of the corner of her eye. She should thank Mr Gold for sending them. Just as soon as she was clean and looking less like a dust-covered goblin, anyway.

“The place is looking brighter by your presence already.”

His voice, unexpected in the silence, made her jump with a squeak of surprise, and she turned around, heart thumping, to see him standing just inside the door, leaning on his cane.

“Don’t you knock?” she said, aggrieved, and Mr Gold looked around himself, as though her question confused him.

“This is a public space now, is it not?”

“I - yes, of course,” said Belle, feeling awkward. “Sorry, I just - you startled me.”

She was well aware that she was dirty, covered in dust and cobwebs and sticky with sweat, and he was immaculate in his suit. His shirt was deep pink today, and it suited him, the colour warming his skin. He took a step forward.

“I just thought I’d see how you were getting along,” he said. “I see you’ve removed most of the things from the apartment. I can have someone collect and dispose of them.”

“Oh, would you?” She felt herself almost sag in relief. “Thank you! I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it all.”

“No matter.” He tilted his head to the side. “Are you thinking of living there? I could procure some furniture for you, if so.”

“Yeah, now I’ve looked at the place, I think I’d like to,” she said. “I love my dad, don’t get me wrong, but I really need my own place.”

“One’s privacy is something to be treasured,” he agreed.

“What about you?” she asked. “Do you live alone?”

“With only my own thoughts for company,” he confirmed, with the ghost of a smile. “Not always the most pleasant of roommates.”

“I get that,” she said quietly. “Maybe you should get a cat, or something.”

Mr Gold grinned at that, and took a step towards the stacks, running his eyes over them.

“You’ve removed some of the books, I see.”

“Only the ones that were too damaged, or reference books too out of date,” she said. “I want this to be a useful resource, after all, and it can’t be if people are reading the wrong information.”

“Very true,” he said. “I’d hate to have to chastise you over inaccurate reference texts, after all.”

Her brain took the not unwelcome mental image of what form such chastisement could take, filing it away for later use, and she raised her chin before she could start blushing.

“I’m guessing you’d be all over my history section, am I right?” she asked dryly.

“Well, it’s important to learn from the past,” he said. “I - may have a few books to donate, if you’ll have them.”

“Already learned everything you need from them?” she teased, and he met her eyes.

“I don’t make the same mistake twice,” he said quietly, and she felt her heart thump again, a heavy throb in her chest. She smiled, and took a step towards him.

“Do you want a library card, Mr Gold?”

He ran a long finger across the spines of the books on the shelf in front of him, and glanced around at her.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Have you decided on how you’ll fill the spaces left?”

“Almost,” she admitted. “I made a list of genres and titles off the top of my head, but I’m sure there are more I could think of. I guess it all depends on whether the Mayor will give me a budget for new stock and a computer system to keep the records on.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Belle shrugged.

“Then I’ll be thinking up fundraising ideas.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know,” she said, a little awkwardly. “Maybe a bake sale or something.”

Mr Gold looked as though he was amused, but trying not to show it.

“Can you bake?”

“Kind of...” she said uncomfortably, and his grin widened.

“Sounds delicious.”

Belle sent him a very level look, and he bit his lip, glancing away before turning back.

“May I see the list?”

“Oh.” She ran a hand through her hair, grimacing as she felt how much dust was in there. “It’s on my laptop.”

“Would you email it to me?” he asked.

"You have email?" she said sceptically, and he showed his teeth.

"Is that so surprising?"

"Actually, yeah."

"I have email," he said, looking deeply amused. "A telephone, a computer. Even, dare I say it, a television."

"A thoroughly modern man."

"I didn't say I watched the thing."

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

"Why do you want to see the list?"

“I’m interested in the changes you plan on making here," he said, with a lazy wave of his hand.

Belle put her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow.

“I hope you don’t plan on censoring any of my choices.”

He grinned again, eyes glinting wickedly.

“Now, why on earth would I do that?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know…” She folded her arms. “Sometimes people can be - too close-minded in their outlook, I guess.”

“Well, that’s certainly true,” he agreed. “Though it’s not a description I’ve ever had applied to me. I’m personally hoping that you choose to expand the minds of the town. In every area.”

He was still grinning, and she got the feeling he was being suggestive. It wasn’t helping her burgeoning crush on the man in the slightest.

“Increasing one’s knowledge is an important thing,” he added. “Not just history, or art, or science. Books are a way to explore the world without leaving home, don’t you think?”

“Yes!” she said eagerly. “Yes, that’s it exactly!”

Mr Gold walked slowly amongst the stacks, running his eyes over their contents, his fingertip slipping over the curved spines in a series of soft thumps.

“I remember spending hours in the library back home as a child,” he mused. “Sometimes it was the only place you could keep warm in the depths of winter. I read a great deal. Things I probably shouldn’t have, at times. Tales of far-off lands and bloody battles. Forbidden desires. Love. Lust. Sacrifice.”

“I think maybe we read the same books,” she remarked, and he glanced over at her, his eyes gleaming.

“Perhaps we did.”

“So what’s your favourite thing to read, Mr Gold?” she asked, and a smile flickered to life, sparks lighting up his eyes before dying.

“Happy endings,” he said quietly, and she smiled, wishing that he didn’t look so sad.

“Me too.”

“The list, then,” he said, his voice suddenly brisk, and reached into his pocket, drawing out a card and holding it out to her between the first two fingers of his hand. “You’ll find my email address there. And my number, should you need it.”

“Thank you.” Belle slipped it into her pocket, and hesitated. “And - and thank you for the flowers.”

His eyes flicked towards the desk.

“I thought they’d brighten the place up.”

“Well, they certainly do that,” she said. “I don’t know where you managed to find sunflowers in November. Not at my dad’s shop, that’s for sure.”

“You said they were your favourite,” he said, as though that explained things.

“Yeah.” She glanced behind her, where the flowers sat: bright, warm yellow petals and deep brown centres. “Well, they’re beautiful.”

“Yes.” His hands shifted on his cane. “A ray of sunshine, to chase away winter’s chill.”

Belle smiled.

“I think you have the soul of a poet when it comes to books and flowers, Mr Gold,” she teased.

He smirked.

“Must be why I’m such an utter bastard in every other area of my life.”

Belle giggled, and his grin widened.

“Good day to you, Miss French,” he said. “I look forward to seeing what you intend to grace the shelves of the library with.”

He inclined his head, turning away and heading for the door with a click of his cane against the wooden floor.

“Then you should come to the grand opening,” she called, and he turned slowly back, shoes squeaking faintly on the floor.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m planning a big opening party,” she explained. “Interactive activities, dramatic readings, children’s games. There’ll be food. Maybe even some wine and cheese.”

“A social occasion?” he asked, in a very neutral tone. “Sandwiches and small talk?”

“You make it sound terrifying,” she said dryly.

“I very rarely socialise, Miss French.”

“Well, let this be one of the occasions, then.”

That tiny smile returned, lifting the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “But it’s kind of you to ask.”

“Well, I’m still going to send you an invitation,” she said archly, bouncing on her toes. “And if you don’t come, just imagine what the rest of the town will be saying about you behind your back.”

The smile became a grin.

“Oh, I don’t have to imagine that,” he said. “But perhaps I’ll consider attending. After I see the list of books.”

“It’s a date,” said Belle, and clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening. “I mean - a deal! It’s a deal!”

His teeth were very white, his eyes glinting with amusement, and she could feel herself blushing again.

“The deal is struck.”

Belle spent the next day finishing the last few bits of cleaning and overseeing the clearing out of the old furniture and books. The men that Mr Gold sent were all short, stocky, and unfailingly polite, and she had little to do except hold open doors and tell them what was to be taken. The library looked different in the light of day, clean and with none of the clutter of its twenty years of closure. She had emailed Mr Gold the list of books she wanted to purchase, and he had replied to say that he had ordered some furniture for the apartment, and that if she wished to rent it, she would need to sign a tenancy agreement. She emailed him back to agree, thumb flickering over the screen of her phone as she walked to the diner. It was after six, and already dark, but Ruby had sent her a text inviting her to Granny’s for a couple of drinks with the plan of moving on to a bar, and after two days of hard physical work she was ready to let her hair down a little.

The rain was falling, a thin drizzle soaking her face as she crossed the street, and she ducked into the diner with relief, smiling as she spotted Ruby waving to her from one of the booths. Ruby was beaming, lips painted bright red to match the streaks in her hair, a tight red shirt above leather pants. Seated beside her was Ms Gale, in a blue and brown plaid shirt above dark jeans and heeled boots, one hand resting casually on Ruby’s thigh. A bag of chips sat open on the table in front of them, their glasses empty, and Belle slid into the seat opposite.

“Oh good, you came!” said Ruby. “Belle French, meet Dorothy Gale, my girlfriend.”

“We’ve met,” said Dorothy, raising her glass. “The woman who finally convinced Gold to re-open the library. What are you drinking?

“Oh - gin and tonic,” said Belle. “Thanks, I’ll get you one later.”

“Sounds good.” Dorothy patted Ruby’s leg. “Same again?”

“God, yes!” Ruby turned to kiss her, smiling as she did it, and handed over her empty glass. “Tell Granny not to be so mean with the rum this time!”

“You tell her,” said Dorothy dryly, and Ruby giggled as she walked off to the bar.

Belle shrugged off her coat, the heat of the diner seeping into her.

“Dorothy was really helpful,” she said. “I don’t think I’d have known how the hell to get the library open again if she hadn’t given me some pointers.”

“Yeah, she’s awesome,” said Ruby, looking over at the bar with a grin on her face. “You ever look at someone and think ‘Oh. So, it’s gonna be you, huh?’ before you even really talk?”

Belle bit back a smile.

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, that’s how it was for us,” said Ruby, with a sigh. “Valentine’s Day at The Rabbit Hole, both of us dateless and depressed…  I threw a drink over her by accident because I wasn’t looking where I was going, and when our eyes met… well.” She sat back with a satisfied smirk. “Guess it was fate.”

“How long have you been together?” asked Belle.

“Getting on for eighteen months,” said Ruby happily. “We’re saving up to get our own place. Not that there’s much free real estate around here, but we can still try.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait to move out of my dad’s place,” said Belle wryly. “I love him, don’t get me wrong, but I miss having my own space. Since I moved back after being away at university, I realised how bloody stifling it is, and - yeah, I - I really need to move out.”

“Any thoughts on where?”

“There’s an apartment above the library, actually,” said Belle. “I’ve already talked to Mr Gold about renting it.”

Ruby grinned at her, leaning on the table on her elbows, eyebrows twitching suggestively.

“So, you managed to talk your way around Gold about the library, huh?” she said. “He make you sign away your soul, or was it something way dirtier?”

Belle gave her a level look, which made Ruby’s grin widen.

“He’s really not that bad, you know,” said Belle. “He was really interested in the library, and the books I was planning on buying. I mean - okay, he doesn’t strike me as the world’s most sociable person, but he seems fair, at least.”

“Hmm.” Ruby reached into the open bag of chips in front of her, watching Belle. “Give me your first impressions of him. I’m interested.”

“First impressions?” Belle tried not to blush as she remembered that one of her first impressions had been how much the sound of his voice and the glint in his eyes turned her on. “Uh - well, I guess he seemed polite? Good manners, very well dressed, like he spends a lot of time picking outfits so everything’s just so. Fastidious, I guess. Like everything he wears is perfect and his shop is spotless and he has these long fingers that he handles things really carefully with—”

Ruby was staring at her, but she couldn’t seem to stop talking.

“—and everything he does is so deliberate,” she went on, “like the movements he makes and the way he gestures, and he looks at you and it’s like he can see into your soul, or something.”

“Oh my God,” said Ruby, leaning forward, eyes wide. “You like him!”

“I didn’t say that!” protested Belle, blushing fiercely.

“Didn’t say what?” Dorothy set a glass in front of her, and she snatched it up hurriedly, stirring ice cubes with a straw.

“Belle wants to bang Mr Gold until he can’t walk even with that cane of his,” said Ruby offhandedly, and Dorothy giggled.

“Seriously?” she said, and pulled a face as she slid onto the seat next to Ruby. “Well, I’m probably not the best judge when it comes to guys, but you gotta admit the man can wear a suit.”

“Agreed,” said Ruby, passing over the bag of chips.

Dorothy took some, pushing them into her mouth and crunching on them.

“Probably into some kinky shit, though,” she said, licking salt from her fingers and reaching for her glass. “Looks like he has a sex dungeon and gets off on spanking.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Ruby, and they both snickered.

“Ooo-kay, so I’ll be getting so drunk I don’t remember any of this conversation, then,” said Belle lightly, poking at the ice in her gin and tonic, and the others chuckled.

“Sorry for teasing,” said Ruby, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “It’s just - well, as long as I’ve known him, Gold’s always been alone. Bitter, closed off, unsociable - that seems to be his thing. The idea of him actually attracting someone—”

“—a young, sweet - may we say it - hot someone—” added Dorothy.

“Yeah, it’s just a little weird to think about, that’s all,” said Ruby, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe you’ll understand why when you get to know him.”

Belle took a slurp of her gin.

“You know him well, then?” she said, and Ruby shrugged.

“I guess so. As well as anyone in this town, that is. He’s in the diner a lot.”

“Uh-huh.” Belle took another drink. “So, what’s his first name?”

Ruby opened and closed her mouth, and Belle gave her a knowing smile.

“Does he have family?“ she went on. “How did he end up moving over here from Scotland? What’s his favourite food to cook?”

“You know all that?” asked Ruby, round-eyed, and Belle shook her head.

“That was gonna be my next line of conversation,” she admitted. “Okay, he already told me he doesn’t have family, but everyone has someone, right?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Ruby. “Maybe he doesn’t talk to them anymore. He’s always on his own, I can tell you that. He comes into the diner most mornings for coffee. And he collects the rent, of course. Polite, like you say, but not exactly friendly.”

“Seems to be friendly enough with Belle,” said Dorothy, with a grin. “Agreeing to reopen the library, when he told everyone else to go fuck themselves…”

“Yeah, how did you get him to do that?” asked Ruby curiously, and Belle shrugged.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “He didn’t seem keen when I first mentioned it, but I talked about the things I wanted to do, the benefit it would bring to the town, and eventually he just seemed to come around.”

“Remind me to give you a call next time we’re struggling to make rent,” remarked Dorothy.

Belle giggled, and took another drink, setting down her glass and looking between the two of them.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, since he didn’t want to talk about it,” she said. “What was the reason the place was closed down?”

Ruby and Dorothy looked at one another, each pulling bemused faces.

“Before my time, I guess,” said Dorothy.

“Mine too,” said Ruby. “I mean, I could ask Granny…”

“He said it was twenty years ago,” added Belle, and the two women shrugged in unison.

“Granny wasn’t even here then,” said Ruby. “She moved out here with me after my parents died. Pretty sure that was less than twenty years ago. I was pretty young.”

“Huh.” Belle took a sip of her drink. “Guess I’ll have to find out some other way.”

“You could check the Storybrooke Mirror,” suggested Dorothy, reaching for the chips again. “I worked there for six months or so before I got the Town Hall job. There’s old stuff on microfiche that no one’s looked at in years. Could be something there.”

“Right.” Belle pursed her lips, thinking it over. ”Maybe I’ll take a look.”

Ruby took a slurp of her drink, setting down the glass.

“So, what’s the apartment like?” she asked.

“It’s a one-bed, but I think it could be cosy with a little effort,” said Belle. “Mr Gold says he’ll get some furniture for the place.”

“Well, if you need some help with assembly or carrying shit, I can help out,” offered Ruby.

“Thanks,” said Belle, and reached for her drink again. “It’s gonna be so cool having my own place. Can’t wait to make it mine. Bookshelves, some cushions, maybe a few pictures...”

“Get some things from Gold’s shop,” suggested Dorothy. “It’ll make him feel more at home when you eventually get his pants off.”

Ruby giggled, and Belle blushed before joining in.

“Thanks for the encouragement,” she said dryly, and Ruby raised her glass.

“We fully support you in your plan to seduce the menacing, shady-as-hell, yet sharply-dressed pawnbroker twice your age,” she announced, and Dorothy clinked the glass with her own.

“Go get that skinny ass,” she added, and Belle groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“Look, I can’t even think about that right now,” she said. “I have a library opening to plan. Which means I need to use what little cash I have to buy cupcakes and wine and cheese and kids’ party food between now and the end of the month.”

“You’re opening then?” asked Ruby, with interest.

“If the Mayor agrees to fund the new stock of books, yes,” said Belle. “If not, I’m gonna be planning a fundraiser.”

“You should hear next Thursday at the meeting,” said Dorothy. “We’ll keep everything crossed for you, won’t we Rubes?”

“Damn straight,” said Ruby, with a nod. “And just in case you don’t get lucky, I have a few - interesting - ideas for the fundraiser.”

She grinned wickedly, waggling her eyebrows, and Belle groaned.

“Yeah, your expression doesn’t fill me with confidence,” she said.

“Please don’t tell me you’re gonna suggest a kissing booth again,” said Dorothy wearily, and Ruby’s eyes went wide with innocence.

“The thought never crossed my mind.”

Belle had to go back to Mr Gold’s shop to sign the rental contract and pay over the rent and a deposit, which she had borrowed from her father against her first month’s wages. Mr Gold watched her as she read over the contract, and produced a black and gold pen from inside his suit jacket so that she could sign her name. He wrote an entry in a heavy ledger to mark the payment of the deposit and first month’s rent. She watched his hand move across the page, and he glanced up as he set down the pen, giving her a tiny smile, his eyes dark with something like promise. It felt as though she had signed the most important contract of her life, as though she were somehow making a deal for her soul with the Devil himself. Whether she was saving it or giving it away was, as yet, unclear, but the glitter in his eyes made her heart pound. Mr Gold closed the ledger with a heavy thump, fingers shifting along its sides until it was perfectly aligned with the edge of the counter.

“The furniture I ordered should arrive tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll have some of my men take it up for you and assemble it.”

“Thank you,” she said, a little breathlessly, and his smile widened a little.

“And your own things?” he asked. “Will you need assistance with those?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t have much,” she said. “Ruby’s gonna help me move in.”

“Very well.”

He reached to the side, to a carved wooden cupboard, and opened it up, reaching inside and turning back to face her. A key dangled from a round fob held between finger and thumb.

“I replaced the locks on the apartment door,” he said. “Here.”

She reached out to take it, tucking the fob into her palm and feeling the warmth of him on the smooth plastic.

“Thank you,” she said. “I - uh - I should go.”

“Of course.”

He leaned on the counter, still smiling at her, and she could feel her abdomen pull and tighten. She turned away, clutching the key hard in her palm, feeling breathless as she made her way to the exit. His eyes were on her back as she left, and when the door closed behind her it was as though she had been swimming up from the dark depths of a warm lake, and could suddenly breathe again.

It was two days later that the furniture for her apartment arrived, and the same short, burly men that had gotten rid of the old items carried it up for her, whistling a tune as they did so. She had told her father she was moving out, and he had grunted at her, slumped in front of the TV with a glass of rum in his hand, as was his usual state in the evenings. It was the way he had dealt with things even before her mother had died, and if she was completely honest with herself, she wasn’t sorry to be going. She had packed her things: clothing, books, and the few pieces of personal furniture she wanted to take, and the next day Ruby bounced up on the doorstep with a beaming smile, red-streaked hair fluttering in the winter breeze.

“Thought I’d give you a hand,” she said, gesturing to the driveway, where a red car was parked.  “Wow, are all those books? Don’t you already have a library-full?”

She was grinning, and Belle gave her a level look, handing over the first of the boxes.

“Private collection and not for public use,” she said sternly, and Ruby giggled.

“You have the strict librarian thing down already,” she said. “Maybe think about getting some glasses so you can look over them when people are talking too loud.”

It didn’t take too long to fill the car with boxes, two suitcases of clothes and an old coat stand, and Belle decided to come back for the rest later that day. Getting the boxes of books up to the apartment left them out of breath, but maneuvering the coat stand through the door of the library was more awkward.

“I’m not sure we’ll get it up the staircase,” said Ruby, huffing a little under the strain. “How do you feel about hanging all your coats down here?”

“We just need to turn it,” said Belle impatiently, swinging her end around to the left with more force than she had aimed for.

There was a crunching noise, and she groaned, already fearing what she’d find. Glancing over her shoulder revealed one leg of the coat stand, stuck in the drywall. Belle swore under her breath, tugging the thing free with a shower of plaster and leaving a large hole.

“Oops,” said Ruby ominously.

“Yeah.”  Belle bit her lip, setting the coat stand down. “It’s not too much damage, right? I could fill this in, repaint…”

“It’s a hole three inches across,” remarked Ruby. “I think it’s gonna take more than a little filler and a lick of paint.”

“You wouldn’t have thought it would have gone that deep,” grumbled Belle. “Isn’t this supposed to be a wall?”

Ruby stepped forward, bending to gaze at the hole.

“That’s hollow,” she said curiously.

“What?”

“Behind the drywall. There’s a space back there. Here.”

She dug in her pocket for her phone, bringing up the flashlight app and shining it on the gap.

“There’s something back there,” she said excitedly.

“Let me see.”

Belle crouched down to peer through the gap. The light from Ruby’s phone gleamed on something; reddish-brown wood with what looked like brass fittings.

“I - I don’t know if it’s a door, or something,” she said vaguely. “I can’t see.”

“Let me look a second.”

Belle leaned back, and Ruby glanced around the room before shoving her entire fist into the hole, opening it up.

“Ruby!”

“Oh, come on, you wanted to know just as much as I did!”

“I’m probably gonna have to pay for that!”

“Yeah, maybe Gold’ll give you a tongue-lashing,” said Ruby dismissively. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“Oh my God…”

“Just have a look, would you?” said Ruby impatiently, brushing streaks of plaster from her hand.

Belle sighed, but held up the phone. The hole made by Ruby’s fist was large enough to see through. A wooden door, set with brass fittings and a series of large cogs.

“It - it looks like a door,” said Belle. “Works with some kind of mechanism, like cogs and pulleys, or something.”

“Let me see.” Ruby took her place, peering through the hole. “Huh. Kind of steampunk. Hey, do you think it’s an elevator?”

“If it is, it doesn’t go up to my apartment,” said Belle, and Ruby shook her head.

“Not going up,” she said. “Going down.”

“A basement?” Belle pulled a face. “Mr Gold didn’t mention one, and I didn’t see a door to it, or anything.”

“So ask him.”

“What, before or after I tell him I busted a hole in his wall?”

“Come on, what harm can it do?”

“Fine,” sighed Belle. “At least let’s get the rest of my stuff. That way if he murders me you guys can build a shrine in my honour in the classics section.”

Ruby chuckled, and picked up a suitcase.

“Hey, is there gonna be an erotica section?” she asked, with interest.

“Planning on one,” said Belle. “Depends if I can get funding for the new books.”

“There’s always my kissing booth idea…”

“Yeah,” said Belle, in a very dry tone. “I’m - probably not gonna be doing that.”

“Suit yourself,” said Ruby airily. “Just saying that there’s someone in town you wanna kiss, and rumour has it he has a rather large - checking account.”

Belle sighed, rolling her eyes and stomping off in the direction of the stairs, and Ruby’s cackle followed her up.

She knew that she had to own up to Mr Gold about the damage, and she figured sooner was better than later. The man had a habit of turning up when he wasn’t expected, and she didn’t want the hole in the wall to be a surprise. She waited until Ruby had gone to work her shift at the diner before heading to his shop, and Mr Gold looked up from the counter, his rent ledger open in front of him.

“Miss French,” he said, with a tiny smile. “Are you all settled in?”

“Pretty much,” she said. “I have to unpack, but - yeah.  I’m an independent woman. How about that?”

“Well, I hope you’ll be very happy there,” he said, turning his attention back to his ledger. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need."

“Thanks.”

There was a moment of silence, and she stepped a little closer, watching the light gleam on his hair.

“So - there’s an elevator in the library,” she said.

Mr Gold stilled, pen hovering above the ledger.

“What?”

“An elevator,” she said. “At least, I think that’s what it looks like. I’m sorry to say I had a bit of an accident. Knocked a hole in the drywall. I’ll pay for the damage, I swear.”

Mr Gold set down his pen, not looking at her. He turned away, shoulders stiff, and pushed at the curtain separating the back room from the shop. Brow crinkling, Belle followed him.

“So, am I right?” she asked. “There’s an elevator there? Where does it go? How come it’s walled off.”

He was standing stock still, his back to her, and she bounced on her toes as she waited for him to answer.

“Apologies, Miss French,” he said quietly. “I just remembered something very urgent that I have to do. I’m afraid I’m closing up early today.”

“I - what?” She was perplexed. “But - the elevator? I’m right, aren’t I? How come it’s not working? I don’t understand.”

“That’s not something I care to discuss,” he said sharply. “Now, if you don’t mind?”

“Mr Gold, I—”

“Please!” he snapped. “Miss French, I’d like you to leave!”

She took a step back, snapping her mouth shut, feeling hurt and awkward.

“Right,” she said softly. “Right. Okay. I’ll - I guess I’ll see you.”

She backed away, letting the curtain fall across and hide him from her sight. The shop was silent but for the low ticking of clocks, a reminder of the passing of time, of the years that had passed since the elevator was walled up and hidden from view. She wondered what secrets had been buried with it, and recalled Dorothy’s suggestion that she visit the local paper. Perhaps there would be answers there.

The newspaper did indeed have old microfiche available to view, just as Dorothy had said, but the young man who showed her to the small, windowless room to look through them merely shrugged when Belle asked why the library had come to be closed. She sat down with microfiche from 1998, flicking through stories of town festivals, cookouts and Little League games, and as the articles moved from September into October, reports of storm damage to the Town Hall. The storm had been a large one, it seemed, but she couldn’t find anything to say that the library had suffered any damage. She flicked to the next page, and flicked on again before going back, something familiar tickling at her mind.

Belle frowned, looking over the picture in front of her, its sign reading Pawnbroker and Antiquities Dealer.  Mr Gold’s shop looked much as it did now, albeit with a lighter hue of paint on the clapboard frontage, the blinds drawn and a sign in the window saying Out of Business. Her mouth flattened at that; what had happened to cause him to close the shop?  Perhaps it wasn’t the most profitable area of his business, but even so… She concentrated on the text below the picture. Local property developer and antiquities dealer, Mr Gold, closed his business without warning yesterday, following the reports of a tragic accident at the Storybrooke Public Library. Your Storybrooke Mirror reporter tried to reach the businessman for comment, but was told by his softly-spoken yet intimidating assistant that he was unavailable until further notice. Anyone wishing to redeem pawned items should submit their claims in writing to the shop and their queries will be addressed.

Curious, Belle turned the page backwards, trying to find an earlier edition, and her mouth fell open as she saw a picture of the library on what would have been the front page of the newspaper. Children’s Outing Ends in Tragedy it proclaimed. Belle leaned closer, eyes running over the words in front of her. A group of children left Storybrooke Library in tears yesterday as one of their own suffered a tragic accident. Baeden Gold, aged 3…

Belle straightened up, breath catching. Baeden Gold.  

She shook her head, bending closer to read the rest of the article. The elevator had been out of use, down in the deep basement awaiting repairs, and the doors had been closed. Unfortunately, the elevator was not electric, and the doors could be opened by anyone who knew how to work the mechanism. It wasn’t known who had opened them - the Sheriff was said to be investigating - but the result was an open elevator shaft down which a small boy had tumbled to his death. Belle bit her lip. So. The reason for the library’s closure, and Mr Gold’s refusal to open it since. She wondered what had made him finally agree to her proposal.

She sat back in her chair, chewing her lip, her mind troubled. It had happened twenty years ago, and yet no one spoke of it, least of all Mr Gold. She wondered if he had wanted it that way, if he had walled off his pain with plaster and paint and tried to forget it had ever happened. As if he ever could.

[noble-pro]

I want to quit. I am angry with myself for wanting to quit - Cardiff Half Marathon

Charlie Spedding, age 28, is a good runner, but not a great one. He sits down in a pub one day, drinks his ale, and reads a story in the paper. A job had been advertised with a salary of £60k – no one applied. The employers re-ran the ad, but took down the salary to £25k – they received dozens of applications. Charlie sips his beer and realises that, up to this point, he was the guy who didn’t think he was worth the higher paid salary. His subconscious is the thing holding him back in races, not injuries, nor lack of training. He writes down some ridiculously lofty goals, leaves the pub, and goes on to achieve them. He becomes GB champ at 10,000m, wins the London Marathon, and gets a bronze at the Olympics in 1984 (incidentally, the last medal that Great Britain have won in the Olympic marathon).

Charlie came to grips with the importance of the mental aspect. He attributed it fully to his success, but also, to his downfall. Age 36, in the Olympic marathon again, Charlie is in 6th place, with 5 miles still to go. He is feeling terrible, and he is being caught up. He wants badly to quit, or at least slow down. In that deep dark point of suffering, on the verge of breaking down, he made a deal with himself. Just finish, and hold onto 6th place, and you will never have to run a marathon again. Charlie kept to his promise. He did finish 6th in the Seoul Olympics. But then, after that, he was still a top pro runner. Having finished 3rd and 6th in Olympic games, and with the running scene booming, he was hot property, and was being offered very lucrative fees to race marathons all over the world. Due to injury, illness, or (as he himself suspects) in honour of that promise, he never did managed to finish one again. 3 months ago, I promised myself I would quit running if I could just finish the Snowdonia Trail Marathon. I did finish. I reneged on that promise a week later, and have, to date, raced five times since. But, as soon as the race starts to hurt, I find myself whisked back on the dark, moody slopes of Snowdon, and I remember the deal I made with myself. I promised myself I wouldn’t have to go through this again. In each race, I start with all the optimism of the ‘old me’. This time I will be back to my old self, I have switched my brain back on now and everything is ok again. But, each race…hurts, want to quit.

Cardiff Half, the weather, the atmosphere, the organisation, it is all incredible. I have been put up by a lovely couple (Gwenno and Dylan), have had a great night sleep, training has gone well, and in the warm up I am feeling light and ready. On the start line, with 27,500 runners behind me, I feel great. 4 miles into the race, we go up a hill. It hurts. I want to quit. I want to quit. I am angry with myself for wanting to quit. I am 4 miles away, if I quit, I will just have to walk 4 miles back. Screw it! I will walk 4 miles if I want to, you think I won’t walk 4 miles? What the hell do I care?! I am a mountain runner, I LIVE in the mountains, why am I the one struggling up this piddly little hill?! I should be devouring this fucker. There are girls infront of me. There should not be girls infront of me. There are guys infront of me who shouldn’t be infront of me. Everyone around me is wearing 4%s. My mum and dad have come to watch, I don’t want them to see me quit again. I miss my little girl. I have to find a way to finish this race, and I have to find a way to enjoy it. The look my little girl gave me when I told her I was going away for the weekend, she might as well have ripped my heart from my chest and stamped on it. I have to find a way to make this all worth it. I will drop back, relax, enough until the pain subsides. I will convince myself I am running a marathon, and then I can drop out at halfway. The above line of thought, all takes place within about 1 mile. As we drop down off the hill and across the Cardiff Barage, a dam type pedestrian walkway over the sea, I am already starting to feel better. 5.20 miling is feeling easy, and I have got my breathing and my rythym back quickly. I let the group of leading ladies go, let any chance of a PB go, and let my ego go too. The mile markers seem to come quicker, I notice the crowds, hear the bands, and I am enjoying myself. I know I can run faster than this, at some points, I am almost overwhelmed with a desire to kick on. I want to catch the women back up, they are just up the road. No Russell, hold! I feel lazy, cruising around at 5.20 pace, I want to shout to the crowds, “I could go faster than this you know!”. I have to remind myself that, mile 4, I had nearly dropped out, so this is a million times good enough.

Somewhere around mile 10, I really start to tune into the simple feeling of my trainers gripping the tarmac, freshly dried by the morning sun. Man I am loving this. We get to mile 13, I am almost in a daze, I am only halfway through, my mum pops out of nowhere and screams at me “Russell you have to go now”. So I might as well, I kick as hard as I can for the last hundred meters and fly past the guy I had been running with, the lactic stings, but it feels good, I relish the pain this time. 68.53. This could be seen as a disaster, considering I was initially targeting somewhere around 2 minutes quicker. But, then, it’s a wonderful success compared to dropping out at mile 4. Maybe my body could have produced better, but my mind couldn’t. So if 68 is where my mind is at, then I’m happy enough with that.

After a wonderful Nandos with my folks, I set off on the stunning drive over and around the Brecon Beacons and Snowdonia. I have time to think things through. I realise that, my mental state is fragile. It’s not a word I like to use, ‘fragile’, but none the less, I have to admit it is true. It needs time to heal, and a bit of self-compassion. I can’t expect to just flick a switch and be back to the old me, bulldozing through races and smashing through the pain barrier. I’ve tried that. It’s not working. There is some damage done, I need to realise that first, and then give it the space to heal. I feel like this was the first race that really started that process for me. There are still 3 months of the year left. Plenty of time to build on a 68 half. Maybe next time I can get to mile 5 before I think about quitting! 30/09/2019 AM PM Monday 5 5 Tuesday 6 3 miles @ 5.26 pace. (1km, 600m, 400m) x 3. 2min rest between reps, 5min between sets. 2.54, 1.44, 68. 10 miles total Wednesday REST 4 Thursday 12@ 20kmph tm. 5 miles total REST Friday REST 5tm @ 6min miling Saturday 5tm + volunteer at Academi Drive to Cardiff Sunday Cardiff Half. 68.53. 15 miles total Drive home TOTAL: 60 miles tm = treadmill Non-Running Related Highlight of the Month We take the kids out cycling on the dam underneath a brilliant rainbow

Thing I’m Digging This Week: Alberto Salazar, ex-marathon runner, now infamous coach, has finally been busted for drugs. I was walking from my car to the Cardiff Half start line, and heard lots of runners in the crowds talking about it. It’s a big thing. I am happy he has finally been caught, but a lot of heros were coached by him; Mo Farah, Galen Rupp, Alan Webb, Matt Centrowitz, the list goes on and on. It doesn’t look good for any of those guys. Great article on the subject here Best Thing On The Internet This Week: The World Athletics Championships in Doha. Stupid place to host the World Champs, the desert. The outdoor stadium had to be constantly air-conditioned to make it habitable to the athletes (how about that for a carbon footprint?). The women’s marathon had a third of the field drop out due to the heat. There were nights with less than 1000 spectators. I sat down with my little girl, El, and watched the women’s pole vault. At 3yrs old, she fricking loved it. She is still talking about how she is going to be a pole vaulter when she grows big. The IAAF is so corrupt, bloated and arrogant, that there may not be any pole vault by the time El grows big. But still, the athletes brought it. Dina Asher Smith, KJT, and Callum Hawkins, immense performances for which the GB team can be proud. You can watch all the highlights on the iplayer, if you watch one thing, watch Cal Hawkins come from nowhere to lead the mens marathon with 1km to go. Last night, Callum Hawkins finished 4th in the brutal heat of Doha desert World Champs! Incredible redemption after collapsing with heat exhaustion in Gold Coast Games last year. He did most of his training this summer in his shed with stacks of Aldi heaters. There are no excuses pic.twitter.com/m759UR69nL — Russell Bentley (@russell_runner) October 6, 2019 Read the full article

[autismus-obscurus]

AutistAgent Dev undercover

Hey guys! I know my blog has been dead for a while. My internship in a psychiatric clinic started and I have to study for upcoming exams so I don’t really have time to blog much. But I’d like to write a little summary of the first two weeks to recuperate a bit and get my thoughts into order. To not spam your dash, the rest is under the cut.

SO, my internship is in a psychiatric clinic. To be more precise it’s part of a big institution that has everything from open and closed stations, to living spaces for elderly mentally ill people and heavily disabled peeps whodon’t have anyone else. I work at an outpost, the day clinic, meaning people come there from Monday to Friday from 8am to 4am. They’re not stable enough for a normal psychiatrist to work with, but also not so bad off they’d need to stay several weeks at the clinic. The “regular” time in the day clinic is six weeks, but it will be extended if necessary. The main buildings are on the other side of town, which is around 700m by foot, and we walk back and forth once, most of the time at least twice a day. I have never been so fit in my life. (Jk, but it’s been a while since I worked out regularly.) I think what most people don’t realize is how normal everyone looks. Even on the stations it doesn’t really look like a “mental hospital”. Sure, I haven’t seen the closed stations yet and my next intership might be a bit harder. But over here, those are all quite nice people who hit hard times. We have a lot of them with chronic pain, with depression and anxiety. At least half of them are sick because of their environment being shitty to them. Of the fifteen patients, five are women who got burnout because their partners manipulated them into doing everything for them. Trying to change their approach and not let themselves get pushed around is a big challenge and super draining. We have some that hit a low because of trauma, because of a loved one dying. It’s harsh, and it’s sad. The first few days were horrid. I slept really badly for a few days and was constantly tired. Add to that the stress of a new environment and lot of people around, I was a mess. On the third day I stared crying after a group because I picked up the emptions (mostly sadness) so intensely. Hyperempathy can be a bitch. I still get close to tears now and then, mostly when I’m extremely stressed because then my emotion regulation shuts down. The first few days I fled to the toilet very often to calm down. My stim pad and music helped a lot. In the second week I didn’t need it as often, but I still stim during groups, mostly by stroking the fabric of the chair I’m sitting on or wiggling my fingers. I’ve also noticed I rub my hands and arms a lot while speaking. A year ago I would have tried to suppress it, but screw that, I need to stim to survive this.

The people are really nice. The psychiatrist who is responsible for my internship is a cool dude who likes D&D and wear bow ties every day. I’ve started the mission to find out how many different bow ties he has. The number as of now is 8 and counting. None of them know autism very well so I doubt they’ll pick up on it, even though I don’t hide my stimming a whole lot. I still make eye contact, even though it’s as always pretty unstable. I have trouble focusing on a point, anywhere in the face, and all the years of training make it hard to not make eye contact. Conversations with the patients go reasonably well. I guess I really learned how to do smalltalk by now. (Pro tip: It’s always the same. I can’t tell how many times I’ve explained where I study, what I study, in which semester I am, and where I’m from and what route I take by car. Seriously.) I often accompany patients to therapies. The other therapists are super nice. A lot of the therapies benefit me as well. I like to think I wouldn’t need it unless I hit super hard times (I couldn’t either way, because then the insurance would act up and employers don’t like people with problems), but now that I’m here it’s really helpful since i get to see both sides, that of the patients and the reasoning behind it. I started drawing again, and finally got around to use pastels for the first time, for example. I bought my own pack now and will start to practise portraits so I have something to sign should a band I like give autographs on a festival. The relaxation sessions are pretty chill too, after I gave up on meditation for lack of time. I even got around to work out again. (And caught a cold, woo.) We did a small trip to a nearby city in the Netherlands, which was hella cold and also entailed me not finding shit. At least I saw a bunch of cute dogs. Surprisingly, the conversation once went to gender stuff and the toilet situation. Surprise, not actually surprised, there’s people (women, in this case) who don’t want only unisex toilets. Why? Because they don’t want any other gender, with the reasioning, hold on this is gold, the men always freak out as well when a woman comes into their bathrooms. I was mad at first but if I think about it now, it’s hilarious. The bow tie psychiatrist cleared things up, but apparently she gets very fired up about the topic every time. I didn’t start a fight like I would have in a more comfortable environment, but it wasn’t necessary, bow tie guy has our back. In the evenings I unfortunately have to study, which only recently sorta worked because I’m not totally dead when I come home. I get to study my target language a lot, since when I’m bored I usually do some vocab and I occasionally write about my day in my target language.

Now for the bad bits. What sways me the most is that I have no clear routines. In the morning we make breakfast, but since I don’t know where everything is and how many people we are and what everyone eats it’s next to impossible for me to help. In general, I sit around a lot between therapies and meetings and when the patients are eating. It makes me feel terrible. Both nurses are basically unreadable to me and have a very, uh, powerful way of going around. I suspect they think I’m hella annoying, but I think that of everyone so who knows. Also, I managed to prove I can’t make coffee or screw a coffee flask shut. Hella embarrassing, to say the least.

Some therapies are hella uncomfortable for me, and it’s a bit problematic since I can’t step out (social anxiety, also I’m not supposed to be the one with problems.) One patient is in the clinic because of panic attacks, but he’s also hella sensitive to sound, just like me, and hates being touched. In one session we were supposed to do a game where we clap hands with each other and I was honestly really relieved when he said he couldn’t do it. Another therapy session was about touching hands with each other while we walked past, and look each other in the eyes and it was honestly the most uncomfortable thing I’ve done in quite a while. The excercise is about knowing your own boundaries and i guess it makes sense (but I’m not sure what that’s good for when you can’t step out because you’re not a patient.) There’s also a billard table in the clinic as well and one patient just thrashes the balls around every time. It’s like he lets all his aggression out on the queue. You bet I flinch every time. Chill the fuck out, mate (especially since he says he’s not aggressive. Sure bro.) Food is a smaller issue. I got stamps for the cafeteria, but some stuff is just... nope. So far I’ve managed to avoid stuff I couldn’t deal with, or ate just enough to convince people I was full. Some food there is actually really good though and the clinic is literally in the same building as a small supermarket and a bakery, so it’s chill.

Overall, I’m surprised how well I deal. I know what I have to avoid now, so it’s really chill. I might actually go into therapy after all. There’s some icky stuff, but once I’m not an intern anymore I can do my own routine and organize stuff.

[esandcasg]

B Dog’s Training Shenanigans

As I have mentioned to you both individually, last Sunday sparked a few days on the sidelines, as I contracted the latest strain of kindergarten plague.

Sunday and Monday were pretty terrible with nausea and brown wee, but by Tuesday I had started to feel a little better. But I was sensible. I waited an extra 2 days. But it still wasn’t enough.

I went for a run on Thursday, which I had intended to be gentle but of course that doesn’t exist with me. So after 6km I had to call it a day. Rather worryingly, it was left knee that started to give me jip as much an anything (usually the right). But I suspect it was because I was struggling after about 2km and started to be a bit ploddy.

Friday I went out on the bike for an hour, which was actually okay. With the sun shining, and the 10 day look-ahead showing rain every day, I felt like I had to take advantage. The biking is still not great though. I have installed time trial bars on my bike, but to be honest they just scare the shit out of me. It’s always windy here, plus if you’re in traffic you might need to brake suddenly, and it just feels terrifying to be that far away from the brakes, especially once you start getting over 40kph, because even getting your weight off them to grab the brakes can cause a little wobble, which at that speed could be pretty serious. Lord knows how these guys do 60kph on them.

So I have decided to take them off. There seems little point in ditching MTB to be a bit safer, and then getting blown off my road bike. So it’ll mean being a bit slower in the triathlon, but whatever.

Yesterday I tried another 5k time trial. My intention is to do these fairly regularly, and get my time down to 18 something before June. My last outing was 20.36, and yesterday I managed 20.31. It was okay considering my illness, terrible pacing (had to stop twice), and rubbish preparation as it was sandwiched in between two play dates (I hate that expression). I had to eat some lunch and then quickly go out and run. But this is the shit you have to deal with as a parent.

B Dog.

[vol6-blog1]

Caffeine Withdrawal and Weekend Migraines

Another piece of the puzzle fell in place for me yesterday, as I watched a podcast of Dr. Richard Lipton, professor of Neurology at Albert Einstein College of Medicine, explaining the difference between Migraine & headache. Thanks to Marijke Durning, R.N. of Help My Hurt for posting the podcast in The Difference between Migraine and Headache. I recommend the podcast as a general explanation of what a migraine is and what sets it aside from an "ordinary" headache. You might ask your skeptical or uninformed friends and family members to watch it. The new idea for me had to do with Dr. Lipton's explanation of the role of caffeine. I already knew that: 1. caffeine is a vaso-constrictor and so can help treat a migraine attack in progress, by constricting the dilated and inflamed blood vessels around the brain - in fact there are several migraine medications that contain caffeine, such as Cafergot; and 2. caffeine withdrawal can trigger migraine attacks (I have experienced this first hand in a too rapid attempt to get caffeine out of my system). It is also common for some migraineurs to have smooth sailing during the week, only to be beached by migraines on the weekend, our supposed "time off." This happens to me frequently. Since migraine triggers are "stackable," we often have to analyze what may be in the stack to figure out what actually triggered the migraine. Explanations for the weekend migraine include: 1. stress let-down - perhaps the body's reaction to a drop in the stress hormones we produce to function during the work week; 2. change in sleep pattern - a trigger for many migraineurs who find we need to keep our bed-times and waking times as regular as possible to avoid migraines; 3. change in eating patterns on the weekend - if you eat much later than usual, your body may interpret it as missing a meal! (I have found that I need to get up and feed myself on a Saturday morning to avoid a migraine. No waiting for Danny to get up and cook one of his weekend breakfast feasts - I can't enjoy my Oeufs beurre noir if I've already gotten a migraine waiting for him to get up!); and 4. I suspect that if you take medications and supplements at the same time in the morning five days a week and then vary that time on the weekend, this too messes with your migraineur's sensitive brain. But here's the new idea (you've probably guessed it by now) - if you have a cup of coffee at 6:30 a.m. Monday through Friday, and you sleep in until 9 on Saturday, what do you wake up into? Caffeine withdrawal! If your brain is habituated to caffeine at a particular time and doesn't get it, the addictive little critter (i.e. your brain) starts screaming for its cup of Joe while you're still sleeping! Add this factor to the others discussed above and you're in for a weekend of pain! I'm not sure what the solution is here - I know, I know, get up at the same time every day. I'm still very resistant to the idea, although I have to confess I can't sleep past about 8:00 on weekends any more. Perhaps an IV caffeine drip at 7 a.m. - nah - no sleeping in that way! Cut out morning caffeine entirely - radical notion! Dr. Lipton recommends limiting caffeine to one cup per day, and using more to treat migraines when they arise. I am going to give this a try. And I will have my one cup per day after lunch! If you decide to try is as well, a word of advice. To avoid withdrawal migraines, cut your caffeine back very gradually. If you have 3 cups in the morning, cut back to 2 1/2 for at least 3 or 4 days. Then cut back to 2... You get the picture. Happy Mother's Day all you moms out there! I am about to be served my breakfast in bed. (I got up at 8 and had toast and coffee. This one is for the ritual of it.) Wishing everyone a pain free day. - Megan Caffeine addict, heading back on the wagon. Trying not to repeat yesterday's weekend migraine! Author's Bio:  Megan Oltman is a migraineur, an entrepreneur, and a Migraine Management Coach, helping migraineurs and people with chronic illness manage their lives, keep working, start and maintain businesses, and live purposeful lives. She also practices as a professional divorce mediator. Over the years, she's been a practicing attorney, a free-lance writer, and a business coach and advisor. Megan has a free Migraine management course, The Six Keys to Manage your Migraines and Take Back your Life, available at http://www.takebackyourlifefrommigraine.com Her writings on Migraine and more tools for managing life with Migraine can be found at http://www.freemybrain.com