#I should draw me more often I’m so fat and muscular I make them feel like they hauve codvid

[little-shiny-sharpies]

New frames of them got me beating the executive dysfunction slightly!!

[robininthelabyrinth]

Tedious Joys - Chapter 2 -

- Ao3 link -

“If you want A-Jue at this time of day, he’ll be at the training field,” Lao Nie said, standing up and immediately striding off in that direction. “Oh, and Qiren, I will warn you – he has his mother’s height.”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes as he followed behind. “That’s helpful information,” he remarked. “Right up until you recall that I have never had the pleasure of meeting his mother –”

He stopped talking and stared.

“I didn’t think a further explanation was necessary,” Lao Nie said. He wasn’t quite at the level of sniggering into his sleeve, but he certainly had a shit-eating grin. Lao Nie was not a short man by any standard, although he was squatter, more muscular and more broad-shouldered than the tall and slender Lan sect  – and yet…

“He’s under ten,” Lan Qiren checked, and Lao Nie nodded. “You’re sure.”

“I was present at the birth myself, and have cared for him ever since. And before you ask, I may be busy with my duties as sect leader, but I still feel like I would have noticed someone swapping him out for a child several years older.”

Lan Qiren squinted out at the training field, where a child (and it was a child, given the amount of baby fat in his cheeks, even if the overall size was more what he’d expect of a teenager) was happily dismembering a training dummy with an especially fearsome-looking saber under the tolerant supervisory gaze of the training master.

“Lao Nie,” Lan Qiren finally said. “About that first wife of yours…you would tell me if she were an actual giant – or a goddess –”

Lao Nie laughed and patted him on the back. He did not answer the question.

“A-Jue! Come here!” he shouted, and Nie Mingjue – demonstrating excellent discipline – completed his strike before turning around and trotting over to his father. “Say hello to Teacher Lan.”

“Teacher Lan,” Nie Mingjue said obediently, saluting properly like every small child introduced to a stranger, and then looked up. A smile suddenly spread over his face. “Oh, Teacher Lan! Fighting without permission is prohibited!”

Lan Qiren choked and Lao Nie burst out laughing.

“That was seven years ago,” Lan Qiren protested, and Lao Nie only howled more. “You were an infant. How do you even remember that?”

“It was interesting!” Nie Mingjue beamed. “You said that every word in the rule is like a principle – even if you have the rule, you have to agree on what it means. What counts as fighting, what counts as permission, what counts as prohibited…I use it lots!”

“He has a good memory,” Lao Nie said, wiping his eyes. “You should hear how many profanities he’s learned.”

“I would rather not,” Lan Qiren said hastily, because Nie Mingjue looked on the verge of volunteering to recite them. “Nie Mingjue, can you show me around?”

“Of course, Teacher Lan! Let me just put Baxia away first; I’m not allowed to carry her outside the training field yet. Unless there’s an accident, of course.”

Lan Qiren did not ask. As a sect leader who did not share a border with Qishan Wen, he didn’t think he had the right.

“Take your time,” he said, putting his hands behind his back and watching as Nie Mingjue ran away.

“Would it help to have me there?” Lao Nie asked, and nodded when Lan Qiren shook his head. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

Lan Qiren did not put forward any requests, curious to see where Nie Mingjue would take him, and was reluctantly charmed by the fact that their first destination was the nursery, where several pudgy toddlers of indeterminable age were sleeping.

“My baby brother,” Nie Mingjue explained, very seriously, inadvertently driving home that the fact that he was as tall as Lan Qiren’s elbow didn’t make him any older than he was. “He’s little.”

Lan Qiren couldn’t even tell which one of the indiscriminate toddlers wrapped in blankets was meant to be Nie Huaisang, but he nodded, and Nie Mingjue led him onwards, initially mostly silent with belated shyness but eventually coaxed into chattering.

In the evening, he returned to Lao Nie’s study.

“Well?” Lao Nie asked, face creased into the scowl he had on more often than not, despite being widely considered one of the more even-tempered Nie. “What do you think?”

“I think your son is a bright and enthusiastic boy,” Lan Qiren said. “With a remarkable sense of justice and morality that will serve him well, although maybe not so much in terms of politics. He’s very…straightforward.”

“Yes, well, I’m still holding out hope on A-Sang for the tact,” Lao Nie said. “That wasn’t my question and you know it.”

Lan Qiren tried to collect his thoughts. “I don’t think you’ve damaged him for life,” he finally said, and Lao Nie’s shoulders relaxed in a sudden exhalation of what was probably months of increasing stress. “I do think he would benefit from understanding a little bit more about what’s happening to him.”

“But he’s so young.”

“I know. Normally, I wouldn’t introduce the subject of his own mortality at this level of complexity this early – although I assume it’s hard for him to miss the concept entirely, given the political situation –” Lao Nie winced in acknowledgment. “– but I don’t think you have much of a choice. You’re not the only one who noticed the saber spirit.”

Lao Nie frowned, then understood, and frowned even deeper. “He’s noticed it?”

“I got him talking on the subject of his saber,” Lan Qiren said. “He regards it in the same manner as other children his age would an imaginary friend. It’s female, apparently.”

Based on the description, Baxia also had what he would, in one of his students, term a personality. He supposed it was possible that Nie Mingjue was just projecting the parts of himself that weren’t quite fit for company, since surely no one could be that earnest, and yet, based on what Lao Nie had told him…

Lao Nie groaned and put his hand to his head. “Jiwei didn’t develop a sense of gender for years,” he grumbled, and Lan Qiren was moderately certain that he hadn’t intended to admit that out loud. “This is ridiculous. I want him to live a good life, Qiren. A long one, insofar as that’s possible for our sect.”

“I’ll try to do some research,” Lan Qiren said. “In the meantime, could he be convinced to cultivate something else in addition to a saber? Music, perhaps?”

“You’re welcome to try. He’s practically tone-deaf.”

“Perhaps arrays, then, or talismans,” Lan Qiren said. “It would do him some good to find another thing to pour all that energy of his into.”

“I’ll think about it,” Lao Nie allowed. “And I appreciate any research you’re able to do, though of course there are limitations on your time – and what we can allow to be taken out of the Unclean Realm.”

Lan Qiren waved a hand. “It’s nothing. I enjoy keeping busy, and the subject is fascinating. Have you considered that regular visits by me might draw attention?”

Attention from within their sects they could handle, but they were both sect leaders – or acting sect leader, in Lan Qiren’s case – and their actions could never truly be wholly their own.

“I have a plan for that,” Lao Nie said. “It’ll work better if you don’t know about it, though.”

Lan Qiren hated plans like that.

“Very well,” he said, aware that he sounded like he was sulking. “If you must.”

“Could I send him to you next year?” Lao Nie asked, and Lan Qiren forgot his grumpiness to gape at him. “I wouldn’t impose this year, naturally, since you must already have a curriculum planned. But next year…”

“If you send him, that will be making a statement,” Lan Qiren said.

A statement about what, exactly, he did not know, but there was a major difference between being the sort of teacher that was respected enough to teach the sect heirs of some small, out-of-the-way sects and being entrusted with the childhood education of the heir to a Great Sect. Even if Nie Mingjue learned nothing, which seemed unlikely given his earnest performance from earlier, the other small sects would immediately want to follow suit, as if to rub off some of the same luck for themselves – he would be flooded with applicants.

His sect elders were going to hate it.

Although it wasn’t exactly against any of the rules…

“That’s why I’m asking your permission.” Lao Nie grinned at him, his teeth flashing white under his nearly trimmed beard. “Also, while you’re our guest here – you did plan to stay at least a week or two, right? Good, good. I will insist upon you joining me for some night-hunts.”

“Lao Nie…”

“I’ve explained to you how my sect cultivates our sabers. Are you really saying that you can judge that without seeing it happening?”

“You know perfectly well that I’m a weak fighter,” Lan Qiren said, even though that was a very good point, and one he probably would have insisted on himself sooner or later. “I don’t want to slow you down.”

“You never have,” Lao Nie said right to his face – the Nie sect did not discourage all lying, the scoundrels. “I’m serious! You’re not the fastest, no, but you’re perceptive, analytical, and creative. The insights I gain from hunting by your side are long-term gains, making me faster and more efficient in the future.”

“You’re flattering me,” Lan Qiren said suspiciously.

“I am not. The first time we went on a night-hunt together, you stopped by the river to rest and told me about how the flowers growing there were unique because they absorbed spiritual energy but not resentful energy on account of being too close to flowing water; three years later, I used that fact to find a gigantic nest of ghosts and demonic creatures that were using it as camouflage. They’d killed nearly a dozen villagers by that point and no one else could find them, but I did.”

Lan Qiren felt his ears heating up. “…that’s a coincidence.”

“Do you really want me to start naming other examples?”

“I would rather you showed me your library,” Lan Qiren said. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. He was probably blushing. No one else ever teased him the way Lao Nie did, except maybe Cangse Sanren. He was suddenly hit by a nostalgic desire to see her again. “At once, if you please. And also…”

He trailed off.

“Why the hesitation?” Lao Nie asked. “Do you really think there’s anything I would deny you, as long as you find a way to help my son?”

Lan Qiren cleared his throat. “It would be helpful if I could examine a more mature saber spirit that has already bonded to a human master. Your Jiwei, for instance.”

As he expected, Lao Nie scowled at the suggestion of someone else examining his spiritual weapon – and his saber spirit, no less – but after a few moments he collected himself and nodded, albeit begrudgingly. “I’ll leave her with you,” he said. “Be careful when you examine her – she doesn’t like to be touched by anyone but me.”

Lao Nie’s warning turned out to be both true, untrue, and an understatement of frankly shocking proportions.

During the course of Lan Qiren’s investigations into the subject of the Nie sect sabers over the next few months, and thereafter, he determined that the best, if not only, way to deal with Jiwei was to act as though he were handling a particularly vicious and single-minded dog.

Jiwei, it seemed, liked to bite.

If one treated her like a normal saber – an inert piece of metal – she would appear completely quiescent right up until there would be an abrupt and inexplicable accident, clattering off the table with the blade curving straight at clothing and flesh, and only very quick reflexes could prevent disaster. If one attempted to utilize spiritual energy with her, it would be even worse: she would pull as much as she could and feed back nothing, spiteful and ruthless.

A vicious creature, too quick to judge, loyal only to her master, who she loved.

A bit like Lao Nie, in fact. Lan Qiren did not delude himself into mistaking Lao Nie’s passion for righteousness – Nie Mingjue was righteous, a serious child that was always wondering what was right, while Lao Nie was more inclined towards brutal, even callous, practicality that focused on what benefited him and his sect. He would do good, of course, but he could not be forced into it; he had his pride, his temper, and sometimes he erred too much in favor of those over even common sense.

But despite all his rough edges, he did truly love his friends.

He dragged Lan Qiren all over Qinghe whenever he visited, on night-hunts and to resolve minor conflicts, the sort of thing any normal traveling cultivator might do; he showed him the small towns and the hidden cities that Lan Qiren would not have seen on any normal visit, and asked him to play songs for his little family. Nie Huaisang was enraptured by the music, Nie Mingjue largely indifferent – Lao Nie had not been wrong to call him practically tone-deaf – and Lao Nie beaming all the while, even if Lan Qiren suspected that his eldest son’s lack of musical appreciation had largely come from him.

He even, after a stray comment, managed to track down Cangse Sanren, who brought her husband and son to the Unclean Realm and left them in Nie Mingjue’s earnest care while she sat with the two of them, drinking liquor as if it were water to the point that even Lao Nie refused to compete with her – when his protests were eventually overridden, Lan Qiren (who drank tea, of course) was roped in to be their long-suffering judge.

It was a good night.

“Is that another thing I took from you?” He Kexin unexpectedly asked Lan Qiren a week after Lao Nie had publicly announced that he would be sending Nie Mingjue to the Cloud Recesses for Lan Qiren’s classes. The ensuing hubbub, as Lan Qiren expected, had been enormous, and he’d braced himself to discuss nothing else for months, although he hadn’t really expected her to mention it.

The Cloud Recesses separated men and women, and He Kexin had borne two sons; they were old enough by now to live primarily with the men rather than the women, and so they had entered Lan Qiren’s care. He brought them to visit her once a month, and came himself like clockwork every two weeks in between to update her as to their progress, his eyes fixed firmly above her head as he narrated the report as if he were a junior returning from a night-hunt. It was not her fault that his brother had fallen in love with her and ruined Lan Qiren’s life, but it had been her decision to murder a man that had served as the trigger for the situation; Lan Qiren was meticulous about his duty to her as his sister-in-law, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Or her.

By this point, she was moderately good at respecting that. In the beginning, she’d cursed him viciously every time he came to see her, especially after he’d provided her with definitive proof of her former friend’s lies and machinations. Later, she’d tried flirting with him out of what he could only assume was boredom or perhaps a willful misunderstanding as to why he still visited, assuming that he had perfidious motivations or shared his brother’s taste in women instead of suffering from an overdeveloped sense of responsibility for his brother’s misdeeds. It had taken him several months and, eventually, an explicit offer to even notice, and he’d nearly broken his neck fleeing from the scene.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” he said, still looking above her head instead of at her face. He Kexin had A-Huan’s smile and A-Zhan’s eyes, he knew that, but if he could scrub all of her other features from his mind, he would.

“Sect Leader Nie,” she said, and it was so odd to hear someone refer to Lao Nie by his formal title outside of a political situation or deliberate insult – even Wen Ruohan habitually called him Lao Nie by now, and as far as Lan Qiren could tell, they despised each other – that Lan Qiren’s eyes actually dropped to meet hers. “If you weren’t sect leader, you could’ve married him.”

Lan Qiren choked on air. “Do you think of nothing but sex all day?” he spat out, his cheeks going red. “We are friends.”

“I don’t have much else to think of,” He Kexin said, and he glared as if to communicate whose fault is that and maybe in your next life you won’t solve your problems with murder. “I heard you’ve been spending a lot of time with him, and now he’s sending his son to your care. It’s suggestive.”

“Talking behind the backs of others is forbidden,” Lan Qiren reminded her, and she shrugged. “Do I need to discipline your servants?”

“It’s news, not gossip,” she said. “And no, these ones are fine. No one’s playing any tricks.”

There had been an incident early on, where a few of the servants assigned to care for He Kexin had mistaken her confinement for abandonment; they had not expected Lan Qiren to grimly continue visiting as he would have done if she had been his sister-in-law in the normal course of things, nor to listen when she complained. He had of course taken all necessary measures to have the offenders harshly disciplined and expelled, replaced with servants of good character and sufficient intelligence to keep her company without seeking to take advantage, and there had been no new incidents since.

Her punishment was confinement, not torment. No matter what Lan Qiren felt about her, she would receive exactly that – neither more nor less.

“Is it Cangse Sanren, then?” she asked, propping her head up on her chin. “You fell in love with her, and then she married another man…”

“Sometimes people are just friends,” he said, irritated. “Why must I be in love with anyone?”

He Kexin shrugged. “Don’t you want to marry, one day? Have children of your own, rather than always reporting back to me on mine?”

“I’m acting sect leader,” Lan Qiren said tightly. “A marriage, much less children, would give rise to accusations that I was seeking to usurp my brother’s place or my nephews’ inheritance.”

“So it is another thing I’ve done,” she said, looking down at her hands. They were clenched tightly into fists, her knuckles white; sometimes Lan Qiren thought she wanted to punch him as a means of venting her feelings, and sometimes he didn’t even blame her for it. “I had only been thinking about it in the sense that you couldn’t leave, but you can’t even bring anyone back.”

“I don’t especially want to, anyway,” he said, because it was true. Even if she was right, that even his right to marry freely had been taken from him, it didn’t mean that she had the right to use it as a whip on her own back. If Lan Qiren couldn’t bring himself to obey the rule about not holding grudges, he could at least follow the ones about being generous and easy on others. “I haven’t found the right person.”

“And it’s really not Lao Nie?” He Kexin asked. “You go to visit him often, and for longer periods, than you go anywhere else, and A-Huan says you look happy whenever you’re going to go.”

Lan Qiren shrugged. He was happy to go. He enjoyed Lao Nie’s company, and the research, even when Lao Nie was too busy for him personally, and Lao Nie’s role as an allied sect leader meant that Lan Qiren had more latitude in arranging such visits than he did to other places.

“…A-Zhan says that your hands are white when you return.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes dropped to his arms, where there was in fact some white peeking out from beneath his sleeves – white bandages on his left wrist and the two smallest fingers on his right hand, this time, from the latest incident in which Jiwei had tried to slash him, but it was barely a nick in comparison with previous instances; he thought that it was a sign that they might be getting somewhere.

A moment later, he realized the implications of her statement and glared at her. “You’re not seriously asking if Lao Nie is abusing me? Weren’t you asking about my marriage prospects with him only a moment ago?”

“The two are not mutually exclusive,” she said dryly. “And the Nie temper is well known.”

“It’s from research,” Lan Qiren said. “I dropped a saber and I knocked over the table on to my other hand when trying to dodge.”

“I believe you,” she said, lips twitching. “If only because you would’ve come up with a more dignified excuse if it was a lie.”

“I don’t actually have to explain myself to you,” he said, reminding himself as much as her. “Is there anything else you want to know about your sons?”

“No,” she said. “But I’d like my husband to visit me again, if you can arrange it.”

He nodded stiffly.

“You know,” she said, playing idly with her sleeves. “If you never marry, I’ll be the closest thing you ever have to a wife? You manage my house, you raise my children, and you even provide me with services in bed, albeit indirectly.”

Do not succumb to rage, Lan Qiren thought to himself, and left without another word.

(Later, when Cangse Sanren next visited the Cloud Recesses, her husband taking A-Huan on a ride on their donkey with A-Zhan and A-Ying tucked into the saddlebags, she listened to him stammer through the whole humiliating story and gnashed her teeth on his behalf. “Don’t listen to her,” she told him. “By that standard, the rabbits she likes to raise are her concubines.”)

His simmering anger made his next session with Jiwei flow more easily, almost as if the saber spirit empathized with his rage – or perhaps it was simply that she found it more familiar, more reminiscent of the temper of her true master, and therefore less objectionable. He was attempting to draw out some part of her anger through music and store it into a jade pendant: his theory was that the eventual qi deviations of the Nie sect leaders resulted from a lack of balance with the resentful energy utilized by the saber spirit – the negative emotions streaming in through the saber, strengthening it, but having no means of cleansing beyond outbursts of temper.

It had been the way Nie Mingjue spoke of his saber spirit as if she were his friend that had given him the idea. Many in the Nie sect treated their sabers with both reverence and fear, as if the spirits were vicious creatures they had only temporarily tamed and which would one day turn upon them, but Jiwei was passionately loyal to Lao Nie, and Baxia to Nie Mingjue. Perhaps it was his inheritance as a Lan showing, or merely his own experience with his brother, but Lan Qiren simply could not understand how anything that loved so unstintingly, so unreservedly, could ever bring themself to intentionally bring about their beloved one’s destruction.

Even a dog would refuse to bite a master it loved unless it had gone mad.

Therefore, he concluded, it was not merely the human wielder but the saber itself that deviated in their cultivation. Lao Nie had once said in an aside that it was unclear what came first, the Nie sect tempers or the saber spirit-incited outbursts, and although he had meant it as a joke, Lan Qiren thought there was some merit to the question. Rage served a valuable purpose for humans, acting as a warning sign that something was wrong, that something was unacceptable, rejection and protection all at once, but rage that could not be excised would turn rancid and sour, like a poisoned wound. Sabers were cultivated by their masters and resembled them – they were filled with human rage, intensified by their cultivation of resentful energy, but unlike a human they could not shout or hit something or vent in any way other than through hunting.

No wonder Jiwei was so content after a night-hunt; no wonder Nie sect cultivators got irritable when they hadn’t had time to cultivate their sabers or fight evil or just get out and do something. But with limited venting opportunities (humans could not fight evil all the time), the sabers would fall into obsession, infected by the very same resentful energy that they excised when they hunted – their bloodlust simultaneously sated and inflamed – and as their power grew, and their true opponents grew fewer, they would become insatiable and, eventually, unbalanced. Demonic cultivation was abhorred by the cultivation world because it opened the door to obsession and fixation, and the most common way that demonic cultivators died, if not executed by the world, was through a backlash of their own power. Obsession was by its nature rigid, and that was the sole weakness of the saber: they had to be rigid, but never too rigid, or else they would become brittle, would break.

Deviation.

It was a very interesting theory, even if Lao Nie’s eyes glazed over whenever Lan Qiren tried to explain. Lan Qiren didn’t take offense: Lao Nie had always been an exceptionally practical man, more interested in results than theories, actions rather than thoughts.

“Aren’t you disappointed?” Lan Qiren asked him at one point, abrupt as he always seemed to be about such things. “That I haven’t gotten anywhere?”

Lao Nie looked surprised. “What do you mean? You have a valid theory, you’ve tried all sorts of things.”

“I haven’t succeeded.”

Lao Nie laughed. “My friend, this is a problem that has stymied my sect for generations. Did you really think you’d be able to solve it in three weeks?”

Lan Qiren scowled. “It’s been closer to three years.”

“You’ve made progress,” Lao Nie said confidently. “A-Jue has as solid a foundation as I could hope for, and all those conversations you have with him about the nature of ethics and morality have had an excellent effect on his saber.”

“Has it?” Lan Qiren asked, skeptical. Even the Nie sect experts agreed that Baxia was unusually vicious for a saber, powerful enough to frighten wild yao simply with her presence – Nie Mingjue’s cultivation remained shockingly fast, and even Lan Qiren, who had only a few years understanding of the saber spirits, could recognize the effects of it.

“It has,” Lao Nie said firmly. “He doesn’t fear her, and she loves him all the more for it, backs him like none other; no other saber of his generation will so much as waver out of line with Baxia behind them. As for the rest…ah, Qiren, if you can figure out a way to stymie the saber spirit even a little – give him even another decade – I’ll be satisfied. Don’t worry about it.”

Lan Qiren huffed and returned to trying to transfer spiritual energy from Jiwei to the pendant.

“Besides, all this time spent on the project has had at least one good effect,” Lao Nie added, putting his hand on Lan Qiren’s shoulder as he played. “I get the pleasure of your company.”

Lan Qiren’s attention was fixed on his playing, but the hand was warm on his shoulder. “That hardly seems so much of a benefit,” he said absently.

“You underestimate yourself. Do you know, outside of my sect, I think you’re my best friend?”

Only years of training allowed Lan Qiren’s fingers to continue to move smoothly over the guqin strings when his heart seized in his chest, warm and hot and squished and painful and pleasurable at the same time.

He did not allow himself to ask “Really?” like a small child, insecure and uncertain, did not permit himself to say “even above my brother”, did not say anything at all.

“Thank you,” he finally said, stiff and wooden. “I…you as well.”

[sparklydreamies]

Stray Kids 8 Part Series ~ (3) Seo Changbin: He Laughed

Group: Stray Kids

Member: Seo Changbin

Genre: Light angst +hurt/comfort

Word Count: 4,000+

Summary: Don’t give power to merciless people behind a screen. 

Stray Kids 8 Part Series MASTERLIST

A/N: Hi guys!! Sorry it took me so long to post again, but I’m back, and hopefully I will be able to write more frequently! This story is centered around the changes in Changbin’s appearance and confidence from debut to now. I always feel bad writing members in pain, but this is the story I came up with lol,, I guess the moral of this story is that idols are people who have valid emotions and feelings, and we as fans don’t have the right to dismiss them and treat them like dolls. So on that note, thank you all for reading!!<33

All throughout his childhood, Seo Changbin had always been skinny. There was never much of a reason for his naturally slim stature other than genetics and a fast metabolism. It always seemed as though throughout his youth, he had never experienced the usual figure changes that a lot of his friends had gone through, whether it was the gain of muscle or fat. 

No matter how much food he ate, it never seemed to show on his body. There wasn’t a single part of his body that had excess fat covering the very visible bones. He could never grab a hold of any extra flesh on his body like some of his friends could.

As a teenager, he was always told that it was because he was a “growing boy”, and that he needed a lot of calories in order to grow big and strong. It wasn’t until he was in his early twenties that his stature began to change. He slowly became more muscular, thanks to his countless hours in the gym. Not only that, but he began to notice the faint gain of fat whenever he ate a lot without burning the calories. 

In a way, Changbin had always felt like he was blessed to be naturally slim. It was especially appreciated for someone in his line of work. Even after it became easier for him to gain fat, the company had never considered him “too heavy” for an idol. Muscle mass was a different story, however as time progressed, Changbin was able to build the perfect amount of muscle to satisfy the company as well as his fans. 

In short, Changbin had always liked his body. 

“Time’s up!” Doni called. “Put your markers down.”

Changbin didn’t put his marker down. Giggling like a small child, he avoided the attempts Jisung made at stealing the black marker from his hand, only stopping when the show host called him out on it. 

“Changbin’s naughty, he keeps cheating!” Coni laughed. 

This was what Changbin loved doing. Making a fool out of himself during variety shows, cheating during games with his members, and overall acting like a child whenever he could. 

“We should stop the show right here, Changbin ruined it for everyone.” Doni joked, and Changbin felt Jisung collapse on his back in a fit of laughter, nearly knocking them both off their stools and onto the ground. 

“Okay, let’s start with Felix! Show us your drawing,” Doni called, and Felix flipped the notebook he was holding in his hands around. 

The point of this segment was for the members to draw a portrait of how they perceive another member. 

The entire group as well as Doni, Coni, and a few of the staff members had burst out in laughter at the drawing Felix made of Jeongin. 

“Felix, you forgot eyebrows!” Jeongin whined from his spot. Changbin didn’t even notice the missing eyebrows; he was more focused on the teeth that were twice the size that they should have been. 

The segment continued on like that, and Changbin felt a swell of pride when the whole group laughed at his drawing of Minho, which looked so scrappy that a five year old could do better. Changbin was having fun.

It wasn’t until it was Jisung’s turn to share his drawing that his mood took a shift. 

“And this is my drawing of my lovely Changbinnie-hyung” Jisung giggled from his spot behind his muse. 

Changbin took in the piece of art before him. The hair was scraggly, the eyes were small, and the chin looked more like a “V” than a chin. 

Changbin laughed at the representation of himself. 

“Oh the chin! The chin!” Coni laughed as he made the shape of a “V” with his hands to mock the drawing. Changbin laughed. 

“That is the most accurate drawing so far!” Doni commented as he forcefully took Changbin’s face and traced the edges of his chin with his fingers. “Wow, Han is an artist!” Doni cracked as he high-fived Jisung. Changbin laughed. 

“He captured Changbin’s face so cleverly!” Coni praised, sitting back down on his stool. Changbin faked annoyance at the hosts and at his band mate. And then, he laughed once again. 

His brothers were practically howling at the scene, their voices creating a cacophony of sound ringing in Changbin’s ears. He was happy. He was laughing. So why did it feel as though his stomach was falling through the floor?

For the first time that day, Changbin had to forcefully plaster a smile on his face. He felt the bubbling feeling of embarrassment in his chest for the rest of the filming. 

A little while back, Han Jisung had been given a nickname by his fans. Less than a nickname, it was more of a cute comparison. His cheeks had always been unusually large and soft. Whenever he would eat, he would store food inside of them, making them more accentuated than they were before. It was because of this that fans had begun calling Jisung a squirrel. 

Jisung liked the connection. Contrary to how he presents himself, he had often struggled with accepting and liking his cheeks. He didn’t like the way they made him look younger and more boyish. He wanted to be perceived in a more mature and manly way. 

That was why when fans began to compliment and praise his chubby cheeks, it helped him become more confident in his face. 

Changbin had seen the improvement of Jisung’s spirit. Praise for Jisung’s cheeks from fans had helped him improve his self image a lot, and for that, Changbin’s love for his fans had only grown.

He only wished that he could experience the same reactions to his insecurities. 

Changbin wouldn’t consider himself jealous of Jisung’s full cheeks and round face. It was stupid to compare oneself to another person based off of superficial things like looks, however it didn’t stop Changbin from appreciating the younger boy’s unique features. 

The show aired on it’s planned date with no faults. Changbin watched the program on television, and was fairly proud of the results of the editing process. He had hoped that STAYs would enjoy the hour-long show.

After a few hours, Changbin opened Twitter so that he could get a sense of how his fans appreciated the show. Skimming through fans’ tweets, he noticed a few that stood out to him. 

Most of the comments were about Felix and Jisung’s aegyo, or Hyunjin’s random dance challenge. The deeper he scrolled, the more tweets he found about him. 

Normally, having a lot of tweets aimed at him would be an honour to Changbin. It usually meant that he was charismatic and funny enough to gain fans’ attention. That was why he didn’t understand the embarrassing feeling that came along with the jokes about his face structure. 

That’s all that they were. Jokes. People liked to joke about his chin, so why should he worry? Why did he feel shameful? 

Changbin’s stomach continued to drop with every comment he read about his face. Every time he saw that drawing of him, it was like another pin stabbing his chest. 

That night at dinner, everyone was talking about the show. The members were talking about the comments that they received, the fans reactions, and how they thought it was a really successful show. 

At one point during the meal, Jisung had shoved Changbin in the shoulder and laughed about the drawing that he made and how funny the fans thought it was. Changbin laughed. 

Changbin had always been able to hide his feelings well. Especially as an idol, hiding hardships is mandatory. Changbin was good at laughing. It was a sure fire way to make everybody think that you’re happy, when on the inside, it feels like you’ve swallowed a thousand bees. 

So that night, he laughed. He subjected himself to be the clown, even though it hurt him. Nobody needed to know about how he let his tears fall onto his pillow while they all slept. 

Changbin had thought about how he was working so hard to remain slim and skinny, and how if he were to gain just a little more weight, he could possibly make himself softer and cuter, like his brother Jisung. 

He figured that it was worth a try. Sure he might have to fight the company tooth and nail to gain the weight that he wants, but it was worth it. It was worth it to change how he looked. It was worth it to satisfy his fans. 

For the next few weeks, Changbin had let himself gain weight. He ate more and stopped trying so hard to burn it all off. He still worked out enough to remain healthy, and he was still trying to gain muscle, but whenever he stepped on the scale and saw that he was a pound or two heavier than he had previously been, he felt his heart swell. 

It was an odd thing to want to gain weight. Most idols would kill to be as skinny as Changbin had been, yet here Changbin was, trying to gain weight for the purpose of chubbier cheeks and softer edges. 

Eventually, it began to work. Changbin began to wake up in the morning to see that his face was rounder, fuller, and cuter than it had been before. The whole thing made him elated. 

It had gotten to the point where he was satisfied with his outer appearance. His chin was much less prominent. A less prominent chin meant that there was less for people to make their jokes out of. 

“Hannie, stop!” Chan shrieked just as Jisung smeared a fat glob of vanilla frosting on his cheek. 

All of the members were crowded in their living room, celebrating Bang Chan’s birthday with their fans. The energy level in the room was ecstatic. Some members were getting cake violently rubbed into their skin while others were trying to read comments and make the VLive as normal as possible. 

Changbin was in the middle of answering a question when he felt a tap on his shoulder from behind where he was sitting on the ground in front of the coffee table. Before he thought better of it, his head was turning and he was met with a face full of frosting from Minho. 

“Hey! Minho, get back here!” Changbin screamed, getting up to chase the nuisance around the room. 

Laughter filled the room and lit up Changbin’s heart. He thought that nothing could destroy his mood.

It wasn’t until the next day that Changbin had checked Twitter again. 

He scrolled through a lot of happy birthday wishes for Chan, which made him smile. He read a few of the messages, and saved the ones that he wanted to show to Chan. 

And then, he got to some posts about the live. Most of them were sweet and nice, there were some clips of various parts of the live including the moment that Changbin got his face full of cake. As he scrolled for longer and longer, he got to some comments that were less light-hearted. 

They didn’t like the weight he gained. Of course he noticed the comments from fans who had thought he looked healthier and happier, but no matter how many positive comments he saw, the posts from people calling him fat and saying that he was “letting himself go” were far stronger. The people calling him a pig and a fatass and ugly were too loud. 

Changbin didn’t understand. After everything he did to satisfy the fans, they still made negative comments about him. He once was too skinny, now he is too fat.

He knew that he shouldn’t listen to people who didn’t show their faces, yet to know that people were confidently calling him degrading names stung him deeply. He felt a hopeless feeling bloom inside of him, and it drove him mad. 

Changbin felt the first tear slip down the side of his face as the feeling of his chest collapsing took him over. His phone was thrown across his bedroom, the sound of a screen shattering as it hit the floor being the only identifiable noise in the room. 

He wanted to scream. There was no pleasing them. He hated himself. He hated the way that he looked. He hated himself when he was skinny, and he was beginning to hate himself now that he gained weight. But mostly, he hated the way that he was reacting.

This was the job, wasn’t it? None of this should be surprising to him. He had known about the malicious comments aimed at the other members for various reasons, so why was this so frustrating for him? 

Changbin fisted his hair to ground himself. He tried to count his breaths in his head, but all he heard was the comments ringing around in his ears. 

...He got fat...

...Has he stopped working out?...

Fucking breathe.

...He’s turning into a pig...

...Changbin’s face is so fat...

Letting out his first scream of frustration, Changbin shot up from his bed. If the fans wanted him to be skinnier, then fine. He would get skinnier. 

This was for the good of his career. Nobody liked an ugly idol, and if he is more attractive with a slim stature and a pointy chin, then he would work to achieve it. If he gained the weight, surely he could lose it again. 

The room was small, and it felt like it was getting smaller. 

Wiping the tears from his eyes, he threw open his bedroom door. Changbin grabbed his running shoes from the rack by the entrance, slipped them on, and took off from the dorm that felt like it was suffocating him. 

The night air was refreshing against Changbin’s burning skin as he sprinted down the street. Ten o’clock at night couldn’t be considered too late to go for a run, especially when the moon was shining so beautifully in the otherwise pitch-black sky. 

Changbin didn’t know where he was going, but he didn’t care. His lungs and legs were burning with the unexpected extortion. The sweatpants and t-shirt he was wearing didn’t make for good running clothes, but that didn’t matter to him. 

For a minute, he felt okay. He could even say that he felt good. For a minute, he had forgotten all about the fans and their vendetta against his happiness.

The wind had dried the tears off of his cheeks, and he just became another faceless person in the dark. Changbin didn’t think of himself as an idol, but rather a person who’s tight chest was slowly beginning to take in enough oxygen for his head to stop pounding. 

He didn’t know how long he ran for that night. His mind had cleared completely of thoughts, and he wore himself out. He didn’t even notice the warning signs of exhaustion before he was throwing up in a patch of shrubs. 

Slowly coming back to reality, Changbin realized he needed to get home. He wasn’t too far from the dorms, so once he gathered some strength back, he began walking. 

It was hard to tell how long it took him before he was trudging up the stairs and letting himself through the front door. He tried to be as quiet as possible.

The clock on the stove read 12:24. Changbin knew that if any of the members had realized he was gone, that he would be in a world of trouble. 

He took his running shoes off at the door and made his way to his and Felix’s room, expecting to see the younger boy playing video games or getting ready for bed. What he was not expecting was to see Felix sitting on Changbin’s own bed, frowning at the phone in his hands. 

Felix’s eyes darted up like a meerkat, relief flooding his features when Changbin entered the room.

“Where the fuck have you been!” Felix sighed, jumping up from the bed to pull the older boy into a hug, “I came out of the shower to see you were gone, you weren’t answering your damn phone, I was fucking worried you asshole!” 

Changbin repressed a smile as he pushed Felix away. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” 

Felix scanned Changbin, his eyes narrowing into suspicious slits. “Did you go for a run?” 

“Yeah,” Changbin answered.

“In... your sweats?” Felix fingered at the pockets of Changbin’s sweatpants, and the older boy swatted his fingers away. 

Changbin nodded and flopped down onto his bed. 

“Why didn’t you take your phone with you? I’ve been trying to call you,” Felix ran a hand through his hair, “Fucking hell,” he sighed. 

“I don’t know, Lixie.” As soon as Changbin’s head hit the pillows beneath him, he felt the exhaustion from his midnight run catch up to him. “You should watch your language, by the way.” he mumbled, cracking a small grin. 

“Changbin, seriously,” Felix climbed up beside him, “You’re fucking lucky! I was two seconds away from telling Chan, I swear to god.” 

Changbin looked up and saw the lines of genuine concern stretch across the boy’s face.

Felix had always been a caring person. He was always dependable, and he was really a true friend. It didn’t matter if Changbin was older, because he knew that Felix would always be there to protect him. 

Wordlessly, Changbin grabbed Felix by the arm and pulled him to lay down beside him. A fond smile graced his face. 

“Thank you for worrying,” Changbin whispered, “but I’m fine.”

Felix sighed. There was a beat of silence where Felix closed his eyes, and Changbin had started to think he fell asleep. But then, “Are you okay?” 

Changbin was stunned and confused for a second. “Yeah... why?” 

“You don’t usually go for runs. Especially not late at night.” Felix whispered. 

Changbin snaked an arm around Felix’s torso. “I was just having a bad day.” 

Felix was fidgeting slightly. It looked like he was fighting some sort of internal battle about whether or not he should say what he wanted to say. 

Changbin smiled at the nervousness. “What?” he encouraged. 

Felix’s gaze caught Changbin’s eyes. “Was it the comments? About your weight gain?” he asked in a small voice. 

Silence. There was no sound coming from anywhere in the dorm as Changbin processed the question. The smile that rested on his face immediately slipped away. 

“I... I saw them on Twitter, and they pissed me off, so...” Felix trailed off, lowering his gaze, “I mean you haven’t even gained that much...”

“I gained the weight on purpose,” Changbin said when he zoned back in on Felix.

“Oh...” Felix’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Why? I mean, not that you don’t look good, but like... Why did you want to gain weight?” 

Changbin thought about why he wanted to gain weight. He thought about Jisung’s drawing, the “V” face comments, the constant embarrassment around his appearance, and his own insecurities. 

“It’s stupid.” Changbin dismissed, but of course, Felix kept digging. 

“It’s not stupid. It’s just me, you can tell me.” he eased. 

Changbin sighed. “You know... how people had been making jokes about my face? And my chin?” 

Felix nodded, confusion showing again. 

“I hated those comments.” he whispered. “I just got so insecure about my looks after people began to make those jokes, and I just... wanted to fix them.”

When Changbin looked at Felix, he saw that the confusion was still etched onto his features. “But...” Felix started, “you always laugh at those jokes.” 

Changbin felt like shit for unloading this onto Felix, yet he continued to explain. “I’m good at laughing.” 

The boys sat in silence for another minute. Felix seemed to be mulling over what he had been told, and Changbin watched the look of confusion melt into one of realization, and then sadness. 

“I’m so sorry,” Felix breathed, “I... I didn’t know you felt like that. I would have never made those jokes.”

Changbin felt his heart crack. Felix almost sounded heartbroken, and it killed Changbin inside. 

“But hyung...” Felix said, “you know that you don’t have to fix anything, right? You’re perfect. Don’t let them get to you.” 

Teardrops were threatening to fall from Changbin’s eyes for the second time that night, except instead of being born out of pain, these tears were brought on by the overwhelming feeling of being loved. 

“Okay...” was all Changbin could muster the strength to whisper. He didn’t trust his voice, so instead, he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his best friend’s forehead. 

“You know what, hyung?” 

Changbin hummed.

“I have dealt with so much hate because of so many things,” Felix sniffled away his own tears, “first they were upset because I wasn’t fluent in Korean, then they didn’t like my freckles, then it was my voice, and I thought that there was just no winning with them.” Felix closed his eyes. 

Changbin didn’t even think about that. If any member was no stranger to criticism from online fans, it would be Felix. 

The thought was crazy to Changbin. Why would anybody go out of their way to hurt somebody as sweet and perfect as Felix? The thought of somebody actually hating Felix for his mess of pretty freckles still amazed Changbin. 

“But you know what I realized?” Felix continued, snapping Changbin out of his own thoughts, “It’s not my job to please everyone.” 

“What do you mean, Lixie?” Changbin asked. 

Felix opened his eyes again, “Like... I’m doing music for me, right? If people don’t like the way that I look or who I am, then that’s their problem, not mine. Get it?” 

Changbin was amazed. 

“How are you so young and yet more wise than half of the industry?” Changbin saw the light in Felix’s eyes, and it made him smile, too.

“I mean it still hurts sometimes, but... less now.”

Changbin agreed. He couldn’t see how reading vicious comments like that could ever end up getting easier. 

“But now that I know you get comments and stuff that hurt you too, maybe we could... help each other. When it hurts a lot, you know?” 

“Like you mean... I come to you when it hurts, and you come to me?” Changbin asked. It made him feel special to know that Felix trusted him enough to want to go to him for comfort. It made him feel like he wasn’t the only one that got happiness out of their relationship. 

“Yeah, something like that,” he answered. 

Changbin’s smile returned full force. 

Felix was like sunshine, Changbin thought. This issue that seemed so horrible and painful to Changbin, now seems less than half as terrible since Felix was there for him. Since now, Felix was there to comfort him. 

He didn’t care if it made him weak or less of a man, because he didn’t feel like he had to be strong when he was with Felix. Felix had always been comfortable in his emotions, and Changbin admired that about him. 

“If you’re happy with the way that you look right now, you should keep it this way,” Felix encouraged him, “because for the record, I think you look better like this. You look happier.” 

“I am happier,” Changbin whispered. 

Shortly after that, the two boys fell asleep in Changbin’s bed, happy to have the support of their best friend. 

Although it was hard at first, Changbin slowly became more confident in himself and his appearance to not care about how other people wanted him to look. Even when he slipped up, Felix always caught him with a hug, a smile, and a shoulder for him to rest his head. 

For a while, Changbin had to fake his happiness during videos and variety shows. No matter how much he repressed it, the worry of how his fans would react to his appearance was always dangling in the back of his mind like an itch that he couldn’t scratch. 

But it got better. Changbin found himself worrying less and less about what his fans thought, and more about what he thought. Over time, he didn’t have to fake his happiness. The fans had even noticed how Changbin’s growing confidence affected him.

And perhaps best of all, eventually began to laugh again. It wasn’t a fake laugh, or a laugh to cover his shame. It was a real laugh that honestly held his real happiness. And unlike how he laughed before, this laugh was the product of his self confidence and strength. No laugh could ever be brighter or fuller than his. 

[rheyninwrites]

Old Friends Part 14

A week or so later, we were getting ready to head out. It was Friday night, and all of us were going to get together at a bar in town. Lenny finally had some time off, and it was far enough in advance that Mary-Beth could plan her schedule around it. Abigail and John had found a great babysitter- an older man in their neighborhood named Mr Matthews. His wife had died a few years before, and they’d never had children, so it seemed he had “adopted” their family. I thought it would be as good for them as it was for him, since they’d had either really shitty parents or none at all.

As usual, Arthur was wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and boots. The colors might change a little, but it was always the same. But, hey, he was comfortable and it looked good on him. Really good, tonight. The shirt was black- my favorite color on him- and just a little tighter than usual, probably meaning it was new- he wore them until they wore out. The jeans were that perfect level of worn that meant they were almost t-shirt soft, and fitted perfectly. He’d showered after he got home from work, and actually taken the time to smooth his hair back away from his face, meaning his cheekbones and eyes were on full display. When I first saw him, I let out a low whistle of admiration.

“You look good. Planning on finding someone special tonight?”

“Nah, just thinking that after seeing me dirty all this time, you might’ve forgot what I looked like clean.”

“Definitely a good look on you. You should try it more often.”

He laughed while I sat on the couch to pull on my boots. Normally in the summer, you won’t catch me wearing anything more than sandals, but this was a special occasion. So I traded in the comfortable minimalism I usually went with for something a little more festive. I had on a tight green tank top, with equally tight denim shorts- cutoffs with enough stretch that I didn’t feel constricted, but not enough that they would be falling off by the end of the night. My chest tattoo was on full display, due to the wide neck of the top, and I had actually made an effort to put on one of the few necklaces I owned, along with a couple of bracelets. Being a minimalist, they were plain black leather strips, with one silver chain on the opposite wrist, but it was still something. The final touch was my boots- an old pair of doc Martens I’d gotten in college, heavy enough to be tough, but worn enough to be comfortable. When I finished lacing them, I stood up to let him appreciate my outfit like I’d appreciated his.

And appreciate he did. He eyed me up and down, circling me to get a full view. His eyes widened just a bit, and he raised one eyebrow. Then he stood back, his thumbs hooked on his belt. When he spoke, his voice raised just a little bit.

“Okay.”

That was high praise from him.

I grabbed my phone and shoved it in my back pocket, then headed out the door ahead of him. I looked back to see if he was coming and saw he was checking out my ass. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed. Just a bit, at least.

I climbed in on the driver’s side, then scooted over to give him room to get in. He still hadn’t fixed the passenger seatbelt, so I was in the middle, our shoulders pressed together. I usually made an effort to keep my hands in my lap, but this time I opted to just let them fall wherever, which meant that my elbow was resting on his thigh. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind, and we chatted away as he drove. At one point, he made a joke and grabbed my knee, but left his hand on it. I guess he found it encouraging when I didn’t move it or say anything, because he let his hand slide backwards a bit and tucked it underneath my thigh. In response, I laid my head on his shoulder and we drove the rest of the way in silence.

When we got to the bar, we could see that most of our friends were already there, so we headed inside. Tilly, Charles, and Mary-Beth were at the largest table with a man I didn’t recognize. She introduced him as her boyfriend, Kieran. Apparently he worked at the same construction company that John and Javier worked at, and they met at one on Javier’s famously wild parties. I was surprised that quiet Mary-Beth would go to one, but found out that it was the first, and last, time for both of them. Kieran seemed really nice, and very reserved and quiet- a perfect fit for Mary-Beth. I was more than a little happy for her, as if always worried that her desire to stay at home and write all of the time would keep her from finding the family life she wanted. Although it had made her a top ebook seller of romance novels.

We were soon joined by Lenny, Sadie, and the rest of the gang. The bar wasn’t overly crowded, considering it was a Friday night, but we made more than enough noise with all of our catching up. I got to hear about all of my friends successes, and more than a few hilarious stories as I nursed my beer. Kieran and Mary-Beth left early, the crowd being a little too much for them to handle, and I promised Mary-Beth that I’d come and visit soon. Abigail and John were quietly dancing in the corner, and Karen and Sean were loudly making out near the bathroom. The rest of us had either finished or nearly finished our drinks, so Arthur and Lenny went to grab more. As soon as they were out of earshot, Sadie burst out.

“What the hell is going on with the two of you, anyway? He ain’t left your side all night, you keep leaning on him, and both of you is looking at the other like the they’s a steak dinner and you ain’t ate in months.”

“Oh, please. It’s not like that Sadie. Well, maybe it is for me, but it’s not for him.”

“Uh-huh. Then tell me why he’s over there staring at you from across the room.”

I wasn’t going to turn around and look, making it obvious we were talking about him. I knew if I did he’d get all self-conscious and wouldn’t let it go until I told him what it was- and that wasn’t to happen. Instead, Charles, who was sitting beside Sadie, confirmed it. I rolled my eyes and assured them once again that it wasn’t like that.

“You know I just got out of that bad relationship, and he’s been watching out for me. We’ve sort of fallen back into that best friend mode, that’s all.”

“Well if my best friend looked at me like that, I’d definitely think they had more than friendship on their mind.”

“Shut up, Sadie. It’s just- not that.”

“Well why not? You’re single, he’s single?”

“He doesn’t like me that way.”

“How do you know?”

Because I’m a hideous fat bitch who doesn’t deserve love.

“Well, what about this fella coming up over here? I been watching him stare at you all night.”

I looked over where Tilly was pointing, and saw a big, beefy guy with heavily oiled hair and black cowboy boots coming toward our table. I prayed he was going to tell me I had something on my face, because he was definitely zeroed in on me, and so far from someone I’d be attracted to it made me nauseous to look at him. Yes, I know lots of people are into heavily muscled, hyper masculine dudes, but I wasn’t one of them. I wanted a guy who would spend more time with me than at the gym. If he’s muscular, it should be because of his work, natural.

He pulled a chair up next to me and sat down. I could see Charles and Sadie both trying to keep a straight face, while Tilly at least had the decency to look sympathetic. I kept my face forward, trying my best not to acknowledge him. He wouldn’t have that, though. He leaned around the table, far too close to my face for comfort, while tapping on my shoulder.

“Hey, sweetheart. What are you doing in here tonight?”

I grimaced, then turned to him with what I hoped was an obviously sarcastic smile.

“Spending time with old friends, is what I’m doing, and that’s all I’m doing. And I’m not your sweetheart.”

“Oh, I think I can change that. I like your tattoo.”

He reached out to trace the tattoo on my chest, and I slapped his hand away.

“You don’t get to fucking touch me unless I say so. Back the fuck off and leave me alone.”

I’d backed my chair out, angling it to give me space to leave if I needed. Charles and Sadie were standing up, and this scene was drawing far more attention than I liked. Instead of leaving, however, he leaned in closer to me, consciously trying to invade my space.

“Oh, I think you’ll give me permission. In fact, by morning, I think you’ll be begging for it.”

As he reached out to grab my chin, I put my arm up to block him, intending to stomp on his toes and leave, but I didn’t get the chance to, as he fell on his back to the ground and a familiar figure stood over him, using the iciest, most menacing voice I’d ever heard.

“I suggest you get your ass out of here without saying another word, or I will break every goddamn bone in your body.”

Rather than waiting to see what happened, I screamed Arthur’s name and pushed him toward the door. Through clenched teeth, I spoke

“Outside. NOW.”

[princecharmingtobe]

Why People Make Fursonas, and Why You Should Give It a Try

I was explaining this to a friend earlier and then was thinking about it to myself for a while. Why some people make fursonas, and why they offer something that human characters sometimes don’t. Of course there is the basic reason “Because they’re cute/cool and people like them”, but I just wanted to go over some things you can do to express yourself differently with a fursona.

A really basic one is that animals move and express themselves in different ways than humans do, so when you make an animal character with human-like qualities, you get a very wide range of expression. Due to the often cartoonish art style they can already by more expressive, but some things only an animal can do. Say your ‘sona is a dog. If you want to to draw them in a way to express your joy, you can draw their tail wagging, their ears perked up, their mouth in an open smile with their tongue slightly lolling out. If you want to express your sadness you might draw them with their tail and ears drooping, and their mouth closed.

They’re also great for presenting yourself in a way that you can’t irl. And while it’s true you could do this with a human character, furry characters just offer more to work with. Let’s say you’re short and scrawny and meek, but you wish you were big and strong and confident. You might make your fursona a lion. Big, muscular, with a wild attention-grabbing mane, grinning confidently with your sharp teeth bared and your claws out. Or let’s go the opposite way, someone who’s tall and naturally brawny, but wishes they could be cute and doted upon. They might make their fursona a little rabbit, with big expressive eyes, soft floppy ears, and a twitchy little nose. It’s a way to express aspects of yourself and your personality that aren’t obvious irl, or else the ideal you that you can’t express irl. 

And you can go the opposite direction and use your ‘sona to express parts of yourself in different ways. Ways that maybe make it easier to visualize, or that make them seem less bad. A person with a chronic illness or disability might make a fursona who lacks their disability, or they may express their disability in a different way through their fursona. I saw one recently that was the ‘sona of a wheelchair user. Their ‘sona was aquatic, and instead of legs their body ended in a tail fin, so when on land they used a wheelchair.  Someone with alopecia might make a ‘sona with long fur, or alternatively may make one with no fur, such as a reptile, or a hairless cat. 

They’re great for taking aspects of yourself you’re insecure about and making them more positive. As a personal example, I’ve been skinny my whole life, and no matter how body positive I try to be I live in a fatphobic society and have internalized fatphobia that makes me terrified of getting fat. So the fursona I’m currently designing is going to be chubby. They are cute and fluffy and chubby and it’s great, and that’s one of many things that while it is looked down on in humans, is often cooed over in animals. So I feel like if I express myself through a cute chubby animal, I will feel better about my real self getting chubby. 

On a similar note, they can be given traits or backstories that put certain things into a context that’s easier to share with others. One of my other ‘sonas is a cat who is declawed. It was done to them by their mother (who is a dog, they were adopted) because she didn’t know how to deal with a cat child. This is meant to express my feelings about how my own mother didn’t know how to deal with an autistic child, and ended up putting me through trauma that I still struggle with today and makes it even harder for me to be an independent adult. That’s a hard, heavy thing to talk about with random strangers, but I can give a small example of how it feels through my fursona. 

I’m not the first person to say it, but I do highly recommend trying to make a fursona, even if it’s the only time you do it and you cast it aside when you’re done. It can be therapeutic, and just fun. 

[semicolonthefifth]

CROSS Ch4 - You Rascal You

A couple hours had passed since then. The music-player had been cycling through several songs and had eventually settled on “Run’ Em Off” by Lefty Frizzel - a moderately cheery Old Earth Western tune. Charlie recalled hearing Jason groan quite audibly when it played.

Charlie had never seen a man drink seven full, large glasses at a bar in one sitting - especially not without losing control of their higher brain functions.

Yet there he was - the man he’d come to know as Jason Cross. Gunslinger; bounty hunter; one of a two man team, part of a famed group that would take down raiders through skill and knowledge of the land. He was a man he only knew as a wondrous tale of wasteland justice; and there he was, chugging alcohol as if he was competing for the world’s biggest drunkard. Yet at his 8th glass in the man stood. At least that was something worth admiring.

Frankie, meanwhile, was all too busy admiring the book - his nose deep into the pages cataloging the history of Aurora. He gazed with sheer joy in detail of every photo, sometimes turning back a page just to re-admire it some more. He let Charlie and Jason be, all while he was content with catching up on the knowhow of the world.

Charlie coughed a bit before asking politely through some discomfort, “Um, Mr. Cross?”

Jason held a finger up, silencing Charlie while he finishes his latest order. After a few large gulps does he finish, letting out a long and heavy sigh. A quietness comes after, with Jason staring off into space. Charlie almost gets a word in before Jason then speaks up.

“Fuckin’ genetics, I swear to God.” He softly complains. “I should be dead now, or at least hammered. Why am I always drawing the worst luck?”

“Yeah… was about to ask about that.” Charlie wonders aloud with a worried tone. “How are you still talking, or in fact… standing?”

“Call it a curse.” Coldly replies Jason. “Let’s just say my body ain’t built like most others if my height ain’t a strong hint by now. Don’t want to get into it though… way too personal.”

“And what I just learned WASN’T personal already?”

Jason groaned more, head brought down with a thumb squeezing at his temple. His injured hand was deep into a plate of ice, half already melted at this point - all while his free hand tends to the headache. His brain was ringing a bit, but it wasn’t the alcohol that was running deep in his body. Repressed memories kept clawing out, and trying to bury them further was hurting his head more than it was worth. With a strong flavorful exhale, he picks his head back up and looks at Charlie.

“Alright, what do you want to know?”

“Y-... You serious?” Charlie asks, a bit concerned for his own safety as he was for Jason’s.

“More than I’m not.” Jason states, with hints of a tired slurring in his speech. “I’m half thinking of running out of here, but considering how shit my luck has been I don’t want to run the risk of something worse happening out there. So… ask away. Might as well ride this newfound awfulness till it ends.”

“Ok, ok…” Charlie collects himself, doing a couple of deep breaths before taking a professional, presentable angle to speak with Jason. “You are Jason Cross. Brother to Frederick Cross. Member of the Crimson Crosses, one of the most famous militia groups on the Black Road, here on on Aurora. Aaaaaand you’ve druken enough ale in one sitting to knock out a man.”

“Yup, unfortunately yes, absolutely no, and not even close.” Answers Jason with a tired look. “Fred and I haven’t been brothers for about… 5 years now. Not a word said to each other since, that I’m certain of. I’ve also not been a member of that damn group for the same amount of time - all entirely my choice. As for the drinking, I’m not close… not a little. I think I can handle some more.”

“But why?” Charlie asked, genuinely concerned - the wideness of his eyes like a boy hearing that his childhood hero was fake all along. “You two were fantastic. I’ve gotten so many stories collected about you guys. All the adventures you’ve taken, and the good you’ve done.”

He quickly snatches his collection book from Frankie, turning a large chunk of pages to a chapter highlighting the many achievements of the Crimson Crosses. There were stylized posters and photographs, all of them singing praise upon the Crosses and their exploits. Charlie began listing them off, all with a sense of innocent pride in his voice. “Here - this one’s about you guys facing off against a crook known as the Silver Stallion. And look here! ‘The Cross Brothers, and the Attack of the Screaming Mimmies!’, a widely-seen classic. Then there’s this one where you fended off a swarm of Kodvacs from ravaging some farms. You guys were heroes!”

Jason takes a glance at the photos, the memories coming back again. With it comes that tremble behind his eyes, a sharp pinch he tries to ignore before stating coldly, “Yeah, but that was long, long ago. Told you: Fred and I ain’t brothers no more. Those adventures don’t mean anything, not when things are so fucked right now. The Crimson Crosses weren’t meant to last with how they operated.”

“Why’s that?”

With a harsh cough, Jason continues. “All Frederick was concerned about was tradition, that’s it. He wanted to keep everything like it was in the old west days. How we lives; how we operated; how we even talked - if, again, you hadn’t noticed. Meanwhile, I wanted to have us improve and modernize; he thought I was ‘ruining things’, and said I had no respect. Eventually I said ‘fuck it’ and left. Left him and that group to rot.”

“That’s it?” Charlie asked softly, yet still curious. “Couldn’t talk it out?”

“Nope, and I don’t care anymore to ever return to it. I got my own thing, and he’s got his. Out here I’ve been handling myself fine these past years. Sure, there've been some… rough parts.” Jason pauses, out of the alcohol in his system or his own emotions is unclear. “Still, I can survive. Can’t say the same thing about the Crimson Crosses, but that don’t matter.”

“That’s unfortunate to hear…” Charlie said softly, looking rather devastated. Jason noticed, but he didn’t much care for it. Suddenly then, Charlie thought of something and proceeded to ask, “Well, it wouldn’t be so bad to talk to him again, right? Maybe catch up on some things? Make amends?”

“Oh to hell with that noise!” Jason shoots back. “I got better things to do.”

Frankie slides the book back to his reach, getting back into his reading as he chimes in with, “Yeah, Jason’s his own man now. Riding around, bounty hunting for the government. Last I heard he got a lead on some guy for a high price - Sid was it?” He shoots a toothy smile at Jason, exclaiming, “Ain’t that right, Jason?”

His smile suddenly weakens once he’s face to face with the sheer, utter misery emanating from Jason’s sour expression. Frankie moves away, chuckling nervously, “I uh… take it that the job didn’t go so nicely?”

Then, a THUD!

Jason’s head slumps onto the table - his face directed down, all the while he admits to his company, “Nothing’s been going nicely. Killed the bastard, but didn’t mean - then I just embarrass myself and get my fingers fucked over when I turn in the bounty. I didn’t even get a single cred for all that trouble. Seems like my luck has just about run out. Everywhere I turn to, everywhere I go… something goes wrong. Sometimes it feels like the universe is just making me out to be a joke. Sometimes… I just wish I weren’t me.”

“Now, come on Jason.” Frankie softly replies, lending a comforting hand upon Jason’s shoulder. “You ain’t unlucky. It's just some bad circumstances. You’ll pull through in no time, I’m sure of it.”

Jason tries to feel a little better, though by now it was a feat that felt harder to get over than any mountain along this cursed world. The reassurance does not last though, as a couple new guests come in through the back of the bar to join in for the night.

The two men were broad in shape, and both quite physically intimidating. One man was quite fat, with a big bushy, coal-black beard alongside a long length of hair from his pinkish head, and a slew of tattooed flames along his muscular arms. The other was far more fit and tall in appearance - white skinned and clean shaven, with dark blonde hair shortened to a buzz cut. His lower jaw jutted outward, often times showing a small row of yellowed teeth. Despite their differences, they dressed very similarly: black leather jackets; dark-red colored shirts with white horizontal stripes; brown, dirtied pants that tucked into their black boots. Each man had a knife prominently sheathed at their belts on one side, but the fatter one has a sawed-off shotgun in his hand.

Jason’s company immediately took notice of them, with Charlie quickly collecting his book back into the backpack while Frankie remains mostly still in his seat. Meanwhile, Jason was too mentally exhausted to even see them; he kept one hand one the ice and the other on the table, all the while groaning every now and then.

The Bartender also saw them - doing a table-take before moving himself away. As the two men slowly made their way to the trio, he observed carefully from where he stood.

Once the two men reached the others, the fit one of the pair looked over them with a brutish scowl - all the while his fatter friend circled over in a slow pace so as to flank the group. Frankie, nervous though smiling, tries being civil, “Hey there uh… friends. You needin’ something?”

Charlie wrapped his arms tight around his back, sticking extremely close to Frankie. The fit-bodied brute unclenches his jaw, cracking it as he adjusts it before speaking in a thick drawl, “Name’s Jessup, ‘friend’... and he’s Burk” He adds, nodding to his partner. “We here juss’ to be lookin’. No issue in’at, yeah? Juss’ a couple guys coming in for a drink is all.”

He leans close from where he stands, while his hands are kept to his side - very close to to his knife where it’s plainly seen. His mouth hangs crooked at times,with lips dipping down obnoxiously. Jessup continues, “Have been runnin’ down the road and back all nigh’ long. Going down the ways and makin’ our mark cross the dunes. We juss’ abou’ looking fer’ someone who’s causing us some problems up on ‘dere road. Wen’ in and murdered a friend of ours… and ‘den carried him off.”

A nervous chuckle escapes from Frankie’s lips, which he fails to contain as the goon Burk completes his slow round. The man gets closer to Jason, examining as best he could. Meanwhile Frankie insists, “Hadn’t seen anyone like that, sir. How do you even know your friend was killed anyhow? Maybe he ran off somewhere?”

Jessup doesn’t flinch or change his expression, instead adding, “Oh, we know he killed him. Supposed to come meet us back, and gave us some warning ‘case any problem were to come his way. ‘Course he never came back, so we checked on a bar he said he were goin’ for. ‘Course we found his body by ‘dere road - put away by his killer. Followed on over ‘tword’s dat bars he mentioned, and then soon enuff one of ‘dem squealed about who done it.”

He slowly rises back, cracking his neck and jaw as he towers over everyone. The knife by his belt tapped by his muscular hands, tense and ready. “Roughed up the owner pretty good - probably hurt his friends just as fierce, I reckon. ‘Ventually he gave a name and some general idea on where he gone on and fled. About put us through a good couple’a hours, but we got the run on the man. Man were described as a blonde, big fella - red bandanna ‘round his head, and got a vest ‘longside some goggles. Name were…. Jason Cross. That soundin’ familiar?”

Charlie was fiercely shaking in his seat, while Frankie had lost all the color and optimism in his face. The corners of Jessup’s lips curled up a bit upon seeing their reactions before he slowly turns his gaze right towards Jason. He asks with a soft intimidation, “Him, eh? Am I gettin’ right?”

Before either could answer, Jessup starts moving over. Frankie attempts to stop him by getting in front, but is quickly stopped when Jessup snatches his arms and slams the man against the table. Pinned, Frankie struggles as Jessup steals the man’s sidearm, keeping it away while his friend Burk makes his move. The Bartender can’t do anything to help, as Jessup aims the stolen gun right at the owner.

“Don’t be gettin’ any bright ideas, fella.” Jessup growls through gritted teeth. “We only wantin’ one dead man today, so don’t push us to make room for four. Keep yo’self out of our business if you know what’s good for ya’.”

All the while Burk holds up his shotgun, tapping Jason on the shoulder with a free hand while the gun was aimed. Jason stirs, looking lazily at the two as his mind starts to catch up on things. When he finally puts two and two together, he winces and groans, letting out a slow, tired, “Oh, damn it. It’s me, right? Of-fucking-course it’s me… it always got to be me.”

“Get up!” Shouts Burk, striking the butt of his shotgun at Jason’s back. Jason barely reacts, not even out of pain. His head is giving him all sorts of ringings and fog. It’s like an ongoing fireworks event is bouncing around in his head, and it ain’t letting up anytime soon. There’s enough awareness to get him to hold his hands up slowly, though he still groans in doing so.

“I’m coming, I’m coming… just give me a second ok?” Jason slurs in his remark. “My head’s a bit fuzzy.” He lightly shakes his head, not so much to push the intruders into making the problem any worse than it should. Afterwards, he suggests, “Mind we take this outside? I’d rather not die in a bar, personally speaking. I think that’s not gonna do me any favors for me after I’m dead.”

“No chance there, friend.” Jessup chimes in. “Boss wantin’ you dead. Right here, so nobody be goin’ and messin’ with us again.”

“Yeah!” Adds Burk, “So pipe down! Else, we make this a slow one.”

Jason blinked, his expression a mix of confusion, intoxication, and grumpiness. Some of it brought by the situation, part of it by the music. Just as his whole world was turning upside down; just when it seemed he was about to be done in at the worst possible way - the universe throws another wrench at the burning tractor that was Jason’s life.

Blaring from the radio like an insane bastard was about the worst song that could play at that moment: “Paraylized” by the Legendary Stardust Cowboy. It screeched with a mix of unintelligible lyrics screamed aloud, alongside a set of banging drums and cymbals. All that noise turned the fireworks in Jason’s head into a lineup of air horns playing simultaneously. It woke Jason’s sense quick, but at the cost of knowing that this song would be what followed him into the afterlife. If disappointment could kill, it would’ve done him away three times by now.

He held a finger up as he stared back between the music-player and the two goons. Then he begged, meaning it when he says, “Listen… if I’m dying, can I make one last request?”

Jessup pursed his lips, sighing gravely, “Yeah?”

“Please.” Jason pleaded aggressively, “Can I please change the song? I’ll die, alright, but it shouldn’t be to this. It can’t be to this. Anything but that piece of crap.”

All of them glanced towards the music player, to which even Jessup and his partner looked troubled at. Eye-twitching, it almost seemed heartless to make THAT the last thing for someone to hear before they die. After a moment he stepped aside, nodding to Burk to let Jason move ahead - though to keep his gun aimed still.

Slowly, on the death mark, Jason Cross makes his way to the player. He twitched and frowned at every incomprehensible shout from the singer, but prayed and gave thanks to the universe that - at the very least - he could change it before he died. For a moment he thought how easy it would be to run out through the hallway at this point, then out the back - but he knows that was his fear talking; were he to leave, it would only put his friends in danger in his stead. After a long, slow walk he made it to the music-player, studying it for a moment.

It was a neat little invention, inspired by the more modern techs made in the 21st century of the Old Earth. The player was a small rectangular box with a screen monitor that, when touched, would respond to the users action. It had a series of wires going into the walls, likely into the several speakers hidden throughout the saloon. The box was a brown color, to better match the area, but also dusted with age. The screen lit up past the dust, a sign that few ever come to change the music themselves. When Jason scrolled through the selection, he found it to be near infinite, thanks in part to the incredible storage this little box held. As he scrolled, he cycled through what music was available - as he couldn’t afford the time to be picky.

There were all sorts of songs, most of which had a country feel. There were variations of grunge, rock, and easy listening throughout the pre-selected library. Jason recognized some names: Eddie Arnold, the Larks, Dick Dale, along with some Van Morrison. He felt the clock ticking - he had to find something, anything.

If Jason Cross were to die today, he ought to die to something different.

He hovered his fingers to the monitor, closed his eyes, and picked a song at random.

Then, silence.

Nothing.

Soon, a screech - Jason’s ears perk and he cringes.

A guitar strums. The drums follow. There’s a beat that hits hard.

Jason’s eyes slowly open, and then his body eases. He turns away from the music player, and right there simply lets the music hit him. The lyrics come, sung by a dry voice that speaks of a rascal to be made dead. The song hits Jason in the way he needed, as if it woke him up - and pointed him on a path right back to those men.

For the first time in a long while, though he cannot say how, Jason felt good. A sensation crawls up his spine, and a light breathless chuckle erupts out softly.

The two men look confused, but Jessup is quick to shout in a pissed off tone, “Alright ‘den! Get on back ‘ere, Cross! It’s about time you died!”

Jason looks at them, and after a look around he slowly makes his way back. Being careful, he grabs something off the hallway wall and keeps it right close.

He moves further towards the two, stopping just right before them. Jason’s friends are unable to do much at this time, and the Bartender is just as stuck. His attention is immediately drawn to Jessup, whose lip twists into a grin - his bottom lip still sagging, enough to show his browned gums. Burk’s shotgun is aimed at the ready, and Jessup asks,

“Any final words?”

Jason doesn’t nod or shift for that moment, instead staring intensely right back at Jessup as he answers back, “Yeah…”

“...Draw.”

Quick as a flash! Jason flips his hands and produces a revolver, aimed right at Jessup’s throat. Both men were taken by surprise - the gun was too quick to register before it had already pinned close to his jugular. Jessup chokes a bit out of reflex, but he keeps his cool. He looks at Jason, right into his eyes - through the goggles he can see pure anger daggered right back with an odd greenish spark.

Rob is left surprised, holding the shotgun as he tries to get what had just happened. For a moment his eyes concentrate on the gun Jason’s holding.

“You be goin’ and making a big mistake.” Jessup scowls, spitting at his t’s and k’s.

Jason doesn’t give. He returns in kind, fierly. “I’ll be the fucking judge of that.”

Rob looks closer at the gun. He squints, and thinks aloud, “Is that a--”

SMASH! Shards of white porcelain and half-melted ice fall everywhere. Frankie is risen off his seat, holding a broken plate while all the other pieces are spread about or wedges into Burk’s head. The fat brute recoils in pain; the shotgun is lowered before it’s finally dropped.

Jason takes the opportunity, smacking the revolver upside the brutes head. Hard. Jessup falls to the side, also dropping the gun he’d stolen from Frankie before it slides far away.

Angry, Burk gets up and charges at Jason - he tackles him against the bar table and begins to lay down a series of heavy strikes against Jason’s face and body. Pinned down, Jason tries to fight back against the blows, by kicking against his fatter opponent. All the while the Bartender finally gets the chance to join in and tries to push Burk off Jason - as well, Frankie and Charlie try their best to smack at the man.

Not content with just punching, Burk ignored everything before pulling his knife from off his belt and goes for the stab.

The blade swings wildly, causing everybody around the two to step back to dodge. Burk’s hand raises high for the moment and he strikes down, landing a deep stab into the table - near Jason’s neck.

Jason keeps moving, but the man pulls and goes again for the kill - close enough to nick him on the cheek.

After a couple more swings, and a hefty shove to push everyone away, Burk slams the knife down. A hard scream is heard! Blood shoots up as the knife pierces Jason’s left shoulder!

It twists, and suddenly Jason’s adrenaline hikes up enough for him to launch the man away with a fierce kick - pushing him off and onto the floor.

Jason gets up, breathing harshly as his pained growls start to sound like a pained beast. He doesn’t have time to register the knife stuck on him, but instead his attention is immediately directed at the goon that put it there. Through the tinted goggles, all Jason could see was red.

Before Burk could even move an inch or utter a word, he’s quickly overcome by Jason - who starts to beat him with the gun he picked off the wall. Fierce blow after blow is unleashed upon the man, fueled by pure, unadulterated anger.

The others are frozen in terror. Jason goes mad with his beatings. With Burk on his ass and against the wall, there was nowhere to turn to to escape Jason’s pummeling. He’s beaten down by the gun; slammed in the face by Jason’s knee; his head kicked in by a downward stomp. In between the pain he could only catch a glimpse of how bull mad Jason was, and nothing more. Even when Jason loses his grip of the gun through the blood, he still keeps at it with his fist.

Blood splatters, against walls, tables, and chairs. The bar echoes with violent thuds and hectic breathing. Frankie, Charlie, and the Bartender watch Jason beat the man down - too shocked to get in the way. It’s hard, at this point, to even recognize the intruder’s face… or to know if he was even still alive at this point.

Meanwhile, as Jason keeps hitting, Jessup recovers and wakes from his blow. He spits some blood and a couple teeth onto the floor, before noticing the bloodied revolver that Jason struck him with - on the floor and within his reach. Struggling, he makes the grab and picks it up before aiming it right at Jason.

Jason finally notices, as does everyone else who all stare down at the grinning Jessup. Breathing hotly, and with his arms exhausted and blood-stained, Jason doesn’t do much, nor does he react strongly. All he does is look down at the injured brute aiming the gun.

Jessup lets out a pained laugh, with blood dripping off his lip. “All ya’ll are so dead. Every las’ fucking one of ya! Ain’t gonna be a soul alive once Boss Lars is done with you.”

He cackles and bleeds before pulling the trigger!

Nothing.

Not even a click.

His expression instantly sours into utter shock as he then turns the revolver - it is a replica. A fake.

Then he hears something getting picked off the floor. Looking up, he sees Jason holding Rob’s shotgun with one hand - aimed right at Jessup’s face.

Jason glares down at him, then, with barely restrained rage, states, 

“I’d like to see you try.”

Click.

BANG! Ca-click, BANG!

The bar is showered by a large mist of blood. From where Jessup’s head once was, there is now only a mess of gore splattered all over the floor. Two walls are covered in blood and brain matter, and much of the bar table is colored in similar red. Trickles of it hit everyone, but not as much as it hits Jason.

Frankie, after a long pause of shock, lays against the table as he pants and wipes the blood off his face. He tries to look for his gun, but mentally puts that off for later.

Charlie stares on like a deer in headlights. He stands completely straight, as he looks on. Frightened, shocked… amazed, though he doesn’t say.

The Bartender is the least emotional or reactionary of them all. He takes a deep breath before slowly making his way to the back closet at the end of the bar.

Then there was Jason, standing there. A shotgun in one hand, and a knife wedged deep into his shoulder. He stands tough, breathing heavily as he finally has time to register all the wounds inflicted upon his face and body. It hurts, and it’s going to hurt even more.

As if on auto-pilot, Jason starts walking out of the saloon’s front door and doesn’t say a word. His friends take notice and start moving after him.

Right outside, the people of Blondie gather around the bar. They’ve since been woken up from the commotion in the saloon, and everyone from the craftsman, the traders, the local priest, the carers and the watchmen come to see what had happened. Even the Mayor has come out, dressed in his nightly finest, as he stands front and center along his people - men and women, young and elderly alike.

They had just come once the gunfire caught their attention, and were debating amongst themselves on who would be first to enter before they see Jason exit out from the building. They stand, shocked in seeing the bloodied Jason Cross walk out from the saloon - sporting a shotgun in one hand, and a knife jutting out his shoulder. Then, coming right after him was Frankie and Charlie, who both start to stare with uncertainty in what to do now. Frankie’s first instinct is to calm everyone, but he isn’t able to get a word in… not before Jason.

Crazed thoughts run through Jason’s mind alongside a constant ringing - a ringing that felt like it never left him, and he can’t remember a time where it wasn’t following alongside him to begin with. The pain is too strong, it’s catching up to his brain now. The drinking has finally come to the station, and it’s not kind to let the pain have its way on his senses. There’s nothing but noise, and through it Jason can only think sparse thoughts.

‘Can’t say my name.’

‘All I get is trouble.’

‘All my name brings is trouble.’

‘Have to say something.’

‘Have to say something now.’

‘Sometimes… I just wish I weren’t me.’

Jason drops the shotgun, and with that he then holds both his arms up as best he could. Then, with a crooked grin, he announces aloud, “People of Blondie. My name… is Frederick Cross… and I just saved the day.”

The crowd murmurs, and some look outright shocked. Shocked… and excited. The Mayor looks outright pleased.

Jason grins some more and chuckles, all before proceeding to fall backwards onto the unforgiving ground.

The last thing he sees before blacking out are the crowd of people coming to his body. As well, the concerned looks on both Frankie and Charlie’s faces.

The people of Blondie never stopped talking that night: of the man who saved their town from a couple of gun-toting hooligans, and the very name he bore.

Frederick Cross.

[lewiscarrollsocietynorthamerica]

CHAPTER V. Advice from a Caterpillar

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

‘Who are you?’ said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, ‘I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ said the Caterpillar sternly. ‘Explain yourself!’

‘I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir’ said Alice, ‘because I’m not myself, you see.’

‘I don’t see,’ said the Caterpillar.

‘I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly,’ Alice replied very politely, ‘for I can’t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.’

‘It isn’t,’ said the Caterpillar.

‘Well, perhaps you haven’t found it so yet,’ said Alice; ‘but when you have to turn into a chrysalis—you will some day, you know—and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you’ll feel it a little queer, won’t you?’

‘Not a bit,’ said the Caterpillar.

‘Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,’ said Alice; ‘all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.’

‘You!’ said the Caterpillar contemptuously. ‘Who are you?’

Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar’s making such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, ‘I think, you ought to tell me who you are, first.’

‘Why?’ said the Caterpillar.

Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a very unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.

‘Come back!’ the Caterpillar called after her. ‘I’ve something important to say!’

This sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again.

‘Keep your temper,’ said the Caterpillar.

‘Is that all?’ said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.

‘No,’ said the Caterpillar.

Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do, and perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing. For some minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, ‘So you think you’re changed, do you?’

‘I’m afraid I am, sir,’ said Alice; ‘I can’t remember things as I used—and I don’t keep the same size for ten minutes together!’

‘Can’t remember what things?’ said the Caterpillar.

‘Well, I’ve tried to say “How doth the little busy bee,” but it all came different!’ Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.

‘Repeat, “You are old, Father William,”’ said the Caterpillar.

Alice folded her hands, and began:—

  ‘You are old, Father William,’ the young man said,    ‘And your hair has become very white;   And yet you incessantly stand on your head—    Do you think, at your age, it is right?’   ‘In my youth,’ Father William replied to his son,    ‘I feared it might injure the brain;   But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,    Why, I do it again and again.’   ‘You are old,’ said the youth, ‘as I mentioned before,    And have grown most uncommonly fat;   Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—    Pray, what is the reason of that?’   ‘In my youth,’ said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,    ‘I kept all my limbs very supple   By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—    Allow me to sell you a couple?’   ‘You are old,’ said the youth, ‘and your jaws are too weak    For anything tougher than suet;   Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak—    Pray how did you manage to do it?’   ‘In my youth,’ said his father, ‘I took to the law,    And argued each case with my wife;   And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,    Has lasted the rest of my life.’   ‘You are old,’ said the youth, ‘one would hardly suppose    That your eye was as steady as ever;   Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—    What made you so awfully clever?’   ‘I have answered three questions, and that is enough,’    Said his father; ‘don’t give yourself airs!   Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?    Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!’

‘That is not said right,’ said the Caterpillar.

‘Not quite right, I’m afraid,’ said Alice, timidly; ‘some of the words have got altered.’

‘It is wrong from beginning to end,’ said the Caterpillar decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes.

The Caterpillar was the first to speak.

‘What size do you want to be?’ it asked.

‘Oh, I’m not particular as to size,’ Alice hastily replied; ‘only one doesn’t like changing so often, you know.’

‘I don’t know,’ said the Caterpillar.

Alice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in her life before, and she felt that she was losing her temper.

‘Are you content now?’ said the Caterpillar.

‘Well, I should like to be a little larger, sir, if you wouldn’t mind,’ said Alice: ‘three inches is such a wretched height to be.’

‘It is a very good height indeed!’ said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).

‘But I’m not used to it!’ pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone. And she thought of herself, ‘I wish the creatures wouldn’t be so easily offended!’

‘You’ll get used to it in time,’ said the Caterpillar; and it put the hookah into its mouth and began smoking again.

This time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down off the mushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went, ‘One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter.’

‘One side of what? The other side of what?’ thought Alice to herself.

‘Of the mushroom,’ said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked it aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.

Alice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a minute, trying to make out which were the two sides of it; and as it was perfectly round, she found this a very difficult question. However, at last she stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke off a bit of the edge with each hand.

‘And now which is which?’ she said to herself, and nibbled a little of the right-hand bit to try the effect: the next moment she felt a violent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her foot!

She was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but she felt that there was no time to be lost, as she was shrinking rapidly; so she set to work at once to eat some of the other bit. Her chin was pressed so closely against her foot, that there was hardly room to open her mouth; but she did it at last, and managed to swallow a morsel of the lefthand bit.

 *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *  *    *    *    *    *    *    *

‘Come, my head’s free at last!’ said Alice in a tone of delight, which changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders were nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she looked down, was an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her.

‘What can all that green stuff be?’ said Alice. ‘And where have my shoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can’t see you?’ She was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow, except a little shaking among the distant green leaves.

As there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her head, she tried to get her head down to them, and was delighted to find that her neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a serpent. She had just succeeded in curving it down into a graceful zigzag, and was going to dive in among the leaves, which she found to be nothing but the tops of the trees under which she had been wandering, when a sharp hiss made her draw back in a hurry: a large pigeon had flown into her face, and was beating her violently with its wings.

‘Serpent!’ screamed the Pigeon.

‘I’m not a serpent!’ said Alice indignantly. ‘Let me alone!’

‘Serpent, I say again!’ repeated the Pigeon, but in a more subdued tone, and added with a kind of sob, ‘I’ve tried every way, and nothing seems to suit them!’

‘I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about,’ said Alice.

‘I’ve tried the roots of trees, and I’ve tried banks, and I’ve tried hedges,’ the Pigeon went on, without attending to her; ‘but those serpents! There’s no pleasing them!’

Alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in saying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.

‘As if it wasn’t trouble enough hatching the eggs,’ said the Pigeon; ‘but I must be on the look-out for serpents night and day! Why, I haven’t had a wink of sleep these three weeks!’

‘I’m very sorry you’ve been annoyed,’ said Alice, who was beginning to see its meaning.

‘And just as I’d taken the highest tree in the wood,’ continued the Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, ‘and just as I was thinking I should be free of them at last, they must needs come wriggling down from the sky! Ugh, Serpent!’

‘But I’m not a serpent, I tell you!’ said Alice. ‘I’m a—I’m a—’

‘Well! What are you?’ said the Pigeon. ‘I can see you’re trying to invent something!’

‘I—I’m a little girl,’ said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered the number of changes she had gone through that day.

‘A likely story indeed!’ said the Pigeon in a tone of the deepest contempt. ‘I’ve seen a good many little girls in my time, but never one with such a neck as that! No, no! You’re a serpent; and there’s no use denying it. I suppose you’ll be telling me next that you never tasted an egg!’

‘I have tasted eggs, certainly,’ said Alice, who was a very truthful child; ‘but little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you know.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said the Pigeon; ‘but if they do, why then they’re a kind of serpent, that’s all I can say.’

This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for a minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding, ‘You’re looking for eggs, I know that well enough; and what does it matter to me whether you’re a little girl or a serpent?’

‘It matters a good deal to me,’ said Alice hastily; ‘but I’m not looking for eggs, as it happens; and if I was, I shouldn’t want yours: I don’t like them raw.’

‘Well, be off, then!’ said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled down again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the trees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. After a while she remembered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her hands, and she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at the other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height.

It was so long since she had been anything near the right size, that it felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes, and began talking to herself, as usual. ‘Come, there’s half my plan done now! How puzzling all these changes are! I’m never sure what I’m going to be, from one minute to another! However, I’ve got back to my right size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden—how is that to be done, I wonder?’ As she said this, she came suddenly upon an open place, with a little house in it about four feet high. ‘Whoever lives there,’ thought Alice, ‘it’ll never do to come upon them this size: why, I should frighten them out of their wits!’ So she began nibbling at the righthand bit again, and did not venture to go near the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high.

[cometomecosette]

How I picture the characters of “Les Mis”

This meme made me decide to write out my mental images of what all the main characters look like. Most of them are vague, based on a blend of Hugo’s descriptions and stage casting traditions. None of them are based on the movie cast, which has made it feel strange in the last several years to see most fan drawings of the characters become movie-based.

I hope other people will see this and share their images of the characters too. I’d love to read them, especially if they’re very different from mine.

Jean Valjean

Medium hight, barrel chested and bulky – not overweight, but more “big-boned” than “ripped.” At most the same height as Javert, more likely shorter, but heavier and more strongly built. Straight, longish, light brown/later white hair and a beard. (Yes, the Brick implies that he gets rid of the beard after breaking parole, but the musical’s stage history makes me picture it throughout.) Eyes either hazel or blue. A roundish face with solid, homely features (not ugly in the least, just completely ordinary) and a reserved expression. If you passed him on the street you’d be struck by his bulk, and by the stark whiteness of his hair in his later years, but he’s far from a Hugh Jackman-style eye-catcher; just a big, strong, average older man.

Javert

Tall, strongly built and imposing, as per Hugo, though more slender and less powerful than Valjean. Rigid posture. Dusky skin, in keeping with his Romani heritage. Dark brown hair; short in the Brick-verse, but musical-Javert has the long, elegant ponytail of stage tradition, regardless of anachronism. Huge forest-like sideburns, as per both Hugo and stage tradition. Brown eyes. A longish, rectangular face with a big square jaw, a snub nose as per Hugo (though less cartoonishly snub than Emile Bayard drew it) and a severe, dignified expression. The rare occasions when he smiles or laughs are, as Hugo tells us, terrifying.

Fantine

Medium height and slender. Long, luxuriant, sunny blonde hair, either wavy or curly; later messily chopped and extremely short. Bright blue eyes. Strikingly beautiful, with a slender face (though I can imagine a roundish one too, at least before she gets sick and loses weight), pale skin, a small straight nose, high cheekbones, and as per Hugo, pretty white teeth. A very classical, dignified type of beauty (as opposed to cuteness or, God forbid, sexiness), influenced in my mind both by Hugo’s references to Greco-Roman goddesses when describing her and by Ruthie Henshall’s look in the TAC. Though of course by the end of her arc, it all turns to emaciated, ashy ghostliness.

Cosette

At 16/17: Medium height and slender. A soft, roundish face like Raphael’s Madonnas, as per Hugo. Medium chestnut brown hair, worn in long ringlets. (Yes, I know she would have more likely sported a curled up-do, but decades of stage tradition have left their mark on my mind.) Bright blue eyes like her mother’s. A small cute nose – probably aquiline, given Hugo’s “Parisian” description, though I don’t always picture it as such. Innocently beautiful, in a way that blends her mother’s natural dignity with girl-next-door cuteness.

As a little girl: See Bayard’s iconic illustration. Just color the hair brown. (Though I’m also open to it being blonde at first, but darkening when she hits puberty, as sometimes happens.)

Marius

Medium height and slender. Boyishly handsome with rounded facial features, as per Hugo, and of course with “wide, passionate nostrils.” Pale skin, with no freckles (sorry, Eddie). Short hair, which I almost always picture as thick, curly and jet black, as per Hugo – though sometimes when I’m thinking only of the musical, I picture it straight and brown instead, or occasionally even blond. Brown eyes are my default image, though I’m open to blue too. As per Hugo, a generally reserved, serious expression, but with a wide, adorable smile when he’s happy; since musical-Marius is warmer and more outgoing than Hugo’s, I imagine that smile appearing more often from him.

Thénardier

Short, scrawny and bony, as per Hugo, though I’m open to picturing musical-Thénardier as slightly taller and/or more solidly built. Longish, stringy brown/later gray hair. No clear idea of eye color: probably either brown, green, or pale blue. A thin, angular face with a wide mouth, a sharp nose and bad teeth; I’m prone to picturing his nose as prominent, but I know that’s a cliché for greedy characters based in hateful Jewish and Romani stereotypes, so sometimes I force myself to imagine it smaller. Brick-Thénardier grows a long, scraggly beard in poverty, as per Hugo; musical-Thénardier just has a permanent five o’ clock shadow. 

Mme. Thénardier

Huge and intimidating, as per Hugo. Obese, tall (taller than her husband in the Brick, though musical-Mme. T. might be the same height or slightly shorter), frumpy and masculine looking. Thick, wavy cascades of red/later graying hair. Blotchy skin, as per Hugo. Big, walnut-smashing, child-punching fists. A big face, either squarish or round (Hugo’s description of her as both “fat” and “angular” is hard to imagine, so my brain often defaults to the roundness of most stage actresses), with a snub nose and small, piggy blue eyes. As per Hugo, Brick-Mme. T. has a few chin hairs and a protruding lower tooth, but I don’t picture those details in the musical.

Éponine

Tallish and very thin. Light to medium chestnut brown hair (lighter and more reddish than Cosette’s), naturally straight but stringy with filth. (This is fluid, though – now and then I picture her with dirty strawberry blonde hair instead, or with thick, wild dark curls). Eyes either blue or green. Tanned skin and maybe some freckles. Bony, angular features with a fairly strong nose and wide mouth like her father’s, though musical-Éponine’s face is softer. Brick-Éponine has all the ugly marks of poverty Hugo describes: wasted figure, missing teeth, bleary eyes, etc. Musical-Éponine is prettier, but not a striking beauty either, just an average girl who’s prettiness you’d notice if you looked past the layers of dirt.

Enjolras

Tall, slender and lightly muscular. Angelically handsome, just as Hugo writes, in the vein of a Greco-Roman statue. Luxuriant blond hair; I most often picture it long, wavy and in a ponytail (since I saw that look onstage first), but I can easily picture it short and curly too, especially with Hugo’s Antinous comparison. Bright blue eyes. Pale skin with rosy overtones “like a young girl’s,” as per Hugo, yet with clear masculine strength in his build. A slender, eternally youthful yet dignified face, with a straight nose, strong chin and quietly stern, ever-determined expression. Again, see the statues of Antinous as a reference.

Gavroche

Average height for an 11- or 12-year-old, but scrawny. Tanned and maybe freckled, like his sister. Light to medium brown hair; I instinctively picture it short and straight like most boy actors’ hair onstage, but I know Hugo saw it as a thick, crazy tangle of curls, so I can imagine that too. No fixed idea of eye color: probably the same as his father’s. A thin face, plain yet bright and expressive, with a wide and loud mouth like his father’s and sister’s. I admit, I imagine him better looking than the wild, ugly little thing Hugo envisioned, but that’s probably true for most of us.

Grantaire

See above: I know my vision of Grantaire isn’t nearly as ugly as Hugo’s, and I don’t imagine him with the huge mustache Hugo sketched him with, but at least I’m not alone in that. I picture him medium height to tall and on the slender side, though I can possibly see him as heavier too. Long or at least longish hair, medium to dark brown, straight yet messy. Brown or hazel eyes. A nondescript face, either round or squarish: I don’t exactly have a clear vision of it, because I know he should be ugly, but I’ve never seen an ugly actor in the role. Based on stage tradition, I tend to picture him with a permanent 5 ‘o clock shadow.

[emmaspirate]

Running with the Devil

A/N: low key have no idea what this is. Going to roll with it any way. AU in which Joe didn’t raise Barry. Barry’s also a villain so that’s fun. Didn’t have this beta’d so be nice, I just wanted to get it up here! Enjoy! 

Summary:��Iris West didn't like to think she was a stupid girl. She had her moments, especially when alcohol was involved, but stupidity was not something she thought she possessed. Agreeing to go undercover to bring down Central City's most notorious super-villain, The Flash? Stupid.

AO3

Chapter I

She isn’t sure why she volunteers. It’s literally one of the dumbest things she has ever done, second only to that time she jumped off a roof at a frat party and nearly paralyzed herself. She could at least blame alcohol that time. Right now, she’s stone cold sober and can only blame her lack of self-preservation and maybe that concussion she’d gotten from cheerleading.

Her dad had been firmly against this, he hadn’t even let her become a cop in the first place. Eddie had too, although lately it felt like he was always against her. Or maybe she was always against him. That therapist she’d seen that one time had told her that she purposefully pushed people away before they could leave her.

That therapist had been a fucking idiot and her dad and Eddie should know by now that she does what she wants.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Captain Singh asked.

Was she sure she wanted to do this?

“Yes,” she replied, sounding surer than she felt.

It wasn’t like she didn’t think she could do this. She’d gone undercover before for her job as an investigative reporter at CCPN. That, however, usually consisted of flirting with a lifeguard to figure out if they’d used too much chlorine in the local pool, or pretending to be a professor at Central City University to unearth a wage discrepancy between black and white faculty. Those had all been small stints, just short-term assignments, and she hadn’t really had to sell herself all that much. It had been easy.

Infiltrating The Flash’s inner circle, that was going to be a touch more difficult.

The Flash was one of Central City’s most notorious villains. He’d popped up a few years back after the particle accelerator explosion at STAR Labs along with a whole bunch of other metas. Metas he now appeared to be the leader of so she at least had to admire his ambition.

The main problem was that very few had ever seen him.

He had super speed, or at least that’s what everyone assumed. Originally referred to as the Scarlet Streak, he often only left a trail of yellow lightning as a sign he’d been there. He liked to frequent all the big banks in the city, decimating the accounts of the wealthiest. Jewelry stores were also high on his list. Anywhere he could collect large amounts of money or valuables, he was sure to hit. Sometimes he even broke into people’s houses, but, once again, he only hit up the homes of Central City’s richest.

She had no idea how she was going to get to him.

Captain Singh didn’t need to know that.

Apparently someone had hacked into their computer systems and stolen the identities of everyone working as an undercover agent. The hack also happened to have occurred at the exact time that they were working to build a case against The Flash, and maybe find out his identity. Which was quite a coincidence. It was hard to get close to The Flash when he could see you coming.

That the argument she walked in on when she’d gone to visit her dad for lunch. He and Captain Singh were trying to figure out what to do, both of them coming up short. It had been that Iris nonchalantly suggested that she could go undercover.

“Absolutely not,” her dad had protested.

Iris huffed. “I’m an investigative reporter, I’m good at pretending to be someone I’m not. I can do it.”

Joe quirked an eyebrow. “Oh I have no doubt that you can do it, you just aren’t going to. It’s too dangerous.”

“You were just about to send one of your own men in,” Iris scoffed.  I can handle myself, Dad, you taught me how to. There’s no record of me on any of the CCPD computers, I’m not a cop, and you don’t even need to create a fake identity for me, I can just use my own. He’ll never have a reason to suspect me.”

Her dad placed his hands on his hips, which told her she was going to get shot down. “No, Iris. End of discussion.”

She almost let it drop to, except then she looked at Singh’s face and he was considering it. “Captain Singh?”

The Captain looked past her and right at Joe. “It’s not a bad idea.”

“No!”

Iris cut in then, voice rising an octave. “I’m an adult, Dad. I can make this choice with or without your approval.” Knowing she’d catch more flies with honey then with vinegar, she changed her tone to a softer one. “But I want you in on this. Please.”

Joe looked back and forth between the two of them, clearly sensing he was fighting a losing battle. “Fine,” he barked and Iris threw her arms around him. “But things start to go south and we’re pulling you out.”

Iris smiled. “I’ll be fine, Daddy. What could go wrong?”

The answer to that question was many things.

Many things could go wrong.

Admittedly, her plan was not the best. It was, in fact, maybe one of the worst plans she could’ve come up with. Not only was it entirely contingent on whether or not he showed up, but he could also just kill her.

That would really suck.

She definitely owed Linda a drink for letting her use her parent’s apartment to set a Flash trap. Well, truthfully she owed Mr. and Mrs. Park a drink and, depending on how this went, a new apartment.

The Park’s were old money, Linda’s great-great grandfather having owned like every newspaper in the city at one point. Or something. Iris wasn’t really sure because Linda didn’t really like to talk about it. The only reason she’d found out at all was because Linda had been the one who had posted bail when she’d been arrested in college for streaking across the quad.

Focus, West.

So that was how she found herself sitting on the Park’s couch absentmindedly flipping through a magazine. It was a bit past midnight and at this point she wasn’t even sure The Flash would show at all.

That kind of pissed her off, considering how much work she’d put into the article she’d written to lure him or her here. She’d included lots of details about how Mr. Park had just acquired a new, big, fat emerald. It was one of the largest single payments for a gemstone that had ever occurred. She also mentioned that he was currently keeping it stored in his home until other arrangements could be made. She made sure to include any detail that she thought would draw The Flash in.

It was all fake of course, but that was beside the point.

She was just debating on taking a little nap when a gust of air passed through the room. That in and of itself probably wouldn’t have been odd, she was pretty sure she left a window open, but the yellow lightning moving around the room alerted her that she was no longer alone.

It took her a second to register that The Flash was moving from room to room, and then another second to realize why. “Looking for something,” she yelled out and the volume of her voice made her feel stupid, but she wanted to be heard.

The lightning stopped for a moment and everything was quiet. Iris briefly wondered if The Flash had left, and that would really suck because how was she going to find them now.

In a split second and another gust of wind that sent her hair flying around her face The Flash was in front of her staring down at her with angry eyes.

He, and it was definitely a he, she knew that at least, was significantly taller than her. He wore a red leather suit that covered him from head to toe. The only parts of him that were visible were his mouth and his nose and the aforementioned eyes, which were a pretty dark green. His frame was lean, but she could tell he was muscular. Her eyes drifted down to his chest, where a white circular emblem sat with a lightning bolt in the center. Cute.

“Where’s the emerald?” He growled and his voice was coming out distorted, that much was obvious.

She probably should be scared because he was very obviously pissed off, but she’s kind of just giddy because he’s here. He’s here and he’s The Flash and she has so many questions. So she decides to have a little fun. “The emerald?”

His tone lets her know he is not messing around. “The Park’s emerald! Where is it?”

She smiles, and his agitation seems to grow. “The emerald? I’m sure it’s here somewhere. You’re welcome to keep looking.” With that she sits back down on the couch and starts flipping through her magazine.

It’s clearly not what he was expecting and he just stands there confused for a moment. Then suddenly the magazine is out of her hands and her back is pressed up against the wall and he’s all up in her space.

“Do you know who I am?” He breathes and his voice just holds a hint of malice.

For the first time, Iris is scared. She’s scared but she’s also intrigued and maybe it’s the reporter in her, but her curiosity always gets the best of her.  “You’re The Flash. You’re one of the most well-known and feared villains in Central City.”

He falters then, maybe expecting her to not know who he is because if she did then shouldn’t she be afraid? His surprised expression is quickly replaced with a careful mask of neutrality. “Then I suggest you tell me where the emerald is, before I remind you of why I’m one of the most well-known and feared villains in Central City.”

“It’s not here.”

“What?” It’s clear that’s the last thing he was expecting to hear.

They were so close she could see tiny specks of gold in his eyes. “Yeah. The girl who wrote the article on the emerald suggested that maybe they shouldn’t keep it in their home.” She smirked. “You know, just in case someone wanted to steal it or something.”

“Do you know where I can find this girl? I’d like to have a word with her.”

Iris raised an eyebrow in challenge. “You’re looking at her.”

“You’re a reporter?” Flash asked as his jaw flexed.

She stuck out her hand. “Iris West. You are?”

She realized belatedly that she was flirting with him. She was flirting with The Flash. She was flirting with The Flash when she was happily dating Eddie Thawne. She was flirting with The Flash when she was happily dating Eddie Thawne and a part of her kind of liked it.

It wasn’t her original plan, but she figured she’d just go with whatever worked.

To her surprise, he huffed a laugh. “You’re a funny girl, Iris West. A little bit stupid, but funny.”

Iris stuck her chin out in defiance, not appreciating the dig. “Some people might say I’m brave.”

He leaned in then, close enough that Iris can feel his hot breath fanning over her face. “Those people would be stupid too then.”

He’s gone before she can even blink, disappearing in a, well, flash. She’s left there trying to process what the hell just happened, or even if any of that had happened.

Reflexively she flexes her fingers and is surprised to feel something in her right hand. Looking down she realizes that she’s holding a crumpled piece of paper. She quickly unfolds it and realizes that it’s the cover of the magazine she’d been reading.

There on Jennifer Lawrence’s face in messy, hurried scrawl are the words:

You’re brave and I’m stupid.

Definitely happened.

Let it be known that Iris West does not do well on little sleep.

She had a sporadic sleep schedule, she’d be the first to admit that, but she always got her eight hours. Even if that meant taking a seven and a half hour nap in the middle of the day.

So the day after her Flash encounter she was just a tad irritable.

By tad irritable she means that if someone so much as breathed in her direction she would basically take their head off.

The last thing she wanted to do was go to the gym. She’d never been one of those people who got a rush from exercise. The notorious “runner’s high” always seemed to elude her and instead she just got cramps. Still, she found that if she didn’t force herself to go at least five times a week then she wouldn’t go at all and now was really not the time to let herself go.

Not when she had the fastest man alive to keep up with.

It was incredibly convenient that her apartment complex had a gym inside of it. She loved her apartment complex. Eddie kept trying to get her to move in with him, but she was just overly attached to her gym, and her doorman, and her little balcony where she kept all her dead plants. At least, that’s what she told him. She couldn’t seem to admit to him or herself that maybe she just wasn’t ready to move in.

These were the kind of thoughts that plagued her whenever she hit the treadmill. The only way to make her stupid brain shut the hell up was to run so fast it felt as though one of her lungs was going to collapse. So that’s what she did.

She’d come to the gym a bit later than usual having gotten caught up at work. The place was empty when she’d arrived and she welcomed the solace. She decided to plug her phone in into the speaker that played throughout the room. Normally, she found it super obnoxious when people did that, but no one else was here so she didn’t see the harm.

She had only gotten two songs in when someone else came into the gym.

That someone else also happened to be a very attractive, tall brunette in his twenties.

Of fucking course.

He seemed surprised to see her there, sprinting on the treadmill like her life depended on it. She assumed that he just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here this late. That made two of them.

“I can turn it off,” she yelled over the music as she pointed over to where her IPhone was laying.

He was still staring at her and she was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that she was only wearing a sports bra and her boobs were bouncing all over the place, but he shook his head and seemed to come to. “No, uh, it’s fine. I like this song,” he replied.

Iris gave him a little two-fingered salute and then went back into her own little world. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her gym buddy climb onto a treadmill two away from hers. He cranked up the speed and began to run, his pace matching her own.

She normally liked to do about three miles before doing a quick ab circuit and a few squats. Then she typically went back to her apartment and ate a pint of Rocky Road.

Three miles came and went.

Eddie had once informed her that her competitive nature was very unattractive. He hadn’t meant it as an insult, but naturally that’s how Iris had taken it. After all, it wasn’t her fault he fucking sucked at Pictionary.

Still, it was nothing short of miraculous that the guy hadn’t even broken a sweat given the pace he was going at and the length of time he’d been going for. She’d only gotten started about five minutes before he had and she was drenched in sweat in a way that probably wasn’t cute. When she hit the six mile mark, she nearly quit. Then she made the mistake of looking over at him.

It was almost instinctive and she instantly regretted it because there was a small challenge in his eyes.

She wasn’t the only competitive one in the room.

That settled it then. She would just die on this treadmill. There was no way she could outrun him, he wasn’t even breathing heavily, but she wasn’t about to quit and sacrifice her pride. So yeah, she’d just die on this treadmill. Reasonable.

They hit ten miles and her legs go numb.

Maybe this is the runner’s high. Maybe she’ll just eventually lose control of her limbs and go flying off. Maybe she’ll never be able to stop running. Maybe…

Then suddenly the treadmill two away from hers goes quiet and she looks over and he’s climbing off. His hands are held up in mock surrender. “I concede,” he said.

“Thank god!” She yelled as she slammed down on the stop button. “I was starting to hallucinate.”

He laughs. “I admire your commitment to athleticism.”

Iris takes a long gulp of her water. “Not to be confused with my commitment to winning.”

He gives her a knowing look. “Oh never.”

She gives him a quick once-over and her initial assessment of “very attractive” still stands. He is tall, maybe a little over six feet, with tousled brown hair and high cheekbones that are covered in freckles. He’s got beautiful green eyes and suddenly he looks so familiar. “Have we met before?”

He starts a little at that and scratches the back of his neck. “Kind of. You’re Iris West, right?”

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Yes. How do you know my name?”

“We went to high school together. I’m Barry Allen.”

He looks at her like he expects her not to know who he is, but of course she does. “Barry Allen from AP Chemistry?”

Barry doesn’t even try and hide his surprise. “Yeah. You remember?”

She smiles and reaches out to give him a light shove. “Of course I remember! Your notes are the only reason I passed that final exam.”

He nods, laughing. “Yeah, yeah, that’s me. I’m impressed. That’s not what most people know me for.”

She knows exactly what he’s referring to, of course. Everyone who went to Central City High knew who Barry Allen was. When your father is convicted of murdering your mother and sent to prison for life, people tend to know who you are.

She never really believed that anyway.

She shrugs, trying to play it off. “Yeah, well, I’m not most people.”

She thinks she hears him mutter “You’re right about that,” but she doesn’t have time to ask him to repeat himself as he asks, “So what’re you doing now?”

“I’m a reporter over at CCPN.”

Barry gives her a genuinely excited grin. “Look at you! You were president of the school newspaper so I guess I should’ve known, huh?”

She’s surprised he remembers that. “Well the stuff I write now is nowhere as near as interesting as the stuff I wrote back in high school.” Hopefully that would all change once she brought The Flash down. “What about you? Are you putting those AP Chemistry skills to use? You always had a knack for the science stuff.”

“Yeah I am actually. I’m a forensic scientist over at CCPD.” He says it so nonchalantly it seems as though he’s trying to downplay it.

Iris shoves him a second time. “Dude! That’s so cool! My dad is actually a cop over at CCPD.”

Barry expression changes suddenly and he seems more guarded. “Yeah I’ve bumped into him a few times.”

She doesn’t know what causes the shift, but she figures it best to ignore it. It could have something to do with the fact that her dad had been friends with the Allens, but then again it could not.

He looked good though, that much was certain. He’d filled out since high school, finally gaining the muscle needed to control those long limbs. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and sweatpants, and, yeah, he’s definitely been working out, and her eyes suddenly drift to his shoes.

“Are you wearing Converse?” It comes out a little more high-pitched and disbelieving then she intended, but seriously how had he run in those.

“What?” He looks down, confused. “Oh, yeah, I guess I am?”

“Those are so bad for your arches! You can’t run in those, Barry.” She has literally no idea where this outburst is coming from but she thinks maybe she’s a little pissed that he was running so effortlessly in Converse.

Barry rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, Iris.”

“No it’s not. I’m going to buy you new shoes and you can thank me twenty years from now when you aren’t flat-footed.”

He goes to protest but the sound of his phone ringing cuts him off. Barry looks at her, an apology on his expression, but she nods to tell him to take it. “Hello,” he says. “What? I thought that was handled. Seriously? No. Yes. No, no it’s fine I’ll come in now.”

“Duty calls, huh?”

Barry nods and he looks genuinely upset to ruin the moment. “Unfortunately nothing seems to get taken care of if I’m not around.”

Iris sighs. “Ain’t that just the way life is?” She nods towards the door. “Go, go. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you.”

He waits a moment before heeding her advice, giving her a small wave before he disappears from view.

Barry Allen was a curveball she wasn’t prepared for.

She can’t say she’s mad.

So the next time she runs into him is actually not planned.

She was just going to deposit some cash at Central City Municipal Bank when suddenly there was a gust of air and the lone security guard was yelling at everyone to get on the ground.

To the guard’s immense credit, he did actually attempt to stop The Flash. He shot feebly at the lightning moving across the room, but then his gun was out of his hands and rope was bounding his hands and feet.

Then the damnedest thing happened. Leonard Snart walked in through the doors.

Leonard Snart was one of the best thieves in all of Central City. He would probably argue that he was the best thief in the city, and if his father wasn’t still alive he’d probably be right. Snart could get past any kind of security system in seconds. He also had a weapon that was often referred to as a “Cold Gun” because it could shoot concentrated bursts of negative temperature particles. It could literally freeze people alive. Leonard Snart had been untouchable by any and all law enforcement.

She was going to bring down Leonard Snart.

When she very subtly reached into her pocket to get her phone so she could take a picture, she probably should’ve known that it wasn’t subtle at all. She probably should’ve known that Snart would see her. She probably should’ve known that her actions would probably get her killed.

Except she didn’t know all of that and so that was how she ended up with the Cold Gun pointed at her.

“Say cheese,” Snart said in a voice that’s so theatrical she would’ve laughed had circumstances been different.

Iris closed her eyes right before he pulled the trigger and then suddenly she could hear birds chirping and she thought maybe she was in heaven but when she opened her eyes she was standing on top of a building. She could see the bank a little ways in the distance and how the hell did she get up here?

A lone voice answered that question for her.

“What the hell were you thinking?” His tone, distorted as it was, suggested he wasn’t angry or overtly concerned for her safety in any way. He was talking to her like she was an idiot.

Which Iris, and she suspected any sane person, hated. So her own voice came out just a little bit heated as she yelled, “Two guys were robbing a bank! I was trying to call the police.”

He settled his hand on his hip. “You had your camera open.” He sounded slightly smug, as though he was happy he caught her in a lie.

Iris paused then, deflating slightly. “Okay, well maybe I was going to take a picture, but then I was definitely going to call the police.” When he let out an annoyed huff she shrugged. “Investigative reporter, what are you going to do?”  

He smiled and for the first time Iris noticed that his face was vibrating ever so slightly, blurring his features. He definitely wasn’t doing that the first time they met. “As an investigative reporter I would think you’d know that by the time the police reach any of my crime scenes, I’m long gone.”

“Cocky, aren’t we?”

“Confident.” He replied and yeah she had to give him that one.

She stepped closer and he mirrored her actions, stepping back. “Yeah, well, you never know. Maybe they’ll catch you one day.”

He said his next words so quietly she thought maybe she wasn’t supposed to hear. “Figures a cop’s daughter would have unfounded faith in the police department.”

That surprised her. “How do you know that?”

Any trace of anger or judgement he’d held at the beginning of the conversation was gone now and he was teasing her. “You’re not the only one who knows how to do some digging, Iris West. I quite liked your article on the Flower Festival.”

That was not a proud moment for her. Something about a girl named after a flower writing a story about flowers made her have to suppress her gag reflex. The article was about as puff piece as you could possibly get, no matter how hard she tried to make petunias sound badass.

Desperate to prove herself, which she constantly seemed to be, she asked, “Did you also read my article about corrupt beat cops at CCPD?”

He clearly wasn’t expecting that, and she knew his answer before he said, “Must’ve missed that one.”

Iris took another hesitant step forward, and this time he didn’t step away. “Maybe you should read it. Police are not infallible, I would never be naive enough to believe that. They make mistakes, even my dad would admit that. He always taught me to question everything around me.”

The Flash seemed positively taken aback, and she felt slight satisfaction at that. Any time she could defy expectations, she took the opportunity to do so. Besides, it was probably smart to convince him that she wasn’t some police groupie. At least if she wanted him to let her take a peek inside his operation.

Shaking his head he seemed to recover quickly. “He may have done too good a job.”

Iris smirked. “You two may be in agreement on that one”

He gave her a weird look then, as though that was an odd statement for her to make. Funnily enough, she imagined that her dad would have a similar reaction at the implication that he and The Flash could see eye to eye on anything.

“I should probably go,” he breathed.

Iris must have been making up the reluctance she heard in his voice. Then again, he didn’t need to tell her he was leaving, he could’ve just sped off.

She nodded. “Well, thank you for not letting Leonard Snart freeze my face off.”

He laughed. “Iris,” he purred and she liked the way he said her name. “You are much too interesting to have your face frozen off.”

Then just like that she was on the street and he was gone and she was left to wonder whether or not that had happened.

And if she noticed that over the course of the next few weeks Central City Municipal Bank was not robbed once, she never said anything.

[fushigi-no-kuni-no-alice]

Chapter 5: Advice from a Caterpillar

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

“Who are you?” said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”

“What do you mean by that?” said the Caterpillar sternly. “Explain yourself!”

“I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir,” said Alice, “because I’m not myself, you see.”

“I don’t see,” said the Caterpillar.

“I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly,” Alice replied very politely, “for I can’t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.”

“It isn’t,” said the Caterpillar.

“Well, perhaps you haven’t found it so yet,” said Alice; “but when you have to turn into a chrysalis—you will some day, you know—and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you’ll feel it a little queer, won’t you?”

“Not a bit,” said the Caterpillar.

“Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,” said Alice; “all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.”

“You!” said the Caterpillar contemptuously. “Who are you?”

Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar’s making such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, “I think, you ought to tell me who you are, first.”

“Why?” said the Caterpillar.

Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a very unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.

“Come back!” the Caterpillar called after her. “I’ve something important to say!”

This sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again.

“Keep your temper,” said the Caterpillar.

“Is that all?” said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.

“No,” said the Caterpillar.

Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do, and perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing. For some minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, “So you think you’re changed, do you?”

“I’m afraid I am, sir,” said Alice; “I can’t remember things as I used—and I don’t keep the same size for ten minutes together!”

“Can’t remember what things?” said the Caterpillar.

“Well, I’ve tried to say “How doth the little busy bee,” but it all came different!” Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.

“Repeat, “You are old, Father William,’” said the Caterpillar.

Alice folded her hands, and began:—

“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,     “And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head—     Do you think, at your age, it is right?”

“In my youth,” Father William replied to his son,     “I feared it might injure the brain; But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,     Why, I do it again and again.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before,     And have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—     Pray, what is the reason of that?”

“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,     “I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—     Allow me to sell you a couple?”

“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak     For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak—     Pray, how did you manage to do it?”

“In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law,     And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,     Has lasted the rest of my life.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose     That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—     What made you so awfully clever?”

“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,”     Said his father; “don’t give yourself airs! Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?     Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!”

“That is not said right,” said the Caterpillar.

“Not quite right, I’m afraid,” said Alice, timidly; “some of the words have got altered.”

“It is wrong from beginning to end,” said the Caterpillar decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes.

The Caterpillar was the first to speak.

“What size do you want to be?” it asked.

“Oh, I’m not particular as to size,” Alice hastily replied; “only one doesn’t like changing so often, you know.”

“I don’t know,” said the Caterpillar.

Alice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in her life before, and she felt that she was losing her temper.

“Are you content now?” said the Caterpillar.

“Well, I should like to be a little larger, sir, if you wouldn’t mind,” said Alice: “three inches is such a wretched height to be.”

“It is a very good height indeed!” said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).

“But I’m not used to it!” pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone. And she thought of herself, “I wish the creatures wouldn’t be so easily offended!”

“You’ll get used to it in time,” said the Caterpillar; and it put the hookah into its mouth and began smoking again.

This time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down off the mushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went, “One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter.”

“One side of what? The other side of what?” thought Alice to herself.

“Of the mushroom,” said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked it aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.

Alice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a minute, trying to make out which were the two sides of it; and as it was perfectly round, she found this a very difficult question. However, at last she stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke off a bit of the edge with each hand.

“And now which is which?” she said to herself, and nibbled a little of the right-hand bit to try the effect: the next moment she felt a violent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her foot!

She was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but she felt that there was no time to be lost, as she was shrinking rapidly; so she set to work at once to eat some of the other bit. Her chin was pressed so closely against her foot, that there was hardly room to open her mouth; but she did it at last, and managed to swallow a morsel of the left-hand bit.

*      *      *      *      *      *      *

*      *      *      *      *      *

*      *      *      *      *      *      *

“Come, my head’s free at last!” said Alice in a tone of delight, which changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders were nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she looked down, was an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her.

“What can all that green stuff be?” said Alice. “And where have my shoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can’t see you?” She was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow, except a little shaking among the distant green leaves.

As there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her head, she tried to get her head down to them, and was delighted to find that her neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a serpent. She had just succeeded in curving it down into a graceful zigzag, and was going to dive in among the leaves, which she found to be nothing but the tops of the trees under which she had been wandering, when a sharp hiss made her draw back in a hurry: a large pigeon had flown into her face, and was beating her violently with its wings.

“Serpent!” screamed the Pigeon.

“I’m not a serpent!” said Alice indignantly. “Let me alone!”

“Serpent, I say again!” repeated the Pigeon, but in a more subdued tone, and added with a kind of sob, “I’ve tried every way, and nothing seems to suit them!”

“I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about,” said Alice.

“I’ve tried the roots of trees, and I’ve tried banks, and I’ve tried hedges,” the Pigeon went on, without attending to her; “but those serpents! There’s no pleasing them!”

Alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in saying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.

“As if it wasn’t trouble enough hatching the eggs,” said the Pigeon; “but I must be on the look-out for serpents night and day! Why, I haven’t had a wink of sleep these three weeks!”

“I’m very sorry you’ve been annoyed,” said Alice, who was beginning to see its meaning.

“And just as I’d taken the highest tree in the wood,” continued the Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, “and just as I was thinking I should be free of them at last, they must needs come wriggling down from the sky! Ugh, Serpent!”

“But I’m not a serpent, I tell you!” said Alice. “I’m a—I’m a—”

“Well! What are you?” said the Pigeon. “I can see you’re trying to invent something!”

“I—I’m a little girl,” said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered the number of changes she had gone through that day.

“A likely story indeed!” said the Pigeon in a tone of the deepest contempt. “I’ve seen a good many little girls in my time, but never one with such a neck as that! No, no! You’re a serpent; and there’s no use denying it. I suppose you’ll be telling me next that you never tasted an egg!”

“I have tasted eggs, certainly,” said Alice, who was a very truthful child; “but little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you know.”

“I don’t believe it,” said the Pigeon; “but if they do, why then they’re a kind of serpent, that’s all I can say.”

This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for a minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding, “You’re looking for eggs, I know that well enough; and what does it matter to me whether you’re a little girl or a serpent?”

“It matters a good deal to me,” said Alice hastily; “but I’m not looking for eggs, as it happens; and if I was, I shouldn’t want yours: I don’t like them raw.”

“Well, be off, then!” said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled down again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the trees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. After a while she remembered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her hands, and she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at the other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height.

It was so long since she had been anything near the right size, that it felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes, and began talking to herself, as usual. “Come, there’s half my plan done now! How puzzling all these changes are! I’m never sure what I’m going to be, from one minute to another! However, I’ve got back to my right size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden—how is that to be done, I wonder?” As she said this, she came suddenly upon an open place, with a little house in it about four feet high. “Whoever lives there,” thought Alice, “it’ll never do to come upon them this size: why, I should frighten them out of their wits!” So she began nibbling at the right-hand bit again, and did not venture to go near the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high.

[datingadviceonreddit]

Okay, so I will try to make this short! I recently went to this shitty family park with my family and a different family. They brought a daughter with them and her boyfriend, but since her bf was a junkie she dropped him and me and her became kinda close.So about 3 days after they break up we start texting and she talks with me about things like what she seeks in a relationships (normal sex life, love, and seeing eachother a few times a week) I am more of a few times per week guy (depending on my workload, which she did not seem to like) So, I make an effort to see her more often, to please her, and decide to go out with her and her friends and she sits with me at the bar (voluntarily), but this dude comes over and buys her a drink and then gets mad when I tell her I can buy her drinks, too, but she simply shrugs.Now let me be honest here: It's been about a year or two since I kinda liked someone. I am very picky. I want clean girls who can freak in bed. So we go on a second date (I take the initiative just to please her daily basis shit) we go to a park and talk a bit about pretty much nothing, after about an hour I pull her closer put my arms around her as she puts her legs on my leg and we sit there laughing. I am at this point genuinely starting to fall (trying to control myself so hard not do since it was just a second date) So I catch myself staring at her and she does as well and looks away shyly and tells me to stop, so I tell her I try but I simply cant. We sat there for hours and she even told me she enjoyed it very much and that she was starting to fall for me and I made her forget the issues she had with her ex (a cocaine junkie, who treated her like shit) So she tells me she really likes me, but I need to work out, so I started doing that (partially for her, but also mainly for me, because I had lost my shape after a mild depression, and am used to having a nice body that brings all the girls in awe)few days later I met up with a friend but she texted me she was going with her friend to that friends boyfriend but that he was bringing a friend ( the dude who bought her a drink ). So I say it's fine and we agree that we meet eachother afterwards for about an hour to chill together. So I am done with my business with my friend, we drive home quickly, at my request, 'cus I promised I would meet her (I tend to be a stand-up guy who keeps his promises). Before I leave, she asks me: do you miss me with a shy smiley. I reply: if you have to ask, you have forgotten our evening together in the park. So I call her on my way home, but she has a shitty phone (I can't really hear her), so I tell her I call her later when it's more silent and i'm out of the car for our meet-up. So when I get home I call her , but her phone is off, I think it's dead but then about 3 hours later she texts me: i think it's better we are friends, we are moving too fast, and I just came out of a tough relationship. So, I text her back: well, had fun with that dude huh? time to dump me out of the loop? She was like: you are just not my type, really tried, but you are not. I do not get how someone can go from do you miss me? to you're not my type. Something major happened between those both moments. My guess: she prob met the guy and made out with him or some shit and did not want to fuck with my mind, she liked him a bit more cus he was wearing a bigger chain than me ( a freaking fake one), and he was a bit more muscular -- he was driving a bycicle to meet her.... I have a fucking car.... She then continues on by saying I kinda like bad boys. But I am sitting here, thinking: nawh, you do not like bad boys, you like hopeless cases that you can't save so you can feed on the drama. (she already thinks of someone who snorts cocaine as a bad boy).So I tried to keep it cool between us as friends, because her parents know my family personally, I was not in the situation to tell her to fuck off. We have some fun in a chat and asks me to come with her to a bar. And I reply: so I can see you make out with that dude? Nty, maybe when I put some distance between the thought of you and me happening.I think we are fine, but then she continues to talk to my brother (when he asked what happened), saying I am clingy and possessive. I don't know how it is with you people, but my parents taught me to look out for a girl in a bar, so that nobody grabs her ass as she is with you (drunk folk)-- it is shameful towards her and more shameful if you do not act upon it as a man as she is with you at that moment. But at the same time, I am clingy? She made no effort into introducing me to her friends, so she was the only person I could talk to, and she always texts me every 10min: what are you doing, at the moment? Oh, also, she said I was the one who kept texting HER, but out of like 40 conversations, she was the one who started about 38 of them. So, tonight, not feeling well about this all, I texted her asking why she said that to my bro, and she replies cba with drama, so I try to remain nice and say we call it the past and she is like ''oké'' in the most interested way ever, as if I am the one who is begging to have her attention in life. Maybe I misplaced myself after not dating steadily for over a year and really trying to make this work, but I do not deserve that shit (I am far too good looking and loving for that). so I tell her: you know what: I think it's best if I just delete your number and we never talk to each other again, okay? I honestly wish you the best and hope you find a boyfriend who doesn't sniff cocaine. I am a loving guy when it comes to women, if it’s a one-night or a relationship, I adore women – can’t help it, but when I draw the line I’m hard on myself and cut all possible ties, in order for me to steer clear from drunk texting and so on. She then rambles on a bit about it being weird of me and stuff, but I was genuinely hurt. She also said you fell in love so quickly, as if she was thriving on it? Weird. But I kept telling her I liked you at this point, nothing more, because my love is serious. So I actually delete her number and she sent another text, but I ignored it. I feel like she is a dramaqueen, who just wanted me as a way to kill her time, while she hangs with lowlifes. And it makes me feel bad, for two reasons: I am not used to being used (Honestly, I have always been the guy who used others) And secondly, I really liked her, I really thought I could make something work with her, but it was far to fucked up for me to handle.Her list of reasons why I am not her type: I am 5,7 (I am about 2 inches taller than her), I was chubby (lost my entire fat belly with rigorous training in between our dates – at least I can thank her for that), I do not wear caps (because they fuck with your har and I wanna keep my hairline till my late 60s, and because she is into bad boys. And I’ll be honest about that last point, In the past I did my fair share of things that the type of boys she is interested in does not compare to. Maybe I was simply more mature than her and stood above that whole bad boy attitude, I do not know. I kind of feel empty now, and I really do not understand why, because I know she is not good for me. Maybe it’s ‘cus I’ve been denied for the first time in my life, who knows? Maybe I genuinely loved her. I am a sucker for love. But instead of sitting around, as I would do in my depression, I feel motivated to keep working out and working on myself as a person, for a girl like her is not worth any of my love, patience, time or money. She even dared to talk shit about my car (a van I use for my shop), while all the dudes she ever dated took the bus….Can anyone tell me if I made the right decision in this case? At this point I’m seeing it as a valuable refreshment at dating after a break of a year. Trying to look on the bright side, instead of being a depressed downer! Do not get me wrong, I used to be fit and got fit birds even when I was unfit by proper talking, but this one was just spinning my mind all the ways, having no clue what I should do. Hoping to hear from anyone, love. P.S. Sorry if the grammar is bad, wrote it at like 4 AM, and English isn’t my native tongue. via /r/dating_advice

[readbookywooks]

Advice from a Caterpillar

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

`Who are YOU?' said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, `I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'

`What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. `Explain yourself!'

`I can't explain MYSELF, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, `because I'm not myself, you see.'

`I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.

`I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, `for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'

`It isn't,' said the Caterpillar.

`Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet,' said Alice; `but when you have to turn into a chrysalis--you will some day, you know--and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?'

`Not a bit,' said the Caterpillar.

`Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,' said Alice; `all I know is, it would feel very queer to ME.'

`You!' said the Caterpillar contemptuously. `Who are YOU?'

Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar's making such VERY short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, `I think, you ought to tell me who YOU are, first.'

`Why?' said the Caterpillar.

Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a VERY unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.

`Come back!' the Caterpillar called after her. `I've something important to say!'

This sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again.

`Keep your temper,' said the Caterpillar.

`Is that all?' said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.

`No,' said the Caterpillar.

Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do, and perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing. For some minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, `So you think you're changed, do you?'

`I'm afraid I am, sir,' said Alice; `I can't remember things as I used--and I don't keep the same size for ten minutes together!'

`Can't remember WHAT things?' said the Caterpillar.

`Well, I've tried to say "HOW DOTH THE LITTLE BUSY BEE," but it all came different!' Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.

`Repeat, "YOU ARE OLD, FATHER WILLIAM,"' said the Caterpillar.

Alice folded her hands, and began:--

`You are old, Father William,' the young man said, `And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head-- Do you think, at your age, it is right?'

`In my youth,' Father William replied to his son, `I feared it might injure the brain; But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again.'

`You are old,' said the youth, `as I mentioned before, And have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door-- Pray, what is the reason of that?'

`In my youth,' said the sage, as he shook his grey locks, `I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment--one shilling the box-- Allow me to sell you a couple?'

`You are old,' said the youth, `and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak-- Pray how did you manage to do it?'

`In my youth,' said his father, `I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw, Has lasted the rest of my life.'

`You are old,' said the youth, `one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose-- What made you so awfully clever?'

`I have answered three questions, and that is enough,' Said his father; `don't give yourself airs! Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!'

`That is not said right,' said the Caterpillar.

`Not QUITE right, I'm afraid,' said Alice, timidly; `some of the words have got altered.'

`It is wrong from beginning to end,' said the Caterpillar decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes.

The Caterpillar was the first to speak.

`What size do you want to be?' it asked.

`Oh, I'm not particular as to size,' Alice hastily replied; `only one doesn't like changing so often, you know.'

`I DON'T know,' said the Caterpillar.

Alice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in her life before, and she felt that she was losing her temper.

`Are you content now?' said the Caterpillar.

`Well, I should like to be a LITTLE larger, sir, if you wouldn't mind,' said Alice: `three inches is such a wretched height to be.'

`It is a very good height indeed!' said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).

`But I'm not used to it!' pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone. And she thought of herself, `I wish the creatures wouldn't be so easily offended!'

`You'll get used to it in time,' said the Caterpillar; and it put the hookah into its mouth and began smoking again.

This time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down off the mushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went, `One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter.'

`One side of WHAT? The other side of WHAT?' thought Alice to herself.

`Of the mushroom,' said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked it aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.

Alice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a minute, trying to make out which were the two sides of it; and as it was perfectly round, she found this a very difficult question. However, at last she stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke off a bit of the edge with each hand.

`And now which is which?' she said to herself, and nibbled a little of the right-hand bit to try the effect: the next moment she felt a violent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her foot!

She was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but she felt that there was no time to be lost, as she was shrinking rapidly; so she set to work at once to eat some of the other bit. Her chin was pressed so closely against her foot, that there was hardly room to open her mouth; but she did it at last, and managed to swallow a morsel of the lefthand bit.

    *       *       *       *       *       *       *         *       *       *       *       *       *     *       *       *       *       *       *       *

`Come, my head's free at last!' said Alice in a tone of delight, which changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders were nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she looked down, was an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her.

`What CAN all that green stuff be?' said Alice. `And where HAVE my shoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can't see you?' She was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow, except a little shaking among the distant green leaves.

As there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her head, she tried to get her head down to them, and was delighted to find that her neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a serpent. She had just succeeded in curving it down into a graceful zigzag, and was going to dive in among the leaves, which she found to be nothing but the tops of the trees under which she had been wandering, when a sharp hiss made her draw back in a hurry: a large pigeon had flown into her face, and was beating her violently with its wings.

`Serpent!' screamed the Pigeon.

`I'm NOT a serpent!' said Alice indignantly. `Let me alone!'

`Serpent, I say again!' repeated the Pigeon, but in a more subdued tone, and added with a kind of sob, `I've tried every way, and nothing seems to suit them!'

`I haven't the least idea what you're talking about,' said Alice.

`I've tried the roots of trees, and I've tried banks, and I've tried hedges,' the Pigeon went on, without attending to her; `but those serpents! There's no pleasing them!'

Alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in saying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.

`As if it wasn't trouble enough hatching the eggs,' said the Pigeon; `but I must be on the look-out for serpents night and day! Why, I haven't had a wink of sleep these three weeks!'

`I'm very sorry you've been annoyed,' said Alice, who was beginning to see its meaning.

`And just as I'd taken the highest tree in the wood,' continued the Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, `and just as I was thinking I should be free of them at last, they must needs come wriggling down from the sky! Ugh, Serpent!'

`But I'm NOT a serpent, I tell you!' said Alice. `I'm a--I'm a--'

`Well! WHAT are you?' said the Pigeon. `I can see you're trying to invent something!'

`I--I'm a little girl,' said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered the number of changes she had gone through that day.

`A likely story indeed!' said the Pigeon in a tone of the deepest contempt. `I've seen a good many little girls in my time, but never ONE with such a neck as that! No, no! You're a serpent; and there's no use denying it. I suppose you'll be telling me next that you never tasted an egg!'

`I HAVE tasted eggs, certainly,' said Alice, who was a very truthful child; `but little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you know.'

`I don't believe it,' said the Pigeon; `but if they do, why then they're a kind of serpent, that's all I can say.'

This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for a minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding, `You're looking for eggs, I know THAT well enough; and what does it matter to me whether you're a little girl or a serpent?'

`It matters a good deal to ME,' said Alice hastily; `but I'm not looking for eggs, as it happens; and if I was, I shouldn't want YOURS: I don't like them raw.'

`Well, be off, then!' said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled down again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the trees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. After a while she remembered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her hands, and she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at the other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height.

It was so long since she had been anything near the right size, that it felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes, and began talking to herself, as usual. `Come, there's half my plan done now! How puzzling all these changes are! I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another! However, I've got back to my right size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden--how IS that to be done, I wonder?' As she said this, she came suddenly upon an open place, with a little house in it about four feet high. `Whoever lives there,' thought Alice, `it'll never do to come upon them THIS size: why, I should frighten them out of their wits!' So she began nibbling at the righthand bit again, and did not venture to go near the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high.