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saiilorstars · 4 years

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Rise Up

Ch.4: A New Firestorm

Previous Story: It Had To Be You || Current Masterlist

Pairings: Barry Allen x Female OC

Chapter Summary: The Snarts have made their way back to STAR Labs only this time they're in need of help.

Pronunciation of OC: Bell-en. The last syllable has an emphasis so it’s not pronounced like ‘Helen’ would be.

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel

Despite the team's best efforts, professor Stein was still under heavy health risks.

"Hold him steady!" Cisco shouted at Caitlin and Barry who were frantically trying to keep Stein's convulsing body still enough for Cisco to come in with a device similar to the Firestorm splicer. It was just hard to do when Stein kept spontaneously blowing blue flames.

"He's dropping out!" Caitlin anxiously said.

Cisco had managed to get in and put the splicer on Stein's chest, but his fingers fumbled trying to get it activated. "Come on, come on, come on, come on!"

"Cisco, we're losing him!"

But just then Cisco heard the splicer make a 'click!' and pulled back with a heavy sigh of relief. "Oh, Díos mío. Thank God."

"He's getting worse," Barry sighed and stared at the now unconscious Stein. It had been a cycle like this all night and they still had no real ideas on how to stabilize him permanently.

"Look, I did what I could to re-engineer Doctor Wells' original stabilizer to quell the reaction, but I don't know what he used as a power source," Cisco started out the side room. "Best I could find was the one from his wheelchair."

"And how long will that last?" Caitlin wondered as she and Barry followed him out.

"Well, that's the problem, we had already used up most of its energy trying to dampen the metas' powers during our little rogue air trip with Weather Wizard and company. I think we got a few days tops."

"And he's stuck in bed?"

"Yeah, when he wakes up, I'm gonna transfer the stabilizer to this, give him a power cane, get him moving," Cisco moved over to a table to pick up another silver device.

Barry knew that was only a temporary situation and sooner or later Stein would be in trouble yet again. "We gotta figure out a way to save him."

"I think I might know how to do that," Caitlin decided to share her spontaneous idea with them. She headed for the main desk and pulled up Stein's profile up on one of the computers across them. "When the Particle Accelerator exploded, the dark matter that collided with Professor Stein fused with the Firestorm matrix and altered the normal molecular processes that occurs within his body. Those highly reactive molecules needed something to bond with in order to stabilize. But now that Ronnie is no longer a part of Professor Stein-"

"Those molecules don't have anything to bond to," Barry realized the problem.

"And the longer he goes without merging, the more unstable he becomes."

"Ugh," Cisco foresaw a much bigger problem of finding Stein a new replacement. "All right, so, what do we do?"

"We find another... participant."

Cisco shot Caitlin a sarcastic look. "Okay, cool, so, how do we do that? Are we just gonna make a Tinder app for potential meta-humans? 'Cause I'm pretty sure merging with Stein and randomly bursting into flames sounds like the biggest "swipe left" of all time."

Barry disapproved of Cisco's lack of seriousness but did have to agree that it wouldn't such an easy thing finding someone willing to become Firestorm. "I mean, even if we could find someone willing, Stein can't just merge with whoever he wants."

"No he can't, but I have done some research, and found two potential candidates that might be compatible with him," Caitlin typed on the computer to bring up two young men's profiles. "They both were affected by the dark matter, and they were both admitted to the hospital showing symptoms of gene rearrangement mutation. And they both share the same blood type as Professor Stein and Ronnie."

"All right. I mean, this is more than organ donation," Barry felt the need to remind her. "We'll need more than tissue typing to see if their bodies are compatible."

"If I can isolate the genetic locus of the two candidates and cross-reference it with the mutations in Professor Stein, I might be able to find a match and save his life."

"What do you need to do that?"

Caitlin formed an apologetic smile, indicating she would definitely be requiring his speedy abilities.

~ 0 ~

Belén was uncomfortable. She didn't need to say it: her body outright showed it. From the way she awkwardly sat on the metal chair, to the way her hand reached for the prison phone...everything screamed "I don't know what to do here".

Luckily, Maritza had assumed the reason her sister came to visit. "I'm glad that you and Mom are salvaging the only family relationship left in this...wonky family of ours. I know that with time you'll be close, like it should've been from the start."

Belén gave a low sigh of doubt. As much as she wanted that closeness with her mother, she was aware that it wouldn't happen overnight and that it certainly wouldn't be easy. She told Maritza that and added her biggest fear: "I can't even be completely honest with her."

Maritza knew she was talking about Belén's double life as a metahuman. "Maybe it's better that she doesn't know."

Belén shrugged and looked to the side in thought. "Despite everything that's happened between us Maritza...I just want to say..." There was a clear struggle for her to say it out loud but she knew Maritza did deserve it this time. "...thank you."

Maritza blinked in surprise since she hadn't been expecting that. In fact, she hadn't been expecting any form of gratitude from Belén anytime soon - maybe not even in this lifetime after what she did. "Belén..."

"You did a lot of bad things Maritza but this was something nice..." Belén drew in a breath, "So...thanks. It's better to be friends with my mother than enemies. At least this way I get to see Axel and...he's good. Better, now, actually, since he's living with his grandmother now."

"I'm happy to hear that you're doing better now," Maritza offered a smile that Belén couldn't return. "I saw one of the newspapers with your article in it."

Belén blinked and stared at her sister with curiosity. Her article about the Azalea being alive had finally been published and was so far doing well with the public's response. They were eager and hopeful that their beloved Azalea was still alive. Belén just never expected for her sister to be one of the readers. "You read my articles?"

Maritza smiled again. "Of course I do. You're a hell of a writer and the fact you're making a comeback to the city is amazing. I'm glad that you're doing better, Belén. You deserve that. You deserve...everything."

And just like before coming, Belén didn't know what to do.

~ 0 ~

Barry intended on getting back to STAR Labs as quick as possible after he finished a bit of work at the station. If he continued to make unscheduled leaves then someone would definitely start to notice and that would be the last thing he needed at the moment. He hurried down the stairs with a needed case file in his hands, and in his rush to get to Joe, he bumped into a tall woman who then dropped her purse.

"I-I am so sorry!" Barry went to pick up the purse off the floor. When he looked up to see the woman he was met with familiar-looking brown eyes.

"That's fine," Veronica Green took back her purse with a polite smile. "I wasn't looking where I was going either." In his surprise, Barry couldn't say anything. Veronica tilted her head to examine the young man. "I know you, don't I? I've seen you…"

"Th-the...funeral," Barry stuttered to explain and seeing Veronica's confused gaze he shook his head and began anew. "I'm Barry Allen-" he stuck a hand to shake with hers.

"Oh, right," Veronica shook his hand politely. "You were my daughter's boyfriend."

"Well, not 'was'...am…" Barry watched her awkwardly process that news and wondered if the woman was about to hate him or mildly tolerate him. She didn't appear too friendly at the moment.

"Oh," was all that came out from Veronica's lips.

She hates me, Barry concluded.

"Barry? Hey!" he then heard Patty call for him and thanked every God he knew of for the distraction. It was incredibly awkward - even for his usual.

Patty came rushing up to him and Veronica, smiling widely. "You'll never guess what I found." But before Barry could even begin to guess she held up a plastic bag of teeth.

"Are those...teeth?" Barry made a face.

"Shark teeth," Patty excitedly corrected. "And I have an eyewitness that says he saw a shark walking on land-a man-shark."

"Man-shark?" this time Veronica had spoken up, letting Patty realize she had yet to know who the other woman was. "This city has man-sharks?" Veronica looked at Barry like he had the answers.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Patty inquired.

"Veronica Green," Veronica reached to shake Patty's hand. "I'm transferring from Star City."

"Oh, nice," Patty smiled as she shook the woman's hand. "Patty Spivot. I just started working here too."

"Right, I know. And I'm assuming you're working on...what are they called again? Metahumans?" Veronica's face said it all. It was an absolutely not. The things she was doing for her daughter she could not believe.

"Well…" Patty said after Veronica took an abrupt leave, "...she seems like a cheery one."

"That's actually Belén's mother," Barry watched Veronica head for Singh's office.

"Oh my God," Patty put a hand over her mouth.

"Don't worry, I think Belén knows that too."

Patty glanced at him, surprised by his statement.

Barry winced. "Don't...tell her I said that, actually."

"Only if you don't tell her what I said."

"Deal."

The two smiled at each other.

"So, um...do you think that's actually real?" Barry one again looked at the bag of teeth. He had heard and seen of all sorts of metahumans but a shark that walked on land seemed just a bit too much.

"Yeah, I mean, I know it sounds really wacko...but, I mean, nothing seems impossible now that we have meta-humans, right? And I thought it would be fun, you know, for us to work together again on a case."

"Yeah, I mean, I really- I'd love to work on anything with you. Um, it's just, you know, meta-humans aren't really my thing," Barry tried looking as convincing as ever. He didn't want Patty looking too much into the metahuman criminals lest she be kidnapped again.

"Really? I mean...I can handle it myself…"

Then again, if she was going to keep looking into it herself, alone, Barry would rather have an eye on her upclose. "No, you-look, how about I just- I'll run a test, see where the teeth came from."

Patty beamed. "That would be amazing! Thank you!" she handed the bag over to him.

Joe walked out of the office room and saw the bag of shark teeth. "How's your man-shark case coming?" he looked at Patty, amused.

"It's good. I was just gonna go and canvas the area, see what else I can dig up, and Barry here agreed to run some tests for me."

"Really?" Joe raised an eyebrow and looked over to Barry.

"Mm-hmm. So, progress," Patty beamed and said another 'thanks' to Barry before leaving herself.

"For real?" Joe inquired from Barry, eyes trained on the bag of teeth.

"If it's another meta I'd rather know first and lead Patty away from it before something like Sand Demon happens again," Barry explained.

"Mm," Joe walked over to the reception desk to leave behind some papers and then started back for his office.

"Uh, so did you hear we have a new co-worker?" Barry followed after him and glanced at Singh's office where he could see Veronica having an idle chat with him.

Joe followed his gaze to the office and nodded. "Wasn't expecting that from one phone call, I'll tell you that."

"Yeah I don't think she likes me very much…" Barry let his file flop on Joe's desk.

Joe started to laugh. "What parent likes their daughter's boyfriend?"

"Thanks," Barry said with a straight face. To his dismay, Joe only continued to laugh more. He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and pulled it up to see who it was. "Hey, you know what, I gotta go. It's Cisco. It's about Professor Stein."

"Okay, go, I'll cover you with Singh," Joe shooed him off and just as Barry turned to leave he heard the man laugh again.

It was not funny.

~ 0 ~

In the cortex, Stein tried out his new makeshift silver cane that was meant to keep him stabilized in the meantime they found a possible firestorm partner. "Well, I must admit, I never imagined the Sphinx's riddle about a man requiring three legs would ever apply to me, but if this device keeps me mobile, then I will gratefully oblige."

Caitlin smiled at the man as he took a small trip in the cortex to test out the cane. "Hopefully, you won't need it for much longer," she gestured to the two profiles of the candidates that could possibly (and hopefully) work to save him. "There was no agglutination in the blood samples, and cross-matching was negative for both, and it appears that the dark matter from the Particle Accelerator explosion mutated their genes in a very similar way it did to yours. I think they're both potential matches."

"So who do we go with?" Belén looked at the two men on the computer screen. She could see one was far younger than the other but as far as she could tell they both matched Stein. "Do we pull popsicle sticks or…?"

Caitlin chuckled and shook her head. "My first choice is Henry Hewitt. He graduated summa cum laude from Hudson University with a double major in Applied Physics and Bioengineering."

"A Hudson boy," Stein said thoughtfully. "I like him already."

"What about this other guy, Jefferson Jackson?" Barry moved up to the computer to take a closer look. "High school quarterback, 4.0 student. He's got the physical attributes. And it looks like more of his alleles match than Hewitt's. Doesn't that mean that he's more compatible?"

Caitlin reluctantly agreed but it was easy to see that she really did prefer Henry. "On paper, perhaps, but Hewitt is a scientist. Clearly, he's trying to make something of his life."

"That's a bit mean to say," Belén sarcastically glanced at Caitlin as if she were scolding the brunette.

"I'm just...I think he'd be open to something like this," Caitlin raised her hands in defense.

"I think we should meet with both of them before we make a decision," Cisco muttered, thinking both candidates would probably have to think about it really hard before being able to come up with a decision.

"That's an excellent idea," Stein agreed.

"I'll see if I can get Hewitt here," Caitlin said fast.

"All right, in the meantime, we'll go meet with Jefferson Jackson," Barry turned back, looking at Belén and Stein for agreement.

"I have to go pick up Axel and bring him to Mrs. Andrews," Belén patted him on the arm.

"Hey, that reminds me," Barry walked up to her while the others dispersed to do their tasks, "I met your mother today at the station."

"Oh yeah," Belén smiled. "She said she started on that transfer thing."

"Um...yeah, it's just…" Barry hated to be the one to tell her because she really did look happy about it, "...I kinda got the feeling she wasn't very happy that we were back together again."

Belén's smile faded a bit as she considered the idea that perhaps never telling her mother they were alright now could've had a bigger influence than she thought. "Oh, oh I'm sorry Barry. You know, that's probably my fault. Last time she heard you were the jerk that broke up with me."

But Barry wanted to say that he felt it was a bit more than just that. There was something about the way Veronica had looked at him earlier that...sort of said she couldn't believe her daughter had chosen him.

"Barry, do not worry," Belén assured him it would be fine. She set her hands on his arms and looked so sure of herself, it made Barry dread the outcome if things didn't go her way. "My Mom's a grumpy woman but she's going to try and make things work with me. Once she gets to know you - and knows how happy you make me - she'll warm up to you."

"You think?" Barry raised an eyebrow at her.

"Absolutely," Belén chuckled and leaned in to kiss him. "It'll be fine."

"Okay," Barry relented very quietly. He didn't realize how much it would bother him if Veronica ended up truly not liking him. There was something he'd been meaning to tell Belén but so far was unable to find a suitable moment and place.

Belén mistook his silence as more worry and laughed. She repeated that it would all be fine, gave him a last kiss before truly leaving. On her way out, she missed their newest E-2 visitor lurking behind.

~ 0 ~

Axel bounced on his feet while he waited for his aunt Belén to buy him that ice cream from the ice cream truck. It was his reward for getting a sticker at school that indicated he'd attempted to write his name unlike other students.

"But you know that you won't get a reward every time, right?" Belén asked after giving Axel his Bugs Bunny popsicle. "I'm happy that you're putting an effort but you don't get a reward every time."

"Mhm!" Axel practically waved her off while he licked his popsicle.

Belén playfully rolled her eyes and ushered him towards the car. While she was putting Axel into the backseat, she could've sworn she felt burning eyes on her back. She hurriedly finished adjusting Axel's seat belt then closed the car door. As she moved for the driver's seat she made a diligent look around for anything strange but as far as she could see there were only students being picked up.

Get it together Belén, she berated herself and opened the driver's door.

She missed the brunette women across the street peering behind another ice cream truck. A dark smile spread across her face as she watched Belén drive off. "Gotcha."

~ 0 ~

When Belén returned to STAR Labs, she found Caitlin in a side room excitedly conversing with one of the chosen candidates for Firestorm. Cisco was sitting at the desk with a grim face at the two.

"What's going on?" Belén dropped in the chair next to him.

"Caitlin got Henry Hewitt to come," Cisco said but sounded nowhere near happy about it.

"What's wrong with him?" Belén asked quick, garnering a confused look from Cisco. "I know you hate him. It's in your voice, stupid."

Cisco smiled and shook his head. Before he got to explaining his reason of dislike for Henry, Barry and professor Stein walked into the room. Seeing them from the side room, Caitlin brought out Henry to meet them.

"Caitlin, what's going on?" Barry frowned at the sight of the man in the room.

Caitlin seemed happier than ever. "I'm glad you're back. This is Dr. Henry Hewitt. This is Barry Allen, Professor Martin Stein and Belén Palayta."

Stein shook hands with Henry. "How do you do?"

Henry seemed in awe. "The illustrious Martin Stein. I've read all your papers back at Hudson, especially on transmutation. Fascinating. You're a legend."

"Kiss-ass," Belén mumbled under her breath but she soon realized it wasn't as quiet as she thought because Cisco had snickered beside her. Even Barry had let a smile slip.

Stein laughed shyly at the praises. "Oh, please. I think you're overestimating my contribution to the field. I-I appreciate your enthusiasm."

Caitlin happily walked to the other three. "Isn't he great?"

"He's got an ego the size of Texas-" Cisco muttered, "-but, yeah, he's alright."

Caitlin rolled her eyes at him. "So, where's Jefferson Jackson?"

"We just need more time," Barry sighed. It turned out the younger candidate was more stubborn than they thought.

"We don't have more time. I couldn't find another power source for the cane and that thing's running out." Cisco didn't really like Henry that much but Stein was running out of time.

"So then...that's it?" Belén asked. "We convince Henry to do it?"

Caitlin smiled. "Oh he's already agreed. We can do the merge right now."

"What do you mean? You told him the details of the Firestorm Matrix?" Barry gave her an incredulous look.

"Absolutely, becoming Firestorm is a huge life change. He needs to know what he's getting himself into."

They were then taken when the two scientists chanted their apparent school's theme.

"Aw, look at that, that's so cute," Cisco sarcastically rose from his chair, smiling impossibly wide. "We'll have two Professor Steins if this works."

Belén laughed. "I don't think anyone could be professor Stein. There can only be one softie scientist here."

Being settled, they gathered up the potential new Firestorm and Cisco stood in front of Henry holding the splicer in his hands, giving Henry a final instruction.

"When I put this splicer on your chest you're gonna feel a rush. That's a molecular primer being released into your body. Then you can make physical contact with Professor Stein, and Firestorm Matrix will take over."

"Easy enough," Henry nodded, but the manner in which he said those words gave the impression he thought it was simple math terms.

"Ready?" Cisco asked both men this time.

"No time like the present," Stein held his cane for Caitlin to take. "Thank you, my dear."

"Okay," Cisco put the splicer on Henry's chest. The device immediately whirred to life as it sprouted three metal bars across Henry's chest.

Both Henry and Stein turned to face each other, their hands reaching to make contact with the other. Their tips flamed on before dying out, leaving the two very much separated.

"Try again," Caitlin encouraged them after a moment of confusion.

They reached out to merge again but not even flames had appeared that time. It appeared that it was not going to work.

"This is unexpected…" Stein pulled his hand back.

"Something's supposed to be happening, right?" Henry shot the others an irritated look. "Why isn't it working?"

Belén didn't like the attitude displayed towards them like it was their fault. "Genius if we knew we wouldn't be having this problem."

Cisco stepped towards the two men to take off the splicer from Henry. "Uh, well, looks like you two aren't compatible after all."

"So all this was for nothing?" Henry now openly snared.

"Believe me, no one is more disappointed than I am," Stein despondently sighed, but Henry flatout ignored the implications of the failure.

"Yeah, don't be so sure about that. Next time, try to get your act together before you get someone's hopes up." Henry stormed out of the cortex.

The group didn't know how to react after that setback. Stein would have to continue muffling through for the moment.

"So, what happens now?" Belén dreaded to ask. She and Barry walked down the street leading up to her house. "If Henry Hewitt can't merge…"

"We have to hope that Jefferson Jackson comes through," Barry said, shrugging his shoulders.

"You met him with professor Stein today, right? Did he look interested?"

"Uum…" Barry made a face that said it all.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens tomorrow," Belén hoped this other candidate would turn out to be better than Hewitt. They walked up to Belén's front porch staircase.

"Is there anyone home?" Barry looked at the dark windows of her house. Belén told him earlier in the day her mother would be staying at a hotel in the meantime they made good on the house deed.

"No, it'll just be me and Axel," Belén moved up to the door to unlock it. "I need to start packing, actually. I'm leaving Axel with Mrs. Andrews for the rest of the day so I can get a head start."

"But you're staying alone in the night?" Barry's tone indicated his outright refusal.

"Relax," Belén rolled her eyes and opened the door, "I doubt Zoom or Datura make house visits."

"I...Bells, do we really want to push that luck? Would it kill you to just stay with Caitlin some more time?"

"No offence to Caitlin, but what exactly makes it more safe at her place than here?" Belén smiled as Barry fumbled over an answer. "It's not like Caitlin has powers. Buuuuut…" she pretended innocence, "...you know, I wouldn't be opposed to some help with packing. Without the speed."

"Oh c'mon," Barry complained but was already coming in after her. Belén giggled while he began making his case on why he should very much be allowed to use said speed.

~0~

The next day, the group was more than happy to see Jefferson Jackson deciding to meet with them. The young man was fascinated by all the scientific machinery set around and had to take a moment to really get the jist of the place.

"I thought S.T.A.R. Labs had to shut down," he remarked after a while.

"You can say it's under new management," Belén innocently waved a hand from her spot at the desk. She figured he looked more or less the same way she did when she first stepped foot in the room a year ago.

"Cool. So, let's get started," Jax clapped his hands. "You got some kind of "Billion Dollar Man" technology that gonna fix my knee?"

Barry realized the other man was under the ruse they would be bringing him back to his regular self. "Actually, Jax, this isn't about fixing your knee."

"What are you talking about?"

"When the Particle Accelerator exploded, the energy wave that collided with you is known as dark matter," Caitlin began explaining.

"And it didn't just hurt your knee," Stein finished for her. "It-it changed the molecular structure of your body."

Jax raised an eyebrow at him. "Whoa, hold on, Grey. So you're saying I'm like one of those meta-humans I keep hearing about on the news?"

Stein was not amused by the little nickname the man had branded him with. "Yes, I am. Please, call me Professor."

"We think you have potential capabilities," Cisco tried to explain next, assuming they were freaking Jax out.

"What kind of capabilities?"

"The same as Professor Stein: the ability for your body to process fission and fusion," Caitlin answered.

Cisco raised the splicer device for Jax to see. "And you can harness excess energy and turn it into these massive nuclear blasts."

"And, if it helps, you can fly," Belén added whimsically, adding a moment later in a low voice, "Wish I could fly."

Jax was bewildered and glanced at Stein sitting on a chair, looking far too, well, old to do all those powers. "So you're saying you can do all this?"

"Only during times of convergence with a willing partner.

"Convergence?" Jax concluded what they needed from him and laughed. "You and me? No, this is crazy."

"No, Jax, this is your chance to right the wrong that was done to you," Caitlin frowned at his careless reaction.

"Yeah, sorry, you got the wrong guy," Jax made a signal he was going to leave. "I don't want nothing to do with this."

Caitlin wasn't going to give up and cut him off. "Wait a second, we are giving you the chance to be a superhero, and you're gonna say no that quickly?"

"Yeah, not my kind of thing," Jax said.

Stein began pushing himself upwards from his chair "If the man isn't willing to participate-"

"Look, I saw your test scores, Jax. Your grades were good enough to get into college, but you didn't go," Caitlin continued on, sounding angrier. "Why? Is this the type of guy you are? One setback and you fold? Well, then maybe you're not the guy for us anyway."

"Caitlin-" Belén meant to stop her but the damage was done.

"Well, maybe I'm not," Jax sourly agreed and stormed out.

"Maybe this just wasn't meant to be," Stein exceptionally walked out as well.

"Caitlin you shouldn't have done that," Belén got up her chair, earning a very sharp look from the brunette in return.

"He said no to being a superhero. Who does that?" Caitlin angrily looked at the others for back up. "I mean, you didn't say no when you had the chance. Cisco, would you?"

Cisco battled through a nervous laugh. "Chance to have superpowers? Sign me up."

"Look, we're asking Jax to change his entire life, to sacrifice what he does have," Barry tried simplifying it for Caitlin, because he thought she'd been a bit hard on Jax too. "I mean, that's not a decision that can be made lightly. It took me a long time to figure out this whole hero thing."

Caitlin still didn't understand. "Exactly, which is why we need someone who wants to do this."

"Where are you going?" Belén watched the woman begin to leave.

"To get Hewitt back. We have to try again," Caitlin said loudly and stormed away.

~0~

Later that day, Barry called in Patty to give her the results of her "shark teeth". As soon as Patty heard the results, she projected grave disappointment.

"Human DNA?" she looked up from the results.

"Yup, definitely not a man-shark. Not even a land shark, Ma'am," Barry laughed but Patty seemed pretty upset.

"Well, thanks for testing it for me," Patty sighed and turned to leave.

"What are you gonna do now?"

Patty stopped and thought for a moment. "I don't know, probably file it under "never gonna happen." I have another case anyway."

"Oh, anything I can help you with?"

"No, no, no, no, Detective said definitely n-not," Patty knew she was being a horrible liar but in her defence she warned Joe she couldn't keep secrets very well. And keeping the newest case that involved apparently the deceased Harrison Wells was a big one.

Barry immediately recognized her off look and worried. "Is everything okay?"

Patty did not make things better by laughing so nervously. "Sure, why?"

"I don't know, you're just acting kind of different…"

"No! No. I'm the same old P. Spivot, you know?" Patty inwardly smacked herself for being so obvious. She needed to leave fast. "I have to go, but thank you so much for testing this, and I'll see you."

Barry couldn't even get an "okay" out when the woman had already rushed out. He decided he would go to Joe himself for some answers. Why wouldn't Joe want him working on a case with them? It wasn't like him.

As Barry was coming down the stairs, he caught sight of Veronica coming out of the main office. Thinking of their oh-so-grand meeting the previous day, Barry thought he would try it again with some better results. He knew Belén was right in that Veronica didn't know him and perhaps they just needed time but it did bother him that this woman decided - out of the blue - that she wouldn't like him.

"Ms. Green?" he called to the woman engrossed with a file in her hands. Soon as she looked up Barry could see her eyes narrow a bit. "Everything...okay?" That was a stupid question but Barry couldn't think of another way to start.

"Of course. I just finished with papers for my transfer. I start this Monday," Veronica informed.

"That's great! I guess we'll be seeing each other more often then," Barry smiled but Veronica just stared.

"Yes…" Veronica didn't have to openly say that she wasn't as thrilled as one would think.

Barry saw that and inwardly sighed. "Ms. Green, I just want to say that I'm very happy you and Bells are working on a new relationship."

"Bells?" Veronica repeated her daughter's nickname with distaste.

"U-uh, sorry, Belén. That's just...what we call her sometimes…" Barry said slowly, seeing no such progress. Veronica still did not lighten up. "Anyways, I just…" he sighed, deciding to simply be honest with how he felt and see what happened from there, "...Belén has suffered a lot, I've seen it, and I think she could really use her mother. She deserves that."

"Yes, well, she deserves more doesn't she?" Veronica openly said instead, jabbing him with her double meaning. Her knowing smile on him didn't make Barry feel any better.

~ 0 ~

"She said that?" Cisco gaped after hearing Barry's story - which was admittedly funny in some point. The two were in the cortex, watching over Axel while Belén went for some coffee in the kitchen of the building. "Duuuude…" Cisco began to chuckle, much to Barry's offence

"Why does everyone think it's so funny?" he frowned. First Joe, and now Cisco? Next thing he knew Iris would burst out laughing next.

"I mean, it would happen to you," Cisco walked over to the desk where Axel sat. He glanced at the boy who was busy attempting to write his name on paper, oblivious to their talk.

"Thanks," Barry frowned. "I get that not everyone is gonna like me but...this precise woman happens to be Belén's mother. She has to like me."

Cisco smirked as he plopped down on a chair next to Axel. "Right."

"I mean, Bells won over my Dad so quick…" Barry began to pace in front of the desk.

"Well, Belén is adorable, so…" Cisco trailed off when Barry glared for his lack of seriousness. "Alright, no time for jokes, then."

"No," Barry shook his head and came to a stop. He put his hands on the edge of the desk and sighed. "I can...see a future with Belén, I really can, and in that future...I don't see this," he gestured to the situation.

Cisco raised his eyebrows, able to barely to hold his teasing smile back. "Belén Allen?"

"Hey!" Belén had walked in, eyes wide and on Cisco. "I don't know what you were talking about but I know 'shut up' fits perfectly."

Cisco found it even more difficult not to tease. Belén placed down a mug of coffee for Cisco on the desk, handed Barry his own then took her own.

"So, dare I ask what we were discussing?" she made eyes at Barry who was busy trying not to be as red as possible.

"Auntie Belén! Look at my name!" Axel waved his paper in the air, nearly smacking Cisco on the face a couple times.

"Let me see that before you paper cut this beautiful face of mine," Cisco took the paper from the boy and looked down at the squiggly-lined name. "Well, for a four year old, it's not that bad."

"It's my homework," Axel said proudly.

"Great job, Axel," Belén mused after seeing the paper. "Least your name isn't Annah-Belén with a hyphen and everything," she shook her head and shot Barry a look. "You and I know about long names, don't we Bartholomew?"

The speedster silently glowered.

"You guys," Caitlin came rushing into the room seeming very concerned.

"What's wrong?" asked Barry, but Caitlin came directly for the computers. She said nothing as she typed and pulled up a page on the one of the computers up on the wall.

It was a news-reporter in the middle of a newscast, the byline underneath reading something about questioning a Henry Hewitt.

"What's…?" Belén blinked at the screen.

"There was a scene at Mercury Labs where apparently Hewitt showed some sort of metahuman abilities," Caitlin explained, sighing deeply. "He nearly hurt one of his bosses and the witness said he was unusually aggressive."

"But...he has powers now?" Belén looked at the others for some help understanding that.

"Hewitt's dormant abilities must have been triggered when we attempted the merger," Barry realized.

"And that could be catastrophic," Caitlin crossed her arms. "If his powers are anything like professor Stein's then he requires a grounding mechanism to stabilize his volatility."

"Yeah, he's gonna pop his top," Cisco scoffed, wondering if he hadn't done it on his own already. The man seemed to carry a temper with him anyways. "And considering he's got a long history of violence - according to his police record - we probably don't have much time."

"Police record?" Barry threw a look over to Caitlin.

"I didn't find a police record," the brunette said defensibly.

Cisco scoffed. "Yeah, of course not, it was sealed, but guess what, ya boy hacked in and-" he started on the computer, "-hold on, wait for it."

"Yowzah," Belén's eyes roamed the heavy police record Cisco pulled up for them.

"One count battery, two counts aggravated assault, court-ordered anger management therapy," Cisco listed.

"He seemed like such a nice guy," Caitlin said dejectedly.

"Looks are deceiving," Belén remarked.

"Professor Stein is getting worse. And Hewitt's like this because of me. And now Jefferson Jackson will never come back because of what I said," Caitlin felt completely guilty for the mess she thought she was responsible for. "I just didn't believe that he has what it takes."

"This isn't because you didn't believe in him," Barry made her stop for a moment. "Sometimes, great possibilities are right in front of us, and we don't see them, because we choose not to. I think that we need to be open to exploring something new."

Caitlin valued his words, she did, and nodded her head. "I'm gonna go fix it," she mumbled and turned to leave.

"We have to keep an eye on professor Stein," Cisco got up from his chair. "Time is running out."

"Yeah," Belén moved over for Axel. "We'll be back later, then. I promised my mother I would show her my new place. Which reminds me…" she started smiling at Barry, with purpose, "...I know I said no speed for moving out, but...considering I'm a bit behind…"

"I got it," Barry nodded, promising her. "I'll go in later tonight, don't worry."

"Thank you," Belén ushered Axel off his chair and the two walked off.

"So...we're just not gonna tell her that her mothers hates you?" Cisco curiously looked after Belén.

"No," Barry replied instantly. With a warning finger for Cisco to keep quiet as well, he walked out too.

~ 0 ~

As soon as Belén had gotten word from her mother she was waiting for her back in their old home, Belén did her best to get there on time. If there was one thing her mother despised it was tardiness.

"My toys!?" Axel gasped the moment he saw various boxes already piling up around the living room. "Auntie Belén, are my toys in there!?"

"Don't worry Axel, your things are in your room," Belén assured as she closed the door. "Mom?" she called, leaving her purse on a stand by table.

Veronica walked out from the kitchen with a glass of water in her hand. Axel was delighted to see his grandmother and ran forwards to hug her. "Grandma, wanna play with my toys with me?" he asked excitedly.

"Not right now, sweetheart," Veronica smiled at him, speaking a soft voice. Belén honestly couldn't see that version of her mother as, well..her mother. It was always arguments and bickering with the others.

"Aaaw," Axel pulled back and turned away.

"Axel, go on out to the backyard for a moment," Belén instructed the child.

"Okay!"

"But stay away from Aunt Belén's flowers, alright?"

"Yes!" Axel promised and rushed for the back door.

"So you've been packing…" Veronica lowered her glass to observe the room. "I checked upstairs and...you're almost completely packed too."

"Yeah," Belén shrugged. "I want to get out of here as fast as possible."

"You know I'm not kicking you out-"

"No, yeah, I know that," Belén promised her. "I just…" her eyes began to look around the familiar living room, "...don't like being here anymore. There's too many bad things, memories...I can't continue living here if I want to function normally."

"You're almost set then," Veronica gestured to the packing boxes behind them. "I'm surprised you packed so fast."

"I had help from Barry, Mom," Belén rolled her eyes.

"Oh," Veronica could not help the face expression that settled.

Belén saw it too and frowned. "Oh c'mon, are you actually not liking him? Barry mentioned it but I just thought he was being dramatic."

"He told you that?" it appeared Veronica was offended and yet, upset that apparently Barry had disclosed this information.

"Well gee, Mom, considering I'm his girlfriend and he just met my Mom who created such a negative image of him...yeah, he did mention it because he was upset."

Veronica made a small noise and shook her head. She brought her glass to her lips and drank.

"Can I just ask what is the problem?" Belén sighed, so completely done with arguments between them. "You know nothing of me, and then you have the audacity to hate my boyfriend whom you've never even properly met."

"The last time I heard he broke up with you in a very harsh way," Veronica tilted her glass, pretending to be interested in the swirling water. "And that left you so bad you decided to go to a psychologist."

"Hey-" Belén struck a sharp finger at her mother, "-that was because of Maritza, Axel, Rayan, and the frikin black-hole that appeared in the sky as well! I decided to go to Dr. Baeva for me. I decided I wanted to feel better, to be better so I went for professional help."

"Belén-"

"No, Mom, you're being unfair," Belén said softly. "I bet grandma and grandpa were against at least one of your boyfriends when you were my age. And how about Nona Enger? Remember how that feels?"

Veronica's lips twitched into a smile. "Your father's mother was an outright..." she definitely wouldn't finish that sentence out loud.

"Can't you at least give him a chance?" Belén asked. "One dinner - that's all I'm asking. You can get to know Barry and see that he's really sweet and...and dorky, I'm not gonna lie," she smiled. "But overall he is someone that I can truly think about having a future with."

Veronica's attention was drawn most by the last statement. "That much, huh?" she asked with eyebrows raised.

Belén nodded. "Yes."

Veronica gave a small nod as she thought about the deal proposed. "Okay-" Belén's eyes widened, "-I accept. One dinner-" she raised a finger, "-this weekend."

The biggest smile spread across Belén's face. "Oh my God, thank you!" she rushed up to Veronica and surprised her with a large hug.

Belén rarely hugged her.

~ 0 ~

By the time Belén returned to STAR Labs, much had happened. But it was to her delight to learn that Jax had come through and merged successfully with professor Stein, creating a new Firestorm. Unfortunately, she also learned that Henry Hewitt was up and about again attacking people. Barry and the new Firestorm had gone out to stop him.

"You sure Jax can handle this?" Belén anxiously stood behind Caitlin and Cisco at the desk. "He did just get his powers…"

"He has this," Caitlin assured with a new sense of faith in Jax.

"Plus, he has professor Stein in his head," Cisco added with a wag of his finger.

Belén agreed it was true but it still didn't diminish all her concerns.

"Hey, guys, cutting the power didn't work," Barry's voice came through the speakers. "It's like the more we anger him, the stronger he gets."

"Powers based on emotions? Hm," Belén pretended to think for a moment, "Now where have I seen that before."

"That's it," Caitlin realized. "The more powerful he becomes, the more unstable they become. Barry, make him angry, and he'll blow his fuse."

"Are you saying that I'm unstable?" Belén shot the brunette a look.

Caitlin made an apologetic face.

"Don't worry, we'll get her back when you can go full-on Azalea again," Cisco nudged Belén on the side. "Imagine what new sides you can unlock."

When all was said and done, Henry Hewitt was brought back to STAR Labs and placed in the pipeline where he would not be able to tell a soul of what he learned in the recent week. It appeared like his powers had diminished with his last fight. Now as the new firestorm prepared to leave to begin training again, the group went on to say their goodbyes.

"Why Are we going to Pittsburgh again?" asked Jax after hearing Stein mention it to Joe.

"A colleague of mine was monumental in helping train Ronald and me. She's graciously offered to help the two of us as well."

"How's she gonna help us?"

"Well, there were many aspects of our abilities that we never quite achieved. Hopefully now, we can fully realize that potential." Stein said hopefully and turned to say goodbye to Caitlin. "Oh, my dearest Dr. Snow. Ronald may be lost to us, but he will never be forgotten."

Caitlin hugged him goodbye.

"Okay but when you start flying...take a picture dammit," Belén told Jax, making him laugh. "I mean it. That view would be phenomenal."

"I think they'd have more to do, Bells," Barry came by for her.

"I was just saying...you know, if you got a chance," Belén casually waved her hand on her side.

Cisco approached them with the splicer in hand, excitedly apparently. "I went ahead and recalibrated the splicer so the merging should be even smoother now."

"Are you ready, Jefferson?" Stein asked the younger man. With a nod, Jax moved over so that the two would merge better.

"All right," Jax said after merging, still sounding surprised of his new ability. He erupted in flames and flew up into the sky.

"I really want that picture," Belén mumbled under her breath.

"Yeah c'mon," Barry tugged her by the hand. "You want to get lunch?"

"Mhm! So I can tell you the big news I have," Belén excitedly revealed.

"Interesting," Barry hummed in thought. He said a goodbye to the others and took off with Belén for Jitters.

"So, I talked to my Mom," Belén began as soon as they entered the place.

"You did…?" Barry made a face behind her.

"Yes, and I don't want you to freak out or anything but...she doesn't exactly favor you."

"No?" Barry feigned perfect surprise. "I wasn't dreaming?"

Belén sighed. "Nope. But I got her to give you a chance. You think you can do dinner with her and me this weekend?" there was a heavy alarm in Barry's face that questioned the sanity of the plan. Belén clapped her hands together, ready to plead. "I promise it will be just fine. You just have...to be yourself."

"I don't mean to be rude but I think 'being myself' is what got me into this situation in the first place," Barry released a breath he'd been holding in.

"She doesn't know you," Belén persisted. "She knows a part of you that...that wasn't you. Please say you'll do it? Pretty please?"

"Oh, sure, use that face on me, how can I refuse?" Barry sarcastically said.

"So...you'll come then?"

"Yes, of course I will," Barry nodded. "But you have to do one thing in return."

"What is it?"

"Don't leave me alone with her," Barry pleaded with a shaking voice.

Belén laughed but agreed nonetheless. Throughout the rest of their lunch, which turned out to last much later, Belén started giving Barry helpful tips for when they met with Veronica later that weekend. While Belén was confident that her mother would end up liking Barry she also thought that a little help couldn't hurt either. When they were finished, the two arrived at the CCPD for different reasons. Belén promised Patty they would have that pending coffee night - which switched to a movie night considering Belén had just come back from Jitters. Barry had a bit of work to finish before he could call it a night.

"So, any movie you're interested in seeing?" Belén asked Patty as the two walked out of the station.

"Something actiony?" Patty suggested and Belén just laughed.

"A cop wants to watch an action movie I'm not surprised!"

But the two had barely made it across the street when a loud clash stopped them in their tracks. Green vines had wrapped around trash cans and threw them towards the two women. They lunged in opposite directions to avoid being hit. Soon as Belén looked up she saw a woman in a glimmering green bodysuit and long ginger hair coming for her. There were bits of green plants adorning the corner of her eyes.

"What are you-"

The ginger made a wag of her finger and struck forwards a hand. Belén was hit with a thick vine tendril and blasted back against a street pole, effectively knocking her out.

"Oh my God!" Patty didn't waste a minute and whipped out her gun, taking aim at the ginger who was coming for them. "Put your hands in the air!"

But the ginger smirked and reached a hand out, making Patty begin to shoot. Poison Ivy swiveled with her vines to avoid the bullets successfully. Hearing the bullets, Barry appeared as the Flash to see what the trouble was and came to the horror sight instead.

"Flash," Poison Ivy's lips curled into a delighted smile. "Zoom wants you dead. But for now I'm here to collect for Datura."

"Over my dead body," Barry frowned. He sped Patty and Belén into the station and then returned. Poison Ivy had yet to even blink.

"Don't make me hunt my prey at this hour," Poison Ivy's darkened red lips curled into a sinister smile.

"Why are you hunting her in the first place?" demanded Barry.

"For Datura, of course," Poison Ivy held her hands out, ready to attack when someone blasted her with a high-tech gun. She cringed and fell forwards to reveal a hooded man.

The hooded figure made to leave just as he'd appeared but Barry sped after him. "Who the hell are you?" he grew tired of asking the same questions.

When the hooded man pulled down his hood, Barry wished he would have never asked.

The man turned out to be Harrison Wells.

From afar, the same brunette women who had watched Belén now watched the scene unfold with satisfaction. "Here we go," she glanced in the direction of the precinct with flashing red eyes.

#ocappreciation #arrowverseocs #the flash #barry allen #the flash fics #barry allen fics #the flash imagines #barry allen imagines #oc: Belén Palayta #oc: Belen Palayta #oc: the azalea #fic: rise up

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dp-pastandpresent · 5 years

Text

Past and Present: Chapter 3

It had been a few weeks since Phantom had begun saving people and appearing on the news, and it was all Sam could think about.

The media could barely catch a glimpse of the boy: he wasn't too keen about being caught on tape. Maybe that's what intrigued Sam. Or maybe it was that she was finally starting to feel lonely. Maybe even more than lonely. Depressed. Anxious. Ready for something new. But every time the cameras caught a decent glimpse of Phantom, he looked lonely also, and she'd feel at least a bit better.

The loneliness had really come into existence come a few days ago, when the banners began appearing in school for the upcoming Homecoming Dance.

Sam was known as the school goth, by her own choice of course, but that title came with assumption that she was some depressed, emo girl.

And maybe some days she was, but that didn't mean she couldn't go to a dance and enjoy herself.

Sure, she could go with Tucker, but that would just be weird, and if word got out about it… well, frankly, there were better alternatives.

So yes, she was beginning to feel a bit lonely. But in seeing that boy on TV, she'd perk up a little; he looked even worse off than she was.

Phantom sat atop the local record store, watching as people came and went from within it's ultra-modern glass doors, yet never daring to step inside himself: The part of him that was drawn to this store didn't want to change the faint memories it held. However, seeing so many different people all coming together in the pursuit of music made him smile. And lately there hadn't been much else to smile about. Saving people all the time had become rather tedious. Local authorities had started to assume he'd show up, so they wouldn't even worry about doing anything anymore.

Having spent his former life in Amity Park, being resurrected to this place was only natural, and really the only perk to all this. The town had changed a lot, and it was enjoyable to see what had happened over the years. He had never planned on saving people when he came back, but the situation had arisen and he had been up for the challenge…at least in the beginning. Now, though, he was bored.

Even his daily check-in on the Fentons couldn't relieve the boredom, despite the fact that something new was always happening in that lab. Whether it be another portal experiment, a new weapon or one of Jack's stupid mistakes, the Fentons were always up to something. Phantom knew that he needed to keep an eye on them, even if just to learn more about their research, so he found himself invisibly watching on a daily basis.

He had popped in earlier that morning, just to see if anything was happening, only to find Jack alone at the desk, punching away at some high tech device, starting at a luminous screen.

"Stupid computer. I should have just let Maddie handle this!" he grumbled as he angrily typed something else on the keyboard. "I don't even know how to work this thing half the time!"

Curious, Phantom floated a little bit closer to see what Jack was up to.

"There's gotta be something in here about ghosts and genetics!"

'Ghosts and genetics?' Phantom found himself thinking. 'What could he possibly need that information for? And how is he going to get that from in there?'

He had come to realize in the few days he had been out that society was not the little bit he remembered. All these modern devices that were supposed to make life easier were nothing more to confusing for the ghost boy.

'Shouldn't he be looking in a book?'

"Mom always knew he was out there, somewhere, and now that this portal is open, there's a chance to find out. If I could only figure out the genetic aspect of it all!"

A small knot formed in the bottom of his stomach as a few memories began to come back. He had known there was a connection between him and Jack, but he hadn't been told much more than that upon his resurrection . Now that he was hanging out in the lab more, he was realizing how deep the connection actually ran.

Phantom had heard enough, and honestly couldn't stomach much more. As much as he needed to know about what Jack was up to, he just didn't think that watching him punch away at something he didn't understand was going to solve that problem.

Vowing to return when the lab was empty to search for more clues, he invisibly floated away.

Reflecting on that morning, he had yet to come to any more conclusions. He had a connection to the Fentons, something he had been told from the start. But the exact connection had yet to become clear. He had hoped that by visiting the lab on a daily basis, things would come back to him, but so far all he had felt were painful hints of memories past.

Of course, he had contemplated going back to the Ghost Zone. The Fentons were always opening that portal for testing, so it wouldn't be hard. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he was better off out here. He didn't know the Zone well, having only been resurrected the same morning of the portal's opening, so it may not be the safest choice.

'If only there was some way I could just remember everything and be normal again…'

Sam's days were always the same. Go to school, learn "something new," eat lunch with Tucker, listen to Mr. Lancer's lectures on something boring, then walk home alone, thinking about why she put up with everything she did. Today was no different.

Everyone was talking about the stupid dance, which happened to be that night. Meanwhile, she was trying to hide the disappointment as best as she could.

She had finally caved and planned to ask Tucker (as a friend!) to the dance that day at lunch. But before she could even take a bite of her turf-wich, Tucker had come skipping up to the table.

"Guess what Sam!?" he said, sounding a lot perkier than usual.

"Hmmmm… New PDA?" she asked jokingly.

"Oh I wish! This 300gig I just got is ALREADY FULL!"

"Really Tuck? That much heavy metal music?" she joked.

That was the type of relationship they had. He'd mention technology and she'd throw in a good joke. They had come to expect that at their little lunch table.

Sam picked at her food, waiting for Tucker to tell her the news so she could finally ask him about the dance.

"Heavy metal, I mean really? Sam you can think of way better jokes… Now what was I saying? Oh yea!" His eyes got bright and his smile widened.

"Valerie asked me to the dance!"

Sam swallowed her grass a little too hard, and needed a large sip of water before she could respond. And when she could speak again, she had to hide the pain in her voice.

"Really Tucker!? That's awesome! I know you've been eyeing her for awhile. I wonder what made her come around?"

"Oh you know, my good looks for one," he responded as he pretended to pop his collar.

"Haha, right…" Sam looked down at her meal, suddenly not hungry.

Sam kept walking, thinking about the day and Tucker's excitement. She was truly happy for her friend – and that's all she knew they would ever be – but if someone could ask him, why hadn't she found a date yet? She was goth, not the plague. And she knew for a fact some of the nerds eyed her from behind on the days she wore the shorter skirts.

'Not that I want to date a total perv… but…'

Even just having someone to walk home with would have been nice.

Phantom's day had been just as boring as Sam's.

He had managed to save at least three more people from the usual – car accidents, muggings, etc - maybe more. He wasn't counting anymore.

It was while he was taking a break on top of the local burger joint, about to head over to the Fentons', when he saw her.

She was walking alone, head down, carrying a purple backpack; school must have just ended. She wore a black tank top with a black and green skirt, purple socks and black combat boots. Something about her had caught his attention, but it wasn't until she looked up randomly, as if she knew she was being watched, that he was trapped. Her eyes were a deep violet, and there was something extremely familiar about them. He remembered those eyes, as if they were…

'Why does she seem so familiar,' he thought, another knot forming in his stomach, telling him he should remember something he wasn't. 'Maybe I should go talk to her. She looks lonely.'

He got up and was about to fly down and strike up a conversation when a boy came running up behind her, causing Phantom to stop dead in his tracks.

"Sam! Hey, Sam!" the boy called.

Upon hearing her name, Sam turned around to see none other than Dash Baxter.

"Dash," she said through her teeth, "what do YOU want?" She turned away and started walking again.

"Well, I don't have a date for the dance tonight, and well, ummmm… I was wondering…" He was shuddering.

"You mean Paulina finally realized that she deserved better?" Sam asked him curtly, turning around. She knew where this was going, and wasn't sure she liked it.

"Well I wouldn't have put it that way, but I guess. Anyway, do you want to go to the dance? I really need a date," Dash asked. Dash was not the brightest guy, so what Sam had said barely seemed to faze him.

"So you're asking me out of pity," Sam concluded.

"Huh? Well I need a date, if that's what you mean," Dash said, his intelligence level definitely showing.

Sam just rolled her eyes. She hated how shallow Dash was, but she also really wanted to go to the dance; that dress in her closet was gathering dust.

"Fine, pick me up at six," she told him before turning around one last time and heading home.

Sure it was Dash, but it was still a date for the dance, and that alone put a small smile on Sam's face.

The ghost had really wanted to talk to that girl, and he would have if that boy hadn't come along.

The rest of the day, she was all he could think about. There was something about that girl that was different, yet very familiar.

He had honestly not found any purpose in sticking around Amity Park, but now maybe he could. If only that girl were available… He was not about to steal her from someone; he wasn't that type.

And so he would wait. Wait until she needed him. And until then, he'd just continue to do what he had been doing, but now with more enthusiasm.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny phantom fanfic #phanfiction #fanfic #sam manson

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duringtherevisionphaseforan495 · 4 years

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yuehong · 6 years

Text

I am about to finish my studies soon (ugh) and I started to reflect on a lot of stuff. It's pointless to share everything here, though, one thing which frequently comes to my mind are racial issues (unsurprisingly). I feel like dumping some stuff on my blog for no specific reason. Some of these have been mentioned before. The way my brain works is sometimes weird when it's past midnight.

When I was 4, I was bullied in kindergarten. Children made fun of my name and I went home crying every day till I switched to another kindergarten.

In elementary school our crafts teacher decided to let us design masks for carnival. She had a few suggestions like clowns, monsters, animals and Chinese. She described how they looked and drew a caricature on the blackboard. The other kids compared the image to me. I felt extremely uncomfortable and cried (again). I left the room to calm down. The teacher apologized by claiming that she had no ill intentions and that it was meant in a positive way as Chinese tend to have cute little noses.

Also, while I was elementary school age, my sister and I were wearing a Chinese shirt when we went grocery shopping with my dad. A lady with (probably) her child pointed at us, telling her child: "Look, there are Chinese!"

Also, during elementary school some of my classmates at some point learnt the German chant "ching chang chong - Chinese im Karton" (ching chang chong - Chinese in cardboard box) and followed me around while saying that.

My elementary school teacher also often wanted me to say things in Chinese or sing Chinese songs in front of the others.

When we started to receive grades in school, my mother told me, I needed to be great. Later, when I had to look for a job and had the same qualification as a German, the employer would choose the other person first. I was 8 at that time.

A guest in our restaurant brought a coin of the Qing dynasty to us. He told us it was the possession of his grandfather. He didn't know why he possessed it. My mother knew. Because of colonialism.

I cannot remember any representation of Chinese in media aside from the comic WITCH during my childhood.

After elementary school one goes to secondary school based on qualifications during the last year of elementary school. The "good" students go to the Gymnasium. My mother regularly read a newspaper about German-Chinese issues. Often economy-related. In one issue, a Chinese girl wrote about her experience at Gymnasium. She took part in a competition and placed second. While the school paid tribute to the winner, the Chinese girl was in the audience. She was approached by a stranger who asked her what she was doing there because that person assumed a Chinese couldn't be good enough to go to Gymnasium.

Once after a school trip I was sitting on the bus. Some of my classmates thought I already got off the bus and started to talk about me. The content in and on itself wasn't negative. They started to project from me onto 1.3 billion other people. I noticed, to them I represented all Chinese people.

During a violin event a girl told me I didn't look like a Chinese because my eyes were too big.

When I was in 7th grade, the "red spies" who came to steal and copy German technology hit the news. During a certain period of time then news frequently reported such instances. On a German-Chinese forum, several Chinese wrote that they suddenly found themselves jobless because their employers fired them without any reason (aside from fear that they could be spies). I realized my mother was right. I will have a disadvantage on the job market and I am easily disposable.

In 7th grade we had a skiing excursion. There was a presentation on climate change and the teacher claimed that China had a major impact on the climate. Responsibilities of other countries went unmentioned. I cried (a reoccurring habit). My roommates during the trip told the teacher and he apologized and explained that he understood that European countries had a big footprint.

In 9th grade I found a note next to my seat in the bus, roughly saying "You look cute Manga girl. Call me: xxxx".

A half-Indian friend wrote me that their brother liked his time in the US a lot. Less people would be envious of his success despite him being Indian. Later on that friend wrote me they were bullied. It was evident that them being half-Indian was a factor. I was... too young and my support was useless and not helpful at all. (still young tho and still making so many mistakes).

When I aced an exam, a friend would say: "That's our Chinese!"

A friend would randomly say "Confucius said"

A teacher would ask if Chinese used huge keyboards with all hanzi characters to type into their computers.

A teacher jokingly said, I would be an expert in eating dogs.

In grade 12 (roughly a year before graduating) an epidemic broke out in Germany and few other European nations. Chinese scientists figured out the genetic makeup of the specific virus and Spiegel ("mirror", a German news agency) wrote an article about how it was possible that out of all things it was Chinese scientists in Shenzhen who figured out what virus was causing troubles. Their answer: It was pure coincidence.

A student and a teacher would discuss that Buddhism is sexist because no female found enlightenment. At some point I was like no, and their only response was, oh.

During preparation courses for university another Asian guy in my course said if his family stayed in their home country, he'd be a farmer with several wives now. His new-found ethnically European friends laughed.

The week before first courses started at university for me, a group of drunk students stood in front of my dorm and called me "Ling Ling". I didn't know them.

Autumn after my first year in university, a 15 yo half-Chinese boy was beaten up in Hamburg by right wing extremists. He suffered trauma.

In the canteen a group of students were joking about how Muslims are terrorists and had several wives.

In the canteen a guy told his friends he would go to Thailand for vacation. His friend told him, he should get a Thai girl as souvenir.

A Chinese overseas student admitted to me they felt depressed because of how Germans saw themselves above Chinese and the effeminating view on Asian men.

A few German people told me, colonialism had good aspects. One of those people is one of my best friends.

In a students association which promoted social internships, they used random pictures of "poor, little African children" as advertisement for their volunteering program.

A Chinese overseas student recounted they could not join German flat sharing communities. He was denied because Chinese cuisine had a too strong smell due to spices and garlic. They didn't want that in their flats.

A Japanese friend of mine who came to my city and paid a visit to the museum was followed by a few guys who would chant "ni hao" behind her.

I joined a volunteering program in China. Another international participant was very vocal about how China is bad in so many ways. There was no real coffee. The food is too fatty. It is no wonder that Chinese men don't grow muscles. She had no interest in learning about Tibetan Buddhist art. "If it was Italian art from the renaissance, ok. But Buddhist art? Hmpf. No".

The Chinese in the organizing committee would frequently use the word 那个 (neige, "that") to describe things. Some of the volunteers would parrot them. (I am not sure if there is a relation but 那个 does sound similar to the N-word.)

An ethnically Chinese girl who was raised in Germany rejects her Chinese heritage and Chinese people.

Once I was waiting for a friend. Some guy would ask me where I was from. I said Germany. They laughed.

Often when people ask me where I am from and I respond with Germany there would be surprise in their mimic followed by silence.

My mother grew tired of people asking her when she will go back to China. Now she answers, she will first have to clarify whether she will still receive pension abroad.

I heard people say that the person who thinks something is racist, is the racist person because they interpret something as racist.

Someone told me they can't stand Mainland China

Last autumn I woke up in Hong Kong to the news of a right wing party being elected to the third strongest party in Germany.

A Chinese overseas student told me she got assigned the easy parts in projects because her German was not good enough. The subtle feeling of superiority makes her uncomfortable.

A select few instances. And the conclusion: My life is good. The things I faced are pretty common for German-Chinese to my understanding. I'm sure all German-Chinese have experienced a subset of my experiencs. And they have experienced things which I haven't. I'm sure there are people who have it worse. My experiences were probably on the lucky end. But I still want all of this to end.

#Yue's crap #It's 3am #And I am lying here and think #This is ridiculous #Ridiculous and real #Racism tw #The other things I am reflecting on are friendship and how I hate myself lol #Like #These are the three pillars of my existence #Good night

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getoffthesoapbox · 7 years

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(VK Science anon) Haha of course, it’s no problem at all! I will admit that this discussion is certainly keeping me on my toes. Now I know that I need to reread Kaname’s past and that I don’t understand how a catastrophe could cause people to find each other unless it caused people to migrate to a certain area. However, neither one affect my theory! :) 1/?

(VK Science anon) The environment from 10,000 years ago would be different from the present and we can this in how temperature, sea level, precipitation, and even land changes. Now I’m noticing that some of the issues with understanding this theory are some misconceptions about mutations, so sorry, I am going to spam you this time, but I just want to clear some things up :) Again, mutations are random, spontaneous, so it’s hard to pinpoint a particular reason why one would even occur. 2/?

Just like everything else, DNA replication and repair is not 100% perfect. Sometimes there can be an issue during DNA replication like a nucleotide base is deleted, inserted, or paired incorrectly, which would affect the codon and the gene. As ironic as it sounds, there can even be an error during DNA repair. This would affect development and the genes that are expressed. There also isn’t an age range for genetic alteration. 3/?

Going back to my theory, the environment would only be a factor. It could affect anything from climate to people’s diet. In terms of people’s diets, we know that a pregnant woman’s choices can affect the development of a baby. In terms of mutations when someone is already born/alive, radiation and chemicals can act as mutagens, so location and even job can affect this. Earlier you mentioned a virus, which could also affect someone when they’re already alive. 4/?

In terms of cancer, it could affect gene regulation by keeping a gene “on” and increasing cell proliferation, which is bad. However, because mutations are random, none of these things have to be a factor, but because Hino only had humans birth Purebloods at one time in history, it led me to suspect that the environment somehow played a role during development (Not mutations after being born). So to clear some other things up, a mutation can either be positive or negative. 5/?

A mutation can be beneficial and it is actually mutations that can increase an organism’s fitness, which will lead to natural selection and evolution (yay!). An issue with gene(s) or even the chromosomes can still be referred to as a “genetic disorder” aka a disease (negative). Examples would be Sickle cell and Down syndrome. The question is whether or not you would want to look at naturally-born vampires as having a genetic disorder… 6/? (I think? This is a lot OTL)

Wow, I sent so much that tumblr briefly blocked me (=__=) Obviously, you don’t have to answer all of this at once. But back to my point: If you were to look at naturally-born vampires as having a genetic disorder, I think that would affect if you would classify them as a subspecies of humans (They would still be the same species regardless). However, I think you would have to weigh the pros and cons of their abilities to determine whether or not they can live healthy lives. 7/?

That would include considering the fact that they can’t get ill, they heal quickly, etc.; but then they are nocturnal, need blood, and live long lives, which based on VK and other stories I’ve read, is a bad thing. And then you would have to look at if the definition of a “healthy life” can be different from the norm of a human life. As far as evolution, I’ll leave that to the ecologists :P 8/?

I love that you broke tumblr’s ask quota. =P~~~~ But no, keep ‘em coming, I’m loving this conversation, and don’t worry about spamming my inbox–you’re my only anon for the most part these days, so it would be quite a tumbleweed-infested area without your contributions! ;D

Thanks for clearing up the whole mutations business for me–that’s really helpful, especially since the last time I took a science class was so long ago we’ve probably had a million revolutions since then. ;D I fully admit my ignorance on the subject!

Okay, so first, the origin of the mutation itself: If I’m understanding you right (and correct me if I’m getting any of this wrong), it ultimately doesn’t matter what “caused” the mutation–whether that be before or after the climate catastrophe mentioned during the Ancestor memory section–because a mutation could be caused by any variety of environmental factors that existed before the catastrophe or after it. And you think the progenitors could have been any age when the mutation hit them? That does make it seem more like a disease like cancer, where it just happens randomly and the body replicates it. And I think you’re right about the progenitors just migrating–that’s the way it appears to be in the origin chapters; the Hooded Woman is wandering around “gathering” all of those of her kind. It does make me wonder if a significant portion of regular humanity was wiped out during that climate catastrophe though, and perhaps that’s why it was easier for the purebloods to find each other during that time.

Anyway, so the progenitor purebloods still seem to be fairly rare in 10K years ago history; is it normal for spontaneous mutations to only affect a small fraction of people in the same way over large populations? Though that is true of cancer, so perhaps that’s true of the pureblood mutation as well, if it’s “built into” the DNA and just needs the right sequence triggered. But wouldn’t we see some variation in the mutations too? Purebloods all seem to be fairly consistent–they all have immortality, they all are invincible, they all can “turn” humans vampire, they all can create these familiar things from their own blood, they all can (I assume?) regress their cells to any point in their evolutionary development, they all can control their servants. It’s a pretty consistent mutation without much variation, other than perhaps the individual “magikal powahs” each pureblood gets. Thoughts?��

Your musings on beneficial mutations made me think of something else too which I wanted to run by you: so okay let’s assume from an evolutionary perspective, the purebloods are a “response” to something in the environment, a protective response to preserve the species. The good things they get: immortality, attractiveness, power, impervious to disease. The only drawback is that they can “change” other humans into vampires and then control them. But evolution isn’t moral and doesn’t care about free will, so from a species preservation perspective this makes perfect sense–purebloods are an evolutionary answer to some kind of human devastation. They can “save” a human by turning them into a vampire. This human will then have vampire babies, who will also be impervious to whatever devastating factors were causing the necessity for the rise of the purebloods. So in that sense, the purebloods would be arguably beneficial from an evolutionary perspective, as they could protect and ensure the survival of the species by just changing all the remaining humans into vampires.

The problem, of course, is that clearly the environmental conditions reverted or altered to a state where purebloods were no longer necessary in order to keep the species moving forward. So now basically they’re almost an anachronism that can’t be destroyed because, well, their very evolution rendered them immortal and impervious to any damage (they’re too well-built, but not sustaining because of the harmful mental effects of immortality). So I would argue in the current day, their evolutionary advantages are working against them now, but only in a psychological sense, which leads to them killing themselves and/or not procreating (their birthrates are really low according to Kaname in the early Kuran Manor arc chapters, and we know they’re down to a mere 33 purebloods before the story even started, which is even lower with all the murdering Kaname did–33 purebloods isn’t remotely enough to ensure replacement rates, plus with all their darned inbreeding they’re not exactly going to be genetically diverse enough to ensure continued species existence). We know purebloods go bonkers the longer they live and have trouble coping with what to do with themselves for all eternity, but that may not have been the case had all of humanity been turned into vampires. There’s a term for that…the Gini Coefficient I think? Basically, the vampires are “comparing” themselves to their shorter-lived counterparts–humans–and are becoming unhappy precisely because of the comparison. If everyone was a vampire, likely most people would be happier, and the evolutionary advantage would be more apparent I think, especially since vampires can feed off each other and don’t actually “need” human blood? (The other potential problem is that purebloods clearly still have a regular human brain, which may not be properly equipped to deal with their uniquely immortal circumstances.)

Okay, sorry, went on a tangent there. Not sure where I’m going with all that rambling, but I would say what we have on our hands is a subspecies of human created to protect the survival of the species during a period of instability that no longer exists. But because this strain of human is so impervious to disease and death, it’s still around despite no longer being “necessary,” and thus it’s a nuisance to the original human strain, which doesn’t want to “evolve” into the new species (thanks mind control and blood sucking–both gross things!). Basically we’ve got free will clashing with evolutionary necessity I think. I still have a tough time grappling with the evolutionary necessity for “servant vampires,” but maybe that has to do with ensuring those members survive, because the will of the master vampire will protect them or something. (Which of course, master vampires misuse and abuse because, hey, that’s what humans do!)

I’ll answer your last ask separately, since it’s kind of moving us into a new topic. ;D

#vampire knight #vk science anon

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moonshroooms · 7 years

Text

Unusual Asks

Yep, I’m in that mode again. Time to answer questions about myself that literally no one asked for :D

If someone finds this in the deep ocean blue and wants to answer the same questions, I found them here

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora?

Pandora, I guess? But I don’t really use any of them. I only tried Pandora for a time because it told you what genre the music is, and that was how I learned I listened to completely random and unrelated songs

is your room messy or clean?

Yes.

It’s messy, but it’s only dirty clothes really? So the second we do a major Laundry Sweep it suddenly becomes clean.

what color are your eyes?

Brown baby come an get dat chocolatttte

do you like your name? why?

Yes, because it’s tomboyish. When I was younger for some reason I really liked my friend’s name Emily, and wished that was my name instead. As I got older I liked my name more and more. I also love the 30 bajillion nicknames my name comes with. And I love my nickname Moon simply because from that nickname are 30 bajillion more nicknames.

what is your relationship status?

Single and deathly afraid of romance probs

describe your personality in 3 words or less

0-100 spaz

what color hair do you have?

Black hair :3

what kind of car do you drive? color?

It’s a sentra because they get good gas mileage and I’m cheap and it’s a darkish red, cause it’s the only color they had

where do you shop?

Food Banks

how would you describe your style?

Don’t Notice Me Anyone I’m Just a Background Character

favorite social media account

I hate social media when I know people, so tumblr, because screaming into a void where I’m not known is fun. It’s like having an imaginary argument in your shower

what size bed do you have?

Twin

any siblings?

Three of them! Two half-sisters, and a half-brother, all older :3

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why?

With my friends

favorite snapchat filter?

Pfffft I’m an antisocial dweeb and never bothered with snapchat because my phone is old and I rarely take pictures of myself or share pictures of anything else I capture

favorite makeup brand(s)

I don’t wear makeup, so none VwV

how many times a week do you shower?

Once a week if I haven’t done anything that makes me gross. Maybe 3 times a week if I went jogging and got all sweaty

favorite tv show?

Steven Universe, Last Airbender, Amazing World of Gumball, Star vs.

shoe size?

6 ½

how tall are you?

5”2

… and ½

sandals or sneakers?

w a t e r s h o e s

do you go to the gym?

No, I hate the gym. The air in there gives me a headache, everyone’s staring at you doing everything wrong, there’s people in general, and I just no. I like to work out either in the privacy of my room or out in nature (aka I started jogging at my library park and I’m very proud of myself hopefully I keep this up).

describe your dream date

A date that treats me nice and we have a good time

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment?

13 bucks

what color socks are you wearing?

My skin

how many pillows do you sleep with?

Uhhhh. 2 for my head, 2 to hug, a beanie-filled duck thing, and also my cats old blanket. So like. 4 pillows if you wanna get technical, 6 if let’s be honest the duck and blanket act as pillows

do you have a job? what do you do?

I do. I clean trays and do numerous odd jobs for an oral surgeon’s office. It’s literally a part time job the employees often have their teens do. But it’s something for now

how many friends do you have?

7. The seventh one I just made recently, and it’s still sort of iffy if we’ll actively be friends. We’ve known each other for years, and she’s called me her friend before, but we’ve never like. Hung out, or talked literally ever. But I’ve always thought she seemed like a cool person and someone I wanted to be friends with, and sometime last month or so (she was staying on our couch due to family complications) I outright told her “Hey, you seem like a cool person, and I’d love to be better friends with you J” and by some miracle that WORKED. She called me a nerd for that and we’ve saw Wonder Woman with our moms. I lent her a book from the library (The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale, wonderful book, literally the first in my favorite book series!), and she’s really loving it so far! We’re gonna hang out Sunday, so hopefully we click well and I truly will have successfully made my first friend where I was the one who approached!

whats the worst thing you have ever done?

One time when I was younger I had a fight with my mom. Recalling correctly, I was upset that she ‘loved God more than me’ and during that fight she ‘let go’ and said that I was more important to her. Immediately afterwards I made her take it back, and apologized profusely, and never said anything about her feeling God was more important ever again. And she forgave me, because that’s the kind of person she is, but I still feel like shit for it, and I’m so sorry I ever made her say that, whether she meant it or not. I feel so guilty about it even today. She told me that night that she let go so she could grab onto me and save me from drowning, and that even if she had let go, God would have never let her go, and he would save the both of us. I still wish I could make it so I’d never said that.

whats your favorite candle scent?

MMmmm, I dunno. Do they have cherry blossom? Cause that one

3 favorite boy names

Devon (Deh-von), Aiden (Ay-den), and uhhhh? Naruto. (Nar-oo-toe)

3 favorite girl names

Astrid (totally from Phantom Hourglass), Anaise (yes that’s from the Amazing World of Gumball I fell in love the second I heard it), aaaaaand ermmmmmm. Buzz Lightyear

favorite actor?

Will Smith? Morgan Freeman? Yeah, let’s go with them

favorite actress?

Will Smith? Morgan Freeman? Yeah, let’s go with them

who is your celebrity crush?

Me™

favorite movie?

Bambi, Jumanji, Jurassic Park, Pirates of the Carribean

do you read a lot? whats your favorite book?

I do, I do!! I love Forest Born from Shannon Hale’s Books of Bayern! It’s the 4th and last book in her series, and I love it so much! I recommend it for everyone! Adventure, fantasy, a little bit of romance, fun, and honest-to-god you feel like you’re in an old folk tale the whole time. It’s all a beautiful series.

money or brains?

Brains

do you have a nickname? what is it?

Moon, Moo, Moonmoon, Moonie

how many times have you been to the hospital?

A lot for reasons

top 10 favorite songs

Fireflies by Owl City

Last Unicorn by America (yes, from the movie the Last Unicorn)

Tabi no Tochuu by Kiyoura, Natsumi (aka the Spice and Wolf Season 1 Theme)

Something Entire New from Steven Universe

Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing by Set It Off

I Ship It by Not Literally (An ‘I Don’t Care’ parody, it’s hilarious and I love it, please go listen to it)

Blue Lips by Regina Spektor

Miss Jackson by Panic! At the Disco

E.T. by Katy Perry (I’m not even sure why I like this one so much, but I dooooo)

Girl with One Eye by Florence and the Machine

do you take any medications daily?

I do, antidepressants, which I started maybe 1 or 2 months ago after people suggesting I take medication for years

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc)

Perfect™

No but I guess it’s fine? I live in a dry area, but my skin isn’t dried out at all, even before I put lotion on constantly. The crown of my forehead/my nose get a bit oily, but splashing my face every morning basically takes care of that. I feel kind of bad for saying I don’t really have any skin problems

what is your biggest fear?

My loved ones hating me, dying, or being hurt from my own inept, or me being unable to help them

how many kids do you want?

Two. One boy, one girl (or if one wants to change/be whatever gender later in life I really don’t care). One that’s mine genetically, one I’ve adopted. Before I would have preferred giving birth to a boy since Devon was always my favorite boy name (and my only favorite name period), but with my sister being pregnant recently I’ve randomly thought about girl names as well so now I’m chill with having a boy or girl first so I can name them either Devon or Anaise/Astrid. God forbid I have twins that are both boys/girls since A) twins run in my family, and B) I’m having only two kids period so if I got twin boys/girls then that’s it I’m done that’s the end for me

whats your go to hair style?

Two French braids that stay in my head for the whole week

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc)

It’s an apartment, so small

who is your role model?

My old cat Princess

what was the last compliment you received?

I legit don’t remember, but probably my mom telling me I’m gorgeous. Thanks mom, love you!

what was the last text you sent?

Me sending my group chat this

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real?

You think I put a date on that ish?? I dunno, I think I was still in my old house, so anywhere from 6-8 maybe?

what is your dream car?

A car that has no pollution/carbon footprint, runs on sunlight and electricity, and is reliable, also it doubles as a stray cat home that doesn’t kill them if I turn it on

opinion on smoking?

My entire older family (aunts, uncles, cousins, older brother/sister), smoked. My aunt is a cancer survivor and STILL smokes. My brother and sisters father died from lung cancer. My mother’s parents died from lung cancer. My father smokes (yet expects to live to 100???). My mother is probably the only person in her immediate family that was completely disgusted by smoking. My brother and sister vape now, in their attempt to quit, but my sister would take a hit of our aunts cigarettes every now and then. I hate smoking. It kills. It’s addictive. It’s a waste of your money and brain power. What’s worse is the people (like my sister and aunt), who don’t give a fuck if it will kill you down the road because, according to my sister, “once you reach like, 70, the fun parts over, now you start dying anyways”. Fuck you. What about everyone you’re leaving behind? FUCK you. If you get cancer it’s not just you that’s affected, it’s everyone you love and care about. Your parents, your siblings, your friends, your children. They don’t want to see you die like this, decrepit, and weak. They want to see you healthy, and having fun, and HAPPY. Do they really mean so little to you that you would LITERALLY KILL YOURSELF just because of a 2-minute dopamine rush? I hate people like that. I will never date someone who smokes. That is 100% a deal breaker. I will never, EVER go through what my mother went through with her husband, and what so many others must have gone through.

My opinion on smoking is that it needs to be buried, like all the people it’s already killed.

do you go to college?

I do! I just finished my first semester (just English 101 for my first semester), with flying colors! 940/1000 points!

what is your dream job?

Anything with animals and where I can make a difference in the animal community

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs?

Rural areas. I hate the city and people

do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels?

100% I paid a shit ton of money for this room and you don’t even provide free snacks. I brought my own shampoo/condition but you can bet your ass I’m taking all of theirs

do you have freckles?

Yes? No? Does it count if it’s like, one freckle? It’s not a cluster of freckles, but I have a lot of freckle-spots on the right side of my face, random other parts of my face, and various other parts of my body (and one where like, my dude the sun don’t shine there how’s you get there???)

do you smile for pictures?

Absolutely!

how many pictures do you have on your phone?

Currently? I dunno, 100 or so?

have you ever peed in the woods?

100%

do you still watch cartoons?

Absolutely, they’re way more entertaining than anything else anyways

do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds?

Wendy’s

Favorite dipping sauce?

Good ol’ ketchup

what do you wear to bed?

Mismatching pajamas, and gorgeous dark blue blue shirt and blue leopard spot Victoria’s Secret pajamas that came with a matching eyemask that my aunt got me for Christmas and they have a cute shirt cut, the pants make me look curvy, I look damn good in them, they’re my favorite color, and most importantly they have POCKETS and it’s literally my favorite pair of pajamas I love them

have you ever won a spelling bee?

No, but I was in a spelling bee! Literally no idea how I got in, I think the best speller of each class was just. Automatically put in? I was naturally good at spelling and randomly got in the spelling bee, was terrified of being on stage, and got my first word wrong because the fuck? How did I get in this?? I’m 9, I’m not studying for this get me off this Awful Stage stop looking at me

what are your hobbies?

Writing, drawing, video games, teasing my cats, roleplaying, and hiking if I was anywhere away from the city

can you draw?

Yes!

do you play an instrument?

Does my voice count?

what was the last concert you saw?

Hilary Duff, when I was like 12. First and only concert I’ve ever seen in my life. Almost the best night of my tiny 12 year old life, but my friend’s mom was a dick and told me to calm down when I was screaming, singing, and cheering, and I spent the rest of the concert sitting in my seat and feeling embarrassed and awkward. Who the fuck tells a 12 year old to calm down when she’s at her first concert with her best friend with their favorite artist in the world??? You’re a fucking dick biscuit, Friend’s Mom.

tea or coffee?

W a t e r

I hate both of those. Though peppermint tea is okay, not that I’d drink it outside of being sick

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts?

Starbucks, but only for a cinnamon twist pastry thingy

do you want to get married?

I do!

what is your crush’s first and last initial?

I have never had a crush for realsies, only an ‘lol I thought I had a crush but nevermind’

are you going to change your last name when you get married?

If my name sounds good with their last name, yes. If not, sorry honeycakes, I’m keeping my name. They’re more than welcome to change their last name if they so choose.

what color looks best on you?

White, black, red

do you miss anyone right now?

Princess, my old cat

And Fern and Thatcher, my best friends

do you sleep with your door open or closed?

Closed, because I don’t want my kittens to get in. I used to sleep with it open exclusively so my old cat Princess could get in and out

do you believe in ghosts?

Sure

what is your biggest pet peeve?

Self-righteous people

last person you called

My mom’s case manager

favorite ice cream flavor?

Cookie dough without chocolate chips

regular oreos or golden oreos?

ReGuLaR

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles?

NO!!!!!!!!!

what shirt are you wearing?

Black superman shirt I wear for pjs

what is your phone background?

My old cat Princess

are you outgoing or shy?

Shy, unless I’m around people I’m comfortable with. Then I’m shy but a bit more sociable

do you like it when people play with your hair?

Oh god yes. I want to fall asleep if I ever have someone doing my hair and it’s at the Not Ripping Out Your Hair part. God it feels great. Tbh I wouldn’t be surprised if that was a turn on for me

do you like your neighbors?

Hell no they’re all awful

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning?

In the morning. And “wash” is a bit formal, my face-washing is more of a splash-your-face-wake-up-you-lazy-bastard kind of washing. Sometimes I splash it a few times to wake myself up more or take some oil off the oilier parts of my face, but I rarely/never use facewash or anything. It’s just water.

have you ever been high?

Nope

have you ever been drunk?

Nu-uh

last thing you ate?

Some cheap microwave chimichanga

favorite lyrics right now

Why not let me win? – You can’t dodge forever. Even if the pain is more fun together! You know I will just reset and come back newer :) and with every try I’m getting even faster than you are.

summer or winter?

Summer, if I can actually go outside and enjoy it and am not trapped in my black scrubs all day. Winter if I can look out the window and enjoy it

day or night?

Night

dark, milk, or white chocolate?

White chocolate when paired with other things, milk chocolate when by itself

favorite month?

April

what is your zodiac sign

Scorpio!

who was the last person you cried in front of?

My mom

#personal #asks #random questions #questions #ask

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alabamamasala-blog · 7 years

Text

RELAT(E)ionships

My time in India is coming to an end. I have met so many relatives for the first time while I’ve been here. My mother has 35 first cousins, and I have met at least 85% of them and their mothers and their children. I have even met my parents’ long lost friends from India. I met one relative the other day, and she was talking a lot about how she LOVES India because of all the relatives. All the love. All the warmth.

There’s definitely a strong sense of hospitality within Indian families. I have never been showered with so many gifts from people I am meeting for the first time. I expect it from my close relatives like the ones I share genes with. I don’t expect it from my distant relatives. Those of which I can’t pronounce their names and have no idea how we’re actually related.

I really do appreciate the gifts and kind gestures from my extended family, but if you really know me, you know I don’t care much for material gifts. I am a firm believer of “it’s the thought that counts.” In fact, when distant relatives buy me a gift, I feel like it’s their way of showing love without actually creating the bond - like a “get-out-of-building-a-relationship-with-you-free” card.

What I love more than any gift is when my aunt texts me about good books she’s been reading that reminded her of me. Or when my uncle calls to ask me about Teach for America because he wants to donate money to the cause because I’m a TFA corps member. Or when my cousin sends me silly Snapchats about alcohol with Shakira playing in the background because he knows Shakira and alcohol are my two favorite things. Little moments like that builds connection. Why? Because I can feel my relative isolating a part of me and trying to connect with that part. It shows that they do pay attention to who I am.They are taking the time and courage to relate and become vulnerable with me. These small acts put the RELATE back in RELAT(E)ives.

In Indian culture family is the most important thing in the world. I think Indians value family more than Americans. I say this because in India if you have a big family, you don’t need Social Security or pension or a retirement plan. You just move in with your kids once they start making money, and they take care of you until you kick the bucket. It’s perfectly normal and expected in Indian culture. So you see, family is quite valuable in Indian culture. No family = no place to live for free post retirement.

But there’s something missing. It’s almost as if the Indian mind thinks, “Oh, you’re my grandmother’s sister’s child’s child! We’re related! You’re very important to me. I’ll be at your wedding.” Boom. Just like that. Even though I have never met this person and know nothing about them.

And because of that type of reaction, I get vibes of insincerity. It’s the same feeling internationals get about people from the South. In Alabama, you’ll meet someone randomly at the bar or a conference, and became instant BFFs. Then right before you part ways, he/she will say, “It was so nice meeting you! We’ll have to do this again. See you soon!” And it’s probably more likely that you’ll never see that individual again. That’s the American thing to do. Totally normal. Totally insincere. Totally alabamamasala.

So on this journey I have met relatives and our conversations have gone like this:

Long Lost Relative: So you don’t speak Konkani? Ohhh… (disappointing tone).

Me: (Awkwardly standing there, doing that weird Indian head nod thing) Yah.

Long Lost Relative: So you’re a teacher? Ohhh… (disappointing tone again).

Me: (Awkwardly standing there, doing that weird Indian head nod thing) Yah.

Long Lost Relative: So you’re looking to get married?

Me: I don’t believe in marriage.

Long Lost Relative: *BOOM!* (explosion due to over disappointment. End of discussion.)

Ha, just kidding. Those last three lines never took place, but one could justifiably assume that’s the type of dialogue that would have taken place if anyone asked me about my stance on marriage.

Clearly these people know nothing about me and throw judgement before they grasp understanding. Now, I have met a few relatives and family friends that I have fallen in love with. Spunky, progressive, enlightening relatives. People I wish to have known before and will continue to keep in touch with.

But then I’ve also met people that I am definitely not related to, but I feel like we’ve been close friends for decades. For example, one of my favorite parts of my trip was spending time with my long lost Mumbai friends. Last time I was in India (almost 10 years ago), I got really close to a few kids that lived in my Granny’s apartment building. I literally have not spoken to them in years, but as soon as I returned to Mumbai, we reunited, and it felt like old times again. Even better than old times. Every conversation was so rich with discussions about politics, culture, economics, religion, everything and anything under the sun. The conversations were organic and easy and hours would just fly by. Good conversation is so difficult to find these days, and good people are even more difficult to find.

My relationship with my Mumbai friends felt much more authentic than those I have made with some of my relatives. Makes me wonder, do we use family (blood lineage) to excuse the relate aspect in the word “relatives?” Meaning, do we say, “Hey we’re genetically related so there’s no need to actually form a relationship with you! What more do you need than a common gene pool?”

Think about it, are you actually forming relationships with your brotherfathermotherdaughtersoncousinauntunclegrandparents the same way you form relationships with your friends?

I’ve learned distance isn’t always measured in miles or kilometers.

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actuallyschizoid · 7 years

Note

You mentioned parents and I wonder. My father is my, well... "interest person". "An exception". I am incredibly attached to him. Despite him being a horrible abusive alcoholic. I just... can't fight this pull of "he's the only one who truly understands me, one whom I can trust". I'm fairly sure it's the same for him. He has a lot of schizoid traits. My question actually is... how do you separate with your IP? How do you get over them? I can leave anyone behind without a thought, but not him...

Yeah, I get you, anon. And my answer probably won’t be the one you’re looking for.

You just don’t.

Or, well, sure you can. Probably. If you try hard enough, there’s nothing that really stops you, right?.. If you want to leave, just leave and forget he existed. Eventually that would no longer matter, because no one lives forever.

But I’m guessing you won’t. Especially if you can find some relatable things about him. Just because it’s so hard for schizoid to find someone relatable, someone who can at least somewhat understand you. Someone who just happened to be a massive part of your life through all your existence and probably one of a few people you can understand yourself.

I wouldn’t leave my father either. By the way, he also has quite a few schizoid traits. Maybe a bit less pronounced than me, he has lots of old buddies whom he rarely sees but often talks about and seems happy whenever he randomly bumps into someone who used to work with him or whatever. Still he spends about as much time alone as I do, and it was never much different. We literally can spend a whole day only a wall apart without seeing each other except maybe while randomly walking to the kitchen.

And yes, I also feel a lot like him — we’re literally similar in both appearance and character. So yeah, one more point to schizoidness being a genetic thing. >.>

Anyway, even though he’s not abusive and never drinks alcohol, he’s also quite problematic person with lots of annoying things that piss me off occasionally. Not to mention, he keeps watching russian tv during past few years, which is really harmful for psychological health. It’s literally just constant flow of paranoid shit that is intended to cause people to become aggressive, closed-minded zombies defending government despite all the crazy stuff that keeps happening.

If you’re not sure what I’m talking about... try to imagine the most loyal Trump supporter, but minus the capitalistic bit — that’d be what my dad has become. Despite once being really intelligent, brightly minded person who could invent awesome stuff with nothing but garbage and a bunch of leftover wood/plastic/metals.

So like a well-trained dog, as soon as his favorite propagandists on TV tells to start hating something — Ukraine, US, Europe, gays, atheists (he IS atheist himself, mind you), pokemon, anything — he does exactly that, annoying me with tales of how hostile nazi armies are currently walking on streets of US as if he seen it with his own eyes. >.> Not exactly a big problem, but that definitely makes him not the kind of person I’d like to spend time with if I had a choice.

And how exactly am I supposed to get rid of that, despite not exactly agreeing in just about anything? Well, I just won’t, I guess. He’s old and had a few minor strokes anyway, his memory is shit and gets even shittier, so it probably won’t be a problem for too many more years.

So yeah, the only solution to get rid of attachment I could come up with is to just patiently wait until they die by natural causes. -__-

Perhaps some of my followers know a better way, so let’s see what people got to say on this matter.

As for the abusive bit — well, I don’t know your exact situation, anon, but perhaps another option for you would be to help him deal with those problems, ie. alcoholism. That’s often curable or at least worth a shot. And unless it’s some massively hostile kind of abuse that can’t be redeemed by any means, perhaps it can also be solved by means other than leaving him behind. Like, psychotherapy or just talking and making it clear you won’t tolerate it any longer and it must be corrected. So many people in this world are abusive assholes. Unfortunately in real world it’s not always an option to just run away.

#actuallyschizoid #szpd #family #attachments #emotions #Anonymous

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chuuyaaf · 7 years

Text

Living to Die - First Meeting

So I was up on cloud nine the other day and had a dream about the reader’s backstory and decided to sit down and properly write out an excerpt for this. It’ll actually become relevant soon in the upcoming chapters!

This takes place in Yokohama nearly ten years before the beginning of LTD. Neither the reader or Dazai has names (this is for a reason, although one that’s more for my meta wannabe English major reasons. This is also a sign that I’m taking this story a lot more seriously than I should WHOOPS).

~Admin Kat

[Beginning]

<< Previous | Next >>

"Get out of here, you stinking brat! You're lucky I'm even letting you get away with this! There won't be a next time!"

You tripped as you ran away from the food vendor that you managed to finally snatch a loaf of bread from. It had been two days since you last ate and all you could think about was stuffing your face with that warm, soft, and fresh loaf of bread.

Homelessness was a struggle you lived with for the few years you knew to be your life. At the tender age of eight, you were already doing more than most adults knew how to do. You survived rainy nights and days with scorching heat. You survived crying yourself to sleep as you tried to soothe yourself from the sharp pain known as starvation.

Deep in the poorest parts of Yokohama, there ran a young girl who was desperate to survive.

You turned the corner and collapsed into a garbage pile that you called your home. Climbing over wooden boxes, you maneuvered into an abandoned garbage dump. You lit a match from a set that you stole from a nearby supplies shop and watched the flame flicker. Today wasn't a particularly cold day, but it had been raining for the past week and so the flame died out quickly. You sat in the darkness and slowly picked at the cooling loaf of bread. You wanted nothing more than to stuff your face, but knew that you had to ration it if you wanted to survive. After the commotion today, you knew that the vendors were going to have their guard up for a few days.

You put the bread away and pulled your knees into your chest.

What had you done to deserve this?

What made your parents decide to abandon you?

You couldn't even remember them. But you vaguely remembered a home.

Were they killed?

You liked to think that they were. It was better than getting left alone.

You jumped up in fear as you heard a banging coming from above you. Your eyes widened as your heart pounded. You had heard the comments from the food vendors about the orphans in this town. If fate was on their side, they'd get sent to an orphanage. However, if fate wasn't...They got taken in by a much darker entity.

The Port Mafia.

But what you saw when the lid opened was the last thing you expected.

"Ow!"

A young boy yelped in pain as he climbed into the garbage dump and tumbled to the bottom. You were still shrouded in the darkness and you stayed still.

As he groaned in pain, your hand instinctively went towards the small knife that you found while digging through the trash.

But something held you back from assaulting your intruder.

First of all, he couldn't really be considered an intruder. This wasn't truly a home.

Second of all, you had been fighting this fight alone for god knows how long. The idea of a companion resonated within your young heart and you withdrew your hand away from the knife.

Silently, you took a deep breath.

"HEY!" you yelled out, scooting forward so that your figure was illuminated by the small slit of light shining through the lid.

The boy yelped and jumped, hitting his head against the side of the dump.

"Aw man, this one's taken too?"

"Get lost, loser."

"Ne, ne, do you have some food on you?"

"YOU INTRUDE MY HOME AND IMMEDIATELY BEG ME FOR FOOD?!"

The boy chuckled and dug something out of his pocket. He lit a lighter, allowing you to see him fully.

The first thing you noticed was that his hands and neck were covered with bandages. Some of them were bloody and you wondered what kind of torment he went through.

He saw you staring and shrugged it off. "Keeps me warm."

The second thing you noticed was his chocolate brown hair and a matching set of eyes. His eyes had a hint of innocence within them, as all children should have, but they looked like yours. After all, he was an orphan like you.

"Do you have a name?"

He shrugged. "Never gave myself one. What about you?"

You shook your head.

"Oh! I'll give you one!"

You squinted your eyes at him. "You can't just give me a name, you idiot. Names are something parents give you. And you can't possibly be my parent, so..."

"Hmm...how about...._____?"

_____...

You had to admit, you liked it.

Living as a homeless orphan that was constantly on the verge of starvation was terrible.

But having a companion made it a little more bearable.

The boy that had randomly crawled into your makeshift home that one day had become your partner in crime. One of you would distract and the other would take. Afterwards, you'd gather your provisions and simply talk the night away.

You never did learn that boy's name. He had called you by that name that he assigned you so much that you simply accepted it. Part of you loved that he gave you a name. You held onto it like it was your identity. With a name, you were no longer "just an orphan". You were someone.

One night, after a particularly wholesome raid, that boy sat you down and made you close your eyes.

"What is it? You're not going to kill me, are you?"

You felt him place something in the palm of your hand. Slowly, you opened your eyes and saw what he had brought you.

"A necklace?"

It was simple and honestly kind of tacky. There was an small, old key attached to it that probably had no purpose. It was rusted and ugly, but it still brought a smile to your face. But of course, that's not what you said.

"It's ugly."

"Oh! I'm hurt!" he whined dramatically, tossing himself backwards.

You kicked him lightly. "Thank you," you said quietly.

Even if you had to live like this for the rest of your life, you wouldn't mind as long as you had that chocolate-haired boy.

Day in and day out, you two would meet back at the garbage dump. It stayed like this for a few weeks. But that changed when you were stopped by an older woman.

"Brat, you look terrible."

You looked up at the woman. This was the first time an adult directly spoke to you and you didn't know how to react.

"My name is Kihara Kenkyu. I've been looking for you."

Back at "home", that chocolate-haired boy waited for you. You were later than usual. But he continued waiting, excited to show you another gift that he brought for you. It was a bracelet with a faded green embellishment on it.

But you never showed.

Yet, he never lost hope.

Hours passed before someone arrived. But it wasn't you.

A tall man dressed in a suit approached that chocolate-haired boy.

"Is this your home, boy?"

He gave the man a taunting look. "Yeah, what of it?"

"Would you like a better one?"

"Why should I trust an adult? All you've ever done is yell at me."

The man chuckled. "I like your tenacity, boy." He knelt down. "My name is Mori Ougai. And yours?"

"I don't have one."

Mori smiled at him. "Then how about...Osamu? Yeah, I like that."

The boy looked at him.

"Dazai Osamu."

"Where are you taking me?!”

"_____-chan, you have a special genetic makeup."

"What does that mean?"

Kihara Kenkyu looked over from the driver's seat and laughed.

"It means you'll grow up to do great things."

And you did. From that day on, you were raised in what Kihara Kenkyu called "The Facility". She explained that she was a researcher looking into the cause of supernatural abilities. People all over the world contained these abilities, but not all. She wanted to figure out why. On a lead, she found that you had a special genetic makeup that allowed you to harness one of the strongest of abilities.

Although you gained these abilities, you never believed that you did great things. The Facility forced you to kill in order to harness your abilities. You were trained in combat techniques, but although you were strong, you weren't strong enough to escape.

You spent nearly ten years in that facility. Through those ten years, you never let that old, ugly necklace go. You always had it. And although you eventually forgot his voice and even his appearance, you promised yourself you'd never forget the existence of that chocolate-haired boy. The boy that gave you your name. The boy that you'd never see again.

Or so you thought.

#admin kat #bungou stray dogs #living to die #ltd #dazai osamu #osamu dazai #dazai x reader #sort of #they're children #kid!dazai

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castlehead · 7 years

Text

TORTURED ON THE OUTSIDE:

I am apart from the sadists not for the more obvious reason, which is that I have never done anything sadistic; I am apart from the sadists because…well.

Let me squeeze and inspect the foregoing prototype. Let me shape it by my own hands, if I trust no other definition for sadism, It says; then you compare it to my evils and see which of us is the grotesque, which the human person.

I feel that what is to be considered the general sadistic perspective might not make a sadist anyway, nor would the ritualistic excitation of pain, nor the feelings of gratitude therefrom. I mean, can one do a sadistic thing to another and enjoy inflicting it and still actually not be sadistic that is if not all the requirements are filled, par exemplar, what said person -must- have to think about regularly, or maybe even just once,- in order to be called that ‘true sadist’? Regularly, or maybe once; if there is such a key for immediate entrance into so many different rooms of the sadistic character.

This labyrinth of rooms: I see them now: bare and white, perhaps the unenviable minimal vacant drab enlivened with a desk or bedframe with no mattress.- Or is that ‘true sadist’ really so simplistic, an emptiness of empty rooms?-

Or is that too Hollywood for what sadism is, can one never have raised a hand to harm another, whether out of kink or unkindness, and be simultaneously the most thoroughly an agent of others’ pain? I wonder how the sadist-perspective works and behaves in a vacuum,- if it is observably similar or even structurally unchanged if transferred, still in the caul, from that vacuum, to whoever would be inseminated, randomly, with it, and as to this there is a certain laissez-faire attitude: that is, a verifiable genetic strand representing that sadistic quality, its people chosen whimsically to imbibe, like umbilical roe, the personality of sadism they either want or do not want, without regard to their Earthly experiences, and the which in some cases might not outwardly or inwardly evidence itself, but be simply ‘who a person is’ -whether they know it or not, demonstrate it or not, think it or not: I ask for an entire ethic of discovery and clarification as to such a destructive thing, to incubate awhile in someone, anyone who thinks they are kind, or less flawed than another.

I ask myself how what is thought and beheld by these so-called ‘less flawed’ -thought and beheld, by them, of their position in life,- might be influenced by something not them and just as sadistic in its nature as its detachment of themselves from it, and thus understanding themselves, is: and this perhaps the purest case of the other -in- one, for being the largest cosmic outsider to one who is that is to say good, morality really a luck of the draw then and anybody at risk to whatever it is that is choosing to sync us up. We look at our contradictions like animals in a pen and gathering evidence for some proleptic cosmic answering eventually fill our reasons up, impose upon ourselves, who live in this dark-comedy life, a roster of actions and all-holy context for said actions, synced with the thoughts that might or might not set them going, and the sync-up just as random for every pair of action and thought. We examine this thought in horror.

Thought made and molded the fate of the person I would have become upon the face of the Earth, who had not yet entered this World, was no substance but force, you know. The garden-variety sadist, I think, takes offense to that, diving instead into the hurt of others for some mistaken shred of a quality of will supposed to be theirs. I am apart from the sadists, then, if I consider that what they work towards and behave like, situates at -too wild- an angle of mind to be my own. It is a somehow less deliberate, more obtuse and instinctual perspective, than my own perspective, or let us call them my views, on the science, or let us call it the art, of being a generator of pain.

People gain something from the experience of your hurt sometimes, and this fact needs to be taken as fact by any sadist or solipsist: things outside of us, foreign to us, are what cause the hurt, always: if you then do not know yourself indeed you will always feel pain coming at you in its smartly-whizzing infinities.

As regards my philosophy behind it, there are many dark corridors, now that is true; but there is a difference between being mysterious and merely not assiduous, or not knowing what you talk about. It needs to be considered on depth of experience alone, I’d say. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, or whatnot; my own representations of it however, so far, have been imaginative, which calls for a strong will to construct things, an assiduous engineering tendency or deliberation which comes off almost as mechanical stiffness in the eyes, a stiffness of others, in the eyes of others, unfortunately. If my eyes swivel and rest on you they are dynamos of an other, my limbs are chugging pistons for that other.

Sadism is too Janus-faced for me and offends some unthawed inward implacable sense. Or it is maybe just another way to be, to direct oneself, but this other-than-me drastically other than me, and other than the ways I direct my own violent perspective -that horny felicity caused by exaction of pain unto others- a familiar button to press on their switchboard, if not the only button to press there is- something like that is more animal than what would represent, nay feed, my own situation.

To them, a scream is a scream only, and blood is, well, it is blood, kick one dog and you have kicked every dog. The sadists of this World seem to be propelled only by the natural dumb ecstasy of their doing.

The sadists of this World are also born sadists: they have no criteria for their victims save that those victims quell this intrinsic necessity of theirs, to be both audience to and cause of your suffering. Then again, this might be an unfounded assumption, on my part. But those who know nothing assume everything, and at the least I know a little, and in my estimation, enough not to be purely, just- assuming.

Oh to push that strange, horrifying strange, button. Or it is this lone flag of inner barbarity, stuck upright in a shitty mounded-up sum of earth just for to claim, as if it were the most wanted thing possible, the barren land of a barren and long-inhumed identity, for themselves. I am not one of those.

What am I? I guess you could say I am this chair: manufactured rather than born; not attached to anything but itself; made to look attractive, or at least made to look like any other chair, when the wood in it could be rotting away all to hell. I mean, how many asses have slowly pressed the foundations of this chair into decline? It is a weary chair.

But I guess I am most like this chair because I am rarely noticed by other people, yet people use me up constantly. They use up my time, they use up my patience. They use up all of my patience.

I was going down to the basement of my building. There is a washer/dryer available to all the residents of the building there, and I went to wash my clothes at 4:23 a.m. It was the insomnia. Insomnia! What hilarity!, and the audience laughs groaningly at the cliché called this man, half without a history for his weird reasons why, I think: but still they’re weird and brooding and that is good, insomnia being something writers utilize, insomnia to flash the audience the holy misfit badge so that we know this character’s an oddball underdog! Or let some other signaling be done, not less will I expect than a cavalcade of trumpets and flying jets for this man of obviousness and coarse vague void. He is almost overrun with peculiarities and idiosyncrasies, poor guy; to the point they suffocate him while he’s still in the bathtub. He mistakes them for bubbles as they spill out everywhere from the loosening sinews of his torso, as the excrutiating fluff of his bastard heart, perhaps, clanging within something that is not quite living, nor experiences the privilege of never having taken a first breath to start with, in a World, the criticizing It in me says, of unknown design! Go on and flesh out the instabilities, make sense of them in your synthesis of a psychopathic character, like myself, It says to me; something to make me more interesting and the story more interesting? Well even say the story is more interesting just because I am! But oh, what then is the story of my life, alive? Perhaps say this insomnia problem is even the result of some inner, unresolved conflict.

Inner conflict. Hah. How trite. I sometimes laugh at how thrown-together I am.

. . . . .

Insomnia. When I am just about to be stuck in my cranial slot, like cigarettes, -my bed; in a breastpocket, -my sheets; or rather, when I am about to be, will be, without delay, consummately and neatly tucked inside that airless senseless coffin of my head for the night- I wake up to somebody yelling, an anonymous rowdiness on the streets downstairs, then the sound of broken glass. Usually a sob. I wait for the sob and waken more out of anxiety when it doesn’t come. So maybe I didn’t hear it or it was at too soft a volume? Then I am anxious about my left leg still half-battling a cramp.

I await the usual cranial ouroboros -developed as it usually is throughout the usual day- be diffused and neutralized, slowly, by the senses, as rest welcomes doze.

Yet in using my usual strategy, that is, alienating myself from its obsessive tautological waste, through, well, suddenly feeling nothing, which was a talent I picked up in childhood, attending, in sulk, for the purpose of not being a total pariah, my ******’s funeral, if you were wondering,- I detach as well, as if given a spinal tap, from a gabbering retinue of ‘selves’ tearing my belly apart, that I had not encountered the correct amount of before I went to bed, just a controlled few, so then had underestimated, as being a problem.

I guess I just had kept my guts sewn together with string and iodine, for what then I had so far on that day stuffed inside of me got raveled out, and this probably was why what happened later happened. But so be it.

They- are those spare slick parts of my soul covered in blood and afterbirth that want its fucked up dream realized, the soul’s dream, but for themselves, not for the benefit of me, who they could do without; they depend in their selfish way on me losing sight of my own esteem, so as to get a leg up on the race to fulfill what drives me, following a massive periplum charting each, every detail that meanders or lightly jogs up and down my universe like the infinite flight of stairs of stars that it is and that yet remains clouded, like a lake by algae. Oh the unswallowable strange mysteries of life and its crony paradox, and they all my ‘selves’- whom my own connection with myself and reckoning the power of myself could just help to hold in place. He was a shit anyway.

My sleepy coffin of iron, iron-space, is a weaponry that really amounts to a giant metaphysical ‘KEEP OUT’ sign. But it succeeds in all its clockwork of desire, the desire to be alone, and to in dutiful hermeticism fulfill a new and urbane unity of its positives and reassurances, once again, and gifted to the null soul as mine; and then, with a significant popping sound, ringing in the night, I would watch myself disappear into the light of routine, the calmative day, suffusing the sky in pink, and finally allowing me inhale into my lungs of singular person some ulterior essentia or code that wasn’t able to tell me about itself last night, for I had been hiding from the rest of everything real.

It tells me that under all this brief contentment, or brief headache, with the dawn or of the twilight hours, or whatever it is, lies my- and albeit it is a level-headed response- retraction, and perhaps also underestimation, something I should not so freely propound, of something so mystic and absurd as a material other but as material as myself, and whom is in me: a unity, but of those vigilante parts that split my stomach every night, into one evil, futile to manipulate as it is out of my control. It grabs my sick dreams. It wants to bring them closer to me to see and contact their flesh, and understand clearer than before how sick they really are, and how much I want them. But then this evil unity says, Well, you can have this. But you must give yourself over to animal impulse, to the lack of control: in a word, to me.

I end up distrusting my certainty after that. I end up searching for said ingredients of the good essentia as I thought were lacking, but do this way into the night, whittling away my brain; and indeed at the moment it seems necessary, tho with each word added to the argument I grow more void, more null, and any standards of success in carrying out my dream, at least while also remaining who I was, in control, seem void in me, as if they had been the whole time, that this evil in my lungs or wherever it is had both instilled the desire by instilling itself, and it the thing I must become to accomplish what I must have, since a child, always wanted.

It is as like a check is voided, or the way the matter of yon famous night sky is subtly voided from anything like an influence on my sleep. And then time exists not; and then, I can’t sleep at all.

There is this onslaught of pessimism, in every possible iteration it has: and all my life is becomes but legitimate proof for me to worry that I am nothing -but with time and the odd bouts of moral and spiritual amnesia I learn it is for the benefit of me, I am nothing -only- then, in the moments of existential horror before bed, and soon enough I predictably will measure out the rest of me with the remaining good calmative, and go burning down all the melatonin in me like the wax of a candle left unsnuffed forever and ever, though this be a sort of cursory exercise of sacrifice I guess.

But at times I do not very readily submerge into the realm of time, which says I must sleep, nor patiently follow that tedious queue of feelings; or maybe it is a rite, yes, of feelings of time, or about time: and I stare at the glaucous hours unfazed, caught awkwardly between consciousness and something more awakening me than consciousness I can only happen upon in an REM state, this surely only the case by the works of some stupid contradiction or logical fumble of God; or if not entirely upon REM state, I think at the least when I am prone in bed.

It is then in these states that sleep will, quite evilly, decide to take on the personification of a woman, or female demon; the foremost irony of this of course being that sleep is to very many the spiritual entrance into the forms least form, and a nebulous reality at best.

Especially if you consider it at the level of the mere concept of sleep itself, the irony becomes a shade crueler, if only for the cruelty of its blatant voice, ringing in my ear the ghosts of my braincells eaten up by lack of sleep which, like all other concepts, has no visible human shape, form- and though it can appear to be strained by these limits she remains there, sometimes in the corner of my room, sometimes at the foot of my bed. A definition so strained by platitudes of reality I dismiss as something like hair burnt from too much hairdryer and so done out to the dry frays and roots, and yet it is also not like that at all, or she is not; I grow scared. That is, besides to say, there is a similar dryness and brittleness to her, as if she were painted in ancient oils on dimension-fecund air.

To these limits do we all of us adhere to sleep, after all. This whole big dialogue manifests in different ways in different people. And thus will surely go my own ironic sleep tonight, sleep as can bother to personify itself as my removed desire for sleep, in this silly way, as a woman with me here in my mind’s coffin,- personify, yes, without doing its actual job to quench the thirst; metamorphose, typify, be beholden to the human clay, forsooth, ye can do that, go ahead, be shaped and dirtified by those gruffly ugly callused artist’s hands of the mind if you want.

It takes the shape, albeit in my more tired moments an illusory shape, of this horrible woman. I both can see her as clearly as the illusory words on this page and yet cannot see at all.

She gives no entreaty, that is her usual way, and allows herself in. Her arrival is almost always as an unwelcome guest.

I see her now in my mind’s eye though day again is here, dressed, yes, in the constipated garb of Victorian-era hats and trusses. Sometimes she clutches a parasol, which she allows to hang off her shoulder, or whose bezel is put to the floor of my maniac hovel here, this done either to support her weightless composition or punctuate something important I frequently forget by morning but which my body, my own composition as it shifts in daylight reality, always remembers, and is changed by, sometimes without me fully feeling like I had had a choice in the matter.

It’s very bizarre: I know only that she enjoys the company of everyone but me. Yet she only hangs around with me, because I am the only one who sees her. I cannot figure what her use to me is, her vexing status of use. I remain without a purpose as to why I have created her besides to vex me. For I think I have created her. Just a scary figment in my mind.

I think she means to warn that I am on the fringe of psychosis; but perhaps she is the cause of my teetering into hallucination, not the hallucination a result of already going mad.

When she hangs around me like this, whether as the intrepid evidence of an unclear mind or the seed planted that began alive the unclarity, that she robs me of a clear mind is true: by robbing me of sleep. Which she does through keeping me freshly anxious for some, some attempt by her to kill me even. Nights go by, and the woman hangs around begrudgingly. I battle this woman, and I lose to this woman, and I lose sleep.

And when I say battle, I mean I actually fight her, night in and night out. This thought of mine has gotten so overblown that even when I manage to knock her out and finally begin to claw at the periphery of a full night’s sleep she’s there, a real figure and clouded face, begging me to fight her, a match I wake up from when I lose. At least.

But that night was different, there was another reason I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t do it because I was fairly certain, and I had gotten this down to a science, that another person was in me, incubating, lying in wait to harness the beat of my heart for itself, so it could pump my blood through its veins, a growth or fungus, whatever you want to call it. It was there as would be a weight in my chest. It was pulling me downwards.

Somehow I understood that if I went to sleep I would wake up and be farther down than I could manage to fully ascend back, into equilibrium. It said to me, My equilibrium is different. My equilibrium has less to do with a well-balanced reality like yours and more to do with fully noticing my lack of reality, which I am sure is a predilection you have picked up on by now.

As soon as I am able to bind myself to some nexus of independence, am able to see my decisions as changeable by my own hand, I know that I have fallen into insanity. You go ahead. Do the same now please. Chop chop.

No, no. My equilibrium is found when I am assured that I am made up, not real, am the pawn of a larger tale. That’s my equilibrium. A larger covenant of ideas. I believe that I have no traits besides what I was able to explain in that paragraph, up there; have no other thoughts besides the ones given to me by a malevolent arranger of stuffed people, even though it is depressing it is also freeing.

. . . . .

It said to me, So you couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t sleep. I got that, alright already. You tried drinking the last of a gallon of milk but it didn’t work, which was funny because to me, as we naturally agree on most things, have to say that milk is the perfect food and that I love milk, especially organic milk.

What else do I love you ask? Well, let me check with the arranger, whom is neither of us: I love simplicity. I love not thinking about anything. I love walking down the street and imagining that the Earth below me does not really exist, only a reflection of ground is there, made real by the perspicacity of the original, and yet the original is no physical part of its reflection, is farther away than distant, is not even involved in life.

Is mirrors.

We strut around, It said to me. Everyone else’s equilibrium is opposite my own, everyone else gains balance by clasping tight this idea of a sensation of thickness, below one’s feet, when in reality there is not thickness, just a mirror of thickness.

And I love the color burgundy, because it isn’t any specific color; it’s more of a melding of colors into something tragic. Like something like an ode written by Keats. Or some shit. I am not above melodrama. Just like you.

But besides the poetics it has a metallic look, burgandy: the look of something sinister and clandestine: the look of something that is wrong.

I also love roses. I mean, you could say, probably, that a rose is everyone’s favorite flower, and, so, why shouldn’t it be mine? Or ours?

Why shouldn’t I be like them when it comes to what flower is pretty? I had asked myself this out loud and continued as if I were practicing lines for a play in front of a mirror. But that’s not to say I love roses just because everyone does; I love them because I need something to connect me to others -this much I know about myself. I guess these are two very different reasons for liking a color and a flower -one I like for its social comfort, the other for its difference, for its lack of definition.

Also, roses remind me of blood.

But I also love milk. It has vitamins, minerals, strengthens bone matter, gives you energy for waking up but also can put you to sleep as well. Not only that, but it tastes good, too.

On a more personal note, I find the purity in milk intoxicating. It is just white. It has no grey matter floating tenuously between its answers.

In fact, the only thing I don’t like about milk is when it goes bad. See, even after milk is pasteurized, there is still bacteria left over, it just reproduces slowly enough to give time for the companies to bottle it, sell it to the grocery stores, let it sit awhile, and push it on the consumers, who then (in most cases) ingest it without problems.

Once you have milk, however, a modest amount of bacteria, known as lactobacillus, has already reproduced and has, in a manner of speaking, begun to shit in your milk. This bacteria feeds off of the lactose present in milk and excretes lactic acid as a waste product, which in turn denatures the principle protein in milk, known as casein, until the milk reaches its isoelectric point and curdles.

The waste created by lactobacillus sparks the inexorable change of milk from wholesome to nauseating.

The cherubic white turns slightly green, after awhile, and that creamy taste begins to garner a sort of tang. Its smell becomes a stench, it sours. This aspect of simultaneous decline and reproduction is present in all Earthly organisms. It disturbs me, really. I’m sure it disturbs a lot of people. At least, I hope I’m not the only one who has such an intense relationship with a drink, whoever I am who is saying this.

. . . . .

Ok. so I was down there, in the basement, clothes in a cheap basket, but this conventionally beautiful woman was ahead of me, face turned downward in the shadow of a low fluorescent light.

By absurd chance she had come down there minutes before I had but I did not bother to socially monopolize on the coincidence and neither did she, and if my eyes were heavy then hers definitely were, so I stood back behind her and she changed her posture again to put more distance between us: the first thing I noticed was that I couldn’t get a good look at her face. Arms folded caustically, the arms themselves smooth and tanned, as far as I could see, going perfectly with her college-loan blouse that had a stitching on it of some trendy Hindu Mandala shit or something. Spacing out at the spinning clothes. She was obviously tired. Feminine hips, snubbed child-bearing, hair and clothes and physique, begotten of a magazine, the only thing missing was a pair of coach glasses. Then again, it wasn’t really that sunny out yet, I suppose. Then as I moved away from myself to avoid myself It said to me:

When I first saw her I wanted to murder her.

See, that is my vice, I long to snuff out, bump off, shut off, extinguish, annihilate, assassinate, asphyxiate, slay, slaughter, veto, cease, rub out, zap, whack, nullify, execute, destroy, cancel, kill…the act itself, as a philosophical symbol or statement, is beautiful to me. But within the act, is every lillipute act, towards accomplishing the act.

I revel in those complex pieces of the bigger puzzle that is killing someone. Every step towards the death of my victim, in my head, is like biting into steak. I go over it with my tongue. I feel the texture; I let the blood seep through the meat and down my throat. The entire meticulous process of killing yields to similar pleasure receptors as the human act of sex: the chase, the work, the payoff -for the human being it is an orgasm, for the monster it is the eruption of pain into, finally, death.

I thought of coming up behind her with an old-fashioned sleeper hold. Feeling her lithe body become limp in my arms, as I compressed her carotid artery, and jugular veins. Or maybe I would take her down with this butterfly knife I always kept in my sock: straight to her Achilles’ tendon, separating the gastrocnemius and soleus muscles from the heel bone, thus making her deliciously paralyzed.

Perhaps I could ask for her name and where she worked. See where things went. Yes, women always want company. I didn’t look extremely threatening. Maybe I could…woo her into having, uh, sex, with me, despite that being not necessarily what I would want. But it’d be a good way to get her guard down. When she was naked and vulnerable I would sever her cervical vertebrae. Like John Jarrat did in Wolf Creek. I’d hear the spinal crunch and see the fear in her eyes, the fear of being still alive for the pain, that she was still alive and that she could do nothing about it.

After subduing her her body would be my playpen. I could maybe slash her abdomen open and watch her skinny body bleed for hours. I could open up her ribcage and watch the steam rise from her chest. I could stab her over and over, feeling the warmth of her blood seep through the holes in her perfect skin and envelop me, as though she were wrapping me in a cocoon of her own horrific destruction.

I sometimes fantasize about a World in which all the people had no skin, so you could see their insides, you could see their heart beating, their lungs moving in and out, every vein and artery pushing the blood in, and out. I suppose I do think about this because I am sick in the head. I suppose I think about this, perhaps, because the prospect of knowing someone fully, inside and out, is attractive. I think about this perhaps because I wish to see my own insides.

After what seemed like an eternity but which was approximately two minutes, the both of us standing apart from each other in the extended, awkward silence, I waiting for the washer and she for the dryer, and the fluorescent light flickering brighter, then dimmer, from time to time, and I utterly beside myself about all these thoughts and this other in me and finally ridding myself of him- after that, my littler eternity there in the basement, her load of laundry was done, and she picked it up and started walking away with it, and I took the biggest step towards killing I had ever taken, and I closed my eyes then opened them with purpose and dropped down, down into an obscure fold in myself, every weight pulling me down, through the linoleum tile floor I stood on, into what I now suspect were the rims of hell: before that night I had felt this feeling before, in my local CD store it happened: or again once, when I was shopping for a new mattress, hoping to sleep easier, perhaps, and while a salesman was walking me through each identical brand it happened, and he just stood there, the poor confused man, saying, “Sir? Sir?”

Even walking down the street, to this day it happens on the street, and every time being suddenly, bizarrely awash in hell; or at least as close to hell as my perspective can hope to get. And every time, people, strangers always looking with their personalized brand of fear, at a man who abruptly stopped to close his eyes, and sweat to himself, in front of all the strangers.

I crossed a sort of threshold when I opened my eyes then and then grabbed her arm firmly and I looked at her and she did not look at me but looked at her arm which I had grabbed and then she looked at me and I finally got a good look at her as before she had stood turned away and now she was facing me and for approximately the same duration as the interaction the fluorescent light brightened up to reveal her face clearly, for a few suspended moments: she had burgundy eyeliner and lipstick and a pin of a rose on her college-loan blouse, My my my look here at his favorite flower and favorite color the half-assed qualities of brooding you are contrived by someone above or below but it doesn’t matter, It said to me and suddenly suddenly suddenly I realized her face was…the face of the woman that had kept me awake at night.

I had never bothered to examine her face before, just as I hadn’t really bother to with this girl, being in the stupor of exhaustion one can fail to account for many things especially if those things are fucking shingled in unneeded crypticism.

But suddenly her face was there, in all its horror: set upon the tiny shoulders of this woman, this girl: the eyes that were brown with gigantic pupils, that crossed a bit of a shadow upon her face, yes, the bit of extra chin cambering upward, yes, the lashes extending a bit too far from the center of the face, darker than her hair, yes, and the hair yes the hair just hanging off the scalp without volume without an angle just sprouted from the pestering bromidic relevance of this woman who fights my sleep. It was her. It was indeed her…

A sign? Was God telling me not to murder this person? I’ve been to church before but I’m not a religious man. I only go because I enjoy the huge symmetry of the chapels- the crisp alignment of the pews- or anything from the winged babes carved in stone, to the towering stone pillars of such holiness- to the straight attire of the vicar, to the sober haunches of his pulpit to the arms of Christ splayed out bleeding against the cross.

But, I remember, before I could figure any of this out she had pulled away from me, and had muttered, “Jerk.”

She walked away. So I guess…I had let her go.

I didn’t do any of the things I had planned.

What did this mean? Was I creating a reason not to kill her? Was I afraid of God? As I stated before, I am not a religious man; I’m just a man without answers.

People without answers need answers, so they look away from the fog and headache of their lives into the vague realms of the metaphysical and the philosophical. Questions like if I can’t find out the meaning of life, at least then, what is the meaning of my life? And I thought I had foun out the meaning of my life! What a gargantuan fucking question! It can be answered in a way but it can never be proved, whether you would have done something different better than what you pursued, or not…which is why, I guess, that we, or most of us, decide to trust in a thing above the sky, that is bigger than myself, controlling all…it is nice to think this way because it’s amazing to believe in something so powerful that also cannot be proven. Yet it cannot be disproved: thus we turn our heads up at some invisible matter that ends up chasing the corners of many lives and the lives of many more.

But if it wasn’t religious, the other, more believable option was that I didn’t do what I had planned to do because I was scared- to carry things out.

Maybe I made myself believe that I couldn’t kill this girl because there was some ambiguous sign, at least a sign as to the ambiguity of deflated character traits, painted on her lips and looming over her eyes and pinned to her college-loan blouse. Telling me to get a hobby or something, if this was all I thought about. Christ.

I remember saying, before, that the reason I couldn’t sleep had to do with the fear of another person taking control in my sleep, making me do things. Maybe-maybe-I was afraid that I would do exactly what I have dreamed of doing, for the longest time, if I were to release this other person. If that is I really hadn’t to begin with; then maybe, It is not so formidable as I thought.

What I believe will take control is this little germ of myself that is no part of any arranger. The germ is a personality that I only know is different from the one given to me in the beginning. I feel the germ saucing in my belly, from time to time, wanting a change to the ends, a germ of change, made from what supposedly was rooted, and I wonder whether one day this germ will finally dislocate my roots from any sort of story and turn me into something that is actually alive.

Afterwards I went back upstairs and became taken with especially brutal visions of violence, all concerning the skeletal little fruit-cup who escaped. It seemed to me, at that point, that I was supposed to break, that I was supposed to kill her, in a fit of insanity, and with her death I would purge myself of all the horrible things in me: her death would give me a second chance: at long last I would live up to the age-old maxim, that with death, comes life.

But, nothing happened. Instead, I ended up locked in my room, as I was and am on so many nights, looking like a tired hawk through the window, imagining only a large mouth that ate me whole. I traveled down a shimmying trachea and before I fell into the stomach I plunged my knife into her esophagus, and then proceeded to destroy her from the inside. I laid down in bed and thought of bleed-spots to help me sleep: the ulner and radial arteries of the wrist; the carotid and vertebral arteries in the neck; the genicular artery behind the knees…

But, the thing is, during this specific flight into perversion, I remember not sensing an ounce of shame.

Usually it was there, when I thought about killing, chewing carniverously on my brain. Shame telling me, that this could lead to darker stuff.

And sometimes, in the past, if I didn’t feel ashamed, I would make myself feel ashamed, as though I should be punished for mere safe thought, as though I were feeding the flames of what would become a descent into the depraved, and once I had made that descent, I would kill, and, yet, no kill was made.

Well, I know I am a psychopath. I am a twisted son-of-a-bitch. But, I am not one in practice, and I suppose I never will be. Maybe one day, when I can’t control the desire any longer, I will kill. However, at this point in time, I guess you could say that I’d rather stick to being tortured on the outside, and a law-abiding citizen on the inside. I have morals, I suppose. But I just like to think that I don’t. I guess I need to push no button, or no button to push.

. . . . .

The next day, I saw the same mutant girl on the news. She had been raped and murdered, twenty stabs in the torso, two homeless chaps had found the body at around 6 that morning. Interesting. I said to myself:

It said to me, in my own words, “They beat me to it.”

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