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serafiel-jacobs · 9 months

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Business as usual (Fanfic)

New chapter from my main series 🩷

Geppetto and Venigni were in a work meeting together. This is a very important one, all members with the highest positions in the Workshop Union are here.

Maybe it is because he is getting old but Geppetto wants this meeting to be over already, he just doesn't have the patience to deal with things like this anymore. Not the work meeting itself, but rather other coworkers he has to deal with.

Specially Conrad.

“I understand some of you might have reservations…” Conrad says while looking at him and Venigni, “ But the people of Krat still worry about another incident happening with the puppets, I believe it best that we make some counter-measurements in case someone tries to mess with them again”

Geppetto looks away for a moment but composes himself.

“I suggest we limit some of the puppets' abilities, if we make a command to instantly shut them down in case something when wrong then…”

The puppet frenzy, Geppetto knows it was all his fault, he has never confessed to it but he took public responsibility for the matter, he is the leader of the union after all.

Statistically, the harm caused specifically by puppets was low, most of them had to do with the petrification disease and the problems caused by the alchemists. It was all because of Romeo, he was the one who prevented the other puppets from doing more harm. Geppetto is thankful that Romeo was able to stop him from harming others that way.

Still, Geppetto has to live with it, the only thing he can do is make amends and do what he can to make Krat a better place. That's why he still works, as much as he would enjoy retiring a few years early and spending as much time as he can with his son he has to fix all of his mistakes.

And this is definitively not the solution, Conrad has only ever seen puppets as machines not companions to help others and he refuses to acknowledge that puppets who have awakened an Ego are sentient. Pulcinella has to be at the receiving end of his passive-aggressive remarks all the time, and Geppetto knows that the man talks badly about his son when he isn't around in the workplace.

Although puppets are supposed to obey human commands they have the choice of how to make them and they can deny requests, the only things puppets can't do are already engraved on the laws that bind them to the grand covenant and aside from Polendina and Pulcinella, as they were build before the grand covenant was established, there are no other puppets that aren't bound to it. But both of them are kind-hearted they would never do anything to harm others.

Well, there also is his son but Pinocchio is special since he isn't 100% a puppet and he is a very good boy, he loves to help others, and he would never cause any harm.

“So you don't want them to have free will?” That's what Geppetto wants to say but he has to stay professional, “I understand your concerns but-”

Geppetto is interrupted.

“Well, Geppetto let's be honest maybe you are a little biased when it comes to this subject because of your…son” Conrad has a smile on his face, “Perhaps it is best that we don't hear an emotionally filled argument”

Venigni is the one to speak up this time “If you want a logical argument, then let me give you one”

Geppetto breathes a sigh of relief, Venigni always knows what to say, and when he talks about logistics he doesn't know when to shut up, he can keep talking and talking and not tire himself out, Geppetto wonders how his friend can retain so much information, analyze it and even realize things that he would have never imagined were connected.

It takes half an hour for Venigni to stop talking, no one ever interrupts him, because if you do, you accidentally will point out something he missed and he will talk even more. Yet no one can deny his solid arguments.

“Thank you for your insights Venigni” Conrad said while gritting his teeth, “But let us decide this democratically, how about we put a vote on the matter?”

There are twelve people in this meeting counting Geppetto and Venigni, five raise their hands on the argument Corand made, while seven in the one Venigni made.

It's obvious that the man is annoyed but he lets it slide; Geppetto and Venigni know that this won't be the last time they will have to deal with this.

Technically Geppetto could fire him, but that would only stir the pot more, he and his followers could say that Geppetto is abusing his power as the Workshop Union Leader and workwise Conrad has always been an excellent worker, he goes above and beyond for it, it makes sense, everyone in that room takes their job extremely seriously, so Geppetto cannot fire him just due to his behavior, unless he does something completely uncalled for, firing him is not a good idea.

After the meeting is done, Geppetto and Venigni go to the breakroom, both making themselves a cup of coffee.

“I swear I don't understand how you drink that, it's more sugar than coffee at that point” Geppetto has never understood Venigni's obsession with adding so many things to his coffee, but it has always been this way.

“It tastes good, maybe you should try it for once, try to have fun” Venigni doesn't understand how Geppetto only drinks black coffee. “Besides who adds 12 shots of espresso to their drink?” That's a ridiculous amount, Venigni always does 4 or 5, and Geppetto goes too far in his eyes.

“Who adds cinnamon and chocolate syrup to their coffee?”

“Your son”

“Venigni that's not the win you think it is” Geppetto has banned his son from drinking coffee with his friend because the last time Pinocchio drank coffee like that it was a complete disaster.

“You asked who does it as well, I just answered your question” As Venigni says that, he sees Geppetto add yet another shot of expresso to his coffee and he stares at him.

“Don't look at me like that, that meeting was hard”

“Geppetto this is the equivalent of using drugs”

“Oh please don't exaggerate and I have never used any drugs in my life” Geppetto lied.

“I know that you used to smoke weed,” Venigni says with a smile.

“Who told you that?!” Geppetto is mortified.

“Pinocchio asked me the other day what getting high means, so I now know your little secret” Vebigni had an even wider grin on his face.

That brat! He made his son promise he wouldn't ask anyone what that means, he is getting grounded.

“But did you tell him what that means?!” Geppetto was now grabbing Venigni's shoulders.

Venigni let out a laugh, “Don't worry I didn't” When Pinocchio asked him he gracefully but swiftly changed the subject.

Gepptto let go of Venigni, “Oh thank God, don't scare me like that”

They both laughed but the playful atmosphere was cut short when Conrad entered the breakroom.

“Geppetto, Venigni” As if it couldn't be more obvious that Corand dislikes them, he doesn't even bother to give a casual hello.

“So Geppetto, that project you did all the way in London is truly something special, considering how everyone is speaking about it, hopefully, it's not too much to ask for some of the details” Conrad has a smug tone, he always thinks he is so smart.

“I'm sorry it's confidential” That's another lie, not every detail of it is confidential but Geppetto won't disclose the hard work that he, Alexander, and other members of that team did.

“Mmm, what a shame” Conrad gets closer, it looks like he is going to start forcing conversation, “Who did you leave your son with while you were gone? Was it you Venigni?”

“Pinocchio came with me” Geppetto has a bad feeling about this.

“Really? Do you take him to such things? I don't recall you ever taking Carlo anywhere” Conrad stabbed Geppetto with those words.

Geppetto takes a deep breath, he has to stop himself from punching him.

“Conrad, what do you want?” Venigni isn't going to let this man play his games.

“How rude, I thought the great Lorenzini Venigni was supposed to be charismatic”

“Again, what do you want?” Venigni doesn't have the patience for this and he won't tolerate what he said to Geppetto about Carlo, it's cruel to say something like that, to bring up someone's dead child, who does that?

“I want the two of you gone from this union” Conrad was in front of them, feeling like he had the advantage.

He actually admitted it, which was surprising, “The two of you are not fit to be members”

“After everything me and Geppetto have done for this union, what makes you say that?” That is simply a ridiculous claim, Venigni doesn't want to give himself and Geppetto all the credit because the plans they made helped the city, they set their plans in motion and worked as a team with others to achieve them, without the help of every worker in Krat human or puppet they managed to make the city prosper again in the face of such disaster, still, it took them long hours of planning to find the best ways to reconstruct the city and fix that mess, many sleepless nights and it didn't help men like Conrad only wanted to help those who have wealth and status.

“What makes me say that? The two of you should take a good look at yourselves” Conrad is feeling confident saying all of this because no one else is around, he wouldn't dare talk this way to them in public, “It's not normal for a grown man to pretend that a puppet is his son and I know that you don't see any issue with that Venigni because you had the misfortune to be raised by a puppet but to the rest of us, its clear as day that the two of you are mentally unwell”

Before either of them could say another word, other workers entered the room, and Geppetto and Venigni had to resign themselves, not being able to call him out. When their break is over, the two of them are the last ones to leave the room.

“So, how does he plan to kick you out? Did he forget that you own this building?” Geppetto couldn’t believe how ridiculous that man was being.

Venigni laughed, it really was ridiculous to try and kick both of them out. But unfortunately, they will have to deal with him at work.

But at least they made plans to see each other after work at Venigni's home.

—-

They talked over a few drinks, maybe it was still a little too early to be drinking as it was only 6 pm but it had been a hard day, and no one likes office drama.

Geppetto eventually relented and told Venigni a few of his stories while studying for his degree, Venigni couldn't believe what he was hearing, to him who Geppetto was describing was a completely different person than the one he knew; Geppetto also spoke a bit more of the time he and his son spent in London.

“I'm glad that Pinocchio enjoyed his vacation… despite what happened” Geppetto had told Venigni about what transpired, everyone else knew as well.

Things became quiet and Geppetto took another sip of his drink.

“Venigni I… almost lost him” Geppetto has tears in his eyes, “I should have never trusted Dorian Gray, I let my guard down because I used to know him, turns out I didn’t even know what kind of person he was and my son almost died”

“Geppetto it’s not your fault” It’s hard for Venigni to see Geppetto like this, he already lost one son, he can’t imagine what it would be like to almost lose another.

“I know it isn’t but, I almost lost my life as well” Geppetto knows that Sophia did something so that he wouldn’t die, but it was hard to understand, at the moment he was filled with adrenaline and after it was all done, he couldn’t explain it but, it felt as if things played out differently.

All he can truly remember is Dorian almost killing him while saving Pinocchio.

“It made me start to think, what will happen to him when I’m gone?”

“Geppetto don’t say that” Venigni doesn’t want to think about Geppetto being gone, they have been friends for so long, Geppetto was his mentor when he first started but over time their friendship evolved.

“I don’t want to think about it, I want to believe that we can spend the years I have left together” Geppetto knows that he isn’t getting any younger, he is 60 and while Pinocchio is strong and reliable he has so much to learn about the world.

“But in case that won’t happen…”

Venigni is a man of many words yet at this moment, he feels like he can’t say anything. Because he already knows where this is going.

“Venigni I know it’s too much to ask but, when I die, could you please take care of him?”

When, not if, eventually we all die, and Geppetto wants his son to be in good hands, with a true friend, someone he knows in his heart that he will always trust, after everything they have been through together, how could he not trust Venigni?

Venigni is that friend, they have been together in the best and in the worst of times. Venigni is still young, despite all the times his friend says that he feels like an old man when he is just 39.

Venigni wants to give Geppetto reassuring words to not think about such things, and that things will be fine. But he knows that this is a conversation that they would have had at some point or another.

“I will Geppetto, I promise you I will” There is no hesitation in his voice, Venigni loves the boy, he is family. Pinocchio is his beloved nephew, and as his uncle he will do what he must to be there for him.

—-

It was 9 pm it's not that late but Geppetto usually doesn't stay out for long, when he entered the house, he could see that his son and Gemini were playing a board game.

“Gemini that's not a real word, it doesn't count” Pinocchio is pouting, it's not fair, Gemini keeps winning.

Gemini sighs “Pinocchio, skepticism IS a real word”

“If it's real then why is it spelled so weirdly?”

Geppetto lets out a laugh, it amuses him how his son can be stubborn like that. It looks like he is going to need to teach him a little more about language.

“Father, welcome back!” Pinocchio always greets him like that, he is so polite; he is a good boy.

Geppetto gives his son a big hug before letting go.

“Son, you are grounded”

“What?!”

#lies of p #lop #liesofp #lies of p game #lies of p fanfic #lies of p pinocchio #lies of p geppetto #this is in ao3 too #ao3 link #lies of p venigni #lies of p gemini

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safetycar-restart · 2 years

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Ok so subby boyfriend driver comes back from a very exhausting gp weekend that you couldn’t attend. The race could have been very exhausting (maybe Singapore) and on top of that the team gave your boyfriend the biggest master class there is. So he is feeling very down and exhausted and just wants to fall in your arms and forget the weekend ever happened.

You decide to treat your boy to the nicest and softest extend possible. You put him in his/your comfiest clothes and snuggled him in loads of blankets and give him a nice back massage that turns into a full body massage. Your sub is so relaxed that he can’t tell his left from his right. After he is so close to sun space from massages alone you also give him a nice, slow and soft hand/blow job and praise him so much.

Also the team is scared for when you attend a gp weekend next… bc they know it’s their fault your boyfriend is exhausted and you will fight for his rights

-🐞

Ooo I love this idea. To me this screams Charles, Mick or Marcus? I'm gonna write Mick, but you can always ask me for one of the other two as well and I will happily write more :))

You weren't at the race, but you watched it and instantly you knew that Mick was going to be very upset when he got home.

Usually Mick likes to talk to you about his race? Even if you don't fully understand everything he's saying because he rattles off about all sorts of numbers and statistics, but you don't need to. You just need to listen. Mick loves having a safe space to decompress after a race.

If you can't be at the race weekend, then he'll still want to talk about the race with you when he gets back to you. Maybe he even makes a list of points on his phone to talk to you about? Personally, you have no idea how speaking to you even days later could help, but he seems to really look forward to it and you're always happy to listen to him.

But this time, he doesn't say a thing? You ask him if he wants to talk about his race when he gets back, because he always does. But this time he just shakes his head and heads to the shower.

You go after him of course, because something is obviously very wrong. You ask him if you can join him in the shower, and you honestly think that he's going to say no, but then he actually just whines and mumbles, "please."

You know what he needs then, and you quickly undress before joining him in the shower. You wash him slowly, making sure to let kiss all the skin you can. You can see how he's relaxing, slowly coming back to himself.

Originally you weren't going to give him a massage, you just wanted to get him into your arms as soon as possible. But then you saw how tense he was when you washed him, and you changed your mind.

You just wanted him to end up soft and safe in your arms, but you could tell he wasn't okay enough for that yet.

Maybe you let him lay naked for his massage? Just dry him in a towel and then lay him down on the bed. He lets out little whines and huffs as you massage him, body practically melting into the bed.

You tell him to turn over, thinking that you can massage his arms and maybe give him some kisses. But then you see the slightly glazed over expression in his eyes and you realise he's close to subspace. It's not what you expected, but clearly he was more stressed you realised.

Normally he tells you if he's close to subspace, if he thought that he might slip. So he clearly didnt realise how close he was.

But that's okay. He's your sub, your good boy. If he needs to drift into subspace to feel better, then you're more than happy to look after him.

He has a soft smile as he stares up at you, not worried at all about being so close to subspace. He knows you'll look after him.

It's so easy to just slip further down and end up between his thighs, taking his cock into your mouth for a slow blow job. Mick makes the sweetest sounds, crying out and whining. You pull off and tell him that he can cum any time he wants, that his only job is to feel good and let you play with him.

He can do that, he can absolutely do that.

He cries after he cums, tears running down his cheeks and whining until you quickly shuffle up the bed and let him hide in your arms.

He opens up then, tears still running down his cheeks. He speaks against your chest, telling you about his race and why he was so upset. You hold him tight, running your hands along his back to try and offer some comfort.

You only move again once he finishes talking. You can tell he's done because he takes a deep breath and settles in your arms, more relaxed than he's been the entire night.

You get him into some comfy clothes then, knowing that he loves feeling the soft fabric against his skin.

The next morning, he has a proper debrief with you, and thanks you taking such good care of him.

#sub!mick #nsfw.#ms #gn!reader #soft soft vibes #🐞

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theuntoldoriginsoftheportmafia · 2 months

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Part Ⅴ Escape - Chapter 2.5

♘ A Detective Must Be Armed ♘

3,842 Words

Mori didn’t even bother trying to cover himself once he knew he was found out. “He is going to die sooner or later, Osamu, you must be ready for that. Why keep him from having a poetic death, from having the peace he so wants?”

“He can have that while he’s alive.”

“If he truly wanted it, he would’ve left it, left you, but no. He’s a coward, that’s why he doesn’t kill. Having an attachment to him will only drag you down. And it will get him killed, painfully, and you will lose him, and it will be your fault. He’ll never leave you, you’re using him. Let him go. Then he can be free.”

But Dazai is a selfish bastard. “No.”

“Alright then, have it as you wish.”

Two weeks later, Dazai has everything arranged. Burnt hats, drugged wine, a car bomb. All ready to go at a moment's notice. Secret files relating to the Tripartite Framework, the brainchild of a man named Nastume, the only piece missing, one to rule the day. This is what Dazai tells Oda when he takes him to a small coffee shop in Nerima, Tokyo’s 20th ward. They need to be far away where no one in the Port Mafia can listen in.

“This is good, but I don’t want you to do it for me, I want you to do it for yourself. You don’t really want to leave Nakahara-san, do you?” He looks concerned.

“I don’t know, I just . . .”

“And so suddenly, I thought you liked him a lot?”

“I do . . . but have you ever seen the statistics?”

“On what?”

“Teen relationships. They rarely last more than 2 years. It’s been a year. And I’m me, it’s a miracle we’ve made it this long. He’s just going to leave me sooner or later.”

“Where did you read something like that?”

“Very reliable sources.” Dazai proclaims, taking a suspiciously long sip of his coffee.

Oda raises an eyebrow, “If it has pop-up adverts, it doesn't count.”

“Hmph! Pop-up adverts don’t make the information any less correct.”

“Maybe, and perhaps that is true, but if anyone is the exception, it’s you and Nakahara-san. I don’t want you to leave a place where you’re happy just for my sake. And don’t you dare use me as an excuse for sabotaging your first happy relationship! I won’t have it.”

Dazai looks down, choosing to watch his reflection in his drink rather than face Oda’s piercing eyes. He’s much more observant than he gives himself credit for.

“The end is inevitable, Odasaku. Instead of suffering and crying about it, I’d like to help you fulfil your life’s dream. Isn’t that a good enough reason?”

Oda considers it, and seeing he won’t change the younger boy’s mind, he nods.

“Yes, on one condition.”

“Anything for Odasaku.”

“You bring the Akutagawas along with us.”

Dazai tenses, “Why? Ryuunosuke belongs with the mafia, it’s the only place for someone like him. What would we do with his gift, with his urge to kill?”

“The urge to kill that you gave him. You owe this to him, Dazai.”

“He had it long before me. He’s angry at the world and he needs a place to get out that anger.”

“Exactly, with this so-called detective agency you propose we can give him a safe place to actually work out some of his many issues.”

Dazai frowns. “He and I are different. I know neither right nor wrong, it’s all the same. He has a sense of morals and chooses to rip, tear, and kill anyhow. He’s too far gone for help or to be of any use to us.”

Oda continues, determined, persisting. “Admit it Dazai, you know you owe it to him. I understand if you don’t feel sorry, not even a little bit. I understand if you’d do all the same again if you could, but he’s just a boy, like you. Like I was. Don’t you wish I’d gotten another chance, a shot at something better? Something more. It may not seem like it to you, but after all my years, 16 is still a baby. He’s not done, we can still save him. I want to save him. Maybe because I think it’ll redeem me, and maybe that’s even more selfish than leaving him, but please Dazai. Help me. Help me do the right thing. The boy deserves a second chance, even if you don’t think that you do. Help me save him.”

Oda appeals to Dazai’s affection for him, and it’s working.

‘I’m selfish Odasaku, far more than you. Don’t even think of calling yourself that when I’m the one seriously considering leaving a child to the wolves. I want it to just be us, no one else, certainly not from the mafia. All they’d be is a liability.’

“And if I don’t.”

“Then he dies,” Oda says with finality, his normally lively blue eyes taking on a pensive shade of grey. “A gruesome death probably. You’re the only one who’s accepted him. He sees everything in you. You’re like a saviour to him. You can’t just undo that. When you’re gone, he’ll be eaten alive by a world that’s never wanted him.”

“Saviour?” Dazai scoffs, “I’m his abuser. I can’t help it. That’s how one gets better, by being ripped apart and reassembled again. It’s the same for any mafioso. I am successful because I have nothing left to lose or gain. Once I am gone from his life, he can be free, if he wants. Maybe he will still choose vengeance. Maybe he’ll fall behind in his training. Maybe that’s what you want. Maybe it will be better if he’s tamed his anger, but I promise you that he will never be tamed so long as he’s in my presence. He strives to improve, for more violence because of me. Happy people, people content with themselves do not kill. If you want him to be happy then you should want him as far from me as possible.”

“We should at least take Gin,” Oda says a little defeated, only poking at his food now. He knows Dazai has a point.

“No, their brother would never let them leave him. It’s both or neither.”

“Fair, but it has to be you asking, it won’t sound sincere otherwise.”

“ . . . Fine. I made you a promise. I intend to keep it. If this is what you want, I’ll ask, but you have to come with me, and if he doesn’t want to leave, we go alone.”

“Deal.”

The train ride back is quiet, the only event being a young spiky-haired boy knocking into Dazai and another young man, in a rush not to miss the train.

“Sorry, my big bro’s on here! I got lost and I can’t let him leave without me!”

A few minutes later a tall man with the same spiky hair brings back the boy to apologise to the people he disturbed, only to be waved away by the young blond man whom he knocked into Dazai. He scowls.

“I am studying. I have no time for your apologies, you’ve already put me a minute behind schedule.”

The big brother looks a bit shocked but says nothing, leading the boy away.

“What a big grumpy meanie!” Dazai hears the kid mutter.

They arrive back at the Port Mafia’s headquarters at 14:00. The afternoon is a stormy grey, the colour of Chuuya’s eyes. Dazai keeps his eyes on the ground.

He and Oda find the siblings in the training room. They bow when they see Dazai, immediately wary.

“Akutagawa-kun, Gin-chan, do you like the Port Mafia? Honest answers only please~”

The siblings stare wide-eyed.

“W-what do you mean, Dazai-san?”

“I mean, do you truly enjoy your work here, how it makes you feel and what it does to others? Or are you only here because I brought you? If you answer yes to the former then my next question has no relevance.”

There’s a long beat of silence, a whole note, a measure, a song.

Dazai can see the questions in their eyes: ‘If we say no, will we be punished? Will it change how you treat us? Will it make you think us useless? Will you push us even harder? I’m not sure how much more I can take.’

“If you say yes, then you’ll never have to deal with me again.”

Oda looks at Dazai, shaking his head. Dazai knows exactly what he’s doing.

‘It’s a tempting offer . . . too tempting. There’s more to this. What isn’t he saying?’ Akutagawa narrows his eyes, thinking carefully over his answer. ‘I do like it here, it’s the closest thing to a home I’ll ever have after everything. I shouldn’t fear Dazai so much, he gave me all this. It’s ungrateful to want out, to fear for the life of my sibling, their purity. They can handle themselves doubting them is disrespectful but . . . I fear myself. I fear what I'll become without Dazai-san. I need a routine. I fear being weak. He is my solution. And I need him, what would I do without him. Without his training I’d be weak. I don’t want to be weak. I don’t want him to leave. My reliance on him is weak. He can’t! . . . But what do I say to make him stay that won’t make him think I’m whiny and useless? . . . Gin! Gin should get another chance at least. They’ll hate me for speaking on their behalf, but . . .'

So he puts on a show, stomping his foot. ‘I will make Dazai-san stay! I will. But can I go without Gin?’

In all his life Akutagawa Ryuunosuke has never been elegant. There is nothing elegant about him, from his birth to his running away and joining the mafia. He could have been, yes, he has that air about him, and his uncle, a scholar, surely would have taught him if he had gotten the chance, but he didn’t. So now, he stands in front of the man he most wants to think well of him, almost more than his own mother, unsure of what to say. What are the right words?

When Gin starts to speak their brother cuts them off. “I hate it here! I cry every night! I want to be good, but I stay because of Gin. They love it here!”

The words come out so intense, like hot coals, but even louder than his shout is what goes unsaid. The silent cry rings out through the space. ‘They don’t need you, they don’t need to see you ever again, but I do. Stay away from them! This is all I know. Please don’t leave me!’

‘Jesus, he’s just a boy. . . . What did you do to him, Dazai?’ Oda looks to the young executive, worrying what he’ll do next.

Dazai strides forward, grabbing Akutagawa’s chin, finger pressing too hard. “My, my, Akutagawa, still just as poor at deception as the day I found you eating rats in those woods.”

“Dazai.” Oda says the name in vain.

Dazai continues, his voice a soft sort of violence, a gently dangerous drawl in Akutagawa’s ear. “If you’re so pathetic at lying, just tell the truth. You want me to stay don’t you?”

Akutagawa makes no sound. In the 16-year-old’s eyes, Dazai sees someone even more familiar to him than himself. Mori Ougai. So human, so dark and twisted, a monster. Dazai strives to become inhuman and instead has become painfully, and brutally human, the worst kind. The kind that feels so deeply, the kind that feels so much, anger, rage, fear, (at himself), when all Dazai wants is to feel nothing at all.

He squeezes the boy’s chin until his finger quivers and his knuckles are white and Akutagawa’s eyes water. He hates himself. He hates that this boy has made him see himself, hates that he’s shown him that becoming inhuman is impossible. His reflection makes him nauseous.

He stops squeezing, hands aching and places his hands on Akutagawa’s shoulders instead, fighting the urge, the instinct he's not sure when he developed (inhuman things aren’t supposed to have instincts.) to dig his nails in.

“Why? Are you a masochist? Are you sick like me? Twisted like me? Have I done this to you? Why do you want me to stay when I only hurt you, push you, violently beat you with your own ability? If that's the case then you might be beyond saving, hmm?”

“Dazai.” But neither of the two hear Oda. Gin stares on without words. They’ve been training with Ozaki-san since they joined the mafia and have heard of Dazai’s tactics, but never seen them in person.

‘Ozaki-san’s torture squad is one thing but this . . . Is this what my brother has endured silently for so long?’

Words are failing him again and Akutagawa hates it. “I-I . . . You taught me never to be weak . . . and without you . . . I am weak. I do not want to be weak!”

“Oh, so that’s it.” Dazai’s tone is empty. He knows and knows and knows.

“I want to train so I will not be weak, for that I need you.”

After a moment, Dazai says, “I’m glad you’ve finally admitted that. It seems you’ve finally unlocked your ambition. You’ve learnt the most important lesson. You are weak. You are from gutters, waste and ruin. You must have ambition, it is the only thing you have. Do not allow your sibling to take that away.”

“Dazai!”

“And you must never have pride. Pride limits your options, a mafioso must never have things he won’t do. Someone as lowly as you must learn how to get what you require any way you can, that includes begging, a skill you seem to suddenly have come upon. Begging does not make you weak, you cannot possibly get any weaker, it makes you cunning, and manipulative. Tell me Akutagawa-kun, . . . how does it feel to be as awful as me?”

Dazai drops his hands and walks to Gin. Akutagawa follows his movements with wide eyes. The words are cruel, Dazai knows, but he’s filled with so much hate, mostly for himself that the words bubble up like sticky tar.

‘This is what I wanted, isn’t it? So why does it feel so . . . heavy.’ Akutagawa finds his coat suddenly weighs a thousand pounds.

“Gin-chan, you don’t love it here, no?”

“I-” under the weight of Dazai’s gaze they have no choice but the truth. Just as it’s about to force its way painful up their throat, Oda smiles at them from behind Dazai. “I am lonely. I don’t know anyone but my brother. I don’t mind the training, and I do this because I am good at it, but I guess if I was good at something else then I would like that too. I would like some friends. I think I would like it more if I had friends and because this is probably all I’ll get to be good at since we’re all alone. I am loyal to the mafia, you don’t have to worry.”

(A/N: Not @ author-san with the Gin / Kyouka parallel. I had to edit this because I think I accidentally tagged someone when I was trying to refer to myself, the author, in a humourous way, so if I did sorry. This is sooo embarrasing 😳 ahhh social anxiety go brrr!)

In the face of their sincerity, their face painted by things they’ve had to do so young in life, the things they’ve lost, Dazai sees Chuuya. He wished Chuuya could’ve had something better. But Gin isn’t Chuuya, and helping them won’t help Chuuya. He struggles to find sympathy for them.

As he searches for the foreign feeling, everyone holds their breath. Fortunately, he is a better actor than Akutagawa. His deception makes him sick.

‘Like a pitcher plant, using sweet words to lure them in. At least Mori never lied about the awful side of things.’

He bends down, careful, too gentle and they’ll get spooked and scamper off into the darkness again.

‘Oda should be doing this.’

“Are you afraid for your brother? What will become of him if I go? What he will do if I stay?”

Gin whispers out a small “Yes.”

“Hmm, then we have ourselves a conundrum. I cannot stay. I am bound by the dream of my friend, here, Odasaku-san, but I would hate to lose such a fine asset, one Mori-san hardly deserves.”

Gin looks wary, cringing away as Dazai describes her brother. Asset.

Dazai smiles, a patronising twist to his lips, but even that doesn’t hide the emptiness. “You see Mori is the one who set all of this up. He wants something called a special ability permit, and to get it he must prove his usefulness. The easiest way to do that was to eliminate mimic . . . using Odasaku, without a care for his or his children’s death. Luckily Oda survived, but that’s why we’re leaving. You may stay with the child slaughterer if you wish, it’s of no bearing to me. I’m sure I’ll find a fine replacement quickly enough.”

Both Akutagawas flinch at this.

‘Leaving? Going where? Leaving us? To do what? Who will be his replacement!? Will we be replaced’ The eldest Akutagawa’s mind races.

“Leaving?” asks Gin, too stunned to make much sense of Dazai’s words.

“Yes, Dazai-san wishes to start a detective agency,” Oda explains, hoping to comfort the young teens who suddenly remind him so much of his orphans. “And he’s- I am asking you to be a part of it, a chance to get away from this dark, death-filled place.”

No one says a word. Oda grows more desperate as the silence stretches on.

When he speaks, his voice cracks with emotion, memories of childish laughter flash behind his closed lids, tears escaping and fleeing down his cheeks, “Please, come with us. I can’t let any more children die.”

“Well, there we have it! The perfect compromise, you get to leave the Port mafia but stay with me. Wonderful, isn’t it.” Dazai’s voice, akin to the hosts of those nauseating day-time game shows, is light but his expression is dark, gaze sharp enough to cut through Akutagawa and then some. “So, what do you say?”

Gin turns to their brother, knowing he will follow wherever they go, “I . . . must make this choice for you, brother. Dazai-san, if you are unhappy and my brother wishes to be where you are then I cannot allow myself to hold him back. I won’t. Ryuu, I am sorry. I know you think you’ve found a place here, so please forgive me, but I fear every day for your health and what Mother and Uncle will think of us when we reunite with them, so I will go. ”

The eldest Akutagawa stares at his sibling, the person who means the world to him. Looking into their eyes is as if a door to a long-forgotten world has been opened, light seeping through.

‘I had forgotten the possibility of ever seeing mother again. Is that what Gin was hanging onto all this time? . . . Hope? Is that what I am missing? But how can one have hope in a world like this? Gin was my world before the Port mafia was. I can be anywhere as long as they are happy. But can I trust this Oda-san to keep Dazai from hurting Gin? If this is what they want I have to, I have no choice but to follow. I must honour the promise I made to Uncle to protect my sibling. I will protect my sibling! For their sake . . . I will go.’

So holding a picture of Gin, healthy and smiling in his mind, he makes his choice. Not for Dazai, for his siblings.

“I will follow you anywhere, Dazai-san, no matter what! Even as you hurt me it only makes me stronger. I will not be weak, even if I have to beg for my last ounce of strength I will carry on under your teachings.”

‘Ugh, he’ll surely be a pain to get rid of. He’s going to follow me around like a puppy to keep me from thinking he only left because of Gin. I’d best leave him to Oda.’

“That’s it then. Pack. We leave at noon tomorrow?”

The siblings nod and scatter, their steps silent.

“Noon?” Oda asks when they’ve gone.

“Yes, in broad daylight Mori-san will have much greater difficulty sending his forces after us if he even bothers. But I don’t think he will. He knows how firm I am in my decisions. The only variable here is Nakahara-kun.”

“Nakahara-kun . . .” Oda is taken aback at the formal address of his senior’s (former?) boyfriend.

‘This must be his way of distancing himself, just as Ango-kun did. Poor kid. He can never have anything good, can he? Is all of this just pointless after all, what when bad fortune seems to follow him like a black cloud, forever chained to his side as if it doesn’t want to be with him either? An eternal bond that punishes both. Am I just setting us both up for failure by going along with this? I trust Dazai-san, of course, I do, but this may be beyond both of our control . . .’

Dazai shrugs noncommittally, pressing the button for the lift. “Yes. As predictable as he is, if he does decide to come after me himself, out of anger or . . . something else, then he could cause us quite a bit of trouble, giving away our location with his destructive tendencies at the very least.”

Oda offers no response, trying to think of the right thing to say in the odd situation, but Dazai continues anyway. “Ah . . . Nakahara-kun, always defying the odds.” he chuckles darkly, but with more humour than Oda has seen from him in the past week, “That’s why Ranpo finds him to be such a pain when he has to take an extra few seconds to account for all of Ch- Nakahara-kun’s potential actions. It sure would be nice to have Ranpo on hand, but alas he’d never betrayed The Silver Wolf.”

Oda listens silently as Dazai thinks aloud, a verbal display of crumbling love.

As the lift descends Dazai continues to ponder, “I wonder what Nakahara-kun will choose. Whatever he assumes will cause me the greatest pain, most likely. Vengeful dog. Attacking me or not following me at all. Either way, it hardly matters anymore. You needn’t worry Odasaku, I will have no second thoughts. There is nothing in the mafia for me anymore.”

“Nothing? What about the other executives, you’re close to them, right?”

“They’re all adults, they’ll be fine.”

“And Nakahara-san?”

“It’d be generous of me to call Nakahara-kun a fling, sure, it was fun to play with him, like a little toy dog but someone so short could never reach my heart.”

‘It’s barely been 14 days. All I heard from him was “Chuuya this” and “Chuuya that” for months before they got together, and after too. Who does “Mr. Demon-Prodigy” think he’s fooling?’

“And if he disagrees?”

“Don’t be stupid Odasaku. He feels the same as I do, and if not he will soon. I’ve made sure of it, can’t have him lingering around, that’s what the car bomb is for.”

‘There’s no winning this argument is there? Well, it’s not like Nakahara-san will come with us.’

The lift dings with finality and they step out, parting ways to make arrangements and pack their meagre belongings.

‘It’s as that old submarine captain in that movie said then, isn’t it? There’s no going back.’

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd au #bungou stray dogs au #bungo stray dogs au #bsd alternate universe #bungou stray dogs alternate universe #bungo stray dogs alternate universe #bsd ada #ada bsd #ada dazai #ada oda #oda ada #armed detective agency #bsd armed detective agency #dark era bsd #bsd dark era #dark era dazai

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indefatigablepaths · 9 months

Text

So here's the idea. I'm not a communist. Ok. I do not want a military police force dictating anything ever. That is the reality of communism. You stole from shipping lanes and confiscated goods for yourselves. You only think of you this as an option because there is no intelligence in food documents provided by a supposed government. I am angry our government asks us to beg. Listen it's a great gesture. Nothing lasts. Nothing lasts forever because I love eating food like I bought it myself. Let me explain this, work does not pay for food. Work makes you hungry. Work does not make you happy. Food makes you happy. Is begging communism. Well you believe you have donated. Still, I don't believe you. See even if I pay you for food we are so angry. This payment is considered theft. See here we are again an illusion. You are imaginary food and left a wound in your stomach. That kills someone. See all cars, see all houses. Great, the food is also not available. I actually do not believe the government should even have public air time if they can't provide food for the illusion. You are providing food for an illusion or the illusion never stops. See the government should have no office. Can not afford food for poverty affirmation, growth. All statistics false. See I actually need your government to believe they can be a positive change. They need to be required to remove themselves. In regular business we need to cut costs when we can't afford to operate. This is a ghost. A vision. Evil. We keep misunderstanding no one can have babies to pay you. This is not a plan. You can not put your government on life support with babies and children. The working class is only what you mostly see with your eyes. See the middle class is a joke. You can't repair the id you can't have a work force. There is no force to supply government paycheck because the government supplies no food or privilege. Always in question always wrong always at fault. That is the middle id air. I actually don't understand why you think the government has a job. There is no way these people are alive with nothing and allow the government to pretend they're doing well. What you actually said was give me a government paycheck or give me death. What an insult. Your government does not help you be brave or free. Unless you understand very deeply you want to break your government even if it means breaking them like computer chips. His television is broken. When I sit down to listen to the government. I probably need a baseball bat. How does this resonate. I either hit you with a bat or manipulate you. See here's the issue. The government doesn't believe they can be manipulated or hit. For example crimes can not be committed at a police station. Crimes can not be committed for being a sexist racist pig. It is always to late. This is imagination. A girl can fight you with a robot. A girl fought all the zombies with her friends. This makes no sense. The government doesn't believe they feel negatively from openly being asked to please be dead. That would be good. You need to understand you do not handle people. No one gives you the right to handle people. If you believe you give people no choice but to be forced to be handled. Then this cannot be anti communism. You need to get those psychopathic creeps on your television off of our bodies. There isn't even food unless you also become dead. I said. Be dead share food. That makes no sense. I do not function. You see here is a computer. No phone. No required meetings forever. See you're insane. Required meetings forever. That's a slave. You still believe your government is a slave owner. The person that can not be reasonable is the one that already has this line of work. He is a complete loser. Look. All of his women are ugly fat and lazy. If you think otherwise you need to leave because you will die. There is no love no food no hot women. Always blind.

#planets #programming #space

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letstalkaboutit24 · 2 years

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This is what I heard and some of what I saw from the actual evidence present in court and streamed on YT.:

1. Tory himself stated that Kelsey didn't shoot Meg off of his account. -If only Tory and Kelsey had gun residue on them, there was no other gun around, the gun was found and was warm/hot to the touch and was found under the seat Tory was sitting at.

Even if we use the logic of, Oh Tory was trying to get the gun from Kelsey and shot the gun to empty the bullets in the air. As he himself stated Kelsey didn't do it, and he is recklessly emptying the clip. Though unintentional/intentional discharging could definitely change the course/direction/sentencing of the case, the fact of the matter is Megan was shot. That fact doesn't change.

Also, Discharging the firearm in the air is still extremely dangerous, like I don't understand why adults don't understand gravity. It's not like the bullet will just start floating. It obviously has to come down. And for the people trying to counter about statistics and how many times that has happened where someone has gotten hurt. The fact of the matter is. IT HAS HAPPENED. Google is a thing, just look it up. It's reckless and someone engaging in that behavior obviously. doesn't need to be carrying.... or procreating. No one should feel fearful and confined to their house because some idiot wants to recklessly shoot in air.

2. Tory called Kelsey while she was IN THE HOSPITAL waiting and Kelsey was aware that Megan had to get surgery [aware that she was indeed shot] and he was stating that he was sorry and that it was the fault of the liquor etc. etc.

3. Kelsey Text to bodyguard that Tory shot Megan. 4. The Audio of people calling to police.

5. The gunshots that were caught on audio where was no long pause in-between the shots that could have implied not even just a switching of hands but a full-on struggle. Wasn’t it stated that he had to wrestle the gun from her? (Legit question)

At first people wanted to claim that Megan was never shot at all, and then when it was proven she was indeed shot, now people are debating over who shot her. But if only Tory and Kelsey had gun residue on them, and there is no other gun in the vicinity or vehicle, and Tory himself stated Kelsey didn't shoot, where did the bullet come from? Space?

If you were one of the people who are still hesitating because you feel as if you would like more in depth evidence before coming to a conclusion, that's fine. You should want to be able to see the evidence for yourself and making an educational and informed conclusion. That's completely normal and more people should do that. But for the people antagonizing, demonizing and demeaning Megan and mocking her trauma or appearance, and even encouraging her to harm herself are just plain evil.

This woman is by herself. She does not have her mother or grandmother, or family that she would be able to lean on in this situation. These are the same people yelling "protect black women." or "listen to/believe black women" but are persecuting her over what SHE experienced. because the fact of the matter is she was shot. There are police reports, medical reports (x-rays), videos and pictures corroborating that. And what makes it even worse is that many women already emphasize that they do not feel protected, loved, treasured, or respected (treated like a human being) as a woman by men in the community, who are aware that people will gaslight them for feeling that way instead of trying to make a difference and help people heal. . But these same women who know this are online refusing to even try to see things in her perspective or use common sense.

People have all this condemnation and vitriol against her, the victim that was shot, rather than the two people that were thought to have shot her. If two men were suspected of raping and killing a woman, if it was proven that these two were the last to see her, everything points to one of the killers. Would you then go and start critiquing the deceased about their personality or drinking habits?

Or let me use an example that more people seem care about, if it was a black MAN instead of a black woman. Let's say a black man got into a disagreement with two police officers and the two police officers are suspected of shooting an unarmed black man 15 times, and either he's injured, deceased etc, and the question is not IF he got shot but between the two officers WHO has shot him. You would see damn near the entire community basically calling to prosecute them both, raging against their families, marching etc. Not go on about how many records the black man got, any history of violence, if he drinks/smokes, who all he has slept with, if he is active in his kid's life, his social media posts, any altercation or disagreement he’s had with friends, his appearance or stature, if his height intimidated the officers, etc.

I've seen cases in where when two people were present and if it seems like the two people are either trying to intentionally hinder/obstruct the investigation, they will just nab them BOTH. Like why are people not getting this??

Because honestly both Tory and Kelsey could have gotten charged. the prosecutors suspected Tory specifically, that's why they gave Kelsey immunity (so she would speak out everything without worrying about repercussions), because prosecutors were sure it was Tory specifically, otherwise as both of them had gun residue on them and they were at the time contradicting, prosecutors could have potentially got both of them convicted anyway.

****The thing about immunity is that if you have immunity, meaning you agreed with prosecutors that you would go over certain things and you don't or plead the 5th, it could potentially lead to immunity being revoked since you essentially playing in their faces..****

If on that phone call Tory was apologizing referencing the cheating on Kelsey with Megan, why would he be saying that MEGAN, the woman he was supposedly cheating with, won't forgive him TO THE WOMAN HE WAS SUPPOSEDLY CHEATING ON. This really makes me feel like Tory and Kelsey was never together because even in that call she didn't mention anything about the 'cheating'. You could say 'oh this wouldn't have been the time to address it as Megan was in hospital; but it also wasn't the time to be speaking and giving out the hospital location to the man that shot her. If you were being cheated on, and the person that cheated on. Where is the logic in this? I would immediately have an issue/address it. Like I feel the idea of cheating was introduced to discredit Megan's character (Just my feeling/obviously have no personal knowledge of these people personal lives/literally going off case details/evidence and common sense), even though this has no bearing on the fact that she was shot. Even if she was the evilest person in the world, at the end of the day, she was shot, and gun residue was only on Tory and Kelsey.

Also, gun was not registered so illegal possession of unregistered firearm and Tory was already a convicted felon, right? so he shouldn't have been touching a gun anyways. I feel this needs to actually be stricter all the way around. It's too many convicted felons out here with guns. If you get out whether its on probation or for good, and you still doing illegal activity shoooo at this point give them life, since they obviously don't learn. People really out here walking around entitled and feeling untouchable. Giving more grace and curtesy to literal criminals and repeat offenders, who can just brush off their behavior due to how harrrdd their life was, they're a target this-target that, and how they have changed sooo much, only to do the same ish. Doing everything but taking accountability. .Be taking plea deals and shit, but once they out, they do the same ish.

And for the so-called men out there. I don't know how they can celebrate an unarmed woman getting shot and still consider themselves men, especially the men in the community.

They want to cry about no one LETTING them be men or the head of the household. First of all, no one should have to LET you be a man, that's what you already supposed to be. No one is perfect that is true. But if you want the responsibility, respect and praise that comes with being a leader, the first step is accountability and the second is actively working towards being better, to make sure you even fit that title. Wrong is wrong/right is right. Secondly, you complain about providing and for sure don't protect anything. There is nothing manly about trolling and celebrating a woman getting hurt and proceeding to gaslight and pick her apart after she has been hurt. This is not an Amber Heard situation in which you have to play where's waldo to locate any type of grievous bruise, Megan has evidence that she was shot and there was gun residue on two of the suspected shooters. I wouldn't feel protected or secure in a relationship with a man that I see is doing all of this degenerate behavior. How could I trust you with my wellbeing and the wellbeing of any children we might have. I would literally file a restraining order and get concealed carry (Y'know...legally). Those are dangerous individuals not only do not want to protect women, black women, but they also feel that black women are not deserving of protection, love and respect from not only them but any other man. They want to tear you down so that you are so self-conscious that you remain that come-up queen, fallback, ride or die, anything other than a wife to them, while they date outside their ethnicity and when they see that the grass is not greener on the other side; they want you as a backup option. Women should never let a man degrade them or feel comfortable being witness to a man degrading another woman unprovoked and undeserved. They hate themselves so much that they cannot bear the thought of women they consider to be lesser than themselves thriving and being loved. They want you to believe that you have no other option, that no one else will love you.

I actually like both Megan and Tory's songs, they are very talented artists, and I'm not heavily invested in their personal lives, but facts are facts. Their career and level of artistry have nothing to do with this.

But the sheer savagery and inhumane behavior I've been seeing on the internet is appalling.

The way you should show love to your loved ones is to hold them accountable for their actions, that is the only way that they could grow as people and keep out of situations like this or even worse. You show care by wanting your loved ones thrive and become invaluable. This should ring true especially to the people who claim to be religious.

#america #this is america #megan thee stallion #tory lanez

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latuuart · 3 years

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Victim blaming? I hope you're not actually questioning my or anyone's morals over an opinion on fictional character. And unless statistics are the same in MHA world, what's the point of them here? Enji being terrible person doesn't excuse Rei. And I doubt using a quirk, especially in self-defense, would lead to anything worse than being abused or your kid dying/being maimed. Sorry, I didn't get the thing about All might? Do you think he would've ignored her if she told him she was being abused?

The point of the statistics there is for people to realize and understand just how serious domestic abuse is. It is not something that just because this is an abuse story in a shonen manga, then talks about abuse are not serious and complicated.

If you look back at your previous ask, you can see yourself how you pointed out so many of Rei's "missed opportunities" to save her children. That is not something that is really okay to say, at least for me anon.

It is similar with saying "If you escaped/fought him a long time ago, he wouldn't have a chance to hurt you" or "If only you had courage enough to escape/fight your husband, your children wouldn't be miserable now". It is victim blaming anon, unfortunately.

It is always better to redirect that energy to the perpetrator. "Why was Enji so obsessed with All Might he went as far as abusing his own wife and children?", "The Todokids wouldn't have to endure miserable childhood if only Enji wasn't being abusive", "Shouto would have been able to spend time with his siblings if only Enji wasn't focusing too much on his obsession and neglecting his other kids". These are not victim blaming.

Maybe it wasn't your intention in the first place, maybe you just wanted to discuss. Honestly, I don't know. You are the only one who know what truly is inside your head.

For the last question, yes, I don't think you get what my previous answer was about. This is not about whether All Might would believe her or not (although till now do you ever see All Might approaching her or even thinking about the Todorokis after Dabi exposing Enji's past abuse? I'm still waiting and putting hope on him though). It is about how it is not supposed to be a fault for Rei not being able to come at All Might for help. Again, you cannot blame a victim for not seeking help or not telling other people about their situation. There will always be feelings of hopelessness, insecurity, worries people wouldn't believe them, etc.

The question that we are supposed to ask is how could the number 2 hero able to do all the things that he had done to his family for years without anyone noticing? Maybe it's because of the big house, so no one of the neighbourhood could hear anything happening inside. But, for the wife of the number 2 hero got taken into a psychological ward, no one knew about that? No one of Enji's co-workers or the media knew about that? How about Rei's parents? They were not concerned their daughter suddenly disappeared and not questioning anything to Enji why was their daughter "snapped" thus taken into a mental ward?

In my opinion, those unanswered questions are just showing us more how much of power and influence Enji had (has). And from my experiences encountering abused people, usually the more power the perpetrator has, the more reluctant the victim to speak.

#rei todoroki #mha #dabi #bnha #my hero academia #bnha spoilers #touya todoroki #boku no hero academia #anti endeavor #anonymous #latu post

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1zashreena1 · 4 years

Text

Trading Trauma -13

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: They share the rough stuff while trying to figure out how to be gentle with each other. And an antagonist?

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Detailed discussion of abuse in all forms- Physical-Mental-Emotional-Verbal*** SERIOSULY HEED THIS WARNING Anxiety attacks, vague hinting at mental-behavioral health disorders, plus size woman+fit man, This one is all feels and

I Am So Sorry.

A/N: Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons

I believe gif came from @girlpornparadise

Its a Friday like any other and Bastian picks you up like always. Only, something is wrong. You can tell because Bastian is silent; absolutely, completely, dead silent.

"So," You try from the passenger seat, "What the fuck is going on that you don't want to tell me?" Its raining and everything in New York is shaded in tones of gray. The gray buildings pass by, people in gray coats with gray umbrellas trudge along the sidewalk, even this SUV is gray. It still has new car smell. What happened that he bought a new SUV?

A muscle tics in Bastian's jaw as he tenses under your attention. Pale green eyes dart to you, then back to the road. Finally, Bastian speaks, "Alicia was here today."

Your jaw drops. "What? Why? Is he okay?" Your immediate concern is Diego, both his physical safety and his mental well-being. Bastian's silence is an obvious negative. After staring at him for an indeterminate amount of time and receiving no further details you go back to the windshield. "We can order food later, just take me to him."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Diego is stationed on the sectional when you arrive, working on his laptop. Bastian places your bag just inside the penthouse then retreats back into the elevator. That's never a good sign.

Diego looks up and smiles, its blindingly gorgeous and your heart stutters. The laptop gets dumped to the side in favor of grabby hands going for your curves. You climb into his lap, knees outside his hips, loop your arms around his neck, and fold him down into your softness. With a huge sigh, Diego melts into you.

"Princess. Missed you." His rumble is soft and quiet against your neck. He wraps you up tighter and squeezes your squishy middle. "Stay. Please." What started as an order ended as a plea in under two words.

You stroke over his hair, kissing his forehead and nodding gently. "I'm here, baby. Are you okay?" The likelihood of getting a straight answer is slim but you have to ask. You need him to know that you care, that you want to take care of him.

He nods into your neck and settles further. Apparently this is where I sit now. His breathing is normal, he doesn't flinch or jump wherever you pet him, and his clothing is in place. As far as you can tell, he is physically well. The only thing out of place here is his hidden face.

He is surprisingly cuddly in private, your Murder Panther rather enjoys petting, but he has never hidden from you. Its concerning, especially in conjunction with Bastian's hushed announcement in the car.

"What do you need me to do?" You keep your voice even and quiet because you're not sure how upset he really is. Broad shoulders shrug under you, he seems almost defeated. You try a different tact and ask, "Okay, when did you last eat?"

"Dish mornin." Diego mumbles into your skin like a kid. In truth, he is like a large child a lot of the time. He gets easily distracted by activity and is frequently lost in whatever task happens to be most interesting to him at that exact moment. He fidgets minutely under you, a tiny bit of his normal reaction to your presence is evident.

You turn to smirk into his cheek, "I meant food, but if that's what you need, well, it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make." His deep chuckle shakes your entire body. "Where's my phone? Lemme order dinner before you go after dessert."

Diego pulls your phone out of the back pocket of your jeggings and passes it to you, then replaces it with a huge hand. You laugh but proceed to order from that steakhouse you like in Brooklyn.

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

By the time dinner has been completed Diego is relaxed and loose-limbed, sprawled on his back across your lap in the corner of the sectional. He is still quiet, but if you keep both hands on your tablet a little too long he makes his displeasure known with a growly whine. You’ve been absent-mindedly petting him for some time when you decide to try again.

"So, can I do anything to help you? Listen? Massage? Cuddle? Err, cuddle more intensely?" You don't look at him in an attempt to not make him uncomfortable.

Diego heaves a sigh and holds your hand flat to his chest. You can feel his heart, its picking up speed and you feel a little guilty. He licks his lips and finally speaks, "Alicia was waiting for me when we came back from a meeting this morning. She has been questioning my books. I suppose she doubts my math." Diego waves a dismissive hand in the air.

You have seen this man complete statistical mathematical analysis in his head, everyone knows his math isn't a problem.

"Um. First of all, no. Secondly, n-o-o-o." You draw the word out in your sarcasm and Diego snorts with amusement. "Why do you think she was really here?" You ask soberly.

"It is the math. I need to redistribute my surplus. What is that saying? Use it or lose it?" Diego looks up at you from under raised brows, waiting for you to confirm or correct his language.

That is fucking adorable. Your chest tightens with his easy familiarity with you and his trust that you have his back in all things, even something as small as a possible mistranslation. You nod in confirmation, but also need some clarification. "So, help me understand here, you have a surplus of what? Profit?"

Diego nods succinctly. "Technically, it is a deficit of expenses. However, the expenses are paid out of the profits, so I simply hadn't moved the profit surplus into the expense account, which would have highlighted the cost deficit. I attempted to not draw any undue attention to it, but that failed. I must find somewhere to funnel the excess money that would not arouse suspicion."

It takes you a minute to process that whole thing. Diego watches you mentally work through it with amused patience. You now have more questions than answers. "Okay, wait. Rewind further back. Why do you have extra money? Are you not spending as much?" What is happening?

"It is two folds," Diego holds up a hand with one finger raised, you don't bother correcting him this time, "I am not consuming my own product, therefore selling more and netting more profits." He raises a second finger and continues, "I am spending substantially less on incidental costs. Not so many bottles or strippers or whatever. So saving more."

He stares at his own raised fingers in bemusement before muttering thoughtfully, "Julio always led me to believe that women are expensive to keep but you have been saving me money. Hmm." He glances up at you with a small smile, tentative and cautious, so very not Diego-like.

Your shrug is exaggerated, but your flush is not. "Glad I could help? I mean, its my fault this extra money is sitting around, so its my fault she noticed and then came here. I'm sorry, baby." Sometimes when you open your mouth everyone goes on a surprise trip, including you. It wasn't meant to turn self-deprecating, but here you are. You really do feel guilty. My presence has altered his lifestyle and its a problem.

The worry must be obvious on your features because Diego catches it immediately. He rushes to soothe you, "No, Princess. I chose to do these things, or rather to not. You have done nothing wrong. I would rather have you and this problem than to not have you and not this." His right hand comes up to cradle your cheek and direct your gaze down to him. Those beautiful brown eyes are molten, fierce with some emotion you don't want to analyze. It still fucks you up.

You swallow hard and lick your lips, "So what do we do?" Diego follows the path of your tongue with his thumb while his lips curl up in pleasure at your choice of wording. The way he looks at you sometimes, like he might try to move heaven and earth for you, it hurts. You can't decide if you like it or not.

"We must spend the money." He winks at you. "I will invest some and hide it in offshore accounts. If anything happens it will come to you." His air of finality is chilling.

Looking him over, you can feel tears welling up. "I don't want the money. I mean, don't get me wrong, I enjoy being spoiled, because duh. But if I have to make some ultimate choice between money or Murder Panther?" Your hands fling around with impassioned gesticulation.

Diego chuckles, "What does," he imitates your sharp movements, "mean, Princess?" His eyes sparkle with the city lights twinkling in through the windows, but so far he is succeeding in suppressing his smile.

"It means, you know!" You flail your hands around faster, as if that will make your point.

Diego does it back faster, so you interject with even faster movements, and Diego rebuts the same way until you grab his hands to stop him. The both of you dissolve into almost hysterical giggles.

He uses your joined hands to pull your forehead down to his. You can see a dizzying array of emotions swirling in his eyes, its breathtaking. His breathing hitches, brows draw down, and then his eyes close.

"Baby." You sigh, cupping his cheeks gently, "What?" The question is soft, tentative. He doesn't release the hold on your wrists, but allows you enough space to pet him minutely.

"When I have you here it blocks out everything else." Long fingers spasm on your forearms as Diego pauses to drag in a ragged breath, he continues, "I want to keep you here."

I don't know what to say. You're dumbfounded. "What? What does that mean?" Your voice has shrunk down to a quavering whisper.

Diego opens his eyes to look up at you and they are deep enough for drowning. "You are coddling me and I like it. I want you here every day. Give me this whenever I want it." He whispers roughly. Diego studies your form as though committing your features to memory. "You should," that raspy voice hesitates and Diego grips your arms tighter, "You should quit your job and move in with me." He stares up at you in complete sincerity.

You're trying to keep it together. Diego is the one who had a bad day here. You're supposed to be helping him, not having your very own freak out. Think rationally about this. He isn’t here all the time, sometimes he's in LA. I'm not hot enough to be a trophy wife. What would I do all day? Just help him? Wouldn't that just be a different job? Oh my god, if I say yes to this… what if he asks me to go to LA? What if--

"PRINCESS!" Diego's bark cuts through your mental tornado and you blink back to awareness. He is still in your lap, cupping your jaw in one giant hand, while he watches you silently freak the fuck out.

"I'm sorry," you gasp, "I didn't mean to just. Just. Zone out." Your breathing is shallow and you can feel your heart racing.

Diego just watches you, unreadable. You glance down at him then look away. One of the coffee mugs is missing from the tree. Must be in the dishwasher.

"Hey." That rumble is soft and you cannot ignore it. Your eyes shoot down to his again, then away, and you shake your head 'no' minutely. Diego shifts to sit up (Via only abdominal muscles, your entire pelvis helpfully informs you) but keeps a hand on you. He sits back into the corner of the sectional and beckons to you. When you move toward him Diego spins you so your back is to his chest while you sit in his lap.

He wants to maintain contact but not overwhelm me by being in my face. I wonder if he’s been researching again.

Its enough to crack your heart open a little.

His long legs bracket your hips and you smile fondly, it reminds you of all the times spent in the jacuzzi tub. Diego rests his prickly chin on your left shoulder, wraps huge hands around your middle, and just sits there. Your hands pet over his thighs, his knees, then inward to cover the grip on your rounded stomach.

"Logically," you clear your throat, "I know you don't mean it this way. But. I, well, I basically gave up my entire self once before and, as you know, it did not go well." Your voice is clear but soft as you continue, "You're not him. You are so very not him. But I still have… scars." Your hands are shaking noticeably so you stuff them under his. Diego laces his fingers with yours and steadies you.

"You never told me what he did to you. I want to know everything about you, Princess. Let us make a deal, huh?" Diego is always just a little bit greedy and you can only respect that as a fellow hedonist.

Tilting your head to the left, you lean your cheek against his nose, then answer warily, "I'm listening…" You can feel Diego's smirk.

"I will tell you what happened when I was little and you will tell me what happened during that 'relationship'. An even exchange." He stares at you from a few centimeters away and you return the calculating look from the corner of your eye.

Your lips purse while you consider, then offer a caveat, "Only if I can write it out and not speak it." You turn to face him fully. He looks so… soft.

Diego licks his lips, "Deal. Now kiss."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You write out everything you can remember from your ex.

How no one was allowed to know you existed, you could have no title, that it wasn't a 'relationship' despite living together for eight years.

You worked full time, you cooked, you cleaned, you kept a household budget even when it meant emptying your savings account to pay for his bankruptcy filing.

The way you paid all the bills but your name was only listed on the lease, the three cases of beer you had to buy every week no matter how tight money was for groceries, you weren't permitted to hang anything on the walls so your ex could cover them with posters of girls half your size.

You kept your hair dyed strawberry blonde because that was what he liked, because then he would touch you without sneering. The other girls you poached for him to sleep with instead of you. How you were supposed to be grateful that a man would even deem to fuck you at your size.

The wake up call when you argued back the first time after all those years. How he had backed you up to the top of the steep stairs in your second floor apartment and then loomed over you. The way you teetered on the precipice before diving under one of his arms and escaping to the bathroom, the only door with a lock.

How one day while he was at work you stuffed everything that would fit into your car and just left. The way you had to start over from scratch with no credit history or savings. The court proceedings for the restraining order, that you had to recount everything in front of your family, a judge, and the ex himself.

. . . . .

You don't realize how badly your hands are shaking until Diego takes the tablet from them. He sets it down on the neighboring cushion and locks the screen dark before turning back to you. Those huge arms wrap around your middle, on top of your own arms hugging yourself, and pull your back flush to his chest. You ponder his largeness; his thighs are as long as your arms, the stupefyingly huge hands and feet are an endless source of fascination, the biceps are your favorite pillow. You grin dumbly.

"What?" Even at a whisper his voice vibrates deep in your chest. Its not especially deep, but its so rough, it almost reminds you of a cat tongue. Diego watches your face from an inch away.

Left shoulder raising in a lazy shrug, you sigh, "I love sleeping next to you. And I don't like sharing a bed with anyone." You blush a bit with the confession, but its true. "I feel safe with you even though realistically I know it should feel the opposite. You won't hurt me and you won't let anyone else either." Its a direct contrast to what you were just writing about and you say it with absolute conviction.

"Of course not! But, but if I do, accidentally obviously, you will tell me?" Diego sounds simultaneously aghast and condescending but not at all offended by your acknowledgement of his potential danger. Amazing.

You turn to face him and lean your forehead against his. Diego sighs softly and squeezes you tighter. "I mean, I might write it, but yeah."

He makes that adorable scrunchy-thinky face that you love before announcing, "I'll allow it."

Your eyes roll fondly as you sigh, "Oh good. So glad that meets your approval." His sly smile is mesmerizing.

"So. Are you gonna read that or…?" You glance down to the tablet then back up at him. "No, wait," you interject before his open mouth can start making noise, "Tell me yours first. Please." You turn solemn as you consider how bad this might be. Watching his face gives you a hint; his forehead smooths and his eyes shutter while soft lips turn down at the corners. Its his poker face, he is hiding from you.

Diego clears his throat quietly and looks away before he begins, "Our mother died when I was young, before I started school. My Lita said she committed suicide, apparently she was depressed after I was born. Alicia blamed me."

You knew he had grown up without a mom, all of his delighted reactions to your own mother knowing and hearing about him had suddenly made a hell of a lot more sense when he told you. And you already knew that he was close with his grandmother, Lita, that she had looked out for him. And now much of Alicia's behavior made sense, too.

"My earliest memory of Alicia is at age twelve for her. By that point she had convinced our father that it was my fault. I was four the first time he hit me with a belt. The buckle, of course." Diego's jaw grinds, you can see his right eye twitch. You want to reach out to him but he probably won't tolerate it right now. He frequently misreads sympathy for pity. I'm starting to understand why.

"When I was eight she said to get in the car, I was allowed to go to the grocery store with her. The nearest was the next town to the east. Halfway there she pulled over and told me to get out, then she left. A neighbor driving home from the store saw me and took me to Lita. I do not know how long I was out there but I was very hungry." Here Diego pauses and swallows, "Lita said I ate a pound of beans." His wry smile is bitter.

Brown eyes turn to you, his face is closed and guarded at first. You keep your mouth shut and just look at him. Slowly but surely, Diego's big body relaxes behind you, his eyebrows flatten and his lips soften.

"When I was ten she pushed me through an open window. He beat me with the metal frame from the broken screen. At twelve I burnt one of the kitchen cabinets trying to make food before they got home. It was a rake that time. Thirteen was a microwave, I did not know about the thing with aluminum foil so it sparked and it was ruined. Also, I somehow got a video tape tangled in the VCR, I have no idea how. I begged my friend not to leave, father would not do anything until we were alone. It only made it worse." You can't take it anymore, your right hand comes up to his far shoulder and strokes up to cup his jaw.

Diego turns toward you, rests his forehead into your neck, then proceeds to give you more. "I was sixteen when father staged the coup and killed his uncle to take over the cartel. He and Alicia sent me on 'errands'. I learned that these were suicide missions when I turned nineteen. Each time I came home fucked up but alive they were furious. Every time the cartel experienced a setback Alicia convinced everyone it was my fault, that I somehow ruined everything I was given." The seismic effect of his voice has shrunk in correlation to his volume. You can clearly tell that this is the time period when Alicia cemented into his mind that he was a total fuckup.

Rough beard sears your skin as Diego raises his head to rub a cheek on you. You shudder and fist his shirt in your hand. With a deep sigh he goes on, "I was twenty-two when I made my first deal with a cousin. It took three years but we arranged for a rival outfit to give information to the DEA and they took our father away. Alicia decided this was her chance to take over everything but the men did not all take her seriously as a woman. Thus, she finally had a use for me and so here I am still."

You lean into him, rubbing back. Diego is the first and only person with whom you have actively wanted and enjoyed cuddling. He always smells good to you, even when he should probably shower you still like to bury your nose in his hair and breathe deep. Its gotta be pheromones.

"She doesn’t know that you made that deal, does she?" You question cautiously, wary of upsetting him. He shakes his head 'no' and brushes fleeting kisses up your neck to your cheek. You take it one step farther, "So could you potentially take over everything by yourself?"

Diego pauses to meet your gaze, his head cocks to the side just the tiniest bit. "Do… do you want me to do that?" His voice is hesitant, cautious even.

"No." You whisper softly. "I just want you safe. As safe as possible. And I know you'll be safer if she is out of your life." Your smaller hands cup his jaw through their own volition, thumbs stroking over the silver patches in his goatee. Plunging straight into the deep end, you offer an alternative, "Or, if that isn't a viable option, maybe you could quote-unquote 'retire'?" You study his beautiful face as his eyes unfocus while he digests your words. His brow furrows and he purses his lips in concentration.

"That is worth some deliberation, Princess." Diego admits. Then, with a visible shake, he comes back to the topic at hand. "But now, it is your turn. Turn back, huh? I'll read this." Big hands move you around like a ragdoll and you melt a little inside, I wonder if he could just carry me like a baby all day.

You snuggle back into thick torso and sigh with pleasure. Yes, you're still anxious about this but you trust Diego more. Knees drawing up, you hide in your thighs, he only squeezes you tighter. You can hear him picking up the tablet and. And.

Breathe. Just breathe. My jeggings are soft, the couch is slightly fuzzy, his pants are silky, the blanket is plush. I'm here, with Diego, right now. Safe. You practice the grounding techniques that have worked in the past while he reads silently. His stillness is killing you slowly.

Finally, the tablet goes back to the cushion and the second hand comes back to you. Diego grips your stomach tightly before speaking, "Princess. You understand that you are beautiful, yes? I said I love you because I meant it. You. Just like this. Round and soft and thick. With your glasses and your big dark eyes and these curls in so many shades of brown and silver. Smart, sarcastic, funny, ballsy. You are shrewd and sneaky, that's sexy!" He chuckles a bit and you laugh raggedly, trying to hold back tears.

"But," he continues in a milder tone, "I understand why you were unnerved earlier. I did not mean to absorb you, or, or erase you. I only want to take care of you. Spoil you how you deserve it. You understand?" That dark voice directly in your ear is incredibly distracting, and then the words register in your consciousness.

"I, I mean I understand but I don't get it. You know?" Your voice is raspy, you're so tired deep in your soul. This is everything you never allowed yourself to dream of and you're not entirely sure that maybe you aren't in a coma somewhere hallucinating all of this. It certainly feels real, you snort to yourself as you pet over Diego's muscled arms.

Nuzzling into your neck, he sighs deeply, "Oh, I do. You have no criminal record, you rescue tiny baby animals, I have seen you buy food for other people when their card declines, you sort recycling, woman." Here he laughs wryly and you join him. You see his point, you're both from very different backgrounds and from the outside probably don't seem like a good fit. But still…

"Most of my insecurities come from my size and the way that has influenced other people's demeanor toward me. You have never behaved like that, you always treated me just like all other women. It's both confusing and freeing. Like, at times I don't know how to behave but other times I just run with it." Your confession comes out evenly and sounds logical. Huh, maybe I'm finally getting over some of this.

Diego hums thoughtfully from where he is pressed into your cheek. "And you have always treated me like a person, not a bank or just a good time. Or a path to power." His voice is raspy and low, full of emotion. "As though my feelings mattered. Even that first night. You regarded me as an equal." You chuckle with the memory of forcing him to come to you in the club when you first met. His dimpled smile of delight still has the same effect on you. Recalling the morning after when he wasn't at all fazed upon seeing you while sober and well-lit fills you with warmth, too.

Diego goes on, oblivious to your musings, "I want to take care of you as a partner, not take you over. I want you just as you are, I wouldn't have taken you home, or texted you later, or invited you back if I didn't. I will share everything with you. I have kept you from the business for your own safety, but I, but if, if you want to see or learn, I know you would be an exceptional addition. It would change your life drastically and I did not want to make that decision for you; that would not end well."

You can hear the restrained hope in his words. His serious consideration of leaving the business for you is a revelation. He really and truly wants to share his life with you; to make a life together, not simply add you to his own as an accessory. He values your input and observations but doesn't want to put you in a precarious or dangerous situation. Being with him like this already does that. I'm already in this far, I'm IN LOVE WITH HIM.

"I want to think about it. I can't lie, of course I like the idea of being taken care of, not having to worry about things. But I still need to be my own individual, not a dependent, you know?" Its easier when you can't see him, you're less likely to shutdown and go nonverbal. Diego clearly understands this, and therefore you. Its new and novel and comforting and terrifying.

With a kiss to your cheek he leans back a bit to whisper, "That is understandable and reasonable. I have been doing research, reading on normal relationships and not so normal women. I have never done any of this before. But know this: Everything I have, everything I am, is yours, Princess. My wealth, my connections, my power, me, my heart, this dick, all yours."

You snort through tears, "That's like a fucking hallmark card, baby." It hurts underneath your ribs, Is this what love is supposed to feel like or am I doing it wrong? He's certainly doing it right. You giggle unevenly before amending, "Except for the dick. That is all Diego."

His laugh is deep and soft. "I have never bought a card in my life. Is that really what they're like?" He asks incredulously. Your enthusiastic nod only makes him laugh harder, the hoarseness of it giving way to wheezing. "That is horrible!"

"I know!" You crow and then collapse back into him in helpless guffaws. Diego wheezes into your hair, grabbing your hands and holding tight.

"But," he pauses to giggle briefly, "But, can we try? Will you at least consider more for me? I wasn't sure when to tell you, but... we are going to split the territory and the duties. I am going to stay here, in New York, full time." Diego declares haltingly, his voice quavers with the fear of rejection. "You can come here whenever you wish and I'll be able to reach you in two hours on any day. I want to be as close to you as possible, close for you."

You turn around slowly, openly gawking at him. His big brown eyes are wet, he blinks furiously and licks his lips in apprehension. This dangerous, powerful, stunning man is afraid of your refusal.

"You… I. I don't know what. That's. No one has ever…" you trail off and gesture vaguely. Your question is thick with shock, "You're rearranging your life for me?"

Diego shrugs half-heartedly. "You are my priority, Princess. I don't want a life without you. Please tell me that is ok-kay." His voice hitches. For this man that is practically begging.

You can feel your throat closing up, its all you can do to nod and throw yourself into his arms. That big body sags with relief as Diego crushes you to him. Burrowing into his neck, you choke out fiercely, "I love you, Diego Jimenez."

His choppy sigh, the soft, "Te amo, Princess." It all shatters you apart. When the pieces come back together again its Diego who fits them into place, Diego who holds you together, Diego who tries to set you free to thrive on your own terms.

This is like the most ridiculously lovesick puzzle in the universe. Fucking feelings.

#damnit diego #murder panther #starz power diego jimenez #rough me up then dick me down #24 fucking 7 hours in this house #maurice compte #zash writes

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galivantingg · 4 years

Text

sinking

the beginning

People want to believe they are what they choose to remember. The good stuff. -It Chapter Two

Jacob thinks about that quote a lot. What does he remember about himself? His mind flashes back to the days of arguments, bullying and proving to be the biggest brat ever. Of name calling, rude quips and stoney faces. Too long arguments about things that didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. If all he remembers is the bad stuff, does that make him a bad person? Yes, it does. Jacob is a bad person. He's mean, belittling, and takes everyone for granted. He thinks about himself first, doesn't ask how the other is doing in return, at least not automatically. He has to try to be nice. He has to force it. Jacob is a bad person because he is a thoughtless person. He just doesn't think, before he acts, or speaks. He literally is, head empty, no thoughts.

He can be nice, people have told him that, but he doesn't think he is nice. He has his moments, It's usually when he's giving someone something, or doing something for them, but there's no ulterior motive; except for validation. That's all Jacob wants. Validation. He wants to be noticed, to be needed. And when he does something for someone, he becomes needed. Which grants him what he wants, which makes him a bad person. Nice people don't do things for others for expect something in return. It is a fact, Jacob is a bad person.

Now that that's out of the way, let's begin.

Jacob was lying there on his bed, watching the sun rise through his window. He wanted to know the time, but didn’t have the energy to turn his head to the side and check the clock. The sun was a little over halfway over the houses, the sky a brilliant blue already, and the birds were just as annoying as ever. It was pretty at first, but after the first twenty minutes of tuneless chirping it became tiresome. He doesn't remember the last time he slept properly. Either he'd come home, sleep until dinner, push his food around, then go back to sleep, waking up some time around four or five in the morning, and spend the next two hours staring out his window or at his ceiling, or he'd come home and not sleep at all. There was no in between, no compromise. He'd either get roughly eleven hours of sleep in one day, or none. On nights he didn't sleep he would do homework for ten hours straight. He'd work through essay after essay, checking the syllabus for each class and starting a new one when he finished. Never mind if it hadn't been assigned yet, Jacob would do it. He'd do anything to avoid sitting and staring at his wall for ten hours. He thinks he has insomnia, but it could just be a symptom of the depression.

He only allowed a certain time slot for his thoughts to run wild. If he didn't keep to his routine, he'd go insane.

His family didn't see him often, not for a while. His parents didn't approve of him locking himself in his room all the time, but they got his report cards, ninety-five percent average, and he joined them for meals, so they didn't fight it. In fact, they just carried on with things. They would make jokes, "oh look, he's alive!", "well well well there's a surprise for you," and a couple "woah! Sorry, not used to seeing you". The jokes didn't make him want to spend time with them. Of course, if he told them that, they'd say that it's only a joke, he shouldn't be so sensitive. He would say he's not being sensitive, it makes him feel judged. They would tell him that he needs to stop taking everything so seriously, it was just a joke. He’s not laughing.

They don't understand. Sure maybe it's not their fault, maybe Jacob could've explained things better when he was formally diagnosed two years ago, or even when he first started feeling this way six years ago, but he knows it wouldn't matter. They can be sympathetic, but they'll never really understand. They'll never be empathetic, and Jacob knows this for sure. He knows this because when he told his mother he was depressed maybe four years ago, she brushed it off. She said, "Oh Jacob, I know it seems like that now, but just wait. You'll feel better soon," completely ignoring the fact that Jacob had said he'd felt like this for two years at that point. Things just went downhill from there.

Jacob has a lot of feelings about the past four years. Mostly nothing, but sometimes he'll be overcome with anger, then annoyance, and then that blissful emptiness. That wonderful nothing.

Months went by, and nothing changed. Not even his mom's attitude towards him. Jacob remembers when one of his friends found out by accident. He was keeping a secret, but said something he shouldn't have, which led to that friend finding something Jacob wanted to keep secret. He was nicer to Jacob for a while after that, it took Jacob a while to notice. Every time someone in the group would tease him, that friend would tell them to back off. Jacob didn't know where it was coming from at first, but was thankful nonetheless. Until he found screenshots of a conversation between that friend and another friend in the group, talking about Jacob's secret. His friend was only being nicer because of this secret.

Jacob was angry for a while. He didn't understand why being depressed was the only way to get them to stop teasing him, to stop making him the butt of the joke. Why couldn't they see that it doesn't matter if he's depressed or not, he shouldn't have to endure that much teasing. Then they went back to normal. And Jacob stopped feeling angry. He just felt empty.

There's a memory Jacob has, a memory of when he was maybe six, and it was his mother's birthday. His dad wanted him to stand next to him while they sang Happy Birthday to his mom, but instead he was knelt next to the coffee table untying his toy dog on wheels from the leg. He was still singing Happy Birthday, not to mention he was six, so it's not like he really understood anyway, but his dad got mad. He was taken upstairs to his room, and was yelled at, until he started crying. Jacob has a vague memory of being hit across the face, but looking back, he doesn't know if that really happened. He attributes that moment to his development of depression. He doesn't remember experiencing all the symptoms, but he does remember around Grade Six feeling like he will never be enough. He clearly remembers trying hard to fit in, but no one really wanted him around. He'd interact with people, but wouldn't get the same reaction as others did. He'd say something witty, and no one would laugh, but someone else would say a simplified version of it and suddenly they were the funniest person in the world.

Jacob has some issues.

Sometimes these memories made him angry, other times embarrassed, but more often than not they just reminded him why he doesn't belong.

A soft knock came from the door, and he heard his mother from the other side say, "Jacob, honey, are you awake yet?" Jacob sat up and pushed himself off the bed, walking to his door. He twisted the knob, pulling the door towards him and walked away to his dresser, pulling clothes out of the drawers. "Good morning sweetie, how are you?" His mom took a step into his room. A twinge of annoyance flickered in the back of his mind but he shoved it down, telling himself he has no right to feel that way. His parents didn't ask much of him, he has no right to be rude to them.

"I'm good fine, mom, only been awake for a bit so I don't really know if it's been a good day or a bad day yet," he turned to face her, smiling a bit. He had become an excellent liar over the years, able to hide his mood and fib his way through a conversation. "I'm gonna shower now though," he murmured, starting to walk towards the door. She smiled gently at him and stepped to the side, following him out and walking down the stairs.

As he lathered shampoo in his hair his head was filled with the usual back and forth debate on whether or not the people in his life actually cared about him. The evidence is pretty fifty fifty. An image of the gentle smile flashed across his mind, then he remembered a moment where his mother had said that he needed to get out in order to feel happier. But she isn't wrong, statistically speaking fresh air is better for you, and exercise releases endorphins that make him happy. On the other hand, he knew that if he went out without someone expecting him some place at some time, he wouldn't exactly be careful when crossing the street. He doesn't trust himself, and while he doesn't believe his family actually likes him as a person, he could never risk hurting them, no matter how much pain they've caused him.

That shower got depressing really fast. He shook his head and stepped out, grabbing a towel and drying himself off. He pulled on his clothes, brushed his teeth, moisturized and opened the door, heading down the hall and walking down the stairs. He greeted his dad, grabbed an apple, picked up his school bag and headed out the front door. Jacob dropped his bag in the passenger seat of his car and slid in behind the wheel, starting up the car and tapping his fingers on the wheel. Thirty seconds later the front door opened and slammed shut, and out of the corner of his eye he saw two figures moving across the lawn towards him. The locks made an audible sound when he locked them, just as the girl put her hand on the passenger side handle.

"Um Jake," she said, not looking very pleased. "What, do you think you're doing?"

Jacob rolled down the window and leaned over, smiling up at her. "Back seat is for people who crash their cars, Phoebs."

"Don't call me that it's not my name," she snapped back, her hand still on the handle. The boy behind her started snickering. "Shut it Pai." The boy's head snapped up, a scowl on his face now.

"Hypocrite." He muttered.

Jacob was still smiling. "You two, in the back. Now."

The girl still wouldn't let go of the door handle. They're going to be late at this rate.

"Only if you promise not to shorten our names anymore," she said, loosening her grip.

Jacob sighed. Well there goes all his fun. "Fine. Phoebus, Paieon, back seats. Let's go."

They smiled, the same smile, stupid twins and their identicalness. He unlocked the door and they slid into the back seats like plebeians, then they were off. The ride was filled with beautiful serenity. Just kidding. It was filled with the sounds of Phoebus and Paieon arguing, over something stupid no doubt. Jacob paid them little mind. He was very good at ignoring everything, from feelings to hunger pains, among other things, not to toot his own horn or anything. Those other things include overanalyzing, patronizing others, and most of all, worrying. He is very good at worrying. Soon they pulled up next to the school and the twins were dashing out of the still moving car (yikes!) shouting something along the lines of "see you at three ten". Jacob took a moment to himself to breathe, drawing up the energy and reinforcing his walls for the day. Each day got harder and harder, it was only a matter of time. You’re not here for yourself, you’re here for others. Your purpose is to serve until you are no longer needed.

A knock on his window startled him. He looked over to see a girl leaning down, her hair hanging freely and a furrow in her brow, She mimed cranking down the window, like in an old car. Jacob rolled down the window. "Yes?"

"Sorry," she said, biting her lip. "It's just uh, you looked I don't know, alone? I was wondering if you're okay?" Jacob's eyebrows rose in surprise. She must be new. "Yeah, I am new," she laughed a little, looking away then looking back at him. Her eyes seemed to look past his walls and see right into his soul. He didn't like it. Make it stop.

"I'm Jacob, but everyone around here calls me autistic mostly." Jacob said, staring right at her to gauge her reaction. She looked taken aback.

"Are you?"

That's a new one. Asking if he is autistic. He shook his head. "Just anti-social," he smiled half heartedly. She grinned.

"So I'm getting the most anyone's ever gotten out of you?" Jacob nodded his head, confirming. She smiled again, her eyes twinkling. There was something behind them, something he couldn't quite place. Oh well, must not be important. "Cool. Why don't we head in and you show me around, Jacob?" The way she said his name sent a shiver down his spine, and he tried not to move so it wouldn't show. He smiled a little, and she stepped back to let him out. He locked the door behind him, and she wound herself around his free arm, the other shouldering his bag. Jacob looked down at her in surprise. No one has willingly gotten this close to him in a long time. The only time he had physical contact was during gym class.

He opened his mouth to say something but she forged on ahead, dragging him along with her. He was too confused and overwhelmed by this sudden change that he didn't notice they had arrived at his locker. He was still confused as he unlocked it, grabbing a textbook he had forgotten and closing it.

"Take me to the office? I need to get my schedule and student card." He nodded dumbly, letting himself once again be dragged along. She looked up at him and gave him another dazzling smile, and it took him walking into the wall for him to regain his focus. He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand and set off through the hall, ignoring the looks from the students staring at the weirdo with a very beautiful new girl hanging off his arm. His mask rose, and his face went stoney. They arrived at the office and his second mask slipped into place. His customer service mask, if you would.

"Good morning Irene," he greeted the older woman behind the desk. She didn't look up. "I have a new student here who needs her student ID and timetable if that's not too much trouble?" Irene mumbled something. He leaned closer, "Pardon? I didn't quite catch that sorry."

She looked up at him as if he had personally wronged her family a thousand years ago, then repeated, "Name?"

Jacob froze for a second, just now realizing that she knew his name, but he didn't know hers. "Leah Marsh," she jumped in, still holding on to Jacob's arm. Would she ever let go? Irene muttered again, and Leah must have very good hearing because she laughed and said, "No no, we're not related. We just met," and she looked back up at him with that dazzling smile and that twinkle in her eye. Jacob's ears went red. She laughed.

Irene stood and grabbed something from a drawer, a piece of paper and a small plastic ID card, putting them on top of the half wall separating them before sitting back down. "Have a good day now," she murmured to her computer screen.

Jacob smiled, the polite boy his mother raised in him coming out. "Thank you, you too."

And they were off once again, Leah dragging Jacob out the door and around the corner.

"Let me see your schedule? I can help you find your classes before the bell goes." Jacob offered. He held out his hand, and Leah passed over the piece of paper. He scanned it, then scanned it again. He pulled out his phone and her the two items next to each other, looking back and forth. "Looks like we have all the same classes? Odd," he murmured.

"Cool!" Leah said. He glanced over at her and her face was brighter than the sun. How could one person be so happy? Doesn't it get tiresome?

"Well I guess we're heading to first period English," he handed back the schedule. "Come on, it's this way." He led her down the north hall, stuck inside his head again. He was so caught up in his own mind that he didn't notice Leach staring directly at him, not even looking where they were going. Which led to her knocking into someone, of course.

"Hey!" The kid exclaimed, outraged, until he got a good look at who he had bumped into. "Oh, hey," his voice changed, and Jacob finally snapped out of his thoughts and looked over.

"I'm so sorry, I was leading and I didn't see you," Jacob apologized, getting a good look at the kid. It's Matthew, one of the popular kids. He's a guard on the basketball team, though he should be post guard, what with his height. He was a tall lanky kid, and easily made three pointers. The only reason Jacob knew this is because one of his classes is Yearbook, which makes him a photographer for the school. You'd think that would make people be a little nicer to him, but nope. Still gets bullied.

Matthew sneered. "Who said you could speak, retard." Jacob looked at the ground, ashamed. He should've known better. Leah giving him attention does not make him liked by everyone else all of a sudden.

Leah laughed lightly, and he looked at her. "No, Jacob's right, we should have been paying attention. Sorry about that," she lifted one of her hands and held it vertically in front of her face. Odd. Jacob had never seen someone do that before. He'd never seen anyone like Leah before. She truly was a unique person.

Matthew looked her up and down, then smirked lightly. "Why are you hanging out with this retard?"

"We have all the same classes it seems, so he's showing me around." Leah smiled up at him and this time Jacob wished she hadn't. Matthew was glaring at him and if looks could kill, well let's just say Jacob wouldn't be doing too well.

"Why don't I show you around? You're not going to get much out of him, he doesn't talk." Matthew was speaking to Leah but was staring directly at Jacob. It was like Matthew was daring him to say something, prove him wrong, but Jacob knew better. Any time he spoke outside of class, weird things would happen. He'd suddenly trip, or his books would be knocked out of his hand, or even weirder, he'd be shoved head first into a locker. Strange.

Jacob said nothing. Leah looked back up at him, and finally noticed his whole demeanour had changed. He was rigid, stone face and looking at the ground. More than that he was closed off. The arm she was holding onto had gone limp, and he other hand was shoved into his pocket. She gently let go of his arm. Matthew smiled broadly. He held out his arm, as if he were a gentleman.

"Great, let's go." Matthew led the two of them down the hall, chatting animatedly. She didn't look back.

The next few hours passed in a haze of learning, note taking and teachers droning on, just as bored as their students. Jacob didn't understand why but he was somehow hurt from Leah ditching him. He shouldn't be, because everyone leaves him at some point, but she seemed different. There was something about her, she was warm, friendly, and she seemed genuine. Ah well, it doesn't matter now. She met Matthew and she was obviously getting along well with him. Jacob sat in the middle at the far side of his classes, trying not to draw attention to himself. He'd also somehow get there earlier than everyone else, and would keep his head down as people walked in. He noticed Leah walking in each time, but she didn't look at him. That solidified it in his mind: she wasn't worth the emotions he was feeling.

He focussed on the board, transferring the words from the board to his laptop, then don't get too comfortable, you're just a placeholder. He shook his head lightly, shaking away the unpleasant thoughts. Intrusive thoughts begone! He doesn't have time for this, he needs to take notes.

Lunch came and Leah walked right past him with Matthew and another girl named Clarissa. Matthew stared at him as they walked past, as if challenging him to say something, but Jacob knows his place. He looked down. Grabbing an iced tea from the cafeteria he paid for it and headed out a set of double doors to the lawn, finding a tree and climbing up into it. He pulled his apple out of his bag and bit into it, enjoying the peace up in the branches. It was quiet, birds chirping and kids laughing, tossing around a football or stretched out on the grass. Jacob looked up, captivated by the sun shining through the leaves.

This tree was his escape, no one else ever came out this far so no one else was there to bully him.

He stared out at the field, looking at each and every person. They know him, but they don't at the same time. They know his face, his speech (or lack thereof). What they don't know is his mannerisms, his story, his raison d'être, which really doesn't exist. They don't know that sometimes he cries himself to sleep, sometimes he doesn't sleep, and when he does, he dreams of everyone around him leaving. The haunting image of the backs of those he loves flashes across his eyes and this time he doesn't shake his head. He embraces it. They don't love him, it's just a fact. Well, they do, but they don't. What Jacob means is that they love him, because they're family, but they don't love him for him. They don't love his random outbursts of weirdness, standing in doorways like a creep, making horrible jokes. They don't love who he is as a person, and that's okay. Jacob can barely tolerate himself, how are others supposed to tolerate him?

Before he knows it, he's climbed to the very top of the tree, and he's leaping out of it,

falling

falling.

He crashes to the ground hard on his arm and lets out an involuntary yelp, drawing the attention of the other students outside. Well shit. That's not what he was planning, but it's happened now and there's no going back. Some kids came running over, the ones who didn't really know him, and one asked if he was okay. Does he look like he's okay? He's pale, sweating, and his right arm is bent awkwardly. He is not okay. They send someone inside, and the kid who asked if he's alright kneels beside him, helping him lean against the tree. He spots Jacob's bag in the tree and stands up to grab it, pulling out his iced tea.

"Thanks man," Jacob says, accepting the drink.

"What happened?" The kid asked.

"I was trying to climb higher, but I must've slipped or something because next thing you know I'm falling."

"Hm," the kid pondered. What could he be pondering? "Cause from where I was it looked like you had jumped out," he looked sideways at Jacob, and his blood froze.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jacob stammered. The kid just looked at him coolly.

Before he could answer he was interrupted by someone else rushing over, calling his name.

"Jacob? Jacob!" He looked up, and saw it was Leah. She was followed closely by Matthew and Clarissa, and in no time she was kneeling on his other side, hands halfway through the air and her face riddled with worry. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Jacob just stared at her. What was she doing here? This was a complete turn around from how she had been acting earlier. Matthew and Clarissa had caught up. "I'm telling you Leah," Matthew was shaking his head, still wearing that stupid smirk. "He's not going to talk."

Leah glared at him before turning back to Jacob, looking at him softly. The pain from his arm was already starting to go away, which makes absolutely no sense at all. "Jake are you okay?" He felt that twinge of annoyance at the nickname, who was she to give him a nickname, but he shoved it down. He nodded.

"He fell out of the tree," the kid said. Jacob didn't know who he was, and he knows everyone. He has to, he's on yearbook.

"Oh my god, Jakey that's horrible! Is your arm hurt?" She lightly touched his broken arm and he hissed, drawing back a bit. From Jake to Jakey in less than a minute. Who was she? Why did she feel so comfortable with him, and why did he feel so comfortable with her? He just wanted to tell her everything was alright, but nothing was alright.

Leah looked up at the kid, a smile covering her face. "Thanks for coming to his rescue and letting me know. My name is Leah, nice to meet you," she held out her hand and the kid shook it.

"Erick," he replied, smiling tightly. How did Erick know to get Leah? What's with this kid?

"The retard is fine, Leah. Just leave him alone," Matthew said, growing impatient.

Leah whipped her head back to glower at him. "The 'retard'," she spat, emphasizing the slur, "is my mate, so back the fuck off."

What?

Matthew held his hands up, trying to calm her. "Woah, how was I supposed to know that?"

Leah just growled. It sounded animalistic. The gears in Jacob's mind started to turn. How she had shown up when he was in distress near her, how she had answered a question he had only thought, why she seemed so keen on attaching herself to him. But why did she leave him then? Why did she choose to go with Matthew over him? This doesn't make sense. First he has to accept that werewolves are real, she's much too warm to be a vampire, but she could be a selkie? Or any other mythical creature really. Jacob doesn't know, he doesn't know anything anymore. If they were werewolves, and that's a pretty big if, Jacob could understand why Matthew always hit him so hard, versus other people, like Max, or Grizz.

Jacob lifted his eyebrows. His arm is broken, he's been on an emotional rollercoaster today, and he would just like to know what's going on. So he said as much. "So, what pack are you guys from?"

"I'm a rogue," Leah replied, turning to look at him.

"Half Moon," Matthew responded offhandedly. Then he realized what he said. He put a sneer on, "What's it to you?"

"I'm human," Jacob shrugged, ignoring the pain.

"Ah," Matthew said, nodding. "Wait, what?" He looked at Leah, then back at Jacob. This is probably the first time they've held eye contact for this long. "How are you human?"

"Uh, good question. I just am? My whole family is human." Jacob replied.

Matthew shook his head. "No, your family is part of the other pack in this town, Rising Sun. You smell like them, so we all assumed that you just hadn't shifted yet, which is why we bully you. But you're saying you're human?"

None of this makes sense.

Jacob nodded. "Yep, that's what I'm saying. Guess I need to have a talk with my family about a certain furry secret." Jacob smirked. This'll be fun. God this day has been crazy, and it's not even halfway over. Wait a second, Leah said she's a rogue?

"So," Jacob looked at Leah. "You're a rogue?"

Leah stiffened. Touchy subject apparently. She nodded.

"And you're my mate,"

Leah brightened, "Yeah! I wanted to tell you, but you got so cold when we ran into Matty that I thought maybe you were going to reject me," she looked at the ground. She's lying. She wasn't going to tell him, she didn't want to tell him. She's only here now because of what they call the mate bond, and she couldn't exactly up and leave halfway towards running to him. Then she'd really look like a bitch. Jacob is seriously starting to doubt she actually wants to be mates with him.

"Fascinating," Jacob commented. Leah frowned. Jacob shook his head. "That there are werewolves," he explained. It was kinda cool. "So what other mythical creatures are real?"

Leah was about to launch into a whole explanation but she was cut off by Erick. "Shouldn't we get him to the office? His arm is still broken." Thank you Erick, for being the voice of reason. Jacob never would have remembered that the bone in his arm is broken if not for that comment. It's not like he couldn't feel the searing pain coming from the limb. How enlightening.

"That would be much appreciated," Jacob said instead. Erick helped him up, and Leah tried to help by grabbing his other arm, which was the broken arm. It did not help. She retracted her hands, demoting herself to just standing and walking beside him. Irene the office woman was not entirely impressed to see him, but called an ambulance nonetheless and he was off. He got his cast, bright pink of course, and was given some pain meds before being sent on his merry way.

He walked back to the school.

Since he was technically exempt from his afternoon classes but it was close to three ten so he just waited in the car. After bumming around on Tumblr for a bit, he finally heard the bell go, and not long after that his beloved younger twin siblings were racing out the school doors, headed right for the car. They tugged on the door handles impatiently, waiting for Jacob to unlock it. He finally did, and they slid in.

"Why are you out so early? Aren't your spares tomorrow?" Jacob lifted up his broken arm in response. He looked back at their faces, the picture of surprise. Eyebrows raised, mouths in the shape of a O. Hilarious. With that, Jacob started the car and drove off. When they got home, Phoebus slamming the door of course, the twins headed upstairs and Jacob strolled into the kitchen, ready for his talk with his parents.

"So I met my mate today," he said casually. His mom was typing on the computer, his dad filling out papers, and neither of them looked up.

"That's great sweetie," his mother said lightly, still not paying attention. Silence, then, "What did you say?"

"My mate," Jacob said louder. "I found her,"

"Mm not possible Jacob," his dad murmured. "You're not a werewolf."

"But you guys are," Suddenly they froze, finally tuning into the conversation.

Gotcha!

#wip #em writes #sinking #mental health #mental health awareness #tw depression #tw suicidal thoughts #depression #suicidal thoughts #suicidal #wish a dash of fantasy because that's what I wanted to do #writing in progress #writing #writeblr #magic #werewolves #mates #werewolf

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mbti-notes · 6 years

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Hi, I hope you are well. I research on studies and statistics about topics that relate to my values and I share it with my intp boyfriend, but he doesn't think my research is valid. He says he respects my values but acts that everything I say doesn't make sense? Is it due to his Ti that he disregards rationale and logic that he doesn't live by, is it underdeveloped Fe that makes it hard to accept the logic and rationale others have?

You haven’t detailed the actual disagreement, so I can’t comment on that, though I have no interest in arbitrating anything. It sounds a bit like it’s YOU who’s fallen into a Ti trap of your own making. NFs don’t tend to handle disagreement or criticism very well because they take it much too personally, i.e., they interpret it as an attack on their personal values, which amounts to an attack on their moral worth since their values are largely how they define the self. When criticism or disagreement produces negative feelings of hurt, offense, or inadequacy/inferiority for NFs, one common but unproductive method for handling it is to “even the score” by criticizing “inherent fault” in the other person’s moral character, which allows for deflection of negative feelings as well as underhandedly discrediting the criticism without really having to hear it. But this hypercritical mindset is likely to spark intense conflict that damages the relationship, thus creating a new problem and compounding negative feelings.

The mature way to handle criticism or disagreement is to focus on the merits of the ideas. Regardless of whose mouth it comes out of - be it a friend, a lover, an enemy, a third-party - a criticism or point of contention should be evaluated as true/false or un/reasonable based only on the ideas expressed. For example, if he thinks that your research is “invalid”, well, there are already existing methods to measure and evaluate whether or not research is valid. Additionally, you could ask him to elaborate on the reasoning behind his opinion so that you have a clear understanding of the facts. In other words, instead of looking for fault in him as a means to make yourself feel better, give fair consideration to the criticism itself. If you discover that he is wrong, then he is wrong, and remember that we are all wrong sometimes. If you discover that he is right, then he’s done you a favor and you ought to thank him.

Of course, there are times when someone criticizes you as a way to attack your self-esteem or to express some resentment that they harbor against you. But, again, this should not stop you from examining the content of the criticism on its own merits. If it’s true that their intentions for criticizing were obviously malicious and designed to hurt/harm you, well, criticism aside, perhaps you need to address the question of why that person hates you and what to do about it. INTPs are often unaware of their emotional motivations and tend to express their negative feelings through cold, whiny, or condescending criticism. If he displays an ongoing pattern of using malicious criticism to undermine you and your self-esteem (because he can’t own his emotions), then you’ve got a bigger problem on your hands in terms of whether this is actually an abusive relationship.

It is possible that he respects your values but genuinely doesn’t understand them, because he’s not infj, and it’s unreasonable to expect that he should turn into one just because you want him to. Perhaps you ought to exercise Fe and learn to “speak his language” better rather than rushing to pick out his so-called “deficiencies”. Demonizing someone simply for expressing an opinion that you “feel” is disagreeable isn’t productive in the long run, worse, you might even be attacking someone whose original intention was to help you. It isn’t possible to properly resolve conflict without facing down the facts of the disagreement. Negative feelings will linger and fester and, oftentimes, that makes it impossible to think straight let alone exercise the empathy and understanding that is necessary for reconciling any relationship rifts.

#infj #infj relationships #nf #ti loop #disagreement #conflict #criticism #manipulation #self esteem #infp #enfp #enfj #ask

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sonderabcomm3e · 3 years

Text

“I Am You”

Statistics display the rate of dissociative identity disorder as .01% to 1% of the overall populace. Some of them say that they experience it as if they are watching themselves in a movie at times. Will you believe if I tell you that I'm part of that small percentage of people with undiagnosed dissociative identity disorder? Or you'll think that I'm just a typical weirdo in the neighborhood just like what others think? But I'll tell you they are true, and they exist in me. My name is Terry. I'm a scarred highschool student. Kids at my age used to make fun of me because I stutter every time I speak. Is it a bad thing? I can't understand them though. I didn't do anything wrong for them to hate me this much. Today, someone threw my bag into the trash bin when I was away from my seat to buy some snacks in the canteen. That made Sam furious. Sam is my other self. He is a 20 years old teenager with an anger management issue. Weeks ago I was sent to the Guidance Office because he beat someone for accidentally stepping on his foot. That time my classmates were so flustered because I used to be the one who received that kind of treatment from my bullies. At this moment, Sam is taking the spot over me, so he can avenge on my behalf. Honestly, I'm glad that he exists because without him, I'm just a wimpy kid who cannot fight back. I'm so sick of that. But before he punched that guy straight on his face I stopped Sam. Yes, we can coexist at the same time. Amazing, right? I saw how scared that idiot is when I started talking to Sam. I know he thinks I'm crazy, but I have no other choice. I don't want Sam to get into trouble. I know him, he turns into a monster when he's angry, so I decided to cut my class and went home straight before Sam's emotion exploded. There, Loida suddenly appears. She is my third identity. Loida is a full-time housewife, and she always takes good care of me and Sam. You know, I used to be alone in this house. I have no one by my side because my parents passed away in a car accident when I was thirteen. I was lonely but not until my two identities came. I still remember it vividly, when I'm alone walking in a dark alley after a tiring day at school, I heard an unusual noise. Out of my curiosity I tried to find where is that noise coming from, as I come closer and closer to it, the noise becomes more loud and clear. It was a girl desperately crying for help, and around her is a bunch of male students feasting on her body. I was too scared, I was too coward. I ran and left that girl behind, then the next day, I saw her face in a news article. She's dead, she committed suicide that night, after that horrible incident. That's when my other two identities came to life. In the middle of a calm and sunny day a strong wind blows into my life, yet I wasn't so sure if this will give me comfort or will leave me more devastated at the end. But now I'm sure that it's not the latter. I enjoyed their company. Actually no one wants to be my friend, good thing I have the both of them, so I'm feeling less lonely these days. I'm just afraid of one thing. I haven't seen my fourth identity. I just heard things about him from Sam and Loida. According to them, he exists to protect young girls, but he's quite dangerous because he has a tendency to kill. My life is already complicated as it is, I don't think I need more. Bang! I heard the sound of a gun near my place, so I rushed outside to check where the noise was coming from. I saw a man probably in his 30s pointing a gun to a half naked girl trembling in fear. The next thing I knew is that my hands are covered in blood while holding a gun, and in front of me is a lifeless man and a girl crying out of shock. Minutes later I'm still staring blankly out of nowhere when the cops came and arrested me. “It was not me”, I uttered between my tears. But will they actually believe me or they'll just think that I'm crazy? Well, it doesn't matter anymore. Everything is all messed up, but none of these is my fault. If only the world became less cruel to me, I think everything would have

flowed differently. None of these would happen, and no one needs to suffer. “Shall we put an end to this?”, I whispered to the cop next to me in the passenger's seat. I quickly grab his gun and pull the trigger, then jump out of the car. Why would I kill myself if I can just kill them all? Afterall, it is the world who turns me into who I am. Run, run, run, all my life all I do is to run like a coward, but not anymore. From this day forward, I will deliver every sinner to hell. That's how my fourth identity dominates me. My other identities are no longer able to take the spot, all I can do is to watch him as if I'm watching myself in a movie. Under the moonlight when everyone was asleep, he goes around every dark alleys slashing his knife to everyone he saw committing inhumane acts: rape, robbery, murder, all of them. He doesn't miss any. I can feel how satisfied he is while mutilating the bodies of his targets, he even collected some of their belongings as his remembrance. Each day passing by, people's fear of going outside in the middle of the night increases after seeing those mortified bodies purposely left in the street to serve as a warning. The busy street in the morning looks like an abandoned place every night. Though the criminality rate reaches the bottom rock, yet no one dares to go outside. “Is this the world that you want?”, I asked myself hoping that this will be heard by my fourth personality. At once, he let me take over the spot, now we are coexisting in my body. “Oh, my dear Terry, only evil can defeat evil. A sacrifice should be made to end this war, you should be proud of our contribution to achieve this peace. Why are you being like that? Every man has a darkness buried deeply within them, and you are not an exemption. Come on, don't fool yourself. You're not better than me. Did you not enjoy watching me stab those garbages ruthlessly? Did you not enjoy hearing them scream and plead for their lives? Did you not feel like a god even for a moment just like I am? Don't you know that I exist to do what you are too scared to do? No matter how hard you deny me, I am you.” A sound of a gun cut our conversation, the police surrounded me, and now I am cornered. “Let's just surrender!”, I angrily shouted to my fourth personality, but he never listened to me. Instead he reached the cop nearest to him, stole his gun and took him as a hostage. I don't know what to do, he became stronger than me. In fact, he has more control of my own body than I do. While I am still confused on what to do, one of the officers shoots me in my left arm making me lose my hold on the hostage. When they already ensured the safety of the hostage, they shot my left arm once again which made me lose my balance. I fell hard and became unconscious for a few seconds. When I woke up, my fourth personality was no longer with me. I take the opportunity and grab the gun that I fell a while ago. “I'm sorry but I refuse to be a part of your evil scheme; I refuse to be you.”, I uttered before letting the bullet enter my head. I clearly saw the blood dripping down my head, then everything around me turned black. “This must be the end.”, I whispered as my strength slowly left my body. But I was wrong. When I opened my eyes all I could see was a room covered with white paint, a white bed, and a white dress. I shout and shout hoping that someone will hear me, but no one responded to my desperate cry. That moment I was suddenly reminded of the people who died on my own hands. They actually do the same, they desperately plead for their lives, but at the end it was all useless. I never felt even a small amount of sympathy towards them. All I could think about is their sins — I was too busy justifying all the heinous crimes I committed. Is this the price I have to pay for the blood in my hands?

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