#If I ever get time off work or put on antidepressants maybe I'll do it for real lmao

[desperatecheesecubes]

See the mental unwellness in me is telling me that I should combine all the reading guides for the Young Justice crew together to get the true full YJ reading order, but I feel like that would just immediately become overwhelming. But I might do it anyway lmao.

[violet-jessop]

i had my first therapy session today.

90 minutes with a psychologist who i'm booked to see once a week for the next 5 weeks.

a friend asked me if i was nervous last night when i told her, and i had to think on it. i found i wasn't. it was strange because logically i think i should have been, but i couldn't muster any real feelings about it. i felt indifferent. resigned.

i know that's probably not what she wanted to hear, but i think lying in this instance would have just given her false hope.

to get to this point has been such a shit show.

self harming since a decade ago this year, suicidal on and off for at least for the last eight. tried to seek help in 2019 only to get put on 10 times the starting dose of some random antidepressant and told to fuck off with no follow up and automatically renewing prescriptions. stopped taking those after a year or so with no real improvement. things have just steadily declined.

last year was okay, probably the most okay i've felt for an extended period since 2014. but now it's almost worse because i saw it could be okay, and now it's not again.

finding a psych that met my needs was near on impossible. my only two criteria were trans (or just a queer person who i could feel like less of a freak with) and able to deal with SI - and that left me with one option via telehealth. booked in to do a 15 minute consultation with her she was 30 minutes late to the session, so i assumed i'd been forgotten. then when she eventually called she didn't even acknowledge it.

getting the mental health care plan from my GP was so degrading. i went to a different doc because i didn't trust the last guy who is just so happy to write prescriptions. but the new guy was no better. clearly thought i didn't need any of this, wrote maybe 2 lines on the mhcp documents, left most of it blank, didn't even bother to sign it. said he performed the k10 which he didn't. straight up wrote that i seemed fine based on "good eye contact and engages well". and he never even sent it to the identity clinic, i had to chase him to obtain a copy so i could send it off myself.

and today rolls around. we have our session. what was supposed to cost me 134 out of pocket cost me 250 unexpectedly, so after the appointment they had to call me several times because my account had insufficient funds because i only had enough for what they'd told me it would cost.

in the session she misgendered me. she said "as a woman with autism. oh, i assume you're she/her right?". which was wild as a psych who works for the "identity clinic" - where i had to fill in a million forms that included my pronouns in multiple places. where i had sent an inquiry to find out if they had anyone on staff who would suit a non-binary person with SI. and then the SI, where i mentioned it as something i'd like to work through, and she pretty much told me if i talk about that sort of stuff in a non-joking way she'll have to make sure i'm institutionalised. so i had to play it off as a joke. as hyperbole. the two things, such basic things i thought. so what am i here for again? is what's wrong with me so taboo i can't even pay a medical professional $250 to let me speak about it? is my soul so putrid? if anyone ever tries to force me into inpatient i'll put on a pine overcoat as soon as possible, that's not up for debate.

so we talked about other things, and i cried in front of another person for the first time in ages and it wasn't even cathartic it was just for the shame of admitting my failings out loud. and she told me maybe my anxiety is just autistic meltdown which i know isn't right, i know the difference. she walked me through diaphragmatic breathing like i was 5. she recommended i buy airpods and try burlesque. it reminded me of Jo telling me i should try drumming circles around the time of my first attempt.

so i suppose i was right in feeling indifferent. i had enough hope left to try, but not enough to be hopeful. i really don't have the energy to go through this all again. time is ticking down, 128 weeks at best. i suppose i'll give her another two sessions and see. but if she doesn't work out i think that's me done. how many times am i expected to try? it was already mortifying enough. i know Tal will be angry, but i just don't have it in me to keep doing this over and over. every failed attempt at getting better just adds more weight, reaffirms what i already suspected.

and the statistics of it. either i've encountered consistently bad medical practitioners OR the problem lies with me. at this point statistically it has to be me, there's just been too many failings. especially when i see so many friends drive the same road without issue. yet i keep hitting roadblock after roadblock. at what point do i just acknowledge that i'm a bad driver? maybe it's been roadblock after roadblock because there's nothing else, there is no good ending. i shouldn't be on the road to begin with.

[ofravensflight]

I really need to see that new therapist and get back on ADHD medication. You hit a lot of points that I felt when I was younger unknowingly and some of them I still feel today.

A preface on medication, I was on antidepressants and ADHD medication back when I was a teen but I ended up stopping because they never really felt like they were doing anything. The antidepressants were probably not doing much because from a lot of what I've heard both from you and others it was probably treating the wrong thing or not the correct treatment for the cause. After looking it up though I know now the reason why my ADHD medicine also felt the same way probably. I was on vyvanse with a dosage of 10 MILLIGRAMS PER DAY. according to a quick search the baseline dosage is supposed to be 30mg increasing over time until the desired effects are achieved.

For a long time I've liked the therapist I'm with, and he was the one treating a couple of other family members as well which is where I found him, but thinking at my history and what my sister has told me about her work with him. He's very resistant to prescribing medication for treatment and even more resistant to increasing dosages besides. In my experience with talking through dysphoria with him he was reticent to talk about medical transition and what that might look like too. Im going to go to a different psych hopefully soon to maybe get on a better track with both now.

A lot of what you said about symptoms sounds like things I've felt as well. Especially the part about self harm. I barely ever talked about it with anyone especially if I wasn't being forced to because something always felt off about it compared to how people described their feelings with it. Like, how was I supposed to tell someone that I was doing it because I felt bored(probably not the correct feeling but I'm not sure what the right word is)? That I would feel listless and under stimulated and that taking a blade across my legs made me feel, at least briefly, a clarity I normally didn't have. It gave me a rush of happiness I was hard pressed to find anywhere else.when it started waning I would start doing more, going further, being more reckless until I eventually tried it too. Multiple times. Each one until my last a failure, but the last time almost succeeding.

I'm in a constant state of barely functioning enough to look like I'm doing okay from the outside. I make it to work on time only because I have a severe ingrained anxiety over the idea of being late anywhere that I compulsively need to be at least 30 minutes early. Otherwise I have trouble even getting up most days. I'll wake up and just spend hours in bed rolling around or mindlessly looking at things on my phone knowing that I need to get up. I need to do things. But I can't get myself to do anything until my anxiety grows enough to overpower anything else and I'm frantically running to get ready and go get takeout because I missed the window of time I had to cook instead. Most days it's hard for me to even get myself to shower.

On a similar flipside my dysphoria has also, as of late with me embracing what I am, been more of a source of joy as well. I still have that background hum of wrongness, especially since nothing is really changing as I'm not on hrt yet, but doing things like shaving for the first time in almost a decade and having a smoother softer face has me ecstatic when I feel it. I love being able to nuzzle my fiancée and it be a smooth feeling on both our faces. I love wearing the fem things I have and just existing with them. I love being able to look at myself and think "one day, the person looking back will look right. It might not right now, but it will."

I know this might seem odd to you, but having others around to put to words things I couldn't on my own. To describe what I'm feeling or what I'd gone through in a way I couldn't has been eye opening. You might not see it or understand exactly why but you have been a role model for giving me the hope that one day I might be able to actually get my life together and be able to live as I want to.

There's a lot more I could say. I could go deeper describing my anxieties and other ways ADHD has affected me over the years that I've managed to only barely push through but I think I've said enough for now.

Thank you again Sierra, and for what it's worth, I'm really glad you're here and that you are willing to be open and share your story. It gives me hope and confidence in a way I haven't had for a decade now.

About to fall asleep ramble time, this has been kicking around in my brain for a bit and I need to get some form of this thought out

I was diagnosed with ADHD and gender dysphoria one day after the other back in August. Extremely stereotypically zillenial of me, I know. Handling both of these has dramatically improved my quality of life. yes yes insert discourse about how much you need to have dysphoria as a diagnosis, it's just a tool for the medical system that's ultimately meaningless, that's not what this is about.

There's one thing that was really, really weird about the experience of getting care for both of these.

Most treatment and public talk of transition and motivations to transition are about misery. How much despair your birth sex gives you and how gender affirming care is the only stopgap against suicide (oftentimes, used as a barrier to entry that it should only be given when it's at the suicidal point). How crushing dysphoria is.

In contrast, most of the public perception of ADHD is this cutesy, "omg look I'm so quirky" kind of thing. People talk of ADHD "superpowers" and how neat it is to have hyperfixations (I'm low key starting to dislike that word, even though it's an accurate description of many things- it's very overused).

My actual experience has been almost exactly the opposite.

I absolutely had gender dysphoria, and still do, and misery associated with being AMAB. But is that what defines my trans experience? No, and in fact, it feels like a more incidental blip in it. My trans experience has mostly been defined by joy, by feeling my mind and body slowly make me more and more content with my default existence day after day. And the exploration of it all! The social roles, the romantic dynamics, the friendship dynamics, even small aesthetics like clothes and makeup, and again, the body and mood changes. It's incredible and it brings me joy so much of the time. That, more than anything, has defined my trans experience.

In contrast.... ADHD has objectively made nearly every aspect of my life more miserable. Working with my therapist and my pysch, as well as feeling what it's like to be properly medicated, have shown me extremely well how much the constant feelings of misery I always seemed to have were caused by ADHD. ADHD means being unable to receive a baseline level of dopamine to function under normal circumstances, so your brain starts looking for any way it can get new sources. And wouldn't ya know it, novel stimuli are a perfect way to do that. Keep in mind that dopamine isn't just "the pleasure molecule" it's a neurotransmitter with a broad range of functions. If you don't have ADHD, or even if you do, I want you to think about how miserable of an existence that is. Your default state is depression and inability to do things. It has been for me for most of my life. Additionally, anxieties creep into your head and distract you far more easily. You're less functional. You can't do simple things most of the time. You're distracted and have anxiety spikes easily. Continuous tasks are hard. And day in, day out... You are miserable. Almost constantly.

Oh also, you're easily addicted to extreme novel stimuli. For me, it was self harm. And when that stopped working... Well, I was in a state of mostly background depression that was only punctuated by spikes of massive, overwhelming anxiety that my brain hooked itself on. At a certain point, I just wanted it to end, by any means necessary.

It's been almost ten years since that day, and at this point I can genuinely say that I'm glad I'm still here.

But it wasn't dysphoria that did that (it contributed a bit, but still wasn't the biggest factor). Or a depressive disorder. Or bipolar. Or whatever the big, more "scary" mental illnesses or neurodivergencies are. They tried to treat me for some of them, and it ended horribly. My symptoms fit mixed presentation ADHD perfectly, including my physiological response to stimulants. They don't fit anything else. I likely don't have any strong comorbidities, unless you count the symptom-level anxiety and depression. ADHD did all of that to me. The "cute and quirky" one.

By the time I got around to a diagnosis, my pysch was astounded that I made it as far as I did with symptoms as severe as mine. Tackling ADHD has removed so much misery from my life, it's indescribable. Adderall has been the only thing that has ever actually gotten rid of my constant anxiety.

It's not fucking cute. Keeping with this being the flip side to my dysphoria, I do try to keep it light most of the time, and I join in on all of the classic "whoopsie doopsie my ADHD" trains and jokes. You don't have to stop making those, hell, they're fun. There are cute and funny parts to having ADHD, and ways it's made my personality what it is. But don't forget that this is also something that makes people genuinely suffer well beyond the "oopsie I'm such a procrastinator!!!" Type thing.

Idk where this thought is going. It's just kind of an observation that's been kicking around in my head for a bit. So uh. Hope it at least generates discussion? Feel free to add your experiences if you think it'll help you. But fuck I need to sleep lol

[quinn-tessence]

Paint me like one of your French girls

Part 2

This goes out to all the artists in this heart warming Joker community, who still find so much inspiration in our beloved character. Thank you for sharing with us how you see Arthur/Joker through your eyes, your creative vision brings so much joy and comfort through these troubling times! 🙏🤡❤

Summary: you accept Joker's invitation against your better judgement, even after he'd broken into your home and caught you red handed. His rhetoric makes you fall into his degraded sense of civic duty. So does his sly but chivalrous demeanor, a different shade of the Arthur you used to know. You're in for a revelation that seals the deal.

Length: 7k ish, gradual build up

Warnings: a touch of Theodore Twombly, splashes of Arthur and heavy strokes of Joker, mentions of mental conditions, flirty fluff, oh smut, yes, yes, keep readin'

As his scent still lingered, the yellow street lights engulfed the room as you stood naked at the window, facing the portrait you'd painted. Maybe it had only been the light reflecting off its surface, but you could have sworn it was looking right through you.

Did this really happen? You thought to yourself as you stepped down from your high, hoping this had not just been one more of your self induced vivid fantasies. But the flammable cocktail he'd left lingering in your studio was a stark reminder.

Arthur had come at last, even if one year late, but it had been Joker breathing down your neck, intoxicating you with whispers of your most ardent desires. A butterfly in the path of a flame you were, the attraction to him primal, insatiable, frightening. Was this really Arthur? He was surely the Clown Prince of Crime, and that was not something sweet Arthur could have maneuvered while pumping himself full of antidepressants.

‘I'd put my mouth on you’ resounded against your temples, his purring whispers a delicious catalyst for a continuous pulsating sensation throughout the night. 'Cause that's how I imagine you every night' had been the least expected confession, had he lied to just get you hooked, he'd been successful. As you tried to drift away, you'd force yourself to resist the urge and keep yourself untouched for him. Agonizing as that was, how he'd stirred the embers in your mind had made any of your attempts futile. No substitute would do.

Tick, tock. You hadn't heard your bedside clock ticking for years, but today it was thumping, a metronome to steady your breath as you woke. The only sensible action was to take charge and keep yourself busy. He was going to get what he wanted, clearly he had made the alternative impossible with his mischievous schemes. But he had been thinking of you all night as well, and that was one aspect up to be exploited.

A few minutes to 9 PM, a pinup doll you'd never seen before was staring right back at you in the mirror. His spine tingling whispers had made you work on yourself on commission. He had one demand and it was up to you to fill up the rest of the canvas to impress.

The street was empty as you walked out on the dot. Swiftly, 3 SUVs pulled up in front of your alley, and your heart leapt to your throat.

Here comes the devil. Dashing. Elegant. Ravishing in that pristine makeup, green eyes piercing your whole body as he swaggered closer, his body ambling, almost floating on air. Your art made him no justice compared to the original. Any shades of color you might have painted before would pale in comparison to how they contoured him in the flesh, and the makeup uneven, yet always perfect. Smoke fuming from his mouth, his heels screeched the pavement as if to warn you danger is nearing, yet your knees grew weaker with each step he took.

He was… just as slim as you remembered, but somehow a bit taller. Instead of Arthur’s timorous gazes, a devilish smirk crowned his beautiful jawline enough to make you forget even your name. You couldn't help but wonder why the dress as his gaze systematically reduced any fabric covering your skin to irrelevance. The emerald green eyes had already made you whimper in silence, this wasn't going to get any easier.

‘Hi Y/N. Glad you decided to come tonight.’ An eyebrow twitch accompanied his words as a much needed release from hypnosis.

‘Hi, Joker. Not sure if I had a choice in accepting your invitation.’ An unmistakable vibration in your voice immediately made his deep, long dimples contour his well defined face. The sexiest dimples you'd ever seen in a man, you were certain.

‘Of course you did. You had one week to consider, and here you are. I must admit, you are your finest work of art so far. Is all of this for me?’

‘I have a date later and I thought I’d dress to impress. The fella seemed to have some serious intentions.' The thump of your heartbeat could easily be heard by his armed men keeping watch. Thankfully, they minded their business.

‘What a lucky fella. He'd better, or else I know a few guys who can straighten him up'

An eyebrow twitch followed by a tongue in cheek chuckle, he tried to distract your noticing by running a hand through his slick green hair, but his shy gaze fell to his feet. Hi, Arthur…

‘In this case, we'd better be on our way before we get all of us in trouble. A couple precautions before we go. I'll need to wrap this around your eyes to protect the location we're headed to. It'll be a 30 minutes drive. Sadly, I’ll have to jump in another car, for both our protection. If anything happens on the road, I’ll be the main target and my guys are sworn to keep you safe. But we took care of a few things and Gotham should be teeming with crime tonight, enough for us to have a safe journey. Are you ready?’ his hand extended, your primary instincts shameless traitors. As you touched his fingertips, you went all in.

You both hopped into one SUV, his proximity to you nerve wrecking, the warmth of his slender body radiating against your prickled skin. The way he had been staring into your eyes for a few seconds was making you question reality. Shutting your eyes as he wrapped his tie around them didn't help clear the waters.

‘Tell me if it's too tight.’

‘Wouldn't that be the point? Don't untighten it.’

‘Miss Y/L/N... Here you are, blindfolded in the backseat of my SUV, about to drive off with Gotham's most wanted. Knowing your inner circle, I’d have wagered they'd advise you to keep better company. Good thing I’m not a betting man.’

‘Well, a certain gentleman had made a promise last night, if I remember correctly'

‘Indeed he had. I'm not going to hurt you'

‘That was not the promise...' you forced the corners of your mouth to not betray your titillating reaction.

‘Wasn't it?’

An endearing giggle helped cut the tension in your core, but you gently startled at the feel of his fingers caressing your cheek and rushing over your lower lip, the ever present smell of nicotine flooding your nostrils, the lack of eyesight heightening your other senses. Somehow he made this feel like a dream.

‘See you soon'

A 30 minute drive with only the voice of Frank. Thoughtful touch, making you feel close to home even while venturing into a world of batshit crazy. Blindfolding you might have been for protection, but it served another more tantalizing purpose. And processed you did, but not at all did it help with the anxiety. If anything, Joker had poured gasoline on the bonfire he had started the night before.

The cars stopped and the door opened, your hand touched softly, you were descending from the car and carefully directed forward by his arms. You’d been right about his scent, and it drove you mad as he helped you watch your step.

‘Open your eyes'

The venue, a vineyard outside Gotham, with a manor and view of the lake. Breathtakingly elegant and conveniently out of police jurisdiction. A coquette set up on the front terrace in an open space foyer, the breeze rustling the flowers that dangled from it. As beautiful a venue, in reality he was still the center piece of this canvas, the white streaks of makeup, his green hair, the contrasts of his suit, that never ending cigarette. Unethical, dangerous, beautiful. What was he doing to you?

‘Welcome to my summer retreat. Glad you decided to join me, miss Y/L/N.’ He pulled a chair for you, elegantly inviting you to sit.

‘If we’re so intimately acquainted, why are you calling me by my last name?’

‘I like the taste of it on my lips. I like kitten more, but you know, pleasantries and all.’

He'd called you that before. Arthur was there, but Joker was clearly behind that lewd smirk and tantalizing choice of words. Tingles started running up your thighs without warning, in sync with the rhythm of his cues.

‘Pleasantries are for strangers'

‘Oh! Well then. We already see eye to eye' the clicking of glass betrayed a slight tremor in his hands as he poured a little more wine than necessary.

‘Cheers, thank you for having me here. How could I decline the invitation?’

‘I didn't know if you'd accept the invite one year later.’

‘And yet you took the risk'

‘How could I not be intrigued by the artist who paints me as a primary subject? You can imagine my surprise when I found out you were the same Y/N from the pharmacy queue. Why did you move out?’ As gallant as he was, he sure knew how to cut straight to the point.

‘I... I wasn't in a good place, I needed to uproot myself. So I quit the force, moved out, became a full time artist and painted my view of the world. That gives me fulfillment, I had been searching for it in the wrong place, I guess.’

‘Can’t argue with that. Fascinating. Tell me more.’

‘How far back should I go that you don't already know?’ His eyes moved away for a second, then returned with an intensity to freeze one's bones to the core.

‘It would mean so much more if I heard it from your lips rather than my trusted informants’. ’

That sweet white wine was a dangerous catalyst to unleash to him your widest smile, comforted by the verified honesty of his stories and his sharing of turmoil at the world. He'd also been an artist, although his conditions had been a detriment to his success in a comedy career, and support for him nonexistent at best.

You were just as fluent in Arthur's tragic life as he was in your tumultuous one. You’d been reduced to tears in your late nights when processing his fall into madness and how helpless he had been. All alone. That utter feeling of pain and grief had fueled your inspiration through all those months. But now the makeup made him look younger, the furrows of life less visible on his skin, that deep sorrow hidden under a thick layer of overconfidence, and if that was what he wanted to show you tonight, the last thing you'd do was force him otherwise.

A couple hours flew within minutes, the food half nibbled, his elbows on the table, his eyes every shade of the sea amidst a storm, devouring your every twitch as you spoke. Each time you'd meet them, he'd watch you languidly, dissecting your every reaction, the corner of his mouth slowly arching his dimples into existence. You had already sunk deeply in the sight of him chuckling and occasionally strolling his delicate long fingers through his green locks. He was so real and close to the touch, his presence so electrifying, it gave you fever.

And yet he made you feel comfortable. It had been a long time since a man had done so well and so naturally, you had forgotten how sweet the shivers were. And here was Arthur, that once shy, flustering man, igniting fire after fire in your gut with each elegant note of his voice and moves of his slender body. You couldn’t tell if the spark in his eye was his, or a reflection of your flaming self.

‘My turn to share?’

‘Yeah maybe I should stop talking for a while now, sorry, I got a bit carried away.’

‘Nonsense. You're my guest, why would I have brought you here if I didn't want to hear your stories?’

‘Well if you insist, I could think up a few reasons… aaand here I go, I’m so sorry, that was a bad joke, I swear it's the wine speaking…', your hand went straight to your face in a desperate attempt to hide your tipsy embarrassment.

Typical of you to screw this up, atta girl, you thought to yourself, feeling how your cheeks had turned the color of your dress. You weren't lying, the wine had had a woozing effect, but you were drunk on him instead. As you shyly lifted your eyes, a hungry wolf was lurking beneath the painted blue diamonds, eyes as deep as an ocean, eyebrows creasing his forehead in long, deep wrinkles. It wasn't fair how the red razor sharp grin cut through his cheeks like furrows, his crooked teeth exposed enough to make you bite your lip in shame of your sassy comment.

‘That's… one description, but not the one I’d choose… When you come out from under there, I have a surprise for you. Come with me inside for a minute.’

That red dress suddenly shrunk tightly on your chest, the fabric a suffocating shroud for your skin. Guided through the gliding doors, an elegant galley of your work hung against a red brick wall. You felt a knot in your throat, your eyes watering.

‘This part of the house is my little sanctuary. Where I come to spend time with you, with how you see me through your eyes. I started collecting those the minute I felt alive through your art, immortal, legendary. You’re fueling my ego, you know?’

This was more of a shock than a surprise. A shock at your naivety than at his right to purchase your public art. He had kept all your thank you cards, even if you'd thought you'd written them for different clients. He called them your letters. They were to him, and about him, so he found it appropriate. Was this just incredibly romantic, or was it the schizoid paranoia from his official diagnosis?

Right then, the realization finally struck, and it struck with the sound of a thousand church bells between your temples. You’d shared such intimacy with him for months, and he’d been financing your bohemian lifestyle since you’d left the force. This was his big night, just as much as yours, it was clear as you looked into his eyes to see sweet Arthur from the pharmacy line. Yet his shy gaze betrayed anything but an expectation to cash in that cheque. You were ignoring all the red flags again, the rush of emotion rendering you incapable of clear thought.

And yet, your body was yearning to shed its covers and unravel your latest masterpiece to absorb his reaction through every pore, but you gave into your superficially cautious thoughts. As he stood next to you in admiration, he lit a cigarette and passed it over after puffing almost halfway. You’d never thought the sight of red marks on a cigarette would be the catalyst to set you ablaze in your choice of men, but you'd been ironically wrong. The very close presence of this clown felt nothing like fear and anxiety, even more so as he was fidgeting so sweetly. An adorable irrational fear of a possible rejection had kept a never ending cigarette between his lips, and your heart coiled at seeing a painted Arthur before you.

‘I hope you don't mind. If a fire broke out tomorrow I'd save these first. You saw me when I needed to be seen, and the way I needed to be seen. Your art is breathtaking. Nothing humbles me as admiring it.’

You felt as light as a feather as his hand extended once again, and carried you back to the foyer to pour the last glass of wine.

‘I gotta be honest with you, kitten. I’m not an easy guy to be around. My mind is a twisted place, and past treatments were … debilitating, to say the least. Fate took me off those by force, just to feel much better afterwards, ironically. I switched my treatment for a couple conditions in the meantime. You see, having difficulty distinguishing reality from imagination could be quite inconvenient in my line of business. Else, I'd be back in Arkham by now.’

For a deranged criminal, he was exquisitely refined. His posture, his attire, the cigarette between his fingers were radioactive. This deceitfully feeble man had once bashed in the brains of a man twice his size with a pair of scissors and a wall, the police records had been detailed enough to make your stomach churn. His slim, delicate body was a dangerous trap for those who questioned his ferocity and agility coupled with his multiple mental conditions. The 3 Wall Street guys had had no idea what a catalyst they were about to be. And yet, here he was. Delicate and gentle, maybe even vulnerable.

‘Back? Why back?’ you asked despite knowing every little detail.

‘Not an easily digestible subject, I’m sure you'd agree. That's a conversation for another time, but here I am, flesh and blood, thinking as clearly as daybreak. In most aspects.’

That wine must have had no effect on him, as he continued to control the conversation, steering it with refinement, clearly more cautious than yourself.

‘What aspects are not clear?’

‘Is this an interrogation, kitten?’ his wide gaze from under long eyelashes coupled with the pet name off his lips were utterly debilitating.

‘Not at all, I am intrigued. Please tell me more'

‘If the lady insists. What’s unclear? Well some minor details. Like my future, my life, the next target, evading the police, you.’ His emeralds confidently strolled along the lines of your face, particularly the curve of your lips. Not at all distracting.

‘I can understand the others, but me?’

‘You see me for who I want to be. I’m not always Joker, that's for my men, my criminal nightlife. You knew me before all this, and you paint that man wearing this Joker outfit. Sometimes I wish it were so, but most times I am convinced that it must be otherwise.’

He swallowed hard and emptied his glass.

‘So you see how your artistic depiction of me is what I want to see when I look in the mirror, not what they say on TV. It's kept me from going too far, it gives me a level of restraint that this Joker makeup laughs at, and I really prefer that to any straight jacket. I like this new man I’ve become, but I can't allow him to overwhelm the old me. Whomever that was.’

As he spoke, there was a sweet sadness to his voice that proceeded to melt you from the inside, furthering the utterly irresponsible, delicious plunge. He was forcing himself to smile even through the most painful truths, like a tic developed through years of practice, but his voice faltered here and there, trying to stifle his bouncing knee. All you wanted was to cup his cheek and caress him through the anxiety that had been crippling the body of both his whole life. He reached out for another cigarette before you could fulfill that thought.

‘I… am flattered, to say the least. I wasn't sure what to expect of tonight, but I will have another glass of wine, please. If there's any left in this beautiful vineyard.’

‘Coming right up!’

He danced nimbly into the kitchen, Sinatra serenading an audience of hanging grapes and the two of you.

Impressed was an understatement. Where was that psychopathic, vicious killer clown that all the headlines had been about for the past year, that your friends had tried to warn you of? Joker had been a gentleman so far, none of his known crimes had tainted that opinion of him, not even Murray to be quite frank. He wasn't half as ruthless as he had been demonized to be. How he spoke so caringly about his men, they were not just his goons, he trusted them, and they trusted him. This didn't make your coming here any wiser, not in the eyes of society. But your mind was already made up.

He soon returned with a new bottle, poured a glass and extended his hand.

‘Voulez vous danser avec moi, mademoiselle?’ That pristine makeup and red suit molded him into the most alluring devil coming to claim you. Speaking in French had sealed the deal.

‘Biensur, monsieur.’

Strolling you across the terrace on The Way You Look Tonight, leaning you onto his chest, his palm on the small of your back, gently intrusive. The warmth of his body engulfed yours, his cheek on your temple, he had you craving for a heavy dose. He was such a good dancer, you felt like a feather in his delicate arms as he turned you a few times then leaned you backwards to lift your thigh in a shy attempt to test your responsiveness. The innocence of his smile quickly altered into curiosity as his fingers brushed over your garter. A glimmering spark coated his devilish eyes and an eyebrow twitch marked the epitome of nonverbal cues.

‘Where did you learn French?’

‘From old movies on the telly. Unfortunately, my extensive knowledge of French will end here. I'd always fall asleep through the romantic dancing, so I don't know what comes next.’

‘What a terrible waste of a beautiful evening that would be…’

‘It would… But I've also prepared for tonight, kitten, in many ways.’ You whirled at his directive once again.

‘You did indeed. I appreciate the effort.’

‘Hah, I’m sure you do…' he chuckled to himself mischievously. 'I know I am putting you in an awfully strange position by being here and showing you all this. I'd like to know you're comfortable, all things considered. I wouldn't want to overwhelm you.’

‘Yes, how thoughtful indeed. Especially after how you left me last night.’

‘Ohhh yes, I did that, didn’t I?’

‘My dating rulebook had a few pages torn out, so I had to skip a couple chapters in my preparation. Perhaps you could fill me in on the content of those missing pages…’

He hadn't expected you to make the first move, the surprise in his eyes at seeing you instinctively biting your lip was palpable, but the tension in your core had overstepped any boundaries.

‘… I wouldn't want to drag you down. I'll catch up. What page are you on right now?’

As you spoke, you were dancing him inside the mansion, towards the main art room. Tantalizing him, your lips grazing over his, locking eye contact intensely, then shying away. His intrigue at your little game etched a smirk across his face, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your waist, very gently contouring the girdle holding your stockings.

‘I have an advanced edition. The page that cautions against wearing lace for a long time.’

‘Lace?… oh. Ohhh! I see! Yeah, I remember that. In the missing pages, they strongly advised removing all other clothes for easier access to the lace…'

Your back sensually turned to him, his fingers lowered your back zipper, the feel of burning wet lips on your neck snatched a deep moan from yours as a hum vibrated against your ear. In a swift second, you were in his arms being carried in front of his gallery, and as soon as the stilettos touched the ground, your dress was framing your ankles at his careful directive.

‘Oh... The advanced edition must have a copy of my journal in the writers' room’ his eyes gleaming, he took a step back to revel in the sight of his freshly lace garnished gallery.

‘Not really. Seeing how you wrapped me up in a tight bow, I found another way of adding a… touch… of myself.’

A wide grin across his face, he was visibly panting. His hands straight to the top of his teal shirt in a desperate attempt to get some fresh air. The light emanated from the frames of his portraits contoured your body as he approached with careful steps, as if a predator stalked its prey, strolling hungry eyes all over your curves.

‘And here I was, thinking I’d seen the best of you yesterday. Look at you… you're worth every damn risk in the book. Tell me, have you been a good girl last night?’

He slowly ascended the 3 steps leading to the art wall where you stood in your unholy red lace lingerie, stockings hanging from your girdle insolently. Your pedestal, that was. Colin was right, reality beats fiction every god damn time. If he only knew.

‘I clearly haven't. I should have called the cops on you. Yet you break in and rake me up with your mischievous whispers, you make me dress up for you and bring me here, to all this, and then claim you don't want to overwhelm me. You're acting like a gentleman but you're really a sneaky bastard, aren't you?’

Shamefully you put all the blame for your descent into his madness on him, as if you’d taken no part in this tantalizing game. In his ascent, he had gained the advantage right back, towering over you in all his colorful splendor. In that very moment, he knew you were his. The corners of his mouth arched so intensely that no amount of makeup could cover Arthur's arousing wrinkles any longer. He knew very well that he was the devil coming to claim what was his, and his gentle demeanor had shifted drastically to reflect that and scorch you. His inquisitive eyes onto the soft edges of the red brassiere, his tongue strolling over his lips lusciously, you were soon humming to yourself.

‘I… I am about to fuck you into next month. I hope you cancelled your plans, pussycat.’

His bluntness made it clear that Arthur had left you at the mercy of this clown, yet every atom of your body craved him.

‘How gallant… What about your criminal activities?’

‘I'm taking a small vacation. My men will shake things up enough to keep your buddies doing overtime. As for being a gentleman, I’m done with that for tonight.’

‘What if I say no?’

‘I made sure you wouldn't do that last night’

The moment you felt his ragged breath against your skin, you melted away in his arms, like gold in a fire pit. You gave in completely to his hungry lips trembling as he kissed you, his whole body as tense as a string, savoring you with heavy gulps. The intensity of his grip, the weight of his body, the shivers in his flesh betrayed the end of a painful anticipation that he'd yearned for. The bitterness of his makeup was the first shock, the second was his body weight heavy against you, the third the most unnerving, ohhh la la! If one lit a match you'd both combust in flames.

‘How about we skip the pleasantries, mm?’ he whispered in between heavy gulps of you, far from asking for permission.

The taste of his mouth, a mélange of cigarettes, wine, bitter makeup, each flavor made your limits become optional. Lace was suddenly no longer a threat for your breasts, as his fingers bared your chest for his delight, quickly followed by his painted thin lips. Something about him made you feel like a dangerous woman. Devouring you whole, shoulders, neck, breasts, his makeup brushed faded color tracing his steps, little moans escaping his throat at the taste of your skin. To your left, a full gallery of your ardent attempts to bring him back. You’d been afraid for so long to articulate your feelings for him even to yourself, always denying the possible realization of this moment. But his warm tongue strolling along your navel was a check mate to your insecurities, and now your body was his canvas, painting you in shades of Joker.

As he got on his knees, you felt yours would weaken in an instant, the heels of your stilettos working their way to penetrate yours.

‘I think we should take the advice in the rulebook and avoid exposure to lace for too long, don't you?’ his nimble fingers removed the lace panties and his tongue invaded your core before you could object. As if.

Fuck yesss… you exhaled a touch too loudly.

‘Oh dear, where are your manners, young lady?’ as if he wasn't speaking with a mouthful.

The sight of his green hair falling over the red jacket, his wide eyes pinned on yours, his mouth gobbling at you had been your usual suspects for the past year. But you'd imagined Arthur under the makeup, and these darkened eyes betrayed another beast altogether, a hungry, voracious beast. A surprisingly crafty one, within seconds he'd made you purr uncontrollably.

An outpour of sensation washed over you, body and mind together feeling so sensual and wanted, he was controlling your body with his tongue even as he knelt before you. You’d been intoxicated by the smell of cologne, cigarette and faint gasoline, your finger tips tracing the freshly applied white makeup and green dye on his temples. Soon enough, the slick bastard was maneuvering your clit, exposing and tasting it to his own pleasure. For a second, he moaned as he lost himself in your folds, the sounds of him enjoying what he was doing to you made you pulsate on his tongue. He'd rattled you down to your heels, you were panting so hard you were afraid you would tumble.

‘Joker… I’m gonna fall…’

‘Now now… let me finish this first, then you can fall for me, kitten.’

It hadn't even crossed your mind to make that connection, but you were once again red-handed. You couldn't help but let out a silly school girl giggle as he got up and lifted you in his arms, so much stronger than his slim complexion let see, carrying you to the large sofa, gently laying you in a corner.

‘Is this better?’

Your eyes the size of two full moons, you nodded.

‘Keep those devils on, will you?’ winking at the red soles of the Louboutins you'd chosen for the occasion. You nodded once more with beggar eyes.

‘The taste of you… mmm how I’ve yearned for it… I wasn't joking about your cancelled plans. Don't say you weren't warned' he whispered as he kissed you, his taste and yours mingled on his lips were an aphrodisiac. You nodded obediently one last time.

Kneeling once again between your thighs, he proceeded to unbutton his vest, then his shirt, yet maintaining eye contact. Damn, that new treatment must have been making miracles. You had never been intimate with Arthur before, but you couldn't miss that it was Joker in between your thighs. You’d be shamelessly lying if you said you didn't want him to take you just like this, a painted, deranged clown that had been stalking you for months, the danger an essential part of the thrill.

As he bared his chest, a deep purple covered part of his left ribcage underneath the teal shirt, his nightlife trade in violence etched onto his body, causing you to frown with genuine concern. That must have been why he seemed to flinch and change course at the thought of baring his body to you. In his own time.

You trembled as his warm breath spread over your clit, sinking his tongue in whatever he'd made of you already. The intense eye contact would be enough stimulant to answer your burning curiosities, but he had his to satisfy. Savoring each slurp, he was masterfully tensing you up like a guitar string ready to pop at the next twirl, and those diamonds around his eyes only served to plunge you into the ferocity of his curious gazes. You were a ball of ache to feel his flesh slither inside you, tongue, fingers, cock. The thirst you’d felt for him for so long was strikingly visible in your quivering body and four octave moans, his palms strolling across the red lace all the way up to your breasts. How insatiable he was in his exploration, each touch a stronger confirmation that you were really, finally his.

A soft stroke of his tongue over his lips yanked you out of any distraction, an uncontrolled twitch of your knees betraying a futile instinct of self preservation. Your reflexes had been off by around a year, though. You whined and moaned and shivered under his velvet lips as he strolled them down your breasts, your ribs, your belly button, feeling the jolts in your body and reveling in them as he hummed. Each kiss he carefully peppered onto your prickled skin sent you into a maddening spiral, your core a backdraft aching for him to extinguish. How ironic. You had grown up petrified of those nightmares of a dreadful clown chasing you down to eat you whole. Who would have thought these terrors would develop into consuming yearnings 20 years later?

The high that came with his virtuosity made the fabric of reality feel hazy, your fingers tangled in his green hair an anchor to the real world, where it seemed as if your body had been designed for him to unlock. With each feathery stroke he'd have you yearning for more, contorting in lust as he tasted you for his own pleasure. Your fingers on his white temple, he seemed intrigued by the beggar look staring right at him, so he buried his tongue deeper.

‘This tastes exactly how I imagined it…’

This hungry wolf kept on controlling your whole body through his tongue, slurping each drop of pleasure he brought. The narcissist in him was feeding off each reaction he ignited, reveling in the fact that he was the cause of all this hot mess, and you were falling like rain on a scorching mid summer day.

‘You rascal... Is this your MO, you threaten your prey 24 hours before the inevitable?’

‘I usually take ‘em by surprise'

Fire and ice collided in your core into an outwash of sensation and your eyes drowned in the back of your head as he gentry filled you up with one finger ‘Ohh… right there…’. It was too much to bear as his tongue played with your flushed bud and his finger stroke at your deepest well of intense pleasure. Never would you have thought Arthur capable of pleasuring a woman so exquisitely, but here he was, proving you wrong in the most delicious way you'd never imagined.

He was an artist after all, a nimble dancer who was born with music in his veins. And what is dancing than making love set to music? How he constantly drained you of every drop of pleasure with his skillful tongue, as if he'd finally found his vocation. The tenderness of his touches betrayed a long lasting want for you in his arms, a haunting want that he'd finally captured and was now close enough to taste.

‘Oh God, this is too good, please keep going' your voice had turned into beseeching cries.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yes, please…’

‘Mmm… Right here?’

‘Y… yes… don't stop please', the words poured out as if coming from the sweetest place of ecstasy, the beggar look and pulsating muscles a dead giveaway.

‘Come for me, pussycat, and look at me as you do...’

His command to come for him tipped you off the edge instantly, he had released the hold on the leaning rollercoaster, his tongue twirling and stroking your flushed bud. His piercing eyes gleamed as your skin went aflame and you combusted in his mouth harder than you’d ever had before. Your mind was devoid of thought as you let yourself sink into his fervent caresses. He held you down as you bucked and convulsed in blissful agony pinned onto his finger, he sank his nose and tongue into your cunt, prideful for making you come so soon. You felt flushed, ravaged, trembling from all joints, your eyes in the back of your head unable to contain their fluttering any longer. His starved frenzy had eased into careful strokes with a soft tongue, comforting you through the dwindling climax.

‘Whoa, hello there, pussycat… how I love hearing you purr like this for me’

He climbed up to you gently, the widest, proudest grin imaginable etched on his face as he smacked his lips. The lower half was smudged enough for his mouth to be visible under a glistening coat of you, and there it was. The scar that you'd specifically left out of the composite sketch. It was very old, a part of him, his face branded uniquely. As much as the clown costume spewed fire down your spine, you so badly wanted to see Arthur without it once again.

‘Joker…’

‘Yeah?’

‘I'm gonna…’

‘Come again?’

His nimble fingers were skillfully riding you fast towards another orgasm, your core still highly sensitive after your first one.

‘That's it kitten, give this joker what he wants. You're so damn beautiful, I want all of you'

His savory whispers lifted you to your peak, then his lips kissed you through your implosive ecstasy as your whole body quivered under his. The taste of you on his lips should be his new cologne from then on. After he’d seeded those thoughts the night before, it wasn't at all surprising how your body overreacted to his touches. Murmuring softly in your ear, he slowly released the grip as you descended from the second high. Your palms caressed his jawline, the feel of paint covering his skin a contradiction you'd never felt before. But here he was, teaching you what you didn't know how.

‘There there, I’ll let go now'

‘No, don't, please. Give me more…' You begged, commanding respect as the highly virtuous, dignified lady you were in that moment.

His smile as wide as on Christmas morning, his eyebrows raised, a chuckle exulting his whole body, he clearly hadn't expected that reaction so soon. Cat's out of the bag now.

‘Well well well… Look at you beg!'

‘I didn't beg…!'

‘But you will'

You should have known better than falling into that again, but you were too distracted with unbuttoning his red pants and finding the real culprit for your sleepless nights. If you'd known Joker from so many accounts, this had not been in any police record. But boy, it should have been, you wouldn't have thinned your art exhibitions to avoid being found, what a ridiculous thing to do!

With a swift motion, he was already in between your thighs. Lowering his white briefs and positioning himself at your glistening entrance, he was massaging with the tip, testing your sensitivity. This surely wasn't the same gallant gentleman who'd wooed you so far, this was another animal who was toying with his food, and you had willingly stepped into his lair.

‘Is that a threat or a promise?’

His eyes squinted in the dim light, a smug smile to his ears and your whole body jolted at the feel of him entering you all the way down, groaning with eyes in the back of his head.

‘Knowing me, what’s the difference?’

You molded so well on him as he filled you up and some more, his arms locking you down for his pleasure. Careful and gentle at first, his knees deep in the couch the more he'd bury himself into you, his face immersed in your hair gulping your scent, his tongue nibbling your ear.

‘And now I’m inside you. All the way inside you', his hand caressing your jawline, shyly brushing over your gaping mouth before kissing you.

Releasing yourself to him had been the epitome of the most ardent desires clawing out of you progressively. You‘d craved each and every word he was whispering in your ear as he was having you. His size filled you all the way in, you must have been molded to him or else you could not fathom how you'd never felt so awash as you did with Joker. He was going there, working exquisitely to get his little prize again, and it was terrifying how familiar he had become with your sweet spot in under an hour. Perhaps you'd anticipated this moment for months on end that his slightest touch would just keep you hooked in a state of blissful tension. His slim body felt heavy over you, his sharp pelvis bones grinding against your inner thighs, his protruding ribs over yours.

And yet he was so beautiful, no other man had ever awakened such riveting feelings inside your gut so effortlessly. The amount of torment this man had felt throughout his life, and yet he was still capable of making you feel such heart warming bliss in his arms. As he'd wrapped you around him tight, his palm on your cheek, his forehead to yours, it was clear you weren't just tonight's fuck. He had longed for you, and you were finally his. And his you were.

‘I'd asked myself so many times why you kept painting me, and what would you think about when you did that… Am I on the right track?’

You were a broken record of enticing approvals, your mind and body in ecstatic agony. This was not the same man from Pogo's Comedy Club, or the same man on the police car for that matter. This man was phlegmatic, charismatic and gallant enough to be a dirty flirt, and so goddamn dashing in his suit and makeup. Everything about him was such a contradiction it was driving you rabid.

Getting plowed you screamed and panted heavily, your core soaking him whole. His strokes were taking you to the edge, had they been delicate so far, now they were progressively vicious as he heard you whimper. Your mind was a sweet void, a deep abyss of shivers and tingles shrouding you in free fall, your dry lips pleading him to keep going.

As he bit his lips, his facial features turned aggressive, his eyes dark with lust. You moaned as he laid you down and fucked you hard and deep, hitting your sweet spot rhythmically, your cries fuel to his ego. The sneaky bastard was grinning at the sight of his kitten crumbling under his pleasure, so damn proud of himself.

‘You've been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?’

Your five senses were invaded by his forehead sweaty onto yours, his eyes a hypnotizing flood of green murky waters, the smell of ammonia and cigarettes filling your nostrils, his husky voice whispering softly as his cock rummaged your sweet spot.

‘You want to be my precious little slut doll, don't you? Come for me.’

Oh god… a new set of pleasure waves rushed through your flesh progressively. Something about the way he cursed sent you into a spiral, how it tipped you over into another outpour of muscle spasms. Under tight grips, he fucked you the way you needed to be fucked, fast and hard, without a pinch of mercy, his cock growing stronger under your spastic contractions, Arthur must have left the building completely. You slowly shed every ounce of ecstasy as he trailed his eyes down your body, his breath ragged, his voice purring little silent curses.

You're here, really here, you're mine, all mine, his voice whispered right before his sea green eyes disappeared in the back of his head and you felt a strong throb rushing through you as he spilled himself into you, shuddering, panting, gasping for air. His moans in pleasure were an aphrodisiac you’d never believed you'd get a taste of. But here it was, and all you wanted was to savor it at your discretion again and again.

As he descended from his high, his body felt heavy and his heart galloped against your chest, yet his lips still lingered on your skin, peppering it with red traces of himself. Joker had ousted the whole world from your senses, leaving only himself under your skin, his embrace the safest shelter for both.

‘If you only knew…’ he whispered as he lay his face to rest in the nuzzle of your neck ‘… just how many times I’ve played this in my head, kitten… If there's one good thing out of my condition, it's that my imagination can be blissfully vivid.’ His fingers deciphered your face gently, grabbling the warmth of the skin. ‘But every time I’d wake hopeful, you weren't there. And that's when it was most cruel and bitter…’The faltering of his voice played the piano tiles of an innocent, tormented concerto that filled the room despite the windy night.

‘But I am here now, Arthur'

‘You are… yes, you are…’

The sweetness of his soft lips deliciously covering your face until reaching your mouth, he'd been right when predicting your fall for him, and what a rhapsodic fall he'd triggered. The silence of his tight embrace said more than you'd ever dared hope for, but a playful hum lingered in his throat as the words murmured indelibly.

Someday when I’m awfully low, when the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight

His husky voice gave you shivery prickles, and a chuckle escaped you remembering the direction of Sinatra's lyrics, what a master of anticipation Arthur had become.

*Knock knock*

Arthur's voice froze in an instant, your heart almost bursting into his palm, he placed a finger over your lips to shush you.

A voice with a British accent apologized for the intrusion and set your mind at ease, but had clearly set Arthur on edge. By his puzzled reaction, he had meant his promise of a vacation and an interruption couldn't be a good omen.

‘Ahhhh shit, Gary! He wouldn't bother unless it was important. Stay here, kitten, I'll be right back. COMING!'

Untangling himself from you proved difficult for both as he kissed your lips one last time while tucking himself back into his pants. You'd covered half your face with the first pillow to stifle your giggles as he stumbled putting his shoes on, seemingly willing to greet Gary with his lower face smudged in a most decadent mixture of you both.

‘Arthur… that suit won't cover the lower half of your face, you know?’

An eyebrow twitch stopped him in his haste to ponder at your hint, the realization of it spreading a most endearing smile of the night onto his face. Your heart coiled at his complicit chuckle of needing to put Joker back on as he'd forgotten him for a second.

Two minutes later he bowed gracefully, his makeup shamefully half applied over the initial mess.

‘Gary's my best man, he's seen worse of me. But what’s a valiant knight to do if not protect his sweet damsel's virtue?’

A wink and a quick peck on the lips, so comfortingly as if you'd known each other for ages, and off he went.

As he will, undoubtedly…

[tranquil-space-ninja]

The Story (Sanders' Sides Human AU)

Ft. Platonic Moxiety, trans Roman, Imaginality (Remus x Patton), and Emciet (Janus x Emile)

Tw: suicide, homophobia, implied abuse, transphobia, f*g said, tra**y said, bullying, anorexia

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

Patton stared at his phone. He had a shift at the office in a few minutes, but he couldn't..... He didn't quite know what he couldn't do today, but he couldn't do it. He called in sick. Emile was very understanding. "Take as long as you need, Pat," he said. "Your mental health comes first."

"Thanks, Dr. Picani." He hung up and continued to stare at the message on his phone.

Unknown Number

Got ur number from Jan. How u doing?

It was him. After all these years, it was really him. And, paired with the fact that it was only a week till his brother's birthday.... The last two years of high school came rushing back.

Patton's phone chimed.

Ro's birthday is coming up.

Like Patton didn't compulsively write down the date in his calender every year. June 4. They would have been twenty-six.

I'm moving to ur area 4 work. I finally caught up 2 u.

Patton stared at his phone without really seeing the messages. Tears started to bluer his vision. He wiped them away, only for them to return with a vengeance. Finally, Patton just let himself sob, hoping to get everything out by the time Virgil got home.

***

Virgil waved to his friends as he walked to his front door. His dad's car was in the driveway, which was a surprise. Normally, he wouldn't be back until dinner. He slowly opened the door. "Dad," he asked. Patton gave Virgil a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hey, kiddo! How was school?"

"Okay. How are you doing? Are you sick?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Just taking a mental health day. Sit down! I made popcorn. We can watch Black Cauldron."

Virgil sighed and sat down, leaning on Patton. Patton put part of his blanket around the teen and pulled him closer. He loved his son more than anything. He would not let Virgil go through the same things he did.

***

Just as Virgil was about to go to sleep, someone knocked on his door. "Come in," he called. Patton opened the door and gave him another fake smile. He sat down on the chair beside Virgil's desk.

"Can I tell you a story," Patton asked.

"I'm a little old for bedtime stories."

"Please? It's kinda boring, but.... I'll be quick. Please?" Virgil stared at his dad. He hated the desperate look in hs eyes. It was getting closer to June, which meant he'd grow quiet and a bit withdrawn. Maybe this was to preemptively make up for it?

"Sure." Virgil laid down and looked up at Patton.

"Thanks, Virge," he said with a slightly more real, relieved smile. "Let me tell you a story about six boys growing up in Florida."

***

Logan Crofters, Roman and Remus Ryan, Janus Pine, Emile Picani, and Patton Hart. They had been best friends since kindergarten. They were all inseparable. Things got worse in middle school when Roman came out as trans. His parents refused to let him transition or cut his hair, and the other kids were less than supportive. Remus let him wear his clothes, though, and his friends all defended him when they could. And they all survived until high school.

Fast foreward to sophmore year. Logan was on the fast track to becoming valedictorian. The other kids, in addition to whispering, "Fag," and, "Tranny," at them all in the halls, taunted Logan for his intelligence. Remus and Janus got into fights often to protect the others. Patton and Emile tried to keep the group's moral up. Logan and Roman always took it all harder than the others, but they had one teacher, Mr. Sanders, who let them eat lunch in his classroom and used Roman's proper pronouns. He even congratulated Patton and Remus when they started dating. He'd always pair up Janus and Emile for group projects, just to watch them flirt.

Patton, Roman, and Remus's parents passed around a petition to get him fired the next year. It was successful. That was the year everything fell apart.

Roman and Logan couldn't handle the pressure that came with the grades and the bullying. They always said they were fine, but....

One day, Logan quit his job at the library. Said it just wasn't worth it anymore. Roman stopped eating and always brushed his friends off when they begged him to try.

They died the same night. June 4, Roman's birthday. Roman overdosed on antidepressants. Janus, Remus, Emile, and Patton read his note over and over again.

Dear Friends,

I want to start by saying this isn't your fault. Remus, you were the most amazing, supportive brother anyone could ask for. Patton, Janus, Emile, Logan, you are all wonderful and perfect, and you all deserve the world. But.... I can't do this anymore. I can't live in this body one more day or hear someone call me Rachel one more time. I just can't do it. I love you all so much. Please don't dwell on this for too long. I want you all to be happy, okay?

Mom, Dad, I'm sorry I couldn't be everything you wanted me to be. I wish I could have been as good a son as Remus was. I wish you could have loved me as much as he did.

And, Mr. Sanders, if you ever see this.... Thank you. For everything.

Adeiu, best of friends and best of men,

Roman

Logan hung himself. He didn't leave a note. His parents at least gave him a funeral. Roman's parents didn't care enough to even do that.

Luckily, Remus, Janus, Emile, and Patton had saved enough from their various jobs to have him cremated. Emile's parents insisted on helping out, which helped a lot.

The group burried Roman's urn just outside the cemetery where Logan rested. Luckily, his grave was at the edge of the gate so Roman's could be near his. Remus painted a large rock to use as a marker. They all stood by the small grave, Janus holding Emile and Patton and Remus squeezing each other's hands, until the sun rose.

Patton stayed with Remus after Janus and Emile left.

"I can't stay here anymore," Remus had whispered. "I can't stay with the people who killed my brother."

"I know," Patton whispered. "I hate our parents." He brushed back his bangs to show Remus a black eye and a bruised cheek. "If we save enough, we'll run away together," he promised. "We'll get Janus and Emile, and we'll all go to Massachusetts, and we'll get married." Remus nodded.

"I like that." He gently pulled Patton close, and they shared a long, sweet kiss.

Things didn't work out. Senior year was worse. Janus, Emile, Patton, and Remus were the gays who were friends with the two who killed themselves, and that's all anyone ever treated them as. Janus's parents took him and moved to Delaware. He and Emile stayed in touch for a few months before the lost contact. Janus and Patton still talked occasionally, though, even after high school. Emile, Patton, and Remus stuck together, but things would never be the same.

When senior year ended, Patton and Emile prepared to move to Massachusetts, but Remus wouldn't go.

"Please," Patton begged. "We found a cute apartment in Salem. We can start over. We can get jobs while Emile is at school. We can build our own lives. Please come with us." Remus shook his head.

"I can't," he said. "It's only been a year since they died. I just can't leave them yet." Patton hugged him tightly.

"Keep in touch," he asked. Remus nodded and pressed a kiss to his lips.

Over the next few years, Patton kept in touch with Remus. Every year, he said he would finally move in with him, and every year, he had an excuse not to. Eventually, they stopped talking as much, and when Patton changed his number, he forgot to tell Remus.

***

"He and Emile stayed together, though," Patton finished. "Patton became Emile's receptionist when he started practicing independently."

"What about Janus and Remus," Virgil asked.

"Janus is still in Delaware, and I guess Remus is with him." Virgil nodded. He wasn't an idiot. He knew Patton had just told him his life story. He just wasn't going to press any further than that. Maybe someday, Patton would tell him more, but it was almost the day his friends killed themselves. Patton needed time.

***

The next day, Patton went back to work. Larry and Dot were happy to see him. When their appointment was almost over, another patient entered the waiting room and walked up to Patton's desk. "Hey," he said, head tilted down. His voice was low and familiar.

"Hi! Do you have an appointment?"

"N-no. I just moved here and was hoping I could set one up."

"Okay.... Dr. Picani is with a patient right now, but-- Remus?" Remus was staring at Patton, a sad frown accepting his dull eyes. "L-like I was saying, Emile--"

"Why didn't you answer my texts?" Patton began to fiddle with a pen. "You could have just said you didn't want to see me. I get it. I probably remind you of Ro and Logan, and that's fine. I failed you and I put off moving even though I said I would, and I understand that you're mad, and it's okay. But--"

"I wanted to see you." Remus stared at Patton, who stared right back.

"What?"

"I wanted to see you, but I couldn't say it. It's just so close to Roman's birthday, and I didn't know what to do or what to tell my son--"

"You have a son?" Patton nodded, tears in his eyes.

"I adopted him five years ago. His name is Virgil. He's funny, he's dark, and strange and sarcastic, and I love him more than anything."

"Boyfriend or husband?"

"Single dad and rockin' it." Remus laughed despite the tears that were escaping his eyes. Patton laughed with him, also crying. "I'm sorry. For everything," he sobbed. Remus took his hand.

"Me too." And that's how Larry and Dot found them five minutes later.

Holding hands and crying, together again.

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

[bakugou-ou]

Ik I'm anon and all, but I don't wanna get off it because the embarrassment would probably make it worse. I'm just tired of life… mines is pretty useless if you ask me, and according to everyone else who if ever met, I'm ugly too, I wouldn't kill myself because I'm too much of a coward to do that, but I don't know what I wanna do with my life and I can never be happy without someone ruining it That's why you and other creators' story helps me, it makes me think about my dram life I'll never get

Listen, friendo, whoever you are, you’re not ugly, and not useless. You don’t need to come off anon if you don’t want to, I get it. This is gonna get v personal here in a sec, so I’m putting the rest of this down under a cut in case no one gives a shit about my personal life and doesn’t wanna see my tragic anime backstory, but I’m sharing it with you because you said that you like my writing. This is the story of how I ended up running this blog, it’s got lots of talk about suicide, mentions of rape. It’s not pretty, so read at your own risk. Also, it’s long.

When I was four years old, I tried to jump off the balcony of my apartment, I wanted to die. It wasn’t a kid doing a stupid thing, I literally thought if I fall from this height and hit my head on the ground, I will die and then went for it. I fell onto a 7ft tall cinder block mailbox on the way down, four feet below my balcony, crawled off of it, and walked back upstairs to my parents like nothing had happened. 

What was wrong that someone barely past toddlerhood wanted to kill themselves over? I don’t know, maybe it was just that my parents were fighting all the time and hated each other, maybe it was because I have the genes for it. More on that last bit later.

When I was six, I tried to throw myself in front of a car, thinking that if a small child like myself got hit by a car going 25+ mph, I’d die. The driver hit the brakes, I played it off like I’d tripped into the road, no one knew how I really felt. When I’d told my parents I wanted to die, they thought I was being dramatic, they didn’t think a kid my age even knew what that meant, the finality of it. But I knew, and I craved it.

When I was eight, I tried to hang myself in my older sister’s bedroom with her sheets. She found me, took me down before I blacked out, and we never spoke about it again after that night. I was pissed with my sister for saving me, I cried and punched her as she held onto me.

When I was twelve, I tried to eat a bottle of Xanax, thinking it would kill me. It didn’t, it just made me really, really fucking sick. Not sick enough to go to the hospital, but very sick. I had no lasting organ damage, but I still wanted to die.

When I was fourteen, my boyfriend dumped me over the phone on a day he was supposed to come to my house, and ignored me while I cried. He had me on speaker phone, actually, and his friends were laughing about it and I could hear them. I could hear him laughing along with them. So, I decided to eat a bottle of asprin for dinner a couple of weeks later. I was stupid, it didn’t work, and I was hospitalized in the mental ward for 2 weeks.

When I was seventeen, I had just left an abusive relationship, graduated high school, and my mom told me that my ex raping me repeatedly for 9 months was my fault and that I was asking for it by continuing to date him the whole time. I was too scared to leave, I had been told by a counselor at school that no one would believe me. I tried to eat all of my antidepressants. I was hospitalized for 3 weeks in the mental ward.

When I was eighteen, I tried to do that same thing again, in conjunction to another thing my mom said about my abuser. My cousin had been raped while studying abroad, and she was talking about poor cousin, your poor cousin, it’s so traumatic, but when I mentioned that I’d been abused for three quarters of a year and no one batted an eye, she told me I was being selfish, and that my time for being the victim was over. How dare I detract from my cousin. So, again, I tried to eat a bottle of pills. I was hospitalized for one week in the psych ward.

Earlier this year, at the age of twenty, I was hospitalized because I felt like I was going to slit my wrists if I stayed home. So I checked myself into the hospital. I was there for a week while my doctor tried to find better meds for me because clearly mine weren’t working. My mom had told me that she was ashamed of my sexuality and my gender identity, and the rape issue came up again, with her saying I wanted it, that I let it happen.

I have bipolar II, borderline personality disorder, OCD, PTSD, generalized anxiety disorder, and selective eating disorder. A lot is messed up with me. I get the anxiety from my mother, and the bipolar II from my father. The PTSD was a gift from my ex boyfriend, and the rest I just ended up with.

When I was a little kid, I loved books; my father read all sorts of books to me, all the time. Artemis Fowl was the first series we read, then Harry Potter, then my mother read me the Chronicles of Narnia, then my father read me A Series of Unfortunate Events. We also read other books, things that weren’t series. I loved reading, and I wanted to write things that made people feel the way I felt about the stuff I read. 

Both of my parents are naturally talented writers. At the age of six, I began to write fan fiction for Harry Potter. I was way too young to be on the internet, but I was online writing fanfics on snitchseeker. Some of the only validation I found in my life was from random strangers on the internet, encouraging me to continue writing and complimenting my plot lines, even if my grammar and spelling were atrocious; on the internet, no one knows you’re a little kid writing Drarry fanfic.

I was a really athletic kid, so I didn’t spend all my time writing, but a good chunk of my free time was spent writing if I wasn’t surfing, playing soccer, or skateboarding. I didn’t have a lot of friends, I wasn’t likable, apparently, and I had a really hard time in school. I got into a lot of fights because people picked on me, but I was always the one who got in trouble for defending myself. It pissed me off. I developed issues with authority. I wrote in composition books to escape all the crap around me.

By the time I turned 11, writing was my life. I had just moved to California from Hawaii, my life was basically turned upside down, and I was miserable. So, I made a myspace account, wrote fanfic on there, and threw myself headlong into it. I have a fanfiction.net account I’ve long since forgotten my username and password for, but it’s out there with dramione fanfic, sasusaku, things that I liked at the time. I need to escape everything happening around me. My dad, my best friend, wasn’t anywhere near me, my mom was a bitch, and my demented grandmother moved in with us. It was miserable.

By the time I was 15, the only hobby I had outside of practicing for orchestra, was writing. I laid in bed on days off and just sat on my laptop, writing. I stopped publishing things after I got a mean comment once, my first one ever. It bruised the ego I didn’t even have so badly that I refused to publish anything for three years.

When I was 18, I published my first fanfic in 4 years. It was a Criminal Minds fanfic, featuring an OC and Spencer Reid. I was so fucking proud of it, and while lots of people loved it, a lot of people said mean shit. So, I posted Loki fanfic, which got infinitely more love, and then I did an alternate version of my Criminal Minds fic, that one got even more hate than the original. Then I published a Wallander fanfic. I haven’t touched them in 3 years, despite people asking me for more.

Up until this time last month, I never showed my writing to anyone. I kept everything to myself, hidden, I was ashamed of it. It is my only coping mechanism, but I couldn’t share it with anyone. My parents had my computer passwords up until I was about 16, sometimes they’d look through my text files and come to me later and tell me how amazing my writing was, and encourage me to publish it. But I never believed them.

On a whim, I started this blog; I love Boku no Hero Academia, it has given me something to look forward to every week. I live Chapter to Chapter, episode to episode, I track my time with it, it’s a coping mechanism. I saw that there was a decently active fandom on here, and I wanted to be a part of it. I hesitated on making the blog for a few weeks, thinking that no one would want to read my writing.

A month later, there are nearly 600 people here, constantly asking me to write scenarios and headcanons for them, telling me they love my writing, and think I’m a nice person, and that they’re glad I’m here. Every time I get a message like that, I cry. I never thought anyone would ever care about my writing, let alone write it. When I got a single follower that wasn’t a friend I know in real life, I cried. I was so excited. When I got my first request, I was so, so excited. When people began sending more stuff in, when people started talking to me and wanting to be friends, I cried. I’ve made a dozen friends on here as a direct result of their writing, and my writing.

I love running this blog, and I love writing for everyone. I have felt useless and like a waste of space my entire life, I’ve been told that my entire life, I’m made to feel like that every day of my life even now by the people around me, save for my friends, but when I log on here, I’m reminded that hey, maybe I’m not useless. If I manage to make even one person happy with what I do, that’s all I want.

So, you saying that my writing helps you, helps me. All I’ve ever wanted in life is to make other people happy, to please them, and my writing is apparently doing that. I’m really, really lucky to be in this position.

Even if you don’t have something like this, you’re not useless. You should be here. I know you said you’d never kill yourself because you’re too cowardly, but I’ve never seen suicide as cowardly, but that’s probably because I’ve tried to do it so many times. I’ve made a total of 8 attempts in 21 years. I don’t think I’ll be trying it again, though. It’s taken me 21 years to find something that I’m kind of maybe a little good at, that makes me even a tiny bit happy, and that does some good for other people, too.

Shit sucks, life is really awful, and I completely understand the plethora of reasons any given person would feel like wanting to die. I’ve never thought it unreasonable or dramatic to feel that way, it’s just how some people feel. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life until 3 years ago, and even now I’m unsure if it’s really what I want to do with my life. I’ve got a lot going on behind the scenes that makes me feel like shite, and a lot of the time, the people around me try to ruin what little I have that I enjoy and that makes me happy…

Even with all that happening, somehow, I’m still here, and I’m writing this. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I get your feelings, I hear you, they’re valid, and I love you, stranger. Because I feel the same way as you all the time. This blog is my escape from that. It’s really the only thing I have keeping me from my intrusive thoughts.

If you never come off anon, that’s fine, but if you need to talk about things, I’m here for you, or anyone else who needs it. Really, if I can even try to help, I’ll do my damnedest to help. I hate seeing other people feeling as junk as I do on a daily basis, I want to try and make it better. If being a friend, even if I don’t know who you are, helps, I want to help. If writing things helps, I want to do it. But, for me, it’s not just helping other people, it’s helping myself. You coming into the box helped me. So, you’re not useless. You’re keeping me here, too.