#‘’I’m a sick fucking freak’’ <- has intrusive thoughts and doesn’t know it yet. is having a constant meltdown

[solargeist]

y’know i didn’t figure out what Stimming was until I was like, 19 years old 😭? Anytime I had the urge I’d always suppress it and i think that’s why i was so crazy as a teenager

[dynyamight]

Hello! Could you do this one :

192 - You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe.

Thanks ☺☺

192. You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe.

“My, you’ve grown so tall and handsome, Katsuki! I can barely recognize you!”

Bakugou shrugs stiffly, hands deeply shoved in his pockets. “..Evenin’, Auntie.”

“Hurry, hurry!” Inko quickly beckons him inside the apartment, with frantic hand motions. “The cold air will get you sick the longer you stand out there.”

After a few tentative steps inside, and offering a mumbled pardon of intrusion, Bakugou makes a look around the small home.

God, everything looked eerily the damn same.

The miniature sofa, the kotatsu, the TV airing the local news, the rickety old dining table, in the same faded wood color just like before. The kitchen, probably looks the same, too.

Nothing new.

And, oddly enough, Bakugou was glad. Familiarity was very much needed, right now.

“Let me take your coat, dear.” Inko shushes quietly, right beside him. When Bakugou twists his head down, he looks to see her offering a soft smile.

Something in his chest clenches. “Nah, s’fine.” He coughs, struggling to meet her gaze. “..We’ll be leaving soon, anyway.”

“You know, that’s what you always told me, back when you two were kids.” Inko voices gently, “Waiting at the front door. Ready to head out, as soon as Izuku stepped out.”

“It warms my heart to see you two together.” She says, gazing at him, with that same comforting expression she used to give him long ago.

The inside of his palms are damp, sweating nervously. All he can offer is a quick nod of acknowledgment, without losing his cool in front of her.

Sure, they weren’t close before, but Inko only remembers him as that child. The one that was her son’s best friend. The one that knocked at her front door, jumping in his sneakers excitedly. The little boy who guided her son out of her home, and brought him back, safe and sound.

And, the same guy who was once the source of all of her beloved son’s distress, turmoil, and torment.

He hopes Midoriya has told her redeeming things about him, now that she knows that part. Because, there’s no way in hell he can sell himself any better.

A door to the right of the hallway opens in that instant.

With his back turned away from them, Midoriya steps out in an obnoxious All Might pajama set, barefooted.

He’s holding up two sweaters, dangling from each hand. “Mom!” He calls out towards the dining room, “Which one looks better? Yellow or red?”

“I can’t tell, Izuku.” Inko states easily, “Turn around.”

Doing a double take, Midoriya pivots in his stance, almost tripping over the long pants. “Oh, when did you get behind-?”

Midoriya’s face drops, before the shirts hit the floor.

Bakugou snorts, while Inko intently gazes at the fallen clothing. “I would think the burgundy one would look wonderful, sweetie.” She advises, regardless.

Quickly, Midoriya gathers and shoves his sweaters in his arms, and hurries back into his room, slamming the door shut. The click of a lock echoes, alongside a bunch of stressed, inaudible words.

“..You sure you don’t want me to take your coat?” Inko asks him. This time, there’s a knowing, small teasing expression on her face. “Izuku might take a while longer.”

Bakugou doesn’t wait for long, seated under the warming kotatsu. His drums his fingers on his thighs, here and there. And, the heat does get a little stuffy, while wearing black jeans and a turtleneck.

But, otherwise, it’s not intolerable. Inko had offered him plenty, during his wait; a hot mug of ginger and cinnamon tea, a small plate of cookie biscuits, and her silent, yet welcoming company. She even insisted on covering his shoulders with a large blanket, engulfing him completely.

“Anything for you.” Inko reassures him, despite having not voiced anything. “You have done so much to keep Izuku happy. It’s the least I can do.”

The overbearing politeness runs in the family, like a disease.

He feels he should thank her, or better yet, try to have a conversation with her. But, each time he builds up the internal guts to say something, the words get caught in his throat.

He wants to make sure he says the right thing to Midoriya’s mother. Unfortunately, he desperately wants her approval.

So, when Midoriya finally walks around the corner, in a nice pair of jeans and that same burgundy sweater from before, Bakugou’s relieved to say the least.

He feels saved.

“Now, the night is only getting colder, by the minute.” Inko hurriedly tells them, as the three of them walk to the front door, “This winter season has been terribly freezing! My heart can’t handle either of you catching the flu, let alone both of you! So, try to make it home not only safe, but healthy. Oh, and if you are unable to catch the last train, please let me know! I will gladly-”

“It’s okay.” Midoriya reassures her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll be okay.”

“I know, I know. Just please-”

“Call you when we’re on our way home.” Midoriya answers easily. “Yeah, I will.”

“..You promise?”

“I promise, Mom.”

They share a sweet, long embrace, which Bakugou can’t help, but look away.

Something about their close bond, and unashamed love for each other feels intrusive for him to be a part of.

Something that he doesn’t deserve to be a part of. At least, not yet.

Instead, he solely focuses on readjusting his winter coat over his shoulders.

On their languid walk towards the metro station, a few blocks away from the apartment complex, Midoriya slips his hand in his.

“You told me 20:00, Kacchan.” He whines, however.

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “It was.” He corrects in a huff, “Until you fucking said I could drop by an hour early.”

“Wha—? When did I say that?”

“During our damn lunch break, yesterday.” Bakugou incredulously stares at him. “The hell? You were the one who came up to me and literally said it yourself. How your conference for today with the academy got cancelled. ”

For a moment too long, Midoriya stays silent, visibly mulling over the words in his head. Each quiet second makes Bakugou more internally baffled, downright shocked.

If it weren’t for Midoriya’s warm hand loosely holding onto him, he’d crackle a couple explosions, in spite.

“Oh. I did.” Midoriya breathes out laughing, bringing his other hand to his face. “I completely forgot.”

“Shitty Deku.” Bakugou grunts. “Starting the night off wrong, already?”

“Hey! Don’t go making me feel bad, Kacchan!” With pleading eyes, Midoriya looks up at him. “I didn’t mean to forget. School’s been hectic recently, and you know that.”

Those huge, bright green eyes. His kryptonite.

Bakugou clicks his tongue. “..Whatever. S’not like the wait was awful.”

“Oh god, I hope my mom wasn’t too much with you.” Midoriya messes with Bakugou’s fingers in between his, tightening and letting go of them.

“Not at all.” Bakugou lies.

Smiling, Midoriya lets out a big sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. If you two didn’t get along tonight, I might have had an aneurysm.”

“If you had to choose—” Bakugou starts.

Midoriya narrows his eyes. “Stop it.”

Bakugou scoffs, slipping out an air of mirth into it. “Obviously your mom.”

“Obviously, it would be too hard of a decision to make.” Midoriya corrects. “Hopefully that time never, ever, ever comes.”

Despite trying not to smile, Bakugou feels the traces of a smirk on the corners of his lips. “If that day ever happens, always pick Auntie.” He states easily, “Her heartbreak would be so fucking intense. Put all natural disasters to damn shame.”

With a small, slipped out laugh, Midoriya bumps their shoulders together, softened by their winter coats. “You are weirdly making sense, Kacchan.”

“Of course I’m making fucking sense. She cries over the thought of someone taking you away. Villain, or not.”

“Every mother is like that!”

“Hell, I’m damn surprised Auntie didn’t flip her shit from seeing me.” Bakugou honestly confesses finally, more to himself than to Midoriya. “Dating her one and only son, and she didn’t even freak out about it.”

And, just like that, Bakugou knows something is wrong, from the moment Midoriya stays quiet.

They continue to walk, despite the sudden tense mood between them. But, that doesn’t mean Bakugou doesn’t want to demand Midoriya to speak up, the longer he keeps his mouth shut.

But also, he doesn’t want to ruin their night, and so, he waits begrudgingly.

Right as the two are on the outskirts of the metro tunnel, Midoriya twiddles Bakugou’s fingers nervously.

“..I haven’t told her about us yet,” He admits, face morphed in guilt. “But, I mean, she could very easily guess our intentions tonight. So, maybe— I don’t know —she might know.”

Bakugou hums, allowing himself a few seconds to process that. He then breathes a long air through his nose. “..I figured.” He simply says.

“It’s not like I want to hide us.” Midoriya voices aloud, furrowing his brows. “It’s just with graduation coming up, and the academy still looking for an agency to accept me as anything, and then my father suddenly wanting to come back into our lives, she’s just been a little stressed with everything going on, including myself. And, I don’t want to potentially ruin us and-”

With a tight grip, Bakugou halts them to a sudden stop.

When Midoriya worriedly gazes at him, he offers him back a nod. “Yeah, I get it.” Bakugou firmly states.

“Kacchan, I-”

“You’re fine. Don’t worry about it.”

And, he really means it.

While people bypass them, heading through the automatic doors of the metro station, they both remain standing, staring back at each other.

The first to break is Midoriya, releasing a big, tired sigh. “You’re right.” He frowns, looking away. “I’m totally ruining this date night. I’m sorry.”

Pulling his hand out of the hold, Bakugou instead brings his arms over Midoriya’s shoulders. He hugs them close. “No, you’re not.”

“I am.” Midoriya responds backs, muffled.

“We’ve been on more shit dates, Deku.” Bakugou tells him in his ear. “And, this ain’t one. It barely even began.”

“A whole year, and I—I haven’t even told her.” Midoriya shakingly admits. “I’m such a coward.”

Bakugou huffs. “You’re not. The talk ain’t easy. Hell, telling my hag and old man about us was like pulling teeth out of my damn mouth.”

“..At least you told them.”

“Listen, you went through a lot of shit, two years ago.” Bakugou reminds Midoriya, bluntly. “The running away. The dropping out. The undercover work. The public hate. Getting together after all fucking that, probably wasn’t even the best move.”

“I still remember it all.” Midoriya mumbles.

Bakugou tightens his hug. “And, since then, life’s been a total bitch to you. I fucking wish you didn’t get half the crap you have to deal with, because it runs you into a damn mess.”

“But, I—”

“So, just focus on the important shit, right now.” Bakugou breathes out, pressing his head against Midoriya’s. “Us? We can wait. No, I can wait. I’ll be right beside you, until then, and even after that.”

Lifting his arms up and around Bakugou’s back, Midoriya holds onto him, just as tight as him. “..You promise?”

Bakugou exhales a short sigh. “I promise, Izuku. We’ll be okay.”

Letting go, Midoriya gently pushes away from Bakugou’s grip, causing them to finally part, for who knows how long.

Before the secondhand embarrassment of people witnessing them sinks into his pride, Bakugou’s redirected to the watery eyes of Midoriya, as he quickly blinks them dry.

“God, when did you get so—?” Midoriya wildly moves his hands around, gesturing over at Bakugou.

On the other hand, Bakugou scrunches his nose. “The hell does that mean?”

“So supportive?” Immediately, Midoriya shakes his head. “No, you’ve been supportive, that’s not the right word. So kind? Uh, that doesn’t sound right..”

“You mean romantic.” Bakugou puts it bluntly.

A rush of red floods Midoriya’s face, matching his sweater and shoes. “Don’t say it so loud, Kacchan!”

“I wouldn’t have to, if you weren’t asking dumb ass questions!” Bakugou yells back, crossing his arms definitively. “We’re together, Deku! Of course I’m gonna tell you fucking sappy shit.”

“Shh! You are making us be a public scene!”

“Too late! We were a public scene the fucking moment we stopped in front of the damn metro like stupid lovers at the altar!”

It starts slow, with nothing, but Midoriya blinking up at him.

But then, a slipped sputter starts and a bubbling laughter erupts from Midoriya. He grabs onto Bakugou’s arm, helping him from not bending over in giggles.

“W-We really did!” Midoriya barely says, wheezing, “Lovers at an altar. A-And, you literally gave me vows!”

It takes Bakugou forcibly grabbing his idiotic, cackling boyfriend to finally move aside, and walk through the station’s entrance. He refuses to focus too much on the fire heating his face.

He’s never making outlandish, romantic gestures in public, ever again.

They missed their train, obvious from the lengthy moment they had outside. But, neither of them were upset about the ordeal. Instead, they gradly bought tickets for the next train to Tokyo, with only a thirty minute wait.

As Bakugou starts to shift comfortably in his bench seat, right beside him, Midoriya rests his head on top of his shoulder. “Thankfully, we still won’t miss the movie premiere.”

“Because your weird ass is making us leave hours before midnight.”

“For situations like these!”

Bakugou scoffs a short laugh. “I guess it’s reasonable.”

Grabbing his hand into a loose grip, Midoriya twiddles with Bakugou’s fingers once more. “Thank you. For tonight.” Midoriya whispers.

“You needed time to chill the fuck out. With the shit you’ve been facing, let tonight be the night you forget about it.” Bakugou grumbles, “Besides, I haven’t been able to steal you away, for my damn self.” He tacks on.

Midoriya smiles back at him, head comfortably slumped on his shoulder. “You make me feel alive, again. And, for the first time ever, since the start of this year,” He sighs, longingly up at Bakugou, “I feel like I can breathe.”

Bakugou brings him closer, chin tucked in his curls. “Good. I need you to breathe, at least once and a fucking while.”

Midoriya snorts. “Just at least once?”

“And, a fucking while.” Bakugou reiterates, “I’m not a monster.”

“No, you’re not.” Midoriya chuckles, bringing his legs over Bakugou’s lap. “You’re my monstrous boyfriend.”

“That’s fucking right.”

For a while, they stay just like that; close, intimate, and stuck together, without a care of the outside world. Maybe it’s from the intense conversation from earlier, but Bakugou doesn’t feel deterred to back away. Instead, he feels comfortable in holding Midoriya, and not letting go.

“You know,” Midoriya starts, “My mom wouldn’t freak out.”

Bakugou raises a brow. “..Hm?”

“About us. She wouldn’t freak or flip out like that.”

“C’mon, Deku.” Bakugou scoffs, shaking his head. “You don’t gotta lie to me, now.”

“I’m serious.” Midoriya reaffirms strongly, emphasizing his words with a tightened grasp around his hand. “She wouldn’t.”

“I’m not the type of guy you bring to your damn family. Seeing me as anyone’s partner is like fucking failing at life.”

Midoriya brings a tentative hand, cupping the side of Bakugou’s face. His fingertips are rough, yet linger there softly. “Just promise her you’ll make me happy and keep me safe.” Midoriya states easily, smiling brightly. “And, she’ll welcome you with open arms, all over again.”

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

water rippling

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long, please let me know what you think! 

Summary: could you do a young losers x reader where the reader can’t swim but richie convinced her to come w them to the quarry bc he’ll teach her. but while he is pennywise comes underwater and tries to drown her so they have to save her

warnings: this whole chapter is basically about drowning and the fear of it so please don’t read it if that triggers you. 

‘I’m not getting in.’

‘If you don’t get in than I can’t teach you anything either. Fuck, just get in already.’

‘I told you I didn’t want to go swimming Richie, this is all your stupid idea so at the very least be fucking patient with me’, you bite as you dip in foot into the water, then lift it up higher again so the water can’t reach you. The scowl on your face deepens.

You never understood why people swim as a hobby. You’d get why everyone has to learn how to swim - even if you didn’t and never learned-, but actually enjoying swimming? No, those people must be out of their minds.

Richie laughs, mocking you, but all in good fun. ‘Start with one step. Just until the water reaches your ancles. You can’t drown from that Y/N.’

‘I could trip and drown.’

‘Literally how? I’m right here, the losers are further up keeping an eye on us, and all you would have to do is stand up. It’s not deep here.’

You sigh, but know that ultimately, Richie has a point.

Most people don’t automatically back away from water as soon as they catch a glimpse of it, but people hadn’t had a trauma related to it either.

Swimming always reminds you of the day you nearly drowned. It was on vacation, in the same resort your parents took you every year, and then left you in the Mini club while they went off and had a relaxing day. The animators who were supposed to be watching you, spoke a language you, at that time, hadn’t been able to disaffirm, and that’s where an almost deadly mistake was made.

The leaders lured you away from the club house, and you, like every other little kid present, followed them along unfearingly. They were older, and you trusted that they would keep you safe. Until one of them picked you up near a pool, and threw you in without any warning.

At the time, you hadn’t been able to swim by yourself without help, and so the second your feet left solid ground, you panicked. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you tried to wave your arms for help, none of the animators were glancing your way.

You can’t figure out how you somehow managed to reach the edge of the pool, but you did, only to get thrown right back in after by the animator, who thought you were having the time of your live.

Of course, you didn’t blame them. It’s not like you could tell them you couldn’t swim, so they had no way of knowing that, but it still scared the life out of you. For the rest of the trip, and after, you refused to go anywhere near the water. Not even your parents trying to persuade you with promises of ice cream and candy if you were brave, made you take another change in the thing that nearly killed you.

You never tried to swim again, and that meant you had no knowledge of how to do it. It was embarrassing, to decline going to swim during P.E and being forced to explain why. Your peers often ridiculed you for it, and it made you feel like a losers for being such a coward.

 But, cowardness is easy, especially when compared to facing your fears, and you never tried to learn how to swim, even after all the mockery. Only your new best friends hang out in the quarry all the time now, and you’re sick of being the one who has to watch from the shore as the others have fun.

Nothing bad has occurred to them in the water, -you’ve seen them go in about six times in three weeks now, and no one has come close to trouble - and Eddie, who is the most cautious person you’ve ever met, told you that statistically, there’s very little chance of you drowning. At your wits end, the only person you can think of asking for help, is Richie.

Richie might be an add choice, but he’s the only one who wouldn’t turn the lessons entirely boring and practical, like the others might. Richie jokes around a lot, brings humor into any situation, and you need that. You can’t get in your hard about the rippling water, or you’ll back out again.

‘Fine, I’ll go in, I’ll even sit down, but if I freak out and want to get out you’ll let me okay?’

‘Yeah I’m not gonna force you to stay. I’m not Eddie’s mom.’

Maybe you’ll be embarrassed by the motion later, but in the moment, you reach for Richie’s wrist, just to have some sort of support. Richie doesn’t mention it, just careful takes the same steps you do and lets you pick the pace at which you’re going.

It goes slow, but not at any point does Richie try to speed the process along. He does drop down in the water, on his ass, choosing a spot that just covers both of your torsos but is close to the shore.

You copy his every move, breathe deeply when you feel the water ripple around you and adjust to the new intrusion, until your closely packed to Richie’s side, in the water.

It takes a second to set in, that you’re sitting in the water and nothing is happening, but then you let out a breath of disbelief.

‘See, told you you could fucking do it. Repeat after me, you’re a woman who don’t need no man.’

‘You’ve been watching to many soap operas rich’, you tell him when you feel like you’re not on the verge of panicking anymore.

Inside the water, something pokes your leg, but you try to ignore it. You focus on breathing through the initial panic, remembering that nothing bad had happened to the losers despite being in the lake for a long time, and that pretty much ensures nothing would happen to you either.

‘Oh gross’, you utter as your try to force the slimy thing away from your feet. ‘You didn’t tell me there would be fish in here.’

Richie snorts, rolling his eyes as he grabs a handful of water and aims it at your face. He misses -Richie’s aim is always horrible whether you’re playing dodgeball or he’s trying to pass something on-, but he doesn’t care.

‘This is your fear Y/N/N, don’t try to scare me now. Besides, I’m not afraid of fish, Eddie’s mom vagina’s smells like a few died down there.’

You can’t focus on how disgustingly distasteful that joke is, because all you concentrate on is the slimy sensation, slowly sliding up your leg higher and higher.

‘Richie’, you beg, your voice reduced to that of a scared toddler. ‘Then what the fuck is touching me right now?’

A louder, slightly strained chuckle is produced by Richie, like he too is getting worried but is trying hard to convince himself everything is alright.

‘Stop fucking with me Y/N.’

Richie pushes the boundaries a lot, keeps going until somebody gets really annoyed and about ready to shut him up for a longer time, but the sincerity in his vox is so present that you’re instantly convinced he’s not messing around now.

‘I’m not fucking with you’, you raise your voice to a shrilled scream, so loud that the other losers, engaged in a game of chicken in the middle of quarry, also become aware of the situation. ‘Something is down there.’

It’s too late for them to help. The slimy blob, muddled by the water but visually a hand, tightens around your ancle, and snatches, hard.

Richie’s scrawny arms can’t resist against the strong haul, but he tries to hold on for as long as possible. His nails dig into your flesh, and the more you get pulled inside the water, the more marks his nails dig as you slide forward.

You shriek, arms flailing around now that the water is still too shallow for you to not be able to touch the bottom.

Plunges of water drip onto your face, both from your doing and Richie’s, and the others are advancing rapidly to come too your aid. Unfortunately nothing else can be done. Richie has no other options but to let you go, and the hand drags you to the middle of the lake.

Once you’re far enough away that you can’t touch the bottom with your feet anymore, the hand lets go, and you’re left to flounder on your own. Your legs slap around, trying with all your might to stay afloat and give the losers an opportunity to save you. A haunting chuckle breezes over the shell of your ear, and then the hand returns, satisfied with watching you struggle and panic for a while, but now ready to increase the terror.

You get one more chance to scream and suck in a handful of fresh air, and then your sinking down, under the surface.

The water douses your ears, muffles your ability to hear and see, and suffocates you with her insistence. You open your mouth, but it can’t produce a scream anymore, and you realize that you are completely as utterly doomed.

The hand has yet to free you, and it continues to pull you down. With each second that ticks by the fire in your chest spreads, and is unable to be ignored. After barely a few seconds, your movements turn sluggish, and you stop fighting against the hand. It’s at that time that it finally loosens his hold, but the fire has dilated up so much you can’t focus on anything other than the pain. Without ever learning how to swim, you wouldn’t be able to make it to shore anyway.

You read somewhere once that as soon as you swallow in water and it fills your lungs, you’ll die, and the pain will stop.

Your life plan hadn’t included dying this young in your life, but if you must go, you’d rather have it be quick. Losing the strength to hold out any longer, you open your mouth, and feel two separate pair of hands unclasps around your arms. The anxiety inside of you spikes, but you lack the energy to struggle against the grip, so you allow yourself to be guided. It’s not until your head breaks up from the water, and o2 greets you in plenty, that you see that the hands have brought you back up, instead of down.

You gasp, coughing up water, feeling as any minute you could pass out on the spot.

‘Jesus Y/N, stop struggling. We’re going to get you out.’

The two pairs of hands that saved you from drowning turn out to be Mike and Bill, and the float with you to the side of quarry where Eddie is gearing up to perform cpr if needed. If you had some breath back in your body, you would laugh at the sight.

Bev and Richie help drag you onto the dry rocks, away from the water, but still too close for your liking.

‘Get away’, you retches, crawling back in your arms. Eddie, who has been checking you over, tuts, but you don’t let it stop you.

‘It grabbed me. It fucking grabbed me. Get away from the water.’ You think you begin to cry, out of relief and alarm, but you can’t disentangle the water with your fluid.

‘There was nothing out there Y/N’, Ben tries to sooth, approaching you like a frightened animal. Eddie is less cautious, and stamps towards your with a frown on his face. He turns you on your side, his instruction not too brazen but still firm.

‘There was though guys. I swear on Eddie’s mom that something pulled her away.’

‘I saw it too,’ Eddie conforms, not looking away from your body, checking for any permanent damage.

‘Guys,’ Bev interject with a head shake. Her eyes gesture to you, shivering with wet clothes and crying hysterically. ‘Not now.’

‘Yeah. We’ll t-t-talk about it l-l-later.’

It’s Bev that gently ushers Eddie’s prodding hands away, as she opens her arms and awaits to see you reaction. You, once you pick up on what’s happening, accept gratefully, your tears subsiding only slightly once your wrapped up. The others join the cuddle pile soon enough, until there’s a shield of people protecting you and obstructing your view of the water.

‘Promise me we won’t ever go in there again. Not any of you. Please,’ you beg, afraid not solely for your life but for theirs as well.

‘Okay, okay Y/N. We promise.’

[roguish-gallery]

Did you ever make that joker tier list, I always like seeing what people think of all the different ones. Though if they put Romero last I can no longer respect them.

LMAO I DID! I think I’ve made it kind of obvious in this blog but I... don’t... particularly... care... for... the joker.... unless he’s, y’know, fun to watch. Cause he’s a clown, and clowns are supposed to be entertaining. But since you politely brought it up, and and because I have a deep respect for mutual Romero-lovers, I guess this would be a good time to explain my rankings and just discuss my general thoughts on each clown:

General Thoughts:

For the most part, I don’t really care for the Joker. This is hardly an uncommon opinion here on tumblr, but I definitely fall on the side of the fandom that feels that he gets too much attention from DC. I get WHY they use him so often for films and comics, and I don’t have anything against *most* folks who consider them their favorite Batman villain, but at this point he’s used more for shock value and as a crutch instead of anything interesting. Like, instead of giving attention to the other Rogues, writers (at least for the comics) will try and make up some bullshit story that they can shoehorn the Joker into, ‘cause it sells. It’s tiring, and I feel like the character has lost his meaning; I can only read so many stories about the Joker, I don’t fucking know, wearing a suit made from dead babies and Jason Todd’s flayed corpse before I get sick of it.

I’m at the point where I’ll like any Joker who’s just fun to watch. I genuinely respect those who prefer darker interpretations of the character, but that isn’t me; I vastly prefer the lighthearted takes on him, because... at this point... writers who use the “cleaner” version of him tend to be more creative, since they actually have to write a Joker story that doesn’t rely on gore/torture porn.

TIER ONE:

Joker Baby: Self explanatory. Joker Baby is thematic, thoughtful, and intense. Everytime I watch this video, I shiver with fear and pleasure; something primal in me awakens whenever Joker Baby runs his fingers through his spray-on dyed hair, and ends up smearing green paint on his forehead- it represents the inner turmoil, the chaos, that resides within the disturbed body that is Joker Baby. Nothing can ever hope to top the artistic and cultural impact Joker Baby has had on society.

TIER TWO:

Batman Ninja: I genuinely believe that Batman Ninja is one of the most fun, organic, and creative things to come out from the Batman side of DC comics in like... hmmm... a decade, maybe (I could talk for hours about how much I love this movie but that’s something for a future post). This Joker is easily, and unironically my favorite interpretation of the character, period. I love his energy, his design, everything. This is the most fun I’ve ever had watching a Joker on-screen, and for that I’ve gotta give the film credit where it is due.

Batman ‘66: I looooove Caesar Romero. Batman ‘66 in general is one of my favorite pieces of Batman media, and I absolutely adore this Joker. The show is pure, genuine fun, and it’s nice to turn my brain off and watch a show where the entire cast was allowed to goof around. This Joker is just a cute, goofy little clown-man who likes to commit crimes, go surfing, turn Gotham’s water reserve into gelatin, and have wild orgies with Penguin, Catwoman, and the Riddler. I massively appreciate the hustle. I love his little mustache and his facial expressions. I’d give him a chaste little kiss on the cheek if I could.

The Batman: EXTREMELY CONTROVERSIAL TAKE BUT. I think TB!Joker is better than what people will give him credit for. I can only imagine how stressful it must have been to be the first Batman cartoon to follow BTAS and the writers for this show knew they were gonna be fucked no matter what they did with the Joker, so they just decided to try something completely different with him. Personally, I appreciate the new direction- he has a fun, unhinged energy. I’ve placed him higher than BTAS/BTNA!Joker simply because The Batman was the show that got me into the Rogues in the first place, and I’m just a bit closer to this Joker because of it. Also his vampire form was cool as FUCK in Batman Vs. Dracula and the scene where he gets drenched in blood at a blood bank is fucking awesome.

Batman the Animated Series/The New Adventures: Everyone loves BTAS’s Joker, and I’m no exception. Mark Hamill is fucking great, and the writers clearly knew the character well enough to create a version of him that can be fun and threatening. As an aside, I unironically like his redesign in BTNA- I remember Hamill mentioning somewhere that he thought it was neat that this Joker looked more like a shark (I’ll see if I can find a source on that... I think he said it in an interview with Kevin Smith?) and I kinda agree with him. the redesigns in the final season are hit or miss, but I didn’t get why so many people bitched about the Joker’s new look.

Batman Unlimited: Hear me out... Hear me out... Clown... funny... and cute... He wears a little crown and gives Solomon Grundy a little smooch on the cheek and it is as delightful as it sounds. Yes the Batman Unlimited films literally only exist to sell toys but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy them on some ironic level.

TIER THREE:

Lego Batman: He’s a gay icon. He has the range. Enough said.

White Knight: This is just a genuinely good, original take on the character, and the art in White Knight is absolutely gorgeous. 

Arkham: My friends and I joke that this Joker is basically a more unhinged version of BTAS! Joker and... yeah. I’m glad Hamill and Paul Dini got to fuck around with the character more, but I never really dwelled on the Joker parts of the games like I might have for other characters. I definitely liked him the most in Arkham Asylum, as he was more fun to watch. Arkham City was fiiiiine, but I think I replayed the game so much that I kinda got fatigued with everything about it. Genuinely hated his part in Origins, and I was pissed that he stole the attention from Black Mask and Bane (who’s the best fucking part of Origins IMO). I’ll admit that I... Haven’t... played... Knight yet (I have it on PC but my laptop is too wimpy to run it) but like... He’s dead at that point, so I’d assume he isn’t the main point of that game anyway. I love Mark Hamill and the fact I can personally beat the shit out of this Joker, so he’s ranked up pretty high for those reasons.

TIER FOUR:

Batman ‘89: TBH this Joker should be a rank higher, but I’m too lazy to hop onto PicsArt to change it. NIcholson was an excellent choice, and I apprecaite how this Joker makes use of the playful and unhinged aspects of the character. Also, his outfits are cute, and I love the museum scene.

Brave and the Bold: Technically this Joker SHOULD be ranked higher since he’s literally based on the more lighthearted comics in the 60′s but... ehhh... I haven’t really watched BATB so I don’t have any strong opinions on the show and how it handles the character. he’s ranked this high through beause I appreciate what they were going for.

Golden Age: The quality of comics are always subjective, based on the creative team behind them. Some I’ll like more, others less so, It’s kind of hard to rank the pre-52 comic version of the Joker because of this.

TIER FIVE:

Killing Joke: Read it, didn’t care for it. I acknowledge how massive the impact this comic had on... everything, but just because I recognize how important this graphic novel is, doesn’t mean I have to like it.

The Dark Knight: Ledger did an excellent job with the role, but uhh... I’m kind of sick of the alt-right chuds who are out there sucking this Joker’s dick. The fanbase definitely ruined the character for me.

TIER SIX:

99′: Eh

Endgame: No

Suicide Squad: NO

Death of the Family: Hate him. Despise him. Lame stupid dumb little edgy bitch.

Gotham (Jeremiah): I don’t particulary care for Gotham in general, but the only reason I ranked this Joker over Jerome is beause I thought it was kinda funny to see that they made him a little rat-man, and I liked watching all the fujoshi on here cry and complain that they can’t ship this version of the joker with the pre-pubescent Bruce Wayne in the show bc he’s too ugly.

Gotham (Jerome): stop shippping this freak (who is fucking eighteen years old) with a literal twelve year old child. what the FUCK is wrong with yall.

UNRANKED:

The Joker (2019): I don’t plan on watching this film, nor will I ever. I know this is ironic, coming from someone who runs a Rogue blog, but stuff that focuses primarily on a character’s deteriorating mental health makes me reaaaaallllllyyyyy anxious (it’s kind of a phobia) and considering that I don’t particularly the Joker, I have no reason to watch something I know will only give my dumb ADHD-ass intrusive throughts.

[ricky4479]

Whiskey Business and an acurate portrayal of depression

So, I’m back with a bit of a controversial topic, modern Simpsons. Now, let’s make something clear here, I agree with all the people saying modern Simpsons is not as good as old Simpsons, especially the humor, which always made the Simpsons so special. Yet I have to admit that in my opinion modern Simpsons has some hidden gems, mainly in the way they portray certain topics. The episode I want to talk about here is season 24, episode 19 „Whisky Business“ and it’s portrayal of depression.

Why do I want to talk about this episode specifically? Why not season 29, episode 3 „Whistler’s father“ and it’s portrayal of child stars or season 19, episode 4 „I don’t wanna know why the caged bird sings“ and the portrayal of obsessive behavior after trauma? Well, „Whisky Business“ has always been close to my heart simply for the fact that I could identify myself in a lot of the things happening to Moe in not just this episode, but also a lot of the other episodes regarding Moe like season 14, episode 22 „Moe baby blues“ or season 3, episode 9 „Flaming Moes“.

Let’s start then. Disclaimer and trigger warning I guess, since I will interpret a lot into simple one liners or off side comments that the writers most probably meant nothing with but making a joke of the entire situation. I will also talk about abuse, depression, suicidal tendencies and a lot more in that direction, so if anything like that triggers you, you should stop reading or proceed with caution. It’s gonna get personal guys.

 So, I’m obviously only gonna talk about Moes storyline in this one and his first appearance already hit me close. Moe tries to talk to his friends, telling them he needs to talk about something important, but Homer, Lenny and Carl don’t even acknowledge his exsistence in any way, even when Moe literally calls out for help, saying things like „I’m begging you, please, please show me some love“, yelling it into the bar without any sort of response. This shows perfectly what it feels like for me when I’m asking for help. There are moments where I know I will do something to myself or have a panic attack or simply break down and I don’t want that to happen, so I reach out, may it be in subtle ways or full on approaching the situation as it is. I once had a really fucking terrible day, in fact a completely shit week and everything I wanted was for someone to show me some love, just to feel like my world isn’t breaking apart and like I’m okay, like things are going to turn out okay, so I asked my father if I could have a hug, nothing unusual to ask your dad I think. He just laughed at me and refused, jokingly asking why I’d need that and then going on about his day as normal. I felt completely invisible. I felt like I wasn’t even deserving of his attention and like he didn’t take me serious nor even listen to me at all. It really felt like yelling at someone that you need help and they don’t even realize you’re there. Like you don’t exist.

After Moe ties the noose around his neck, he sees the suicide hotline number on the wall and decides to call, giving „the new kid a chance to talk to the legend“. It’s like he’s glorifying his depression, like his reputation at that hotline is the only real thing he has ever achieved in his life and this feeling is even further enhanced when you see the pillow and blanket on the couch, almost seeming like Moe has been sleeping at his bar again, not even having an apartment. This feeling of worthlessness, having achieved nothing in your life is I think something we all have felt to a certain degree at some point.

But something that almost brought me to tears, as stupid as it sounds, was when Moe was going to go through with it, but then his phone rings and Moes face instantly lights up as he quickly picks up, answering after hesitating with a quiet and hopeful „Hello?“.

Now it’s going to get really personal because I’m going to tell you guys about something very few people know about me. I tried to kill myself on a class trip in eight grade. I’m not gonna get too into the details, but I was very agitated and stressed and I went to the only person who I trusted and asked if we could talk, but they just shoved me away, which was the last straw and pushed me over the edge. I passed out in the bathroom after a particularly bad panic attack, woke up around 45 minutes later, went into our room and was fully ready to take an entire bottle of painkillers I had packed because I’m stupid and break shit easily. In the end I snapped out of it, but I was fully ready to die in that moment. I had tried to cling to the last thing I thought could be help and it turned out to be shit. It was, similiar to Moe, the thing that inevertibly led to me almost dying and watching how Moes face lid up when he thought there was someone who cared brought me right back to when I tried to talk to that person. It was a moment I believe so many people who have gone through similiar things can relate to.

Turns out it’s just a prank call from Bart and Moe in his rage ends up falling off the chair and actually almost suffocating to death, but a bar broke and he crashed to the ground which alerted his friends, who then come running in and Homer applied CPR, saving Moes life. Moe seems happy afterwards, saying how thankful he is for another chance at life, although his „post suicide happiness“ doesn’t last very long and he goes right back to realizing how shitty the world is and how little he matters. Again something I saw myself in. On that trip after I almost od, my teacher with some classmates put on a little play and it was the funniest shit that entire trip. I was happy, I laughed, I forgot all about what had happened until afterwards. The person I trusted realized what happened, they berated me for it, took away any access to meds I had and left me alone. It wasn’t long after that I called my parents, who basically told me how they hated me for trying to be who I am and I was stuck in a house with people who hated me with a burning passion, so life wasn’t good. I felt like shit again and if I had had the oppertunity, I’d have tried again. It was again so good portrayed that it took me back and made me feel with Moe.

Marge barges in, asking Homer where the fuck he has been, Homer telling her Moe had an accident and Moe very casually says how he tried „to end it all“ but shortly after starts to cry after turning away from everyone. This very much shows how many of us, at least many of fhe people with depression I know, behave. We see it as almost normal, something that, although it impacts our lifes in the worst way possible, is just another part of us, almost like a character trait. But it’s not that, it’s hate and painful memories, feelings that shouldn’t exist, hopelessness, sadness, emptyness, it’s so much no person should feel, yet we tend to act very casually about it in public. Yet once we’re alone, it crashes, so much at once that most of the time I come home from school, the moment I close my rooms door, I start crying. It’s nothing to take casually.

Marge then decides to take Moe on a roadtrip and Moe starts joking, asking if Noosy can come too. Again, something I see in a lot of us. We joke about our depression, our lifes, things we simply shouldn’t joke about because they’re not funny, but it’s a way for many of us to deal with those intrusive thoughts, those feeling of worthlessness.

On the trip Moe is not enjoying himself because all he sees „are 2 million people happier than me“. Sometimes, even the things you love the most will seem extremely dull and pointless to you, because no matter what you do, there will always be countless people who are happier than you and suddenly you feel like you don’t deserve happiness or anything for that matter. Just like Moe feels like he doesn’t deserve the suit his friends want to buy for him, but after some encouraging Moe accepts it.

Moes new suit can be read as you changing to a „new you“, a you that is more acceptable in the eyes of society. You’re sick of society hating you, so you try to appeal to it and it works, suddenly people are nice to you, opportunities show themselves that you just have to take and for a while life seems perfect. Yes, this may not be the real you, but who cares, everything is what you always wanted and as long as you keep up the facade, it will stay this way. But facades break, or in Moes case, suits can rip. Now what is there isn’t the one everyone loved, but the one everyone hated or thought was a freak.

Moe desperately asks Marge for help and she tells him to just be himself, so he actually takes the advice, but everything just breaks apart. Moes partnership he had built with two businessmen over his self-brewed whiskey gets completely ruined since everyone seems to hate or be disgusted by suitless-Moe. It shows amazingly how it feels to have so called „friends“ turn their backs on you once you start to act more like yourself and even though you try your best to show them it’s still you, they leave.

The episode ends on a bittersweet ending with Moe returning to his normal life, only this time a bit more hopeful. He knows it’s not going to last forever, but for now life is okay, he can deal with it.

And that’s just a powerful message. No matter what happens, you will be able to take it and in the end you will emerge alive, fine. You’re going to be okay and even if everything crumbles, it’s okay, because you can rebuild it. Baby steps.

Of course the episode is trying to be comedic with all this, like a string of Moes suit getting stuck in the elevator door going down 98 floors, but to me it still presented depression in a very understandable way and managed to visually show what it sometimes feels like to have depression and to try and deal with it. In my opinion this was one of the better modern Simpsons episodes and I will always hold it dear to my heart just because of how accurately it portrays parts of depression once you scraped through the surface of bad jokes and lame punchlines.

I hope you enjoyed reading this, I hope it was understandable and please don’t cancel me just because I said I enjoyed some modern Simpsons episodes. As always, English isn’t my first language, it’s late at night, I’m dead on the inside, so please excuse any mistakes.

Stay squeaky.

[nyelung]

How to write asexual characters

Ok, first of, this will include at least some personal experience because I am an ace and I live with a fellow ace in a non-sexual partnership.

Some general words: Being ace does not define us and neither should it define the character you are writing. It's just a part of our life and, unless I come into contact with annoying people it defines my life about as much as the choice of my clothes or the cut of my hair. Meaning: I barely think about it most of the time unless being ace or something sexual is the topic of the current talk or thing I read or the media I consume.

Asexualtiy includes a whole big spectrum so there's lots of free space to form your character. I guess most prevalent is the picture of the sex repulsed, "irgh, make it go away" kind of ace. There's a lot of others, too. Some are sex repulsed and the bare thought of sex makes them ill. Some are sex repulsed but have no trouble thinking about others having sex or consuming porn. Some just don't want to have sex with other people but do have a libido and therefore tend to masturbate. Some are ace but have sex with other people because they got an allosexual (that means a person who is "default" sexwise) partner or are curious or want the connection but do not much care about sex otherwise. Some only have sex with people they are also romantically interested in (careful, though, sometimes these people label themselves as ace, sometimes they label themselves as demi, sometimes as something different. it's a personal preference and should be respected).

What I mean to say by this is: you can go very, very wild. I'd say the most common denominator for ace people is that we don't experience the same sexual attraction that allo people experience. For me it's the "looking at someone and wanting sex with them" for example. I still think it's something of a myth but apparently it actually happens. Others do get some sexual attraction but rarely if ever only sexual attraction like "I'd bang him/her/them but that's everything about him/her/them that I'm interested in".

Other example: Most sex scenes in movies turn me off really, really bad so that I often skip the scene or drop the movie altogether.

So, how to depict an ace person in literature?

Just as you would when writing a PoC character or a trans character or a gay character: let us have more of a personality than that one trait of being PoC/trans/gay/ace. Let your ace character have hobbies, likes and dislikes, a job, children, pets, a certain flair of clothes or home decoration, favourite games and movies and books. Let your ace character have allergies, talents, interests and so on.

Yes, being ace and wanting a child is not mutually exclusive.

Yes, an ace can be mentally ill and there might be a causal relation for your ace but it doesn't have to be. An ace does not need to be traumatized or "broken" to be ace. We just are.

- Short addendum to that: There are aces who have had bad experiences with sex mostly because they thought they had to like it. So, especially as an allo writer you might want to keep this in mind but not necessarily write it out because a) it's rarely important to the story and b) it's very easy to slip into the broken and traumatized stereotype. -

Yes, an ace can be nonbinary as well as be an ace. An ace can also happily identify as every other gender. Though I'd guess it's easier for StraightTM people to read if you don't make it too complicated.

Apart from that, your ace character will have lived through ace experiences and they are a part of what makes your ace character ace. They just shouldn't be their only defining characteristic. There is, however, NOT a universal ace experience since we come from different cultures, backgrounds, are different persons and live on a wide spectrum. Just like there is not a universal PoC experience etc.

I think a common experience and so far have not met an ace person who didn't have this experience is the "oh"-moment. That moment when funnily enough it all falls into place and you go "oh." and then go "I think I'm ace". (Though there are also questioning people and that's fine and sometimes the "oh" is more of an "huh, I guess?")

That oh-Moment can happen in a multitude of ways but usually the internet or friends helped along. You read something about what being ace feels like and realize that that's your experience. Or you talk to a friend who is ace and explains it and you go silent and are "oh."

Some aces figure it out very early, some very late. Some figure it out on their own and lack the language to give words to their experience, others come into contact with the community early.

Another experience that is quite common as an ace and a sad one is the feeling of being broken or wrong or faulty. The society most of us or maybe even all of us live in is very focussed on finding a partner and then procreating with said partner and so on. Not every ace grew up in the nuclear family model but as far as I know it's usually expected for people to find a partner and settle down and have kids. Many aces know that those expectations are placed on them and feel broken or wrong or faulty because they can't fill those expectations in the way they are "supposed" to be filled.

A lot of aces also live in a closet in the way other queer people often do. Aces who come out of the closet often face similar or sometimes verbatim the same alienation other queer people do. There's people telling us we're sick. There's people who say we just haven't met the right one yet. There's people who are really intrusive and ask about "but have you tried this and that yet" or "but have you gone to the doctor yet?" There's the relatives that go all "but don't you want to have children? but if you adopt they won't be your own". There's a general not-understanding from allos and so on.

But there's also people who are genuinely interested and then you suddenly want to explain how life feels for you but how do you find the words for something that is so different? When I talk to allos, I often realize that I look at the world in a completely different way. I'm not even sure how to properly put it into words. One part of it is probably the looking at people and ... not experiencing any urge to fuck any of them? Let's just say that the game of "fuck, marry, kill" usually ended with three kills on my part. Like, imagine the most sexy person you can come up with? I don't know. Imagine them naked in your bed or wherever. Imagine them also being a great person overall. I'd ask them to put on clothes. I'm more interested in a bag of chips or a really great pizza or cuddling with the kitties than in having sex with that person.

Aces in an ace community are just like gays in a gay community and so on. We share similar experiences and can relate to each other in a way. We are also not all friends and have differing opinions.

Not every ace person is a saint (and being ace and having no sex is different than being abstinent for example because one is just personal preference while the other is a not doing of something one would like to do). We are also not sinners or freaks. We are just people and people come in every way.

Being ace doesn't necessarily mean being a) a virgin b) innocent or c) childish. So if you write an adult ace character, please write them as mature as you would write an adult allo character. Me being childish, for example, has nothing to do with my sexuality and much more to do with a fuck you to a society that thinks I should not enjoy certain things because I'm an adult and then indulging myself with writing fairytales and watching cartoons.

Ace people don't speak different from allo people. About the only different thing in our speech is an abundance of jokes about being ace, for example "I'm too ace for this shit" wrt bullshit romance-sex plots, "I ACED that test" and so on. I know a lot of people who love really, really stupid puns on being ace but that might just be my friend bubble and less a general thing. (So that one guide about how ace people do not use "sexual" swear words? er.... everyone says fuck. really. and some aces, like me, can get really creative in swearing and sexual stuff happens to come with that, too.)

Though aces often feel broken or faulty, as an author you should not, really should not, depict us that way. So, before there's misunderstandings. In writing you got the character voice and the author voice. So even though the character may think of themselves as broken, you as the author should use a different phrasing and words and so on, to show that it's only the character's point of view and not your own. Yes, I know, that requires a reader to have critical thinking and the current purity cultists do seem to have trouble actually thinking properly but that's not all people.

Asexuality is not something that needs to be cured. We aren't sick. If a person is happy with being an ace, then, really, you shouldn't force them to be sexually active. Same goes for your character. There are aces who want to have sex and get medical help to experience some libido and that's okay but it should come from the person/character and not from their surroundings. As an author, think about the message you're sending when you establish a character as ace and then "cure" them of their aceness and also let them have a "happy ending" with their one true love and live sexually happily fulfilled. It happens for people but for a lot of us this hypothetical plotline goes straight back into the thing of "you just haven't met the right one yet". So maybe, if you write an ace and I'd love to see more aces in literature, do it differently. Let the ace realize that their current surroundings are not exactly ideal and have them either change the way their surroundings think or change surroundings altogether.  Have the other people change themselves. Just do not make the ace's character arc about becoming sexually available to the true love or similar shit. If you do, you better write it very, very well because otherwise it would just erase our identity in the same way psychological guidelines still classify being ace as a sickness and not a valid identity.

Aces are not immune to sirens. We like to joke about that but sirens sing about what you desire most and not about having sex with you, so if there's sirens offering me unlimited, high-speed internet, I'd jump ship so fast, Odysseuss wouldn't have time to facepalm.

From what I experienced, aces like to flock together. It's just very relaxing to not worry about "does [other person] interpret this thing as wanting to be sexual?". With ace friends it's very easy to slip into a "I do not and will never want to have sex with you but a bit of cuddling and a massage would be fun". Also, fellow aces get stupid ace puns faster. And with fellow aces it's easier to shit on unnecessary romance-subplots and wonder why the fuck everyone thinks about being fucked by this or that actor even though they are aesthetically pleasing.

Oh, maybe it's an ace thing, maybe it's just a socially awkward thing, maybe a combination, but during my time in school, there was a phase where all the girls would find one or the other young teacher attractive. I never got that. Neither did other aces I know.

I think, that's about all I can think of for now? Basically, if you write ace characters, write them just like other characters in a way that allows every character to have their own experiences and voice. And, you know, we got a community, so you can always ask us. There's blogs dedicated to being ace, to our experiences and voices and also to our jokes.

[revengeisalwaysanoption]

[Skam Italia] Internal Monologues

So yeah, I was just saying 3 days ago that I didn’t feel like translating Nico’s POV from Italian to English, but today I changed my mind. To @skamsnake​ who wrote the most beautiful collection of pieces from Niccolò’s POV ever, to @crucios​ who makes me love Nico even more every time I read her posts and to @minttobe-treehill​ <3 Credit to @silenzio-assenzio​ for the headcanon, I blame this fic on her ;D

17th Semptember 2018 - 07:59 a.m. This year will be a blast. Yeah, right. This year will be slightly better than the last. Now, that’s more likely. This year we have only to get to the state exams without taking one too many sick days, to keep a high average so that mom can get off my back. We are not here to make friends. Mingling is okay. Preventing classmates from talking behind our back is cool too. Can we get more than that? Should we? We’ll see.

The closer they get to me, the more likely it will be that they start asking about what happened at Virgilio... But I don’t wanna talk about it. I didn’t even want to get out of bed this morning, to be honest, but if I knew that if I missed the first day then my parents would start talking about sending me to a private school again.

Okay, Niccolò, let's survive this day. Don’t start worrying about the next.

8th October 2018 - 1:04 p.m. 

I’m so fucking bored. So, so bored. BOOOOOOORED. I can’t take this for 8 more months, I just can’t. The school itself is not that bad... I mean, I’m surrounded by tolerable people - apart from Covitti, who’s being a whiny bitch because he’s not the star student anymore? I don’t know what he’s got against me, really, and I don’t even care - and the teachers are decent enough, but... It’s like there’s no chance to get to know people better aside from those fleeting moments at recess. No opportunity to get rid of those fucking school-work interchange hours, either. No afterschool club in which, by sheer luck, I could run into that beautiful freckled boy. The one who is always surrounded by at least two other friends, who ain’t that bad themselves - especially the one with those baby blue eyes. 

Dream on, Niccolò. Dream on. He must have better stuff do with his time...

... than spend it with the kids from drama club. Which might be awesome, but not the right fit for me. I already play the part of a sane individual everyday, so thanks but no thanks.

"Hey... Hello! Have you ever thought of hosting your own show on the radio? "

No, you never thought about it. Who the fuck is listening that radio, anyway? Nobody. But you’ve got plenty of time to kill and you’re looking for ways to make your days a bit more varied, right? It’s still better than cleaning toilets at McDonalds, isn’t it? Or than listening to Maddi drone on about her day at Uni. To have her remind you that had you followed her advice, had you taken your meds and went to see your therapist when you were supposed to... Then you wouldn’t be stuck at high school for another year.

It’s not she does it on purpose. She doesn’t say it out loud, but you can read between the lines.

When are we gonna dump her, by the way? The 4th of never seems like the perfect day to do just that. Who is gonna listen to us when we are feeling sorry for ourselves, who’s gonna tuck us in when too exhausted to get up? Who has always been there for us, Niccolò? You know who.  Go and break her heart come on. I dare you to.

11th October 2018 - 5:43 p.m.

THERE HE IS HE. IS. HERE. OH FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK.  COME UP WITH A PLAN. DO IT FAST, NICO. YOU’RE GOOD AT THINKING ON YOUR FEET, AIN’T YOU? Okay. First of all: don’t freak out. Then: you shouldn’t look at him, he cannot not know how desperate you’ve been to see him again. Let’s pretend he doesn’t exist and that we can’t feel that he’s staring at us. He doesn’t know that I’m paranoid enough to always think that people have nothing better to do than stare at me.. That I never really got over that intrusive thought, but that I learnt not to let it get to me and tell myself either ‘well, if they’re watching let’s give them a good show’ or ‘let’s bore them to death so they will move on”. I think I’ll go with the second, today. Don’t meet his eyes. Don’t stumble on the chairs, on the desks, and please don’t choke on the cake.  Keep a modicum of dignity, please.

Greet the girls. Analyse with great interest the pattern of your plastic plate. Turn to the blackboard. Good, Nico. You’re doing great. Keep this  cool and mysterious attitude... Let him come to you.

OI. OI. OIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII. NO. STOP THERE YOU. NOPE, NOT TALKING TO MYSELF NOW BUT TO THAT NICE GUY WHO STILL HASN’T GOT A NAME. You don’t you expect me to follow you around, do you? Or to sit in a dark room, listening to you fucking around and telling your imaginary audience how to grow weed in their closet. That's exactly why I'll do it. To turn this into something special. Something memorable.

I’m not even sure what this is. I out of my depth when I realize how easy it is to be around this guy, how I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not and put a fake smile on my lips and fill the awkward silences with inane chatter. For once in my life I’m not striving to impress, so I send a little prayer to myself: please, Niccolò, do not fuck everything up as usual by reading too much into this. Let's try to get to know him better. Let’s see if he’s really into you - maybe he’s just curious about the new guy, maybe it’s the first time an older boy talks to him... who knows? - and if there’s something we can work on.

Work on... and then what? There’s still Maddalena. Haven’t forgot about her, have you? No, I haven’t. Now, let’s not get ahear of ourselves. Nobody is daydreaming about making out with this lovely boy - you still do not know what’s his name: how hard can it be to ask, Colino? - on the school terrace. In the bathrooms. On the table, in the radio booth. Nobody is doing that. Nope. No day dreaming going on. At all. Zero. Zilch. Me and him are more than happy to share nothing more than longing looks and a cigarette, today. To forget about the world, for a minute.

And then, of course, the spell is broken. I’m not one to dislike people on principle alone, usually... but she just rubs me the wrong way. Perhaps it’s how comfortable she is with my fellow deserter, how she addresses him as though they have been friends for years... Do you know each other? Are you together? It’s really none of my business. I can tolerate her just because she gives me the opportunity to introduce myself, even if he has yet to do it. But, hey, you could get a clue and fucking understand when people are subtly telling you to get lost, couldn’t you, Emma? You don’t. Well, what could I expect from someone named Covitti, really? 16th October 2018 - 11:55 a.m. Do you wanna smoke? Yeah, why not. Let’s choose a random rendez-vous point to meet our newest ‘friend’ - one of the few you kinda like, in this shitty school - like... the balcony that overlooks IVB. Maybe you’ll get to see Marti. Marti would be Martino Rametta, from what you read on attendance records at the radio club... But you’re free to call him however you like in your head, so yeah, he’s ‘Marti’. Be cool, Niccolò. Walk like you own the place, like you know that you’re the finest guy everyone has ever laid their eyes on. Believe it, and maybe Marti will believe it too when he sees you. He might not, but just in case he might... Well, well... Look who’s there. And guess who has just totally been uncool and hit their teeth with that fucking cigarette, too distracted by a stream of ‘Ain’t I the man of your dreams, Martino? Look at me, come on, look look look LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK!’ playing in their heads, to actually realize what they were doing? It could have been worse, I could have put it up my nose. And I made him smile! I’D CALL THAT A WIN, WOULDN’T YOU? I love to make him smile. Maybe I can ask to come over, someday - tomorrow? the day after tomorrow? it needs to be sooner rather than later, doesn’t it?  - and make him smile even more? Maddalena! Stop acting as if she’s not in the picture, Niccolò! Why don’t you worry about making her smile, instead? She’d lose that ‘woe is me’ attitude she got lately, which is understandable given what you put her through in the last 3 years...  and okay, why don’t you ask her out on Friday? You can go to the movies, have a double date with Matteo and Elisa - you don’t want to go out with her alone, and that should tell you something... shouldn’t it? Yeah... you know what it tells you? It’s: blah blah blah, fuck it all, as the Bard would say - and try to be the boyfriend she deserve, can’t you? Okay, now let's go back to Martino. Who’s been distracted by Sana, and that’s too bad. He’s gonna regret it as soon as he’ll turn to the window again and he won’t find anyone there anymore, for sure.

19th October 2018 -  2:22 p.m. Martino? What are you doing here? I am 100% sure I have never seen you take this bus to go home. And you aren’t following me. I would have noticed if you did. What is he watching on that smartphone? Has he got any texts from Covitti? How can that be more interesting than me?

Minding my own business is overrated, and I’m sick and tired of it. Since you weren’t raised in a barn, Niccolò, you know what you’ve got to do now. Greet him, trying not to get distracted by his eyes or his lips - a difficult but not impossible task - and lean over just enough to get a glimpse of his screen. Or be cheeky enough to blatantly look at it.  Sana. Who isn’t giving him the answer he hoped for, it seems. Maybe I can help?  And you’re giving me the perfect excuse to ask you to come over, aren’t you ,Marti? Of course I’m gonna advantage of it. When will I get another chance to find out what music you listen to, what books you read, to worship the sight of you chilling on my couch and think about how much I would like kneel at your feet and... No. Let's keep those fantasies for us, Nico. Don’t scare him off by going too fast. Let's enjoy this Friday afternoon together. Focus on your heart, so full and yet so light. Beating so heart that you it feels like it could burst out your chest any minute, now. I have never felt this way before, for anyone. Maddalena? Who’s that? 19th October 2018 - 7:30 p.m. Maddalena. Maddalena, yeah. I do remember her. Not that clearly, though. I want to tell Martino about her, but I don’t know how. It’s not like I can say 'Oh, I nearly forgot but there’s this girl I’ve been dating for the past three years. It’s nothing serious, really. Tell me you want me and I’ll dump her ass straight away, I swear.’ out of blue, when I am not even sure he does want me. I mean, I can tell that we’re flirting but am leading him on? Does he actually want this flirting to lead somewhere or we are just teasing each other for the sake of it? If I get up and kiss him, after I got rid of the taste of this shitty pasta  - which I’m still proud of having cooked, because Marti seemed really amazed by my creativity in the kitchen!  - by drinking some beer, can I be 100% sure that Martino won’t get up and leave?  No. So why talk to him about Maddalena? There is no point in doing that. I'll find the right moment to...

Oh. Great. Seems like Maddalena herself found the right moment to show up and be introduced to Marti. Of course. You do rememember you are the one who asked her out, don’t you? No, you don’t because you were too busy trying to get the brightest smiles out of Martino and to feel good about making him feel so relaxed and cheerful. And I know it's a dick move to make out with her like that, right in front of front of his eyes. Without even telling him that I had a girlfriend in the first place... but you know what? 

It’s good that he sees that I’m a shitty person, let’s not have him think otherwise. And let’s see what he’s gonna do next. If he’s gonna walk away for good, or if he’s still gonna be willing to give us a chance. Let’s wait and see. **************************** A/N:  I know it’s quite confusing but I noticed that I never address myself as “I” when I have monologues, I shift between “you” (singular) or “we”, and sometimes I throw in some thought using the “I” as well... So I wanted to Niccolò to do the same ;D They’re not linear and a they are a bit hard to follow, sometimes, I know... they are thoughts, internal monologues as the title says, not really a narration.

[beardyallen]

Here we go... (Part 2 of 3)

Alright, so let's talk about April.

[Warning: This is mostly just about my mental health. It’s not super interesting. You won’t learn anything about Beijing. Many of you will probably read this and imagine me sitting here whining. I prefer to call it venting. Feel free to skip this and go directly to Here we go... (Part 3 of 3). It’s where most of the fun stuff is. But...there’s a pretty dope comic about halfway down, so if you also suffer from depression, you should check it out. It’s a good comic. And it makes me smile when everything is gray.]

I generally only talk about my depression with a few people, but I think we could all benefit by having more open discussions about how it affects us. Too many people struggle with this illness, it's stigmatized, and future generations need to know that what they experience is more common than they think. Plus, I imagine that making this beast something that we can talk about will reduce its power and prevalence.

I'm not going to try to talk about the root cause of my issues as I'm not entirely sure where to even start, so I'll just share how it all manifests. And how that's changed over the years. If my mental illness is in fact something that I've been struggling with my entire life, I imagine that it manifested as anger when I was child, usually in response to anxiety around my social situation, exacerbated by end-of-the-semester stress. Why do I think this? Because it seems that I only really got in trouble for acting out in early December or late April/early May. And I was usually retaliating towards a feeling of isolation, invisibility, or worthlessness. It's a pretty strong pattern.

I'm not gonna share any sob stories about how I didn't fit in as a kid, or how moving into a tight-knit community in fifth grade led to a strong feeling of isolation that persisted through middle school and high school. I'm not going to talk about the bullying or harassment. These are things that happened, but they aren't the point. And I'm just as much, if not more, to blame for my circumstances as anyone else.

The anxiety is the point. The feeling that I've had at every stage of my life that I don't matter to the people around me if I'm not always around. That they don't think about me. That if I vanished from their life, they wouldn't notice. That I was replaceable. Or that I was a burden that they would rather shirk off. As far as I can tell, I've felt this way since kindergarten, and all of the anger I felt as a child was in response to stimuli that reinforced this notion.

And in April, the intrusive, invasive thoughts started up again. Yes, of course there were people who wanted to know what was going on with me. There were people who frequently checked in with me to see how I was doing in China. I had every reason to believe that I matter, that my presence was missed, and that I'm still important to people. And in spite of that, it's not how I felt. It even led me to start questioning whether or not my best friend cared about me, which is absurd because of course he does. Life happens. But the voice in my head is a prick.

On top of that, every source of stress in my life spiked. Complications with my teaching assignment manifested, including (but not limited to) issues with my paychecks. Financial reimbursements for my health insurance policy have not been disbursed despite repeated messages to those responsible. Since I'm currently not enrolled in any course credit, my student status was revoked and now those entities which own my student loan debt are looking for payments. My dissertation research stagnated as my collaborator has other super important grad school obligations to deal with, and my Masters Project has been put on hold again for reasons outside my control. It also seems to just get bigger every time I try to make progress. There's also a nagging voice in the back of my head constantly whining about how much more complex my project seems to be in comparison to other Masters projects I've seen from the department. But when the voice pops up, I do what I can to pummel it into submission. I can't live my life in comparison to others.

Beyond that, I randomly wound up with a case of insomnia. For three nights in a row, I laid in bed for hours staring at the inside of my eyelids, watching imaginary scenarios play out as my consciousness jumped from random topic to random topic. In spite of how exhausted I was, I just couldn't get my brain to turn off for more than 30 minutes at a time; during the one or two brief naps, I was privy to some of the most vivid dreams and nightmares that I've had, and my baseline dream/nightmare is already more vivid than most.

So work sucked, minor frustrations related to living in Beijing, no sleep, missing my friends, trying to not freak out about the fact that I'll be effectively homeless all summer (insomuch as I won't have an apartment that I'm officially renting or anything), worrying about the fact that I'm not making as much money as I projected, and just being sick and tired of being sick and tired. April was super fun, guys. Can't you tell?

Mental illness blows. Depression blows. Intrusive thoughts blow.

So I spent an absurd amount of time doing very little. Laying in bed. Reading comic books and rewatching Community. Not writing. Not researching. Being pathetic.

Wondering if I should reconsider my stance on medication. So let's talk about that.

From a philosophical standpoint, I don't much care for the idea of needing a medication to get myself on track. My mental illness is a part of who I am just as much as my intellect and sense of humor are a part of who I am. I'm no genius, but let's consider those individuals who have been described as such and think about just how many of them are suspected to have been depressed or grappling with some sort of mental illness. I'm not going down in history as anyone whose mind is something to admire, but I know that I'm smarter than your average bear. I'm a PhD student studing theoretical mathematics, probability and statistics. I'm simulataneously working on a dissertation related to subgraph density problems and a masters project centered around reconstructing familial networks in forensic databases. These topics are not related, nor has the coursework had very much overlap. Balancing two different graduate degrees is not common among people in my department, but I know that I can handle it.

So if I seek out medication as a means to balance my life, what sort of unforeseen impact will that have on my studies? It is not uncommon for the process of finding "the right medication" to take months, and as your life changes, so too does "the right medication." I have one year left in my program (maybe two if I'm unlucky, and that seems to be how my life goes), my diet is fucked, my sleep schedule has been jacked up for the last few months, and I haven't had regular physical activity excepting the 2 mile walks to and back from Wudaokou several times a week. My work life is tumultuous at the best of times, and all of this is changing in the not-so-distant future. I have been in academia my entire life, living on the same stress-rhythm for the past 24 years. What happens when I'm suddenly a research or data scientist?

Medication is off the table for the time being. I had bi-weekly counseling last semester which seemed to help with my stress levels, but at some point I would like some sort of diagnosis. But before I can seek therapy, I need to be back in the States, with some sort of stable life. That means August of September at the earliest. Probably September. In the meantime, I bounce between feeling like I've got everything figured out and feeling like I'm holding my sanity together with scotch tape. All the while, I question all of the things I thought I knew about how I wanted my life to look as I see more clearly every day just how messed up the world is. Ignorance definitely wasn't bliss, but knowing doesn't feel much better.

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

Damn. That was pretty bleak. But I needed to get it out of my head.

Enjoy this dope little comic that I think about every Sunday to help me get through the week.

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

Now back to it. I'm open to therapy, I know that it will help. It's part of my long-term plan for mental stability. And I'm open to talking about medication with my future therapist, once the "big issues" in my life that I can control are worked out.

In the meantime, I'm okay. Or at least that's what I'll say whenever someone asks.

Of course I'm not okay. For some reason that I haven't yet worked out, my brain focuses on the negatives waaaaay too much. I do my best to combat it, but generally I've just managed to make this work to my advantage throughout my life, planning for worst-case scenarios, being comfortable with failing when I try to solve a problem, being the skeptic in my research groups. It's made me a better mathematician. It's made me push myself further towards excellence. But it's also inherently held me back.

Before I really had a grasp on my mental illness, I would have periods of numbness. I would get absorbed by these intrusive thoughts and mistake them for my authentic voice. I would see everything around me as gray and conclude that my friendships weren't as wonderful and remarkable as they are, that my relationship is doomed to fail because I don't feel a spark or magnetism anymore, that I'm not actually supposed to be a graduate student and that I'm not good enough and that I've only made it this far as a fluke and eventually everyone will figure out that I'm a fraud. And I've made mistakes because of it. I've let friendships die, relationships fail, and...alright, so I've pretty much been kicking ass at the grad school thing, but I guess my response to feeling like a fraud is usually to push myself super hard until I start burning out. This actually happened last school year when I was preparing for my comprehensive exam, which led to my oral exam, which led right into the end of the semester, with several conferences that I was running and attending, and then a research workshop and then...my seizures came back. Maybe "seizure" isn't quite correct, but I'm not sure what else to call it when my body has a stress-induced reaction that feels like someone swinging an icepick in the back of my skull.

So I'm not okay. But for the time being, that's just going to have to be okay. [Queue i'm ok. by Judah and the Lion]

I could use a nap.

[artificialqueens]

Please Pick Up Now (Katlaska) - Aldonza

AN: Hey, I’m new here! This is inspired by the song Please Don’t Jump (It’s Christmas) by Dallon Weekes, because I’m always ready for Christmas angst, even in March. I hope ya’ll are too. It’s Katlaska, and they’re already pretty much in a relationship in this story, even though they haven’t explicitly called it that.

TW: talking about suicide and an almost attempt, so if you’re sensitive to mentions of that topic, this is not the story for you.

It’s another December, and Brian is fucking freezing. It’s Christmas Eve to be exact, and he’s alone in a hotel, standing on a balcony and watching the snow fall. As he watches, he looks up at the buildings towering around him, trying not to think about just how high off the ground they are.

Justin isn’t answering.

Brian has called three times in the last hour, and sure, that seems excessive. Justin could be sleeping, he could be watching Golden Girls, he could just not have his phone in his hand. But Brian knows him.

(They’re together a lot. Whenever they can be, and if they can’t be, they’re on the phone. Brian has become quite the expert on Alaska Thunderfuck, and he secretly prides himself on knowing how she works. Both are insomniacs, and many a night between them is spent texting about anything and everything. Fewer nights have been spent with them falling asleep in the same room, but Brian lives for the mornings when he wakes up to find that Justin has found his way into his arms like he belongs there.

He stares at the freezing phone in his hand, flipping through messages from Ginger and Trixie. Trixie has texted him multiple times, each slightly more urgent, with the last one being, “Brian, just let me know you didn’t kill yourself in some freak masturbation accident and I’ll fuck off". Jokes aside, he realizes that maybe she’s thinking the same thing about him that he’s thinking about Justin. He texts her something stupid and scrolls back up to J. He reviews the messages from that day for the hundredth time.

Dec 24th

3:46 AM

J: 🐍

3:55

B: Morning mother, did the voices instruct you to text me at this ungodly hour? 

3:56

J: the voices have have a lot of dumb shit to say tonight

J: miss you

3:58

B: Miss you too, Lasky. Is everything okay?

10:45

B: Merry Christmas Eve Morning from my one woman freakshow of a family to yours!

4:14

B: You haven’t talked to me all day, and it’s making me want to act out. I think I’m going to propose to Tracy to make you jealous and regret not giving me your constant undivided attention like I deserve. I’ll let you know how it goes.

4:21

B: She said “Could you try not making me contemplate murder on one of my top five favorite holidays?”, which I think means yes. Be my flower girl?

6:23

B: 🐍🐍🐍 What’s up?

7:44

B: Are you okay? Just let me know.

9:30

B: Seriously, what’s going on?

11:19

B: Justin, call me now.

He clicks call again and gets his voicemail. “You’ve reached Justin Honard, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” It’s so professional, so lifeless. He hates it every time he hears it. He hasn’t left any messages yet, but the beep surprises him out of his internal dialogue so he just says, “Justin, please pick up. I want to talk to you.”

(Justin doesn’t want to talk about it, whatever it is. Brian has tried so hard to get him to open up, to just trust him, but even though he’s helped Brian through panic attacks, mental breakdowns, and intrusive thoughts, Justin won’t let his guard down.

“Whatever you’re going though, you can tell me. I’m here for you, no matter how messy it is. Messy, cheap, manly queens just happen to be my favorite kind,” Brian tells him one night when they actually get to be in the same room. Justin just smiles. They’re in Brian’s hurricane of an apartment, lying on his bed. Justin’s on his back, looking up at Brian, who is next to him propped up on one arm.

Brian tries to push more, but he can tell Justin isn’t really listening. “I’m serious, I don’t know what’s going on with you but I want to help. Why are you looking at me like that?” and suddenly, Justin is leaning up to connect their lips. Their first kiss is everything Brian thought it would be, even though he knows it’s a tactic to get him to drop the subject.

“You can’t use your body as an alternative to talking,” he mumbles against Justin’s lips as he grips his hand tightly in his hair.

“But it’s so much more fun.”

Later that night, Brian hears Justin crying in the bathroom once he thinks he’s asleep.)

Brian knows Justin is alone, because he and Justin are infuriatingly similar. Justin has started drinking again, and even though he “never gets drunk on stage”, Brian knows that more and more of his nights are spent alone in his apartment, curled up on the floor.

Brian sees the three little dots pop up on the text message he has open for Justin, but they disappear immediately. He calls again. No answer. “You don’t have to spend Christmas alone. Answer me, please.”

Justin spent last Christmas Eve on the roof of his apartment building, and Brian is almost positive he’s back up there. He didn’t know him as well then, as it was toward the beginning of their friendship-relationship thing, but he could tell something was off. Difference is that last year Justin was still sober. Brian is hoping with everything he has that Justin isn’t wasted on the roof.

(Justin burns all his pictures. He doesn’t like to think about old memories, and he’s trying to live in the present because the past fucking hurts. Brian gets that, he really does. He isn’t talking to his family or friends much anymore, but he somehow grants Brian access to his personal life while most everyone else has been banned to only his professional side.

He’s got one little photo album left that he keeps on a bookshelf in his living room, and Brian knows he shouldn’t but he flips through it once when he spends the night. There aren’t many pages filled, only 6 pictures total. There’s a picture of Justin as a child with his parents, all smiles. There’s an awful selfie from baby Alaska, which he’s sure would make Justin physically cringe. He loves it.

There are two pictures of him with Sharon, one in and one out of drag. They both look so young and sick, clothes dirty and eyes exhausted. Brian doesn’t know much more than the rumors from this time because Justin refuses to talk about it seriously, but whatever did happen broke something in both Aaron and Justin.

There’s one of Rolaskatox, and Justin looks a little healthier in it. He figures it’s from right after the break up, and he can see how much the three love each other through the photo. Justin admitted once that Roxxxy and Detox saved his life, that he didn’t know where he’d be if they hadn’t stepped in and made him start to take care of himself. Brian wonders when the last time Justin spoke to them was.

And then there’s one of him. He looks ridiculous, out of drag with a few smudges of Katya’s makeup still on his face. He’s mid laugh, eyes shut. Next to him, Justin is perfect. He’s not as thin as the other pictures, eyes joyful. His black hair is done, his shirt is neat, and he’s looking at Brian like he hung the moon.)

Brian doesn’t cry in front of people, but it’s late and he’s pretty emotional and he’s mentally ill and he’s on his third cigarette and he’s fucking cold. He calls Justin one more time and when he gets the voicemail again he yells, “I’d talk you down if you would just fucking answer your phone, Justin.” He texts him that he’s coming over and runs downstairs to catch a cab.

He gets to Justin’s apartment building and the security guy just lets him through, maybe recognizing him from all the time he’s spent here in the past months, but maybe because he doesn’t care. This is a security concern but Brian doesn’t have time to think about that now, so he runs upstairs. 

He approaches Justin’s door and isn’t really surprised to find it unlocked. When he’s drunk he forgets to turn the bolt, like he’s just inviting trouble in. He steps into the immaculately clean apartment, and all the lights are off. He calls Justin’s name and gets no answer, but he sees empty whiskey bottles and the photo album on the floor next to the couch. Then he sees three perfectly folded paper squares on the coffee table. All the air leaves his lungs as he steps close enough to read the names written in small, neat letters on each one. Mom. Aaron. Brian.

He doesn’t pick it up, he doesn’t want to know, he can’t know he needs to know but it’s too much and he’s being hit with memories of his own letters to his own mom and copious amounts of alcohol and drugs and he can’t breathe but he’s running again, he’s in the hallway and then he’s in the stairwell and then he’s at the top and he’s about to open the door to the roof and he’s so fucking afraid that Justin’s not going to be there, that it’s going to be too late and he’s going to have to walk to the edge and look down to find the man he lov-

But he opens the door and there he is.

Justin isn’t facing him, and for a second Brian just stares. His dark hair sticking up, his black sweatpants, his white short sleeved shirt that can’t be doing anything for him. It an unsettling image, Justin’s hunched over form sitting alone in the middle of the empty roof, slightly swaying back and forth with the wind. Brian realizes he isn’t cold anymore, the adrenaline having warmed him, but he can see Justin shaking from all the way over there, so he closes the door and walks slowly toward him.

He shrugs off his jacket and places it on Justin’s shoulders, then sits next to him, their arms touching. He can’t look at him yet, and he can’t feel Justin’s eyes so he assumes the feeling is mutual. He sees Justin’s phone a few feet away from him, screen cracked from being thrown. Brian picks up a bottle of whiskey from in front of Justin and sets it away from them. For a moment, they sit listening to the sounds of the city below.

“I’m sorry for not picking up, Kat,” Justin finally mumbles.

“You scared me, Lasky.” You’re scaring me, Justin, I’m so fucking scared, he thinks.

“I didn’t mean to. I just wanted time to think. That’s why I didn’t answer, I didn’t want you to get scared and drive over in a panic. Everything is really good, promise.” Justin slurs, leaning into him a little. Brian is confused, until he realizes that Justin doesn’t know that he knows. He’s playing it off like nothing is happening, like tonight is like any other night.  Brian wishes he could believe that, but he saw the letters and sees the way Justin’s fingers are tapping against his leg. “How did you know I was up here?” Justin’s voice pulls him from his thoughts.

“I’m smarter than you give me credit for, mother.” When he hears Justin chuckle, he finally looks up at his face. He’s clearly intoxicated, but he’s not as far gone as Brian’s ever seen him. His eyes are red though, presumably from crying. Justin still isn’t looking at him, just down at the street below them.

“You have a bit of a history, sorry to tell ya. Knew you’d either be up here or passed out in your apartment. I checked there first,” he says, and he feels Justin tense immediately and pull away, bringing his knees to his chest and laying his forehead on them, hiding. Brian presses his own forehead to Justin’s shoulder and listens to his breathing. 

“Did you see anything?” Justin asks, his voice muffled.

“I saw the letters, yeah.” Brian’s never been one to beat around the bush, not with people he cares about. Somehow the street seems so much quieter now, and all he can focus on is the tension surrounding them. He’s starting to get cold again.

“Did you read yours?” Justin asks after what seems like hours, and Brian can hear him start to cry. He feels tears come to his own eyes, because he understands, fuck does he understand. He’s felt the embarrassment, the shame, the sadness, and it’s Christmas and he just wants Justin to be okay. He wants them both to be okay.

“No, Justin, they’re all still on the table,” he says quietly, and then Justin is sobbing, heavy and painful sounding. Brian wraps his arms around the taller man and pulls him up. They need to get off the roof.

He carefully leads Justin back to his apartment, and gets him straight into his room, away from coffee table and the alcohol and the fucking photo album. After a while, Justin stops crying, and Brian grabs them both Tylenol. When he goes to leave, Justin grabs his hand and asks him to stay.

Brian turns on the TV, because he knows the background noise helps Justin sleep, and lies down with his head on Justin’s leg. He feels a hand run softly through his hair, and we he realizes it’s finally stopped, he looks at the clock to see it’s already past 5 in the morning. Merry Christmas, Brenda.

—–

Justin’s alarm wakes him up at 10 am. He didn’t sleep long, and at first he can’t remember the previous night. Maybe he just ate dinner, then watched some Christmas specials and went to bed like a normal functioning adult.

When he stands up, he instantly feels like he’s dying, so he knows he drank way too fucking much. He’s missing parts of last night but he begins to remember pieces, and he definitely remembers the beginning, the part where he was sober on Christmas Eve and decided he couldn’t do it anymore. Which reminds him, it’s Christmas. Another Christmas alone.

He walks out of his room and immediately is hit with the smell of food.

He slowly shuffles to the kitchen, and there he is. With his blond hair and a fucking pink apron from god knows where. Brian has headphones in, and he’s leaning down, taking something out of the oven. On the table there’s enough food to feed a family of five, and it’s a strange combination of breakfast and dinner foods. There are also somehow decorations in his house now. He looks over to the living room, and notes that the table is cleared and the floor is clean.

Brian turned around and gasps, then laughs and pulls out an earbud. “You scared me! I put these in so I wouldn’t wake you with my early morning impromptu Christmas breakfast/dinner extravaganza playlist.” He’s smiling, but Justin can see the worry in his eyes.

“What songs are on it?” he asks as he sits at the counter where Brian has laid out two little pills next to a glass of water, which he takes.

“Bach’s Greatest Hits Volumes 1 through 7. Plus, Fuck Tha Police 12 times.”

Justin watches Brian as he dances around the kitchen and finishes setting the table, humming along to whatever music is playing. When he’s done, he bows to Justin’s applause and gestures for him to come sit in front of the feast. They make their plates and start to eat, sitting next to each other at Justin’s tiny kitchen table, chairs facing the window.

Justin picks at the strange assortment of food, the blueberry pancakes and turkey and macaroni salad. “So, what exactly inspired you to create this horrific spread? You’ve really outdone yourself, Bri, this is almost definitely the worst meal I’ve ever had.“

“The dollar store food section can only get you so far and your pantry is depressing, but someone had to feed your ass on Christmas, and I’m a woman who loves a challenge. Are you saying you don’t appreciate the culinary stylings of Chef Boyardee?”

“No, he’s done a fine job, as always. I’m just questioning the sanity of whoever thought French toast would be a good side for spaghettios.”

“Well, that’s where you went wrong. French toast is clearly the appetizer. The sour patch kids are the side. Idiot.”

The banter is easy, and Justin can almost forget what happened the night before. Despite his best attempts, he enjoys the food, and he listens to Brian tell a most definitely untrue story about fighting a grandmother at Dollar General for a pack of glittery green streamers.

Eventually, the conversation stalls, and they eat in a comfortable silence for a while. The windows are open, and Justin notices that the street is quiet for once. "It’s dead out there, I can’t remember it ever being this calm,” he voices to Brian.

"Everyone is either enjoying their day off by sleeping in or spending this dreadful holiday with the people they love.”

“Why aren’t you with the people you love?” he asks, looking over. Brian is staring back at Justin with a fork full of blueberry pancakes frozen about an inch from his mouth, and something about the look in his eye makes Justin blush.

"I tried literally all day and night yesterday. You wouldn’t answer. How dare you set me up to say something as cheesy as that? You absolute snake." 

Justin laughs, and shakes his head, averting his eyes. "Love you too, Russian whore.” He tries to keep his voice casual, but by the way Brian has quieted, he knows they’re about to have The Conversation. He takes his plate and washes it, trying to busy his hands and calm his mind.

Brian follows him with his own plate and leans against the counter behind him after putting it in the sink. Justin hears him take a deep breath. “I didn’t read any of the letters. I put them in a drawer, and I’ll throw them out if you want me to. I didn’t know what you wanted me to do, but I didn’t read them.”

Sometimes, Justin is thankful that Brian gets straight to the point. Sometimes it makes him uncomfortable, makes him long for the days when he and his partner could just drown in drugs and alcohol and sex instead of having difficult conversations. He awkwardly says, “Thank you. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

It’s quiet for a minute, and then he feels a hand on his arm, turning him around. “Justin, you have to get help." 

He’s suddenly feeling closed in, he wants to do anything but look at Brian. He’s ashamed, and he doesn’t want to hurt him anymore. "I’m sorry, Bri, it was just a stupid thing, I wasn’t really going to-" 

Brian cuts him off, using a stern voice Justin’s never heard before. "No, I’m serious. I don’t want to lose you, I can’t lose you." 

"You’re not losing anything, I’m fine.” He breaks away and walks to the living room, sitting on the couch, repeating don’t think about it in his head. He knows if he thinks about it, he’ll cry, and he can’t hurt Brian anymore than he already has. Brian is too good for this, for him, and he doesn’t deserve it. But Brian follows him to the living room and sits next to him.

“Please look at me,” he asks, but Justin looks down, willing the tears pooling in his eyes to stay in until he’s alone again.

“I can’t-”

“You can. Please.” Brian takes Justin’s chin in his hand and turns his head until their eyes meet. He’s looking at him in a way he’s not used to anymore, and the care and worry in his eyes hurts too much. He can’t do this, no matter how much he wants it, no matter how perfect Brian is, not when love ends so fucking horribly every time. He would hate himself if he hurt Brian, but Brian doesn’t seem afraid at all.

“I’m scared,” is all he can say.

"I know.”

“I wish we could just sit here forever.” The world is too scary, too hateful, too loud. He wipes his face, and puts his head on Brian’s shoulder. He feels Brian’s arm wrap around him.

“I know, but we can’t. There’s too much life happening outside of your annoyingly clean apartment, and I want to live it with you. Ugh, there I go again. Feelings really are disgusting." 

"I don’t get that.”

“Why your apartment is so clean? That’s what I’m saying, it makes me think you’re overcompensating for something, which is worrisome to a simple woman like myself.”

"I don’t get how you could want to do anything with me.”

“Honestly, me neither.”

”…Okay.”

“No, let me try that again. I never thought I’d ever want to spend my whole life with anyone. I’ve never even entertained the idea. But then Alaska Thunderfuck 5000 slithers into my life, and I’m daydreaming about moving to LA and stealing your hash browns during an early brunch at some overpriced diner, and then going shopping for home goods and complaining about your terrible taste in art the entire time.”

“Sounds like a dream.”

“But I can’t do that and then lose you. It would kill me. It would absolutely demolish my entire being, Justin. It would fucking kill me even if we weren’t together, even if we stopped talking today. If you killed yourself, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“I’m sorry, I know I fucked up. I’m sorry I always fuck up.”

"No, stop, I just- I want to be with you all the time, do you know that? For the past who knows how long. You’re all I think about. I want to help you, I would fucking do anything for you, but I know better than anyone that love doesn’t fix this shit. I can’t love you better Justin, you have to get professional help.” He stops and wipes away a tear that slipped from Justin’s eye. “It doesn’t have to be like this. And you know it, I know you do. You’ve been better before, you can get better again.

I want you to get help so you can enjoy life. And yeah, it’s selfish because I want to enjoy it with you, but I never claimed to be a good person. I’m just a woman in love with another woman, except we’re both men and making jokes is inappropriate for this conversation but I don’t know how to be any way else. I really do think I love you, how awful is that?”

“Horrendous. I never thought I’d be getting a combination please don’t kill yourself/let’s settle down speech from Katya Zamolodchikova.”

“Believe me bitch, I never thought I’d be the one giving it.”

“Okay.”

"What?”

“Okay.”

—–

Twelve Months Later

Dec 24th

4:45 PM

J: 🐍

4:46

B: Mother, the crazy trash bag lady is sending me reptile emojis again…

4:47

J: like 15 mins away

J: and you send the fucking alien emoji at least 10 times a day

J: stop telling mother on me or I’ll make sure you regret it

4:50

B: That sounds like a threat, and I’m extremely turned on. Stop texting and driving.

B: See you soon.

They live on the first floor now, on a street across town. Justin runs up the stairs, trying not to spill the Chinese food in the bags he has on each arm. He unlocks the door and slips in quietly.

The apartment they moved into together two months ago is a little messy. The decor is a combination of things they found at various thrift stores across the city, so nothing matches but the room is undeniably them. Christmas music is playing from the speakers, which Justin knows Brian only put on for him.

There’s a Christmas tree in the corner with presents underneath to each other and from their friends. They made cookies the day before with Trixie, Ginger, Detox, and Roxxxy at Friendsmas Dinner, despite Brian’s claims that that is not a thing and will never be a thing. Trixie loved it and declared Alaska her new best friend. (“I didn’t realize you were such a festive bitch, I think you might be too good for Bri.”)

Tonight, they’re eating some leftover cookies with takeout and watching the Golden Girls Christmas special. Justin takes the food out of the bags, sets it up on the coffee table, and queues up the episode on Hulu.

He hears the bedroom door open and Brian appears in the hallway, hair wet from a shower, ugly Christmas sweater on. He grins wide and settles on the couch next to Justin.

“How was your session?” He asks as he runs a hand through Justin’s hair. Justin wraps his arms around him and closes his eyes, enjoying the contact for a moment.

“It was really good. Merry Christmas Eve.” He had an extra therapy session today, just in case. He only has to go once every other week now, but he anticipated today being extra difficult. Surprisingly, he feels okay. 

“Same to you, Lasky. I love you,” Brian reminds him as he kisses the side of his face before digging into his food and pressing play on the remote.

Justin is doing well. He’s sober, and he works keep himself sane. He calls his friends, and he lets himself recover when he has a slip up. He’s in love, and he only goes on the roof when Brian is there to watch the city with him.

“I love you too.”