#Rachel summers cw

[fictionkinfessions]

It is Near (✨yet again✨) with his nightly thoughts. His little letters, if MPC would.

Linda. Near drew you today. You were smiling, in the drawing. You looked happy in it. Near doesn’t think he’d seen you smile since… before Mello made his departure from the House. Near sort of forgot what it was like, seeing you like that. Near drew your hair braided, with afropuffs. It… suits you, Near thinks. It’s bouncy. Bright. Near can almost imagine the colorful elastics Linda would use. He hopes that Linda still has Many Colors now. She deserves it.

A. Alternative. Near is sorry, that he does not have another name to use for you. A deserves a better name than that. Near found a song that made him think of you today, A. Radium Girls (Curie Eleison) by Rachel Summers. Near remembers… A’s guitar, how he would play it when Near was little. Before the testing got too intensive and the work piled up so high. A was good at it. Near doesn’t think he ever said that enough. Near doesn’t think he ever got the chance, before A died. Near has… he has so many things he wants to say to A, but they would probably end with Near crying. Near just.. wants A to know he wasn’t forgotten. That A was more than just some warning story about what happened if you threw yourself too far into your work. A was loved, and A was remembered, and Near thinks Matt had A’s guitar. [he treated it with the reverence it deserved, Alt. Do not worry.]

Maybe someday Near will have the bravery to put pen to paper about his thoughts on L, on Kira, on Beyond Birthday. But until then, Near will just… send his little letters.

[Near, Death Note, Fictive]

c

[the-healthy-human-mind]

Risen From The Ashes

Previous: To Hell and Back

Next: ‘Til Death do Us Part

CWs: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, aftermath of torture, blood, gore, physical fights, banter, mentions of burns, hinted human trafficking, hospitals, medically induced coma, PTSD, paronoia.

London summers were always brutal, humid and disgustingly warm. Somehow, there were still tourists crammed in every corner of pubs. John looks up from his phone when someone sits in the booth across from him, chuckling when he recognizes the blonde. 

“Kate.”

“John,”

Price leans on the table in front of him, glass of whiskey in his hand. “It’s been awhile, what brings you out of your hole?”

“A Navy SEAL has been taken, I need you and one of my agents to get her back.”

Kate hands him a folder, placing her tablet on the table between them. John opens the folder, flipping through the pages. 

“Wagner? Pulling out the big guns for this Kate?”

She pulls up a bodycam recording from one of the corpses found after the mission. “We’re dealing with an ally of Russians, John, and Elaine’s been taken, I need the best to bring her home.”

“How long?”

Kate sighs, rubbing at her temple, “almost 8 months. She went MIA in January, all intel gathered has fallen through since then.”

Price pulls a couple notes from his wallet, placing them down on the table before gathering his things. 

“When do we leave?”

“Now.”

“You Captain Price?”

Havoc looks down at the man as he steps into the helo. 

“That makes you Havoc.”

The taller man laughs, sitting across from the Captain, having to straighten his legs to fit. 

“Ever dealt with the Russians before sir?”

“More than enough to know what I’m doing.” 

“Eyes on the prize, boys. Don’t lose focus.”

Price adjusts the straps of his vest as the helo approaches the landing zone. Havoc lowers the ramp when they land, following after John and putting on his night vision goggles. 

“This is Echo 6-2, going dark.”

John wasn’t one to mix personal life with work, but seeing Elaine, the child he watched go from a headstrong teenager to the second ever female Navy SEAL, tied up and broken killed him. He checks for her pulse while Havoc goes to cut the rope securing her arms and legs. He sighs in relief when he feels the familiar pulse on her neck. 

“C’mon, Laney. Time to go home.”

When John goes to lift her up, her arm comes flying up, aiming for his jugular. The shard of glass in Elaine’s hand crashes onto the floor, shattering to pieces upon impact when he wrenches her arm away. 

“You bastard— you-” 

“It’s me, Laney, Kate sent us.”

Elaine stumbles, still glaring at him, but she doesn’t try to attack again. John is able to fully assess how bad her injuries are, from the cuts on her face to the burns on her leg. 

“It’s ’bout damn time, thought you guys were throwin’ a party.”

John sighs, hooking his arms under her armpits while Havoc gently grabs her legs.

“A true bloody blast.”

John was no stranger to hospitals, the smell of sanitizer and the white walls were all too familiar. But it seemed as though Rachel had never set foot in a hospital before with how hesitant she was. He couldn’t blame her, seeing her only child in this state must be terrifying. The medical staff had placed Elaine in a medically induced coma to allow her body to heal — if it even could.

“If anything changes, call me, John.”

He nods at Kate as she walks down the hall, Rachel following behind her after giving Elaine one last look. 

September 2017

“I can fucking do it John! Stop babying me!”

John sighs for the hundredth time that hour, leaning on the side of Elaine’s hospital bed.

“Laney, the doctor said-”

“Screw the doctor.”

“Stop trying to get yourself even more hurt, Laney.”

God, he was going to be gray and wrinkled by the time this was over. The pair look at the door when they hear the sound of sneakers against the floor, a student nurse standing in the doorway. 

“What?”

Elaine hisses at the poor girl, eyes full of rage.

The nurse stiffens, “uh- it’s time for your… burn treatment.”

“Well then,” John places his arm around Elaine’s shoulders, slowly lifting her up, “let’s get this over with.”

“Go fuck yourself,”

“Quit it Elaine, you’re doing this whether you like it or not. So shut the bloody hell up and act like the soldier you are.”

Elaine goes quiet for the first time in days, and when John glances at her, she’s staring at the wall ahead, lower lip twitching. He sighs, again.

“Laney-”

“Don’t. Get it over with.”

She can’t tell what was worse, being trapped in a basement, or being bed bound and relying on everything and everyone around her to survive. She can’t even take a piss by herself. And soon she’d be forced to move back in with her moms to recover. Nothing but a burden and a piss poor excuse of a soldier.

[bcolfanfic]

hi there! love your young vets au and all the blurbs and headcanons you’ve been putting out lately. just wondering if we could get any more info about wyatt and the period of time where he runs away from home and gets into a bad spot? love the story you’ve created around these ocs and i’d love to know more about this part of the story!

wyatttttt. my poor bub. when i say rachel and i whumped that poor kid to nearly death…

once you see a read more line- cw for assault and human trafficking. dead dove do not eat. wyatt is about 23 during all of this, it’s the summer after he finishes college. wyatt pinterest board.

• has a huge fight with ev that comes to “you are NOT my dad” blows and just. bolts. runs and hides from conflict like he has since he was little. just takes it a step farther this time.

• the most heartbreaking part of it all for me at least is that he got *so* close to the bucks. when he gets in this guy’s car and everything goes south he’s all of 15 minutes away from their house.

• after everything it took to get to wyoming from new york he just wanted to get to his uncles and micah, have a little breakdown about how he’s pretty sure his parents hate him after that big fight with ev and then go from there.

• but he’s so tired of walking and it’s getting dark and he’s a little lost. and this guy is super nice when he pulls over to ask if he needs a ride somewhere. so wyatt doesn’t see any reason to turn him down.

• when they’ve been in the car for about ten minutes that’s when how nice he seems starts to really creep wyatt out. guy is making comments on his appearance, asking personal questions and just making him really uncomfortable.

• wyatt fishes around to get his phone out of his pocket but that’s when the guy pulls over and he gets that real bad ‘something is terribly wrong’ gut feeling and. freezes. has been a freeze response guy since he was little. since his early memories of helen’s abusive partner between nash and ev.

• the guy does. some stuff to him in the car and when that’s over makes wyatt give him his phone.

• drives him to what is *not* the bucks’ house. tells him he seems like a troubled kid, might be better off here then whenever you were going.

• and everything is *screaming* in him to turn tail and run but he’s so scared and still in freeze mode even though his body is moving just. tells himself to go along with it for now and he can figure out getting out of there in the morning or something.

• but then it turns into weeks of people in and out of this guys house and wyatt just tellin himself to go along with it for now and figure something out in the morning.

• out of that house back at home in new york and down the road at the bucks’ everyone is. distraught. ev and helen thought when he bolted outta the house he was just gonna drive around for a few hours and come back but he was just. gone.

• sawyer has an incredibly hard time too. struggles with emotional regulation and changes in routine/structure as his and his big brother being gone makes all that 100x worse. sleeps in ev and helen’s room more than even the younger kids do. cries himself to sleep in there telling them he wants his brother back <\3

• this is alluded to in my recent josie naomi blurb but josie also has a hard time because micah obv loses it. and seeing her baby brother like that and not being able to fix it really eats at her.

• micah ends up taking some time off from school (he’s younger than wyatt and still in college) and when he has the little breakdown that triggers that he calls his sister before their dads.

• then the weeks in that house turn into months and wyatt is doing worse by the day but. also kinda starts to resign himself for this situation. has very little window to the outside so it’s easy for him to be convinced that his family stopped looking for him even though that is incredibly far from the truth.

• thinks being in this situation must be punishment for something- for being a bad son- for being bad.

• and if that’s his cross to carry so be it.

• the thing that triggers him getting out of there is- disgustingly someone bucky knows and tells about the situation with their friends missing kid realizing the kid in question is at a certain house he frequents.

• piece of shit doesn’t do the actual right thing by going right to the police or anything like that. but next time he’s at the house he gets a real good look at wyatt and is like. god damn this kid is in bad shape. he doesn’t want to be here. shit.

• still a horrible horrible person but. when hes alone with wyatt outright asks if he wants to be there.

• wyatt just looks at him all wide eyed and doesn’t really say anything. but the guy tells him he’s gonna figure something out so he can get out of here, just trust him. when i say jump you gotta jump kid, yeah?

• goes about it so fucking recklessly though. just outright tells the guy that took wyatt that the people looking for him are closer than he thinks- he should let him leave, gonna be more trouble than it’s worth to keep him here till they find him etc etc.

• but this guy isn’t new to this business either so he’s like yeah alright thx. got it. and just starts making plans to leave wyoming with him and go elsewhere.

• which his buddy gets wind of and feels sick about because god damnit i told that kid i was gonna help him get out of here and now that’s. not happening.

• panics and goes over there real angry telling him he shouldn’t do that, asking what he gets out of dragging this kid around, look at how much weight he’s lost and the shape he’s in. what are you gonna do if he gets sick or worse.

• which like before does 0 to actually help the situation (dude call the fucking cops) because the guy just lashes out again. gets into a huge fight with his buddy asking if he’s a fucking narc, you sure haven’t bitched about a damn thing till now you think i wouldn’t bring you down with me? etc etc.

• but as terrible as he is he is starting to panic about everything. has a you want that kid out of misery, fine moment- goes full break glass in case of emergency mode and sets the house on fire with him in there. (hence those pics on the pinterest board)

• the fight with his buddy was at like 10pm so this is all happening in the middle of the night. wyatt was /asleep/ and wakes up to a burning house he’s been trapped in.

• but sheer force of will to live, he gets out of there and just starts running. much later down the line no one really understands how he managed to make it to the bucks in the dark not knowing where he was going and as severely hurt in various ways as he was.

• he does get there though- just about collapsing on their front porch- but there at long last where he’s safe.

this got very very long but i actually wanna Write him showing up at the bucks so. ::eyes:: stay tuned ig. and thank you for being so sweet <3 these OCs are rachel and i’s babies and i do love them so dearly. makes me feel good that other people do too.

[whimsicalcotton]

apf 20 :O

20 - on a scar

so i ended up setting this somewhere vaguely in the polluted marrow-verse bc How Could I Not w that prompt combo <3

CW for some talk of self-harm

Max won't stop giving her this look.

Chloe's grown used to the weight of her wide-eyed stare — well, sort of — but this feels somehow different. Heavier, hesitant. 

It started midway through their trip. Rachel had called a little earlier in the evening, waxing poetic about her long day and asking if they wanted to pick her up and head out for a bit to de-stress. So Chloe hopped in the truck with Max in tow, and after rescuing Rachel from the dungeon known as Blackwell's dormitories, they’d decided that then was as good a time as any to introduce Max to their tradition of impromptu midnight picnics. One stop at the convenience store and several bags of sweets later, they’ve all settled down in the flatbed, half huddled together and watching the stars between bites. 

Rachel's hoarding a bag of skittles and spinning a tale of Andromeda’s chains when Max starts shivering. Chloe interrupts to ask if they want to head back and is shot down in short order by two different pouts and a dramatic whine of, “No way, I'm just getting to the good part.” So instead she squirms out of her jacket and insists on handing it off to Max, hoping it still carries a bit of residual heat. 

That's when Max starts looking. Bushy little brows upturned in quiet concern, moving to absentmindedly fidget with the jacket collar. It’s something Chloe has come to recognize as a mark of overthinking, a sign that Max is worrying far too much about something more than likely out of her control. 

“Yo, Mad Max,” Chloe calls over to her as Rachel finishes. “C’mere.” She shifts a bit and motions in invitation for Max to come snuggle up to her. Max wastes no time making good on the offer. “What’s with the sad puppy eyes? Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

Rachel moves a little closer too, leans into Chloe’s other side. “I think,” she murmurs, reaching down to run her fingertips over a patch of raised skin on the inside of Chloe’s forearm, feather-light. “She’s worried about these. Am I right?”

Max nods, timid and tentative.

Chloe forgets about her scars, sometimes. She’s used to them. Used to covering them up without a second thought, used to glancing them over, used to ignoring them for the sake of surviving a hot summer day. A good chunk of them are even hidden amidst her tattoo at this point, and she’s learned to ignore what few remain in the open. By now they’ve grown pale and thick with age, not having seen the returning glint of a sharp edge in a long while. Which is a good thing, she supposes; even if their discoloration and visible shift in texture make them almost as easy to spot as when they were fresh. 

“Oh.” She swallows hard, takes a sudden interest in examining the scuffs of her boots. “Don’t stress yourself out about it, Max. They’re getting pretty old. No worries, yeah?”

But Max remains unconvinced. She nestles herself further into Chloe, holds the girl's arm in both of hers and hides her face in the crook of her neck. “M’sorry,” she whispers, half lost to the dark.

Before Chloe can even think of an adequate reassurance, Rachel answers for her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she offers with a soft smile. “I took care of them.” She turns up to Chloe again, donning a slightly more unimpressed expression. “Most of them. When you’d let me, anyways.”

“Oi, I don’t think now is the time for petty technicals.”

“What, like she doesn’t already know how stubborn you can be?” Rachel counters in a lighthearted scoff. She laces their fingers together, gives Chloe’s hand a gentle squeeze. “My point is, you weren’t dealing with it alone. You had me looking after you.” 

They're quiet, for a minute or two, before Max finds her voice. “G-Good,” she says, emerging from her hiding place just long enough to pull back and nuzzle into Chloe’s shoulder. She presses a soft, cottony kiss to one of the less visible scars lurking amongst curls of inky thorn and ribbon. Then another, then another. “Thank you.”

Chloe bites back a shiver of her own.

[comicbookhyperfixationtime]

Uncanny X-men #196- What Was That?!!

CW: racial slurs

Last Issue Recap: The Power Pack made a cameo and Wolverine did not disembowel a child. Callisto in the Morlocks did show up and they are as skrungly and terrible as ever. And then there was Secret Wars 2 which I have mentally blocked out of my brain because it's too pointless and annoying to take up important Nightcrawler Obsessing Space.

Anyway, HOLY HELL, how did this cover make it to print?! Its literally a woman in a gimp suit! Have I talked about Rachel's Mutant Hunter gimpsuit before? I feel like I have, but I would once again like to say, what the actual fuck.

It's Chris Claremont so I expect to be using this a lot in the near future. Also, in this cover there are spikes around her crotch that form a thong/triangle shape (super umcomfy 😬) which (spoilers) are not there when she wears the suit in-issue. Which just makes this worse.

Gimpsuit aside I don't like this cover. The composition is meh, and its the same sort of misdirection we saw in the last issue. Is Rachel going to beat the shit out of the X-men and get stabbed by Wolverine? Of course she's not. The splash panel on the first page is pretty striking though.

The title is uncreative, but I do adore when writers try to work their issue title into the first page's dialogue or onomatopoeia or something (Thor #366 is my absolute favorite example of this). This is a fantastic first page, not only does it immediately set up tension, mystery and stakes while quickly delivering exposition, but it cleverly uses the in-universe curtain behind Professor X as a tool for adding motion and energy, whilst directing the reader's eye around the page.

I half forgot that Professor X is actually a professor and that he didn't just make that title up to sound cool. Hell, since he has a PhD it should actually be Dr X but that sounds a little too much like a porn knockoff of Dr Strange for my and Marvel's liking. Jesus Christ I bet he's the sort of proff who never ever grades essays in time because he's too busy fucking off fighting Godlike entities in space. I'd give him a 2 on Rate My Professor so fast.

Several students in this packed classroom are smoking. Oh 1985, how the times have changed!

As his students leave, Professor X laments that he cannot simply read their minds and figure out who's thought this was. Not because this would be highly unethical, but because his mind and body has been weakened ever since he got the shit kicked out of him by anti-mutant muggers a few issues back.

Meanwhile, Storm is home in Africa on her self discovery tour, where she is- shot in the head and left for dead by the racist poachers she'd fought before?!

I know logically this is just a fakeout but I'll be damned if it isn't some good tension! Also; the racist poachers are a brother-sister pair named Andreas and Andrea. Their parents must have hated them even more than I do.

We immediately cut to Kitty talking about Ororo's letters at a team meeting just to hammer the stake further into my goddamn heart. The Gang has gathered in a deli to discuss Professor X's mystery, including Magneto (whose presence goes undiscussed, probably because it was explained in Secret Wars 2) and some blonde lady named Aleytys who I have no idea who she is. (Edit: I know who she is- Lee Forrester, Scott Summers ex-girlfriend who apparently hooked up with Magneto in New Mutants. What an absolute power move.) Something I haven't mentioned yet because it hasn't come up is that Chuck has been hiding his growing frailty and power loss from his friends and teammates for some reason I've forgotten but which is probably stupid. Also he can walk at this point in continuity but that's not important.

Rachel sees the Beyonder shows up for his editor mandated plot interruption for a few pages and I'm not going to discuss it because I Don't Care.

My thoughts exactly Kitty.

Speaking of the best boy, he is off at his parish, talking to the priest about his crisis of faith.

I cannot imagine what it must be like to go into confessional with a superhero he has heard some shit someone redraw this man in that one stock photo of the priest.

The monster Kurt is talking about his the Beyonder because goddamnit I guess I can't just ignore that motherfucker. TLDR, he was the ultra-powerful being who started the excuse plot for the original Secret Wars. In Secret Wars 2 he comes to Earth to learn the meaning of life or some bullshit and wanders around causing problems before turning himself into a baby (probably, idk I never finished it, Jim Shooter did that before so he'd probably do it again.) Kurt's faith has been completely destroyed by the Beyonder's sheer power which is like no being he's ever seen before- oh please.

This whole scene sort of pisses me off. First off, its more wanking off about the Beyonder and I really don't want to hear about this guy. Second, its another reason to leave Kurt out of this weeks plot and that pisses me off, give my boy more screentime! Third, this really doesn't feel justified by the Beyonder. Nightcrawler saw Dr Doom hand him his ass in Secret Wars, he knows he's not omnipotent. Nightcrawler having a breakdown is fine but there's way more interesting stuff for him to break down over.

Back on the main plot, a group of shadowy figures sneak into Professor X's office and plant a bomb under his desk! I see someone has been reading Hitchcock's quotes on suspense.

Rogue and Rachel are flying over Columbia U having a dramatic irony-laden conversation about how much less nasty this current timeline is than Rachel's home time whilst she mind-scans for the culprits. They don't find them, but they do find a mugging in progress and stop it.

I'll tell you what else is a crime, that hairdo! Yeesh.

It turns out the civilian they saved is a anti-mutant jackass who was grafitti-ing the words "Muties die!" when he got jumped, because Marvel civilians are assholes. Kitty and Wolvie take a quick break from crimefighting and have an conversation that's too cute for me not to share.

Kitty phases into a building because she sees a light on in a lab after hours. She finds some of her student acquaintances skulking about and, despite having doubts that any of them could be murderers, is immediately suspicious. I personally think the fact they ordered pizza with anchovies on it would be enough to peg them as supervillains on the spot, but Kitty is more of an optimist than me. The terrorists realize Kitty is a mutant and confront her about it.

Kitty Pryde just said the N-word. This isn't ok. I don't know how the editors at Marvel ever thought it was ok, and it speaks volumes that they did. "Mutie" isn't a real swear. "N-----" is. That word is hateful and terrible and affects real people and it is not ok at all to equate it to a made-up slur. The X-men are supposed to be an allegory for suffering that empowers minority groups. This just hurts them more. Hell no to all of this.

I took a hot minute to absorb what I just fucking read and then moved on with the issue. The terrorist kids get the jump on Kitty and chloroform her before she can phase out, with intent to kill her. Meanwhile, Magneto, Professor X and Rachel Summers are in the Prof's office, discussing the case and the Beyonder's continued presence because he's been stalking them like a weirdo. Rachel tries to psychically link the three so they can sense the Beyonder like she can, but using her psi-powers sets off the bomb, which is actually not a bomb but a "psi-scream," a device that amplifies and reflects psychic energy back to its source. This is a massive plot-hole; how did they know Xavier was psychic?! As far as I'm aware its not common knowledge Professor X is a mutant at all, let alone what his powers are! And these are just normal Columbia U college students with no connection to any supervillains or secret organizations whatsoever, there's no way they'd have access to this info!

The bomb overloads Rachel and she accidentally destroys the office, sending out a shockwave of energy that sends Professor X and Maggie flying. Rogue has to catch them both which I find sort of curious because its always so inconsistent whether Magneto can fly or not (my personal headcanon is that his costume has metal soles and he levitates them). Rachel senses Kitty's distress through their psychic link and freaks out so bad she manifests her BDSM Mutant Hunter costume. She flies over to the lab, explodes the anti-mutant students and rescues Kitty in a very hetero way.

Cannot imagine what goes on in Kitty Pryde's head. Must a beautiful and terrifying place to visit.

The guy in the pink jacket from before regains consciousness and tries to shoot Rachel, but its a bit like trying to stab a rhinoceros with a butter knife. She's about to kill him, when Magneto shows up to stop her from making the same mistakes he has.

I don't know bout you but if Magneto in a suit told me to do anything I'd drop whatever I was doing immediately. I love reformed Magneto, such a richer and more interesting character than racist whiny asshole villain Magneto. I sure hope Marvel lets him continue to grow as a person and don't constantly regress his character for the stake of a stupid status quo! Haha. I hate the Endless Wheel of Comic Book Samsara.

The conversation between Magneto and Rachel is honestly really beautiful. Two people who've never interacted before, but understand each other's pain better than anyone else can. Its a fantastic scene only slightly marred by the final panels being of the Beyonder observing the scene and giving some pointless, longwinded commentary. Its too long for me to screenshot and post here so I super recommend you check this out for yourself!

On the plus side, next issue is Dr Doom!

Final Thoughts: This issue had some really high highs and some really low lows. I'm honestly super shocked the panel of Kitty Pryde saying the N-word isn't more infamous than it is, because holy fuck that was awful.

[world-of-wales]

Okay I’m obsessed with the enemies to lovers and marriage of convenience/arranged marriage/ fake dating trope

Recommendations please 🙏

Here you go anon, sorry it took me some time to answer this. I had to open my laptop to get my book lists. A lot of the books have overlapping tropes. If you want any other recs just send me a msg ♡

And most of these are okay and Clean books but a lot of them come with heavy stuff so please check your triggers before you dive into them.

ENEMIES TO LOVERS -

RWRB (Coz that started the whole boom Conversation) - Casey McQuiston

Serpent & Dove - Shelby Mahurim

Dance of Thieves - Mary E Pearson

Spanish Love Deception - Elena Armas

5 Rounds - Nikki Castle

Brutal Prince - Sophie Lark

To Hate Adam Connor - Ella Maise

Taste - Melanie Harlow

Eleanor & Grey (not exactly enemies to lovers but he's very grumpy and closed off) - Brittany C Cherry

From Lukov with Love - Mariana Zapaata

By a Thread - Lucy Score

Twisted Hate - Anna Huang

Until I get you - Claire Conttreras

Weak Side - SJ Sylvis

Grumpy Romance - Nia Arthurs

Rogue - Greer Rivers

The Summer We Fell - Elizabeth O Rourke

Beauty and the Baller - Isla Madden Mills

Things We never got over - Lucy Score

Mafia Royals (A LOT OF THEM) - Rachel Van Dyken

Heart Song Duet - Jennifer Hartmann

Crow - A Zaverelli

ARRANGED MARRAIGE / MARRAIGE OF CONVENIENCE -

Marraige for one - Ellas Maise

The Windsor Series (ongoing, 3 books out) - Catharina Maura

Terms and Conditions - Lauren Asher

The Penalty Box - Odette Stone

The Buff - Devney Perry

To Love Jason Thorn - Ella Maise

The Wall of Winnipeg - Mariana Zapaata

King of Wrath - Anna Huang

Forever after all - Catharina Maura

Twisted - Emily McIntyre

Fake Empire - CW Farnsworth (or Swansworth)

Sinners Anonymous - Somme Sketcher

First 3 books of Filthy Rich Americans Series - Nikki Sloane

Dark Succession - Katee Robert

Marraige Effect - Karla Sorenson

Beautifully Broken Redemption - Catherien Cowles

Duchess Deal - Tessa Dare

FAKE DATING -

The Love Hypothesis - Ali Hazelwood

The Cheat Sheet - Sarah Adams

Fix Her Up - Tessa Bailey

Addicted to You - Krista & Becca Richie

Hani and Ishu's guide to Fake Dating - Adiba Jagirdar

Redeemed - Lauren Asher

The Kiss Quotient - Helen Hoang

Overruled - Emma Chase

Play Fake - Maggie Rawdon

That Kind of Guy - Stephanie Archer

The Bodyguard - Katherine Center

The Boyfriend Candidate - Ashley Winstead

First Down - Grace Reilly

The Real Deal - Lauren Blakeley

Happy Place - Emily Henry

Foxe and the Hound - RS Grey

My Life in Shambles - Karina Halle

Twisted Lies - Ana Huang

Blind Side - Kandi Stiener

The Deal + The Risk - Elle Kennedy

Boyfriend Material - Alexis Mall

Faking with Benefits - Lily Gold

The Upside of Falling - Alex Light

Unfortunately Yours - Tessa Bailey

[sipthegxssip]

𓍢 ・ ( devyn nekoda. cis woman. she/her , chappell roan )﹕isadora yamamoto , the new york resident , has been living in the city for two years . the twenty-six year old singer is known around the city as the diva - maybe that's because they're melodramatic , but also exuberant .

stats.

nicknames: is, isa, dor, dory

full name: isadora fuka yamamoto

stage name: dora belle. isa is well aware it's a horrendous pun but it fits the drag persona she's created

dob: july 24th, 1994

zodiac sign: leo

place of birth: rolla, mo

current location: new york city, new york

ethnicity: biracial-japanese & white

gender: cis woman

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: gay

occupation: she's working late because she's a singer

career claim: chappell roan

positive traits: passionate, self-assured and creative

negative traits: self-absorbed, judgemental and petty

personality markers: type 7, esfp and sanguine

parallels: alexis rose (schitt's creek), sharpay evans (high school musical), rachel berry (glee), portia davenport (search party)

aesthetics.

eye catching dangly earrings, finding glitter where you least expect it, exaggerated make up looks you could see in the dark, laughter echoing through a 24hr diner, light reflecting off a disco ball, the feeling of belonging on a crowded club dance floor and the contradiction of a yearning to escape your hometown that never lives paired with a nostalgic yearning for your childhood home.

bio.

cws: bullet point 2 includes a career ending injury and bullet point 5 alludes to a toxic mother daughter dynamic

before isadora there was another small town girl with big dreams. okay, there were many other small town girls with big dreams but only one is important for the story of isadora's conception. from a young age annaleigh butler knew she wanted to dedicate her life to ballet. dancing was the only time she felt both complete control and complete freedom. after years of saving money annaleigh was finally able to audition for the school of american ballet's summer programme at the age of 14. she was accepted on the programme. her instuctors saw she had potential and she was lucky enough to become a full time student in the winter term.

annaleigh's promising career was cut short at the age of 20. she tore her acl and she was never able to dance at the same level again. one good thing came from that incident. while attending physio she had a brief encountered the patient who had his sessions before hers. his session overran and he apologised with a joke that was both endearing and slightly annoying. the same thing happened multiple times and they started a friendship that grew into a romantic relationship. despite their different lived experiences and personalities they bonded over their new lives in new york not being as glamorous and prosperous as they expected.

annaleigh and her boyfriend howard were desperate to make their life in new york work. but four years into their relationship they came to the conclusion that working unfulfilling minimum wage jobs just to barely be able to rent a small apartment wasn't worth it. they moved to annaleigh's hometown. a year later isadora was born.

like all parents with an unfilled dream annaleigh planned to live vicariously through her daughter. she signed isadora up for ballet lessons when she was four. isadora hated ballet. the movements were too composed and dull. she was kicked out of her class. her ballet teacher advised her mom to stop bringing her to lessons after five sessions because isadora pouted in the corner of the studio with her arms crossed and refused to participate.

annaleigh thought she was cursed with an uncreative child. however, it turned out isadora also dreamed of performing she just felt restricted doing ballet.

there was a style of dance that appealed to a young isadora. she watched singing in the rain with her nana and fell in love with musicals and tap. her mom reluctantly agreed to take her to tap lessons (her dad thought it was a great idea and way to channel her endless energy).

isadora also spent her childhood attending a local free performing arts club on the weekends. she loved being the centre of attention while on stage and fell in love with the idea of telling stories. bringing stories to life through performing and writing songs that weren't that great at the time were how isadora escaped from her dull and restrictive hometown growing up.

isadora's childhood love of performing stayed with her as she aged into adolescence. in high school isadora was 100% a stereotypical theatre kid (complete with terrorising wait staff at waffle house). she also made friends with a more artsy crowd and developed her sewing abilities. she made costumes for her high school musicals/plays as well as acting in them.

after graduating highschool isadora moved to new york with three of her theatre friends to study at amda. the following year she was scouted by a record label. her voice was perfect for the kind of sultry angsty indie pop that was popular at the time. in her sophomore year she dropped out of drama school to focus on recording music. she released an ep when she was 20. between the ages of 20-22 isadora was a support act on multiple tours and she posted music to social media.

just after turning 22 isadora released the single pink pony club. it had a completely different sound to their earlier work. instead of chasing trends, isadora wanted to create pop music that was theatrical , camp and vibrant. her label wasn't pleased with this change in direction or the sale numbers so they dropped her.

at a loss of how to progress her career isadora moved back home. she got a job waitressing and thought her dream had died. a couple of months into trying to start a mundane life outside of showbusiness isadora got a dm from one of her friends. they wanted her help creating a costume for one of their drag performances (they turned to isadora instead of a professional designer because they thought it would be easier to explain their vision to isa). isadora agreed to help because they offered to pay for her flight and let her sleep on their couch. somehow isadora ended up staying after what she thought was a weekend visit. while in new york isadora got back in touch with her producer and ended up recording music with him because she had wrote a bunch of demos while at home.

isadora's baby album the rise and fall of a midwest princess was released last year. in the past few months her star has been rising rapidly due to multiple well timed bookings. she was the opening act for an extremely successful tour, had a viral coachella set and her newest single is an inescapable hit. she's been loving the opportunity to play for larger crowds and expand her artistry due to an increase of budget. but she finds it exhausting having millions of people expecting her to be their idealised version of her.

headcanons.

cws: emetophobia/one sentence mention of vomit in the last bullet point.

isadora went to the reneé rapp school of media training (the reneé rapp school of media training is having a mouth that works faster your brain and saying every thought you have without considering of the consequences first).

isadora can play the bass guitar, the acoustic guitar, piano, keyboard and obe. she started playing the obe in high school because she thought that playing a lesser known woodwind instrument would be a good conversion starter (she didn't need conversion starters).

she doesn't care about sports but she has pretended to for the sake of flirting. it's essential high school isadora lore that she was on track team all throughout high school just because she had a crush on the girl who handed her the sign up sheet. she was surprisingly good at relay races.

isadora has a king charles spaniel called grizabella.

she’s like a magpie,she’s drawn to anything sparkly and tacky.she laughs in the face of good taste then spits in it’s eye.she thinks that having a collection of material items are a good way to remind people you exist and leave your mark on the world.her main collections are novelty sunglasses, earrings and novelty snowglobe.

isadora hates when people assume her songs are autobiographical. mainly because she's a talented writer who's capable of imagining made up situations to write about but also because some of her songs are autobiographical.

the thing isadora misses the most about not being famous is the ability to be the driver of the hot mess express. in her early 20s isadora was that girl who would throw up outside of clubs and cry on the subway.

wanted connections.

is it casual now: isadora's cc is chappell roan so of course i'd kill for her to have a dynamic with a character where they're her former situationship she fell in love with and felt strung along by.

my delirium: ok i swear i'll ask for plots other than complicated romantic relationships with people she isn't officially dating but i've recently rediscovered my delirium by ladyhawke and it reminded me of isa. i fear she would chronically get attached to hook ups who don't want to define the relationship or have a monogamous relationship with her.

platonic soulmate: self explanatory. a bestie she loves more than anyone else in the world and feels understood by.

nobody likes the opening act: singers isadora opened for back when she wasn't headlining act famous.

bad neighbour: isadora is a menace and terrible neighbour. she's loud, regularly have parties and grizabella barked late at night as a puppy. it would be fun if there was a muse who lived next door to isadora or on the same apartment floor as her and hated or at least mildly disliked her.

girl, so confusing: a female celebrity (probably a singer) isadora has a complicated relationship with because the media pits them against each other and isadora envies her. this relationship could be platonic but it doesn't have to be.

opposites attract: a muse who's more reclusive and reserved than isadora she gets along with.

it's never just coffee: this muse would be an ex isadora had lingering feelings for and probably still does.

[waldorfisms]

hi! i’m rachel, gmt timezone, and twenty-eight years of age. if you'd like my discord, please just ask, though i don't write on there!

i’ve been roleplaying for most of my life, so i can’t even give you an estimate for how long i’ve been doing it for, going from myspace, to twitter, to tumblr, and indie to a group to back to indie. however, through that entire time, BLAIR WALDORF (the cw’s gossip girl) has been my absolute baby, and i’m so happy to finally be writing properly for her! that being said, this blog will be mutual’s preferred, though, don’t be scared to reach out to me if we aren’t, as sometimes i don’t catch every single thing happening in my sphere. in fact, i often have the main dashboard blocked, so this is kept as a healthy hobby for me. my activity will also fluctuate as i work two jobs, one of which is as a music journalist and the other in retail. oh, and a quickfire way to win my heart is to talk to me about taylor swift!

as this blog is currently bare, there is a very old writing example under the read more. i can’t wait to write with you! 

graphic credits: x, x

Envision hell’s paradise, and you may cultivate the image of two precisely defined horns gripping onto a pitched-fork yet to someone who had the veins of summer bred in their bones, it only relit the need to venture out into its heat waves. It wasn’t the sort where a newly ironed shirt pressed against someone’s skin in a sweat-induced stir, humidity being the missing ingredient to once pleasantly appealing look. But slightly bouncing off of electric streets, finding itself lingering in tropical cocktails and even a tad far out where the golden rays magnetized its similar color across the desert below. Only ever making her wish she was in one of those fashionably cool car movies back in the day where red handkerchiefs were tousled to mark the starting threads of competition. Luckily so, it had been the case now when their customized Baja dune buggies first speeded down the trepidacious course. To anyone who knew her driving skills or very much lack of, they would’ve been acutely aware of her having no ideas on what gear was to what. Braking had become revving, the other swapping tides, and the minutes in between were spent wobbling stubbornly close to the competitors’ side who had far more experience under his belt. 

None of which she exactly cared about as she made it across the finishing line, timely ahead of the other, and catching that second glimpse of the red handkerchief. Lifting the squared-box helmet off her head, what was once curls were now waves from the tightened pressure jerkily shook out to create soft shadows underneath her cheekbones. She never precisely cared, though, what she looked like around Zac, him being one of the few people to tune her radio’s personality dial into the right station at all times. Giving him in question a satisfactory smirk, she stood up from the vehicle and walked towards the side-adjacent tent set up for any breaks the two of them would’ve needed. It was only a minute before he was hot on her tail. “Sure you want to go again?” She asked, knowing a rematch was bound to be the first utterings from his mouth. Her hand shot upwards, shielding her eyes from the blistering yellow rays. The tent could only do so much. “I would love to claim another win, but I’m concerned I’ve already done enough damage to your ego.” An eyebrow inched higher from its usual spot, almost beckoning him to spin some witty tale of his own, before hugging the helmet now held in the wing of arm closer to her body. 

[oldcoffeeart]

Chapter 2: Reunion

CW: Anorexia, Mild blood, Bullying

Brook could feel her blood run cold as that voice rang out. That sweet, soft, and cursed voice. Savannah. It's been years since Brook spoke to her, thought about her, or saw her. But that voice brought so much back to her, so much she thought she had killed and buried. Rachel and Alicia looked at her, confusion on their faces. Brook had mentioned her old friend briefly but besides that she didn't say much about her. Brook needed to act though, say something to get this ghost of her past away.

Brook turned to face the girl and she could feel her resolve crumble seeing that angel face. She looked so soft and innocent, how Brook looked years ago. Brook forced the words from her mouth. "Who are you?"

Savannah's smile faded, her tail wagging slowed. "It's me, Savannah. I just moved here." Brook crossed her arms. "And…? Look I'm sure you're nice and all but I think you have me confused for someone else." Savannah's excited smile completely faded, her shoulders slouching. "Oh." She muttered. The muffled laughter around them made Brook's eye twitch, fuck how she hated that laughter. Brook placed a hand on Savannah's shoulder, whispering in her ear. "Meet me at lunch alright. By the vending machines." The look in those innocent eyes was enough to make Brook want to melt. She couldn't, never again. 

Savannah shakily stepped away, returning to the two girls she had left behind in her excitement. Brook turned back to her own friends who looked at her in curiosity. She spoke just loud enough for them to hear. "In a moment, let's get out of this crowd." Rachel nodded, gently pulling the confused Alicia with her. Once alone by their lockers Alicia spoke. "So what was that? Who was she? Did you really not know her? What did you-" Rachel wrapped a hand around Alicia's muzzle. "One question at a time. Let Brook breathe." Alicia looked up at Rachel, pulling her muzzle away. "Okay okay, I was just curious. I have never seen her before."

Savannah sighed as she thought over her friend's question. "Brooklyn was my best friend. My only friend back in Montana." Lina hummed quietly, laughing a little. "So Ms. Queen Bee was a homeschooled freak. No offense to you Savvy." Savannah sighed a little. "She never used to act like that." Genny shugged. "I'm sorry to say but Brook has always been like that." Savannah sighed. "Where did that even come from? Brooklyn never went by Brook." Lina shugged. "People change Savvy." Savannah sighed, crossing her arms. "Yeah I… suppose so."

Rachel looked down at Brook, her expression unreadable. Alicia was far easier to read, her eyebrows knit. "Why did you ignore her then? She seems really nice." Rachel looked over at Savannah. "She wouldn't fit in." She stated. Brook nodded, her eyes closing. "Exactly. She'd be too innocent for this anyway." Alicia watched quietly, absent mindlessly pulling at her dress. "So you're just going to pretend not to know her? Couldn't you be friends outside of school?" Brook shook her head. "No, it'd be less painful for us both if I just told her to stick with those two." Rachel held Brook's shoulder. "Do you want us to… keep her safe from the sidelines?" Brook looked up at her, that would be a fair trade off. "Yes." Alicia smiled, squirming a little as the bell rang. "Oh! Looks like it's time to go."

Savannah was pulled along by Genny to their shared class. Upon arriving Savannah sat with Genny at the front of class. "So for summer we were assigned to read "The Great Gatsby". I don't think you're going to need to take the test but Mr. Collins might want you to read it so you can participate." Savannah smiled a little. "Oh I read it before, I should be okay." Genny nodded as the teacher began class. He introduced himself and what the class would be about. Savannah's mind couldn't help but wonder, what happened to her old friend? Why was she like that? Savannah's nail drifted up to her mouth, her teeth biting down on it. It broke off easily enough but her mind wouldn't stop bombarding her with anxiety filled ideas. She moved to her next nail, then the next, and then… nothing. Her teeth were met with fur and skin. Her pointer finger was starting to ache, she could taste a mild amount of blood on her tongue. 

Mildly panicked she pulled her hand away, wrapped her finger in her skirt. Next to her, Genny seemed bored. Not paying attention to Savannah nor the class. Mr. Collins seemed inraptured in his own speech. In front of her Savannah noticed a pile of papers. It would seem that Mr. Collins was talking about them. Savannah's eyes glazed over the requirements for class, the different sections of lessons, and finally where she and a parent needed to sign. She retrieved a pencil from her backpack, quietly taping it against her paw three times before signing the paper. 

Genny, meanwhile, had fallen asleep. She was snoring ever so softly. Savannah's attention turned back to Mr Collins. “Now who can tell me what the main theme of “The Great Gatsby” was?” Savannah raised her paw, a smile on her face. Mr. Collins seemed surprised, glancing around the room briefly before calling on her. “Yes Ms. Reed?” Savannah rested her paws in her lap. “The American dream, every character calls into question how we view America's wealth and poverty and the story as a whole is a critical look into the notion as a whole.” She answered, her tail wagging behind her. Mr. Collins smiled, nodded in acceptance. “Very good Ms. Reed. I might have to give you that summer test after all.” Savannah smiled with pride, though that was quickly dashed as she heard laughter around her. “Fuckin teacher's pet.”

“Maybe you can give Ms. Ryan some of that work effort.” Beside her Genny jerked up, a trail of saliva down her chin. “Wha?” Mr. Collins sighed, shaking his head before going back to his lecture. Through the day Savannah had very similar experiences. She would answer a question only to be shot down with laughter and muttering. Lina shot Genny a smile, her arm wrapped around Savannah's soldiers. “Genny, we adopted ourselves a complete nerd. Looks like we're gonna have a nice easy ride.” Genny rolled her eyes, laughing softly. “Oh come on, you know that's not why you like her.” Savannah's smile couldn't quite reach her eyes. She assumed, hoped, that they were both joking. Lina gave Savannah a squeeze before pulling away. “C'mon it's time to eat.” 

Savannah's eyes drifted to the vending machines, chewing on her lower lip. “I'll be there in a moment.” Genny looked at her, crossing her arms. “Savvy, it's not a good idea.” Lina nodded. “You can't say for sure if she'll even show up.” Savannah rubbed her shoulder. “I… want to see what she has to say.” Lina sighed, their eyes closing. “Alright, we can't make you come. Just be careful.” Savannah nodded, Genny patted her arm. “I'll save you something to eat.” Savannah smiled shakily. “Thank you.”

On the opposite side of school, Brook was panicking. She hung over the bathroom sink, slow breaths leaving her mouth. Deep in her stomach she felt sick, it would have risen to her mouth had she eaten that morning. She turned on the sink faucet, cupped her hand under the flowing water and poured it down her throat. School water was always gross, but right now it was the best option for her. Once it was down she lifted her head, swallowing the nothing on her tongue. Her ears folded backwards as she stared at the ceiling. 

God how she felt like a middle school meeting up with her crush for the first time.

The thought made her jolt, her fur standing on end as she looked into the mirror. “No.” She announced to herself before turning to leave. She hit her forehead with her paw pads, cursing to herself. Outside the bathroom her boyfriend, well not really her boyfriend, was standing there. His name is Sage. Objectively he's handsome, beautiful blue eyes, perfect fur, a heart melting smile… he really is a perfect cover for school. Sage leaned against the wall, picking out dirt from his nails. He looked over at Brook, a smile curling up his lips. “All good?” Brook nodded, sighing. “Yeah, you look gay doing that.” Sage huffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh that's great coming from you.” Brook laughed dryly. The laugh was enough to make her grimace. It was enough for Sage to place a hand on her shoulder. “What's wrong?” Brook smirked at him. “Worried about your girl now?” He didn't smile back, his expression firm and worried. “Brook.” She let out a breath, placing a hand on top of his. “She's here.” 

Sage couldn't help but make a sound of pain, his body physically reacting to that. Childhood crushes that never ended, that's the one pain he could always understand. Gay ones, that just pulled on a part of him that's extra tender. Sage pulled his friend to the floor, sitting them both down. “Tell me about it?” Brook shook her head, her lips pressed together. “Not here, you never know who could hear.” He nodded, folding his paws in his lap. “What are you going to do?” Brook rested her head on his shoulder. “Get her away. I'm going to talk to her at lunch.” Sage hummed quietly. “So now?” She nodded. He pulled her up. “Go on, sitting like this will only make you think about it more.” Brook looked up at him before pulling herself up to her feet. “Talk to you later then, wish me luck.” Sage laughed quietly. “Yeah yeah, now go you silly lesbian.” Brook flipped him off, a playful smile on her lips as she left.

Savannah leaned against the vending machines, her nails having met with her teeth again. Savannah looked up as she heard paw steps. There she is.

Brook looked at the canine infront of her. Big, innocent eyes and fur that looks silky-smooth. It was, Brook knew it was. Her paw twitched by her side, all she wanted was to draw her hand through that fur again and-

“Brookie?” Savannah asked, she felt vulnerable under her gaze. Here was her old friend and she wasn't anything she knew. So cold, her expression looked foreign on her face. Brook let out a breath, crossing her arms. “Why are you here?” Savannah blinked dumbly. “You… asked me to meet you here?” Brook paused. “Yes I mean, here, at OCD. Why are you at this school?” Savannah looked away, shrugging. “My family moved here and they thought this school seemed the best for me. All the after school stuff and the amount of people who continue to college.” Brook's tail flicked behind her. “Well, focus on that then. It's for the best if we don't talk.” She said, gesturing between them both. Savannah sunk into her sweater, unable to look her in the eyes. “Why?” Her voice was hardly loud enough to be heard. “We're best friends forever.” 

Brook closed her eyes. “Not anymore Savannah. I don't want you getting into the shit I'm in.” Savannah held onto her own sweater's slaves. “You're not my mom.” Brook let out a slow, hiss of a breath. “I know what's best.” Savannah shook her head looking up at Brook. “No.” Brook placed a hand on her shoulder, offering the canine a ghost of a smile. “Savannah, please. Take this as the last thing I'm doing as your friend.” Savannah pushed her hand away, her lips pulling back in a grimace. “That's a bunch of shit. What happened to you? You're not the Brooklyn I knew.” Brook's paw closed before getting shoved to her side. “I grew up.” Savannah looked up at her, her eyebrows knit. “You let the world twist you into someone you're not.” Brook's ears folded backwards, shoveling her finger into Savannah's shoulder. “I became who I had to be.” 

Savannah shoved her hand away. Brook gripped onto Savannah's wrists, pinning her hands over her head. Savannah looked up at her, not fighting though she was un-wavered. Her voice became quieter. “You didn't have too, I was right there.” Brook's hands tightened around her wrists. “You weren't.” Savannah breathed quietly. “I would have done anything for you, I still would.” Brook pulled herself away, her paws curled into fists. “That's the issue. Just let go, Savannah.” She left before Savannah could call back, her shoulders bumping against Genny. Lina hissed at her, holding onto Genny's shoulder.  “Fucking watch it!” Brook flipped the other feline off before continuing to leave. “What the hell was that?” Genny asked, watching as she stabilized two trays full of food. Savannah sighed quietly. “I wish I knew.”

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

[mceproductions]

Dancing the Year Away (Countdown Recap)

Before I sum up 2023 We'll look back on the past 30 days Countdown wise.

Best of 2023

Movies

1.  Mission Impossible - Dead Reckoning: Part One

2.  Oppenheimer

3.  The Super Mario Bros Movie

4.  Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

5.  Barbie

6.  Suzume

7.  John Wick: Chapter 4

8.  Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3

9.  Killers of the Flower Moon

10. The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

11. Elemental and The Flash

12. Fast X

13. Wonka

14. M3GAN

15. The Marvels

Runners Up:

A Man Called Otto

Shazam: Fury of the Gods

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny

TMNT: Mutant Mayhem

80 For Brady

Worst:

1. Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey

2. Expend4bles

3. Ant Man and the Wasp: Quantumania

Honorable Mention:

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish

TV

Best New Show of 2023 Nominee*   Winner^

1.  Star Trek Picard (Paramount+)

2.  The Last of Us (HBO)^

3.  Succession (HBO)

4.  The Daily Show (Comedy Central)

5.  The Late Show with Stephen Colbert (CBS)

6.  Yellowstone (Paramount TV)

7.  The Mandalorian (Disney+)

8.  Abbott Elementary (ABC)

9.  Late Night with Seth Meyers (NBC)

10. Loki (Disney+)

11. SNL (NBC)

12. That 90’s Show (NETFLIX)*

13. My Hero Academia (ADULT SWIM)

14. Last Week Tonight with John Oliver (HBO) and Real Time with Bill Maher (HBO)

15. Ahsoka (Disney+)*

16. Attack On Titan: The Final Chapters (Crunchyroll/ADULT SWIM)

17. The Good Doctor (ABC)

18. The Owl House (Disney)

19. TONIKAWA: Over the Moon for You (Crunchyroll) and

Outlander (Starz)

20. My Adventures with Superman (ADULT SWIM)*

21. It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (FXX)

22. 1923 (Paramount+)

23. RWBY (Crunchyroll)

24. One Piece (NETFLIX)*

25. The Simpsons (FOX)

Runners Up:

Tomo-Chan is A Girl (Crunchyroll)

Oshi No Ko (HI-DIVE)

The Walking Dead: Dead City and Daryl Dixon (AMC)

Young Sheldon (CBS)

Jimmy Kimmel Live (ABC)

Worst:

1. Velma (MAX)

2. Secret Invasion (Disney+)

3. Gotham Knights (CW)

Honorable Mention:

Star Trek Lower Decks and Strange New Worlds (Paramount+)

Music

1. Dua Lipa “Dance The Night”

2. MindaRyn “Way to Go”

3. Morgan Wallen “Last Night”

4. Jack Black “Peaches”

5. Miley Cyrus “Flowers”

6.  NSYNC “Better Place”

7.  Taylor Swift “Karma”

8.  Radwimps and Toaka “SUZUME”

9.  Ed Sheeran “Eyes Closed”

10. Jason Aldean “Try That in a Small Town”

11. Ludwig Goransson “Can You Hear The Music”

12. Olivia Rodrigo “Vampire”

13. Halle Bailey “Part of Your World”

14. Jimin “Like Crazy”

15. Ryan Gosling “Push”

16. Metro Boomin, Swae Lee, Lil Wayne, and Offset “Annihilate”

17. NBA YoungBoy, Bailey Zimmerman and Dermot Kennedy “Won’t Back Down”

18. Brian Tyler “Level Complete”

19. Neriame “Unmei Kyoudoutai!”

20. Rahul Sipligunj and Kaala Bhairva “Naatu Naatu”

21. YOASOBI “IDOL”

22. Ryan Gosling “I’m Just Ken” and Cher “DJ Play A Christmas Song”

23. Dr. Teeth and The Electric Mayhem “Rock and Roll All Nite”

24. Taylor Swift “Cruel Summer”

25. LAUV “Steal The Show”

26. U2 “Walk On (Ukraine)” and Blink 182 “One More Time”

27. Jung Kook “Standing Next to You”

28. Linkin Park “Lost”

29. The Weeknd and Ariana Grande “Die for You”

30. Rachel Zegler “Nothing You Can Take From Me”

Runners Up:

Radwimps “Kanata Haluka”

Chris Pine “This Is the Thanks I Get”

BTS “Take Two”

Casey Lee Williams “Worthy”

Oliver Anthony “Rich Men North of Richmond”

Worst:

1. Awkwafina and Daveed Diggs “The Scuttlebutt”

2. Nicki Minaj and Ice Spice “Barbie World”

3. J6 Prison Choir and Donald Trump “Justice For All”

Honorable Mention:

Taylor Swift and Her Taylor’s Version Remakes

Game of The Year

Nominee* Winner^

The Legend of Zelda: Tears of The Kingdom^

Starfield*

Sony’s Spider-Man 2*

Super Mario Bros Wonder*

Hogwarts Legacy*

Worst:

The Lord of the Rings: Gollum

THE JAW DROPPERS:

1. Damar Hamlin

2. The Enterprise D Returns to the fold

3. Barbenheimer

4. Breakthrough of Bilingual VA’s in Anime

5. Hamas Gives another Salvo

6. Memory of a Flerken Brood

7. The Toymaker Spices Up Our Lives

8.  Looks like ______ is back on the Menu

9.  The Twilight of An Icon

10. The Saga of George Santos

HM: A sport goes Swiftie

[gottastaychai]

[say-cyke-rn]

earthly chores 

[thechairdiaries]

daddy’s girl <3

[onewackynight]

Seth + Summer (adam and Rachel)

[briilliance1]

i hate tumblr deleting my tags. again.

[autisticlancemcclain]

cw for suicidal thoughts, ideation, & attempt

———

It starts again with the bone dread.

That sounds dramatic. Maybe it is. Maybe he’s making a big deal of something that really isn’t that huge, in the big picture.

But Lance can feel it, the dread seeping from his heart to his head to the marrow of his bones, feel his skin become leather and his feet leaden. He can feel the Grey coming, like he has for years, like he will for as long as he lives.

He is being dramatic.

He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care about much of anything.

It’s started, the apathy. It’s not even a struggle that he’s losing, because you can’t lose if you’re not playing.

He hasn’t touched his skincare routine in months. He can’t remember the last time he looked at his console. He’s starting to forget the sound of his own voice. It’s getting increasingly harder to force himself out of bed.

Lance is very, very afraid.

———

He thinks he was twelve when it first started happening. He’s not sure if he should blame the move from Cuba at such a plastic age, or the hormonal imbalance everyone starts getting at that age, but it really doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t remember exactly when it started. He didn’t document the slow descent, didn’t know to watch carefully for the signs. He has no idea when it truly began.

He does remember, with startling clarity, laying in his bed the morning after his twelfth birthday and thinking to himself: “Six more and you’re done.”

The next clear memory is overwhelming relief.

———

He hated snow from the minute he saw it. Despised it. It was beautiful when it was fresh, breathtaking from a distance, but quickly became tainted and slushy and cold and so, so empty.

Fitting.

He never understood why they had to move from Cuba to fucking Vermont, of all places. Anywhere else would have been better. Hell, he would’ve even taken Texas.

But no. Vermont was where Mamá’s work had moved her, so Vermont is where they went.

The summer they arrived was fine. Lance was grouchy, sure, but that’s because he had left his family and friends and life back in Cuba for stupid America, and he was upset about it. But he enjoyed mucking around the big forests with his siblings, and was excited to cart himself all the way to Arizona for flight school.

Flight school! So he could be a pilot!

The uniforms were ugly and the desert was plain, but classes were interesting and he had a roommate, which was totally different from sharing a room with Rachel. (Hunk was cool, and he was nice to Lance. Two things Rachel could never claim to be.)

He threw himself into his studies with a vigour, and several clubs besides. He hung out with Hunk every evening, even meeting some other friends and hanging out with them, too. The rec room had a pool table, and Lance had just recently learned what hustling was.

He was great at it. (Hunk was great at sending victims Lance’s way. They split the profits and used them to pay for weekends at the local town, which meant plate after plate of nachos and ridiculously fast go-karts that made Hunk blow chunks every time without fail.)

Things started to get hard, the longer the year stretched on.

The sun was fully set by five-thirty.

Lance didn’t know why that started to make his chest hurt.

He stopped going out on weekends, first. Lied to Hunk that his family wanted him on Skype calls, even though they’d never wanted that before. He didn’t know why he said it.

Hunk looked unsure, but smiled tightly and told Lance he’d miss him on the tracks.

Lance slept the whole time Hunk was gone.

He was…tired, all the time. He couldn’t look at his bed without thinking about how nice it would feel to be wrapped up in the blankets.

He stopped going to the rec room, next. First he made up a story about a cold he didn’t want to spread, then about grades that were slipping (they weren’t) and studying he needed to do. Then he invented a friend who lived in Australia, who Lance had to call every day and the time difference made it hard.

Hunk stopped questioning. They still hung out, after all, in between classes and right before curfew. For all that Lance had dropped all his clubs and rarely left his room, his grades had never slipped — all Garrison classes were group-based. Lance couldn’t let his group mates down.

Everything else was fair game, though.

Week after week, month after month, Lance went to classes and then went to bed. He didn’t even go home for the holidays, lied to his family and told them the Garrison didn’t have them.

He slept through Christmas. He didn’t even realize it was Christmas, actually. If he left his bed it was to shower occasionally. Time passed — or it didn’t — and Lance was none the wiser. All he really wanted to do was sleep.

It started after his twelfth birthday, but it kept on going, really. So long as he was conscious, every time he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he’s sigh, deep and long, and remind himself he only had a few years left before it was over.

Eighteen.

Eighteen.

Eighteen.

It’s not like he had any plans, or anything. He didn’t know why he was so sure he wouldn’t have to worry past eighteen, but he knew in his heart it was true. Probably made the whole piloting career a bit of a waste, but that didn’t matter. It was better than public school.

It happened on a random day in April.

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk had said, digging through his closet for a hoodie. “I know you’re not huge on it, but a bunch of us are gonna go play pool in the rec room. You wanna come?”

A little surprisingly, Lance found he did want to come, actually. The sun warmed his skin from where it bled golden through their dorm window, and he was feeling kind of antsy.

“What are you talking about? I love pool. Think we can scam some juniors out of forty dollars?”

Hunk grinned.

———

He didn’t feel nearly so tired in the next few weeks. He must have been going through a growth spurt — although Hunk happily reminded him he was still a shrimp, for which Lance happily kicked him in the knee — and needed a lot of sleep. He felt a lot more energized now, though, and the air outside smelled so good. It made him want to run around.

He and Hunk went back to hustling older kids at pool, going to town every weekend. It was fun. Even when the desert heat started up again, Lance couldn’t find it in himself to complain. And when June came, and he and Hunk put in their roommate requests for next year, he was so excited to get home that he probably could have run the thousands of miles himself.

He missed everyone. He couldn’t remember why he didn’t go home for Christmas. He was a little guilty about it, too — did he really sleep instead of calling his Mamá?

The summer passed in a whirlwind of hiking and running and swimming and bothering Veronica at her new job. It was great. The heat settled heavy over his skin, even in stupid Vermont, and the sun burned his scalp and bleached his hair. It was wonderful. The joy carried him through the months, even when boredom seemed to drag, and he was itching to get back to Hunk and the Garrison by the end of it. From what he remembered of the last year, it had been decently busy and fun. Winter was a little fuzzy — finals stress muddles your memory, Marco claims — but he was ready to go back.

He couldn’t wait for the first day of school.

———

The next time the thought hit, it kind of…startled him.

He and Hunk had climbed their way to the roof, watching the sunset after a week of brutal midterms. They’d taken a million pictures of the clouds that they’d never look at again, but it was the principle of the thing, anyway. They’d stayed out right until the sun dipped below the horizon of sand and brush and cacti, until the stars twinkled out above the sky.

“Oh, fuck,” Lance had cursed, scrambling to his feet. “It must be late as shit. Did we miss curfew?”

Hunk checked his phone, and then huffed a laugh. “Nope! It’s only six, bud. We’re good. Man, I always forget how quickly the days shorten, huh?”

Lance swallowed. All of a sudden it felt like the lightness of the evening had evaporated, and a heavy ball of something settled in his stomach.

“Yeah,” he said, voice dry.

Hunk got up anyway, brushing the dirt from his pants. “We should head in, though, you’re right. It’s gonna get cold.”

He slung an arm around Lance’s shoulder — he’d somehow grown more over the summer, which was rude, because Lance had not — and headed towards the door.

“You want to head to the rec room for a bit? I think the RA rented a movie, or something. Might be cool.”

“I’m actually really tired,” Lance said, and it was true. He was. All he could think about was the warmth of his bed, of curling up in his blankets for the night.

“Aw, man, but it’s so early!”

“Feels like midnight.”

“I guess so,” Hunk relented, and squeezed his shoulders one more time before letting go. “You just gonna go to bed, or are you gonna go right to sleep?”

“I think I’m gonna pass out, honestly. Might be coming down with something.”

“Alright, Lance. See you in the morning. Love ya.”

“Love you, too.”

As he walked back to their dorms, he started to feel guilty. It was one thing to make his mom and siblings love him — that was kind of their job, he couldn’t really help it — but was it really fair to make Hunk love him? He wasn’t going to be around in a few years, after all. It was kind of unfair to have him stick so much affection and time on a guy who wouldn’t even be there once they graduate.

He froze, as he closed the door behind him.

Why wouldn’t he be there? It’s not like he was sick, or anything.

You just won’t be. It’s okay, though. It’s too late to change it now. Might as well enjoy it while you can.

That was fair, Lance supposed. Five years was a long time, anyways. And it was selfish, but it wasn’t like Lance would be around to feel guilty after, anyways.

———

The next year, shortly after Lance turned fourteen, his physics teacher left the room, and the guidance counsellor walked in.

“You’re all going through some pretty major changes,” she’d started, and Lance barely held back a groan.

Was this a sex talk? Were they really getting a sex talk right now? Lance had already endured the most painful one of his life over the summer. He couldn’t look his mother in the eyes for a week, after. Horrible. A general glance around the classroom showed the rest of his peers in a similar state of despair, even though everyone was desperately avoiding eye contact with one another.

“A big one of those is hormonal changes,” she continued, and everyone groaned.

She smiled wryly. “I’m not hear for that talk, as amusing as it would be to watch you all suffer.”

She…wasn’t giving them a sex talk? What the hell else does ‘all your hormones are changing’ mean?

“I’m here to talk to y’all about mental health. Your brains are in the most vulnerable state they’ve ever been in right now, and I’m willing to bet that none of you know the warning signs of trouble. None of you have parents watching out for you here, either, and as much as your instructors will try, it’s just not the same. Your best bet is to be able to recognize the signs of mental illness in yourself and in each other, and then ask us for help. Okay?”

The guidance counsellor was kind, but firm. She spent the next two hours systematically going over half the goddamn DSM-5, warning them off harmful stereotypes that take away from true symptoms.

“People who are depressed are not just puddles of tears who wail about their sadness all time time,” she said. “Most of them feel empty, if anything. Long periods of blankness, inability to do basic things like be social and even shower or get out of bed. Sometimes the blankness gets overshot by irritability, so watch out for that, too. But most dangerous, and the thing that requires immediate attention — watch out for suicidal thoughts. If you’re contemplating suicide, seek help immediately, even if you think it’s stupid. Am I understood?”

Everyone muttered some equivalent to ‘yes, ma’am,’ but Lance sat there in shock.

That couldn’t be him, right? He’s not suicidal. And he never misses class, even though she mentioned that depressed people often shirk responsibilities. And it’s not like he has a reason to be depressed, for fuck’s sake. He grew up in a loving home, more or less financially stable. There was bullying, of course, but who hasn’t been bullied?

He’s not fucking depressed.

He’s just growing. That’s all.

———

“Lance, buddy?”

“Mhm.”

Hunk sighed. Lance felt a little bad, but he didn’t have the energy today — class had dragged on so long. He just wanted a nap.

“I need to talk to you, Lance. You have to get up for that.”

“I’m really tired, Hunk. I had a long day. Can we talk tomorrow.”

“That is the problem, Lance. You didn’t have a hard day. Classes were light, we had lunch outside the caf, and you don’t have any assignments due. You’re tired for no reason.”

Lance summoned the energy to roll over, facing Hunk for the first time. He narrowed his eyes.

“I’m growing, Hunk, you know that. It takes a lot of energy.”

Hunk bit his lip. He spent a long moment staring at his hands, long enough that Lance considered rolling back over and going to sleep, but then Hunk steeled himself and looked straight into his eyes.

“Lance, I think you’re depressed. You need to talk to the counsellor.”

“Ha. Okay, sure.”

Rolling his eyes, Lance pulled the covers back up to his nose.

“I’m serious, Lance. You sleep all the time, you blow off clubs and stuff — I talked to your mom, you even blew off Christmas again this year — you get snappy randomly, and…”

Hunk trailed off for a moment.

“Well, dude, I’m worried you’re suicidal. You never talk about your future.”

In a burst of energy Lance hadn’t felt in weeks, he shot straight up, throwing off the blankets and glaring at Hunk with more vitriol he knew he was capable of having.

“I am not suicidal, Hunk. I’m not fucking depressed, either.”

Hunk held his gaze, unfazed by the venom in Lance’s voice.

“You are. You fit all the symptoms.”

“Maybe you should get checked out, because you’re apparently fucking delusional —”

It was Hunk’s turn to glare now, arms crossed and unflinching.

“You either go to the counsellor yourself, or I tell her I’m worried. Either way you have to talk to her.”

“Fuck off. No you won’t.”

“I will, Lance, I care about you and I’m worried —”

“If you really cared you’d leave me the hell alone! I am not fucking depressed!”

“You’re going and that’s final, Lance. If you don’t go, I swear to God I’ll tell the counsellor and I’ll tell your mother that you slept through winter break.”

Lance stilled. He looked at Hunk, examining his expression for any sign that he was bluffing.

He found none. Hunk was serious.

Lance’s face hardened. Well, he was fucking serious too.

“I’m not going. And if you go and snitch, I swear to God, Hunk, I will never forgive you as long as I live.”

With that he turned back over and shoved his pillow over his head. He couldn’t believe Hunk was pulling this shit — he thought they were friends! Did Hunk fucking want Lance to be medicated until he was brainless, or locked in a psych ward?

Apparently.

Whatever, though. There was no way Hunk was serious. He looked serious, sure, but eventually he’d drop it and they could move on.

Or, that’s what Lance thought would happen. It would be an understatement to say he was shocked when he was called to the counsellor’s office in the middle of class the next morning.

He looked at Hunk in shocked betrayal. Hunk, to his credit, looked guilty.

But he didn’t look sorry.

“Lance,” said the guidance counsellor warmly as he sat stiffly in the seat in front of her. “I’m concerned about you.”

Lance said nothing. She couldn’t diagnose him with a goddamn thing if he shut the fuck up.

She, unfortunately, looked unphased. “Your friend told me you sleep, a lot.”

“I’m growing,” Lance snapped.

So much for staying silent.

“I’m sure you are,” she said gently. “But it’s not normal to do this every year. To sleep more than you’re awake.”

“I don’t. I go to every single class. I do all my homework. I call my mother. I’m not depressed, and with all due respect —” that didn’t mean a lot, but he was spitting a good amount of attitude right now and as much as he very much was angry, he didn’t want shit for insubordination — “this is a massive waste of time. My friend is a worrier. I’m fine.”

She was quiet for a long time. Contemplative. Her hands were steepled in front of her, half-covering her face where she rested her head on them, but her eyes never left his.

“Do you think your friend will stop pushing this?” she asked eventually. “If I dismiss you, if I take you at your word, and you walk out of here, do you think your friend will accept that?”

Lance thought of Hunk, the most stubborn person he knew, determined to be an airforce engineer even though the sims made him sick.

“No,” he said petulantly. “He won’t.”

“Let me run a diagnostic, then. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you are just growing. Answer a few questions for me and we’ll see, okay?”

It was a long process. Long enough that it wasn’t even finished within the day — he had to make several more appointments with her, on top of seeing a specialist. Every visit made him angrier, all the time, and there was hardly a moment where he talked to anyone without snapping.

“Here’s the final deal,” she said, days later, making him miss a stupid class again to deal with this shit. “You’re right that you don’t have regular depression.”

Ha!

“You do, however, have one of the worst cases of seasonal affective disorder I’ve ever seen.”

Less ha.

“What’s that?” he asked irritably, somehow more annoyed than when he came here for the first time.

“It’s also known as seasonal depression,” she said, well used to his shit now and easily able to handle his moods. “The lack of sun makes your mood plummet. Your brain stops producing adequate amounts of stimuli, especially serotonin and dopamine. It’s as if your energy goes down with the sun in the winter months.”

Lance wanted to argue. He wanted to push and fight and deny, because that’s such a dumbass disease to have — really? His brain doesn’t work because the sun is too far away? What is he, a reverse vampire? — but that…makes an alarming amount of sense.

His energy does go down when the sun goes down.

“Fine,” he said sullenly. “I’m good now? I can go?”

“Not quite. I want to go over warning signs with you, and then your treatment plan. Then you can go, okay?”

“Whatever.”

She looked at him sternly.

“Lance.”

He deflated.

“Sorry,” he muttered. As much as this sucked, royally, it wasn’t her fault, and it wasn’t at all fair to take it out on her. That, and she was an adult. If Mamá heard him talking like that to a grown-up she’d tear him a new asshole.

Besides, if there was one person to be mad at it was Hunk. If it weren’t for him and his snitching mouth, Lance wouldn’t even be in this mess.

“Are you going to listen to me, now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, I’m sure this symptoms will be familiar to you as I talk about them, but it should be helpful to have an outside source point them out. Do you have a pen and paper? I want you to write this down.”

Lance frowned. “I don’t need to.”

“One of the symptoms is a foggy memory,” she said, looking at him pointedly. “Remember how you told me you always forget how shitty your winters are when you get home? That’s not just willful ignorance. Your brain is actively refusing to store a lot of the memory you take in, right now. That’s also why your finals are so hard for you. Write down what I’m telling you, Lance.”

Lance scowled as he pulled out a pen and paper, even though what she was saying made sense.

Whatever.

“Alright, fine. Shitty memory. What else?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, kiddo. I know you’re frustrated, but I’m only trying to help.”

Lance bit back tears, because at the core of him he knew she was right, and he was being a huge douchebag, but it was like he didn’t know how to stop!

“Sorry,” he choked out again.

She softened immediately. “I know, sweetheart. I know it’s hard. But we’re going to get you medicated, okay? It should help. It will make things way easier, hopefully.”

This time he listened carefully as she listed the warning signs, writing them down dutifully.

Exhaustion. Apathy. Unwillingness to leave bed, even if you’re not tired. Wonky appetite. Dread, from every part of your body, for no reason. Easily overstimulated on the rare occasions you do walk out of bed. Loss of interest in things you love. Feelings of desperation when it starts to get dark.

“And, most importantly — suicidal thoughts, or ideation. If you get that you come right to me, okay?”

Lance nodded, and she handed him a bottle of pills.

“Read over the label. These are antidepressants. You don’t have to take them all year — you’ll take them now, because you’re in the middle of an episode, but in the future you’ll only need to take them when you start feeling the symptoms with greater frequency. If you have trouble identifying that, start taking them in the first week of November. You’ll come here every morning after breakfast to grab them, okay?”

Lance furrowed his brow. “Come here? I don’t take them with me?”

“Think about it, Lance,” she said softly. “These are SSRIs. As much as they’re helpful, they can kill you easily. Do you understand why I can’t let you have the whole bottle?”

Lance scowled. “What, so I come here like a baby every morning for the rest of my life?”

“Not every morning. Just for the winter months, and maybe some of autumn and spring.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I get to be treated like a child for the rest of my life!”

“Not for that long, either. Technically we can’t withhold them from you past 18, although I would prefer it if you would allow us.”

Lance stilled.

Eighteen.

Another thing to look forward to, for that year.

“Do you understand, Lance?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I just have to let your mom know, and then —”

“You can’t tell my mom!”

The counsellor looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t have a choice, buddy. You’re a minor. She has to know about your medical treatments.”

Lance bit back a comment about how this wasn’t a fucking medical treatment — it was a waste of time — knowing it would only dig a deeper hole for him.

“She’s going to freak out. She can’t know.”

She smiled at him, although there was no joy behind it.

Pitying.

Lance wanted to throw up.

“She only wants the best for you. Promise.”

Lance refused to look at her. She sighed.

“Let’s just get it over with, okay? The number we have for her on file isn’t working. I need her number from you.”

That was right — Mamá changed her phone number in September. His file was outdated.

Suddenly, he had an idea.

“She never has it on her, doesn’t answer much,” he lied.

“Still need the number, kiddo. I can leave her a message.”

Heart pounding in his throat, Lance rattled off his own phone number.

They would never know.

How would they know?

“Alright,” said the counsellor after she wrote it down. “You can head back now, buddy. Come back first thing in the morning, alright?”

Lance muttered his compliance and stomped back to his dorm. Hunk smiled tightly at him with he walked in.

“How’d it go?”

Lance ignored him. He’d been doing that a lot, lately.

Hunk sighed. “I’m sorry you’re struggling, Lance. But you know I had to.”

Lance said nothing. Hunk sighed again, looking away. He looked hurt.

Lance couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it. He told Hunk what would happen if he snitched — Lance has to be coddled by the staff, now, for dumbass pills that weren’t even going to work. It’s forever on his file.

He told Hunk. He did.

———

Three weeks later, Lance had to swallow his pride.

The pills did work, unfortunately. Turns out it’s a helluva lot easier to care about life when your brain works properly. Go figure.

(And, with all this newfound emotion, Lance has plenty of time to feel intensely angry at himself for being so broken. Not, like, in an emo way or anything — a disease is a disease, yadda yadda yadda — but did his have to be so stupid? What kind of brain relied entirely on the amount of time a giant ball of gas was in his eyesight? Real depressed people have a fucking reason to be depressed. Lance’s brain just fucking decided it wouldn’t work properly for six months of the year. It couldn’t even be broken year round! It had the capacity to work like it goddamn well should, it just chose not to. What a fucking joke.)

Now that every waking moment wasn’t consumed with the greyest of all apathy, though… Lance felt a lot of guilt.

A lot.

He’d been ignoring Hunk for upwards of a goddamn month, treating the guy like shit, and for what? Because he cared about Lance?

Lance had never been so ashamed in his whole life. Now he was avoiding Hunk for a while different reason — he couldn’t look the guy in the eyes.

But that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Hunk had that kicked puppy look every time Lance ducked around a corner to avoid him.

As much as it sucked, Lance had to own up to his shit. Their friendship was probably ruined, and Hunk was likely done with him, but still.

Responsibility. Lance could do with taking some.

“Hey, Hunk?” he said, well aware his voice was shaking. Hunk looked up at him in shock, surrounded by his friends in the rec room.

Lance swallowed roughly.

“Can I talk to you?”

Hunk stood immediately, wordlessly following Lance back to their dorm. He shut the door behind him, staring at Lance with wide eyes as he fidgeted.

“I’m sorry,” Lance blurted, after several minutes of tense silence. He felt the tears that had been stinging his eyes spill out at the same time as the desperate words.

“You were just being a good friend, just trying to help, and I was being a surly jackass and you’re right I am depressed but that’s no excuse for how I treated you and you deserve way better and I’m just really, really sorry and —”

“Oh, Lance,” Hunk said, and the next thing Lance knew he was being crushed in a set of strong arms. “Oh, Lance, I know. I forgive you. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Lance sobbed. “I treated you like shit for weeks. I ignored you.”

“I know. And that was shitty. But… you’re taking your meds now, right?”

Lance nodded, smearing tears and snot into poor Hunk’s sleeve.

Gross. So much for not making Hunk’s life hard anymore.

“Good. You’re getting better, okay? You’re doing your best. I forgive you. Okay?”

Lance nodded again, shuddering in Hunk’s arms. He still felt guilty, but it was no longer all-encompassing.

It was a hopeful kind of guilt, really. The kind of guilt that inspired you to move forward.

———

Lance’s next few years were pretty decent, all things considered. The meds really did help, as wildly dehumanizing as it was to sulk over to the counsellor’s office every morning with all the other fucked up kids to get his daily make-my-dumbass-brain-work-right pills. He learned to forget about the wounded pride as soon as he left, move on with his life.

He used that list religiously. Memorized the symptoms, repeated them endlessly in his head.

Apathy. Loss of interest. Exhaustion.

Suicidal thoughts.

He was never suicidal, he doesn’t think. Still isn’t. He never made a plan to kill himself, never wanted to jump off a bridge or anything. Sure he refused to think about his future, sure he thought idly about it ending it occasionally, sure he joked about throwing himself off the roof during midterms. But that was normal. Everyone made those jokes, everyone looked curiously over the rail on the highway. But he dutifully made his stupid way to the stupid counsellor’s office when the Grey — that’s what he’d taken to calling the stupid disease, because that’s how it made everything feel — set in.

He was careful.

Hunk was supportive, too. He knew to watch out for Lance, although he trusted Lance to watch out for himself, by now. Still, it felt nice to have someone care for him.

Mamá still didn’t know, and everyone else didn’t know that she didn’t know. Which was fine by Lance. The less people to know about his embarrassing shit the better. Plus, he only really saw her in the summer months, anyway, so she never had any reason to worry. It was fine.

He was fine.

He was handling it.

He had everything under control.

———

The very day he turned eighteen, Lance marched to the counsellor’s office and demanded his pills.

She was reluctant.

“You know it’s safer for me to keep them,” she said.

“I am not going to kill myself,” he responded.

“I know. But isn’t it easier to not have the risk? To keep it here?”

Lance folded his hands together and looked her dead in the eyes. “Words cannot explain how much I hate the stupid parade I have to do here every morning,” he said seriously. “It makes me wish I shut up and stayed quiet when I was fourteen so I never had to take the stupid pills to begin with. I’ve been working with you, ma’am, for four years, but I’m tired and it’s my right. Please give them to me.”

She sighed, but complied. Lance closed his fist around the ugly orange bottle and walked out without another word.

He sat quietly on his bed for a moment, when he got back from his dorm. He didn’t feel the Grey yet. He knew it was coming. It came every year.

But he wasn’t fourteen anymore. Did he really need to drug himself? He knew the symptoms, now. Knew what to avoid. When the Grey set in, he could just… not spend his time in bed. Go on more walks. Spend more time with Hunk. He knew how to handle himself, now.

Back then he was so uninformed. Of course he had depressive episodes. He didn’t know better.

But he knew, now.

Nodding resolutely to himself, he stuffed the bottle in the back of his sock drawer. He’d just do a trial. If he started to struggle again, he’d just take the pills. Simple.

He had this under control.

———

“You are, without a doubt, the worst pilot I’ve ever had in my class, McClain,” Iverson said coldly. “Get out of my classroom. Come back when you pull your head out of your ass and remember how to think.”

Lance did. He walked slowly back to his dorm, pretending he didn’t see Hunk’s sympathetic look as he exited the classroom. He took his time down the hallways, stopping to watch the streetlights flicker in the darkness out the windows.

What the fuck was he doing?

He’d been avoiding it for four years. Laughing away any question about his future.

But really, what did he have waiting for him?

He used to have his grades. But ever since he got bumped to fighter class, his grades had fucking tanked. He was dragging his team down with every fuck up — there weren’t even people relying on him anymore. Hunk had been needling him to come with him to town, to no avail. Lance just wasn’t feeling it. He’d been ignoring all Mamá’s calls, too. For no reason. He just hits decline before he thinks.

He was a bad student, a bad pilot, a bad friend, and a bad son. What the hell was he doing here? Why was he wasting time, wasting resources?

For years, his mantra had been eighteen. Eighteen, and you don’t have to struggle. Eighteen, and this’ll all be in the past. Eighteen, and you don’t have to worry about it anymore.

Well, he was eighteen, now. His birthday came and went. What the fuck was he waiting for? An invitation?

He told his counsellor he wasn’t suicidal, and he wasn’t. This was different. He was never supposed to live past eighteen, he knew that in his heart. You can’t be suicidal if you were fated to die anyway.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached towards his sock drawer. He searched around blindly — he hadn’t bothered with the lights — until he found what he was looking for.

He sat back against his pillows, turning the orange pill bottle around in his hands. It rattled — mostly full.

Strong pills.

He was pretty scrawny. It wouldn’t be hard.

Don’t overthink it, the thought to himself. Take a few, see how you feel.

He rummaged around in his bag for his water bottle, popping the lid and bringing it to his lips. He counted out six pills, threw them into the back of his throat, and swallowed.

He waited a moment.

What was he feeling?

Nothing, really. The Grey had long set in, he knew it, but couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about it.

He swallowed a few more pills.

Then a few more.

He kept going until he choked down the whole damn bottle.

It was disgusting. He felt that. Tasted like plastic soup, with all the nasty coating.

He carefully put back his water bottle, then shoved the empty pill bottle deep into his jeans pocket. He settled down into bed, over the covers. He was kind of hot, actually.

Should he write a note, or something? For his family? For Hunk?

No. That would be unfair. Might make them feel guilty, or something. Better to let him think he died randomly in his sleep.

He stayed where he was, drifting in and out of consciousness for God knows how long. It couldn’t have been more than an hour, because Hunk wasn’t back yet.

Damn. In the movies it’s a lot faster, dying.

His stomach starts to cramp, but he ignores it. He didn’t exactly expect it to be painless. He put a lot of foreign chemical in his body, after all, it made sense that it was trying to fight it off. It’d lose the fight before long, and Lance could sleep.

Only, he didn’t drift off, and the cramps didn’t fade. They got worse.

And worse.

And worse.

The worse the got, the more panic began to set in. God, he was going to die, wasn’t he? He’d never see his mamá again. Or his siblings. God, fuck, how was Luis going to explain this to the kids? Their brains were still developing. What if this traumatized them? Fuck, what if their brains get fucked up because Lance killed himself?

Lance scrambled out of bed. Oh, this was bad. This was really, really bad.

He sprinted to the bathrooms, but he was kind of dizzy. He couldn’t see well, he kept tripping over nothing. He finally collapsed over the nearest toilet, immediately shoving his fingers down his throat until he gagged.

He threw up, some.

But not enough.

His stomach was in agony.

He knew at once that he was fucked. Pills dissolve fast, and — fuck! He could barely think. He had to — he had to get to a hospital, or something. But he couldn’t call anyone. They couldn’t know.

With shaking, spit-soaked fingers, he opened the Uber app. The nearest hospital was only a twenty minute drive. It was fine.

He limped his way outside, blinking desperately to stay awake. He kept gagging, but nothing came up. He tried to remember some breathing exercises, calm himself down — it couldn’t be helpful to freak out any more than he already was. He’d just have to stay calm until the Uber arrived.

He stumbled over to it when it finally pulled up, not even bothering to check the plates. Hopefully it was the right car.

“To the hospital, dude? Should I… get a teacher, or something?”

“I’m an adult,” Lance rasped. “Please just go.”

The driver didn’t need any more instruction, hastily pulling out of the parking lot and whipping down the highway.

Well, Lance supposed he couldn’t feel any more nauseous.

They arrived to the hospital in what was probably record time, if Lance was not too out of it to actually record the time. He barely noticed when the pulled into the hospital parking lot, except to yank open the door and dry heave until he sobbed.

“Do you need help?” the driver asked worriedly. “Like, checking in or anything?”

“I’m good,” Lance lied, throwing himself out of the car and making a crooked beeline for the ER door.

He managed to hold himself together long enough to speak to the attendant. Explain what happened. Tell them what he took and how much. Hand them the bottle he had thankfully kept in his pocket.

Then he remembered collapsing onto the dinky plastic chairs of the waiting room.

And then nothing.

———

When he woke up again, he was groggy and confused, and his heart was beating way too fast. He felt like a hummingbird, like his heart was speeding quickly enough that it just sounded like one long hum. A beeping noise sounded from his left, and before he had the time to look to see what that was a nurse pulled back the curtain and approached his cot.

“You need to calm down,” she said gruffly.

“What happened?” Lance rasped.

She raised an eyebrow. “You tried to off yourself,” she said, like he was stupid.

Lance didn’t even have the wherewithal to flush, even though he was embarrassed. He was busy focusing on trying to breathe properly.

He didn’t notice as she left, drifting in and out of consciousness.

“We got a Snowy,” he heard someone say, voice floaty and underwater. “I’ll check him out. Cot three?”

Next thing he knew a hand was resting on his shoulder.

“Lance?” said a bland, deep voice. “Can you wake up for me?”

“‘M awake,” he mumbled. He voice shook, as did the rest of him. He couldn’t stop trembling.

“That’s normal,” said the man, who Lance assumed was a doctor of some kind, as he noticed Lance staring at his violently quaking hands.

“You took a truly mindbreaking amount of pills. I’m shocked you’re alive, although I’m sure you are too. We had to pump your stomach.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Well, I have to check your vitals, and you have to stay in the ER until you’re stable, and then we’ll move you to the ICU. They’ll decide where you go from there.”

Lance swallowed, throat dry.

“C’n I ‘ve some water?”

“Sure.”

The man continued to check Lance’s vitals, leaving without another word. What felt like hours later — could have been minutes, or days, Lance could barely even remember where he was — a different nurse from before came in, handing him a tiny paper cup. It wasn’t nearly enough for his throat, which was drier than the desert, probably, but he took it anyway and thanked him.

Well, he probably did.

He passed out again after. Time went kind of fuzzy. He vaguely remembers trying to get up, to stay awake. He remembers spending a lot of time either sleeping or staring into the space in front of him, unable to blink. He remembers snippets of overheard conversations:

“It’s just so selfish, you know? There are people with real issues who don’t have a bed now. It was his choice.”

“God, is he making his fucking heart race on purpose? I swear I’m checking his stupid monitor every ten minutes.”

“Would he stop staring at me? What a freak.” Giggling. “I got a picture, look. What a creep.”

He remembers a lot of terror swirling in his stomach. He remembers that he wanted, above all else, to go home.

He remembers feeling afraid.

———

“I need you to wake up a moment, love.”

This voice was much kinder, and the cold fingers pressing gently on his forehead remind him of his Mamá. He forced his eyes open, blinking at the bright hospital lights blinded him for a moment. A middle-aged nurse was smiling at him when he could see again.

“We’re moving you to the ICU, kiddo. That alright?”

Lance nodded.

“Alright.”

She began untangling the various wires attached to him, then started to wheel him away.

“I can walk,” he protested, cheeks colouring.

He hesitated. “You sure, Lance? You’ve still got a lot to work out of your system. It might be better if I just push you.”

“I can walk,” he insisted. He wasn’t honestly sure if he could, but he didn’t want to be lying down as everyone in the hospital watched him be moved.

“Alright,” she relented.

Luckily, so long as he held on to the cot for help, he could walk. She led him carefully down a series of hallways, until he was wheeled into a room divided into four.

“You’re going to be here until the drugs are completely flushed from your system,” the nurse told him. “Then we’re bringing you up the the paediatric psych unit. Don’t worry though, sweetheart. They’re the best of the best.”

“Paediatric?” he questioned. He was more worried about the ‘psych ward’ part of that, honestly, but he supposed he was in no boat to complain. “I’m eighteen.”

She smiled gently. “Just young enough that you’re still a kid. No worries. Rest for now, okay?”

Lance did. He let himself drift, coming back only when a couple more nurses popped in to check his vitals or make sure he was feeling okay.

The terror mounting earlier has mostly faded, by then. The drugs were slowly making their way out of his system, and that made it a lot easier to think.

Plus, everyone at the ICU was a lot nicer. He could be wrong, though. He may very well have made the whole ER experience up, consumed by his own guilt. Who knew.

Although, a quiet voice in his head whispered, I’m not sure you’re creative enough to come up with ‘Snowy’ as a name for someone who poisoned themself. Are you sure that wasn’t real?

Lance shook his head, dismissing it. There was no point in worrying about that now.

Eventually, the same kindly nurse from before informed him it was time to go to the paediatric unit. He insisted on walking, again, and she didn’t fight him too hard. It was much easier that time around, anyway. It must have been a day or two, because his head was clearing.

He had his own room, in the paediatric unit. A much older woman helped him into it, showing him the bed and the shelves he got, handing him some soap and pointing him in the direction of the showers.

“I’m sure it will feel nice to wash off,” she said. “I’ll leave a fresh gown on your bed, and I’ll come let you know what the plan is when you come back.”

Lance thanked her, and headed to the showers. She was right, it did feel nice to be clean. He hadn’t realized how dirty he was.

When he finally made it back to his room — he had no idea how long he took, he was still shakey and time was still iffy — the same woman was waiting for him.

“You’re eighteen now,” she said after he changed. “So, technically, you can go home now, if you want. There’s nothing keeping you here. But we would suggest you sign a voluntary stay form, and spend at least a week here, to get yourself sorted. We’ll work through some treatment plans, find a way to help you. What do you think?”

Lance swallowed. “Who has to know?”

“Nobody. Your medical records are your own, now that you’re an adult. You can of course call whomever you like —” she gestured to a phone hanging on the wall by the nurse’s station — “and we have visiting hours, but if you would prefer this to be kept private, that’s your prerogative. I would suggest talking to someone though, dear. Would you like to call your mother?”

Lance shook his head vehemently. No, he would not like to call his mother. This would break her heart.

He should probably call someone, though. So no one thinks he’s gone missing.

———

“Hello?”

“Hunk?”

His voice shook, he knew it did.

But he couldn’t help it.

“Lance.” Hunk’s voice sounded wet, relieved, and as shakey as Lance’s. “Oh my God, Lance. Where are you? Are you okay? What happened? You just disappeared!”

Lance bit his lip. There was no easy way to say this.

“I’m at the hospital.”

“Oh my God! Are you okay?”

“I am now.”

“Fuck, I’m coming to get you. Stay where you are, okay? What unit are you in?”

“Paediatric,” Lance said in a small voice. He hesitated.

“Psych ward.”

Their was a pause on the other end. A stillness Lance could feel.

Hunk understood immediately.

“Lance…?” It was his turn to sound small, now. To sound lost.

Hurt.

Lance burst into tears. “I — I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I stopped taking the pills because I hate them and I thought I could handle it myself but I couldn’t and I fucked up and I’m scared, Hunk, I almost —”

“I’m coming,” Hunks said, voice firm and careful. “I’ll be there in less than an hour. Okay? Just wait for me, Lance.”

“Okay.”

———

“What now?” Hunk asked, voice muffled in Lance’s hair. He latched onto Lance the second he saw him, holding him tightly as he trembled and cried.

“I have to stay here for a week,” Lance said quietly, face still tucked into Hunk’s chest. “Uh, voluntarily. Technically I can check myself out whenever, but the doctors say I should stay until I can work out a treatment plan, which usually takes a week.”

“Is that what you want to do? Is that what will keep you safe?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“What then? What after?”

“I don’t know,” Lance admitted. “I never thought… Hunk, I’ve known I was going to die at eighteen for as long as I can remember. I don’t… I don’t know where to go from here.”

Hunk took a shuddering breath, body stilling at Lance’s words. He squeezes Lance’s hands tightly, three times in succession.

“We’ll figure it out, okay? I’ll come every day for all the visiting hours. We’ll make a plan and figure things out. I promise.”

“Okay,” Lance whispered. “Are you leaving?”

Hunk pulled him tighter, hefting him into his lap and wrapping his arms around where Lance is curled up.

“Of course not. I’ll stay until they kick me out.”

Lance smiled.

———

Lance honestly spent most of his time reading random novels and meditating. He understandably didn’t feel too fond of sleeping, and the psychiatrist appointments only lasted so long. He needed something to do.

Mostly, he looked forward to when Hunk came to visit. He had told the Garrison that Lance had a severe allergic reaction to medicine that he didn’t know he was allergic too — the story they’d decided on for people Lance didn’t trust to tell — and since the semester was basically over, they were fine to let Hunk visit.

It was nice. Lance has forgotten how scary the Grey was, how much it stole from him, and he was glad he was safe now.

In the end, the doctors reiterated his previous SAD diagnosis, suggesting gently to him that as much as it sucked, until he could trust himself, it was probably better for him to keep his meds with the guidance counsellor.

As much as he hated it, Lance couldn’t help but agree.

Surprisingly, though, the doctors were also sending him for some further tests in the summer. Apparently he was looking at an ASD diagnosis as well, although it was too early to tell for sure.

It made sense, Lance supposed, when he thought about it.

Regardless, he signed the appropriate release papers at the end of the week, dressing in the clothes Hunk brought him and meeting Hunk in the lobby to head back to the Garrison.

“That was scary,” Hunk said quietly, when they were situated in the back of the Uber. “You scared me, Lance. It’s probably unfair to say, but… I dunno. I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified in my life. I prayed.”

Lance bit his lip, playing nervously with Hunk’s hand where he had it clasped between both of his.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Lance. I’m not mad at you. I just mean that you’re not leaving my sight for a while. Maybe not until summer comes back.”

Lance frowned. “But winter break is just around the corner. You’re going home, aren’t you?”

Hunk shrugged, but his expression was determined and left no room for argument.

“You’re coming with me.”

Lance opened his mouth, but closed it after a minute of silence.

He wouldn’t mind that, actually.

“Okay.”

———

Leaving his meds at the guidance counsellor’s solved one’s problem. It really did. As much as Lance hates it, it’s better for him in the long run.

Unfortunately, it does mean that he does not have his meds with him in space.

Where there’s no sun at all, actually. So that’s not excellent.

Lance is surprised how long he lasts before the Grey set in. Months, at least. It was early summer when they left Earth, though. That must have something to do with it.

The thing about suicide attempts is that often times — not always, Lance thinks, but it must be often — it scares the suicide right out of you. It makes you afraid to die. It reminds you that, holy shit, you actually do appreciate being alive, thanks, and there’s quite a lot you’re willing to do to keep it that way.

The several dozen near-death experiences he’s had since then has only cemented that fact. Lance is very, very happy he’s alive. He likes laughing. He likes spending time with Hunk, with the rest of his team. He likes flying in Blue. He misses his family, and he wants to see them again. He misses Earth, and the sunshine on his skin.

Also, there are trillions of people relying on him. Literal trillions.

He cannot afford to die.

He drags himself to the bathroom, staring himself down in the mirror.

“Please,” he begs his brain. “Please, please get your shit together. I know it’s rough. I know it’s hopeless. But I do not want to die. I tried it, thanks, and it sucks ass. It’s scary. Can you please do your one fucking job and keep me alive?”

“Lance?”

Lance jumps out of his skin at the call, even as he immediately relaxes at the voice.

Strange combo, that.

“In here,” he shouts back.

He listens to Hunk’s solid footsteps, watching through the mirror as he makes his way behind Lance. Brown eyes meet brown in the mirror.

“Grey starting?”

Lance exhales shakily. He takes out a worn piece of paper from his pocket — of fucking course he brought this to space accidentally and not his pills — and reads over it for the millionth time since he wrote it four and a half years ago.

Apathy. Loss of interest. Exhaustion.

Suicidal thoughts.

Well, at least that last one hadn’t hit him too hard yet, although he did nearly slip up and make a joke about it last week. (Lance forbid himself from making an suicide joke ever again the day he got back from the hospital. It makes his headspace worse, and it freaks Hunk out a little. He hates it when he fucks up.)

Hunk’s hand reaches over and tangles with his.

“I think we need to talk to Coran,” he says quietly. “He might be able to help.”

Lance swallows. His first instinct, as it always is, is to dismiss the very idea, insist he can handle himself.

But he can’t.

And that’s okay.

“Yeah,” he says finally, curling his hand around Hunk’s. “I think I could use the help.”