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haloud · 3 years

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things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 9

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Michael and Isobel reckon with the fallout from Michael’s choices; Maria and Max catch up with him post-recovery.

Excerpt:

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

(Wednesday, 11:00 am)

Michael flipped Alex’s key over and over in his fingers, running it along his knuckles, pressing his thumb into the teeth until they left a locking-imprint on his skin, then doing it all over again. At some point, maybe it would start to feel real, if he reminded himself of the thing often enough.

The repetition and stimulation of the rough teeth, the cool, smooth metal, soothed him as he waited on Isobel’s porch. She’d called him here in the first place, so eventually she’d open the door. Until then, he waited. And as he waited, he thought of Alex, because what else was there to think about these days?

(A thousand things, like Jones and Project Shepherd, Max and Liz, and all the work piling up at Sanders’s, but Alex had a way of blotting everything else out, and, no matter how much his brain tried to get him to feel stupid or naïve or childish for hoping yet again, he was going to let himself bask in that shade for once in his life.)

He hadn’t left Alex’s house, still, except to go to work and get things from his own place. At Alex’s, he was still sleeping in the guest room, the both of them afraid that they’d fall back into their old patterns too fast if they fell right into bed. But during the day they shared that space, a kitchen, a den, existing alongside each other as they read or cooked or composed, and the routine wasn’t so different from the tense and quiet days right after Michael’s injury, but at the same time they were nothing alike, not when each tiny glance could mean so much, not when fingers on the soft rasp of turning pages were fingers he could touch, that could touch him.

Everything was different. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, brand new and nostalgic. It had only been a day; it had only been half their lifetimes.

“Ew, you’re glowing.”

Isobel’s voice started Michael out of his thoughts, and he jumped, shoving Alex’s key into his pocket. She was glaring at him, but still he relaxed, because Isobel’s snark was a form of love and her turning scorn in his direction was a sign things were getting back to normal between them.

“It’s all natural,” he drawled as she stepped aside to let him inside.

“Right. Did something happen, or is this just some lesser known side effect of being brought back from the brink of death.”

“Uh…”

In a way, sort of, if only because Michael’s own stupidity had driven him and Alex closer together, but that wasn’t exactly a direct correlation or anything admirable.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Just…”

He fell silent. How was he supposed to talk about being in love? He’d never done it before, and this was a first he hadn’t anticipated facing.

“Alex and I…” he tried again, but found himself only able to smile, still without words, and he raised his arms in a helpless shrug.

Isobel’s eyebrows raised. “Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

“I’m still pissed at you, but if Manes is making you his side chick after everything, I’m going to rip his spine out through his—”

“Isobel, no! It’s not like that,” Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Well what’s it like, then? I cannot handle him breaking your heart again when we’re already dealing with Max.”

He replied, “My heart is fully intact,” as he headed in and dropped down on her couch, throwing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. “No, uh, Alex and Forrest had a fight, which sucked, but it led to us getting a chance to talk more about, y’know, us, and what we wanted, and each other, so…”

“So this is rebound,” Isobel snipped.

“Can you stop?” Michael said, half-laughing. Even her pessimism on the subject of love couldn’t pop the bubble around his heart right now. He patted the couch beside him, and she hesitated for a few seconds with her arms crossed, before capitulating and joining him.

“Oh, fine,” she groused, leaning against the arm of the couch farthest away from where he was sitting. “Your funeral.”

The words landed like a lead balloon, and Michael winced as her face grew stormier.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Isobel held up a hand in his face. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, what do you want to hear?”

“An explanation, Michael! What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do that? What if he’d just straight up killed you, did you want us to find your body in a cave somewhere or, or never, blown to smithereens by a man who literally breathes fire! You’re so stupid, and selfish, and—” She cut herself off, furious tears welling in her eyes even as the rest of her face didn’t change.

“I know! I know, you’re right, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking, or, well, I was thinking, but my head was all messed up.” He rested his forehead in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think any explanation is going to make any sense now, out of the moment, but I just…everything was going to shit, and I couldn’t do anything for Max, and I thought Jones might have answers, or could help me unlock new powers like you’ve done on your own. So I could protect everyone.”

Isobel threw her arms up and got to her feet, pacing around the couch; Michael tracked her, anxiety dipping and spiking every time she circled him. Her anger pulsing when she passed behind him made his skin crawl, and he shifted in his seat.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she finally spoke, stopping in front of him.

He kept his head bent forward, staring at his knees.

She continued, “I really don’t. I’ve been trying for twenty-one years, but I still don’t know how to get through to you. How to convince you that you’re not alone, that people want to protect you. To help you. But I’m not Max. I’ve never pushed or pried or fought to cling onto you when you shook us off. I just hung around because I knew you’d always come back.” She took a deep breath. Her voice stayed steady and deliberate. “But Michael, this has gone on for too long, and you went too far this time. You have to let us help you. Otherwise—I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Drops of water speckled the tops of Michael’s knees, and he sniffed, swallowed, mouth dry, throat tight and aching. His sister’s gentle hands threaded through his hair, cradling both temples, right hand over Max’s lingering handprint, but no matter how careful that touch was, he flinched.

Isobel tipped his head up so he had to look her in the eye and said, “You’re my brother, Michael. I love you so much. And I would do anything for you, just like you would—and have—do anything for me. But you need to let me! From here on out, I need you to fucking work with me. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Tears trickling down his face and dripping from his chin, Michael nodded, not trusting his voice, and Isobel fell forward, his arms opening up to catch her, and they stayed like that for a long time, Michael rocking her back and forth, her clinging desperately to his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Max. I just, I can’t stop myself, sometimes, I know it’s not an excuse, I know it was stupid, I know—”

“I know,” she interrupted his stream of self-loathing, sitting back to look him seriously in the face. “I was in your head, remember?”

She’d found him beneath a vaulted ceiling, stained glass in shifting, alive, alien colors, walled in with his demons. Defining himself inside the devouring maelstrom by the battles he understood. His whole life, he’d sewed himself back whole, and his work wasn’t pretty, but the patterns made sense, and they kept him sane even when the odds demanded otherwise. The image flashed behind his eyes, but that’s all it was, an image. He shook his head.

“Not really.”

“Well. I didn’t really go snooping, no matter how tempting it was,” she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. “But let’s just say…you don’t owe me any explanations you aren’t willing or ready to give. Those belong to you. I know I haven’t always understood that in the past. We both have things to work on, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael rasped, squeezing her tight again. “I…want to work on them with you.”

“Then it sounds like we’re going to be okay,” she softly replied.

(3:00 pm)

Isobel didn’t let him leave the house until both their eyes stopped being red and puffy from crying; It took multiple episodes of some Food Network show he’d never heard of before she agreed to let him out of her sight, and, in deeply un-Isobel-like fashion, she followed him to the door and pulled him into another hug for the road before she let him leave.

The drive from Isobel’s to the Wild Pony wasn’t really long enough to fully ruminate on how bad he must have scared Isobel to warrant this level of reaction. Logically, he’d known, but emotionally it was just beginning to sink in.

Over the past year, he’d been faced with losing Isobel and with losing Max multiple times—had lost Max, in fact. He knew how it felt. Why should the loss of himself be any different to them? In low moments, sure, thoughts shifted beneath the murk of his mind, lurking demons from childhood, that they didn’t need him, they had each other, a more special bond, he was the odd one out, outside, out in the cold. But on the day to day, he didn’t devalue himself like that, not in so many words, did he? But—

To be surprised? That Isobel was afraid, that Max was afraid, that the both of them stood on the precipice of grieving him and had to process the horror of that fall after snatching themselves back at the last minute? It was a slap in the face, a rude awakening. A lesson that for all these years he’d resisted learning.

The first step to protecting those who loved him was to protect himself. He couldn’t keep shelving it as the lowest priority. They were one and the same.

It sounded fake to his own ears, but he’d just have to say it until the lesson sunk in.

With the windows rolled down, the idle breeze tugged Michael’s hair across his face and cooled the late-summer stickiness from his skin. It was just after lunchtime, a little early for Max to be at work, but since he wasn’t at Isobel’s house, it was faster to check for him here than to drive all the way out to his own place.

If there was one positive to his near-death, it was the way Max was invigorated by a purpose. The healing drained him, of course it did; it could have killed him, and that weighed on Michael’s conscience, but afterward, after it worked and he’d pulled Michael back from death, he smiled. He slept. He bustled around Alex’s house babysitting Michael while Alex was at work, and now, with a little distance from fragile death, that didn’t chafe as badly.

Max deserved a better thanks than Michael had thus far been able to render, and with Isobel’s words still ringing in his ears, there was no better time than now.

He pulled up to the Pony, the fairy lights strung across the patio dancing in the wind, the wood of the old building all pale and real in the sunlight. The old, familiar sign above the door was off as long as the bar was closed, but Michael still took a moment to glance at it nice and long, remembering the feel of fixing it under his hands so the whole place felt less liminal, less like a mirror vision of the beating heart that was the Wild Pony glowing under the night sky, lit from within rather than from the sun.

Faint music played as Michael parked and left his truck, so he rounded the corner of the building to suss it out and smiled at what he saw, leaning against one of the trellis supports.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Oh, you know me.” She gestured vaguely to the arrangement of papers and tucked her feet up beside her, leaning toward Michael, cutting the space between them in half like it wasn’t worth noticing. Some of the tension in Michael’s chest unwound at her ease around him.

“Hustling?” he prompted.

“Yep. I’m just organizing the events I have planned for the upcoming season and making sure I have space set out for scheduling, details, budgeting, the works. High school me would die with envy; my system was never this good when I was trying to study.”

“I’m definitely impressed. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with, anything you need built, or an extra set of ‘hands’ for decorating.”

“How is that going?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“I’m still getting my strength back. Just gotta keep pushing through and hope whatever Jones did didn’t mess me up for good.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.”

Her hand extended but stopped before touching him, until he turned his hand palm-up, asking her to take it. She did, squeezing him.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “And the TK aside, have any of the other powers cropped up? The light, the teleporting? Those were the ones Alex told me about.”

“That’s all I remember, really. And no. I haven’t even tried, honestly.” He looked at their joined hands, her wrist bare of the pollen bracelet he’d promised her and wasted, thrown away like trash in a corner of Jones’s cave. This is blasphemy…

“Do you think you will? Try?” Maria asked, head tilted.

“I…hadn’t thought about it. Been focused on getting back to square one with the TK, but…”

Was doing more with his powers still an option? Was he willing to try, and fail, and fail again, without folding and submitting to all the voices in his head that told him every failure was proof positive of the erstwhile adage that he was worthless?

“Well, you have time,” Maria said, squeezing his hand again.

“What about you?” Michael asked. “Any visions?”

Her face shut down. She let go of his hand to smooth both hers down her knees then fold her arms around herself, turning her head away. “No. Still nothing. A few dreams, but it isn’t always easy to tell what’s a normal dream and what’s a vision, and with you out of the woods, the most dire ones are already Jossed.”

“What about Mimi?”

“Huh.” Maria pursed her lips for a second, then said, “I haven’t noticed any change in her? But I’ll have to ask and see what she says. I’m not even completely sure our powers work identically, with the things she’s said about being unstuck in time…I don’t always get that same feeling.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael promised her. “Even if it means having to go back to Jones and ask what he knows—”

“No!”

She wheeled on him and smacked his arm lightly.

“Absolutely not! Michael!”

“Not alone, obviously!” He defended.

“Not at all. Jesus Christ. I’ll tell Isobel you said that—I’ll tell Alex—”

“Maria, c’mon,” Michael whined, taking her hand again in an attempt to connect them and calm them both down. “I just don’t want to rule out that he’s meddling in more ways than we know. I still think he’s fucking with Max. You deserve answers, if that’s what’s going on.”

“Not at the cost of your life. Not ever. It could be a hundred other things, too. Stay away from him, Michael, I’m serious.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good,” she said firmly, wrapping her arm around his again and leaning into him. He let out a long, slow breath as she relaxed.

“You know, in Jones’s cave…”

“Mm?”

Michael carefully encircled her wrist with his fingers. “I lost the bracelet I made for you. The backup one I promised.”

“Are you feeling guilty about that? Because please, don’t,” she replied, covering the hand on her wrist with her other. “That is the last thing on my mind.”

“But I—”

“Hush. I’m glad you had it with you, whatever happened to it. It’s good that you opted to protect yourself, even if it didn’t work.”

“I thought your powers were offline.”

“The visions, maybe. But I don’t need to see the future to read you, Guerin.”

“You are something else, DeLuca.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“Hey, Maria—oh! Michael!”

The two of them turned toward the backdoor at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Hey, Max,” Maria said. “Is the inventory finished?”

“Yeah, I was just coming to report back.”

“No need to be so formal,” she teased, standing up and brushing dust from the seat of her pants, looking at the papers around her with her hands on her hips. “I was hoping to get your opinion on some plans, Number One, but someone interrupted, so they’re not quite ready yet.”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael drawled.

Max reached out a hand, and Michael took it to humor him, letting him haul him to his feet.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Maria said as she led the way back into the bar, cool and dim in the daylight. “You can sweep up to say you’re sorry.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said, reaching out a hand, hoping he could summon the broom as nonchalantly as he once could. It sat unresponsive until a spike of formless frustration zipped through him, at which point it flew to his hand fast and hard enough to sting his palm when he caught it. Great. Just what he needed right now—puberty flashbacks.

“I need to run,” Maria said, stowing her binder behind the bar. “Late lunch with Rosa. I’ll see you later, Max—Michael, it was so good to see you. Say hi to Alex for me, okay? I know you’re gonna see him before I do.”

She left with a wink while Michael was still pink and stammering. Maybe Alex had told her already—or maybe that was just Maria, putting him so at ease it was easy to forget how much she saw. His chest glowed so warm he couldn’t stop blushing at that casual acknowledgement, that easy validation, that he and Alex—that Alex and he were what they were to each other, now, again.

“Wait, is she talking about you staying over there, or does she mean—dude!” Max grinned ear to ear and bounded out from behind the bar to pull Michael into a back-slapping hug. “Congratulations!”

Old, brotherly habit had Michael squirming out of Max’s affections, but it didn’t dent his exuberance; he retaliated with a swipe through Michael’s hair, making him duck further out of range, huffing and laughing all at once as he tried to fix it again.

“Yeah, um, Forrest and Alex broke up, and then one thing led to another, so.”

“I’m really happy for you, man.”

“I—thanks. I’m…I’m really happy, too.”

The sudden urge to comfort Max gripped him, a strange survivor’s guilt that things would be working out for him and Alex and Max and Liz would still be so far apart. But it wasn’t his place to throw that in Max’s face now, so he bit his tongue and basked in Max’s honest happiness for him.

“Could you feel, uh, any of my emotions through the handprint?” Michael asked. He ran his hand through his hair over the spot on his temple where Jones had held him, erased by Max’s healing hands, then dropped it back to his side abruptly, flexing away the phantom stiffness that still plagued him, that probably always would. He gave it a shake as if to chase away nervous tingling.

“Nah. But it’s not like I’m looking; I respect your privacy, man.”

“’preciate that,” Michael snarked, and Max just shrugged.

“Any particular reason you ask? I don’t need to know what you and Alex are up to,” Max joked.

Michael considered his answer for a little bit as he made his way between the tables. After all, it wasn’t as if this was the first handprint Max had ever given him. The ones on his neck and hand cut off by his death aside, dozens of times over dozens of years, Max had practiced healing on him and they’d explored that connection. Michael was always the guinea pig; he never wanted for injuries to work on, after all.

But there’d been a lot of handprinting over the past year and change. Max felt something from Liz; Liz felt something from Noah; Rosa and Max had a connection strong enough to tether Max to the world of the living. And then there was Michael, with Jones’s voice in his ear, dripping condescending words about his lack of psychic ability being phenomenal, considering.

At various times in his life, Michael had looked up at the stars and wondered in the silence what it was in him that was irreparably broken.

“Just curious. It’s been a while, and all juiced up like I was, I was wondering if anything felt different.”

“Nothing different. Just you.”

Max smiled like that was a good thing, a comforting thing. And you know what? In between the adrenaline of change, good and bad, in between the rock of Project Shepherd and the hard place of Jones, on an afternoon in a closed bar, a home to both of them, alone with his brother, Michael let it be.

He cleared his throat. “Good. So there’s no…interference or anything? Nothing weird lurking around up there?”

“Not that I can tell; Isobel would probably know better than I would. Whatever he did to you was bizarre, man. It wasn’t like the way, uh, the way I’ve killed people before. Or the way Noah killed.”

“I don’t think he was just trying to kill me.”

Michael made his way over to a booth and beckoned Max over; he lingered over his work for a glance at the clock and then came and joined him.

He continued, “He kept going on about teaching and knowledge and this being the wrong way but the most efficient. He knew it would hurt me, but maybe it would have worked better if he did it to someone more, uh, receptive than me.”

“What are you talking about?” Max leaned over the table, brow furrowed. This close up, the dark circles below his eyes were more noticeable. “Michael, what he did to you wasn’t in any way your fault—”

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean. Just…look, I saw the security footage from Caulfield, from the day of the Valenti incident. The way that alien approached Jim Valenti and put his hands on him was identical to what Jones did to me, and I think maybe that guy was just trying to communicate but it fucked up a human in a way he either couldn’t expect or was too out of it to realize. And, well,” Michael gestured to his own head. “I’m the most human of the three of us up here.”

“I…huh.” Max sat back and drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he processed that. “Well, whatever the case, it proved you and Isobel were right about him. He can’t be trusted. Nobody should have any more contact with him. We’ll start doing our monthly drop offs contactless until we all figure out what should be done with him.”

His voice was firm, businesslike. Traffic Stop Max was Michael’s least favorite version of his brother and he’d hoped that his turn to the civilian would’ve put that guy to rest, but he had a tendency to rear his head in a crisis.

But in this case, he saw through him, and that façade was hiding something.

“How do you feel about that?” Michael asked, leaning back and slouching, reflecting Max’s rigid body language the way he had for a decade, cops and robbers style.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. He almost killed you; we’ll do what has to be done.”

“Uh, it definitely does matter. You’re the closest thing to a next of kin he’s got, as far as we know. If anyone gets to decide what happens to him, it’s you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Is it? ‘Cause, look, I know I fucked up a lot of stuff running off to Jones half-cocked like I did. I don’t want to set off a chain reaction of more bad mistakes that rips us apart again when we’re just startin’ to…” Michael trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. It was realer than he’d intended to get, but it was the root of the issue, wasn’t it?

Max’s face softened, and Michael slumped lower in the booth.

“You’re not. You won’t.”

“You’re just saying that—”

“Michael.”

That tone was always a coin flip if it’d get right under Michael’s skin or if it’d shut him up. It landed on the second one this time, to Michael’s relief.

Max said, “No chain reactions. What we were doing before wasn’t working, okay? I knew I wanted something from Jones, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and take it. All you did was force us to make a choice when I would’ve dug my heels in and not been able to for a long time otherwise.”

“The answers you’re looking for, though, you deserve to look for them if it’s what you need,” Michael forged on, battling his clumsy tongue. “I should’ve said that before. You deserve to know who you are and to learn who that is in whatever way you can. Everybody deserves that.”

“Thank you. I mean that. But I was getting so desperate—the things I was thinking of doing—I scared myself, okay? I didn’t think—I don’t think I am that person. And being this person I am right now and who I want to be right now is more important than any answers about the past, if that’s what it means to find them.”

Michael sat with that, looking Max up and down, sitting with his own feelings as much as Max’s words. Parsing his own reactions to Max was something he took steadier, more carefully than most other things in his life. It was a set of muscles he needed to practice with as much as he needed to get power back to his telekinesis.

“Okay, man. I respect that,” he said finally, leaning over the table to punch Max in the shoulder. Max made a face and rubbed that spot.

“Ow, man, thanks, I guess.”

“Damn, did I get you in your writing arm?”

“Try my drink-mixing arm. If I’m off tonight, I’m ratting you out to Maria.”

Michael let out a scandalized noise and slipped out of the booth.

“Where are you going?” Max laughed, dark eyes shining with life in a way Jones’s never could. For all they were identical, Michael barely saw the resemblance.

“To lay low, what do you think? You’re makin’ me a fugitive.”

“Uh huh. Good luck; you know she’s just going to ask Alex.”

“Damn it. The things I do for love.”

A smile on his own face as soon as he turned his back, Michael was almost at the door when Max called his name and he turned to face him again.

“Michael? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Asking. Listening.”

Those two words held a lifetime of desperate loneliness between them, and Michael would be sitting with that, too, as long as he was holding it in his head, making it a conscious decision, to do right by his brother.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.

“I wanted to,” Max replied simply.

“Well in that case…I guess you’re welcome.”

Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket, not the single pulse of a text but the longer jangling of a phone call. He fished it out, smiling when he saw the name, and he didn’t even wait to get privacy from Max before answering.

“Alex—”

“Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

“Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Max hurried to Michael’s side.

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

But the line cut off midway through his protest, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone.

#my fic #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #malex

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sharpwin101 · 3 years

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“EVERYTHING I DID, I DID FOR YOU”

N.B. Hey guys, I'm re-uploading this narrative due to previous grammar, spelling, punctuation, etc. mistakes. I'm completely bad at proofreading lol, and didn't take the time to read over, but after receiving some very impactful feedbacks on twitter, it gave me the motivation I needed to somewhat correct these mistakes🤞hopefully enough, finishing this fanfic, which I must say I'm quite excited for you guys to read.

S2 EP16 “EVERYTHING I DID, I DID FOR YOU”,

CHAPER 1

I don't get it? As tears stream down her cheeks,

Her thoughts raced as she remained in front of her bathroom mirror long enough to get agitated by her own self-pity.

She understood that harboring such feelings would not only be self-destructive, but would keep her trapped, she was mentally stronger, and refuses to let it sabotage the barrier she has construct throughout the years.

She knew conquering and embracing Max’s indecisiveness, was just a question of time. That continues to fail him terribly, repeatedly, to define them, what they meant to each other, wondering how much longer, if not impossible, it will be for him to embrace and overcome his own fetters to unleash what he truly feels.

Will he ever? she’s impel to believed, naively unaware of her imperceptiveness to his true desire, behind his barriers, causing her to suspect mistakenly,

Questing “does he feels the same”

She paces back and forth, flipping her heels off with a small grimace, scattering them on the floor.

Fervently turning to her living room, with an instant wipe of her tears, in the direction of the liquor cupboard, pulling the first wine bottle her hand came across, desperate for a wine opener, she run-walk towards the kitchen, leaving nearly all of the drawers open while probing through.

She spotted the opener. Yes, yes! Clutches it obstinately, relieved.

As she holds the bottle inverted between her knees, she struggled to open it a bit, her mind still being indistinct after their encounter, temporarily forgotten how to open the wine bottle.

(The wine cork flew free)

She hastily turns it to her head, gulping it down as if she didn't have time to consume it a bit slower, inadvertently spilling it on her.

Crap!

Returning to the bathroom in search of her robe, while undressing herself and gulping more wine down her throat.

Being the clean freak she is, immediately after, she brought her clothing towards the laundry room, as she senses the impending intoxication looming over her.

(Crash)The wine bottle slipped from her deft grip and shattered on the floor.

she slowly slumped to the floor, leaning against the laundry door for support grappling to sit up. While her clothes slowly unfold from her arms, As she casts a longing glare into space.

She ruminate aloud, frustratedly.

What is wrong with me? Staring up towards the roof, as though she was seeking answers to all of life's unanswered questions from a greater Entity.

Why I’m I so unlucky?

I fought on, knowing that I wasn't even sure whether I'd be ready too, if you chose me then or now, she added, laughing.

All the walls I've worked so hard to build, comes crumbling down whenever I see, I can’t comprehend it.

As she gently holds the nape of her neck, breathing deeply, with her left hand supporting her head, while facing down. I don't want to lose control; I can't lose control.

You say these significant things,

you look at me in the way you do, and then you do nothing? How can I fight for that?

You asked me why I did what I did, despite the fact that you already knew the answer. I asked you to define us;

what exactly, this, we are? as she motioned for answers

I've given you so much, and I tried so hard not to but it's as if all my rationale goes out the window when you're in danger. (laughing sarcastically at her self).

For God sake, you yelled at me.......... whenever I try to help.

I have these fantasies about you before getting out of bed, I've tried to ignore it; believe me, I have (laughing)

now I'm just here talking to myself.

As her gaze wandered around the room, she became irritated by the smashed wine bottle.

“ FIGHT FOR US”,

CHAPERT 2

(KNOCKING) She tilted her head, confusedly glancing towards the front door, wondering if it was the alcohol or someone was actually at the door.

Struggling to get up from the floor, as she continues to listen attentively to hear whether the knocking was coming from her front door. She slightly slipped when grabbing for her phone on the kitchen counter, to check the time.

11:43pm

Tightening her robe as she wiped her face, pondering, a few names flashed through her mind, But why would they not call? silently muttering to herself. Her phone started to ring as soon as the knocking ceased. Resuming her attention to her phone, which lids up, displaying "Dr. Max Goodwin” with a slight discontent look, she responded, still gazing at the door, nervously biting down on her index finger.

What, what do you want? She answered.

"I'm at your door; will you let me in?". Quickly swallowing her saliva, her heart races, instantly lowering her phone to her side, with a million thoughts rushes through her head as she looked at the messed she had created, quickly ending his call. She began picking up her clothes from the floor and rushed to the washroom, staring at her flushed face, unbothered at this point and didn't care whether he noticed she was crying.

She trudged towards the front door, spotting her bed slippers and pulls them on. Briefly pausing before opening the door.

There he was, standing in front of her. Casually dressed, in blue jeans, a grey t-shirt, and his black jacket, which she had seen him in before.

Trying not to look into his eyes, but he has already peered right into hers. Struck by how small and delicate she looks outside the walls of the hospital, becoming completely lost in her eyes, unable to speak. 'Um, I... What are you doing here? she asked, before he could finish his sentence.

Were you crying? With a slight head tilt, she rolled her eyes irritably as she turns her back on him, leaving the door ajar. What are you doing here, Max?, her voice raised rather than normal. The frustration in her voice perplexed him. I wanted to ‘Um, before noticing the shattered wine bottle on her floor.

As she reaches to get the mob and dustpan from the storage area adjacent to her kitchen. He watches her as she teeters, shutting the drawers that she left open earlier.

As she approaches the spilt wine on the floor, she kept her eyes lowered trying not to look him into his. He detects her shakiness as she extends the broom over the shattered wine bottle. No! he said, with no intent, to say it so loudly. Reaching his hands towards the broom.

Let me help, she still persisted. He gently withdrew the broom from her grasp when she walked away towards another section of her apartment, as his eyes followed her.

He disposed the shattered glass in the trash can, placing the mob and dustpan into the already opened storeroom.

In search of her, he returned to the living room area. noticing she had her back to him, curled up on her couch in a sitting position, fully wrapped in a blanket that matches the color of his shirt.

He stood behind her for minute before approaching.

Placing his hand on her shoulder as he walks to the side of the couch. She shivers at his touch just enough for it to go unnoticed while still looking down.

Seating next to her, he tries to get her attention. Helen, she did not respond. I'm sorry.... As he questioned. Are you okay? Placing her right palm on her forehead, displaying a tiny discomfort. She muttered, I have a minor headache. ‘Um, do you have any pain relievers? Instantly patted his forehead after, quickly realizing she wouldn't be able to take it seeing that she was drinking. Hastily corrects himself, do you want me to make you some tea? she fixes her gaze on him.

Please let me make you tea, while he makes his usual puppy eyes at her.

She gave her approval with a nod. Where are your…...? Instructing him with a finger while drawing the blanket back up to her shoulders. He stood up lively, walking towards her kitchen, absolutely taken aback by how tidy and organized her apartment looked.

Already knowing what kind of tea because they both enjoy it the same, reaching into the pantry for the box of tea bags on the lower shelf, pulling a cup from the washer and placing it on the hot water kettle. He spoons in 1/2 teaspoon of sugar exactly how she likes it. While leaning his back on the counter.

As he waited for the water to heat up, he indulged in his thoughts, gazing around her kitchen.

The whistling from the kettle stopped, with relieved he turned around, adding the hot water to the tea bag and returning to her,

With a wide smile on his face, he hands her the cup, she noticed he didn't have his wedding ban, she looked into his eyes as her hands extends to take the cup. He noticed that she noticed, with a little distance between them, he sat beside her in silence.

on her third sip of tea, he glances at her and proceeded to apologize.

I should never have let you walk out that door, ‘I, I.... I have tried to hide this. It's been hard,

It almost drove me completely insane. As she looked at him, intently listening

I've tried to hold back, since the day we met.......................... It's been eating me alive knowing I felt this way while being married and had already started a family,

but I can't deny that I haven't felt this, not any more, he remarked, shaking his head.

For the longest time, I felt guilty, knowing I had felt this way about you,

if I let you slip out of my life, without trying, to fighting for us, I will not survive it,

I see you, Helen. it’s just that sometimes it takes me a minute, to remember what matters more than anything, you.

He drew closer to her, as she sets the tea cup on the center table. Helen,

I’m ready to fight. Fight for you, for Us.

Every time you've been near me, I've wanted to do stuff to you, imagining what it would be like.

You are undeniably BEAUTIFUL and sexy, and I need to have you, in all the ways I have been dreaming of.

She swallows her nonexistent saliva as he got closer. With her mouth partially open, uncontrollably batting her eyes at him. She searches his eyes, while he searches hers for permission, to touch her, intimately. Placing his left hand on the right side of the back of her neck sliding his fingers upward, gently holding on to her hair, a rush of adrenaline prickled her stomach, as he watched the whooshing of her breathing, thinking how soft on silky the growths of her hair felt.

She needed him to touched her, she needed to grip him closer, but her body was weak, weak to his touch. As they stared intensely at each other, their faces being only a few inches apart, tightening his grip on her hair, causing her to slightly tilted her head back, finally freeing of her temporary paralysis, she grabs hold to his muscular arm with her left hand, while clutching his side with her other hand.

He knew he was in charge, and she wanted him, his lips being a inch closer to hers, her eyelids, fill down slowly closing.

Their lips touch, as their bodies tingles, her chest rises, left her feeling like she had no air. The instant chemistry they felt, was uncontrollable. His thinking slowed when his lips met hers. Time becoming unknown, as if he were in a dream, how warm and crazily soft her lips were.

As they draw each other deeper and further into each other's sanctum, thrusting herself up with a knee for support.

Has he pauses, looking intently into her eyes, slowly begin rolling her robe over her shoulder.

In complete awe of how clear and smooth her skin appears, while stirring her down. He notices she was wearing a black lace bra that matches her thong, which complemented her skin tone well, lost in her eyes, before entirely removing her robe. As she gets back up on both knees, yanking his jacket off, while he impatiently helped her to removed his shirt.

Unbuckling his belt, she unzip his jeans. Holding her by the lower portion of her cheeks, he punches his tongue into her mouth. Resting his back on the couch, hoisted her up on top of him.

feeling her body, with both his hands on her waist, recognizing how small it was in comparison to her hips, being considerably wider. She bends her knees and places her hands on the couch over his shoulder. As his tongue trails down her neck, while unclipping her bra, struggling a little.

Carefully pulling it off, her hands fill to her side, looking down at him, when he stroked her breast with his hands, causing her head to fall back uncontrollably, as a rush of adrenaline went to her vulva, gasping harder as he places his mouth over her tit, slowly sliding his hand into her thong concomitantly.

He gave her a look, realizing she was already lubricated, as she gasped for breath somewhat dropping her upper body backwards as his hand quickly supported her back, her mouth flew wide open, when he slid his index and middle finger in an upward motion on her clit.

She moaned loudly as he stroked it faster, her body slipping in and out of his grip, being a fraction of a second from an orgasm, he halted.

He hoisted her up positioning her back laying on the couch, with one of his hands intertwined with hers above her head. He opens her legs slightly with his bent knee, while she bends her knees up to give him access. Passionately kissing her while caressing her clit with his right fingers. Her heart races. As he drags his tongue in between her breasts, he releases her hands as he went down further, trailing his tongue towards her navel, causing her tummy to jerked.

He elevates his head up as he pulls himself down more to her vulva, while holding on to her hips. He tasted her, swiftly clinging to the cushion behind her, unable to keep her legs steady as he licks her clit. (she rapidly gasp for air).

She weakly tries to pull him up, with her orgasm being at it’s peek, moving back towards her lips, as they exchanged sensual glances. Using his hands as a support to keep himself upright while holding on to his already-erected dick. He puts the blanket under her back to elevate her slightly.

Penetrating her. Max, she screamed, quivering and gasping for breath, as she looks deeply into his eyes, attempting to caress the side of his face, (while she bit her bottom lip, as he went in deeper, she clutches onto him.

His sweat drips on her skin, as he moans, they couldn’t get enough of each other.

As he penetrates deeper, harder and faster inside her, he tightens his grasp around her waist. As they drew closer, their moans became more even louder.

Fuck! he shouted as he ejaculated his semen into her, simultaneously in the instant of her orgasm relief. They both felt to the ground. Looking at each other, completely in awe.

He extends his hand to the side of her face, pulling her in, to cuddled her.

#new amsterdam #helen sharpe #max goodwin #freema agyeman #ryan eggold #helen #max #nbc #nbc new amsterdam #sharpwin

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dementedgnomicwizard · 4 years

Text

schedule of Events my last few days

-tuesday night we went to see cats and got home probably around 1, tossed and turned til 7:30ish, drifted off for a bit

-wednesday 8:15AM woke up for my 9 am drawing studio, took my adderall

-wednesday 9AM-11:50AM had the first half of studio

-wednesday 11:50AM-1PM took the supply list the teacher gave me to blick bc im the only new addition to the class this semester so i was the only one who didnt have what we needed -_-

-wednesday 1PM-3:50PM second half of studio, went home and hung out for a little bit

-wednesday 4:50PM left forr my 5pm studio class

-wednesday 7:20PM studio ended and i told devin i was gonna stay in the lab and try to get just a bit more of my homework done in advance

-thursday 2:45AM i finally fucking look at the clock for a second and realize what ive done

-thursday 3:15AM i go home and shower

-thursday 4:somethingAM i realize im not gonna be able to fall asleep and resign myself to wandering our apartment until 8

-thursday 8AM started getting ready for my morning class, took my adderall

-thursday 9:30AM-11:50AM morning class

-thursday 11:50AM-12:10PM went home with devin and started listening to the tma s2 q&a together

-thursday 12:12PM julia texts me “WERE DESTROYING A TREE” without any further context and i leave the room at a sprint to get to dain’s room where i know they must surely be

-thursday 12:15PM-12:35PM we invent new tree- and sled-based sports in the parking lot

-thursday 12:35PM i excuse myself to go back inside and finish my homework before my afternoon class

-thursday 12:40-1:15 spent fruitlessly trying to get tree sap off my hands until devin wisely pours canola oil on me

-thursday 1:30-2PM finished my homework really fast and spent the rest of my time producing latex worms at a feverish pace

-thursday 2PM-4:20PM afternoon class, i stay behind for like 10 more minutes after class because i was typing up a document for my tma rp acc lmfao (this is also the class period during which i planned the tunnel tweets in their entirety)

-thursday 4:45PM i arrive back at the dorm to see if devin is ready to go to the tunnels with me and he’s not cause he’s eating soup. i hang out and wait for a little bit because i had to do make sure all the worms were dry and pack them up anyway but once the worms were packed and he still wasnt done i decided to just go by myself

-thursday 5:15PM arrive at the machinery building trying soooo hard not to look suspicious or like i’m making a beeline for the tunnels

-thursday 5:35ishPM leave the machinery building much sweatier and MUCH, MUCH more dirt-covered than when i entered

-thursday 5:45PM frantically scrub the rust/dust/dirt/tunnel muck off as much of me as i can and smoke a little of devin’s weed before we leave for class, took my afternoon/evening class adderall. realize we both forgot to shoot reference videos as we’re walking out the door, run back inside, shoot videos quickly, run to class

-thursday 6-8:20PM class, also this was when i was finally posting the tma tweets i’d drafted earlier w/ attached pics, one every few minutes

-thursday 8:30PM walk to prontos with devin

-thursday 9ish-like 12AM hang out with devin jade and g

-now it is friday 3:15 AM i dont know how i got here. i gotta go to fucking beddy bye but i cant make myself get up to take my makeup off

#long post #this is so boring dont read it #im just figuring out schedule stuff

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inonesingleline · 5 years

Note

11 for cathy/michael??!?MS :D

Under a cut again for length, and you wouldn’t be blamed for wondering: dear lord how did she make even the snowball fight one angsty???

January, between S1 and S2. :)

“Thanks for doing this, Michael,” Cathy says with a touch of apology, although this is hardly the first or the slightest request she has made of him in the past year. The previous night’s snowstorm brought with it violent gusts of wind, ripping her garden shed door clean off its hinges. Finding it on the ground this morning, Michael was, naturally, her first call.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He glances up, but doesn’t quite meet her eye before turning back to his work again. “I like helping you.”

Cathy feels her face grow warm even in the freezing air. “It could have waited until spring, I know, or until Jason could find the time, but he’s over at Kelly’s all the time now, and I don’t think he wanted to be here this weekend at all,” she rambles, then laughs, slightly embarrassed – by what she said, what he said, the whole thing. “I probably could have done it myself, for that matter.”

He grunts a little as he hoists the door flush against the hinges, holding it in place with one hand as he picks up the screws Cathy is holding for him. “Nah, helps to have another set of hands.”

“If I weren’t here, you’d just use the window ledge,” she laughs again, her role in this not exactly the most demanding.

“You’re better company, though,” he says, his eyes intent on the task at hand.

She shrugs slightly, accepting this. It isn’t the request itself that’s embarrassing, of course; it never is. There is always some ready pretext, on her side or his, and so nobody stops to wonder why good old Michael is always so close by. But he isn’t just there to fix her shed. It is never just anything – a TV that needs hanging, yoghurts going bad. She sees that now, looking back on the last year, but doesn’t see any way to put a stop to it, to say only: Come over, will you, I’d like to see you.

She leans her back against the shed, looking blankly out at the garden. She isn’t very good company today anyway, but he’s kind to say so. He was kind to come at all, but then he always is. Tomorrow… she isn’t sure what she wants for tomorrow. Jason would be gone, preferring to keep his mind on other, happier things, and she understands. Perhaps she would visit the cemetery, as she hadn’t since that day, because what else does one do, really. She would probably prefer to spend the day alone when it came right down to it, or is prepared to. But she couldn’t have spent the whole weekend like that. Anyhow, she reflects, she is grateful.

“Cathy?” Michael prompts her, gently, but as if he has been trying to get her attention for a few moments. “Can I–?”

“Oh – of course,” she laughs, holding out her hand so he can take the remaining screws for the bottom hinge.

He fumbles to grab them all, his naked fingers brushing against her gloved palm. She smiles what she senses is a stupid, nervous smile, but he’s still not looking at her, so she only has to be embarrassed for herself. It feels wild to her that only a few weeks ago she had reached out for his hand and held it, wanted to go on sitting like that for an eternity really, nothing more, but certainly nothing less. Such a simple thing but it feels brave and even brazen to her now, and she isn’t sure when or if she’ll ever feel so bold again.

But this is not that, and today is not the day.

“The wood is starting to rot a bit in places,” Michael says, tightening the last screws. “It’s fine for now, but in a year or two we might want to get it replaced. You might.”

She smiles again to herself, not minding his presumption, charmed by his revision. Whatever else may or may not happen, it was a safe bet that a permanent fix for her shed, or any other need that may arise, in one year, in five, would be a matter of we. She enjoys the easy security of that, even as she’d prefer not to dwell on what exactly it means.

“I really don’t know what I’d do without you, Michael,” she says now that the job is done, and feels a sudden impulse to let her fingertips glance along his shoulder, just an inch or two beyond her reach.

He stands then, before she can really consider it, brushing his hands on his jeans and shrugging in his self-effacing way. “You’d manage.”

She clenches her eyes tight then, holding back sudden tears that had been threatening all day, tears she had invited Michael over, if she’s honest, to distract her from. Tomorrow, fine, but she can’t spend an entire weekend uselessly crying at every little irritation or reminder. She covers her eyes with her gloved hands for a moment, then wipes away the few tears she’d allowed to escape, letting out a long breath.

“Sorry,” she says, truly regretting having inspired the look of shock and concern he wore now. “I’m sorry. It’s just that’s something Dave said, near the end. He told me I’d manage.”

She had said to Dave, I don’t know what I’ll do without you. She had said, I don’t want to just manage. It was a rare moment of weakness at the time, when the only thing that seemed to hold any meaning for her was remaining strong for him. It takes her by surprise to have almost the exact same conversation now, with Michael – but this isn’t weakness. It is almost the opposite of that, now.

“I’m sorry, Cath,” he says, and it’s the look on his face that could really break her. All he wants in the world is to be strong for her, she knows that now, and he doesn’t even feel he has a right to. So he is there, and he waits, for a word, a sign, an invitation, and she doesn’t know how to offer him that much, or hasn’t, not since New Year’s Eve.

Certainly, she cannot today.

She nods, collecting herself, her manner now letting them both off the hook. There is no need to say it’s fine, it’s nothing; they both know what it is, and they are both going to let it go for now.

And he does, turning back to the door, testing it by opening and closing it a few times, first quickly, now slowly letting it fall into its frame. He is sure of his work, but thorough, determined nothing under his power will fail her.

She takes a few steps away, out into the garden, hands jammed into pockets, drawing freezing air into her lungs.

“It’s good, I think,” she hears him call out, satisfied. She closes her eyes again, smiling to herself, and silently agrees: Yes. It’s good.

She feels giddy with life all of a sudden, feeling now like that girl of twenty in those pictures they had found, cavorting on a beach with her best guy’s best friend without a care in the world. It is forty years later, their summer has turned to winter, but she feels just the same, and he is her best friend; oh forget, for a moment, the rest of it: he is hers. She bends over, gathering a handful of snow in her hands, compacting it into a tight ball.

“Oh, no,” he says laughing, holding up his hands in a gesture of innocence as she turns back to face him.

“Oh, yes,” she grins back, raising her arm in a fake-out first, giggling at the way he winces in anticipation.

“Don’t you dare throw that snowball,” he says, walking a few paces toward her, a mock-warning tone in his voice. It is clear he means: Or else.

Cathy, wanting very much to find out if he’ll follow through on his threat, pulls her arm back again and hurls it at him, landing in a cold, wet splat just against his coat collar and neck.

“God damn it!” he yells out, but he is laughing in earnest now, charging her and slipping a bit as he bends down to collect his own ammunition with his bare hands.

Cathy lets out a yelp and darts in the other direction, genuinely surprised by his speed, and soon feels a snowball pelt her hard in the back. “Hey!” she yells back, as if he has somehow violated their rules of engagement, ducking another snowball as she stoops to rearm herself.

He is too fast, and a third snowball comes whizzing by as she’s still packing hers into shape, grazing her cheek and hair. She tries to wing one back at him from this crouched position, but the angle and the sight of him charging at her again sends her off balance as soon as she releases it, getting one last direct hit in against his chest before she falls toppling and laughing into the snow.

Not expecting this, he struggles to slow himself before he runs directly into her, his feet giving way as he slides to a stop. He falls onto his knees, gasping and laughing too, mercilessly pressing one last handful of snow against her shoulder and pinning her down as she tries to right herself.

“I think I win,” he grins, giving up and laying down in the snow beside her.

“I think it’s a draw if we both end up knocked out,” she counters, relaxing back into the few inches of white cushion, feeling strangely warm.

“You’re right. I’m beat,” he agrees, letting out an exaggerated groan. “I’m an old man.”

She thinks, but does not say: But we’re alive. We’re here.

She does say, turning onto her side and propping her head up on her hand, “Really, thanks for being here today, Michael. I don’t just mean the shed. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” he says simply, and it’s all he needs to say. He’s the only one in the world who can know: not her particular loss, but a large share of it. They had both loved Dave, together, for forty years. And he didn’t want to be alone any more than she did.

She pulls herself up to sit now, but is in no rush to stand and move on from this moment, whatever it is. She feels a surge of that unknown bravery again, holding his hand out on the front garden wall, and another day, another time, she might have pushed a little further. She can imagine reaching over and taking his hand again. She can imagine him brushing the snow from her hair, and letting his hand rest there, softly, against her neck. And then… her imagination stalls from going much further. But some other alternate or future self knows what then, and the thought of it, just now, does not scare her.

Just now, it is enough to be alive, to be here, with him.

He is the one – exhausted of his own separate and similar thoughts, she is sure – who stands first, making a bit of a show of the strain as if to underline what an old man he is. He offers his hand to help her up – a polite, even necessary gesture, she doesn’t spring up from the ground as readily as she once did either, but she is sure he squeezes it ever so slightly before releasing it again.

They walk back toward her house, brushing caked-on snow as they go, laughing about the bruises they’re likely to find in the morning.

He pauses there at her back door, serious again for a moment, as if how they choose to cross that threshold will dictate how the rest of the day will go. “You wanna talk?” he asks, in that easy way of his, expecting nothing, but open to anything. He doesn’t have to say it for her to hear: About Dave. About tomorrow.

“Not really,” she shakes her head, giving him a playful but honest sort of grimace-smile.

He nods, and makes her another offer. “Wanna get pissed?”

“Yes,” she says, her eyes lighting up, brows raised. “That’s more like it.”

She knows she has a fridge full of his favorite beer, the terrible wine only she will drink, and various bottles left over from the holidays it would only be prudent to dispose of. In this, as with everything else, Michael will be a perfect help to her.

She steps inside and holds the door open for him, smiling.

#cathy x michael #mum #mum bbc #theoldgods #lol fanfic #THEY'RE SO DUMB???

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awstensmind · 2 years

Text

Today was a lot to process for mixed reasons.

I woke up at 6:30am, partly from the jet lag from Greece and partly from anxiety for what I had planned today. I went to the gym, lifted a few weights, did some rowing. Came home and showered. I made a batch of oatmeal cookies for everyone in true Jawn fashion and ate three of them before waking Colson up by riding him. He seemed to like that a lot, which made me enjoy it even more, so that’s something to keep in mind.

I went to see Sam next. I haven’t had a proper in-person therapy session in what feels like forever, and I really missed that. It’s not the same over the phone. I’m grateful to have her however I can, but having her sit across from me makes such a difference. I missed the way she’d look at me with understanding and patience. I missed the way she stays silent as I struggle to get my words out correctly, just waiting for me to find the way I want to say things without just pushing me to hurry up and spit it out. I missed the random objects she has in her office - the consistency of her ridiculously loud clock ticking away that I sometimes try and match my breathing to when it’s getting too hard, and the row of small stuffed toys she keeps on the top of her bookshelf, safely stowed away for the days where I need a cuddly friend for reassurance.

We spoke about a lot today. At first I thought I didn’t make any progress at all, but looking back, I think I have. We talked about the honeymoon, the incident with heights and how I reacted throughout that. I almost had a panic attack just retelling the events of that night. I don’t think Colson, or anyone, truly understands just how terrified I was in that moment. I had endless panic attacks for half an hour or more until my feet were firmly back on the ground. Half an hour of my heart pounding out of my chest, eyes squeezed shut, hands having a death grip on the edge of the table to keep myself stable. I was physically and mentally exhausted.

We talked about the animals for a while to help me calm down, Sam letting me ramble on about Rosie and Remy until I felt like I could continue. She asked me how I thought I handled the situation.

I looked her dead in the eye and firmly said that the way I reacted was perfectly okay. I think I surprised myself with that, but it’s true. I was purposely lied to, manipulated into doing something I wouldn’t have done if I knew the truth. I was angry, I was hurt. Having my trust bruised like that on our honeymoon was not something I was planning for. I’m working on that, but at the end of the day, it’s not my job to fix that, and Sam reminded me of that.

We talked about my plans later with x. Sam helped calm my nerves, help me figure out some specifics I wanted to talk about. I’ll get more onto that after, though.

Once therapy was over, I followed my new favorite ritual of going to the coffee place around the corner from her office - picking up an obnoxious drink I like the idea of and a slice of whatever homemade cake is on offer that day. I ate my cake, picked up my coffee and walked to the warehouse. God, I am so, so excited for the future. S2 of Hii Def is starting to be released now, but they have no idea what’s to come with S3. The samples are amazing, I already know I’m gonna be wearing these everywhere for the next few weeks. I did that. I am so fucking proud of myself, and that feels really good. I’m trying to cherish that.

Once everything was checked, I walked towards my favorite park, next to the tennis court I go to with De’Wayne. I sat down against the giant oak tree, fed some squirrels and grabbed my phone.

It took me ten minutes to build up the courage to call x. Ten minutes of me hovering over the dial button, shutting my phone off, pacing, hovering again. I finally pressed call and it rang through barely three times before they answered.

It was silence for a while. I don’t think either of us wanted to be the first to speak in years. I found the courage, though, even if it was just to mutter out a “hi.” Two minutes later, we decided to brave it and switch to FaceTime. I think I lasted all but twenty seconds before I started crying. I was flooded with emotion and I don’t even know why. I suppose it was the realisation of how much my life has changed over the past god knows how many years. I always pictured I’d be married by now, but I don’t think I saw my life heading the way it has. I’m happy for that, though. New changes are good changes. I’m in a relatively good place mentally for the first time in a while.

We were both there, looking at each other through our tiny screens, tears in our eyes but full of laughter. We talked for two hours. Catching up, reminiscing, falling apart over things that had happened. We promised to text each other more often, and to make a plan to meet up face-to-face soon. It got me excited for the future, even though I have to keep this my little secret. I don’t know how I’m going to keep this to myself. At least I have Sam to talk about it, I guess.

I need to book another appointment after today. I think I need it.

#a #c #j #v #s

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bellabooks · 7 years

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Sharon Belle talks “Swerve” Season 2 and donning a producer hat

Carmilla star Sharon Belle has been one busy lady. In addition to Season Two of Couple-ish (which debuts on April 29th), Sharon is working on Season Two of the dark and intimate webseries, Swerve, by Jason Armstrong. In Swerve, Belle plays a young woman named Elise who is constantly on the move, running from her past and herself. In the upcoming Season Two, Elise heads home to face those she left behind. Belle is not only starring in the series but has become an Executive Producer for the new season. I talked with Belle about the new season, becoming a producer and the campaign to bring us Season Two. Bella Blog: What drew you to Swerve in the first place? Sharon Belle: Swerve kind of just found me. I had worked with Jason a couple times before on The Ghost Is A Lie and 9 Days With Cambria and last summer we were talking and he said (in reference to my acting) something like “I would like to see what you’re capable of.” Which was super cryptic and kind of scary to be honest. A few months later he came to me with Swerve and said that I’m Elise! I read the script and immediately fell in love with Elise. She is just this kind, spirited and complex young woman looking for her place in the world. I felt almost exactly how Jen felt in the series, like I needed to take care of her and explore her story. BB: Swerve is unlike many webseries in that it takes its time. After doing shows like Carmilla and Couple-ish that are so fast paced, what was it like doing something like Swerve? SB: It’s honestly quite a wonderful feeling having the time (on screen) to develop and explore all the different relationships. If you’ve ever done a web series before you know how fast paced and demanding it can be, usually in result of the budget and timeline you’ve been given. Swerve is no exception to those limitations, however the way Jason wrote the series is very unique. It is online content but he doesn’t let the medium dictate the genre. It is a drama, and we are committed to giving people the kind of quality in story that you would expect to see in any other medium. BB: You are an executive producer this season! How did that come about? SB: I am! It came about pretty much how Swerve came about, with another phone call out of the blue. Jason started by complimenting me on all that I’ve done for the series, which if you know Jason, is very suspicious because compliments aren’t really his specialty. He then went on about the meetings he’s been having with Kisha Tapangan (Swerve‘s executive producer), and at this point there’s been so much roundabout I think I’m getting fired or replaced. Then, he asks me to be executive producer! I said yes in my head immediately, but he continued to go on for another few minutes trying to convince me to take on the role. Then I said yes out loud. I am so honored and pleased to be part of production this season. We have a really great team and a whole new cast this season and I can’t wait to show you all what S2 has in store. BB: It’s pretty clear Elise had complicated feelings for the women she met and spent time with. With Jenn, it was this deep, almost familial love. For Stevie, it’s attraction and frustration. Will we get to see Elise explore more of her queerness in S2? SB: Season 2 introduces many new faces to the story of Elise. Some new friends, some old friends, a lot of strong female energies. Yes. The answer to your question is yes. That’s all I can really say. BB: I have to say, I’m often wary of female stories written by men, but Jason does a wonderful job with Swerve. He has an almost Terry Moore-esque quality of being able to see beyond the surface of women’s lives, which we don’t often get to see. What has it been like working with him as a writer and director? SB: I will have to agree with you on that. I am always apprehensive when I see a woman’s (especially a queer woman’s) character and journey being written out for her by a man. We’ve seen it too many times where the female characters are un-relatable, stereotyped and often over sexualized. It’s something I think many of us have become hyper aware of, which is good! It has made us master bullshit catchers. Working with Jason, I’ve never had that feeling of being on my toes around him. From the first script I read that he wrote (The Ghost Is A Lie), there were never any red flags which was such a relief! You can usually tell based on just a sample of a person’s writing where they stand. The only female characters Jason has ever written are ones that I would be proud to represent. As a director he really gives the actor freedom to put their own spin on the character, which I respect. He’s patient with a scene and expects a lot from the talent. He makes me a better actor. I think Swerve S2 will be no exception to his past work. If anything, there’s always Kisha and myself to keep him in line. BB: S2 has pretty much and entirely new cast. Elise is swerving once again, but this time, it’s towards home. What can you tell us about her journey this season? SB: Elise has been swerving for years now. She has tried to find the solution, to find herself in other people. Season 2 is really a season of reckoning for Elise. Sometimes you need to go back to the root of everything to find what you’ve been looking for. All I can say is facing your past is never as simple as you think it will be. BB: If all goes well with the Indiegogo campaign, when would we see S2 debut? SB: If all goes well with the campaign we are looking to launch Swerve S2 this summer!! http://dlvr.it/NyHCh4

#Webseries #Sharon Belle #Swerve

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mononohke-archive · 7 years

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Anime Roundup - Winter 2017 [Spoilers]

As always, this season flew by despite how disappointing it was (for anime that started airing during it, not leftovers from Fall 2016). Well, maybe it was also because near the end I started playing video games and fell behind on my normal watching schedule. Either way, it didn’t feel like a whole 3 months. I’m a little late, as usual, and I didn’t write as much this time around. (Chalk it up to laziness and distraction by the aforementioned video games.)

Overall: I think this season qualifies as the worst I’ve seen yet. So many disappointments but only one or two highs.

Featured Anime: Ao no Exorcist S2, Gintama., Rakugo Shinjuu S2, 3-gatsu no Lion, ACCA, All Out!!, ClassicaLoid, Nanbaka + S2, Onihei, Trickster

Total: 10 | Average Score: 6.8 | Word Count: 4,581

~ (DIRECT) SEQUELS ~

Ao No Exorcist: Kyoto Impure King Arc [5/10]

Let me be blunt, the only thing I actually give a crap about in Ao no Exorcist is Yukio. Specifically, Yukio as a character and his brother complex for Rin. That is really what carried me through the first season of AnE and made me feel like it deserved more than a 5. In season one, the whole dynamic between them, Yukio’s complicated feelings for Rin, and their rivalry was the main theme of a significant part of the show. But in this season and arc, Yukio is barely there at all. The shift focuses more to Suguro, his family, and the Impure King. While I don’t dislike Suguro (Nakai Kazuya being his voice helps), I really don’t care enough to watch a whole cour about him and his family. There’s a lot of Rin too, of course, but he’s the main character and that’s obviously unavoidable.

Well, at least there a little bit of Yukio, however. He’s there for a few episodes and there’s like half an episode dedicated to his and Rin’s relationship, but that’s a pittance compared to the last season. For those reasons, AnE has dropped one point and just went into boring/average territory. If Yukio is a major part of next season or some future season, the score will go up to 6 again, but this one will stay at 5.

To give some credit though, I’m really grateful that they brought back all the original cast for this long awaited sequel. Unlike D.Gray-man last year, I never felt like something was wrong because all the voice actors and art style were different. It is unfortunate that they couldn’t get Keiji Fujiwara to reprise his role as Rin and Yukio’s father, but still 99% of the cast is the same.

Gintama. [8/10]

It is with a heavy heart that I have to give a title in the Gintama series less than a 10 (only applies to the main show and not movies/specials/OVAs). Unfortunately, the recent change in Gintama’s pace is tiring and got boring rather quickly. This problem was beginning to show in the previous season, but at least that had enough episodes and arcs to have more change.

This season honestly didn’t have a bad start... it was really great seeing the Joui4 together again especially Sakamoto (since he appearances are normally so limited) but then it went into Kamui and Umibozu’s backstory arc. To be clear, I like Umibozu, don’t care about Kamui, and love Kagura, but this whole arc was mostly about Kamui, Umibozu, and Kouka (Kagura and Kamui’s dead mother). Kagura herself felt like an afterthought in this arc. This was more about explaining Kamui’s issues with his dad and how Umibozu met Kouka.

Now, aside from my general disinterest in Kamui, the problem is not really with the backstory itself. It’s the fact that Gintama had turned into a battle shounen. I really dislike the pacing in battle shounens, especially if they are done badly *coughsNanbakacoughs*, and the worst part is that Gintama normally does these bits right in previous drama arcs. In this one though, it was boring... maybe not unbearable, but I found myself tuning out a lot more than I would watching Gintama - y’know, one of my all time favorite anime.

Personally, I think the comedy in Gintama has always been stronger than the drama. The drama, when done in arcs between a lot of comedy, is really when it’s at its best because that is when the show brings a necessary change of pace and adds more depth to the characters. When it’s just one drama arc after the other, the battle shounen portions tend to take over. Plus, I just really miss the humor. It always gelled with me and that’s why I loved the show so much from the beginning. I miss laughing my ass off every episode, but in season I only chuckled a few times.

There is one silver lining though and that is Utsuro, who is becoming more and more interesting. While it is kind of cliche that he came back from the dead and turned out to be immortal, I think the way it’s presented is really good, and I can’t wait to see more of him. The last episode giving his backstory definitely pulled me in for the next season. I just hope it lightens up a little more because the comedy is where Gintama always shined the best.

Shouwa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu: Descending Stories [9/10]

This show... how am I supposed to talk about it? I want to do a proper review that does it justice, but obviously that review would be spoiler free. In this post though, I think I’ll just quickly summarize my overall feelings.

First, let me say that Rakugo has totally met my expectations in S2. It expanded on the story pretty much just as perfectly as it needed to. There was one little thing that ruined it just a teeny bit near the end, but honestly it was otherwise masterful. For me to articulate exactly how I feel, I really need to rewatch both seasons. Sorry, I’m gonna skip actually putting effort into this lol, but I will try my best to get out a proper review on MAL later. Maybe one day I’ll even attempt an analysis, but that’s far off.

~ INDIRECT SEQUELS ��& NON-SEQUELS~

3-gatsu no Lion [9/10]

3-gatsu no Lion is easily one of the best and most emotional anime that I’ve seen recently. I’m actually surprised that it is a Shaft production (most famous for the Monogatari series and Madoka Magica), but it has Shaft all over it with Akiyuki Shinbo at the helm. I know some people have mixed or negative feelings on his style of direction, but I like it in all the other Shaft shows I watched and I especially like it here. It’s the first time I’ve seen Shaft do an anime like 3-gatsu, which has no fanservice, no harem (elements), no strong humor, nor any fantasy or supernatural elements.

In my opinion, they did an excellent job. If 3-gatsu was not presented in the way it is, it might not have been as interesting as it is. It would’ve been so easy to make this a dry and boring adaptation, but Shaft brings it to life with such incredible bold, imagery. And it pulls off mood whiplash (sudden mood changes) a lot better than most anime I’ve seen. Normally, I think they clash with the overall tone, but when 3-gatsu does it, it feels like an exaggerated version of what happens in real life, where tone does not stay consistent between moments.

Then there’s Rei, the main character. He really skirts the line between being relatable or not. On the one hand, he is a Shogi genius and makes his own living at age 17. On the other hand, he has a complicated past, depression, and is a very down to earth and nice person. The whole series really rests on Rei’s shoulders, as he is the narrator and everything revolves around him. But I think he’s excellent written and relatable despite being essentially a child prodigy.

Speaking of the shogi, I was also worried that it would be hard to understand the series because I don’t know shogi very well. Thankfully, that’s not the case. While there is a significant amount of focus on the shogi, the real focus on the characters. I’m sure for people who are familiar with shogi, it gives an extra layer to the narrative, but even for those who aren’t, it’s not so focused on the games that there’s nothing left. At least shogi has similarities to chess, which most westerners have a passing knowledge of. Still, even if you know fuck all about shogi and chess, I think the great depth of characters and the wonderful visuals carry the show and make it incredibly watchable.

ACCA: 13-ku Kansatsu-ka [7/10]

I... liked ACCA. Don’t love it, but liked it well enough. It has a uniqueness to it that you don’t see often in anime. For example the cast are all adults and most of them are government bureaucrats, the plot revolves around a conspiracy, and the anime is fairly slow paced and is very light on action. More than half the series is spent on world-building, with very little romance or other cliches. I could probably go on.

The color palette and art style is also a highlight with lots of bright, pastel colors. ACCA is just a neat little package of an anime that I appreciated watching for being something a little different. Have to say though, I’m not sure how much this will stick to me in the long run. Some of the world, maybe, and definitely the art style/colors, but not really the characters or plot.

All Out!! [6/10]

What initially drew me to All Out!! is a) rugby, never seen that sport before in an anime and b) incredible diversity in body types with a very wide variation in height, muscularity (although most are muscular guys), and weight (never seen so many chubby guys in an anime). So, while All Out!! does have some things that set it apart, unfortunately in literally every other way, it’s pretty much exactly the same as other sports anime. The protagonist is, OF COURSE, a newbie who joins the sport for the first time as a high school freshman. He’s overly energetic and most of the rest of the team thinks he’s annoying, but he’s super motivated and improves at an incredible rate. And he has another freshman friend who is a lot more experienced and naturally talented at the sport who serves a foil (especially since they have opposite personalities). The captain is an extremely motivated guy who’s tough on his team, but he’s also incredibly protective of them ie. team dad, and so on. The cliches just don’t stop...

That doesn’t mean AO is unenjoyable, just that the unique elements in the beginning wore off rather quickly and I was left with another run-of-the-mill sports anime (especially since this show is 25 episodes and not 12). My ratings for sports anime thus far have worked on a different scale than most other anime simply because sports is such an unusual genre with its own strict conventions that I have no choice but to rate them compared only to others in the genre. That means if sports anime were judged relative to the rest of anime I’ve seen, they would be rated lower (by between .5-1 points) because 95% of them have the exact same plot and many of the exact same characters.

I mention this because as I’ve watched more and more sports anime, my standards have steadily been getting higher and are finally starting to match the rest of my rating scale. If this was one of the first sports anime I ever watched, it would easily be an 8/10. Now, as the dozenth sports anime I’ve seen, it’s only a 6/10. I am finally getting really tired of the old sports anime cliches and want more unique experiences. That’s why I praised Baby Steps so much for being different when I recently saw it. Looking back, I may have to re-rate some of the other sports anime I’ve seen, especially more recently like Days of the Summer/Fall seasons last year.

So, do I regret watching All Out!!? No, it has some good and fun stuff in there. Will I watch if there’s another season of it? Probably (even though I don’t necessarily want to) because I only avoid sequels if I give the first series a 5/10 or less... even then sometimes I’ll keep watching for the sake of keeping up (fcking K). Would I recommend AO in the end? Nah, unless you’re really interested in rugby.

ClassicaLoid [8/10]

I... feel almost ashamed to give this show such a high rating. Looking at MAL, my score is a whole 1.53 points higher than the standard deviation, and one of the most incongruous scores I’ve ever given - in the positive direction. In the negative direction, I happen to have some highly unpopular opinions on anime like Erased, Sword Art Online, and Mirai Nikki.

For a long while, I just couldn’t decide on a score. Normally, I know pretty early on what score I’m going to give an anime, give or take a point in either direction (or two if the anime pulls something towards the end). By the end of a show’s airing, I usually pretty much know exactly what I want to give it. (This doesn’t apply so much to my precise ratings, but rather the broad score I give on MAL.)

For ClassicaLoid, I didn’t know whether I wanted to give this show a “guilty pleasure, I know this show is bad but I enjoyed it a lot” 6/10 rating, a “fuck it, because I loved this show that much 8/10 rating”, or a 7/10 as the balanced alternative. As you can see, I ultimately decided on an 8 (more specifically a low 8, but an 8 nonetheless) in the end. Yes, I really do love this show, and I did find it just that enjoyable and hilarious. It’s one of the funniest comedies I’ve seen recently and definitely my favorite comedy of 2016 (over the likes of Sakamoto Desu Ga? and Handa-kun).

The thing about ClassicaLoid is that if I didn’t love the characters so much and find it funny, it would be a pretty bad show. It seems pretty polarizing because a lot of people think this show is stupid and hate it for that reason. In my opinion, it is stupid, but it has some self-awareness and never takes itself seriously. The other thing is the humor. If the humor does not gel with you, you will hate this show, and that’s also highly subjective and polarizing. I think the humor is spot on most of the time, with great comedic timing and gags. There’s also, I guess, the “gimmick” of the show which is arguably the whole point - the remixes of classical music in the vocaloid style.

Tbh, I’m not at all familiar with vocaloids and even so, I found the remixes to be mostly average or even a bit cringeworthy. They were the weakest part for me, but that only applies to the songs themselves. The actual visuals that accompanied the almost once-an-episode sequences? They were not bad. Sometimes they were even funny or resulted in hilarious things (Schubert’s fish adventure comes to mind), but most of the time they were a pretty mindless distraction.

One of the real strengths is the characters. I seriously either love the characters* or I like them. They bring life to the show with their varied personalities. It’s kind of amazing because many of them skirt the line between being one-note quirky archetypes and actually being kind of deep. My favorites include (in no particular order):

- Kanae, who is mostly the straight man character, but plays beautifully off the rest of the cast because she has to put up with so much shit, but has her own silly and selfish sides. (Also, she’s one terrible idol.)

- Schubert, definitely my favorite classicaloid of the bunch. I was kind of surprised because he was introduced a little later than the rest, but Schu is so genuine... so weird, yet so underappreciated in-universe that I think is the opposite irl. His unpopularity is what makes him popular in the first place because aside from being a catty bitch to Mozart (who deserves it, btw), he tries really hard to be a good person.

- Liszt, who is amazing, I love that she’s badass and reliable (the only one who pays rent) but also a sucker for love. And she’s basically a trans women, isn’t she? She’s not the only originally-male-irl classicaloid to be given a female body, but she’s the only one who completely embraces it.

- Chopin, who in my opinion is a little underused, although that’s partially justified because he’s always hiding. He’s definitely the most relateable, being a shut-in who just on the computer all day playing games or watching stuff (sounds familiar), but he’s also blunt af and has such witty lines.

- Beethoven, I initially had mixed feelings on him, but came to love him over time. See, he may be voiced by my favorite voice actor (Tomokazu Sugita), but at first all his jokes revolved around GYOZA!!! and being a gigantic fucking ham. It got old kind of fast, but thankfully he gets more jokes and depth over time. I especially love his dynamic with Kanae and Schubert.

*The sole exception is Mozart. Here is where I rant about Mozart because thaT FUCKING PUNK BITCH IS THE WORST, AND IT SUCKS THAT HE’S A MAIN CHARACTER WHO GETS SO MUCH SCREEN TIME AND EPISODES DEDICATED TO HIM. ... Okay, I’m gonna calm down. I’ll stop shouting now and explain why I hate this pos. Here we go: He. Is. Not. Funny. Or. Likable. In fact, the only one who is not funny or likable. He’s always annoying, unhelpful, sexually harassing Kanae, and genuinely a terrible person except when it benefits him. Actually, the problem is not even that he’s terrible, but rather that he’s terrible and gets away with it.

Compare him to someone like Sousuke, who’s a little similar in some ways, except... hey, get this, there are consequences (funny consequences) when he’s being a douche. Sousuke, along with Schubert, are the butt monkeys of the ensemble. Sousuke is even referred to as “tool” by Liszt and mostly everyone else. If Mozart was also a butt monkey, he would be a lot more tolerable, except he’s not. Mozart behaves like an annoying dick 98% of the time and the anime has the fucking audacity to try and make him sympathetic.

I also have to bring up his voice actor, Yuki Kaji, who is easily my least favorite voice actor, so maybe I do have some inherent bias against him. See, if Mozart were played by someone who’s not annoying as shit, then maybe he would’ve been more likable, but Yuki Kaji has the range of a triangle (he’s one-note). Compare him to Beethoven, who could easily be so fucking obnoxious, except he’s played by the exceptionally talented and charismatic Tomokazu Sugita. /sighs. Well, I think I’m done ranting now.

Finally, I want to cover the jokes. It’s true, at first they appear to be of the very “lol random xD” type humor, but I think they are deceptively well constructed. There were many episodes where I was laughing out loud and some episodes where I spent the entire time laughing my ass off (again, I bring up the Schubert fish incident). With a few exceptions, I don’t think the humor or gags ever got old because the anime keeps doing more and more with the characters, throwing them into crazy situations. The absurdity of it all is hilarious and the likableness of most of the characters supports it.

I’m probably one of 10 people in the west who is very excited and happy that there’s a season 2. Only two more seasons left until it’s back :D.

Nanbaka [6/10] / Season 2 [4/10]

I’m put in kind of an awkward position by this show... At first, it was going to be published with the Fall 2016 Roundup until I realized that there was going to be a second season. So then I delayed it for Winter 2017 except the quality of the show has gone down significantly between the first and second season. I wrote most of my thoughts for the first season already, so I’m just gonna talk about season one first by itself and then compare it to season two. Here are my thoughts on S1:

At first glance, yes, the character designs are incredibly silly… an anime podcast I listen to described them as “deviantart ocs”, (which is not too inaccurate), and everything sparkles like a shoujo manga for some mysterious reason. But aside from the strange design choices, the humor was pretty solid and characters are pretty likable. Not just the main 4 characters, but Hajime (my favorite) and the other prison wardens, and their fellow prisoners all have a charm to them.

The first half of the show is pretty damn funny, definitely a solid 7/10, but then the New Years competition arc starts and the pacing screeches to a halt. There are four whole episodes dedicated to this arc and they actually introduce a plot, drama, and some intense action near the end. It comes out of nowhere. The problems don’t stop there, unfortunately. I can forgive the terrible pacing somewhat if they kept up the laughs, but that’s not what happened. Instead, the genre switches and suddenly becomes a drama with a whole conspiracy plot about some of the main characters. Insofar, the only comedy anime I’ve seen pull off dramatic arcs is Gintama (but as I’ve said even that gets tiring after a while). Nanbaka is simply not as well-written as Gintama in either way, and the actual “plot” was a total let down compared to the humor which I genuinely liked.

This plot continues for another few episodes and it takes a little while to get back to the laughs. Humor and characters are the only thing this anime kind of nails. When the author attempts drama, it turns into another generic shounen anime. What a shame. If this anime stuck to being a pure comedy, I definitely would’ve rated it higher.

Ohhhhh boy, now onto season two. My worst fears for the anime basically happened. Imagine the New Years Competition arc I just complained about. Now, slow down the pacing another 500%, take out all the humor from the first season, and chuck in some boring ass cliche shounen crap. That is what S2 is in its entirety. It’s like they sucked out all the fun and hilarity of the first season just to “advance” the plot. I put advance in quotes because the pacing is seriously glacial. It rotates between plot exposition/backstory and “action” comparable to a Naruto filler arc for the entire run time.

For example, my favorite character Hajime gets locked in a jail cell early on. Then some of the jail mates (including Jyugo, the main character) decide to break him out a little while later in the show. Guess when they reach Hajime? If you guessed the very last episode, you’d be correct! Inbetween is just pointless, boring fight after pointless, boring fight and fucking endless exposition! Either the character talks for minutes on end about their powers or the strategy of their enemies or about some thing in the past or there’s a flashback/backstory explaining the characters (by the way, a whole bunch of new characters are introduced except without the humor, they’re all shit) or the plot, it’s just UGH.

Halfway through, I came to dread Nanbaka. Most of the time, I would put on the show and zone out as much as possible, although in reality, I spent a lot of time bitterly remembering how funny the first season is and how it actually had characters I liked in them doing funny shit and being likable. If the first season was a lot of fun but was bogged down by the action/drama, then the second season is the bog. Watching it is liking wading through a swamp about waist high. It won’t kill you and it’s doable, but it’s unpleasant, tedious, and you rather wished you just walked around it.

If you really want to enjoy the show, just watch season one. Even then I only recommend the first half and the last couple of episodes. AVOID SEASON TWO AT ALL COSTS. I am certain there’s going to be a season three later this year or next year, but hopefully I’ll resist the temptation to watch it just because I watched the first two seasons.

God, it makes so angry how this show could’ve been a fairly pleasant humorous affair but ruins it completely and chucks it in the fucking garbage disposal. Way to waste your potential, Nanbaka.

Onihei [6/10]

Onihei is... unremarkable, but not a hard watch either. It’s just... alright? Very very middle of the road, but I can kind of appreciate that because it didn’t require much effort on me to watch, and I could just enjoy it without thinking too much about it. It helps that I’m already into samurai, but I admit I was hoping for more initially. Once I accepted that it was just going to be a simple collection of samurai/pre-modern japanese stories, then I began to enjoy it more.

My biggest complaint is that there were too many episodes not focused on Heizo (aka Onihei, the main character). Heizo really was the best part of the show, and I liked it most when they focused on him and his backstory, but about a quarter of the show is about other characters that I just didn’t really care for aside from two or three of them. It’s fine that this show is mostly episodic, but because it frequently shifts focus, it is quite inconsistent because some episodes are better than others.

There’s also the fact the show looks very cheaply made, especially in those creepy ass CGI people in background shots. It has almost a B-movie feel, but not as much of the B-movie charm as I’d like. Still, it’s not really bad at all. It’s a good thing I like historical anime and that the main character is great because that is what pushes it up from a 5 to a solid 6.

Trickster [5/10]

First, let me just say that Trickster baited me - and baited me successfully with the promise of attractive boys and homoerotic subtext. At least it delivered and pretty much met my expectations 100%, but unfortunately, it did not surprise me by being better than I thought it would be. It’s kind of a pity because Trickster actually has pretty good production values, but it falters in more important places: the characters and plot. Both of those elements are pretty clumsily handled. If not that, then they feel cliche, like I’ve already seen [x type] character and [y] trope countless times.

The characters in particular I feel like could’ve made up for the plot, but the anime chooses to focus on the least interesting ones (yes, I know this is a book adaptation). The main character, Kobayashi, is unlikable from the start and even when you unlock his tragic backstory late in the anime, it feels too little too late and it’s another overused trope. Hanasaki, the character who probably gets the most screen time is... actually alright. He’s annoying at first too, but his character development is not handled that badly either. The best characters are probably Inoue and Akechi; the former barely gets any attention at all, and the latter’s subplot is so fragmented by the rest of the characters and their own plots that it gets lost.

In fact, what I just said may just sum up the biggest problem I have with this anime. The whole thing feels fractured, like the writer wanted to give all the main characters (except poor Inoue) their dues, but didn’t know how to tie their separate plots together elegantly or didn’t know how to give all of them development/depth in one flowing plot. With tighter focus, I’m sure it would’ve turned out better, but the cliches and their rather bland execution still drag it all down.

The production values do deserve some praise though. The voice acting is great as always and the animation is overall good, but the music and direction had some standout moments that really elevated certain parts of the show. Unfortunately, the overall mediocreness of Trickster put it at a 5/10.

#*#anime roundup #anime roundup: winter 2017 #winter 2017 #writing*

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haloud · 3 years

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things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 8

also on ao3

Chapter Summary: Forrest returns from his trip, and he and Alex clash over Michael’s presence in his life.

Excerpt:

Was Forrest right?

Was he taking advantage of Michael? No. His first instinct was no. Michael came to him when he was in need—something Alex still wasn’t letting himself stop to process.

But the thing Forrest said about power…

If he searched himself, if he had to put it in such terms: Michael did make Alex feel powerful. He always had. From the very first day, when Alex offered the only thing he had—the rebellious kindness he practiced mostly because his father wanted to stamp it out—and Michael took it, took it shy and suspicious, but then grew towards him like a sunflower. That made him feel powerful. And it would be dishonest to say he didn’t feel powerful every time he came and went and no matter what Michael was still there waiting when he returned, no matter how much, yeah, Michael made him feel weak, too, knew just the right words to say to cut the deepest.

Control was a commodity. Alex starved for it his entire life and gorged himself when it was available, and only now was he in a place where he could begin on the work of balancing himself out. Michael told him once that he never said no to him—how able was Alex to judge when they crossed such old, familiar lines worn away by the traffic they’d seen over the past eleven years? How much could Michael be trusted to see those lines either, or to tell him if they were crossed instead of just taking it?

They needed to talk. They always needed to talk. It never got any easier. And what the hell was all the talking for, if not…that thing Forrest was worrying about? Not cheating, no, but was there still some part of him that still dreamed his old dream of what peace looked like, Michael in the early morning, and birdsong after rain, and nowhere to be but here?

Sorry I’ve been so quiet. It’s been a pretty stressful few days. I love the pictures, and I hope your trip was fun.

Alex pressed send and sent a picture of himself and Buffy cuddling in the early morning along with it.

Forrest’s reply was almost instant.

No problem, babe. It’s been great, but I’m also ready to be home…and see you again. 😉

He sighed. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard as he searched for the right words to explain the situation before Forrest walked right into it, to explain why he was sharing his home with Michael, to explain why Alex balked and deflected and talked his way around every suggestion that Michael could be on his own now, that he was healed enough to make do alone. Maybe Forrest wouldn’t understand, but Alex owed him at least that much. Right?

Looking forward to seeing you, too, he said, then dropped his phone onto his chest and ran a hand over his face.

The house was quiet around him. Michael was an early riser, but a stealthy one; thus far, even Alex’s hypersensitive hearing hadn’t been piqued or sent into an anxious, paranoid spiral by so much as the sound of a foot tread from rooms away. At first, the silence troubled Alex, brought up thoughts of Michael laying stuck in his bed afraid of disturbing Alex, afraid of him, but he’d started his own day only to find Michael’s already begun enough times now to find the quiet peaceful, thoughtful.

The buzz of his phone was jarring in comparison. He picked it up to check it.

Oh yeah? Been lonely there without me? 😉 😉 😉

Alex threw an arm over his eyes and groaned.

He was saved from having to come up with a response by another message coming through quickly: Kidding—the first group just got called to board, so I don’t have time for all that. See you soon, babe.

Alex responded, See you soon. Sure you don’t need a ride from the airport? Call me if Wyatt flakes.

I will. But I think it’ll be fine.

Okay. He hesitated again. This was his last chance to say something about Michael before Forrest was back in Roswell. But, chickening out, he just said, Call me even if you just don’t want to spend three hours in the car with him.

Forrest responded with a kissing emoji, and that was that.

Eventually, Alex got out of bed and got ready for the day. He’d taken to not wearing his uniform when off base in deference to Michael’s deep discomfort with it, and, though at times inconvenient, it was worth it to walk into the kitchen and see Michael at the table with a bowl of cereal, and for him to look up and smile at Alex instead of lean back and close off.

“Got any plans for today?” Michael asked as Alex checked his watch and grabbed a banana from the bowl on the counter to eat on his way.

“Nothing much beyond work. Forrest is coming home today. He has a short layover in Denver, so between that and the drive from Albuquerque, he should get back to Roswell around the time I get off.”

“Oh. Right.”

Michael’s voice was flat, and Alex didn’t know what to do with it, so he stood at attention and waited for Michael to make the next move.

“Max will be devastated,” was all he said. In her basket in the corner, Buffy slept on.

Alex’s lips quirked up. “Maybe we can set up play dates for them. Honestly, Forrest would probably appreciate someone taking her to the park or something when he gets deep into writing or research.”

“Huh. I’ll let Max know.” He took the last bite of his cereal and stood to rinse it in the sink. Every day he regained a little more strength, but Alex’s keen eyes still couldn’t miss the uneven shakiness of his limbs or the hollowness around his eyes.

Alex checked his watch again. He needed to get going, but it was harder than he’d ever expected to leave Michael in the mornings, a thought that left guilty grit in the pit of his stomach. His heart and mind hit on a pattern he didn’t mean, a dangerous domestic assumption that wasn’t fair to anyone, not Michael, not himself, and not Forrest. The first few days, laying in the dark at night trying to locate Michael’s beat and breath from across the house, he’d told himself it was just worry for him that rooted those thoughts in his head, that if Michael was in his house for any other reason, things would be different. If it was a lie, well, Alex was comfortable with lying to himself.

“I’ll make myself scarce,” Michael was saying as he put his bowl in the drying rack.

“What?”

He shrugged and turned to face Alex, leaning his weight back against the counter. “I figured it’d be awkward if your boyfriend showed up and I was here. So I’ll make sure I’m gone by the time he gets back.”

“Michael, no.” Alex’s heart pounded sickly in his chest—Jones lying in wait to get Michael alone—Michael collapsing to the floor of his trailer, red pouring from his mouth, ears, and eyes—Michael powerless and pulled over on the side of the road to Sanders’s, apprehended and shoved in the back of a Project Shepherd van—"You can stay here as long as you need to—until we know it’s safe and the threats are eliminated. It’s not pity, it’s the same reason Max is living with Isobel right now, right? And she’s only got the one guest room.”

He was babbling, excuses flowing like wine. But no sacrificed dignity was too far if it meant keeping Michael safe—making him understand.

Continuing, he said, louder and firmer, “Frankly, no potential target should be alone right now. This shouldn’t wait until Thursday—I’m going to get in contact with Maria, Rosa, and Kyle today and work out a buddy system. Someone might have to double up; would it bother you if Maria—”

“Alex,” Michael interrupted softly. “It’s okay.”

Alex stopped in his tracks. When had he started pacing?

Michael stepped forward and, with only a heartbeat’s hesitation, so quick Alex might have imagined it, he put a warm, solid hand on Alex’s shoulder.

“If you think it’s safer, I won’t go anywhere.”

Swallowing, Alex nodded. His hand twitched at his side, but he didn’t pick it up to wrap it around Michael’s wrist and hold him there.

While they stood there, caught in the moment, dawn through the window catching dew on a spider’s web, Alex’s watch beeped little and tinny.

“Looks like you do gotta go somewhere,” Michael said, voice comfortingly casual, dropping his hand and stepping away.

“Right. I do. Look, we can just tell Forrest you were too sick to be alone. If he gets pissed, I’ll deal with it. It’s fine.”

“I don’t want to come between—”

“You’re not. I should have told him, but I didn’t, so I’ll handle the fallout. I have to go.”

“Okay.” Michael didn’t look comforted, but he didn’t fight. “See you later. I might pick up a half day at work, too. Not pushing myself,” he pre-empted.

Alex was now running too late to argue, so he had to leave it there, with just a text to Max at a red light: Michael going to work today. Call me if anything happens.

He didn’t hear from Max all day, and when he checked his phone after work, he had only a couple brief messages from Forrest confirming he made it to Denver and made it onto his connecting flight.

Made it to ABQ alright? He texted, and by the time he got home, he had a response.

Yeah. Super tired. Maybe I should have asked you after all…I’m stuck in the car with Wyatt’s music, ugh.

Michael’s car wasn’t in the driveway like Alex might have expected if he’d gotten a ride to Sanders’s and come back, but Alex took a deep breath and postponed spiraling over anything until he confirmed whether or not Michael was here. Shouldering his bag and locking his car, he made his way inside, responding with his other hand. Ugh indeed. I hope you brought the good headphones for blocking it—and him—out.

You know it, babe.

“Michael?” he called.

“In the den,” Michael replied.

There, Alex found him stretched out on the couch, ankles crossed and propped up on the arm so Buffy could sleep beneath them, a book in his hands that he set aside as Alex entered the room.

“How was your—what the fuck?”

Buffy’s head perked up at Alex’s voice, and she gave him a baleful look.

Michael grimaced. “Don’t freak out—”

“What the hell happened?”

In two strides, Alex crossed the space between them and grabbed Michael’s hand to examine it. He sported thick white gauze wrapped around his palm, and Alex had to fight down a scream of pure frustration.

“I just burned myself at work. It’s not as bad as it looks—Max just went overboard dressing it since I wouldn’t let him heal it.”

Alex scowled. Traitor.

“Have you had Kyle look at it? Why didn’t you let Max heal it? Why—”

“Alex! It’s fine. I’m fine.”

He sat up so their eyes were closer to level; Michael’s eyes were golden and earnest and exasperated and Forrest might already be back in Roswell and Alex couldn’t stand it.

Michael continued, “I’m not stressing Max’s heart or wasting Kyle’s time with something like this. Little injuries are common in the shop. I really am gonna be fine. You need to breathe.”

Following that advice, Alex closed his eyes, breathed in and counted, breathed out and counted. Of course something as small as a minor burn wouldn’t register to Michael. Alex had held those hands, felt them on his body, counted every tiny white scar and callous, claimed and cherished them when one was warped with pain and grief. This little injury was normal, routine, not anything to protect him from, not any proof of Alex’s failure. He needed to calm down.

“Your car isn’t here,” he said, changing the subject off of such heavy things.

“Yeah, Max picked me up and dropped me off. I could have driven, but you’re not the only person being overprotective right now.”

Hm. Maybe Max wasn’t such a traitor after all.

“And is Sanders—"

He cut off at the rattle of the doorknob. Buffy echoed the sound with a bark, and instinct had Alex reaching for his gun; he rotated himself to be between Michael and the door, even as Michael hissed in displeasure. But he couldn’t defend himself like this, without his powers, so Alex wasn’t taking any chances.

“Alex, hey, babe, you left the door unlocked!”

Oh. Alex dropped his head down and took his hand off his gun, running through his hair instead. Right.

“Hey, Forrest,” he called back, checking his phone as he spoke. No missed calls or messages. He caught Michael’s eye and grimaced as Buffy clambered off the couch and loped towards Forrest’s voice.

“Everything okay? It’s not like you to…”

Forrest froze in the mouth of the hallway, locking eyes with Michael on the couch, who in turn flicked his eyes to Alex like he had the answers to the awkward situation that just landed in their laps.

“Michael! This is unexpected. I didn’t realize you guys hung out,” Forrest said with impressively convincing but still false cheer. He tilted his head and shot Alex a questioning look, too, and defensiveness rose hackles in Alex’s head.

“He’s been sick, had a pretty bad fever a few nights in a row, so I told him to come over, since he lives alone and all,” Alex lied brusquely.

“Ah. Well. I hope you’re feeling better?”

“I think I’m gonna go chill outside,” Michael said, leaping up with a vigor he clearly didn’t possess at the moment, wobbling dangerously and, after righting himself, staggering toward the door.

Thank god his car wasn’t here so he could only get so far if he decided to take off.

As long as he didn’t suddenly rediscover the ability to teleport that almost killed him, that was.

“He’s been here for how long?” Forrest asked as soon as they were alone, voice still false and light. His eyes were lined and exhausted from travel.

Alex shrugged and, inclining his head to suggest Forrest follow him, he headed to the bedroom to put his gun in its safe. Buffy watched them go.

“A few days,” Alex said as they walked. “Like I said—he was sick, and he lives alone. Sorry, I should have warned you.”

“Oh. Well, I, uh. That’s okay, I guess. I didn’t know the two of you were that close?”

The safe beeped, and Alex stowed his firearm and closed it, spun the dial, and waited for the whir of the electronic lock engaging too. Then he turned to face Forrest and said, “We’re friends. We spend time together sometimes. You know, Thursdays?”

“Every Thursday.” Forrest’s voice was flat again. “Do you guys only hang out on Thursdays, or…?”

“We have different schedules, so it’s mostly Thursdays, but not always. Hell, Forrest, he was there when the two of us met, I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“That was months ago, and I’ve barely heard you mention him since we started dating, only seen him once, when we went to the bar. Remind me who comes to those little get togethers again? Or is it just you and Michael.”

“It depends on the week,” Alex said, growing increasingly defensive. His back was to the wall; he didn’t have much room to maneuver. His ears were ringing slightly. “But there are usually—we have the same entire friend group, hell, I invited you to a couple Thursdays, and you always said no! But, yeah, Michael hosts them, we hung out one on one a few fucking times, should I start giving you a numbered list of my known associates, or what? Fucking hell, Forrest.”

“Okay, okay, God. No, I don’t care who you see, I just…”

“Just what?”

“I don’t know, you’re exes! You’re—you’re almost more than that, even; I may not know the whole story, but you have unfinished business or whatever! I know your song was about him. So the idea of you two spending a ton of time together makes me insecure. And I know you can handle yourself, but I worry, with Guerin being—"

Alex drew back at that. “Guerin being what? He’s not dangerous just because he doesn’t meet your perfect standards, holy shit, Forrest.”

His own voice whispered wasting his life nastily in his ear, but he shoved it down. That was guilt for another time; right now his energy was better spent defending Michael from whatever the fuck accusation Forrest was trying to point his way.

“Right, right, I know.” Forrest ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Sorry, it just slipped out.”

“That doesn’t really make it better,” Alex snapped back.

Forrest sighed heavily. “I know. I know. I’m sorry, I was just really taken aback seeing him here after being gone—and you being so distant. Can you see how that might feel? Even though I trust you?”

Alex took a deep, cool breath. Yes, he could see it. He’d sat with the guilt and anxiety about it for days, even as he’d been unable to let go of Michael in his grasp. He could at least be gentle about Forrest’s reaction now. He reached out and took his hand and said, gently:

“Michael and I used to date, yes. But we’re friends now, and nothing else.”

But no matter how sincere he tried to be, Forrest’s face told him something in there was hollow. Alex’s stomach twisted.

Even if, the thought intruded, even if he did decide to cheat, he wouldn’t put Michael through all the hiding and sneaking and secret-keeping it would take, wouldn’t do that to him. Again. He shoved that thought away with force, before it could get its claws in him, as nauseous with stress as he already was.

A brief smile flickered across Forrest’s face. “Okay. Thank you. I trust you, okay? I do. I’m sorry for getting all controlling.”

He leaned up, and Alex kissed him lightly.

“Hey, now that Michael’s gone…” Forrest raised an eyebrow and tugged Alex’s hand lightly in the direction of the bed. “I was hoping we could have a date night in? Celebrate my homecoming? As long as you don’t have any plans, that is, I missed you and wanted to do something a little spontaneous…”

“Hold on, he stepped outside to let us talk, he didn’t leave leave. He’s staying until he’s out of the woods with whatever he’s got.”

The glitter that had sprung up in Forrest’s eyes winked out again. “He looked fine to me.”

“He almost passed out when he stood up! I’m not leaving him by himself while he’s sick. That doesn’t mean we can’t still go out—”

“And what, I’ll have you home by ten with a nice chaste kiss on the doorstep? Or we can go back to my place, where Wyatt will be playing Xbox in the den.”

This was the sharpest Forrest had ever spoken to Alex, and his mind spun blank tape trying to come up with the appropriate reaction. Where was this coming from? Had Alex crossed such a line, gone so far that Forrest wouldn’t trust him at all? What about his reaction to Michael bled so far out of the boundaries he tried to draw, betrayed his heart so badly with no regard for what he knew he should want? What was wrong with him?

Forrest continued, just as piercing, “Or would we still come back here? Because I figured that’d be off the table, since you’ve gotten pissed any time I even hinted we might do anything with someone else within restraining order distance, but I’m more than happy to fuck with Guerin in the next room.”

Shock dropped Alex’s jaw at that one. “What the hell is your problem tonight? If this is how insecurity looks on you, maybe I don’t want to fuck tonight anyway. Maybe we should go out some other night.”

“I just don’t get why he has to be here, and not at his sister’s! Or hell, his girlfriend’s? Does she know he’s here?”

Utterly out of patience, guilt firmly faded in the face of budding fury, Alex snapped back, “Forrest, you are more social than this dumpy town knows what to do with. You’re involved in like four events every weekend, half of them at the Wild Pony, you cannot tell me you didn’t get that Maria and Michael broke up the first three times someone told you.”

“So his new girlfriend’s, whatever.”

“What, just because he’s bi, he has to jump right into—”

“That’s not what this is about, that’s not fair, Alex!”

“Okay! Fine. But what is it about? Because…”

Alex’s heart pounded harder as he realized what had his anxiety rising so fast and thick in his throat. Forrest set the tone and pace of their relationship, even if he set it as slow as he thought Alex needed, and Alex let him because Forrest was the one with dating experience, the one who knew how these things were supposed to work. But…

Swallowing hard, Alex said, “Because if this is you saying I’m choosing Michael over you—if you’re trying to tell me I can’t be friends with my ex, that’s a hard line for me. That’s not your call. I’ve never hidden how important Michael is to me from you, and it’s not on me if you elected not to notice. You’re not turning this on me when he needs my help.”

Forrest scowled and raked his fingers through his hair. “Never, huh? ‘It was a long time ago’ ring a bell to you? Never mind. Whatever. Just…you’re too nice, Alex. I don’t want to see you get taken advantage of by a deadbeat ex or friend or whatever he is.”

“Deadbeat?” Alex whisper-shrieked. “I just told you he’s my friend, and you, what, you have to tear him down because of that? The only goddamn thing you know about him is what he has the audacity to Google next to you when you’re writing your oh-so-important Nazi fanfic, so maybe hold off on the judgment.”

Forrest’s eyebrows climbed towards his hairline as Alex spoke, and by the time Alex was done he was storming out of the bedroom, Alex on his heels. “Okay, sure. Yeah, that’s it, I’m just jealous of the guy who hangs around you begging for scraps because you two used to get your dicks wet and he can’t move on like you did. Whatever. That’s none of my business, right. I do have eyes, Alex. I see what’s going on. But I’ll see you around some other time, once you’re over the power trip he gives you.”

“Forrest, wait. Forrest!”

“I’ll see you around, Alex. Buffy, come on, girl,” he called with a whistle, barely stopping to get her leash on before storming out of the house, slamming the front door behind him.

And then Alex was alone in the entryway, watching Forrest leave through the window, stalking right past Michael huddled in a deck chair without a glance, and Alex’s jaw clenched harder when Forrest slammed his car door shut too and sped away.

Fuck. Fuck him. This wasn’t their first fight by any means, but the part of Alex that suspected he was too fucked up for an easy, normal relationship said maybe it was their last.

Would that be so bad? Would Alex actually miss Forrest, or would he miss the kind of relationship Forrest gave him, the kind that felt like what he should want, the kind that made him happier than loneliness did all the time except when it didn’t?

Okay, but now wasn’t the time to think thoughts like that, not in the moment, not so immediately, with hurt and anger still pumping red inside him. Especially not when the fault was largely Alex’s fault for not giving him warning in advance. Now was the time for deep breaths and not throwing things against the wall, no matter how much he might want to.

And as the fury left him, bit by bit, as his pulse slowed and his muscles relaxed and the clock again ticked louder than his breathing, it left this behind:

Was Forrest right?

Was he taking advantage of Michael? No. His first instinct was no. Michael came to him when he was in need—something Alex still wasn’t letting himself stop to process.

But the thing Forrest said about power…

A knock hesitated on the edge of Alex’s hearing, then came again, a little firmer, and anxiety propelled Alex down the foyer to answer it. Michael was still out there—something could have happened to him—or he could have left—Alex would call Isobel in to look for him, that was the backup plan, but—

Luckily, his front hall wasn’t long enough for him to truly get into a spiral; and even luckier, it was Michael at the door. Alex’s shoulders slumped with relief.

“You didn’t have to knock,” he said, stepping aside to let Michael back in.

Michael shrugged. “Wasn’t sure if you’d locked up in case Long decided to come back uninvited.”

With a snort, Alex closed the door and double checked both locks this time around. It really wasn’t like him to leave anything unlocked, but he’d pencil that freakout in for later.

That reminded him, though. “Speaking of locking up, here.” He opened a drawer in the little hall table and tossed Michael a spare key. “If you’re going to be going into work, or even just going out to hang out with Max and Isobel or Maria or someone.”

Michael caught it, but then he just stared at it like it was a shaken can of soda about to pop. “I, uh, kind of figured I’d be getting out of your hair.”

No! Alex wanted to shout, his already frayed nerves colliding with the visceral thought of Max’s healing failing or reversing somehow and Michael dying alone on the floor of his trailer. But he kept his voice level when he spoke, “I thought we talked about this.”

“We did! But I thought, with Forrest—”

“He can get pissed at me all he wants. The important thing is that we don’t know what Jones might try next, and we don’t know how what he did to you works, and as long as your powers aren’t back to normal…”

“I don’t want to—”

Heart rabbiting in his chest, Alex burst out, “Look, I get that you don’t want to be here, but my first priority is your safety, and—!”

“Of course I want to be here!” Michael interrupted. His eyes were wide and wild, hair a halo around his face.

“You—”

Both of them were panting like they’d run for miles, done anything but the running away and around each other they’d done their whole lives. The setting sun lined Michael in gold, slanted across the floor and the walls and got in Alex’s eyes but left the rest of him untouched.

Alex licked his lips and tried to speak again. “You don’t want to leave?”

Raking his hand through his curls, Michael replied, “Of course I don’t. I never want to leave. I want…” He spread his arms wide in a helpless gesture. “I don’t even know. Everything I’ve always wanted! But before anything else, I just want you to be happy. I’d never forgive myself if I destroyed your life even more than I already have.”

“What are you talking about?” Alex demanded. “Destroy my life? I’m the one who put you in my father’s path—I’m the one who—”

“No, Alex.”

He stepped forward like he might reach out. Alex wanted him to, but. What was he allowed to want? How had they gotten here, to this point, again or for the first time, and Alex still didn’t know the answer?

“That’s ancient history,” Michael said gently. “You could never destroy anything, you’re…”

Alex let out a harsh laugh. “Have you met me?”

“Alex.”

“I literally went into the business of destroying things and chose it four times since, even after it destroyed a part of myself.”

Furious tears blurred his vision, blurred Michael, and it only made him angrier and more desperate. What didn’t he understand?

“Yeah, and I think that sucks!” Michael said, chest rising and falling like it might if he was laughing, but the sound he made was more like hailstones, heavier and colder than rain. “But I—I’ve made my own sucky choices, too, I’m not letting you take credit for them just so you can bury yourself with them.”

“You were the one who started talking about destruction. I’m not letting you do that either,” Alex accused. “What could you possibly be destroying except yourself? I’m the one keeping you here.”

“Really? Like I didn’t just punch a hole through your relationship just by hangin’ around? I’m no good and you know that, Alex, you should—”

His heart fluttered so fast he had to clear his throat before he could talk.

“Should just walked out that door. And he took his dog,” he said breathlessly.

A beat of silence followed. Then, the corner of Michael’s mouth twitched—Alex’s eyes dropped to watch it—and he dissolved into disbelieving giggles, leaning back against the door like he needed it to hold himself up.

When he could speak again, he thumbed a tear away from the corner of his eye and said, “What are we doing here, Alex?”

“I—don’t know. I never know what I’m doing.”

“That’s not true.”

“Okay, emotionally,” Alex allowed. “Forrest wanted to date me, and he’s so normal, I thought I could, I don’t know, follow his lead and things would just slot into place. But I’m starting to think it doesn’t work that way.”

“I gotta tell you, Alex, you’ve never been great at follow the leader,” Michael said, so gently Alex almost felt it on his skin, a palm cupping his cheek.

“But I can try. I can learn new things,” he said. “So—what about your lead? What, what are we doing here?”

Michael swallowed, the apple of his throat bobbing.

“I’m as clueless as you,” he said. “And I’m not ashamed to say shit scared, either. There’s a lot of things with you and me I’ve spent a long time telling myself either won’t work out or shouldn’t. I’m scared of all the shit I’ve said before. But some of it—a lot of it stands. I wanna be good for someone. I wanna be good for you, even if I know I’ll never be perfect—”

“You don’t have to be perfect. Nobody’s perfect,” Alex breathed.

“Right. That’s what they tell me.”

The two of them balanced on the edge of a knife, barely enough oxygen between them to sustain them both without sharing. There were always two ways this could go. The paths diverged again and again and again and they turned away from the clear path so many times it made the both of them half-feral. But, inevitable, like the summer sun, like gravity and escape velocity, here they were, again, at the crossroads.

Michael swallowed again, then his lips parted, then again.

“What do you want to say, Michael?” Alex asked.

“I want to tell you that I love you. That I have for a long time.” His voice cracked. “And that, no matter what happens, I always will. But I don’t know what to do with it, after this long, and now that things have been good between us, what if we fuck it up again? What if—”

Alex’s mind whirled, with words he thought he’d never hear, with the accusations Forrest had hurled his way, about power and control and all those things that, like Michael’s heart, Alex had far to go to wield responsibly, but here was a greater truth:

Alex had never been great at talking.

He seized the front of Michael’s shirt in both fists and hauled him in for a kiss.

Michael gasped against his mouth. His lips were hot, all of him burned, blazed against Alex wherever they touched, and they touched, as Michael relaxed against him, his hands grasping Alex by the elbows and sliding up to his shoulders, the sides of his neck, holding him there as they swayed, mouths locked together. He tasted just as Alex remembered. A cascade of shudders washed down his spine and washed away every other sensation.

They kissed in the sunset sunlight, in Alex’s home in front of the front windows, and Alex buried his hands in Michael’s hair and devoured him in the open, away from any place he used to hide him, under bedsheets, in anonymous rooms, in the back of his head when he was sure he was alone. When they pulled apart, they came back together, both of them insatiable, until Alex’s lips buzzed and the ache from standing too long crept in.

Michael was wobbly too, so Alex took him by the hand and pulled him deeper inside.

“We should probably keep talking,” Michael rasped.

“We’ve got a lot of time for that. As much as we need,” Alex promised.

He knew his priorities, now. That was a promise he’d never break again.

“Forrest—”

“If he didn’t mean to break up with me when he left an hour ago, I’ll take responsibility,” Alex dismissed.

“Okay, okay.”

When Alex glanced over at Michael, he was smiling and shaking his head.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just forgot how much I like a man who takes charge.”

At that, Alex had to laugh too, and the sound came out so different, light and giddy, that he surprised himself.

“Bullshit,” he said. “After all this time, you think you still have to flirt with me?”

Michael tugged him by their joined hands. They’d only made it as far as the den and they were kissing again, just long enough to get them buzzing again.

“Only ‘cause you like it,” Michael murmured against his lips. “It’s a crowd pleaser.”

“I love it,” Alex confirmed, so soft he shaped the words more than he said them, but they were loud to him—Michael’s face changed, and Alex knew they were loud enough.

#this is not the most recent chapter #but ive been delinquent with the crossposting #malex fic #my fic #michael guerin #alex manes #sorry to my forlex pals the breakup is in this chapter i hope ive done you guys justice all the same

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