#is so reminiscent of the way alex talks about it. like on the surface that's a very generic thing to say i know

[mrschwartz]

elaborate pls

[macravishedbymactavish]

Abandoned Driveways

Alex Keller x GN!Reader

| Blog HQ | Modern Warfare 2019 / 2022 Masterlist |

| Series Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part |

TW for eventual angst, light swearing and flirting, mostly all fluff

Chapter 03

“How'd supper go?” Your best friend asked a few nights later, insisting you phone them and give all the details of your “date that wasn't really a date because these beautiful idiots are in denial”.

Biting your lip, you smiled to yourself. Reminiscing on how comfortable the night was. No forced conversation, no awkward small talk. It felt as though you had known him your whole life, and he moved back to town.

“Comfortable.” You decided on. “It was good, comfortable.”

“Seriously?” Your friend deadpanned, “all I get from you is it was comfortable.”

While they reamed you for not providing detailed explanations, you let your mind wander. Concerns you buried deep within your subconscious floating to the surface once more.

How answers about his past and employment seemed to be scripted. Rehearsed.

How he dodged any personal questions about his past and family.

“You two are living an entire Disney movie and all I get is fucking it was comfortable!” Your friend continued, pulling you back to the present.

Furrowing your brows, you scoffed lightly. “Not a damn Disney movie. I'm not planning a marriage to him, we get along really well like best friends. Simmer down.”

“That's not what the barista was saying.” They snorted. Your cheeks burning as you glared at the phone.

“Best friends banter too, you know. That's all we are, and all we ever will be.” You pointed down at your phone, like a parent giving their child a stern lecture.

“Famous last words.”

Not that you'd ever admit to your friend, but over the next few months, the lines between best friends and something more began to bend between you and Allen.

The neverending banter and teasing continued; but you found yourself holding his stare a bit longer. Making small motions of physical contact more often. Inhabiting each other's space became a norm in your lives.

You popping over to bring him coffee in the morning, him joining you on the porch late at night when the subdivision was asleep.

An unspoken favour system, a silent running tab for coffee orders, and multiple meals shared in the others' presence. Maybe it was just his personality or the two of you vibing in all the right ways. But he genuinely felt like someone you've known your entire life.

Your best friend from the start, slowly morphing to your boyfriend. Which became official on one cool night.

Sitting on your porch swing, it was one of those late nights, thighs touching as his body warmed yours. Stars shining brightly overhead when he softly asked if he could love you the way his heart yearned for.

You told him he sounded like a cheeseball.

He told you that sounded like a yes.

“So, uh, my name isn’t actually Allen. It’s Alex.” He confessed one of those nights, glancing over at you with a genuine smile. Relief flooding his eyes, finally able to tell you the truth. Finally able to reveal the specks of gold that hid behind the muddy shell he had to protect himself.

You stifled a laugh, causing him to tense as he shifted to face you. The porch swing creaking at the sudden movement, the seat tiling as he held a hand out to you.

“Alex Keller, nice to meet you.” Laughter leaving both of you, smiles wider than they’ve been the entire time you’ve known one another. You took his hand, shaking it dramatically.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Alex. The name fits you way better than Allen. You’re not an Allen.” Leaning over to press a quick peck to his cheek, you ignored the faux offended expression that spread across his face.

“This entire time, the entire time you’ve said you’ve liked me a lot. It was a lie? Because you didn’t like my name?” He laughed, arms wrapping around you as he continued laughing. Body shaking with the unfiltered joy and amusement; stomach aching by the end.

Laying your forehead against his shoulder, you smiled. Mind wandering to thoughts of a possible future; nothing too crazy. No thoughts of marriage or white picket fences with small screams. But how your life would look in a year or two with Alex around.

Coming home to find him in the kitchen serving a meal for the both of you that he made. As you really hoped to get off night shifts sooner than later.

Or going on road trips, falling for the tourist traps you find along the way. Filling your walls with cheesy pictures of the two of you posing together. Would he buy a corny hawaiian shirt for holidays like that? Or would he be on the “edgier” side, Ray Ban sunglasses, and skate shoes.

Ringing in the new year with a loving kiss at midnight, a silent promise for a better year ahead.

“It’s so funny how the world works,” you started softly, pulling back to look him in the eyes. “You moving here of all places, my quaint little neighborhood.”

You almost missed the flash of pain that crossed his eyes, like there was something he was avoiding telling you. Tilting your head slightly, starting a silent conversation where you silently inquired about his reaction. After a few beats of silence he finally spoke up.

“I uh, was moved here due to some conflicts with work. I can’t go into too much detail, considering the circumstances but it would be pretty bad if word got out that I’m here.” He shrugged, explaining the reason behind his false name and identity. Why he found himself sticking to his home and the neighborhood. Never venturing too far, never getting too close.

Until he found you. You were everything he shouldn’t have right now.

General taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

Alex Keller taglist: @deadbranch @glitterypirateduck @gcing-back-to-505

[thesquidkid]

Through the clouds, I see love shine

Little fic for @unbearable22, thank you for putting this song in my head while I was doing homework 😆 Hope you enjoy! (Read on AO3)

In my life, there's been heartache and pain

I don't know if I can face it again

Can't stop now, I've traveled so far

To change this lonely life

Michael was sitting on the bed of his truck, leaning his weight on his left arm, legs slightly crossed so he could fit. His hat was off, the fingers on his right hand playing with its hem. He was looking at the man in front of him, who was leaning his back against the truck, a laptop positioned on his thighs. Alex looked peaceful, even if nothing about this situation brought peace, the features on his face were relaxed.

They were somewhere in the mountains where Michael had driven them, following a certain signal, stopping every once in a while under a radio post, allowing Alex to connect the Lockhart machine to the post and observe the frequencies and code something that would lead to understanding the machine better. They had talked about the machine some more after Michael had been allowed into Deep Sky to get a look at it, Alex focusing more on the informatic part of it, whereas Michael was more interested in the mechanics and the alien tech used.

This time, their stop was quite long, Alex seemingly having found what he was looking for. In reality, they both knew that Alex could’ve done this all alone, it didn’t require any of Michael’s special skills, they weren’t after Jones or anyone, anything, particularly dangerous. They were just after radio signals for the Lockhart machine. But the fact that Alex had asked Michael to accompany him meant a lot to the both of them and so they drove away from Roswell.

When they were driving they would mostly talk about the machine, about the different theories they had. But once they stopped, Alex would take his computer out and Michael would sit silently, either next to him, or in front of him, and would think. He would think of Alex, of them together.

They didn’t really get a chance to properly talk after the kiss. They did talk about their relationship, and had agreed not to fall back into old habits. But, then, Alex had gotten Michael clearance to get into Deep Sky and the machine had been their main focus.

“Michael?” Alex said, with a smile. Michael realised that he probably had been talking and stopped seeing that Michael wasn’t paying attention.

“Huh,” Michael asked, bringing his thoughts back to the present, “sorry, you were saying?”

“Are you okay?” Alex asked instead, putting his computer to the side, his entire attention on Michael.

Michael breathed out deeply, gathering his thoughts before answering. They both were making efforts on communication, and Michael wasn’t going to stop there. “I, uh, I don’t want to mess this up,” he said with a faint smile, looking back up at Alex.

“I’m guessing you’re not talking about this very boring mission,” he said, with a smile, closing his laptop and waving to Michael to sit next to him.

Michael scooped himself up smiling back at Alex and sat down next to him, turning his upper body so that they were still facing.

“I don’t want to mess us up either,” said Alex once Michael had stopped moving.

“So what do we do then?” asked Michael, his voice low, barely a whisper, feeling like if maybe he said it louder it would curse them. “Because I know we can do better Alex, I know we can be together without hurting each other.” He breathed deeply and blinked a few times, feeling his eyes sting with the beginning of tears. “I am done with all the pain and heartbreak in my life, I just want to love you, freely.”

He raised his head, as if it was a challenge to the universe. Alex put his hand to Michael’s cheek, wiping the tears there with his thumb, ignoring his own. Michael however, not one to ignore Alex’s emotions, brought his hand to mirror the gesture, bumping their arms and making them laugh a bit, before it died down, and they were back in the current time, in the current conversation.

“I think,” started Alex, “that out of the two of us you’re the one with more experience with free love.” Michael shrugged at that, and Alex decided to move on, neither wanting to reminisce about the past, but rather choosing to look towards the future, their future. “I want you to show me what it’s like, Michael. I want to experience everything with you. I want-” he cut himself with a breath, “I want to know what it’s like to not be scared of loving you, Michael.”

They stared at each other, only now realising that it was the first time either of them said that word in present tense. I love you. Three words that for the longest time have been unspoken between them, and finally, breached the surface.

“And as for what we should do,” Alex continued with a sniff, “how about we start with dinner?” he asked, looking into Michael’s eyes.

“Your place or mine?” replied Michael, with a breathless chuckle.

“How about the Roadrunner Cafe? We could definitely make it there for 8 tonight,” Alex replied with a nervous chuckle. The Roadrunner wasn’t so different to the Crashdown - less good quality, obviously - and it wasn’t something too fancy. But it was different. It felt more important somehow, like there was no mistaking in what Alex meant. Not dinner as ‘friends’, but dinner as boyfriends.

Michael looked at him with a smile, “I don’t know about you but I’d probably feel bad, you know? Cheating on Arturo like that.”

Alex laughed at that, “Fair enough, rumors go around quickly in this town.” He looked at Michael with so much softness in his eyes, his face and his body relaxed, that Michael needed to actively fight his instincts, not to jump Alex and kiss him, right here and there, but he also knew that they couldn’t fall back into who they were before. Not if they wanted them to work out. And judging by the way Alex cleared his throat, looking pointedly at Michael’s lips, he would say he wasn’t the only one in that state.

“So, it’s a date, huh?” Michael asked, wanting to make sure they were clear, on the same page, before they did anything else. “Us, tonight at the Crashdown. And not as friends, right?”

Alex chuckled and leaned closer, “I mean I thought we were friends.” At Michael’s teasing raised eyebrow, he quickly added, “but yes, tonight we’re having dinner in the best place in town, as boyfriends.”

As Alex talked, he leaned in closer and closer, until the final word was whispered, Michael feeling it more than hearing it, the two men crashing their mouths together. But unlike all the times they kissed in the last decade, until the night at the Wild Pony, that kiss was slow. Still burning like fire, but without an expiration date.

In the end, they drove back into Roswell, and parked outside the Crashdown. From the moment they walked out Michael’s truck, until they sat down at a booth, their fingers were intertwined. And once they were seated, their bodies touching, from shoulder to knee, Alex on Michael’s left. They knew that people were looking at them, but neither cared. They were too busy getting to know what being loved felt like.

I wanna know what love is

I want you to show me

I wanna feel what love is

I know you can show me

[crazyfreckledginger]

Ikemen Vampire x Reader - “Residents In Modern Times”

Requested by anon: “Hello glorious author-chan! I have a request for you. I have a fun little imagine for you. Can you make an Ikemen Vampire imagine of what their reactions would be like in modern times?”

A/N: I honestly don’t know what this is, like it ended up as the child of a drabble and a headcanon.

Warning: implied smut and nudity (come on Arthur is here)

Napoleon Bonaparte:

He’d be shocked and in awe at the same time.

Wanting to know EVERYTHING about how people live in the 21st century.

Is it a better, easier life? Is everyone treated equally and safe?

He’s astonished by the night lights as well, so bright and beautiful.

It’s absolutely unforgettable and he stays up at night a little longer to watch the busy city below, drinking the beautiful view until he falls asleep. 

Also more content with the clothing fashion.

Yes it’s very unusual to him since he’s not used to it but clothes used to be so uncomfortable, especially for women.

Though he really didn’t feel comfortable with such revealing clothes. 

He’s very cute about it around you though, hiding in your neck with flushed, embarrassed cheeks. 

Leonardo Da Vinci:

Doesn’t show his amazement as much except through his tone of voice.

Wants to know how a phone works.

Surprisingly -- or unsurprisingly --  not having to explain it regularly, he picks up on it very quickly.

He’s very impressed. 

Your days were divided into visiting shops, showing him technologies, public transport, probably every single thing about the city and cuddling in bed and showing him how the TV works because “the mattress is so comfortable”.

Even though you know how comfortable a surface is, never stopped him from falling asleep.

He really likes it in the modern day.

I think he would be one of the residents that would fit in rather quickly and easily. 

Comte De Saint Germain: 

It’s not that much of a shocker for him for obvious reasons but because you’d spent your life in modern day, he got to see your view and had a much positive outlook on it.

Not that it was negative to begin with, he just didn’t pay as much attention to it before and now that he has, it’s eye opening, in a way. 

He loved the sparkle in your eyes as you rejoiced in the things you used to know before you travelled back in time. 

It was a sight for sore eyes. 

He enjoyed visiting with you, even though he spent more time seeing the twinkle in your eyes than being happy over the smaller things. 

Comte is much more open about PDA for obvious reasons and he feels the modern day is something the both of you share as a precious memory now.

Arthur Conan Doyle:

His demeanour is one of someone who’s seen everything already but the huge smile and eyes just showed that he was a little boy excited about discovering everything.

Arthur dragged you around to tell him how things work if he couldn’t pick up on by himself. 

You went to a mall and Victoria’s Secret caught his eye so fast it was S C A R Y.

“Try this sweetheart, and this and this-” 

Yes, despite all your protests, you spent the whole day in the store trying on clothes for him. 

He enjoyed it very much.

Arthur promised he would discover something new with you that didn’t involved being naked.

How nice of him *chokes*

It was a tiring day for you since you did all the standing, changing and displaying for him.

But the night provided to be very rewarding hehe

If you know what I mean

;)

You know what I mean, why am I saying this.

Theodorus Van Gogh: 

He has a similar behaviour to Arthur at first, indifferent behaviour but very curious eyes.

You can tell he doesn’t want to ask questions but wants the answers. 

So you just start talking and explaining things.

He’s a little flushed because he would have told you to stop talking by now but he doesn’t since you’re informing him on everything.

Theo would keep visiting until you got tired and wouldn't hesitate to carry you back to your place and cuddle up on the couch.

Showing him how the TV works but he prefers sleeping in your bed because it’s so comfy and he can hug you.

Vincent Van Gogh:

“WOW!” *sparkly eyes*

Asks you about EVERYTHING

Holds your hand the whole time.

Also he apologises for always inquiring about everything.

Reassuring him that it’s alright.

Proceeds to go back to questioning everything.

Politely asks if you guys can go to an exhibition the next day to see paintings and saying yes.

Very gladly cuddling in your neck and saying how amazing everything is.

He’s too cute T-T

Vincent was smiling in his sleep because he got to discover so many new things with you and he couldn’t express how content he was.

Your heart is constantly melting as he acts like an overjoyed puppy.

He’s forever thankful to you and this will always be engraved in his memory.

Amadeus Mozart:

The pianist can’t physically hide his amazement. 

“Can we go to an instrument store?” 

Holds your hand tightly and keeps you close like he’s protecting you.

When in fact it should be the other way around given that you have lived your entire life in the modern day.

But you already knew that 🤦‍♀️

His eyes light up more than they already did when you enter an empty store and there are three or four pianos. 

Mozart let his fingers caress the smooth surface, taking in all the details of the instruments.

He’s relieved that they didn’t change as significantly as everything else in the world. 

Lowkey wants to buy all the pianos because he wants to try them. 

A very confused boy at attire.

And blushing at how more ‘revealing’ they are. 

He could get used to this.

Jean D’Arc:

He would be in silent shock, staying close to you and looking around in amazement. 

Jean would be pretty shy about asking too many questions, not wanting to bother you.

Reassuring him that it was fine, similar to Vincent.

Jean was somehow more considerate about it, not wanting to bother you with his inquiries.

Whispering questions and trying so hard to try and make sense of things himself, sometimes it works, kind of!!

Like Napoleon, he’s relieved the world is happier and fairer. 

It was a huge shock for him at first, everything was different, but he was fortunate enough to be with you.

Now he reminisces of the experience as a magical moment that will forever be engraved in his memory.

Isaac Newton:

Absolutely astonished.

He has so many questions but he didn’t know where to start.

Similar to Jean, he was a little shy about asking questions and trying to solve things on his own.

Being surprised at how complex things turn out to be.

Isaac has mixed emotions about knowing that the foundation of physics are his three famous laws. 

Because the world seemed overwhelmingly unknown and huge, he nearly clung onto you.

You locked your arm with his, seeing his unease but also not wanting to trouble you.

He felt better instantly and silently thanked you, blushing in embarrassment. 

The first thing you taught him was what a phone was and about the kindergarden/school system.

You reminisce about how he went along into town with Napoleon to attempt to teach children.

It wasn’t a particular detail he would have inquired about but he feels strangely relieved about it.

He was touched by the small details you remember about him and he keeps it in mind.

It was an unforgettable experience for him to have with you.

But something he does not want to let go is the bed, it’s shockingly comfortable for him.

Osamu Dazai:

“Wow, are you seeing this (Not Y/N)-chan?” 

“That’s not my name-” 

“What is this?” 

No shame about asking whatsoever. 

“Miraculous!” 

A lot of him grinning and praising everything and anything, including you.

“You’re delightful (Y/N)-chan, such an interesting answer!” 

“D-did you just call me by my nam-”

“Are you coming (Not Y/N)-chan?” 

“Nevermind,” you grumble, pouting as you follow behind him.

He chuckled, finding you so cute before cupping your cheeks and openly kissing you in public.

Dazai finds even more amusement with how flushed you are for a while as you clung onto his arm, answering questions with a breathy tone.

Despite his second degree humour throughout everything, he’s actually thoroughly enjoyed spending time doing this with you and becoming a treasured memory.

William Shakespeare: 

He was actually rendered speechless for a long while.

Which was unusual for him obviously.

But it was a little disconcerting for him since he always had something to say. 

You couldn’t help but eye him admiring everything.

Despite his unnerving silence, the way his eyes lit up was something that you didn’t know you needed to witness. 

It looked like he found something to look forward to in life. (can’t relate lol)

That thought alone made you hopeful and sad at the same time.

He was always very polite and considerate about inquiring about things. 

As in, he always read the ‘room’ before asking, wanting to stay in your good graces, even though he is already in them.

Finding the bed in your place being painfully heaven-like.

If he wasn’t as invested in learning about the modern world, he would totally examine and savour the beauty that is a bed.

Without you knowing, however, he would spend a lot of time studying you as well.

It was fascinating to him, seeing you enjoying yourself in your natural habitat.

Sebastian: 

I mean he lived there before so there isn’t much to say.

He does reminisce a lot though, all previous memories rushing back.

Just as if the residents were a long dream. 

One thing that surprised him a little was that he enjoyed spending time with you in the modern day so much that it’s in a smal, different compartment in his brain altogether.

Basically nostalgia but also happy new memories.

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[skieswords]

Pull Through Part 6

Please read the warnings in Part 1❤️

Trigger warning, mentions of physical abuse, self-harm, vomiting. 

They pulled into the driveway, Becca's hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. Alex placed a hand over them, nodding at her, before stepping out of the car, and coming round to let her out. He took her hand again, and walked into the house by her side, kicking his shoes off as she did the same. Becca took a deep breath and dropped Alex's hand, stepping into the kitchen, and blinking under the sudden light. "Rebecca, happy birthday. Did you have a good day?" 

Becca nodded at her dad with a weak smile, and made her way to the fridge, taking out a bottle of water. "Yeah it was pretty good. I got an A in my english exam, by the way." Graham nodded from his seat at the table, his tie resting beside him and the top few buttons of his shirt undone. A few empty beer bottles sat on the table in front of him, another one in his hand. "Fine. What about math? And science?" There was a slight sneer in his voice, and Becca looked at her feet, shuffling awkwardly. "I've got those exams next week. I'll pass them though, promise." Graham snorted quietly, and polished off the beer in his hand, slamming it down on the table with a little too much force. "Yes, you will." Becca nodded and turned to leave, but he spoke before she could. "Grab us another beer, hon." She looked back at him, taking in his dishevelled hair and glassy eyes. "Dad, don't you think you've had enough?" Alex took a deep breath from where he was standing outside the door. Obviously she was feeling brave. "Who are you to tell me when I've had enough? God, you sound like your whore mother." Alex flinched, and took another step towards the doorframe, trying to build up the courage should he need to intervene. Becca's voice, strangely confident, filled the kitchen again. "Don't talk about mom like that. She deserves more respect." Graham's chair scraped against the kitchen tiles, and he stood up, frothing at the mouth. "Don't talk to me about respect in my own house. You're all the same, you, your mother, that boy. Disrespectful, ungrateful bastards, the lot of you. Don't know why I stick around. And you, throwing all of my hard work back in my face, failing your classes? I'm embarrassed to call you my kid." Alex's heart sunk at his dad's words, the words scarily reminiscent of the speech he'd recieved when he came out. Becca clenched her fists and grit her teeth. So much for best birthday yet. "God, I'm so sick of you treating us like this! I try my ass off, dad, but it's never good enough! You've stopped acknowledging Alex's existence all together. He's still your son! Just because he'd rather kiss guys, doesn't make him any less Alex than he was before. He deserves better than you." Graham was seething, stalking towards Becca with his empty beer bottle in hand. "Shut up, little girl. No-one cares what you have to say." Becca scoffed and drew back her shoulders, standing up tall. "You know what? Yeh, they do. And one day, you're gonna realise that. And then you'll be sor-" She was cut off by a sickening crack, and Alex jumped into the kitchen just in time to find Graham standing over Becca's kneeling form, her forehead cradled in her hands. Blood was seeping through her fingers, and Alex noticed the shattered beer bottle with a look of horror. "Get out." Graham was in shock, looking at the blood dripping onto his kitchen floor. He looked up at Alex, almost afraid. "Get out. You heard me." He fumbled for his keys, and ran past the Mercer kids, not sparing Becca a second glance as she whimpered quietly. Alex listened for the sound of tires against the gravel, and felt his shoulders relax as the familiar crunch sounded through the house. He fell to his knees and placed his hands on Becca's shoulders. "Bex? Bex look at me. Let me see. Bex?" Becca groaned and looked up slightly, wincing as her hand brushed against her forehead. She pulled her fingers away, and Alex hissed as he saw the nasty gash across her forehead. He struggled not to panic, forcing down the overwhelming sense of terror in his chest. Taking a deep breath, he reached out for her hands, helping her to her feet.  "Fuck. Okay, come on, up you get. We gotta get you to the hospital." Becca leaned on Alex heavily as he helped her out the door, folding over in her seat when they reached the car. Alex watched her out the corner of his eye, clenching and unclenching his fists around the steering wheel. Becca's whimpers were only just audible, her shoulders trembling slightly. He was grateful for that at least- the only thought circling his head was the fear she might pass out.

They pulled up to the hospital, and Alex wasted no time, helping Becca out of the car and through the front doors, his hand round her waist. "Hey, is our mom working?" The receptionist looked up at him in surprise, taking in Becca's appearance. "Another skating accident honey? We told you to start wearing a helmet after the last one, didn't we?" Alex bit his tongue, remembering their last visit to the hospital 6 months ago, when Becca had needed stitches after being thrown down the stairs like a rag doll by their dad. The feeling in his stomach that night, seeing her body lying at the bottom of the stairwell, sprawled out, while blood trickled down her forehead, was one he'd never forget. She'd been knocked unconscious, and for a moment, Alex had feared the worst. But luckily having a mom for a doctor came in handy sometimes, and she'd gotten them straight to the hospital, with strict instructions to call it a skating accident. Alex was tempted to tell the truth, but wasn't given the chance, as Becca smiled weakly and nodded. "Yeah, sorry Naomi. I thought I'd be fine but, guess not!" The dark haired woman shook her head fondly, and brushed down her purple scrubs, before picking up the phone and dialling a number. "Hi, is Julia there? Can you tell her her kids are down here? Her daughter needs some stitches by the looks of things." Becca leant into Alex, his arm now wrapped protectively around her shoulder. Naomi set the phone down and looked at the two of them with kind eyes. "Go to room 211- your mom will meet you there. And, by the way, happy birthday sweetheart!" Becca forced a smile to the kind nurse, before turning away with Alex, and stumbling down the corridor, biting back her tears. As soon as the door was shut, she folded over and started moaning, clutching her forehead desperately. Alex stepped forward and rubbed her back, pulling her hair back and tying it with a scrunchie she had round her wrist. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight, guiding her to the bed and sitting her down. "I don't know where you find the guts to stand up to him, Bex. He always manages to hurt you." Becca sniffled, and leaned into her brother, releasing her forehead and feeling the warm blood trickle slowly down her temple, already sticky. "I'm sick of him treating us like this, Alex. Why are we never enough?" He bit his lip, and felt tears well up in his eyes. "I don't know, Bex. I really don't know." They sat in silence for a few more minutes, Becca's occasional whimpers the only sound in the room.

"Oh my god, Rebecca, what happened?" Julia came rushing in, and placed a hand on either side of her daughter's face, lifting it gently. The entire right side of Becca's face was covered with a light coating of blood, and her eye was screwed shut, blood coating her lashes. She sighed, and stroked her forehead, glancing at Alex. "He did this, didn't he." Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, and she continued stroking Becca's hair as she spoke, making a noise like an injured puppy when Alex nodded. "I'm so sorry baby. I should've been there." Becca shook her head, wincing as she did so. "Keep still. Let's get that sorted." Alex watched with a heavy heart as Julia fetched a suture kit, flinching everytime Becca whimpered at the new sutures. As she washed off the blood with an alcohol wipe, he felt angry tears rise to the surface, the bruise and swelling around his little sister's eye already painfully obvious. Julia pressed a kiss to her youngest child's forehead, before looking to Alex, who had his arms crossed over his chest, his body language radiating anger. "Alexander, hon, can you take her home? She should be fine. I don't want people asking questions." Alex scoffed and shook his head at her. "Really? What if she's got a concussion?" Julia sighed and peeled her gloves off, trying not to look at the red stain of her daughter's blood all over them. "Alex, please. Just do as your told." Becca looked pleadingly at her brother, wincing as she ran a finger over the bumpy stitches in her forehead. It was a nasty cut. About 4 inches wide, and pretty deep, she was going to have a beauty of a scar. "Fine. Come on, Bex." Alex reached a hand out to her, and sent one final disapproving look at his mom, before guiding Becca along the corridor with their hands intertwined. "I promise, Bex, if it's the last thing I do, I'm gonna get you out of there." Becca laughed mirthlessly, waving as they passed Naomi. "Bye honey, I don't wanna see you in here for at least another 6 months, you hear me?" Becca smiled forcefully, before disappearing into the carpark, tucked under her older brother's arm. They got home, and Alex went straight to the kitchen, running a cold towel under the tap. "Here, hold that over it." Becca took a seat at the kitchen table, pointedly avoiding looking at the collection of beer bottles on the table. She watched as Alex soaked another cloth, before kneeling down and collecting the shattered glass from the floor. Binning it, he returned to the floor, grimacing as he started wiping the red splatters off of the tiles. He scrubbed furiously, until he let out a pained groan, and slumped onto the floor, leaning his back against the fridge. Becca ran to him, holding him as he cried, letting her own tears fall. "How many times am I going to have to clean your blood of the floor, Bex?" Becca felt a tear drip off the end of her nose, and ran a hand through Alex's hair. Just over 6 months ago, they'd been in almost this exact situation, only there had been a lot less blood and glass to clean up. "Can I sleep with you tonight?" Alex nodded at his little sister's request, finding her hand and squeezing it tight.

The next morning met the Mercer kids with a silent house, a clear sign that neither their mom or dad was home. Alex rolled over and looked at his little sister, fast asleep with the covers pulled up under her chin, her hair spread across his pillow. She looked so peaceful, the ugly black of her stitches covered by her hair, and it was almost possible to imagine her as any other 16 year old girl, about to wakeup and go to school as she should, to then come home, and go out for her first driving lesson. But of course, the reality was not quite like that. She woke up not long after him, and after accepting a much needed hug for 5 minutes, legged it to the bathroom, closely tailed by Alex, who held back her hair as she vomited for 20 minutes straight. Totally wiped out, she groaned, before feeling Alex pull her against his chest, holding her tightly and rocking her back and forth in his arms. "How you feeling?" Becca groaned in response, resting her head against her brother's shoulder. They were leaning against the bathroom wall, Becca sitting in between Alex's legs with her head on his shoulder, carefully avoiding her stitches. They sat in silence, staring at the wall with blank expressions. There was nothing to be said.

Alex stirred eventually, pushing Becca off him gently, and helping her to her feet. "You need to eat. Cmon, I'll make something." Becca nodded, and walked over to the sink to get her toothbrush. "I'll be down in a bit." Once Alex left, she turned the faucet off, and looked at herself in the mirror. She ran a finger over the jagged black stitches, and touched the skin around them, wincing. A nasty bruise was already forming around them, and she knew she was going to have a killer migraine for the next few days. Becca touched the scar above her eyebrow, only an inch or so below the new stitches, and smiled sadly. Another one to add to the collection. She dropped her hands to her sides, rolling up her hoodie sleeve. She ran her right hand over the small collection of white and purple marks on her left wrist, frowning. Skating accident didn't quite cover these ones. She pulled her sleeve back down, rubbing her arm. Once again meeting her own eyes in the mirror, she drew her shoulders back, and sniffed. She was going to be okay. She had to be.

The smell of burnt toast carried up the stairs, and Becca laughed as she walked into the kitchen, finding Alex standing over a stack of charred bread, a hopeless frown on his face. "Leave it. I'll just have cereal." Alex groaned and jumped onto the counter, swinging his legs as she got the milk from the fridge. He reached in to the top cupboard, and held his hand out toward's Becca, who glared at him, and shook her head. "No, Alex." He raised his eyebrows at her and jumped down, setting the orange bottle down next to the orange juice he'd left out for her. "Take them, I don't care what you've got to say. Just do as your told." His voice told her not to argue, and she groaned, but unscrewed the cap and swallowed back two pills, gagging, before sticking her tongue out at Alex. "You done torturing me for the day?" Alex rolled his eyes and ruffled her hair, pointing to the milk. "Eat. I'm going downstairs." He shoved his hands in his pockets and left the kitchen, stopping outside the door for a moment to make sure she was actually eating. Satisfied after hearing her grab a bowl, he continued on his way down the hall, opening the door to the basement and disappearing down the stairs. The basement had been Alex's sanctuary for years, his safe space, his only escape from his parents. When he came out, he'd basically moved in, only coming out at night to go to his room. They'd soundproofed it when he picked up the drums, turning it into a sort of studio, so that he could go mental without disturbing the entire neighbourhood. His anxiety had been okay recently- it had been months since he'd had an attack. As Becca and their dad started fighting more and more, he'd felt his chest getting tighter and tighter, ready to snap. Becca was the only thing keeping him going. He knew he couldn't break while she was still at home, he had to have his head screwed on straight so he could keep her safe. One more year, that's all she needed, and then she could get to college, and she'd be safe. Their dad was terrifying. But he was also the only person in the world that Alex would stand up to- because he'd do anything not to see his little sister get hurt.

Becca cracked open the door to the basement, and sighed as she heard Alex going at it, fill after fill after fill. She knew he was hurting, and she knew it hurt him to see her hurting. But there wasn't much either of them could do about it. They'd just have to stick it out for a little longer. She pushed the door shut with a click, and ran upstairs, settling down at her desk. She had multiple pieces of homework due by the end of the week, and an impromptu day off meant she'd have lots more to catch up on the next day. But the minute she opened her history textbook, and started to scan the page, her mind started reeling, and she had to clutch her head with her eyes closed in an effort for the dizziness to go away. "Well that's a no to that then." She sighed and closed her textbook, collapsing onto her bed instead. The house was silent, Alex's frantic drumming silenced by the soundproof walls in the basement. Becca fiddled with her fingers, looking around her walls. The usual urge to suddenly change and redecorate the entire room was more dull than it normally was, almost like it was blurry, not quite defined. Her mind was reeling, struggling to work out reality and her thoughts. She groaned and buried her face in her pillow. She almost preffered the constant talking in her head to this. This feeling of uncertainty, not being able to tell the real from the fake. She was going insane.

[owl-with-a-pen]

Hi! I just read the fanfic about Brainy and Nia going to the future and meeting their daughter, I know you posted it a long time ago, I'm just new to tumblr, so if you can I want you to do a fic about the future, where Brainy's daughter and Nia is 5 years old. And it would be cool to see the antics that her daughter does.XD

- Sorry this took so long to fulfil, but yes! I’m sure she’d get into all sorts and this story probably only scrapes the surface! Thank you for the prompt x

Nia had always preferred the night over the day; maybe it was just her Naltorian side talking, but she’d always felt there was a certain peacefulness about the night-time that just couldn’t be replicated in daylight.

That definitely hadn’t changed since Nova had come into the picture.

The daytime had always been busy for a number of reasons. Balancing work and family life, balancing family and hero life - balancing work, family and hero life. But, now that Nova had reached an age where she was starting to explore her natural curiosities, Nia and Brainy hadn’t had the luxury of focusing on anything else. At five years old, they couldn’t let their daughter out of their sight for one second of the day.

The second the sun went down, though?

Nova’s sleeping pattern had always been pretty steady, and once she was out - she was out. She’d definitely gotten that from Nia’s side of the family. After all, Brainy didn’t really need all that much sleep, although he had admitted to her on more than one occasion that he enjoyed resting at her side, retreating to his inner network at hours Nia would otherwise be sleeping, working on small tasks and calculations reminiscent of an actual dream-state. In that way, he could still be close with her during the night, and Nia valued that time together immensely.

Of course, the fact Brainy didn’t actually need those extra hours had made him the best dad ever when it came to late-night wake-up calls courtesy of one baby Nova.

She still wasn’t old enough for them to know for certain the extent of her abilities; Brainy had predicted they wouldn’t fully develop fully until her teen years. Honestly, though? Nia didn’t care what powers Nova had; she was perfect no matter what.

Nia watched from the doorway that evening as Nova cuddled against Brainy on the bed. Her blonde hair was getting so long now, falling in relaxed waves down to her elbows, and the light green tone of her skin was almost washed out entirely by the soft purple of her nightlight on the bedside table. She was curled into Brainy’s chest, chewing idly on her thumbnail, her dark eyes scanning along inquisitively to the passages he was reading aloud to her. Nia smiled privately to herself; Brainy really got into character when reading Nova to sleep, making a big show with grand gesticulations and silly voices, even when the book of choice for tonight was an account on quantum mechanics from Carlo Rovelli’s collection.

Nova had a unique taste in literature, that was for sure and, while she was definitely getting a taste for mathematics and physics, she also still enjoyed simpler story telling. Nia and Brainy had decided to switch up who read to her each night. Sometimes, they’d choose something on Brainy’s bookshelf, and other times they would go for stories catered for a younger – human - mind, like The Far Away Tree, or even folk stories like Little Red Riding Hood or Goldilocks.

Nova really liked Goldilocks; Nia must have read it to her at least twelve times this month alone.

As Nova let out a big yawn, relaxing further into her dad’s side, Nia caught Brainy’s eye, jerking her chin towards the door.

He nodded his understanding, continuing his narration as Nia ducked out of the room, heading towards the living room where Alex was waiting for her, already working open a bottle of red.

“How is she?” Alex asked, sizing up her wine glass as she began to fill it up generously.  

“She should be asleep soon,” Nia said. “But, uh, Brainy sometimes runs Q and A sessions with her if she stays awake through a whole chapter.”

Alex snorted. “Only for Nova would I find that concept adorable.”

Nia collapsed onto the sofa, snatching her wine glass immediately. She reached out expectantly to Alex, grinning when she rolled her eyes, ditching her own wine glass to fill up Nia’s.

“Why, thank you,” Nia said, tucking her legs up beneath her.

Alex tipped her own glass with a wry smile. “It’s my pleasure, really.”

Nia took a long sip, savouring the rich taste. They couldn’t exactly go off the walls with a toddler sleeping next door, but right now, anything that could offer her a brief period of relaxation, Nia was more than eager to accept. She swirled her glass thoughtfully. “You know,” she murmured, “Brainy’ll probably need something a little stronger to take the edge off.”

“Oh, way ahead of you,” Alex said, shifting to the edge of her respective sofa to grab a bottle she had stowed away inside her backpack. She placed it on the coffee table with a flourish, giving Nia the opportunity to try and decipher the alien script scrawled across the label. “Kara recommended this,” Alex said, raising a finger. “Please do not ask me what it’s called, because I will not be able to pronounce it.”

Nia snorted, taking another sip of her own regular alcohol. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

“He better, this stuff wasn’t cheap.” Alex smirked, leaning back into the sofa. “How have you guys been, anyway? I feel like this is the first time we’ve seen each other in months.”

Nia opened her mouth, only to frown. Had it really been that long? All the days had been blurring together recently, and yet each one seemed to be separated by something inexplicably unique in its own right – courtesy of one overly curious toddler.

Nia wasn’t even sure she could remember the last time she’d visited the Tower, and going out for patrol or even something as simple as date night was so far off the table right now, it might as well have been in another galaxy. There wasn’t a sitter in the city willing to take on a genius, alien five-year-old with a penchant for mischief.

To Alex, Nia only shrugged. “Nova’s just been needing a lot of our attention lately. Well, all of it, actually. Or else she’ll burn the apartment down.”

Alex’s eyes widened. “Wait, like seriously burn the apartment down?” When Nia pursed her lips, Alex’s mouth fell open. “Is that normal?”

Nia rolled her eyes, leaning back into the cushions. “According to Brainy, yeah. Coluans express themselves through their intellect, and Nova’s been flexing that muscle a lot lately. Brainy thinks it’s a good sign, that she’ll probably rise to the twelfth-level, but we don’t exactly have much for a frame of reference, y’know?”

“Well, you have Brainy,” Alex considered. “How was he raised?”

Nia shifted uncomfortably, averting her gaze. She took a long sip of her wine to fill the silence. “Uh,” she said softly. “That’s sort of a… sore topic, actually.” She bit her lip, running her thumb along her glass’s neck. “He had robot caregivers for the most part.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

By the subdued look on Alex’s face, Nia knew she didn’t want to butt in with any more questions on the subject of Brainy’s upbringing. Brainy had certainly shared a portion of his childhood with his friends, at least enough for them to know that his parents were not a topic up for discussion if he could help it.

Even with Brainy occupied with Nova in the other room, Alex didn’t appear comfortable to continue the direction of their conversation.

Nia chuckled softly, trying to clear the air. “Anyway,” she said quickly, steering them back on topic, “there isn’t an earth-equivalent to a robot nanny here; well… except for…” She stopped herself suddenly, resisting the urge to grin.  

Alex narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Except for what?”

Nia shook her head, pressing a finger to her lips to keep from laughing outright. The wine was definitely starting to do its job - not thirty minutes ago, thinking about this would have only stressed her out. She reached for the wine bottle, eager to keep this high going for as long as humanly possible, topping up her glass. As soon as it was full, Nia took another long swig, breathing deeply as the wine warmed her chest. “Kelex,” she said on her next exhale, unable to keep the smile from her voice.

Alex laughed incredulously. “Wait, what? Kel- Kelex? From the Fortress?” She shuffled to the edge of her seat, almost conspiratorially. “Doesn’t Brainy hate that thing?”

Nia shrugged half-heartedly.

Alex’s eyes widened. “Why does he hate that thing?”

That question seemed to ground her, at least. Nia winced. She was pretty sure they were skirting back along unsavoury territory. “He was never totally clear with me,” she admitted, staring down into her glass, “but I’m pretty sure Kelex reminds him of his own caregivers. They – uh – didn’t exactly get along.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, it doesn’t even matter. Brainy was happy to entertain the idea, but the second Kara brought Kelex over, Nova was obsessed with the thing. She rewired it in like… twenty minutes.”

Alex stared. “She’s five, right?”

“She’s also half Coluan,” Nia reminded her, toasting her glass in Alex’s direction. “Dismantling machinery is better than any toy I could buy her.” She closed her eyes at that, pulling a face. “I left her in the bathroom for ten minutes today to shower and by the time I got out, she’d turned my hairdryer into a blowtorch.”

Alex winced into her wine glass. “Oof.”

“She’s just curious,” Nia said quickly, rubbing idly at her forehead. Was she really getting a wine headache already? God, she was really out of practice. “She’s exploring her intellect,” Nia said eventually. “It’s healthy for her and I wanna encourage that, I do—” She sighed heavily. “It’s just…”

“Exhausting?”

Nia smiled bleakly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Then, take a break,” Alex insisted.

Nia stared at her levelly. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Hey,” Alex said with a smirk, pushing the wine bottle over to Nia’s side of the table. “Start with this. Finish the whole thing. Trust me, I have more.”

When Nia laughed, Alex glanced up at her, eyes flashing with a smile. “And, if you guys need a real break, you know that Kelly and I would be happy to help out.”

“You sure about that?” Nia asked warily. “Remember what I just said about the blowtorch?”

“You think a bit of fire’s going to scare me off?” Alex challenged. She leant back, gesturing to herself with relaxed emphasis. “Don’t forget, I shared a bathroom with an incredibly overpowered alien for years. Hell, I used to work for a super-secret government organisation that kept alien prisoners.” She placed her glass back onto the coffee table, folding her arms with a confident nod. “I’m pretty sure Kelly and I can handle a five-year-old super genius.” She winked. “And, if we can’t, we can always rely on Auntie Kara.”

Nia nearly snorted into her glass. She remembered a few choice stories from Auntie Kara revolving her valiant attempt at babysitting for Cat Grant’s son when she’d still been a PA. Something about him ending up on a train that had had a bomb strapped to it? Considering Nova already knew her Auntie Kara was Supergirl, the novelty of being saved from a near death experience would probably still hinge on traumatic, rather than invigorating.

Although, Nia had to admit, the idea of a break – however small – sounded pretty great right about now. She loved Nova with all of her heart, but having even just a few hours with Brainy to herself where she was actually conscious enough to enjoy them would have been amazing.

Still, she couldn’t help but picture Alex and Kelly struggling to figure out how to appease Nova’s more unique interests.

She smirked to herself, pressing her lips against the rim of her glass. “It’s your funeral,” she murmured.

Alex’s cheeks were already a little rosy from the wine and Nia knew she probably wasn’t faring much better. Still, before Alex could promise away any more of her free time, Nova’s door opened and, a moment later, out crept one very dishevelled looking Coluan.

Nia beamed from ear-to-ear. She stood, pausing when the world pitched a little around her. Wine drunk. There was no denying it, she was definitely wine drunk.

After carefully placing her glass on the coffee table, Nia made her way over to the bedroom door. She ran her hand down Brainy’s arm, squeezing gently. “Is she asleep?” she whispered.

Brainy’s expression was warm. He smiled softly, bowing his head. “I believe her excitement today tired her out more than she anticipated.”

Nia chuckled. That was the least surprising statement she’d heard all day. She turned towards the door, peeking inside. Nova’s nightlight was still on, enough to illuminate the profile of her round face snuggled against her pillow where she’d half cocooned herself in blankets only seconds after Brainy had no doubt tucked her in.

Her little mouth hung open slightly, silent breaths escaping her lips. Nia could spy the ears of her own childhood teddy bear poking out from beneath the blankets, hugged tightly to Nova’s chest.

Nia squeezed Brainy’s arm once more before sneaking into the room, summoning a swell of dream energy in her fist to keep from tripping over any mislaid toys or, more likely now she thought about it, machine parts.

Nia smiled; Brainy had promised to fix Kelex for Kara tomorrow. Despite his grievances towards the robot, he still felt guilty over the extent to which Nova had indulged her curiosities. They’d already sat her down to explain to her why what she had done wasn’t appropriate behaviour, and Nova had seemed to understand. Enough that she’d pouted when they’d told her she wouldn’t be able to go with Brainy to the Fortress to help fix Kelex in the morning. The last thing Nia wanted was for Nova to get her hands on the kinds of weapons Kara and Clark had hidden there. Nia had nearly blasted a hole through the wall on accident in controlled conditions when Brainy had been training her, she could only imagine what kind of destruction Nova could cause if she was set loose in there.

It was strange to think all of that had only been a few hours ago. Now, Nova slept peacefully, odd ends of blonde hair strewn across her face. 

Nia reached out, tucking those strands behind Nova’s ears. She perched herself on the edge of the bed, pressing a kiss against her daughter’s forehead. Nova scrunched her nose slightly before relaxing again, and Nia had to bite her lip hard to keep from making any sound.

She was perfect. Even with the chaos today had brought, Nia wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

“Sleep tight, Firestarter,” she murmured fondly.

When Nia returned to the doorway, she found Brainy waiting for her. She grinned, linking her hand with his. “Come with me,” she said, tugging him along towards the living room. “We have alien wine.” She raised her voice enough for Alex to hear. “And guess who just offered to babysit?” 

[lovecolibri]

SaL anon here and, since we had our Alex feels yesterday, let's have some Michael feels today by talking about Son. This one makes me think of Michael's moment with his Mom at Caulfield. Between the "show me who I am and who I could be" to the repeated references to fingerprints on glass it just feels made for that scene. Even the "I will try, try, try to breathe" feels like his Mom telling him to run. And the "i'll run the risk of being intimate with brokenness" line just kills me 😭😭😭

It is rather late as I’m writing this because I spent the evening on the road, so I have this set to post in the morning but I’m so excited to talk about this song! It’s one of my absolute favorites. It has such lovely imagery throughout and is so beautiful with the piano and French Horns. And talk about some Michael Guerin feelings! Whooo boy! Also a fun tidbit from the how it’s made blog post for this song is that it’s from the Life EP, so  there are specific references in the lyrics to the 4 primary vital signs: heart rate, body temperature, respiration rate, and blood pressure which I thought was neat but also fits nicely with Michael and him doing experiments trying to find out more about his species. 

Right away I get a lot of feelings about this being a Michael song because for as long as he knew, he wasn’t anyone’s son. He had hope his family was looking for him, but he had no memory of a mom and dad, and he sure as hell didn’t find human ones in the foster system. The opening lyrics are so great and are set the tone for the song about learning about yourself, life, and your potential.

show me who i am and who i could be. initiate the heart within me until it opens properly.

slow down, start again from the beginning. i can’t keep my head from spinning out of control. is this what being vulnerable feels like?

Oof. So “ slow down, start again from the beginning “ just hits right in the Caulfield feels with Michael and Norah trying to stuff a lifetime of love into a few seconds. It’s also reminiscent of Saturn which I’ve talked about being a Michael/Norah song and the line “i couldn’t help but ask for you to say it all again” Plus the lines about the head spinning out of control and feeling vulnerable are such Michael lines.

i swear i'll try, try, try to breathe ’til it turns to muscle memory. i'm only steady on my knees; one day i'll stand up on my own two feet.

i’ll run the risk of being intimate with brokenness. through this magnifying glass, i see a thousand finger prints on the surfaces of who i am.

Uuuuuugh, there is so much good stuff here. I love that you mentioned “try try try to breathe” as a Caulfield reference because that hits hard 😭 I also love the “ i'm only steady on my knees; one day i'll stand up on my own two feet” because Michael is still, in a lot of ways, stuck in the past, and using that as a crutch to avoid dealing with the hard things. I love love love the next two lines and they just so good for Michael, from running the risk of being intimate with brokenness (after he spent a whole year/season hiding from his pain and not facing things) to seeing the finger prints of all the people who’ve touched your life. And you brought up a great point with this hitting on Caulfield again with that line, but also the way aliens can communicate through touch with their handprint. Excuse me while I go scream for a minute.

show me where to find the silver lining as the mercury keeps rising, ’til the glass or my fever breaks.

show me how to struggle gracefully. let the scaffolding inside of me be strong enough to hold this tired body up once more.

I love love love the imagery in this verse. We can put a little nod to Michael’s abnormally high body temperature in here, but also how the pressures and mysteries and stresses keep piling up, pointing to an imminent break. The next line is my favorite in the song and one of my favorites of his altogether. “let the scaffolding inside of me be strong enough to hold this tired body up once more” Oof. It’s such a mood for me personally, but also a good line for Michael who has been buckling under the weight of keeping secrets from Isobel, and Max, and Alex, and then finding and immediately losing so much so quickly, it really feels like a perfect line for him.

and i will try, try, try to breathe ’til it turns to muscle memory. i feel the pressure in my blood building up and liberating me. 

so i will try, try, try to breathe ’til it turns to muscle memory. i'm only steady on my knees. but one day, i'll stand on my own two feet.

There was the slight addition in this section with the addition of the nod to blood pressure which again takes me back to Science!Michael and his partnership with Liz and Kyle when they were working to save Isobel and then Max.

i'll run the risk of being intimate with brokenness. through this magnifying glass, i see a thousand finger prints

that ran the risk of being intimate with my brokenness. i was given a gift of hope in a thousand finger prints on the surface of who i am.

I love that we end again with hope in the slight tweak to the last time we saw this line to add in the “gift of hope” which is found in all the fingerprints from all the people that touch our lives. This ending definitely makes me think of Norah, and Alex of course, but also makes me think of Sanders and that great scene where he tells Michael he tried to adopt him and when that didn’t work, he just made sure Michael always had a place to go, and gave him a good job, and I just 😭😭😭 

This was such a good one and definitely a good one for Michael!

[megatraven]

time to throw out more aus for alex and mc because they consume my every waking thought and idk im bored :) (@seduceme-lovestruck-thearcana u might like this one?) so here we go:

ice skating au

(side note: olympus still exists here and alex is a demigod, it’s just not important enough for either fact to be mentioned much in this au)

alex is a professional ice skater, and they’ve been practicing it since they were very young. mc has always been in awe of them, and maybe a little enamored, and so she set out to be an ice skater too. alex helps train her, offers tips and the like, but they grow apart when alex starts competing internationally while mc is still in high school. it was important to her mother that she finish, so even though her mother is no longer around, she stays in new york to graduate.

one day when she’s out skating by herself, alex comes to the rink to reminisce, back in new york after dropping from their latest competition due to lack of motivation or inspiration. their love for the sport has dulled over time, and they almost got seriously injured in part because of it. they’re surprised to see mc there

they watch her skate, and it makes their heart thump in their chest. when she’s finished, or gets to a stopping point, alex claps for her and cheers

mc flushes, but smiles brightly upon realizing that they’re back, and skates over to hug them. they reconnect for a little while, talking about their lives and where they’re going. when alex tells her that they were thinking about quitting, mc is speechless. but then she’ll tell them that she’ll support them in whatever they do, but it would be a shame that the world will miss out on their beautiful dances.

she’ll tell them that she hopes they continue with it after the break they’re taking, because she’d like to beat them at their own game someday, and that makes alex laugh. they ask her to show her a full routine, and she obliges, but not before getting them to promise to think about what she’s said.

so alex watches her perform again, just for them, and she takes their breath away. they think, maybe they should stick it out a little while longer. before they leave that night, they kiss her on the forehead, and smile at the way she blushes.

another five years or so pass, the two of them scarce in each other’s lives except from the occasional video chat or text- both are flying all over the world now to compete, so it’s hard to find times they’re both awake.

when they do meet in person again, they’re competing in the same tournament, and everything is going amazing..... until they go completely wrong

mc gets injured during her routine, when one of her jumps doesn’t land quite right. she falls to the ice, her head knocking against the hard surface, and pain shoots up her leg- fractures.

she’s out of the count, and it breaks her heart.

alex comes out onto the ice when they see her fall, and they’re the one that carries her off the ice to the paramedics. they give up their place in the competition to stay with her.

the doctors tell her she shouldn’t ice skate again. her leg got so messed up that they warn her going back out could damage it worse. her entire world feels like it’s falling apart, but alex holds her hand through it.

she says that she’s going to have to give it up, and alex can see the tears she;s trying to fight away, can see the wobble of her lip, can see the sadness and pain in her eyes.

it’s their turn to give her a pep talk- to convince her to go back out there. it’s something she loves, and- and they tell her that it was her who inspired them to keep going. they wanted to quit, five years ago, but watching her had relit the fire in their heart, helped them rediscover their passion for the art.

they tell her that they’ll help her the entire way, as she heals and gets back on the ice. and, they tell her that she’s the most determined person they know- there’s no way one mishap is going to keep her down.

she believes them, and smiles for the first time since it happened. the tears drop, but they’re not out of sadness this time, and she hugs them close. they hug back for a moment before pulling away, and dropping a kiss on her forehead- then, quick and sweet, she presses one to their lips

a little later on, when mc’s been given the clear to get back on the ice if she really wants to, alex goes with her. they skate together, and alex can tell mc’s a little fearful now. they’re patient with her, and help her work through it over the course of a few months, until she’s skating as if she’d never fallen in the first place.

only, now, she’s been skating with alex. somehow, her routine and theirs have morphed into one, and skating together feels as natural as breathing. they also start falling for each other, harder than ever before, during this time, and they grow even closer

the next time they enter a competition, it’s for pairs. they take the world by storm, coming up with intense and gorgeous routines that take the audience’s breath away. whenever they get interviewed, and asked for their inspiration, their answers are always the same.

alex skates to show the world their love for mc, the way she lights a fire in their heart. mc skates to show the world her love for alex, the way they make the world more precious to behold. they dance for each other, and to move the hearts of people, the same way they’ve always done for each other, from that very first day that alex put on their first pair of ice skates.

and alex will tell the world how what hey do wouldn’t be possible at all, if it hadn’t been for mc’s encouragements, her kindness, her belief in them at the beginning. if it hadn’t been for how she inspires them, with her determination, her courage, her confidence.

it makes mc blush each time, but they never stop saying it.

and, one last thing: in between competitions and training, they always go back to new york. mc visits her mother’s grave on olympus, alex in tow. they visit her brother josh. and they go to the ice rink, late at night, and enjoy a simple skate, hand in hand, thanking the gods above that they found each other again.

[someplace-that-is-else]

‘The Art of the Reboot: Why I like Roswell: New Mexico’

In a word: Ugh.

 It was like everywhere I turned, there they were. Remakes. Reboots. Reimaginings.

 Hollywood just could not let it go. I got it. Nostalgia could be a hell of a drug. However…was nothing sacred. Nostalgia was that for a reason. A nice memory from when you were a kid. That time when things were simpler. It was fun. It was vivid with delights. So no one wants such a thing tainted.

 “So when are you watching it?”

 What was the show this time? Charmed. After such a success with superhero shows, The CW was branching out into reboots of old TV shows like Roswell and Charmed. Charmed was a show about three sisters who were part of a long line of witches. It ran on the defunct WB network from 1998-2006 and starred Shannen Doherty, Holly Marie Combs, Alyssa Milano, and (later on) Rose McGowan. All actresses that I liked.

 Great memories were attached to that show. My sister, brother, mother, me, and my nieces and nephew could be counted on to be around the television watching it. I still remembered how my sister loved how fierce the Halliwell sisters dressed. And who did not want to have Prue’s power to move things with your mind…or Piper’s power to freeze…or angst over Phoebe getting a love life. Yeah, good times.

 “I don’t know,” I replied to the question. “I don’t even really want to watch it. Maybe a hatewatch.”

 Hatewatch. When you watched a show because you disliked it so much that you sat there and nitpicked it to death. Something I felt that I would do to Charmed. I just did not see a reason to bring it back.

 That was the same way I felt about the news of Roswell, New Mexico. Old School Roswell was on the WB (and later on UPN) as well, running from 1999 to 2002. I was a late starter to it, drawn in by the potential sci-fi, but who didn’t love the relationship between main alien Max and human teenager Liz or the sparring between alien Michael and feisty Maria? Yeah, I admit that I was curious to see how it would do. I did not have much faith in it. Perhaps just another hate-watch.

 I was wrong. 

 So What Makes It Work: Plot and Character on Roswell New Mexico

 What makes a good reboot?

 Well for one, it could not be a retrace of what came before. Been there, done that. Have the T-shirt. Who would want to see that AGAIN when you already did it? Also like a sequel to a successful movie, most times one cannot beat out the original.

 For another, a good reboot also respected what came before as well as attempted to do something new with the source material which began as a book series by Melinda Metz. A good reboot was a balancing act, a case for nostalgia while being fresh.

 And coming away from the first season of Roswell, New Mexico…it was.

 Old School Roswell was about the idea that aliens were among us and trying to fit in while they explored their origins. They were always in fear of being discovered. At the same time, they could not help, but feel ‘other.’ Into this main alien Max Evans and human Liz Parker fell in love.

 New School Roswell was respectful to that with a twist…Max and Liz (as well as their friends) were all aged up a decade into adulthood versus the high school years of the original. And just like Old School Max pined for Liz, this version of Max had pined for Liz since they were kids. Both Lizs discovered the truth about Max and aliens after being healed by Max. 

Another change that Roswell, New Mexico made…Liz taking back her name. Ortecho. In the books, Liz was of Mexican descent. In the WB/UPN show, Liz was played more like the typical smart teenager. In the reboot, the show never shied away from the fact Liz was of Mexican descent. It explored that fact and how it impacted her in the United States now. Given current events, that made Liz’s family life…her world…EXTREMELY relevant. And most importantly relatable.

 Max feeling his otherness. Liz feeling her otherness. Quite a match. That wrote itself. And the closer they got to each other, the more they (and the viewers) learned about them.

 Anyone who knew me or read my books (https://www.amazon.com/LaTorre-Mays/e/B00E0LUID4) knew that I loved duality. Quite a few characters on Roswell, New Mexico had that. Kyle had gone from typical jock hothead to compassionate doctor. Alien Michael liked to be bad cowboy playboy with the swagger to match to heart on his sleeves guy who loved one guy when he was not projecting an image. Even memories of Liz remembering her sister Rosa (something else different from the WB Roswell) revealed there was more to her sister than meets the eye.

 Speaking of Rosa, the reboot kept something else that the original show had. Mystery mixed with some sci-fi and romance was the plot of the original show. Who was the fourth alien? Why were Max, Michael, and Isobel brought here? What had happened on their old planet? Who were the Skins?

 Roswell, New Mexico continued that plot tradition, but again did its own thing. The Season 1 mystery had to do with the events surrounding Rosa’s death. Was it an accident? If it was not (spoiler alert…it wasn’t) what happened? Who killed Rosa and why? On top of that…who was Rosa really? Good girl? Bad girl with toxic baggage? A misunderstood girl with a bag of secrets not her own? Not only that who was the murderer? The mystery surrounding her death built over Season 1’s 13 episodes. Even better, just when you thought you knew something, something else was revealed or was turned what was known on its ear. Like an onion, a fan pulled back its surface only to find more surface. Layers. Season 2 took the mystery idea a step farther by having Max, Isobel, and Michael dive into their alien origins, specifically what had happened to their parents and how that involved human ally (and one of Michael’s love interest) Alex’s family the Manes. That mystery as well, while slower than Season 1’s plot arc, revealed itself to also be an onion. Again…Layers.

 But speaking of Alex, there was another thing Roswell, New Mexico also pulled out some originality on, but honored the original series.

 The relationships.

 What Keeps It Working: Relationships on Roswell, New Mexico

 So what were you? A Stargrazer? Or maybe a Dreamer? Perhaps you were more for M&M aka Candy?

 Old Roswell had its shippers before anyone knew what a shipper was. Shipper = people who loved a couple, worshipped them, and lived for every moment between those characters. Whether you loved the destiny pairing of Max/Liz, the Bickerson-ness of Maria/Michael, or the ‘opposite attracts’ aspect of Isobel/Alex, there were quite a few to choose from. And those could help in the case of bad writing, something that people debatably said about Season 2 and definitely said about Season 3.

 And what ships they were. Even the reboot series did the now famous scene (also in the book as well) of Liz being shot and Max healing her. The scene of her pointing up to the scene after Max explained where he was from. The various scenes of Maria and Michael arguing, but that fire always bringing them together whether it was him watching her dance at the start of Season 2 or them dancing at the senior prom after a misunderstanding. Or who could forget the time when Alex stripped at Isobel’s birthday party to impress the popular girl…and of course the comedy that ensued?

 In a word…relatable.

 On Roswell, New Mexico….well, the saying was true. The more things change…

 And boy did it change! By aging up the characters, the show stepped away from the old typical high school dramas. Good news with the change? It allowed for deeper subject matter and relevant subject matter for today’s work. Illegal immigrants. Bisexuality. Identity.

 But again…not too different. Hehe!!! The Liz of the Roswell Reboot was the child of illegal immigrants. That opened up for a new audience to see a whole different culture. It also showed the problems with being one. Meanwhile, the Max of the Roswell reboot was a sheriff with a darker edge to him. A Liz who constantly proving that she could save herself. A Max who may be a savior, but was not above being a little more selfish. Watching the two of them come together slowly was interesting to watch and reminiscent of old school Max and Liz. More so since this Max also had a crush on Liz.

  Not only did they have their differences to deal with, but a mystery involving the death of Rosa which of course involved the aliens somehow. The who, what, why of the death was the driving force of the first season, but Max and Liz (ship name Echo) was the heart of it. And in Season Two, the drama for their relationship was wisely focused on them. If the drama for the relationship in the first season was external, season two focused on how their differences could be a problem and thus, internal.

 Speaking of identity, one cannot talk about Roswell, New Mexico without talking about Michael Guerin…and Alex.

 While Isobel dealt with some identity issues that touched on assault, abortion, and self-exploration, Michael was in a league of his own. While Michael in the old Roswell was a hothead with not much drive searching for his place in the world, Michael of Roswell, New Mexico…was actually the same. However, part of the reason Michael did not have a drive was that he was busy playing cover-up behind Rosa’s death with Max and Isobel. And the other reason became very clear when he laid eyes on Alex Manes after years. Lost love was usually that way.

 Yes. On the new reboot, Michael and Alex had a lost love from when they were teenagers. And seeing each other again brought that all back. Shame since Alex’s father was anti-alien and homophobic. So viewers got to watch them deal with their issues. From how tragic things ended when they were kids. From dealing with the issues of the closeted lover. Add on the alien issues and the Rosa mystery, and you had a couple named Malex that had a lot of past and present issues to deal with.

 Enter…Maria.

 Just like the old series, Michael and Maria had a sparring partner relationship. One thing led to another and during a break from Alex, Michael and Maria hooked up. So a chemistry filled triangle began. And Michael found himself asking what was more important…the past or the present?

 And all of the relationships kept people tuning in. Not to mention the alien hijinks. I was happy to see that while the writers were very good at plotting out a mystery with twists, turns, and flashbacks, the writers knew what made old Roswell an enduring show. The relationships like Max and Liz and Michael and Alex…and Michael and Maria. The writers knew about the search for self when a person knew they were different. They knew none of it would mean anything if the characters were not relatable. And at the same time, they threw curveballs to keep this version of Roswell fresh and original while still honoring what made old Roswell Roswell.

 And knowing that meant they got the art of the reboot.

 And I…couldn’t wait to see what they did next.

   #reboots #art #roswell #roswellnewmexico #cw #upn #wb #charmed #echo #malex #candy #stargrazer #dreamer #melindametz #max #liz #rosa #shannendoherty #alyssamilano #hollymariecombs #rosemcgowan #michael #maria #nostaglia #characters #plotting #childrenof #respect #originality #refresh #remake

[captainsassmanes]

Follow up to Opinion 

California, it turns out, is fucking beautiful.

Expensive, but beautiful.

He’d made something of a routine for himself the last few weeks he’d been on the coast.  He’d quickly found a room to sublet with some roommates who were young but nice enough and an IT job that required almost no effort at all.  The mornings consisted of him waking up early and doing a quick workout.  It seemed like everyone in Cali was walking around like they just fell off a catwalk.  Then he’d eat something and head out to the beach, a mere three blocks down. 

People watching had become a type of therapy for him, imagining the lives of other people. When he was feeling good and generous, he’d grant success and happiness on people he could tell were struggling. When he was lonely and bitter, he’d diagnose them with food poisoning and syphilis, then take it back because he felt badly.

After some loitering in the sand, he’d head to work, put in his eight hours, and head home. A lot of nights, he’d go out with his roommates or a few co-workers, maybe a few friends he’d made at the local bars. Alex discovered, after being forced against his will, that he was good at trivia and karaoke could be fun. 

He’d built a new life for himself, in just a few weeks. It gave him the optimism that he could do so much more with a few months, then a few years.

He was sitting on the beach in his usual spot Tuesday morning. It was just after 7am, a bit chilly and the sun making a late start. He’d been trying to get more comfortable in his own skin out here. He knew he had to let the jeans and sweats go, the weather too warm to keep himself overly covered, but it had been hard. He’d never been ashamed of his leg but people tended to see it and use it as an open invitation to ask some really personal questions. 

But, again, California was different. He answered some questions the first time he wore shorts, but people nodded, thanked him and moved on. People didn’t stare at him and everyone was shockingly respectful of his space.

He was proud to be able to do something as simple as sit on the beach while other people jogged by with his prosthetic on display. He was jarred from his thoughts by a loud voice on an otherwise peaceful beach.

A man was talking into his tiny little headphones in full volume while walking down toward the water. He decided the perfect spot for his morning constitutional was directly in Alex’s eye line. The man, good looking by all accounts, began doing some basic yoga moves while yelling about profit margins and money markets or something.

Alex rolled his eyes. For every laid back, enjoying the life, crunchy Californian he met, there were at least two of these Silicon Valley, wannabe chill businessmen.

“You could do worse.”

Alex’s head snapped to the side and he found a smirking Kyle taking a seat next to him.

“Ooo, sand’s warm.” Kyle wiggled his toes and Alex sat frozen and gaping.

“What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?” Alex looked around as he spoke, wondering if Kyle had come all this way on his own. He silently cursed to himself as his chest blossomed a warm sensation of hope.

“It was not easy, my friend. When you decide to vanish, you really fucking vanish.”

Kyle leaned back on his hands and raised his chin to the sky, the sun climbing just a bit higher. Kyle looked like this was exactly where he belonged.

“You done kumbaya-ing yet?”

Alex shook his head and moved to stand up, trying to be as graceful as possible with one leg and sand. “Fuck off, Kyle.”

“Hey!” Kyle stood and turned Alex around. “I’m serious, man. We’ve all been freaking out since you left. We demolished the cabin, went through all your research, we called and called and called.” Kyle lowered his voice. “We started thinking you were abducted for Christ’s sake! Either by your psycho family or alien number who the hell knows!”

Alex ran a hand through his hair and looked back on the ocean. It had taken a few days before the texts and phone calls began. Kyle, of course was first. Then Liz, then Isobel. Eventually Maria had called and even Guerin had sent a text. That one just read, Maria’s worried about you. That had been enough for him to throw his phone out and get a new number.

“I just,” Alex sighed, unsure how to word anything at this point. “I needed a fresh start. Desperately. I felt like I was losing touch there. You know?”

Kyle nodded, staring out at the ocean, too. They stood together in comfortable silence, listening to the water and the birds and the people. Life moving forward.

“I”m sorry.” Alex turned with surprise. “I wasn’t a very good friend. None of us were.”

Alex shook his head but Kyle gave him a gentle shove with his shoulder and continued. “Shut up, I’m serious. I’m not gonna apologize for being with Rosa. She’s my sister and an actual zombie; she needed me and I was glad to be there with her. But I didn’t check in. I stopped helping and I know you well enough now. I knew you’d keep going, making yourself insane with work. I knew it but I didn’t take the time to check in. I’m sorry.”

Alex nodded, not trusting his voice to speak just yet. He watched as a little boy ran by, struggling to run in the sand, his father chasing behind him. Both smiling and laughing.

Alex couldn’t help but smile. “I couldn’t stay, Kyle. I broke under the pressure of everything and I finally realized how unhappy I was. And lonely. I figured, I might as well be lonely on a beach.”

Both men laughed, some of the tension floating away. “We all miss you. Some more than others.”

Alex gave a small smile. “You missed me, Valenti?”

Kyle laughed and nodded, eyebrows raised. “I did, Manes. I did indeed. But we both know I’m not who I was talking about.”

Alex’s stomach flipped and he bit his lip. His hip was starting to ache, standing on uneven ground for too long, so he headed over to a bench, certain Kyle would follow. They sat quietly for a minute while Alex gathered his thoughts.

“I love both of them, you know. In different ways, obviously, but I love them both.” He cleared his throat, a lump forming against his will. “I wanted to support them and, if I couldn’t do that, I at least didn’t wanna fuck it up for them. So I tried to smile when I saw them and ask about the other one if I bumped into them somewhere. Mostly, I just tried to stay out of the way.”

He pulled at the skin around his thumb until a bit of blood rose to the surface. “There was a day, I was standing outside of the museum, just staring at it. I don’t think I ever told you but the museum was really important to me. Guerin and I-” he cleared his throat again and looked out at the ocean, steadying his breathing with the waves. “Anyway, Maria knew about it and, well, Guerin, was there. But I was standing there, reminiscing I guess, and they walked out of there together.”

Alex turned his head away and tried as subtly as possible to wipe away the tear that fell. “They looked so happy, Kyle. Smiling and laughing, holding onto each other. I had this thought that maybe I had been in their way, you know? That maybe if I wasn’t there they would have gotten their happy ending sooner.”

Kyle turned toward Alex, shaking his head but Alex couldn’t stop himself now. “I still fucking hated them though.”

He could feel Kyle’s eyes on him, see the shape of his jaw hanging open slightly, but Alex didn’t care. This felt good. “It felt deliberate. Let’s go to the place that means the fucking world to Alex and ruin it.” He sniffed and wiped his nose knowing damn well he couldn’t hide the tears this time.

“I got so drunk that night, I must have passed out at least three separate times. Then I bump into Guerin of all people while I’m barely able to stand and, that was it. I knew I had to go.”

The silence took over again. The beach had started getting a bit busier. A few families, a couple sunbathers, a group that looked like they were getting ready for some volleyball. Always life moving forward.

“I can’t be happy watching him be happy with someone else. I tried, so hard, I really did. But I can’t do it. And knowing it’s Maria? Seeing my best friend with the only man I’ve ever loved? It’s unbearable.” He sniffed again and took a deep breath. “I didn’t even mention all the alien business and my absolutely spectacular family legacy.”

After a few minutes Kyle stood up with a groan and stretched with a big yawn. He put his hands on his hips and looked up and down the beach. “I’m starving. Take me to breakfast.”

Alex’s face was a picture. “What? No. You gotta go back to Roswell and I have to get to work.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me. First of all, I don’t gotta go anywhere. Second, call out. I’m withering away here. If I don’t get some avocado toast or whatever these hippies eat soon I’m gonna pass out.”

“You’re like a leech, you know?” He took out his phone and sent a text off to his boss feigning a stomach bug. “I can’t get rid of you.”

Kyle threw his arm around Alex and kissed the side of his head. “I’ve missed you too, brother. Now, point me towards the toast!”

[salty-star-child]

Never Really Over - A Malex Story

[So apparently I have no chill, at all, so uh here’s a canon-divergent fic with the conversation I wish Michael and Maria had had about Michael’s history with Alex and the hope about Museum Guy that Maria had felt in Alex when he was at the Pony]

----------

“It’s over! It’s been over!”

“Does Alex know that?!”

The shout ricochets off the old wood walls and slams into the both of them as the dust settles. Maria had seen Michael reel from particularly painful punches before; she couldn’t help but notice that it looked a lot like the way he was looking at her right now. His eyes were glassy and heartbroken, emotion pouring off him in violent waves that even her psychic abilities couldn’t quite keep up with.

“Why—how could you ask—of course he does!” his voice cracked as he stumbled through his words. “He’s the one who fucking ended—keeps ending—things!”

Her heart cracked as her resolve hardened. She knows what she needs to do, even if it wasn’t what she wanted to do. She wanted to believe Guerin—god, did she want to believe him—just so she could keep him to herself. Didn’t she deserve a little good in her life too? With everything that was falling down around her—her mom, her friends being MIA despite both having returned to Roswell, the bar barely staying afloat—didn’t she deserve something nice? And Michael Guerin is good, is nice, is…head over heels in love with one of her best friends and desperately trying to forget it.

“That’s not the impression he gave me last time he sat at my bar,” she whispered, words tight and heavy. They hung between them in the silence that followed, taunting them both.

Yeah, Maria deserves good, deserves nice, but she also deserves someone who wants to be there for her and her alone. She isn’t anyone’s second-goddamn-choice. It hurts her heart a little now to let go of Guerin and their could-have-been romance, but she also knows that, in the end, she’s saving herself from a lot more hurt.

Maria DeLuca is her own savior, every damn time.

So instead of taking what she wants, she stares down Michael Guerin—beautiful, fucked up, surprisingly soft Michael Guerin—and watches a thousand and one emotions clash across his face like he couldn’t believe the words she just said. She grabbed a glass from beneath the counter, opened a bottle of whiskey with a practiced fluidity, and poured.

“Sit down, Guerin,” she sighed. Her order was punctuated by the firm and unarguable sound of the half-filled glass hitting the bar in front of one of the barstools.

His eyes are glassy, his hands tug at his own curls in clear frustration, and he’s started breathing deep and shaky before eventually—finally—giving up the fight. He collapses onto the stool, eyes closing and hands sliding down from his hair to his face. His breathing is still shaky and she’s no longer sure what to do. This isn’t a side of Guerin that she’s experienced with. She’s seen him drunk, angry, violent, and flirty; she’s never once seen him look so sad and broken.

“What do you want from me, Maria? Whatever it is you want me to say, to do, I’ll do it,” he said. He sounded as tired as she felt. “Just, tell me. Tell me what you want.”

She pursed her lips and bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying something stupid, something she wouldn’t be able to take back, something as simple as you because she wouldn’t have the strength to stop anything that might come after.

“The truth, ideally,” she told him. Michael opened his eyes then, looking at her with a shattered expression. His hands pulled away from his face and spread out as he shrugged slightly in invitation. “Was it just a high school fling?”

“No,” he answered hoarsely.

Maria watched as the muscles in his face tensed, lips drawn in a tight line and brows furrowed.

“Do you still love him?”

He hesitates.

“Guerin, please just tell me. Do you love him?”

Still, he hesitates. Maria feels her irritation build, the day’s stress acting like gasoline on a campfire to fuel her annoyance.

“Do you love him, Michael?!” She demands, voice raised, tight, cracking, and angry.

“Yes! Okay?” his voice raises to match hers, sounding just as angry, voice just as taut and wobbly. “Is that what you want to hear, DeLuca?! That I’ve been gone for Alex Manes since senior-fucking-year? That I’ve stuck to hookups and one-night stands because I couldn’t bring myself to be anyone but Alex Manes’ boyfriend? That he’s the only person who has ever made me feel like it didn’t matter whether I know where I come from or not because I always felt like I belonged so long as I was with him? Is that what you wanna hear?!”

He’s breathing heavy and tears have slipped over cheeks.

Maria sucks in a deep breath as she reels from the explosion of words. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised by the angry confession after poking the bear, but just a small glance at Guerin is enough for her to feel the overwhelming and all-encompassing love he holds for Alex. It’s a masterpiece of brilliant colors swirled together in such a way that it was reminiscent of Van Goh’s Starry Night. But the surface has been tainted. There’s a pulsing dark bitterness and pain—sharp and sour in a way that leaves her mouth itchy and skin dry—that’s crept over the edges to eat away at the light like a parasite.

If she focuses on any one point, she thinks she can see images: flashes of memory. Of flushed cheeks and shy smiles, guitars and the bed Michael’s truck, Alex at different stages of his military career but always coming back to the Airstream and dropping a duffel by the step, and too many tearful goodbyes. A decade’s worth of love and connection assault her senses and suddenly Guerin isn’t the only one crying in the empty bar.

Warm hands hesitantly cup her cheeks, thumbs sweeping away the tears, and she can’t tell whether she wants to lean into the touch or flinch away from it.

Her fingers wrap shakily around his wrists to pull his hands away before she grabs the drink she’d poured for Guerin and downs it in one go. She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes and wipes against the last of her tears.

“Remind me never to give you a psychic reading ever again; you’re completely overwhelming,” she says through a hollow laugh. The crease between his eyebrows deepens as his concern turns to confusion. “If you love Alex even half as much as I just felt off of you, what the hell are you doing here, Guerin?”

It takes him a minute to gather himself from his confusion and the uneasy way Maria is trying to fall back to what it’d been like before Texas had changed things.

“He said he wants to be friends,” he tells her. “But I don’t wanna just be friends.”

Maria raises one eyebrow at him and frowns.

“Who said anything about being just friends? Sounds to me like he was tellin’ you he wants more than just really good sex,” she says plainly, pinning him with a look that tells him it isn’t worth trying to disagree.

“Listen,” she sighs, quiet voice doing nothing to hide just how exhausted she’s feeling. “Alex is one of my best friends, so don’t…don’t go fucking this up, you hear me? You’re going to leave this bar and go find him, and then the two of you are going to sit down and have a conversation where you say exactly what it is that you want, and you’re going to be good to each other. Because I haven’t seen Alex hopeful in a decade, and because I’ve never felt something as strongly as I felt your love for him.”

“And…what about you?” he asks. His face has returned to its usual guarded expression, red-rimmed eyes the only indicator that something was up.

“Me? I’m gonna be just fine. I’ll hurt for a bit, be sad about the whole situation, even sometimes wish it could’ve been anyone other than Alex that you were in love with. But then I’ll start to get over it and I’ll be able to see you and him without feeling a little upset about it. We build a new normal.”

Michael scoffed at the word ‘normal’ but there was a slight uptick at one corner of his lips that had Maria thinking that maybe he wouldn’t mind a little bit of normal. He clears his throat and stands up from the stool.

“I’m—I wish things hadn’t been so—I’m just…I’m real sorry about all,” he waves a hand vaguely through the air, “this. And I hope it didn’t screw anything up with you ‘n Alex. I’ll see you around?”

“Give it a couple weeks first, then we’ll see,” she smiles and, even though it’s small and bittersweet, it is, above all, genuine. “Now, scoot before I decide that drink earlier wasn’t on the house after all.”

“I didn’t even—you’re the one who drank it!”

“Lotta talk for someone who’s supposed to be out the door already.”

Michael laughs, short and loud like he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Yeah, alright, I’m going,” he says as he opens the door. He stops and looks over his shoulder at her to give her a smile just as bittersweet and genuine as her own. “And, DeLuca? Thanks. For everything.”

[friendlylocalwhumper]

alex is @whump-sprite‘s oc.

Lux gives a small, squeaky yelp when his leg buckles and he nearly falls to his knees, catching himself on the back of the couch.

Something twinged wrong in his hip, and now his side, his whole leg too, is burning. The warlock makes a rough sound as he pushes himself back up and tests his weight on that leg. It holds, the problem isn’t the knee, it’s the hip. Remembering the source of lingering aches is hard, sometimes; this one reminds him of when his hip was dislocated, last time he was in the cellar, so he thinks it’s a remnant of that injury.

His perception of the space around him shifts. Instead of idly noticing the plants on the windowsill, the sunlight hitting the wood panels of the floor, he sees every remotely horizontal surface as something he can collapse onto if the pain spikes again. The floor, of course, is the nearest but hardest to lower himself onto. The chair over by the little reading table. The couch, the armchair, the papasan.

That hip twinges again, and the arm propping him up against the back of the couch trembles. The very slight new pressure on his arm makes his shoulder start to ache, too, and a lump catches in his throat. Why can’t his body pick one old pain and let him sort it out before the next builds back up?

Pushing off from where he leans, he tries to walk. He manages something of a stiff shuffling, maybe something reminiscent of how Anders walks on his less-painful mornings.

His hip makes an ominous snapping sound that he can hear, and feel the jolt of, but which brings no new pain - until it builds up, starts burning through his nerves, and with a strained yelp, Lux collapses to the floor.

He doesn’t want to bother anyone. Emory won’t be home for three hours. And as much as he wants to just use his magic to numb the offending joint and get back up, he’s scared that his magic won’t work. As in, he’s scared to even try, even think too much about trying, because he’s scared that one day it’ll just fail to work ever again. Surely, enough fear and pain associated with magic can make it wither up and die. He keeps forcing it when it’s not ready to be used, or when it’s drained or tucked away, and he’s, he’s just scared.

It’s fine though. He’s got a phone. He won’t call anyone for help, the pain’s manageable, it’s something that feels familiar. He doesn’t like being alone, so he’s reaching out for a bit of company while he works up the will to try to move.

hey alex, what’s up?

Seconds after he sends the text, it’s marked as delivered. Lux turned off the “send read receipt” setting because he got so nervous about people knowing when he opened their texts, judging how long he waited to answer, determining whether he was lying about having read what they sent when he just forgot about answering. But Alex hasn’t turned that setting off, so Lux can see that his text is read within two minutes.

    nothing much. grabbing pizza. want me to bring you some?

An invite to hang out. Lux bites his lip. Every time he’s invited to spend time with a friend, he thinks about the cellar. Remembers being alone for weeks, months on end, the only other person in his world bringing only pain. The kind of loneliness that set over him then feels permanent. Like any moment, he might be left behind and forgotten, deemed not worth the effort it takes to interact with him. It’s why he’s texting alex at all - he can handle being driven to lie on the floor as pain comes in constant, inescapable waves, but he can’t handle being alone while it happens.

Alex starts typing again, then stops. He’s considering changing the offer, maybe adding to it, maybe taking it away, since Lux isn’t answering right away. Not impatient, just worried.

sorry, Lux types and sends, apologizing for his delayed response. pizza sounds great! take your time i’m finishing something up you can come over in a bit!

He certainly can’t go out, can’t walk. Can’t even just walk to a car and sit in it. Alex can come here with pizza, though, that sounds like it won’t require moving much.

Lux does need to get up and over to the couch, though, at the very least. And hide the pain. There’s no question in his mind that it’ll be worth it, he wants to hang out with Alex, wants to have company.

Lux gets his arms folded at his sides, propping himself up on his elbows. Home alone as he is, he puts no effort into stifling the whimper that comes with the grinding of his pain-ridden joint; his shoulder, too, is protesting the movement. But he’s pretty good at pushing himself through pain like this, unless some grinding of bone physically stops the movement he’s trying to complete. Knowing Alex is coming over is good motivation not to give up. How could Lux forgive himself for inviting Alex over, making the healer let his guard down to have fun, and then making him heal, use up the little magic that he has burning at his nerves just for an old ache that Lux can handle?

He gets up onto his feet finally, putting most of his weight on his better leg. He wobbles slightly, arms shooting out to find some semblance of balance in the air, with nothing close enough to lean on.

In a painfully slow, whimpery shuffle, Lux makes his way over to the couch and then lowers himself gingerly onto it. Sitting makes his hip grind in a new way and he moans, jaw clenching so hard that a headache is coming on.

His hands fumble numbly for his phone. There are three new messages, about five minutes apart each, from Alex. Lux took longer to get up and over here than he thought.

    i’ll grab some sodas then too, then.

    okay, heading over, be there in a few.

    lux?

Fifteen minutes. That’s not too long to go without answering, right? Maybe Lux was in the shower, or finishing a chapter of a book, or cooking. It’s a normal amount of time to not look at your phone, if you’re busy. Alex doesn’t suspect anything - there’s nothing to suspect, no secret. Just something that Alex shouldn’t be bothered with. Lux starts typing his response with his left hand, slow and clumsy, since his right arm isn’t cooperating very well.

sorry! got distracted. are you here? you can come in!

He sets his phone down on the seat beside him and sets his expression to one that betrays no pain, eager to successfully hide his aches. He’ll honestly get downright scared if it’s found out. That’s usually how he feels about secrets. So Lux will move carefully, and make some dismissive comment about aches, and hope Alex doesn’t look very close. All Lux wants in the world is to be normal, to not be a hassle, and he’s going to try his very hardest to spend time with his friend, rather than beg someone for help with his pain for the millionth time. As Alex walks in, Lux’s hopes for being normal and relaxed are already dashed by his own mind. Don’t look at me, he thinks defensively, tensing a bit. Don’t hear my sounds, don’t ask questions, don’t figure out where I hurt just by noticing how I move. Please, I don’t want to be in pain, don’t make me think about it more.

Of course, Alex has no plan of digging out something that Lux is nervously hiding. He’s not seeing much past the three two-liter bottles of soda that he’s balancing on top of a box of pizza - clearly, he forgot which flavor is Lux’s favorite, so he just picked a couple different kinds.

“A-Alex, um, does - does your hip still hurt, sometimes?” Lux asks softly, hoping desperately that the question won’t make Alex upset. He knows that what happened to Alex in the cellar left him with some pain on top of the nightmares and fear, like his hip. It bothers Alex sometimes, and he doesn’t mention it. But Lux recognizes the movements of someone whose joints don’t always work how they should, much like Anders does.

Alex frowns and sets everything down on the table between them, taking the armchair and opening the box of pizza. “Uh, yeah. Why? Uh, it’s fine now, though.”

Lux blinks, and then feels guilty. Alex sounds like he finds the question awkward, or like he’s uncomfortable with talking about it. Maybe he thinks Lux noticed something - a limp, a wince, a flinch.

“Sorry, I - was just wondering if, if it still hurt, and if you knew how to make it, make it, hurt less, maybe.” He falters, realizing that he’s backed himself into a corner, here, and the reason behind his question is clear. I’m in pain, and I need help. He doesn’t want help, though.

Before Alex can say anything, Lux tries to add more of an explanation, tries to keep it casual. “I, just, mine is kind of achy today, and I was just wondering. B-but I don’t need healing, or anything, I mean there’s nothing to heal, mmh..” In his eagerness to clarify, he’s gesturing with his hands, but the movement needs to stop now if he doesn’t want to keen pitifully in front of his friend who just wanted to eat pizza and drink soda and talk about dumb fun stuff.

“Is it bad?” Alex asks, direct and quiet. Bad enough to need numbing magic, goes unsaid. Bad enough that I should offer?

“No, I can handle it. I’m okay. But, can you grab me a slice? ‘d rather not move.” He’d only have to lean forward, not even shift his position on the couch, to get his own slice of pizza. But Alex seems to understand that a simple tug anywhere near that throbbing joint will bring a level of pain that will erase thoughts and the ability to speak and any semblance of normalcy.

“Sure,” The healer answers, and grabs Lux a plate, and a cup for his soda, and the biggest slice from the box. No more is said about lingering aches in once-broken joints, or the balance between enduring pain and asking for help.

[thesinglesjukebox]

KITTEN - MEMPHIS

[6.82]

Time to take a big sip of coffee and log into AOL (Amnesty On Line)...

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: "Memphis" sounds like reminiscing about love on Sunday mornings, a cup of a tea in hand, your hair a mess, and your bed sheets warm but messy because you're a "bedroom guy" or "bedroom girl." The whole song is warm and familiar, like an audio recording of a weekend gone too fast. It's the hyper-nostalgic conceit of "Cornelia Street," mixed with the escapist conceit of "Run Away With Me," sung by someone who clearly was an "Avril kid." The bridge is where things really take off: lines like "we can choose a house on the hillside" or "I'll be a loving mom" are clearly romantic comedy fodder, but too sweet to be cynical about. Why not indulge in fantasy every once in a while? [7]

Katherine St Asaph: Generally I like Kitten more when they're trying to be Metric than trying to be "Closer." To be fair, "Memphis" is massively better-written, with a few good sardonic lines and a lot of subtext (and Chloe Chaidez has apparently also read that Max Martin interview where he talks about nicking from Prince the trick of making verses and chorus the same). The result is less Chainsmokers than Barenaked Ladies, less Alex Pall than Maria Mena, and I'm thrilled that nostalgia is starting to mine that '00s pop-rock tract. Though I'm a little less thrilled to realize that a large chunk of the audience for this was born after "Complicated" came out, and well after those modem sounds were commonplace (let alone the Missile Command sample!). [6]

Natasha Genet Avery: In a thorough pan of "Closer," Katherine noted that The Chainsmokers let "place names stand in for realism and Blink-182 references stand in for emotional depth." Memphis, like Tucson and Boulder before it, is nothing more than a euphonic non-coastal city, the "wooden fence" fails to avert the cliche of picket fence ennui, and Avril references and dial-up modem noises are an empty nostalgia play. +2 for Demolition Guy and Bedroom Girl, which I've claimed as my superhero and villain names, respectively. [5]

Iain Mew: The sound-world of this is so well put together, making connections seem obvious. Chloe Chaidez starts off with diffident vocals and a nagging chiptune riff combined like Neon Indian, but then transform it by running that through an Avril kid's version of pop-punk. It gives just the right amount of bite amid the whimsy. The dial-up modem noises as texture sum it up: otherworldly, abrasive and nostalgic for a very specific time and feeling. [8]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Oh the crackled fuzz of dial-up: it's the sound of one modem connecting with another, of new technology interfacing with older infrastructure. "Memphis" finds Chloe Chaidez engaging in the same sort of interactions: she talks of a "bedroom guy," reflecting on their past and staying hopeful for bright futures. The way the sample blends in seamlessly with the rest of the instrumentation, suffusing it with a soft wistfulness that perks your ears up -- it reflects how life can suddenly feel enormously different given the prospects of romance. Things may seem the same -- hell, things may actually be the same -- but a lover can make you reconsider so much. Soon, even the dullest moments of life -- the ugliest of buzzing noise -- contain a sliver of something charming. [7]

Alfred Soto: It took a few listens to get past the surface charms until I realized the surface charms were the charms: a "West End Girls" moved across the Atlantic and deposited in a Tucson subdivision where dial-up modems provide an outlet to sounds cooler than the kids will ever know. [6]

Nortey Dowuona: A thick slab of drums is dropped on top of a whirring synth patch with loping bass while shouting guitars are tangled in a mangled crash with whirring dial-up signals and spritzer synths, while Chloe Chaidez gently tells her beau to put her trust in her and never return to a place that holds a weight over them. [7]

Kayla Beardslee: Chloe Chaidez's vocals are so one-note that I'd expect the song to fall flat, but, thankfully it doesn't. There's still emotion in the softness of Chaidez's voice, the glitching dial-up sample and the guitars crashing around the fringes of the song, all of which work to build a wistful, romantic mood... I think? The dramatic situation is hazy: is this about an ending relationship ("By this time next, you'll be married," "And you let go, you are perfect"), an ongoing one ("Let's run away... We can choose a house on the hillside"), or something in between? And if the central romantic conceit of the track is unclear, how are we supposed to understand "And I/you/we'll never go back to Memphis" -- as bittersweet nostalgia, as happiness over maturing, as relief over a breakup, as general sadness? Ambiguity and multiple interpretations are fine, but the hook, as a guiding force behind the movement of a song, should have some clarity and strength to it, and I can't find that narrative clarity in "Memphis." [6]

Will Adams: The scuzzed up track, dial-up noises and Avril nod are there for nostalgia, sure, but what makes it work is the song's structure. The first two verse-choruses are near identical in lyrics and melody, with Chloe Chaidez's reflections veering almost bitter. It's not until the bridge when she drops her guard and turns toward an imagined future, and the swooning violin in the final chorus goes from cynical to sincere. "Memphis" yearns for comfort; its beauty is in realizing that it can be found not just in the past but in facing the present with someone you trust. [7]

Vikram Joseph: I love everything about this -- the unhurried, early-summer daydream of Chloe Chaidez's gently syncopated stream-of-consciousness, the pitch-shifted dial-up modem samples, the serotonin-rush chorus. For the most part, I have no idea what Chaidez is singing about, but it feels unerringly like falling in love. Avril Lavigne gets a goofy shout-out, and "Memphis" would have not just nestled comfortably on Let Go but would probably have been the best song on it. [9]

Alex Clifton: The dial-up tone sample distracts more than it adds, but it does evoke a sense of nostalgia. "I'm an Avril kid" does, too. It's nice to end the 2010s with a song that reminds me of the early 2000s, mostly because as time marches on I become increasingly aware of how distant my younger self is to my current self. But there's a part of me that lives eternally in 2003 with Avril Lavigne blaring on my stereo and endless dreams of what my future might hold, and this helps tie me to those memories so they never float away. [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[sapphicscholar]

Chapter Preview

Over the next few months, life in the Danvers household began to shift—slowly, sometimes nearly imperceptibly, but shift it did. The grief that had permeated the walls of their home didn’t disappear, but its sharp edges dulled slightly, fissures appearing in its once airtight seal.

The default at dinner was no longer silence broken only by tentative attempts at conversation and brittle, angry retorts. Pizza night no longer meant a twenty left on the table with a note from Eliza saying she wouldn’t be home; instead, it meant chilled pizza dough bought from the store with an array of toppings laid out along the counter and a pre-heating oven warming the house. A few nights a week brought J’onn to their table as more than a fourth mouth to feed. He brought with him chocolatey sweets that won Kara over within days, bottles of wine and aromatic bags of coffee beans to be shared with Eliza while Alex and Kara did their homework, attempted Earth recreations of old family recipes from Mars that managed to intrigue Alex long enough to interrupt days of defiant silence.

Late working nights moved from Eliza’s lab to the home office. She learned to exist once more among the traces of Jeremiah’s life—old notebooks full of the chickenscratch Eliza had deciphered during the first year of marriage, his unfinished experiments doomed to a life of incompletion, the father’s day cards and kitschy Best Dad Award Alex had purchased for him as a kindergartener still littering the corners of his desk. With tears prickling at her eyes, Eliza cleaned out the vials now moldy with useless samples, took stock of the progress reports that could be salvaged, put together an inventory of what she would need to continue with those projects they’d once dreamed of undertaking together but would now see Jeremiah relegated to the acknowledgements, all sentimentality edited out during peer review. And on the nights when the girls were busy but she was not, she let herself reminisce on the good times, spent hours with J’onn trading stories of falling in love and building a life and grieving its loss. And with every story shared, the overwhelming sadness inched backwards, each moment of laughter with her girls and happiness with this new friend prying back the cloying grasp of loneliness that had curled its way around her.

Each weekend, Kara woke before the sun rose to meet J’onn down on a quiet alcove of the beach where he sat with her, helped her practice deep breathing, sinking into a meditative state. After the first few weeks, he began helping her learn to stay grounded while she opened up the senses she normally worked so hard to clamp down on. She learned to hone them, to use them in a directed way that didn’t crush her with a rush of sensations. She sat with a hand pressed down into the beach, feeling every tiny abrasion of every grain of sand, letting their ridges and creases tell her the story of the rock and stone they once were, the lives they’d had before time and erosion crumbled them nearly into dust, bringing them to where she was. She let that hand in the sun-warmed sand ground her as she opened her hearing, listening to the murmur of the tides pulling the ocean out, the wind rippling waves across the surface of the water, the quiet bubble of underwater life, the low, slow rhythms of the earth’s plates shifting infinitesimally beneath them. She let herself taste the briney breeze, the sunscreen particulates that lingered in the air from days gone by, the slight ashy aftertaste from an old bonfire whose tendrils of dissipating spoke she could still see floating up into space.

And Alex was grateful for everything J’onn did for Kara. Hell, she wouldn’t say anything about it, but she was also grateful to him for bringing back a version of her mother she didn’t think she’d ever see again—perhaps hadn’t seen in full since before Kara’s arrival. Not that she was always like that now, but there were glimpses, moments when Alex could see the pride in her mother’s eyes, could feel the connection in the warm hand clasped in hers, could hear something other than rebuke and disappointment when she talked about wanting the world for her Alex. The gratitude for J’onn and moments of love for her family mingled with the anger still burning hot and bitter in her gut. But that anger at the world, that indignation expanded in its reach. What had once been bitterness about the fact that the world, some God too cruel for her to ever think about trying to believe in anymore, had taken away him, had taken him away from her, became something communal. A pain and anger that a part of her family had been ripped away from them—a shift that helped her to begin seeing the frisson of pain underlying those times her mother turned away from her, the traces of an anger turned in on itself humming underneath all of Kara’s insistences that Alex didn’t need to stick up for her at school, didn’t need to put her body between Kara and her tormenters.

Read the rest on AO3!

[tllthesundies]

I was tagged by @rosegoldhlfics & yes I should’ve done this the 31st of December because it was still 2018 & now it’s 2019 but I Did Not I Am Sorry. love you ri 🥰

—

List of works published this year:

poison & wine

england has my bones

reminiscing the other day

a love reaction

Work you are most proud of (and why):

you know what....I’m equally proud of them all. they’re all dear to me & revive something in me in various ways. poison & wine I’m proud of because....it brought me back to writing & it made me enter a trance I hadn’t experienced in a couple years; it was the very thing I needed to revive my creativity after a year long difficulty of feeling like I had lost it all & lost something significant to me. it was also a pairing I’d never written before but that I loved, & I executed it the way I dreamed of in my head. ehmb I love everything about, and despite a Very Very Minor sentence I’d rewrite, it was something I was begging myself to write. it was dire for my soul, & I love the ambiguity it exudes & how—if you wanted—you can choose what to believe about their relationship. there was no right or wrong. and how they played around each other & the longing on both their parts. for rtod, I’m most proud of the scene that followed louis walking out of the wedding after harry confesses how he should’ve kissed louis the second he saw him. the whole sex scene—it’ll be a rewarding day when I write an intimate scene better than that one; if I ever do. I’ve explained why before in an ask so I won’t repeat myself. I’m proud of alr for the way I could write a sort of love triangle of sorts on the surface while not being a love triangle beneath that exact surface. I’m proud of the way I could write louis, & alex, whom I’ve never written before in my LIFE. I’d been worried I wouldn’t write him the way I had it set in my head or make him come off the way I wanted, & I proved my lowly insecurity wrong.

Work you are least proud of (and why):

none.

A favorite excerpt of your writing:

I tend to choose the same one so let me pull an entirely different one from poison & wine.

Louis takes Alex’s chair that sits opposite the window since Alex took his chair next to the wall, and starts eating. Alex keeps his eyes on the crossword, growing frustrated that he can’t find eighty-one down or across.

He’s looked over this puzzle several times and it all looks the exact same to him, and he doesn’t understand it.

“You look angry,” Louis observes quietly, and Alex blinks, looking up to see him watching him carefully. “What’s the matter?”

“Can’t find eighty-one,” he explains, gruff.

“Le’me see.” Turning the paper around, Louis tilts his head as his eyes trail along it. He straightens himself almost immediately and turns the paper back around to Alex, placing his finger at the bottom of the puzzle and meeting Alex’s eye. “It’s right there. Sure you don’t need glasses, soldier?”

A soft huff escapes Alex. He shakes his head, trying to smooth his deeply furrowed eyebrows. They go right back to the way they were, though, giving him mild tension in the same area. “I’ve never needed glasses before,” he speaks quietly, “and I don’t think I’ll start needing them now. . . .”

He feels Louis’s eyes on him and he concentrates hard on the words to avoid shifting in his seat.

“Are you doing all right?”

Alex didn’t expect that. It’s strange — foreign — no. It’s been anomalous. He’s not used to living in close quarters with someone; no less a man. Living with someone before marriage is looked down upon, and living with a man is even more frowned upon; to a point where it’s life or death, no questions asked. If someone found out they were living with one another, they’d get beaten up then thrown out in the street — best case scenario, of course. But that’s far from what Alex is concerned about. He’s just . . . not used to someone noticing anything about him, or asking him something as simple as Louis had.

He’s been trying to adjust to that in the last few weeks, and it’s been difficult.

“What’s a three letter word for a high hill?” he counters.

“Tor. You’re a fool if you don’t think I haven’t noticed how sleepless you’ve been.”

Alex pauses, pencil tip pressed against the paper. Licking his lips, he asks, “How?”

“I’m a light sleeper, and you’re very loud,” Louis says by way of explaining, and takes a bite of his buttered, bean covered toast. He chews and swallows before continuing. “I don’t know if you know that. You disturb my slumber quite often. And the bags under your eyes are a dead giveaway, too.”

He pencils in Texas across for eighty-one. “I didn’t. I’m sorry, I’ll be quieter.”

“S’okay. So, what’s on that troubled mind of yours, soldier?”

That’s another, little thing. Louis tends to refer to him as soldier with this subtle, humourous note in his voice more than he calls him by his name. As if they’re good friends.

“You act as if we’re mates,” Alex says, lifting his head.

Louis’s quick, thin right brow arched in a harmless challenge. “Well, we are, aren't we? We share this place. I see you every day. I know you’re grumpy in the morning — or maybe that’s just your latest schedule making you that way. You don’t like beans very much, nor bacon, for that matter. You suck at crosswords — eighty-nine across is Assyria —”—he sticks his thumb in between his lips to lick off some bean juice—“and I’m confident enough to say I think you prefer coffee to tea, which is very controversial of you.”

Alex can’t help it, even if he tried — he chuckles. It’s soft, and it’s briefly lived, but it stretches his lips into an irresistible smile that smooths the pinched, tense skin between his eyebrows.

Louis’s own mouth curves into a satisfied smile, gaze lingering on Alex’s face in an indecipherable manner. “There we go,” murmurs he.

“What?”

“Thought I’d never see you smile. It’s a very handsome smile.”

That was bold to say to another man. It was dangerous. But Louis isn’t a fearful man. He’s a man of lively skin, soft, pigmented lips, very faint, iridescent purple bruising right under the inner corners of his eyes, and the sweetness of a sugar shop. He’s a man Alex didn’t think existed.

The compliment widens Alex’s smile an inch, and a cozy honey-like warmth colours his cheeks. It’s the first time in nearly a year he’s felt something under his skin that wasn’t dirt and grime. “Thank you,” he all but mouths inaudibly, his vocal chords’ life forgotten.

“And he has dimples,” Louis continues. “My, my. You’re full of surprises this morning.”

“You don’t have to wheedle my thoughts out of me, you know,” says Alex, and Louis lifts a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, turning his lips down in a similar brief manner. “If you must know, it’s — it’s nothing. I just haven’t been sleeping well lately, and there’s no particular reason why. It’s a normal occurance to everyone multiple times in their lives.”

Humming, Louis nods along as he chews. “Agreed; it’s normal. But it’s been a constant for a while. Sure you’re okay?”

The genuine, friendly concern that fills the crevices of his face and colours his voice stops Alex from making a sarcastic comment in return, inhaling deeply instead as he presses his lips together. “Fine.”

For the rest of breakfast, it’s silent, aside the occasional mumblings of Louis helping him finish the crossword. It’s the only thing they converse over. Then once Louis’s finished eating, he brushes any stray crumbs onto his plate and cleans it whilst Alex drinks the rest of his room temperature tea in calculated sips, gazing out the window at the colours of the risen sun reflecting against and over other buildings, clotheslines, automobiles, in hues of yellow and muted oranges casting shadows over the world.

He listens to Louis retrieve his uniform and make a ruckus in every which way he moves, before the bathroom door closes. Louis comes out few minutes later, but Alex doesn’t look at him when he hears him enter the kitchen.

“You know,” suddenly muses Louis, “I just want you to know you can talk to me. I consider you my friend. Just so you know.”

The muscles in Alex’s throat constrict as he takes a slow, quiet breath in. He looks away from the sun and to Louis. He’s in his work uniform, and Alex can’t deny he looks cute with the apron over his work shirt and trousers. “‘Course,” he replies plainly. “Have fun at work. Sneak me a sweet?”

Louis smiles. “I’ll see what I can do."

Share or describe a favorite review you received:

I appreciate & adore every comment I get, & to narrow it down is difficult. there are quite a few that were very dear to me & that I believe top each other equally. they’ve all made me feel like I’ve done something right & achieved something that can only be reached through souls.

A time when writing was really, really hard:

pretty much all of 2017?? I’ve never in my life experienced anything like it; I was so miserable thinking I probably couldn’t ever write again when it’s the absolute most vital thing to me & about me. I never want to go through that again.

A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

I expect everything I write, even the most absurd and unexpected.

How did you grow as a writer this year:

I stopped caring about anything that would encourage anything to eat away the beauty I see in everything I write, such as lists, others’ negative or unsupportive opinions, etc. the only thing I genuinely care about is my own viewpoint.

How do you hope to grow next year:

in whatever way my future self chooses to set straight.

Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

myself.

Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

always my feelings, which could be anything. it’s not black & white

Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

stop caring. stop acknowledging. start feeling.

Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

hmmm... I’m looking forward to finishing what I’m currently writing. & writing part 2 of alr. there are a few other projects, as well.

Tag three writers whose answers you’d like to read.

I tag @lads-laddylads & every other write I’m mutuals with whom I can’t remember off the top of my head because I’m not looking at my following list jejdnd

[illustratedtapes]

Welcome to Illustrated Tape’s favourite releases of 2018 that sounded and looked good, chosen by this year’s contributors. We’ve put together a playlist featuring one track from each of the releases featured so you can check out the sounds we were digging this year. Happy listening! 

➔ spoti.fi/2LCgrQp Listening in order recommended

Delta Sleep - Ghost City Big Scary Monsters, 10 August  Artwork: Owen Findley at Or8 Design Selected by Megan Reddi // IT014

This is my favourite music/artwork combo of 2018! The whole album is just amazing - it is beautifully arranged and has this lovely dreamy quality to it, with repeated musical motifs woven throughout to really pull the whole album together. Not only is Ghost City musically fantastic, but the artwork is beautiful and so fitting for the album. It is designed and screen printed by Owen Findley and the warm colours, imagery and textures are just spot on.

Definitely my favourite release of 2018. It is my go-to driving album and I will be blasting it while we’re driving around this Christmas!

➔ Listen to Illustrated Tapes 014: Nautical Dusk by Megan Reddi

Okay Kaya - Both Heavy Body, 1 June  Artwork/design: Kaya Wilkins, Aaron Maine, Phillip Wong

Selected by Hannah Buckman // IT016

Okay Kaya’s Both as an album that came out this year which I enjoyed, and which I feel has a strong visual component to it. To me the album feels sickly (in a good way), gloomy but still pop. I think the mood is conveyed really well through the Adinah Dancyger directed music vids and the album art. 

I liked finding out more about Kaya’s thinking behind the project, like how the twin in the videos is like a physical manifestation of trauma... it’s something that once I read I couldn’t stop thinking about. The idea of something traumatic inducing this birth of a second self, a kind of split off part that is still attached in some way to the whole, but there being a kind of safety in acknowledging what might be a darker part of yourself, from a distance. Also the album art kind of conveys the idea of duality and how that relates to race/sexuality, but I didn’t feel like that was really explored as much. I think I like this album ‘cos it kind of ties in with things (mentioned above) I’m currently interested in, but maybe it feels a bit surface-y at times.

➔ Listen to Illustrated Tapes 016: Protect Your Extremities by Hannah Buckman

Quavo - Quavo Huncho Capitol / Mowtown / Quality Control, 12 October  Artwork: Mihailo Andic 

Selected by Conner Perry // IT020

I think my favourite music/design combo of this year has to be Quavo’s Quavo Huncho. Not only is it full of bangers, the cover by Mihailo Andic is just brilliant. It really sets itself apart from the Migo’s visuals and changes the way you listen to the record. Definitely check out the rest of his work, especially the stuff for Lil’ Yachty. 

➔ Listen to Illustrated Tapes 020: Nice one bruva by Conner Perry

Parquet Courts - Wide Awake! Rough Trade, 18 May  Artwork: A. Savage

Selected by Holly St Clair // IT021

I was really late to the Parquet Courts party, but actually both of my initial encounters with their two recent releases have been solid arguments for the importance of decent album artwork. For both Wide Awake! and Human Performance I ran into - literally - the artwork before the music. Twice, two years apart, whilst wandering around London I turned a corner and came face to face with Adam Savage’s superb cover work. He smacked me in the face with poppy colours and amorphous dancing forms and I loved every moment. Add in an anarchic use of type and you’ve got me shouting, “Oh shit! A new Parquet Courts album!” to no one in particular outside an old meat market in Shoreditch.

A. Savage is both front man and painter and that adds a special flavour to the whole affair. Album marketing can be a laboured, commercially driven affair, there’s something authentic - a little DIY flavour - about this relationship between artwork and music. It’s a nice parallel to the musical throwbacks typical of the bands style. Wide Awake! dropped earlier this year and it’s fab. (Although, I love the artwork so much even if it was god awful I’d still buy the record and hang it on my wall.)

➔ Listen to Illustrated Tapes 021: To: You, Love: Me by Holly St Clair

D.A.L.I - When Haro Met Sally Burning Witches, 23 May  Artwork: Luke Insect

Selected by Thomas Hedger // IT017

According to my recently played, I’ve been stuck on a pre-'90s loop. I've crept slowly into 2018's releases picking out albums like books - by their covers - and it really paid off! I don’t often delve into electronic but I love this album, it’s a perfect blend of hopping on your bike and hitting the tracks, nailing the look of how the album feels in all its haze. A solid sunny day good time.

➔ Listen to Illustrated Tapes 017: Sink by Thomas Hedger

Young Fathers - Cocoa Sugar Ninja Tune, 9 March  Artwork: Tom Hingston

Selected by Katie Chandler // IT003

This cover was immediately striking and memorable to me. Upon listening to the album, I found that the artwork resonated with this feeling of odd, unrestricted expression. It's a little unsettling, ultimately bold and intriguing. Much like the music, it feels hot and cool all at once, like a burst of energy that leaves you in a sweat. It's the exhilarating soundtrack to your runner's high, and you're not really sure why you're running or what you're running from.

➔ Listen to Illustrated Tapes 003: Porch Light by Katie Chandler

Gesu no Kiwami Otome (ゲスの極み乙女。) - Suki Nara Towanai (好きなら問わない) Taco Records, 29 August  Selected by Greg Stasiw // IT009

Although it’s not the ambient and electronic fare I usually enjoy, Suki Nara Towanai (好きなら問わない) by Gesu no Kiwami Otome. (ゲスの極み乙女。) is a hoot. The artwork features a stylized neon pachinko machine. Or maybe it’s a console in a rad indie pop spaceship, which would also make sense for this funky fresh group! It feels somehow familiar, somehow alien, and altogether really, really cool.

The neon suggests something retro, and there are some retro leanings in their funkier tracks, but it's definitely neon as seen in 2018. Modern pop (and J-Pop) tropes emerge, but infectious basslines, tight drumming, and smart keys make this album something special. Some math rock even surfaces at times, and the remix included proves that this group goes for whatever feels fresh. One look at the artwork reminds me that this is one of the funnest albums I've listened to in a while. “Funnest” is definitely a word when you’re talking about this band!

➔ Listen to Illustrated Tapes 009: Atmospheres by Greg Stasiw

Aphex Twin - Collapse EP Warp, 14 September Artwork: Weirdcore

Selected by Alex Vissaridis // IT002

2018 was a great year if you grew up listening to the music I was into. Some of my all-time favourite artists released new stuff this year, and they didn’t disappoint. The artwork was pretty excellent too, but nothing grabbed my attention like the world created around Aphex Twin’s Collapse EP. Album art doesn’t seem to mean as much as it once did, so it’s always exciting when it appears outside of the little square on your screen in unexpected ways. 

This year, Aphex Twin logos appeared all over the world, from Elephant & Castle tube station to the side of a record store in Tokyo, designed in a way that made it look like the logo was collapsing into the environment around it. I’m a sucker for stuff like this; random cryptic messages that send internet detectives into a frenzy. It was eventually announced as marketing for the Collapse EP, but they kept the ‘collapsing logo’ visual going on the EP artwork, in the music video for the track ‘T69 collapse’, and even through to projection-mapped videos around London (again announced in typical smoke-and-mirrors fashion) and a collaboration with Crack magazine. Way more than just a collection of pixels.

➔ Listen to Illustrated Tapes 002: Tape Fuzz by Alex Vissaridis

Flohio - Wild Yout EP Alpha, 2 November Selected by Rachel Maughan // IT012

I got into Flohio after I saw her on COLORS in January with 'Band'. She's fucking explosive on that track, you can feel her spitting straight into your chest. She's been savvy with her producers and killed her work with God Colony - 'SE16' was my most played track of the year. Her 2018 EP, Wild Yout is a cocktail of perfection. 

Mashing up genres it's a high energy listen with punchy, grimey hip-hop that is uniquely South London. The artwork is beautiful simplicity - her achingly slick androgynous aesthetic, the clean photographic composition, with a flowing chain to bring it tightly back to SE. Gorgeous.

➔ Listen to Illustrated Tapes 012: High Rise by Rachel Maughan

Sudan Archives - Sink EP Stones Throw, 25 May Photography: Jack McKain Design: Jeff Jank

Selected By Tom J Newell // IT004

Sink submerges the listener in flowing loops and beats, with splashes of violin and vocals floating above the sunken monolith, which stands tall on the deep blue cover art. The composition is reminiscent of two of Jank’s other iconic Stones Throw sleeves, Donuts and Madvillainy and continues his striking yet varied art direction for the label.

Check out the ‘Nont For Sale’ video from the EP too, which adds powerful choreography and styling to create another successful visual accompaniment to the music. Much love to Sudan Archives and hats off to Jeff Jank. I painted a tribute to the cover art on a 12x12” piece of wood.

➔ Listen to Illustrated Tapes 004: FEAR. by Tom J Newell

Drinks - Hippo Lite Drag City, 20 April Selected by Molly Fairhurst // IT015

Hazy, dazed, an album I hold dearly to 2018 (and many strangely lit walks in a then new, unknown city).

A collaboration between Cate Le Bon and White Fence’s Tim Presley, the pair took an (isolated) retreat to St Hippolyte-Du-Fort in the south of France to record, frankly, crudely, seemingly, whatever the fuck they wanted to. Hippo Lite is born, a joyful, playful, sometimes quiet, sometimes screaming object.

What senses like an eavesdrop through closed doors rightly has a cover that can’t be quite understood- a narrow column of, at the glance of the reader, ‘nonsense’ notes, which flank photos of Le Bon and Presley. Both are snapshots of an absurd holiday we have been invited along to, so long as we sit across the table. A tender and private piece.

➔ Listen to Illustrated Tapes 015: The Wilder Woman by Molly Fairhurst

Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs - King of Cowards Rocket, 28 September Artwork: Sophy Hollington

Selected by Drew Milward // IT010

First off, this album is wall to wall, solid gold bangers. Kind of like the lovechild of The Fall and Black Sabbath, who has been cautioned by the police for possession of a massive bag of skunk, a bong in the shape of a skull and a copy of ‘The Holy Mountain’ on DVD. 

Aside from the fact it’s a full on riff-o-rama, the artwork by Sophy Hollington is absolutely incredible. It summons up the sound of the band, via folk horror infused wildness. It really captures the sonic landscape of the album, yet completely avoids any of the cliched imagery that could so easily have taken its place. It really is the whole package.

➔ Listen to Illustrated Tapes 010: BE GONE, YOU CREATIVE GREMLINS! by Drew Milward

Djrum - Portrait With Firewood R&S, 17 August Artwork: Michael Mitsas

Selected by Sam Ailey // IT001

Portrait With Firewood is one of those rare gems within the electronic genre - a true ‘album’. With holistic production, emotional range, and a captivating narrative, this really is a stunning listening experience from start to finish. Felix Manuel combines electronic and acoustic sounds seamlessly on this intimate record, with exceptional attention to detail in his sampling and tender piano sections played by Felix himself.

Michael Mistas’s cover art is a real departure from the typical design aesthetic of electronic albums and caught my attention straight away. I love its composition and rough, imperfect execution. To me these feels reflective of the range and depth of emotional states explored across the album, and the feeling that some things are easier to express through your craft than with words. Plus I’m a sucker for pink things.

➔ Listen to Illustrated Tapes 001: Quiet by Sam Ailey