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#michael vlamis

I sometimes post these small snippets on my IG, if anyone’s interested. Happy Malex Monday, y’all. J’aime mes garçons cosmiques et j’espère le meilleur pour eux 🥰❤️

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               Michael never wanted to wake up.

               The night had had a miserable beginning. Michael had been tossing and turning for the better part of three hours, had gone down into his bunker for the next two, but no matter what he did, the image of Alex lying unconscious haunted him and made his fingers tremble.

               Their last confrontation with Mr. Jones had left them little more than bruised, but the image of Alex lying there, limp and unresponsive, made him antsy. In the end, his thoughts were too overwhelming, and he found himself pulling up into Alex’s driveway.

               Michael tapped his thumb against the steering wheel. He shouldn’t have been there, he shouldn’t have come to bother an already restless airman, especially after having just healed. But his jaw was still clenched and his bones were vibrating, and if he didn’t see Alex soon, his mind would implode.

               He stepped out of his truck, exhaling slowly. He raised his fist to knock on the front door, and paused. What if Alex really was asleep? What if Michael knocked and woke him up just to make sure that he was still alive, and then he had trouble going back to sleep? What if he was still healing, and Michael dragging him to the door slowed that down?

               Michael pursed his lips. If he let himself in, he could check on Alex himself without the risk of bothering him. Keeping that thought in mind, the desire to see Alex breathing and resting safe so strong it nearly swallowed his heart and left a gaping hole in his chest, Michael undid the lock and silently swung the door open.

               He was careful not to make a sound as he walked the dark hallway. He was just starting to wonder whether or not he remembered where Alex’s bedroom was when he came upon the scene in the wide living room, and he stopped.

               There, nestled in a bunch of blankets on the carpet in front of the lit fireplace, was Alex. His back was to the door, so Michael assumed he’d turned over in his sleep. He wore a thick black hoodie, his face half-turned into his pillow, his cheeks red.

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Imagine Guerin telling Isobel and Max he is going to tell you the truth about them and encouraging they do the same.

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Imagine asking Guerin if he still loves you when you return to Roswell after years of being gone.

Guerin: “of course I still love you”

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Beery Christmas 🍺

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Shoutout to Vlamis for making my Guerin-As-Santa fic a reality. What a gift.

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               Alex had had a reputation when they were teenagers. Michael had heard more than a few mutterings about the emo kid with the skull-and-crossbones ring and the black eyeliner.

               “Don’t look at him,” girls had frantically whispered to their friends.

               “He’s so cute. Too bad he’s one of those.”

               Michael had wondered what ‘one of those’ was supposed to mean, but less-than-subtle stupid jokes from Kyle Valenti and his friends had told him everything he’d needed to know. Alex had been dark and angry and gay, which had made him a source of gossip, which had made him even more dark and angry.

               Michael had never had much of an opinion on Alex himself. The guy had looked so serious all the time, trouble etched in the tension of his shoulders, his straight spine, his permanent frown, as if he’d never thought anyone was worth his time – that Michael had known to stay away on his own. He’d had enough trouble to last a lifetime, he hadn’t wanted any more from some probably spoiled kid.

               It had been one afternoon though, when the last bell had rung and most of the students had left for the day, that Michael had discovered the truth. He’d heard guitar music coming from the music room, the door opened ajar. But there had been something else. Someone had been singing.

               Michael had slowed, and peeked in, curiosity getting the better of him. He had been shocked when he’d seen that the emo kid who he’d rarely heard speak was now playing a guitar and singing a song Michael had never heard before.

               But he had, in a way, known it. Alex’s words had spoken of masks, of lies that hid the ugly truth. The perfect veneer of a lovely, happy family, and being the furthest thing from it. Of being unable to tell anyone because who would ever understand? Who would ever listen?

               The longer Michael had listened, the more he’d realized how wrong he’d been. He’d recognized that pain in Alex’s words, in the furrow of his brows. His voice had been beautiful and soft and strong and terrified all at the same time. That this lie he lived with, this lie that people saw, that it was going to define him forever. He would forever be under the eyes of those who would never know, and never understand, how bad it really was.

               And Michael had suddenly thought of past foster parents who’d pretended to be caring and loving and happy to have him as their son, when the truth was beatings and shouting and pain. And Michael had tried too many times in the past to know that, after a while, trying did nothing. He’d managed to rid himself of that, of the cruelty and abuse and fear, but Alex …

               It was then Michael had started to notice things about Alex he’d never noticed before. Sometimes he’d scrunch his shoulders, as if pained to move a particular arm or reveal his hip. Sometimes Alex’s eye looked swollen underneath his eyeliner, and sometimes … sometimes Alex smiled around Liz and Rosa Ortecho and Maria DeLuca. Sometimes he even laughed, and it was … everything.

One day Michael had found himself wanting Alex to talk to him, eager for his attention. He had no idea if he was welcome to just walk up to him, and had no idea what he would even say if he could, so he came into the music room. And he found Alex’s guitar, and a stupid thought had occurred to him.

               But it’ll bring Alex to me, he’d thought, and that had been good enough.

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Vlamis really dgaf about ships that aren’t malex huh

(screenshot from @gra-sonas malex merch live transcript)

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I just changed my header, because the asshat is gone, I put Tyler and Michael as my header from an Instagram picture.

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roswellnmcostumes Been awhile since we had a Malex Monday 👽👽 Crash Con season 2
@cwroswellnm @michaelvlamis @tylerjblackburn #malex Photo by @lajoella 👽👽

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First teaser of my new malex fic, Heroes Never Die

Alex suspects that an interaction from his past has given him powers that are now spiraling out of control and destroying Roswell, but no one believes he’s responsible. After failing to get the help of the people he loves, Alex must turn to an enemy for guidance.

Featuring Dark!Alex, betrayal, and a Mr. Jones/Alex collaboration


               Alex woke to arguing. Even at ten years old, he’d recognized the screams as something that happened often.

               “Just stay in your room,” Gregory had told him with a trembling attempt at a smile one night, when the arguing got particularly loud and even his older brother couldn’t keep the tears from rising to the surface. “Stay in your room and don’t come out. Okay?”

               And for his brother, Alex had simply nodded, though this night he couldn’t just stay in bed. So he’d swung his scrawny little legs over the edge, his teddy bear in his arms and his royal-blue blankie trailing behind him. He reached up to the door handle and opened it, the yellow light of the corridor flooding in.

               He was cold and thirsty and hot and nauseous all at the same time. He felt weird, like above the shouts in the living room, there was a softer voice, alluring and warm, singing to him, asking him to come closer.

               But, Alex thought as his parents’ voices rose, they’re fighting again …

               Don’t be afraid, the voice seemed to say, its words melodic and promising, I’ll protect you. No one will lay a finger on you …

               Alex’s legs seemed to move on their own, urging him forward.

               “You shouldn’t have opened it!” his father yelled. “You shouldn’t have gone near it!”

               “Jim Valenti warned me you’d taken something you weren’t supposed to, Jesse!”

               His father glared. “Why are you listening to him instead of your husband?”

               “He was afraid for this family. Certainly more afraid than you are!”

               “Valenti’s a paranoid old man,” Jesse said ruthlessly. “He’s been trying to take that piece from me for weeks! I couldn’t leave it with him!”

               She scoffed. “He’s paranoid?!”

               “He’ll pay for his little intrusions,” Jesse promised.

               “Listen to yourself!” his mother demanded. “Who could blame Jim for wanting to warn us, that thing isn’t from here! I’ve never seen symbols like that, I don’t trust it!”

               “You’re delusional,” he growled. “I know what I’m doing!”

               “I don’t think you do! Bringing it to the house?! Where our children are?!”

               “I’m not the one who brought it out into the open! You know better than to go near my work! You didn’t touch it, did you? Did you?!”

               “No, I didn’t touch it!”

               “Why would you open the damn bag in the first place? Why?!”

               “Because!” his mother snapped. “I-It was calling to me, there’s something not right about that … that …” She sighed shakily. “Jesse, what is it? What’re you doing out in Caulfield?”

               “I told you –”

               “Go ahead!” she cut him off. “Lie to me again!”

               His father turned silent for a moment. Alex edged closer into the living room, peeking at his parents from behind the corner. He saw Jesse glare at Mindy before he turned around with a huff, running a hand through his short hair.

               “You had no right to go through my things.”

               “You had no right to bring it here! Look at it!”

               Alex tried to. His mother’s dark brown hair fell around her shoulders, her dark, teary eyes narrowed at her husband as if struggling to see him at all. She pointed at something that sat on the entryway table, the duffel bag that it had been hidden in laid open, revealing some kind of thick … was that glass?

               “I can’t take this anymore, Jesse,” his mother was saying as Alex inched closer to the strange, colorful toy. “I don’t know who you’ve become, but it’s not the man I married.”

               “Be careful what you say next, Mindy,” his father warned. “We’ve had this discussion before, and we’ve agreed that my work is important –”

               “No, you told me you were trying to help people. This is not helping people! That you would risk your own children –”

               “Don’t bring the boys into this! There would be no risk if you hadn’t been meddling with things that you don’t understand!”

               “I told you,” his mother said, hurt, “I didn’t know what I was doing! It was like I was … compelled!”

               “Then you do get it! You can see the unknown and hostile forces at work here –”

               “All I see is that you lied to me, and something else is going on that you’re not telling me about. Who knows what this thing could do …”

               But their voices faded to background noise, like Alex was underwater. He was just tall enough to see over the entryway table, his eyes wide on the beautiful gold and purple and pink of the glass, rippling and blending together like watercolors. There were glowing symbols on the surface, symbols that made no sense to Alex. But then, maybe they shouldn’t. Maybe they’d be clearer when he was older. All he knew was that this toy was prettier than anything he’d ever seen.

               The singsong voice became louder in his ears, urging him to touch.

               You want to be stronger, don’t you? it said. To stop the fighting? Stop all of the noise? That’s what you want, isn’t it? Silence at last? I can give you that power …

               Alex didn’t think he wanted power, didn’t think he cared about it much. But …

               He looked back over at his parents, still screaming at each other, eyes filled with a hate and betrayal that Alex didn’t think loving parents should have. He wanted them to be happy. He wanted the yelling to stop. He wanted his father to read them bedtime stories again and tuck them in. He wanted his mom to smile with her whole heart and sing in the kitchen like she used to do. He wanted to reassure his brothers that he could keep them safe, too.

               Anything you want, the pretty toy promised, whatever your battle, you will have the power to win . . .

               Alex’s teddy bear and blankie fell from his arms. He reached up with his small fingers. The symbols glowed brighter the closer he came. It was choosing him, he could tell. It had been waiting for him. He had no idea what it would do exactly, but it wanted to help him. He felt an odd tingling in the base of his spine, a small voice muttering, This is a bad idea …

               But his parents were still yelling, and his brothers were still afraid, and Alex was too small and weak to fix any of it. Maybe with this he could help. Maybe he could make it all better. Maybe winning was what it took to save everyone he loved.

               He could feel the heat of the glass against his skin, an echoing pulse that matched his own racing heart, as if the piece was alive. As if it was part of him.

               Before he touched the rippling surface, his parents’ voices broke through the haze of his thoughts, of the singsong, melodic voice promising him everything would be okay now.

               “ALEX!” his mother screamed.


               But it was too late. Alex touched the glass, felt something like lightning shoot up his arm and throughout his body, and sat up in his bed in a cold sweat.


I’ve been wanting to do this idea for over a year, I’ve imagined scenes and the aesthetic a million times. I gave a little taste of what it might look like in my October Halloween 2019 fics, and this will expand on that concept a lot more. I’m so excited for it, and I hope y’all are, too ❤

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“I didn’t even know this kinda place could exist in this town,” Michael said, looking up at the grand ballroom ceiling, small silver stones embedded into the cream marble walls, the silver railings and ceiling-high windows that led out onto four balconies.

The guests of the ballroom, all in suits and floor-length dresses, chatted with their small groups, a glass of wine or champagne in their hands. But there was one particular guest Michael and his friends were most interested in; Bo Swindell. Or, as Alex had uncovered him to be last week, a Project Shepherd agent who they suspected ran another Caulfield facility just outside of Roswell.

Isobel scoffed, brushing something off her white sleeve, her pantsuit immaculate and making her stand out like a diamond amongst the hoards.

“Just because some people don’t mind having their dinner on hay-covered grounds doesn’t mean everyone else is inclined to follow their example,” she said. “Soak it in, Michael. Smell that Cartier and Armani?”

“It’s suffocating.”

“It’s taste.”

“Leave him alone,” Liz said, amused. Unlike Isobel, she didn’t seem to realize the effect she had in her long black dress. She patted his shoulder proudly. “Mikey actually dressed up for this!”

“Ugh,” Isobel said with a roll of her eyes. But Michael was inclined to agree with Liz.

His dark jacket thrown over the nicest shirt he had and dark jeans were about as prim and proper as he was going to get.

“It’s cowboy elegant,” Alex assured her from where he stood against the wall, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

It wasn’t working. Even hiding among the champagne glasses, Alex attracted the raised brow or the interested smirk or the blatant mental undressing from every other guest that passed them by. It annoyed Michael, but he couldn’t blame them.

The last time he’d seen Alex in a suit was at Noah’s funeral, and he’d been sufficiently drunk and pissed off enough then to push past the sheer want and settle on the fury. Alex had been everything he’d wanted and was another reminder of something else he was no longer allowed to have. So he’d made the perfect target for Michael’s anger.

Now, as Alex stood there looking like a dream in his deep gray blazer and slightly tousled hair from having run an anxious hand through it, he was still someone Michael couldn’t have, but Forrest was away at a conference and it made things … different. Alex’s boyfriend wasn’t here, and Michael was, and to stand so close to him without the reminder that he was taken shoved down his throat, Michael couldn’t help but shift on the marble tiles, scooting closer to him.

Alex glanced at him, and said nothing.

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You have a sick, twisted sense of humor, just like me. 
You bring it out in me.

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