#babble anagrams

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

harry potter timeline sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER THREE (see full series list here)

1992

The first day of term is always fun. Everyone arrives at breakfast happy and excited, the first years arriving particularly early because they're scared they'll miss it.

You take a seat at the staff table, a copy of Astronomy's Articles under your arm. You settle yourself between McGonagall and Hagrid. McGonagall's currently engaged in conversation with Dumbledore.

"Morning, Hagrid," you greet cheerfully and he looks up, giving you a great grin.

"G'mornin'! 'appy first day of term!" He booms and you chuckle.

"Happy first day of term."

You pile breakfast items on your plate, summoning a teapot from the middle of the table to pour some tea into your cup. With a wave of your wand, Astronomy's Articles opens itself in front of you on the first page, and you read as you eat.

"Anything interesting?" You hear Dumbledore's voice beside you and with the call of your first name you turn to him and shrug.

"Nothing I hadn't seen myself! There should be a meteor shower at around 12-ish on Friday night," you reply. "Meteor showers are wonderful, I would definitely recommend."

Dumbledore hums thoughtfully. "I have had the treat of viewing quite a few meteor showers in my lifetime," he says. "Once, I could have sworn that the meteors seemed to form the shape of a very animated chocolate frog."

McGonagall chuckles quietly and you join her.

"How do you know it was a chocolate frog and not just a regular frog?" You ask.

Dumbledore considers this for a moment. "I suppose I must have had a particular craving for chocolate that evening," he replies simply.

His plate is empty, clearly having awoken much earlier than you, and you return to your breakfast, flipping the page of your magazine onto a puzzle page, littered with crosswords, word searches, anagrams and some sudoku squares. Something for later, you think.

"How was your summer, Minerva?" you ask. Her first name has always felt odd on your tongue, after you spent 7 years of your life calling her Professor McGonagall.

"Oh, it was fine," she replies. "Nothing too extravagant."

"Did you go to any quidditch matches?"

"A few. I seen — "

"RONALD WEASLEY!"

You jump at the loud yell, turning to the source of the screech: a red envelope floating in front of Ron Weasley's face at the Gryffindor table. You exchange a look with McGonagall, returning your eyes to the scene playing in front of you.

Mrs Weasley's outraged yells are so loud that plates and spoons rattle on the Gryffindor table. Harry is wide-eyed beside him, watching in horror as Ron dips so low in his seat that only the top of his crimson forehead is visible.

" — STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE — "

You wince, knowing well how it feels to receive a howler at school.

Poor Ron.

"— LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED — "

Harry's face has turned the same shade as Ron's, and every eye in the Great Hall is on the howler.

"Bloody hell, just run out of the hall, Ron..." you mutter under your breath in exasperation.

McGonagall hums in agreement beside you.

"— ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED — YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."

The howler then spins around to Ron's younger sister, Ginny, and its tone changes drastically. "Oh, and Ginny, dear, congratulations on making Gryffindor. Your father and I are so proud."

The howler drops and bursts into flames and curls into ashes. Harry and Ron sit stunned, as though trying to comprehend just what had a happened. A few people laugh before gradually a babble of talk breaks out again.

You chuckle, opening your magazine again and flipping the next page. "Happens to the best of us."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You wander down to the dungeons, your shoes audibly clicking against the hard stone floors. You wrap your arms tightly around your body, your hands bunching your woolly sweater at your sides.

You had spotted a poster for a 'duelling club' run by Lockhart and it had piqued your interest. You wanted to attend to make sure someone didn't die or get fatally injured because Lockhart seemed the type to not know a defensive jinx if it punched him in the face.

You push open the big wooden doors to the room he's occupied. Several students turn to look at you, but your eyes land on another man standing beside Lockhart, an unimpressed expression on his face.

Hm. Looks like Snape and I have had the same idea.

"Seems we have a late comer! No matter, join in with the rest, young lady!" Lockhart chirps.

You sigh, walking up to him to stand next to Snape. "It's me, Gilderoy." You tell him your name and he just blinks blankly.

You narrow your eyes in confusion. "We work together."

Blank.

"I literally sat beside you at breakfast this morning? You asked if I'd read your book."

Lockhart just stares in confusion, before his face contorts into an overdramatic picture of recognition. "Ah, yes! Yes, of course, I — uh — I recognise you, yeah! Of course I do!"

You scoff, rolling you eyes as he turns around to face the students. "Prick," you mutter under your breath.

You watch as Lockhart steps out onto the long, narrow stage and walks ostentatiously along it. "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can everyone hear me?"

A beat.

"Excellent! Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little Duelling Club, to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works."

You have to cough to cover up your derisive snort.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," Lockhart says, flashing a wide smile. The look on Snape's face when Lockhart calls him his assistant is absolute gold. Then, his eyes lock on you and he pauses for a moment, nodding to himself. "And, well, we also have our dear, uh...Astrology Professor here too!"

"Astronomy."

"Astronomy! That's what I said," Lockhart continues. "Professor Snape tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry — you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

You raise your eyebrows, glancing over at Snape as he pulls his wand from inside his robes, stepping out onto the stage to face Lockhart. As much as you have a...tumultuous relationship with Snape, you would definitely not be as keen and enthusiastic as Lockhart is to try and duel him.

You're excited to see that smug grin wiped off Lockhart's face, though you would love to do it yourself. You bet he'd remember your name after that.

Lockhart and Snape turn to face each and bow, though Lockhart's is considerably more flamboyant with much twirling of his hands while Snape jerks his head irritably. They raise their wands in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart tells the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"One...two...three — "

Both of them swing their wands up and over their shoulders. Snape cries, "Expelliarmus!".

There's a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart's blasted off his feet, flying backwards off the stage wildly and smashing into the wall.

You bite your lip to stop your laughs.

You notice some of the Slytherin students cheering while others nervously watch Lockhart in anticipation, collectively breathing a sigh of relief when he unsteadily staggers to his feet.

The look on his face is priceless.

"Well, there you have it" he says, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm — as your see, I've lost my wand — ah, thank you, Miss Brown. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it instructive to let them see..."

"Well, what spell would you have used, Professor Lockhart?" You pipe up, ultimately stirring the pot to make for a more interesting evening.

You remember when there was a duelling club in your school days. You'd had the pleasure of being paired with Lucius Malfoy, delicately delivering a few hexes to him. He'd had to walk around school with an ear the size of his ego, which was quite the difficult feat because it was exceptionally gargantuan.

Lockhart blinks stupidly at you, rolling a hand through his wavy blond hair. "Well, the Shield Charm, of course!"

"Shouldn't you demonstrate that as well?"

"Well, I — I hardly think the students want to see another demonstration...I'm sure they're dying to try it for themselves!" Lockhart stumbles.

You shrug. "I just think the students might want to witness...what does it say in your book? 'An extraordinary display of barely comprehensible wizarding prowess'?"

Lockhart's mouth opens and closes twice as he tries to think of something to say in return, before landing on a great grin and wiggle of his eyebrows at you. "Well, alright then! I'll let you try and defend my spells, young lady!" He eyes Snape, laughing nervously. "Best give you a break, Professor Snape!"

Snape mutters something under his breath and steps off the end of the stage to stand beside his Slytherin students.

You pull your wand from your pocket, facing Lockhart, bowing.

"One...two...three!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!"

A blast of red light explodes from Lockhart's wand, and as though there was an invisible shield in front of you, it bounces off harmlessly and is deflected into the roof.

Lockhart lets out a relieved sigh, as if he was expecting it to rebound and hit him instead. He chuckles lightly, regaining his confidence. "It's a good thing I went easy on you there!"

You blink at him, unimpressed. "Truly."

"Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professors, if you'd like to help..."

You start moving through the crowd, but Snape beats you to Harry, Ron, and Hermione first. You watch as he splits the two boys up, Ron huffing as he moves over to Seamus Finnigan, and Snape beckons Draco Malfoy over to pair with Harry.

You wince, well aware of their rivalry. They almost remind you of James and Snape when they were young, though that was a much more inequal affair at the time.

You sigh, pairing others together and stepping out of their way to observe their moves.

Well.

Disastrous is a kind word for the carnage you witness.

Lockhart is screaming hysterically over the battling crowd, attempting to quell the fights. The pair in front of you, Pansy Parkinson and Parvati Patil, are unleashing whatever horrible spells they can think of. Pansy's face has broken into a million boils, and Parvati's left hand is currently repeatedly hitting her own face.

"Hey!" You shout at the two. "Finite Incantatem!"

Parvati's arm stops moving, and Pansy's face stops breaking out. Some of the boils recede and disappear, while some linger and you sigh.

"Madam Pomfrey's," you say to her and she scampers off, screeching about Parvati on her way. "Where the bloody hell did they learn those spells..." you move away from Parvati.

Lockhart skitters through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. "I said disarm only. I think you may need another demonstration on how to block unfriendly spells...how about a volunteer pair — Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you?"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," says Snape. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox. How about Malfoy and Potter?"

You scowl. How could he be so cruel? "Mr Longbottom is perfectly capable of performing a simple shield spell, Professor Snape."

He glares at you, black eyes glinting maliciously. "Well, best not allow for any risks, yes?"

"You're being unreasonable — "

Lockhart looks between the two of you, as though choosing which side is the safer option. In other words, which of you he'd least like to piss off.

"Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter, let's see how you fare!" Lockhart booms nervously and you click your tongue, glaring at Snape. His face contorts into a twisted smile as the two boys step up onto the stage.

"Now, Harry," Lockhart says, "when Draco points his wand at you, you do this."

He raises his own wand, attempting a complicate sort of wiggling action.

He drops it.

He picks it up, saying, "Whoops — my wand is a little over-excited."

Snape bends down to Malfoy's ear, whispering something in it. Harry looks nervously up at Lockhart and says, "Professor, can you show me that blocking thing again?"

Lockhart cuffs Harry merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what I did, Harry!"

"What, drop my wand?"

You snort. He is his father's son, that's for sure.

Lockhart isn't listening though, excitedly shouting, "Three...two...one...go!"

Malfoy raises his wand quickly and yells, "Serpensortia!"

The end of his wand explodes. You watch in shock as a long, black snake shoots out of it, falling heavily onto the floor between them and raises itself, ready to strike.

"Don't move, Potter," Snape says lazily, clearly enjoying the spectacle in front of him. "I'll get rid of it."

"Allow me!" Lockhart shouts, and before you can do anything, he brandishes his wand at the snake and there's a loud bang, throwing the snake ten feet up into the air and landing back down on the floor with a loud smack. Enraged and hissing furiously, it slithers straight towards Justin Finch-Fletchley and raises itself again, fangs bared, poised to strike.

Panic sets in through your body and you flick your wand, frantically yelling, "Immobu — "

Then, a hissing sound. You watch in disbelief as Harry walks forward towards the snake, hissing at it, and it slumps to the floor, docile, its eyes now on Harry.

Justin stares at Harry in horror. "What do you think you're playing at?" He shouts, and storms out of the hall.

"Harry..." you say gently, trying to appear calm and collected, despite genuinely thinking you may have jumped out of your skin.

Snape steps forward, waving his wand, and the Snape vanishes in a puff of black smoke.

Ron grabs the back of Harry's robes, tugging it and pulling him out of the hall. It's utterly silent and tense in the room and you swallow hard.

"Alright, everyone, I think it's time to get going," you announce, and the students obediently depart from the room, muttering between themselves.

Snape makes to leave but you grab onto the arm of his robe angrily and he turns to glare at you.

"What were you thinking, telling Malfoy to summon that snake? He was supposed to be practicing a shield charm!" You snap.

"A let down on Potter's part. He was unable to cast the shield charm."

"Oh, don't give me that. You knew what you were playing at, you shifty — "

"It is my fault," Lockhart chimes in and you think you can genuinely feel your will to live slipping from your grasp. "I weakened the snake to allow for young Mr Potter to have a better chance, but it seems I should have — "

You spin and glare at Lockhart. "Oh, really, is that what you were doing? Because it seemed to me like you just mumbled out whatever sounds came to your thick skull and hoped it'd do something!"

"Now, now, young lady — "

"It's Professor, you dimwit! I am a grown woman, I am your colleague! Don't patronize me!"

You scoff, anger bubbling terribly in your veins, as you brush off the front of robes and glare at the two idiot men in front of you. "Don't you ever put your students in danger again. You should be ashamed of yourselves."

You spin on your heel and angrily storm out of the hall.

->-> read chapter four here!

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

[cq-studios]

This one screenshot has so much I want to talk about in it so I’m gonna babble about it below the cut

(TLDR: CQ geeks out about translating the Scala Language)

Okay, so first off I’d like to say how much I love the newspaper vibe they are going for and achieving with menus. It has me gnawing on the walls. There’s just Scala Script (the Scala language, for clarity’s sake) everywhere and my code breaking brain is eating it up.

Speaking of which here’s what I’ve been able to translate so far (out of what I’ve been able to make out… the writing is pretty scuffed up in places and it’s not the highest quality image lol)

So the first thing I’d like to focus on are the banners. Each one has something written in Scalian underneath. Those things in order of left to right are “Daily”, “Item”, and “Avatar”, which uh, makes sense lol.

I think it’s a little strange that “Item” is the only one that isn’t exactly translated… like did they just forget the “S”?

On a more interesting note though, this one for one translation here means we now have an official Scalian character for “V”. Unfortunately the character used is pretty scrapped away, so I can’t be 100% sure, but I do think I know which character is used.

(Click/tap on the images below… for whatever reason they were just not formatting correctly)

I also considered it being the one below, but because of the location of the flecks I lean more towards the first one.

I also might have translated another new Scalian character but I’m not sure…

See, on the bar at the top of the screen it says “[unknown character]ho[same unknown character]colates”. I spent at least an hour trying to find out all the possible English words what it could be. I just filled in the blanks tried anagrams, the whole shebang (except for trying that with the other languages that are most likely to be used. Those being Japanese, for obvious reasons, and Latin, which has been used in Scala Script before on the manhole covers in KH3 Scala) and came out with one possible word: Chocolate.

And I must be wrong because that makes no sense, but in case I’m right, it’s here.

I tried to cross reference with KH3 signs to no avail so I’m a bit stumped…

Maybe the little blurb on the other side makes it make sense but it’s too blurry for me to read.

Next up I’ll talk about the “Weather”.

The top text is decently clear so I was able to work that out pretty quickly (pros of being fluent in this fictional language I guess lol) and thanks to that clear text I was actually able to make out a bit more of what was below it than I would’ve otherwise. See, the smaller letters are pretty blurry but I’m able to vaguely make them out. The “L” and “W” were what I caught first and I filled in the blank between pretty fast with some pretty simple connections. Once I’d seen that I realized that there was probably a high there too, and there do seem to be “H”s on either side of the word above it… and a “G”… and an “I” (I think, I was trying to double check but my iPad has significantly worse image quality than my computer).

As for the temperature, I tried my best but the numbers are probably inaccurate. They are very blurry.

Last but not least, here are a few of my smaller notes.

I’m a big fan of the Moogle stamp, but I could not tell you what the first word on that thing is. The second is “news”, clear as day but the first word doesn’t have any characters I recognize other than the “S”. I tried coming up with possibilities through context but I’m drawing a blank.

I also love the little Potion and Elixir advertisement in the bottom corner. Like, I’m so charmed by the art for it. That being said though, I also have no clue what the text next to this one says. I’m sure it’s an onomatopoeia of some sort but once again my brain wasn’t working with me.

If you guys have any ideas please let me know. I always love to have discussions and help.

(Also I know I left a whole text box out… I honestly have nothing to say about that. Not enough characters I recognize to decipher anything at this point)

[soiiguessthiisiisathiing]

I just got Clausten lovechildren on the brain~

(I also have a whole idea on how love children are created so- if you’re interested feel free to read here)

Now introducing! ✨ The Bois ✨

I imagine Claus and Ninten having twins. With Claus being a twin and Ninten having twin sisters it just makes sense to me (plus I love twin characters haha)

And thus, Tess and Jesse!

Tess is named after Tessie (from Tazmily, I love the hc that she really looked after the boys after their mother passed away), when Claus and Ninten did their name reveal however, Jeff whole-heartedly thought the pair were cryptid fans, doesn’t help that the baby inherited purple hair from Nin’s side.

Jesse is a rhyming name with Tess which Ninten was super excited to incorporate lol. Other name options were Lincoln and Collinn (yes, with two N’s, as an anagram like Lucas and Claus’), and Nolan and Dolan (which was more of a joke made by Claus, which Ninten in return was going to take 100% seriously)

Their “baby/childhood’ nicknames are Tessie and Jessie.

More info:

Parenthood

For the first couple of days when they were born, Claus was a bit reluctant to touch them- scared he was gonna hurt them. Ninten would then go and take his left hand, gently guide it to one of the sleeping babes and press his hand on one of the babies, telling him not to worry and that he shouldn’t be scared, since he’s their father after all. (This did in fact made Claus, and I, cry)

Clausten adjusted into parenthood fairly easily, something about them being responsible older brothers making them pretty ok dads. They’re a little messy, but most first time parents are. (Especially with twins haha) Claus and Ninten take turns disciplining and teaching the kids, Ninten being the more stern parent than Claus. (Definitely the perks of being the older big brother and ‘man of his house’ at a young age). Claus is a bit scared to discipline his kids, but he does a great job teaching them about good morals and about the world. They go exploring on ‘mini expeditions’ bringing back nature scrapbooks and rocks to decorate the windowsills and shelves at home.

Ninten ended up being a lot more motherly than he would’ve imagined as a parent, very caring towards the boys and always thinking of things to do for their needs. He’s always singing and dancing with his boys. Making everyday very fun and whimsical, providing fun make-believe scenarios about fairytales and fantasy.

Claus on the other hand, grows to be a lot like his dad. This is actually something Lucas caught earlier on once the brothers became more like adults. Claus is very quiet when parenting, much more happy to just watch his lover and his kids playing, rather than joining them. When he watches the boys however, he does it quietly, telling them about things if they point it out and eagerly responds but with a calm demeanor.

Personality

When the boys reach more into a toddler age, it is very noticeable that Tess is a LOT more energetic than his twin. Jesse is a daddy’s boy, so he is constantly being cuddled and held. On family outings, it’s common to find Claus chasing Tess around aimlessly, while Ninten has Jesse practically glued to his chest, face not even facing other people, just pressed into his dad.

Tess acts a lot like younger Claus, just more giggly and optimistic (I imagine baby Claus was more energetic and hot-headed, but Tess is here to have a good time) Tess is a YAPPER, however, constantly just babbling on and on about the randomest things, “Oh? It’s a bird! 🐦 ☺️ hi Mr. Birdie! Daddy, Mr. Birdie is blue! Daddy, is Mr. Birdie going home? Daddy? Daddy! Look! Look!”

Jesse acts like a younger Lucas and Ninten. He’s a quiet kid with separation anxiety. Pretty much refuses to talk unless he thinks it’s absolutely necessary, like saying good night to his dads or telling on his brother who ate all his cheerios. He also idolizes Ninten, and wishes to be just like him!

*Tying scarf around his neck* Nin + Claus: “Jessie what are you doing baby?”

Jesse turns around, proud of his work, the scarf was roughly tied, but it is still held together, the toddler stands in a hero pose tiny hands on his hips, eyes gleaming, and spoken in a little raspy voice, “Look. Jessie look like daddy!” 😊 He stands proudly.

————————————————————

AHHHH - I got art coming soon- so I hope you like the little sketch of the boys as toddlers for now!!! ((And feel free to ask any questions about the kids I’m more than happy to answer!!))

[rosetyler42]

Some drawings of Ericka and Alice, or as I like to call the BrOTP ship, Deadly Angel. I love the idea of these two cartoony badass spooky queens together.

1 and 2. Ericka reassuring her pal Alice after the Fairy Godmother attacked, threatening Alice and her family. She relates to Al in many ways: they have a similar story, personality, and taste in men. And both are Ex-murderesses trying to do better but still haunted by guilt of their past selve's crimes. They also both have self-esteem issues due to past judgement by others and have perfectionism to get over. Though Alice isn't nearly as brave or quite as optimistic as her human gal pal. Most of her life has been hiding and planning for every little thing that went wrong lest she gets sent back to the dark puddles, thinking she was an ugly twisted version of her true self who needed to be beautiful and PERFECT to be happy. Having friends around to reassure her and take her mind off things is...new to her. Esoecially with her fears of her dangerous Susie side.

Note: Like the original, Alice has 2 personalities living within her: the innocent toon and the hurt corrupted woman she used to be - Susie Campbell. In me and @lovelylivelyv 's headcanon, Susie is the one behind the evil deeds of Twisted Alice, while Alice was trapped inside largely forced into going along with it until Susie's soul was largely put to rest. Now, Alice is largely in control, although Susie is still hidden in there and Alice still has her memories...though they feel like they happened to someone else. While she has control over her transformations largely, Alice can also change forms and voice when upset or angry. She's still not quite as stable as, say, Boris.

Bonus: Protective Ericka's evil smile, Bad Ass Monsterfucker Pun and the idea Ericka likes playing the BATIM lever challenge as a training game!

3. In WIR-Verse, ice has this prank she'll sometimes do, offering a fake Tommy gun just to watch with a smile as it melts in their hands....well, she may be redeemed as Alice in the "vivisecting and murder" department. But she's not a fallen angel for NOTHING...

4. Ericka asks about the mysterious Milla Legna tapes, having worked out Alice was the true Milla because of the Legna Angel anagram. Alice is a bit embarrassed of Susie's deeds, but Ericka not only doesn't judge, but compliments it! And Alice returns the favor by good-naturedly teasing Ericka about her monsterfucker Pan-ic. XD

Bonus Baby Jack! Being a monster baby, I figure he can make some strange noises in addition to normal baby babble, like Ink Bendy's "Moo" noises.

5. 2 Debbie's talking shop! Some point after the Dark Revival update, Ericka comes to check out her friend's new second pair and finds Alice has a whole setup of electric chairs! After some good natured ribbing (showing Alice has grown to accept her murderous side a bit and to trust her friend not to judge it) I'm sure Ericka wants to play with the setup. She's a Debbie fan and she's never gotten to play with electric chairs before!

Bonus: In this picture is Eddie, Ericka's swoobat, as well as 2 of Alice's pokemon: Susie the Mawile and Betty the Meloetta.

6. Remember how I said both Ericka and Alice have similar tastes? This one plays with that. XD Bonus Addams Family "Howling Demons" joke and smol baby Jack. BTW, "Heavenly sin" is based on @thedopedemon 's work!

7. It's not just Ericka reassuring Alice. Alice knows how to cheer up Ericka too when criticism from others starts getting to her. She refuses to see ANYONE go through the pain she did alone.

@lovelylivelyv @black-ak9 @serial-serializednovelreader @hotelt-resurrection @ssleeping-in-a-coffin @wingingfromthezing @deathfangirl9 @inkiedraws @inkhyaena @inkspottie @inkwelldevil @thedemonsurfer @thedobermutt @ebevkisk @twinklecupcake @howling-nightmare

[somethingclevermahogony]

WIP Anagram Tag

Thanks for the tag. @mundanemoongirl! I really enjoy this particular kind of tag.

My word: Fight

Your word: Wrath

F

Failing at this as well as the application of other more common jewelry, they took to him with bowls of a strong smelling paste, dyeing his skin with shades of rich red and earthy brown, covering his arms, hands, and chest with swirling wave-like patterns. A bull with horns like curling corkscrews danced across his chest, while serpents embraced his wrists and on his cheeks blazed lightless suns. The servants moved their fingers across his skin, tracing the scars and muscles. They whispered to each other in hushed hisses, and yet still Narul could hear them, and what Narul heard made his cheeks flush a rudy pink.

I

“ I can’t really remember what its like.” He said. “Getting older, I feel like I haven’t really changed since Labisa, since before you were born really. Sometimes I have to remind myself how old I actually am. Bop isn’t very helpful with that sort of thing, he understands time and aging even less than I do.”

G

“Gad ta see yas, frunds.” Buru said “Hoo wa ta trep?” The dialect of the Ziprians was almost entirely unique, even amongst the other mountain villages. At times for the Kishites of the west, it was almost unintelligible. It was said that part of their strange way of speech had come from the forestfolk tribes which existed in those regions long before the coming of Tamel and his Kishites. Jani had even heard a rumor from one of the huntsman that the people of Zipra were themselves a kind of forestfolk, the hunter had told him that the Ziprian custom of always wearing slippers was used to hide the fact that Ziprians actually had six clawed toes on each foot. Jani had never made any attempt to verify this claim, as it least to him it seemed rude. When he had brought the topic up to Dati, the old forestfolk had said that it seemed likely to him.

H

 He had taken to having Otilia follow him around the city; indeed, he refused to let her out of his sight, he had even moved her out of the slave quarters to make her sleep in his own chambers. Not only could he keep an eye on her, but he also now had a captive audience to gossip and complain to about his fellow Bidani or about peasants in the streets or issues with his shipments or his father or the time his sister had an affair with a slave. Through his constant petulant babbling, Otilia had learned more about the man than she had ever wanted.  In many ways, the merchant reminded her of her husband, though he was considerably younger. He hadn’t been entirely unreasonable, after some pushing and prodding he had allowed for Shela to accompany them as their personal servant, jogging behind them with a skin of wine at all times. She stood there now, head bent, waiting for orders.

T

" That’s enough," Narul grumbled as he was bedecked with flowers and ribbons. Even the hammer, which he had insisted he keep at his side, had been wrapped in brightly colored cloth, blue at the request of Bop. The whole experience was tedious but had successfully driven thoughts of the nightmare from his head, for the time being.  “What is that for, Narul?” Bop would ask excitedly, as far as the spirit could remember they had never bore witness to a wedding. Narul himself was not particularly familiar with the concept, especially those traditions practiced outside of Labisa.   A key element of Southern Kishic wedding ceremonies was the practice for both partners to be pulled on beautifully adorned wedding carts. The village had at one point even had two oxen, one for each cart. Unfortunately one of these oxen had fallen prey to the very same kiriki which Narul had hunted months before. Lacking the time or money to purchase a new ox, the married couple had instead found an alternative, Narul. It was agreed that the remaining ox would pull Shela while Narul would pull Otilia. They had even placed two horns, made from wood and copper on his head, held there by a band of cloth.

Tagging @winterandwords, @illarian-rambling, @alnaperera, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @tildeathiwillwrite

@diabolical-blue, @elsie-writes, @the-ellia-west, @phoenixradiant, @paeliae-occasionally

[unscramblerer]

Todays word of the day is: Babble

[disquietedpalefish]

NO

[enby-positive]

Hoi! I am genderfluid (afab). My assigned name is somewhat feminine and I hate it. The name I'd really like people to call me is Archer. However, I was wondering if people usually choose names that mean something to them, instead of just sounding good, and if I'm going to be judged for choosing "Archer" when I'm not, in fact, an archer. Idk, did that make even a modicum of sense, or am I just babbling around in circles? Lol

Hey, friend

Your name doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to! I think Archer is a great name, and I promise I will not assume you have Kate Bishop level accuracy. No one gets to judge you for your name or the (lack of) meaning behind it.

If it makes you feel any better, my reasoning for potential names ranges from “sounds cool”, to “tangentially related to my old one”, to even “a vague reference to a Tumblr post no one is going to get” and “phonetically an anagram”.

You’re good

[justlightlysedated]

five times that michael takes care of himself by trying to take care of alex

one.

Figures that the thing to finally bring him to his knees isn't the debilitating headache he'd been sporting for three days, accompanied by episodes of blurry vision and ringing in his ears and mood swings, but opening the door to the Airstream to find Alex, nose and cheeks flushed, forehead clammy, sneezing up a storm into the crook of his elbow before he looks at Michael and tries to smile.

"Ready to go?" He asks with a stuffy nose.

Michael feels a sharp spike of pain radiate down the back of his neck and he exhales roughly.

"We're not going anywhere," he says, and Alex just gives him a confused look.

Probably because Michael was the one who had begged and pleaded until he caved and told him that he would love to go with him to his birthday party.

Michael tried not to think about the fact that the only reason he caved was probably because he was going overseas into an active warzone, and there was a very real chance that he wouldn’t make it back.

“You’re sick,” Michael says, and Alex just gives him an exasperated look like he’d had this conversation with someone else.

“I took medicine,” Alex says, like that fixes anything.

“You need to rest,” Michael says, and winces only slightly when he takes a step towards him and the sun glares brightly off of the windshield of his truck.

Alex narrows his eyes at him, but before he can ask him anything, Michael is reaching for him, wrapping his fingers around his wrists and pulling until Alex is taking a few stumbling steps forward.

“Come on,” Michael says. “I’m only offering you this get out of jail free card once.”

It doesn’t take much more to convince him up the stairs and into the Airstream.

He sneezes several more times, and coughs sounding so terrible that Michael is actually worried for a second that he’s going to cough up a lung.

He pushes Alex to sit down on top of the bed, and Alex leans back a little, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small white plastic bottle with a red cap.

“Here,” he says and tosses the bottle to Michael. “That should help with the headache.”

Michael licks his lips. “What headache?”

Alex rolls his eyes, and then turns his face away to sneeze into the crook of his elbow before he turns back to face Michael. “You winced when you opened the door. And you’re wincing right now.”

Michael looks at the bottle in his hands, and then back at Alex who seems like he’s ready to fight Michael over this.

Michael doesn't think that the pills will actually help him, but he takes them anyway, just to appease Alex.

Alex smiles at him until he has to turn his face to the side and coughs again.

Michael walks over to the small kitchenette area and thinks about how he's never actually been sick, but that maybe something warm would be soothing.

He has green tea because he likes how it tastes.

He makes the tea, and he can feel Alex watching him, his gaze heavy and warm, and if Michael had been feeling marginally better, and if Alex had been fifty percent less sniffly, he would’ve forgotten all about the tea and crawled into Alex’s lap.

As it is, he just, walks back over to Alex with the mug of tea, and pulls his phone out of his pocket once he’s sure that Alex has the mug secured in his hands.

“I’m going to call Isobel, you drink that,” he says pointing towards the mug.

Alex gives him a brief smile and obediently lifts the mug to his mouth.

Michael just rolls his eyes and turns around, walking out of the Airstream.

The light doesn’t hurt as much as it did earlier and Michael just leans back, closing the door with his weight and then inhales deeply before he calls Isobel, lifting the phone to his ear.

“Please tell me that you are on your way,” Isobel answers the phone without saying hello.

“I’m not going to be able to make it Izzy,” he says, trying to inject as much regret as he can into the words.

“Did you get stood up?” she asks flatly.

Michael just rolls his eyes, “I’ve been battling this major pain in the ass headache for three days now, and I thought I’d be better by today, but it just keeps getting worse.”

Isobel is silent for a loaded moment, “I usually have to strong arm you to get you to take care of yourself, you must be really sick.”

“I don’t think that I can drive without getting sick-” Michael starts and Isobel makes a highly distressed sound.

“I don’t need to know, just,” she sighs, and Michael can hear what she’s not saying. It’s going to be the first time since they all found each other again that they would not celebrate their birthday together. “It’s going to be weird without you, but take care of yourself, please.”

Michael nods his head, and Isobel hangs up without waiting for a real response.

Michael exhales and leans his head back against the door, wincing when he opens his eyes again, but he stays outside for a bit longer, before he heads back inside.

The first thing he notices is that the mug is empty and on the counter, the second is that Alex is fast asleep, buried beneath Michael’s sheets, still wearing his boots.

Michael tugs them off his feet, and he doesn’t really try to convince himself that it would be a bad idea to lie down next to Alex.

Michael settles himself on the bed, and he’s a little too close to the edge, but before he can move closer, Alex is moving, and turning so that his back is towards the wall, leaving a small space for Michael to move into so that he’s not falling off the bed.

Michael pushes into Alex���s space, and drops his head to Alex’s chest, feeling him warm and so solid in front of him, sometimes he wonders if the pain that he’s in when Alex is gone is worth these moments when they are together, and the answer is always yes.

Michael feels Alex’s arm settle in the crook of his waist, and he just breathes out deeply, still fast asleep.

Michael closes his eyes and inhales his scent so fresh and clean. It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep.

two.

Michael only notices because Alex is babbling and Alex never babbles.

Stammers and stays silent, but never just, word vomits all over the place.

It's been weeks since the last time that Michael actually slept. He's been running on fumes and acetone and the occasional cup of coffee, but no matter how much he keeps running himself into the ground to figure out how to help Max, nothing seems to be working.

Kyle forces them all to take a break, but Michael just finds himself down in his bunker.

Which is where Alex finds him.

Out of everyone that Michael expected to find him, Alex was the last person, since he's been AWOL since after their interrupted conversation at the Airstream, and he hadn't been there when Michael had finally made it back.

Michael was sure that Alex had been avoiding him, so he doesn't immediately turn towards him, when he drops to the floor, only stumbling slightly.

"Guerin, you're not going to believe this," he starts, moving closer, and Michael can hear the tapping of him typing something out on a tablet. "Well, maybe you are going to believe it after all, who better than you to know exactly how much of a fucking monster my father is. But Kyle was surprised even though my father did try to kill him."

Michael has to look up at him at that, and Alex looks at him at the same time, a look on his face like he's saying, I know right?

Michael's brow furrows and Alex turns back to the tablet.

"But anyway, I went through all the Caulfield files and hit a dead end. So I decided to go a different route, and have been playing the money trail, since my father lost all government funding a couple of years ago, and there is a name that keeps popping up, Phershed, which is a dummy corporation, and also an anagram for Shepherd. So I dug up all of the information that I could find on it, which was ridiculously easy, whoever is covering this up is an amateur at best, which either says a lot about my father and his ego or that the government knows he's still doing what he's doing, but they don't care-"

Michael turns fully to face him and actually looks at him, cataloging what he sees, the jittery movements, the excessive blinking, the bags staining the bottom of his eyes, looking like they have their own zip code, and the excessive word flow, that contains more words that Alex has ever said to him, in the entire time that they've known each other. 

"-but it could be a mistranslation since I'm more fluent in the Arabic languages than the other Germanic ones, but I still say that we should check it out-"

"When was the last time that you slept?" Michael asks Alex, interrupting his word flow, and ignoring the little voice at the back of his head that is calling him a hypocrite in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Kyle's.

Alex looks taken aback and he tilts his head to the side and then gives Michael a once over before lifting his eyebrow. 

"Pot. Kettle," he says, tucking his tablet beneath his arm and swaying a little in place like his equilibrium is shot to hell.

Michael wonders how he got down the ladder without falling.

"I'm not the one talking about infiltrating a facility in the middle of nowhere desert in Nevada."

Alex sends him a bright smile that short circuits his brain.

"You were listening," he says, brightly. "We can make it there in a couple of-"

Michael looks over his lab table and finds a ball made up of hundreds of rubber bands, and he picks it up and tosses it at Alex without warning.

Alex who was turned around to face gunmen with an unimpressed look, startles and his tablet drops to the floor with a clatter as he tries and fails to catch the ball.

It bounces and then rolls behind him, and Alex gives Michael an exasperated look.

"Why did you do that?"

"You're sleep deprived," he says, once again ignoring Kyle's voice in his head. "Your balance is shot. You have no hand eye coordination. And you've been babbling at me. When have you ever babbled at anyone?"

Alex rolls his eyes, and very nearly stumbles to the side.

"I'm much better sleep deprived than you are on your best day," Alex says, all cocky tilting his head at Michael, which shouldn't be as hot as it is, especially considering the fact that Alex is swaying on his feet.

"Okay," Michael says. "If you can take me down, then we'll go to Nevada."

Alex gives him a highly incredulous look, "Guerin, I can take you down in my sleep."

Michael's highly competitive nature kicks in, and he nods his head, "Alright, then put your money where your mouth is."

He moves from the table and Alex takes a few steps back to keep a careful distance between them.

"What happens if you win?" Alex asks, but sounds more like he's just humoring Michael.

Michael shrugs a little, "When I win, you'll have to take a nap."

Alex gives him a baleful look, complete with a pout, "Fine."

He gets into a fighting stance, and Michael just rolls his shoulders and holds his arms out, "Well, I'm waiting."

Alex makes a low growling sound and attacks.

Michael has been on the receiving end of some sloppy drunk fights, and Alex sleep deprived is like a man who's had one too many to drink.

He swings and Michael ducks and uses a move he's seen Alex use to get him out of fights, wrapping his arms around Alex's chest as he turns with the power of his swing, and then hooking his leg over one of Alex's before he leans back hard and forces them both down on the floor.

Alex struggles, hands trying to loosen Michael's hold on him, but he's so tired that it feels mostly insubstantial.

Michael is also keeping him mostly in place with his ability, which is another way he can tell that Alex needs to sleep, since he always seems to know when Michael is using his ability like he has a sensor in his head that goes off.

Alex stops fighting him almost immediately, leaning his head back on Michael's shoulder and making a low mournful sound.

"I'm a trained airman who has been in active combat," he says. "And you're a civilian whose biggest opponents are dickbags that hang around a bar all night."

Michael rolls his eyes. "You need to sleep."

"Obviously," Alex says. "But I can't fall asleep, so I've just been working, thinking that maybe, if I figure this whole thing out, I'll be able to go to sleep without hearing that damn alarm."

Michael tightens his arms around Alex and then lets him go, pushing away from him and letting Alex fall back on to his back.

Michael gets to his feet in one swift movement, but Alex just stays one the ground, looking up at the ceiling.

Michael can feel the lethargic energy wanting to drag him under, more than it had earlier in the day before he decided to keep himself busy, because like Alex he can't seem to stop himself from hearing that damn alarm every single time that he closes his eyes.

Alex hums a little and Michael stares at him as he closes his eyes.

"Sometimes it helps to pretend that things aren't as fucked up as they really are, but sometimes I can't fool myself into believing that nothing has changed. It's not like I can just come here and ask you to help me go to sleep anymore."

"But you can-" Michael starts but Alex shakes his head, sighing as he blinks heavily, looking up at Michael briefly before his eyes fall shut again.

"No, I really can't," he says on a breath, seeming like he's just going to fall asleep on the uncomfortable concrete floor.

Michael licks his lips and stares at him for a beat longer, before he decides that maybe for one night they can both pretend that everything isn't as fucked up as it is. Michael could use a nap, and Alex is definitely about to fall asleep on the floor.

"Come on," he says, and Alex makes a low sound in complaint.

"You're not going to sleep on the floor," Michael says as he crouches down by Alex's head. 

"I don't want to drive home," he whines a little, turning his face to face Michael, eyes fluttering open and close. "Too far. Would you take me-?"

"You can stay here," Michael says, licking his lips again, and pretending like the words take me didn't just put a slew of images in his head. "In the Airstream, I mean."

Alex's eyes open and he looks at Michael as serious as he has been the whole time he's been here.

"With you?" He asks, voice coming out trembling and hopeful and unlike anything that Michael has ever heard coming out of Alex's mouth.

"Yeah," he says softly and Alex just keeps staring at him. "Let's go."

It takes more careful coaxing to get Alex up the ladder and into the Airstream, and by the time he manages to get him settled into his bed in a way that Michael had never expected to see him in ever again.

It sends his heart into a tailspin as he stares at Alex getting comfortable in his sheets, pressing his face into Michael's pillow and inhaling like he's searching for Michael's scent.

Alex stops moving and sighs, and Michael blinks his eyes a few times and feels more tired than he has in a while.

Usually he has to knock himself out, and even then the nightmares drag him out of it not even an hour later.

Michael crawls into the bed beside Alex, who turns to face him, eyes blinking open for a second, before he smiles and closes his eyes again.

Michael settles down next to him, and lies his head down on the pillow staring at him until his eyes get too heavy and he falls asleep.

-

When he wakes up, Alex is gone, which is typical, and he's been asleep for over thirty-six hours, which is not.

He searches for his phone, and finds it on top of the counter, pinning down a red folder. 

He gets up, stretching and walks over to the counter, grabbing his phone and wincing at the amount of missed calls and text messages he has, and looks at the folder.

On top of it there's a sticky note, scrawled in Alex's terrible handwriting is the word, thanks.

three.

Alex told Michael that he was through catering to his death wish, and Michael told Alex to stay out of things that were no longer his concern, as he turned and stopped a fist with his face.

Kyle had checked him over and had told him that he was lucky that the punch hadn't been higher because with the force behind it the fucker who had punched him unconscious would have probably killed him.

Alex had been a stony presence throughout that entire conversation and when Michael had smiled at him and said, "See, I'm all good," Alex had just glared.

Michael had tried to apologize, but Alex hadn't wanted to hear it, probably because he knew that Michael wouldn't actually mean it.

He had just given Michael a look that spoke of payback, and Michael had naively thought that that meant that Alex was going to continuously show up and ruin his fun at the bar.

He hadn't expected Alex to basically start a riot in the middle of the Wild Pony.

Alex walks into the bar, and Michael is about one hundred percent sure that he somehow manages to do it in slow motion, but it could also be the fact that Michael has never seen Alex dressed like that.

Alex had started dressing differently, more like a grown up version of his style back in highschool, full of blacks and dark palettes and a leather jacket that has Michael’s hands itching to feel the material right against his bare skin, but it was still a little conservative, not too out there, even while he was dating that punk with the weird hair, Woods or whatever.

But this, this is on a whole other level.

Alex walks into the bar in a pair of tight leather pants, a scrap of fabric posing as a shirt in a pink only seen in an eighties video, skin sparkling like he was covered in glitter, which could be a possibility, his eyes lined heavily in black, and lips stained too pink in a way that tells Michael that he’s definitely wearing lipgloss.

He doesn’t even pause as he walks straight to the back, where Maria stares at him with a look on her face like she can’t believe what Alex is doing, but has resigned herself to it, and it takes Michael a few more minutes than it would normally to get an inkling of exactly what Alex is doing.

Walking into this bar in particular, full of small minded townies, dressed like he walked out of Michael’s fantasies, is an invitation for disaster, and Michael sees it the moment someone walks in front of him and cuts his view of Alex.

He looks around the room, and counts at least twenty disgusted faces and five in particular that are cracking their knuckles like they’re gearing up for a fight.

Michael turns his gaze back to Alex who is leaning against the bar and showing off how excellent his ass looks in those leather pants.

Alex says something to Maria that makes her laugh, bright and happy which sends a murmur throughout the room like a wave since no one ever makes Maria laugh like that, which confuses small minded people.

Michael can feel the smile twitching at the corner of his lips at whatever it is that Alex told Maria, since it was bound to be hilarious, and then the smile falls off his face as Alex turns to the guy standing next to him looking like he swallowed a whole lemon and says something that makes the guy go red and turn to Alex, teeth gritted, fists clenched.

He’s stopped from stepping forward by Maria before Michael can even get to them, and the guy just huffs out a breath and moves away from Alex.

“-because it looks like that's what kind of trouble you're looking for," Maria is saying as Michael walks up to them.

"I didn't even do anything," Alex says, scoffing and taking the shot that Maria had just set down in front of him.

"I highly doubt that," Michael says as he leans next to Alex on the bar.

Alex tilts his head at Maria and whatever look is on his face makes her snicker, before he turns to face Michael.

"Hello trouble," he greets Michael with, leaning towards him a little, and smiling charmingly, while his shirt drops lower on his shoulder. "Have you found the guy who's going to knock you unconscious next?"

Michael makes a face and turns to Maria, who raises her hands like she doesn't know what's going on, and she's not going to do anything to stop it.

Michael just shakes his head and turns back to Alex who just finished taking his shot and licks his lips clean as he looks somewhere behind Michael's shoulder.

Michael can hear the commotion as someone who has seen Alex fight stops their friend from starting something at Alex's blatant flirting.

"No," Michael says sarcastically. "But I see five that are getting ready to gang up and take you on together."

"Oh," Alex says, voice going campy in a way that Michael has never heard anywhere outside of TV shows. "A gangbang! How exciting!"

Maria laughs so loud and hard that she drops down behind the bar, and Michael can hear her practically dying.

Michael looks around the room and sees a group of about five guys going redder than they were before.

Michael leans in a little bit closer to hiss in a low voice, “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Alex in turn leans even closer, until Michael can feel the heat of him, and he whispers in a low voice that sounds entirely too seductive and hooks right into Michael’s navel making him sway even closer.

“I think that I’m doing exactly what you do, except maybe a bit more flamboyant.”

Michael’s gaze drops to Alex’s lips, and lower to his throat, and even lower to the way his chest is exposed in that shirt and realizes that yes, Alex is definitely wearing body glitter.

“I never try to seduce the male half of the bar,” Michael says mostly to himself, but Alex’s lips quirk into a smirk.

“I’m not trying to seduce them,” he says, and Michael furrows his brow, feeling a lot confused, but mostly turned on.

“Then what-?”

Alex suddenly pitches forward, crashing into Michael, and Michael keeps him steady on his feet before he turns to glare at the asshole who knocked into him.

The man is big, built like a brickhouse and almost as big as one. His head is shaved, and there are enough tattoos running down his arms to put him directly in the far right fascist wing.

Michael had tried to pick a fight with this guy before, and he had just told Michael that he wasn’t worth the effort, but now he seems like he’d be delighted to punch him into a pulp.

Michael is about to just tell him that they’re not trying to start anything, but Alex apparently is trying to start something.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he asks turning around to face the guy, not even phased when he has to tilt his head back to look him in the eyes. 

Michael doesn’t know how Alex does it, but it seems like he’s looking down at this giant who is probably about one entire foot taller than him.

“I’ll tell you what my problem is,” he starts, and Alex raises a hand in the air to stop him from speaking.

“I actually don’t care what your problem is,” he says, and Michael can see the guy clenching his jaw. “Keep your hands off the merchandise, unless you’re planning to see it all, up close and personal.”

His voice goes a little breathy at the end as he tilts his head and drags his gaze down, before he dismisses him,

The giant just attacks, moving forward immediately, and before Michael can do or say anything, Alex is pushing them both out of the way, and the guy goes crashing into the stools.

“Hey!” Maria yells, but Michael can barely pay attention when two guys seemingly pop out of nowhere and start throwing punches at Alex, who fights back immediately, using all of his considerable skills, but it doesn’t stop him from getting hit, and Michael feels his blood begin to boil at the pained grunt that manages to fall out of his mouth before he’s punching the fucker in the face.

Michael moves to help him, when someone pulls him back, and he sees that it’s one of the other guys, who immediately throws him back against one of the tables, and moves to punch him, but Michael isn’t nearly drunk enough to be sloppy, and he’s seen Alex fight enough times that he picked up a few moves.

He manages to punch the guy hard enough that blood spurts out of his nose, and he howls covering his face and turning his back to Michael, and Michael turns back towards where Alex is to find half of the bar fighting.

Before he can make a move to find Alex, there is a sharp whistle ringing out across the room, and everyone turns to where Maria is standing on top of the bar holding a shotgun.

“The next person to throw a punch is going to get shot right in the kneecap, and I’d like to remind you all that I’ve been the county sharp shooting champ for the last six years running.”

There is a low murmur of acquiescence, and so Maria swings the shotgun to the three guys sporting enough bruising that Michael knows Alex was the one who had dealt with them.

"Now, you four have five seconds to get out of my bar, and not come back for the foreseeable future, one-"

She starts and they scramble to move, and Michael looks around searching for Alex and all he sees is his back as he ducks into the backroom.

Michael would leave well enough alone, but he sees it when Alex limps and that's enough for him to make his way across the room before he's even aware of it.

He gets to the door before it closes shut behind Alex and slips into the room.

Alex turns around when the door squeaks as he pushes it open and just sighs when he sees that it's Michael.

Michael gets a good look at his face and he takes note of the split lip, and the cut on his forehead from someone's ring probably and the way his eye is swelling and like any time that he’s seen Alex hurt, it sends a sick feeling through him, but curiously it also sends rage spreading through his veins, making him clench his jaw and tighten his fingers to fists.

Alex just rolls his eyes at him, not hiding his wince too well as he turns back around and heads towards the back of the backroom where the employee bathroom is and where Michael knows Maria keeps a fully stocked first aid kit.

Michael stalks after him, and just watches as Alex pulls the kit down, balancing it on the toilet as he uses the tiny mirror over the sink to look at the damage. He sees him wince again, and shuffle his feet awkwardly, and Michael knows that his leg is bothering him.

He just exhales roughly, and then takes a deep breath.

“Sit down,” he tells Alex as he walks into the small space and pushes him towards the toilet seat while taking the first aid kit and settling it down on top of the sink.

Alex does as he is told, and stretches his right leg out, making a low relieved sound that should make Michael happy, but just sends rage spiraling through him again.

Michael patches him up wordlessly, not trusting himself to not start yelling as soon as he opens his mouth, and the sick feeling in his stomach gets stronger as Alex just lets him without saying anything.

He wonders if this is how Alex feels whenever he has to patch Michael up after a fight, this sick feeling warring with pure rage at the fact that he got hurt, but it was something that could’ve been avoided.

Alex didn’t have to start a fight tonight, but he’d gotten dressed with that goal in mind, and it had worked.

Michael knows that he’s done this before, has gone after some guy’s girl just to have an excuse to get into a fight with someone, because sometimes he feels so fucking helpless and the only thing that he feels like he can control is this, instigating a fight with a stranger even if he gets punched for his efforts because he made it happen, it wasn’t just something that happened to him.

He knows that it’s not a good thing, but he’s never had healthy coping mechanisms, and this is what Michael does when he feels like everything is out of his control.

But Alex doesn’t. Alex very much doesn’t instigate fights with assholes just begging to punch him in the face. He boxes or he runs or he teaches self defense at the rec center or he makes plans to infiltrate government facilities.

But this, this is something that Michael would do, and it hits him square in the chest, that that’s the only reason that Alex had done it.

He presses the last butterfly stitch on Alex’s forehead and grabs one of the icy cool gel packs, cracking it to activate it and then presses it over Alex’s eye, “Hold that.”

Alex does, and Michael just tosses the bloody gauze in the garbage and he stares at Alex for a second, who is looking anywhere but at him, like he wants to avoid this conversation for as long as possible.

“What were you trying to prove?” Michael snaps, and Alex’s gaze jumps to him and then away just as fast. “That I’m not the only one who can start a fight, because you proved that and more. Those guys are going to be pissed that they’re banned from the bar for at least the next week. They’re going to go after you again, and you just-”

“I can take care of myself, Guerin,” Alex says, finally actually looking at him.

“That’s not the point!” Michael yells, and then steps away from Alex, taking a deep breath and trying to figure out the words to make Alex understand what he’s feeling.

“Do you think that I care if you can defend yourself or not? All you need to do is make one mistake. All that needs to happen is for one of them to get a lucky shot at your leg, and you’re down for the count. Those bastard homophobic racist assholes will use this as a reason to kill you, and all you have to say is that you can take care of yourself?!”

Alex gives him a look that speaks volumes about how many times Alex has given Michael a similar speech, and Michael feels the air rush out of him. Kyle’s voice in his head tells him that he’s being a hypocrite, again, but Michael ignores that.

“So you did this to what? Teach me a lesson?” Michael says, feeling oddly breathless.

“No,” Alex says moving in his seat so that he’s fully facing Michael, looking oddly regal even with a black eye and while sitting on a toilet seat. “I did this to show you how I feel, since you don’t seem to get that your actions, especially when they’re self destructive, affect all of us. And also, you need to find better ways at dealing. I get that you’re upset that your miracle cure only worked so well, but you can’t just go around being so reckless, you’re going to get yourself seriously hurt.”

Michael stares at him in silence for a long moment, before he licks his lips and moves back, feeling like the room is getting too small. “And if I don’t?”

Alex swallows hard and then gets to his feet, tossing the ice pack aside and looking at Michael with his messed up face and the bruise forming on his shoulder. 

“Then I guess you’re going to be too busy following me around, because until you stop, I won’t.”

Michael scoffs, shaking his head as he looks away before he turns back to Alex mouth open to speak, but he stops at the look on Alex's face.

He looks deadly serious.

“You can’t be serious,” Michael says flatly after a second.

Alex just keeps looking at him, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

Michael just scoffs again, “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, Guerin,” Alex says taking a step forward, hands falling to his sides.

"Are you actually threatening me?" He asks, sounding incredulous.

"No," Alex says. "I'm telling you what's going to happen. You want to self destruct. Fine, go right ahead. But you should know, that for every single time that you get punched I will go pick a fight with someone twice my size."

Michael glares at him a little, "How are your supervisors going to feel when you start coming into work with bruises?"

Alex just shrugs a little, "I'm on temporary leave because I got shot during the last mission."

"You got what?" Michael demands, forgetting momentarily that he's mad at Alex for trying to manipulate him.

Alex's eyes flicker to his leg, and that's enough of an answer for Michael.

"It's just a graze," he says, like that makes it any better.

Michael just turns away from him and paces in place.

He already knows what he's going to do and is just delaying the inevitable because he hates that Alex still has this power over him, that he would do anything to make sure that he wouldn't get hurt.

Michael turns to face him and shakes his head, letting his hands fall to his sides as he stares at Alex, defeated. "Fine, you win."

Alex's shoulders drop as the tension floods out of him, and Michael just licks his lips and keeps talking.

"You're already putting yourself in danger because of me," he says voice caustic. "I really don't want to add another reason."

Alex just sighs and gives Michael an exasperated look, "I already told you. Me reupping had nothing to do-"

"If it wasn't for the fact that you need the access to deal with Project Shepherd, would you have even considered it?"

Alex gives him a stony look, but doesn't actually say anything which is more than enough confirmation.

Michael just shakes his head and turns away from him.

"I know that right now you're probably pissed that I'm making you do this," Alex says after a few seconds of silence. "But I'm not going to apologize for it. I hate to see you get hurt, and I will do everything and anything to prevent that from happening."

Michael licks his lips and looks back at him, "Why?"

Alex just gives him a confused look, and Michael scoffs.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," Michael says taking a step towards Alex and stepping firmly into his personal space.

Alex doesn't even seem to notice as he tilts his head and narrows his eyes.

"If I knew what you were talking about I wouldn't have asked," Alex says through gritted teeth.

Michael just shakes his head again and feels bitter amusement fill him up, "Why does what I do affect you so much? We're barely even friends."

Alex seems to freeze, looking at him with wide eyes that seem to say, I can't believe you would ask me that.

Michael wants to snap back that, of course I have to ask, I'm not a mind reader.

Alex straightens up and gives him a look that very clearly says, you kind of are a mind reader.

Michael just rolls his eyes.

Alex just shakes his head a little, looking away from Michael, before he exhales roughly and turns back to face him, a determined glint in his eyes.

“I care about you, okay?” he says, and Michael stops moving, staring at Alex with wide eyes.

“You say we’re ‘barely even friends’ because you’re being an asshole,” he states and Michael just keeps staring at him. “But you’re one of the few people in this world that I trust, and I-”

He swallows hard licking his lips and then just shakes his head again. “I never stopped loving you.”

Michael breathes in shakily, swaying slightly in place and he can’t seem to look away.

“I tried to convince myself that I did, but the truth is I can’t stop. I don’t want to.”

Michael breathes out roughly, and Alex just licks his lips swallowing hard and looks away from Michael blinking rapidly.

“But I’m not expecting you to feel the same,” he says, giving Michael a self deprecating smile. “I mean I know you don’t feel the same, but I just need you to know that I’m not doing this out of some sense of guilt, I’m doing this because you’re my family, and I love you.”

Michael just shakes his head, half of an incredulous smile on his face, before he just moves forward, crossing the space between them in two steps.

Alex takes a startled step backward, and Michael just reaches for him, digging his fingers into the back of Alex’s neck and tugging him back into place.

Alex eyes are wide with surprise, but Michael's fall shut as their noses brush together. 

Michael hesitates briefly lips just barely brushing Alex’s and he breathes heavily, shuddering with it, and he wants to ask if he can kiss him, but Alex just whines low in the back of his throat as he wraps one arm around Michael’s waist and slides the fingers of his other hand into Michael’s hair and he tugs.

Michael gasps, and stumbles into Alex who presses their lips together, crushing his mouth to Michael’s in a hard, biting kiss.

Michael propels them backwards until Alex hits the sink, pushing his hands up into Alex’s hair and licks into Alex’s mouth, kissing him deeper.

Alex moans low in the back of his throat, hitching one leg up around Michael’s hip as Michael pushes in closer, hands restless, moving to clench against the collar of Michael's shirt and then back up into his hair and down again.

Alex pushes him back, and parts their mouths with a gasp, breathing heavily as he stares at Michael with wide eyes, almost angry.

"What the hell kind of game are you playing, Guerin?" He asks Michael, voice desperate and cracking slightly.

Michael shakes his head, pushing his forehead against Alex's.

"No games," he swears, voice pleading. "I promise. This is all real."

Alex shakes his head. "You can't just, just kiss me and expect it to fix anything-"

"That's not why I did it," Michael says hurriedly, pulling back to look at Alex in the eyes.

Alex is looking back at him with wide, hurt eyes.

"You told me you love me, and I just, I don't know how-"

Alex shakes his head, fingers clenching tighter in the collar of his shirt, "I told you, I'm not expecting anything-"

"If you think that I don't feel the same way about you-" Michael starts feeling the left over rage from before stoking in his belly.

Alex shakes his head, pushing him back a little, until the only point of contact is his hands on Michael's collar as Michael's hands slide down from the back of his neck.

"This is not the fight that I was expecting to have today," Alex says, blinking and looking around the room, as though he's trying to get his thoughts back together.

"It doesn't have to be a fight," Michael says, clenching his fists at his side so that he doesn't reach out for Alex.

"It can't be like this either," Alex says, looking back at Michael with pleading eyes. "We can't just fall back into bed. We need to do this right."

Michael inhales deeply, and then nods his head once before taking a deliberate step back.

Alex's fingers tighten in his collar, before he lets him go, taking a deep breath and clenching his hands to his sides.

"You should come with me to the gym this weekend," Alex says carefully, and Michael's brow furrows as he turns to look back at him.

Alex just smiles slightly, one side of his mouth curving higher than the other, "I'm sure we can find a healthy way for you to release all the pent up aggression you will have accumulated by then."

Michael exhales roughly, and just stares at Alex for a long moment, staring at the bandages on his face and what looks like the beginnings of a seriously hideous black eye.

Alex waits patiently, and it's that more than anything that helps Michael decide.

"Okay," he says, nodding his head. "Okay."

four.

Michael feels the sting of the bullet as it grazes his side, and he hisses, slowing down enough that the fucker shooting at manages to actually get lucky.

The searing pain against his thigh makes him stumble, but he pushes through the pain and forces himself to keep moving.

It's not until later, when they're in the car, and Alex is speeding down the road, getting them as far away as possible, that Kyle sees the blood seeping into his jeans and starts to curse.

"What?" Alex demands, eyes darting to the rearview mirror, before he looks back to the road.

"Guerin is bleeding out," he says and then pulls his shirt over his head and bundles it up to use it to slow the bleeding.

"I'm not bleeding out," Michael says, going for glib, but it was difficult to manage when he was gritting his teeth to stop himself from screaming. "I just got shot a little bit."

The car swerves, "You were shot?" Alex yells.

"Don't you start, Mr. It's Just a Tiny Scrape, when you were actually stabbed," Kyle snaps, sounding highly distressed about his friends' mortality rate.

"You were stabbed?" Michael questions moving forward to see if he could catch Alex's gaze in the rearview mirror.

"Lightly stabbed," Alex answers like there is any difference, but he refuses to look back at Michael which tells him that it’s serious.

Kyle makes a sound like someone died in front of him, “We need to go straight to the hospital, I think the bullet nicked his femoral artery.”

Alex pushes down on the gas.

Michael turns to Kyle. “How is he, really?”

Kyle gives him a look like he’s highly doubting his intelligence. “You need to worry about you right now, not Alex.”

Michael gives him a look that he hopes tells Kyle exactly where he can put that sentiment, and Kyle rolls his eyes and presses harder against his thigh, making Michael grit his teeth.

“He needs stitches but as long as he doesn’t do anything to aggravate the bandages I wrapped around him, he’s not going to bleed out. You on the other hand-”

He trails off, and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

He dials a number too fast for Michael to see, and then lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hey Liz,” he says, and Michael groans, letting his head fall back against the back of his seat, and closes his eyes.

Michael’s not entirely sure how Alex does it, but they end up at the hospital way sooner than Michael had thought possible.

Liz is waiting in the parking lot with a wheelchair and a seriously worried expression on her face.

Alex stops the car, parking haphazardly, and getting out without even turning the car off.

He opens the door and Michael pulls away from Kyle, making him curse, but get out through the other door.

Alex is glaring at him, and Michael finds the bloody stain on his shirt, too wet and too red for Michael's liking.

"I told you to stay in the car," Alex says.

"Oh, I thought that 'no one ever brings a knife to a gunfight, Guerin,'" Michael says at the same time.

Alex makes a petulant face, and Michael glares, "You lied to me."

"Yes," Alex snaps. "Because you would've gotten out of the car otherwise! I should've known that you decided to do whatever the fuck you wanted anyway!"

"They sent some sort of distress signal that I felt! Was I just supposed to ignore it!?" Michael snaps back, pushing to move out of the car, but Alex stays right in his way, resolute.

"Yes!" Alex says, like it was the obvious choice. "You knew that they were working with alien tech! I told you that they could have traps we've never seen before!"

"But what if it hadn't been a trap!" Michael insists, lifting the arm that didn't hurt when he moved it and pushing Alex back.

"Well, obviously it was!"

"Well, obviously-" Michael starts and then someone is tugging Alex backwards.

"Sorry to interrupt this scintillating conversation," Kyle says as he walks Alex backwards a few steps. "But we need to get inside where the equipment to stop you both from bleeding out is located."

Michael exhales roughly, and sees Alex pushing Kyle away, and then wincing as the move pulls at the wound on his side.

He looks to Liz who looks at him like she's trying to figure out how to force him into the chair, but he just waves her over and goes willingly.

Kyle drags Alex along, and Isobel is standing by the nurse's station at the front, distracting the nurse in charge, in order for them to get to the elevator without getting stopped. From the way that the guard just presses the elevator button to the floor where Liz's lab is located, Michael can tell that Isobel already turned her charms on him as well.

Michael closes his eyes and exhales slowly once they get inside of the elevator, trying to ignore the pain radiating from his thigh and from his left arm and how his head feels so heavy and so light at the same time.

His eyes snap open as multiple hands grab him and place him on a table.

"Is there an exit wound?" Kyle asks sounding like he's far away, and Michael looks around and finds Alex, Liz and Jenna standing over him.

Alex and Jenna move him to his side, and Alex shakes his head.

"No exit wound," he says and they set him back on his back, and Alex winces, and Michael reaches towards him, fingers wrapping in the collar of his shirt.

"Shouldn't Valenti be stitching up the hole in your side?" He asks, swallowing hard to stop himself from screaming as Jenna and Liz make quick work on getting his pants off.

Alex gives him an incredulous look, "If you think that I'm going to let Kyle take care of me first, when you have a bullet inside of-"

Michael shuts his eyes tightly, and almost bites down through his tongue.

"We need acetone," Alex is saying, moving away from the table, and Michael's fingers tighten on his shirt, keeping him in place.

Michael turns back to face him, and Alex is staring at his leg with wide eyes almost too big for his face, and Michael would think that the paleness of his skin is from shock, he can see the way that he started to bleed through his bandages.

He tugs hard on Alex's shirt, and Alex's eyes drop to him.

"Stitches," he grits out.

Alex stares at him for a long second, before his face falls into Competitive Bitch Face Number Three, "You first."

Michael feels a pinch in his elbow and then something icy cool flooding his veins. It takes just a few seconds for the numbing feeling to spread through him, and he exhales finally not feeling whatever it was that Jenna was doing his thigh.

He hears the clank of the bullet falling into the pan and turns a glare on Alex.

"This isn't you skipping lunch so that I actually eat dinner," he says, and Alex rolls his eyes. "You're actually bleeding."

“And you’re going to die if you don’t stop worrying about me,” Alex says, trying to look stern, but his voice cracks right down the middle, and he inhales sharply, and then grunts in pain, leaning over Michael.

“Never,” Michael says feeling like he should be feeling more with Alex in pain, but his head is beginning to feel like it’s disconnected from the rest of his body, like he’s floating right above himself.

He exhales, and hears Jenna’s voice sharply calling out Alex’s name, and then his grip on Alex’s shirt loosens, and he passes out.

-

"Can you stop already?" Kyle's voice in his ear is the first thing that he's actually conscious about. 

He vaguely remembers waking up before briefly, and seeing Alex asleep in a bed right beside him, his shirt off to show Michael that his bandages were fresh and white, and then passing out again.

He feels the tugging on the sheets covering him stop and then the air displacement as someone drops down into the seat to his right.

"I'm just-" Alex starts,  but Kyle cuts him off immediately.

"Worried, I know, but his freaky alien DNA along with the acetone are doing wonders with accelerated healing. You're far worse off than he is."

Alex just sighs like he’s been listening to this same argument for a while, and Michael can hear the squeak of the chair as he gets more comfortable.

“And,” he continues pointedly. “You’re refusing to listen to me. If you mess up your stitches because you didn’t stay still-”

Michael blinks his eyes open and then groans as bright lights flood his vision.

“Michael,” Alex’s voice is soft and desperate, and when Michael blinks his eyes open again, Alex is leaning over him, eyes wide and worried.

“Hey,” Michael croaks, feeling like his throat is too dry.

Alex must realize as he moves and comes back with a cup and a straw.

Michael sips some water, and Alex just stares at him looking so relieved there’s even a small smile on his face.

He moves the cup away when Michael lets go of the straw, and sets it aside.

“How are you feeling?” Alex asks. “Does anything hurt?”

Michael just clears his throat and darts a look to where Kyle is watching them with a fond but exasperated look on his face.

“Why aren’t you listening to the doctor?”

Alex scoffs and drops back into his seat, and Michael can see the wince as the move pulls against his stitches.

“Of course you would take his side on this,” Alex says, and Michael rolls his eyes and shares a look with Kyle who gives Michael a look back as if to say that he is equally as bad as Alex.

“You are notoriously bad at taking care of yourself,” Michael says, and Alex just sucks his teeth and turns away from him, looking up at the silent TV playing in the corner of the room.

Michael turns back to Kyle who pushes away from the far wall, and comes to check him over.

“So what’s the prognosis, doc?” he asks, and Kyle just rolls his eyes as he pulls the sheets down to check his thigh. “Will I make it?”

“Unfortunately,” Kyle deadpans. “You’ll make a full recovery. Much faster than I was anticipating since this is the first time one of you gets seriously injured and Max isn’t there to immediately heal you.”

Michael nods his head, “And what about the stubborn idiot who refuses to listen to his doctor?”

Alex mocks him under his breath, but doesn’t even try to defend himself.

“He’ll also make a full recovery as long as he doesn’t do anything to aggravate his stitches,” Kyle says a little pointedly.

Alex just rolls his eyes again, and slumps down in his seat in a way that has to be uncomfortable.

Kyle makes a noise, and Michael looks back at him, to see him giving Alex a look like he’s decided to give up on. 

“I’m going to finish my rounds,” he says as he starts to walk out of the door. “I’ll be by once I’m done.”

“And no,” he says and Michael can feel Alex exhaling in defeat. “You cannot go home yet.”

The door closes with a soft snick behind him, and Michael inhales deeply, and then turns and looks at Alex, leaning heavily on the judgement and hoping that he actually feels it.

It takes five minutes for Alex to snap.

“Stop staring at me like that,” he says, turning to glare at Michael.

“I’ll stop when you stop being such a fucking idiot,” Michael answers back.

“I’m an idiot?” he says and stands up to lean over Michael. “I’m an idiot! You’re the idiot who decided not to tell anyone anything when you realized that you were walking into a trap!”

“I would’ve told you if I didn’t think that you would come running without any backup!”

“You can’t just make decisions that will affect your well being, just because you think that I might get hurt!”

“If I knew that I could trust you not to sacrifice yourself for my well being then I wouldn’t even think twice about telling you when I’m in trouble!”

“The only reason that you were in trouble in the first place is because you will senselessly martyr yourself in order to protect me, so don’t even talk to me about sacrifice!”

“You’re calling me a martyr, when you’re the one who went back for seconds to the damn Air Force all because-”

“Yes, I did do that!” Alex says cutting him off, already knowing where this argument is going since they’ve had it what feels like a hundred times. “But that doesn’t mean that you need to do the same thing!”

“If you think that I won’t sacrifice my life to keep you safe, then you have another thing coming,” Michael grits out, and Alex shakes his head fast, thumping his fist down on the side of Michael’s bed.

“I don’t accept that!” he grits out. “I won’t! None of this is worth it if you aren’t safe, don’t you get that!”

“Don’t you get that I don’t care about being safe if you’re not!”

Alex makes a low frustrated sound and turns around.

Michael moves to go after him, and groans as the quick motion of him attempting to swing his legs to the floor, causes what feels like fire to spread across his right thigh, up to his hip and down to his knee.

Alex turns around immediately and pushes Michael back to lie down. 

“Are you insane?” he demands, once Michael is lying back and making attempts not to move his leg at all.

Michael just licks his lips and shrugs a little. “This is usually the part in the argument where you kiss me to shut me up.”

Alex just sighs and shakes his head, before he gives Michael a mock sorrowful look. “I would, but bending over aggravates my stitches and someone told me that I need to listen to my doctor.”

Michael just rolls his eyes, “Of course, you pick now to listen to the doctor.”

Alex stays silent for a long moment before he sits back down on the seat, and drops his head to the free space on Michael’s bed, right by his hip and Michael tips his chin down a little to stare at him.

Alex breathes out quietly and then starts to speak, in a low voice that Michael almost can’t make out.

“You really scared me. You passed out and stopped breathing for a minute there. I thought that you were going to die.”

Michael sighs, and reaches out to place his hand on Alex’s head, sliding down to cup the back of his neck.

Alex moves with the touch, and turns to face him.

“You can’t do that to me again, Guerin,” he says, voice coming out rough and wet, and Michael can see the tears staining his cheeks. “You can’ti.”

Michael digs his fingers into the back of Alex’s neck.

“Okay, I won’t,” he promises, and Alex just closes his eyes tightly, shaking his head a little like he doesn’t believe him.

“Hey,” Michael says, and Alex’s eyes blink open again. “I promise you, okay? But you have to promise me that you’re going to be more careful out there. Finding out more about my planet or my people, isn’t worth it at all if it means losing you.”

Alex just swallows hard and then sniffs, before he sits back up, making Michael’s hand fall back on the bed and then grabs Michael’s hand in both of his, squeezing their fingers together tightly and then looking at Michael in the eyes.

“I promise I’ll be careful,” he whispers, and Michael just inhales deeply, nodding his head, already knowing that these are promises that they’re both probably going to break at the next available opportunity, but right now in this moment he doesn’t really care.

He feels Alex leaning his head back down beside their joined hands, and he wants to tell him to go back to his own bed, so that he can rest properly, but he doesn’t really want Alex to move. He wants to keep him as close as possible.

He tugs against Alex's hand sleepily, and feels him lift his head. He turns towards him, and blinks at him a few times before he gives up and just closes his eyes.

"C'mere," he says, moving over in the small space. He knew that Kyle probably wouldn't approve, but he was pretty sure that Alex probably didn't want to be too far either.

Alex wastes no time getting into the small hospital bed with him, lying down on his uninjured side and then carefully lying down so that his face was pressed into Michael's throat, one arm stretched out beneath the pillow, the other lying around Michael's waist, left leg thrown over Michael's resting right below his knees.

Michael wraps one arm around Alex's shoulders and settles his hand along Alex's arm wrapped around his waist.

Alex inhales deeply and Michael blinks his eyes open to look at him.

All he can make out is the top of Alex's head, but he knows his breathing patterns well enough by now to know that he's falling asleep.

Michael breathes in deeply, eyes fluttering shut and falls asleep. 

five.

Michael wakes up on his birthday with a pounding headache, a stuffy nose and feeling like something was trying to crawl out of his throat everytime he tried to cough.

Michael has never really gotten sick, so it would figure that it would happen today of all days, the first birthday they were celebrating together since Max woke up from his coma.

Alex takes one look at him when he stumbles into the kitchen to make himself a mug of tea.

His head feels fuzzy and like it's too heavy for his body, so he doesn't really understand the look Alex gives him as he lowers his gigantic mug of coffee.

He thinks, fuck, as he turns to get at the cupboard where the mugs are and blinks rapidly.

How is he supposed to actually act like nothing's wrong when Alex is right there already figuring out that something is wrong.

Michael grabs one of the mugs and turns around, jumping when he sees Alex standing a few feet in front of him.

He drops the mug and then catches it automatically.

It hovers in midair for a second before Alex grabs it.

Michael licks his lips, and tries not to shift guiltily when all Alex does is look at him.

Alex sighs and pushes him towards the table.

He doesn't even ask Michael what he wants, and Michael just leans back against the counter and stares at him as he turns on the electric kettle. 

Alex makes the tea and moves him to sit down at the table and then sits down across from him and just looks at him for a second.

Michael lifts the mug to his mouth and inhales the steam.

Alex hums and Michael gives him a questioning look.

Alex seems to hesitate a little, before he speaks. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Michael says automatically, his stuffy nose making his voice sound thick.

“Obviously,” Alex says voice dripping with sarcasm. “How about we go take a nap and then call Isobel and-”

Michael moves, pushing away from the table and making it scrape along the floor, but he can still hear Alex’s sigh as he picks up his mug and moves to leave the room.

He walks back to the bedroom with as much dignity as he can muster while wearing a pair of boxers he’s pretty sure belong to Alex and a black shirt with the faded phrase Save an Airplane, Ride an Airman written on it.

Michael spends the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon hole up in the bed with only Buffy to keep him company, beneath the covers, pretending he doesn’t notice when Alex leaves him medicine to take and glasses of water and tea.

He takes the medicine, and drinks the tea, but otherwise doesn’t move.

He’s hoping in vain that he’ll feel better by the time it’s time to go to Isobel’s, but he actually feels worse.

He still drags himself out of bed and into the shower and out into the living room, where Alex is waiting for him, sitting down on the couch, Buffy lying down with her head down on his lap while he scratches behind her ears.

He’s dressed up, as much as Alex dresses up anyway, and Michael clears his throat, but his voice still sounds thick when he speaks.

“Ready to go?”

Alex leans down and presses a kiss on top of Buffy’s head and then stands up carefully.

She just settles in the space he left behind already resigned to the fact that they’re going out without her.

Alex licks his lips and looks at Michael. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay home and rest?”

Michael rolls his eyes and looks around for his keys. “I rested all day. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Alex says, sounding like he was expecting this to happen. “But I’m driving.”

“No way,” Michael says scoffing. “I’m driving.”

“Gonna be hard to do that without the keys,” Alex says, lifting his hands to show Michael that he’s holding his keys in his hands.

Michael stares at him for a second, and Alex manages to make it to the door, before Michael finally steps forward.

He reaches out with one hand, concentrating slightly, and the keys fly out of Alex’s hand, who tells him that he’s not playing fair, and Michael catches the keys in his hands about to tell him that life’s not fair, when he feels a spike go right through his head, the pain radiating from his ear all the way to the back of his neck.

He lets the keys fall on the floor, and holds on to his head until the pain subsides.

When he opens his eyes, Alex is crouched down on the floor getting the keys before he stands up slowly and just stares at Michael for a long moment.

Michael clears his throat and then just sighs, “Fine, you’re driving.”

-

Michael manages to make it through two hours before he thinks that maybe he should’ve taken Alex up on his offer to stay home.

He was mostly remaining standing because of the wall supporting his back, and he had been sipping on the same drink the entire time.

He’d mingled and then had just felt tired, but Isobel had smiled at him bright and warm, and Max had dragged him to play one of the games that they had set up in the back, and he couldn’t really find it in himself to actually leave.

Now he just stares at everyone, at Max and Liz dancing in the middle of the room, joined by Arturo and Rosa. Jenna and Kyle are on the other side of the room challenging Maria and Isobel to a game of beer pong.

It doesn’t take Michael long to realize that Alex isn’t anywhere outside.

He pushes away from the wall and sets his drink down on the nearest table before he heads inside of the house.

Isobel had decided to throw the party in Max’s backyard, and the back glass door is open wide, letting the warm air inside.

He finds Alex sitting on the couch, leg propped up on the coffee table, his prosthetic leaned on the couch right beside him. His head is tipped back against the back of the couch, and his eyes are closed, but they flutter open as he leans his head up as though he feels it when Michael steps into the room.

“You okay?” Michael asks, stepping closer to Alex, more worried about him than the fact that his head still hurts and his throat aches and he feels like he wants to take a nap for the rest of his life.

Alex just nods his head and then shrugs a little,” Just give me a few and I’ll be out there to kick Kyle’s ass.”

Michael just shakes his head a little and drops down to sit right beside Alex on the couch.

“Maria and Isobel are taking care of that,” he says, settling himself back until they’re pressed together from shoulder to thigh. “So why don’t you keep me company while I try to stop the world from spinning too fast?”

Alex makes a sort of soft cooing noise, and he moves so that he’s facing Michael, and lifts both hands to his head, gently massaging against his scalp.

Michael sighs, pressing into the touch as it seems to soothe his aching head.

“Fine,” Alex says. “I’ll stay here with you.”

Michael just presses in closer, until he’s leaning his head on Alex’s shoulder, nose buried in the soft warm skin of his neck, laying one arm across his waist, the other settled a little uncomfortably between them, but not enough for Michael to move.

Alex moves one arm to settle around his shoulders, keeping him close and keeps the other one buried in his hair, the touch lulling Michael into a dazed state.

He just breathes deeply and easily, and thinks that this is the most relaxed he’s felt all day.

Michael doesn’t really fall asleep, but he feels like maybe he’s too calm and still that Alex thinks he’s asleep.

He stops petting Michael’s hair, and Michael barely resists the urge to whine and demand he keep doing it.

He just leans heavier on Alex, who accommodates him easily.

Michael loses track of time then, he thinks maybe ten minutes pass, but it could've been twenty or half an hour or an hour or maybe even five hours.

Michael isn't sure of much else but the warmth of Alex's body against his, and his arm heavy around Michael's shoulders and the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the way he smells like wood chips and campfire smoke and home, and the low tapping sound as he plays with his phone and the occasional bursts of loud laughter coming from outside.

He thinks he hears a clicking noise and then a bright white flash. across his eyelids making him groan.

Alex drops his phone, placing his hand back in Michael's hair and hisses in a low voice.

"If you wake him up, I swear I will kill you," Alex threatens.

Michael doesn't have to open his eyes to feel Isobel's eye roll.

“You’re lucky that you’re the only person who can get him to willingly get some rest, or else I would’ve sent you away years ago.”

This time he can feel Alex’s eye roll.

Alex sighs and Michael can feel him dropping his head back on the back of the couch.

Michael presses a kiss to the warm skin of his neck, and Alex’s fingers tighten in his hair slightly.

“Go back to sleep, Guerin, we still got some time before it’s time to cut the cake.”

Michael just presses another kiss to Alex’s neck, and then settles himself back down again, nosing into Alex’s neck and exhaling gently.

Alex starts to massage his scalp again, and Michael melts into him even more, falling asleep.

[poprockstrawberrybblgum]

*:･ﾟ✧ [ Happy 2 Months — 11.28.2020  ]

it’s like this — one day you meet someone. and maybe it’s just a smile; maybe it’s not at all. maybe it’s a look in their eyes when they pass you by. and then there’s a name for that smile, there’s a sound that rolls off your tongue and dances in your mouth for the first time. you taste it, familiarize yourself with the way it rings in your ears. maybe you like it; maybe you ask for more.

the second time you meet them, you look for those eyes, you search for that smile. suddenly it doesn’t feel so foreign anymore. but then you realize: they’re meeting you, too. they say your name — but you’re shy. maybe they’re shy too. somehow you can’t remember the last time you’ve enjoyed the way your name sounds that much. maybe it’s the mellifluous honey of their voice, or their full, cherry lips; or maybe you catch the effervescent twinkle in the deep, almond crescents of their eyes. maybe you’re dreaming, but you learn to smile back because maybe they like it too.

the third time you meet them, there’s the melodious peal of laughter that resonates throughout the room; it echoes across hallways and turns every head. it’s almost as loud as yours, too; it’s boisterous and uninhibited, unlike anything you’ve ever heard, but a complete opposite from the timid nature of their close-lipped smiles. you think you like it a lot; maybe you like it even more that you’re the one who provoked such an alluring sound.

the fourth, fifth, sixth time you meet them, they all start to blur. minutes turn into hours that turn into days; weeks of fluttering butterflies in your stomach when they look your way. the first time they kiss you, you forget how to breathe. suddenly you’re fifteen again and harbouring your first crush and they’re so *ethereal*, so elegant; you’re so painfully aware of the leaps and bounds they have on you. maybe you don’t care — maybe it’s too late. they’re the ocean abyss and you’re drowning, but there’s not water; just touches and laughter and words, so many words, they occupy your mind and flood every corner of your soul and you *know* pain has never felt this good. 

the tenth time they kiss you, you think that maybe, just maybe, you’re in love.

and maybe you don’t know what love feels like; only that your chest clenches and sings and tumbles when you’re around them, your heart plummets to your stomach and right back up again when those gorgeous, slender digits wind their way around yours and sit snugly in your palm. before you know it your days are filled with nothing but thoughts of them, of the sweetness of their lips; the alabaster of their skin.

you realize you want to give them the world. you want to give them love, show them happiness; you want to give them every small shred of you and every last beat of your heart. but perhaps none more so than this one thing — the ability to see themselves through your eyes. how do you put into words the command they hold over each and every one of your senses, to tell them that a complete and total surrender is not suffice to describe the way in which they now own you; in every form, in every capacity? 

as lemony snicket once said: 

I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong. I will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. I will love you as we grow older, which has just happened, and happened several days ago, continuously, and then several years before that, and will continue to happen as the spinning hands of every clock and the flipping pages of every calendar mark the passage of time.

but I don’t want to love you that way — not as misfortune loves orphans but as the nightingale loves the sky and the sky loves the twinkling stars and the celestial bodies of galaxies and supernovas. I want to love you as enigmas love a puzzle and a sweet tooth loves a lollipop; you’re the flutter of the first snowfall on a windowsill; or the kiss of pink on a child’s nose. I love you as much as you love the stringy stretch of cheese on your pizza; as much as the waning rays of every setting sun loves to paint the subtle curves of your nose in its golden wake.

as the river loves to course along the riverbend, I love as the brook loves to babble and hop and quench the thirst of every parched mouth that sips from her. I love you as a dagger loves a sheath; that is, to be wrapped in its protective encasing, shielded from any possibility of danger it may cause so forth of its namesake. I love you as children love christmas mornings, and as stubby fingers love the wrinkle and tear of iridescent paper and bows. I love you not as the fire loves a burning building, but as piano keys love the fingers that dance across her ivory surface; as a song loves a melody and a melody loves your lips that carry its tune. I want to get lost, not in japan or in rome, or in new york or even paris. I want to get lost in the contours of your skin, the tail wisps of your moan; I want to hear the way your heart beats, over and over, like the sound of my name within. 

I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from skim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog.

I will love you always. perpetually. with unwavering steadfastness, and decreasing inhibition.

I told you I wanted to say “I want to spend forever with you” and mean it. I might not always have the right words, or the right sentiments, sometimes simply the proclamation of *i love you* seems so immeasurably far from enough. but I will, if you’d let me, spend the rest of that forever searching for the perfect way to show you just how much. 

every journey has to start with a step, and this is ours — it may be small, or insignificant, or utterly miniscule to the passing eye. still, it’s our own, and our timing is perfect simply because it’s perfect for us. a step into eternity.

happy two months, baobei. 

[egoschwank]

al things considered — when i post my masterpiece #808

first posted in facebook february 28, 2020

larry rivers -- "washington crossing the delaware" (1953)

"to contemplate a piece of art or to create it, make love, even ... i knew no emotion never would equal one that came over to me when i was playing music" ... larry rivers

"a hard, howling, tossing water scene. strong tide was washing hero clean. 'how cold!' weather stings as in anger. o silent night shows war ace danger!

the cold waters swashing on in rage. redcoats warn slow his hint engage. when star general's action wish'd 'go!' he saw his ragged continentals row.

ah, he stands – sailor crew went going. and so this general watches rowing. he hastens – winter again grows cold. a wet crew gain hessian stronghold.

george can't lose war with's hands in; he's astern – so go alight, crew, and win!" ... david shulman

"'washington crossing the delaware' is a sonnet that was written in 1936 by david shulman [...] the poem is noted for being an anagrammatic poem – in this case, a 14-line rhyming sonnet in which every line is an anagram of the title" ... wikipedia “i think of a picture of a smorgasbord of the recognizable” ... larry rivers

"'delaware crossing the washington' ... is just babble written by al janik ... if it is noted at all, it suggests a reversal of proper nouns that get what they deserve -- in this case, a 29 letter anagram of the originAL smorgasbord ... no, it does not rhyme" ... al janik

[ashara779]

Trapped

I’ve been very busy with work this week, but I’m so glad that I managed to finish this one in time! This is my first ever fanfic, so please ignore any and all writing mistakes m(> <)m

Day 4: Tight Spaces

******

"Now!" whispered Moon, as the group of men in suits rounded the corner. She and Gladion ran as silently as they could. They stopped in front of a redwood door, with a  label 'CEO Office' on it. Moon took out the keycard they took from the grunt on a lower story, and swiped it through the device next to the door. Holding their breaths, they watched the lights blinking on it.

Torcteakem was a new company that had set up in Ula Ula, offering Pokemon grooming and care services. Supposedly they were famous in Kanto, and had come to Alola to open a branch. But Moon didn't recognize their name, and she felt suspicious. Soon, she realised that 'Torcteakem' was an anagram of 'Team Rocket'. But on the surface, the company didn't do anything wrong, so they had no proof that it was anything but a coincidence.

So the kahunas decided to send her to infiltrate their headquarters there, to search for incriminating evidence that could prove that they were up to illegal activities. Knowing Team Rocket's reputation, it would be dangerous for Moon to go alone, so Gladion decided to go with her. They sneaked in after closing hours, when most of the people in the company had knocked off work. But none of the other rooms yielded any positive results for their search. When they were discovered poking in an exec's office by a security guard that threatened to throw them out, they battled him, beat him, and stole his keycard.

Moon sighed in relief when the light turned green, and the lock clicked. Gladion turned the doorknob, and they walked in. The room was huge and spacious, with a shiny polished redwood desk in the rear. Dark red blinds covered the clear glass wall on one side. Bookshelves filled with books and document files lined another wall. A maroon carpet covered the whole floor, muting their footsteps.

Gladion tossed a Pokeball, sending Lucario out. "Keep an ear out for anyone approaching, okay, boy?"

"Lucariiiiiii!!" His Pokemon nodded in agreement. They began searching the room, combing through papers and lists.

"Everything seems to be clean here," muttered Gladion, searching through the drawers of the desk. "Literally. He doesn't even have loose documents on the table."

"Cleaner than yours?" said Moon, teasingly, as she tossed a file to the ground and grabbed another file. "Guess the boss here actually completes his paperwork on time! Who'd have thought that's possible?"

Gladion rolled his eyes, snapping the last drawer shut. "Just get on with your searching." He walked over to a tall, thin closet with twin doors. Opening it, he snorted, "Wow, this guy keeps extra suits here. All ironed, too."

"Gotta look professional if they're trying to hide their criminal status, you know?" said Moon, throwing more files onto the carpet.

"If you mess the shelves up, they're gonna know that intruders were here," said Gladion warningly.

"Oh, it'll be fine, you worry too much," said Moon. "Nobody ever remembers exactly where everything is. Unless..." She suddenly froze for a long second, then looked over at the closet, her blue eyes bright. She rushed over and pushed the hanging blazers aside, revealing several more files hidden in a hollow behind the false back. "Unless they're in a veeeeery specific place."

Gladion took the files at once. Flipping one open, he scanned the first page, and whistled.

"We got them," he said, flicking a finger at the 'R' logo in the top right corner. "Phase Three, abduct Pokemon from the Aether Conservation Area... Ha. I'd like to see them try."

"Easy there, President. I don't think---"

Suddenly, Lucario barked. Gladion immediately dropped the files he was holding and rushed to the pile in front of the shelves, shoving them back into place as quickly as he could. Moon ran over to help.

"Okay, you were right, I shouldn't have done this. He hasn't returned to the office after work hours for the last three days, so why today!"

"We're out of time," muttered Gladion, looking around the room desperately. His eyes fell on the open doors of the closet. "Go grab the Rocket files, quick!" The blond turned and returned Lucario to his Pokeball.

Moon gathered the files into her arms with slightly shaking hands. "You think we can fight our way through?"

"No, I hear a crowd of them. We'd be outnumbered. Get in!!"

"What?!"

Before Moon could stop him, Gladion dragged her into the closet. Her eyes widened in panic as he pulled the doors shut, and the darkness surrounded them. Just in time, for the locking mechanism beeped, and the office door opened. A loud babble of voices came through, and Gladion strained to listen to what they were saying, when the suddenly loud breathing in front of him caught his attention.

"Sh!" he hissed as softly as he could. But the breathing sounds became louder and faster, and he reached out uncertainly. His hand landed on one trembling shoulder.

"Moon?" mumbled Gladion. "Are you.... claustrophobic?"

"...'m okay... okay..."

She obviously wasn't, Gladion thought in horror. On top of that, if she continued hyperventilating, they could be discovered. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close, the hard files in her arms digging uncomfortably into his chest. Moon leaned against him, still trembling.

"Relax. You're safe with me. I won't let anything happen to you," he breathed into her ear. Moon swallowed as he stroked her back reassurringly. In the darkness of the closet, with only a sliver of light coming from the crack between the closet doors, Gladion was acutely aware of her soft curves pressed against him, of the lavendar-scent wafting from her smooth skin. Between the thick fabric of hanging suits, the air was hot and stuffy, and he felt his body grow warmer every second with the proximity of the brunette in his embrace.

God, stop being such an idiot, he scolded himself, sternly. She's suffering right now, and we're in trouble if the grunts outside hear us. This is no time to think of... things...

But it was so hard, especially when Moon turned her face upwards towards him. She was so close, he could feel her breath against his lips.

"...the boss not coming yet?"

"...tied up... on the way up now..."

"...in the... Fourth Lab.."

"Gladion..." whispered Moon, and his heart squeezed at the pain in her voice. He had to do something, anything, to distract her from the pain. Before he realized what he was doing, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Moon responded at once, molding her lips to his. She tasted of sweet malasada, and rose tea. Sliding one hand up her slender back, he cupped her cheek, tilting her head slightly. Willingly, she opened her mouth to him, and her trembling finally began to cease.

He took the kiss deeper, and she savoured the distracting and very pleasant sensations. Her hands, trapped between his chest and the files she was holding, ached to touch him the way he was touching her, stroking her cheek gently with one thumb, carressing her back with the other. Instead, she met his questing tongue with her own, and smiled when he groaned into her mouth.

The slamming of a door startled them, and they broke apart. Blinking, the world came back into focus around them, and they realized that the room was now completely silent, apart from their ragged breathing.

Cautiously, Gladion pushed open the closet door, and looked out.

"They're gone," he said, feeling rather mortified at the hoarseness of his voice. Moon cleared her throat nervously.

"Right. We should go," she squeaked in a small voice, stepping out of the closet. Gladion glanced across at her furiously blushing face, knowing that his own was just as red. Without another word, they left the room. Neither dared to meet the other's eyes.

But, as they headed towards Kukui's lab, neither could stop replaying the moment in their minds, nor deny the fact that that they found themselves longing for more.

[underwaterbanshee]

Alternate ways Yeza realizes Nott is Veth: -He recognizes her voice. -He’s a brilliant man, he’ll probably recognize an anagram when he sees one. -She casts Hideous Laughter on an enemy by using a joke that Veth/Yeza made themselves.

You are my very first ask and I’m flailing a little inside

Can I please have all of these at once?! Just like, he sees this goblin girl who rescued him, she babbles something about being Nott the Brave, not expecting him to even see past the green skin and yellow eyes, and he just...know.

And breathes out her name--so very happy she is alive and here--saving him again.

That will probably be the closest I get to fanfiction ^^;;;;

[rbzpr]

Robespierre’s Tail or The Dangers of the Freedom of the Press (Méhée de La Touche)

This pamphlet was published on 9 Fructidor, Year II – mere weeks after the events of Thermidor – by Méhée de La Touche, the former secretary of Tallien, under the name “Félhemesi” (an anagram for Méhée fils).

Being a a satirical commentary on the political discussions of the time, the pamphlet is directed against certain Thermidorian Montagnards (e.g. Billaud-Varenne, Barère, Collot d’Herbois), who were considered to be the « continuators » of Robespierre. This is what the title alludes to: while Robespierre’s head had been cut of, his “tail” – a term with various sexual connotations – was still wagging. The publication enjoyed great success, with around seventy thousand copies sold in only one week, and apart from inspiring numerous sequels and imitations that took up the image of “Robespierre’s tail” (e.g. Suite à la Queue de Robespierre, Anneaux de la queue, Rendez-moi ma queue, Défends ta queue!, etc), it inaugurated a flood of anti-Jacobin pamphlets that would come to shape the press of Year III, mixing political commentary and obscene humour.

Whoever dares to think was not born to believe in me: To obey in silence is your only glory

  – Voltaire, Mahomet.

Citizens,

this morning, the friends of order and of the good police have seen one of these liberticidal motions, whose danger one has always been able to hide under the veil of popularity that they present, being scandalously repeated at the Convention ; it concerned a new question, the freedom of the press: we have barely had two thousand years to reflect about it, and men [who are] enemies of any kind of order already wanted to wrest [from the Convention], in a single session, and without the report of the committees, a decree which would have acknowledged this right to the full extent. Where would we be, great Gods! if this fatal motion had passed, as it was supposed to! Where would we be, if these supposed axioms of eternal law, preached by the Voltaires, Rousseaus, Hélvetiuses and so many other factitious or moderate [writers] of the Ancien Régime, had prevailed over the maxims of royal prudence [that have been] practised for so long and with so contained success by the St. Florentins, Sartines, Lenoirs etc, and invoked today with so much reason by Cambon, Bourdon de l'Oise and Granet! Where would we be, if everyone came to meddle in examining and discussing! if some blunderer would come to manage financial matters! what would Louis XIV, so justly called the Great, have become, without the care which he always had to halt the babbling of the press! Ah! citizens, be wary of the mania of reasoning ; this mania is good only for confusing everything ; it alone can destroy the most beautiful order of things and disturb the most honest dispositions: one already reasons only too much in the entire Republic ; and if you just want to imagine the disasters that slander can cause, listen to only a part of what one says.

« One has to admit, a citizen said yesterday, that we are quite unfortunate: lo and behold, the Plain which still attacks the Montagne! – Bast, another one responded, do you believe that there is still a Plain and a Montagne? do you believe that we have guillotined forty deputies and locked up sixty others, just to still find divisions in the Convention? – Nothing is more true, my man continued. I had read Le Journal Universel by Adounin ; I wanted to see if it would inspire respect: I went to the National Convention, and I observed, very clearly, a Plain and a Montagne: in truth, it is no longer the Montagne of olden times ; I have seen the old friends of the people sitting on the lower seats, and I did not recognise anyone at the top, apart from BARRÈRE, whom I had seen at the Feuillants, and Billaud-Varennes, very pale and dishevelled. This should suffice, his colleague responded, in order to show you that the Plain and the Montagne have merged, in order to form only one compound of true friends of the people, which, in spite of slight disagreements, always unite when it is a matter of saving it! It is not necessary to attach civisme to [certain] rows of seats, nor to believe that a few continuators of Robespierre (I REPEAT THIS ; BUT THESE ARE HIS EXPRESSIONS), by seeking to seduce some honest men, who will soon be disillusioned, could ever succeed in separating them: let the freedom of the press come, and many things will be revealed. »

You see it, citizens, let the freedom of the press come: this is the hope of all these people ; this is their eternal chorus: they wait only for this in order to unthread a chain of certain unfortunate truths that one should be wary of hearing. It is, above all, around the Convention that the bad tongues are practising most relentlessly. Will you believe it! I have seen men denying the gentleness and humanity of Billaud-Varennes. I have heard others saying, with an air of self-assurance, that there could be innocents, and even patriots, among the men that had been mitraillés at Collot's command, and four thousand [people] at the same time! They are quite far from admiring, like me, this ingeniously revolutionary invention, and this spectacle, the idea of which has produced so many friends of the revolution. How petty Louis the Great was, with his changing dragonaille, compared to Collot, who, I hope, will be called the very Great! Several [people] assured that Collot deliberately came from Commune-Affranchie in order to defend Vincent and Ronsin. At last, one did not grow tired [of speaking about] this legislator: but it was much worse when one opened the discussion on Barrère ; on Barrère, this immortal man, whose reports on our victories are so pleasant, that it is a matter of knowing if one applauds to our victories or to his good words. They accused him of fickleness, whereas it is well-known that he constantly belonged to the party of the strongest ; they say that he was an aristocrat at first ; then, he became captain of the Feuillants, just as, towards the end, he made became a Jacobin, more or less as God has became become a human, and through the intervention of Robespierre, his mortal enemy. Far from stopping these detractors of the old Committee of Public Safety, which I thought was necessary, I have seen many people applauding them, one criticised that the Committee had the weakness of hiding a thousand acts of counter-revolution at the Convention ; these measures affirmed that it was not possible that Robespierre had done all the evil on his own: they said that the matter would at least have merited the ad hoc nomination of a commission, which would be charged with verifying who signed the famous last arrêtés, when Saint-Just was at the army, and Robespierre [was] absent from the committee ; they were surprised when Billaud denied that the famous law on the Revolutionary Tribunal had been the work of the committee (something that, according to them, it would have been necessary to say in the moment of the report), while this same committee had raged so much about a simple recital of said law ; they took fright when seeing these supposed suspects controlling our political means, our military forces and our public fortune.

On the other hand, I believed to get rid of all of these arguers by fleeing: but everywhere, I heard the same calumnies being repeated against these respectable men. Ah, well! citizens, judge by something that has been said in a corner of Paris, of what is said in France ; of what would be said, if one did not hasten to make this salutary terror the order of the day again, which has maintained, for six months, this fortunate harmony, without which Barrère can no longer govern. Thus, what would happen if one dares to print what one says? Where would we be if one came to demonstrate it? Where would we be, if one came to tell France that our faithful Audounin, the successor of this [party] of the Père Duchesne, sells fourteen thousand copies of his hellishly patriotic newspaper to the Committee of Public Safety per day ; which, with two liards of profit per rag, yields him a small income of 127.755 livres per year (the poor man!). What do you think, what opinion should one hold of Barrère and Billaud-Varennes, if one came to say that they give almost as much to Charles Duval for preaching, in their sense, against the old Montagnards, which they today call the Marais! Oh, my friends, let us repel, with salutary fear, the freedom of the press which is threatening us ; can you not see that, if the aristocrats or the royalists came to use it, we would recognise them, and everything would be lost? Is it not better that they continue wearing red bonnets and singing the Carmagnole: if the aristocrats preached counter-revolutionary maxims, one would unmask them, you see ; one would make the people see the danger of their opinions, and this must not happen! One must let them hide themselves under the patriotic mantle, so that, in the fray, we strike each other indistinctly, which is much better ; thus, beware of allowing the freedom of the press ; do not allow one to say that Granet, whose costume made me shed tears for his misery several times, has a hundred thousand écus of property in Marseille, and in good houses ; one must not know that his brother and him let themselves be granted a hundred thousand écus of compensation for three months of detention ; one must not say that, for five years, one has been seeking to federalise the Midi, and to turn Marseille into a capital: all these truths are good only for causing trouble in the state ; thus, let us stay quiet ; let us sleep, and the patrie is saved once more.

FETHEMÉSI. [sic]

Source: La queue de Robespierre

[alovelyspark-blog]

MARCELO JIMENEZ’S TAPES

IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER  --- (found in the assignment & the consequence) 

ENTRY #16 

After months of secrets, subterfuge, and indoctrination, they brought me into their fold. This place is... elaborate to say the least. Despite the modernistic visage, the research they have been doing here seems to date back to over a century ago. This place has history and from what I can grasp, this facility is only one branch of many. Institutions, powerful families; their reach seems grand, and therefore the possibilities for me seem equally as rich. Clearly my own unique methods at Beacon have piqued their interest, and I am most grateful for the opportunity. 

Most of what the researchers have been working on, however, seems archaic by today’s stands. 

They told me budget is of no concern; results are the only thing that matter. Juggling duties here and at the hospital seems manageable, but Ruben... Comparatively insignificant, but even at his young age his studies are remarkable. Perhaps one day he will even assist me with my work here. 

ENTRY #31

After surviving the fire incident and subsequent abuse from his parents, it’s a miracle Ruben can function at all. 

His work comes from a place that isn’t motivated by fear or money or social standing... his motives are more... pure. I would say that he is obsessed with the chance to re-live and re-mold reality so he can be with her again. 

His scarring is heavy, both physically and emotionally, but he longs for his lost sister. 

His love for her borders almost on an incestuous level, but as long as it provides motivation, so be it. 

ENTRY #120

His demeanor has turned far too aggressive and his techniques even more perverse. Da Vinci would dissect corpses to further his anatomical studies, but what Ruben has done goes beyond... Demanding his subjects be “aware” as he dissects them to truly see how the mind reacts. He’s more of a butcher than an artist. 

But we must remain scientists above all. I had taught him from a young age that the end shall justify the mean, but I could not have predicted things to be this extreme. 

Mobius has learned of his involvement, due to my carelessness. I’ve asked they bring him on board to assist in development. Perhaps offering him better facilities and support will refocus him and stave off his gruesome proclivities. 

ENTRY #133

Ruben’s experimentation has demanded more and more subjects and, sad to say, they’re suffering as much as - if not more than - his previous patients. Fortunately, Beacon and this city offer no shortage of expendable subjects. I should feel guiltier than I do, but my Hippocratic Oath was abandoned long ago. The scientific and medical potential of the work is too great to be denied. 

Mobius has also offered me a respectable amount of... compensation. Promoting me to director at Beacon is not something to be taken lightly. First, however, they want me to have a reputation, publishing studies in various journals. Repurposing some of Ruben’s research towards patient evaluation seems viable. I doubt he will even notice. 

ENTRY #154

Despite our powerful benefactors, with this much collateral damage, it’s only a matter of time before people start to take notice. 

KCPD has been dropping by. A female officer, I don’t remember her name... Regardless, the police are not something I should be involved with. Mobius says they will take cake of it and make an effort to ensure KCPD leave us alone. 

Then there is the report from the Krimson Post, Ivan... something-or-other... He has become a personal annoyance. He barely qualifies as a tabloid journalist, writing cover stories about tales of church sacrifices and other nonsense, but now he’s being persistent about the missing patients claim. I’ll be damned if he is the man who bring Beacon down... 

It seems that Ruben could be useful for other forms of problem solving. Perhaps I can interest this reporter in an “exclusive interview.” 

ENTRY #188

They grow impatient with our progress and demand briefings on the development process. At first stressing the results, but now they work off of a timeline based on their needs - typical bureaucrats. 

I’ve been pushing Ruben, but he’s retreated further, doing his research at home and refusing to come to the lab unless it’s directly working on our STEM prototype. I am feeling uneasy and no doubt Mobius is looking on us with question.

ENTRY #201

Ruben has no idea what he’s done. It’s not surprising that he doesn’t care, either. He was never motivated by fear of Mobius... 

The STEM prototype works, but only when connected to Ruben. I’ve checked the details and he customized the whole system to only operate with his own brain-wave pattern. I left him alone with the device for far too long, trusted him too much and despite all my knowledge in the field it’s past the point of fixing. I can’t just flip a switch. 

And that’s not the worst of it. They know, as well. I’m not going to take the blame for this. I will drag him here and make him fix it. I can’t imagine what they will do to him if he doesn’t... 

ENTRY #209

I saw what they have done to him, and I am appalled. To think the young boy I mentored is now this... a mass of grey matter in a glorified test tube. Could they have been planning this all along? 

And what have I become in all of this? 

They’ve managed to keep his mind alive by simulating an artificial body. His consciousness is being confined to a mental straight jacket, a gear in their infernal machine. They have even stricken his name and humanity, referring to him by an anagram, “RUVIK.” A crude joke, as if spitting on his grave. 

I almost felt the urge to smash the case and end it right there... but my anger was quickly replaced by scientific curiosity. Ruben’s legacy will live on; I will spearhead the next step. I will create something of my own out of this tragedy. 

ENTRY #215

They’ve refocused the efforts of the other programs to support our research. STEM priority has seemingly overridden other departments’ individual research. Chemical and botanical studies are focused now on tempering, priming subjects for their inevitable connection. 

Now that the prototype is up and running, experiments continue. Upon their return from STEM integration, patients are interviewed extensively. While their particular pathologies inform their experiences, there are commonalities. They all experience the same setting, the same occurrences. The “world” they inhabit becomes larger with every new visitor. This suggests that shard of each user’s consciousness are left behind inside the STEM, creating a community. It’s as if, internally, a new world is being built.  

ENTRY #229

Patients emerging from the STEM are becoming more erratic. Their pathologies seem to be amplified by the experience now. Even worse, patients now seem to experience each other’s psychological trauma. It’s as if the user’s deepest fears linger within the encephalon of the system, even after the session is over. 

The most concerning thing are their most recent statements. Every single patient claims to see a hooded figure slowly approaching them. Could it be him? His consciousness existing as a ghost in the system? 

My curiosity has never been piqued like this. I want to know. I want to see what they see. But it’s too risky... for now. 

ENTRY #231 

I’m afraid that the fragile mental states of the subjects are limiting our studies. Mobius wants us to move past Beacon patients and on to more “stable” people. They want to get STEM closer to its intended use. 

Would they see the world in the same way? Would a “sane” mind weather the psychically draining experience? 

I had that dream again. I entered the STEM myself... 

ENTRY #232

I revisited the Victoriano Estate yesterday; it’s a vestige, a mere husk of what was bound to be such a home of promise. Mobius reaped nearly everything of value when we took on the research ourselves, but Ruben’s notes indicate he was involved in something else. 

There were plans for another STEM prototype... data about using receptors to transmit the brain function wirelessly to unaware users. It’s borderline parapsychology, but these schematics, and the scientific backup provided, seem sound... 

What was he planning to do with such a thing? 

There’s only one way to find out for certain, but I must continue these experiments in private, away from their prying eyes. I will not let them know... lest they take this from me as well. 

ENTRY #239

Something else is even more harrowing... our subjects are... dying. They come out from STEM abruptly passing with looks of horror in their eyes. The one that do survive are catatonic; babbling incoherent masses that we can’t properly interview. 

We’ve done nothing to the process to cause this change. It must be the ever-growing collective consciousness of the STEM system. These patients seem unable to take the strain of exposure. We need more “sane” subjects, perhaps to cleanse the system. At its current state, the system is unsustainable, something Mobius will not approve of. This time, only I am to blame for this. 

Our new prototype in Beacon is almost ready. When it is, I will start its conversion to the wireless system. Even if the original STEM experiments go awry. I will show my worth to Mobius with its next generation. 

ENTRY #246

Today was something truly surprising. He was one of the last groups of test subjects... Just another patient I expected to babble and maybe even die. Patient 105: Leslie Withers. 

Ruben had singled him out as a useless subject... but he must have known. He knew I would read his notes. What else was Ruben lying to me about? 

But this Leslie... he emerged cognant, calm, and able to report fully what he’d experienced inside. His unique pathology allowed him to successfully navigate his STEM experience with little repercussion. 

They know nothing of his existence, but no doubt he is the key. If we all share the consciousness, then with him I too should be able to experience the STEM, potentially even suppress the more unsavory aspects of it. 

With him I can be the master of the very technology I helped create. Mobius will see my worth and let me rise even higher in their ranks. 

ENTRY #264

They’re coming for me. I don’t know how, but they know everything. They even know about Leslie. There’s no use hiding this anymore. 

I’ll enter the system and my return will be proof that all of this was worth it. I can of course convince them that it wasn’t for me, it was for their goals!

There are just the final tweaks left. Once I finish, I will put Leslie in the STEM with myself and activate it. The wireless signal should ring out in the near distance. I can’t speak for those unfortunate to be around, but like I always said, the ends will justify the means. 

Finally Mobius will see that I am one of their chosen ones. Ruben is but a ghost. I am their savior. Their plan is nothing without me. 

[arielkrupnik]

The Holy Babble

God evening, all Welcome yourselves Welcome to the revelations against me. See my identity, make ruin of your focus - Damage needs to be done to find out how it can be prevented This greatest idea, started by sounding stupid Dont let being smart stop you from doing what you love the most

Swallow your pride, and bite off more than you can chew Follow your dreams Swallow your nightmares Dont be me with more nightmares than ideas to use. Its better to see your dreams with eyes open In a dream, I saw a long line of chains; a string of events yet to commence 

Everything we do is an anagram for what we are not doing Every step forward is a step taken in circles round and round it goes, where it'll stop, no one knows Inner darkness travels faster than that of the speed of outer light Now its the light at the end of the tunnel thats just light to the un'train'ed mind But basing life on visuals is not an option I lost the vision I saw for miles I saw so far, no good You wont get anywhere, unless you're from out of nowhere My life came in too fast to live to just miss the opportunity to better myself Being the fool is the crime If I died, I'd be the last to know I can never die if Im living the way I supposed to Living is on my side - This body of work, is very much alive And behind that door number one, my life is potent misery to any who knows it Looking on the bright side is portrayed in a bad light and are we not already? We flaunt excellence, and flaunt flare in the faces of those who dont (have it) Beauty may only be skin deep to be a prisoner to its host You can almost hear this jailhouse rock, this heartless heartthrob Here in heartache/heartbreak heaven, the body is an asylum for criticism thats in constant outbreak In'securities make up the worst bodyguards Our judgment days make daises Its the end of the world for anyone who cares.

Now its easier to get boredom than freedom It never gets old to the inventor, and less old to all if made right So think outside the box, after you are coffin'edA coma karma, is highly inspire-y

The confines of a coffin like a crystal ball - You can see your future in it! What can happen eventually will Laughter cant last forever No one can stay saved. When dreams are too much of a dream come true, these dreams dont seem to Dreams are just numbers on fingers you cant count on If all my dreams came true will you come to? This is not for the rose-hearted I wont revive from her beauty I succumb to defeat before I succumb to the task Its the leading cause of death to bad writers Am I not already them? This mistaken confidence, is me I give you sad is fiction! They all forget the one who remembers all; its why they are forgettable Don't regret what you cant remember Bless me for loving everyone but help me for thinking that way I love more than Im made to I am one with forgiveness I never had an enemy who wasn't already once a friend Behind every back are the worst of them; friends I cant believe there are more people against me who aren't in my head I need people I could trust, not friends I wouldn't take a bullet for them unless I was pulling the trigger There are more guns than people in the room These people are gonna haveta shoo or shoot! Double U, oh, double U It doesn't bother me that they kill, it bothers me that they don't feel bad doing it At least difficulty is my only ificulty War is only over when its overrated Losing beats boredom Dreams will eventually be boring Time will heal everything but its loss. Theres no time to find a shadow and are we not already shadows? Worse drug I ever took was a time capsule Taken with a grain of salt Eris Quod Sum - I am what you will become As if taken by pantomime pills Life imitates art into a tortured portrait of an artist You can choose any color you want for it as long as you pick black A gloomy overcast is yours to have You could put it on paper and get rid of it,

but why hurt the paper? I'd rather bash my head in with this writers block, extract the pulling juice, grab the bullshit by the horns! Anythin else would be sugarcoating a diabetic truth The only worse lie than hate is love Now its the only boyfriend of no girlfriend being the only me I'll ever think of, descended from which all of heaven originated from His is a life heavier than most imagined Such shimmerility See the world through reimagining A mass collection of obsession oddifacts Calm cools been collected. If no one can accept me for me, then there can be no such thing as a positive me We engineer the surround sound stereo'types We welcome the revolution against me This world war tour ends now A man who stands for nothing does not stand I drank hell from high water Theres hell to pay and everybody owes me Im not saying I am the devil, but I sure as hell wont deny it Tampering with 'heaven' cant get you OUT of trouble but it sure as 'hell' can get you IN When all else fails, bail And for my next trick, Im gonna make my soul disappear I say piss to this mortal life! I came to leave Dreams make you more than a person And are we not already very legendary? Sleep and the world sleeps with you Make a peep and you sleep alone Be it peace, love, and all thee above, the everything and not, some ends come sooner than others "The end cant come sooner enough" He talks in silence, he speaks just like he's God Now its a wonderful underworld He's in a better place now.