#of course this doesn’t apply if you take them out of your canon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

a-yellow-van · 5 months

Text

Wish You Were Here | Part 2

The aftermath of the previous evening.

Series masterlist

Pairing : Joel Miller x f!reader

Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, eventual smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, jackson joel, joel is a good parent to ellie, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence

WC for part 2 : 5.9 k

Warnings for part 2 : swearing, implied sexual content

(I had this one already written, currently working on part 3 so it'll take me a bit of time before uploading again)

You’re jolted awake, face contorted in a silent scream, dry tears stinging your cheeks, fists clenching the sheets, heart beating at a wild pace. The last remnants of a nightmare fade away, leaving a shot ringing in your ears, as you try to focus on your surroundings. You’re here, in your bedroom, in your house, in Jackson. You’re safe. You breathe, slowly, in and out. Everything is fine. Everything is-

Images from last night flash before your eyes. Joel, laughing with you. His hands on your waist. His lips on yours. The desire. His rage. And the abandon.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

A wave of shame, along with nausea, hits you like a freight train. Your head is pounding, your mouth dry, an awful taste lingering in it. You gag, leap out of bed and run to the bathroom just in time.

When you’re done, you rinse your mouth and meet your reflection. Bloodshot eyes, heavy bags underneath them, knotted hair sticking out around a sickly pale face. You left the tavern without telling anyone and immediately collapsed into bed. Yesterday’s clothes, that you’re still wearing, smell like booze and sweat and something else too- or rather someone else. You shut your eyes and rub them with closed fists, applying so much pressure it hurts. You want to bash your face in the mirror.

God you’re a wreck.

You decide brushing your teeth and taking a shower is the best course of action right now. Your watch indicates it’s well past noon and there’s no way you can get back to sleep. Not with those thoughts swimming around your head. The scalding water does little to distract you from them. You scrub your skin raw, as if you can wash away Joel’s touch; it doesn’t work. You still feel him against you when you step out of the bathtub. You’re thinking about the kiss as you get dressed, as you run a comb through your wet hair, as you walk down to your kitchen, and as you put on the kettle for tea. Why can’t you stop thinking about it? And why the hell is part of you wishing that it went further? The kettle whistling shakes you out of the spiral. You wish you had a stronger beverage, that and a painkiller, but they’re rare supplies these days. You fill a mug with the tea and try sitting at your small kitchen island, but it quickly becomes claustrophobic, as though the walls are closing in on you. So you get up and grab a rainbow wool blanket, knitted by Astrid as a Christmas present, from the couch. Wrapping yourself in it, you go out to your back porch and sprawl on one of the lawn chairs, the bitter January air stinging your lungs, shocking you into alertness. The pain is refreshing.

What a fucking way to start the year.

You look out at the frosted mountains in the distance, peaceful giants protecting the town. They’re strong, grounded, indomitable. You think it’d be nice to float up to the top and lay there above the clouds, where what is happening down below wouldn’t matter at all. You take a sip of tea, which burns your tongue, and you curse under your breath. It brings you right back to reality. On the yard right of yours, the neighbour’s kids are playing in the snow, their high-pitched giggles filling the air. The girl, about seven years old, notices you and stops to call out your name. You give her a small wave back.

“Happy new year!” She yells enthusiastically, flashing the gap of fallen front teeth. Her younger brother imitates her but stumbles on half of the words. Their little faces are flushed, snowsuits soaking wet. You can’t help but find it adorable, even in your condition. It never ceases to impress you how resilient children can be, how they can keep their wonder, their innocence when the world has crumbled around them.

“Happy new year. Don’t get frostbite,” you reply.

“Look at our snowman!” the boy chips in, his lisp evident, pointing at a shapeless mount of snow.

You chuckle. “He’s cool. You should add a carrot.”

The kids beam, and run off inside to act upon your suggestion. And then a snowball flies out of nowhere and hits you on the shoulder, almost causing you to drop your tea. You shriek, jumping to your feet and putting the mug down on the railing as another snowball misses your head by a hair’s breadth. Max’s figure appears from behind a thick pine tree growing right outside your fence.

“HEY! WHAT THE F-” you catch yourself, remembering there are children closeby. Max steps fully into view, guffawing, their bright red beanie clashing with the ginger locks peaking out. They walk to the side and push the fence door open, entering your backyard.

“Moron.” There is no humour in your voice. You brush the snow off your clothes, muttering to yourself. Max walks up the old wooden stairs and joins you on the porch.

“Really? Not even a hi, how are you, happy new year?” They raise a hand to their chest in mock offence.

“You didn’t give me time for that did you? Nearly took my fucking head off.” You cross your arms tightly. You’re really not in the mood for Max’s antics. Not today.

“Jesus, so dramatic,” they sit down on the other lawn chair, while you remain standing. “Woke up on the wrong foot?”

Anger bubbles up inside, as does the urge to punch that smug little grin off Max’s face. “What are you doing here?” You ask, bluntly.

“Hm. Not much. Just, uh, checking in on you,” Max replies, purposefully evasive. The anger rises.

“Why?” You bark, already knowing the answer to that question.

“Well…Just heard you got into, uh, an interesting situation last night.” They look up at you with that smirk again. You glare back, fuming, and grunt in response.

God they can be such a fucking pain in the ass.

“So I’m just wondering what it is exactly that made you think oh, yeah,” they suspend their voice for a few seconds “Joel Miller?” They accentuate his name as if it were an insult, full of implication.

You’re trying to keep calm, but it’s getting very difficult. You choose your words carefully. “I was drunk. We were just talking. And it’s none of your business” Your voice trembles with the emotion.

“Just talking, uh?” Max is clinging on to this stronger than a dying man to his last breath.

“I don’t know what you’re implying, but nothing happened,” you lie, through gritted teeth. You’re dangerously close to your tipping point.

“Hm. That’s weird, `cause Astrid told us she saw a lot more than-”

“Can you fucking drop it?” you shout. Max has done it.

They're taken aback by your outburst, pausing for a beat, before their expression hardens. They inhale sharply and speak up again, brows furrowed in frustration.

“You know, I’m getting sick of this closed up bullshit. We’ve been friends for what, 5 years, and you never tell me a single thing about how you’re feeling, or your past, or-“

“We’re not friends,” you interrupt them, harshly.

“Oh, okay, yeah, sure!” Their tone drips with sarcasm. “Then what are we?”

The question makes you hesitate. “I don’t know. Coworkers,” you say, your tone losing conviction.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Max exclaims. “Are you serious? So you’re telling me you- you came to your coworker’s house in the middle of the night after having a breakdown?

Your chest tightens at the memory. It’s a moment of weakness you really hate to be reminded of. “That’s not fair. It was a long time ago,” you grumble, looking down.

“Uh-huh,” Max continues, raising their voice. “You supported your coworker when they came out to you?” They wait, expecting you to interject, but you keep quiet, so they take it up a notch. “You helped your coworker when they were starving, bleeding out, half-frozen to death? That’s what you’re telling me?”

You still don’t respond, but the anger is starting to melt; Max’s words are stabbing at a sensitive spot. You’re brought back in time, to one of your first ever patrols, in the dead of winter, when you were still training. You had gone off the trail because you thought you heard a faint plea for help. That’s when you had found Max, curled up in the hollow of a tree, skeletally thin, shivering, the snow stained red from a fresh wound on their leg. You had brought them back to Jackson, had strongly insisted to Maria that they stay in town, took Max’s defence when other survivors argued they were a lost cause. You’d checked in on them nearly every day, and you were right; Max had made a complete recovery, eventually growing into an active, important member of the community. At the time, you didn’t know why you were doing all of this for a stranger. Maybe you just couldn’t bear losing anyone else, couldn’t take being powerless, unable to save them.

Max lets a few seconds pass by in silence. “Look, all I’m saying is I care about you. And I got worried when you left last night. It wasn’t like you” they explain, softer now, the concern honest. You feel a pang of guilt for snapping at them as the anger vanishes completely. Truth is, you care about them too. A lot. Of course you do. And you’re mainly upset at yourself for acting in such a senseless way last night. But admitting all of that out loud, it’d be too much. Instead, you give Max a meaningful nod, and squeeze their arm.

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m okay. Just- I- I’m hungover.” There’s way more than that, and Max is well aware. But they don’t push further.

“Lightweight,” they tease, lightening the tension. You’re grateful for the change in mood.

“And you’re not? I think you burst the entire town’s eardrums last night,” you respond, relieved to fall back into the usual back-and-forth.

“Uh, I’ll have you know I’m proud of that performance,” they argue.

“I’ll give it to you. Wasn’t your worst,” you reply, feeling a smile pulling at your lips. Max gives you one back.

“Alright, can we go inside now? Fucking freezing” Max asks, rubbing their arms up and down.

“Yeah,” you answer, “want some breakfast?” It’s really the least you could do. Actions are much easier than words to show that you care.

“Would love some lunch.” They correct, as you slide open the glass door and let them pass first, following them in.

“Seriously though, Joel Miller?” they add, peering at you over their shoulder. You push them into the dining room.

“Mention it again and I’m hitting you,” you threaten, half-serious.

“Alright, alright,” Max concedes. “I just didn’t know you were into old men.” They snicker. You keep to your word and kick their ankle.

They squeal out in pain and you strike a second time. “I’m. Not.”

Max sits at the dining room table, massaging their hurt leg, while you scramble some eggs for the both of you. Along with some sourdough from Leanne at the bakery, it makes a decent meal. And, as you eat, you come to a conclusion. That thing with Joel, it doesn’t have to mean anything. It can’t mean anything. Because you’re not ready to accept the possibility that there might be something more. Something like feelings that you’d need to process. You’ve taken too long to build a thick, impenetrable shield around your heart. You can’t just drop it so quickly. It was a mistake, a lapse in judgement caused by the alcohol. You’re going to lock it away in a forgotten corner of your mind, like you usually do when emotions are involved. Just pretend it never happened, stay cordial with the man if ever have to interact again. It should be easy enough.

Right?

——————————

Joel is cruelly pulled out of sleep by a series of booming knocks. He sits up abruptly, in a panic, instinctively reaching at his side for a weapon but his fingers grasp only the pilled fabric of bed sheets. It takes a moment to situate himself, to remember he is out of danger. Whoever’s behind the noise doesn’t give him reprieve to slow down his pulse, however. Another round of knocks erupts as a muffled, irritated voice travels up to his bedroom.

“JOEL! HELLO? JOEELLLLL! WAKE UP!” It’s unmistakably Ellie.

The kid can be so damn loud for her size. Joel grumbles a string of curses, hurries out of bed and down the stairs despite strained muscles and the beginning of a migraine he’s certain will be terrible. He’s too old for hangovers like this. He jogs through the hallway, gets to the back door and flings it open before Ellie pipes up again. She’s standing on the porch, bundled up in her purple puffer jacket. Her balled fists are suspended in the air, mid-movement.

“WHAT?” He yells, making Ellie flinch. He immediately regrets his tone.

“Shit, no need to be rude,” the girl replies, arms dropping to her sides.

“Sorry, kid. You almost gave me a heart attack,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “What’s up?”

She gets straight to the point. “My heating’s busted. Can you fix it?”

Joel scoffs. “Good morning, Ellie! Happy new year to you too.”

“Uh, it’s almost 1 PM. And I didn’t think you celebrated,” Ellie answers matter-of-factly.

Little smartass.

Joel makes the motion to close the door in her face, but she’s faster and grabs the outer handle.

“Hey come on! It’s like 2 degrees in there!” She shouts.

Ellie stares up at him, impatient. Joel doesn’t budge. She sighs. “Please,” she mumbles, breaking eye contact.

Joel smirks. It’s exactly what he wanted to hear. He keeps her hanging for another few seconds before answering : “Okay.”

Ellie rolls her eyes.

“I still got Tommy’s tools. Can you wait 10 minutes?” He’s just giving Ellie a hard time, and she knows it. He’d do anything to help her, no matter what it entailed; he’s done a hell of a lot more than repair a broken heater.

“Yeah, sure, just drill me out of the block of ice,” Ellie says, spinning on her heels and walking off towards the garage that's been converted into her living quarters.

Joel smiles, watching her go. He gets back into the house and does his best to clean up in the bathroom while avoiding looking in the mirror. He still feels like he’s been run over by a truck, and sleeping the day off is very inviting, but he can’t just let the girl freeze. And the work will keep him busy, distract him from the pain. He puts on a coat over the clothes that he slept in, the same ones he was wearing at the tavern; he hadn’t bothered changing out of them after coming home. He ties his boots with difficulty and grabs the toolbox from a storage shelf in the utility room. He borrowed it from Tommy a few weeks ago when the upstairs bathroom nearly flooded, and hasn’t returned it yet. He makes a mental note of it. Joel’s house is a fixer upper for sure, but he’s done his best over the last six months, and it’s starting to become less of a temporary shelter and more of a home, something he never would have thought possible. Ellie’s presence at such a short distance definitely plays a role. He’s not hurt by the fact she insisted on having her separate space; he doesn’t think they’d have done well trying to fit into a normal family dynamic. That’s not what they are. And besides, he’s just happy she’s still talking to him, after what happened at the hospital. Joel brushes off the thought as he crosses the back garden, counting the steps it takes to reach the garage. There’s exactly thirteen. As always.

He lets himself in. Ellie’s waiting, laying on the loveseat wrapped in her duvet. She wasn’t lying; it’s glacial inside and Joel can see his breath. Ellie’s lit a fire in the wood stove, resourceful as she is, but it’s not doing much.

“Took you long enough,” she says, barely audible as half her face is covered by the blanket.

“Hey. Drop the attitude.” Joel orders, but a little smile curves up his lips. Ellie returns it. He can’t stay mad at her and she’s proud of it.

Joel looks around the room. Ellie’s bed is unmade, stripped of its cover; clothes are piling on a chair, random objects scattered around her desk, from coloured pencils to a used plate and utensils. Her guitar is held up by a sturdy stand in a corner, pristine; it’s apparent Ellie takes good care of it. And there, on the coffee table, a good amount of crumbs, and four empty bottles of beer. His gaze lingers on them long enough for Ellie to notice.

“Um, Cat came over last night she brought those, her mom was totally okay with it-” Ellie overexplains, the words coming out quickly.

Joel raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t say anythin’.” He likes that she gets anxious, it shows that she cares about his opinion, and doesn't want him to be disappointed. But how could he be? He’d do much worse than drinking a beer or two if he’d gone through as much as Ellie has at her age. “What’d you guys get up to?” Joel asks as he moves towards the space heater, plugged in a wall outlet not far from the loveseat. Ellie relaxes.

“Uh, we just watched a movie. Back to the Future,” she replies. Joel smiles. He’d found it out on a run and gave it to Ellie as a Christmas present. “Cat had such a crush on Marty. It was pretty funny,” the girl adds.

“And you didn’t?” He teases as he kneels in front of the heater, his back screaming in agony, and sets the toolbox down on the cold cement floor.

“Nah. Not my type.” Ellie shifts in her seat to get a good view of Joel. He starts by trying the power switch, to no avail. “I already did that,” she tells him in a condescending tone.

“Yeah, no shit,” Joel mutters. He takes out a screwdriver and finds the appropriate bit before starting to work on taking the heater apart. He opens up the electrical box and begins testing out the various components, face drawn out in concentration. Ellie observes him quietly for a few minutes, chewing on a nail. Joel’s completely focused on the pieces he’s turning over in his hands.

And then, he hears Ellie’s voice behind him again. “So. You were out pretty late last night,” she points out.

Joel freezes up, caught off guard. The tool he’s holding drops to the ground, clattering.

Last night. Fucking Hell.

Glimpses of the drunken evening assault his brain. Bribes of your conversation, how natural it felt talking to you. The sound of your laughter. How your eyes lit up when you smiled. The blushes you tried to hide. Your hands on his shoulders.

How smooth your lips were.

Wait.

The way the night ended suddenly comes back. A rush of anger, shame, and guilt engulfs him, the same one that pushed him to abandon you about ten hours ago. He has to stop himself from screaming, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut. Why the fuck did he do that? How could he let you get so close? When did he get so weak as to let his walls down that much the second a pretty woman talks to him? And why did it feel so damn good?

Joel fights to somewhat regain his composure, to act casual as he replies to Ellie. He clears his throat and picks the tool back up. “Uh, yeah. Just out at the tavern with Tommy,” he deflects.

“Hm.” Ellie pauses, letting Joel think she’s off the scent. But then, she questions : “Just Tommy?”

Nervosity is added to the boiling pot of emotions, lighting up the wick of a bomb Joel’s trying his hardest not to let explode.

What does the kid know?

He struggles to recall another memory. Your friend, the tall blonde one who’s another patroller, she saw you too together. Not what happened outside, but enough to raise suspicion, Joel’s ninety-nine percent certain of it.

He breathes slowly before answering. “Yup.” He attempts to be firm, but he can hear the hesitation in his own voice. So he busies himself with the heater again.

“Well,” Ellie starts, but Joel cuts her off, not taking any chances.

“Didn’t you have farm duty today?” He changes the subject abruptly, pulling at a wire.

“Uh, yeah, I went already. They let me off early,” Ellie says, “I heard something interesting though.” Joel can practically see the smirk on her face from where he is crouched, but he refuses to look her in the eyes.

Damn it.

He stays silent. Ellie continues. “You were…dancing? With someone?” She adds your name, inquiring.

Joel tightens his grip on the tool handle, knuckles turning white. “You don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” he utters. “We weren’t dancing.” He keeps his gaze stubbornly stuck to the heater.

Ellie holds back a laugh. “But you were with her?” She keeps up the interrogation.

The wick of the bomb burns more. “Just havin’ a conversation. With a coworker. I don’t know who told you that, but it ain’t true,” he replies harshly.

Ellie snorts. “Uh-huh. Okay. That’s-”

“Ellie. Stop.” Joel threatens, finally snapping his head up to glare at the girl. And the expression is enough to make her understand he isn’t joking. She listens to the command and shuts right up, however, she doesn’t lose the mocking grin.

He huffs, returning to the task. He’s mulling over everything in his head, beating himself up to a pulp, when Ellie decides to pick up her guitar. She begins practising Future Days, the song Joel has been teaching her. The notes are unsteady, the rhythm choppy, but the music is like a balm over Joel’s mind, soothing it. It helps him calm down, and soon enough, he finds the source of the heater’s malfunction : the fan is clogged with dust and debris. He dislodges it from the mechanism and cleans it out with a rag, whistling along to Ellie’s playing. He puts the pieces back together and wipes his hands on his jeans, before trying the power switch once more. The heater hums into life.

Ellie breathes a sigh of relief and puts down the guitar. “Oh fuck yeah.”

“Language,” Joel reprimands her. Ellie sticks out her tongue at him. He puts away the tools he’s used and stands up with the toolbox, knees creaking.

“Hey, thanks, Joel,” the girl says timidly, taking off the layers she’d put on, “and, uh, sorry I woke you up.” She’s genuine.

“It’s fine, kid. Don’t worry.” He awkwardly claps his free hand on his thigh, unsure if he should stay longer. He’d like to, but he doesn’t want to impose, or make it weird.

“You should go shower. You look like shit,” Ellie quips. “And we got dinner with Maria and Tommy later,” she adds.

“Hmm. Right,” he groans; he’d completely forgotten. He’s never wanted to do anything less in his life. The day just keeps getting better.

He follows Ellie’s advice once he’s back inside his house. As the hot water runs over his tired skin, he takes time to reflect, and he makes a decision. The encounter with you was simply a product of intoxication. The old, rusted feelings it stirred up within him were, too. It’s just been very long since he’s done anything…intimate. With anyone. That must explain it. He’s got to convince himself of that. Because the other alternative terrifies him, fills him with dread, and he can’t afford that. Not again. Not after Tess. So, he’s going to ignore it, push it away, bury it deep at the back of his mind, enough that it can’t affect him anymore. Just pretend it never happened, go back to the way he treated you before. Cold. Indifferent. He’s done that countless times.

Right.

It should be easy enough.

——————————

It has been two weeks. Two weeks that you’ve succeeded in avoiding Joel at all costs, and the weather has definitely helped. Winter has been ruthless, the temperature dropping below zero most mornings, the snowfall almost incessant, isolating the town. It’s mostly a positive; it prevents infected, or hunters, or worse, from discovering it. Survivors have been staying in as much as possible, going out only when absolutely necessary. You did your part with helping plough the snow on your horse, a dapple grey mare named Willow; Maria had assigned time slots to the capable survivors. Thankfully, you and Joel weren’t scheduled on the same one. You haven’t crossed paths with the man since New Year’s Eve, and you’re perfectly content with that.

Well, that isn’t the full truth. There’s a part of you that incomprehensibly wishes you could see him again. You absolutely despise it, and you’ve made an immense effort to silence those thoughts when they seize you. But they come often. Too often. You’ve thrown yourself into tasks, hobbies, anything to occupy your mind. Needless to say, your house has been extremely tidy lately, you’ve listened through your record collection multiple times, finished the novel you were reading (The Count of Monte Cristo which you had previously barely made a dent it), and started on at least three paintings which you hated and scrapped, and you’re not one to waste supplies. If the thoughts are hard to control during the day, it becomes impossible at night.

You’ve…dreamed about Joel. Doing things to you that you wouldn’t dare say out loud, to anyone, your inner thighs moist upon waking up. You think you might be going completely insane. So, you’re almost excited for your upcoming patrol, and the extended distraction it’ll provide.

It’s the evening of Sunday, January 14th, 2035. The sky is clear for once, the sun has started setting behind the mountains, casting Jackson in frigid twilight. You’re speed walking towards town hall, the icy wind piercing right through your coat, chilling you to the bone. Your scarf is pulled up to your nose, the flaps of your trapper hat down and tied, thick mittens protecting your hands. You reach the building in record time, its short clock tower illuminated. You pull the heavy door and get in, a gust of warmth from the heating blasted at maximum immediately relieving. The room is spacious, cosy, with a stone hearth at the back where a fire is crackling, chairs stacked in a corner, and a long table with a tall thermos of chicory coffee and some cups strewn about. You go up to the large rolling bulletin board standing in the middle of the room, where various organisational documents for the community are pinned. A handful of survivors are already gathered around it. One of them, a teenager with a long black braid, olive skin and sharp features (Tina? Or something similar), is adding a flyer to it, advertising her services to shovel pathways for trade. Brave move. You greet the group and look over to the patroller’s duty roster for the week. You’ve set for Hoback Pass, tomorrow, with Astrid. You spot Joel’s name on the list; he’s with Tommy, as usual, for Teton Village, at the end of the week. No chance of overlap.

Good. Great. Wonderful.

You don’t stay around much longer; you need to prepare for the next day’s run. Astrid likes to get an early start, and she’ll want to plan strict routes before leaving. You’ve forgiven her for snitching on what she saw you do at New Year’s Eve; she was drunk too, and she hasn’t mentioned it since. Max must have convinced her she hallucinated it, for your sake. So you go back out into the cold, empty streets, now plunged in darkness.

You met Astrid when she arrived in Jackson around three years ago, along with Fred. The two are like siblings; after the outbreak, they were raised in a small settlement in the Eastern Idaho forest. The group had left camp when resources were becoming scarce, travelling south in hopes of finding a new safe haven. Upon reaching Jackson, the two women were the only ones left alive. You don’t know the exact circumstances in which they lost their loved ones, but the reality is all too familiar to most people in this world. At least these two still have each other. You weren’t so lucky with that. Sometimes, when you look at them, you can’t help but get a glimpse of a future you were cruelly robbed of. In these instances, you’re hit with a burning, gut-wrenching pang of jealousy. You try not to dwell on it; it’s a useless sentiment and it’s impossible to get her back.

You jog up to your house a few minutes later. After a quick dinner, you put together your pack, checking items off a mental list: canteen, munitions, a few rations, first aid kit, flint rod, rope, hand-crank radio… You’re sharpening your knife, sitting at the dining room table, when you’re interrupted by a knock. You cross the hallway, puzzled, and undo the chain to crack open the front door. Tommy’s standing on the other side, bouncing on the spot, rapid breaths coming out in white volutes.

“Uh, hey,” you say, surprised to see him there.

“Hey,” he replies, “sorry to bother you this late.”

“Oh, it’s fine. What’s up?” You ask, giving him a tight-lipped smile. You’ve known Tommy ever since you first came to Jackson. He’s the patrol chief; the one who teached you at your beginnings on the job. You like him as a leader; he’s fair, direct, dependable, and he’s got a sense of humour. He’s a good balance to Maria, who can be a bit too stern at times.

“Uh, well, it’s about your patrol tomorrow. I know you’re supposed to go with Astrid, but I’m gonna have to send her to train Jesse instead,” he explains, talking fast.

Jesse is the newest recruit. He’s a determined, strong young man who joined in late November, just as he turned eighteen, the required age for patrolling. He’s gone out with Astrid on practice runs a couple times before; she had volunteered to mentor him.

You furrow your brows. “Oh. Alright, sure, that’s okay. Uh, you want me to go by myself?”

“Uh, no” Tommy answers,“too risky with all the snow. I was gonna send Joel. You guys work well together and he knows Hoback.”

Your stomach drops.

Fuck.

Your expression must have changed noticeably, because Tommy tilts his head, perplexed.

“Somethin’ the matter?” He inquires.

You blink a few times, recovering from the blow. “Uh, yeah. I- I mean no. Just-” you search for the right words, “can’t Astrid do it another day?”

“Not really. We need Jesse ready ASAP. Why? Problem with Joel?” He asks, a hint of concern in his voice.

You pause, wondering whether to tell him the truth. Ultimately, you decide it would just create a bigger problem. “No, no, nevermind. All good,” you lie, averting Tommy’s eyes.

The man doesn’t seem convinced. “Alright… You know, it’s funny. Joel didn’t seem too happy either when I told ´im.”

So he’s been thinking about you too. He remembers. This makes it so much worse. You give a nervous chuckle in response, and attempt a joke. “Is he ever?”

Tommy snorts. “Yeah, you ain’t wrong.” He claps his gloved hands together. “Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning for briefing then.”

You give him a nod and he imitates you before walking off. You close the door behind him and rest your forehead against the hard surface, banging it a few times. You yell out in frustration. What did you just get yourself into?

That night, you restlessly lay in bed, tossing and turning, your mind racing, agitated, unable to shut itself off. You don’t get any sleep.

Joel doesn’t either.

You’re already exhausted by the time you’re out of the door the next morning, right at sunrise, which just intensifies your terrible mood. You stride down the street towards Jackson’s main gate, in full winter gear, pack hanging off a shoulder. The town is a muted grey, misty; a few snowflakes are slowly falling from heavy clouds. It matches your emotional state. You’re hoping to be the first one at the stables, giving you time to blow off some steam. But, upon arrival, you discover that the object of your torment has had the same idea. Joel’s saddling his horse, Old Beardy, an imposing black-coated male.

The bastard.

You curse him out in your head, your heartbeat quickening as you approach. You walk past him, heading towards Willow’s enclosure. Neither you nor Joel acknowledges the other. Willow neighs softly when she sees you, and you go to pet her on the nose, hyper aware of the man standing about twenty feet away from you. You quietly tend to your horse for a few minutes, every sound coming from Joel irritating you, before you finally dare steal a glance over at him. Right as you do so, he turns his head back quickly, caught in the act.

So that’s how it’s gonna go, huh?

You tie your pack to a hook on Willow’s saddle, your movements sharp, heated. Once you’re done, you take the horse’s reins and guide her out of the stable, passing by Joel once again; his back tenses as you do so, and you hear him sigh loudly. The feeling’s mutual.

You decide to take Willow for a trot around town while you wait for the other patrollers to show up. You don’t think you could stay there with Joel, in thick silence, pointlessly wondering what it is he’s thinking; it would drive you mad. You come back half an hour later, not an ounce more calm, as Tommy is about to start his report. You make sure to stand as far away from Joel as you can while you listen. The words enter one ear and come out the other; you’re too preoccupied with someone else. You’ve heard the speech a hundred times anyway: stay within sight of your partner, follow the routes, mark the logbooks, come back if you run into something you can’t handle. Once Tommy’s done, he gives the signal for the two townsfolk on guard duty to crank open the gate. You stick your right foot in the stirrup and hoist yourself up on Willow’s back, positioning yourself on the saddle. You let the other patrol team go first, staying behind, immobile, side by side with Joel. You’re not going to make the first move. And he doesn’t either. So you look over at him, and this time, he holds your gaze, fire ablaze in his deep brown eyes. Glowering. Taunting. Scornful. After thirty seconds, Tommy, posted at the wall, yells out to you.

“Guys! What are you waitin’ for? Get goin’!”

Joel capitulates first. He urges Old Beardy forward, not giving you another sight, as you internally scream in victory. You follow behind.

“Have a good one! Stay safe!” One of the guards says, as you pass the threshold. You have to hold yourself back from replying “We won’t.” Joel and you ride out of Jackson.

This day is about to be really fucking unpleasant.

Next chapter

To read on AO3

#tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel tlou #pedro pascal

58 notes · View notes

chevelleneech · 4 months

Note

It’s weird you claim to know the mind of a 32 year old man doing his job. Based off social media? He can’t even keep the same photos on his feed for a month. He’s been liking buddie stuff for years now so he will continue to do it. Isn’t this the same ship that pushed him off Twitter?

Also he mentioned in several interviews he couldn’t wait to get know Lou on and off screen. So take that as will 🤷‍♂️

Anon, what are you here for, if not to prove yourself as the Lou/Tommy defense team captain? For no reason, at that, because I never said Oliver dislikes Lou or Tommy. I said I think my earlier assumption that he prefers/ships Buddie, was correct, and I stand by it.

Y’all can try as hard as you want to play the “You don’t know them!” or “He’s doing his jobs!” cards, but 1) the same applies to BuckTommy, and Lou making folks pay for headcanons, and 2) is intentionally dismissive.

Of course we don’t know Oliver. Anyone who thinks they do is crazy, but that doesn’t mean Oliver saying for years that he’s open to Buddie, saying this season he was prepared to play Buck as queer, and consistently liking or reposting Buddie fan art is all a lie. Oliver is allowed to have a preferred ship the same way Lou is, but I have yet to see a BT shipper say what’s he’s doing is weird.

Y’all need that validation because Oliver is not giving it, but is also not damning y’all in interviews. He doesn’t appear to be that kind of person, aka he is doing his job properly. He’s neutral or positive about the storylines he likes, and is seemingly neutral to silent on the ones he doesn’t. Pointing that out has nothing to do with Lou or Tommy, tbh. It’s about Oliver’s apparent preference.

Lastly, Buddie didn’t run him off Twitter, as he’s already said. It was people who shipped Buddie and wanted him to confirm them becoming canon, and would say he was queerbaiting if he posted Buddie despite Buck dating a woman in canon. Oliver literally said this year, he left Twitter because he wanted to discuss the ship and Buck’s queerness yet couldn’t. Now he can, because Buck is bi and the relationship is technically more possible. So what is your point in bringing this up, beyond trying to act like he dislikes the ship yet has to talk about it? He don’t talk about shit he don’t want to, as is established by his constant behavior.

I know y’all higher than thou types love to pretend celebrities aren’t actual people and can never be authentic without exposing their entire lives to social media, but it’s not true. Who knows how he really and truly feels about a single thing, but I mean… he’s been consistent for years. Oliver is famous and appeasing fans is part of his job, but that doesn’t make him a walking empty shell. If that’s how you prefer to see him, go ahead. If ignoring his posts and words unless they’re in praise to Lou and Tommy works best for you to continue shipping what you ship, go ahead. But slithering up your pedestal to talk down on Buddie shippers who do pay attention to his socials, is a waste of your time.

We all sipping from the same parasocial tea, you just don’t think your cup got cracks in it too.

#anonymous #911 abc #oliver stark

22 notes · View notes

ronwestbreeze · 10 months

Note

Hello I just had a question about your gonna go far and it’s about reeds if you were ever to write her but instead of mating with our fav forest Navi you would mate her with the sea Navi would you change anything about her,also when I say sea Navi I mean Ronal and tonowari

Thank you and have a nice day,night or afternoon alos cannot wait for more on Reeds and what’s happening I’m on the edge of my seat

oooh that’s such a good question! and i’d be happy to answer!

hmm, thinking about both tonowari and ronal’s personality i do think there will definitely be some differences. like if reeds landed near the sea na’vi instead of the forest na’vi, i think she still would act the same because the root to her rough personality right now is her mother’s death. so i don’t think her cold, irrational, and angry traits would change. reeds would probably seek temporary shelter with them, agreeing to keep away from their village for their comfort.

tonowari, after some convincing, i think would agree to these terms. since reeds didn’t land near the sea na’vi people, they don’t necessarily have a reason to be super wary around her other than the fact that she is obviously sky people. he would obviously send warriors to check on her because he rightfully doesn’t fully trust a sky person living somewhat near his people but i don’t think he’d be as extreme like tsu’tey. but then again, that’s because we are looking at this from a perspective where reeds did not land near the sea Na’vi. but when he sees that reeds is of no problem to his clan, i think he would be more laxed toward her.

reeds would definitly want to make herself useful, again one of her noticeable traits, so she would probably somehow beg him to allow her to learn their ways and make herself useful to his clan, even if her avatar mimicks the physical traits of the forest Na’vi.

here, i believe ronal will be more prominent. obviously in the beginning she would definitely not trust reeds because she is a sky person. and because she wants to protect her clan as tsahik. it mostly takes convincing her to let reeds stay temporarily, and one of the promises would’ve probably been making herself useful as thanks for letting her temporarily stay with them. ronal didn’t see how she could be useful but would’ve reluctantly agreed to the terms. ronal would definitely keep a close watch on reeds of course, even if when it seems like reeds isn’t up to something, ronal is still wary around her. but she does eventually allow reeds to train and learn the ways of the clan.

now here comes the mating bit. how exactly would reeds interact with them in a romantic sense? this is actually such a fun thing to think about, because i like to study both the canon characters and figure out a way to apply the way they would love someone, especially in a slow burn sense.

tonowari would probably be the first to fall for reeds and here’s why. for me, he is totally into strong slightly dominating women, hence ronal. and since reeds has a very blunt and somewhat dominate personality, i think it wouldn’t be difficult to imagine tonowari becoming smitten with reeds over time. he seems like a very calm and gentle sort of man which i don’t think is difficult for reeds not to fall for. he would unknowingly bring her to a calm to her chaotic mind and emotions. he would ground her, and with time, would begin to read into reeds expressions and begin to understand her. because i believe the one thing that could win reeds over is someone understanding her. someone not seeing just one side of her and then deciding that is all she is. tonowari would see all of her and accept her, understand that she is just a very complex and somewhat broken individual. a human. not just a demon. and i find that really beautiful.

now ronal and reeds would definitely clash alot, lol. they are kind of like jake and reeds in the beginning. two very stubborn personalities that would take a long while for them to finally each some sort of middle ground and be tolerable to each other. and i imagine them reaching that point when reeds does eventually become well-versed in their clan culture and makes herself useful. with the sea na’vi, i see her working more with healers since she isn’t forced to be fighting and brutal unlike her situation with the omatikaya clan and the clan wars. reeds would love working with healers honestly, and i think if she hadn’t been in the midst of clan wars, she would’ve went that route as well with the omatikaya people. but with the metkayina, she is a healer. and because of this, reeds would probably work with ronal alot, hence them eventually getting to know each other and starting to meet each other in the middle. ronal of course would see the worse side of reeds because of their clashing but i think what’s beautiful and what makes reeds fall first, would be that ronal sees her awfulness and doesn’t believe she is a monster because of that. she doesn’t invalidate her feelings, her loss of her mother. ronal only distrusted reeds at first because of being a sky person, not because of her “reckless” emotions. hope that makes sense haha.

ronal would fall for reeds’ nurturing nature that goes hand in hand with her warrior-like personality. because let’s not mistake it, even if she rarely shows it, reeds does have a nurturing side which is often overshadowed by her blunt nature. i believe one of the only times her nurturing would come out would be around only ronal and her son, ao’nung. oh she would love being treated gently by reeds, i don’t know, it’s so sweet to think about.

so in other words. tonowari and ronal would adore reeds as their third mate.

sorry for the mouthful but i had fun thinking about this! would love to see everyone else’s thoughts on this too!!

#ronwestbreeze’s got mail #[you’re gonna go far]#yggf #tonowari x reader #ronal x reader

42 notes · View notes

olderthannetfic · 1 year

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/729708592592306176/how-about-a-different-discourse-death-of-the

What this ask is missing, a bit, is that Death of the Author *does* mean that the author’s take on things is no more or less valid than anyone else’s. It’s about decentering authorial intent in analyses of media. Barthes is pretty clear and quite pointed about it in the original essay.

What bothers me about misuses of it and what I think this anon means to say is when people start decentering the actual *text*. The idea behind Death of the Author is also that the text stands alone. You don’t need to look at any extra shit to understand it. As you said, it was a response to a mode of analysis that obsessed over plumbing through author biographies.

The issue with what people do in fandom is they ignore the text. “I don’t like this element of canon, so it doesn’t exist.” (Which is different from arguing that it’s there but it sucks because of XYZ reasons, so I’m going to consciously ignore it in my fan works. This is when people just act like it isn’t there in the text in the first place.) “You have to take my bizarro world out-of-nowhere headcanon that is based on nothing except that I want it to be true, that I love this character and I wish they were XYZ therefore they are” and take it just as seriously as headcanons that actually engage with what’s in the show/video game/book/movie/whatever and use that as their basis (like building off something that is subtextual in the original work).

Granted we all do this to some degree, we all come to a text with our own biases and you can’t *always* easily separate those out, and that can affect, for instance, your interpretation of what the subtext is, but I think the irritating fandom behavior is when this kind of ignoring-the-text-to-substitute-your-own-reality is this very deliberate sort of laziness. The annoying thing in my current fandom is people who are fans of this one ship that they insist is the most progressive and other people just don’t see the scintillating “subtext” of because we are bigots or whatever, between two characters who don’t interact that much for two MCs and when they do it’s not at all shippy (but these characters both have very shippy subtext with different characters), but where these people think the ship *should* exist because of their identities. And their “evidence” for the ship is always gifsets taken way out of context and not including the dialogue that makes the non-shippy context for that scene very clear (including that it might actually be shippy for conflicting pairings). It’s like this bizarre version of “close reading” that strips out the largely context *deliberately* in order to make a particular conclusion seem more compelling than it actually is.

Anyway, all that ignoring-the-text stuff is STILL bad analysis per DOTA. Since the point of DOTA is to go based on the text, if you’re obscuring the text you’re kind of just installing yourself as a new author.

This is why DOTA doesn’t mean “anything goes.” It just means “authorial intent is just one interpretation that doesn’t have to matter.” It doesn’t mean other stuff we use in analysis doesn’t matter, and if anything the point is to make it even more text-centric than the older author-centric analyses were. People can still disagree about what the text says, of course, but they should both be going back to it in how they construct those arguments, and not, like those shippers, deliberately ignoring chunks of the text that weaken their arguments.

I don't think all of them are consciously throwing out actual canon, but they are often throwing out all context that would help evaluate subtext.

Like... if you're analyzing a Marvel movie, you might ignore what the director said in an interview, but you probably shouldn't entirely ignore the fact that it is a Marvel movie and apply assumptions that make sense for some arthouse film.

And, yes, if you're arguing for shippy subtext, even unintentional on the part of creators, "I like this ship because..." needs very little, but "This ship has more support than this other ship" requires going back to the actual text and looking at it in its totality.

There's a lot of faux-intellectualism around garbage like TJLC where people try to make themselves feel smart by using the language of close reading while having the media literacy of a bucket of rotting fish.

66 notes · View notes

janicho88 · 1 year

Text

When It All Falls Apart -Chapter 2

Pairing- Jensen x Padalecki Reader

Word count- 2,096

Warnings-Pregnancy talk (Will last a good chunk of the story) But it's not the reader. If I missed something let me know!

A/N-A little off canon, SPN ended after 10 years. We still got all the characters in during that time though. Possilbe language. Jensen isn't the best boyfriend. Thank you to @writercole and @leigh70 for your help with this. You two are amazing!!

Summary-Y/N Padalecki loved acting on Supernatural. Working alongside your older brother and your boyfriend, but after ten seasons the guys have chosen to hang up the guns. Now the three of you are moving on to other projects, but that’s all that needs to change right? While you have moved to Austin to be closer to your family and boyfriend, Jensen is working elsewhere. Distance is only the start of your troubles.

Series Masterlist

The next morning you splash some cold water on your face to try and hide your puffy eyes from crying last night. Applying light makeup you deem yourself ready to go downstairs.

Tom is in the kitchen playing with his cereal when you enter, Gen and her mom are chatting at the table.

“Morning,” you greet them all.

“Hi Aunt Y/N, want some charms?”

“Thanks Tom, but you can have those charms all to yourself,” you pat his head as you walk past.

He puts the spoonful of Lucky Charms he offered you into his mouth instead. You grab a glass from the cupboard and the orange juice from the fridge, after pouring yourself a glass you sit down next to your nephew.

“There are some cinnamon rolls mom made in the microwave if you’d like one,” Gen tells you.

“Okay, I’ll grab one in a minute. Thank you.”

You get up a few minutes later to get one, and it just melts in your mouth. “Camille, these are amazing.”

“Thank you sweety.”

After breakfast, you follow Tom outside to the swingset. When he’s done with you pushing him, you check your phone, but don’t have any new notifications. Later that morning you realize you need some things you left over at Jensen’s house.

“I’m going to head over to the house, I need to grab some dress clothes for a meeting tomorrow. I won’t be gone too long,” you explain to Gen before leaving.

On the short drive over you dial Jensen, hoping he’ll answer. You don’t think he has to film today. On the fourth ring he finally does.

“Hey Y/N,” he greets you.

“Hey honey, how are you?”

“I’m fine. Karl and I just pulled into the golf course, I gotta go. Talk to you later.”

“Oh, okay.” He already hung up before you could even get that out.

Pulling in the drive, you enter the code for the gate before pulling up to the front door. You check on the outdoor plants, water what needs it. Entering the house, you take care of the two indoor plants that are there. On the way to the bedroom, you start looking around the house.

Jensen bought this house two years before you started dating, back when you were just friends. You have stayed here many times when you came to see him, before you moved in with him about nine months ago, back in October. Before that, you had an apartment in L.A., he would stay there when he came out to visit. You both had your own apartments in Vancouver before you moved into his for the tenth and final season of Supernatural. Sharing one home all the time, was still new to both of you.

This place just seems to scream Jensen, there aren’t many of your things around. You sold your furniture before moving, and the pictures you brought are still sitting in a guest room upstairs. He has his own decor on the walls, when he was still here it was too early to ask about putting some of your things up. Now he isn't around to ask. Maybe that is part of the reason you don’t like staying here alone. It doesn’t feel like your place, you just feel like a guest still.

In the master bedroom you walk into the closet to find the clothes you are looking for. Back in the main bedroom, there are a few things of yours around, mostly on your dresser and nightstand. You slowly make your way back through the house. In the living room you look through the pictures displayed on the wall, only finding two with you. And one of them is a group shot from set. There are pictures of Jensen and his family, other friends, and you're pretty sure that one might be with an ex. You doubt he hung all these frames someone else probably did it for him, but would it kill him to change up the photos inside.

Making your way to the living room, the blanket the two of you used to curl up on the couch with during those cooler January nights was haphazardly tossed over the back. The case for the last DVD you watched, This Means War, is laying in front of the television. You don’t even realize you are sitting down on the couch now.

Back at the start of January, before he left for Chicago things between you and Jensen had been great. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the last five months. You start going over in your head trying to figure out when things began to unravel.

Conversations or lack thereof replay, you scroll through the messages between you both. Before you know it, you are lost in your thoughts. A ringing sound draws you out of them. It takes a second before you realize it is the doorbell. Looking through the peephole, you see Gen and Jared standing on the other side.

“Is something wrong? What are you two doing here?” you question as you quickly open the door.

“That’s what we were going to ask you,” Jared responds.

“I just came to get some clothes for a meeting,” you tell him.

“Y/N, honey, you left the house over three hours ago,” Gen informs you.

“No, it hasn’t been that long. It hasn’t even been an hour” you look at your watch to check the time. Sure enough you’ve been gone much longer than you thought. Did you really just spend hours sitting on the couch, and not even realize it?

“What’s going on?” Gen carefully asks.

“Nothing.”

“Bull,” your brother calls you out.

“I’m just stressed and overthinking things. It's nothing.”

“I’ve known you your whole life, and spent a lot of time with you the last five years. It’s more than that,” Jared pushes.

“I guess I’m just not sure I’m that important anymore. Out of sight out of mind, ya know?”

“What are you talking about?” Gen looks a little confused.

“Jensen and I used to see each other all the time. We worked together for the last five seasons, our apartments were in the same building. I spent time here on breaks, he spent time in L.A. We talked everyday and texted multiple times when we weren’t together.”

“Yeah, I know, it was almost sickening watching how goo goo you two are for each other,” Jared says, faking a gag.

You roll your eyes at your brother’s behavior. “We started off that way when he went to film in Chicago. He was busy, I was busy filming here, our off days never seemed to match up so we could meet up,” you pause. “Now, it’s like he never has time or doesn’t want to talk to me. He barely responds to my texts, and they are short answers if he does. He doesn’t call me, I have to call him. When I do, there’s maybe a twenty percent chance he answers. I called on my way over today. He answered to tell me he can’t talk, said we’ll talk later. I bet you ten bucks, he won’t call me back.”

You take a deep breath before continuing. “I see Instagram posts of him out with his castmates, he’s especially close to Karen and Claudia in many of them.”

“Are you saying he’s cheating? He can’t be. I will fly up there and kick his ass.” Your brother practically growls out as he starts to stand up. Gen reaches up and pulls him back down.

“No, I don’t think he’d do that. But maybe I’m not meant to be in his life as a girlfriend anymore. Maybe someone like them would fit in better.”

“Ackles is nuts about you, he wouldn’t want anyone else. There has to be another reason you’re thinking this.”

Gen turns to her husband, “Jared, give me your phone.” She holds out her hand and waits until he passes it over. “Now take the car and go home, we’ll be back soon.”

“I’m not leaving, I want to…”

“Jare, I love you, but you’re too involved here. One minute you’re going to beat up Jensen because you think he did something, the next you’re telling Y/N she’s wrong for thinking something. It’s your best friend and little sister, you’re too close to this. Please go home.”

She stares him down until he finally walks out the door, then she turns to you. “I will say, I do agree with Jared, that Jensen is absolutely crazy about you.”

“Used to be,” you interrupt her.

“I think there is a good chance he still is, but it sounds like his head isn’t on right at the moment. It’s up to you to figure out if you can stay in a relationship like that. Is it just a bump, is it fixable, or time to move on.”

“Honestly, I don’t know that we have much of a relationship right now. I feel like I’m just bothering him by calling or texting, and that’s why he doesn’t respond. I think we might have lasted as long as we did because I was around, he didn’t have to go find someone else to keep him company. Even when Supernatural wrapped last year, and I hadn’t moved to Texas yet, we talked and saw each other more than we do now.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, and it’s not fair for you. The Netflix show is wrapping this week isn’t it, you’ll have some free time until Walker starts. Maybe you could go up to see him for a week or two? Are you going to the convention next weekend? Maybe you two could try and talk then? Long distance really can suck, but I have faith you two will work through it.”

“I could see if he’d be up for me coming to visit for a bit. Yeah, for the convention, I’m supposed to be there Friday through Sunday. I know Jared has things Saturday and Sunday, I would think Jensen does too.”

“Before you make any rash decisions on your future, see how the convention goes.”

“Okay.”

She gives you a hug and the two of you lock up the house before walking out to your car to drive back to their house. Jared is waiting in the living room when you arrive, but Gen interferes before he can reach you, and drags him to the other room.

Before going to bed that night, Gen pokes her head in your room. “Did you get that call?”

“You mean one from Jay? No, but I didn’t figure he would.”

“I’m sorry. I hope next weekend helps things turn around.”

“Thanks, me too.”

Before going off to bed you send him a text:

Hope the round of golf went well. Hope you have a good day on set tmr. Love you

Waking up Monday, you had actually had a text waiting for you,

“It did, thanks. Hope you have a great one too. <3

At least it was something.

The week goes by pretty quick, you don’t hear from Jensen unless you reach out first. Even then it’s not a guarantee you’ll get a reply. But you notice from the photos circling online he seems to find time to go out with his new friends.

Gen’s parents head back home on Tuesday, Tom is a little down having his grandparents leave. You do your best to cheer him up when you get back from set. Nothing does much good, until Jared promises they can take a trip up to see them in the next few months.

Filming for the Netflix show finishes on Wednesday, there is a wrap party Thursday evening. You attend by yourself for a few hours. Jared offered to come, but you didn’t want to take him away from his family when he would be gone most of the weekend. The cast from the show was nice, you just didn’t get as close to them as you were your Supernatural family. Most likely because it was only a little over three months compared to the 10 year run Supernatural had.

Back at your brother’s, you change out of your dress into sweats, then throw a few more things into your open suitcase on the bed. You double check your luggage making sure you now have everything for the weekend. Putting your laptop bag and purse with the suitcase by the front door you head up to bed to get some sleep before you fly out to Chicago in the morning.

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 3

SPNForevers- @winchest09 @flamencodiva @whatareyousearchingfordean @waywardbeanie @deanwanddamons @emoryhemsworth @atc74 @sandlee44 @akshi8278 @fantasydevil2002 @writercole @440mxs-wife @nervousfandom @lunarmoon8 @thoughts-and-funnies @downanddirtydean @katelyn--renee @that-one-gay-girl @lyarr24 @pineapleavocado @siospins2 @ariesbabe1993 @graciebear73 @stixnstripesworld @spnbaby-67 @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @charmed-asylum @winchestergirl2 @hobby27 @amyzombie1013 @sexyvixen7 @leigh70 @krazykelly @nancymcl @candy-coated-misery0731

WIAFA Masterlist

@woodworthti666 @spnfamily-j2 @stoneyggirl2 @creative-writing92 @kaz11283

#supernatural #jensen ackles rpf #jensen x female!reader #jensen ackles x reader #When It All Falls Apart #angst

96 notes · View notes

jule1122 · 9 months

Text

Malex Fic - Am I Giving Enough?

Happy Holidays @miniastrophysicist! I hope you enjoy your @rnm-secret-santa gift. It is a post canon fic focusing on Alex and Michael's path to adopting their first child. There is some emotional hurt/comfort, but it's mostly about them loving and supporting each other on this journey.

I did research the adoption process in New Mexico and stayed as close to it as I could, but I did add and change things to fit the story.

Thank you@angrycowboy for being a wonderfully supportive beta.

Title from "Columbia" by Local Natives

Am I Giving Enough on AO3

Summary: Michael will be a wonderful father, Alex knows this. It's his own ability to be a good parent he questions.

Michael brings it up on a Tuesday, a month after their first anniversary. They’re sitting on the couch together, watching a documentary about echolocation in whales and bats, cuddling and stealing kisses during the commercials. Alex knows he wants to spend the rest of his life just like this.

“I was thinking,” Michael begins as the credits roll.

Alex turns off the television and turns to give Michael his full attention. “About what?” he asks gently when he sees the way Michael is twisting his hands.

“I got the schedule for the adoption orientation meetings, and the one closest to Roswell is in three weeks,” he takes a deep breath and looks at Alex seriously. “I think we should go.”

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Alex stares at Michael for a minute before his brain kicks back in. “Orientation, yeah we can, I mean we should,” he stumbles.

“It’s the first step,” Michael reminds him - as if they hadn’t researched and talked about this before. “We have to go before we can apply or anything, and this seemed like our best chance.”

“No, you’re right,” Alex squeezes Michael’s hand and tries to smooth over his misstep. “It makes sense to go when it’s close to home. Just send me the info, and I’ll put it in my calendar,”

“Are you sure?” Michael asks.

“Of course. You know I should take Charlie out,” he adds before Michael can ask him any more questions. Charlie - the retriever mix Michael brought home from the junkyard a few months ago - has been sleeping at their feet and grumbles when Alex nudges him. But he gets up and follows Alex when he calls, sharper than he meant to, “Charlie, door.”

Michael doesn’t bring it up again, but Alex can feel the careful way Michael watches him when they get ready for bed. He turns out the light quickly and pulls Michael close, his whispered good night a plea for Michael to leave it alone for now.

The next day Alex stops by the Wild Pony on his way home from work. It’s early enough that he knows Maria can take a break to talk to him. He’s barely started on his beer when she sits down across from him.

Maria studies him for a moment, narrows her eyes and demands, “What’s wrong?”

“I fucked up, with Michael,” he clarifies. Maria doesn’t say anything, just stares at him until he starts talking again. “He brought up adoption, and I froze.”

“I thought you talked about kids before?”

“We have, but it was always something we would do someday. Now Michael thinks this could be that someday, and I panicked,” Alex shrugs. “He hasn’t said anything, but he definitely noticed.”

“So what are you going to tell him,” Maria asks. “Have you changed your mind about wanting a family?”

“No, I still want that. I just thought we had more time. We’ve only been married a year, and for the first time in my life I’m really happy,” Alex can’t help smiling when he thinks about his life with Michael. “I don’t know if I’m ready to change that.”

“Wanting more time isn’t a bad thing, and I’m sure Michael will understand. But I don’t think that’s the only problem,” Maria adds.

“Michael’s always known what he wants - marriage, kids, a white picket fence and a dad band. He’ll be an amazing father.”

“What about you?” Maria asks when he doesn’t say anything else.

“All I ever wanted was out, and then I wanted Michael. I never pictured myself as a father because I don’t know what one should be. It took me over ten years to figure out how to love Michael. I can’t ask a child to wait for me to figure my shit out.”

“Alex,” Maria takes his hand. “You’re being too hard on yourself. I know you don’t see it, but you are a caretaker at heart. Look at everything you did for Mimi, the way you welcomed Greg back into your life, all the risks you took to protect the people you love. You may not think you know how to love people, but we all feel it.”

“Maria,” Alex looks away to hide the tears in his eyes.

“You need to talk to Michael, Alex, you know that. You’ll be a wonderful father, if that’s what you want. If you aren’t ready now, just be honest about that. But if it really is fear holding you back, have more faith in yourself. Besides you already have Charlie,” Maria teases, knowing Alex needs the mood lightened.

“Charlie is a dog,” he gives Maria an unimpressed look.

“A dog with homemade food, more toys than most children and who you or Michael take to work if you think he looks lonely.”

“You might have a point,” Alex concedes with a sheepish smile. They talk for a few more minutes, general catch up, until Maria gets called back to work by one of the bartenders. “Thank you,” Alex hugs her before he leaves, feeling more settled than when he arrived.

The house is quiet when he gets home. Alex laughs, thinking of Maria’s teasing when he realizes Michael must have taken Charlie to the junkyard with him. So Alex starts dinner and throws in a load of laundry. A few minutes after he takes the lasagna out of the oven, Michael walks in, Charlie at his heels.

“Smells good,” he compliments before greeting Alex with a kiss.

“Thanks, you want to shower while it cools?”

“Only if you come with me,” Michael pulls at Alex's hand.

It’s easy to follow. To let Michael run the water hotter than Alex would and set up the shower chair. He pulls Michael into his lap and washes his hair for him, loving the way Michael arches into his touch. Michael stands up long enough to wash himself quickly while Alex does the same, then he’s back in Alex’s lap.

“My turn,” he says, reaching for the shampoo.

It doesn’t take long, but Michael lingers. Running his hands through Alex’ hair long after the shampoo is rinsed out, kissing his neck and mindlessly rolling his hips into Alex’s.

“Let me,” Alex says when the friction is just shy of enough. He reaches down and strokes their cocks together, everything slippery and warm, his hand gliding easily until they both come.

Michael pours them each a glass of wine with dinner, and Alex lets himself relax into the evening, waiting until they’re once again cuddling on the couch to bring up his concerns.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he begins.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Michael tells him. “But I do want you to tell me what’s wrong. I thought this was something you wanted too.”

“It is. I do want a family with you. But realizing it might actually happen scared me.” It’s hard for Alex to admit that, but he pushes forward. “When I think about us having kids, I can see you with them, but I can’t figure out how I fit in. I am afraid I won’t know how to be a parent.”

“Alex, I’ve always wanted kids, you know that. But I would never force that on you. And I wouldn’t,” Michael pauses before speaking again. “I wouldn’t bring kids into a home if I wasn’t sure they would be safe and loved. I know your heart, Alex, maybe better than you do.”

Alex kisses Michael softly then rests his head on his shoulder. “You think I can do this?”

“I do,” Michael reassures him. “But you don’t have to. Especially if you’re only doing it for me.”

“I wouldn’t be,” Alex shakes his head and kisses Michael’s shoulder. “The orientation is just the first step right?”

“Right, and the whole process takes time. They aren’t just going to hand a bunch of kids over to us after a presentation. It’s not a commitment.”

“But it’s a start. I think we should go.”

“If you’re sure,” Michael confirms.

Alex might never be completely sure, but he knows he wants to try. “I am.”

Alex doesn’t know if it is intentional, but the orientation feels like a support group meeting. The chairs are arranged in a semicircle surrounding a long table for the speakers. There’s coffee and water for tea and a platter of cookies from one of the big chain stores.

There are only about ten other people there, and while Michael chats with the couple closest to them, Alex sits silently, clutching Michael’s hand. They are asked to introduce themselves, and he lets Michael handle that too, smiling when he says “this is my husband Alex.” But he lets the rest of the introductions fade into the background as he studies the room for exits, checks for threats he knows aren’t there.

The first half is a presentation reviewing the steps of the adoption process. Alex and Michael know them - application, 32 hour parenting class, 4 mandatory counseling sessions, home study, interviews with family and friends. Alex’s mind stumbles on the last one, grateful again his father is dead. He knows, though, he never would have attempted this if Jesse were still alive, never would have taken the risk, no matter how small, that Jesse could hurt another child.

Michael’s a little restless during the presentation, and Alex doesn’t blame him. The material is dry, and Michael has it all memorized. But Alex appreciates how each step is broken down in detail. It helps him to treat this like a mission with a series of individual tasks they can accomplish in pursuit of a larger goal.

They take a break after, and Alex tries to socialize a bit while he makes himself and Michael each a cup of bad coffee. Alex has spent so much of his life hiding, it’s hard for him to answer questions without searching for an ulterior motive, and he’s relieved when they are called back to their seats.

For the next hour, three couples talk about their adoption experience. Alex appreciates that they don’t try and sugarcoat it. They do talk about the good stuff - the first time their adopted child calls them mom, the first Christmas they got everything on the list from Santa, seeing their child graduate, even grandchildren. But they talk about the hard parts too - the kids who will never call them mom and dad, the older children who needed a mentor more than a parent and don’t keep in touch, hearing the horrors their children experienced and knowing they can never make it all go away.

Some of the couples look at each other nervously, and Alex wonders if they will change their minds. He wouldn’t blame them, but Alex feels better after hearing the stories and realizing that it’s hard for everyone, that he won't be the only one who struggles.

When Michael asks him what he thinks on the way home, he's able to be honest when he answers, “I think we can do this.”

They fill out the application that night, and two weeks later they have their intake interview with a social worker named Beth. Alex did his research before the appointment and knows Beth is a few years older than they are and has worked for New Mexico’s Children, Youth and Families Department since she received her Masters Degree. She is welcoming and cheerful in a way that makes Alex want to ask her how she hasn’t burned out yet.

They talk about their schedules and hobbies, the people in their lives, and it’s easy in a way Alex knows not to trust.

Beth’s smiling when she tells them they’re almost done, but Alex can tell from how she’s watching them, the calculation in her eyes, that this is probably the only part of the whole interview that matters. “Last question, why adoption with CYFD? There are other, easier, ways to start a family. So why choose this?”

“Like I told you,” Michael begins, “I grew up in the system. And while I’d like to believe it’s gotten better, even good foster homes can’t replace a family. They’re good kids, stuck waiting for someone to love them, and if Alex and I can do that for at least a few of them, we want to.”

Alex squeezes Michael’s hand and wishes for the millionth time he could go back and change things for him. Beth turns her attention to him, and he knows he needs to answer, that he can’t rely on Michael to carry him through this. “One thing you’ll find out eventually is that I grew up in an abusive home,” Alex clears his throat and forces himself to keep talking. “Michael and I both know what it’s like to grow up without a safe or loving home. And what I didn't realize until I was older is how much that affects everything you do, every choice you make. It limits your life in ways you don’t notice because you are so busy trying to survive that you can’t really dream or take risks. We can give that, a safe and loving home, for kids who need it so they’ll be able to be who they want to be, not just who they are allowed to be.”

He can see Michael trying to hide his surprise - not at one Alex said, but that he was willing to share it with someone else. Beth seems pleased with his answer though, so Alex thinks his discomfort is worth it. Alex isn’t sure it will ever be easy for him to share his feelings, but opening up to Michael is the best thing he’s ever done, now he just has to keep trying.

“Ok,” Beth clasps her hands together, bringing their attention back to her. “Let’s talk next steps. You can register for the parenting class online, and Caleb will be your therapist.” She slides a business card across his desk. “You can call his office to set up your appointments. Once those two things are done, we’ll move on to interviews with your family and friends, background checks for anyone who might be alone with the children. Then your home study, and you’ll be in the home stretch.”

They decide to start with the parenting classes, partly because they are only offered a few times a year and partly because neither of them are eager to dive into counseling. It’s obvious most of the other participants view the class as a formality - a box to be checked off rather than something they need. And Alex understands, the information is basic, designed to cover the most common questions and scenarios, but it hits him and Michael differently.

They even joke about it with Sam and Meredith, an older couple in the class. They had their children young and decided fostering was the best answer to their empty nest syndrome. “It was either this,” Meredith explained, “or pestering our children for grandkids we know they aren’t ready for.”

“This class must be pretty useless to you,” Michael remarks. “You already raised your kids, you know what you're doing.”

“One thing we definitely learned,” Sam says with a laugh, “is that when it comes to kids you never really know what you are doing. This early stuff is old hat, we know what we need for the house, know kids need clothes and toys. But we are hoping they’ll talk more about how to help kids through the transition to foster care, how to make them feel like it is a home, even if it’s temporary. That’s what we need.”

“Do you think we’ll learn anything that will prepare us for that?” Alex asks.

“No, not really,” Meredith admits. “But any tips will help.”

It’s one of those early sessions that leaves Michael quiet and withdrawn. Even Alex isn’t giving the presenter his full attention - periodically checking his email - while they review the physical requirements expected of a foster home. He can feel the disinterest in the room as the topics reviewed feel like they should go without saying - running water and electricity, enough beds for all the children in the home, supervision to make sure the children attend school, commitment to providing fresh, hot meals.

But Alex feels Michael tense beside him, and he remembers nothing should be taken for granted. Michael’s quiet all night, hanging back while Alex talks to Sam and Meredith about good places to shop for children’s furniture and clothing. He doesn’t say much on the way home either, waiting until they are in bed - Alex wrapped around him from behind and Charlie sprawled across their feet - to bring it up.

“Do you think there were families like Sam and Meredith then, and what - I just didn’t get them?” he finally asks. “Bad luck of the draw?”

Alex hesitates because there is no good answer. “I think there have always been good and bad families, all we can hope is they are getting better at weeding out the bad.”

Michael snorts. “Can’t do much worse than they did with me.”

“You deserved better,” Alex tells him, slipping his hand under Michael’s tank top and resting it over his heart. “You deserved better then and you deserve better now.”

“I have better now,” Michael squeezes Alex’s hand. “I have the best now, but when you take a kid with a shit life and tell them you are going to make it better only to put them in a situation that’s just as bad, if not worse, it’s pretty hard for them to believe they deserve better.”

Alex knows there is nothing he can say to heal that hurt so he kisses the back of Michael’s neck and holds him tighter.

As the class progresses, it’s Alex who becomes unsettled. The focus shifts to understanding what traumas children in the system might have gone through, and how to handle common parenting situations. Participation becomes part of the class as they are asked to share ideas and concerns as a group. The more Alex listens and hears what a family should be like, the more he realizes just how much Jesse hurt him.

It’s not just the physical abuse - Alex likes to think he came to terms with that years ago. But it’s seeing how Jesse harmed him in other ways. How he isolated Alex, by restricting his free time and more tellingly by turning his brothers against him. Jesse continually set Alex up for failure and then used his failure against him as an example of weakness. He singled Alex out for criticism and punishment in ways that made it seem like Alex was the problem.

In hindsight, Alex realizes they should have taken a break after the parenting classes before scheduling their counseling sessions. They wanted to keep the process moving, but Alex was resistant to therapy in general, and going into when he was haunted by Jesse in ways he hadn’t been since the first months after his death was not his best decision.

They meet up with Maria the night before the first session, and the familiar comfort of spending time with her lulls him into a false sense of security.

“I can’t believe you're going to a therapist named Caleb,” she teases.

“What’s wrong with Caleb?” Michael asks at the same time Alex says, “I researched him, and his qualifications are legitimate.”

Maria ignores Alex and answers Michael instead. “I don’t know, Caleb just sounds like a frat boy.”

“I think you’re confusing Caleb with Chad,” Alex smirks at her.

Maria sticks her tongue out in response. “But seriously,” she says after they stop laughing, “how are things going?”

“Good,” Michael says, looking to Alex for confirmation. Alex nods and pulls Michael closer against his side. “We have a lot left to do, but each step we take makes it feel more real, like it will actually happen.”

“I can’t believe it,” Maria shakes her head. “I guess if any of us were going to be parents, it would be you two. But still.”

“We’ve got some time left before that happens,” Alex reassures her. “Did I tell you we’re looking for a house?”

“No! You want to move?”

Alex shrugs, “I wasn’t thinking about a family when I bought the house. We need something with more bedrooms and a bigger yard.”

Maria looks at him, and Alex can tell she’s trying to read him, see if his doubts are lingering. Whatever she finds makes her smile, “Not that you need it, but good luck - with the house and all of it.”

Alex wishes for Maria’s luck when Michael slams the door open after they come home from their first session with Caleb.

“What the hell was that, Alex,” he demands.

“I don’t know why you’re mad at me. I didn’t do anything,” Alex insists even though he knows that’s not exactly true.

“That’s one way to put it,” Michael agrees sarcastically. “You barely said a word, and you looked at Caleb like he was one step away from becoming the subject of a Deep Sky investigation. Could you have made it any more obvious that you didn’t want to be there?”

“That’s not what I was doing.” Alex reaches for Michael only to sigh when Michael crosses his arms and steps back. “I need this session to study him, to figure out what he wants from me.”

“What does that even mean?”

“There were times in the Air Force - after a bad mission or after I got hurt - that I had to be cleared before returning to duty. It was routine, we knew what to say. ‘Loss of life is regrettable but unavoidable. My belief in our mission remains steady.’ And just as important we knew what not to say. You didn’t admit that you hadn’t slept for a week because of nightmares or that you had no idea what the actual mission was. I don’t know the script here, and I just need time to figure it out.”

“Alex,” Michael sits on the couch and holds out his hand for Alex to join him. “This isn’t a test.”

Alex sits next to Michael, but only raises a brow in response.

“Ok,” Michael concedes, “ it is a test. But not one you need to cheat to pass.”

“We were trained to say the right thing, to never consider the truth.” Alex picks up Michael’s hand, playing with his fingers before lacing them with his. “I’m not trained for this, and I don't want to screw this up for us.”

“You won’t. I know it’s hard, and there are secrets we have to keep. But we aren’t trying to win here, we’re trying to be good parents. Obviously, we can’t tell Caleb I am an alien,” Michael begins.

“Or that my father ran a prison for aliens and my brother killed him,” Alex finishes.

“So those are things that are off limits,” Michael laughs. “But who we are, the things we went through, and who we want to be, we don’t have to be ashamed of any of that. We’re good people Alex, we don’t need to hide that.”

“I love you,” Alex tells him because he has to. Michael’s come so far, and Alex won’t let his fear hold him back. “I’ll try next time.”

“I love you too. And you won’t be there alone. I’ll be right there with you.”

It’s still hard at the next session to open up. He listens to Michael talk about his fear of not being good enough, of always being the one left behind. Pride at Michael’s courage and honesty wars with his own guilt for being one of the people who left Michael behind. They’ve been holding hands since they sat down, and Alex rubs his thumb in soothing circles as Michael talks.

When Caleb turns his attention to Alex, he grips Michael’s hand tightly as he stumbles through a description of his childhood, the hole his mother’s absence left, and the fear his father instilled in him.

Caleb studies him for a moment before asking, “What’s the worst thing your father did to you?”

Alex opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He turns to Michael, can’t help looking at his hand, but the answer still doesn’t come. Finally he says, “He made me afraid to be happy.”

Michael makes a noise when he hears Alex’s answer, and even Alex is surprised by what he said, but he knows it’s true.

“And now?” Caleb prompts him.

“I’m happy and he’s dead,” Alex answers without thinking about it. This time Michael laughs and even Caleb smiles.

“We can work with that,” he tells Alex.

Alex feels himself relax for the first time since they met Caleb. It's not that therapy is easy, but Alex stops fighting it. Caleb gives them homework each session. Sometimes it’s easy- like list five ways Michael thinks Alex will be a good father and vice versa. Sometimes it seems easy, but brings up more than they expect - like the time he asks Michael to list the people in his life he knows he can count on and give an example of when they have been there for him. Michael can only work on it a person at a time, the reality of the support he has overwhelming. And other times, it ties them up in knots from the beginning - like asking Alex to list the ways he’s not like his father. He has nightmares for days, but feels freer when they discuss it in their final mandatory session.

When Caleb signs off on their confirmation form, they ask him to take them on as regular clients. They agree to start with monthly sessions, and it feels like a good thing, not a punishment. Alex has never been afraid to work for what he wants, and he can do what he needs to so he’s a good father.

Midway through their mandatory sessions, they find a house. It’s in a rural section of Roswell, but still only twenty minutes from the center of town. The house is big and needs some updating, but Michael is happy to handle that with some help - or at least company - from Max. The best part is the setting. The house sits on five acres - already fenced in and includes two barns. Once the home study is over, they plan to convert one of the barns into a workshop for Michael to replace his bunker. And as for the other, Michael is talking about chickens before they even move in.

“Kids first, then livestock,” Alex teases him. He surprises Michael with a greenhouse, and that’s enough to occupy him for a while.

Everything seems to be falling into place, and Alex can’t help but notice how excited Michael is becoming. He points out families with children when they are out, nudging Alex and whispering, “That will be us soon.”

Michael’s meant to be a father, Alex has known this for a long time. It’s easy to picture Michael showing a little boy the alien Rosa drew in the Crashdown window or walking through downtown with a little girl riding on his shoulders. But now Alex is starting to see himself there too. He can imagine himself swinging their daughter off Michael’s shoulders to give her a kiss or helping their son finish the sundae he begged for, but can only eat half of. It surprises him how much he wants it, how much he wants to share all that with Michael.

Alex thought therapy would be the worst part of the process, but the home study is more stressful than he expected. They’ve talked to Beth a few times since their initial interview, and Alex is used to her cheerful determination. He assumed she would be doing the home study, but they are required to use an approved company which means dealing with a stranger.

It’s a struggle not to bristle at the feeling of being judged, of knowing all his answers are being dissected. But Alex does his best to be honest, and realizes how far he’s come when he can answer a question about what type of father he wants to be with something other than a sarcastic remark about anything being better than the example he had growing up. Michael is charming, and Alex tries, but it’s still a relief when Beth calls to tell them they passed with flying colors.

Alex always knew he would be the one to ruin it.

“Alex!” Michael throws open the door of the truck. “Are you ok?”

It’s a stupid question, they both know Alex isn’t ok. They’re supposed to be in Beth’s office making a plan to meet the children they would potentially adopt. Instead, Alex is sitting in the truck trying, and failing, to hold back tears. He only made it through the first ten minutes of the appointment before bolting, and he can’t imagine what Michael must be thinking.

Alex feels Michael’s hand on his leg, his touch tentative in a way that makes Alex feel even worse.

“What’s going on?” Michael asks quietly. “If you changed your mind, you just have to tell me.”

“It’s not that,” Alex says hastily. He wipes his face, but looks away from Michael or he knows the tears will continue. “I still want a family with you, I do, I just can’t”

“Can’t what?” Michael prompts when Alex doesn’t continue. “Come on, move over,” Michael tells him with a sigh. He climbs in and sits next to Alex when Alex slides over to the middle of the seat. It takes some maneuvering, but Alex ends up leaning on Michael’s chest, Michael’s hand stroking his back. “You need to talk to me, Alex. Not to be dramatic but you're starting to freak me out.”

“I can’t pick,” he admits quietly. Alex knows this is his own fault for being unprepared. This was the only step of the process he hasn’t researched extensively, and it left him blindsided. Alex expected Beth to show them the profiles of the children she thought would be the best fit, they would meet them a few times, and if all went well, they would proceed with the adoption. He was unprepared for her to turn her computer screen toward them, and show them a page filled with thumbnail pictures of children along with brief descriptions of what they like and why they were available for adoption. He could see the multiple page numbers at the bottom of the screen, and it felt like being introduced to the worst kind of dating app.

“What do you mean?”

“How am I, are we, supposed to look at all those kids and decide who deserves a home? How are we supposed to say we’ll take this one, but not that one?” Alex asks, almost pleading for Michael to have an answer he can live with.

“That’s not what we’re doing,” Michael runs a hand through his hair. “Placement is about trying to figure out the best match so that the adoption has the best chance for success. That’s what all the interviews and therapy and home study were about, figuring out which kids will fit with us.”

“And what if we pick wrong?”

“That’s what this meeting is for so Beth can help us. She knows us, she knows some of the kids, and she’s done this before. We aren’t making a final decision today. We can take our time,” Michael reassures him.

“That’s not what I mean. Even if we do everything right, and it all works out, it doesn't mean we didn’t miss something. That we didn’t overlook,” Alex stumbles, trying to find the right words. “I’m afraid that we won’t see, that will leave behind,”

Alex can see the moment Michael gets it. He was right when he said he knew Alex’s heart better than he did. “What if you leave me behind?”

“How many people passed you by without ever really seeing you? You were so good Michael, and you deserved so much more than you got. I looked at that screen, and every kid reminded me of you. I can’t do this,” Alex admits, turning away again so he doesn’t have to look at Michael, and see the kindness he doesn’t deserve. Alex had been expecting Michael to break down at some point, overwhelmed at dealing with the system that had failed him, had been preparing himself to help Michael through it. Instead Alex is the one falling apart, forcing Michael to comfort him.

“Alex, we could adopt every kid Beth shows us, and it won’t change anything for me. You can’t fix what’s already happened.” Michael turns Alex’s face so he’s looking at him again, wiping away his remaining tears and kissing him softly. “If we go through with this it has to be because we are ready to start a family not because you’re trying to save me.”

“I’m not trying to save you, I just don’t want to fail you.”

“I know,” Michael closes his eyes briefly. “And I love you for it. Listen, I’m going to go back in, let Beth know we need to reschedule. Why don’t you call Caleb’s office and see if we can get in this week.”

They don’t talk on the way home, but by silent agreement decide to reset once they get there - doing their best to act like nothing has changed. It’s easier to pretend, at least until their appointment with Caleb. Michael holds Alex’s hand and listens while Alex tries to explain why he panicked. He does his best to reassure Michael that he does want to adopt, but they all agree that it’s best to put things on hold for a month or two so Alex can untangle his feelings about adoption from his feelings about Michael.

Three weeks later, Greg calls.

“Hey, are you and Michael still looking into adoption?”

“Yes,” Alex replies. It’s easier than he thought it would be to answer, but he knows despite his setback, they haven’t given up..

“One of my students is looking for a family to adopt her baby, and I thought you might be interested.”

“Jesus,” Alex says, horrified. “You teach fourth grade.”

“Former student, sorry,” Greg clarifies. “She just finished her freshman year at Stanford and is home for the summer. Baby’s due in a few months, and she didn’t find a match in California so she thought she’d try closer to home. What do you think?”

They never talked about a baby, but as the idea settles in his chest, Alex knows he wants to try. “Yeah, I mean I have to run it by Michael, but I think he’ll want to meet her.”

They meet Amber a week later in Greg’s kitchen. Greg introduces them, and then leaves, telling them to make themselves at home. Amber has dark hair pulled back into a bun and wide, intelligent eyes. Alex’s first thought is that she is too young for this - too young to have a baby, too young to make this kind of decision. But when she starts talking, he realizes quickly that while she may be too young for all this responsibility, she’s not a child.

Michael asks her about school, and she immediately launches into a detailed description of the genetic research she’s doing and the advanced program she was accepted into. Alex doesn’t understand most of what she’s talking about, but she reminds him so much of Liz it almost hurts to look at her.

Michael lights up and starts talking about some of the research he helped Liz with - leaving out the alien origins of it. Alex is happy to sit back and let the details pass him by, drawn in as he always is by watching Michael talk about something he is passionate about.

“Where did you go to school?” Amber asks.

“I didn’t,” Michael’s smile falters. “Had a scholarship after high school, but things didn’t work out. I’m just always studying on my own. Liz, the woman I mentioned, she has multiple doctorates so I just follow her lead.”

“You more than keep up,” Alex reminds him. He lifts Michael’s hand - his left hand - and kisses it softly. He knows what happened in the shed isn’t the only reason Michael gave up college, but a part of him will always hold some guilt over Michael’s lost dreams.

Amber’s eyes dart between them before she turns her attention to Alex. “What about you?”

“I was in the Air Force for about ten years. Got my degree while I was enlisted, computer engineering.”

“Alex is one of the best hackers in the world,” Michael says proudly.

Alex shoots Michael a look, not sure his hacking skills are something to brag about. “I mostly work in research data analysis now. The company I work for tries to take the information available to us and apply it to previously unexplained events or phenomena like,” Alex searches his mind for an example he can share, “the Bermuda Triangle. I was trained in code breaking in the military so my sub specialty is languages. There is a lot we can use computers for when it comes to recovering dead languages or translating symbol based languages.”

What he doesn’t say of course is his interest in language is fueled by his need to discover how many previously dismissed references to aliens are real. So much of his work is rooted in getting answers for Michael, but he can’t tell Amber that. Still, she seems happy with his answer.

“So you understand then, why I need to go back to school. Why I can’t let this,” she gestures to her stomach, the first real reference any of them have made to why they are there, “stop me.”

Alex nods, not sure what to say. But he remembers her enthusiasm when talking about her research and how her smile dimmed when even the possibility of her not returning to school was mentioned, and he reaches for the notepad Michael brought with him, writes down Liz’s email and hands it to Amber. “This is Liz, our friend's email. She would be a great resource or mentor. Her parents are immigrants so she knows what it’s like to be a minority woman in science. She’s told us about how much her mentor helped her, and I know she would be happy to talk to you.”

“I didn’t offer you the baby yet,” Amber reminds him, her eyes narrowing.

“It’s not a bribe,” Alex explains, hoping he didn’t screw things up already. “Like I said, Liz knows the challenges you’ll face, and it shouldn’t be any harder for you than it needs to be. If we’ve learned anything from working with her, it’s that changing the work is a lot easier with help. It’s just an offer, no strings.”

“Ok,” she nods and takes the paper. “I have some questions.”

She doesn’t ask them anything they haven’t been asked before - by Beth, by Caleb, during the home study. But Alex tries to be more open, a little more honest with her. They show her pictures of the house and of Charlie. Michael talks about his plans for chickens and maybe goats, shows her the greenhouse and the fields.

“This is our first crop of sunflowers at the house. See how tall they are already. Sanders grumbles about the drive, but he knows we have better soil,” he says proudly.

“Sanders?” Amber asks.

“Sanders and I have been growing prize winning sunflowers for a few years now. He’s my boss at the junkyard, but he’s family too. He’ll be the closest the kids will have to a grandfather.”

“Don’t forget Arturo,” Alex adds.

“True. But Sanders, uhh, here let me show you.” Michael pulls something up on his phone and hands it to Amber. “He’s not much for pictures, but he let us take a few at the wedding.”

Michael ends up going through the whole wedding album he has saved on his phone, introducing her to everyone in their family as he scrolls through the photos. “Are you singing?” Amber asks when they come to a picture of Michael on stage.

“Yeah,” Michael blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “It was a surprise for Alex at the reception. But he’s the real musician in the family. Writes his own music, he’s even written me a few songs. He’ll definitely be in charge of singing the kids to sleep.”

“What do you play?

“Guitar and keyboard mostly. We bought a piano when we bought the house and that’s what I like to compose on. My first guitar was actually a hand me down from Greg,” Alex laughs. “Michael had it for a while too.”

Amber looks curious at the mention of Greg. “How long have you been married? Was Greg still in the Navy?”

“No, he couldn’t make the wedding because of school,” Alex explains, assuming she is wondering why he wasn’t there.

“We’ve been married almost two years,” Michael adds. “But it’s been on and off since high school.”

“High school?” Amber’s eyes widen. “Sounds like an epic love story.”

“Cosmic,” Michael mumbles. Alex elbows him, but smiles.

“It took us a while to figure things out, but we’ve always loved each other. It’s always been Michael,” Alex shrugs.

Amber hands the phone back to Michael, “It seems like you have a beautiful family.”

“Thanks, I know it’s probably a cliche, but that’s what we want for our kids. From what we told you, I’m sure you figured out our childhoods sucked.” They all laugh. “But we can give our kids all the things we didn’t have. A place to run around, a chance to just be kids and do whatever they want if that’s sports or art or reading. They can do what they want and have the freedom to make mistakes because they’ll have people who will love them and support them no matter what. More than just us, you know.”

“I know you have questions too, but I’ll just get the big ones out of the way. There’s no father, at least not one that I can name. I aced my first big exam and decided to celebrate. Found out there really is such a thing as being blackout drunk. I woke up the next morning on someone’s couch with half my clothes missing. I have no idea who I was with. Is that a problem?”

Amber tells the story with no emotion, just a statement of fact, and Alex can tell she doesn’t want sympathy so he just shakes his head and sees Michael do the same.

“Good,” Amber nods. “I was working with an agency in California so I’ve had all the counseling sessions. I’m not going to change my mind. I don’t know if I ever want to be a mother, but I know I don’t want to be one now. I’d have to move back here, drop out of Stanford, and what, if I’m lucky, go to community college once she starts school?”

“She?” Michael asks. Alex sees him wince, knows he didn’t mean to interrupt, but they hadn’t known the baby was a girl.

“Yes, and she deserves better than a mother who resents her. I worked too hard to get into Stanford to become another girl from the rez who can’t hack in the real world,” Amber stops, bitterness lacing her voice, and shakes her head. When she speaks again, her tone is softer. “That’s what happened to my mom, and she always told me I ruined her life. I want better for her.”

Before either of them can respond, Amber excuses herself to go to the restroom. She seems more composed when she comes back, accepting the iced tea Alex poured while she was gone.

“So what do you want to know?”

Alex turns to Michael, watches as he picks up his notebook and turns to his list of questions. “What kind of contact do you want after the adoption,” he asks.

“None,” Amber shrugs. “I don’t know how to explain this without sounding like a bad person, but I don’t think of her as my daughter. This is a process I’m going through, and once she’s born my part is done. My grandmother would probably like a picture every now and then, but that’s up to you. She lives here so you can contact her through Greg if you want.”

That brings up a concern Alex has. “Obviously you know Greg’s my brother, but other than visiting him the last few years, I haven’t been on the reservation since my mom left. I don’t have much of a connection to that side of my heritage. Is that a problem?”

“Will you answer questions if she has them? Help her learn what it means to be Native if she wants?” When Alex nods she seems satisfied. “That’s enough. When I go back to school I’m never coming back so it would be pretty hypocritical of me to judge you for that.”

“She would spend time here, with us and Greg, it just isn't’ something that’s part of our daily lives,” Alex clarifies.

“What else?” she asks.

Alex watches Michael look over his list of questions before closing the notebook. “I don’t think there is anything else we need to know.” He looks to Alex for confirmation. “This is for you to get to know us, see if we might be the kind of people you want to adopt your baby. We’re not here to judge you. So if you have more questions or want to see the house or whatever, go for it. But we’re good.”

“Ok,” Amber agrees.

“So, we can give our numbers or you can reach out though Greg once you’ve made a decision,” Alex tells her.

“I met with several families in California, and they were all nice, but it never felt right. I think it’s because I was waiting for you. I don’t need time. If you want her, she’s yours.”

“Really,” Michael’s face lights up.

“Of course we do, thank you,” Alex forces out, his throat tight. “We have a case worker so we’ll get in touch with her and figure out what’s next.”

When they are walking out to their cars, Alex texting Greg to let him know he can come back, Michael stops Amber. “I do have one question. Do you have any thoughts on a name?”

“She’s your daughter, you pick the name,” Amber reminds them. “Just let me know, and I’ll have it put on the original birth certificate.”

They sit in the truck together and watch her drive away, Michael making no move to start the truck. “We’re going to be dads. I can’t believe it,” he turns to Alex, tears shining in his eyes.

“We have a daughter,” Alex says in awe. He gives Michael a watery smile.

“Do you want to name her Nora?” he asks Michael once they are on the way home. Michael turns to briefly look at him, but doesn’t answer right away.

“She needs her own name,” Michael tells him once they are home. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to live up to something or be a replacement.”

They call Beth the next morning. She tells them that since Amber is an enrolled member of the Tribe, the adoption needs to be approved by the Tribal Council. That also means Beth can handle the paperwork rather than requiring them to go with a private agency that handles infant adoptions. She meets them at the hearing, and Alex can’t help but apologize for not following through on their plans.

“Alex, there’s nothing to be sorry about. Would I have loved to place one of my kids with you, of course I would. But a child who needs a family is going to be raised in a loving home. How can I not see that as a win?”

“It feels like this is what was supposed to happen,” he admits.

“Then let’s go get you your daughter.”

Since Alex is also an enrolled member, and they’ve committed to enrolling the baby, the hearing is mostly a formality. Greg comes and speaks on their behalf, and in less than an hour, the adoption is approved.

The hearing is also the last time they see Amber in person. They talk for a few minutes after, but Alex can tell while she’s obviously relieved, she doesn’t want to linger. Her smile brightens when Michael tells her the name they’ve chosen, Amirah Estelle.

“It’s beautiful, I think she’ll love it.”

There’s no way to thank her for what she is giving them so they just try not to make it awkward. They introduce her to Beth, and quietly say goodbye, leaving them to discuss the details of what comes next for Amber.

Their second anniversary falls a month before Amber’s due date, and they spend a week at Eduardo’s villa in Mexico celebrating. It has a private beach, and Alex watches the sun turn Michael’s skin a deep gold while lightening his curls so he glows in a way that makes Alex’s chest hurt. Alex spends hours licking the salt from Michael’s skin while they get sleepy drunk on Valenti’s family tequila. It’s perfect and the days stretch out and go by too fast at the same time.

“We won’t be able to do this next year,” Michael says on their last night.

Alex looks up from where he’d been dozing on Michael’s chest, listening to Michael’s heartbeat while Michael stroked his hair. “Someone will take her for a few days, or we’ll just bring her with us.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” Alex props himself up on his elbow. “I was afraid of losing this when you first mentioned kids. I was worried about losing parts of you, but now I’m more excited about the parts of you I’ll gain.”

“Like what?” Michael asks, wiggling down on the bed so their faces are even.

“I want to see you hold our daughter, I want to see you show her the stars, and I want to see if you’ll be strict about homework or get thrown out of Little League games or if you’ll be the one to braid her hair. I love everything about you, Michael. And now I get to see you as a father and love you even more.”

“Alex,” Michael breathes, blinking back tears. “I love you so much, and I can’t believe I get to have a baby with you. You are going to be an amazing father.”

“I hope so,” Alex smiles at Michael’s confidence in him. “But in the meantime, we should take advantage of our time alone. He kisses Michael, laughing when Michael rolls them over, and there’s no more talking after that.

They come home to find a nursery painted in a muted version of the Oasian sky, stars dotting the ceiling and iridescent butteerflies and glowing birds flying across the walls. The empty room they left behind is fully furnished, the closet and dresser filled with clothes.

“You said no baby shower, but you didn’t say no gifts,” Isobel reminds them when she shows them the room. “Rosa’s been working on the design for weeks with Max so you better like it.”

It’s beautiful, and he and Michael find themselves in there several times a day. Seeing the space for a baby in their home makes their impending parenthood finally feel real.

Beth is the one to call them when Amirah is born, and she meets them when they arrive. “She looks great,” she immediately reassures them. “Healthy and strong. The hospital will keep her for forty-eight hours, and you can stay with her in one of the family rooms off the NICU. If Amber signs the relinquishment papers, you can take her home after that.”

Neither of them ask what will happen if Amber doesn’t sign the papers, because they can’t think about that when they desperately want to meet their daughter. She’s sleeping when they first see her, a tiny bundle in the hospital bassinet. The lights are turned down low, but Alex can still see the way her hair peeps out from underneath her hat, see the curve of her cheek.

The nurse in the room fills them in on all her measurements - weight, length, APGAR score. “We want to do two hours of skin to skin contact with both of you to help with the bonding process.”

Alex knew this was coming, but it’s still awkward to take off their shirts and climb into a hospital bed together. He nudges Michael to go first when the nurse comes over with Amirah. She settles her against Michael’s chest and covers them with a blanket. “Feel free to play music if you want or just talk to her. I’ll be back when it’s time for her next bottle. Just hit the alert button if you need anything.”

And then they’re alone, just the three of them. And it hits Alex that it will be the three of them from now on. He and Michael have a daughter. Alex is sitting behind Michael so he tucks his face into his neck so he can see Amirah over Michael’s shoulder.

Alex watches as Michael carefully traces one finger over her face and down her back. Amirah’s still asleep, but she wiggles slightly in response to Michael’s touch. “She’s so beautiful,” Michael whispers.

“Mmmhmm,” Alex hums his agreement. He turns his head to look at Michael, soaking in the love and awe on his face. Tears fall silently, and Alex brushes them away before kissing his cheek.

There’s something intimate and peaceful about this time alone together, Alex holding Michael while he holds their daughter, the room dark and quiet. He understands why the hospital recommends it. Just when Amirah starts to fuss, the nurse comes in with her bottle. She walks them through feeding and changing her. When she is settled and checked over, they rearrange themselves on the bed, and this time the nurse hands Amirah to Alex.

She blinks up at him before falling back asleep, and he can’t believe how small and light she is for all the space she takes up in his heart. Alex doesn’t cry when he holds her. His love for her doesn’t feel soft - it’s fierce and already rooted deeper than he imagined. He told Michael once that he would burn the world down for him, and he knows he would do the same for Amirah in a heartbeat. Alex closes his eyes and settles himself and Amirah in Michael’s embrace and silently promises that her happiness and safety will always be his priority.

Their two days in the hospital are a nice bubble from the world, but they also go by quickly - a crash course in caring for a baby they both need. Research and video tutorials can’t truly prepare them for a living child. They learn that Amber was released the morning after Amirah was born, and she signs the relinquishment papers as soon as the forty-eight hours are up. Greg later tells Alex that Amber spent a week with her grandmother before returning to Stanford for the second summer session.

Beth brings them all the paperwork they need to prove they have custody of Amirah once she is ready to be released. She walks them out, hugging them both once Amirah is secure in her car seat. “I’ll be by in a few weeks to check in on her, make sure you are all settling in. And remember, you can’t post any pictures until the adoption is finalized.”

Michael laughs, “No worries there. Alex has strong opinions about the dangers of social media.”

“It’s not just identity theft, which is easy enough, but anything you post can be manipulated. I can’t believe how vulnerable people leave themselves for a few seconds on validation.” Michael clears his throat, and Alex realizes he probably shouldn’t explain how he can - and has - used social media as a weapon against people he found profiting off stolen alien artifacts. Beth doesn’t need to know he can ruin someone’s life in five minutes without ever leaving his desk.

“I can tell she’s in good hands,” Beth smiles at them. “We’ll talk soon.”

Their first week at home is a disaster. Everything that was so easy at the hospital becomes a battle. Amirah doesn’t want to eat or sleep, she flails through her bath, making both Alex and Michael terrified of dropping her. “Do you think it’s safe for me to catch her with telekinesis if we drop her?” he asks as they struggle to contain a slippery infant.

“It’s better than letting her hit the floor,” Alex admits. “But we should probably stick with just not dropping her.”

Despite their eagerness to introduce her to their family, the constant stream of visitors makes it hard to settle into a routine. Everyone has advice to give even though, Arturo excluded, they have no more experience with babies than Alex or Michael do. Amirah shows a strong preference for Max - quieting the quickest when he holds her. No one can figure out exactly what he’s doing, but it almost always works.

“Well it’s not an alien thing,” Isobel tells them when Amirah refuses to take a bottle from her.

“And it’s not a guy thing,” Kyle says, conceding defeat when none of his doctor tricks work on getting her to sleep.

“Don’t look at me,” Liz hands Amirah back to Max after she spits up on her. “I’ll be her favorite as soon as she’s old enough for her first chemistry set. But for now, Max is the baby whisperer.”

Eventually the visits slow to a manageable level and they settle into daily life with a baby. Sanders bans Michael from the junkyard for two weeks, and Alex has twelve weeks of paternity leave. It’s all bottles and diapers and figuring out snaps on clothes and still remembering to walk Charlie, but they make it work.

The first time Amirah reaches for him, kicking her legs and cooing, when he goes to pick her up, Alex finds himself tearing up. He sits with Amirah in the recliner and lets himself cry the tears he didn’t have at the hospital. As she watches him, eyes too wise for her age, he realizes it is not just about him loving her, it’s also about her loving him, about her looking to him for love and guidance and support.

Michael finds him, and asks carefully, “Are you ok?” When Alex nods, he settles on the floor in front of them, resting his head on Alex’s knee. “It’s a lot, isn’t it.”

“I didn’t realize,” Alex’s voice trails off, not sure what he’s trying to say.

“I know,” Michael says. “She’s everything.”

Alex knows Michael understands everything he doesn’t have words for yet, and he’s so grateful they’re doing this together. “Not just her,” Alex runs his hand through Michael’s hair.

“Yeah,” Michael agrees, turning his head to kiss Alex’s knee. Neither of them move until Amirah demands her dinner.

Amirah’s first cold is a week of sleepless nights and worrying. Three days into it, Isobel arrives with dinner and a promise to walk with Amirah so they can eat and take a nap. The food is delicious, but Alex’s eyes are dropping before he gets halfway through his milkshake. He falls asleep on the couch while Michael is showing Isobel how the vaporizer works.

He wakes to voices and the smell of coffee and realizes Michael and Isobel must be in the kitchen.

“I can’t believe she’s still asleep,” Michael says.

“I may have encouraged her a bit,” Isobel replies.

Alex sits up, suddenly wide awake, but before he can get up he hears Michael say something he can’t quite make out. Isobel laughs in response.

“I’m kidding. No influencing the baby, I got it.”

Alex relaxes again, letting their conversation wash over him, tuning in when something catches his attention.

“You’re a good dad, Michael. I knew you would be,” he hears Isobel tell Michael.

“You’ll be a good mom, too,” he assures her.

“Maybe,” Isobel sighs. “I’m not sure it will happen for me.”

“Hey, my offer of baby gravy still stands.”

Alex makes a face at the same time he hears Isobel snort.

“I told you not to call it that. And while I appreciate the offer, I figure it out myself if I’m ready.”

“If you change your mind, all you have to do is ask.” Michael’s reply is the last thing Alex hears before he falls asleep again.

The next time he wakes up, the house is dark and Isobel is gone. He checks on Amirah and finds her still asleep in her crib, breathing a little easier, Charlie guarding her from the hallway. Michael is also asleep so Alex takes a quick shower before joining him in bed. He watches Michael sleep and thinks of his conversation with Isobel. Since they planned on adopting older children, they never talked about other options. But Amirah changed that, and Alex wonders if Michael wants a child of his own - one with his curls or his quick mind.

He brings it up the next morning after Amirah’s bath. “If we had another baby, would you want to use a surrogate?”

“What?” Michael looks up from where he’d been rubbing lotion onto Amirah’s legs.

“I heard you and Isobel talking last night,” Alex shrugs. “We never considered it before, and I wondered if that’s something you’d want.”

“Nah,” Michael shakes his head before leaning down and blowing a raspberry on Amirah’s belly. “You think I could love this one more if we shared some DNA. No way.”

“It’s not about that, I just want you to have the option.”

“Don’t need it,” Michael insists. “I have no desire to pass on my genetics.” He holds up a hand when Alex starts to protest. “I do it for Isobel if she asked, but it’s not how I want to build our family. I like what we’re doing so far. Ok?”

“Ok,” Alex agrees, picking up Amirah and wrestling her into a clean sleeper.

When Alex’s leave is up, he makes arrangements to work from home three days a week, and Michael adjusts his schedule so one of them is always home with Amirah.

“I can’t believe it,” Liz shakes her head when he tells her. “I thought you’d be dying to get back to work.”

“Not really. Don’t get me wrong, there are some projects I am eager to get back to, but I’d much rather work from home as much as I can.” Alex peeks under the blanket he’d thrown over Amirah to make sure she was still asleep before shifting her a little higher on his chest. Max and Liz had come over for dinner and it was warm enough for Liz and Alex to stay out on the deck while Max and Michael were in the workshop going over something for Max’s next visit to Oasis. She snuffles a little so he kisses her forehead and shushes her softly. “That’s my girl,” he croones once she closes her eyes again.

“You're such a dad,” Liz smiles at him when he looks up.

Alex smiles back, not the slightest bit concerned about letting everyone know how much he loves his daughter. “She makes it easy.”

“No, I think it’s you. You and Michael both, you’re meant for this. Max will be an amazing father, too. And we’re starting to talk about when and how that might happen, but I don’t think I’ll be the one staying home,” Liz admits hesitantly.

“That’s fine,” Alex reaches over and squeezes her hand. “There’s no one way to do this, and you know that. Besides, I don't think there is a safe way to run a genetics lab in the same house as children, and you still have a Nobel Prize to win.”

“True,” Liz laughs.

Alex looks at Liz and finally works up the courage to ask the question he’s been afraid to ask. “Has she reached out to you?”

“Alex,” Liz chides him gently. “Do you really want to know?”

“No,” Alex admits guiltily. “It’s just I’m happy Liz, I’m so fucking happy, but I don’t know if Amber is. And I don’t want to know because,” he tightens his hold on Amirah. “Because I wouldn’t change anything.”

“You’re responsible for Amirah and her happiness, not Amber’s,” Liz tells him.

“It’s hard to remember that when I have her daughter.”

“Amirah is your daughter, not Amber’s. That’s the choice Amber made, and one you and Michael accepted. From what you told me, she knew what she wanted. Don’t take her choice away from her because you feel guilty about being happy.”

Alex knows she’s right, but the closer the adoption gets, the more he worries that somehow he’s unworthy of so much happiness, and he’s going to lose it. He and Caleb are working on it, but it’s a hard demon to shake. “What would you have done,” he asks Liz, “if you had gotten pregnant in college?”

Liz looks stricken when he asks the question, and he instantly feels guilty for even asking. “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“No it’s ok. Probably something like this,” Liz gestures to Alex and Amirah before biting her lip and looking away. “Or maybe I wouldn’t have let it get this far.”

“Liz,” Alex takes her hand again, mentally berating himself for asking her to bare her soul to comfort him.

She looks up and crosses herself, muttering in Spanish before squeezing his hand. “Papi would be devastated if he knew I thought it let alone said it out loud, but it’s true. I worked so hard to be the smartest, to be the best, and for a long time that’s all I had. I couldn’t have given that up, it would have killed me.”

Alex just shakes his head, not knowing what to say.

“When you are a girl, you’re told anything you want to do, anything you accomplish is temporary. You’re supposed to set it aside one day to be a mother. That’s supposed to be your real dream. But that’s not true for all of us. It’s not true for me, and if Amber’s as much like me as she sounds, it’s not true for her either. What you did, giving her the freedom to follow her dreams, that was a gift. You helped both of them, you didn’t take anything from her.”

“I hope you’re right,” he says softly.

“I’m always right,” Liz insists, breaking the tension.

Amirah’s adoption is finalized when she’s six months out. She’s quiet in Alex’s arms, taking in the unfamiliar environment. But when the judge asks for a picture with the new family, she giggles and pulls at his beard. The picture on their mantle shows all of them laughing, the judge making a funny face at Amirah as she claps her hands.

Since their hearing was in the morning, Maria throws a party at the Wild Pony before it opens. Amirah is happy to be passed from person to person, basking in the attention, leaving Alex and Michael free to socialize and eat using both hands. She crashes a few hours in, falling asleep in Max’s arms.

As things are winding down, Alex boxes the leftover cake and snags Maria by the waist when she walks by to clear away the empty platters. “Thanks for this,” he presses a kiss to her temple.

“I remember you telling me you wanted your kids to grow up in the Pony, so this seemed like a good way to start,” Maria teases him.

“This isn’t quite what I meant,” he says, feeling the gentle tug of nostalgia for the dreams he once had.

“I know,” Maria agrees softly. “But it’s how it was always meant to be.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, looking over to where Amirah is awake and back with Michael, both of them flipping through a picture book Rosa made for her.

They’re not her first steps, but one day Amirah runs from Michael to Alex on unsteady legs, yelling “Da, Da, Da, Da,” and Alex knows what he wants. He catches her in her arms, kissing her face and neck until she is laughing and wiggling to get down so she can run back to Michael.

Alex doesn’t say anything then because it’s easy to be sure when Amirah is happy and Michael is playing with her and listening to her babbling like she’s telling him the secrets of the universe. He waits until after bath time when Amirah screams the whole time because she recently decided she hates getting her hair wet. He waits until he’s more exhausted than she is, but she’s still fighting sleep, her earlier cries whittled down to occasional wet gasps.

He waits while Michael straightens the bathroom and takes Charlies out. He waits until they fall into bed, too tired to do more than cuddle. He waits until nothing is perfect, but he still knows what he wants.

“I think we should call Beth,” he whispers into Michael’s neck.

#miniastrophyicist #rnmsecretsanta23 #malex fic #rnm fic #my fic #future fic #kid fic

35 notes · View notes

qiific3 · 10 months

Text

astarion x gn!tav, set in act i, 1.2k words

twirling my hair and kicking my feet. I made something 4 you guys <3 I haven't written anything in about six months so it's not good but I feel like feeding the astarion truthers before going to sleep.

tw: oh you know, canon typical mentions of horrifying abuse. no biggie

Astarion had gotten into the habit of staring into his hand-held mirror when he was feeling particularly self-loathing, almost trying to will the piece of glass to show him his reflection. Maybe if he saw what his companions did, he would understand their actions— how they were able to treat him with the kindness that he was so mercilessly deprived of for the better part of two centuries.

It seemed so effortless for you to treat everyone you all came upon with some degree of kindness, even those Astarion would turn his nose at, and more so those that any sane person would disregard. You had the urge to see a little deeper than he ever allowed himself to. Perhaps it was a form of self-preservation that prevented him from seeing people as just that— sometimes living, often breathing creatures. He had spent so long depersonalizing, dehumanizing, them so he’d feel just a touch less like the monster he always knew he was when he lured them back to Cazador. He almost wished the form he took reflected how he saw himself: wicked, depraved, undeserving. If he took the appearance of one of the Winged Horrors that plagued the darker corners of Faerun, maybe people would stop approaching him, stop desiring him. Or at least the ‘him’ that he showed and paraded around.

Although, he imagined you would find yourself foolishly offering kindness to even a Winged Horror if there was even an inking that it might be in need of taking care of. You never seemed to know just when to stay away.

That sentiment applied especially now, when Astarion is momentarily removed from his brooding by movement outside of his tent, followed by a quiet greeting. You always announced your presence before entering anyone’s tent, lest they be startled or uncomfortable by your sudden appearance. It was that kind of consideration that made him absolutely naseous.

“Hey,” You beam, wearing a particularly bright smile when you see that Astarion doesn’t appear to be busy. “We’re about to go out to the lake, if you want to come with.” You’re never one to exclude a friend.

Astarion considers your offer for a moment, not completely against the idea of a late night swim. The offer is substantially soured when he hears another set of footsteps follow up behind you, and the unmistakable presence of a certain wizard of waterdeep that had, of recent, taken a considerable liking to dear Tav. In a sort of pathetic, wet-dog way, of course, but you had taken in creatures far and wide, almost always on the desperate side— why, you had taken Astarion in! Of course, you had a type for the ones with an almost undeniable aura of damage, one way or another. He does takes pride in showing it considerably less than Gale does, or at least he thinks he does.

As much as Astarion would love to kill the mood of the night with his own unfortunate feelings, he shakes his head. “No thanks, darling. I’d hate to ruin whatever you two—” He gestures accusingly, and almost rudely, at Gale, and then with a nearly undetectable softening in his glare when his outstretched finger points towards you, “—Have going on right now. I’m turning in for the night."

You eye him suspiciously, head leaned to the side. He hated how you peered at him when you seemed to see past his almost perfectly curated facade, like you were reading him— your eyes boring into him akin to a book written in a foreign language that maybe, if you focused long enough, would begin to be comprehensible. He never maintained eye contact long enough for you to string together enough words to make sense of him, but once you started looking, reading, translating, you never really stopped. He’d be on your mind for another couple hours, trying to make sense of whatever was going on in his pretty (and petty) little head.

Almost as if Gale could tell that whatever was going on had much less to do with him and much more to do with the two of you, he started to leave, but not before extending the lake offer if Astarion changed his mind. You smiled a little inquisitive thing, before nodding and leaving. If he didn’t want your presence, you wouldn’t force it.

Astarion huffed, once both of you were out of ear shot, and turned back to his mirror. It was considerably easier to deflect and deceive instead of getting into whatever he was feeling, because of course it would come up. You had this awful habit of caring and wanting to talk about whatever was bothering him. Some sort of unbridled compassion you had for the people you so quickly began to care about.

And it angered him, the anger an ever present curiousity to you when you had finally noticed. But really, of course it angered him. He spent two hundred years begging every god and goddess out there to outstretch a divine hand and remove him from the torture he was enduring every day. He pleaded for one of them to lessen the ever increasing self hatred that threatened to eat him alive every night, and no one ever answered. Not once did another spawn, another elf, another creature at all voice concern for him, nor show him an ounce of the compassion you lot seemed to hand out for free.

You so generously offered forgiveness, kindness, compassion, and understanding to whatever creature, living and undead, happened to meander across your path. And yet, none of the gods ever thought to put you in his path when he was in pain, in ever apparent need for a soft touch— or at least one that wasn’t grabbing, tearing, stripping, violating. It took being kidnapped and infected by a parasite that was going to kill him for him to learn that there was an abundance of kindness flowing from people.

And it made him think, more accurately it made him fear, that this love was everywhere but wherever he was for a reason. That the gods knew that he was ever undeserving of this sort of grace, and so they never even let him get a taste.

He escaped, tooth and nail, expecting Cazador’s ‘training’, his 3 rules, to be the only thing to keep him alive now that he’s free— just to learn that he never fucking needed it. And that’s what makes him angry.

Not that making you miserable and cold-hearted would make him feel any better, of course. Might even make him feel worse. But what he knows for certain is that he doesn’t need your kindness now of all times, now that he’s free. With this resentment boiling in him, he’s decided to use your foolishness against you. If you’re so hellbent on being kind to him, he’ll weaponize it, use it for his gain.

He leaves his tent, smothered by the darkness of the night, and decides then and there that he’ll make sure he’s safe from being left behind. This snarky attitude wasn’t going to keep him in the party for long— but there was something that would, something he was willing to offer. Or maybe, closer to the truth, there was something he was used to offering.

So, he carefully pasted his pretty mask back on his face and became whoever you wanted him to be. Because that’s what he’s always done, and that’s what he’ll always do. Right?

wow it has been a hot sec since I've written anything lol. hope that didn't suck too much (no pun intended). i like making our vampire boyf suffer but if y'all happen to like this at all I might make another part where he suffers a little less. nervous to post this but whats the worst that can happen. leave ur thoughts below :) <3

#hurt no comfort he will suffer #but just for right now #i'm sorry #i'll be nice to him later i promise #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #astarion x mc #astarion x you #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #fanfic

28 notes · View notes

viilpstick · 7 months

Note

Choose your fighter

No but fr this was way too funny to me bc I realized somehow all of these are my oc x canon and I'm wondering if u think they apply to urs bc if so that's gonna be so funny to me

RAMBLE ALLERT!! I AM BORED. AND YOU GAVE ME SMTH TO DO. RAMBLE AHEAD.

1- Forehead kiss: Viuna

Vil would take his hands place carefully on Yuuna’s forehead and with that give her a kiss in her forehead with his lips curled into a smile, and she doesn’t discourage any bit, she places her hand on his waiting for more than just one kiss. May he forehead be covered in lipstick! She will be willingly to do this sacrifice… But, Yuuna would reattribute whenever he is sat down somewhere not too public, she would stay in her tip toes and “muaw!” his forehead. If he is busy, she will wait on his side; until he turns to her and ask if she needs anything. In my head forehead kisses are a way to display a sweet and somewhat elegant affection <3

2- Neck kiss: Malline & Felcy

Neck kisses are like your face fitting into the person’s neck. You start to smell the intoxicating scent and then place a soft kiss.

When Adeline does it, it means she had a long day. And all that can make her feel better is placing her head in Malleus’ neck, and then her lips curl up into a tiny smile and then: kisses all over his neck marked down by her lipgloss. Of course, the prince won’t let her go until he give her the same treatment, the kisses may trail off to her shoulder, but because she is too damn perfect. Is nothing perverted. Is just a display of lipstick and lipgloss art in your partner’s neck!

For Lacy and Fellow, is more like during a cuddle session. Something that happens when he wake up after a short nap, but, uh-oh! Lacy still not awake. What is he supposed to do? Wait, he found the solution! Why not plant thousands of kisses in her neck until she feels tingly and wake up. Yep, seems about right. He may occasionally bite if she still don’t wake up, but meh. He also does it when she is cooking and he hugs Lacy from behind. Lacy does reattribute? Of course she does. With a devious smile and everything, she does it when they are cuddling on the couch awake. Is sweet in general.

3- Hand kiss; Maizul & Adriano

For wrist kisses is something close to a prank… Wait, let me explain. To take other’s wrist and brought it up to your lips you must make it not seem clear what your first intentions are, maybe you pretend on going to a hand shake and then, a kiss is placed in their hand. How sweet.

Azul would do it quite often with the princess. Every time she leaves work, he can’t forget to knowledge Maizie for her hard work, after all, so he comes up to her and pull her for a hand shake. What the mermaid didn’t expected was her partner to pull up her hand so gently and kiss it and then kiss her knuckles. He could do it a million times, she still would feel dizzy. How or when she does it? Well, a princess like her was taught manners. So, when they go on a date, she kisses his hand immediately, and then she pulls his arm so Azul can get closer for a lips kiss. Young love, hm?

Although, Adriano does not have a canon partner yet. The gentleman is a charmer. He would do it, whenever he gets the chance to hold hands with them. He pulls their hand awhile walking with fingers intertwined and kisses the soft skin of his partner, only to turn to them with a grin and a lovefool look and tease his own partner as if not completely head over heels.

4- The knife thing; Floyce <- Of course

Well, maybe is not an actual knife in the room with us. But the tension has the sound of a clear cut. The tension hangs in the air with a thin rope, to worsen things… Is impossible to not stare at each other’s lips.

Floyd teases, annoys, make Grace’s life ACTUAL hell. But, when she gets mad and confronts him, some switch turns up on him and out of nowhere in the worse moment, in the middle of the silence and staring at each other’s eyes… He gets dizzy at how pretty she is. Of course he has noticed before, but those moments where he can only hear her breath; something changes. Floyd stares at her, as if he just lost his words… Well, not quite, he is more unsure how to deal with the urge to pin her down and kiss her. And his eyes don’t let him hide that. Whoever, when is Grace in his position is a little more hard to know if she wants or not. She doesn’t stare at his lips, she looks to his eyes, Floyd’s eyes. As if encouraging him to have the actual guts to kiss her even when mad. She needs him to do so. And you quite don’t know how, but he does ends up pinning her against a wall and kissing her. The urge needed it’s relief…

feel free to reblog it and give ur interpretation of your oc x canon mah <33 I would love to read it. Sorry, ik its long :,)

#♡ ! mah #𐙚 moots ♡#inbox 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ✧

18 notes · View notes

nonsensicalsoliloquy · 6 months

Note

Ooh, please tell me more about Alien Kylo and Broodmare Hux!

(from WIP FOLDER game)

Hello, my dear, thanks for the ask!! I’m both appreciative and not surprised by your interest in my ‘Kylux AU—Alien Kylo and Broodmare Hux’ XD

This WIP is actually where my response to this last sentence tag game came from!

First off, and most importantly, this is a filthy, ridiculous, purely self-indulgent PWP idea, and being both me and the fact I’ve let it sit in my head for well over a year, AND like 95% of that is STILL IN MY HEAD, it took on some attempts at sense and a touch of ‘plot’. Which is why ‘bullshitting alien medical science’ became much more of a thing than just because ‘this is reeeaaalllyy straining realistic credulity’ smut.

To be, uh, short:

General Hux and a group of his men were ‘captured’ after leaving a small, secluded FO base when they accidentally entered a corner of restricted space and, for the infraction, are to become a new batch of soon to be breeding hosts for a powerful and intelligent species who need compatible beings to both bear their young, as well as assist in heat cycles where the eggs they lay are not to be fertilized but need a partner to lay them in. (Alien) Kylo is (and comes from a family line) high up in the wealthy and influential ranks, so he’s one often offered first pick of partners when new batches (in his city) are ready. He doesn’t always take them up on it, but this time he does, as he’d had his eyes on Hux since they arrived.

Thus Hux’s new life takes on a second layer. Not just an alien species’ broodmare, but that of a seemingly high-ranking member of their elite.

Aaaaand…yeah. That was pretty much the initial PWP oneshot idea. The plot growth part developed more of Kylo’s background (just a tad) as well as his interest in Hux; some of the observations, experiences, and a bit of past for Hux; the ‘medical bullshit’ background for the hows and whys this is/can happen; as well as a future beyond that evident smut-a-palooza.

To be.. a little longer:

So, Alien Kylo here is not related at all to his canonverse background. There is still the Force, though it’s not touched on much, and his family line, etc. does still exist in a sense, but if you had to apply it in some form of vague parallel with ‘canon’, it’s a little more along the lines of Naboo/Kylo Amidala au stuff.

I haven’t figured out a name for his species nor their planet yet, but they’re an old, huge, well-developed, and wealthy planet with big influence in both above and below board trades. i.e. they work with respectable people in the Core and people like the First Order. One of several reasons for this is because they’re a prominent source of and power in medical research and development fields – not only for themselves, but numerous other species. This being because, a millennia(?) or so ago, their race was facing growing infertility issues, ones that could threaten to drive them to extinction.

In Kylo’s species, both males and females are capable of impregnating and being impregnated. They also are a species that lay eggs in their partner’s’ wombs (during heat periods with no intention to fertilize, as well as when wanting to do so). While working toward figuring out the reasons for the fertility decline, plus obviously helping their own, they simultaneously searched to find compatible species to serve as surrogate wombs.

One of the few compatible species are human males.

As for the appearance of Kylo’s species, they’re Dragon-like, though still not fully ‘developed’ yet in my head. Larger than your average human for sure, but typically not so much so that it’s outlandish. Kylo, of course, is larger than his usual, in both height and breadth. Their species is humanoid in form and relatively so in features; with things like a set of horns, longer tongues and sharper teeth, retractable claws and areas with scales and a change in skin color/tone/toughness, and sometimes eyes with black sclera. Also, of course, their (male) dicks are usually on the huge side and ridged (in all the 'right' ways XD) and they don’t really have testicles so much as a smaller sac/pouch in that general area that expands somewhat with eggs when in heat and preparing to lay them in a partner.

OH, on a filthy side note to the filthy filth: all ‘breeding partners’ are arranged in rooms where the walls are lined by, essentially, fancy glory holes. For all the crew to stick their asses out of for these alien VIPs (at first) to make use of. Yuuup… There will be SOME TAGS on this thing when it’s done.

Soooo… yeah. That was a lot of ‘teaser’ for what’s supposed to be a ridiculously self-indulgent, stupidly filthy PWP. Honestly, I got way too into those hows and whys with regard to the alien biology nonsense. Probably a bunch of stuff that won’t even end up in the fic whenever I get around to actually finishing it (or just writing more than a few freaking paragraphs :'C ).

Thank you again! :D

#my answers #tag game #wip folder game #kylux #alien kylo #kylo ren #general hux #armitage hux

12 notes · View notes

princelylove · 11 months

Note

Woah, thank you for answer my ask about delusion yandere, I love the way you analyze so detailed about characters, very interesting

I have weird idea about a scenario like this, I hope you don't mind if I'm asking. What do you think about yanderes compete to win love from reader, for example between yandere Jotaro and yandere Kakyoin lol (I just love the idea having yandere harem, it can apply for others too but Jotaro and Kakyoin are my favorite, sorry if it too weird to ask)

I don’t mind at all, darling. Keep the requests coming ♡

I think that yanderes competing for a certain special someone can end well if their personalities match, or if they otherwise get along. Maybe they hate each other but can have a sort of professional approach to it, “You take weekends and holidays” type of coparenting, but romantic. But the possibilities of that aren’t really that high with these two. They just don’t agree on what to do with you.

Jotaro and Kakyoin are supposed to be friends. They have common interests, I think their canonical taste in people is similar, actually. On Noriaki’s wiki it says his taste is “someone you can feel at ease around,” and Jotaro’s taste is someone more traditional. It’s very likely that they’d fall for the same person, in my opinion.

I see Jotaro as very, very protective. He’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that pretty head of yours sleeps soundly at night. He can handle a little attention on you as long as people know you’re spoken for. (Whether you’re aware of this or not.) Eventually, he’s going to get paranoid that stand users are after you because of him, so logically the only solution is to keep you somewhere safe and sound where he can monitor you. Jotaro’s not very expressive, but he’s bold. He’s forward. He doesn’t need to be all smiley and affectionate when he can just show how he really feels, and his feelings are simple. He’s into you.

“Let’s go out.”

Noriaki is calm and quiet, and is nowhere near as outright overbearing as Jotaro is, because he’s manipulative. He wants to preserve the actual you, sure, but a little isolation never hurt anyone. He’s a bit reserved, but he’ll likely make it clear how he’s feeling. He’s more of a words and quality time type of person, while Jotaro is an actions and acts of service type. You’re likely his muse, you inspire him. You motivate him, and he loves you for it. Spend time with him, he’s lonely… of course, he doesn’t want to get in the way of whatever you and Kujo have (Lie. He NEEDS to get right in the way of that.), but he’d love it if you could show him a bit more attention, he’s feeling a little neglected. Noriaki takes steps to praise you and make you feel extra special, and he makes sure that he’s the only one telling you that. He might come across as just a jealous friend or as a bit clingy, he really genuinely wants the best for you. Let it be known, the best is him.

“I really like you, will you go out with me?”

I feel like they both race to walk you home every day, if you’re in school with them. They race to be the first to ask you out to lunch. They race to be front row if you have any extracurricular activities that they want you to know they support one hundred percent- even if they themselves aren’t into it.

They try to pick up where the other is “slacking.” Jotaro isn’t praising that precious pretty face of yours? Kakyoin will. Noriaki’s not the type to do little things for you to make your life a little easier? Jotaro will, and he won’t even mention it.

Lucky you. Hope you can handle it, because neither of them are the type to just drop dead and give you up.

#yandere jjba #yandere jotaro kujo #yandere noriaki kakyoin #first time writing kakyoin cut me some slack please #request granted

28 notes · View notes

dr-spencer-reids-queen · 1 year

Text

Masterpiece: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Summary: While giving a lecture with Spencer and Rossi, a man approaches you with information regarding five missing people. Can you save them in time?

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

"Let us consider that we are all insane. It will explain us to each other; it will unriddle many riddles..." - Mark Twain

Assisting Spencer and Rossi in a lecture to college students seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that you're actually here, you can tell some of them don't want to be listening to this. There are others who are genuinely interested in all of this, and those are the ones you're talking to. These students have an interest in criminal justice, and in order to be accepted into certain fields of the FBI, they have to know what they're going to be signing up for.

"Most of us have done extensive post-graduate work in areas such as abnormal psychology and sociology as well as intensive study of relative casework and existing literature, but that's after selection to the unit," Spencer says.

"First you have to be an agent," Rossi says, "work in the field, and that's what we're here to talk about. For that, the academics are wide open. For everyone in this room, once you graduate and regardless of your course study, you are eligible to apply to the FBI."

The classroom doors open and an older man with white hair walks in. The dread you feel from him is enough to make you sway from shock. He doesn't even look at you as he sits in the back of the classroom to listen in on this. Something isn't right with this man, and Rossi sees your reaction to this.

He nudges you and you snap out of it enough to look at him. He asks you with his eyes if you're okay, and you give him one nod. He knows something is bothering you, but he'll ask you about it once the lecture is done.

"What did you study?" a student asks Rossi.

"Criminal Justice, but sports appreciation was all full up at my community college."

"I hold Doctorates in chemistry, mathematics, and engineering as well as BAs in psychology and sociology," Spencer smiles proudly.

"I have doctorates in Criminal Justice with a sole focus on profiling and one in Psychology," you state.

Everyone seems shocked about you two, and you think it's because of how you look. You and Spencer are very young so it's shocking to hear how many doctorates and BAs you two have gotten over the years.

"How old are you?" one student asks Spencer.

"Uh, I'm twenty-seven. Last month, I turned twenty-seven. I'm--I'm also completing an additional BA in philosophy. Which reminds me that I have a joke." Rossi looks at him in a panic because he doesn't want Spencer to embarrass himself, but Spencer dismisses him. "How many existentialists does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

No one answers the question which can only mean they aren't interested in it, but Spencer decides to tell it anyway.

"Two. One to change the light bulb and one to observe how it symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in a netherworld of cosmic nothingness."

Not a single person laughs at his joke, but you can't help but giggle into your hand. Spencer is just too cute, and any kind of joke he makes is funny to you. Spencer looks at you and then around the room nervously.

"Um, an existentialist would--"

"Okay," Rossi cuts him off, "before he does his quantum physics knock-knock joke, do we have any other questions about opportunities in the FBI?"

"Did you ever shoot anybody?"

It's a good thing this lecture is only an hour long. College kids are easily entertained if it has to do with gore. At the end of the lecture, you, Rossi, and Spencer leave to head back to Quantico. The hallways fill with students trying to get to their next class, and you have to push past them to keep up with the group.

"You do know we want them to actually join the Bureau? We want these kids to think it's a cool place to work," Rossi says.

"I understand that, yeah."

Sometimes, things go over Spencer's head and it's the cutest thing ever.

"Existentialism?"

"That was a funny joke. What do you mean?"

"Yeah, to Sigmund Freud."

"I thought your joke was hilarious," you grin and kiss his cheek as you're walking. "I love all your jokes, and I love you."

"I tell them I shouldn't--they keep on sending me here. I don't know why," Spencer shrugs.

"Because you're young."

You walk towards the stairs to get to the first floor, but the same man you saw in the classroom joins your group. Your smile is lost, and you grab Rossi's arm to let him know something isn't right. Rossi sees how pale your face is, but he doesn't know why you're like this.

"Dr. Reid? Wouldn't they sit in the dark and hope that the bulb decided to light again?"

"Excuse me?"

"An existentialist would never change the bulb. He would allow the darkness to exist."

"Yeah, that's pretty good," Spencer chuckles.

"I'm Professor Paul Rothschild. It was a brilliant presentation. Brilliant. You're a remarkably effective recruitment tool. The FBI is very lucky to have you."

"Thank you for saying that."

You really want to get away from this man, and as much as you try to rush Rossi and Spencer out of there, he keeps up.

"May I show you something?"

"Of course."

Paul takes out a manilla folder and hands it to Spencer, and you tap Rossi's arm urgently. You open your mouth to say something, but no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to speak. Inside the folder are pictures of people in distress. Some of them are of women, some are of hands as if the person tried to cover up a camera, and others are of pure fear.

"I don't understand. What are these?"

"Seven homicide victims."

"Homicide?" Rossi asks and looks at you.

"Seven women. The bodies have never been found. Not a fingernail, not a hair fiber. Acid is a very tidy way of disposing of something."

"Acid? Are you saying that you killed these women?"

"There is still time to save the others, though. Five more. In a bit less than nine hours, five other people are going to be dead. Unless you can find a way to save them."

Of course, Rossi calls the local police to have this man arrested and brought back to Quantico for questioning. After the police are called, Rossi gets Hotch on the phone to let him know what is heading his way. You knew something was wrong with this man from the beginning, but you couldn't get the words out.

Paul cooperates with the police as they escort him back to your car. Students watch as you pass by, but Paul isn't paying them any mind. In fact, the only people he's interested in talking to are Spencer and Rossi. He has not looked your way or spoken a word to you. Interesting, huh?

"I knew I felt something wrong," you whisper to Spencer just as Rossi got Hotch on the phone.

"Hey, Dave."

"Reid, Y/N, and I were just approached by some guy here with photos that he claims are seven women he killed. These pictures have all been manipulated in some way that you can't really see what they are."

"Did he say he killed them?"

"Yeah, seven women so far. There are five more live victims somewhere that we can save in nine hours."

"Is this guy for real, Dave? Or is a confessor wannabe?"

"I don't think so, Hotch. I got a hit off him, and Y/N was tipped off the second he entered the classroom. I'm bringing him in."

"Okay, what can I do?"

"I'm sending shots of the photos to Garcia to start looking over. I'll see you in about forty-five minutes." Paul is placed into the back of the car you drove here in, and Rossi turns to you and Spencer with a serious look on his face. "Do not forget a word he says the rest of the time we have him."

"What is happening?"

"I'd like to know."

You reach for the back door, but Spencer stops you from getting in the back with Paul. You don't question it when he opens the passenger door for you, and you slide inside without a word. He gets into the back since he doesn't know what Paul is capable of.

"So, you said you're a professor at Strayer?" Spencer asks.

"No."

"You didn't?"

"No."

"I mean, you did introduce yourself as Professor Rothschild, right?"

"Your degree in philosophy surprises me, Dr. Reid. It doesn't fit with mathematics and engineering."

"I kind of like it because there's no right or wrong answers."

"Without right or wrong, how would we recognize perfection?"

"Is this fun for you?" Rossi asks as he drives back to Quantico.

You're staring at Paul to get a read on him, but it's kind of hard to. He knows how to hide himself very well.

"It's quite a bit more complicated than that."

"What do you mean?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," Rossi glares at him through the rearview mirror.

"I read your books, David. You're not of the intellectual capacity to grasp what's going on here."

"If you're trying to piss me off, it's not gonna work. If you killed seven women without leaving a trace of evidence, why turn yourself in?"

"Imagine what the world would have missed if Da Vinci never showed his work."

Rossi gets to Quantico, but they don't give him a warm welcome. The entire bullpen is on alert, and you look at your team as soon as you walk through the glass doors. There is a news report on the big TV that everyone is watching.

"Earlier this morning, police were contacted and informed that Kaylee Robinson, who ran a daycare center out of her home, had been abducted along with four children. When a parent arrived at 9:30 this morning to drop off her child, she discovered the door had been opened."

"What's going on?" you ask.

"He said there were five more victims we could save, and now five people are missing," Hotch states.

"Are those the five more?"

"Are you pissed off yet, David?" Paul smirks.

Rossi has Paul escorted to an empty interrogation room, and you follow loosely behind them. As Rossi and Derek get him set up, you and Spencer watch them from the window. Paul must know that someone is watching behind the glass, but his only focus is Rossi.

"It's not your fault, you know. Your IQ is your IQ. It's not education, David, it's genetics."

"What's this?" Rossi asks about Paul's necklace.

You lean closer to the window to get a better look, but your view isn't the best one.

"I need to explain what a pendant is?"

"What does it mean?"

"Mean? It's just something I found at a fair," Paul shrugs.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you. You have the right to have an attorney present. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand your rights--"

"Genetics is the key to everything, David," Paul cuts Derek off. "If you're not born with the right--"

"Do you understand your rights?" Derek cuts him off.

"Perfectly. I can have a lawyer but no, thank you. Some games are just intended to be played by higher intellects."

"Harming a person weaker than you doesn't take any special ability."

"Neither does slamming your fist down on a table, but we all must do what we must do. Bring Dr. Reid back with you."

"I never have any normal fans," Spencer sighs.

"I'm your fan," you smile at him.

Spencer wraps an arm around your shoulders and kisses the side of your head. Derek and Rossi leave the room to let Paul stew for a while.

"This guy loves attention. He has a God complex. Sooner or later, he'll give up something important about Kaylee and the kids. Guys like him always do," Rossi says.

"Before he hurts them?"

"It's 1:45 pm. He said we had until 10:00 pm."

"We need a button to push."

"The seven original homicides could give us some leverage."

"He says we'll never find any evidence so he has nothing to worry about. He also made a point of saying there are no bodies and no physical evidence," you point out.

"We just have to show that a crime was committed. We can do that circumstantially."

"We need to identify the original seven women. Going back in there with names just might shake him up."

"How do we do that?" Spencer asks.

"Reverse profiling. We learn everything we can about him and his methods, and then profile it back to what kind of victim he would choose and from where."

This kind of case requires everyone to work together, so you all gather in the briefing room alone with Penelope to try and make sense of what is going on. As soon as she gets the pictures Rossi sent over, she gets to work trying to figure out who the women in the photographs are.

"I went through ViCAP. There are literally thousands of open missing women cases across the country."

"It's not the entire country, though. Kaylee was abducted at 9:30 this morning. He had time to take them somewhere, hide them, and make it to Fredericksburg two hours later. He'd need a place with a lot of privacy to hide five victims," Spencer says.

"He was late for the presentation," you say. "You know, it was more like two and a half hours after the abduction. He got there around noon, which puts him somewhere around that radius."

"Garcia, work up a map. We need the farthest point he could have taken Kaylee from Loretto and still gotten back to Fredericksburg by noon," Hotch says.

"It shouldn't be too hard."

"Alright, what do we know so far?" Rossi asks everyone. "He's obsessively neat and clean. He did research on Reid and me at least. He's abducted five people and then gets to a scheduled recruitment session at a specific time. That's extensive pre-planning."

"What my question is, why didn't he talk to me? He refused to even look my way much less acknowledge me. He was only focused on Rossi and Spencer."

"Maybe he's intimidated by women," Emily theorizes.

"Did you find anything in those pictures, Garcia?" Spencer asks.

"I can't even positively say they're dead."

"What about hair color?"

"All the ones that show hair, they appear to be brunettes. I'll start there. The only thing is that his prints didn't come up. He's not in any system. It's like he's a ghost."

"If he hasn't been fingerprinted, then he hasn't been arrested. Which also means he doesn't have a passport, driver's license, or been in the military."

"He's never been a teacher, either. You have to be fingerprinted to be a teacher," Spencer points out.

"So, he's a professor who doesn't teach? What kind of professor doesn't teach?"

"A researcher? Maybe someone on a grant. It would give him the time."

"There must be some sort of central grant database. I can't imagine the government just handing out money and not--" Penelope sees everyone staring at her, and she starts to type furiously. "I'll look into it."

"From past conversations, we know he's a narcissist and seemingly remorseless. We can eliminate a lot of these open missing persons cases if we could just figure out how he met them," you say.

"Jordan, contact the Loretto PD and get us an invitation to consult on the Kaylee Robinson case. Be nice to them. They don't have to let us. Then, you and Morgan go down there and find out what you can."

"Let's go."

Derek and Jordan leave the office to do what they're told while the rest of you stay put.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

47 notes · View notes