Library and a Garden

That’s very sweet of you to say. I know the direction I’m heading and I’ve been working very hard to put up a canon variance block in my brain so I can keep going even with new information available.

Gonna put some thoughts under a readmore here:

That’s what I was thinking! Because back when I was speculating, I thought they’d be finding a government location of a good heart through the Caulfield files; I didn’t think they’d try using Noah’s.

Like I can see that they went with Noah’s because they thought it would be whole, but when they found it similarly fried, why not aim to heal Max’s heart after using Noah’s as a trial run? Why still push to put Noah’s heart into Max? Especially given that we now know alien body tissues have all the tech wiring inside them.

“Someone is at the door,” Max didn’t open his eyes, just listened to the polite knocking that followed the doorbell. He could feel the lump of covers tucked against his side where Liz was cocooned. “I may commit a felony.”

There was an indistinct muttering from somewhere near where he guessed her head would be as he swivelled out of the sheets to put his feet on the floor. He grabbed a pair of boxers, hooking them up on his hips and snagged his phone, eyeing the time as the screen pulsed to life under his touch. The polite knocking continued and Max frowned around a deep sigh and went into action.

He shouldered around the corner, padding silently down the hall as he scanned the guest room quickly, the kitchen, the living room and finally the front door. He’d been caught unaware too many times. He reached, grabbing the baton on the writing desk next to his leather bound journal and flicked it out, telescoping precaution tight in his grip as he slid forward, flipping the curtain enough to scan the front lawn and finally settle on the visitor at the door.

Arturo Ortecho stood with mixing bowls cocked on his hip and a bright smile over red patterned flannel, a white apron, and a wicked hint of threat in his cheery demeanor. “I see you in there. I know you can hear me, Max Evans. It is my beautiful daughter’s birthday and I will be making her churro pancakes.” Max groggily translated, trying to keep up despite the specific way Arturo was enunciating his implied threat. “Now, open this door, before I start making a real scene.” 

Max cleared his throat, looking down at himself, the boxers, the baton, and the bare feet. “Sir. We weren’t expe-”

“I will revoke any and all french fry privileges and any nice thing I’ve ever said about you, Max Evans. I do not care how you expected company. Open the door, go get dressed, and let me have this moment.” Arturo tapped a wooden spoon against the door again. 

Max unlocked the door, smile going crooked at Arturo’s arched eyebrow. “Yes, Sir.”

“Papá?” Liz was standing in the hallway, hair mussed and tangled on one side wearing his shirt and a stunning startled smile that seemed to light the hallway all on it’s own. “What are you doing here?”

These two brothers are killing me with their angsty love. I just can’t wait to see how they will be reunited in Season 2. Would a hug be too much to ask? 

In the meantime, I would love to see some bts of them in their cowboy hats! 

O. The stars or space.

(I kept thinking about Voltaire for this prompt: All is a miracle. The stupendous order of nature, the revolution of a hundred millions of worlds around a million of suns, the activity of light, the life of animals, all are grand and perpetual miracles.)

There was a meteor shower tonight, somewhere in the dark stars were falling. Max shuffled the paperwork under his fingers, handwriting neat and lovely as he kept watch.

Max wasn’t much for stargazing. He liked to keep his head over his feet and his gaze down at the book in his hand. He liked to keep his head over his feet and his eyes looking straight ahead. He wasn’t much for looking back or looking up- neither had done him any good.

He knows that Michael would lose himself in the wonder of the spiraling galaxies that spread soft across the night sky. He knows that his brother would dart into the dark if he could, would step out into the unknown. Michael was fearless that way. Michael was brave.

Isobel would lose herself in the past if he let her. She liked to think she knew what it looked like. She liked to plan and decorate the world so that the memories people looked at sparkled and glowed warm in their palms. Isobel knew that glass glittered like stars in firelight where it shattered on asphalt. Isobel knew that the past held secrets and that it was necessary to lay a careful foundation of plans and competency. She would weave a tangled web, fingers deft and smile flawless. She was brilliant that way. She was ingenious. 

Max took a long view. He told himself he had to. Someone had to be here, both feet on the ground and standing between the dark and the loves of his life. Someone had to be here now.

So, he read. He tried to understand humanity. He tried to impersonate a human male. He’d only get the one chance to get it right after all.

Maybe.

Michael was passed out in the drunk tank, breath gone soft and slow. He was quiet when he was asleep. He was still. The restless motion that rippled out of him stilled like water- waiting for the chance to ripple. Isobel would be at home, hair glowing in the lamp light as she planned, Noah’s smile dropping against her skin as he passed on the way to the kitchen. The normalcy stable, necessary, and important.

Max stayed awake in the night. Max stayed awake in the dark and didn’t look at the stars. He didn’t look up because then he’d let himself wish.

And Max only wished for one thing. 

ROSWELL NEW MEXICO ⇢ 1x12

1. Follow lots of interests and try lots of activities. That will reveal your genuine passions, and highlight the things that you really enjoy.

2. Don’t be afraid to say “no” to others and to reinforce healthy boundaries. If you don’t, you will find you get pushed around, can’t think for yourself, or can’t simply “be me.”

3. Enjoy being alone and embrace solitude. That will stop the distractions and quieten the noise.

4. Travel, go on adventures, and see something new. That will change your perspective and give you fresh dreams.

5. Be with people who’re different, who challenge your views, extend your horizons and change how you think.

6. Think of those who inspire you, and cause you to dream. What is it about them that ignites that spark?

for @chasingshhadows because there are only really two people on the planet who understand my love of this OT3 and she’s the one that let me just say fuckit and run.

+bonus

Part One . Part Two

Sometime after two in the morning, Alex woke up to music. He blinked against Michael’s shoulder, forehead tight against the sleep hot skin that radiated warmth against him where they were pressed together. Michael slept on his side, curled toward the window and back to Alex so that Alex could drape himself against the broad warm expanse of his back or roll away when he got too hot, kicking the covers off his foot as he wold pant at the ceiling and cool down. Summers were a sticky mess that they’d compromised on by simply getting a small window unit to blow on Alex’s side of the bed. 

Michael was a morning person, but he slept soundly now. In the beginning, it had been fretful, waking at every soft noise and creak in the floorboards, but trust and time had allowed him to slip low into the heavy puffs of breath that kept his mouth loose and hair tangled on the pillow. Alex could curl an arm around his hip, tug him close, and smile against the plane of his shoulder as he mumbled and stilled again. Alex liked the pliant softness of Michael asleep. He liked the golden warm press of his body in the dark. He liked the feel of the crackle of dark hair under his belly button against his palm.

Alex had been in love so long.

The music battered lightly against the window like moth’s wings. It was the gentle pick and strum of a guitar.  Alex lifted his head, bleary eyed and half awake with a levidity mark cutting across his cheek. He ducked an absent kiss to Michael’s shoulder and turned, stretching his left foot to the floor and massaging his right knee as he blinked in the dark. Wentz wasn’t at the foot of the bed, the small staircase Michael had built the old girl tucked at the side. She as getting old, white muzzled and hazy eyed as she trundled at a slower pace in a determined line along their walks in the prairie. He considered the prosthetic for a second, frowning at it and the sock before simply reaching for the set of Lofstrand crutches and gripping the palm hold. He pushed to stand, catching his balance in three points before starting to follow the soft tickle of melody.

The song was lovely, lonely and minor key with a soft harmonic tap in the third time trill before rolling back into what sounded like an open D chording structure. It was bluesy, nearly a slide guitar sound with a muffled pick structure. Alex paused at the bedroom door, looking back at where his husband was asleep and taking a moment to find his balance on one foot, twisting into a loose t-shirt over his boxers. 

The kitchen was dark, just a small glow from a screen saver on the computer Michael always left open and facing the fridge. He had an office, but did most of his work at the kitchen table, talking out loud in strings of mathematics that Alex would just hum a quiet noise of assent at. He didn’t need to know the work to know Michael was brilliant in a way he couldn’t quite comprehend beyond the way it swelled in his heart to see him lost in the work. It was comfortable now, his genius. Alex had been grateful that his gift for languages and code had been the link to learning the ancient glyph script on the spacecraft, that he’d been shoulder to shoulder with his husband’s greatness when they’d cracked the code and watched the damaged hulk of it shimmer to life. He reached over, closing the lid and tossing the kitchen dark again, eyes adapting to the soft line of light coming from under the guest room door and through the windows in shafts of silver blue.

The crowd had left, each taking a long last look at where the kid had been staring at his fingers where they were stacked flat on the table top. Alex understood the white knuckled panic of found family. He understood the sudden overwhelm of too many questions too quickly. He’d wanted to slip between the silent and over full stares Max and Isobel were giving the kid. He wanted to get between this kid and the world and it had happened between one breath and the next. The kid had tried for cocky. He’d tried to hold his head and his chin up, face the group of people scattered around the kitchen. He’d gone sharp and petulant, sassy and scared.

“How long have you been-”

“Where is the firs-”

“Can you feel th-”

“What-”

The kid had dimmed, pulling into himself and Alex watched Michael glare at the group. He’d handed the kid a sandwich and shoved Kyle out of the way so the boy could sit.

“It’s got to be Sabretti.” Liz was shaking her head, trying to mitigate the way she was obviously staring at the kid by snagging a granola bar from the table top.

“She died, what, three years ago?” Max looked to Isobel and then to Kyle for confirmation. 

“I know, but she’s the only one that could have pulled this off.” Liz wrinkles her nose. “Bitch.”

“Not a this. I’m literally right here.” 

“Yes, bitch, got it. Doesn’t explain the kid sitting at the table right now.”

“I’m sixteen, asshole.”

“She figured it out.” Liz shrugged, talking around the way the kid was going prickly and annoyed. “It has to be her. Her assistant was the reason we had that problem three and a half years ago?” She shuddered and Max touched his tongue to his top lip, nose wrinkling in annoyed memory. “Couldn’t figure out the clo-”

“So, it’s Sabretti.”

“I couldn’t do it, not without breaking a few international laws and like nine ethics violations.” She got a distant look. “Unless, I had acc-”

“No cloning. We said no cloning,” Kyle muttered from where he’d been rubbing his eyes.

"Did we though?”

“So, it’s possible.” Isobel’s voice carried over the table and cut into the way Liz was planning things. They all turned, looking at where she was watching the kid with a blank flat look, considering.

“If one more person calls me an it I’m going to flip a table.” The boy grinned, saccharine sweet and sharp. He batted his eyelashes. “Anyone got weed?”

Later, Alex had overheard Kyle talking with Michael in soft tones, arms folded as they pretended they weren’t old friends. They always did this. They always pretended they hadn’t learned to trust one another, to count on each other, to have each others backs through years of experience. It was posturing and Alex would shake his head as Michael and Kyle would stand shoulder to shoulder and pretend. 

“He needs a name, Guerin,” Kyle muttered.

“I just call him Kid.”

“That’s fine for a cowboy, but he’s just-”

“A kid? I know, okay, Kyle? I get it.” Michael paused and wet his lips, talking to the tips of his boots. “I was thinking maybe James.” He sniffed, sucking his teeth and waited. “Jim or Jimmy for short?”

Kyle’s head snapped to the side, staring at Michael’s profile with wide eyes before he remembered himself and swallowed. Alex could see the jump in his jaw and the way he had to take a long slow breath before he bumped Michael’s shoulder softly with his own. “I’m-”

“Whatever, Valenti. Don’t start crying or anything.”

“Jimmy.” Kyle pursed his lips and nodded a few times before slanting Alex a quick look where he was sipping his coffee. “It’s perfect.”

Now, the melody moved fainter as Alex leaned near the guest room door and then louder as he eased through the living room and to the front door. The door didn’t squeak anymore, the whole house carefully maintained by a meticulous man. Alex stepped onto the porch, glancing around and finding the thread of the song. He slipped down the steps and out into a familiar path, the warm summer wind carrying the smoky sweet scent of mesquite cross the ground, the slippery silver green of sagebrush, and the sweet trill of desert flowers blooming in the moonlight. The melody warbled, caught and blown around by the breeze before settling along the creek bed. 

The old scrubby oak was still tilted half out over the water, the creek a thin trickle in the summer air. The treehouse had rotted out, fallen down in a storm seven years ago. The steps were still nailed into the trunk, mismatched and crooked. Under the splay of branches were three solid tree trunk stools that were silver smooth, weathered and well used around a fire ring that waited until the drought was over for use. Wentz hopped up from where she’d been laying on her side, tail wagging in a slow back and forth as she trotted to Alex and then back to where she’d sprawled against the kid’s feet. 

The music stopped in a clatter, the boy stilling the strings and staring at him with wild frightened eyes in the dark. In the moonlight he looked so much like Michael at seventeen, swaying nervously in the shed while he tracked where Alex was standing, where his hands were, and how to escape if he needed to.

“Relax, it’s just me.” Alex lifted one hand, waving the crutch a little and tilted his head. “You play?”

The boy’s fingers smoothed over the lacquered body like a caress and he watched Alex with dark glittering eyes. “I was going to return it.”

Alex shrugged, non committal and looked up at the sky. The breeze pushed his hair around, flattened his shirt against his front and stroked over his skin. He swallowed. “Michael stole my guitar in high school.” He shrugged. “He told me later he just wanted a reason to talk to me.”

“So you guys are like, together?” 

“Like, married.” Alex gave the boy a soft smile and flicked his eyebrows up like a dare. “That a problem?”

“No.” He shrugged, curls fluttering in the breeze before he stroked over the frets and started playing again, fingers deft and easy with practice. “He’s an alien, though, right?”

“Yes.”

“So that makes me?”

“A kid with a guitar,” Alex answered, gesturing to the seat next to him. The boy just nodded and shifted slightly to let him pass. 

“It’s how I survived,” the kid answered, eyes closing on a sweet trickle of melody and then shivering through a small slide scale into a new bridge. He had deft fingers, picking around something beautiful and easy as Alex settled in to listen. The boy played and it was easy to imagine that they’d been the ones to teach him. It was easy to imagine that he’d been a part of their lives for longer than a day and a half. “That Kyle guy called me Jimmy.” The boy paused, smirk going crooked and heartbreaking. “Like Jimmy Hendrix?”

If you want to boost your emotional health then build the following into your life:

1. Develop a good group of friends. If possible, try to have quite a wide group of friends. That then means if someone moves away, or you change your school, your hobbies and so on, you’ll still have a healthy support system in place.

2. Learn to appreciate solitude. Isolation isn’t the same as solitude. Isolation is being cut off from others for negative reasons; solitude is enjoying space and time for yourself – so you can recharge your batteries, and enjoy just being ‘you’.

3. Invest time in getting fit. People who are fit and healthy generally feel better about themselves. Also, exercise releases feel good hormones so we feel happier, more optimistic and relaxed.

4. Allow yourself to goof off and have a laugh – as too much work will drain your energy.

5. Discover your passion and invest time in that. We all have something that brings us alive, and seems to resonate with who we are inside … So investing in your passion is extremely satisfying!

6. Plan for difficulties and problems. We all encounter problems and hard times in this life. Expecting that to happen helps us feel more in control - as we understand it’s normal - so we don’t just fall apart.

7. Work on increasing your self-awareness. As above, we all have blind spots and idiosyncrasies. If we can learn about ourselves, and our natural tendencies, we can learn to master weaknesses, and work to change and grow.

8. Be willing to take risks. Though it’s hard to step out into unknown territory, you’ll find it’s more rewarding to stretch yourself and grow.

9. Watch out for energy vampires. There are plenty of people who will drain your energy so learn to say 'no’, and to set some boundaries.

Twenty years later, Max thinks back to that day on the playground when he was a scared, seven year old kid in a life he didn’t know. The day his whole world changed with just one song, a song he would later learn was called ‘Tubthumping’ of all things. He can’t help but laugh out loud at the memory because no matter how annoying it is to most people, he’ll cherish that song forever because of one little girl who showed him kindness when all the other kids showed him anything but. He thinks back on a quote from his favorite author Leo Tolstoy, “music is the shorthand of emotion” and it’s always stuck with him. When Max was frightened, Liz brought him calm and when he was silent, Liz brought him words. She brought music and meaning into his life that day and has been ever since. 

I am a grateful wench. If you have ever interacted with me EVER you know that I am a monsterous seamonkey with the attention span of a toddler who’s eaten their weight in sugar and caffeine. I am afflicted with writing and have afflicted it on this fandom and there are certain people who deserve special recognition for holding my insecure neurotic hand and wrangling me into writing and finishing projects that I never believed I ever could. (they are totally michael in the gif to my post posting isobel lol)

The cheerleaders in this fandom have inspired me to be greater than I ever dreamed possible and do things I never thought I’d be able to do. That’s a gift.

@hannah-writes was one of the first people I ever spoke to in this fandom. she’s kind and generous, wickedly funny. The worst part of fandom sometimes is that you meet people on the other side of the globe with wildly different schedules. I’m usually waking up when she’s going to sleep and vice versa. We have been gifted with this woman- her writing, her generosity, her utter brilliance is something I couldn’t replace. 

@lire-casander was one of the first people to talk to me when I started writing. She’s a steadfast presence with a lyrical quality to her writing that reads more like poetry than typical prose. without both she and hannah I don’t think I would have ever finished the longest story I’d ever written. they had faith in me when I didn’t have faith in myself. also, this lady right here? Polyglot. English isn’t even her first language and her turn of phrase still blows me out of the water. it’s a patient sort of person who lets me kick their door in and demand help with spanish translation. needless to say, the Ortecho’s would not be the Ortecho’s without her help.

@insidious-intent this is the most tireless and insistently wonderful beta I have had the pleasure of working with. she has a natural talent for keeping me focused, asking the right questions, gently course correcting when I start meandering away from the task, and clapping to get my attention and pointing at what I should be working on. it’s a talent (we’ve likened it to herding a determined horde of kittens). she’s constantly holding my hand when I’m burrito blanketed and crying that I am awful. i adore her. ADORE.

@chasingshhadows has been one of those readers turned beta that a writer dreams of having. from the carefully constructed comments I’d wake up to that meant someone was reading what I was writing critically and picking up the hints and pieces and putting it together the way I’d intended. Seriously, having that in your life as a writer is a fucking GIFT. she listens to me whine endlessly about characters that only exist in my head and has taken the onerous task of reminding me that commas are in fact real and have a very important function. 

@ober-affen-geil for being the kind of person who’s metaphorical door I kicked in and started talking to without skipping a beat. She just settled in and let me ramble, asking the right questions to just set me off again. I have five stories that are waiting to be written that she patiently let me flail at her. I firmly believe that writers and meta artists go hand in hand. Honestly, if she hadn’t taken me in hand and walked me through the finale? I wouldn’t be in this fandom. I’m an emotional binch and she’s very good at wrangling me back into seeing that first impressions aren’t always correct or permanent.

I would also like to formally shout out to a small but tireless band of cheerleaders that I’ve had the pleasure of working with on a project: @christchex @el-gilliath @nielrian (with a funky little hat tip to my favorite kick your door in on a dm and screech reader @jumbled-nonsense) 

There are so many other people that have held my hand and flailed with me that I know I’m not mentioning here, but are so important to me. From the little one I talk to on the daily to the gif makers reading my mind when I need a specific scene reference, to the meta writers, the discourse junkies, the random incredible writers who flail at me? (looking at you @soberqueerinthewild​, @partsofthesamecosmicbeing, @queersirius, and @myrmidryad) to last. 

My favorite reader.

@terimaru-blog If you ever have the opportunity to have this woman come and comment on your fic you are BLESSED. I have never. In my life. Had anyone. Write the kind of detailed, loving, and thoughtful comments that this woman leaves on a fic. I have legit printed them out and posted them to my whiteboard as motivation.

(ilu2 @lambourngb don’t think I don’t.)

There is a good and revered place filled with joy and comfort for people who reblog with flailing tags, leave comments, or generally do something to let the creator know they aren’t talking into the void. These people are so important to me because as someone who gets lost in my head a lot, they leave me strings to tie back to reality, to tie to a human connection, and to community that lifts and strengthens an artist. 

Roswell New Mexico Creators Week 2019 - Day 7: Cheerleaders: Okay, this is where we need you most, creators! Share with us the people who make your work possible! Do you have an amazing beta? Is there someone who leaves great comments or tag flailing? Does someone encourage you to keep working when you’re being hard on yourself? Tell us about them. Let us know about our underrated and/or unknown helpers in the fandom so we can all thank them for the part they play in bringing us amazing work!

This has been by far the hardest post to write, because there are so many different people I’d love to thank for their support and their kindness and their outright love, that I’m afraid I’ll forget someone and you all will come to my tumblr to haunt me.

All the people behind the screen who reach out to leave a comment or a kudo, to reblog your creations, to share their love for your works with the world, are deserving of everything good this life can give them. Because you can’t possibly know how much you’re giving to the author or the artist. You can’t know what they’re going through, or if that particular bit of art has been hell to finish. Therefore, your kind actions are a spark in our lives, and one I keep searching for. My readers and supporters have given me more life than I could have asked for.

There are so many amazing people in this fandom, and I wouldn’t be where I am without them. So I’m turning today’s theme into a thanks-giving post. Some of the people I’m listing have become far more than just some fandom peeps - some of them are part of my life, part of the very selected group of people I hold close to my heart. You know who you are (or I hope so!). 

Without further ado, in no particular order, my humble thanks to all these amazing people!

@hannah-writes - you are one of the reasons why I am still writing and haven’t given up when writer’s block strikes. Without your kind words and your invaluable help beta’ing my fics, not a single thing I post would make sense. And you have become one of the most important people in my life these days, even through timezones and miles, while you put up with my shit whenever I have a breakdown. I hope you know how much I love you, that I’m here for you anytime.

@ubiestcaelum - what can I say? You have been a constant in my path to discover what I can write. You’re always so supportive and ready to listen to whatever nonsense I have to say, even if it’s not fandom related. I am so proud of calling you my friend, and of having you in my life. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such friendship, but I cherish it every single day.

@insidious-intent - you and I are the perfect example of how a friendship can be built over a BSB song. Like, who would have thought? I’ve had the chance to meet an amazing human being with whom I share much more than love for Malex and a penchant for angst. You keep me going when I think I’m going to falter, and you cheer me up when life gets rough so I don’t lose my focus on what’s important. We work wonderfully well together, we’re like, the perfect team.

@tasyfa - you know I love you and your endless ability to make me feel better and keep me writing when I want to give up because of personal issues. You get me, and isn’t that wonderfully terrifying? You and I are twins, Tas, better believe it! Although I wish I could write half as good as you do, and I wish I could be as supportive as you are with me, I hope you know I hold you dear and very very close to my heart.

@theballetslippertheblackhoodie - My dear dear dear S, I wouldn’t be here without your kind words at odd hours for both you and me! Thank God for timezones and insomnia, because I get to talk to you about fandom and not-fandom issues at any given time of my day. I hope you know I love you a lot!

@el-gilliath - my fellow European writer! Your comments on what I write always brighten my day, and I look forward to them with a passion only rivaling with the passion I wait for season 2 with! Apart from a wonderful writer, you are a great supporter, and your cheerleading is much much appreciated!

@skrtl - Jassi! Of course you were going to be in this list of mine! I’m really thankful for having met you and for being able to talk to you in my own language, which is something really rare these days. I enjoy very much our late night/early morning talks about Roswell and life in general, and I hope we can keep having them in the near future!

@terimaru-blog - I wouldn’t even have begun to think about writing Echo if it hadn’t been for you and S. You keep prompting me and inspiring me to write them, and that has helped me grow as a writer. I tend to avoid pairings and situations I’m not used to write, and you keep challenging me to be better. You should be really proud of yourself!

@greenmountaingirl - I’m so glad you stumbled upon my tumblr and sent me that message! It’s always a brighter day when we talk, and I always smile when I see you’ve liked/reblogged/commented on something I’ve posted. You are a gift!

And everyone who has ever reblogged/liked/commented on something I’ve written, and everyone at the Discord server I once was brave enough to join, because I am a shy turtle and they have helped me reach out and socialize and share my love for a show that has given me my life back. Without Roswell NM, I wouldn’t have gone back to writing. I was in a really bad place by the beginning of this year, and the show, the actors, and the fans have become the reason why I have decided to do once again what I love the most. 

Building new worlds from scratch or using a pre-existent universe to create something that I can call my own, with my own words, is one of the most exhilarating experiences in life. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that your words, your art, your ideas, aren’t good enough. Because they are more than good enough.