[Image description: a digital painting of Rosa and Dallas from Roswell New Mexico. Rosa is standing behind Dallas hugging his neck. Her right arm comes down in front of his chest while she holds two roses that fade from dark grey to purple to red, he is holding onto this arms wrist. Her other arm is behind his neck as she holds onto him.
Rosa is wearing a dark purple tank top and a grey, white and green plaid shirt that is off one shoulder. Dallas is wearing a dark grey shirt sleeved shirt, priest collar and a golden key necklace. The necklace has a cross on the top section and an alien saint on the blade. End image description.]
(Art credit to @infjreaper597) As always not all my wip’s will be on here, but I wanted to create something easier to navigate. So it’s now better organized by relationship category. And for prompts you can find what I write for here <3
I've been looking at the skyline and our timeline, I will soon run out of both, Steering clear of your face and the old days, Hoping they'll turn into ghosts
#65 for the prompts for the Pod Squad. It sounds like something Isobel would say 😂
Sorry this took so long! But with Crash Con I didn’t get much time to think about how I wanted the conversation to go, which was difficult cause as you said it’s 100% something Izzy would say in like so many situations 😂 (send me a prompt + a character/pairing) <3
Isobel smiles softly at her brothers, watching as they all continue to crowd the kid. Michael is leaned practically into Max’s shoulder as he tickles at her feet, making the baby gurgle.
“Look at that smile,” Dallas practically coos.
Annabelle releases a small laugh, feet kicking in her excitement.
Max’s smile is almost too bright, eyes twinkling as he looks at his daughter. Isobel hadn’t seen him purely content and delighted until his daughter came into their lives.
“You wouldn’t even know she has Max’s genetics,” Michael says smugly.
Max frowns, “hey!”
“Isn’t-“ Dallas laughs “-isn’t he genetically your dad?”
“Hey!” Max and Michael say in unison.
“He’s not wrong,” Isobel says, narrowing her eyes at them. When she blurred her vision the similarities always seemed more obvious. It was genuinely a shock they’d always assumed she was the one related to Max.
Michael frowns at her before straightening up and reaching out for Annabelle. “May I?”
Max nods passing his daughter to Michael. He lifts Annabelle over his head, her laughter bubbling up immediately. “Who’s your favorite uncle?”
Dallas snorts, “I mean, I’m her uncle squared.”
Isobel rolls her eyes, “maybe in front of the baby isn’t the best place to remind everyone who’s bed you warm.”
“Ewww,” Max whines, tossing a throw pillow across the small space.
Isobel catches it, glaring at her brother. If Annabelle wasn’t on the same couch she’d chuck it right back at him.
“It’s definitely me,” Michael says cheekily. “Considering I’m designated baby sitter and bringer of new toys.”
Isobel frowns, “I’m definitely her favorite.”
“Her favorite uncle?” Max asks with a half giggle.
“Exactly,” she says turning up her nose.
Dallas frowns, “I think you spend too much time here. Should probably just get a baby of your own.”
Max’s face lights up, “we could do play dates.”
Michael frowns, face falling.
“What’s that face?” Isobel squints at him.
“Nothin’,” Michael says. Bouncing Annabelle in the air before settling her into the crook of his arm.
“I know a nothing look,” Dallas arches a brow, “and that isn’t one.”
“Spill,” Isobel says, using telekinesis to tug sharply at one of his curls.
Michael frowns, shrugging easily. “It’s just- what if I make a bad parent? I mean, it’s not like I had a stellar example growing up. Like… what if I screw up?” He chuckles darkly, “I mean I fucked up on Alex more times than I can count. And when it comes to kids- you can’t. Not once. I don’t think I’d survive doing that to another person.”
There’s a long beat of silence.
Max reaches over and squeezes his shoulder, “you wouldn’t be alone.”
“There is no way that much stupid can fit inside one person,” Isobel snorts, settling easily back into her seat.
Dallas nods, “yet- somehow he manages.”
Michael glares at her, “I’m just saying it’s a lot.”
“You’re a great uncle,” Isobel says simply. “You’re a great brother. Husband. Friend.”
This makes Michael’s cheeks tinge pink, his eyes darting down to the little girl in his arms.
“You’ve grown and learned so much,” she says with a half sappy smile. “I mean if Max can do it so can you.”
“Hey,” Max frowns, but he squeezes at Michael’s shoulder again. “She’s right, though. You’d make a good father. I mean, you’d be just selfless enough.”
Dallas nods, “and you mentioned growing up. How that shaped you.”
This makes something dark glint in all three of her brothers eyes. A similar haunted look no doubt on her own face, even if she didn’t have the same darkness lying thick over her childhood. Not till she was older of course.
“And that in a way is it’s own gift,” Dallas smiles weakly. “You’ll be more cautious, you know a lot of what not to do-“
“Like that list was hard,” Michael snorts. His humor settling over him like armor, smirk half cocky.
“You know what he means,” Max huffs exasperatedly.
“You’d be a good dad,” Isobel repeats. “Alex too.”
Michael’s armor cracks a little, something soft glinting in his eyes. “He would wouldn’t he?”
Annabelle gurgles, her little hand wrapping around Michael’s finger. As if their little niece wanted to have her opinion weighed into the conversation at hand.
“See?” Max coos, booping her little nose, “little belle agrees.”
Michael groans, “please, dear god, no. Who let this man name and nickname a child?”
I'm choosing the word "candles" for Dallas or Dallas/Rosa.
My weakness! I love them so much (and hope I didn’t lean too far into the religious themes, but like how could I not?)
It’s peaceful, sharing a space with her, especially one so intimate. Both of them kneeled down in the living area, the couch to their left and the door behind them. The place was small. Nestled not too far out from the church, giving him access to the community and vice versa.
Dallas watches as she sets up the makeshift alter, there’s a small furrow between her eyebrows, the corners of her mouth upturned. The dim light casting her in a hazy golden glow, making her look almost ethereal.
“It’s simple really,” Rosa says, voice soft. Placing the candles in a row, one in front of her and one in front of him. “You light the candle with your prayer, and the burning is an offering, keeps the prayer alight when you walk away.”
“Poetic,” Dallas says with a smile.
Rosa turns to look at him, a soft gleam in her eyes. “Usually you’d have a statue or mural to place them in front of,” she gives him a look, “but seeing as your Protestant we’re settling for one’s with saints on them.”
Dallas chuckles, loving how she always inflected Protestant as if she was calling Max white bread. “I don’t think my parishioners could exactly protest you painting a saint on the wall,” he says, softly.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rosa says, slipping a match from the cardboard sleeve and handing it to him. “And you’ll just light it with your prayer.”
Dallas nods as he takes the match, their fingers brushing softly. Making his chest ache in a decidedly nice way, something he had been afraid of the first time he’d felt it. But with lots of prayer and self reflection had gleaned was only natural, only good. Because humans were made to love each other, made to come in sets.
“And any prayer?” Dallas ask, voice rough.
Rosa smiles gently, “within reason.” It’s strange as she lights her match, the sort of peace that seems to settle over her shoulders. She lights her candle, eyes closing as she smiles softly. A good prayer.
Her energy hums in the space, calm and comforting. Like the woman who ran Mesapines humming along too old hymns as she made breakfast. Before her voice would carry gently through the space, words settling over Dallas and making him feel calmer somehow.
Dallas takes a deep breath and lights his candle, letting his eyes drift closed as he starts his prayer. The only thing on his mind that this moment is perfect, and he only wishes it last longer.
It was funny how quickly Max’s house had begun to feel like an actual home. Almost like it was an extension of whatever bond the triplets had forged over the years. The warm tones of the living area making Michael feel at ease as he heads towards the kitchen, he can hear the soft muffled sounds of Max moving in his bedroom.
“Coffee?” He shouts, opening the cupboard and pulling out two mugs.
“Michael?” Max’s voice carries from the other room. Most likely getting ready for work. According the schedule in their group chat he had roughly an hour before needing to hit the streets.
Michael pours coffee into the mugs, listening to his brothers boots as he makes his way into the kitchen. He’s frowning, uniform shirt half buttoned over his white tee, and a worried glint in his eyes.
“Everything good? Iz okay?” He asks, even as he takes the coffee mug without hesitation.
“She’s good,” Michael shrugs, blowing on his own coffee. Watching as Max gets more and more confused, glancing between Michael and the coffee pot like one of them might explain his presence at any given moment. Michael only revels a little in throwing his brother for a loop. “I just wanted to check up on my little brother,” he smirks into his mug.
Max’s frown deepens, “ha ha. Those dates are very much under question.”
“That’s not what the judge said,” Michael sing songs.
