#I saw another angst fic in the ao3 tag this morning so I’ve finally snapped

[itsroachintime]

Hi I’m finally posting a ghostsoaproach thing I wrote *looks at watch* at the beginning of March.

CW: I headcanon Roach as a trans man and talk about his chest and past dysphoria in this so if that makes you uncomfortable, I completely understand if you don’t read 👍🏼. Also there is implied spicy content so if you’re under 18+, *picks up broom and gently nudges you* please leave now.

And with that out of the way, I hope you enjoy :]

Gary slowly blinked his eyes open. He smiled as he felt a familiar weight on his chest, nuzzling his nose into a familiar unruly mohawk. He inhaled, catching the scent of strawberry shampoo the owner was drawn to using. He felt a hand on his hip pull him closer and he huffed out a soft laugh as he looked over into deep brown eyes. Simon smiled at him, still tired but awake. Gary ran a hand through Johnny’s hair and chuckled when he saw the man snuggle closer, using Gary’s chest as a pillow. “I don’t know what he’s gonna do when I finally cut them off.” Simon chuckled at his partner’s joke.

He still remembers the first time Gary wore a tank top around them. The nervous glances and adjusting the hoodie he always wore with it. Then, one day it was just a sports bra; A simple black one and his baggy sleep pants that hung on his hips just low enough to drive the other two men insane. Then the fire happened, and it was back to baggy sweaters and hoodies.

It wasn’t until after Gary’s wounds had healed more, where it was safe to not need bandages, that he actually let them see his bare chest. He had refused to make eye contact with them, looking down and away, like he was going to be met with disdain. Simon and Johnny had spent the whole night whispering praise into his skin, telling him he was the handsomest man as they buried him into the mattress with love. The next morning, they woke up to Gary in the kitchen topless as he waited for his coffee. Tank tops and sports bras didn’t hide his new scars but they always made sure to hold him close and shower him with affection, reminding him they weren’t going anywhere.

Simon sat up a little to get a better look at Johnny. “You’ll still be his favorite pillow, tits or not tits.” Gary smirked as he placed a soft kiss on Johnny’s head. He looked at Simon and nodded his head, beckoning the man to lean down; and who was he to deny him. Gary kissed him slowly, savoring the feeling of having Simon’s lips against his. Simon placed a hand on Gary’s cheek as he deepened it, sighing as he let his body relax. He licked Gary’s bottom lip and the other man opened his mouth just enough for him to slot his tongue in. Gary moaned as he moved his tongue with Simon’s, chasing the euphoria. He hadn’t noticed the shifting on his chest until they both heard a soft whine. Simon broke the kiss and looked down, smirking when he saw Johnny staring with a sad look on his face. Gary chuckled as he placed both his hands on Johnny’s face and gently pulled the man closer. Johnny smiled as Gary placed a soft kiss on his lips. Simon leaned down and when Gary pulled away, he captured Johnny in his own kiss, his deeper. Johnny moaned, chasing after Simon’s lips when he pulled away.

Gary and Simon watched as Johnny slowly opened his eyes, smiling when he saw them both looking fondly at him. “Mornin’.” He murmured, resting his head back on Gary’s chest. “Mornin’” Gary echoed back, petting Johnny’s hair once again. The man preened and sighed happily as he let his partner comb through his messy hair. Simon placed his hand on the small of Johnny’s back and kissed the top of his head. “Did we wake you?” He asked. Johnny sniffed as he adjusted his head on Gary’s chest. “Aye. But I got kisses out of it, so all is forgiven.” Gary snorted as he smiled, “Looks like our irresistible charms have saved us yet again Riley.” Johnny opened his eyes and smirked at Gary before he started to kiss his neck. “Ha! J-Johnny stop that t-TICKLES HAHAHAHA!” Simon watched as Gary laughed hysterically while Johnny kissed his neck, smiling himself.

Gary looked over at Simon, “Si, please! H-hahahah help!” He begged through laughter. Simon moved his hand over Johnny’s ribs and watched as the other giggled, pausing his kiss attack on Gary. “You-tr-ahahaha traitor!” He laughed as Simon smiled mischievously, tickling his ribs. Johnny reached out and tried to tickle Simon but was met with no reaction. “C’mon babe, you know Simon isn’t ticklish.” Gary giggled. Johnny continued his efforts, running a hand down his chest before he started to wiggle his fingers against Simon’s stomach. Suddenly, something clicked in Simon’s brain and he let out a shocked laugh. Johnny stopped his movements and just looked at the other man. Gary’s face was plastered with shock and awe as he broke out into a wide grin.

Simon saw Johnny slowly rise from his spot resting on top of Gary, mischief present in his gaze. “Johnny.” He warned, smiling as he saw the other man try to suppress a grin. “Johnny. JohnnYYY!” He almost squealed as the man started to tickle his stomach once again. Simon couldn’t hold back the laughter as he tried in vain to stop the other man. “Ahahaha! J-Johnny please HAHAHAHA!”

“I’ll save you my love!”

Before Johnny could process it, Gary was tickling his ribs and he was a giggly mess again. “Oh you cheeky little!” Johnny laughed as he started to kiss Gary’s neck again, making the other man gasp and laugh more. Simon laughed as he leaned down and joined Johnny. “Ah! Whahahaha! Why?! I saaahahhaaaAAVED YOU!” Gary squealed. He reached a hand down to Simon’s stomach and giggled when the other man’s laughter just added to the tickling sensation against his neck.

All three of them laughed and rolled around until they were all giggling in between gasps for air. Johnny was now sandwiched between them both, a big grin on his face. Gary was breathless next to him, an arm wrapped around his waist. Simon had an arm over his eyes, a wide smile on his face as he caught his breath. “3 years.” Simon moved his arm to look at Johnny. “It’s been 3 fucking years and we finally found your ticklish spot.” Gary looked over Johnny’s shoulder at Simon, eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I wasn’t expecting to react like that.” He mused, smiling as he looked up at the ceiling. Johnny placed an arm over his waist and pulled the bigger man closer, “You’re cute when you laugh, y’know that?” Simon flushed bright red at the compliment. “Laughing and a blush?! We are just getting treat after treat this morning.” Gary teased, looking at Johnny. The scot hummed in agreement, kissing the corner of Simon’s lips. “Mmmm he’s also pretty cute when he can’t speak cause of how flustered he is.”

Gary chuckled as he leaned over Johnny to place a kiss on Simon’s very red cheek. He moved back to his spot behind Johnny, kissing the man’s shoulder blade before he relaxed. Simon took a moment to just look at the men. The way that Johnny’s eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled, how Gary would hold them in his arms and run his hands through their hair. How they both looked at him so lovingly. It had been so,so long since someone looked at him like that. And now he had two people who looked at him like he was everything. He felt a burn in the back of his eyes and he tried to close them to stave off the tears. But his partners, ever so observant, noticed. “Baby?” Gary asked softly, panic evident. Johnny placed a hand on his cheek and Simon held it, kissing his palm as tears gently flowed. “I love you both.” He whispered, sniffing as he controlled himself. Johnny sat up and slowly guided Simon to move to the center of the bed. Gary kissed the bridge of his nose, wiping away tears as Johnny kissed his jaw.

“We love you too.”

[stuffandnosense]

The Boy Who Waited

Plance Mini Bang time! @planceminibang

Fic on AO3!  >>

Summary:  Plance Pond/11th Doctor era Doctor Who AU.

Lance talked about the Doctor for most of their lives. Stories about the alien woman with snow-white hair and pointed ears and pinks marks on her cheeks. The alien who crashed into the back garden Lance’s mother kept so immaculate, in a spaceship shaped like a blue phone box. When they were kids it was always ‘the Doctor this,’ ‘the Doctor that’...if he was so obsessed with that alien from his imagination, how did he have room to love her too?

Pidge, trapped on a Galra ship, tells her newborn son about his father, and how Lance and the Doctor (Allura) are going to find them.

Rating: T  |  Words: 6150

Tags: doctor who au, plance au, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, Plance are the ponds, Allura is the Doctor

Art by: the wonderful @firstdove15 | ART HERE & HERE

Betas: the equally wonderful @rueitae and @yuzuling! 

____________________________

“One varga.”

The door to the sterile white cell closes with a reverberating clang that seems far too final, even though Pidge knows the strange woman will be back in an hour just as she promised.

To take her son away.

Her fingers tremble as she picks at the edges of the blanket wrapped around the baby in her arms. Her son. LANCE’S son. Barely a week old and they want to take him away, to who knows where, and she doesn’t know why. She doesn’t know why she’s here.

One moment she and Lance were laughing. Getting the baby’s room ready. Baby-proofing the rest of the house even though that probably wasn’t strictly necessary yet, it wasn’t like he’d be crawling around for at least several months, but Lance insisted and she wasn’t going to stop him; it was cute…

She fell asleep on the couch after painting. Two months ago. She thinks.

She’s been in this cell since.

“What am I supposed to do in an hour?” she wonders aloud. The last bit comes out in a sob.

Where is Lance? Where is the Doctor? They should have come for her by now. They’re coming. They have to be.

When her son stirs, she holds him close and whispers. “It’s all right...they’ll come...and if we have to search the universe for you, we’ll get you home.”

A tiny yawn is her only answer, and even though her chest aches, Pidge can’t help laughing.

“You remind me of your dad already. I swear, he should have been a cat.” She could have sworn he’d been curled around her on the couch in that final memory, but something must have happened. She woke here alone.

It’s a Galra ship, or outpost. That much she can tell by the view from her reinforced window—looking out over some sort of cargo bay or gathering area, everything out there purple and dark and in stark contrast to her cell. Galra swarm the floor, organizing cargo and running drills, and maybe it's meant to intimidate her. To remind her that she’s surrounded.

Nothing else makes sense. Galra ships don’t have white cells like this, and they don’t work with anyone who isn’t Galra. Usually. But the strange woman who keeps watch over her isn’t Galra. She looks human, except for the black device over one eye.

The one time she answered, of the many times Pidge has demanded to know why she is here, the woman only gave her one clue.

“Blame the woman you call The Doctor.”

***

Lance talked about the Doctor for most of their lives. It started when they were kids. Stories about the alien woman with snow-white hair and pointed ears and pinks marks on her cheeks. The alien who crashed into the back garden Lance’s mother kept so immaculate, in a spaceship shaped like a blue phone box.

There were pictures all over Lance’s childhood room, in his house across the street from the Holts. Crayons, colored pencils, paints when he was older. Sometimes Pidge still wonders if the Doctor is why Lance learned to paint in the first place. So he could do her likeness better justice.

“Why does she matter so much to you?” Pidge asked, more than once. “It was a dream, Lance! A dream you had when we were kids.”

Lance would look at her with those wide blue eyes and insist she was real. Sometimes with paint on his nose, or rubbed across his cheeks because he wasn’t paying attention to what was left on his hands.

She used to wonder if he realized how irresistible that spark in his eyes made him. If he knew how much she wanted to wipe the paint from his nose and kiss it. And somehow that was all before she even realized how much she was really in love with him.

“It wasn’t a dream!” Lance insisted. “You saw the broken fence and the crushed bushes and stuff the night she crashed.”

“Lance, some drunk probably crashed through the fence…”

But he would smile at her. Every time. And tell her he knew she’d believe him eventually. The first time he kissed her—sort of—was in high school, after one of those arguments. He shrugged as he got up, and the way he looked at her so fondly maybe she should have known something would happen, but she was still surprised when he dropped a kiss on her cheek as he passed.

“It’s okay, I love you anyway. Come on, Mom’s probably done with dinner if you want to stay.”

Maybe that was when she started to figure it out. When they were kids it was always ‘the Doctor this,’ ‘the Doctor that’...if he was so obsessed with that alien from his imagination, how did he have room to love her too?

But he did. And it took Pidge maybe too long to realize he always had.

***

“Katie Holt? That is you, isn’t it?”

Pidge wasn’t sure how she expected the night before her wedding to go, but finding a strange woman in her bedroom was not something she had considered to be in the realm of possibility. Romelle and Nadia had just dropped her home after her admittedly-not-that-wild bachelorette party, and she was not planning anything else other than staring at the ceiling until morning.

It took her somewhat-tipsy mind long enough to process the fact that there was a stranger in her parents’ house that she didn’t immediately realize she should have recognized the face. The cheek marks and white hair. The pointed ears that no human had any business having. The colorful clothing.

“I...yes? Who…? What are you…?”

“Good! Not much time. Need to go now!”

It wasn’t until her hand was grabbed and she was being dragged down the hallway that Pidge realized—

“Wait! Wait a minute, you’re—!”  

The box was in their living room. Just standing there, the door creaking open and letting orange-gold light seep out onto the carpet in the dimness of the house at almost midnight. Pidge tried to protest when the woman dragged her inside, but as the door shut behind them, they weren’t cramped in as she expected.

Not cramped at all. The space on the other side of the door was bigger than her parents’ entire house. And she’d seen it all before. In Lance’s drawings. She’d never understood how it could fit inside the blue box exterior before, but…

“So sorry to snatch you on such short notice—our plan was certainly to ease you in a bit better—but it seems Lance has gotten himself into some trouble.”

“That doesn’t...surprise me...wait this is…!” Pidge was spinning on her feet, trying to understand. But there was really only one way. “The inside is in a different dimension!” When she glanced at the woman again—the Doctor, or whatever she was— she was blinking at Pidge with raised eyebrows.

“Yes. Exactly.” She cocked her head. “Hmm, I suppose I can see why Lance likes you.”

The mention of his name snapped Pidge out of it. “Lance! You said he was in trouble? What are you talking about? Oh god, you’re real, this is insane. Where’s Lance! I can’t believe he met an alien before I did. Dad and Matt would be having a fit right now…”

Her mind was doing somersaults, but the Doctor seemed used to that. She was already back to her console, running circles around a control board laid out around some sort of center tower column, and the apparatus above it was already rising and falling, making a groaning noise.

“Nothing entirely unusual for us, some locals who’ve got the wrong idea, but unfortunately they seem to like wood quite a bit. No good for the sonic…” the Doctor was babbling.

“The what?”

The Doctor held up some sort of long thin device shaped almost like a screwdriver, but with a light on the end. When she pressed something it began to whir.

“Is that…? Is that a sonic screwdriver?” Pidge asked, hesitant. It didn’t look as if it could be anything else, but that was ridiculous.

“Yes!” came the excited answer.

“Oh. Uhm...Why does a screwdriver need to be sonic?”

The Doctor looked like she was about to retort, but the—ship?—shuddered as the groaning noise stopped. “We’ll address that later,” she said instead. “Come on!”

Pidge found herself dragged from the box, and out to somewhere entirely different than before. Not her parents’ living room, but a dark stone corridor.

“We moved!”

“Well, yes, that’s what a spaceship does after all,” the Doctor answered.

“Pidge!” The voice was Lance, she would know his voice anywhere, but in the dimness, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust—to find his face between the bars in the window of a heavy wooden door. “What are you doing here! Doctor, what is she doing here! I thought we—!”

“Your cell is too small for the TARDIS to materialize in, and I couldn’t sonic the door, and we DO seem to be a bit pressed for time!” she answered, hands on hips.

Another voice sighed from near the floor. “I would have had it soon enough.”

Pidge was reeling. The dark-haired man poking at the wiring in what actually seemed to be a rather sophisticated technologically-based locking system—out of place here—was new to her. Not that everything else wasn’t, but at least she’d seen Lance’s drawings and paintings of the woman and the inside of her ship.

“Who are you? I’ve heard about the Doctor; I haven’t heard about you.”

Lance scrubbed a hand over his face. “That’s Keith. I don’t know why he’s here either.”

Keith snorted. “I’d rather the locals didn’t execute you; that’s not a good enough reason?”

Lance looked at the Doctor, pleading. “Do we need him here? Why can’t you just sonic it open.”

“Because it’s wood!” The Doctor and Keith answered at the same time, and Doctor seemed much more surprised by the fact that they’d chorused than he was.

Pidge was still trying to process the ‘execution’ bit. “Excuse me, WHO wants to execute my fiance?”

The Doctor shrugged a bit. “The Doviens. Nice lot, but a little too wary of strangers. Strange fascination with wood and stone dungeons even though they’ve otherwise advanced far beyond that, too, apparently.”

Her heart pounding faster, Pidge reached for the open panel Keith was digging around in, and the tools he was holding. “Give me that!”

He let her have them, and within a few moments, she had the door open. She doesn’t remember much more of that adventure, and it might have something to do with the dashing into the TARDIS quickly after that because they’d been discovered and were being shot at.

With both laser-like weapons and flaming arrows, no less.

So adrenaline has fuzzed much of the memory, but she does remember Lance pulling her into his chest as soon as they were safely inside, and apologizing for getting her into all of this in such a decidedly not-fun way.

Keith stuck around until the TARDIS landed again elsewhere, but not much longer. Before the doors even opened he turned a few dials on some strange watch-like mechanism on a leather strap on his wrist. He smiled at them, but there was something melancholy about it.

“Until next time,” he said.

Then he tapped a button on the wrist device and disappeared with a flash and a bang.

The Doctor took them sightseeing after that, perhaps to apologize, and Pidge never thought she would be so close to space. Leaning out the TARDIS doors, protected by its’ atmosphere in the middle of a nebula, was more than enough to make up for a few moments of panic and confusion.

It didn’t take her long to realize that running was ALWAYS a large part of being around the Doctor, but with Lance it didn’t matter.

“How long have you been doing this?” she asked him that night, nestled against his side in a bedroom in the TARDIS.

“Actually I didn’t see her again until a few months ago. She showed up in our garden again, and well…” Lance motioned around them. To the almost glowing, golden walls and the feeling around them, like the ship was alive. It was, really, she found out. It had a mind of its own.

It was beautiful. Amazing. And with the fresh memory of the nebula Pidge could understand why Lance had gone with the Doctor, but for a moment that night, her heart sunk.

“So...you just left with her…”

Lance blinked at her, but she only saw it from the corner of her eye. She couldn't look him in the face. Not right then. But she felt him wrapping himself around her, kissing her head, her face, everything, until she laughed.

“It’s not like that,” he promised, grinning. “I love YOU, okay? The Doctor is a friend.”

“Your imaginary friend,” Pidge laughed.

“Who also happens to be real, but sure.”

She settled again, relaxing against him. “And who’s that Keith guy?”

Lance snorted. “We have no idea. He just shows up sometimes. He doesn’t have a TARDIS, I don’t think, but he has that wrist thing that lets him time travel and all too. It’s from the future or something. So things get...interesting.”

“‘Interesting?’”

“You’ll see.” He hesitated. “If you want to stay, I mean. You’ll stay, right?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I’m staying.”

***

“It took us what was probably the equivalent of four or five months just to get back for our own wedding...and then it was right back to the TARDIS. That was our life for a while, and it was...amazing. I could tell you stories for days…”

Pidge bites her lip to hold back a sob, tracing a thumb across her son’s face. Blue-gray eyes that will probably darken someday to look like his father’s blink up at her sleepily.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this…” she whispers. “I’m not an...over-romantic idiot, or something. I know you’ll never remember this. You’re too young. I guess it just feels wrong not to, and...and I don’t know what else to do.”

He yawns, and it looks almost like he’s smiling at her.

“Yeah...you’re right...be positive. That’s what your dad would say.”

***

“Doctor, you’ve been fiddling with that box since we left the museum, what is it?” Pidge asked.

The Doctor had taken them to what she claimed was the largest museum ever; an entire planet of history and exhibits that she’d thoroughly enjoyed and Lance had tolerated for her sake. But at some point they’d split up, and found themselves sprinting back to the TARDIS in the end to avoid security when the Doctor found them again with some sort of box-like metal contraption stuck under her arm and guards on her heels.

She’d clearly stolen it, but she always had her reasons for these things. She’d connected the device to her console and had it scanning data for hours now.

“Why are you so interested in that thing?” Lance added.

The Doctor pointed to the symbols scratched hastily into one side of it. “Time and space coordinates, but written in Old High Gallifreyan. But this is NOT a Gallifreyan device. I think someone is trying to get my attention. We’ll know if the computer finds anything interesting. If it doesn’t we’ll just pop over there anyway.”

“I guess that answers the question of where to next,” Lance teased.

Pidge chuckled, leaning into her new husband’s shoulder. “You mean the question of what kind of trouble do we want to get into next?”

“Don’t be like that!” Lance countered. “I mean sure, getting almost killed on our honeymoon wasn’t the most ideal thing ever, but it’s not like we find trouble EVERYWHERE.”

“Almost everywhere. More than 50% of everywhere. Probably 75% of everywhere.”

“Be positive.”

Pidge leaned in closer and kissed his cheek. “I’m positive I love it anyway.”

Lance still went red in the cheeks at the strangest of times. Or maybe it was just the lighting in the control room. He practically squeaked as he cleared his throat and tried to answer the Doctor. “A-Anyway—”

She cut him off when a sudden insistent beeping came from her monitor. “Hold on. The computer found something. What…?” Her eyes widened briefly as she read the alert, and she went immediately to smashing switches. The TARDIS groaned as they were whisked through the time vortex.

“What is it?” Lance asked.

“Keith,” she said shortly. “He seems to be the one in trouble at the moment.”

They didn’t have the chance to ask more questions before the TARDIS slowed, presumably exiting the time vortex at another point in space. Wherever they needed to be.

“Expanding atmosphere!” the Doctor cried. One more lever pulled and she darted for the doors, pulling them open on the open space between the TARDIS and another ship. Not a Galra ship or anything Pidge has seen before. A glittering silver monstrosity.

And an open airlock, with a familiar form being pulled through the invisible air corridor extended between the ships, presumably by pushed by what must have been an explosive decompression.

The Doctor clung to the door frame with one arm and held out her other hand to catch Keith’s, to slow him down before they both tumbled backwards onto the TARDIS floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

The Doctor seemed fine, but Keith cried out from the impact, curling in on himself after he rolled off of her. She rolled with him, catching his arm. “Keith? Are you all right?”

“I’ll make it,” he gasped. “Get us out of here.”

Pidge and Lance crowded closer, Lance shutting the doors and Pidge crouching over Keith as the Doctor jumped back to her feet to race back to her console and take them away again.

Keith was shivering. Pidge wasn’t sure if it was the brief flight through space—though he’d been protected by the air corridor—or his clear injures. Cuts and bruises marred his face and arms. She couldn’t see anything else, but he was holding his chest gingerly and didn’t seem in any hurry to get up.

The TARDIS shook once before they were back in the time vortex, and Pidge wondered if the other ship had fired at them. She reached for Keith on instinct when he shouted again from the shaking.

“How bad is it?” Pidge asked. Something clenched in her chest when he groaned and closed a hand around the one she rested on his shoulder.

Lance crouched beside them. “What happened to you?”

“Long...long story.”

***

“No! No no no no, please!”

She begs, but they take her son anyway. They pry him from her arms and shove her down while the strange woman watches. They give the baby to her and Pidge springs back up, adrenaline coursing, tried to break through the Galra guards twice her height to take her son back, but they keep her away easily.

“You don’t have to do this!”

The woman just levels a cold stare at her. “You have no idea what I have to do.”

The Galra soldiers shove her back again, back to the floor, and it’s enough to give them time to retreat. To shut the door and leave her alone.

Pidge doesn’t bother to get up, curling up against the foot of the bed she gave birth in a week ago. The sterile cell is all but silent, ringing only with the reverberation of the closed door. Until she sobs. There isn’t any reason to hold it back anymore. The baby can’t hear her and neither can her captors.

Crying gives way, eventually, to exhaustion. Too much to move from the floor. Her face is still buried in her knees the next time the door opens. Her hair, grown out since she’s been here, covers even the light from the room, and she has no intention of looking up.

She doesn’t care who it is.

“I’m not hungry, and if you’ve come to gloat, get it over with and leave me alone,” she mumbles.

Pidge holds her breath, waiting in the darkness for the steps to retreat or for the woman to make more of her strange boasts. Instead all she hears is a sharp intake of breath, and a small cry.

A cry she knows.

“Months, and that’s how you say hello?” a voice asks. She knows the voice, too.

Pidge pulls in a gasp of her own, starting upright and pushing up to her feet against the bed. “Lance…!”

She doesn’t know how, but it’s her husband, half-covered in stolen Galra armor over his dark clothes...and carrying their son.

He gives her a watery smile. “Hi…”

He’s barely breathed it out before Pidge stumbles forward, grasping for his arms to hold herself up and pulling his head down for a hungry kiss.

She laughs when the kiss finally ends, resting her face against his cheek. “Aren’t you a little short for a Galra?”

“You’re one to talk,” he chuckles.

A quiet bleat from between them makes her draw back, reaching to stroke the short silky hair on the side of her son’s small head.

“Hey, you!” She kisses the baby’s nose and looks back up at Lance in wonder. “How did you find him?”

He swallows, clinging reverently, protectively to the small form in his arms. “On accident. I’m glad I did; that woman was trying to get him on another ship.”

“How did you find US?”

“The Doctor has her ways, and I have mine.” Lance leans close again, resting his forehead against hers. “We haven’t stopped looking since the day you disappeared.”

“I knew you would, I just didn’t know how long it would take…” Pidge trails off, shivering. Lance is trying to hold the baby and her at once; when he realizes it isn’t working well he guides her the few steps back to the bed, to sit her on the edge of it and make it safer and easier to cradle them both against him.

“They almost took him,” she whispers into his shoulder. “And I don’t even know why.”

“Neither do we.” Lance smiles down at their son, but when he speaks again it comes out choked. “He’s cute.”

“Like his dad,” Pidge teases gently.

Small fingers clasp around one of his, and Lance looks ready to cry even with the grin still tugging at his mouth. “Does he have a name yet?”

“Forrest, after my grandpa...you seemed on board when I made the suggestion a few months ago and I didn't want the poor kid to go without a name.”

“I like it.”

“You can pick his middle name if you want to.”

“After we get out of here,” he sighs.

Pidge winces. “How are we doing that?”

As if on cue, the faint sounds from the cargo bay below the cell grow to a sudden roar of weapons’ fire and shouts. They both twist to look back at the window, but it goes dark. Some sort of emergency programming, maybe.

“The Doctor has friends,” Lance says. “WE have friends.”

“Who’s here?”

“Blades and Olkari, Captain Olia and her crew, and some of the others. We weren't going to let anything happen to you.”

By the time they leave the cell, leaving Lance’s stolen Galra armor behind, the ship is safe under the control of their allies. They find the TARDIS and a gathering of faces Pidge recognizes in the hold below, but no Doctor yet. A group of Blades and Olia’s crew are guarding a contingent of defeated Galra soldiers being led down to the brig.

“They don’t like being taken prisoner rather than killed,” Kolivan comments.

Olia snorts. “Tough. They can deal with it. We’re not stooping to their level.”

“Where’s the Doctor?” Lance asks.

“With Ryner,” Olia answers. “Trying to figure out why they did this, I think.”

Pidge sighs. “I hope they find something...two or three months here, and they didn’t tell me anything except that it had something to do with her.”

She can’t blame the Doctor. There are so many out there who hate her for what she does; for helping people. For foiling wrong where she finds it. There’s no way to know what taking her son would have to do with that, but Pidge can’t see how it would be the Doctor’s fault. Not really.

Someone finds an empty crate and blankets. Somewhere to let Forrest sleep while she and Lance perch on another crate beside it, holding his little fingers and watching him while they wait near the TARDIS. It’s nice just to sit. To be quiet and together and safe.

Pidge tries not to think about the fact that Kolivan, in particular, seems uneasy about something. She’s nearly given up trying to ignore it when the cargo bay doors open. The Doctor, Ryner, and a couple of other Olkari returning to the bay.

Lance pops up immediately. “Doctor! Did you find anything?”

“Nothing definitive, I’m afraid. But...something, yes.”

“Like what?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. She swoops over to them, wrapping Pidge in an embrace as the shorter human gets to her feet. “Pidge! There you are! Thank goodness you’re all right. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“I knew you were coming but...what are you talking about? What did you find?”

The Doctor leans down to peer curiously at the sleeping baby. “We ah...well..it seems they took quite a few scans of little Forrest here. It seems his DNA is somehow tied together with something quite a bit like Time Lord DNA.”

Lance gapes. “What?”

“How is that possible?” Pidge questions. She looks from Lance back to the Doctor. “He’s just—we’re his parents. We’re both human.”

The Doctor looks uncomfortable. “Yes of course, but, you see, Ryner seems to think that if he was...well…”

“If he was conceived on the TARDIS,” Ryner offers, “it could be possible. If the TARDIS was in flight, in the time vortex at the time, it could have had an effect on the child.”

“You never told us that was a possible side-effect!” Pidge cries, gathering her son up out of his makeshift bed. Lance reaches out to help, to pull them both to him.

“How was I to know!” the Doctor answers. “The only people traveling by TARDIS before now who might have done THAT aboard one were all Time Lords already!”

“What are you saying?” Lance is asking, urgent. “What does it mean? Is he okay?”

“The scans all seem to indicate that your son is perfectly fine, and perfectly healthy,” Ryner says quickly. “He is simply...more than human.”

The Doctor’s head tilts to the side as she looks at Forrest, clearly fascinated even while she still seems apologetic. “There’s no way to know how it will manifest, but it shouldn’t be anything troublesome. He may simply have a longer lifespan, or he may even be able to regenerate.”

She grins when the baby wakes and gurgles at her. “Hello! Wonderful to meet you...yes, the new tall one is your Dad.” A pause, more gurgling. “No, he wasn’t trying to get milk from the wrong part of Mommy; that’s called kissing. It’s something grown-ups do, and they really should have gotten a room.”

“Doctor!” Lance yelps.

“What are you doing?” Pidge asks. She can feel her face heating up, suddenly sure she’s blushing as much as Lance is.

The Doctor blinks at her. “I speak Baby,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious and usual thing in the world.

“No you don’t…”

“Of course I do; I speak everything.” While Pidge is trying to compute that, the Doctor casts her gaze over to the others. “Kolivan, what is it? You’re still back there looking absolutely consternated about something; what seems to be the problem?”

The Blade leader raises an eyebrow at her, but he answers. “This was too easy,” he says. His attention is focused out the open space doors, through the transparent forcefield separating the bay from space. “Far too easy.”

“You sound like a bad film.”

Olia crosses her arms and shrugs. “He’s right, though. It’s weird.”

Pidge swallows. “Does it matter?” Her eyes shift back to her son in her arms just in time to realize that, somehow, he’s sparkling.

She doesn’t have a chance to understand what that means before her arms are empty.

“Lance!” she screams, but there’s nothing he can do. What could he do? “Doctor!”

The others are moving, Lance shouting wordlessly, the Doctor shocked, Kolivan and Olia and Ryner barking into their comms looking for answers.

Outside the space doors, the sudden flash of a cloaked ship disappearing into hyperspace.

“The child was transported. They must have tagged him,” Kolivan is saying.

“The Galra aren’t supposed to have that kind of technology!” Olia cries. “You don’t even have that kind of technology!”

“We don’t know who they were working with. The technology does exist,” Ryner answers.

“Where is he!” Pidge shouts. She doesn’t know at who, really. “Where did they go!”

“We cannot track them through a hyperspace jump,” Kolivan says, apologetic.

“Then we’ll figure out how!” the Doctor snaps.

“Of course we will find them—”

“I mean now!”

“Doctor.” Ryner, sharp but firm. “This is not his fault. Or the fault of anyone here.”

Pidge tunes out their arguments when she realizes that it isn’t going to be fixed now. They aren’t going to get their son back. Not right now.

Adrenaline seeps away and the raised voices fade. She thinks there are tears on her cheeks, but she isn’t sure. A quiet sob above her head, and she knows Lance is crying. He comes with her when she lets herself sink to the floor.

“I’m...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” The Doctor’s voice.

But Pidge closes her eyes and shuts that out, too.

***

“You haven’t told us anything about what happened, and you’re leaving?” the Doctor questioned.

Keith, cleaned up and treated and wearing fresh clothes borrowed from the stockpiles of various clothing in the TARDIS, slid off the edge of one of the beds in the infirmary.

“You get in enough trouble on your own,” he laughed, bringing an arm up to type coordinates into the device on his wrist. He couldn’t quite hide the wince when he did. “But thank you...for the rescue. And the replacement interface panel for this thing.”

“Your injuries are still healing,” Pidge protested.

The Doctor crossed her arms and fixed him with a stare. “And I would like to know how you know Old High Gallifreyan.”

He smiled a little, but it was that strange smile, the melancholy one. The one that made Pidge wonder if he was really all right at all. “Don’t worry, you’ll know someday,” he told them.

“You’re always running off,” Pidge said quietly.

The answer was even softer, and he wouldn’t quite look at her. “Only when I have to.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“Even at our wedding,” Lance was saying. He paused. “WHY were you at our wedding?”

Keith smiled again before he was gone. “You’ll figure that one out soon enough too.”

***

A flash and a familiar sparking and banging cut the silence in the bay. Pidge knows who she’ll see when she looks up, but she doesn’t bother to at first. The doctor is already storming toward the source of the sound, her voice already raised.

“You! How many times have I - have WE been there when you needed us? Where were you!”

A calm voice answers. “I couldn’t be here for this. I couldn’t have done anything.”

“Why not!”

Lance is already looking across the bay at them when Pidge manages to pick her head up from his chest. The Doctor, and Keith. Keith still calm even as she rages at him.

“I couldn’t be here because I can’t break the rules any more than you can.”

“Which rules…?”

“Of time, Doctor. I shouldn’t have to tell you that; they’re the only ones you care about, and even then only when it suits you.”

“I—”

A small smile. “Don’t worry, I love it about you. Usually. When it’s not getting you into trouble.”

She huffs back. “Who ARE you? Really.”

“Why does this matter?” Pidge questions, climbing tiredly to her feet. Lance follows her up, quiet. “Why does ANY of this matter? My son is—!”

“I’m sorry, Katie,” Keith interrupts, not unkind. “It’ll make sense, I promise; we’re getting there.”

“Getting where!” the Doctor retorts, nearly growling.

Pidge opens her mouth, but Lance speaks first, pulling her tighter against his side. “Wait! Did...how did Keith know Pidge’s name is Katie? He’s not around THAT much, and I don’t think I’ve told him. Have either of you?” He looks down at her, over at the doctor...they’re all looking at each other, none of them saying anything.

“No,” Keith answers for them. “They didn’t.”

The Doctor has gone very still. “What did you mean a moment ago? What of the rules of time and space would have kept you from helping us today?”

Keith meets the Doctor’s eyes. “The most important one, according to you. I can’t very well have interfered with something that was a fixed point in my own timeline.”

She stares at him for a long time, as if that might tell her something. Then she’s looking back at Lance and Pidge, eyebrows up and eyes wide, and Keith is smiling, and Pidge doesn’t understand.

“That’s impossible,” the Doctor says. Pidge can barely hear it from where she Lance are standing.

“That’s not like you say,” Keith chuckles. “I seem to recall a very specific incident where—”

She shushes him quickly. “Keith! Not in front of—” She stops, looking back to the rest of them again with suddenly pink cheeks. “Oh dear.”

The Doctor leans closer to Keith, more quick, whispered dialogue and strange smiles. Pidge presses into Lance, still trying to get warm, something churning in her stomach. There are dots she isn’t connecting yet, maybe only because she’s tired and upset, but she hates the feeling anyway.

“Doctor!” Lance calls. She’s blowing past them now, racing for the TARDIS in all her usual energy, the spring back in her step and the grin back on her face.

“Everything will be all right, Lance!” she answers, turning back to them at the blue doors. “Your son is fine, and he WILL be fine. We will find him; I promise you that now.”

“Where are you going!” Pidge demands. She trusts the Doctor. She does. But…

“Keith!” The Doctor nods to the device on his wrist. “You can get everyone home, yes? Safe and sound?”

He nods, still smiling himself. “I will.”

“Good!” The Doctor claps her hands, hesitating for a moment as she laughs strangely— well, not strange for her, but anyway.

Pidge manages to lock eyes with her, and the Doctor gives her that reassuring smile. The one that’s never steered them wrong before. It shifts to Lance, and Pidge can feel him relax a little beside her.

“Your son will be fine,” she repeats.

The door closes, and with its’ usual wheezing the TARDIS is gone.

“What just happened?” Lance asks, turning back to Keith.

Keith has come closer now, an arm’s length away and looking as if he wishes he were closer. Before that would have seemed strange—he’s only a friend, just someone who also knows the Doctor—but now…

Why isn’t it strange?

“I didn’t always look like this,” Keith says, instead of a straight answer. “I used to look more like my father, I think. But I’ve changed a few times. Regeneration really does a number on family resemblance.”

“Regeneration…?” Pidge murmurs. She knows about it. She knows what Ryner and the Doctor were talking about. She and Lance have only known the Doctor in her current form, but they know about her past lives. Her other faces. Keith knows about them, too. He’s claimed to have met some of the others in his travels through time.

But there aren’t supposed to be any other Time Lords left other than the Doctor. Which...means…

Lance lets her go when she takes a step forward, toward Keith, though he seems reluctant about it. Reluctant and confused.

Pidge is less confused. But she’s waiting for what she thinks she’s realizing to settle. Keith smiles at her gently, patient.

“I wasn’t always called Keith, either,” he says. His eyes are damp now. “I chose it the last time I changed because its’ origin can mean ‘woods,’ or…”

“Forrest,” Pidge breathes. She tries to open her mouth again, but her voice sticks in her throat.

Keith lets out an uneven breath. “Hi...Mom.”

[missblissy]

Title: Homeless at Home Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Genre: fanfiction, chapters, angst, reader insert, fluff, slow burn, friends-to-lovers, pre-game Characters: Young!Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Mathews, Arthur Morgan/ Reader, Female reader, Arthur x Reader, Arthur Morgan x Reader, Arthur/ You, Young!reader Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten

Follow me on AO3!! Read it there too!

((Hello friends!! Another chapter has been posted!! Another one will be up tonight!! Thank you so much for being so kind with me!! I’m sorry I’ve been posting infrequently! That is about to change soon!! Several other fics will be posted tonight!!!!))

Description:

The winter world was slowly melting away and it was quite beautiful to watch. You would stare at the colorful birds as they flew from branch to branch. Blue Jays bounced around and sang as they raced the Cardinals to the barren treetops. You much preferred to watch the crows though, they would stare back at you with dark little eyes that told ancient stories you could never understand. The crows would hop around and watch you and Arthur ride through the thin forest, then suddenly dozens of them took to the skies.

_______________________________________________________

This was it. You knew you had finally done it. The air was frigid, it made your skin turn a light shade of pink. Your fingers were ice cold even though you had two pairs of gloves on. It may have been near freezing but you were still sweating from running so much. Your heart raced, beating louder and louder like a drum in your ears.

Where was he? The tree you had taken cover behind wouldn’t last for long. You knew he was out there, waiting, ready to end it all. God dammit! Why did you always find yourself in these kinds of situations? Why were you so bad at being… bad? You sucked in a deep breath and took the biggest risk of your life.

Slowly and slower than time, you started to peek your head out from around the tree. Maybe he was still out? Or was he hiding still? As you neared the side of the tree and peered around the corner, you had zero time to react. What god damn mistake you made.

A snowball collided with your side of your face, adding to the collection of welts to your body that now tallied to six. Arthur was standing in the backyard of your hidden home, bending over laughing.

“Haha!! Got you again!!” You watched him slap his leg and nearly shit himself laughing.

You cleaned the snow away from your face and hair and took this as a chance to wad up a snowball of your own. Packing the snow tight together between your hands, you curled your arm back and snapped it forward. The snowball flew through the air right towards Arthur’s shoulder. When he was struck by the snowball he looked back up with a fire in his eyes that told you to run again.

A scream echoed out into the snowy forest as you ran for the barn this time. Arthur was hot on your tail and you could hear him calling out to you.

“You started this war!” He laughed, “Surrender or die!”

You got to the front doors of the barn and fumbled to push them open, “Eat my shit!!” It was too late, as you looked over your shoulder you were pelted with another snowball, this time on your upper leg.

Sometimes he could be such an asshole. You let out a yelp and frowned at Arthur, “This isn’t fun anymore! You’re just trying to hurt me now!” It was all fun and games in the beginning, but somehow it really did turn into a snowball war and Arthur was winning. He was only so good because he was older and had wicked good eye sight. You still struggled with shooting and aiming a gun, so how on earth could you throw a snowball?

Despite the war, it was nice to finally get out of the house again. A long storm had raged through the deeper parts of Paradise Valley. And Dutch said the winter’s here were mild. You’ve spent nearly all of it inside that house, listening to Uncle’s drunk stories about his golden years. The spring was only a few weeks away now, and Hosea had still not returned.

Nothing special happened this winter, thankfully. Though, when the Christmas time came around there was a nice humble morning were everyone woke up together and had a real and meaningful breakfast. You spent a lot of that time reading the medical books you had gotten from the doctor in town. One was on plants and how to make them in to medicine, you already knew a lot about that thanks to your mother. Another one was about tending to all type of open wounds and injuries. You had started practicing how to stitch with a needle and thread that Susan had lent you. Stitching a person and a blanket wasn’t that different. You had mastered the baseball stitch and the lock stitch but you still had a few others to get.

Now you stood facing death on the first day out in months. Arthur was an evil man, or just a bastard, perhaps both. You looked at him, glaring, daring him to throw another snowball, “Hit me again and see what happens!” You challenged him for the first time since this war started.

“Yeah? What’s a tiny little thing like you gonna do?” Arthur’s cocky grin ate away at you.

With a huff and a pout, you decided to really turn the tables. You locked eyes with Arthur and started to get the waterworks going. You let out a fake sob and wailed, “DUTCH!!!” And ran past Arthur before he could slap a hand on your mouth and save his own skin.

He cursed under his breath and dropped the snowball in his hand, “Shit- (Y/n)! I didn’t mean it! Come on it was a game!!” It stopped being a game when he started being an asshole.

You ran inside from the backdoor and through the kitchen, Arthur was close behind you when you got to the living room, “Dutch!” You yelled out to the old man sitting on the couch, reading away. Your loud yell startled him and he dropped his book right before you hid behind him with a small cry, “Arthur’s throwing snowballs at me! He won’t stop! He hit me in the face! Look!”

There was no way of stopping the bomb you had just set off. Dutch didn’t say a word as he gentle grabbed you by the chin and turn your head to look at the goose egg that was forming. You let out another cry, “He got me other places too,” You whined.

Arthur stood frozen in the entrance to the living room. You watched as a part of his soul floated away and into the heavens. Normally when Arthur was being a dick, you just ignored him. But sometimes he took it too far, like today, and you needed to unleash the wrath of Mother Dutch onto him.

Dutch snapped his gaze to the young outlaw and said, “What the hell is wrong with you? Huh? Throwing snowballs at a little girl?” You weren’t that little, not really.

You watched Arthur start to glare and his mouth hanging open, “She!” He pointed a finger at you, “She started it! She threw one at me!”

“And surely you are the dumb ass to throw one back,” Dutch got up from his spot on the couch while picking his book up off the floor. As he passed Arthur he smacked him on the head with his book and said, “Stop it. Get your ass back outside and keep watch,” Dutch suddenly snapped to you, “And you,” His glare softened but it was still there, “Stop bothering him.” He left after that and headed upstairs to find a new peaceful reading space.

The two of you were left alone again and all the hostility from before had started to melt away. You had won the last battle and you took your victory with pride. However, at the same time, you wanted to get the hell out of the house before Susan or Annabelle started asking you to do chores. So it was time for a new game.

You bolted. You broke out into a sprint and as you ran past Arthur you slapped a hand onto his arm and yelled out, “Tag!” And ran for the door.

He took the bait. He always took the bait. For a grumpy teenage outlaw, he sure loved playing games with you. He’d be turning 17 soon, and you knew sooner or later Arthur would join The Adults and leave you and your games behind. So you tried to enjoy them while you could. He was your best friend and you wanted to keep it that way forever.

As you ran out of the house you made your way back to the barn. Hidden inside was Callus and the rest of the horses. You had about ten seconds to mount up and run. It took you fifteen seconds just to get inside. Arthur was right behind you and you felt him smack your arm as he ran past you going deeper within the barn. He got on his horse quicker than you and fled the barn. His laughter filled the air as you scurried after him.

You busted out of the barn and saw the Arthur in the distance as he fled the forest. You chased after him on Callus. Snow fled into the air as you rushed your mustang to catch up with Arthur. Somehow tag turned into a race. When you got close enough to Arthur you laughed out and said, “Last one to Bottom’s Bridge has to do the other’s chores for a week!” Just as you said that you made it to the main road. You took a sharp right turn and took the lead as a confused Arthur had to process what you said.

It didn’t take long for him to understand and chase after you. The two of you race nearly side by side on the road. Eventually, the thick forest turned into an open valley. Cold air whipped past you, burning your cheeks and tangling your hair in the wind. For the first time in months, you felt free and alive. Something about riding a horse on the open snowy plains made you feel this sense of wonder that you thought you’d never feel again. Laughter bubbled from your lungs and filled the chilly air. The morning sun had nearly made it halfway up into the perfectly clear sky. Not a single cloud was out.

You looked over and you could see Arthur riding along beside you. He had a grin larger than life on his face. His own laughter echoed into the valley air. You shared a glance with him, your eyes locked and in just second Arthur had sped off ahead of you. His hair fluttered effortlessly in the cold wind and you could just make out the trail of clouds that escaped his lungs as he breathed.

That bastard wasn’t going to win, you wouldn’t stand for it. You spurred Callus on and snapped your reins, You let out a quiet breathy whisper, “Come on!” You begged your stallion, “Come on boy!” You kept your eyes locked on Arthur as you followed hot on his tail. He looked over his shoulder and cackled and hollered.

“Can’t catch up can ya, kid?!” The idiot wasn’t paying attention to where he was going.

In the distance, you could see the valley’s end. A frozen river flew and squirmed through the valley until it reached the end of a cliff. Bottom’s Bridge swept across the Paradise Falls where the river flowed down into a deep gorge.

Arthur’s horse grew spooked by the wall of steam and misty the flew in the sky as he ran towards the river’s bridge to cross it. The horse nearly bucked and kicked him off but you and Callus dashed past him and into cold icy clouds. The sun shimmered and little rainbows cast off each misty drop that escaped the edge of the falls. As you past Arthur you grinned at him, amazed and delighted to see his surprised face.

You pulled on the reins just as you heard the sound of wood clonk under Callus’s hooves. You made it to the bridge, a big cheeky grin smeared on your face, “I won!” You look over your shoulder at Arthur who had just made it there and threw the wall of mist, “I beat you!”

“Ah! So what!” He waved a hand at you, clearly trying to play it off, “I ain’t doing your chores no matter how many times you win!”

“Fine!” You huffed but you had a small smile. You pulled at the reins in your hands and spurred Callus towards the bridge, “Buy me something in town then!”

Arthur didn’t argue, you were already half way to town anyways. Besides, he could buy some much needed personal supplies. He could check the post office too for Dutch while he was at it. You waited for him to reach your side and the two of your set off together, side by side once again, at a slow and casual pace.

The winter world was slowly melting away and it was quite beautiful to watch. You would stare at the colorful birds as they flew from branch to branch. Blue Jays bounced around and sang as they raced the Cardinals to the barren treetops. You much preferred to watch the crows though, they would stare back at you with dark little eyes that told ancient stories you could never understand. The crows would hop around and watch you and Arthur ride through the thin forest, then suddenly dozens of them took to the skies.

Spring was coming very soon and you loved watching the world come back to life. The ride was silent for the most part, but you enjoyed the silence while a glance at Arthur every now and then just to make sure he wouldn’t pull any tricks or stunts. It wasn’t long until you made it the near hour and a half journey into Sugartown. It had been weeks since you saw the bleak little town. The dark winter trapped you in the house and it was refreshing to see other people some kind of civilization. You had little clothes to keep you warm, which was the biggest reason you stayed indoors. The second reason was that you had taken advantage of the basement in the house and used to practice your herb use as well.

At least it was warm enough now for your crappy jacket and several layers of shirts. You and Arthur hitched your horses outside the post office at every edge of town. As he stomped down into the muddy snow he groaned out and complained, “Ahh- I’m gonna check for any mail,” He sniffled his nose, you could see it was bright red and runny. He swiped his sleeve under his nose then walked past you, “Don’t get lost, kay? I’ll be back out and buy you whatever you want in a few seconds.”

You didn’t say much, you just nodded your head and made yourself comfortable against the wall near the front door. Arthur headed inside and you took to your least favorite pass time, people watching. First, you saw a busy priest dash down the road from his cute little church and right into some unknown building that didn’t have any signs on it. Then you saw a cozy fat little woman walking with her son, they headed down the main drag of town and went into the doctor’s office. You felt a shutter and shiver go down your spine and you knew it wasn’t from the cold. That town doctor… whatever his name was, you couldn’t remember if he told you or not. He didn’t give you a good feeling. He knew your family, and at this point, there was no way he didn’t know you.

The last time you saw him, it scared you a little bit, and at the same time, it bothered you. Would he go to the law and expose Dutch and the gang for technically kidnapping you? It wasn’t like that at all, but what adult lawmen would listen to a 13-year-old girl explain that she willingly went with them? So many people wanted Dutch’s head, they’d take any excuse they could to book him in a jail cell for good. The face of an evil child kidnapper was exactly what they wanted to paint him as. You and everyone else who knew Dutch knew he was more of a chaotic lover than anything else. He didn’t want to harm people, and a lot of his fortune was spent on others, even strangers. If people pushed him though, he’d kill and he’d do it with no mercy.

You shook those thoughts from your head then wondered what was taking Arthur so long. He’d been gone for almost ten minutes. You ventured into the dark and dim post office and waited as your eyes adjusted to the light. After a second of blinking blindly, you found Arthur at the mail window.

It took only a second for you to glare and roll your eyes before walking over to him. He was standing broad and wide, leaning forward on the mail window’s counter as he flirted with the young teenage teller who worked here. Arthur talked low and made the young girl laugh and giggle behind her hand.

You couldn’t blame him, she was very pretty. She had a clean smile and rosy cheeks that gave away her wild blush. Her hair was dark black with wild curls that frizzed out in every direction. She dressed very casual and proper in a creamy white dress that had cute little black ribbons in it. You made your way to the window and crossed your arms and stomped a food hard down onto the floorboards.

Arthur snapped from his flirty eyed daze and you saw his face go from that gross thirsty look into one of anger and irritation. The young woman, however, seemed amused. She laughed like an airhead and peered over the counter to look down at you.

“Hello, little girl,” She greeted you, but you ignored her and glared back at Arthur.

You pointed a finger at him and took three steps closer till you jabbed your finger into his stomach, “You said a few seconds! You’re a dirty filthy liar.”

“It’s only been a few minutes,” Arthur retorted and shrugged like he didn't care, “Go wait outside, kid,” He tried to shoo you away but you smacked his hand.

The poor innocent girl made a terrible mistake. She was confused and asked, “Is she your little sister?” Something about that question made you angry.

“No!” You suddenly turned your glare on the innocent girl and tried to smile, “He’s a terrible person, trust me, your father would never let you marry him.” This girl stared back at you with a blank gaze, it made you think she was more stupid than the average person.

Before Arthur could beat you and before the girl could gasp in shock, you slapped your hand on the mail Arthur failed to take. You looked at him, ready to fight toe to toe, “Can we go now?”

As much as Arthur wanted to wring your neck, he didn’t and he just huffed a big sigh and grabbed you by your arm as he dragged you out of the post office. You yanked your arm away from him once got outside and gave the mail back to Arthur. He tucked it away into his satchel and followed you.

“Why you always gotta do that?” Arthur barked down at you, he walked beside you as you ran down the steps and deeper into town.

“Do what?” You asked like you had no idea what he was talking about.

Arthur scoffed then slacked your shoulder with the back of his hand, “Be a little rude shit to all the girls I talk to?” You couldn’t deny that anytime you caught Arthur flirting with some stranger you’d get angry, but you did because it disgusted you and he always chooses to take his perverted interests at the most inconvenient times.

“Because it annoys you,” You smirked up at him and then mockingly said, “Because I’m your annoying little sister,” You smacked him back, right in the gut, then hurried off to avoid getting smacked twice as harder.

You fled into the general store, your goal all along, a ran towards the back of the store were the kept all the candy you could dream of in tiny little barrels. This was the prize you wanted for winning your race. Arthur may have forgotten all about it, but you didn’t. He came bursting through the door looking like an idiot. The store clerk gave him a glare and muttered something under his breath.

Arthur joined you in the back of the store, slightly winded and breathing heavily. He didn’t even say a word and picked up a bag and started doing the same as you. You both filled the red paper bags to the brim with sweet treats. You loved chocolate the most and got the sweet little round chocolate truffles. Arthur collected carnal and butterscotch like some old man.

“I should get two bags because I won the race,” You said casually.

Arthur grunted, which was his only reply. He didn’t say no, so you handed him your first bag and filled a second one. You filled that one with one of every candy, then a few extras of your favorites. Arthur took all three bags and handed them over to the overly grumpy store clerk. He weighed them out then tied them closed with little twisty ties. Arthur paid for each one in his silent monotone autopilot mode, mumbling thanks, then tossed you both of your bags.

You left the store, tearing open one bag and digging into the candies, and followed Arthur through town once more. You walked side by side down the wood plank sidewalks. You tossed a little chocolate truffle into your mouth and sighed in glee at the sweet and precious candy as it melted away in your mouth.

“Thanks for the candy, Arthur,” You beamed up to your unruly friend.

He seemed to have gotten over all the trouble you caused him today, and was content with plucking away at the sweet little caramel treats he got himself, “Don’t mention it,”

Despite all the irritation, you caused each other, you really did care about Arthur like he was a brother. He was family, and as much as you pestered and annoyed the shit out of him sometimes, he’d never want to see or do you any harm. The two of you enjoyed each other company and found a bench to sit on under the cover of a stores front porch. You silently sat together, eating away at candy, until Arthur realized the whole reason you even came to town.

“The mail!” He said out of nowhere, nearly giving you a heart attack, “I almost forgot!” He set his bag of candy down between the town of you and dug into his satchel, “Look, (Y/n),” Arthur handed you a small and warn envelope.

You clasped it tight with cold fingers and squinted down at the words. It was addressed to a Francis Marwick. That was another pen name set up between the gang. Suddenly it hit you and you snapped your gaze back to Arthur, gasping out, “It’s from Hosea!”

Arthur swiped the letter and tucked it away. Before you could protest and ask to read it, he firmly said, “Dutch has got to see it first,” he shook his head at you. You sprung up from your seat quickly and grabbed him by his arm, “Then we better get back!”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He was coming back. Hosea had written a lengthy letter that took to long to finally get to Dutch. When Arthur gave Dutch the letter, he was almost at a loss of words. A letter and it was from Hosea? You thought Dutch would be angry, at first, but he was just surprised. It took him a while to get through the whole thing, but you watch Dutch’s face change and listened to him read bits of the letter out loud.

The story goes like this; Bessie’s father had died and her two sisters sold the ranch and ran off with whatever money they could make. She followed one of her sisters to California after finding out they tricked her, and lied about going to Texas. Hosea comes in because he promised to help Bessie get the money for her ranch back. Months had passed and they made no luck finding her sister… but… They did get married. Hosea pleaded that he would have been back sooner, and with as much money as he could bring but they were cheated out of an inheritance and robbed of everything they owned. They got stuck in California though, waiting to make enough money to head home.

Hosea wrote that he would have never of let this happen and that he would hopefully be home once the spring had settled in. As for Susan’s declaration that he was a money hungry gold digger, that seemed false because he didn’t gain a single penny from marrying Bessie, instead he gained the love his life, or so that’s how he described it.

Now you had to wait. You made yourself useful around camp and started talking up hunting as your preferred chore. For some reason, you wanted to impress Hosea when he got back home. You still studied hard away at making medicines in the basement. You were not very good at it, but you knew it’d take time and practice. You practiced your stitching as well, every day you would take some leather from a previous hunt and stitch them together as if they were skin in need medical attention. You had started studying from a book on veins and arteries as well.

When you weren’t busy studying or doing chores, you’d spend your free time with Arthur. Dutch was to busy looking for a new campsite or wooing Annabelle to be bothered right now. Susan enjoyed your company in the morning when you did chores with her, but she preferred to spend her evenings in town or alone. And no one wanted to hang around Uncle to long or he’d talk your ear right off.

The snow soon melted away entirely, and days turned into weeks, and the forest started to bloom to life. With the good weather, Dutch took to moving camp closer to town. You packed up your things and wished the house a very welcomed goodbye. You hated living there, crammed into such a small space with so many people. Perhaps it wasn’t that bad that Hosea wasn’t there for the house, there surely wasn’t any room for him or Bessie.

As you left the house behind, you wondered how Hosea would know where to find your new camp. Arthur left a note behind, written in code in case anyone other than Hosea was to find it. Your new camp was a million times better, thank God. Although the weather was still a little chilly, the days grew warm and you found a new camp west of Sugartown, and east of a new town called Blue Rock, it was a coal mining town and full of prospects and outlaws. It was a place Dutch wanted to call home but Annabelle managed to argue with him into choosing a shady lakeside camp equally between the two towns.

You were glad she did, because, on your first visit to Blue Rock, you felt unwanted and scared. It was a town filled with mostly men, prostitutes, miners, and all sorts of criminals. They all stared at you like you were a freak. There were houses that the miners lived in, saloons, train stations for the coal that was mined, and several brothels. There was no church, no sheriff’s office, no bank, and no doctor. It was truly lawless, dark, dank, and dangerous. You never went back after that. Anytime Arthur or Dutch went to town, you had to always ask which one now.

It wasn’t until it was a cold and misty morning where you found yourself cast far out from camp. You were sitting on a rock down the beach of camp as you worked at carving your initials into the stone with your hunting knife. Someone was walking across the stony beach, you could hear them step over all the smooth little pebbles. They made their way towards you and as you looked over your shoulder you threw your knife to the ground and leap from the top of the large boulder you perched yourself on.

Hosea had come home, and he stood in front of you with his arms held wide open. He was tanner than usual and his hair had grown out some. You let out some strange laugh mixed with a cry as you ran towards him and threw yourself into his arms, “You’re back!” It had been months since you last saw him.

You never realized until he was gone just how much you missed Hosea. He laughed and let out a grunt as you threw yourself at him, but he smiled and jokingly said, “Of course I am! Where else would I go?” You missed him so much. Life wasn’t the same without him, you had no one to go hunting with, which you’ve grown to deeply enjoy the hunt and providing for the gang since Hosea’s absence. There was less joy in camp without him as well, everyone missed him. There was also little profit coming in without the master conman at work. Dutch was little to nothing without his right-hand man.

“I never thought you’d come back. You just left without saying anything…” You let out a little cry, but it was free of any tears. You buried your face into Hosea’s chest and listened to him softly laugh. It was comforting to hear him again.

“I would never leave you behind, I always had intentions of coming back,” Hosea held you close, hugging you, then pulling away, “How could I leave you and Arthur with Dutch for too long? He’d get you guys killed eventually,” He said those words so seriously, you thought he was joking but he didn’t laugh and neither did you.

Hosea stood tall and held onto your hand as you walked down the beach towards camp together. You told him all about how awful the winter was and how much Arthur liked to pick on you.

When you started to ask him about his time away, he’d brush it off and answer your question with another question. He didn’t seem to want to talk about what happened when he was gone or why he left at all. He came back to a married man, however, and Bessie was back in camp waiting for him. The two had drastically changed in character. The last time you saw them together they were very friendly towards each other, now they were very openly affectionate, going as far to call each other very cheesy pet names. It almost grossed you out.

The first night Hosea and Bessie were back, everyone partied. Even you did a little. You really just enjoyed having Hosea back, even Bessie too. It had made you reflect on the past year and a half. So much of your life changed. You lost your parents but gained several new ones. You had gone through a series of depressive episodes, but you were learning to cope with your grief and sorrow of your family and life. You’d be turning 14 this year, though your birthday was still many months away. As you sat around the large fire pit with everyone, listening to Hosea and Bessie retell parts of their journey home, you felt whole for the first time in what felt like months.

It was if Hosea’s homecoming that enlightened your soul or sparked some kind of hope in you. You looked forward to the next day, and the months to come, excited to see where Dutch and Hosea would take you next. The dark winter was finally over and you could live in the sun again, you hoped, and almost prayed that you’d be heading to the desert again. You could feel it in deep within you, good things were about to happen.

[galli-writes]

Anything at All    

(Click here to read on Ao3!)

(Click here to listen to the podfic!)

fandom: Teen Titans

pairing: BBRae

genre/warnings: AU - Canon Divergence; Implied/Referenced Abuse, Abusive Parents, Childhood Trauma, Graphic Depictions of Violence

additional tags: Angst, Family Issues, Friendship/Love, Protectiveness, Slow Burn, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions

summary:

There are a few things that Beast Boy knows for certain:

He’s 21….and a total lightweight. He’s a vegan (but not like…a pretentious vegan). He’s not going to be single forever.

And the Teen Titans are the only family he’ll ever need.

a/n: Hello everyone! I have returned after 5 months to finish what I've started because I love this fic too much to abandon it. Expect updates to be much more regular. And this time I mean it! 

Chapter 3: The Letter ( words: 4,711 )

4:23 a.m.

The red numbers on his alarm clock seemed to stare back at Beast Boy with an unflinching glare. Like an animal that mocked him simply by existing. Beyond the window, a yellow glow seeped through the tightly drawn blinds.With a grunt, he rubbed his eyes and flipped over face first onto his pillow. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness hours ago.

By all accounts, he was exhausted . Every muscle in his body ached. His head continued to pound like a battering ram against a stone wall hours after the fight was over. The only thing worse than being electrocuted (three times) was the grueling pain the shocks had left in their wake. By now, he’d lost count of how much Advil he’d taken. It was probably safe to say ‘too much’.

But the burning in his muscles and the city lights creeping in through his window weren’t what kept him awake. Not really.

The problem was that, every time he did skirt the edge of sleep, it started all over again.

Goosebumps prickled on his arms at the mere thought of it. The cold tile on his skin. The muffled voices of his friends in the distance, even more distorted in his memory. When he closed his eyes, he saw the same darkness he’d retreated to only hours before. Even now he found himself instinctively holding his breath.

The culprits had escaped, and he knew it had been (at least partially) his fault. He was sure Robin was disappointed in him. Maybe even annoyed. But that hadn’t been his biggest mistake of the night. Not by a long shot.

Beast Boy flipped over again, unable to lie still as the scene played before him. He shut his eyes tighter, rubbing his hands over his face. But the increasing darkness only made things more real. Even lying completely still, he easily felt the ghostly traces of someone’s fingers on his neck. He threw the sheets back from around his face. They suddenly felt like spiders crawling all over him.

But above all, he couldn’t tune out her voice, echoing in his ears.

‘ Not everything is a joke. And one day you’re gonna learn that the hard way. ’

Beast Boy flinched. He rolled over. Pulled the sheets up again, and turned the clock the other direction. But it was no use.

He bit his lip, staring at the ceiling.

He didn’t think everything was a joke. Of course he didn’t.

He just acted like it sometimes.

He bit his lip harder, exhaling a deep, wavering sigh.

Was there a difference?

Flooded with shame, he tried his best to disappear. And somehow, pulling the sheets up all the way over his head was oddly convincing. He closed  his eyes once more, now that he felt he’d finally escaped from the reality of what he’d done--if only for the night. Under the sheets it was warm and stuffy--just enough so to lull him into a still, dreamless sleep.

***

“Rise and shine!”

Cyborg’s voice echoed under the metal door, traveling in waves.

Beast Boy’s eyes flew open as he bolted upright in bed. At the other end of the room, a bright white light glowed behind the blackout curtains.

“It’s waffle time, baby!” The voice rang out again, this time bouncing off the walls as it carried toward the kitchen.

Beast Boy rubbed his eyes, still finding it difficult to open them completely. When he finally did, he saw that the clock read 10:34 a.m.

With a groan, he ran his hands over his face once more. The inside of his head spun like a broken rattle, clamoring with leftover thoughts and emotions he couldn’t parse out. All in all, he felt regrettably similar to the fateful morning he’d discovered he was the definition of a lightweight.

With all of the energy he could muster, he rolled out of bed and rummaged the floor to find a stray T-shirt to throw on. As he pulled the shirt over his head however, one of the puzzle pieces unveiled itself. His arm ached. Bad . And then he remembered why.

The door clicked open as he exited his room, eyes barely open. A hand instinctively flew to his face to shield his eyes from the piercing light that flooded in through the main window down the hall. He trudged into the kitchen, each step more taxing than the last. When he finally made it to the threshold, he caught a glimpse of a bedheaded Robin manning the waffle iron and Cyborg pouring himself a glass of orange juice. At the far end of the room, in her usual spot, Raven sat reading a book, a cup of tea hovering beside her. The sight of her made him flinch for a moment, as images of last night came rushing back to him. He tried, and failed, to ignore them.

The only person missing from the room was Starfire. Beast Boy blinked hard, rubbing his temple at the realization. Starfire missing on a Sunday morning could only mean one thing.

“ALLRRRRRIIIGHT,” Cyborg bellowed, setting his glass down on the coffee table with an enthusiastic thud. In his other hand, he waved around a few sheets of paper. “Who’s ready to DUNGEON SOME DRAGONS?” he hollered, like he was orchestrating a high school pep rally. When no one responded, he looked over expectantly at Raven.

“Uh...go team?” she said, in an equally unenthusiastic tone.

“Okay, I know you’re into this shit deep Rae, don’t even try it,” he said with a half smile. “The rest of y’all better’ve actually updated your character sheets this time,” he said with a smirk, now looking at Beast Boy.

Beast Boy froze, a lump in his throat. Not because of Cyborg’s joking glare, but because he locked eyes with Raven, who had also now turned to look at him. There wasn’t anything particularly threatening about her gaze in that moment, but Beast Boy still found it hard to meet.

“I, uh...,” he squirmed, trying very hard to look at Cyborg and only Cyborg as he said it. When that didn’t work he just stared at the ground. “I--I’ll be right back.” With a sheepish grin, he spun on his heels and retreated directly back the way he’d come.

With the door to his room shut firmly behind him, Beast Boy closed his eyes, hoping it would keep the room from spinning any more than it already was. But he was starting to think that the sleep deprivation wasn’t the only reason he suddenly felt nauseous. He peeled himself off the back of the door and slunk into the chair at his desk, shaking his head. He just needed to set his mind straight.

Red and green lights flashed in the cracks between his fingers as he booted up his computer, and the whirl of a fan began to take up some of the deafening silence. When the lights were replaced with a single steady glow he opened his eyes fully, fought the urge to slap himself, and opened several documents on the desktop.

First he scanned over his character sheet, updating the stats he already knew how to calculate. His current character was a half-elf bard named Tangus. You could have snapped him like a toothpick, but the guy was oozing with charisma, and as far as Beast Boy was concerned, that was what really mattered.The best kind of characters were the ones who could talk their way into or out of anything. Characters that were smooth and funny--charming, romantic, and likable. Characters who always knew just what to say.

He paused, then frowned at the thought. Maybe he was compensating for something.

Shaking his head, Beast Boy turned to one of the many other windows he’d pulled up--a spell database he referred to often. He was busy mulling around the idea of picking up another healing spell when he was suddenly interrupted by the chime of a notification from his computer.

He figured it had to be one of his friends yelling at him to hurry up. But when he searched around for the origin of sound, he found no new messages on discord or any of the other messaging apps he frequented. What he did find, buried under three layers of abandoned tabs was a sign of life radiating from his Facebook notification bar. Beast Boy narrowed his eyes at it. Facebook was buried that far back for a reason. After all, it was more of a publicity page than anything else. He didn’t have much of an alter ego, so keeping up a personal one was kind of a moot point.  

He had two new friend requests.

One of them he recognized right away. It was the friend request he’d gotten from Cold Stone two months prior that he’d never accepted just on principle. He sighed, almost a little disappointed.

But the second one--the more recent one-- did catch his eye.

It also looked very much like spam. The man in the profile picture looked a little too well put together. Almost like a stock photo. He had olive skin and dark hair that was slicked back cinematically. He brandished a full, welcoming smile. Like a dentist trying to promote himself and advertise his services at the same time.

Next to it Beast Boy read the name ‘Nicholas Galtry’.

He sat back in his chair.

For a reason he couldn’t place, the name felt...familiar. As if he’d encountered it once in a dream or in a movie he’d watched a long time ago.

He looked closer, clicking on the picture. Whoever it was, they had no mutual friends between them, and when he tried to investigate the man’s profile further, he only found one more hazy picture very similar to the first.

Once more, Beast Boy leaned back in his chair and stared at the screen. A weird friend request wasn’t really that much to worry about—usually. But something about the man’s face sat wrong with Beast Boy.

“Beast Boy? You ready?” Robin’s voice echoed down the hall.

“Uh...Yeah, coming!” he yelled back, quickly closing the tab and toggling back to his character sheet and clicking print. He swiped the papers out of the printer and ran back down the hallway into the main room.

Everyone was sitting in their claimed spots around the table—again, everyone except Starfire. Robin was just now making his way to the table with some pancakes. From the couch, Raven watched intently as Cyborg focused every ounce of his attention on the dice tower he was building.

No later than the second it came crashing down, Starfire burst into the room.

“Hello, friends!” she exclaimed, flying over to her spot at the head of the table. “I’m sorry I am late. But during my preparations for our game of dragons in dungeons I encountered the most interesting of objects.”

Everyone turned their attention to her--even Beast Boy, who hadn’t yet made it to the other side of the room. It was hard to not stop and stare at the thick ivory envelope she brandished above her head. In the center of it was a bright red wax stamp, like something plucked from a period drama.

“What is it?” Robin and Cyborg said in unison.

Starfire lowered the envelope and looked down at it, confusion in her face. “I am not sure. While I was taking the silkie out for a walk this morning, I noticed someone approaching our neglected box of postage,” she continued. “The stranger left it within and quickly vanished.”

Robin pouted, extending out a hand. “Mind if I take a look?”

With a nod, Starfire handed it over to him.  

He studied it for a moment, looking the envelope over back to front. Then he merely shrugged, handing it back to her. “I dunno. Looks like they probably had the wrong address.”

“We live in a giant T,” Cyborg said. “How do you mess something like that up?”

“Cyborg makes the good point,” Starfire said, taking the envelope back and holding it up to the light. She squinted at it as if doing so might reveal its true purpose. “I do not recognize any of these names. If they are names.” She squinted even harder.

“Lemme see that,” Cyborg said, extending out a hand. After reading the front of the envelope for himself, his face morphed from confusion to pure amusement. “Damn,” he laughed under his breath. “I feel bad for whoever this was supposed to go to. What a fucking name,” he said, handing the letter to Raven as it naturally began to make its rounds.

Once in her possession, Raven flipped the letter over in her hand, running her finger over the intricate seal on the back. She stared at it for a moment, eyes narrowed. Though that didn’t betray much, considering that her default expression always lingered somewhere between disinterest and disapproval.

Beast Boy found that in those few short moments he had inched his way decidedly into the room, as if drawn in by a magnetic force. He didn’t even realize that he had crept up behind her and had started to even lean forward to try and catch a glimpse over her shoulder until, as if on cue, she yanked it away and held it just out of his reach.

“Hey, lemme--” Beast Boy began to protest.

Raven narrowed her eyes again without saying anything, looking down at the envelope again.

A sly smile crept onto Beast Boy’s face. For a moment, he forgot why he had ever been so hesitant to enter the room. The scene felt so familiar.

In the span of a second, the letter was in his talons, Raven muttering a curse under her breath. When his feet hit the kitchen floor, Beast Boy had to stifle a snicker. He turned just in time to catch Raven shooting him her middle finger. And oddly enough, he breathed a sigh of relief at the gesture.

The relief didn’t last long.  

The moment Beast Boy flipped the letter over to its front, he froze. His eyes scanned over it a second time--a third and fourth. But the words on the front didn’t change. His heart rate did.  

“You okay, man?” Cyborg called to him over his shoulder, surrounded by the curious gaze of the rest of his friends.

Beast Boy quickly whipped around, dropping the letter in front of him and hastily picking it back up, pressing it to his chest. “Fine! I’m...fine.”

Starfire gaped. “Do you perhaps know who it is for?”

“No--I...I just--” He stammered. But before he knew it, Starfire was hovering over him, eyes transfixed on the envelope.

“I must ask,” she continued, completely disregarding his answer. “What is a ‘Gar’, and what may be the purpose of cultivating them in a field?”

“It’s just a name, Star,” Robin interjected.

“A terrible one,” Raven said, to no one in particular.

But to Beast Boy, the statement had felt unnervingly personal.

“Gar...field?” Starfire repeated again, testing the two sounds together as one.

Beast Boy stood silent, hoping his silence would go unnoticed.

It didn’t.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Cyborg asked again, leaning over and raising an eyebrow at him.  

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just had a...moment,” Beast Boy said, forcing a laugh. Doing so made his stomach turn. “Guess my brain tripped the off switch for a sec,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We’ll just drop it in the junk drawer for now,” Robin said, waving his hand dismissively and beckoning the two back over to the table.

“Yeah...” Beast Boy said again, placing the letter face down in the top drawer and sliding it firmly shut.

***

As much as Beast Boy had hoped it would, the pit in his stomach didn’t go away.

During training that afternoon, he had literally transformed into a fish out of water...twice. After lunch, he had consistently lost to Cyborg and Robin in Mario Kart, Smash, and every other game on the shelf. His two friends had even managed to bully Raven into playing, and losing to the worst player in the household (twice) had ultimately sealed his fate. In frustration, he’d resorted to watching the third season of The Office for the seventh time from the safety of his room. When that didn’t work, he switched to Vines. So many Vines. Too many Vines. And yet somehow not enough. Later that night, as he’d shuffled some tofu in a pan on the stove, he caught himself glancing over at the corner drawer every few minutes. Unable to shake the feeling of thick cardstock in this hand, he mindlessly dumped a fistful of soaking wet soy squares into the pan before him, showering himself with droplets of hot oil.

As he yelled out in surprise, there was a laugh from the other end of the room as Cyborg made a joke about the bathroom mirror Beast Boy had clumsily knocked over a few days ago.

“Seven years is a long time, man,” Cyborg laughed.

Beast Boy frowned. For once, he would have gladly attributed today’s mishaps to something as simple as bad luck.

In the darkness, the thoughts only got worse. Now that he’d had ample time to ruminate on who the letter had been addressed to, he shifted his focus to what the letter itself could actually have to say. Every thought that passed through his mind made him shiver, but he couldn’t bring himself to fight it. So he kept them all in equal circulation with a sort of morbid, torturing fixation.

Finally, he leaned over and grabbed the clock off his nightstand.

3:23 am.

He shoved it back into place and stared at the blank ceiling above him. Then he kicked off the covers and got out of bed.

Opening the huge metal door to his bedroom silently was virtually impossible, but Beast Boy managed to get through with just one shrill squeak. Before him, the hallway was completely dark and still. He pulled out his phone and switched on the flashlight, carefully navigating the short walk to the kitchen. In the main living area moonlight illuminated the hollow room with a lifeless glow.

Pausing between every step, Beast Boy made his way over to the fateful drawer and reached out a hand to open it. He bit his lip as he weighed the pros and cons of what he was about to do. A small voice in the back of his head screamed out, telling him to go back while he still could. This voice of course didn’t have any more of an idea of what the envelope contained than he did. But it at least had the sense to know that opening anything address to...well, Garfield...was asking for trouble.

But while his mind hadn’t yet finished arguing with itself, his body had already made up its mind. One minute his hand was on the drawer handle and the next it wasn’t. One minute his hand had been empty. The next, he found himself rubbing his thumb against the wax seal over and over, as if to test its reality.

He took a deep break and closed his eyes. This time he moved his thumb under the seal instead of over it, the sound of paper ripping ever so gently under...

“Beast Boy!”

Beast Boy’s gaze shot up as he instinctively clenched the letter tighter. Two glowing green eyes met his own from the other side of the room. He froze instantly.

The shadowy figure blinked several times before, with a short gust of wind, it came to a dramatic halt a foot from his face. Decked out in a robe, face smeared with some sort of expensive looking cream, and her hair tied up in a messy bun, Starfire stared down at him disapprovingly

“I was--I’m just--” Beast Boy fumbled.

“Just what?” She whisper-screamed, yanking the envelope out of his hand and wagging it around in the air. “Opening the mail that is not belonging to you is illegal!”

Beast Boy threw his hands in the air and took a step back. “I know, I know. I’m...sorry.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Starfire said, shaking her head.

“Sorry...I just...I didn’t think anyone else was awake,” Beast Boy replied, realizing that the response didn’t exactly prove him any more innocent. He looked Starfire up and down again, trying to gauge how likely it was that she would tell Robin about this. But it was hard to take the disappointment in her face seriously behind all of the beauty products and the towel wrapped around her head. “What are you doing in the kitchen at 3:30 in the morning anyway?” he asked in a desperate attempt to change the conversation.

“I am here to obtain a smoothie before I partake in my morning routine of the blogilates,” Starfire said, arms crossed. She shot him a suspicious look—like the kind that seemed permanently glued to Raven’s face—but it was too comical to take seriously. “I would ask you the same question, but it would seem you have already demonstrated the answer.”

Beast Boy sighed and looked at the floor. He couldn’t meet Starfire’s eyes. “Sorry. I know this looks bad. I just...I really didn’t wanna have to…”

“Have to what?” Starfire questioned.

Beast Boy hesitated. He took a deep breath and managed to get it out in one sentence. “I didn’t wanna have to tell anyone.” He quickly shot her a knowing look, then glanced back off to the side again.

Starfire was silent for a moment.

Even though he couldn’t bring himself to look at her, Beast Boy knew she was staring at him. After a moment her shoulders fell slack. Her jaw dropped, both hands flying to her mouth. She lowered them slowly just enough to speak and, after a minute, whispered, “Do not tell me... you are the Gar of Fields?”

An embarrassed half-smile crept onto Beast Boy’s face. “Kind of. I mean...I guess I am...or was. At least at one point in my life.”

There was a pause. And then Starfire’s expression did a complete 180. She gasped again, but this time with pure amazement--and Beast Boy wasn’t sure he liked this reaction any better.

“Oh, wonderful!” Starfire beamed, her eyes aglow in an entirely different light.

“It...is?” Beast Boy said, feeling a pit forming in his stomach again.

“Of course!” Starfire continued. “It must be that someone from your past is trying to contact you and inquire as to your well being,” she mused, a finger at her lips. “Perhaps it is a relative who wishes to hear of all of your daring heroic exploits? Or a childhood friend who has searched far and wide for you so that they may disclose their true feelings for you! Or a long lost sibling who yearns to be reunited with the brother they’ve never known?”

“Uh...I don’t know about all that,” Beast Boy said uneasily, still reeling from the emotional whiplash of their short conversation.

“Nonsense,” Starfire said, her voice growing more and more above a whisper with every word. She grabbed his arm with her free hand and began to pull. “Come! We must rouse  everyone and tell them of the news!”

“Star, no, hold up a sec,” Beast Boy said, grabbing at his wrist, heels dug into the floor. “You don’t understand. You can’t tell anyone .”

Starfire came to an abrupt halt. She released his arm from her grip, and turned to look at Beast Boy, her brow now wrinkled in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, glancing at the envelope in her hand once more. Beast Boy had never been a very good liar. And even if he were, it was impossible to lie to Starfire. So instead, he took a deep breath and told the truth without telling all of it. “Because… it’s embarrassing and weird,” he said. “I never really liked it.” At these words, his mind immediately jumped to the next logical thought. “Besides, if Raven or Cyborg ever found out they’d never let me live it down.”

“Hmmm,” Starfire hummed, tapping a finger on her cheek again. “Perhaps. But I still think it is a most interesting name and not embarrassing at all,” she smiled. “We already have two friends named after birds. Raven being one of them. My own name might even be considered strange. Raven has already observed that it somewhat resembles that of the equestrian cartoon characters she denies her admiration for.”

“Well, I guess the association with mine isn’t much better,” Beast Boy said, still anxious, but slightly relieved by the amusing predictability of his friend.

“What do you mean?” Starfire asked, puzzled.

“Well...Garfield isn’t really a popular name. The only thing people probably think of when they think of ‘Garfield’ is Garfield the cat. He’s like...a comic strip character or whatever.”

Starfire’s eyes lit up—literally.

“You share the name of a famous fictional feline?!” She exclaimed. “Oh, that is even better than the horses! I do not know how that could possibly be viewed as a negative. ”

Beast Boy didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say. He just stared at the letter in Starfire’s hand.

With a sigh and a smile, Starfire gently placed a hand on his shoulder, handing him the letter. “Have not the worry, friend. I will keep it the most deepest of secrets if that is what you wish,” she said solemnly.

Beast Boy sighed and looked up at her. “Thanks, Star.”

Starfire stood there only a moment more before she quickly grabbed two granola bars off the counter and turned to make her exit. “Well, I’ll leave you alone then,” she smiled. “I do not wish to intrude upon your communications via the mail of snail.”

Beast Boy managed a weak half-smile back which she matched just before she turned to grab a protein shake and head down the hallway.

Once Starfire was out of sight and well on her way to her destination, Beast Boy made a beeline back to his own room, letter in hand. Just as carefully as he had made his initial exit, he closed the door behind him with only the smallest of screeches. Although he felt a bit silly doing so, he locked the door behind him for good measure.

He turned on the small lamp next to his bed and, very aware of how out of it he was, plopped down on the center of the mattress. The lamp illuminated a few lines of elegant cursive lettering adorning the front of the envelope, the individual letters shining with a subtle reflective glint.

‘Garfield Mark Logan ’

He flipped the envelope over and after a moment of hesitation, ripped the wax seal off as fast as he could, like a band aid. The thick paper inside was folded with geometric precision, and unfurled itself in an almost mechanical fashion. The script inside was written just as carefully—by hand he could tell. With a deep breath, he tried to relax as best he could, and he began to read:

Dear Garfield,

I know that the arrival of this letter must be wholly unexpected and draw many questions to your mind. You likely do not remember me, as we were only acquainted for a short time when you were very young. Ideally, the information I hope to relay to you now would have been communicated some 3 years ago, on the advent of your eighteenth birthday. However, I will admit that it took longer than anticipated to contact you.

Though I may be a stranger to you, I am not so to the Logan family. And I feel that it is time you were made aware of several family matters which presently concern you. I know that the loss of your parents resulted in the loss of the remainder of your blood relatives. But I hope that you may entertain the idea that family runs deeper than blood. I wish you all the best and look forward to seeing you very soon.

Sincerely,

your friend,

Dr. Nicholas Galtry

[phan-of-the-pen]

I Dare You To Stay: Chapter 25

almost done my guys! the plot is back and there’s fluff too! enjoy!

Tags for chapter: v minor angst, fluff

Words for chapter: ~3 k

Fic Summary: Dan Howell is a barista working a shitty job, frequenting his shitty apartment, and living a shitty existence, hiding his asexuality and going for a PHD in self-depreciation and depression. Phil Lester is a part-time intern, part-time employee at a local weather station, trying to get experience in his field and make a name for himself, while juggling a second job at the nearby Tesco’s to give him some financial breathing room. Their paths were never supposed to meet, but what happens when they do anyways, one rainy day in Manchester?

(ao3!)

<-- Previous Chapter Next chapter -->

~~~~~~~~~~

Dan let his eyes travel across Phil's face. His gaze traced from the bow of Phil's lips to the slopes of his nose to the morning light fanning across Phil's cheekbones. Dan let his fingers leave the warmth of the duvet and brush away some of the black fringe that had fallen over Phil's face overnight.

Phil had been in Manchester all week for some time with Dan and to tie up some other loose ends that he would be leaving behind with a move to London. Last night had been the last one that Phil would be spending in Manchester for a while, and they had both wanted to spend the time together. Even regarding the fact that Phil had already signed the lease off his Manchester flat and didn't have a place to stay, it had been an easy decision for Phil to spend the night at Dan's. And after an already wonderful day and night together, Dan was more than happy to keep Phil in his grasp a little longer.

But he couldn't keep Phil forever.

Phil had a train to catch at about noon, and it was close to nine in the morning already. The train would take him to London, where he would be living from now on. The thought of saying goodbye to Phil without the assurance that he would be returning after a few days was daunting, and even though Dan wanted to be as supportive as possible, he just wanted to stay in bed with Phil forever.  

Who needed to work? They could both just lie here in their little bubble and forget the world.

Dan moved closer to Phil's still-sleeping form and tucked himself under Phil's chin. He closed his eyes once he was settled and let his body sink against Phil's. After a life of shutting people out and being shut out, Dan still reveled in how good it felt to be vulnerable in the presence and care of someone gentle and trustworthy.

Barely-there fingers running through his hair slowly pulled Dan away from his dreams. Groaning at the light, Dan just buried his face in Phil's naked chest. He felt Phil chuckle at his antics more than he heard it, and he certainly felt Phil's arms curl around Dan's body in order to hold him close.

"Morning," Phil said, his voice deep from sleep.

"G'morning," Dan slurred, rubbing his eyes fiercely with the bottom of his palms. A few moments passed, but their silence was easy and comfortable. Dan let himself drink up the physical contact, a nagging part of his brain reminding him that this was something that he wouldn't get whenever he wanted very soon.

He had just started to feel his eyelids get heavy once again when Phil stirred underneath him. Dan groaned as Phil moved and inevitably disturbed the gentle equilibrium they had achieved. Phil giggled, and his hands stroking over Dan's back stilled.

"You know," he whispered, "as much as I hate it, I'm going to need to get up soon, Dan. It's almost ten and my train is at noon."

This time Dan really groaned. Dan made sure that it was loud and drawn out enough to express the depths of his displeasure. The wounded sound made Phil's eye crinkle in fondness.

"I know, I know. You understand that I don't like it either, right? I want you around me just as much as you do. Leaving is going to suck, but we can get through this. I'm not that easy to get rid of."

Dan hummed to show he was listening. In reality, the words affected Dan more than he let on, and they made Dan's cheeks burn, but not in a bad way.

Phil pressed a kiss to Dan's temple. The action got Dan's attention, and he finally emerged from the comfort of Phil's chest to look up. Phil kissed him on the lips this time, and even though Phil was smiling too much to really make it a proper kiss, Dan was still satisfied and happy at the attention.

"Don't worry, we'll see each other in person before you even know it." Phil let one of his hands bury itself in Dan's curls. "And I'm not even gone yet, so you're not allowed to be sad yet."

"Oh, I'm not not allowed, huh?"

"That's right. Not allowed. You are legally required to be happy until noon today. Sorry for the inconvenience."

Dan laughed and pressed a kiss to Phil's jaw.

"I'll forgive you. When time did you want to leave for the station? I just need to know how much of my cuddle time is going to be missed."

"Mhm, sure," Phil muttered before shifting Dan's body over slightly, "Eleven fifteen? That should give me plenty of extra time to get to the station."

Dan's grin spread wide, and he tightened his hold around Phi's waist.

"Good. You can stay here a little bit longer then."

~~~~~

The ride to the station wasn't terribly long, and it is something that Dan is both thankful for and hates.

Part of him couldn't really stand sitting anxiously next to Phil—while pretending to be fine—any longer, and the other part of him froze at reality catching up with him as soon as the cab pulled up to the curb, waiting for the two of them to get out.

He helped Phil with his luggage, and he was a good boyfriend and paid for the cab before Phil could try and pull his wallet out of his pants.

Walking into the station wasn't that bad. Even watching Phil purchase his one-way ticket to London was manageable.

It wasn't until they were a few feet from the doors, a smattering of people having their tickets inspected by a worker before getting onto the train, that the full weight of what was happening hit Dan like a fucking truck.

His legs kind of stopped mid stride, and a soft, strangled sound escaped his throat. Phil turned, a confused look in his eye, but once he saw Dan's ashen face Phil's own expression softened into one of understanding. He closed the distance between them and dropped his bags at their feet. Phil wrapped Dan in a hug, and Dan collapsed against him. He hadn't realized how much he had needed this hug, but now that it was happening? Dan didn't think that he would be able to let go.

One of Phil's hands slowly rubbed Dan's back, and a sob escaped Dan before he could contain it. Phil only held him tighter.

"I don't want to lose you."

"You won't, I promise."

Dan's body tensed as the five minute warning sounded. They didn't have much time, and the sudden urgency enveloped the both of them.

"How can you be sure?" Dan cried, his white-knuckled fists clenched tight onto Phil's jacket.

"Because you're too important, Dan Howell." Phil responded, pulling away so that their faces were close. "You're too important to me. I'm willing to make this work. I am. I'll skype you as many times as you need me to, call you, text you, the whole package. And we'll visit each other as much as we can. I know that it's not the ideal set of circumstances, but trust me," Phil's hands found their way to the sides of Dan's head, pulling him in, "you're not going to lose me."

The kiss completely swooped Dan off of his feet, and the sheer intensity of it only had Dan kissing Phil back harder, eager for anything that Phil was willing to give. In some other distant life there was another warning for passengers to board the train, but it was so much farther away than Phil.

They broke suddenly, each of them gasping for their breath. Phil's eyes snapped to Dan's, and their celestial blue held Dan's gaze completely.

"This may not be the time or the place, but Daniel James Howell, you're never going to get rid of me because I'm staying. And I'm staying because I love you. I'm not going to give up on us."

Tears sprung up from the corners of Dan's eyes, and he threw himself back onto Phil. The kiss started off just like the last, but it melted into something gentler, softer, and full of emotion.

"I love you too," Dan muttered, "I love you too."

~~~~~

"Daniel!" Mary cried once she entered the shop. Dan had been scrolling on his phone while he waited for customers, but as soon as he heard her he snapped his head up and shoved his phone in his pocket.

"Hey, Mary," Dan said with a smile. He didn't even bother trying to hide his nonchalance because he was too happy to see the old woman. He was also sure that nothing would be able to hide the joy in his voice.

Mary had a cane now, and Dan was sure that it was because of her recovering from her surgery. It made her walk to the counter take more time, but that was okay because as soon as she got there Dan leaned over, and she wrapped him up in a great big hug.

"Oh, Daniel, I've missed you!"

"I missed you too." Dan laughed. "Now I'm certainly not complaining, but I thought you were still recovering from your surgery? And I don't want to hear about you coming all the way over here just to say hello if you weren't supposed to yet."

"Oh those doctors don't know a thing about me. I know when I'm ready to walk around, and I've been going bonkers sitting at home all day." Mary looked around. "Is Jaime working this morning? I was hoping to say hello to her too."

Something inside of Dan twisted at the sound of Jaime's name, and Dan struggled to maintain his composure.

"Ah, no, she's been spending a lot of time in London recently for the play. She hasn't been around a lot."

Dan had been sure that he had done an adequate job at maintaining the notion that everything was fine, but Mary instantly frowned and her lips pursed. Dan watched as she took a seat on one of the counter stools and set her purse down—she was obviously ready to stay as long as needed. When she was comfortable, she met Dan's gaze again.

"What's wrong, sugar? I've never seen you look so sad when we're talking about Jaime."

Dan felt himself deflate; there was no use keeping up the charade if she saw right through it. He scratched the back of his head, trying to find the words to explain to her exactly what was wrong. There were so many layers to the situation, and Dan didn't know where to start. He couldn't exactly think of a way to simplify it down to a clear, concrete this is what's wrong because Dan wasn't too sure that there was one. Things were just….wrong.

"It's a really long story, Mary. Everything's all kind of tangled together right now, and I don't want to take up your time."

"Daniel, I wouldn't worry too much about me having anywhere else to be," she said, laughing a little before turning serious once again, "but why don't you let me worry about that, alright? Tell me what's wrong, love."

Dan hesitated once again, but then he relented. He started from the beginning, and as soon as he started talking, it all came rushing out. Everything about the situations with Jaime—and even Phil—dribbled out of his mouth in a rambling, incohesive mess. Mary didn't interrupt him once, and she gave Dan all of his attention. By the end, Dan felt ten pounds lighter, but he also felt raw and kind of fragile.

"Have you been talking to anyone else about this, or have you just been holding it all inside?"

"I've been talking to my therapist, Gina, about the most of it."

"Good, just you make sure that you start talking to her about all of it. It's not good to hold up the bad stuff inside our hearts because when you keep too much of it there too long it starts to make you sick."

Dan nodded.

"I know, I'm trying."

"I know you are, and I'm proud of you. And in my experience, what Jaime's doing is something that people do an awful lot when they're in over their heads, which doesn't make any sense at all because that's when we need each other the most. But sometimes people get scared or sad, or they're hurting, and they push others away. We're all guilty of it, and something tells me that right now, Jaime is scared or upset, and she's trying hard to deal with it all by herself. It's not healthy and she needs someone to help her see that, but you haven't done anything wrong, Daniel."

"So you think I should show her that she should let people in?"

"Maybe if she was here, but it's horribly difficult to do it at such a distance."

Dan put his head in his hands and groaned.

"So there's nothing I can do to fix this?"

"Now I didn't say that. All you can do is wait right now and give her the space she wants. But once she starts to let you back in, make her feel welcome, and don't hold this against her. Be patient and let her know that you love her, and make sure to tell her that she doesn't have to face things alone. The only thing someone can do in a situation like this is to be there for the other person and let them know that they aren't alone."

"I just wish that none of this ever happened."

"I know hun," Mary said, patting Dan's hand, "I know. Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure, Mary."

"Have you told Phil about you thinking about moving in with him?"

"No." Dan grimaced.

"I think you should, baby. He'd be over the moon."

"But what if moving to London isn't the right decision?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if things between us don't work out? Or if he doesn't want to move in with me? Or if my job doesn't work out, or a million other things. What if moving to London is a bad thing? I mean, I'm fine here in Manchester. I have a flat and a job I can count on."

"Daniel, honey, every decision in your life is going to have a million possible bad things attached to it, but there are also a million good things too. What if this move brings you two closer? What if you find a place to work at that you love? Or what about how this move can ease your troubles over a long-distance relationship? You will never make a decision that doesn't have the potential to backfire, but you can't let that stop you. You can't let the fear of change stop you because then you'll stay put, and that's what I think you've been doing. You're not meant to be a barista for your whole life, Daniel, and you aren't meant to stay in this job and that flat just because it's stable. One of the things about life is that you've got to take risks sometimes."

"You think I should do it, then?"

"I think that you should think long and hard about it, and do what you're heart's telling you to do."

Dan nodded, his thoughts already a little distant.

He knew what his heart wanted. He didn't even really have to think about it, and he knew that Mary was right.

He just didn't know if he had the courage to do it.

~~~~~

Dan slid his luggage under his chair before sitting next to the window. He put his earbuds in and pulled up a playlist that he had made a few days earlier for this exact trip. As the beginning melodies of the first song started to play, Dan rested his head against the glass. Everyone had stopped boarding the train at this point, and how they all just had to take their seats.

He vaguely heard the loudspeaker announce that the train would start moving—he really could only make out the sound of someone speaking over the music playing in his ears, but not any words—and a few moments later Dan felt as the train lurched forward.

It was kind of surreal to watch the station glide past him, and soon they were out of the city and chugging along the landscape. Trees and hills kept flying by to the soundtrack that was playing in Dan's ears, but Dan was tired, so he let his eyelids fall closed.

He was on his way to London for a few days. It wasn't permanent—only a visit—but Dan was still more than happy. He and Phil had been apart for just over three weeks now, and the distance was killing them both.

Dan still hadn't talked to Phil about moving in yet, but he was more than planning on doing it. He just needed a when, and probably a few other possible jobs to make sure that Dan would be able to have one lined up by the time that he moved in. London was expensive, and Dan knew that if they were going to make this work then they both had to be working.

The future still had so many possible outcomes, both good and bad, and Dan still had so many ideas of what he wanted to do. None of them were completely settled, but they were no longer flimsy, transparent daydreams.

With a little bit more time, Dan was sure that something would come out of them.

He had a few hours to go before he arrived in London, and Dan slumped a little bit more in the chair, his eyes still shut. It was late, he had just gotten off of work, and he was tired.

In his pocket, Dan felt his phone buzz, and he smiled, knowing that it was Phil texting him to probably let Dan know how excited he was. Dan didn't take his phone out to respond, he was too close to sleep for that, but he knew what he would say. And he knew that Phil knew too.

Me too, Phil, he thought, I'm excited too.

[lovinglohst]

I Wanna Dance With Somebody: Chapter 1- The Shittiest Night Of Our Lives

Story Pairings: Boyf riends, Pinkberry, RichJake

Chapter Characters: Michael Mells, Brooke Lohst, Jeremy Heere

Chapter Warnings: Panic Attack (think that's it)

Summary: On the night of the Halloween Party, Michael is about halfway through having his infamous panic attack when Brooke comes tumbling into the bathroom, in the middle of her very own teenage angst. Michael lets her stay and the two sit in the bathtub and bond over their anger at their friends/super-mega-crushes. That’s when they get the idea to start fake dating to both get back at Jeremy and Chloe and win them over. Chaos, bonding, and gay ensue.

Authors’ Note: So we got this idea for a BMC fic and decided why not. To be absolutely clear- Michael and Brooke are not endgame. They’re just cute, platonic chaos gays. Enjoy! - Aly and Nik

AO3 Link 

“He went crazy trying to get it out !”

The air in the bathroom turned ice cold. Michael could feel his heart beating in his chest rapidly as if he’d drank one can too many of Red Bull. It was hard for him to believe that the boy standing in front of him was the same boy who’d been his best friend since pre-school. Because the Jeremy Heere before him was almost unrecognizable.

“Then I have nothing to worry about. Why would I want that?” The words cut into him, and Michael could feel small cracks forming in his heart. Jeremy looked away from him, jaw set as he moved for the door. Michael moved with him, refusing to let this go. Jeremy was going to end up hurt if he didn’t do something. He just had to make him listen . “Move.”

“Or you’ll what?”

“Get out of my way. Loser. ” Michael stared directly into those blue eyes. They were as cold as ice, glaring into Michael’s like he was a bug under his shoe. His chest felt heavy, his heart beginning to ache as it tried to jump from his chest. Holding back thick tears, he moved out of Jeremy’s way silently. The boy brushed past him, purposefully knocking Michael’s shoulder with his own as he left Michael behind. He didn’t even glance back, slamming the door shut. Michael flinched at the sound, letting out a shaky breath. His entire body felt numb as he stared at the wall blankly. He couldn’t think, couldn’t see, hecouldn’tbreathe- whycouldn’thebreathe-

“Hello?!” A sharp knock cut through the air, pulling Michael from his daze. “Some of us have to pee!”

“I’m having my period!” He called weakly, wanting to slam his face into the wall. Idiot, absolutefuckingidiot .

“...Take your time honey.” The voice answered gently, and Michael let out another ragged breath. He needed to sit down. His legs could barely hold him upright, his knees like jelly. He felt around blindly, his hand curling around the cool, porcelain of the bathtub. He guided himself into it, breath coming in short, rapid gasps.

He felt pathetic -he was pathetic- sitting here all by himself. He was in a fucking bathroom at the biggest party of the year, while Jeremy was out there having the time of his life. He’d probably found someone new to hang out with, someone to replace Michael. Like he was some broken toy.

The thought made him begin to shake uncontrollably, his vision narrowing till all he saw was the smooth bottom of the tub, his ears filled with the loud thumping of his still racing heart and some girl singing to a Whitney Houston song outside the door. The type of girl he and Jeremy would usually make fun of…

Michael pulled his knees to his chest, burrowing his head in between them. He was going to be sick, he just knew it. Everything was so loud, tooloud- ohgoditwastooloudmakeitstopplease-

A sudden, high-pitched shriek made him jump, head snapping up to see-

Oh, you had to be fucking kidding me right now …

Standing in front of him was Brooke Lohst, in all her glory. She was wearing the skimpiest dog costume he’d ever laid eyes on, with almost everything on display. It was everything a teenage boy could’ve wanted. Except for him. Everything he’d ever wanted had just told him he was a loser and then left him without a second glance.

“What are you doing in here?” Brooke questioned, her voice hollow and broken. It was only then that Michael realized that she was crying. Her usually flawless makeup was coming down her cheeks in streaks, face flushed a depressing shade of red as she stared at him with as much poise as a crying girl in a poodle costume could muster. He stared at her for a minute, trying to get his voice box to work.

“Having the shittiest night of my life.” He answered finally, resting his chin on top of his knees. Brooke slowly raised her hand, wiping at the makeup-stained tear marks on her cheeks.

“Same.” They sat there in silence for a moment, Michael silently debating what to do. Sure he kind of hated Brooke- not only because she was a bully but because she stole Jeremy from him- but she looked as shitty as he felt, which was concerning.

“Do you… do you wanna get in the tub with me?” He asked hesitantly, watching Brooke’s face twist in disgust. He quickly realized how that sounded, clearing his throat in embarrassment. “N-Not like that. Just-”

Groaning, he buried his face back in his knees. He wanted the Earth to just open up and swallow him whole, just to get out of this awkward situation. After a few moments, he heard Brooke’s slow footsteps coming closer. Lifting his head, he watched as she lowered herself into the opposite end of the tub carefully. She pulled her almost completely bare legs to her chest, the tags on the collar around her neck jingling quietly as she placed her chin on her knees in a position that mirrored his.

This was officially simultaneously the worst and weirdest night of his life.

“Am I ugly or something?” Brooke asked suddenly, making Michael pause. When he didn’t offer a reply, Brooke gazed directly into his eyes with fresh tears already forming. “No, seriously? Like, am I just hideous to look at?”

Michael’s mouth opened and closed quite a few time before he could force the ‘no’ from his throat. Looking dissatisfied, Brooke wiped at her cheek again.

“Then what is it about me that makes guys want to cheat on me? I don’t get what’s wrong with me.” Her voice broke, fresh tears beginning to fall again. “I try so hard, so fucking hard so that people will like me. I’m beautiful, I’m popular, I’m on the honor roll. But it doesn’t even matter, does it? All anyone is ever going to see me as is ‘Brooke Lohst, second best’. My own supposed ‘best friend’ doesn’t even respect me enough to not screw the guys I’m dating! And I just-”

Brooke let out an ugly sob, placing a hand over her eyes. Tears continue to slide between her fingertips, the small droplets plopping quietly on to the tub’s white floor.

“I’ve had a crush on my best friend for four years,” He admitted quietly, turning away when Brooke’s green eyes found his. “And tonight, he basically told me that I wasn’t good enough for him anymore. E-Even after all the things we’ve been through. Twelve years of him being my friend- my only friend- and he just throws it all away.”

Michael didn’t take his gaze off the sink, though he could feel Brooke watching him still.

“It’s definitely not the same thing, but it sucks just as much,” He let out a hollow laugh, tears coming down his face even quicker. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”

“Then I guess we’re both pretty pathetic.” She answered, and Michael finally turned to look at her. She gave him a sad smile, sticking out her ‘paw-glove’ clad hand. “Brooke Lohst.”

“Nice to meet you, Brooke,” He shook her hand, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at the absurdity of the situation. He was in a bathtub, at a party with the second most popular girl at school. “I’m Michael Mell.”

“Nice to meet you, Michael.”

“I don’t get how this is supposed to help,” Brooke whined, stabbing her straw into her slushie. She looked completely ridiculous in a poodle costume, sat upon the hood of Michael’s shitty 2007 PT Cruiser and holding a bright blue slushie in the 7-11 parking lot at two o’clock in the morning. Michael sat beside her, slurping on his red one like it was the last one he’d ever have.

“The cold helps to freeze your heart so that you can’t feel any more pain.” Michael joked, shrugging sarcastically. Brooke giggled, taking a hesitant sip of the ice cold drink. “Good?”

“I like Pinkberry better,” She sighed, taking another long sip of the slushie. “But this is okay, for now.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” Michael hummed, fiddling with his straw. Music was coming from his headphone, the faded sound of Bob Marley helping to fill the comfortable silence between the two.

“Tomorrow?” Brooke questioned, turning to look at him.

“O-Oh, I just kinda assumed- I mean-” Brooke giggled at his flustered expression, nudging him with her arm.

“I would love to hang out with you tomorrow. Not like I have anywhere else to be…” She trailed off quietly, staring at the bright neon sign on the store in front of them for a long while. “Do you…”

“Do I…?”

“Do you think that stupid computer made him cheat on me?” She asked, sounding a little hopeful. It had taken a while to convince Brooke about the SQUIP, mostly because of how ridiculous it sounded, but she'd quickly come around at the slight chance that yet another boyfriend cheating on her hadn't actually been her fault. Michael glanced down at her, straw between his teeth.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. That fucking thing is making Jeremy act all kinds of weird.” Michael's leg began to bounce, sitting still becoming to constricting. “Whoever that person is… it’s not Jeremy. Jeremy- the Jeremy I know- is kind, and funny and smart. I mean, yeah, he’s a bit of a tool sometimes- but he cares . He cares so much.”

Brooke blinks at him owlishly.

“You’re so gay it’s not even funny,” Brooke said finally, and Michael couldn’t help the laugh the ripped its way from his throat. Brooke joined in, giggling furiously. And in that moment, they weren’t the school stoner and the second-hottest girl in school. They were just Michael and Brooke, two very gay (bi, in Brooke’s case), very lonely kids who had found someone who understood them just a bit better than everyone else.

“You know what we should do?” Brooke gazed at him mischievously, laughter still bubbling in her throat.

“What?” Michael asked teasingly.

“We should date, just to make them jealous.” Michael looked at her sideways, tilting his head in confusion.

“Brooke, you realize I’m strictly into dudes, right? Like you’re amazing, don’t get me wrong. But you kinda don’t have the right… parts for me.”

Rolling her eyes, the girl slid off the hood of the car, dramatically placing her hands on her hips.

“I know that, silly. I didn’t mean we should actually date .” Brooke wrinkled her nose on the word, her tone suggesting she found the whole idea revolting.

“Feeling really flattered here, Lohst.” He said dryly, slurping his drink.

“You know what I mean! I just mean that we should pretend. Make them think we’re dating. Show them how happy we are without them!” Michael considered her words, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously.

“Do you really think that’ll work?” He asked, considering the girl. She had a determined fire glowing in her green eyes, smirking at him like a wolf closing in on its prey. It was… unsettling to say the least.

“It worked for Chloe and Jake last year. She fake-dated Dustin Kropp to make him jealous, and they got back together the next month. It’s totally fool-proof!”

Despite Brooke’s confidence, Michael couldn’t help but feel a nervous pit in his stomach. It didn’t sound as simple to him as it probably did to Brooke. She’d dated a bunch of guys (and a girl or two) before, but Michael had only ever loved and wanted one person. He wasn’t sure he could do it. Not with Jeremy probably watching his every move.

But why would he watch you? He asked himself, feeling cold. He’s made it very clear that he thinks you’re beneath him. So why not make him regret it?

Looking at Brooke’s expectant face, he nodded firmly.

“I’m in.” He proclaimed determinedly. Brooke squealed loudly, throwing her arms around his neck roughly. Michael paused for a moment, before wrapping his arms around Brooke’s small frame. It felt nice to be hugged like this- like she cared about him. It had been a while since he and Jeremy had done something like that, his heart clenching at the thought. He held onto Brooke tightly for a long while, before pulling back reluctantly.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun!” She giggled, pulling back to smile at him brightly. She brandished her slushie at him proudly. “To our new relationship!”

Michael smirked a little, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“To our new relationship.”

Chapter 2 --->

[lostcybertronian]

Bang, Bang

Darkstache fic, angst, hurt/comfort, guilt, mental breakdowns. (This is also posted on my AO3).

October 13th: the day Mark took everything from them. It's been a long time, but they're still struggling to live with the aftermath of what happened.

@mayor-damien-protection-squad (thought I’d tag you here since I’ve seen that you do encourage being tagged in this kind of thing. I hope you don’t mind.)

That day had been a rough day. His shell creaked and fractured, unable to keep together for more than a few minutes at a time, and the results of that showed: Dark's office was a void of gray and the dull ringing that normally accompanied him had reached fever pitch. Lights flickered and burst in showers of sparks wherever he went, incapable of withstanding the force of his aura seeping out in waves, suffocating any and all color. Thus, he'd shut himself in his office, treating anyone who dared poke their head in to images of bared teeth and fingers curled into claws. An eldritch horror framed in cyan and fluorescent red. He could only hope that the rest of the day would pass quickly and quietly. And then tomorrow he could put it behind him for another year. Then: Bang! Bang! The sharp crack of gunshots jolted Dark from his chair. Seething, he left his office and stormed down the hall, following the noise as more gunshots and a flurry of shouts rang out. He was not surprised to find himself at the door to the recording studio, the "recording" sign above the door lit up green. Still, Dark wasted no time in barging in. Bang! a bullet plunged into the wall, mere inches from Dark's head. "Damien!" Wilford squawked, hurrying to his side. At the sound of that name- long gone, but not forgotten- Dark's shell splintered, flooding the room with black and blue and red and rage. Then, as soon as it started, it stopped. Dark folded his hands behind him, the perfect picture of patience, surveying the room and taking in the corpses of a man and a woman (contestants of another one of Wilford's game shows?) sprawled on the floor, the Jim Twins huddling by the stage, Bim hovering protectively over them. Wilford, who was blood-spattered and flustered, and the last contestant standing, some poor schmuck who got to stare down the barrel of Wilford's gun. "What seems to be the problem here?" When at last Dark spoke, his voice was quiet. He appeared, for all intents and purposes, calm. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bim shuffle the Jim Twins back a few steps. He clearly knew better. Wilford, however, was undaunted. "Damien!" He cried, jabbing his gun in the contestant's direction. "You must tell this scoundrel off. I am a respected Colonel in the armed forces and I am sure as hell no murderer!" It took all Dark's willpower to remain in one piece. "What is your name?" The entity shot an icy glare at the surviving contestant, a scruffy man who was pressed against the wall. As Dark studied him, he could've sworn he looked like- "Abe." The man answered shakily, "my name is Abe. Pl-please don't kill me-" Bang! Wilford shot at him, the bullet missing by no more than a centimeter. The man- Abe- froze, cringed, frightened tears spilling down his cheeks. "I'm not a fucking murderer!" The pink ego snarled. Dark gritted his teeth, rolled his head side to side, cracking his neck. This was going downhill quickly. He had to get Wilford out of there. He placed a hand on Wilford's shoulder, reached for the gun. "Wil-" "Don't Will me, Damien!" Wilford swiveled to face him, dark eyes alight with desperation, with madness. Above them, the studio lights began to flicker. "Will . . ." Dark warned, but it was too late. One by one, the lights exploded in cascades of pink sparks, sending shards of glass flying and plunging the studio into darkness. Behind him, someone- one of the Twins? Bim?- yelped, but other than that, the room was silent. "I'm not a murderer." Wilford choked out finally. He sounded like he was crying. "They . . .they were accidents. Jokes." Then he spun on his heel and fled. Dark barely had time to bark, "Bim, clean this up!" before he was gone too. A group of people were clustered outside the door, and they stared at Wilford as he burst out of the studio. Wilford (William? Colonel? What was his name? Which name was he?) immediately raised his gun. He only had one bullet left, but he would make it count. "Wilford." A man he didn't recognize, dressed in a long white coat and scrubs, a circular mirror fastened to his forehead, stepped forward, hands raised as if to appear non-threatening. "Put the gun down, okay? I'll take you to the clinic and get you cleaned up-" "That's not my name!" Wilford hissed, pushing past him, the others who had gathered, making for his room. "Get away!" He heard someone- Damien?- calling out his name, but he paid no heed, choosing instead to seek solace from the curious, prying eyes, from the figures of blue and red flickering at the edges of his vision. A woman, bathed in red, sneering at him. A man, dressed in blue, lying prone against the wall, his face one of pure agony. "I'm sorry!" Wilford cried, fat tears welling up, spilling over. "I'm sorry!" He made it to his room, throwing open the door, slamming and locking it behind him. And there he stayed: huddled in the furthest corner of his bright pink-covered room, back firmly against the wall and gun cradled against his chest as if he could use it to fend off the memories overloading his brain. It couldn't have been long before Dark came for him, high-pitched ringing and black-gray tinges of aura alerting Wilford to the man's presence before Dark was even there, stepping through the door as if it were nothing. "I didn't kill you, Damien." Wilford whispered, visibly relieved. The knot in his chest loosened a tiny bit. There was a strange expression on Dark's face as he shook his head. He wandered carefully closer, cracking his neck as he did so, straining to keep his shell in one piece. Recognition and a mix of guilt and sadness flickered through Wilford's eyes. "Why do you do that?" He asked quietly, "you never used to do that, Damien." Images flashed through Dark's mind. A gunshot. Falling. The sickening crack of fragile bones breaking as his borrowed body hit a cold, unforgiving floor. He chose not to respond. Instead, he held out his hand. "Give me the gun," he said. After a moment of hesitation, Wilford did, handing over his weapon as if it physically pained him to do so. Dark tucked it inside his suit jacket pocket and settled heavily next to him. Then, giving a soft sigh, his hand found it's way to Wilford's, frigid fingers clasping Wilford's warm ones gently. His shell was split, afterimages of him breaking away, wreathed in red and blue, visions of rage and hatred and guilt. But Dark said nothing, and the pair sat in silence. After a while, Wilford spoke. "My name . . . isn't William. And yours isn't Damien." He chuckled softly. "Don't know why I thought it was." Dark shrugged, running his thumb over Wilford's hand. He tilted his head from side to side, feeling the bones shift and realign, feeling his shell snap back into place as well. "I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you." "But," he added, leaning over to kiss Wilford's sweaty, blood-spattered temple. "Wilford is a perfectly fine name." Wilford's face brightened and he hopped to his feet, tugging Dark up with him. "Damn right it is! Now, we have no time to waste. There are game shows to run and things to do!" All traces of his breakdown forgotten, Wilford yanked Dark along as he practically skipped from his room, happy as a child on Christmas morning. Dark allowed it, grateful that the broken, guilt-racked William was gone, replaced by lighthearted, bubbly Wilford Warfstache once more. It happened this way every year on October thirteenth, every anniversary of the day that Mark took everything from them. Dark shook his head, banishing the thought. Now was not the time to think about that. He had to focus on keeping Wilford safe from himself. So he smiled and nodded as the pink ego babbled about upcoming interviews and ideas for new episodes of Markiplier TV as they walked hand-in-hand down the hallway and thought that maybe there was a chance the day could be salvaged after all.