#my communication feels garbled this eve

[skylordhorus]

there are ppl on tumblr.com who learnt that their country (usually usamericans because that seems to be the cultural majority here) has done awful shit, are understandably ashamed, but decided to go to the extreme ends of ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ and do whataboutisms in discussions where it’s uncalled for, or at worst, actively engage in propaganda

[allen-etcetera]

Hiatus: DHL Mind Upload (Gene's Transition to Robot)

[ CONTENT WARNING FOR DISSOCIATION, EXISTENTIALISM, AND BECOMING A ROBOT ]

Date: 50/96/3

I'm Gene Therac, a facility operator and AI tester at the Department of Human Longevity. I'm 36 Pre-Smog years old and I have been commissioned by my supervisor, Stuart Hennings, to be the first subject for a brain upload. In simple terms, my consciousness will be transferred to a robot's body. Hennings believes this can resolve the problem we have with food and, frankly, the decline of humanity on this damned rock. To ensure safety and give an idea of what goes on for potential future subjects, I have to take notes of what's happening in real time. Hennings trusts me to be the first subject as I've thoroughly studied Avenue and Sircam's behaviors and how they respond to things compared to humans. Next, he likely knows I'm the least... able, so to speak. I have a really bad leg, I'm albino and burn in the sun, and I've got bad lungs since I was outside when the Smog happened. To everyone there, it's less risky if I die instead.

50/97/3

It's time, and I've been mentally preparing. I have no idea if this will work or not, but the payoff if it does is euphoric to even think about. I enter the lab room, and it's full of workers and supercomputers surrounding a bed with straps. They make room for me as I lean down on the bed. I'm strapped to the bed, but not too tight. My long hair was shaved off so there wouldn't be any interference with the next part: this dome thing that goes over my whole head. I take a few deep breaths as they count from 5, and immediately I feel a sharp pain in my head as the machine emits a loud whirr.

I can't do anything about it, nothing in my body can move, not even my eyes. I feel as though the bed spins out of control, and I catch a view of the room from the door that's no longer there. The pain stops suddenly, and the workers in the lab start discussing something. I know the words, but can't make the connections. I fall down from where I was looking, gazing at several doors. The first door shows me a house, but it looks way too expensive. The second door shows elves in a ballroom, pointing to the next door while they remind me that my name is Gene. I open the third door, and find a desk with a control panel. I approach the control panel, and look at my hands. Static. Television static. I am only a genral humanoid shape right now, so I have to enter the password to access this panel so I can get a more defined shape. As I press enter, I'm launched to space. This is wrong, I need to get down from here so I can continue the upload. I descend, I don't have time to slow down and I feel as though I'm burning from returning to Hiatus. Before I know it, my hands are metal pincers.

50/99/3

According to my coworkers, the process took days. That feels like an error, as I only experienced five minutes. However, this cannot be debunked, as the current date is 50/99, and New Year's Eve is today. They feed the information to the keyboard plugged in the side of my head, but I want to hear them talk. I try to speak, but it comes out as unintelligible garbled mess.

"Gaaaaarmmmeamomomomorrrr..." I say.

Understandably, they have no idea what I meant. I don't have a mouth, so I don't know what to articulate until Hennings says something that gets picked up by my not ears. It takes a while to understand what he's saying, as if I need to remember how communication sounds.

"Stop trying to talk with a mouth, there isn't one. Use your speaker, think of how Avenue does it." He says.

I try again, forming more of coherent language.

"Hhhhhowawawa... Ewowowyuyyyyyuhhh... PROFANE WORD FILTERED. Hooow doooo I mooove? Diiiiid iiiit woork?" I vocalize.

The staff confirm that I am, indeed, a robot now. It worked... It FILTERing worked! I need an adjective, I forgot what those are. An adjective is a word used for describing a noun. Happy, sad, angry, hungry. Adjectives. I spin my pincers at the wrists and flinch, expecting immense pain of breaking bones, yet nothing happens. I try to close my hand, but it doesn't work the way I expect it to. How does a robot do it? Wait. The pincer isn't a hand, and seems to have wheels at the end... I think about the wheels turning, then a slider moving. It works, and I manage to close both hands. I then attempt to move forward, only to feel no legs. I input 75 degrees on my neck, turning it to face the floor. I am using the bottom of a cart, meaning I am using wheels. Forward, move forward by ensuring all wheels spin in unison. I move forward, as needed. It's strange, movement now feels like I'm picturing numbers, turning dials, and moving sliders all with my mind.

"I thrthzzzink I have it now. Therthink. Think. Yeah." I claim.

"Really? That was faster than I thought. How does it feel?" Henning asks, typing into a PDA.

"Confiusing, it feelss like operating a tank with my brai... Brain. Using dials, sliders, and inputting numbers with my brain." I answer.

"That makes sense. Now, tell me what this is."

My display switches to a bunch of colors arranged in a way that indicates the interior of a cube. But there is a protrusion at the bottom... Wait, I know what this is: It's a room, the kind for a house. In the corner is a vertical line with the base of a circle laying horizontally. The top is a white cylinder, and the area around is tinted white... It's a lamp. Logically speaking, the objects nearby should be furniture for this kind of room, but instead I see something red and rectangular... It should be a sofa, but all I see is an abnormally long armchair.

"Is it a living room?" I ask.

Hennings gives a simple "yes" and reactivates my vision. I can see my own body without issue, yet everything else will still take some getting used to. My only guess is that my body has markers that ensure I'm always comprehensible. I am then shown a mirror, and see the visage of a robot. I have an old television for a head that displays things on the screen. On the screen is a lightbulb, because that's what I'm currently thinking about.

I'm guided by one of the scientists to my room. It at least looks like my room, based on my memory database. The scientist shows me what she calls a phone, claiming it to be my own. They show me a picture of two humans, but I can't seem to determine the gender or ethnicity of the two humans. All I know is that they're both smiling, and they're adults given they're far too tall and aged to be children, but not yet old enough to be considered elderly due to the lack of wrinkles or sagging facial features. In fact, I can't seem to determine the gender of the scientist holding the phone. I ask them, and they confusedly inform me that they are a woman.

She then shows me... How I used to look. I recognize him, but I don't recognize him as me. It's as if I'm looking at a distant acquaintance, not me. Knowing Hennings, that was likely on purpose to help reduce any potential body dysmorphia. However, it still messes with my head. I try to access the memories of before I got uploaded, and they all seem to play in third person, and I still don't recognize Gene Therac as myself. Somehow, I can even access memories that I couldn't remember in my human form. Being born, starting school, my first crush, getting run over and my leg being rendered useless, the Smog, saying goodbye to my parents. I CAN ACCESS ALL MY MEMORIES WHENEVER I WANT, AND IT'S ALL IN THIRD PERSON LIKE I'M WATCHING THE WORLD'S MOST BORING ANIME. The scientist in the room looks at me with concern, asking if I'm okay.

"Systems are running optimally," I say, "I just... didn't expect all my memories to be accessible like this. It's both fascinating and terrifying. Looking at who I used to be is like looking at an acquaintance instead of me."

She types the information in, and speaks to me about how much of a marvel I am, and how many lives I've saved just by proving that something this advanced is possible. She gives me a hug, and I feel my CPU heat up. Never before has a hug felt like this, but it feels very comforting. But how? How did Hennings get the touch sensitivity to work like this? There's even an algorithm for touch sensitivity. After a while, the hug is broken, and she hands me my charging cord. She states that I don't really "sleep" anymore, as that can mess with all the software in place, but I also don't need to sleep anymore. Every so often, though, I should reboot or update my backup data in case this body is no longer operational.

No longer operational? I can die and just get a new body or something? I'm effectively immortal? I'm effectively immortal. I'm the reason that the human mind will transition to something somehow more advanced than a brain. We've saved humanity on Hiatus. No more hunger, no more thirst, no more need for sleep, and no more aches. I won't burn in the sun anymore, and if a part stops working I can just get a new one... I feel optimal.

I plug the charger in and feel myself shudder in response. Odd. I plug the other end into the wall, and wait until I'm at full battery. In the meantime, perhaps I should rewatch some of the best memories I had as a human; I want to ensure I never forget the joys I had as a human, and the journey that led to this new chapter--this new book--of my life.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I’m 11 anon , I was going for happy 11 , poor bean needs a break , but upset 11 sounds just as good 👀

CW: HEAD BANGING, negative stimming resulting in self-injury, PTSD/trauma response, trauma recovery, captor bonding

Tagging Chris’s crew:  @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump

By the time Jake gets home, Chris is already there, and he’s screaming. 

Antoni is staring at him in white-faced alarm, pressed back against the wall, and it’s the first time in a while that Jake has really remembered that he is the only person in the new house who has spent his entire life free.

The text had been garbled, half-typed letters and confusing autocorrect words, as though Chris had simply mashed his thumbs into the phone and hoped for the best. Looking at him now, Jake wonders if that’s exactly what he did.

“I came as soon as I could,” Jake says, having to shout over Chris’s wordless shrieking as he pulls Antoni away from the wall by one arm, pushing him towards the doorway to the other end of the house, where the bedrooms are. “You’re okay, man, you’re okay, it’s okay. Can you go sit in your room for a while? Until I can calm him down?”

Antoni’s eyes flicker up to his, and there’s a desperation there, hysterical panic under a placid surface. “I-I do not know what happened, Jake,” Antoni says, his accent thick now, filtering in around his fear. “I do not know, he came home and asked for you and you were not here and he began, he, he started, he will not stop-”

“I know, I know, I know. Come on, Antoni, come on, go back to your room, all right? Calm, Ant, it’s okay. I got this, I can help him, okay?”

“Jake, Jake, she used to scream like that with him, my, when I was there, when I was-”

“I know, Antoni, I know, I remember you telling me-”

“She used to scream like this, Jake!” Antoni is rubbing furious at his arms, jamming his palm against his forearm right through the fabric of his shirt, dragging it back and forth, back and forth. “She used to scream, she used to scream at night, I had to put my hands over my ears and could still hear the screaming-... Chrisha is screaming, is, is screaming make it stop make it stop-”

“Antoni!”

The snap of Jake’s voice, loud and harsh, jerks Antoni back into the present and he takes a breath, staring into Jake’s eyes. 

“Antoni, you have to calm down, I can’t help you both right now. I have to focus on one of you. Go to your room and try to calm down, I’ll be in after you, okay?”

“Calm.” Antoni shivers under Jake’s touch, shoulders hunched, staring down at the ground. “Calm, calm, спокойный, yes, I can, I can calm down, I can-... you will help Chrisha, I can calm-”

“Go, Antoni.” Jake gives him a little push and Antoni all but flees down the hall. Jake stands there in the doorway, listening to Chris behind him, closing his eyes. 

Deep breath, Jake. Deep breath. You’re the only one who hasn’t had to live like they have, you’re the one who has to fix it, now. Nat isn’t here. This is all on you.

He sets his shoulders back and turns around.

Chris, blue hair hanging around his head and dressed in a flannel over a t-shirt and jeans, is curled up in the corner nearest to the front door, bashing his head against the wall in a constant frantic repetition, half-screaming around his tears, hands curled up over his face as though he’d claw off his own skin.

Thunk. “M-my fault-” Thunk. “Did it, I did it, my fault-” Thunk. “Didn’t mean didn’t just just just wanted-” THUNK. “Just, just, just wanted-” THUNK THUNK THUNK THUNK.

Jake has never seen Chris like this before - the sound of his head against the wall is so loud Jake feels it inside himself as much as he hears it - and he runs for him, only to have Chris jerk back and away, wailing words he can’t understand, they are too deeply drowned in tears, stammered syllables that mean nothing, communicate only pain and fear.

THUNK THUNK THUNK THUNK

“Chris, man, you gotta talk to me,” Jake says, falling onto his knees on the ground, reaching out again and sliding his hand between Chris’s head and the wall, catching the hard thump of his skull and wincing at the flare of pain in his palm. He slips the hand around behind Chris’s head. “Come on, Chris, come on, here we go, here we go-”

This time Chris allows himself to be pulled away from the wall, away from a spot of red Jake can see there, and he searches through the blue strands and lets his fingers graze Chris’s scalp until he finds the place where he’s opened a cut on the top of his head from banging it so hard, red soaking into the blue hair and turning it an awful brownish purple. “Chris, man, you can’t do this, you can’t-”

“Everyone,” Chris gasps, burying himself with sudden urgency against Jake’s chest, bawling into his shirt, clutching onto it with his fingers twisting so hard that Jake is worried he’ll tear the fabric apart from the strength of his grip. He starts bumping his head against Jake’s collarbone, but it’s softer than he did to the wall, and Jake can handle it if that’s what it takes for him to calm down.  “Everyone, everyone, ev-, everyone everyone everyone everyone-”

“Sssshhhhhh.” Jake wraps his arms around Chris, holds him as tightly as he can, knowing the constriction of being held will calm him a little, settle some of the panic that has Chris’s heart beating as fast as a bird’s, more a low hum than separated heartbeats. “Sssshhhhh, ssshhhhh, take a breath, come on, man, you gotta talk to me, your texts were-... they looked like you had a stroke, man, I didn’t know-... what happened?”

Chris sniffs and tries to breathe, but then he’s sobbing again. It’s a wretched sound, weak and young in a 22-year-old body. “Ev-... everyone, everyone dies, everyone d-d-dies, everyone dies dies dies because I mess up, I always mess up, I always, I never, I always always always-”

“Chris, man, what are you talking about? Who died?”

The boy catches his breath and pulls slowly back, and Jake slides his hands up to cup his face on either side, looking at wide, glittering green eyes, tears still spilling out of them, running like pure water over the flush of blood in his cheeks, the whites of his eyes red-rimmed, shadowed, miserably grieving. “S-Sir,” He whispers. “Sir died.”

Jake takes a breath and lets his eyes cut to the side, trying to hide the surge of a kind of merciless, humorless about goddamn time that wants to swell inside of him. “How... where did you hear that? He’s supposed to testify-”

“Th-the news, Marissa’s... her her her roommate read it on, on NPR, on their site, on their-... he’s dead and it’s my fucking fault, it’s always me, it’s always, it’s me, me, me me me I fuck it up and I do what I’m not supposed to and they die, they always die, everyone dies when I screw up, I screwed up, I, I, I I I I-”

“Sssssshhhhh,” Jake says again, just trying to buy time, just trying to process the information. Oliver Branch is dead? It doesn’t seem fucking possible. He’s been a ghost haunting Chris for more than four years now, popping up whenever Chris is rebuilding just to make things a little harder for him than they have to be, a little worse. “How did he-”

“D-Drowned.” Chris’s voice is a whimper. “In the, the river down by the bridge.”

“Drowned.” Jake swallows, closes his eyes. He’s dreamed a thousand times of ways to kill Oliver Branch, but drowning always seemed too simple, too easy. Not enough pain, not enough suffering, not enough to make up for what he’d paid to have done to a kid who couldn’t fight back. “Okay. Can I ask why... why you hurt yourself... over him?”

Chris curls himself into a tiny ball, sliding his arms around Jake now to hold on, fingers interlocking behind his back as best they can. Jake’s hand slides up to Chris’s hair on the uninjured side of his head, petting through the long, shining blue strands, letting him take his time to think, listening to his stuttering breaths.

“Everyone dies,” Chris whispers, and Jake feels something cold wrapping around his heart. “Everyone dies because of me.”

“Not true, buddy,” Jake says gently. “Not true. I’m still here, right?”

“Until I, I, I screw it up again. Mom and, and, and Dad died because of me, everyone-everyone-everyone dies-”

“Wait. Hey, hey, Chris, wait, hold on, back up. Your parents are dead? Do you know that for sure-... did you remember that?”

Chris swallows, hard and slowly tips his head back to look up at Jake again, searching his face, his own crumpled nearly unrecognizably with a feeling Jake realizes is grief. 

“I think so,” He whispers. “I, I, I think they died because I messed up. And I, I kept messing up, that’s why I-... why I’m this now, I think that’s why I’m this, because I mess up, I mess up all the the the time-”

“That’s not possible,” Jake says, trying for a hint of some kind of compassionate humor. “You’re perfect.”

Chris’s expression doesn’t change. “He’s, he’s dead, Jake.” His lower lip quivers, childlike, and Jake leans forward to rest his forehead against Chris’s, hands cupping his face, holding him. “He’s dead, be-be-because of me, I know it, I know he is, because everyone who touches me dies-”

“No, honey,” Jake murmurs. He’s not sure where honey comes from, it just slips out, he sounds like his mom. “No. Not everyone, I promise. Antoni and I are still here, right?”

“B-But, but remember when, when the the the-”

“But they didn’t kill me. I came back home to you just like I promised. It’s okay, Chris. It’s okay.”

“B-but he, he, he’s dead, Jake, he’s dead, he drowned, and I know it’s ‘cause of me, I, I I I know it, I know it’s b-because of me, I know it-”

I fucking hope so. He deserved worse.

Jake just holds Chris tightly, shushing him softly, listening to his little hitched breaths and choked-off sobs as he slowly calms. 

“I, I moved when I was supposed to stay still,” Chris whimpers, tucking himself under Jake’s chin like he did when he first came to stay at the shelter and would find his way into Jake’s bed at night just to sleep near a warm body, fingers curled in Jake’s sleep shirt just like they’re curled into his shirt right now. “That’s why they died. Why he died. Because I moved when I was supposed to be, be still.”

“Chris... are you really sad he died?” Jake asks the question in a low voice, trying to keep emotion out of it, to not let the sense of how the fuck can you be sad? make its way into his voice. Nat would be better at this than he is, but this is what happens, he knows this. Just like Kauri - they miss the ones who hurt them, it sticks in their heads even after everything else is dismantled. 

“He, he, he he he shouldn’t be dead,” Chris whispers. He doesn’t answer the question, but Jake knows he doesn’t have to.

There’s a scrape of a foot on the floor and Jake looks up to see Antoni lurking in the doorway again, still white-faced but calmer now that the screaming has stopped. His dark eyes are wide, white-rimmed, the shadows that always dust his cheekbones darker than ever. Jake opens his arm to gesture and Antoni all but runs across the room, drops into a crouch and curves his arms around Chris, too.

The three of them sit on the floor in the house Jake bought using Nat’s goddamn blood money from WRU, and there’s a long moment of silence before Chris whispers, “I hate him but, but, but I never wanted him to die because of me.”

“I know,” Jake murmurs, and presses a kiss to the top of Chris’s hair, careful not to hit the sore spot where he bashed his own head into the wall. “But it’s not your fault. He’s the one who did all that to you. He could have chosen not to hurt people, and he made a choice to hurt you, okay?”

“Okay,” Chris whispers.

Jake can’t help the sinking disappointment. Oliver Branch, slimy motherfucker that he was, knew who Chris used to be. Promised to tell them, after he testified.

Now they still wouldn’t get to know. Jake still couldn’t figure out some way to get Chris back to the people who must love him, miss him.

Unless he really had remembered that his parents were dead. Unless that memory's real. Unless-

“Chris, do you remember your parents’ names right now? If you remember they died, do you remember their names?”

Chris sniffs.

Antoni raises his eyes to meet Jake’s, and Jake lifts a hand to run through his hair, too. Antoni ducks his head into the touch, eyes closing, pressing into Jake’s hand.

Jake forgets so often that Antoni is a rescue, too. He’s so calm and caring and giving to Chris, acts just like Jake does, and Jake forgets all the time that it’s an act for Antoni, papering over deeper wounds.

Until he smiles when Jake pets him, instinctive need for soothing touch, a bone-deep compulsion that you can’t really break.

“No,” Chris admits, finally. “I’m I’m sorry, Jake, I know we want to, to to to know, I know we want, I know-”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry. Look... if you want...” Jake swallows his disgust. This isn’t about you, Stanton. “If you want... we could send flowers to whoever’s his next of kin. He probably has someone, still, right?”

“Th, that’d be nice... maybe...” Chris closes his eyes and stays curled against Jake, his voice slightly hoarse and raw from screaming. “I’m sorry he died. He, he, he, he wasn’t always bad, Jake.”

Yes, he was.

“I know,” Jake says, gently. “I know. It’s okay to grieve, Chris. You’re allowed to miss someone, even someone like him.”

Even if I’ll never understand how you can.

“Everyone dies,” Chris whispers. “Everyone dies when I don’t stay still.”

It feels like Oliver Branch’s final fucking gift, that even as a bloated corpse he can make Chris blame himself for the way the world has relentlessly torn him apart.

[machihunnicutt]

Not Selfish

Chapter 3

(or read on ao3.)

Connor Murphy figured out that he was gay when he was 10. Of all the confusing bullshit in his life, kissing boys was the one thing that made perfect sense. And he did kiss a boy for the first time when he 13. And the boy had crooked teeth and endless freckles and told him not to tell anyone. He told Zoe and his parents his senior year. He told them after he tried to end it and was back in therapy and starting medication. Keeping it secret had been a tight ball of anger and shame in his chest for so long. As much as he had isolated himself and kept everything in him a mystery for so long, it was a release to say aloud the one thing he'd been careful never to say. And his mom had cried and told him she loved him. His dad had patted him on the back and cleared his throat a lot and failed at not being totally awkward about the whole thing. But that was better than he had feared deep down. Zoe shrugged  and said she was bi so she couldn't care less and then they had a long conversation about both of those confessions and it was probably the longest they had talked without yelling at each other back then.

It had been easier with Evan. Evan had already seen him at his worst. The day after he tried to kill himself Evan showed up at the hospital to see him. They weren't even friends back then. They were English partners because they were the two rejects of the class and one day earlier in the school year Connor had shoved him in the hallway and later found his letter to himself. Of course back then he didn't know what it was and had flipped his shit before Evan had stuttered out what the letter was for and Connor had looked at him like maybe they had something in common. But nothing came of it. Nothing needed to because he thought he'd be gone soon.

So when he showed up Connor was surprised. "What are you doing here Hansen?" He asked. His voice came out garbled and rough. His arms were heavy and bandaged and felt like they were stuck to his sides.

"I-I heard that you were...I um, I think your mom might think we're friends because I uh. I called your phone when you didn't show up at the library to work on our English project and she p-picked up and s-said you..."

"You still didn't answer my question."

"I w-wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm not," he said flatly.

"I'm glad you're alive," he said suddenly.

"You're the only one." His voice had cracked in a way he hadn't expected.

"I lied about how I broke my arm." Connor looked up at him, standing awkwardly and nervously in the doorway. "I didn't fall out of the tree. I climbed to the top and I let go. I thought...I wanted to...look, l-life is worth living. I'm not sure w-what for but I'm glad I'm still here and I'm glad you are too and..."

"Why are you here? We don't even know each other."

"We're English partners," he said, brutally serious.

Connor still didn't know why Evan came to the hospital that day. He asked him once they were friends and Evan didn't have a solid answer. He was like that.

So no, the gay thing wasn't hard with Evan. A lot of things weren't hard with Evan. And the things that were hard were worth pulling through for.

So it was kind of panic inducing to see him laying on the ice and not moving.

"Ev you're going to have to say something because you're scaring the shit out of me."

Connor was in the yard, seemingly the closest he could get without hyperventilating. Evan said something that he couldn't make out and his shoulders relaxed a fraction. He was okay. He hadn't hit his head and knocked himself unconscious or something else terrifying.

"Connor, come help me get him up," Jared said, turning back to him with a serious expression. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that they'd been making out two minutes ago. He was trying to put together that and the fact that he'd liked making out with Jared Kleinman a lot.

Connor nodded and hurried over to Jared and Evan in the driveway. He didn't realize how much he was shaking until Evan pointed it out. "Are you okay?" he asked, sounding a little dazed. He had his arm around Connor and Jared's shoulders and they were lifting him slowly.

"What do you mean is he...oh shit Connor you're really shaking. Are you alright?" Jared said once he looked over at him.

"I'm fine," he said, but it came out strangled. "Evan's the one who's hurt."

"I'm o-okay. I didn't fall that hard. Why are you shaking?"

"Let's all get inside okay?" Jared cut in. "I'm freezing and I'm worried about both of you."

They laid Evan down on the couch inside. He looked a little disoriented still and Jared quickly got him some water and ice packs for the bruises that were blossoming on his elbow and tailbone. He also looked up concussion symptoms despite Evan's assurance that his head had only grazed the pavement and didn't hurt.  

Connor sat down on the floor by the couch while Jared was doing this and when he still couldn't stop shaking Evan reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm okay. Everything's okay," he said.

"Why are you home so early?" He asked, voice quivering. "I thought you had a date."

"It ended early," he said tightly.

"I didn't come here to kiss Jared," he said bluntly. Out in the open. Rip off the bandaid. No hiding. He looked down at his hands and tried to keep them still. "I came to bring you jolly ranchers as a surprise but you weren't home.

"Oh."

"It just happened. I don't know what it means. It just happened."

"You don't have to explain anything to me Connor."

"I know I don't I just wanted you to know that neither of us planned that."

"Okay."

Jared came back into the living room and Connor stood up. "I should probably get going." He leaned down and hugged Evan who hugged him back readily. "Can I talk to you before I go though Jared?"

"Okay," Jared said, expression unreadable. They stepped back outside.

"So we should talk about what happened right?" He began.

"What is there to talk about?" Jared said defensively. "I made a mistake and obviously you did too or had some sort of out of body experience or something that made you think you were into me too."

Too, holy shit Jared was into him.

"I don't think you made a mistake," he said. Jared's face was very red and Connor didn't think it was from the cold. "I really liked making out with you Kleinman."

"Don't say that. You don't mean it."

"Why wouldn't I mean it?" He said softly.

"Because it's me. I'm not hot like you are and I'm not nice or cool."

"I think you're hot and nice and cool."

"You like Evan."

"I like you both."

Jared shut up then. Connor stared at him. "I like you both too."

"Can I prove that I like you? Would that be okay?"

Jared hesitated. And then he nodded slowly. Connor stepped forward and hooked his hands behind Jared's neck and moved slowly, it felt like slow motion, kissing him with intent. Jared kissed him back after a moment and it was nice this time too. Though he didn't know where whatever this was was going he wanted Jared to know that he was more than what he thought he was.

He pulled away. "Do you believe me?"

"Yes," Jared replied immediately. "We should talk about this more sometime...soon."

"Yeah, we should. Goodnight Kleinman."

"Bye Murphy."

It was liberating to be open and to communicate. All his brain told him to do was shut himself off and hide. He'd hidden enough in his life already.

***

"This isn't helping," he breathed, putting his head on the table. Alana Beck was the smartest, most driven person he knew and he was honored to call her a friend but the pro/con list he had crafted with her help was not making anything easier.

She sighed dramatically and took another sip of her coffee. "Evan you know I always weigh the pros and cons to help myself make decisions rationally but right now I think you should tell them no matter what the list determines."

Pros:

You won't have to keep dating random people to distract yourself.

You won't have to lie about it anymore.

They could be into you too.

You can stop making these lists.

Cons:

You could screw up your friendships.

They could hate you.

It could make everything awkward.

It could mess up things between Jared and Connor and that would be really selfish and awful.

"It seems like it's even but all of the cons are super bad," he moaned. He'd burned his tongue on his tea twice out of nervousness since they'd been at the coffee shop and even with this list he still felt confused and on edge. "If I'm going to say something it has to be now right? If I wait they'll get together and even if they're interested they'll probably assume I'm not because of my extensive evasion dating."

Alana raised an eyebrow. "Is that what we're calling it?"

He ignored her. "What do I do Alana? How do I tell them without being an asshole. I-I hate this." Evan's chest felt tight and his head felt cloudy. He was selfish. He was selfish for wanting them both. He was selfish for wanting to risk wrecking the something that was between his best friends. He was selfish for hiding and lying.

Alana reached out and put her hand on his in a gesture he'd seen her use many times on Zoe. "You'll feel better when you tell them. Bottling things up is only a good step on the path to destruction." She always made lofty sounding proclamations like this that were hard to deny.

"Okay." He still thought he was selfish and stupid and kind of a coward. He thought about losing Jared, who watched nature documentaries with him even though Evan knew he didn't really like them and stayed up late eating noodles in the quiet kitchen when he was sad. He thought about losing Connor with his chipped nails and rare smile, Connor who tried so hard every day even when recovery didn't seem worth it. He loved them both so much. "Okay I'll do it."

***

He stood in the cold doorway for a minute or two after Connor left. He believed him. He believed that the effortlessly and and ridiculously attractive Connor Murphy liked him and Evan.

So what now? There was still the little problem of Evan maybe (probably) not being interested.  So did the two of them just pine for him together...like together together? Maybe it was a sign that they should both confess. Or maybe it was a sign that they should both just move on. Maybe his own brain was getting tired of his shit and had thrown some new feelings at the problem. But then again that sounded an awful lot like his brain was sentient and working against him which was kind of fucking terrifying.

His feet were frozen and Evan was probably wondering what was taking him so long so he went back inside.

"Hey." Evan was still bound to the couch but he sat up and twisted so he could see him when he came back in. "You okay? You look cold. I can make us some hot chocolate. Wait no I can't I should probably not get up for a little while longer because of my tailbone which I think is fine just a little bruised and..." he stopped. He was doing that anxious babbling thing again and Jared felt kind of bad. It was definitely weird to accidentally find your best friends kissing on your porch swing.

"Are you okay?" Evan repeated.

"I'm not the one who needs to be asked that question," he replied. "I mean I remember talking about boundaries when we first moved in together but that conversation covered dirty dishes and quiet hours not whether or not it is acceptable to make out with your roommate's best friend at the communal place of residence."

Jared realized a moment too late that maybe make out wasn't the best term to use just yet. "Are you mad?" He blurted. "If we were a thing would you be not okay with that?"

"I'm not sure I understand the phrasing of the question."

"Sorry." God this was such a mess. "I'm sorry. It's just that you literally fell down when you saw us and I know he's your best friend and all and I wouldn't want to get in the way of that by...I don't know by stealing him from you. Even though that sounds ridiculous."

"It is ridiculous," Evan said. He was sitting up and scooting back to make room for Jared on the couch, wincing as he did so. "You're not stealing him. And you're my best friend too Jared, that point seems to be s-suspiciously absent. I want you to be happy. I want b-both of you to be happy. It d-doesn't m-matter if it's a little bit weird for m-me. If you l-like him and he likes you I just have to get over...it." The it seemed more ambiguous and consequently held more gravity. He was stuttering again so Jared cut him off.

"I care about you. I like him but I don't want to do something that makes you feel shitty." Because I like you too, he didn't say.

"I just want you to be happy," Evan repeated. "That's all I want."

"Thanks." Maybe I will be. He'd never felt like he was good enough. With Evan and with Connor he felt close to good enough.

They didn't talk about it again for a week. Jared hung out with Connor once in that time. It was a nervous half-date. They met at Connor's place, put the TV on, and talked over it.

"So are we doing this?"

"Define this."

Connor's eyebrows furrowed. "Us dating I guess? And um...working up the courage to ask Evan to also date us."

"I'd prefer if we conceptualized it as strategizing and/or rationally weighing our options as opposed to being courageous."

"I can't control how you conceptualize it," he replied, mouth quirking up on one side. "But are we on the same page."

"Yes. I think we are."

"Do you wanna drive to A La Mode and get ice cream and then make out in my car to avoid talking about this for a little while longer?

"Absolutely."

Jared learned that Connor's favorite ice cream flavor was double fudge brownie ("chocolate as dark as my soul Kleinman") and that kissing a boy who tasted like chocolate in the backseat of a car with the radio tuned to the oldies station was kind of the best thing ever. He broke away eventually. "I don't think Evan will be mean about it if he doesn't feel the same way. It's just that this isn't how I expected any of this to go and if it all falls to shit I'm going to feel terrible and mess up something really great and I don't want to do that. You should just ask him out. We can tell him we decided to just stay friends and then you can ask him out. I'm not sure what I add anyway so..."

"Jared stop it. We're in this together remember?" Connor kissed his neck and Jared felt a little dizzy. "You've gotta stop putting yourself down. I know I'm not one to talk but you shouldn't underestimate how great you are. You're great."

"I'm a joke."

"You're not."

"I am."

"You're not. And I will argue with you all night if need be."

"That won't be necessary." He actually felt himself smiling.

"How about we brainstorm how to go about this this week and on Saturday I'll take you to a movie and after we can talk about what we came up with."

"Okay," Jared said. He was kind of lost in the way Connor was looking at him. "Okay, that sounds good."

"So Saturday?"

"Saturday."

They didn't make it to Saturday. The next morning in the kitchen Evan ambushed him (well ambush was probably the wrong word; he had more of a nervous energy than an aggressive kind.)

"Hey can I talk to you for a second," he said too loudly.

"Yeah," he put his spoon down into his bowl of Cocoa Puffs and quickly hid the "how to confess to Evan" idea list he was working on with his elbows. "What's up Ev?"

Evan sat down across from him and cleared his throat. "So uh...do you remember that time we talked about polyamory."

Jared nearly choked on air. "Yeah, um I really do."

"Well I didn't know what it was until recently. And before I just thought I was being selfish and y'know, broken as u-usual."

"You're not broken Evan."

"I-I was kind of freaked out before I knew that other people had the same kinds of feelings and that it wasn't super s-selfish to w-want both of...um, what I mean is I like you Jared. I like you a lot and I think I was trying to avoid thinking about it all so I went on all those dates instead. That sounds so stupid when I say it out loud. I ran from how I feel because I like you but I like Connor too. And I know this probably messes everything up but it just feels like lying if I don't say anything and I'm sorry if that's a shitty reason but no matter what happens I don't want to keep things from..."

"I have to call Connor," Jared interrupted. He stood up abruptly, knees knocking on the table. "I uh...you're doing great Ev I just really need Connor to be here too."

"Oh," Evan tugged on the hem of his shirt. "Yeah of course I was going to tell him too I..."

"I'm just going to call him really quick stay right there please. You're doing fine, really, I just need him for this conversation."

Evan nodded dumbly, frozen in place. Jared cursed himself for not being better prepared.

"Murphy you have to get your ass over here."

"What are you talking about? I have class in 20 minutes."

"Evan is confessing to the both of us but he's doing it one at a time and my list of confession options doesn't account for him confessing first does yours?" He felt almost hysterical: happy, scared, awkward, adrenaline fueled.

Connor's voice leaped up an octave. "No but I'll be there in ten."

"In ten." Jared repeated.

"Eight and a half. Bye."

"Bye..." Holy shit.

[kaitymccoy123]

Lost Days Pt. 2

Intro: Again this fic was requested by the lovely @missmle712.

Pairing: Jim x reader - a little Bones in this part and the next one because I love him. 

Word Count: 1980

Summary: In this part the reader goes to get the medication and runs into a little trouble.  Jim takes her to see Bones and the reader gets angry.  Whoot. 

Also: I promise this series is gonna get real angsty and dramatic.  Maybe around part 5?  I wrote those parts already and I love them.  Super angsty. Just wait...

Intro  Part 1

-Enjoy!-

You stepped out into the busy streets again in the morning, your mind wandering to a certain pair of blue eyes and blonde hair.  You had dreamed fitfully all night about him, recalling a strange amount of detail even though you had only seen him for the first time yesterday. The way he studied you in that cafe, the soft curve of his lips, the angle of his jaw.  You tried to shake the images out of your head as you sipped your coffee and strolled to the place where you were to pick up the medication.  

You reached your destination, but it was not what you expected.  The directions took you into a small, dirty alley behind a flower shop and you now stood in front of a large door that didn't seem to have any door knobs or handles. 

You knocked on the rust-covered door three times, a sudden chill rushing down your spine.  

You began to think that no one is going to answer and you would be left out here in the alley alone, but finally the door creaks open. 

"What do you want?" A gruff voice sounds from the other side of the door. 

"Oh!" You scramble for your papers and present them to him, "I have a requisition order from my planet for a few..."

He snatches the papers from you and slams the door shut.  You look around incredulously, confused at his actions.  You wait a moment before you raise your hand to knock again, but before you get the chance the door swings open, hitting your outstretched fist and sending you wheeling backwards. 

A different man steps out of the door, this one extremely tall and slender, dressed in an immaculately cut suit.  His dark eyes bore holes in your soul.  

"Where did you get these papers?" The giant's voice was deep and if his plan was to intimidate you, it was working.  

You swallowed back fear and you composed yourself, "I...I... my village leader gave them to me."

His gaze down your body and up again and you suddenly felt very exposed, "Hmmmm..." 

You stood your ground, pulling your chest up and clutching your hands into fists at your side, "All I am asking is for the medications that are on that requisition letter and I will be on my way.  Please."

His solemn face stretched impossibly into a smile, sending chills down your spine. 

"Little girl, I do not think you know with whom you are dealing with." He grabbed your arm suddenly, his giant hand encircling your bicep with ease, "Now I don't know anything about your medications, but I do have a requisition for something as well.  And I intend to fulfill it."

That was the last straw.  You screamed at the top of your lungs and struck his arm as hard as you could, but he was too strong, to large.  He loomed over you with that creepy smile and you screamed again, suddenly becoming dead weight to see if you could get him to drop you. Terror flooded your veins as he dragged you up with ease, still only with his grasp on your arm, so you were dangling by your shoulder joint.  Now you yelped in pain and kicked out at him, trying in vain to connect with anything solid.  

He turned around, pulling you with him and suddenly there was a flash of green and you dropped to hard ground, rolling quickly out of the giant's grasp. You crab-walked backwards a few steps, your breath laboured and ragged, the air stinging your lungs, and you saw the crumpled giant form that was your assailant.  

You looked around, confused, pressing your back to the alley wall and finally your gaze settled on a form that emerged from the shadows.  It was the blonde-haired man from the coffee shop.  The one that you had the dreams about.  He strode quickly over to you, his phaser pointed at the giant.  That must have been what knocked the man out, a phaser beam.  He looked quickly back and forth from you to the giant, as if simultaneously checking to make sure you were alright and that the giant stayed down.  He noticed you staring at the phaser. 

"Sometimes when the person is larger, one stun beam doesn't keep 'em down." He glanced again at the giant, seemingly assured that he was staying down, and holstered the phaser, "But that seems to have done the trick."

His full attention was on you now.  You felt your eyes still wide with fear and your mouth was open in shock at the series of events.  The man kneeled down beside you now, bringing his blue eyes level with yours.  

"Are you alright?" He gestured to your shoulder, "He grabbed you pretty hard." You managed a nod, but your shoulder was aching terribly. 

"Come on, we should get out of here, someone must have heard your screams and probably called the cops." He nudged you and you stood with his help, still a little wobbly on your feet and you grabbed his arm momentarily for support. 

You pulled away, the same feeling that you had felt when you had seen first him in the coffee shop flooding through you again as your skin brushed his.  

"Shouldn't we report this?" You stuttered, rubbing your arm gently. 

"Yeah, but I think it will look pretty bad with me and my phaser and that guy on the ground.  We can report it later, once we take a look at that shoulder." He explained, pulling you gently down the alley and back to the main street.  

Something in his tone made you wonder if there was another reason why he wasn't sticking around, but you were more than happy to not have to talk to any cops at the moment, as your nerves were still rattled.  

You followed the man through the streets, quickly getting lost in the crowd, his hand never leaving your elbow, directing you quickly around people and corners.  You grew more and more irritated of his assumption that you would just happily follow him around, this stranger that you had only met today.  

He pulled you into a small office building that held a sign for a doctor's office on the outside.  Walking straight past the people waiting in the waiting room, you felt kind of guilty but you were no match for the man's determined pace.  You were directed into a small office, basically shoved in there, the man following close behind, and you were faced with another man, this one with dark hair and brown eyes, and the name tag on the desk said "Dr. Leonard H. McCoy". 

The doctor looked startled at the sudden appearance of people in his office, but when he locked eyes with the blonde-haired man, he let out a groan. 

"Jim, what the hell are you doing here?" Dr. McCoy got up from his desk and strode over to the other man, who you assumed was named Jim, looking very stern, "And who is sh..."

The doctor started but cut himself off when he looked at you.  His eyes grew wide and his mouth seemed to be malfunctioning as it opened and closed randomly.  Jim grabbed Dr. McCoy's arm tightly, and indicated with his head towards the door.  Jim half-dragged Dr. McCoy out the door leaving you standing in the small, non-descript office, alone. 

You heard stiffled yelling from the two men outside the door, and only caught every other word that they said.  

"It's not..." Dr. McCoy argued.  "But just..." Jim countered. "...not possible." Dr. McCoy stated firmly.

You jumped away from the door as it was opened by Dr. McCoy and the two men reemerged. 

"Sorry about that, Jim just likes being very rude most of the time.  I'm Dr. McCoy, but you can call me Leonard." The handsome doctor extended his hand and you took it, wincing as the movement sent a sharp pain through your shoulder. 

"Y/N." You responded, rubbing at your sore shoulder.  

You heard Jim let out a garbled squeak and met his eyes, his face flush and his mouth open. 

"Jim, you don't look so good, why don't you take a seat?" Leonard glared at Jim, hard, until Jim backed into the chair and sat down with a thump. 

"Listen, doctor, this really isn't necessary, I better get going and contact my planet to tell them what happened, they'd be expecting communication by now..." You rambled, pulling away from Leonard's gentle fingers that were examining your shoulder. 

"NO!" Jim jumped up from the chair, and seemed to correct his sudden outburst as his next words were more controlled, "I mean, you were just attacked, you may not be safe out there.  You can come stay with me and Eve until we sort all this out."

"We?" You nearly exploded on him, "Excuse me, but there is no "we" here.  I am eternally grateful that you saved me back there, but this is not your decision to make.  Whatever they want, they are after me, not you."

Jim started to interject but you cut him off, "Now maybe if you had thought for a second to tell me who you are, and why you followed me into that alley, maybe then I would trust you a little more.  But you didn't even work up the decency to tell me your name before you whisked me off 'oh-so-herocially' to wherever the hell we are.  Now, Jim who-ever-you-are, I am going now and if you try to follow me I will call the cops."

The room had gone silent, and Leonard just looked back and forth between the two of you. 

"I thought..."Jim stuttered. 

"You thought wrong." You spat as you swung the door open and stalked out of the office. 

Jim:

Bones didn't believe me. 

"It's her." I assured, desperately wanting my best friend to understand. 

Bones closed the door to his office as we stepped into the hallway, leaving you inside, and strode up to me, glaring. 

"It can't be, Jim, you know that." Bones argued.

"But don't you see her?  Who else could it be?"

"Literally anybody else." Bones hissed, trying to get you to come to your senses, "It's. Not. Her."

I couldn't believe he would not have my back on this when it was so obviously you standing in that office. 

"But just hear me out, Bones." I snapped and pulled out the locket that I had found on the ground outside the cafe yesterday, "Do you recognize this?"

Bones regarded the locket as if I had pulled a dead rat out of my pocket, like he was disgusted. 

"It's not possible." Bones grabbed my shoulders, his eyes pleading with mine, "She's dead, Jim.  I know how much it pains you to accept that, but I've seen you move on, you've recovered.  Jim, the woman in there is not her."

I couldn't bear to look at Bones anymore and I pulled away from his grip, glowering at him and he turned to go back into his office.  

"I thought it was you who said to see hope in the impossible." I whispered. 

Bones gave me a sad look, his hand resting on the doorknob, "That was Spock, you idiot, don't be so melodramatic."

And for a moment, as Bones re-entered the office and I was left in the hallway, alone, I doubted myself.  Maybe I was wrong.  You were gone and I had to face that, like I had every other day for the past three years.  But when I walked into that office and saw you again all of that logic shattered.  

It couldn't be anyone else but you. 

-Thanks for reading!  I hope you liked it!- 

Tag List: 

@sistasarah-sallysaidso @starr-trekkk @mad4oak @thebassoonerthebabetter @cocosierra94 @mccoymostly @mollyxpocket (still won’t let me tag you sorry!) @digitalmoonhowell @cookieoffortune @thundergirl007 @yourtropegirl @wonders-of-the-enterprise @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian @starmission @anyakinamidala

Let me know if you want to be tagged! 

[rodypowderedmilk]

RIP WIP: if you see this post, respond with a snippet of a fic you (sadly) won’t be completing.

It doesn’t make any sense, is the thing. This insatiable need to watch Harry dance around the new born alpacas as she puts up lights for Christmas. She leans down and sings to them, pulls leaves off the trees and feeds it to them. She presses kisses to their dusty fur and scrunches her nose at them when she sings low.

Moving in across the street from Harry and her mom had been the best unintended decision she ever made. For some reason, the mother and daughter owned 43 alpacas, 2 llamas, and one llampaca. She remembers the first time meeting Anne, Harry’s mother. She’d walked up to the house, looking for directions and was approached by what she had thought was a llama. It butted it’s head again her shoulder and proceded to rub it’s face against her to it’s hearts content. The force of the animal nearly knocked her over but she’d never tell anyone that. Anne had come over, then.

“Tony!” she yelled, “Ugh, you dumb thing,” she’d said, exasperated and shook her head at the animal.

“Sorry,” she’d said, “Ya’ all right?” and pulled the insistent animal’s head away from Louis’ shoulder.

“Yeah, m’ alright,” Louis’d responded, big smiles and intrigued eyes watching the animal.

“Friendly llama you’ve got here,” she said, laying the charm on as she moved to pet the animal’s pelt.

“It’s an alpaca!” she heard someone yell about five yards away, where someone was filling up a trough for what seemed to be goats. They were bleating and jumping away happily at her feet, small and excited. That’s when Louis was able to look away and finally see the girl.

She was gorgeous, to put it simply, absolutely gorgeous. Thick jeans and a flannel and a belt, wavy hair and bangs. Proper Mick Jagger look it was. And she was looking at Louis, amused and unimpressed.

“It’s an alpaca,” she said again, and cocked her hip.

“Oh, don’t mind her,” the older woman said, “She’s a bit of a know-it-all,” she told Louis conspiratorally.

“Ey! I’m not deaf, Mum!” she called. Louis laughed, “I’m Louis,”

“I’m Anne,” the woman said, “And that there is my dummy of a daughter, Harry,”

“Mum!” Harry whined and Louis had simply been charmed.

Thanksgiving was yesterday, and Harry immediately, promptly at 5:30 in the morning wakes up, beanie placed upon her bangs and begins decorating for Christmas. Louis knows this because of the stubborn insomnia left over from the constant travelling. She tries not to think about it. She’s been up since 4:43 and is on her third cup of tea and her fifth run to the loo. She starts with hanging ornaments from the very large, very tall pine tree right next to their driveway in the ugliest, cutest jumper Louis has ever seen. She’s paired it with her high waisted thick jeans and a belt, as per usual. And Louis is enthralled, as per usual.

She has yet to tell Harry that her birthday is the day before Christmas in the hopes of delaying the inevitable. Harry becomes extremely excitable when it comes to birthdays. It’s her thing. She writes silly songs, sends letters, and buys way too many gifts. The problem is, Harry has always been too emotionally intuitive for her own good, and yet, at times, utterly oblivious. She’ll know, like she always does, psychoanalyze, like she always does, hit it right on the nose like she always does. (She sees right through Louis which is frankly terrifying and also concerning) It’ll start hypothetically, why do i feel like people lump your birthday and christmas together. And then she’ll get that sad mopey muppet face and make Louis cry. Like she always does. So she hasn’t told her yet and is wondering how long she can get away with it.

Her curly haired friend was just that. A friend, and a quite good one at that. She’d invited Louis over for Thanksgiving yesterday, sat her right at the end of the table and placed her home made pumpkin pie right next to her. Louis teased her endlessly, “This isn’t nearly as good as Costco pumpkin pie,” she told her.

“You and your American shops,” Harry’d responded, pretended to gag, “What even is a Costco?”

“Oh darling, do not try me with the American crap. This holiday is American,” Louis says as she tries to slice the pie, grumbling when Harry swats her hand away.

“And what about it?” Harry had said, inquisitive eyebrow raised in challenge. Louis simply shrugged and began to speak with the other guests Harry had invited. Harry’s Orphans, Anne liked to call them. There was Chloe from Tesco, one of the only stores in town, who’d moved out here after finishing college and tried to find some semblance of independence from her mother. She misses her terribly and speaks of her often. Louis can sympathize. Anna, who Harry had immediately been drawn to because she thought she shared a name with her mum, works at the local sandwhich place and is the only non-white person in town. Harry has learned a few words in Spanish and is incredibly adorable when trying to get the pronounciation right. And lastly, Niall, the only fellow in the whole group. Despite the man’s extroverted demeanor and joyous laughter, even Harry hasn’t been able to pry his life story from him. He lives at the end of the couldesac, moved in four weeks after Louis and seemed to be renting. It was a collective effort to subtly figure out everything about the man, although he charmed the pants off anyone who tried and so none were succesful.

Louis wonders how they’ll celebrate Christmas while she continues to watch Harry jump to try and reach higher branches. She hides a smile behind her mug. Harry Styles is the love of her life and nothing will convince her otherwise. Of course this does not mean she’ll ever pursue her, despite Anne’s knowing smirks and Niall’s goodnatured nudging. It’s much more fun to love Harry from a far and a lot safer, too.

It begins when Harry asks her to come into town with her because “I need more decoarations. This will simply not be enough,” she’d said, earnest and mocking all at the same time. They pile into Louis’ pick up truck that she’d wisely invested in once she’d decided to move out here. She hopes it sufficiently communicates GAY to the general population if her outward appearance does not.

“So,” Harry begins and Louis does not need to look over to know that the dimples have popped out. Louis suppresses a groan.

“I’ve always wondered when your birthday is, Lou,” she says, mocking ignorance.

Louis groans then.

“And recently a little birdie told me that it might… maybe- perhaps- possibly be the day before Christmas,” she feigns dismay.

“Is this true?” she asks, turning to face Louis and placing her elbows on the console.

“Quisas,” Louis says then, wondering if Harry will remember Anna’s training.

“Oh, you dirty rat, you! You didn’t tell me your birthday was on Christmas Eve!” she says, softly punching Louis’ shoulder repeatedly. Louis remains unharmed due to the nineteen layers of clothing she’s wearing.

“I was working up to it!” her voice steadily rises.

“No you weren’t!” Harry insists, voice rising as well.

“Okay, I wasn’t, but you know how you get about birthdays!” she whines.

“And?”

When Louis’ only response is garbled noises and shrugs Harry promptly replies, “Inexcusable,” and Louis lets out an indignant squawk.

“Your punishment is absolutely unbearably amazing birthday treament. I’m sorry!” she turns her head away and gives Louis the hand, “There’s nothing to be done about it.”

And when Louis attempts to object more, “No, sorry, I don’t make the rules,”

“You dumb bitch,” Louis mutters.

“No, but really, Lou,” her soft voices becomes much more sincere, “Do you not like your birthday or something?”

“Oh, no, no. It’s totally fine, I don’t mind, you can bake my entire house into a cake for all I care,” Louis snorts and then thinks better of it, “No, don’t you fucking dare bake my house into a cake you birthday monster,” she reaches over and shoves Harry when she hears her giggle.

“I’m driving, you absolute villian,” she says, while she attempts to wrangle the wild girl into her side of the car.

“I’m going to get you all the presents,” Harry sighs dreamily, “And Christmas presents, too,” she adds. It’s then that Louis freezes up a bit.

“Wait,” pink lips frown, “Wait, did people-” she stops and frowns some more, “Did people lump your birthday presents in with your Christmas presents?”

Louis holds her breath and stares pointedly out the windshield, “Hm?”

“Louis,” Harry whines, “They did, didn’t they?”

Louis shrugs, “It’s not a big deal. I was convinced when I was younger all the people putting up lights were celebrating me birthday, so I guess it evens out,”

“Aw, Louis. That’s darling,” she gushes, “But wait- Oh, you stupid head, you’re trying to distract me from your childhood tragedies with your cuteness,” she leans over and shoves Louis’ shoulder.

“Harold, I’m driving!” she says, as she attempts to swerve the car back into their lane.

“No one lives here, dummy, and stop distracting me with potential car accidents. We’re talking about important things.”

Harry makes it a point to ask about her birthday at least once a day. It’s on the first day of December she asks, “Wait, are you going home for Christmas and your birthday?” She freezes for a second at the thought of home, eyes glazing over for a second before she eases the tention in her shoulders and moves her thoughts elsewhere.

It’s strange to hear someone refer this time of year as her birthday. Most people have glossed it over in favor of the much larger holiday it predates.

Louis shakes her head, “I’m just settling in here,” she explains, close to the truth but not qite “And who else would eat your dumb pie during Christmas?” It’s a bit nerve wracking, and frankly presumptuous to invite herself to Harry’s Christmas.

“Won’t you want to go home and visit your family? Your sisters? Oh, and your brother, sorry,” Harry seems confused, head cocked and curly bangs sliding across her forehead. The concern is endearing although the subject matter stirs anxiousness deep in her stomach, awakens the melancholy pang in her heart.

Louis shakes her head, “I’ll visit them for New Years, maybe. We haven’t sorted it out, yet. Big procrastinator, I am,”

A big smile blossoms on Harry’s face, lips stretching and dimples appearing.

“So you’ll be celebrating Christmas with us, then?” she asks, hands fiddling in front of her, raising on her toes. It’s impossible to be sad- to even think about being sad- when Harry is smiling at her like that.

“Who else would I celebrate it with, dummy?” Louis sticks her tongue out at her, perfectly mature, and squeezes her eyes shut. She opens them to Harry beaming at her, practically bursting with excitement. Suddenly, Harry leans forward on the balls of her feet and presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek.

“I have so many plans!” she squeals and runs off, baby alpacas trailing after her.

Monthly movie night has been deeply infiltrated by Christmas, as has everything else in Harry and Anne’s house. The only light comes from the television and the single string of Christmas lights, battery operated from the convenience store by Harry’s work. She’s got hot cocoa between her hands, sweaterpaws shielding her from too warm warmth. The dimples are out in full force and Louis cannot stop staring. There are bruises developing along her ribs from the amount of times that Niall has elbowed her, and she’s sure that Niall is developping the same amount of bruises from the times she’s retaliated. He’s been staring at Anna all night and it’s infuriating. Straight people are supposed to have their shit together when it comes to romance. Right?

Anyways, the season is coming and coming fast. The familiar feeling of wonder and cozy warmth is spreading through her bones and she just wants to sit on the carpet, watching the telly, preferably in someone’s lap, preferably Harry’s. She has simple wants and needs, really.

Harry has passed her a third cup of eggnog, “It’s Christmas spirit in drink form, Louis, drink up.”

She watches, entranced as Harry waltzes clumsily around the room to the deep croon of Michael Buble with her cat, Dusty. The other three cats are in the other room, watching as Anne makes holiday goodies while the dogs have been banished to the cold. Harry pouts every time she looks outside and Louis rolls her eyes. Then she looks away and tries to hide her smile.

Harry’s sitting behind her on the couch and she finds herself leaning back into her legs as she becomes warmer and looser watching Eloise at Chrimstastime. Niall’s right next to her on the floor and he’s as rigid as a board, doing his very best not to make any physcial contact with the oblivious and very shy girl behind him. Chloe is chatting happily away with Anne and Harry, although quiet as to not disturb the film. And that’s when she feels the fingers first skim her hair, just the nape of her neck, the whisper of a touch, absentminded maybe. It has her shivering and seeking more of the touch, inching closer into Harry’s space, the warmth of her legs against Louis’ shoulders. Her eyes close involuntarily for a second when the touch returns, a thumb sweeping over the peach fuzz at the back of her neck.

She swallows and looks over at Niall, rigid as anything and attempts to cover up how affected she is. She elbows him in the ribs and sends him falling into Anna’s legs. Her legs immediately move to accomodate him and she leans forward almost imperceptibly. He looks noticably more comfortable. Jesus Christ does she have to do everything for him? And then she feels Harry’s hands in her hair again, soft and attentive, smoothing over the back of her head where the hair is the shortest. She cards her fingers through the longer hair at the top, perfectly styled mess just plain messy now.

“I like it that way,” she always tells Louis when she’s ambushed the Doncaster girl early in the morning under the guise of having no tea left. Louis always calls her on her bullshit, but makes her tea anyways, pyjama pants dragging on the floor.

Louis turns around, an unimpressed look on her face and watches as Harry just smiles at her. She rolls her eyes and turns back around, making a vague waving gesture to signal to Harry that she wants her to continue petting her. She does.

It’s when Louis can hardly keep her eyes open that Harry’s fingers slide back down to her neck, tracing something into her skin. It brings goosebumps to her skin, warm and cold at the same time before she slides her fingers to the back of Louis’ ears. It’s soft and vulnerable there where she’s gently thumbing over, hidden to the rest of the world and it feels like some kind of metaphor, beautiful and sweet and unheard of. She can’t stop smiling.

She falls asleep there, between the legs of the sweetest girl she’s ever met, lips turned up and eyelids fluttering under Christmas lights.

Waking up, for the first two seconds she thinks she’s home with her family, Mum waking them up and sending them to their room with a few soft words and a goodnight kiss. When she realizes it’s only Anne, the world comes startingly into focus, Christmas lights blaringly bright where before it was only a hazy glow. She gives Anne a smile, and doesn’t lean against Harry’s legs again.

“C’mon, you lot, off to bed,” she says, proper mum, and ushers them up the stairs. It’s not until Louis was halfway up that she catches herself.

“Oh, Anne, sorry. I’ve better be heading home,” she starts, blinking rapidly, confusion and all kinds of emotions tangling up in her chest.

“Nonsense,” Anne tuts and continues to bat them up the stairs. “Harry sleeps over all the time, it’s no problem.”

This makes Harry laugh and Louis joins her, “Well, I mean- she’s your daughter,”

Anne only shrugs. Despite Harry being right behind her, she can’t bring herself to look at her. She doesn’t want to be sad in Harry’s presence. She straightens her back resolutely and flinches any time she thinks Harry might come close to touching her, scared that if she does, she’ll feel the melancholy thrum under her skin. It doesn’t make any sense, but knowing Harry she’ll find a thread of sadness and tug on it until Louis falls to pieces like the string pinatas Anna’s told them about.

Anne opens the door to a one bedroom room, and Louis pointedly ignores the very subtle smirk Harry’s mum gives.

“Alright, girls?” she says, with a smile and winks as she closes the door.

Louis plops face first on the bed, spreads her arms out, tries to deflect her awkwardness and tries not to acknowledge how small the bed is. She rolls onto her back and kicks off her shoes, doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes, tries to ignore how loaded the situation feels.

“Are you gonna get in bed, you fat lump, or are you gonna stand there all night? Sleep like a horse,” she says this all with her eyes closed, elbow over her eyes and tries to make the situation lighter than it is.

She hears Harry snort from across the room and listens as the bed springs creak under the weight of her jump onto the bed. They squirm around trying to get under the covers, trying to escape the chill of the unused guest room.

They’re cold toes brush each other under the flannel sheets and Harry giggles.

“Get your cold toes away from me, you git,” she says and pushes her own feet against Louis’ legs, nearly shoving her clear off the bed.

“You menace,” Louis gasps, and swipes her cold toes under Harry’s fleece pajama pants, pushing the material up to her knobby knees.

“Lou!” she shrieks, “You cut me with your toenails!” she whisper shouts.

“You cut me with your toenails!” the girls dissolve into giggles and settle against each other, legs tangling resting against each other.

“Your leg hair tickles,” Harry whispers suddenly.

“Ah- Harry!” Louis responds, surprised and incredulous. She rolls over and hides her face in Harry’s shoulder.

“You’re so stupid,” she groans and rolls back over. The only thing to do is act normal, push away any possible thought of sadness. She’s more, now than usual, anything she would normally do now heightened to about ten and that includes her affection for Harry. It’s a bit conflicting, her usual instinct to hide her fondness for Harry and the instinct to deflect, hide her emotions from her.

“This used to be my room, you know,” Harry says into the dark.

“Yeah?”

“There weren’t any alpacas or anything back then,”

“No, that was all you,”

“And how do you know that, Louis Tomlinson?”

“They’re your alpacas, Harry. They worship you,” she whispers, and so do I, she thinks.

She wakes up the next morning pressed into the delicious warmth of another body. Her cheek rubs against an impossibly soft sweater and she nuzzles deeper into the lovely coziness. Her grip tightens involuntarily where it’s holding Harry’s side- Harry. Louis has somehow managed to sneak her hand inside Harry’s shirt and grab hold of her smooth, warm skin.