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kissinginkitchens · 4 years ago

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You Bring Me Home—Chapter Nine: Friday

a/n: happy friday lovies!! I am soooo excited for y’all to read this one bc it was my favvv chapter to write and I still get emo over it :’) also I think I should maybe let you all know that we only have two more chapters left in this series, and I can not thank you enough for all of the love and support you have shown it. It has been such a blast hearing your thoughts and sharing Halani with all of you lovely people, and I can’t believe the fun is almost over :( BUT we still have some time before we have to think about that soooo without further ado here is the next chapter, I hope you enjoy it :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, some suggestive humor

Word Count: 9.5k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight

Monday

Harry takes a deep breath and raises his arms above his head, feeling every vertebrae stretch as he lies flat against the surfboard. The beaming sunlight warms him down to the bone and it threatens to lull him to sleep, but his attention is too occupied with the various sounds coming from each direction. Out of his right ear, he hears the waves lapping against the shore and the faint sound of children’s laughter. From his left, Mitch and Tom engage in a serious conversation about sharks. He lets one foot slide off the edge of the board and wade into the water below, all the while resisting the paranoia that he will be the next victim of Jaws thanks to his friends’ discussion.

“I’m gonna go switch out the camera.” Paul says beside him, already swimming back to the shore.

Harry gives a thumbs up in acknowledgement and lets the back of his hand rest against his forehead. He floats for a moment longer before swinging his other leg into the water and sitting up. His feet gently tread below the surface and he studies the area for any fish sightings, but his shoulders slump in disappointment when he doesn’t find any.

“I just think,” Mitch defends, legs crossed on his own surfboard. “That I would survive way longer than you,”

“It’s not a fuckin’ zombie apocalypse, survival rate depends on how severe the attack is,” Tom shoots back.

“Not if you’re smart,”

“Right, good thinking, mate. Just yell the Pythagorean theorem and swim away while the bloody thing tries to solve it,”

“You just don’t get it.”

“Stop bein’ a coward, then, and put your feet in the water.”

Harry shakes his head in amusement and continues scanning the scene for something else to occupy his attention. His eyes momentarily land on a couple in the distance, the pair facing each other on their shared surfboard and laughing. He smiles softly and glances back to the shore where his group has set up camp for the afternoon. Squinting, he tries to determine the time of day using the sun’s position overhead, but quickly gives up and swims back to the beach. The sand clings to his wet toes as he jogs over to his bag and digs inside for his phone. The time reads 2:37–Alani’s shift will be over soon.

She stifles another yawn and punches in her customer’s order, re-typing it when she realizes that it’s littered with errors. Her mind had been in a permanent fog since she woke up at 6:45 this morning. Harry had already slipped out by the time she reached over for him, but he left a note on his pillow this time.

GOOD MORNING SWEETS!

SORRY I HAD TO JET SO EARLY :( I’LL SEE YOU AFTER WORK.

H ☼

P.S. ALREADY MISSING YOUR LITTLE SNORES ♡

As if on cue, Alani’s phone vibrates in her back pocket and she slips it out to read the new text.

Harry: Meet me at Honoli’i after your shift?

She really wants to, but she’s also in desperate need of sleep.

Alani: Gonna take a power nap first, but I’ll be there

Harry: Can’t wait xx

********

In the distance, Harry hears The Cure blasting from a car in the parking lot. He hums along and picks at his bowl of fruit, saving the kiwis for Alani who once said they were her favorite. Jeff and Paul laugh about something between the two of them before the director catches Harry’s attention.

“How long you planning on staying here?” he asks.

Harry checks his phone again and the time reads 4:35. He wasn’t entirely sure how long Alani’s nap was supposed to last, but just as he’s about to answer, a text comes through.

Alani: Heading over. See you soon, sunshine💗

He smiles softly and shuts his phone off. “I actually have a surfing lesson at five. But I’ll meet you guys at the house after.”

Paul, the two Jeffs, Mitch, and Tom bid Harry farewell and decide to take a drive along the coast before heading to dinner. They mention the name of the restaurant they plan to go to, but Harry knows he’ll probably skip it and take Alani somewhere else. He sits back on his elbows, watching the palm trees sway in the breeze, when suddenly his vision goes dark when he feels hands over his eyes.

“Guess who,”

“The Queen of England?”

“Yes and I’m here to colonize your land and steal your jewels,” Alani jokes in a posh British accent. She leans over his head so they partake in an upside down kiss before settling into the sand beside him.

“You’ve already had my family jewels,” he teases with a suggestive wiggle of his brows.

Alani scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You are so insufferable sometimes, I swear to God,”

Harry lies back and rests his head in her lap with a shit-eating-grin plastered to his face. The damp locks along his hairline are curled and Alani twirls the pieces between her fingers.

“Saved y’some kiwis,” he informs her, nodding in the direction of his tote bag.

“Aw thanks, baby,”

“How was your day?”

Alani removes the lid and pops a slice of kiwi into her mouth. “Long, boring, tiring. A lot better now,”

“Feel the same way,”

“How’s your project going?” she questions, curious about his recent, mysterious whereabouts.

He shrugs. “S’fine, yeah,”

“What exactly is it, again?”

“It’s a,” Harry starts slowly. “Video thing… kind of,”

Alani narrows her eyes and lifts another piece of fruit to her lips. “Meaning?”

“It’s like—following uh.. the album ‘n stuff,”

“Ah the elusive album,” Alani nods. “Will I ever get to hear any of it?”

“Yeah,”

“When?”

“Dunno,” he blinks. “When’re you gonna let me read that article of yours?”

She smirks and taps her fork against her lower lip. “When it’s ready,”

“Then I’m withholding my thing ‘til it’s ready too,”

“That’s not fair,” she objects. “My article is contingent on your music,”

“One song,” Harry bargains, holding up his index finger. “In exchange for one paragraph. Seems fair to me,”

“Deal,”

He sits up suddenly and opens his mouth as an unspoken request for a kiwi. Alani tosses it in his direction and to her surprise, he catches it effortlessly.

“You really are a freak of nature,” she marvels. “What can’t you do?”

“Stay away from you, apparently,”

“Ditto,”

“D’you wanna head to the water for a bit?” Harry asks, his eyes landing on the board cast to the side.

Alani nods. “Sure thing,”

She strips down to the pink two piece underneath her clothes and accepts his outstretched hand. They shuffle through the sand, joint hands swinging, but Harry stops and scans her face when they reach the edge.

“What?” Alani asks, already dipping her toes in the water.

He runs his thumb over hers and starts hesitantly. “I know the water is kind of…”

“Oh,” she finishes when he trails off. “Yeah. I mean, for the most part I’m okay with it. Last time was just—I wasn’t expecting it,”

“I’m really sorry for that.” Harry apologizes with a somber look in his eye.

Alani reaches her free hand out to his cheek and offers a comforting smile. “No, it’s okay. I actually used to be pretty good at surfing,”

“Oh?”

“Haven’t really done it in years, though. I’m probably really rusty now,”

“Well maybe it’s time to get back on the horse,” Harry urges, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of her palm before leading them further into the waves. Alani gets up on the board first and it's clear that she’s a natural despite the lack of practice. Her muscles fall into a mesmerizing rhythm as they repeat the very motions she had done thousands of times before her accident. Harry’s eyes carefully study the precision of her determined arms slicing through the water and the way her feet gracefully meet the board once she’s found a strong enough wave. She glides back to the beach and revels in the familiar feeling of the ocean breeze against her skin. Harry whistles from the distance as she reaches the shore, turning back to him with a wide grin and two thumbs up.

“Your turn,” she calls, paddling towards him on her stomach.

Harry replaces her on the board and winces. “Maybe I should’ve gone first,”

“You’re gonna do great,” Alani insists. “Tighten your core muscles. Oh! And bend your knees, not your back. Just trust your instincts and follow through,”

He follows her advice and to his surprise, does well, though not nearly as graceful as she had. Despite this, Alani cheers from the side as he glides back to the beach. Harry takes a bow once his feet have safely met the sand below.

“I knew you could do it,” she beams when he swims back to her.

“Couldn’t have done it without my amazing coach,” he shoots back, leaning down to press a salty kiss to her lips.

With Harry’s help, she swings her leg over the board and sits so that they face each other. Their legs paddle gently below the surface and his hand finds the top of her knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

“You were incredible out there,” he muses. “Can’t even tell that you’re out of practice,”

She wrings her hair out and fastens it into a low bun at the base of her neck. “Guess it’s like riding a bike—the muscle memory and all that,”

“You’re a great coach, you know. Cause I usually just wipe out,”

“That’s normal,” Alani nods. “You have to get used to falling. And wait for the right wave,”

Harry admires the way the afternoon sun sets her aglow, skin shimmering and golden under the rays. “How d’you know when it’s the right one?”

“You just feel it I guess. It’s like a gut instinct that you have to follow. And no second guessing yourself, either, cause that’s when you mess up,”

“What if you do go for it and you still wipe out?” He questions, something besides surfing in the back of his mind.

Alani sighs. “Then you wipe out,”

“You just have to trust?”

“You just have to trust,”

Harry hums as he considers this. Three burning syllables bounce around in his skull, but he suppresses them for the time being. Carefully, he lifts himself to his feet and motions for Alani to do the same. It takes them a second to find their balance on the board, but eventually they do and Harry brings her closer with a protective hand on the middle of her back.

“D’you trust me?” he murmurs.

Alani studies the different shades of green in his irises and feels a flutter deep in the pit of her belly, so she decides to take her own advice and presses a soft kiss to his warm lips before responding.

“Yes.”

Carefully, Harry takes a step back and twirls Alani before pulling her flush to his chest and swaying to the music stuck in his brain. As best they can, the pair dances on the surface of the board but Harry’s foot gets caught in a slick spot and he tumbles backwards, bringing Alani with him. When they emerge, his heart races in worry, but the knot in his chest eases when he hears her laughter.

“Y’okay?” he checks.

“Yeah,” she assures him, her legs snaking around his torso under the water. “I’m alright.”

The sky turns pink as they continue to wade peacefully in the water, and the entire time Harry finds himself fixated on the weight of the three little words nagging at the back of his brain.

********

Tuesday

“Say it again,”

“No,”

“Please?”

Harry shoots Alani an unamused look through the corner of his eye. “Dunno what’s so funny about it,”

“Just say it one more time,” she pleads with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Tuesday,”

“Chews day,” Alani mimics and Harry rolls his eyes.

“You’re so clever,” he huffs. “Really, a true comedian,”

She giggles and leans over in her seat to press a kiss to his cheek. “It’s cute!”

“Yeah, whatever,”

“Okay, just one more—”

“Alani,” Harry chuckles, more endeared than irritated. “Don’t make me turn this car around,”

She pouts playfully and returns to watching the trees and passing cars. “At least I’m not asking you where we’re going,”

“You are so stubborn,” he shakes his head. “I told you we’re almost there,”

“I just don’t understand what it is with you and keeping secrets,”

“It’s about the mystery, darlin’, it’s romantic! Just trust me, okay? Have I ever steered you wrong?”

Alani nibbles at the skin on her lower lip and folds her arms. “No,”

“Okay, then,” Harry says finally. “Now change the song. I let you have fun with one Taylor, but it’s getting old,”

“Hater,” she grumbles, shuffling through the rest of her playlists before settling on Madonna.

Harry’s finger taps along to the beat against her thigh and his lips turn up when he hears Alani singing along. Her eyes are focused on the road ahead of them as she pretends to be in a music video of her own, creating hand gestures and choreography to accompany the lyrics. The chorus builds and she belts out the words as if her life depends on it.

“I’m crazy for you!” She performs, squishing Harry’s cheeks between her hands. “Touch me once and you’ll know it’s true. I never wanted anyone like this, it’s all brand new. You’ll feel it in my kiss,”

Alani presses a slobbery smooch to the side of his face and he groans, laughing when she continues melodramatically. The song goes on for another minute and Alani sings passionately out of tune, but it makes Harry’s heart swell. He briefly considers joining her, but decides to let her have her moment, too amused by the way she’s caught up in the emotion. When it’s finally over, she slumps down in her seat with a dazed look in her eye.

“Gotta love the 80s,”

“Maybe I should let you join the band,” Harry suggests.

“Really?

“No,”

Alani gasps in mock offense, her eyes wide. “Hey!”

“Yeah,” he smirks. “Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she dismisses offhandedly. “I’m a sweetie,”

“A sweet pain in my arse,”

“Arse? Did you really just say arse?”

“I take it back, you’re just a regular pain.”

The two of them drive for another forty-five minutes taking playful jabs at each other and watching the lush greenery whizz by. Harry had been characteristically cryptic in his instructions the night before, an idea suddenly popping into his mind when Alani reminded him of her day off. He had told her to wear something comfortable and practical, nothing that could flow easily in the wind. Furthermore, he revealed that he would pick her up at exactly 7:00 a.m. which made her eyebrows shoot up.

“Seven?”

“It’ll be worth it, promise,”

“Can we at least get McDonald’s hash browns for the road?” Alani had bargained.

Harry chuckled to himself, too excited to deny her. “Sure thing, sweets.”

Welcome to Waikōloa Beach, the sign read and Alani wondered what could possibly have possessed Harry to drag her out of bed and across the island at the crack of dawn. Her question was quickly answered when they turned onto Keana Place where a lot full of helicopters were lined up and waiting.

“‘Big Island Tours’,” she reads aloud. “Wait a minute, we’re not—”

“Surprise!” Harry beams, reaching behind her seat for a bag.

Alani scoffs, her mind still trying to process. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Come on,” he pleads. “Been dying to do it since I got here,”

“So bring Mitch! Or Jeff, or Tom or literally anyone else,”

Harry gives her a pout and bats his lashes. “But I’d rather be with you. Please?”

“Harry,” she sighs, taking another glance at the helicopters before her. They did seem secure enough, enclosed on all sides, and he had driven an hour and a half just to surprise her with something fun and totally outside of her comfort zone.

“Trust me?” he asks after a minute, kissing her knuckles gently.

Alani takes a deep breath and nods. “Fine.”

They exit the SUV and Harry takes her hand, slinging his bag over his shoulder. There’s a short, stocky man with dark sunglasses standing in front of one of the helicopters with a clipboard. He checks his watch when he sees the two of them approaching and reaches out a hand.

“Mr. Styles?”

“Harry,”

“Nice to meet you Harry, I’m Matt,” the pilot says with a firm handshake. “Is this your guest?”

“Alani,” she greets. “Is this…”

“It’s very safe,” Matt assures her with a warm smile.

Harry squeezes her hand gently and looks over their mode of transportation. “How long’ve you been doin’ this?”

“Almost ten years,” the pilot explains. “I was a commercial pilot for twenty-five and then started this when I retired,”

“I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of nervous fliers, then,” Alani speaks up, attempting humor to mask her jitters.

Matt nods with a knowing smile. “Oh yeah. Plenty of anxious girlfriends who kick their boyfriends for dragging them into it, but they always enjoy themselves in the end,”

Alani’s cheeks warm at his assumption of their relationship status, but neither her nor Harry address it. Instead, Harry clears his throat and asks his next question.

“So when can we go up?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Matt offers.

Once the three of them have settled into the aircraft, he hands Harry and Alani each a headset and goes over the basic safety rules. Her heart races and stomach turns, but she takes a deep breath and wills herself to give it a chance. Beside her, Harry is enthusiastically chatting up Matt and being his usual charming self; his confidence is reassuring and she finds herself sinking deeper into his side for comfort. He drapes an arm over her shoulders protectively, sensing her nerves, and presses a firm kiss to her temple. After a few minutes of discussion with the air base over the radio, Matt gives them a thumbs up and signals that they’re ready to go. Another deep breath and they’re off, the ground growing smaller and smaller below. They skim over Waikōloa Village and head west to Waiulua Bay where the water is so clear and blue, Harry has a hard time believing it’s real. Alani peers down at the tiny people all along the coast and in the water and her throat goes dry. She feels Harry nudge her shoulder lightly and looks over to where his finger is pointed.

“Down there you can swim with dolphins,” he says. “Looked it up last night,”

“And we’re not doing that because...?”

Harry flashes a dimpled grin and laughs softly to himself. “How are you not enjoying this?”

“I am,” Alani insists, which is steadily becoming true. She watches in amazement as they hover over the expanse of the lush, green landscape along the coast.

Over the headset, Matt points out some key landmarks and answers more of Harry’s questions. They pass over an active volcano and Alani momentarily feels a rush of terror, but her curiosity takes over as she snaps a photo of the molten lava below. She captures another one of Harry looking out his window before flipping the camera to selfie mode and making a peace sign. He turns to tell her something, but flashes a cheesy grin and presses a kiss to her cheek when he notices the camera. Alani writes a mental note to make it her lock screen later.

After half an hour in the air, Matt points to the cliff on their right hand side and says they’ll be landing there for a bit as part of the tour. A 200 foot waterfall feeds into a small pool and he lands them on a ledge across the way. The three of them exit the helicopter, but Matt says that he needs to check in with the base and lets them explore the site alone for a few minutes.

“This is incredible,” Alani marvels, looking over the edge.

“Knew you’d like it,”

She turns to him and snakes her arms around his shoulders, leaving a small peck to his lips. “Thank you,”

While she had been almost one-hundred percent sure that she would never enjoy a helicopter ride, Alani is glad that she was wrong. She is even more grateful that Harry had encouraged, but hadn’t pushed, her to try it. If Alani had been absolutely against the idea, she knows that he wouldn’t have pressed it any further and would have taken her to do something more her speed, hence the dolphin back up plan. It sometimes felt like they were from entirely different worlds, Harry being more sure of himself and adventurous while Alani was careful and preferred to have things planned. But he made her feel brave and spontaneous without pressuring her to change anything about herself. Harry had seen something special in her and wanted the whole world to see it, too. So he encouraged her to break out of her comfort zone and let her true self shine, but only at her own discretion. Over the course of the past few weeks, Alani had noticed herself opening up to new experiences and loving every minute of it, but this transformative feeling was far from one sided; because of their relationship, Harry learned the value of trusting his own instincts. For so much of his life, he felt like a member of an overcrowded democracy allowing himself to go with the majority rule even if it didn’t particularly please him. From their earliest moments spent together, Harry was inspired by Alani’s determination and self-confidence. He had always cared deeply about other people’s opinion of him and felt that it was his greatest weakness, but she seemed so unapologetically herself at all times. And though Harry sometimes worried that he was simply playing a part for the rest of the world, he never had to question who he was with Alani. She understood him, she grounded him, and amidst all of the unfamiliarity in his new life, she felt familiar and safe.

“You deserve it,” Harry says gently. “To see beautiful things.”

Alani presses their foreheads together and studies his emerald eyes like they’re the rarest gems she’s ever seen. “Well I’m looking at the best damn view right now,”

“Although, I wish you would’ve told me we were going to Jurassic Park, I would’ve prepared my Laura Dern outfit.”

Harry laughs softly and slots his lips between hers, those three, pesky little words nagging at him again. Not yet, he thinks, but almost there.

********

Wednesday

Alani takes an extended lunch and heads over to the recording studio with food for Harry and his friends. He had warned her beforehand that there would be filming, so they agreed to pretend, just for the afternoon, that she was his assistant. However, their true relationship was as much of a mystery to the both of them as it was to everyone else. Alani had considered, on many occasions, asking him to officially be her boyfriend. She didn’t know how else to refer to him when her mom had started inquiring about the Range Rover mysteriously parked across the street every morning. Each time Alani had gotten up the nerve to ask, however, she secretly worried that it was too soon, or worse, that he would say no. Much to her oblivion Harry had also wrestled with this question, and many others, but also feared her response. What they shared was undeniably strong and completely foreign, so they had independently decided not to put too much weight on the situation in fear of bursting the bubble too soon. Neither of them were prepared to deal with the fallout if it all came crumbling down.

“Lunch is here!” Jeff calls from the doorway as he escorts Alani inside.

He motions her over to the table in one corner of the room and helps her lay out the food, thanking her warmly when she declines payment.

“It’s on the house,” she reassures him.

The crew all take turns grabbing their lunch, Mitch ruffling Alani’s hair in a display of gratitude while he swipes his burger, and settle into various chairs and comfortable spots around the studio. Harry is the last one to claim his food and he lingers around the table as he does so.

“Thank you, Ms. Hale,” he offers politely, itching to give her an appreciative kiss.

She nods and returns the professionalism. “You’re very welcome, Mr. Styles,”

“How’s the weather?”

By now, Alani has come to recognize this as his go-to inquiry when he’s really asking for her attention or affection.

“Full of sunshine,”

“Glad to hear it.” he smiles softly. The casual slip of his nickname isn’t lost on him.

“Hey Harry,” the director calls. “Show Jason that Bob Dylan thing you were doing—watch, you’ll love this.”

Harry musters up a pleasant smile and quickly glances at Alani, wanting nothing more than to escape with her for the precious few moments she has left to spare.

“Occupational hazard.” she shrugs as her cue of permission. His fond look turns apologetic before he saunters over to the rest of the group.

Alani watches, amused, as he lifts a guitar and starts strumming a tune that she hadn’t heard before with a Dylan-esque lilt in his voice. The crew all laugh and encourage his impression, but she still wonders what the song is and reminds herself to ask later. After a few moments with the rest of the group, Harry’s eyes wander to Alani munching on a french fry and scrolling on her phone. Jeff notices this too and decides to help his friend out.

“Hey Alani,” he calls. “Come sit with us,”

She looks over to Harry and he grins eagerly, making room on the couch between him and Mitch.

“Alani makes the best smoothies in the world.” Jeff comments to the film crew.

“It’s true,” Mitch adds. “Harry loves ‘em.”

A subtle glare radiates from the singer, but Mitch simply winks in response.

“Well, you guys are my favorite customers,” Alani offers. “But don’t tell the others,”

The whole team makes Alani feel welcome and she’s endlessly thankful for it, making an effort to engage every crew member in some sort of small talk as evidence of her gratitude. Harry enjoys her presence among his friends and how easily she fits in. It serves as further proof of what his gut already knew: she was a missing puzzle piece in the image of his ideal life slowly coming together before his eyes. Alani checks the time an hour later and starts bidding farewell to the group, much to their disappointment. As she slips out the door and over to the Bronco, a familiar accented voice calls from behind. Before she has time to respond, a pair of warm lips meet hers and she hums.

“They’re all goin’ out for dinner at 5,” Harry explains gently. “Come back to the studio then, I have somethin’ I wanna show you.”

********

It’s 5:10 when Alani makes her way back to Napua. Harry had texted her beforehand to say that the door would be open, so she lets herself in and scans the quiet room. She hears the soft keys of a piano, but the room is dim and she has to get closer to see that it’s Harry seated there. Candles are perched around the room and Alani watches her step, reaching a hand to Harry’s shoulder when she reaches him. He stops playing and flashes a soft smile, inviting her to join him on the bench.

“Digging the ambience,” Alani remarks lightly, not entirely reading his mood.

He shrugs. “Just felt right,”

Harry’s fingers return to the keys and he starts with a somber chord that makes Alani’s breath hitch. His vocals are raw and gritty, but stronger than she had ever heard him sing and it nearly moves her to tears. She hangs on every word and burns them into her mind for safe keeping, though she doubts that she could ever forget this moment even if she tried. Harry picks up into the chorus and leaves nothing behind, diving straight into the wave without fear of wiping out. Alani tries, but she can’t contain the tears that spill over her cheek. It’s as if every ounce of apprehension and anxiety, every doubt and moment of insecurity is cleansed from her soul right in this very moment. When the song comes to an end, she immediately wishes to relive it and tries to find the right words in response.

“That was incredible,” Alani clears her throat. “What’s it called?”

“Sign of the Times,” he responds. “Not really sure about it,”

She furrows her brows in confusion, but quickly realizes that he’s being honest and not fishing for compliments.

“Why?”

“It’s… different,”

“Than?”

He thinks for a moment and chooses his next words carefully. “Anything I‘ve ever done before,”

“And why’s that bad?” Alani questions with a comforting hand weaving its way into his hair.

“Dunno,” Harry sighs, leaning into her touch. “I just don’t wanna get it wrong,”

At this moment, “it” isn’t just the song. Everything about his new solo career, and his life in general, is a toss up, and one that he isn’t sure will land in his favor. Alani has no doubts, though, not when it comes to her faith in Harry’s abilities.

“Are you happy?” she asks.

He looks over to her and thinks that he couldn’t possibly be more content. “Yeah,”

“Then you’re already succeeding. If you’re happy with what you’re doing, then no one can tell you that you’re not successful,”

Harry feels his own wave of emotions pooling at the bottom of his lash line and he’s grateful that the low lighting conceals it. He closes the gap between their lips, palm secure against the side of Alani’s face as he keeps her close.

“There’s somethin’ else I wanted to talk to you about,” Harry says gently and Alani feels her heartbeat pick up.

“Okay,”

He isn’t sure how to approach the subject, despite the fact that it’s been the only thing on his mind for days, so he decides to trust his gut and speak from the heart.

“These past few weeks with you,” he starts slowly. “Have been the best of my entire life. When I’m with you, it’s like nothing else in the entire world matters, and nothing bad could ever happen to me because there’s you,”

Another tear rolls down Alani’s face and Harry wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

“All I asked for was a chance,” he continues. “And it feels like you’ve given me the entire world. Do you remember the day when we saw that rainbow?”

“Yes,” Alani nods, voice small.

“You told me to wish for something, and I did. I wished for a home. I didn’t know why, but that word wouldn’t leave me alone after you said it. But I think I understand it now, because I’m in a place I’ve never been before, physically and in my life generally, but you make it feel like home. You bring me home,”

Alani feels as if all of the air inside her lungs has been sucked out, and her grip on Harry’s wrist tightens because she worries that if he lets go, she’ll float away like a helium balloon.

“I know I’m not perfect,” Harry continues, voice wavering. “But this thing we have feels like it could set the world on fire, and I’d gladly walk in the flames for you. So would you please say you’ll be mine and let me prove it?”

“Yes,” Alani breathes, tears of relief and joy still streaming down her face. “But I need a moment to compose an appropriate girlfriend acceptance speech,”

Harry grins and presses their lips together as if she’s the only source of air.

“Seriously,” Alani chuckles when they pull apart. “Cause how the fuck could I top that?”

“Y’don’t need to. Saying yes was all I needed,”

She unclasps her fingers from his, draping her arms around his shoulders instead, and takes a deep breath. “You’re everything, you know that? You’re the sun and the whole universe revolves around you.”

“And you’re the most heavenly moon,” Harry responds thinking back to the meaning of her name. “Mahealani.”

********

Thursday

When Alani’s father had asked for her help setting up a wedding that was taking place at the resort this weekend, she jumped at the chance. It wasn’t often that she got to be involved in the events at Honu, but she adored the luxurious five star hotel and all of its amenities. She had helped her dad cater numerous events over the years and weddings were her absolute favorite, especially because of the beautiful gowns and all of the blissfully happy couples. It felt like a privilege to glimpse into the most special moments in the lives of strangers she would probably never see again. Alani had been tasked with meeting the bride and collecting any last minute meal cards or notes of dietary restrictions from guests. The wedding was to take place the following night, but all the food prep would begin that afternoon in order to adequately prepare.

“I think that’s all. There were just a few last minute adjustments,” the bride, Mila, says pulling out an envelope from her bag.

“No offense,” Alani starts. “But shouldn’t you be resting? I mean isn’t the maid of honor supposed to do all this? Or a wedding planner?”

Mila sighs, an embarrassed smile spreading across her rosy lips. “I know, I’m just a bit of a control freak. I like things done a certain way,”

“Totally understandable,”

“Like the music thing,” Mila rolls her eyes. “It was my fiancé’s idea. He said that DJs were boring and wanted to let the guests choose their own songs, instead. So that was my compromise. I’m trying,”

Alani offers a chuckle and shuffles the last of the cards into her stack. “Sounds like you’re already mastering this whole marriage thing,”

“Are you married?” the bride asks, curiously.

“Oh, no I’m not,”

“Got a boyfriend?”

Alani’s cheeks warm and her lips curl. “Yes,”

“Knew it,” Mila comments with a knowing smirk. “You’re too pretty to be single. And you’ve got the look,”

“What look?” Alani questions.

Mila flutters her lashes and sighs. “The ‘I’m in love and I don’t care who knows it’ look. Like a Disney princess,”

Alani laughs shyly and focuses her attention back to the envelopes in front of her.

“What’s his name?” the bride pries.

“Harry,”

“That’s a good one,” Mila considers tapping her lower lip. “Like the Prince of England. Maybe you will be a princess, after all,”

Alani is amused by the irony of her statement, but she chooses not to disclose the fact that her boyfriend actually is British, albeit, not a Royal. Instead, she chooses to deflect the attention back onto the bride.

“And what’s your lucky guy’s name?”

“Chad,”

“Like the country,”

“Yeah,” Mila giggles. “Like the country,”

“And what’s he like?”

Mila rests her chin in her hand and a dreamy look settles into her hazel eyes. “Funny. He wanted to be a comedian, but he became a lawyer, instead. That’s how we met— law school,”

“What kind of law do you practice?”

“Ironic enough,” Mila chuckles. “Family and divorce law. I never thought I’d get married, I mean I literally hear about people falling out of love every day. But the thing about love is that it’s effort, and a lot of people aren’t willing to put in the work. It doesn’t feel like work when it’s the right person, though. Just feels like ‘how can I be the best possible partner to this human that I love so much?’”

Alani considers this, her mind immediately wandering to Harry and all of his thoughtful gestures. “Makes sense,”

“Chad is a patent lawyer,” Mila continues. “He’s the more creative, outgoing one, I guess. He makes things light when it gets too heavy, you know? It’s good to have someone like that,”

“Yeah, definitely,”

“What’s your guy like? What does he do?” Mila asks with a flirty grin.

“He’s, uh,” Alani thinks for a second trying to be as vague as possible. “A musician,”

Mila gives an approving nod. “Dreamy. Bet he writes lots of songs about you,”

“Maybe,”

“Don’t be shy,” Mila urges. “Come on, it’s just us girls. Spill,”

Alani thinks for a moment and imagines that the same dream cloud must be present over her own features.

“Well he’s kind, thoughtful, romantic, and wise. Really funny, too. I don’t know he just—he makes me wanna be a better person, really,”

“Wow,” the bride marvels. “Sounds like a hell of a guy,”

“He is,”

Mila leans in conspiratorially and Alani does the same. “Speaking as an expert, I think it’s gonna last forever,”

“You think?” Alani asks.

“Oh yeah,” Mila assures her. “When you’re so used to studying fake love, you get really good at recognizing the real deal,”

Alani offers her an appreciative smile and nods. “Thank you,”

Mila’s eyes light up suddenly and she grabs Alani by both hands. “Hey you should bring him! Yeah, you two should come, I insist,”

“Oh, I—”

“Please, say you will! Maybe he can throw in some good music recommendations to offset the terrible ones,”

Alani chuckles and she knows immediately that Harry would leap at the chance to do so. “Okay, sure.”

“Yay!” Mila cheers, reaching into her planner and jotting a note down. “Harry and Alani at the lovebird’s table.”

********

“Hey, sweets,” Harry beams, pulling up to the front of the hotel in the Cadillac. “Waiting on your boyfriend or are you just in the habit of standing on sidewalks lookin’ cute?”

“The former,” Alani responds coyly. “He’ll be here any minute,”

“And he’s got a pretty girl like you waiting outside like this? You should dump him,”

She shrugs and turns on her heel for a stroll while Harry gently eases off the breaks to follow. “I don’t know, I’m kinda fond of him,”

“S’that so?” he continues with a smirk.

“Yup,” she sighs. “He’s kind of a dork, but I like that about him,”

“Heyyy—”

“And he’s a good kisser. The best at cuddling, too,”

“Sounds like a catch,”

“He is. You two should meet sometime,”

The car comes to a halt and Alani slips inside, scooting all the way down the bench seat next to Harry.

“Funny, you should be a comedian,” he quips.

Alani’s brow furrows and she shoots him a doe-eyed look. “What’s the joke?”

Harry laughs dryly, ignoring the pang of irrational jealousy that strikes him in the chest. “You’re a little too good at this bit, it’s starting to feel like we're not talkin’ about me anymore,”

“Oh, were we supposed to be talking about you?”

His head whips over to Alani who clutches her stomach with laughter. “I’m kidding, baby, of course I’m talking about you,”

“No, who is he?” Harry demands playfully with a deep furrow between his brows. “Tell me, I’ll hurt him,”

Alani slots their lips together and his pout eases into a grin.

“Hey what are you doing tomorrow night?” she asks, feeling the ocean breeze through her hair.

Harry flashes a dimple in her direction. “Anything you want, s’long as we’re together,”

“Will you be my plus one?”

“To?”

“A wedding,” Alani explains. “The one my dad’s catering at Honu,”

His eyebrows raise and he smiles wide. “Are we crashing it?”

“No,” she laughs. “We were invited. I was hanging out with the bride today and she added us to the list,”

“‘Kay, but I’m still gonna pretend we crashed it,”

Alani drapes her arms around his shoulders and leans her head against his. “Where are we going?”

“Damn, I thought I had you distracted,”

“Boyfriend rule #1: You have to tell me where we’re going always,”

Harry narrows his eyes. “That’s not a real rule because surprises are romantic,”

“Too bad,” Alani shrugs.

“But don’t you enjoy my surprises?”

“Usually,”

“Then I’m adding a new rule,” Harry bargains. “The girlfriend can not ask the boyfriend to disclose the location of a date if they’re already in the car,”

“That’s not fair, I was already in the car when the rule was made!”

“Too bad.”

Alani pinches his cheek and slinks back into her own seat. She tells him about the bride and the groom, what she knows, at least, and about the decision to have their guests RSVP with a song of their choice to play at the reception.

“D’you know what you’re gonna pick?” Harry asks.

“Yeah,” Alani nods. “I Wanna Dance with Somebody by Whitney Houston, obviously,”

“Obviously,” he agrees.

“You?”

“Dunno, yet. Have to narrow it down,”

Alani admires the heart-shaped glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “Well you better make it good, cause Mila knows that you’re a musician and she’s expecting you to balance out her friends’ shitty music taste,”

“You were talkin’ about me?” he teases.

“Well, yeah, how else do you think you got invited?”

“You have such a crush on me, s’cute,”

Alani playfully pokes his cheek. “We’re literally dating, dummy,”

“Don’t get defensive,” Harry jokes. “Cause I’ve got a crush on you too.”

“God, we’re so annoying.”

Harry grins and presses a kiss to her temple. They pull into the Port of Hilo and he magically produces a picnic basket from the backseat, a bottle of Moët et Chandon rosé peeking out. Alani slips her fingers between his and follows as he leads them to a sizable speed boat anchored and waiting for them.

“The Carolina,” Alani reads, admiring the golden cursive on the side.

“Like someone else I know,” Harry winks.

He escorts her onto the vessel and she waits to see when the captain will join them, but confusion washes over her when she sees Harry poking around with the equipment.

“What are you doing?”

“As much fun as it would be to eat at the dock,” he begins. “I think it would be more fun to take ole Carolina for a spin,”

“You mean you’re gonna drive this thing?” Alani questions, though she doesn’t know why she’s surprised by him anymore.

“Pilot,” Harry corrects. “But yes,”

Alani blinks and tries to wrap her head around the idea of Harry piloting a boat. “And you’re allowed to do that?”

“Sure.”

“Wow,” she marvels to herself with an incredulous laugh. “I’m dating a sailor.”

Harry flashes Alani a wink over his shoulder and before she knows it, they’re heading away from the dock. She carefully stands from the lounging area at the back and sneaks over to Harry, arms wrapping around his torso with her chin propped on his shoulder. He steers with one hand and extends the other, recreating the iconic Titanic boat scene.

“I’m flying, Jack!” he calls over his shoulder and Alani giggles, responding with her best improvised rendition of My Heart Will Go On.

They sail out for a bit longer before Harry stops the boat and turns to her. “Ta da!”

“By jove, he’s done it!” Alani praises.

Harry takes a bow and reaches over for the picnic basket, pulling out the rosé and two champagne flutes. He hands them to Alani and spreads their meal on the lounging area at the back: vegetable stir fry and noodles with chocolate covered strawberries for desert.

“You did all this?” Alani muses.

He takes each flute from her hand and fills them halfway. “It’s a special occasion,”

“I feel like an asshole for not knowing what it is,”

“Don’t,” Harry chuckles, handing her the wine. “I mean it’s not really like—I just realized it,”

“What is it?”

Harry raises his glass and clears his throat. “Exactly three months ago, I got off a plane and I stumbled into a little café where the most beautiful and funny and smart waitress served me about twenty glasses of water until I nearly pissed my pants in front of her,”

Alani giggles at the memory, disbelief settling in when she considers how fast the time had flown.

“And despite all of the embarrassing and idiotic things I’ve done since,” he continues. “She agreed to be my girlfriend, for reasons I have yet to understand. So today I celebrate her, and us, and all of lucky stars that brought our paths together,”

They clink their glasses together and Alani presses a cool kiss to his lips. “Cheers, baby,”

“There’s one more thing,” Harry says, holding a finger up.

Alani scoffs. “It’s like fucking Pandora’s box in there!”

He pulls out a velvet box and her heart stops.

“Wait, what are you—”

“It’s not what you think,” he explains quickly. “Sorry, maybe should’ve thought this through better,”

Harry opens the lid and lifts a gold chain with a crescent moon pendant and a smaller sun in the center.

“Saw it in a shop this morning,” he says softly. “Seemed like fate, so I got it,”

“Harry,” Alani breathes, eyes already glossy.

“D’you like it?”

“I love it! It’s beautiful,” she says, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. “Thank you so much.”

He fastens the necklace for her and she admires it with gentle fingers. The sun and the moon, a piece of them cast in gold and resting against her beating heart forever.

********

Friday

“Wow,” Harry gawks, his eyes raking in Alani’s appearance. A baby pink tulle dress falls just above her knee with puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, all cinched at the waist with a small bow. Tiny velvet hearts are speckled all over the dress, in true Alani fashion, and a pair of sparkling, pink heels accentuate her toned calves.

“Wow yourself,” she counters, drinking in the peek of exposed skin behind his cream colored blazer. The blue dress shirt underneath is unbuttoned just above the butterfly on his stomach and a cross is nestled in the valley between his pecs. He holds out a bouquet of sunflowers between his ringed fingers and Alani accepts them gratefully, moving to the side so he can step into the house.

“These are gorgeous, thank you,” she says, lifting them to her nose.

“Welcome,” he smiles softly, swiping the pad of his thumb against her chin. “You are gorgeous,”

Alani presses her rose tinted lips to his carefully and pulls back to admire him again. “And you are so good looking it actually makes me mad.”

Harry laughs and pulls her closer for another sweet kiss before he hears the clearing of another person’s throat.

“Have her back by midnight,” Pua teases with her arms crossed. “Or I’ll hunt you down.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry salutes before bending down to address Freddie.

Alani passes the sunflowers to her sister with a kiss to her cheek before hooking an arm under Harry’s and heading out. They hop into the convertible and the sun catches the golden pendant around her neck, bringing a soft smile to his face.

“Hope those are your dancin’ shoes,” Harry remarks. “Cause we’re goin’ full Dirty Dancing tonight,”

“Lift and all?”

“Lift and all,”

She runs her fingers over the silver rose on his ring finger. “You know, I think we’re finally gonna nail it this time.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry agrees. “They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

When they arrive at Honu, the other guests are shuffling from the parking lot and onto the private beach where the reception will take place. Alani plucks a card from her bag to drop into the box at the entrance while Harry pulls a medium sized box from behind his seat.

“You got a real gift?” Alani questions, a light laugh erupting. “We don’t even know these people,”

Harry tucks the gift under his arm and shrugs. “I put your name on it too, don’t worry,”

“Well now they’ll have a giftcard to Ikea and whatever’s in your mystery box.”

“It’s also a giftcard to Ikea, but wrapped in a big box.”

Alani nudges his shoulder playfully and scans the groups mingling and flocking to the mini bar. She waves to a member of her dad’s kitchen staff attending to the hors d’oeuvres before they are greeted by the manager of the guest list.

“Alani and Harry,” she says to the tall woman behind the podium.

“Ah yes,” the woman responds. “The Lovebirds table, number 9.”

“Guess Mila wasn’t joking about that.” Alani chuckles lightly, taking both of their name cards.

Harry locates their table and to his surprise, no one else is present yet, but he pulls Alani’s chair out for her and pushes it back in once she’s seated.

“Champagne?” he asks, nodding to the bar.

“Oui, s'il vous plaît."

He plants a kiss to the top of her head and makes his way to collect their drinks. Alani’s eyes follow the stringed lights overhead and she quickly realizes that they lead to a disco ball hanging above the center of the dance floor. Well done, Mila. She thinks to herself with an approving nod. The colors, she gathers, are lilac and periwinkle, incorporated into all of the floral arrangements and cloth details. They match the color of the sky above and Alani knows that the bride must be ecstatic over this detail. Harry returns with their drinks and sets them down gently onto the white tablecloth.

“None of our fellow lovebirds have arrived yet, huh?” he muses, taking a sip of his champagne.

Alani shakes her head and brings the glass to her lips. “Must be too busy making out in the parking lot,”

“You told me we didn’t have time for that.”

“I’m not gonna ruin my lipstick before we’ve even arrived.”

Harry shakes his fist to the sky and Alani giggles. They both admire the view and the children in the wedding party who are testing how close they can get to the water before an adult drags them away. The sky turns to a shade of cotton candy above them and someone announces that the bride and groom are arriving. Harry and Alani stand and welcome the newly weds with applause and whistles. Mila and Chad share a sweet kiss and the crowd goes wild. One man, most likely a friend of the groom, shouts “I love you Chad!” and laughter erupts. They take their seats and the rest of the wedding party follows suit, which means that the rest of the guests are free to return to their chatting and socializing.

“I’m beginning to think we were put in the time out table.” Harry jokes when they are still not joined by any other guests.

A light laugh escapes Alani’s lips and she looks around. “Yeah I guess so.”

The servers arrive with their meal and the pair eat happily, exchanging witty banter and observations of the scene around them. Harry sucks a piece of linguine between his lips and turns to Alani with a mischievous smirk.

“No,” Alani says, already knowing what he’s up to.

“Don’t leave me hangin’,”

“Eat your food.”

“Alaniii,”

She shakes her head gently and rolls her eyes, but decides to indulge him anyway. Their lips meet in the middle of the shared noodle and Harry smiles.

“Always wanted to try that.”

A few moments later, he notices a card in the middle of the table and lifts it.

“‘Trivia,’” he reads. “‘Test your knowledge of the bride and groom and win a prize.’ Let’s play, shall we?”

“What’s the first question?” Alani asks, peering over to read the small font.

“‘What year did Mila and Chad meet?”

Alani hums, thinking back to her previous conversation with the bride. “They met in law school, that’s all I know,”

“2009,” Harry guesses. “Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

“Definitely Chad,” she replies firmly. “Mila didn’t think she’d ever get married,”

“I thought you said you didn’t know these people,”

“I guess I was wrong,”

Harry squints at the next one. “What are their zodiac signs?”

“I wanna say Virgo for Mila,” Alani suggests. “Maybe… Aquarius for Chad?”

“That’s my sign,” Harry comments, writing down her guesses.

Alani’s brows raise. “No kidding. Makes a lot of sense,”

“What’s yours?”

“Taurus,”

“I don’t know anythin’ about astrology. Are we compatible?”

“Probably not,” Alani teases.

Harry shoots her a disapproving look and reads the next question. “Where did they go on their first date?”

“The movies,” she predicts. “Safe bet,”

“‘Akaka Falls,” Harry writes. “That was ours,”

Alani’s head tilts. “We weren’t even dating then,”

“Yeah but I was tryin’ to win you over, so it counts,”

“Sneaky.”

“Who is the bride’s celebrity crush?” Harry continues. “Hopefully not James Marsden or this guy’s fucked.”

Alani laughs and she pulls him in for a playful kiss to his cheek. The pink sunset dims into a deep navy and the stringed lights twinkle above, setting the whole scene in a romantic, golden glow. Guests walk past their table holding strips of photo booth pictures and Harry’s neck cranes to search for the source. His eyes land on a small line at the other end of the beach and he stands quickly.

“Let’s go,”

“Where?”

“Photo booth!”

To Alani’s surprise it’s an actual booth, curtains and all, and not just some poor sucker tasked with operating a polaroid camera the whole night. They stand in line eagerly behind two groomsmen and brainstorm poses. Once they’re inside, Alani settles onto Harry’s knee and watches as he operates the machine. The screen counts down from ten and they decide to flash a proper smile for the first one. After it’s snapped, Harry sticks his tongue out and Alani widens her eyes in mock surprise. The third one is a candid, slightly blurry one of them laughing after she accidentally poked him in the eye. A lipstick kiss is stamped to Harry’s cheek in the fourth one, but the pair innocently look away in opposite directions. The fifth and final image captures their affection mid kiss. They swipe the two sets of photos and Alani awes, admiring the black and white film strip. Before they make it back to their table, Alani feels a hand on her arm.

“Alani!” Mila beams.

“Hi!” Alani greets, pulling the bride into a hug. “You look gorgeous,”

“I’m so glad you came! I love your dress,”

Mila turns her attention towards Harry and gives him a warm embrace, too. “You must be Harry! So nice to meet you,”

“Thank you for having us!” he says over the music.

“I see you guys put the photo booth to good use,” Mila comments. “Now go dance! There’s an ipad next to the stage, just queue up your songs.”

Alani and Harry bid the bride farewell, but before they leave, Mila leans into Alani’s ear and whispers “he’s a hottie!” with a wink. They set their photos down inside Alani’s purse and Harry leads her towards the dance floor. She punches in her request and he secretly types the song that’s been stuck in his head all week. Fantasy by Mariah Carey is already playing when they reach the floor, so they join in excitedly. Alani’s hips sway and Harry’s head bobs, both of them mouthing the lyrics. The song fades and Alani’s pick begins, which makes the crowd roar.

“The people have spoken and they love Whitney!” she cheers.

Harry twirls her and shuffles his feet. Alani shimmies and sings along, the lyrics falling from her lips like a prayer.

I wanna dance with somebody

I wanna feel the heat with somebody

Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody

With somebody who loves me

The dance floor is flooded with bodies jumping and swaying, and the disco ball shimmers above the euphoric scene. Alani and Harry spin, making their way through the crowd and letting the music sweep over them like a magical spell. Beads of sweat form at the back of her neck and she lifts her wavy locks to let the ocean breeze cool her down, but her feet don’t stop moving. Eventually, her song peters out and a familiar guitar fills its place.

“I love this song!” Alani cries, immediately recognizing The Cure.

Harry pulls her closer, despite the warmth radiating from both of their bodies, and presses a passionate kiss to her lips. They are surrounded on every side, but in this very moment under the full moon and shimmering disco ball, Harry and Alani feel like the only two people alive. Their foreheads meet and they sway gently, his hands secure at her waist while her fingers toy with the hair at the base of his neck.

It’s Friday, I’m in love.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #ybmh #ALSO i would just like it to be known that I wrote this before *those* photos so harry get your own romantic gestures >:(#kidding bae <3

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yuriyuruandyuraart · 4 years ago

Text

part 12

ink was getting nervous. Error was coming by at night, and since every other vampire was sleeping, he couldn’t do anything but wait in his garden-

Something wasn’t quite normal with error. He looked pretty anxious, wary even-

Ink sighed. Life was so empty- not even death could fix that

He discovered that over time, most vampires could get used to the sunlight after being exposed to it very lightly. He also noticed that vampires couldn’t be murdered unless they were shot or stabbed in the soul

He not only wasn’t affected by the sunlight in the first place, but he had no soul to begin with-

Death wasn’t an option.

Boredom was the only thing that was “killing” him

Ever since he could remember, life was always so boring

Empty

Without any goal to achieve or get going with

He clenched his fists

The only thing that was following him around and that let him stay alive was…

Guilt

For something he could never forgive himself for

Maybe he could fix it?

He didn’t want to think about it now-

He traveled inside his garden, wandering around his maze, then sat down near some bushes

He was an immortal being with barely no will to live, but he did have a passion to stay sane

And it ended up being art.

Painting, sewing, designing, sculpting-

Creating was a nice compensation for destroying everyone’s lives…

Now that he was thinking about it…

…….

Wait, who was that?!

Ink noticed a shadow fly away from his garden. ‘Right when he had some inspiration to draw’. He ran to them, but he realized they already left.

It was probably another vampire, but the vast majority preferred to go out at night since they won’t be so visible to the mortals. Though it was unusual for a one to fly off so fast and early in the morning. The sun was bright, and even he felt pretty nauseous staying on spot without anything to shield himself from the heat of it.

Even so, he stared at his surroundings, curious to see if the person left something, when he noticed a crispy letter on the grass.

Ink sighed, who could it beee?

He painfully leaned down to catch the letter, and opened it.

Right, it was him.

Just when he thought he’ll get to talk to him personally-

He sat down and read the long paragraph that decorated its paper.

…

“…oh-“

He got up and dusted off his clothes from the remaining dirt and leaves that stuck to him, then trailed off to his castle-

“Looks like the meeting is still ongoing”

******

His steps were heavy,

And he was getting weaker-

He collapsed on the ground

It was so painful to be alive

And he hated it

He HATED ink for what he did!

He-

He…

….

Well, the forest wasn’t a good place to fall unconscious in, so he painfully got himself up.

He could hate ink all he wanted, but the mortals were even worse

If only he could just KILL THEM ALL

ALL OF THEM

Ugh-

“…”

Huh

Crying?

Him?

Out of character, right?

He wiped away the tears that were slowly forming themselves in his sockets. He had to- he had to go and ask for help like the idiot that he is! He…he didn’t want him to-

…

Die? Who? What the flip was he even doing in that forest anyways?!

Oh yeah, heal himself

Obviously

He sat by a tree and painfully tightened the holes and scars with bandages after carefully removing the bullets and disinfecting the injuries with his magic. He really didn’t want to see him again,

But he didn’t have a choice anymore

********

*tap*

He sat on his sofa, slowly waiting for his guest’s arrival in front of his large window.

He closed his eyes patiently, then sighed calmly

“nice seeing you again, error”

His silhouette slowly appeared in front of him, threatening as always.

“…”

He looked away, a frown still in place.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to see me, but god can you be stubborn!” ink pouted. They knew each other for years, but one thing that didn’t change was the fact that error was never happy to see him

Nor to spend time with him

Actually, the times where he’ll be “happy” is when he almost “kills” him, or when he leaves-

Yeah, a nice “friendship”

“I swear if it wasn’t for an important reason I would’ve never stepped a toe in your hell of a castle!”

“but you still came here. And I’m sorry if I am worried about this reason that’s so important it actually made you sit here, and talk to me for once.”

Error flinched at his sarcastic tone, and he thought about giving a spiteful remark back, but he sat on the sofa in front of him, directly facing the window, choosing to ignore his off handed retorts to leave that place as soon as possible.

“… well-“ error tried to collect his words, obviously tired of what had happened to him this past weeks.

“there is a small town very far away from here who sent a…detective? Spy? Whatever, A trained mortal to hunt down the vampires while being hidden amongst the normal villagers, and he’s been very wary of YOU especially.”

“He had been giving some “ideas” to the mortals, and if he manages to convince them to overthrow your rules and influence, he’ll quickly discover your intentions and the hidden place of multiple thousands of vampire, causing the extinction of the race in a second. And while I flipping hate your guts and I despise you all so much, vampires and mortals alike, I can’t really be all that powerful and safe when the humans can win over me; the amount of vampires decreasing giving them “courage” to kill the remaining.”

He stated the last sentence with disgust. He didn’t give two cents about vampires, even less monsters or even humans, which he hates even more, but ink’s motives were vastly different

ink loved vampires, because he had to; Being the original vampire who first existed. He was the reason so many mortals turned into those people, feared by the pitiful society called the living. And just like that he and the other vampires that followed began growing stronger in number and power.

You could say that he didn’t have a choice- that it was in his nature; he’s a vampire! He can’t help but drink blood, in the case of monsters, magic-

But

Not only can vampires resist the urge to drink blood, by simply eating meat, but in ink’s case

He doesn’t even like drinking blood nor magic

He was more into literal ink

The only reason he drank blood in the first place was to get feelings

The first vampire didn’t have a chance to get a soul, so he discovered he could get feelings another way.

And he despised doing that

Because

Of how he discovered

That-

“INK!”

Ink looked at error, realizing he must’ve been daydreaming for too long

“…”

Ink got up, then undressed himself from his coat.

“Huh? What the he- what are you doing???”

“Well, suffice to say we’re going to catch that little comedian and eliminate him as soon as we can”

Error didn’t expect such bluntness from ink, but he couldn’t care less about that, more like, he was caught off guard by the “we”

“Hey, hey, hey- this is YOUR job, mister! It is not my business to attend”

Ink looked back at him, and gave him a warm smile

“Didn’t you say earlier it affected you if all the race disappeared? Wouldn’t you want to stop that from happening? I might add that you wouldn’t come here unless you really had to, so is it just for a message or did you need my help?”

He hated it when ink gets smart

But at the same time he was right

Though there was still another reason on top of it all, but he kept his mouth sealed

That bastard didn’t need to know

“…fine. What to do now”

Ink’s smirk became predatory

“What makes you think we’ll need to do anything?”

Error flinched

“What?”

Ink giggled-

“Well, it’s getting quite late don’t you think?”

Error looked back at the window, the moon shining bright in a cold, dark night

“Ink! I need answers!”

Ink paused his laughing, then smiled

“I’ll tell you more about it if you’ll be my guest.”

He bowed slightly, still keeping eye contact with the other

Error tensed- he didn’t know what to do now

“…is this a trap?”

Ink looked surprised at that statement, but quickly rectified

“Not at all!”

“Then what makes me believe that you’re not going to kill me in my sleep!”

Ink paused a second, kind of offended by the other’s skepticism when he just wanted to welcome him

Well, guess it can’t be helped

“I promise you that I will answer your questions tomorrow, It’s just that you might be exhausted from the constant travelling- the bruises and scars look like they just need a bit of attention, and you-“

He trailed off, citing multiple reasons why he needed a shelter from him, and error quickly cut him off

“Okay- okay- I get it”

It did make him feel a bit better though, considering ink takes his promises very seriously, so he might as well stay for a night

“Just ONE night”

He crossed his arms, and ink chuckled

“Sure, sure-“

He smiled

“Goodnight then, error”

*******

“well, how about we talk more about it in a more...private environment, yes?”

**********

ink belongs to @comyet/ @myebi

error belongs to @loverofpiggies

dark cream belongs to @zu-is-here

well, it took a while to update you guys, but i’m really happy about it!

error holds a huge grudge against ink- what is it? still haven’t finished that part yet guys ;D

also, the illustration is a spoiler for the next part focusing about ink, but as they say- it’s not a real spoiler if you have no context right ;)?

((remind me not to paint an illustration for a writing i haven’t updated in a while it just makes it worse))

also, the reason i haven’t drawn error once is because i can’t decide on a design he often hides his face with a very dark cape. i will give you guys a sheet with everyone’s faces (protagonists only) their mouths (the difference between their fangs) and their markings/eyelights

very exited to write more about ink though- it’s going to get interesting very soon ;)

first- previous- next

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uraniumwriting · 3 years ago

Text

The Types of Greed

For @flashfictionfridayofficial‘s prompt, Endless Greed! Once again set in GSR, because I needed to start to get back into it. Featuring a little more feral Melandra. WC: 905 words

~~~~~~~~~

I sat there, watching the shadows of the figures dance on a nearby wall. The shadows danced, but when I looked out towards the fire where they stood, the figures themselves were nearly still, with only the occasional shifts from one figure or another. They were speaking of something serious, huddled together in a green mass of thick robes as if they were protecting something. Obviously, they were. They were protecting themselves, protecting the things that they didn’t want me to know before our supposed meeting the next morning.

Focus on finding Janette. Not on them. I had to keep telling myself that, feeling my body itch to go towards the group, try to listen in on a conversation that I had no part in. Maybe it was my training from the docks, maybe it was just how desperate my mind was for answers, but I couldn’t break my attention away from their hidden conversation. There had been enough conversations the past few days that had already rocked my world, made me even more distrusting of what the world around me was really like, but for some reason, for some stupid reason, I wanted more.

It was probably only the hand on my shoulder that stopped me from moving any closer.

The feeling was familiar, but my mind still raced as I turned around, my hand going for my knife until I properly recognized Jet crouched down next to me. He was silent, as we had to be, already within the town we should’ve never even been near, but the look in his eyes told me he had found something, and the papers clutched in his other hand told me exactly what he had found.

Information. I really needed that at the moment.

I resisted the urge to pull the papers out of Jet’s hand, instead holding my hands out for them and waiting until he handed them to me. Business letters. I recognized the form of them almost immediately, with the straight margins and uniform lines. Even the script was almost perfect, but it was the familiarness of the scripts that were in front of me that took my focus, even though I could barely see them through the fringes of light from the fire.

The straightness of the “A”s on one of the pages. The unique flourishes on all of the letters of the other one. Both made my breath stop for a moment, but I still looked to the bottom of the letters, fearful but not surprised of the names that were scrawled out in their distinct writing. Michael. Eden. I didn’t need any last names to understand. Why were the letters, seeming to be sent to each other, both in the same place? I wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. It didn’t even matter what was on the pages to me, but when I went to hand them back to Jet, he pointed down at the one letter, to a paragraph near the end.

Of course, it was one of the letters from my father.

There are an infinite number of types of greed, it read, and I’m afraid you will find my daughter has the worst sort of greed for this ordeal. For you may call me greedy for safety and peace of mind, and I may call you greedy for control and respect, but they both are what are driving us through this old prophecy. But my daughter, she is greedy for both anonymity and knowledge. Your men have seen her work at the docks, correct? Her greed will be difficult to control; I haven’t been able to, and I’ve been trying to keep her in one place her whole life.

I understand the importance, friend. But I wish you luck. You’ll need it.

My grip was tightening on the letter before I had even finished reading, and truly, I didn’t finish reading the letter at all, shoving it back into Jet’s hands. Caspian had been right. My father had been a part of all of this, but that wasn’t the part that truly made me upset. To call me greedy, just for wanting to stay the nobody that I was meant to be? It sounded like something to come out of Janette’s mouth, rather than my father’s. The handwriting had to have been his, and what would be the point in forging a letter like that?

I looked back out at the mass of figures by the fire, ignoring the feeling of Jet’s hand on my shoulder. My father could be one of them. Eden could be another. Two people that thought they could just tweak a few things and make me do whatever they wanted. As the tears rolled down my face, I resolved myself to one thing:

If they were to call me greedy, then I would be greedy. A kind of greed that I couldn’t really explain, even as my fingers ran along the handle of my knife. Greedy to not let their greed control my decisions. Greedy to prove them right and wrong at the same time, in the most painful way possible. Maybe it was the fatigue getting to my head. Maybe it was a knowledge that I didn’t realize that I had just yet. But I would be ready for them in the morning. I didn’t need Janette for it. I didn’t need any backup for it.

I just needed my knife.

#my writing #am writing #writing snippet #wip #my wip #flash fiction friday #GSR #im gonna do the taglist this time guys just you wait #tho i may have never added some people whoops #i am a professional writeblr

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the-pimo-saboteur · 3 years ago

Text

Literary Analysis and Rebuttal #1

(Screenshots taken from Young People Ask — Answers That Work, Volume 2, Section 8, Chapter 31: “How Can I keep Music in Its Place?)

As can be observed from the above picture, the introduction of this article begins by insinuating that all music can be grouped into two major categories: ”right” music and “wrong“ music. This statement negates the possibility of there being a gray area which is neither “good” nor “bad;” therefore plunging the text into the fallacy of false dichotomy.

“Because the lyrics embedded in the music will affect your thinking and attitudes.” Whether this statement is true or untrue is irrelevant; the fact remains that it is unsupported by any factual evidence.

Because of the persuasive nature of the text, if there was any research done on the topic of how music affects the mind, the sources should have been cited in the paragraph, in the endnotes, and/or at the end of the book in a bibliography (see why: here and here). In the digital version located within the JW Library app, no citation methods were utilized.

So, due of this lack of citations, it can be surmised that the writers of this chapter either did no research at all or were engaged in some form of plagiarism. Either way, it isn‘t a good look for them.

“High-powered marketing experts are hired to shape and control your taste in music.” Again: Where is the evidence? Where are the citations? Where are the ethos and logos needed to form an effective argument? The words “pressure,” “shape,” “control,” “dictate,” and “influence” are (in this context) direct synonyms of each other. This repetitive phrasing creates within the reader a sense of being attacked on all sides by an outside force. This is further solidified by the assertion, “…you lose your power of choice. You become a mindless slave.” This is an example of pathos. Pathos can be part of an effective argument; but using only pathos in a persuasive text is dangerous and often leads to misinforming or manipulating the audience.

Also, take note of the heading: “Think for Yourself,” which gives the reader a sense that the writers want them to exercise their freedom — to rely on their own judgement…

However, the writers contradict themselves by saying, “The Bible urges you to resist the world‘s influence in such matters.” If the writers truly wanted the audience to have full musical and mental autonomy, then it would not have been necessary to write this article in the first place. Therefore, the semblance of choice presented by the text must be a lie.

The authors circle back to say “You will also want to schedule time for reading and studying the Bible and Bible-based publications,” further pushing their agenda on the reader.

Lastly (on a non-objective note):

“I have music that I know I’m supposed to throw out.�� As an audiophile, this statement is appalling. What they are proposing here is the musical equivalent of book-burning.

I’m cutting this rebuttal/analysis off here because I’m tired.

If you actually managed to get through this, I thank and commend you (I barely got through it myself).

Have a good day.

#exjw #ex cult #rebuttal #rhetorical analysis #literary analysis #high control groups #cults #religious trauma #pimo #apostate

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after-nine-at-the-oasis · 4 years ago

Text

time keeps passing by (and i hold you close to me)

@sanderssidesgiftxchange

Happy holidays @confusedhost ! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy it Logyn!

Pairings: Romantic Loceit

Word count: 4075

Warnings: Self-worth issues

beta-read by the amazing @thetomorrowshow , thanks mas!

“Logic!”

Logic sighed, looking up from a piece of Thomas's homework to see nine-year-old Anxiety running into the room. He carefully set the paper down and turned so he could make eye contact with the other boy.

“What's wrong?” he asked calmly. Anxiety frowned at him, but he did answer (in a rather round-about way and at a breakneck pace, yes, but he did answer).

“Deceit was arguing with Morality because Thomas said he'd done his homework but, you know, he didn't, because you're doing it, and I said that Morality was right, 'cause he was– ” Anxiety paused for a breath– “But Deceit didn't think so and he said that it was his job and I said 'Well it's a stupid job' and now Morality doesn't know who's right even though I am and Deceit's upset.” Anxiety took another deep breath, and Logic waited a moment to make sure he was finished.

“Okay, I will deal with it,” Logic said evenly as he stood up. He was one of the oldest sides at 13, with Morality being just a little younger than him (Deceit, the one in question, was 11), so he was often the designated peace-keeper. Anxiety looked sullen and a little worried, but he nodded and watched Logan as he walked away.

After succeeding in getting Morality to leave the room, though the other side also looked worried – honestly, more distraught than worried –, Logic carefully made his way over to Deceit, who was curled up on the floor, rocking slightly.

“Deceit?” Logic asked tentatively. Deceit said something muffled, his arms folded across his knees in front of his face, but Logic took it as a sign that he could continue. He crouched down, studying the younger side for a few moments.

“What happened?” he asked softly. Of course, Anxiety had told him what happened, but he wanted to hear Deceit's side of the story- taking from one source of information was no way to make a proper conclusion. Deceit took a shuddering breath, and when he looked up at Logic his eyes were brimming with tears. Logic's heart would've broken at the sight if he had one (which he didn't – that was clearly Morality's job).

“Deceit?” Logic nudged. The boy across from him flinched at the name. Logic hesitated for a moment.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. “You seem– ”

Before he could finish his sentence, the younger boy launched himself at Logic, wrapping his arms around the older Side's waist. Caught off guard, Logic froze. What was he supposed to do? Comfort. That's what Morality always did.

Slowly, Logic wrapped his arms around Deceit, who relaxed a little and shoved his head further into Logic's chest. They sat there for a few minutes before Logic followed his lead and began to relax, but once he did, it was rather nice. Morality thought it was adorable (which it wasn't, might Logic add) when he found them curled up together, asleep, a few hours later, but Anxiety and the both Creativity's gave them weird looks. Then again, since when did he care what the others thought?

–

Thomas had been asked out on a date. By a girl. And he said yes. To a girl.

All the Sides were doing something in response to this. Morality felt bad about faking interest in said girl, Anxiety was generally being anxious, and the Creativity's were frantically trying to figure out a way to escape the date with a shred of dignity left.

Logic and Deceit were commiserating on the couch, Deceit because it was an awful lie (and because they were all gay), Logic because it was an awful decision altogether (and because, as previously stated, they were all gay).

“He could have said he had to study for his SAT!” Deceit was saying. “But no, he haaaaaad to pretend he was into her.” Logic hid a smile as Deceit crossed his arms, looking like an irate child.

“While there is usually a better option than lying, in this situation a good lie would have benefited us,” he agreed. Then he added, “Additionally, Thomas really does need to study for the SAT.” Deceit laughed at that, and Logic had to hide another smile. It was surprising how easily he and Deceit could spend time in each other's company. And, evidence by the fact that he rarely smiled so much in the company of the other Sides, enjoy that time together. Well, Logic hoped that Deceit felt the same, anyway. Because here they were, talking and smiling in a small bubble of peace while everyone panicked around them. The world could be on fire, and Logic couldn't care less; as long as he was still sitting here, smiling and talking, with Deceit.

–

Lojandro had a problem.

(No, that wasn't right. Was that even a name?)

Every Side was trying to figure out what their name was. Logic was sure his was something with an L, but being unable to discover his name wasn't the issue. It was the fact that his best friend, D, didn't want a name. It was worrying, how much D seemed to detest himself. Lane (no) tried to convince him otherwise, but feelings were not his forte. Every time the other Sides were dismissive (the were rarely outright rude) of D, he did try to defend his friend, but that was all he knew how to do.

To add to his troubles, Logic had realized he had a crush on his best friend.

(Laken? Probably not)

But the worst thing about it is that after a short time of surprise, it wasn't all that surprising. He had been friends with D since he was 13, perhaps even younger- for 7 years now. And he hadn't even noticed. Everything made so much more sense with this in mind. But now, he had absolutely no idea if D liked him back. He was inclined to answer negatively, but he knew that sensibly there was a 50/50 chance. The best option would be to simply ask the other man. However, given the way D was feeling currently, that was a horrible idea, possibly the worst Lund (not a name again, is it?) had ever come up with.

His thoughts were interrupted as D entered the room. Flopping down on the logical Side's bed, D let out a melodramatic sigh. He almost sounded like Crea- Roman, and Logan snorted quietly at the thought. D, acting like Roman. There was no way he could've escaped laughing. D lifted his head to look at the older man, who was sitting at his desk.

“What?” he asked, a hint of a smile in his voice. Link (no, that wasn't it either) smiled to himself, but it was certainly not a thought that should be 'outside his head', as Morality put it.

“It's nothing.”

Turning to look at the Side currently appropriating his blankets, Logic saw a face of disbelief and rolled his eyes.

“Truly. It's not important, D.”

D smiled a little at the nickname. He had told Logic a few weeks ago that he disliked being called by his function, and, horrified that he had been making him uncomfortable (though he had only an inkling as to why), Lindsay Lohan (why? No) had immediately agreed to call him D. It was just a bonus that it made the younger Side smile. After a few moments, Logic realized that D was giving him a quizzical look.

“What?” he asked, not the least bit anxious. Obviously. That clearly was Anxiety's job. It was even in his name. D laughed.

“You were staring, that's all,” D answered. “Were you zoning out?” Logic frowned. He had been staring? That wasn't good.

“Ah- yes. Simply trying to think through a problem” Technically true.

Deceit humphed.

“Do it later. I'm tired and cold, come give me your warmth.”

Logic rolled his eyes again, saying something along the lines of “I'm not that warm”, but he didn't truly mind. He could forget about his troubles for a little while. When he stood up D slow-clapped.

“Impressive. I've never seen someone get up so willingly,” the other Side drawled. Resisting the urge to once again roll his eyes, Logic shoved D over with one hand while he pulled off his shoes with the other. D squawked.

“Hush, move over farther.”

Grumbling a little, but clearly trying not to smile, D shuffled over a little farther, immediately wrapping his arms around Logic as soon as the older Side climbed onto the bed. Logic pulled up one of the now-rumpled blankets to cover them both, and once they were settled, D lay his head on Logic's chest.

After a few hours of occasional talking and cuddling, D was asleep, head still resting on Logic's chest. But- Well, Logic had seen D quite irritable, upset, and sluggish recently. His being happy, and getting some clearly much-needed sleep, was something he could forsake a little work for. It was a basic calculation.

And after all, he was Logic.

(Lapdog? Well, in a way, but that still wasn't a name.)

–

“D,” Logan said quietly. The man half asleep next to him grumbled. “D,” Logan said again, a little louder. D sighed a little and mumbled something. Logan smiled softly, then it grew a little as he remembered his name. It took him a few months, but he'd found it. He knew D had as well, but he wouldn't tell him what it was the first few times, so Logan stopped asking. But there was one more thing that he couldn't put off asking anymore.

“Are you listening to me?” he asked. D rolled over to face him as his eyes also rolled.

“No, obviously not,” the other side said dryly. Logan smiled again, but it quickly fell. D's eyebrows pinched together slightly, but he didn't comment on it. His gaze did flick to Logan's hands, however, and it was obvious that he saw the quickly aborted fiddling. Before his best friend (ha) could catalog his body language anymore, Logan took a deep breath and began.

“I don't quite know how to say this, but I no longer want to keep it a secret. It is fine if–” you're only prolonging the inevitable. Just move on to the main paragraph. Logan finished his sentence in a rush. “If you're uncomfortable, please just tell me. Now. . . I will simply come out and say it. I realized some time ago that I had romantic feelings for you.” Logan sped up slightly when he saw D tense, and couldn't seem to keep a steady space, getting faster and faster throughout.

“But we've been friends for nine years, so I didn't feel as if it were something I should mention to you, in case you didn't feel the same way and it ruined our friendship–” why aren't you following the script– “And it took an exceedingly long while to figure out in the first place, so I continued to hold out hope it was untrue, but here we are, so,” Logan took another deep breath and threw the already in shreds script out the metaphorical window.

“I see you smile, and I feel as if I will burst. I hear you laugh, and it lights up the room, but no one else seems to see it. And you come in and throw yourself onto my bed, but I can't find it in me to be angry at you, because you're D, you're my best friend, you're more than that to me, and I've kept it to myself for so long I didn't think I could survive any longer. Which is absurd, but–”

He was cut off when D lurched forward a little, surprising him, but not near as surprising as when he stared directly into Logan's eyes. As if he were asking something. The logical Side stared at him for a moment before it dawned on him.

Oh.

No, that couldn't be possible. Besides, he had no idea if D was truly asking him for permission to- well, to kiss him. But somehow, he found himself nodding, and D closed the rest of the distance between them.

It was a short kiss, but it tingled on Logan's lips a little. He just lay there, stunned. And, as apparently his entire body was out of control today, he spoke.

“I love you,” Logan said.

What.

D stared at him for a moment, his mouth open. He opened and closed it a few times, as if he were trying to say something. Logan panicked. Just a little.

“I didn't mean– Well, I very much did, but that's besides the point, it was an accident–”

“I love you too,” D said, voice slightly raspy, but at least he'd finally said something. Wait. He had said it back to him.

“Oh,” Logan said lamely.

D flopped back onto his back, then almost immediately, as if he had changed his mind, flipped onto his stomach and pressed his face into a pillow. He said something quietly, which Logan didn't understand, and, still quiet and a mix of numbness and bliss, asked him to repeat.

“You're a dork.”

“Oh.”

Logan could hear D's slightly hysterical laugh at that, but his – boyfriend? What were they now? – D's body did relax a little, so at least his joke helped.

Logan laughed in reply and hesitantly pressed closer to D, who lifted one of his arms and put it around the older Side. Gradually, they both began to relax.

They were definitely going to have to talk about this.

–

“Roman, please-”

“I can fight my own battles, Logan, but please, keep talking!”

“See? A villain!”

“D is not–”

“Yeah, he sort of is.”

“As if you're any better!”

“Guys, please–”

Logan groaned as the arguing got louder and louder. They had simply been trying to help Thomas decide if he should go to see several rather unpleasant members of extended family. But when D had suggested lying to avoid having to go, Roman had broken. It seemed he had been stewing for quite some time, since D convinced Thomas to stay home from an audition because of how over-worked he was. And here Logan was, 27 years old, trying to deescalate the argument just like when they were children.

Logan looked to his side to appeal to D since Roman clearly wasn't backing down, but D was no longer there. He stared at the spot where his boyfriend had been mere moments ago. How had no one else noticed that one of the main subjects of the argument had left? Quickly, Logan looked around. Luckily, no one else had sunken out, or was in the process of sinking out; Patton was still looking distressed and trying to talk Roman down by the blinds, Roman was now yelling at Anxiety from his place in front of the television, and Anxiety was gesturing to Logan himself. Remus had not shown his face yet.

“- and Logan!” Anxiety finished triumphantly. Logan had no idea what he had been saying, but he nodded vaguely as Roman gasped – he didn't like it when one of the “Dark Sides” used their names. Thinking about it, it was a surprise he hadn't reacted much when D had called Logan by his name a minute ago, but he must not have noticed. Shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts, Logan mumbled some generic excuse that he probably wouldn't even remember later and sunk out.

When he rose up in D's room, at first he didn't see anything. But after searching the room for a few moments with his eyes, they landed on D, curled up in the corner with his back to Logan.

“D?” Logan asked hesitantly. There was a flash in his mind – ah, a near-forgotten memory. It was of D, curled up on the floor in a similar manner as to what he was doing now. He looked about 10 years old, so that must have been when they first started to become friends. Perhaps it is a comfort position, Logan mused as he walked over to his boyfriend.

As soon as he sat down next to D, the other man wrapped his arms around Logan. Almost immediately, Logan embraced him in return. They sat there for a few minutes, silent, until Logan felt the tiniest hitch of D's shoulders.

Instantly, he let go and pushed D gently back until he could make eye contact with him. It was clear D was trying to contain the tears leaking out of his eyes, but it seemed he couldn't quite manage it. D tried to subtly wipe a few tears away, but it was useless, seeing as Logan already knew they were there. Logan didn't know what to do. There was no convincing the other Sides of D's importance – he had been trying for years. But he couldn't stand seeing his boyfriend like this, not again.

“D, ignore them,” Logan said quietly, but firmly. “They do not at all understand your worth.”

“But–”

“No, D,” Logan said. He grabbed D's hands, trying to make him see how important this was, but not startle him.

“You are amazing, not to mention necessary. And besides that, you are my entire world. If the others cannot respect even that, then we do not need them.”

D stared at him for a moment, and Logan realized what he'd just said. He flushed slightly, but didn't say anything else. It was silent for a few moments, before D spoke.

“My name is Janus.”

It seemed Logan was simply running slow today, because it once again took him a moment to comprehend what the other Side had said. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find his voice.

“You. . . D–” he hurriedly corrected himself. “Janus, why? You never said anything, I thought you must have been uncomfortable, or. . . .”

Janus smiled wanly.

“Or never found it?”

Logan nodded hesitantly. It was reasonable to assume. After all, as often as they could, he and Janus told each other everything. But now it seemed almost cruel to have even thought so. Janus's smile remained in place, but it was slowly getting less wan.

“Of course I found it. I just. . . didn't want to say anything. To be judged. And to hold one last secret,” he added with a little laugh. Logan squeezed his hands slightly.

“I said you are my entire world, Janus,” Logan stated. “That includes all of you.”

Janus's face crumpled, and Logan nearly had a heart attack, but Janus was still smiling – sort of.

“Great, thanks for setting off the tears again,” laughed Janus. Well, laugh-cried. Logan gave a little laugh as well.

“You are welcome,” he said. “But I have no sympathy. And I would not appreciate any tears on me.” Janus began to laugh even harder at that. But jokes aside, nothing could bother Logan right now. Not even the salt he could taste from Janus's tears when Logan leaned in to kiss him.

–

Logan looked at Janus, who was standing beside him looking nervous, and squeezed his hand. Janus squeezed back, smiling nervously at him. They only had a few more seconds to wait, as the other Sides were about to arrive.

Almost as if the thought had called them, Roman and Anxiety- Virgil, now, rose up and took seats at the table. Before they could even glare at each other, Patton rose in between them, smiling at everyone before taking his own seat. After a few moments, Remus rose up and pulled himself onto the counter. Logan stared hard at him, but Remus just grinned at him, so he let it go.

Janus looked at him, and he gave him a barely perceptible nod. You have this, dear. And with a deep breath, Janus followed the plan, which was to get this over as quickly as possible.

“My name is Janus.”

Everyone startled, and it looked like Roman was barely containing a laugh. Logan was too busy trying to communicate with his boyfriend through his eyes, even though Janus wasn't looking at him, to glare at the creative Side, but he did take a mental note of it. Patton was still smiling, if a little confused-looking, Anxiety looked sullen (then again, he always did, and he didn't care for Janus). For once, Remus's smile seemed genuine – that was good. After all, he was the closest to Janus, after Logan. Janus barely seemed to be registering their reactions, though, and he plowed on.

“I am aware that you all don't trust me very much. And, I can't blame you for that.” Logan turned his head sharply to look at Janus, who cringed slightly as if he knew Logan didn't approve of the self-deprecation.

“But I am going to assert my worth. If this is enough to trust me even slightly, then it's worth it. However, Thomas needs me, and therefore, you need me.” Janus took another breath. “But Logan and I do not need to put up with any negativity from you. So this is your chance.”

All the occupants in the room continued staring at Janus in silence for a moment, before Virgil shrieked at Remus's sudden launch off of the counter-top and at Janus. Janus stumbled before falling onto the ground under Remus, who hugged him. Janus seemed surprised, but Logan was busy mentally clearing and grievance notes he had under Remus's name.

After a few more moments, Patton stood up and went to join them on the floor. Logan immediately dropped as well, and Patton started laughing as they shifted awkwardly to fit everyone in. At some point, though Logan didn't know when, Virgil and Roman had joined them. And for what seemed like hours, they merely lay there, in new-found peace and companionship.

To be honest, this was much better than either Logan or Janus had imagined this going.

–

“You know,” Janus said conversationally. “Today is our 10th anniversary.”

Logan looked from his book to the man snuggled up to his side.

“And our 1st for being married,” his husband continued. Glancing at the calendar on the wall, Logan saw he was right.

“How did I miss that?” he mumbled, to which Janus hummed, but was obviously trying not to laugh. He had been waiting years to remember something Logan couldn't. And when he finally did, it was possible the most important thing Logan could have forgotten.

“I'm sorry, dear. Forgive me?” Logan asked. Janus rolled his eyes.

“I don't truly care,” the other Side said dryly. “But I accept your apology, and you are forgiven.” Sighing contentedly, he shifted closer to Logan, who automatically wrapped his arms around him, lost in thought.

Half an hour or so later, and they were still in the same position, but Logan was drawn out of his thoughts by the tug of a summons in the back of his mind. Standing up with a small groan, he sunk out, quickly followed by Janus, and they appeared a few seconds later in Thomas's living room right next to each other.

Thomas took a moment to welcome them, then continued with whatever crisis he was having. Logan was only half-listening, still thinking.

He had been friends with Janus for nearly 20 years, in a romantic relationship with him for 10 years, and married to him for 1. The time had flown by, but here he was. He never thought he would even be true friends with the other Sides, let alone get them to accept Janus, but here they were, solving Thomas's problems right along with the others. Patton by the blinds, Remus and Roman by the television, Virgil lounging on the stairs, and Logan and Janus standing by those same stairs. Any major problems they had with each other in the past were past. For now, all was at peace.

Logan turned at the exact same moment as Janus, and they smiled at each other. Without breaking eye contact, they intertwined their hands, and then turned back to the discussion, still smiling. The others shot them strange looks or confused smiles, before glancing away and continuing to talk. Logan supposed it was slightly odd just to stand there with their hands clasped.

Then again, since when did they care what the others thought?

#sanders sides gift exchange #sanders sides fic #sanders sides #ts sides #logan sanders #janus sanders #ts logan #ts janus #i'm not tagging the others because they're barely there #aaaanyways i hope you enjoyed!#i had a lot of fun writing and it turned out way longer than i meant it to lol #so yeah logyn i hope you enjoy some loceit!#(i may or may not have snooped around your blog a little to see what ships you liked)#writing #my writing #byee!! <3

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 5 years ago

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Speechless

A/N: This was a really fun challenge in writing a scene without any actual dialogue. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Reader does practice what some might consider inadvertent self-harm in the second paragraph.

It was difficult to sustain blood-boiling rage.

You scrubbed the dishes until you your knuckles cracked in the hot soapy water, a bit of the rage simmering beneath your skin eeking out to render your efforts wasted.

Tom’s face, drawn into a frown and layered with such exasperation that you hardly recognized him, lingered at the back of your mind as you folded laundry on the expanse of your neatly made bed. Each brush of his clothing against your arms lifted just the barest hint of his soap and aftershave into the air, easing the strain on your strangled heart even with the shouted remnants of your argument ringing in your ears. An argument left unfinished, his endless stream of commitments calling his name with the incessant buzz of his phone in his pocket, leaving you alone to stare at his blurred retreating form as he left the flat in a huff that ripped your breath from your chest.

Never to fully return.

The haste at which you swept the floor couldn’t sustain your heart thundering its aggravation in your chest. With each stroke of the broom across the immaculate floor, anger waned, replaced by a stiff numbness that left you rooted to the floor, worrying your bottom lip to distract from the anxious flutter in your stomach. Harsh words spoken without thought couldn't be swallowed back around the lump in your throat.

You didn’t expect him back. Not for days. Days of your emotions rising and falling in neverending waves only serving to rend more tears from your bloodshot eyes and sobs from your twisted mouth. So when the front door opened and closed quietly, signaling his arrival, the muscles along your shoulders bunched and tensed to drag you down. Your hand stilled over the cup of tea, long gone cold, stirred relentlessly as your eyes traced new furrows over the aimless pattern of the marble countertops.

A soft, fortifying intake of breath followed the slow thud of his shoes across the floor. The scrabble of nails on hardwood before Bobby was let into the garden. Echoing silence that stretched for an eternity until his hands stroked down your shoulders to linger on your upper arms. The heat of him against your knotted back. Masculine, strong, home, matching the clean scent of his cologne that rested next to your skin from his stolen jumper hanging loosely on your frame.

The nudge of his nose against the shell of your ear had your eyes drifting closed in unwilling surrender. Your hands flexed at your sides with the familiar - and often answered - urge to reach up and tangle in the auburn curls that teased at the nape of his neck.

You turned. His hands stroked down his lean torso to hang loosely in between you, palms up. A thousand apologies shimmered in the stormy grey-blue of his eyes and none on his lips. They would be hollow, meaningless, falling on ears that had grown weary of neverending defenses softened by his velvety voice. Purple tinged his rosy skin deep beneath his gaze that searched your unyielding face for any semblance of hope.

The cotton of his shirt was warm beneath your fingertips, soft from lying against his heaving stomach. You hid from the tears that pooled in his eyes, watching instead your hands make the voyage up the planes of his chest to caress the stubble on his clenched jaw. Neither of you could resist, you in caressing the hollow of his cheek with your thumb, him in leaning into your gentle touch with a sigh that shook you to your fragile core.

It hurt. The yawning ache inside your chest swallowed even the sunshine of your love. It dug icy fingers into the strings of your heart and plucked at them, breaking the brittle pieces and fraying the rest. Picking at the pieces of your love and discarding the weaknesses brought on by doubt and fear and millions of voices and pasts that haunted the shadows of your home.

Salt stung your trembling fingers. The whisper of his breath across your face brought attention to the depths of your misery betraying you to trail down your cheeks, to wet your chapped lips and gather beneath your quivering chin.

Vulnerability had never found a more breathtaking model than in Tom. That gorgeous man, watching you with so much careful trepidation that the need to smooth out the crinkles around his eyes was a tangible tingle, was too much.

The sanctuary of his arms was complete, soothing and sure and tender, holding you so that your hearts beat in a stuttering drum against the other. Fighting for strength. Sounding battle cries against your uncertainty.

If you could just hold on, just a bit longer, then perhaps the intensity of his embrace could smother the turmoil simmering beneath your skin.

Lips anchored to your shoulder. Fingertips digging into your sides. Words weren’t necessary; he wasn’t letting you go.

Tidbit of Tom taglist: @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @ladyblablabla

Whole Shebang taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @brokenthelovely @myworddump @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13 @arch-venus25 @xxloki81xx @jessiejunebug @tinchentitri @sllooney @devilbat @vikkleinpaul @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian @toozmanykids @claritastantrum @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius @sabine-leo @lovesmesomehiddles @peterman-spideyparker @wegingerangelica @bluefrenchfries604 @catsladen @snoopy3000 @silverswordthekilljoy @villainousshakespeare

#imagine tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston oneshot #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston x reader #angst #but with a happy ending

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rosepyrearchive · 4 years ago

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𝐟𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏

an experiment of posting a drabble a day, from a few sentences to a paragraph or more. i posted them on my old blog, now i’m going to compile them all here !

fingers carefully shift the lavender crystal in betwixt her thin fingers. for years, it had remained faithfully at the base of her throat, the way wolves protect each other’s most delicate parts; her father always did the same. now, there’s somewhere else she’d like to place that power, that protection. what color would the crystal turn, when placed in anakin’s palm ? blue, like his eyes, or red, like the blood he sheds ? the choker she once wore, pastel colored velvet around her neck, has an empty slot where she’d pulled the gem from, and now it finds a new home on a long chain of beskar; where she imagines it will press right in the middle of his chest, beneath his tunic & tabard. no matter what becomes of him, or what tries to hurt him . . . the chain and crystal will remain.

ii.

in her mother’s arms, she is just a daughter, a doll. on stage, she is better than a mortal girl, or even the immortal one she became; she’s a ballerina in tufts of pink & tulle. i am a good girl, even now when they’re all in the ground. now that the curtains of earth & velvet have fallen, though, who is she ? who does she become, without the pale pink ribbons & tight bodice of her costumes ? the voice, the visions, the hallucinations seem to answer for her; a ghost, a hazy, obscure daydream who cannot truly exist. who is she ? where does the camouflage, the eagerness to please end ? serena supposes it doesn’t end at all; and in that, she is a russian doll of nothingness.

iii.

she’s never seen him without his helmet. no one has, serena imagines — not in this state of his life, where removing it means deprivation and vulnerability; the simple act and thought is filled with an intimacy serena knows she could never earn from him, but … the yearning doesn’t stop, nor does the longing and curiosity to see his pallid skin, scarred & tainted, the marks that must cover his cheeks and chest. where do they end ? are they like ripples in waves or a pattern ? and … when she stands near him, does he ever look at her ? the blackness of his shield hides it all, and it does it’s job in making her nervous; serena can never stand still in his presence, thighs shaking and nails digging trench tracks into her soft palms. darth vader is terrible, awful, even cruel … so what is it that allures her so deeply, and why ? then again, if she knew, perhaps the shimmering butterflies would subside and she could see clearly, see this for what it was. he wasn’t even using her — and she is the very picture of devotion.

iv.

to what end does the fae steal a fair maiden ? or is it truly a crime, when the victim is so terribly willing ? allie’s feet move so mesmerizingly, around & around while flowers and mushrooms bloom from beneath her soles; her palm is so open – ❪ come to me, serena ! ❫ perspiration of late summer sticks to serena’s forehead, betwixt her rosy fingers, ❪ 𝙾𝚁 𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙽𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙾𝚄𝚂 ? 𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙴 𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚈 … ❫ and without a regret, she lays her hand in the other girl’s. she sups on honeyed milk, gives her name. the fairies covet gold, and what is serena, if not well - dressed in a golden shroud, from her crown to the hem of her long dress ? what does she have to fear, when she is magic all on her own ? allie’s hand lifts both of theirs high as she twirls serena amidst the flowers, and she swears she can feel grass grow from her steps.

calloused fingers dig deep into serena’s sweet, soft dimples; and from her jaw, trickles of sweet wine drip, down her neck, like spilled rubies on her pale skin. you hurt me, she wants to say. you’ve hurt me, and i am the one who’s sorry. hollis draws his thumb down to her chin, leaving perfect smudged fingerprints across her the way one would drag their fingers across a fogged glass. his eyes are a dull, venomous green as he calls her a name that doesn’t belong to her. that isn’t me, serena wants to cry. non, mon rêve, you’re much prettier than she ever was, hollis would reply, because this isn’t the first time. he squeezes bruises into her little arms as he kisses her, and serena thinks she kisses him back.

vi.

allow the camera to pan upwards, from her pale pink ballet slippers into her soft cotton dress, her feet turn out in first position as she raises her hands into fourth, pulled up by soft silk strings by an invisible puppeteer. the stage is her church, a massive, all encompassing world of history & grace, and then the world becomes it’s own stage; and serena’s performance is all consumed, like an apple in the garden of eden. isn’t she so lovely, so flawless, our little ballerina ornament ? serena doesn’t know who, or what, controls her actions – her lies, her pliés. some entity who refuses to present themselves, only bothering to choreograph her life & watch her from behind the scenes; she is both fresh as a flower, brought up in springtime, & as broken as skeletons that have long withered to dusk in their caskets. even in her most secluded moments, she does not feel alone – not truly. this puppet master is always watching, writing their script, judging her arches and how gracefully she can slide across the floor in her pointe shoes. when she takes her final bow, it’s only the studio mirror that gazes back at her, her own doelike brown eyes, her own slim form – there’s no cables attaching her to the ceiling.

this life is so very boring, so unlike the dreamy world she longed for as a foolish girl. i had long ruined my own life with my own dissatisfaction before someone else destroyed it for me.

viii.

longing lurks deep behind a golden - brown gaze / what comfort can she take in the jedi code, when it’s cold, hard … and ben’s hand is warm, all encompassing ? the code, the code … the temple is a stage, and the council pulls her strings, but the one thing they can’t take from her is her mind; in there, she is strong, stone. they encourage compassion: but no attachments. what is that, to her ? what is it compared to the sunlight she feels in ben’s eyes when he leans down to kiss her temple, or the delight serena can see in him when she enters the room ? ❪ because love is the death of duty, as wiser men say ❫ in many ways, she is greater than other girls; a doll - like padawan, bright, intelligent – but in the end, she is still human, and she finds no love within the code / only does she find the serenity it speaks of in ben’s embrace, and the way he bends over at the waist to hold her, and he is all around her like cologne. that is a glory & a tragedy worth dying for.

viii.

fear has always cut deep within serena’s soft skin; it was easy to pull her apart like a pomegranate, see the little pin - prick razors of fright, but nothing had made her so afraid since meeting the jedi. she’s a fragile heart wound tightly in red ribbons and strings, each tied to the pinkie finger of every person she loves. some of the ends are cut, some fray towards the latter, but she doesn’t forget. she doesn’t let go, not in her deep heart, where they are safe. the jedi don’t agree; and her body wracks with guilt as she resists placing ribbons on their fingers. they cannot love me, she knows / so why isn’t it enough to stop her ?

ix.

every part of my body aches. serena sits on the hard bathroom floor like a stain on the tile, the tulle of her practice skirt shimmering in the dim fluorescents. the plastic stall divider is freezing against her shoulders, and it hurts when her head falls back against it. the bathroom is empty, but the room is loud. DISGUSTING GIRL. IT HURTS. what hurts ? I CAN’T FIND IT ANYMORE, IT’S SPREAD LIKE A POISON. she finds sanctuary in her own little white lies, and this stall where none of the other ballerinas go – she’s a soloist, a prima; she is special. allegedly. she barely notices the wine - red trickle of blood that spills from her nose, gravity pulling it down her perfect pale face. the relief is nearly instant, whatever ache she’d had seems to fade away / her eyes hone in on the empty plastic bag, only remnants of white pill powder left. the same resin seems to linger on the tip of her pointe shoe, that she’d used to crush it all up. the urge to smash the wooden end of her slipper into the stupid godforsaken plastic container as hard as she can and see how much damage she can do washes over her; but she’s too shocked by the sudden violent urge to act on it. instead, serena lets the clarity & ability to focus drown out the voices that scream in her tender head, and brings herself to stand.

❪ 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐊 ❫

pink silk shimmers in the early morning sun; her blush is just as pretty, sitting across from her father at the iron balcony table. he is her king, her first love, and serena revels in the attention her father lavishes on her. everything is still so new, so beautiful, when she’s young – serena dreams of the future, of white veils and cotillions. her distance isn’t yet defensive, but a sweet daydream, of romantic notions & hopes. serena dreams of the far away, of paris and rushing crowds. you have the carlisle look, julian had told her, once. your brother has it too. someday, this world will be wrapped around your little finger. be kind to it. serena had smiled so lovely at that – let the world be kind. let it show her kindness.

xi.

❪ 𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐘 ❫

this is a private moment; but serena can feel the hidden camera lenses on her, seeking that million dollar photo of palpable grief, or the bullet hole in her father’s chest, as if it weren’t hidden from view behind his favorite suit. she won’t cry. serena had already emptied herself of every golden tear when she’d cleaned her father’s face, when she’d combed his hair. she was the one who’d laid his arms over his chest, with her favorite stuffed animal between them to keep him company. august pulls all her curls behind her head, and lays his hands on her thin shoulders, squeezing just enough to be a reassurance. a million questions ran through her head – every single one beginning with why.

her fingers drift, softly, for the last time, over her father’s cheek. she pretends it’s warm with life, and not chilling to the bone. if he could be killed, then no one is safe.

xii.

❪ 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋 ❫

be kind to the world. serena’s innocence had died screaming, yet she still remembers the words her father had told her. sunlight streams through the trees above, but she is too stiff to move just yet; so she lies there in the grass, flowers having bloomed over the years of her sleep through her hair and around her body. a new era has begun, everything she knows is gone. everyone she loves is gone. maybe it’s the haziness of first waking up after a half - century, but there’s a determination beneath her silk skin, her ivory bones. serena has become something new, just as the world has – beneath the porcelain, her ribs have grown steel. she will not be so breakable ever again.

xiii.

in the movies, pearls are always being yanked from necks, the precious little beads clattering to the hardwood floor in bunches. serena allows the pretty necklace to drift through her fingers, remembering the time her mother had wrapped it around her neck. she’d felt like such a little madam in her maman’s pearls. there’s a little secret: those pearls in films, dramatic as they were, were fake. maman’s were genuine, and the little pieces were knotted in between, meaning even if she’d ripped them from her throat, only one or two at worst would go missing. her mother was too much of a lady, anyway … prone to melancholy and hurt, but not quite fits. what a complicated love, the one between a mother & a daughter … serena finds herself missing her mother’s arms more often than not these days, and the security that came with them.

xiv.

valentine’s day has always been a non - affair romantically; her favorites were dinner dates with her family, the men being the gentlemen, and the one day her maman would let her wear her red lipstick. the couples on the street below her balcony make her feel something, but is it jealousy, or nostalgia ? her palm cradles her jaw as she leans against the iron barrier. a man kisses a woman, and why does her heart lurch for something so impossible ? to love, to be loved … she would never be capable of it, her last boyfriend had told her so. adam had as well. anyone who would want to spend this day with her is dead, and no one else could accept the things she’d done, the person she’s become beneath the lace and ribbons. hallowed, broken.

xv.

i hate the dirt. i hate the grime that i can’t wash away, and the fingerprint i leave on the pristine envelope that the postman gives me, his gaze apologetic. until i look at the handwriting, i don’t understand why. it’s been a week since he could last reach us on the battlefield, to give us some form of comfort and relief, and he only gives me a single letter. there should be more. serena writes to me every day, there should be at least six or seven, all beginning with my dearest brother; but even the single letter isn’t from my sister, but my wife. i should be excited for that, but i’m not – not when i can’t fathom why there’s only this one letter. when i tear into it, a picture falls out: my wife, holding our son. this is a happy moment, and i can feel pressure build behind my eyes, but it’s distracted, because serena should be in this photo. she isn’t, because for some godforsaken reason she’s here in europe – and that’s enough to push the tears from my eyes. i should be there, and serena should be holding her nephew and accepting our request to be his godmother.

but she isn’t, and i’m not either.

xvi.

the streets of new york now aren’t so different from the streets of new york in my childhood. the fashion is different; women wear shorter skirts, deeper cuts to expose their collarbones, and these are changes i like. the buildings still creep into the clouds like pillars of divinity, and the sidewalks are crowded, but no one pays too much attention to anyone else. the men dress differently too, and those changes i don’t like, but if i sit and close my eyes … it’s still all the same, and i can picture the cars, the pretty women and handsome men … even my silly little girl friends, the ones who would walk with me during breaks in ballet when we had so little else to do. when i close my eyes, it doesn’t feel like a lifetime ago.

xvii.

it happens gradually, then all at once, like the impatience of waiting for a rose to blossom. one day you wake up, and it’s simply bloomed, petals spread wide in the sunshine. in that case, serena wonders which moment it was that made her realize her feelings for ben had flowered ── was it the time his fingers grazed hers on the piano keys, and he played the wrong note to make her laugh ? or perhaps when he smiled at her so earnestly, all white teeth and curled lips that met the crinkles by his eyes ? she can’t pinpoint the exact moment she realized she loves ben kenobi; serena only knows what she feels now, the safety of his warm hugs, the way the word ‘graves’ slips between her teeth and she doesn’t choke trying to reel it back in. home was something impossible, turned to ash & bone, but then she finds herself sitting at their table in the coffee shop & she thinks perhaps a home can be rebuilt.

xviii.

prayer used to come first thing in the morning, a mantra spoken breathlessly to open air. it’s not an ideology that serena subscribes to anymore ❪ part of her wonders if she ever did ❫ , but old habits had died hard. she wants to enjoy a new one. ben is there, barely awake while thick raindrops smack against the balcony doors, and serena shimmies his boxers down his thighs. she’s already asked him nicely, with her polite manners and pretty mouth ── and she tries to mask her eagerness with languid movements, laying her cheek to his hip and letting her long curls fall over his body. serena knows he can feel her by the way he shudders when her eyelashes flit over him, her rose - petal fingers everywhere and nowhere because they aren’t exactly where ben wants them. you should tell me what you like, serena offers with a wicked little smile, dragging his hand until he can grip her curls, holding sunshine in his palms.

xix.

when the legs beat against each other in the midst of a jete, it’s a battu jete … beaten. everything is more beautiful in french, and serena thinks it’s true of herself as well. she had been her company director’s little princess, sliding into his queen; she would’ve been the youngest prima ballerina in history. she would’ve had a life. she would’ve had a brother. orson does so much for her, and serena can hardly find it in herself to be grateful, can hardly repeat the pleasantries and manners she’d been taught to sing since she was a little girl letting words tumble from her mouth. instead, serena tries to create a peaceful world, she jumps at the chance to redesign the building he buys, create a setting of her own making; only to lay under the covers, sleeping next to a pillow she pretends is august.

xx.

disgusting. vile. serena watches august rip a newspaper in half, once, twice, then three times, letting the pieces fly onto the floor and cover the coffee table. the headline had once read about her, calling her a top three debutante in new york’s uppercrust society. not just in the top three, but ranked number one. shouldn’t we be proud ? serena asks him. shouldn’t i be flattered ? august had fallen to his knees in front of the chaise where she sat after that, holding her little hands in his own. he squeezes them so tight serena winces. tell me, he begs. tell me if anyone ever touches you. tell me, and i’ll kill them. with all the naivety in the world, serena giggles, shaking her head. nonsense, my darling brother. the only man i love is you; and the only man who shall ever touch me is not here yet.

xxi.

the sunlight doesn’t seem so bright, but the city is just as bustling as the last time she’d seen it. what year had that been ? somewhere around nineteen forty, serena thinks. her old ballet studio has moved; it’s previous location now just another parking lot in new york city. everything about it gives her whiplash. it’s all the same and all entirely different. she almost expects to see august across the street, handsome smile & hair swept back, but she knows she won’t. he’s dead, and so is everyone else she ever knew. there’s a pressure on her shoulders, wondering when someone will notice the imaginary blood seeping out of her core, or when someone will realize she’s half - dead. little walking dead girl, schrodinger’s girl, dead and alive.

xxii.

photographs from another era are spread all across the wooden table serena sits at, glimmering and shining in their black and white glory, sepia, and even a few colored ones. they all had a touch of grain to them, the consequence of new, unperfected technology, but serena adores them. after all, in every photo she sees the face of someone she loves. her grandfather royce, cradling the toddler version of herself in his arms, and then them at a later age, serena with her arms wrapped tightly around him. in another photo, serena sits in his lap, while her grandmother, the woman for whom she was named, hugs them both from behind. so many lost smiles, shining with no idea of what’s to come. her finger traces along another photo, of her mother posing with her in her first pair of pointe shoes. she’d been so proud that day, and serena can’t help but smile back at her. these little moments are all she has left now; what if she forgets it all someday ? at least she won’t forget their faces. serena glues the back of the photos, pasting them into a scrapbook. there are new people she doesn’t want to forget someday as well, and for them, serena glances at a newer camera. she doesn’t have to forget.

xxiii.

moy lebed. my swan. mr. nikolaev calls her that, from the first moment he saw her complete the thirty - two fouettés in odile’s coda. serena sighs into the open studio. the sky has long gone dark, and every other dancer and crew member has gone home — but she remains. this is the dedication that will make me the prima, serena reminds herself. this is what sets me apart. she counts the steps in her head until she loses herself to the imagined music, eyes closed while she moves her arms and tip - toes across the floor. serena is the very picture of a music box ballerina when she kicks her foot up, finding her north star and turning in pirouettes. not even the quiet opening of a door interrupts her focus. august takes her little waist in his hands and helps to give her the extra momentum. then he hoists her over his shoulder, telling her how mother is so worried, and she has to come home right away… all spoken with his hidden, wry smile.

xxiv.

i had never tried to impress anyone the way i’d tried to impress mr. nikolaev, my ballet master and choreographer. my every waking moment was spent under his scrutinizing gaze, attempting to dissect his utter dissatisfaction with the world for it’s lack of grace and beauty and what he felt towards me specifically … all in a leotard and tights that would only leave the color of my skin to our imaginations, and mirrors on every wall reminding me of that fact. i don’t know if i tried harder to gain his attention in the first place, or if i would have killed myself trying to keep it. no girl is ever more beautiful than they are at sixteen, and though i didn’t realize it, perhaps if i had lived to see him again in my later years he would’ve been impressed with my freckles, my dimples, and my big eyes at the age of twenty – i’ve heard i don’t look so different. still, i was even more girlish then than i am now, and three times as shy ; ballet was all i could use to get him to look at me, to make him pay attention & perhaps remember why he took this job in the first place after his own short, but famed career. i would be perfect ; not just for him, but for myself. it didn’t hurt anything that i was his little prima prodigy. he smiled for the first time when he called me his moy lebed, his swan, and i can’t remember the last thing, even now, that had made my heart soar so much.

xxv.

‘are you ready?’ on the cusp of spring in the midst of march, lies serena’s birthday. thirteen is such a special age for a girl ; not quite a woman yet, not quite a girl anymore, but leaving the throes of childhood behind. august’s question comes with an excited edge to his voice and a slim box in his hands, with pink wrapping paper and white ribbons. the other guests at the party had long dissipated, and serena sits on the edge of her bed, feet swinging back and forth to dissipate a bit of the thrill she feels. ‘i’ve been waiting all day!’ is what serena replies, taking the gift into her lap. her brother sits down next to her ; he’s twenty, seven years older, and a man grown, but it’s as if there’s no difference between them as august wraps his arm around her waist, matching brown eyes gleaming as he watches her carefully pry apart the paper to reveal a box of velvet. ‘it’s sentimental,’ august had said, as to why he couldn’t let her open it amongst the guests. private, serena thinks. her brother was always a private man. when she lifts the lid, and august uses his other hand to fold away the white paper, it reveals a precious, heart - shaped golden locket. he pulls it out by the chain, letting the pendent rest in serena’s palms. ‘it’s the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen,’ serena says, eyes glimmering. august’s fingers snap the clasp, and inside, a photo of himself on one side, and then a photo of their parents from their wedding day on the other. serena beams as august closes it then places the necklace around her neck, the pendent falling just at her collarbones. ‘it’s beautiful, my wonderful brother,’ she says, and august kisses her crown. ‘it’s almost as lovely as you, my sweet little sister, and you deserve lovely things. this way, we’ll always be with you.’

xxvi.

julian’s wedding band was like him ; it was a simple golden band, with ivy growing around it, interrupted only by a diagonal line of diamonds. when serena tilts it back, she can see her mother’s name engraved in it. eirene’s was a little flashier, with a bigger diamond in the center. it wasn’t because of her personality, though … in that, serena can still see her father, wanting to impress her, wanting to give his wife the world. julian’s ring occupies her left thumb ; she couldn’t bear to get it resized for her dainty hands, so it’s the best she could manage. he’d had a lithe frame, and for that she’s thankful – serena remembers sliding the ring off of his finger when she’d crossed his arms over his chest, holding it between her fingers. she had to have it. her mother had worn hers until the very last, until she had slipped from serena’s hand into the ocean’s embrace. serena had only been able to just clasp the ring, before it too could fall from her grasp. now, it rests on her index finger, where at least on her hands, her parents could still be together.

#◞ ⁽ ⠀ ♡ ⠀ ⁾ ⠀ ⠀ 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐔𝐄 ⠀ ⠀ —— ⠀ ⠀ the sweetest flowerets gleam.#◞ ⁽ ⠀ ♡ ⠀ ⁾ ⠀ ⠀ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄 ⠀ ⠀ —— ⠀ ⠀ may these memories break our fall.

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leah-halliwell92 · 4 years ago

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Romanian Rhapsody

Summary: Almost two years before Dracula awakens, Dr. May Van Helsing is abroad gathering her own information on the legendary vampire. Years have passed since Jonathan Harker’s visit to what should be the ruins of Castle Dracula. Years since the village people have spoken or even warned anyone away from it. What will May find the deeper she digs into the Count’s home?

Previously:

“She’s your sister,” Sam said voice ice cold, “You’re supposed to defend her against pricks like this like she’s done for you on so many other occasions. Do you really doubt her so much that you’d fail her in this manner?”

Zoe paled at this knowing Sam is right before finding a certain spot on her shoes very interesting all of the sudden.

“And you,” she said looking to a now nervous Jack, “What’s the matter? Can’t have the one you want so you bully the one that’s had it for you since we began working here? How much more cowardly can you get?”

Turning back to Zoe she said, “You know it’s times like this when I realize that even Ted Bundy would have been a good bloke to date for your sister compared to this clown, good night.”

Chapter 1 – Chapter 2 – Chapter 3 – Chapter 4 – Chapter 5

00//00//00

Chapter 6

Agatha walked around what had become her room in his mind enjoying very much what she is seeing. She’d known her bloodline to have a flare but never thought it could burn with the power of a thousand suns.

“What’s with the metaphor?” Dracula asked as he made himself at home.

Agatha watched as he sat on her desk chair a satisfied grin on her face.

Dracula stared back looking serious and clearly off his kilter.

“What’s with the lost puppy look?” She asked instead of giving him a straight answer.

Dracula stood and paced back and forth the small room which only worked to amuse the nun laying on the bed.

“What IS she Agatha!?” He bellowed.

“Whom are you talking about?” She asked knowingly.

“May!” He yelled clearly at the end of his tether, “Her!”

“What she is is my family,” Agatha said amused grin still in place, “And she is what I would have been like should I have been born in this era.”

“Oh really?” He asked tauntingly, “I rather think you’d be like Zoe. All ‘I want is to kill you because you are a monster’ and ‘you are something unnatural’.”

“Which you are,” she said in a sing song voice and a small smirk, “And Zoe believes you killed me. When to us it is obvious it was suicide.

“You are enjoying this too much,” he grumbled laying down on the cot in his cage.

00//00//00

“She said that?” May asked Sam hurt evident in her voice. By no means is she surprised, she’d known for a while that these where the thoughts her sister had of her, what hurt was having them confirmed.

‘A doctorate in European history and a historian in my own right...and this is how she treats me. Like I work under them instead of beside them,’ May thought as she gathered her things into a neat pile and did the preliminary sweep of her office to make sure she had all the notes she needed.

This done, she picked up the pile, turned off the lights and locked her office door. She was just about leave the archives sector to the cage room when Zoe stepped into what is her area of the archives sector.

“Hey,” she said with a small grin.

May nodded still not in the mood to hear her sister’s inane reasons for going head on into a life threatening situation or her half hearted apologies.

“Can we talk?” She asked May.

May gave her a look but nodded.

“Mind if we sit?” Zoe asked, stalling.

“Zoe unlike you some of us do have actual work to do that goes over the clock,” May said not unkindly...but not too nicely either.

Zoe nodded at this expectantly and said, “I knew what I was doing––”

“Bullshite and you know it,” May interrupted her, “You got lucky is what happened.”

“May––”

“Don’t patronize me Zoe,” May said getting agitated, “I’m your sister not one of your interns.”

“We had to get him in the box May!” Zoe said trying to get her sister to see her point of view.

“At the cost of your own life?” May said looking at her pointedly, “If the foundation is paying for damages you should have kept hitting at it until he did as asked not risk your life for a bloody experiment.”

Zoe shook her head and May and mumbled something that sounded very much like “you wouldn’t understand”.

“Wouldn’t understand!? Do you really think I don’t know what its like to have your greatest achievement in the palm of your hand, so close you can taste it and then have it slip away?” May said loudly, shocked that her own sister really did see her as a secretary enough to forget she has her own career in her own hard-earned field, “What have I been doing for the past year Zoe?”

“You’ve been away somewhere in Europe,” Zoe answered automatically.

“That’s where,” May said not impressed with her sister, “Not what. What was I doing ‘somewhere in Europe’?”

Zoe stared at her blankly before saying, “Doing research?”

May sighed exasperatedly and said, “You really can be very stupid for all your smarts. I’m going to go and do my job before heading home, I’ve better things to do with my time than be patronized by you. And the next time you put your life in danger, let the office tell me a day later! Maybe then I’ll have time to process that my sister...my only sister got herself killed.”

With that said, May left Zoe in her office mouth agape in disbelief.

00//00//00

May adjusted her glasses as she stopped in front of the table that is a little ways away from Dracula’s cage. She resisted the urge to scoff and roll her eyes at the files that cluttered up its surface.

“Can’t even be bothered to put the papers in their respective files,” she said to herself as she separated the papers into their correct file folder and putting the files into a neat pile on a corner of the table before setting her own folders on the table.

“Thought you’d be out like the rest of your colleagues,” the man in the cage said nonchalantly.

May rolled her eyes at that but said nothing and went about finishing her file on Castle Dracula.

“Isn’t that what today is all about? Pairing up with your other and giving each other tokens of affection and what not?” He continued on unbothered.

May rolled her eyes and looked up to find the man in question staring at her through the glass of his cage.

Dracula to his credit, looked as curious as he sounded.

May gave herself a mental shake and went back to her writing.

“What on earth could be so interesting in that file that is keeping you practically mute?” He asked now annoyed at being so blatantly ignored.

May sighed and looked up before saying, “I’m writing about my latest expedition. If you must know I’m writing about the ruins of a castle I was studying.”

“Were?” He asked his brows furrowing in curiosity.

“Yes,” she said with a sigh, “I was about to uncover something important when my dear sister gave me a call to come home.”

“Ah so it is my home you were digging through,” he said with a cocky smirk, “So I do interest you then?”

May scoffed making a mental not to be as vague as she could and said, “Don’t push your luck, I’m not my sister.”

“No?” He said in disbelief, “So you don’t want to study me? And have been wanting to crack me open like an egg and poke and prod at what’s inside for the last two weeks?”

May laughed out right at that knew she had to remain as vague as she could, she’d never admit to finding him interesting let along attractive. Nor admit that she enjoyed listening to him talk.

“I don’t see where that could ever be funny,” Dracula said a growl coming from his chest, “What purpose could having me here serve you?”

May’s body still shook from laughing but she had to admit, he is rather handsome and the way he seemed to ooze raw power impressed her…slightly.

“It is, when you say such a thing to a woman with a doctorate in European history,” she said with a small grin.

“Oh,” he said now looking, slightly, abashed.

She shook her head at him and finished the paragraph she was working on so she could give him her undivided attention.

She gave him a look over comparing what he looks like to the portrait she’d seen in one of the rooms. The likeness to the one in her purse is uncanny she had to admit. But the man is truly something else.

“What,” he said smirking again, “Like what you see?”

“That is irrelevant,” she said voice even as she continued studying him from her seat.

“Well aren’t you ever filled with surprises,” he said cockily.

She smirked and was about to say something else when…

“Don’t entertain him…it won’t do you any good,” her sister, Zoe, said as she walked in lab coat billowing with every step she took.

May rolled her eyes in the dark making the vampire in his cage smirk.

“Goodbye Zoe,” she said loudly.

“You shouldn’t even be here,” she said clearly not liking the clear dismissal.

“And where should I be Zoe?” May asked angrily, “In the bowels of the foundation locked away with my files and archives? If the point was to keep me buried I’d have stayed in Transylvania.”

Zoe couldn’t say anything to that, not because she didn’t have anything to say but because her younger sister had a point. She read up on the expedition and where it is located. Her judgment of her from years of rumors clouded her judgment enough to overlook that May would have been safe no matter what…

“Take Jack with you by the way,” May said not looking at her sister finally turning to look at her sister.

Zoe for her part was confused as to why, after all May had a bit of a crush and thought her sister and colleague were going to give a relationship a try.

May gave Zoe a heated glare.

The sisters shared a silent conversation before Zoe nodded sadly and left the room.

May cleared her throat and stood.

“Will you ever tell me why you were so studiously examining my person?” Dracula asked curiously.

May gave him a weak grin but excused herself to put away Jack and her sister’s mess of files leaving her behind.

She kept her steps light not wanting to draw attention to herself as she made her way down to the records’ hall.

‘I really need to find a second office,’ she thought as she put the files back in their respective spots.

Everything was going better than she expected time wise, she even had time to change into her leggings and a cozy top, when she heard two distinct voices walking through her sanctum.

“Of course she’s here,” Jack said as he walked in turning on all the lights as he walked through the room like he owned the place, “She never leaves this place.”

May covered her mouth to keep her breathing in check. She knew Jack wasn’t too keen on her, she also knew what he thought about her. He made it no secret and told anyone who’d listen all about her hermit-like ways. She never thought that he’d completely disregard the fact that she has an education and a title in her own right.

“She’s qualified historian Jack,” she heard one of her colleagues say in defense of her.

May took off her shoes and worked her way around the large archive’s room. Knowing the room like the back of your hand helps when one wants to make a swift escape.

“She’s a qualified secretary,” he said derogatorily.

May paused a tear escaping her. She knew that that is what he and her sister saw her as.

She made a quick exit narrowly escaping the pair and making her way back to where the cage is.

May ignored Dracula’s questioning gaze and dismissed the guards swiftly reminding them that she is as much in charge of the place as Saint Zoe. The guards left at her order but felt no comfort in leaving her there with a clearly dangerous…beast. She proceeded to put her files in her bag and pull out her laptop.

“Are you alright?” Dracula asked after having had enough of seeing the woman command the attention of all in the room.

‘She really is something,’ he thought holding back a smirk remembering how Agatha had done the same on the Demeter when his true nature was revealed.

May gave Dracula a guarded look before pulling out her sketch pad and a pencil, clicking the space bar on her computer allowing music to play from it softly. All the while not answering his question.

Dracula was about to inquire again when a Doctor Jack Seward walked into the room.

“There you are May, I need you to pull a file out for me,” he said flashing her a flirtatious grin.

She looked at him then at Dracula before looking back at Jack.

“Sorry we’re closed,” she said and went back to her drawing.

Jack looked dumfounded at the response. May had always done something for him when he asked without question.

“Its very important May please?” He said laying the good puppy look on thick.

“Oh pleeeeease do you really think that act will work?” Dracula taunted, “Do you really think she’ll fall for it?

Jack bristled at that but spared Dracula no response to that.

“When the dead guy is right,” May said never straying from what she was doing.

Jack’s temper was showing, the morning’s CCTV was going to be more than amusing to see for all involved.

“Go find Lucy Jack, I’m sure she’s dying to see you,” May said glaring at him, “After all I’m just a lowly secretary.”

Dracula gapped at the girl…no. Woman.

Jack’s eyes widened at her words, “May–”

“It’s Doctor Helsing,” she said voice hard, “And I will become your worst nightmare if you don’t get your ass out of here.”

Dracula openly stared at May then mouth wide open as her words mirrored those of a similarly strong willed woman.

“Quit staring, it isn’t polite,” Agatha said a grin in her voice.

For once Dracula had nothing to say to that.

Jack swallowed thickly at this, “How can you–”

“I am an educated woman with fighting experience,” May said, “You may be taller than me but you know what they say…they higher they are the harder the fall.”

Jack swallowed at that having seen her training one day and took her threat to heart. He wouldn’t show this to her though, he needed that file and he’d do almost anything to get it. Even play your feelings for him to get it.

“May, please,” she said dropping his voice down some.

Dracula rolled his eyes and raised his hand to get May’s attention.

She looked his way fire in her eyes, “What.”

“Just letting you know you, might have to do that if what he did is any tell,” he said almost piteously nodding in Jack’s direction, “Well that and his heart rate’s accelerated meaning what you’ve said has had a rather profound effect on him.”

May looked at Jack in interest.

“Come on May you can’t mean to trust him can you? He’s a monster!” Jack screamed.

“Actually he’s been nothing but courteous and a gentleman to me since I walked through the door. The one whose been an ass is you! Thinking I’d whore myself to you because I have a school yard crush on you that will pass the longer your higher than thou attitude is ruling what little common sense you have,” May said a dangerous smirk on her face.

“Jack! There you are,” Zoe said as she walked in.

Dracula backed off the window pane and moved to lay down on the chaise of the cage.

“Did I miss something?” She asked seeing Jack’s pale face before yelling, “What did you do Dracula!?”

“He didn’t do anything Zoe, believe it or not,” May said evenly standing from her seat.

Zoe wasn’t in the mood to argue and was sure she’d see the feed in the morning, the pair looked unharmed and Dracula looked to be more than used to being in his cage.

“I know you don’t believe me Zoe,” May said softly, “Just leave.”

Zoe went to her sister but was more than hurt when May took a step a way from her.

“Leave,” May repeated defeatedly, “Take your…man with you.”

Zoe wanted to say more but decided to wait till later and did as May said.

“Let’s go Jack,” Zoe said firmly.

“But…the file,” she said in protest.

“Can wait till tomorrow,” she said firmly.

Zoe didn’t wait for Jack to respond or do anything, she dragged him from the room promising to call May later so they could talk.

May sighed and slumped back into her chair.

“Are you alright?” Dracula asked.

May sighed and looked to the man who stood back at the window.

She shook her head and sent a text to Raven and Sam to keep any files Jack wanted under need to know basis, he’d need to clear them with her before getting them. That done she went back to her drawing.

A couple of songs later a soft guitar was heard coming from her laptop.

“Can you raise the…um…what is it…” he started asking a little lost for words still unfamiliar with the technology still.

“You mean make it louder?” May asked lightly.

He nodded.

Here comes the sun, doo-dun doo-doo Here comes the sun, and I say It’s all right

Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here

”Dr. Helsing,” Dracula asked staring at her in what looked like wonder but May couldn’t be sure. Here comes the sun, doo-dun doo-doo Here comes the sun, and I say It’s all right

May looked at Dracula questioningly an inquisitive brow in the air. Little darling, the smile’s returning to their faces Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here Here comes the sun Here comes the sun, and I say It’s all right

“Would you honor me with a dance?” He said with a shrug.

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes Sun, sun, sun, here it comes Sun, sun, sun, here it comes Sun, sun, sun, here it comes Sun, sun, sun, here it comes

“Oh what the hell,” she said and stood, “If I’m going to die might as well die dancing.”

Dracula looked surprised at her comment but held his tongue.

May was somewhat careful and put on her grandmother’s cross and under her shirt. Before making her way to the door and using her key to open the door.

“Hold it mister,” she said as Dracula was about to step out of the room, “I go in, you don’t.”

Dracula agreed to this and offered her his hand.

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been clear

May took his hand and together they danced until dawn…and the news that his lawyer had arrived.

Here comes the sun, doo-dun doo-doo Here comes the sun, and I say It’s all right Here comes the sun, doo-dun doo-doo Here comes the sun It’s all right It’s all right

00//00//00

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