#i've waited like 5+ years to crack on this doc anyway | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mercurypilgrim · 1 year

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I posted 654 times in 2022

21 posts created (3%)

633 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@tearlessrain

@actualanxiousswampwitch

@merindagriese

@shark-wrangler

@swtorpadawan

I tagged 323 of my posts in 2022

#swtor - 77 posts

#laugh rule - 43 posts

#mass effect - 37 posts

#ghost of tsushima - 24 posts

#star wars - 21 posts

#art - 18 posts

#cyberpunk 2077 - 15 posts

#jin sakai - 15 posts

#so pretty! - 12 posts

#mshenko - 12 posts

Longest Tag: 101 characters

#i've not rewatched it in years but i am 99% sure i could pull a full presentation on it out of my ass

My Top Posts in 2022:

Greedfall really is just 'Hats: The Game', huh

12 notes - Posted January 4, 2022

Doc/Jedi Knight

8/10

I'm in the apparent minority that likes Doc, so I was always going to be in favour of Doc/JK.

I'm a sucker for the 'playboy with a heart of gold' trope, so it's no surprise really

A relationship build of bickering and banter?

Top tier

- - - -

My JK/Doc

"And then Kira said that she doesn't like guys with facial hair! That disrespects the moustache!"

Beryon chuckled, taking a swig of his beer.

The Jedi was a decent drinking buddy and a better friend, once Doc had gotten to know him.

Coarse, grumpy and prone to bouts of touchy sarcasm, Beryon V'lante was an acquired taste that Doc knew most people never acquired.

"Well, I for one think it's a glorious moustache." The Jedi assured him, and Doc waved his beer in the air as he gestured.

"Thank you! Wait-" He narrowed his eyes. "You can't even see it!"

The miraluka started to laugh, and Doc took a grumpy drink.

"I can sense it's majesty in the Force," the Jedi assured him, teasing. He wiggled his fingers in the air while he said it.

When he'd stopped laughing, he shrugged.

"Besides, I've kissed enough men to know that a moustache is the least weird thing you can come across."

Doc knew Beryon didn't adhere to the Jedi rule of 'please try and be celibate', and he couldn't help but wonder about that.

"Kisses with beards can be fun, anyway." He waved a hand. "Don't listen to Kira."

Doc had no intention of listening to Kira, not on this particular subject anyway.

Still, it might have even been the beer, but now he was curious.

"What's it like, then?" He asked, cracking open another bottle. "Kissing someone with a beard, I mean."

The Jedi looked surprised at his question.

"Well, I dunno how to describe it, really? Prickly?"

Doc frowned.

"That doesn't sound nice at all."

Beryon hummed.

"It's not bad, I just can't explain why it isn't." He admitted, amused. He ran a hand over his own stubbled jaw.

He gave Doc a wicked grin.

See the full post

13 notes - Posted February 14, 2022

@ Ven if you could pick a dish to magically know how to cook properly what would it be

Ven stares at you for a moment, not having anticipated your question.

He opens his mouth to speak, closes it again, frowns, and then thinks some more.

"Klemon tart because I want want be able to eat it whenever I want. Wait- the wedding meal from Warm Hearts, Cold Space because that sounded amazing- wait, no. ... Can I change my answer?"

After you nod in bemusement, he continues.

He looks very pleased with himself, impatiently brushing an errant curl from his eyes. The stream of consciousness you received a moment ago seems immediately forgotten.

"Chiss toasted salad, because it's Malavai's favourite." He says proudly, pleased with himself for deciding. "I have absolutely no idea how one toasts a salad, or why anyone would want to, but he likes it for some reason. I want to be able to make his favourite thing perfectly, and he would be so surprised."

He gives you a delighted, sly grin.

"He would accuse me of getting a delivery from the restaurant he likes, but it would have been me!"

He cackles as if he's planned a vicious practical joke, and not his lover's favourite meal.

Seemingly distracted from the actual point of the question, he calls up the holonet on his datapad and begins looking at recipes.

"I can't magically know, but I've got the holonet and that's basically the same thing, right?" He asks you, turning back to his searching before you can answer. He shoves the datapad in your face, barely an inch from your nose. As you reorientate yourself, you see a recipe page.

"Do you think this would be too hard?" He asks earnestly, a crease between his brows. He's quite forgotten the original question, now excited and fixed on surprising his lover.

You're not entirely sure how to answer him, especially when he takes your silence as dissent.

"Awesome," he breathes, beaming. "Hey, do you want to go and get ingredients with me?"

13 notes - Posted January 1, 2022

I wonder if a lot of 'discourse' arises simply because of people's complete inability to separate fiction from real life.

"Reading X makes you a bad person because it's bad!"

"Reading mysteries with detectives in them is copaganda and you're bad for liking them!"

"Writing fanfiction about X is just as bad as doing it in real life!"

Yes, of course there are arguments for subtle social shifts from literature, but the stark complaints presented on Tumblr tend to run along the lines that there is no difference between media and real life. Reading about X is exactly the same as committing the act, or that consuming X media means you have been brainwashed utterly and completely by it's themes.

Is this fanfiction on AO3 with 38 views really causing the collapse of society as we know it, or shall we give most people a bit more credit when it comes to digesting media

19 notes - Posted September 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Lord scrounge/Jedi Knight

10/10 absolutely iconic

Love me some Sith/Jedi

LS Jedi, Grey, or DS Jedi, it's all good stuff

The angst over having *gasp* feelings?

Even more angst over the fact that Scourge can't return said feelings at the beginning?

The bickering?

The found family dynamics?

Just

*chefs kiss*

- - - -

My JK snd Scourge and their uh, interesting dynamic:

Beryon wasn't a man used to laziness.

If he was awake, he should be doing things, and there was always stuff to be working on.

If there wasn't, it meant he'd missed something.

So, coming in dead tired after a successful mission and wanting to do nothing more than sleep, while not unusual, wasn't something he felt he should actually be indulging in.

T7, damn him, had just given a cheery whistle and headed off to his spot, no worse for wear.

Scourge's presence had filled their little apartment on Odessen, and Beryon felt himself relax the moment it brushed against his senses.

He dragged himself in, and felt Scourge's attention shift to him.

"Well," the other man said, amused. The deep rumble of his voice was soothing. "Look what the droid dragged in."

Beryon flipped him off.

He heard Scourge chuckle, and something being set aside.

"Come here."

Scourge's voice always gave him shivers.

Beryon was tired though, and not in the mood for anything fun.

"Scourge, I just want-"

"I just want to greet you properly." The Sith assured, and Beryon didn't believe him for a moment. Nevertheless, he gave a gusty sigh and headed over, dragging his feet.

Getting close, he braced a hand against the back of the sofa and leaned down to give his lover a kiss hello.

Strong arms wrapped around him and pulled, and he found himself being bundled up against a solid chest, bracketed in by Scourge's arms.

He struggled, spitting curses at his Sith, who just chuckled warmly.

See the full post

29 notes - Posted February 14, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

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kissinginkitchens · 3 years

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You Bring Me Home — Chapter One: Flightless Bird, American Mouth

a/n: I've been working on this story for mooonths now and I'm so excited to finally share it with the world! It's heavily inspired by Harry's Behind the Album mini doc, except I changed the setting to Hawai'i because I've personally spent some time there and as they say, write what you know! YBMH takes place in the period between One Direction's hiatus and Harry's first album/tour, but with that being said, this is entirely a work of fiction and some events don't follow the true timeline. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little story, I hope you love it as much as I do! It will be updated every Friday at 5 PM PST. My inbox is open, so feel free to talk to me once you've finished reading! I'd love to hear from you :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 5.5k

May, 2016

Harry watches LAX get smaller through the airplane window and visualizes all of his worries stuck at the terminal gate, their magnitude also diminishing as he takes flight. He sinks lower in his seat and skims through playlists on his phone when a nagging feeling at the back of his mind pulls his attention away from the screen. Looking up from the song choices, he spots a cell phone quickly lowered from his line of vision and a girl with flushed cheeks who quickly averts her gaze. Harry shoots a tight-lipped smile in her direction and goes back to his phone with a sigh. The days when he could roam the streets freely without fear of recognition—or worse, harassment—feel like an entirely different lifetime. He sometimes imagines that he’ll wake up back in his childhood bed as if the past five years had all been a dream, but he never does. In fact, his privacy and anonymity seem to dwindle with each minute of radio play that One Direction receives. It’s a bittersweet pill to swallow, but one he hopes will go down easier with some time in the Hawaiian sun.

His close friend and new manager, Jeff Azoff, had suggested the vacation as soon as the band privately agreed to take a hiatus.

“You’ll go home for a few weeks,” his voice had crackled through the speakers of Harry’s phone. “Visit your mom and Gem, lay low for a while until the smoke blows over,”

Harry mulled it over in his mind, eyes flickering over the rolling landscape outside of the tour bus window.

“Then what?”

“Then you go for a little vacation. The label offered to cover a house in Hawaii so you can start working on the album,”

“Alone?”

Jeff chuckled lightly on the other end before responding. “I mean, if that’s what you want,”

“No,” Harry corrected. “You and Tom should come. Mitch and Bhasker, too,”

“The dream team,”

“And there’ll be a studio there?”

“Yes,” Jeff started, almost hesitant. “But I don’t want you to think about that too much,”

“But you said the label—"

“I also said vacation. Look, Rob said ‘it will all happen in due time,' did he not?”

Harry twisted the rose ring around his finger, tracing over the silver petals and thinking back to his conversation with the CEO of Sony Music, Rob Stringer. Upon the proposal of his debut solo album, Rob had told him that the most important ingredient for a successful debut would be patience. The singer had agreed in the moment, but every day not spent in the studio felt like a test he hadn’t studied hard enough for.

“Yeah.”

“So you take the free vacation,” Jeff suggested. “You go out, live, get some writing material. Maybe mess around with some tunes. And then we come back to L.A. and get to work. But until then, I just want you to focus on taking it easy.”

So take it easy he had. Or at least he had tried to when he was back home in England. Harry quickly grew restless after what felt like the millionth awkward conversation with past friends and acquaintances, all of which eventually led to the topic of One Direction and it’s unexpected hiatus. After one month at home, his mind and journal were full of ideas for songs, things that he wanted to say before he lost his nerve. One night as he tossed and turned in bed, he shot Jeff a text, just two words that would kick off a three month getaway to the Big Island of Hawai'i:

I’m ready.

********

“Sounds great, I'll go put in your order.” Alani offers sweetly, trying not to overdo it with the customer service voice. After waiting on the family at her designated table, she heads back to the kitchen and finds her younger sister, Pua, crouched in the corner taking what appears to be a serious phone call.

“I don’t know, I just saw it!” Her sister cries in a hushed tone. “Where do you think he’s going?”

“Is everything okay?” Alani cuts in with concern.

Pua whispers into the speaker before bringing the phone to her shoulder.

“Harry Styles was just spotted on a plane this morning,”

“Who?”

“The guy from One Direction,” her sister explains with a hint of irritation in her voice. “The band who sings that song you secretly like, ‘Fireproof,'”

Alani vaguely recalls the melody, but she waits expectantly for Pua to elaborate. “And this is news because…”

“Because the band just broke up, so where could he possibly be going?”

"The unemployment office?”

Pua rolls her eyes and returns to her phone call while Alani envelops her in a tight hug.

“I’m just kidding!” Alani apologizes, squeezing tighter despite her sister’s attempts to break free. “I’m sure he’ll be living off of royalty checks until he’s, like, eighty,”

“Get off me, freak!” Pua cries out, finally breaking the embrace.

Alani clutches her chest and pulls out an invisible knife. “Ouch. I’m telling Harry you said that,”

“This is exactly why I don’t tell you things.” the younger sister huffs, storming out of the kitchen through the employee entrance where Alani’s best friend, Maleah, has just arrived.

“Looks like someone forgot to eat their Cheerios today,” she remarks, tying her curls into a high ponytail.

Alani shrugs and leans against the counter. “She’s going through something. Just discovered that boys in pop bands are, in fact, just regular boys.”

“Poor thing,” Maleah frowns. “We all have to learn eventually.”

********

The sky is a blend of cotton candy pink and burnt orange when Alani returns home from the café with a strawberry smoothie in tow. She empties the mailbox and sorts through the various bills and advertisements, but her stomach drops when she sees a familiar return address label. After a quick greeting to her excited dog who waits at the door, Alani bolts up the stairs and quietly shuts the bedroom door behind her. Breathe, she reminds herself before tearing into the envelope and discarding it onto the wooden floor.

Dear Ms. Hale,

We are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine. However, we regret to inform you—

She doesn’t read the rest, slumping to the floor in defeat. The sixth rejection letter from Rolling Stone lies crumpled at Alani’s feet and she kicks it across the room with a frustrated grunt. She had worked for over two months perfecting her analysis of Joni Mitchell’s Big Yellow Taxi and its allusions to the environmental impact of urban development in Hawaii. As part of her initial research, Alani had even traveled to both the Royal Hawaiian hotel in Honolulu, which is the famous Pink Hotel mentioned in the song, and Foster Botanical Garden that Mitchell referred to as “the tree museum.” She was certain that her effort and persistence would result in at least a consideration. The second third time's the charm! Maleah had joked watching Alani submit the piece. Six articles in the span of two years, each one facing the same rejection despite the increased effort Alani had put in over time. The fact that the rejection letter hadn’t changed over the course of the two years brings an incredulous smile to her face, and her stomach turns when she considers that the editors probably hadn’t even read her work, anyway. All that effort, she thinks to herself, all that time, for nothing.

“It will take time,” her favorite professor, Dr. Hudson, had reassured her three months after the Joni Mitchell article was submitted. “Every great writer faced countless rejection until that one piece. Yours will come. Keep your eyes open and your pen ready.”

Alani sighs and lifts herself off the floor, choosing to crawl into her unmade bed instead of slumping onto the hardwood. She hears a soft scratching at the door before her King Charles Spaniel, Freddie, pads into the room.

“Come here, bubs,” Alani whispers. He obeys and burrows into the duvet, giving her temple a gentle lick before nuzzling into the nape of her neck.

“You still love me, right?” she asks, voice cracking. “Even if I’m a failure?”

Freddie sniffs her ear in response.

********

“Right,” Harry says, his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he reads the map. “No, left, sorry,”

“Do you actually know how to read a map?” Jeff teases, correcting the turn.

Harry pouts in response, his brows furrowing. “In my defense, we’re literally in the middle of fucking nowhere,”

“There are worse places to be,” Mitch pipes up from the back seat. “England, for example, where they say things like ‘litchrally’,”

“Very well said, Mitchell,” Jeff Bhasker adds with a fake British accent of his own.

Harry turns to his friends in the back seat with a finger pointed like an agitated mother. “If you lot don’t shut up, I’m gonna lead us to a volcano and push you in,”

“Where are we even going? I forgot,” Tom complains.

“To get food,” his manager responds from the driver’s seat. “I think,”

“Why can’t we just stop there?” Mitch asks pointing to a café pulling up on their right.

Jeff merges into the turning lane quickly without a second thought. “Good enough for me, I’m starving.”

“Sorry, H.” Mitch pats his friend on the shoulder.

Harry scoffs. “You’re the one who wanted poke.”

The Aloha Nui Loa Café is much more spacious than the exterior suggests, yet it still feels cozy. The walls are painted sage green and adorned with various local art pieces, as described by the plaques that accompany them. A skylight fills the center of the room with plenty of warm lighting, leaving the space along the walls in a bit more shade for an intimate feel. In one corner, a hanging disco ball leaves freckles of sparkling light along the walls where the sunlight hits, making the whole image very idyllic in Harry’s mind. As if he couldn’t enjoy the setting more, he hears the beginning of an Otis Redding song that he’s had stuck in his head drift through the restaurant speakers.

“Welcome in!” a voice calls, which pulls him from his survey of the room. His head whips to the source—a girl around his age with wavy, dark hair and honey skin. “For here or to go?”

Harry takes a hesitant step up to the counter. “For here,”

She smiles warmly and pulls some menus from under the counter. “How many in your party?”

“Five.”

“Great, follow me.”

Harry and his friends follow the waitress to the corner of the room under the disco ball and take their seats at the round table.

“My name is Alani,” she introduces herself, setting the menus down. “I’ll be serving you today. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

Harry continues scanning the restaurant while his group orders. His eyes land on the shirt that Alani is wearing, a white tee with the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey” in blue lettering that surrounds a picture of a cartoon bee.

“Harry,” Jeff says gently, catching his drifting attention.

The singer turns to his manager, who nods to Alani waiting with a pen pressed to her notepad. Harry feels a rush of embarrassment creep across his cheeks and he clears his throat to cover it.

“Just water,” he says, eyes glued to the menu. “Thanks.”

“You got it.” Alani nods, flashing a toothy grin at the rest of the group before turning back to the kitchen. Harry. Her mind repeats, finding a hint of familiarity, though she doesn’t know why.

When Alani arrives at the drink station, she finds her sister staring at her, mouth agape, while Maleah unsuccessfully conceals her laughter.

“What?” she questions, checking herself for any embarrassing stains or smells.

“You were—and he—” Pua stammers. “He was—and then he—”

“That’s Harry Styles,” Maleah translates, her voice hushed as she peers over her friend's shoulder.

Alani turns to steal a glance at the table she just seated, but Pua and Maleah latch onto her and shake their heads frantically.

“Don’t look!” her sister hisses.

Alani smirks, amused at their reactions. “No shit. That’s One Direction?”

Maleah snorts, clasping a hand over her mouth as Pua huffs. “No, dumbass! It’s just Harry. I don’t know who the other guys are,”

“But the blonde guy? That’s not—?”

“No!” Pua and Maleah giggle in unison.

“Okay, geez,” Alani relents. She manages to steal a quick glance at the table over her shoulder, immediately searching for Harry. Her eyes scan over the long, curly hair kept out of his face by a pair of white sunglasses that she had seen on Kurt Cobain once. All of his features are sharp and striking, from his pointed nose and defined jawline to the bright blue eyes. Or maybe they were grey? Alani wonders, trying to remember the exact shade. He doesn’t look anything like the fresh-faced teeny bopper she’d had in mind, the one from a music video her sister had shown her a long time ago. She would have never guessed that the What Makes You Beautiful singer had so much dark ink trailing down his bicep and forearm, though her knowledge of One Direction was very limited.

“What did he order?” Pua questions, her eyes wide.

Alani quickly snaps back to reality and resumes filling the drinks. “A water,”

“Oh my god,” Maleah swoons. “I’m never drinking anything else ever again,”

“I didn’t even know you liked him,” Alani teases with an eyebrow raised.

Maleah sneaks another peek at the table and catches her lower lip between her teeth. “I mean, I didn’t really think so either but look at him. What a fucking dream,”

Harry was objectively handsome, this Alani could admit, but she personally didn’t see the appeal and had a strong feeling that he was just like every other male celebrity. The fact that he hadn’t even bothered to make eye contact with her only served as further proof of what she knew to be true.

“Okay, well, your dreamboat is waiting for his water. So excuse me,” Alani winks, making her way back to the table.

The singer spots Alani returning out of the corner of his eye and the sight of her causes a strange flutter in the pit of his stomach that makes him want to duck for cover. Instead, he pulls his phone from his back pocket and pretends to be occupied with something on the screen.

“Okay,” she greets, setting the drink tray down. “I have a Blue Hawaii, a Mango Mama, two Loco Cocos, and a water,”

The group graciously accepts their drinks with a chorus of “thank you," but the only one under Alani’s scrutiny is Harry. He still doesn’t meet her almond eyes, and though she figured he wouldn’t, she can’t help the inkling of disappointment that washes over her. After taking their meal orders, Alani heads back to the kitchen, checking on her other customers along the way. Harry’s eyes follow her and he observes the way customers light up at her presence, indulging her conversation with laughter. He watches as she lingers by the jukebox in one corner of the room, a detail he had missed in his initial scan, and waits anxiously to see what song she chooses. Baby I’m-a Want You begins softly and Harry feels the corner of his lip curl ever so slightly. Good choice, he thinks.

********

“He’s still here,” Pua muses, peering through the tiny window in the kitchen door. It had been nearly two hours and the five men were still seated around their table cracking jokes and doing a lot of talking with their hands.

Alani doesn’t look up from her bowl of sliced kiwis, offering a hum in response. “And what do you want me to do about that?”

“Nothing,” Pua shoots back. “Don’t bother him,”

“What kind of girls do you think he’s into?” Maleah asks, attempting to peek through the window.

Alani shrugs, bored of the conversation and of thinking about Harry. “I don’t know, but I’ll bet he’s a real sucker for the ones who stalk him while he’s eating,”

“How does he make eating a salad look hot?”

“Can we talk about something else now?” Alani whines, poking holes in a lone kiwi with her fork.

Pua tosses a wet dish rag in her sister’s direction and cheers when it lands in her face. “Go see if he wants more water, he looks thirsty.”

“I already refilled it,” Alani defends. “Twenty minutes ago. I’ve refilled it a hundred times, I’m surprised he hasn’t peed his pants.”

I’m gonna piss myself. Harry thinks, his right leg bouncing to distract himself. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. Like clockwork, she would return to fill his glass almost as soon as the last drop had been drained, and so what began as a little experiment slowly turned into a bladder hazard. But if the trend was to be trusted, she would be back any minute and he wasn’t going to miss it; afterall, there were only so many ways to casually linger in a small café without making it weird. Unable to bear it any longer, he heads to the restroom and hopes that Alani doesn’t clear their table before he has a chance to see her again.

Harry pads down the back hallway with his eyes cast down at the floor, which proves to be a mistake when he walks directly into another person.

“Sorry!” they both apologize quickly, Harry’s palm taking purchase on the other person’s upper arm.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” he offers, finally meeting the dark, mocha eyes already looking back at him.

Alani presses her lips into a tight smile. “Me either,”

Harry’s heartbeat picks up when he realizes it’s her, and he isn’t aware of how close they’re standing until he detects the faint scent of kiwi on her breath. He takes a step back and rakes a hand through his hair.

“So I guess I’ll just—”

“Yeah, sure.”

Green. Alani notes to herself. His eyes are green.

********

Shortly after Harry returned from the restroom, him and his friends settled their bill and headed out. Alani cleared their table and her eyes nearly fell out of her head when she saw the hefty tip left behind. The word mahalo was also left behind on the receipt, underlined twice, and she wondered if it was his handwriting.

Later that night, she settled into bed with her laptop and hesitantly typed his name into Google. As she expected, countless articles about the split of One Direction emerged, most of them speculating what was next for each member. To her surprise, however, Harry’s name seemed to be mentioned more than his fellow bandmates as various sources labeled him “the next Justin Timberlake” and rising star of the group. Upon further investigation, she learned that the demand for information about the elusive Harry Styles was high, especially concerning any possible solo music. No news had yet been confirmed by Styles himself, nor anyone claiming to represent him, but she still wondered if his presence in Hawaii had anything to do with a possible solo project. Almost as soon as she thought it, Alani dismissed the theory in favor of the idea that he was most likely just taking a vacation. And from the buzz that she saw surrounding the news about One Direction, she couldn’t blame him.

The more Alani read, the more she wanted to know, and something deep down told her that his was a story worth telling. Of course, the only problem was that she had hardly talked to him, and there were only so many things she could say about the fifteen glasses of water he downed. There was no way of knowing if she would ever see him again, either, or if he was merely stopping in Hilo on his way to another island or somewhere else entirely. Alani sighed, thinking back to her most recent rejection from Rolling Stone. She knew that there was no possible way she would ever see or talk to Harry ever again, and even if she did, why would he bare his entire soul to a stranger? Still, she let her mind wander through the possibility.

Dear Ms. Hale, the letter would read, we are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine and are pleased to inform you that your piece on Harry Styles will be featured in next month’s issue. Additionally, we would be honored to have you on staff, effective immediately.

It was far-fetched, Alani knew this, but she dozed off that night with endless ideas swimming in her head.

********

By the third day after his visit, the only trace of Harry is in Alani’s search history. She would have completely forgotten about him if it weren’t for her sister’s constant reminiscing and multiple attempts to rename the house salad to the “Harry Special.” As a result, a part of Alani’s thoughts periodically linger back to that day and the subsequent hours spent on Google that she’d rationalized as research instead of stalking. Somehow the knowledge that she’ll never see him again only adds fuel to the questions still burning in her mind, but a customer clearing their throat while she sorts menus below the hostess podium interrupts her thoughts.

“Welcome in!” She calls, standing. “What can I—”

She stops in her tracks, unable to believe her eyes. Harry blinks and waits for her to continue.

“What can I get started for you?” Alani tries again, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her shock. Luckily for her, Harry had been too focused on choosing his next words to register her mistake.

“What’s in the Honu smoothie?” he asks, mentally kicking himself for asking such a stupid question when the menu just inches above her head clearly spells it out.

Alani hums, thinking back to the times she had made the smoothie herself. “Kiwis, spinach, mango, avocado, and a hint of lime,”

“I’ll take one of those,” Harry says, reaching for his wallet.

Alani punches in the order with trembling fingers and nods. “For here or to go?”

“To go,”

Disappointment fills her chest. Sure, she hadn’t planned on seeing him ever again, but the fact that she did felt like a sign. If she wanted to take the chance, she’d have to do it fast.

“Anything else?” she asks, weighing her options while he skims the menu.

“No thanks.”

Alani makes the smoothie quickly, head spinning. She had spent most of the night after their initial meeting planning out exactly the type of questions she hoped to ask him and what kind of article she would write. She was used to writing about what she knew—artists and music she’d admired for years— but she figured that starting fresh with someone she hardly knew would be a good challenge. Not to mention that it seemed like just the thing Rolling Stone would jump for. Alani finally works up the courage as she finishes his smoothie, but when she returns to hand it to him and hopefully strike up a conversation, his ear is pressed to his cell phone. She holds out the drink and he graciously accepts, giving her a small nod as a “thank you” and rushing out of the restaurant.

Two days later he returns and is seated at the counter, typing away on his phone. Alani feels both a rush of optimism and annoyance at the universe for dangling his presence so unexpectedly. She starts heading over to him, but Maleah cuts in.

“Trade me?” she proposes, eyes wide.

Alani blinks. “Oh, I would but I—”

“Please,” her best friend pouts. “I’m leaving to see my grandparents in stupid California for two months. Who knows when I’ll get the chance to see him again?”

Alani sighs, but gives in, reluctantly exchanging Harry for the family of four seated by the window. A strange feeling settles into the pit of his stomach when he sees that she heads in the opposite direction after a hushed conversation with another waitress. He doesn’t know why she traded him for a different customer, but he takes the hint.

A week goes by without another sighting of Harry and Alani has permanently taken on the role of greeting hostess in hopes of seeing him again. Her heartbeat temporarily speeds up when she sees a long haired customer approach the door, but her spirits quickly fall when the face doesn’t match his.

Another week brings another disappointing realization that Harry might be gone for good. One rainy morning when the restaurant is quiet and only two customers huddle together in a booth near the back, Alani hunches over the hostess podium and doodles on a stray receipt— a sunflower, a crescent moon, and two hearts. The bell above the door jingles but she doesn’t look up, too absorbed in her scribbles.

“Do you serve coffee?”

The familiar accented voice stops Alani’s pen dead in its tracks. She lifts her eyes first to confirm, and then straightens up when she sees that her ears haven’t deceived her.

“Yes,” she swallows.

“Great. I’ll take it to go,”

She slightly deflates, but Harry thinks he’s reading too much into it.

“Actually,” he corrects anyway, just in case he isn’t. “I think I’ll stay for a while,”

Alani flashes a warm smile and nods in the direction of the counter. “Right this way,”

Harry sheds his windbreaker onto the back of the seat, revealing a black and white Rolling Stones t-shirt that makes Alani’s blood pressure rise. A sign, she thinks.

“What do you want in your coffee?” she questions carefully.

“Nothing,” he responds, shaking out his damp hair gently. “Or actually, uh, butter...if you have some,”

Alani blinks, not sure if she’d heard correctly or if there had been some transatlantic miscommunication.

“Butter?”

“Yeah,”

“Like the—”

“Spread, yeah,” Harry confirms. “It’s weird, I know,”

She lets out a light-hearted laugh and nods. “It’s a...unique request,”

“I thought the same thing at first,” Harry confides. “It’s not bad, actually. But maybe I’ve just been in L.A. for too long.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She offers a polite smile and heads to the kitchen where the cook and two other waiters talk amongst each other. Alani is grateful that the restaurant is slow this morning because she knows that it means minimal interruptions to her time with Harry. To ensure this, though, she asks one of the other waiters to cover the podium and returns to Harry with his coffee.

“One butter coffee, free of judgement,” the waitress announces, setting it down.

Harry grins softly, stirring the drink with the spoon Alani provided. “You can judge, it’s alright,”

“I just wanna know why,”

The coffee had been part of a fad diet while on tour in order to boost Harry’s energy on stage and stay trim for the hundreds of photo-ops he would be a part of. He doesn’t know how to communicate all of this to Alani, however, not sure how much she knows about that part of him, so he shrugs and tells a simplified version of the truth.

“I read about this trend a while back, it's called bulletproof coffee. Supposed to get your energy up and I needed it for my job,”

“Which is…” Alani trails off, downplaying the knowledge that she had acquired from Google.

“I make music,” is all Harry says and he takes a sip of the drink to avoid elaborating.

“Anything I would have heard?”

He swallows hard and listens to the faint rumbling of thunder outside before replying. “Possibly,”

“Try me,” Alani challenges.

He narrows his eyes and takes another sip of coffee. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself first?”

“What do you wanna know?”

Everything, Harry responds internally, though he reigns it in. “How you got into waitressing,”

Alani sighs, resting her elbows on the counter across from him. “There’s not much to tell, it’s a family business. What I really wanna do is write,”

“Music?”

“Articles. I’m studying Journalism at UH,”

Harry hums in response, filing the detail away in the back of his mind. “Sounds interesting. You ever publish anything?”

“Not yet,” Alani shakes her head gently, toying with the sleeves of her green University of Hawaii crewneck. “Hopefully soon, though,”

Harry racks his brain for something else to say, but before he can, Alani speaks up again.

“Is it my turn to ask something now?”

He offers a curt nod and stirs his coffee.

“What kind of music do you write?”

Harry chooses to be vague again. “Different stuff. Pop, usually. Been messing with some classic rock, though,”

“Explains the shirt,”

He peers down at the design on his tee and agrees. “Yeah, I guess so,”

“Do you like it?” Alani asks, her eyes begging to make contact with his again. “Writing music, I mean,”

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, tapping his spoon against the rim of the mug. “I really do,”

Alani’s heart pounds. This is her chance, a moment to finally secure her breakthrough piece. She doesn’t know how to approach it, so she opts to dive right in without looking back. The worst he can say is no.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“That’s cheating,” Harry teases lightly. “It's my turn,”

She pouts playfully, but obliges. “Fire away,”

Harry doesn’t know which question to ask first, but when he glances down at the crescent moon inked on her wrist, he decides to start there.

“What’s with the moon tattoo?”

Alani isn’t sure what she expected him to ask and wonders what purpose such a detail could possibly serve him, but she answers anyway.

“Oh, well,” she begins, tracing her index finger over the outline. “It’s kinda the meaning of my full name. It’s Mahealani, Hawaiian for ‘heavenly moon,'”

Fitting, Harry comments to himself. Every detail he learns about her makes him want to learn that much more, from her favorite foods to the last thing she thinks about before falling asleep. Studying her expectant eyes, he suddenly remembers that it’s his turn to respond.

“That’s cool,” is all he says.

Alani doesn’t know what to make of the faraway look in his eye, but she decides to pose her most burning question while he appears to be in good spirits.

“I know this is gonna sound totally out of the blue,” she starts, working past the lump in her throat. “But when you mentioned how you write music, I was just reminded of this assignment I’m working on in my class,”

Harry waits for her to continue, nursing his now lukewarm coffee.

“I’m supposed to write a piece about someone who I don’t know that well,” she continues. “You know, to practice our interviewing skills. And, well, I was just kind of wondering if you might be interested in helping me out—being the subject, I mean,”

Alani had every intention of telling Harry the truth, about how she really planned to submit the article to Rolling Stone in hopes of securing an internship before her college graduation next Spring. But as she started speaking, she quickly realized how it would come off: a complete stranger asking for personal information to submit to a well-known publication. She knew that there was a chance he would shut down and never return, so she lowered the stakes and hoped that this route would be less risky. Was it ethical? Alani hadn’t decided yet, but she would work out the details later. After six failed articles and two years of rejection, she saw a ray of hope and wasn’t going to let it slip away.

Harry ponders her offer for a moment, which confirms that she had recognized him. Normally he would be off-put by such a request, and to a certain extent he is, but there is something sincere in her voice that he trusts deep down. Before he agrees, however, he decides to fish around a bit to test her reaction.

“You know who I am,” he says gently. “Don’t you?”

Alani’s heart drops into the pit of her stomach, not sure what to say next. She hopes with every fiber of her being that she hasn’t upset him, or worse, ruined her chances, so she decides to offer some truth to throw him off her scent.

“My sister recognized you,” she explains. “That day you came in with your friends. I thought they were your bandmates at first,”

This lets Harry know that she isn’t a total stalker, which is comforting, but he wouldn’t have been minded if she were a fan simply engaging in conversation.

“Oh,” he laughs weakly.

“I totally understand if you say no,” Alani offers quickly, trying to smooth things over. “I just thought it was worth a shot. And that it might be more interesting than interviewing our produce guy,”

Harry decides to give her one last scan for any sign of insincerity. He’d always felt that his gut instinct was strong and it hadn’t led him astray thus far.

“An interview?” he clarifies.

“Just one,” Alani promises. “An hour, tops. And you can proofread all of it once I’ve finished, too.”

Harry waits a beat, already knowing his reply, but he wants to see how she will react to his silence. She doesn’t budge, almond eyes set and determined.

“Okay.”

next chapter

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles x oc #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #ybmh #she's here she's here she's here!!!!!

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beelsnack · 2 years

Text

New Traditions - A Gift For yeuxdereve

Wow, been a while since I posted anything, huh?? Life's kind of been kicking my ass, but I'm alive!! Anyway, this is a little early Christmas present for @yeuxdereve, featuring their MC Motoko and Simeon. Motoko is always super fun to write.

If you like my writing and would like to commission me, you can read my rules here

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“So, is letting someone know you’re coming over a human-specific custom, or do supernatural entities just have shit manners?”

Seeing Simeon standing in their entry hall felt like something out of a fever dream. Ever since Motoko left the Devildom, most of their interactions had been limited to texts, phone calls and the occasional video chat if Luke was available to help him set things up. So, even though he had swapped out his angelic garb for a much more seasonally appropriate ensemble of jeans, a sweater and a black pea coat, he might as well have shown up with wings ablaze and a herald of trumpets.

He looked up at them from where he had sat on the step to unlace his boots, eyebrows raised. “Oh, can’t humans sense when a visitor is coming?”

“...I genuinely can’t tell if you’re messing with me or not.”

His fake-confused expression cracked and he laughed at them as he stood. “I just wanted to surprise you, Motoko.” He placed his boots next to their own beat-up pair of Doc Martens. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other face-to-face, I wanted to spend some time with you.”

Damn him, it was hard to be annoyed with the genuine affection that shone in his eyes. Tucking a fly-away strand of their lavender hair behind their ear, they sighed and stepped back to allow Simeon into the apartment proper. “Alright. But, for future reference, give me some advance warning.”

“No more surprise visits, got it,” he grinned, shrugging off his coat. He looked around for a moment, trying to decide where he should put it, before Motoko snatched it out of his hands and hung it on a command strip stuck to the wall in the entry way.

“Well,” they huffed. “Make yourself at home, I guess.”

Having someone else in their apartment made them aware of just how little space they actually had. The living room and kitchen/dining area were basically the same room, with the shower and bathroom in a room off to the side and a tiny bedroom tucked in the back. It wasn’t a lot, but they didn’t need a lot. It suited them just fine.

“Want some tea?” they asked, already making their way over to the kitchen. If it had been anyone else who decided to pop in unexpectedly, they would have left them to sit in silence in the living room while they went about their business. But it was Simeon, so they figured they could at least be polite.

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” he sighed, rubbing his hands together. “I didn’t expect it to be so cold.”

“It’s winter,” they replied over their shoulder as they filled the electric kettle. “Were you expecting sunny skies and birds singing?”

“Well,” Simeon hummed, settling himself down on the L-shaped sectional shoved in the corner. “I’ve never been to Japan, so I didn’t know what to expect.”

“How did you even find me?” they turned around, leaning against the counter while they waited for the water to boil.

“I bothered Lucifer until he gave me your address.”

The all-too-familiar image of Lucifer staring at his D.D.D with a vein popping out of his forehead came to mind, and they smirked. “Since you annoyed Luci, I’ll allow it.”

The kettle beeped, and they turned back around. “Isn’t it almost Christmas? I figured angels would be busy this time of year.”

“Not really,” Simeon shrugged. “We’re more busy in spring and summer to be honest.”

“Why?” Tea prepared, Motoko sat down next to Simeon, setting his mug down on the little end table in front of him. “I’m rusty on my Christian mythology, but isn’t this when Jesus was born? Sounds important.”

“Oh, humans messed up the date,” Simeon replied casually, taking a sip. “He was born in July.”

“Fuck off.”

“Really,” he laughed. “Early Christians needed a way to get Pagan religions to sign on, so they just took the Yule holiday and said it was Jesus’ birthday.”

“So they messed it up on purpose.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Not even a little bit.” Motoko sat back against the sofa with a grin on their face. “That’s the most human thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Do you celebrate Christmas in Japan?” Simeon asked.

“Uh…” they folded their arms, drumming their nails against their upper arm. “Sorta kinda? Not in a religious way. And even if it was religious, I sure as hell wouldn’t be celebrating it.”

“Only you could spend a year as an exchange student in literal Hell and still be an atheist.”

“It’s a gift,” they smirked. “But nah, Christmas is a big date holiday here. Couples go out and do cutesy stuff, look at the lights, eat fried chicken…”

“Fried chicken?” Simeon’s blue eyes widened. “Why fried chicken?”

“Dunno,” they shrugged. “But it’s probably the only tradition I like, honestly. The convenience store a few blocks over has some bomb fried chicken, and Kitagawa-san next door always shares her leftover Christmas cake with me.”

“So, you’re only in it for the food.” Simeon laughed.

“Basically,” Motoko took a sip of their own rapidly-cooling tea. “Well, the lights are pretty, but I don’t like going out to look at them. I can see a business park from my balcony and that’s good enough for me.”

“I did see quite a few decorations on my way here,” Simeon clasped his hands around the mug in an attempt to keep them warm. “But I was so worried about getting lost that I didn’t dare stop to look at them.”

“Wanna go look?”

He tilted his head, looking at Motoko’s old band t-shirt and baggy plaid sweatpants. “You’re hardly dressed for going outside.”

“From my balcony,” they nudged him with their elbow, careful not to jostle his cup too much. Tea was a bitch to get out of any surface. “Great view, no people.”

“Oh,” Simeon laughed, setting his mug down to nudge them back. “That sounds lovely.”

Motoko stood, leading Simeon through the kitchen and into their bedroom. He couldn’t help but look around. It was sparsely decorated, with a low bed and a small desk. Their bass was resting on a stand in the corner, and there were a few framed photographs on the nightstand next to a touch lamp.

Motoko opened the balcony doors and stepped out, leaning against the railing. Simeon trailed behind, shivering slightly as the cold winter air smacked him in the face.

“See? Right down there,” they pointed, and Simeon followed their finger until his eyes landed on a beautiful display of light and color.

Strings of white fairy lights were draped delicately amongst the trees surrounding the business park, dangling from the branches to look like falling snow. The shrubs lining the path that wound its way through the copse of trees and out into the city around it were shimmering blue. And there, right in the center, was a spiral fir tree that gently pulsed between the colors of the rainbow.

Simeon had seen plenty of Christmas displays in his lifetime, but there was something about the simplicity of the design that had him fixated. So much so that he didn’t notice how much he was shivering until Motoko placed a gentle hand on his arm.

“We don’t have to stay out here if you’re cold,” they said gently. The cold night air and soft illumination of the lights beneath them created a calm atmosphere that felt like it would break if either of them spoke too loudly.

“I want to stay,” he murmured, turning his head to look at them. The blue glow made all of the usually sharp angles of their face soften just a bit, and their honey-gold eyes sparkled like gems when they caught the lights.

“You’re shivering,” they frowned. “Can angels get hypothermia?”

He laughed. “No, I don’t think so. But if you want to go back in, we can.”

They hummed thoughtfully, before turning on their heel and dashing back into their room. “Wait here,” they said, disappearing into the darkness. Simeon felt the absence of their body heat acutely, and it only made his shivering worse.

They weren’t gone for long, though. They reappeared on the balcony a moment later, arms full of the duvet that had previously been on their bed. They took their previous spot next to Simeon and then draped the blanket over both of their heads, creating a little cave.

“There,” they said proudly. “Great view, no people, warm blanket.”

They had pressed themself against Simeon’s side so that the blanket would cover both of them, and his senses were assaulted with Motoko. The floral scent of their shampoo, the warmth of their body pressed against his, the static electricity jumping back and forth between them because of the dry air and the blanket...he was surrounded by them.

“Is this alright?” they asked - not shyly, they didn’t do anything shyly, but seeking assurance. Simeon couldn’t help but smile and rest his head on top of theirs.

“Perfect.”

#other people's ocs #oc motoko #om #omswd #om simeon

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