VERY short drabble based on @harmonysanreads recent brainrot-quick thought whatever you call it post, of sunday singing lullabies
you used to think sunday to be a kind man, but recently, he's revealed his true colors; which leaves you here, tossing and turning.
at his betrayal and from your stress and hate, you transmitted your unbridled rage toward him. from one halovian to another, nothing so out of the ordinary (though, the brutality of those emotions was another matter entirely).
perhaps sunday wasn't completely shaken (for how else could he have remained as head of the Oak Family?), but it certainly had an effect. he didn't notice that one of his lapels fell slightly askew for three minutes, in fact. it was a sweet victory, but if you bite the hand that feeds you, why should you expect to have kept eating from it?
it must've been hours ago, but those waves of emotions he sent to you still run through you. you can't decipher them, when you're so overwhelmed---
love, obsession, love, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, love, worship, my dove my creed---
you scream into your pillow. your migraine may have degraded into a headache, and the agony may not be so intense, but its still the same flavor. it's acrid and cracking on your tongue. every time you think you've spat it out or rinsed it out, it grows back into an arid patch on your tongue.
you can't sleep. you want to sleep for a reprieve, yet if you do...
what else would sunday send to you, in your dreams?
"you're awake," the door opens, greeting you with that awful voice, "at this hour?" there is a particularly way sunday speaks, when he thinks you unruly, but not enough to properly punish. it's infantilizing, chiding, antagonizing, yet also warm. it reminds you of a mother, one who couldn't bear to let her children go, to let them step out of the lines she set. "i understand that you are still in the process of transitioning, but bear in mind that you---"
"what makes you think I can even relax, after that?" you hiss, "that...that..." you take a sharp inhale when a pang of agony hits.
sunday hums dismissively. "merely the consequences of your actions. do not worry. so long as you don't step out of line, I will ensure you only the best, as a valued member of the Family...and a 'dove.'"
you hiss with frustration. your mind is far too occupied trying to not collapse and break down, and there's no retort you can offer sunday. you close your eyes, and wrap your blankets tighter, till you are trapped in a coil.
the bed dips, and a glove hand runs through your hair. you know who it belongs to, but the touch is warm, kind, and you can fool yourself into thinking it to be loving. it is a relief from the weight of the past hours.
and comes a calm, harmonious, melodious hum. you nearly jolt from as the agonizing weight in your mind gets replaced with the kind warmth of a fire, the sweetness of soulglad, and the security you find within sunday's arms---huh? wha---the softness of sunday's lips, the beauty of his smile, his enthralling gaze, his downy feathers which accompany wonderfully silken hair.
gloved fingers encourage your eyes to shut, and you abide, wrapped in this soothing, blissful melody, and let yourself be carried away into a dream.
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theststyle This Sunday: we meet wonder woman Zawe Ashton. She talks motherhood, body image and why she loves a good gong bath. Plus, ahead of a new book, Style's columnist India Knight shares everything she's learnt about beauty (and what really works).
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