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Latest Posts by angels-silhouette - Page 6
There's something really twisted about the way Dean's traumas are handled in Supernatural, and not only because of the lack of resolve. It's about Dean opening up about them (wording his traumas and being vulnerable about them, unlike some brand of fanon like to scream about) just to have something similar happening to him a couple of episodes later.
For example:
– Dean opens up about Hell in 4x10, confesses how horrible he feels for the souls he tortured, and in 4x16 the angels make him torture Alastair
– Dean says he feels free away from his family (5x03) and, in the next episode, he's basically taught everyone will die if he doesn't keep himself tied to his (blood) family
– Dean tells Mary he shouldn't have been parentified, accepts it was unfair to expect that of him (12x22: "I had to be a father and I had to be a mother, to keep him safe. And that wasn't fair. And I couldn't do it."), and what happens two episodes later? he's expected to act like a parent for someone who isn't his responsability and related to him in any way
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ˗ˏˋ 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟔𝟕.ᐟ ˎˊ˗
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ───── SEASON ONE, ───── ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ───────── PART ONE ─────────
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summary. california is a long drive & different in many ways to how dean's small-town, southern life in kansas was. but if there's one thing that's the same, it's the crackling of the annual start-of-the-year bonfire.
ㅤword count ! ㅤㅤ 2.7k ㅤㅤ content warnings ! ㅤㅤ no warnings! maybe a lil angst if u squint? welcome to stanford! ㅤㅤ track the season !
stanford is a twenty-seven hour drive from lawrence. all twenty-seven hours on the road were spent with the music so loud that dean’s ears still rang. he didn’t want to think about how his dad didn’t even tell him bye, or how sam was at school, and wouldn't get to.
dean was strong, built to be a soldier from the moment he could hold a gun, constantly rising from the ashes of the destruction that his dad made of him, but he was not strong enough to know his brother would come home to an empty house. there was no doubt that their father would have skipped town already, on an alleged case that was more than likely just drowning himself in a case of booze.
it was whatever. he’d convinced himself of that in the two days that it’d taken to get from the shitty town that was lawrence to campus. his whole senior year was stressful to get to where he was now. minimum wage jobs, killing himself at football practice so the stanford recruiters would be interested in him, so he stood a chance. plus, his academics were stellar. he worked his ass off — just to have to abandon sammy at home, and not even get an ounce of approval from his stubborn father.
in front of him, the main building on stanford university’s campus towers above him like the greatest of monsters. the glass doors are open, held in a way that was meant to be inviting but was actually a little intimidating. the maws of the creature visible through its snarling mouth.
dean had faced demons that wore his family’s face, who called him every name that they could think of while they rotted in a devil’s trap. he’d felt the fangs of a vampire hovering over his jugular before he’d even hit double digits, after his father did the hunter equivalent of tossing him into the deep end of the pool without any hands to catch him. this, though, felt like the scariest of all of them, just because of how natural it felt to get away.
he had to go get a parking pass. had to get his room assignment. had to talk to the football coaches about his position and his scholarship. had to unpack. all of the shit he had to do was piled atop the shit that he wanted to do, burying it in the rubble.
clusters of students already walk together down the brickstoned paths, their voices echoing off of the arched walls. their versions of home were rooted in civilization and the comfort of others, whereas his was in solitude and being on his lonesome.
dean didn’t get intimidated. he didn’t worry. but his skin was starting to crawl with the realization that he was as much of an outsider as outsiders could get. he did not belong amongst these people, felt like a wolf waltzing in sheep's clothing, but the point was that he was trying to.
he flips his phone open, a habit he’s developed since leaving home, to check for missed calls. there wasn’t a thing he could do if sammy needed help, but he wanted him to call, anyways. wanted to hear his voice. wanted to say sorry for abruptly leaving.
but there was nothing, still. at least the excuse now could have been that sam was in school, but he was getting anxious. didn’t want to know how the absence of john winchester’s favorite punching bag would translate onto the next in line.
dean shoves open the residence building’s door, struck dumb for a second by how long the line was. it made sense, but it still caught him offguard him, a little, that he was here.
he’d made it.
a trio of girls finish up at the front desk and brush past him as they leave, one of them immediately breaking into giggles when they stumble away from him. the other two steal glances backwards at him once they’re nearing the exit. one's eyes lingered, held his stare like even if he clearly was out of place, you were not afraid of what it meant to be in the line of fire.
yeah. he liked it here. he could get used to this.
next is a guy with shaggy black hair and the broadest shoulders that dean had ever seen. dean was big for his age, yeah, he'd thrown himself into working out when he realized that football was working for him, but this was a guy, clearly, who operated because of his bruteness, not the other way around.
his eyes are downturned toward the stack of papers in his hands, books tucked into the crook of his elbow, a backpack that looked ridiculously small on his shoulder. his eyes lift to squint down the line of people, like he's looking for something, and dean realizes in a wave of surprised horror when they land on him, that it was him he was looking for.
"dude!" the guy shouts — shouts! in the dead silence of the building! — his papers crinkling in his fists. he stomps up to dean and tosses his arms around him in a hug that dean had no choice but to awkwardly return, squashed arms patting at the guy's elbows.
dean didn't mind standing out, but this was another level. every eye in the room was on him when he was already certain that they were staring, and all he wanted to do was disappear. maybe this guy would crush him into pulp and solve those issues for him.
"you're my roommate," he says, scruffing a palm through dean's mop of blonde hair. "my roomie. ah, look, you're blushing."
dean's mortified. he shoves a hand into the guy's arm again, this time with the intent to push him away. "shut up." he nods at the crumpled paper's in his hands. "what the hell is your name, anyways?"
"taylor." taylor's eyes fall to his papers again, eyes narrowed as he scans across whatever he's reading. "dean. helluva name."
dean can't help but snort. "i mean. yeah. it's definitely... a name," he shoves his hands into his jeans' pockets, "football?"
stupid question, but he doesn't know what else to say to him. the guy's about to bust out of a letterman jacket, stretching the leather of the fabric with his broad frame. if he hugged dean one more time, it'd probably split down the back. "hell yeah," taylor says, and maybe the leather is used to this guy's antics, because when he lifts his arms in a flexing sort of pose, all it does is creak, "lineman for the last four years."
dean follows the slowly shrinking line, and to his dwindling horror, his roommate follows. yeah, he's a little much, but he's friendly, and dean really could use a friend in these times. "quarterback," dean answers a few seconds too late, then adds, "we're probably not gonna see the green at all this year, y'think?"
"speak for yourself," taylor snorts, adjusting the bag hanging off of him, "i'm gonna be a starter if it fuckin' kills me."
"yeah, alright," dean laughs, shaking his head. "good luck, man."
underclassmen usually didn't get anything but the bench, unless they were stupid good, and dean was stupid good for kansas standards; he was fully convinced for there to be a spot on the bench indented from his ass by the end of the season.
taylor had shrugged his backpack off in the few seconds that dean had zoned out, rifling through the front pocket for something. he tugs out a black sharpie and plucks the cap off with his teeth. "wisteria, gerhard casper quad, castaño building. room 12." his voice is muffled through the cap in his mouth.
"i don't know what any of that means, dude," dean says, blinking a couple of times in succession. taylor's already got his wrist in a death grip though, tugging it into his space, the cool tip of the permanent marker scribbling on his inner wrist.
"neighborhood, the buildin' complex, n' the buildin'," taylor lisps around the cap, tugging dean forward when the line moves again. "c'mon, keep up. we gotta get the fuck outta here, stake out the frat."
dean physically cringes.
"don't make that face." taylor spits the cap into his open palm, giving dean a bright grin. dean really can't handle this much energy when he's operating on three hours of sleep on a shoddy motel bed, after driving as long as he did. "it's phi kappa psi. they're like, the frat."
"oh."
taylor nods again to make dean move forward. one more person in line. "yeah, oh. gotta get our foot in the door, bud, 'fore some fuckin' losers take our spots."
dean is not interested in a frat whatsoever. if anyone tried to haze him, he's not confident in his ability to keep from snapping their jaw. his fight or flight had gone dormant since he'd pulled back from hunting, but it was still there, something that lingered constantly in the back of his mind.
"'sides, they're havin' a bonfire tonight, y'know?" dean did not know. but taylor likes how his voice sounds, it seems, and dean is very okay with just letting him talk. "for all the freshies. have it every year."
dean nods slowly, setting all of his things on the counter for the attendants. student id, driver's license, all of the works. in the trade, he's given his class schedule, his basics' books, parking pass, and his room assignment. he compares it to the unintelligible words on his wrist in black ink and — yeah, they could be the same.
"well, i'm gonna nap when we get to our room," dean says with a lopsided grin, "so if the bonfire's good, come 'n get me or somethin'."
"you're an idiot."
dean shrugs. "sure."
"free booze, sorority girls fallin' all over us..." taylor whistles under his breath before he promptly smacks dean over the head. "idiot."
his arms are heavy from his books. his eyes are heavy from the drive. he hasn't had real food that wasn't cooked and thrown into a brown paper bag in nearing forty-eight hours. but the thought of being at a bonfire that wasn't made with the intent to burn a body but just to have fun and meet people was nice. mundane. he wanted to be mundane so desperately.
dean shoves taylor back in the chest, a laugh falling from his grinning mouth. "yeah. yeah, alright, i'll go."
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ────
the hot smell of burning firewood and spilt beer were the first two things to grace dean's nose upon walking onto the spacious front lawn of phi kappa psi's building.
guys in jerseys and backwards hats manned a white foldout table besides the asphalt porch steps, red cups in their free hands. girls in short skirts and guys in mussed up versions of their sunday best hovered around in clusters.
dean had left taylor at the drinks table, unwilling to listen to him dickride frat guys who were probably too off their asses to know what was being said to them. around the fire were foldout chairs, legs dug into the soft grass, and a huge tray of marshmallows and various other snacks to cook over the flame, parallel to where dean sat.
he was content, he realized. he could have no one in the world at this school, except maybe taylor, who might or might not drop him like a dime if he got accepted into the frat. so long as he could have fires that didn't smell like charred bodies and burning hair, and walk around a campus full of hundreds of people and not have to worry if any of them were something else beneath their skin.
his eyes flick up from watching the flames at the sight of legs approaching the tray. legs in form fitting jeans, legs that plant themselves there like their own piece of furniture. and when he trails up the length of the body a few feet in front of him, he realizes it's you. the girl who held his eyes back in the residency building, with more challenge in your gaze than there was schoolgirl giddiness, like your friends.
you're watching him too. but you don't look away when he meets your eyes, like you didn't then, earlier.
his head jerks to the side, a little quirk of a smile on his lips. a dare. you seemed like the type of girl who liked dares — and again, he was proven right, when you steal two marshmallows from the tray and walk over to him.
"kind of silly to come to a party and sit by yourself," you say, holding out one of the marshmallows to him.
dean takes it, weighing his options for a response in his buzzed mind. "kind of silly to walk up to the weird loner guy sitting by himself at a party."
you grab one of the sticks propped up on various chairs, impaling your marshmallow with it with a hum. "maybe." you lift your shoulders, stick tight in your grip as you hold the marshmallow over the flame. "but i thought the whole point of college was to be silly and exploratory."
dean lifts his chin in a mock thoughtful expression. "really? i thought it was about, i dunno, education, or something like that."
"what's ed-u-ca-tion?" you ask, sounding out each syllable of the word, your face twisting up into a pout that was too pretty for him to think rationally at the sight of. "never heard of it."
he laughs, though, because he just can't seem to help himself. you're cute, and that's dangerous. he was on scholarship, the educational equivalent of big brother over his shoulder, making sure he stayed in line.
“actually,” you continue, fidgeting with the stick in your fingers, “i probably know it a lot better than you do.”
dean’s lip quirk a little more, as he reaches to his left to grab another one of the sticks himself. “fine, i’ll bite. why’s that, sugar?”
“ugh. sugar. that’s such a douchey nickname.” your pout only deepens, and it’s even more of a sight. puckered frowning lips, pinched eyebrows. he’ll be a goner by the time the night’s over, if you kept it up. “but to answer your question, i’m cheering this year, trying to rush sororities, and here for nursing, so…”
dean pokes his stick through his own marshmallow, holding it over the fire with one hand. his other reaches into his coat pocket for the pack of cigarettes he kept on him, humming in slight impress. good distraction, he’d once called his cigarette habit. vice of all vices, he said now.
“alright, well, give me a few minutes to pick a new name for you, yeah?”
you pluck the marshmallow off of your stick, setting it aside with the hot side up, holding the golden stickiness between your fingertips. “well, so will i, then,” you say defiantly, biting into the charred marshmallow with a crunch.
dean’s definitely a goner.
his eyes rake over you, not completely in a flirtatious way, but he had to admit, that you were gorgeous. you’re wearing dark denim jeans, a pair of black boots, and the brightest red cableknit sweater he’d ever seen.
“cherry,” he says softly, almost wistfully, as his eyes find yours again.
you seem taken aback for a second, lips parting and closing a couple of times. it might be the golden light crackling from the fire, but your cheeks almost look more pink, too. deep pink, like the inside of a cherry. cherry was a good pick.
“well, what’s your name?” you shoot back at him, nodding in his direction.
he knows how to cook things over a fire. has burned enough bodies and the evidence of his being there to know. the marshmallow on his stick is charred golden, and he brings it close to light the cigarette in his free hand before he blows the flame on the marshmallow out.
then, he turns the cooking end of the stick to you in a wordless offering. “dean.” his eyebrows bounce at the same time as his lips tilt in a warm, amused smile. "no frat affiliation, no interest in nursing," he continues with a dramatic sigh, teasing your earlier tirade, "i am on the football team, though. number 67."
"okay," you meet his eyes with that same gleam that was destined to get him into trouble, "i'll call you number 67, then."
special features !
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Yeah now we've entered the back pain stage
Ten Years Gone {d.w.}
1. Strangers in a Bar
Hi everyone!! This is my first Dean Winchester fic! Please let me know what you think of it, happy reading!
Summary: Dean hasn't been out of Purgatory for long and finds himself in a small town on the coast of Maine. He runs into a mysterious woman and she makes him question his retirement? Will Dean actually step away from the job? And what is this woman hiding from him? Warnings: slight aggression. +18 MDNI (even though there’s nothing R rated in this)
It’s late on a Tuesday night, the jukebox is humming in the corner of the bar playing slow country music. The air smells of liquor that’s dried on most surfaces of this place, a smell that’ll cling to your clothes until you wash them. It was the kind of late where only the restless or wrecked hung around, and tonight, Dean Winchester felt like both.
He sat at a table nursing a whiskey, tracing the edge of the glass with his middle finger. The bar was mostly empty, but Dean always made it a point to observe even when it’s not needed; the bartender wiping down the counter, two guys at a table loudly arguing about whether the Bruins are going to the playoffs or not, and a woman a few seats away from Dean, scribbling away in a notebook. He can’t tell if she comes here often or if she’s in the same boat he’s in, restless. Making sure to keep a watchful eye on her, especially since she’s the only woman in the building.
Dean shifted in his seat, trying not to think about the fact that he’s on the road by himself, again. It wasn’t the first time his brother needed a break from this life, and it wouldn’t be the last. They’ve been hunting nonstop for eight years, and after everything Sam has been through with the demons and Lucifer, the Leviathan’s and not knowing if Dean was dead or not for a year—he was bound to crack. The two of them fought over the fact that Sam didn’t hunt for a year, that Kevin was abducted and nothing was done about it. Sam was adamant about stepping away for a while, so he’s with his girl, while Dean is on the lookout for The Prophet.
For some reason this time feels different. Dean’s gotten older, he’s not young and stupid anymore, and he sure as hell has been through the wringer more than he’d like to be. He has a hard time lying to himself that he’s fine on his own. He needs Sam. The feeling of crippling anxiety that won’t cease is new, and it’s a feeling that’s not easily quieted by liquor. His hand shakes while he downs the remainder of his whiskey. The job is his life but is his life worth the job? It’s a hard decision to make, almost impossible.
He was so lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice that the woman had gotten up and started walking towards the bar. She distanced herself as far away from the other two men as she could then ordered, “A margarita with a salt rim and a double whiskey, please.” It didn’t take long for them to notice that she’d gone up there. Dean didn’t like the looks of them, they had a mischievous gleam in their eyes when looking at her. One of the Bruins fans stood up and advanced towards the bar.
“Hey there, pretty lady,” the man slurred, propping himself up against the counter. “What do ya say I buy your drinks for ya, sweetheart?”
Dean sighed, his grip tightening around his glass. He knows how these movies end, and they don’t end well.
The woman didn’t so much as flinch, without turning to look at him, she said, “I can take care of it myself, thanks.”
Her voice was cold and sharp, the kind of tone that could cut through steel, but the drunkard didn’t take the hint. He leaned in closer. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, see his eyes narrow in determination, and sense his bad intentions.
“Aw, come on honey. Let me treat ya, then maybe we can head back to my place, if you know what I’m sayin’?”
“I said no. Walk. Away.” Her gaze finally snapping to him, one so chilling that it could turn a man to stone if she tried hard enough.
Dean was not expecting her to be as harsh and as direct with the guy, he admired that. He knew that a guy like this wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he pushed out of his chair loudly and started to make his way towards them.
As she was turning to leave the counter, the guy grabs her by her bicep and pulls her into him, “You’re a good for nothing bitch, is what you are–”
Dean walks faster, boots thudding against the worn out floorboards. “Hey!” he barked. His voice low and dangerous as he got right in the drunk’s face. “When a lady says no, you listen. Now, let her go before this gets ugly.”
The man sneered then released her, muttering curses under his breath as he stumbled back to his friend. Dean turns to the bartender, his expression sharp. “And you–what kind of place are you running where this shit flies? Do better.”
He turns around to meet the woman, “You okay?”
She nods, her hardened features softening just a fraction at his kindness. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“It’s not a problem, Miss..?”
“Novena.” She smiles up at Dean and reaches her hand out to shake his.
“I’m Dean.” He gave her a warm smile back and took her hand in his. Her handshake was firm, he’s even more impressed.
“I was actually getting you a drink, believe it or not.” Her voice was rid of any trace of bitterness that had been there before, “I saw you sitting by yourself and you looked upset. Thought I’d bring you another round.”
“Thank you, I definitely need it.” Dean takes the glass from her, his fingers brushing against hers. Novena tenses up and her gaze immediately meets his, but within a second her state of shock is gone. Dean notices but doesn’t think too much of it. He doesn’t mean to be cocky, but a lot of girls in the past have frozen up around him before. Usually from being a flirt but he’s made no effort tonight—maybe he still has the juice after all.
Novena gives him another smile, then makes her way back towards her seat. This was the first act of kindness anyone has shown him since he got back from purgatory, and it was refreshing. A total stranger noticed that he wasn’t doing alright. He had been standing in the same spot, staring into space long enough for the bartender to give him the look of, “dude, you good?” He wasn’t good, but maybe he could distract himself from his anxiety for a little while, she was mysterious and that intrigued Dean.
Making his way over to her slowly, he notices that she had been making a sketch of someone. “Mind if I sit with you?” She closes her book when she hears his voice, as if not to be caught with her doodle. “I know it’s late and I, I don’t wanna seem like that scumbag over there—“
“Sit. I can tell a tortured soul when I see one,” she gestures with her hand for him to take the chair opposite from her. Novena emphasizes, “Please.”
Also not what he was expecting, but her voice was calm. Demanding but gentle. He does as he’s told.
“Yes ma’am.” They stare at each other, scanning each other's features in a way that is more intimate than it should be. Dean finally speaks up, “So, if you’re a tortured soul like me, what’re you doing out so late on a Tuesday?”
Novena sighs and takes a sip of her drink, “There’s a lot going on but to keep it sweet and simple, my dad recently passed, my boyfriend, well…ex now, destroyed my car when I ended things,” with sad eyes, she looks down at her fingers, fiddling with one of the rings she has on. She clears her throat before asking, “What about you, Mr-New-In-Town? What brings you into The Salty Dog?”
Dean lets out a small chuckle at her enthusiasm when saying the name of the bar, but says seriously, “I’m sorry to hear about your dad, I am. It’s not easy losing a parent,” He takes a swig of his whiskey, thinking of Bobby especially. “I uh, lost my father figure not too long ago as well.”
“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” Novena’s brows furrow and she places her hand over Dean’s so naturally, gently rubbing her thumb over the top of his knuckles.
He’s taken aback by this, he almost jumps at her touch. His eyes dart to hers and he’s met with empathy and compassion; there’s a lump in his throat that’s unbelievably painful with the grief that’s been hidden away. Not one soul has been able to break through Dean’s wall as easily as the woman before him. His eyes are jumping from their hands to the table, scoping out the rest of the bar to see if anyone is paying attention, which no one was, then back up to Novena. Tears were threatening to escape the corners of his eyes and once he saw that her mascara had run down her face, was when Dean let go. She removed her hand from his, leaned over the small table, cupped his face and wiped away the dampness on his skin.
It almost felt like Novena was taking away his pain with her touch, and it looked like it too. The eye contact hadn’t broke since he looked up at her. Dean was a mess and he couldn’t decipher if what he was seeing was a figment of his imagination or not—but it seemed like his struggle was held within her eyes? There was this humming noise that was coming from somewhere, the jukebox or the overhead lights maybe, that was soothing. Ultimately easing Dean to breathe slower and to quiet his racing thoughts.
“I, I don’t know what that was.” Dean whispers, “I’m sorry, that’s embarrassing. This never happens to me…” he gestures at himself.
Novena pulled away from him concerningly, “Showing human emotion never happens to you?”
“Wow—that’s not what I was expecting you to say. But, yeah. I usually don’t allow myself to show people how I’m feeling. To be frank, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Long day I suppose.”
She didn’t know how to respond to him. He’s different from other men she’s met, that’s a given. Dean almost immediately crumbled under her touch. It felt like he was begging to let someone in, wanting to be understood. If they hadn’t mentioned that they’ve both lost someone dear to them, then Dean probably wouldn’t have been easy to get a reading from. Novena liked that he related so much to her, that Dean felt so deeply that his emotions had transferred through their touch.
He was trying to brush off what had just happened. Novena could see it in his eyes, that he was questioning the intense moment they shared. Dean covered his face with both of his hands and sighed. This was the perfect moment to change subjects.
“I better get going, it’s getting late–I have to be up early for work. But I’ll see you around?”
—
A/N: Any and all feedback is appreciated! Feel free to send me asks or dm’s :)) I'm just making things up as I go, so be patient with me lol. This will be multiple parts as well as blurbs. I have a busy schedule but I’m going to try my best to write these chapters cuz I’m really obsessed with the idea I have!
tags! @ambiguous-avery
reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something
i wrote a twin cinema poem about two gay soldiers in wwi
context: the two sides, read separately, are the two soldiers thinking about their futures with each other. when read together, it's a reflection of their final thoughts when they die together struck by bullets <3
Ten Years Gone {d.w.}
I only have so many people who will actually see this BUT I’ve been working on an idea I’ve had for a little while now, it’s a Dean Winchester story. It’ll be a multiple part type deal. The story is written in third person and it’ll have a named female character. I am kind of worried about that because I’ve been seeing mainly !reader fics and I know a lot of people like to read like they’re a part of the story, but! how she got her name and what it means is cute imo!!
I’m working on some finishing touches and should post the first part in the next couple days!! Once it’s out, send feedback my way, positive or negative. Please critique my work! I haven’t written anything in years so having fresh eyes on it will help me out a lot. I will warn you now that punctuation isn’t always my strong suit so point that out especially!
Masterlist
Here you can find everything that I've written! Organized from newest to oldest :)
Dean Winchester:
In the Fields We Lie {d.w.}- World War I is at its climax. Dean is figuring out his life before his name gets drawn from the draft. Falling in love while he can. Will he get the life he always wanted? Or will the war destroy him?
Ten Years Gone - Dean hasn't been out of Purgatory for long and finds himself in a small town on the coast of Maine. He runs into a mysterious woman and she makes him question his retirement? Will Dean actually step away from the job? And what is this woman hiding from him?
The Taste of Us (one shot; 18+) - You’ve never met this man before but damn, does he have a hold on you.
Red Wings (one shot; 18+) - Dean wants to help you alleviate your period cramps in an unorthodox way.
Harry Styles:
In the Fields We Lie - THIS IS BEING TURNED INTO A DEAN FIC BUT I'LL STILL KEEP HARRY'S VERSION UP!! WWI Harry. His life before, during, and after trauma. He's a soft boy who is in love with his neighbor. (hopefully I complete this series!!).
Late Night Worries - Blurb about Harry and his wife who has trouble seeing past the "bad" parts of being a parent.
Sunflower Vol. 6 - Where Harry is caught up in his lingering emotions about Camille. He hasn't been inspired to write for his new album but once he's under the influence, that changes.
Hi, I'm Destiny! Welcome to my fanfic account!
I’m 25 years old and I'm currently trying to redirect my life in many ways. I'm off of everything social media besides tumblr and pintrest, I don't really count them as socials (I should). But at least with tumblr I can read and get inspired!
I have always loved reading (even if I read at the speed of a snail), and I've always loved coming up with scenarios in my head. I've had a lot of trouble in the past keeping up with the works but it's time to turn those tables!
Please be kind, the world needs more of it! My inbox is always open for YAPPING!
Things I really love: The Office | One Direction | Supernatural | Roswell (1999) | Elephants | Coffee & Tea | Any and All Things Music (besides gospel sorry!) | Exercise | Tattoos | Piercings | Horror Movies | CreepCast Podcast | Normal Gossip Podcast | Murder Mystery & Makeup I have a good-sized library of records and cassettes and vhs tapes, books (obviously). Buy physical copies of things if/while you can!
A Girlie For: Harry Styles | Dean Winchester/Jackles | Henry Cavill | Niall Horan | Chappell Roan | Sabrina Carpenter | Miley Cyrus | Chris Evans
MDNI; 18+ ONLY!!
“WRITE IT BADLY. Write it badly, write it badly, write it badly, write it badly. Stop what you’re doing, open a Word document, put a pencil on some paper, just get the idea out of your head. Let it be good later. Write it down now. Otherwise it will die in there.”
— Brandon Sanderson on overcoming writer’s block to create a first draft as a professional author (via almost-always-eventually-right)
y’all i am not ready for more of my family members to die. if you don’t know what’s happening in ontario schools right now here’s a quick recap because I have been absolutely beside myself driving myself crazy as a teacher and i need y’all to know
1. the provincial government has announced that school openings will be delayed by 2 days (Jan 5 instead of Jan 3) in order to hand or N95 masks to staff and install air filteration systems in 3000 CLASSROOMS (which considering, we have 4900 SCHOOLS… you do the math)
2. after announcing the above yesterday they have since said ACTUALLY besties you won’t be receiving any of that till mid january and the filters won’t be installed in 85% of middle schools won’t be given any of those filters. As a secondary teachers there’s a pain in my chest for my elementary teacher colleagues.
3. Quarantine for positive testing educators is now 5 days instead of 10, the qualifier being that the death rate with omicron is “only” 54% (truly what the fuck, we can’t even get into the ableism of that)
4. here’s a fun thing. In one very large school board (Toronto Catholic School Board) having a + result on a Rapid test doesn’t count — you need it on a PCR in order to be approved for those 5 days
5. oh but wait! PCR testing is now limited only to high risk individuals and if you are not one of those you have to pay $180 to get a test done, and while teachers do count as high risk, the backlog for testing is so severe right now that many can’t even get a spot to be tested and so default to the paid version, and we can’t even get INTO the classist and racist underpinnings of that right now
5a) PCR testing is only available to symptomatic high risk people. So if you’re asymptomatic. (like i was for example in March) you can’t get a PCR test without paying. So you will go to work and put EVERYONE YOU COME IN CONTACT WITH AT RISK
6. Ontario has reported a 29.2% positivity rate today (Dec 31). you have a 1 in 3 chance of getting covid generally. In a congregate setting (20+, so any classroom ever because remember! our class sizes have been INCREASING year over year) it’s a 95% chance
I don’t want to have COVID again. I don’t want to watch any of my family go through it again.
But hey, don’t worry. You can still be one of the 1000 people who get to attend a raptors game.
I understand virtual schooling has taken a toll on student and teacher mental health. Believe me I was in the trenches of it. But I think the mental toll of watching people you love die is worse. And if you’ve been in the pandemic unscathed by this, good for you. Some of us haven’t been so lucky
In the Fields We Lie
Hello! This is going to be a multiple part story. It’s about Harry and his life before, during, and after World War I. I hope whoever comes across this enjoys it! I encourage feedback of any kind! Also, I am not sure of some writing/punctuation rules so please point those out especially! Happy reading :)
Word count: 3k
TW/Warning: None
Prologue
They say that in the midst of darkness and a time where nothing prospers, the mind tends to wonder. This is the time where inspiration strikes and masterpieces are made. There is, more than anything else we have in the world, is time. What we do in that allotted space is up to us to choose. What shall we occupy ourselves with? Where shall we let our minds wander off to? Distant lands or perhaps a reality that we dream of that is better than our present? Do you dream of being in your lover's arms? Or do you wish you could have taken back those harsh words you said to your mother recently? Others have to think quickly, in a fraction of a second, or else they will not live to see the light of day. In that darkness there is chaos and when everything turns quiet, is that moment of primal instinct to save your life or to accept that death will grab you and bring you to a hell that you have not seen yet. Anything to keep the mind busy in times of hardship is crucial. That is how we survive. The silence, especially in the time of war, is deadly, so deadly that it could turn anyone crazy.
Every soul is trying to keep themselves safe and there is not an option otherwise, unless they have lost their way, lost hope. Those are the people you have to take care of, to watch out for because without community and camaraderie there is no purpose. Without care for others is the destruction of oneself. Without out the care for oneself is to rot. Those who only think of the betterment of themself are soulless. To be self-sufficient is another story. To have support behind you, next to you, in front of you, gives you strength. To know that others are experiencing life similar to yours is comforting because ultimately you’ll feel less alone.
—
Manchester, England
5 June, 1914
Friday
In the summer of 1914, Harry Styles was a young and innocent soul. He was only worried about getting to work on time and pleasing the cute girl next door. Even though his life was simple he enjoyed it very much.
It was a particularly hot morning, especially for the beginning of June. No clouds in the sky to provide any shade on the way to work, making Harry sweat. Having to take off his work shirt so he doesn’t stain through it, even though it’ll be twice as bad inside. Sun hitting his pale skin, he hasn’t had the time to be outside to give himself a healthy glow so this is a perfect opportunity. He might get a horrible tan line from his undershirt but Harry’s okay with that. What he isn’t okay with is his inability to stop daydreaming about his neighbor, and that is exactly what he does walking two kilometers to work.
They are acquainted, Harry has helped her move furniture, tried to fix her shower pipes once but failed miserably, leaving him no other option but to pay for maintenance and to allow her access to his washroom. She had occasionally made him food whenever he came home late, or she would purposely bump into him in the morning before work to put a smile on his face. They enjoy each other's company so much that they go to the market together to buy groceries. Sometimes Harry stargazes in the park right below their building and she’d see him through her kitchen window, and she would join him anytime she caught him. They’d always lay in silence, enjoying the presence not only from one another but the vast universe above them.
In this particular moment all Harry can focus on is her being in his home, using his shower. Being the gentleman that he is, he respected her privacy when she was over to wash up, which was every night for a week. But he also couldn’t, and presently cannot help but to imagine her beautiful figure underneath her clothes. He would hear her hum to herself in the shower, she slipped once and she screeched but then laughed hysterically, it was heavenly. Seeing water drip from her hair was adorable. Her coming over made Harry feel whole, made his flat less lonely. There was one instance where she had forgotten a change of clothes, and that was the night Harry knew he was truly in love with her.
—
Harry was making some boiled chicken and pasta when he heard the shower handle squeak and a handful of choice words fall from his beautiful neighbors mouth. He assumed that she was rushing too fast while getting changed, she had a date who was waiting on her outside the building. Jealousy raged over him when she told him that there was a man taking her out to dinner. It was someone she knew in grade school, she told Harry that she bumped into him while she was at one of her friends' weddings. The negative emotions he was feeling quickly dissipated when she said his name.
“Harry…”
She sounded worried. Why was she worried? Was she nervous?
“Fran, I know your nerves are getting the best of you, but I’m sure you look lovely…” He turned around to find her in just a towel. Eyes widened, jaw dropped, and heart racing at a million miles an hour. Too stunned to speak, Harry quickly spun on his heels so he wasn’t starring. “Shit, I- I’m, I-”
She’s now laughing at his embarrassment. All worry washed away from her voice, “I forgot my dress. I guess I was so excited to get ready that I forgot it. Can I borrow a blanket or shirt to cover up in?” After a few moments of silence she walked up to him and tapped his shoulder and spoke, “Harry, it’s okay, turn around.”
He did as he was told, making sure that when he did, he only looked into her eyes. She was so beautiful, so confident in her body and in herself to let a man she wasn’t with, to look at her when she was indecent. A strand of hair fell into her eyes, before she could move it herself Harry gently pushed the lock behind her ear. Both of their breaths caught in their throats but Harry managed to whisper, “I’ll um, go grab you a shirt.” He never walked so fast in his life. Making sure he picked out a nice shirt that smelled good was top priority. He ended up dabbing some cologne on the collar just in case.
She was too busy admiring the books on his bookshelf to notice that he had come back so he cleared his throat before speaking, “Fran, you better change quickly before your date thinks you’ve fallen in the toilet.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny Styles. Gimme that.” Snatching the shirt like it was hers to begin with. She disappears behind the washroom door and reappears seconds later it seems like, but maybe that’s from the state of shock Harry’s still in. Fran has to ask him this twice to get his full attention, “Will you watch for any unwanted eyes as I walk to my flat?”
“Of course I will. Let me see your key so I can unlock your door so you don't have to struggle.” Walking past her is painful, he can feel his excitement pushing against his trousers, it’s only just started but he needs to be free of Fran soon or else she’ll see. Walking the hall fast but lightly, not to make a ruckus and concern the nosey neighbors. He unlocks her door and sets her key on the small table that sits just to the right of the door. Making sure that no one is in sight he quietly calls out her name. She holds her dirty garments to her chest as she speed walks to him. As soon as she’s in her doorway Harry stands in front of her, both arms outstretched, with hands grabbing the baseboards to make for a better cover for Fran.
They are extremely close again, both of their hearts are pounding so hard it’s a surprise they can’t hear each other's heartbeats. “You better have fun on your date. Hurry along then, you don’t want to miss him.”
“Oh, I will. And don’t tell me what to do.” Fran winked at him and then closed the door in his face. Harry smiled and walked back to his flat. He ended up burning his pasta on the stove. If this was any normal night, he would have lost his wits if he burned his pasta, but he made an exception for the gorgeous woman that stole his attention.
—
Ever since that incident, a very particular image of Fran has been taking over Harry’s mind. The shirt that Harry gave her was a pale pink shirt and he never realized, that without an undershirt underneath, that it was sheer. When Fran came out of the bathroom, her hair had gotten the fabric around her breasts wet. It was only for a brief moment that he looked, and Harry swears that she did it on purpose. She was perfect, everywhere. He thought he saw her smile when he looked at her the way he did, she seemed almost satisfied. An angelic devil she is.
Too distracted by his thoughts, he barely realized that he was arriving at work: Taylor the Tailor: “Let Taylor, Tailor You!” was displayed above the building in bright red lettering. It was a quaint little shop that sparked Harry’s interest when he first moved to the city. Before he even asked for a position, he had to come in for a repair on a set of trousers. Long story short, while moving into his flat, he had slipped on some ice and ripped right down the bumline. Quite embarrassing, even more so considering one of his neighbors came out of the building right as it was happening and laughed. It turned out to be Fran. She still teases him about it.
His mum taught him how to sew, crochet, and knit, so already having experience was attractive to the owner, Mr. Taylor. He was hired on the spot actually. He loves everyone he works with and that’s the reason why he’s stayed with the shop for almost two years. He welcomes Mimi and Rena as he walks through the main room and towards the back to put his shirt back on before customers arrive. Harry can hear the two older ladies gossiping about who knows what but it makes him chuckle, they think they’re whispering but they’re both basically half deaf so they naturally talk loud.
“Ladies, ladies,” Harry interrupted them, “No need to whisper about how gorgeous I am, when I’m right here!”
Rena rolled her eyes, while Mimi stood up and made her way to him. Mimi takes his blue bowtie from his hand and begins to put it on for him. A little tradition that they’ve made. Harry is fully capable of doing it himself but he lets her. They both gain from it. “Thank you, my darling,” He kisses her on the cheek when she’s finished, “And how are both of my girls today, ready for the weekend I assume?”
“Always ready for the weekend, Styles. Two days out of the week where I am free of you.”
“I’m truly hurt by your words Rena. You know what that does to my ego. Everyone loves me, right Mimi?”
Mimi laughs, “You are very lovable Harry. Rena is just an old fart. You’d think after so many years she’d warm up to ya.” That is exactly how each day goes. Rena is the sturn and conservative type but has her moments, Mimi is a freer spirit and can get along with both of her coworkers, and Harry is, well, Harry.
The day is long and hot, everyone is being careful not to sweat on any of the clothes that they’re working on. And their day has only gotten longer, because right before five o’clock a woman comes in. She is in desperate need of fixing her husband's work attire that her children had shredded with scissors. Three shirts and four trousers. She was a fairly sweet woman and she would pay them extra to get it done for her by Monday morning. They all obliged. Harry was surprised Rena hadn’t complained in front of the customer, but as soon as the woman left Rena said that she would have left if it weren’t for the extra money. Typical.
To make things fun, Harry took on three garments that were badly damaged, and told the ladies he would finish all of them before they finished their two pieces. This didn’t amuse Rena, but she ended up finishing before him and she was greatly satisfied, giggled even. Getting out of the shop around half past nine was quite impressive and everyone patted themselves on the back for the hard work.
“Get home safe my loves, I will see you later. Rena, you better think of me!” He yells at them when they’re about to round the corner of the street. It makes Rena furious.
The weather changed within the last two hours, clouds moved in just as the sun was setting and rain came midway through Harry’s walk home. He usually doesn’t mind walking through the rain, but when the lightning starts Harry would much rather not turn into a crisp so he runs. He slips once and one of his legs extends too far out in front of him, almost ripping his pants, again. It was a close call, the amount of stretch he felt was worrisome. As he approaches his building, he notices an all too familiar Rolls-Royce that belongs to someone who is the epitome of rubbish. Someone who is used to getting his way, maybe it’s the money he has or possibly the fact that he has not struggled a day in his life. Harry is reluctant to go inside the entryway but likes to make this man suffer.
“Hello, Dick! It’s awful seeing you here,” Harry coldly welcomes him, “Where will you be taking Fran tonight?”
“For the last time, it’s Richard. And it should be none of your business, but I know she’ll tell you anyhow. We are going to my brother’s engagement party, and before you say anything-” “Speaking of engagement, when will you ever ask Fran to go steady with you? Oh wait, that’s right, you were too busy getting your dic-” By the look on the other man's face, Harry knew Fran was walking up to them, “Dick! So lovely to see you mate!” He then turns around, smiles at his beautiful neighbor as he walks up to her, whispers for her to be safe, and heads up to his flat. In the stairwell Harry could hear Dick tell her how much he annoys him, and that is always his goal.
“Such a nosey neighbor…”
“I think he’s perfectly fine, Richard. Leave him be…” Her voice is so soft. She wouldn’t be talking so tenderly to him if she knew that he was seeing other women besides her. It infuriates Harry to his core, but he can’t tell her because she would rip him a new one and he does not need anything else being torn apart. Second, Fran would be so devastated and Harry doesn’t want to deliver that news to her. She will find out sooner or later, and Harry prays that he gets front row seats to Dick getting his balls kicked in.
—
The storm only got worse throughout the night. The power went out shortly after Harry got home. Currently at the kitchen table reading a book but failing horribly from sore eyes, waiting for Fran to be dropped off. At this point it could be likely that she had to stay with Dick and his family, which is revolting. It’s none of Harry’s business where she is, who’s she with, and he shouldn’t be waiting up for her but something isn’t sitting right. Looking back on it now, it seemed too late for an engagement party. Maybe it was a surprise and maybe the couple went out to dinner while everyone set up? He needs to go to bed and stop worrying, Fran is a grown woman and she’s more than ready to stick up for herself. She’s fine.
Looking out of his window one last time, to make sure he doesn’t miss her, is when he sees headlights crawling towards the building. Assuming it’s Fran, Harry sighs in relief and heads to his washroom to get ready for bed. As he gets done brushing his teeth is when he hears her walking up the stairs and decides to meet her in the hallway. Knowing she can barely see up the stairs from the power outage, he brings out a candle to give her when she gets home.
“How was your night out Miss Fran?” He says to her as she reaches the last step but she’s too quiet. He walks closer to her once she reaches her door and leans against the wall. She looks sad. Her eyes and nose are red, Harry can make out where the tears streamed down her face. His stomach flips and he feels nauseated instantly. What happened to her? He wants to ask but knows it’s not the time.
Her voice is hoarse, “You know Styles, you don’t need to wait up for me, it’s sweet but a little strange.” She half heartedly jokes. “My night was fine, thank you. See you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Of course. Here, take this…” He straightens up, taking a few steps to get closer to her, and he smells the alcohol coming from her breath. It must’ve been a rough night because she hardly drinks. Handing her the candle and keeping eye contact he whispers, “So you can see where you’re going. I’ll come get you tomorrow.” Harry wipes away a fallen tear from her face with his thumb and kisses her cheek in that same spot.
So softly she murmurs, “Goodnight Harry.”
“Goodnight Fran.”
Little Black Book | Harry Styles
Description: you’re a famous writer dating Harry, and he finds the notebook you’ve had since you were thirteen.
A/N: hi idk if the ending is a bit cliche but I spent a long time on this and would really appreciate any feedback you have in whatever form you want to give it! please don’t just consume fics on here, let authors know what you think it means a lot :)
Content Warnings: swearing
Word Count: 7920
My Writing
Harry never invades. He asks. Listens. Takes what you give him and fashions it into a map to the center of your heart, like he’s found some side door even you don’t know about. It would be less annoying if it ever actually felt like a trick. Instead, you’ve come to recognize it as one of those invaluable people skills of his he uses to care for the ones he loves and even those he doesn’t know.
So, you know he hasn’t so much as rifled through the title page of the notebook he’s holding when you walk back into your bedroom with your waters. It may look harmless in his hands, in the way that most things look harmless in his hands because they’re his, but the battered spine and broken and re-tied elastic strap give enough warning. Its contents carry a little more emotional weight than the other journals strewn across your apartment, which is saying something for you.
Keep reading
Me, after realizing I’m a writer who doesn’t write, a reader who hates picking up a book, and a storyteller who can never come up with a plot:
Getting so many notes on that little blurb is making my heart go🥺🥺🥺 thank you all for liking it, it truly means everything to me!!!
Late Night Worries {h.s.}
Hiii!! I’m fairly new to the Harry fic writing, I only intend to use him as a face/name claim. That’s what makes me comfy :))
This is a blurb about Harry and his wife who has a little trouble seeing past the “bad” parts of being a parent. A mention of previous trauma but no details, other than that hopefully it hits you in the feels!
I hope whoever comes across this enjoys it!! Happy reading :) I love getting feedback, don’t be afraid to message me!!
“Harry? Are you awake baby?”
The only times he’s able to be woken up is either from his wife saying his name for whatever reason she has for interrupting the precious few hours of rest he gets, or it’s when he hears his 3 month old baby boy crying. It’s so natural to him now that it instantly jolts him awake. “Now I am, yeah. What’s wrong?” As he rubs his eyes and sits up and rests on one of his elbows.
Y/N, although she knows that it’s a ridiculous and an irrelevant fear now, she can’t help but worry herself to the brink of insomnia. Ever since she gave birth, her already huge heart, got even bigger and even more emotional. Her “mom heart” as she calls it, doesn’t want to see her pure son turn into someone who will resent her for how she parents him. Not letting him go out too late, or grounding him when he gets a bad grade in school, or sneaks in a girl, or a guy, into the house when he isn’t supposed to.
When Y/N is this upset her throat usually closes up because she’s trying to hold in her tears, so they sit there awhile in the darkness. Harry knows exactly what’s going on with her, which is why he’s being so patient. They’ve been together a while and he has learned not to rush her when she gets emotional, it only agitates her more when he is pushy then y/n usually tells him whatever she’s thinking isn’t really important.
After a few long minutes she’s finally able to swallow normally and that’s when y/n gushes all of her insecurities out, “I don’t want our sweet boy to hate me, Harry. I don’t think I can handle that. What if I do something wrong and he wishes that I was never his mother? I don’t want to be broken like that, I’m not ready for that.” Y/N has to take a deep breath to steady herself. Nervously picking at the remaining nail polishh on her fingernails she proceeds slowly, “And what if I break him? I don’t want our son to know the trauma I’ve been through, I don’t want to project that onto him like my parents did to me. What if I’m not healed by then? What if I’m not ready to be a mom, H?”
Everything that y/n has said rings through Harry’s ears and it’s painful. He doesn’t understand how she can be having all of these stressors. Maybe it’s from the lack of sleep? The first thing that he does is turn on his lamp on his bedside table so he can have a proper look at her. And what Harry sees immediately is her purple-blue under eyes, the tears staining her cheeks and her sad but really cute red nose.
“Y/N, honey, c’mere.” They’re both sitting up at this point and y/n crawls up onto Harry’s lap and hugs him. “Take deep breaths for me, yeah? Only gonna make yourself more miserable and tired for tomorrow.”
He rubs her back and then switches to playing with her hair, that’s what calms her and usually it’s a recipe for sleepiness. He doesn’t do it for too long because he still has to make sure she’s not up all night worrying about situations that haven’t happened yet. Sniffling is a good sign, it means that y/n has settled down enough for her to really listen to what Harry has to tell her. A little trick he’s learned, instead of trying to get her to understand where he’s coming from when she’s too stressed to think of another perspective.
Harry breaks the silence, “Y/N, could you look at me please? There ya go, hi darling.” He smiles warming, looking into her eyes with so much reassurance it almost seems impossible. “I know that you haven’t been getting much sleep the last few weeks and it might be hard not to see this, but I promise you that our baby will not hate you. You wanna know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you are the most caring, compassionate, and loving person that I have ever known and probably will ever come to know. Whatever the situation or punishment might be, you will be doing it with the pure kindness that is in your heart. Like you’ve taught me, what comes with mistakes also comes with great lessons, and I’ve made many. You’ll have nice long conversations with our boy about what’s right and wrong, and you’ll teach him in a way that isn’t demeaning or make him feel like every little thing he’s done wrong is the worst thing he could ever do. He is bound to mess up and get in trouble with his Mum and he might get extremely mad at you, but I can already tell that he will have the same heart as you. He will never be angry for long and will come running back, telling you that he loves you.
“You won’t let yourself break him, or let him anywhere near the pain you’ve gone through. You’re taking care of yourself by going to therapy, yeah? Don’t worry about all these future “what if’s” y/n. I know it’s easier said than done but let's just try to focus on the present. We can figure all of that stuff out when it comes to it. For now, let’s take advantage of when he’s this small and young, because we might be wishing he’d stay a baby.”
They both giggle at that last part, it seems like they’re having a hard time now taking care of him, but both y/n and Harry know the storm of child/young adulthood is another ballgame in itself.
“Thank you Harry, for being the best husband. For listening to me, and helping me see things that I can’t in moments like these.”
“Of course, anything for you my sweet girl.” He pushes a strand of hair from y/n’s face behind her ear, looking into her now serene and cloudy eyes and gives her the softest kiss on her pouty lips. “I love you, and I love our precious boy that we made. If he ever happens to make you cry in the future, rest assured, love, that I’ll whoop his ass, not physically but you know what I’m gettin’ at.”
“I do baby, I love you both so much.” Y/N finally slides down and rests her head on Harry’s chest just above his butterfly. “I appreciate you.”
“I appreciate you too. Let’s get some rest now, how does that sound?”
Sunflower Vol. 6🌻
This is my first short story about H, which I posted on my main blog. I’m not really used to writing anything longer than three paragraphs lol, so writing 3k+ is new to me. I hope anyone who comes across likes this little thing I made up :)
Where Harry is caught up in his lingering emotions about Camille...
It’s been a longer day and more difficult than usual and it’s only almost noon. Since Camille, he’s had days that are damn near perfect, others have been like this; sluggish and dreary. His friend has been tending to him, making sure he’s there to support his moods.
Haven’t been out all day, why would they be? It’s raining. A perfect day, perfect excuse to stay in and simply do nothing. At least that’s what Harry thinks, not so much of his friend. “Harry, mate, we’ve got to cheer you up, yeah? We can’t keep you watching romances, just not healthy, not now at least. What do you say?” It takes a moment for the words to reach him, and he takes his time to think about it, but nothing sounds appealing and he hasn’t even heard what Oliver has in mind.
Very slowly Harry pulls himself up onto his elbows and looks at Oliver who’s on the opposite side of the couch. “Little seems to intrigue me today Ollie, but if you think you’ve got something that tickles my fancy then have at it.” The tone in his voice is irritable, and he doesn’t want to deal with anything that Oliver has to offer him. As maddening as it makes him, Harry understands that he’s just trying to help, so if it’s a good enough distraction he’ll consider it.
“I know you’ve got a lot on your mind with finishing the last few tracks on the album and... Camille, even though that subject seems to have been at ease until today. You shouldn’t let the idea of the situation tear you down mate-”
“I don’t need a lecture here, okay? I thought you wanted me to get off my ass and do something?”
“Calm down H, really. This is what I’m trying to get on about. Now listen, I was getting at that we need to get you out of the house and go for a jog, yeah? Clear your thoughts and talk about it afterwards. You don’t have a choice, actually, because I hate seeing you like this and quite frankly, I’m sick of the attitude.” Oliver then chucks an oversized pillow at Harry’s face which caused him to giggle and is an indicator that he’s in acceptance of the small gesture.
The jog was miserable yet effective. There were moments where it didn’t seem worth it to finish, but knowing Olly, he wouldn’t allow quitting. Quitting means not growing and not growing means you stay in the same place and rhythm you were in when you started. Hard work pays off after all. It’s moments like these that he appreciates Oliver for knowing exactly what Harry needs, clever bastard.
Now that Harry was thinking more about his state of mind, in the fucking rain which is drenching him, he realizes that he needs to accept his feelings, and at the same time he needs to learn how to manage them and work through the hardship. There’s a point where he needs to move forward instead of stopping in one place when thinking of Camille, similar to going for a jog. Damn Oliver always getting in his head. He gives him a glance after this thought and raises his hand to give Oliver the finger to which he finds amusing.
“You know how much I hate you for that God awful jog?” Harry says breathlessly while trying to dry himself off with a towel. He’s only being sarcastic which is being caught on by Oliver, who knows it was much appreciated.
“Oh but how you love me for it brother, I saw some gears turning in that massive head of yours!! How are you feeling? Tell me about it.”
“I’ve just come to notice that I can’t let myself stop in my tracks whenever I’m upset about Camille, you know? I need to be able to accept how I feel, learn from that, and move on because I’m getting nowhere being like this.” He points to himself and shyly looks down at his feet. “I’ve got to be happy where I’m at, sometimes I am but there’s a part of me that isn’t quite there yet and it’s frustrating…”
Harry takes a deep breath because he feels himself getting a bit emotional, throat closing up and all. Playing with the areas where his rings usually are, a nervous tick he has. How is it that it’s been half a year and he’s still somewhat sad over her? Why is it taking him so damn long to let go? Harry then continues in a sad, quiet voice, “I have all the intentions of trying to move on, I’ve been chatting with people, but there’s just something keeping me.”
Oliver understands that there’s not much he can do or say in this moment, just to let him say what’s on his mind, and Harry loves that about him, that he just knows when to be silent for his friend. The pair just sit peacefully for a while until Harry speaks up, “You know what, this whole morning has been eventful and I’ve started to get inspired by that pesky little run of yours. I’m in need of that extra inspiration if you know what I mean mate.” His whole demeanor changes, eyes gleaming and a smirk emerges, then there’s this mischievous look on his face and that’s when Oliver knows exactly what to do.
--
During the creation of this new album he’s been experimenting with substances most find questionable, shrooms are one of them. It’s something he’s been afraid of admitting since he’s supposed to be a role model, but if he’s not being himself can that be deemed upon him? It’s a different perspective for sure, and maybe he does it to look at life in a way that he just can’t accomplish sober. To give himself access to more ideas which could aid in his writing process. It’s worked for a few tracks and he wouldn’t change how the songs came about, not in the slightest. Other times on his trips, it’s just been a mess of crazy animations and colors to which nothing arises and it discourages him a little but there’s no fault in it. Just wasn’t the right time or right trip.
Before Harry takes the shrooms, he meditates and allows his previous, heavier emotions go to ensure that his trip will be a good one. He sits in a dark room with a salt lamp that illuminates the space with its orange tint, just enough to make figures out. He sits with his legs crossed and his hands laying on his knees, keeps his eyes closed and breathes evenly. This goes on for about half-hour. Thinking to himself, everything that has been, is out of his control and everything now is what he can control. The jog helped him ease into positivity and meditation is helping this process. A positive mind leads to a positive trip. He then moves onto what he wants to try to focus on during his time away from reality…
Harry looks back at the conversation he had with Oliver before his time to himself.
--
“So what song do you want to focus on H?”
“I’ve been having a hard time figuring out what I want Sunflower to be like. It’s been all over the place, I’ve written it about Camille, written it about men and women that I talked with briefly. That song has been rewritten five bloody times. I need to focus it on one thing but I don’t know what...”
--
When everything is sorted out in his mind, Harry meets Oliver in the living room where they were hours before. All the lights are off except another salt lamp barely lighting the room, blinds are drawn so no light can interrupt his journey into the unknown. Oliver has the shrooms mixed in some green tea, it’s cooled off enough to sip on generously. Harry doesn’t want to admit it but he’s eager to get high. Not in a sense to escape his problems of course, just to have perspective and an open mind more so than what he’s experiencing at the moment, and he wants it now. Usually it takes him, minimum, thirty minutes to feel the full effects, so the tea is gone sooner rather than later.
He’s lost all concept of time and more so reality, he can still feel his weight heavily sunken into his couch. A sign to him that he’s still on the incline to the climax of his trip. It feels like he’s about to pass out, but that’s how he usually gets when he takes shrooms.
It feels like it’s been hours since he’s drank his tea and notices disappointment in his mind because nothing has presented itself to him, but he isn’t feeling any emotional connection due to the overpowering euphoria the shrooms have on him. Harry is looking into the darkness that seems infinite, he can barely make out some colors in the distance which are slowly getting bigger? Closer even? Are they swimming towards him? Tries to reach out for them but can’t move his arms quite yet.
All that’s on his mind really, are the colors and shapes moving toward him. Getting bigger the closer they get. They’re moving around in a spiral, then moving over and under one another, then before he realizes they’re engulfing him. Very vivid shades of yellows, pinks, blues, purples. They’re flying around him like Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother’s magic stars wrapping around her, turning everything into beauty. With Harry, though, it’s not stars, the colors are outlined with black and the strands of colors are bubbly in shape, like some hippy styled font.
The flamboyant yellow animation is what attracts him the most, and it begins to pull at his shirt. He notices when he looks down, hands being molded from the shape and when he looks back up he’s met with a Sunflower.
In this particular moment Harry can’t feel the weight of his body anymore, he’s not paying attention but he’s reaching the peak of his high. He’s not worrying about Camille or figuring out how to construct his song, in fact those thoughts are completely absent. And suddenly the Sunflower has a face? Its mouth is moving and Harry can hear something coming from it, he just can’t make out what it is. He’s gotten impatient trying to guess it’s vernacular so he gives up. He can’t take his eyes off it, the way its petals are slightly red on the bottom and progress into a rich orange to a bright yellow on the very ends. The way its hands feel brushing over his arms, so silky. A pretty, beautiful, gorgeous flower it is, isn’t it?
All the while the other strands of color have disappeared from around him which he cesses to notice because he’s too fixated on this heavenly creature. The way it’s looking at him, the way it has to look up to meet his eyes. It smiles and Harry is just mesmerized. How can something be so breathtaking?
Then something comes over Harry and before he really has time to think he says aloud, “Sunflower, my eyes want you more than a melody.” Once this phrase is said the Sunflower disappears and Harry is engulfed in darkness again. Confusion takes over him because he was wanting to get to know it and understand why it came to him. There’s a period where he tries walking around but it’s not doing any good, there’s nothing to see. Maybe she’ll come out if he tells her something else. But how does he know its a woman? Can’t place a finger on how, he just knows. He coos, “I don’t wanna make you feel bad, Sunflower… Sunflower?”
Harry spots her in the distance, seems as if she’s peeking from around a corner in this sunless void, so he walks to her. She’s the only thing that lights up in the darkness. Turning around the invisible wall where she once was, he admits, “I couldn’t want you anymore-” he’s suddenly in a house and he has the slightest idea of how he got here, but this feeling of familiarity consumes him. Feels like he’s been here before, knows where everything is, could point out her favorite book on the bookshelf in the living room, which he’s standing right in front of. There’s also a sensation that comes over Harry, he knows that she’s in the kitchen, making him breakfast. And he also has some knowledge of who this is, like someone he used to know.
He makes his way towards the kitchen which is through a doorway that connects to the living room, he’s remembering the emotions he’s had for this not-so-stranger. The all consuming love he has, the adoration, the curiosity of knowing every aspect of who she is.
When met with her back facing him, Harry takes a few strides forward then wraps his arms around the slim waist of the Sunflower. Taking in her wonderful sweet scent from her petals, he lays his head on hers, humming by the contact that he’s making with her. “Sunflower, sunflower, sunflower” he keeps repeating near where her ear would be if she was human. She’s paying no mind to him while she’s fixing up pancakes and eggs.
The pair stay comfortably where they’re at for a few minutes before Harry can’t help himself. He turns her around to get a proper look at her beautiful face, shining eyes, pointy nose, nice full lips that he can’t take his eyes off of. Just amazed that he’s in the presence of her, again, remembering the countless times they’ve done this before.
She smiles at him like she had done before and Harry can’t take the butterflies that rumble in his stomach, they’re too overwhelming. He leans down to connect his lips with hers, and he’s remembering a scene almost identical to this. Where’s he’s kissing her and dancing in the kitchen early in the morning. The sun hasn’t quite warmed their house yet and he knows she’s cold even with her thick pajamas on. Harry’s warmed by the mere sight of her, the sight of her being happy. Mainly because of him.
“I couldn’t want you anymore, tonight” He whispers against her lips, leaving noticeable goosebumps all over her vined skin, he has just enough time to witness how she looks before he’s falling into the abyss of darkness. It’s swallowing him. Then hears his voice echoing all around him, “Tonight, tonight, tonight…”
He shakes his head, wondering where he is, again. His eyes are the death of him, so tired and throbbing. Realizing he’s in his bed, weakly pulls himself up and to the bathroom to brush his teeth because he has this weird taste in his mouth. A bitter taste.
Taking it to mind this is how he spent some of his mornings getting ready, hardly any motivation to get the day started. Before he got to know her. He wanted to come home to someone who would love him, to share dreams and ideas with. Someone who just got him. To find comfort and trust in.
Then he remembers how they met…
—
It was during some random trip to whatever country it was, can’t seem to remember clearly enough. But, he met up with his friends at this nice restaurant. Wasn’t particularly interested in what everyone was talking about, so he occasionally looks around the restaurant to see other people enjoying their conversations. This particular time though a woman catches his attention. He immediately knew that she was something he needed to have in his life. The way she carried herself so confidently and so elegantly has him weak in the knees.
Fortunately enough she was there because Oliver wanted to introduce them so Harry had every excuse to talk to her. And he was beyond ecstatic about it when he realized she was walking towards him, with a smile she was so desperately trying to contain.
(Oliver met her at some fashion convention he went with with Harry. She mentioned his name to Oliver and told him that she’d like to get in contact with Harry. She had to leave abruptly for a reason and the opportunity hadn’t arrised until later. Eventually the Sunflower told Oliver she’d have a few rest days during one of her business trips, and they planned the trip for Harry to meet her. He’s never told Harry that’s why they had a “boys trip”.)
From then on though, he was always wanting to spend time with her. She was reserved for the first few months and that’s why Harry pines over her. The mystery of it all excited him. Something was keeping her though, she didn’t know exactly what but she knew that Harry could make her happy. And the whole point was for her to get close with him. She planned a trip for fucks sake. When the time came it all just scared her, having someone knowing, or wanting to know everything about you.
So all Harry could do was wait patiently for her to know what she wanted, but it wore on him sometimes. He wanted nothing more than to get to know what she was about but she was out of reach, barely. Wanted so badly to make her his. To give his love to the girl he’s been admiring from a distance. A distance that she’s been keeping. The girl that made his heart jump out of his chest whenever she spoke or looked him in the eye.
—
She was what motivated him, when they were finally together. She gave him an energy that consumed him. Always wanting to learn from her, about how she thought or the experiences she’s had that deeply impacted her. Endlessly wondering what makes her, her.
He couldn’t want her anymore than he already did.
And when he thinks that thought he’s dropped back in their home, staring at the bookcase like he had been doing before. Walking towards the kitchen like last time, “Kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor…” he blurts out with a smile that consumes his face. Recognizing that he’s looking from an outside perspective this go around, watching him and the Sunflower do the exact thing he experienced not too long ago.
But then his heart drops, that isn’t him dancing with her. It’s another man dancing with his girl. He pictured a whole life with her, their kids dancing with them in their kitchen. A tradition he’s always wanted to start with the love of his life. But now she’s sharing something with this man that they’ve done, something that was supposed to be theirs. Harry wishes at this point that he could start over, to do things different. Where had things gone wrong between them? How long has it been since went separate ways?
“Sunflower, let me inside, wish I could get to know you…”
There’s this feeling within him that he knows it’s been too long for him to convince her that he’s everything that she needs. (More selfishly though she’s everything he needs). When clouds cover the sky he wants to be the light that she requires to stand tall.
The euphoria from the shrooms is strong still so he hasn’t had time to dwell over this sadness too much. Merely just a feeling, no attachments. It’s an upsetting sight to see but there’s this airiness to it. Room for understanding is the best way Harry can make sense of it in his current state. What once was, is. Nothing he can do but understand. Be grateful that he got to live a portion of his life with her. To be happy for her.
So he lets her die, metaphorically. “Sunflowers just died, keep it sweet in your memory…” The memories are for him to keep but no longer dwell on. And that’s when he knows. He’s happy. Happy by himself, about his situation with the Sunflower, happy that he’s taken the time to realize that things come and go. And new seeds can be planted in a different melody with someone else.
When Harry’s no longer thinking about the Sunflower, the colors come back to pick him up, almost desperate to whisk him away. The pinks, yellows, blues and purples bring him to a destination unknown and he doesn’t give a damn. Just floating endlessly. He’s basking in his euphoria, not chasing after anything anymore. Giggling to himself because he’s carefree and joyous. Cheering himself on, “Woo-woo, woo-woo, woo-woo, yeah!” That sound is all that surrounds him as he drifts off into a sea of color.