I Feel Like Everything I Write Is Actually Ass. I Think I Have Some Really Good Ideas But I Don't Know

chat reminder to just write whatever the fuck you want. write that overused trope. write that obscure shit that no one will have heard of. just. do it. your writing is yours stop depriving it of that.

the tragedy of tumblr is you will inevitably meet people who you should be having a sleepover with. you should be rolling around on their floor and rummaging through their fridge and watching shitty movies with. you should be shopping with should be going out to a cafe with should be wandering through the aquarium with. people who you should be experiencing quotidian joys with... and you cannot! because they live one million miles away

Do you ever write a paragraph so good in your fanfiction that you are astounded at the genius contained inside your mortal vessel?

Alternatively, do you ever look back at the same writing days later and wonder what the fuck you were thinking?

Ten Years Gone {d.w.}

2. The Passenger

Warning: none

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: Any and all feedback is welcome! Please hit up my inbox, I love yapping! She’s a slow burn type of story, on purpose? Maybe. I have so many things I want to do with Dean and Novena. Happy reading :)

Novena was shivering as she was walking back to her house, she really wished that she could afford to fix her car after what Vince had done to it. The tires slashed, side mirrors broken, dents all over, and he had cut her brake line. Usually she’s good at reading people from the jump, but with Vince there was always something that seemed to cloud her judgement. And with her dad passing–paying for the funeral expenses put a hole in her wallet that’s been difficult to come back from. 

The weight of the world was really crashing into her lately. The pain was unbearable at times, so much so that she was having nightmares that would leave her gasping for air. The only person left in her life who really knew who she was, what she was, is gone. Hot tears rolled down her face, the cold wind made sure to sting her cheeks; Novena didn’t bother wiping away her sadness. 

She had another ten minutes of freezing her ass off before she was able to wrap herself in her thick comforter. There was a car coming up from behind her, and a sweet familiar purr radiated from it. That car was at the bar when she left, it could only be one of two people… While she wasn’t necessarily scared of the guy who tried to hit on her, it wouldn’t be pleasant interacting with him again. The person who was driving slowed to a stop and rolled down the window.

“You need a ride, stranger?” Dean shouted from across the road.

Novena’s shoulders eased their way down to a neutral position, grateful that she wouldn’t need to defend herself. Swiftly making her way over to the pristine jet black Impala, she leaned down to meet his gaze. 

“I thought you were that asshat for a second.” Dabbing her nose between saying, “I’d love a ride home, it’s wicked numb out here.”

“That’s almost an insult, you thinking that he’d have a nice Baby like this.” Dean had a serious look on his face while he patted his steering wheel, but then it turned into this adorable grin, one that warmed Novena to her core. He has such a charming smile, nice straight teeth with pointy canines, and his smile actually seemed to reach his eyes this time. “You getting in or not, crazy girl?”

“Yes, yeah. Thank you!” A chuckle escaped from Dean’s mouth—it met her ears while she was running to the other side of the car. He reached over the passenger seat to open the door for her, and she quickly plopped herself onto the seat and shut the door. 

“Where are we headed?”

“You’ll take this road all the way down pretty much. House number is 44, on the left. I’ll let you know when we’re close.”

“Sounds good.”

The pair sat in silence. The rumbling of the Impala and the way it smelled like gasoline and faintly of apple pie, was comforting. Instrumentals of an old rock song filled the air. Then, out of nowhere, she became extremely aware of her surroundings. Time seemed to stop. 

When she moved her head to look at Dean, it felt like her neck was being weighed down by an invisible force. This sequence of events feels so vivid, so unmistakable from one of her dreams she had months ago. The way his hand was lightly cradling the wheel and how he slumped in the seat so casually, the song she wished she could remember, and the feeling of affinity for a man she doesn't know. Only she couldn’t see the man's face in her dream. Deja Vu. 

With her illusions fading, she snaps back to reality. “You never told me why you were in town. What brings you here, Dean?”

His eyebrows twitched with sadness and careful consideration, his grip on the wheel tightened, and he readjusted himself in his seat. Dean didn’t know if he wanted to tell the truth to Novena or not, since it was so easy to unwind in her presence. He still can’t believe that that actually happened, it was so unnatural for him to act that way. To feel his emotions. In public. A white lie couldn’t hurt her, right?

“I’m here for work, just got in tonight actually.”

“And what do you do for work?”

Dean looks over to her wondering eyes and smirks, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

She bites back, “Try me.”

“Alright, feisty pants. If you want to know so badly, I work for the government—if I say much else I might have to kill you.”

“Like the CIA or FBI or something?” She asks, squinting her eyes at his sarcasm.

“Yeah…or something.” He says, winking at Novena.

“Here, this house on the left.” She jerks her body towards her home as she points to it. 

Good, she’s distracted. Dean lets out a silent sigh of relief.

They arrive at an older house, and it has to be more than sixty years old. It’s a huge Victorian style place with a sunroom patio that wraps around the whole extend. The paint was a worn out, pale yellow with chips everywhere. Dean bet that this house in its prime would have looked so inviting, so homey. The driveway that led along the side of the house was snowed in so he parked on the street. Her porch light wasn’t on and the street lamps sucked. 

Dean thought to himself, Damn, she lives alone? Here? Everything about this place screams sketchy. 

Maybe he’s reading too much into it, it’s dark and he’s exhausted, but not enough to offer to walk her to her door. He wanted to make sure that he watched her go inside safely. She insisted that she was fine to walk the short distance, but Dean didn’t take no for an answer.

“Novena, I’m walking you up there. C’mon.”

“You seem apprehensive, Dean. Like something is gunna come outta the woods behind my house and attack me…”

He cocked his head towards the porch, “You can never be too careful.”

Amusement escaped her mouth. He really was serious because the look that he gave her was so intense that she thought his eyes would cut right through her. His sharp glance softened then concern washed over him briefly before looking away, scoping out her yard. The smile slowly faded from her face at Dean’s change in behavior. 

“Thank you, for walking me to my door like a gentleman. You really didn’t have to. Nothing bad ever happens in this town.” She pauses as a shiver runs through her. Rubbing her hands together, she assures, “I’m safe—if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“Why would someone in my position be here if it was safe?” All of a sudden, her porch light flickers on. Weird. How did it—? That’s when he saw a glimpse of worry in her eyes, fuck. Purgatory had made him too hard, too blunt. 

“Look, I didn’t mean to scare you. If you need anything,” he reached into his jacket pocket, “here’s my number. Feel free to call me anytime.”

“Uh, on your card it says detective R. Plant? Like, Robert Plant from Led Zeppelin…?” She stares into his eyes before confirming, “Are you the scary thing in the woods I should be frightened of?” 

Shit. He totally forgot that those cards had one of his aliases on it. What an idiot. 

If Sammy were here he’d have a perfectly good explanation to cover his ass. Dean laughs nervously, fidgeting with his ring not knowing what to say. “Yeah, uh, I’m supposed to be undercover and I gave you my real name at the bar... Trust me, I am not the big bad wolf.” 

A strained smile found its way across Dean's face. Anxiety washes over him and before he knows it he blurts out, “If anything, I’m more of the little piggy that went to the market.”

Fuck! What was he saying? That doesn’t even make sense! He pressed his fingers to the corners of his eyes and shook his head in embarrassment.

The sweetest giggle came from Novena. Again, she laid her hand on the side of his face. Her hand was so cold, yet so alluring. Like the air around them, time seemed to be frozen, and again, so was Dean. He yielded so effortlessly to her touch; his mouth slightly ajar, losing himself within her gaze.

Novena pulled away and bid him a good-night then walked into her house. 

Her touch lingered on his skin. Dean wanted to chase after her. To knock on her door just to look at her before he left—there was this pull to her that he couldn’t describe even if he wanted to. He hasn’t been touched by a woman in so long that he almost forgot what it felt like. Almost forgot how gentle and loving someone could be…

A light came on somewhere in the front of the house, and a thunderous bark jolted Dean out of his trance. He definitely wasn’t sticking around for Novena to find out that he was still on her porch. And that dog sent a chill up his spine. The weight of the bark almost felt like it was meant for him. A warning.

You’re so pathetic. Get yourself together man, he thought to himself.

Dean made his way back to Baby, and headed for the 24 hour motel he saw when he entered town.

—

He didn’t sleep well on that poor excuse of a bed. Even when he had to sleep on the ground, that’d been more comfortable than that thing. The pounding in his head would not go away, no matter how many cups of coffee he had. Regretting the amount of liquor he had the night before.

There was a lead in the neighboring town concerning Kevin. Garth had called and said that there was demon activity, and people going missing from all over the state. Dean had already checked out the four other towns to see what information he could gather. 

All victims had disappeared out of the blue. There wasn’t much to go off of, and it was looking like the beginning of a dead end. He forgot how draining it was to be doing all the work by himself. Driving everywhere, talking to everyone, doing research on his own. The time it took to work a job doubled. Hell, it felt like it tripled. 

Going to the vic’s parents house wasn’t any help either. The mom was a total mess, who couldn’t answer a single goddamn question. It was like talking to a brick wall, and it made Dean want to smash his face into one. Instead, he chose to take it out on Garth.

“Man, I got bupkis. Are you sure this has something to do with Kevin?”

“Dean, you gotta trust me. There’s definitely something goin’ on up there. Would daddy Garth steer you wrong?”

“First of all, don’t ever call yourself that again. Second, I think you’re wrong about this one. Doesn’t seem plausible enough to be Crowley. It’s only men—”

“I have’tuh jet, got a call on another line.”

“But—” Then the call dropped. 

Even more frustrated than before, Dean slammed the car door shut. Immediately apologized to Baby for the aggression. He took a second to collect himself. To figure out a game plan. He wasn’t sure that it was the King of Hell’s minions at work.

—

He had combed through records for hours at the local library. He might have found something, but it definitely wasn’t demon related. Garth fucked up and Dean was going to make sure he knew about it.

The sun was setting behind the grey clouds, and there seemed to be no end to the snowfall. The library was warm and sleep consumed Dean. Light snoring filled the silence and drool was pooling on his jacket. He was so far gone, that he didn’t feel that someone was tapping on him to wake him up.

Then something slammed on the table with a loud thud.

Dean bolted up, pulling an arm up with his hand in a fist, while the other reached for his gun. Looking up at the son of a bitch who alarmed him.

Novena smiled down at him, “Fancy seeing you here, Flatlander.”

“Flat-wha–?” Dean looked down at his wet jacket sleeve, and quickly wiped his face with the arm that was close to punching her. “You shouldn’t scare a man like that. I could’ve…”

“Settle down. You wouldn’t hurt me, tough guy.” She picked her books up and shoved them in her purse. While tucking her hair behind her ear, she gave Dean puppy eyes and said, “Mind giving me a ride?”

He nods, “You’re lucky I’m tired sweetie, otherwise those needy eyes of yours would be useless.” He groans as he stands up, “Might have to start charging you for gas, I ain’t no Uber.”

“You’re such a liar.” You’d do anything for me. She thought.

“Don’t push me. Let’s go.”

—

tags! @ambiguous-avery @deans-spinster-witch @aylacavebear @jackles010378

If I forgot to tag anyone please come at me, I have a horrible memory. I hope this part is good, I've been going through it irl lol. And please come at me if this is absolute dog water <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!

I’m bored and nosy. Please reblog this with the book you’re currently reading.

Inferno :: abandon all hope, ye who enter here

𓂃˖ ࣪ 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔟𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤

˚₊‧꒰ა @angels-silhouette ☆ dean winchester ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ⋆˙⟡ where leo, cancer, sagittarius meets aquarius, leo*, saggitarius. ⟡˙⋆

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐

ꔛ. meeting each other,

if fate were a person, it would've laughed when you two crossed paths. you and dean? your energies are like two flint stones colliding--fire, fire, fire! dean's leo rising practically screams for attention, but guess what? so does yours. the moment you walk into a room, people notice. and so does he. so, let's set the scene : it's late, the neon glow of some dingy gas station flickering against the impala's hood. you're leaning against your car, glaring at the ancient-looking gas pump that's absolutely not accepting your card. dean's watching from across the lot, beer in one hand, keys twirling in the other. he's seen that look before--pure, unfiltered annoyance--and damn if it isn't entertaining. "you gotta coax it a litte," he calls over. you turn, raising an unimpressed brow. "oh? and what do you suggest? whisper sweet nothing to it?" dean smirks, pushing off the impala. "nah, sweetheart. just gotta kick it real good." "...you can't be serious." dean shrugs. "worked for me once. or maybe i just have the magic touch." you scoff, but there's something annoyingly charming about him. and just like that? you've both got each other's attention.

ꔛ. friendship compatibility,

with both your moons in sagittarius, there's an instant understanding. you both crave adventure, freedom, and a life that isn't boring. you'd push each other to do the craziest things--late-night road trips, reckless dares, sneaking into places you definitely shouldn't be. your leo sun and mercury mean you love a good back-and-forth, and dean's aquarius sun and capricorn mercury make him the perfect sparring partner. expect witty banter, eye-rolls, and arguments over the dumbest things--but also deep, surprisingly heartfelt talks when it really matters. potential conflict? your mars in scorpio makes you intense when you care, but dean's mars in aquarius is detached. he runs when things get too heavy. you, on the other hand, demand honesty. if he pulls back, you'll call him out. still, as friends? unstoppable duo. the kind of connection that just makes sense.

ꔛ. romantic compatibility,

this? a wild, passionate mess that neither of you can walk away from. dean is irresistibly drawn to your leo sun and venus. you're confident, magnetic, and unapologetically yourself--and he loves that. you shine, and whether he admits it or not, he wants to be close to the light. your mars in scorpio makes you all-in when it comes to love. you don't do half-measures. but dean's mars in aquarius? it's complicated. he feels deeply, but he's terrified of being trapped. this means your dynamic is a push and pull--he teases, you challenge, he flirts, you raise the stakes. strengths? ridiculous chemistry. the tension is off the charts. you'd bring out dean's softer, more protective side, and he'd pull you into a world of adventure you secretely crave. weaknesses? you want commitment, whether you say it outright or not. dean... has a habit of avoiding thing until it's too late. the challenge? getting him to admit he wants you just as much as you want him.

ꔛ. request, strangers meeting for the first time

dean leans against the impala, beer sweating in his grip as he watches you struggle with the ancient gas pump. “need help?” you sigh, barely sparing him a glance. “unless you’re secretly a gas station whisperer, no.” dean smirks, pushing off the car. “lucky for you, i happen to be great with machines.” “is that so?” you cross your arms, studying him now. he’s cocky, all easy confidence and reckless charm. the type of guy you should probably ignore. but then? he kicks the pump, and the damn thing starts working. you blink. “…what the hell?” dean grins. “told you. magic touch.” you scoff, but there’s a flicker of amusement behind it. “you realize you just encouraged every idiot in a hundred-mile radius to start kicking gas pumps, right?” he shrugs. “not my problem.” you shake your head, but you’re smiling now. and dean? yeah. he likes that.

ꔛ. overall, score : 8.5 / 10

explosive chemistry, but can you handle the fire? it's magnetic, thrilling, and impossible to ignore. you challenge him, intrigue him, and keep him on his toes. he pulls you into a world of excitment, but can he give you the security you deserve? that's the real question. but one thing's for sure--neither of you are walking away from this one unchanged.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

* since the birth time of dean hasn't ever been mentioned, I've placed him as a leo rising, since it's the sign that makes more sense to me.

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.