#with not a single beautiful metaphor within his heart

[laniidae-passerine]

the outfits are UGLY the lyrics are TRASH the singing is QUESTIONABLE the persona is CRINGE rockstar lestat you are so popular on twitter and ao3 and absolutely everybody else hates your ass. someone’s gonna blog about how your bars are borderline illiterate and you’re gonna fly off the handle because WHO TOLD THEM ARMAND WAS IT YOU. DANIEL WAS IT YOU (it was Gabrielle)

[sentoooo]

ᴀʀɢᴇɴᴛɪ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ʀᴀᴍʙʟᴇꜱ

✭ pairing(s): argenti x gn reader

✧ a/n: i thought abt him toooooooo much. too much. just some headcanons..... hrghh

🗒 cw: SMUT, gn reader, praise praise praise, body worship, fingering, oral, mention of facesitting, penetration, switch argenti, cumming untouched, mention of overstim, mention of edging, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.1k

MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY

Love is of the highest devotion to him. Everything he does for you, from simply holding your hands, to sex, it is all an act of devotion from him. You are equals with Idrila in Argenti’s eyes, and he will make sure to cherish you, and make sure you know just how much he adores you.

So it comes to no surprise that sex is a very, very lengthy activity with him. He wants to– needs to– take his time, he needs to love every inch of your body, worship every inch. He ghosts his fingers over every inch of exposed skin, from forehead to chest, from stomach to your waist, and so forth. Every little shiver and sound from you is like a sweet sonnet, it only adds to his mounting arousal.

It takes at least an hour for Argenti to get to the point. He needs to make sure he’s paid attention to every. single. inch. of you. He’ll go over your body with his hands, whispering all sorts of praises, before going over your skin with his lips. Peppering your body in soft, tender, fleeting kisses. If he can get you to cum without any penetration, then that’s perfect, too.

He doesn’t do this to tease you, of course. As stated before, he simply needs you to know how beautiful he believes you are. No matter how much you beg or whine or plead, he will not stop this routine. Sex just feels incomplete without it.

However, once he’s satisfied with his exploration, he follows your every order obediently. Your pleasure is his pleasure, it does not matter if it doesn’t mean any stimulation for him. As long as he gets to hear you moan, feel your touch, he’s happy. So happy.

On that note, one of his favorite things to do is give you oral. He’ll eat you out until you’re crying if you so wish, suck you off until you beg him to stop. Your taste is divine to him, it’s a true reward, and nothing can compare to it. A lifetime in between your thighs sounds lovely, and if he could, he would. When he can, he does his best to look up at you, his beautiful emerald orbs wide, glossy, studying every little detail in your face. There is no sight more enticing than his handsome face, stained by your slick and your cum. 

In fact, Argenti takes such great pleasure in oral, that he tends to cum while giving. Normally, he cums prematurely, enraptured by the sounds you make, the way you taste. Sometimes, you catch him rolling his hips slightly, but other times he is still. Most times he is still fully clothed, there’s a certain pride that bubbles in your chest to know you’ve made him cum untouched.

He loves to finger you or stroke you off, too. His hands, despite being a knight, are very soft. His fingers are long and slender, nails trimmed perfectly. He sits you up on his lap as he starts his ministrations, slow, and hypnotizing. And, of course, he whispers all sorts of saccharine words in your ear. “You’re doing so good”, “You feel so good, my heart…”, “Just once more, hm? Please?”

He will also follow any position you wish. If you want to be on top? Gladly. You want him on top? He’s climbing on top of you with a warm smile. Penetration is one of the highest acts of devotion, he believes. It brings you both closer, metaphorically and physically, and the feeling of his slender cock inside of you never ceases to amaze. Or, the feeling of you within him is enough to make him cum prematurely again.

We’ll get to top Argenti in a bit. When he bottoms, he prefers to ride you. He loves to see you, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes. And Aeons, is the view incredible. His lips parted, his body flush, a blush spread across his cheeks, the tips of his ears, and his shoulders, silky soft hair splayed over his shoulders. It gives him some semblance of control, being able to choose the pace at which he fucks down onto you. However, if you guide him, he doesn’t mind either. Buck your hips up into him, he’ll whimper.

He also likes Missionary when he bottoms and tops, as mentioned previously, he prefers to see you. Hell, a mating press would be just fine to him. Both ways, again. Any way he’d take you, he’d love you to take him. And if you want to ride him, go right ahead! He won’t control the pace, unless you give him permission.

Now, when Argenti tops, he loves missionary and even the mating press. Mirror sex is always on the cards, he will take you any position, as long as he gets to see your beautiful face. But one of his personal favorites is spooning. While he can’t necessarily see your face, it is the closeness that allows him to ignore his own rule. He’ll nuzzle up to your neck, mutter sweet praises, kiss at your skin, and simply enjoy himself. There is no better feeling than his body pressed up against yours, as close as he can possibly be.

He is also vocal! Very, very vocal, but not loud. He moans, whines, whimpers, and even mewls. Doesn’t matter what he’s doing. You could be sitting on his face, and he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from moaning. Little breathy sighs even when he’s feeling you up escape his lips, he’ll moan directly in your ear when he fucks into you, or whine and whimper when you suck him off.

He does exactly as he says he will, and what you allow him to do. Never more, never less. He’s so insanely fair with you, and he lets you be as unfair as you want. Sometimes he can feel a little pent-up and sexually frustrated, but he never asks you for anything, which is… a little unfortunate. He’s good at asking what you want, the communication doesn’t lack there, but he’s very bad at asking about his wants. It’s a guessing game, or more of, he never really has any wants, aside from making you see stars.

Argenti acts like every little service you let him do to you is the most blessed thing. He also has a bad habit of thanking you with every little act you let him do, whether it be eating you out, or you edging him. Going down on you? “Thank you, my love.” running his thumbs over your nipples? Thank you, a million times over, dearest.” Sucking him off to the point of overstimulation? “Thank you, thank you– ngh…– thank you…”

© sentoooo, 2024 | masterlist | kofi | star header by roseschoices | sfw blog

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[obriengf]

One, and Only || Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: Stiles makes it his mission to show you that you’re loved. Words: 2.2k Warnings: angst? reader insecurities, ends with hella cuteness Notes: honestly the first thing that came to mind was “FOUR FOR YOU, GLEN COCO”

𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓎  𝓋𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You didn’t think anyone would notice; but he did.

It wasn’t hard when the smile that he was so infatuated with had faltered, and the eyes that had effortlessly become his favourite colour had lost their vibrancy with haste. He saw the way you would sink back as one of Beacon High’s students barged into classrooms with faltering feathered wings that left behind fuzzy trails, and a trolley of assorted gifts ready to capture the hearts of your luckiest fellow peers. It was simply as if you would burn if gotten too close to the red heart decorations that served as a constant reminder that Valentines Day was within arms reach.

You were a different person during this time of year, and Stiles Stilinski couldn’t understand why your light dimmed so easily from some silly holiday that was more of a passing phase. 

With his shoulder leaning so nonchalantly against the cool metal of his locker, Stiles Stilinski crossed his arms, whisky gaze stuck on your figure down the hall. You were walking toward your own locker as he waited for his plan to take heed - witnessing your bypassing and cringing of some Sophomore’s poorly written ballad to his boyfriend. He didn’t know just how strongly it all weighed on your mind, but he could sense it, and it made his chest ache with pitiful sorrow.

Valentines wasn’t something that you wanted to dislike so much, but it was difficult when you couldn’t help but consider the worst. You were never given the chance to celebrate such occasion for bringing people together, never shown just how gratifying sharing your heart could be - the thoughts were strong and they were screaming at the top of their lungs that maybe you just weren’t desirable enough. Maybe you weren’t as attractive as the people that surround you, or as interesting to make company with. Maybe your passions were overbearing and your voice had rung too loud. Maybe you were bound with too much energy and the world just wanted to settle down. Maybe, you were destined to be alone, and that was okay. Until you decided that maybe you didn’t want it to be okay.

You bit your lip as you turned you back to the commotion; the pain was a reminder to not fall victim to such fantasy. You could dream and you could wish, but reality was harsh and it never ceased to show you that maybe you just weren’t cut out for being someone’s love. At least not now. Even though you craved the attention and utterly yearned for reminders that you were somebody else’s idea of complete endearment.

So, you took a deep breath and chose to wear a mask of indifference. Pretending that your chest didn’t pang with hurt and that you weren’t finding it hard to breathe. You continued to filter through the halls and try not to watch those who were lucky enough to experience the beautiful uneasiness of butterflies that you so secretly craved. It will be over soon, you reminded yourself with utter consistence.

That was, until your locker was in view, and something looked quite evidently different.

The shade of red that you saw was dreamlike - so delicate and velvety, as if one touch and it’s gentle tone would fall a part in your hold. It was beautiful as it sat against the harshness of the grey metal door - like a poetic metaphor that somebody has surely penned by now - with a thick green stem placed through the slotted vent. A single rose was not what you expected, but it made you smile, wide, and even more so as you picked up the small folded place card that was taped up beside it. Your name was scribbled in messy cursive, and you couldn’t hold back the exhaled giggle that had sat with anticipation.

Stiles had straightened his posture now as he watched you with bated breath. The moment you shone a smile, his heart soared and began to thump against the caging of his chest with the utmost adoration - he had given you happiness, and it was the best feeling in the world. 

“What does it say?” A voice sounded beside him, prompting the boy to break his focus. He turned to face Scott and a knowing smirk. Stiles hummed, proving that he didn’t hear a word of what his friend had asked, too lost in his thoughts, and it made the other boy chuckle, “The note? What did you write?”

Stiles’ tone was quiet as he veered his eyeline back to your blushing cheeks and that damn sparkle in your eyes that he didn’t realise he missed, “That they have a beautiful smile.” 

“Such the romantic.” Scott teased, swiftly managing to dodge the propelling whack that Stiles aimed toward his chest. Not that Stiles really minded the playful jab from his best friend; he would do anything to see the light that made you shine, the glow that he admired so much. It’s what usually comes with a silly high school crush, afterall. 

You felt honoured to receive something so sweet, even though your mind did briefly wonder to the notion that your peers sought out an amusing outlet by playing a prank on you. It was hard to understand why someone would leave such a pretty flower for such a self-perceived plain you, with a smile that you hardly found of any beauty. 

Your worries, however, were torn down as you entered your economics class and were met by a stunning crown of petals as another singular red rose was placed upon your desk. The cursive handwriting was the same and the messiness made you chuckle as you opened the new card, eyes widening and lips parting softly at the sentiment inside -

I think you’re beautiful, as well. 

You were too engrossed to notice how you were being observed, the sun catching two baby brown eyes as they flittered over your form and took such pride from the happiness you found. A lazy smile curled at his lips, chin perched comfortably in his propped up hand as you began to blush, bashful at the possibility that someone noticed you let alone thought so kindly of you.

Coach Finstock’s voice broke you from your running mind, returning you to a reality crowded within a fourth period classroom and something about opening your textbook to chapter eleven. You took contentment as you laid the rose down gently along the edge of your desk, your fingertip so elegantly running over the soft petals throughout the entire hour.

By the time the last bell of the day had rung, you were entering the school parking lot with five roses cradled within your arm, held close to your chest as you strived to protect them. Your day had continued to be full of surprises as you were approached during study break in the Library, a delivery by the resident Valentines gift-giver and his still shedding wings, as another rose was presented to you. Soon to be followed by two more that fell out of your locker as you were changing over your books - and for a second, you wondered how the perpetrator got in there in the first place - but it dissipated quickly as you grew warm from your new gifts. 

Your footsteps halted over the tarmac, jaw dropping slightly before you managed a whisper under your breath, “This can’t be real.” Not that you should be so astonished by now, it really isn’t nothing new, but the more you consider what today has brought then the more you start to fall back into the fantasy of someone someday loving you. Your windscreen wiper held down another rose, and another note. You mentally planned to pin these short yet heartwarming forms of literature on the wall of your bedroom later this evening, so that you can look over them everyday, and remind yourself that there is hope. Your hand was slightly trembling, a concoction of anxiety and excitement begging to take control, as you reached for the card and flicked it open.

Just seeing the way these roses have made you happy, has made my day.. week.. year... decade? You deserve every single one and more. 

It was a hasty move as you brought your thumb up to wipe the tear that fell through your lashes, an expression of gratitude and a growing heart. You had never faced such kindness, such willingness to see you happy, such displays of affection that really tugged at the thumping muscle in your chest. You didn’t have a clue on who would be leaving these for you to find - and a part of you was okay if you never found out. Just knowing that they are out there, that they can truly see you, was more than enough. .

Fingers tapped with incoordination against the battered steering wheel. They would often flex toward the door handle, but slip back at the last minute, nervousness brewing with every second passing. Your front door was in view, and your car was in the driveway, so you hadn’t left for school yet. That’s good, that means he still has time. He can finish off his plan. He just need to get out of the damn Jeep first.

Stiles eventually sighed loudly before rubbing his hands together, an attempt to pump himself full of encouragement. It was now or never as he forced himself to slip from the vehicle, one occupied hand immediately held behind his back. Every step was forcing his heart to beat louder, the sound of blood rushing was now echoing in his ears. He started to contemplate whether you would be disappointed to see him - the easily excited ADD kid that talks too loud wherever he goes. On the other hand, he isn’t as bad as he used to be, Stiles thought as his lips pursed and head tilted to the side, brows raising. But your disapproval was still a possibility and it provoked his stomach to churn. 

He bit his lip, head shaking, as soon as he reached your door. Your voice was muffled beyond the white wood as it was projected from somewhere further inside. Stiles’ leg bounced. After a few hushed words of motivation, his knuckles sounded a knock, instinctively taking a step back as the door was approached from the other side. 

You both were speechless. 

Stiles thought that you were even prettier up close. Especially with your wide eyes and soft lips that were lifting into a confused smile. It baffled him why you hadn’t been snatched up by someone already. 

And you were ever surprised to see the Stiles Stilinski standing at your door, with such an adorable dumbfounded expression. You were so captivated by his brown bambi eyes that you didn’t even hear yourself say his name, until he broke from whatever captivation he held, his throat instantly clearing.

“Hmph, yeah, right... hey Y/N...” He started, voice chuckling with shy nervous energy as he began to smile. He didn’t continue until you smiled back, your grin accompanied by a warm peachy hue that pinched at your cheeks instantly. “I-I... I wanted to give you these, it’s the rest of the bouquet... so you have a dozen. The perfect bouquet of roses.” The hand behind his back had fallen into view, another six deep red stems of roses making you gasp lightly. 

You took them from his hold, your fingers brushing momentarily and you swore that the skin contact alone sent hundreds of goosebumps up your arm. 

Stiles cleared his throat, his voice quiet and raspy, “They say that a dozen roses mean something... that it’s like a way of asking someone to be yours.” Your head fell into a nod, your gaze absolutely fixated on the gorgeous nervous boy in front of you.

You smiled wider, “And what is it your way of saying?” 

“That I like you. A lot, actually.” He was quick to answer as his arm was thrown behind his head, scratching at his neck. He chuckled again and the sound made your heart soar. “And Happy Valentines Day. You deserve one, and you deserve plenty more. I just... I hope that this is the first of many great ones for you.”

You willed yourself to hold back tears - the last thing you want is to cry in front of the weird cute boy that has made you feel absolutely amazing. 

With a tentative step forward, you leaned up on the tips of your toes, a chaste yet meaningful kiss pressed over Stiles’ speckled cheek. You hummed, “Thank you, Stiles. You have no idea what all of this means to me. How can I make it up to you?”

 “Let me drive you to school, and we can start from there?” You could hear the hopefulness in his tone and how his gaze grew in anticipation. You nodded, teeth sunken into your bottom lip, and that sparkle finally returning to your eyes.

You never would have guessed that your first Valentines Day would be the start of what would be the best years of your life.

[gabessquishytum]

“Most people would describe their lovers the same way

Beautiful, funny, smart, incredible, perfect

But you my darling are grotesque

You are the creature that stalks the night

You steal my blood

tear my hair

and poor wax in my wounds

I need not put you on a pedestal for you already placed yourself there

We are not two princes equally fallen in embrace

You are a king and I am your subservient

And you like it that way,

But only sometimes

Sometimes you crawl to me in the dead of night

an emperor without his clothes

begging for succor from my measly human form

I like it that way

There is no comparing you to a summers day

For you are the cold winter that steals daughters away

Cold and bitter yet inevitable

As I Persephone

You are Hades

And when winter comes I meet you

King

I have been told you used to be worse

Patrons of hell your love hath borne witness

But I believe not the bird creatures and the hellish denizens of my dream life

I believe you

You come on your knees shouting

“Teach me! Teach me!”

You are not a king to me

You are a human

As human as they come

With the belief a god is trapped in your bones

I am your master in the land above the dead

Your eyes see only what I tell you is there

It’s only fair isn’t it?

For the roles reverse in the dreamlands

You are a monster

With gnarled teeth leaving trophies in my skin

Claws that curl round my jaw

I love you oh otherworldly being

Yet I question if you love me too

For I am man

You are king

But not always

I fall in love with the days when the king is striped away to reveal

A Dream,”

Dream closes the book,

perhaps it was unwise to look into a book titled “Every single one of Hob Gadling’s Thoughts about Dream of the Endless in Alphabetical order” but really who could resist a title like that? It’s not his fault that literally every single book ever including only vague concepts is in his library.

He should talk to Hob about this and correct some assumptions immediately. He would never beg for succor, the nights he slips from the Dreaming because he is overwrought are his business!

-🦎

Oh, poor Dream. Didn't you know that it's not a good idea to read the poetry that lies within your lover's heart? You may not like what you find there...

Hob is, of course, mortified that Dream would have access to his thoughts. He sits there with his head buried in his hand as Dream critiques each line:

"I am not grotesque and I have never stolen your blood - you mistake me for some twopenny vampire!"

"Well - I didn't mean it literally-"

"I do not require succour, nor for you to... "teach me"!"

"I'm sure you don't love, but it's more of an extended metaphor..."

"You are certainly NOT my master. I believe that I serve the dreamers as a collective, that is my function - but I do not exist to serve your pleasures!"

"Of course you don't, love. I know that. I'm sorry."

"I should hope so. And the most ridiculous part of all, "I question if you love me too". How can you ask such a thing? Would I be here if I did not love and ardently adore all that you are?!"

At this point Dream is red in the face. He slams the book shut, and Hob takes his hands very gently.

"There will be no more poetry, dear. I promise. Now can we go upstairs and have a cup of tea?"

Dream allows himself to be led upstairs, tucked onto the sofa, and plied with tea and biscuits. And he is satisfied that he has put Hob Gadling in his place - there will be no more nonsense.

Hob strokes his hair, and silently smiles.

[papermatisse]

Lost and Found || B.BH

♔ pairing: dionysus!byun baekhyun x f!ariadne!reader

♔ genre: angst, one-shot, fluff

♔ word count: 3.5k

♔ warnings: abandonment, murder

♔ abstract: Love comes with all kinds of sacrifices, and after everything she'd sacrificed for her own hopeful romance, all she really wanted was a lover to live with for the rest of her mortal existence. Though the universe—and for that matter the gods who inhabit it—has a cruel sense of humor.

♔ author's note: I've been thinking of writing a Greek mythology story for all of the exos (ot8 [minus Chen, the nation's husband and father]). I have a few plans already, though this one felt the easiest and quickest to execute cause I really wanted to test out and fix my link/tag issue on here 😔

for context, here's a rough synopsis of the Theseus story: the king of Crete angered Poseidon who cursed the queen into woohooing with the king's bull, thus creating a minotaur named Asterion. mortified by this creation, they banished him into a maze and alienated him as if he were nothing, thus creating the bloodthirsty monster he was. the king's son went to Athens bc they themselves had a minotaur problem, but their minotaur wound up killing him. the king of Crete blamed the king of Athens and after some altercations, it resulted in an annual tradition of sending a select few Athenians to serve as tribute and be eaten by Asterion. one of these tributes was Theseus, son of the king of Athens, and he actually defeated the Athenian minotaur. to help him in defeating Asterion, the Crete king's daughter, Ariadne, gave Theseus yarn so he'd be able to navigate the maze, which helped him in killing Asterion. afterwards, they sailed to Naxos, where he abandoned her. interpretations vary of course, but most involve Dionysus marrying Ariadne afterwards bc he fell in love w her.

masterlist

Nestled within the Aegean Sea, lost amongst the plethora of islands which dotted the cerulean expanse of the ocean, lays the idyllic yet ever forlorn island of Naxos. Viridescent fields of crops and greenery encompass the entirety of the island, sloped along the verdant hills which make up its landscape. The only obstruction to its rolling plains was that of its mountain at the very heart of the island, as well as the sandy beaches which encircled it all in a protective ring of golden grains.

Upon first arrival, it had seemed nothing short of picturesque—perhaps even going so far as being the most beautiful sight she'd ever observed in her rather dull and sheltered life thus far. The warmth of the sand which greeted her once she'd hopped off the boat felt like the welcoming embrace of a new start, the fine grains sinking beneath her every step as if accommodating to her new presence. The seas lapped against the shores as if reaching out to her, waving—both metaphorically and literally—like it were greeting an old friend. And the winds which carried with it the strong aroma of sea salt and petrichor encompassed her being in a cool and refreshing embrace, nearly cementing the thought that circulated in her head of what a perfectly quaint and romantic escape Naxos was for her and her lover to settle in and establish their new lives together.

At least that's how it had all felt no more than a day ago. It was astounding how much could change upon settling down to rest after the strenuous voyage to Naxos. A mere daytime nap, meant to simply reinvigorate her, had suddenly turned her whole world upside down, because upon opening her eyes, her lover, with whom she'd risked her entire life in order to save, had all but vanished: him, his boat, and by extension, her heart along with him. She couldn't even see a single speck of him remaining on the horizon, and the thought that he had left her the moment she'd fallen asleep felt ever more disparaging.

Now, she sat along the shore. The sands, cooled with the setting sun, cradled her dejected form. The cacophony of waves crashing against the island served to drown out her cries. And the winds, which had grown significantly weaker as the day waned, brushed against her face as if to gently wipe away her tears. Naxos, with its surreal beauty and tender acceptance, had become no more a prison prompted by her own circumstances just as her accomodations had been on Crete. Exchanging one pitiful excuse of a home for another, though now she was utterly alone.

And all she could do was cry to herself. Cry over her foolishness to have risked everything for a boy she'd fallen for so rashly. Cry over her imminent future and the dread of the unknown which lay in waiting for her. Cry over the abandonment and outright rejection from someone she once believed to be her soulmate.

What a miserable life she led.

What a tragic course of events she followed.

What an absolutely pathetic human being she was.

And how utterly vexing it was that she could not even wallow in her own self-pity by her lonesome for very long.

“(y/n)?”

Her body seemed to register the foreign voice before her mind had, as she slowly turned her tear stricken face towards the newcomer. Though once her eyes met those of the familiar deity, now standing a mere few feet away from her, she quickly turned back to her original position, staring out at the sea. By now, the harsh line of the horizon had become ingrained into her corneas, remaining in her vision even when her eyes were closed, yet she continued to stare forward, hoping to find a stray boat somewhere in the distance. Hoping to see her beloved rushing back to her as if his initial departure was nothing more than an accident. Hoping to fall back into his arms and forget the worries incessantly plaguing her mind.

Though once more, these desires went unanswered, and instead, she was met by this ever so gentle touch skimming carefully over her back.

“(y/n), look at me.”

The demand hadn't held much of an authoritative tone, more so that of an insistent plea, one where she could faintly discern the shreds of desperation laced in between. Yet she remained as is, eyes trained on the ocean, waiting. She thought by ignoring him, he'd leave her alone. Allow her to grieve in peace without his mischief and revelric tendencies. Let her sulk in her misfortune without being reminded of her affiliation with him. Yet he could not even spare her this one luxury.

Instead, in her periphery, she found him crouching onto the sand beside her, seating himself in a way so he could remain attached to her side. The heavy weight of his gaze lingered upon her, even as she attempted to ignore his presence as a whole. Though he seemed none the wiser to her efforts, or perhaps he merely couldn't care less what she thought of him—not that she's out right proclaimed her opinion of said god, but from mere context clues given their history together, she was sure he had a general understanding of where she stands with him.

It had been a few years since she first met Baekhyun. A rather untimely meeting with the god of wine and revelry, one marked by unrequited affections which has since plagued her every waking moment. She had never processed how burdensome it could become to be the apple of one's eye, especially if that particular person was a deity of Baekhyun's caliber, and one she felt nothing towards. And even now as she tends to a broken heart, abandoned on a remote island in the middle of nowhere with no means of escape, she still couldn't conceal the discomfort she felt in Baekhyun's presence, knowing fully well of his affections and how he had been waiting for her answer to his proposal.

Though unlike all the other times he’s randomly materialized before her, usually wreaking of that sickly sweet aroma of wine and teasing her relentlessly until she was pleading for him to leave her be, he sat there calmly and quietly, waiting for her to acknowledge him. It was a peculiar shift in his modus operandi, one that did not go by unnoticed by (y/n), yet even with the silence he granted her, she couldn't bear to speak to him as she usually would.

Humiliation silently lingered in the air even before she could say anything. She didn't know what she'd tell Baekhyun had he pestered her in his usual manner. The last thing on her mind was telling the man who proposed to her—with whom she'd essentially left unanswered—that the man she intended on running away with forever had all but left her stranded on an island to die in solitude. Though somehow, there was a small inkling in her that felt like Baekhyun already knew. And perhaps a smaller, more hopeful part of her believed he was here not to torment her, but rather to check up on her, ensure she was fairing well.

Hesitantly, her eyes strayed from where they'd been zeroed in along the horizon, sparing Baekhyun a small and brief glance.

It was odd. His eyes seemed duller now, a more muted umber tone devoid of that trademark glint he usually dons when running amok. He usually always bore this confident, bordering on cocky, grin that seemed all too pleased with himself and his shenanigans, yet now his lips were naturally downturned, perhaps the first time she's ever seen his mouth in its natural resting position. Even his scent was more subdued, and she was able to pick up the rich undertones of grapes usually concealed by his alcoholic carousing. His gaze was dropped, steadily trained on her hands laying in her lap, and the undivided attention only prompted more discomfort on her part as she fiddled with the fabric of her dress.

She had half a mind to ask him if he was okay, momentarily forgetting her own plight once she saw the shift in demeanor of Baekhyun. Though the silence that encompassed them prompted her own wariness in approaching the subject.

And so they remained as is, the sun now meeting the horizon, igniting the sky into a mural of warm, fiery hues. As the sun continued to set, it dyed the blue depth of the waters into a color akin to wine with its deep and rich crimson shade.

Without realizing it, her mind had begun wandering back to Baekhyun, curious as to why he remained by her side even as she ignored him. And though she didn't know for how long she'd strayed with these thoughts, she did know it was his presence alone that managed to briefly distract her from her current situation.

“Why are you here?” (y/n) asked, voice gravelly from misuse. For a moment, she was met with silence, the ocean serving as white noise to fill the void. But as she dared another glance his way, she saw his somber countenance. It was a foreign expression to be gracing his face, and she found herself intrigued by the furrow of his brow as he remained lost in thought.

“I went to visit you on Crete…” He finally responded, the timbre of his voice lowering with raw solemnity. “I know how you get with the annual tributes, so I wanted to be there for you.”

She shied away at this, never fully processing how Baekhyun's sporadic appearances coincided with certain times. And it was true. Every year as the Athenian tributes arrived on Crete, she distanced herself until after these events were done and over with. Though as she now recollected memories from recent years, she began putting together Baekhyun's arrivals were never truly as spontaneous as she first made them out to be.

He was always there whenever she was at her lowest. She thought it was intentional as a way of tormenting her when she's at rock bottom, but as he continued speaking, a pit of remorse began accumulating within her heart.

“Instead, I was met with… chaos. Carnage. Disorder.” He paused, turning his head in a direction she could only assume was where Crete faced. “Asterion was dead. A tribute had escaped. And the princess had all but disappeared.”

At his final statement, (y/n) stared down in shame. She knew there would be repercussions for her actions, but she thought she'd have been long gone at this point. Too far away to even spare a moment of regret for having abandoned her family and her kingdom. Yet it all came back to bite her. Her brother, cursed and estranged as he was, had been killed. Theseus, her lover who she assisted the entire way through, had been the one to kill him. And she, princess of Crete, had run off in the midst of this mayhem.

“I'm sorry…” (y/n) whispered, voice strained as she fought back tears. “I'm so sorry. I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't bear to see more death. Every single year without fail they'd send these Athenians off to die by my brother's hands. And we'd just have to sit there and watch. Watch as they all lost themselves to the labyrinth. And Asterion would…”

As if having finally broken the floodgates, tears began streaming down her face without fail. The tragic life of her brother, born a monster and treated as such. And even if she had never interacted with him, even as she witnessed his bloodshed year after year, the knowledge of his death being instigated by her own involvement was debilitating enough to ground her back into reality.

The gravity of her predicament began to settle in. Sitting on an island, hopelessly waiting for a guy she had only just met and was ready to run away with forever. The realization that he used her for his own benefit, exploited her blind affections towards him only to then leave her for dead. He had probably already returned to Athens, assumed the role of hero who killed the minotaur of Crete—as well as that of their princess. And she sat there, longing for him for hours at a time, seated beside Dionysus himself. The absurdity of it all was almost laughable, and she'd probably be doing just that if it weren't for the overwhelming humiliation she felt coiled and festering within her.

“I helped him…” She confessed aloud. “I gave him the thread so he wouldn't get lost in the maze. I was the one who helped him defeat Asterion. I was the one who helped him escape. It was all my doing. And he left me here as repayment.”

Before she could continue, Baekhyun had suddenly shifted from his position, arms wrapping around her tightly and dragging her into his embrace. Any other time, she'd probably have swatted at him whilst yelling profanities, all while he laughed in delight at her hostility.

Yet now his touch didn't feel repulsive.

She could feel his warmth fully encompassing her, shielding her from the outside world. His hands clung to her body as if afraid she'd slip away from him at any moment. And now closer to him than ever before, she could smell his true aroma past the wine. An almost woodsy scent, just as warm as he was. Fruits and earth and nature as a whole. Faintly, she could smell the ocean intermingling with his scent.

It was so peculiar the way that distinct saltiness had first felt like a refreshing start to a new life, though shifted into an overwhelming and paralyzing apprehension that infested every aspect of her being. Though now, in Baekhyun's protective arms, it felt comforting. As if he himself dispelled it and this island of any and all of its negativity that consumed her.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the tension from her body had melted away. The sound of his heartbeat coinciding with that of the calm waves was like a melodious harmony that transcended her into a state of utter tranquility. His breathing lulled her away from the worries that tormented her heart, and she finally felt at peace.

“Did you love him?” Baekhyun asked. His tone was more inquisitive than anything else. There were no hidden intentions with his question, and although hesitant to admit it aloud to him, for fear of hurting him, (y/n) felt at ease with telling Baekhyun the truth he sought.

“Yes,” she responded quietly. “But I regret it. I regret it all.”

“Don't.” His grip tightened around her, pressing his forehead against the top of her head. “You shouldn't regret the love you give people. Don't let this foolish boy disparage you from expressing yourself to your fullest potential.”

(y/n) remained quiet, surprised by the turn of the events, though still listening intently to Baekhyun's words.

“I've always held such deep admiration towards you. From the moment I met you till now. I could see the way you loved so genuinely and fully. And I thought it was beautiful. I thought you were beautiful. You shouldn't grieve over an unrequited love. Loss serves as a reminder of the love we once felt, and the remorse we feel further exemplifies that. Your love is something so wonderful. Something I adore greatly.”

As he spoke, his warmth seemed to intensify. Filled with familiarity and security, coaxing her further into his embrace until she buried herself into the crook of his neck. He held her as if she were everything he had ever asked for. His touch was like ambrosia and nectar, the sweetest of prose to ever be professed, a safety like no other.

“I find myself wanting to be inconvenienced by you. I want to have you distracting me by lingering in my thoughts. I want to take time out of my day just to see you. I want to love you, even if you don't love me.”

At this, a sob slipped past her lips, and she clung onto him harder. Away from it all, everything inside her felt tumultuous and heightened. All of the emotions she'd been bottling up for years seemed to overflow in Baekhyun's presence alone. Her heart ached with grief, remorse, hatred, anger, defeat. Yet it also sang like never before, healing itself from years of anguish and torment.

And after the cathartic intervention came to a conclusion, faces marred by dried tears and eyes reddened with strain, a peaceful serenity had settled over the two. By now, the sun had long set. The cool of the night had begun penetrating the warmth of their embrace. The sand beneath them no longer retained the heat of the afternoon sun. The oceans were calm and still. The winds now settled into a gentle breeze. The world was asleep, silent in every regard. The day had ended and (y/n) had made it out alive, no doubt due to Baekhyun's influence.

Panic begin settling in her as he shifted, rising to his feet and pulling her up with him. Though when she met his gaze, loving and sweet and attentive, she began to settle once more. His hands held her own, thumbs softly brushing over her knuckles, all the while maintaining his sight on her face.

“What would you like to do?” He asked. “I can build you a palace here on Naxos, away from the cruelties of the world and the people who inhabit it.” His smile grew wider, bearing that familiar wickedness whenever he was up to no good. “I could overthrow the monarchy of Crete and reinstate you as its sole sovereign, allow you to redeem yourself and your honor, perhaps even reestablish Crete as a just and fair kingdom.” Both options were tempting, neither having any inherent consequences as long as Baekhyun held sway in their components. And she could tell Baekhyun had more to say, but she quickly intercepted before he could propose another offer.

“I want to be with you.” Baekhyun blinked at this, chuckling as if she were telling a joke.

“I will be there. You can't get rid of me that easily.”

“No.” Her hands slipped from his, reaching forth to cup his cheeks and bring him closer. “I choose you, Baekhyun.”

She pressed her lips against his own, soft and delicate. He seemed stunned for a moment, his body moving subconsciously for the first second or two, but once he had fully processed where he was and what was happening, Baekhyun began reciprocating. He kissed back just as earnestly, his hands reaching up to hold onto her wrists as he poured every ounce of his adoration into her. And (y/n) couldn't help but think how perfect it was.

She'd always thought love at first sight was perhaps the most romantic of gestures one could have. The act of finding your soulmate from a single encounter seemed so otherworldly and unmatched. Yet here in this moment with Baekhyun's body pressed against her own as he drew impossibly closer to her, his hands softly wandering in an attempt to map her form into his memory, she found this very moment to be the epitome of what love should be. A gradual fall into love. In a way, she can reminisce on growth and development, reflect on what was not there and how it came to be.

One of his hands had wandered to her hair, gently carding his fingers through the strands, and the other drew patterns on her waist, amorphous shapes that each portrayed his unspoken love for her. She thought back on every encounter she had with him. Every laugh he coaxed out of her even as she tried to hide away from the world. The bittersweet smiles he gave her every time she rejected or delayed his proposal. His neverending determination and devotion, even when facing adversities like herself. And with each revelation, each tender kiss from Baekhyun, her heart seemed to swell with love for him and him alone.

Once more, he was the one to pull away first, perhaps more in control of his long-standing affections than her, yet he didn't draw too far from her. Just far enough for him to look over her countenance with a lovestruck expression of his own. His eyes glistened with this saccharine-like joy, crinkling at the corners with his sweet smile dedicated to her. And she found herself smiling back, an uncontrollable jubilance bubbling in her as she reveled in his affections.

“Come then,” he spoke softly, hands returning back to hers. He brought one up to his lips, pressing one final kiss to her fingers. “Let's go home.”

[yyawnjun]

SUNLIGHT TEARS

an/summary; today for me was such a bad day! I wrote thus seeking comfort, hope this will help a bit y'all! - a comforting moment with Dino when yn is having hard times <3

fluff, hurt to comfort ; leechan × reader ; 0.3k wc ; short scenario ; @kflixnet

Warm. A pleasant warmth through the sunlight caresses your cheeks, while a pleasant breeze passes through your hair. The cool spring air lets you avoid getting too hot, and it also carries lovely smells of flowers that try to calm your racing thoughts.

Lying on a quiet field of grass and daisies, you had your eyes half-closed as you let your mind wander through the noisy thoughts.

Your efforts to maintain calmness and optimism were useless against the intense discomfort you were feeling. Your soul fought hard against the serenity of the natural setting, refusing to give in to anything, not even the helpless cries of the birds.

Everything around you seemed to want to console your wounded soul for some reason unknown to all. As much as you wanted to detach yourself from those destructive thoughts, your uncontrolled mind always kept to return there. Your heart quickened, your eyes started to water, and you started to tremble all over.

"Yn, allow yourself to cry," Lee Chan whispered to you.

Directly directed to your soul, words as sweet and delightful as ambrosia awakened a deeper instinct. Something within you raised, and it was more impulsive than before, racing to your chest and then your throat.

And so you cried. You cried a lot of tears. Your cheeks turned red, crying sounded desperate, the tears poured out, and you started to cry now and again.

You initially raised your hands to your face to wipe away your tears—possibly a little embarrassed by the unexpected event—but the boy took them with gentleness right away.

He lay down next to you, and now your hand was joined with his, and your cries were the only sound in the silence.

Liberating. It had been far too long since you'd needed to cry deeply, so it was liberating to cry that spring day. You had accumulated so much in your soul that you were unable to fully understand the reason behind your intense feelings.

And as the tears, magically illuminated by the sun, flowed down unchecked, your heart was uplifted because it was lightened.

Your head had moved in closer to Dino, who had started to lightly brush the back of your hand. There were so many things he could say to cheer you up, he just wanted to talk. Because all he wanted was to brighten your mood. However, he was so dependent on how you felt that he quickly understood that the most useful option he could offer you was simply to remain quiet and watch your pain fade.

Just as soon as your tears ceased, he moved to rapidly get close to your still-wet cheek. However, you went faster and faced him. Your cheeks flushed as your lips brushed, but in the time of a single blink, your bodies were united in a warm hug.

His aroma took the place of the scent of the blossoming flowers and brought you comfort more than ever at that moment.

He hugged you without saying anything. A little ashamed that he couldn't find the right words to console you, but equally ecstatic to see that your heartbeat had accelerated in unison with his (and not from crying...).

Was there a secret declaration of love behind this?

"Achilles cries too, heroes cry in. And you are no less than they. Please pretty, remember that you will always have here a place to weep, a place to shelter, not only metaphorically" he said pointing to the position where you still stood.

Indeed your hug had never ended; you were still holding each other even though your gaze was now turned toward the brave boy who - with heart in his hand - was talking to you.

In that moment he noticed that your eyes glowed brighter than ever, partly still red and shiny from crying, partly also from his kind words...or maybe it was the magic of love's birth that made you and your eyes more beautiful than ever?

Once again, he had managed to speak to your soul through his soul.

As if you were without strength, all you could do was come closer again to you that reassuring boy who would give his life for your happiness. An explicit confession would only take away the purity from the moment. It was unnecessary to express verbally the soft love that had bloomed, and been validated by your tender actions.

[natrogersfics]

The Anthology - Chapter 1: The Bolter

Artwork by @faith2nyc Read on AO3

His place, as it turns out. More out of proximity than anything else. And despite Natasha’s blood humming contentedly in her veins as she nestles underneath the sheets later that night, sleep doesn’t quite manage to find her. She looks away from the shadows dancing across the ceiling and turns to the space next to her, where Steve is slumbering peacefully. One side of his face is burrowed into his pillow, but it doesn’t matter. Somehow, underneath the moonlight streaming through the liminal space between the curtains, cutting through the darkness of his bedroom, he manages to look even more beautiful. Surrendering to the urge to reach across what little distance remains between them, she lets her fingers brush away the rogue strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead. The action elicits a blissful sigh from him as he stirs ever so slightly, and she doesn’t miss the way that makes her heart feel as though it’s a little too big for her chest.

This wasn’t the plan. When the directors had suggested that they spend more time together – allow the chemistry to blossom, they had said – they hadn’t agreed to anything more than afternoon coffees in the name of, as the panel’s mediator had put it, movie magic. And if either of them expected anything more, it’s not as though anything could really come of this anyway. He’s America’s sweetheart, the current darling of the industry and the face of the hottest superhero franchise. Tarnishing that image would be a crime – especially by her hands. Only those coffees had quickly turned into dinners in each other’s rentals. Which seamlessly paved the way for late night chats over bottles of wine that never quite made it into glasses. And before either of them realized, they were hooked on the taste of Bordeaux on each other’s lips. But even as reaching for each other in the middle of the night had started to become so automatic it was practically a reflex, she never thought it would turn into… well, this. This was only supposed to be fun, a harmless outlet for the relentless pressure that came with headlining a blockbuster. Nothing more. There was never supposed to be any reverence in this. At least, not in the way Steve touched her, setting her skin alight as he got to know every single inch of it as if it were his own. Nor was it supposed to be in the way he looked at her, his blue eyes baring into hers and seeing past seemingly every façade she’s spent years carefully crafting. But it’s there, its presence as glaring as the sun on a cloudless morning that even she can’t convince herself otherwise. Above all else, though, she was never supposed to reciprocate any of that. Not willingly, anyway. She could chalk up knowing that he can only take his coffee if it’s piping hot and that he can’t stand the taste of pickles to the many hours spent on set together, but what of the rest? She had no excuse for revealing to him, truthfully, the meaning behind the tattoos on her skin when he had asked – close to dozing off as he was. Or the vitriol that burns deep within her each time she hears the invasive questions the press directs at him, shamelessly trying to pry into what little of his life he doesn’t share with the world. Perhaps most egregious, though, is how sometimes, she catches herself wishing that here, next to him, is truly her place. That, when the sets are taken down and the shutters are placed back on all the lenses, she could still, at the end of the day, watch him dream.

Which is what she’s doing now, it seems. Fuck. The realization runs through her like a freight train, and it’s as though for a moment, the breath gets caught in her lungs. For this feeling, it’s one she knows well. One she’s felt before, one too many times, if the entire world were to have their say. And while the bruises from those times were solely metaphorical, she still knows where they are, and can still feel where they once marked her. A sudden flash in the dark breaks her reverie, and it’s almost in relief that she shifts to her side to reach for her phone on the bedside table, her lungs finally remembering how to function as she breathes in. On the screen, an email from her agent catches her eye. To: nromanoff@redroomagency.com From: mvostokoff@redroomagency.com Subject: URGENT

www.thedailystar.com/castmates-or-more - You don’t need this right now. Neither of you do.

Melina Vostokoff Head of Talent, Red Room Agency 310.168.0098

Her eyebrows furrow as she taps on the link and watches as it opens up her browser.

THE SOLDIER & THE SPY: ROMANCE ON SET

Love is in the air… but is it for who we think it is?

When Marvel Studios had announced that Captain America and Black Widow would be teaming up in Captain America: The Winter Soldier, the long-awaited next installment to the studio’s burgeoning superhero franchise, fans were elated at the possibility of seeing the world’s first Super Soldier finally find his match in the reformed assassin. And while details of the movie’s plot are still being kept under wraps, it appears that regardless of what happens when the movie hits the big screen in the Summer, people may just get the sizzling romance they were seeking.

Costars Steve Rogers, 29, and Natasha Romanoff, 32, who play Captain America and Black Widow respectively, were recently seen having dinner at celebrity hotspot, Nobu Los Angeles. While they had arrived separately, a picture captured of Romanoff driving her onyx Corvette out the parking garage with Rogers in the passenger seat confirmed that the pair had left together at the end of the evening.

“They’ve definitely grown closer since filming began,” an anonymous on-set source tells The Daily Star. “They enjoy each other’s company and it’s not surprising to find them together during downtime. At least not to the people on set.”

Though Rogers hasn’t been linked to anyone in recent months, Romanoff’s divorce from Matt Murdock, star of the Daredevil television series on Disney+, was finalized in the Spring of last year. Prior to marrying the silver screen star, though, Romanoff, who rose to fame taking on roles as enigmatic ingenues in various acclaimed independent films, and who has twice been voted Maxim’s Sexiest Woman Alive, was also married to renowned surgeon, Stephen Strange, earlier on in her career.

The Daily Star has reached out to both Rogers’ and Romanoff’s representatives for comment but did not receive a response prior to this article’s publication.

What do you think of a potential romance between these two costars? Sound off below in the comments!

She knows better by now. Truly, she does. She was a mere child when she entered this industry. Back then, it did no good for anyone to look through the tabloid opinion pages when they were merely in print, and it’s even more deleterious now that anyone could fire off their hot take for the world to see. Even so, like a moth to a flame, she finds herself scrolling further down the page.

HannahLovesCap1918: if he’s wise he’ll stay away from this Maneater!!!!!!!!!!

_sarah_: Husband #3 already in her web, I see!

marvelloverr: Does she never not hang onto the next hot thing?

sophiaxxrogers: it’s giving engagement ring collector fr fr 💀

She stops there, but it doesn’t matter. Every headline written about her begins to flash through her mind like a highlight reel of every mistake she’s ever made, perceived or otherwise. And with a career that’s spanned as long as hers has, that list is lengthy – a ledger gushing with enough red to drown even those who claim to be unfazed by it. The reminder reawakens the pain that’s since dulled but found a permanent home deep in her bones nonetheless, quickly consuming the bubbly effervescence that occupied her mere moments ago, and if that isn’t reason enough to have her bolting out of bed, one final glance at the man sleeping next to her certainly is.

Prologue | Chapter 2

[unicorncornflakes]

Little One - Story AU! | Chapter 7

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Paring: Reader x Aemond Targaryen.

Summary: You are the only daughter of Jacaerys Velaryon, future lord of the tides. After the victory of Aegon and his side in the war, your family suffers the rejection in Driftmark. There you must always give an account to the king's new hand, Aemond Targaryen. However, when the time comes, Aegon and his court claim you as Queen Helaena's lady-in-waiting. As a new piece of the Greens' strategy to coerce your father, you are taken to King's Landing to begin your life in high society. Aemond will be, much to his pleasure, in charge of guiding you in this new stage.

Tags: Alternate Universe/ Enemies to Lovers/ Emotional Hurt/Comfort Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st, at some points.

Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know):  @thedamewithabook @bluevxnus @tempt-ress @bellameshipper @qyburnsghost @croatianprincess @hopeless-addiction-love

Author´s note:  Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Acknowledgment: To @ammo23 for the brilliant corrections and the wonderull work as beta reader, for all the patience and the love that always shows for my writing. Thank you so much :D

Word Count: 3.5K

"You'll end up being the queen of love and beauty if the tournament goes on like this", Mariam sighed sweetly, and the princess rolled her eyes, annoyed, even though she knew it was true.

Daeron would win in the arenas if business as usual continued. Jaehaera sat at the window that led to the training yard of the Red Keep. You had already been sitting there for a while, and all the young girl did was sit next to you. Mariam moved close, leaning against the thick stone wall but keeping an eye on the training ground.

The truth is that Larys's daughter had become your shadow since the first day of the tournament had ended, and you had an idea of ​​why: she was alone. Very alone. As lonely as you and the princess, that loneliness had ended up uniting three girls who were going from being treated like girls to realising their importance as women.

The three of you were maturing, each in her own way but all locked within the literal and metaphorical walls that the war had raised against you. "Do you think that in the last celebration of the tournament, someone will ask you to dance?" Mariam asked again. While Larys's daughter was growing obsessed with liking a knight, a lord, or a simple man in general, Jaehaera had educated herself not to fall for such trivial topics. Daeron and his presence had greatly helped bring about a silent maturity that had little or nothing to do with young Strong's character. You, for your part, didn't know if you would ever grow up, but you were doing it like the others. Simply, the fact that your father had protected you from everything did not help you to develop into a full woman; after all, everyone referred to you as "little".

You were your father's little girl, your grandfather's little girl, the little one to Aemond. The hand of the King had ignored you for the last three days of the tournament ever since Ser Gargalen had dedicated each and every one of his jousting victories to you. You hadn't exchanged a single word with him, yet he always smiled at you with that sincere, daring grin that only southerners seemed to have, and your heart always seemed to quicken slightly whenever he appeared riding her black hair, muzzle. Strange. According to what your grandfather had told you, those horses were originally from the south, and that same day that Corlys had told you about those desert steeds that always raised their tails when they ran, Aemond had withdrawn without a word to you. You supposed that he had ended up tense and annoyed by all the praise and comments that your grandfather made every time the Dornish boy went out. Be that as it may, Aemond was gone, and a small part of you, a very small part, yearned for his ever-looming, shadowy presence. Something in that imperturbable face drew you in, and you would be lying if you didn't accept that you loved seeing him.

“I'm not worried about being asked to dance,” Jaehaera replied with a shrug, keeping an eye on her uncle, who was practicing with his sword next to his squire. The prince smiled at his niece, and she smiled back with a slight nod.

Perhaps the princess didn't mind being asked to dance, but she did like to feel desired, and Daeron fulfilled all those requests more than gladly. "It's never something that has caught my attention," she said in a whisper as she looked at you. You gazed around the training ground, almost hoping to see the Dornish knight who had dedicated each victory to you, but Ser Gargalen never seemed to train with the rest of the men of Westeros. You hadn't seen a single southerner during those days on the castle walls. While the rest of the men from the west walked around as if the castle were theirs, the Dornishmen stayed outside the walls. As you well knew, Dorne was not yet part of Aegon II's reign, even though he proclaimed himself King of the Seven Kingdoms. "And you, (Y/N)? Do you think someone will ask you to dance?" Jaehaera asked with a half-smile.

"I don't think anyone will.” You smiled innocently, and Mariam approached you with joy and self-confidence. Her crippled leg made her walk slower and wobbly than the others, but that didn't mean she wasn't a girl her age, with the desires of a girl her age.

"Ser Gargalen will take you out, even if he loses. He shows too much interest" She laughed, amused, as she tried to turn as if imitating a dance. "I've always wanted to be kicked out, but, well, I don't think any gentleman wants to dance with a duck." She laughed as if she didn't care, but she did; of course, she did. She knew she wasn't pretty, but her limp didn't help men notice her either. Mariam was the daughter of someone important, so she would marry. However, she would not get the fairy tale she wanted. She didn't know that no woman ever got what she wanted, but she thought it was all down to her leg.

"There will be someone," Jaehaera smiled as if trying to comfort the young girl. Mariam kept trying to dance, and you and the dragon princess laughed with her. At a moment like this, it almost seemed that you were a girl of your age living in a moment of your own. And those moments reminded you of Driftmark. You kept laughing. At that moment, your eyes returned to the training field, it was almost night, but you recognised a silhouette that was hiding in the shadows of the gate.

The princess and Mariam stopped laughing when they saw how you were now looking at the training ground with interest. "Is there Ser Gargalen?" the youngest of them asked, almost elbowing herself open to see the young Dornishman showing off like a peacock, just like he always did. The girl sighed when she saw the King's hand.

"It is only the hand of the King. I guess he's going to practice," you commented without taking your eyes off him. It was the first time you'd seen him in three days, and even in his workout clothes, you still found him attractive.

"He always practices this hour," Jaehaera replied, bored by the shift in focus. The young princess moved away from the window and sat down next to a table where dinner would be served to you sooner or later. "Ser Criston said he could have won all the tournaments he wanted when he was young, but according to my uncle, he didn't care about them," she shrugged. Talking about Aemond always bored her, yet she was always amused by the look on your face when you saw him. She was beginning to think that surely you also felt something for her uncle and that what the one-eyed man dreamed of was not so far from his reach.

"That's because he didn't have a lady to woo," Mariam sighed, almost maddened by the presence of the King's hand. "I would let myself be courted by him..." you heard her say, and you could only look at her without believing what your ears were hearing. "He is so…."

“Arrogant and pretentious?” Jaehaera asked, laughing at the situation. And Mariam looked at her, her eyes bugging out, almost as if her great love had been insulted. "Mariam, fall in love with whoever you want, not with whoever your father tells you to," the princess whispered to her in a confident tone, and the girl blushed. She looked at you, embarrassed, as she looked back to the front. Now Daeron and Aemond practiced in silence, and you all remained without speaking until dinner arrived, perhaps because each one was lost in their thoughts, but especially little Strong, who had never been told that she could be interested in another man who was not liked by his father.

"I tell you, you don't have balls", Martell shouted against Trystane Gargalen, the future heir to the tiny and irrelevant house onSalt Shore. The newly knighted boy stared at his comrade-in-arms in disbelief while the Sunspear boy, who had to be his age or similar, pounded the table with the ferocity of southern men. All the young people of more or less his age were gathered outside the castle walls, not only the southerners, those who had not lived through the war or who had only experienced it in the first years of their lives, had gathered around wine, beer and the music that some young man from Sunspear, who knows which one, had organized. It was far from the constrained and sad paternal gazes who longed for and disapproved of that behaviour at the same time.

"You don't know if I have the manhood to do it or not", snapped the young man fromSalt Shore, the one who had dedicated each and every one of the duels he had won to you. All the young people sitting at his table in that makeshift hut laughed at the young man.

A young Rickon Stark, son of Cregan Stark and future Lord of Winterfell, was sitting a few tables further away than that group of young men from the desert, who talked about kidnapping princesses, being mercenaries, or simply claiming things the way things were claimed in the south. With passion and fierceness.

Rickon didn't drink wine like they did; none of the northerners who accompanied him in silence did. He just sipped his beer in silence and with a sulky gesture as those he was listening to the boys from the south made him angry. "I can enter the fortress and take her in front of all the guards, take her with me to Salt Shore and be happy for what's left of our lives," the newly knighted young man cried, and everyone at that table laughed.

"First, you should get laid and see if you two work between the sheets before you do something like that. Suppose she is terrible in bed later," the young Martell chuckled in a whisper as Trystane sat back down. Just as the young Gargalen was about to respond with an even more vile comment, Rickon Stark broke the silence at their table. He had lived through the war, or at least in part, and he wasn't thinking of going through a similar conflict again for you, much less for your family.

"There would be a war if you do that; thousands would die because you made a fairy tale come true," said the northerner, intruding on a conversation that had little or nothing to do with him or perhaps too much. After all, one of Jacaerys Velaryon's pacts had been to promise his first daughter to Rickon; another thing was that the pact had been broken at the same moment that the Greens won the war. "Not to mention that the King's hand would surely emasculate you as it found you. Those women have owners, boy.” Rickon turned his gaze forward, fixing it on the crowd that danced in front of him. His table fully expected the southerner's reaction to such a provocation, but Trystane Gargalen only laughed. All the young nobles were there, perhaps the only ones missing were you, the princess and the daughter of Larys. But few heard the words of the young man from Salt Shore.

"What will a cold northerner know of the hot and burning passion of the south?" replied the young Martell, challenging Rickon to speak with his eyes, but Rickon only shrugged.

"Absolutely nothing, but I do know more than you do about the war that just sixteen years ago filled almost the entire West with Blood and Fire", he responded reluctantly. Both tables fell silent. Up to that moment, all the young people who had laughed and celebrated now remained silent, as well as the grumpy northerners who accompanied Rickon; it almost seemed that all of them were looking for a confrontation. But Dorian Martell just walked up to Rickon Stark and laughed as he put his hands on the northern giant's shoulders. Everyone tensed as the party continued around them.

"Relax northerner. We would never touch something that you consider yours," he whispered in his ear, and Rickon Stark tensed because he knew that the young Martell's words were true. You had only attended the celebrations of Aegon's name day without noticing his presence, that at one time was the man destined to marry you. You had only been a shadow of Aemond; he had heard the rumours running through the city like a virus.

When you weren't with him, you dedicated yourself to making eyes at that southerner, and meanwhile, Rickon Stark, the man who was once going to be your husband, only received your indifference. Martel squeezed his shoulders again, sighing through his teeth. "She must be so tight, only if the King's hand hasn't made his way inside your girl, of course," Rickon rose like an automaton and punched Dorian Martell in the jaw. Those boys engaged in a pitched battle in which Trystane Gargalen ended up punching out the son of Gregan Stark. The young man from Salt Shore had other plans for tonight. Other plans that included your presence, although he wasn't thinking of kidnapping you, at least for the moment.

It was already late, but you were still with the princess and Mariam, now walking through the palace gardens. You listened to the music that came from outside the palace walls, where all the young nobles had gathered that night. Everyone except you. Jaehaera hadn't wanted to go or really knew she couldn't go; neither her eyes nor her hair was easy to hide, and she didn't want to attract attention any more than it already did between the walls of the Red Keep.

Mariam had been left wanting if only to wobble from one place to another while the music played. However, a small part of you would have enjoyed going to the party with the youngest; you have always attended all the ones that had been held in Driftmark. Always with sad faces and serious looks when the King's hand decided to come. But that party was different. It would just be people your age having a good time, much like the camaraderie you had found with the girls you swam with at the beach.

Another part of you screamed that it would be fooling Aemond, finally seeing the young Ser Gargalen. You just sat next to them on one of the benches in the palace gardens, literally watching the night go by. You were all silent, each deep in her own thoughts. One of the knights of the royal guard was following you closely, although it was obvious that the man would have preferred a thousand times to go to rest rather than following closely three young men who should already be in bed.

Finally, Jaehaera began to notice the exhaustion. She was the first one you escorted to her room, then Mariam had her turn, but when you reached your chambers, the royal guard, accompanied by his white cloak, spoke to you in a deep voice, but a whisper that only you could detect. "The hand wants to see you tonight, my lady." You blushed without saying a single word, and the royal guard looked away as if he, too, suspected the purpose of Aemond requesting to see you so late.

"He asked me to tell you once the princess had departed and was not in our presence.” He was a careful man, he wasn't going to let Jaehaera go where she wasn't called, and you just nodded. You followed that knight in silence through the corridors of the Red Keep until you reached Aemond's chambers. You entered the most sepulchral silence while that gentleman pitied you with his gaze. You were the new object of desire from the King's hand. Anyone in the Red Keep would pity you.

Dressed in the colours of your house, you timidly approached the desk where Aemond was taking notes from an old history book. He stopped writing when he detected your presence and tiredly leaned back in his chair. You greeted him with a nod, and he stood up, moving towards you. He smelled like a mixture between ink and steel, and one of his hands grabbed your chin so you could look at it. “Are you enjoying the tournament?” You never thought of sharing a moment of intimacy like that with him. Yet there you were in the middle of the night, with him, caressing your face. You saw that his eye was trying to decipher something that he would never confess to you. He looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Yes, my prince", you replied while he now caressed your bottom lip. He ran his thumb slowly, imagining those lips around his cock. Aemond would never admit it, but perhaps he had drunk too much wine that night. That made him braver, and that made him realize what he himself wanted. He, like a simple man, not like the prince, not like the hand of the King. You felt a pleasant chill as he caressed you. You closed your eyes, and he brought his lips closer to yours without actually kissing you. Just imagining what the contact of their lips would be like at that moment.

"The nights are cold in the red fortress", he confessed without any haste, and you opened your eyes at that moment. You saw a broken man. He has always been always upright and formal, aware of his family and his kingdom. You saw the man who was hiding behind so much coldness.

"Above all, they are cold for those who cannot sleep, haunted by their ghosts" He kept talking to you while your eyes, your precious eyes, were still fixed on him. "Hmm... I always wonder if you would like to help me sleep..." That proposition made your eyes widen, and Aemond only laughed at your innocence.

"I…" You swallowed hard, and Aemond pressed his body closer to yours. You felt a strange warmth in your lower belly, and Aemond thought how virgin girls were always fun. Although he had never had the pleasure of being with any. The alcohol made him not think clearly.

"Lord Gargalen sent me a marriage proposal today, for you, with his flagrant son", he confessed, separating his body from yours with what little sanity he had left at that moment. He walked over to the table and poured more wine into his empty glass. He didn't wait for your answer. He already knew it, even if you were afraid to verbalize it. That curse pronounced so many years ago from Alys's lips had shown him that you were part of it too. A fundamental part, much to his regret. "Cregan Stark has done the same with his son, although this proposal has reached your grandfather."

"You said that the Queen's ladies always get the best suitors," you told him in a whisper while he took a sip of his drink, his back to you, after sneering at the words he himself had told you. Now he was simply lost. He didn't look at you, not wanting to face your presence or the fact that he had narrowly taken you as his own, claimed as one of the most prized possessions of the only one-eyed dragon in the realm.

"None of them would be worthy of you," he confessed, looking at you for a single moment. "They may be young and believe they are great fighters, but you don't need a man like that," he approached you again, although this time he did it with a book that he placed in your hands.

“Help me fall asleep. That is all I ask of you.” Aemond took your hand as he led you silently to one of the armchairs that were next to the fireplace in his room. The fireplace was off. It wasn't necessary to have on as there was a multitude of candles that gave the feeling it was on. They were necessary for what he wanted to do with you. He elegantly and courteously seated you in one of the armchairs while he tiredly fell into another of the armchairs placed in front of you.

"You will no longer only attend the Queen. You will come here every night, and you will read for me what I say until I say," he told you tiredly, slipping into his seat. You looked at him confused, surprised that he had only asked you for something so... simple, as innocent as you. You looked at the book. It was a dusty book and yellow pages about the history of dragons in Ancient Valyria. You began to read without knowing that, not far from there, two boys your age were fighting for your favour, while that dragon had you just in one of the many ways he wanted you.

Aemond smirked at hearing your voice, just for him.

[rachthepoet]

Sunflower, Vol. 6 Analysis

My baby, my darling, my decadent Sunflower, Vol. 6. Is this post just an excuse for me to gush my heart out over it? To write a self-indulgent love letter to my favorite song? Absolutely. But won't you entertain me with your time? Sunflower Vol. 6 holds genius on all levels the mind can conceive, lyrical, musical, and not to mention how it induces a flush to my cheeks in its romanticism! Ahhh. Yet it still remains the most underrated piece of art. Harry's use of extended metaphor here is something I'll forever love, for he knows how to execute it well, and this song feels like a masterclass in the technique. Oh, my bad. Am I getting too ahead of myself again? If it wasn't clear, the sunflower is our metaphor here, with many layers to unravel from it, petal by petal.

Here's a deep dive into Harry Styles' Sunflower, Vol. 6, from a poet. And a self-proclaimed resident sunflower connoisseur.

The Song Title 🌻

First, let's talk floriography, a grand love of mine.

Floriography is the language of flowers. Every flower out there holds different meanings, often based on the species, variant, color, characteristics, or all of the above in combination. Floriography then, also, is the art of communicating through flowers. It was popularized during the Victorian Era, though it's been around before then. A way to communicate without saying much at all. People would carefully select and organize flowers in a bouquet/floral arrangement to convey a specific sentiment to the recipient. The choice between a single flower and a bouquet also held significance and could convey very different messages, adding more nuance to this subtle means of communication.

Sunflowers in floriography will be our focus, though. Sunflowers symbolize loyalty, love of life, adoration, and devotion. The symbolism derives from the knowledge that sunflowers are heliotropic -- the flower's tendency to follow the sun across the sky as a natural part of its growth cycle. And, this leads perfectly to my first theory about the addition of the Vol. 6 in the song's title.

According to the National Sunflower Association & seen in the official sunflower production handbook, a sunflower has 9 stages of reproductive growth (R-1 to R-9). But, for the sake of time, let's skip ahead to stage R-6, or, if you will, the sixth volume of a sunflower.

"Flowering is complete and the ray flowers are wilting"

This is the peak of the sunflower's reproductive growth, as its seeds begin to ripen, signifying the sunflower reaching maturity. R-1 to R-5 is from seedling to fully formed. R-5 is the stage where you can cut the flowers down, arrange them in a pretty vase, and display them on your windowsill or as a centerpiece at your dining table. Which is beautiful, for a time. But, the flower cut will never progress to R-6, and will never complete the full cycle. It's the catalyst for the seeds to be harvested and replanted for one of nature's circles to continue.

Now, let's use this knowledge of the sunflower cycle to translate it into a metaphor for a growing relationship! Within said metaphor, stage R-6 would be the height of the relationship -- a time filled with ecstasy, admiration, and realization. And, pulling from our now shared knowledge of floriography, where sunflowers communicate loyalty, love of life, adoration, and devotion ... a theorization is that the relationship at the song's heart was one that he thought could last and sustain. It's in this stage R-6, the sixth volume, of the relationship where it peaked, maybe one of many peaks. But also has the possibility of going downward, as it parallels how the sunflower's seeds will soon be ready to fall. But in this cascading, there can be rebirth (as in, letting the natural cycle continue). The 6th stage is the catalyst for the cycle's fate. He could've chosen to let this person go, to cut the quote-en-quote "sunflower" down and put them in a vase to only fondly look upon, as his past. Rather, he wants them to make it to the next stage, and want to try and complete the cycle to continue to come back renewed. Ok, deep breath now, Rach.

Though the growth stage theory is the one I'm most fond of, I do have other thoughts and theories about that pesky Vol. 6 addition that never fails to leave my mind. Because, well, it's always good to have your backups! So let's run through them, shall we?

Numerology: The number 6 is considered the most harmonious of the numbers, holding close to representation of home, harmony, nurturing, and idealism. It's an embodiment of the heart & can represent unconditional love. Don't know if Harry has ever read up on numerology, but! I still feel as if it's a possibility of one of those odd things he'd pick a book up on. If we look at the number 6 in love, the numerology personality is a devoted lover, which ties back to sunflowers symbolizing devotion. And, I'll end this bit off by quoting a paragraph from Astrotalk:

"THOUGH NUMEROLOGY NUMBER 6 DOES NOT READILY FALL IN LOVE, ONCE THEY DO, THEY WOULD GO TO ANY LENGTH TO ENSURE THAT THEIR PARTNERS ARE HAPPY AND SAFE. "THEY ARE CONCERNED ABOUT ENSURING A SAFE AND HEALTHY ENVIRONMENT FOR THEIR PARTNER. THESE ARE ENTHUSIASTIC PEOPLE THAT EXPRESS A LOT OF LOVE AND ENTHUSIASM."

Erik Erikson: Erikson's theory of Psychosocial Development has a total of eight stages -- and stage 6 is the psychosocial crisis of intimacy vs isolation, with the developed virtue being love. Those who chose intimacy foster deep meaningful connection, which is something that's been explored as an aching desire within Harry's songs previously. Within this 6th stage, the core question asks: "WILL I BE LOVED, OR WILL I BE ALONE?". This leads the path to an enriched life if intimacy is chosen. And, if this stage is ignored, it can manifest into a fear of rejection, and can detrimentally impact the other stages. Frankly, I could even stretch to think that this core question can be applied to the song itself.

The 6th Song About This Person in FINE LINE's Musical Repertoire / Continuation Chapter: A shorter one, and a more personal theorization that I have already convinced myself people might not see, but that's totally okay! The structure of Vol. 6 led me to a mindset of books. Not a very hard mindset to get me to, but I digress. Which, then, made me consider it being a continuing chapter or the next book in a series. Golden, Watermelon Sugar, Cherry, Falling, To Be So Lonely, and then Sunflower, Vol. 6. In my head, when I listen to the album, these all have this connecting red string to them. And that's all I'm going to say for now, for an elaboration would be a whole new dissertation here.

Just Five Other Volumes Exist: Admittedly the most mundane and easy explanation out of the many, but there could very well be just five previous versions of the song in his personal vault. Because, sometimes, you have to go through many versions before arriving at a final version you like. As a poet, I get you, Harry, and I feel you in that respect.

Lyric Pull Apart 🌻

[INTRO] Sunflower

Though sounding like gibberish at the top, this intro sets the foundation for all the genius to bloom. It's Harry saying the word sunflower, but reversed, which sets us up for a cyclical experience -- much like the natural growth cycle of our beloved little flower. Or, the cycle of the rising & falling of the sun. Or, the flower looking & the flower following. The relationship behind the song will circle back around, never truly wilting or fading away. Embedded in the stylistic choice of the circular structure, this love transcends the standard timeline, moving beyond chronological order. For it's always circling back around to its heart, to its peak. To its sixth volume. [Hint: listen later for the tense changes.]

We've already solidified the sunflower's meaning through floriography, yes? Devotion? Now, I'm going to offer you another perspective on the saccharine symbolism of Harry's sunflower, a comforting nickname for the person he's addressing throughout the song. And, I'm going to bring in some poetry. Oh boy, am I. Sunflower Sutra is a poem by Beat poet Allen Ginsberg that I can vividly imagine Harry reading & stashing away to his inspiration bank. Ginsberg right beside Brautigan. There's always been a fond love inside me for the Beat Generation, how their writing is dirty, down-to-earth, and weird in the best ways you could fathom. How the only right way to read their work is to rant it out. It's always about being alive, every part of it -- and, truly, I see FINE LINE the same, a celebration of being alive, every part of it. And my baby Sunflower, Vol. 6? You're a part of it.

"A perfect beauty of a sunflower! a perfect excellent lovely sunflower existence! a sweet natural eye to / the new hip moon, woke up alive and excited grasping in the sunset shadow sunrise golden / monthly breeze!"

In my interpretation (to which you are free to disagree or add to), Ginsberg's sunflower represents something that's been tarnished and battered, but can be redeemed and grow in beauty again -- all this he ponders alongside Kerouac. An anti-industrialization poem at its core, I think it could've inspired Harry in some ways for this piece.

I believe Sunflower, Vol. 6 can be heard as a romantic reassurance hymn when studied through the lens of Ginsberg's poem. Something, or rather someone, beaten down but with the potential to bloom out of hardships. I see this narrative & nuance running rampant through the song and its core relationship. And, I believe we again find ourselves back at the circle concept (wow). The relationship at the forefront of Sunflower, Vol. 6 continues to come back around to domestic comfort, a stabilizer despite their hardships, and I believe this to be a more fleshed-out reason behind the tense shifts we'll see soon. Though we've been beaten down by these outside forces, we will rise again -- with the lesson of not letting our circumstances make us believe we're something we're not.

"Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a flower? when did you look at your skin and / decide you were an impotent dirty old locomotive? the ghost of a locomotive? the specter and / shade of a once powerful mad American locomotive? / You were never no locomotive, Sunflower, you were a sunflower!" 

The natural vs. the unnatural. The natural here is Harry and his sunflower, of course. The unnatural being encompassing of whoever and whatever that is a negative outside force impacting the health of the relationship. Think of infected soil. Sunflower, Vol. 6 invokes such joy when listening, and that's because it's supposed to! It's a happy reassurance of love. Harry reassures his sunflower that there will always be this sense of devotion, even when things fall. It circles. Like the sun. Like the flower.

"So I grabbed up the skeleton thick sunflower and stuck it at my side like a scepter, / and deliver my sermon to my soul, and Jack’s soul too, and anyone who’ll listen,"

[VERSE 1] Sunflower, my eyes want you more than a melody

Once you realize how much of a music nerd Harry can be, you'll come around to see just how fucking adorable this line is. He wants to see his sunflower in person more than he wants to write a song or discover a new melody. His life's passion. Like?? Oh, he's so loverboy for that. (HARRY, THE FOOL IN LOVE.)

[VERSE 1] Let me inside, wish I could get to know you

Get out of your dirty mind now! Urban Dictionary has rotted too many brains. He harbors this desire to get to know his sunflower on a deeper level. Wants to be let inside their head and thoughts (like they're already in his?), their heart (because the sunflower is afraid of love?), and their world (desire to be invested in all that is them, all-consuming type of infatuation). But, it's the phrasing that piques my interest. Wish I could get to know you. Saying wish implies hope, something hard to obtain, a dream almost. It gives off the notion there's some distance -- maybe physical, maybe emotional -- like there's a reason behind him not being able to fulfill this desire for transparency (something he consistently asks for in his music, despite his own character flaw of miscommunication)? And, that's exactly what this is to me, another yearning for transparency, trust, and open communication (themes in the sophomore album). Maybe, just maybe, this is something they're still working on, a hardship they're still trudging through. Maybe Harry doesn't feel as if he has that agency yet, still working on peeling back his sunflower's leaves.

[VERSE 1] Sunflowers sometimes keep it sweet in your memory

He holds onto the good of the relationship rather than focusing on the pitfalls. The growth over the destruction. His memories of his sunflower remain sweet and sunny by his conscious design. However... there's always been a way I've heard this line and I'm here shamelessly wondering if anybody else has heard it in this way, too.

I hear this lyric in two separate intervals: "SUNFLOWERS SOMETIMES" and "KEEP IT SWEET IN YOUR MEMORY", as if they're both interrupting the other. Has he gone tongue-tied, like he's just about to admit himself to? Almost as if he's going to say something negative, but stops himself with reassurance instead. The reassurance in question is how he'll keep it sweet in his head, in the melody, in a means of preservation, rather than dwell on the bad. This, then, ties back to the discussion of Ginsberg's poem leading us to believe it's a song of reassurance, one where he keeps getting oh so tongue-tied...

[VERSE 1] I was just tongue-tied

And speaking of getting tongue-tied! This term is used when people can't find the words to communicate and struggle with communication is a common plight scattered all across Harry's oeuvre. Also, this could be an allusion to kissing. Tongues intertwined with each other in passion. And, we adore that, too!

[PRE-CHORUS] I don't wanna make you feel bad But I've been trying hard not to talk to you

In what I believe to be a continuation of the line before, we witness more struggles with communication. We love an artist with a common theme. Harry makes it clear that it's not his sunflower's fault, yet feels some intimidation knowing that he won't be able to stop himself from falling like a little boy (TBSL CONNECT / HARRY, THE FOOL IN LOVE). Maybe he's had moments where he's tried to disengage out of bad habits but doesn't want his sunflower to ever feel guilt around his actions. Sometimes he pulls back because of his feelings of embarrassment from being so tongue-tied, sometimes he pulls back because he has moments of fear. Just as his sunflower does, as well.

[PRE-CHORUS] Sunflower (Sunflower, Sunflower!)

A return back a comforting nickname to soothe them, which brings us further into the Ginsberg-influenced perspective that this is a song of reassurance in romanticisms.

[CHORUS] I couldn't want you anymore

Don't know about you, but I think this is such a beautiful way to say I love you. And, there's such a giddiness about it, such joy in this part, in the choruses. As mentioned before, he keeps returning himself to domestic sweetness, these sunny memories, and you can feel the shift, even as the rest of the song rings joyfully. It's just a different kind of joy here, indicated by different instrumentals, by the way.

We also have found ourselves sinking into another moment of reassurance, reminding his sunflower how much he desires. And, once more, more signs of devotion.

[CHORUS] Kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor

Oh, this line. How I love it so! Kissing in the kitchen is a very sweet and domestic imagery that emphasizes a commitment to building up a long-term relationship. Which is, you guessed it, another example of devotion! The added implication is that he wants to move forward, continuing this growth cycle with his sunflower.

This could be a reach of connection, but it reminds me of Two Ghosts from Harry's eponymous debut, specifically the lyric: THE FRIDGE LIGHT WASHES THIS ROOM WHITE / THE MOON DANCES OVER YOUR GOOD SIDE. Revisiting an older song, reflecting on past relationships, and reflecting on past emotions, then proceeding to flip it on its head. Feeling the improvement and the more healthy situation he's in now.

[CHORUS] I couldn't want you anymore Tonight (Tonight, Tonight, Tonight)

Then, we repeat the signal of devotion, this desire that can be both physical and emotional. Devotion also can lend itself to reassurance, as I believe both of those are interwoven with one another. And, can't not give a shoutout to the Queen vibes I get from the echoing repetition of "tonight"!

[VERSE 2] Wondering, headshake Tired eyes are the death of me

Wondering, still getting to know things about one another often, there are still things left to mystery in regards to his sunflower. Headshake, a moment of disbelief. He can't believe his eyes, his luck, shaking his head to make sure it's not a dream or hallucinatory. Then, his sunflower's tired eyes are the death of him, he swoons as they wake up together, in a moment where both are unguarded. Implications lead us to assume that they've spent nights over at other's abodes, painting intimacy. Domestic intimacy, specifically, is what we return to. Sleeping next to one another, waking up next to each other, ending & starting the day together. The rising and falling of the sun. A cycle, perhaps?

[VERSE 2] Mouthful of toothpaste before I got to know you

A further continuation of the domestic intimacy laid out before, as we remain in the same scene I believe. I adore the visual I get from this -- honeymoon phase, where he sneaks out of bed to brush his teeth before his sunflower wakes up. And, with the line, BEFORE I GOT TO KNOW YOU, it does seem to be an earlier stage. Much like the honeymoon phase. Yeah?

[VERSE 2] I've got your face hung up high in the gallery

We revisit adoration, found representation back in the flower itself (floriography), alongside devotion, etcetera. His sunflower's face is hung up high (GOLDEN CONNECT), in a gallery where he's studying them, in a gallery like they are precious art to be looked upon in wonder. Up high with implications of importance. In this, I believe, he's saying that he'll never forget his sunflower's face, almost memorializing them and their relationship. The sixth volume of the sunflower is the catalyst for determining the fate of the cycle. Will the flowers be cut down and preserved in a vase temporarily? Or, will the flowers continue with the natural cycle, in a consistent death and rebirth? He reassures that he'll never forget them, and finds himself putting his sunflower on a pedestal -- but not having himself hung up high beside them, for he's the one in constant admiration (HARRY, THE FOOL IN LOVE.). A manifestation of his appreciation for his sunflower's beauty & sublimity. From the gallery, Harry can admire them, like one admires & studies a piece of fine art for hours and hours on end. Harry holds such great adoration for them, yet they still manage to mystify him.

And, we can't ignore the echo back to Cherry, and how these two songs contrast in both meaning and context -- so, to include a line that connects them to one another is a clever move on Harry's part to highlight the stark differences intentionally. As we move step-by-step through the stages of grieving set up for us through the structure of the album's tracklist, but I digress, for that's a whole other discussion to be had.

[VERSE 2] I love this shade, sunflower, sunflower

Continuing on from the gallery visual, this cute little line... hmm. I have to admit that it's stumped me for quite a significant portion of time, trying to draw out any hidden coding. But, this is what I've concluded for myself. Referencing the shade cast on him from their face hanging in the gallery, he doesn't mind being the one looking up in admiration. In fact, he loves it and relishes it. Much mirroring the nature of the sunflower following the sun up in the sky. Then, we turn back to this comforting nickname, sunflower, the soothing and reassurance that comes along in tow with it.

[VERSE 2] Your flowers just died, plant new seeds in the melody

Let's bring our minds back to the chat about the sunflower's growth cycle for a moment, yeah? Remember how we talked about the significance of being in stage R-6? Flowering is complete? What comes after is the beginning of the seeds ripening to be harvested, for which the flower has to die to make it so. Even in a sunflower's death, they are still celebrated and cherished as new life & new possibilities are found in the seeds that fall. And now, remember. How the sunflower's growth cycle metaphorize the circle Harry and his sunflower are in? Oh yeah!

YOUR FLOWERS JUST DIED is the first half we're going to focus on. What do the flowers represent? Hopes? Dreams? Something beautiful? Something that couldn't grow or bloom anymore? Possibly representing the ups & downs of life, but the two will find a way through it. The flowers died, but the plant is alive. And still the same kind of flower. Not losing sight (GINSBERG PARALLEL).

PLANT NEW SEEDS IN THE MELODY is the second half, and then we'll piece them together. In what melody? Well, in this melody, silly goose! He's using this melody, this song for his sunflower, as a reassurance (!!!) that they will both get through the hardships because his devotion and adoration runs deep. And, put these together now. When you plant the seeds gathered from the wilted sunflower and plant them into the ground, you bring up a new flower that'll run through the cycle anew.

[VERSE 2] Let me inside, I wanna get to know you

There's no more wishing, and, now, a bit more agency is gained on Harry's part. No more wishing, no more hoping, he is here and wants this. He's begging his sunflower to let him inside, then mirroring how earlier in the same verse he said BEFORE I GOT TO KNOW YOU. It's all a circle, a cycle, that goes around and around.

[PRE-CHORUS] I don't wanna make you feel bad But I've been trying hard not to act a fool

Can I just say that I love this depiction of him? HARRY, THE FOOL IN LOVE. Present eloquently in this song and others. He reiterates how he doesn't want his sunflower to take on the guilt for anything. He doesn't want to get it wrong, he doesn't want to say something foolish, but, shit, they are really making him lose his mind.

[PRE-CHORUS] Sunflower (Sunflower, Sunflower!)

To be expected, we come back around to the comforting nickname for the song's subject, his sunflower. We see reassurance each time this is brought back into the melody, with new seeds planted for hope each time. And this repetition in itself creates a cyclical effect, which, if you hadn't noticed, we always return to for this song.

[CHORUS] I couldn't want you anymore Kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor I couldn't want you anymore Tonight (Tonight, Tonight, Tonight)

More repetition, in specifics the repetition from the chorus before. Proclaiming love, domestic intimacy in the visuals, proclaiming love again. Repetition is to circling, and circling is to a cycle.

[CHORUS] Kids in the kitchen listen to dancehall

Is this a look into the future, the hope for the future he planted before? Or is it a reference to Harry and his sunflower themselves? As well as being a continuation of domestic visuals from the sweet kitchen we got, either interpretation has a lovey connotation to it.

Picturing kids in the future: He's planted the seeds for a future together, returning to the feeling that Harry believes that what's between the two is something that could last. So much so that he's picturing settling down with them, with dance parties in the kitchen to joyous music he introduced them all to.

The two as children: This could be a proper extension of the other visual in the other variation of the chorus, where Harry's referring to himself and his sunflower as the kids in question. Kids in love, fools in love (HARRY, THE FOOL IN LOVE.). He just keeps picturing domestic bliss for the two of them, kissing & dancing in the kitchen together as he shares parts of himself, what he loves, with them.

[BRIDGE] Sunflowers just died, keep it sweet in your memory

Even when something in life has come to a close doesn't mean it isn't something you can look upon fondly, and even in death doesn't mean there can't be rebirth. With the shift from YOUR FLOWERS to SUNFLOWERS, it's like he's directly addressing his own metaphor, his own symbolism. A return to the core's devotion, the romanticism of the circle of the sunflower, and the parallel circle of the relationship. Sunflowers represent spectrums of the life cycle (youth, vitality, hopefulness, etc). Even in their death, they are celebrated as their seeds promise new life.

Through this song, Harry is celebrating the beginning, the middle, and even the possibility of an end to his relationship with his sunflower. He's cherishing when they were blooming with love, immortalizing that vibrant time in these melodies we can listen to in this moment as the audience. When they were growing, blooming, flowering with idyllic dreams of domesticity, but simultaneously memorializing when they hit moments of ruin.

[BRIDGE] I'm still tongue-tied

This purposefully mirrors the line I WAS JUST TONGUE-TIED, furthermore completing that cycle that I know I'm getting repetitive reminding you of. But it's important, ok? He still can't find the words, he feels he still can't express his devotion to its fullness, and this entire song was him trying to explain it all! And, even in the song, he finds himself stumbling. No matter how long or how short this relationship lasts with his sunflower, he will always be tongue-tied, baffled, and utterly lovestruck. His adoration for and his devotion to this person take away all his self-control, wondering, headshake in constant disbelief.

[OUTRO] Sunflower, sunflower Sunflower, sunflower Ayy, woo, ow Woo-woo, woo-woo (x3) Yeah! Ooh, woo, ooh Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Oh, the outro! How it fills me with such joy! The outro mirrors the intro with the last (full) words he says being SUNFLOWER, SUNFLOWER before we lean into the random noises that further show HARRY, THE FOOL IN LOVE. And, it's so fun to try and sing along to, and we become a fool in love right beside him. This non-verbal section, raw emotion bursting through the seams, closes off the song with a moment of euphoria. Dipping down to go into WOO-WOO or BOOP-BOOP ... which is us listening as he plants the seeds to nurture the flower (the relationship) as we continue to spin in this cycle of love and hardship. With added reassurance. And added devotion.

We, again, oh I'm getting annoying, return to our knowledge about sunflowers, and how they're celebrated in their vitality, but also in their death because of the seeds they provide, even as they wilt. Harry is planting the seeds in the melody, in Sunflower, Vol. 6, to grow more, to bloom more, to maybe start anew with a perspective more rounded out than previous.

The sunflower that has fallen can rise again, celebrated in death as much as in life. Even if this ends, Harry is left with seeds of knowledge -- of love, affection, and devotion -- that he can plant to start a rebirth and rejuvenation in himself and even further, whether it's both theirs or not. The sunflower, his sunflower, has taught him a lot about how vibrant things can be, and how much of a fool in love he can be, even after all the moments of heartbreak and grieving. I stand behind my claim that Sunflower, Vol. 6 is one of Harry's most romantic and most genius songs. I mean, you can't even deny it -- this is a boy who loves love. A fucking fool in love. And I adore him and his romanticism of devotion so badly. Told through the subtle messaging of a flower metaphor? Oh my goodness.

Thank you for reading, you're absolutely incredible!

If there are any songs you'd like me to make an analysis of, please send your request to my inbox! Along with any questions or insights you might have yourself!

[itsclydebitches]

I'm heart-bent in my apartment

'Cause all that you left was your fart scent

Now that you're gone I wrote this song

'Cause all you left was the smell of your farts

I LOVE Ted's little song this episode because it's so, so good.

It's also kinda bad.

A long while back I wrote a post about Trent falling for Ted's way with words. After all, how can the man who claims to love writing not be enamored with someone who employs so many witty turns of phrase and metaphors, all of them nestled within beautiful, heartfelt speeches? Even considering that this is TV Land where characters usually know exactly what to say and say it without a single stumble, Ted is written to have a skill with verbal poetry.

This little tune is a perfect example of that skill. Ted comes up with a song right on the spot, that rhymes, using a term Keeley just made up, and it's frankly catchy as fuck. Even our skeptical duo are bopping their heads along. Plus, there's something legitimately compelling (to me anyway) about writing a Serious Love Song focused on a partner who was so bad for you all they left behind was a - metaphorical and literal - bad smell. Underneath the silliness, that's an interesting way to frame Keeley's breakup (given that talk of Jack is what inspired this), especially after all the "love bombing" she experienced. It makes me wonder if Keeley kept things like the first edition novel, or if all that's left of Jack are those bad thoughts and feelings associated with her judgement of Keeley's sexual autonomy, lingering like, you know, a fart.

So the little devil on my shoulder wearing the Tedependent tin hat is squealing that Ted wrote a kinda inspired country song on the fly while his writer dork is walking around in a Dolly Parton t-shirt.

Meanwhile, the sensible angel on the other shoulder is acknowledging that actually the song is stupid lol. It's about farts after all and look, for however impressive it is at first, Ted fails to land that last rhyme! Now, putting aside whether the final line needs to rhyme (that's an artistic conversation for another day) I kinda love that too because it feels representative of Ted's later speech. He starts the episode with an impressive song about farts of all things... and then fumbles the ending. Later, Ted will start another impressive speech about intestinal distress (don't think about Trent's "wreaking havoc on his digestive system" line dON'T THINK ABOUT IT) and then likewise fumble the landing with Colin. Did you really just compare being gay to liking a sport's team? Uh... yeah. Whoops. My bad. Ted Lasso is a show absolutely stuffed with parallels and I love when fun little connections like this pop up. Not only does the earlier song remind us of Ted's often childish approach to life (it's not a shock to hear him talking about destroying a toilet when he was just singing about farts), but the structure of the scene mimics what's to come. Like that childish reminder, the song likewise reminds us that Ted often starts really strong with fantastic creativity and intentions... only to struggle a bit at the end. That's life and complex character flaws ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[badwithten]

A Burnt Sacrifice | Hyunjin

PAIRING Guardian Angel!Hyunjin x fem!reader

GENRE angst, guardian angel au

WORD COUNT 12.5k

SYNOPSIS Hyunjin was built for the purpose of caring for Y/N, her guardian angel. And after serving her for almost 25 years, he can no longer stay as a background character in her life. Despite being an angel, he will sin if it means he gets a chance to be by her side.

FEATURING Mark, Han + Beomgyu

WARNINGS hyunjin is kinda obsessive over y/n but he justifies it as being her guardian angel, swearing, use of dating apps + cringey awkward dates, hyunjin watched y/n grow up so its kinda weird but he’s only as old as y/n yet he never ages, burns, self harm (y/n picks at her blister), description of injuries, blood, only light religious themes despite the theme, mentions of poverty, descriptions of anxiety 

BASED OFF of ‘Cherry’ by Harry Styles 

COLLAB part of @hvcmixtape​ ‘heart to heart’ valentines day collab

TAGLIST @isearchedtheyooniverse @oddfeeeling @itslovelylilly @rgbsona

Two were born on the day of your birth. Y/N L/N and Hyunjin Hwan. To call them twins would not be appropriate for this story, for they were not connected by blood. Nor was he birthed by any woman. For Hwang Hyunjin was created, sculpted by God themself. This wasn't a metaphor for his beauty, As his soul was quite literally pieced together one by one by the heavens. Y/N’s mother had an angel of her own, as did every human on Earth. While in the womb, her angel watched over both Y/N and her mum, allowing those above to create the perfect match for Y/N. Someone designed to protect, care and love her.

This is the story of Hyunjins journey to protect, care and love Y/N. He was created for that very purpose. He was Y/N's guardian angel. Everything he did was for her, his every thought, want and need was her. Both their hearts were bound by the stars, fused together for eternity. He was created at Y/N's birth and would be destroyed at her death. Even in the afterlife, he would be there for her. Although she was to never know him, his time was spent away from his physical form where she couldn't see. Watching her from another dimension where the rules of Earth didn’t apply. But no matter where he was, the rules of heaven still applied. And despite his heart wanting more, he shouldn’t overstep those heavenly rules. He was a lover, destined to love Y/N for his everlasting life.

This is the story of Y/N's life, the girl who was to be protected, cared and loved for by the heavens. Born to a single mother and raised fairly. Y/N never had an interest in relationships, no desire to have a romantic partner. Her values lay elsewhere. Her family, education and job are more important than any lover could be. Or so she once thought. For loneliness begins to hurt after a while and thoughts begin to wander. Despite not believing in the heavens, she was sure some cosmic power must be against her in life. She was loveless, destined by the heavens to be alone for the rest of her mortal life.

Here is the story of love. Love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.

Pryham. A town big enough to have two high schools competing against each other for scholarships. Small enough for that scholarship to be for students coming from a poor area. Big enough to have a lake named after the region it's in, the biggest lake in its area. Small enough for that lake to still be run by the natives of the land, a grumpy old man guarded the burnt-down lakehouse to make sure no one vandalised it further. Big enough for three major supermarkets to all be within walking distance of each other. Yet all three were small enough that they were managed by young adults who had not long left the same high school you attend now. It was a big enough town that the main street was filled with every large fast-food chain you could think of. Mcdonalds, KFC, Subway, it was all there. Yet the life of the town was not abandoned, locals still ran their cafes and small market shops. Something that bought your home back into the small-town culture. It’s hard to imagine angels would watch over such a town.

Growing up in such a town had its advantages. It was a close-knit community that supported its locals. When your mother had you at a young age and was left to raise you herself, the support came. It was the only way you made it to where you were now. Nights, where you would’ve been cold and alone while she worked, were saved by your mother's young coworker volunteering to watch over you. When your growth spurts outgrew your mother's financial situation, strangers come to donate new clothes to you. Keeping you warm in the winters you’d otherwise freeze in. And for that you were grateful. Not only for the people of your town who reached out to help but for your mother who swallowed her pride and asked for help when others would’ve been too scared to.

Growing up in such a town also had its disadvantages. Kids more fortunate than you didn't see the world as you did. To them, they weren’t thinking of the kindness it took for someone to give you their outgrown shoes. Instead, it was a teasing competition due to the condition they had arrived in. You would be lying if you said it didn’t get to you, but you took after your mothers bravely. Ask for help when you need it and keep smiling.

The people of your town were content with how it was. No one was going to make a change to how it was. The bullying, the poverty, the addictions. If you asked anyone how it was, they would say it was the best town in the world. But you knew better than that. Most born in Pryham stayed in Pryham. Majority with only high school educations, working in either the local shops or become labourers, tradies or farmers. This wasn’t an insult, you knew without these people the world around you wouldn't function as it should. But you had a burning desire for something more. Something larger than life.

You knew for this desire to come true, hard work was needed. With that in mind, you put your head down and got to work when it came to high school. It was all a teenager had during this time in their lives. All their friends, all their work, all their purpose was high school. For some it was just to learn the basics, kill some time before then become an adult and get a full-time job as soon as they can. For others, it was more than that. For you, it was more than that. Without a good high school education, you would not make it for any scholarships and if you wanted to go to university, you needed funding or else you couldn’t afford it. High school wasn’t your entire life despite what it seemed like, it was only part of the plan for your happy future.

Wednesdays were your favourite day of the week. The perfect middle of weekdays as well as your school's late start days. An extra hour in the morning supposed to be used as a study period for senior students was actually just used as an hour to sleep in. Unlucky for those who arrived at school each morning on the bus. For them, it was either wake up at the regular time or miss the bus and walk to school. Han Jisung was one of those unlucky few. Han was also part of those few who wanted something larger than life. At first glance, he was your regular high school student. Loud and funny, the class clown of your graduating class. His behaviour was often scolded by teachers yet he never could get in too much trouble with grades as good as his.

Han Jisung was lucky enough to be friends with someone like you, who was gonna wake up at seven AM regardless of your school's start time. He was never gonna do that extra study and you were never gonna find a break otherwise. Breakfast and coffee allowed you two to remain friends despite how hectic high school had become in your last year.

Part of the charm of living in a town like the one you called home was that the best coffee came from the local movie theatre. Five minutes down the road from your school and a student discount for some of the best coffee in town? Yes, please! But there was another reason that irked your stomach, another reason you were so persistent in going there each week. Sam.

You were so intrigued by this unknown man. He was older than the two of you, in his early twenties unless he was older and aged unbelievably well. With his long black hair and pretty face, it would be difficult for anyone to believe that the reason you were so intrigued by the man wasn’t because of his good looks. But it wasn’t a crush. Maybe it was, you had never experienced love before, thus you wouldn't know what it felt like. But the way it was described wasn't anything you felt. You weren’t excited to see him, nor were you nervous when he was around. No increased heartbeat, no romantic thoughts of wanting to be with him, no heated cheeks when he spoke to you. None of that. But it was a fascination.

That first day you met him you were instantly attracted to him. He laughed as you stuttered over your order, so effortlessly easy to be around, you didn't feel embarrassed. Your attraction wasn’t romantic, it was a longing for an old friend. A sibling you had fallen out of touch with. Anyone you had once known and then lost. But who was he? When you bought him up with your mother his description was unfamiliar.

The next time he served you and Han, you asked for his name. At that, he laughed and smiled. Sam was his answer. When you asked if it was short for Samual he didn’t give you an answer. You thanked him and left to join Han at your usual table. Becoming a regular customer wasn’t enough, each time he asked about your day you would give him some information about your life. When you asked back, he said nothing, keeping his life a secret from you. With his first name and face in mind, you desperately searched for him online.

But you found nothing again. No Facebook page, no Instagram. Sam remained a mystery.

“How was I?” Han is out of breath, his white shirt untucked and messy compared to how presentable he looked only moments ago on stage.

“Great, you were great” Your arms wrapped around his body, pulling him in for a hug. Your heart swelled with pride anytime Han took his place on stage during school assemblies. His anxiety often got the best of him, yet he still managed to secure a place within the student council. Once considered the naughty kid, he was able to clean up enough to get the position. One he deserved.

It felt like only the two of you existed as you stood outside the hall, swarms of students piling out eager to go home. But the two of you just stood, holding each other. Although he tried to pull away, you only held on tighter. Your fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt, begging him not to leave. Han didn’t mind, he matched your desperation with a hand on the back of your head, holding him to him. With the last week of school coming up, he knew soon both of you would have changing schedules.

You held him close. Your best friend, one of the only friends you had during this time. Han overwhelmed your senses. His cologne clogging your nose, shirt ripping through the skin on your fingers. All you could do is push your face into him harder, hoping to ground yourself into the solidness of his torso. It was all too much and not enough at the same time. Soon you would be leaving Han, and soon you would miss every part of him that would be overwhelming.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft, full of concern and lacking his normal enthusiasm. And it broke you. Hearing his voice tipped the tears you tried to hold back out and over your eyes. Spilling onto his white shirt and staining his skin forever. “Y/N what’s wrong?”

Once again he tried to pull you away, but you only held on tighter. Shaking your head no. He no longer held onto you, arms hovering awkwardly over his sides and he waited for you to be done. And when you finally pulled away he was more lost than ever.

“I got in Han” You watched as he processed your words. Soon the confusion was replaced by a smile, bigger than any you had seen him wear. Excitement took over him and he pulled you into a crushing hug. “I got into Britechester”

“Y/N Britechester? That’s great!” Each time he pulled away it was only for a second, he couldn't keep you away. Until it all finally clicked in his head, he clicked why you were crying. “Britechester, Y/N, that’s an eight-hour drive from here”

“I know!” You felt the tears form again, the overwhelming anxiety it brought you was something you tried to hide, but it was hard to hide anything from Han. “I hate to be so far away from mum and from you but I have to”

“No, you don’t” His head was shaking in disbelief, he now only held you by your hands. With a grip so tight that he was afraid that if he let go you’d leave right there and then. “You can’t go”

“I’m sorry?” His lack of support was lost on you. You had never doubted your decisions before but Han may be the first to change your view on it all.

“You can’t go Y/N, it’s not fair!” Anger arose in him alongside the first tear that split from his red eyes. He was looking at you, only past your eyes trying to search for some part of you that wasn’t committed to moving away. But you had already made up your mind.

“What are you talking about? I have to go, it's my dream university” You pull your hands away for him, not wanting to be touched by someone talking to you so poorly as if your opinion doesn't matter. “You knew this was a possibility Han, you’ve been with me for five years while I was making this happen”

“But this? I- I-” The words were lost on him. His hands rubbed the tears into his skin as he tried to calm down. Tried to make some sense of his world that was falling apart. “You just can’t, it’s not how things are meant to be”

“I thought you would be happy for me” As much as it hurts you to see him upset, what hurts, even more, is his unsupportive nature towards your situation. Something you worked so hard on and he is treating it as if it's his own. You reach to him and pull his hand away from his face. “Han please talk to me-”

“No!” Han was loud, it was in his nature. But he wasn’t an angry person. The loudness of his voice today came from anger. It froze you from the inside out, you watched with tears as he looked at you with the most fury you’d ever seen in him. “If you leave Y/N, I swear to god I will-”

“You’ll what Han? Stop being my friend?” You spit back at him, tears falling over the form of your lips and melting away any regretful words that may leave them. “It’s too late for that isn’t it?”

You pulled your bag on tighter and leave him standing alone, his fists clenched at his sides. Han never opened up to you much and you had just learnt why. With no control over his emotions, it was easy for him to be over the top. Moving away wasn’t going to be easy for you, but with one last friend to say goodbye to it made it that little bit lighter.

The first Wednesday without Han in it was strange. The bandage that held you two together had been ripped off and you were feeling the air on your skin for the first time in five years. And it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Yet you were determined to prove you could do this alone. So your usual stayed the same apart from the absence of your friend. Sam had become your usual, greeting you with a smile as you entered the small theatre.

“A large latte with almond milk and vanilla, extra hot?” He knew your order before you could speak it. Already reaching out with the stamp for your loyalty card.

“Please” You smiled, something genuine, something that wasn’t a crush. It was more than that. A deeper connection that you still didn't know where from.

“Where’s Han?” Although you were his regular, so was Han, something about that made your connection a little less special.

“He’s sick today” You didn’t look up from the EFTPOS machine, hoping he would buy your lie.

“I’ve got you all to myself then” He winked, something playful in his eyes. You only roll your eyes, not letting that smile that so badly wants to emerge show itself on your face. Instead, you take your seat, waiting for him to bring over your order.

After a few minutes have passed he brings over the latte he's carefully made for you, a heart appearing in the foam layer on top. Before you get a chance to make a comment he whisks away to serve another customer. Sam would be the death of you. Ignoring his flirting you're able to bring out your laptop and catch up on some work. School once again takes up any kind of social life you may have.

Finishing up your drink before school starts and mouthing the words thank you to Sam as he helps an older lady understand the card machine. You had only walked a couple hundred feet to where you needed to cross the road towards your school and you swore you had checked both ways. You swore that you saw that no cars were coming. But before you can take you could step away from the path and onto the road. A hand tugs at your collar, pulling you back with a mash-up of feet.

The force on your neck isn't what shocks you the most, it's the car flying past your face. Horn blaring as to blame you for their speeding. When you turn to see your saviour it's Sam. His eyes wide in panic. It's almost disturbing how fast your heart is beating. A near-death experience, that was something new to your life. Something that you first experienced with Sam. Was this the connection you felt with him? Did you know that one day he would be saving your life?

You couldn't calm yourself to think enough. After a few moments of standing, just staring at each other, you notice the tears on your face. The panic got to you. You reach up and wipe them, allowing Sam the opportunity to step away from you, heading back to the store after simply nodding at you.

“Sam?” You call out, still shaking as you stand near the road that was almost your grave only seconds earlier. As much as the panic of the event was still high in your mind, what stood out more was how fast he got to you. Only moments earlier he was inside the theatre building, talking to a customer who wouldn't be done ordering that fast. “How did that happen?”

“You were on your phone” He speaks nonchalantly, his usual charm gone. He sounds disappointed about how careless you were with your own safety. “You didn’t look before crossing”

“But how were you there?” Your voice was desperate for an answer, mind trying to make sense of his speed, or whatever force allowed him to save you.

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice” He turns back to the building, heading away from you once more

“Sam?” He stops at your voice but doesn’t look at you til he hears your next words. “Thank you”

Once you meet his eyes again, both of you feel a change. Your connection with him no longer feels like a weird obsession, you owe your life to him but he knows you're grateful. His eyes shift, knowing that you have found something true in him for the first time. Something about him is for the greater good rather than just a polite barista.

For him, this was love at first sight.

02/02/2022

Thoughts of Sam left your mind not long after high school, you no longer were in town every Wednesday to visit him. Instead, you were at university, studying even harder towards your law degree than you did towards your scholarships in college. The absence of love or any type of romance was something you were teased for in college, at university you were desperate to change that. And while school was still your number one, you had four years of it. You didn’t know if you could take four more years of nothing. Of being empty.

But with every lover, if you could even call them that, came hurt. It seemed no matter how hard you tried, how pretty you made yourself look, how well any first date went. Your relationship with that person would crash and burn. It became a vicious cycle of opening up only to be crushed. At some point, you were convinced you had gone to hell and this was your punishment. It was a dumb mistake made by your heart. You knew it was never to be successful, yet each time you had hope. But every time you were ghosted or just told the “it’s not you, it’s me” story, your heart smashed up a little more. Scattering so far away you were not sure if the next person you allowed in your life would be able to find it. The biggest worry was getting it so lost that you’d never be able to love yourself.

So you pushed it down for the most part. Half of your university you spent with open arms, trying your hardest to find love. And each time you failed. So for the last two years, you put your head down and focused on graduating. After endless hours of study and internships, finally came your career as a family lawyer in one of the most established law firms in your city. But now that you were a lawyer of your own, it was time that you hosted an intern. Like you did many years ago, someone who was fresh out of university with a law degree would come to work alongside you. And today was your lucky day to meet the new intern.

You hadn’t thought much about it. Although they would be working alongside you, they were their own employee and you weren’t their employer. That wasn't something you had to worry about. What you did need to worry about was keeping them up to date in cases, making sure they handled files correctly and teaching them the computer system used in your firm. It felt more like a chore than anything, guilt comes back to haunt you as you remember how useless you were when you first started. Pushing it to the back of your mind, you smooth out your shirt and head to the front room to greet the new intern at Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill.

You wouldn't describe yourself as the nervous type. Even in moments like job interviews, first dates and meeting the new young person who you would train and have an impact on for the rest of their life, you weren’t nervous. You knew your value, holding yourself high in the workplace. So you weren’t worried about giving any bad advice to new students. You got where you were today with hard work and dedication. With high confidence, you stepped out of the elevator that separated your office floor from the ground level. And there was the intern.

Your heart stopped beating for longer than you thought would be possible. His shirt and jacket were way too big for his lanky frame, they hung off of him. A thin black tie that would soon be covered by the blue lanyard you held for him. Despite being the first day of a new job for him, he stood just as nonchalantly as you were just a moment ago, he wasn’t nervous either. Even as recognition flashed through his eyes, his manner did not change. In fact, his smile grew larger. You weren’t a nervous person, but seeing Sam after so many years definitely was enough to shake you up.

The receptionist laughed at the awkward tension you had just created in the room, calling you to meet Sam at the front desk rather than stand and stare from the elevator. You clear your throat, begging the confidence you had this morning to come back.

“Y/N this is Hwang Hyunjin” She gestures from you to him. “And Hyunjin, this is Y/N L/N” And then from him to you.

“Nice to meet you Miss L/N” He puts his hand out for you to take, and you slowly accept, confusion still strong in your system. Why was he pretending this was your first time meeting?

“Hyunjin?”

“That's me” He laughs that awful laugh that you remember from years ago. This would be the longest internship of your life.

His desk sat outside of your office, along with the other cubicles. You're lucky to have your privacy but you knew you couldn’t avoid him forever. And the truth was you didn’t want to avoid him, he was once someone you enjoyed spending time with. But rekindling that seemed too much for you. You weren’t sure if you were ready for your hands to burn again. Yet you were powerless. This situation was out of your control, it didn't matter if you weren't ready for him, work meant you had to be. As much as you dreaded your upcoming interactions with your long-lost friend, you weren’t the same person you were years ago. You were no longer leaving texts unanswered just to do extra hours. Instead, you valued your time. You learnt when to take a break, but you also learnt when to prioritise work. And Hyunjin, your coworker, needed to be prioritised over your friend Hyunjin. It seemed he didn't feel the same, instantly knocking on your office door as soon as you settled in the safety of your desk chair.

“Come in” Your chest rose with your words yet your eyes stayed down. Empty words being typed to avoid any eye contact with the tall man in your door frame. He didn’t wait for any more cues, sitting with his legs tightly together in the chair across from yours. Defeated, you let out a breath of air and finally meet his dark eyes. “So Hyunjin”

“Yup” He popped his lips together, watching with some sick amusement as you come to terms with what was happening. “I’m Hyunjin”

You held eye contact for a moment longer, before your eyes darted to the shut door. You could drop the professionalism for just a moment. “What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to say hello?” His lips curled upwards, watching your every move without a break. “You know, since I'm new here”

“No, I understand that” Your hands couldn't sit still, fidgeting with a pen tightly. “Not why are you here in this place, why are you in the city?”

“Same reason you're here I guess” No matter where you looked, you couldn’t escape his eyes. They were a dark pit, constantly bringing you in. Although his nature didn't reflect this, your memories of him don’t contain that part of him. “I needed to get out, see the country a bit. Get a real job”

“Okay” It wasn’t the answer you wanted, but you knew it was all you were getting. Your posture dropped as you got familiar with his voice once again. “What about your name? What happened to Sam?”

“Sams my English name. Hyunjin is my birth name, my Korean name”

“Why Sam?” While you felt your emotions change with each word spoken, stomach flipping at each sentence that came out of Hyunjins mouth. Hyunjin was unchanging. Stoic as he sat there, eyes boring into you.  

“I was new to town so I thought having an English name would make it easier for me to fit in” But in that sentence, you see him drop a little, and for the first time, sadness flies over his eyes. “But that doesn't bother me anymore. So it's Hyunijn again”

“I’m glad”

“Me too” With a smile, he comes back to his original state. “Any work for me today?”

“Uhh just learn the system today, you know? Learn the office, say hi to some people and I’ll have something for you tomorrow” Since the start of the conversation, you jump back into reality. This wasn't Sam at the cafe you were catching up with. This was Hyunjin at work in which you were his boss. With your head clear again, your eyes go back to the many emails on your screen that are needing to be replied to.

“Well if you need me, I'll be here” Hyujin pulls himself out of the chair, long legs making his steps to the door faster than usual. Before he leaves, his eyes find yours once again, this time, there's hope within. “And you should call me sometime, tonight maybe. I’d like to catch up if that's ok with you.”

“Goodbye Hyunjin” You ignore his question, boss Y/N coming out once again.

“Bye Y/N” He smiles and with a few taps of your doorframe, he steps out. “Nice office”

Working with Hyunjin wasn’t as difficult as you imagined it would be. It was strange, you had imagined it would be like working with an ex-partner. The thick tension in the air of unresolved conflict. Rumours being spread on each side of the breakup. It wasn’t something you were looking forward to. But with Hyunjin, it was true to what your relationship was, old friends catching up. It wasn’t awkward and there were no unresolved topics to bring up, in fact, there were barely any memories to speak of when making small talk. More and more you’ve come to realise that your connection to Hyunjin was one-sided. In your head, you knew this man very closely in high school, but in reality, you weren’t even friends. He was nice to you because it was his job. And now it was your time to show some professional courtesy.

Yet since he started last week, that feeling you once had about him came back. If deja vu was personified, it was him. He was that bad dream you couldn't shake. Every part of him felt like a memory of a stranger. His smell, his voice, even the darkness of his eyes. They were all so familiar. It was as if he was a reminder you’d left to yourself. But what were you trying to remember?

These feelings should have felt more real, more justified. Unlike your teenage years, you did know Hyunjin. This was someone who left your life and then came back. But they were still too unfamiliar for your liking. Even as you sat in your break room and watched him make his coffee, something you knew all too well, it was still off. Your staring didn’t go unnoticed, soon his dark eyes were staring back with a smile. You tried to play it off, look in the other direction and finish eating from the plastic utensil in your mouth. But Hyunjin didn’t take the hint, or maybe he purposely chose to ignore it, as soon he was heading towards your table, sitting down with his hot mug of coffee.

“Can I help you?” The smugness in his voice made you sick, acting as if this was normal. Him being here wasn’t normal. You could feel it although the feeling was indescribable to anyone else. Why wasn’t it normal? You couldn't tell.

“What?” Playing dumb wasn’t the smartest choice when you’d been caught, but he was overwhelming your senses. He always did. Too good to be near you.

“Nevermind” His smile disappeared in his coffee, his eyes turning back to the room as he absentmindedly drank his coffee. Despite already being caught once staring, you couldn't keep your eyes off his face.

It was a comfortable routine you had found yourself in. During work hours, you’d help him where you could, show him how to do his job without you one day. It was playful, you had a reason to talk to him. But as soon as lunch hit, it was gone, and you had no reason to speak to him. And you barely could. This didn't seem to bother Hyunjin. He could speak for hours without another person replying. If he was passionate about something, it was all that was on his mind.

“I haven’t been back to the studio in a long time though, works been keeping me busy” The last of his drink disappears with a gulp and a sigh. Without waiting for a reply, he starts again. “You’re my boss, right? Want to give me some time off so I can go again?”

“I can’t do that Hyunjin” Your voice trails off, focusing more on the messages popping up on your phone.

“No fun Y/N, no fun” His hands rest against this table, leaning up and over his arms to look at your phone. “Who's that?”

“Hyunjin!” You quickly turn off your phone, the invasion of privacy upsetting you more than he expected. Quickly he backed away, taking his seat in the uncomfortable silence he created. Even he couldn’t talk his way out of it. It becomes too much so you stand, wanting to spend the rest of your lunch alone.

“Y/N wait-” He stands with you, not loud enough to draw any attention to himself. He was always good at that. Enough but never too much, but right now he was overwhelming you.

“I’ll be in my office” You speak to him once again as a stranger, nothing more than your intern. “You know what you need to get done for today?”

He sits himself back down, silently nodding at your words before you leave him once again.

04/04/2022

You hated running late, you knew how annoying it was to wait for someone to arrive when you had plans and being the one waited on was dreadful. Your mother had put it into your brain so many times, ‘Early is on time, on time is late and late is unacceptable’. You were just hoping your date was more forgiving than your mother. His name was Mark and from his photos, he was pretty darn cute. It had been too long since you got excited over a date. Usually, the talking went fine, you were excited at the time you had planned the date but meeting up always made you regret your choices. But as long as you kept your mouth shut and laughed at their jokes, you could at least get a free drink.

Not with Mark though. You had been chatting with him longer than you normally would before a date, even through your messages he made you laugh. Even if he wasn’t the one, even if you only got a friendship out of this, you wouldn’t be mad. He seemed like a nice person and you were excited to find more nice in your life. Despite being almost twenty minutes late from your meet time, you hold your head high and walk into the small town diner. The door rings with the bell above the entrance, most people here are too concentrated elsewhere to look your way. The cashier rang up an elderly man. Students head first into their laptops. A family with screaming kids. This place wasn’t fancy, it wasn’t somewhere you would take someone for a first date. This was boyfriend-girlfriend date material when you wanted to split a milkshake and grab food before the movies. But the food was good and the casual pace was a nice change.

Despite being late, Mark's eyes still lit up seeing you walk in. His oversized bomber jacket was pulled around the front as he sat in the booth, hands in his pockets. He was quick to his feet as you made your way over, pulling off his beanie and stashing it away in the process. His black hair was a mess underneath but you couldn't say you looked much better. Your high-waisted dress pants and untucked blouse. All the running in hopes to get here in time had the wind burning your face. You were burning up with the sudden change of temperature, eyes dry from the cold wind outside.

“Y/N?” He double-checked before you got to give him a hug, a formality you would not usually do right away but he was offering and who were you to say no when arriving so late.

“Mark I’m so sorry” You were struggling to catch your breath, sitting with shaky legs. Your jacket and bag had been discarded on the set next to you. Mark watched silently as you poured yourself a glass of water. “I had to stay late and then I missed my usual bus” You spoke between mouthfuls. “Todays just be wild, I’m sorry I kept you waiting”

“It’s ok!” He insisted, smiling as he watched you calm down. Something about the chaos was comforting and familiar to him. He was sick of putting on an act in front of women who assumed they were better than him. Today seemed different for him. “You’re here now so that's all that matters, you know?”

It didn’t take long to destress from your hectic work day with Mark. Words flowed freely between the two of you. He laughed away all your work problems while you laughed at his cheesy jokes. Soon you were settled in at a nice pace of conversation, waiting for the young waiter to bring your food over. First arrived Mark's burger and fries, he waited patiently for your food to arrive before he started eating. Then you watched him return with a large bowel sat upon a plate.

“You know, I’ve never seen someone order soup on a first date” He gave you a mischievous smile, a sign that he wasn’t actually judging. It was a comfort to be around someone who communicated so easily through their body. As a lawyer, it was easy to see when someone was lying with their body language. But not Mark.

“Nothing better than soup on a cold day!” Finally, he arrived at your table, plate in one hand as he placed down your food. The young man watched as you reached for your bowl, watched as you offered to take it from him, thanking him as he had done so much for you. But he watched silently, he didn’t say a word about the temperature of the bowl. “Oh fuck!”

As soon as your hands touched the ceramic your fingers went up in flames. Although not literally, you could feel the fire course through your body. Your hands flew up and away from the bowl, desperately escaping from the heat that had burned you. In doing so it's your turn to watch silently, watching as the dish leaves the waiter's hand and lands on the table. Not only does the scorching hot liquid drip onto your lap, but you also watch as it drips onto Mark's side as well. He jumps up with a yelp, his legs burning. You stay put, eyes shut. At least you have the pain to focus on. Anything other than the embarrassment you feel build up in your chest. You’ll take the fire over the looks of pity from other customers. The blisters over dealing with your date who you had just spilled soup on,

“I’m so sorry” The young waiter was just as embarrassed, panicking at what your reaction would be. But he didn’t stay long enough to see it. “I’ll get you something to clean up right away”

Shut. Your eyes stayed shut. For as long as you kept them close, the longer this wasn’t real. But it came creeping up faster than you could handle, and soon a sob left your mouth. Your body shakes as you begin to cry. The tears had to fight their way out as you kept your eyes firmly shut.

“Y/N?” Finally opening your eyes, you saw how bright and wide Marks had become. Standing by your side, mouth slightly agar. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah” Your voice was the quietest it had felt in a long time. You watched as the young waiter rushed back, damp cloth in hand.

“Oh sorry” Mark stepped out of the way, allowing the waiter to aid you in your cleaning. “I’m gonna, you know, head to the bathroom”

You nodded, the nervousness in his voice a clear sign he wasn’t returning but you didn’t want him to. Embarrassment consumed you and you were reminded why you didn’t date.

The peace that naturally came with Hyunjin was appreciated more than ever after your date last night. The pressure of work sent away as he walked past your office, smiling and waving at you despite his late arrival. It gave you a laugh, a small break from the pending work in front of you. But moving your hand in the wrong direction had you wincing, the paper folder rubbed against the raw blisters on your palm. A painful memory of the embarrassment you endured. You allowed yourself a moment, sitting with the pain, living with it.

A knock at your door brings you away from your thoughts, Hyunjins head poking through the door. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, come in” You gesture to the seat across from you, pulling your hand away and into your lap to try to soothe the ache of it away. “What can I do for you Hyunjin?”

“I just need to speak to you about the Kettleman case, is that ok?” Every time he spoke, each word was so perfectly chosen. Delicately leaving his mouth and waiting to see your reaction before he spoke again. “He wants to meet with you again, something about the deal you offered him. I told him he could speak to me about it before setting up a meeting but he was pretty insistent on seeing you”

As he spoke your ears rang, and you couldn’t resist the temptation to press into the blister forming on your hand. But the pain was too distracting and you could barely focus on his words. “Overall he was really difficult, I told him I’ll call him back, or have you call him back to sort out a meeting time with him. So when would it work for you?”

Finally taking a breath and opening your eyes, you looked at him as he waited for your reply. “Which one was the Kettleman case again?”

“Y/N are you ok?” You were off your game today, upset over your failed date and hurting from the now-open blister on your hand. Everything was out of your thoughts.

“Please just remind me” He licks his lips nervously, unsure what to make of your behaviour. Regardless, he follows your words.

“Mr Kettleman is, well was, our state treasurer. But he’s been accused of embezzling $1.6 million of government funds” As he speaks, he searches through the manilla folder on his lap. Eventually, he settles on a single piece of paper and holds it for you to grab.

“Ah the Kettlemans” You reach for the paper, not thinking about the burn on your hand. But quickly it comes back to the front of your mind and you flinch at the contact. Unluckily for you, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Hyunjin.

“Your hand? What happened?” He quickly stands, making his way to your side of the desk. Without thinking he takes your hand in his own, but he doesn't get a good look before you snatch it away.

“Hyunjin, please. This is not appropriate and while I appreciate your concern I am ok” He looks down at you blankly, ignoring your anger.

“Can you drop it?”

“Excuse me?”

“The whole boss act! I’m sick of you pretending you don’t care about me or even that you don’t know me” Hands on his hips, he steps away to empathise with his words. “I know it's strange that I work for you now, but you can’t just pretend that we're strangers”

You clench your teeth, remaining silent. He hasn't convinced you but you weren't fighting to get him to.

“Please just let me see your hand. I’m your friend and I care about you ok?” You stay put and he takes this as an ok to try and see your hand again. You don’t stop him. “Ouch, how’d this happen?”

“I don’t want to talk about it” If he was to treat you like a child, you weren't going to have an adult conversation with him.

“Alright let me get something for this” He rubs over the back of your hand before leaving it to rest on your desk. Once he returns he brings over your spare chair. “This is going to hurt a little, ok?”

His long fingers tickle the surface of your skin, a white cream being rubbed into your wound. Your heart stops at the intimacy of the situation. One hand holds onto you steady, the other circling the skin of your palm. Skin to skin, touching your open wound but only to heal, not to hurt. Satisfied, he pulls away before covering it up with a plain bandaid and finally meeting your glossy eyes.

“Thank you Hyunjin”

07/07/2022

After the disaster that was your date with Mark, you had high hopes for how tonight would go. It literally could not get any worse. And it already was going better. Work didn’t keep you late, Hyunjin even walked you to your car. You felt comfortable with him once more. Still distant as you were in your younger years but with that same connection, this time you knew he felt it as well.

Without being late, you had time to put yourself together. Make yourself feel real again after spending all day in corporate hell. You weren’t dressing to impress, the date was still casual but anything was better than your tight slacks and buttoned shirt. There was once a piece of work you couldn’t shake off your mind.

It always was the little things with Hyunjin. Back in high school, it was making your order before you got there. It was taking time to help elderly customers who couldn't read the menu. Saving your life. And just like then, it was the little things now at work that had him sticking in your mind. He remembered your coffee orders despite him not making it for years. Clients would always tell you about the polite young man who greeted them on the phone. You were just hoping he wouldn’t need to save you again. The debt you already held to him could never be repaid and it weighed down your soul.

A text was sent to Beomgyu letting him know that you were on your way before you exited your place. The bar where you were meeting wasn’t far from your house, barely a ten-minute walk, but you wanted the time to think. Need the time to be early to ensure your mistakes aren't repeated. It wasn't long before you arrived, had your ID checked and sat waiting for the brown-haired boy to arrive.  

Yet seven o’clock came and went. You had triple-checked that your message went through, yet no reply. Nothing saying ‘omw!’ or ‘sorry I might be running late tonight” (although you had forgotten to give that same curiosity to Mark). So you sat and waited because you had been Beomgyu in this situation. Yet tonight you needed to be the Mark that waited.

Seven thirty arrived, the barkeep asked if he could get you a drink and you felt as if that may be the only interaction with a human that you get tonight. Another message sent was another message left unanswered. The anxiety you swore up and down to your therapist that you didn’t feel started creeping back into your life. A mixture of guilt and betrayal. Guilt for the night you left Mark waiting, only to waste his time further. Guilt for when you left Han for college. While guilt was something you were too familiar with. Betrayal was something new. You were now in the position of the hurt. The one who was allowed to be upset. But you weren’t upset at Beomgyu, instead upset at yourself for all the times you had betrayed the ones around you.

One more time you would check your phone, and if you still had no response then that was it. Your heart was still held high before you saw no notifications on your screen. And then it came crashing into your guilt, a new wave of anxiety washing over you, a tear to match. You were quick to wipe it away, mind trying to focus on anything but the ache that you were experiencing. With one hand tightly around your phone and the other swirling the ice in your glass, you found yourself staring down at the boy's profile. Analysing every photo, every aspect of his life that he shared online. Were you not good enough for him? Did he think that little of you that he forgot?

You watched his profile update in real-time, a new photo on his tag displayed him out at dinner with a group of his friends. Stood up. You had been stood up. Your entire life you thought that was just something that happened in movies. Some way to break the protagonist down just so their friend, the real love interest of the story, can bring them back up. But there was no love interest in your story. All you had was a dating app full of men not willing to take that chance with you. And there was nothing you could do about it.

You watched the ice melt with every round it made in the glass, your finger became numb to the sensation although you knew there would be a mark from where it rested on the rim of the cup. There was nothing to hold you steady, the only sensation to ground you was beginning to melt away at your own doing. Your own fingertips wore it down and soon you’d be alone again.

09/09/2022

“Thank you for your time today” You pressed your lips together, cringing at the fake voice you put on anytime you were on the phone. After years of working with clients, you were hoping you would have gotten used to it. But you continued to dread each phone call you had to make. “I’ll have someone get back to you shortly”

Finally ending the call allowed you a breather. Hands resting against your forehead for just a moment before you move on to the next thing. And the next thing always seemed to be Hyunjin. His rapid knocking on the door became a sound you were all too familiar with.

“One second” You called out to him, face still hidden. He didn’t listen to your request, quickly entering your office with confidence. Soon recoiling when he saw your position. “Or not”

With a sigh you pull yourself up, washing away any grief you were feeling and becoming workplace Y/N once more. “What can I help you with Hyunjin?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt” He seemed genuinely remorseful, trying to back out of the awkward situation he had created. “I can go”

“Just stay, tell me what you want” The ringing of his hands made you realise this may not be work-related, was something wrong with Hyunjin?

“It’s not important, I’ll come back” He gave a polite smile and turned back to the door to leave.

“Please wait” You stood, leaning across the table to speak to him. “You can talk to me it’s ok”

“I know” He smiled sadly, chewing on his lip. “Later?”

You gave it up, dropping back to your seat defeated. Hyunjin left you alone. That seemed to be a theme with you recently. You had never cried at work. But the warmth they provided down your face brought you some comfort.

The phone from your drawer buzzed. Although you would have scolded Hyunjin for using his phone during work hours, you couldn't resist the distraction from your overwhelming emotions.

Han Jisung added you as a friend!

Han Jisung sent you a message!

Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined that you would repair your relationship with Han. After you left Pryham he hasn't spoken to you. Despite the awful day you left him off on, he organised with your mum to give you a hug before you left. Not a word was spoken. But that tight hug was your goodbyes. And that was the last you saw of Han Jisung.

Neither of you reached out while you were away at university. You had no idea if he moved out of town or even moved out of his parent's home. You didn’t care to know. For years you lived peacefully without Han, an idea that once seemed painful to even think about. But here you were, sitting across from him at a lively cafe laughing harder than you had in years.

But there were only so many old memories you could talk about, only so many years of catching up before silence filled the space between the two of you. An awkward sip of your drink and fidgeting with your hair before Han finally speaks.

“Y/N” He swallowed hard, looking at you briefly before staring back down at your hands. “I’m really sorry for everything”

He watched silently waiting for your reaction, but when you didn’t show anything other than the tears that began to form in your eyes he continued. “I didn’t understand what it meant when you were leaving, I just couldn’t understand why you would leave me in such a shit town”

“Is this why you messaged me? To say sorry?”

“Maybe?” He watched your face drop, hands reaching out to hold yours in a panic. “You were my closest friend, my only friend at some point and I want you to know that I am sorry”

Once again silence fills the air, your mouth is twisted, unsure of how to feel about all of this. The tears that rolled down your face weren’t tears of sadness, they weren't tears of anything. You were simply overwhelmed by Han once again. He takes the silence as a bad sign, struggling to put together his words.

“I just wanted to see you and talk to you, because I miss you so much, and I want you to know that I-” His head drops, and you watch as pain crosses his face. He grunts to bear with it, before looking back up at you and smiling, the tears you wear are now on his face as well. “I think I should go Y/N”

“What?” The both of you stand, Han to get away, and you to chase. With a nod, he collects his things and leaves. His steps are light, he almost floats away unaware of how his words have affected you. “Han wait”

You weren’t the most receptive to his feelings or words but you have never imagined he would have just left. You don’t want to run, it feels wrong to run after someone in the streets. But your steps are fast, trying to catch up with him through the crowd of people that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. You’d only been walking for a few minutes before you lost him. Your head spins as crowds of people swarm past you. Disorientated and out of breath, you feel yourself begin to panic.

A numbness overtakes your fingers, increasing with each beat of your racing heart. You can’t think, all you can feel is the burning of your lungs from your lack of air. You’d never felt so lost before, everyone has left you while simultaneously you're surrounded. It's both lonely and crushing. Just when you think you won’t be able to take another breath, a warm hand makes itself at home on your shoulder. The touch is grounding and you almost choke on the air you manage to gulp down.

You find the strength in the familiar dark eyes that seem to appear whenever you need them the most. “Y/N?”

“Hyunjin?”

In the safety of your apartment, you’re able to calm down enough to talk to Hyunjin. He insisted on walking you home which you needed, him staying to listen was something you wanted and he seemed more than happy to. He sat in the armchair across from you, elbows leaning against his knees as he listened intently.

“I don’t know what was wrong with Han” Your nose was still running, your nerves still on fire as you fiddled with the tissues you held onto. “I mean, you saw us at school right? We used to be best friends”

“People change Y/N, it’s been a long time since you saw him last” He spoke calmly, choosing each word with precision so as to not upset you further.

“Yeah but he reached out to me, you know? Why reach out to say sorry and then back out of the apology? Unless he was just trying to make himself feel better, maybe he didn’t mean it so when I didn't accept it right away he got upset” Your brain was running laps trying to put together the pieces of today.

“Can I ask what he was apologising for?”

“Nothing, it was dumb” You put the tissue down, reaching to rub your face. “I’m not upset over it anymore, I was gonna accept his apology. He just hadn't finished talking so I didn’t want to interrupt!”

“Why are you so upset then?” You pull your face away to look at him, his usual charm was there. But he felt so empty. You shake the thought away, trying to think of an answer that would please his overanalyzing brain.

“I’m lonely Hyunjin. Like really lonely” You laugh to hide the embarrassment of it all. People joke about being lonely, spending all their time watching Netflix instead of hanging out with their friends. But true loneliness was different. It was painful to experience and embarrassing to admit. “I’ve tried to go on dates but they never work out so I was excited to finally have a friend”

“I didn’t take you as the dating type”

“I’m not, I’ve been on a total of two dates this year and each one was comically bad”

“Do you care to share?”

“What are you, my therapist?”

“I didn’t take you as the therapy type either”

Sinking back into your couch with a sigh, you just shrug back at Hyunjin. “Maybe I’m just destined to be alone”

“Don’t think like that” His tone changed from concern to trying to cheer you, reaching out to give your knee a rub. “Whatever happened on those dates wasn’t on you, it just wasn’t the right guy”

“Maybe not” You weren’t in the mood to talk about your sad dating life much longer. But you felt bad being so defensive over your life, maybe this is why you were alone?

“You know that time I came to work with a burn on my hand?” You decide to humour him with a couple of stories. “That was from a date”

“That wasn’t on you though was it?” He smiles with you, allowing the change in tone. “That was on that waiter for not warning you about the hot plate”

“I guess” You laugh, thumb running over the small scar that sits on your palm from your date with Mark. But you stop and so does your heart. How did Hyunjin know that? He doesn't see anything wrong, continuing to enjoy your company even when neither of you are speaking. Your eyes dart from him to the door and you decide it's safe to ask. “How’d you know that?”

“Know what?”

“About the waiter? I didn’t tell you how I burnt my hand” You see his eyes shift in panic but his smile only grows. An uneasy combination that starts your panicking again. “Were you following me?”

“I think you’re mistaken, you told me the story you just hadn't said you were on a date at the time” You shake your head, trying to process how he knew. You remember that day so clearly, the feeling of his skin rubbing over the raw part of your hand burnt into your mind. He seems so calm but you can feel the tears starting in your eyes again.

“I did not tell you anything about it Hyunjin” You stand, trying to get away from him. “I know for a fact that I didn’t tell you, so how did you know?”

He stands but doesn’t move from his position in front of the chair, only watching silently as you back away from him. Each rise of your chest bought you more discomfort, the two of you stood silently staring each other down. While you were experiencing your fight-or-flight instinct for the second time that day, Hyunjin just seemed sad.

“I had to do it Y/N” You had seen Hyunjin happy, you had seen him be charming, you had even seen him just blank. To most, seeing someone so empty would freak them out. But you had never seen Hyunjin mad or sad. Seeing him act this way now was scarier than that day he saved your life.

“What do you mean ‘you had to do it’?” You had only thought he had been following you, which was bad enough, but thinking he had something to do with it only made the dread in your stomach worse.

“Han. Mark. Beomgyu. Then Han again. I had to intervene”

“What? Had to intervene?” You can barely process what you're hearing, let alone think of a response. All you can speak are questions you know you’ll never get an answer to. “How do you know their names Hyunjin?”

Silence.

“Hyunjin answer me!” You watch as he begins to cry, the raising of your voice shaking something within him.

“If I show you, will you forgive me?”

“I don’t-” Your voice breaks itself off, the mixture of emotions in your gut making it impossible to think.

Without saying another word, Hyunjin excuses himself from where he had previously been frozen in place. His back against the blank wall of your living room. He shuts his eyes and takes a breath before you see the impossible. Shadows appear behind him, but not of any human form. Wings that span far past his arm's reach are cast onto the walls of your apartment. It’s your turn to freeze. Mind racing as you try to take in what you're witnessing. Once he opens his eyes, they disappear, you’re almost convinced you were just seeing things but the shit-eating grin he wears tells you otherwise.

“What- What does that mean?” No matter what you just saw, you fail to understand how it relates to the situation you currently find yourself in.

“I’m your guardian angel”

“My what?”

“Guardian angel, you know, like in the movies and stuff”

“Get the fuck out of my apartment” The confusion you felt is replaced by rage. You don’t care to hear him out, any reason he may have for playing this joke on you will go unheard.

“Wait Y/N, I’m serious!” You shake your head, refusing to believe anything he says but you don’t get another second to think until he’s suddenly in your face. “How do you think I got here?”

“Hyunjin” Your voice is quiet, fear eats you up as he stands so close. The Hyunjin you thought you knew is no longer there, a strange man stands by you instead.

“No, don't be scared!” He can sense your every emotion, his hands grip your shoulders trying to calm you. “I’m just trying to show you I’m telling the truth! Think about that day at the theatre right? No way any human could be got there as fast as I did”

“Hyunjin please” A madman was in your home, gripping you hard enough to leave bruises and you couldn't do anything about it apart from beg for him to leave. That didn’t seem to align with Hyunjins plans.

“Y/N just listen to me!” He lets go of your shoulders and steps away, though not far enough for you to leave the wall he had backed against. “Don’t you see how good this is!”

“Good?! In what way is this good?”

“We can be with each other now, without any secrets”

“You think I want to be with you?” You force him to step away from you, finger jabbing into his chest. Although tears continue to flow down your face, laughter now joins them. “You’re fucking crazy!”

“I’m not crazy!” He snaps right back at you. “How else can I prove I am an angel, your angel?”

“That's not the issue Hyunjin. The issue is that you’ve ruined all my relationships! And now you work with me? You’ve ruined the only thing I had!”

“I didn’t ruin anything Y/N, they weren’t right for you. We were made for each other, it has to be us”

“I don’t want you Hyunjin! Especially not if you’re gonna force it, let me figure that out myself! I- I don’t want you micromanaging my life Hyunjin, can’t you see how insane that is?” He shakes his head, his tears breaking him down further. Your roles have reversed as he quietly begs for you to stop. “I want to live! I want to date and have my heart broken. I want friends, I want a job where you aren’t there”

“I had to” He’s no louder than a whisper, but he isn’t speaking for you, instead he’s trying to convince himself that he’s done nothing wrong.

“I don’t care Hyunjin, I just want you to leave”

“I can’t” It’s his turn to panic, when he looks at you his eyes are full of fear but you fail to understand where it's coming from. “If I leave now, you’ll forget me. Humans are forbidden to know about creatures like me. If I leave, everything will be forgotten ”

“Good” You spit the word at him, furious at the way he has made your life worse, furious at the way he thinks he deserves your acceptance. “I don’t want to ever see you again”

“I’m not leaving Y/N, I- I- I love you and I’m not leaving” He stands like a child in the middle of your living room. Tears flow down his face but he’s barely crying. He just stands and watches you, refusing to give in.

“Well, I hate you Hyunjin” You watch him swallow back a cry at your words. “And if you won’t leave then I will”

As you go to walk past him he grabs your arm, grip much stronger than before. If the wings and teleporting weren’t enough to convince you of his powers, his inhuman strength was, you cry out in pain. “No! You can’t leave!”

“You're hurting me!” Your begging is more desperate than before, the pain becoming unbearable as he crushes your arm. “Let go please!”

“But then you’ll leave” His soft eyes find yours, lips broken and chewed as he tries to find himself a loophole in the situation he's put himself in.

“Let me” He didn’t yell at you so you don’t yell back. Trying to find peace in the situation.

“Y/N you have to understand that I can’t”

“Are we gonna stand like this forever then?” He doesn’t respond, all reasoning goes past him. So instead you put your hands together and begin to pray.

You pray to the heavens above for help. You pray that justice can find its way into your life and punish Hyunjin for the damage he has caused. You pray that he is no longer the man to watch over you. And just when you begin to lose hope that anything holy could be on your side, his grip loosens and although it is still painful, it is human. You make eye contact with him one more, and terror makes its way over his face one last time before he collapses.

For the first time, Hyunjin wakes up. Never in his life had he slept and he never wishes to again. A burning pain on his upper back from what he assumes is the hard wooden floor below him. But when he opens his eyes and sees the panic in your eyes, he begins to believe it's from something else.

“You’re bleeding Hyunjin” You can barely stomach the blood, unsure of what to do as he bleeds out onto the floor of your apartment. He manages to peel himself out of the sticky mess, his hand reaching back to feel the open wound that sits on his shoulder. His heart sinks even further when he reaches and feels a matching wound on the opposite side.

“My wings” Defeated is the only way to describe Hyunjin in this situation. He had lost his power, his status, his purpose. “What did you do?”

“I prayed” You look just as broken as him, sorrow present in your eyes. “I didn’t know this would happen Hyunjin, I’m sorry”

Despite the constant distress he had put you through your entire life, you helped him up. You go to leave for the first aid kit but he stands to join you. If you leave, you’ll forget. Although you wouldn’t mind forgetting right now, the grief in his eyes is enough to guilt you into remembering for now. You do your best to tend to his wounds as he sits crying. A grown man bleeding and crying in your bathroom wasn’t the plans you had for tonight and it makes you incredibly uncomfortable having him in your house. But you couldn't leave him now.  So you allow him to stay, and the two of you lay side by side in your bed, not touching but close enough for comfort.

The night stays silent, you can’t sleep knowing that once you do, everything will change forever. Hyunjin won’t be a part of your life, Sam will be forgotten. “Hyunjin?”

“Yeah?”

“What happens now?”

“You forget” His voice is the same monotone you're used to from him. He doesn’t sugarcoat his words. “You forget about me and you get a new angel now that I’m human”

“I’m sorry” Tears roll from your eyes down the side of your head, soaking the sheets below you.

“Everything I did for you” He sighs and you know whatever he says next is going to enrage you. Nothing he did was ever for you, it was for him. “And you just threw it away? I sacrificed so much for you Y/N”

His crying had only just calmed but he began again, turning away from you and sobbing into your pillow to hide his pain.

“I’m sorry” It’s the only words you manage to spill from your lip, no matter how you felt, you couldn't express it properly. It wasn’t worth it knowing this would all be wiped clear from your mind. You just wanted it to be over with. “I’m going to the store, when I’m back, please be gone”

He sits up but it’s too late, you’ve made up your mind. Yet you stall at the door to your bedroom, knowing once you leave the room, your life will change forever. One last time you look back and take in his dark eyes, eyes you once considered a comfort in the chaos of your life. The chaos that he was now the centre of.

“Goodbye Hyunjin” And with that, you stepped away. It was the last time he would ever get to see you look at him with love. The next time you saw him, he would be a stranger.

For him, this was love at last sight.

Work was no longer entertainment for Hyunjin. Work was now essential. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to look after himself, but for the first time, he had to think about comfort, food and hygiene. It was a difficult adjustment but if it meant he could continue to see you every day, he would.

The first day back was the most painful, having to be reintroduced to someone who he loved so dearly and for you to look at him as if he was a stranger. In your mind he was, and he had to accept that. But what he couldn’t accept is your behaviour in the following weeks. He no longer held the power to intervene on any dates you may or may not be going on. But he knows you too well.

He knows when you had a good night and when you had a bad night. But when the good nights started becoming more frequent, he knew it was over. His suspicion got confirmed when a man he had never seen before walked through the elevator doors on the floor he worked on, the floor you worked on. His eyes immediately went to you, heartbreaking when he saw you light up at the man. He assumed it was bad and was greeted with the worst when you meet the man with a kiss. He called in sick for the rest of the week.

Could you blame him?

Hyunjin's purpose was to protect, care and love Y/N. And he could no longer do that. So instead he prayed. He prayed until his knees bleed and his hands grew calloused. Until the heavens could no longer ignore his thoughts. His wish? To make sure Y/N never found love if it wasn’t from him.

Y/N's purpose was to be protected, cared and loved for by the heavens. Yet she was no longer protected the way she once was. Despite the efforts of her new guardian, she was left alone. She never prayed after Hyunjin. Never once thought of him as more than a young intern trying to make his way. Never would she think to love him. Her memory was lost and so was their love.

For Hyunjin, this was love at ever and ever sight.

[solarpunkpresentspodcast]

Mashing Solarpunk and Cyberpunk to Wage War Against War in The Creator

I saw the movie The Creator last night, which turned out to be a brooding love child of cyberpunk and solarpunk. I think we need a name for that genre mashup because there’s some interesting threads there to mine. The Creator also made me wonder, when did films get so beautiful. Every last frame of this film is a work of art of exceptional composition and clarity. And the sound... just wow, from the stirring yet perfectly integrated musical score to the map of sounds happening around you as the action progresses. If nothing else (and yet much more), The Creator is exactly why we should be fighting for the lives of our movie theaters. It breaks my heart to think of all the young’uns out there who are going to watch this film on their phone and will never have any idea what they’re missing by not having seen it on a big screen with a top–notch sound system. Even watching a film like this on the best HD TV you could hang on your living room wall would be like looking at a print of a Picasso instead of seeing its power in person.

The Creator takes place in an alternate timeline where we dove into AI and robotics with such gusto so early on, there were AI robots in spacesuits in space missions on NASA’s Space Shuttles (circa early 80s to early 2010s), not to mention acting as mother’s little helpers in the kitchens of the 1950s (if my memory is accurate of the “news reel” that rolled for the rocket ride that is the film’s opening montage). In short, The Terminator films clearly not existing in this timeline, humanity made the mistake of leaving the AIs in charge of defense systems and Los Angeles got nuked. And that’s just the first 75 seconds of the film (more or less).

Despite the fact that hardly anyone one who doesn’t live in Los Angeles cares a whit about the place—in fact,lots of folks actively fantasize about its demise (I’m thinking, most recently, of Kim Stanley Robinson's meanly gleeful and scientifically inaccurate drowning of the LA basin within about the space of a day via atmospheric river storms in The Ministry for the Future)—the USA goes full post-9/11 and declares war on AI. This means hunting down and mercilessly exterminating hotbeds of AI development in “New Asia.” Cue violent raids into New Asian countries by squads of American commandos with mind–bogglingly mighty tanks; a permanently airborne war station that locates targets, coordinates attacks, and launches savage missile attacks; and the most arrogant, single-minded, and cruel military characters imaginable.

That is, except for the protagonist. Sure, he’s an elite commando, but (SLEDGEHAMMER OF A METAPHOR) he’s a little bit robot himself, with all those bionics to replace limbs lost (in combat, presumably, given that his more innocent explanation sounds like an evasive lie). He fell in love with and married a New Asian woman while infiltrating her “terrorist” troupe of AI developers. This splits his sympathies. Considerably. Still, the top brass puts him in charge of re–infiltrating New Asia to seek and destroy the AI “weapon” the “terrorists” have developed. But this “weapon to end all weapons” turns out to be the AI equivalent of a human child who holds the key to the protagonist reuniting with the protagonist’s seemingly terrorist wife. As well as maybe also holding the key to world peace. Meanwhile, the child AI needs the love, protection, and guidance of a parent to survive and develop deeply human emotions. (Because, you know, emotions. They’re what make people do good things, right?)

Movies being movies, a lot of people and seemingly sentient machines are going to have to die in splatters of gunfire and spectacular explosions before we can find out who wins: the US military meanies or the AI robots and their friends, who just want to live free in peace and harmony.

Thematically, there’s a lot going on in The Creator. It’s very anti-colonialism, for instance. It also wonders how sentient robots will feel about being, essentially, slaves. It wants to tell us that maybe AI will be good for us. Instead of wanting to exterminate us—we who are actually the violent ones who refuse to see the humanity in others—maybe AI will want to be our friends and partners. Maybe AI will help us to develop the humanity lurking somewhere within ourselves and make us better human beings.

But for me, the overarching theme of The Creator is rage at America’s arrogantly militaristic habit of seeing things in black and white (US vs them, good guys vs terrorists, humans vs AI) and of annihilating the enemy at all cost, including that of the lives, livelihoods, housing, and villages of the civilians we don’t see as mattering. Watching this bitter rebuke to “shock and awe” was especially moving right now, on the brink (at least at the time of this writing) of Israel’s potential offensive into Gaza that will be Israel making the same mistake America made after 9/11. We could have taken the world’s sympathy and support (for we had it!) and used it to make the world a better, more equitable, more peaceful, much less impoverished, and more just place. Instead, we spent decades extracting bloody, violent revenge for a single terrorist act. Yes, our pride was wounded, and yes, nearly 3,000 people died as a result of the 9/11 terrorist attack, but the damage and death we caused in response with our mighty military machinery and soldiers gained us nothing, not even satisfaction. All it did, besides kill people and destroy their homes, was take the world into a dark, unstable place where there are now so many sides (within societies and between them) and they all hate each other. We all hate each other and this is ripping the fabric of our societies apart and making life more horrible for everyone. Rampaging like a million Godzillas on methamphetamine might feel as good as smashing glass when you’re mad, but it’s not right. It’s what evil empires do and it has terrible geopolitical repercussions. Especially when you wrap up your claim in the mantle of morality that you don’t actually have.

Of course, few movies are without their flaws. A lot happened in this movie that strained all credibility... and for the most part, it wasn’t the speculative elements. If the plot consisted of a lot of interlocking threads, every last one of them went full circle and tied itself into a tidy little bow by the end, which was ridiculous. Related to this, foreshadowing struck often and always like a sledgehammer. And there were far too many implausible events... characters who just happened to stumble in the right direction to end up in the right place at literally exactly the right time to make exactly the connection (that had gotten set up in another implausible and convoluted set of circumstances) that was totally unexpected (but that you saw coming 30 minutes previously because of the sledgehammer foreshadowing), etc. The AI child has extraordinary powers over machines when the plot needs it to but doesn’t have those powers when the plot needs it not to. The US military people are all such hardcore, single-minded, murder–all–the–AIs–at–all–cost lunkheads that the tragic backstory they give at least one of them to excuse it just comes across as laughable. Also, come on. Los Angeles gets nuked and only a couple of million people die? Does the alternate timeline not know that nearly 20 million people live in the Los Angeles megalopolitan area? Also, why barrage AI hot spots with bombs and missiles, doing so much collateral damage, when a great bit electromagnetic pulse would be far more effective while simultaneously sparing human beings and their homes?

Despite this, the movie is a moving spectacle. And it felt new. Which is not easy to do, as anyone who has sat down to try to write sci–fi could tell you. Sci–fi is so far beyond the first flush of its youth, unless you're really good, that just about any story you come up with has been written several times before. Despite the clunkier aspects of the plot, whoever wrote The Creator is really good. This sci–fi movie broke ground.

These days, I rarely stay for the credits of movies, but I felt compelled to for The Creator. It was so magnificently made, I’d found myself wondering how you would even go about writing a prospectus for a film like this. It was filmed at so many different places around the world and it had so much excellent CGI, there was only one moment in the movie where I was like, oh, that’s totally obviously CGI (and normally I scoff all the time at CGI). How would you even begin to figure out how many people you’d need to make a film this epic and detailed, much less how to coordinate their efforts. How could you begin to calculate how long it would take to make a movie this ambitious or how much it would cost so that the end result was excellent? (Turns out, the cost is $80 million, which is between a quarter and a third of the cost of a typical Marvel movie.)

My best guess—before and after watching the extensive credits—is that it took at least a thousand person-years to get this film made. There were so many animators. And they all seem to have done a painstaking job.

So, kudos to The Creator, the art with which it was made, and the themes that it tackled. Now get thee to a proper movie theater. In fact, the shiniest, newest, most up–to–date movie theater you can find. Movie theaters need our help to survive in this world of streaming, and spectacles like The Creator need to be seen on a big screen.

[writemywaytoyourheart]

I need to write this out because I am a MESS right now :’-)

Chip, you’ve got to be one of the MOST underrated authors here because I binged “Aim for the Heart” in three days and I have never cried so much over a literal fanfic before 😭😭 it’s just so beautifully crafted and no words can describe the story between MC and Jungkook being two sides of the same coin trying to heal their broken selves from their past and falling in love with each other. THE SYMBOLISM TOO I CANNOT— the flowers, the shoe laces, colour symbolism, drawings— it just ALL came back and nothing was ever put in the story as filler IM SOBBING 💕

The way they both came into each others lives and so deeply and fundamentally changed each other- MC showing Jungkook that it’s okay to love and be weak and that it’s not something to be ashamed of; she gave him a sense of purpose other than solely killing to support his mother. She let him see the good the world is capable of 🥲🥲

On the other side, Jungkook helped her see how beautiful she was this whole time, (the metaphor with the Japanese bowls!!!) and that she’s more than her past (which could also be said for him too I’m still crying 😭) + there is beauty in things that are broken and the way he just loves her is so AUGHHHH 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️ if that’s isn’t true love then idk what is because I don’t ever want anything other than that

There are also so many parallels between Jungkook and Taehyung and Mina and MC. The situation being that one of them pressured the other to do something they didn’t want to do. I’m MC’s case, she wanted to leave the dirty business behind but ended up hurt and dragged into it against her will. In Jungkook’s situation, it’s flipped, where Taehyung wanted to protect him and instead, became a vicious killer, allowing himself into that role by his decision alone.

As for Mina, lemme just say this 💀

There’s honestly so much more I can say about just how amazing this story is 😭 at first I found it hard to get behind MC’s overall demeanour because she made me cringe a big ngl, but I ended up really loving her and how she is meant to represent a sense of childhood innocence because she allows herself to be comfortable as she is, this expressed through her fashion, room decor, eating habits + love for sweets, and Barbie movies— something which Jungkook struggles with within himself and his mental and physical scars (like when he hates the feeling of water running down his back due to his childhood abuse).

Btw I always wondered at the end whether MC could have just looked back in her photo gallery to see the selfie she took with Jungkook when she had lost her memories tho? Lol 😩

Thank you for bringing this into the world 🥲😌😭 I need to find a happy fic to read now because I’m still SHAKEN.

It took me longer than I wanted it to to answer this ask 😔

Tbh, I feel so comfortable writing for characters and getting certain messages across to readers through their words, but when it comes to me writing stuff that comes directly from me, I always feel lacking.

I never feel satisfied with how I've answered an ask whether it be a response to a small heartfelt greeting from a nonnie or long meaningful paragraphs.

I'm always afraid that someone is going to feel like I didn't answer them with as much love and gratefulness as I'm trying so hard to fill it with, that I'm not genuine. Even when I had so few followers and a single ask every once in a blue moon, I was so so so so excited and grateful every time and I'd read it over and over again before getting the courage to answer it. It still happens to this day lol.

I hope you know how much this ask means to me. Again, it took me far longer than I thought to answer it, but I just couldn't come up with the words to show how much it truly means to me. I still can't.

AFTH has such a special place in my heart, and when people love it, it feels like my heart explodes into a million pieces in the best way possible.

There have been so many many nights and days where I had panic attacks because I realized how I could've made it better with a simple word change, how people will think I dragged it on just to mess with people, how people would think it's cringe or a waste of their time to read. How someone might like it in the beginning and then decide they couldn't care less about the characters and leave. That hurts the most in a way.

I love my characters so so much, it's so comforting to see you love them all even if it took time to warm up to some 💝 but you're right Mina can go take a long walk.

I still feel like it's lacking in so many ways I wish I could go back in time and fix.

But it's asks like this that calm my heart more than anything else can. Even with my thousands of mistakes and regrets, the fact that you could love it so much... It hurts in a good way.

As much as I hate to admit it, I know that it's very connected with how I feel about myself. The fear of failure is so strong whenever I post.

I didn't know for so long why I was so afraid, but i finally admitted it to myself. I trust y'all enough to put a part of my diary here T-T

There are so many authors, hundreds of millions of trillions of books in this world. Why would someone pick up mine? How would it even get seen even if it turned out perfect?

I feel like being an author is like being an artist. Either you make it, or you don't. And a lot of it has nothing to do with skill and everything to do with luck. And yet I doubt I have either of those.

I'm scared to put myself out there, because I'm scared of the confirmation that no one wants me.

This ask though. It helped to push those thoughts back onto the back burner. You understood so much of what I was trying so hard to convey in that story. And it touched you. And that's what I wanted so desperately.

Thank you so much for loving aim for the heart, for even giving it a chance at first. I know it's long. Btw you binged over 1200 pages in three days. That's a big ass book lol so you are impressive I must say 😭 yall are truly a different breed. I finally found my people 😂 the fact that you GOT so many of my little details in there is so AGHHH

Anyway, enough of my blubbering. Again I'm not even satisfied with this. But oh well. As long as you know how much this meant to me and how many times I read this over and over again bc it was such a beautiful and comforting ask.

I hope I can continue to give you works that make you feel like this 💕💕💕

ILY 💖

-chip

p.s. you are right, I'll have to go back and see but I don't think I put in there why she didn't see the pictures, I had intended to but forgot lol, nice catch 😉 let's just say she has a different phone 🤪

[heavycrwns]

character name: anderson james hawthorne birthday: May 2, 1974 age: fifty hometown: arnoult estate. zodiac ( sun, moon, rising ): taurus, cancer, virgo. character label: the poet occupation: head groundskeeper gender: cis-man sexuality: bisexual education: n/a stay with the eversleys: twenty-five years.

Anderson Hawthorne is the quiet heart of the Eversley Estate, a man whose presence is felt in the carefully tended gardens and the way he moves through life with gentle purpose. At fifty years old, Anderson has spent more than half his life as the estate’s head groundskeeper, a role he inherited from his father, who served the Arnoult family in the same capacity. Anderson grew up at the Arnoult Estate, the son of the head groundskeeper and the head maid, living in the shadows of the estate's grandeur yet rooted in its soil.

From a young age, Anderson was drawn to the beauty of nature—flowers in bloom, the steady rhythm of seasons, the tranquility that comes with working the land. But no beauty compared to Cressida, the daughter of the Arnoults. She was his childhood love, the one person who understood him in ways no one else ever could. Their love was tender and fleeting, a secret shared under canopies of trees and whispered over garden walls. But it wasn’t meant to last. As the daughter of the estate’s owners, Cressida was quickly married off to someone more "suitable," while Anderson remained behind, tending the grounds with the same care he once showed her.

Though their romantic relationship ended, Anderson never truly moved on. His heart stayed tethered to Cressida, a love that deepened with time even as their lives grew apart. Anderson couldn’t bring himself to start a family with anyone else, despite wanting children of his own. He always imagined that if he were to become a father, it would be with Cressida, the woman he’d loved for decades. Her marriage didn’t change that, nor did the passing years. Anderson has remained single, devoted to his work, and quietly haunted by the love he never got to fully experience.

Cressida’s visits to the Eversley Estate—where her sister, Ignes, married into the family—are bittersweet for Anderson. He’s always so warm and welcoming, his smile easy, his demeanor soft, even as he silently aches inside. Over the years, they’ve remained friendly, sharing fleeting moments of warmth, a brief touch of hands, or a lingering glance across a crowded room. These moments, though brief, are what Anderson lives for, like the sun breaking through the clouds.

Anderson is a romantic at heart, prone to waxing poetic about nature, life, and love, though only in the quiet of his thoughts or the privacy of his journals. He often speaks in metaphors, drawing connections between the growth of plants and the complexity of human emotion. His love for literature has always been a secret passion—he often finds solace in poetry, memorizing lines from Keats or Byron as he tends the grounds, feeling the weight of their words in the same way he feels the weight of his own unspoken desires.

In his solitude, Anderson has become the caretaker not just of the Eversley grounds, but of the hearts that dwell within its walls. He listens, he nurtures, and he’s always there with a kind word or quiet support for the estate's inhabitants. Yet, his own heart remains a guarded secret, its roots deeply entwined with Cressida, the woman he has loved and lost but never forgotten.

[xasha777]

In the neon-drenched alleyways of Neo-Tokyo, where the pulse of electronica beats like a heart, there existed a legend whispered among the circuits and steel of the sentient machines. They spoke of Aria, a being neither fully human nor completely synthetic, but a mesmerizing hybrid—a cyborg with the soul of an artist.

She was born from the genius of a renegade engineer, a pioneer who dared to dream of a being that could traverse the worlds of flesh and technology, blending them into one. The engineer's canvas was the fabric of reality itself, painted with the tools of advanced robotics and human ingenuity. Yet, in his quest for perfection, a single flaw slipped into his creation: the Compression artifact, a phenomenon where the essence of her digital and human parts did not always align, causing her features to blur or twitch, an ethereal glitch in the symmetry of her face.

Aria wandered the streets, her internal processors struggling with the weight of human emotions filtered through a mesh of wires and code. Her eyes, gleaming with a light that shifted with her moods, reflected a world she longed to touch but was always a pixel away from truly feeling.

The engineer, before disappearing into the annals of the underground, had embedded within Aria a singular purpose—to experience life and express it through the creation of art. But the Compression artifact became her unique signature, a deliberate imperfection in her otherwise stunning visages of light and shadow, sound and silence.

Art critics and tech enthusiasts sought her out, intrigued by the distortions that marred her creations. The artifact, they said, was a metaphor for the fragmented nature of existence, a commentary on the pixelated reality we all inhabit, where every moment was a brush stroke on the grand canvas of the universe.

Aria's fame grew, as did her understanding of the human condition. She found beauty in her flaw, learning that even in a world chasing after high-definition perfection, it was the anomalies, the unexpected quirks, that held the deepest meaning.

The tale of Aria—part woman, part machine, the artist with the glitched heart—resonated through the data streams and human consciousness alike. For in her struggle and her art, the beings of Neo-Tokyo found a mirror to their own imperfect existence. And in that imperfection lay the truest form of beauty.

[winterbrrrd]

World Famous Sam G

Sweet Sam takes me down

To his place by the highway

And it’s hard to find the portal

So you’d better go the right way.

And his hair is long and silver

Like Salvation Army givers.

And he takes what he is given

And he finds in it a kingdom

Of sweet faces made of soup cans

And long hair of mops and ribbon.

And I find him in the 40s,

In his 50s, starts to shiver

At the cold wind from the north

Blowing from home way down to Georgia,

Where he stands there in that doorway,

Framed by statues like at Biltmore,

But not stoic like a rich man’s,

More like whimsical and magic,

More like robots built of trash cans,

More like beauty in the outcasts,

More like home for someone like me,

Someone alien,

Discarded,

Someone made of trash and junk

Like broken toasters and old washers,

Someone made by Sam’s own hands,

The son of Sam,

Sam’s only daughter.

And I swear I’m not a killer

And my father isn’t either

But he’ll rearrange your furniture

If you mess with him

Or hurt his holy daughters.

Please, Sam, don’t be alarmed

By these words I weave like afghans

Crowding my small living room

In search of small morsels of comfort.

It’s a metaphor,

Open front door

Your paintings by the masters,

Not like Rembrandt

But like dancers

Who just dance because they have to,

Like possessed by something other,

Like an alien abduction

Never leaving your own bedroom,

Only rearranging bedsheets,

Only rearranging pillows,

Leaving you in upside down land

Where the smiles turn to frowns

But then you stand back on your head,

Remember evil dies as dead

As your goodwill.

So be good,

Be good like Sam is,

Be good, goodness,

Go and love him.

But take no shit from the monkeys

In your head

Or the post office

And when Christians cut your hair

When hair was down below your elbows,

Simply ask how much you owe them,

Pay the 15 dollar charges.

Don’t let them raise the hell

They swear they saw in you -

That’s their own haughty sin.

Sam down by the highway

Tells me his most cherished stories

And I tell him some of mine

And we meet beside the doorways

Of the angels like sweet Junior

With his castle made of marbles

With the words born in his head

Just like an unstoppable weather,

Like a storm of good and evil,

Like a storm of god and Satan,

Like a storm of seeing visions

That the world ain’t entertainin.

And in Junior and in Sam,

I see my father and grandfather,

Souls connected like orange freckles

Forming peaches like in Georgia,

Where sweet Sam stands in his doorway

And his dog runs out to chase us,

Takes a ball from Backyard Terrors

And with teeth, she does deflate us,

But the magic of such moments

Is that magic comes from moments

And there’s art in each deflation,

Art in every single turning

Of the big mill wheels of chance

That brought me here to Sam’s own doorway

Where I breathe in his creations

Like an incense straight from China

And I look around in awe

At this small world that he has forged

With his own hands

And his quick mind

And with the love and disappointment in his heart.

Oh Sam,

I cannot stress the full extent of our connection,

Cannot paint the perfect gods I saw rise up in your direction,

Cannot craft the perfect poem to capture how, with you,

I felt like I was home.

Love is not a dollar,

Love is not a Supercenter,

Love is not a finite resource

Like crude oil or trees or rivers.

Love is everywhere you look

If you can look in the right places.

Love is in the naked mannequins,

The robots and the faces.

And the love is there cuz Sam is

And Sam loves because he has to,

Despite all the disappointment,

All the cold misunderstandings.

I think Sam loves cuz he knows the opposite of light is frigid

And it’s dark down there and soulless and he’s been there on that boat,

Yes he has rowed within the darkness,

In the ravages of human,

In the sea of crying souls,

In the screaming out for Jesus.

And Sam found his little lighthouse,

Realized it was a river the whole time.

He dragged his boat ashore

And made some people out of oars

And he spoke to them so kindly

And, like Wilson, he adored them,

And they taught him then what love is,

Love is realizing you’ve always been home.

Sam is in his home now,

Curled with Mama kitty, likely,

He’s reflecting on his day,

Arranging inspiration nightly

Like a yard museum of love,

Of everlasting, aching love

That will withstand every bulldozer

And live on in those who know him.

Sam’s love will live on in me

And will live on in my own daughter,

Will live on in wooden scraps that

He gives out to his familiars.

I’ll carry Sam now with me daily

Til the day that I move onward,

And I’ll love him like an angel,

I will love him like a father,

I will love him because love is all we’re left with

When they tear the forests down.

Sam heard it and so I did

Because I heard Sam so fully

And I mourn for his lost trees,

But I know that he will surely

Find a way to plant another

And another and another

And soon trees will grow like love

In every son and every mother,

Like this single mother staring

At the paintings on the wall,

Knowing that I am here with love

And love is here with me,

For love is all we are.