#Jason returns with dramatic poetry...

[jaina-chaosweaver-of-fate]

The second came for the third, Left the bat without a bird, Little birdie on the floor, Won't be flying anymore, Break his legs and his wings, Feel them crack with the swings, Let them find it in rhyme, Daddy Bats is out of time.

[dragonsbluee]

I have a request for batfam/Jason Todd fanfic writers:

I love the "Jason Todd is a bookworm/theatre nerd" fics as much as the next person, don't get me wrong, but can we please diversify his interests?

90% of the time when I open a fic with that tag, we see Jason reading Jane Eyre or Pride and Prejudice or quoting Shakespeare. And not to say that there's anything wrong with any of those being his favourite but even if he loves to read "classical" books, come on!

You're telling me Jason raised-in-crime-alley-spent-his-formative-years-between-an-eccentric-billionaire-and-an-assassin-cult Todd only reads books by dead white people?!

I refuse! Give me a man who takes to books more than ever after his return to Gotham. Jason, who reads books like I am Woman, A Really Good Brown Girl and White Tears/Brown Scars, then recommends them to the working girls as he establishes his territory. Who reads in multiple languages, and who loves Arabic poetry.

Give me a little "Robin is Magic!" Jason scouring Bruce's library and picking up a copy of The Mahabharata after he's done The Iliad, and spends weeks obsessed with Journey to the West.

Give me a Jason who's read Things Fall Apart, and One Hundred Years of Solitude! The number of quotes and references he could pull that would further support his dramatic tendencies? It would make him so happy!

[midnightorchids]

omg only 300? u deserved a million your hcs are soooo good!!! this is super self indulgent but can i have jason x poet hcs? thank you!!

This is so kind, I’m so honoured! Also, this was such an amazing request, I absolutely adore it. I had such a wonderful time writing this, I hope you enjoy!

- Many midnights dates, where you both stare at the moon and read passages from your journals

- You always recite your poetry to Jason

- And Jason listens intently when you share your craft, always mesmerized by your calming voice and your ability to add life into the old, yellowing pages of your note book

- Your shared apartment is scattered with books, many of which carry flowers that Jason brought home for you

- So many hand written love letters

- Jason admires your writing and often scribbles some of your poetry onto his belongings

- You stay up most nights, writing and working on new pieces, he reminds you to take breaks

- He brews you a hot cup of peppermint tea and then carries you into his large arms to tuck you into bed

- He kisses your forehead and reads your favourite stories to lull you to sleep

- He has all of your poems memorized and often recites them for you, putting on a dramatic show for your enjoyment

- Lots of classical music, where he gently sways you around your living room, spinning you every so often

- Multiple shared kisses in the back of the local library

- Before Jason, a lot of you writing was melancholic, heart wrenching and sad

- But as your relationship with Jason progressed, you often found yourself writing about love and romance

- He made you feel alive and it translated into your work, you still wrote your grievous stories from time to time, but with Jason as your muse, you didn’t need to write about sadness often

- Hand kisses for when your fingers ache from typing and writing all night

- Jason always gifts you a new journal at the beginning of every month

- In return, you write him a poem, just for his eyes

- Oh and last but not least, he calls you sweetheart because you referred to him as such in a poem once and he fell in love <3

[sehunniepotwrites]

i’ll send all my loving to you | jh.s

💌  part of the OF FIRST SNOWS AND SOULMATES collaboration with @ppangjae​, @smoll-tangerine​, and @jeongvision​ 

💌 SYNOPSIS: When your collection of unsent love letters and heart-wrenching poems becomes a best-seller, you are left with the pressure of releasing another collection that is better than the last. In search of inspiration, you return home for the holidays only to run into Johnny Suh– the very man who broke your heart, and discover a variety of letters convincing you to change your fate.

So, riddle me this: if you had a chance to change your fate, would you take it?

💌 WORD COUNT: 24.8k+ 💌 GENRE: holidays!au, college!au, soulmate!au, friends-with-benefits!au,  friends-to-lovers!au, romance, angst, fluff, humor, slow burn 💌 PAIRING: photographer!johnny suh x (female) poet!reader

💌 WARNINGS: cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex and divorce, odd references to sci-fi shows and movies

💌 PLAYLIST. lover by taylor swift • for life - english version by exo • unless it’s with you by christina aguilera • i don’t wanna see you cryin’ anymore by adam melchor • love letters by juris • sick of losing soulmates by dodie clark • best friend by jason chen • popo (how deep is our love?) by yerin baek • sun&moon by nct 127 • i’ll like you so much you’ll know it by wan junqi • if by juris • anyone else by joshua bassett • hate everything by golden

💌  a love letter to my readers.

hello, soulmates! welcome to the first fic of this special spin-off collab based on ppangjae’s seven letters. this collab has been in the works since november and we’re so excited for you all to read our four fics! now, i hold this story close to my heart because all the poems included are my original work (so please don’t steal them!) 

it’s also related to this johnny drabble i wrote a while back: “you turned him into poetry because you can’t have him any other way.” (not necessary to read but it’s less thatn 500 words.)

and without further ado, here’s the first of four letters!

signed, @sehunniepotwrites​

From your large bedroom window, you could see a picture perfect day. The winter sun peered through the large clouds, the rays casting an illuminating glow on the freshly fallen snow. A slight breeze made its way through the air, causing tree branches and your blackout curtains to rustle with the winds. Looking down below, you saw children and adults alike playing in the soft snow. Shrieks of laughter were heard as people threw snowballs, built lopsided snowmen, and pressed angels’ silhouettes into the ground. You saw bundled up couples making their way down the streets with interlocked hands and cups of steaming drinks to keep them warm.

It was as perfect as a beautiful winter’s day would ever be— if only you could write about it!

BAM.

You slammed your hands against your desk by the open window, letting out a frustrated scream. It was loud enough to alarm the people playing below, causing them to look up at you with widened eyes. You shut your window with a bang and yanked your curtains closed with more force than needed.

The door to your room flung open to reveal your frazzled roommate and best friend, Donghyuck. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” he yelled as he entered your room with widened eyes. 

You could only groan back as you belly-flopped onto your bed, lower legs hanging off the sides. “Everything. Absolutely everything is wrong.” You pressed your head into a pillow, hoping the soft cotton would drown you and take you away from your misery. 

“And what exactly does everything include?” your roommate implored. He took a seat beside you, the mattress sinking down into the springs of your bed frame as he did so. Donghyuck awkwardly patted your upper back as you continued to moan into your pillowcase.

You didn’t give him an answer. Instead, you looked up from your pillow and glared intensely at him. “This is all your fault.”

He drew back his hand and placed it on his chest. “My fault?” Donghyuck asked dramatically with a scoff. “How could this be my fault? I don’t even know what your problem is!”

You sat up with a pout, arms crossed against your chest. “I’m stuck.” 

“You’re stuck,” he repeated with a deadpan expression. “Now, what in the flying fuck is that supposed to mean and how is it my fault?”

Grabbing your pillow by its corner, you gathered the fluff before beating your roommate with it. You struck him on the head, his sides, and on his stomach with huge whacks, leaving him to squirm on your bed. 

“You had to go and send my work to a publisher without my consent and. Look. Where. It. Got. Me!” you screeched, your last few words being enunciated with a strike to your best friend’s stomach.

He grabbed hold of your hitting arm before you could make another attack. “Young, rich, and famous?” he suggested cheekily with a hesitant grin. “New York Times Best Selling Poet, Sunny Blume?”

At the sound of your pen name, you jerked your hand away from his grip and went into another hitting fit. “Correction: I am a struggling English Lit senior who happens to be a New York Times Best Seller with the biggest case of writer’s block, you dumbfuck!”

Donghyuck bit your writing hand, or the money maker as he called it, causing you to yelp in pain. You clutched your throbbing hand and pouted, “Ow!”

“That’s what you get for blaming me!” He stuck out his tongue before pulling you into his hold. He kept you in a loose headlock and sat you on his lap. “Now, what’s this talk about writer’s block, buttercup?” 

You sighed against his hold, your head rolling back onto the crook of his neck. “I haven’t written anything in two months,” you blankly stated as you stared up at the ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. They seemed a bit childish when you first hung them up but they were nostalgic and kept you grounded when you needed them most. 

“Ah,” your roommate simply replied, allowing you to continue.

“And according to my agent, they want a draft of my next collection by the end of January,” you lamented. You both glanced at the calendar hanging by your desk— it was already the 1st of December. 

His plump lips thinned out in an awkward smile. Donghyuck brought a hand to your shoulder, patting it in defeated consolation. “Wow, that’s rough, buddy.”

You rolled your eyes before sliding off his lap. You dragged your body towards your messy desk, shuffling the crumpled wads around before grasping a stack of papers to hand over to your friend. “This is literally all I could come up with.”

He snatched them out of your grip, brown eyes skimming over your messy scrawl. With raised eyebrows, he read the top poem out loud. “Roses are red, violets are blue; I can’t write shit, so boo hoo hoo.”

Just hearing those poorly written words made you want to bang your head across on your desk or throw your refurbished typewriter off your table— scratch that last thought. That typewriter was a prized possession and a precious gift interlaced with a special memory, you could never part with it. 

“These are—” he began to say, his dry hands skimming through the pile of crumpled paper.

“Don’t say it,” you countered. You already knew his answer. 

“—complete utter shit,” he finished his thought. 

You pulled out your swiveling chair from under your desk and flopped onto it. Dropping your head down, you faced your friend with a cheek squished onto the cold surface of your desk.

“I know,” You sighed defeatedly. “I just— I don’t know, dude. I don’t have anything to write about!”

“Well, what happened to Miss Romantic Sunny Blume that wrote all those love letters and sappy poetry?”

“Excuse me, Miss Sunny actually had someone to write about back then!” you fiercely snapped back. “I don’t have anyone or anything to inspire me now!” 

It was true. When Donghyuck secretly sent your first round of writings to a publisher, you had a muse and he was beautiful— almond eyes, a perfectly sloped nose, a kittenish smile paired with a sweet voice and an even sweeter personality. He was a poet’s dream boy and even better, he was your best friend.

His name was John Suh but you called him Johnny. Just saying his name brought a lovesick smile to your lips.

When you were with him, your words painted pictures of childhood innocence, of laughter flowing in with the flowers and the trees. You grew up attached at the hip, conquering the big old world with your hand engulfed in his, and many stories poured out of your adventures. You wrote of moments that you cherished and wanted to preserve through the art of the written word. 

The ones you mostly wrote about, though, were the times he made your heart skip a beat. Johnny used to grab your hand and pull you away from the end of the sidewalk to stay on the safer side, causing you to flush with appreciation. You scribbled about the times he would push back your hair with a smile, press a kiss to your temple, or he would look at you as if you held the whole world in your eyes. 

“Hey!” A rough shove to your side brought you out of your thoughts and onto the hard wooden floors. You let out a whine, rubbing the shoulder that made contact with the ground. 

“Sorry,” Donghyuck replied unabashedly. “You were doing it again.”

Again meaning spacing out and thinking of the one person that held your precious heart in his hands before snapping it in two. As much as Johnny had been your muse in the verses of love, he was equally responsible for the prose and poems touching on heartache. 

Johnny was the sole inspiration for your unexpected Best Seller, letters left unsent. As hard as you tried within the past three years to find another, no one could ever stir up your heart with a fountain of words as Johnny did.

In other words, you were so fucking screwed.

When one cannot think of what to do, there was only one thing you could do: when in doubt, call your—

“Mooooom,” you whined, pressing your phone against your ear with your shoulder. You juggled a mug in one hand and a steaming pot of tea in another. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Sweetie,” you heard your mother sigh into the phone. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Why not?” you argued back like a child, a louder whine leaving your lips. “You’re my mother, aren’t you supposed to know everything?”

“Oh honey, don’t be like that,” your mother chuckled. “I’m not a writer. I don’t know how to use my words as well as you do.”

“Well then, I’m at a complete, utter loss.” Taking a sip of your hot tea, you hissed as the temperature burned your tongue, “Ack, too hot!”

Setting your tea down onto your living room coffee table, you slid onto the couch in a weird slouch, where you’ve camped out for the past few nights. Your last bullet journal was filled to the brim with no blank pages left, jam packed with scribbles, rips, and stains of either coffee or tea. It held poems, yes, but they weren’t good enough to publish— they were dry. Beyond dry, even. Devoid of emotion. Just words on a page. 

“Nothing from your old notebooks?”

“Nothing that I haven’t already published in print or online,” you complained. “I guess I could probably pull a couple but not a whole bunch.”

Your mother called your name just as you placed the phone on speaker and you responded with a crushed hum. “You’re on break now, yes?”

“Yeah,” you replied back. You and Donghyuck had just finished your first semester of your senior year, with break beginning at the start of December. You had been tucked in your small apartment, away from the blistering cold of winter ever since. 

“Would a change of environment help?” she suggested kindly.

“I’ve tried that already— I’ve gone to coffee shops and libraries. I’ve people-watched in the park. Went out with friends. And still, absolutely nothing,” you moaned. You were just about ready to give up.

“Ah, no. That’s not what I meant, dear,” she said a bit apprehensively.

“Huh?” was all you could give back.

While you grabbed your mug to take another sip of tea, you could hear your mother suck in a deep breath through the speaker. “Why don’t you come home for the holidays?” she uttered suddenly, throwing you in for a loop.

You froze in place in shock, the mug almost slipping from your hand. Your fingers gripped onto the handle tighter than necessary, the cup shaking in your hold. 

Your mother, more than anyone else in the world, knew that going home for the break was off-limits to you.  You hadn’t been back home for the holidays for the past three years, the memories of your heartbreak four years ago still living fresh in your mind. Although you had never told her the full story, one look at your shaken face and she knew that something had happened— call it a mother’s intuition. She held you in your arms while you cried and watched over you as you leaned over your desk, maniacally typing away on your typewriter. When the following break came around, you refused to go back home. So instead, your family came to you.

Placing the tea back on a messy paper stack that replaced a coaster, you exhaled loudly, your breath blowing through the mic of your phone. “Mom, w-why would you even say that?”

“Sweetie, I still don’t know what exactly happened between you two but you can’t keep running away from home. Or your problems,” she advised, her tone morphing into the ‘know-it-all’ mom voice that you hated. You grumbled but didn’t say a word. “Besides, when you were home, all you could do was write— coming home could help you tremendously.”

She paused, as if the dull moment in her words would help you think. “And if you need any more convincing, John hasn’t been home in three years either, honey. I doubt you would run into him here.”

“I guess,” you responded, voice teetering. 

“Just think about it, okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

Days after speaking to your mother, you forced yourself out of your shared apartment like a man on a mission. You went to the movies and to the theatre, hoping you could pull ideas from existing plot lines. Your feet took you to record shops and more cafes to find inspiration. You went on drives and rode buses while staring out through the window, hoping for words to just hit you. You did anything and everything to call upon your creative juices but nothing helped.

“Honey, I’m home!” you jokingly shouted as the squeaky door to your apartment swung wide open. You winced, you really needed to get that checked out. Throwing your keys into the bowl on top of your shoe rack, you shuffled your way to the kitchen to brew some coffee.

“Yo,” Donghyuck greeted, his lithe body sprawled over the couch. His arms were outstretched to hold his phone over his head, a finger scrolling through the feed. “Any luck today, Rupi Kaur?”

“Nope.”

“Sucks to suck, Lang Leav.”

“Oh, fuck you too,” you retorted as you poured some sugar and creamer into your cup. You inhaled the heavenly scent as you whacked your roommate’s legs off the couch. Taking a sip, you sighed. 

“This is the best part of my day right here,” you said as you drank a mouthful of caffeine. It immediately dispersed warmth down your hands and throat, like magic.

“Really? I thought it was wandering through the cold weather in search of ideas and failing at it,” Donhyuck threw back. You smacked his arm and he yelped, murmuring something about always being your punching bag but you paid no attention to his words.

You took another long sip of your coffee, eyes glaring at your sassy roommate.

“Maybe you should listen to your mom, you know?” he proposed, running a finger through his long brown locks. 

“Hyuck,” you started.

He interrupted you as he sat up in his seat and gave you a pointed look. “Listen, she said He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hasn’t been home in years. So why not go home?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Look, you could even search through your old notebooks and maybe you’ll find ones that haven’t published yet,” the boy pushed, “or you could even revamp or write responses to your old work.” 

That was true—many people have done that before. 

“I’ll even go with you for moral support if you want me, too,” Donghyuck lightly suggested, testing the waters. As much as he sassed you, your best friend never wanted you to be uncomfortable.

“You would do that for me?” you pouted with sparkling eyes. You coiled your arm around his, playfully rubbing your cheek against the sleeve of his shirt. “You growing soft on me, Hyuck?”

“Ew, I’m never soft,” he reacted, his face contorting with fake disgust. He wiggled his arm out of your ridiculously tight grasp to give you a noogie, knuckles digging deep through your hair and on your scalp. “Come on, we have some packing to do.”

Okay, so you were doing this. 

And so came the dreaded day— December 7th, the day you planned to drive home. Luckily, your university was only an hour and fifteen minutes away from your hometown so it wasn’t much of a drive. Donghyuck waited downstairs in the packed car as you did your last minute checks around the apartment. After checking everything was either turned off or unplugged, you swiftly slipped on your boots and outerwear. You opened the door to reveal your postman with a package in hand. You jumped at his sudden appearance, not expecting it at all, and he had the audacity to laugh at your skittish self. 

“Oh, just in time!” he chuckled. He read off your name, “Is that you?”

“Yes, sir,” you answered him. He grinned at your polite answer, handing you a clipboard to sign off on. You quickly scribble your name in exchange for the small package and whisper a distracted ‘thanks,’ shaking the box once it was snug in your hand. 

The postman laughed again before leaving you to make more deliveries.

Heavy boots pounded on the steps of the staircase as you curiously eyed the package. You continued to stare suspiciously at it as you entered the passenger’s seat of your car with your friend in the driver’s seat.

“Retail therapy?” Donghyuck teased as he glanced at the mysterious box. You shook your head, hair swaying with movement as you buckled your seatbelt. He set off onto the icy street and suddenly, you were on the open road, heading back to your childhood home for Christmas. 

“No, everything I ordered already arrived,” you answered with furrowed brows digging deep into your face, “but it’s addressed to me.”

The driver shrugged, still keeping his eye on the road. He was driving slower than usual due to the condition of the pathway. It would probably take you two hours to get home rather than the usual hour and fifteen. 

“Maybe one of the warehouses made a mistake and sent you two sets of things instead of one, it happens a lot this time of year,” he said nonchalantly. That was a valid point.

Using your keys as a dull blade, you cut through the tape. Hands dug through the bubble wrap to find a brand new Moleskine journal and a fancy fountain pen. The cover was black and made of leather. The book itself was pocket sized, a perfect notebook to slip into a purse or a slit in a coat. 

“So, what is it?” Donghyuck tried to look over curiously and you scolded him, telling him to keep his wandering eyes on the traffic-clad highway. 

“It’s a brand new journal and pen,” you said, describing the items to him. “Funny, I never ordered this, though.”

Flipping through the pages, you found them to be dotted— exactly how you liked them. Your hand turned to the first page, surprised to see lines of neat cursive scribbled jotted on the bright surface.

“Huh.” You blinked. Why would someone send you a used notebook? That was odd.

Another odd thing about this whole mysterious package was how familiar the handwriting looked— the way this person dotted their I’s and crossed their T’s. You recognized the loops of their L’s and their F’s.

It looked awfully similar to the way you did it but how could that be possible? 

The cursive read:

My dear,

It will be December 7th by the time you get this package. I know you’ve been wanting to purchase a new journal, I am you from the future after all.

You’ll be needing this. A beautiful muse will appear in front of you soon. I will not tell you who or when— you’ll know who it is right away. Call it a little bump in the right direction by the Fates.

After you meet him, find the yellow Moleskine journal tucked under your bed. I have placed another note for you in there.

Sincerely,

the sunflower who misses her sun 

Quickly shutting the notebook, you threw it into your purse before chucking your bag to the back of your roommate’s car. You slapped the side of your head, trying to take away whatever wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey bullshit you just read. What in the space-time continuum was this crap?

“Dude, are you okay?” Donghyuck asked, clearly concerned.

“Let’s talk about something else!” you demanded, still shaken from the words you just read. 

“Whatever you want, buttercup,” he went along with your suggestion, immediately shooting into stories of him with his crazy high school friends and his current partner. His absurd stories throughout the ride cracked you up and they reminded you of all the old shenanigans you and Johnny used to get into. Funny how your thoughts always traveled back to him.

You hoped that once you meet your new muse, your thoughts of your childhood friend would disappear. 

Donghyuck gently called your name and you turned to face him with a slight smile.

“I don’t think you ever told me,” he started.

“Told you what?”

“Why you chose Sunny as your pen name,” he finished, glancing over at you for a second. 

“Oh, that?” you answered, leaning your head against the car window. You crossed your arms as you began to explain, “Johnny used to call me sunflower, you know.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you almost giggled, “thought I was a bundle of positivity, always looking for the bright side in everything. Guess it just stuck with me.”

Donghyuck hummed, “And were you? Seems a little different from the you that got her heart broken.”

“I guess I was,” you answered wistfully thinking of the day he gave you that nickname, “but really, I was just a sunflower looking up at someone she thought was the sun.”

i wonder how long  i have to look at you like a sunflower gazing up at the bright sun before you shine  your rays down on me and only me

Memories of one specific Fall day with him came to mind. 

It was four years ago— the day was hot, not a single cloud in the sky and yet, there you two were at a pumpkin patch. You were gleaming with both sweat and excitement while your tall best friend who had been there before watched you with amused eyes.

While it was your first Fall Semester in university, it was Johnny’s second Fall quarter away from home. When Johnny moved away to study photography at a prestigious university, you remembered how sad you were to not have your partner-in-crime by your side but all was well when he made the forty-five minute drive home on weekends. Those days were the times you were glad he didn’t wander too far.

You chose a well-known university that had an amazing English program. An hour and fifteen away from home but also only twenty minutes from where Johnny was, meaning college courses couldn’t separate your strong bond; that was how you ended up running through corn mazes and haystacks. 

He had his favorite camera on him that day, strapped around his neck. You could remember exactly what he was wearing, too; that image of him lived forever in your mind. He sported an oversized striped button-up tucked into a sleek pair of blue skinnies and adorned his classic Converse. Round glasses sat on the edge of his nose with his hair parted and styled immaculately. Johnny just looked like the Fine Arts major everyone fantasized about. 

You could still picture all the people stopping to stare at him but he paid no attention to them, his hands and eyes too busy fiddling with his camera. 

You were admiring the field of sunflowers in front of you when Johnny yelled your name. You turned towards him with a curious smile, a hand touching the stem of a flower before a flash went off. 

He took pictures of you, the loud noise of fast shutters going off, and you rolled your eyes before he waved you over to come check out the shots. Johnny leaned down as you peered over his arm, his finger navigating through the quick shots he took. He stopped on one particular photo and grinned.  

Johnny caught you mid spin, your head turned over your shoulder as you clutched the flower in your hand. Your eyes bled both wide-eyed curiosity at him calling your name but also admiration for the flowers behind you. The mustard yellow of your shirt stood out against the green stems and there was a small smile gracing your lips highlighted by your favorite fall-colored stain. 

In other words, it was the perfect shot. 

“Look, you fit right in with them,” he said, smiling down at you with a certain fondness in his voice. It was soft, not like his usual teasing voice.  “My little sunflower.”

You scrunched your nose at his cheesy comment, although it made a weird feeling hatch in the pit of your stomach. It felt odd and fluttery but you shook it off to lightly shove his buff arm.

“Oh shut up, you giant,” you remembered saying before smiling up at the man who was too busy admiring the picture. If anything, he looked proud of the shot— his eyes shining in a certain way. Or maybe it was something else, you just couldn’t put your finger on it. 

Your eyes flickered around his face, admiring the way the glasses and his black hair framed his face so perfectly. Maybe your eyes lingered a little too long because the next thing you recalled was him saying, “Are you done staring at my gorgeous face? I wanna take pictures of you being a basic bitch by the pumpkins.”

And then, the teasing returned. 

“Ugh, evaporate, tall person,” you pretended to groan as you made your way to the pumpkins. 

“Eh, can’t— who would drive you home?” he called out cheekily, using his long legs to catch up with you. Johnny elbowed your arm and you dug yours into his side, leaving him to moan painfully until he asked for mercy. 

The boy took so many other pictures of you and the scenery that day. The next time you visited his dorm, you stole a glance at his wall of favorite shots. Right there on the bottom of the wall was that picture of you, unedited.

You remember biting back the biggest smile. You held it in until you got home, your mind relishing in the feeling when pen hit paper. You wrote your first poem about him that day and three years later, it became one of your most famous pieces.

first coat of white hits the ground and i forever think of you angel of snow, do you think of me, too?

Not even two days of being home and your mother had already sent you on an errand run. Usually, you would moan and groan for being sent outside with a to-do list but today was the exception as it was the first snowfall in your hometown.

“Hurry up and unlock the car, I’m freezing!” Donghyuck called, his hands yanking on the handle of the passenger’s door. You stuck your tongue out at him and pressed a button on your keys before taking in the feeling of fresh snow hitting your skin for a moment more. You followed him into the car, buckling your seatbelt before driving off on a familiar pathway. Driving through your neighborhood with the snow raining from the sky made you sigh happily.

The first snowfall of the season was always special to a romantic because of its significance. People believed that a confession to a crush made on the first snowfall would always be reciprocated. 

Just as so, the first snowfall was special to you. Not because of crushes and confession or anything of that sort. The very first fall of snow was special because it brought Johnny to you. 

You remembered being just shy of five years old, excited about the first snow day of the year. Quickly dressing yourself in your outerwear, you ran around in front of your house with snow dropping down from the sky. Your family laughed at your hyper antics, watching you from the window as you began to play by yourself. A snowman dressed in your best winter beanie and scarf set kept you company as you decorated the yard with snow angels. 

Just as you were getting up from making your last snow angel, a dark shadow blocked your view. You made out a pair of dinosaur snow boots facing you, then your eyes tracked up to see a happy boy wearing a matching dinosaur winter jacket and beanie. His puffy lips smiled brightly at you from above and you looked up at him with a pout, not recognizing him.

“Who are you?” you asked as you dusted snow off your pants.

“Hi, I’m John and I’m six! I just moved here!” the boy beamed, his almond eyes closing as he gave you another cute smile. 

You replied shyly with your own name while moving onto another spot in the snow. You sat down, ready to make another snow angel. 

“I live there now,” John pointed to the house across the street, his dinosaur mittens peeking through his sweater paws. You nodded while he told you this. You remembered thinking he talked a lot. His mother watched not too far from him on the sidewalk with a fond smile. Your parents came out to greet her, the adults striking up a small conversation while they kept their eyes on you.

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m making snow angels, duh,” you gestured to all your markings on the floor. “See, those are wings right there.”

“Can I make them with you?” John questioned, sitting on the cold ground next to you. You nodded enthusiastically, happy to have another playmate. He flopped onto the snow and you followed suit with a loud giggles.

“I like you, Johnny— you’re fun,” you blurted out with a beaming smile.

“That’s not my name! My name is John, not Johnny,” he insisted with a small frown. Your grin slowly flipped upside down, saddened by the rejection from your new playmate.

Seeing the tears building in your eyes, the boy panicked. “But it’s okay— you can call me Johnny!” he quickly blurted to put an end to your waterworks. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, cause I like you, too. You’re pretty,” Johnny hugged you, his small arms wrapping around your tiny waist and you did the same in return. Johnny’s father was quick to snap a photo of the hug with his camera, successfully capturing your first picture and memory together as friends. 

Time passed quickly as you dragged your bodies onto the snow while your parents observed the new friendship in the making. They predicted the start of a long-lasting friendship; they just failed to predict the ending. 

Regardless of the tragic end, the first snowfall of the season was still something you cherished. It reminded you of shy introductions in dinosaur outerwear, laughter, and a billion angels surrounding the white dusted floor. You just hoped that when the next person came along, they would learn to love snow angels as much as you did. 

You exited through the doors of the grocery store while hugging a paper bag to your chest. The items were piled up a mile high, obscuring your view of the parking lot. Donghyuck noticed your struggle and asked if you needed help but you shrugged him off— your car wasn’t parked that far from the entrance. It was just a few more steps away.

The snow was still falling from the sky, the cold nipping at your exposed skin. Your friend walked ahead with the keys, determined to return to take advantage of your car’s heater. He left you struggling to see and a strong gust of wind threw you off balance. You stumbled with one hand clutching the bag to your chest and the other pushing down on the items on top of your pile. Too focused on not letting your items touch the ground, you failed to see the couple walking straight towards you and crashed right into what felt like a brick wall. 

You fell back with force, arms flailing around. You closed your eyes as your back came in contact with the icy ground. You groaned— that was definitely going to bruise.

“Oh my god, Miss. Are you okay?” a gentle female voice panicked. 

“Ah, I’ll be okay. A little bump won’t kill me,” you awkwardly laughed. You scrambled to get up but the icy road was preventing you from doing so. 

“Baby, help her up!” the woman scolded her partner as she started to gather your belongings. 

“Oh no, it’s okay. You really don’t have to do that.” 

Where was Hyuck when you needed him?

“Nah, it was my fault anyways. Here, let me,” a friendly male voice replied as a strong arm pulled you up with ease. 

You froze in place, feet glued to the ground because you knew that voice. Oh god, how you knew that voice. You heard it so many times throughout your life, it was hard not to recognize it. How could you forget the voice that was so prominent in your childhood and teenage memories? That voice was ever so present in your first year of college, laughter echoing through dumb phone calls and moans resonating through your thin bedroom walls.

How could you ever forget the voice that lived in your mind and heart?

“Miss?” he called again as you refused to look up, your hands curled into tight fists. Instead, you stared at the ground, watching the snowflakes hit the floor. You weren’t ready to see him but when he spoke once more, you realized there was no use denying the inevitable. 

“Y-yes?” you coughed, glancing up at him with a self-conscious smile. Your eyes met his russet brown orbs and you prayed to whatever higher power was out there that he wouldn’t recognize your frazzled self. Being your best friend for so long, Johnny knew who you were at first glance. His gaze widened and his grip loosened around your wrist.

There was a deep contrast between him and the white falling snow but even with a wide-eyed gaze, the man before you was more beautiful than ever. The dark hair that was imprinted in your memory was now dyed a honey blonde. His strands were a little bit longer now and his face a tad bit thinner. The little upturns of his lips and his defined cupid’s bow were still the same. He wore that plaid winter coat you gifted him and Johnny still looked like an angel amongst men.

A pretty angel. Your snow angel. 

Johnny whispered your name, sending this warm surge throughout your body. You suddenly felt way too hot in all your layers. You muttered a tiny ‘hi’ back accompanied with your unnecessary finger guns. The woman with him handed you back your groceries with a kind smile and you returned it with a forced one. 

“John, do you know her?” she turned to him, her pretty hand clutching onto his bicep.

“Yeah,” Johnny breathed out, still a bit awe-struck that you were right in front of him again. “This is my, um, childhood best friend. You know the one I’m always talking about?”

“Yup, that’s me,” you managed to spit out, rocking on the balls of your feet. 

Where in the hell was Lee Donghyuck? How come he hasn’t checked on you yet?

“Oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” the girl relayed. 

“You have?” you asked, shooting your former best friend an odd look. He gave you a slight smile back, just one corner of his chapped lips curling up. “I’m sorry to say I haven’t heard much about you.”

She playfully slapped Johnny’s arm. “Well, introduce me, silly goose!”

“Right, this is Alice, my—” he paused to clear his throat, “my girlfriend.” 

“Great to meet you,” she stuck out a hand. 

You lifted your bag of retrieved items as an excuse not to shake it. “Right back at you,” you reciprocated, doing your best to hide the pieces of your broken heart. 

You gave them a tense smile. You needed to get out of there right away before your heart fell out of your chest. “Sorry to cut this meeting short but I do have someone waiting in the car. He’s been in there for a while now, so if you’ll just excuse me.” 

Before they could answer, you shifted on your heels and power walked without looking back. Quickly tossing the items haphazardly into the back, you slipped into the driver’s seat and drove away. The car went right past them, Johnny watching you as you sped into the street.

Donghyuck sat quietly for a minute but ended the silence when you began to bang on your steering wheel at a stoplight. “What the fuck happened out there? Did I miss something?”

“Hyuck, of all the things that could happen to me out here, what was I so afraid of?” you screamed at him, knuckles turning white as you tightly gripped the wheel. 

“Um, I don’t know. I can’t read your mind.”

“Think, Donghyuck, think! It’s really not that hard to use that little brain of yours!” 

When he couldn’t think of a possible answer, you groaned. How did this idiot call himself your best friend?

“I bumped into the last person I wanted to see and I couldn’t just be rude,” you screeched as your car dashed along the street. 

“I bumped into Johnny-fucking-Suh, can you—” You stopped mid-sentence, your thoughts going back to the note in the journal.

You’ll know who it is right away. Call it a little bump in the right direction by the Fates.

Bumped. You bumped into him. 

You wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation. There you were, ecstatic at the possibility of finding a new muse when in reality, nothing had changed.

Johnny Suh was your muse— always had been and always will be.

And of course, you met him again during the first snowfall of the season. Of-fucking-course. 

Screw the Fates.

Driving home at record-breaking speed, you scared Donghyuck half to death. There was this frantic look in your eyes as you turned onto your street corner and into your driveway. You rushed out of your car and swung your front door open, leaving your friend to bring the groceries in— a bit rude to make your guest do the work but your mind was running wild at that point. There were so many questions floating amuck in your brain and you desperately needed answers.

Throwing yourself by your bedside, you dug into the drawers of your bed frame, hands flying through your old belongings. They pushed through your special treasure box filled with trinkets, your polaroid albums, and a stack of journals crowded with your old thoughts and musings from your high school days until you found it. 

There it sat— your yellow Moleskine journal. Just grazing your hand over the book brought back so many emotions. You grazed over it with a far-off smile, hand fiddling with the elastic that held it shut. It was worn-out unlike the other ones in your drawer of miscellaneous things because that journal was well-loved. The cover was far beyond clean, stained with ink marks and dirt that came from who knows where. 

You opened it slowly, delicately as if it was made of glass. In some way, it was because this was your life for a year, all trapped into one small notebook. It was your raw emotions and the whispers of your heart during your first year of college. The very journal you held in your hands was the original draft of letters left unsent. 

There were poems and notes and letters far too personal to publish, words for only one other person to see. You remember typing up the better ones on your typewriter and leaving them on your college apartment desk and those were what Donghyuck found and sent. 

But the rest of the words in this journal remained a secret, hidden underneath your childhood bed and from the rest of the world. 

Your hands gently turned through the pages, looking for anything out of the ordinary and you found nothing within the bindings. Just as you were about to give up on finding that supposed letter tucked into this notebook, you caught a glimpse of a pink envelope sticking out of the back cover’s file pocket. 

Tugging it out, you were astonished to see your name so carefully crafted on it. It was written in the most beautiful calligraphy, the gold of the ink picking up specks of light and glittering like the stars in the sky. With a trembling hand, you turned it over and broke the wax seal to pull out another letter.

It read:

Hi again,

You must be feeling extremely overwhelmed. I remember I was when I saw Johnny again. Was he still as handsome as you remembered? 

If you haven’t realized by now, Johnny Suh is your muse. Some things change but that never will. 

Seeing him again ignited that little light I lost all those years ago but my mistake was that I never acted on it.

Do me a favor— pick up that pen I gave you and start writing. I know there are so many thoughts bustling through your head. Don’t let them get away; they could be your next best seller. I can’t let you be a one-hit wonder like I was. 

There was another mistake I made and I’m writing to you so you won’t do the same. 

The next line you read left you speechless. It hit you like a tow truck— hard. You dropped the letter, the page fluttering to the floor.

This was creepy. Beyond wild. How did this piece of paper even get here? This was improbable. Impossible.

You had watched and read almost every sort of time-traveling science fiction available to mankind and this did not make sense because like you said, that was fiction. You were living in the real world— a place of fact. 

You wracked your brain for any sort of explanation but none came to mind. No science could explain this. Gathering your courage, you picked up the fallen paper and continued to read.

Johnny Suh is your soulmate and my biggest mistake was letting him go. 

Imagine living a life without the person you are destined to be with. I’ve lived a miserable life without him as he lives one with his Alice and I cannot let you suffer through the same fate.

He may be in love with Alice in the future but in your present time, you have a chance to stop their love from blooming even further. You have the chance to make it right. 

So, my dear self, let me ask you this—  if you had the chance to change your fate, would you take it? 

With love, 🌻

You scoffed, disbelief raking through your features. Where was your Doc Brown  or your trusty Eleventh Doctor with a TARDIS to help you out of this conundrum? Wouldn’t this alter the space time continuum?  

You had no one to guide you. You were essentially Marty McFly or Amy Pond, just Doctor-less. 

What in the hell were you supposed to do? 

You sighed, combing your fingers through your hair before pulling out that small journal from out of your coat. You flipped to the first blank page you could find. Climbing onto your bed, you leaned against the back of the headrest until you felt comfortable.

Click. The tip of your fountain pen popped out from its hiding and just as your future self commanded you to, you began to glide your pen onto the paper. 

The room was only filled with the sounds of scribbles as you started to write for the first time in three years. 

Donghyuck grumbled his way up your staircase, a menacing glare and the deepest frown gracing his soft features. With the guise of scolding you for leaving him with the groceries, he roughly opened the door to your room and opened his mouth to yell. Your roommate was quick to clamp it shut when he saw you. The mug of your mom’s famous hot chocolate he held in his hands almost spilled at his abrupt stop but that didn’t matter at the moment. 

What mattered was that you had your back facing him, body hunched over at your childhood desk. Your fingers frantically met with the tops of the keyboard, the sounds of clicks ringing loudly in your room. He watched as your head turned back and forth between your notebook and the keys. 

Donghyuck’s frown turned into a smile, happy you found inspiration again, and quietly placed the cup of hot cocoa on your desk. So deep into the zone, you didn’t even notice your friend’s action. He chuckled at your dedication to your craft. His eyes quickly flitted to the piece you were currently working on, and he hummed in approval. Knowing how you shut everything else out, he decided to leave the room before you yelled at him for disrupting you in your hardworking state.

“Did you scold her for me?” your mother laughed as she saw your best friend descend down the steps. 

“Didn’t have a chance to,” Donghyuck replied. She gave him a look, her eyebrows arched in question. She handed him his own hot cocoa, top filled to the brim with whipped cream, and he happily took a sip. The cream made its place on his top lip and he licked it up with a satisfied hum, “She was too busy typing away. Hadn’t seen her like that in years.”

“What?” your mother gasped with a hand on top of her heart. “Did something happen?”

Donghyuck took another long sip, almost groaning at how sweet the treat he held in his hands was. “Oh yeah,” he choked, almost forgetting to relay an important part. He wiped his lips with his sleeve and your mom made a noise of disapproval. 

“She ran into John,” he stated, “he’s back in town.”

“Well, isn’t that something?” she said to herself, bringing her hot cocoa to her lips.

After hearing that Johnny was home, your mother immediately contacted his and suddenly, the tradition of Sunday brunch at your house was revived. There were slight differences, those being three things:

You and Johnny could finally drink mimosas with your parents

Johnny’s parents were both present at the brunch even after their divorce (they hated to break the tradition)

And lastly, two extra settings were placed on the table because Donghyuck and Alice were there.

You should have been more prepared to see Johnny in your home after a third letter warned you but meeting him in all his blond glory made your heart stop. Seeing him smiling with a pretty girl wrapped around his arm made that fragile muscle break once more, the pain much deeper than the first time he broke it, and it hurt like a bitch.

The brunch despite the new additions went as smoothly as it possibly could. Donghyuck, being a hyper and playful soul he was, got along well with the adults.  He tried to hide his distaste for Johnny and Alice as per your request, but the snark came out every now and then. You elbowed him a couple of times to stop it from going any further and your mother shot warning looks, silently telling you to behave.

Alice, on the other hand, was on the shy side. She was kind but she seemed nervous at the new environment and loudness of the dining table. If you were in her position, there was no doubt you would feel the same; you never did feel comfortable around strangers. Your families couldn’t help it though— they were as wild as you and Johnny were.

“So, John,” your mother called for your former best friend’s attention.

He looked up from his mimosa. “Yes, Auntie?”

“How long have you two been dating? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

Not wanting to hear the details of their relationship, you squeezed her thigh under the table and she pinched your hand back. You flinched at the contact.

Johnny smiled over at Alice, grabbing hold of her hand. “We’ve been together for almost three years now.”

Alice, with her gorgeous smile and sharp eyes, interlocked her smaller fingers with his. “We got together in February after testing the waters. How a Photography major found a Lit major like me, I have no clue,” she laughed.

Three years. He started dating her right after breaking it off with you. You wanted to cry but all you could do was push down the tight feeling in your throat with another swig of your mimosa.

“Lit? Are you an English major?” your mother asked her.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied politely.

“Just like my dear here! You two should talk about this after brunch,” your mom suggested to which Alice wholeheartedly agreed with. Donghyuck gave you a look of pity.

“Of course,” you nodded, remembering the letter that had just arrived. As everyone assisted in cleaning up the table, you excused yourself and hid in the guest bathroom to catch a breath. Putting the seat cover down, you quickly took a seat and held your head in your hands.

You yanked the letter out of your pocket to read over it once more before heading out there with a determined face. You couldn’t let your future self down.

Sweetie,

Remember this day: December 15th. The Suh’s will be over with Alice for Sunday brunch and believe me, it will hurt seeing him with her.

It will pain you to even talk to her but you have to— you must. You and Donghyuck, bless his soul for being there for you, will notice that she is very similar to you. I am sure this is not a coincidence. If my letters ever work, please ask Johnny about that.

She is a big fan of the poet, Sunny Blume. Funny, isn’t it? She will gush about her work, not knowing the poet she adores is standing right in front of her.

She’ll tell you that she’s trying to convince Johnny to read it. He’ll fight back and I want you to say— “I think you should give it a shot, Johnny.”

The moment you call him by his name, he jolted in his seat.

“I think you should give it a shot, Johnny.” 

It was so weird to hear your voice after three years. Even weirder to hear you call him by his name in three years but for some odd reason, it made his heart skip a beat. His blond locks covered one of his eyes as his gaze locked onto yours. He saw you smile a polite one, one that didn’t scrunch up your cheeks in the way he adored. 

From what Johnny could see, you looked good. You were dressed in a simple outfit: just a knit sweater and jeans but you were still able to catch his eye. It hurt, though, to see you grin widely at your new best friend, Donghyuck, when that grin used to be aimed towards him. You still got along well with his family after all those years of being apart, which only warmed his heart.

First time seeing you in how long and it was all his fault. He missed you terribly but he couldn’t blame you for shutting him out. Thinking back to the day you last talked, he would’ve reacted in the same way, too. 

“Johnny?” Alice queried, stealing a glance at his frozen body. “I thought you didn’t like being called Johnny.” 

It was true—  he did hate it when people called him that because that was a name reserved for one person and one person only.

He felt someone touch his bicep and he turned to see a wrinkled hand clasping onto his sleeve. His mother’s teasing grin graced her older features as she said, “My love John, he hated being called Johnny. He thought it was too childish.”

She walked over to you with a motherly smile, her small hand patting yours lovingly. “He only let her call him that.”

Johnny watched as you took her hand in yours to give it a tight squeeze, “I’ve missed you, Mama Suh.”

His mom took your cheek in between her index and thumb, pinching it just as a mother would to her own child. “I’ve missed you too, sweetheart. We’ll catch up later, alright?” 

He loved seeing his mother act so comfortably with you. It always warmed his heart to see his two favorite women together. Stealing a glance at his girlfriend, he wondered why his mom never acted that closely with Alice.

“Wait, hold on,” he said, shaking away his thoughts. “What exactly am I giving a shot?”

“Were you even listening to what we were talking about?” Alice huffed. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do with him sometimes.” She scrunched her nose in fake distaste.

“Trust me, I’ve dealt with that all my life and I still don’t know what to do with him,” the words flew out of your mouth before you could stop them. You felt Donghyuck snort from beside you as the back of your head rested against his shoulder. You were both seated on the loveseat, his larger body squished into a corner while yours was spread out on the couch, calves resting on the arm rest.

Johnny and Alice sat adjacent from you on the bigger sofa, her tiny build snuggled into his. “We were talking about Sunny Blume, that poet I keep obsessing over.”

He only blinked at her words. He clearly did not know what she was talking about. You held back a chuckle— Johnny was never into books and poetry the way you were. Some things never changed.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” he shrugged. 

“I mean, I’m not really into poetry and shit but even I read it,” Donghyuck added to the conversation. “It was really good.”

“Right?” Alice fired back. You had to hide the grin that was beginning to curl. 

“Surprisingly, a super easy read but some of those poems hurt like a bitch. It felt like someone ripped out their broken heart and just laid it out on the table for you to read, you know?” 

You whispered a small ‘thank you’ to him, low enough so that no one else could hear. Donghyuck muttered back an even lower ‘you’re welcome,’ causing you to stick out your tongue at him.

“Blume’s work isn’t my favorite but—” you started to say, gaining the attention of both Alice and Johnny. Alice appeared as if she was going to fight you on your opinion while your best friend just waited for what you were going to say next. 

“—to release a full collection of unsent love letters and poems written for one person, must’ve been some muse,” you continued on, your gaze suddenly meeting Johnny’s curious stare from across the room. His dark brown eyes always had a way of sucking you in. You felt yourself falling, falling, falling down the rabbit hole all over again. 

“Blume poured her heart out in it. You could almost feel the raw emotions bleeding off the page. You really shouldn’t miss it.” As much as you despised talking about your work, your future self told you to really sell it.

“Exactly! It’s like you took the words out of my mouth!” Alice agreed, her finger pointing towards you. “Her poem about sunflowers was my favorite.”

You hummed, still not losing eye contact with him. “It’s one of my favorites, too.”

He blinked, breaking off the staring contest you were holding. “I guess I’ll check it out.”

Behind your back, you pumped your first in celebration for your first success in changing the supposed future. There was another task you had to do— it was the bigger of the two. You were scared beyond belief, hoping that your nervousness wouldn’t mess up the script that was pre-planned for you.

Here comes the harder part. Johnny will approach you and ask— “Can we talk in private for a little bit?”

Lead him outside to the porch. It’ll spark up some memories. 

Ever the gentleman, Johnny brushed off the snow on your front steps and gestured for you to take a seat. He placed himself right next to you, his thicker thigh rubbing against your tinier leg. His gaze focused on the falling snow and his hand reached out to catch a couple of flakes in his palm.

“Remember when Frozen came out? All you wanted to do is build a snowman,” he babbled.

Of course, you remembered. Who could forget a tall male teen belting out Let It Go with you in the middle of a snow storm? 

“How could I ever forget that?”

It will be silent for a while. I guess he was trying to find his words. He’ll say something along the lines of— “I know this is practically years too late but I’m sorry for how things ended.”

Your heart will flare up with a rage of emotions, like a hurricane is stirring up inside you. This is the apology you’ve been waiting for. My mistake was brushing it off. I told him that it was nothing but a small crush and that everything was water under the bridge.

I need you to talk about it. Be open with him even though you’re scared to. I want you to say— “You really hurt me.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

I’m sure all the words will flow from there.

“No, I don’t think you do know, John,” you fired back with a voice that rendered him silent. He shrunk into himself, never experiencing the receiving side of your wrath before.

Before you continued on the rant that was bubbling inside you, he cut you off. “Johnny.”

“What?”

“I don’t like when you call me John,” he murmured so quietly, his words almost getting lost with the winter breeze. “It’s always been Johnny to you.”

You coughed, not expecting that little outburst from your best friend. “Right. Johnny.”

Shifting your body to face him, your knees knocked into his. Gone were the days when you could easily fit into one step. You were squished against him. 

Let it all out. Don’t leave anything unsaid.

“But you need to know. I was a wreck when you left me,” your voice broke, suddenly recalling how you fell into this hole of depression. Donghyuck and your mother were barely able to fish you out. 

“Just— Just imagine this for me, okay?” 

He agreed silently.

“Imagine falling for the person you trusted most in the world, yeah? The person who was like your guiding light home, who could make you feel better with just one touch,” you set the scene with your words, voice cracking at the resurfacing pain. Your throat felt tight and your heart even tighter. This was always a hard memory to recall. 

“Picture telling that person that you loved them in that romantic, ‘I want to be more than friends, hold my hand and never let me go’ type of way.”

You peeked at him to see him gulped at how emotional you were getting. He always hated to see you in that manner. Your words were affecting him the same way they were affecting you. The desperation in your speech was seeping through— it clung onto each word, each syllable, and lingered in every breath of air you took. 

“Imagine telling the person who promised to never hurt you that you are in love with them and then they just tell you ‘no.’ Can you picture that in your head, Johnny? You give them your everything and then they tell you one simple word that just tears you apart?” 

He cleared his throat. He heard you loud and clear.

“I miss you so fucking much, you don’t understand.”

He jumped up at your confession, “I’ve missed yo—”

“I’m not finished,” you interrupted him, bringing a finger to his face. Johnny’s shoulders fell, making him appear like that little boy that forever lived in your mind through the fondest of memories. 

“I’ve missed you and I appreciate your apology but in no way can I forgive you right away. That amount of hurt needs a lifetime to heal completely,” you relayed to him, your voice firm as a rock. Strong and unwavering. 

“You may have not wanted to turn our whole friends-with-benefits relationship into something more and I get that now. But you have to understand, Johnny,” you paused, the words choking up in your throat. 

“You, you— God, you left me all alone to deal with that heartbreak! You just— you just threw me away like a crumpled piece of paper on the damn floor, you couldn’t even pick me up and— and place me in the trash,” you stuttered through your rant but you didn’t care. You became a spitfire, spewing whatever came to mind. 

You watched him lick and sink his teeth into his bottom lip as he wracked his brain for something to say to make it up to you. Johnny’s fingers worked their way through his bangs and he held them back for a second before releasing them. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say except that I’m just really sorry. I didn’t know.” 

Feeling yourself getting all worked up, you took a deep breath. You grounded yourself, feet digging into the wooden step and hardened snow. Your fingers curled into fists, sharp nails marking the skin of your palm as you shook in place. 

You nod frantically at his answer, “I know, Johnny. I can see that. If anything, please just understand that I not only lost a love I thought I had that day but my best friend in the whole entire world, okay?”

“Yeah,” was all that came out of his mouth for just a moment. “Okay. I understand.”

There was another brief period of stillness as the words sunk into your heads. Did that really just happen? Did you really just say that and did he just acknowledge your feelings?

You peeped a glance at Johnny’s eyes and he just appeared to be so shaken by your confession. You didn’t mean to startle him to the point where he couldn’t speak— you just had to get it out just as your future self advised. You had to console him somehow.

“But,” you said softly. Raising your head to look up at his crestfallen face, you lifted his chin with a shaking hand.

Whatever you do or say, make sure to tell him this— “I would be so happy to have you back in my life, Johnny.”

Love, 

a sunflower that aches for the sunlight

“But...I would be so happy to have you back in my life, Johnny. That is, if you’ll have me.” Your hand rested on his chin and suddenly, a flurry of emotions raced through the boy’s head.

The blond was relieved that you were talking to him. Beyond happy that you were willing to rekindle the friendship, Johnny was determined to win back his best friend no matter how long it would take for you to fully forgive him. Excited that you seemed to get along with his girlfriend. 

But there was this weird feeling that came over his heart when you said his name with that certain softness in your voice. The way you held his chin with the lightest of touches sent tingles down his spine.

Johnny ignored the fluttering in his chest and pulled you into his arms. He felt you sigh happily, your smaller build sinking into his comforting hold. 

His chin rested against the top of your head. “Of course, flower,” the nickname slipped out naturally. “I’m just happy to have my best friend back,” he muttered.

And when you looked up at him with glittering eyes that looked like the snow falling from the sky, he swore his heart leapt out of his chest. “Me too.”

The transition from friends to something more that occurred four years ago didn’t happen abruptly. The build up was slow, stemming from your many first-year adventures. The large campus was new, uncharted territory for you—  abnormally large to what you were used to and filled to the brim with people. You skirted on the more introverted side as a first year in university, barely reaching out to your classmates and hallmates unless they initiated the interactions first. There were other casual friends, however, Donghyuck was one of the only people you truly felt comfortable with but even then, you still searched for that sense of home.

You found that in the days you spent with Johnny. During the days where it was harder to adjust to your new life, you made that twenty minute drive to Johnny’s campus instead of trekking that hour and fifteen home. He would take you in with open arms, distracting you with your favorite things or introducing you to new places. The first two months of university were tough but you made it through with his support.

Johnny eased you into kickbacks and college parties, always making sure that you were okay. In new environments, his hand always lingered on the small of your back or grazed against the exposed skin of your shoulder. He would hide you in his hold when boys would approach you, an evident and overprotective glare emitting from his sharp eyes and somehow an attraction bloomed inside of you. You kept your budding crush to yourself for a while, wanting to linger in the fresh feeling bubbling in your chest. 

You couldn’t keep it in though, not after that day at the pumpkin patch. His deep, soothing voice calling you ‘sunflower’ released that cage of butterflies trapped in your stomach and they fluttered freely each time he looked at you. 

Every moment spent with him sent your fingertips flying over the keys of the typewriter Johnny gifted you for your eighteenth birthday. You heard so many dings from the machine that year, a hand quickly coming up to push and roll a paper back in place. That beaten yellow journal that sat on your desk was quickly consumed with an endless flow of words that flew off the pages.

Every time Johnny would place his hand in yours, he had you under his spell. The enchantment he casted on you grew stronger the night of the Causeway Classic. 

Your separate universities always had this sense of friendly rivalry. With each year came the annual blood drive that led to the famous football game to uphold the competition. The location switched every autumn and Johnny’s university was in charge of hosting that year. Unlike Johnny, you weren’t much into sports but you were into grilled food and free alcohol which ushered the pair of you to attend your first tailgate with his college friends. If it wasn’t Johnny taking care of you, his roommate Doyoung was there to make sure you were okay. 

You remembered starting early that day, the tailgate party starting at noon when the game didn’t kick off until three hours later. A cold glass bottle of beer in one hand and a fresh hot dog in the other, you sat on the edge of Johnny’s truck bed with your legs dangling below. You were dressed in your school’s signature green and gold while his close group of friends surrounding you drowned in their navy and yellow. 

You took a swig of your drink, feeling the cooling liquid rush down your throat, and let out a loud hiss of satisfaction. Misjudging the height from where you were sitting to the ground, your legs wavered as you jumped down from the truck. Your center of balance was lost, pushing you to lean your drunk body against Johnny’s. 

Noticing how incoherent you were, a buzzed Johnny decided to cut you off and call an Uber so you could rest easily in the comfort of his apartment. You barely recalled him tossing his keys to Doyoung, who was forced to be the designated driver of the night, before taking you home.

The only thing you remembered was the way your body flushed with heat as you pressed your weight against him in the car. Your head snuggled into the crook of his neck while his toned arm draped against your shoulder. Johnny rubbed soothing circles onto your exposed skin and the feeling littered goosebumps all over your body. You sighed, your warm breath hitting his neck and through your slightly closed eyes, you caught him looking at you with an unfamiliar gaze.

Johnny effortlessly carried you in his arms and into his empty apartment, your head perched against his shoulder. He handed you a clean set of clothes to change into and you stripped yourself of your sweaty outfit and makeup before making yourself comfortable on his twin sized bed. He placed a glass of water and painkillers by his bedside before heading out, his mind set on crashing on the couch. 

Somehow in your tired and drunk state, your hand shot up to grab at his wrist. “Stay with me?” you asked with a raspy voice.

“I was just going to crash in the living room,” he told you.

“You hate sleeping on the couch, you always complain about how it hurts your back,” you argued. “Just stay here, it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

The bed dipped when his body slipped under the covers and being the touchy drunk you were, you easily slipped your hands under his arms and wrapped them around his torso to cuddle into his strong chest. You shifted a couple of minutes in, trying to find a more comfortable position and the movement caused the shirt to bunch up at your waist. A heavy arm slung around your own waistline, driving you closer to him. His fingers somehow found their way to your revealed skin and brushed over the spot to soothe you to sleep.

Instead of lulling you to a peaceful slumber, Johnny’s light strokes shifted something in the air. The atmosphere in the room grew thicker and more tense with every touch.

You moved your head away from his chest to gaze up at him. Your eyes met his hooded ones giving you a look you hadn’t seen before. It was darker and heavier, his brown orbs almost digging into your soul and you couldn’t look away. Gripping his arm when his head moved closer to glance at your lips, your heartbeat increased and almost skyrocketed to the roof. 

“I don’t think I’m in my right mind right now,” he whispered with a strain. 

“I’m not either,” you cut him off, unconsciously licking your bottom lip. 

Johnny’s gaze never wavered, his eyes planted on you as he inched even closer, “Just tell me when to stop and I will.”

You never did. 

And when you woke up the next day with a sole sheet pressed onto your body, marks coloring your skin, and Johnny staring down at you with the fondest smile, you knew something had changed between the two of you. 

There was a moment when he escaped the room to grab breakfast, you quickly reached for your phone and typed up a new set of words in your notes inspired by the dazzling grin that was aimed at you. 

i may not be in love with you i may just be in like but i love the way you look at me  like i may be your light

is it bad that  sometimes i miss staining your lips with my boldest  shade of red and showering you with a load of a thousand kisses  — those red stains represented how deeply i loved you

The friends-with-benefits relationship was established that same day and continued to drag on throughout the semester. It was heavy on the friendship, even heavier on the benefits. Every single meet up from fall to winter ended up with limbs tangled on top of bed sheets, marks staining your skin, and words written on a page. You remembered Donghyuck warning you to be careful, not liking where all the uncertainty was leading to and you brushed it off with a simple statement that was so unbelievably wrong: “Stop worrying. Johnny would never hurt me.”

It all came crashing down during your first winter break from university. Prior to the falling out, your time at home was juggled between catching up with your mom, a couple of high school friends, and the Suh family if Johnny wasn’t there to preoccupy you. 

Christmas Day came along and as tradition followed, you spent the holiday across the street at the Suh residence. The house was decorated with lights and bows, the Christmas tree you and Johnny picked out standing tall in the corner of the family room. The opened presents sat at the foot of the tree, except for one— a single box wrapped so neatly in white and accented with the prettiest red bow. 

“Johnny,” you tugged on his sleeve, head gesturing to the front door. 

Thinking you wanted to sneak off for a kiss, his lips curled into that kittenish grin with a small dimple indenting the plump of his cheek. The tall boy stepped out first, leaving the door slightly open. You followed him shortly after and closed the door behind you. 

Your grip tightened around the small parcel in your hand upon seeing him leaning against the border of his porch, absentmindedly fiddling with his phone. He was dressed in a knit turtleneck sweater, tight jeans, and a pair of stylish boots, his dark brown hair slightly brushing over the eyes you adored.

God, you liked him so much it was almost gross— absolutely smitten as a kitten for the boy with the catlike smile. 

You jabbed his side before joining him against the fence, hiding your gift behind your back, “Hey.”

Johnny quickly pivoted to trap you between his arms, both hands resting on the porch lining. “Hey yourself,” he returned, his warm breath clouding in the small space between. You felt your cheeks grow hotter, clearly flustered at the sudden action and flirty tone of his voice.

“Don’t move,” he commands abruptly. The camera swinging around his neck was brought up to his eye level and he swiftly snapped a photo of your ruffled state. You gave him a shy smile as he revealed the shot to you— your wide-eyed look and crimson lipstick standing out against the white snow in the background. 

“Pretty,” you remember him saying with a proud glance, happy to have captured you in the moment. “The prettiest little sunflower.”

“Oh, shut up,” you brushed him off, shoving the camera away from your face. 

“No, really,” he pushed, adjusting the camera strap so the device rested against his hip and no longer in the way.

“Stop lying.” You never knew how to take a compliment. 

“I’m not,” he leaned in closer, arms pushing him lower to your line of sight. “Definitely pretty enough to kiss.”

“Really now?” you bit back a grin. 

“Need me to prove it to you?” he challenged, his dark brown eyes ghosting around your facial features with a cocky grin.

“And how are you going to do that?” you flirted back with your heart thrashing violently against your ribcage. It was beating so loud, much like the clashes of a little drummer boy. 

“Like this.” He briskly closed the distance, his head angled to kiss you deeply. His firm body depressed against yours, the corners of the gift and the porch lining digging into your back and arms. One of his large hands moved to cup the side of your neck with a thumb rubbing the end of your soft cheek. 

It was a little different from the rushed kisses he gave you behind closed doors. It was slower and out in the open, anyone could have caught sight of it if they were to walk out. Your right hand made its way up to his chest to grip onto the knit of his sweater, cherishing the way he held you so gently. 

You broke away first with a huff. “Wait, that’s not why I told you to come out here,” you pointed out, staring up at his now stained lips. You thumbed at the plump top lip, trying to rid his skin of the red you transferred onto him. 

“Seemed like you enjoyed it, though,” he nodded at the tight grip on his sweater. You quickly released it causing him to laugh loudly.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it,” he sprung back without missing a beat.

You hesitated before answering, voice dropping a little lower, “Yeah, right.”

Johnny jumped up to sit on the railing, arms spread out to keep him steady. “So, what’s up?”

This was the time to let it all out and you were tongue-tied— you didn’t even know where to start. There was a reason why you liked writing more than speaking; it gave you a chance to arrange and rearrange the words in your head. No matter how hard you rehearsed your upcoming confession, nothing prepared for what was going to come.

“I— um,” you began to stutter under his presence, even though you weren’t even directly facing him. 

He turned his head to face you. “Are you nervous? You really shouldn’t be— it’s just me, flower.”

“Just you?” you laughed apprehensively, “Yeah, that’s exactly why I’m nervous. It’s you. Out of all the people in the world, it had to be you.”

He whispered your name with furrowed brows, confused at your ramble.

“Johnny, listen, I don’t know if you felt the change between us but I can’t really ignore this any longer.”

He cocked his head to the side, his brows now digging even deeper into his face. “What are you talking about?”

“This—” your hand flapped, gesturing to the both of you. “What we have going on here, it doesn’t seem like we’re just fooling around anymore.”

“Then, what does it seem like?” he fired back with confusion.

“It seems like— I don’t know,” you started to say.

“Yes, you do know,” Johnny countered, “you just don’t want to say it. You’re stalling.”

“Okay, okay. It seems like…” you gulped, looking him dead in the eye, “you like me as much as I like you.”

He went rigid at your confession, appearing completely dumbfounded. His eyes were widened with astonishment. His mouth opened like he was about to say something but then closed shut. They were pursed as he tried to process your words as you stood there, antsy at the lack of an answer. “Can you just say something? Anything?” 

He ran his fingers through his hair and held back his bangs, something he always did when he was lost in thought.

“Johnny?”

“Hmm, yeah,” he said, still lost in thought.

“Just say something, please,” you practically begged, the neatly wrapped parcel in your hand feeling like a deadweight. 

“Y— you like me?” his voice wavered.

“Yeah,” you looked away from him. “I honestly think that I— um, love you.” Your voice became so soft towards the end, your words almost getting lost in the wind. 

“Love,” he repeated.

“Can you say anything else besides repeating my words? This was hard enough as is, you know,” you managed to spit out. The more he stalled with giving you an answer, the more choked up you felt. The tight feeling was building up in your throat, fighting its way up.

“I—” He stopped before he could even start. 

“Johnny, I like you. A lot, okay? I just want to know if you like me too? ‘Cause unless I’ve been reading it wrong, it seems like you feel the same,” you prattled on, mouth running at the speed of light.

He hesitated before answering with a simple, “N-no.”

“No?” you almost cried back.

“This— this was supposed to be a ‘no strings attached’ thing,” he blundered. 

“I know but can you honestly tell me that you felt nothing when you kissed me just now? Because that didn’t feel like a ‘no strings attached’ type of thing! No strings means ‘no emotions involved, just physical’ and clearly, there were some emotions present!”

He avoided your question. “We’re just— just friends, flower.”

“Johnny, how often do you wake up naked with your other friends?!” you shout hysterically. You winced; you hoped your parents weren’t listening in. “Do you go around and steal kisses with Doyoung or Yeri or anyone else in your friend group?”

He couldn’t answer those questions, either. 

“We’re just friends,” he said a little more firmly, like he was trying to convince himself. “That’s what we are and that’s what we’ll always be. Nothing less, no— nothing more.”

“Really?” you disputed through the free-falling tears. You sniffled and wiped the drops off your face, not caring if it messed up your makeup. 

“Just friends,” Johnny said once again, his voice almost breaking at the sight of you in tears. He stood in front of you now, a hand reaching out to dry your eyes.

“No, don’t touch me,” you called out, backing your way out of the front porch with a shaking head. “You don’t get to touch me like you used to if all we are is just friends.” 

Johnny walked down the steps to follow you, the sole of his boots crunching against the hard snow. You stopped him with an extension of your hand, palm fanned out towards him. You continued to walk backwards, red painted nails ripping the wrapping of your present to reveal the worn-out yellow cover of your personal journal.

“That’s where you were wrong though,” you started, “about being nothing less than friends.”

“Sunflower,” he tried to persuade you otherwise. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’ve been repressing this for so long, I-I don’t think I can just ignore it and hold it in anymore,” you confessed, clearly distraught. “Every time I see you walk through a door, my heart beats so fast for you and I can’t make it stop. So if I can’t have your love, I don’t think I can stand just being your friend.”

“What are you saying?”

You took a deep breath, “I don’t think I can be around you right now. I need space.”

“You don’t mean that, bubs,” he reasoned.

“How do you know what I feel?” you yelled. “I told you I practically love you and you couldn’t even answer. You can either have all of me or none of me, Johnny. There’s no in between.”

He said nothing.

“I gotta—I have to go.” You roughly dragged the sleeve of your jacket against your eyes. 

“Please don’t go,” Johnny begged.

“If our parents are looking for me, just tell them I wasn’t feeling well.”

He shouted your name as you began to cross the street. You turned back around for a short moment, “Oh and John?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Merry fucking Christmas.” With that, you ran into your house, the door slamming shut behind you. That was the last you saw of him until your unexpected reunion that day in the snow.

Some writers painted heartbreak as this beautiful concept that closed the chapter on one end and opened another. They drowned themselves in the heartbreak, allowing the feelings to take over and extract the a mouthful of words that ended up being masterpieces. They loved the heartbreak because it pulled out emotions they would otherwise never experience.

But, how could you love the heartbreak when Johnny was the one you loved?

Another Christmas tradition your families upheld was picking out Christmas trees together. Seeing as how both you and Johnny were home, your parents forced you to go without their help, choosing to just sit the day out to catch up. They trusted the two of you enough to pick out the best trees since you had been done it throughout your childhood. Donghyuck (the traitor) and Alice had already left to spend Christmas Day and New Years with their families, leaving you to go tree hunting at the farm with Johnny as your only company. 

You looked over to the driver’s seat of the truck you were seated in, still in disbelief that Johnny Suh was back in your life. He had his right hand on the steering while his left rested against the window, brown eyes focused on the road. His long, blond hair was pushed back by a black ball cap and was paired with a yellow oversized t-shirt that matched the shade of your winter coat. His plaid green puffy jacket was thrown haphazardly in the backseat of his car. His soft, melodic voice sang along to the carols playing on the local radio, blessing both your eyes and your ears.

“So blond, huh?” you broke the silence. 

“Yeah,” his free hand reached up to quickly flip his cap over, the bill now facing backwards. “I think it suits me.”

You scoffed, “Who do you think you are—Jesse McCartney?” 

“Well, I do want you and your beautiful soul,” he answered back with the smuggest smirk. 

“You’re an idiot,” you chuckled, turning to look out the window. You drove down the familiar highway, passing places that were so prominent in your childhood. Memories of you and Johnny walking to the movie theater and having ice cream at the skate park ran your head. It felt good being home.

A flurry of loud text tones went off, disrupting the calm atmosphere in the car. “Sorry,” you grimaced, quickly moving to lower the volume of your ringer. You let out a laugh while you scrolled through the long list of notifications, causing Johnny to turn his attention to you.

“Everything good?” he questioned. “That’s a lot of texts.”

Your fingers worked on your touchscreen, rapidly replying to your roommate’s dramatic texts. “Oh, everything’s fine. Hyuck’s just being dramatic. He just got home and his family is driving him insane.”

Johnny hummed. He hesitated before asking the next question, “Does Donghyuck treat you well?”

His inquiry made you pause in your seat, thumbs resting right above the screen. “What?”

Johnny cleared his throat before pushing further, “Is he a good boyfriend?”

A deep snort escaped your nose and you brought up a hand to cover your quivering mouth. You couldn’t hide your amusement, your ear-splitting laughter reverberating throughout the walls of the truck. Tears made their way down your face and you had to clutch onto the door handle to catch your breath. “Oh my god, Johnny!”

“What? It’s a valid question!” 

“He’s not— Hyuck’s not my boyfriend,” you shook your head, still reeling at his question. 

“He’s not?” he pressed for confirmation. Why he was insisting on this topic, you really didn’t know.

“Oh my god, no. He’s just my roommate,” you swore, “Besides, I would never get in between Hyuck and his partner.”

“His partner?”

You nodded, lips upturning with the widest grin. “Renjun— they’re really cute together even though they argue half the time.”

“I see.”

One of your favorite Christmas songs came on the radio and you immediately increased the volume to sing along. Johnny joined you, his voice mixing along with yours. It eased up whatever tension that lingered in the car, his broad smile mirroring yours as he continued on the path to the Christmas tree farm.

“I actually read that Sunny Blume book, by the way,” Johnny brought up, your pen name immediately catching your attention. “Alice had her copy with her so she let me borrow it.”

You sat up straighter in your seat, shoulders pushed back and head turned to face him completely. “Yeah? What did you think of it?” 

Preparing your heart for the worst, your hand fisted a part of your mustard yellow overcoat, the material rubbing against the skin of your palm.

“I didn’t think I would like it,” he admitted, “but I actually really enjoyed reading through it.”

You perked up, letting go of your coat at the positive reaction. “Really now?” 

“Yeah. I mean, the way she writes is so simple but her words still get to you. It’s so personal and heart-wrenching, I had to stop at times,” his compliments ran off the mouth, leaving your heart to swell with joy. 

“I get what you mean, some were painful,” you chimed in.

“But the others, wow,” he continued almost breathlessly. He shook his head with admiration. “You could just sense the love and adoration in her words. Whoever her muse was, dude, what a lucky person.”

“Why do you say that?” 

“To have someone love you so much that they write about you and immortalize it in a book— who wouldn’t want that?” Your heart pounded rapidly at his sweet words; it was like music to your ears. He loved the poems you wrote about him. Now, if only you could admit that they were for him. 

“Do you have a favorite?” you posed a question, curious to hear the answer.

Johnny hummed positively. He stole a glance at you, eyes lingering a little bit longer than normal. “The one about sunflowers.”

When his gaze shifted back to the icy road, you responded with, “Yeah, that’s mine, too.”

You picked the perfect weekday to visit the Christmas tree farm. There was a small bunch of visitors picking out their trees and participating in the other offerings but not enough to crowd the farm, making it easy to wander around. Johnny quietly followed behind you as you made your way around the farm with a reusable bag slung around your shoulder. He was amused by the way you would pause to pick up fallen pine branches to stuff in your bag.

“What are you going to do with those?” he asked, gesturing to the pine leaves sticking out of your hold. 

“Oh, I’m going to fill up some vases with them and place them around the house,” you conversed with a smile. “I did this all the years I didn’t come for Christmas. I wanted the smell of fresh pine in my apartment but I didn’t have room for a tree, so I just did this.” He watched you as you took a whiff of a piece of fresh pine before placing it in your bag.

“That’s a smart idea,” Johnny said to himself.

“You learn to be more creative as a broke college student,” you commented with a shrug, still moving through the aisles of trees. 

“Did you enjoy it?” The snow crunched beneath his boots.

“Enjoy what?” you mused, attention focused more on the trees surrounding you than your friend lingering at your back. Your fingers skirted the ends of the trees, the pine tickling the tips as you passed them. Johnny let you take the reins on picking the tree this year, only there to give you a second opinion. He always loved coming to the tree farm with you— your face never failed to light up like the bright lights decorating the shop and fences.

“Spending the Christmas holiday at school,” he replied, curious to hear your answer.

“I mean, it was different, that’s for sure,” you told him. 

Johnny tilted his head, sensing the hesitation in your tone. “But?”

“It really didn’t feel like Christmas without you there,” came your low reply. You didn’t turn to face him but if you did, you would’ve been able to capture a shot of a flustered Johnny. His face was as bright as Santa’s signature suit, the color spreading all the way to his ears. He felt hot at your words and that weird skittish sensation in his stomach made him feel uneasy and confused. It flipped around and he felt something flapping rapidly in time with his quickening heartbeats. 

He brushed the feeling off before placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. He squeezed you through the fabric of your coat, “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Your head turned to look up at him, “That you are.”

“Don’t you run away from me again,” he sputtered out. Where did that come from?

“Then, you better not let me go this time,” you replied wittily with the brightest smile that rivaled the North Star. Twisting in your spot, you turned your attention back to the trees and focused on the perfect ones to take home. Questions about the trees were thrown Johnny’s way but he was too distracted by sight of you in front of him. Your mustard yellow overcoat and matching beret made you stand out from the evergreen of the trees and he couldn’t help but stare at the breathtaking sight.

Johnny inwardly cursed, wishing he had his camera on his person. He settled for his phone, pulling it out of his jacket pocket to sneak some candid pictures of you enjoying your time at the farm. He captured you patting the horses that pulled the sleigh around the area, shuffling through the many handmade decorations of sale, and you mindlessly wandering through endless aisles of green.

Johnny swiped through the pictures as you pointed out two full trees to a farm worker. His finger lingered on the picture amongst the trees— yellow and green standing out against the white snow covering the floor. 

A sunflower in the midst of winter.

Johnny halted, his brain short-circuiting for a moment, a hand shooting to his other coat pocket. Something that sounded like paper crinkled against his touch. Just as he was going to reach in, you yelled his name. He snapped out of his daze to see you gesturing to a pair freshly cut trees, ready to be wheeled away to his truck.

“You’re not going to make me push these to the car, are you?” you joked. “I mean, I’ve gotten stronger since I’ve last seen you but still.” 

He approached you, bringing his large hand to your head to ruffle your beret around. “I’m sure you have, flower, but let me do it.” 

You giggle at the nickname, the noise sounding like jingle bells. “Alright, Johnny, lead the way.”

The fourth letter arrived the day before Christmas Eve, the envelope pressed snugly against the wall of your mailbox. Forgetting to check the mail the day prior to the holiday, you only saw it Christmas Eve morning. You rushed to open it, back leaning against the front door as you did so. A shaky breath left your lips as you read the letter’s contents with clammy hands. Cold sweat spread throughout your body as the information sank in. 

What I am about to tell you is a pivotal moment in changing the future, so please pay attention, love. 

On Christmas Eve, Johnny will show up at your doorstep and he will appear extremely disgruntled and confused. Just like so many times before, he will look to you to be his saving grace. You were always the first one he would run to. 

The doorbell rang and you peeped through the whole to see your best friend pacing back and forth along your porch.

He rang the doorbell one more time and you gave yourself a pep talk before twisting the doorknob.

“I need to talk to you,” he sputtered out with a panicked look.

“Alright,” you said, doing your best to stay calm. Shutting the door behind you, a hand shoved the letter in your back pocket and jumped up onto the porch ledge. He followed suit, his hand almost touching yours as you steadied yourself on the thin piece of wood. “Talk away, Johnny.”

You didn’t dare face him as he revealed the reason for his disheveled state. “Should I propose to Alice?” he asked a bit too quietly.

He is thinking of proposing to Alice but he is starting to have second thoughts. I was stupid and I told him to go for it. 

Your heart ached at the thought of him getting down on one knee for someone other than you. The image of his smiling face shining up at her with his mother’s engagement ring hurt you in ways you couldn’t explain. 

You avoided the question. “Didn’t think you were the type to get tied down so soon.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” he laughed a little dejectedly. You had to agree with that statement. “But I should, right?” 

You peeked over at him and the smile he wore didn’t reach his eyes. Johnny’s brows were pressed deep into his face and his pink lips were thinned out in a line. 

“Why are you asking me?” you questioned, wanting to dig a little deeper into his head. “I barely know her. And you—I don’t know, you could’ve changed within the last three years. Shouldn’t you ask Doyoung or your mom instead?” 

His hand blindly found yours and the touch ignited the fire in your heart. “I’m asking you because you’re still the first person I think of when I need help. Not Mom, not Doyoung—you.”

Oh. That was something to unpack. 

Clearing your throat at that unexpected confession, you prompted, “And you need help with the proposal?” 

He sighed deeply, “Not exactly.”

“I’m not getting where this conversation is going, Johnny,” That was a fat lie but it was meant to get him to talk. 

Another sigh left Johnny’s lips. “Alice and I, we’ve been together for three years. I’ve graduated and I have several jobs lined up for me at different studios. She’s almost done with her last year. I don’t know, shouldn’t it be time for me to propose and settle down?” 

“If you feel ready for it, then yes.”

“But what if I’m not ready? What if I’m just feeling lost over this? I don’t know what to do.”

He will express how confused and pressured he feels. There are a million decisions he has to make and it will weigh him down. Johnny won’t know what to do. 

I want you to pose two questions.

You lift yourself off the ledge, spinning around to face Johnny. The frown lines in his face were so prominent, you had to fight the urge to smooth them away.

“Close your eyes.” He followed your direction, eyelids fluttering to a close. You smiled fondly at the way his long lashes hit his reddening cheeks.

First—“Picture your dream future,” you instructed, “can you see it?” 

“As clear as day.”

“Describe it to me.”

Johnny ran off at the mouth, speaking of gaining experience as a photographer. His grin expanded as he spoke about eventually owning a studio. He mentioned his dream about living on the outskirts of the city, close enough to all the drama but far enough to make a quick escape if needed. His voice went up in volume as he rattled on about owning a dog, maybe a black labrador, and having it grow up with his future wife and children. 

You commanded him to open his eyes and they met yours, orbs buzzing with delight.

And second—“Now tell me, John, do you see Alice in it?”

You observed as the look in his eyes shifted into one of perplexity. He looked so lost in thought, you almost pitied the poor man.

If he hesitates, I hope to god it’s because he is thinking about you. 

Good luck, 🌻

When he couldn’t give you a solid answer after a minute, you shot him a tired smile. “Well then, there’s your answer.”

Just as you were about to leave him with his sudden revelation, he stopped you with a hand to your wrist. “Yes?”

He released his grip on your arm, bringing his hand to brush his hair back. You caught a glimpse of the wrinkles in between his brows. “Do you have an idea about what your future looks like?” Johnny asked, curiosity lingering in his voice.

You only laughed in return, “We’ll talk about it another day, okay? I think you have a couple of things to sort out yourself.”

“what does your future look like? do you have an idea?”

“i’m not quite certain as of yet but darling i think it looks a lot like you.”

Struck with a sudden realization, Johnny barely made it across the street and into his truck. His hand shook as he tried to put the keys into the ignition. He stole a glance at his phone and saw a missed call from Alice. He definitely couldn’t call her back at the moment. He couldn’t face his mother either because she would ask about his girlfriend. He couldn’t go home and head straight into his bedroom— his head was too busy reeling with an overwhelming epiphany. 

As he drove around the neighborhood with no particular destination in mind, he fiddled with his car’s touchscreen to call his closest college friend. They answer on the third ring.

“Help,” Johnny said once the call connects.

“Wow. No, ‘Hi, Doyoung. Merry Christmas, Doyoung.’ Some friend you are,” his friend greeted back, snark oozing from his voice. Johnny could practically sense his eyes rolling.  “Just straight to the point as always.”

“Hi, Doyoung. Merry Christmas, happy holidays. I hope you’re doing well,” the blond quickly reiterated. “Now, please help me.”

Johnny heard Doyoung’s deep sigh, his breath heavily hitting the microphone. He picked up chattering in the background and the shuffling of clothes before the sound of a door closing echoes through the speakers. “What’s going on? Last time I checked, you were visiting home with Alice. Everything good?”

“No, my mind is going fucking insane right now,” Johnny proclaimed, his voice increasing in volume.

“John, calm down. Where are you right now?” Doyoung’s calming voice questioned.

“I’m in my car just driving around my neighborhood at the moment.”

“And Alice?”

“She’s back in her hometown spending Christmas with her family,” Johnny answered.

Doyoung paused, “I don’t really see a problem here. Is it because she’s not spending the holidays with you?”

Johnny took a deep breath before relaying the next piece of information, “Doyoung, Flower is back in town.”

He was able to make out his friend clicking his tongue, “Ah.” 

Johnny made a rolling stop at a stop sign before continuing his loop around the neighborhood. “That’s all you have to say?”

“No, actually I have a lot to say but I want to hear the end of this story first, so I’ll hold off for now,” Doyoung replied and Johnny flinched. Knowing him long enough, he could hear Doyoung holding back his criticism. 

“It’s the first time she’s come home in three years, too. We’ve made up—”

“Shocking,” Doyoung interrupted. 

“— after a long talk and decided to ease into the friendship again.”

“Is that so?” 

“Can you not judge me until I finish?” Johnny nagged with the roll of his eyes.

“It’ll be a bit hard for me but I’ll try.”

“She met Alice and they got along okay.” He heard Doyoung click his tongue again, most likely biting back a comment.

“And...” Johnny stalled, his eyes drifting to your house as he passed the familiar front porch. 

“And?” Doyoung repeated, fishing for his friend’s next sentence.

“I asked for Flower’s opinion on proposing to Alice,” The sound of his former roommate’s scoff filled the car. 

“John,” Doyoung’s voice called over the speaker. He hummed back a soft reply, afraid of what his friend was going to say.

“Riddle me this, okay?” There was a beat of silence, causing Johnny to tighten his grip on the steering wheel. “Why does her opinion on marrying Alice matter to you?”

“Because— because she’s my best friend and I used to go to her for everything,” he stammered out with no confidence whatsoever.

Doyoung almost laughed into the phone. “Do you know how stupid you sound right now?”

Feeling this conversation turning up in heat, Johnny quickly pulled into the empty parking lot of the local park. His eyes scanned the park, childhood memories spent with you in that park flashing through his mind. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Doyoung disregarded his question. “What did she say?”

“What?” 

“What did she say about the proposal?”

Johnny’s lips pursed into a pout and his brows sunk near his eyes as he recalled your words. “She asked me if I could see Alice in my dream future.”

“And what did you tell her?” Doyoung pushed for his answer.

“For some reason,” he ran his fingers through his hair, “I— I couldn’t answer her.”

“You couldn’t or you wouldn’t?” The question hit him hard. 

“Again, Doyoung, what the fucking hell is that supposed to mean?” Johnny challenged, not liking where this conversation was going. His heart raced against his chest and he felt the blood pumping through his veins.

“God, you really are a fucking idiot, aren’t you? Do I have to spell it out for you?” Doyoung shouted into the phone.

Johnny fought back, “Since I am an idiot, please! Go right ahead!”

His friend sighed in disappointment. “John, you were a wreck after your falling out four years ago. Anyone with eyes could see it. I had to watch you drag your ass out of bed everyday and then suddenly, you started dating Alice and everything was all better?”

“Yeah, that’s because I loved Alice!” Johnny yelled.

“Bullshit,” Doyoung retaliated. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Think about it, Alice is a Lit major who loves poetry. She was shy at first but then she opened up to you. You felt the need to protect her all the time. Does any of this ring a bell?”

“What does her being a Lit major have to do anything with this?”

“I really do have to tell it to you straight, don’t I?” Doyoung muttered to himself before relaying the hard truth, “John, you started dating Alice because she reminded you of her! Don’t you get it?”

“That’s not true,” Johnny whispered. 

“Okay, if it’s not true, then you can easily answer this for me. Were you able to see a clear future with Alice?”

“...No,” Johnny answered after a beat of silence. 

“Were you able to see someone else?” Doyoung asked with a softer voice.

“I…”

His friend’s tone dropped, taking a more mellow approach when telling him the next bit. He just discovered something big after all. “John, if you saw her in your future, it’s because you were never really able to let her go in the first place. She’s always been the person who mattered most to you.”

It instantly became too hot in his car. He rolled the windows down as sweat started dripping down his face. Johnny rolled up his sleeves and fanned himself with his hands before turning up the air condition. He gulped, attempting to get rid of the sudden thirst that came out of nowhere. He reached for his water bottle but remembered he forgot to grab it on his rush to leave the neighborhood.

“Okay,” Doyoung began, “one last thing. In between the time you weren’t talking to her and before you met Alice, what did you get a tattoo of?”

Johnny immediately looked to his forearm and a bright imprint of sunflower stared back at him. “A sunflower,” he muttered back.

“Why did you choose a sunflower, John?”

“Because...sunflowers mean positivity. I wanted it so I could look at it whenever I had a hard time,” he said, running a finger against the ink on his skin.

Doyoung hummed, “Is that the only reason? Tell the truth.”

“No,”  he whispered. Johnny took a deep breath before admitting, “I got it because this was the only way I could keep her with me after I lost her.”

Doyoung stayed silent, allowing Johnny to sit with his thoughts for a few moments. He continued to thumb his tattoo, his mind flickering to the girl who left him on his porch years ago. He thought about your lingering touches and stares, the way he would feel better in your presence. He pictured your smile and how it rivaled the light from the sun, how brightly you shined when you wore the vibrant shade of yellow. 

“I’m happy to have her back,” he stated. “I don’t think I can lose her again.”

“Are you okay with losing someone else, though?” Doyoung posed, “Because there’s something you have to do. It can’t go on any longer.” 

You shut your laptop closed, so seemingly done with the publisher you were working with. Your agent had been pestering you with progress reports on your latest collection and you did your best to reassure them that you indeed had some drafts in the making. The pocket journal from your future self was filled up halfway with your innermost thoughts and sat on top of the typed versions of the poems you deemed worthy for publication.

You glanced at the small calendar sitting on your desk and brushed your fingers against the glossy paper. The month of December was marked with an abundance of plans and reminders. You took note of every single important date mentioned in the past letters you received, those days circled with a bright red sharpie. The latest mark glared back at you, its vivid color reminding you of how significant it was.

Hey you, December 27th will be a big day so remember it. 

This one will be hard for you but trust me, I wish I had done this years ago. 

At times, you felt like a sitting duck. You knew what was going to happen and how to respond but you never knew when it would occur. Whenever your mother walked past your room, you would enter your fight or flight mode, complete with sweaty palms and a panic-filled mind. Your thoughts raced through all of the possible situations that could result from your future self’s suggestion.

This impending moment would be the one to change the game.

Just as your mind was about to spiral into a million different possibilities, a loud knock resounded throughout your room. You took a long and loud breath, shaking your arms to rid yourself of the nerves before opening the door.

Johnny will come into your room to talk...

You pretended to be confused when the door revealed a disheartened Johnny. His usually neat hair was a disheveled mess and he had prominent bags under his red and irritated eyes. His pressed clothes were swapped for a wrinkled top that was messily tucked into his pants. 

“Oh my god, Johnny,” you said as you stepped aside to let him in.

“Hey,” he greeted almost lifelessly.

“I thought you were spending a couple of days with Alice and her family. At least, that’s what Mama Suh told me,” You motioned for him to take a seat on your desk chair. “Did you just get back?”

He plopped himself down, head in his hands. “Yeah, but let’s not talk about that right now.”

...and he’ll spot the typewriter he gave you.

Just as your letter predicted, Johnny turned his head to see your refurbished typewriter sitting on your desk. The machine’s older, vintage appearance stood out against the more modern and minimalistic design of your room. He pressed down on a couple of keys, filling the room with the sound of its clicking. 

“I’m surprised you still have this old thing,” he remarked. 

You moved closer to him to roll a new sheet of paper into the machine before allowing him to play around with the device. A few loose strands of your hair brushed against his face and he caught a whiff of your favorite shampoo scent. It smelled so familiar and comforting, taking Johnny back to the intimate moments where he used to hold you in his arms.

“I could never part with it,” you answered as you leaned back to take a seat on your bed. You watched him continue to type a fluffy of lines. “It was the first present you got me with your own money.”

Johnny stopped typing, his hands lingering over the keys. “You make it sound so special. It wasn’t that big of a deal, you know.” 

He caught your eyes and you make sure your voice doesn’t waver when you say the next line, “Well, it was special to me.” 

Johnny broke away first, sporting that ridiculous grin he always bore when embarrassed. You saw his cheeks turn color underneath the long blond strands and you stifled a laugh. He coughed into his hand to hide his flustered state before shifting back to face the typewriter.

“So have you written anything with this old baby since?” he posed, his voice overpowering the sound of the keyboard clicks.

He’ll ask if you have written anything since the break in your friendship. I made the mistake of saying “no,” but you, my dear, have the chance to change that.

“I took a break for a bit,” you answered honestly with a shrug of your shoulders, “but yeah I have a few journals filled, not a lot though. Typed out the best ones— they’re around here somewhere.” 

“Have any to share?”

Pivoting away from him, your body shook as you bent down to reach into your drawers. A hand trembled in time with your racing heart when you spotted the familiar leather-bound journal, the dirtied yellow practically screaming your name. You grabbed hold of it with a solid grip, nails imprinting crescent moons on the cover. 

You pressed the book against your chest and the beating of your fragile heart was so strong, you thought it was going to break through your ribcage and thrash against the journal itself. The book you held in your hands was your most prized possession: your blood, sweat, and tears all within its binding. It was the secret to your success and the secret to your heart. 

His name was so neatly written on that first page, starting off an unsent love letter to him and there he was, in your room, about to receive everything you had caged behind a fake name. 

I want you to hand him your journal, you know the one, and tell him— “Read it if you ever have some time on your hands.”

Johnny accepted it with a smile. He tapped the book cover heartily before tucking it under his arm. “I’ll always have time for you and your work.”

“Be careful with that— that particular journal is really important to me.”

“I will.” Johnny paused, just observing the way your eyes would flicker nervously from the notebook and then back to him. 

“Did you ever write with someone in mind?” he questioned, his puffy eyes gleaming with curiosity.

You gulped before giving him a nervous smile, “I’m sure you’ll find the answer to that in there somewhere.”

I feel as if this is our last chance in changing the future. Let’s pray the Fates are in our favor this time. Best of wishes and an abundance of happiness to you, love.

I hope this works.

signed,

the sunflower without her sun

Johnny read through your journal the minute he got home. Locking himself in his childhood bedroom, he changed into a pair of comfortable clothes and dived right in. He was terribly exhausted from his long drive back from Alice’s place, the trip both mentally and physically draining. He read with the intention of taking a break from the raging waves inside his head but instead, it turned his mind into a tsunami— the thoughts crashing along each other and causing him to drown in the harsh waters of his brain. He read the book from cover to cover, leaving no page unturned. 

You gave him this odd request and although weird, he wanted to follow through for you. You had asked him to read the book in its entirety before flipping back to the very first page.

Your words floated off the page and they touched him in ways he never knew. Johnny soaked in every scribble, every word you wrote. He felt every instance of love and heartbreak within its binding and wondered who made you feel this way. His heart swelled at every lovesick poem you wrote and dropped at every sad picture you painted with your verses.

Some of your writings sounded awfully familiar to Johnny but he shrugged it off, thinking you had shown him your old work in passing. 

It wasn’t until he reached a certain poem that everything came crashing down on him. You wrote a short poem, one that barely filled the page, about a sunflower that longed for the light of the sun and it hit him all at once. 

Johnny frantically sprung up from his bed to search for a certain book. Practically running to his desk, he shoved everything aside and down fell a pile of paper, prints, and polaroids. He shuffled through endless piles of junk until he found what he was looking for: Sunny Blume’s letters left unsent.

He flipped and flipped and flipped through pages, his heart doing cartwheels inside his chest as Johnny so desperately foraged for that particular set of words. His eyes skimmed through Sunny’s published book before turning back to find the same words written in your neat handwriting.

It was one and the same.

He rifled through the pages of Sunny’s book until he reached the dedication, eyes taking in every word.

these are my unsent letters to you, my muse

i hope they get to you someday because no matter when we are or where you are or with whom you’re with— it always has been and always will be you, you, you

His mind was sent into a loop when he shifted his attention back to your worn-out yellow journal. Johnny’s large hands move on their own, working to find the first page. He handled the pages so roughly, the papers ripping at the seams, until he reached his destination. The tall man lost his balance, body falling to the floor when he read an identical dedication. The only difference was the opening line.

these are my unsent letters to you, johnny— 

The next few days passed by in a daze, Johnny’s head still filled with thoughts of you and the poems you secretly addressed to him. The blond didn’t dare meet you in person, his mind still muffled with confusion. Instead, he just stared outside of his bedroom window, his line of sight directed towards your window. He stared blankly for days, watching the lights flicker on and off every now and then. His heart pushed against his chest, beating erratically when he caught a glimpse of you leaving your house to run an errand for your mom but would hide behind his blinds when you would look his way.

He shook with every text you sent him, but you never touched on the topic of your journal. Johnny refused to reply to you, scared of running off at the mouth with the wrong words. 

His mother, being the intuitive person she was, noticed his behavior right away but didn’t approach him until New Year’s Eve.

She knocked on his door and he let her in, his thoughts still elsewhere. Taking a seat on his bed, Johnny easily followed suit, body gravitating towards his mother’s in his time of need. His mom cupped his cheek and stroked it gently, “My love, what is going on with you, hm?”

He turned his head away from her, almost ashamed of his feelings, and crossed his arms against his chest to protect himself. “Nothing.”

She chuckled in that motherly way, hands moving to comb through her son’s blond hair. “Now, you and I both know this isn’t nothing if you have been holed up in your room for days.”

When he doesn’t reply, his mother pushed in a way that would definitely elicit an answer, “She’s been asking about you, you know? Seemed pretty worried that you weren’t answering her.”

“Mom,” Johnny started off, looking at her with a confused expression. He was bewildered by everything he had discovered recently, he didn’t even know how to start laying it out. 

“These past few years, I thought I was in love with Alice but,” he shook his head, almost in disbelief, “turns out I wasn’t after all.”

Her wrinkled hand slid down his arm to grab hold of his hand. She squeezed it with all the love and support in her heart, urging her son to continue. 

“I talked to Flower and she made me realize I wasn’t. I never saw Alice in my future and Doyoung made me realize I had always pictured someone else.” His mother followed Johnny’s far-off gaze only to find it focusing on your window. He continued to stare at it as you opened the glass doors to let in some cold air, your arms stretching outward to catch the falling snow. 

“And is that someone else your best friend?” she posed the question with a knowing smile. 

Johnny’s answer was caught in his throat, struggling to come out. It was hard for him to admit but he felt the need to. He swallowed the lump lodged in his throat and his pride before finally spewing out the answer he had been denying for the past few years. “Yeah, it’s always been her.”

As soon as those words left his mouth, Johnny felt the weight in his chest disappear. He stole a glance at a framed picture on his desk and the biggest smile spread along his lips. It was a picture of you and him in the middle of the sunflower field from years ago. He initially sent it to his mother and she took the liberty of framing it and placing it in his room. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes zeroed in on you in that bright yellow shirt. 

“Somehow, her mom and I always knew you would fall for each other,” his mother pointed out, snapping him out of his daze. Her statement ripped the fond smile off his face.

“Mom, I’m scared,” Johnny almost whispered.

“Of what, John?” Her eyes searched for his face and he refused to meet her gaze.

It took him a minute to reply. “Of losing her, like how you lost dad. You guys were best friends too, you know.”

Johnny never liked talking about the divorce, the split still living too fresh in his mind. It hurt him too much to even think about, so he shunned the feelings away. The boy grew up with an abundance of love stories, from his mother being spoiled with flowers to the sweetest proposal. Like you and him, his parents grew up as childhood friends that turned into more. When everything fell apart, it tore him apart in ways one could never explain.

“Oh, my love,” his mother sighed. Although her build was much smaller in comparison to his, she pulled her son into her arms and he immediately curled into her hold. He rested his head against his mom’s chest and she worked her fingers through his hair in a soothing manner. 

“Your father, as loving and sweet as he is, wasn’t my soulmate. We discovered this way too late in life but I loved him all the same,” she began to say. He shifted in her loving hold, still not ready to discuss the split.

“Yes, we didn’t work out but I’m so glad to have him in my life because he made me who I am today and,” she took a second to lift her son’s chin with a gentle finger, “he gave me the most precious gift of all— you.”

Johnny smiled up at his mother with tears rimming his eyes and she wiped them away with the tip of her manicured finger. “You are the light of my life, my dear, and you are so deserving of love.”

“Mom,” he muttered through a sniffle. His heart always grew soft at his mother’s words.

“And I know she is the one who will give it to you,” she finished sweetly, tapping his cheek. “She always looked at you like you were the sun.”

“You think so?”

His mom’s laughter fills the room with delight, “John, if you only saw things from our eyes. I saw it and so did her mother and your father. You looked at her the exact same way.”

She broke the embrace first to place a comforting hand on his broad shoulder. “I know you’re scared, everyone is at some point but you’ll never know until you try, darling. That’s how life works.”

Johnny could only nod at his mother’s advice and she squished his cheeks lovingly in return. She stood up from her seat to stretch before slapping him lightly on his bicep. He flinched at the sudden contact, shooting his mother a shocked surprised look. 

“Enough of this, we have a New Year’s party to get ready for. You need to look nice tonight,” she playfully scolded her son. She shuffled through his closet before pulling out a thin black turtleneck and a beige trench coat to match.

Right before she walked out the room, his mother turned on her heel to say, “By the way, John. You got a letter in the mail. I set it on the counter for you.”

The New Year’s celebration was in full swing at your humble childhood house, the living room and kitchen decorated with the shiniest shades of gold and silver. The numbers of the upcoming year were pasted on the wall where your makeshift photo booth was located, a couple of childhood friends shoving their bodies together to fit into the frame of the ring light and the camera. They drunkenly called your name, hands reaching for you to join them, but you waved them off and shook your glass in the air. You needed a refill.

Balloons littered the floor, making it hard to walk across the crowded room filled with your mother’s friends and their families. You wiggled your way until you reached your kitchen, quickly pouring yourself another flute of champagne. Three flutes of bubbly and two shots of rum deep into your night but you still wanted more. 

You felt your phone vibrate in your skirt pocket and you blindly palmed your thigh until you found it. “Hmm, hello?” you mumbled.

“Hey, buttercup,” Donhyuck’s voice almost screamed into the phone. His side sounded rowdier than yours. “Happy almost New Year!”

You removed the phone from your ear to check the time, thirty minutes until midnight. “Right back at ya, you doof!”

“Did you find someone to ring in the New Year with yet?” 

“Ha, funny for you to assume I was looking,” you heartily laughed.

“That’s no fun.” You could practically picture Donghyuck’s pout in your head. “Johnny Boy hasn’t talked to you yet?”

“No,” you groaned. You informed your friend about handing the journal over a couple of days ago and he was hanging onto your every word, hoping your mutual stupidity and pining for each other would end soon. He knew everything that had occurred since he left, everything except the letters. 

“Is he there?” 

“Yes and he looks like Adonis in that tight turtleneck of his,” you moaned into your flute, the alcohol you consumed finally bringing out your hidden thoughts. “He hasn’t talked to me yet, though.”

“Then, why don’t you approach him first?” Donghyuck suggested.

“Aren’t you too invested in this? Shouldn’t you be on your way to Junnie?” you shot back with another glimpse at the time. The clock was ticking closer to midnight. 

Your mind short-circuited as you caught a glimpse of your childhood friend across the room. He locked eyes with you, the deep brown you loved so much shining in the lowlight from afar. You watch him down his flute of champagne in one go before slowly making his way over to you. Johnny’s lengthy body twisted and turned while fighting the crowd, the tight shirt hugging every defined curve and line of his torso. His styled blond hair fell to frame his handsome face and his brows were furrowed with determination.

“Hyuck, oh my god, I take it back. He’s heading over here,” you whispered harshly into the phone. His quick steps across the floor matched the beating of your heart.

“I’ll talk to you later, sweetie,” your roommate teased before ending the call. “Happy New Year!”

“Hyuck!” you shouted but it was too late.

It didn’t take long for Johnny to reach you. You tried to ignore the butterflies but they increased as he stood in front of you with only the kitchen island separating your bodies. He leaned against the counter, looking so effortlessly handsome, you almost fell to your knees. 

“Go outside with me?” were his first words to you in days. “We should talk.”

“Sure, let me just—” You cut yourself off to chug your freshly poured glass of champagne, the bubbly substance tickling your throat. Johnny gave you an amused look but you ignored it, rushing towards the front door with a coat in hand.

He opened the door for you as you shuffled into your jacket, motioning for you to step out first with a dazzling grin. He followed right after, leaving the door slightly ajar before leaning against the wall. 

In your tipsied state, you struggled to jump onto the ledge of your porch. You frowned at the seemingly easy task and gasped in surprise when you felt two strong arms lift you at the waist and your shivering hands flew to grasp his biceps to steady yourself. Johnny had the audacity to smirk at your flustered state and you scoffed at his confidence. 

“You wanted to talk,” you tried to match his confidence but you failed once he leaned against the railing, bringing his handsome face closer to yours. He was so close, you could see the length of his eyelashes, the shadow of his freshly shaved facial hair, and the pores on the apples of his cheeks. “So, let’s talk.”

Without missing a beat, he jumped right in, “You’re Sunny Blume.” You closed your eyes shut at his accusation and took a deep breath, clearly not ready to hear Johnny call you by your pen name.

“Yup, that’s me,” you admitted, tugging on a loose strand of hair out of nervousness.

Before diving any deeper into the conversation, he asked, “Why that name?”

“Because I’m your sunflower, that’s why,” you pushed yourself to say. He chuckled with the shake of his head, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Sunny for obvious reasons. ‘Blume’ meaning ‘flower’ in German. It was obvious to those who knew what they were looking at, but to others, it was just a simple name. Everything about that poem collection always tied back to Johnny Suh.

“Did you really mean everything that you wrote?” was his next question. There was this hopeful gleam in his eyes as he stared at you, lips pursed out as he waited for your revealing answer.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” 

You squeezed his arm, “When have I ever lied to you about something as serious as this?”

He hummed in return. 

“I turned you into poetry because I couldn’t have you any other way.”

You release your hold on him, bringing your hands to rub against your stocking-clad legs. Your short coat cut off at mid-thigh, leaving your legs exposed to the cold winter air. Noticing your shivering body, Johnny quickly shimmied out of his trench coat to drape it over your smaller figure. 

Your face flushed with heat as his familiar scent flooded your nose and thanked him for his kind gesture. Slipping your arms through the sleeves of his coat, you giggled at the size difference. One of his hands lingered on your shoulder, slowly riding up to rub at the base of your neck. “Do you— do you still feel the same way about me?”

Your hand reached up to take his larger one in yours. Your fingers skirted along his skin as his hand moved to thumb at your cheek. It was a very intimate gesture, causing that tickling feeling in your stomach to return. You hummed at the warmth of his touch, “I don’t think I’ve ever stopped.”

You pick up the sound of him breathing heavily at your confession. 

You laid your cards on the table. It was his turn to make a move. 

“The question is, Johnny, do you feel the same?” You exhaled, the puff of hot air hitting his face. “Do you love me, too?”

“I’m pretty sure I always have,” he replied with the softest look. Johnny drank the sight of you in: the haze in your bright eyes, the rise and fall of your chest, the blinding smile that you were trying so hard to conceal.

He straightened up and stepped closer to you, your knees now hitting the tops of his thighs. Johnny leaned down, transferring his weight to one arm, as he brought his face closer to yours. “I was always so scared of losing you that I couldn’t admit how I felt.”

“Are you scared now?” You found yourself subconsciously moving towards him, your body automatically gravitating to the warmth he was executing. 

“A little bit, yeah,” Johnny confessed. His fingers reached up to play with a loose strand of your hair. He tenderly tucked it behind your ear, his skin grazing against a sensitive spot on your neck. You fluttered at his soft touch, your heart now dancing along your chest. “But I’m willing to give it a shot.”

“And Alice?”

“I broke it off with her the day I came into your room.” That explained why he looked so out of sorts that day, you thought to yourself. Taking a moment to let that information sink in, you realized that the Johnny standing in front of you was single and willing to try with you. 

It worked. The letters that your future self sent you, they worked. 

The countdown for the New Year began in the background, the excited yelling ringing throughout your house. 

10! 9! 8! 7!

“Is that right?”

6! 5! 4! 

You would forever remember the moment your childhood best friend, Johnny Suh, stole your heart for good. He looked you dead in the eye and with the deepest voice, he repeated your own written poem back to you, “It has always been and always will be you.”

3!

He kissed your left cheek first.

“You.”

Then, your right.

2!

“You.”

1!

The clock struck twelve and without a moment’s hesitation, Johnny captured your crimson-painted lips with his own to ring in the New Year. Catching you off guard, the force of the kiss almost sent you backward but he was quick to wrap a tight arm around your waist. Your legs opened to give him room to slide in between your thighs, allowing him to press you even closer. His free hand slid its way to your hair, holding your head in place as he deepened the kiss. Your head titled in time with his as you grabbed at his neck to hold him down.

Your neck was starting to strain at the awkward positioning and you pulled away to catch your breath. Still longing to taste you, Johnny tugged you back into another heated lip-lock and tapped at your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his waist, enjoying the way his larger figure molded with yours. He walked backward and turned to push you against the wall.

He broke away to nibble at the base of your neck, peppering fleeting kisses on the expanse of your exposed skin as you thumbed through his hair. 

“Hey,” you mumbled low enough to catch his attention. He tore away from your neck, placing his head on your shoulder. “Happy New Year, Johnny.”

When he looked up at you with all the love and adoration you had only dreamed about, an overwhelming feeling of happiness took over your entire being. “Happy New Year, sunflower.” 

He slowly let you down from his hold before interlocking your fingers. “Now, wanna get outta here?” He gestured to his empty house across the street.

“And why would I do that?” you teased with a scrunch of your nose. 

He sent you a smirk that sent shivers down your spine, “To make up for lost time, of course.”

You yanked him down for a short but fervid kiss. “Well, we have four years to make up for. Better get started.” With a tug of his arm, you giggled your way down the street as he fiddled around to find his keys. 

It was the first time in four years where Johnny woke up with you by his side. The rays of the winter sun peeped through the small gap of curtain, illuminating part of his room. He arose to clothes scattered along the wooden floor and a tiny breeze blowing through the vent above his bed. He turned over to find you pressing your bare self into his exposed chest with a whine, searching for a source of warmth in your sleepy state. He smiled fondly, heart thrashing wildly at the sight of you under the covers next to him. 

Johnny reached over to his bedside table in search of his phone but ran across two envelopes piled on top of each other. He opened the first one, eyes glazing over a recognizable font.

John,

You might think this handwriting looks familiar and that’s because it is— it’s yours. I’m you from the future and I’m writing to you because I need you to do something for me. 

I know you’re skeptical about this, just as you always are with the supernatural so I’m here to prove it to you. 

By the time you receive this letter, you should be home for Christmas for the first time in three years. On the day you go to the Christmas Tree Farm, you’ll find a sunflower and it will be beautiful. 

A sunflower in winter, sounds impossible, right? Believe me— it’s not. You’ll understand soon enough.

But promise me, once you see that flower, keep it in your grasp. Don’t let it go.

Sincerely, JS

A soft chuckle built up in his chest, the vibrations shaking your slumber away. He gently placed the paper back on the table only to feel a feathery touch rub against the bright ink of his sunflower tattoo. 

“A sunflower in winter, huh?” he said to himself.

“What did you say, Johnny?” you asked, voice hoarse from sleep and the activities from the night before. You pressed a kiss onto his forearm, smiling against the tattooed print that forever reminded him of you.

“Nothing, baby,” he shook his head, hand leaving his side to stroke the side of your face. “Go back to sleep.” You hummed at his command, eyes immediately fluttering to a close. You sighed happily as Johnny wrapped an arm around your waist and you tangled your legs with his to bring him flush against you.

Just as you tucked your head into the crook of his neck, he decided that he was never going to let you go. 

The new year passed with the blink of an eye. Within the twelve months, you graduated summa cum laude with a bachelor’s degree in English Literature and moved into a small two bedroom apartment with Johnny. His many pictures decorated the walls of your new home, smiles found all around your apartment. One bedroom was converted to an office with two desks, one for him and an even bigger one for you. On top of your desk sat your beloved typewriter, your trusty laptop, and a few of your journals. A dried arrangement of sunflowers and red roses hung right by your desk, never failing to bring you inspiration when your mind ran dry.

On a random day, you found yourself grinning from ear to ear in your living room, waiting for your boyfriend to come home from his photography studio. You killed time on the couch, flipping through channels and scrolling through your phone, toes wiggling in anticipation.

What felt like hours later, you heard the rustling of keys and the wobbling of your doorknob. You turned just in time to see Johnny appear with that kittenish grin curled on his lips. You jumped up at the chance to greet him, arms wrapping around his torso and legs coiling around his waist to give him a kiss. He dropped his backpack in astonishment, not expecting that eager of a greeting before pressing back into you. 

An arm pushed against the small of your back to keep you steady as he broke away, walking your bodies further into the apartment. “Hey to you, too,” he laughed into your hair.

“I’m sorry, I’m just really happy today,” you beamed up at him, the upturns of your mouth almost meeting the tips of your ears.

Johnny set you down gently as he grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen. “Because it’s date night?”

“Well, that too,” you replied before quickly running to the coffee table. Picking up an item, you hid it behind your back before approaching him with the widest smile. “But it’s because I have a surprise for you!”

He immediately closed his eyes, arms extended out as his fingers opened and closed playfully against his palm. You placed the item in his hands as the tall man bounced on his heels, his eyelids fluttering open to find a hardcover book in his hold.

“Is this what I think it is?” Johnny questioned softly, fingers trailing against the spine of the book.

You refused to answer and just silently motioned for him to open it but it was exactly what he thought it was— the proof of your new poem collection, all my loving. A surge of pride rushed through you as you saw your beloved hold your book in his hands; it felt amazing to finally have another book under your name.

He opened the hardcover hastily, excited to read your work. As much as he pestered you for a peek for the past year, you always denied his requests, telling him to wait until the collection was complete.

Johnny turned to the first page and you watched him with all the love and adoration in your heart as he soaked your book’s dedication.

That collection was far from perfect but it was yours as much as it was his. With that book and your first year together almost complete, you couldn’t wait to start all over with new verses and prose filling your heart and soul but more importantly, you couldn’t wait to do it all over again with him.

Johnny looked up from the page, completely enamored by your musings. Tears threatened to cascade down his rounded cheeks as he smiled down at you. “The perfect gift from the perfect girl,” he said, his fingers finding their way to the belt loops of your jeans to tug you closer.

“Nothing can beat this gift, huh?” You stared up at him with the brightest eyes he had ever seen. It was then he realized you were brighter than the yellow flowers that became your namesake. You were the sun itself.

“I’m pretty sure I can think of something that could top this, sunshine,” Johnny chuckled, lightly touching his forehead to yours. 

You placed a tender kiss at the side of his mouth before asking, “And what would that be?”

You didn’t receive an answer, you just felt the warmth of his body leave yours as he took a step back with the shyest smile. You watched him with wrinkled brows and a curious look as his trembling hands left your hips and slid up to grab hold of your hands. His palms were sweaty, you noted, as his grip tensed around yours. 

“I, um, planned on doing this at dinner tonight but I don’t think I can wait any longer,” Johnny started to say with a shaky voice. Feeling the nervous energy in the air and the slight shaking of his body, you put two and two together.

“Oh my god,” you let out an unsteady breath. Your heart was fighting a battle with your ribcage, screaming to be let out as another quivering chuckle escaped his lips.

You felt his thumb rubbing against the back of your left hand before it moved up to ghost against your ring finger. “Now, I can’t phrase things like you but I’ll do my very best,” he quipped. There was a tremble in his voice and you wanted to kiss it away but you decided to stay quiet and just live in the moment as he poured his heart out to you.

“A bit over a year ago, something incredible happened: I got these weird letters in the mail—”

Wait, letters?

“—and they led me back to you. They said something about finding a sunflower in the middle of winter and I thought that it was the dumbest prank someone could ever pull but way later down the line, I realized the letter was talking about you.” 

He got letters, too?

“When you asked me about my dream future,” Johnny continued, “the only person I could picture was you and I was so angry at myself for not figuring it out sooner.” Your eyes flickered up to stare into his adoring gaze. His brown eyes dripped of honey and candy and everything sweet in the world. 

“That— that’s okay,” you laughed through your tears. “We have all the time in the world now.”

He nodded; that you did.

“And your poems are like something sent from the heavens, you are something sent from the heavens, and I don’t think I can ever let go of your hand ever again,” he squeezed your hand and you pressed back with double the strength. 

For once, you couldn’t find the words to speak. Johnny Suh, your winter angel and the sun of your sky, had rendered you speechless.

The only sound that left your lips was the genuine gasp you let out once your eyes caught sight of the small jewelry box that he pulled out from his back pocket. Johnny struggled to one-handedly open the case, refusing to let go of your left hand. “I’m simply the Earth that revolves around you.” 

An immense heat rushed to your face as Johnny went down on one knee, his brown eyes wide and shining just for you. “You’re the light of my life, my most precious flower and person, so please,” he paused to press a kiss to your knuckles before looking you in the eyes, “please marry me.”

Overwhelmed by his proposal, you squeaked out a “yes” before Johnny pulled you down to his level for the most earth-shattering kiss you had ever experienced. You were spinning, mind reeling as he kissed you over and over again, leaving no spot on your face untouched. You giggled and cried at his actions and his words, feeling nothing but loved.  

When Johnny slipped that beautiful diamond ring on your finger, you realized that the most impossible dreams had a possibility of coming true. 

“I love you,” you sobbed as you admired the new piece decorating your hand. The sparkle of the jewel shone brilliantly but it could never compare to the twinkle in your love’s eyes.  

“I love you too, soulmate,” he answered, nudging your nose with his. 

Soulmates— that’s what you were and what you always will be. You wondered if your future self would be happy with how everything turned out; she probably would.

And to think, you laughed to yourself, it all started and ended with a couple of love letters.

for my most precious person,  the sun to my flower, johnny—

you’re in every song i sing every gift i string  everything  just brings me back to you

in every note i write every candle i light degree fahrenheit  my heart burns nothing but true

and so i say in this letter new i’ll send all my loving to you

💌   © sehunniepotwrites, 2020

[fluffy-marshmallow-heart]

20 Seconds of Courage -Part 19

The Elementalists au

Beckett x MC (Oriana)

Words: 1835

Warnings: This is a very dark chapter. Assault, rape, murder, blood splatter, and suicide are all here, as well as gun violence and arson. Read at your own risk. (Please don't hate me, I don't even know how this got so far, but it's fairly fitting for a Halloween posting lol)

Series Master List

Complete Master List

  “Oh my god.” Oriana groaned, immediately trying to grasp the back of her head, but finding herself restrained, her wrists and feet tied. “What the hell was that…” She looked around the unfamiliar setting, her head throbbing. “Where….?

The room she was in was luxurious. She was lying in a four-poster queen size bed. She was laying on top of white satin sheets and wearing a white satin slip. She had nothing on underneath and was barefoot. “How in the world….?”

“I wouldn’t think about it too much. You won’t be here long. Loose ends don’t stay loose for long at all. And you, my dear, are a huge loose end.”

She froze, hearing the voice coming from across the room. She knew that voice. Her eyes immediately shifted, finding Jason’s immediately. “Jason, what are you doing? Haven’t you done enough to me already? What more could you possibly want?”

“It was never supposed to go this far. You were never going to be anything other than a decoy as we hit the real target. You really fucked up those plans, and you will pay the price. Since our big payday is no longer coming, we could try to hold ransom from Beckett for you, but….this is much sweeter isn’t it? Finding his true love, devoid of life, wrapped in white satin soaked in crimson blood? I know I’m looking forward to that view. Just like I was his sister’s. Of course, that had to be hurried, and it became rushed and sloppy. But this…you…will not be rushed. It will not be sloppy. You will be beautiful even as you die.”

Jason stood up, sauntering towards her as though a predator. The glint of a knife drew her attention. He noticed.

“Oh this? This knife and I go a long way back. It’s my...sacrificial one, if you will. You aren’t the first person we’ve had to put down for getting in our way. For the rich ones, the real targets, I have another. But for you…”

He arrived at her bedside, smiling down on her. “This knife is for little bitches like you, who don’t get out of the way fast enough.” He pressed the tip into her neck, drawing a drop of blood. He grinned as she winced.

“I’m not normally one for drawing things out. It’s such a rush, such a high, taking someone’s life. But I want your lover to know how greatly you suffered. I want him to know it’s his fault that you did not go peacefully. He’s going to wish you died the way his sister did. Instant. Didn’t feel a thing. Here one minute, and the next…gone from the earth.” He sliced her arm, a trickle of blood coming out.

“You might wonder why you’re dressed like that. A tiny slip, naked underneath, surrounded by white. Your arms and legs tied up so you’re spread open for anyone to see that perfect little pussy of yours. There’s going to be alooooot of fun happening here. Maybe not so much for you. But you’ll be bleeding out anyway, growing weaker and weaker, but still feeling every sensation brought to you. I bet I can even make you cum as I slit your throat. Dying during an orgasm…now that is a good way to go. I guess I’m feeling generous right now. Or maybe I just want to see you shudder in ecstasy at the same time you choke on your own blood.”

“Why?” She whispered. “What did I ever do to you? What did Beckett ever do to you?”

Jason sneered. “That bracelet…I loved seeing you wear it. Completely oblivious it belonged to someone else, someone important. It took me a few years to wear you down and get you to date me…honestly you are such a tease. So, it’s been years since I’ve fed my innermost desires. And this is pure poetry.”

“How?” She cried.

“You haven’t figured it out, yet? You made my relationship with Lisa public. She could no longer be used to satisfy my bloodlust. So it was fucking perfect that Beckett Harrington, brother of the last person to meet their untimely demise by my hand, picked you to start a relationship with. He caused quite the trouble for us, leading the search for Katrina’s killer. But there were no leads to go on. Everything was a dead end. Absolutely no trace of me was left behind. So, I forgot all about him. Until a few months ago when he applied for a position. At first I was nervous, but then I realized, what a beautiful thing it would be, to work with him, mentor him, become his friend. I never had the chance to make it happen. It would have been one of my finest moments, having him open up about his tragic past to me, letting me relive it through his eyes.”

“You’re despicable.” Oriana spat.

“I prefer the term, God. I alone have held lives in my hands. Just like right now, I have full control over you living and dying. If that’s not God, I don’t know what is.” He was practically singing his triumph. “I just want you to die. But not until after I’ve had you again.”

Jason climbed on top of her, unbuckling his pants as he went. “It’s a pity things went this way. I enjoyed you so much. The things you can do with that tongue of yours….” He eyes turned black with desire.

Oriana opened her mouth to scream, but Jason’s knife was immediately on her throat, breaking through her skin. “I don’t want to kill you until I make you cum, Oriana. But don’t think I won’t.”

Jason lined his cock with her center, and just as he was about to enter her, the door to the room slammed open.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” A voice boomed out.

Jason jumped off of her, yanking his pants back up.

“Are you a fucking idiot? You want your DNA all over her, inside her? I told you to leave her alone. Why are you even in here?” Michael strode into the room, not sparing a single glance at Oriana. She felt like the wind was knocked out of her.

“M…Michael? What…how…why…?” She gasped.

He turned his cold gaze to her. It was so cold she actually shivered. “You don’t actually think this one is smart enough to pull shit off by himself, do you?”

Oriana gaped at him, and he chuckled with a sneer. “God, I thought you were smarter than that. But then again, you wore a bracelet an ex-boyfriend gave you around a new boyfriend. That was pretty stupid. I didn’t think girls actually did things like that.”

He turned back to Jason, leveling him with his gaze. “Although, it’s not as stupid as giving someone a trophy to wear anytime they like. So here I am, getting my hands dirty so we don’t spend the rest of our lives in prison because of his complete and utter idiocy. And, as you can see, he has a flair for the dramatic.”

Michael shook his head in disappointment. “I never wanted to hurt you, Oriana. You’re a beautiful and bright girl. But unfortunately, I’m left with no choice. Jason, get over here.”

Jason went up to Michael, smiling widely. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

“It is. Go to the bed and take your pants off again.”

“But you said…”

“I changed my mind. I want to watch you destroy her. I haven’t actually seen you do this before. I want to experience the thrill of it.”

Grinning wickedly, Jason went to the bed, sliding his pants and boxers down, kicking them away. He climbed on top of her again, and Oriana finally started crying. She couldn’t help it. This was it. This was how her life would end. Before she could even register what was happening, there was a loud BANG! Jason fell heavily on top of her, motionless, blood everywhere.

Oriana screamed as his blood splattered on the white satin and her skin. Michael looked at her, his face blank. “Welcome to your murder suicide, Oriana. I was actually going to wait a bit longer, but I just can’t stand listening to that man speak anymore. And although I’m not opposed to killing you, I have no desire for him to rape you. I’m no monster. Jason’s messed this up so bad, and I don’t have room for more mistakes. Getting close enough to do it is good enough and all I need.”

Oriana was hyperventilating, seeing the gun in Michael’s hand, and the hole in Jason’s head, his lifeless eyes looking into hers. She couldn’t get enough air in her lungs to scream.

“But…I…he…”

Michael bellowed a laugh. “I can’t understand what you’re saying. SPEAK.” He cocked the gun, aiming it for her.

“…How…?” She croaked.

“Oh, how is it a murder-suicide? Well, I’m going to untie you. Then I’m going to anonymously tip off your dear Beckett Harrington about your location. People already know you’re missing, and they’ll suspect Jason of being with you. Beckett is already mad with worry, and he’s been publicly jealous and angry in the past. He’ll come in, see you and Jason about to fuck since you’ve missed him so much, and he’ll be so blind with rage that he kills you both. And then I’ll reappear to put a bullet in his own head, and make sure his fingerprints are everywhere they need to be, especially on the gun. Absolutely no loose ends. But just in case there’s any doubt whatsoever…”

Michael left the room for just a moment, returning with a few candles, placing them by the curtains and the bed, lighting each one ceremoniously. “There was so much commotion, a couple candles fell over, and since there was no one left alive to correct that…everything will be consumed in flames. I would use gasoline to speed things along, but who shows up and commits a crime of passion armed with a can of gasoline? Besides, you and Jason definitely would have had romantic lighting as you restarted your affair.”

“Where are we?” She whispered. “Someone will see or hear something. Those gunshots.”

“We are miles away from anyone. This house is long abandoned. Some very fancy furniture though.”

“Please don’t do this.” She begged. “I’ll leave the city, I’ll take Beckett with me. We’ll never breathe a word about this to anyone. Not even each other.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “That’s the best you can come up with? That’s the most cliché thing I’ve ever heard.”

Her whole body was trembling, feeling crushed by Jason’s dead weight, his blood dripping on her. She looked Michael square in the eye as he rose his gun back up and put his finger on the trigger.

“Goodbye Oriana.”

She let out a scream as the gunshot rang out, the house falling still as a candle fell over and lit the curtains on fire.

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[moononmyfloor]

Review: The Tyrant's Tomb by Rick Riordan

Thoughts on The Cover

Well, if you've seen my previous posts by now you'd know that I'm not a big fan of loud and action-packed covers. I prefer classy, if not always subtle. But you might like it! See, Reyna is owning the bigger portion of it, which is a nice change. :-)

Ok to Low Points

Halfway through the book, I was STILL unable to "get" into the story

Literally, not much was going on for 2/3 of the whole book, which is very surprising considering:

The time between the release dates of The Tyrant's Tomb and The Burning Maze is the longest as of yet. Whereas other books within a series have come out within twelve months of each other, these two books will be released within eighteen months of each other.

.....and that even the most boring books by Uncle Rick had some silver linings here and there to keep you engaged. Even The Dark Prophecy had the gang arrive and settle in Indianapolis, visit the zoo and free Griffins and REVISIT the emperor. Here? Apollo and Co. escorted Jason's hearse into Camp Jupiter in a frankly insulting manner(more about that later), Apollo got sick, we see that the noble prophecies are being tattooed on Tyson's back, Apollo and Co. went on a lil' trial quest and returned, Apollo got more sick.🤷‍♀️ I was so confused I opened the previous books to see how far those stories had progressed by midpoint.

It got slightly better later on, but it doesn't change the fact throughout the 1st half of the book I just kept on turning pages SIMPLY because I wanted it to get it on with and finish the story. Sad.

2. The so-called Tyrant

I didn't see much tyranny, like...only 3 pages were spent in the Tyrant's Tomb and his company, bad old Commodus and Caligula had more appearances than Tarquin who re-appeared in the very last chapters only to get immediately vanquished courtesy of Diana.....yeah. That's that.

3. How Jason's final voyage was depicted

Uncle Rick doesn't write emotional crying scenes well.

People talk about peeing and pop chewing gum bubbles while delivering the hearses of valued, honored characters.

And I seriously wonder in what position and condition poor Jason's body was after all the drama his coffin underwent.

And based on the spoilery lines(which sadly turned out to be not spoilers at all) we saw in the Magnus Chase series I thought we'd at least get a Percy-Annabeth cameo in this, that Jason will have more of his closest comrades mourning and sending him off. Nah. Nada. Not even a mention of Annabeth. Then why did Uncle Rick mention things like Annabeth and Percy being at California and even Magnus joining them at their time of crisis? Utter puzzlement. And we were also robbed of Nico's reaction to Jason's demise, considering how much Nico valued Jason as a brother-in-arms and a friend. Let's not even talk about Thalia. Why, Uncle Rick? :-(

Which brings us to...

4. Plot Inconsistencies

Why do I have to talk about this in each and every book? :-( Seriously, why would you write about Percy and Annabeth going to New Rome to attend college and being broken hearted over Jason DURING the period of Demigod communication malfunction, only to have us know they have YET to travel across the country and when we meet them again it would still be at New York? And now the communication is working, proving that Uncle Rick conveniently forgot about the clues he conveniently dropped.

AT LEAST I'm glad one thing is consistent in the Trials of Apollo series, that when Zeus decided they'll stop meddling too much in demigod affairs at the end of Heroes of Olympus, he meant it and now it's super duper hard to seek a god even for dire needs, no matter how wonderfully (ill)timed that decision was, costing lives of valued heroes.

5. The Haiku-titles weren't amusing at all this time.

I found one fun haiku .

O, blood moon rising

Take a rain check on doomsday

I’m stuck in traffic

6. The whole Apollo-Reyna debacle.

I would say Uncle Rick pulled a clever twist by turning fan theories on their heads here, but it too way more plot space than needed and when he got to the "Gotcha!" part, I was not feeling it. For YEARS now, we heard abut this no-mortal-no-demigod thing over and over, and fans predicted it might mean Apollo's the one for Reyna. And when it initially seemed like it was the route that Uncle Rick was indeed taking, the only thought that circulated inside my head was; "Reyna doesn't need this completely random and unwanted baggage! Give the girl a dam break!!" But then he was like; "Lol nooo. You kids are wrong", but STILL I was not happy...well, for obvious reasons.

What's the point of this whole plotline? So unnecessary. I mean, the fans always wondered WHY exactly would Reyna think she needs a partner in her life, but now I see Reyna might not have had time to contemplate her personal life logically like WE had what's with her dramatic life. Of course the shallow gods would think her heart was something to be "cured" and Reyna never stopped to think that it's quite the opposite till Apollo provided her with a breather and reason. And to answer why din't she choose to join Amazons instead of Hunters is probably that she wanted to be her own person and not be under her sis the Queen once again. She'd indeed have the freedom, calm and few friends so she wouldn't feel lonely and bored with the Hunt. She might even choose to leave Hunters after she found herself in her own time. I get it. But the way it was dragged and executed was meh.

If Uncle Rick intended this plotline of Reyna to be empowering for female readers, in my opinion it was not. Yes, even a badass girl could have weaknesses, not enough self-confidence and wobbly life choices, but Reyna took too much time with her "Eureka!" moment.

It was funny while it lasted, at least.

“Lester.” Reyna sighed. “What in Tartarus are you saying? I’m not in the mood for riddles.”

“That maybe I’m the answer,” I blurted. “To healing your heart. I could…you know, be your boyfriend. As Lester. If you wanted. You and me. You know, like…yeah.”

HAHAHAHA. That Totally came from the left field Lester, even for you.

“Your girlfriend was pregnant when you had her killed?” Reyna launched another kick at my face. I managed to dodge it, since I’d had a lot of practice cowering, but it hurt to know that this time she hadn’t been aiming at an incoming raven. Oh, no. She wanted to knock my teeth in.

“You suck,” Meg agreed.

I mean, if THIS is not the ultimate deal breaker then what is? Apollo might have changed for better by now, but it doesn't mean we can overlook what he did. I for one certainly don't need a loveline for him in this series. I'm glad Uncle Rick drew(or at least seemed to have) a clear line here.

High Points

It took half the page count even for Uncle Rick's special brand of snark to return. Nonetheless I managed to find some good ones. Which is what matters, right?

1.

“So,” I said, making a second attempt at nonchalance, “are you and Thalia, er…?”

Reyna raised an eyebrow. “Involved romantically?”

“Well, I just…I mean…Um…”

Oh, very smooth, Apollo. Have I mentioned I was once the god of poetry?

Reyna rolled her eyes. “If I had a denarius for every time I got that question…Aside from the fact that Thalia is in the Hunters, and thus sworn to celibacy…Why does a strong friendship always have to progress to romance?"

Preach, sister. But then again I would have to ask did YOU have to swear to celibacy to prove your independence....which is sort of the point🙄..

2.

Even when I was a god and could speak any language I wanted, I’d never sung well in Italian. I kept mixing it up with Latin, so I came off sounding like Julius Caesar with a head cold.

LOL

3.

It was time to be helpful. I needed to be repulsive for my friends!

Which you're most of the time...the latter sentence I mean.

4. Don't we all relate? 😂

“O protector of Rome!” I read aloud. “O insert name here!”

5. And one more.

I bet Gregorix was wishing he’d pursued that business degree his mom always wanted him to get. Being a barbarian bodyguard was mentally exhausting.

.

Heartrending quotes.

1.

This was the source of all our communications troubles—one sad, angry, forgotten little god.

2. This was the wisest quote I saw in the book. The simple indescribable deepness of letting go.

“Good-bye, Apollo,” said the Sibyl’s voice, clearer now. “I forgive you. Not because you deserve it. Not for your sake at all. But because I will not go into oblivion carrying hate when I can carry love.”

Even if I could’ve spoken, I wouldn’t have known what to say. I was in shock. Her tone asked for no reply, no apology. She didn’t need or want anything from me. It was almost as if I were the one being erased.

3. I was saddened to learn about Julia's untimely loss, but I'm sure everybody had a meltdown moment at the following scene.

The old god’s face hardened a bit more, which shouldn’t have been possible for stone. “I see. Well. I’ve concentrated the last bits of my power here, around Julia. They may destroy New Rome, but they will not harm this girl!”

“Or this statue!” said Julia.

4. Honestly? I too forgot until Apollo pointed it out and then I had *shivers*! They're one immediate family, grieving over one loss that affects all of them in various ways, and having mixed reactions about each others the members who survived!

I shivered. How easy it was to forget that this young woman was also my sister. And Jason was my brother. At one time, I would have discounted that connection. They’re just demigods, I would have said. Not really family.

Overall Conclusion

This is the most bored-outta-my-mind I felt after reading a PJO universe book. Am I finally growing out of the Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus fandom? Oh dear, I hope not. I can't imagine living without it and I'm SO not happy with this new development. Just as I feared, Uncle Rick couldn't keep it up after the excellent Burning Maze and now.....please, for your fans' sake who had been loyal for years, I hope at least the final book delivers. Just so we could at least part ways/go dormant with pleasant sentiments and a content heart.🙆‍♀️

[gutterdreams]

Ever The Same [FP. Jones]

I just wrote what came to me. Hope it’s alright.

You had a plan. That was what seemed to be lacking in your home life growing up, so after bouncing around from trailer to motel room to house to trailer as your parents argued, quiet jobs, lost jobs, drank, smoked, fought, and fucked up every which way, you made a plan. It was your final year of high school and you wrote at the back of your science notebook that you would graduate with a scholarship and leave Riverdale. As the year went on, your goal grew. You would get two scholarships, leave your hometown, and change your last name. You wouldn’t be [Y/N] Jones anymore. No one would be able to trace you back to your underdeveloped parents and their perpetual mistakes. While everyone seemed surprised, you weren’t when you graduated with magna cum laude and with two scholarships: one to Northwestern and the other to University of St. Thomas in Minnesota. You had worked harder than the other students had with their stable environments and supportive parents. Jughead felt abandoned with a broken heart when you left the house, barely saying more than ‘goodbye’ before loading your ten year old used Honda with one suitcase before leaving for Northwestern. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?” Jughead sounded almost desperate as he held the door of your car open, watching you push the keys into the ignition. He considered laying the guilt on thicker, reminding you to stop by and say goodbye to Jellybean on your way to Illinois. “Will you come visit?” He knew about your plan. Changing your name and leaving behind Riverdale for good. He hoped, privately, that it was just dramatic talk.

“You can visit me.” You simply told him, checking your rear view and then sliding your five dollar sunglasses over your eyes. Reaching near him, you cupped the handle of the door and stopped to smile up at him. He looked as sad as he did when the envelopes with your acceptance letters arrived to the door. At first, he was wildly excited for you, proud even, but as you thumbed through the paperwork, his smile twisted into a pout and he began to fill his gut with self pity. He couldn’t imagine handling things without you. You were the guardian and always had been for him. It had been six months and a countless amount of missed calls from home since you first took off. The dorm might have been minuscule for some students, but it felt like palace to you. Plus, your room mate, Rui, didn’t pass out at four in the morning or get rip roaring drunk so you liked her quickly. The name Jones was forgettable in the sea of students on campus, just like you hoped it would be, but you still chose to go by [Y/N] Morrissette after the fact that the first song you heard when you left Riverdale was by the Canadian songstress, Alanis Morissette. With a half eaten bagel in one hand, you headed mindlessly to your dorm after a low key Sunday morning work out. The day was supposed to be dedicated entirely to studying for your 15th Century Poetry class, but it was off to a lazy start. You fished your phone out of the pocket of your grey sweats as it buzzed against your thighs. It was Betty Cooper which was a name you hadn’t heard in ages. Usually, you ignored calls from your hometown even Jughead’s and old friends, but this time your interest was peaked. Maybe you were just procrastinating studying, but either way, you pushed open the door of your dorm with one hip and put down your lunch to answer. “Hello?” Sounding just as cautious as you felt, you answered. Betty was in Jughead’s grade, not yours. You two didn’t really interact much. “Hi Junebug?” Your first instinct was to hang up. The family nickname ground against your ears and your eyes rolled far away from the received at the sound. “That’s not actually my name.” Practicing patience, you corrected her. “Is Jughead okay?” It was the only question you needed answered. There couldn’t be really any reason else she would be calling you. Even though you didn’t pick up Jughead’s calls or answer his emails, you still cared about him. The distance between the two of you had nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. “No, not really.” Her voice sunk low into reality and she had your full attention. “You know how Jason Blossom was murdered in the summer…” “No!” Hit by a ton of bricks, you shouted. You had always felt a strong pull in your gut to leave Riverdale, but now you wondered what you had missed. Your boring hometown wasn’t known for crimes much beyond high schools kids drinking and driving and loitering on private lawns. “Well, what do you know?” Betty sounded surprised. She didn’t know how much she needed to update you on. “I know Betty Cooper is calling me out of nowhere, but I don’t know why…” This strange conversation required you to sit down on the edge of the bed, legs crossed at the ankles. “Well, Jug is convinced you wouldn’t answer his calls…” It wasn’t as if you did. “So, I don’t know, I guess I’m an annoying girlfriend, but I thought - ” Your eyes were stunned opened again. Jason Blossom was murdered apparently and Jughead Jones found companionship in Betty Cooper. You couldn’t imagine what the little blond would tell you next. “Your dad’s in jail and we really think having some of his family there to show support would make a difference. It would appeal to the jury, make him appear … ” The rest of her words are muted mumbled as you fell back on the bed, your back nearly colliding with your open textbook. It was the least surprising thing someone could say. FP Jones was incarcerated. Your mother always said he would spend the rest of his life behind bars. You figured it was why she packed up Jellybean and left. She was protecting your little sister from him, just like you protected yourself from his reckless thoughtlessness by moving away as soon as you could.   She was trying to express that Jug couldn’t handle this on his own, that he needed you, but you cut her off once your brain caught up with her soliloquy. “You’ve called the wrong person. I can’t help him.” It wasn’t as if you didn’t try to save your dad from his demons before. Betty wasn’t defeated, she went to appeal, but you hung up before an entire word was out. Now studying seemed nesssecary. You were desperate for a distraction. The week moved like molasses on a cold flat surface. Your exams had your attention and you were struggling to balance the pressure. However, every night you went to lay down, you couldn’t help, but think about your father. Like it or not, you two were connected. Crashing currents in the same sea. Betty’s words were haunting you like a relentless ghost. You fell asleep hours too late with memories of your dad sitting on a bottom porch step, helping you blow bubbles from a plastic wand, calling you Princess Junebug. Your empathetic gut and your stubborn brain argued back and forth with one another until your final exam was done and you were behind the wheel of your tired Honda doing the trip you said you would never do. It had only been ten days since Betty called and seven months since you fled Riverdale for university. Standing in front of the trailer that you knew to be your dad’s, you felt a chill crawl up your spine like an independent spider. You were planning to stay at The Ruby Motel, but the trailer park called to you once you were out of the shower. Being away and living elsewhere had blessed you with perspective and you were curious if the Southside lot was as unwelcoming and ugly as you remembered it. It was. Behind you, you heard heavy footsteps and saw Tall Boy and two other serpent friends of your father. Uninterested in chatting with people you never liked, you turned back, but this time Jughead’s was there. He was stepping out the door of the trailer with eyes that were exhausted and  a smile that was weak. He looked worn out for a teenage boy. “The prodigal daughter returns…” At you, he announced. There was no detectable malice I’m his voice, no impatient anger or obvious cruelty.  His smile strengthened itself and laughed, running to you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders in order to pull you in. Jughead’s never held a grudge against you for taking off. He wished you stayed, but he understood the desire to leave and start new. “It’s really good to see you, [Y/N].” He held you away to look you over, noticing your hand me down green parka still looked in great condition. You two didn’t have much so you cares deeply for what you did have to your name. “You’re going to have to fill me in, Jug. Things sound crazy.” It was the real reason that you come home, to see your little brother. It didn’t sit well with you that he was on his own. High school was hard enough when you had a solid support system. Once more, you hugged him again and then noticed Tall Boy coming closer. It was all the push you needed to head inside. It wasn’t until the next day that you could work up strong enough defenses to go and visit FP in jail. While you were not someone who wasted time thinking about their appearance, you felt stressed out about what to wear when visiting someone in jail. You tried on a variety of combinations until settling on dark boot cut jeans and a black ribbed turtleneck. Hair tied back, you drove by yourself to the prison. Jughead had wanted to come along, but you went in the morning for visiting hours. If you were going sort things out, it couldn’t just be a quick chat with glass between you. You had questions, a quest for closure that you had been denying needing. Sitting at the table after an invasive check from the guard, you couldn’t help but fidget. Your fingers tapped over and over on the table top as you crossed and uncrossed your legs over and over. There was nothing to pay attention to in the dull to besides a couple little kids and other visitors. There was nothing to distract you from your thoughts. The buzz from the speaker across the room sat you up straight from your slouch and you watched a small line of prisoners come in, each escorted to a table. Their tired and sullen faces lighting up simply at the sight of their visitor. FP looked surprised then delighted and quickly followed by crushed. His seven steps to you was an emotional roller coaster. His feet were still shackled as he sat across from you at the table, though his handcuffs were unlocked above the flat white surface. “When they said [Y/N] Morrissette was here, I didn’t know who they were talking about.” Sounding joyfully anxious, he shared with you. It hurt him that you changed your name, embarrassed to be related to him, but right now FP was too happy to see you to focus on that slap in the face. “I can’t believe you’re here.” FP clearly told you after just a moment of silence, both of you staring with trepidation at the other. It was painful just how much of face could be found in his. “Me neither.” Organically, you sighed back. “Lawyer call you?” “Close.” You mused. “Betty Cooper.” Your dad laughed out his nostrils slightly and nodded, “She’s persuasive, huh?” “Relentless.” You corrected. “She seems to think having me around in court will help you.” “Hey, you don’t do anything you don’t want to do.” Slipping into father mode, he advised proudly and bowing his chin to you in a solemn vow. “I’m trying to make sense of what to do.” On one hand, your father was complicit, but on the other hand, Jughead seemed convinced that he needed FP out and around. “I know you and I have never understood each other, Junebu-” Like a reflex, your eyes shot directly into his with cruel intentions. “But you got to know I’m not a bad guy…” Licking your lips, you wondered if you did know that for certain. He wasn’t a movie monster, but you also had grown up with his failures, matched only in their greatness by his stomping around, drinking, and skipping town for days at a time. He was flawed and unreliable, but not evil. You almost wished you were taking philosophy this semester so you would know better how to handle this situation. “You know what, I don’t want to spend this visit talking about the case and this…crap.” Shaking his hand, he extended his open palms out on the table and fished around his face to find his grin. “Tell me about school. I tell anyone who will listen that you’re at Northwestern.” You two could fight like wild animals with each other, but FP was beyond proud of you. “It’s good.” Reluctantly, you told him. It was hard to open up to someone you had ran away from. “I got my mark from human geography exam…” The email had come in that morning and you opened it immediately. “88.” You didn’t know if it would mean anything to him, but out of the corner of your eyes you could see he was thrilled at the news. You wished the way he showed off his teeth and looked blown away didn’t mean anything to you, but somehow you were still hungry for his approval. “Is that what you wanna do? Human geography?” He didn’t even know what that was to be honest. “No.” Shaking your head. “I might declare - ” Tight before you almost shared with him what you were considering to make your major, you stopped yourself and dropped your head. It was like when you were a kid when he didn’t come home for a week and missed Christmas. Jughead and Jellybean had been devastated with fear and crying in your mother’s arms. You swore over and over that you would never speak to him again if he came back, but sure enough, his bender ended and he managed to make you laugh and forgive him within an hour of being home. “You know when Betty called and told me you were in jail, being charged, I wasn’t surprised.” The mood had shifted and FP followed along as you shifted in your seat. Still, he left his hands out and open for you. “Maybe, it’s better that you’re in here. You can’t disappointment Jug while you’re behind bars.” You shrugged and then shot at him like it was nothing. “Did you really think you could dispose of some teenager’s body and no one would blink?” “I didn’t murder anybody.” Teeth tight, his eyes began to turn foggy. “You might as well have. You didn’t go to the cops.” You hissed as his eyes pleaded for you to not raise your voice. It was evident that your words stung at him like the lit end of a cigarette. You always thought you would feel better if FP felt a smidgen of the pain he inflicted on you constantly, but instead your legs were shaking under the table and your throat was starting to ache dry. “Why do you always have to hurt people? Why is that who you are?” It was coming out now as you were beginning to lose composure. Your eyes bled little tears as your hands smacked themselves into his. “Why can’t you do better?” FP didn’t want to cry. Not in prison. He didn’t have any friends in the visitors room, but he scooched closer and his hands shook furiously as they gripped yours with all his strength. “You deserve better than me. Always have.” He agreed in a whisper. “You, Jug, Jellybean, your mother…I never faulted you for leaving.” He explained. “I am trying to change though, Ju- [Y/N]. I’m in AA here and I have plans for when I get out.” “Does that include looking after Jug?” “Yes.” Quickly, he assured you. It was the only questioned you needed answered. Silence came in as if on cue, both of you in need of a break to pull yourselves together. Reluctantly, he allowed you your hands back and you went to fixing your hair. Above the door behind him, you checked the time and sighed. “If I show up for you, you got to show up for Jug. You owe him that.” “I know. And I will. What about us?” Right now that’s what he wanted to know. “What about us?” Eyes wide, you repeated. “I don’t know if there is hope for us.” It was, perhaps, the calmest way you had ever expressed yourself to him. Nodding, he accepted the answer even if he didn’t care for it. It wasn’t as if he had a leg to stand on at the moment. “I have hope for us.” He shrugged and tossed into the ring. It meant something to him. “I’m proud of you. I don’t kn ow if I can take any credit for who you are, but you’re an incredible young woman, [Y/N]. Maybe you’ll let me be there for you some time.” It crossed your mind that maybe he would, but you stayed quiet out of fear of saying too much. “Time.” A guard called in the room, signalling now was time to say goodbye. You didn’t feel as eager to go like you thought you would. Your body didn’t jump from the  uncomfortable plastic chair. You watched your dad push his chair out and stand up in in his prison suit. The orange color did not suit his skin. With a weak smile that was more fake than a Louis Vuitton in Southside. A guard wasted no time locking his wrists, FP looking away from you with irritated shame. He was about to nod goodbye to you once again when you rushed up and started to rifle through your linen tote bag. “I know it’s nothing, but it’s all I have with me.” You handed him papers folded three times, two of his fingers linking over it to take it. “It’s a paper I wrote for linguistics. I think I might major in it.” You explained. “I don’t know if you care, but…” “I always cared. You didn’t think I did, but I do.” He told you with the guard standing beside him. There was no room for shame at the moment. He shook the paper at you and choked on his held breath. He was heading out the door behind a small line of other incarcerated men and you didn’t know what came over you, but you lunged forward and hugged him tightly around his shoulders, your head laying flat over one. He didn’t smell like himself, but you supposed that was from the lack of cigarettes and liquor in prison. He couldn’t touch you back, but you felt his heart beat against your chest and it was enough before he was whisked away. You stood still and watched him checked behind himself twice, sad eyes above a glowing grin.

[isa-ly]

OH MY, WHAT’S THIS?

TW: mental health, therapy

Golly gosh, has she really gone and made yet another god damn blog? Yes. Yes she has.

Let me explain myself. I know this is probably like what, my tenth or eleventh online blog that I’ve made now? You would think that I would have a huge and dedicated reader base by the rate and ferocity I create these blogs with, but well, since I forget about every .tumblr.com and .wordpress.com after about a month or two, it comes to no surprise that these unattended digital corpse-pages don’t really have many readers. Should maybe give them a proper burial by hitting that delete button and letting them move on to the afterlife of 1′s and 0′s. But since I don’t even remember half the URLs I came up with, they’re probably just gonna keep peacefully existing in the graveyard that is the the forgotten blog section of the internet.

So. Why another one? Why add onto the pile of aesthetic yet virtually empty “personal” websites?

I’m just going to tell you what my therapist told me: “It seems like you have so many thoughts in your head, it probably feels like exploding.”

Don’t worry, I’m not saying that I’m Miss Big Juicy Brain and too smart for my own good – that’s not what my lovely therapist meant either. The reason she said that to me was because in our latest session, she had asked me to give her a quick rundown of what goes through my head whenever anything emotionally triggering happens to me. I had then proceeded to talk for twenty whole minutes (there go twenty whole bucks, thanks a lot, non-existing public mental healthcare system) about what happened in my old noggin whenever ~A Feeling~ occurred. And I described it in such excruciating detail that I think she stopped taking notes halfway through and just zoned out. Can’t blame ya, Kerstin, twenty minutes of incohesive rambling doesn’t really meet the expectation of a “quick rundown”. Sorry for that.

Anyway, we then proceeded to talk about overthinking, as we have done a million times before. And, as we have also done a million times before, we came to the conclusion that my inner monologue resembles a thirty-meter death-ride water slide, when it comes to the velocity and severity of how fast and far I tend to spiral with my own thoughts.

Now, don’t worry, by now I’ve been in therapy for long enough to know how to safely land back on the floor. However, I did agree with my therapist that my intense introspection does sometimes compromise me in my day to day life, as I will spend days on end in my own head rather than in the world that lies outside of it. That then usually leads to self-isolation and that, in return, leads to even more introspection. Hooray, to unhealthy processing mechanisms!

Alright, enough self-deprication. Basically, the conclusion I came to in that session, was that I’m pretty much the exact opposite of the “no thoughts, head empty” meme. For me, it’s more like “all thoughts, head explode”. And while I’ve been trying to get better at sharing face-to-face what’s going on in my head, I don’t always have the energy to text, call or meet friends and make my brain form words that my mouth then says out loud (which, I realize, is also known as talking). 

I have made progress in that direction but ironically, these thought spirals tend to be the exact reason why I sometimes get into the bad mindset of thinking “Ugh, why even bother sharing? It’s already exhausting enough to just think it. Talking and explaining will be even harder.” And I know that that is not entirely true but listen, change comes in waves and you can’t battle all your inner demons at once. It is important to choose your battles accordingly to your strengths.

So, that is what I’m doing. I am choosing a battle by making a compromise. And making a blog. 

God, how awfully millenial of me. What’s next? A TikTok account where I ironically document my panic attacks over the sounds of Jason Deulos’ ‘Savage Love’? (Hold on, just gonna note that idea down for later...)

Seriously, I realize that this has a certain bobo-esque, self-absorbed cringe vibe to it (did I really just say vibe, this is worse than I thought). However, I also care for and know myself well enough that I tend to downplay and ridicule the fact that I really do have a massive stick up my ass when it comes to talking about my emotions, my traumas and all those pesky, invasive thoughts. And that’s why Kerstin and me came up with the idea of me simply making a blog where I can dump all my thoughts whenever it feels like they are getting too much.

This is obviously not the first time that someone thought of jutting down what’s going through their head. I am self-aware enough to know that I didn’t invent the concept of writing about my life and inner turmoil. YouTubers and ex-Vine stars already did that before me, just look at the list of New York Times Bestselling Authors and you’ll see it for yourself. And if Gabbie Hannah can publish her own poetry book (never forget “Link ... in Bio”), I can damn well make another unknown blog where I share what seems to have gotten stuck somewhere on the way from my brain to my mouth.

Sorry, by the way, if nobody got those weird references. Whenever I’m not busy bashing my overthinking head against the metaphorical wall of fear of my sharing emotions, I spend most of my time watching drama channels explain why yet another book published by yet another unproportionally famous vlogger is yet again unsurprisingly shit. But that’s not the point of this first blog entry, so let’s let the money-hungry world of YouTubers performing figurative self-fellatio rest.

Bottom line: I need to get better at talking. To people other than my therapist, that is. Because frankly, if that poor woman has to listen to even more twenty minute rants of me dissecting my own broken psyche, she’s probably gonna quit her job and then I officially have no one left to chew through my issues with. And that would be quite unfortunate for everyone involved.

So, I want to practice. Try out the whole brain-to-mouth thing, but in a less confrontational way, by making it a brain-to-keyboard thing first. And not just that, I want to make an active effort in setting myself reminders that no matter how deep and lost I am in my own overthinking patterns, I can always put a stop to it and just spew it out onto virtual paper. To get it out of my system, manifest it into something more physical, read through it, recognize what’s lacking and what I need to change and lastly, editing it into something that makes more sense to me and also others. 

In summary, this is kind of just me making my own “How To Talk About Emotions – For Dummies” guide. I expect no one to read all of what me and my sore yet hyperactive mind come up with, but I still gladly invite you to, should you care to see what that looks like. I apologize in advance though, I do tend to over-dramatize and under-estimate the way and amount I write about most things, including my own feelings. 

But hey, maybe by writing this blog somewhat close to regularly, I’ll also figure out a way to talk about my emotions in a way that isn’t filled with unnecessarily smart-assy Big Dictionary Words and pop culture references barely anyone understands. Let’s hope for the best.

After it now took me exactly 1.291 words to explain what could have been explained in about two sentences, I’m finally gonna shut up. “Thank the Lord”, I hear you say. Or ... maybe that’s just my overthinker voice and fear of vulnerability that heard you say that? Kerstin would probably smile and nod proudly now. Gold star for me, yay. Just kidding, I never get any cool stickers for my achievements. Honestly, that whole therapy thing is way less fun than I thought it would be, I just want a stamp that says “Great job!” or “Super cool!” every now and then. Is that too much to ask? Okay, I think I see now what she meant when she said that I seem to secretly rely on the approval of others for personal successes so I can compensate the fact that I never give myself any credit for them.

Phew, that whole writing things down idea seems to already pay off. But okay, enough self-revelations for today. I have no idea how often I will actually write on here and even less of an idea what the topics will be. However, I will always include tags and trigger warnings, so that if there actually is someone who reads through it, they can know what each post is about.

So, yeah. That’s it for now. Brain-to-keyboard to you soon. (Get it, that’s my way of saying talk to you soon, because– okay, yeah, you got it. Right.)

P.S.: Yes, the name of the blog is a pun, let me live a little.

[theteenagetrickster]

'Master' Testimonial: Brandon Cronenberg's Gory Techno-Thriller Acquires Under Your Skin

An uncomfortable and also interesting horror-inflected techno-thriller that acquires lost somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle between "Mandy," "Inception," as well as "Ghost in the Covering," Brandon Cronenberg's "Proprietress" is therefore intoxicated by itself sick ability that it doesn't possess the amount of time (or even the balance) needed to discover many of it. On the other hand, 90 moments of Andrea Riseborough as well as Christopher Abbott taking part in ultra-gory mystic warfare over control of the latter's body is actually a lot more pleasing than what the majority of the current Top Photo candidates need to use, therefore possibly it's wise not to appear a gift horse in the mouth.

Although embeded in an alternative 2008 that is actually a contact much more analog than our personal globe (a soft-sell tweak that envisions what the 21st century would certainly appear like if our experts always kept the '90s active on lifestyle help and constructed the future in Trent Reznor's photo), "Beneficiary" pulsates along with recognizably urgent problems like sex, privacy, and the transgressions of business hegemony. : White colored folks hijacking the body systems of dark females and utilizing all of them as patsies for targeted social assassinations-- at this price, I wouldn't place it past us.

A coldly engaging beginning puts everything on the table. Holly (Gabrielle Graham) rests alone in a mildewy hotels and resort space as well as stays a metallic electrode into the top of her cranium; her flesh squelches as well as bawls, lest there was any sort of confusion that Brandon Cronenberg is David's son. Later on, at a Toronto bistro that cinematographer Karim Hussain as well as production designer Rupert Lazarus have flexed into a jaundiced revelry of fluorescent lightings and threatening mathematical shapes, Holly walks up to an oily VIP of some kind as well as wounds him in the neck numerous, many, a lot of extra times than is essential to eliminate a man his measurements. Blood splatters across her blood tracksuit. She then places the prey's weapon in her mouth, yet Holly can not seem to shoot. When the cops turn up a moment later on, they're all too excited to perform the respects.

In a hyperbaric chamber all over city, a girl named Tasya Vos (Riseborough) gasps awake like she's been downloaded of the Source. One more job well done. Don't count on to learn quite a lot concerning the strange business that manages this mercenary scientific research practice; Cronenberg sublimates the world-building right into such absorption that "Master" commonly experiences more like the fly for a brand-new tv set than it carries out a self-supporting expertise (though a little bit of sci-fi lingo goes a lengthy means, and Jennifer Jason Leigh properly teases our inquisitiveness in her quick job as the middle-manager that who guides Tasya back into her nonpayment identification after each job). All you actually need to have to recognize is that our hard-edged idol performs the front of some intense body-hopping organisation, and also that every task seems to leave her considerably uncertain in her very own skin. Tasya has to be actually reminded that she and her hubby are split up; she possesses to rehearse what she'll claim to him when she falls through to explore their young child. Considered that Riseborough has actually ended up being contemporary cinema's most willing chameleon, it is actually enjoyable (and also painful) to see her stage show a person who is actually dropped in between components.

Sadly, Riseborough won't be onscreen for long. Tasya-- ever before the excellent soldier-- is very soon assigned yet another body to inhabit, as well as there's no promise that she'll return to her very own undamaged. The target's title is Colin (Abbott), a smoldering ruin of a guy whose partner's daddy (Sean Grain) only takes place to become the Chief Executive Officer of an Orwellian data-mining empire. Tasya's customer really wants the magnate lifeless so they can easily presume control of the company, as well as pinning the massacre on his possible son-in-law would certainly be the excellent unlawful act. Our physical body cyberpunk just possesses 3 times before the hold's subconscious rejects her, however it will not be actually quick and easy to keep her feeling of self while likewise occupying Colin convincingly enough to fool his druggy sweetheart (Tuppence Middleton) into thinking he is actually still therein.

"Possessor" is at its own ideal when viscerally peeling off a soul away from its own physical body, and also Cronenberg is actually in full control of the material whenever he may visualize the ultimate mindfuck of 2 ghosts completing for management over merely one covering. Whatever logistical questions may be elevated due to the process of implanting Tasya into Colin's physical body are actually snuffed out through the raw phenomenon of all of it, as Cronenberg stretches the transfiguration right into a nasty symphony of in-camera lighting fixtures methods as well as nightmarish functional results good behavior of prosthetics manager Daniel Martin. Bodies thaw in to liquefied flesh; a many thousand skins shout a single primitive howl; the electronic camera zooms through a passage of pink body organs. It's the digital encounter of our very own avatar-ized community created uncomfortably physical, and the poetry of finding that transference in activity is much more lively than everything "Owner" has the capacity to perform along with its passive story.

Convincing as it could be to view Abbott permit a piece of women power interrupt his sharply masculine display screen persona along with a kernel of women electricity, Tasya's dysphoric existence is actually frequently obscured through a standard veil of confusion as "Colin" attempts certainly not to receive captured. The febrile psychodrama of the entire situation creates for a pointy contrast against the clean collections of the Toronto cityscape, as well as a thick smoke of worry embed in as Tasya's changing identity clashes versus the operations of an algorithmic planet, but Cronenberg appears incapacitated among the probabilities he desires to go after. Gradually, "Proprietress" starts to lose its very own feeling of personal-- it's odd that such a skew movie may be therefore extensively foreseeable-- as well as constructs to a 3rd action that seems to be to clamber for its very own identity as frantically as Tasya ever does.

If his movie battles to verbalize why the security of being a person is as well valuable to swap for the flexibility of being actually any individual, Cronenberg merely improves and also far better at highlighting the same point. Are we even our own selves, or even is actually free choice only the sales pitch our company give our own selves to wake up every morning? There are actually wickedly destabilizing scenes where Abbott as well as Riseborough's voices are split, as well as others where their bodies are actually squished all together into a horrible latex chimera with mouths mumbling out of its own eye outlets. And it goes without claiming that a sci-fi flick so obsessed along with physical bodies is naturally horny as heck, as Cronenberg switches sex in to a process of willful self-negation. "Owner" certainly never manages to wrest command of your thoughts, but it's unnervingly efficient at acquiring under your skin.

Grade: B-

"Holder" premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festivity worldwide Movie House Dramatic Competition. It is actually currently looking for USA circulation.

This content was originally published here.

[unworthy-stars]

Embracing Greece- Week 3

This week’s theme: Mythology!

Last week we embraced Greece via Naming! Now this week I have decided to show you a first dose of Greek Mythology (Basics).

You may perhaps know the Dodekatheum (Δωδεκάθεο- Dodekatheo), the whole Greek Pantheon and that we, Greeks, have a rich Mythology thanks to our ancestors. Perhaps the names “Zeus” (Δίας- Dias) , “Persephone” (Περσεφόνη-Persephoni) , “Hera” (Ήρα- Ira) sound familiar…

But what are all these? And how are they connected?

Let’s find out!

So, this whole “Mythology” (Μυθολογία- Mithologia) started when the old Greeks wondered “Why does this happen? Why is nature like this? Who is in charge?”. So they tried to explain all nature phenomena by putting a deity in charge of them. Specifically, twelve main “boss” gods and goddesses.

~Zeus (Δίας), the God of Thunder and all Weather Phenomena as well as Hospitality. Son of Cronus. ~Hera (Ήρα), the Goddess of Marriage and Zeus’s wife. Daughter of Cronus. ~Athena (Αθηνά), the Goddess of Wisdom and Knowledge also daughter of Zeus (yes, entirely Zeus. No woman involved. A big story) ~Poseidon (Ποσειδώνας), the God of Sea and Ships. Son of Cronus. ~Demeter (Δήμητρα), the Goddess of Agriculture. Daughter of Cronus. ~Dionysus (Διόνυσος), the God of Wine and Entertainment. Son of Zeus and Semele (heroic mortal) ~Ares (Άρης), the God of War. Son of Zeus and Hera. In love with Aphrodite. Also a big story. ~Apollo (Απόλλωνας), the God of Music, Prophecy, Poetry, Healing, Truth, Light, Archery and the list goes on and on forever. He is the son of Zeus and Leto and also brother of Artemis. ~Artemis (Άρτεμης), the Goddess of Hunting, Wilderness, Animals, Virginity, Pureness and protector of young girls.  ~Hermes (Ερμής), the God of Trade, Thievery, Travelling and Athletes. The Messenger of the Gods. ~Hestia (Εστία), the Goddess of Home, Family, Hearth. Daughter of Cronus. ~Aphrodite (Αφροδίτη), the Goddess of Love, Beauty and Sexuality. Her birth is still not clearly discovered. ~Hephaestus  (Ήφαιστος), the God of Fire and Craftsmanship. Child of Zeus and Hera, making the other Gods’ weapons.

Okay but…how did they exist? Like they always existed?

Nope. No, my pal, they didn’t.

First existed Chaos (Χάος). Then out of a sudden came Gaia (Γαία), the personification of Mother Earth. She created Uranus (Ουρανός) by herself who is the personification of Sky with whom she bore the Titans, the Giants, the hills and Pontus (a sea). Yes Mother (?) x Son (kind of).

Okay here’s what happened with the Titans. Oops, we will skip this whole gruesome story and proceed to where Cronus and Rhea (Sibling Titans) bear six familiar children known as the big six; Zeus, Hades*, Poseidon (Big Three Alpha Males) and Hestia, Hera, Demeter (Big Female Deities of the Dodekatheum ).

*Side Note; Hades (Άδης) isn’t part of the Dodekatheum even if he is in the Big Three Cronus’ sons. You wonder why? Simply, because he is the God of the Dead and the whole Underground is his kingdom so he doesn’t need to be together with the rest of the Gods in Mount Olympus (their hideout). He is kinda like the emo cousin at the corner of the event.

So basically in the past Cronus overthrown his father Uranus. So Zeus decided that it would be pioneering to overhtrown his parent too. So he overthrown Cronus.

This is a long story called; Titanomachy (War of the Titans). Basically something like Attack on Titan but with Greek Gods. 

The most important divine struggle in Greek mythology was the Gigantomachy, the battle fought between the Giants and the Olympian gods for supremacy of the cosmos.

Guess who won?

The Squad™

So, yeah that’s basically i- oh no wait there is more. Woops  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So how do all these happen with Odysseus? Helen of Sparta? Like ya know the fun stuff!

Slowwwww down there kid. Sheesh.

I shall explain you basically how every single Myth works. Including Heracles’s and Helena of Sparta’s:

(open to see better)

Yes. That’s basically the thing.

B-but the fights and swords? Calypso? What do I read in a Percy Jackson book?

Basically, my dear friend, you read a wonderful piece of fanfiction. It is proven historically that Homer’s Iliad and later Odyssey were the first fanfictions in history *praise*.All the action is spread across many plays, poems and tablets that haven’t been found or finished. Currently everyone hopes to find a miracle that will add a clue about the whole religion and let us know more about our ancestors and their beliefs.

There are though some myths that are actually note-worthy! Check them below;

a) Prometheus and Fire

Prometheus (Προμηθέας) was one of the Titans. Till some point fire was only available in Mount Olympus to protect the Gods. He was the one who saved mankind and brought fire to the people. This of course was against Zeus’s order. Theories vary about his punishment.

b) Persephone and the Lily

Persephone (Περσεφόνη) was Demeter’s, Goddess of Harvesting/Agriculture, daughter due to her sexual bonding with Zeus. Persephone was a young lad when Hades tricked her and abducted her. To be precise, she saw a beautiful flower called Κρίνος (Lily). She approached it and Hades took her away from her mother and forced her to become his wife and Queen of the Underworld.

c) Moirai

The Moirai (Αί Μοῖραι in Ancient Greek) are the main deities concerning life and death of a human. In English they are known as “Fates”. They are pictured as three old ladies; Clotho (Κλωθώ), who was the spinner, Lachessis (Λάχεσις), the allotter, and Atropos (Άτροπος), the unturnable.  The gods and men had to submit to them, although Zeus's relationship with them is a matter of debate: some sources say he is the only one who can command them.

d) Heracles and the 12 Tasks

Heracles was a divine hero in Greek Mythology. He is said to be a demigod, a child of Zeus, himself, (what a surprise really) and son of Alcmene (pretty mortal). Hera despised the poor baby because of him being a child of Zeus’s infidelity. Zeus made love to her after disguising himself as her husband, Amphitryon, home early from war (Amphitryon did return later the same night, and Alcmene became pregnant with his son at the same time, a case of heteropaternal superfecundation, where a woman carries twins sired by different fathers). How cool is that?  Thus he was always cursed. However as a symbold of masculinity and manliness he was always successful with his 12 Labours to do unbelievably difficult tasks. 

Perhaps you should read the Wikipedia Page for that or if you want I can have a post explaining The Myth of Heracles. It’s up to you.

e) Theseus and the Minotaur

Like many other heroes of myth and legend, Theseus was born and raised in unusual and dramatic circumstances. His mother was Aethra, daughter of King Pittheus of Troezen. Son of King Aegeus of Athens, who had stopped at Troezen after consulting the oracle at Delphi. The oracle had warned Aegeus not to get drunk or father a child on his way home to Athens—or one day he would die of sorrow.  Upon arriving in Athens, Theseus found King Aegeus married to an enchantress named Medea. Medea tried to poison Theseus. But when Aegeus saw the young man's sword and sandals, he realized that Theseus was his son and saved him from the poison. Anyway. There was this law in Athens that every year they should send as a wage 7 girls and 7 boys to get eaten by the Minotaur, a creature with the head of a bull and the body of a man, which existed in Dedalus’s Maze in Crete, That ship had black masts in grief. One time Theseus went there and with the help of Minos’s daughter (King of Crete at the time. The evil one here), Ariadne, he managed to kill the Minotaur and get out of the Maze. He then started his way back. Though he had forgotten to change the mast from black to white thus when Aegeus saw the black masts he feel into the sea in despair and grief for his “lost” son. That’s why the sea is called by his name.

f) Jason and the Argonaut Campaign

In Greek mythology, Jason (Ιάσων) was the hero who led the Argonaut Campaign. Little Jason was raised in Pelion by Centaur Chiron, who taught him Medicine. At that time, Pelias (brother and king of Iolkos) ordered Jason to perform this mission’ bring the Golden Fleece. Yet another tradition, however, states that Jason took the decision to go and carry the fleece himself: With the ship “Argo” they sailed all the way to Pontus. There Jason was supposed to fight a mighty monster to get it, however Medea (an enchantress) fell in love with him and thus gave him a liquid to prevent the flames of the dragon to hit him. Though, he promised he would take her to Greece. He took the fleece and Medea and returned home. However...yeap Medea didn’t have a nice ending  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  (shame on you Jason)

g) Pandora’s Box

Hephaestus was once told by Zeus to make a beautiful woman named Pandora (Πανδώρα= all gifts). Zeus sent Pandora down to earth and gave her as a present to Prometheus' brother, Epimetheus. Zeus told Epimetheus that he should marry Pandora. Also, Zeus sent Pandora with a little box, with a big lock on it. He ordered not to ever open the box. But Pandora was very curious about what was in the box. She begged Epimetheus to let her open it, but he always said no. Finally one day he fell asleep, and she stole the key and opened it. Basically all bad things happened after that. Disease, fear, despair, hurricanes etc.But the very last thing to fly out of the box, as Pandora sat there crying, was not as ugly as the others. In fact it was beautiful. It was Hope.

That’s all for this week folks! What would you like me to explain next?

Image Source (the second one is my drawing): http://elviajedelahistoria.blogspot.gr/2017/01/bloque-3-mitologia-y-religion.html

Little aid from some sites: http://www.mythencyclopedia.com/Sp-Tl/Theseus.html http://quatr.us/greeks/religion/myths/pandora.htm

[katebutlerwrites]

Contemplating the Alien Conjurings of Charline von Heyl

Published on Arte Fuse 10/11/2018

Charline von Heyl has compared painting to chasing a dog on a leash. In the presence of any one of her large-scale tableaus at Petzel Gallery, a viewer can only do the same. Von Heyl combines, torques and frames rigid shapes, images of objects, animal and human figures, patterns and motifs, paint drips and scribbles into something like collages of subconscious signals. Like some other contemporary painters, she plays with the syntax of picture-making, inventing images that deal more in dramatic possibilities than in actualities. I am accustomed to asking what a painting is. Von Heyl proposes what a painting can do.  

In the back room of Petzel I am staring at large canvas titled “La Vache Qui Rit,” French for the laughing cow, a moniker that may or may not be a reference to that brand of cheese-to-go (the painting’s predominance of white and red supports this theory). The drama takes place on a sheer white ground (masking a puzzle of shapes) within a square black frame so rigid it could be a photoshop element. Within are black hearts, teardrops, triangles and silhouetted twists which rise the geometric bird-like form that could have been pulled from a decorative sampler. Beneath the black shapes are masses of blood-red and bruise-magenta. As my eye moves from the lower right toward the upper left I see the silhouettes of legs, what might be a bow, the top of a skull, and an upside-down coat of arms. I catch myself interpreting these ambiguous forms as objects, and in so doing become aware of my own viewership. I see myself seeing. A black teardrop shape sits below two open white circles of the skull’s eye, and it looks like crying. I notice another face: an elongated horizontal heart at center becomes the mouth to a hollow eye drawn in charcoal slightly upward to the left. Von Heyl’s paintings conjure up different associations depending on where you look.  

Perhaps the graphic shapes in “La Vache Qui Rit” would not seem so free, so buoyant, had von Heyl not dabbed and flitted her brush in red across the canvas. In black, she has doodled a lattice across the leg shapes and made charcoal squiggles on top. One effect of these markings is to further enrich the painting’s tangled web of associations. On top of the red “scull” in “La Vache Qui Rit” for instance, two parallel dashes further evoke the hollow nose holes of an eyeless face.

Such brushwork also relates the primal energy underlying von Heyl’s more explicit figures and shapes. Throughout the paintings, a cursory mix of drips or scribbles dance across the surface, sometimes contained by more sharply defined forms in the foreground. In “The Flood Subject,” black and lime green teardrop shapes, almost kitsch in their uniformity, emerge from a radio fuzz of black and blue marks. That drag-and-drop sampling of graphic elements could be read as a computer-era update to the expressive vocabulary of free-handed doodling that occupies much of the painting’s ground (think Baldessari in the jungle). Both the uniform shapes and the active brushwork suggest the importance of intuitive play, where poetic meaning is revealed from chance juxtapositions and guileless exertion. Uniting the associations of images with the rhythmic associations of paint drips, scribbles, and strokes, von Heyl’s paintings are both haptic and cerebral, both self-evident in their formal unity and charged with inscrutable meanings.

Wondering where the human subject fits into all this, I see an answer in “Mana Hatta.” In the painting, the silhouettes of two heads appear to overlap, intercepting each other, as well as forming a base for evocations of radio waves and signals. From the hypnosis-eye of the figure at left toward the bottom of the canvas, cartoonish waves meander through black, red and blue. These patterns are overlaid by three outlines of jumping rabbits, punctuated by little stamps of red. No explicit reference is made to Alice in Wonderland, but between the leaping rabbits and target circles for eyes such an association is appropriate.

In writing this review, I return to words associated with sorcery: I want to say that von Heyl ’s works are incantations, or that she conjures or summons. In a recent interview with Jason Farago for Even Magazine von Heyl describes her preoccupation with fabricating new images from “a net of synchronicities and associations,” that, like that dog on a leash, seem to have a will of their own. She says, “the paintings are almost the conclusion of a series of steps of fetishistic projections, which want to find a voice.”

The sort of fetish von Heyl describes, associated in some cultures with voodoo, has its origins in the Portuguese “feitico,” or sorcery, derived from the latin facticius, meaning “artificial” and “facere” to make. Here I admit my ignorance about the actual ritual uses of so-called fetish objects, yet the etymological history of the term is itself revealing. The origins of “fetish” both in “sorcery” and in making confirms a reality that is familiar to many artists: that the medium has a mind of its own. A hallmark of a good painting, or a good image, is that it seems to look back. Von Heyl’s paintings so adhere to their own internal laws that I can imagine them telecommunicating to one another after the gallery lights are off.

Von Heyl’s paintings are strange, compelling new realities. Yet one flip side of their originality is that they are extremely particular, as fetishes, including the sexual kind, tend to be. I want to think that because von Heyl’s paintings are radical and interesting they are also necessarily great, but viewing them only takes me so deep. I felt alienated in the presence of some of her images, either due to the crypticness of their signs (such as “Poetry Machine”) or because of the thinness of the pictorial space. The painting “Corrido,” for instance, selected for the gallery’s front room, left me cold. The work features a black antler shape at the center opening to checkers, layered over decorative motifs and patterns. I wouldn’t say I didn’t like the painting: I liked the hot orange beside the cool yellow, the white drips over black. But the exuberance of the decorative motifs felt spectral and hollow, like garlands from a neoclassical statue framing nothing. My identification with the painting’s theatre of effects was disproportionate to the grandeur of the massive canvas.

Still, Charline von Heyl’s work is compelling me to ask new questions, even to re-consider how painting can mean today. It is true that I didn’t jive with “Corrido.” Yet, like all of the works comprising the exhibition I am compelled by my own uncertainty regarding how to see it. Her works ask for repeated viewings, for considering and re-considering. One visit to Petzel and some 1,000 words later, von Heyl’s paintings are still pulling me by the leash.

[popradar]

13 Awesome Events in Los Angeles This Week, March 12-15

Here are 13 of the best events happening in Los Angeles this week. Follow @christine​ziemba on Twitter or Instagram for other happenings around L.A. And if you like what you’re reading, consider donating to Pop Radar LA to help defray the costs of running the site.

MONDAY, MARCH 12

NOEL GALLAGHER'S HIGH FLYING BIRDS (Music)

Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds plays The Orpheum on Monday night. The band’s currently on its Stranded On The Earth World Tour, playing in support of the 2017 album Who Built the Moon?. Tickets start at $40. 8 p.m. 

TUESDAY, MARCH 13

REMBRANDT AND THE INSPIRATION OF INDIA (Art)

Rembrandt is best known for his Dutch “Golden Age” portraits, but this week, the Getty Museum shows a completely different side of the artist. The museum presents 23 surviving drawings closely based on portraits made by artists working in Mughal India. These drawings are the only time Rembrandt made a careful and extensive study of art from a dramatically different culture. Rembrandt and the Inspiration of India is on view from Tuesday through June 24. 

2 WET CREW (Comedy)

The web show 2 Wet Crew is live at the Virgil on Tuesday at 8 p.m, combining “lo-fi absurdist humor and a mixed media variety show.” Hosted by DJ Douggpound and Mikey Kampmann, 2 Wet Crew also features guests Ian Edwards, Ian Karmel, Cory Loykasek, Donny Divanian and music by Rat Piss Aquarium. Doors at 8 p.m., show at 8:30 p.m. Ages 21+. 

RACHAEL YAMAGATA (Music)

Rachael Yamagata is currently on a Songs - Stories - Solo tour this winter, stripping down her songs for an intimate show with fans before heading back to the studio. She’s wrapping up her tour in Southern California, playing two shows on Tuesday (sold out) and Wednesday at the Moroccan Lounge in DTLA. Ed Romanoff opens on Tuesday, and Craig Strickland opens on Wednesday. Tickets: $25. Ages 21+. 

CHARLES RAY: IF YOU CAN READ THIS YOU ARE DEAD (Readings)

Artist Charles Ray reads a selection of ghost stories and other stories about haunted objects at the Hammer Museum’s Billy Wilder Theater on Tuesday at 7:30 p.m. If You Can Read This You Are Dead was developed by Ray with Hammer curator Aram Moshayedi. Ray, a UCLA art professor emeritus, is best known for his enigmatic sculptures. 

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 14

HOUND TALL (Talk)

Hound Tall is an hour-long discussion podcast, hosted by comedian Moshe Kasher, that takes on a single topic and then figures out the mysteries of the universe with a panel of other comedians. Easy peasy. The show’s next live taping takes place at UCB Franklin on Wednesday night at 8 p.m. Tickets: $7. 

CAAM throws an art party on Wednesday night. | Photo: HRDWRKER

CAN’T STOP, WON’T STOP! SPRING 2018 (Art party)

On Wednesday night from 7-9 p.m., the California African American Museum (CAAM) holds an opening party for its winter/spring 2018 exhibitions: How Adler Guerrier: Conditions and Forms for blck Longevity; Charting the Terrain: Eric Mack and Pamela Smith Hudson; Sweet the Sound: Gospel in Los Angeles; Shinique Smith: Refuge; and Nicole Miller: Athens, California. The party features food trucks and DJ sets by Huneycut and Suga Shay. It’s free and open to the public. If you get there early enough, catch the Artists + Curatorial Walkthroughs beginning at 6 p.m. Free.

WILD HORSES (Comedy)

Wild Horses, a long-form improv comedy show and team (Stephanie Allynne, Mary Holland, Lauren Lapkus and Erin Whitehead) returns to Largo on Wednesday night at 8:30 p.m. This week’s special guest is Jason Mantzoukas (Rafi on The League), so you know things are going to get freaky. Tickets: $30. 

NATIVE WOMEN’S VOICES THROUGH POETRY (Readings)

L.A. is home to the largest American Indian population, and in recognition of the first peoples and the tribal diversity of the city, artist and filmmaker Pamela J. Peters brings together four Native American women for an evening of poetry and spoken word. The readings by Tazbah Rose Chavez (Nüümü, Diné and Apache), Emily Clarke (Cahuilla), Kinsale Hueston (Navajo) and Allison Ramirez (Tohono O’odham) take place at The Main Museum in DTLA on Wednesday from 7:30-9 p.m. The program is free. 

THURSDAY, MARCH 15

RARE GROOVE: THE 2ND WAVE OF FUNK & SOUL (Music talk)

KCRW’s Jeremy Sole hosts a night of conversation about the "Rare Groove" movement, considered to be the second wave of funk and soul at the Grammy Museum in DTLA on Thursday at 8 p.m. Sole is joined at the event by musicians Gabriel Roth (Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings, Daptone Records); James Gadson (Bill Withers, Charles Wright & the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band); Miles Tackett (Breakestra, Funky Sole); Fanny Franklin (Orgone, Macy Gray, Dakah Hip Hop Orchestra); and Todd Simon (Ethio Cali, Breakestra, Kelis, Quantic). Tickets: $10.  

Saatchi Art presents The Other Art Fair in LA for the first time. | Image: Doll Parts by Annie Terrazzo.

THE OTHER ART FAIR (Art)

The Other Art Fair (TOAF), presented by Saatchi Art, showcases the work of 100 selected contemporary artists directly (no galleries). The Fair makes its West Coast debut from Thursday through Sunday the The Majestic Downtown. Participating artists include muralist Kim West; abstract painter Jason Trotter and German-born, LA-based photographer Jin-Woo Presana. A limited number of tickets ($30) are available in advance only for Thursday night’s opening preview, from 6-10 p.m. Otherwise, the Fair is open from 3-10 p.m. on Friday, 1-10 p.m. on Saturday and 11 a.m.-6 p.m. on Sunday. Tickets: $15 adults, $13.50 for students/seniors. 

TAYLOR MAC (Music + performance)

Theater and performance artist Taylor Mac opens his epic series A 24-Decade History of Popular Music on Thursday at The Theatre at Ace Hotel. Mac traces the history of popular music and activism in America, from 1776 to present day. Thursday’s performance of Chapter 1: 1776-1836, and all subsequent chapters, run about six hours so the shows start early at 6 p.m. Individual tickets: $45-$250 for each night. Ticket packages for all four chapters run between $165-$935. 

LOS ANGELES MAGAZINE’S WHISKEY FESTIVAL (Drinks)

We have an idea on how to get those livers prepped for St. Patrick’s Day. Check out Los Angeles magazine's Whiskey Festival at the Museum of Flying in Santa Monica on Thursday from 7:30-10 p.m. Now in its third year, attendees get to chat with master distillers, sip the finest spirits and new brands and learn cocktail recipes. Nibble on hors d'oeuvres and listen to live music throughout the night. Tickets: $95+ fees. Ages 21+. 

—by Christine N. Ziemba

[larryland]

(Lenox, MA) –  Shakespeare & Company announces its 2018 summer season. Exploring themes of Delight, Deceit, and Desire, the season includes three Shakespeare plays: Macbeth, As You Like It, and Love’s Labor’s Lost; plus the New England Premiere of Morning After Grace by Carey Crim; Creditors by August Strindberg adapted by David Greig; Heisenberg by Laurence Olivier Award winner Simon Stephens; Mothers and Sons by Tony Award-winning playwright Terrence McNally; and HIR by Pulitzer Prize finalist Taylor Mac.

“We couldn’t be more thrilled with our lineup for the 2018 Season,” said Artistic Director Allyn Burrows. “From stirring stories to sublime surprises, from gut punches to tender kisses, from raging battles to quiet moments, we’ve an array of programming that is sure to delight and deliver!”

The Roman Garden Theatre, inaugurated in 2017 for Shakespeare & Company’s production of The Tempest, will be re-configured for the production of As You Like It. Located adjacent to the Tina Packer Playhouse, the Roman Garden Theatre is an intimate outdoor performance space with comfortable bench and chair seating. All other performances take place in the Tina Packer Playhouse and the Elayne P. Bernstein Theatre; and at The Dell at the Mount, Edith Wharton’s Home.

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Additional casting and details about Shakespeare & Company’s 2018 programming will be available at a later date. Following is Shakespeare & Company’s official 2018 Summer Performance Season:

Morning After Grace By Carey Crim Directed by Regge Life May 24 – July 15 Elayne P. Bernstein Theatre Featuring Corinna May * New England Premiere 

In the New England premiere of this touching comedy, playwright Carey Crim shows us with a deft hand that we are never too old to suddenly know ourselves through chance intersection with former strangers in unlikely circumstances. Angus, Abigail, and Ollie are resigned to having it all figured out, until they aren’t, leaving hope for us all as they turn the past on its ear. Regge Life returns to the Company after directing last season’s hit show God of Carnage.

Macbeth By William Shakespeare Directed by Melia Bensussen July 3 – August 5 Tina Packer Playhouse Featuring Jonathan Croy and Tod Randolph

A gripping tale of blind ambition and nefarious plotting by two of Shakespeare’s most notorious anti-heroes, Macbeth is a deliciously shadowy thrill ride. When yearning and imagination collide in the darkest recesses of a passionate mind, there may be blood. If victims fall in the consumption of power, the conscience can devour itself from within. Peace and sleep do not come without a reckoning. Such is the eternal and towering reminder of this stunning classic directed by Obie Award winner Melia Bensussen.

Creditors

By August Strindberg Adapted by David Greig Directed by Nicole Ricciardi July 19 – August 12 Elayne P. Bernstein Theatre Featuring Jonathan Epstein and Kristin Wold

Inhabiting another’s mind proves to be the psychological chess match August Strindberg once again masters in this stunning translation by John Whiting Award recipient David Greig. Strindberg called Creditors his most mature work, and in this riveting version the emotional landscape is littered with debt. The cost of love runs deep for these three characters, and if everyone owes something to someone, who can really call themselves a creditor? Nicole Ricciardi rejoins the Company for another season after directing last season’s critically acclaimed 4000 Miles.

Love’s Labor’s Lost

By William Shakespeare Directed by Kelly Galvin July 10 – August 18 The Dell at the Mount, Edith Wharton’s Home (Outdoors) Family-Friendly

A spoof of those who try to shun love and life, Love’s Labor’s Lost is full of witty wordplay, hilarious mishaps, and riotous comedy. The Dell is the perfect setting for this sweet coming-of-age story, with its host of delightful characters and sparkling depiction of young love.

As You Like It

By William Shakespeare Directed by Allyn Burrows August 9 – September 2 Roman Garden Theatre (Outdoors) Casting Includes Thomas Brazzle, MaConnia Chesser, Nigel Gore, Deaon Griffin-Pressley, Ella Loudon and Mark Zeisler

Like the Roaring Twenties did for this country, the Forest of Arden represented a world of possibilities for young Rosalind. Our brilliant adventuress escapes a threatening world of suppression, even death, and her exile represents a dramatic break between past and future as she traverses the forest and the prospect of new horizons. Menace gives way to hope, re-invention, poetry, and love, cooked up with a big dose of hilarious comedy! Join us at sunset in the Roman Garden Theatre for this madcap romantic comedy that is sure to steal your heart and lift your spirits.

Heisenberg

By Simon Stephens Directed by Tina Packer August 11 – September 2 Featuring Tamara Hickey and Malcolm Ingram

Alex and Georgie are the very improbable couple at the center of this exploration of love against odds and reason. When they stumble into each others lives on a bench in London, real questions are raised that defy physics and simple explanation are raised. Tony-Award winning playwright Simon Stephens, who penned the Broadway-hit The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, presents a refreshing look into just how unpredictable life can be, especially when examined closely! Founding Artistic Director Tina Packer directs this contemporary comedy in her namesake theatre.

Mothers and Sons

By Terrence McNally Directed by James Warwick August 16 – September 9 Elayne P. Bernstein Theatre Featuring Annette Miller

“A wonderful Hamlet on his way to becoming a great one” is how Cal describes his deceased lover, Andre when Katherine, Andre’s mother, shows up unexpectedly on his doorstep. In this funny and moving piece, Tony Award-winning playwright Terrence McNally’s sharp dialogue illustrates how reconciling loss and transgression can reveal the enduring nature of love.

HIR

By Taylor Mac Directed by Alice Reagan September 13 – October 7 Elayne P. Bernstein Theatre Featuring Elizabeth Aspenlieder and Martin Jason Asprey

HIR, a darkly uproarious comedy, tells the story of a son coming back from the military to find his family turned completely upside down. Playwright Taylor Mac, exploring what is being ignored in the world, confronts social expectations head on in this wildly refreshing tale of progressive responsibility. When it comes to family, sometimes you just have to figure it out.

Tickets FLEXpasses, offering 35% off regular ticket prices, ability to book shows and seats one week earlier than the general public, and a waiver of the exchange fees, are on sale now. Single tickets for the 2018 performance season go on sale to members and groups on February 21, to FLEXpass holders on February 28, and to the general public on March 7.

Shakespeare & Company will once again offer a 40% discount to full-time, year-round Berkshire County residents (excludes Saturday nights, opening nights and previews). The Tina Packer Playhouse, Roman Garden Theatre and the Elayne P. Bernstein Theatre are wheelchair accessible. For more information on our summer performance season, or our year-round programming, call the Box Office at (413) 637-3353 or visit www.shakespeare.org.

Gala The 2018 Gala will be held Saturday, June 30. The evening will honor Trustee Michael A. Miller and his 25 years of dedication to Shakespeare & Company. The evening will include a festive cocktail reception followed by special performances from musicians of the Grammy Award-winning Silk Road Ensemble and Shakespeare & Company artists. After the performance, guests will be escorted to the tented courtyard for an elegant dinner, and a night of dancing with DJ BFG.

About Shakespeare & Company Located in the Berkshires of Western Massachusetts, Shakespeare & Company is one of the largest Shakespeare Festivals in the country. Founded in 1978, the organization attracts over 30,000 patrons annually. The Company is also home to Shakespeare & Company’s internationally renowned Center for Actor Training and nationally renowned and award-winning Education Program. More information is available at www.shakespeare.org.

Shakespeare & Company Announces 2018 Summer Season (Lenox, MA) –  Shakespeare & Company announces its 2018 summer season. Exploring themes of Delight, Deceit, and Desire,

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Full casting for Edward Albee’s The Goat, or Who Is Sylvia? is announced today. Joining Damian Lewis and Sophie Okonedo, who play husband and wife Martin and Stevie in Ian Rickson’s production, will be Jason Hughes as Martin’s oldest friend Ross and Archie Madekwe as their son Billy.

Edward Albee’s The Goat, or Who Is Sylvia? will play a strictly limited 12 week season at the Theatre Royal Haymarket from 24 March to 24 June 2017. In the play, a husband and successful New York architect with everything to lose must confess to his wife and son that he is having an affair and face the dizzying, explosive consequences.

Ian Rickson will be joined by an Olivier and Tony Award®-winning creative team in Rae Smith (set and costume design), Neil Austin (lighting design) and Greg Clarke (sound design), with an original score by PJ Harvey. JASON HUGHES is perhaps best known for his television work, which includes playing lawyer Warren Jones in the BBC TV series This Life and as Detective Sergeant Ben Jones in Midsomer Murders from 2005 until 2013. A respected stage actor, previous work includes Our Country’s Good and Look Back in Anger opposite Michael Sheen at the National Theatre, Violence and Son and 4.48 Psychosis for the Royal Court and US tour, Way Upstream at Chichester Festival Theatre, Caligula at the Donmar Warehouse and Design for Living at Theatre Royal Bath.

[See image gallery at http://ift.tt/1FpwFUw] ARCHIE MADEKWE makes his professional stage debut as Billy. Prior to this he trained at LAMDA. Previous work includes Fresh Meat and Casualty, as well as the films Legacy and Second Coming. Archie also appeared in National Youth Theatre’s 2013 production of Pope Joan at St James’s Church, Piccadilly.

DAMIAN LEWIS OBE won unanimous international acclaim for his role in Emmy® and Golden Globe® award-winning drama Homeland. Lewis starred as Sergeant Nicholas Brody opposite Claire Danes and was awarded the 2013 Golden Globe® for Best Performance by an Actor in a Television Series and a 2012 Primetime Emmy Award® for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Drama Series among other accolades for his role. Most recently Lewis has starred in Showtime series Billions. With an expansive list of diverse film, theatre and television credits Damian Lewis has evolved into one of this generation’s most respected and sought-after actors.

Edward Albee’s The Goat, Or Who Is Sylvia? London

Prior to his role in Homeland, Lewis first came to the attention of international audiences in 2001 with his Golden Globe®-nominated performance in the award-winning HBO miniseries Band of Brothers, directed by Steven Spielberg and produced by Tom Hanks. He also starred as Soames Forsyte in the acclaimed British production of The Forsyte Saga and Charlie Crews in Life. In 2015 Lewis starred as Henry VIII in Wolf Hall opposite Mark Rylance in the BBC Two television miniseries adaptation of Hilary Mantel’s Booker-Prize winning novels Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies.

Prior to American Buffalo in 2015, Lewis starred as Alceste in Martin Crimp’s 2009 adaptation of The Misanthrope opposite Keira Knightley. After training at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, Lewis joined the British theatre community and appeared in a number of plays between 1993-98, primarily as a member of the Royal Shakespeare Company. During that time, he starred as Laertes in Jonathan Kent’s Broadway production of Hamlet opposite Ralph Fiennes. In 2003, Lewis returned to the London stage opposite Helen McCrory in Five Gold Rings at the Almeida Theatre. In 2005 he starred in the National Theatre’s production of Ibsen’s Pillars of the Community.

In addition to his illustrious work on stage, Lewis has appeared on film in Julian Fellowes’ adaptation of Romeo and Juliet which starred Douglas Booth and Hailee Steinfeld in the titular roles, The Sweeney, David Gordon Green’s Your Highness, and Werner Herzog’s Queen of the Desert opposite Nicole Kidman.

SOPHIE OKONEDO OBE was born in London and trained at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. She has worked in a variety of media including film, television, theatre, and audio drama. Okonedo began her film career in 1991 in the British coming-of‐age drama Young Soul Rebel before appearing as Wachati Princess in Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls (1995) and Stephen Frears’ Dirty Pretty Things (2002). She received an Academy Award® nomination for Best Supporting Actress for her role as Tatiana Rusesabagina in the 2004 film Hotel Rwanda, a Golden Globe® nomination for the miniseries Tsunami: The Aftermath (2006) and BAFTA TV Award nominations for the drama series Criminal Justice (2009).

Okonedo made her Broadway debut in the 2014 revival of A Raisin in the Sun for which she won the Tony Award® for Best Featured Actress in a Play. In 2016 she received a second Tony® nomination for her portrayal of Elizabeth Proctor in Ivo van Hove’s Broadway production of The Crucible which also starred Ben Whishaw, Saoirse Ronan and Ciarán Hinds.

Okonedo was last on the London stage in Jeremy Herrin’s Haunted Child at the Royal Court in 2011. Previous work at the Royal Court includes Katie Mitchell’s Nightsongs, I Just Stopped by to See the Man, Been So Long and Women and Sisters. At the National Theatre Okonedo has appeared in Troilus and Cressida and Money, and has had roles in numerous productions for the Royal Shakespeare Company including Tamburlaine The Great, The Changeling, A Jovial Crew and The Odyssey.

Film work includes Hotel Rwanda; Tom Harper’s drama War Book; After Earth with Will Smith; The Secret Life of Bees alongside Queen Latifah, Jennifer Hudson, Alicia Keys and Dakota Fanning; Stormbreaker and Skin opposite Sam Neill and Alice Krige.

Most recently on television, Okonedo starred in Peter Moffat’s political thriller Undercover for the BBC opposite Adrian Lester and played Queen Margaret in BBC One series The Hollow Crown: The War of the Roses alongside Benedict Cumberbatch, Judi Dench and Phoebe Fox. Other television credits include the role of Winnie Mandela in the BBC drama Mrs. Mandela; Clocking Off; the Doctor Who episodes “The Beast Below” and “The Pandorica Opens”; BBC series Extraordinary Women; miniseries The Slap; Sky1’s Sinbad; BBC One’s Mayday; and The Escape Artist.

IAN RICKSON was the artistic director of the Royal Court from 1998 to 2006, where he directed Jerusalem (also West End at the Apollo Theatre), The Winterling, The Night Heron and Mojo (also Chicago), all by Jez Butterworth; Not Not Not Not Not Enough Oxygen and This is a Chair by Caryl Churchill; Dublin Carol and The Weir by Conor McPherson (also Dublin, Chicago, West End and Broadway); The Seagull by Anton Chekhov (also Broadway); Krapp’s Last Tape by Samuel Beckett; Alice Trilogy by Tom Murphy; The Sweetest Swing in Baseball by Rebecca Gilman; Fallout by Roy Williams; The Day I Stood Still by Kevin Elyot; The Lights by Howard Korder; Pale Horse and Some Voices by Joe Penhall; Ashes and Sand by Judy Upton; Killers by Adam Pernak; Sab by Michael Cook and Wildfire by Jonathan Harvey.

In the West End Rickson directed Kristin Scott Thomas, Rufus Sewell and Lia Williams in Old Times by Harold Pinter (Harold Pinter Theatre); Betrayal by Harold Pinter, also with Kristin Scott Thomas, and Keira Knightley and Elizabeth Moss in The Children’s Hour by Lillian Hellman (both Comedy Theatre); and at the National Theatre, Evening at the Talk House by Wallace Shawn and The Red Lion by Patrick Marber. Productions at the Young Vic include Hamlet starring Michael Sheen, Now We Are Here and The Nest. Work on screen includes Fallout by Roy Williams (Company Pictures for Channel 4) and Krapp’s Last Tape by Samuel Beckett (BBC4) and on radio includes In Therapy with Susie Orbach (BBC Radio 4). Rickson also works with PJ Harvey and Kate Tempest on their music and poetry shows. EDWARD ALBEE was born on 12th March 1928 and began writing plays 30 years later. His plays include The Zoo Story (1958), The Death of Bessie Smith (1959), The Sandbox (1959), The American Dream (1960), Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1961-62, Tony Award®), Tiny Alice (1964), A Delicate Balance (1966, Pulitzer Prize; 1996, Tony Award®), All Over (1971), Seascape (1974, Pulitzer Prize), Listening (1975), Counting the Ways (1975), The Lady from Dubuque (1977-78), The Man Who Had Three Arms (1981), Finding the Sun (1982), Marriage Play (1986-87), Three Tall Women (1991, Pulitzer Prize), Fragments (1993), The Play about the Baby (1997), The Goat, or Who is Sylvia? (2000, 2002 Tony Award®), Occupant (2001), At Home at the Zoo: Act 1, Homelife. Act 2, The Zoo Story. (2004), and Me, Myself & I (2008). Mr. Albee was awarded the Gold Medal in Drama from the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters in 1980. In 1996 he received the Kennedy Center Honors and the National Medal of Arts. In 2005 he was awarded a special Tony Award® for Lifetime Achievement.

PLAYFUL PRODUCTIONS – PRODUCER As Producer and General Manager productions include: No Man’s Land (UK tour and Wyndham’s); Kinky Boots (Adelphi); Hangmen (Wyndham’s); American Buffalo (Wyndham’s); The Audience (Broadway, Apollo and Gielgud, which was also a record-breaking, worldwide digital broadcast with NT Live and subsequently resulted in an Executive Producer position on the Netflix TV series of The Crown); Wolf Hall: Parts 1 & 2 (Broadway); Wolf Hall and Bring Up The Bodies (Aldwych); Shrek the Musical (UK & Ireland tour); The Weir (Wyndham’s); South Downs/The Browning Version (Harold Pinter); Sweeney Todd (Adelphi); Hay Fever (Noël Coward); Flare Path (Theatre Royal Haymarket); Yes, Prime Minister (Gielgud, Apollo, Trafalgar Studios and three UK tours); Krapp’s Last Tape (Duchess); Enron (Noël Coward); Red (Broadway); Hamlet (Broadway); Mary Stuart (Apollo and Broadway); Don Carlos (Gielgud) and Frost/Nixon (Gielgud and Broadway) and the forthcoming Don Juan in Soho (Wyndham’s Theatre, March 2017)

As General Manager productions include: Groundhog Day (Old Vic); Wicked (Apollo Victoria, original UK & Ireland tour and now a further UK & Ireland tour in 2018); Blithe Spirit (Gielgud); Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Theatre Royal, Drury Lane); Dirty Dancing (Aldwych, two UK tours and Piccadilly); Shrek the Musical (Theatre Royal, Drury Lane); Million Dollar Quartet (Noël Coward); Clybourne Park (Wyndham’s) and the forthcoming An American in Paris (Dominion, March 2017). www.playfuluk.com

TOM KIRDAHY – PRODUCER Tom Kirdahy is currently producing the musicals Anastasia and Bandstand on Broadway and John Kander’s new musical Kid Victory Off-Broadway at the Vineyard Theatre. He was the lead producer of the 2015 Broadway hit It’s Only a Play, the five-time Tony® nominated Broadway premiere of The Visit and the Off-Broadway smash and NYTimes Critic’s pick, White Rabbit Red Rabbit. Tom has previously been nominated for Tony Awards® for Mothers and Sons and After Midnight, as well as his revivals of Ragtime and Master Class. He is also a founding director of Berwin Lee London New York Playwrights, Inc. Kirdahy studied politics and dramatic literature at New York University and is a graduate of NYU School of Law. As an attorney, Kirdahy spent nearly two decades providing free legal services to people living with HIV/AIDS and served for many years on the Executive Board of the NYC LGBT Center. He currently serves as the Chair of the Broadway League Government Relations Committee.

HUNTER ARNOLD – PRODUCER Hunter Arnold is the CEO of ARTech Holdings, a company dedicated to bringing best in class technologies to the live arts. He is also a founder of the New Musicals Creative Collective, an organization committed to aiding the development of new musical works from emerging artists. Broadway: Kinky Boots (Tony Award®), Dear Evan Hansen, Disaster!, Allegiance, Deaf West Theatre’s Spring Awakening (Tony® Nomination), The Visit (Tony® Nomination), It’s Only a Play, Mothers and Sons (Tony® Nomination), The Bridges of Madison County, Macbeth starring Alan Cumming, Godspell and Chinglish. Upcoming: Anastasia. Upcoming Film/Television: Hello Again and A Little More Alive.

BOOK TICKETS FOR THE GOAT, OR WHO IS SYLVIA?

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