#richard is never finishing those chocolate boxes. he gives them all to

[itsnotmourn]

happy valentines part 2! with carmen and richard…….. waow

[we-dragons]

I'm from a different dimension actually Chapter 6 Damian x reader

Professor X sat in his wheelchair glancing around the room he hums his eyes pouring over all that there was finally landing on Robin. He gives me a look gesturing over at him.

"He informed me about The Crows sir, apparently they have gone under the radar, they've killed three people and the system didn't go off. At first, I thought we still had time, I treated a wound he had it he had come in contact with one and fought it. You know like how Wolverine did, I treated the cut and it's gone, but I was sure they were still in the dream state. But he got injured saving those left how survived probably not far from here, but the fact we didn't even receive the ring can only mean...they've returned under complete control again."

Concern fills the face of professor X, he turns to Robin, who shifts uncomfortably by the entrance of my kitchen. "Who are you then?"

"Robin."

The professor nods not even turning from his spot, he looks over Robin as if completing an inspection.

"How much does this Robin Know Dreki, about you, and The Crows?"

"I told him about the Jal-sein, the old race before the collective mind sharing, and he knows about my box of scales." Professor sighs.

"How did you meet him."

"When he broke through my window last week, infected."

"You gave him some scales to purge poison."

"Yes sir."

"Very good," He moves back to his original spot in the middle of the room. "You have been permitted to stop them at all costs if you must. Your uncle will be here soon to help you kill whatever has brought them back, in the meantime try not to use the stones. We don't want to attract more trouble than what has already been done."

"You're allowing me to put my powers to use?"

"As long as you don't wear it out, vibranium is not easy to turn into clothing."

"What a minute!" Robin's voice carried out through the room. "Just what's going on?"

"Robin," Professor X starts. "your world is being invaded by the Crow so that you become one of the many planets they have drained of life. And to do it they need a vessel that can contain the leader of the Jal-sein, Hok'mor." Professor X looks at him, his use

"And?" Robin says his face remaining unreadable

"I was the vessel, I escaped, destroyed the flagship and the army they had." I shiver moving out from my room to the box still lying on the kitchen table. "They were after the life of my home, so then I became a weapon for my planet." I pull out a bag of coins from the box.

"And what do you intend to do now (Y/N), destroy them yourself." Robin stands in the entryway, professor X stands behind him.

"Yes," I turn to him a chakram and the bag of coins in hand. "so unless you know how to obliterate a bird in 15 seconds or less you need to forget this ever happened and never come back."

"So, why tell me any of this, why tell me about anything why expose yourself?"

"So you can tell your family and friends and hopefully, just maybe you can survive. Because knowing them keeps them out of your head, but too much knowing allows them to enter." I pick up Nightmare, he crawls up to my shoulder and I head out of the kitchen, Robin makes room for me but just barely. I open my closet and pull out the last thing I have, two letters one written in my mother's signature ink and the other in my own handwriting, I hold them out to the professor.

"You know there is nowhere left for me to run professor if I end out getting caught...I just want him to have this. In my letter, papers are containing the custody terms for my brother to Uncle. I just need you to grab them to complete the transfer." Professor X slowly takes the letters where they rematerialize on his side.

"Good-bye Dreki, I will see that these get to your Brother."

Professor fades out of the com, and it clicks turning off, I pick it off the floor and slip it into the pocket of my sweatpants. I pulled out the chakram ready to leave a mark on my hand, I only needed a little bit of blood to completely transform when Robin coughs gaining my attention. He leans against the wall to the left of me now glaring at my form, Nightmare growls at the boy from the corner of my eye I see his fangs getting slightly bigger.

"Are you making it a habit to ignore me while I'm here?"

"No, But I do need you to leave, you can't stay here anymore." I begin to push him out the door in the kitchen, he slaps my hands away confusion leaving his face replacing it's with anger. He open's his mouth and I put a magic orange circle on his head.

"You Robin son of batman, found this information interrogating one of the monsters. It spoke in a language that was foreign but somehow understood all of it. You have made no such connection to the girl Y/N M/N, you did not see a man from another dimension, you came back to thank her for her help you had some tea and you were just leaving." I flick my hand and the circle vanishes, his head lowers for a moment as the information in his head readjusts. He moves to the balcony edge turning to face me the scowl returned to his face.

"Thank you for the tea." he pulls out a grappling hook and leaves without another word. I sigh moving to the same device I used to contact the professor. Picking it up I hold it to my mouth.

"Find me the closest thing to a sorcerer supreme, name and whereabouts contact them when you get there."

I toss it back onto the floor and it roars to life to give me a purple image of the earth and orange magic circles to tracking and moving. I move to my couch and fall asleep waiting for this day to take me.

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I wake the next day with the globe still searching for my request I sigh and get ready for work. I thank god that it's just the coffee shop below me, I work on the weekends mostly unless they need an extra member of staff then it's just me and the older lady and her husband. They both owned the building and the shop they helped me get the apartment set up and showed me how to work the coffee machines. I don't really drink coffee though after seeing what a raving maniac my dad became without it, also it was just so bitter no matter how much sugar I put into it. I partially blame my heightened scenes that came with my abilities, so I got free white hot chocolates and any extra flavors I wanted as long as I did my job and chatted with them for a while.

I asked them personally to stay away while I was sick, so they wouldn't be affected. When I get down the stairs Martha, the elderly lady beams thankful that I'm feeling better.

"I so glad you are doing well dear, I know the acidity in our rain makes you sick so Glenn and I got you this umbrella." She hands me a purple umbrella that still has a tag on it, it reads for sun and rain.

"You didn't have to do this Martha, I told you I'm not good with gifts, you already let me stay here on the government's program and gave me a job here, you and Glenn have already done so much." She pushes the umbrella farther into my chest.

"No you do so much for us, you work without complaint, you've also taken care of us and our granddaughter when she came over. When you were sick we were so worried about you so you going to take it or I can give you more gifts."

"Thank you very much."I smile brightly. She pats my shoulder and gestures to the counter to start the machines.

Once all the machines are started, the desserts are placed and the base coffees are made I open shop. Customers come in and some lounge around in the chairs or couches drinking coffees and either studying or chatting with their friends. Molly usually comes on Sunday as one of our regulars, so I would see her then. A few of our regulars are happy to see I'm back at work one of the other tenants gave me a green bean casserole and a hug. It's 5 O'clock and I make a cappuccino as I finish I hear the door open and the bell ring on the counter.

The black-haired blue-eyed male I had gotten to know as detective Richard Grayson, came in every other day at 5, he normally talks often while I tried to take his order. So I memorized what he usually gets so he doesn't block the register so I can still make the register.

"Hey Y/N I'll take the usual."

"I thought so," I hand him his drink " one cappuccino."

He takes his coffee and moves to the bar we have set up if you wanted to watch the process and it's only then I see the other people behind him, one pissed-off looking male with a cigarette in his mouth, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne. I look back to Richard he smiles at me leaning onto the bar.

"They came with me this time, It's family bonding time."

"You mean you dragged us out of the house to grab a coffee from this place cause you have a schedule."

"It's bonding Jason! Bonding!"

The two began arguing in the shop, I return my attention to the other two boys. Tim as at the counter puts a ten-dollar bill on the counter, while Damian does the same.

"Give me a regular coffee, black, large cup."

"Tea, no sugar, regular size."

Their voices crowed each other but since this happens frequently it was easy enough to at least get their orders down.

"Sure here's your change." I look back to the two arguing and I see Jason didn't put out his cigarette. He taps it and the ash of his drug falls to the floor.

Sighing I move out of the workspace gabbing a tong and a wastebasket, I take out the cigarette and throw it in the bin now gaining the full attention of Jason. I give him a stern look he seemed to freeze, bitting back any words he might have prepared to say before.

"Sir, I am not sure if I made we've previously made It but there is a strict no smoking policy. As you see we have many elderly, and young children in our establishment." I smile but I know my face is full of malice. "But please enjoy your stay at our cozy corner of our fine and fair city." I move back behind the counter start on some of my orders, I look at Jason again the smile still on my face.

"Would you like anything?" He gives me an odd look.

"White hot chocolate, Large," he nods his head over at Richard. "Put it on his tab."

"We don't have a tabs sir, he works for the police."

"So?"

"He gets Free coffee." He gawks at me as if I told him the sky was black, and I see Richard trying to contain his laughter.

"You give that guy free coffee?"

"It's a store policy." I pass out the coffee and the tea and I see from the corner of my eye he pulls out a flask. I grab the tongs again and clap them together, Jason looks at me then grumbles putting the flask back in his jacket, and instead pulls out a five and hands it to me. I take it from him gingerly and head straight to work on his order. I hand him both his spare change and his drink, and the complimentary cookie bag that came with it. He gives me another look.

"They come with a drink." I leave and continued my chores around the shop.

"You are doing much better (m/n)." I whip my head around and look at Damian who's behind me on the other side of the counter. His companions seemed to be in deep conversation amongst themselves.

"Yes, I'm doing just fine, it happens occasionally but nothing like a good cup of tea and a few nights rest couldn't fix." I go back to cleaning the counter.

"You were sick for much longer than that."

"Yeah...it happens." I change the topic to "Did you think of anything for the project?"

"Why not make a model, there is not really much to do with it anyway." I gasp dramatically.

"Not much to do with an astrolabe! You clearly didn't read the whole paper!" By now I have caught the attention of his group. Damian frowns.

"No, your paper was written very well, I just don't think we need to dwell too much on this project seeing as how we really are not presenting." I had heard that bit from Molly.

"I suppose your right." I put away the cleaning supplies and turn back to him. "I'll get started on a model right away!"

"You will do no such thing." His voice is stern. "I will come back later and work on it with you," He moves his chair back and heads out the door.

His companions follow quickly after him and they say their goodbyes.

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As promised, he came a few hours later right as my shift ended and another person came for the second half of the day. I moved the glowing tracker to my room so it wouldn't gather any extra attention.

"I have supplies, what is all of that?" my brows furrow staring at the bulging plastic bag in his hand while I turn the keys in my locks. opening the door.

"I wasn't sure if you were prepared." He moves to the door, my arm shoots in his way stopping him.

"I wouldn't go in quite yet."

"What?"

I put a finger to my lips and crouch slowly to the floor, I shake the key in my hand then slid them across the floor. A ball of black attacks the object just as it crosses the doorway. Nightmare attacks the keys rolling around and bitting.

"Ah yes, observe the feral kitten in his natural habitat." I walk inside the door beckoning Damian to follow. "I would beware he is an ankle bitter. You can set up in the living room I'll just drop this guy off in my room."

"Does he attack all the time?"

"He's been like that since I picked him up, I don't blame him he was born in a rough neighborhood." I set Nightmare on the bed next to the floating version of earth. "Watch it make sure it finishes." then head to the living room. Damian has all his stuff set out on the table. There was veneer, paper, paint, some nails, an Exacto knife, a hammer, and a bag of pipe cleaners.

"This looks like stuff to make a birdhouse," I try and pick up some of the wood that was on the table." you realize cardboard, scissors, and a sharpie would have been enough."

"And here I thought you like polished and neat projects."

"yeah, but even with cheap materials you can still create a masterpiece."

"You don't do anything nice for yourself self do you?"

"Dude the most expensive thing I own is a cat who attacks me." I sigh, I sketch out a design for the astrolabe. "Well, why don't you start on the Mater, I'll get to work on the plate for our side of America."

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"3 hours of hard work and I got to say it's not bad." I hold the fished product, It's attached to a string of green yarn. "The calculations are down to point." I put it down, I clean up the mess that's on the floor of the living room.

"About the last time we saw each other, I'm sorry."

"It's fine, you probably knew about me from the news already, the big myste#wayne#scifi#damian#bruce#bats#fanfiction#xreader#characterxreader#jason todd#tim drake#character x reader#mxf#fxm#batboys#batboys x reader#Damianxreader#X reader#DC#Marvel#MarvelxReader#DCxreader#batfam#mutants#Damian Wayne x reader ry of the missing journals. So many interviews." I dump the trash in the kitchen, saying that last part mostly to my self.

"You forgive too easily."

"I'm not as forgiving as you think, honestly you view me too highly it that's what you believe. Would you like something before you leave?"

"No, but I have something for you before I go." I open the door to my room and let Nightmare out.

"Oh?" He's already at the door and pulls a shiny gold card from his pocket, he hands it to me.

"Father thought it would be good to meet you."

"Because I'm the daughter of a famous dead professor, is he going to ask about the journals too?"

"No, this is to apologize for my previous behavior."

"Oh," I take the card looking at it uneasily. "I don't think I can go to this, I don't do well at parties."

"Not a very good excuse." He smirks.

"I'll think about it." I push him out the door and give him the Astrolabe, closing the door slowly. " I'll see you at school."

I look at the card again, It's like the parties mom went to I knew them well. While some were nice, others were nice only in their face. I laugh slightly to myself, Molly already called me earlier telling me I was her plus one to the same thing. This was already suspicious enough as it is. I look at Nightmare who cocks his head at me.

"You think I should go, don't you?" the furball nods

"Fine. I was going to be forced into this anyway."

[rason-rodd]

The Night(wing) Before Christmas

Summary: Damian tries to convince Dick to come to dinner for Christmas. But duty calls and a weird surprise awaits Dick. Do you believe in Santa Claus?

Warning: No pairing. Just a family Christmas-themed OS.

Author’s note: This would certainly be the last Bat-Christmas one shot. I decided not to make it a Dick x Reader (though it was initially the plan) because I wanted to give Dick and Damian the chance to reconnect. Hope you will like it. 

Blüdhaven was never quiet. Blüdhaven was always restless. Lively. Noisy. Blüdhaven was like him. In shades of jet-black and neon-blue. Shining. Glowing. Like a beacon by the ocean.     But tonight, Blüdhaven was not blue. Blüdhaven was red. Blüdhaven was green. Blüdhaven was yellow. Blüdhaven was merry. Blüdhaven was childish. Blüdhaven was a little boy waiting for his gift in a small circus trailer, counting days and eating chocolate. Blüdhaven was getting ready for Christmas.       But Dick Grayson was not.   “You know Father still insists that you come celebrate Christmas with us at the manor this year.” Slumped on the chimney, feet hanging and swinging in the air, Damian Wayne was playing with a birdarang like a bored child waiting for action, demonstrating nonchalance and casualness that could have almost seemed natural and sincere if it hadn’t been for his little green eyes peeping at his brother’s every reactions. “I still have to think about it, Damian.”     Damian clicked his tongue and crossed his arms over his chest to sulk in silence. “Todd said he was coming.” Dick snickered at the boy’s remark – which sounded more like a reproach - finding certain amusement in seeing Damian’s childish disappointment. “So who are you going to spend Christmas with? The poor waitress you used to date?” Those last few words were enough to erase the smile on Dick’s face. “Bea and I are over, Damian. I told you, didn’t I?” Damian shrugged and jumped from his perch to come and kneel by his brother by the edge of the rooftop they were on. “She wasn’t good enough for you, anyway.” And that was a lame attempt at comforting by Damian Wayne, ladies and gents.             “Well, if I listen to you, Damian, no one is ever good enough for me. You said the same thing about Shawn when we broke up.”         “Shawn? Oh right the mediocre artist/ villain you thought you had got pregnant. Almost forgot about her. What a lousy list of conquests you have under your belt, Grayson.” Dick’s jaw clenched to prevent any hurtful commentary to come out of his mouth. There was no point in debating with Damian in that situation. Dick knew well than to take his words seriously. After all, they were just part of a clumsy technique to attract attention, not ill intentioned at all and not to be taken seriously.

Police sirens suddenly screamed in the avenue under their feet, flickering blue and red. A code of alert. A perfect way to escape Damian. “Got to go.” And without any other word, Dick leaped over the edge of the building, grapple gun in hand, ignoring his little brother yelling at him “See you next Thursday at 6.” and his classic “Grayson, you fool.” when he didn’t get an answer.

Dick wasn’t a huge fan of car chases. Though appearing as simple and routine at first sight, he found them to be the most dangerous and scariest of a superhero’s everyday (or night) missions. They needed an extreme vigilance that was hard to fully have: requiring his attention to be sharp and focused on both the criminals and the police as well as the road and especially any citizen who were unfortunate enough to be on the way. But full vigilance didn’t mean no light-hearted commentary.     “Where are you guys going with an organ recovery vehicle? The hospital is the other way. Might wanna update the GPS and reconsider the music. Last Christmas I stole you your heart would be more fitting for organs traffickers”     “Nightwing!” The driver exclaimed as his partner in crime pulled his gun from his holster to shoot him. “Yeah that’s me.  And you might wanna give me that.” Dick said as he quickly seized the gun to throw it through the car window. “Now pull over before Santa hears about what bad boys you two have been this year.”   “Screw you, punk!”   “As you wish.” Dick rolled his eyes, acting dramatically annoyed, and grabbed the wheel, taking the two men by surprise. “What are you doing?” They asked, screaming at him. “Checking the airbags.” He declared as he voluntarily led the speeding car towards a barricaded construction site knowing perfectly that there were no workers in there tonight. ”Hang on.”

The car hit the metal fence, bending it as if it was a mere piece of paper. Then it left the ground and flew right towards a hole of fresh concrete. When it landed, all the bodywork crashed like a can of tomato soup and the windows broke, leaving the two criminals screaming in fear. But their yells were brief, chocked by the airbags that suddenly inflated due to the powerful noisy impact.             “Airbags, check. MOT test, over. You may get down of the vehicle gentlemen.” Nightwing said as he opened the door. But the two men were so stunned and terrified they couldn’t move. “Or you can wait here. That’s fine as well.”

The police car who had been chasing the two men suddenly parked on the site and a couple of officers ran to the accident car, guns in hands. Among them Detective Elise Svobada, Nightwing’s own Jim Gordon except that Jim Gordon had never kissed Batman. A memory that still made Dick want to puke. “Good job, tights.”             “A compliment? Christmas makes you soft, Svoboda.” Dick smirked as he let the woman pushed the driver out of the car. “Don’t get used to it.”   “Detective, the heart must be delivered in less than 15 minutes. We won’t be there on time. Not with this traffic.” Svoboda’s partner declared, panicking and trembling like a Chihuahua.           “Damn it!” Svoboda kicked the tire of the car, angry and wondering what to do now. “Nightwing, do you think you can…” But there was no need to finish the sentence as the vigilante was already far away, swinging from building to building, the box containing the precious organ in his hand. “Thanks, kid… Nelson, call the hospital. Tell them there’s a special delivery.”

There’s nothing more gratifying than knowing you saved a life, except maybe knowing that you saved a life on Christmas. Makes you feel like some heroic caped Santa Claus in a way.           But Dick never chose to become a vigilante for gratification or fame. He never wished for a thank you or some sort of admiration. Dick chose to become a vigilante to help people, to see the smiles on their face, that glimmer of hope shining in their eyes when they thought all hope was gone. Dick chose to become a vigilante to make the world a better place.            

“That girl owes you her life.” The white-bearded doctor said as he shook Dick’s hand with a gratitude that was making the happy tears in his eyes sparkle like stars. “She doesn’t owe me anything.” And no one could doubt his sincerity. “Still what you did was very noble, boy. Thanks to you this young lady will be able to spend Christmas with her loved ones. And I hope you will as well. After all there’s nothing more important than family.”           “We’ll see about that. Merry Christmas, Doctor.” He said as he headed towards the exit. “Merry Christmas, Richard.”

Dick froze and quickly turned around, wondering if he had heard right or if it was his fatigue playing tricks on him. But the old doctor was already gone and nowhere to be seen. Did he know the Batman’s disappearance act, too? “You really need to sleep, Nightwing.” “Indeed you look awful.” The nonchalant voice of Damian Wayne suddenly made Nightwing jump. That little demon could be so stealthy sometimes. “Would not want you to look like a walking dead at dinner. We already have Todd for that.”           “How did you find me?”       “Heard the police radio. No need to be a genius to do so.” He clicked his tongue as he crossed his tiny arms over his small chest. “So you saved the mayor’s daughter. Congratulations. What now?”           “The mayor’s daughter?”   “Yes. The two criminals wanted to use her as a way to corrupt the mayor.” Dick frowned. “What? Did you really think there was some sort of organs trafficking in Blüdhaven? Hello! It’s Blüdhaven not Gotham! You know the place where you’re expected on Thursday.” Dick laughed and tousled his little brother’s hair to annoy him. “Alright, little guy. I’ll be there.”   “Thank you.” Damian sighed deeply.         “Don’t thank me. Thank Santa.” Dick corrected him, still thinking about that weird old doctor. “Don’t try to choke with some cheesy Christmas spirit.” Damian declared as he pointed his fingers at Dick who were chuckling. “Alright.” He complied, gently grabbing Damian by the arm. “Wanna go drink some hot cocoa at my place?”           “Are you sweet-talking me?” Damian glared at his brother, not really knowing how to take the offer. “Maybe.”             “Would there be marshmallows in the cup?” Dick grinned and hugged his brother. “Of course.”    

[selfships-in-spanish]

For the vampire! AU, where the boys are the vampires, I can imagine Ona getting shot/injured while on a separate case, and the boys have to put aside their urges and bloodlust to get her to a doctor and tend to her. Which is EXTREMELY difficult because their senses are directly attuned to the presence of blood, hers specifically - Simon-Data Anon

Simon-Data anon, let me give you a box of chocolate boxes (if you dig that) as a thank you because my askbox has been BLESSED.

(I gotta reply you all but I’m trying! ;_; Lot’s of stuff and I wanna take my time to reply them well, you folks deserve it)

But please have this! :D I wrote it mostly half-asleep so there are probably mistakes and such. Sorry :_)

It was a stupidly simple case. Or at least, it should have been. 

Ona should have seen the clues, the signals; that is her goddamn job. But instead, she led herself into the wolve’s den without backup. 

The leads got her in a small and peaceful town, next to a deep forest that went on forever. There she searched for more clues, checked the ones she already had to make sure they were correct. She thought the trail went cold when suddenly one of the evidences they had lead her to the tiny house near the lake. Ona left a text message to Hank, telling him she found something and that she would discuss it with him in the morning over a nice and good cup of coffee from the cute café near the DPD.

But now she was bleeding on a dirty old wooden floor from a gunshot.

It turned out drug dealers were involved, and they did not want the police to snoop in. They made it clear when they just went for her head the moment she stepped into the seemingly empty and abandoned lake house, prompting a close combat fight with toppled furniture and smashed walls. She had the upper hand, but their fight ended with a second person appearing with a gun and directly shooting her.

Ona heard the one she was fighting against curse something, probably a “fucking stubborn bitch”, before they left her to bleed on the floor and taking her discarded gun with them. She saw him limping and for a moment she felt a surge of pride and satisfaction. But it wasn’t long lived.

The pain was unbearable. Her whole body hurt, the man went to hit her with all his strength and no matter how much training she did, it still hurt and bruised like hell. But the gunshot was as if molten iron was being poured into her like a never-ending stream of pain. Ona tried to crawl out of the house and to her car, to call for help, look for anything usable or her phone that went flying God knows where, but the truth was that she was going to die out of a bleeding gunshot because she was a fucking stupid, reckless idio–

A sob threatened to escape. She felt pathetic. 

The drowsiness from blood loss was racking through her whole body. Ona wanted to close her eyes, wishing to wake up from this nightmare. The adrenaline from before was almost gone, and she didn’t have enough strength to crawl over her phone; it got knocked out under a crate, getting stuck on its edge. She didn’t know if to feel relieved that her attackers didn’t see it, because she didn’t have enough strength left to get it. So close yet so far. 

Breathing was harder now, the pain not letting her gather her wits for a very tiny and fleeting moment. But Ona had to get to the phone, call for help, call for an ambulance, for Hank, for–

Her vision was getting blurry, and she didn’t know if it was because of the tears or because she was succumbing to unconsciousness before finally dying. Fuck.

When did she close her eyes? 

No no no, not now, she couldn’t close them. She couldn’t, not now, she had to get back. She…

Voices. There were voices. Did her murderers come back? Just to make sure and finish the job in case she did survive?

Cold and gentle hands turned her around, carefully holding her and peeling her clothes to reveal the gunshot wound. An inhuman growl tore out of the stranger’s throat, a faint glint to where the eyes were supposed to be, although the shadow was… familiar. Ona tried to say something, but her mouth barely moved when she called out for help. Her fingers twitched in an effort to lift her arm, but she was so, so tired. The arms that were holding her gently tightened their hold, pulling her body close to the stranger’s in a hug. Ona was confused by the weird show of affection from someone she didn’t know or recognise, but as she was held by the stranger, she could see perfectly combed hair and a few rebellious strands falling on their forehead. And also honey eyes that shouldn’t be shining bright as they were doing right now. Ona swore she saw that hair and alabaster skin before… maybe in a dream. It couldn’t be, could it? Blood loss was making her delirious?

The sweet scent of her pierced through the brother’s acute sense of smell. It was fresh, sweet and determined as the day they met her for the first time— a tiny cut making them want to go feral— but they also could smell fear and desperation. They did not like that smell on her. Unknown to their precious human detective, they kept tabs on her just to make sure no other vampire or creature decided to play a quite deadly game, but this time it were humans who decided to hurt her.

The brothers thought they could resist it, but her blood flowing steadily out of the wound was making Connor lose himself piece by piece. It was calling him. Only a taste, a brief kiss on her skin, his tongue lapping up the outside and careful to not touch the wound... But deep down if he had a taste, he knew what would follow. Her blood made them both him and Richard retreat to their baser instincts, to hunt down their prey and have themselves a feast. It smelt like nothing else before, so full of life, so rich...

Connor’s mouth started to water and he had to swallow the spit threatening to spill alongside the guilt of wanting to claim this human as his, when the human didn’t even know of their existence. Yet.

“What do you think you are doing, brother?”

Connor caught himself before he licked his finger clean of her blood. His fangs were bared, his breathing harsher, and he even was tempted to snarl at the intruder. He didn’t realise he was about to do so until Richard’s glint in his eyes defied him. One look at his brother and Connor knew he was barely restraining himself, but he was holding onto his precious will of iron better than Connor himself. Such was the power of their darling detective’s blood on them.

“She doesn’t have much time.” Connor willed himself to stop looking at her soaked shirt, and carefully laid her down again to take off his coat and put it on her. He picked her up again in his arms and stood up.

“I’ve located the ones who did this to her.” Richard took off one of his leather gloves as Connor approached him at the front door. He let his thumb brush against her unharmed cheek, carefully avoiding the blood. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m famished”.

“Good.”

Needless to say that they were faster than an average human, and probably a car, so it came in handy to run through the forest until they reached their own car. The nearest hospital was, thank God, close, and they made it in time to get her into the ER. They let the doctors and nurses do their job, watching her disappear further into the hospital. Connor clutched his blood-soaked coat, his hand squeezing the fabric harshly.

When the nurse turned around to ask them for details and where they could go clean themselves a bit, they were already gone. Connor and Richard hated the smell of hospitals anyways, the reek of death and disease was too much. But also the scent of her blood was too distracting. She was safe in their hands. Their detective was a strong-willed human, and she would survive.

But the fate of those who harmed was going to be quite different.

It was easy to locate their detective’s room after dealing with her attackers. They sated the bloodlust and hunger her blood made them feel, and let themselves be extra vicious for having attempted to end her life then and there. They left behind them a true carnage that looked like a wild animal had its fun. But now they were high on adrenaline themselves, sated and the rich flavour of life running through their veins. It was a pity they tasted horrible. 

Connor was wiping the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief Richard gave him as they were about to turn around the corner that lead them to her room’s corridor. The brothers saw police outside her door and they both grunted, displeased. The brothers would have to get inside in another way; Richard wasn’t feeling like manipulating that human’s mind. 

Thankfully the window opened easily enough. They stepped inside with all the grace one could do so (Richard was always better at sports), dusting off briefly their clothes. She was sleeping and the beeping machine at her side told them she was stable and alive. Connor smiled, pleased by her strength and will to live. She would do a perfect mate if she—

She let out a sigh, frowning slightly as Ona briefly moved her head to the other side, unconsciously baring her neck to the brothers. Twin sharp intakes of air could be heard, eyes zeroed on her pulse point. The brothers could still smell her blood, although not fresh like when they found her, and their ears caught the sound of her steady heart beat. The thrumming of her pulse was deafening, its call worse than a siren’s luring out an unfortunate sailor. They both knew they just fed themselves, copiously, but it was right there, pulsing inside her veins, begging to be tasted for the first time…

The scrunching of her eyes and twitching nose signaled that she was waking up. Connor and Richard unconsciously walked closer to her bed, their figures looming over her resting body, as they took in every tiny movement. Slowly, the human detective opened her eyes, the drugs pumped up into her body making it very difficult for her to focus, but she saw two familiar shadows over her. She sighed tiredly, and closed her eyes again.

“I’m dreaming again, aren’t I?” her voice was just shy of a barely audible whisper, even more difficult to understand by the way she was drawling every word. “Of handsome strangers.”

“You think of us handsome?” Connor was amused. This wasn’t the way he thought the first real conversation between them would start.

“I’m sure you are. You must be. You are in my dreams.” Ona frowned. “This sounded like that Disney movie.”

Both brothers chuckled, leaning over her and resting their arms on her sides, mindful of not squashing any tubes or her bruised body.

“Then, are we your charming princes?” Richard caressed her cheek with his finger, softly.

“You haven’t even presented yourselves properly. Not very prince-ish of you.” Ona managed to open her eyes again, turning her head in the direction of the caresses. She was greeted with the clear sight of one of the strangers’ faces. Finally. “Oh fuck me, you are handsome.”

Connor took her hand, free of tubes and needles, as he openly laughed. He gently kissed her knuckles, letting the softness of her skin brush against his cold lips.

“If that is your wish…”

“I’m not in the perfect state for that, you rascal.” Ona managed a weak chuckle. “I just got shot and my ass kicked.” her gaze was met with smiling brown eyes.

She was used to the nights where the twin shadows would visit in her dreams. They were oddly comforting, if not weird at first, and always seemed to have her in the highest form of veneration. Ona would wake up feeling guilty of dreaming of such things, thinking of herself as an egocentric and needy individual. She didn’t know why she dreamed of handsome strangers, or why they did all kinds of things they promised in heated whispers against her skin. But right now? She welcomed all kind of comfort.

The finger on her cheek descended slowly, tracing her jaw first and then her neck, following her pulse.

“You should buy me a drink first.” The finger and the thumb brushing her knuckles stopped at the same time, twin eyebrows raising. “For. You know. If you wanna do that and…“ Ona took a deep breath, exhaustion clawing her to go back to sleep. “and all the things you promised me. Or just chat. I don’t know. But drink first.”

“You will have whatever you desire for, Starlight.” She felt those lips kiss her hand again, as cold fingers brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. “You only have to ask.”

“Tell me your names, then. So I can finally know the two imps haunting me in my sleep.”

“Imps? We have been that bad?” Connor’s teasing smirk made her snort.

“Handsome imps, but with no manners.”

The finger on her neck resumed its ministrations, going back to her jaw and then her chin to turn her to face its owner.

“I’m Richard.” Icy eyes pinner her on the spot, unable to look away from their sheer intensity.

“And I’m Connor.” As if Richard freed her from his spell, Ona turned her head the other way to gaze into deep pools of molten chocolate. She felt as if she would drown in them.

Connor went to open his mouth again to say something, but noises from outside the corridor made him stop. He clicked his tongue, displeased at being interrupted. Connor had the thought of sending the nurse away with a simple mind control trick, but he knew their darling had to rest and regain her strength.

“Sadly, our time is over for today.” Richard stood up, eyes glued to the door as if he wanted to destroy whoever dared to interrupt their time with their precious detective.

“It seems we have run out of time, yes.” Connor leaned further into her, letting go of her hands to cup her face, and his voice a soft and velvety purr. “We will see you soon, Moonbeam.”

His lips brushed softly the corner of her mouth. It was a chaste kiss, a gentle press of lips, but it felt as if her skin was on fire. Her heart beated faster as she took a sharp breath. Not wanting to feel left out, Richard bent over, mimicking Connor’s actions. Her mouth followed his as he retreated, unconsciously wanting more.

“Rest now and regain your strength, teacup. We will be watching over you.”

“Now you are guardian angels?” she had a tired smirk on her lips.

Richard chukled, but it didn’t hold the same mirth as before.

“I doubt there is a place in heaven for us.”

Confused, but completely fatigued from being awake, Ona didn’t comment on that. Maybe the next time they showed themselves on her dreams she would ask more about it. About them. Ona watched Connor and Richard open the window of her room, which confused her even more, and the next time she blinked they were gone with the curtain flowing on the chilly night breeze. Her eyes closed, not being able to be awake any longer.

The next time she woke up, rays of sunshine filtered through the drawn curtains and the sounds of people outside could be heard. Ona turned her head to see a vase full of beautiful and fresh flowers on her bedside table. The nurse told her later, when she was changing her bandages, two handsome men came to bring them to her, but following protocol, the hospital didn’t let visitors to come unless authorised to do so. The nurse handed Ona a handwritten note attached to it with a teasing smirk and wiggling eyebrows. Surely it was a nice and juicy gossip for the nurses on that wing of the hospital.

Ona read the note written in a beautiful penmanship when she was alone, feeling as this was something intimate and reserved for when she was on her own devices.

“Get well soon, Starlight. We owe you a drink indeed.

Yours truly,Connor & Richard.”

Ona took a sharp breath, regretting it later when the gunshot wound protested.

That… hadn’t been a dream? 

Ona noticed there were numbers at the very end of the note. It looked like a phone number. Ona got out of her thoughts at the sound of Hank barking at the officer on the door to move the fuck out and let him see his fucking reckless detective. Ona smiled at that, knowing Hank probably drove like his life depended on it the moment he got notified one of his detectives got shot.

All his temper and angry words disappeared the moment he stepped into the room. The officer outside was smart enough to let the Lieutenant pass. When he saw her tired smile, Hank let out a relieved exhale. She was okay, everything was okay. He took a chair and sat down next to Ona. He rubbed his hand across his face, letting out a tired sigh.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, understood?”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant.” at least she had the decency to look truly ashamed. She knew Hank’s baggage and she knew what a mess Hank must have been until he got here.

“It’s Hank to you, you cork.”

Ona laughed at Hank using one of her own curse words.

“Hank.” After a moment of silence, Ona turned her head to him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, kid. Get well soon because we all miss you and we can’t stand Reed being a snotty asshole anymore. Tina can only hold him in line for so long.”

“¡Ahá! So he does behave when I’m around!” Ona grinned.

“Only because you whooped his ass that time and put him in his place. He fears you.”

“Good. He should.” Ona’s grin turned to a satisfied smirk.

Hank chuckled. He patted his jacket until he found what he was looking for. He waved the object so Ona could see. A twix fun size bar. Ona’s stomach made its presence known.

“This is for you for when you are better AND a good girl who listens to her doctors. Don’t do like the last time you got injured.” Hank’s knowing ‘dad’ stare made her feel like a scolded child.

“I won’t, I promise.” she was not pouting. Nope.

“You better.” Hank knew Ona would probably launch for the chocolate candy bar the moment she was alone, but he let her have that tiny pleasure. Only when he wasn’t looking. 

But Hank had to get serious.

“Now, I know you are tired and need to lie down and heal, but I need you to tell me what happened and what did you see.”

“I know.” 

Ona took a deep breath and began explaining everything, what she saw, what she discovered, the leads and then the connection to drug dealers. Her attackers also got her gun, so maybe they could track it and lead to them. She even included the one or two random strangers that helped her out. Ona only had vague memories of that and couldn’t remember much, just that someone found her, but she omitted the late night visit. Ona needed to look for the truth about that first. Also Hank didn’t have to know about the massive amount of wet dreams she got at night. Nope. TMI!

After talking about more details and then changing the topic to random things, Hank parted with one last gift: her phone with a newly cracked phone screen. Just her luck. At least she didn’t lose all the info in there and the photos, of course. That counted as a win.

Once Ona was discharged from the hospital, with a few days off and a phone call from Fowler that she was on weeks of desk duty just in case (because they all knew she would lie about being okay and would end up opening her stitches again), and well, she wasn’t too happy about it, she dug her purse for the note that was delivered to her alongside with the flowers. Ona was chewing her lip, contemplating if to press the call button or chicken out and mull over it for the entire week. She decided to suck it up. 

She pressed the call button.

Anxiety was gnawing at her insides as the dial tone rang. Maybe she did dream it? Maybe it was a untasteful joke from one of the nurses that heard her talk in her sleep? Maybe it–

“I thought you would never call, Starlight.” Ona was greeted by the voice she heard all those nights, all those whispers and filthy promises– “So, how about that drink we promised you?”

“Yeah, hi! Uh… about that… how about, uh… uhm, tomorrow night?” Ona’s voice trembled.

“Tomorrow night, Green Bee at 8?” Ona could feel the purr in what she assumed was Connor’s voice.

“Tomorrow night. Okay. Perfect.” Ona closed her eyes. She was being an awkward mess but Connor didn’t seem to either notice it or mind it. She was absolute garbage at this. But her questions nagged at her to get to know the truth behind all this.

“See you soon, teacup.” That probably was Richard. It was quieter, deeper, but with a touch of fondness in it. “Enjoy your day and don’t overexert yourself.”

“A-ah, yeah! You too. You both. I won’t. Thank you, hahah...”

A sultry see you tomorrow reached her ears, making her embarrassingly squeak out a reply. She could do this. She was a goddamn detective, she got into worse situations and even more dangerous too.

No amount of training or experience got her ready to see them both waiting for her in front of the new and fancy restaurant, looking as if they stepped out of one her multiple dreams. Well dressed, hair perfectly styled with those rebellious strands falling on their foreheads as always, and twin smiles that greeted her when she approached them both.

They were very much here and very much real.

She had more questions than ever.

[thatesqcrush]

Candygram Wishes

Rafael Barba x Reader.  AN: Prompt #1 (Candycanes) from the @thefanficfaerie​ Christmas OTP challenge found here. CW: None.

Tags: @madpanda75​ @ottosuricato​ @delia26​ @dreila03​ @sass-and-suspenders​ @glimmerglittergirl​ @melsquared79​ @mommakat32​ @garturbo​ @southern-magnolia​ @niyashell​ @tropes-and-tales​ @imjustreallynosy​ @whyissvuruiningmylovelife​ @sweetsummertime99​ @evee87​ @scarletsoldierrr​ @kscarlett1 @cesarofangirl78​ @redlipstickandplaid​ @theenchantedgalleryofstories - anyone else just ask.

It started out by happenstance.

You were studying for your upcoming bar examination. A career change late in life; a second act, if you will. But bills were like clockwork and they came every 30-days. So when your friend Sonny, who was now a lawyer in his own right, said that his former boss needed a replacement nanny, you jumped at the chance. The job was straightforward and provided an opportunity for you to also squeeze in some extra study time while making some money.

And that’s exactly what you were doing tonight.

“Noah, did you finish your math homework?” you called out as you loaded Olivia’s dishwasher.

“Yes,” Noah replied walking in. A bright smile appeared on his face. “Can I show you the new moves I learned from dance school?”

“Well, I was going to make some hot chocolate before bed...” your voice trailed before sighing. “But now I don’t know if I should give you so much sugar if you’re going to be dancing,” you continued, teasing

. “Oh please, please! I want hot chocolate!” Noah exclaimed, jumping up and down excitedly, before spinning in a pirouette.

“Okay, okay,” you laughed. You reached into a cabinet and pulled out a frothing pot. “Go get changed Fred Astaire.”

Noah skipped out of the kitchen as you began making the hot chocolate. As the milk warmed, you raided the pantry for hot chocolate fixings. You found marshmallows, caramel sauce, chocolate chips, crushed sea salt, and three unopened boxes of candy canes. You then checked the refrigerator and found a canister of whip cream. You gathered your materials for the hot chocolate bar you were creating and set them on the table.You used the corner of your nail to pop the plastic open on one of the candy cane packages. You took one out to suck on while you stirred the cocoa powder into the milk.

Noah burst back in. “Y/N, those are for my candygrams for school!”

You cocked your head and raised your brow. “Candygram? What’s a candygram?”

“I’m selling them for $1.00. You give a candy cane to whomever and you write a note that goes with it,” Noah explained.

“Okay, well I’ll give you the $1.00. I just thought they would be good to put in our hot chocolate. But we have lots of other stuff to put in them.”

A staccato knock on the apartment door interrupted your conversation. You shut off the stove and wiped your hands on the dish towel that hung off the oven door handle. You looked at Noah. “Expecting anyone?” 

Noah shook his head and you made your way towards the door. You peeked through the peephole and staring back was a very handsome man outfitted in a camel coat and dark brown leather gloves. He had a briefcase in one hand and a stack of red-weld folders in the other.

Cautiously still, you opened the door and poked out your head. “May I help you?”

“Is Liv around? I have these files for her,” the man replied, giving you a once over.

“And you are?” you asked, your eyes narrowing.

“Uncle Rafa! Uncle Rafa!” Noah squeezed and pushed past you. You stepped back, and opened the door slightly wider.

“Hi Noah,” Rafael put down his briefcase and crouched to give Noah a hug.

“Come inside, Y/N is making hot chocolate,” Noah exclaimed and began pulling Rafael towards the apartment.

As Rafael walked past you, you caught a waft of his cologne. It was woodsy and musky, and you closed your eyes taking in the scent. ‘It should be illegal to smell that good.’ You thought as you shut the door behind you and followed Rafael and Noah to the kitchen.

“I’m Y/N - Liv’s new nanny,” you introduced yourself, extending your hand.

“Pardon me. Rafael Barba,” Rafael greeted. He removed his glove and extending his hand. You shook it and gave him a demure smile. “Pleasure to meet you.”

You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. Rafael was strikingly handsome with piercing green eyes. His dark coiffed hair was peppered with grey that gave him a distinguished appearance and suddenly you knew why your own mother had a thing for Richard Gere in the ‘90’s.

“Care for some hot chocolate? Coffee, or water, or something else?” 

“No thanks,” Rafael replied. “I just wanted to drop these files off for Liv. I didn’t think she was on tonight.”

“She got a last minute call,” you replied. You poured some hot chocolate in a mug and blew on it before placing it front of Noah, who was sitting. You smiled as he squirted some whip cream onto his drink.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” Rafael replied, putting his glove back on. “I’ll text Liv that I came by.”

“Uncle Rafa, stay,” Noah requested. “Y/N, Uncle Rafael is a lawyer, just like you.” Rafael cocked his head at you. 

You felt your cheeks flush and you shook your head. “Not a lawyer. Yet. Studying for the bar.”

“Where did you go?” Rafael asked, a smile twitching on his lips.

“Fordham,” you replied. “You?”

“Harvard.”

“Impressive,” you quipped, with a raised brow. You found yourself subconsciously smoothing over your clothes.

“Uncle Sonny went to Fordham,” Noah commented, now sporting a whipped cream mustache.

You turned to Noah. “That’s right, that’s how I met Sonny.” Turning back to Rafael, you continued. “You’re more than welcome to stay but don’t feel obligated if you have other places to be.”

“I actually do have to go,” Rafael replied and you found yourself disappointed.

“I’m sure you have someone waiting for you at home,” you blurted out and then felt your cheeks redden at your social faux pas. In your head, you banged your head against Liv’s wall repeatedly.

“Uncle Rafa isn’t married!” Noah giggled. “Mom says he works too much.”

Rafael felt his own cheeks flush and he coughed, trying to clear his throat. ‘Out of the mouth of babes... or Olivia,’ he thought. “Um something like that. I just have to prep for my case tomorrow. It was nice meeting you.”

You moved to walk Rafael out, but he held up his hand. “Don’t trouble yourself. Noah, pórtate bien. Goodnight.”

Later that night, when you were in the confines of your own apartment, you looked up Rafael Barba. And you fell down the rabbit hole that was Google, learning all about the amazing things this do-gooder of a man had accomplished. And he was handsome to boot. He was quite the package. In an instant, a crush was sparked.

Sometimes you dropped off Noah at the precinct. On more than one occasion, Rafael was there, discussing cases with the squad. Sometimes he gave you a head nod of acknowledgement, sometimes you and he would engage in small talk about your studying or about law school. Sometimes Sonny was there and would teasingly regale with law school horror stories.

You needed help with studying; Sonny was too busy with Hadid and getting his footing in the DA’s office. You thought about asking Rafael for tips on studying but you never dared to ask.

And at night when you were all alone, you would indulge in a fantasy which would revolve around Rafael helping you go through flash cards. It would eventually take a dangerously naughty turn with the end result of the two of you in between the sheets. ***

Rafael knocked on Liv’s apartment door. Ever since he met you that first night when he went to drop off the files, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He always counted his good fortune on the days he got to see you at the squad room.

When the door opened to Liv, Rafael was somewhat disappointed. Liv didn’t miss a beat and saw the flash of disappointment across his face when it registered you weren’t at the sort. She raised a brow, and smirked. “You just missed her.”

“What are you talking about?” Rafael asked as he made his way in.

“Rafael, you may be a lawyer, but I’m a cop. It is my job to read people. And I know when people are lying,” Olivia continued as she shut her door. “I know you like Y/N.”

“Y/N and I are just friendly. That’s all,” Rafael replied, removing his coat. 

Liv walked into her kitchen. “I’m going to get some wine. Want some?”

“Please.”

Liv walked back out with two glasses of red wine. She handed a glass to Rafael and joined him on the couch. “I’ve watched you and Y/N interact. She’s single in case you wanted to know. And I think she likes you too.”

Rafael took a sip of the wine. “I don’t know.”

“This job - you give and you give and you give. And it also takes from you. I know. I’ve been there. Think about it. Don’t you think you deserve to be happy?” Olivia questioned.

Rafael swallowed a large gulp of wine, unsure as to how to reply. ***

“Uncle Rafa, uncle Rafa!” Noah exclaimed as he burst through the ADA’s door. The curly haired boy ran towards Rafael’s desk, throwing his coat and book bag onto the floor in process.

“Noah!” Rafael greeted. “Where is your mom?”

“Talking to Carmen. I have a candygram for you.”

“For me? Who’d send me a candygram?” Rafael questioned. Noah dragged his book bag over and unzipped his bag and dumped the contents onto the floor. Pencils scattered about song with folders, notebooks and various textbooks. Among the pile was a single candy cane, taped against a folded note.

Noah handed the candy cane to Rafael. Rafael opened it surreptitiously in order to avoid seeming too eager.

Call her. 917-555-6859 xo, Liv. At that moment, Liv walked in. “See you got my note.”

“Clever, Liv. We’ll see,” Rafael replied, tossing the candycane onto his desk. 

“She’s off tonight,” Liv added for good measure.

“I said we’ll see.” ****

You used your teeth to remove the cork from the already opened wine bottle. It had begun to snow; white flurries fluttered against your windowpane and the wind howled fiercely. You dropped to the floor and sat against your couch, one leg outstretched and one pressed against your chest. Study materials decorated your floor.

You felt defeated. The exam was less than a month away and you didn’t feel anymore ready or prepared. You figured you’d give it another hour before calling it a night, when your phone began to buzz. You didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

“Hi, Y/N, it’s Rafael Barba. Liv gave me your phone number.”

“Why would she — um, is everything okay?”

From the other line, Rafael could hear the concern in your voice and he felt his heart race. “Everything is fine. I just wanted to see if you were busy and maybe... perhaps... grab dinner.”

You felt your cheeks pink and your stomach fluttered. “I’d like that.”

“What are you up to tonight?” Rafael pressed.

“I’m free tonight.” After a beat, you continued, looking at your study materials. “It would beat studying.”

“I could bring dinner and we could go through it together,” Rafael offered. You agreed, requested an hour and rattled off your address. “Or we could just do dinner; whatever.”

You rattled off your address and requested an hour, to which Rafael agreed. 

Rafael spun the candy cane between his thumb and index finger. He made sure to save your number in his phone, before placing an order of Chinese to pick up. He unwrapped the peppermint candy before placing it in his mouth. A smile twitched on his lips, and he let himself smile. 

*** You smiled as you disconnected, before rushing to change. You couldn’t wait to see what was to come.

FIN

[ruthoakenshield]

The Call (part 2)

The Call (part 1)

Richard, Shannon and a couple others quickly rushed to their dressing rooms to get changed out of costume and makeup. They decided that they were going to make you supper & dessert and spend time with you tonight.

They all piled in Shannon’s SUV and stopped at the local grocery store. Richard went to get you flowers, Shannon went to get your favourite dessert, Stacey and another costar went to get stuff for supper. On his way back to the cash register, Richard saw some wine that would go great with the supper they had planned for you. He grabbed a couple bottles and placed them on the counter with the flowers.

The cashier rang them up and he paid for them then stood by the doors waiting for the rest of the group. Once they all had their purchases they went to your apartment. Stacey pulled out a sympathy card and had everyone write in it before they got out of the SUV, then she tucked it in with the flowers Richard was holding.

They went up to the door and rang the buzzer. Shannon pushed Rich forward telling him he got to be the spokesperson. He gave her a look and she giggled. You answer the buzzer wondering who it is. “It’s Rich, Shannon, Stacey and Gabe. We’re here to make you supper and we brought food, dessert and a gift.” Richard tells you. “What did you bring for supper & dessert?” You ask, not really in the mood for company.

Stacey shouts out chicken & broccoli Alfredo, breadsticks, and chocolate marshmallow ice cream and strawberry cheesecake ice cream!!!!” They hear you laugh and you buz them in.

You hear them laughing and stomping up the three flights of steps to your apartment. Stacey & Shannon are huffing and puffing when you open the door and look out as they come up the last steps. You shake your head at them and can’t help but grin.

You stand there in your college’s sweatpants (cuz they were SO comfortable but WAY too long for you), and a worn out college sweatshirt with the stretched out neckline. You blush bright red when you realize you forgot to go put a bra on and that Gabe is also with the group as is Richard. Richard grins when he sees what you’re wearing, making you blush even more red.

“Why on God’s green earth did you choose the top floor in an apartment with NO elevator ?!?!?” Stacey asks you.

You laugh, “Cuz it FORCES me and my guests to get SOME exercise!!!” You say grinning. Richard and Gabe just chuckle and Gabe messes your hair as he passes through the door. Richard grins when he sees you and boops you on the nose gently with the flowers.

Both Richard and Gabe stand in the entry looking around. They notice you have very little in your apartment. “So, y/n how long have you lived here?” Gabe asks as Richard hands you the flowers, card and wine bottles. You motion for them to follow you to the kitchen.

“I moved here about 8 months ago. I know it’s not much. I just never got around to decorating it I guess. My finances have been tight since I moved here. It’s SO much more expensive here than back home.” You explain. I just got the bare basics for now.” You sigh. “It’ll fill up now that I have to go through Mom & Dad’s house and decide what to keep and what to sell.” You say quietly as a tear runs down your cheek and you brush it away.

You busy yourself with the flowers. Arranging them in a water pitcher since you don’t own a vase. He had bought you a bunch of brightly colored daisies and Fuji mums, which were your favourites, unbeknownst to him.

Richard notices that you don’t seem to own a vase and makes a mental note for the next time. You place them on the dining table off to the side of the kitchen, and sit to open the card. Richard comes and stands near you and leans on one of the counters as Gabe, Stacey & Shannon start making supper.

You open the card and see three gift cards for $200 each. One is a general Visa card, one is for the grocery store near your apartment, and the other is for a fancier restaurant. The four people in your apartment all signed it and wrote condolences & well wishes to you.

You look up at them with glassy eyes, blown away by their generosity and friendship. You look up at Richard & he is smiling at you warmly. His eyes crinkling at the corners and twinkling with happiness knowing that you won’t be alone tonight.

He comes over and stands behind you and rubs your shoulders absentmindedly as you both watch your friends make a mess of your kitchen. You look down at the card in your hand and sniffle. Then you set it next to the pitcher of flowers. You pull out your phone case and put the three gift cards into the phone case.

You flip your phone to photo mode and take a few pictures of Shannon, Gabe & Stacey all making you supper, then take a few selfies of you and Richard watching them now that he pulled up a chair behind you and has his chin on your shoulder.

“You guys didn’t have to do this. I was just going to have pizza, my Jameson, and watch Guys & Dolls.” You inform them.

“Nonsense! Shannon says! You can still watch your movie! We are crashing your party tho and providing MUCH better food and drink than pizza and whiskey!”

You clench you’re chest and gasp. “How dare you belittle my Jameson!” You tease with mock offense. Then you get up, open the freezer and to Richard’s surprise pull out a big bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey, open it and take a couple swigs. Then close the bottle and put it back in the freezer. You grin and walk back and plop back down on your chair.

Stacey laughs and shakes her head. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a hard liquor girl!” She laughs.

You grin. “It’s in my blood. You can blame my mom’s side of the family! Scotch, Irish, English, Russian, Finnish, French-Canadian.” You grin. Richard chuckles. You look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“That bottle looked like it was half gone. How long has it been in the freezer?” He asks you with his own raised eyebrow. You grin. Since I got off of work.” You say deadpanned to see what kind of reaction you get.

They ALL stop and stare at you. You start guffawing. “Relax. It’s been in there for about two months now! It was a gift from my dad when I finally told him I got this job!” You tell them laughing. They all chuckle and Shannon throws a wet washcloth at you hitting you on the arm. “Brat!” She says then laughs as you throw it back at her. Richard is chuckling behind you.

They get supper going and you get up and go into the living room and open the entertainment center. Richard follows you and plops down on the oversized U-shaped couch. He looks around at the room. There’s a bookcase filled with books and literature, another bookcase is filled with DVD’s. He gets up and goes to see what kind of taste you have for movies and books.

He is surprised at the variety. Old musicals like “Singin’ in the Rain”, “Guys and Dolls”, “The Court Jester”, a lot of Disney animated and also live action movies, BBC sets of Downton Abbey, Robin Hood, Are You Being Served, and several versions of Jane Eyre. He sees Marvel & DC movies, The Hobbit, The Lord of The Rings, but also nearly all of the Indiana Jones movies, Almost all of the Star Wars movies, Star Trek, and lots of chick flicks like Pretty Woman, Never Been Kissed, Mamma Mia, Grease, miss Congeniality, The Princess Bride. He grins when he sees Into the Storm and all of the X-men movies, and the newest version of Phantom of the Opera as well as many many more.

He walks over to your bookcase and looks at your books. Wurthering Heights, Jane Eyre, The Odyssey, Little Women, 66 Love Letters, history books on Egypt, Greece and Rome. Books and magazines on archaeology, a whole shelf of J.R.R. Tolkien books and related books, another entire shelf of C.S. Lewis’ works including a VERY worn out OLD boxed set of the Narnia books. You had a set of the Earth’s Children series by Jane Auel as well, along with a bunch of classic literature books like Sherlock Holmes, Frankenstein, Dr Jeckyl & Mr. Hyde, Moby Dick, Grimms’ Fairytales, and a whole bunch more.

You watch him as her peruses your movies and books. You study his face as he explores your two collections. He smiles at some, grins when he sees others, and after a bit you come over and say, “Well?”

He looks at you confused. “Well what?” He asks as he wraps an arm around your waist and looks down at you as he glanced from the bookcase to you. You shiver as his thumb finds bare skin at your waist and you reach up to put a book back into the bookcase that you had finished earlier. He notices the bare skin immediately and slides his hand up so his whole hand is on your bare ribs. His thumb grazing the underside of your breast. You grin, realizing the shirt had pulled up on one side revealing you weren’t wearing a bra. His hand feels warm against your bare skin.

You chuckle and turn to face him as he swallows hard. Your faces are mere inches apart & you feel his breath on your shoulder. His dreamy blue eyes are very dilated and he holds you closer. “Thank you for the flowers, Richard.” You say. He smiles. “I hope you like them. They were so bright and colorful, I thought they might help cheer you up a bit.” He explains. You smile. “They will. They are my favourite flowers. Especially those huge fugi mums!” You grin and give him a kiss on the nose. Making him grin.

He smiles and traces the side of your face. “I’m glad you like them. What were you going to put in now that we are all here?” He asks. You grin and walk back to your movie case.

You pull out “Guys and Dolls” and shake the case. He chuckles, “a musical huh?” He says. You give him a cheesy grin and nod. He walks back over to the couch and plops down on the shorter U section in the middle.

You walk over to the DVD player and pop in the DVD. Then ask him if he wants anything to drink while the two of you wait. He thinks for a minute then asks for a soda. You head for the kitchen and he hears Shannon and Stacey talking and Gabe laughing at something they said. You come walking out with two Cokes and a smirk on your face.

“What’s so funny?” He asks as you sit next to him and hand him his coke. “They were giving me shit for putting a shot of Jameson in mine.”

He chuckles. You take a swig and groan. He goes to take a swig of his but you stop him. “Hang on... they switched them on me... here.” You say as you take the one in his hands and hands him yours. He frowns for a minute then chuckles. You take a swig of the one in your hand and say “Ahhhh, that’s better!”

Richard looks at you and laughs. “I never would’ve pegged you for a whiskey drinker.” He tells you. You look at him puzzled for a moment. “What would’ve you pictured me drinking?” You ask curious. He thinks for a moment. “Screwdrivers.” He says. You grin. “I like those too.” You confess. “Especially in the hands of a sexy handyman.” You say and wiggle your eyebrows, earning a hearty laugh from Richard. “I’ll have to remember that.” He tells you grinning.

Just then Stacie hollers that supper is almost ready. Bring it out here Stace! You holler back. We can eat and watch the movie!

They bring the plates of food, then the basket of breadsticks, the chilled wine, glasses, silverware, napkins and the flowers and card. Shannon puts the flowers on the side table by you along with the card. They pour the wine and you all toast to your parents and to new family and friends, then you hit play on the remote and you all dig in to the food.

Once everyone finished eating Shannon gets up and collects all the plates. She brings them to the kitchen and comes back with bowls of ice cream for everyone. You eat ice cream and laugh at the movie.

You’re snuggled against Richard after eating your ice cream. “Geez, you’re like a blazing heater!” You tease him. He just grins and wraps his arm around you. “Is someone cold?” He asks. You nod. “I blame the ice cream.” You say giggling. He chuckles and grabs the blanket from off the back of the couch and drapes it over you.

A little while later, he feels you get heavy against his chest. He glances down and you’re sound asleep. He chuckles and pets your head while he watches the movie. By the time it’s done, you’re in a deep sleep.

Stacey looks over and quietly says, “Awwwwe! Is she asleep?” Richard nods and holds up a finger to his lip. “You guys go ahead and clean up then head home. I’m gonna stay here and sleep on the couch so she isn’t alone.” They look at him and nod. “Thanks for the food, ladies and Gabe, make sure they get home in one piece.” He says quietly. Gabe nods and gives Richard a wink.

They clean up the kitchen and dishes and then head out after saying bye to Richard.

He looks down at you and kisses your forehead. He gently slides an arm under your knees and wraps the other back around your waist. He shifts you onto his lap and then carefully stands and looks around trying to figure out where your room is. He sees a door off in the corner and walks over to it. It isn’t quite pulled shut, so he toes it open to see a beautifully decorated bedroom. The lamps on either side of the bed flip on with a dim night light bulb in them when they sense movement and provide a better view. He sits you in the chair in the corner of your room and props you against the side.

Then he goes to your bed and pulls back the dark blue comforter revealing silver silk sheets. He grins and runs his hand over them imagining making love to you in that bed. He grins, “not now though.” He tells himself. He walks back over to you and looks at you in the chair. Your hair has fallen out of the loose braid you had it in and you’re snuggled into the blanket from the couch.

Richard walks over and carefully unwraps you from the blanket. Then he picks you up again bridal style and carries you to the queen size bed. He chuckles as he sees your pants hanging almost a foot down past your feet.

He kneels down on the bed and carefully lays you down in the middle of the bed. He covers you up and brushes the loose hair from your face. “Get some rest, Sweetheart. I’ll be out in the living room on the couch when you wake up.” He whispers, then kisses your cheek. Unable to resist that little splurge.” Then he walks to the chair, grabs the blanket from the couch that you were wrapped in, walks to the door and looks back at you again.

He sighs contentedly and pulls the door closed a little. He lays down on the couch and covers up with the blanket. Enjoying the fact that it smells like you, he drifts off to sleep thinking of you and silver silk sheets.

[writingformadderton]

Don´t go breaking my heart💜

Ship: Madderton 

Word Count: 5279

Summary: When Taron gets kicked out of the apartment, because of the breakup, he decides to visit Richard. His best friend offers him his guest room and after long conversations, they decide that T moves in. When Taron gets sick, Richard takes care of him and both of them start to realize that there is more than friendship between them. Rich fights it back, not wanting to lose his best friend while Taron tries to hide it not wanting to be heartbroken again. Bot both of them aren’t really good at hiding.

Additional tags: drinking, breakup, crying, sickness, falling in love, first kiss, comfort, cuddling

The doorbell rings loudly through the home and Richard looks up from his cup of tea, raising his eyebrows. His eyes search for the wall clock and reads it. It’s 11 pm. Who would be coming at this ungodly hour?

He walks out of the kitchen and over to his door and opens it. His best friend Taron stands in front of the door, a suitcase in hand. “Hey what happened?” Rich asks concerned.

“She kicked me out.” Taron admits and Richard can’t tell if those are tears or raindrops on his friend’s cheeks. “I came home and caught her cheating on me. She just gave me my stuff and kicked me out.” Taron feels tears well up in his eyes.

Richard takes the suitcase and lets him in. “So we were right about her cheating.” He mumbles and helps Taron out of his wet jacket and shoes.

Taron nods and smiles weakly. His face then drops and he hesitates before asking. “Can I stay here tonight? I promise I’ll find another place to go soon.”

Richard laughs and shrugs his shoulders. “You can stay here as long as you want, mate. I won’t kick you out.” He assures his best friend.

Taron runs his fingers through his wet hair and smiles in relief. “Thank you Rich.” He says.

Richard nods and takes Taron’s suitcase, carrying it upstairs. He walks over to the guest room he usually saves for his family visits. Taron follows behind him, already knowing where to go. “I’m gonna go wait in the living room. Take your time.” He says to Taron with a smile. He walks out and back downstairs.

Taron opens his suitcase and takes out a jumper and some sweatpants. He needed to get out of his soaked clothes before he ruins Richard’s floors. He changes and dries off with a towel, plopping down on the bed. The scene plays in his head over again and he sees himself walking into her apartment. Going upstairs and sees the door wide open and her in bed with a guy he’s never seen before. He remembers the way she looked over at him calmly, not a care in the world. The way she casually picked up his already packed suitcase and travel bag. She dropped them both at his feet and waved him away like a pest. Taron feels his throat get tight and breathes out slowly. No time to cry now.

Taron walks downstairs and towards the living room. Richard stands by the sofa and places several bottles of alcohol on the coffee table and two glasses. He turns around when he notices Taron and smirks. “Figured you could use a little pick me up. Take whatever you want.” He encourages and sits on the sofa.

Taron sits down on the sofa next to Rich. They make themselves a drink. He would have a good time tonight. He’d save his tears for another time and just enjoy Richard’s company. Or so he’d thought…

“It’s okay Taron, let it out.” Richard coos and rubs his friend’s back, holding him in his arms.

Taron sobs into Richard’s chest and breathes short, quick breaths. “I’m so sorry!” Taron sobs out and sits up straight. Rich gives him another tissue and rubs his knees gently. Taron dries his tears and blows his nose, throwing the spoiled tissue into the trash can. He picks up his glass and gulps down the rest of the whiskey. “I’m really sorry about all this.” Taron says again and laughs weakly.

“Oh stop it! Your girlfriend cheated on you and-“ Richard stops when he sees tears form in Taron’s eyes again. “What I mean to say is, you can cry all you want. It’s good for you.” Rich smiles softly and fills Taron’s glass again. “You want some ice cream?” He asks with a grin.

Taron starts laughing. “I am not turning into one of those heartbroken girls in a cheesy movie!” He retorts and wipes away his last tears, taking a deep breath.

“What?” Richard giggles and shakes his head. “I don’t mean to turn you into the main character of a rom-com. I just mean would you like something sweet.” He corrects through his laughter.

Taron looks at him and nods. “Alright, I’ll take it.” He says.

Richard stands up and walks toward the kitchen. “Chocolate or Strawberry?” He calls out and opens the freezer.

“Both?” Taron asks laughing and Rich chuckles. He didn’t even need to ask. He isn’t hungry for ice cream but he knows that Taron would feel bad that he’s eating alone. Rich fills their bowls with the dairy goodness and grabs some spoons, going back to the couch. He hands Taron a bowl and spoon, sitting next to him. “Thanks, Rich. You know I was standing in front of your door for 30 minutes.” He admits and eats his ice cream.

Rich frowns. “What?” He looks at Taron and digs his spoon into the sweet treat. “Why?”

“I didn’t want to bother you and be a pain in the ass.” Taron shrugs and puts a full spoon of ice cream into his mouth.

“You really thought you would get on my nerves?” Richard asks and stops eating, watching Taron. He just nods and looks at him curiously. “You’re my best friend Taron. I told you, you can come over whenever you want to.” He assures the brown-haired boy.

“I know. But coming here with literally nothing but a suitcase and travel bag and not knowing where I would sleep next is something different.” Taron says quietly and stares at his hands, biting his lip nervously.

“I’m here for you, whenever you need me right?” Richard speaks and Taron nods and looks up again. “So the circumstances don’t matter to me.” Rich explains and devours the last spoonful left of the chocolate goodness.

Taron smiles softly and puts his bowl on the table. “Thanks, Rich. It really means the world to me.” He says and means every word. After what happened today, he was sure he would be completely devastated at the end of the day. But now, he sits there with his awesome best friend who gives him worth again.

Richard glances at the clock and sees its 1 am. They decide to call it a night and bring all the bottles, their glasses and ice cream bowls to the kitchen. Taron puts the ice cream back into the freezer and they walk upstairs.

Two weeks later, the two are walking together through the city. Richard and Taron talked a lot over the last couple of weeks and decided that Taron would stay with Richard. Taron would help out with the bills and help around the house, although Richard told him he didn’t have to.

It’s snowing and ice cold outside. Both of them are wearing warm coats and heavy boots. Taron is shivering and has his hands in his jacket pockets. They went shopping for Taron since his ex girlfriend only gave him his immediate clothes and not his other clothing items. Richard notices Taron fighting the cold temperature and stops. “You’re cold?” He asks genuinely.

Taron nods and laughs. “Fucking freezing mate.” He responds.

Richard pulls him into a nearby cafe and orders them both warm coffees. They sit down at a table and Taron warms his hands on his cup. Richard takes off his hoodie and gives it to Taron. “Take it, I’m warm enough with my coat.” Rich offers.

Taron takes a sip of his coffee and looks at him. “Are you sure?” He asks.

Rich nods and Taron gives in, putting it on under his coat. It smells like Richard’s cologne, warm and soft. “Thanks, mate.” He says smiling.

They finish their drinks and head back out into the cold. Taron pulls the soft hood of Richard’s jumper over his head and the one of his own coat. He feels a little warmer, but still freezing. As soon as they get back home, he returns Richard’s jumper and goes upstairs to get his own. He takes out his favorite jumper and a package falls out of it.

Richard is in his own room when he hears Taron. “What the fuck?!”

He steps out of his room and walks up to Taron’s. “What’s wrong?” Rich asks confused.

Taron comes out of his room and holds up a package of letters. “She put all of our old letters in my hoodie!” Taron says shocked and his eyes brim with tears. Richard takes the letters from his hand and walks downstairs. “What are you doing?” Taron calls out and follows him.

Richard takes a lighter out of the drawer by the door and opens the door. The cold wind chills their bones, Taron immediately feeling frosty again and covering his arms. “You wanna burn them?” Rich asks with a small smirk.

Taron stares at him for a moment and contemplates the thought. This is the last trace of what once was. Let it burn. Taron moves closer to Rich and takes the lighter, igniting the flame. Richard holds the letters up over the snow and Taron sets them in flames. Rich lets them fall in the snow and they watch as the paper burns to ashes. “That felt pretty good.” Taron admits and grins.

The next day, Taron wakes up with a scratchy throat and a blocked nose. He gets dressed and makes his way to the kitchen, boiling some water. He takes a cup and puts a teabag in it.

“Are you sick?” Richard asks and Taron turns around. His best mate leans in the doorway and folds his arms in front of his chest.

“No?” He answers, trying to sound convincing. It isn’t easy with a blocked nose.

“So you woke up and randomly decided that you like tea from now on?” Rich teases and watches him smirking. Taron hates tea, especially in the morning.

“I’m feeling fine. I swe-“ Taron sneezes loudly.

“Of course.” Richard shakes his head and hands Taron a tissue from the box on the table. “Your new passion is ready.” He chuckles and Taron looks at him confused. “Your tea, Taron!” Rich bursts into laughter.

“Oh!” Taron starts laughing and takes his tea. Richard watches him, holding back a laugh when Taron takes the first sip and frowns in disgust.

“Just stay home today. I’ll see you after work.” Richard says and picks up his keys. He has a meeting with the director of a film he was currently working on about scenes and costume ideas.

When he comes back home later in the evening, Taron looks really tired and moves about slowly. He is shivering and his nose is completely blocked.

“You’re still trying to tell me you’re feeling fine?” Richard asks as they sit at the table for dinner. He sits his fork down.

Taron holds his head in one hand and nods. “I’m great.” His voice is raspy and he coughs. His head is pounding with pain and he tries desperately not to fall asleep right at the dinner table.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Richard says and bites his lip. He keeps his composure, but on the inside, he’s filled with worry. Taron doesn’t look good at all. “I wanna help you, T.”

Taron looks at him with a weak smile. “I just have a cold.” He says.

“No one is that tired and motivation-less while having a cold.” Richard argues and stands up, walking over to Taron. He carefully lies his hand on Taron’s forehead and cheeks. He’s burning up and Rich feels the cold sweat covering his face. “You have a fever! Why didn’t you tell me?” He sighs.

Taron coughs roughly and shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be okay tomorrow.” He tries to convince himself and his friend.

“Don’t be silly. Let’s get you to bed.” Richard urges and helps him stand up. He slowly walks him upstairs and brings him to bed. Taron lies down and groans when his eyes come into contact with the bright ceiling light.

Richard turns it off and turns on the lamp sitting on the bedside table. The warm light gently covering the room. “Try to get some sleep. We’ll see how you feel tomorrow.”

Taron is already half asleep and takes Rich’s hand into his own. “I’m sorry to worry you Rich.” He mumbles and closes his eyes, falling into a deep sleep.

Richard looks down at his hands and his heart skips a beat. He wonders to himself, Taron had grabbed his hand a few times before. They were just best friends, right? He waits until Taron’s breaths are steady and looks down at his sleeping mate. Rich gets up and fondles over Taron’s sweaty hair. “Sleep well, T.” He whispers and lets go of Taron’s hand. He turns out the light and shuts the door quietly.

The next day, Taron wakes up when he feels something in his ear. He groans and opens his eyes. “Rich, I wanna sleep!” He whines and a beeping tone cuts through the silence, making Taron flinch.

“I just have to check your temperature.” Richard says and looks at the thermometer. “I need you to turn towards me so I can do your left ear.”

Taron groans and turns on his side towards Rich. “Ouch.” He mumbles, feeling pain course through his entire body.

“I know.” Rich whispers and puts it in his ear. They wait for the beep and Rich checks the temperature reading. “You’re still at 102.” He sighs.

“How late is it?” Taron asks with a raspy voice and pulls the blanket higher to his face.

“It’s 2 pm. I just came back home.” Rich explains and carefully moves Taron’s sweaty hair from his face. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m tired and everything hurts.” Taron moans and rolls onto his back. His hand lies on his stomach and Rich notices.

“You have a stomachache?” Rich asks and looks at him concerned. He’s more than sure Taron has the flu.

Taron nods weakly. “Can I have a heat pack?” He asks barely above a whisper.

Richard sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t wanna make you suffer, but the heat pad will only make your fever worse.” He hesitates and lies his hand on Taron’s stomach. He gently rubs over it and the brown-haired man relaxes a bit. He hands him a glass but Taron shakes his head. “You should drink more, T. Your body needs it to fight the fever.” Rich pleads gently.

Taron rolls his eyes and takes the glass. Rich gets up and goes downstairs to get some soup for him. If he doesn’t want to drink the tea, then he’ll have to get his liquid through food. He fills the bowl with fresh soup and puts it on a tray.

Back upstairs, he helps Taron sit up and notices how uncomfortable he feels resting his body against the wall behind him. “Would you mind sitting behind me?” He asks and doesn’t look at his friend.

Richard situated himself behind his friend and Taron sits between his legs. T leans against him and asks Rich how his day was. Richard tells him while he eats his soup. Taron puts the tray on the bedside table and rests his head on Richard’s chest. Richard softly starts rubbing Taron’s hurting belly again.

Taron feels himself relaxing and he feels safe in Richard’s arms. He swallows a lump in his throat. Something changed between them, but he’s not sure if it’s only one sided. Rich’s breath against his temple sends goosebumps all over his body. His touches are electric and warm and feel so good. Does he feel this way because Richard took him in when no one else would and cares for him? Or was this more than just admiration for his best friend? His body shuts down before he could think anymore and he slowly falls asleep in Richard’s arms.

Richard carefully changes his position so Taron could be more comfortable and lie a little flatter. His slightly younger friend turns on his side and cuddles into him. His fingers run through Taron’s hair and he tries to calm him down and ease the pain a bit. He feels himself getting tired as well, it was an intense day on set today. Rich closes his eyes and relaxes against the pillow. He listens to Taron’s steady breathing and drifts off.

Richard wakes up when Taron squirms in his arms and moans quietly. “You okay?” Rich asked lowly.

“Mhm.” Taron hums but moans again and contorts his face in pain.

Richard gently strokes the sweaty hair from Taron’s forehead. “Taron.” He says warningly. “What’s wrong?”

���I feel queasy and it’s so hot in here.” Taron groans out.

Richard bites back a laugh. “It’s fucking cold in here and the window is open.” Taron shrugs and kicks away the blanket. “You wanna take a bath?” Rich asks. Taron nods looking up at him. Rich moves to get up, but Taron is still laying on him. “I have to get up to run you a bath mate.” He says.

“Only 5 minutes Rich.” Taron whines and holds onto his arm. Richard chuckles and leans back. He kinda enjoys cuddling with Taron.

After a short time, Richard gets up and heads over to the bathroom. He lets the hot water run in the bathtub and adds some bubbles. He also adds some mint and lavender which while fighting the fever also relax Taron enough to put him back to sleep.

He helps Taron up and braces him while walking over to the bathroom. He lets him sit down at the edge of the tub and starts to head out when Taron buries his face in his hands and groans. Rich stops and turns around. “Do you need help?” He asks tiredly.

“If it’s okay for you, yes please.” Taron admits and lets out a sigh. He hates to be this sick and physically weak.

“Sure.” Rich agrees and helps him out of his sweaty shirt and helps him stand up and still. He helps him out of his sweatpants and stops when Taron is only in his underwear. “May I?” He asks and Taron nods. Richard keeps a neutral expression on his face as best as he could. It’s just like the Take Me To The Pilot scene a year ago, right? Just with seeing all of him in a different situation. Richard carefully helps Taron out of his underwear and into the tub. He grabs his clothes and heads to the laundry room to wash them later. He then goes back into Taron’s room and opens both his windows just enough and changes the sheets on the bed. He also grabs some fresh clothes. It will feel much better for Taron to lay on a fresh set after being in bed all day with a fever.

When he’s done, Richard goes back into the bathroom and helps Taron out. He supports him with drying himself and putting on a new set of clothes. He hangs up the towels when Taron stumbles forward. Rich pulls him into an embrace and rubs his back. “I got you.” He says.

“Sorry. I’m just extremely dizzy.” Taron admits and buries his face in Rich’s chest.

Richard nods understanding. “Your room has been aired out and refreshed. Let’s get you back in there and out of this steamy bathroom.” Rich states and walks him out.

The lavender did it’s purpose and made Taron really tired. As soon as he lies down, he can barely keep his eyes open. Richard closes the curtains and covers him with the blanket. He turns off the light and tucks the blanket around T. Taron grabs his hand and holds him in place. “Can you stay with me?” He whispers.

Richard sits down on the bed and softly strokes over Taron’s forehead. He’s fighting with himself because of the sudden change between the two of them this last month. He fears he may be falling for his best friend, especially because he just got out of a relationship. Taron is his best friend and he would never want to hurt him. “I would, but I’m dead tired myself.” He speaks softly.

Taron growls lowly and moves over. “You can sleep right here.” He urges the Scott. Rich swallows and is lucky the light is out. He decides to stay and changes into comfy clothes. He lies down next to Taron and stares into the darkness. T cuddles up to him and lies his head on his chest.

“You okay with this?” Taron mumbles.

“Mhm.” Rich hums and lies his arm around Taron. He enjoys having Taron this close to him, needing his company. Taron smells like the lavender from the bath and it makes Richard tired. They fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Taron wakes up a while later in enormous pain in his stomach. He moans and tries to roll away from his best friend to let him sleep peacefully, but the pain shoots hard and is too much to bear. “Rich?” He whines and hopes to wake him.

“Hmm?” Rich hums and slowly opens his eyes. Darkness surrounded him but he could feel Taron bending his arms. “Hey what’s wrong?” He asks worriedly and reaches for the bedside lamp. He can’t quite reach it, so he sits up a little which causes Taron to moan loudly in pain. Finally, he turns on the light and looks at Taron who buries his face in the pillow where he laid his head a short time ago.

Taron’s hands are pressed on his stomach and single tears are rolling down onto his pillow. He’s breathing through gritted teeth and tries to alleviate the pain. “I can’t move, it hurts!” he groans out.

“Give me a minute T,” Richard says and gets up and rushes downstairs. He warms up a heat pack and makes some tea. He takes it upstairs once finished and tries not to burn himself with the overflowing cup. Richard puts it down on the bedside table and sits on his knees on the bed. “I need you to sit up.” He says and carefully helps Taron sit up. Taron leans forward in pain and groans. Rich immediately sits behind him so that he’s between his legs. He gently pulls him back against his body and Taron rests his head on his chest. Rich pulls T’s hands away from his stomach and puts the heatpack on it. He wraps the blanket around them and strokes the younger man’s arms. “Breathe deeply, try to relax.” He coos in his ear. Taron twists in his arms and groans. When Richard’s hand fondles over his, Taron looks their fingers together. “Shhh, I’m here. You’re gonna be okay, love.” He speaks but bites his lip right after. Did he just…?

Taron chuckles through the pain. “Did you just call me love?” He asks.

Richard shakes his head. “No.” He stares down at their tangled hands. Oh fuck.

��Liar.” Taron breathes out and closes his eyes. He tries to hide the smile on his face and starts thinking again. Rich became more than just a friend to him in the recent days and he is sure of it. It is new and he feels slightly insecure about it, but he just loves being held by him or holding his hand. Richard became gentle and hesitant with him in the recent days. T isn’t the only one that’s changed. “I don’t mind it.” He says slowly.

Richard bites back a sigh. He is pretty sure he’s in love with his best friend. But saying it out loud would destroy everything they had. He looks back at their tangled hands and thinks about the cuddling and the bathroom. Rich takes the cup of tea and hands it to Taron. “This should help.” He speaks.

“Thank you Rich.” Taron says and carefully sips the tea. “Eww, I hate it!” He whines and chuckles.

Richard laughs and holds the heat pack in place while Taron drinks the tea.

A bit later, Taron lies next to him again. The heatpack is cold and abandoned on the table and Richard gently rubs his belly.

The next morning, Taron wakes up alone. There’s a thermos flask on the table and a cup. A note lies next to it.

Better drink all of the tea until I’m back home at 12. I know you hate it, but it helps. Stay in bed Taron!

See ya later,

Rich

Taron groans and looks at the large flask next to him. He has an hour left to drink the horrible shit. Taron sits up and pours some into the cup. He takes a sip and frowns. “How much sugar did you put in to cover the bad taste?” He giggles and takes another sip. Suddenly, his eyes catch something lying at the end of the bed. It’s the hoodie Rich gave him when they were out in the cold almost a week ago. On it lies another note.

Your fever is gone which means you’ll be freezing like normally…

Taron starts laughing and pulls on the comfy jumper. It’s warm and smells like Rich. He feels better almost instantly and rubs his face. What was it about Rich that made him feel this way, this safe? Has he really fallen for his best friend? God, that would destroy everything. “Fuck! What am I gonna do now?” He calls out.

“You’re talking to yourself now?” Taron jumps a little and looks towards the door. Rich is leaning in the doorframe and looks at him with raised eyebrows. When did he get in? “And you didn’t drink your tea.” He says with a sigh.

“You said 12. Not 11:05. I still have time.” Taron sasses back and laughs, taking another sip. Rich smiles weakly and watches him. Damn, he looks good in his jumper. “You okay? You look tired.” Taron speaks breaking Rich out of his thoughts.

“I’m alright. What about you?” Rich says and comes inside.

“I’m feeling a lot better than yesterday.” Taron admits and smiles, patting the mattress next to him. “What’s wrong?” He asks so softly that it makes Rich weak in the knees.

Rich sits next to him. “Nothing. Just thinking.” He admits and stares down at the mattress.

“About what?” Taron presses and gently pats his knee.

About us, Richard thinks. “Nothing important. You ready to eat something?” He changes the subject. Taron nods and follows him downstairs into the kitchen. They eat in a comfortable silence but Taron watches Rich and tries to figure out what’s wrong. Was he feeling the same? Or did he just have a bad day?

When they finish up, Taron takes their plates and walks over to the dishwasher. “Taron, let me do this.” Richard says and takes the plates from him. He loads the machine and closes it. He then turns his attention to a pack of cookies his director gave him and the other cast members today. “You wanna taste something sweet?” He asks and turns around to see Taron coming towards him.

Now or never, Taron says to himself and leans forward. His lips connect with Richard’s full ones and he loves the feeling. His thoughts bring up all the soft touches he felt when Richard helped him in the bath. He thinks back to the Take Me To The Pilot scene and suddenly it hits him. He always loved kissing Rich.

Richard stands there in shock for a moment and the bag falls from his hand. His hands cup Taron’s face and he kisses him softly and carefully, almost trying not to break him. He pulls away and looks at Taron trying to calm his racing heart. “Are you serious right now?” He asks still shocked. Would it possibly be that easy?

“You asked if I wanted to taste something sweet.” Taron whispers and Rich sees the insecurity in his eyes.

“What? I-“ Rich stutters and blushes a little.

Taron hesitates and tangles their hands together. “I think I’m in love with you.” He admits and his heart races. Would he destroy everything between them with just one sentence?

Richard’s thumb rubs over Taron’s knuckles. His heart is beating rapidly and he swallows. “You’re serious?” He asks.

“I’m fucking serious.” Taron says and finally looks him in the eyes. “I love you.” He whispers and tries to find any reaction in Richard’s dashing blue eyes.

Richard sighs in relief and kisses him again. This time, long and tenderly. “I love you too.” He confesses and Taron’s eyes light up. “I was so fucking scared to push you away from me by admitting it.” He chuckles.

“Me too. I was scared of another heartbreak.” T shakes his head and his heart still beating fast.

“I would never break your heart, T.” Richard says softly and squeezes his hands. He means it and Taron sees it in his beautiful eyes.

Taron leans in again and Rich closes the gap between their lips. “Fuck.” He mumbles when Rich pulls him closer to his body. Taron stops and looks into Richard’s eyes. “You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“And you look absolutely adorable in my jumper.” Rich says and leans his forehead against Taron’s. He giggles and can’t believe what has happened. Taron loves him back. They just kissed offscreen. “I’m gonna have to kick you out of the guest room.”

“Huh?” Taron looks up confused.

“I want you in my arms every night and that’s only possible when you’re in my bed.” Rich explains and kisses him again. God, only a few times and he’s already addicted to them.

Taron smiles and plays with Rich’s hair. “That’s good because I don’t think I can ever sleep without you anymore.” Taron says adoringly.

Rich rubs Taron’s back. “Which will be very unhealthy with our job.” He states.

“Don’t ruin my moment.” Taron chuckles and kisses him. He moans softly when he feels Richard’s lips on his. It feels sensational.

Taron’s moans against his lips sends a shiver through Richard’s body. “I’m sorry.” Rich mumbles and his hands wander under Taron’s shirt and up his back. Taron takes his shirt into his hand and pulls Rich closer.

Richard kisses him passionately and tries to stop himself. “T.” He says.

“What?” Taron asks between kisses and grabs his neck to pull him closer. There’s no fear, insecurity or hesitation between them. Both are relieved that the other one feels the same way.

“It’s the first day you’re feeling well. You should be back in bed.” Richard warns but smashes his lips against Taron’s again and holds him tight.

“Only if you come with me.” Taron mumbles and takes his hands when Richard hums a yes. They walk upstairs and Rich pulls T into his own bedroom.

They fall down on the big bed and share more kisses. Taron lies on top of Richard and holds himself up by his arms that are next to Richard’s head. Rich puts his hands on Taron’s waist and rolls them over. Taron giggles and shakes his head. Rich looks down at him, smiling brightly. He connects their lips and Taron groans. “God I love you.” He breathes out.

Taron’s hand grabs Richard’s hair and he moans softly. “You’re still the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” He smirks and bites Rich’s lower lip. “And I don’t want anything else ever again.”

Rich stops and looks down at him. “I swear I won’t break your heart T.” He says softly.

Taron strokes over his cheek before cupping his face. “I trust you Rich.”

@taruhnegerton @cheshirechan @dreamingwolfthings @onceuponadetectivedemigod @guns-n-marvel @shereighties @honkycrowley @primaba11erina

[clausvonbohlen]

Where I am; a manifesto, memoir, and auto-analysis.

I haven’t posted on here for a long time. This was intended to be a brief update, but has turned into something much longer, a sort of summary of the last 10 years. Perhaps that’s fitting, given that I turned 40 a few months ago. It will, however, require more commitment from you, my cherished reader.

 But first, a disclaimer of sorts. This is about the ups, but also – and perhaps primarily – about the downs. And yet I know I am lucky. Indeed, I won a sort of birth lottery: I am white, male, educated, and have never suffered from lack of anything. If you don’t think that I should have downs, or if you think that if I have them I should not write about them, then you should stop reading here. This has been my experience, I promise to relate it to you with as much honesty as I am capable of. If that is not enough for you, then we cannot be friends.

 This is also, in a sense, the story of my continuing search for happiness. When I say ‘happiness’, I mean it in the deepest sense – a life that is fulfilling, and meaningful, and conducive to continued growth and flourishing. There is nothing unique about that; it’s a journey we are all on, in one way or another. And I also feel a certain duty; if I, with all my advantages, can’t be happy in that deep sense, then what hope is there for those less fortunate? And if no one can be happy, then what, really, is the point of human existence on earth? Is that too grandiose an extrapolation? I don’t think so.

  In fact, I do now feel that I am on the right path, but I lost it for a while, and I could lose it again. That’s what I now intend to write about.

  I am not the first to have been at a loss, and particularly not at this stage. Seven centuries ago, Dante Alighieri wrote:

‘Nell’ mezzo del camin di nostra vita

mi ritrovai per una selva oscura

ché la diritta via era smarrita.’

  When I had journeyed half of our life's way, I found myself within a shadowed forest, for I had lost the path that does not stray.

  In my case, I began to find the path harder to follow about ten years ago. At that time I was living in London, writing, going out, occasionally hooking up with girls, going to rugby training during the week and playing matches on weekends. For years, rugby had been a big part of my life. I was only ever competent, but since my work life was solitary, I loved the team side of it, and the physicality too. But then, to my surprise, I found myself enjoying it less and less. The training was predictable, the games often disappointing; only the friendships kept me going.

 My life in London also felt predictable and uninspiring. I had finished one novel and had not yet started on a second. I was serving part time as a Special Constable – a volunteer Police Officer- in the borough of Wandsworth. It was generally dull work, though I had signed up for it in the hope of excitement, and to get me out of my apartment, which was also my place of work. Then the opportunity arose for me to change tack and work for a German film director in Los Angeles, as his assistant. I took it. From one week to the next, I handed in my police badge, hung up my rugby boots, and moved to America.

  I have recently been listening to some podcasts by the psychologist Richard Alpert, later known as Ram Dass. My experience of ceasing to enjoy playing rugby – a very small thing, in itself – gave me my first inkling of the much deeper changes that he describes more dramatically as ‘the dark night of the soul’. This is  from a talk he gave:

‘And you will go through a period, some of you have already done it, where you are horrified by your dying, the dying of rushes you were previously getting from life, that you tried to hold on to something that was giving you a rush before, because you couldn’t ever conceive that it wouldn’t always give you a rush, but it doesn’t, and the lag between when you stopped having the rush and when you are willing to cop to it, see, that’s how bad you want to get done. A lot of us are clinging to rushes we are already done having, partly because we don’t know what to do next, or partly because we are afraid of what happens next, because “lest ye die ye cannot be born again”… and that is the “dark night of the soul” in St. John of the Cross, where you have lost the fun of the world and you haven’t fully tasted the divinity.’

  There is a lot more in that talk, much of it still mysterious to me. But I would have to say, other ‘rushes’ then started to fall away too. Drinking. The Cresta Run. One night stands. Not to say that they couldn’t be enjoyable on occasion, but there was certainly no reliability in it. Not as there once had been, and not as other people seemed to experience.

  Recently I had a very clear perception of the diminishing returns from ‘rushes’. I was walking home here in Athens, having smoked a joint. The whole way, I was focussed on the next sensory pleasure that I could give myself. I got home and drank a glass of wine. Then I ate some chocolate. Then I surfed the web. The dissatisfactory quality of each gratification was almost immediately evident; the pleasure lasted just moments, and as soon as it was over, I was casting around for the next one. The balance between enjoyment and dissatisfaction has shifted over the years, or maybe I now see it with greater clarity. In any case, I couldn’t help wondering, how long will I continue with this pattern? How long until the dissatisfaction outweighs the enjoyment? And what then?

  A Western psychologist reading this might think, aha, sounds like you were/ are depressed. But I don’t think Richard Alpert would have said that. Or, if he had, he would have attributed very little significance to the term. It might be an accurate description – in terms of box-checking - of a certain pattern of feeling and behaving, but it says very little about the meaning and deeper purpose of that pattern. And I am sure that there is both meaning and purpose.

  But to resume the narrative – the narrative of my life! – I moved to Los Angeles and very quickly realised that I was completely disenchanted with both the industry I was working in, and the city I had moved to. I met many talented, attractive, successful people, but they all seemed so unhappy, so anxious, so neurotic. In fact, the film industry and the city – hard for me to differentiate the two – seemed to suffer from a collective neurosis. I wanted to understand it.

  At the same time, I had started to realise that the traditional goals were not going to provide me with the ‘rushes’ I had lost. I came across a quote by Helen Keller that resonated with me:

  ‘True happiness is not attained through self-gratification but through fidelity to a worthy purpose.’

And with that in mind, I decided to become a psychotherapist. I applied to graduate school in San Francisco, quit my job in Los Angeles, and embarked on a doctoral degree in Clinical Psychology six months later.

  At first, it was exciting to embark upon a new field of study, in a new city, with a sense of purpose. However, little by little, the disenchantment set in. Not so much with the absence of rushes, but rather with a sense that the material I was being taught, and the perspective I was being taught it from, were misguided. The information was accurate as far as it went, but it was based on a contracted view of what human life could be. I have written about this disenchantment in other places  (e.g. my blog at that time, www.icanseealcatraz.blogspot.com). Eventually I found a happier home at Saybrook University, formerly the Humanistic Psychology Institute of California State University. Here I was able to take courses in the Psychology of Shamanism, Eastern Psychology and Existential Psychology, amongst others. I was encouraged to look at human life from a broader perspective.

  I graduated with an MA in Existential, Humanistic and Transpersonal Psychology, then I went to work for the Gaza Community Mental Health Programme, a Palestinian NGO in the Gaza Strip. But with only rudimentary Arabic, I soon reached the limit of my usefulness. Following the kidnapping and murder of one of the very few other non-UN foreigners there, I moved to Beirut, to study Arabic.

  My short time in Gaza made a big impression on me. Despite the poverty, the nightly sound of drones overhead, the sonic booms of Israeli fighter jets on daytime fly-bys, and the fact that ordinary Gazans cannot leave their tiny strip of land (no airport or port, closed borders), the people struck me as happier, on the whole, than the average American (yes, yes) in San Francisco. That impression deserves an essay in itself, and it is something I rarely talk about, since it is easily misinterpreted. It also has to do with the bonding effect of shared suffering and a common enemy (similar to the Blitz in that respect), as well as more tightly knit families, and minimal materialism. But in short, and as idealistic as this may sound, it made me realise that human relationships make people happier than constant material consumption ever can.

  When I first arrived in Beirut, I taught English to Palestinian students from camps in Lebanon, through an NGO called Unite Lebanon Youth Project (ULYP). Then I heard about a vacancy for a full time teacher of English Literature, and also Philosophy, at Brummana High School, in the mountains above Beirut. I applied, went for an interview, and was offered the job.

  I worked at Brummana for two years. Some of those experiences are detailed elsewhere in this blog. But in short, I was teaching subjects that I found interesting, to students that I liked. I had a lot of freedom and was even allowed to design and teach a Creative Writing elective that turned out to be more like group therapy, with some poems and short stories on the side. I was living in a beautiful place, with sweeping views over Beirut and the Mediterranean. I was doing the kind of work that is generally thought to be worthwhile, to accord with Keller’s ‘worthy purpose’, and to be fulfilling. And yet, having settled into the daily and weekly routine, it was not long before I once again started to feel restless.

  I left Brummana, and Lebanon at the same time. I was not sure what I wanted to do next, but I thought that a cure for my perpetual restlessness might be a long walk, so I walked with Finny – my Lebanese foundling dog – from Salzburg to Santiago de Compostela, along the old medieval pilgrims’ route. The walk took us six months, and I wrote about it here – www.onehundredwordsaweek.blogspot.com

  The walk gave me plenty of time to think. I limited my access to email and internet to once a week. One email I received along the way was from an old school friend, organizing a dinner for a group of us who had left school exactly twenty years before. It made me think back to that period of my life, and these lines from the Frank O’Hara’s poem ‘Animals’ came to mind:

  Have you forgotten what we were like then

when we were still first rate,

and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth?

 I was reminded of certain mornings as a teenager, perhaps during the summer holidays, when my body hummed with energy, and when the future filled me with a sense of tremendous excitement.

  And I thought of Housman’s lines from section XV of ‘A Shropshire Lad’, lines that more accurately reflected my own experience of recent years:

  Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows;

What are those blue remembered hills,

What spires, what farms are those?

  That is the land of lost content,

I see it shining plain,

The happy highways where I went,

And cannot come again.

  I had hoped that the pilgrimage would allow me to work out what I wanted to do with my life. It didn’t. Or at least, not in any long-term way. However, it did make me think that after almost a decade away from the UK, I should return there to spend some time with my parents, and also to put some energy into maintaining and renovating parts of our family home in Sussex. It is an old house with a lovely garden and I have memories of a very happy childhood there. But it had started to look a little neglected, perhaps more obvious to me since I would just see it once or twice a year. The place has given me a lot, and I felt a responsibility to it.

  So I found myself back in a place that I loved, channeling my energy into a project that felt worthwhile, and spending some time with parents who will not be around for ever. Ideas of nostalgia were still in my head, but not in the way they had been during the walk. Now I became aware of the second meaning of the term – not homesickness so much as a more literal ‘nostos’ and ‘algos’, the pain of returning home (an insight that I owe to Rory Dunlop and his very enjoyable novel ‘What We Didn’t Say’). Because I did now feel pain; home was not the same, my parents were not the same, and nor was I.

  At first I minimized all this. People close to me endorsed my renovation project, and my decision to spend time with my parents. I knew I was lucky to have grown up in such a beautiful place. But the problem was that I was struggling to see the beauty, or feel the luck. Wherever I looked I just saw problems, endless menial maintenance tasks with no end in sight, like one of those bridges – The Golden Gate, the Severn - where as soon as the painters finish painting one end they need to start at the beginning again.

  What’s more, I was drinking a couple of cocktails every evening, then passing out as soon as I lay down. But I would wake up feeling exhausted and achy, and my tiredness would only increase throughout the day. I also felt a tightness in my throat, and a general lack of enthusiasm. I thought I might have contracted a virus, so I went to see my GP. He did some blood tests but couldn’t find anything wrong.

  Throughout my life, books and literature have always provided a refuge. But no longer: I was struggling to concentrate, and I wasn’t enjoying any of the books that I picked up, despite the fact that they often came highly recommended.

  In a last ditch attempt to lift myself out of this slough of literary despond, I made a larger order of carefully chosen titles, from Amazon. The first book to arrive, clearly addressed to me, was ‘What Matters Most’, by Dr. James Hollis. Bizarrely, I had never heard of it. There was no receipt, and when I viewed my account online, I found no record of having ordered it.

  That night, most unusually, I woke up at 2am and couldn’t get back to sleep. I picked up the book and started reading. I read for 3 hours straight; it felt as if the book had been written specifically for me. Dr. Hollis’ thesis, based on his Jungian training, is that there is something beyond the Freudian id-ego-superego structure, and that is the soul. The soul needs to grow, needs to feel that it is expanding and developing, and if that does not happen, then sooner or later we will experience symptoms – lack of energy, frustration, anxiety, indecision, and physical ailments too.

  Despite the somewhat pop-y title, Hollis is a serious Jungian analyst. From his perspective, the book’s mysterious arrival would not be an accident, but an instance of synchronicity. The following morning, when I woke, I saw a whatsapp message on my phone from an old friend with whom I communicate about once a month. He told me he had just woken from a dream in which I had recommended a book to him. I told him of my experience of the night, and recommended Hollis’ book to him.

  ‘What Matters Most’ made me realise that my malaise had a meaning, that my body was the means through which the soul and the unconscious were trying to communicate with me, and that those deepest parts of me were frustrated because they did not feel they were growing. Most people my age are married and have families; many have their own businesses. These are all creative acts. I, on the other hand, was trying to patch up my childhood, to preserve my parents’ vision, and – essentially - to hold onto the past. The book also drew my attention to the way that it can often be fear – fear of change, fear of failure, fear of what other people will think – that holds us back from being all that we can be.

  In the summer, I attended an Ayahuasca retreat in Scotland, something I was quite apprehensive about, since I have long questioned the value of de-contextualised shamanism. But the retreat was guided by an inspiring individual who was himself deeply rooted in a specific tradition, and it rekindled my own interest in plant medicine and Amazonian shamanism. I felt that the time had come to delve deeper into that world, so I interviewed the shaman about where it might still be possible to find uncontaminated shamanic practices in the Amazon (without risking one’s life), and based on his information, I planned a trip for the end of the year.

  I went to Peru with my mind open; I wanted to see whether it would be possible for me to communicate with the plants in the way that curanderos and vegetalistas describe. I took Ayahuasca twice a week over a period of two months, as described in previous posts on this blog, but the plants did not communicate with me. Or, at least, that is what I thought at the time. They certainly did not teach me their healing and medicinal purposes, nor the songs through which this information is said to be relayed. But, in restrospect, I think they may have had a message for me, namely that it was not the right time for me to explore that world. I needed to ground myself in this world more firmly first, to feel that I had a home of my own, an Archimedean point.

  My Ayahuasca trips are rarely very visual, but one mental image that kept coming back to me was of an empty white room, with a view of the blue sky and the blue sea. At the time, I thought this was probably a reaction to my life in Sussex where, in addition to feeling lethargic and unwell, I had felt oppressed by ‘stuff’ – the accumulated clutter of my lifetime, and my parents’ lifetime, and the clutter of previous generations. So many things, and they weighed on me, as a sense of family history also weighed on me. The empty white room was the opposite of that: a space in which to let go, to de-clutter, and to create.

  I was able to experience a pared down, de-cluttered life in a Zen monastery in Japan some months later, and I found it very rewarding. But it was brutal too – the monastery was freezing, I was not allowed to wear socks or a hat, and the obligatory 4.30am morning meditation was followed by hours of floor cleaning, with a cold wet rag. But I soon felt calmer than I had done for years, though I also realised that I was not ready to make a longterm commitment to that kind of a life, though at some future point, who knows.

  Back in Europe some months later, I joined a few friends on a short hiking holiday in Crete, inspired by the Patrick Leigh-Fermor and Stanley Moss’ kidnapping of the German General Kreipe in 1942, and their subsequent march across the mountainous centre of the island. General Kreipe had been dragging his feet,  expecting to be rescued at any moment. On the first morning of his abduction he observed the sunrise on Mt. Ida and quoted the first verse of Horace’s ‘Ode to Thaliarcus’, describing a similar sunrise on Mt. Soractus in the Apennines. When he had finished, Patrick Leigh-Fermor – a classicist blessed with an excellent memory - quoted the remaining verses. The General was impressed and stopped dragging his feet from that point on. In his memoir, Patrick Leigh Fermor wrote, “…for a long moment, the war had ceased to exist. We had both drunk at the same fountains long before.”

  I was blown away by the area of Crete that we were hiking through. The walk across Europe had re-sensitized me to the beauty of landscape, but these Cretan mountains were, I felt, the landscapes that I wished to get to know deeply, and one day to paint.

  I won’t pretend that I found the actual empty white room of my Ayahuasca visions, but this place definitely had the right feel. It was here that I could imagine building that white room for myself, with its view of the sea and the sky.

  I returned to the UK with a sense of excitement about the future that I had not felt for some time. I was finally finding some direction, even a sense of purpose.

  Some readers may be thinking, fine, but what about teaching? What about psychotherapy? What about helping people? Maybe you should be less selfish, maybe if you had committed to those things, you would have found that sense of purpose?

  I hear you, friend reader! But I felt I did commit, to the extent that I was capable at those times, and yet I was restless. Not despairing, but not exactly happy either. Does that matter? Should it not be enough just to feel that you are doing something worthwhile? I think it does matter. Happiness creates ripples, and if you are happy in yourself, then that will have a positive effect on all the interactions you have, and on all the people you meet. The uplifting interaction with a stranger in a supermarket may have more impact than the worthiest acts that are performed by someone who is profoundly miserable. We are not the originators of love or positivity; rather, we are conduits for those qualities, and we channel them most effectively when we are happy in ourselves.

  Happiness, in this deep sense, is not a purely selfish thing. It benefits others too, and in some mysterious way it may even shape the world we live in. So do what makes you happy, but make sure you understand the distinction between sensory gratification and real happiness.

  But isn’t the pursuit of happiness always self-defeating? We are happy until we ask ourselves whether we are happy, and then we realise we could be happier, and that makes us unhappy… Happiness is, in the words of Oliver Burkeman, a ‘delicate two-step’: aim at it too directly, and you will lose it.

  There is truth in that. But at the same time, I think that there are certain constituents of happiness that will never let us down. Two of the most important, as Freud stated, are work and love. Work, at its best, should provide a sense of purpose, and also allow us to experience a state of flow, that sense of being fully absorbed in a task. Seen in this light, work can be very similar to concentration meditation; it allows the restless mind to settle.

  To be in that state of flow and get paid for it is perhaps the holy grail. But even if we don’t get paid for it, we still need it. We might then describe it as a ‘hobby’, or perhaps it is simply unpaid work (like my mother ‘working’ in the garden), but the important thing is that we are having that experience.

  We also need to feel love, or else we become brittle and emotionally atrophied. But that need not necessarily be romantic love. We can love our friends, or music, or a pet, or nature, or God; the important thing is to remove the blockages from that channel.

  To return to my own story, I have known for some time that I need to rediscover the state of flow. My walk across Europe had reminded me of the power of landscape to move me. Crete’s rugged beauty impressed me deeply. When I was younger, I used to paint a lot. But in my 20s and early 30s, I did not find it dynamic enough. Now I think differently; the calming, meditative quality holds an appeal for me that I was not conscious of before. I made up my mind to return to Crete and devote myself to painting landscapes. And the more I thought about it, the more it seemed the right thing to do.

  I remembered a piece of advice from a letter that Hunter S. Thompson wrote to  his friend Hume Logan. Logan requests career advice, to which Thompson replies: ‘…beware of looking for goals: look for a way of life. Decide how you want to live and then see what you can do to make a living WITHIN that way of life.’

                  When I imagine my future, I do not aspire to being surrounded by flapping assistants, chauffeured from meeting to meeting, plied with rich food and drink, signing cheques for the maintenance of houses and expensive toys. And estranged wives. No, I would much rather spend time in the landscapes that I love, building a relationship with them through meticulous observation, and recording that relationship through the act of painting. A direct relationship, not mediated through a digital screen, and – crucially – free from distractions. Hemingway said: ‘The man who has begun to live more seriously within begins to live more simply without.’ I want to live seriously within.

  I have also been inspired by the film Jiro Dreams of Sushi, about an elderly Japanese sushi chef called Jiro. In my own life, I have not observed many people ageing well, by which I mean being happy and at peace with themselves and the world as they grow old. Jiro, though rather a tyrant in his restaurant, seems to me to be that rare bird: a happy old man. He still works every day, as he has done since his earliest youth, and he is driven by the same goal: to make the perfect mouthful of sushi, just a tiny fraction of a degree more delicious than anything he has ever made before. He has no interest in retirement, or even in holidays; what can they offer a man with so clear a sense of purpose?

  Jiro is an artist. Perhaps he is lucky to have been born with a fine palate, and with so clear a sense of purpose. But perhaps we can decide on our purpose, and thereby make our own luck.

  *

  In the Amazon, the plants had not spoken to me, at least not through the medium of song. And yet, more and more, I feel that they are alive, and maybe that they do have spirits. Indeed, that all of nature is animate in that way. Painting is a way to concentrate on the natural world, and to explore these intuitions more deeply.

  I know that landscape painting is not really part of the dialogue of contemporary art, but that doesn’t bother me. In fact, I think I prefer it that way. If you have got this far, you will have realised that I prefer the monologue anyway. In addition, landscape painting could have a moral dimension, since the more we  appreciate the beauty and harmony of nature, the less likely we are to destroy it. Painting has the capacity not only to open the eyes of the artist, but of the viewer too. That is a worthy goal; to communicate something of the vision and the sensitivity.

  Finally, perhaps I am starting to see painting as a secular form of worship; through it, I can express my gratitude for creation, and for the fact that I am here to appreciate it. And maybe that is our collective human purpose: we are nature becoming conscious of itself.

  *

  Back in London, I started taking Greek lessons at the Hellenic Centre. Then I bought a second-hand motorbike, tidied my affairs, and set off by motorbike for Crete. I took the ferry to Santander, arriving by night in the middle of a rainstorm, then crossed the north of Spain to Barcelona. I stayed with my old friend F, whom I had got to  know 20 years before, when we both played for a rugby team in Barcelona. On the last night of my visit, his wife gave birth, two weeks early. He just managed to get her to the hospital in time, and I said goodbye to him and his wife, and their newborn baby, in the maternity ward the following morning.

  I spent a week with other friends in France, then continued into Italy in the crucible of a heat-wave. Biking long distances is tiring at the best of times, but exhausting in 42 degrees, when the heat radiates off the motorway and you are clad in black leather. I had planned to bike through the Balkans, but there were wildfires in Albania, and I was finding it increasingly tough going. I crossed the north of Italy and then decided to take the ferry from Ancona to Greece. While biking the final leg from Patras to Athens, I felt euphoric; I had a strange sense of having finally come home. I thought of Cavafy’s poem ‘Ithaka’:

  Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you are destined for. But do not hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you are old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you have gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

  Greece is not my native soil, but I am beginning to feel that my journey has been a long one. Perhaps that is enough; anywhere can be home if we choose to make it so.

  *

  Except for the touristy areas, Athens in August is something of a ghost town. I only stayed a couple of days before continuing to Crete. I was afraid that it would not live up to my idealised recollections, but I need not have worried. I returned to the area I had visited in the spring, and it was as wild and beautiful as I remembered. I hiked, swam in the sea, painted watercolours, and observed the old men in the taverna at night. But despite the inspiring landscape, I soon realised that, at this point in my life, I would find life in this remote area of Crete too lonely. In addition, I am still a very long way from possessing the technical skill to paint the kind of pictures that I have in my head.

  In September I returned to Athens. I started a course of intensive Greek lessons, and I spent my days crisscrossing the city on foot, getting to know different areas and looking for an apartment to rent, as well as a space to use as a painting studio. It was still very hot, and at times the language barrier could make life difficult. But things seemed to fall into place: I met good people and found spaces that far exceeded my hopes, both in terms of charm and affordability. I felt that I was experiencing first-hand my theory about positive energy: when you are happy and open to the universe and to others, then good things often fall into your lap. It seems more than just coincidence.

  There are many things I love about Athens. Above all, I feel that people are less neurotic than in any other place I have ever lived. There is not the same restless quality. At times this can be challenging too; it often makes me realise how impatient I am, but that is a valuable lesson. At least once a day I have to say to myself, ‘You can’t hurry the Greeks.’

  I love the absence of billboards and advertising in the city generally, and particularly on the underground. My mental space is more protected here, my consciousness not constantly invaded by disingenuous images telling me what products I need to buy in order to be happy, or what I should look like, or the kind of life that I should aspire towards. It’s very pleasant, but most Greeks are unaware of their good fortune in this respect, because it is all they know. I am tempted to draw a parallel with colour perception in the ancient world. There is no word for blue in ancient Greek, perhaps because, with all that immensity of sea and sky, the colour was so ubiquitous that the ancient eye was not trained to pick it out.

  I love the fact that the bars and cafés are crowded with cheerful, attractive Athenians who will sip from one or two glasses of iced espresso all night. Their pleasure comes from conversation, from each other, and not from getting wasted.

  I love the fact that this is not a nanny state. Occasionally you will see someone riding a motorbike, no helmet, cigarette between his lips, holding a phone to his ear, and with a dog perched on the fuel tank. Dangerous, yes, but free too.

  There are many beautiful Greek girls. In some ways they are similar to Lebanese girls, but they are more natural looking. I love the sound of the language as they speak it. It has a delicate, tinkling quality, like a clear mountain stream.

  I love the exaggerated respect that you are shown when you have to enter a PIN number anywhere. As soon as a shopkeeper or waiter has given you the portable terminal, he will retreat into a corner, closing his eyes and turning his back, as if you were handling a vial of anthrax rather than a credit card.

  I love the fact that in a spinning class I went to, the strapping instructor came round before and after  the class offering everyone chocolate truffles; during the class, he projected a sequence of Victoria’s Secret videos, which was an excellent distraction for me, and which the rest of the class – all girls - appeared to not to mind.

  As a single person, I love the fact that in Greek the same word (‘ελευθερος’) means both ‘single’ and ‘free’.

  I love the fact that internet dating has not caught on in Athens. Greeks prefer to speak to each other in person, and will still start conversations with strangers in a queue, rather than focus all their attention on their telephones. They think that there is something a little bit sad about conducting the affairs of the heart through an app, even when real world interactions mean running the risk of rejection. And, because they are less neurotic, the belief that the perfect partner is just one more swipe away has less traction.

  *

  Of course there have been challenging days too, particularly while I was struggling to find a place to live, owing to the boom in Airbnbs, and consequent dearth of furnished apartments on the domestic market. But often things felt not quite real. On one occasion, when I was frustrated after yet another rejection from a prospective landlord, I looked up to see a clown on an oversize unicycle cycling down hectic Piraeus street; as if the universe were telling me to take a deep breath and lighten up.

  That is a just a very small moment, but it does tap into a much bigger question about the reality of the external world. For some time now I have wondered about the extent to which we are involved in the co-creation of what we perceive to be reality.  I don’t think it is possible to take psychedelics and shamanic entheogens without at some point asking oneself these questions.

  There is a famous thought experiment in philosophy: can we ever know that our experience is what we believe it to be, or could we just be disembodied brains in vats having our neuronal circuitry manipulated by mad scientists? In light of last year’s American election, when a clown in a toupée was elected President of the United States, the brain-in-a-vat theory suddenly seems quite plausible.

  I am neither a solipsist nor an idealist in the Berkeleyan sense: I do believe that other people exist in meaningful ways, and not just because I have an idea of them. However, what interests me is the extent to which my ideas shape the experiences I have, and how they contribute to creating my ‘reality’. This is a big, and possibly unanswerable, question for metaphysics, but its implications are perhaps most evident in the field of psychology, where it has arisen in an pointed way for me in the context of making choices.

  Choice is a sword with two very sharp edges. One the one hand, choice is a luxury and a privilege; the richer, more talented, more successful a person is, the more choice they often have. But on the other hand, it seems to me that nothing is quite as likely to cause neurosis, dissatisfaction, and avoidable suffering. To give a very simple example, I can find myself paralyzed before a supermarket shelf of different washing-up liquids: which is the best? Which is the cheapest? Which smell do I like best? Which colour do I prefer? What can this one do that the others can’t? On a bad day, the decision-making process is painful, probably because this one choice carries with it a little bit of all the other unmade choices in my life. However, if I go into the local corner store which stocks just one size and type of washing up liquid, I will buy it and be perfectly happy.

  In small ways, I can find myself undone by choice. I am now consciously attempting to prevent those small ways from becoming bigger ways. For instance, I attend Tai Chi classes here in Athens. There are mornings when I don’t feel like going; I’m tired, or it’s raining, or I just don’t feel like it. I am currently experimenting with pretending that I don’t have a choice. I don’t allow myself to go down the decision-making path. Just do it. And I have to say that so far I feel much better for it.

Washing-up liquid and a Tai Chi class are of course very small things, but it is good to practise with the small things. The bigger things are, perhaps, choosing to move to Greece. I have moved to different countries and different cities in the past, but always in a provisional, transient way. I feel differently about this move, and that is having a beneficial effect on my own habitual inner restlessness. It is also, I think, the right kind of preparation for committing to this new career, and possibly even to a person.

  Maybe I have just been rather slow to adopt this strategy. Years ago, I joined a Canadian-American friend in a cross-country skiing marathon from Norway to Sweden. My friend is affectionately known as Captain America, owing to his chiseled chin and robust all-round competence. I had flu on the day of the marathon and was running a temperature, not at all pleasant in -20 degrees. My progress was very slow, also because the phlegm in my lungs kept making me retch. My friend stuck loyally by my side for the first 30 kilometers or so, then – in a moment reminsicent of a Vietnam movie – I persuaded him to  push ahead at his own speed. Captain America’s parting words to me were, ‘Remember: failure is not an option.’ I am not sure whether I found it all that motivating at the time, but now I recognise the effectiveness of that attitude.

  But for me there is one problem with this approach, and it is a problem of intellectual consistency. Unfortunately, the pretence that I don’t have a choice does not sit well with my commitment to the existential perspective, as formulated philosophically by Sartre and psychotherapeutically by Irvin Yalom. Central to the existential perspective is the recognition that we have total choice, and total responsibility for our lives. There is no human ‘essence’; it is up to us to make of ourselves what we will. We are ‘condemned’ to be free, and any attempt to shirk that freedom is intellectually dishonest, personally inauthentic, and breaks faith with life (Sartre terms it ‘mauvaise foi’, bad faith).

  Is my pretence that I don’t have a choice an example of bad faith? I’m not sure. It is a strategy that enables me to circumvent my own neurotic tendencies, a strategy that would have prevented Buridan’s ass from starving. Indeed, Buridan’s ass may have had a very happy life had he adopted it. And in my own case, it has not made me shrink from life. Quite the opposite: I have committed to Greece, to landscape painting, to learning Greek, and to practicing Tai Chi… all of these are slow processes, and this strategy helps me get over the little ups and downs. But I would not have been able to make these changes and commit to these things if I had not recognized my essential freedom in the first place.

  This conflict is just a shadow of the more serious one that arises from my growing conviction that there are karmic principles at work in our lives. I am increasingly persuaded by the sages, mystics and monks who believe in reincarnation and who say that the point of our many lives is to lead us, finally, to liberation. There are many things I don’t understand: what aspect of ‘us’ gets reincarnated? How is it all organised? How can there be more people alive today than ever before? But what I like about reincarnation, and what seems intuitively correct, is that there is a point to our lives. Every new incarnation gives us the opportunity to burn through the accumulated negativity of past incarnations. Nothing happens by chance. The relationships that we have in this life are reconfigurations of similar constellations from the past; they repeat themselves until they have been fully resolved. When ‘bad’ things happen to us, they present us with the opportunity to resolve the blockages that are holding us back, and to grow in precisely the ways that we need. This is the amor fati of the Ancients; but is it true? Or is it just wishful thinking, the Panglossian optimism that Voltaire ridicules in ‘Candide’?

  A part of me wants to follow Pascal and his wager: we can never know for sure, so why not believe what is most beneficial? There is no doubt that I am happier believing that there is a point to my life, that it is one of many lives, and that suffering has a reason and a purpose. Of course, one cannot choose to believe just anything. But I don’t have to try to force myself to believe this; it is in line with my intuitions.

  As I have already indicated, I am increasingly persuaded by the idea that we are involved in creating the reality that we experience. Convince yourself that failure is not an option, and you are more likely to succeed. But does the same hold in the field of metaphysics? Do our thoughts, either individually or collectively, create the ‘reality’ we experience? I think that probably is the case: in significant ways, we think the world into being. The objective and subjective worlds are not completely distinct; if they are separated at all, it is only by a porous membrane. If you believe in reincarnation, then the belief alone may be enough to make it true. This is the perspective of many peoples and cultures down the ages: thought is primary and thinking (or dreaming, ‘dream-time’) creates the reality we experience.

  Interestingly, there is no way to disprove this theory. If Western science looks at indigenous beliefs and shows them to be false – i.e. a mistaken representation of the way things really are – this is in fact exactly what the indigenous perspective would expect, since Western science is also just another reality that has been thought into being.  There is no ‘way that things really are’; there are just different ways of thinking, and these create different realities.

  Belief in reincarnation and the doctrine of karma also seems to presuppose a deterministic world. I once consulted a Vedic astrologer in South India; his reading of my natal chart was astonishingly accurate, and specific. I questioned him about the assumptions underlying the reading. He confirmed that, from the Vedic perspective, the world is fully determined. The outcome of this life, and of all future lives, is already known. We will never change the course of our lives – even the changes that we think we make have already been determined – but we can watch our lives unfold with curiosity.

  Does this make life pointless and boring? Not at all. The Vedic astrologer drew the following parallel: Harry Potter’s life has been fully determined by the author, nevertheless, Harry himself does not know the outcome, and his life in each book is still vitally interesting to him - he believes that he is meaningfully shaping his future, although the author has already decided it.

  What to make of this parallel with a fictional character? If thought creates reality, then in a sense we are fictional characters, either created by ourselves, or by some much greater ‘author’. Can this parallel shed light on the question of how to resolve the conflict between the radical freedom of existentialism, and the determined universe of reincarnation and Vedic thought? I don’t know, but I feel that resolving this conflict – at least to my personal satisfaction - may be the major intellectual task of the rest of my life.

  In fact, it is a task that I have already embarked upon. Part of the reason why I am attracted to Zen Buddhism is because it appears to take one beyond rationality, to a world of pure awareness, a world that is not subject to the rules of thought, and that transcends conflicts of logic. The point of the Zen koan, as I understand it, is to shake us out of our ordinary way of thinking, and to give us an intimation that the world in its suchness is not as we assume it to be. These ideas are hard to frame in language, because language is itself a function of the rules that govern thought (non-contradiction, identity and so on); what Zen attempts to convey is a different perspective, beyond reason and hence also beyond ordinary language.

  In the end – at the end of life, at the end of thought – perhaps the best model is provided by the ancient lama in Rudyard Kipling’s ‘Kim’. At the end of his pilgrimage, he returns to the mountains and says: ‘These are indeed my hills. Thus should a man abide, perched above the world, separated from delights, considering vast matters.’

  *

  I am finally content where I am, and not ready to perch above the world, separated from delights. But nor am I free from all anxiety. I do, for instance, wonder whether I will ever be able to paint landscapes that will match the images in my head. But here again Jiro Dreams of Sushi has provided me with inspiration. From that film, I learnt that a sushi chef in Japan spends the first two years of his career just learning how to make rice. One cannot rush things. Start small, and stay the course. In my own case, I will start with still lives, and little by little, improve my technique (should you wish, you can follow my progress via instagram: konrad_ratibor_bohemian). If I find flow, and practise diligently, then I am hopeful that one day I will create work that I am happy with. But perhaps, in order to retain the sense of purpose, one must always keep aiming a little bit higher, as Jiro does.

  The life of an artist may seem very self-involved to you. It often does to me. But then I think that perhaps the greatest contribution that anyone can make is to find a way of life that makes them happy, and to share the path that got them there. Maybe in the end it can be the artist’s life that inspires others to follow their own passion, whatever it is, and realise happiness for themselves. I will conclude with Dr. Hollis’ formulation of the same sentiment in ‘What Matters Most’:

  ‘Maybe all of us will learn to grapple with the paradox that living our lives more fully is not narcissism, but service to the world when we bring a more fully achieved gift to the collective. We do not serve our children, our friends and partners, our society by living partial lives, and being secretly depressed and resentful. We serve the world by finding what feeds us, and, having been fed, then share our gift with others.’

[postgamecontent]

Sword of Vermilion: SEGA Genesis RPG Spotlight #4

Original Release Date: December 16, 1989

Original Hardware: SEGA Mega Drive

Developer/Publisher: SEGA-AM2/SEGA

There are a lot of interesting things to say about Sword of Vermilion. It was the first home game produced by the legendary Yu Suzuki and his team at SEGA-AM2. It was an RPG, which was decidedly outside of the developer's usual wheelhouse of thrilling arcade experiences. SEGA chose it as one of the handful of games to spotlight in its famous but ultimately unsuccessful "Genesis Does What Nintendon't" campaign. It uses four different viewpoints, which must have been an awful lot of work. In North America, it shipped with a 100+ page hintbook that basically walked you through the game. Some of the important names who worked on the game left SEGA after its release to found Genki, where they largely worked on racing games and only returned to the RPG genre once more with 1998's Jade Cocoon.

Yet for all the fascinating and unusual things happening around the game, Sword of Vermilion isn't anything particularly special. It's neither an amazing game nor a terrible one, the sort of experience that fills the belly but is forgotten by the next meal. It feels like even SEGA forgets about it now and then. The game was re-released on the Nintendo Wii Virtual Console, was part of the PlayStation 2 and PSP SEGA Genesis Collection, and is also available through the nearly-exhaustive Steam SEGA Mega Drive and Genesis Classics, but somehow was left out of Sonic's Ultimate Genesis Collection on PlayStation 3 and Xbox 360. As first-party Genesis games with no rights issues go, Sword of Vermilion is a relative rarity among SEGA's many re-packagings of their 16-bit output.

As near as I can tell, nobody who worked on Sword of Vermilion had made an RPG before. The team was clearly familiar with the genre, though. I'd venture to say that they obviously knew of such hits as Wizardry, Dragon Quest, Xanadu, and Ys. The trouble is that they apparently couldn't decide which one they wanted to ape, and ended up doing a little bit of all of them. I don't mean that in a chocolate-meets-peanut butter kind of way, either. This isn't like Dragon Quest's smooth fusion of Wizardry's first-person turn-based combat and Ultima's bird's-eye overworld exploration. Instead, it's four dramatically different gameplay styles haphazardly stitched together into a bizarre Frankenstein's monster with little apparent thought or care put into making them consistent with each other.

The game starts with a somewhat lengthy cut-scene that sets up the story. Basically, some bad guys overthrew the good king. Before they arrived, he sent his infant son away with his top knight so that he could grow up safely in secret. Years pass, and the knight is on his deathbed. He summons the boy he raised, now a man, to finally reveal the truth of his origins. This is where you get control for the first time, and the game for all the world looks like a standard JRPG at this point. You can explore the town from an overhead view, talking to people, visiting homes, and going to shops. Once you reach the side of the man you believed was your father, he tells you of your royal lineage and instructs you to gather an assortment of rings that will help you take back your birthright. The first was entrusted to him, and he hid it in a cave many years before. Having told you all of that, he hands you some starting cash and then promptly kicks the bucket.

You might be tempted to just buy some gear and leave the town at this point, but that's not a good idea. Someone in the town will give you a map if you speak to them, and you'll really want to have that in hand before you step out of the town boundaries. As soon as you do head out, you'll run into the next gameplay style: first-person exploration. Both the overworld and the dungeons use this viewpoint, and while it's not quite as smooth as it was in Phantasy Star, it's convincing enough. In this mode, the main viewing area only takes up a portion of the screen. The remaining parts of the screen are dedicated to status windows and a bird's-eye map of the area you're in. If you haven't gotten your hands on a map, you'll only be able to see the square your character is occupying. You can technically map this yourself on paper if you really want to, but the NPCs are pretty good about giving you what you need when you need it.

This isn't too strange so far, though. The first few games from Richard Garriot of Ultima fame basically used a similar combination of overhead and first-person exploration. Even SEGA had already done this, in the Master System classic Phantasy Star. You start heading towards the cave that holds the ring you're looking for and suddenly a slime appears in your view. Time to battle! And also time for our third gameplay style. Yes, the game switches to another screen where you have a sort of angled overhead view of your character and a number of enemies. You have to move your guy around and swing his tiny sword at the monsters to take them out. If they touch you or hit you with an attack, you take some damage. Should you run out of HP, you'll be kicked back to the last church you saved at with half your money gone. You'll often start fights in the middle of a crowd, and the enemies are surprisingly aggressive. Once you get the hang of things it's not so bad, though, and you can always beat a hasty retreat by walking off the edge of the screen.

It takes a little while before you'll encounter the fourth and final gameplay style. After recovering the ring from the cave, the townspeople will direct you to the next town and even give you a map. Upon arriving there, you'll enter into what turns out to be the pattern for the rest of the game. The townspeople have some kind of problem. Maybe it's a wicked king. Maybe they've been transformed by evil magic. Whatever the problem is, you'll be given a map to a nearby cave and directed to retrieve something from it. You'll probably have to spend some time grinding experience and money to power up your character first, and there are some chests scattered around the overworld that give you something to do for at least part of that work. Anyway, you'll go into the cave, do the thing you're supposed to do, and that usually leads to the final gameplay style: a boss battle against a huge creature of some kind.

For these battles, you're playing from a straight-on side view. You can duck, swing your sword, and move forwards and backwards. Carefully hack away at the giant monster in front of you and you'll soon emerge victorious. You'll get one of the rings, the townspeople will hand you another map, and you'll be directed to the next town where you'll repeat the process. Lather, rinse, and repeat for 14 towns and around 20 hours, and you're all done. The number of monsters is quite limited, the game makes heavy use of palette swaps to stretch them out, and just about every location looks the same as the last. There's very little strategy in either of the battle systems, making combat somewhat dull. You'll never have any reason or cause to go backwards, with the result being that this a very linear, repetitive marathon to the finish.  

Given when it was released, Sword of Vermilion looks the part of a next-generation RPG. Everything is quite detailed, and those side-view boss battles are pure spectacle. The music, composed by Yasuhiro "Yas" Takagi, is very good. Each town gets its own theme song, covering a wide range of moods. Yet beyond those surface elements, the game is decidedly 8-bit in its design. As an example, the simple act of emptying a chest sitting in front of you requires you to bring up the menu, choose 'open', read the text box telling you the contents, bring up the menu again, and choose 'take'. Dungeons are pitch-black unless you use a candle or a lantern, and candles only last for a short amount of time. Your inventory is limited to eight items, not including equipment, so you have to make very careful decisions about what healing and utility items you want to bring.

The maps for the dungeons are hidden in the dungeons themselves, so you might need to do some physical mapping until you come across them. You also need to check every direction of each square when you're exploring, as chests and other objects might show up when you face west but not when you face east, for example. You can only save at churches in towns, so if you're playing it as it was designed you need to make sure you have time to see your outings through before embarking. Oh, and don't expect to see the stats of gear found in shops or chests. You'll have to equip them to see their effect, and some of them are cursed. For a game from 1989, none of this is particularly shocking; few games of this era broke ranks when it came to interface decisions. But many soon would, and that made Vermilion feel like something from a by-gone era within a matter of a year or two.

The strange thing is, I kind of enjoy Sword of Vermilion. The game has a really nice rhythm to it, even if it is somewhat mindless. The initial parts of each dungeon where you're operating without a map are pretty fun, and I like the basic structure of having to solve a different problem in each town before moving on. I had fun exploring each of the maps to see if I could turn up any treasure chests or special encounters. The battle systems are easily the worst parts of the game, but they're not offensively bad. At the very least, the normal battle allow you to feel your character's growing strength. The boss battles are stupid but thankfully quite painless in most cases. I'll even give a tip of the hat to the localization. It's a bit clunky in places, but it's largely coherent and correct. That was a big ask in this period.

I've seen some positively savage reviews of this game, and I guess I can understand why a person wouldn't like Sword of Vermilion. It's repetitive, old-fashioned, clunky, and some of its bits really don't work well within the overall game. It also drags on a tad longer than it should. Even though I enjoy the game, I wouldn't have shed any tears if everything wrapped up five or so hours earlier than it did. At the same time, I've played far worse RPGs that weren't nearly as ambitious. Even among the Genesis's library, I don't think I'd put Sword of Vermilion on a top RPG list, but I'm not sure I'd discourage anyone from trying it, either. I will say that if you play through to the second town's boss and aren't really getting into it at all, you're safe to cut your losses and quit. It doesn't dramatically change from there.

Of course, the aftermath is quite clear by now. Vermilion is mostly forgotten, and the few who remember it don't usually speak well of it. Its creators only made one other RPG after it, and the studio that produced it would only dip their toes into the RPG waters (in a very tentative way) a couple more times in the future. Still, for early Genesis adopters who loved RPGs, Sword of Vermilion likely kept them busy between Phantasy Star installments. That's about the best someone could ask for at that time outside of Japan. I'm not sure this was the best choice for SEGA of America's big ad campaign, though.

If you want to try Sword of Vermilion yourself, it's currently available on Steam as part of the SEGA Mega Drive and Genesis Classics, on the Nintendo Wii Virtual Console, and on PSP and PlayStation Vita through the digital version of the SEGA Genesis Collection. You can also track down any of the physical versions; both the original Genesis cartridge and the PlayStation 2/PSP discs for the aforementioned Genesis Collection are relatively cheap even today.

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[jornami]

When Matchmakers Get Matched

A/N: This is such a cute request!! Hope you enjoy! This was supposed to be u two days ago for my 300 followers celebration, but hey, I’m Jordan and I can never do anything on time.

Request: Hey, it's the Anthony Ramos cupid anon. Sorry I was vague, I meant that you and Anthony are like BFFs and you just target potential couples and try to bring them together. And then one day the entire cast works together to bring you and Anthony together. It's slightly cheesy, but I love me some cheese. Thanks! 😊

Prompt: or in which, the two times you and Anthony were matchmakers and the one time you two were matched.

Pairing: Anthony x reader

Warnings: cursing, fluff, it gets a little suggestive during the end. What can I say? I couldn't help myself.

Tags: @fangirl-072 @always-blame-jefferson @linmanuclmiranda @hxmiltonmusicxl @sunriseovertheroomwhereithappens @femilton @ahhhhamilton @angerybisexual

Masterlist | Request!

Seven. Seven was the number of couples you and your friend Anthony had gotten together. You two were the “Matchmakers of Richard Rodgers Theatre” as the cast and crew liked to call you. Your next project was getting your friend Yasmine together with Oak.

You and Ant had it strategically planned out. Anthony would drop subtle hints by saying things like, “there's this super cute girl named Yasmine that works with

Y/N. I think her and Y/N are going to see that Hulk movie tomorrow.”

And, of course, that would pique Oak’s interest. They don't call him “Oak Smash” for nothing.

“She likes Hulk movies?” Oak asked.

“Yeah, man,” Anthony replied.

“I don't know, man,” Oak said skeptically. “I wasn't really looking for a relationship right now.”

“You don't know what you're missing out on,” Ant said, hoping it would make Oak rethink his decision.

Anthony took out his phone and texted you, “alright, plan B.”

Plan B was your and Anthony's backup plan. The plan was very well thought out. Oak and Anthony would go to the movies and “coincidentally” run into you and Yasmine. You all would go into the same movie theater and sit next to each other, so that you and Anthony were on the outside and Yasmine and Oak were next to each other. Once the movie started, you and Anthony would make up some excuse and leave, leaving Oak and Yasmine by themselves. In order for the plan to commence, Anthony had to do one simple thing.

You shot Anthony a text that read, “you know what you need to do.”

“Well, if you don't want to go see it with her, maybe you and me could go.” Anthony said to Oak after he read your text.

“Sounds good!” Oak smiled.

“Okay, I'll text you later,” Anthony said and began to walk out of the dressing room.

“Wait,” Oak called after him, “this isn't one of you and Y/N’s famous matchmaking tricks, is it?”

“Nah, man, sometimes I just wanna take a break after a busy week,” Anthony lied.

“Alright, see you tomorrow,” Oak sighed and Anthony smiled, knowing your plan worked.

So at 2:25 on Saturday, there you and Yasmine were. You were stalling at the claw machine while you waited for Anthony and Oak.

“Y/N, the movie starts in five minutes!” Yasmine whined.

“Yasmine, there's always fifty million previews,” you countered. “we won't miss anything.”

You took out your phone and texted Anthony, “Come on, Ramos. Yasmine’s getting impatient.”

Your phone buzzed, signaling that he had texted you back, “We're walking in.”

You looked over at the doubled doors of the theater and saw Oak and Anthony walk in.

“Y/N, Yasmine! Surprise seeing you here!” Anthony said coyly.

“Anthony, really?” Oak groaned.

“Nice to see you too, Oak,” you said sarcastically.

“Seriously, Y/N, you said you'd stop doing this!” Yasmine huffed.

“Well, this was a waste,” Oak announced and turned around to leave the movie theater. “I'm out!”

“Oak, wait!” Anthony called after him. “I didn't just blow fifteen bucks on movie tickets to not see a movie.”

Oak sighed in defeat; he knew it was wrong to ditch Anthony.

“Fine, but you and Y/N are paying for concessions,” Oak decided.

“Of course!” you and Anthony said in unison.

All of you got drinks and one large popcorn then headed into the theater. You sat on the outside of Yasmine and Anthony sat on the outside of Oak so they were close to each other.

“Hook.” Anthony texted you before he turned his phone off.

Halfway through the movie, you told Yasmine you had to go to the bathroom and Anthony told Oak he was going to get a refill on popcorn. Both Yasmine and Oak were too engrossed in the film to even care.

You and Anthony walked down the steps in the theater and waited in the entrance to see what Yasmine and Oak were going to do.

“Line,” Anthony whispered as he saw Oak put his arm around Yasmine.

“Sinker,” you whispered back as Yasmine cuddled into Oak.

“Another couple matched,” Anthony said and high-fived you as you walked out the theater.

The next two people you and Anthony planned on matchmaking were Daveed and Emmy. They had been talking for awhile, but neither of them made a move because they were too shy. It was getting under your and Anthony’s skin to say the least. You always stopped by the Richard Rodgers on your lunch break.

“So what's the plan, Ramos?” you asked as you plopped down in one of the seats in the small theater.

“Yeah, I haven’t figured that out yet,” Anthony admitted, sucking air through his teeth.

“Ramos, I only have 15 minutes left on this break and it's a ten minute walk back to the office!” you scolded.

“I know, I know,” he sighed, “I was hoping you could help me come up with a plan.”

You contemplated for a moment and then it hit you.

“Okay, so bear with me, this plan is intricate,” you warned him.

“Please, don't hold back,” he encouraged.

“So, I'll get one of those big cupcakes from the bakery on 224th, you know, the ones that takes multiple people to eat?” you asked and he nodded. “I'll tell Emmy that I'm too full to eat it and she should take it and share it with someone.”

“And I'll give a thermos of hot chocolate to Daveed and make up some lie about how I don't really want it,” Anthony suggested excitedly.

“You catch on fast, cutie,” you smiled, causing him to blush.

You and Anthony always used platonically affectionate nicknames for each other; it was your thing.

“Then we'll get Daveed and Emmy in a room alone together, and bam!” you finished.

“This might be our best plan yet,” Anthony said.

“It just might be,” you agreed and hopped off the stage. “same time tomorrow?”

“Yep, and the plan will commence,” he said.

“Later, Ramos,”

“Later, Y/L/N,”

The next day, you rushed over to the bakery as soon as your lunch break started. Then, you trudged all the way to the Richard Rodgers in the pouring rain.

“I got it for you,” you winked at Anthony as you walked in.

“XO cool,” he smirked.

You guys quoted 21 Chump Street anytime you could; another one of your quirks.

“Take off them damn rain boots, I can hear you from a mile away,” Anthony told you.

You slipped off your rain boots and walked onto the stage.

“Where's Emmy?” you asked.

“In her dressing room,” he replied.

“You remember the plan?” you asked.

“How could I forget?” he smirked.

“Split on three,”

“1,”

“2,”

“3,” and off both of you went.

You walked backstage and down the hallway the Emmy’s dressing room was. You knocked on her door and she opened it, flashing you a warm smile when she saw you.

“Y/N!” she said cheerily.

“Emmy!” you said, equally as cheerful.

“What're you doing here?” she asked and continued to fix her hair.

“Oh, just visiting Anthony,” you said nonchalantly.

“What's that?” she queried and pointed to the box in your hand.

Hook.

“A cupcake from that really good bakery on 224th street!” you told her.

“I love that place!” she exclaimed.

“You want it?” you offered smugly. “There's no way I could eat this whole thing by myself.”

“Really? Thanks!” she smiled.

“Maybe you could share it with someone,” you suggested.

“Maybe,” she mumbled.

You did your part, now Anthony had to do his.

Meanwhile, Anthony was trying to find Daveed.

“Daveed? Are you in here?” Anthony asked as he knocked on the door of the dressing room.

“Yeah, man, come on in,” Daveed said.

Anthony opened the door and walked in.

“Do you want this?” Anthony asked bluntly.

“What is it?” Daveed inspected the thermos suspiciously.

“Hot chocolate,” Anthony answered.

“That's a huge thermos of hot chocolate, dude,” Daveed shrugged, “I can't drink that all by myself.”

“Maybe you can share it with someone,” Anthony suggested. “Emmy, perhaps?”

Daveed contemplated what Anthony said for a moment but then he realized.

“This is one of you and Y/N’s famous matchmaking tactics, isn't it?” Daveed asked, rolling his eyes.

“Y/N isn't even here and it takes the two of us to play matchmaker,” Anthony lied like a pro. “Emmy was just a suggestion, man‍. You could share it with Lin for all I care.”

Daveed finally gave in and picked up the thermos, “Thanks, I guess.”

“Can you come help me with something?” Anthony asked.

“Sure,”

“Follow me, oh, and bring the thermos!”

“You're fucking weird, man,”

Anthony shot you a text that said he and Daveed were on their way. You smirked and slid your phone in your back pocket. This was going perfectly.

Anthony was dragging Daveed behind him and the minute Daveed saw you he was trying to get out of Anthony’s grasp.

“You told me this wasn't one of your tricks!” Daveed groaned.

“Well, I lied,” Anthony said truthfully. “now come on!”

Daveed looked like a little child being dragged through a department store with his mother. You opened the door and Anthony pushed Daveed in. You shut the door and locked it. One prop of the Richard Rodgers was some of the doors locked from the outside. Emmy started banging on the door.

“Let us out!” she shouted.

“Yeah, you guys,” Daveed chimed in, “I have lunch meeting with Clippng today!”

“I'll let them know you have to reschedule!” you chuckled cruelly.

“I hate you two!” Emmy whined.

“You and me both,” Daveed sighed.

“Well, now you can bond over how much you hate us!” Anthony said.

He was such a smart ass; you loved it.  

There was a huge crack of lightning and a loud clap of thunder. It made you nearly jump out your skin. All the lights flickered then turned off completely.

“POWER’S OUT!” someone shouted through the theater.

“Let us out, you guys, it's pitch black in here!” Emmy demanded.

“That flashlight on your phone would be real helpful right now!” you sang.

Suddenly, you heard a sigh and the pounding on the door stopped. You and Anthony looked at each other weirdly. Then you heard Daveed and Emmy laughing and talking, and a smile stretched across your faces.

“Line,” Anthony smirked.

Another couple; matched.

You and Anthony waited outside the door a little longer until you heard moaning.

“Fuck, Daveed!” Emmy gasped.

“Uhhhhh,” you whispered.

“It's time for us to go,” Anthony said and dragged you behind him.

“Use protection, kids!” you shouted behind you.

“So…sinker?” Anthony countered.

“Sinker,” you agreed. “I really gotta get back.”

“Can you stay, please?” Anthony pleaded.

“My boss will kill me,” you told him.

“Yeah, I know,” he frowned.

You kissed his freckle covered cheek, “Love you.”

“Love you too,” he smiled and off you went.

The “I love you’s” were always platonic, but you couldn't help but hope that one day they would be romantic.

What happened next was something neither you or Anthony saw coming.

Lin and Pippa were getting tired of you and Anthony’s matchmaking ways. You and Anthony were so perfect for each other, but you two always got so caught up with matchmaking couples that you guys neglected the chemistry you had. Pippa and Lin decided enough was enough; they were going to take matters into their own hands and set you guys up.

“Pippa?” you questioned when she waltzed into your workplace.

“Y/N!” she exclaimed.

“What're you doing here?” you asked.

“I wanted to know if you wanted to go for drinks tonight?” she asked.

“I'd love to!” you smiled at her. “Let me just submit this.”

She waited patiently as you reread your article and pressed the submit button. You turned out your computer off and got up from your desk.

“I'm ready,” you told her as you picked up your purse and sweater.

You two walked out to her car and got in. Surprisingly, she started driving in the opposite direction of the bar.

“Where are you taking me?” you asked.

“I'm about to change your life,” Pippa wanted to say.

Instead, she said, “I forgot my wallet at the theater.”

You nodded and played on your phone for awhile until you could feel Pippa’s intent gaze on you.

“Good, you're already wearing a dress,” Pippa said softly, almost like she was talking to herself.

“In fact, I am!” you giggled at her. “Why is that such a big deal?”

“So you can look cute when pick up all the cute guys at the barrrrr!” she sang.

“You're a dork,” you giggled.

Meanwhile, Lin was trying to stall Anthony.

“Lin, I really need to leave,” Anthony told Lin for the fifth time.

“Wait!” Lin said, body blocking him. “I need you to listen to this idea!”

“Lin, I've help you run lines for Mary Poppins and listened to the songs for Moana,” Anthony reminded him. “I really need to go home.”

“Please?”

“Fine,”

Lin smiled like a child when he finally got Anthony to stick around with him a little longer.

“Okay so I wanna write a musical where,” Lin paused for dramatic effect (read: he didn't know what to say next). “The Ham characters get in a time machine and end up in Washington Heights with the ‘In The Heights’ gang!”

“Sweet Jesus, Lin,” Anthony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Before Lin could get anything else out, his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text from Pippa that said, “we're here, bring him out.”

Lin smiled, everything was falling into place.

“Pippa?” you asked as she tied a blindfold around your eyes. “Why are you blindfolding me?”

“You ask too many questions!” she playfully scolded you. “Now, follow my lead.”

Pippa grabbed your hand and lead you into the theater. The cold air and the vanilla aroma in the air welcomed you like an old friend. She led you onto the stage, but stop suddenly.

“Watch your step,” Pippa warned you. “sit down.”

Pippa held your hand as you carefully sat down. Surprisingly, your rear end wasn't met with the hard, cold wooden floor. Instead, you felt the soft material of a blanket.

“Pippa,” you pouted, “can you take this off of me now?”

“Not yet,” Pippa said.

You could feel her smiling. What was she up to?

Anthony and Lin made their way to the wings. That's when Anthony saw you. You looked so confused; it was adorable.

“What're you staring for?” Lin asked, snapping Anthony out of his trance. “Go get her!”

Lin pushed Anthony on the stage, causing Anthony to fumble slightly. He gathered himself and walked over to sit down next to you on the picnic blanket. Pippa winked at Anthony and took of your blindfold. The minute she had it off, she ran off the stage. Your eyes were met with a dim theater that was lit with candle lights. Spread out on the picnic blanket was all of your and Anthony’s favorite foods. And to top it all off, a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

“Did you do all this?” You gasped.

“I wish I could take credit for it, but it was all Lin and Pippa,” he replied.

“They played us,” you chuckled in realization.

“They sure did,” he sighed.

“Well, it would be a shame to let this food go to waste,” you smirked.

When dinner was over, you and Anthony realized you spent so much time talking and laughing that you forgot to pop open the bottle of champagne.

“C’mon let's open this!” you reached across Anthony to get the bottle of champagne.

You popped open the bottle and poured some in a glass for him and then poured some for yourself.

“To two matchmakers getting matched,” you smiled and lifted your glass.

“To two matchmakers getting matched,” he repeated after you.

You two clinked the glasses and took a sip. You say your glass down and reapplied your lip gloss hoping Anthony would take a hint and kiss you. He didn't. Instead, he kept drinking his champagne and looking around the theater in silence. You couldn't take it any longer. You grabbed his face and kissed him passionately. Pippa and Lin were cheering and clapping from backstage.

Out of nowhere, that cheesy sexy music that's in every movie started playing and the stage started rotating. You pulled away from Anthony and look out into the empty house. You saw Lacamoire give you guys a thumbs up.

“Way to ruin a moment, you guys!” Anthony said playfully.

“I could get used to those lips, Ramos,” you smirked.

“Right back at you, Y/L/N,” he smiled and leaned into kiss you again.

It was finally time for dessert. Of course, Lin and Pippa got chocolate covered strawberries, the most romantic food there is.

“You know, chocolate covered strawberries are an aphrodisiac, right?” you asked as you examined one of the strawberries.

“A what?” Anthony asked.

“Nothing,” you sighed and caressed his cheek.

“Let me feed you, baby girl,” Anthony suggested, pressing a chocolate covered strawberry against your lips.

You bit into it and your teeth cracked the chocolate shell. A bit of strawberry juice dripped down your chin, but Anthony was quick to swipe it up. You held his hand and sucked on his finger. You looking him in the eyes when you did it, making it even more painful for him.

“Fuck baby girl,” he breathed. “you're gonna ruin me.”

“Go home!” you heard Lin shout from backstage. “This is a family theater!”

You and Anthony laughed. This was the start of something beautiful.

[matilda-australia]

Chatting with Elise McCann about her upcoming show, Dahlesque!

April 18th, 2017 | By: Bec Caton 

The Adelaide Cabaret Festival takes place each year in June, showcasing a variety of incredibly talented artists performing their diverse, moving and entertaining pieces. This year, Dahlesque, a concert featuring music from the various adaptations of Roald Dahl’s work, will be making its world premiere at the festival. Very fittingly, it will star the incredibly lovely Elise McCann who won the 2016 Helpmann Award for her performance as Miss Honey in Matilda the Musical. We chatted with Elise to find out all about growing up reading Roald Dahl, her experiences in Matilda, and what audiences can expect from Dahlesque.

Did you grow up reading Roald Dahl and if so did you have a favourite book?

Yes I did! My mum is actually English; she was born in Bath so we grew up with a lot of English writers. My favourite was always The Witches; it terrified me and excited me at the same time. And my sister loved The BFG and we used to debate each other over which one was better. Even though the movies are quite different, we used to watch all of them as well. We were definitely big fans of all of his kind of work and the amalgamations that came from his works as kids.

What do you think it is about Dahl’s writing that lends itself to the musical form?

His stories are so exciting but they never pander to children; they’re dark, yet they’re also really irreverent and playful. So when you’re a kid you feel like you’re doing something a little bit naughty just by virtue of being able to read him. When you’re an adult it’s still really engaging and entertaining because it reminds you of the simple things of being a child, and he represents the things that are real in life like the good don’t always win and sometimes the bad are just bad for no reason. When you’re an adult you lose sense of the things you find hilarious as a kid, but when you read Roald Dahl you kind of feel like a kid again. So it translates so well to musicals, and movies, because it has all of those really wonderful elements of story but also the full range of emotion; the danger and the terror and the naughtiness, and always the heart. It’s just inherently entertaining.

Did your experience of being Miss Honey in Matilda inspire this cabaret in any way?

It absolutely inspired it! Mainly because I had forgotten how great Roald Dahl was so when Matilda came out and when I was auditioning, I started to look into all of Roald Dahl’s work again. My nephew has actually just turned 3 and I bought him the box set of the Dahl stories when I was doing Matilda, so I started reading them again and I remembered how incredible they all are. And then I was at a concert in Sydney and Tony Sheldon performed a song from one of Roald Dahl’s books. And I thought there have been so many great songs that have been made from the movies and the books, so being in Matildainspired me to re-explore Roald Dahl but also it just happened that at the same time, I cottoned on to all the works that have been inspired by Dahl.

And do you think you will bring elements of Miss Honey’s character into the show?

It’s more me in the sense that I’m not playing Miss Honey, but I do sing a few songs from Matilda, one of which is a Miss Honey song because I had to! But there’s a representation of a variation of Miss Honey in almost all the books. There’s always an adult in one of his stories who is a rock star; who is kind and considerate and hasn’t lost their child instinct. So that character is in all of his stories somewhere in some amalgamation, so in that way there’s some elements of Miss Honey throughout the show but it is a lot more me.

So what songs can we expect to hear?

We’re focusing on all the adaptions of his works, so we have something from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the new musical, we have something from the original Willy Wonka movie, we have some new compositions from the revolting rhymes, we have some from Pasek and Paul’s James and the Giant Peach, some from Matilda. We also have a piece from James Bond, because Roald Dahl actually wrote two movies- Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and James Bond: You Only Live Twice. He hated Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, but he loved James Bond so we’re using one of the songs from that. And the thing we’re focusing on in those adaptions are bringing out those Dahl qualities like those obscurities and that playful darkness and intrigue that you might not always get in the movie or musical adaptions.

You’ve had your own cabaret show before, Everybody Loves Lucy, what are the highlights and challenges of creating and performing your own cabaret in contrast to performing a pre-written role in a show?

When you’re in a film, or a musical, or whatever it is that’s created by someone else- you’re employed to just play that character and focus on that one thing and give it your whole heart. And you have a whole breadth of people behind you in every other area. So there’s a real sense of family and a sense of greater support networks when you’re doing a project like that. For Matilda, we had over 200 people involved on a day-to-day basis just at the theatre, so there’s so many people part of that experience with you and it’s quite wonderful having to only worry about just having to do your one part.

Whereas, when you’re creating your own work, you work ten times harder because even if you’re not doing every single role, you’re still the one overseeing it because it’s your vision. So that’s exhausting and challenging because you need to be on top of so many things, but it’s also so liberating because you get to be an active participant in every element of it. It’s absolutely terrifying, but it’s also a completely rewarding feeling to see something you’ve worked so hard on, come to life. And there’s a real sense of pride and achievement in that. And there’s a real joy in being able to bring people together, because these people do their jobs because they love what they do, so it’s really joyous to be able to create something and employ other people to work with you, because you don’t get to do that all the time.

And who is the team you will be working with?

Richard Carroll, who I wrote Everybody Loves Lucy with, is my co-writer for this show. And Stephen Amos who has been my musical director on a number of projects, he’s done all of the musical arrangements for the show. And Michael Tyack is the musical director for all of the performances. And we have a wonderful female director who is yet to be announced! So we’ve got a great team of people working on the show with us.

Do you have any intentions to tour the show after the festival?

I’m a Sydney girl, but I’m living in Melbourne now, and I have family in Queensland, so we hope to take it to all of those places if we can! And we’ve actually just recorded an album with ten of the tracks of the show, so we’re in the process of getting that out.

Matilda will be on in Adelaide at the time of the cabaret festival, will you go and see the show and how do you think you’ll feel sitting in the audience and not performing on the stage?

I’m definitely going to see the show, 100%. I just finished in Perth and I saw it for the first time then, it was very bizarre to watch the show I’ve done over 650 times but it was incredible, it was just wonderful! I felt this overwhelming sense of emotion, because I felt so honoured to be a part of it, and Lucy Maunder, who is one of my best mates, did a wonderful job. I’m excited to see it in Adelaide when I’m not so emotional, and to see all of the family that’s part of the show, so that’s going to be really exciting.

What do you hope audiences will take away from Dahlesque?

Roald Dahl always said that his main goal in everything he did was to entertain. He would always drop bits of morality into the work because he thought it was important to drop ideas around children so they can pick up what resonates with them and through that he was empowering people. And that’s something I really value. And the big thing I want people to take away is that: a strong sense of having a great time, I want them to be really entertained. But we also really want to bring out those Dahl qualities and help remind people of what makes Dahl so special which is that he is so truthful and he doesn’t shy away from the darker elements but at the same time he’s playful and he has so much heart. So I want people to have a really great time, and to also feel moved at the same time.

[rueur]

Morning Pages #17 (23.01.2017)

Monday 23rd Jan - 9:11 a.m.

This was the day I was supposed to be done house-sitting, but alas I will still be here until the end of this week. I hope that my cold disappears before then at any rate, because I’m pretty certain that the cat hair is exacerbating my cold symptoms and might be hindering me from making a full recovery. I woke up this morning coughing up what I hope to be the last dredges of my phlegm, so that I can give my all to ‘We Are Their Children’ before finally being free of all my worldly commitments for the next month so that I can move on to focusing on the new school year and also on getting a JOB. I need money, badly.

Well, not badly. I can live off of my savings if I have to, but nobody wants to do that. As far as your savings go, it’s really all abstract money until you need to get a home loan. Then all that abstract positivity transforms into abstract debt and you’re still left with whatever funds are available to you on your checking account or that are coming in because you are a contributing member of society who is rightly awarded for said contributions. I don’t know, I’m a little bitter. The job market is horrendous in Melbourne, and I just keep feeling like my inability to drive is just keeping me from too many opportunities. I should just buckle down and get all my hours out of the way, I know. It just seems so impossible right now.

I just took a break to read an article on this website called ‘lovespanky’ (I know??), well two articles actually. The first was talking about when the appropriate time is to add a date on Facebook, and the second was about signs that your date likes you. I am a very insecure person, okay. I was talking to Dan about this yesterday, looking for the male perspective. That’s what Dan and I love about each other, is that we’re an open source for each other when it comes to the inner workings of men and women. Dan comes to me with his dating woes and I come to him with mine. I usually have a lot more than Dan though, he can be surprisingly self-reliant when he needs to be. Anyway, I was telling Dan about how Evan might’ve been holding himself back on the date, or he wasn’t as openly affectionate as he had been when we were at Laundry last weekend. I said that I figured that might be to even out how physical we got last weekend when we were dancing, because we were kissing quite a lot, and the chemistry was very much alive despite the fact that we hadn’t really spoken that much. That, and the fact that he had gotten really dressed up for the date, meant that he might’ve been wanting to treat our actual first ever date more traditionally than the way we had met. If this is the case, then he seems to be quite the romantic. There’s really no point in analysing this further, I know. I had a really fun time with him and I hope he did too. He probably did though. Otherwise he wouldn’t have told me that he feels comfortable around me already. I don’t know! I keep doubting this entire situation in my head, keep feeling like I’ve misconstrued things, but I know it’s just me being filled slowly and silently to the brim with self-hatred. My period still hasn’t arrived and my self-esteem is taking a bit of a blow in the midst of this demon cold, and the fact that I know that I’ll be totally worn out by the end of this week because of this horrendous show, and not because I’ve actually been doing productive work (work that is productive to ME) with my time.

I’m still stressing out slightly, about when I’ll be able to get Emily’s place ready for when she gets back. I just had a bit of a mild coughing fit again. I was feeling hopeful that this cold would be over and done with. I went out shopping last night and bought a few more ‘comfort food’ or recovery food-type things: spicy Tom Yum noodles and soup, oranges and mandarins, chocolate biscuits, mango and toasted coconut swirl ice cream (it’s going to be consistently hot this week, well in the mid twenties but with full sun), and some chips! And some chickpeas and spaghetti. I think that for breakfast today I will have some soup and the last of my bread, to make a killer grilled cheese sandwich. For dinner last night, I had a mandarin, two chocolate biscuits, the spicy Tom Yum noodles, and a spoonful of ice cream or two. I haven’t been eating super well, I mean super much, in the past few days and Sam said that it’s important that I keep myself well-nourished if I want to get over this cold. I also think that I should wash these sheets because I went against Emily’s will and let the cats sleep with me a couple of times, only because those nights were super hot and it seemed cruel to not let them in here considering Bruno’s poor disposition when it comes to weather extremes.

I think someone might’ve just knocked on my door twice? I don’t know if it was a neighbour, maybe complaining about my coughing or checking to see if I’m okay or something. I only got to the door with enough clothes in time to peep through the hole and see someone dressed in bright orange make their way downstairs. I don’t know who it was, honestly, but I feel a bit bad now. I should’ve answered, I should’ve actually registered that they were knocking on my door because I hadn’t. I mean they might not have been knocking on my door either, they might’ve been knocking on next door’s door. It’s hard to say. The knocks always sound really dull here.

I’m not looking forward to rehearsals today, or for the rest of this week, really. I just want this week to be over. Jacob sent me a message on Facebook asking if I’m free tomorrow afternoon and I actually don’t know if I’m free. I got a rehearsal timetable in the mail and I remember it saying something about there being a rehearsal scheduled for every day this week. This has been such a mismanaged show! I don’t think we’ve ever had a show by First Impressions that has been this tedious to rehearse. This tedious and shoddy. Okay, I think I know who had been knocking on my door. I saw a guy pass outside my window in bright orange work clothes. I think he might’ve been the landlord? I hope not, oh dude. I hope not. He might just be a guy doing maintenance here. Actually, that’s usually the landlord, isn’t it? I really don’t know. I should get dressed so that I can answer the door quickly if he comes back. I haven’t even had a shower or brushed my teeth or eaten yet. I’ve just been working on these pages. There are a million things to do in the morning here. I haven’t even cleaned the litter boxes yet!

This whole ‘keeping myself busy’ thing with looking after the cats and being on my own was really great for the first three or so weeks, but I just can’t do it with my cold right now. I fell asleep last night at around half past eleven without reading any of my books, just collapsing into bed. I was so exhausted from all the time I’d spent coughing yesterday. I had a whole day of coughing fits yesterday, I promise you. I was on the phone with Ikaros twice yesterday, and each time I just fell into a massive coughing fit. I was, however, in the apartment all day yesterday. I recognised that yesterday was probably the last full day I’d have off this week because of the show, so I didn’t do anything. I did a lot of writing, some reading, and I watched Mad Men and then I went shopping and then I had dinner and watched The I.T. Crowd, which I’m kind of excited to be watching again. It was before Chris O’Dowd became a Hollywood film star, before he was cast in roles as attractive, eligible American men, back when he was just a STANDARD NERD. It’s a little nostalgic. And Richard Ayoade too, who remains relatively unchanged despite now being a very talented director and writer.

I just took a break to read another article: ‘If, When - and How - to End an “OK-But-Not-Great” Relationship’. Yes, the name is hideous. It has shown me, however, what I think of Ikaros and I. We’re relatively happy, yes. We can make do with each other. But is that enough? I can argue that it might be if there were even security here, but there really isn’t. He devoutly believes in divorce yet doesn’t believe in marriage. His perception of women is questionable and he has little rational, independent thought when it comes to feminist issues or civil rights issues either, despite both of these being major concerns of mine that affect me socially as well, as a South-Asian woman. He also has very openly stated that he can never give me constructive feedback on my writing because he has no idea what’s happening in it. And I need somebody who can support me creatively. I can support him, so this is of no issue to him. In fact, I do support him. Don’t I deserve that too? Don’t I deserve somebody who can see me in my entirety?

I don’t want to dick him around. If I’m not in this with him entirely then I’m not in this and he shouldn’t be in this if I’m not in this. I just don’t want to hurt him, but you know what I need to be honest. I’ve been postponing finishing these morning pages, I think. I’m nearly at the end of my third page, I just don’t want to be talking about what I’m talking about now. Point-blank, Ikaros and I are very different people and it’s certain that we’ve both taught each other very useful things, shown each other a refreshing perspective in regards to most of the modern concerns of life. He’s taught me the value of self-care, and I’ve taught him the value of compassion and self-sacrifice. He’s taught me so much about the history of the world and of mankind, and I’ve taught him about literature and gardening, which is now a major hobby of his. Lauren told me on the first day we met that sometimes people take valuable lessons from other people, grow with them, and then they part ways. Sometimes it’s supposed to be that way. I’ve been thinking a lot more lately that we’re meant to part ways. I mean it will be hard. It will be incredibly hard. He was the first complete love of my life.

[jornami]

Stuck to this Corner Like a Streetlight

A/N: I've been obsessed with bakery AUs lately and I really wanted to write one! Feedback/constructive criticism is always encouraged! Hope you enjoy! This is so long I’m so sorry!

Things you should know: 1. I've never been to NYC in my life. So, I don't know how streets work up there. Is 34th and Melso Street even a place? Probably not. Is it five blocks down from the Richard Rodgers? Hell no. 2. I do a very poor job of explaining ITH 3. I have nothing against Vanessa

Tagged: @congratsonhamlet @unlazilyfreshrebel @lexiortanez @hamfamhamfam @superwholockbooknerd526 @naomyb16 @iamafangirlforeverthing @sleepretreat @xomullenxo @rebekatrue @plamspringsdancingontables

Pairing: Lin x reader

Summary: You bake cupcakes for Lin’s opening nights and he gives you tickets to the show. It's enough until it isn't.

Masterlist | Request!

You and Lin-Manuel Miranda had a friendship that came about in a unique way. It all started back in 2008.

March 5, 2008

You had just opened your bakery on the corner of 34th and Melso Street. You were beyond happy; opening a bakery was a lifelong dream of yours. Your bakery, “Cupquakes,” had only been open for three weeks, and business was booming; you already had ten orders. But the order made on March 5 was the one that you’ll never forget.

You were just about to close the shop for the day, when he walked in.

“Sorry, we’re about to close, and the Lucky Charm cupcakes are sold out.” you said as you wiped down the counter, not even bothering to look up.

“I know, but do have time to place one more order?” the man asked desperately.

“Sure.” you said with a warm smile.

“Can I order like four dozen cupcakes?” he asked.

You two proceed to go over the details of the cupcakes and just the cupcakes until you asked him what he wanted on them.

“Umm, I don’t really know. I hadn’t even thought about that.” he chuckled.

“Well, what’re the cupcakes for?” you asked in hopes that it would give you an idea on what to put on the cupcakes.

“Well, I’m actually opening a play on Broadway.” he told you and immediately you were intrigued.

You always loved plays, and you couldn’t believe you were taking a cupcake order from someone who wrote one.

“What’s it about?” you asked.

He proceeded to tell you what the play was about and immediately you had a ton of ideas. It was called “In the Heights,” and it took place in a Latino neighborhood in New York City. The play was about a guy named Usnavi who ends up winning the lottery.

“That play sounds really good, no wonder you made it to Broadway!” you gushed.

“Thanks,” he blushed, obviously flattered by your compliment.

“Maybe I could make little Puerto Rican and Dominican flags out of fondant. Ooh, and I could write 96,000 on Oreos and stick them out of the cupcake frosting. And you said champagne is a recurring motif, right? Well, maybe I can make champagne cupcakes with gold sprinkles!” you rambled until you caught yourself.

“You can do all that?” he asked in disbelief and you nodded.

“What time do they need to be ready?”

“The ninth.” he said sheepishly.

Your smile faded instantly. Four dozen cupcakes?!?! In four days?!?!

“Four dozen cupcakes in four days?” you exclaimed. “That’s 48 cupcakes!”

“Well, today’s the fifth so maybe one dozen each day?” he offered. “Can you do it? ‘Cause if you can’t, that’s totally fine; I’ll just find someone who can.”

You face softened, you really wanted to make the cupcakes for the opening night of his play.

“No,” you told him, “I can do it.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” he praised you.

“Just give me a name for the order.”

“Lin.”

“Delivery or pick up?”

“Delivery.”

“Where to and when?” you asked.

“The Richard Rodgers Theatre on 226 West 46th Street at 5 o’clock.” he said.

“Alright, Lin, I’ll see you then!” you smiled.

“Until then.” he said and began to make his way to the door. “Wait, I never got your name.”

“Y/N.” you told him.

“Y/N,” he repeated. “such a nice name for a nice girl.”

And in that moment you knew you were going to have to do whatever it took to make all 48 of those cupcakes. Ugh, he had you whipped and you just met him.

March 9, 2008

“Done!” you cheered as you stuck the last Puerto Rican flag on the cupcake.

You spent that last four days making the four dozen cupcakes for Lin’s opening night, and you did whatever it took to do so. You stayed late, skipped lunch breaks, you even closed the shop early.

You put that last cupcake in the box and started carrying the boxes out to your car. The Richard Rodgers was only five blocks from your shop, but with New York traffic you knew it would probably take you at least 30 minutes.

Sure enough, 35 minutes later you were there. You texted Lin to let him know you were outside and you need help.

“On my way :)”

Three minutes later you see Lin come out of the theater.

“Here they are!” you said, gesturing to the four boxes of sugary confections in you trunk. “All 48 of them.”

“Thank you so much!” he said for the 800th time that week. “How much do I owe you?”

“68.23.” you read off the receipt.

He hands you all 68 dollars and a quarter.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any change,” you apologized.

“Don’t worry about it; it’s only two pennies.” he assured you. “Help me carry these in?”

You both grab two boxes and head inside the theater. You stop halfway and stop to admire the place. This was a dream come true.

“Wow,” you awed, “a real Broadway theater.”

“Yep, maybe if you stick around I’ll give you a tour.” Lin smiled.

God, was he cute.

You followed him backstage to a room where the after party was being held. The room was decorated with flags, balloons, pictures of the cast, and a poster of the show. You sat the cupcake boxes next to each other.

“You wanna see them?” you asked Lin with a smirk on your face.

“Of course!” he exclaimed.

The look on his face when he saw the cupcakes was priceless. He was awestruck.

“Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I think I did a pretty good job.” you said, admiring your own work.

“You did amazing,” he said sincerely.

“Thanks,” you smiled shyly. “I’m gonna head out, but it was a honor making cupcakes for you opening night.”

“Wait!” Lin called after you and you turned around. “68 dollars isn’t enough. Come see the show tonight?”

“Seriously?” you asked.

“Seriously, it’s the least I can do for all your hard work.”

“Well, if you’re offering, I’d love to.”

“It starts at 7.”

“I’ll be there.” you smiled.

So, there you were at 6:59 on the nose. You found your seat and waited patiently for it to start. And, oh boy, once the lights dimmed you were practically bouncing in your seat.

It finally started and you enjoyed every minute of it. Then intermission rolled around. Ugh. A fifteen minute break never felt so long.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, act two started. However, just as soon as it started; it was over. By the end you were actually crying, and your lap was filled with crumpled up tissues.

Lin told you to come backstage after it was over, so you fixed your face in the bathroom and headed back there.

“So, what did you think?” he asked eagerly.

“It was okay. I'd give it a check minus.” you lied, adding a reference from the play.

“By your bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks, I'd say you enjoyed it.” he said slyly.

“What can I say? The finale made me emotional.” you admitted, causing him to giggle.

“Your cupcakes were a hit; everyone loved them!” he said.

Just as he said that Chris Jackson who played Benny came up to you.

“YO, ARE YOU THE GIRL WHO MADE THOSE BOMB ASS CUPCAKES?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you smiled, slightly taken aback.

“CAN YOU MAKE ME LIKE A WHOLE BATCH OF THOSE CHAMPAGNE CUPCAKES?” he yelled.

“Alright, buddy,” Lin said and patted Chris on the back. “no more alcoholic cupcakes for you.”

You two laughed as Chris was led away by Karen Olivo who played Vanessa.

“Well, I really have to get going.” you told Lin and his face fell.

“Stay, please.” he begged.

Your heart sank; he looked so sad.

“Lin, I’d love to, but I have a huge wedding order to fill tomorrow morning.” you told him.

“If you must,” he sighed dramatically.

“If you ever need some more cupcakes or a friend to talk to,” you said as he pulled you into a hug. “you know where to find me.”

“Noted.” he said and you went your separate ways.

Lin took what you said on March 9, 2009 to heart and he visited your shop quite frequently. Sometimes, he would come in because he needed a sugar fix. Other times he came in just to talk to you or have a quiet place to work on his plays.

He didn't need another cupcake order until 2014.

June 4, 2014

“Hey, Miranda,” you said to Lin as he walked into your shop. “how's my favorite playwright?”

“Pretty good,” he smiled. “and how are you, my favorite baker?”

“Tired,” you sighed. “I have sooooo many orders to fill.”

“Well, I'm about to add to your workload,” he told you.

“You finally ready for me to make cupcakes for that musical about Alexander Hamilton you've been working on?” you asked hopefully.

“No, actually I've been working on this musical called, ‘21 Chump Street,’ and I was wondering if you could make cupcakes for opening night?” he asked.

“Of course, how many do you need?”

“Two dozen.”

“Delivery or Pick up?”

“Delivery.”

“When do you need them?”

“The 7th.”

“Lin!” you exclaimed. “You can't keep doing this!”

“I know, I'm sorry!” he apologized.

“Whatever.” you said, obviously not convinced by his apology. “What do you want on them?”

“Surprise me,” he said simply as he handed you a playbill. “The synopsis for the play is in here.”

“You're lucky we're friends, Miranda,”

“Love youuuuu!”

“Goodbye, Lin,” you sighed. “I'll see you on the 7th.”

June 7, 2014

You had just finished putting the finishing touches on the cupcakes for Lin’s play. You made vanilla and chocolate cupcakes with buttercream frosting, and all of the cupcakes were topped with little fondant marijuana leaves.

“Isn't the play about how weed can ruin your life?” your fellow baker and friend, Charlotte asked.

“Yeah, but I wanted to make them look cute,” you told her.

“Well, Lin will love them anyway,” she assured you.

“I hope so,” you mumbled.

“When are you gonna ask him out anyways?” she asked.

“Tonight after the show.” you told her.

“Finally!” she squealed. “You've been practically in love with him since ’08!”

She was right. You had liked Lin in a more-than-friend way since 2008, but you never had the courage to tell him. But you were past patiently waiting; you were finally going to do it.

You arrived at the Brooklyn Academy of Music at 5:00 and you saw Lin waiting outside for you.

“Cupcake delivery for Mr. Lin Manuel Miranda?” you announced, flashing him a cheesy smile.

“That's me!” he smiled.

“Your total is 36.50.” you said.

“Here,” he said and hand you an envelope.

You looked inside and saw two tickets to the play.

“I hope you can accept this as a payment,” he said jokingly.

“I'll gladly take the tickets in addition to the money.” you replied snarkily.

He handed you the money and you two walked inside. He led you backstage and you sat the cupcakes down on the table.

“Can I look at them?” he asked.

“Go ahead,” you said.

He opened the box of cupcakes and didn't say anything. It was starting to make you nervous.

“So, what do you think?” you asked nervously.

“I think it's insensitive to Justin Laboy’s story.” he said harshly. “He was seduced and tricked by an undercover cop and you're making a joke out of it.”

Shit. Your biggest fear was coming true.

“Lin, I'm so sorry. I thought you'd think it was cute, and—” you rambled, but he cut you off.

“Y/N, I was kidding!” he giggled.

“Goodbye, Miranda,” you said, slightly relieved and slightly pissed.

“See you tonight!” he called after you.

“Uh huh,” you said and waved him off.

Lin gave you two tickets so you took Charlotte who was a mess by the end of the play.

“It wasn't fair!” She shouted, “He was just a child!”

“Well, I guess if you're so upset we can just go home,” you suggested, hoping she'd forget about what you said about asking Lin out.

“No!” she said, her mood changing right before your eyes. “You're going to ask him out if it's the last thing you do!”

You groaned and you two walked backstage. Lin was talking to his friend, Alex Lacamoire.

“Oh, he's busy, let's go!” you mumbled and began to walk in the direction you came in.

“Over my dead body!” she said and pushed you in Lin’s direction.

“Oh hey, Y/N!” Lin said as he saw you. “How did you like it?”

“It was great, but I need to ask you something,” you said, getting more anxious with every word you spoke.

“Can it wait?” he asked and your smile disappeared. “I'm talking to Lac about getting Hamilton on Broadway!”

“That's great! I'll just ask you later.” you said.

You were genuinely happy for Lin. You knew how long he had been working on Hamilton, and besides, you could always ask him the next time he came into your shop.

You never did ask Lin out after that day at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. You could never work up the courage to ask him. That would be to your detriment because what happened on July 29, 2015, would make you regret that decision forever.

July 29, 2015

“Y/N, big news!” Lin announced as he walked into your shop.

“What's up?” you asked.

“Hamilton is going to Broadway!” he announced proudly.

“Lin, that's amazing!” you squeaked, practically jumping over the counter to hug him. “I'm so proud of you!”

The warmth of his embrace, the smell of his cologne; it was perfect.

“But wait, there's more!” he announced.

He dug through his pockets and pulled out a velvet box.

Oh no.

“I'm proposing to my girlfriend, Vanessa, and I was wondering if you could bake the ring into a cupcake?” he asked with a huge smile on his face.

Your smile faltered and your heart shattered. It was too late.