#heads up i checked and i actually did mention the man verse briefly a while back but that's when it was in its early stages

[silly-boozer]

This is my goofy goober (art credit to my AMAZING friend @tanzabee love ya dude /p)

Joshua is a character from my Cabinet Man universe (or "Man Verse") and I love him dearly.

I don't talk about my Man Verse thingy a lot but my Joshua offering to you all feels like the right time to bring it up (again).

[jiminrings]

yoongi grills stem koo’s ass <3

cold senior!y/n x stem major!koo masterlist :D

stem koo wants to explain himself and yoongi may not want to listen

"hyeji's never packed you a sandwich before?"

jungkook pales at the mention, mouth drying when he sees yoongi bring up the soft smile that doesn't comfort him at all

“the one that’s all knuckle?”

oh my god

IS THIS A RIDDLE????

yoongi tilts his head in amusement when this pathetic excuse for your past crush is calculating what he just said in his mind

what is a sandwich that’s all knuckle?? but it doesn’t even rhyme!!

aren’t riddles sUPPOSED to rhyme????

jungkook’s more than well-versed in stem-related problems that are just rephrased 237 times over and over so that it wouldn’t be as easy to solve

he can solve that!!!

but this!!! :O his mind is short-circuiting pls do not approach him

“hm?” yoongi’s smile patronizes him further and puts him on the spot, straightening his figure and jungkook’s quick to stop him from coming back inside your dorm

“i want to-“

“i asked you — have you ever had a knuckle sandwich?”

yoongi enunciates with so much clarity that kook finds his mind blanking, tripping over his words he hasn’t even formed yet

“i-is it-...” he stalls, trying to rack his mind for the bread he’s not sure he’s ever even heard of in his life, “i-is it like, a pork thing? uhm, t-the pig’s knuckle? and then you put it between, uhm, bread?”

,,,, laughable

jungkook’s supposed to be smart, isn’t he? or atleast that’s what yoongi thinks he’s supposed to be

lmao he would’ve laughed at the boy’s poor attempts if only he wasn’t furious at him

he’s dumb but not the endearing kind ://

“no,” yoongi drawls out, pretending to fish something out from his pocket

jungkook watches in intrigue, thinking that yoongi’s reaching for his phone to show him a picture of what it looks like

the hypothetical situation in jungkook’s mind is clearly not the one that happens

jungkook SHRIEKS as he stumbles on his heels backward — crystal clear to him that yoongi was not looking for his phone, but instead balling his fist and him being the receiving end

almost the receiving end

yoongi almost sucker-punches jungkook in a blink, fist literally a millimeter away from his nose and the only thing he could see at the moment is red

... red and jungkook’s wide eyes that have never carried this much fear up until now

“that’s a knuckle sandwich, kid. would’ve fed it to you if only y/n isn’t in the room right behind me.”

holy fuck

his heart is beating right against his ribcage and that shouldn’t be possible, fists closing upon themselves nervously as he tries to soothe his thumb so his mind relaxes

spoiler alert: it doesn’t work

jungkook’s mind is all over the place, even more rattled than it was when he takes a text without studying (he was so low he got a 98), but the only thing that’s clear is that you’re behind this door

“yoongi — mister yoongi, please. i-i need to explain myself, and if only you let me try, i can!! i swear. i’m not forcing you but-...”

there he is again

jungkook’s only been in his sight for like two minutes but his eyes are already sore

“why are you even here?” he scowls and even if the younger boy’s taller than him, every bit of his posture and demeanor at the bite of his words scream small, “why go all this length for someone you stomped on today, then have the gall to be a crybaby about it?”

he's speechless and it only serves him right, looking at his mudded-up converse and trying to focus on anything besides the guilt within

"m-my explanation," jungkook mutters, hands behind his back as if he's being scolded, “will you tell y/n?”

yoongi releases an agitated breath at him muttering your name

he dOESN'T get to say your name!! no!!! not after what he did to you

“i’m not concerned about you. what i decide to do or not, has nothing to do with whatever you say right now.”

kook solemnly nods, and even if yoongi's much harsher in your words compared to yours, the gravity of yours with him not being related to you cuts deeper

there's nothing else he could care about, actually

jungkook follows campus curfews to a T and would come home two hours earlier in the rare event that he goes somewhere

but now, he couldn't care less when the dorm master could just be there any second and he'd pass a hall monitor like usual

for the whole day, you were the only one that occupied his mind

"i know hyeji isn’t the one."

god, it was clear as day

he'll be the first one to admit that he can't read people very well, but he knew from the start that it's probably not hyeji who's been packing his lunchboxes

jungkook sometimes takes attendance in behalf of the professor because as much as he's shy, he's also a teacher's pet

the classes she shared with hyeji? she wasn't present everyday for the whole duration of two weeks, and how could it be that she still managed to make him a lunchbox if she wasn't present in the campus at all?

there was a probability that it could've been her, but it was so low that it sat right next to improbable

"i-i entertained the possibility briefly that she was, but then nothing was making sense the more i thought about it."

jungkook sometimes also checks papers because his professors trust him enough and he has perfect scores anyway, so he uses his own as his answer key

"i needed to interview y/n for an assignment, a-and a signature above a name was needed and it was just so familiar."

the moment he racks his head for hyeji's writing, it seemed fAR from the writing on the sticky notes on the lunchboxes

"then she seemed mad at me, but when i went to her on the field to try and confront her-" jungkook pauses and almost whispers the next part, the shame on his skin starting to seep into his bones, "she told me that we weren't related for me to feel hurt about it."

yoongi clenches his jaw, a pressure forming on the center of his eyebrows because he knows where this is leading

"a-and i thought it was hyeji again."

jungkook can't bring himself to be elated that it's been you the whole time because he might be a little too late; a little too late when he's already subjected you to the heartbreak you didn't deserve

"i-i didn’t know what clicked in my mind but i was just so hurt that-"

that's the fiNAL straw for yoongi

this has been him trying to keep his anger at bay the whole time, but this one!! this one he can't just accept

"you are a fucking asshole. honestly."

jungkook slightly winces with the sudden cussing, but it barely scratches the surface

"you think you’re the only one hurt? tell that to me who’s never seen y/n cry so hard before — or even cry at all."

his explanation wasn't an excuse and he knows it, but nonetheless, it tears him apart

"i’m sorry."

his lips quiver and he's trying sO hard not to cry in front of his senior, but yoongi doesn't feel even the slightest remorse for the kid

"i don’t care. you don’t apologize to me; you apologize to y/n. whether she forgives you or not, which for the record i don’t think she should, you cannot take back what you said."

if what jungkook said was eVER said to yoongi, given that he had the same circumstances as you did, he wouldn't know how to bounce back at all

it's a pain he doesn't wish to feel and he could only helplessly look at you who's trying to navigate it

perhaps you don't even plan to navigate it — knowing you, you're just gonna sail through it all to the point you're not giving yourself enough time to even realize that you already are

it was the same cycle of trying to move on without grieving through it properly that it hurts yoongi and seokjin and the tiny amount of people around you

"grovel at her feet. cry her an ocean. commit penitence. whatever you wanna come up with, no matter what, you do not make my y/n feel like she isn’t deserving of love."

you're family and yoongi goes above and beyond for family.

"i don’t care if you make up. i don’t care if you don’t. all i know is that in any other place besides outside the room she sleeps in, i’d hurt you like you hurt her."

jungkook almost wishes that yoongi punches him now and he won't even try to dodge it

"i deserve it."

"you do."

they whole-heartedly agree and it's the only time that yoongi can get behind jungkook's words

"i’m always gonna be on y/n’s side, kid."

there's no other way around it and as much as you know it or not, you've cemented your position in yoongi's heart unknowingly

"the only way that i’m gonna be on yours is when you’ve earned my utmost respect," he can't even see when that happens, crossing his arms across his chest, "and you don’t."

jungkook's tears are falling to the floor but they don't get on his cheeks, the sudden set of footsteps coming from his side making his head straighten and wipe his eyes immediately

he's the only one alarmed and he spares yoongi a glance, then to said person

yeah right that couldn't have been you :((

the guy who's approaching doesn't stop walking and he looks like.... he's uh,,, coming to where he's exactly standing????

he seems oddly familiar though

“oh, taehyung!"

where did he hear that name before??

taehyung stands at the same height as jungkook, maybe a centimeter or two taller, but he just couldn't stop looking at him from the corner of his eyes

yoongi's oblivious to jungkook's ongoing deduction, immediately engulfing taehyung in conversation

"y/n’s already asleep. i could do her part of the project-“

he offers because he recalls that right, you told him that taehyung's coming over to finish your shared project of a business plan late tonight

uhhhhh you're kinda zooted and going through it rOUGH so yoongi doesn't mind doing your contribution for you

“yoongi!! oh no man, it’s not what i came here for," he leans for a side hug, eyes landing on jungkook to drop a polite smile to acknowledge him

jungkook only slightly bows, confused but even more intrigued because he heard your name in the conversation

"i just uh, i just saw y/n crying while i was on my way home awhile ago, and i didn’t get to ask why, but i felt bad, so i came by to drop some cookies.”

oh

taehyung continues talking and it leaves yoongi and jungkook stunned, but he only focuses his attention on the former

“you looked like a hazelnut cookie kind of guy, so i baked some too!! is y/n allergic to peanuts? i put some too in a separate container in case she is.”

yoongi laughs and they go from there

IT'S LIKE JUNGKOOK ISN'T EVEN HERE!!!!

baby he's here he's nOT a hallucination!!!!

despite the fact that he's sticking out like and (unacknowledged) sore thumb, no one makes a move to take the conversation elsewhere

“thanks, tae. damn, you did all this yourself?”

yoongi whistles when he takes the tupperware opening it and almost watering at the sight

he doesn't mind baking cookies for you in case you wake up hungry, but taehyung really just did himself a nice favor without knowing it

he smiles softly, eyes narrowing in intrigue now that he realizes

"taehyung. no offense, but you’ve only interacted with y/n like once and it’s only for a project. why would you bake her uhhh 28 cookies?”

hehe

“35, actually :D”

tae interjects, waving him off when yoongi's jaw drops even further

“yeah, i know. i just felt so sorry for her — i’m not related to y/n but i just felt like i wanted to make her feel better.”

jungkook's jaw locks at this, his breathing becoming shaky all over again, fists balled this time

“it’s like,, economics!! i don’t actually know, maybe??? i’m in visual arts. y/n took over my part for me when i was sick-“

".... so you made her 30 cookies."

taehyung's the personification of a golden retriever and now that he thinks about it, jungkook reckons seeing him more than a handful of times

he laughs deeply at yoongi's rebutt and it may be in unfortunate timing that jungkook realizes he kNOWS him

he's in the same year!! he's the one that takes the portraits for the school paper and it's always his name in the credits

"good night, yoongs. hug y/n for me. tell her i'll take over her part, no questions asked."

taehyung walks away and he's perfectly content even if he didn't get to give you the cookies like jungkook thought he would

"night, taehyung."

yoongi looks at the retreating figure briefly, then looks at jungkook pointedly

he doesn't realize that he's still budging and listened on an entire conversation, dropping his head when yoongi points to the elevator

"bye, jungkook."

"good night, yoongi."

he feels hesitant to leave but it's probably for the better, putting his hands in his pockets still not enough to make his hands stop trembling

kook stops at the middle of his walking, turning his head to look back at yoongi whose mouth already has crumbs

"c-can i see y/n tomorrow?"

"i'm not her dad."

jungkook nods somberly, leaving it at that while his bulk of emotions consume him

he thinks all about the ways he could attempt to make it up to you, a million ideas in his head but his head doesn't hurt

his nose twitches at the lingering scent the cookies left, annoyed at the persistent smell and perhaps the boy that brought them

jungkook's never really liked cookies.

[homoose]

Teach Me Something I Don’t Know: Part I

Summary: When Will asks him to pick Michael up from school, Spencer may or may not develop a schoolboy crush on the kindergarten teacher.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: none

Word count: 2.5k

a/n: Here she is! I’m not sure exactly what it is about Spencer Reid x teacher!reader, but it is my most requested fic topic, and I am happy to oblige! This is the first in a multi-part series. Weird is Good also takes place in this verse. Any teacher!reader requests will be folded into this verse as well, so feel free to continue sending me those!

Series Masterlist

Click here for the story mentioned, read by everybody’s fave Michelle Obama.

———

“A strong geographical profile is one of the most important pieces of the overall behavioral profile; it significantly narrows the area the team has to cover, allows for law enforcement teams to prioritize and maximize limited resources, and helps focus the investigation in conjunction with the other elements of the profile. And that wraps our section on building geographical profiles!” Spencer smiled at the faces in front of him, gesturing to the board. “The information we covered today will make up a significant portion of your midterm, so make sure to review it before next week. See you all next Thursday!”

As his students began packing up their things, Spencer’s phone rang from inside his bag. When he retrieved the phone and saw Will’s name on the caller ID, his brow furrowed in concern. “Will— everything ok?”

“Hey, yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” he assured him. “I’m sorry to ask, but JJ’s on a case, and my partner and I just finished our last call clear on the other side of the city. Henry’s got soccer practice, but Michael’s gotta be picked up in about— well, shit, right about now. Would you mind picking him up and bringing him ‘round to the house?”

Spencer looped the strap of his bag over his shoulder and started up the aisle out of the lecture hall. “Yeah, of course! It’s over by the Naval Observatory, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. If you pull ‘round the parking lot, they usually come out the side door. His teacher’s real sweet, Ms. Y/L/N. I’ll let her know you’re picking him up.”

“Okay, sounds good.” Spencer pushed open the door and made his way down the hall.

“You’re the best,” Will drawled. “I’ll only be about half an hour.”

…

When Spencer pulled the baby blue Volvo into the parking lot of the school, he saw Michael and Ms. Y/L/N sitting on the steps of school. Their heads were so close they were almost touching, looking down at a book laying across their laps. Her legs were stretched out straight and she pointed down to the page, saying something that made Michael throw his little head back in a laugh that floated in through the open window of the car. Spencer grinned at the familiar sound as he pulled around the carpool loop.

When he recovered from the giggles, Michael caught sight of the car and waved his hand excitedly at Spencer. Ms. Y/L/N looked up and gave a wave as well, albeit a little less vigorous. She closed the book and turned her torso slightly to unzip Michael’s backpack and drop the book into it.

Spencer put the car in park, stepped out, and walked around the car to meet the two of them. Michael was already up and running, throwing himself at Spencer’s legs and hugging them tightly. He leaned down to return the hug. “Hey, buddy! How was school?”

“It was amazing,” Michael gushed, pulling out of the hug to gesture wildly. “We learned how to write the zzz sound, and now we know all the sounds! Oh, and then we used blocks in math, and that was so fun, because Ms. Y/L/N let us build with them when we were done counting. Oh, and then we learned about frogs, and they are so cool. Did you know that frogs have night vision? Oh, and Ms. Y/L/N said I could borrow my favorite book from the classroom library! She read it to me already while we were waiting for you, but maybe you could read it to me, too? I can read some of the words but not all of them yet, so I still need some help.”

Spencer smiled widely at him. “Wow, that does sound like an amazing day. I did know that about frogs, actually! And of course, I’d love to read with you.”

“The book’s called Giraffe Problems, and it’s about this giraffe named Edward who doesn’t like his neck.” Michael looked at Ms. Y/L/N. “What’s the turtle’s name again?”

“Cyrus,” Ms. Y/L/N reminded him.

“Right, Cyrus.” He looked at Spencer. “See, that one is tricky because c’s don’t usually make the sss sound, but sometimes they do. Ms. Y/L/N’s teaching me about it, even though she said it’s kinda hard for kindergarten.”

“Because you’ve got a big, powerful brain, right?” she said, tapping her temple and winking at Michael. “I’m Ms. Y/L/N, by the way. You must be the infamous uncle Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Then she smiled at him and his big, powerful brain melted inside of his skull.

Michael continued talking, and Spencer briefly wondered if this is how people felt when he rambled. Michael lost his attention immediately, because all he could do was stare at Ms. Y/L/N. Her eyes glinted with humor as he chattered on. She followed his expressive motions with well-timed nods and mhmms, a skill she’d no doubt honed through years of indulging kindergarten babbling. She met Spencer’s eyes every so often, only a slight eyebrow raise indicating her amusement. Her hair had been tied back, but soft pieces had come loose throughout the day, falling into her face and around her shoulders. Up close, he could see that the print of her collared a-line dress was hundreds of green frogs. On her feet were a pair of beat up, low top converse, and Spencer thought he could physically feel the crush branding the chambers of his heart. He was jolted out of his thoughts by Michael’s hand tugging on his pant leg, and he looked down to see him looking up expectantly.

“Sorry, what?” Spencer asked him.

“I said,” Michael repeated with a sigh, “can we look up the author and see if he has any other books?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Of course, buddy.”

“Jory John has lots of amazing books,” Ms. Y/L/N confirmed. “You’ll love the series he wrote with Pete Oswald.” She smiled at the pair of them before checking her watch. “I’ve gotta go pack up, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael.” She winked at Spencer, and he almost swallowed his tongue. “It was nice meeting you, uncle Spencer.” She waved again and then turned up the stairs to disappear into the building.

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding, and then turned to Michael. “Well. All right, are you ready to go home?”

…

They were settled into the car and halfway home before Michael finally needed to take a breath. Spencer capitalized on the break in conversation.

“So, Ms. Y/L/N seems pretty cool,” Spencer hedged.

“Yeah, she’s the best,” Michael confirmed with a nod. “On Fridays she lets us put on the smocks and paint. And she has really good story voices. Oh, and she also has these really cool blocks that stick together—magnet blocks. And when I fell off the jungle gym and got a big scrape, she gave me a Paw Patrol bandaid! And she gives great hugs.”

“Good story voices, huh?” Spencer met Michael’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Better than mine?”

Michael tilted his head in deep thought. “Hmmmm. It’s pretty close. Your wizard voice is good, but she does accents.”

Spencer blew out a dramatic breath. “Guess I’m going to have to up my game.”

“You’re gonna have to practice a lot, because Ms. Y/L/N reads to us every day.” Michael raised his eyebrows in a challenge.

“Hey!” Spencer looked incredulous. “I read every day, too!”

“Yeah, but do you read with story voices every day?” Michael clarified.

Spencer sighed. “Well, I guess not.”

“It’s okay, uncle Spencer,” Michael soothed. “You can’t be the best at everything.”

“So they are better than mine?”

Michael pressed his lips together, and Spencer almost laughed at how much he looked like JJ. “... maybe.”

…

A trail of shoes and school supplies led to the couch, where Spencer and Michael sat shoulder to shoulder. They were on their second read of Giraffe Problems. Spencer took a long, dramatic breath before launching into Cyrus’ banana speech, and Michael burst into a fit of giggles. With his best theatrical voice, Spencer read down the page. “Yet, day after day, I’ve felt like such a fool as I stretched my neck toward those greedy branches, only to be limited by my own physical shortcomings.” He flipped the page and changed his tone. “You… want a banana from a tree?” He looked at Michael and said, quickly and in a low voice, “That’s what I said, yes.” Michael wheezed out another laugh.

Spencer finished the story, Michael mouthing the words along with him. When they reached the last page, Spencer softly closed the book and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “That’s a pretty great story.”

“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “Ms. Y/L/N said she likes it because it reminds us that we gotta love ourselves and our bodies for how they are.”

Spencer nodded. “Absolutely. We’re all different, and that’s what makes us special.”

“Yeah. I just really like when he’s wearing all the scarves.” Michael burst into another fit of laughter, and Spencer couldn’t help but laugh with him.

The front door opened, and Will was smiling as he stepped over the threshold. “I could hear y’all laughing all the way down the sidewalk.”

“Daddy!” Michael jumped up from the couch, and Will bent to scoop him up, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Hey, kiddo. Sorry I couldn’t pick you up. It sure sounds like you and uncle Spencer had fun, though.” He shot Spencer a wide smile.

“We read Giraffe Problems. Can we read it again later?” Michael asked.

“Sure thing. We can read it before bedtime.” Will set him down, furrowing his brow. “Wait, Giraffe Problems? Is that a new one?”

Michael shook his head. “Ms. Y/L/N let me borrow it from the library. I have to give it back in two weeks.”

“Man, Michael, you really lucked out, huh?” Will posited. “Ms. Y/L/N is so good to you.”

“Jeez, everybody’s saying that today,” Michael sighed. “Yes, Ms. Y/L/N is amazing, we all know this.”

“All right, sass monster. I didn’t know uncle Spencer thought she was amazing, too.” Will grinned. “We gotta go pick up Henry in a few minutes. I’ll get you a snack, and you can pick up your things?” He gestured to the mess of shoes and school supplies in the foyer.

Spencer smiled sheepishly. “That’s probably my fault. We were just so excited to read the book.”

“Ah yeah, I know how he gets.” Will crossed to the kitchen. “A one track mind, that one. Thanks again for picking him up today.”

Spencer stood from the couch and followed, hands stuffed in his pockets. “It’s no problem at all! I can do it any time.”

“Well, I don’t want to bother y—”

“It’s not a bother!” Spencer schooled his voice back into a normal register at Will’s raised eyebrow. “It—It’s not a bother at all. I, um— I have a lot of free time when I’m on sabbatical. Especially since I’m only teaching one course this semester. Plus, I love seeing the boys.”

“I’ll remember that.” Will smiled. “So… Ms. Y/L/N’s amazing, huh?”

Spencer just knew that his cheeks were as red as the apple Will was cutting up. He tried to shrug nonchalantly. “Yeah, she was— she was really nice.”

“She’s not bad looking, either,” Will supplied. When Spencer’s mouth fell open, Will continued, “What? JJ thinks so, too. Don’t tell me you didn’t even look, because I know that’s a lie.”

Spencer sputtered, “I— well, I—”

“Daddy, can we get an ice-cream on the way home?” Michael interrupted, completely unfazed.

Will laughed. “Saved by the bell, uncle Spencer. Yeah, buddy, we can get ice-cream.”

…

“It’s not weird to look her up. I just want to know more about the person who’s educating my godson,” Spencer tried to reassure himself as he pulled up the school’s website. He scrolled to find the teacher pages, a little smile crossing his face when he saw Ms. Y/L/N’s picture— white ruffled shirt, red bow, and black hat. A perfect tribute to Mary Poppins.

He dropped his smile. “She barely said five sentences to you, and you didn’t say anything back.” His eyes wandered over the links on the side, landing on the About Me section. “But she did say she’d heard a lot about you, so it’s only fair that you get to know a little about her.” Against his better judgment, he clicked the page link. A photo of Ms. Y/L/N— grinning and holding a very distraught-looking black cat— popped up on the screen, and Spencer laughed aloud.

I grew up on a farm outside of Fayetteville, NC before moving to Boston to complete my undergraduate degree. I moved to DC to earn my Master’s in Early Childhood Education, and I have been teaching here for 8 years! I love working with young learners, because children grow so much in their foundational years. Watching a child have a lightbulb moment is one of my greatest joys. When I'm not in the classroom, I love to read, travel, play scrabble, and spend time with my cat Roald (pronounced Roo-all)!

Spencer scrolled through the pictures of Ms. Y/L/N and her students. There were pictures in their “smocks,” which Spencer discovered were really just old t-shirts. There was one of her in the middle of some very animated story telling, and another of a field trip to the zoo. In each one, the smiles beamed out through the computer screen in a digital portrait of unbridled joy, contagious even over the waves of the internet. Smiling to himself, he clicked on the tab labeled Teaching Philosophy.

I believe that every child is an extraordinary and essential piece of our classroom puzzle. In order to nurture the unique individuality of each of my students, I work hard to make our classroom a safe, positive, and supportive community where students are given the space to express themselves. Our classroom culture is also one of kindness and creativity, where each individual is valued and celebrated for who they are!

Spencer swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat as he thought back on his own school career. While his teachers had always appreciated his intelligence, he honestly couldn’t recall a moment where he had felt valued for just… being himself. The majority of his time in school had been spent unsuccessfully fending off bullies, completing other students’ homework, or being gawked at like some sort of alien. He was grateful that Michael would hopefully never go through anything like what he’d experienced; at least not while Ms. Y/L/N was around.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he leaned back in the desk chair to pull it out. He swiped it open to read the incoming text.

JJ: So......... you like Ms. Y/L/N, huh? 😉😉😉

Spencer: What?! Did Will tell you that? I didn’t say that.

JJ: Some things you don’t have to say out loud, Spence.

———

Tags: @spacedikut

[magpiefngrl]

Book Recs Jan-Jun 2020

I’ve been reading voraciously these past six months (my Goodreads challenge says 68 books so far). Here are some memorable reads, grouped according to what you might be into.

I want queer romance please:

Brothers of the North Wild Sea by Harper Fox (m/m historical)

This book ruined me (in a good way). Or maybe it isn’t good that I’ll be carrying it inside my heart for ever and ever till the end of my days, my lip wobbling at the mere thought of it. A wonderful romance, a pairing I adored, gorgeous prose, a fascinating historical background (medieval times, north of England, Viking invasions). There’s a faint supernatural undercurrent that becomes more prominent at the very end. I sobbed through the last few pages with fear, with relief, with happiness. Highly, highly recced.

Bitter Springs by Laura Stone (m/m historical)

Every historical novel I’ve read is set in the UK, so the fact that this is a US historical book was fascinating to me. Two POC cowboys fall in love while seeking mustangs in the wilderness of Texas (?? idk where Del Rio is). It’s sweet and loving with a side-serving of jealousy when a former lover briefly appears on the scene; but mainly it’s two men getting to know each other and falling in love in the desert. I loved the horses too.

The Sins of Cities trilogy by KJ Charles. (3 books, 3 different couples, interconnected, m/m historical)

OK so the first book in the series didn’t do much for me. A pairing who loves to be domestic and sweet and to drink tea by the fire is cute... but I got bored. The second one, though... I think my eyes popped out of my head from the sheer heat of it. Justin Lazarus shot to the Top-5 of my fave characters of all time, and I’d willingly kill all of you for him, sorry that’s how it is. The trilogy is a murder mystery set in Victorian London, and unlike most romance series, you’ll need to read the books in order. Overall, this isn’t my fave series of KJC, but it was fun nonetheless, and it does have Justin in it so it’s worth a read.

Slippery Creatures by KJ Charles (m/m historical)

This one is amazing!!! This is KJC’s latest, first in a trilogy with the same pairing, which means the HEA is 2 books away (it doesn’t mean that this ends unhappy; another reader called it the WNDY ending -- We’re Not Done Yet). Boy, this is a scorcher. Set in the 1920s, it features spies, secret societies, murder, lies, kidnapping, grey characters with elastic morals: these are all catnip for me, and I inhaled this novel twice in a week. Highly recced for anyone into a gay historical romance, who loves a bit of pulp with their gay sex. The second installment is out next month.

The 13th Hex (novella) and Widdershins by Jordan L. Hawk (both m/m historical paranormal, but different universes)

I can’t say I’m enamoured by Hawk’s writing skills; in fact, I usually feel a tad let-down by the prose, mainly because the books have such potential. Hawk’s plotting is fantastic and his world-building fascinating and truly unique. I just love both of these worlds and their magic systems. Hot sex too. I don’t want to discourage people: I’m possibly just too fussy with prose. Hawk is super popular and you should give his books a shot. Widdershins is free! (In case it sways you: Hawk recently came out as a trans man.)

Unnatural by Joanna Chambers (m/m historical)

I read a few romances by Chambers lately, some less satisfying than others. This one is a standalone companion novel to her most popular series, called Enlightenment, set in Regency Britain. It’s a well-written fast read; a friends-to-lovers romance, with lots of tension and chemistry between the leads. As in all Chambers books that I’ve read so far, there’s lots of angst about one’s homosexuality (very era-appropriate) and lots of pull-and-push before it ends in a very HEA.

****

Do you have anything with fantasy and/or magic, my kind lady?

His Majesty’s Dragon by Naomi Novik (alternate history, Napoleonic wars with dragons)

Do you like dragons who talk and bond with honourable officers during times of war? Do you love soulmate bonds and sentiments such as: “I’ll do anything for you” and “You’re mine” but when it’s people, it makes you uncomfortable? Well, here former Naval officer Lawrence and his dragon Temeraire (and all dragons with their handlers) have this bond, and it’s the best thing ever. I’m in love with Temeraire, I shiver at the profound bond between Lawrence and his intelligent dragon, and I can’t wait to read the rest of the series by a beloved author (ahem).

The Dark Artifices by Cassandra Clare (YA urban fantasy)

I don’t hold the best opinion of Clare’s writing skills so I was pleasantly surprised when I read the first installment a few years back (Lady Midnight). I decided to reread it during quarantine, and then I moved on to the second one, Lord of Shadows. They’re both long novels, tightly-plotted, with several romances evolving on page.

I was excited to read the last one, A Queen of Air and Darkness, but alas! I didn’t love it. To start with, it’s 1000 pages long, and unlike books of that length that I’ve read, you feel it. The book drags. Everyone and their mother has a POV and a love story on page. There are no subplots, because they’re all Plots: all afforded equal space in the narrative, so there’s lots happening at the same time, but the story doesn’t feel like it’s moving forward with a good pace. As the end of the trilogy, Clare indulges in some of her fave elements, namely mentioning someone’s eye colour every three pages, or having every single person paired up by the end (something which bothers me a great deal). There are a few plot contrivances that ensure her main pairing conveniently gets their HEA. I confess I skimmed most of the last part of the book. I’m happy I read it and got to the end of the story, but I can’t say I was satisfied. If you’re looking for an undemanding, escapist fantasy, though, it’s the ticket: it certainly worked for me when I had quarantine brain.

This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amar El-Mochtar & Max Gladstone

Sci-fi, literary af, two time-travel agents from opposing Agencies bent on destroying each other, exchange letters and fall in love. I’m completely torn in half: half of the book (the prose, the imagination) left my jaw on the floor. The rest of it left me cold and indifferent. Wonderful prose, couldn’t get into the characters. Short and dense.

Swordspoint by Ellen Kushner

Queer fantasy novel that gives strong Dangerous Liaisons vibes. Written in 1987, one of the first fantasy novels to feature a society where same-sex is accepted. The writing is beautiful, the plot twisty. There’s no actual magic, but there are sword fights, courtroom drama, intrigue. Good fun if you like that kind of thing.

The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang

Adult fantasy. So far (I’m half-way through) it’s phenomenal. I’ve seen it recced everywhere and was so happy to see that Scribd offered it in my subscription. Set in a Chinese-inspired world, it features a vivid setting and memorable characters, and I’m loving it. I predict it’ll be my new fave. Do heed the content warnings (pretty much every CW you can think of applies); it’s quite dark as it progresses.

A bunch of novellas and short stories by Aliette de Bodard

This author came to my notice about a year ago. I’ve been following her on twitter ever since, but didn’t have the chance to read any of her work until I saw she had a bunch of stuff available on Scribd. I read a couple of sci-fi novellas set in a Vietnamese-inspired future; The Citadel of Weeping Pearls was my fave.

She’s also published a fantasy trilogy with fallen angels and magic set in a war-ravaged Paris, which sounds awesome. I haven’t read it, can’t afford to yet, but I did read two short stories set in that ‘verse and they were fabulous. The atmosphere, the setting, the premise, the Fallen of the Dominion universe just sounds like very much my thing. Here’s a link to some free stories they offer, if you want to check out her writing.

The Autobiography of a Traitor and a Half-Savage by Alix E. Harrow

I read a short story by Harrow several months ago and was blown away. I’ve rarely fell so fast and so deeply in love with an author. I haven’t read her debut yet, but I came across this short novella and she blew me away again. It’s a story set in the US, magical realism rather than fantasy imo, and it’s about colonialism and the land, and it’s so powerful. You can read it for free at Tor.com. Please do, it’s incredible.

******

[edwinmuch]

overachiever ✧ {zion}

summary: in which straight A student riley takes a break from her procrastinating to help pretty boy zion with more than just his homework

author’s note: @softhottie‘s submission for @temperaryheart‘s 700 follower challenge! literally posting on the last day but better late than never, right? (haven’t written for leisure in a while so fair warning)

prompt: prettymuch lyric (bolded)

warnings: mention of drugs, smut (oral, daddy kink, overstimulation, edging)

word count: 3.5k

No on-campus college experience is complete without the following things: sleepless coffee-driven nights, at least one blackout drunk party experience, and a casual hookup or two. Third year Sociology major Zion could definitely say he’s checked off all of the above (several times, he might add). He was especially well-versed in the collegiate sport of hooking up. In fact, he would probably be considered something of an MVP. He’s had his fair share of players in his game. But like with any sport, it takes strategy. There was a secret artform to finding the most opportune times for intimacy when in college. Shared rooms and thin walls don’t exactly allow for privacy, especially when the room in question is shared with a nosy Italian business major named Nick.

This is why Zion decided to make every second count when he discovered his best friend and roommate Nick would be out of their dorm room for a few hours. According to Nick, his abnormal psychology midterm was “going to be the death of him.” It was his last exam before finals week, and he knew he couldn’t afford to fail so he announced that he would be spending that entire Thursday evening in the library studying for it. Zion tried to hide his excitement at his friend’s departure.

“Damn bro, that sucks. Happy studying though,” he managed to utter on Nick’s way out, feigning concern.

When the door finally shut, it took him all of 30 seconds to dial up his favorite girl as of late: Riley Williams, this fiery Women’s and Gender Studies major who resided in his building on the floor above his. They had met in his 10AM sociology class about two and a half months ago. She was hard not to notice when her hand shot up for almost every question, portraying herself as someone who obviously reads over the required text after class. But unlike others, Zion actually paid more attention to her cute tendency to absentmindedly let her pen linger between her glossy lips when she found herself concentrating deeply and her seemingly never-ending collection of flattering outfits. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice the way her curves looked in one of her cropped cardigan and plaid mini skirt ensembles or the hypnotizing glint of her signature “B-A-B-Y” silver link necklace that adorned her collarbones so well. Despite her engagement in class and endearing mannerisms, she still came off as standoffish, working alone during paired in-class assignments and rolling her eyes at less than intelligent answers from other students in response to the professor’s questions. But, after the fourth lecture of her sitting in her unassigned assigned seat next to his, he decided to take a chance and strike up a conversation, relieved to be met with her dimpled, wide tooth smile; the rest was history.

He doesn’t really know how their current arrangement really came to be. It started off as occasional study sessions in Zion’s room since she obviously knew her material. Then, it had quickly become invitations to binge-watch Bojack Horseman, a show Riley prided herself on introducing to him, or to share a blunt with him and Nick at the end of a particularly stressful school week. But eventually, a few lines had blurred when an innocent smoke sesh (sans Nick) had a salacious end involving her on all fours and her clothes long discarded on his bedroom floor. With this new dynamic between them, he’s made a habit of calling or texting her when late night thoughts of her became too enticing to resist. He hadn’t been hitting her line lately though, the stress of studying for exams and completing assignments keeping them apart. But with midterm season coming to a close and Nick finally being out of his hair, the eager boy was aching to finally invite his favorite girl over once again.

“Hey Z. What’s up?” Riley answered on the second ring, the mellifluous sound of her voice already getting him worked up.

“Hey beautiful. So, Nick is out of the room for tonight,” Zion boasted, the smirk on his face apparent even through the phone.

She waited for him to continue, thinking there was more, but he never did.

“…Okay, and? What’s that gotta do with me? Why should I drop everything to help you get a nut? I’m in the middle of writing a paper, you know,” she replied as she flicked through Netflix titles. He didn’t need to know that her “paper writing” actually equated to television streaming. Her point still stands.

“Babyyy come on, stop playin’,” he whined, “You know, I’m never selfish. Besides, the post-nut clarity of an orgasm or two will help you focus on your paper. Just gimme an hour, please?”

“Ugh I don’t know.” Although the specificities of their current relationship (or situationship, rather) had never been fully discussed, Riley must admit his sweet delivery of “baby” really made her insides scramble. At this point, she was ready to be laid up in Zion’s bed (preferably under him), especially since she wasn’t actually doing anything productive anyway, but she was also ready to hear him beg for it.

“Please baby, it’s been weeks since I’ve had you to myself. I’ll make it worth your while. Nick’s probably gonna be gone most of the night too so when you show up, m’gonna put this time to use,” the insatiable boy persuaded, the seductive rasp of his voice prominent in his last few words.

“Welllll, when you put it like that,” she began, smiling to herself as she was almost able to hear Zion’s excitement through the phone, “I’ll be there in 20.”

~~~

Riley stepped off the elevator and trodded down the RA-decorated hallway in her pink fuzzy slides to Zion’s dorm room door where she placed a soft knock. She barely had time to collect herself before the door swung open revealing a shirtless Zion leaning against the doorframe, his platinum-dyed dreads braided back into two cornrows and his dark gray cotton sweatpants hanging low enough to reveal almost the entirety of his happy trail. He wasted no time pulling her into the room. She couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face at her observation of the atmosphere Zion had created for her. His Himalayan salt lamp lit the room up in a sensuous coral hue while Next Town Down’s Lovers Theme (Interlude) played in the background.

“Next Town Down, huh?” she teased with a quirk of her lips, knowing she put him on to the musical group.

Zion smiled down at her with a set of dimples to match her own. “Yeah I know you like them. Thought it might help put you in the mood,” he shrugged smugly with his devilish smile still present on his face.

“Oh please! I know you bump them when I’m not around,” she giggled, poking him in his chest as she made her point.

“Yeah whatever,” he chuckled, his hands falling to her hips. He slowly backed them up towards his plush loveseat in the corner of the room. Once the back of his calves touched the suede material of the couch, he plopped onto the cushion. Riley followed suit, climbing onto his lap with her knees digging into the cushion on either side of him and her freshly manicured hands finding their way wrapped behind his head.

Zion made sure the dainty girl was comfortable in his lap before his large hands snaked up her luscious thighs, rubbing her up and down before finding their place on her derrière with a squeeze.

“Mmm I missed you baby.”

“Oh really? How much?” she whispered in his ear, sending chills up his spine.

“Don’t worry, imma show you.” And with that, he started his determined campaign on her neck, kissing up the area of exposed flesh even going as far as to flick his tongue out as he reached her jawline. She pulled away for a moment to slip her cropped sweatshirt over her head, fluffing out the resultant curls of her day old twist out once it passed over her head. She was left with nothing covering her upper half as she had made the deliberate decision not to wear bra to come over.

She couldn’t contain the soft moans and content sighs that escaped her lips. As he sponged wet kisses to the sensitive spot under her earlobe and his nimble fingers worked her hardening nipples, she instinctively ground her hips into his for some added friction between them.

“Need these off you too ma,” Zion whispered, snapping the waistband of her sweat shorts. And with no hesitation she complied, getting up briefly to slide them down her supple legs. She silently thanked herself for her lingerie selection; the pink and navy blue lace of her panties graciously highlighted the warm bronze undertones of her golden brown skin as well as the generous curve of her ass.

She sunk back down onto his lap, hands carefully placed on his shoulders as she returned to grinding against Zion’s ever hardening member with a little more fervor. Before the boy could utter another word, Riley pressed her lips against his in a feverish kiss.

Zion reciprocated with the same amount of enthusiasm, accepting every sloppy collision of their tongues and sensuous bite of his bottom lip with a gratified squeeze of her thigh with one hand and a rub of her lower back with the other. She quickly began her descent down his neck. Nipping, licking, sucking from his jawline to his collarbone.

A lazy smile crept upon Zion’s face as a chuckle passed his lips. “For someone who ain’t even wanna come over here, you sure are eager, huh?”

“Shut up,” she smiled against his skin, “Listen, you promised me ‘an orgasm or two’ and I intend on getting it.”

“And I’m a man of my word baby girl.” And with that challenge, Zion hooked his strong hands under Riley’s thick thighs and hoisted her from the couch, allowing her to lock her legs around his torso. Without pulling their lips away from each other, Zion walked them to his extra large twin sized bed.

He lowered her onto the bed so that her legs dangled off the end. He slinked between her legs before dropping to his knees in front of her. Riley rose off the bed slightly to lean back on her elbows; she watched as he ran his soft hands up her awaiting thighs, never losing eye contact as he did so. His nimble fingers stopped at the elastic waistband of her panties. He smirked as he mentally took note of the ever-growing wet spot in its crotch area before deftly slipping the cloth barrier down her legs and onto the carpeted floor.

“Mmm so wet for me baby,” he wasted no time hooking her legs onto his shoulders.

“Just for you,” she breathed out as a shuddered moan while Zion left lingering kisses up her inner thigh until he reached her throbbing center. He hovered there for a bit, blowing lightly against her folds. She hissed at the sudden cold air hitting her soaking cunt.

“God Zion, do something,” she whined, absentmindedly pushing his head further toward the area she needed him most.

Her wish was his command as he kissed and sucked on her folds before dipping his tongue in between them to lick a stripe at her opening. He took this time to admire her and take note of how cute she looked laying there with her bottom lip drawn between her teeth. That’s when his eager tongue found her sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking figure eights into it before sucking.

“Ahh feels so good,” Riley moaned in a whisper, grabbing at his blond locs as he lapped at her bud. Her hips began instinctively lifting slightly off the mattress as she was nearing her peak. Zion’s large hands took hold of them to anchor her and continue his gluttonous feast.

It wasn’t long before she was met with the all too familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach as she gushed into Zion’s awaiting mouth. Her eyes screwed shut and her mouth fell open allowing a loud stream of obscenities to flow from it.

Once her thighs stopped trembling, Zion released their hold from around his neck and rose from his place on his knees. Riley backed up toward the headboard so her entire body could spread across the bed and she could watch Zion’s every move. In two swift motions, Zion’s sweats were removed from his body to reveal that he was wearing nothing else underneath. He crawled on top of her and placed a wet, needy kiss to her lips. He licked into her mouth sloppily, allowing her to taste herself on his tongue.  

“What next baby?” he uttered breathily between messy kisses. She placed her hand on his chest to signal for him to pull away for a moment. He complied looking down at her flushed face and swollen lips.

“Can I sit on it?” she said softly in the most innocent tone possible. The sight of her plump lips pulled into a pout and her doe eyes peering up at him through her cascading lashes were enough to make his dick twitch.

“Course baby,” he punctuated his confirmation with a kiss to her lips before climbing off of her and landing on his back. He laid comfortably against his pillow, waiting for her to make her next move.

Riley sat up and swung her leg over his body. She hovered over his length before Zion helped her sink down onto it. She winced at the initial stretch but released a satisfied sigh once she finally bottomed out.

After taking a moment to adjust to his size, she began to rock her hips back and forth. Once she found her rhythm, Zion got comfortable, hands clasped behind his head watching her titties bounce as she moved above him. She placed her palms on his chest to steady herself and give herself more leverage to bounce on him more quickly.

“Fuck Daddy, you feel so good,” she drawled out with each swivel of her hips. She praised herself internally at the coy slip of the pet name, knowing how much it riled him up during their last rendezvous. As she expected, the sweet phrase flicked a switch for the boy whose large hands found themselves grabbing at her sides hungrily. It was always a surprise to him when she was vulgar during sex as she was usually prim and proper in any other scenario, but his surprise was most certainly not a complaint.

“Say that shit again,” he growled, beginning to thrust up into her.

“You f-feel so good insi-ide me, Daddy,” she moaned, falling forward in response to a particularly forceful slap to her ass. Zion took this opportunity to capture one of her breasts in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around her erect little bud.

Riley began to fall apart above him, the sinful sound of their skin slapping against each other and the full feeling of him thrusting into her so deeply were taking their toll on her. She could barely form a coherent sentence through her incessant whimpers.

“So cl- close,” she stuttered, digging her nails into his shoulders as she prepared herself for a second orgasm, the buildup much more intense than the last. She loudly cried out a chant of “Yes daddy”s, uncontrollably clenching around him while he continued to rail into her from below. She rode out her high, the longest she’d had in a while. Before long, she fell forward onto her lover’s chest in exhaustion with a drawn-out exaggerated sigh.

Just as she was ready to roll off of him and call it a night, Zion reached up and grabbed her by the throat, whispering in her ear, “You ready for number 3 baby?”

Her eyes widened as she weakly replied, catching her breath, “You said one or two. I already came twice.”

With a mischievous smirk, Zion eyed her naked body with the same hunger he had when she first walked through the door. “Yeah well I also said I’d make it worth your while. What can I say? I’m an overachiever,” he chuckled darkly, easing her off of his length. She winced at the newfound emptiness.

“All fours for me baby,” he rasped, sitting up and allowing her to spread out on her hands and knees in front of him.

“Yes daddy,” she did as she was told. Her glistening core and the remarkable roundedness of her rump on full display. He palmed a large handful of her ass, earning a sharp inhale from her.

“So good for me baby,” Zion whispered, palming more of her flesh into his hand before winding it back for another good slap across her right buttcheek. She moaned loudly in response, falling forward on her elbows from the impact.

He lined himself up, teasing her entrance. The tickle of his squishy head rubbing against her opening was becoming unbearable as she was aching to be filled up for a second time. At the sound of Riley whimpering with her bottom lip caught between her teeth, Zion pushed into her slowly, egged on by her surprised gasp. Just as he was about to fill her to her hilt, he took a moment to admire how he seemed to fit inside her so perfectly, almost as if he was the sword to her sheath.

He started off slow to allow Riley to adjust and to ensure that he didn’t bust immediately. He’d been holding off from his release to make sure his girl had gotten multiple. So, needless to say, he was at risk of busting very soon.

His slow thrusts eventually stilled to a complete halt. Before she could open her mouth to complain, his hand came down to spank her bottom once again. He kneaded the area he just slapped as he grumbled to her, “Throw that shit back for me, mama.” And without skipping a beat, Riley began to rock herself back and forth, allowing her ass to crash against him continuously. The sound of her cheeks clapping against his front and her strangled moans at the feeling of getting herself off on him was like music to his ears.  

“Who’s making you feel this good baby?” Zion questioned with yet another smack to her rear.

“You daddy, only you,” she drawled on, speeding up slightly out of an eagerness to please him.

He was so blown away by her ability to take him so well. But he was not surprised when her movements eventually lost their rhythm, knowing she was probably close to her peak. So in an attempt to regain control, he roughly locked his hands at her hips before ramming into her at a relentless pace.

“Oh my god Zion!” she shouted, leaving her mouth hanging wide open. Her strained cries became louder with every snap of his hips.

If this assault on her insides wasn’t enough, not only did Zion dig his knees further into the sheets, allowing himself to lean back and pound into her at a deliciously pleasurable new angle, but he also skimmed his fingers down her front to ferociously rub circles into her pearl. The sensation was almost too much to bear, especially considering the two orgasms she already had under her belt. Her eyes flew shut as she hit her forearm against the bed repeatedly in a motion that most wrestlers would recognize as a “tap out.”

“Ah fuck, m’not gonna last daddy!” she screamed, legs beginning to quiver.

“Me either baby,” he grunted shortly before she pulsed around him so deliciously, milking him for every hot spurt he had in him.

They languidly rode out their climaxes together until Zion gently pulled out of Riley allowing them both to lay back against his satin pillowcases. She clung to his side nuzzling her face into his chest, appreciative of the post-orgasm high he provided her.

“Okay, ‘Mr. Overachiever’,” Riley sighed, still a bit out of breath as she looked up at him with her bright eyes and lazy smile.

“Mmm, I like the sound of that,” he hummed, smacking an obnoxious smooch to her cheek, “Where’s your phone? I’m changing my name in your contacts to that right now.”

He eyed her brightly colored, flower pressed phone case from across the room and attempted to climb off the bed to retrieve the girl’s smartphone from the couch where, until that moment, it had been forgotten.

“No, stoppp,” she giggled, slinging her leg across his torso and pushing his shoulders into the mattress before he could even make a move. He playfully grabbed at her waist, tickling her sides to try to overpower her. She squirmed under his grasp.

“Nah, I’m changing that shit. Maybe people will see it and think I’m tutoring you for once. Whatchu think?” he joked, his hearty laugh combining with her pleading giggles.

Their tickle fight continued until it devolved into a soft, comfortably silent cuddle between them, thoughts of paper deadlines or interfering roommates being long forgotten, and Zion wouldn’t have it any other way.

[lovelylogans]

are we ever getting dee’s backstory in the wyliwf verse? or actually are we ever getting more dee logan interactions?

alliance

“all warfare is based on deception. hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.” —sun tzu, the art of war

dee usually tries to subscribe to some of the life lessons in the art of war. he has no idea why, today, he has flubbed it this badly.

(or: dee accidentally spills a secret, and those sanders’ might not be as bad as he thought.)

part of the wyliwf verse.

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: deceit, snake mentions, mention of a fight, allusions to an unhappy home life, let me know if i’ve missed anything

pairings: logince, moxiety

words: 4,515

notes: thank you, anon! this references this ask i answered a while ago about dee’s backstory; not super necessary to read, since i cover a lot of it in here, but it does give some general background that might be nice going into the story. takes place after the black parade. happy birthday, deceit!

patton’s not usually home when logan gets back from school.

if paton did see logan right after a school day, it was usually because patton went to virgil’s for a mid-afternoon hot cocoa/coffee, or if logan walked from the bus stop to the inn. they don’t meet at home right after school.

today was different, though. because today, logan was bringing home his partner to do a project for the gsa.

logan had been kicking himself for not getting more involved as soon as he’d set foot at chilton. so, in the aftermath of the “I AM NOT DOING ENOUGH TO GET INTO COLLEGE” frantic list-making session of winter break, logan had joined a slew of clubs and activities; the cross-country team, with the intent of joining the track team in the fall, as long as it didn’t interfere with the newspaper, chilton’s book club, chilton’s quiz bowl team, the science club, photographing for the newspaper, when mel needed him to, backstage crew for the spring play, the debate team, and, of course, chilton’s gay/straight alliance.

that hadn’t been around, when patton went to chilton. patton likes to think that means that things are way better now—well, he knows things are a better now, there’s been so much progress since patton was a teenager—but, well. to patton, chilton’s always going to have that memory, to him. of being excised and bullied because he was trans.

but. anyway. logan’s part of the gsa now. logan’s bringing home a designated partner from the gsa, to help make some posters to put up around the school. so patton has some ulterior motives for being home right now. 

because, well, patton knows that logan’s mostly signed up for everything because it looks good on a college admission form, but. patton can’t help but think about logan’s not-super-hidden concern, the night before he’d started chilton—“what could he possibly be scared of? he’s the one staying at sideshire high. he’s always had other friends. he’ll probably make more friends now that i’m not going to be at school taking up all his time.”

and, well. involvement in things he’s interested in. which means other kids who are interested in the things he’s interested in. which means potential friends. 

with roman as the sole exception, logan’s always been slow to warm to people—he’s very particular about who he lets to be close to him. but once he does warm to them, he’s fiercely, intensely loyal, defensive, a good friend. a fantastic friend.

so maybe patton’s hovering a little to make sure that things go well for logan. sue him. but he can be a cool dad, that’ll help, right? he can offer snacks! and supplies for poster-making! and… and more snacks! 

so patton had been a whirlwind of activity, shoving most of the clutter out of sight so that the house looks slightly tidier, stacking outer layers on his coat rack that seems to wheeze under the pressure—patton practically has to tie things to it with his trans pride scarf, just to make sure that things wont fall down—and shoves dirty dishes in the dishwasher, out of sight, out of mind. he’ll wash them later.

he straightens up the bin of markers that he’d dug out of various desk drawers, and ensures that the glitter and glue are all grouped together, and that they’ve got pencils to sketch out a starting idea, because knowing logan, he’ll want to sketch out the idea first. 

he runs through the list of names that he’s heard logan mention as he straightens everything out—maybe it’ll be kai, logan had mentioned him and his interest in video games. or there had been a set of boyfriends the grade above him, corbin and… and sloane, wasn’t it, maybe it’d be one of them! or maybe someone that logan hasn’t mentioned. 

there’s the sound of a key at the door, and patton glances at his phone. right on time. he’d really expect nothing less, from logan, oh goD he should look like he’s being totally natural act natural patton!!!!!

so he quickly pivots and starts rattling around in the cupboards, and starts scooping coffee grounds into the coffee maker as he hears the door open, two thumps of backpacks hitting the ground, a mutter of “you can take your shoes off here” from logan.

“hey, kiddo!” patton calls, and a mumble of “my dad” from logan, and then the sound of two pairs of socked feet approaching.

“i wasn’t sure if you wanted some coffee too, so i figured i could ask you and your—“

he pivots, and the word “guest” dies on his tongue.

because, standing in yellow socks in the midst of his kitchen, with his strange, sneakily altered version of the chilton uniform, looking supremely uncomfortable, is dee slange.

the same dee slange that has been logan’s de-facto rival at chilton. the same dee slange that told logan he’d never catch up to the rest of his class. the same dee slange that goaded someone into hitting his son. that dee slange.

this is the worst outcome for “logan could be bringing home a potential friend!”

patton swallows, setting aside the scoop of coffee, and glances at logan.

“we were randomly assigned people to get to know them better, since it’s the start of the new semester,” logan says, a brusque explanation.

“right,” patton says. “okay. um. hi.”

“hi,” dee says, voice tight, tilting up his chin.

“do you want some coffee?” patton says stiffly.

a long pause. “sure.”

“right then,” patton says, and turns to the coffee machine.

dee slange. dee slange! god, it probably is a good thing that he’d decided to hover, because honestly if logan and dee had had to work alone patton probably would have come home to the house in shambles. 

but he has to be polite, patton tells himself. so patton wracks his brain for his (probably outdated) etiquette lessons, and, once he gets the coffee machine going, he turns, leaning back against the counter. 

“it is dee, right?” he checks. “i’d hate to be calling you something that you don’t particularly want to be called. is it short for something?”

“it’s dee,” he says. he doesn’t answer the other question. he’s busy glancing around the kitchen.

right, patton figures. time to move to the next small-talk topic.

“your grandmother’s friends with my mom,” patton tells dee. “evelyn, right? i always liked her.”

honestly, a lot of his mom’s friends had been a wild gamble, if he told them he was trans, and evelyn had probably taken it best out of all of them. that had been enough to earn his affection, even if evelyn’s general kindness hadn’t done that already.

dee’s dad, on the other hand… well, he’d been a flip side of that coin, but so had a lot of people, back then.

but dee smiles, ever so slightly, at the mention of his grandmother, so patton figures he hasn’t made any major social missteps. 

yet.

“yes,” dee says, refocusing from where his eyes had been briefly fixed somewhere beyond patton, back toward the entry hall. “she’s doing well. i’ll tell her you said hello.”

another long pause. patton clears his throat, tapping his fingers on the counter, before he says, “how was school?”

“fine,” logan says, with a slight grimace.

“there was that, um. the thing in latin today, right?” patton says. “the recitation thing? tempora cum causis Latium digesta per annum lapsaque sub terras… i can’t remember any more.” 

frankly, it’s a miracle he can’t. logan’s been reciting the first part of ovid’s fasti for the past week. he was pretty sure “scilicet arma magis quam sidera, Romule, noras, curaque finitimos vincere maior erat” would be running around in his head for a month, since logan had been chanting in his room like he was conducting some arcane ritual.    

logan scowls, a dark look flitting across his face even as he finished patton’s line, “ortaque signa canam. yeah, that was today.”

“and?” patton prompts. 

logan scowls. “he thought my pronunciation was over-rehearsed.”

“over-rehearsed?” patton says. “i mean—it would be, wouldn’t it? it’s not like you walk around and latin just casually tumbles out of your mouth.”

“precisely,” logan says.

“the man is an idiot,” dee says, brusque, turning his focus back again—patton didn’t think he’d done that bad of a job, tidying things up in there.

“i—well, now,” patton says, unsure of exactly how to step but he’s a dad it’s practically an instinct to instill manners, “don’t be mean.”

“no, he’s right,” logan says, looking at dee thoughtfully. “he is an idiot. he forgot to teach us the imperative verb tense and only remembered when all of us got it wrong on the imperative-centric quiz.”

dee rolls his eyes, the yellow one glinting. “i nearly forgot about that. my god, did the man get hired just because he plagiarized some old myths from percy jackson during the job interview?”

“those are greek,” logan says, “unless you’re referring to the later series.”

“my point,” dee says, “you cannot deny that charleston is a simpleton, look at the way he handled the moreno/watts situation.”

patton blinks. “what moreno/watts situation?”

logan also looks confused, but really the only way he can tell is because patton is his dad and knows when he’s covering up an emotion. well. most of the time. some of the time. more than most other people, let’s go with that one.

dee sighs, put-upon, before he says, “janey watts and sarah moreno were both taken to our esteemed headmaster’s office yesterday because mr. medina caught them about to claw each other’s eyes out in the alcove near the hidden rear staircase of the senior’s lounge. when attempting to discover what was wrong, mr. charleston’s first guess on what they were fighting about was that they were fighting over the same boy.”

logan allows his confusion to show. “but janey watts is a lesbian.”

“yes,” dee says, “and now you can see one of the many reasons why charleston is a simpleton.”

patton sighs. “well, charleston’s always been… a product of his time?” he says, and tries to elaborate. “you know, he backed up giving me a month of detention once because i refused to respond to my chosen name and pronouns.”

dee’s eyes darken. “bastard,” he spits out, filled with more venom than patton was expecting.

“hey, now,” patton says, even as startled as he is with… that. it’s not like dee and patton are particularly close, to warrant this level of defensiveness. well, patton guesses he’s in the gsa, so it makes sense that he’d be defensive of trans rights. “i could bust out the swear jar.”

“you’ve never had a swear jar,” logan says.

“i could start,” patton says. 

logan turns to dee. “i didn’t know you were friends with janey watts.”

“oh, i’m not,” dee says, and then, matter-of-fact, “she thinks i’m a slimy jerk with no morals and who would sell out his own grandmother if it meant getting further ahead.”

patton feels a little stab of hurt, the way he usually does whenever he hears someone talk bad about themselves.

“then how did you know what charleston said?” logan says, and hey, good point! but logan’s always been more observant than him.

“oh, please,” dee says. “logan, you’re a journalist, you should know that we all have our own sources.”

“in the headmaster’s office?”

dee shrugs. “to secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but theopportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.”

“sun tzu,” logan says. “art of war. you could do with the seem humble part.”

“but you’re already so filled with conceit,” dee says, and patton’s about to burst in with a hey now, but logan just shrugs.

“i know myself,” logan says.

“so you can win all battles?” dee says. “i didn’t know you read had an interest in ancient chinese literature.”

“mostly just that one,” logan says. “do you have an interest in ancient chinese literature?”

“mostly just that one,” dee parrots. “shall we get started?”

“may as well,” logan says.

“you kids want coffee while you do that?” patton says. “oh, and would you mind if i did my homework, too?”

“for your business degree,” dee surmises, and really, patton probably shouldn’t be surprised that he knows that, but he’s surprised anyway, darn it. “fine. it’s your house.” 

so patton pours everyone some coffee and sets out cream and sugar, since he doesn’t know how dee takes his coffee, before he gathers up his own homework and settles in, listening absentmindedly as the boys sort through various options that’s been offered to them.

dee, it turns out, milks and sweetens his coffee to a frankly absurd degree—patton wouldn’t be surprised if dee would be met with a few mouthfuls of sugar-sludge at the bottom of his mug—and picks his way through snacks, eating them so swiftly and unnoticeably that patton doesn’t realize it until he goes for a pretzel and realizes the bowl is near-empty.

“i don’t suppose you want to do the ‘how i knew i was gay’ one,” dee says briskly. they’ve sorted through most of the list—this is the last suggested poster theme option���and then they’ll narrow down their yeses.

“certainly not,” logan agrees. “there isn’t particularly much to tell, anyway. boys were always just… pretty.”

“one boy,” patton murmurs slyly, grinning down at his homework even as logan half-heartedly stamps on his foot.

“not much for me, either,” dee says. “girls always had cooties, and i always knew i was a boy, so—“

everyone at the table freezes. and then things start to click.

the altered, strange uniform, as if to say look here, look directly here and nowhere else—hadn’t patton practically lived in too-baggy chilton sweaters, to hide his chest and later his binder from anyone who could have possibly seen it?

dee’s continuous glances toward the entry hall—not just at the clutter, but at patton’s trans pride scarf on display.

dee was short, and patton had been too—patton hadn’t even been 5′3″ before he started t on a more consistent basis, after logan was born.

dee for short, and nothing else—an unusual name, but it wasn’t like he could throw any stones with a name like patton, could he?

dee’s face shuttering in too-great anger, at the news that charleston had given patton detention for sticking up for himself—because he’d had experience with that, maybe?

and then:

patton thinks, oh.

as he stares at dee’s yellow-gloved fingers, curling into fists, he thinks: you’re like me.

the lashing out at other people. the isolating himself. the particular taste in clothes. the new name. the upper-class society. the potential clashing with parents.

oh, oh, oh.

if it weren’t for how perfectly, perfectly still dee was, patton could almost believe that he came out on purpose.

“okay,” patton says, when he realizes it’s probably been a too-long pause. “hey, it’s okay. me too, you know? we won’t say anything if you don’t want us to.”

dee dips his head in a nod, tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

“right,” he says hollowly, before he clears his throat and tries for his usual, arrogant tone. “of course.”

“we won’t,” logan agrees, and frowns. “i’m your academic rival, not some asshole that would out you without your consent.”

it’s at that that dee relaxes, fists unclenching. he smooths his hands over the poster.

“right,” he says, and clears his throat. “fine, then.”

patton hesitates, before he says, tentatively, “your grandma was really cool about it, when i came out. back in the day.”

dee’s lip quirk up, and patton knows he’s said the right thing.

“yeah,” dee says. “i mean, i can’t really remember it, it was back when i got adopted—”

“you’re adopted?” patton asks.

dee gives him an almost patronizingly amused look, gesturing to his dark skin, the vitiligo on his cheek. “yes, that’s such a shock, i’m sure, because my parents definitely match my coloring.”

patton flushes. “well, i’ve never met your mom.”

dee mutters something like what a blessing for you, and patton feels a flare of worry that he can’t really expand upon before dee continues, “yes, i’m adopted, from haiti. i was… i don’t know. four, five. i can’t remember it very well. but grandmother’s… yeah. grandmother’s the best.”

it’s the most fond patton’s ever heard him sound, and, from the look on logan’s face, it might be for him, too.

“i might try and get coffee with her soon,” patton says, casual. “and if, you know. if you want advice about, um. this. just let me know. yeah?”

dee’s eyebrow quirks at him, and he gives him a look full of quintessential teenage amusement and, potentially, embarrassment.

patton can relate. he was the same, a lot of the time, whenever people offered advice or help when he first came to sideshire.

well. maybe he was less sassy about it.

“can we focus on the project?” logan says tiredly. 

“what, are you jealous you can’t contribute to the discussion about various nicknames for testosterone?” dee says.

patton grins. “the testoster-zone.”

“the t-party,” dee offers.

“ooh, good one,” patton says. “um—”

“can we please focus on the project?” logan says, more pointedly.

dee rolls his eyes, but turns back to his poster.

patton tries to focus on his homework, but he just can’t help it, and—

“anti-cis-tamines.”

“dad,” logan groans, and patton and dee share an amused glance, and—

well. maybe dee wasn’t the worst potential friend that logan could have brought over.

⁂

this place might as well be the twilight zone.

dee has his bowler hat on, and logan’s tall enough that they’re probably at a decent angle that he can’t tell that dee is looking around everywhere he can.

if only dee had managed to shake him off—but mr. sanders (”please, it’s patton, mr. sanders is my father!”) had insisted that either logan or patton walk dee back to the bus stop and, well, honestly, logan was the lesser of two evils.

not that mr. sanders is evil. he seems removed from that. too removed, if you get dee’s drift. no one could possibly be that deeply nice. there had to be something going on there. a ploy to get people to trust him, or something. the defenseless little puppy defense, or something. playing sweet and kind until it suits him.

even as he’s thinking this, something in his brain refuses to let it click into place. dee shakes it off. he’ll investigate later—whether it’s an opossum defense or a ploy or something—there’s too much to see here.

it’s like a group of tv set designers got together and thought, right, what are all the clichés of a tiny small town, added some overgrown ivy and picturesque worn red brick, and the entire place reeked of domesticity. he means, really, who even has a town center gazebo? dee’s seen flyers advertising for a twenty-four-hour dance-a-thon. for charity. “costumes and periodwear encouraged.” what kind of periodwear did one wear for a twenty-four-hour dance-a-thon?

the buildings have those twinkly lights all around it. the streetlights are wrought iron instead of the stark poles that are near the streets of his neighborhood. there is a community garden. there is a punnily named cat-themed store. 

seriously. what planet is this?

they get to the bus stop.

(also—the bus? what was this, the middle ages?)

“right, then,” dee says. “you’re bringing the posters tomorrow?”

logan nods his head in assent, hands stuck in his pockets. apparently, that’s not a clear enough hint, but his research shows that logan doesn’t respond very much to subtleties.

“you can go,” he adds, bluntly.

logan shakes his head. “i’m just going to go to the diner for dinner, anyway, and not being there means that my dad can get sappy with virgil without my bearing witness. and besides, my dad would kill me for leaving you here alone.” 

dee stares at him. “you do realize the likelihood of someone attacking me here is approximately on the same level as greedo being the one who shot first?”

logan blinks. “you’re a star wars fan?”

dee shrugs a shoulder, before he says, “more when i was a kid. i’ve got three snakes named—”

“rey, finn, and poe?” logan says, with a twist of his mouth.

“luke, leia, and han,” he corrects. “i said when i was a kid, sanders.”

“kid is an unclear term,” logan says. “for instance, i could argue that your viewpoint on the superior space western is childish, since the clearly superior space western franchise is—”

dee scoffs before he can finish his sentence. “of course you’re a trekkie.”

“so you admit it,” logan says, and dee rolls his eyes.

“i was just narrowing down the number of popular space westerns, spock.”

“i prefer data,” logan says. 

another pause, before:

“snakes?” logan asks.

“garters, all three,” dee says. he hesitates, before he says, “luke and han are trans.”

“i wondered,” logan says. “since snakes can often eat each other, but if all three snakes were, ah—“

“afab?” dee provides.

“right, yes.” logan says. “may i see?”

“i don’t have them on me,” dee says, before he says, “yeah, all right” and digs out his phone, swiping for the latest photo of his snakes.

it turns out to be the one of grandmother, amused, looking just enough off-camera that it’s clear it isn’t candid, wearing leia as a necklace, luke and han in her upraised hands. logan smiles at the photo. well, smiles as much as he’s capable of smiling. dee thinks that the whole i prefer data thing might be a cover-up for the fact that logan might actually be a robot.

“the checkered one is leia, the one with the yellow stripe is luke, and the one with the brown stripe is han.”

“nice,” logan says. “and that’s your grandmother?”

“yes,” dee confirms, tucking his phone away. 

“do you spend much time with her?” logan says.

“frequently,” dee says, and lies, “she lives closest to chilton, it just makes the most sense.”

well, the first part of that sentence isn’t a lie. it’s just that that isn’t the whole truth.

but partial truths are what he works best with, and he notes that logan nods, seeming to accept it as a whole truth, before his eyes turn elsewhere.

dee follows his gaze. 

the window’s lit, gleaming softly, a wide window that allows a view.

there’s a boy in there, alone. he’s shirtless, and wearing red leggings typical of a dancer. even at the distance they’re at, dee can see his muscles straining as he moves, graceful and limbs elongated as he reaches and spins, slowly, achingly slowly, everything so precise down the slightest twitch of his finger, and logan is staring, eyes gone soft and awed and sweet, and—

“didn’t realize i was boring you that much,” dee comments, even if he is a little relieved that logan’s attention is off the question of his home life and on his pretty dancer. “that’s the boytoy, isn’t it?”

logan looks at him, eyes sharpening. “roman’s my boyfriend.”

“right, right,” dee says, waving it off. he’s distracted, good. “so that’s still a thing, then?”

“yes,” logan says. “that’s still a ‘thing.’”

he doesn’t use airquotes, but it’s a near thing. it’s basically implied in his tone of voice.

“do you like him a lot?” dee asks.

“i love him,” logan says simply—as if it’s a fact, indisputable, absolute. 

dee nods, turning his attention back to the bus stop. it should be coming soon.

“are you going to tell him?” dee says abruptly and oh, now he’s done it, losing control of his mouth just once today isn’t enough, he really needs to make himself look like a fool, doesn’t he?

logan turns his attention more fully back to dee. “no.”

dee scoffs. “right.”

“i won’t,” logan says. “really. roman would understand, he’s—well, clearly he’s gay too, he understands the importance of coming out on your own terms.”

dee glowers at the ground, scuffing his shoe over the cement, before—

“my dad and i were effectively homeless until i turned six.”

dee pauses, and turns to look at logan.

logan isn’t looking at him. he’s got his hands clasped behind his back, still staring ahead, as if he’s keeping an eye out for the bus.

“my dad worked at the inn—he’s manager, now, but back then he was a housekeeper. he worked his way up. we could only afford to live in the poolhouse because the manager, maria, gave him a major cut on rent. i was bullied about it, when i was a child. my dad doesn’t know that.” a pause, and then, “my grandparents don’t know about the poolhouse, either. they thought we lived in the inn proper and got an apartment much sooner than we actually did. they’re paying for me to go to chilton. it comes with the condition of going to their house for weekly dinners.”

dee stares at him. “why would you tell me that?”

logan shrugs, and turns just his head to look at dee.

“i know you’re trans, you know where i lived and that i can’t afford schooling,” logan says simply. “if either of us feel tempted to let it slip…”

“then we know the other one has something in hand,” dee finishes slowly, not admiringly. “mutually assured destruction.”

it’s a sound strategy, really. logan takes the assumption that dee won’t listen to promises, and uses a shortcut. it’s a dangerous move, a gamble. not one he’d have expected, from logan. this day’s just full of surprises.

“precisely,” logan says. “for whatever reason, i don’t think you hold very strongly to the sense of the honor of giving someone your word.”

that last part is said in the closest tone to sarcastic that he thinks he’s ever heard logan use. 

“you’re right, i don’t,” dee says, and swallows. “homeless?”

“i didn’t really put the pieces together until i was older,” logan says. “it still doesn’t seem like it, to me. we were happy.”

dee wonders what that’s like.

“well,” logan says, peeking down the way. “i think i hear the bus coming. i’ll bring the posters tomorrow.”

“right,” dee says. “so. are you going to suggest we dissolve the academic rivalry, then?”

logan hums, and tilts his head. “you know, you’ve been my only real competition since i showed up at chilton.”

dee does not preen.

“we’re the only ones who’ve ever challenged each other. without this, we’ll get lazy.”

“i’ll achieve nothing, i’ll become my mother,” dee quips, and logan smiles, just a little.

“right,” logan says. “so.”

dee pauses, before he says, “allies?”

logan smiles. “allies.”

as the bus rolls up, logan offers his hand, and dee shakes it, once. logan knows full well that he doesn’t hold to the honor of giving someone their word, but it still feels like they’re making a deal, anyway.

so dee clambers onto the bus, and settles in a window seat.

and if he smiles and turns details over his head the whole drive back, well. it’s not like anyone will know.

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Summer’s Child-Chapter 9

Hi kids- it’s been a while- hope you are still with me. Here’s a 🎁 , Merry Christmas. Harry meets the Children Of Summer.

Fortunate Son

"I am not their son! I am His son! As you are his daughter." Mack looked around the crowd, his gaze a pointed finger, and Harry felt as though their eye contact was long, that it filled the pause in the impassioned speech the man with the piercing blue eyes made standing just above those listening. It wasn't, really. Still, Harry could feel the collectively held breath. 

They all felt like the preacher was looking at them.

"Those people, my earthly parents, they did not understand me, my generation, as your parents did not understand you. They did not not want me to be free. They had plans for me, of course.  Big plans, long plans, empty plans.  Plans full of flesh, and money, and traditions. But my real father, my brother, my spirit, he wanted me to be free. Of all those bonds, my brothers and sisters, we, the children of summer, offer you long days lived in the light and truth of the sun." He stopped then, and gestured to the sky, the grass, the trees, and the white clad ladies behind him. "We offer you love, unconditional for all and free."  He looked right at Harry, a basilik haze descended, riveted, before he realized Mack's gaze was actually focused on the small girl in front of him. "I offer you me, free and without judgment, if you would only offer me you!" He extended his hand and Harry saw the girl swoon and respond to the curl of fingers like a snake to the flute. Her hand looked tiny, and pale as it was covered by tan skin.

She stepped onto the podium, and Mack kissed her on the cheek, the eyes, and finally the lips. Her knees gave out and she was guided to the ladies behind the electrified eyes that held the crowd. It seemed to be the end of the service, like a wedding. Mack had picked a bride.

It was then that Harry was able to let his eyes go over the girls, the other girls, who had held Mack aloft, not been risen up. He'd nearly forgotten them in the last hour though they had been his immediate aim. It had been his plan to scope them out, all of the children of summer, see if Jillian was among them and ask about her, maybe, if the moment seemed right; show her picture.  Instead he had become one with the crowd and taken part in the service. The girls seemed most approachable before he'd been transfixed. Just a group of ladies laughing and moving about, setting up, with a few oddities. The same outfit for one, lack of shoes for two. Intricate flower crowns fit for the Tolkien he'd loved his dad to read to him.

So, the white ladies had seemed not normal, but approachable. Before their leader floated over them. Now, he was nervous to approach anybody, but he'd bet the girls were still a better bet.

Besides, Harry could see activity all around him. He needed to move now, before everything changed again. The couple on the stage seemed to be caught somewhere between praying and kissing, the guitar man was strumming a familiar Beatles tune, and the girls were passing something through their numbers to the newbies. It was a plate, a dinner one with a chipped blue rim. Filling with some speed from the out turned pockets of the flower children around him. When it passed, Harry took a scan of it's contents; crumpled dollar bills, three joints, and some paper squares.

Tabs of Acid; Harry had avoided that so far.

It was a magpie collection plate. It seemed people gave whatever they had, but everything they had. There were white triangle turned out of blue all around him.

There was a ruckus and Harry looked up from his observations to see Mack being lifted from the platform onto the ground and surrounded by the people who he had just enchanted. He'd spread his arms like a plane, the people had come beneath him, and he was swallowed by them. The handful of guys were taller than him, the girls on their tippy toes sometimes the same size. Mack went from person to person. The scene played out a bit like the Ed Sullivan show, except the screams were gasps and Mack did the touching, the recipients the fainting. The ladies at the back, the sun bearers, he guessed, were cleaning up the baby's breath they had thrown and counting the dollar bills, one tall blonde's head bent over the count. Each seemed busy at a task. Harry was also observing them, another sort of magpie collection. There were girls of all types. He saw one sneakily put a tab on her tongue after a furtive cast of eyes to her companions. They didn't catch it, but he did. She looked up and found him watching and yelped. Then checked to be sure no one heard her response.

She put her finger to her lips and Harry smiled. She was a very interesting looking girl, her hair was shockingly white. From behind, without her companions and in a slightly different outfit, a smart bob cut, she could be mistaken for a Nob Hill Maven, the white hair gray, but her face was decidedly childlike. Harry found himself smiling at her.  She smiled back and he decided to approach.

Maybe she knew Jillian, maybe she would answer if he asked her. He'd already silently agreed to keep her secret. Quid pro quo?

Three steps forward and the girls, who, he realized, were still singing about love stopped.  he was certain one stopped first and the others followed suit, but it happened so simultaneously it was like a conductor clapped his finger tips together. And then he was the eye of a hippie girl hurricane. But it felt more like a love puddle. Two flower bedecked girls hugged him and one, not his white haired friend, kissed his cheek.

"We're so glad you answered the call, lover!" one trilled.

"So glad! We need more brothers in love!" The voices were like a chorus, like their welcome was a song and they all had a verse. The chorus crescendoed  with the next voice. It was throaty, but pleasant, a rasp rather than a croak.

It issued from an altogether pleasant place as well.

"We need more guys, that's for sure!" She said with authority.

Harry hadn't seen her before she spoke, she must have been behind somebody, though her height made her hard to miss. Not to mention, she was a knock out with a smile that warmed, but eyes like a flame's center.

Harry wondered why she hadn't done the preaching, until he noticed the large group of young ladies around Mack and the guitarist. Also, the girls in white had spread out, each one already in conversation with the men who had been in attendance. He hadn't seen a signal, they'd been near him a moment ago, but there must have been one. They'd moved like wildfire. Nearly everyone who'd been at the service had stayed. As well as a few who had wandered in. Mack drew in the girls, but the girls drew in the boys.

Like him.

"So, guy, are you what we need?" The tall blonde leveled him a look and a wry grin.

'Yes' was on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back. He would be what he needed. Except, he was after something himself. The old Harry would have jumped to please, to answer. Instead, he shrugged. His time in California had taught him a bit about cautious openness. He didn't want to appear too eager, even if there was a warm burn in his stomach that told him his girl was nearby, adjacent.

But he'd be turned away if he started asking about her specifically. He just knew it. They had all responded to his approach like a school of fish to feeding time. He was both the catch and the fisherman. The bait here was the girls. None more so than the beauty. More step, his hunch turned surety that Jilly was involved with this hippie church was what hooked through his cheek. He did think it off that she wasn't out among the girls smiling up at some attendee. She'd be a great lure, like his conversation partner.

She, whatever her name was, didn't offer when he let the air stay open and inclined his head. Harry shrugged, "I don't know." Then popped the dimples the girl at Woodstock went on about, "what are you looking for?"

She handed him the podium, a solid wooden box decorated with flowers on the outside and words in trailing phrases on the inside like incantations. The words bits of scripture. "A strong man!" She laughed and walked ahead with him following. He wasn't sure where they were headed, but the wooden box was being filled slowly with things, but his companion. It was heavy to start, but as their first meandering path continued to a destination unknown, it felt leaden.

Finally, they reached a truck, just as a bead of sweat fell from his brow onto the flower garlands on top. He could feel his shirt was damp around the collar, and he could smell himself.

"Here!" The tall blonde motioned and he saw her muscles flex, she must have made this heavy box trek herself a time or two. She took it with the ease of heavy work and hoisted it with a small grunt into the back of the truck. He felt better that it was at least a little heavy. "So, I wasn't kidding." He could hear some broadness in her vowels, like she was from a place with lots of lakes, "We need strong men, people really." She placed a familiar hand on his bicep. "You look strong," she squeezed like his arm was an egg about to be cracked. He felt it in his toes.

His voice came out a little like sunrise, slow and warm. "When do you need them?"

"Anytime really." Her hand was still on his arm. "Right now?" Her lashes briefly touched her cheek, then the blue of her eyes deepened. Whoa.

Right now?  That sounded just right. His classes started Monday. It was Saturday morning. He had all day, maybe tomorrow too. He could swing it. He'd hitch back to the city and take a ferry if he had to. He tried to remember the schedule on Sundays. Shorter, because of the lord thing, but long enough to understand the fact people went into the city on the weekend. Harry was sure he could swing it, he wanted too. He wanted to see these eyes after a slow blink again.

He didn't want to look to eager, to green, though. "I dunno. My classes start Monday. I have to get back for that."

"That's easy, Memphis can give you a ride back whenever you need, no worries there. Plus, There's a bonfire tonight. It's a great time. And you really get to see what our fellowship is all about." She did that thing again, more obviously, what he could only call batting her lashes at him, like Bette Davis.

"What are you all about?" Where did he find words?

"Love." She said, then ducked her chin. She had dimples.  Her grin had been feline up to now, it was lovely when it turned girlish.

Love? That was a big topic. What kind of love? He was just about to ask when he heard the chant again over his shoulder. The other girls were coming. And Memphis, he assumed that was the other guy, was carrying the dais.  Mack was in the back, surrounded by 5 girls. Harry knew they were also newbies, they weren't in flower crowns, though one wore a convenient white dress. She wouldn't even need a new outfit for the next week's services.

He wondered if she planned it?

Susie had said this happened weekly. Maybe she was trying to get noticed. She was small and plain. Mack was all but ignoring her, but she had a hand on his shoulder like he was towing her to shore.

The girls under either arm were beautiful, and opposite, a tall dark-haired, fair eyed girl with sun kissed skin and the tiny girl from the kiss. Harry could easily imagine her in a tutu. She had sun yellow hair and huge brown eyes.

The other ladies were somewhere in between these two axis in hue and attractiveness.

He'd not realized how close the guitar guy was until the dais bumped his shoulder.

"Who's this?" Memphis said, putting the cot like apparatus in the bed of the rusty truck.

She threw an arm around his shoulders, and Harry nearly jumped. She did it easily. She must have been close to six foot. He still marveled at how he missed her. "This is a new lover, Memphis. He's coming back with us for the weekend, so we can get to know each other." The emphasis on know was noticeable even in her dry delivery.

"You check that with Mack?" Memphis casually pulled out a home rolled cigarette. Harry wasn't sure what the stuffing was. He smelled tobacco a minute later though.

"We are supposed to invite people to join us right? That's the point of the long drive into the city."

"It's a long drive?" Harry found himself asking.

"Not really, but the road to the ranch is dirt. Takes a while. It's not many miles, but it can take an hour to get there. It rained yesterday, so, today it took longer." She was softer with him than Memphis, more song in her voice than bite.

It had rained? Harry didn't really think about rain here. Maybe fog. But it seemed to be sunny all the time, compared to home. He liked it was always summer, at least in California.

"You should ask, Mack."

Her jaw tightened slightly, "Yeah, let me go see if I can get his attention at all." She looked over her shoulder. "He looks.....busy." Her eyes rolled.

Harry couldn't imagine she'd have trouble getting attention.

Memphis stepped in front of him, and handed him a cigarette. Harry didn't smoke. Not tobacco.

"You cool, man." A test.

"Yeah man." Harry kept the cigarette, and didn't fully inhale the smoke, just held it in his mouth and blew out. It tasted a little better than it smelled. A very little. Memphis looked over his shoulder at the tall blonde headed their way. Harry caught a glimpse of her hard face before it went blank, but she nodded.

The beginning of the journey, the part where he wound up in the truck bed, was a blur. Harry's heart beat triple time on the first third of the drive, over the Golden Gate Bridge. Wow, he marveled, this was high. He wondered if he was scared of heights, or another dead end.

Memphis drove, though Mack still seemed to be at the helm. The tall brown haired girl from the park was wedged between them in the front under Mack's arm.  The little blonde wound up beside him, pouting. On his other side was the white haired girl. She'd leaned against him without a word, and began singing along with another girl across from them. The same nonsensical phrases set to tune. He still hadn't made them out. They petered out after a bit without when nobody joined them.

She, the tall blonde, Sara, he thought Memphis called her, she seemed to be running the show, with verve and quiet here in the back of the truck. The rest of the girls were strangely silent and seemingly detached until she started the tune. Everybody joined now. The white hair beside him most happily. He assumed from the tab, she watched the clouds while she sang. Oh! It was the Beatles. An eerie rendition of All You Need is Love, he had nearly picked up at the park. He was sure he would have missed it. He'd just about been sure, though he'd have missed it, had Jillian not been obsessed with that record. He knew it backwards and forwards, and them singing it their way made him feel sure again he was on the right path to Jillian. Though, their way was strange.

It wasn't just that the trumpets were absent, it was the mood, the emphasis. The cadence was the difference he decided. It was almost a chant, melodious and high, trance-like. His lips moved of their own accord, though his voice didn't join. The girl next to him though, the new blonde from the park had picked it up quickly and was swaying along.

The voices stayed strong, didn't falter over bumps in the road. Only the white haired girl went in and out. He glanced over to see why; she'd been humming before the singing even started. She was rolling joints. She must have felt his eyes, because she looked up and handed him the slim white cylinder and a lighter.

"You get first toke!" She chorused and hugged his arm while he lit up. He took the two puffs he'd learned in Bethel, and passed.

He remembered the joint making its rounds, sort of, but they seemed to happen faster than expected. The jolts from the dirt road smoothed, though the height looked more impressive. Harry realized the truck had slowed.

The truck cleared a curve on the giant dirt mound, the hill, they were on the side of and his view cleared.

Harry wasn't sure what he had been expecting. They kept calling it a ranch, and the only context he had for that was westerns. He supposed that explained his disappointment.

It was not a big open plain with a barn and cattle roaming. It reminded him more of a campsite, or summer camp. There were certainly more trees than he had been amongst in California.  There were buildings, one was a long single story structure somewhere between a motel and a stable. He liked that all the windows were open and that people were hanging out of them.

They were chatting with the people in tents, which was what most of the structures were. People sat on blankets outside. Nearly everyone sitting was dressed in white. Those that were going and coming seemed to be in drab outfits of khaki and brown. Even so, the marks of work covered them. The people in white seemed to be lazing, the others working. Harry wondered how that was picked. How did one get graduated to leisure, to wearing white.

The girls around him tumbled out of the back of the truck like water over a fall. Harry, though he had been dead center, was the last one to have his boots follow them to the ground. He created dust in a way their barefeet didn't. The women converged on the people lounging and wove into the group to where only the standouts were apparent. His white haired friend, the new blonde, and Sara, the only woman with a name.

He also saw the knockout brunette. She was still tucked under Mack's arm, going into the adobe house in the center.  He wasn't the only one watching them he noticed. It was confirmed a moment later.

An arm pressed to his, and the blonde tresses that blew in front of his eyes stopped his heart for but a moment. They weren't right, they were curly, wild. Electric, but because of who they were attached to not his attachment to her. Those curls were Sara.

She was also watching Mack and his, friend, going into the room. The door slammed and a giggle sounded. Sara sighed.

"Cmon, Harry, I'll show you where you can stay."

He followed without protest and found himself in a canteen. She handed him a bowl of bean soup, with some grass looking folliage on top and the green goop he'd encountered at a cafe in San Francisco. Everybody there ate it like maniacs, but Harry was still getting used to it. He liked the taste, but the texture had yet to grow on him.

He was missing his Da's pies by now.

Harry realized just how far from home he was when they entered the low slung cabin building. It was the closest to the adobe building and he realized, as he came in, that there was no door, just a frame. That was the only opening in the structure, as it lacked windows.

The beds were bunks, and Harry had a flash to the Camp Kikiwaka, he had spent 3 miserable weeks  there. His dad had taken a look at his face at parent's weekend and taken Harry home.

The planks of wood were home hewn, still rough, but an effort had been made to sand them out and make them smooth so no splinters would disturb sleep or need to be pulled in the mornings. The bedding was a hodge-podge of colors and fabrics sewn together into a quilt, each one shabbily unique, like someone had taken their old castoffs before they'd suited up in white and made their bed to lie in. Except this room was empty at the moment.

"Am I the only one here?" He didn't really want to be alone, it seemed the opposite of this place.

"No, the blonde girl, damn what was her name," Sara muttered. "Linda, she'll be in here with you tonight. Well, maybe? There is a bonfire." she shrugged like that explained something.

Sara was wry and compelling, but when she said bonfire, her eyes lit up and she looked engaged in a way Harry hadn't observed in the entire day, her insouciance slipping.

"What's a bonfire?" Harry could see flames after a football game in October. It was popular at his school, and he'd been to a couple. Sara's face said it was more exciting than those, but all Harry's imagination could conjure was heat and a pleasant smoky smell from afar, the compounds unspent mixing with O2 and CO2, floating on the air.

She seemed like the type of girl who could be the queen of the high school bonfires, but was unimpressed by it, or snarkily detached, at her own party away from the pedestrian fun. The prom queen but cooler.

This bonfire must be something else.

"It's like, a party!" She raised her shoulders high and smiled gayly. "But better. It's after service and we all commune together and celebrate love, man. It's what the Children of Summer are all about." She stepped forward then and took his hand. He was so shocked, he almost pulled it back. It had been awhile since someone touched him intentionally, not casually. He let her hand linger. He was catching her excitement through the contact, or making his own. He liked being touched on purpose. He loved her hair, and that she was as tall as him. He could look her right in the eye.

He had just started thinking about how easy it would be to kiss her when she released him. "I'll have to ask Mack if you can come. When he's...." she bit her lip. "Done.  But usually, the catch are guests of honor."

"Catch?" He didn't feel like he had a hook in his mouth, though he'd imagined the girls fish earlier, now that she had taken her hand away.

"Oh, sorry." She rolled her eyes to the heavens. "You guys aren't supposed to know we call you that until you get baptized. But I have a good," she smiled,"feeling about you."  Her hand came to his bicep and she squeezed while looking him straight in the eye.

He totally smoothed over the baptism. Forgot it for a second and his purpose in being there. Her eyes were really pretty, and the well of blue was inviting enough to jump head first into. "Um," he fumbled and the 4 months of courage and confidence he'd found deserted him. He was back to the virgin boy around a pretty girl who made his dick do stupid things. He shrunk out of her hand and slumped his shoulders.

"You alright?" She chuckled and her smile had degrees.

That was such a thing his Da would say, he felt his memories play across his lips, it just may have looked like a smile. Sara was smiling. It made his widen. "Yeah, yeah, I'm alright," he realized her hand on his arm had dropped, but their fingers had laced together. He untangled them, took a step or two back, he wasn't sure when they started sharing air, but kept the warmth on his face. "I'm," he was surprised, he felt a way he wasn't sure he had in a while "Happy?"

Sara laughed, "You sure? You look a little, well, you look high. The grass got you paranoid man?"

"Yeah, thank you, for talking to me, for bringing me, for..." wow, he felt tears well. He supposed he'd really only had one or two human connections since he'd left home. He felt really emotional, like he'd arrived. But he wasn't sure what his destinations was, but the engine had cut and he was here.

What was he looking for again?

Sara?

No, no, Sara was beautiful, but he'd taken this free ride for Jillian. They were alone, could he ask?

As open as he felt, as finished, warm, he still heard a voice say no. Instead, "Does everybody get to go to the bonfire?" He didn't think so, she said something about asking Mack. And she'd had to ask Mack to bring him. She was straightening the ragamuffin bedding on the bottom bunk, he supposed that one was his. It was a quilt, but not one. The fleece of a jacket and the stray button off a jacket on its surface.

"Hmm?" She turned to him and he was a little enchanted again. "Oh, yeah, usually, if they're in good standing, or make confession or whatever." She said it like it made sense. But it didn't to him. "Most people will be there. Maybe not Teegan, Mack's done with her—"

"Who's Teegan?" He blurted and sat heavily on the low bunk.e could feel blankets stuffed into each other to make a mattress.

"Oh, you sat with her on the drive. White hair. She's in the doghouse, she never catches anything. 'Cept you I guess. I'll tell Mack that, he'll be in a good mood soon. And Pam and Jill, they are on an expedition. If they have tight lines, they'll come back with some other dudes, maybe their old ladies." She was talking to herself, or like he understood. His understanding had stopped at Jilly.  "That's how we grow the family. Anyway, you can relax. I'll bring you round for dinner. Service is for family, but I'll come get you for the fun after."

"Um, ok." He wasn't sure what to do with himself, the 2 pm sun was still high, and he wasn't tired. "Are there any books?" He didn't really wanna be alone with his thoughts, they got scary or scared lately, and he liked how he felt with her, the welcome.

"Well, not really, some bibles and Mack's midrash, but those are in his library, you have to get them from him." She looked at Harry and her eyes twinkled. "Can you keep a secret?" She stopped short. "What's your name man?"

Could he? He had been all day, his search. And his name, "my name is Harry, and yeah, I can keep a secret."

She raised her eyebrows and dug through the patchwork bag hanging alongside her body. "Keep it hidden?" It's a book he'd seen a lot in the Haight. In windows and hands. It had wings all over the front.

"Yeah!" He was already opening the pages.

"See you at the bonfire." He hadn't realized she was almost gone, she was a whisper when she called back. "Oh, and, Harry, you won't need your clothes."

What?

[disinvited-guest]

3/8/2020 Detriot

This show had some wonderful waiting!  The weather was warm, and we never ran out of things to talk about.  At one point, we saw an older man come out to the front of the venue and attempt to take a picture of the marquee.  I didn’t think much of it at the time, but a few minutes after he left, Marty came out to the front of the venue, and crossed to the median of the street in order to take a picture of the marquee.  Later, I saw the man with the woman who’d been with Marty, so I’m guessing they were both relatives of his.  

The venue let us into the bar hours before doors, even checking ids and checking tickets ahead of time, so that when doors did open, we could go straight in.  this all worked wonderfully, although the guy checking ids was pretty insistent that mine was fake.  He asked me to tell him the address on the card, then for my license number, which I didn’t have any idea about.  He eventually scanned the card and let me in, but it was really stressful.

Being in the bar so early, we were able to hear soundcheck, although there was nothing surprising except a bit of With the Dark, which they didn’t end up playing at the show.  Once we got into the venue proper, we found ourselves along a security fence placed quite a ways from the stage, creating an aisle where security guards crossed continually throughout the show.  I found a space further to stage right than I usually do, hoping it would allow me to see across to the drum riser, even with the added distance, which unfortunately didn’t quite work.  It was a good angle to see most of the rest of the stage though.  Fresh didn’t have interesting socks on, but he did have his hair in pigtails and under a ballcap, which he later switched for an orange bandana, and John Brunette was wearing glasses before the show started.

Since the first set was the same Flood set as before , I am once again shortening the format for this set, and doing a full recap on the second set.

Marty had a snack during the first few songs of the set, which he had been doing for the last few shows, but at this show Danny was eating a bit as well.  He also put his pick in between the body and inlay of his bass to hold it while he ate.

There was a longer break-down during the instrumental part of They Might Be Giants than on the album, or than there had been the last few nights.

After messing up on We Want A Rock, Flans jokingly called a “band meeting” to discuss it, before greeting the audience and explaining the format of the show.  “The first set is all Flood, the second set has hardly any Flood.  Which will be better?” He then decided he wouldn’t be able to choose between the sets because “The sets are like our children.  They’re all NEGLECTED!”

There was a bit of an awkward pause after that pronouncement, causing Flans to joke “next slide please”  which he reused a few times throughout the show.  He then promised us that this show had no teleprompter, and told us about a show he had seen that used one “It was bad, but that didn't make the tickets any less expensive.”  Moving on, he asked Linnell “What did you- Did you get out today?”

Linnell explained that he had mostly slept, “We had a long day yesterday and a long trip here today,” and that everyone had been tired “I think we all lost consciousness at some point.”

Flans agreed, and demonstrated what it was like sleeping in a public place, his head leaned back and his mouth wide open, which both the audience and the guys onstage found hilarious.

Linnell then jumped in to assure us all that “We’re not completely straight-laced, but we’re not heroin addicts.”

Flans replied that there were only so many times you could deny that, saying he felt that “Saying you’re not a heroin addict is the sole domain of heroin addicts.”

Flans started out one verse of Your Racist Friend in a weird voice, but quickly realized it was unsustainable and dropped it a line in.  During Hearing Aid, Dan sang along with the keyboard (which was using the voice setting) briefly.

Before Stilloob Flans introduced the song by explaining that “Lots of bands like to look back, but very few actually look backwards.”  He explained what they were going to do, and attempted to ‘justify’ why they were doing it “When preparing we were looking for ways to make it interesting.  Not just for the audience but for us.”

Linnell chimed in to say that it took a lot to prepare for this song, and it takes a lot to perform it “and we’re making it look hard.”  He told us it wasn’t just musically difficult and compared it to eating a whole package of double stuf oreos, and how it seems like a really good idea.

Flans broke in, asking Linnell if he was”referring to the dedication it takes?”

“Yes!”  Linnell answered, “The dedication, the GUTS!”

After Letterbox, Flans commented that the songs just keep getting shorter.  The Johns then had a conversation about Harry Houdini.  They had heard he was from Detroit, and asked the crowd for confirmation.  The response was a bit ambivalent, with no clear cheer of yes like they were perhaps expecting.  Eventually, peering out at the crowd, Flans said ”Some people are nodding. They're just nodding yes.  He was from Detroit.”

A guy in the crowd shouted back at him “He’s still here!”

“He’s still here? Yes, he is still here,” Flans decided.  Linnell then asked us if we had felt that, implying the presence of Houdini’s ghost.  The lights did flicker the slightest bit when he said that, I’m guessing someone in the crew was being clever.

After Lucky Ball and Chain, Flans told us that on the album, that song had a fade out and that “Not many of our songs do.”  He added that he wasn’t sure why, but that they were “probably tied with acdc for the fewest songs with a fade out.”

This reminded him of a supercut he had heard of ACDC endings, which he explained to us by demonstrating a few on his guitar.  There was scattered applause and a sheepish Flans said quietly “That was three of them.” 

Linnell chimed in, to demonstrate a few ACDC endings he thought were probably there, first yelling “Ehhhh!” and then “Yeah!” into his mic.  The two then did one more ending together, with Flans adding his guitar to Linnell’s vocals.

An obviously amused Linnell told us to “Look for this on our next album,” with Flans adding that it would be called ‘Supercut.’

After the cheers and laughter died down, there was a beat, then Flans admitted “I don’t know what song is next.”

Rather than telling him, Linnell decided to give Flans hints, starting with the hilariously unhelpful “It’s off of Flood.”  Which earned him a laugh from the crowd and a harried look from Flans.  “I play a buzzer at the beginning of it,” Linnell continued.  Flans still was confused, so he went to check his own copy of the setlist.  While he was looking Linnell pointed out that a person in the crowd knew what they were playing next, because they had shouted it out.  He pointed over in the general direction of the person, a few rows back from the drum riser, and they shouted it out again.  Flans, returning to his mic, looked over and proclaimed “Oh look! It’s Mrs. Shut Up from shutthefuckup dot com! It’s good to see you, you don’t get out much.”  There was a moment of shocked silence, and I think even Flans was a bit taken aback, because he tried to soften the blow, saying something about a talkative crowd.

They started Hot Cha, but Flans came in a little late, which meant it was just Linnell singing for the first line or so.  Also, I keep forgetting to mention, Marty uses brushes for this song, which looks and sounds really neat.

Towards the end of the set, Linnell mentioned that they were still recovering from the travel and from the time change.  (Since they had moved from central to eastern time, it felt two hours earlier than it was.) He joked that he expected their dopplegangers to show up for the show in an hour. “Whooaaa!”

Flans chimed in to point out “Houdini did live here.”

They finished out the set before leaving us for a “20 minute break that lasts an hour.”  The crew got things set up for the Quiet Storm with no incidents, and it was soon time for the second set.

Godzilla was used for the intro music once again, and though Flans did a bit of his ‘creeping-onstage’ act from Chicago, he soon gave it up to bring his acoustic guitar over for Marty’s inspection.  The two looked at the guitar intensely for a few moments before Flans pointed to a specific spot on the body of the guitar, which Marty inspected briefly. 

Coming up to his mic, Flans mentioned jokingly that the line to the restroom had been short before they started into Music Jail.  During the instrumental bit after the ‘form a band/take a stand’ part of the song, Flans moved closer to Marty, who turned and used his mallets to play the drum part on the body of Flans’ guitar!  On top of being wildly interesting, it also sounded really cool!

Afterwards, Flans admitted “Marty and I have not done that move before in a public forum.”  And pointed out a guitar owner in the crowd who had looked pained at the guitar’s treatment.

Linnell decided that maybe he was a mallet owner, suggesting that he was really thinking they were “Wreaking those mallets man!” which cracked Marty up.

Marty counted off for the next song and both Johns were ready, but Marty was not and stopped them abruptly.  Looking over, Flans told Marty “I was there!” and Marty gestured towards himself, taking responsibility for the issue.  I think he had forgotten to change a setting on his kit, because he messed with it for a moment, then counted them off again to start 2082.

The projection the band uses during this part of the show includes lightning flashes.  This upset the security guards, who had told us all before the show that we couldn’t use flash-photography, and thought that someone was taking flash photos.  They actually came down the aisle to tell random people taking pictures to turn off their flash.

Flans introduced the next song, Wicked Little Critta, as “hostile and actively aggressive,” dedicating it to their friends and relations in New England.  Linnell claimed that they were deeply affectionate AND hostile, and that they could only express that affection with “mean feelings.”

Linnell flubbed a few lyrics during once verse of Wicked Little Critta, although he recovered quickly.  Finishing the song, they left the stage to the Underwater Woman video once again.  I’ll admit, I was a little tired of the video by this point.

They came back on stage part way through the last verse, and the crowd held off on cheering until the video was over.  This meant they stood onstage in silence for a few moments, which was very strange.  

Linnell acknowledged the cheers, when they did come, with the observation “We’re back again! We keep coming back!”  They played Wearing a Raincoat, during which Flans must have made a mistake, because afterwards, Linnell said the song had used a “new introduction” and that from now on they were going to do it like that.

Flans told him “I’m yelling at myself so hard right now.”  Linnell assured him that he had thought it was cool, but Flans just said “We’ll talk about it after the show.”

Moving on to introducing the next song, Flans told us it was from an album end of 2018 called My Murdered Remains “We did a lot of test-marketing on the title, and it turns out people are into hyper-violence.”

Linnell chimed in to say they had tested the title on “psychopathic focus-groups,”  then used a deep voice to imitate them saying “Yeah! Good name!”

“We went to a screening of Clockwork Orange,”  Flans decided, “and asked the audience afterward... what they thought would be a good name.  And they just blinked three times for ‘Yes!’”

This led, of course, into The Communists Have the Music, followed immediately by Let Me Tell You About My Operation, during which Danny came up beside the keyboard to watch Linnell play.  When Linnell caught him looking, he gave him a big smile.

Flans and Danny stood right next to each other for the intro to Older, which always looks incredibly cool with the symmetry of their instruments.  During the bridge, Dan climbed up onto the rather tall drum riser to stand behind Marty and to pose dramatically during the pauses, often with the neck of his guitar pointing up and across the stage.  This went perfectly with Marty’s super serious poses.  Linnell did a cool bit on his Kaoss pad during the bridge as well.

From there, they played the Mesopotamians, after which Linnell brought up his new keyboard stand.  He told us how long he’d had the old one and that he had started getting complaints and that he had “never felt wrong or bad until then.” He also told us the new one was a lot like the old one but it “has more stuff.”

“It has a sandwich,” Flans confided.

“There’s my math homework, but there’s also my lunch,” Linnell told us, adding that the jelly had soaked into the bread so that “the bread is turned blue on that side.  Which is fine.  I’m totally cool with that.”

“What we’re saying is stay in school kids,” Flans added.

He continued “We talk about healthcare a lot in this band.  But…”  he trailed off, then leaned into the mic “Next card on the teleprompter please.”  Then started immediately into All Time What.  The arrangement was different from 2018, with Linnell staying on keys, and Dan’s part covering the difference.  At one point, Dan was air-playing the keys a bit.

From there, they played Ana Ng, and then Damn Good Times.  There was an extra long pause between the chorus and second verse of Damn Good Times,  Flans had stepped away from the mic, then took tiny steps moving back up to it.  At the same time, Dan and Danny had what looked like a staring contest, which stopped when Flans began singing again.  When it was time for Dan’s blistering solo, Flans told us all to sway along.  At the speed needed, this moved quickly from difficult to nearly impossible, although some of the crowd hung on doggedly until the end.  Danny thought the whole thing was hilarious and watched with amusement as most people fell behind and dropped out.  They played New York City, going back to a part-rocking version this time.

Flans then told us “We’ve saved the best for now.  Join us in welcoming-ing,” he paused, and when he went on was obviously still amused at his own blunder. “Mr. Curt Ramm on the trumpet back to the stage.”  This meant, of course, that Curt was doing the intro to Istanbul, which was a nice switch up, even though I still would have loved another intro by Dan.  While Curt was amazing us all, Linnell wandered off stage left for a bit, and Danny sat down on the edge of Marty’s riser.  Istanbul was as high-energy as always, with Dan and Curt switching off for one ending, and Curt finishing it with a ridiculously high-note as always.

Dan and Marty left the stage after the song ended, while Flans told us they wanted to thank everyone in the audience individually, “Not every show is this fun for us.  We have emotional problems.”  He then introduced the last song of the evening as the opening song from Flood.

Linnell spoke over the crowd’s cheers with “just a note.”  “Apparently this song is the exact length of time that it takes for you to wash your hands.  So we encourage you to consider singing this next song rather than Happy Birthday the next time you wash your hands… Immediately after the show.”  They played Theme From Flood, then left the stage to enthusiastic cheers and applause.

As soon as they left, a bunch of security guards took up posts along the front of the stage.  It didn’t really obstruct the view at all, but I’m still a bit amused they thought these fans were going to cause trouble.

After a few minutes, they were back onstage.  Flans looked out over the crowd as he got on, holding up one hand and moving the other in a circle.  The crowd thought he was asking for more appreciation and increased their cheers.  After a few moments though Flans stopped the gesture and said, still looking to the back of the venue “That doesn’t mean anything to us.”  He did not sound pleased.  I think someone on venue staff must have been making that towards him in a “wrap it up” type gesture.  

Linnell said “You need an orange vest to do that,” although I’m not sure if he was talking to Flans or the person gesturing at them.

As the crowd started to quiet down, Flans told us they were ”having a conversation backstage about the nature of encores.” He explained that “Everything, including interpersonal relationships, is all just theatre.”

He then revealed that they time their encores, so that they don’t seem too nervous “At some point we realized we were basically walking offstage and turning around.”

Linnell added in a mock-desperate voice “Please don’t stop clapping! We’re insecure”

Flans continued, explaining that they time it to avoid looking like “the hambones that we are” but that they never take the time to explain why they do it.  Because of this, people assume it is “a weird make ‘em earn it thing.”  

He finished “But such is the nature of theatre ladies and gentlemen.  Your attentions may be beautiful, but their effects are horrible.”

He then realized he had no idea what the next song on the setlist was.  Linnell told him that the amazing thing was that their discussion “is the perfect segue into the song.”

Flans, halfway to look at his setlist, suddenly said “Oh! I remember! I remember.”

“Aggh!” Linnell replied, disappointed.

“I wrote the setlist,” Flans told us all, now back up at his mic. “Okay, here we go!”

They then launched into Fingertips, the beginning of which was marked by Dan gesturing wildly offstage making sure his mic was on. Flans did an exceptionally passionate boy band impresion for Heart Attack.  As always, the whole thing was wonderful in the way that only Fingertips can be.

Flans told us all “We gotta get outta here!”  Thanked us all for coming and for bringing our friends, then said “We know you have your choice of They MIght Be Giants-like bands, and we’d like to thank you for coming to our show, which we think of as the original show.”  They then played Doctor Worm.  Linnell didn’t change the settings on the keyboard for Dan this time around, and I think the keyboard setting they used was different because of it.  As they left the stage, Flans pretended to smash one of the security guys on the head with his guitar.

The cheers for the next encore were noticeably quieter than they had been for the first one.  I guess if people knew they weren’t coming out for a certain amount of time they were going to pace themselves.  

After the correct amount of time had passed, they all came back onstage, with Linnell commenting “Was that 60 seconds?  I feel that it was.”  Linnell then pointed out another feature of his keyboard stand, the rearview mirror.  “Marty has to look at me when we’re playing, in case I’m making faces.”

He then asked “You guys ready?”  This got a cheer from the crowd, which surprised Linnell.  “I...wasn’t talking to you, sorry.  That’s okay, we’ll start over.”

They then started the always beautiful End of the Tour, then went straight into The Guitar from there.  This performance had Flans using one Jim and one Dan, and an especially awesome-sounding Future of Sound.

They then left the stage for the evening.  I think it might have been due to venue policy, but they didn’t give out any stickers, although Marty came out and gave out setlists and his sticks and drumhead from the aisle between the stage and the security fence.  While I had another show, this was the end of the run for a lot of friends, so I said my goodbyes outside of the venue before heading back to the hotel.

[pllandcompany]

Fire Meet Gasoline (Part One)

Summary: Hospital!AU. It’s Family Day at Sanders-Stokes Memorial and Patton’s parents are in town…and they want to meet Virgil. Meanwhile, Roman and Logan have their first couple’s therapy session.

Warnings: discussion of medical procedures, mention of past gun violence, mention of past addiction and drug use, past eating disorder mention, anxiety, nausea mention, some swearing

Pairings: QPP Moxiety and Romantic Logince

Tagged: @ziallwarrior @thefallendog @apologieslogan @trueunreal @flyingfreeyt @thecatchat @crofters-jam @jakesmolbean @band-be-boss-blog @ab-artist @asylia-5911 @backatthebein @oonagh-una

Notes: I can’t stay away from this ‘verse! I feel like I’m writing too much in it but it’s all I’m inspired for lately. This definitely isn’t as heavy as the last series so enjoy a breath of fresh air! Also, peep those resourced Cartoon Therapy characters!

Despite his penchant for ice cream, his occasionally childish ways, and eternal love of cartoons, Dr. Patton Parker was an adult, thank you very much. He enjoyed alcohol. He could change a flat tire, make a mean spinach omelet, hold a detailed conversation about politics, and suture a mitral valve defect in utero faster than anyone he knew.

That did not stop him from jumping joyously into his parents’ arms when they arrived knocking on his office door.

“MOM! DAD!” His shout drew the attention of the entire nurses’ station, one of them spilling their coffee. Patton gasped, hands immediately flying to his face. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” The nurse nodded and waved, still looking rather pleasant for someone who just lost their source of energy.

“You must be well-liked around here. Spilled coffee in my office is practically an HR offense,” his dad joked, patting his son on the shoulder. “Yeah, you could say that,” was the stammered response, a blush quickly spreading across his face. The three shared a quick chuckle before Dot, Patton’s mom, swooped in to fuss over him.

“Oh sweetie, come here, let me look you over. Oh, you look so tired, are you sleeping? And what have you done with your hair? You’re practically bald on one side!”

“It’s called a side cut for a reason, Mom. Virgil and I got it together. You should see his; it was bright purple before he started growing it out. Department head and all, he’s going for a more professional look.”

“Oh right, he did get that promotion! Oh, we’re so proud of him, son,” Larry, Patton’s father chimed in. “Can we sit?”

“Sure!”the fetal surgeon beamed, closing the door behind him. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re both here! I needed to see you, more than I realized.”

“I can only imagine. We were so worried when you told us about what happened with that awful shooting. Oh honey, are you all right? That must have been horrible to go through, do tell us if you’re all right?” Dot brought both hands up to his face, fretting over the worry lines around his mouth and eyes. “You look so tired. Are you sleeping? Are you eating?”

“Dot, don’t overwhelm the boy. He’s a Parker! Therefore he’s strong. Right, son?” Larry eyed him with a soul-searching gaze.

“But you can tell us if you’re not! You don’t have to be all right for us if you’re not, sweetie.”

“He’s fine, darling, you don’t need to fuss over him.” They bickered back and forth momentarily while Patton briefly closed his eyes, blocking out their chatter. This is why I could never tell them about my depression, he thought to himself. Their extremes made it difficult to confide in them; Dot with her incessant worrying and Larry with his stubborn insistence that Parkers never ever got overwhelmed. Patton was grateful, of course. They were wonderful parents.

They just were a bit…much at times.

“I’m fine, you guys. Really, Virgil and I are both good. You don’t need to worry, Mom, we’re good.” Patton’s trademark smile spread across his face. His heart rate began to slow once Dot finally calmed down, leaned back, and rested her hands in her lap. “Okay, sweetie, I believe you. Speaking of Virgil, though…could we possibly…meet him?”

Patton could barely stop his jaw from dropping. “You…you want to meet him? Really?”

“Of course! We were so excited when you told us you’d found someone who was accepting of your sexual orientation. I mean, aside from us, of course,” Dot clarified, grabbing Patton’s hands in hers. Patton fought the urge to roll his at the memory of his mother's reaction to his coming out as asexual. The next day, she proceeded to throw an all out ace themed dinner party, complete with napkins, paper plates, and a tablecloth with– you guessed it – aces of all suits printed all over them.

"I had to buy out their whole stock to have enough to pull out just the ones with aces on them!" He clearly remembered her bright tone and elated expression as she held up the discarded napkins to punctuate her point. He could also vividly recall the way his father stood back, a silently fuming dichotomy to her cheerfulness. They had ended up fighting that night after Patton "went to bed" over Dot's overindulgence.

It's actually not a great memory for Patton. The grounded, calm, accepting conversation they had as a family three days later about his future as a member of the LGBT community was all he really needed.

Dot's voice brought him back to reality. “Knowing that someone loves my son for who he is makes us over the moon with joy. Of course I want to know who that person is.”

“Only if he wants to,” Larry added, “…but we really hope he does.” Patton observed how his dad was practically vibrating with anticipation.​ He smiled again, simultaneously thanking the universe for his accepting parents and praying that this wouldn't end up in another ace decorated disaster.

"As long as he's okay with it...of course you can meet him. But I have to check with him first, you know? It's a big step, I just want to make sure he's ready."

"Oh, my thoughtful, caring son. Of course, we're in town for the whole weekend so you just let us know!" Dot exclaimed. "Come on, honey, we've gotta go check in to the hotel before 11!" Larry chided sternly, grasping his wife's hand and leading her out gently. She turned to face Patton and walked backwards out of the room, talking the whole time. "Call us later, sweetie! We'll do dinner after we watch your surgery! Oh, I can't wait to see you in action!" As he tried to rush them out of the office, Larry ended up slamming directly into another nurse who had yet another coffee hit the ground. "Oh no, I am so, so sorry! But hey, like father, like son, am I right?" Larry attempted to elicit a chuckle out of her but the nurse just glared at him, her chocolate eyes dark pools of irritation. Patton was on his feet in a flash, grabbing a stray surgical towel from his cabinet to help clean up the mess. "I am so sorry," he whispered.

"Dot, come on. We need to get out here before we start barreling over patients," Larry grumbled, his face red with embarrassment. "Bye, sweetie!" Dot called out over her shoulder, while being practically dragged by her husband.

"That your parents? They seem so opposite," the nurse mumbled, blowing her wiry curls out of her face. Patton looked up and nodded. "Yep, that's them. They're a crazy pair, for sure."

"Must be overwhelming to have them around." She sat back and watched Patton watching his parents sprinting down the hall.

"Yes, it is. And I wouldn't change a thing."

****

"Dr. Courtland to the ER lobby. Paging Dr. Courtland to the ER lobby." Virgil mimicked a crackly intercom voice while Roman walked up to the waiting room desk, his lips pursed in annoyance.

"Virgil, I was with a patient, this better be good." He eyed the trauma surgeon sternly, hands going to his hips.

"I don't know, see for yourself if what I called you for is good enough," he shrugged nonchalantly, gesturing vaguely to something behind Roman. He turned around, his expression of confusion instantly melting to excitement.

"Remy! Are you seriously here right now?"

"In the freakin' flesh bro." The younger man smirked and opened his arms. "Come hug me, I wasn't kidding about the flesh part. I'm squishable now."

"Oh, Remington, you stop it, you are beautiful!" Roman flowed into his arms and held tightly, grateful for the gentle give of muscle under his fingers. He leaned back and took in his brother's full face and bright eyes. "I am so proud of you. You've done so well in recovery."

"Let me tell you, sis, it has not been easy, like, at all but...I think this time it's gonna stick. Like mashed potatoes to my ribs," Remy playfully slapped his chest, eliciting a shake of the head from Roman.

"I see your twisted sense of humor hasn't changed."

"Did you really expect it to?" Remy smirked a second time, his expression softening at the unshed tears in Roman's eyes. "Hey, Ro, it's okay. Anorexia is a bitch but I'm a bigger one. It didn't take me out, I'm here."

Roman sniffled and tried to regulate his breathing. "I know, I know, it's just...can we sit?" Remy nodded and Virgil guided them to a private family room, sensing their need for a moment alone. Roman took a second to silently thank him before closing the door and turning to his brother.

"Please tell me this is not the room where you tell people that their folks are dead and shit," Remy deadpanned, looking mildly horrified.

"Fine, I won't tell you then," Roman responded, wiping his eyes and attempting to smile. Remy cocked his head to the side in sympathy. "What's with all the tears, Ro? I swear to you, I'm okay." They sat down the couch next to each other, Remy's body slightly twisted to face his older brother.

"It's not just that. I mean, I am so happy about that but that's not all of it," Roman's voice was watery, suppressed emotions fighting to be released.

"Is it about...you know, the...shooting?" Remy mumbled the last word, afraid to upset Roman further. "Virgil told me you got shot. Fuck, Ro, that had to be insane."

Roman stared at the floor. "Oddly enough, what happened afterward was worse," he whispered.

"You're not...are you sick? Is it Alz-"

"No, Remington! It's nothing, just drop it! You're here and you're healthy and well, I wanna talk about that." Remy nodded his heads, hands up in surrender.

"Okay, take a chill pill, yikes, we'll move on." The room was quiet for a moment before Remy spoke up again. "Hey, where's that dreamboat doctor that you were sort of an ass to while he was saving my life? I want to see him, I'm sure he'd appreciate me getting my shit together and not wasting his work. Btw, did you and him ever end up hooking up? I hope so because let me tell you, the freakin' unresolved sexual tension between you two was thicker than molasses in winter-"

Remy was cut off by the very audible sobs coming from Roman. He froze for a moment, the gears turning in his mind as to what was unraveling his normally unflappable sibling.

"Oh my God, please tell me he's not dead." Roman shook his head vigorously, still too choked to talk. "Is he sick? What the hell happened to him, Roman? Tell me!"

Roman tried his best to cease his crying and actually answer his now panicked younger brother. "He...he ran into some trouble after the shooting. Everything...it hit him pretty hard and he struggled."

"Trouble, like...the drug-related kind?" Roman nodded. "He's in rehab, Rem. I'm sorry."

"No....no, oh my God, no, he seemed like he was doing so well. He was so solid when he talked to me about recovery; it was part of why I took it so seriously when I went to treatment."

Roman laughed bitterly. "Yeah, well, he's good at that, making you think everything is okay when it's not, when the world is actually crumbling to pieces right in front of you and you're too damn blind to see it!" He looked up and realized he was yelling by the shocked expression his brother wore. He took a deep breath and began again, willing himself to calm down. "We were...are involved. We actually have therapy together tomorrow. It'll be the first time in two months that I've seen him."

"What? Why so damn long? He needs you, Ro, you can't just, like, desert him."

"I know, but...I'm so...angry with him! He lied to me about so much while nearly destroying himself in secret when I could have helped him! And I love him wholeheartedly, more than I can bear sometimes but...how can I trust him? How can I trust anything he tells me?" 

Remy smiled sadly, taking his elder sibling's hands into his own. "Ro, that's totally what you're going there tomorrow to find out! Look, if Logan is anything like I was in a relapse, he wasn't himself at all. But tomorrow? Tomorrow, sweetie, you get to see the real him and I promise there is nothing better than that. So give him a chance to show you who he really is. Besides, y'all went through hell together, that totally has to mean something."

"Yes, but I want us to be together because we're meant to, not because we're trauma-bonded."

"And I'm sure he does too. He wouldn't invite you into his private torture time if he didn't want you there on some level." Roman raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Private torture time, Rem?"

Remy rolled his eyes. "Look, therapy sucks, okay? I get that's it's useful and necessary and saves lives and shit but that doesn't make it suck any less! And you don't just invite anybody to watch you break down slowly. Notice I didn't invite you to any of my sessions."

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Roman tried to joke despite himself.

"Not important!" Remy quipped, holding up a hand in Roman's face that he swatted away. "The point is Logan invited you to his so go and, yeah, be honest and shit but...hear him out too, okay?"

Roman chuckled to himself. "I can't believe the day has arrived where I'm taking advice from my little brother." Remy stood up, gathering his bag. "Well, believe it, Princey, you know I know my shit." Roman paused, a fond look crossing his face. "You haven't called me that in years, Rem."

"And I am totally stealing that, thanks dude," a gravelly voice called out from the doorway. The brothers' heads made a synchronized turn towards one Virgil Davidson who was leaning in the doorway wearing a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. Remy looked sheepishly at Roman's indignant expression, one that faltered slightly when he read the mild distress on Virgil's face. "You need the room," he said sympathetically. Virgil nodded in silence, the unspoken knowledge dawning on everyone in the room and eliciting a gasp from Remy. "You said-"

"I never said anything, Rem." He wrapped his arm around the younger man's shoulders and felt him shudder. "Oh my God, we have to get out of here, like, stat or whatever. I cannot be in this cursed place a second longer."

"They don't actually bring the body in there, drama queen," Roman said in amusement, leading his brother out of the "cursed" room.

"Oh, haha, Mr. Pot Meets Kettle. Whatever, let's go get lunch in the cafeteria. I want see that hot scrub nurse again, damn, he was a tall drink of chocolate thunder."

"That...that doesn't even make sense, Rem."

Virgil watched them walk away, shaking his head at the last of their conversation. He entered the room alone and shakily sat on the couch, stomach roiling with anxious nausea. He had to calm himself before he made himself ill. 4-7-8, Davidson. Just breathe. Family Day was always overwhelming for him, to a point where he usually called out and opted to visit his mother's grave instead. This year, he had overlooked the upcoming event and forgotten to make arrangements in time, an oversight due to his adjustment into his new position, no doubt. He tried to make the best of it by facilitating the surprise arrival of Roman's brother but even that proved to be difficult and isolating, only driving home his lack of a sibling or any tangible relatives. Seeing people happy with their parents and siblings while everyone in his family was either dead or in jail triggered him to no end. No one would be visiting him today. No one would be watching his surgeries...well, usually no one would. Again, this year was different. This year, he'd be meeting Patton's parents. Patton's loving, overbearing, borderline smothering parents. Virgil, who had never known real love until his partner Patton was now going to meet the very seat of his creation and hopefully measure up to the high standards they most certainly held for their incredible son. Virgil, the child of two addicts, raised by his single, hoarding aunt was supposed to be deemed good enough not just for Patton but for Patton and his family. Right. He can do this. He's Chief now. He's been through hell and back, much worse than this. He'll make them see he's worthy...right?

Virgil's head spun as his mind churned out about hundred different ways this could all go horribly wrong.

[sungggyu]

“신흥무관학교” / “iron mask” / “barnum” fan accounts

just a little over a week ago, i returned home from yet another korea trip in this year alone - this time to watch not only sunggyu but also dongwoo and woohyun’s musicals! so now that i’m back, i’ll be sharing a fan account of their musicals as i’ve done before with other performances i’ve attended ´･ᴗ･`

for those who are interested, i’ll put up a plot summary for sunggyu and dongwoo’s musicals in the next few days in a separate post!

sunggyu: shinheung military academy

16th september 2018 1430

18th september 2018 1500

18th september 2018 2000

19th september 2018 2000

sunggyu’s musical was the very first musical i watched, not just in the course of this trip but also the very first in my entire life. in other words, i have never ever been to a musical before this!! being able to experience a musical for the very first time through watching one of sunggyu’s therefore felt like somewhat of an honor, in a way?

before talking about the musical though, i just want to add that i saw sunggyu’s family…….. on the very day of my first show……………. like, what are the odds!!!!!!!!!! i had only just taken a photo of my ticket with sunggyu’s character banner at the side and turned around to walk to the seats at the back when a really familiar lady walked past me. i was still trying to recall where i’d seen that face before when not even a moment later, a squirming yoonhoo (sunggyu’s nephew) came into view and that’s when it clicked in my head.. she was sunggyu’s sister (இ﹏இ`。) i was so shocked that according to my friend, i froze on the spot LOL. after a few moments though, i finally got myself together and we went to the seats at the side as we originally intended. we caught a few more glimpses of his family a bit later and honestly they were just like any other ordinary family with a baby haha. yoonhoo kept throwing an empty bottle on the ground when he played with his dad but when he played with his grandpa, he kept tugging at grandpa’s clothes! eventually, when we went into the theatre, sunggyu’s parents stayed outside watching the baby while his sister and brother-in-law entered the theatre. after the musical, when we were leaving and making our way to woohyun’s musical venue, we walked past sunggyu’s mother carrying yoonhoo again near the theatre’s lobby. it seemed like baby-sitting duty was over for her so she’ll be watching the evening show with her husband while sunggyu’s sister and brother-in-law took over the baby-sitting role ahaha. it was such an unexpected but pleasant encounter! （´·｀ ）♡

what was really funny though (sorry sunggyu), was that yoonhoo looked so happy the entire day yet as soon as he saw his uncle....

moving on to sunggyu’s musical “shinheung military academy”, it’s a state-produced musical to commerate the 70th anniversary of the founding of the korean army. with this in mind, i was a little wary that the musical may be full of state propaganda and therefore, potentially lacking/subpar compared to those produced by privately owned production companies. as it turns out, however, the musical went above and beyond my expectations. it was most definitely not subpar and it was not just average either! it was so good that it exceeded all of my expectations ;-; imo the plot of the musical was brought out even better due to the A-list actors they recruited (ji changwook, kang haneul)..? seeing those two actors live in action had been a really incredible experience as well. both ji changwook and kang haneul really surprised me with how well they sang and it was not until days later that i found out they both actually made their debut in the musical theater.. which explains…

sunggyu plays ji cheongcheon, a korean general who was trained in the japanese imperial military academy before defecting to guide and lead the guerilla forces behind the korean independence movement under japanese colonial rule. to be really honest, sunggyu doesn’t have a very huge role and doesn’t appear much in the musical. he may be listed as one of the “main” casts alongside ji changwook and kang haneul but personally, i feel that this is very much just an honorary title? what’s interesting to note is that sunggyu’s character is one of the few, if not the only, character that is based on a real life war hero. i think sunggyu mentioned that he felt really honoured and awed to be playing an actual war hero, and he was so intrigued he spent lots of time reading up on the man’s biography.

in the first part of the musical, sunggyu only appears very briefly to sing one verse in the first song and in one of the next few songs. probably due to the character he is playing, he runs a lot, which was honestly a pretty refreshing sight lol. every time he makes an appearance, he’s basically running onto stage before running off stage again after singing his lines. he has one solo song in the first part of the musical, complete with a long sword dance and i have to say it was so!! hot!!! especially in that military uniform of his? wow. at the end of the song, he runs off stage with a torchlight, down the left aisle in the audience seats before turning and making his exit from the right side of the theatre’s door. he appears more in the second part of the musical, complete with lots of fighting moves due to the thickening of the plot. he does roundhouse kicks and punches here and there, taking down all the enemies with ease depsite being surrounded and outnumbered by them. (i know this is just a fictional plot but just picture that.. super hot)

there are times when many of the cast members sing together for an ensemble piece and in times like this, i would say you can hear pretty distinctively that sunggyu takes the notes that are an octave higher than most other cast members ;-; i checked with a few of my friends who watched the musical as well and most of them thought that the high note sounded like him too! other giveaways include the extra quivering of his lip, the subtle movement of him opening his mouth wider the very same time the high note comes on.. and many more haha. but honestly i do think it sounds a lot like sunggyu too. my boy :’)

personally, as much as i enjoyed the musicals, the part i always looked forward to the most was the curtain call at the end of the musicals because that’s when actor!gyu goes away and natural!gyu comes back :-( when he makes his appearance, he climbs up this huge stage prop and stands at the top, beaming for a short moment before making his way down to stage center to take a bow, do a salute and greet the audiences. he does so in a very sunggyu-like manner (aka in all the glory of his natural cuteness), fists half hidden in his big coat, waving frantically and excitedly in every direction all with a really precious and genuine smile on his face ;-; after all the cast members have greeted the audiences and taken a final bow together, they returned to the center of the stage as the curtain draws. it was always during these short-lived moments that sunggyu does the most adorable actions!! on the first show and the last show i went to, he shot cute little fingerhearts to audiences in every direction (ಥ﹏ಥ) on the evening show on the 16th of september which i missed due to woohyun’s musical, he even did a little dance according to my friend who watched it (T⌓T)

i must add that it was also really heartwarming to witness sunggyu’s interactions with his new friends! in one song where kang haneul’s character dusts off sunggyu’s shoulders as part of the performance, i personally witnessed sunggyu wiggling his brows at kang haneul hahaha. during the curtain call in the final show i watched, sunggyu was doing thumbs up to all the actors around him and subsequently, ji changwook turned around and patted him on his cheeks.. he is just so loved wherever he goes ´·ᴗ·`♡

my friends who have watched sunggyu’s musicals have always told me how one could see that he genuinely enjoys doing musicals and now that i’ve finally seen it for myself, i can’t help but to agree, it seems like the stage is truly where he belongs ♡_♡

dongwoo: iron mask

19th september 2018 1600

dongwoo’s musical “iron mask” was set in paris, france in the 1600s and it was really interesting to say the least! i must admit that i spoiled myself beforehand by looking up the plot but then again if i hadn’t, i doubt i would’ve understood much of the musical considering how weak my korean language skills are :/

after watching dongwoo’s musical, i personally felt that his singing in there wasn’t his best ever yet, but i think this has more to do with how musicals demand much more than just simply singing a song. it requires (emotional) acting, which dongwoo portrayed REALLY well, and i would say his acting makes up for it a lot. that said, his singing was still pretty damn good even though it didn’t seem to be the best i’ve heard from him. it was a bit shakier in the first half of the musical but once intermission was over and we moved to the second half, it stabilised a lot more ♡ when curtain call rolled around, i realised dongwoo must’ve been really nervous earlier because many of the older cast members were all patting him on his head, his back, ruffling his hair and just babying him. from an outsider’s perspective, those seemed to be acts of encouragement, praise and comfort.. which was why i think dongwoo must’ve been nervous before.. not to mention the fact that it was his first ever show for this musical.

expanding on dongwoo’s performance in the musical, i must say that he was an amazing actor. he’s such a wasted talent (πーπ) dongwoo played double characters in this musical - his role was both the elder and younger twin born to the parisian royal family in the 1600s. basically, the elder twin, louis, was the king whereas the younger twin, philip, who had been kept away from the public eye ever since he was young, was as good as a prisoner to the extent he’s unfamiliar with all the royal ettiquete that his elder brother has long been acquainted with. simply put, louis was a huge ass of a person and a king and philip, his complete opposite, was kind and gentle, albeit clumsy. the musical showcased dongwoo’s ability as an actor due to the huge contrast in the characters of both brothers he was portraying. dongwoo could leave the stage laughing his head off as a deranged (and somewhat psychopathic) louis after he had some man killed just so he could have their lover all to himself as his queen but within a minute, when the scene changes, he’ll be back on stage as weak and clumsy philip, who apologises to everyone for the slightest things he couldn’t have had control over anyway. dongwoo did such a great job in portraying each twin so cleanly without any overlap or confusion which is why i say he acted so well ;-; with enlistment coming round the corner for dongwoo, i doubt that he’ll have time to be doing anymore musicals, especially if we consider how there had been mentions of his solo as well. but if there’s a chance in the post-enlistment future, however, i’ll definitely be looking forward to his potential projects!

woohyun: barnum - the greatest showman

16th september 2018 1830

truthfully, i remembered the least from woohyun’s musical because i was feeling a little under the weather on the day i went to see his musical :-( that and the fact that it’s one of the earlier shows i watched compared to the other dongwoo and sunggyu shows.. but from the bit i do remember, he sang (really well, obviously) in a lot of lower range notes which was kinda refreshing considering how he’s usually in charge of a lot of high notes in infinite songs! if my ears didn’t fail me, the usual reminder to audiences to turn off their phones and that recordings of any form were prohibited was announced through a voice recording made by woohyun? hahaha. as soon as that ended, he appeared on stage right away and started the first song.

i would like to make a note that there was so much bromance going on between woohyun’s character (amos scudder) and the lead actor who played p.t. barnum and it was so adorable. the lead actor was easily taller than woohyun since woohyun is not the biggest man so during the many scenes where barnum grabs and hugs amos in joy, the lead actor literally lifted tiny woohyun off his feet in a tight hug and it was soooooo cute (ಥ﹏ಥ) there was another scene where the lead actor (i’ll just call him barnum from now) and woohyun ventured into the audience seats on the ground floor as part of the scene where they were pooling funds. at one point, after collecting enough “funds” (which were really just fan letters in envelopes), barnum said “i’ll give you amos” and then pushed woohyun into the crowd. the screams!! were so loud!!! woohyun was man-handled easily and i don’t know how else to say it but it was just so cute ugh. woohyun is smol, we get it, no need for the constant reminder (⋟﹏⋞) these aside, there were also the scenes of barnum and woohyun almost kissing (on the lips lol) and barnum slapping woohyun’s butt so yeah that’s about it for their bromance.

miscellanous notes from the musical:

there was this part at the start where barnum said amos was good-looking so woohyun made a flower pose

woohyun did a cartwheel

woohyun’s character got angry a lot and shouted so much it was lowkey 🔥

woohyun danced to ‘tell me’

after the show, we went to catch woohyun at his post-show greeting with fans at the lobby of the venue. it took some time before he appeared but when he finally showed up, he talked for quite some time and it was so sweet even though i understood close to nothing. other than the fact that inspirits are 너만이’s mom(s) from now on ;-) when he left the venue, fans lined the pedestrian walkway to send him off in the driveway and at one point he was so close to me i was so !!!#$%%#^@!$@! HE WAS SO BEAUTIFUL.. that perfect face barely 2 metres away from me.. i had an internal breakdown seeing this beautiful man that up-close..

there was some talk going on later that night on twitter about a fan who allegedly grabbed his hand from the open car window and kissed it but personally i doubt it happened. after looking at the photos i realised said fan was actually the one right next to me and in the fancam i managed to film, there was no kissing going on. it was probably the photo angle in the initial photo that spread. if there was anything awful about that send-off, however, it was all those fans who ran after his car when it drove out of the driveway just because it stopped at a traffic light outside. that was really something.. which i hope will never happen again in the future :-/

all in all, this had been a really great trip! even though i got to see sunggyu’s solo concerts in the previous trip (featuring these two as well), this trip just felt so much better overall in that i was able to see each of my faves performing on a different kind of stage. oh, and did i mention our chance encounter with hoya at his brother’s restaurant too? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) as i’ve said, this trip was truly 10/10.

[rudra-writes]

Pallas and Telurin - Hot Springs (Part 14)

Part of a roleplay story with Telurin’s player. Telurin considers his conflicted feelings about continuing to be Pallas’s guardian, indirectly putting the anchorite in danger from his own death knight compulsions. The following day on the road, Pallas suggests they stop at a natural hot springs. Pallas encourages Telurin to join him in the warm water, and their attraction to one another comes to light.

Pallas wondered if the wrongness of caring so deeply for the undead was simply due to the fact that no-one was supposed to live forever. Telurin's state was not a natural thing, he was supposed to be interred in the earth, but here, he continued to exist, even have feelings.

Pallas coaxes the talbuk closer with the slice of pear. He asks Telurin quietly, looking back at the death knight, "...Where did you fall, Telurin?"

Telurin has been preoccupied with Sugarfoot, finally offering him his half of the pear before the horse takes his fingers with it, and getting the saddlebags reattached to the saddle. At Pallas's question, he pauses, looking over his charger’s back to frown at Pallas.

"Northrend." He says, infusing the word with all the tones of 'I don't want to talk about it.' he can muster. Still, he is less harsh than he has been.

"Do you want to know all that I did in the service of the Lich King, too?" He pauses to throw the stirrup closest to him over the saddle so that he can tighten the girth he loosened last night. "Some things are best not discussed, Anchorite."

Pallas immediately looks guilty. His cheeks darken and he turns away, focusing on mounting the talbuk once it has stilled. "I didn't mean it like that."

Telurin frowns at the back of Pallas's head as he pulls back down the stirrup. He drops the reins that have been re-attached to Sugarfoot’s bridle, ground tying the charger, and stops Pallas before he can mount with a hand on his shoulder. The talbuk shies nervously at his approach but it's half-hearted at best, he doesn't even toss his head. Telurin performs the same procedure on Pallas's saddle, but not before he pulls on the strap to show how much slack there is. He's able to get his entire hand between the girth and the barrel of the talbuk, with plenty of room to spare.

"I didn't feel like chasing him halfway across the valley to get it all the way off, but I did loosen his girth last night. You should always check this." It's not an apology, but it's not a reprimand, either. Telurin's tone is somewhere in between, the opposite of his closed off tone moments before. It was his attempt at reassuring Pallas, even if it was buried under the practicality of what he'd actually said.

Pallas nods, stepping back to allow Telurin to adjust the talbuk's riding gear. He could sense what the other draenei was trying to communicate, even if no words about the previous conversation were spoken. "I understand. Thank you, Telurin."

He also understood that asking anything about the last days of Telurin's life was a prickly business. Still, it was the death knight's choice what he wished to share or not. Pallas could think of his own memories that he considered too shameful for him to wish to discuss with others.

The priest's face looks as if he has something else to ask, but he seems to be thinking better of it.

Telurin finishes with the talbuk and turns back toward Pallas. He sees the look on the Anchorite's face and sighs, closing his eyes briefly. He wishes for patience, and wonders how he's managed to keep Pallas around for as long as he has. "Ask, little one." he says in reply to the look, "I may not answer, but you may always ask."

He looks at the still going fire, and goes to put that out while Pallas decides whether or not to ask his question.

Pallas watches Telurin's back as the undead draenei moves to put out the remains of their campfire, holding the talbuk's reins in his hand. He hesitates, then asks, "Have you ever considered... finding a way to pay penance? Not because I feel that you should. But..." he murmured, "For your peace of mind?"

There are some benefits to being able to manipulate frost as Telurin can; a thought, a word, and the fire is snuffed, hoarfrost forming on the once glowing embers. He could have done it from where he stood, but he wanted the excuse to not have to look at Pallas while he asked whatever question had popped into his head, and he's glad he did -- otherwise Pallas would see more than he'd been willing to share with the Anchorite just yet.

"There is no penance that could make up for what I've done under His service." Telurin replies, back to Pallas still. His tail is as stiff as his shoulders. "When there is an opportunity to make amends, I do so."

Pallas can see that this line of questioning is greatly wearing on Telurin's patience. It seemed prudent to stop. "I see. I'm sorry for asking." He meant it, he hated to sour the death knight's mood. The priest watches Tel's stiff tail and back, waiting for him to return before mounting again.

He does return, gathering up his charger’s reins and mounting easily, spinning the horse around as he waits for Pallas. He frowns at Pallas once they're both mounted.

"I hope you will not continue to sulk for the rest of the day. I don't think the mood can stand the both of us doing so."

Pallas mounts the talbuk, then wrinkles his nose at Telurin. He decides against mentioning that his 'sulking' is the direct result of Telurin's mood. Of course, the questions had been his own. "It's true," the priest replies after a while. "I want to remember our time together fondly." He smiles, the talbuk clopping quietly on its hooves. "Shall I sing to you, since you so refused me the last time?"

Telurin seems to be somewhat mollified by the answer. "If you wish, Pallas." Sugarfoot stays true to his name and is docile along the trail, though he leaves somewhat chilled hoofprints in his wake.

Pallas smiles at Telurin. As the two draenei resume their travels upon the road, he begins to sing an old, Draenic song. Although Pallas himself was too young to remember any worlds prior to Draenor, or even the Genedar, the song was ancient and had been carefully recorded and passed on. It was a story about a man who had become lost in a forest of white trees, until found by his companion. The priest sang the verses in his high, lilting voice, like the song of a bird, and he looks content while doing so.

Telurin remembers this song, though it is not one that has ever had any particular significance to him, save that he can remember his mother humming the refrain while she worked. He listened attentively, relaxing under the melody as if he were a beast to be soothed with music. Perhaps that’s what Pallas truly thought of him... something to be tamed by his words and his songs.... Telurin frowns at that, and watches the road instead of his Anchorite.

Pallas finishes his song much later. Singing was something he enjoyed, and it helped to pass the time on the road. He looks over at Telurin, his smile faltering a degree when he sees the death knight's mysterious scowl. "What is the matter, dear Telurin?" He asks, his voice still cheerful. "You do not look as if I've pleased you very much."

"You have a beautiful singing voice." Telurin replies, sidestepping the question. "And you have pleased me, do not doubt that."

[sortingoutayoungcontrarian]

I recently typed the name Christopher Hitchens into the search bar on WordPress and was very disappointed with the top result. This result was an ignorant evaluation of who Christopher was as well an evaluation of his book “god is not Great. The author of this “evaluation” was clearly a fundamental Christian along with those who commented on the post thus far… Obviously, they hated Christopher and did their best to discredit everything about the man. I could not help but be a contrarian. I shall copy and paste the exchange below. I shall update per reply.

Me:

Hmm I wonder if you would find Hitchens’ points valid if they were made by a compilation of ancient misogynistic people who believed that genocide, dispossession of land, slavery, polyamorous incest, virgin-child-sacrifice-scapegoating, and baby genitalia mutilation was acceptable (all of these acts adamantly encouraged even), and then translated by a committee of megalomaniacs lead by a man who boiled his wife in a bathtub… All of whom believed the universe revolved around them in every sense the phrase entails and murdered those who said differently whilst claiming absolute morality. The reason why atheists do not mind that Hitchens may or may not have plagiarized is that they value what is true and don’t care how they get that truth. Christians, however, claim the bible to be the inerrant word of god despite its countless plagiarisms and contradictions.

If you could respond to those points which Hitchens made rather than the one he obviously did not care about (the validity of Jesus), then maybe your thoughts of critique would hold more water, maybe even have an atheist flicker with doubt . To be quiet honest, I have a very hard time believing you actually read any book by Hitchens’, due to the fact that his main focus was not to refute the overall accuracy of the bible but rather reveal the overall hypocrisy. You chose to give a general evaluation of a man by highlighting an argument he argued carelessly because there was no need at all to even argue it. Or maybe you were just scared to touch on the points he made that would open the eyes of any free thinking rational mind to see the lie they have succumbed to.

His response:

Your first paragraph has a large number of mischaracterizations similar to what is typical of Hitchens. You seem to have learned him well. Unfortunately, upon close examination, it is sophistry through and through, nothing but a hollow shell of an argument. In but one point: Flatly, circumcision is not mutilation, and to phrase it like you have is not making an argument, but merely using hollow emotional rhetoric. I gave cold explanation of a point, and you respond with emotionalism. This is typical of modern atheism, which Hitchens exemplifies. It always amazes me that atheists deal so much in emotionalism. Personally I prefer reason and logic.

Concerning what I have stated, I backed my claims. For example, see the first link in the post above. As to the Canaanites, I have responded to that as well.

Also please take note of my comment policy.

Me:

Thank you, I am proud to have learned Hitchens! I simply could not do nothing about such an inaccurate “evaluation” of a great man. As to baby genitalia mutilation, I was not making an argument but stating the fact of the matter, a beautiful baby is born and on the eighth day take a blade to its genitalia. There is nothing fallacious about that claim. If it is a semantical issue, the greek translation for “mutilate” is from a compound of kata and temno (to cut); a cutting down (off), i.e. Mutilation (ironically) — concision. The greek word used in the bible for mutilation is “katatomé” which translates– to cut. While circumcision is “peritomē” which translates — to cut around. Look for yourself, please. Studying in-depth interlinear commentaries in greek after graduating seminary school is what drove me away from the hypocrisy that is the church. I am not an atheist, as you assumed in your lazily mistaken attempt of ad hominem, but I merely saw the bible for what it was; a perfect business plan to enslave the people in a time where theocracy reigned. What sane person would not respond with emotionalism over this? If you apply James 2:24 to the role christianity has played throughout the narrative of history you will never again be amazed by the emotionalism that apparently surprises you in atheists however. It causes good people to do bad things, when one takes the focus off themselves and the box they locked themselves in due to fear of losing after-life insurance the bigger picture reveals itself. It is a lame excuse for wars birthed from an ancient inherited trait of tribalism.

You back your claims with a text you cannot prove. As to the Canaanites, I am always amazed by how christians separate real-life and their pretend world of faith as if in admittance to it not being real; Freudian slip esque. Like a child does when playing cops and robbers and their mom calls them inside for dinner and they have to break character in order to reply, “coming mom”. For example, I was stepping outside the realm of the bible and into empirical accounts in history books. who said I was talking about genocide mentioned in the bible only? I never brought up the Canaanites, you were mistakenly assuming (again) atop your omniscience tower. I was referring to, as Hitchens was, the rules for dispossession of land and the slavery of the previous land owners outlined in Leviticus 25, specifically verses 44-46. A lame excuse for justifying lust of what their neighbor has. Leviticus is the same book that outlines the pagan tradition of sacrificing life, (e)scapegoating responsibility. Chapter 25 in Leviticus was most cited chapter in the bible within memoirs of protestants during the establishing of the USA… and people wonder why black lives matter is heading a postmodernist movement.

You still avoided addressing the topic of (1) incest, (2) misogyny (which, unfortunately for all the women of the bible, in this context implies polygamy allowed for the man alone), and (3) The irrevocable evil, with a recorded historical background that goes back thousands of years before the bible linked to ancient savage polytheistic religions : scapegoating responsibility of sins through child sacrifice.

These were the main points of Hitchens, yes? I don’t think one could give a fair “General Evaluation of Christopher Hitchens” without addressing his main points. It seems as if you are trying to hide the reader from the points made by a man who had won countless debates with the leading apologists of all the major religions. A man who is now dead and unable to defend himself… If you could respond to those claims rather than attempting to define who I am or what I believe in then your critiques would be much more (logically/reasonably) respectable. I do apologize if I crossed a line defined in your comment policy. If you would prefer to reply privately I would still appreciate hearing your defense. Whether your audience hears you out or not is not upon my conscious. I would hope they follow you in order to hear the truth rather than feed confirmation bias. I have many issues with your past posts as well that I could refute using the bible, if you are interested. I am honestly just curious and value discussions from those that have come to opposing conclusion.

His Response:

As my comment policy states, this is not a discussion board and we do no go down endless rabbit trails here. Humoring you briefly is all I will do.

–You pointed out correctly that the Greek terms for cut around and cut off are two distinct terms. In no sense is circumcision mutilation. You agree the claim is incorrect. –As for horrible things like incest, the Bible accurately portrays history but does not condone these practices. It forbids incest and shows the folly of marrying many wives, for all who do so are shown to inherit the problems these practices create. –As to the Bible’s treatment of women, any claim that the Bible has a low view of women is completely false. –Child sacrifice was practiced by the Canaanites, which is one reason God commanded they be wiped out. Israel did what you and Hitchens seem to want them to do, which is not actually kill all the Canaanites. As I explained, this resulted in Israel starting these practices, which God stopped by sending Babylon to take Israel into captivity. Please portray the whole account or stop criticizing.

I did indeed deal with Hitchens in a fair manner. All signs point to Hitchens copying from earlier atheist writings, then not even doing the research to check out whether the claims were true. He spent the rest of his life traveling around repeating these claims with bluster, yet they are completely, entirely, totally untrue. His claims about virgin birth myths are completely false. Hitchens did not even do a magazine grade level of research on these items, yet repeated them for years.

The claims in this post stand.

Per my comment policy, we will stop here.

... And then he disabled the comments...

[themusicalhermit]

Request for Reader & Roadhog getting to know each other and bonding over something cute like being members of a crocheting/gardening club etc. please^^ Can be either romantic or platonic and doesn't need to be from The Mountain-verse :)

That particular reader (from that story) does need to interact with him in non-murderous fashions, this is true.

However I wanted to try my hand at writing romantic stuff. Have a long short that I am cutting off where it is because otherwise it would be entirely too long for a simple Tumblr request.

Reader X Roadhog: “Quilting Class” (SFW)

You hadn’t expected this to happen.

Or, rather, you hadn’t expected that you would be ever be asked to something like this.

This being, of course, accompanying Roadhog to some crafting class. You would have thought he’d only ask Junkrat or… okay, maybe only Junkrat. But no; instead, Roadhog asked you.

When you’d ask why, he simply shook his head and said, “Too impatient.”

Then you recalled that Junkrat had recently gotten bored with how slowly the microwave had worked. Had being the operative word.

“Yeah, sure. When is it?”

Roadhog handed you a flyer and almost patted you on the head before obviously rethinking that action. Instead he gave you a thumbs up. You returned it with a smile. Roadhog didn’t move for a few moments. Your smile slowly faded as you fiddled with the flyer in your hands, folding it up and putting it in your pocket.

Did he have something else to say, or was there something wrong? Was he okay?

He raised his other hand. Well, okay then. Now he was now giving you two thumbs up. You returned the gesture and promised to meet him at the entrance of the compound.

Then he nodded sharply and pivoted on the spot to rejoin Junkrat on the other side of the room. The younger man looked up at his fellow Junker. A smirk appeared on Junkrat’s face, then his gaze shot to you. His mouth moved he said something that had Roadhog cuffing him upside the head. Which didn’t do anything except result in loud, raucous laughter and two thumbs up to the big guy.

The gesture earned Junkrat another punch as he continued to laugh. You returned to work, the sound following you down the corridor.

The hectic activities around base left you unable to consider the class any further. In fact, you were so busy that you had forgotten entirely to look the flyer over. Later, when you were in your quarters and changing for bed it fell out of your pocket. You hoped that Roadhog hadn’t been keeping an eye on you somehow to see if you actually read the thing - you did like the man.

Sure, he was a bit quiet and had a violent reputation that almost matched Reaper’s, but he had only ever been calm around you. And he had given you a customised stuffed Patchimari for your last birthday. It looked vaguely like you, which had made you laugh when you unwrapped it. The handwritten card had said simply ‘limited edition’ instead of any normal birthday wishes, but that didn’t matter. It was a lovely gift.

He had, of course, gotten a couple for himself and Junkrat as well. Which made you feel less special, but that was fine. He was just being a good friend.

But that meant that this, whatever, this was, wasn’t Roadhog stealthily asking you on a date. Which was fine.

You and he were just good friends. And that was fine. You forced yourself to stop examining the situation as you bent to pick up the flyer.

Huh. A day long quilting class. That was somehow both surprising and yet not at all surprising.

Oh, good, and you were free the day the class was.

You spent the rest of the week looking forward to the class and wondering what in the world Roadhog was thinking with this. Did he just want to make something? Did he want to get to know you better? Did he like you like you liked him?

Why did this remind you of how much you’d excite yourself over your old high school crushes? You hadn’t been in high school for about as many years as you’d been in school in total.

These thoughts filled your head as you adjusted the simple ‘jeans and jumper’ look you’d chosen for the day. So what if it was one of your nicer pairs of jeans and your nicest jumper? You were going out in public and just wanted to look nice.

You were going out in public with Roadhog and just wanted to look nice. Maybe he’d notice that you’d dressed up and -

You were going out in public with Roadhog as friends. Which was fine. You were allowed to look nice if you wanted to.

Roadhog had already been waiting for you when you arrived. You nervously checked your watch as you walked up, only to see that you were on time. Roadhog waved to you as you approached, which you returned with a smile and a wave of your own.

He was wearing a vest and shirt. It was classy yet casual, but you weren’t sure if you preferred seeing his tattoos or seeing him look like someone who would be carrying a stack of wood in one hand and bringing you a cup of hot cocoa in the other. Why seeing him in a shirt gave you such a different impression of him was beyond you. It was just a piece of cloth.

Of course that piece of cloth did leave you wondering whether he was dressing up because of you, or because he was wanting to not get kicked out of the class for giving little old ladies more reason to clutch their pearls.

You greeted him with a nod and a grin, wanting to either shake his hand or kiss the sides of his mask, or hug him but unsure if he’d accept it. He nodded in return and raised a hand to hover it beside your arm before letting it fall again. Turning, he motioned towards the garage.

Along the way you chattered about your week and how much you’d been looking forward to this class. He didn’t say much, but did hum in an approving way at several points and chuckled whenever you mentioned something funny.

“Had a nice week myself,” he said as you entered the garage, reaching over and flicking a switch. The lights flickered on loudly as he led you to his bike. “Been looking forward to this, too.”

“Have you ever done quilting before,” you asked. You hadn’t, or if you had it had been so long you had forgotten everything about it. He looked up from opening a compartment on his bike.

Roadhog shook his head and pulled out a dusty and banged up white motorcycle helmet. “Here.”

You took the proffered helmet and put it on, looking between the bike and the sidecar. “So I’ll be in there,” you asked, pointing at the smiling sidecar.

Roadhog snorted, shook his head, and unhitched it. “Easier to park this way.”

He climbed atop his bike and turned the ignition. The engine roared to life loudly enough that you felt it in your bones and the air around you filled briefly with the scent of petrol. Most people these days used electric engines; the antiquity of the metal beast before you was almost awe-inspiring. Then Roadhog turned to you, cocking his head to the side as he gripped one of the handlebars. Gesturing with his other hand, he motioned for you to sit on the seat in front of him.

Right, of course. The customised seat he had left no where else to sit.

Sliding onto the bike never made you feel smaller, surrounded as you were by his warm mass. As he drove you could feel the thrum of the engine below you. You were also aware of him. How could you not be?

He was everywhere and you were unable to forget the incidental press of his legs on the outside of your own and the brush of his arms over your shoulders as he drove. Or how soft his belly was behind you, or the hard press of muscle just below those layers of fat.

You were also aware of the occasional small yet racking cough whose sound was stolen by his mask and the wind. Instead of asking after it, you filled the air by musing about how the class would be structured. What you were expecting, what you would do with the quilts you made when it was over.

Roadhog stayed mostly quiet throughout the drive, content with listening to you talk. Once in a while he’d say something simple, such as “Hadn’t thought of that” or “Good plan.”

“What will you do with your quilt,” you asked as he pulled into the car park of the centre the class was held at.

He waited until you had climbed off to turn off the ignition (which had been between your spread knees throughout the journey) and shrugged in response to your question. “Bedcover, maybe,” he said, sounding unsure.

You unclipped the helmet and handed it over. “That sounds like a good idea. At least then you fully appreciate it,” you said, rubbing your thigh absently. It was odd to stand for some reason - you could still feel the thrum of the engine beneath you. “I still don’t know what I’ll do with mine.”

Roadhog shrugged and stowed your helmet. “Decide when you have it.”

When the two of you walked into the classroom everyone had fallen silent. After a brief moment of awkwardness the teacher came over, asking if they could help you. Roadhog nodded and held out the flyer. The teacher had immediately become welcoming, smiling at the two of you and gushing over how nice it was to have a couple joining them today.

You had faltered, simultaneously wanting to deny their statement (because it wasn’t true) and wanting to see what Roadhog would do. Roadhog stood silently at your side, and the teacher smiled again before gesturing to two open seats.

The first hour or two was spent teaching everyone how to hold the needles, thread them, and other sewing basics. Roadhog hadn’t paid attention during this time, instead grabbing a hooked needle and practising various stitches as the teacher mentioned them. They eventually came around and asked if they could show his work to the class as an exemplar. As the scrap of cloth was passed around Roadhog quietly showed you how to do the same, fingers brushing your hands occasionally to adjust your hold or the angle of the needle.

Then the teacher brought out multicoloured scraps of fabric and soft downy materials. At last you had come to the meat of the class. The teacher clapped their hands together, looking out at the class’s blank faces with glee as they announced today’s theme.

The theme was apparently a ‘share stories in the round’ thing - something about traditions of sewing stories into the fabric. The finished quilt would thus posses scenes from stories important to the quilter, the goal being making the finished product more personal.

Of course this necessitated working in groups. Each table was large enough for four quilters to work at. You and Roadhog shared an aside glance (or you thought you did; it was hard to tell with the mask) and refused to move.

For your troubles you ended up having two random people join your table. You had seen them elbow other people out of the way, and weren’t sure how to feel about the mercenary way they looked at Roadhog and his sewing. He, however, seemed content to completely ignore their presence and respond only to your remarks.

You, however, nodded politely as the stories were shared. So what if you all but tuned them out in favour of cutting the scraps of fabric you’d need or passing things to Roadhog when he’d lean towards you and request them. They didn’t seem to mind, chattering away and looking with interest at Roadhog’s work (and jealously at you for some reason).

Then a brief silence fell over the table. You were focused on pinning a square in place, however, and didn’t notice until Roadhog’s warm hand covered your elbow. Looking up sharply, you saw that everyone was waiting for your tale. Apologising, you shared an amusing story someone in your family had told you once. It was nice, sharing the tale and reminiscing fondly of the transferred memory as you stitched it into your quilt.

Roadhog’s story was a simple one - his first day with Talon. And how everyone but someone who sounded suspiciously like you had been standoffish to him, taking his silence to be disinterest.

The four quilts at the table shared elements of the stories - the colours and small squares brought the stories to life before your eyes.

During the lunch break Roadhog drove you to a nearby café. It was a cute place decorated with colourful lights and plushes, and the hostess seemed to recognise your companion. You two were shown to a quiet corner table.

“Is this alright,” Roadhog asked, standing beside the table.

The seat was soft beneath you as you slid in next to the window. “Of course.”

He raised a hand toward you when you smiled, but pulled away to give a thumbs up. When the waiter came you ordered your favourite meal and Roadhog ordered a vegetarian pasta dish and expresso.

“So what do you think of this so far,” you asked.

Roadhog shrugged, the eyeglasses of his mask trained towards you. “Nice.”

You nodded. “You really know your way with needles. Did you see how surprised that snotty lady two tables over looked when the teacher praised your practice stitches?”

“If she thinks it odd that I can sew,” he intoned gravely, “let her come to Oz and see just what skills you need to live there.”

You looked up at him and smiled. “Well maybe you could tell some stories from Australia after lunch. Give her something to think about.”

Roadhog’s hand grew tight around the dwarfed cup in his hand as the mask’s eyes stared into yours. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he tilted his head to the side and gave you a thumbs up.

The class resumed with much the same sort of story telling. You paid about as much attention, joking with Roadhog under your breath. It was easier now, as he had moved his chair close enough that your legs sometimes brushed beneath the table.

You told your story. Something from your childhood that left Roadhog laughing.

But then came Roadhog’s turn for telling a story. Using few words he wove a tale of two beings called Wanampi, a father and a son.

The son was deformed. Why and how he was, Roadhog didn’t specify, beyond that one could not look at him without first noticing his deformity. Some of the nearby people had simply laughed at him, taunted him, and poked him with sticks until one day the Wanampi lashed out and swallowed them all. The remaining people retaliated and chased the two away, though the Wanampi eventually returned to dwell in a nearby waterhole.

“Oh, I didn’t know we were allowed to tell myths,” one of the other people at the table said. “If that’s the case, I think I’ll tell the story about how Odin hung himself to learn the runes -”

Roadhog tensed beside you as he quietly stitched two multicoloured snake-like creatures into the border of his quilt.

The class continued, though now Roadhog stuck to stories that sounded more like his own past. References to fighting in the Omnic Crisis, references to scavenging in the Outback, a brief tale about storming the Tower of London…

Your tales seemed boring in comparison, but Roadhog always gave you a nod and a thumbs up after you finished speaking.

And so the class continued. Through it all you and Roadhog softly talked to each other, making quiet jokes and dry remarks about how your quilts were going.

Then, all too soon in your opinion, it was over.

Looking down at your quilt, you traced your finger over the stitched smile of a long dead relative. “This was really very nice, Roadhog.” Your voice may have been overly warm and soft, but you no longer gave a damn. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Mako.”

You turned to see him carefully folding up his quilt so that the square depicting his arrival at Talon was on top. “Sorry?”

“My name.”

Smiling, you repeated it. Mako. Roadhog drew in a rasping breath, and turned to you. Reaching out, he brought a hand to you and closed it over your shoulder with slight hesitation.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. You opened you mouth, looking curiously up at him.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he said, cutting you off. “It was… lovely.”

Your heart fluttered. “No problem.”

His hand squeezed your shoulder lightly before sliding off. His fingers shook as he took up his quilt and turned to leave.

You ignored the way your shoulder seemed to tingle and followed him.

The return trip to the compound was mostly silent. Upon your return, Roadhog nodded to you and leant down to reattach the sidecar.

You fiddled with the quilt in your arms. “Hey, Mako, maybe we could do this again sometime. I think I saw some posters for a cake decorating class at the centre next week. Maybe we could go. If you’re free, that is.”

The snout of his mask turned to you and tilted to the side as he said your name softly. “I’d love to.”

You smiled and turned to leave. Your hand had just closed over the door handle when Roadhog called out your name again.

Turning, you watched as he jogged over. He paused, wheezing slightly, before a flood of words came out of him.

“Listen, I don’t want to lead you on or be led on. I like you. A lot. I had wanted to ask you to this class as a date, but wussed out last second. I think you like me too, but…” He paused, scratching his stomach and looking aside. “I hope that this isn’t something you didn’t want to hear, because I value your friendship even if you don’t like me the same way. You’re one of the few people I’ve met who deserve better than the ruin that is our world, and I don’t want to ruin this like I ruined…”

Suddenly you couldn’t control your smile. Adjusting the quilt in your arms, you reached out and touched him lightly on the wrist.

“It’s okay, Mako. I do like you.” His body tensed at your words even as he bent towards you. “I like you a lot.”

Roadhog drew in a shaking breath and reached up to his mask. Pulling it away, he revealed a face that was at once nothing like what you had imagined and exactly that. But he was smiling at you and leaning down with your name on his lips as he asked if he could kiss you.

Your answer was to jump up, throwing your arms around his neck as you kissed him with everything you had.

[shadowdianne]

2nd Part of “Dateless” Aka SQ Teacher’s au

1st Part Tumblr Version// A03 Version

“Asked” by @smartestwitchofherage  The original "prompt" is like it follows: Them in this ‘verse, coming out? Maybe Regina gets jealous and is like ‘hands off my girl’.I’d love to see their students shipping it before they come out, and theirs and MM and Killian’s reactions when they do.

I can’t say I followed everything but I took the idea as closer as possible to it. 

Also @longlive-myevilqueen There it is the second part! Thank you again for your tags!

Regina stopped her hand midair, the contents of her cup dangling precariously as she set her morning coffee cup back on her desk. The day was about to start and through the soon-to-be-filled corridors the first echoes were already being carried away by the wind that made the door behind Mary Margaret rattle as the other brunette bit down on her bottom lip. A nervous reflex Regina had learnt to recognize fairly well.

Sucking on her teeth and crossing her arms in front of her while leaning on the edge of her desk, Regina rose one brow as she waited for the other woman to finish the idea she was sure she must have heard it wrong. Mary Margaret, however, merely stood with her chin slightly raised, her erratic breathing betraying her intent of appear unfazed by the other woman’s reaction.

As seconds kept on dragging between them it was finally Regina who sighed audibly before speaking coldly to the other teacher, her words hanging between them as icy as floes.

“Let me see if I’ve understood you; you want me to back off from the annual stable-trip? Trip I got started four years ago?”

Mary Margaret managed quite well to nod and not whimper under Regina’s penetrant stare but Regina herself bared her teeth at the other woman’s guts for asking her such a thing. The corridor outside was beginning to fill with the usual clamor of starting to arrive students and she breathed deeply before focusing on Mary once again, her icy stare transforming into a warning the other woman, evidently, feigned to not have seen since she played briefly with the hem of her blouse before starting to speak. Her voice, contrary to Regina’s, was softer, meeker, and for a moment it was almost swallowed by the quickly approaching students. Yet, Regina, for her disgrace as she kept on thinking while eyeing Mary Margaret, was quite accustomed to the other woman’s voice and so she didn’t lose nor the gulp that preceded Mary’s words nor the sentence that quickly followed it.

“I asked Emma if she wanted to be part of the trip. She said yes and with her, Killian and I…”

Regina clenched her jaw at the mention of the P.E Teacher and as she begun to wish for her to have the actual ability to cast fireballs like the younger students sometimes seemed to believe of her, her first students entered in the class, stopping for a moment at the sight of both teachers talking to each other. A sight strange on its own.

Mad at herself for her unwillingness to let go Mary Margaret’s obvious attempt of setting the blonde up with the dark-haired man, Regina pushed herself out of the edge of her desk and took one single step towards Mary Margaret. Her high heels gave her enough inches over the other woman to give her the pleasure of stare down at Mary Margaret with her arms still crossed in front of her blouse, lips moving quickly as she hissed. She, however, could still feel the teeth of jealousy clawing at her insides as she gave her back to her students, careful not to say anything too loud.

“I don’t care.” She begun, eyes narrowed and posture as rigid as a rod. “Why you keep on thinking yourself as some sort of cupid but that trip is mine and you didn’t have any power to try to override anything I had already set up. God’s know that I wasn’t happy when Gold paired me with you.”

Mary Margaret rose her hands at her words, quickly looking at the incoming students who kept eyeing them curiously. Some of the closer ones to them where already beginning to whisper to each other and so she zeroed on Regina’s face one again, taking into the hard stare the other brunette was giving her. Mary Margaret, however, was stubborn and so she tried to speak.

“But...”

Regina shook her head and pointed to her classroom doors in where the trickling of students had almost stopped already.

“If Emma Swan wants to come to the trip she is welcomed. But I won’t have that worthless wonder in something I created. Understood?”

Mary Margaret sighed in defeat and turned, squaring her shoulders and tightening her jaw in the last possible second before turning towards Regina once again as the brunette begun to look to her students, lips still pursed.

“You don’t need to be jealous, I’m sure there is someone out there for…”

Regina didn’t speak but the stare she threw at her was enough of a warning to have Mary Margaret scurrying down, cheeks aflame. Behind her, she could see Regina’s voice calling for Ava’s attention as the girl’s voice seemed to ask for something, the tautness on her voice obvious on the way it floated through the no empty corridors.

“She said no.”

The quickly typed message was quickly answered with another from another particular brunette with a very distinctive red streak.

“Really? I wouldn’t have known.”

Mary Margaret didn’t see the dripping irony but she certainly felt her own sadness at the impossibility of pairing Emma with Killian. It was, she thought while sighing dreamily, opening the door of her own classroom and coughing loudly to her rambunctious students, a match made in heaven.

A heaven Regina certainly didn’t believe in at the end of her morning, one riot from her students later and her own promise to them that she was going to be in the trip. No matter the rumors Mary Margaret’s intentions had already started.

Pinching the bridge of her nose and looking through the windows of her class to the patio, she clenched her jaw once again at the thought of Emma being subjected to Kilian’s never-ending attempts to be charming. Face darkening out of anger, she checked her clock, glad to see she still had several minutes of recess.

A thought that got interrupted by none other than Emma sauntering on her class with a cheeky smile tugging her lips.

The blonde approached her by the window and stared outside with her before coughing dramatically. Her fingers were stained with dried ink and the detail made Regina smile inwardly as she also sighed, knowing fully well what was about to transpire. Something she had hoped that wouldn’t happen until that night.

“I’ve been told that I’m going with you to the trip.”

The sentence didn’t hold Emma’s smirk and Regina shot the younger woman a warning look that didn’t truly get hold on Emma as the blonde stared at her, smugness obvious on the way she kept snickering. Regina, not wanting to enter into the game, merely growled.

“Apparently you scared Mary Margaret to death. I heard Grace asking Ava what happened while coming here. Did you know they are making bets?”

That certainly give Regina a pause as she glanced at Emma feeling slightly embarrassed by the way she had behaved with Mary Margaret hours before. From the two it was usually Emma the one who first lost her bearings but Killian’s mention had certainly brought the worse on the brunette. Something Emma obviously saw in the way she kept her posture open and relaxed even if she still kept on smirking at her, obviously quite happy with herself.

Clearing her throat, Regina let her arms fall at both sides of her frame, sighing briefly before speaking for the first time since the beginning of the recess.

“About us?”

Emma hummed before covering her mouth with her left hand, a chuckle making her tremble before she run a hand through her tresses, eyes still trained at the other side of the windows. Something that told Regina that the younger woman was far more worried that she truly let her know; despite everything both of them made a point of trying to not to be seen far too much together during school hours. Emma’s presence was telling enough and for that Regina let her own reserves drop for a moment, quickly caressing the blonde’s back with one swirling motion before letting her hand drop again.

“They seemed pretty keen on us being together.”

That had the two of them chuckling. It had been at first a running joke between them; how long would it be before someone noticed. Apparently, they already had their answer.

“Ruby also asked me.” Emma added as their chuckles died out, an easy smile making her entire face glow even under the somewhat grey light of Maine’s midmorning sun. “Not about us being together but it was obvious… what she thought. Did you really told Mary Margaret to back off?”

The sudden question threw Regina off balance just in time for the bell to ring the end of recess, the voices of students quickly filling the corridors at the other side of the door one again. Biting her bottom lip in one quick motion Regina rose her chin and muttered a quick “And what if I did?” That got Emma snickering before she stole a small peck from her. The kiss quick enough that by the time Emma was already moving away the door of the classroom opened to let the two women see Ava Zimmer staring at them with one giant grin.

“I knew it!”

Regina groaned inwardly; Emma Swan was definetely going to be the death of her. If she didn’t drop dead in that moment of course.

[lovelylogans]

recurring dream

the odd thing about recurring dreams is that, no matter how many times you dream the same thing, it always takes you by surprise.

—david small

part of the wyliwf verse.

the sideshire files | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: mentions of a pregnancy scare, food mentions

pairings: moxiety

words: 2,435

notes: based super heavily on the s3 opener of gilmore girls, but this takes place when patton’s about nineteen/twenty. references a flashback in chapter nine of wyliwf.

brIIIIIIIIIIIIIING—

patton groans, barely bothering to lift his head from the pillow, and moves to smash his hand against the alarm clock again, and again, and again, until finally he manages to bop it against the right one that would allow him to return to that blissful, wonderful, thoughtless, quiet haze of sleep.

he sighs as he adjusts slightly, getting comfortable again. nice. silent. peaceful.

BWAHHH, BWAHHH, BWAHH, BWAHHH, BWAHH, BWAHH and DING DING DING and EH-EH-EH-EH-EH and even a cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo! and patton groans as loudly as he can over the true, chaotic cacophony, barely catching a blurry glimpse of the halo of alarm clocks surrounding his bedside before he briefly attempts silencing via pillow suffocation.

it doesn’t work. stupid alarm clocks. stupid consciousness.

so patton has to get to his feet and shut off the eighteen—eighteen!—alarm clocks that have been stashed around his room. there’s some on his nightstand, and some on the other one, and some on the dresser, and some in the closet, and even a couple in the bathroom. there’s one in the shower, for goodness’ sake, and patton huffs irritably as he shuts it off. 

that better be the last one. how did they even have that many clocks with timers on them???

he stomps down the stairs, grumpily ignoring his beautiful little house, the slanting, golden light of summer illuminating the yellow walls, sending everything into a soft, dreamy glow, glancing off picture frames and bringing out the colors in his knitted blankets thrown along the couches and armchairs and that one rocking chair in the corner. he’s talking even before he enters the kitchen.

“okay, see, when i say tomorrow, no matter what, make sure i get up at seven, what i mean is, tomorrow, no matter what, make sure i have the option of getting up at seven, perhaps waking me up, oh, i don’t know, with a shake of the shoulder, a poke—“

“papa!” logan says, wiggling, and patton quickly takes him into his arms before he can squirm right onto the ground, continuing to talk even after a quick kiss pressed to logan’s chubby little two, nearly-three-year-old cheek. 

“—because making loud noises when people are trying to rest is rude, isn’t it, logan?” patton says, and logan nods vociferously. 

“yeah, you’re asking the toddler,” virgil says, amused, now that his arms are free from holding logan he’s fully able to move to scramble the eggs, and patton pulls a face at him, adjusting logan in his arms.

“logan hasn’t woken me up with noisy noises since he was very little, and he gets a pass because he was a baby then,” patton says. 

“m’not a baby anymore,” logan says. “i’m a big boy.” 

“that you are,” patton agrees, moving to deposit logan in his booster seat at the table before he digs out the ceramic pot that he keeps coffee grounds in and takes in an appreciative inhale and—

he narrows his eyes at virgil, suspiciously. “this is decaf.”

“what are you talking about?” virgil says, brusque, but patton is onto him, he can tell that virgil’s trying to pretend he’s focusing more on the eggs when he’s actually trying to avoid patton’s stare.

“you switched my coffee,” patton says, already rattling around the kitchen to try and shift things out of the way to find it, “again.”

“i’m a busy man,” virgil scoffs, as patton peeks in the walnut cabinets, on his tiptoes because virgil will use his height against patton, and rattles open the silverware drawer, before he traverses to the next counter, and the next. “i’ve got a diner run, i have shipments to order, i have this breakfast to serve and will you stop that—?”

but he’s cut off by patton’s crow of victory, as he yanks out the ziplock bag full of grounds out from under the sink.

“ha ha!” patton cries. “under the sink, better than the freezer, clever, even, but not clever enough. you can’t stop the sniffer!”

“daddy found it,” logan says. “daddy wins!”

patton turns to gawk, jokingly, at virgil. “did you involve my son in this conspiracy?”

“hey, i’m trying to provide a good example,” virgil says defensively. “just one day without coffee. one!”

“daddy wins, daddy wins,” logan says. “told you!”

“told him what?” patton asks, as he scoops the right grounds into the machine.

“hide’n’seek,” logan says. “you’re the best.”

“guess so,” patton says, turning to see logan, hair illuminated by that same morning glow, “but i learned it from you, because you’re the best!”

“hey, one cup,” virgil says sternly, and patton sighs, theatrical, before he adjusts his grounds so that each of them will have one cup, and kicks on the machine, hearing it sputter to life.

“seriously,” virgil says. “i’m trying to pass this on to logan, he’s impressionable.”

“what’s immm-pressable mean?” logan asks.

“im-pres-sion-a-ble,” virgil sounds out. “it means your dad should set a better example so that you learn that too much caffeine is bad. can you say it with me? too much caffeine bad.”

“caffy bad,” logan parrots loyally, and patton jokingly smacks at virgil’s wrist. 

“i am allowed one cup, you know,” patton says teasingly. “you’re being too protective here, papa bear.”

virgil sighs, hand briefly skittering over patton’s belly, like it’s practically a habit, making patton’s heart swell, before he passes over a plate and carts logan’s over to put in front of him directly before he checks the coffee machine.

“okay, so, you’re both up, you’re fed, i’ll probably get going,” virgil says, zipping up his hoodie and nudging down his sleeves from where they’d been pushed up, before pouring himself a thermos.

“oh, we need cotton balls!” patton says, as even the smell of coffee is starting to kick his brain on.

“cotton balls, right,” virgil says. “anything else?”

“um,” patton says, wracking his brains. “i think some am-jay, for Our Friend—“

—virgil looks amused, but really, logan’s picked up on how to spell jam, so he’s stuck with pig latin here—

“—q-tips, wouldn’t mind some world peace, if you can manage it.”

“i’ll give it my best shot. should be home early,” virgil says, and bends to kiss the top of logan’s head before he leans in and presses a kiss to patton’s mouth, before he murmurs, “bye, caffeine-crazy,” against patton’s lips and patton smiles against his mouth, tugging lightly at his lapel to tug him in for another one, hoping against hope—

“papa gross,” logan complains, and patton and virgil pull apart just enough, patton grinning up at him a little sheepishly. 

“he learned it from raf, i think,” patton says. and really, expecting to get away with a second kiss after logan started doing that probably was a bit too much to hope for.

“serves us right, i guess,” virgil says, before he presses his hand against patton’s belly again, more deliberate, and gently skims his thumb against the ever-so-slight curve that patton swears is there, even if virgil tells him that he can’t really see it yet.

“bye, sid and nancy,” he tells the two little clumps of cells that will eventually grow into two little babies.

“mm, what do you think about fred and ginger?” patton says. “go really retro with it.”

virgil snorts, gathering his keys and wallet to stick into his pocket. “the nicknames are enough, in my family, no daughter of mine’s gonna be named ginger.”

“back to the drawing board it is,” patton quips. “logan, any new suggestions for your little siblings?”

logan considers the situation with all the gravity that it should bear, regardless of the bit of jam that he’s already got smeared across his cheek. really, patton’s never met a more serious toddler in his life. “monster truck.”

“just monster truck?”

“an’ microscope.”

“monster truck and microscope,” patton muses, looking back at virgil, feeling the corner of his lips threaten to let the laughter loose, and he can tell virgil’s biting the inside of his cheek for the same reason. “it’s got the alliteration thing going, i’ll tell you that.”

“boy’s a poet,” virgil says. “we’ll definitely take it under advisement, lo. pat, decaf, next time. and the rest of the day.”

“you’re a monster.”

“they’ll both have two heads if you don’t,” virgil says. 

“more to love,” patton declares, and tugs him in for one last quick little kiss, just one more, letting his hands linger on him as long as they can as virgil walks away, grinning at him all the while, and he ruffles logan’s hair one last time and patton smiles as he goes, settling both his hands on his belly—

patton wakes up with a sharp intake of breath, sitting up in his bed.

his bed. his bed. in his poolhouse, not that actual house which can he even really use the word actual at all it was a dream and—

patton glances to the side, and yes, there’s logan, in his toddler bed parked right next to patton’s, sleeping soundly, fingers stuck in his mouth, barely illuminated by a sliver of moonlight peeking in through the window. asleep.

patton rests his hand on his belly. yeah. definitely not pregnant.

and he doesn’t want to be pregnant, he tells himself firmly. he probably just had this dream because he had that totally embarrassing freak-out on virgil about maybe being pregnant a couple days ago, that’s all. 

“papa?” logan mumbles, blinking.

“oh, hey, honey,” patton says, in a soft whisper. “oh, sweetheart, i’m sorry, did i wake you up?”

“yeah,” logan admits, squinting up at him. “moon’s ‘wake.”

“yeah, it is.”

“why are you?” logan asks, and rubs at his eyes with a fist. “did’ja have a bad dream?”

“i—well, not really,” patton says. “i had a dream, yeah. but it was mostly just a really weird dream.”

“oh,” logan says, considering this. “s’it scary?”

patton considers. because—

well. no. it hadn’t been scary. even if the idea of being pregnant again makes his skin crawl to even think about it, and being pregnant with logan had been its own host of all sorts of difficult emotions, but being pregnant in the dream had been—

well. it had practically been a joy.

“nah,” patton decides. 

“mkay,” logan says. “want cuddles anyway?”

well, patton’s not just gonna not take him up on that.

“yeah,” patton decides, shifting. “can i lift you up here?”

“mm-hm.”

so patton reaches down, and scoops logan into his bed, blankets and all, and sets him closer to the middle of the bed, so logan wouldn’t be at risk for falling off, and tosses a couple extra pillows over to the side for extra measure. that side of his bed’s against a wall, but really, better safe than sorry.

“weird?” logan asks.

“oh, just a little,” patton says, slinging his arm over logan, so he’s hugging him. “you were there.”

“was i weird?” logan asks, shifting so that they’re practically nose-to-nose.

patton considers. well. really, patton could see logan recommending the name of microscope, and he has been using pig latin around him lately to say crofters and jam and jelly, so.

“no,” he says. “you were perfectly fine.”

“mkay,” logan says. “was virgil there too?”

patton swallows, and he prides himself on not sounding too squeaky when he says, “yeah, virgil was there too.”

“okay,” logan decides, and apparently those are the only two things that really matter to him, because patton watches as logan’s eyes slip shut and he slips off with a kind of speed that patton envies, and now he’s left to sit—well, lie—alone with the dream still firmly stuck in his mind.

his brain’s just working through the pregnancy scare a bit late. that’s what this weird dream is, he tells himself. yeah. it’s probably just his head trying to help him move on in a healthy way, cushioning it so that it made him seem like barely even a blip in his head. 

pregnant, because, well, pregnancy scare, that was the whole thing. patton in a house, because when he’d briefly even though about the possibility of it his brain had been rushing through bills and expenses and how to make space for a baby in the poolhouse, so him having a house was probably him, projecting, his wishes for the future, that’s normal, he thinks. and...

and virgil as the father of the babies because one, patton tells himself, virgil is his best friend, and two, he’d been the one who’d helped patton through the pregnancy scare in the first place, so it probably just crossed some wires in his brain, that’s all.

nope, patton thinks, trying not to flush as his brain rushes through the way virgil smiles at him, almost secretive and soft and a rarity, in public, so it always feels like patton’s on top of the world whenever he does get it, and his intense, deep brown eyes, and his lower arms, visible from how he pushes up his flannel’s sleeves sometimes, toned yet not super beefy with muscle and how patton knows the rest of him is he same way, the way virgil dotes on logan and the way his eyes light up whenever logan does something particularly clever and the way that virgil is just as enthralled watching logan learn something new as patton is, and virgil’s amazement at logan growing at that terrifyingly quick rate of his, and the way that virgil tells him he’s a good dad and means it and when it comes from him patton just about feels like he’s floating because a compliment from virgil always makes him feel like he’s practically floating, definitely no other reason why virgil would be my husband.

he’ll probably forget it by morning, he thinks to himself.

yeah, right. because patton’s luck would totally be that good.

he does forget it, a little, by the time he wakes up in the morning with a toddler half on top of him, making it a bit more difficult to breathe. 

the hope of forgetting it fades a bit more after he has the same dream the next night.

it fades more the night after that. and more after that. and more after that.

because really, having a delightful picturesque perfect awkward recurring dream that his friend—definitely only his friend, patton thinks, even if he flushes after waking up and noticing new details, the ring on his finger, the reverent looks dream virgil had given him, the gentle, protective touches to his belly—was married to him and expecting twins with him? that’s more his kind of luck than anything.

[whatwhat--pregameup]

tl;dr: it was worth EVERY CENT to go see Great Comet and I’m gonna be on those tour tickets if/when they go on sale

spoilers for things not on the album and things from other parts of War and Peace

Cast at this performance: Shoba Narayan (u/s) as Natasha, Brittain Ashford as Sonya, Grace McLean as Marya D., Lucas Steele as Anatole, Amber Gray as Helene, Nick Clark (u/s) as Andrey/Bolkonsky, Gelsey Bell as Mary, Paul Pinto as Balaga

Pre-Show:

- The lobby/hallways to the house look like a dingy back alley somewhere in Russia. After looking back at Dave Malloy’s Genius annotations, I realized that it was basically a recreation of his experience stumbling into a Russian club (which incidentally inspired a lot of the show)

- I was in a table seat on/in the stage, so we entered at the top of the stage through the huge doorway that gets used during the show. I was literally breathless when I walked in because I had a chance to look out over the entire theater and it’s…it’s just stunning.

- There’s Russian opera/folk music playing in the house, which is p cool

- So when the show starts, there’s an air raid siren (and I fought down the urge to go “SILENT HILL OH NO”) and most of the cast literally jumps out (there are TONS of hidden doorways in the walls) and runs around/through the audience.

- It was at this point that we got free potato dumplings! I think they’re only given to the stage seats? But they were delicious. - Paul Pinto (Balaga/hella people) was our dumpling deliverer and just a hella cool dude in general - my jaw practically hit the floor when I saw Amber Gray (Helene) walking around. holy hell if I didn’t know I was queer before then I SURE DO NOW

Prologue:

- the opening accordion note is REAL long and the first verse actually happens while Andrey is bidding farewell to Natasha and going off to war. He gives her a necklace. This is actually p important as a symbol but this also sets up Natasha sympathetically from the outset because you get to see her and Andrey together

- Shoba Narayan sings beautifully, is totally charming as Natasha, and incredibly sweet in person. I hope she gets to do all the things ever. <3 

- HOW DOES THE ANDREY/BOLKONSKY QUICK CHANGE HAPPEN SO DAMN FAST??? I JUST SAW ANDREY ALL DRESSED UP FOR WAR GO THROUGH THAT DOOR?????? the costume department is doing one hell of a job

Pierre:

- not gonna lie I was a little skeptical of Josh Groban because he has That Voice, but rest assured, he DOES deliver “dear bewildered and awkward” Pierre. 

- watching Old Bolkonsky, Dolokhov, and an ensemble member all playing guitar together was p great, especially with Bolkonsky hobbling away

- I could dedicate an entire post to little things that Lucas Steele did throughout the show tbh. Anatole is ALWAYS up to something, but for now I’ll just mention that he takes a lot of shots during this song and stumbles right by Pierre when he goes “you empty and stupid contented fellows”

- have I mentioned that I’m still 500% queer for Amber Gray while Helene just has this Look on her face like she’s just so tired of Pierre’s Philosophical Melodrama Hour

Moscow:

- Marya is noticeably less excited about Sonya arriving. Honestly 25% of Marya is just in Grace McLean’s facial expressions and mannerisms and she’s already a Large Ham on the recording so. 

- Grace McLean gestured at our table when she said “faded and fading princesses”.

- Natasha does this little dance where she twirls around while humming to herself and it’s just…it’s so cute.

The Private and Intimate Life of the House:

- holy SHIT I need to take a minute to talk about Gelsey Bell. She actually plays a bunch of minor/incidental roles throughout the show, and the things she can do with her voice…holy crap.

- if you didn’t feel bad for Mary on the cast album then uh watching Gelsey will change your mind. especially for anyone who has experience caring for an aging family member.

- Natasha’s “I know they’ll like me, everyone has always liked me” got a healthy laugh from the audience

- one of the ladies at my table was the “cheap French thing” who Old Bolkonsky flirts with and it was hilarious. 

- Paul Pinto (Balaga) also plays the butler/servant during this scene with this hobble and hunch, and he moved SO quietly that I legit didn’t notice him moving in between me and the woman next to me. but he served us shots (of water), which was p cool

Natasha and Bolkonskys:

- Natasha and Mary fetch stools and sit down at one of the tables right in the middle of the stage. silently getting people to scoot over is just as awkward as you might imagine, but also really funny to watch and adds to the general awkwardness of their interactions that later contributes to Natasha’s refusal

No One Else:

- aka the moment where Shoba Narayan slayed my whole existence

- the staging for this, I just. where do I even start. Natasha in the moonlight, singing to the audience, the gentle winter snow at the end, fuuuuuuck

- at “I feel like putting my arms around my knees”, Natasha was sitting on the steps on the other side of the stage, right next to a girl who probably wasn’t more than 12-13 years old. when she said “like this” and put her arms out, she did it like she was showing her how and it was THE CUTEST 

- also you get to see Andrey reading her letters and Natasha desperately reaching out for him, and it…wow. man. my heart. it’s so much sadder in person.

- she also delivered part of the “maybe he’ll come today” lines to another audience member sitting next to her, like she was looking for validation, and I just….oh sweetie.

The Opera:

- Paul Pinto sighting: the guy who goes “welcome to the opera” and announces various characters

- Sonya jumps a little when Marya comes back in because she’s just so forceful

- EVERYONE points at Natasha for “Natasha smooth your gown” and her facial expression is kind of like “okay, geez”

- Sonya and Natasha holding hands and running around together is cute asf

- okay, having seen the opera in person, I gotta say…it’s still really hard to explain. but I’m gonna try.

- “act 1″ features 2 main singers (played by whoever plays Mary and Balaga) and two dancers (your featured dancers, basically). it’s basically opera by way of performance art and it is purposely weird. fun fact: Tolstoy was not fond of opera and straight up uses “pretentious” in the text of War and Peace (check it out here!)

- lights up after the first opera scene, Sonya was tilting her head to the side. same, girl, same

- something I didn’t quite pick up on the album: both Sonya and Natasha do the initial description of Anatole when the doors open. it’s hard to notice on the album and I didn’t really put it together until Natasha was like a few feet away from me

- when Anatole shows up, the bass is BOOMING. like, it shook the floor. as it should. and Lucas Steele’s poses on the beats, dear lord. and true to character, he was flirting with/eye-fucking audience members as he walked down the stairs

- 100% getting bowie vibes from Anatole tbh

- Lucas Steele has the most amazing blue steel face (approved by ben stiller, for the record), everyone else can go home. also his cheekbones tho

- towards the end of the opera, Natasha watches Andrey die (he gets dramatically opera-stage-murdered by two ensemble members who pull long red sashes). she’s visibly shaken by it and Anatole enters her box (giggity) right after that

Natasha and Anatole:

- when he seizes her from behind and kisses her on the neck, Anatole GOES IN. like, grabs part of her skirt and lifts it up partway. it’s, uh. something.

- I’m not 100% sure if it’s meant to be a real thing that happens, honestly?? I’m gonna have to check the text of war and peace again to be sure but the way it’s staged, I honestly thought it was something Natasha briefly imagined and then tried to pretend that she didn’t

- Anatole directed the “isn’t that so” to a male audience member with a little wink wink nudge nudge thing

- also, hello unwanted touching: he grabs her wrist at “it’s alright, Natasha, I’m here” and it doesn’t look like a wanted touch on those ~bare arms~

The Duel:

- OH MAN THIS IS SO MUCH FUN. another instance of getting free shots, and toasting with the cast

- IT TURNS INTO A RAVE. straight up. strobe lights and everything.

- Grace McLean has A Booty. Instance #2 of “if I didn’t know I was queer before…”

- and how do I know that? because she was wearing a catsuit and waved her butt in my face. and smacked it with a riding crop. 11/10 she can get it.

- also there was another dancer in the ensemble who danced up on the railing next to our table basically wearing leather that wouldn’t be out of place at folsom street fair. one of the ladies at my table was caught a little off guard but I swear to god in that moment I thought “eh this is nothing, I’m from San Francisco”

- Paul Pinto sighting: the duel announcer

- Pierre basically wins the duel because everyone is trashed. He’s so drunk that he stumbles and fires too early (giggity), and lucks out because he shot Dolokhov (who is also quite drunk by this point) in the shoulder

- based on my understanding of the album, I expected Helene to be a lot more sarcastic/cold at the end of the duel, but she looked surprisingly shaken. I’m not sure if it was because she almost lost her boytoy or because she would lose the material comfort/privilege of being married to her husband, but it was definitely interesting to see

Dust and Ashes:

- aka Josh Groban’s “for your consideration” moment for the Tony voters

- ok but for real I saw some glassy eyes in the audience during this one, and I totally get it. this song is beautifully written (”we are a god and angels weep” is out of Tolstoy’s writing, IIRC, and it’s brief but impactful) and it is a complete emotional journey. I, too, am ready to wake up.

Sunday Morning:

- when Natasha looks into the mirror, she’s positioned so that Pierre is right behind her, i.e. he’s reflected in the mirror. she really did see her future (War and Peace spoiler: Natasha and Pierre are happily married later on in the book).

- oh man, nothing like 19th century church to fan the guilt that goes with budding sexuality/a crush

Charming:

- ok so when this song starts, Natasha has just taken off her dress. She’s only in lingerie when Helene drops in. she’s literally exposed/vulnerable

- Natasha’s face when Helene tells her that Anatole is into her though!!! anyone who’s known a teenage girl knows that facial expression. it’s fucking precious

- Natasha goes from lingerie -> Helene’s fur coat -> her ball outfit (final chorus). she’s in her underwear for most of it, so make of that what you will

- a really important moment: Helene removes the necklace that Andrey gave Natasha (with some protest) and replaces it with a multi-string pearl necklace (and who wears multiple strings of pearls first…?)

- guys I’m unapologetically queer asf for Amber Gray (#3)

- at the very end, Natasha is copying Helene’s dance moves with her little dress swishes. it’s cute but also a nice little bit of symbolism.

The Ball:

- good god Shoba Narayan is an actual princess ok

- it’s interesting that Natasha and Anatole are actually dancing on opposite sides of a circular portion of the stage when Natasha’s describing their dance. you get a real sense of her inner monologue/the fact that the two of them are having somewhat different perceptions of what’s going on

- I’m actually kind of surprised at how many people listen to the album and don’t really register the fact that Anatole is blocking Natasha’s path/hurting her when he grabs her arm. pair it with the music and that already sounds like Bad Times, but it’s definitely Not A Good Thing when combined with watching Natasha’s reactions (she’s literally running from him)

- the sound when they kiss is the entire ensemble playing the rims of water glasses. Helene’s note is the longest.

- Anatole’s face when Natasha goes “but I love you” is hilarious and a pretty good hint (just in case anyone missed it) that he is not interested in her affections beyond an assist to get her into bed with him

- during the “I’ll do anything for you” exchange, Natasha is reaching up with outstretched open hands. Anatole has a closed fist. it’s a small thing, but it says a lot about the power dynamics at play

Letters:

- Anatole’s love letter to Natasha gets “sent” through the audience. It got a little held up and Natasha was desperately/frantically gesturing for them to move it along. eventually, a guy got up from his seat to hand it to her and he got a round of applause

- the second repetition of “a love letter”, Anatole does the hand motion for a woman’s figure (you know the one)

- Lucas Steele holding out every extended note just because he can. 

- “just say yes” is delivered with Anatole holding Natasha by the waist/hips and kneeling in front of her.

- Anatole fist pumping after Natasha goes “yes! yes!” and lets go of him

- Anatole has this smug expression as he walks off at the end, and Sonya makes eye contact with him as she’s approaching. it’s a really small silent exchange but you can immediately tell that Sonya knows that something is up and isn’t having any of it

Sonya and Natasha:

- you know that text post about “you know you’ve become an adult when you watch the Little Mermaid and you’re like ‘YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW HIM’”? yeah, that’s basically this scene

- Shoba!Natasha put so much sass into “I do not grasp the question” and “you don’t understand anything”. it’s little mannerisms like that that make her 100% believable as a teenager tbh. I swear I caught her rolling her eyes at one point and I was like “yep definitely made that face before”

- literally sitting between them during this argument is intense my dudes.

Sonya Alone:

- I’ll be honest, I have a habit of skipping this song on the album because it’s such a lull between the intensity of the end of the preceding argument and the beginning of the abduction. but in person…holy fuck.

- Brittain Ashford is everything in this scene. obvi still open to other actors’ interpretations, but her voice is just so right for Sonya’s raw sadness and determination

- this scene ends with Sonya reaching for Natasha, who just holds her letter and turns her head away, and my heart. augh my heart.

Preparations/Balaga/The Abduction:

- doing these all together because it just…happens

- Pierre is actually ptfo at the beginning of this scene (implied bc he was drinking); Anatole accidentally wakes him up on his way out, so his “ah Anatole” is actually sort of half-asleep

- I caught a glimpse of the first chair cellist grinning ear to ear once the ostenato part starts and I was just like “YEAH GIRL GET IT”. she was so pumped to do this sequence

- the patter in this is real and Nick Choksi fuckin kills it.

- also it was during this scene that he smacked a teacup (and it was a very nice looking metal one too!) down onto our table in front of me while listening to Anatole’s nonsense. he would later take my hand and make sure I used it to raise a glass during the abduction

- it’s very subtle but you can catch various ensemble members grabbing instruments and getting ready towards the middle/end of Preparations. Amber Gray caught my eye (obvi) because Helene basically goes and puts on a vest as soon as she’s out of the scene and gets a tom. Amber Gray playing the tom in the lead-up to Balaga is my aesthetic (#4)

- the shakers come out with the rest of the ensemble at the beginning of Balaga - we were given a basket and basically told to take one and pass it down. you’re allowed to keep them and I brought mine home with me :)

- Paul. Motherfucking. Pinto. Dude is full of so much energy that it is infectious 

- it’s impossible to not sing along when people are playing instruments/dancing/singing right next to you

- got another round of shots before Pierre’s toast

- during the “it’s a russian custom” break, Anatole sat down next to two older ladies and hardcore flirted with them #BlueSteele

- so the “fur cloak” scene features a pizzicato violin soloist (who is wearing the fur cloak in question). she has tattoos on her hipbones that look like the holes on a violin that are highly visible with the outfit she has on. A+ casting right there

- Pierre does the ‘ding’. It was a great ‘ding’ and I am v proud

- Gelsey sighting: the maid

In My House:

- the shakers stopped IMMEDIATELY. Grace McLean has THAT MUCH PRESENCE.

- so she starts off this song with a smile, but it is through clenched teeth and utterly frightening. holy fuck I do NOT want to be in trouble for the rest of my life after that

- small fumble on “what is it to me”, but Shoba said it and corrected it so quickly that it actually worked because it sounded like Natasha had a case of Angrish because she was so upset

- another instance of “I am sitting in the middle of this argument and this is incredibly uncomfortable” because it’s so intense

A Call to Pierre:

- jesus christ do NOT piss off Marya D. but I love how it’s not just anger, there’s legitimate worry and panic. like, I get the feeling she’s about to cry just from all of the conflicting feelings leaking out of her eyes

Find Anatole:

- the lights go up when Pierre goes to the club, and I’m sure it’s no coincidence that it makes the table seats super visible to the orch/mezz audience

- Helene is in her lingerie when hiding/comforting Anatole. Considering their interactions throughout this show, that’s definitely on purpose

Pierre and Anatole:

- last instance of “sitting so close to an argument that it’s uncomfortable”

- Anatole “frowning and biting his lip” looks a LOT like a small child sulking during/after a temper tantrum. Also Lucas fumbled with the stool a bit and knocked it over which added to the whole tantrum/possibly slightly disoriented from Pierre shaking him thing

- Natasha’s poisoning is VERY obvious (which is obvi something you don’t get from the album alone). You see her coming down the steps with the arsenic and water and she is in the middle of the stage, between Anatole and Pierre when she goes through with it

- The Note. holy fuck.

Natasha Very Ill:

- Anatole is actually very slowly on his way out through the doors during the first part of the song. He disappears riiiiight about the time that the electronic parts stop (not a coincidence)

- There’s a lot of silent acting going on during the show, but I mention it here because what really struck me was Pierre comforting Marya during this scene.

Pierre and Andrey:

- Andrey is both noticeably changed from the war and heartbroken over Natasha. It’s no surprise that he can’t bring himself to forgive her, considering the state he’s in (minor W&P spoiler: he eventually does tho) Nick Clark's "never speak of that again" is more forceful than on the album - he basically shouted it. definitely got than anger

- I noticed Sonya holding Natasha in the background. not sure if they were both crying

- At the very end of this scene, Andrey goes and sits (well more like collapses into) the chair that his father sat in earlier in the show. and he ignores Mary (who looks so excited to see him, poor girl) on the way there

Pierre and Natasha:

- ok I felt my eyes starting to do The Thing during this scene. it is heartbreaking to watch frail, ill Natasha weakly walk down the stairs in front of you while clinging to the railing for dear life when you’ve been watching her dance/run/sing up and down them for the entire preceding show

- “I don’t know, I don’t know at all” hit me right in the gut. I thought I might cry, but I figured that with my dry-ass eyes, my contacts would take care of it…

- …and then The Line happened. I felt exactly one tear make it out (which is a LOT for my stupid dry allergy-tastic eyes). I also saw a lot of glassy eyes in the audience and heard a lot of sniffles

The Great Comet of 1812:

- so I was seated super close to the comet itself. it’s right over the center pit/Pierre’s salon and I was maybe a few feet from that, so it was amazing to watch it come down.

- it’s really hard to describe the comet chandelier but I can tell you that the “actual” comet is just one bulb, but when it happens, it is the single brightest thing in the theater. it’s also the final light to go out after the giant chandelier lights up and fades out.

- Pierre sits down to watch the comet at the very end which seems like a neat cue for the groban stans to stop staring at him and pay attention to the really cool thing that is happening

General/stuff I thought about later/stage door:

- something I realized after I left: Andrey wasn’t the family’s saving grace, Pierre was. within the bounds of the show, he saves Natasha and her family from disgrace and Andrey and Anatole’s lives (avoiding a duel and Anatole getting charged with bigamy). in the larger context of the book, he also saves the Rostovs from their financial issues because ends up inheriting his father’s title and money and Natasha marries him.

- “stupid child” really is a good descriptor for Anatole

- Or Matias, the music director, is practically a one-man show. honestly I’d see this again just to watch him jam out. his conducting is quite possibly the most entertaining, non-traditional conducting I’ve ever seen

- basically everyone besides natasha/sonya is part of the ensemble at some point outside of The Abduction sequence. and a lot of them play instruments (see: Helene on the drums, Dolokhov on guitar). it’s rad.

- Dolokhov has some srs eyeliner on his lower lashline - but only on the lower lashline (and nobody else does). I wonder if it’s supposed to be for preventing glare since he’s a “crazy good shot”

- there are a bunch of interactions between Anatole and Helene that are uncomfortably close for siblings (and Helene coddling him in her lingerie near the end of the show basically seals the deal). it’s a great nod to the book. 

- Helene/Dolokhov/Anatole is as close to a canon OT3 as I’ve seen anything get in a long time.

- there are same-sex pairs of dancers throughout the show. I managed to spot 3 during The Ball, but there might be more. 

- This show is what I wish our entertainment could look like all the time. colorblind casting, vibrant production, and so much fun. 

- Josh Groban is the nicest dude. His publicist kept coming out to remind us that he didn’t have time to do photos since they were on their way to something else, but Josh insisted on signing everything that he could. I also happened to capture a pretty excellent little moment (here)

- Shoba Narayan was also super sweet! I’m gonna forever side eye the kid next to me who thought that “you sound just like Denee” was a good compliment tho

- Gelsey reassured a fan that Mary’s life does get better later on in the book