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Happy trails to those wonderful people!!!

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* not necessarily their real name, it can be whatever they go by online

* if someone doesn't reveal their name in public and only tells it to close friends, don't mention their name and respect their privacy please

* "prev", "oomf", "mutual" etc don't count unless it's unironically their name?

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hermes in hadestown is the exact opposite of an unreliable narrator. a tortured narrator. a little *too* reliable. incredibly aware of exactly what is happening at any given moment, vaguely spoiling it for you in the beginning, despairing every second of it. but ultimately motivated to continue to tell the story over and over and over with a smiling face for the sake of the audience, and for the sake of the characters themselves, singing it again to keep them alive. knowing how it will end, but singing it again so that the cycle may restart and eurydice may come back to life. enduring the misery of it all, over and over, holding the knowledge of what will come to pass but continuing anyway to see orpheus happy just one more time before it all goes down in flames again.

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AAAARGH

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pony whose wardrobe is 99% his brothers hand me downs u are so important to me

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ponyboy would always call darry “darrel” in a mocking way to piss him off during arguments. and while those arguments became more frequent after their parents’ deaths, that’s just how it always was.

“it’s not that big of a deal, darrel!”

it used to just be something that pony did as a way to piss off his brother even more. to retaliate against all the hollering he did. he never meant for it to stick.

but as time went on, pony and darry started to fight more often. pony’s mind began to dehumanize darry. pretty soon, darry didn’t even seem like his brother anymore. and as these fight continued, the use of his full name grew. suddenly, darry was not longer darry.

well, actually is wasn’t very suden. it happened very slowly. so slowly that no one really noticed that ponyboy stopped using the nickname. so slowly that no one thought anything of it when the rest of the gang started to pick up the habit, too. no one realized it. not even darry.

that was until one night.

he and pony had gotten into it again. god, when will this be over? except this one was different. because this time, instead of the sassy darrel that ponyboy would always shoot out, “darry” came out with just as much venom.

darry shut down that night. after he heard his nickname be said with such malice from his kid brother’s mouth, all he could think about was how much everything has changed. how much he had changed. he didn’t mean to! honest! all he wanted was to keep his family together as best as he could but now, they don’t even seem him the same anymore. hell. he doesn’t see himself in the same way as before.

that night, he let himself cry. he cried himself to sleep and then the next morning, he did what he does best.

he sucked it up. and he continued his day as if his heart wasn’t completely ripped out of his chest the night before.

because if he isn’t working to keep the house together, then who will?

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there’s something so heartbreaking about the lines, “for a few seconds he might have felt pure again. i’d like to believe maybe the smallest parts of him made it all the way back to new york city. maybe the dust of his soul is still on the front of that freight train. the truest bits of dallas winston.” i can’t even put it quite into words but the inherent tragedy of it all. pony wants to believe that dallas is out there somewhere.

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brody has such a sick voice ugh

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happy trails bows will never not make me weep my eyes out :((( and god the way the whole ensemble kneeled before milena and let her bow on her own, and milena and ryo got to bow together as martrip, and then the big group hug with a single spotlight .... ough my god

captured by @/cassandra.westin on ig

and its so amazing that both ryo and milena got to be On Stage for their final show. as swings, thats not always a guarantee. and they got to bow hand in hand <3

tumblr wont let me embed the links rn but go to @/useumofoadway on ig for a beautiful bow video. its full of so many beautiful moments for that cast; tilly and milena getting to bow side by side, and tilly starting them all kneeling for milena so she could bow solo. the rest of the company throwing epdm or kisses or hugs her way as they bowed. ryo and milena's bow spots being right next to each other bc of their tracks. pulling ryo and milena center stage, and the kupermans bringing milena flowers. the solid 20 seconds of applause just for milena, bc god did she put her entire being into keeping this show running for Years. the giant group hug lit by a single spotlight. and the whole cast cheering milena off stage for the last time, chanting and clapping <3

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wyd when he shows up

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happy trails to milena & ryo🥹🥹

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To all the Trevor Wayne haters:

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me trying to impress the ladies

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josh was NOT in the gc

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me when the

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why do i keep mixing up zofran and zoloft

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Steve scowls, crosses the empty street in the dark, 'n hovers uncertianly under the flickerin' streetlamp in the space just before his regret 'n ache burned into anger. He's got no clue what time it is. Somehow, too early 'n too last at the same time.

He pops his collar against the chill 'n tries to light a cig, cupped close to his face 'n dartin'. Summer's still clingin' on by her fingertips, but, when nobody's lookin', or maybe when no one should be around to check, a wind blows in that smells like dead leaves 'n the smell of Darry's apple pie.

But now it's not promisin'. It's just cold. He sighs, points his feet across the lot just to be movin'. The street lamp flicks on, off, on again. Steve strikes another match, tries vainly to shield it behind bruised knuckles. He's not payin' one bit of attention when he trips over the dark shape curled against itself 'n half hidden in the tall grass.

He sidesteps, catches his balance before he sprawls straight onto the ground, whips around to see what the hell he'd slammed into 'n comes face to face with a switch, shinin' in the low light. On, off, on.

"Steve?" Johnny's hair is loose 'n fallin' in dark waves around his eyes. His voice still marred 'n tired.

"Jesus fuck. Johnny?" Steve drops his fists, glory, he didn't even remember raisin' 'em, thanks God for the first 'n last time that sleep slowed Johnny's reaction time or Steve was liable to have been sliced to fuckin' ribbons by now. But even the thought makes his stomach lurch 'cause what if it hadn't been Steve?

Glory. One day the kid was gonna get himself killed.

"Johnny, what the hell are you doin' out here man?" Johnny pushes his hair back absently, flicks his knife closed 'n slides it back into his pocket, lifts a shoulder 'n lets it fall.

"Couldn't go home." He tilts his face 'n Steve catches the shadow of a bruise that stretches around Johnny's eye' n across the sunken hollows of his cheeks.

He lets out a low hiss 'n Johnny shrugs again, drops down to the knotted root of a tree long since knocked down, pulls out a pack of Kools. "Why didn't you go to the Curtis'?"

"Didn't wanna be a bother." He taps the box against the heel of his hand 'n Steve doesn't wait for him to ask for a match, just pulls one outta his pocket 'n offers it up. His instinct to say that he ain't ever a bother 'n he's always welcome there 'n Steve didn't know where he kept gettin' the fool idea he wasn't drys up 'n dies in his throat. 'Cause he's out here too. Three blocks away 'n headed further. So instead, he just drops down beside him, tuckin' his knees up into his chest.

"Can I bum a cig? I lost mine when some punk tripped me 'n nearly made me eat shit." He grins 'n Johnny rolls his eyes and passes him over one.

"Last I checked you tripped over me." Steve finally finds the sweet spot between their shoulders where the wind can't get 'n strikes the end of his weed.

"Tom-a-to, tom-ah-to." Johnny just chuckles, kicks his feet out in front of him 'n runs his hand over his arms, both of them sorely regrettin' not havin' jackets. Not that either of 'em were in spots to go thinkin' of the weather when they left.

"So. What are you lookin' for?" Steve blows the smoke out through his nose, the sickly sweet menthals Johnny's god a preference for burnin' up his throat. He leans back, props himself up on his hands, pulls a blade of grass up 'n twists it 'round his fingers like Soda always did.

"Wasn't lookin' for much of anythin'." Johnny turns to look at him, studies him with those bright, dark eyes of his. He's got the ember end of his cig hoverin' in his hand, lightin' him up 'n Steve can clearly see a thin collar of dark bruises that ring Johnny's neck he hadn't noticed before. He grits his teeth 'cause he knew exactly who had put them there, finally feels the anger he'd been lookin' for spark 'n light, thrum under split knuckles.

"A fight?" Goddamn Johnny 'n his eerie ability to just see things.

"Mostly just somethin' to put my fist through." He tries to chuckle dryly but he chokes on it. 'Cause ain't he out here lookin' for the thing Johnny was runnin' from?

"So, Dallas?" Johnny just grins, pulls his knees back up 'n turns to rest his head down on them. "He ain't out here tonight. Think he's with the Curtis' 'n you'll have to go through Darry first there."

"So he's out." Steve rolls his eyes jokingly 'n earns another hoarse laugh. But it doesn't last 'cause now they're both thinkin' real hard about that couch 'n how much better it was than a rotted root in a lot.

There's a brief pause 'n Steve can feel Johnny studyin' him. He always reminded him of Soda when he did that. You just got the feelin' you were bein' picked apart in ways you had never been before. That someone was about to tell you things you didn't know about yourself.

"Was it your Da?" Steve cuts his eyes hard away, should have known. 'Cause he ain't got anythin' to be angry at here 'cept Johnny 'n he could never do that. But that means he ain't got nothin' to stop the regret poolin' back up in his stomach.

"Yeah." Johnny nods. Doesn't need to ask anythin' else. 'Cause if anyone gets it, it's Johnny. But that makes his ribs ache 'n his bruised knuckles burn 'cause he can't fuckin' compare with him. 'Cause when Johnny had a bad night it meant someone had to scrape him off the fuckin' pavement 'n make sure his folks hadn't finally cracked his skull clean in half.

When Steve had a bad night he took a walk around the fuckin' block 'n took a fist to the first fight he could find. 'Cause he father would never do him the favor or makin' it physical 'n no one cared that get the fuck out 'n never come back hurt worse than a couple goddamn broken ribs.

Jesus. How could he sit next to him in the lot 'n think he had it bad at all when in a few days he'd walk home with five bucks in his hand 'n a place to stay until it got bad again?

"Steve?" He jumps, doesn't realize he's tremblin' til Johnny leans into him. He scrubs the back of his hand over his face, goes to take drag 'n sighs when he finds the things blown out again.

"Yeah, Johnny Cakes?"

"I'm sorry." Steve whips his head to look at him but Johnny's just got his eyes closed, head down on Steve's shoulder, 'n he looks so... tired. Not small. Not broken. Just tired. 'Cause Johnny's probably the toughest goddamn kid Steve has ever met.

"Ain't your fault."

"Didn't say it was." Steve sigh, drops his head down against Johnny's.

"I guess you didn't."

"You don't deserve that." 'N Steve feels that right in his stomach. Like a switch cut cleanly up his gut 'n between his ribs 'n opened him up. 'Cause Johnny how could sit there with a black eye 'n rasp through every breath 'n tell Steve he didn't deserve to be treated like that?

'N he wouldn't listen to it from Soda. 'Cause Soda couldn't get it. Soda was so wrapped up in love how could he? Sure, his da wasn't like Mr 'n Mrs. C. But he wasn't that bad. Wouldn't believe it from Darry 'cause he wasn't no better. How could Steve not deserve it? He didn't have it bad. He didn't. He had five dollars 'n cold hard proof that it wasn't ever that serious or nothin'.

"Don't say that, Johnny. You got it worse than me. I ain't got nothin' to bitch about compared to you."

"You got it different." Johnny tilts his head back. Pins him right to the sky with those big dark eyes. "Don't mean you don't get to grieve it, too."

Jesus. What the hell was he supposed to say to that.

So he doesn't say anythin'. Just worries his lip, drops his forehead against the top of Johnny's head, gathers up his brother tight in his arms 'n feels suddenly like he could fall asleep right there, tucked up against Johnny in the big, empty, cold night that would burn off by dawn 'n make way for strawberry-stained mouths 'n the last good weeks of summer. "I'm sorry, too."

"I know." But in the lot, they were just two scared kids in the dark. 'N Steve was sick of livin' like that. Thinks, maybe for the first time, they both deserved better.

"C'mon, Johnny." He slides to his feet, offers Johnny a hand-up he takes without hesitation. "We're goin' home." 'N they both know he doesn't mean back to their folks 'n the empty mausoleums they were always dressin' up 'n hopin' to find love in. He means an empty couch 'n an armchair 'n someone who would look for them in the middle of the night when it got deceptively cold.

'N Johnny folds himself to Steve's side 'n Steve throws an arm around him 'n they turn back up the street, matchin' stride for stride. 'Cause Steve 'n Johnny weren't the same. But maybe they were the closest you could possibly get.