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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

Note

ian + mickeys neck (was thinking of the drunk ian fic and wondered if you would be interested in pursuing this idea further?) <3

anon i am CRYING thank u so much for this!!!! i have been feeling like i need to make my contribution to the “mickey’s neck” discourse for a while lmao and this is my opportunity (esp bc ian holding mickey in the 11x12 stills wrecked me)

in the spirit of following up 11x10 i decided to write this based on an amazing post @mickey-millagher made/a prompt that @pombby sent me about ian teaching mickey to swim at a public pool during lockdown at some point early s11- i hope u enjoy<3

(this is the tiniest notch steamier than what i usually write but it isn’t smutty fyi- tw for descriptions of choking😌)

There was no one at the park— the air hung heavy and humid over the empty picnic tables and wooden benches that punctuated the fields of dying grass. As much as people on the Southside were definitely not taking any part of this lockdown shit seriously, it didn’t surprise Ian how silent the public park was— there was still a scarcer number of people out on their stoops or lounging on street corners this summer. Ian guessed that the few people who didn’t think that this was a hoax realized that this COVID shit was serious enough that they couldn’t afford healthcare if they got it, or whatever— but regardless, that meant that this Southside summer was weirdly stagnant somehow, and felt different from the noisy and crowded rhythms of summers past.

It was the late morning, just as the air started heat like a convection oven as the sun rose over the skyline— and Ian had his heart set on teaching Mickey to swim today. The conversation had come up last night at dinnertime, when Debbie was complaining about the heat wave— and they had all started reminiscing about the rickety, tin-sided pool they used to put up in the backyard years ago until Carl had taken a hatchet to it when he was 11 when he was trying to tear it down. Sitting next to Mickey at the kitchen table, thighs pressed where their chairs were scooted close together, Ian had suddenly remembered his words from their road trip to the border, years ago now:

“You could try swimming across the border.”

“I never learned how, man.”

And he’d immediately opened his mouth, not catching the words before they moved from his brain to his mouth, and asked Mickey in the middle of the dinnertime chatter: “Hey Mick, did you ever actually learn to swim?”

It was funny, and arbitrary, and stupid; they were married now, but for some reason this small fact about Mickey, the fact that he used to not know how to swim and by now he might have learned without Ian’s knowledge, made something warm pool in Ian’s stomach. He’d known Mickey, and had been itching to be closer and closer to him, for a full decade—and there were still so many things that he didn’t know. And this was proof, this question that Ian still didn’t have the answer to about some weirdly fundamental aspect of Mickey’s identity— he was always going to want to keep asking things about Mickey. And he was always going to get to.

Mickey had looked him with daggers in his eyes, then flickered a defensive glance at all the smirks growing on Ian’s siblings’ faces. “Fuck you. I was doing plenty of other shit in Mexico, didn’t really get the chance to lounge on the fucking beach.”

Ian had reached under the table and placed a hand on Mickey’s knee—a peace offering, an apology for whatever Mickey-can’t-swim quips Carl and Lip would inevitably think up as a low blow the next time they all butted heads at breakfast time— but as the chatter about backyard pools and heat waves continued at the dinner table, Ian felt an idea stirring.

Which is why the next morning he’d woken his husband up by pressing a tender kiss to his jawbone, both of their skin damp and clammy from the heat in the stuffy bedroom, and whispered into his neck:

“I wanna try something today.”

Mickey’s mind had immediately veered in… other directions, his eyebrows raising in vaguely disappointed disbelief when Ian had explained his idea to go to the public pool and teach Mickey to swim with an exuberant grin on his face; but after some very enticing morning persuasion that had a lot to do with the fact that Mickey was still half asleep while Ian had pressed kisses down his spine and dragged him out of bed and handed him a pair of swim trunks, now they were at the public pool in the nearest park at midday, with Ian leading the way and Mickey dubiously and sleepily straggling behind him.

Ian slid open the lock on the chain-link fence that surrounded the pool, the same pool that was usually crawling with groups of teenagers smoking weed and toddlers in floaties who were sticky with melted ice cream on a summer day like today. And maybe he was just all hopped up on nostalgia, but Ian was feeling cheerful— there was a lightness to the blinding summer sunshine, radiating through him as it pooled on his skin, that made him feel weirdly exhilarated and giddy about teaching Mickey to swim in this grimy Southside pool, just because he could.

“I still can’t believe you never learned how to swim.” Ian said it over his shoulder as he strode through the gate, holding it open for Mickey.

Mickey just flipped him off, following behind him and setting down two towels and the 6-pack of beers he’d grabbed from the fridge as they’d shuffled out the door minutes before. Ian grinned. He knew the beers would be warm and syrupy in minutes—the air was muggy and humid, without any hint of a breeze for relief. Ian could already feel the sweat dripping down the back of his t-shirt; he peeled it off as he walked over the sunwarmed concrete towards the pool’s edge, crumpling the shirt and throwing it on top of the pile with the beers and the towels. Mickey was hesitant, not following Ian to the border of the water just yet.

“Seriously. I can’t count the number of times I was shoved into our bacteria-infested backyard pool when I was a kid. I’m pretty sure that Frank tried to drown me in there at one point.”

Mickey just shrugged noncommittally, his fingers slack around the bottom hem of his shirt and his eyes zeroing in on the pool of water. Ian thought Mickey would say something in reply— but the only sound in the air was the faint shouting of kids playing a basketball game the street over.

Holy shit. Ian had been so buoyant and excited about his nostalgia-fueled idea of going to the public pool on a summer day and teaching his husband to swim, dragging Mickey out of the house without a second thought, that he hadn’t realized it until now— Mickey was scared.

Ian swallowed down the grin that was threatening to overtake his face— one he knew that Mickey would immediately notice and hate, because he it drove him crazy when people gave him shit in vulnerable moments like this, when Mickey couldn’t do something. So instead Ian kept talking, hoping his chatter would loosen some of Mickey’s nerves.

“Didn’t you and your brothers ever go down to the other pool over on Trumbull?”

Mickey met Ian’s eyes then, raising an annoyed eyebrow. “Clearly not.”

And, okay. This was understandably bringing up some childhood shit. Ian tried to snap Mickey out of his head— he strode over to where Mickey was standing, a good six feet from the poolside, and snaked a hand onto the back of his neck, squeezing gently in what he hoped was a grounding and comforting touch that would drain the trepidation from Mickey’s defensive stance.

“One summer Debbie was so afraid of getting drowned at the public pool that she learned how to hold her breath for 4 minutes.” Ian grinned at the memory of Debbie dunking her head in a tub of water in the kitchen, making him and Lip time her. “Honestly, it was probably for the best you never went to the public pool. It was a shit show.”

Mickey scoffed, but the lightness was back in his eyes. “If I knew how to swim back in the day I probably woulda been the one doing the drowning.”

Ian barked out a laugh— and why did he immediately turn back into his 15-year-old self, with a god-awful crush on Mickey Milkovich, whenever Mick said shit like that? He pressed his lips into a smile, squeezing Mickey’s shoulder once more for good measure.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, king of the Southside. You ready to get in the water?” Ian’s hand trailed down from its grasp on Mickey’s shoulderblades, dropping to encircle Mickey’s wrist and guide him towards the water.

Mickey immediately recoiled, yanking his hand from Ian’s hold and taking a step back, squinting and holding up a hand to block the bright rays of sun out of his eyes now that he wasn’t standing in Ian’s shadow.

“Fuck d’you mean? I’m not just gonna fucking hop in there and drown. You gotta show me what to do.”

Ian grinned again, without being able to hold it back. He knew what Mickey was like when he was afraid of something— defensive and grumbly and avoidant to touch. He rolled his eyes. “Can’t really teach you to swim when we’re not in the water, Mick. C’mon.”

Ian walked over to sit on the edge, then slid his torso down into the pool. The water was lukewarm and tepid, barely providing any relief from the sticky air— but it felt nice. Ian let out a little breath of relief from the heat as he waded over to the shallow end. Mickey was still standing by the mound of the towels the ground, watching him warily. Ian raised his eyebrows.

“You coming?”

Rolling his eyes, Mickey aggravatedly pulled off his shirt, tossing it behind him— sunrays bounced off of Mickey’s pale skin, owing mostly to the fact that Mickey had barely left the house in the last few weeks because of their prolonged “honeymoon.” He slowly walked to the very edge of the pool and, in a movement that made Ian’s heart grow ten sizes, hesitantly dipped a toe into the water like a cat trying to paw at something. A corner of Mickey’s mouth flickered downwards almost imperceptibly, a worry line sprouting on his forehead.

“I don’t know, man.”

Ian breathed out a laugh. Leave it to Mickey Milkovich, shit-talking king of the Southside, to be afraid of the shallow end of a public pool. Ian reached out a hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, still smiling like a sappy motherfucker at his painfully endearing husband.

“C’mon Mick, just stand here with me first.” Ian was waist-deep in the shallow end, the water pressing against his upper thighs— he knew that at this height the water would be at Mickey’s waist, right where his swim trunks met his hipbones.

Mickey’s brows furrowed from where he was still perched on the concrete lip of the pool ledge, his two feet firmly rooted. “Explain what I gotta do first. To swim, or whatever.”

Ian blew out a breath, still grinning like an idiot. “It’s not that hard, Mick. You just gotta circle your arms and circle your legs. But you have to get in the water first.”

Ian treaded over, pushing through the water to where he could rest his upper arms on the edge of the pool beside where Mickey was standing, staring up at him with what he hoped was a convincingly pleading face. Mickey’s eyes were still fixated on the water, lapping at the pool’s edge from where Ian had rippled through it. And suddenly Ian had an idea.

With a teasing grin, he reached a wet hand out from the water and encircled it around Mickey’s ankle, splattering the concrete with drops of water. Mickey immediately jerked like an electric shock had jolted through his body.

“You gonna come in, or do I have to make you?”

Mickey tried to shake his ankle out of Ian’s grasp, but Ian had hold of him with an iron fist. Mickey leaned over and tried to swat at Ian’s arm without losing his balance on the pool’s edge.

“Cut that shit out right now, Gallagher.”

Ian just grinned, squeezing Mickey’s ankle like he was about to tug him in. “Come on, Mick.”

Mickey’s eyes widened and, just as Ian had imagined he would— he started to freak the fuck out.

“Ian stop that shit right now, I swear to god I will fucking murder you if you—”

They were at the 6-foot marker in the pool, right where it was deep enough for Mickey to stand on the very tips of his toes; and with this knowledge, Ian tugged at Mickey’s calf— causing him to falter, his arms circling like a cartoon character before he lost his balance and crashed into the water on his side.

Ian immediately placed his hands on Mickey’s hips, standing him upright before his head even fell under the water— but Mickey was still sputtering and splashing, like the drama queen that he was. Once Mickey regained his composure and realized he was easily standing on the bottom of the pool, his head bobbing just above the water, he swiftly splashed healthy burst of water into Ian’s face, the chlorine stinging his eyes and nose.

“Fuck you, Gallagher!”

Ian coughed at the water that had shot up his nose, but immediately splashed Mickey back—and then, because there wasn’t any way this whole pool situation was going to go anyways, he and Mickey were immediately engaged in a life-and-death splash battle, circling each other in the middle section of the pool.

Ian was laughing so hard he felt a stitch in his side— and Mickey was finally grinning again, water dripping down his cheeks and clinging to his hair. After a few minutes Ian threw his hands in the air in surrender, the water cresting at his shoulders.

“Truce!”

Mickey splashed one more surge of water at Ian’s chest for good measure, grinning like a kid in a candy store— then he took a step closer to Ian, eyebrows raised.

“Truce.”

Ian beamed down at him, pressing a quick peck to the top of his damp hair. “Sorry for throwing you in the pool.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“But in my defense, it had to happen eventually.”

Mickey shoved him squarely in the chest, taking a step back. “You ruined the fucking truce.”

Ian gave a smug smirk. “Do you wanna learn how to swim, or not?”

Mickey flicked another burst of water at him, just enough to cast a slew of droplets onto Ian’s cheeks. “Alright. Get coaching, Michael Phelps.”

Ian hadn’t really considered how he was actually going to teach Mickey to swim— but it couldn’t be that hard, right? He tried to think back to when Lip had taught him how to tread water, on an equally as sweltering day in the backyard pool, when the yard was packed with lawn chairs and drunk neighbors and smelled of ashy barbeque smoke.

“Okay. So you’ve gotta move your arms in circles, kinda, to stay floating. And your legs too.”

Ian swam over to the deeper end of the pool, just an arm’s length away from where he and Mickey’s feet could touch, and tried to demonstrate how to tread water. “I feel like the easiest way for you to learn is just by doing it. C’mere.”

Mickey looked at him reluctantly, brows furrowed again in an outward display of his bundled nerves. “No fucking way.”

Ian sighed in exasperation. “C’mon, Mick. I’ve got you. I’m not gonna let you drown, you can hold on to me the whole time.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow— but then hesitantly took a step towards Ian, the water reaching up to the bottom of his chin.

“Alright, good. Now step where you can’t reach and try to tread water like I did.”

Mickey stepped forward again, then started to circle his arms under the water— and he was doing great, for a second, before he seemed to get too in his head about the mechanics and started to grit his teeth.

“Little help here, Gallagher?”

Ian grinned and stepped forward. “Here, you can hang onto me.” He stood where Mickey could reach and grab onto his shoulders if he needed to— but Mickey seemed to regain his confidence, and was starting to steadily, if a little bit clumsily, tread water.

He kept it up for a while, until Ian could see that he was overexerting himself— waving his arms under the water with a little too much gusto, brows furrowed and his teeth digging into his lower lip in concentration.

“Mick, you’ve got it. Chill out for a sec.”

Ian reached an arm out, a branch for Mickey to grab on to— because he had been joking before, yes, but he really didn’t want Mickey to fucking drown— and when Mickey grasped onto it, Ian pulled Mickey towards him in the water, kicking backwards so they were suspended in the deeper end of the pool with Mickey clinging to Ian’s neck.

Mickey looked nervous as Ian veered them towards deeper waters, his eyes darting from side to side where they were floating, his fingers digging into the back of Ian’s neck— and Ian smirked at how freaked out he seemed, standing only a few feet from where they could both confidently stand on the tiled pool bottom. But Mickey didn’t resist, or try to propel himself back into the shallower waters— he let himself cling on to Ian, fingers interlaced behind the tops of Ian’s shoulders, as he kept them afloat. Ian laughed softly in a warm, wet gust across Mickey’s cheek. “You okay?”

He could feel the heat radiating off of Mickey’s body, squeezing up close against him— and Ian couldn’t help it, the wave of fondness that came over him as he looked down at where Mickey was pressed against his chest; trusting Ian to keep them above the water, trusting Ian enough to go along with his stupid plan to teach him to swim in a public pool on a random morning just because Ian wanted to. Ian couldn’t help but feel warmth in his stomach at this simple moment, at the two of them bobbing in the pool— at teaching his husband to swim, something Mickey’d never gotten to do as a kid but something that they had the rest of their lives to do together.

“Maybe we could teach Franny to swim next summer. If we have our own place.”

As he said it, Ian hoped that Mickey could see the flood of hopes that he had for them in his eyes— that he wanted a place with a pool, and a balcony, maybe a backyard, and maybe even a fucking garden—he’d always wanted to grow tomatoes. More than anything he wanted to build something sturdy, that could stand up to whatever ground would inevitably shift beneath them in the years to come— he’d been thinking about that a lot these days, especially with all of the pandemic shit that had pulled a rug out from under this entire neighborhood.

Mickey’s gaze flickered up from where it had been boring a panicky hole in Ian’s sternum, meeting Ian’s eyes at the phrase “our own place”— and Ian instantly knew that he got it, that he could see the dreams that Ian was building for the two of them right in front of their eyes. That after months and years of obstacles and chaos and other voices infiltrating their heads, now it was just them— now it was just Ian and Mickey, clinging to each other and drifting through the calm, chlorinated waters.

And maybe it was their proximity, or the intensity Ian knew he was pouring out in his gaze, but instantly the air between them shifted as Mickey looked up— starting to hang heavy like the press of the humidity in the air. Their faces were centimeters apart— and Mickey’s lips parted slightly, his eyes now cast downward at Ian’s lips. Ian could smell the sweet, warm beer on Mickey’s breath, mingling with his own; he looked at Mickey, whose arms were still wrapped around his neck, water dripping down his face from the hair that was fanning over his forehead—and Ian just had to pull him in, had to place a hand in the damp hair at the nape of Mickey’s neck and tug him closer, backing them against the tiled wall of the pool.

Ian could taste the faintest bitterness of chlorine on Mickey’s lips, from the water droplets lingering there, as he took Mickey’s bottom lip between his teeth. Mickey’s hands were still limply wrapped around Ian’s neck, keeping himself afloat— even though Ian had backed them against a wall in the shallow end of the pool again, and Mickey could probably touch his toes to the ground if he wanted to.

Ian raised his hand from under the water, wanting Mickey closer— he pressed a hand to the side of Mickey’s neck, slick with water, and slid a thumb over Mickey’s collarbone, pressing down with the pad of his fingers.

And Mickey gave a little involuntary noise from the back of his throat, sending a jolt down Ian’s spine.

Ian’s hands circling Mickey’s neck was definitely not a foreign concept while they were kissing— it was something they did a lot these days, especially as their hours in bed had taken a turn from the crazed, I-missed-your-body-so-fucking-much sex they were having in the beginning days of being in prison together and those early months after Mickey had gotten released— but both in prison and during this fucking quarantine, they’d gotten a bit more experimental, and a bit more reckless—especially before Ian had gotten his warehouse job and they were still on their structureless “honeymoon,” spending entire days lounging in bed.

It was those days of lazy, languid kisses, after years and years of already knowing each other, that Ian realized that he was maybe a little bit obsessed with Mickey’s neck. He’d always joked about liking Mickey’s legs, and that was true too (if he was being honest, there wasn’t a part of Mickey’s body that didn’t make his blood run hotter)— but the first time Mickey had grabbed Ian’s hand and put it up to his neck while they were tangled together, pressing down until Ian’s hand covered most of his throat, Ian knew that they’d opened Pandora’s fucking box.

By this point, Ian’s hand was pretty much always on Mickey’s neck at some point while they were fucking or even just making out— if he was being totally honest, Ian’s hand was on Mickey’s neck more often than not in lots of contexts these days, once they realized how much they both loved it. But there was something about this current moment, of Mickey wantonly desiring a point of contact there, right now, while they were very randomly and decidedly making out while floating in a public pool on a lazy weekday afternoon, that made Ian’s blood run hotter than usual, and rush quicker through his veins.

Ian let the pads of his fingers creep up the velvet skin of the side of Mickey’s neck, pressing a little deeper, a prelude— he could feel the vibration of Mickey’s heartbeat starting to flutter from where Mickey was still pressed against his chest, still clinging to his neck in the water.

They’d already extensively discussed limits and everything, Mickey would tap his wrist twice if shit got too intense— but even with that in mind, Ian pulled apart from Mickey for a second, trailing ghosts of kisses up the side of his neck and nipping at the underside of Mickey’s jaw. Mickey stretched his neck back and gave a little involuntary sputter of a moan, bubbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. He fisted a hand in Ian’s hair, at the nape of his neck, and leaned forward again to press their lips together with more fervor.

Ian pulled back again, his upper back resting against the concrete lip of the pool. Mickey looked disheveled and wrecked, half-dry chlorine-crusted hair sticking up from where Ian’s other hand had been cradling the back of his head, his blue eyes gleaming and catching the over-bright summer light. Mickey was still clinging his arms around Ian’s neck, holding on— they were in a fucking pool, and Mickey still couldn’t really fucking swim yet— and even though they were standing in a place where Mickey’s toes could certainly touch the ground, the whole thing felt weirdly insular and intimate, like they had to cling to each other.

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian, like he was daring him to keep going.

Ian leaned forward, breathing heavily into Mickey’s mouth, but not pressing their lips together yet—and he reached a hand up again, against Mickey’s tender skin. Mickey’s legs were wrapped around Ian’s hips now, locked like a vice to keep himself upright in the water— and he pressed a little harder, gently pulsing at the sides of Mickey’s neck, in tandem with their lips pressing together over and over again as the warm waters surrounded them—the whole thing, the whole combination, made Ian feel indescribably floaty and weird and warm and blissed out; his skin stinging like ice and fire at every point of contact, electricity zapping his nerve endings wherever his fingertips met Mickey’s skin. Mickey fisted his hand harder at the back of Ian’s hair, nodding slightly—and they were definitely not going to fuck here, in the filth of a Southside public pool, but this insular closeness, the knowing what they both wanted to right now, was equally as thrilling and fulfilling to Ian in the moment. He could almost feel his own heart beating, reverberating as it pressed against Mickey’s chest, vibrating straight through Mickey and back to him as they clung to each other in the water.

Mickey’s body was thrumming, letting out little gasps of breath between kisses and touches—and Ian pulled back and dragged his lips down the side of Mickey’s neck, inhaling the sunwarmed skin. Fuck. He was never, never going to get enough of this.

Later, they’d dragged their water-heavy limbs back through the still summer streets to the Gallagher house, their skin pink and their bodies exhausted from soaking up the sun— and they’d collapsed into bed, feeling the dried chlorine coating their skin.

Ian reached a hand up, rubbing a thumb over Mickey’s cheek, their bodies pliant and fatigued— and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Thanks for letting me teach you how to swim.”

Mickey had smirked. “Yup, that was definitely the only highlight of today. Swimming.”

#a fluffy premise AND ian being obsessed with mickey’s neck??#what more could u want #*blows kiss to elias and stella* for u #also yes i did have a word document on my computer titled ‘neck fic’#what about it #ty for the prompt anon this was truly an experience to write #ily<3 #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless imagine #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #ian x mickey #ixm #gallavich fanfiction #cw choking

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ezdotjpg · 2 years

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ok. this is the last one, i swear. i feel encouraged. emboldened, if u will, but not really, dsbshv seriously really thank you for being kind about my hyper-projecting and rambling, u can very much just not answer me if u don't want to ik i am talking a lot

it's just, the flat affect thing is also A Thing™️, and also funny. what if he's having a Particularly Present day and like, emoting more normally and everyone goes. what the fuck is wrong with you. are you possessed??? this is creepy?? and he's like. yeah ok felt weird to me too let's just not do that again.

sometimes you feel unrecognizable to yourself when everything is where and as it should be, which makes everything Way worse for a while, and other people accidentally also make this worse, especially when they have no idea what's going on, when you all have to learn or relearn who you are, and what you like, and how things feel and how you feel about them, and what boundaries/preferences for things you now know you have, and how or if you want to pursue or express or share or enforce them. so i'm Having Feelings about everyone being intimidated by him and always looking to him when they don't know what else to do and some of his main Meaningful Interactions w them being head pat good job. bc on a lot of levels that would make it a lot harder to do..... anything he needs to do to get really actually better. like, yeah mortal danger every tuesday, u gotta,,, b there for that, bud, or you're gonna run out of luck eventually, but on the other hand. it sure is a Syndrome, and recovery takes time. and if u don't have an environment where ur safe and feel free to take that time and space for yourself? like how can u justify being a mess when u need to have things together, and anyway all u get from just dipping ur toe in is people being like, ew? or what if you're not as useful, or as calm, or as likable? (u will not b, at least for a while.) sure, stratosphering in a Serious Situation is bad, but u Do Not want the hysterical roommate there when u have no idea what to do with them even normally, to say nothing of like, a life or death moment where u should really be focusing on working towards a solution, not wrangling what feels like a screaming toddler version of yourself. and again, the moving the body thing— sure autopilot can make mistakes, or not notice some things, or fail to take some things into account/adapt quickly, but at least your body knows how to do things "on its own". when "you" get in the way, especially in the beginning, it feels like you literally have to relearn everything. and you kind of really do.

so i'm like. mega rip mage, wrt his relationship w everyone. that's like. oh.......my feelings............. he's older than me but i want to bundle him in blankets yanno. anyway projection over the theater is now closed and i will get out of ur askbox. i'm really not usually like this i think this is the most i've ever sent to anyone lmao idk y this all made me go so feral.

seriously don't worry about it, I really appreciate your thoughts on this!

I think that's definitely a contributing factor to why he keeps to himself among the group, besides it just kind of being his nature. He has to be calm, he has to know everything, or else the others will get spooked. I think it's also that he's been on his own for so long, he's just sort of been able to operate this way without having to actually fully recover bc like? so what if he loses time, or he gets hurt, or doesn't emote correctly, or whatever? It was just him, and it always worked out in the end. It's not like that in a group and he hasn't had to deal with that in a while, so it's hard. He doesn't remember what he was like before, and he didn't really think there was a problem anyway until now.

#ask #bonus mage #bonus links #bonuslinks #long post

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runningwolf62 · 5 years

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SURPRISE IT’S UPDATE TIME! It’s so bizarre being writing this at the same time Larry is because there’s like this weird overlap, we’re like ships passing in the night he’s finally caught up to my time and now is about to pass me.

Anyway, there’s some lovely art in here and a reference to a blog that actually exists, @ask-potoo-firestar. Art belongs to @lavendersongs, thank you for your amazing contribution to the Warrior Cats fandom and for giving me permission to include references to it in this fanfic.

Beep.

Larry curls up deeper under his blankets.

Beep.

He covers his head with his pillow.

Beep.

Fine, he’ll crawl out of his nest and see what had happened, maybe Nick was in trouble again, that Godot guy seemed to have a grudge against him for something.

u ok?

Only Nick texts like that.

haven’t seen u in few days

u alive?

Larry almost fires something back before thinking better of it, Nick had far too many people around him die to joke about that.

Yeah I’m fine, and you usually don’t see me for awhile.

yeah but u had a rough time

Larry hesitates before deciding to just call Nick. The phone rings a few times before Nick answers.

“Hey Larry,” he greets him, Larry can hear voices in the background, he thinks one is Maya, the other is young and high so probably Pearl.

“Hey Nick,” Larry runs a hand over his jaw, aw gross he’d ended up with that scraggly beard, he never looked good with that, he needed to go shave, “you in a crisis?”

“No?” Nick has the gall to sound offended, “I do not only call you during crisises!”

“Mmm might wanna check you phone bill there Nicky Boy,” Larry teases him, his voice is rough, he should haul himself out of bed and start putting himself back together.

“You want to talk about having a crisis you sound like you’ve been on a bender,” Nick fires back, Larry frowned and groused at him.

“Don’t be an ass Nick, I’ve been taking a week off, chilling and relaxing before I remake myself! You called while I’m still in the cocoon man!”

“That metaphor started strong but you took it somewhere very weird,” Nick replies, Larry laughs roughly.

“Alright, alright, you’re the one who texted me,” Larry points out, wrapping his blanket around him like a cloak to hide his shame from the world and stay warm from the chillier October day. He crossed to his laptop to open his resume, he’d need to update it and he might as well do that while chatting with Nick rather than sit around feeling shitty about it.

He chats with Nick, and Maya and Pearl when they demand a chance to chat with him. He interrogate Nick, or tries, but he doesn’t know what’s up with Godot either, other than he’s got one hell of a caffeine addiction, came out of nowhere and claims to be from hell.

Given half the stories Larry’s heard about Nick’s cases he’s tempted to believe it.

“Maybe you ought to have an exorcism performed,” he teases, he’s on speaker phone now and he’s sure they can hear him typing away as he adds his latest job to the long master list of jobs he’s held, “Maya, Pearl, can you do that?”

“I’d have to exorcise the entire Prosocution’s office!” Maya bemoans, Larry grins as she outlines everything she’d need to do to Nick.

“Maybe you should, it sounds like it has a few too many demons over there even before this guy,” Larry muses, saving his resume and opening Fanfiction.net. His stomach drops and his jokes trail off. There’s several messages from XxWolfDragonxX. Shit, he’d just dropped off the map after talking to the guy daily.

He immediately types a response, assuring the guy some stuff just came up, he got fired from work, etc. but he’s doing alright. He misses a question Nick asked him until he repeats his name.

“Larry.”

“Sorry, what?” He tosses the message to WolfDragon off, his friend is probably off work it’s well after six for him.

“I asked what were you typing?”

Larry glances at his messages and then at his minimized programs. “My resume.”

He refreshed FF.net and got a message from WolfDragon.

Man it’s fine, life happens! It’s just good to hear from you again. I’m sorry for all the shit that keeps happening to you.

Again I’m so sorry, and yeah, it’s just been that kind of year.

Do you have a discord? I have something to show you but I don’t think ff.net will send it.

Oh? Uh yeah actually, one second let me find my ID number.

It takes him longer than he should be tosses the information to Wolfdragon. After a moment he gets a friend request on Discord, from a XxWolfDrgonxX surprising absolutely no one. The avatar is a gray anime wolf with yellow eyes snarling, which also doesn’t surprise Larry though he wonders where it’s from.

However he’s still on the phone with Nick, so he accepts it and turns away from the computer, “so what are you all up to asides from calling me?” He hears Pearl giggle and Maya’s voice in the background, they’re moving away, “how are they Nick?”

“They’re good,” Nick sounds happy and Larry can’t help but hurt even as he’s happy for him.

“We’re probably going to do a few things today before they have to head back,” Nick’s chair creaks audibly, “do you have plans for Halloween?”

“Uh, not really?”

“Do you want to come over to the office and hand out candy with me?”

“People come to your office for candy?”

“Surprisingly yes,” Nick sounds equally baffled by this fact, “so, are you in?”

“Do you want me to bring anything?” Larry asks, glancing at his Discord occasionally, where he can see WolfDragon typing. “Beer, Soda, popcorn and terrible horror movies?”

“Popcorn and let’s go with lighthearted movies,” Nick suggests, and Larry wonders if Pearl will be there. He’ll bring soda then, just in case. That or Nick’s gotten to be more of a scaredy-cat since their last Halloween movie festival.

“Have you seen that one cartoon thing that everyone raves about?” Larry’s seen so much art for it for Inktober so he needs to actually sit down and watch the show obviously is what that means.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, I’ll find it, it’s some kids show but everyone who’s seen it loved it,” Larry sends a quick message to WolfDragon while Nick talks.

You sure are dedicated to your brand.

It’s who I am

Furry.

WHAT IN GOD’S NAME IS THAT?!?

That’s Potoo Firestar you fool

I want to hate it but I’m laughing too hard, it’s amazing.

“Larry are you okay?” Nick asks, and Larry can’t answer, he’s wheezing at the damn Potoo Firestar, he cannot believe WolfDragon got his discord just to send him this, and that it’s somehow made him feel so much better.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he wheezes, and clicks the link that WolfDragon sends him to this person’s blog, “just saw something funny.”

He hops off the phone with Nick promising to see him on Halloween and bring candy and popcorn and the cartoon he’s seen everyone drawing if he could just remember the name.

He spends the next hour teasing WolfDragon on Discord for his avatar and username, all the while scrolling through this blog, which WolfDragon has dubbed “the only pure Warrior Cats blog”.

It doesn’t take long for him to agree though he does have a few questions.

So I miss all the discourse but I also miss blogs like this?

Listen man, some people are still stuck in the can cats be gay discourse?

Seriously?

Yeah, like sure the Erins just made a mistake making some tortoiseshell cats toms. OR they made several trans icons.

I can’t believe Tigerstar was transphobic.

Firestar made the first call out post

“OP is literally a Transphobe and murderer but go off I guess.”

Scourge: *goes the fuck off *

Listen, he wear dog teeth on his collar he can do what he likes, I’m not gonna be the guy to try and stop him.

Oh you do know they made Scourge and Firestar half-brothers right?

THEY WHAT

Yeah they have the same Dad

Oh shit I’d heard that theory but I thought it was just a fan theory

Nah they confirmed it. Also Tallstar was super gay for him

Like canonly gay or the fandom has shipping goggles glued on

Like so canonly gay that the publisher calls them good friends

What?

One of the authors says Tallstar’s heart always belonged to his Jake, but the publishers say they’re just good friends

What’s better than this, guys being dudes.

You’d probably like Tallstar’s Revenge actually, there’s a lot of your fic in it

Seriously?

Yeah man, like leaving the Clans to discover yourself the themes of forgiveness and parents and family there’s a lot of good stuff in there

I guess I’ll have to read it then.

Yeah, that blog I linked you even did fanart of Jake and Tallstar

Oh my god.

Did you find it?

Not yet, but I’m looking.

FOUND IT!

THAT’S IT

Okay that is gay.

Much like my fic.

Now I gotta man.

He did just lose his job but Larry’s got some money saved from his last paycheck and the commissions. What the hell. He makes a note to buy Tallstar’s Revenge next time he’s at the book store, and gets up.

Thanks for this.

Of course!

Is this the best way to contact you, or should I howl out the window?

Haha

FF.net or Discord works I’ll probably review your fics on FF.net still but we can chat here

Larry grins and tells him he hopes he has a good evening. He needs to clean himself up and try and rejoin society.

He showers, shaves, and pulls himself together. He also draws Wolf as a Potoo and sends that back to WolfDragon which is obviously loved, if the fact he turns his avatar into it was any indication.

Larry spends Halloween crashing on Nick’s couch, Maya and Nick fighting over candy while he snags some and occasionally slips a piece or two to Pearl. The kid’s clever and smiles shyly at him every time he does so.

They do settle down to watch the cartoon though Maya grumbles at points about how she wanted to watch the Steel Samurai Halloween Special.

They enjoy Over the Garden Wall though, even if it sends the girls diving to hide behind Nick at one point from the Beast. He lets Nick comfort, while he cleans up some of the trash into the popcorn bowl which he sets to the side, making sure it will not be grabbed by mistake by someone hurrying to give candy to trick-or-treaters.

He’s honestly astonished at the number that turn up at the office, until Nick says he thinks Mia used to hand the candy out, which makes sense. It’s tradition now. And Nick must’ve gotten paid because he’s got the good candy and he’s letting kids take handfuls.

He doesn’t touch that stuff only the bag Nick bought for them to share and the stuff he traded Pearl for because she didn’t like nuts in her candy. Said they got stuck in her teeth which Larry felt was a valid reason to not like them.

He tells himself that means they have protein as he pops a handful in his mouth. While Nick’s busy with some teens at the door and Maya’s tucking Pearl in on the couch he sends a message to WolfDragon.

Happy Halloween.

Technically it’s November, and I didn’t grow up in America

Spoilsport.

WHY ARE YOU AWAKE?

Work

Work can suck my dick, it’s what- oh

It’s six in the morning

You’re going to work

Yup

Listen, I don’t need your sass

It’s not sass I just woke up Writer boy

Don’t you sass Wolfman

Tell me you at least watched terrible werewolf movies in my honor

I did not.

Watched kids cartoons instead.

Warrior Cats Authors

There was an actual child in the room!

Ah what’s being introduced to fear at a young age?

Trauma I believe, and the kid’s had enough of that

You’re a good guy you know that, don’t let people tell you otherwise

“Texting a girlfriend?” Maya’s teasing voice made him jump, she wasn’t peering over his shoulder yet but she might’ve been. She might’ve seen the teasing and… no, she was looking at his face.

“Nah, just a friend,” he shoves his phone back into his pocket, she and Nick are both staring at him intensely now, he’s not sure why but they are.

He swears he sees Nick counting to three but he’s not sure why that happens either. He and Maya share a look, and Larry feels himself tense more.

He looks to Nick, whose eyes pierce him as he looks at Larry, “I thought you said you were taking a break from dating.”

“I am!” Larry insists, careful to keep his voice low, glancing to Pearl because however much they want to interrogate him he knows they’ll kill him if he wakes her.

Nick and Maya look confused again but it’s not his fault they can’t accept that he’s just friends with some people. He’s not even into guys anyway!

He shakes his head and grins at them, “glad to hear you think I have that much game though Nick.”

Maya smothers a laugh, while the edge flows out of Nick’s eyes and a smile takes its place, “you keep getting girls to date you somehow.”

“It’s that I have an artist’s soul,” Larry pulls himself up and rests his hand over his chest, grinning at the two of them.

“I went to art school too you know,” Nick points out, relaxing and smiling.

“And who taught you all those tricks for backgrounds?” Larry fires back, he’s always been the better artist for backgrounds and forms, Nick just had more practice with human anatomy. Nick huffs and shakes his head.

“I showed you how to draw men’s jawlines, ‘cause you only paid attention when the model was female-”

“Nick I’ve accepted my heterosexuality and horndog ways will be my downfall,” he fires back which obviously takes his friend by surprise, Maya too, “hey, I can have some self-awareness you know.” He glances over at Maya, “Nick, Edgey and I are allowed the common sense of one person but we have to share and Edgey came back and took it all from Nick.”

“Excuse me?” Nick looks so genuinely offended and Larry laughs, shoulders shaking.

“You took some back, TSA wouldn’t let him take it all with him.”

Maya’s grinning and apparently not taking sides as he and Nick begin to playfully jab at each other about who has more common sense, and it’s nice to be able to talk about Edgey again without Nick’s anger, to have him laugh as he talks and recounts stories from elementary school to Maya is worth the few bits of his dirty laundry that Nick airs.

They end up on the other couch, Maya curled up on Nick’s one side, Larry on the other; with jackets draped over themselves as make shift blankets.

“Larry?”

“Yeah Nick?”

“Who were you texting earlier,” Nick’s not judgmental now but he is obviously curious, maybe hoping that in his exhaustion Larry will let something slip.

And he does.

“He’s a guy I met online, we talk about like books and stuff. You wouldn’t understand, you nerdy lawyer.”

Nick laughs softly as Larry slumps against him, “that so?”

“It is,” Larry lays his head back against Nick’s shoulder, “very so.”

They wake up in various states of aching and trying to hide it, all of them trying to deny they’re getting old while Pearl buzzes around the office. Larry wonders briefly if she’s gotten into the Halloween candy for breakfast.

He checks his phone and there’s a few messages from WolfDragon.

You still there?

Don’t eat too much candy, aren’t you doing NaNoWriMo this year?

Larry only barely manages not to curse in front of Pearl as he realizes that he’s going to have to write his first 1667 words with one hell of a crick in his neck.

#Ace Attorney #Potoo Firestar is a gift and you can quote me on that #Larry Writes Warrior Cats

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matskreider-blog · 6 years

Note

for the prompts: 1 or 8 for brad/pat :)

you have got to know that when you say “or” i always interpret that as “do both, you gotta do both” and these turned out…..very long……so here you go

1. “I’m not leaving you.” normal verse.

“I swear to fucking god I’ve never gotten hit this much in my entire life. The season’s not even over! What the – ow.”

“Stop squirming,” Patrice mumbles, putting the new bag of ice on Brad’s ribs. “You’re right though. It is weird.”

“Oh really, ya think so?” Brad asks. Pat levels him with a flat look. It’s not quite a glare, but approaching one, and Brad huffs and looks back at the TV. “It’s bullshit.”

Pat just hums in agreement as he swaps out the soaked towel for a new one, in some half assed attempt to save the couch from water damage. He collects the dirty mugs and bowls from the coffee table and walks into the kitchen, dumping them into the sink. He can hear Brad trying and failing to not shift on the couch, but with the IcyHot on his shoulders and the additional bags of ice on his hips, he probably felt stuck. He grabs him and Brad some water before going back into the living room, sliding the bottle into Brad’s outstretched hand. “Save some energy for tomorrow.”

“I don’t even know if I’m going to go at this point. Might ask to be a healthy scratch and see what happens when the Ducks have to play a game with actual skill. There’ll be just as many fucking fights and it won’t be my fault because I won’t even be there. Yet, somehow I’ll still be blamed. Quack quack you feathered pieces of shit.”

This time, Pat is the one who sighs. Brad doesn’t mean it, he never does. Being a healthy scratch is one of the worst types of punishment for someone who just needs to keep going as much as Brad does. He’d never ask for such a thing, and Pat knows he won’t this time either. But this type of meanness comes from a deeper place of hurt – a place Pat’s not sure Brad will let him see.

There’s a moment of silence, a Honda commercial providing background noise, before Brad looks over at Patrice. Well, he turns to face him, but his gaze remains downcast. “…Sorry. About that.” He doesn’t say much else, but Pat knows how to read between the lines.

“Apology accepted.” It wasn’t warranted, but saying “it’s okay” after Brad apologizes doesn’t sit well with the winger, it never had. It was a habit Patrice had to learn to break when he first met Brad, and still sometimes messes up on occasionally.

“Don’t even know why you bother, honestly,” Brad mumbles, taking a sip of his water. At that, Patrice gets up and goes over to Brad, kneeling by the couch arm.

“Brad. Look at me,” he gently implores, resting his hand on Brad’s chest, the only uninjured part of his torso. “Everyone gets pissy when they’re hurting. Especially when it’s not their fault, okay? I know you’re…I’m not going to hold it against you. I’m not going to leave you. Got it?”

Brad looks at him with furrowed brows. He says nothing, and Patrice just looks at him with an open expression. He was going to say something further, but the elder of the two kisses him before he can start down the self-deprecation path again. Brad doesn’t say anything further, but he doesn’t have to. The simple way he relaxes into the kiss says enough.

8. “I can’t stand the way they’re looking at you.” college au, trans!brad.

Coming out happens less with a bang, less with a whimper, but more with a couple keystrokes and the enter button. For the first couple of days, he’s fine. Classes go on as normal. The people who didn’t talk to him before, don’t suddenly start talking to him. Acquaintances don’t really make an effort, and a couple stop talking to him completely, which, whatever. They were acquaintances for a reason.

If he remains pretty vacant on social media for the first couple of weeks, it’s just because he’s waiting for the fallout. And it comes, in the shape of his friends list dropping by a good 50 people, and being removed from some group chats. It’s better than he was expecting though – at least there’s no slurs carved into his door this time.

It’s after fall break that everything gets fucked. Through some school drama, Brad’s poetry professor quits and the section is dissolved, leaving him without his needed fifth class. He panics, and genuinely is kinda pissed off – he really liked Professor Lucic – but he somehow winds up stuck in an Econ class.

The first day is fine, he arrives a few minutes early so he can get the necessary paperwork signed. His professor seems nice, and Arielle is a pretty name, and she assures him that they’ll find a way for him to make up the work from the first couple of weeks of class. He takes a seat along the windows, and waits.

It seems like every white guy on campus just lives in the Econ department, as evidenced by the class demographic. He says nothing, a tall order for him, just listening to how the class operates. It doesn’t escape his notice that he’s left with empty seats around him, and as Arielle calls on people to answer questions and contribute, he recalls a couple names that had disappeared from his feed after he’d had to block them for harassment.

Thirteen minutes into the class, and he’s already considering switching out, but the door opens revealing possibly the best and worst plot twist ever.

“Sorry I’m late, Professor,” Patrice breathes as he closes the door behind him. “Office hours ran late.”

“Who has office hours in the middle of the day?” she asks, taking the offered note and sticking it to her podium.

“Bio professors are weird, what can I say?” he counters, before he takes a seat next to Brad. Not in front of him or behind him, where he could have avoided talking to him. But directly to Brad’s right. He gives him a sunny smile as he sits down, and Brad wants nothing more than to melt into the floor.

The same guy that Brad had been crushing on for the better part of two years was now sitting next to him, with the same humbly perfect everything that makes Brad want to tear his hair out. The guy that was alternate captain of the men’s hockey team, who also made insightful comments and actually did the readings in Brad’s Feminist Literary Theory course he’d taken as a freshman (which, that was a lot.) The guy whose name, by virtue of starting with a B, had always been at the top of the allies list since Brad had come to college. Brad hadn’t said more than two words to the guy since that year, and now Patrice was a senior and he was a junior, and time was running out.

At least it was just one semester, right? And him sitting there was just a fluke, because he was so late. It was obvious that his normal spot had been left open, wedged between two guys who looked like their names should have been Chad and Chuck, respectively. But instead, he’d gone for Brad.

And he keeps doing it, despite the obvious distasteful looks he gets from his classmates. He does it for weeks on end, never initiating conversation, but also pleasantly returning conversation whenever Brad tries.

It’s their last class before the American Thanksgiving break, and Brad can’t help it. He scribbles, why do u keep being nice 2 me? on a piece of paper, and slides it over to Patrice. His answer comes back relatively quickly.

Would you like for me to stop? From anyone else it would come across as flippant, but it just reads as polite earnestness coming from Patrice. Brad muffles his laugh, and writes back, b/c no1 else is. mad sus bro

He watches out of the corner of his eye as Patrice pinches the bridge of his nose, but he can’t stop the smile. This answer takes a fair bit longer, and when he gets it, he feels his smile sliding off his face.

Because you’re funny and I like humor. And I’m only taking this class because my dad asked me to, not much else. Apparently I have a math brain. Also…I hate can’t stand how they’re looking at you. Just letting them know that you’re not alone is enough to get them off your back, in most cases.

Brad doesn’t respond, but after class, they linger just long enough that they have the classroom to themselves at the end. “Think they’re gonna jump the queer?” Brad mumbles as he jams his notebook into his backpack.

“If they did, they’d have to jump us both,” Patrice answers with what Brad can tell is forced nonchalance. Brad freezes, just looking at Patrice as the latter continues to pack up. “And I like to think the boys would have something to say about that, on both accounts.”

“….oh.”

“Yep.”

Patrice finally looks up, and Brad finds himself laughing, whether he meant to or not. “I…wow, okay. That puts things in perspective.”

Patrice rolls his eyes, zipping his bag up. “Come on, I want some coffee. You going anywhere for break?” By the time they have their coffees, Brad has plans to crash at Patrice’s apartment for the break, since dorms are no place to be living when you have another option handy. Brad catches himself looking at Patrice more than he had previously allowed himself, but that’s okay.

Patrice is looking back.

#kay answers #antoineroussel #kay writes #otp: maybe you could devastate me #this...was so much i hope you like these #and i hope that they were enough!!

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whatwhat--pregameup · 7 years

Text

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

#great comet #natasha pierre and the great comet of 1812 #<333333 #shotasha #josh groban #I love this cast

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