obscene i say

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Day 6: Protect!!
He doesn’t like being protected….

Kiribaku week is almost over D: What are we gonna do with our lives?!?!!

@kiribakuweek2k17


Cheers,
~Joy

[On seeing himself as Captain America for the first time]: Terrifying. I think the first time I saw it was back when I was still pretty insecure and a little apprehensive about taking the role. So it was a real dichotomy. There was simultaneous joy, but at the same time, a deep fear. That’s eroded over time, and now it’s very familiar. It feels very comfortable. It feels great now, and damn, if I had said no, I would have been the biggest fool on the planet. 

You ever go to say something and then realise you would forever regret opening that can of worms?

Jay Hawke volunteers at the clinic when he can - he does what little healing he remembers and knows how to do, and otherwise whatever chores and tasks he can take off Anders’ hands (cleaning, rolling bandages, grinding herbs into powder and paste, and so on), but most importantly he likes the clinic because Anders is there. Some old lady who frequents the clinic because of some ailment or another picks up on it (of course she does).

“You’re sweet on out healer, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
“I’m- what?”
“Come now, no use denying it, I see the looks you two give each other when you think nobody is watching! It’s quite sweet, actually, how you come here to be with him.”
“Oh I don’t come here for him, I come for you! Who’d change your bandages for you if Anders was b- wait, you’re saying he gives me looks, too?”

She becomes their biggest shipper.

A speedy Jay Hawke at the clinic for de-stressiiiing. It’s been that kind of a weekend. :)

pilgrimshxnds  asked:

I want to hear about the time you did Chicago for kids like how and also how mad were their parents because cell block tango exists and I'm laughing so hard

OKAY so I’ve gotten a lot of requests to tell this story (makesbadjokes, @flutecocktail, storybook-souls, to name a few) and I’m about halfway down a bottle of cab sav so there ain’t no time like the present. 

Let me kick this off by saying that we didn’t plan to do Chicago for kids. We planned to do a perfectly wholesome kids’ Christmas show, but pretty much nothing in live theatre goes according to plan, and smash bang two hours later we’d had enough scandalous mishaps to require at least PG-13 rating.

Right, so this was the same company I did Peter Pan with, except this time instead of being in the old-ass ghetto-as-fuck falling-to-bits excuse for a theatre, we were in like one of the bigger theatres in our metropolitan area, so we’re talking a house of about 800-1000 people. Now, for those of you who were born before the fucking forties, there’s this godawful kids’ show called Babes in Toyland, which is basically a bunch of nursery rhyme characters fighting an evil genius in order to save Christmas or some shit–to be honest I’ve blocked a lot of it out and this was also like nine years ago and I’m tipsy so cut me some slack, bitches, Jesus. 

Sorry, that one got away from me. So anyway in this particular production I’m playing Little Bo Peep and like that alone was humiliating enough but the truly shitty part of playing the world’s fucking worst shepherd (like, bitch you lost your sheep? You had ONE JOB) was the fucking dress I had to wear. I’m pretty sure it was a shower curtain in a former life, but it was made of like weird yellow rayon and lace and it was basically a fucking MASSIVE parachute skirt and this obscenely tight bodice stitched together at the waist. And when I say obscenely tight, I do mean obscenely–the rest of the cast started calling me Little Ho Peep after our first costume parade. I never lived that down but I digress; not important.

Anyway, so me and all the other fairy tale characters–I swear, this shit is like a less clever version of fucking Shrek–are traipsing through the dark forest and we get sleepy and decide to just like lie down on the fucking ground and have a nap, because that’s definitely not going to end badly. So I go to sit down and this goddamn dress balloons out around me until I’m basically taking up like a ten foot diameter of the fucking stage, but I don’t really have time to like collect my skirts before all the other kids lie down around me, and the kid playing Jack-be-Nimble (you guys don’t understand, this show is so fucking stupid) just drops like a rock on top of my skirt and I’m like, okay, whatever, he’ll get off at the top of the next scene and it’ll be fine. 

I’m not sure I have ever been so wrong in all my life. 

The lights go down, and while another short vignette happens on the apron (that’s the small space between the grand drape and the lip of the stage, congratulations you just got yourself a fucking theatre lesson you did not ask for) we’re all just quietly waiting in the dark for the next scene, where we all get attacked by giant spiders like it’s the fucking Hobbit, and we all have to leap up from the floor and start screaming. You can probably guess what happened.

FLARE, lights up, and l fucking launch myself off the floor. But Jack doesn’t. So I jump up and all his weight is still on my skirt and the whole fucking thing rips the the fuck off. Like, there was this horrible tearing duct tape noise and all of a sudden I’m standing there in the middle of the stage in my underwear and stockings and garters and half my dress is still on the fucking floor and 800+ little kids on field trips are all gasping and goggling at me and I’m just like, Oh holy mother of God. For about half a second it’s dead fucking silence and everyone onstage is staring at me and then Jack fucking scrambles up from the floor grabs my skirt and just like throws it around my waist and holds it there because he doesn’t know what else to fucking do, and I’m as red as the surface of Mars because I’m fourteen and I’m fucking mortified.

So after that the spider attack is like considerably less exciting and like some kids are laughing and some are crying and I’m muttering shit like Jesus H. Christ on a unicycle Jack I’m going to suffocate you in your sleep with what’s left of my skirt and finally the scene is over and Jack and I bolt the fuck offstage and I sit on my mostly bare ass on the locking rail while Jack is running around me in circles going holy shit holy shit holy shit I sat on your dress I’m so sorry and I’m like NO FUCKING SHIT DID YOU THINK I HADN’T NOTICED YOU LEAD-ARSED FUCKING BARNACLE.

That was Act I. 

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7

You and I remember Budapest very differently …

Because Strike Team Delta is full of win, and because Secret Avengers deciding to title their first post-Avengers movie comic ‘Budapest’ & make it a complete mindfuck … I needed a Strike Team Delta project.

And because they ARE strike team delta, I felt compelled to make something as appropriate as possible - in this case a little trinket/jewelry/desk box with a secret hidden stash compartment. 

Because strike team delta has secrets everywhere, yo.

(artwork taken from Secret Avengers, Hawkeye & the new Black Widow, + some budapest quote typography work done by me.  More details on construction etc. on the etsy listing.)

Billboard Cover: Behind the Scenes With Katy Perry as She Rehearses for the Super Bowl -- 'The Biggest Event of My Career'

Backstage at the top-secret rehearsals for the biggest gig in American showbiz, in a large, stuffy room marked “Wardrobe,” a dozen or so half-naked female dancers wriggle into candy-colored, body-hugging costumes and pull on matching socks and sneakers. At the center of the action is Katy Perry, lying belly-down on a massage table with one bare leg poking out from under a blanket – simultaneously getting treatment for a bad hamstring and giving notes on her dancers’ and bandmembers’ costumes. “It’s obscene, I know,” Perry says, referring to her elaborate multitasking. “But it’s not because I’m a diva!”

Keep reading

Billboard Cover Story: Behind the Scenes With Katy Perry as She Rehearses for the Super Bowl -- 'The Biggest Event of My Career'

Backstage at the top-secret rehearsals for the biggest gig in American showbiz, in a large, stuffy room marked “Wardrobe,” a dozen or so half-naked female dancers wriggle into candy-colored, body-hugging costumes and pull on matching socks and sneakers. At the center of the action is Katy Perry, lying belly-down on a massage table with one bare leg poking out from under a blanket – simultaneously getting treatment for a bad hamstring and giving notes on her dancers’ and bandmembers’ costumes. “It’s obscene, I know,” Perry says, referring to her elaborate multitasking. “But it’s not because I’m a diva!”

Keep reading