#so...here you go

[taylahswildestdreams]

@ all the Americans confused about what Boxing Day is; it’s just the name for the day after Christmas. It’s a public holiday in the UK, and I believe the origins were something to do with charity/the church (nothing to do with literal boxes). Most people just spend the day relaxing/enjoying their gifts/recovering from Christmas

[language-of-love]

All this talk about Noah’s curly hair is fully responsible for whatever this is...

His skin is salty and warm where David’s nose is pressed along his neck, sweat dewy against his lips as he kisses along Patrick’s hairline towards his ear. A slight shiver rolls up his spine from the cool air of the ceiling fan hitting his bare skin and he presses closer to Patrick’s back, seeking all remnants of heat their bodies had just finished creating. Patrick groans into his pillow, neck arching back as his hand seeks out David’s thigh, letting him know with fingers pressing into skin that he’s also not ready to let go.

A tiny tuft of hair behind Patrick’s ear catches David’s attention, the way it’s trying to curl but isn’t quite long enough to do what it wants. Reaching out, he traces the half moon of it with his fingertip, smiling when Patrick shifts slightly beneath his touch.

“That tickles,” Patrick mumbles against the pillowcase, his fingers reaching up to grab David’s hand and pull it back around his waist. David doesn’t complain, especially when Patrick weaves his fingers over top of David’s, holding both their hands tight against his ribs.

David lets his head fall to the side of Patrick’s on his pillow, eyes closing as he presses a few kisses into Patrick’s hair. “You should let it grow out,” he whispers, letting his lips come to rest against the back of his head.

“What?” he hears Patrick question, but he’s not sure of how conscious he actually is by the length he managed to drag out the word.

“Your hair. I want to see your curls.”

That wakes Patrick up. David has to lean his head back to avoid getting knocked in the nose as Patrick turns to look at him, realizing slowly that he’s going to have to unwind their bodies in order to do so. It’s an inartful shuffle, but David eventually finds himself staring into sleepy brown eyes, noses nearly touching on their shared pillow as Patrick’s hand pulls him in by the waist.

“You’ve seen them…” Patrick begins to say, but David cuts him off, leaning in just close enough to silence him with a kiss.

“Only in photos,” David breathes against his lips, fingertips sliding up and around Patrick’s neck and into the short hair at the back of his head. “I want to run my hands through them,” he continues, taking Patrick’s mouth again until their lips are warm and wet and his heart is just beginning to race.

He pulls his lips away and Patrick leans in to chase, but it’s not until he hears Patrick’s sleepy “Ok…” does he kiss him again, rolling Patrick beneath him to warm them up all over again.

[startswithhope]

incapable of faking sincerity...

Because Saturday mornings are perfect for ficlet writing and I wanted to try my hand at writing Stevie... (AO3)

He should probably look away, but it’s quiet and there isn’t much else to do, so staring at his boyfriend across the store as he meticulously checks that every label is facing out on every bottle seems to be the best use of Patrick’s time. David is in a zone, his mind probably elsewhere (thinking of new vendors or what sweater he’s going to wear to dinner) as he doesn’t seem to notice Patrick’s fond gaze.

“You’re gross,” he hears from behind him, startling a bit as he’d completely forgotten that Stevie was there, leaning against the wall behind the register with a bottle of wine she’s most definitely not planning to pay for.

Knowing what she’s referring to, he decides to play dumb, because bantering with Stevie is one of his favorite things.

“Pardon?”

Stevie steps around him to lean her hip on the counter, her head swiveling to David and back to Patrick with exaggerated flair. “You love him so much it makes my teeth hurt.”

“And that’s gross why?” Patrick questions, hiding his smile behind his hand as he leans down and props his chin into his palm.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head and she harrumphs under her breath. “Because....because cavities are bad and going to the dentist is...uh…” Her words trail off...

“You lost the plot a bit, eh?” Patrick chides, raising his eyebrow as she just shrugs and begins to peel at the label on the wine bottle with her short nail.

A companionable silence falls between them and Patrick’s eye search out David again, this time catching his gaze and they share a sweet smile.

“You’re gonna marry him, right?”

Stevie’s voice is quiet, but her words are loud, hitting him square in the chest like a wave hitting a taut sail.

Stammering a bit, he whispers, “Hopefully, yeah, but I’m still figuring out the moment to ask so if you could keep your voice down…”

“Oh come on,” she interrupts, “he’s planning his outfits for the week and isn’t hearing a word we’re saying. So...yeah...good. I just needed to make sure you were making that happen.”

Stevie looks back down at her wine bottle, frowning at the edge of the label she’s ripped off as if it is responsible for its own destruction.

Concerned, Patrick leans a bit closer, nudging her hip with the back of his hand as he asks, “You okay?”

Patrick watches as Stevie straightens, the mask he’s seen her put on during Cabaret rehearsals when she’s uncomfortable sliding into place. He’s thankful that he’s had time with Stevie to get to know her better outside of her friendship with David, as he now feels like he’s her friend, too, in his own right.

“Fine. I’m fine. I just want you two to be happy, that’s all.”

Lie.

Straightening, he decides to take charge of this situation. “Hey David,” he calls across the store, smiling as David seems to shake himself out of his internal world to look up. “We’re gonna go grab some tea from the cafe, want anything?”

“My usual, thanks,” David replies with a flourish of his ringed fingers, a big smile his thank you before he’s back to counting scarves on the rack on the wall.

Patrick walks around the counter, leading a confused and very prickly Stevie by the elbow out the door. She shakes him off as soon as they are outside.

“Did I say I wanted tea? I don’t remember anything about tea.” She holds her now stolen bottle of wine in the air as if to make a point of her drinking preferences.

“Yes, Stevie, you can take that bottle of wine. You are very welcome,” Patrick jokes, hoping to lower her hackles a bit so he can find out what’s really going on.

A small smile cracks through her facade as the wine bottle finds its home in her shoulder bag and she falls into step beside Patrick. Time to prod a little.

“You wanna tell me what that was all about back there?” he asks, voice quiet and reassuring, or at least he hopes it is.

He’s learned over these past few weeks that Stevie can be really closed off, but not all the time. When she’s comfortable, she can be quite direct. Unnervingly so.

She stops when they reach the sidewalk outside of the cafe, her eyes narrowing at him slightly as if she’s trying to make a decision. When her hand wraps around his elbow and she’s dragging him to the side of the building, he guessing that decision has been made. When they’re fully out of sight of passersby, she lets go of him and digs her hands into the flannel at her hips.

“I thought I was in love with him once,” she states, “...got all emo about it and everything. It was embarrassing. But I figured out that it wasn’t love, not that kind anyway, but I do still love him. A lot.”

“I know, Stevie,” Patrick murmurs, his affection for this woman growing ever stronger the more he gets to know her.

Stevie continues as if Patrick hasn’t spoken, as if this is a monologue she’s memorized (which is rather ironic considering she can’t get a single one of her lines right in Cabaret).

“I don’t know what love really means, but I see you and David and it makes me feel hopeful. Not necessarily hopeful for me, really, but hopeful that sometimes fate might be real and maybe that perfect person is really out there.” She stops and gives him a pointed look, waving her hand in his face in a way that reminds him so much of David that he finds his lips curling into a smile as she continues. “And before you get an even bigger head than you already have, I am not calling you perfect. You’re just...perfect for David.”

“He’s perfect for me, too,” Patrick replies, having known this truth since he listened to David’s rambling voicemails back on the first day they met.

“Hi. Yeah, I know that,” Stevie grumbles, “thanks for paying attention. So, I’m gonna need you to put a ring on that asshole over there, despite all the the antiquated and hetero reasons for marriage. Not just because you guys deserve to be happy, but because we’ll be doing karaoke for his bachelor party and I’m getting it filmed this time for blackmail purposes.”

Patrick laughs out loud at that, pulling Stevie in for a hug that she fights for a second or two, her hands then gripping at the back of his shirt as she hugs him back. It’s brief, but meaningful.

As they walk together into the cafe, Patrick leans in to whisper, “You know I’ll be needing a copy of those videos, right”

“Oh, we’ll be playing them at the wedding.”

[insertagoodpunhere]

im procrastinating my summer reading by taking pictures of myself

[wanderingnork]

i’m tired of making monsters palatable, i’m incredibly exhausted of feeling like every monster should have capped claws and a soft heart, that is not why i like monsters.

according to many, liking something evil, finding it appealing in some way, being tempted by it, is a sign not just of bad character but of a bad person. so that attraction has to be sanitized. the blood gets painted over and the fangs get filed down and now it’s okay because see, there’s no monster here. the vampire is tasteful, with teeth just sharp enough and just the right amount of sneering, a veneer of pretty evil on a paper cutout.

there’s a time and place for the sympathetic and the misunderstood monsters, whose claws and teeth hide kindness. we need those monsters, too. we do need to see that godzilla can be heroic, that the martians come in peace, that the killer was really the victim all along. that’s important. and i love those monsters with all my heart, too.

but for fuck’s sake. let monsters be monsters. let them lurk under beds with evil intent. let them hunt us, for hunger and for fun. let them be inexplicable. let them rise from the depths or descend from the skies or lurk behind the friendly eyes of a neighbor. let them have bloody teeth. let them hold up the fucking mirror and show us who we are.

and you know what? if you embrace the horror, the fear, the blood, the evil, that doesn’t make you a monster.

it makes you someone who might want to revel in what makes you other, or someone who finds an outlet for anger in the roar of a chainsaw in a silver-screen killer’s hand, or someone who craves taboo but believes in the rules of society. it makes you someone who might find catharsis in the idea of being strong, holding power, being fearless. it makes you human.

[unilust]

Welcome to the new age, to the new age...

[jehans]

Visit Original Link

Bare

MAD theatre

Bare: A Pop Opera

i don't really know why I'm posting this? 

i guess because a couple of people showed interest in the production of bare i went to go see this evening, and so i wanted to share a bit of it with you

and also because

i have

feels

okay

jason is being played by omar montes, peter by natale pirrotta