Everyone thinks that Jensen and Misha just gradually became friends—drawn together by some invisible chemistry that eventually mixed them into the lovely Cockles-concoction we know today.
But it wasn’t actually that subtle; which makes sense when you think about it because neither are really “subtle” guys. Jensen is blunt and to the point, and Misha is just an explosion of Mishaness.
So, when the two met on set, there were no handshakes that led to sitting together for lunch, that finally led to beers after work and so on. No, that’s not how it happened at all.
How it did happened actually came about thanks to Misha’s wardrobe. The man would show up to set every day in some ratty old t-shirt, beaten up corduroys and crocs or, a decent looking sweater vest, dirty jeans and crocs. It was always some horrible blend of mismatched fabric and those god damn, sinful, no-one-should-ever-wear-them-even-if–it’s-a-choice-between-putting-them-on-or-walking-on-broken-glass,-pick-broken-glass crocs!
After three weeks of this, Jensen had had enough. No guy with that bone structure and that body, and those damn eyes that could literally go with anything (except crocs), should downplay it all with outfits like that!
So, in spite of the fact that they only ever had several casual chats at that point, and everything was pretty much still strictly business between them, Jensen still made the choice to wait outside Misha’s trailer, eagerly tapping his foot and crossing his arms until the man finally arrived.
When he did, he looked confused at the sight of his co-star waiting by his door, but that was nothing compared to the look he gave him when Jensen shouted “Finally! My trailer, now!”
Misha thought he did something wrong—thought he was getting fired or maybe made a joke that was inappropriate and offended Jensen in some way. He wracked his brain the entire scurry to Jensen’s place, sweating more with every silent step.
When they finally got inside, Jensen shut the door behind them, looking Misha hard in the eye before saying “Take those off” while pointing down at the crocs adorning Misha’s feet. Misha did as he was told, thinking Jensen just might have a rule about shoes in his trailer or something. But he was a little taken aback when the man instructed him to take off his “Oscar the Grouch” t-shirt as well.
“Um … what are we doing?” Misha finally asked, stopping his hands as they reached for the hem of his shirt.
“It seems like you’re un-dressing me” Misha returned, furrowing his brow at his confusing co-star.
Jensen finally leaned in, his voice—steady and serious. “All this …” the man starts, gesturing to Misha’s outfit. “Does not count as clothes, therefore, you are not dressed.”
Misha continues to stare, nervous and skeptical as the man turns around and retrieves the shirt and pants he had folded on the counter, just before coming back and shoving them into his arms.
“Here, this is better.”
Misha looks down at the garments, noticing the nice quality of the button up and the tailored seams of the pants. “Ummm, okay, but why?”
Jensen sighs, eventually pinching the bridge of his nose like this is all so obvious, and it is a rather large chore just to explain it. “Because … I’m not going to let one of my friends walk around looking like a mix between a drugged up hippie and a drowned rat.”
Misha could have scoffed at the insulting comparison; he could have shoved the clothes back at the man and told him to go to hell; he could have strutted away in his crocs like he was on a Paris runway—all things he would have normally done if it was anyone else standing in front of him. But the sound of the word “friends” slipping past Jensen’s lips was too sincere to even fathom doing any of that. So instead, he took the outfit and headed into the back to change.
Later that night, the two nicely dressed men went out for drinks, laughing over each other’s stories, joking about one another’s impeccable taste and bumping shoulders the entire way back to the car.
don’t ever remember my dad being normal. He was always a little
strange. The man was secretive and closed off, and all his attempts at
acting like a father rose the hairs on the back of my neck. It seemed
forced. I don’t think I ever got used to that. There was no need,
because he didn’t keep that up for long. By the time I was 5, I didn’t
have a dad. What I had after that was a boss. Maybe an owner. Definitely
not a dad.
He fully opened up as a person around that time. He brought a little
girl into our home. She was small, but she was older than myself, too.
Maybe 7 or 8. Her face was red and raw with tears. “Sam, this is your
new little sister, Maria.” Before I could react, she spoke up between
small sobs. “No, mister. I don’t know you. My name is Claire. Please
take me home to my mommy, I promise that I won’t tell.” By the time she
finished what she was saying, she was barely forming coherent sentences.
That’s when I saw my Dad stop being my dad. With one fluid motion, he
swung his arm, hitting her in the face and knocking her back on her ass.
I jumped up, too afraid and confused to do much of anything, but
still frightened nonetheless. I was young, but I’d seen enough
television to know that normal families didn’t do these things. “Sam,
you sit your ass down or I’ll put you in the ground, you hear me?” Thus
marked the loss of my father. Later, as I listened to the quiet cries of
the girl, now locked in the room next to mine, he sat me down and
explained that he wasn’t my father. He told me things a 5 year old
should never hear. My life changed forever. I was a mistake.
The little girl was with us for a while. My dad left me at home while
he went to the mall, buying all kinds of nice things for Maria. Claire.
Whatever. He probably blew $500. The weeks afterward were strange,
disgusting, and violent all at the same time. At the best, she would
play along with his games and he would be happy. At the worst, I would
have to listen to her screams as he did unspeakable things to her in the
next room. After, when the screaming would stop, he would come to me
and give me the same speech.
“This happens because you aren’t right, you understand? You should
have been born a girl. We wouldn’t have to do this. She’s going to die
someday because you’re trash.” He would walk to the door and finish with
“Remember, Sam. No one out in that world will ever love you. If you try
to leave, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you.”
Maria died about three months after my dad took her. This day wasn’t
her first attempt at escape, but instead it was her last. Truly, I do
not know if my father meant to kill her or not. He became consumed in
his rage and I fought back tears as he continued to hit her and hit her,
over and over again. Her little light went out as she choked on blood,
gurgling sounds coming from her throat. She was buried in our back yard,
right next to the playset that my father bought a year before. After
that, he became nervous to the point where he packed me up and we
started off on the road.
We lived like that for years. Sometimes, we’d live somewhere as long
as a year, but that was the extent of it. On a good year, he’d take two
or three girls without so much as a second look. People didn’t
necessarily suspect him, though. He was a psycho, but the man was smart
too. He would falsify documents and references, getting himself jobs as
close to children as possible. I remember, one time, he was hired on to
be an ice cream truck driver. He snatched up a little girl he called
Gloria right in front of her house. He somehow managed to finish his
route, too. She only lasted two months.
Emily stop lying she looks like a shrunken grandmother. That dress is horrible, aria had such style savvy before and now they throw a potato sack on her, add glitter, and ask my ass to hashtag it wedding dress. A hashtag doesn’t make it better guys.
yoongi x reader •
fluff, heavy petting, smuuut, they finally get down and dirty, college! yoongi •
words: 11,752 →
summary: You meet the
mysterious Yoongi at a house party and no matter how uninterested you tell
yourself that you are, you’re can’t say no to him. Can you end up changing his
playboy ways, or will you just end up getting hurt?
Request: (anon) Love your stories! Can you do an image on where the clown princess is just super shy and not really self confident? Then Harley takes her to the club, dances with her and shows her that she shouldn’t give a sh*t about what others are thinking of her? That it is important so be yourself, especially when you’re the princess of the underworld 😏💪🏻That would be awesome!
The way Veep uses costumes to demonstrate character has interested me for a while, and so I’m diving in to the subject just this once. Everything I learned about ‘reading’ costume I learned from reading Tom and Lorenzo’s Mad Style recaps (if you’re a Mad Men fan who’s somehow never encountered them, go forth and read). Needless to say, this won’t be anywhere near as comprehensive, and in fact will be chiefly focused on one character, which is Amy.
There’s a simple reason for this - Amy is the most dynamic dresser on the show. Which isn’t to say that she’s necessarily stylish - Selina knows how to dress to convey very specific messages (as does Dan), something Amy mostly doesn’t do (with one hilarious exception). But there are two reasons why Amy’s style changes so much more than anyone else’s over the course of the show.
Within the world of the show, Amy starts off as a comparatively young woman (say approximately 30 at the beginning?), and one who has never felt particularly comfortable with her own beauty or confident in her ability to attract men. She also desperately wants to be taken seriously in an environment that is not particularly friendly to her. Outside the world of the show, Anna Chlumsky has had two babies - which means her body has gone through far more dramatic changes than any other member of the main cast. (Reid Scott and Timothy Simmons’ receding hairlines don’t really compare).
What really bothers me in the BATB fandom are the complaints about the casting, the dress, the everything about the 2017 version. I waited a whole year to see it and I was one of the people who was not disappointed. It’s my favourite story, no matter what version.
But no one can ever be happy with anything. The actors worked hard to work on this movie, the crew spent hours of editing, costumes are so hard to make. Honestly, it infuriates me. This is a movie and story with the moral of don’t judge by appearance. Guess what?
That’s literally what people have been doing when it comes to this movie. Emma honestly had been my main image of Belle and honestly, if you think about it, how much more sense does the story make?
There’s backstories, there’s development, Belle has more backbone! If you were Belle, would you just stand and watch as the beast was about to be killed by Gaston? Hell no! You’d want to help wouldn’t you? I loved this version so much. And guess what?
Even actors with really good voices had to be edited for the screen and soundtrack. Autotune is apparent in the BATB soundtrack yes, but it’s part of the editing. Movies done professionally have to have sound and image given a bit of tweaking.
I don’t care who you thought was perfect for Belle. I don’t care if or why you think the dress is horrible and stupid. I don’t care if you think Emma was too bland in the story.
Look at the hard work and the amazing moralities and the beauty and care put into this story. And take some film classes if you think autotuning or sound tweaking isn’t required.