josh hutcherson dating
SXSW Film Review: ‘The Disaster Artist’
Like such kindred spirits in quantity over quality as Tyler Perry and Joe Swanberg, James Franco has made a crapload of movies. Sooner or later, he was bound to deliver a good one.
By Peter Debruge

In a sense, “The Disaster Artist” could be the master class on how not to make a movie. But that’s a pretty elaborate in-joke on which to squander the casting of the film’s lead role, especially when any number of genuinely great actors would have leapt at the opportunity to mock their profession. That much is clear from the caliber of performer drawn to participate in the movie’s tiniest roles: Sharon Stone shows up as Sestero’s agent. Bryan Cranston plays himself. Judd Apatow (who effectively discovered Franco on “Freaks and Geeks”) appears as an easily peeved Hollywood producer. Seth Rogen depicts exasperated script supervisor Sandy Schklair. The great Jacki Weaver wrestles with an impossible line (“I got the results of the test back, I definitely have breast cancer”). An unrecognizable Zac Efron plays the over-actor responsible for playing menacing gangster Chris-R in “The Room.” And Josh Hutcherson hilariously embodies the 27-year-old whom Wiseau cast as a mentally disabled teen. (And that doesn’t even include those like Zach Braff and J.J. Abrams who endorse Wiseau’s magnum faux-pus in the film’s prologue.)

The Disaster Artist received a stranding ovation at SXSW, was trending with top tweets from the festival and is being hailed as Franco’s best film to date. 

Perks, Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader

Prompt: Reader is a famous actress and gets shipped with Lin by the Internet.

Word-count: 1,385 (oh boy)

Warnings:  A lot of casual cursing whoops. Are we really going to count how many times I said “fuck” in this? 

Note: Here we go. Part one and it is a doozy. All right, tell me what you think, and shout out to @manuelmiranduh because reading her work was kind of instrumental to how I cam about to write for this fandom anyway? So, girl, thanks. 

Part Two

The Internet was truly weird, and even if you’ve spent a good decade-and-a-half (although when put that way, you sounded way older than you actually were) in an industry that put you underneath the microscope of it, it never ceased to astound you how truly odd it could be.

“Nancy,” you called, and said woman looked up from her phone, “what the fuck is an Elsnavi and why is it all over Twitter?”

In all of your partnership you’ve never seen your agent so uncomfortable.


“More importantly, why are they tagging me?”


“And even more importantly, why are there pictures of me kissing someone?

Nancy scratched the back of her neck, refusing to look you in the eye. She toyed with her phone for a moment, before at last cutting a glance to you. You raised your eyebrows expectantly. Nancy pursed her lips, obviously conflicted. Finally she leaned back, letting her head hang from the back of the couch, releasing a long-suffering sigh. Blearily, she turned to fix you with a watery, unamused stare.

“I didn’t think we’d have to have this conversation, like, at all.”

“Well, we’re having it now.” you said, clicking your phone closed and placing your full attention on her.

Nancy sighed once more, sitting up properly, and looked to be squaring herself up before saying, “You know about shipping right?”


“Well, Elsnavi is a ship name. A name of a pairing.”

“And what does that have to do with me?” you asked, confused.

“I was getting to that point,” Nancy said patiently. “The long and short of it is that people are shipping you as Elaine and Lin-Manuel Miranda as Usnavi from In The Heights.”

You sat for a long moment, simply dumbfounded. You clicked your phone back to life and scrolled through the tag once more, finding an additional hashtag in a few posts that was a touch more worrying.

“What the fuck is Y/N/Lin then?”

It seemed that you had reached the point of the conversation that Nancy, if it was possible, dreaded even more. “Yeah, okay, I’m gonna need to—“ She started gently prying your phone away from you. In your confusion, you let it slip through your fingers without protest.


Nancy breathed through her nose, trying as much to steady you as she was steadying herself. “Here’s the thing,” (She paused, and you had to narrow your stare to coax her into continuing,), “so shipping mostly occurs with fictional characters right?” You nodded. “Well, sometimes fans have a tendency to, um, go over.”

“The Internet is shipping me,” (you pointed to yourself,), “not Elaine, or any other role for that matter.” It wasn’t a question. “And they’re shipping me with Lin-Manuel Miranda?”

Nancy nodded, eyes slightly fearful.

“You’d think they’d ship themselves with Lin.” You sputtered, still quite frozen on your couch. “God, do they know I haven’t even met him?”

“Yeah, they do. Has that ever stopped them before?”

“I guess not,”

It was hard not to be offended by it, although you knew very well it was mostly harmless, but goddammit it was your life, the people you chose to be with, and it took away some form of agency, knowing that people were hand-picking men they thought would look nice with you and bypassing your opinion entirely.

“Is there any particular reason they, ah, preferred Lin?” you asked, not helping the trace of spite that made its way into your tone. Nancy noticed, and stiffened.

“Well, the Elaine/Usnavi one is a bit easier to explain and understand,” she said. “Usnavi’s awkward and energetic and Elaine’s a cutthroat bitch with a heart of gold and, as you will learn, the Internet kind of lives for that dynamic, so they put the two together. Cross-over.”

You nodded along at her explanation, and when she didn’t continue to the more pressing matter, you pointedly glared. Nancy, seeing this, sighed and relented. “You and Lin are a bit more confusing,” You scoffed. Confusing was just the fucking tip of the fucking ice berg. “But to keep a long story short, your pairing is pretty much Elsnavi taken up a couple more notches.” Your eyebrows trekked impossibly higher up your hairline. “All right, a lot of notches, but there’s nothing harmless in it. And I think you’d be a bit more used to it considering all the success Killing a King got. Remember when they were convinced you were dating Josh Hutcherson because he showed up backstage?”

Oh yeah, that entire debacle. Killing a King, essentially, gave you the recognition on the Great White Way you had already accomplished in a couple of other areas. It wasn’t your first musical, but it was your first lead role, and people weren’t likely to forget Elaine King quite yet. This whole Elsnavi business was proof of that.

“It’s not that I’m bothered by it,” Nancy, this time, was the one to raise her eyebrows, dubious. “Okay, I am, but God it just feels a bit… I dunno,”


“Yeah, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nancy said soothingly, but with that touch of brusque that made you know that she was over the entire thing entirely, and you should be too. “I already checked over the websites—“

“There are websites?” you gaped.

Honey, this is the Internet we are talking about, of course there are websites. Anyway, I’ve checked all of them over (it wasn’t easy, mind you) and there weren’t any debilitating details.”

“They probably have porn of me somewhere,” you muttered darkly, causing Nancy to shoot you an amused glance.

“Don’t check those links in any case, unless you’re really wanting to ruin your day.”

“I’ll steer clear, thanks.”

With a chuckle, Nancy stood up, reminded you that you had appointments and meetings and whatnot to get to, and lead you to the car.

You managed to forget about the entire Elsnavi, Y/N/Lin thing for about a week. And it wasn’t even your fault.

You were up late, coming back from a screening you were invited to attend, and you were flipping listlessly through the channels, an open bottle of red wine on your coffee table and all the intent to find the nearest episode of Sex in The City and calling it a night, but you landed on a channel with him on it.

And of course, the first thing that came to mind was that stupid photo manipulation of you kissing him.

He looked, well, good, you had to admit. Short hair, the goatee almost gone except for a half-shadow-beard going along his chin. His suit was blue, and goddammit, you couldn’t help but notice that it was a color that very much suited him.

He and Jimmy Fallon were in the middle of laughing about something, Fallon as always overdoing it, and you were going to change the channel. You really were. But they mentioned your name next.

“So what’s the deal with you and Y/N anyway?” Fallon asked Lin, a photo of you flashing behind them. It was you on stage, as Elaine, looking quite cross. Lin laughed, twisting in his seat to get a good look at you.

“I honestly don’t know, man. You tell me, the Internets are always coming up with stuff.” Lin said, settling back into his seat.

“Because you and her are cropping nearly everywhere on social media,” Another photo, this time a manip of Usnavi and Elaine, came up on the screen. Lin twisted again to look.

“Yeah, beats me. What’s funny is that I’ve never even met her.”


“Yeah!” Lin said, laughing. “We haven’t met, although I’d love to. I saw her in Killing a King, she was incredible.”

“Don’t you think all this business would put a damper on the meeting though?”

Lin shrugged jovially, although he did look a tad sheepish. “Here’s to hoping it doesn’t, man. It’d be bomb to meet her in person.”

You changed the channel then, and this time it was a new episode of The Big Bang Theory. You had enough on your mind that you managed to ignore it.

So he wanted to meet you in person? Huh. That’s something.

You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, eyed the bottle of wine. You grabbed it and took a long gulp.


These Words are a Lie ~A Joshifer Fanfiction~ Chapter Seven

A/N: Well hello everyone! Happy Thursday! Sorry to keep you all waiting a little longer than usual with this chapter. I just did not have that extra little push of motivation to write, and so when the original posting date rolled around, I was left empty hand. But thankfully, with the extra time, my motivation came back around, and I was able to finish off chapter seven for you all! About time, right? 

So glad I took that second week, because I was able to tie in some real life situations that I’m sure you’ll notice once you read. So really, it was all worth it in the end lol!

Now, as usual, I appreciate any and all feedback for the story. Any comments are accepted with the utmost gratitude, as they fuel me to press onward and continue with the story. I appreciate all the support you have given me thus far.

Speaking of support, big thank you to catching-dandelions for all her help, and for her patience to listen to my late night babbles.

The previous chapter can be found here [x]

All chapters so far can be found here [x]

And without further adooo…

“What…what is it? What’s wrong?”

I could have just stuck with the first question. I could have simply inquired as to why my publicist is standing outside my hotel room past midnight.

But that’s just the thing; Liz normally doesn’t come a calling this late at night. So there has got to be something problematic going on, I just know it.

What’s strange however, is that I cannot wrap my finger around what that thing may be. I cannot recall the last time I was papped. I don’t remember the last time I was misquoted in an article, or was featured on the front page of a tabloid, wrapped around lies.

Everything has been relatively quiet; the last large issue at hand was my incident with Nick. And even that, was resolved without trouble.

I simply informed Liz that same night that Nick was threatening me with violence, and intended to stalk me, and she shot down the problem in a heartbeat. She conferred with his team, and they agreed on a restraining order of sorts. The darkness receded as quickly as it had arrived. Nothing more had happened since.

“May I come in?”

Liz’s voice breaks me from my thoughts, and I stare at her with wide eyes, my gaze strung with confusion.

“I was thinking we could chat a bit on your couch, if you don’t mind,” she continues on, “And I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

Keep reading


We are straight but not narrow

You’re L, G, B, T, Q or S…. but the most important letter to be is U.
Maybe you like girls, maybe you like guys, maybe you like both, maybe you like neither…. what difference does it really make? There’s a whole lot more to a person than who they date.