teaching in america

cbr.com
Defining Steve Rogers: The Importance of the Death of Captain America
Captain America's death redefined the patriotic Marvel hero, not only for comic book readers, but for the world.

“The Death of Captain America teaches us in no uncertain terms why Steve Rogers is the timeless, powerful symbol — not of the country, but the potential of people to be better; a hero who will always work best, and have the greatest impact, when he is allowed to function as the true north of the Marvel Universe.”

a scribble since i bought clip a few days ago and i’m messing around with using tones and also sucking at it

these are separate unrelated sketches but it almost looks like i did a bodyswap or something… i wanted to draw what i consider uncommon expressions for both of them. i realized i draw england smirking or etc a lot in my pics but i also think that for him to have a genuine, wholly unburdened smile is actually pretty rare and it’s only really seen in special situations. england’s real smile is like the shiny pkmn of hetalia i guess lmfao

There has been a Decepticon emblem somewhere on my person every day since the election.

Today I saw a post that upset me. It was basically stating that half the fandom is incorrect to see the Decepticons as the ‘real’ good guys, and reiterated all the reasons that they’re terrible and the Autobots are, were, and always will be the only good guys. 

I may have growled ‘fuck you’ at the computer, almost reblogged with an angry comment…and then looked at myself with horror, because I make it my policy not to be negative at someone I’ve never met, or their thoughts, on such slim basis. Compassion is more important than anything else; we are all hurting, and it is so easy to do further damage that, especially on a platform such as tumblr, it does well to watch one’s words very, very carefully. Fictional characters are not worth doing real, tangible harm over. 

So why the hell was I so upset that I almost broke my own rules?

The election.

I have worn a Decepticon emblem somewhere on my person every day since the election. Earrings. My windbreaker. A t-shirt. But mostly the earrings, since they’re subtle and pass mostly unremarked. I’m even contemplating a tattoo, more seriously than ever before. 

I’m in agony. I’m a policy student; I specialize in public health policy. A few weeks ago, my mentor quite literally told me to hold off on entering the workforce for the next four years; he feels that me starting a career under the Trump Administration would be a very bad idea. At the same time, I’m significantly changing the course of my immediate future in light of the election; I’m applying to Teach For America, which has an LGBT initiative to recruit LGBT teachers. It’s intended to make up grade and graduation (and survival) differences between LGBT and straight students. I’m going to actively pursue being placed in a red state, where I can do the most good. 

It’s not like I don’t understand this is dangerous. There is a large part of me that wants to flee the country (New Zealand being the favorite refuge, right now). But my family didn’t leave China during the Cultural Revolution, though it killed my great-grandparents and led to the torture and humiliation of many of my other family members. My grandmother had to be almost forcefully sent to the US because the rest of the family knew damn well her opinionated nature and total disregard for her own safety would get her dead. But it wasn’t the first time the family had weathered horrors. I know too well that it won’t be the last. And if my great-grandparents could stay in China then, then no incompetent orange baboon’s arse will chase me from the United States. 

I’m bi. I’m multiracial. I’m a woman. I’m an intellectual. This is not a good combination in Trump’s America. But I’m not afraid. 

Because I think about Megatron every time I start browsing the New Zealand visa site. Megatron, and my family. 

We’ve been weaponizing words for generations. Two thousand years, in fact. Megatron, the young miner working in the dark for a better world, shaping words to change sparks, speaks to me on a deep level. This is what we have done for those two thousand years. And like Megatron, we have paid a price. Very often in blood. We’ve never been good at shutting up. 

Megatron is both a power fantasy and a cautionary tale for me right now, and right now, what I really need is the power fantasy. I feel incredibly helpless; I am not the only one. Megatron, someone who starts out so utterly helpless, gives me hope that I, too, may yet be powerful one day. That I may be capable of righting the injustices that cause me such pain now. 

I do not mean to excuse his atrocities. I am repulsed by them perhaps more than many others, because I understand how easy it might be to slip over the edge to committing them. (Anyone who tells you it is easy not to slip over that edge is a person to be very frightened of; they obviously do not see themselves as capable of horror, and those people are the ones most likely to commit horrors–they do not examine themselves or their motivations, they believe they are utterly in the right, and that is the most dangerous of persons). 

In the wake of this election, we all feel helpless. We are suddenly enemies in our own countries. Our neighbors turn on us for our compassion, for our liberal sentiments and our belief that all people are created equal. Does We the People still cover us? We’re not sure. There are so many who would say no. There are so many who believe we’re seeing the rise of another Hitler. 

Megatron rebelled against an authoritarian government. The lowest of the low, he shattered the monstrous system that treated him and his fellows as disposable objects. We are facing a future in which we are disposable objects. Is it any wonder we find hope in him? Is it any wonder that, seeing Trump get another pass for a lie, or use a tweet to cover up his nefarious dealings, you are being deceived gains new, immediate meaning? How about rise up? 

It’s not Optimus who gives us hope, Optimus who was a cop in IDW, Optimus, the well-meaning supporter of the status quo (that very same status quo that has so failed us!).

It’s Megatron, who may have fallen from grace, but who understands. Who was the miner who toppled an empire.

You may interpret canon as you wish. I would never want to step on someone’s toes for that. But for all you folks wondering why the hell fandom has suddenly decided the Decepticons are more appealing…

…it’s very simple. We’ve just realized we’re in their position. 

anonymous asked:

What is it like to learn about the Holocaust in German schools? I'm not asking to be disrespectful, but I'm genuinely curious. All counties have things that must be taught even if they aren't proud of it, but I've always wondered about this situation.

As of a somewhat young age we learn about what happened and why it was wrong, and later in school we learn about the technicalities of how it happened - the social, political and economic factors that led first to WWI and then to the rise of the NSDAP.* We then learn a little but not as much about what actually happened during the war, and also read a load of books set either during the war or after the war in the GDR. Basically no one denies it happened and very few people deny that it was a terrible thing, which is a good system, and also why I find it horrific how America teaches (or doesn’t) the colonialist genocide of Native Americans, or the civil war.

*(To simplify a tonne: because of the Treaty of Versailles and because German banks had the genius idea of printing more money to get out of recession - which only led to possibly the worst case of inflation in the world; there are literally pictures of people bringing wheelbarrows containing 27 trillion Mark in banknotes just to go to the bakery - there was lots of insecurity and resentment in the country. Hitler seized on that resentment and managed to convince a solid amount of the population that this was all happening because there were so many Jews in the country. He gained power in 1932 by a non-majority vote and the promises he made to Germans did not include gassing Jewish people or rounding them up in ghettos, instead he used language like “I shall deal with the problem”. That sort of direct violence didn’t begin until I believe 1939, 7 years later.

Deal? (Lafayette x Reader)

Words: 1800+

Warnings: cursing

Request: hey! could i request a lafayette x reader modern au, where laf is in france and he meets an exchange student from north america who is struggling with their french? hhhh i think that would just be so cute ❤ @strawbirby (did i tag the right person??)

A/N: i don’t know why it took me so long to write this


You walked into your dorm room, sitting your bag on the bed. You were put into a single, different from everyone else. You would have rathered sharing, to have someone to talk to on your experience in a different country, but this would have to do.

You flopped onto the mattress, looking at the open door. Different people from different countries walked past, some excited and some nervous. You opened your dictionary, studying some words that were pertinent to what you had to learn. Since you were an exchange student, you had to speak almost fluent French. It was easy to read and write it, and the verbal tests weren’t that difficult. But speaking it in the home country? That was a completely different from saying it in America.

“Are you Y/N?” You looked up, seeing a woman standing there. You nodded, placing your book to the side. The woman walked in, giving you a folder. “Monsieur Leroy told me to come and give you this. It’s a correction to your schedule, the last one did not have your speaking classes.” You thanked her, and she smiled, walking back out of the room. You glanced over the schedule, seeing that everything was pretty much the same.

You heard your phone ring, and glanced at it. Your friend, Peggy, picture shown, and you answered immediately, already missing her. “I didn’t know you woke up at seven in the morning before.” You joked, looking at the 12 on your clock.

“Y/N! I missed you!” She yelled into the phone, and you laughed, moving it slightly away from your ear.

“I just left yesterday, Pegs. How can you miss me so quickly?” You said, placing your phone between your shoulder and ear. As you crooked your neck, you began unpacking your belongings.

“Yes, but that’s still too long. When will you be back again?” She asked, and you heard some shuffling in the background. “Laurens, stop-” You heard her giggled, and rolled your eyes. The two of them were inseparable. “No, I’m leaving the room. Stop, you idiot, I need to talk to Y/N. Yes, she just left yesterday. Do you have a problem?”

“Am I interrupting something?” You said, smiling. You grabbed a hanger, putting your outfits together.

“No, John is just being John. Y/N, why did you have to go so far?” She complained, and you imagined her pouted lip, the usual expression she made when she was disappointed.

“Oh well, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m majoring in French and international studies. But that’s just a guess.” You snickered, placing your clothes on the side.

“You know, I don’t need your sarcasm right now. Just-” The line cut off, leaving a tone ringing in your head. You sighed, throwing your phone on the mattress.

You walked out your dorm room, on a mission to learn where all of your classes were before you attended them tomorrow. As you were searching for one, you bumped into a taller fellow, his curly hair wrapped up in a bun on the top of his head. He wore a plaid shirt, the long sleeves pushed up on his forearm. You quickly said sorry in French, cringing at your terrible pronunciation. Whenever you were nervous, every single word jumbled up.

He gave you a kind smile, nodding at you. “It’s okay, mon ami. I know English.” You let out a sigh of relief, and he laughed at your reaction. “Are you a student?”

“Yes. I’ve just made it here today.” You glanced at the schedule in your hand. “Um, can you help me find this class? I’ve been looking for it for ten minutes now, and I cannot seem to find it anywhere.”

“Of course, anything for a beautiful woman like yourself.” You frowned slightly at his flirtatious behavior, but quickly assumed it was just French culture. You gave him the schedule, and he scanned the paper quickly. “Ahh, you have the same schedule as I.”

“Really? That’s interesting, I thought the international students had specific layouts.”

“They do, mon ami. I’m part of the program. It’s part of my major in international studies, I am to help any exchange students. Like yourself.” He winked, walking with you through the hallways. You could not help but feel slightly disappointed, thinking he was just helping you out of kindness. Now that you knew the real reason, it seemed like he was forced to do this.

“I see…” You said, saying nothing more. He looked down at you, grinning.

“Would you like for me to help you with your French? Since our classes are the same, I can help you understand.”

“I’m fine, but thank you.” You said, slightly annoyed.

“How about this: I help you with my mother language, and you help me understand things about North America. I plan to travel there next semester. Deal?” He asked again, stopping in the middle of the hallway. You bit your lip, considering the options.

You felt like you were pretty knowledgeable about your country, and him helping you in French would benefit you immensely. After looking at his face for a few moments, you nodded. “Oui.” You replied, and he laughed.

“Let me show you the rest of our classrooms.”

~

You soon learned that his name was Lafayette; the man had too many surnames for you to remember. You quickly nicknamed him Laf, and the two of you became inseparable. Every day after class, he would help you with your pronunciation, and you would teach him things about America that he didn’t know. He was surprised that something like pineapple would go on pizza, but he was willingly to try it, much to your dismay.

Your French was improving greatly, and since half of your classes were in the language, it was beneficial. Lafayette soon taught you slang and curse words, laughing at your face whenever you said one. You taught him English curse words, and could not help but grin at the way he said Fuck with a French accent.

“Ah, and what does this fuck actually mean?” He asked you, pursing his lips. You held back a chuckle, raising your shoulders.

“Honestly, it could be used for anything. A noun, an adjective, a verb, an interjection, an adverb, whatever your mind creates, you could probably put fuck in front of it.” You replied, sipping on your beverage. He nodded slowly.

“That’s fucking cool Y/N.” He said, and you spat out your coffee.

You noticed that he stayed by your side, barely paying mind to the other international students. He told you that he was supposed to help those students, but he seemed to ignore them. You asked him why, and he always shrugged, telling you that you were his one and only.

That definitely made you blush.

As the two of you were giggling about something in one of the study rooms, a professor walked up to you. You looked at him, and Lafayette smiled at the man. “Monsieur, how may I help you.”

“Ah, Gilbert, I see you have found someone to mentor. See, I told you, someone will partner up with you.” The professor laughed, looking at you. You gave him a closed-lip smile, glancing at Laf. His smile was slowly going down at the man’s words.

“Ah, monsieur, this is my friend Y/N. I am not with her just because of the partner program.” He said, his voice becoming harsh. You were now curious, looking between the two of them.

“What is he talking about?” You asked, butting in. The professor looked at you, surprised that you could understand french. You rolled your eyes.

“Ahh, it is required for his major. He is suppose to find someone to be a friend with, and communicate in both English and French. I assumed he picked you.” The professor walked away, ending his conversation on an awkward note. You looked at Lafayette, upset.

“So, I’m just an assignment? I’m just here to get you a good grade?” You said, rising out of your seat. Lafayette widened his eyes, shaking his head quickly.

“No, mon amour, monsieur is just telling you about an assignment that I had to complete. Please do not misunderstand.”

“Fine, tell me that you didn’t talk to me in the beginning just to complete your requirement. Tell me that I was not just a part of your grade.” You crossed your arms against your chest, looking at him. He pleaded with his eyes, not answering. You nodded, grabbing your bag off the floor and taking your notebooks off the table in front of you. “Guess this buddy system is over, Laf. You should find someone else to lift your grade.”

“Y/N, wait-”

You walked out the study room, slamming the door behind you. Some people gasped at the loud sound, looking at your figure walking out of the library. You felt the tears falling, staining your cheeks. You used your right hand to wipe away the unwanted tears, walking towards your dorm. Before you could walk in, an arm grabbed you, turning you around.

Lafayette was standing there, unwilling to let go. You pulled and pulled, but he resisted, making his grip tighter. “I swear Laf if you don’t get your arm off me right now-”

“Y/N, please, just listen to me. Can you do that?” He begged, his eyes never leaving yours. You nodded, and he let go of your limb. “Y/N, when I first met you, yes, I used you as a way to get a better grade. I will not deny this.”

“You ass-”

“Please, let me finish, mon amour.” You knew that he used that nickname to calm you down, and of course, it worked. “After getting to know the person you have become, I realized that I do not care about this grade. And I’m so sorry for treating you like a number. I liked you, I like you, as a person. And you are my only ami around here, but I could not help but see you more than that. Today, I was going to ask if you would like to go on an, how you say, outing with I. I wish for you to be my girlfriend, Y/N. You are not and will never be just a project to me.” He said, looking at the red of your cheeks pouring out onto the rest of your face.

You looked down, cursing this man in your mind for his eloquent words. You glanced back up at him, and he looked nervous, sweat pouring down his face.

You felt a drop of water hit your forehead, and looked up at the sky. Oh.

He wasn’t sweating. It was rain.

Good grief, you were always making up scenarios in your head. As you watched the rain fall, you heard the clearing of a throat.

“Y/N?” He asked, getting your attention back. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I would liked to go on a date with you,” he smiled, and you glared at him, “But there better be nothing else coming out from someone saying that I’m a grade.” He nodded quickly, placing his hand in yours.

“Let’s be on our way, then.”

Hundreds of public school teachers in New York City have landed tickets to the hottest show on Broadway.


Some 400 teachers from schools in all five boroughs will attend Wednesday night’s performance of the sold-out, Tony Award-winning musical “Hamilton.”


The teachers were selected by the city’s Department of Education and via a lottery held by Teach For America-New York, a nonprofit educational organization. Barclays is also involved in the performance for educators through a partnership with the organization and the Education Department.


The Broadway show’s organizers hope the musical’s message of diversity and inclusiveness will resonate with educators and their students. […]

To Kill a Mockingbird was set in the late 1930s (according to my good for nothing English teacher). When I was reading I came across this page describing the teachers attitude towards Scout’s ability to read. Then I realized that things like this still happen today. It’s been 80ish years since the 1930s.


When I was in pre-k the teachers would not allow me to check out books like Junie B. Jones that was well in my reading level. My parents had originally wanted me to skip a grade but the school district would not even give me a chance to take the test because I was “too young”.

The next year I moved to a different school and they allowed me to skip the first grade. Still these teachers wouldn’t let me get chapter books because they were too long. When I started bringing my own books to school the teachers would take them up.

When I was in the second grade I began to write in cursive because my mother had taught me the summer before. The teacher asked me to stop because “you can’t learn that until the third grade”. My cursive had been screwy and I’ve been out of practice since.

In the third grade we were asked to write a story for a writing competition that was at least 2 pages long. I wrote 8 pages and when I got feedback I was told it was too long for a third grader to write.

In fourth grade my friend entered a water bottle rocket project for the school science fair. She used the basic physics formula d=.5at. She was told she wouldn’t be winning the science fair because it  was too advanced.

In the fifth grade for my science class we kept journals that were graded and held all of our notes. Points were counted off of my notes for writing H2O instead of water.

In the sixth grade I was told I couldn’t get books above my A.R. reading level (a 11.5) even if I wanted the challenge.

In the seventh grade my math teacher failed me om multiple assignments because I didn’t solve the problems the same way that she did them in class.

In the eight grade I took the freshman English class and was accused of plagiarism on one of my essays because my use of language was too much like an adults.

My freshman year I was told that the free verse poem I wrote for my English class was too long, A free. Verse. Poem.

This year (my sophomore year) I have been reprimanded multiple times for skipping steps on the essay organizers my English 3 teacher sets up, even though in the end my essay fits all the criteria. 

I have gotten in trouble in my world history class because I would point something out in her teachings that she didn’t mention. “That’s for me to teach, quit disrupting the class.”

And these are just a few of my experiences with the fallacies of the American Education System.

her grammar is better than yours usually is, asshole

Imagine early mornings with Chris and your son.

A/N: Part 2 is here, yay! (Read previous parts of the mini series: ‘Little Ones - Part 1’ and 'Drunk Minds, Sober Hearts; Baby Fever; and Memory Lane - Masterlist) Side note, is everyone excited for the Oscars? I’m soooo pumped.

“Mama, wake up.” You felt a small hand gently tapping at the top of your head, pulling you out of your much needed slumber. “Mama, it’s my birthday.” You heard your son whisper, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s time to wake up.”

Before you could give in to his incessant tapping and open your eyes, you heard Chris’ voice enter the room. “Buddy,” he chuckled softly, leaning against the door frame with his arms across his chest. “What did I say?” The tapping stopped and the small presence moved. “Your party doesn’t start till two, we have plenty of time. Let your mom sleep,” he told Jack as he lifted the boy into his arms. “Let’s go have breakfast.”

You took a short, sharp breath and opened your eyes, stretching as Chris glanced over his shoulder. He smiled when you smiled, mouthing a “thank you.” He nodded then disappeared around the corner, “mm hm” and “uh huh” and “is that so?” leaving his lips to entertain Jack’s thoughts and questions. You smiled again because he really was the best husband and father; he had stayed up as late as you had last night, yet you were still in bed and he was already up and at it with your excitable son. You looked over at your alarm clock which had been set for 7:30AM and huffed a tired sigh when you saw it was only 6:58AM.

You stretched again then sat up, running your hands through your hair. There was no sense in going back to sleep now, even though you would’ve savored every bit of the next thirty-two minutes; you simply had too much to do. There were a lot of people coming to Jack’s birthday party, a little too many considering he was just a two year old in preschool. But then again, he wasn’t just any two year old in preschool; he was the son of Chris Evans and Y/N Y/L/N. He had relationships with people no other two year old should have, unless- of course- that two year old was also lucky enough to have parents in the Hollywood industry. It was kind of nice to know there were people willing to fly in specifically for Jack’s birthday, people that you and Chris had worked and become friends with over the years. It was nice, but it was definitely going to be another long, long day for you and Chris.

 • • • • • • • • 

“Look, it’s Mickey Mouse.” Jack held up a piece of pancake that he’d bitten into the shape of Mickey Mouse’s head; Chris nodded and chuckled in response. “What did you make yours into, Daddy?” He got onto his knees and pressed his hands on the dining table, leaning in to peer at his dad’s plate.

“I- um-” Chris held up his pancake with pursed lips; he hadn’t turned it into anything, he was simply enjoying his breakfast. “It’s an island on the world map,” he told Jack and shrugged. “Pretty cool, huh?” Jack’s eyes narrowed as he studied his dad’s pancake.

“What island?” Jack asked with a raised brow, looking up at his dad.

“Does it matter?” Chris asked, plopping the pancake back down on his plate.

“Yes,” Jack nodded. “Mama always says that detail is key, so what’s the island called?”

“Jackson Island,” Chris quickly answered; he was starting to realize that Jack was like you when it came to trivial things like that; he couldn’t just let it go, he needed an answer. “It’s in the South Pacific, there are no humans there- just um- just dogs. So no,” he said before Jack could ask, “we can’t go and visit.”

“Dodger could go, right?” Jack quizzed. “He’s a dog.”

“Dodger is a dog, yes,” Chris nodded. “But he can’t visit because he’s our dog. What if he likes it there and doesn’t want to come home?” He asked Jack, knowing his attachment to Dodger would make him drop the subject. “We’d miss him terribly, won’t we?”

“Yeah,” Jack nodded, taking his plastic knife and fork to continue eating his pancake. “And I think Dodger would really like it so we shouldn’t tell him about it.” Chris nodded in agreement. “I like that it’s named after me though, Jackson Island. Jackson is a good name,” he murmured with his mouth full.

If you were around, Chris would tell Jack not to talk with his mouth full because you didn’t condone bad table manners. But seeing as you were still upstairs, Chris decided to join him instead; like father, like son. “It is a good name,” he nodded, cutting and forking another piece of pancake in his mouth, “why do you think we named you Jackson?”

“What are you doing?!” Jack’s little mouth fell open when he looked up and saw that his dad had cut another chunk out of his pancake- out of Jackson Island. “Why would you do that, Daddy?” He asked, his lips tightly pursed.

“Do what?” Chris chuckled confusedly.

“You killed Jackson Island, Daddy,” Jack frowned at his dad.

“Bud, it’s not actually-” Chris began as you entered the kitchen; you could hear the commotion from upstairs. As you padded down the staircase, you wondered what trivial issue your silly boy was fussing about this time in the Evans’ household.

“Mama,” Jack climbed off the chair, shrugging off his dad’s touch when Chris tried to help him down. “Daddy killed Jackson Island,” he ran over to you, hugging your legs. You placed a comforting hand on the top of his head and looked over at Chris with a raised brow, chuckling softly when he rolled his eyes to inform you of the importance of the situation. “He’s not a hero, he’s a monster,” he glanced back at Chris, scowling.

“Oh my God,” Chris ran his hand over his beard, chuckling. “All I did was-”

“Hush, Daddy.” You told Chris as you scooped Jack into your arms, resting him on your hip. “You’re on trial for the murder of Jackson Island.” You told him in a teasing tone and he chuckled. “Jack, why don’t you tell me what happened so I can decide it Daddy’s a hero or a monster.”

“What’s his punishment if he’s a monster?”

“I don’t know, what do you want?” You asked and he grinned.

“Can I get one present early?” He asked, cupping your face in his hands.

“Aren’t you decisive?” You moved your face out of his grip, chuckling. You looked over at Chris, who was rolling his eyes as well because you’d both figured out Jack’s master plan. It made sense now why Jack would call his dad- otherwise known as Captain America, his favorite superhero- a monster, he wanted to guilt trip his dad into giving him his present early. “You know what, go eat your breakfast you little monster.” You lowered his giggly self onto his feet, patting his butt.

“I nearly had both of you, didn’t I?” Jack quizzed, climbing back onto his chair.

“Nearly,” Chris nodded. “But you were a little too quick with your demands, you have to drag it ou-”

“Chris,” you cut him off, chuckling. “Don’t teach our child how to become better at manipulation, he’s already a little too good for a two year old.” Chris nodded, suppressing laughter as he took a sip out of his coffee. “And Jack,” he looked over at you, a piece of pancake in his mouth. “I was going to give you one of your presents early.” Jack’s eyes lit up and he grinned. “But-” you chuckled when he pouted, “you tried to play us so now you have to wait.”

“Aw, Mama.” Jack groaned. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.” You shook your head with pursed lips; now it was your turn to play him. “Please? I’m sorry, can you please give me the present now?” You beckoned your head at Chris and Jack immediately turned his attention on his dad. “Daddy, I’m sorry.” He forced his way onto Chris’ lap; Chris chuckled, hugging Jack back when Jack hugged him. “You’re not a monster, you’re a hero.” Jack pulled back and cupped Chris’ face in his hands. “You’re my favorite hero.”

“Why am I your favorite hero?” Chris asked, dragging things out like he’d wanted to teach Jack to.

“You’re Captain America!” Jack grinned. “You’ve got a cool shield, you fight really well, you’re so strong and nice, and you wear red and blue. I like red and blue, they’re my favorite colors and you’re my favorite hero.” Chris looked over at you, nodding so you’d go get him his present; you’d both decided to give him the shoes so he could wear them at the party, and so he wouldn’t scowl at his dad when Chris wore those shoes. “You’re my favorite dad too,” he continued, hugging Chris tightly, “I love you so much.”

“And that’s how you do it, Bud.” Chris kissed the top of his head as Jack pulled away, giggling. “See, you gotta really milk the situation to get the best results. Now go,” he lowered Jack onto his feet and beckoned at you, who had returned to the kitchen with his present in hand. “I think you’re going to love your present.”

“Yay!” Jack cheered and ran over to you, giving you a hug as you descended to your knees. “Thank you, Mama.” He told you before pulling away to take his present. He sat on the floor in front of you and unwrapped, revealing the shoe box Chris’ shoes came in. “Are these Daddy’s shoes?!” He looked up at you excitedly and you chuckled.

“Better,” you told him.

“They’re your own shoes so you can stop stealing mine,” Chris chuckled, making his way over as you got to your feet. Chris watched Jack as you walked over to the coffee pot to pour yourself a cup, when you’d returned Jack had got the shoes out of the box and was staring at them in awe. “Do you like them, Bud?”

Jack looked up at the both of you with wide eyes and nodded, a slow but growing smile on his face. “I love them!” He squealed, kicking off his plush slippers to put on his new shoes. “They’re just like Daddy’s, but small so I can wear them while waiting until my feet are big enough!”

“You nailed it,” Chris wrapped an arm around you.

“Yeah, but I don’t think it means he’ll stop bugging you about your shoes.” You chuckled softly when Chris raised a brow because he hadn’t hear what Jack had said. “You didn’t hear what he said, did you? He said he can wear them while waiting until his feet are big enough.”

“Of course he did,” Chris chuckled softly.

Tags: @widowsfics @m-a-t-91 @xoxomioxoxo @imaginesofdreams @ateliefloresdaprimavera @katiew1973 @winter-tospring @shamvictoria11 @caitsymichelle13 @michellekeehlmello @chrisevans-imagines @letterstomyself21 Tags are still open for the mini series, so hit me up if you want to be added.


Part 3

anonymous asked:

Hello! Hope I'm not too much of a bother, but I am looking for a fic called Grey Areas and Expectation. It seems that the author moved the fic, and I just can't find it! Has it been completely deleted?

It’s just moved to ao3!

grey areas and expectations When Mr. Howell and Mr. Lester both start their first years of teaching in America at the same time, the students notice their mutual British accents and immediately get to work snooping, observing, and theorizing. The curiosity of the students added to the constant “threat” of fellow teacher Ms. Christensen equals nothing short of a chaotic school year full of memes, plants, and maybe a little bit of needed privacy in the teachers’ lounge closet.

- Thea