thick accent

anonymous asked:

(headcanon) As a person with a shamefully thick southern accent myself, I find it that the later it gets at night, the worse my accent gets. So its fun to think of a situation where the more tired or delirious Jesse gets, the more southern terminology and shit he uses to the point where he hardly makes sense.

Bless his heart.

I took my father to see Rogue One today. I’ve wanted to take him for a while. I wanted my Mexican father, with his thick Mexican accent, to experience what it was like to see a hero in a blockbuster film, speak the way he does. And although I wasn’t sure if it was going to resonate with him, I took him anyway. When Diego Luna’s character came on screen and started speaking, my dad nudged me and said, “he has a heavy accent.” I was like, “Yup.” When the film was over and we were walking to the car, he turns to me and says, “did you notice that he had an accent?” And I said, “Yeah dad, just like yours.” Then my dad asked me if the film had made a lot of money. I told him it was the second highest grossing film of 2016 despite it only being out for 18 days in 2016 (since new year just came around). He then asked me if people liked the film, I told him that it had a huge following online and great reviews. He then asked me why Diego Luna hadn’t changed his accent and I told him that Diego has openly talked about keeping his accent and how proud he is of it. And my dad was silent for a while and then he said, “And he was a main character.” And I said, “He was.” And my dad was so happy. As we drove home he started telling me about other Mexican actors that he thinks should be in movies in America. Representation matters.

on the new Iron Fist series

So after binge watching a ton of Marvel’s new Iron Fist series, I went onto tumblr, wondering what the fandom was up to now, what with all these new gifs and stuff to make. ‘Maybe I would find some fan art or something’ I thought innocently to myself,

BUT BOY WAS I WRONG

instead, I was greeted with SO MUCH DISCOURSE on how Iron Fist ‘needs a chinese-american actor’ or ‘has terrible dialogue and is slow’.

the best part is when I found out that some of y’all are trying to get this show boycotted like ‘????’

Now as a Chinese-speaking Asian female, living in Asia, with an Asian background and a good know-how of Chinese history, as well as a decent knowledge of comic books, (although I confess I got into the animated series first) I’m here to end the discussion before y’all get your full rage on and start fighting fans of the show like it’s Lord of the Flies up in here

So keep reading if you want to be educated or if you just want to fight me before you know what you’re even talking about

“THE SHOW INSULTS CHINESE CULTURE”

Uhhhh…no? I’ve seen a few episodes and I mean so far there isn’t really anything that screams ‘insult’ or even offensive in the slightest. Besides maybe the fact that they take the beliefs and twist them a little bit but honestly even that ain’t that bad as to what I’ve seen elsewhere.

I’ve read the boycott post and let me say that yea, they dressed him with an eye for Asian elements, but maybe that’s because it’s supposed to be resembling Asian clothing? I mean how is that offensive? Is it the part that it looks Asian? Or that you simply feel that white people that direct these shows should not be using Asian stuff for entertainment? Because I hate to break it to you but it’s still not offensive. Even the dragon tattoo is totally fine because it’s supposed to resemble Asian elements yea but also have y’all read the comics? Because he punched through a dragon and basically took it’s heart. So I mean a dragon tattoo kinda matches the theme.

I mean in the first episode they speak almost flawless Chinese for Pete’s sake! Hell, I was surprised that they even had it in them to have a non-Google translated line. Sure the accent was a little overdoing it cuz not even I have that thick a Chinese accent but I’ll excuse it since he was apparently learning and speaking 15 years. (I speak it maybe a few times a day for like the last 14 years or so only)

So no, the show doesn’t really insult Chinese culture, sure they might be ignorant, but you must understand that after generations of stereotypes and misconceptions that that can’t just go away with one show

“Danny Rand should be played by an Asian guy/be a Chinese-American”

I can’t even begin to tell you my frustration about this.

Y’all do know this show is based on the comics right?

You know, the one with the white guy.

I know Marvel is infamous for not including enough representation in their shows but seriously? This is like the Harry Potter thing all over again with Hermione being black, it’s not that we don’t want representation or anything, but it’s the fact that this hero that us comic fans have come to already love has been replaced. Or at least it feels like it. Like when a movie is made from a book and people go crazy because character XYZ suddenly has different traits or isn’t quite what was described as compared to the book.

Frankly, it sucks.

So even though yes, Marvel should have more Asians in their shows, don’t expect them to completely give the main character a makeover, even if the makeover was supposed to provide representation. And honestly? I don’t want them to change him because I really freaking love Iron Fist, just as he is.

“This show just villainizes Asians”

So you tell me that my race is being made villains because Marvel decided that most of their Asians on their shows are evil ninjas (aka the Hand) and at most there are like 3 sorta good Asians. Oh and I’m sorry, you want more Asian men that are good guys? You want a balance of Asian heroes?

Well I guess that would be kind of hard to fit into the story since, oh, I don’t know, everything happens in the USA?

If you want more Asian characters well then look no further because you do have them. Daisy Johnson from Agents of Shield? What about her extremely brave mom? Or maybe Colleen in Iron Fist? Everyone seems to be blatantly ignoring her badassery and only seeing the part where she’s a sorta love interest.

Facts are, there are Asian characters, you’re really just looking hard enough. I agree wholeheartedly when you say that more Asian men need to be in the Marvel universe that aren’t part of the bad guy team but you gotta say that they are still awesome.

Does anyone even remember the Japanese ninja yakuza guy from Daredevil? Dude got set on fire and STILL came back to kick ass. That’s a plus in my book because even though he’s considered bad, he’s been proven to be cunning, smart, and overall awesome.

“The show has terrible stunts/acting/dialogue/fight scenes”

From here on out it’s mostly just me trying to explain why the directors and writers of the show made decisions in the show to make it what it is, so let’s dive right into it.

  • STUNTS

Actually the stunts weren’t half-bad. If you’ve seen other shows or movies that are heavily reliant on stunts and action, and compare it to this show, they really aren’t that much different. Sure it might seem a little unbelievable sometimes like they’re breaking physics or something, but he already has a glowing fist. I think we’ve crossed the line of believable long ago.

  • ACTING

I have nothing to say about this except that go and take some acting or drama classes before coming and criticizing these awesome men and women who did indeed try their best

  • DIALOGUE

Now I get the dialogue might be a little weird at times and what not, but you must understand that this show was partially written with the Defenders series in mind. So almost everything that was said in the show is meant to lead to something more. Thus, you must take it as a bigger picture. Sorta like how everyone said that Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them wasn’t as good as they thought it would be, that movie was also meant to lead on to a bigger story so you might want to excuse the weird speech and cryptic lines at times.

  • FIGHT SCENES & ACTION

Okay seriously people, please read the comics. Danny Rand is supposed to be an accidental hero, one that doesn’t want to fight unless he really has zero choice in the matter. So yea, the fight scenes won’t be that interesting, but only because the character in question is more interested in ending the fight than anything.

~

So there you have it, my whole slightly angry info-dump on Iron Fist and Marvel’s representation problem in general. If you want to correct me or scold me even then by all means message me or shoot me an ask. But just keep in mind that Marvel can’t make all your problems go away in one show, and please for the love of all that is good read the comics before coming to rant okay?

Day One Hundred and One

-Upon noticing my distinct lack of a thick southern accent, an elderly woman began to interrogate me about every aspect of my life, from my family to my academic career. She then asked how I liked the area. I told her that it was different. She yelled at me for being politically correct. This is about how I saw the conversation going.

-I mistakenly called an older gentleman “Ma'am”. I did not realize that he was not a ma'am for a solid fifteen seconds. During this eternity, we were looking each other dead in the eye, waiting in silence for one of us to say something. I desperately hoped for a commercial break, as there was no way I was getting out of this one.

-A man expressed his frustrations that if you press the cancel button while paying, it will cancel your payment. I agree with him and believe that anything that will cancel your payment should be plainly labeled as such.

-Two soccer moms discussed their children’s extracurriculars in front of me. One asked the other, “What about soccer camp?” To this she got the reply, “We can’t do it. I’m afraid it might lead into them starting softball.” I completely sympathize with this woman. Volleyball is a gateway sport and should be avoided at all costs.

-A magazine cover at my register advertised the upcoming Beauty and the Beast movie as “The Story Of A Fairy Tale.” This is also known as “A Fairy Tale.”

-I came across a large stockpile of pineapple coconut water that expired in August of 2015. No one is quite sure why we have it, but if anyone PayPals me ten dollars, I am prepared to drink it all.

-I stuck my tongue out at an infant, and the giggle he let out changed my life. I am certain that if we gave a microphone to this joyful bundle of purity, we could end war, put a stop to hate in all forms, and even convince the Toupeed Tic Tac in Chief to step down from office.

-A man grew tired of waiting behind the woman I was ringing up and left to a different lane. The woman almost immediately completed her transaction, and, as someone steps behind him to block him in, other guests take up the premium place in line that could have been his. He shook his head in shame and gave up on his purchase entirely, leaving his items behind as he left the store in a wholly relatable cloud of agony.

I hope in the next dragon age there’s a character with a thick southern accent and it’s never explained why they have it or where they’re from

Client is every kind of -ist. Boss isn't having it, gets one client fired, his replacement replaced.

This happened a few weeks ago, and I’m still in awe of my boss, who made it happen. I work as a private security officer for a small but well respected company. The higher-ups are masters at getting contracted for big-name clients and they treat us employees very well.

We had been subcontracted by a larger security firm to run event security for a certain tech company’s event during a certain famous film festival. Some serious money was being thrown around to make this event happen, I was told $75k per day just to rent out the venue, $6 Million worth of equipment, the list goes on. It was a big deal. Our client’s representative, who we’ll call Paulie, was a New York native with a thick Brooklyn accent and wouldn’t have been out of place on the set of The Sopranos. He’d been flown in from his base of operations just to oversee this event. It soon became clear that he was going to cause problems. First off, the agreement between my firm and our client was to provide asset protection, meaning we were to make sure that none of the expensive, yet highly portable electronic equipment went missing. Yet as soon as we got there, Paulie decided to ignore all that and had us working the doors as glorified bouncers. All our previous instructions were to be ignored and Paulie was God. This pissed us off a bit, as we had picked our people with unobtrusive asset protection in mind, but whatever, we’re professionals and we’ll roll with it. Second, Paulie was an a**hole. Everything we did was wrong somehow, even when we did exactly what he wanted us to, we were doing it wrong. He’d berate the poor officer right in front of everyone. He’d change our instructions on a whim and get mad at us for not complying with the new instructions before everyone had a chance to be informed. Third, and arguably worst, Paulie was an -ist of every type. Racist, ageist, sexist, he was the worst. We brought in female officers and he’d inevitably stick them in the most out-of-the-way posts he could to make sure they didn’t have to interact with the tech people. Same went for every officer Paulie thought was over 35. Since we were working 12 hour shifts, we tried to rotate everybody through every post, but he’d take over the rotation and stick the “old” and female officers out of sight. It got to the point where we were seriously considering quitting the contract and we NEVER do that.

Enter my boss. Let’s call him Rick. Rick is ex military and his thing is he Gets Shit Done. Rick, like several of us, is a licensed Private Investigator as well as a Security Officer. Rick is borderline OCD when it comes to keeping records. Rick has hidden cameras. Rick wore a wire and recorded a lot of Paulie’s shit. That shit then hit the fan when Rick passed off supervision of the site to me for the day and went to a meeting with the higher-ups from my company and a conference call with the higher-ups from Paulie’s company, let’s call them D*cks and A**holes Inc, or D&A. The next afternoon, the A in D&A showed up and took Paulie into one of the rooms the tech people had been using for demos earlier that day and spent over an hour yelling at him. One of our people, a female officer with 15 years of experience, who had worked security at the freaking PENTAGON, and who had been shoved in a corner nevertheless heard the whole thing go down, as she was posted outside the door. According to her, Paulie said several stupid things, but the one that stuck out was, “These guys are weak! They’re bringing in freaking GIRLS…!” before being told to shut the hell up. Paulie was fired right there and escorted off the property. The next day, those of us who hadn’t been there to see it were told the whole story and we reveled in the fact that we wouldn’t have to deal with Paulie anymore. Morale, which had been at historically low levels, shot through the roof.

This would be a good place to stop the story, but as the infomercials say, “Wait! There’s more!”

A took over. Remember him? The A**hole in D*cks & A**holes, Inc? He was worse, in different ways. He was just as bad as Paulie, but he was much, much more subtle about it. And, I can’t stress this enough, he was an A**HOLE.

He tried to get me fired for talking to the client, the tech company’s people. The event was winding down by this point, and I had asked the guy in charge of the tech people a question about continuing security needs. Turns out, the tech company was taking their stuff out of the demo rooms and therefore wouldn’t need those rooms secured anymore, so we didn’t need an officer for that post anymore. A was livid that I had spoken to the client without his say-so and that I had “cost us THOUSANDS!” by so doing, which was total bullshit. A went to Rick and yelled at him about it, too. Rick, however, had my back and just shrugged the whole thing off.

This is going long, so I’ll sum up. Rick was eventually forced to employ the same tactics he had used against Paulie and another conference call was made. Turns out, D&A had been bought out by another company, and since A was a founder, he didn’t get fired, but he did get sent home and yet another guy from the bigger company was flown out to oversee the last few days. That guy was pretty cool and we had no further problems.

The icing on the cake is that the tech company had seen all the bullshit my people had been put through and had been impressed with us. We’ve been asked to provide security services for their next event.

My James, Your Bucky (One Shot)

You’ve had it way too sweet and fluffy from me for a while now, so I’m gonna bring you right back to the pit of despair and angst with this one shot.

Something tells me this is something @sebbys-girl would particularly enjoy;)


Summary: You and Bucky live together in Bucharest. One day you come home to find your flat completely trashed.


Word count: 2.3k


Warnings: angst, aggressive behaviour.


Originally posted by blackinjustice


It was shaping out to be a great day – it was still pre-noon and you had an extra spring in your step as you walked through the cobbled streets of Bucharest. The city you fell in love with, it had it all – alleys lined with tall brick townhouses and red roofs, atmospheric cafes and bars, an impressive market square – where you stopped to pick up a box of plums from ‘your guy’. That’s how you wanted to celebrate, with a cheeky nod to how you two first met.

Keep reading

Full Esquire Interview - CHRIS EVANS IS READY TO FIGHT

“HIS SUCCESS AS CAPTAIN AMERICA HAS MADE CHRIS EVANS ONE OF HOLLYWOOD’S SURE THINGS, WHICH MEANS HE CAN DO WHATEVER HE WANTS WITH HIS FREE TIME. SO WHY JUMP OUT OF AIRPLANES AND GET INTO IT WITH DAVID DUKE?

BY MAXIMILLIAN POTTERMAR 15, 2017


The Canadian commandos are the first to jump. Our plane reaches an altitude of about eight thousand feet; the back door opens. Although it’s a warm winter day below in rural southern California, up here, not so much. In whooshes freezing air and the cold reality that this is actually happening. Out drop the eight commandos, all in black-and-red camouflage, one after the other. For them it’s a training exercise, and Jesus, these crazy bastards are stoked. The last Canuck to exit into the nothingness is a freakishly tall stud with a crew cut and a handlebar mustache; just before he leaps, he flashes a smile our way. Yeah, yeah, we get it: You’re a badass.

Moments later, the plane’s at ten thousand feet, and the next to go are a Middle Eastern couple in their late thirties. These two can’t wait. They are ecstatic. Skydiving is clearly a thing for them. Why? I can’t help thinking. Is it like foreplay? Do they rush off to the car after landing and get it on in the parking lot? They give us the thumbs-up and they’re gone.

Just like that, we’re at 12,500 feet and it’s our turn. Me and Chris Evans, recognized throughout the universe as the star of the Marvel-comic-book-inspired Captain America and Avengers movies. The five films in the series, which began in 2011 with Captain America: The First Avenger, have grossed more than $4 billion.

The two of us, plus four crew members, are the only ones left in the back of the plane. Over the loud drone of the twin propellers, one of the crew members shouts, "Okay, who’s going first?”

Evans and I are seated on benches opposite each other. Neither of us answers. I look at him; he looks at me. I feel like I’ve swallowed a live rat. Evans is over there, all Captain America cool, smiling away.

While we were waiting to board the plane, Evans told me that as he lay in bed the night before, “I started exploring the sensation of ‘What if the chute doesn’t open?’. . .”

Oh, did you now?

“. . .Those last minutes where you know.” As in you know you’re going to fatally splat. “You’re not gonna pass out; you’re gonna be wide awake. So what? Do I close my eyes? Hopefully, it would be quick. Lights out. I fucking hope it would be quick. And then I was like, if you’re gonna do it, let’s just pretend there is no way this is going to go wrong. Just really embrace it and jump out of that plane with gusto.” Evans also shared that he’d looked up the rate of skydiving fatalities. “It’s, like, 0.006 fatalities per one thousand jumps. So I figure our odds are pretty good.”

Again the crew member shouts, “Who’s going first?”

Again I look at Evans; again he looks at me. The rat is running circles in my belly.

I look at Evans; he looks at me.

Another crew member asks, “So whose idea was this, anyway?”


That’s an excellent question.

I ask Evans the same thing when we first meet, the evening before our jump, at his house. He lives atop the Hollywood Hills, in a modern-contemporary ranch in the center of a Japanese-style garden. The place has the vibe of an L.A. meditation retreat—there’s even a little Buddha statue on the front step.

The dude who opens the front door is in jeans, a T-shirt, and Nikes; he has on a black ball cap with the NASA logo, and his beard is substantial enough that for a second it’s hard to be sure this is the same guy who plays the baby-faced superhero. Our handshake in the doorway is interrupted when his dog rockets toward my crotch. Evans is sorry about that.

We do the small-talk thing. Evans is from a suburb of Boston, one of four kids raised by Dad, a dentist, and Mom, who ran a community theater. The point is, he’s a Patriots fan, and with Super Bowl LI, between the Pats and the Falcons, just a few days away at the time, it’s about the only thing on his mind. You bet your Sam Adams–guzzling ass he’s going to the game in Houston. “Oh my God,” he says, doing a little dance. “I can’t believe it’s this weekend.”

Like any self-respecting Pats fan, Evans is super-wicked pissed at NFL commissioner Roger Goodell.

Evans won’t be rolling to SB LI with a posse of Beantown-to-Hollywood A-listers like Mark Wahlberg, Matt Damon, and Ben Affleck. For the record, he’s never met Damon, and his only interaction with Wahlberg was a couple years ago at a Patriots event. Evans has, however, humiliated himself in front of Affleck.

Around 2006, Evans met with Affleck to talk about Gone Baby Gone, which Affleck was directing. Evans was walking down a hallway, looking for the room where they were supposed to meet. Walking by an open office, he heard Affleck, in that thick Boston accent of his, shout, “There he is!” (Evans does a perfect Affleck impersonation.)

By then, Evans had hit the big time for his turn as the Human Torch, Johnny Storm, in 2005’s Fantastic Four, but he still got starstruck. As he tells it, “First thing I say to him: 'Am I going to be okay where I parked?’ He was like, 'Where did you park?’ I said, 'At a meter.’ And he was like, 'Did you put money in the meter?’ And I said, 'Yep.’ And he says, 'Well, I think you’ll be okay.’ I was like, this is off to a great fucking start.” Stating the obvious here: Evans did not get the part.

No, Evans will be heading to the Super Bowl with his brother and three of his closest buddies. Like any self-respecting Pats fan, Evans is super-wicked pissed at NFL commissioner Roger Goodell for imposing that suspension on Tom Brady for Deflategate. Grabbing two beers from a fridge that’s otherwise basically empty, Evans says, “I just want to see Goodell hand the trophy to Brady. Goodell. Piece of shit.”

In Evans’s living room, there’s not a single hint of his Captain Americaness. Earth tones, tables that appear to be made of reclaimed wood. Open. Uncluttered. Glass doors open onto a backyard with a stunning view of the Hills. Evans stretches out on one of two couches. I take the other and ask, “Just whose idea was it to jump?” Since we both know whose idea it wasn’t, we both know that what I’m really asking is Why? Why, dude, do you want to jump (with me) from a goddamn airplane? “Yeah,” he says, popping open his beer, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Settling in on the couch, he groans. Evans explains that he’s hurting all over because he just started his workout routine the day before to get in shape for the next two Captain America films. The movies will be shot back to back beginning in April. After that, no more red- white-and-blue costume for the thirty-five-year-old. He will have fulfilled his contract.

“Yeah,” he says, popping open his beer, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Back in 2010, Marvel presented Evans with a nine-picture deal. He insisted he’d sign on for no more than six. Some family members thought he was nuts to dial back such a secure and lucrative gig. Evans saw it differently.

It takes five months to shoot a Marvel movie, and when you tack on the promotional obligations for each one, well, shit, man. Evans knew that for as long as he was bound to Captain America, he would have little time to take on other projects. He wanted to direct, he wanted to play other characters—roles that were more human—like the lead in Gifted, which will hit theaters this month. The script had brought him to tears. Evans managed to squeeze the movie in between Captain America and Avengers films.

FOX Searchlight

In Gifted, Evans stars as Frank Adler. You don’t get much more human than Adler, a grease-under-his-nails boat-engine mechanic living the bachelor life in Florida. After a series of tragic circumstances, Adler becomes a surrogate father to his niece, Mary, a first-grader with the IQ of Einstein. He recognizes that Mary is a little genius, and he does his best to prevent anyone else from noticing. Given the aforementioned circumstances, Adler has witnessed what can happen when a kid with a brilliant mind is pushed too hard too quickly. Then along comes Mary’s teacher. She discovers the child’s gift, and a Kramer vs. Kramer–esque drama ensues.

During a moment in the film when things aren’t going Adler’s way, he sarcastically refers to himself as a “fucking hero.” Evans says the line didn’t lead him to make comparisons between superhero Steve Rogers (aka Captain America) and Everyman hero Frank Adler. But now that you mention it . . . 

“With Steve Rogers,” Evans says, “even though you’re on a giant movie with a huge budget and strange costumes, you’re still on a hunt for the truth of the character.” That said, “with Adler, it’s nice to play someone relatable. I think Julianne Moore said, 'The audience doesn’t come to see you; they come to see themselves.’ Adler is someone you can hold up as a mirror for someone in the audience. They’ll be able to far more easily identify with Frank Adler than Steve Rogers.”

Dodger. That’s the name of Evans’s dog, the one who headbutted my nuts and has since done a marvelous job of making amends by nuzzling against me on the couch. Evans got him while he was filming Gifted; one of the last scenes was shot in an animal shelter in Georgia. Evans had wanted a dog ever since his last pooch died in 2012. Then he found himself walking the aisles of this pound, and there was this mixed-breed boxer, wagging his tail and looking like he belonged with Evans.

Dodger is not exactly a name you’d think a die-hard Boston sports fan would pick. His boys from back home have given him a ton of shit over it. But he has not abandoned his Red Sox for the L.A. team. As a kid, he loved the Disney animated movie Oliver & Company, and his favorite character was Dodger. Anticipating the grief he was going to get from his pals, Evans considered other names. “You could name your dog Doorknob,” he says, “and in a month he’s fucking Doorknob.” Evans’s mom convinced him to go with his gut.

Right around when Evans was wrapping Gifted and heading back to L.A. with Dodger, the 2016 presidential campaign was still in that phase when no one, including the actor—a Hillary Clinton supporter—thought Trump had a shot. He still can’t believe Trump won.

“I feel rage,” he says. “I feel fury. It’s unbelievable. People were just so desperate to hear someone say that someone is to blame. They were just so happy to hear that someone was angry. Hear someone say that Washington sucks. They just want something new without actually understanding. I mean, guys like Steve Bannon—Steve Bannon!—this man has no place in politics.”

Evans has made, and continues to make, his political views known on Twitter. He tweeted that Trump ought to “stop energizing lies,” and he recently ended up in a heated Twitter debate with former KKK leader David Duke over Trump’s pick of Jeff Sessions for attorney general. Duke baselessly accused Evans of being anti-Semitic; Evans encouraged Duke to try love: “It’s stronger than hate. It unites us. I promise it’s in you under the anger and fear.” Making political statements and engaging in such public exchanges is a rather risky thing for the star of Captain America to do. Yes, advisors have said as much to him. “Look, I’m in a business where you’ve got to sell tickets,” he says. “But, my God, I would not be able to look at myself in the mirror if I felt strongly about something and didn’t speak up. I think it’s about how you speak up. We’re allowed to disagree. If I state my case and people don’t want to go see my movies as a result, I’m okay with that.”

Trump. Bannon. Politics. Now Evans is animated. He gets off the couch, walks out onto his porch, and lights a cigarette. “Some people say, 'Don’t you see what’s happening? It’s time to yell,' ” Evans says. “Yeah, I see it, and it’s time for calm. Because not everyone who voted for Trump is going to be some horrible bigot. There are a lot of people in that middle; those are the people you can’t lose your credibility with. If you’re trying to change minds, by spewing too much rhetoric you can easily become white noise.”


Evans has a pretty remarkable “How I got to Hollywood” story.

During his junior year of high school, he knew he wanted to act. He was doing it a lot. In school. At his mom’s theater. He loved it. “When you’re doing a play at thirteen years old and have opening night? None of my friends had opening nights. 'I can’t have a sleepover, guys; I have an opening night tonight.' ”

That same year, he did a two-man play. For all of the twenty-plus plays Evans had done up to that point, preparation meant going home, memorizing lines, and doing a few run-throughs with the cast. However, for this play, Fallen Star, he and his costar would rehearse by running dialogue with each other. Hour upon hour, night after night.

Fallen Star is about two friends, one of whom has just died. As the play opens, one of the characters comes home after the funeral to find his dead friend’s ghost. Evans was the ghost. Waiting backstage on opening night, he knew he didn’t have every line memorized, but he had the essence and emotion of the play down. Onstage, he remembers, “I was saying the lines not because they were memorized but because the play was in me. I was believing what I was saying.”

He was hooked. He wanted to do more of this kind of acting—real acting. He wanted to do films, in which the camera was right on him and he could just be the character, rather than theater, in which an actor must perform to the back of the room.

A family friend who was a television actor advised Evans that if he wanted to go to Hollywood, he needed an agent. Toward the end of his junior year, he had a ballsy request for his parents: If he found an internship with a casting agent in New York City, would they allow him to live there and cover the rent? They agreed. Evans landed a gig with Bonnie Finnegan, who was then working on the television show Spin City.

“I just fucked off. I lost my virginity that year. 1999 was one of the best years of my life.” Until it wasn’t.

Evans chose to intern with a casting agent because he figured he had more of a chance to interact with other agents trying to get auditions for their clients.

The kid was sixteen years old.

Finnegan put Evans on the phone; his responsibilities included setting up appointments for auditions. By the end of the summer, he picked the three agents he had the best rapport with and asked each of them to give him a five-minute audition. All three said yes. After seeing his audition, all three were interested.

Evans went with the one Finnegan recommended, Bret Adams, who told Evans to return to New York for auditions in January, television pilot season. Back home, Evans doubled up on a few classes the first semester of his senior year, graduated early, and went back to New York in January. He got the same shithole apartment in Brooklyn and the same internship with Finnegan. He landed a part on the pilot Opposite Sex. Even better, the show got picked up and would start shooting in L.A. that fall.

“I know I’m going to L.A. in August,” Evans says, recalling that period. “So I go home and that spring I would wake up around noon, saunter into high school just to see my buddies, and we’d go get high in the parking lot. I just fucked off. I lost my virginity that year. 1999 was one of the best years of my life.” Until it wasn’t.

He wasn’t in L.A. for even a month when he got a call from home. His parents were divorcing. Evans never saw it coming.

Family and love and the struggles therein are part of what attracted Evans to Gifted.

“In my own life, I have a deep connection with my family and the value of those bonds,” he says. “I’ve always loved stories about people who put their families before themselves. It’s such a noble endeavor. You can’t choose your family, as opposed to friends. Especially in L.A. You really get to see how friendships are put to the test; it stirs everyone’s egos. But if something goes south with a friend, you have the option to say we’re not friends anymore. Your family—that’s your family. Trying to make that system work and trying to make it not just functional but actually enjoyable is a really challenging endeavor, and that’s certainly how it is with my family.”


the plane, a decision is made.

“I want to see you jump first,” Evans shouts my way.

Of course he does.

Like any respectable and legal skydiving center, Skydive Perris, which is providing us with this “experience,” doesn’t just strap a chute on your back. First, you go to a room for a period of instruction. Then you go to another room, where you sign away your rights.

You may be wondering how the star of a billion-dollar franchise with two pictures to shoot gets clearance to jump from an airplane—never mind the low rate of fatalities, as Evans has presented it. So am I.

“Well, they give you all these crazy insurance policies, but even if I die, what are they going to do? Sue my family? They’d probably cast some new guy at a cheaper price and save some money.”

Thinking the answer is almost certainly going to be no, I ask Evans if he’s ever gone skydiving before. Turns out he has, with an ex-girlfriend. Turns out that ex-girlfriend is now married to Justin Timberlake. Evans and Jessica Biel dated off and on from 2001 to 2006. They took the leap together when Biel hatched the idea for one Valentine’s Day. According to media accounts, Evans was recently dating his Gifted costar Jenny Slate, who plays the teacher. “Yeah,” he says, “but I’m steering clear of those questions.” You can almost feel his heart pinch.

“There’s a certain shared life experience that is tough for someone else who’s not in this industry to kind of wrap their head around.”

We end up broadly discussing the unique challenges an international star like Evans faces when it comes to dating, specifically the trust factor. Evans supposes that’s why so many actors date other actors: “There’s a certain shared life experience that is tough for someone else who’s not in this industry to kind of wrap their head around,” he says. “Letting someone go to work with someone for three months and they won’t see them. It really, it certainly puts the relationship to the test.”

In Gifted, there’s a moment when Slate’s character asks Adler what his greatest fear is. Frank Adler’s greatest fear is that he’ll ruin his niece’s life. Evans’s greatest fear is having regrets.

“Like always kind of wanting to be there as opposed to here. I think I’m worried all of a sudden I’ll get old and have regrets, realize that I’ve not cultivated enough of an appreciation for the now and surrendering to the present moment.”

Evans’s musings have something to do with the fact that he has been reading The Surrender Experiment. “It’s about the basic notion that we are only in a good mood when things are going our way,” he says. “The truth is, life is going to unfold as it’s going to unfold regardless of your input. If you are an active participant in that awareness, life kind of washes over you, good or bad. You kind of become Teflon a little bit to the struggles that we self-inflict.”

He continues: “Our conscious minds are very spread out. We worry about the past. We worry about the future. We label. And all of that stuff just makes us very separate. What I’m trying to do is just quiet it down. Put that brain down from time to time and hope those periods of quiet and stillness get longer. When you do that, what rises from the mist is a kind of surrendering. You’re more connected as opposed to being separate. A lot of the questions about destiny or fate or purpose or any of that stuff—it’s not like you get answers. You just realize you didn’t need the questions.”

This here—this stuff about surrendering, letting life unfold, taking the leap—this is why he wanted to go skydiving. It’s why that sixteen-year-old took the leap and did the summer in New York; it’s why he took the leap and turned down the nine-picture deal; it’s why he got Dodger. Surrender. Take the leap.

And so I go first.

Oh, one important detail: Novice jumpers like Evans and me, we don’t jump solo. Thank God. Each of us is doing a tandem jump. Each of us is strapped with our back to a professional jumper’s front. I’m strapped to a forty-four-year-old dude named Paul. Considering what’s about to happen, I figure I should know a little something about Paul. He tells me he used to own a bar in Chicago. Evans is strapped to a young woman named Sam, who looks to be twenty-something. She’s got a purplish-pink streak in her black hair and says things like “badass.” In fact, Sam introduced herself  by saying, “I’m Sam, but you can call me Badass.”

At the plane’s open door, my mind goes to my wife and two teenage sons, to those I love, and to the texts I just sent in case my chute fails. Then Paul and I—well, really mostly Paul—rock gently back and forth to build momentum to push away from the plane, to push away from all that seems sane.

Three.

Two.

One.

Holy fuck.

HOLY FUCK. This is what I scream as we free-fall from 12,500 feet, at more than a hundred miles an hour, toward the earth. Which I cannot take my eyes off of. I think about nothing. Not living. Not dying. Nothing. I simply feel . . . I have let go.

Suddenly, it all stops. I’m jerked up. Paul has pulled the chute, and it does indeed open. This is fantastic, because it means we have a much better chance of not dying. But it’s also kind of a bummer. I had let go. Of everything. I had chosen to play those odds Evans had talked about. I had embraced jumping and letting life unfold.

Now I had been jerked back. I would land. Back on the earth I had been so high above and from which I had been so far removed. Back in all of it.

Once I’m on the ground, safe and in one piece, a staffer runs over and asks how I feel. I say, “I feel like Captain America.”

The staffer runs over and asks Evans the same question. He says he feels great. Then he’s asked another question: What was your favorite part?

“Jumping out,” he says. “Jumping out is always a real thrill.”


This article appears in the April '17 issue of Esquire.

A lil sunshine in these scary times...

So, my friends and I are sitting in a Krispy Kreme just eating our donuts, chatting, whatevs. Out of the corner of my eye I see this country ass teenage boy walking up to us. Like, a Trump-supporter-looking dude with a country accent so thick that it was almost comical. Of course, my first thought is oh shit, he’s going to say something ignorant. Ya know, given that we’re sitting here in Columbus, MS and I have a pride flag painted on my face from an event earlier in the day. He approaches me and says, “Excuse me, but is that flag painted on your face meant to represent… you know…” 

“Gay people?” at this point in this interaction I was ready to throw hands so tbh my tone was more than a little bitchy. After I say this I see him hand me a piece of paper, and think it’s probably a pamphlet for a church or something so I can be “healed.” 

Then the biggest plot twist of my life happened. The piece of paper was a huge #gaypride sticker?? He said, “I wasn’t trying to be rude or anything. I made some of these for a friend and had an extra and I thought you might like it.” So that’s the story of how I thought I was going to have to fight a hick in a donut shop but ended up with a super gay sticker.

Some Ilvermorny headcanons
  • First and foremost, every day is cranberry pie day
  • While students do have robes, the clothes they wear underneath the robes are not uniforms. There is an eclectic mix of tastes, from the very serious horned serpent who wears button-downs and ties every day, to the wampus who has enchanted their graphic t-shirt to move, to the thunderbirds and pukwudgies who mutually exist solely for sweater weather.
  • Every year on James Steward’s birthday, there is a school-sponsored cranberry pie bake-off. Pukwudgie house nearly always wins. Once, thunderbird won and good lord you would think it was the civil war all over again
  • There are a lot of local professors, of course, so you get some really thick Boston accents, but there are also professors with southern belle accents who serve iced tea in class, professors with Canadian accents, professors with midwest accents, several Native American professors with smooth, lulling accents, and some Mexican professors who slip into Spanish when they get super excited about their subject. There was a visiting professor from Ireland once, and 96% of female students (and some male students) had major crushes on him.
  • Wampus house is where you go to get body-crushing, soul-lifting hugs
  • Horned serpents may be scholars, but they are also some of the keenest observers. They watch the whole school from afar and quietly play matchmaker to all of their friends. No one suspects them because - what, horned serpent? No. They don’t know about emotions. Meanwhile, the house president makes a killing on the bet she made to predict the homecoming king/queen. 
  • Thanksgiving at Ilvermorny is a spectacle that has to be seen to be believed. It’s almost bigger than Christmas. The thanksgiving feasts at Ilvermorny put Hogwarts to shame. Turkey, ham, real cranberry sauce, pies - oh my god so many pies. They’ve got cider, and tea, and cocoa like you wouldn’t believe. There are New English dishes and Southern dishes and Native dishes and Mexican dishes and Canadian dishes and West Coast dishes - essentially it’s a gigantic continental potluck, and it goes on all day long. Also, their pumpkin juice tastes 1000 times better.
  • While things like dueling and fighting with wands may be frowned upon at Hogwarts, at Ilvermorny it’s kind of just assumed that stuff happens, and the profs are very chill about it. “Just don’t kill each other okay” “just take it outside” “no casting destruction spells indoors” “bring some band-aids with you” “if you break your nose don’t bleed on your homework”
  • Pukwudgies are a pretty agreeable house over all, if not a bit salty and surly around the edges, they’ll still help you with your homework and bring you soup when you’ve got a cold. But all bets are off when they step onto the lacrosse field. Maybe its a pride thing, but pukwudgies are frikkin animals when playing lacrosse.
  • Wampus beats pukwudgie at lacrosse fairly often. They don’t actually practice that much, they just kind of win.
  • This fact has fueled a sports rivalry - friendly in wampus’ eyes, bloodthirsty in pukwudgie’s eyes. 
  • At wampus/pukwudgie games, horned serpents sell special blends of popcorn. Thunderbirds purchase, hoard, and eat 89% of this popcorn.
  • Horned serpents and pukwudgies often, though not always, end up having an unspoken rivalry in potions class.
  • Contrary to popular belief, wampus is not full of athletic jocks. However, they are the most body-positive of all of the schools, and, somewhat ironically to the stereotype, will never judge anyone for their athletic ability. They want everyone to be able to enjoy athleticism and bravery and adventure in the ways they are most able and gifted.
  • That being said, they do have the kind of student body who, if called upon, could become a minute militia.
  • When there is a freak hurricane or tornado headed headed for the school, it will be a wampus student who is patrolling the halls and telling students where to go for safety. If there is a bully in school, you had better bet your bottom dollar that s/he will be beaten to a pulp by the next day, and it will be a wampus student sporting mysteriously bloody knuckles.
  • Pukwudgies are the ones who patch up the bully; they might accidentally wind the bandages a little too tight.
  • Thunderbirds love a good game of hide-and-seek. They have a tradition of, every halloween, playing hide-and-seek in the dark in the woods.
  • Horned serpents are the students least often caught for sneaking in contraband into school. Caught being the key word. Most students learn at some point in their education that if you want a nice stiff drink, you go to horned serpent. During secret designated holidays, horned serpent common room turns into a speakeasy. 
  • Unexpectedly, it is pukwudgies who carry the most weapons and dangerous materials on their person at any given time. If a group of Ilvermorny students were going through a security check, it would be the pukwudgies held at the line while they emptied their pockets (bigger on the inside, of course) of various poisons and weapons. When asked, they would just shrug and say “just in case”.
  • The town around Ilvermorny is home to several franchised chain restaurants that, although they are no-maj brands, have been taken over by Ilvermorny alumni and thus serve predominantly wizarding patrons. Cups levitate to customers in the Starbucks, there are magic-only options on the menu; the chik-fil-a floor sweeps itself; at dominos the pizzas assemble themselves while the one clerk waits, bored, at the register. There are in-house cues for magic patrons whenever a no-maj walks in. The clerk rings a bell or taps loudly on the counter, or yells out an order than is actually a code word for stop doing magic stuff. It’s like red light green light.
  • There are some old service tunnels beneath the school left over from WWII and the Cold War. They’re like a labyrinth, and Thunderbird has a monopoly on the maps to the tunnels. Some of the more obscure tunnels have large rooms that are perfect for parties and impromptu speakeasies (lookin at you, horned serpent). Thunderbirds will rent out these rooms to fellow students at a fair and competitive rate.
  • Unlike hogwarts, Ilvermorny students are more apt to use modern technology. Electrics can be weird around witches and wizards, but they still enjoy a lot of no-maj programming. They use computers instead of quills (but still have to print off their essays, ugh,) and listen to music, and watch TV.
  • Star Trek has long been a school cult favorite. Pukwudgies have adopted Bones as their pop culture mascot; Kirk is Thunderbird’s, Spock, horned serpent. Wampus vacillates on which of these three they like most, though it must be said, when they start watching Next Gen, many wampus students find themselves enamored with Worf,
  • There has only been one no-maj to ever make it past the magic shields of Ilvermorny unaided. This instance was in 1985. His name was Chad, who at the time was 1) stoned out of his mind and 2) delivering chinese takeout to a horned serpent pulling an all-nighter. School admin found out later, and there was hell to pay. They never did track down Chad to wipe his memory.
  • Pukwudgie house does have more than its fair share of healers, so they are definitely the ones to go to for cold remedies, home made soup, the best cures for menstrual cramps, and really good back rubs.
  • However, they are also the ones to go to for less medical remedies: the best hot cocoa, the most gourmet teas, and home made food.
  • Each house has a class president who is elected for a two-year term (unless they’re a final year student, in which case they will serve one before being taken over by their VP). They have some influence within their houses, but never as much as they’d like. For instance, the thunderbird president once attempted to institute mid-day dancing parties, but school admin said no.
  • Pukwudgies are usually not super athletic, but are often very good at things like darts, archery, and waterbaloon fights.
  • Wampus takes ultimate frisbee very, very seriously.
  • Thunderbird hosts an ongoing scavenger hunt throughout the semester.
  • The women of horned serpent blow off steam and the stuffy acadmic pressures of their house by making pillow forts and watching rom coms with each other.
  • Back in the eighties some wizard created a magic version of D&D, and it has become a weekend favorite of many students across all of the houses.
  • After graduation, instead of having a class ring, it has become tradition for Ilvermorny students to make a pendant out of their golden cloak buttons.
  • Ilvermorny may be separated by inter-house squabbles much like at Hogwarts, but at the end of the day, they all leave school wearing the same blue and cranberry robes, sporting the same skill with a wand, raised to the same scrappy, witty, mod-podge tenacity that American witches and wizards embody so well.
This one goes out to

This one goes out to all the Asian girls

The darker skinned girls who feel like they don’t conform to beauty standards (you are so much more than a standard)
The light skinned girls who
The girls who may not have the best grades (you don’t deserve this pressure I am sorry)
The girls who do get good grades and enjoy learning
The girls who work hard to revolutionize their respective fields
The girls who choose to stay at home and raise children

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the black girls

The girls with wild hair that won’t be tamed
The girls with skin so dark it reminds you of a night sky (deep and amazing and you can never fully wrap your head around how vastly profound it is)
The albino girls who feel like outsiders in their own community
The girls who have risen from poverty and made a name for themselves
The girls who are still throng to make a name for themselves
The girls who enjoy acting in “ratchet” or “ghetto” ways and aren’t ashamed to be who they are (you shouldn’t be)

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the Indian girls

The girls who wear a bindi and sari and love it
The girls who wear henna like a second skin
The girls who might have a thick accent
The girls who like Bollywood (don’t let anyone tell you it’s silly)
The girls who are told they cannot do what they wish because “how will you get a husband like that?”
The girls who are told it is their fault that a man raped them (it is not and it will never be)

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the Native American girls

The girls who were born and raised on the Reserve
The girls who were ripped from their homes and are trying to learn their culture again
The girls who dress up in traditional costumes and dance
The girls who know the legends by heart and
Could tell you
Every single one of them in the second between the flames dancing
The girls who are from here but still get told to “go back to your own country” as if it was not stolen from them by the ancestors of the person speaking to them

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the Pacific Islander girls

The girls that grew up swimming and know the tides like they know themselves
The big, strong girls who could move a mountain with one look
The women who had their culture erased
The girls that are working hard to fight the stereotypes of poverty by educating themselves and getting excellent jobs
The girls with voyaging in their blood, and ancestors who travelled thousands of miles so that they could be here today

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the mixed race girls

The girls who feel disconnected from their ancestry
The girls who aren’t considered “truly x”
The girls who are tired of being “aren’t” and being overlooked for everything they are
The girls who are a collision of culture, a majestic mixture of their own interests and so much more than you could ever guess
The girls with the ins and outs of two different worlds memorized like the backs of their hands
The girls that know the struggles her people (because they’re her people too) have gone through
And are all the better for it

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the Jewish girls

The girls who get made fun of for their noses
The girls who are told they should “stop being greedy”
The girls that might not eat kosher
The girls that happily observe the Sabbath
The girls who can fluently read and speak Hebrew

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the Muslim girls

The girls who wear hijabs (you can still be a feminist, it’s your body and your choice)
The girls that don’t wear it but still go to prayers
The queer girls who’re worried that Allah doesn’t approve of them
The girls who feel afraid to be themselves because of the environment they’re in (your own safety comes above all else, god knows enough people are being hurt already we don’t want to risk you too)
The girls with bright minds who can see that every religion has some negative aspects, but that normally doesn’t define it

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the disabled girls

The girls with wheelchairs who can’t exactly get everywhere
The girls that need someone to help care for them
The girls who have therapy animals to help them out
The girls with learning difficulties who need tutors (but don’t necessarily have one)
The girls who work hard to have people realize that just because they’re disabled doesn’t mean that they can’t have a good life

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the lesbians

The girls who love girls
(Bottleglass eyes and hopes that reach beyond the stars and smiles and long legs that stride confidently forwards at the parades and good hands that you will never ever want to let go of all of them)
They are a rainbow and
We need more people like them
People who will walk alongside us in the daylight or cuddle with us in the closet
Because before everyone else, we girls should love each other and stick together
Because queer is just another word for weird and aren’t we all a little weird on the inside?

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the bi girls

The ones who are monogamous and love their partner with all their heart but still get dragged into negative stereotypes
The ones who enjoy sex with multiple people (you aren’t a slut)
The ones who aren’t out yet (and aren’t even sure themselves sometimes because “what if I’m just pretending?” even if it isn’t true)
The ones who HAVE a preference (and it isn’t you thank you for the drink but please go away)
The ones who get erased out of events or talked over (because that hasn’t happened often enough ALREADY)

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the pan girls

The girls who love everyone regardless of
Those girls are a ray of sunshine, lighting up anyone’s personality should they be so lucky as to see them
They are wonderful open arms
And you would be so lucky as to receive their affection

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the asexual girls

Not wanting to have sex doesn’t mean you’re any less loveable
The girls who still do aren’t any less valid
But please don’t feel
Pressure to be something you’re not
Because your body doesn’t need to be a sexual object for you to still be confident and pretty and all of those wonderful things I know you are

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the aro girls

You don’t need to have someone
There are many kinds of love
Explore all the facets you want
And don’t
Ever
Apologize for something that isn’t your choice
Because not wanting “baby I love yous” doesn’t make you any less of a woman

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the polyamourous girls

The girls with partners that support them and their decisions
The girls whose wonderful hearts are open to loving
The girls who work hard to find dependable people
The girls that are full of intimate trust for their partners

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are all beautiful, important women and the world needs you to continue being yourselves

This one goes out to all the genderfluid/demigirls/etc.

You may not entirely feel like one,
But we are very happy to have you with us
At the times when you feel like a woman
Gender is complicated so please,
Take your time
We’ll be here if you need us

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman (if you want to be)

This one goes out to all the trans girls

It doesn’t matter what you look like
What your voice sounds like
If you’re on estrogen
If you experience dysphoria
You are still a woman
You are passing simply by being yourself

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the GNC girls

The tall girls who tower over their guy friends
The strong girls who can bench 350 pounds
The tomboys who love sports
The girls with short hair or who don’t like wearing “feminine” clothes (they don’t have a gender but whatever)
You can definitely pull off that suit! You look great!

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all the neurodivergent girls

All the girls with depression who are so tired
The autistic girls with strange stims or who have trouble in social situations
The bipolar girls who can’t help their emotions
The schizophrenic girls who hear things that aren’t there
The girls who are afraid to take medication and get addicted
The girls whose therapists are their best friends (I have listened to so many stories but I will help you if it kills me)
The girls who are trying to care for themselves but finding it so hard

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are still a beautiful woman

This one goes out to all girls

It doesn’t matter what you do with your appearance
Or how you live your daily live
Or if you have a partner
Or if you want to
Or if you have children
Or any other arbitrary factors

No matter your age, economic status or physical appearance
You are all beautiful, important women and the world needs you to continue being yourselves

Frenchie

Requested

Summary: Jughead is dating a half french reader, he goes back to her house and sees her speaking French to her mum and basically fangirls 

Warnings: Harcore Fluff 

It had happened by accident. I hadn’t meant for Jughead to meet my mother just yet, we had been together for a couple of months now but had already discussed that he would meet my family at one of my cousins birthday parties. It was going to be a big event so he could meet everyone all at once to get it ‘over and done with’ in his own words. 

But the day my mum managed to walk in on us kissing in the kitchen was a surprise to us all. Mum wasn’t supposed to be home until later tonight, so I brought Jughead back with me for the day, so we could study and chill out. 

“Do you want something to eat baby?” I ask Jughead sitting on my couch watching the Rick and Morty show. “Uh, Yeah sure, shall we go cook something?” I smile and nod uncrossing my legs, getting up from my place and taking Jugs hands in mine. 

We go into the kitchen and I start pulling ingredients out of a cabinet to make a pasta bake. Jughead comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist as I lean up to get the pasta off the top shelf. I turn around and place the pasta on the side and face him, slinging my arms around his shoulders. 

“What kind of pasta are we making?” Jughead asks leaning his forehead down on mine. “Hmm, carbonara” I sigh and lean into him. His lips lean down to meet mine, hands holding onto my waist pulling me closer. His lisps moved in sync with mine, his tongue occasionally brushes against my bottom lip. Jughead pushes me further into the counter his body pressing against mine. I dragged my fingers through his hair and a soft moan fell from his lips. Jughead’s hand slipped under my shirt holding my waist closer. 

“ salut bébé” my mother calls entering the kitchen. “ Oh mon Dieu” she gasps and we pull apart instantly, shocked looks on our faces, I lightly pushed Jughead off of me so I could speak to my mother. He stood there frozen in his place looking very awkward. My mum stands across the room from us with her arms crossed in front of her with a large smirk on her face. 

“ Mère je voudrais que tu rencontres mon petit ami Jughead” I ramble to my mum, Jughead looks at me in amazement. 

“Jughead?” my mother asks in her thick French accent in confusion. 

“Oui Jughead’s son nom” I explain that Jughead was his name to settle her confusion and she comes towards us, a warm smile on her face. “It is my pleasure to meet you Jughead” my mum speaks, her accent thick making the words disjointed. She reaches her hand out to Jugs and he takes it graciously shaking it. 

“It’s nice to meet you too Ms Y/L/N” Jughead replies “Y/m/N” she replies with a warm smile. She turns to me and returns to her more comfortable native tongue. 

“  Je vais vous laisser deux seuls, donc vous pouvez monter dans votre chambre, mais pas drôle d'affaires. d'accord?” she says sternly directing us to go up to my room, but for no ‘funny business’ to take place. 

“ Mère, vous n'avez pas à vous soucier de cela, pas sous votre toit, je me souviens”  I sigh I look over at Jughead to see his face still in shock.

“je t'aime, mon ange” she gives me a kiss on the cheek and sends us on our way. 

We head up the stairs to my bedroom and I have to practically drag Jughead to my room as he is still in shock from the episode that just took place. We reach my room and I shut and lock the door behind me. He slumps down on the bed and looks up at me in amazement. 

“Alright Hannah Montana, What the hell was that?” he says sarcastically obviously. 

“What are you talking about?” I laugh my words out, shaking my head going to sit down next to him on the bed. 

“I’m talking about my girlfriend, who I’ve been with for months, living a double life” he says looking at me with wide joking eyes. 

“Shut up Jughead, you knew I was half french”

“Yeah but I didn’t know you were fluent in the french language” he retorts shaking his head. I just let out a soft chuckle. “It kinda did something to me, If you know what I mean” I said nervously, stretching with neck. His adams apple bounced with anticipation. 

“ Mon Jughead comme ça quand je parlais français” I lean over and whisper into his ear asking if he enjoyed me speaking french. Goosebumps raised on his arms as I did so. He nodded slowly and turned his head to face mine. We were only inches apart from one another. 

“ Tu es si beau… Je t'aime Jughead” I whisper looking into his eyes. He looks back, his hands coming up to stroke my face “I love you” he whispers back and leans to press a single kiss on my lips. 

“And you speaking french just makes me love you more to be perfectly honest”   

Not Safe (C.H)

{pic not mine}

warnings: cussing, mention of religion

A.N: i’m not christian so i’m sorry if any of what i say is offensive,, im trying not to mention as much religion…

His hands started to give out from holding his weight up for so long, so he hovered above on his elbows for support. That deepened the kiss. Tongue was everywhere, you wouldn’t even know what the goal was with this tongue. His crotch brushed against hers, a slight tough but enough to make him moan her name ever so loudly into her neck.

“Oh, Y/N,” he sighed into her neck. He placed small kisses on her neck and on her shoulder, moving back up to her neck. He was having the time of his life. As for her, she stared up at the ceiling. In lust? In desperation? Was she grabbing onto his shirt, desperate for a deeper touch? No. She stared at the ceiling, her eyes filled with boredom, her breathing stable, her body stiff as wood. The routine was simple and the same. Her five year long boyfriend would come over for steak and mashed potatoes for dinner with her parents, sometimes it was with mac and cheese when her mom felt adventurous! Then they’d go up to her room for their 7-8 study session, only to turn into an intense make out session. Or an intense make out session for him. But it never ended with sex. The Lord would not approve of premarital sex. Please do not break the routine.

He let out a grunt and placed one last kiss to her collarbone, letting out a deep sigh. He lifted his head above hers and touched their noses, rubbing his tip against hers. “God, I want to marry you,” he sighed. His eyes were still closed in lust as he savored her smell, the taste of her. Her eyes were wide open, her lips forming a fake smile to show him she was just as enthusiastic as he was. His eyes opened to meet hers and he returned a bigger smile to her. He kissed the tip of her nose and slowly made his way off of her, letting out a loud groan as he made his way up. He sat back on the bed and watched as she made her way up as well, her hair just slightly messed up from the slight head movements on the pillow, her lips glistening from spit and chap stick. Their eyes met and his smile turned into a smirk, proud of his work of art. She placed her hands in her lap and returned a small smile. He furrowed his eyebrows and reached up to move a strand of hair away from her face.

Keep reading

I can’t help but think but Alexander be weak in the knees for Thomas’ southern charm.

(I’m a slut for canon era Jamilton but with more open values on LGBT people)

Hamilton getting fired up over one thing or another and all Thomas has to do is say Sugar/Darling/Honey and Hamilton shuts up and gives him the “in listening but I’m still mad so you better say the right shit in the next 10 seconds” look.

Thomas’ mannerism never fails to make Hamilton blush like pulling out his chair for him

Thomas getting mad (not at Hamilton for once) and gets that real thick kind of accent (depending where you’re from in Virginia) and Hamilton is g one

Hamilton being called his Northern Belle (opposed to Southern Belle)

Hamilton called Thomas his “beau” and not really understand it but says it anyway because it makes Thomas happy

Thomas asking George for his blessing because he’s the closet Hamilton has for a parental figure and goes through the whole “if you hurt a single hair on his head,,,”

h and KISSES

Hamilton slowly getting accustomed to not working on Sundays and having large Sunday dinners in the afternoon

Thomas flaunting around Hamilton at parties and to diplomats and to staring guests

Sunday carriage rides (this shit is real and y'all can fight me. Sunday drive is fucking brutal)

Hamilton using the word “ya’ll” by accident

Hamilton not understanding Ice Tea and being really offended when asked if he wanted a sip

Ok so I know not a lot of this is super southern but I’m from Virginia and let me tell you something. Sunday is like family day for some reason. You got the big family with the big meal with the car ride and church. SHIT is serious down here and I just want Hamilton to be both equally confused, aroused, and curious.

In which Harry is a stripper…

3943 words / Mature

The boy who delivered our drinks was only wearing a flimsy, black apron, which was tied carefully around his waist. With the tray perfectly balanced upon the palm of his hand, he began to pass our drinks out, a huge grin on his face, and his cock just inches from my face.
I turned to the rest of the girls with wide eyes.

“Special occasion?” He asked, a thick Irish accent.

“I’m getting married!” The bride to be piped up, as smug as ever.

“Congratulations!” He beamed. “Sad to see you off the market, Gorgeous.”

All the girls sat around our table let out almighty giggles, swooning and fanning themselves, whereas I was too busy trying not to turn back in his direction and stare at his groin. I figured he was used to it in his line of work, but it still felt a little intrusive.

“What’s your name?” Katie barked at him.

“Niall.” He replied. “I’ll be your waiter for the evening. You need anything, just give me a shout.”

“What about your number?”

Keep reading

Patater Week - Day 7

Feb. 12- Adopting a Pet Together (Bonus points for including Kit!) - 1.5K

Kimmy’s sitting outside the pet shop, fenced in with two other volunteers and about fifteen puppies when the 6’4 guy with the Falconer’ cap comes up to her.

“Puppy for sale?” he asks, his accent thick. European, Kimmy guesses, but she’s pretty bad at pinpointing these kinds of things. He’s pointing at the wriggling ball of fur in her lap, gnawing at a plastic bone.  

“Adoption,” Kimmy says, then cradles the puppy as she stands. “Would you like to hold him?”

“Can I?” the man asks, sounding pleasantly surprised as he sets down his groceries.

“Sure,” Kimmy says. This particular puppy hasn’t really been catching the attention of families throughout the day. He’s a little plain, Kimmy supposes, and shy around strangers. “Just kind of hold him with two hands—there you go.”

The man is astonishingly gentle when she transfers the puppy to him, and the dog looks comically small in his hands. The man’s eyes are twinkling, and he holds the dog close to his chest, kissing it on the head very lightly as he murmurs in Russian.

“His name’s Kenny,” Kimmy says. “We found him in a box downtown, along with a couple others. They’ve all had their shots, gotten fixed, microchipped, it’s all included in the adoption fees.”

“His name Kenny?” the man grins, like there’s a joke behind that. 

Keep reading