#but i don't want to just repeatedly START a conversation that doesn't go anywhere

[myfootyrthroat]

I don't want to be "rude to people for no reason on Grindr" but at the same time...

I am happy to chat with you, but so help me, if you just message me "Hi" every two days and that's it, you can fall in a chasm.

[dandylovesturtles]

havin' all these Splinter and Leo thoughts. augh.

this is partly the fault of @/turtleblogatlast's post about Leo just wanting to make Splinter proud.

post-movie

...

Seven days post-invasion, and Leo is feeling (relatively) pretty good. Sure, he's still on a truly ridiculous amount of painkillers and he can't walk two steps without collapsing, but he's able to stay awake and talk to his family and considering where he thought he would be right about now, well... that's everything.

So yeah, he's feeling pretty good. He just finished his lunch of soup and a protein shake, warm and a little drowsy while he listens to April talk about some of the more ridiculous conspiracy theories that have started spreading on the surface. Donnie's tinkering with one of his smaller inventions while he listens, Mikey is nestled in Raph's lap, and everything is calm and cozy in their makeshift medbay.

And then his dad walks in and says, "I would like to talk to Blue, please. Alone."

And suddenly Leo doesn't feel so good anymore.

"Aha, wait," he says quickly, reaching out and grabbing April's sleeve just before she rises from her chair. "Whatever it is, you can say it in front of everyone, right?"

Splinter shakes his head. "This is a conversation I think it is best we have in private." He makes a shooing motion at the others, and April pulls her sleeve from Leo's fingers with a helpless shrug.

"See ya in a few, Leo," she says, then walks out. The others look from Splinter, to him, then back to Splinter, and one by one they each get up and shuffle out, too, with their own hasty farewells.

Traitors, every single one of them.

The door closes, and Leo finds himself alone with Splinter for the first time since coming back from Staten Island. Or at least, the first time he can remember. He was pretty out of it the first few days; most of what he remembers is muddled and confused. And embarrassing. He cried a lot more than he'd care to admit.

Splinter hops into chair April was sitting in and pulls it closer; he has to stay standing to be anywhere near eye level with Leo. He wishes he could read Splinter's face, but his expression is giving nothing away. Sometimes it's easy to forget he spent a not-insignificant part of his life as an actor, until something like this happens.

Leo decides to speak before he can. Head him off at the pass, or something.

"If you're going to yell at me, just remember my eardrums are already damaged."

Which is true - turns out being 1, too close to an exploding alien spaceship and 2, getting punched in the head repeatedly by an alien very mad about said exploding spaceship is bad for the ears, even when you don't have outer ears like a human. So super loud noises are a bad idea right now, and thus Leo cannot be yelled at. Flawless logic; maybe he can keep using that every time he gets in trouble.

For the first time, his dad's expression shifts, just a little. A deeper frown, a heavier set to his brow.

"You think I came in here to yell at you?"

Leo feels his stomach twist. Does he have to spell it out? "I mean, didn't you? That's usually what kicking everyone else out is leading up to."

"I see..." Splinter is still unreadable, looking a little too intensely at Leo. "And what do you think I want to yell at you about?"

He really does want it spelled out. Leo suddenly realizes that there won't be any yelling because this is his punishment: to admit everything he's done, to speak all his sins for his dad's ears. Lay it all out in his own tongue and show that he understands, really and truly, the depths of his screwups.

Oh, he understands. He understands it so well he may choke on the words.

"...For losing the key," he says finally, and it stings on its way out. He hasn't talked about it since it happened; every time he tries to say anything to the others, they shush him, saying, "It's okay, Leo, everything is fine now."

It's not okay, and everything isn't fine, and this is when he finally hears about it.

Finally, an identifiable emotion on Splinter's face: horror, dawning clear and present. And Leo doesn't understand that, because doesn't Splinter know he lost the key? He was there for that conversation, wasn't he? Leo's memories of that day have grown a little hazy between the drugs and the recovery and the fact that thinking about it for too long makes him go fuzzy around the edges, but he's pretty sure he remembers Splinter being there. He flicked popcorn at Leo's head. He probably should have done more than that; maybe then Leo wouldn't have made such a mess of things.

Splinter doesn't say anything right away, just stares at Leo with that horrified expression, and the silence is so scary that Leo starts filling it without even thinking.

"I was kidding about the whole... not yelling at me thing. I know I deserve it. I mean, I was fooling around, doing what you and Raph told me not to do, and I doomed the whole world doing it! Some leader I am, right? And I know I'm not exactly your favorite son to begin with, and that's fair, because I keep letting you down, but this is definitely my worst screwup to date, and you yell at me when I don't close the fridge door all the way or throw balls around the TV room so why wouldn't you yell at me for destroying the planet, right...?"

His voice peters out at the end, too hoarse to continue. That's the most words he's strung together over the last week, and for the first time he's glad for his injuries, for stopping him from spewing any more embarrassing word vomit just to fill the air.

Splinter is still looking at him with that same horrified expression. If anything, he just looks more upset, which means that Leo at least accomplished his goal.

Leo's waiting for the yelling to start, but when Splinter finally says something, it's, "You think I have a favorite son?" throwing Leo for a loop once again.

"Uh, yeah?" he says, because that's all there is to say. He's always assumed it's Donnie - the "funny one", the one who fixes Splinter's TV when it's broken, and the only one of them likely to get a real job and move out of the house. But even if it's not Donnie, it's gotta be Mikey, or Raph. His brothers are amazing and talented, and all Leo has ever been good at is winning the Lair Games.

Splinter closes his eyes a moment, and when he opens them his face moves back to a more neutral expression. "I do not have a favorite son," he says, firm and serious. "I love all of you just the same."

Leo thinks that can't be true - if it is, he feels bad for the other guys. But he doesn't think he can just say that, so he says, "Yeah, Dad, of course," instead.

Splinter looks a bit crestfallen. "You don't believe me?" he asks, and shoot. Leo has no idea how to respond to that.

"...I know you love us," is what he says. And that's true, it is! He just doesn't know how his dad could like him as much as the others.

Splinter's expression turns sad. He reaches out and lays a furry hand on Leo's arm, careful of his bandages and all the many wires he's hooked to. "You think you doomed the world?"

"I lost the key," Leo repeats. "It was all my fault. It's why I had to..." His voice fumbles over the words, and he revises. "It's why it had to be me."

Splinter's mouth twists. He climbs out of the chair and onto the mattress, careful not to jostle Leo as he settles down on his knees.

"Blue," he says softly, gently palming Leo's face this time. "None of this was your fault."

Leo's stomach twists again. He thought he was being punished, but somehow this is worse.

"Yes it was," he argues. "I lost the key," for the third time, "and... and I ignored the order to retreat, and got Raph captured, and and and, I ignored the guys and tried to force our way into Metro Tower, and it was me who told Donnie to try to fly that stupid ship, and because of me Mikey had to-"

"Leonardo," says Splinter, sharp, and Leo goes silent. His dad looks devastated, but he keeps his hand on Leo's cheek, brushing with his thumb, and for the first time Leo realizes his skin is wet. Splinter sighs heavily, his entire frame seeming to droop with the weight of it.

"Leonardo," he repeats, softly this time. "You did not doom the world."

"But-"

A furry finger on his lip quiets him.

"You did not doom the world," Splinter repeats, once again firm and serious. "You did not take the theft of the key seriously, because you did not know what it was, the threat it represented. But it was the Foot Clan who chose to use that key, fully knowing what evil it would unleash. That is not on you, my son. The responsibility falls squarely on them."

Leo doesn't know how much he can believe that - isn't it their job to stop the Foot Clan? But Splinter looks so sure as he says it, and his hand is still tender on Leo's cheek, and for the first time a little bit of doubt seeps into Leo's heart, telling him that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't all his fault after all.

But still...

"Even if that's true," he says, with heavy emphasis on the if, "everything I did after that-"

"You are young," his dad interrupts. "You are inexperienced. You are learning. And the amount of growth you showed us all, even over just that one day... You shined as brightly as I know you can."

Again, Leo's stomach does a twist - but it's a happier one, this time. Splinter's voice is sincere, leaving no room for doubt, and Leo can almost, almost believe that this is true, that his dad has believed in him from the very beginning. Has seen something in him, whatever it was that led him to make Leo the leader, that lead to him putting trust in Leo.

He just wishes he felt like he'd done more to earn it.

"You did not doom the world," says his dad again. "You saved it. But, it never should have been like that to begin with. You should never have been facing down such a fierce foe so young, especially as alone as you boys were. And you-"

His voice becomes choked up, and Leo's heart lurches.

"You... sacrificed yourself to save us all. I... I am your father, and I... could not protect you."

He's crying. His dad is crying, and Leo feels panic, reaching out to try and stop this.

"Dad-"

"No." Splinter holds up a hand, giving his head a hard shake. "All I ever wanted for you boys was to save you from the sacrifices asked of our family. And yet I could not - and for that, you paid dearly. You almost paid the ultimate price, and we almost lost you forever."

A thick knot forms in Leo's throat, and he can barely get out, "I'm okay, Dad, I'm here."

"Yes you are." Splinter squeezes his shoulder desperately. "You are here. You are safe. But that doesn't change that it should not have been you to begin with."

Leo watches in dawning horror as Splinter steps back, then kneels over on the mattress.

"This is why I came in here, Blue. Not to yell at you. To apologize."

He presses his forehead against the sheets.

"I am so sorry that I could not protect you."

He's crying. So is Leo, openly now. He reaches out for his dad, fumbling for his shoulders and urging him to straighten up.

"No, Dad... This wasn't your fault!"

"But-"

"No! It was just... it was just a really, really shitty thing that happened, okay? It was the Foot Clan, and the Krang, but it wasn't- it wasn't..."

Splinter raises his face and looks at him, and suddenly the words he's been trying to get Leo to believe for the last several minutes barrel into him and Leo crumbles.

"...I didn't have to do it," he says.

"No." Splinter gets up, coming closer. "You had nothing to atone for. You did it because you are brave, and you are kind, but this was never yours to fix."

Leo sucks in one harsh breath, then another, and then he's sobbing harder than he ever has in his life, and his dad hugs him tight, his arms warm and his fur soft where Leo buries his face in his shoulder.

All the feelings he's pushed aside - the ones he didn't think he had the right to feel, because he'd had to do it, he had to make up for his mistakes - bubble over, gripping him with grief and despair but also relief, that he's still here to cry and be hugged by his dad.

"I was so scared."

"I know."

"I thought I wouldn't see you guys again."

"I know. We thought we had lost you, too."

"I just... I didn't know what else to do... I couldn't let him... I couldn't..."

"Shhh, it's alright. It's over now. We're all safe."

Leo hugs his dad back, as tightly as he can with his injuries, and sobs and sobs until he's all out of tears. And all along, his dad tells him he is safe, he is good, and he is loved.

Later, Leo feels even better than he had before.

[eddiazx]

benefit part 3 (last)- evan buckley x reader

part 1 and part 2 here!

"Alright Buckley, spit it out. What's going on with you?"

Buck should've known that he couldn't hide from you for long. Despite the talk with Hen, he didn't know how to broach the conversation that he was in love with you. So, for the past few days, he avoided being anywhere near you. He was sending less texts, he was coming to your place less often, and he would always pair up with Hen or Ravi for tasks around the firehouse instead of with you. He was doing a relatively good job in distancing himself, until right now.

You had cornered him in the bunk room. Although he had more than a couple inches on you, Buck felt trapped, his back literally against the wall, with you inches away from him.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Buck lies, trying to sidestep away from you, but you mirror his move, blocking him from leaving.

"Buck, you haven't been yourself for the past few days. It started after that night, is that what it is? You didn't have a good time and you feel awkward being around me?"

Buck closes his eyes and repeatedly hits his head against the wall behind him lightly. If only that were the case. If only you knew that he had the best time that night, and he constantly wanted to have nights like that with you, but as your boyfriend.

"Listen... if I did something that made you uncomfortable I really am sorry. I don't want you -" You continue, your tone of voice insecure and concerned and sad. Buck couldn't handle that.

"God, I love you okay!" Buck yells. He looks up at the ceiling, the beds, the tiny speck of white paint on the wall across from him. He looks everywhere except you, because Buck doesn't think he can handle seeing pity on your face right now.

"You.. what?" You inquire softly.

"I love you. I think I always did, as Hen pointed out to me, but our night together pretty much sealed the deal. You're amazing, and I know you don't want to be in a relationship, so you can just forget I said anything. Just give me a few days and I'll be back to your normal, best friend Buck, I promise."

Buck is met with silence for a few seconds, and since he's said his piece, he figures he could walk out now. Before he could though, you're pushing Buck back up against the wall, standing on your toes to meet his face in a bruising kiss. Just as a stunned Buck melts into the kiss, you're pulling away.

"I don't want to be in a relationship with anyone else but you, Buck. I love you too."

Buck internally thanks Hen, because she really knows what she's talking about, before picking you up and sitting on one of the beds with you in his lap. His lips meet yours once again, pouring all unsaid feelings in a kiss that is full of potential. You slowly grind against Buck, to which he lets out a cross between a whimper and a groan.

You're both interrupted by the sound of the bunk room door swinging open.

Bobby looks at the two of you in the compromising position, both of your faces flushed and lips glistening red. He shakes his head, exasperated, fond, and not entirely surprised.

"You guys will have a lot of forms to fill out, but congratulations."

Fin.

[unmerrymagdalene]

(Thank you. Here is the Sirris fic as promised. It is late but I kept tweaking it. I would have liked it to be longer. Hopefully, you enjoy.)

You don’t know how to talk to your kid, and none of the advice you’ve found is helping. You can admit it. Every parenting resource says that parents have trouble communicating with their teenage children. But you teach teenagers for a living. Your students like you. They’ll talk to you. Sydney won’t. Well, Sydney will talk, but it’s the minimum. “I had a good day today.” “I’ll be staying overnight at the temple.” “We’re almost out of crisps.” Sydney rarely starts conversations with you.

You try to let Sydney know that you are always there to talk to about anything. You won't judge. Your students know they can talk to you about anything. One of them came up to you after class the other day and asked you about the morning after pill. You've had students talk to you about hormones, anxiety, drugs, menstrual cycles, and depression. You're thrilled that you can help students and that students trust you to help, but the happiness is dulled when you try to think of the last time Sydney asked you for help.

The parenting books and magazines and online forms say that parents should show nonjudgmental interest in their children’s interests. It’s hard to support your kid’s interests when Sydney’s biggest interest is the temple. ….you don’t want to talk about the temple. It reminds you of ẏ̵͉ŏ̵̺͎͂̑͊u̷̢̨̗͓̿̔̚r̸͇͗̃ ̴̢̬̮͚̤̌͂̊̌p̴̢̢̞̖̽̀̆̽̚à̸͙̰̰̻ͅr̸͔̮̽̾̂̚ẗ̴̡̗͓̖́ṅ̶̘̍̅̽ë̶̢͉̱̜̙r̵̢͕̰͓̰̂͊͊. Sydney reads. That's a hobby. Sometimes you ask what a book is about and if Sydney liked it, but those questions never go anywhere. You’ve said repeatedly that it doesn’t matter what Sydney is reading, whether it's children’s books or philosophy or hardcore erotica or comics. Sydney still just gives short answers, and asking follow up questions doesn’t help.

You don't know if this is just teenagers being teenagers or if Sydney’s mental health is suffering. You worry. It isn’t good to be alone. Outside of interactions with other students at the library, you haven’t seen Sydney talk to anybody. Maybe Syd has friends in class or in the temple, but you’ve never seen them or heard of them.

Another piece of advice for improving communication with your child is to spend time with them. You visit Sydney in the library when you can (and when you think other students won’t see. Even though the student body likes you, some students treat Sydney differently because you two are related). Those moments in the school library and when you drive Sydney home are the only time you’re both free. It doesn't feel like enough.

It was so much easier when ẏ̵͉ŏ̵̺͎͂̑͊u̷̢̨̗͓̿̔̚r̸͇͗̃ ̴̢̬̮͚̤̌͂̊̌p̴̢̢̞̖̽̀̆̽̚à̸͙̰̰̻ͅr̸͔̮̽̾̂̚ẗ̴̡̗͓̖́ṅ̶̘̍̅̽ë̶̢͉̱̜̙r̵̢͕̰͓̰̂͊͊ was here. ....a lot of things were easier. Like you and Jordan were never really close, but you used to smile when greeting each other. Now Jordan looks at you sadly...You probably look sadly at Jordan too. Y̵̨̡͓͍̲̗̯̍̈̓͝o̸̫͍̅̂̍͂͌̄͝u̸͖̇ṟ̷͍̮̗̎̂̾̎͑̒̂ ̴̻̗̯̙͓̟̓p̶̛̛̖̻̘͈̠̋͗̂͌á̵̡̙̤͍͚̼̪͊͑͌͊͝r̸̡̬̖̻͆̈́͊͐̊́̀t̵̩̓͘n̶͍̯̻͓̄̿ë̸͔́͑̃͠͠r̴̻͈̲͖̠͔̒̀̚̚͝ͅ would have known how to help Sydney.

It's been tough. At the time, you thought you were doing the right thing for Sydney, but it seems to have hurt more than it helped. And, despite everything, it did help. Perhaps you are overthinking. Perhaps your communication issues with Sydney are just a teenager thing that has nothing to do with the asylum or the increased rates of mental health problems in children and young adults. But you can't know for certain, because Sydney won't tell you.

OH MY GOOOOOD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

God it’s just. Sirris being able to talk to other students but not Sydney.

Feeling unable to connect to them and fearing it’s because of the asylum (which. I personally think it did affect Sydney in some way. Through them being unable to talk about their trauma because of the treatments they went through).

Sirris very clearly mourning the other parent, but being unable to talk about it because of how deeply it affected Sydney. And because of how hard it is for them. How they can’t interact with the Temple because of it, severing the one possible tie they have to Sydney. AHHHHHHHHHHH-

[bnomiko]

Nocturne S2 (and beyond?) predictions

(I started writing this before they dropped the S2 trailer, so… yeah. Good timing? I guess I'll address that at the very end of the post.)

Some of these I think have a good shot at happening, some are just very random, and some are me just messing around otherwise (though the last one would be amazeballs). This would make for a fun bingo board tho.

**SPOILERS** ahoy for Castlevania: Nocturne, S1.

Immediate start to S2 will be Richter & co. all showing up at Juste's to regroup, for lack of anywhere better to go.

Juste will tragically die, probably protecting Richter, because two Belmonts is one too many. This of course just makes Richter sad.

Maria gains a Seiryuu summon in a predictable "oh shit, we suddenly have need for a dragon spewing ice" sort of moment.

Richter finds a stopwatch. *cue Za Warudo sound effect*

Edouard becomes the founder of a night creature village somewhere. A very operatic village. Think musical episodes of "Xena: Warrior Princess."

The abbot meets his predictably banal end, probably crushed in the burning rubble of his church or something.

Tera begs to be staked, probably by Richter since that'll just make him sad again, because she doesn't want to exist as a vampire.

In that same vein, the aimless crying count will continue with like 1-2 scenes per episode. This has the side effect of making Alucard seem downright NOT depressing in comparison, because he did all his crying 300 years ago. Until he suddenly has a flashback of his days with Trevor and Sypha, then I guess he can join in on the crying too. At least he cries pretty unlike the majority of this cast.

Annette obviously has to get knocked up because apparently Belmonts are constantly on the verge of going extinct (you'd think they'd prioritize producing more than 1 kid a generation). If she starts cursing and screaming, "You did this to me!", or if Richter suddenly says, "I love you," over the side of a cliff, expect a baby in the next 7-8 months or so. I've heard Trefor is a wonderful name.

I want Olrox & Mizrak to just fuck off the storyline at some point and get a Morana & Striga type ending. But realistically… do gay men ever get a happy ending? No, because only lesbians get to live -_- So one has to die, probably while trying to protect the other : (

Conversely, I want a scenario where Richter and Olrox have to work together to accomplish something, and they only manage to pull it off because Richter's telling himself repeatedly he'll just kill the bastard afterwards. He doesn't, of course, because the shrieking of the fangirls would be deafening.

And what I think would be REALLY fun (since the original animation appears to hold up as canon for Nocturne), what if we get a "Daddy's home" moment and Dracula joins in for whatever passes as the final fight against Carmilla Erzsebet (assuming she's the end boss)? He doesn't necessarily have to fight for the humans, but perhaps he might be a bit miffed that someone (his niece, in game canon, though they appear to be completely unrelated here) has taken his place on the top of the hierarchy. I would love to see what he could do one-on-one, without holding back.

Post Nocturne S2 teaser trailer viewing

Are Speakers delicious or collectible or something?

Are we really leaving Alucard and Maria alone without a chaperone?

Hmm, back to the Belmont Hold manor? I think we've seen this S2 before…

OLROX WHERE ARE YOU we need you don't make Alucard carry the entire damn show on his back it has to hurt by this point *froths*

[spicyseal]

The way people are pressuring fat people into taking this is sickening too. It's just a personal anecdote, but I imagine things like this happen a lot — a couple months ago I went to a doctor's appointment for my trans healthcare, and after the appointment I was talking to my grandmom on the phone. I briefly mention the appointment, not wanting to dwell on it because she can be weird about me being trans, but I shit you not, she hears about my gender affirming care and immediately goes "were you prescribed Ozempic yet?" I pushed back some, simply explaining that the doctor did not prescribe me Ozempic and that it wasn't even a topic of conversation Now let me clarify, I actually am diabetic, and it'd be somewhat more understandable if she had asked about it for that reason, but she has repeatedly told me I should take Ozempic to lose weight specifically. Anyway, she goes "hmm weird. Maybe we should take you to another doctor?" and I was so mad it was hard not to explode oh my god. We proceeded to go back and forth as I said over and over that I don't need it if my doctor has not prescribed it and as she said that I need it because I'm too fat until she finally realized it wasn't going anywhere and dropped it The funniest thing about that entire interaction is that this was an appointment with my doctor who provides me HRT. This wasn't even my normal doctor, and yet the only thing my grandmom was interested in was whether I'd be taking a weight loss drug. What worries me though is that conversations like the one I had are surely happening all over, and for fat people who aren't as accepting of their bodies as myself, how are they going to react? How many instances are there of fat people being pressured into taking Ozempic by their loved ones? Feeling like they won't be accepted by their family unless they lose weight? It's worrisome and frustrating that fatphobia is so pervasive in our society because rather than simply being left alone, or being informed about safe options to improve quality of life for those who need it such as mobility aids and physical therapy, people are shamed and encouraged to take drugs they don't need that may cause a lot of damage Oh, and in case anyone doesn't believe that this is a problem, not long after that phone call my aunt referred my mom to a clinic for Wegovy and she's been taking it despite feeling ill ever since starting it. I may be unwilling to give in to pressure from my family, but the same can't be said for others in my family. Just imagine how many people are being pressured into taking these drugs, and how much harm is being done, all because fatphobia is so deeply entrenched in society. Fat people deserve so much better

nothing makes me feel more like the joker than the way nearly everybody talks about fatness. Like with the ozempic fad, so many people act like ITS NORMAL?? to take a medication just because one of the side effects is rapid weight loss?? "well I think exercise and eating healthy is best but if it works it works." Like fatphobia is so entrenched in our society, so fundamentally, so deeply, that people will hardly see anything that results in weight loss as a net negative, including eating disorders. and they have the gall to turn around and say its about "health." Like, hello. it's maddening.

[reminiscingtonight]

Heyo, just a quick lesson for all you fuckers out there who still can't get it through your thick skulls that trashing people online is a). a shitty thing to do, and b). really quite embarrassing for you (because please, tell us you have no life without explicitly saying it). I thought I'd just throw this out here to give y'all a little incentive to quit being little dipshits.

Quick review before we start today’s lesson, according to Black's Law Dictionary (aka the most used law dictionary in the US), harassment means "repetitive annoying, irritating conduct towards another that is designed to torment the victim... Harassment may be oral, written, graphic. The goal is to be create unrest in the target of such conduct." Now that we've gotten that down, the next step is to see if what you're doing qualifies as harassment. 

Telling someone the world would be better off without them → creates unrest to your target, check ✔️

Repeatedly sending hate to the same blog (or multiple blogs bc you're salty that someone has more friends than you) → repetitive conduct with the intent to torment your victim, double check ✔️✔️

Well, harassing anons, it looks like you fit the definition of harassment to a T.

Now, what to do with that information? Well, fun fact, there are a couple laws out there that *gasp* makes your tomfoolery quite illegal.

Before you rip a hole into me and give me the classic "not everyone lives in the US," I'm going to throw a curveball and say over 150 countries have passed forms of anti-harassment laws, so don't be an ass and just look up your own laws.

Also, another side note, I'm going to be talking about US federal statutes, but be sure to check your state's laws, because your state can have some harsher punishments set up against harassment than stated in the federal law.

Alrighty, to start off, we have 47 U.S. Code § 223, aka the Telephone Harassment Act. My favorite part of the act is where it says it's a crime to utilize "a telecommunications device, whether or not conversation or communication ensues, without disclosing his identity and with intent to abuse, threaten, or harass any specific person." Granted we're in 2022 and they could be a bit more inclusive with gender equality and all that, but this act boiled down basically says it's illegal to harass people, online or in person.

And then there's also 18 U.S. Code § 2261A, the federal anti-stalking law. I can already tell what's going on in that small head of yours, so don't worry, I'll act it out for you guys so you understand what I mean.

Limp dick coward anons who send hate: "Oh, but me telling someone to off themselves doesn't mean I'm stalking them! I'm just being an asshole. Being an asshole makes me a really pathetic human being but it doesn't make me a stalker."

OP who's fed up with all the hate being spread around: "Well I got news for you, buddy. You can still sue someone under anti-stalking laws if you're being harassed. Just think about it. If you continually harass me, the logical thought would be that you're going out of your way to be a creep on my page (*cough cough* stalker *cough*) just to be able to get your unwanted messages my way."

So in conclusion, harassment is a shit thing to do. It’s also a thing that can land you in lots of hot water, so just don’t do it (unless you think getting fined and being imprisoned anywhere from a year to life sounds fun).

Cool, cool. Now that we've delved a little into the law world, do what you want with this information. You can listen to me and get the fuck out of people's inboxes and maybe try to find something productive to do with your lives OR you can keep on being slimy sleazeballs. After all, who am I, a stranger on the internet, to tell you what to do with your life? (See what I did here? I'm being a sane individual who could care less what you do with your own life bc it's your life, not mine)

All I can say is, if you want to waste my time with your continuous pointless bullshit, I guess I'll waste your time and see you in court.

[vannybarber]

Know Your Place

Summary: Christopher Jamal Evans puts your ass in place.

Chris Jamal Evans x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, cursing, aggressive behavior (nothing serious), mentions of cheating, implied smut, degrading.

This is based off of Barbershop: The Next Cut with Terri, Rashad, and Draya, with their whole situation😂.

"Just get in the damn car and meet me at the house. We're not doing this here."

"Fine!" You rush around to your car door and slam it shut once you get inside. You watch Chris go to his, also slamming it shut but not for the same reason as you. You were more so the reason.

Starting the car and driving off with him right on your tail, you turn the music up to drown out the many cars that honk at your recklessness and poor wheel skills. If only they knew, they would be acting just like you.

You had come over to the building where Chris was shooting a movie with his female costar, Melanie. You absolutely despised her because she often came onto Chris. Both infront of you and when you weren't around. Of course he shot her down every time because he knows better. He knew you weren't the one to be played with.

But today, when you didn't see him as soon as you walked inside the shoot, you scan the room for Melanie. Not seeing her either, you began to roam around through the halls. You look in a room and see his stuff on a couch inside. You walk into the room calling his name.

"Chris? Baby, where you at?" You check in the bathroom and its empty. "Boy, I got your nasty seafood salad. Where the hell are you?" You scan the room one more time before smacking your lips and heading to the door.

Chris was in the closet changing when Melanie came in trying to feel up on him. He was getting ready to finally cuss her out, but he heard you yelling for him and so he freaked, shutting the door. He specifically told her not to make a sound and she followed orders, up until the last minute.

As you hit the threshold, you hear something hit the floor. The sound seemed to have come from the closet. You pause, scared at first because it was evident that no one was in the room except you. But then you grow suspicious because Chris and that bitch were both missing. You turn around slowly and stalk towards the door.

Chris was fuming when she knocked the box over, but then started to freak when he heard you walking over to the closet door. He gave her the look with a mix of panic and 'I'm gonna fucking kill you'. He sees the door handle turn and prepares for your wrath because you damn sure were gonna give it to him.

You open the door and there was your man and Melanie. Her hands were covering her mouth, eyes wide. Your eyes relocate to Chris and his shirt was halfway on his torso. He clambers to get it fully in, stepping towards you and away from her.

"Babe, just listen and you'll understand everything. She came in while I was changing and-" he doesn't get a chance to finish, for your voice overpowered his.

"You got five seconds to explain to me what the fuck you're doing." You hand is still on the door, not planning on letting them out the closet just yet. Chris was confused, but discerned that you weren't talking to him. You were talking to Melanie. He looks back at her and she was now biting her nail, clearly anxious.

"Look, Y/N, I really don't want any problems." She is trying to be straight about it, but her voice is fastened with fear. She knew exactly what you were capable of and she still is trying to bullshit you.

"You don't want want no problems? You've been trying to sleep with my man since the first day you found out you were working with him!" You must look like boo boo the fool for her to think she was pulling this shit on you.

"And as for you Christopher," you turn towards him, jabbing your finger in his chest, "what the hell are you thinking? Are y'all just lying to me and actually messing around?" You had no problem whooping both their asses.

"Y/N no! Listen, she came inside the closet while I was changing and I was going to kick her out, but I heard you coming and I just...freaked out." He's trying to dissolve the situation, but is only making it worse.

"You instead of coming out, you decide to stay in there with her? You see how this is worse right? You're just giving her the benefit to think she could even get with you. This is entertainment for her. Don't you realize that?" Now your hand was off the door and balled into a fist because you were 2.5 seconds from losing it.

"Baby, I was going to put my foot down this time. I know its long overdue, but I didn't want any issues with the people I work with. And I should've realized how unfair that was to you. I'm sorry. But don't think I would ever cheat on you." He grabs your arm and pushes you back so he could get out the closet.

"Yeah, you damn right. All this could've been avoided. She's harassing you. You need to report her ass!" You snag your arm away from him and point back at her, who's now trying to ease out of the closet. You catch her and she runs off, you not far behind. You damn sure were not a runner, but you were going super sonic right now.

She turns down she same way you came to find them and Chris is right on your ass too. You guys get to the front of the building and you lunge for her, but no contact was made for Chris had you in a hold. You brawl against his wide chest and eventually give up when he doesn't let go.

People are watching in absolute shock and some even were laughing their asses off. It would've been even funnier if Chris had let you get one hit in. Of course that didn't happen since he scooped you up with minimal effort.

"Y/N chill! Stop, you're making a fucking scene!" He grabs on your flailing arms, yanking them back.

"I don't give a shit! Let me get her. Just one good time," you plead and scream at the same time. He literally drags you away outside with great struggle since you weren't giving in. When he got you out there, you accepted your defeat and he let you go, watching you extra closely in case you pulled a fast one.

"You should've let me get her! Why the hell you stop me?!" He runs his hands through his hair, obviously frustrated and very much embarrassed. But you could care less. She needed her ass whooped.

"It's not worth it. We need to go now!"

"I don't have to go anywhere!" You could give less of a fuck if the onlookers labeled you as 'the angry black woman'. Because infact, you are a black woman. And damn right you were angry.

"Just get in the damn car and meet me at the house. We're not doing this here!"

"Fine!"

After reminiscing over the lovely previous moments, you pull up at your even lovelier home. You hop out the car and open the gate. Walking back to the car you peek and see Chris with his arm against the window, leaning on it and watching you. For sure he had a headache by now.

Instead of pulling up all the way into the driveway, you park at the end, leaving no room for Chris to drive in.

"Really? Pull all the way in!" You sit for a minute with your arms crossed for a bit of rebellion before complying like a child. Only because you didn't want to walk the extra way to the door of course. When you park again, Chris pulls in and gets out to shut the gate.

You were already unlocking the door and stepping in, but before you could slam it in his face, he was right behind you. You toss the keys and kick off your shoes.

"Where are you going?" You hear him call from the front of the house.

"None of your business." You were just going to the fridge to get your pineapple juice. You drink it almost every single day. And you definitely needed some right now.

"Okay we need to discuss what the fuck just happened. What the hell was that Y/N?" He's standing across the kitchen island from you staring in anger.

"Well for one, I caught you in a closet half naked with that bitch after I called your name repeatedly. Then she's playing in my face and you're trying to defend her! You really need an explanation for my actions, Chris?" You close the bottle and slam it on the counter.

"Look Y/N, I explained to you what happened. I am sorry. I knew that if I had came out that closet with her, you'd still react the same way, probably even worse. I was literally fearing for my life, no joke." He puts his hands up in surrender. You almost laugh.

"I rather you just have came out and told me straight up. Yeah, I would be mad of course. Who wouldn't? But you made it more difficult yourself." You still have an attitude and even though he apologized, you still wanted to be mad.

"Baby, I tell you you're beautiful everyday. Why? Because I want you to know that no other woman could ever be at the level you are for me. I want you to know that you're the only one I see and there isn't anyone else for me." He's now standing infront of you, his 6'0 figure imposing over your frame.

You can't and won't lie that those words had you in your feels. You swear, Geminis really are sweet talkers. You could've gave in right then. But not just yet.

"You sound like a real bitch right now." You fold your arms and look at him with testy eyes. You slightly regret saying that because what he said was genuine. But who are you without some back talk?

His eyes go caliginous. You've only seen this a one time when you've stepped out of line with him. Your big mouth could argue for days, but you never held a grudge. You kind of forced yourself to keep going as if you were still upset. Stubborn was an understatement.

You scratch your straightened hair nervously before flattening it back down. You internally hope it wasn't obvious that you lamented what you had just said.

"I already apologized to you and explained what happened. Now you can be mature and we can have a real conversation or you can be childish and act like you're still upset and we can end it right here." He steps closer to you, if that's even humanly possible. "But this is will be the first and last time you call me a bitch. Got it?"

He's breathing heavily on your face. If only you could see your face right now. It would read shock, with a bit of fear. He never checked you like this and let you get away with a lot. But this right here, was well deserved. But the way he's over you and his voice lowering with a sharp tone had you...turned on.

Something about him putting you in place made you wet and excited. All the fear had vanished almost immediately. You finally respond.

"Yes," you say quietly, nodding your head. "I'm sorry." Your eyes remained on him looking up through your lashes nibbling your lip. If only you knew what it was doing to him.

The sight of your body go automatically submissive to him after he got firm with you threw him in a complete frenzy. He was dominant most times, but you had many moments where you didn't back down to a challenge and took the lead. You not clapping back and apologizing threw him off a slight bit, but did not disappoint him. It turned him on.

"Good girl." He grabs your arm, spins you around so that your back is turned to him and bends down next to your ear.

"Go into the room, take off everything but your panties and lie on the bed. Mkay?" He moved his hands behind your arm to your lower back. You might as well save yourself the embarrassment and take off your panties too because once he sees the tropical storm, it's a wrap burrito. But you nod your head in compliance.

He gives you a smack on the butt and pushes you forward. You walk the rest of the way to the room and follow his exact orders. You remove every clothing item except the saltwater cloth covering your most needy part. You lay on the bed and wait for him.

He comes in a few moments later and eyes you down, making sure you followed his instructions. Of course you would. He stands in front of the bed and starts to remove his clothes. The entire time his eyes alternate from your body to your eyes. It made you nervous, but still excited.

"I'm very much used to your little tantrums and what not, but there's a limit. And when you pass that limit and step out of line, you need to be taught a lesson." He's in just his briefs by the end of his sentence and crawls in the bed.

You adjust yourself onto your back, shamelessly welcoming him to help himself to you. He positions in between your legs and lowers his face to yours, lips gliding against yours and pulling back when you try to kiss him. You pout and he smirks a little.

"Tell me what you want, honey" he whispers as he rubs up your leg to your thigh, grazing his fingers against your soaked panties. Just when you thought you couldn't get any wetter. Damn.

"I want you to touch me. Please." Your hands are gripping the sheets just thinking about his hands on your body. You completely forgot about messing up your hair as you throw your head back when he starts circling his fingers on your clit.

"I'm starting to think that this isn't very punishing for you, sweetheart." He picks up pace and reaches for your boob, kneading it full in his palms. "You seem to really be enjoying it. A little too much."

You weren't even listening to him, only chasing your orgasm, rolling your hips against his forceful touch. You successfully make it a few seconds to cumming before he snatches his finger away. You pick your head up right away, looking appalled.

"Why'd you stoooop?" you whine out. He looks at you innocently.

"Hmm that's just something us bitches like to do." Before you could respond, he flips you over and smacks your right cheek. "These have been on way too long." He pulls your panties off quicker than Pietro Maximoff. Tossing them to the floor, he starts his teasing.

"Damn, Y/N. All this is for me? If this doesn't tell me you loved the beginning of your lesson, I don't know what does."

He drags his fingers through your wet lips, coating them with your wetness. He brings his hands to his face to taste the mess you made for him.

"Hmm. That pineapple juice is kicking in fast."

The entire time he's talking, you're moving around coding him to stop teasing you and do something to make you feel good.

"You really are a desperate whore, huh?" You moan in the sheets in agreement. You were never into name calling, but it was something with Chris that made you love it.

He lowers down to your pussy, breathe frisking over it. You shiver and wait for him to start.

"As much as both you and I would love this, you don't deserve it. So ass up." You internally start cursing him out, calling him all things forbidden. But you comply and slightly lift your lower half.

Chris gets directly behind you and lines up with your entrance. When did he even take his briefs off? You inhale sharply at the contact and moan as he slips inside you with little to no effort. He fills you quick, starting his thrusts right away.

Your left cheek is against the mattress and both hands are gripping the sheets.

"Oh my- fuck!"

"How's it feel baby?" He asks you, going deeper at every thrust back inside you. Between the loud claps of your bodies, your pornographic moans and the sounds of your WAP, he knew the answer.

"It feels so good Chris" you manage to get out between breathes that were suddenly hard to take. You suddenly get a hard slap on your right cheek, making you squeal.

"That's not my name." You quickly correct yourself.

"Sorry..Daddy."

"Look at this" he starts thrusting faster, both of you not far from climax.

"Just an hour ago you were bitchin' about me and now you're basically grovelling at my feet. You can barely make a word. I guess I'm not such a bitch now, huh? " He locks your arms behind you and you automatically lift your ass up further, helping him slide in you even easier.

"No Daddy, I'm s-sorry." He groans and grabs a fistful of your hair and leans down to your ear. Normally you would be pissed because he touched your hair, especially since it was just done. But you could give less of a damn right now.

"Yeah I bet you are. Would a bitch be fucking you like this? Hm?" He pounded into you hard at every word. Your face in the mattress, you let out a scream that would have the neighbors dialing 911.

"No, baby- oh GOD" you yell, right at your peak. Just a couple more thrusts away and you were gone. Chris recognized that yell. He wanted to send you off right.

"Go ahead and cum for me baby. But just remember,"

He was right behind you and close himself.

"No matter how smart you get with me, at the end of the day, you're always gonna be a little slut for me." The last 4 words sent you over the edge and you cum all over him. He doesn't fall short and fills up the rest of you.

"Fuuuck" he let's out as his seed spills inside you.

His body collapses next to you and you find the energy to move your body. You turn and look at him with this dumb smile on your face. He reciprocates with the same dumb smile and pats down your hair. You slap his arm, turning your nose up at him.

"Ow. Why'd you do that for?" He rubs his now red arm.

"That's what you get for messing up my hair. You're gonna give me money to get it done again." Remembering, you hit his arm again.

"Baby, what the hell?"

"That's for also making me leave my pineapple juice out the fridge."

Idek what I was doing here 😭 This is the kind of stuff I daydream about, but it never looks as good written out 🥴

masterlist

[mochiable]

— how you met nct dream.

anon request: hello! i don’t know if you take this type of request but i would love a scenario on how you meet nct dream ot7 if it’s possible, thank you!

warning: one swear word

wc: 1.5k

₊˚✧┆𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗞

you had been watching that cute boy on the badminton court playing with his friends ever since you had started working in the gym and you couldn't help but become more and more interested in him with each passing day. the noises he made when he hit the shuttlecock, the whimpers that came from his pink fluffy lips when he missed the expected shot and the way he frowned and puckered his mouth when his partner missed were some of your favourite things about going to work. yet you had never been able to strike up a conversation. never until this day, when his friends decided to take a break and go watch the football match, while he preferred to stay and practice a bit more.

"you're good," you complimented him once you approached him and threw him a bottle of water, which he managed to catch on the fly. "thank you," he replied flashing you a shy smile, causing his cheekbones to bulge. "where did you learn all that?" you asked sitting down on the bench at the side of the court. he turned to look at you nervously, setting the bottle down once he had taken a sip. "my father... well... he taught me, i guess," he replied, averting his gaze to anywhere on the court except your eyes. "and what do you like best about it?" you questioned him, watching the feather he was playing with bounce on the ground. "ahhh, i... i like badminton, i mean... i like it a lot, like... the... the... the rackets are really nice," he replied trying to find the right words, looking even more tender than ever and causing a smile to form on your lips. but just then his friends arrived, so you stood up and approached him. "nice to meet you, mark," you bowed your head and he copied you, failing to hide the blush on his cheeks.

₊˚✧┆𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗝𝗨𝗡

you snorted once more when the card of the hotel you were staying at wouldn't open the door. you had just taken a dip in the pool and were starting to get cold from wearing only a t-shirt over your swimsuit. you had already used every curse word the dictionary had and still the door wouldn't open. until suddenly you heard a click and it did, so you hurriedly tried to enter. however, something a little softer than the door blocked your way, making you bump into it or, rather, into someone.

“can i help you with something?” the boy smiled kindly as two others a little taller than him appeared from behind. you frowned, looking at the number painted on the door and then looking at the number written on your card. it was then that you realised your mistake, “shit! sorry, sorry. i've got the wrong room,” you apologised, trying to hide your embarrassment and nervousness. “is your room next door?” he asked leaning the side of his body against the door frame, to which you nodded, “i hope to see you again then,” he spoke, as the other two boys who hadn't moved yet tried to hide their laughter. you smiled still a little self-consciously and turned around with the intention of getting out of there. “nice outfit, by the way.”

₊˚✧┆𝗝𝗘𝗡𝗢

you were taking the dog for a walk in the park as you usually did, but this day was a bit different. you let the dog loose, trusting him completely, although you regretted it after a second when you saw how he ran away from you, starting to chase a boy riding his bike. you ran after him, calling his name and wishing you were born with more stamina, because your lungs weren’t strong enough for that. the boy slowed down when he noticed the animal running after him, who didn't think twice before jumping on top of him and knocking him off his bike, licking his face while getting petted. when you managed to get to where they were, you apologised repeatedly, getting several "don't worry" from the boy, smiling with amusement at your furry friend.

“i hope your dog doesn't attack me again,” he laughed softly, hopping on his bike and riding off, reassuring you that there would definitely be a next time.

₊˚✧┆𝗛𝗔𝗘𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡

in the summer you worked in a flower shop, you didn't get paid much but it was enough to pay for your studies. that day, your boss sent you to the most famous dance company in your city to deliver a bouquet with yellow sunflowers, something strange you had to admit.

leaving the lift you bumped into a handsome guy who apologized for not having noticed and almost destroying those beautiful flowers. as an apology he offered to guide you to your destination and you, a bit shy, accepted shyly. you could notice the look of confusion when you pointed out where you should deliver the sunflowers and, when you entered the room, he didn't hesitate to speak.

“so the flowers are for me, you’re the one sending them?” he approached them to smell their soft, fresh scent and then looked at you with a twinkle in his eye. you shook your head slightly, watching an amused pout form on his handsome face, “how bad, i would’ve wished to receive such a gift from someone so pretty.”

₊˚✧┆𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗠𝗜𝗡

Songpa Naru Park was perhaps your favourite place to spend the afternoon when you didn't have too much to do. coming here, watching the almond blossoms swaying in the wind, listening to the swallows singing and watching families having a good time were your favourite images. you couldn't miss the photographs, you were nobody without your camera and your snapshots.

at that moment, watching the black and white ducks arguing over which part of the lake belonged to each of them, you felt a flash in your right profile, which made you startle and your camera, which was in your lap, rush to the ground. however, a big hand prevented that horrible disaster.

“forgive me,” the stranger apologised, “i didn't mean to,” he showed you his perfect white teeth as he returned the camera to your lap. “did you take a picture of me?” you asked looking in his direction, remembering that bright light. he looked at you with regret and put his hand to the back of his neck, scratching it nervously, “sorry about that too.” you gave him a tight-lipped smile and lifted your shoulders, “don't worry, it's all right,” you replied turning your gaze back to the lake, “it’s beautiful, isn't it?” you asked, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “yes, very pretty,” he replied, looking at your picture on his camera, which brought another smile to your face, a bigger one this time.

₊˚✧┆𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗡𝗟𝗘

you were definitely lost. maybe if you hadn't listened to your brother, you would now be at the restaurant where your parents were waiting for you. but obviously, he didn't want to use the gps as he had "memorised the way". and this is when he forced you to roll down the car window and ask some stranger for help.

“excuse me, could you tell me where Las Torres restaurant is?” you asked a handsome guy, wearing a loose summer brown shirt. he smiled at you and asked for your phone so he could write it down for you, which you readily agreed to. “here you go. i’ve drawn you the official route, but also a small detour that will get you there faster,” he explained, handing you back the phone through the window. after thanking him and saying goodbye, he gave you a smile with a wink, which caused a slight blush to appear on your cheeks. you soon learned the reason for this gesture. he hadn't asked for your mobile phone just to guide you, but to write down his number as well.

₊˚✧┆𝗝𝗜𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚

you were having dinner with a friend at one of your favourite restaurants, celebrating the end of the school year and another year of your friendship. however, you weren't paying full attention to your friend, as you were busier watching the boy who hadn't stopped looking at you all night and who, when you looked back at him, looked away, blushing slightly. halfway through dinner you could notice his friend saying something in his ear, looking in your direction, and how the boy's eyes widened while he began to shake his head. but suddenly, the other boy stood up and, ignoring his friend's prayers, approached you with a mischievous smile on his face.

“good evening,” he greeted, interrupting your conversation and resting his hands on the table, “you've caught my friend's eye, but he's too shy and cowardly to come and ask for your number himself, so i’m here to make his dreams come true,” he addressed you with confidence and amusement, pointing to the sweet boy who was now covering his face with the tablecloth. you finally decided to write down your number on the napkin and your heart skipped a beat as the boy smiled shyly at you after receiving the piece of paper with your number written on it.

©️  MOCHIABLE. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

requests are open!

main masterlist | nct masterlist

a/n: this is my very first multiple scenario and i have to admit i’m very nervous about it. i’d really appreciate it if you could provide me with some feedback and tell what do you think of it! hope you liked it, love you<3

[chrisevansluv]

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

If someone doesn't want to check the link, the anon sent the full interview!

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

We Met Within This Screen (chapt. 2)

[Donnie x fem reader]

Sfw, part 1 here

Intellectually, Donnie was the best matchup for their leader as today was sparring day. He'd gone against his oldest brother many times, sometimes even coming out the victor himself, but today was just not his day.

He held his staff with that iron grip of his and waited for Leo to come at him. Donnie was more on the defensive than any of his brothers; he had to be. Out of all he was weakest physically but superior in calculations, but he was missing range in this matchup. Leo had a hard time disarming him as his katana could sometimes get lodged in the solid wood staff, giving Donnie leverage to perform the finisher in the short time it took him to dislodge his sword. He thought this time would be how that would happen.

"You're slow today, Donnie," Leo said as he lunged at his brother with a swing of his katana, forcing Donnie to step back. He was too focused on blocking Leo's rapid succession of attacks to respond.

Leo reeled back to swing his blade again but Donnie parried and struck his arm with his staff, shoving it aside. For a split second, Leo actually thought he was fixing to go down by this move if Donnie could hit him again quick enough. But his brother hesitated in thought, and without any reluctance himself, he used his other katana to put him in a compromising position. The match was over and Donnie was forced to stand down.

"Why did you hesitate?" Leo questioned him, lowering his blade. Raph watched from the sidelines with Mikey as they prepared to go up next. Since Leo was the winner, it was Raph's turn next to spar in his younger brother's place.

Donnie huffed and dropped his stance, putting his staff away. "It's just an off day," he replied. Splinter wasn't there to dictate today's training session and tournament, so Donnie was already on his way out to go to his lab by the time Raph stepped up to spar. But Leo sheathed his sword and put a hand on Donnie's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"You've been pretty eager to run back to your lab lately," Leo said matter-of-factly. He was wondering what was going on, why Donnie seemed weirdly distant the last couple of weeks. He had gone through a very withdrawn phase in earlier times upon entering his teenage years, but now, he was legitimately making everyone guess. He didn't snap at his brothers, and he wasn't any more impatient than usual. But something was different. He'd been spending a lot more time holed up in his lab, which everyone began to notice. Leo wanted to know what was wrong.

Donnie shifted and shrugged, "Like I said, I've been busy with some projects. Also, it's not like I have much to do out here beside training and patrol."

Leo opened his mouth to speak, but Mikey jumped on between them. "You missed game night last week! You never miss it," he butted in. Both Donnie and Leo gave him a look as if to say really? and he added in, "Well, uh...not usually."

Gently moving Mikey aside, Leo wanted to continue, but he saw Donnie staring at him expecting a follow-up when he didn't really have one. Whatever this was, Leo knew that coming at Donnie with questions was not the way to go about it. So he stepped back and gave his brother some space.

"We all have off days," Leo said finally after an awkward moment of silence. "Just work on your speed, Don."

"Got it."

With that, Donnie turned to leave, and Raph entered the ring to go against Leo in the last match of the night.

Once Donnie was gone, Leo got ready to spar with Raph. As they got into position, he contemplated bringing this recent development up with the other two, but decided against it in the end. He didn't want to incriminate Donnie, especially with Raph's assertive approach to handling things. Donnie could be somewhat flighty at times when it came to resolving matters of emotion, at times a little too introspective, but Leo couldn't fault him—he had his own struggles with that very thing, too.

Done, finally, Donnie thought as he skirted into his lab and started up the game. He was late to the party quite literally; training lasted longer than he'd thought, and he was disappointed to see that his newest friend was online, but not responding to his invite. Did everyone get together and play without him? After a few minutes, he almost decided on giving up. The instance made him contemplate whether he even wanted to continue this. Perhaps he'd been too eager.

He sighed. And then the menu pinged, and he was there reading the message in an instant.

Hey, sorry I partied up without you, I just didn't know if you were gonna be on or not :/

Without even thinking, he licked his lips typed back, repeatedly deleting and retyping his message to make sure it was casual but not too casual, apologetic but not desperate—

It's okay, don't worry about it

Likewise sorry it took me so long to get here.

That would do. He'd be lying to say he wasn't feeling that flutter in his stomach; the excitement of something new got to him in a way that only a discovery in his research did, or how he felt when he mastered a new technique in his training.

Let's get started then :)

They started the game, and this time he kept the mic on, as she did. They talked back and forth as they fought creatures and enemies and looted things, eventually coming to learn that she herself was in New York City. He was surprised; suddenly, the world felt a lot smaller, and he couldn't concentrate on just playing after that. The time they spent became more of an opportunity to converse than to play a mundane game for hours on end.

At some point, she switched the topic to his whereabouts. Donnie's breath hitched.

"I'm...not anywhere near. So it doesn't really matter," he told her, cringing. If the guys found out—if Splinter found out—he would be in such trouble.

"Oh," she paused for a moment, trying to find something to say. "That's alright, I don't want you to feel like you have to tell me, you know?"

He'd muted his mic to release a deep breath. He got lost in thought thinking about how in that moment, he wanted to be human. If he weren't a giant mutant turtle, he could actually form a connection with someone. It was a very "Mikey" thing to think, he reckoned, but at times he wanted friends just like his brother did.

"Yeah, sorry, I just…"

"It's really no problem, dude."

He felt as though he could hear the smile in her voice. What did she look like, he wondered. He wanted to see her, but he couldn't ask for that when he could never do the same. If he could get her name, he'd be in the clear to do some preliminary lookups on this person, but so far, she'd been dodgy about sharing info about herself as well. He couldn't blame her. They were two strangers online, one with a huge secret and the other completely in the dark about who he truly was. For all she knew, he could have been a creep, looking to stalk her online and perhaps do even worse. The thought made him feel almost nauseous, how she could be considering that about him as a possibility as they spoke. But she seemed comfortable enough. Unlike him, who was still slightly skeptical of the entire thing, because after spending his whole life in practical isolation, he was at a loss as to what to say or do after a certain point. The conversation died off and both of them thought simultaneously about how weird the sudden silence between them felt.

She hummed, as if searching for something to bring up. When she spoke, he was taken aback—"Hey, I'm gonna be honest, I really like talking to you but this game is getting boring. Do you wanna chat somewhere else?"

"Uh…" he trailed off, mind shooting blanks. Oh, was it just a horrible idea. He couldn't keep the jig up forever; the truth was bound to get revealed somewhere down the line. He was fixing to reject the proposition, tell her that he didn't want to take it that far. She could be anyone. The likelihood of it being a clever ruse on account of the Foot Clan was slim, but the paranoia still worked ambiently in the background noise of his mind. But his other doubt stopped him—when would he ever have a chance at this again? He wanted to have the strength to say no and leave it at that. The loneliness that crept up on him from time to time had something else to say.

"Yeah," he answered after a terribly long pause of mumbling, fighting with himself all the way as she told him where to add her. He could have kicked himself had it not been for the fact that he knew how to encrypt data, and that as long as he didn't leak a word about his inner circle or life, it would be okay. It didn't feel okay, though.

"Nice! I'll text you, see you later, Bo. I had a lot of fun tonight," she chirped.

Before he could respond, she was gone from the party, and the mic went silent. It happened so fast. He was barely caught up with the fact that he was now receiving messages and prompts to talk, but he couldn't bring himself to answer right away. He had to refocus his logic; how could this be used by the enemy as a way to get to them? Could they have somehow anticipated he'd download this game and find this random on there? The more the thought about it, the more glaringly obvious it was that it was not the case. It was just too improbable.

"The probability of the Foot being able to simulate such a specific scenario in order to get intel on us is so slim, it is practically non-existent," he told himself as he finally pulled up the messages. He read through them. "Approximately a zero-point-zero-zero-zero..."

My name is (Y/N), by the way :)

Well, that was easier than expected. He figured that somehow, the name suited you—a fitting name for such a personality. But it also gave him a glimmer of hope. It made him want to ask why you appeared to trust him, as he could be anyone on the Earth over the screen, not his benevolent self. Which she had no way of proving, technically. But he soon came to realize the screen painted him in a whole new light that it casted on him. It hit then that he could be anyone. He didn't have to be himself; not necessarily. She'd never have to know, as he could wear a human mask and she'd be none the wiser. Problem was, the lying made him feel guilty, and slowly would develop to be the thorn in his side.

Donnie thoughtfully stared at the screen. Now that he was here, some of his anxiety began to fade. He found himself actually able to talk, someone to listen to his tangents and even build upon them. They spent hours texting back and forth about anything and everything until it was almost time for him to put the phone down to leave for patrol. He felt giddy, like a kid, all over again.

________________________________________

Had you ever been able to talk to someone this easily?

You asked yourself that question as you exchanged with the faceless and nameless stranger over your screen, chatting from afternoon to night. Time flew by in an instant, with him, and you loved every minute. He was someone intellectual, but funny and so easy to talk to that it was as though the conversation carried itself. After some time he came out about his age after you revealed yours. Oftentimes, he'd just present to you a random question when the subject tapered off and run with it, like now:

What do you think of reptiles?

Puzzled, you took a second to reply. Odd question.

Why do you ask? Do you have one?

I was just curious

What do you think of them?

The chat indicator flip-flopped between "typing" and "idle" a few times before a message finally popped up, and you smiled. You'd learned over this short time that he was a dork in a cute way.

Well...I think they're pretty cool.

They've got natural armor and you would be surprised to know just how fast a turtle can be

You laughed a little to yourself. It was such a random thing to bring up, yet you were endeared. Deciding you'd go along with it, you asked him what else he knew about turtles.

Well...

__________________________________________________

Donnie was wondering what he was talking about just as much as she probably was. Stupid, he thought, facepalming. His first time really speaking with a human as an equal and he starts talking about turtles. Of course he knew a lot about them, he was one himself—but for some reason he found himself wanting to dispel myths and misunderstandings about turtles as if they reflected on him, when as far as she knew, he was just a human guy like herself.

He groaned lightly and typed, thinking up a fact that wasn't too conspicuous.

Red eared sliders are semi-aquatic.

As he typed the next part, he caught himself writing "we" instead of "they", to his dismay. He quickly fixed the error and continued, feeling weirdly exposed as it was almost as though in sharing this information, he was putting himself under a microscope for her to inspect.

They can hold their breath for up to thirty minutes, usually

Holding his breath was something he'd tested numerous times before. He and his brothers had actually made a game out of it on a few occasions, with Leo leading at thirty-three minutes, Donnie in second at thirty-one. Raph broke at twenty-nine minutes and Mikey followed behind in last at just twenty-seven. The ability could be trained, nonetheless.

That's interesting, I wonder what it's like to be able to go underwater so long?

It's kind of cool, you should try sometime

For THIRTY MINUTES?

Shit. He promptly replied:

No—not like I can hold my breath that long, I just mean you should try to see sometime I guess

I tested it just for the fun of it.

Looking up how long humans could hold their breath on average (between thirty seconds and two minutes), he bumped the number up a little bit and added:

Personally, I'm at two minutes and forty-five seconds

He was embarrassed, partially covering his face as he waited for a response. Such a foolish slip-up; he couldn't afford to say anything cryptic. But he still was fairly sure that he had recovered that alright. He couldn't help but think about how awkward or weird he seemed to her. Who talked about this?

I don't think I could hold my breath for more than a minute, kudos to you haha

Anyway, sorry to switch gears all of a sudden but if you don't mind me asking, what's up with your family? You have any siblings?

He told her no. He would not bring his brothers into this, lest it be the slim chance of a ploy, after all. He said his family situation was unconventional and left it at that.

With that, he said to her goodnight and put his phone away, getting up to go get geared for patrol. It was only then he noticed the figure leaning against the doorway.

Chapter 3

[garbageivereleasedintothevoid]

02-02-19 (Saturday)

Idk how to explain this but straight people have such a wildly different view on intimacy than queer people do. Like no cishet I've ever spoken to has ever understood that me cuddling with my best friend isn't sexual. Like I'm just cuddling... We love each other but we're not IN LOVE with each other. Hell, neither of us have any interest in that whatsoever. They're MARRIED. I was in the wedding. I think they are a great match with their wife. They balance each other out. She makes them happy and that makes me happy.

I can't tell you how many cishets have been absolutely weirded out by learning that I cuddle with my best friend. They just don't get it. "Don't you start feeling... Something?" Besides safe and happy, no. Idk. It's like they think they're gonna catch me doing something idk. I just feel safe and happy with them. Hell, Grover and I do, too, sometimes. Not a lot because Grover gets overstimulated a lot, not because it's weird.

Idk. Platonic cuddling is one of the milder things queer people do that cishets hate. Telling your friend they're cute is a slight step up. Talking to your friends about your kinks is interesting to try and say you do. Most are absolutely revolted. It's hilarious. Queer are so much more open about things to each other. Legitimately. I've had full on conversations about kinks and how to not be an ass about them and actual sexual escapades they've had with queer people I barely know. Cishet people I have known for years will give me small talk about the weather. This is why I feel queerness is like family. We're so open with each other. And we stick together. We're who we can trust. We already kinda know each other even if we don't. And we can almost always recognize each other. Gaydar isn't perfect but it's a good indicator. And not everyone has it. But I do. I have predicted people's queerness before.

And I'm gonna be honest, I get a small queer vibe from you. Not like as explicit as I usually get so I interpret that as "Mostly hetero but with maybe a few exceptions if she wasn't already in a committed relationship (which makes a huge difference tbh)." But I could be wrong. Gaydar, like I said, isn't perfect and sometimes it confuses people who are willing to talk about sex/the intricacies of sexual attraction/sexual boundaries with you with queer people. I could be wrong but that's the vibe I get. I also have some backup evidence for that, though it's sll subjective. Your kid being queer is one of them. Kids with queer bioparents (whether or not they know the parent is queer is irrelevant) are more likely to be queer. You've made vague references to experimentation before meeting your husband. You've also made some comments that make me believe you have some attraction to a specific woman. You don't have to acknowledge this or tell me anything. You owe me nothing on the subject. And if this isn't something you actually feel comfortable talking about to me, you should feel NO obligation. Just so we're clear. Also I think a lot about "What if *random person* is actually queer and either closeted/doesn't know it yet?" It's definitely not just you. So this is a common occurrence for me and not just a thought I had about you, I swear and I would be completely surprised if it wasn't a common thing for other queer people to think about as well. We always... We always think about how many of us there are. We wonder because there's no official count/statistic beyond the like 3.5% figure that I truly feel greatly lowballs how many of us there are. I really feel like we're at least 20% or more if the population. Also it's very difficult to get an accurate ciunt because the closet is still VERY necessary for many of us. I saw a post btw about that actually and it articulated a thought I'd been trying to summarize for a while.

That. That is something I think about a lot. I value happiness. Safety is great but if I'm not happy, what's the point? If I'm miserable and want to die, who cares if I'm safe. This is also why I felt better after becoming homeless. Because I wasn't being restricted as to what I could be anymore. Everything, every single decision about my life rested in my hands. I admit, I went a bit apeshit with the finding happiness thing. Went a bit too hedonistic and not enough responsibility but everyone has that, right? Everyone has that moment. But the difference is that most people's moments were like "I can have candy for breakfast and no one can stop me." Which is an appropriate reaction to being like 18 and livjng alone for the first time when your parents only exerted a healthy amount of control. But when every aspect of your life was controlled and your privacy repeatedly violated and disregarded, becoming a hermit who blows money on fast food whenever they get it (that's what I was in 2015) isn't as drastic as it would initially seem. I felt kinda drunk with power over my own life. And it's natural that I'd make some questionable decisions about it when I had the first instance of control I'd had in 22 years. I learned though. I don't eat out nearly as much as I would have in 2014 if I got $771 a month. I don't just stay in my apartment all the time enjoying the solitude (admittedly have been staying inside a lot more lately but it's been like 2° outside and people have been kinda draining for me lately.) For weeks on end. I don't take midnight strolls through neighborhoods I don't know for fun (because it occurred to me that no one could stop me. I was like "There's nothing to stop me from just walking around at midnight. No shelter worker threatening to kick me out. No parents trying to tell me I'm just using them. Nobody. I can just leave and never come back if I wanted to." I didn't have anywhere else to go... But if I HAD, I can't guarantee I wouldn't have just gone.) But it's a weird thing to realize the entire world has opened up to you now that your parents kicked you out. It's such an unexplainable feeling. I don't get it.