#goddamn did he really nail late 2010s

[vanillaboyfriend]

was watching this vod and this outfit...

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

honestly over the years that i constantly watched the E! celeb channel and read celeb mags like “grazia” and “People”, “Ok!” etc etc or women’s mags like women’s day or new idea.... the one thing i could never fucking stand was the fashion panels that were either at the beginning (if it was awards season) or near the end of these mags.... where they’d judge the women far more harshly than the men.

like let’s say judge frida bonhelm (not a real person), fashion director at grazia rates the following real stars:

• sandra bullock at the golden globes in idk alex mcqueen (a high out of 10 ranking in my books bc i know nothing about fashion, but not so for these panellists).

• jake gyllenhaal at the oscars and golden globes, and for the sake of this post he’s either rocked up looking like he’s rolled out of bed with tousled hair etc but still in a suit (just without a tie, bc ala casual tre magnifique! a hot fashion tip: any random french makes you sound classy in fashion and makes Total Sense™️), at the oscars. or let’s say of shits and giggles he’s rocked up shirtless but in a kilt to the golden globes (“he’s going through a hard role guys, let him be!” says fellow panelist Gead mulhern, stylist for new idea). also forget what fashion designer/label JG is wearing, bc who the fuck cares when it’s a man???? amirite??? bc what man is meant to remember that supposedly vital information? none of them. not a single one them. that’s who.

now the reviews go like this:

frida on sandra bullock’s outfit:

sandra, sandra, sandra. you WOWed us last week with your appearance at the *insert random movie title here* premiere! but this. this is absolutely terrible! it doesn’t fit the event at all! that dress doesn’t fit around her waist, the tailoring is fuckin shabby! get a new tailor, sandra! the shoes don’t match, the bag is awful, her hair is fucking awful and the dress again, does not match her skin tone! why did she not get the memo on tanning if she’s wearing a salmon colour???? an absolute bloody shocker for me! -5/10! TRY BETTER NEXT TIME SANDY! (also remember to tan next time, booboo!)

frida on jake gyllenhaal at the oscars:

oooh jakey boy!!!!!!! looking all sexy and tousled boy next door, i see!!!! 😍 absolutely stunning, original, so damn melting sexy that i could just gush all day 😜 and the no tie thing! we all say “BAH!” to that sort of thing! screw the formal attire requirements of the oscars! ugh jake, 100000000000%/10. oh shit, that’s off the charts bc my cat stepped on my keyboard. i meant 10/10! absolutely no thirst here!!!! 😂😉 jakey stuns again!!!! soooo dreamy! *sigh*

frida on jake gyllenhaal at the golden globes in a kilt:

ooooof showing off that ripped bod as a superhero character huh?! what a good way to do it by being shirtless in a kilt! you just never stop stunning people, do you mr. gyllenhaal???? egad, i think i’ll faint looking at this photo for too long! someone get a me defibrillator or something to revive me if i do!!!! 😉☺️ another 10/10 for jake! what a brave and stunning idea!!! 😫 a visionary, really! 🙃

the other panellists generally end up having the same views as frida, but mostly differing on a few points and and final scoring. like jake in both instances basically just rolled out of fucking bed and threw something on (or that’s how it’s styled at least) which looks like it took like 10 minutes at the most to do..... while sandra (and every other female actress they critique) takes like literally 8 hours or more of hair and makeup getting ready for these major events and they get the low rankings????

like this pissed me off so so so much when i read/watched these panels. i was ready to fight every single one of them. and i was so happy when some of the women started fighting back a few years back now...... like elisabeth moss flipping the bird at the E!’s nail cam thing at the oscars i think... cate blanchett getting angry at the camera men for panning up her body in her dress. then there was emma thompson walking up on stage at idk the baftas or whatever carrying her heels and then she threw them over her shoulder. like god. i LIVED for that. and also there’s tiffany haddish turning up in the same alexander mcqueen dress to everything she can bc the goddamn dress is $4,000. like i’d do that to, girl. rock on.

like i hope we consistently get more of this as time goes on. because i’m so sick of male stars getting to turn up in jeans etc and being lauded as “casual, laidback and sexy next door hunk” and getting rated in the high out of ten (/10) range. while the women at these events are turning up looking like superstar material but getting rated like a 2 and get called “fashion challenged” or some other horrendous bullshit (half of them at the very least)..... all because one of these shitty overly judgemental fashion panelists doesn’t like one tiny detail of the woman’s outfit.

it’s ultimately why i stopped purchasing fashion/celeb etc mags and stopped watching E! and stopped engaging with other celeb news material. because it’s exactly where women learn to be catty, overly critical and bitchy.... instead of nice, supportive and non-judgemental. like watching fashion police back in high school made me super fucking bitter for ages... while also making me simultaneously hate myself bc i knew that i could never look like a hollywood star.

actually the worst segment on fashion police and in fashion mags was “starlet or streetwalker” (or something similar) where i remember female stars like kesha and britney spears were constantly labeled as “streetwalkers” which was like a nicer way (in their words) of saying “whore”. i’m pretty sure joan rivers/guiliana rancic called kesha a whore quite a few times actually.... bc of the way she dressed back in the late mid2000s/early 2010s because of her party girl image. like that got on my nerves so much that i was ready to fucking break the tv because they were calling my role models (once i found out kesha wasn’t a literal party girl all the time really lmao) whores while blantantly stupid but totes relatable & quirky/awkward Hot Girl Of The Minute™️ jennifer lawrence (at the time during 2011-2014) was touted as a starlet along with other young female stars.

anyway fashion panels are fucking venom and should fucking stop pitting women against each other. they should also stop lauding men when they turn up with tousled hair and just barely fucking dressed for a red carpet events. everyone is fucking over it. like start being nice to each other y’all. like why is it so fucking hard????

[dontshootmespence]

Swan Song

A/N: The start of a Winter Olympian AU for @illegalcerebral‘s AU Challenge! Also, go follow her because everything she writes is awesome! That being said, I know I can’t make this into a one shot because I’m a masochist, but I’m not actually sure how long this is going to be. 

P.S. I’m doing as much research into rules and regulations and the moves of each sport, but they may not all be completely accurate. I’m trying the best I can.

Chapter 1

Cue internal raging.

Emily Prentiss was flat out in the pipe having whiffed the Double McTwist 1260 again. She was so damn close. If she could land it in competition, she would be the first woman ever to do it. She wanted it so goddamn bad.

Pushing up, she hopped and slid down the rest of the pipe to where her coach was waiting. Markus Leskov was one of the best coaches in the world; the only reason she’d been able to afford his services was because her mother had pulled strings, but that’s all her mother had done for her.

For the last 18 years, Emily had worked her ass off to gain her mother’s attention; she knew it - she didn’t try to fight it. Granted she loved snowboarding too; she was pretty sure ice ran through her veins in more ways than one, but the reason she pushed herself so hard was because she hoped that her mother would finally peel herself away from her work for a split second to notice her again.

“Am I deluding myself?” She asked Marcus. “Can I hit this?”

Leskov hadn’t told her, mostly just because he was never the kind to show a ton of affection, but he had never trained a harder worker and doubt he ever would. “You can. You’re not leaning into enough because the backside rodeo isn’t as smooth as it could be. You come out of that smooth and you’ll nail it. Go again.”

“Get up, Prentiss!” Her teammate and competitor Allyson Reid screamed.

Snickering, Emily took a deep breath and saluted her coach before heading back up. “Got it, coach.” He believed in her...that should be enough, right?

“I love you, too,” Matt said into the phone. “Take care of the little man and the even newer little man.”

Kristy laughed as she ran her hand over her ever-protruding belly. “Love you. Bye, honey,” Kristy replied. Their second son, Jake, was due in a month, so she hadn’t been able to accompany Matt to the Olympics this year; she didn’t feel too bad though. His mother and father had gone with him and she and their eldest son David, would be watching on TV. 

David was so excited about getting to see his father on screen. I’m gonna be just like daddy when I grow up, he’d said as he made a sign for him. Matt couldn’t see it obviously, but David was going to hold it up anyway and send the pictures from across the globe.

After hanging up the phone, Matt handed it off to his coach and sped around the rink. He was competing in the 5,000 and 10,000-meter races, as well as the team pursuit. His legs were going to turn into jelly, but it was nothing like the pain that Kristy went through before and would be repeating in a matter of weeks, so he considered him blessed and leaned into the turn.

“I’m in!”

Spencer Reid spun around, his hair smacking into his face as he turned to see his friend of 20 years, Jennifer Jareau. The previous day he’d been notified of his acceptance to the American skating team; he was in his early, almost mid-20s. In skating age, that was pretty ancient - almost retirement age, so this was his last shot, and it was JJ’s too. “You’re on the team?”

“Yes!” JJ skated toward him, her white practice dress floating gently in the breeze she created. “I made it! This is the last chance for us, yea?”

Nodding, Spencer spun her around and started going through his routine in his mind. “I’d say so, so let’s give it our all and go out with a bang, okay?” He grabbed her hands and spun around in a circle. He’d been practicing day in and day out for nearly 20 years straight. He’d been so close in the past and so had JJ; they’d worked too hard for this.

"I plan on it.”

“Damn right, you do!” JJ turned around to see her sister, Rosaline, and coach, Alex Blake glide out onto the ice. Rosaline won the gold at the 2010 Olympics; JJ always wanted to be like her. This Olympics was her last shot to do it.

As if she could sense JJ’s thoughts, Rosaline cupped her sister’s face in her hands. “Stop comparing yourself to me. Your routines are amazing. If you nail them, the gold is yours. They’re the most difficult of the women’s routines. You’ll practice and the moment you step on that ice you’re gonna let everything go and have fun because this is what you love, okay?”

JJ swallowed the lump in her throat and rested her head against her sister’s before shooting Alex a hesitant smile. Rosaline was right, but letting things go was easier said than done. “Alright, I’m ready to start. Let’s do this,” she said with a huff of air and an even deeper breath.

“What about Spencer?” Alex asked, reaching out to greet the young man she’d come to know over the years. "You done yet?”

“No, but I’m still waiting for Hotch to get here. He’s running late today,” Spencer replied. His coach, Aaron Hotchner had come down with the flu recently. He, his wife Haley, and son Jack had been passing it back and forth - leaving him to coach Spencer over Skype. “Spencer, I can’t coach you in person right now. I can’t risk getting you sick before you try out for the Olympics!”

That had actually been for the best, but it was going to be nice to see his coach again. Despite his seniority, Spencer considered Hotch a friend; he’d put faith in him and his abilities when so few would, and had even slashed the price of services after seeing Spencer’s mother work herself to the bone to give her son and daughter the best shot at succeeding in the sport. “You start. I’ll wait for Hotch and watch your routine. I don’t think I’ve seen the whole thing yet.”

“And I haven’t seen yours either”

“You will.”

Searing pain ripped through her the second she hit the ground. “Elle Greenaway, 19, of the United States is down!” The announcer was speaking. What happened? 

“Do you know your name?”

“Elle Greenaway,” she replied softly, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. She was going on her gold medal run. “What happened?”

“Freak accident. One of your skis flew off mid jump.” In a panic, she looked down; she could barely feel her lower half. “Don’t move,” the man insisted. 

“I can’t feel my legs...I can’t feel my legs...I can’t feel my legs...”

As her feet hit the ground, she smiled. Her father jumped up and down, screaming about how amazing his “little girl” was until she skied up to him, embracing him. “How did that feel?” He asked. Beside him, her mother was sobbing.

“Good,” she breathed. “So good.”

“We couldn’t be more proud of you, Elle,” her mother said, sniffling. 

On that day eight years ago, she had fractured one her lower vertebrae; it took years of physical therapy and additional years of competing again to get back to where she’d been, but she was here. The Sochi Olympics had passed her by, and for a time following the 2014 games she found herself in a slump, but with her parents’ encouragement, she pushed through. Once again, she had a shot at gold.

Her skate hit the ice and they both screamed. 

Penelope Alvez nee Garcia screeched in delight. Her mouth dropped open and her husband came up behind her, hugging her tightly. “Increible, mi reina,” he whispered softly.

“You too, my love,” she replied, reaching back and rubbing his cheek with the palm of her hand. They had been practicing together for more than two decades now, and only now had they been able to consistently land one of the hardest moves in the art of pairs skating - the throw triple axel. “We really have a shot this year. We could win.”

“As long as I’m with you, I always win,” Luke said. 

Penelope snorted, her face blushing under the adulation of her husband and the cool breeze coming off the ice as they skated. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” This was going to be their last Olympics together. Presumably, they’d always be skating; both felt like it was in their blood, but after this year, they wanted to focus on something else - starting a family. 

For the last year, they’d been happily married, and both husband and wife wanted nothing more than to add to their family and introduce all the little Alvezes to the sport they loved so much. “Now all we have to do is make sure we nail the throw triple axel, the death spiral, the 2 overhead lifts, the jump sequence, the pair spin and the choreography and we have this in the bag,” Penelope said, shrugging under the pressure.

“The throw was the hardest and we’re doing it consistently. We’ve got this.” Luke had more than enough faith in them for the both of them. Years from now, he was sure they’d be able to tell their kids about the time mommy and daddy won gold at the Olympics.

It felt weird not being on the slopes. Kate Callahan had never done any other activity during her years in school and beyond. After seeing the Olympics as a child, specifically Heidi Preuss, she told her parents she wanted to ski. They’d tried getting her into other sports as well. They’d attempted to get her into musical instruments. But she wanted nothing else than to ski. “You think you’re ready?” Her coach, Maureen Zechmeister asked as they clinked glasses. It wasn’t booze, but it was a toast all the same. She only asked because she wanted to gauge Kate’s own belief in herself.

“I think I’ve got this. I’m gonna medal. I can feel it,” she smiled, taking a sip of her Diet Coke. In 2014, she nearly qualified, but came in fourth during qualifications. The past four years had been non-stop training and she’d qualified in first.

She and Maureen arrived in Pyeongchang a few days ago and had been training ever since, but Maureen was not about training oneself into the ground. “I do too. You’ve been training hard.” Her parents emerged from around the corner and waved. “You ready to eat?”

“Ummm...always.”

“Now, what did you do wrong?” Rossi asked as he approached Derek sprawled out on the slope.

Like his sister Desiree, Derek sought constant perfection in the hopes of proving their living mother and now deceased father proud. Little did they realize that both had always and would always remain proud of the three children they loved so much. David had first hand knowledge; he’d started as Derek’s coach after his father died. Promise me you’ll help his mother and look out for him.

Derek looked up, his brow furrowed in aggravation. “I’m trying to hard to make the best time and I’m bombing,” he said flatly, referring to the act of going recklessly fast down the slope.

“Exactly,” Rossi replied. “You want to carve, not bomb. You have this; you’re just pushing yourself too hard.”

Extending his hand, Rossi helped Derek up and caught his attention. “Hey, kid. Look at me.”

Derek was frustrated, his eyes scanning far off in the distance. He knew what Rossi was going to say and although he appreciated it, it wasn’t what he wanted to hear right now. 

“What am I, wood?” Rossi chuckled, slapping Derek’s shoulder. Once he had his attention, he continued. “You have all the skill necessary to win every event you’re in.” He hated seeing Derek so heavy with emotion. “I know why you try as hard as you do. He is proud. No matter whether you win or not. You know what he said to me all the time? Practically every day before he went to work?”

“No, what?” He actually didn’t know. “He told me he was proud all the time, encouraged me and everything , but...that’s a parent thing.”

Rossi huffed and leaned against the pole. “No, that’s a good parent thing,” he replied. Rossi was with Joy how Derek’s father had been with him. “He encouraged you and supported you and lived his life the way he did because he believed, and I quote ‘children are apt to live up to what their parents believe of them.’ He thought the world of you and your sisters, and you’ve already exceeded expectations, okay?”

Jabbing his poles into the ground, Derek took a deep breath of the cool mountain air and smiled despite himself. “Deep down, I know it. It’s just...”

“It’s hard,” Rossi finished. “He’s never far from your mind.”

“Exactly.”

It astounded Tara Lewis that her father could watch her come down the track in Olympic record pace for luging and yet say nothing, but this is how it had always been. He attempted to be fatherly by physically placing himself in her presence, but he never really showed her any indication of pride - only resentment that she had succeeded where he brother had failed.

Steven had always been the favorite - typical son over daughter bullshit, but honestly, Tara was pretty sure that if her father hadn’t been exactly how and who he was, she wouldn’t be where she is now. Tara worked harder and harder every day with her coach, Alexandra Heismer (who was more of a parent than her father had ever been), in order to succeed proudly, and in his face. “Olympic record pace, Dad!” She exclaimed, purposely pumping her fists in the face of his disappointment. “At this rate, I could pull out a world record run.”

Pulling off her helmet, she let her hair fly free and smiled up at the board. “Opening ceremony is tonight, so I’m gonna stop on a high today and go get ready.”

“You think you’ve trained enough?” Her father asked. There was a distinct hint of jealousy in his voice, not for himself, but for Steven. 

Tara nodded as she walked away. In 2010, she placed 5th. Four years later, she won bronze. This year was her golden run, and hopefully 2022 would follow suit. “Definitely. It’s my year.”

It was the Americans turn to enter the stadium. Everyone gathered into a large group, intermingling by sport. “Ready?” Tara asked the woman standing next to her.

“Oh me?” Emily replied. “Yup, I’m ready to go. What are you competing in?”

“Luge. You?”

“Snowboard cross and halfpipe.” Emily took in the look on the other woman’s face - almost free. “You look happy.”

“I am,” Tara replied. “I’ve worked my ass off, and I can’t wait to shove my success in my father’s face.”

Emily snorted as the group began to walk. “You have parent issues too? And we’re walking together. Fantastic,” she said. “Although I live and breathe snowboarding, I am wondering if my mother will actually give a shit if I medal.”

As they continued on, they found out that they were competing, for the most part, on opposing days. “You cheer me on, I’ll cheer you?” Tara asked.

“Sounds good to me.”

“What about me?” Ally butted in after giving her brother a tackle hug. She’d been training so hard she hadn’t seen him since they landed in Pyeongchang the week before. 

They marched onward with the rest of the American athletes, meeting up with people they’d known for years and introducing themselves to those they’d never met. The two women were familiar with Spencer Reid and Jennifer Jareau, considering that figure skating tended to be the most spoken about winter sport. Emily had met Spencer before, but do to the Reid twins both being involved in sports, they never really got the chance to know each other. She was stunned that she’d never met Derek Morgan before though, she had heard his name in passing.

In turn, Spencer and JJ met up with Luke and Penelope, having last seen them at their wedding the year before. Though they lived across the US from each other, they kept in touch after meeting years earlier at the World Championship. 

JJ also saw Elle Greenaway from across the group and ran over with Spencer in tow to introduce herself and tell her how inspirational she found her. “I watched your first Olympics when I was 16, and my heart broke for you, but I’ve been following your career ever since. Spencer and I are actually going to be there tomorrow when you compete.”

“That’s amazing! It’s so nice to met you both,” Elle replied with tears in her eyes.

They were nearing the halfway point when Matt introduced himself to JJ and Spencer introduced himself to Kate. The entire group of nearly 300 American athletes delving into random conversations about their sports or what they happened to have for lunch that day. It was somehow small scale and the largest scale possible.

It didn’t matter whether or not it was their first games, their second or without a doubt their last, walking at the opening ceremony and competing as a whole left them all euphoric - pressure be damned.

@jamiemelyn @coveofmemories @iammostdefinitelyonfire26 @unstoppableangel8 @rmmalta @lukeassmanalvez @veroinnumera @lookwhatyoumademequeue @kalie-bee @remember-me-forever-silent-angel @beereadsthings @cherry-loves-fanfic @bitchinprentiss

[beardedchrisevans]

CHRIS EVANS IS READY TO FIGHT His success as captain america has made Chris Evans one of Hollywood's sure things, which means he can do whatever he wants with his free time. So why jump out of airplanes and get into it with David Duke?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, did you now?

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

Again the crew member shouts, "Who's going first?"

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

I look at Evans; he looks at me.

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

That's an excellent question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah," he says, popping open his beer, "I don't know what I was thinking."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The kid was sixteen years old.

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the plane, a decision is made.

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

Of course he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so I go first.

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

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

Three.

Two.

One.

Holy fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

"Jumping out," he says. "Jumping out is always a real thrill."

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