#{evans}

[tealfling]

Me seeing a white haired male character anywhere:

[zaidaoriori-comms-open]

" Those who forget their own history are condemned to repeat it. "

[pankowcrumbs]

hi! I rly love your flics ur taking request right now, would it be alright if you could make one it's a Chris Evans x fem wife reader where Chris’s arms are kind of like reader’s safe place? Like reader kind of rly loves to sleep in his arms or just hold one of his when they’re walking together or even eating beside each other. basically she likes to hold his arms in any given occasion, and peter likes it and is really sweet about it :) just some fluffy sweet intimate stuff

MasterList

Marvel MasterList

There’s a moment, every single morning, when I wake up and realise I’m not alone. Not because of the warmth in the bed or the faint scent of cologne still clinging to the pillow. But because of his arms.

Strong, solid, and always wrapped around me.

I don’t know exactly when it started that need to be tangled up with him. I used to be a sprawled-out, limbs-everywhere kind of sleeper. But with Chris, it’s like my body learned that the best place it could possibly be… was held tight in his arms.

This morning is no different.

I blink slowly, sunlight creeping through the curtains, and I feel it first his arm, heavy across my waist, hand resting gently on my stomach. His thumb moves, the softest stroke against my skin, and I know he’s awake.

“Morning,” I mumble, my voice still scratchy with sleep.

He shifts behind me, pressing a kiss just beneath my ear. “Morning, sweetheart.”

God, that voice. The way it rumbles through my back when he’s this close. I smile into the pillow.

“Comfortable?” he asks, amused.

I nod, pressing my hand over his forearm. “I’m always comfortable with you.”

His arms have always been my favourite place. Not just in bed, but everywhere. There’s something so grounding about them whether we’re walking down the street or curled up on the sofa or sat at some fancy event. It’s like the moment I hold onto his arm, everything else melts away.

And he never complains. In fact, I think he loves it.

Later that morning, we head out for brunch. Nothing fancy, just a little café around the corner with strong coffee and the fluffiest pancakes I’ve ever tasted.

Chris drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. I reach across and slip my fingers around his forearm. He glances over briefly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You do realise you hold onto me like I might float away, right?” he teases, voice soft.

“Maybe I’m just making sure I don’t float away,” I reply, giving him a mock-serious look.

He laughs quietly, and with one hand still on the wheel, he lifts his other just enough to lace his fingers with mine.

“You’re not going anywhere. Not if I can help it.”

At the café, we slide into a corner booth and I sit beside him not across from him, like normal people might but right next to him so I can tuck myself into his side. I rest my hand on his arm while we wait for our food, tracing slow lines over the fabric of his sleeve.

He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, halfway through talking about something his brother said the other day, he pauses to tilt his head toward mine.

“Comfy?”

“Mmm.”

He smiles. “You’re like a sleepy little koala sometimes, you know that?”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

He chuckles, leans in, and presses a kiss to my temple. “You should.”

The thing is, Chris is a solid person. Not just physically though, yes, his arms are distracting in the best way possible but emotionally. He’s… constant. Safe. When the world gets too loud or work gets too overwhelming or my own thoughts spiral into something sharp and tangled, I always find myself gravitating toward him.

And I think he knows that.

Sometimes he doesn’t say a word he just opens his arms like he’s been waiting all day to hold me.

Once, after a particularly rubbish meeting that had me doubting everything, I came home and found him on the sofa, reading. I didn’t say anything I just walked over, curled into his side, and held onto his arm like it was the only thing keeping me upright.

He didn’t ask what was wrong. He just kissed the top of my head and held me until I could breathe again.

Later that day, after brunch and a quiet stroll through the park where, yes, I clung to his arm the whole time we stop at a bookshop. Chris lets go of my hand to look at some vintage travel books, and for a second, I feel oddly untethered.

I wander around a bit, fingers trailing over spines, but my eyes keep flicking back to him. He’s crouched down, brows furrowed in thought, arms flexed ever so slightly as he flips through pages.

I don’t even try to resist. I walk over and wrap my arm around one of his from behind, resting my chin on his shoulder.

“Find anything good?” I murmur.

He grins. “Only the best travel tips from 1973.”

I giggle into his jumper, nuzzling a little closer. “Sounds promising.”

He turns his head just enough to kiss my cheek. “You okay?”

“Now I am.”

That night, we stay in. Chinese takeaway, a bottle of wine, and some film Chris has already seen three times but insists I’ll love.

We curl up on the sofa, and before the opening credits even finish, I’ve tucked my feet beneath me and wrapped my arms around his once more.

He shifts slightly, pulling me closer until my head’s against his chest and his arm is around me properly. His fingers start drawing slow circles on my arm like he knows how to soothe me without a word.

“You’re clingy tonight,” he says gently, not unkindly.

“I know. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He tilts my chin up so I have to look at him. “I like when you hold onto me.”

My throat tightens a bit. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Makes me feel… needed. Like I get to be your safe place too.”

“You are.”

There’s a pause. The quiet hum of the TV in the background. And then he says, almost like he’s been holding it in all day:

“You can always hold onto me, love. As much as you want. As long as you need.”

Later, when I’m half-asleep in his arms again, I feel him adjust slightly, tucking the blanket around me, brushing a kiss across my forehead.

“You know,” he murmurs against my skin, “I used to think strength meant standing tall. Being the one holding everyone else up.”

I blink sleepily. “You are.”

He smiles. “Maybe. But now I think strength can also look like this. Like quiet moments. Like knowing someone trusts you enough to fall asleep on your arm.”

My voice is soft, slurred with sleep. “You make it easy.”

[storyparrot]

Lily: Soo, Remus, what are your new years resolutions?

Remus:

Remus: surviving

[georgiapeach30513]

Feige and the Russos talk about bringing RDJ and Chris back to Marvel.

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue May 1951

Balenciaga Adaptation: A black silk shantung dress offering two presentation options. Either with its half-white, half-black stole tucked into the collar, hidden at the waist, and cascading down in a flowing panel, or with the stole worn alone, the dress simply highlighting the beautiful oval shape of the skirt and the new teardrop neckline. Adapted by Matty Talmack. Faille bag by Evans.

Adaptation Balenciaga : Robe en shantung en soie noire offrant deux possibilités de présentation. Soit avec son étole mi-blanche, mi-noire glissée dans le col, rentrée dans la ceinture et s'élevant en un pan flottant, soit avec l'étole portée seule, la robe mettant simplement en valeur la belle forme ovale de la jupe et la nouvelle découpe en goutte d'eau du décolleté. Adapté par Matty Talmack. Sac en faille par Evans.

Photo Clifford Coffin

[maxdibert]

What do you think about Lily’s origins? We know she’s from Cokeworth but unlike Severus her family isn’t mentioned to be stuck in poverty. I still believe she comes from a working class household and money —for me— has to be the only logical reason she married James.

I think she came from a working-class family, but not a poor one. There's a difference between not being rich or middle class and actually being poor. Severus was poor; Lily wasn't. The Evanses probably couldn't afford to go on holiday every year, but they could afford to provide their daughters with the basics, keep a roof over their heads, and pay their bills at the end of the month, which is a far cry from living in absolute poverty. I imagine they were also a fairly traditional family. Both Lily and Petunia chose very traditional lifestyles: they both married men who offered them financial and social security, they both did so at a young age, and they both became mothers while still barely out of adolescence.

That’s not the mindset of a family with real ambitions for their daughters, the kind who want to see them study, build careers, become independent. That’s the mindset of traditional parents who raised their daughters to find husbands and live lives based on old-fashioned gender roles. For example, my mum is from the same generation as Lily and Petunia. My grandparents didn’t go to university, and my grandmother was a housewife, but they spent their lives saving up so they could one day send their children to university. They insisted that my mum and her siblings get an education, regardless of gender, because that was a way to climb the social ladder and have a better life in the future.

I don’t see the Evanses doing the same, because neither of their daughters seemed interested in being self-sufficient. The moment they had the chance, they found partners who were economically above them and chose to become mothers and wives before they’d even had the chance to grow up and discover who they were — especially as women. I think the Evanses must have been quite conservative in that regard, and passed those values on to their daughters. I imagine it was the father who worked and the mother who stayed at home.

I also believe they had aspirations of upward mobility, because Petunia makes a rather classist comment about Severus the first time they meet, and at that point, Petunia is just a child. Children aren’t classist or dismissive by nature, not unless they’ve been taught to be. Children repeat what they hear at home and imitate their parents’ attitudes. So if Petunia behaved that way, it’s because she’d seen it at home.

I picture the Evanses as the kind of working-class people who would’ve been looked down on by anyone of higher social standing, but who themselves looked down on those just beneath them. That kind of dissonance — the desire to feel some form of social power despite not having any — leads people to assert that power by being dismissive toward those who are even lower on the social scale. And that would explain a lot of Petunia’s behaviour later in life. her airs, her pretentiousness, and why she ended up so compatible with Vernon.

It would also explain why Lily didn’t seem to take issue with James’s clearly classist behaviour, and why she was comfortable with someone like him.