#god forbid i enjoy one food for myself and just myself instead of offering it to my brothers as well as if im not always giving them food

[cherry-treelane]

first thing my father does when he gets home from work is criticise me and nitpick every miniscule action of mine and complain complain complain im going insane. whether it be how i cut the fucking watermelon or how i arranged the cutlery drawer or why im not paying enough attention to the toddler when ive been giving him my attention all day and just want to spend 5 minutes of peace in my room JUST PLEASE LEAVE ME BE IM TRYING MY BEST IS THAT NOT ENOUGH

[rainydaymiddleearthimagines]

Till the sun Dies Aragorn x plus size!reader

Aragorn sighed, watching the people before him dance. If one more princess or duchess asked him to dance, he was sure to stab someone with the blade that was always strapped to his side. He hated this side to ruling, he was much better out on the battlefield than in a ballroom. This was due to Elrond’s insistence to “Find a queen”. The elf was very insistent to a point of offering Arwen’s hand to prove the point but Aragorn declined. If he was to find a queen it would not be to someone who practically raised him or an arranged marriage, he insisted to have it happen with someone he loved. 

Only problem? Aragorn was not in love with anyone and Elrond was so damn pushy, Aragorn threw a party. So now he was in a room with stifling rich women who wanted to marry him. Aragorn just sat on his throne looking very annoyed with this entire ordeal. “excuse me, your highness?” A voice asked. He looked over, keeping the annoyed face making the servant jump back slightly. “Would.. You like more wine sire?” the girl asked. “...Yes. please the one from last week was nice.” He said. She gulped. “The...Cook said it does not go with the dish sire. He wouldn’t allow it.” She said. Aragorn rose a brow. “Then bring me something very strong.” He said. The servant still didn’t move. “...Lord Elrond forbid us from serving anything like that and...” She seemed to shake. “Katerina, it is only me. Tell me the rest.” Aragorn said softer. “It- it’s not you I’m afraid of sire its the chef.” She muttered. “He’s that bad?” Aragorn asked. “He’s terrifying!” she yelped. Aragorn blinked, leaning off of the throne.

 “Take me to him.” He said. “What?” Katerina asked. “Staff within these walls should not be afraid of one another. Take me to this man.” Aragorn said. She walked off with him, walking through the halls to the kitchen. 

“ARE YOU STUPID? DO YOU NOT COMPREHEND WHAT I HAVE JUST TOLD YOU!?” A voice yelled. You looked over at the poor boy who was at the end of the yelling. “No-no sir I understood but we don’t have--” “THEN. GO. OUT. AND. BUY. IT.” The chef said. You continued cutting potatoes, silent as you looked at Katerina who was shaking in the doorway next to a figure. You dropped your potato before you could see a face, it rolling and hitting the person’s boot. They leaned down, picking it up. “Thank you-” You looked up, gulping. “Sire.” you breathed. Aragorn paused, looking in your eyes. 

By the Valar... You were beautiful. Your eyes, your hair- everything was gorgeous. “Oy, fat oaf. Over here, now.” The chef said. You turned around, looking at him. “the king is here sir.” you said, voice shaking slightly. Gods, your voice was nice to hear as well. “What did you just call this woman?” Aragorn asked. “Sire it’s fine-” “No, it is not.” Aragorn said, walking forward. “If I hear talks of you screaming at any of the staff within these walls, I will personally remove you. Am I clear?” Aragorn asked. Katerina leaned over whispering in your ear. “He looks great doing that, doesn’t he?” She said. You looked at Aragorn, his face stern but his eyes gentle. “...Don’t be ridiculous, that is our king.” you muttered, looking down. You expected Gavin (The chef) to back down, after all the king had told him to stop. 

Instead the man pointed a wooden spoon to him. “You eat my food, which you all seem to enjoy and you tell me how to operate MY KITCHEN!?” He snapped. You all backed away from the two men. Aragorn looked down at the wooden spoon. “Sorry, would you like to be personally booted from the premises or would you like a guard to handle it?” Aragorn asked. “You do not remove anyone!” Gavin huffed, still waving the spoon. Aragorn gripped it, snapping the spoon from its small hilt. “Try waving it now, I think you could so magic if you wave hard enough.” Aragorn said. You resisted a snort. “I QUIT!” Gavin screamed. “Goodbye.” Aragorn said as the man shoved passed him. 

“Now... Who else here cooks?” Aragorn asked. No show of hands. “...None of you cook?” He asked. “He wouldn’t allow us to actually cook. We more.. Cut things and cleaned.” A servant answered. “Allow me to rephrase this... Who here can cook?” He asked. Katerina pointed to you. “Kat!” you said, pulling her hand down. “She can cook sire, I’ve eaten food in her home... It’s quite tasty!” She said. “...I trust your judgement, what is your name?” Aragorn asked. “Y/n.” you answered. “Great. You’re in charge of the kitchens as chef.” He said. “I’m what--” “Now as the chef, I ask that you point the direction of the ale.” He said. “...I wish I could sire but sir Elrond locked the cabinet the barrels are in.” you admitted. Aragorn grit his teeth. “That thorough little shit.” he huffed. 

A man handed him a flask. “Kept it because Gavin’s voice got tiring enough.” The stable boy said. “You are a friend to all tonight.” The king said, downing the entire flask in one go. “Thank you.” Aragorn said, walking out. “...Did the King just empty your flask?” A man asked. “...Yes he did.” The stable boy nodded.

the night ended after three more hours, Aragorn not even getting a buzz. Damn his increased tolerance for alcohol. He did feel terrible though from all the drinking, him going to the kitchens late in the night. He walked in, running his hand over his beard as he sat on a stool before hearing a thud. “Ow- By the nine worlds- how many damn apples did Gavin shove in here!?” You asked as another one pelted your head. You sighed, brushing your apron before seeing the king. You bowed, him holding his hand up as if to indicate a “Stop.” You immediately rose. “Tis very late for you to be here Lady Y/n.” He said. “I.. Well this new promotion has me very confused. Gavin would only let us go to certain areas of the kitchen, I’m trying to be well acquainted with it.” You admitted. “And you discovered the cabinet of fruit?” he asked, noticing the mess of apples on the floor. “No sir... Just apples.” You answered. Aragorn rose a brow, walking over to the cabinet.

You weren’t joking. There had to have been at least four hundred apples shoved in the cabinet. “...How in the hell was that even possible?” He asked. “I have no idea...” you admitted. He looked over at you, raising a brow. “How long have you worked here?” He asked. “...My whole life.” You answered. He nodded. “I started as a servant girl. More of a maid for Denethor.” You explained. “What landed you in here?” Aragorn asked. “I eventually became more of an errand girl... Which Denethor tended to eat a lot of food. Until eventually I came to the kitchen so often I ended up working here.” You said. Aragorn nodded. “Why don’t you go home? It is late and you need the rest.” Aragorn said. You shuffled a little. “I do not dare to walk through the woods at night sire.” you said. He rose a brow. “You live in the woods?” he asked. “Yes sire, in a cottage.” you said. 

He looked at you up and down. “Do you have a place to stay for the night?” He asked. “I tend to sleep in the stables on late nights.” you said. He frowned. “No lady should sleep in a stable.” He said. “Sire, I’m not a lady I’m a servant.” you corrected. “Any woman, even if a servant, is a lady in my eyes.” he said. You said nothing, looking down. “did you come here for something sire?” you asked. “Oh... Water.” he answered. You nodded, walking away. “I can get it myself-” “Sire it is my job.” you said. “Are you always this insistent?” he asked. “I...” you sighed. “I need to keep my hands busy sire. When I don’t I tend to bother myself with dreadful thoughts.” you muttered. He nodded. “I understand how that feels.” He muttered. “You do?” You asked. “I have witnessed a lot of gruesome things outside and within these walls... They tend to really haunt the mind.” He explained. You nodded with a sad look in your eyes.

You said nothing more, drawing water from a bucket and putting it into a cup. Aragorn took it, looking at you. “Y/n..” He said. You turned around confused. “Did Denethor treat you well?” He asked. You looked down. “Sire, you are the first of royalty to treat me with kindness outside of Faramir and..” you swallowed. It registered who else walked these halls. “You knew Boromir?” He asked. “Yes.” you said, a reminiscing smile on your lips. “Faramir and Boromir were almost like brothers to me.” You said. Aragorn nodded. “Boromir was a good man.” He said. “He was kind to me... Meanwhile Denethor usually called me..” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “A oafish pig.” you said. Aragorn really didn’t like hearing this. 

“Y/n, you are by no means ‘oafish’ or a ‘pig’.” Aragorn said. You looked at him with a confused look. “Why do you do that?” you asked. “Do what?” he asked. “You’re being unusually nice to me. I am just a servant, nothing more.” You said. “Every person deserves to be treated with respect until proven otherwise.” Aragorn said simply. “But-” “Y/n, are you usually this reluctant to people?” He asked. “...Yes.” you said. He chuckled. “I should go.” You muttered. “Right! I suspect you know where the guest chambers are?” He asked. “...Sire, those are occupied.” you said. “...By whom?” he asked. “Lord Faramir.” You said, leaving out the second guest. “I see... Which probably means Eowyn is with him.” Aragorn nodded. You blinked. “You... Are aware of the relationship?” You asked. “Of course I am, I introduced them.” He said. You blinked. “You did?” You asked. 

“Oh yes. I’m rather good with other peoples love lives.” He said. You noticed how he worded that. “But not your own?” you asked, without thinking. He blinked a couple of times, you retreating back. “I didn’t- I am so sorry--” he laughed. “No my own love life is... Well it’s messy.” He chuckled. You sighed with relief. “What of you lady Y/n?” He asked. “My love life is nonexistent.” you said, looking slightly disappointed by your own answer. “Really?” He asked, looking at you. You were a beautiful maiden, it surprised him that you never had any love interest. “When you look like this no one really...” you sighed. “Y/n, you’re beautiful, what are you talking about?” Aragorn asked without thinking. 

You swallowed, looking at the man. “Do you not think yourself to be a fair maiden?” He asked. You shook your head. “I... My whole life I’ve been told otherwise.” you admitted. “Y/n...” Aragorn seemed saddened by your answer. You cleared your throat. “you... Y/n, you can sleep in my quarters tonight.” He said. You blinked. “What?” You asked. “You can sleep--” “sire I couldn’t--” “Y/n, I will sleep in a chair-” “Sire no! I should be the one to sleep in a chair!” “So you’ll do it then! Great.” He nodded. “Wait I didn’t mean- Sire!”

Thus leading to you standing in the man’s quarters as he stood behind a partition changing. You looked around at the walls, them being of stone. Then you saw a sword on the mantle of the fireplace. You had heard the tale of  Andúril. How it broke off in the first battle for the ring when Isildur owned it. Now it was rebuilt, on display in front of you. 

“Do you like blades Lady Y/n?” Aragorn asked, standing behind you. You jumped, swallowing hard. “I am... More of a bow woman. Easier to hunt with for me.” you said. He rose a brow. “You enjoy hunting?” He asked. “Yes sire. It calms my nerves.” You said. “I take it you have the proper protection when you hunt in the forest?” He asked. You shrugged. “I make it actually.” you admitted. “You make armor?” He asked. You flushed with embarrassment. “I have to...” you muttered. “Why?” He asked. You shifted and he rose a brow. “...no one really makes it in my size.” you muttered. He blinked. “Armor is typically catered to those of...” you cleared your throat. “Of a thinner figure than mine.” you said, right now feeling uncomfortable. He looked at you. “Why are you embarrassed to have such an impressive skill?” He asked. “I’m embarrassed because of the reason I’ve gained the skill.” you said. He hated seeing you tear yourself down like that. “You’re an impressive woman Y/n, make no mistake.” He said. You looked up at him. “...thank you sire.” You said softly.

you slept in a chair, a blanket over you as you did. It must’ve been before sunrise when you heard Aragorn’s mutters. You opened your eyes, adjusting to the lack of light when you saw him. “No... NO!” he yelled, leaning up. You sat up, confused. He clutched his chest, panting like a madman. “Sire?” You asked, your voice soft. He looked over, sighing. “I woke you. I’m sorry.” He muttered. You got up, kneeling beside his bed. “You didn’t wake me.” You assured. In a half asleep state, he leaned onto you, his head landing on your shoulder. You jumped slightly. “I could hear them screaming...” Aragorn muttered. “Who?” You asked softly. “The men...From... Helm’s Deep..” He muttered, you feeling tears fall. You subconsciously started stroking his head gently. “I let them die.” He whimpered. “You saved us all... In more ways than one...” you said softly. He clung to you, your heart pounding. “Please... Stay with me.” He whispered. Your arms slowly wrapped around him. “I’m not leaving sire...” You said softly. 

The morning sun was creeping and Aragorn woke up, his arms cuddling something. He figured, from the way he usually slept it was a pillow. But then he noticed when he moved his hand it felt like hair. Wait... He leaned up to see you sleeping next to him. He paused, trying to remember what happened. He recalled awaking in the night, he remembered waking you.... What was he... Oh

You soothed him back to sleep. He asked you to stay. He wondered how he should go about this? Should he wake you? You were up pretty late and honestly it’d be rude to wake you just so you’d leave. Should he not move? Well that wouldn’t work, he had a meeting with Elrond today. Should he just go? Maybe he should leave a note so you wouldn’t be completely confused. That seemed logical... Right? OH FOR VALAR’S SAKE YOU WERE A SERVANT. NOT A LOVER, THIS SHOULDN’T BE THAT HARD.

You let out a small groan before leaning up. He didn’t move and you gasped, realizing that he was looking dead at you. You yanked back, falling off the bed and alarming Aragorn in the process. “I AM SO SORRY YOUR HIGHNESS!” You yelped, moving back and hitting the dresser behind you. “Y/n! It’s fine, I should apologize for making you sleep here with me!” He said. “N-no I shouldn’t have even been here-- Oh by the nine-- WHAT TIME IS IT!?” You asked. “Y/n... You’re the head of the kitchens now, you make the times for your own job.” He reminded. “NO LORD ELROND SPECIFICALLY WANTED ME AWAKE AT SUNRISE! SHIT!” You said, putting on your shoes and hopping around on one foot as you tried to put the other one on. “Y/n, I will explain to him what happen, he will understand” Aragorn said calmly. “I didn’t even hunt for you today! Gah!” you yelled before knocking into a mop bucket. Aragorn stood up, helping you up. “Annndd now I’m wet, this is PERFECT.” you whined. 

“Y/n. Breathe. Calm down. We will hunt together.” He said. “...We will?” You asked. “I don’t just go to war Y/n, I was a ranger of Gondor before I was king.” He said. You sighed. “I need to go home then...” you said. “I’ll go with you. You’re technically awake at sunrise by the way. The sun is still rising..” He said. You sighed and nodded. “I’ll warn you now... My home is not much.” you muttered. “My home was a hollowed out tree for a year. I do not care where you live as long as it’s safe for you.” he said simply. 

And there you were, walking a woodland path with Aragorn. “You take this path everyday?” he asked, ducking under branches as he walked. “Everyday.” You nodded, stepping over a log. You carefully stepped onto stones before you untied your apron and walked to a small cottage. At first glance, many would have thought that your home was a forge. You walked in, a cat looking up from a chair. You sighed, as Aragorn stepped in behind you. Blueprints were scattered around on a desk by a window for armor. He noticed you walk into a room he presumed to be your bedroom and turned around looking at the rest of your home. He saw your kitchen, it being small but perfect for one person. He saw your messy desk, he saw gardening tools around. He looked out the window and saw a small but well kept garden. He saw near your desk books on the floors, some to do with smithing, others on atlases and the world. He noticed though, the entire separate stack next to the atlases. It was a whole stack of history books and papers with scribblings tucked between the books. There were also language books... Were you trying to learn elvish?

“you really like reading don’t you?” Aragorn asked. “Oh! Yes I do.” You answered from your room. “ Care- tye quet- eldarin? (Do you speak elvish?)” He asked. “ Ni care-! Quite fluentlime actuallime. (I do! Quite fluently actually.)” You answered. You looked up, realizing that he asked you in elvish. “ Tye quet- eldarin sire? (You speak elvish sire?)” You asked. “ Héru elrond raised me an yen. (Lord Elrond raised me for year.)” He said, petting the cat. You walked out in leather armor and a bow. The bow caught his eye. There were small pictures engraved on the bow. They were very detailed, making him shocked that someone could make such small images that beautiful. “Did you do those?” He asked. “Oh... yes I carve pictures into it when I’m bored at home.” you admitted as you opened a cabinet next to your desk. You pulled a dagger from it, putting it into a small sheathe. 

You seemed relatively focused when you were hunting. You were very quiet, very careful and very set on finding what you wanted. Aragorn let you take the lead, watching you step forward. You locked onto something, hooking your arrow to the string and pulling back. You sucked in a breath, looking at a deer before releasing the arrow. You quickly fired two more arrows and killed it, walking over to it. “You have good aim.” Aragorn said. “Thank you.” you said, beginning the process of getting the meat. You heard a noise though and looked up. “You remind me of Legolas--” “Shhh.” you hushed. Another noise, along with heavy breathing. You rose, slowly. “Crap.” you breathed. 

Aragorn followed your eyes to what worried you. A bear. A very big, very angry looking bear. You stepped back Aragorn drawing his sword. You hooked another arrow to your string, locking eyes with it and watching as it let out a loud roar on its hindlegs. You fired, hitting its jaw. You looked over at Aragorn who was very much prepared to attack and watched as he leapt forward, striking the bear. You aimed again, hitting the shoulder of the bear before it seemed to really be annoyed with Aragorn, tackling him to the ground. “Aragorn!” you gasped. “ONE LAST ARROW!” “I don’t have a clear shot!” you breathed. “DO IT ANYWAY!” He yelled. You nodded, trying to avoid hitting Aragorn. You were amazed by your own aim as you shot the bear, it ceasing movement. Aragorn pushed the bear off of him and stood up. 

“Sire are you--” “You have got to meet Legolas, he would love you.” Aragorn chuckled. You looked at him worried. “Y/n?” He asked. “You could’ve gotten hurt you dolt! What were you thinking, charging into a fucking bear like that!?” you asked. He blinked, noticing the change in your personality.  “...Sorry for worrying you Y/n.” He said. you covered your mouth reminding yourself who you were speaking with. “I’m sorry I-I don’t know what came over me your highness--” “Y/n, It is fine. I want you to address me like a friend.” He said. “...why?” you asked. “I would say we’re friends. I mean, I do not share my bed with acquaintances.” He said. "I... I still should not have snapped..." You said. "I worried you Y/n. It's fine." He said sincerely. You sighed, saying nothing but walking over and collecting the deer meat and walking back. Aragorn followed, noticing figures in the woods. He wasn't sure if the figures were people or animals, seeing them all around him.

"Y/n are you aware of the figures in the woods?" He asked. You nodded. "That would be the fades." You said nonchalantly. "Fades? Like... Ghosts?" He asked. "Didn't you charge with the dead?" You asked. "Yes, I'm not afraid I'm merely walking with caution." He said. You snorted, laughing at the man's refusal to admit he was scared. He smiled, hearing your laugh. "It's alright to admit they scare you your highness." You said. He watched you turn around and time seemed to stop.

You had this beautiful smile, the breeze blowing your hair and his heart pounded in his ears. He swore for a moment he had seen a painting similar to you. That or you had to have been directly from a painting. Either way? You were gorgeous. 

Weeks had passed, you usually finding Aragorn in the kitchens. He actually would end up doing tasks himself, washing dishes, peeling foods, cleaning around the areas. The kitchen staff (except you) could tell why he was there. And the reason was out tonight. “Where is Y/n?” Aragorn asked, confused. “Sick... Katerina is actually very worried, the woman couldn’t even move this morning.” A man answered. He pondered. He knew you said the woods were dangerous at night but if your safety was at a risk... “fuck it.” He thought to himself, going to the stables.

He rode down the path you took, understanding just what you meant when you said it was dangerous. Fades were practically everywhere. Truth be told when he met the King of the dead, he was deeply unsettled by him but kept it to himself because thousands of lives were at stake. Aragorn finally reached your home, opening the door to find Katerina pacing. She looked over and froze. “King Aragorn what--” “Where is she?” He asked. She pointed to your room and he walked in, seeing you unconscious. “What are her symptoms?” He asked. “She’s running a fever, can’t keep any food or water down and she’s been dry heaving when she wakes up.” Katerina answered. Problem number one was the being unable to keep water down. “does she keep herbs around?” he asked. “Like cooking?” Katerina asked. Aragorn sighed. “OH! Medicinal herbs? Yes, in her closet over there on a shelf.” She realized. He opened the door and found various tools in the closet, it being lined with shelves with labeled jars and various potion like things. A book sat in the corner labeled “Discovered Remedies”. Out of both desperation and curiosity he opened it, reading it. He found that you seemed very well versed in remedies for things like a common cold and even stumbled across remedies for poison. Nothing though for what he was seeing. 

He thought to himself what would help and reached an answer. “Elvish medicine.” He realized. “There is an elven encampment nearby.” Katerina said. “There is?” He asked. “Yes, two miles west from here.” She said. He nodded, walking out. “You’re not going out there at night!” She gaped. “Y/n needs help.” He said before leaving. You whimpered, feeling unbearably warm. “Y/n, the king has gone to get help..” Katerina soothed. “Ara...Aragorn..” you muttered in a barely lucid state. She held you close, wiping the sweat off of your forehead with a wet cloth. “I don’t care what anyone says... That man loves you.” she muttered. “Love...” you muttered, trying to speak. “Shhh.” Katerina said. “Love...” you uttered again. “Y/n, this can’t be healthy to push yourself.” Katerina said softly. “I... Love... him.” you muttered. Katerina paused. “The King?” She asked. “y...yes.” you coughed out. She looked at you and then smiled. “Oh I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear.” she muttered. 

Aragorn rode through the forest, going as fast as he could. He found the encampment rather quickly, seeing the elves eating around a fire. He dismounted, running over. They all drew weapons but he raised his hands. “ Ni maure help. Mime nur na- laiva, se pole-'t get better  (I need help. My friend is sick, she can't get better.)” He said. They looked at him up and down. “ Sina nur, does se cui- -esse i cottage atta miles au-? (This friend, does she live in the cottage two miles away?)” An elven woman asked. “yes.” He nodded. They all seemed alarmed. “We will help.” she nodded. 

You seemed to be getting worse, your temperature getting to a very concerning point. Katerina was trying to keep calm, waiting on someone to come back. She started thanking Gods when the front door shot open, two elves walking in. “Lift her head.” one of them said. She lifted your head slowly, you whining in pain. One of them opened your mouth, forcing some sort of elixir down your mouth. You coughed but kept it down. “That should subside the vomiting. Get her some water.” The elf told the other elf. The elven woman ran and came back with water. “Now, miss Katerina... We’re going to ask you to hold her down” He said. she blinked. “Why?” She asked. “We know she’s not going to react well to the potion, most actually fight us out of it.” The elven woman said. Katerina reluctantly held down your arms. 

They put something in your mouth that made you fight against them and Katerina had trouble holding you back from trying to get it out of your mouth. “Y/n, calm down, please we’re trying to help!” Katerina said. Eventually you calmed down, the sweating and fever dying down by sunrise. Katerina left you with Aragorn, him watching over you from a chair next to your bed. You woke up around sunrise, seeing Aragorn asleep with your cat in his lap. You weren’t entirely sure if this was a dream or not. It had to have been right? For him to be here? 

He felt someone staring, opening his eyes to see you yawning. “You’re awake” He said relieved. “When did I even come home?” You asked quietly. “You don’t remember coming home?” He asked. “No... I just remember feeling warm... Now I’m cold.” you shivered. He wrapped his cloak around you, feeling your forehead. “The fever has died down.” He said. He allowed his hand to drift to your cheek, caressing it with his thumb. You knew now this was no dream. By feeling his touch you were now wide awake. “S-sire, what are you doing here?” You asked. He looked down. “Y/n, I noticed you were gone one night. Someone in my staff told me you were sick, why didn’t you mention anything?” He asked. You sighed, “Because I didn’t want to get in the way. Sire, I’ve become a large part in your daily life these past weeks, I didn’t want you to deal with.. with this!” you said. “Y/n, you pushed yourself past the need for human medicine if it hadn’t been for the elves, you would have died.” He said. you shook your head. “I do not need you here taking care of me sire, that is my job for you! Don’t you see that our dynamic isn’t normal!?” “Stop calling me Sire!” “Do you not hear yourself? This is not normal for me to be this close to you!” “Do you wish to be close to me Y/n?” He asked. You sighed. “this isn’t about what I want-” “As your king I am asking you: What do you want?” Aragorn asked. 

Your heart pounded in your ears. “...You.” you responded, heart still going. “I’m right here Y/n and if you’ll allow it I will be all yours.” He whispered, very close to your face. You stopped him though looking down. He paused, looking into your eyes. “We can’t. You’re... You’re a king and I’m just your servant, I cannot be your queen. My status isn’t even wealthy.” You muttered. He shook his head. “I do not care for titles or wealth and last I checked, I was king.” Aragorn said. “...Lord Elrond would not allow this.” You said. “Lord Elrond does not Rule Gondor.” Aragorn reminded. “Aragorn. Talk to him first, then we will talk.” was all you told him.

Aragorn sighed now, sitting on the throne as Elrond droned on and on. “Then there is still the matter of finding you a wife-” “I have a suggestion.” Aragorn said. “Oh! Thank the Valar, you’ve found a suitable maiden!” Elrond said relieved. You seemed to have walked in just in time, handing Aragorn a cup of water. He took it, staring at you. You avoided his gaze, in fact you had been avoiding him all week. “Her.” Aragorn said. “Who? The servant?” Elrond asked. “Yes. Her.” Aragorn said. You looked up, freezing in place. “She’s very talented, well versed in history, makes maps, weapons and armor, she grows her own food, she speaks elvish, she’s practically a diplomat in the making she just doesn’t hold the title.” Aragorn said. Elrond looked at you. “Are the things he is saying true?” Elrond asked. “Yes my lord.” you nodded, looking at Aragorn confused. “... Then I cannot stop you.” Elrond said. Was this man happy that this was a servant becoming queen? No. But Aragorn was practically the man’s son and he saw the way that he looked at you. 

“What is going on your highness?” You asked confused. “I’m officially asking for your hand.” Aragorn said. You nearly dropped the empty cup you were holding with wide eyes. “Your highness you must be joking.” you said. “I am not. You said to speak with him, I’ve spoken with him. He approves and you are right in front of me. Could you please drop the stubbornness for one moment to tell me how you feel?” Aragorn asked. You gulped. “This is madness.” you said, Aragorn standing in front of you, setting the cup in your hands on a small table next to the throne. “I must be crazy or-or still recovering or-” “Y/n do you accept?” Aragorn asked. You nodded before Aragorn smiled. “I do- I accept--” His lips crashed onto yours, you smiling as he held you to him. 

Were people shocked to hear that a servant sat on the throne now? Yes. Were they even more shocked that it was Aragorn’s suggestion to marry you? Again, yes. But were you two happy? Oh hell yes. Aragorn and you would go on horseback rides through the lands, you smiling at your husband. You had one simple thought each time you looked at Aragorn as well.

“I will love you until the sun dies.”

This was a request from @snailcoveredcottage​ I hope you enjoyed it!

[captainchrisfics]

Call It Even

About: First-person pov narrator is one of those doctors that consults on medical shows/movies for the sake of accuracy (God forbid I find the actual word for it anywhere on Google…) but it happens to be a project starring the one and only Chris Evans. After a little sexist slip up, he spends the fic trying to make it up to her. With absolutely not a single ulterior motive, mind you.

Word Count: 2,351

Requested By: Anon! Thanks for submitting this and being patient with me. Hope it’s everything you’ve been waiting for. x

P.S. This is so unabashedly and unapologetically inspired by Code Black, my favorite medical drama based on an eye-opening documentary. Totally check out the show and the doc if you haven’t, it’s had my heart since I was like 16. Neal Hudson in the first season, at least. And please forgive any inaccuracies, I did a bit of research for this one, but there’s not a ton available for this sort of thing.

“It’s weird having you here, not gonna lie,” Jack remarked with a smirk. He crossed his arms and looked me up and down, taking in the sight of me standing on his movie set.

He was right, it was weird for me to be here too, but I just told him to shut up and focus. I took aim and tossed the next grape into the air between us, which my friend ducked and nearly dove for and somehow failed to catch it in his mouth anyway.

“It’s weird that you’re still so bad at this,” I said with a snort. Playing catch with our food was a way we’d been killing time since our high school study hall, which he was just as bad at even back then.

Jack climbed off the floor with a pout. “This isn’t in my job description,” he argued, rolling his eyes. Since our first food-catching contest, my type-A, detail-oriented best friend had managed to land a job as a script supervisor. 

Lord knows he wouldn’t have made a good pitcher. He wound up and tossed a grape into the air way higher than he meant to, but I caught it between my teeth easily.

“Mine either,” I remarked, smiling smugly. Truth was, a movie set was way out of my wheelhouse. Typically, by now I’d be scrubbing in for surgery or sifting through mountains of paperwork, but today was different. This morning I was making the most of my M.D. by filling in for the medical consultant on Jack’s latest project. It was a movie following a guy’s residency experience in an inner-city ER more like a war zone, based on some documentary, but I didn’t know much other than that. The perks of being hired last minute.

While I didn’t think Jack would find my snide remark all that funny, I certainly didn’t expect the way he stood up straighter and stiffened his upper lip. My face contorted with confusion as I tried to ask what was up with him, but his attention was focused over my shoulder. 

There was a man I think I’d recognize anywhere. Even with his grown scruff and dark hair, the gentle curve of his torso transitioning from his wide shoulders to small waist was familiar. He was smiling so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes, something I wasn’t used to seeing on screen, as he shook everyone’s hand. It was early in the morning, but he seemed peppy enough that he’d already been awake for hours. He was trailing behind the director, who was introducing the actor to everyone on set, but he stopped to laugh at something I couldn’t hear the cameraman say. His hand rose and touched his pec as he threw his head back with laughter I’d recognize a mile away.

“You didn’t tell me Chris fucking Evans was going to be here,” I hissed to Jack between the gritted teeth of my smile. I would’ve tried to hide the dark-circles that came with a night on call behind some concealer.

“And this is the script supervisor and medical consultant,” the director said, although his attention was more devoted to the clipboard in his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Doctor…?” Chris asked, reaching for a last name as he extended his hand to Jack. 

My friend looked between the hand and me with raised eyebrows and a slack jaw, taking offense on my behalf. I stretched to meet his hand and gave it a firm shake as I said, “That’d be me, actually.”

“Oh…” Chris sighed, processing his mistake. His face contorted with embarrassment, eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing as he kicked himself internally. “I didn’t- Well, I mean, I’m really sorry,” he said with wide eyes like a plea for forgiveness.

“Happens,” I shrugged him off, although it still felt his words land in the bottom of my stomach. After years of people hearing “doctor” and assuming “man,” the impact of the punch starts to dull. At first, I would grimace and snap back, but now I could smile through the wince. “I’ve gotten used to it. Nothing personal.”

“That’s a shame,” Chris answered with more sincerity than I anticipated. 

I nodded and chewed on my bottom lip, a little taken aback. I nervously retracted my hand as I realized, somehow, he was still holding it and tucked my hair behind my ear. Every bit of the excitement I’d felt for meeting Captain America was replaced with a terrible awkwardness that filled the space between us like air.

“Well,” Chris said, clearing his throat. He ran the hand I’d shook through his hair as he smirked. “It’s nothing compared to saving lives, but I hope you enjoy working on our set. We’re lucky to have you.” He smiled, genuinely and in recovery, this magnetic charisma washing over him and rolling off his aura like waves. 

“I just hope I never have to see another tv doctor break seizure protocol by pinning a patient down,” I snorted, rolling my eyes at my own bad joke.

Chris laughed, probably just to be nice, as he straightened his white lab coat by the lapels. “I won’t let you down,” he promised. Chris stood there looking at me with his undivided attention, as if he didn’t have a filming schedule to keep or dozens of more crew members to meet. I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the fiery blush of my cheeks spreading with every second until the director cleared his throat and kept tugging Chris along.

I turned to Jack, my mouth opening and shutting just like the fish out of water I felt I was, as I tried to put words to the feelings in my chest or the thoughts in my head. He didn’t have any to offer either though, only wide, shocked eyes.

“I can’t believe he thought you’d be a man,” Jack said incredulously, almost breathlessly.

“Please,” I retorted, brushing him off with a wave of my hand. “I’m used to that. What I can’t believe is that anyone could think you were a doctor.”

Jack shoved my shoulder as he rolled his eyes, their playful glint giving him away. 

The next time I saw Chris, he was knelt on a gurney, straddling the dummy “patient” he was meant to be treating in his grand entrance. He was put in scrubs and spritzed with faux sweat to make it look as though he’d been working on saving people with every last ounce of himself, totally not because it made him glisten like the heavens under the fluorescent hospital lights. He seemed focused though, with the tip of his tongue peeking out between his chapped lips and his thick brows knitted together in mock concentration, as he was wheeled to the Trauma Bay. 

But it didn’t take an expert’s eyes to see that Chris’s hands were far too low, so the only thing he’d be giving anyone was a sick stomach instead of CPR, and his rhythm was completely off.

And then his shoulders started shaking as he chuckled, dropping his head in a dry laugh. Through the camera’s screen, I watched Chris look at the lens’s operator with this shit-eating grin as he scoffed and said, “I bet this looks pathetic, huh?”

Then he turned to me, this spark in his eye that caught fire in my stomach. “Mind showing me how to do this? I thought I could fake it ‘til I made it, but evidently…” Chris trailed off as he sat up, leaning back on his heels invitingly.

I crossed my arms and leaned back in my folding chair. “Isn’t that your job?” I teased with raised eyebrows at Chris, whose smile only grew.

“I thought this was yours?” he volleyed back, one of his eyebrows reaching its peak.

“At least for today,” I rolled my eyes, albeit more playfully than I’d intended. I hopped up and met him at the side of the gurney, trying to ignore all the eyes on us.

I instructed Chris to resume the position he’d had before, leaning over the dummy. I tucked myself between his arm and ribs. “You want to have your hands like this,” I said, showing him how I tucked the fingers of my left hand between that of my right and placed my palm over the chest’s sternum. 

We were impossibly close, every breath borrowed from the other, and suddenly I was kicking myself for the third cup of coffee. It was funny, seeing someone covered in “sweat” but smelling so much like a fresh shower.

“Push about two inches deep thirty times,” I said. Chris put his hands over mine, guiding his hands with mine as I placed pressure on the sternum, making it hard to focus. I definitely miscounted by at least a dozen, but Chris didn’t mention it. I had a feeling he wasn’t being the most attentive either. All I could feel was his chest pressed against my back and my heart pounding so hard it felt like ready to break a rib.

“Before you pinch the nose, lean the head back, and breathe,” I demonstrated, moving Chris’s hand to the stomach so he could feel it inflate. Once I pulled away, he followed my lead.

“I think I get it now,” he said as he sat up, tongue tracing his bottom lip. He blinked slowly, blue eyes growing glazed. 

“You’re welcome,” I responded, clearing my throat and stepping away from Chris without another beat passing between us, as quick as you’d drop a pan after getting burned.

Chris frowned slightly and only for a second, though I still caught the deep creases that carved themselves into the corners of his lips and in between his furrowed brow. “Thanks,” he said, almost disappointed, if I didn’t know any better.

I tried to keep my distance after that. Mostly because there were way too many minor, infuriating inaccuracies I couldn’t give any input on for the sake of the storyline so I figured I might as well take a step back. But, if I’m honest, it was partly because I was trying to avoid a certain star as well.

I stood at the snack table, staring at a bowl of apples and trying to figure out exactly what happened earlier. Make some sort of sense of the butterfly wings fluttering so furiously in my stomach I was starting to feel ill. 

Then, almost like I was speaking of the devil, Chris appeared out of thin air. He leaned against the table, saying something about how sitting on the sidelines between takes he wasn’t in was the worst part. “But I’ve been looking for a chance to really apologize to you since this morning,” he said dejectedly, that goosebump-inducing gaze flitting from my eyes.

“It’s really alright,” I insisted, running out of patience for it. I was growing tired of all these guys around me trying to right their wrongs against me for their own sake instead of just moving on as I intended to.

“No, it isn’t” Chris responded anyway, leaning an elbow against the table as he relaxed. My eyes outlined his broad shoulders, watching how their muscles contracted as he stretched.

I smiled, trying to be polite. “All’s been forgiven,” I promised. Silently, I begged him not to bring it up again. I took a shot at changing the subject, as I said, “I was thinking of getting lunch soon. Anywhere you recommend?” 

Chris’s head glanced to the set, going along just fine without him. “I’ve got a little over an hour until my next scene,” he thought out loud, almost absentmindedly. He turned back to me, the corner of his mouth lifting up in this smirk that made me painfully aware of my racing pulse. “And a craving for some tacos,” Chris continued as he moved even closer to me, oblivious to how soon his CPR crash course might come in handy.

I took a few deep breaths and stared at our shoes. Those ocean eyes were about to be the death of me if I couldn’t figure out how to keep my head above water around Chris. I hoped I would be, for at least a little while longer.

“I would really like to take you out to this place around the corner,” Chris posed, staring at me with these pleading eyes through his dark lashes. He cleared his throat before adding, “I mean, if you want to of course.”

“Look,” I sighed as Chris’s shoulders dropped. “I appreciate it, really, but you don’t need to try to keep making up for your slip up earlier. It’s fine, I’m fine, I don’t need you to take me to lunch to make me feel better,” I snapped. Maybe every feeling mixing in my chest finally boiled over, but it wasn’t worth the way Chris looked at me.

“No, I…” he trailed off, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I mean, yeah, I still feel like shit for my sexist assumption, but that has nothing to do with this,” Chris maintained in exasperation. “Well, to be totally honest, I was trying to ask you out on a date.”

For a split second, I swear I flat-lined. “What is that supposed to mean?” I spit out, unable to believe it.

Chris only laughed before he said, “I was gonna buy, try to talk to you some more. Make up for being an idiot earlier, sure, but maybe get your number if I was lucky.”

“Hell,” I said, breaking out into a flustered grin. “I’m the lucky one in that case.” Chris chuckled again, but I didn’t give him a chance at another wise-crack. “I suppose I could accept that offer,” I teased, playfully biting my bottom lip as I pretended to think it over. “If only to atone for snapping at you.”

Chris nodded as he laughed, holding his hand over his heart. “I see how it is,” he crossed his arms, playing stiff. He sucked his teeth as he thought it over. “I guess we could call it even then.”

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[just-another-romantic]

How to Date a Broken God - Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Honest Apologies and a Sparring Match

Series Summary: After too many years of pain, a mortal teaches a god how to feel again. Maybe she can learn from him.

Warnings: ngl (Y/n)’s just rude in this one, language, sad Loki, fighting

That night, Loki threw up. After (Y/n)’s confession, the god quickly excused himself from the room, and barely made it to his bathroom before puking up everything he had within the past century. He hadn’t been ill since he was a child, and here he was: knelt over on the cold tile, head in the toilet bowl and clammy hands holding on for dear life.

Last time he had been ill like this, his mother had scooped him up in her arms - despite his protests - and tucked him into her bed, pulling the silk blanket up to his chin. He tried to recall how her hands stroked his hair in comfort as he pushed a stray lock from his face.

He was sick at himself. The once vain god now looked in the mirror and hated the face that stared back at him. He hated his heritage, Odin’s lies and abuse that lasted centuries, and he hated the spiral the truth threw him into once it was unveiled. He hated Thanos with his mind control, that he was weak enough to fall into it - costing thousands of innocent lives, including that poor girl’s parents.

Loki let out an audible groan of anguish, his head dropping lay on his land clutched to the toilet bowl. He hated her...well, not exactly. He hated how his heart twisted at the mere mention of her name. How his heart burst at the melody of her voice or, Odin forbid, her laugh. How she was not a normal mortal, that she stood her ground and held a knife to his neck the second he dared test her. He hated that in every aspect, (Y/n) was what Loki wanted in a lover.

She could never love you, he remembered. You’re a murderer, a cold-blooded killer. A monster, like the world...like your own father and brother think of you. Who would ever want to hold your crimson-stained hands?

Shakily, the unbreakable god stood up from the bathroom floor, quick to splash water in his face in attempt to refresh himself. He looked into the mirror and a monster looked back at him. If asked, he would deny it, but that night Loki fell asleep with tears running down his cheeks.

The morning wasn’t any better. An awkward heavy air still lingered above the Avenger’s heads, leftover from last night. Loki entered the kitchen nook of the floor around seven, grey sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips and maroon t-shirt contrasting against his pale complexion. The golden rays of the still-rising sun fled into the room, enveloping the god in what one could only describe as a halo. Of course, Loki was tired and disoriented from sleep; the only thing he felt like was disheveled. No one noticed the beauty of the waking deity, no one except (Y/n), who promptly choked on her hot coffee.

Bucky was laid out on the sofa, the morning news drowning out his soft snores. James Rhodes sat at the dining table, a book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Sat on the ground by the television, Peter started on a new Lego set of the Avengers Tower, mumbling about the minor mistakes there were in the tiny architecture. Loki was worried he’d convince Pepper to sue the company.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Sam called from the barstool, cup of coffee in hand. His eyes traveled from Loki, to Wanda and the pans of scrambled and fried eggs and the pot of boiled eggs, then the pile of bacon next to her. “I hope you like eggs. Don’t really know what you guys eat on different planets.”

Loki stifled a yawn. “I’ll get myself a bagel. But, Birdbrain, yes, we have eggs on Asgard. I just don't eat them.”

“Oh my god is he vegan?” came Peter’s small voice.

Loki chose not to respond to that question and only walked into the kitchen in search of the toasters. He found them pretty quickly, (Y/n)’s small form serving as a landmark. She looked snug and smug, giving Loki the once over as she sipped her coffee, her feet dangling from where she sat on the counter. She looked innocent enough, cozy and clad in sweatpants and an oversized Star Wars shirt, and though she was barefooted, Loki had no doubt she was hiding another dagger somewhere.

“Good morning,” she chirped sweetly. “Don’t worry, I don’t have another dagger on me.”

Well, there’s one question answered. He gave her a smile in greeting. There was a bit of a pause before she raised her eyebrows as in ‘Aren’t you getting something?’ to which Loki quickly grabbed the bagels from the breadbasket.

After putting the two slices into the rack, he found himself suddenly interested in his cuticles, while it had been a bad habit he picked up when he was only a child- that constantly got him ratted out by his mother for it. The once suave god that had women falling at his feet lost his tongue in the presence of a mortal girl. “(Y/n)-”he began, before getting cut off.

“Don’t. I know what you’re gonna say.” He gave her an inquisitive look, to which she only rolled her eyes. “The air’s still heavy from last night.”

Loki felt his cheeks heat up. “(Y/n)...I give you my sincerest apology. And I’m well aware that a simple ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t even close enough to covering it.”

She shrugged. “I loved them. Still do, with every ounce of myself. My parent’s were my best friends. But you know what they always taught me?” Her burning stare locked with his. “That there’s two sides to every story, and even the monster thinks he’s the hero.”

Her voiced echoed monster in his ears and left an impact in his gut. “I’m sorry darling but I’m not seeing your stance on this...are you offering forgiveness?” His mouth dried up and he found himself unable to speak more than one sentence. He couldn’t even think.

(Y/n) scoffed, swinging down from her perch on the marble. “Oh no. Not even close.” She stepped uncomfortably close and Loki was intimidated, though she barely came up to his nose. “No. I hate you,” she seethed.

His stomach rolled in his belly at the venom in her voice, the words she spewed stinging like hellfire. 

“But I will never wish you bad intentions. Like they always say, ‘keep your friends close but your enemies closer’.” She flashed him an innocent smile, the façade immediately building back up. “We’re teammates, we have to at least tolerate each other.” Tolerate. Enemy. “And for the record, don’t call me ‘darling’, darling.”

Loki gulped, feeling as though his throat had filled with cement, stepped down from his stance with her, and quickly grabbed his food before retreating to his room without another word.

Throughout the entirety of (Y/n)’s accusations, the newest Agent's voice had grown tremendously in volume, drawing the attention of the rest of the room’s occupants. There was a sweet moment of silence and (Y/n) turned to enjoy her coffee in peace, but Sam was too blunt for a Saturday morning.

“Don’t you think that was a bit...I dunno...harsh?”

“If it was, I don’t care.”

“You should,” said Bucky from the coach, his face stony and serious. “It’s how the whole Civil War ordeal started.”

“That’s completely different,” she snapped. “They had their reasons, Stark was being ignorant to the truth, as always it seems-”

Coronel Rhodes’ voice boomed through the kitchen, “Hey!”

(Y/n)’s head turned as the silence fell over the room. Rhodey’s eyes narrowed in on her. “I suggest you watch yourself, little lady,” he said. “You are the new comer, you have absolutely no right to waltz in and talk bad about the man who saved the universe, saving your ass as well.”

“Loki killed my mother in cold blood! My brother! My sisters and my father! And I had to watch!”

“Stark’s weapons killed my family, sweets,” spoke Wanda, seemingly appearing out of thin air. Her slender fingers interwove with the agent’s own, soothing and warm. “And I forgave him. In a matter of weeks.”

“He had no control of who used his weapons, Wandie.”

“I killed his parents,” mentioned Bucky. “He forgave me.”

“You were brainwashed!”

Rhodey leaned against the counter, arms crossing and face stern. “Loki was too.”

Agent (Y/L/n) felt her heart drop at a sickening speed. “He was...what?”

“It was all a part of Thano’s mastermind plan or some bullshit,” explained the Falcon. “He sent people to collect all of the infinity stones, but that ended up going south and he took it into his own hands. One of them being Loki.” Sam’s brown eyes fell to the ground in a silence, and the extremity of the situation hit the girl like a truck. “He found him, floating out there in the depths of the universe, took him, and convinced him to go on a killing spree. Basically.”

(Y/n)’s mind was going a million miles an hour and everyone in the room could practically see the wheels turning in her head. All the blame, all of the hurt, she had cast onto the wrong man. Her voice was shaky and breaking, “So...my parent’s death was - was that raisin’s doing?”

“Thanos killed millions before the Blip,” said Bucky gently.

Tears pricked at her eyes. “Jesus, I really am an asshole, aren’t I?”

Rhodey laughed, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “You have a few things to learn before we put you on the field, that’s for sure. Gotta control those anger issues, but I think we can whip you into shape pretty quick.

------------

And boy, did they whip her alright.

Hesitantly, (Y/n) agreed to beginning her training early on Sunday, instead of waiting for the work week to start. First, it was a three-mile run with Sam and Bucky around the compound at the crack of dawn, nothing she hadn’t done before or couldn’t handle. After breakfast, there was weights with Rhodey, then yoga with Wanda. Thankfully, she caught a break with Banner in the lab in between sessions, talking about the design of her new suit and how the tech that she didn’t understand would work. Now, she laid flat on her back, thrown for the fifth time in a round of sparring with Bucky.

“C’mon doll,” he taunted in his Brooklyn drawl, “get your butt up. Or do you need help? Do I need to phone 911?”

“For an old man, you sure do know how to talk shit, Granny.”

His black brow quirked in amusement. “That was the best you could come up with?”

Shakily, the agent denied the hand he offered and pushed herself up again, resuming the fighting stance. “I’ll work on it.”

The brunette supersoldier smiled at her, wiping the minimal sweat off himself with a towel. “Don’t worry, doll. I’m giving ya someone that’s more so your size this round.” He called off behind his shoulder and low and behold, Loki took his place on the mat, looking unpleased.

The first thing he said was the simple, “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“I doubt you would,” she replied, masking her nerves with a stern voice. She shot a glare at Bucky, who sat off to the side with a grin that could beat the Chesire Cat’s. “’I’m pairing you with someone more your size,’ he said! ‘It’ll be fun,’ he said! Bullshit, Buchanan!”

“He’s your size!”

“He’s a god!” (Y/n) looked the mischief maker up and down. He was scrawnier than his blond brother, but his stance and build clearly stated he’d be a difficult opponent. He stood a good half-a-foot above her head, and she doubted her own strength could outmatch his.

“If you haven’t noticed,” Barnes began matter-of-factly, “Loki isn’t built the same as Thor. He’s less jacked and smaller.” Loki’s muttering was heard but disregarded. “However, he’s still one of the strongest of the universe.”

“Then why the hell are you putting me with him if he could squash me between his fingers? I’m human.”

“Yesterday morning, you seemed to be out for his blood, I’m giving you what you wanted.”

Heated shame crept up (Y/n)’s chest and face and Loki’s smirk rendered her speechless.

Bucky ignored her redness, continuing, “He uses his brain, his cunning, his agility, and his speed. Along with his magic, he become’s a dealy combination. You could learn a lot from him, which is exactly why I’m pairing you with him. But for a fair fight, no magic.”

“You’re no fun, Sargent,” the god complained.

“Unless (Y/n) has a trick up her sleeve, no magic.”

Loki looked at her with hopeful eyes, to which she only shrugged. “I only know party tricks. Sorry.”

The mix-matched pair stepped onto the mat, both hesitant. The moment Bucky’s voice rang “Start!” throughout the room, (Y/n) swung a punch, that was quickly deflected and brought behind her back. His body pressed against hers, heat and electricity in-between the two bodies. The agent writhed, brining her elbow hard into this side, then looping her legs around his own.

“That’s it, (Y/n)!” Bucky praised, and (Y/n)’s face flushed under the compliment and the god’s mighty stare. The applause fueling her, she had Loki down a moment later, sitting on his upper thighs, her own straddling his waist. His arms were pinned helplessly against the floor; she smirked.

Loki’s eyes were blown wide, breath heavy, but he smiled back. “You okay there, Silvertongue?” (Y/n) cooed sweetly. She had won.

“Loki,” Bucky called from behind the ropes, “quit holding back!” and the agent’s blood ran cold.

Instantly, her back slapped against the mat, the positions now reversed. Pinned, despite how hard she struggled and fought against his strength. Loki’s eyes locked with hers and her breath caught in the base of her throat, mouth running dry. 

“Never better, petal,” the god answered, whisper of breath crossing her face. The heat left her body as he got up, grabbed his duffle bag, and exited the gym.

(Y/n) sat on the floor, heaving and images of the bluest eyes flashing through her mind. 

AUTHORS NOTE

Holy shit. The first month of 2020 has been kicking my ass. Lord help us all. I’m so sorry for the wait, guys. I hope I can make it up to yall.

TAGLIST

@cosmic-souls-and-stardust @rinthehufflepuff @electroma89 @madshelily @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @acf2510 @daddylouislittle @fanartdom @iam-a-painted-whore 

[actor-mark]

How could you!?

((18+ SENSITIVE CONTENT))

Ah.... Figures this one would pop up as the first huh... Well I supppooosee I could indulge your curious mind. I’m sure you know exactly who this is about as well. Well then ... Let’s get into it shall we. ((Story below the cut))

September 14th 9:57pmIt was starting to get cold outside, I could tell she was cold even if she’d never admit it, but god forbid I be the gentleman and offer her my jacket! She’d only see it as pity and nothing more. I don’t need your charity! pft... We were walking along the boulevard by the river, headed home after a night at the theatre watching one of our favorites. A date night. I owed her one after all. She was quiet, more than usual, stone faced and never looking at me, hadn’t all day. I’d tried everything for her attention. Sweet nothings, a kiss on the cheek, tried to hold her hand but she slipped my grasp more times than I could count, bought her drinks and popcorn for the show, made jokes and acted like a goofball to try and make her smile, nothing worked. A steel wall around her heart I couldn’t break through. I didn’t know why. 

We were a good ten minutes or so walk from home, now normally we’d get a ride, especially on a cold night but she’d insisted on the walk. Said she wanted to chat on the way home and of course I was ready to listen but the lady hadn’t spoken a word to me! eventually my anxiety got the best of me and I asked what she wanted to talk about. There was a pause in her breath, a closing of her eyes and she looked away from me. It was bad I could tell that much. “What is it?” I’d asked “You can tell me.” My stomach turned knots. Eventually we came across the bridge over the river and she paused by the rails. I stopped with her. “Sweetheart? What is it? Is everything ok?” I’d grown concerned for her well being more than anything else. Her next words cut like glass. 

“I can’t do this anymore.” My heart skipped a beat. For her to stop at the bridge like this and say such a thing, my mind thought the worst. I immediately took a few steps closer just in case. But it turns out it wasn’t what I’d thought...

“I can’t do this anymore.... I’m leaving you Mark. I’ve filed for divorce and I’ll have my things out by tomorrow night.” 

I had to shake my head and recollect myself, it came as a shock. Only a few days ago had we been rolling around on the bed like horny teenagers! As I took another step closer she took one away from me almost as if scared of my reaction. And I must admit it may have been the shock in my body language. the disbelief that she would just... lead me along on a date like this and then drop that on me. But I guess she wanted one last time out of me. 

We must have spent an hour on that bridge, back and forth. I just wanted a straight answer but she never gave one. In the end she hailed a passing cab to pick her up and all I could do was watch as she left. Left me alone on that bridge in the cold of the night lost, confused, alone, and heart broken. 

I’d at some point slumped against the side of the bridge to let my emotions out, sat on the ground with my back to the rails and just.... reeling in the conversation we’d had. I didn’t understand. Eventually I continued the walk home. Slung my jacket over the sofa and collapsed onto it. 

I was there for 3 hours before I got up and headed for the nearest liquor cabinet to drown myself in my own agony. That’s when I saw the letter. Or rather the envelope. 

My Dearest Celine  🖤

Hand delivered. It stank of watermelon bubble gum and her perfume. I knew the handwriting. A letter from our friend. I ignored it, went for the whiskey and proceeded to drown myself in alcohol- ah I should note this was before the hospital visit that stopped my alcohol drinking. So don’t worry about me there my friends. 

It wasn’t until I was blind drunk that I began to suspect that letter for what it was. A heart? The curvature of the lettering. Only saved for a sweetheart. A love letter. My next question followed suit. Where had she gone if not here. If not home? Most likely her brothers place. I called my driver to come pick me up and take me to the colonels manor and that’s where everything changed. 

You see... I suspected her to be at Damien’s. Not there.... With him. 

Will had been my friend since we were kids. I’d met him when we were just 8 years old. A goofball like myself. Damien was always a little more serious but had a whirlwind of fun hiding inside him that we could usually coax out now and again. Will was my friend.... So it was natural for me to have a key to his place. The invitation to wander in. 

Now don’t get me wrong I didn’t just waltz in unannounced I knocked on the door first with no answer. With such a big house its hard to hear if you’re on the other side so our understanding was to come in, shoes off, call out. So I did. No answer. 

Once I got upstairs however I heard the tell tale upbeat music Will enjoyed to know he was home and wandered over, knocked and entered his bedroom. Now I’m not gonna lie I’ve seen more of Will than I care to admit doing this same stupid move, but at that point it was more of an in-joke between us and remember I was blind drunk at the time. I didn’t exactly have the cognitive function that maybe I should have waited first. 

I saw Will first. The two of them scramble for the bed sheets and Will laughing that they’d been caught in the act. “Oops sorry buddy!” I was apologetic! Realized my mistake despite my inebriation and made to back out, when I saw the look of utter panic in her eyes. 

They were both naked, rolling around under the sheets which she’d pinned to above her chest for concealment. 

“Celine?”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. If on a scale of 1-10 on how drunk I was, I’d gone from a solid 8 to a 5 in just that moment. “It’s not what it looks like” HA! Course it wasn’t. 

My anger may have gotten the better of me that night. I yelled, a lot. But understandably so. She’d run off to go be with HIM. My best friend! Ditched me and couldn’t wait to climb into bed with him! I’d been left out in the cold, only to find that my wife and best friend had run off together behind my back. 

The yelling must have lasted over an hour I don’t remember. But I do know I blacked out somewhere in between there and being driven home again with a black eye and a swollen lip. Might have gotten into a fist fight with Will. Who knows. 

Once home I curled up on the sofa again, all I could think was three words. 

“How could you?” HOW COULD SHE!? HOW COULD HE!? HOW COULD THEY! DO THIS TO ME!?I gave up everything for her. EVERYTHING! I gave her everything she could want and more. Nice dresses, a beautiful home, all the stupid voodoo shit she was into, the best food around! I gave her everything and she tossed me aside like an old rag! 

.......... -sigh- 

Forgive my raised voice... I suppose I’ll never really be over it. I loved her dearly. Loved them both. But instead I was left broken and alone. Can you blame me for what happened next? 37 stab wounds don’t come casually...

[d-a-anderson]

A Meditation on Writing Honestly

There’s an anecdote about James Joyce I remind myself of often when I think about writing—particularly when it comes to the pressure we put ourselves under to “produce” something.

Joyce walked into the pub one evening. Sitting next to one of his writing buddies, his buddy asked him:

“What did you write today, James?”

Joyce replied:

“I put in a comma… and then I took it out.”

I love that. In truth, the story may be apocryphal, or attributable instead to Oscar Wilde. But for me, it could be Joyce just as well—and the point sticks.

Joyce was able to twist language the way Dali could twist an otherwise realistic painting to its surrealistic breaking point. Joyce made language multi-dimensional. He wasn’t a pulp fiction writer. Sure, he produced work—some of the greatest work in the English language, arguably—but he did it on his own terms.

Look. I’m not here to say that you shouldn’t meet your goals. What I am saying is that quality isn’t necessarily quantity, and vice versa.

When I wrote my book, I had a rough draft that’d been stewing in me for years. I came back to it every so often and would rewrite a part. Life would happen, and I’d come back to it and rewrite another section. More life would happen. Critical events occurred in my world that fundamentally changed the novel and the characters, and I think for the better. If I hadn’t waited for those changes to happen, the “discoveries” I’d made during the writing process wouldn’t have happened—because there was nothing yet there to uncover.

Writing is a lot like any other kind of creative work; there’s a flow state that you can hit, where things just “feel right”. The pieces fall into place and things just make sense. That’s the number one thing I love about writing: I strike a nerve and I ride it; I get to entertain myself in a wholly different world, and I discover things about the world and myself along the way. It’s possible to catch lightning in a bottle that way sometimes. But it requires patience, too. Writing, like Zen, is a finger pointing at the moon. If you’re so intent, and thus, full of tension, at the idea of catching lightning in a bottle, you’ll be like the student looking at the tip of the finger instead of gazing at the moon. And then, as Bruce Lee admonishes: “you’ll miss all the heavenly glory.”

Writing is a natural thing. And like all natural things, it happens without force. I’m not saying it’s without effort—writing anything, from novels to poetry, is extraordinarily hard. But is it ”hard” to do anything in a flow state? Whether it’s dancing, playing music, or painting—the flow state lets us forget about the world and something that would be otherwise forced and contrived just occurs. The best writing happens like when the best sleep happens: when you’re relaxed and not thinking about it.

When I wrote the novel, I had a goal of two pages a day. That was a good goal. Even though the rough draft was stewing for years, the majority of the final draft was rendered in about six months. It felt right to me at the time. It might be different for someone else. Two pages wasn’t a quota I demanded of myself, though; it was a soft quota. That is, I wouldn’t beat myself up over whether I’d written a whole chapter or just a paragraph. Sometimes I wrote more, sometimes I wrote less—it depended on what the work was asking from me that day. I wasn’t writing to a quota—I was writing to write. And that made the writing better.

For Joyce—or Wilde, apocryphal anecdote or not—the craft came first. Add a comma, then take it out. The act of adding it and taking it out again improved what he was working on in whole, even though it sounds like just taking one step forward to take one step back. Because he learned that adding a comma there wasn’t right for that work. And that simple lesson probably informed him for every word he wrote afterward.

It’d be a damn shame if I started to twist my work into a box for the sake of a personal challenge, or god forbid, to start to hate the craft because I’m not “measuring up” to some arbitrary standard. I’ve never had a written project on contract, so maybe I’ve lived in luxury so far. I make promises to myself and go public sometimes to share with others the challenges I set for myself—but that’s a tactic for reinforcement. I know I’d be more disappointed if I read something that felt like the author was writing just to be completionist. Writing for the sake of completion alone is like a bad bonsai tree. It gets twisted and warped and never truly grows.

Good writing is always honest. It doesn’t try to “measure up”. It just is. By being honest, it gets better, and its potential is maximized—whatever that potential is. Sometimes it’s a spark, sometimes it’s an explosion—and either way is okay. Because it should be what it is—no more, no less.

It’s good to set goals as creative people and see how high we can jump. Navy SEALs have that forty percent rule: when you think you’re done, you’ve only reached forty percent of your potential. But burnout is a real thing, and sometimes we can, in fact, push ourselves too far—especially when we’re trying to measure up to a set of rules rather than the inner potential of the creative work itself.

There’s a story about King David from the Old Testament, and I keep it in the back of my mind when doing anything that requires inspiration or creativity. For me, the moral of the story can be stated simply: “rules made for the sake of the mission must not impede the mission.”

The story goes that David was on a mission before he was king, and he and his soldiers were hungry. He asked the priests of the tabernacle—the ancient Jewish temple of that time—for bread. They had no fresh bread on hand, but they did have special consecrated bread that was meant to be kept in the temple for God as a kind of ritual offering. Understanding that he and his men were starving, the priest gave him the ritual bread, which only priests were allowed to eat, technically breaking the Jewish law. Centuries later, Jesus used this example to explain that the Sabbath, the day of rest, was made for the sake of humanity—humanity was not made for the sake of the Sabbath.

It’d be like if you set up a special display with fresh food, a cornucopia, and more, all for decoration, and a starving person came by and asked if they could have some food because they’re hungry. How asinine would it be to deny that person food because the decoration was more important than their satiation?

Spoiler: in this parable, the starving person is you, the creative person, and your muse.

We get caught up in our rules and goals that we often miss the point. If the point of the Sabbath is to rest, but work must be done in order to live—by all means, work. It’s an ancient prescription for avoiding burnout. But we humans have a way of taking rule abiding to the ‘nth degree—and in so doing, we ruin the spirit of the rule. The rule, ironically, becomes an impediment to us enjoying that which the rule should enable us to do. We’re getting in our own way. Lots of fundamentalists, religious and non-religious, have this problem.

Writing is like this too. There’s hard work to be done—and sometimes you just have to push on through. Books like Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art is great for this—it’s one of my favorite books on writing. It’s near and dear to my heart, along with Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones.

But forced work is work without soul, and creative work without soul is always contrived. I’d rather write one single great book and never publish another word again if that was what the craft lead me to do. Some writers only publish once, and that’s okay.

(I do think I’ve got more work than that to publish, but sometimes you have to be open to the extremes to find where you truly are. It gives a sense of perspective.)

So if an idea isn’t quite coming through, let it percolate. Sleep on it. Write it out from different angles, or don’t write on it at all, and do something different. Explore it in a different medium. Sleep on it; watch a movie. Make a sandwich and watch the birds. The brain is a magical organ that does amazing things when we’re not looking. There’s a time to take a sledgehammer to the block. There’s also a time to sit in silence with an idea, and let it slowly whisper to you what its story really is.

And when it does whisper, all you’ll need to do is listen carefully. And write.

–

Photo: James Joyce

[cold-iron-burns]

We're living with my partner's family. He and his brothers all have (what is obv to me as an ex MH pro) heavy signs of emotional abuse. They are all back living with their parents (economy is a factor for sure, but their trauma reactions are a massive factor in this case) and one of them was never able to leave (imho there's a ton of completely untreated MI and unsupported autism here and it makes me feel devastated on their behalf that they were/are prevented from getting support; my partner only started getting support for his shit after like a year of letting him know that it's okay and he's not weak for asking for help--and he could reach that place only because he was away from his family for a while and during the initial couple years we were together).

Being in this house is keeping us off the street, but I'm no stranger to emotional abuse; I spent decades in therapy trying to fix my own family of origin abuse and medical neglect (and the two degrees I got trying to pass it forward).

I try to stay out of the way, invisible, which is basically how I spent my childhood (though I am not expected to be their maid, which is different and makes -relatively- pleasant in comparison). When I first moved in here almost a year ago I tried to engage, just to get shut down and shit on about how everything I did wasn't what the father or the other brothers wanted. Provide and prepare a meal? "I don't like this kind of tortilla." "This isn't the brand I eat" "Yes I like shrimp but I don't want to eat it every week!!" (specific foods are a common thing, which I'd be cool with if anyone owned their autism [I'm autistic too, not shitting on situation people here, just lamenting that the entire household is like this and just learned passive aggression as their main communication style and have no idea or don't care that it's kinda garbage to just complain but not, idk, offer any of that info ahead of time or have an actual conversation, even in text, to clarify anything? It's honestly just the delivery/passive aggressive shit that gets me, it's how my mom raised me and I spent fuckin' 20 years unlearning it] where was I? I cleaned wrong (and not bc cleaner choice, I hate strong chemicals), I cooked wrong, buying my partner's mom flowers emasculated his father, apparently wrong (no one has bothered to replace the now months-dead flowers, even though the ones I bought and prepped a few times made her actually fucking smile and talk). So I just fucking stopped trying. It's bad enough that even when they're not being shitty my brain likes to pop flashbacks of csa (mostly bc the father, I can handle the brothers in reasonable doses). Intellectually I'm fairly sure I'm safe, but the parts that remember that stuff can't rely on things like people/adult parts telling them they're safe.

My partner's mom is very sick (which honestly I relate to the above factors, imho she's just ready to check tf out after being a domestic slave; I want to be more supportive of her but honestly I kept getting attacked and I have to take care of me), so this year the men were scrambling to figure out food for Thanksgiving. My partner tried to initiate planning weeks ago, because he knows that they're terrible at this kind of thing. Didn't matter, they still waited until Tuesday the week of to call cracker barrel to cater; of course that didn't work bc that's not how any of this works.

Who planned, sourced, bought, prepared the food? Me and my partner, ofc. But one of them bought a ham and they all fought while prepping it, so I guess they're the saviors of Thanksgiving.

Had to get or make two versions of a bunch of things bc god fuckin forbid they have to eat the GF things that make me less sick. Other households adapt, but sugar and wheat are basically what they live on, so I'm just slowly putting together a mini kitchen in my and my partner's living space (there's no running water, so kudos to him for running 3 gallon containers most every day so I don't have to deal with the men).

Sweet potato, half marshmallow half the way I wanted it (because I'm fucking eating this food too?)

"Ugh, is that coconut? WhO eAtS cOcOnUt On SwEeT pOtaToEs?!?!" This man is like 70, y'all, and he acts like a mean lil brat and everyone just bows to him like he's their fuckin warlock patron.

Who eats coconut on sweet potatoes? The person who decided to buy the fucking sweet potatoes. I'm grateful to my partner for actually putting the topping onto them, because the ire was directed at him and not me. His response was a champion "Half is just marshmallow." Deadpan. Factual, obvious, fuckin statement.

When leaving other partners I realized I missed their family more than I did them (there was one in particular that made me overcome my hatred of holidays while we were together) but this relationship is completely different. Great partner, garbage family.

I wanted to just vent, but also to applaud myself for just not engaging with bullshit or trying to justify anything (in fear I tend to go into lengthy overjustification mode). I waited until everyone got a plate and left, went in the kitchen to get my plate, and fucking went back to the basement (that my partner and I are trying to shape into a workshop and is mostly boxes of shit they haven't looked at in 15 years with our shit on top of them but at least they don't come down here now). I watched youtube. Ate the food my partner and I made. Enjoyed my solitude. As I told my partner, solitude is safety. I didn't force myself to sit at a table with grown ass men who just bitch about everything to be berated about my decisions that had to be made last minute because of their inability to do anything domestic.

If I wanted to sit at a table and smile and nod while getting my head bitten off I'd have called up my family of origin.

Not ideal circumstances, but I took care of myself today. I don't even care if they think I'm a selfish bitch. I'm 36 and I'm finally starting to do things for myself that prevent suffering instead of just having to patch myself up post-abuse.

[cassandra-acton]

ONE-TIME THING:

I’ve been thinking about Cassie’s staff recently, so this happened! Meet some of them. Eric is going to be a gem of an NPC character, so keep an eye out for him in future self paras. Also mentions some other shenanigans, so enjoy that. 

Date: March 7th, 2018. Warnings: Shouty, sweary Welshman. tw: nerd mention.

“The man’s like a fucking balloon animal with moving parts and a face hole that makes occasional, meaningless noise.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Enter Eric Vickery: the slightly sociopathic communications director that had stood loyally at her side since Election Day. There was no one in Parliament who had an even remotely comparable way with words (probably a good thing) and the fact that he sounded like he’d just drunkenly stumbled out of the Welsh Valleys made everything he said ten times more hilarious. The team had gotten lucky with him; especially when he made the bizarre decision to work with Cassie exclusively, instead of dividing his time between handfuls of London-based MPs like his counterparts typically did.

The man, edging into his late forties, liked to regularly remind her that she had potential, and she was sure he stuck around because he thought they’d be shooting for a ministerial position one day. Eric wanted a promotion, he would use her to get there, and she loved him for it.

“Leader of the Opposition,” Laura Monroe, her PA, mocked through a mouthful of pizza.

“Yeah, well, there’s a reason they’re only the opposition, and that reason is he’s a fucking cretin.”

It was a tradition that they had upheld every in-session Wednesday for almost two years. Cassie, Eric, Laura, and occasionally her Chief of Staff, Gary Hill, would gather in her office and make a night out of BBC Parliament’s repeat of Prime Minister’s Questions. They rock-paper-scissored who would be responsible for bringing the food, before showing up around midnight to settle in for two solid hours of soul-cleansing bitching. Of course, watching it back was constructive in other ways, but she wasn’t ashamed to admit that in a world where one had to hold back constantly, the bitching kept her sane.

“Why does he always look as if he’s about to choke on his own tongue?” Laura added.

Cassie scoffed, crossing her legs to get comfortable as she positioned herself in the middle of her desk. “Turn it up. I want to hear him trip over whichever bullshit line Karl Marx fed him this time.”

They’d massacred enough pizzas to feed a large family, and watched as her sister expertly dismembered every single critic from the opposing bench with an ease that Cassie could only admire. Elizabeth Acton was fucking good at her job; so much so that even Eric hadn’t a bad word to say about the way in which she conducted herself.

Suddenly, a knock at the door stole attention away from another one of Elizabeth’s ruthless comebacks. They’d barely heard it over the sound of the Conservative benches heckling the poor sod that had just been absolutely decimated on national television, but when the door swung open, Laura moved to mute the television momentarily.

“I—You said you wanted a transcript of the highlights from the last committee meeting as soon as I printed—“

It was James Gillespie, the poor, stuttering intern still afraid of breathing Eric’s oxygen.

“Beautiful. Leave the folder on the side, go the fuck home, and get some sleep. You look like you’re about to pass out, kid,” the Welshman ordered, words about as close to sympathetic as they ever came. Clearly, this registered in the young man, because he offered an uncharacteristic smile along with his usual silent and obedient nod.

Without another the word, the intern had disappeared as quickly as he’d entered.

Chewing on the end of her last slice of pizza, she shot a glare at her communications director. “Will you please be nice to the intern? I like James. It’d be rather nice if James stuck around. James is a good egg.”

“Oh, you do?” Eric enthused sarcastically. “Well then you’ll be disappointed to hear that he’s not Labour, so please avoid trying to fuck him.”

In a split second, her glare switched from playful to murderous. Eric took issue with how much time she spent working with Adam Hassan, and he made absolutely no secret of it.

“Nice.”

“Nice? Do you know how difficult you make my job?”

“I didn’t fuck Adam,” she informed, annoyed.

In that moment, she swore she could see his eye twitch. It wasn’t a lie. The initial ‘date’ he was having a mental breakdown over was so tame, it ended with a kiss on the cheek and slight confusion on her part as to whether she’d misread his signs entirely. Cassie felt stupid even thinking about it. She wished to God he hadn’t brought it up so she could avoid the internal cringing.

“You didn’t fuck Adam yet.” Eric corrected. “Not that he needs you to. The press is already on its hands and knees sucking Beautiful Perfect Angel Boy’s dick. You realize this is going to be a bigger pile of shit for me to clear up than you, Silas and your Roman fucking rendezvous?”

Okay, that she could understand him being upset about.

The press had picked up on it quickly and threatened with a God damn field day, but he had deftly stopped them in their tracks, like the genius he was, before the story gained momentum. If only he knew. Cassie felt a pang of guilt, and not the type that one might’ve expected. None of it was for Alice, and all of it was for the communications director she really did push to his limit.

“Thanks for smoothing that over, by the way. You are also a good egg.”

“No, I’m a miraculous egg, Cassie. I’m a miraculous fucking egg. Alice’s little fan club wanted your head on a spike and for a minute there, I debated how giving it to them would look on my resume.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me…”

There was an awkward pause. Cassie’s usually disarming smile had little effect.

Eric sighed out through his nose, and suddenly, all of the dismissive humour he was so famous for was gone. “Did you sleep with Silas?”

The seriousness of his tone was so unfamiliar, it stunned her into silence. Laura cleared her throat—in all honesty, Cassie had forgotten she was there for a second—before politely excusing herself as though she thought it wasn’t her business to be a part of this conversation. Eric probably agreed, because he waited until after she’d shut the door behind her to repeat himself.

“Look, you don’t need me to tell you that it’s a bad fucking idea, but if you screwed him, I need to know about it. God forbid this ever fucking surfaces, Cass, but if it does, I need to know the facts. I have to be equipped to deal with it.”

Even though she was sure her expression said everything he needed to hear, he waited.

The night in question had been repeating on her mind solidly since it had happened; mostly, because she didn’t even know how she felt about it. The only thing she knew for sure was that she certainly harboured no guilt. Yes, Silas was married, but he was married to fucking Satan. It was something to do. It was company. It was stupid.

Things between them hadn’t changed. They’d had sex, but they were adults and it was fine.

“It was just once,” she conceded, barely managing the words as she held up her hands in genuine surrender for fear of him biting her head off. “It’s not going to happen again. I made a mistake, okay? It was just a one-time thing.”

The man looked as though his brain had partially melted. Believing it already was one thing, but hearing it firsthand?

“Well, I guess that explains the eye fucking then!” Eric bellowed, gesturing both hands toward the still muted TV wildly. “What happened to doing us all the courtesy of pretending you fucking hate each other, huh? If you’re going to sleep with him, at least spare us the pining looks across the backbenches, Cassie, because I’m just a man. I like my food. I’d rather not lose it.” Sighing, he pressed his fingertips to his forehead, letting out an inhuman groan. “There’ll be gifs of that shit.”

Cassie froze, once again lost for words. What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to defend herself?

“Eric, come on…”

“One-time thing,” he warned, sitting bolt upright and pointing at her. By this point, she’d noted his expression had made an uncomfortable diversion from its earlier anger. He looked…disappointed. Concerned. “You don’t fuck your career up for a married man, so you fucking promise me now that this is a one-time thing, otherwise I’ll rip his God damn dick off myself.”

Promise? What were they, ten? “Don’t you think you’re being a little overdramatic?”

Even she didn’t think that. In fact, she was cursing herself for saying it almost as soon as the words left her dumb mouth.

“He’s fucking married, Cassie!”                                      

“Okay, okay! Can you maybe stop shouting ‘he’s married’?!” The blonde whispered, eyebrows pulling together in an angry frown. “I feel like that might get some fucking attention, don’t you?”

There was a lengthy pause in which both parties attempted to calm themselves. Neither of them seemed to manage it particularly well.

“One-time thing.”

“All right, Eric,” Cassie relented with a sigh. It was hard to tell whether she meant the words, or whether she was just desperate to appease him, but she coughed them up all the same. “I promise.”

[murdocklovespage]

Alright, guys, I’m feeling pretty restless with the many multi-fics I’m writing right now. This is from a story that isn’t going to see the light of day for at least four months (if ever) and I just wanted to post it for happiness. 

Some context: Karen and Matt aren’t dating (yet) and they go back to her childhood home to look into something sketchy (not fully sure what that is just yet) with her family. She thinks he’s taking a nap in her bedroom and she goes into her treehouse after getting into a fight with her mother. 

The Treehouse

Karen heard a knock on the floor and wondered who was on the other side. Certainly not her mother- she had never entered Kevin and Karen’s wooden home away from home. She had always assumed it was because Penelope Page wouldn’t be caught dead climbing a tree, coupled with the fact that her 1950′s-looking Stepford dresses might get wrinkled if she had to sit on the floor. That was one of the many benefits of having a treehouse. Most of the other perks involved her brother, which made it all the more painful to spend time in her childhood hideaway, but she could take that pain. It never really left her anyway. 

She lifted the hatch and saw her favorite pair of brown eyes. “What’s the password?” she said in her best secretive voice.

He stroked his chin as he contemplated the answer. “I love Matt Murdock?”

“Nice try, buddy. But boys are stupid and I don’t even know who that is.”

“Damn,” he chuckled as she gasped sarcastically at his bad language. “Could you ignore my lack of knowledge of the secret password just this once if I had something to offer? Like snacks?”

“I’m listening,” she said as if she was meditating on his answer. He smiled like he was completely aware that he had found an in. Matt Murdock knew the way to her heart, and the path was littered with salt and sugar. He pulled two small yellow packages from his pocket and held them out to her like they were gold.

Karen’s eyes lit up. “Ok, Murdock, you can come up. Just this once.”

He smiled, deftly tossing them over her head and climbing the remaining steps. She scooped up the packages and went back to her corner, patting the space next to her and ripping one of them open. “Where did you find these?”

“They were shoved at the back of your second desk drawer. I hope you don’t mind. I woke up hungry and I could smell them from your bed.”

“I was going to say, my mother never let us have Gushers. But that means that I bought them, so they must be at least…. six years old?”

He laughed. “Oh, they’re well past the expiration date. But these super-senses tell me that they’re still good. Thank God for processed sugar.”

That was all she needed to dive into her package, pulling out a soft green hexagon that was filled red Iiquid and popping it into her mouth. “Mmmm. Just as good as I remembered.”

He opened his package and ate one, giggling as the sourness spread over his tongue. “We never had these at the orphanage, and before that, name brands were few and far between in the Murdock household.”

Karen nodded. “Penelope was always of the mindset that sugar led to fat, and God forbid her daughter gain a pound from anything that made her happy.” She knew she was being pretty harsh with her mother, but after their fight, she didn’t care. 

Matt shook his head. He never had to worry about his weight as a kid, but if he was being honest, a full meal was a little hard to come by. He couldn’t imagine growing up in the environment his friend had lived in, though. The moment he walked into the Page household, he felt stifled. Her description of the woman he’d just met definitely didn’t sound like an exaggeration. 

“So, Ms. Page. Now that you have the wisdom of your years, what advice would you give little Karen Page?

“Hmmm… that’s a good question.” She licked her lips and sank back into the crook of Matt’s arm, leaning her head on his shoulder as he sank further into her makeshift pillow couch. He popped another Gusher into his mouth and smiled at the new flavor. “I don’t think any amount of preparation would help me with my last few years here, so I think I’d try to assuage her fears about things she was actually worried about.”

Matt smiled. “Makes sense.”

“I’d probably tell her that bra shopping gets so much better when your mother isn’t judging you for being slutty because you like a little lace.”

She looked up at him and saw his eyes grow wide as she gave him that tidbit of information. “Believe me, you had it much better growing up as the opposite gender. I think I spent 90 percent of my teen years feeling completely mortified. I asked Kevin if he felt the same once and his look said it all.”

He nodded as she continued. “I’d probably tell her that most of the men I come in contact with in my adult years are much more handsome and far more interesting than Bobby Dresden. But that bar was pretty low.”’ She cringed as she said the name of her former crush. Every time she remembered the moments she wasted on that 16-year-old little shit, a familiar scowl returned to her face.

“Any in particular?” he flashed a smile at her and she felt herself cuddle against him without meaning to. It was enough of a move to end his cockiness immediately, and he realized his breaths were more measured as he wondered how much fruit snacks gave one bad breath. 

“I can think of at least one,” she flirted. “Hmmm… I think I’d tell her that sex isn’t a bad thing and she’ll actually grow to like it. Everything I learned from my mother was basically a scare tactic that was passed down from her mother before her. That side of the family is especially repressed.”

“I never thought I’d be talking about Karen Page’s sex life in her childhood treehouse, but this trip has already revealed a wealth of information I couldn’t imagine in my wildest dreams. Tell me more about these lacy bras that are lining your drawers back in New York, Ms. Page.”

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and shook her head quickly. “Not a chance, Murdock!” She felt like she was fourteen years old again, coming to the realization that boys were interested in flirting with her and responding with straight nerves instead of confidence. The fact that she was already cuddling with him didn’t even register. 

“I had to try.” He gave her a sideways smile and rubbed her shoulder. “Is that everything?”

“I think the final piece of advice would be… Don’t let the boys make fun of you for loving Bonne Bell lip gloss.” She chuckled at how superficial it sounded. “Enjoying the little things is what got me through some of my most difficult moments…” 

She thought about the moment at Kevin’s funeral when she found her strawberry lipgloss in the pocket of her black sweater. The last time she’d worn it had been at her favorite grandfather’s funeral just years before. She and Kevin had passed it between the two of them at the reception, putting it onto their lips and licking it off like it was their last meal. She never knew why pâté and caviar were the only foods offered at her parent’s shindigs, but she thought they were disgusting and so did Kevin. She had burst into tears the moment she found the little tube, distracting the minister as he was describing the tragedy of a child gone too soon, and garnering the worst glare she had ever received from her mother. 

That was the moment she decided she was going to leave Fagan Corners and never come back. But here she was, yet again. 

At least she had Matt. 

He could sense her shift in demeanor and tried his best to bring her back to a happy subject. “You mean those artificially flavored chapsticks?”

“Yeah. I should have known you’d be a snob. Artificially flavored,” she mocked.

“Hey, I’m not knocking them!” he justified. “I’m fairly positive my first kiss was made more enjoyable for the very fact that her lips tasted like strawberry.”

Karen giggled. “That’s pretty damn classic if I say so myself. Strawberry was always the best flavor.”

“It didn’t taste much like real strawberries, but it was definitely memorable.”

“So how did little Matt Murdock’s first kiss go?”

“That was less memorable. Her name was Caroline Carter, and I liked her up until that moment. I was ten and it was at recess…” his brain took him back to the smell of tire swings and bark dust as he remembered the time he usually spent getting ahead of the class with whatever subject he needed practice with “I was kind of a loner back then, and her friends definitely dared her to do it. None of the kids knew that I could hear from that far away.” He said wistfully. “Anyway, she put some of that stuff on her lips and tapped me on the shoulder. It lasted a whole two seconds and then she shouted, “they dared me to do it, Matt!” The next thing I knew, she was embarrassed and running away from me. Her friends thought it was pretty funny.”

Karen could sense his sadness as he shrugged. “Wait, you think that she did it–”

“Because she had to? Yeah.”

She laughed lovingly under her breath, which caught him off guard. “Oh Murdock, you don’t know girls at all. That was not a pity kiss.”

“How do you know? Have you been having secret conversations with my grade school classmates?”

“No, but I was a little girl once. Here’s how I know she wanted to do it. First off, grade school girls aren’t mean to their friends – that sort of thing comes out around middle school– and daring someone to kiss a boy in order to embarrass them is the last thing they’d care about–”

“Well, they definitely dared her to–”

“Because they knew she liked you, Matt. They were doing her a solid because she wanted to kiss you.” He tilted his head as he thought about the likelihood of that being true. She continued. “You’re sure she put on the lipgloss right before kissing you?”

“Yeah, I distinctly remember hearing her do that.” He could hear the clicking of the top and the way his hands shook as she walked over to him while rubbing her lips together.

“Because she wanted it to be good for you, Matt. She definitely didn’t do it for her. And last but not least, she wasn’t embarrassed about having to kiss you, she was nervous. Because she liked you. And her friends were probably giggling because they were happy for her. And because they were little girls.”

“Really? You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Did you talk to her again?”

“Not really. I kind of kept my distance after that. I didn’t think she actually liked me.”

“Wow, Matt, that’s pretty depressing. You really think people didn’t like you when you were a kid?”

“I was always treated differently,” he said sadly. “first I was the kid who was blinded in an accident and then my dad was killed… I didn’t have a lot of friends.”

Karen’s eyes filled with tears at her friend’s confession. “I’m so sorry, Matt. It sounds like you missed out on a childhood.”

He shrugged. There wasn’t much he could say about that. It was definitely true.

She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him into a hug as she looked up at him and smiled. 

“I would have loved to have been your friend.”

[simontams]

Happy Birthday Tosh 🌸

Oh my god what an angel. (Literally). Ha no.

ANYWAY ACCORDING TO MOST SOURCES IT'S TOSHIKO SATO'S DAY TODAY AND SHE DESERVES THE WORLD.

But I can't give her that so imma just give her a rather late impulse fanfic instead... 

I wake up and look in the mirror. Another year older- I sigh. I wonder if anyone at work will even remember, it's just another day after all. Despite myself, I finish getting ready and force a wave of positivity upon my face, strolling into the kitchen to prepare my traditional birthday treat; a stack of glorious golden pancakes, drizzled in a curse of liquid cavities and atop of the masterpiece? a sprinkle of bright berries and other assorted fruits- delicious. A meal for one. I dig in.

***

9:47am. I've been at work for what seems like forever now, earlier than the rest by far, until Jack wandered into the centre of the hub a few hours ago, offering a mellow smile, a little more conspicuous than usual: he says nothing. Followed shortly after by a cheerful Ianto and the heavy scent of coffee, a dreary Owen, rain soaked, sarcastic as ever, and finally Gwen, rushed and apologetic, rearing to begin the day.

Nothing but the usual early morning gossip and groans of distaste at the cluttered work stations before our tired eyes.

***

"Tosh". I turn to look at a bashful Ianto. He silently hands me a small piece of folded paper, walking away not long after the act. I wonder what it is immediately, anxious for another challenge- but what could it be? The others were already leaving their posts to set off home early, a night of clubs and takeaways- or so I'd gathered.

I frown, beginning to furrow my brows just as I feel a hand on my shoulder- I turn back around to the position I assumed Ianto had discarded-

"By the way, happy birthday, Tosh.”

My friend gleams.

***

At last, I’m soon left alone in the dimly lit building, carefully uncrumpling the scrap of notebook paper.

You didn't think we'd forgotten did you. Might not like surprises. But this one worth it. Sorry. Ask Janet for further info. 

The scribbled print was that of Jack Harkness.

Leaping letters spiralling before my eyes, searing deep against the yellowed material of the page. What on earth did they mean? I ignore my immediate impulses as all logic applied here disputed anything worth my while. Was this a trick? What did they mean?

The weevil.. sure... I mean, what've I got to loose?...

I brace myself as I force on the heavy lights in the damp room. A single chair sits in the centre, surrounded by grotesque cages full of the alien creatures that we scavenge. On the chair- Owen. Harper- Arms folded, a big smirk plastered across his cheeks, the overwhelming stench of an unknown cologne.

“Oh give it over Tosh. We got you.”

I laugh nervously after a previous pause and he joins in.

“Couldn't be going doing something normal for your birthday now could we, eh. ‘Course not, they said. No not boring, not for you. Smart arse. Least we got a laugh out of it I suppose. Your face, Jesus, we tricked you good didn't we, thought we didn't care. Now come on, what you doing just standing round?”, He rises.

“Table booked for five. Your favourite restaurant I hear- but of course that's up to Ianto, god forbid. Drinks on Jack.”

I follow in awe as he leads me away, chatting  incomprehensibly as he strides back up to the main floor and eventually to the mere wooden door that disguises our house of horrors and wonders.

“Ladies first”, he jeers, nudging me into the rainy street as I limply protest.

We dash towards a car, dimly lighting the way among the fog and sheets of Welsh downpour.

“In you go, you know the designated driver, I figure-”, he nods mildly at a waving Ianto, flushed and bundled in the warm car, collar upturned slightly after the errands of the day, doors adamantly closed, heating up.

“Oh I almost forgot”, Owen interrupts as I reach to get into the vehicle.

He grimly searches the inside pockets of his worn leather jacket and hands me a sleet splattered envelope. I look up at him, eyes wide, a little taken aback from the gesture. The ends of his hair drip the cold water onto his forehead and he shivers, watching me in turn, waiting contently and patiently for a response nevertheless. 

“Oh, thank you Owen”, I grin unconsciously.

“Right then. Better be off” ,He replies.

So we got into the car much to the pleasure of the eager chauffeur, prepared to enjoy an evening of laughs, bad jokes, good food and the blurry, smiling faces of friends wishing us well at the end of the night as we stumbled our separate ways.

And we did.

x

[ouraidengray4]

How to Spend Zero Extra Dollars This Month

Have you ever thought, I have oh so much cash. If only I knew what to do with it? If you have, please stop reading this article and make a check out to Amber Petty. DM for more detailed personal info.

More likely, at the end of the month, you've probably thought, Holy God! Where did all my money go! In this era of gig economies, side hustles, and working round the clock for just over minimum wage, a lot of us are dying to find ways to save a couple dollars. Luckily, there are lots of ways to save cash, and with a little preparation, you could go a whole month without spending a dime on additional expenses.

Now, I'm not talking about actually spending $0 for a whole month. There's rent, gas, groceries, and medical bills that can't be avoided. Would I love to tell my landlord that I can't pay rent because I'm participating in a "no-spend" month? Yes. Would I promptly be removed from my home and told to go screw myself if I did that? Also yes. But you can reduce all extraneous expenses to zero with some planning, discipline, and advice from budgeting experts.

EDITOR'S PICK

Be Prepared

If you don't have a plan for your no-spend month, you'll start with good intentions but end your day buying Chipotle and drinking a Frappuccino. But if you make a plan, it will be much easier to avoid temptation.

First, make a list of things you normally spend money on. Again, basics like groceries don't count, but eating out, going for drinks, or buying the new lipstick you just saw somebody wear on Instagram does. So write out all extra things you spent money on last week, and you'll probably find a spending pattern. Now you'll know what to avoid and how to get around your typical spending traps.

Also, pick a month where you probably won't have to spend much. For example, December is a bad choice. With all the parties, travel, and presents that are expected, anyone's lucky to get out of the last month of the year spending $1,000 extra dollars (though if you do a $0 December, good for you, you are a gem). Instead, pick a month that's pretty light on birthdays, holidays, and weddings. It might be impossible to avoid all three in one month, so just do your best.

Stock Up

Food is usually one of the biggest expenses every month. But if you stock up on easy, non-perishable items on your next trip to the grocery store, you can save a ton. Dustyn Ferguson, personal finance whiz and creator of Dime Will Tell, says you'll save a lot by "moving a cost tier down in grocery stores." Basically, if you shop at exclusively at Whole Foods, you don't need to abandon all that for the Dollar Store. Instead, move down a tier. Go from Whole Foods to Trader Joe's. You'll still find things with the quality you're used to, but you'll save a little cash.

Stock up on cheap, good-for-you ingredients.

Think items like rice, beans, pastas, canned tomatoes, broth, and frozen vegetables. All that stuff is as cheap as it gets and could possibly take you through the month. Of course, you'll buy some fresh fruits and vegetables during your no-spend weeks, but if you stock up on fairly healthy non-perishables, you can eat well and spend much less.

This might sound like the old college days of ramen and mac and cheese, but you can eat a wide variety of rice and legumes for dirt cheap—and yay for chili!—and not feel like your diet is made of sodium and preservatives.

Also, make sure you buy easy stuff you can take for lunch.

Cans of tuna, bread, soups, stuff like that. Sure, maybe you'll make some roasted pork with saffron-infused quinoa to take with you to work. But more likely, you'll be running out the door with about two seconds of food-prep time. In that case, it's much better to have some Campbell's soup you can throw in a bag to bring with you, instead of getting to work and realizing you'll have to shell out $10 for the crappy lunch salad at the place next door.

Be realistic with yourself.

Do you know you'll miss going out for a drink with your friends? Stock up on a few bottles of Charles Shaw's finest. Have an inkling that you'll want to order pizza? Get a reasonably priced frozen pizza for when the craving hits. The more you know yourself and your spending habits, the more easily you'll be able to go a month without shelling out extra money or feeling deprived.

Use a cash-back app.

To save even more on your grocery stock-up adventure, "use a cash back app like Ibotta to get money back on things you'd purchase anyway," Ferguson says. "If you do it right, an app like this could easily give you back 10, 20, or even 30 dollars every single grocery trip." Ibotta is a free app that offers coupons and deals to a wide variety of stores. Just scan your receipt, and Ibotta gives you money back. Once you've made $20 or more, you can get cash deposited directly into your Paypal or Venmo account. If you use this app just for essentials, it's kind of like getting free money. Now, don't expect to offset all your costs with this, but it's not bad for some bonus savings.

Last stock-up tip: coffee.

Yes, buying Starbucks every day gets expensive. We all know it. And normally, I'd say treating yourself to a fancy coffee now and again is totally fine. But for a no-spend month, it's off-limits. Instead, get yourself a coffee you like. Are you a flavored coffee person? Buy flavored syrup. You can often find these at the dollar store, or if that freaks you out, they're pretty reasonably priced at the regular grocery.

Here's my personal favorite coffee tip: Make your own cold brew. It's easy as hell and cheap as all get out. Buy this $10 cold brew maker from Target (not a sponsor, just a legitimate thing I bought and use every day). All you have to do is put some coffee grounds in it, fill it with water, and put it in the fridge overnight. That's it! Yes, you have to remember to do it the night before, but I think it's way easier than getting up extra early to make a fresh pot of coffee in the morning.

Plus, the cold brew tastes super rich and smooth. My husband usually drinks his coffee like Jeff Goldblum in The Fly, and now he uses half as much sweetener because the cold brewing process gets rid of so much bitterness. Sure, my cold brew enthusiasm is a slight tangent, but it saves a lot of money when you DIY everyday.

Get Free Stuff

After you've stocked up, we get to the magical no-spend itself! Hooray! Luckily, you don't have to sit around your house in silence to avoid spending cash. There's a lot of free stuff out there, so you can maintain your wardrobe, be entertained, and maybe even take a vacation—all while your credit card stays at $0.

Swap Around

"One of my favorite ways to find free clothes is to host a clothing swap," says Ashli Dawn, owner and founder of Moolah Mogul. "I recommend posting in a local Facebook group and getting a bunch of people together." Make sure you have a couple items to give away and ask your friends to bring a few items of their own. Then, set all the stuff out and let everyone choose a new, free item to add to their wardrobe.

This is especially good because it's a free way to get together with friends, and you can get a few items out of the deal. Since it's a clothes swap, don't worry about having food and alcohol for your guests. Most people will expect to just look at clothes, talk, and enjoy getting something for free. But if you really want to be sneaky, ask your friends to bring a simple snack. By the end of the party, you'll have free clothes and chips, you devil (cue an evil laugh). Honestly, this is a great way for people to recycle stuff they don't want and to scratch any shopping itch you might have.

Facebook and Craigslist

Nowadays, few good things come from Facebook and Craigslist. But when it comes to free stuff, they can be a goldmine. "I've personally used Facebook Marketplace and Craigslist to get a free queen-size bed frame, cat food, and a jacket," Ferguson says. "You'd be surprised by the things people are willing to give away just because they have no use for it and want it gone." Look for Facebook Marketplace groups and join to see what's being given away. You usually have to reply pretty quick to score something good, but it's a nice resource at the wonderful price of $0.

The Freecycle Network

If you need something specific during your no-spend month, check out The Freecycle Network. People post things that they're giving away, but you can also request items. The site strictly forbids any selling or bartering. It's all free, all the time.

I checked out the Glendale/Burbank section to see what they offer. Turns out, I could get moving boxes, vinyl records, and doll clothes all for nothing! But there are also big-ticket items like a full bedroom set of furniture, so I highly recommend giving this site a try whether you're doing a no-spend month or not.

Community Gardens

"Community gardens are usually free to participate in, and often members are allowed to take a portion of what they grow," Dawn says. You get to be outside, commune with nature, and sometimes take home some produce! Not bad for a free afternoon. The American Community Gardening Association can help you find the garden nearest you.

Libraries

Libraries are a haven of free stuff! Obviously, you can get books. But when you're not in the mood to leave your home to get reading material, the library still has you covered. Most public libraries use Overdrive, an app that lets you access tons of free e-books and audio books. You can even send them right to your Kindle so you don't have to squint over your phone to read Anna Karenina.

But there's so much more than books. Most libraries give you access to Kanopy, a streaming collection of classic cinema, documentaries, and my favorite movie of the last 10 years, What We Do in the Shadows. Honestly, if you just watch that fake documentary about vampires sharing a flat in New Zealand (starring Jemaine Clement of Flight of the Conchords), you'll have a very happy no-spend month.

Maybe you'd like to use this $0 month to learn a new skill and improve your resume? Well, lucky for you, your library card gets you access to Lynda, a site that streams all kinds of courses from internet marketing to crochet 101.

After you've listened to an audiobook, read a lengthy ebook, streamed a doc, and learned a new skill, you might want to leave the house. Make sure to check out the events within your local library system. There are always activities for kids, but many also offer concerts, talk backs, book clubs, and other fun stuff for adults.

I'm a little spoiled because I live in a very large library system (also the library near me is an old Spanish style mansion, so I know this isn't normal). But the public library offers a MakerSpace with sewing machines, computers, jewelry-making tools, and three 3D printers! Plus, they have audio equipment and a VR station. It's all free to use with a library card (you have to sign up to reserve a spot, but still), and they offer free workshops to help you use all those interesting tools. Again, I know not all libraries have this much stuff. But every library hosts interesting events, and they're usually great options for free, enlightening entertainment.

Special Events

If you're near a city, there's something free to do. Check out the TimeOut nearest you and look through their "Free" tab. Usually, it's everything from improv to art gallery openings. Pro tip: As a person who's done years of improv, that free improv show will be a real gamble. Just a warning. Speaking of art galleries, they often hold free openings that involve wine and a snack or two. So, you can look at pretty stuff, get some free booze, and feel cheap and classy at the same time.

Secret Shopping

If you'd like to try to turn your free month into side hustle month, Jen Hayes of Smarty Pants Finance suggests becoming a mystery shopper. "It is a 100-percent legitimate source of income and free things," she says. As a mystery shopper, you're told to go into a certain establishment, make a purchase, then write a report about the experience. Companies use these shoppers to find out how their stores are running. It's like Undercover Boss but with less crying.

"Just this month, I have mystery shopped at restaurants, smoothie shops, a shipping center to mail a package, a beauty counter to get $30 lipgloss, a kitchen supply store, sports clothing store, toy store, valet parking at a mall, and a high-end hotel!" Hayes says. "My grocery budget is next to nothing when I line up restaurant mystery shops each day." I've been a mystery shopper for bars and restaurants. Don't expect much cash to come your way, and it's a little bit of a hassle, but you do eat for free and get a little extra for your troubles.

You can find mystery shopping opportunities online, but be careful. There are a lot of scams out there. But the FTC has a helpful guide for sussing out a scam, and if you follow its recommendations, you should be fine.

Free Vacation (Sort Of)

If your no-spend month has you feeling cooped up, why not get out of town? If you don't mind getting your hands dirty, you can volunteer to work at farms around the world. Every day you're there, you work a half day and get free room and board. You can commit to as little as one day or stay for months—it's up to you.

Now, you will be working on a farm, which many might not consider a true "vacation." Also, there's a $40 annual fee to access the system. But the site does let you check out full farm listings before you purchase, so you can see if there's anything you're interested in before putting in your credit card. If you like the idea of getting away from it all, doing a little work, and spending less than a night at a hostel would cost, this could be a lovely way to take a trip.

All it takes is a little planning, cleverness, and a library card, and you can have a pretty fun no-spend month. Even if you can't quite break your Starbucks habit for a month at a time, these tips should save you some money all year round.

Amber Petty is an L.A.-based writer and a regular contributor to Greatist. Follow along as she shares her weight-loss journey in her new bi-monthly column, Slim Chance. You can also take singing lessons with Amber at Sing a Different Tune, check out her awesome podcast about The Masked Singer, and follow her on Instagram @ambernpetty.

from Greatist RSS http://bit.ly/2TS0JDM How to Spend Zero Extra Dollars This Month Greatist RSS from HEALTH BUZZ http://bit.ly/2ROzSLl

[thatmomforem]

#imthatmom

Let me start by saying this isn’t going to be groundbreaking. It’s not new news. It’s just me and my thoughts at 1:17a on a Wednesday - sharing, because I genuinely feel there are some things we can’t hear enough.

You guys. Let’s level set. Very much like what I have to assume is most every woman when she finds out she’s pregnant - and as she navigates the 40 weeks ahead - I had all sorts of ideas about the type of mom I was going to be. Breastfeed exclusively – YES. No questions about it. Make my own baby food – DUH. Isn’t it cheaper and so much better for baby? The nursery will be immaculate. We’re going to take all the bump pictures along the way, followed by monthly pics of baby! Who wouldn’t want those memories of a lifetime?

But guess what? I know you’re shocked to hear it… I’m that mom, or in this case… not that mom. I started off exclusively breastfeeding per my plan. On day 3 of Em being earth side, the doctor basically told me she was starving – at least that’s what my new mom ears heard. Our pediatrician – who I adore – hesitated, stepped back a little and asked me how I felt about supplementing. How I felt. Correct me if I’m wrong… didn’t you just say my baby is getting damn near no food and dropping weight like crazy? Point me in the direction of the closest formula! I continued to try and breastfeed, but that excruciating process almost came to a screeching halt less than two weeks later. Through a ton of support, Em and I finally got the hang of it, but I didn’t hesitate to continue to supplement on a daily basis. We hear so many opinions, *some* of which say ‘fed is best.’ Put me in that bucket – I’m that mom.

I do make my own purees for Em. But take one step in my kitchen and you’ll find Gerber oatmeal, four canisters of blueberry puffs, two pouches of yogurt melties and pre-bottled applesauce, because let’s get real – easy and efficient have their advantages too. YEP. That mom.

I had to have the bookshelf in the shape of a boat to go with her nautical whale theme – because what baby can successfully join this world without a themed nursery?! The boat bookshelf is so, so adorable, but so, so tiny. Now it’s so, SO full. Honestly, it’s been full since before she was born. And there are now two dangerously high stacks of books on the floor, but I’ll deal with those when she starts crawling. #thatmom

My husband recently went to edit pictures he took of a friends wedding and I noticed a few pictures of myself towards the end of my pregnancy. Didn’t even remember they were there. Didn’t post them anywhere online. Didn’t print them. Honestly, he had to fight me to take them. It’s hard feeling like you still resemble yourself when you’re looking in the mirror at 8 months pregnant, but then you look at the 5 photos someone just took and see a completely different person. More power to the women who are beyond comfortable with their very pregnant bodies – I’m not that mom.

And as for monthly baby pictures with the same stuffed animal so you can see how she’s growing – Well. We suck. I would love to have those but at the same time, I’ve so seriously said out loud, ‘we have so many pictures of this child from week to week, we could just go back and look at the dates, find ones around the right time each month and use those for monthly pictures, right!?” Also said out loud to my soon-to-be architect and very artsy husband… ‘how bad would it honestly be to Photoshop in the stuffed animal we used for her one month pictures?!” Even after all of these conversations and me acknowledging we should probably take these pictures… I sit here 8 months later and nothing’s changed. #thatmom

I didn’t start researching daycares until two weeks before I went back to work because I was in straight up denial about leaving my tiny human. I cried about having to go back to work. I had to give myself pep talks. I work to provide the kind of lifestyle I want her to have. I work so we can go on family vacations. So I can buy the obscene toys at Target that are going to drive my OCD crazy laying all around our house solely because she points to them and gives me the look everyone talks about. Or because it’s her half birthday and she doesn’t really have any toys besides stuffed animals. Real life that happened. I went ham on toys for her ‘half birthday’ because she didn’t have enough of them. I’m that mom.

Then, I went back to work. And though the first couple of days were brutal, I came to enjoy it – god forbid, right?. In a perfect world, I’d work part-time and spend just as many hours with her as I do at work, BUT I genuinely enjoy the adult time. Time where someone else gets to take a stab at the three poopy diapers she so lovingly offers within three hours. I wish all the time that I could spend every hour staring at this wondrous daughter of mine, but at the same time, there are days I look forward to going in to the office. Put me down as that wishy-washy, couldn’t make up her mind if her life depended on it, lost her damn mind lady who will give you a four paragraph explanation of every version of her truth when you ask ‘How’s being back at work?’ I’m her. I’m that mom.

Sometimes I research shit until I drive myself insane. Other times, I’m completely fine riding the coattails of the research my best friends have done. One of your best friends has a baby six months before you?! What kind of car seat did you end up buying? CHECK! Adding it to the registry as we speak! Headed to the beach with Em for the first time… RIDICULOUS, INSANE, ultimately UNNECESSARY amounts of research done to spend $14 on the tiniest tube of sunscreen lacquer on the market. End result? My child has her daddy’s skin, so she still got some color. She didn’t burn though… So I threw my hands in the air. That feels like a win! Now... after all of that, did you say Giggle brand sunscreen is on clearance at Kohls? BRB, going to buy them ALL! I’m definitely that mom.

Baby food. Dear Lord, BABY FOOD. When do I transition to solids? How much of the purees do I start with? Which ones? Give me a list of the foods that I should wait to introduce until 8 months. Then 10 months. And don’t forget the ones that will cause allergies, because you definitely want to wait until at least a year for those. I googled the hell out of those questions. I called my mom. A lot. I consulted one of my best friends who’s a NICU nurse. I pinned all the charts. Tonight for dinner my 8 month old ate as many cold peas as she wanted, 3 puffs, 1 sliced strawberry and a watered down, melted Pedialyte popsicle out of her sippy cup because that’s the only way my child was getting electrolytes after running a fever. Find that on a chart. #thatmom

I’m not writing this to leave you with any infinite words of wisdom - I don’t have them. I know some will agree, some will disagree and most will probably be that mom that falls somewhere in the middle. Whether you’re a mom reading this from your Facebook feed while wrangling your brood, a friend getting some laughter out of this crazy world that is my new life or anyone in between – I hope you’ve enjoyed. Maybe related. But most of all, remembered that we’re all living day to day, making the decisions that are best for us.

I skip the monthly pictures and opt for the video of her sitting in daddy’s lap, going tit for tat as we see how many times she’ll roar after he roars. I introduced strawberries at 8 months instead of 12 months. I bought the expensive, organic, this, that and everything free sunscreen. I don’t fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans and I haven’t started to do anything about it…. And you know what – we’re both still doing great!  

Em’s Mom