#trying to decide whether or not i need socks before packing my tennis shoes up :/

[outfoxt]

i swear to god this post exists somewhere because every time i have to pack to go somewhere i always find myself thinking about the post i made about how you never really get used to the feeling of packing your entire life into just a few bags. you decide what's worth folding nicely and what's only worth haphazardly shoving into some pocket on the side of a duffel bag. you decide which papers are useless and which should be spared. what remains closest to the top of the bag, easy to reach--accessible--and what remains banished to the bottom, only to see the light of day when your final destination is reached, and you are safe once more.

[please-buckme]

The Assistant

Hayden Christensen x reader

Chapter 3

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

It’d been three weeks since that night. At first there was tension between the two of you but that quickly went away, seeing as you had a job to do. But today you didn’t have to work for the first time in, what felt like, forever.

You hadn’t had a day off in so long that you felt out of place in normal street clothes, you even woke up at 4am to get ready to go to work.

Mr. Christensen came up to you the day before and told you not to bother coming in, telling you also that he needed a day to himself, “Okay?” Was all you could say before he resumed his trick to the elevators. Did he even remember that night? Of course, How could you forget almost making out with your assistant? Maybe you were just over thinking, you thought.

Being with him that night had changed the way you looked at him. Of course he was always handsome but now you see the hidden beauty and pain written all over his face. When you used to think he was just tired all the time, you’ve come to notice that yes, he is exhausted but not from lack of sleep. He showed himself in such a way to you that it made you wonder, how many people have seen that side of him? It made you smile thinking maybe you were the only one but you know that couldn’t be. Somebody had to have drunk nights with.

After blocking him from your mind for a bit you finished your coffee, threw on some tennis shoes and headed out the door with your roommate's dog, Franky. Franky’s a good boy, of course, and you love taking him to the park nearest you. You bring a whole backpack filled with toys, snacks and some water, depending on how long you decided you wanted to be there.

The park was packed. Going to the park on a Saturday may not have been a great idea but Franky was having a good time so you stayed. The other dogs ran around in circles closing in Franky as you entered the dog park section. You saw the other owners standing all in a group talking but you decided to stand by yourself.

It didn’t take long for Franky to tire of the other dogs. His way of telling you it’s time to go is pawing at the door in the gate. “Are you ready, sir?” You say to Franky but mostly to yourself. When you opened the gate Franky took off. “FRANKY!” You shouted. You repeated his name as you ran after him. For a split second Franky went out of sight but when you finally found him he was with a man. Trying to make yourself more presentable for the man you started to comb your flyaways with your fingers before approaching him.

“Sorry, thank you for catching him for me.” Embarrassment flushed your cheeks as your boss rose to his feet.

“You have a dog?” He sounded surprised.

“He’s my roommate’s. I don’t have time for a dog.” Your words came out harsher than intended but he ignored them and went back to petting Franky. “His name is Franky.” You say flatly.

While he swooned over Franky you directed your attention to his outfit. He had on cleats with high socks that ended just under his knee. The clothes he wore made him look like a professional soccer player. His name was printed on the back in big white letters ‘CHRISTENSEN’. He looked good, really good. He was sweaty and tan. The white outlines of the mostly black jersey really illuminated his skin making you almost drool just looking at him.

“What brings you here?” You ask.

“I’ve been a bit stressed lately, as you know. When I get stressed I come and kick out my frustration.” He’s still eye level with Franky as he talks to you.

“You play?”

“Haha. I used to play. I haven’t in a long time. I'm too busy nowadays. Do you play?” He looks up at you now. You shake your head as you laugh.

“How could I? If you’re busy I’m busy.” You hadn’t noticed how close the two of you had until He stood up smiling, something you so rarely get to see. As the awkward person you are, you once again won’t make eye contact. You try clearing your throat to relieve some tension before saying, “I- I should get going though, Mr. Christensen. I’ll see you in the morning.”

A growl admits from his chest startling you. “Seriously, please call me Hayden.” Hesitantly you looked up at him, he was smiling. “It’s just unnatural to hear ‘Mr. Christensen’ outside of work.” He says with a hint of laughter in his voice. His smile easily has become one of your favorite things. The way his full lips formed around is perfect teeth sent butterflies all throughout your body.

You’d gotten so lost in his smile that it seems your mouth couldn’t hold back words anymore, “Your smile beautiful.”

..Wait was that an actual sentence? You stutter trying to fix what you’d said when he grabbed your arm and gently squeezed, making you look up in shock. “You know..,” he trails off, “I think.. that I have a beautiful smile too.” Unable to control yourselves, you burst out laughing.

“Wow, conceded much?” Why couldn’t he be this way all the time? You thought and then you said, “Why can’t you be like this all the time?” He gradually stopped laughing but kept the smile as he looked you in the eyes.

“It’s hard for me to be this way.”

“Happy?” You blurted out again.

“Yeah, happy.” You can’t help but smile shyly. Do you make him happy? If you do he doesn’t show it very often.

Before you could think too far into it he slides his hand down your arm and grabs your hand, gently squeezing as he did with your arm and let it go. “Meet me at Louis’ bar tonight.” He says.

“Oh don’t know Mr.- I mean Hayden. Don’t you think that a little.. unethical?” As much as you’d love to meet him for drinks and actually get a kiss this time it just wasn’t right. You shouldn’t have to remind yourself so often that he’s your boss.

He backs away from you heading back to the field and starts to pick up the balls he brought, “If you do I’ll be there and if you don’t I’ll be there alone. That’ll be on you whether I drink alone or with a beautiful woman.” Your breath hitches in your throat. “So please show up so I don’t have to drink with a beautiful woman.” He smirks before laughing once again at himself. You just roll your eyes trying not to laugh.

“I’ll think about it.” You say before putting the leash on Franky and walking back the way you came. You couldn’t contain the smile he left on your face. That goofy smile last the whole way back to your apartment, too excited for tonight to even care.

Chapter 4

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[helpinghanikan]

Generation Gap

Avengers (and Matt Murdock) x reader

Sum: Everyone is of legal age

Steve Rogers:  

           Your situation was a difficult one; on one hand you were just a junior member of the Avenger’s legal defense (half step higher than an intern), and your clearance shouldn’t be more than the first floor and no deeper than the offices. On the other hand, you were the partner to one of the OG Avengers, a class that had no restrictions.

           This was why you couldn’t really get mad at security when they would direct you towards the intern spaces. Nor could you yell at them when they’d refuse you entry to where your man had agreed to meet.

           This also spread rumors throughout the office about your “relationship”. How else could someone your age get this far if you weren’t getting bruised knees from it? Very few would believe that it was your skills and work ethic that took you ahead of the pack. If it were high school you would be eating lunch in the bathroom stall instead of your office desk.

         Tony Stark:

         The word “cradle robber” was thrown around in magazines and gossip sites. Along side were things like “gold digger”, “silver fox” and even “pedophile”. A statement that was swiftly met with legal action.

           It might have been better if you had just come out about your relationship. Speculation of the relationship started when some young woman started hanging around Stark business without reason. The same reaction started when Peter became an “intern”, but they didn’t have a leaked photo of a rooftop kiss.

           “We should take this as a challenge,” You had said one evening. Another scandalous claim of your rise from broke waitress to the most successful sugar baby in North America. “All this crap, you know?”

           “I don’t like challenges unless I get a big prize at the end.” Tony’s voice comes from somewhere under his desk. From your angle all you can see is the jean legs and white socks sticking out from under the metal.

           “My happiness would be a big prize,” You say. “New bracelet would be a big prize.”

 Thor:

         It’s both a blessing and curse that Thor cared almost nothing about Midgard gossip.

           On one hand, while you tried to teach him about computers, he’d never look anywhere but you. This huge man who looked to be over ten years your senior sitting at your desk, slowly typing and doing his best. Over his shoulder and there were your co-workers, pretending not to be watching him. Pretending not to whisper to each other.  

           First job a few months right out of college and you already had a new name.

           “The newer model,” that was fine.

           Or it was the “dumber version,” that one, yeah, that one hurt.

           You were no Jane Foster, in truth, you would never be able to compete with her. These comments never went farther than your office. Whether it was that your co-workers didn’t bother to try or magazines didn’t care about what some office monkey’s had to say.

           You’d rant and rave to your man, but he never seemed bothered.

         Bucky Barnes:

         It was Bucky’s choice to stay more on the down low, outright refusing anything even mildly promotional. He was as he was before the Avengers, a rumor.

           Because of this it was up to you whether anyone knew about the relationship.

           Nobody seemed to believe you about it: Family believing it was just to get them off your back (partly yes), friends just finding it an impossible idea that you’d even meet someone like Bucky.

           Not wanting to ruin his privacy you never pushed the matter on those you knew. Even if your teeth would grind when they’d claim your pictures were photoshopped.

         Natasha Romanoff:

           Everyone at your college knew what Nat was the moment her car rolled up.

           A rare, and elusive, sugar mama.

           Although you were months into the relationship it was only then that you mentioned it to her. Natasha was a great liar, if she wanted you’d never know a true thing from her. But when you bring this up, with a little laugh, she immediately avoids eye contact. Her lips sucking in a tiny smile at the not-accusation.

           It never occurred to you just how much income Nat actually had. From returned bounties to hush agreements, she had enough to never even look a price tag. Not that she ever gave an impression of caring about designer and overly expensive things, the most were some name brand make up and dresses hardly worn.

           The rest went to you, without you ever really knowing. Although Nat wouldn’t lie about important things, there was never any truth to the prices of things. That shirt that just so happens to be your perfect size and favorite color? That was a friend’s who had left it and wouldn’t want it back. That restaurant where you had to wear a “borrowed” dress she’d never ask to give back? Nat had a coupon. Those earrings she hands you after getting in the car? She found them in the bottom of her purse, weren’t her style, and still in their little box but the price tag mysteriously gone.

           Some wanted power over others to see the fear in their eyes. Nat wanted power over the joy in your eyes, to be able to say, “they’re just going to be thrown away” and see the awe you’re trying to hide while running your thumb over the jewels.

           In the end she got a feeling of purpose and you got bed sheets that’d make angels cry.

         Bruce Banner:

           “Tell your daughter to slow on the caffeine.” The barista says.

           Admittedly, you were drinking it a little fast. The few shots of expresso to make up for the long night both had with paperwork. The expensive drink threatened to spew right from your nose. Instead you coughed and coughed, trying to hide the laugh that’d cause Bruce to make that face.

           It was too late for that. Bruce turned from the counter and walked quickly to the small corner table you had claimed. He had that face, the one where he was upset but still found it a little funny, but not wanting to admit it out loud.

           “Stop it,” he says, taking a drink as though that’d stop your giggles.

           “Yes, Dad,” You say.

           “Please, don’t.”

           “Yes, Daddy?”

           “We should see other people.”

           T’Challa:

         You weren’t the first to be called into HR. Not the first to be called in because of an “inappropriate relationship”. And certainly not the first cute little (former) intern whose had relations with a foreign dignitary.  

           HR lady was not messing around with this. Waiting for you to take a seat before instructing you to shut the door. A power move that you allowed her to have.

           “So, I don’t-I’m not big on office gossip,” She starts, hands in a prayer position. “but there has been talk about your relationship with the dignitaries from Wakanda.”

           There it was, you were specifically assigned to the dignitaries as a small spy. None of your higher ups ever mentioned that the young woman in the corner knew everything they were saying, you weren’t that good of a spy, it would seem. More than once accidently making eye contact with the guards and even T’challa himself. That was what led to your situation now.

           “I understand, you’re new, you wanna see the world and he’s, yeah, he’s something interesting. But don’t you think you’re taking your little crush a little too far?” She says this as if your age gap isn’t anymore than five years.

           “Well, out of context I understand, how you see it that way.” You had to bite your tongue to keep from adding ‘but he started it’.

           Work in foreign affairs had taught you how to say “you don’t know shit” in polite talk.

           “So, what can we do about this?” She asks. This woman might have been a kindergarten teacher in a past life. Talking in that way where she already had an answer but wanted to watch her victim struggle.

           You’re back in middle school. Just shrugging your shoulders in the hopes that this conversation with an authority figure would hurry up.

           “This is your first warning,” she says, still ‘seeing things in the wrong context’. “If your little crush goes any farther, attention going to be taken.”

           You were too valuable to cut right away. Calling you in for the second warning a week later.

           Pietro Maximoff:

           His long legs took up the entirety of your backseat. Back against the old seat, legs stretching towards the ceiling, feet almost flat. This was only done because you had yelled at him more than once about feet on the windows.

           This was your tradition for the last semester of your Senior year. Bell rings and there stands Pietro at the gate. Relationship the result of a state-wide school meet with Avengers, and a friend’s dare to plant a kiss on Pietro’s cheek during the picture. That picture was still framed in in both your rooms.

           You can still remember her eyebrow shooting up to her hair-line when Pietro had led you into the kitchen. You probably should have worn something more grown up; walking in there with your tennis-shoes and backpack on one shoulder.

           In the end Wanda was the only one that seemed to approve of your relationship, who was she to judge anyway? Her partner was a robot younger than you. The rest though;

           “Are you in class with Peter?” Steve asks. The nicer of the questions coming your way.  

         Peter Parker:

         May’s interrogation happened the moment the door opened. Looking up and down at the woman here to pick up her nephew. Inviting you inside, sitting you on the couch and starting the questions. Whether Peter even knew you were there or not was up in the air.

           You were a senior, a dumb senior. One that needed a freshman to help you with math, one that you got made fun of for it and for the crush on said freshman. Also, one that stopped caring when Peter would give you that look. The one he didn’t think you see, the one he makes when you’re staring down to the math problem or looking towards something away form him.

           Now he looks from the crack of his door. Opened just enough that one eye looks into the room. You can see him trying to decide; Stay in room and hope Aunt May doesn’t kick you out or swing open the open, grab your hand and make a great escape.

           He didn’t really get a choice in the matter. After being asked about your age, your grade, how long you’ve had your license and your “intentions” with Peter. You tilted so Peter would see your entire face. Getting your look of “help me” and finally opening the door.

           The plan didn’t work as you thought it would. Peter being dragged into the interrogation right along side you. Aunt May turning your date twenty minutes late with advice about relationships, responsibility and even a touch of protection. That she didn’t pull out a power point and a ruler was a miracle.

         Stephen Strange:

           You met Dr. Handsome back when he was just handsome intern. Little baby surgeons making rounds through a learning hospital, one of their stops was your room.

           It was doubtful that he remembers the first time you met. Barely in your freshman year and here comes in a crowd of men and women. Looking you over like an art piece, or an animal in a zoo, whichever sounds better. Laying back in your bed; leg in a sling and a story of jumping down the stairs you were sure to exaggerate later.

           You were too young for there to be even a chance at a relationship. That didn’t stop you from referring to him as the “Dr. Handsome,” while high from painkillers. Mortification after hearing Stephen being mocked for it kept you from talking to him again during his visit.

           Fast forward a few years and you’re back in a hospital. The designated biker chick showing up randomly to serve court papers. It became an art to avoid any questions from the nurse or people you pass, “visiting a sick Nan”, “My boyfriend got hurt, he’s in this wing”, “What do you mean I need a visitor’s pass?”

           Dr. Handsome was in one of those wings. The recognition verified after you blurt out, “Dr. Handsome, haven’t seen you in a while.”

         Matt Murdock:

         Foggy’s face when you pecked Matt’s lips on the way out was something else.

           Foggy knew you longer than Matt had, your parents were friends. He used to watch you when you were little, you would borrow money from him and promise to pay him back. You never did.

           So, in the end, it was his fault you even met Matt.

           Karen didn’t really care. Compared to his past relationships and his nightlife, a sweet little girl who just had her first drink would be something good for him. She was also your unofficial boss as the office manager. A few ignorant individuals referred to you as “the secretary’s secretary”, you couldn’t choreography how fast all four of you would correct them.  

           The several weeks you’ve been the new secretary it never occurred to you that the relationship even was a secret from Foggy. You’d arrive at different times but usually leave together. When you didn’t leave together you’d kiss him goodbye or he’d plant softly on your cheek. It just seemed that Foggy was never looking at you when this happened.

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

Carol Danvers:

           It’s easier to forget about the gap between you when it’s not always present.

           It only sometimes leaking out when handed an iPhone or asked to look something up. Her eyebrows squinting together, staring at the screen like it may jump out at her. Looking at the silly cat onscreen, looking back up at you.

           “Whose cat is that?” She asks, looking back down at it.

           No matter how many times you explain to her that it’s not your cat, nor anyone you know’s cat, she will ask you again.

[sundaymomma-ing]

I’ve been thinking about how I will allow my children to be more independent in their decision making. Since they were small, we have allowed quite a bit of freedom. Letting them jump in the puddles and then dealing with cold, wet feet has always been the best way for them to learn not to jump in puddles with tennis-shoes on. My sweet husband calls this method the “experiential” manner of parenting. I’m not sure if that’s actually a thing, but while he teases me with it from time to time, I think it is the best way to describe my overall philosophy for life. How will we learn if we do not experience?

Still, my ten-year-old is getting to a point in life where learning through doing can cost her more than just wet feet. I wonder how to provide all of the right activities for her to live her bigger-girl life without overly harsh consequences? Too much freedom given in the teen years can lead to all sorts of unchangeable life situations, choices that will need to be lived through for years to come, not just an afternoon. Yet I know that this child learns best by living, by putting her truest self out there and trying it out in the real world. I have no answers for these questions this morning, we will walk along this path together, hopefully the puddles won’t be too deep for awhile yet and we figure out the necessary boundaries as we go.

I also have been watching my littler kids, my husband and I give them a lot of space to learn by trying things out, but these two youngest kids are around a lot of other peoples parents, how do I let them think for themselves when so many other mommas don’t give their own kids the freedoms we allow? How do I respect other parents’ boundaries, while still letting my kids respect their own? I know that I need to be more vocal, explaining to my mom-friends the “why” behind the seemingly crazy things I “permit” my children to choose. I forget that our way is what has worked best for our family and, while I don’t need to force it on anyone else, I do need to respect it even in situations where other kids might not be allowed to do the things my kids choose to do.

If I don’t respect the guidelines that I show my kids one on one when we are in a group situation, it sends a mixed message and my kid may start to question her body or brain. That is something that will come back to bite me when we are climbing or on an unfamiliar trail and they suddenly question themselves in a moment of fear. I know that by letting them climb out as far as they feel safe, by letting them jump off the highest wall they are comfortable on, by simply allowing them to choose to wear a coat or not, they are learning that their choices matter. More than that they are learning that they have power over their own choice. They also see that they are capable, sometimes they fall, sometimes they flail, sometimes they come down a step first, but because we are there to bandage the scrapes and encourage the efforts, they trust themselves.

I suppose that is how I’m hoping to make it through the teen years with grace this time. We have allowed, permitted, encouraged even, this child to listen to her body. To trust her gut, to choose what is best for her through all of her “little” years. Unconsciously, by supporting her in these small things we have encouraged her to do the same with the big things to come. Hopefully she has failed enough and dealt with unpleasant consequences enough times to have those lessons to draw from as she matures. Ideally, she will have so much faith in her own body and brain that she will not fall to pressures or fail to be true to herself.

And so we continue. This day I will allow my eight-year-old to wear shorts…in January…in Minnesota…because that is his choice and he has yet to regret it, though I can’t look at him some days without shivering. I will watch my tiny stomp out into the snow wearing dress shoes and be there holding the boots I suggested before we left the house if she chooses to admit that snow is cold when it melts into your shoes! (I know that she will not admit that, she is as stubborn as I am and she will deal with wet feet for as long as she is able, but next time? She’ll choose the boots from the start because she’ll remember.) I will explain myself better to the other moms that we interact with so that I don’t have kids who second guess themselves.

This is not always easy. I often try very hard to explain my “why” to my kids when I want them to do one thing and they are certain that their own way is best. It is hard to remember that cold fingers will not kill an otherwise healthy child when my own life experiences tell me to put on mittens. It is difficult to stop and see their independence growing when the way they want to be independent causes me to need to plan ahead more. I mean, you really can’t let kids be free to explore their world without remembering to pack a spare pair of clothes and a towel or two. I’m banking on this being best though, that as they grow up they will know themselves and have a wealth of their own experiences to draw from. Not just scary words that grown ups threatened them with.

While my confidence often lags behind what I know to be true in this area, I have decided to commit to advocating for them more vocally. If your family plans to meet up with mine on one of these mild winter days please be prepared. I will not be telling my kids they can’t eat snow because they’ll get too cold, that they can’t take their coat…and hoodie…and snow-pants off (insert eye-roll here). Because I trust that when they are cold they will put them back on. I will continue to let my kids climb the trees, stand on the ledges, and jump from the rocks. Whether we are with friends or not. Because I really, really do want them to hear their own inner voice whisper and they won’t be able to do that if I’m constantly screaming at them to “not”.

Join me won’t you? It takes only a few steps. Choose a day and pack the car with all of the things you might need, take the extra time to do this. Then let your kid choose. Shorts in winter? Sure, if you want (you can pack pants). Take a few steps out onto the thin ice at the bend in the creek? Yes (you can explain currents and how far is safe, you can have spare boots and socks in the backpack). Climb on the frozen, metal playground equipment? Yep. (Maybe put dry mittens on first though?) Life should be experienced friends, even at four-years-old.

Trusting Their Choices I've been thinking about how I will allow my children to be more independent in their decision making.