#was it that I’m a woman? I’m literally a coworker handing you a tool

[kpgimpactor]

story time 👹

[kessielrg]

[Kingdom Hearts] Occupational Hazard

Summary: By far, Ven’s got the most boring job at the flower shop; the cashier. Sitting day in and day out for someone to browse along the rows of flowers and gardening tools, then probably walk right out again. Sometimes an interesting thing would happen- but they were few and far between. [flower shop AU focused on UX kids][Part 6 in a series of oneshots][VenxOC][EphemerxOC/F!Player]

Rating: K

Word Count: 2,541

If you liked this story, please reblog!

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Ven thought about having children exactly once before. It had been a really random thought too. What made him space out that day? Had he been preparing for a test, or was it just another slow day at the flower shop? He hated that he had daydreamed about it enough that he knew exactly what kind of kid he wanted. (A girl, by the way- with the rest depending on if he could convince his ideal lady of being with him.) Either way, seeing Ephemer’s 19 month old son brought about feelings of wanting to be a father one day, while also making him glad that he wasn’t.

Furthermore, he wasn’t used to Ephemer being dressed to the nines either. The teen couldn’t help but stare at his coworker as Ephemer handed off various baby supplies to Skuld. It was a weird juxtaposition seeing Ephemer in a well pressed suit, and passing a wrinkled and well worn duffle bag to Skuld.

“There should be more than enough diapers to cover any accidents he’ll have in the next few hours.” Ephemer told Skuld. “Anora insisted we keep him from eating the foods that make him super gassy, just in case. She’s a smart one, that Anora. There’s a reason why she’s my wife.”

“Don’t have to convince me.” Skuld snorted. “Don’t know why you’re so dressed up for a night to the movies. We all know you two are going to be making out in the back of the car by the end of the night.”

Ephemer’s face immediately went up in a deep scarlet. He let out a sheepish laugh as he scratched the back of his neck. Skuld just laughed at him.

“Luca will be safe with me,” she then told him. “We’ve got a supply truck coming around in another hour or so, Thursdays are usually kinda dead anyway, and Ven’ll be here manning the main front. The next four hours will go by quickly.”

“I knew he’d be safe.” Ephemer laughed, albeit somewhat forced. “It’s how often you’ll be actually looking after him. You’re the one babysitting, and you’re still at work.”

Skuld gave Ephemer a rather dry laugh of her own before telling him, “I can do both.”

At Ephemer’s skeptic raise of his eyebrow, Skuld went on to say, “I will. After the truck gets here, my attention will be on nothing else.”

“Right…” Ephemer mused. He gave a shake of his head before getting down to Luca’s height. His son had been politely standing next to him while the old friends talked. Luca seemed to have understanding of what was going on- Ven just couldn’t get over those large blue-grey eyes. They just… stared between Ephemer and Skuld with severe inquisition. It almost made Luca look a good three or so years older. So young and yet so serious looking…

(Oh no, now Ven wanted to ask Brain if there were any surviving photos of Sabrina as a baby. She would hate knowing that he saw them, but he had to know. Did she always look that serious at a young age too?)

Ephemer gave his son a bright smile- one that was almost returned.

“You be good for Auntie Skuld and Venny, alright Luca?”

The toddler looked at his father for a long time, the wheels turning in his younger mind to register what was said, before giving a little nod. Ephemer grinned as he ruffled his son’s hair. He grunted slightly as he got back up (which Skuld was quick to snicker at) before starting his way out the door.

“See you two in five hours.” Ephemer waved at them.

“You told me earlier it was going to be four.” Skuld refuted, putting a hand on her hip. Ephemer just shrugged.

“You know I have a hard time keeping my hands off my wife, Skuld. And without a kid around? We’re practically kids again ourselves.”

Skuld let out a small ‘tsk’ sound and smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Get outta here. Go conceive your next child away from the flower shop for once.”

Even with his face flushing again, Ephemer gave her a playful salute before closing the door behind him. Skuld just looked at the door for a moment or so just to shake her head at him.

“Come up, Luca.” she then told the toddler, bending down a bit and extending her arms to him. “We gotta look out for the delivery guy.”

Luca gave her a glare so mean, Ven had to cough to cover up his laugh. The toddler even went into a string of sounds that could have been interpreted as sass. But he went over to Skuld, regardless. He allowed himself to be picked up by the woman, and together they disappeared into the back room. With the boss out of earshot, Ven felt free to let out the snicker he had been holding in for the past three minutes. The last thing on his mind was how Skuld would inevitably take her work at the flower shop over watching Luca. He’d figure it out soon- he just wished that peace had lasted a bit longer.

. . .

A good hour or so later, and Ven decided to make himself useful by making sure everything had a price sticker on it. No ceramic pot could go unturned without a sticker declaring its probably high ball price. Better than just sitting at the register and drifting off into who knows where until Skuld caught him.

Ven happened to notice Luca out of the corner of his eye. The toddler casually walked (or as casually as you could at 19 months, since you didn’t quite have the best balance still) out of the backroom and into the main store front. Ven slowed his movements a bit to watch Luca look over the area, then go over to a certain large vase with some faux reeds in it. It was rather amusing watching Luca plonk his little bottom down in front of it.  Ven gave a quiet snort before properly returning to his work. He almost had to stop because something new happened.

Luca started babbling at the flowers.

At least, Ven thought it still counted as babbling. Every now and again he could pick out sounds that certainly sounded like real words; like ‘same’, and ‘daddy’, and ‘kiss-shun’, and ‘mommy.’ Or maybe Ven was imagining it. Putting price tags on everything was ridiculously boring.

“Ven!” Skuld suddenly shouted from the backroom, scaring both Ven and Luca alike. “Do you see Luca?”

“Yeah.” he lazily replied. “He’s out here talking to some reeds.”

Skuld immediately left the backroom just to glare at Ven. He flinched a little at her gaze.

“Get him away from those!” she demanded. “I’m still going over what’s come in.”

Ven blinked at her, then looked over at Luca. The kid was literally doing nothing but staring at the other flowers now. He probably even had an acute awareness he was being talked about, but not being talked to. Ven turned his attention back to Skuld with a face that was trying to feign innocence.

“Why? They're edible.”

“Not when you're still able to choke on fine cut food!” his boss immediately retorted. All it did was spark a moment of defiance.

“Skuld, there are full grown adults that still choke on normal cut food. Your point is getting more moot by the moment.”

“I can't believe you and Sabrina aren't dating yet.” Skuld mumbled under her breath. “You share the same amount of… Urg. Just get Luca away from those flowers!”

Perhaps a bit too amused at his superior's frustration, Ven let out a short chortle before setting the price stickers down. Skuld only grimaced as she went to the backroom again. Still grinning, Ven walked over to Luca, finding himself bemused by the kid still, and asked without meaning any harm; “Whatcha doing there, Luca?”

The toddler immediately jumped, then looked up at Ven with wide, curious eyes. Slowly, as if he were aware he could be in trouble, Luca's little face started to break. Poor Ven was in no way prepared for the kid's wailing. He immediately flinched and covered his ears at the sound.

“You're not in trouble! You're not in trouble!” Ven quickly said, awkwardly making his way down to the floor to be at Luca's eye level. “Just gotta be careful, alright?”

But this didn't stop Luca from crying. If it was any consideration, Ven was sure the toddler didn't even hear him. Cursing under his breath, Ven looked around the flower shop for anything that could distract Luca. There were some plush toys in a display close by. Maybe one of those would work? Ven wasn’t going to leave it up to guessing. He quickly went to the display, quickly located and snatched a dolphin plush, then went back over to Luca.

“Here there buddy,” he said, bringing the plush close to Luca’s eye range. “Do you wanna cuddle buddy?”

Luca stopped crying just long enough to give the plush a glance, shove it of his eyesight, and let out a rather clear, very angry, “No!”

Ven let out a long (and very tired) sigh of defeat. Wasn't Skuld the one that was supposed to be babysitting this tiny person? Why did it feel like he was doing all the work?

But first, he had to shut Luca up.

What else could Ven distract Luca with? Better question- what did Luca even like? Was there anything in this store that could calm this kid long enough so he wasn’t the loudest sound on the block? All this crying had to be stressful for him. Heck, it was stressful for Ven! An even better question right about now was ‘where on earth is Skuld?!’ because that was rather important too. Could she really not hear Luca wailing from the backroom? Maybe he should check on her…

Luca’s crying hit a note so high pitched the Ven flinched. He turned his attention back to the kid in defeat. Unsure of what else to do, he tried to rack his brain on what Ephemer and Anora did to calm Luca down. But that was just the thing, wasn’t it? Usually Luca wasn’t whining. Ven did get an idea though. Carefully, Ven put his hand on Luca’s head, trying to mimic the way Ephemer ruffled his son’s hair. To his surprise, it actually seemed to work. Luca started to settle down little by little until he gave nothing more than a few sniffles.

“There you go, buddy.” Ven cooed, sounding like he was more addressing an angry bear than a child. “Feel better now?”

Luca rubbed his eyes before turning to Ven. It was slow to make sure Ven didn’t stop gently kneading his fingers into Luca’s hair. The toddler gave Ven a few tired blinks. Apparently crying for five minutes straight was particularly draining.

“Tell me.” Luca said to Ven, pointing to an arrangement to his left. Ven blinked. He didn’t hallucinate that sentence, right?

“Tell you what? About the flowers?”

Luca gave him a determined nod.

“But I don’t know-” Ven tried to tell him, but Luca was a smart kid. He purposely started to make his face break again, and even started a little whimper before Ven caught on. “Wait, wait, wait!” Ven quickly stammered, removing his hand from Luca’s head to throw them up in defense. “I might know some stuff. And look, I could probably look some things up on my phone too. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Still milking his leverage over Ven , Luca wiped his eyes as he gave another nod. Ven let out a relieved sigh. It should be that hard to fake what he knew about plants, right? As Luca gave a long yawn, Ven hoped that he could probably even be able to lull the kid into sleep. Honestly, he was practically doing Skuld’s job for her.

. . .

Ephemer and Anora returned to the flower shop thirty minutes earlier than expected. They seemed to be in good spirits, so the date must have gone on well enough. Skuld was quick to hand Luca and his baby paraphernalia back to his parents.

“He didn’t give you any trouble, did he?” Ephemer asked, taking the duffle bag as Anora got their son.

“Not at all.” Skuld affirmed. “I was a bit preoccupied with the shipment that came in, so Ven helped out a bit.”

Hearing this, Ephemer and Anora looked at Skuld like she had proposed murder. Ephemer was the one who let out a forced laugh before saying,  “Skuld…? Your shift ended before I dropped Luca off, that’s why we left him with you.”

“Knew it.” Ven mumbled under his breath. The parents looked at him before returning their attention to the rather unapologetic Skuld.

“I still watched him.” she insisted. “And now I still have some work to do before heading home for the night. Ven’s shift is ending for the night, and we all know he won’t do the inventory count tonight.”

“Because at this time of night, we do it in the morning.” Ephemer told her. Skuld didn’t seem to pick up on his annoyance. Instead, she went to the backroom before anyone could stop her.

Ephemer let out a long sigh of exhaustion. He should have known better, honestly. He looked at Anora and grinned. It was meant as a signal for them to head out, but Anora had other plans. She carefully nudged Ephemer, giving him a small look that he could read well. Ephemer nodded before digging into his wallet to find a twenty dollar bill.

“Here Ven, take this,” he offered. Ven just looked back at him with the most bewildered look. Ephemer saw it and just laughed. “We all know how Skuld gets when she doesn’t leave work. I’ll come in on my next shift with another twenty for you.”

“But I don’t-” Ven tried to argue, but it was Anora who stepped up to place a gentle hand on Ventus’s elbow. The teen froze right then and there. It was honestly the more polite thing to do- Anora didn’t really have much of a grip on him.

“Thank you for watching Luca tonight.” she carefully told him- for a moment it made him wonder if she thought she was to blame for some reason. “If Ephemer doesn’t pay you back, I will. And that’s a promise.”

“O-oh no, ma’am.” Ven quickly stuttered out. “It’s fine! Honest! It wasn’t even a big deal. Nah. Not really. Luca’s a pretty cool kid when you sit down and play with him. Pretty smart too. Nothing to sweat about. Hardly interrupted anything. Really.”

Anora offered a polite smile, although Ven felt guilty under it all the same.

“See you later, Ven!” Ephemer waved as the family left the shop. Ven waved back, still feeling guilty from Anora’s generosity. Luca watched Ven from other his mother’s shoulder- the expression was particularly hard to decipher. Ven just hoped it was one of respect. That little brat better not forget what Ven did for him today.

“Definitely having a girl.” Ven mumbled under his breath before clocking out for the day.

[hazel-writes]

Summary: You begin your first official day of work and meet your new coworkers, who turn out to be full of surprises.

Word Count: 2,300

Notes: This chapter is a bit slow, but I'm excited to introduce you to some new characters! If you want to see Picrew face-claims for these characters, look here. Otherwise, imagine them to look however you want!

Warnings: brief mentions of violence

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

I'm trying hard to hide

Keep the sun out of my eyes

Close them tight

And now I'm waiting for the moon to rise

Belle and Sebastian ~ Waiting for the Moon

You walked through the door, nervously wringing your hands, despite your best efforts not to. Your eyes scanned the room, eventually landing on a large, grey reception desk. Sitting behind the desk was none other than Ms. Stoney, the uptight woman who had “welcomed” you onto the ship the day before.

You took a deep breath before walking over to her, waiting patiently for her to look up and address you — but she didn’t. You tried subtly clearing your throat, shifting your feet from side to side, and moving into her line of sight, but nothing seemed to grab her attention. Eventually you forced out a meek, “Hi, there!” to which she responded with an annoyed glance in your direction.

“Oh, it’s you again,” she grumbled with a mix of tiredness and disappointment.

“Uh, yeah, it is,” you smiled back, which you could tell bothered her. “I’m looking for the artist workspace? I know it’s somewhere within this department, but I wasn’t sure where exactly…”

“Artist?” she questioned, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah! Ya know, an individual who… does art?” Your attempt at an explanation was met by silence. “Umm… they’re usually covered in some sort of paint or clay, might dress a little funny, are often a little angsty, possibly tormented by some aspect of their past?” More silence. You give a strained smile; you really shouldn’t keep trying to talk over awkward silences. “Not ringing a bell, huh?”

Through clenched teeth she replied,“I believe the people you are looking for are through those doors on the left.”

She said the word people like it left a bad taste in her mouth. She obviously didn’t think too kindly of them.

“Great, thanks,” you replied, heading to the door she indicated.

You opened it, and to your surprise you saw no canvases, paint splatters, tin cans, or haphazard brushes littering the room. The walls and floors were a spotless white. A large, circular table was positioned in the center of the room, surrounded by sleek modern chairs and data pads on tripods. This didn’t look like your dad’s studio back home; a place where the remnants of unfinished projects were put on display for everyone to see and learn from. Here, you could already tell: making mistakes wasn’t an option. There was no room for error.

You returned your attention to what was in front of you, only to have three pairs of eyes meet yours.

The first pair belonged to a girl of medium height. She had long, slightly frazzled, blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that contrasted her pale skin. She jumped when you walked in, her face immediately lighting up when she saw you. The second pair belonged to a taller girl. She had warm, chestnut eyes that complemented her dark, sepia skin. Her hair framed her face in a fan of tight curls. She seemed to examine you carefully, squinting slightly, before turning back to her work. The final pair belonged to a boy of medium height. He had shaggy light brown hair and a tanned, terracotta complexion. He looked at you with curious hazel eyes, smirking ever so slightly.

The three of them looked to be about your age, somewhere in their 20's.

The blonde-haired girl ran over to you, pulling you away from your observations. “You must be the new girl!” she exclaimed. “I’m Rilea, your new best friend.”

You were taken aback by her enthusiastic and cheerful attitude; it wasn’t something you encountered very often on the Finalizer. You laughed nervously. “Oh, uhh… cool?”

The boy with the disheveled hair spoke up from the back of the room. “Don’t mind her, she has a new best friend each week.” He smirked at Rilea and she threw a box of tissues at him playfully.

“While that may be true,” she continued, turning to face you, “I can tell that you are going to be my favorite best friend.”

“That’s literally what you say to every single new person you meet,” the boy piped up again.

“For star's sake, Takoda, why do you have to be such a mudcrutch?!” Rilea shouted at him, frustrated.

You continued to observe in silence, still adjusting to the rapid shift of atmosphere in this room compared to the rest of the Finalizer.

You moved to go sit, finding an open seat next to the quiet, curly-haired girl. You gave her a small smile when you sat down, and she returned the favor, scooting her chair over to give you more room. Rilea, and the boy whose name apparently was Takoda, continued to argue like a couple of four year olds.

“Are they always like this?” you asked the girl seated next to you.

“Yup, pretty much,” she replied. “That is, of course, in between the times when they aren’t getting any work done… and the times when they still aren’t getting any work done.”

You laughed. “Well, at least one person here seems to have a level-head.”

“Make that two,” she said, giving you a smile. “My name is Akilah. What’s yours?”

You told her your full name before giving her your nickname, Wren, as well.

“Wren…” she pondered. “Not as in Kylo Ren, right?”

“No, no, no, stars, no,” you emphasized. “It’s the name of a- ” You paused, reconsidering. “I actually don’t know where it comes from, my friends just started calling me by it one day...”

Akilah stared at you intently for a few moments before Takoda shouted over at the two of you.

“Hey, you two aren’t gossiping about us now, are ya?”

You sighed, “Nope, just getting to know Akilah here.”

Rilea poked her head out from behind Takoda, “She's my best friend too!”

You mentally face-palmed and turned to fully face the group.

“So, this is the artist workspace?” you questioned, skeptically.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I wouldn’t go that far as to say we are artists,” said Takoda.

You were confused. “But I thought-”

“You thought wrong. Here, you just follow the rules and instructions laid out for you. We are given colors, words, and images, and it’s simply our job to assemble it all into a neat poster or flyer for distribution.”

“Oh…” you replied, disappointed.

“I’m not even an artist,” he continued. “They just stuck me here after I was medically discharged from the trooper program. For the most part, everyone in this sector just got placed here because there was nothing else they could do”

“So why did they bother hiring me then?” you questioned. “If I’m gonna be honest, I’m used to a little more creative freedom back home. They could’ve chosen anyone for this job.”

“I don’t know,” Takoda replied. “Maybe they want their propaganda to look good for a change.” He smirked.

“Where did you say you were from again, bestie?” Rilea asked.

“Oh, I didn’t,” you replied. “I’m from Lothal.”

Immediately, each member of the team looked at each other, worried.

“Lothal…” Rilea repeated. “That’s one of the Order's targeted planets right now. I have a feeling that pretty soon we'll be distributing posters there. Maybe Hux thinks you can help reason with the people there?”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Akilah added. “First Order propaganda would be a lot easier to accept coming from a fellow citizen.”

You pondered their words. What they were saying was probably true: you were simply a tool to be used by the First Order. They didn’t care about your talent or passion; they just needed your image.

“Well, I don't know how helpful I'd be on that front,” you sighed, pausing. “So what is the project you are working on now?”

“We’ll know soon enough,” said Takoda. “Our fourth member should be returning soon with our new assignment.”

“Fourth member?” you questioned.

At that moment, the door swung open with a dramatic bang, revealing a tall, lanky boy with jet black hair and evergreen eyes. He was pale with light freckles speckling his face and arms. His eyes narrowed when they met yours, scrutinizing your presence.

“Look, here he is, ‘fun-sized Kylo’ himself,” Takoda quipped.

Rilea leaned towards you. “He claims that he adopted the whole ‘tormented soul, dramatic hair’ look before Ren even thought of it,” she snickered.

You were confused, but luckily Akilah came to your rescue.

“This is Soren,” she explained. “Our fourth member… Well, fifth, now.”

“Oh!” you replied, stretching out your hand for him to shake. “It’s nice to meet you I’m -”

“Irrelevant,” he interrupted bluntly, briskly brushing past you to sit at the back of the room.

You stood there, hand still outstretched, looking to the others for guidance.

Takoda spoke first, turning to face Soren. “Hey, laser brain, why don’t ya try being a little nicer to our newest member.”

“This is our newest member?” he responded, disapprovingly. “She doesn’t look like the First Order’s finest.”

“That’s because I’m not,” you interjected, defensive. “I’m from Lothal originally. Today is technically my first day with the Order.”

At the mention of your home planet, Soren visibly tensed, his fingers curling into tight fists. The other three looked nervously at each other; they knew something you didn’t.

Akilah, again, interrupted the tense silence. “We should probably get to work… What’s the new assignment Sor?”

Hearing her voice, he seemed to relax a little, pulling out a few papers with various sketches and color swatches.

“They want us to design posters directed at the people of Dantooine. The First Order is currently working to establish a blockade on the planet. It is our job to convince the natives to submit, while also showing them that they have the ability to contribute their own assets to our cause.”

You frowned, unsure of a few posters' ability to do such a thing. You were familiar with Dantooine; its history was deeply rooted in rebel allegiance. You doubted that a few pieces of paper could somehow shift the ingrained attitudes of thousands of people. But then again, you were an artist. And as an artist, it was your job to put blind faith into your work, simply hoping that others could see what you saw in it.

“How successful has this First Order propaganda been in the past?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Takoda laughed. “Not very. Usually, it just makes the citizens more angry. But that kind of works in favor of the Order: as soon as the rebels and their sympathizers become violent, whatever happens to them at the hands of the Order is then justified, so to speak.”

“What would happen if we tried to mix things up a bit? Like attempting a different style, color scheme, or whatever it may be, to make the posters more effective?” you suggested.

Suddenly serious, Takoda spoke. “No. We don’t do anything without the Order’s permission. Never. That’s our number one rule. We can mess around and make jokes all we want in here, but whatever finished product leaves this room has to be exactly what was requested of us.”

Something in Takoda’s voice made it seem like there was history behind this rule — history that didn't conclude with a happy ending. Looking around the room, you knew you were right. Everyone, except for Soren, was avoiding your gaze, choosing to stare at their shoes or the floor. Soren continued to bore into you with a death-glare, but your instincts told you he was like this with everyone and not to take it too personally.

“Yeah, I get it,” you responded. Soren looked at you sceptically. “Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. I’m on my last warning with General Hux — another mistake will pretty much guarantee my head a new home in the trash compactor.”

“Speaking of Hux, we are to report to him tomorrow with drafts,” Soren finally spoke up.

“Tomorrow?!” Rilea exclaimed.

“Yup,” Soren replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Of course he would pull something like this, giving us less than 24 hours notice...” Rilea muttered, irritated.

“Stars, I swear that man is 90% petulant child, 7% attempted scariness, and 3% toupee,” you responded.

This earned a chuckle from the group. Even Soren managed a smirk.

“Yeah, well, sadly, that petulant child has a big red button sitting under his bony finger that can destroy entire planets in the blink of an eye,” said Akilah, quietly. “So, we should probably get to work.”

“She’s right,” you say, desperate to end any talk of Hux. “Let’s start.”

And with that, the five of you began work on what was your first official project on the Finalizer. Akilah showed you how to accurately read the diagrams that the Order had provided. Rilea and Takoda attempted to work for a few minutes before devolving into yet another tissue paper fight. Soren sat quietly in the corner, working on the new project, glancing up every now and then at you and Akilah.

Despite the hectic menagerie of personalities that surrounded you, you were glad that you weren't stuck working with cold, robotic First Order employees like Ms. Stoney. You desperately wanted to ask your new friends about their backstories and how they came to be “artists” on the Finalizer, but Takoda and Rilea were busy stuffing tissues in each other’s ears, and Akilah and Soren seemed like the ‘work in silence’ types. You decided to settle with your own thoughts for now; it wasn’t as if you were lacking them.

It occurred to you that tomorrow you would have to face Hux again, the memory of what he sneered at you in the hallway this morning still fresh in your mind: Strike two.

You didn’t know what strike three would involve, but you definitely didn’t want to find out.

Unfortunately, you didn't get that lucky.

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[horrorlad]

Horrorlad Reviews: The Dentist (1996)

Or at least, like, talks about it a bunch. 

Boy was I overthinking my first real Horror Lad post! It was going to be Grave Encounters, but that will have to wait, because I got insomnia and decided to rewatch a movie I hadn’t seen seen since I was 14, which wound up being the perfect opportunity to write out a post!

Let’s talk about The Dentist!

So, The Dentist is a 1996 movie starring Corbin Bernsen. It was directed by Brian Yuzna (one of the producers of Re-Animator, he also directed the 1989 body horror film Society which I haven’t seen, though a cursory image search tells me I need to add to my watch list immediately).

Anyway, The Dentist is about a teethsman who catches his wife giving some other guy a BJ and gets so grossed out about it that he has a nervous breakdown about, uh, how dirty mouths are, I guess? He loses his absolute shit (though he didn’t seem to have it all that together to begin with; this guy’s Jack Torrance is way more Kubrick than King), and we the audience get to tag along for all the wacky fun.

Full disclosure: I can’t give an unbiased review of this movie. I watched it several times in high school, then completely forgot about it for ten years, until tonight. There’s too much nostalgia wrapped up in it.

That said, upon rewatching it, I am in LOVE with the structure of it as a film. You know how, some movies, you can tell that the people behind the scenes are having a blast? This is one of those movies. The structure of the shots vary wildly, and I suspect that there was not one tripod or stabilizer on that set. The makeup and effects are fun, every actor has an opportunity to shine at least once, and the pacing is totally bonkers. I will note, however, that for a slasher movie the confirmed death count is pretty low, AND most of the murders are less dentistry-related than you might expect. Still, it’s a good time, and right now it’s available to watch for free (with commercials) on Tubi, which is pretty sweet!

Read on for the content warnings and spoilers. In the meantime, I give The Dentist 3.5 tanks of nitrous oxide (use with caution).

Content warnings and plot synopsis below the cut.

Content Warnings

Also, I don’t really know what to classify this one as, but there is a lot of “ick” factor to this movie — rotting teeth, sludge, etc. If you’re easily squicked out by that sort of stuff, I’d proceed with caution.

Dental torture (and how!) – it’s basically the whole movie, folks.

Sexual assault – multiple instances, including a character having their head forced down while giving oral sex (in a daydream), and another character being assaulted while on nitrous oxide.

Spousal abuse (physical and emotional) – again, there’s a lot of this.

Child abuse – A young child has their gums stabbed by the dentist.

Animal abuse – a dog is shot offscreen.

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

Okay, spoiler time!

Whoo boy, here we go!

I have no idea why I watched this movie so much as a teen. Probably because it was free on FearNet (remember FearNet?) and I would watch just about anything.

Watching it as an adult, my first thought is… man this is weirdly paced. My second thought is that there’s a lot more non-dental-related murders than I would have expected, but we’ll come back to that.

So, our hero(?) is a dentist, and we meet him at the beginning of a framing device, miming dentistry and offering to tell us about his story. The bulk of the movie is then a flashback about how he got to where he is, interspersed with his monologuing or whatever. We meet him and his wife (who are a straight couple in a movie and thus required to completely hate one another) on their anniversary, a fact which becomes clear while he’s in the middle of throwing a fit about his laundry.

Pictured: a totally hinged man. Nothing unhinged going on here, no sir.

At any rate, he gets all suspicious after an interaction with the pool guy, and catches his wife having an affair with the guy. He continues framing-device-monologuing about decay and the world being filthy and all that, daydreams about assaulting his wife and murdering the pool boy, etc. He follows the pool guy to the neighbor’s house, acts all weird, shoots a dog — your basic Tuesday.

Eventually, he winds up at the office, starts hallucinating, assaults a couple of patients, and finally calls an early end to the day (self care is important). We get this delightful (in a heavy-handed sort of way) scene that keeps cutting back and forth between him setting out spooky dental tools and his wife getting dressed for the big anniversary surprise he’s has planned, and that’s when things really start to go haywire.

Okay.

So like.

I get that he’s a dentist.

I get that he’s a dentist whose whole shtick is having the themed exam rooms (though why we have aaaalll these rooms for a bunch of hygienists and one dentist is a little beyond me).

But you mean to tell me that this dude’s special anniversary surprise for his wife was to show her his new, opera-themed dental exam room?

“Oh, honey… you really, really shouldn’t have…”

Like, I know he’s settled on a revenge plot by this point, but I still definitely believe that this guy was legitimately planning the entire time to show his wife his fancy new dental suite as an anniversary surprise. Not to be that guy, but no wonder she was having an affair.

Honestly though, I love this scene. I love the camera PoV shots as he shows off the dental suite, I love the excessive gesturing with his left hand. I love how the scene starts off with his point-of-view of her, and then transitions into her point-of-view of him, cut with those big beautiful teeth-yanking shots. It’s ridiculous.

And then, they get home, he has some monologuing about the pool, etc.

Next scene, it’s the next day, some cops come to ask questions about the murdered dog, his wife is out back on a pool chair with her giant sunhat covering her face (the way normal, totally-not-drugged people hang out by the pool) while the pool guy does his pool guy stuff. Eventually the cops leave, yadda yadda yadda, the pool guy scoops the wife’s tongue out of the pool, he sees how fucked up she is, the dentist murders the shit out of him. It’s beautiful.

Don’t you love it when you finish your to-do list first thing in the morning?

The end.

Wait, no, that’s not right.

Somehow, there’s still almost half a movie left.

This movie starts with this dude fighting with his wife, catching his wife cheating with the pool guy, hallucinating his wife’s nasty mouth on everyone, etc. You’d think that, with his wife tortured all to shit and the pool guy dead, the movie would have wrapped up.

I mentioned before that the pacing of the movie is weird, which it is. I mean, he has his “oop guess I’m evil now” scene on his way to work the next day, which basically means that just over half of this movie is the origin story. It could be longer, with the big climactic nonsense taking up the last quarter or so. It could be shorter, with him freaking out about his wife, losing his shit, and having a proper dental rampage. Instead, The Dentist flies in the face of conventional story structure.

But this man is a busy man. He’s a dentist, damn it.

He has to get back to work!

Things are happening fast now, let’s get condensed.

We go back to work, he pulls some malpractice shit on that lady whose dog he shot yesterday, then strangles Jessica-the-hygienist (I think that’s her job) when she calls him on it. Later, a man from the IRS comes in and uses the dentist’s shady tax junk to get free dental work which is, uh, inadvisable. IRS man, Marvin Goldblum, starts talking about our dentist’s wife (and about how unhinged shiksas are in bed, in case we somehow we didn’t piece together that he’s an awful Jewish caricature), and I’m sure the rest of his appointment goes totally normally.

Get a guy who looks at you like this.

Meanwhile, the cops are definitely onto him regarding the murder of that dog (after all, murdering dogs is THEIR turf). They go to his house, where he left the body of the pool guy he murdered just laying around outside for anyone to find (which they do). Then they go upstairs and find his wife, who is alive but so fucked up.

Back at the office, Karen-the-other-hygienist, looking for her coworker who got murdered earlier, stumbles upon the very fucked up IRS dude. We get to listen to the dentist give a little monologue about how grossed out he is that his wife put some dude’s “dirty, rotten… in her mouth!” before he injects air into a vein in Karen-the-other-hygienist’s neck to kill her.

Next up, this girl who has been waiting for two days to get her braces off gets called back. She’s adorable and chipper, so this, of course, can only go well. When’s the last time you had your dentist pull a gun on you?

Our scrappy youngster runs off, and he gives chase (we find that Mr. Goldblum’s jaw elongation procedure is going well by the way), before eventually letting her go after she promises to take very, very good care of her teeth.

After all, he’s got his next job to get to.

Let’s go teach dental students the importance of pulling out everyone’s teeth!

Yeeep, he’s a teacher! And after he shoots one of his students while hallucinating, the cops show up, resulting in the slowest chase scene any movie has ever had (I mean the dude is literally just briskly walking down the hall and he still gets away from them). Anyway, the dentist winds up in an auditorium where a woman is practicing her opera singing. The dentist is entranced by this (we know he loves opera from that scene with his wife earlier) and reaches out to the singer, but he hallucinates his wife’s hecked up face on her and drops to his knees, presumably to have the rest of his nervous breakdown. The cops… uh… well, they just kinda stand around looking disapprovingly at him while he sits on the floor. And that’s… that’s it, I guess?

“Nah, let him rest, he’s had a big day.” 

 In our final scene, we have some orderlies at his new mental institution drag him down for his regular appointment, where his wife (who I guess is a dentist now) starts drilling at his teeth. This may or may not be a hallucination. It probably doesn’t matter.

Wow. That certainly was a film.

Alright, so, I’ve been typing up my thoughts as I watch, and I think I’ve figured out what I like about this movie, that had me coming back to it over and over as a youngster. There are some movies that just look fun to film, and this is one of them. A number of the shots are really charming, for lack of a better word. There’s the anniversary scene with his wife I mentioned before, but so many others — this movie plays around with point of view, extreme close-ups, some very fun effects used to indicate the hallucinations… there’s even a sideways shot of one of the cops coming down the stairs. I seem to have a real fondness for that sort-of manic, anything-goes approach to filming. Related side note: is there a single steady shot on this whole film? I’m beginning to doubt it.

Corbin Bernsen does a great job. I mean, all the actors do, really, but he is something else. Like, I can’t think offhand of many actors who could successfully take the character “dentist in bad marriage has a nervous breakdown because his wife gives someone else a blow job and it grosses him out; goes on torturemurder spree” without overacting to the point of distraction. “What are you talking about, this dude’s hammier than Easter dinner,” you say. Now, I get the urge here, but I have to disagree; Bernsen plays a fantastic Emasculated White Guy Throwing A Fit.

That picture I posted up there, after the bit about the laundry argument? A dude who makes that face over the idea of wearing the wrong cuff links to work is at most twelve seconds away from completely losing his shit at any given moment. And the dude’s anniversary surprise for his wife was to show off his new, opera-themed dental exam room; none of this behavior seems too off the wall for that character. Granted, I haven’t seen the sequel yet, and the image searches do suggest that our dear dentist is about to use his well-cared-for teeth to chew the hell out of some scenery in The Dentist 2, but in this movie? I’m just saying it’s not an unbelievable portrayal.

Disgruntled white dudes aside, the rest of the cast seems to have a fun time too. Shout out to the receptionist literally sobbing over what a great dentist this guy is (stunning work). If nothing else, stop by for wee baby Mark Ruffalo before he was famous. It’s adorable.

LOOK AT HIM.

ALL THAT SAID, I have to state again how surprised I am by the sheer number of not-dental-related murders! Like, by my count, this guy commits a hefty amount of malpractice, but for a guy on a torturemurder spree, he sure does seem to keep his torture and his murder fairly separate. Let’s tally it:

I’m tired, let’s wrap this up. The Dentist is a fun movie about a dude who loses his shit, does some dental torture, does some murder, does ZERO dental torturemurders, and then just kinda tuckers himself out and sits down. It’s a big silly mess, and I love it.

Tortures: six

The kid at the beginning, the lady he sexually assaults (it counts), his wife (not dead), that lady whose dog he shot, Marvin the IRS guy (alive when last we see him), and the person at the dental school near the end.

Murders: three people, one dog.

The dog (shot), the pool guy (knifed), Jessica-the-hygienist (strangled), Karen-the-other-hygienist (air injected into artery), and that’s… it..? He does shoot that person at the dental school, but it doesn’t appear to be a fatal wound, and Marvin the IRS guy was alive when we saw him last.

Torturemurders: HECKIN’ ZERO.

Zero! None of the tortures are murdered, and nobody he murders is tortured! What the heck kind of slasher dentist doesn’t even kill people via dentistry? No wonder everyone looks down on him at the end.

Alright, first post written. I’m going to bed.

[lyssismagical]

we all need love, that simple love that makes us whole again

Whumptober Day Twenty-Six. Abandonment 

Read on AO3

There was a very distinct line in Tony’s life.

Before Peter and After Peter.

Before Peter consists of booze and hangovers, of women he can’t remember and ibuprofen every morning, of isolation and heaps of bad emotions drowned in alcohol. Before Peter is guilt and grief and anger and repression. Before Peter is everything Howard was, everything Tony swore he would never be.

After Peter consists of everything else. Of life and smiles and laughter. It’s Dr Seuss books and stuffed animals and toys left all over the living room. It’s baby proofing his lab and having Ice Cream Sundays. It’s good mornings and good nights. It’s learning how to do all the things he never thought he’d learn how to do like cook and bake and clean and care for someone. It’s love, so much love he doesn’t even know what to do with it.

And of course it’s fear and new things and anxiety and the worry that becomes like his shadow, but it’s not bad. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

*

The Line that splits his life in two wasn’t a good line. It was hard and confusing and the scariest experience Tony had ever had.

He’d been thirty, nearly thirty-one. And Peter was barely a year old. Small and young, and left on the front porch of his mansion in Malibu with nothing but the clothes on his back and short handwritten letter explaining the situation.

Tony had, to say the least, panicked.

A child. He had a literal child. Young and crying in the fall breeze outside, chubby cheeks red and soaked in tears, and looking at Tony like he could fix everything.

No car seat, no bottle, no bag, no diapers, nothing. Absolutely abandoned on the front steps of the Malibu Mansion.

He vaguely remembered Mary Fitzpatrick. A smart, quick-witted woman with so many intricate thoughts in her head. She was a dreamer and he supposes she couldn’t have a baby in the way of her dreams.

And something in him ignited in his chest when he had scooped the little toddler into his arms, and he knew he couldn’t let this baby go.

* It wasn’t easy to get rid of all his booze, to pour the bottles down the drain, to get rid of the bar in the living room. It wasn’t easy.

But whenever he needed a drink, he’d go to Peter’s nursery, with pale yellow walls and a little Star Wars mobile, and he’d watch his baby sleep. Snuffling and rolling and sucking on his little red pacifier, legs and fists kicking clumsily, and he’d remember why he stopped drinking.

Somedays were harder than others. Abandonment can affect even a baby, especially since he lost his mother.

Somedays Peter would cry and scream and couldn’t be soothed. Somedays he’d refuse to eat, bottom lip trembling and bambi eyes filled with shiny tears. Somedays he’d hang onto Tony’s fingers and wouldn’t let go.

Whatever it was, Tony would be there. He’d sit through all the crying, all the wailing, all the screaming. He’d sit with Peter and try to convince him to eat no matter how long it took. He’d read as many books as it took, with as many voices as he could to get Peter to give him one of his toothless smiles. He’d stay up for as many nights as it took to make sure Peter slept soundly.

* Very quickly, his life flips upside down.

Parenting books are piled high in his lab, replacing all of the dangerous tools. Dr Seuss books fill the shelf in the lounge instead of Stark Industries technology. The bar’s been converted into a playhouse, stuffed animals replacing all of the alcohol.

Peter filling the hole in his chest that had been empty since his parents’ accident.

And he does his damn best to fill whatever gap Peter had after being left with Tony.

* “Come on, bubba, don’t pull that today. You’re supposed to be meeting your Uncle Rhodey today,” Tony said, gently tugging the little bear onesie onto Peter who looked like he was about to start crying.

Peter pouted, bambi eyes filling with tears.

“I know, kiddo, I know, life’s tough. But Uncle Rhodey’s supposed to be here soon,” Tony continued. Little socks with fish are pulled on next, and then Tony finally scooped Peter up into his arms. “I don’t want Rhodey to think I’m a bad parent because you’re being fussy.”

Peter sniffled, little fist wrapping into his t-shirt.

“Okay, Bambi, okay. I’ve got you. You wanna read some Seuss? It’s been a few days since I’ve heard Green Eggs and Ham.”

Tony settled down in the comfy armchair, resting Peter comfortably in his lap, before he started reading.

“I am Sam, Sam I am…”

Tony postponed Rhodey visiting for a few days, not wanting to stress out his toddler. He knew how hard it can be to have sudden change in your life, so he lets Peter have the time he needs, and when he’s happy again, Rhodey comes to visit with bags of gifts and the softest smile Tony’s ever seen on him.

*

Is it selfish?

He’s rejoicing in a situation that came from pain and abandonment.

He tells himself he’s only finding the good in a bad situation. He tells himself that it’s okay for him to love Peter and love that he’s been given a chance at redemption. He tells himself that he’s not being selfish for simply enjoying what he’s been given.

But, there’s a lot on the other hand. Mary, for whatever reason, had to abandon her child. After a year, technically twenty and a half months, she had to leave Peter on Tony’s doorstep with nothing but the clothes on his back.

Something must’ve happened. If she really didn’t want the kid, she wouldn’t have had him in the first place. She wouldn’t have kept him for the entire year. She wouldn’t have waited so long to give him to Tony.

Something bad must’ve happened. Whether it was financial issues or if something happened to Mary. He knows how hard it can be in this profession.

And Tony’s here, reaping the benefits of the bad situation.

It’s selfish, he thinks. It’s unfair.

Even to Peter, who’s obviously been negatively affected by the abandonment, it’s unfair for Tony to disregard all the bad and enjoy what he’s been giving.

But he loves Peter. More than he’s ever loved anyone. Ever. He loves his kid to the moon and back, more than his parents ever loved him, more than anything. And that’s the thing isn’t it? That’s the thing that matters?

He loves Peter. His perfect little angel. His Bambi. His bubba. His kid.

*

It’s on the news nearly six months later.

Peter’s development has been slow according to his pediatrician. He should’ve been speaking at eighteen months, but he still hasn’t said his first word.

Tony doesn’t mind, but he hates that the bad situation has caused some sort of mental block for his kid.

But Peter’s laying on Tony’s chest, sucking his thumb quietly, making little snuffling noises. His eyes are drooping, but he’s mostly focused on the television where Tony’s boredly flipping through the channels.

And then-

Mary’s picture.

Tony recognizes her vaguely from the one night they spent together. Short auburn hair, tied half-up in a little bun, round-framed glasses, the same sprinkling of freckles over her nose.

“Momma!” Peter shouts suddenly, pulling his thumb from his mouth.

Tony freezes, remote nearly slipping from his grip as he scrambles to turn on the volume.

“Mary Fitzpatrick has officially been found dead after disappearing six months ago among the wreckage of a plane crash. As of yesterday, there were no other remains found at the site of the crash. Fitzpatrick’s coworker, Richard Parker tipped the LAPD into searching the area for the then-missing woman. Police don’t suspect foul-play. Over to you, Amy,” the news reporter says.

The screen switches to the weather report, so Tony mutes it.

“Momma!” Peter cries out, little fists hitting Tony’s chest in his desperation. Tears streak down his flushed cheeks. “Momma! No! Momma!”

Tony’s too frozen in shock to stop Peter, staring at the TV screen.

He only knew Mary for one night, but they had a kid together. And now Mary’s dead? She’s just-

“No!” Peter wails. He’s just a baby, just a little baby, and yet-

He knows. He somehow knows that this is bad, that this is wrong. His kid-

Tony moves quickly to stand up, keeping Peter cradled tightly against his chest, running through all the techniques to get Peter to calm down, bouncing and rocking and shushing his cries, but he doesn’t stop. He wails and sobs and hiccups until he falls asleep, head tucked against Tony’s neck.

Peter’s first word was calling out for his mom, scared and confused and upset.

It’s not fair.

Not to Mary, not to Tony, not to Peter.

None of it was ever fair.

But Tony will do everything in his power to be everything Mary was to Peter, to keep his kid as happy as he can, to honor Mary’s memory.

He’ll do everything he can.

* Peter’s four-years-old when the question comes up.

“Everyone at school has a mom and a dad,” he starts, confusion etched across his forehead. “Where’s my mom?”

It’s much too delicate of a conversation to have without any preparation, but Tony had been hoping for at least a couple more years of peace before having to break this to Peter.

He crosses around the table into the living room, Peter in tow, settling him down on the couch and sitting on the coffee table across from him. His kid already looks nervous, Bambi eyes wide and expecting.

Tony really doesn’t want to tell him. Doesn’t want to break it to him that his mom abandoned him, disappeared, and died, but he doesn’t really have a choice. The last thing he wants to do is lie to his kid about something this serious.

“To be honest, kiddo, I don’t know why it happened the way it did, but I didn’t get to meet you until you were a year old,” Tony begins, trying to keep his head from spinning. Moments like these, the urge to drink sparks a little bit inside of him, but he’s learned from past mistakes.

“That’s…” Peter counts on his fingers. “Three years ago.”

Tony smiles. “Yeah, that’s good, buddy. But yeah, me and your mom didn’t know each other very well, I only got to see her for one night, and she left. I had no idea you even existed.”

He tells the story like how he used to tell the Dr Seuss stories.

“But then, one day, I woke up and there you were, right outside my door. All by yourself.”

“Where’d momma go?” he asks, little forehead creasing in confusion.

Tony hates this part. “She didn’t tell anybody. I like to think she wanted you to be safe, and that meant being away from her.”

“But where is she now?”

He wishes he had the option to preserve Peter’s beautiful innocence and optimism towards the world around him. He wishes he could keep his boy away from the traumas the world casts upon the best people. He wishes he could close the book on this conversation and distract him with snacks and a movie.

But he can’t.

He can’t, with good conscience, lie to his kid forever about what happened to his mom. He can’t pretend that everything in sunshine and rainbows in life. He can’t pretend that he’s Peter’s only parent.

“She’s gone, bubba,” Tony responds softly, gently taking the kid’s tiny hand in his. “She got in an accident a little while after I got you.”

Peter’s face scrunches up. “All gone? Like bye-bye gone?”

“Yeah, kiddo. I’m sorry.”

“Like when Miss Pepper went to… to the not-party and was wearing all dark?”

He tries to smile at his kid’s purity, but it’s all backwards. “Yeah, kid. Just like that. Except your mom didn’t have a not-party, she was just gone.”

It’s almost a little too much guilt for him to harbor, but he had been a new parent, and he didn’t actually know Mary enough to give her a funeral. He didn’t feel worthy of that. He assumed Richard Parker, the coworker from the news, but he found out a little while later that there hadn’t been anything for her.

Peter nods, like he understands everything just fine. “Okay. But you’re not going to be gone?”

“No, bubba, I’m not going anywhere.”

* Some days every year are hard on them.

Mother’s Day comes and goes every year with a sad silence passing over them, until one year, Peter’s bold enough to give a handmade Mother’s Day Card to Pepper who accepts it with tears in her eyes when Peter’s seven.

The Anniversary of Mary’s Death only becomes significant when Peter’s older. And when he’s eleven, he asks to visit Mary’s grave for the first time, and Tony tells the story of how they met. It’s not a particularly long story, and one that’s blurred with alcohol, but it’s the only one he knows.

The holidays are always tension-filled. It’s never easy to have constant reminders that they’re a ‘broken’ family. They don’t have the families everybody in the movies and on the cards have. It’s just Tony and Peter, that’s it. No Mary, no siblings, no extended family. Just them.

For Tony, the day Peter was dropped off at his house, is a hard day. Not because he regrets any of it, but because he can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for her and for Peter. He can’t even imagine. All he can think about is Peter’s flushed chubby cheeks, crying and begging for his mom to come back.

It hurts.

But they manage.

They always manage.

Because they have each other and that’s all that matters.

  *

There was a very distinct line in Tony’s life.

Before Peter and After Peter.

Before Peter is bad. It’s the worst years Tony’s life will ever have.

After Peter is everything else. It’s hope and joy and laughter and tears, but good tears because they’ll always have a shoulder to cry on.

Peter’s abandonment on Tony’s front steps may have been one of the worst days for Mary, but it was the first good day of Tony’s that would lead to a lifetime of happy memories. He’s just making the best of a bad situation.

And at the end of it all, they were both only doing what was best for Peter.

Because that’s what Peter deserved, and he’d make sure that’s all Peter got.

[dearlazerbunny]

Lie to Me (Ch 1 of ?)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 2200 

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

If I don’t post what I already have it’s never going to get finished soooo have some Loki. Hovering around 20k rn But I still have a looooot left to write. If anyone is interested in beta-ing/helping me flesh out ideas hit me up! 

“You.” You look up with a very good impression of a deer caught in headlights. The woman beckoning to you is clearly high up in the SHIELD hierarchy; her suit probably costs more than your entire life is worth. “Are you free?”

You glance down at the coffee you were supposed to be delivering to your coworkers. That could probably wait. “Um, yes ma’am?”

“Come with me.” She starts off in a brisk walk down the corridor, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. You follow without question, trying not to tug on your uniform too harshly in an attempt to break it in a little better. You still aren’t used to the issued clothing, considering you’ve worn the default uniform of hoodies and jeans of a college academic most of your life.

She herds you into a bare bones room, just a table and a few chairs. You stand until she gestures for you to sit, not sure why she’s even glancing your way. You’re a lackey, nothing more. Certainly not worth the attention of Maria Hill.

The woman tosses a folder onto then table, and it impressively lands squarely in front of you. “I’m assuming you’re aware of recent events?”

You raise an eyebrow. “If you’re referring to Manhattan, then yes. It’s been a bit hellacious around here.” Like there wasn’t a person on earth who hadn’t seen the footage of monstrous black aliens pouring out of a glowing portal in the sky. Everyone has been scrambling to control the situation that is blatantly so far out of their control they might as well be fighting sci-fi aliens with Neanderthal tools. It’d be amusing if it wasn’t so terrifying. “Are you with the clean-up crew?”

“Sort of.” She gestures to the folder and you open it. Inside are crystal-clear photos of Earth’s newly minted heroes and a horde of special agents escorting a raven-haired man into a transport vehicle. “Look familiar?”

You release a small breath. Intellectually, you know this is the man- god- who just tried to make himself king of humanity and threatened the entire Earth to do it. But that doesn’t stop the wonder and amazement from washing over you. Loki, Norse god of mischief, real and in the flesh. In the background you can see the golden-haired Thor, swinging his mythical hammer. Well, not exactly mythical, is it? It’s real. They’re real. All the gods and realms and monsters and mayhem that have captivated you since childhood and ultimately lead to multiple degrees on the subjects- they’re real. It’s absolutely incredible. “Yes,” you say, probably a little more wondrously that you mean for it to be.

“We’ve got Loki in custody.” She says his name so nonchalantly, like she isn’t referring to a thousands of years old immortal demigod of the golden realm of Asgard. “And we have no idea what to do with him.”

“And this has to do with me somehow?”

“Yes and no.” She sighs heavily, like she needed to be done with this shit a decade ago. “SHIELD is treating the prisoner with kiddie gloves. Fury wants every single loophole filled and locked down three times over. So we can’t just throw him in a deep dark hole and forget about him- he needs to be afforded certain… rights.” The tone of her voice implies she doesn’t agree with this sentiment.

“Like what?”

“Like company, while we sort out all the red tape so we can prosecute him properly.”

“Company.” You’re completely lost. “He needs a babysitter?”

That makes a small smile flick across her lips. “If you want to call it that. We’re not happy about it, believe me. It’s an undeniable risk. But the lawyers are demanding it, and god knows we have to keep the lawyers happy.” A pinch appears between your eyebrows. You don’t like where this is going. “So. Will you do it?”

“Me?” You squeak, then immediately try to get yourself under control. “Why me? I was literally hired a month ago, I have no qualifications to do anything like this-”

She holds up a hand. “We know. That’s the point. All you need to do is sit in his cell for a few hours every day and pretend to look interested in whatever he’s rambling about. If he talks; he’s been completely silent since we picked him up. Take a book and a few snacks with you, don’t let him schmooze you into doing anything traitorous, and you’ll be fine. Plus,” she continued, “with your background we figured you’d be at least mildly interested.”

Damn. They’ve got you there. Several masters’ in mythology along with years of a childlike fascination means you’ve been ridiculously curious about Earth’s new visitors ever since Mjolnir landed in New Mexico. The spark in your eyes must have been obvious, because Agent Hill holds out a slender hand. “Have we got a deal?”

And so, not hours later, you find yourself wandering into the depths of SHIELD’s base. “Hi there.”

The room is depressingly stark and sterile- you thought you’d gotten used to being surrounded by the chrome and weird futuristic plastic that are apparently now the only two building materials left on Earth since starting at SHIELD, but this place takes it to a whole new level. And it’s newly constructed, based on the smell of drying concrete and fresh shavings peeling up around the screw holes in the corners. There’s a small, utilitarian metal desk and chair that’s been provided for you in the center of the room, so you drop your notepad and pencil onto the tabletop with a clang and pull out the chair. It screeches painfully against the floor, making you wince. Okay, no more of that. You suck in your stomach and slide in between the table and chair so neither have to move. A little tight, but you can make it work.

The other man in the room, framed behind a wall of glass, has not reacted to any of this.

He looks exactly how he did on TV, minus the leather armor and extravagant gold horned helmet. It’s all been replaced with the thin grey uniform SHIELD deems prison garb. You have to admit, he looks a lot less intimidating sitting pale and silent against the wall, handcuffs glowing faintly around his wrists.

“Um- can you hear me?”

Still no response. He doesn’t even seem to notice you’ve entered the room. Uuuuuuum, okay... There’s a microphone attached to the desk. You lean into it, frowning, fiddling with a few of the dials at the base. Then you tap on it and speak directly into the mic. “Can you hear me?” The man flinches wildly, a radical break in his composure, and his eyes dart to you angrily. “Oh, gosh, sorry, okay, let me-” you turn the dial down a few notches. “Better?”

The volume doesn’t seem to be at max level anymore- he doesn’t flinch again- but he also doesn’t say anything else. “I’m going to need verbal confirmation that you can hear me.”

He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t seem to be looking at anything. His gaze is focused on some middling thing opposite of him, something invisible on the horizon, but he’s hardly glazed over- emerald eyes are bright and sharp, flickering lightly. They are not the eyes of a defeated man, far from it. More like one who has about fifteen thousand and twenty three plans all running through his head at once.

You suppose that should scare you, but SHIELD has reassured you that the cell is one of the most technologically advanced cells they’ve ever constructed. Also, those cuffs have some sort of magic-diffusing abilities, so no funny business there. Then again, he did basically destroy all of Manhattan, like, less than a week ago. You hadn’t even been in that part of the country at the time, SHIELD had called you in from D.C., but you can still feel the horror grip your chest in a vice watching skyscrapers fall to tatters on the news-

“Yes.”

His voice is so soft you almost don’t catch it. It pulls you from your thoughts nonetheless. “Oh. Okay, great.” You pull your pencil to you and neatly label the first page of your notepad with today’s date in the top corner. If you were going be stuck with him, you might as well take notes. Think of the papers you could publish! “Can you please, uh, state your name for the record?” That sounded professional, right? You’ve heard it on Law and Order a lot, anyways.

The prisoner raises one eyebrow slowly. “Really?” He draws out that one word into a three-second attack of sarcasm, but you simply shrug your shoulders.

“It’s protocol.”

“I am Loki Laufeyson, Prince of Asgard, God of Mischief and Lies.” With every title he spits from his mouth, his eyes flash dangerously.

“O-kay.” You jot that down on your notepad, giving it an underline for good measure. “And how would you like to be addressed?”

“Your highness.” He says it as easily as he might’ve said Bob or Ricky.

You blink. “Um. Not sure that’s within my pay grade, but we’ll see how it goes.”

“Where am I?”

“A very secure holding cell,” you answer confidently, and the god scowls at you. He’s apparently waiting for more information, but you shake your head- “that is literally all the information I’m allowed to give you about that.” You glance up at the camera tacked to the ceiling of the room. “Also, you’re being recorded at all times. Gotta tell you that for legalities sake.”

“SHIELD has always so been worried about legalities.”

That gets a small snort from you, and you tap the end of your pencil on your paper. “So-”

“Who are you, exactly?” He suddenly sounds very, very tired, and a little angry, like he’s already done humoring you. “And why are you bothering me?”

“Y/N.” You give him a little wave, since you obviously can’t shake his hand. “I’m a, well- archivist, of sorts. SHIELD brought me in to talk to you.”

“And you’re, what? Fury’s pet?”

“Hardly. I’ve been here less than a month. I don’t think this uniform has even been washed yet.”

Another eyebrow raise. “An interesting choice to interrogate their most wanted prisoner.”

You tap a little more frantically. “I think it’s so if you end up getting into my head, I won’t be able to give anything up,” you say thoughtfully. There’s a huff over the speakers you’re hearing him through. “Also, this isn’t an interrogation.”

“No?”

“Nope. I’m not really qualified for that.”

“Then what are you qualified for?”

“Jeg snakker norsk,” you offer, honestly wondering that question yourself. The look he gives you is a mixed amount of horrified and amused. “They thought it might be helpful speaking in a familiar language, I guess?”

“They do know I can speak literally hundreds of thousands of languages spanning any galaxy you care to name,” he says, apparently stunned by the new heights of SHIELD’s stupidity.

You sigh. “Yeah. I thought it was a stupid idea too.”

“This is laughable.” He’s on his feet now, close to the glass and staring you down threateningly. “Why have I not been removed to Asgard? They will presumably want to prosecute me for my crimes.”

“Um, I think they’re planning on it. But they want me to, um, talk to you first.”

“About what.”

“Well. Anything you want, really.”

“I have nothing to say to you mortals,” he spits, and the word splats on the ground like it’s a curse.

“That’s cool, I get that. But right now all the bureaucrats are running themselves in circles trying to figure out what to do with you, and all that red tape is going to take some time to untangle. In the meantime, they want to make sure you don’t go crazy from the solitude or something.”

“Since when has SHIELD cared about my well being?”

“I mean, you’ve still got rights and stuff. You can’t just sit here for who knows how long with only yourself for company.”

“And why not?”

“Wouldn’t you get lonely?”

“Forgive me, but I hardly think you are going to provide any sort of adequate mental stimulation.”

Geez, way to hit below the belt. “You can request someone else if you want. They pretty much just picked me out of a lineup and threw me on you, I don’t really think they care who sits here with you.”

“What would be the point? SHIELD only hires imbeciles and fools.”

“Well, then. I guess you’re stuck with me for a while.”

The man slumps back, apparently not encouraged by your words. Then he punches the wall with one of his restrained hands and screams angrily in clear frustration.

This is going to go so well.

A/N: Jeg snakker norsk = I speak Norwegian 

[btsiguess]

Choices (m) - 1

Summary: You didn’t think that when you woke up this morning you were going to go out and buy a hybrid. But really, ending up with this stupid cat might be the best thing that ever happened to you. Much to both you and Yoongi’s chagrin. 

Pairing: Yoongi/Reader

Genre: Fluff, eventual smut

Word Count: 2859, so just a drabble series guys.

Warnings: Reckless driving!!!

A/Ns: Oh look, another Yoongi fic. Are we surprised? No. And I’m also NOT sorry. Anyway, this idea has been bouncing around my brain for a while and so I just decided to go for it. It’ll just be a drabble series though, so shorter chapters! Because I’m an impatient bitch!!!!

Chapters: 1 2 3

“Honey, I just really don’t like the idea of you living in your own in such a big city!” Your mother chastises you over the phone. “You didn’t even leave home for college, and now this? Moving to Seoul on your own? I understand that this job is important to you but still… I wish you’d be realistic.”

Hard as it was, you try your best to be understanding of your mother’s concerns. It’s true that you’ve never been away from home before, but you aren’t incompetent. It had merely been a matter of money, and nothing more. And now, freshly out of college, you’ve been lucky enough to land a job with one of Seoul’s top marketing firms. You have your parents to thank for giving you the tools you needed to succeed - helping pay for school and even supporting you through unpaid summer internships and grant opportunities - you’re nothing but grateful for that. That’s why you always keep your mouth shut as your mother frets over your well-being, that’s why you bit back your protestations and sighs. It’s all in an effort to spare her feelings.

“Mama,” you finally renege, “you and dad have taught me so well. I’m old enough now, to be on my own. Besides, this is my dream job! I’m making way more money than a recent college graduate ought to be.”

The deep resigned sigh from the other end of the line tells you your mother is out of steam for today.

“What about getting one of those pets?” She suggests finally. “One of those hybrids you know? I’m sure your father and I would feel much more secure if you had a watchdog. And hybrid’s can even phone the police if something happens!”

You laugh quietly at your mother’s words. You suppose you were lucky, at least, that she wasn’t insisting on you finding a boyfriend.

“Mama, you know I don’t have the time for a hybrid. They’re a lot of work…”

“Oh I know sweetie but still it would just make us feel so much better, you’re so far away.”

Biting your lip, you glance at your watch. If you don’t wrap up this conversation soon, you are absolutely going to be late for work. And at only a few weeks into this new job, that’s something you simply can’t afford.

“Aish, alright mom, I’ll at least consider it.” You placate her. “But as of right now, I’ll have to let you go. I don’t want to be late for work!”

You bid your mother farewell and agree to talk at the same time the next day. She seems pacified by your promise to think over her request, and thus the end of the conversation goes quickly and smoothly. Soon you find yourself stepping out of your car, and striding inside the large building that houses your corporate offices.

You like your job, you truly do, but Monday’s are always the hardest. Not because it’s the start of a new week or anything, but just because every Monday your floor had a little team building meeting. One where you had to participate and talk to your fellow coworkers. It was mostly fine, but there were one or two people you could do without. Namely…

“I just didn’t know what else to do!” ahh, yes. Soojung.

Your absolute least favorite human being in this entire fucking office.

“He was a monster, I swear.” She’s seated at the large conference room table, a large gaggle of girls standing around her, listening to her speak.

“All he did was bite me and scratch me up whenever I went near him! I feel bad, you know? I’m apparently the third person to give him up! The shelter says they have no option but to put him down.” The girls around her nod in understanding.

“I know there are some hybrid shelters that are no-kill, but I just couldn’t stand to have him around for one second more!”

Holy shit, did she just say that the hybrid shelter was going to put someone down? Like… a genuine living, speaking, near-human hybrid?

What the fuck.

“Soojung,” you interrupt, and the entire group of girls looks at you in surprise. “Where did you say you dropped your hybrid off?”

And that’s how you found yourself standing at the front of a hybrid shelter as soon as your shift had come to a close. There was no way in fucking hell that you could just let some hybrid be murdered. Seriously. What the fuck? Still though, you eye the door somewhat apprehensively. You know you don’t exactly have what it takes to be the owner of a hybrid, but still… anything has to be better than being dead right? Right?

You draw a deep sigh and make your way inside. A small, plump woman greets you as you walk in and you do your best to swallow your nerves and smile at her.

“What can I do for you today, sweetie?” She coos, and you instantly feel uncomfortable. This is definitely a mistake, but you can’t bring yourself to leave. A literal life is on the line here.

“Actually, I just overheard some of my coworkers talking today. About how much they love their hybrids. I’m thinking about adopting one?”

“Well, you’ve absolutely come to the right place! Let me show you our--”

“Actually, I was wondering if you… well I read online that you guys are a, you know, a kill shelter,” the woman winces at your words, “and I was just wondering if you have any… I mean, like any hopeless cases. I just really would hate to see a hybrid put down you know? When I could provide them a good home.”

The woman’s face pinches up in a wholly unattractive way. As if your claims had personally offended her.

“There’s one, but you don’t want him.” she says.

“I mean, I think I can decide that for myself, no?” Is your curt reply.

The woman shrugs angrily, and steps out from behind her desk.

“Fine then. Follow me.”

She leads you through the showroom of animals, and you do your best not to look at anything but your feet. You don’t want to be persuaded into getting more than one hybrid, you’re a sucker for puppy dog eyes, and here they have them, well… literally.

Soon enough you’re brought into a back room, it seems to be for employees only, and your stomach quickly turns by what you see there.

A dark hybrid cat. Locked in a cage much too small for him. His hands are bruised and bloodied, as if he had tried - unsuccessfully - to fight his way out of his current predicament. He’s curled up in what looks like restless sleep, but as soon as you enter his eyes shoot open.

“This is him.” The woman tells you simply.

“Great,” you gesture to the cat before you, “I would like this hybrid, please and thank you.”

The woman gapes at you.

“You don’t even want to speak with him first?”

Your eyes shift briefly to the caged man, watching the way he follows your every move. There’s a small flicker of hope in the cat’s eyes, and so you shake your head.

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. He seems perfect. Exactly what I’m looking for.”

She gives you a scowl before motioning for you to follow her back to the front. There’s way more paperwork than you thought there would be. And it’s over an hour later when another employee finally brings out the hybrid to you.

“No one likes a girl with a saviour complex you know.” The woman mutters towards you and you flinch slightly when another worker cheerily tells you to enjoy ‘your’ new hybrid. Your discomfort only grows when you see the cats eyes flash with anger.

It’s only later, when you and the cat are finally sitting in your car, that you realize what you’ve done.

“Oh my fucking god. What the fuck.” You mutter, glancing at the literal cat person next to you.

He gazes back, a look of uninterested confusion on his face.

“Why are you acting like this, human?” He says finally, and the low timbre of his voice takes you by surprise.

“What?” is the only thing you can think to say.

“You’re being annoying. Why are you being annoying?”

“Sorry.” You snap at him, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “When I woke up this morning I didn’t realize I was going to become responsible for another person’s wellbeing, thanks. Color me a little overwhelmed.”

The cat before you pauses slightly for a moment, his head tilting to the side, ears twitching. He says nothing for a while, and you grow more and more antsy with every passing second. What was this cat playing at, seriously?

“What?!” You finally lose your temper, but the cat merely smirks at you slightly, as if your outburst was exactly what he had wanted.

“You called me ‘person’ you know.” He says.

“Well aren’t you?” You try to collect yourself as you pull out of the parking lot.

“Not in the eyes of the law.”

Oh shit.

“Seem like a person to me.” You mutter under your breath. “Bitchy like a person.”

The cat scoffs.

“You passed the pet store.” He says, in lieu of replying.

“Why would I need to go to the pet store?”

The cat looks at you, incredulous before starting off.

“A collar? A leash? Fucking food? You aren’t put together in the slightest, there’s no way you have all that shit at home.”

You’re offended, but only because he’s right. You screech your car around in a dangerous U-turn while the cat beside you hisses and digs his claws into the fabric of your seat, tearing up some of the padding.

“What the FUCK are you doing?” The hybrid yells. “Are you trying to kill us?”

You pull calmly into the pet store, satisfied by the way you’ve worked the cat up.

“Mmm, not today. Let’s go.” You say, opening the car door. Again you’re greeted with a dubious look from your new companion.

“I can’t go in there without a leash and a collar.” He says finally.

“Oh geez.” You mumble. “I’m so not prepared for this and I’m going to kill us both.”

“Reassuring.”

“Shut up, cat.” You snipe. “If I leave you here for like, two seconds will you be okay? I’ll run in and get a leash and collar so you can come in too and pick out what you want.”

The cat looks surprised but nods.

You crank the window down and motion for him to do the same. He doesn’t.

You roll your eyes and begin to walk away from the car anyway. Whatever. Let him suffocate. Whatever.

Suddenly a thought occurs to you and you spin quickly on your heels, leaning down to peer through the window of the car.

“What color?” You ask, and the cat tilts his head, his dark feline ears twitching once more.

“What?”

“Like, what color leash and collar do you want? Any requests?”

The cat ponders for a moment, and you’re unsure whether he’s mulling over the question or the fact you’ve bothered to get his opinion in the first place.

“Black.” He says finally. “Leather, if they have it. Oh, and I’m a medium.”

You nod and give the cat a small thumbs up before hurrying inside. You’re not sure you trust your new companion in the car by himself, and so you try to work quickly. You locate the collars and leashes with relative ease, and try your best to pick out one that the cat waiting for you would like.

It’s no more than five minutes before you’re outside the shop again, and the cat merely shrugs at your choices for him. You’re a bit disheartened, but you try not to let it show too much. He’s supposed to be a problem cat or whatever. It is what it is.

He gets out of the car and stands before you. You’re a bit surprised at how tall the hybrid is. And it would take a fool not to notice how handsome, as well. You hope your cheeks don’t go as red as they feel, but when the cat raises his eyebrow at you, you know you’ve been caught.

“Here.” You say, holding out his collar and hoping he will accept the change of subject.

He takes it and quickly fastens it around his neck. It fits perfectly, and you notice that the cat gives a satisfied hum as he glances at his reflection in your car’s side mirror.

“S-Sorry.” You mutter as you hold out the leash to clip it onto his collar. Something about this feels so incredibly wrong, and it twists your gut. Your hands shake slightly as you try and attach the leash, your fingers coming in contact with the skin of the cat’s throat. The touch alarms the both of you, but neither of you elect to mention it directly.

“It’s fine. Rules are rules.” The hybrid tells you, gazing down at you. It’s an oddly intimate moment, and suddenly you step back, hoping to distance yourself from the man - the hybrid in front of you.

“Right.” You say, too loudly. “Let’s go.”

Despite you being the one with the leash, the cat is definitely leading. You let him. He knows more about this than you do.

“Here.” He says, stopping in front of a bright yellow machine. “You need to make me a dog tag.”

“A cat tag.” You mumble, earning a disinterested glance from the cat.

“Just hurry and make one. I’m not supposed to be going around without it.”

“Okay well… What type do you like? Just pick whatever.”

The cat hesitates once more, eyes trailing over the rack. He eventually selects a simple silver circle, and you nod your head in agreement. It would look absolutely gorgeous against the cat’s beautifully tan skin.

You place the tag into the machine, jumping slightly as it whirs to life, your action making the hybrid shake his head.

You dutifully follow the directions, typing in your address and apartment number and your telephone, lest the cat get lost and needs to be returned. You pause however when the final question appears:

What’s your companion’s name?

Oh fuck. You didn’t even know his name. You fucking suck.

“I’m sorry,” you start, glancing at him, “but I don’t know your name.”

The cat looks surprised, but not angry like you were expecting.

“What do you mean?” He questions. “You pick it.”

Your face must betray how horrified you are because his ears twitch at you, something you’re beginning to learn means he thinks you’re acting in an unexpected way.

“No, that’s too much.” You say finally. “You’re like, a whole adult man. You can pick your fucking name.”

The cat is still for a moment, as if he’s expecting you to laugh and take the opportunity away.

“I’m serious.” You reassure. “If you don’t pick, I’ll write something embarrassing. You look like a ‘Fuzzball’ to me.”

The cat moves faster than you’ve ever seen him.

You peek over his shoulder as he types in his name and then hits the ‘print’ button before you can change your mind. It’s with utter fascination that the two of you watch the laser etch out a beautiful looking ‘Yoongi’ onto the dainty tag.

“Yoongi?” you say, rolling the name over your tongue. “That’s a really beautiful name.  It really suits you.”

“Thanks.” Is his only response, as he scuffs his shoe along the ground.

You clip the little tag to his collar with some difficulty, but Yoongi doesn’t complain. He simply watches you there before him, eyeing interestedly the way your tongue peeks out of the corner of your mouth in concentration.

After that, Yoongi seems to be in higher spirits, carefully piling his wants and needs into your cart. You feel a little desperate, watching the price tag increase in your mind’s eye, but you know you have enough saved away, and seeing Yoongi look… well, as close to happy as you imagine he can get is enough of a reward for the hit your wallet is about to receive.

When you push you your carriage into the bedding section you watch Yoongi shrug and shake his head.

“I don’t need one of these.” He says to you, firmly.

“Oh? Why not? Do you prefer sleeping on the floor or something?” You puzzle.

The cat laughs for the first time since you’ve gotten him. A wide genuine laugh that pulls at the edge of his lips and makes him smile - really smile - for the first time. Your heart skips a beat in your chest.

“No.” He says, eyeing you. “I want to sleep in your bed. With you.”

You think you might pass out.

“Excuse me?” you choke out, weakly.

“Oh you know me,” he says, practically reveling in your surprise, “I’m a real big cuddler.”

With that, Yoongi winks and walks away. Leaving you to pick up your broken pieces all alone.

A/N: And there you go, have more garbage. Whatevs. @gimmesumsuga!!! You haven’t read this one yet because I wrote it in 20 minutes before I went to bed lol.

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Movies

Jake was a romantic at heart and a huge fan of old b+w movies, and he and Clarke went to the old local movie theatre every Sunday to watch them. So when Jake dies, Clarke carries on the Sunday tradition alone...til, one Sunday, she meets Lexa.

The funeral was at 1pm.

At six-thirty, with no will left for the rest of the people that crowded in her house, the only daughter left the wake without a single word. Wondered straight out off of the porch with no real thought at all, not even missed by anyone in particular. 

There were pictures being shown, albums opened and passed around to the extended family who mourned and cried and tried to laugh, though found it almost impossible with the circumstances. The house on the end of the street, the one with the stupid miniature windmill in the front, the one with the big porch and tool shed in the back that once was always open, but now had remained shut for months, that house was very alive despite the somber reality it would face soon enough. It was too alive, in all actuality. Too many people filling up too much quiet with too many words of too much sympathy.

But none of that mattered.

At six-thirty, Clarke couldn’t handle anything else. She didn’t want to hear anymore stories about what her father was like as a kid, or the pranks he played on coeds in college, or even how sweet he was with her when she was just a toddler. She didn’t want to tell anyone anything either, instead, electing to horde all of her father that she could to herself, afraid that once she spoke the words, he would disappear and not be her’s any longer. Now she was a daughter without a father, and she was making it up as she went.

Like clockwork, her body moved on its own routine. The car drove itself without her thinking, stopping at signs and signaling accordingly. It parked in a familiar lot. At one point, she was certain there was a song playing on the radio, but by the time she stopped, all that there was in the cab of the car was silence.

“One, please,” she swallowed and dug in her purse for money at the window.

“The Sunday feature isn’t until nine.”

“I know. I was just. I was hoping that...” she furrowed and tried to speak words, only realizing that she didn’t have any left at all in her for such things, and there was no where else she wanted to go on a Sunday.

“We’re not even really open,” the clerk at the window shifted nervously. All of sixteen and very unsure what to do for the woman in the nice black dress who was four hours early for a movie.

Clarke dug into the purse that was just for show, coming up with about three and a half mints and a tampon.

“Ma’am, I’m not sure I can sell you anything...”

“I know I have... I can figure it out.”

“Let me get my manager,” he squeaked. “Just give me a second.”

Clarke took very little notice of what was happening on the street, as nothing interested her more than getting into her regular seat in her regular theater and seeing whatever was appearing. She didn’t even care what the clerk was actually saying. She was on a mission.

“Listen, I just... I have to get in. I have to see this movie,” Clarke murmured, her chest inflating with the many breaths she was taking. “You don’t understand. I can’t go home. There are thirty people at my house, all looking at me with these sad eyes, and I’m not sure how, but my best friend is dead, who happened to be my dad, and I don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow, but I know that I can shut off my brain for two hours and sit in the dark and forget. That’s all I want. I just want to forget. So please. Can I just hide here for a couple of hours?”

“Um.”

“Just. Give me a second. I’ll be quiet. I’ll just sit there. But I can’t go home. I can’t... Thirty people who just want to apologize,” she shook her head and swallowed. “I come here every week. I swear I do. I know everyone’s names, and they know me. My father brings me here. Brought me. Brought me here every Sunday since I was like ten.”

“Like I said, it’s only seven.”

“Excuse me,” a stranger asked, interrupting the match between the frantic woman and the pitiful attendant at the window. Both just stared back at the newest addition.

The old flannel shirt slid off of one shoulder, while a necklace hung long from her neck. Hair a mess of dark brown, tucked up with sunglasses fresh from the early sunny spring day, green eyes squinted and perused the situation carefully. Shorts showed off long tan legs while her hand fiddled with the edge of her shirt. All at once, she was both severe and soft, a delicate balance politely on the slope of her jaw and the angle of her nose.

Opposite of her, the woman on the verge of tough tears tilted her strong chin. Blonde hair in a neat bun, single gold chain around her neck. Black dress and heels. Every part of her was rigid at the moment. Every bit of her ached and wanted to say yes. Not two more different images could have been seen so closely juxtaposed.

“Um. Yeah,” she continued, not earning a response. “What’s playing?”

“I’m... I’m not sure,” Clarke’s brow wrinkled into peaks as she looked helplessly back at the attendant.

“Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy,” he offered.

“Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy,” Clarke repeated.

“I’ve never seen it,” she smiled. “Is it any good?”

“One of the best. Lot’s of mummy puns.”

“I do love a good pun. Could I have two tickets, please?” the stranger decided, tugging some money out of her pocket and counting it as she squinted at the sign behind the ticket booth.

“The movie doesn’t start until nine,” the teenager repeated once more. Sundays were the easy days. That’s what they told him when he swapped shifts. He could picture his coworkers laughing evilly in the distance at the idiot who took a Sunday.

“I don’t mind,” she shrugged, sliding the money through the gap in the glass.

To his credit, he debated it before giving up and deciding his wages and three hours of training didn’t prepare him for this situation.

“Thank you,” Clarke nodded. “I’ll pay you back.”

“No worries,” she smiled and held the door open. “I was just walking by and happened to be thinking about how much I wanted to see a movie.”

It was a lie, but Clarke didn’t have the wherewithal to imagine anything other than what was presented to her. So she nodded, as if it were the most reasonable answer to the situation. As if it made sense that a stranger happened upon her and bought her a ticket because she really did just want to watch a random movie.eeee

“I only caught a bit of that out there,” the stranger shrugged. “Sounds like you’re having a bad day.”

“I don’t know. I guess,” Clarke sighed. “Thanks again.”

Without any other indication, Clarke moved toward her seat in the theater, unable to keep up polite conversation. The stranger took it as enough of a sign, and nodded once again, electing to take a seat a few rows up and on the opposite side of the theater.

Quiet and calm, Clarke felt relief to be somewhere safe, somewhere time couldn’t touch, where nothing bad happened and where she didn’t have to think about the closed casket.

By the time the lights dimmed only a handful of other people filtered in. Clarke didn’t notice the occasional glance from the buyer of her ticket. Instead, she disappeared into the movie, and it was, perhaps, the best gift anyone could have given her on that terrible day.

It wasn’t as if there weren’t anything else to do on a Sunday night. About sixteen pages of papers needed to be written and a stack of books that never seemed to get smaller needed to be read, but still, Lexa found herself checking her watch and once again refreshing the website for the small theater on Main Street.

“Hey, where are you off to?” Anya called from down the hall as Lexa tugged on shoes by the door. With a heavy sigh, she made her way toward the kitchen.

Tall, and skinny, much like their mother, Anya was responsible and always so much older than her years. With a dish towel over her shoulder and hair flying away from cleaning, she was beautiful and clever and still a pain of an older sister.

“Hey! Not nice!” the three year old complained as her aunt stole a green bean from her plate. “Auntie Lexi stole my green bean!”

“Tattle tale,” she teased, kissing the brown hair.

“We’re working on asking nicely,” Anya reminded her little sister. “Now what do you say?” she said in that sing song way that haunted them from so many kids shows.

“I’m sorry,” she growled and made a face at her niece, earning a giggle.

“That’s okay. Do you want more?”

“No thank you.”

“So where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Out, out, you’re just going out?” Anya taunted, hands on her hips.

Four years separated them, and yet more than that. It flt longer that they were apart. When Anya left and then came back a few years later with a newborn, it bonded them. After their mother died, and Lexa moved in to pursue her degree and help. Now they were a tiny family. Now she was even older, even wiser.

“Out out out out,” the little girl echoed.

“Double-teamed, huh?” Lexa grinned. “I’m just going to go catch a movie.”

“Hmmm,” her sister hummed.

“Hmmm,” her daughter mimicked.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with the girl in the black dress from last week, does it?”

“OoohOOOhooh,” Lenny teased with a big smile.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” she moaned, putting her head down on the counter. “I don’t know anyone here outside of my classes. I just kind of want to go see a movie.”

“This has nothing to do with the pretty girl who didn’t even notice you?”

“Okay, alright,” Lexa shook her head and tossed her hair around. “On that note, I’m going. I’ll be home round eleven.”

“Or later if you’re lucky,” Anya teased.

“Night, Len,” she smiled and ruffled the hair of the toddler at the table. “I’ll see you later.”

It took a little more teasing before she made her way out to her car. Last week, it’d been pure luck that she was even downtown, choosing to usually forego drinks with people who described Kafka as one of their greatest motivations for studying literature. But her sister made her branch out.

There really was no reason to go back. She enjoyed the movie well enough, but maybe Anya was right, maybe it was to see if that stranger wit the sad eyes was going to be there again. All of which felt like a very weird thing to feel. After Costia, after Chicago, after all of it, Lexa didn’t think she’d ever be curious about someone else ever again.

If she didn’t see her, then none of it would matter and she could focus more on her paper that was stalled somewhere between analysis and absolute shit.

To her credit, she second guessed herself about thirteen times as she sat in the parking lot before she just gave in and went.

“Good evening,” a different attendant met her as she approached the window.

“Hi,” she breathed, shy and anxious.

“I’d like to have one, please. For the… Um, what’s it?”

“Fantastic Voyage,” he supplied.

“Yes. That,” Lexa nodded, sliding across her money.

It felt weird, to hold the ticket, but still, Lexa fiddled with it as she made her way inside, out of the lingering heat of the summer. Careful to not look around too much, but still trying to see everyone, she cautiously approached the theater.

By the time she took a seat, she was all nerves.

Nothing to worry about. No pretty girls in sight, she typed, using her phone as a crutch.

So you did go to see a pretty girl, Anya retorted.

No. Just proving you wrong. I came for some good, quality cinema.

Lenny said you’re lying.

A box of candy rattled beside her, pulling Lexa from the bright light of her phone. It slid into the cup hole on the armrest before she could argue more with her sister.

“I didn’t think I’d get a chance to thank you, but I hope you like sno-caps.”

“Hey,” Lexa swallowed and sat up a little bit in her chair. “Yeah. I mean. Of course. Yeah I do. But you don’t have to give me… I mean. It wasn’t…”

“You  might not ever know how nice of a gesture that was,” she continued. “But I really do appreciate it...”

“Lexa.”

“I am very grateful, Lexa.”

“Just… helping out I guess. It wasn’t a big deal…”

“Clarke,” she smiled, holding out her hand. “It’s nice to meet my knight in shining flip flops.”

“I should thank you. I’ve never been in this theater. And I never saw an Abbott and Costello movie. Now I’m teaching my three-year old niece bits,” Lexa rambled, shaking the hand one too many times, gripping it just a little too firmly. “Sorry. That’s a lot. I just. You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” Clarke nodded, crossing her arms as she leaned against the row ahead.

Gone was the dress and the neat hair and the heels. Lexa liked all of it though. Relaxed in an old, oversized sweater and long, long legs, her hair looked lighter than last week, if that was possible. The dim of the auditorium didn’t let Lexa see her eyes well enough, which was a travesty of the greatest degree.

“Then you’re welcome I guess.”

“So you liked the movie?” Clarke continued.

“I really did. I’m not too sure about this one, but I figured this was a good enough way to spend a Sunday evening. A nice detox from pouring over books and writing impossible papers.”

“This one’s also a good one,” she assured her.

The lights flickered and both looked up, knowing what it meant.

“I better get back to my seat. Enjoy those. I asked specifically for the not stale kind of candy,” Clarke promised, pushing off gracefully.

“Thanks.”

“Enjoy it.”

“You too.”

Lexa’s heart sank slightly as she made it a few steps toward the aisle.

“Maybe I’ll see you next week.”

“Maybe,” she nodded eagerly.

The lights faded not a minute after her departure, but the entire movie, Lexa felt herself fighting the urge to turn around and think of something clever to say, though nothing came to mind. Grateful for some otherworldly will power, she found herself enjoying the movie well enough.

As the end drew closer, she felt her body grow tenser with the idea that she would see Clarke when they left, an that was just another chance to look like an idiot. Surely she couldn’t not embarrass herself for that long.

“So, what did you think?” Clarke called as Lexa tried to hurry through the aisle.

“I liked last week's better.”

“Yeah, hard to beat Bud and Lou,” she smiled.

“If you know all of the movies already, why do you come?”

“Now that is a question.”

“Sorry, it just seemed… I don’t know,” Lexa shrugged and tossed her trash as they walked into the lobby.

Clarke stopped and debated, staring out at the dark that settled on their quiet town, made much heavier due to the day. The entire city prepared for the new week, already in bed and anxious to be miserable with work.

“Do you want to maybe grab a coffee?” Clarke decided, finally turning back to the confused girl in her wake. “We can talk about movies, and why I watch them. And you can tell me about books and papers.”

“Um, yeah. Sure. That’s. We could,” she nodded eagerly.

Carefully, Lexa checked herself in the mirror once again. She ran her hand through the mess on her head and frowned as she adjusted her nerdy glasses that she dreaded. Of course her contacts ran out. Of course she dreaded today.

With a final sigh, she decided that was as good as she could do, though it did not help her nerves.

“Ohhh, look at this one,” Anya teased as she sat on the couch and dried off her daughter, fresh from the bath. “Someone put on her cute flannel for her date.”

“It’s not a date,” Lexa insisted.

“You’ve spent the past two months with this girl.”

“Okay, just seeing movies, and only on Sundays.”

“What about lunch the other day? And drinks last night?” her sister reminded her.

“You look pretty and smart,” Lenny offered after stepping into her pajama pants.

“Thank you, Len,” Lexa nodded politely as she slipped on her boots.

“You should tell Clarke that she looks smart. Mom said brains are most important.”

“Solid dating advice,” Anya reasoned, helping her daughter slip her head through the shirt. “And put your arm around her. That always works. Classic movie move.”

“I’m not making a… I wouldn’t… No. I told. No. I told you it’s just because I like movies. Her dad just died.”

“She’s giving off vibes. And you know it.”

“Okay, alright, well….” Lexa nodded and made her way toward the door. “On that note. Thank you both.”

“Love you!” her sister called.

“Home by midnight, missy,” her niece reminded her.

By the time Lexa made it to the theater, she was a ball of nerves, working it all over in her head. Her sister was absolutely infuriating and lovely and just exhausting. She just liked hanging out with Clarke. That was it. It wasn’t that she was fun and a breath of fresh air, and absolutely her favorite person to look at and talk to, because that would be ridiculous. She just liked movies. Lexa just liked an escape.

“I like your glasses,” Clarke smiled as Lexa approached, deep in thought and distracted.

“Oh, yeah? Um these? I…” she sputtered gracelessly and pressed them up on her nose. “My new contacts went to my old address.”

“I don’t know. These are adorable. You look like you read books and drink gross coffee in the park.”

“Well, that’s fairly accurate.”

Lexa watched the blonde appraise her face, though nothing really changed except her glasses. There was something about blue eyes on her that felt intimidating and violent in the best way.

“I like it,” Clarke finally decided, as if she was truly debating it the entire time, weighing her options.  

“My niece said that I looked smart, which is what all girls should want to be.”

“A little feminist in the making?” Clarke chuckled, grabbing Lexa’s elbow as they got in line for tickets.

“My sister is insistent that her daughter is not going to end up pregnant, unmarried, and not ready like her. I mean, she’s a spectacular mother, but I know she thinks she isn’t doing well enough because she needs help. While our mother did it with two kids, completely alone.”

“I mean, Lenny sounds like an amazing kid. So I’m sure she does a great job. Plus Auntie Lexa probably just causes more trouble than the four year old.”

All Lexa could do was grin and order two tickets for them when they reached the window. It was unspoken that she bought the tickets and Clarke bought them candy and a drink to split. It’d been that way for what felt like forever, but wasn’t even that long at all.

“You never told me how she got the name,” Clarke reminded Lexa, as they took their normal seats after loading up. “Lenny isn’t a typical name.”

“And Clarke is?”

“As an expert in weird names, trust me. I know they have a story.”

“Well,” Lexa sighed, crossing her leg as she got comfortable. “Anya was very high on meds, and we’d been joking about names for the entire pregnancy. She was so stressed. I was still away at college, she was going alone until I came for the delivery. Len’s dad pops in and out, so she did it all. And I think she always knew what she was going to name her, but didn’t want to tell me. She’s named after our mother, Eleanor. Anya was going to call her Ellie.”

“And Auntie Lexa decided that was too normal?” Clarke asked, popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth.

“I did,” she grinned, digging her phone out of her pocket. “She knows she’s in trouble when she gets Eleanor’d. She loves her name. Here she is.”

“Aww, look at that,” Clarke cooed, softening as Lexa showed off.

They were just barely texting friends, in that they only started to text every single day. And Lexa loved it. Now she was going to send pictures.

“I swear, your smile must be genetic because that’s pure trouble.”

“We’ve been known to cause a bit, yeah,” Lexa shrugged. “How was your paper?”

“I got an A. Thanks for taking a look and editing.”

“Well, what good is knowing a PhD student if they can’t edit your papers, right?”

“That’s the only reason I keep you around, Woods.”

“I knew it,” Lexa grinned, stealing a handful of snacks.

They were there plenty early. It seemed as if it got earlier every week, both arriving before the other in an attempt to eek out a little more time to chat. Lexa just liked hearing Clarke’s movie facts, and liked hearing about what her week was like, both past and the one that was coming up.

“So you said she was named after your mother?”

“Yeah.”

“As in your mom is…”

“Yeah, the year before Anya got pregnant.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No worries. You just… you know. You just get used to it,” Lexa shrugged.

“Yeah,” Clarke nodded, thoughtfully and distracted.

It wasn’t that she was sad, just that she was thinking, but Lexa didn’t want her to be sad, and it made her a little frantic. She stared at the screen before thinking of how to dig herself out of it.

“So you never told me what we’re watching. I need the Clarke Griffin preview, please,” she nudged, pretending to fight over the armrest.

“Lexa, we’ve been over this,” Clarke groaned, pushing back. “I get the armrest. You get to hold the drink.”

“Sorry. Slipped. My mistake.”

“Sure, sure.”

By the time the movie started, Lexa still wasn’t sure she cared about the film, but Clarke was excited, and it was infectious. And so she was quiet, nodding and not talking much until her partner leaned over and told her tiny parts of the film. That was her favorite part.

But this time, Lexa was more distracted than usual by the way the movie played on Clarke’s face. And she was more distracted by her sister’s words. She fiddled with the straw of the drink and tapped her thumb on her knee before steeling herself when the movie was over half finished.

With a slight movement, Lexa lifted her arm and placed it on the back of Clarke’s chair. Frozen, she didn’t turn her head to see what Clarke thought of it. Instead she stared at the screen like her eyes were glued permanently to that position.

It was only after a few minutes when Clarke sunk down slightly and rested the back of her head against Lexa’s arm that she chanced a sideways glance, still afraid to move her head at all. Lexa gulped.

Some things happened, though she didn't register what was happening in the plot. All Lexa felt was Clarke tugging her hand down so that the blonde had Lexa’s arm wrapped around her shoulders like a scarf.

As much as she didn’t want to, Lexa knew she was going to wake her sister up to tell her.

It wasn’t close to snowing. Not even in the realm of possibilities. But the weather did dip below sixty, which was an absolute catastrophe as far as LA was concerned. Clarke took it in stride, happy that the semester was done, that she got her internship, that she got to wear that cute, warm sweater, and that it was Sunday.

It wasn’t just the movies anymore. It was Lexa. Busy as they got, there’d already been coffee on Tuesday and Clarke even got to help her Christmas shop on Friday morning. It was a nice thing, and made her smile.

“Wow, someone looks cute,” Raven teased as she lounged on the couch, a book held above her head that then fell to her chest.

“Thank you.”

“I mean. Like. More cute than normal. Are you wearing make up? Did you shower and do your hair?”

“No.” It was a lie. Clarke did those things. “I’ll be back later.”

“Wait wait wait. Are you going to see your girlfriend?”

“She’s my friend.”

“Okay, but still,” Raven rolled her eyes. “Are you going to finally make your move? It’s been like six months.”

“I’m not making a move.”

“Waiting on her?”

“We’re friends. She’s nice. And sweet. And kind of dorky, though you’d never know which is super cool, and she’s sweet. And kind. And pretty. And ridiculously smart--”

“But you don’t like her,” her roommate reminded her.

“Right. That’s. No. I don’t.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Alright.”

“Okay, stop. Bye,” Clarke decided, nodding to herself against the stupid words her friend wanted to say.

“Wear protection. You know I’m too young to be a grandmother!”

With a snort, Clarke made her way toward the theater. It was still too early for the movie, but getting there early was newly a thing.

It wasn’t that Clarke didn’t like Lexa. She very much liked Lexa. But the student was too hard to read, and their relationship was too good to mess up. She was a good friend when Clarke needed it most, a fresh face and fresh perspective. Lexa had an old soul, and that was comforting and peaceful when she felt the most disturbed.

But she also had these eyes and lips. The lips were a problem. And when she pushed her hair around, creating more of a mess when she thought really hard about something, or was explaining something she was passionate about. And when she put her arm around Clarke at the movies, and she could feel the little bicep there. And when Clarke chanced a look at ink that was on the skin there. And when Lexa wore glasses. And when she texted about stupid things. And when she sent adorable pictures of herself. And when she was just herself. Basically, Lexa was always a problem, and Clarke didn’t have a crush on her.

Except she very much did, but still wasn’t positive what to do about it because they reached such a great place.

Instead, she just walked down the road after she parked and felt herself grow warmer despite the little chill in the air, just from the thought of seeing Lexa.

“Now that’s an interesting hat,” she smiled as she watched Lexa approach from the opposite direction, both meeting in front of the box office.

“Oh, this old thing?” Lexa grinned. “Had it lying about.”

“The infamous Len, I presume?”

“Sorry. Anya had an emergency at work-- I guess another bar tender got sick, and there’s some Christmas party and they needed bodies, and extra money for the holidays doesn’t hurt, so--”

“Seriously? It’s more than fine,” Clarke rolled her eyes and looked up at the little girl perched on Lexa’s shoulders. Her little hands held onto Lexa’s cheeks.

“Care to say hi to my friend, Clarke?”

“Hi,” the little girl shrugged her neck into her shoulders shyly.

“It is nice to meet you, Lenny. Your aunt tells me all about your funny stories.”

“You do?” she asked.

“Of course I do,” Lexa promised. “You’re my best friend. I have to tell lots of stories about my best friend.”

Clarke grinned at the display, her heart simultaneously feeling as if it was being crushed between someone’s fist while at the same time expanding to ridiculously new sizes from being too full of adorable. Lexa with her niece was enough to make her ovaries howl.

The little girl leaned to the side, carefully whispering something that made Lexa smile despite herself.

“She says you’re prettier than I described you,” Lexa explained. “For the record, I described you as beautiful like a princess.”

“Oh my,” Clarke blushed. “A pair of charmers.”

“Like ‘Punzel,” Lenny offered.

“We watch a lot of Disney movies.”

“Tell me the truth, does Lexa sing all of the songs?” Clarke asked the little girl.

“Sometimes but not always. Mostly when we go on ‘ventures, she is the prince. Sometimes I am Wonder Woman, and then Auntie Lexa likes to be Hawkgirl.”

“Oh, now that sounds like a crime fighting duo I’d be afraid of.”

“Which superhero should she be?” Lexa tried as they got in line.

“Hmmm,” the little girl debated. “Make her Supergirl. Or Spider Gwen.”

“Wow, she is a total nerd like you.”

“I’ve corrupted her,” Lexa nodded proudly. “I could only handle so much princess shows before I was going crazy so I introduced her to superheros and life has been sweet.”

“Isn’t this a little late to keep her out?”

“Are you kidding? She stays up later than me,” Lexa scoffed. “Because Anya works at all hours, Len kind of doesn’t have a strict bedtime, so they can spend time together. At least until school next year. Pre-K here we come.”

“I’m going to read words soon,” she piped up from her perch.

“We’re working on the alphabet,” she explained, leaning forward once they made it inside, slipping the little girl from her shoulders to her hip. “Do you have to go potty?”

“No.”

“I’m not above buying affection,” Clarke decided. “Do you want to get a little candy, Lenny?”

She was all big brown eyes and chubby cheeks, and when her smile appeared after earning the nod from her aunt, dimples appeared. Easily, Clarke could understand how Lexa was so attached.

The little girl didn’t change much of their night. Clarke was actually surprised by how well-behaved she was, curling up on Lexa’s lap, tucking her head under her aunt’s chin, and falling asleep about a half hour into the movie despite her own insistence that she was not tired.

Clarke found herself sneaking glances at Lexa more than usual. It was the first movie she was excited for, after reading Little Women about fifteen times throughout her life. And Clarke was addicted to the small smile on Lexa’s face at times. And she liked how she kissed her niece’s hair from time to time, absently and soothingly.

Weirdly enough, Clarke found herself missing the feeling of an arm around her shoulders as she’d come to expect.

“Did it live up to your high standards?” Clarke asked as they watched the credits roll.

“I really, really liked it,” Lexa confessed. “I don’t know why I haven’t watched it yet.”

“Because you’re a book snob.”

“That’s true, but still.”

“Here, let me grab everything. You carry her,” she instructed, picking up Lexa’s coat and bag. “I’ll help you to the car.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry I had to change up our… thing… you know?”

“Are you kidding me?” she scoffed. “This kid is adorable. Glad I got to see what those Woods genes have to offer.”

“Are you going to try to make a baby with my sister?”

“I might after seeing this thing,” Clarke joked sa she hung Lenny’s coat around her shoulders.

“I don’t know how my sister does it. She works so hard, and is raising probably the greatest kid on the planet. She’s astounding.”

“You’re not so far from spectacular yourself.”

“Nah, I’m not… I mean. It’s. She’s a superstar.”

They pressed out into the chill of the night. The Christmas lights were still on in the storefronts on the street. The lampposts were strung in garland and the world was all gentle and tinted in the impending holidays.

“Lexa, you graduated with a degree after your mom died and your sister had a baby, and then got into one of the best PhD programs in the country. And you live with said sister and help with her kid while commuting an hour to and from school, while working, while reading and writing papers and teaching. And you still make time for a stupid movie tradition,” Clarke reminded her. “You’re fairly astounding.”

“I try,” she murmured and nudged her head toward her car down the block.

Clarke wanted to know if her blush was from the cold or her words. She really wanted to know and didn’t know how to ask.

“I never got to thank you, properly, for that… that day,” Clarke swallowed.

“I believe Sno-Caps were involved.”

“No, but I mean. It meant a lot. I know it’s a stupid tradition to have, but coming every Sunday was just part of my life for so long. I fell in love with movies, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“I love the feeling of the theatre, the smell of the popcorn, the murmuring of people. That feeling, where you just forget the world and are sucked in, your heart racing, your breath hitching, your hands wringing as you watch lives unfold. My father gave me that, and it meant a lot that a stranger bought me a ticket when I was at peak crazy.”

“I’m sure you can be crazier than that,” Lexa tried, swallowing hard at the description. “Besides, I had nothing else to do.”

“Why did you come back?”

“I don’t know.”

Clarke watched her hesitate before digging the keys from her pocket and clicking the button. Clarke opened the back door where the car seat was, and watched the tenderness and ease that Lexa fastened the smallest member of the expedition.

Only when Lexa closed the door did she finally look as sheepish as she must have felt. She scratched her neck, a telltale sign that she was slightly nervous. That came when she didn’t know what to say. Clarke had already catalogued such things.

“I thought you were nice and… I don’t know. I thought you were pretty. Plus I really did like the movie.”

“You did?”

With a quiet nod, Lexa leaned against the car door and knit her fingers in her hair, all anxious and honest at the same time. Her cheeks were pink and she huffed out a tiny cloud in the cold of the night.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know anyone here, and you just seemed very real, which is always unique.”

“I’m really glad it was you.”

“Me too,” she finally grinned.

“Did you really tell her I was pretty like a princess?”

“Yeah,” Lexa shrugged and crossed her arms. The smile was back, though it was the one that hid her kind of fake confidence.

“Do you want to grab dinner tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure. Maybe we can try that place you saw, with… the… burgers…” her sentence trailed off with each step Clarke took toward her until she was standing right there, toe to toe.

“Sounds good.”

Clarke didn’t move though. She just stood there in front of Lexa until Lexa eyed her and made herself stand from the lean she’d protected herself with.

“I thought Rapunzel was a good comparison.”

“Will you just stand up so I don’t have to use some cheesy line from a movie?” Clarke demanded.

She regret it as soon as she finished speaking. But Clarke stood there, like every movie she’d ever seen, and she swallowed, suddenly aware of that fear in a new way. But Lexa called her pretty and normal, which weirdly enough were very nice things to hear for someone who felt neither, and often fought to achieve at least some semblance of real.

“What kind of lines would work now?” Lexa tried.

“I’m just a girl,” Clarke smiled. “Standing in front of a girl, asking her to love her.”

“I knew that one,” she smiled despite herself.  

“Swoon, and I’ll catch you.”

“Hmm. Not familiar.”

“No, I don’t think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.”

She felt the proximity and her head was forgetting all the right words. Lexa started with an intensity that violently disproved her previous quote.

“And you know how?”

“What do you want?” Clarke started, her heart beating wildly. “You want the moon? Just say the world and I’ll throw a lasso around it a pull it down.”

Lexa gulped. Clarke felt hands on her sides, weirdly enough. The weight of a thumb just above her hip. And Lexa looked at her from beneath her lashes.

“Of all the gin joints in the world, she had to walk into mine.”

“That one works.”

Clarke ducked her head and stared at Lexa’s lips before meeting her eyes. It’d been months in the making and now she was here and she didn't know how to do it, how to move that singular inch.

"It seems right now that all I've ever done in my life is making my way here to you.”

“Any more?”

She shook her head though she had about a dozen things she wanted to say. There was a time for lines and a time for quiet. Clarke licked her lips and cupped Lexa’s cheek and for the life of her, she’ll never know how, but she kissed her, right there on the sidewalk after repeating too many movie lines, in front of the old electronic repair shop with the santa that mooned people who walked by from time to time.

A little girl was asleep in the car, and Clarke kissed Lexa because she was perfect, and her father had taught to her appreciate movie moments, because they didn’t exist in real life, except she got one right now.

That, and Lexa kissed and the winter turned into a tropical summer with the humidity of the equator. Clarke melted into it, pressing her chest against Lexa and sighing as she felt arms wrap around her. Too many thoughts barraged her brain, but she could focus on kissing. That was what she was made to do.

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agreed.

“Well, that’s going to be a problem.”

“What?”

“I won’t want to stop doing that.”

Clarke chuckled and shyly hid in Lexa’s shoulder, shaking her head slightly at the nonsense that seemed to always sprout so naturally from the girl.

“You ever use those lines on a girl before?”

“You ever use your adorable niece as a wingman before?”

“Never.”

“I might have used one or two…” Clarke murmured, earning a laugh.

The movie was very much forgotten. It was an old black and white with some damsel that Clarke was in love with and Lexa didn’t really care about one bit. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the movies, just that some of them weren’t terribly interesting to her. Certainly not as interesting as her companion.

She liked spending time with Clarke. She liked that part a lot. Between school and life and everything, it was hard to pick out moments of Clarke, but Lexa managed because it was important. She was madly falling for the weird girl who quoted movies and wanted to make them and said they were magic.

“Stop being so good at this,” Clarke complained, quiet, so as not to disturb the few people in the theater.

“At what?”

“Making out.”

Lexa just grinned and caught Clarke’s lps through half-lidded eyes before kissing her again, this time with a little more fervor to really drive home the good kissing part of CLarke’s assessment of her. It was difficult, with the armrest between them, but it was the only time they had.

“Want to come over to mine tomorrow afternoon? Anya is taking Len to the swimming pool for lessons.”

“I have filming all afternoon.”

Clarke closed the distance and kissed her back, fighting for the coveted position of being the best kisser, trying to repay and illicit just a fraction of the torture she was currently experiencing.

“What about after eight?” she tried.

“I’m watching Lenny.”

“My car after the movie?”

With a small chuckle, followed by a heavy sigh, laden with the realization that they were never going to have alone time ever in their lives. This was all they would have. Just torture in the back row at the movies.

“This is the worst.”

“My roommate is going to be gone on Tuesday,” Clarke remembered as she went through her own schedule.

“Perfect. I’ll reschedule my tutoring.”

“What? No.”

“Trust me. It’ll be worth it.”

The first Sunday, the usher notice immediately as he closed the doors and the lights dimmed. While at first, he assumed she must have snuck through when he was busy doing something else, he scans the darkening theater to discern that, in fact, the usual girl who sat four rows from the back on the right side middle was conspicuously missing.

The theater seemed a little different, with that realization.

Across the city, Lexa saddled the picnic table and handed her girlfriend another beer as her sister made a grand attempt at telling a story, earning a laugh from the film buff. Their night was just starting, and the summer was thick and angry despite the lack of sun finally.

From time to time, after the first Sunday, the theater notices the lack of a certain pair. Not every week, but often, followed by more often than not, until it is as if they come only once or twice a month.

When they do come, it’s always together, and never in any other seats. Sometimes, a little girl trails along, especially around the holidays.

Clarke half expected it to hurt to not go on Sundays, as if everything would miraculously change for some reason. And yet nothing did. She didn’t miss her father any more or any less. She didn’t feel guilty or as if she betrayed him, but merely a new kind of sad that he would never meet the bespeckled girl who still bought her a ticket when they went.

And instead of hiding on Sundays, sometimes, she noticed that it was a different kind of being alive, to have dinner with her mother, or tag along with Lexa and Lenny for ice cream.

The theater kept showing movies, and it was still there for her when she needed that feeling of magic though, and for that, Clarke was ever grateful.

Lexa didn’t consider herself a film snob or even buff. She liked what she liked, and she had little real care for appropriate or award-winning. She liked the modern classics and she love the old funnies, while Clarke was a golden age snob with an encyclopedic knowledge of just about everything cinematic.

For weeks, she spent every Tuesday with bated breath, refreshing the screen, hoping to find an appropriate film to set the mood. It was like holding in a shout she had to get rid of, one that clawed at her throat. But still, she waited because she only got one shot at it.

But it came.

“Anything can happen, don’t you think?” the actor asked, but Lexa didn’t see it. Instead, she kept glancing at the girl who once bought her snowcaps in what felt like an entirely different life.

It seemed as if life was somehow bisected between meeting Clarke. There was the before, and then the now, and Lexa had trouble thinking of them both as congruent.

“An Affair to Remember is just one of my favorites,” Clarke sighed as they sat there and the credits began to roll. “I don’t know why, but I’m just taken with it.”

“It’s no Abbott and Costello go to Mars, but it’s passable.”

“Sometimes I wonder how I put up with you.”

“I’m not sure, but let’s not question it too much.”

“Shall we, love?” Clarke rolled her eyes as she started to stand. “You have an early morning sleeping in and not going to work.”

“Sure, just hang on, one second,” Lexa swallowed, fiddling with her pocket before bending down on a knee.

“You’re going to stick to the floor.”

It didn’t deter her at all. Lexa looked up at the girl she loved and forgot her speech, and so words just came.”

“I fell in love with you at the movies. I know we’ve seen Mary Poppins about six times here, but I still have no idea what it’s about because I just love watching you smile through the whole thing. I love that you hold your breath during Hitchcock movies, and that you laugh even though you know every punchline to Abbott and Costello.”

“Lexa…”

“I fell in love with you at the movies. You were heartbroken, but I was suddenly sitting here, very much curious about this stranger.”

“What are you…”

“I can’t promise you a picture perfect movie life. I can’t promise dance numbers and montages of hard parts and perfectly timed animal costars, but I know that through it all, we can have a happy ending that anyone of these movies you made me watch would be jealous of. Because I’m just… I’m so in love with you, Clarke. Will you--”

In a second, she was half tugged up and half tackled, so that all she could do was hold onto the thing in her arms.

“Yes!” Clarke yelped, throwing her hands around her girlfriend’s neck. She kissed her cheeks and felt herself be tugged up tighter. “Of course, Lex. Oh my goodness.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course, yes. What else could I ever want?”  

“You want the moon? Just say the world and I’ll throw a lasso around it a pull it down,” Lexa promised, earning a wider smile, if it were possible.

 “Kiss me, you fool.”

And with that, she did.

“This isn’t even a classic,” Clarke complained as she juggled the drink and candy and coats in her arms as they made their way to their seats.

“Don’t be a snob,” her wife teased. “Back to the Future is a modern classic.”

“I don’t like what is happening to this theater. You’re a bad influence on it.”

“If I have to watch Casablanca again, I’ll die, honey,” Lexa promised.

“Yeah. Plus I have to do research for my Halloween costume,” Lenny reminded her aunts. “I want it to be perfect.”

All in a row, the three took familiar seats, adjusting in a familiar way. It wasn’t every Sunday. It wasn’t even close to every other Sunday, but still, often enough, in some combination of family members or occasionally just Clarke herself, the theater was still visited as faithfully as a church. Not completely devotion, but religiously enough in comparison.

Not much changed over the years. A few coats of paints, different marathons, petty fights and making out in the back like kids. It housed many memories and it was still a home, a place of refuge for many moments.

“And you are going to be the cutest Doc imaginable,” Clarke cooed to her son as she pulled him out of the carseat in her wife’s lap.

Sleepy, the ten month old yawned and nuzzled into his mother, oblivious as to what the future held for him in just a few weeks.

“This is what I brought on myself,” Lexa rolled her eyes at her niece and her wife and their antics. It was too much, too often. But it was just enough, always.

The End

[anachrcniism]

Reason #34975495 EVERYONE Should Work in Food Service At Some Point in Their Lives

Here’s another fun story for you from my life as a barista. This is srs one of the most mind-boggling things to me and I have yet to understand why this happens but ok. 

(Let me preface this by stating that I do, in fact, have nearly a decade of Food Safety training under my belt and happen to know a little about wtf I’m talking about, yeah?)

So, at work, we keep the product we use behind the bar separate from the condiment bar items to prevent contamination. I mean, we do our best to make sure the product on the condiment station is safe to use to but the idea behind this because of the multitudes of different people using it, it’s not exactly safe for us to touch it and then touch, say, somebody’s cup or lid without washing our hands first. 

It’s for both convenience and for health safety. 

So we don’t let customers use the same milk gallons that we do, toppings, sugars, or anything that we do so we can work more efficiently without risking contaminating our product.

We had a renovation last year the removed the sneeze guard (a glass barrier) surrounding our espresso machines, syrups, etc. Keep in mind, this was a really useful tool in minimizing contamination between our customers and the product we stored behind this guard and they fucking took it away for aesthetic reasons. Ok. Cool. 

Anyway, since then, we’ve had a rise in customers reaching over the now lowered wooden barrier that replaced the sneeze guard for things like packets of sugar, straws, lids, etc. DESPITE THE FACT THAT (aside from the lids) all of these items are kept at the condiment station. 

Ok. Cool. Annoying, but whatever, doesn’t hurt much of anything right? 

Every so often though, we get some dumbfuckery that is truly difficult to comprehend. People will reach over and grab gallons of milk that are sitting on the counter WITHOUT ASKING simply because they wanted to put some in their coffee or tea. Again, something that we keep at the condiment station. 

Well, today, not one but TWO dipshits really, honestly, surpassed all explanation.

The first one, a middle-aged white dude, reaches over a space of about two feet to rifle through the toppings that are chillin’ on top of the machine I’m working. Doesn’t say a fucking word to me but his hand is literally two inches from my face and I’m staring at him. He didn’t even fucking notice until I had to catch on the glass shakers he almost fucking dropped and asked him what he was looking for. Once again, it was something that WE HAD. AT. THE. CONDIMENT. BAR. 

I breathe. I hand him the stupid shaker and proceed to inform another barista that we needed a new one since he’d taken it. 

Not even five minutes later, I swear to god, there’s another one. Except this one is much worse and jfc if I didn’t want to snap on her ass for this idiocy. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I had seen this woman speaking to the supervisor working register asking some question or other about nutritional information and being upset that we were out of pamphlets or some bullshit. 

Alright. Ok. Whatever. Not something I have to deal with right? Wrong. She orders something and moves down so stand behind the bar. At this point, she is practically pressed against the wooden barrier behind the syrups. A lot of people like to lean right there and wait so I start to ignore her but THEN-- then this bitch reaches over the wooden barrier and starts picking up our syrup bottles from their racks and reading the information on them like their fucking magazines at the doctor’s office. Like wtf lady, truly, what in the actual fuck do you think you’re doing right now?

I take a breath and get her attention and literally all I say to this bitch is “Hi, could you not touch the bottles because if they’re contaminated we’ll have to change them out. If you’ll tell me what you’re looking for, I can probably give you the information?” 

Instead of responding like an actual fucking adult, she starts being petty af. She demands a refund for the drink she bought (a whole $3.25) and that someone else make my drink because I wasn’t “washing my hands between pumping syrups” so “why was I telling her off for” and insisting that she’s a “grown ass woman” and doesn’t appreciate being “spoken down to like a child.”

You know what? You know fucking what, lady? Maybe don’t act like a child who doesn’t understand concepts like boundaries and germs and not fucking touching things that don’t belong to you without permission and you won’t feel like one the next time someone informs you of a thing. Maybe have a thought for all the other people in the universe besides yourself that you could potentially be risking their health by doing what you did. Maybe fucking recognize that you did something dumb just then and were being asked to not to do it again. 

Like, for real, do we really fucking need to put a sign up that says ‘DON’T TOUCH THESE THINGS THAT ARE CLEARLY BEHIND A BARRIER AND FACED AWAY FROM YOU’ for people to get it? 

The reason I don’t have to wash my hands between every pump of syrup is because NO ONE IS SUPPOSED TO BE TOUCHING THEM OR ANYTHING ELSE BEHIND THAT BARRIER THAT HASN’T ALREADY WASHED THEIR HANDS FIVE THOUSAND TIMES. 

If I have an “attitude” it’s because I’ve dealt with more than enough idiocy that makes my job, and those of my coworkers, that much harder and have to waste perfectly good product because you can’t keep your hands to yourself. I mean, I guess ‘contamination’ is a pretty big, harsh sounding word but it’s really a simple concept. Like, coughing/sneezing into the crook of your elbow, washing your hands after using the restroom, keeping raw dairy and meat products separate from other things, keeping nut and soybean products separate -- IT IS LITERALLY FOR EVERYONE’S HEALTH. I don’t care how clean you think you/your hands are, if you aren’t supposed to be handling something, then fucking don’t. 

[patchsing3-blog]

I Thought I Couldn’t Afford Expensive Beauty Treatments… Here’s How I Hacked It

These days, it feels like there’s ALWAYS some ~hot new beauty treatment~ that everyone’s buzzing about — and honestly, I can’t keep up. I had just gotten the hang of a classic no-chip manicure, and then I was told I just HAD to switch to powder dip. I was in a routine of facials (and by that I mean I got one once — who am I, Rockefeller?), and then suddenly the world wouldn’t shut up about the Kardashian-approved vampire facials instead.

Whether you keep up with beauty trends or not, it can feel REALLY overwhelming to hear about all the different beauty treatments available to us. There’s waxing, threading, lasering, filling, massaging, polishing, extending, scrubbing, cleansing, extracting, curling, tightening, dipping, coloring, bleaching, taming, trimming, tanning, spraying… how is anyone supposed to keep up with all that!?

Thankfully, it’s 2018, and there’s no right or wrong way to define beauty. You could go treatment-free for life, as long as you feel confident and true to yourself. As much as I admire that, though, that ain’t me — I loooove a good beauty treatment, and I love learning about new ways to look and feel my best.

But of course, once you’ve decided what treatments you want to commit to, the number one fun-sucker of our lives jumps in: money. How does one pay for the maintenance and upkeep? Honestly, expensive beauty treatments have never been in my budget — until I discovered the ultimate hack.

You already know about Groupon as a way to buy restaurant gift cards, book an escape room night out with your coworkers, or even find cheap fitness classes — but Groupon is also a one-stop destination for making expensive beauty treatments WAY more affordable.

I made a list of beauty treatments I’m interested in trying, then I scoured Groupon to see where I could try each treatment in my city — and the results were INSANE. You want to try microdermabrasion? There’s a Groupon for that. You’ve been hearing about salt caves and want to know what all the fuss is about? There’s a Groupon for that, too. You’ve been getting your eyebrows waxed for the last 10 years and want to finally try microblading instead? You guessed it — there’s a Groupon for that.

This month, I tried four beauty treatments at various salons and studios around my home city of Chicago — and I saved almost $1,500. Here, I break down what I picked, how my treatments went, if I’d pay for them again, and how you can save some serious hard-earned cash too.

Laser Hair Removal (Brazilian Bikini)

I should probably start by telling you that I tend to be a tad high-maintenance. I am a creature of habit and comfort, and the thought of removing hair from the most sensitive part of my body has never appealed to me. I’ve been a lifelong shaver, I’ve never had a bikini wax, and I had genuinely never considered laser removal — I thought it would be way too expensive and way too painful. WRONG.

The Groupon I found was for three laser hair removal sessions on a medium-sized area (there were also Groupon options for small and large areas as well — Groupon had a handy chart to tell you which body parts count as which size area). I made a lot of jokes about how I was excited to turn into a hairless naked mole rat — but on the inside, I was insanely nervous for the treatment.

I honestly had no idea what to expect, so I ended up doing a lotttt of research on laser Brazilians — how to prepare, what it would feel like, etc. I read a lot of conflicting reviews about what it feels like, but I was expecting a forceful zap of hot pain (along with some rubbing… not sure why I expected rubbing).

For more info on the safety and effectiveness of laser hair removal, I recommend this article from Medical News Today.

How I Prepared

The day before your laser appointment, you HAVE to closely shave the entire area. Laser hair removal only works on fresh shaved skin. The laser seeks out the contrast of the follicle (it’s looking for the pigment of each individual hair), so it’s imperative that you come in prepared (Some places will make you reschedule if your shave isn’t clean enough). Additionally, I read that you should calm yourself down so you won’t tense up physically. Therefore, I also prepared by taking a shot and a half of whiskey. Do I recommend this? Honestly, yes — it helped ease my nerves a lot.

How It Went

The spa I went to (SpaDerma in Lincoln Park, Chicago) was incredibly clean, professional, and comforting. I had to fill out some paperwork (this is a medical procedure, after all), then I was taken to a private room that looked a lot like a doctor’s examination room. The technician told me to remove everything from the waist down (“Can I keep my socks on?”) and cover myself back up on the table with a sheet. I did as I was told, then she returned and told me exactly what to expect. She gave me one of those stress ball things to squeeze, then I laid back so we could get started.

How’s the pain, you may ask. It’s interesting. It honestly DID hurt more than I was expecting — it kind of feels like a very hot suction cup is sucking on your skin (but not in like, a sexy way). The bursts of pain are VERY quick — it’s literally just a zap from a laser, repeatedly. I’m incredibly ticklish, so the whole experience made me very squirmy. Thankfully, though, it was super quick — I was in and out of the treatment room in under 10 minutes.

You can only get lasered about every 6 weeks (as the hair follicles need to go through their ~growth cycle~ again before you can zap them), so I still have two more appointments to go out of my three. Will the three treatments be enough to rid me of hair-down-there? Maybe — some people see complete results after just a few treatments, but some (with light hair, in particular) require up to about nine treatments. Your technician will be able to consult with you about how many sessions you’ll need based on your skin type, hair color, and hair texture.

That being said, I haven’t technically seen results yet, but the growing-back-in hair IS noticeably softer and much easier to shave.

Would I recommend?

HECK. YES. Like I said, I can’t technically speak to an end result — but the quick amount of pain was absolutely worth the results I’m sure I will see after a few more sessions. It does hurt, but it’s certainly not unmanageable — and since it’s so quick, you can ALMOST forget it happened (just in time to go back and be reminded again). Would I pay full price for this? Probably not. But $119 to forget about shaving for awhile? Count me in. What body part can I do next!?

Gel Manicure

I know you love getting your nails done — so do I. There’s just something about a fresh manicure that makes me feel about 10 times more put-together — but bimonthly trips to the nail salon can take a real toll on your wallet. Thankfully, it doesn’t HAVE to be like that. SO many salons offer Groupon deals on gel, powder dip, and acrylics — so there’s no need to pay full price.

How I Prepared

I am literally addicted to gel manicures, so I already had one on my nails when I went in. Gel is hard to remove on your own, but the professionals make it look easy. I honestly did nothing to prepare (except get myself excited for some discounted pampering!!).

How It Went

Like I said, gel manicures are nothing new for me. You go in, pick a color from the specific gel colors (they’re different from the bottles you have at home), and then sit down. The technician first files, removes cuticles, and buffs your nails, then he or she will start applying the color. Typically, a gel mani consists of one coat of clear gel, two to three coats of color, then another top coat of clear gel. After each coat, you place your whole hand under an LED light for 60 seconds — I don’t understand the science of how this works, but it dries your nails so quickly and effectively. Once all your coats are done, there’s ZERO drying time — you can go back to your normal life/routine the second you walk out of the salon.

Would I recommend?

YES. You already know you love manicures — there’s NO reason to pay full price for them. For me, a gel manicure usually lasts almost three weeks — and that time limit comes from nail growth, not from chipping.

Hydrafacial

I’ve only ever had one facial before in my life — after a lifelong battle with my skin, I’ve been afraid to mess with it too much (and afraid to allow someone that close to it without makeup). I used to feel like facials were designed for rich people who already had good skin, but upon further research, that assumption is obviously wrong. I have hormonal cystic acne and some severe subsequent scarring — problems I honestly didn’t believe could be solved by the holistic hands of a facialist. Thankfully, though, there are people who DO make it their mission to effectively treat all kinds of skin types — meaning there is truly a facial out there for everyone.

Hydrafacials are relatively new forms of your classic facial. Basically, a high-tech hydrafacial tool is simultaneously infusing your skin with various serums AND sucking gross stuff out of your pores. I had seen videos of people getting it done on Instagram, and I wondered if it would help my poor congested pores.

How I Prepared

I use a prescription Retin-A-Micro daily, but I had to stop using that for three days prior to my appointment. Additionally, I was advised against at-home exfoliation for the days leading up, and I was told to overall be gentle to my skin. The morning of my facial I was thankfully working from home, so I wore cozy sweats and zero makeup. ~pampering~

How It Went

First of all, the woman who performed my hydrafacial was one of the most intelligent and knowledgeable women I have ever met. She is so very passionate about skincare, and I would honestly trust her with my life after meeting her. She asked me in-depth questions about my skin, my routine, my past routine, my needs, my desires, my dreams and goals, and just about everything else relating to my skin that you can think of. I love meeting people who are so clearly doing what they were meant to do — Crystal at SkinSmartRX is one of those people. She explained to me that while a hydrafacial is an incredible procedure and would help my active pimples, the scarring on my face could benefit from microneedling instead. I appreciated her honesty — but was glad to hear that she thought my skin could benefit from the treatment.

I laid back in an examination chair (like at the dentist) while Crystal first steamed my pores, then began. She used the hydrafacial tool to perform various steps of the routine — double cleansing, exfoliating, toning, and treating. The tool gives a weird sensation — I had read that it felt similar to a cold paintbrush on your skin. That’s not necessarily wrong, but I do think it’s a little harsher than that. The tool is really digging in to your skin, so it’s not exactly a pleasant sensation. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s not super comfortable either. Overall, however, it was a very relaxing experience.

The best part? When Crystal let me see the result of the treatment. Basically, the solution that is used to suck the crap out of your pores goes into a beaker, so there’s a beaker full of used solution and gunk leftover at the end. Looking at it was similar to looking at the results of a pore strip — super gross, but super satisfying.

That floating stuff was INSIDE MY SKIN.

Would I recommend?

Yes and no. First of all, I left the treatment VERY red. I was just going back home to work, so I’m glad I didn’t have to try to cover it. Thankfully, however, the redness was very short-lived. The treatment itself is incredible — but I would highly recommend chatting with an aesthetician and/or dermatologist beforehand to see if it’s good for your skin type. After having my pores sucked, I felt a bit like some excess oil was brought to the surface — I woke up the next morning with a smattering of new whiteheads.

This could be a PMS-induced coincidence, and my coworkers all assured me the next day that I looked GLOWING. I wouldn’t discourage anyone from the treatment, but I would encourage some careful consideration to decide if it’s worth the time and money (but if you’re interested in trying it out, at least Groupon offers the option of a much cheaper first try!!).

Eyelash Extensions

My natural eyelashes are COMICALLY short. I’ve never loved them — and I’ve also never loved having heavy mascara on them either. I have bad allergies (I am really airing all my bodily dirty laundry here, aren’t I?), so I rub my eyes A LOT. I also physically hate the act of taking off eye makeup — why is it so damn hard!?

All of that adds up to mean that I am a PERFECT candidate for eyelash extensions — longer, fuller lashes without any makeup!? I couldn’t hit “Purchase Groupon” fast enough.

How I Prepared

You’re not supposed to wear eye makeup or contacts to the appointment, so I strolled into Milita Advanced Skincare wearing sweats and my glasses (#hot).

How It Went

If I’m being honest, I was a real hot mess for this appointment. The night before had been filled with wine and tacos, so I was running a taddd bit late — only to discover that the spa had just moved locations, and I had gone to the wrong one. After I finally arrived at the correct location, my technician had me fill out some paperwork, then walked me through the process.

How did it feel? Huh, funny you should ask — I literally don’t know how it felt, because I fell SOUND asleep on the table. You lay on your back in a cozy warm room, and the technician has you close your eyes. She taped down my lower lashes, then with the soft touch of a unicorn kitten from heaven, she gently applied my extensions. It was so intensely relaxing, I fell asleep almost instantly. It was like the best nap I ever took — I fell asleep slightly hungover with short little lashes, and I woke up with gorgeous Gisele-worthy fringe and a newly reduced headache. Thank you, Milita.

My lashes should last about two to three weeks, at which point I’m supposed to go back in for a fill. I had told myself that this was a one-time thing, but I love the results so much that I just might have to make a habit of it.

Would I recommend?

You better freaking believe it!! I cannot overstate how big of a difference these lashes made. I had originally signed up for just a normal full set, but the technician recommended a volume partial set — she said it would give me a nice big difference while still appearing natural. I think she’s right, and I can’t wait to take these bad boys out on the town.

Moral of the story: there are WAY too many beauty treatments out there for one person to keep up with — but a tight budget shouldn’t be the reason you don’t try. I highly recommend scouting out the Groupon beauty section to find affordable EFFECTIVE treatments in your hometown — you’re going to find a new favorite, give yourself a fun upgrade, and save some cash in the process (score!).

Share your own favorite #GrouponMoments on Instagram by tagging @Groupon — I can’t wait to see!!

This post is sponsored by Groupon, but all of the opinions within are those of The Everygirl editorial board. 

Source: http://theeverygirl.com/groupon-beauty-treatments/

[ixvyupdates]

5 Ways We Teach Rape Culture in Schools

How do we teach sexual consent in schools? You’ll probably say, “Well, we don’t teach it,” which is mostly true. Most schools don’t have consent written into their curriculum.

But here’s the thing: There is no neutral when we talk about sexual consent. By not actively working to undo the damaging messages of our culture, we are passively supporting them. In fact, many of them show up in the policies and cultural norms that we enforce.

I was thinking about this recently because a group of legitimately kick-ass people here in Minnesota is pushing for legislation that would require consent education in K-12 classes. Their effort is based on some of the affirmative-consent education that has spread in higher-ed institutions, and seeks to make it part of a healthy, comprehensive sex-ed experience.

The more I thought about what consent education looks like now in schools, the sadder and madder I got. Just because it’s not written into our curriculum doesn’t mean we aren’t sending constant and strong messages about consent, and they aren’t great.

When we choose to have no curriculum or plan for teaching consent, these are the messed up lessons we teach our kids instead.

Bad Lesson 1: Touching someone means you are sexually attracted to them.

This weekend, I was out at a coffee shop, and watched as a young girl, maybe 2 years old, walked up to the man in front of her and put her hand on his knee. The girl’s mom said to him, “Oh, looks like she’s got a crush on you.”

Like, I get that’s a thing that we do, but I think it’s weird.

I think it’s super weird, and we do it all the time, and we do it with younger and older kids. We act like a hug is a sexual thing, like lying next to each other is too close. Doing so, we miss an important chance to teach about how to negotiate touch, even non-sexual touch, in a healthy way. When we discuss different kinds of touch, different meanings, and how to communicate about them, we help keep young people safer from those who would actually want to hurt or take advantage of them.

Putting such strict and extreme meaning to touch enforces the idea that someone touching you, on your shoulder or even in some playful, flirtatious way, is communicating more than it is, and at the same time excuses non-consensual behavior.

Bad Lesson 2: Your body is not yours.

One year, in a building I taught, a young woman was being disciplined by a behavior dean. He was walking her to his office and she said, quite clearly, that she didn’t feel comfortable being in his office with him. He told her that she had to go anyway.

Luckily, her friends saw it, came to me and I went and sat with her in the office, but still. This is a version of something that happens all the time in schools, whether or not the student is able to so clearly express their discomfort at the time.

I had never thought of the way our control of student behavior takes away agency over their bodies until I interviewed my wife, a sex therapist and author, last summer. She pointed out how we often control students by telling them where and how to sit, when to go to the bathroom, how to walk, where to be and who to be near.

Some of those things are likely necessary because we need schools to work and to cut down on the flaming chaos of the hallways. But my wife’s outside perspective made me realize that when we do those things, we’re sending a bigger message about their bodies at the same time.

Bad Lesson 3: The behavior of others is your responsibility.

The most egregious way we enforce this in schools is through our dress codes. I’ve written about it before, and so have many others, so I won’t spend too much time here on why dress codes are often sexist and shaming.

They are.

When the dress code is used to say that whatever harassment or teasing or touching can be blamed on a skirt that doesn’t hit your fingertips, or that someone can claim your body because they have seen your bra strap, dress codes are giving a dangerous message to students.

I’ve heard similar messages applied to staff, where an unruly class has been blamed on the outfit of the teacher, where unwanted advances from a coworker have been blamed on—I kid you not—the sharing of food.

When we don’t have real conversations about what consent means and how it is given, we assume too often that any victim of harassment or assault must have, in some way, asked for it. It’s not a statement many of us would feel comfortable saying out loud, so it shouldn’t be an idea that is written into our school handbooks.

Bad Lesson 4: Boys are bad.

Once upon a time, I was a boy in school. I didn’t like it. I remember teachers making jokes about how messy and unruly boys were. I heard jokes about how young men were like children. Now, I hear those same jokes in the staff lounge about teachers’ husbands.

We aren’t good at boys in school. Not as good as we could be. We boys will be boys them too often.

We also allow room for jokes and comments about “real men” and delight at the male teachers at the assembly when they put on a dress. So absurd! A man who would reduce himself to being a woman!

Masculinity is fine. It is great. But toxic masculinity is, quite literally, killing us. When we allow for or encourage this culture of “bad boys” in schools, we allow for an idea of men who get what they want because they want it, of boys who can comprehend no larger threat to their self-worth than a girl who won’t give them the physical or social attention they want.

Bad Lesson 5: Sexual violence is less terrifying than sexual pleasure.

What do the standard texts in our schools tell our students about love and relationships and bodies? I’ve been wracking my brain about this for days, going through the texts I’ve taught, that are taught in buildings where I’ve worked, that I was handed when I was in school. I’m struggling to find examples of healthy romantic relationships.

At first, I was struggling to think of examples of any real relationships in books, which seemed to be by design. I can imagine that we are mostly terrified of addressing romance, most especially sexual romance, in classrooms.

That said, I could think of tons of books and stories that carried rape scenes in their pages, or that alluded to sexual assault or molestation. Tons more had scenes of physical abuse of children and partners. But none, none that I could think of, suggested that sex is something that people find to be enjoyable when done in a healthy, consensual way.

Seriously, the most sex-positive piece of literature I’ve taught that is typical in schools was “Romeo and Juliet,” and they get married after knowing each other for like a day, speak a full five minutes to each other, and then both commit suicide. Not good.

We Can Do Better

When we don’t include healthy relationships as models in our schools, we hope they learn those skills elsewhere, but most of the messages they are getting about relationships are from “The Bachelor” and the messages about sex are from Pornhub.

We are missing a grand opportunity to teach something necessary, to tell counter-narratives to rape culture. We need to take a hard look at how we work against consent in schools, but more than that, we have a chance to take action and provide our students with the tools they need to understand and engage in a culture of consent.

Photo by NINA P, Twenty20-licensed.

5 Ways We Teach Rape Culture in Schools syndicated from https://sapsnkraguide.wordpress.com