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libsterslobsters · 3 years

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What Is And What Should Never Be Pt. 2

Summary: After the reader reveals the reason for her odd behavior, a lot of changes take place. How will she and Bucky adjust to the newest development in their always complicated life together?

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see shards of the future at random, understand every language, and process information abnormally quickly as well as being a super soldier)

Warnings: light angst, fluff, light smut, mentions of vomiting, pregnancy

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“I’m happy about this.” The words are murmured against her shoulder. It’s a little ridiculous; they’re two full-grown adults who’ve been together for years, not teenagers in the first blush of romance. And yet, he’s still kneeling next to her and she’s working her fingers through his hair like this is a proposal.

“Me too.” She finally finds her voice, but it’s shaky, teary. “I’m also scared, Buck.” She can see shards of the future, for pete’s sake! That should give her a head’s up about life’s events, and yet somehow, she never imagined them here. She’s been running since the first time she realized those “daydreams” of hers come true. And when she met him, well, kids seemed like the last thing their lives would have room for. At this point, maybe she should just expect the unexpected.

“Me too.” At least she’s not the only who’s unsure of how to proceed.

Eventually she has to end the moment and return to the real world. The real world where kitchens don’t clean themselves. Placing one last peck on his forehead, she nudges him out of the way with her knee. It’s comical, the mild pout that settles on his lips as his eyebrows shoot up.

“Huh?”

“The dishes. We should probably clear them away, or else they’ll be a bitch to wash tomorrow morning.”

“Language, Doll.” Did he really just..? His right hand which, somehow, is still resting on her waistline gives her middle a gentle pat. “Can’t have the baby coming out swearing like a sailor.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Bucky, the baby doesn’t even have ears yet.” At least, she doesn’t think so. She really needs to do some research.

“No?” The smirk on his face clues her in that a (probably terrible) joke is about to be made. “Then why don’t you go on up to bed? You need your rest so you can get a head start on making them. I’ll handle the dishes and join you in a little while.” She’s right; it’s terrible. But she’s not going to protest if he wants to clean up.

“Alright.” While he’s doing that, she’s going to google which week of pregnancy babies develop ears. And maybe change into something more comfortable.

In the confines of their bedroom, she considers the delicate nightgowns and lacy underthings she has tucked away from special occasions (or really any time one of them needs cheering up), but ultimately doesn’t like the look of any of them. Not tonight. Not after the distance that’s been between them for the past week, where she was so at war with herself that every time he touched her, it sent a stab of panic and guilt through her heart. No, this is a return to normal, reassuring themselves that they’re still okay, it’s just another bend in the road. After all, she thinks to herself as she climbs into bed and arranges the sheets to rest over her body beguilingly (a small part of her doesn’t want to just lie there naked in case he’s somehow disgusted by her now, although she knows it’s a foolish thought), she won’t look like this for much longer, so she may as well make the most of it.

Any concern is erased when he walks through the bedroom door and immediately freezes, carefully eyeing his way down her partially hidden body from head to toe like so many times before.

“I really did mean just rest, you know.” All the while, he’s tugging his shirt over his head.

“I know.” She nods, a slight smile on her face. “But it’s only a little after seven. There’s still plenty of time to rest later.”

He settles on the mattress next to her, leaning so close that she can feel his shallow breaths on her cheek.

“Are you sure?” It’s sweet, and she does appreciate the consideration, but it’s been long enough, and she’s almost certain he needs this as much as she does.

“Of course I’m sure.”

It’s gentler than usual, more whispered, “I love you’s”, soft gasps and deeper moans. Almost as if they’re rediscovering each other, both trying their damnedest to push every last hot spot that they’ve discovered over the years. This isn’t just sex (not that there’s anything “just” about anytime they’re together), but a way of reminding each other, “You’re safe. I know you, and you know me. You’re cherished. I’m not going anywhere.”

Afterwards, in the quiet of the afterglow, their bodies still pressed together with his chest to her back, he asks,

“When did you start to think-”

She doesn’t wait for him to finish. It’s obvious what he’s referring to.

“The food poisoning.” Which in hindsight, she feels pretty stupid for even considering. “I really did believe I’d eaten something bad-” It’s subtle, so subtle you might miss it, but she catches the quiet sigh of relief he lets out knowing that their promises hold true, they’re still completely honest with each other. “-until I remembered that I haven’t so much as had the sniffles since Nat put the needle in my arm.” It’s been years, but she still sometimes forgets that she doesn’t have to worry about things like the flu or her shopping bag being too heavy anymore.

“And, when it wasn’t better the next day…” She trails off, absentmindedly playing with his hand where he’s still got his arm thrown over her waist.

“I thought that was kinda weird too.” He chuckles quietly. “Now I really wish I’d made you stay home that day so we could’ve figured it out together.”

She doubts that either of them would have immediately jumped to the conclusion that she’s pregnant (they take precautions, even if those precautions aren’t fool-proof), but decides to go with the lighter option and concentrate on-

“Make me?” She cranes her neck to see his face. “And how were you planning to do that? Tie me to the bedposts?” His lips quirk up into a smirk.

“Now there’s an idea.”

“Watch it, Barnes.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

Bucky’s a light sleeper, so he wonders how he missed it before. But now that he knows it’s coming, he’s immediately awake when she slips out of bed and bolts toward the bathroom. It appears that super serum is powerless against morning sickness.

It’s a few minutes before she’s in any position to speak, much less sit up from her crouch over the toilet bowl, and in that time, he’s swept her hair up out of the way and started rubbing gently between her shoulder blades. When the sickness finally does ease up that she can lean back against him, he asks,

“Is this why you’ve been getting up before me?” He may not have heard her, but when his alarm went off, there was no way he could miss her side of the bed being empty and cold.

She groans quietly. “What do you think?”

He thinks she looks exhausted and so very small, curled in on herself on the cold bathroom tiles. With all the things he’s done in his life, guilt’s a familiar face, but it’s never been as heavy as it is now, seeing her suffer. It’s just part of the process, he knows that. It may not have been the topic of polite conversation back in his youth, but it still cropped up when mothers and grandmothers came together and talked. She’ll feel better eventually, but for now…

“I think I’m gonna read the room and shut up.”

She laughs tiredly. “Good answer.”

Several more minutes tick by before she tells him that she thinks it’s over for now. He really wishes she’d let him carry her back to bed, but when he suggests it, she rolls her eyes and teasingly calls him a mother hen. Still, once she’s safely tucked back under the covers, he goes downstairs in search of crackers and a glass of water. His phone is still on the nightstand charging, so he can’t do a quick search of what else is good for nausea, but decides to throw in some dry toast as well.

By the time he’s back upstairs with his tray of home remedies, she’s asleep again. A huge part of him wants to just let her rest, but he knows he should probably get her to choke something down.

“Come on, Doll. Wake up for me.” She’s not as light of a sleeper as him, but the words in combination with him brushing back her hair make those delicate eyelids flutter.

“Wha-”

“Let’s get some food in you, and then I’ll let you go back to sleep. Promise.”

She doesn’t look too happy about it. In fact, her breathing is growing heavy again. She’s going back under.

“Sweetheart, please. You need to at least have some water. If you’re dehydrated, it’s not good for you or the baby.” That seems to be the magic word. With a groan, she sits up, still rubbing lightly at her eyes.

“I forgot…” She mumbles as she accepts the glass of water and slowly begins to drink. She forgot…? Oh. Well, she’s only known for a little while, and frankly, he’s still trying to wrap his head around it.

His wife is pregnant. That’s not a phrase he ever thought would apply to him (correction, he mentally amends; he used to hope for that one day, but after mad scientists experiment on you, well, an apple pie life seems unlikely). In a few months, there’s going to be another person living with them. One made out of them both, who’ll rely on them for safety, security, and love. She’s up to it, he’s absolutely sure. But him? He’s got a lot of baggage. He’s killed people. He’s missing a fucking arm, for goodness’ sake! How could he ever-

“You’ll be a good dad. You know that, right?”

She’s slurring a little, still half-asleep, and he’s a tiny bit concerned she’s going to go under and choke on that cracker she’s nibbling at. Still, she’s looking him square in the eyes, a small smile on her face. Maybe she saw a glance of the future which showed her what he’s thinking. Maybe she just knows him that well. Either way, he’s not sure of it, but-

“I know you’ll show me how.” She’s almost back under, so he brushes a few stray crumbs from her lips with is thumb and tucks the covers back around her shoulders. “And so will she.”

“She?” Her eyes are closed even as she asks. “You think it’s a girl?”

He’s not sure why he thinks that, or more, why he feels it, but he does.

“Yeah, Doll.” With a quick kiss to her forehead, he collects the now empty glass and starts towards the door. “I think it’s a girl.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

“Doll, aren’t you supposed to see a doctor at some point?” So close. She was so close to falling asleep (which seems to be all she wants to do lately) after marking the last paper in preparation for Monday morning. Still, it’s a valid question, and one she’s thought about herself.

“At some point, but you’re not supposed to go in until the eight week mark.” At least, if google is indeed correct. He nods and goes back to half-heartedly staring at the tv show in front of them.

“When is that, by the way?” She opens her mouth to tell him it’s not for a while, but then she realizes that… oh boy.

“Um…” When was the last time she had her period? It’s not like she keeps up with it. They weren’t trying to have a baby, and they were reasonably safe (in hindsight, maybe not as safe as they thought), so it didn’t seem necessary. He’s staring at her intently, expression growing more and more concerned with every second she doesn’t answer, so finally, she has to admit-

“I don’t really know. Do you have any idea?” She’s expecting the answer even before he says it.

“Not really.” 0 for 2. That sounds about right.

“Shit.”

For a brief, hysterical moment, she thinks about scolding him for his language since he did it to her earlier, but that thought gives way to the more pressing matter: how pregnant is she? Not that there’s varying degrees. Knocked up is knocked up, and it’s pretty damn clear she is.

He’s the first to recover. “Okay. Let’s count.” Counting. Something she can do.

“Not in the last twenty-eight days, or else the test wouldn’t have worked…”

They spend a solid ten minutes trying to figure it out, but neither of them can narrow it down any further.

“We’re idiots!” She’s nearly shouting out of frustration with herself and whoever up there has it out for them. Seriously, just this once, couldn’t things be easy? “We’re actual idiots!”

“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” The pressure of his hand around hers calms her just a tiny bit.

“Okay.” She nods. “Not idiots, but we do have crappy memories.”

He offers her a crooked smile. “Hey, I’m over a hundred years old. My memory’s supposed to be shot. What’s your excuse, Pretty Young Thing?”

“Baby Brain.” Is that even a thing this early on? Then again, is she early on? She has to be, right? Otherwise the morning sickness would be over. And she’s not showing.

He chuckles. “You’re gonna be using that one a lot, aren’t you?”

The layers of stress are beginning to melt away. She nods.

“You have to admit, as far as excuses go, it’s a pretty solid one.”

Ultimately, she decides it’s best to make the call Monday morning, but schedule it for at least another week out just to be sure. They don’t want to go in and be lectured for jumping the gun, after all.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“Can you just confirm your name and date of birth for me?” That has to be the sixth time she’s been asked that since they walked into the OB-GYN’s office. He really would have thought they’d have it down by now. Still, she recites off the information from her place on the exam table.

“Great.” The technician smiles brightly. “Now, if you can lift up your shirt and roll down your pants, we’ll start the ultrasound. This is just to give us a better estimate on your due date and make sure everything’s looking good with baby, alright?” She must say something in response, but Bucky can’t hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. This is it. They’re about to actually see their baby for the first time and hear the heartbeat. He’s not much for prayer, but he silently pleads with whoever might be listening that she’s fine, she’s healthy.

The screen is gray and grainy for the most part. So far, it doesn’t look like much. “Fluid looks good. Placenta’s where it should be, and-”

Does the tech have to push down that hard? Can’t he be a little more gentle? Surely it’s not necessary to use that much force when you’re trying to get a read on-

“-there’s your baby.” His mind immediately empties, instead focusing on the blurry image on the screen.

It’s a blob, and if he’s being honest, kind of looks like a tadpole that’s just grown arms and legs. The head is huge, and at the center is a flickering light.

“That’s the heartbeat. Would you like to hear it?” Again, she must say something, because an impossibly fast rhythm fills the room. There’s actually a little person in there. How can something so delicate with a heartbeat like the beat of hummingbird wings, already have such a huge place in his heart? How is it possible that he suddenly can't imagine life without that brightly flashing blob currently growing in his wife's womb?

He’s in a bit of a daze throughout the following appointment and exam. The doctor informs them that they're at 9 weeks and 5 days and gives them a predicted due date. After a far too invasive physical exam (at least to his mind, but she doesn't seem to think a thing about it(, they're given an appointment a month out, a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and sent on their way.

Once they’re in the car, a stack of brochures clutched in his hand and an envelope full of pictures in hers, he finally musters up the courage to speak.

"Looks like we really did it this time, Doll. She’s actually in there."

"Hey, at least it's not twins." She smiles as she speaks, but it’s a little uncertain. “Are you sure you're okay with this, Bucky?”

He thinks about telling her how completely in awe he is that he had anything to do with making something so tiny and perfect, how he's overwhelmingly in love with someone he's never met, not to mention how he's that much more in love with her, and he didn't think that was possible, but for now, he goes with-

“Yeah. I’m okay with it.”

Closing the gap between them, he presses their lips together in a kiss. This is just another bend in a long, winding road, but he has a feeling it’s the best one yet.

#marvel #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fic #bucky x oc #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #bucky x pregnant!reader #captain america #avengers

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carriecutforth · 3 years

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The Shit

Tumblr is telling me to go ahead, put anything...so here it goes

I haven't been public about this for reasons that will be apparent but gonna start this with all the trigger warnings. I'm writing it here cause I can't talk to the majority of people about it cause most people can't even grasp, and then questions start, putting me in the situation of feeling like my GIANT SWEATER of trauma is being unraveled answering questions that lead to more questions and gah PLEASE DO NOT RETUMBL-- I just need to scream in the void This is the shit: On the day my sister-in-law's mother died she had to call form-1 my baby brother because his psychosis (undiagnosed mental illness which I will get to) was terrorizing their family (three small kids). My mother WHO IS SCHIZOPHRENIC had him released into her and my ANTI-VAXXER ANTI-MASKER narcissist father's care, but NOT before they found out, incidentally due to the FORM 1, he is ALSO really sick with leukemia. I only found out because I decided to dip into the special folder for emails called MOM that I try to avoid reading as long as they can FOR REASONS. But I felt for some reason an urge to, and then I had to try to parse out what had happened from her ramblings that are A LOT. Then I had to confirm with my poor sil who is at her wits end and was in no position to tell me herself. My dad stopped talking to me back in November when I called him for his anti-vax rhetoric as being EUGENICS when he told me it is just the flu and only killing old people and the disabled. I reminded him I've been immuno-compromised my whole life (he KNOWS this) and got chronic fatigue after a flu in late 2016 (he knows this), and did he not care if I DIED? (apparently not) But I was like lol, fine, don't talk to me anymore. Die mad about it for all I care. A lot of people are like: 'oh, that's tough, losing a relationship with your father' and I'm like YOLO (it really isn't if you knew him). SO THEN I have to reach out to my dad: "Why isn't my brother in the hospital being treated by medical professionals for YOU KNOW, HIS LEUKEMIA." My dad responded that the doctors were JUST GOING TO PUMP HIM FULL OF DRUGS! And that HE is treating my brother's leukemia with I dunno baking soda (he told me before it is a cure for cancer). THEN HE GOES RADIO SILENT. I have no idea where my brother is cause they got him an apartment somewhere in Toronto. *though I do have a Machiavellian plan to try to find out. The reason my brother has untreated psychosis is that even though I've begged my parents since he was a TEEN to get him diagnosed, they refused. It's like they have the opposite of Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy in that their ABLEISM is soooo bad they refuse to see he has been very sick, and even if he was really sick, 'doctors are stupid' <--quoting my dad. This is the backstory. My dad was always on the road for his job. My mom had my baby brother AGAINST all wishes of her doctor to ever get pregnant again. I'm not talking aborting, she got PREGNANT on purpose again to SERVE GOD'S GREATER PURPOSE even though it might kill her and said future fetus. So he was born with a lot of issues because of the very bad pregnancy's complications on TOP of the very hereditary bipolar/schizophrenia, AND everything else we got going on besides. After he was born, my mom went into a very deep depression for years and then would vacillate between that and mania. Which meant me: THE ELEVEN year old was forced to raise a baby that wasn't hers and had no ultimate authority over. I was called by everyone his *BROTHER'S NAME* SECOND MOM. *More on this later Our relationship is very strained because of this, particularly when at 17 I had enough momming a child while being constantly undermined by my parents absolute shenanigans. So there was resentment when I quit being his 'second mom' and that he equally resented for things like, trying to put him into bed, when my mom would come in and say let him stay up all night or getting him to eat something other than candy for breakfast (you can guess the dynamic with my parents here). Even if my disabled ass could sue my parents for his

care, he doesn't WANT me to be in charge of his care.

And yet still, I tried to advocate for him for years fighting my parents TOOTH and NAIL to get him on disability and out from underneath their thumb so he could have a measure of independence and autonomy. They had every excuse in the book not to get him diagnosed including expense. It was so goddamned awful fighting with them on this cause in their mind: he was going to live with either them or me forever (they decided this for me and my ex-husband and kids with no consultation), so WHY bother set up his future for him??? So when he was 20?, I hatched a Machiavellian PLAN: I got him, against my parent's wishes, into college for the sole reason of getting the resources for him to get diagnosed so that he could get on disability. AND IT WORKED! (kinda) Except my parents twisted him so much into only talking about his autism spectrum symptoms and NONE of the psychosis because their ableism is sooooo entrenched. (but I did manage to get him on ODSP). And subsequent times I forced my dad to take him to a psychiatrist, he's like: 'oh, I forgot to talk about the psychosis we just talked about the aspergers. Besides people with psychosis are untreatable, you can't convince them otherwise' (see again, my mom). Over the years, I have begged my dad to take my brother to get properly diagnosed and treated (I'm not meaning forced, my brother is also agoraphobic, and won't leave his place UNLESS he is driven by my dad and was living in a city far away from me). I said, I was very concerned for his kids but my dad always gaslights me (and tells everyone I'm crazy -- the IRONY). So now my mom is writing me emails about how this is all my sil's fault because 'she is on drugs' (she is not), 'she is sleeping around' (she is not), 'her kids are scared of her not my brother' (it's the exact opposite). WHICH IS A HUGE TRIGGER FOR ME because She did the exact same thing to ME with my other brother (a diagnosed PSYCHOPATH) who used to beat me and the rest of us mercilessly when my parents weren't around (and they never believed me, and told everyone not to believe me because I was crazy), who pulled a KNIFE on me and threw a drawer at me when I was NINE MONTHS PREGNANT, and how absolutely awful I was AS HIS SISTER to kick him out of my house with no place to live or go (cause he was living with me and my ex-husband at the time because THEY KICKED HIM OUT OF THEIR PLACE and didn't want him back.) Are you beginning to get a sense of the dynamic of my family? Soooooooo the last few weeks my brain has just been in total trauma mode going processing, processing, processing, processing as the final total realization of how absolutely awful my family is finally laid bare (I mean I knew but at least I can stop feeling guilty about cutting them out of my life). So back to the 'second mom' shit, as relevant to my trauma brain processing the last few weeks. This whole shit above is just the tip of the iceberg. I was raised as a Joho in which a lot of my trauma comes from a pedophile left loose on three generations of girls in my family over a thirty year period, and if anyone came forward they were threatened with disfellowshipment and there is SO MUCH there it would take me several Tolkien novels to get how absolutely awful, extensive it was, and how the coverup went straight to the top. ANYHOO. So who was calling me my brother's 'second mom???' Well since, I wasn't allowed to have any association with non-witnesses, it was my congregation. No one questioned that I was being parentified and it was a deeply abusive situation. NO WHAT HAPPENED instead was, this sister in the congregation told everyone (when I was fifteen and 80 pounds soaking wet at the height of 5'10 1/2) that my brother WAS REALLY MY CHILD cause it was so obvious the way that I was the one who took care of him. And the elders of our congregation MARKED me as bad association for loose morals for having a supposed child out of wedlock when I was ELEVEN YEARS OLD. AND NO ONE in my congregation would talk to me, and I had NO IDEA why, cause they never told me that I HAD BEEN

MARKED. But the caveat was I was not allowed to talk to people outside of the faith. And we only found out about this a year an a half later when she said the same shit back in my hometown where he was born to a sister who was at the hospital where my brother was born. AND NO ONE thought, hey: maybe if we think she had a baby when she was eleven we should um CALL CHILD SERVICES or some shit? So i was like 16 1/2, not allowed to have any friends OUTSIDE OF MY PARENTS, find out THIS SHIT, and then people wonder why I had my first manic episode at 17??? Yeah, so this is where my brain has been stuck the last month, complicated that I knew I would be at risk for hypomania with things opening back up, and I'm supposed to be shooting a pilot for a potential series I'm the creator/co-shorunner of, so now I've had to go BACK on seroquel and it's the worst while i try to acclimatize myself to the drugs and stave off hypomania at the same time. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!

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just-general-stuff · 4 years

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And They Were Quarantined

Laying out on the couch, Chris stared up at the ceiling wondering how in the hell did he ever get into this situation. Of all the things that had happened to him, this is by far the worst experience he ever had.

The world was now in the grips of a pandemic but not from a virus engineered to be the perfect weapon that would turn the living into the dead. No, it just happened to a virus made from nature and had jumped from animal to human.

And then he and Wesker were suspected to have caught it when they had been close proximity to one person ill with the virus.

So here they were self-quarantined in his home because the hospitals were full and it was for the best else they spread it. Governments around the world had enforced lockdowns and the city he was in was no exception to the rule.

But to be trapped here with Wesker? God, he hated it.

After capturing him and taking him back, the B.S.A.A. thought it would be a good idea to use Wesker as a means to gather information of the other up and coming bio-terrorist groups. Wesker had been fitted with a collar that would shock him with thousands of volts that would outright kill a human. In his case, it would incapacitate him with the virus still lingering his system albeit weaker than it was before.

Uroborous had been burned out of his system so that was a plus at the very least. Still, a slightly stronger Wesker running amok was not in the plans for everyone so they had decided to stuck him with Wesker as they figured an already supposedly sick B.S.A.A. agent could watch him too.

Speaking of Wesker, he heard shuffles and soft noises coming from the other side of the room and turned his gaze to see Wesker watching some video on his laptop with a blanket curled around him.

“You got the chills or what?” He asks.

“I’m fine. It’s none of your concern.” Wesker replies back.

“It is if you’re going to start coughing and sneezing on me.” Chris shoots back. “Honestly, you would think your virus would be the hot shit and be able to beat back a normal virus for once.”

“Chris-.”

“Seriously, it can give you super healing, super speed, strength and endurance, and even enhanced senses but when it comes to a virus that give flu-like symptoms, it can’t even beat that. Your virus is a failure.”

“Chris, shut the hell up before I make you shut up.”

“Then have fun getting electrocuted.” Chris said, daring the man to do it.

Gritting his teeth, Wesker turned his back on Chris turning all his attention on the video not wanting to argue any longer with the brunette.

“…Have you already taken your shot?” Chris asks then.

“I did. You don’t have to concern yourself about me.”

“I don’t. I just don’t want you ending up dead in my apartment because you forgot to take one of those injections for your virus.” Chris says, rolling his eyes. But deep down, he was quite concerned. Despite hating the man, there was a part of him that still cared for the man. He never stopped loving the former Captain and he hated it.

“I’m bored.” Chris mumbles.

“Why am I not surprised?” Wesker scoffs, having heard Chris with his sharp hearing.

“What are you even watching anyway? It’s not about ‘How to Conquer the World 101’ is it?”

Now annoyed and on the verge of losing it, Wesker whirled ready to give Chris a piece of his mind when suddenly there was loud music playing outside. So loud that it boomed all throughout the neighborhood.

“What the hell?” Wesker growled angrily.

“Let me check.” Chris went over to the balcony opening the balcony doors and there he saw the neighbor on his balcony from the apartment across from his playing some loud cheery music and acting as a DJ.

Everyone else had also gone out and some were recording him or dancing to the music.

“Hey hey hey, guys! I know everyone can’t go outside because of this pandemic but that doesn’t mean we can’t party it up here! So have fun!” The man shouts and starts playing the music even louder.

Chris couldn’t help but laugh and decided he should join in the fun. It beat staring up his ceiling all day. He starts dancing on the balcony, leaping up and down as he bobbed to the music leaving a very bewildered and annoyed Wesker.

“Chris, will you get back in here and shut those doors? Its loud and the music is jarring.”

“Sucks to be you I guess. This is the most fun I’ve had in days!”

“Well you can have fun when you shut the damn doors! The music is hurting my ears!” Wesker roars. The loud music was jarring to his hearing and he clamped his hands over his ears trying to block out the music.

Seeing pain etched on the other man’s face, Chris felt a bit guilty and decided to come back in, shutting the balcony doors close behind him.

“Sorry about that.”

Wesker sighed and then got up, letting his hands fall. “You were bored… I can’t exactly blame you for that. You’ve always needed something to do else you go nuts.” Wesker states.

“You… remember?”

“Of course I remember, Chris. You were like this super active puppy bouncing around unless I give you duties.” Wesker said raising an eyebrow to that. He may have betrayed them but he had been their Captain. He knew all of their quirks and habits both the good and bad.

This made Chris blush red in the face and his heart skipping. God, why did he have to be like this? Wesker just remembered yet hearing him say that he remembered him made his insides turn all gooey and filled him with warmth.

“…Do you still have feelings for me, Chris?” Wesker questioned the younger man.

Oh here it comes now. The moment of truth. Wesker would know if he was lying so Chris had no choice but to come clean. Taking in a deep breath, he nods meekly.

“Yes. Even though I still hate you, yes. Yes I still do have them.” He mumbles.

Silence filled the room and Chris felt his palms start to sweat and his heart started to pound as he grew more nervous from the lack of a response from Wesker. He shouldn’t have said anything. But Wesker would pry it out of him regardless.

And then, Wesker took a step closer towards him and leaned down pressing a soft kiss on his head.

“I still hate you too. But… I never stopped. Those pesky feelings… never went away.” Wesker confessed softly.

Chris blinked as he tried to process what Wesker said. Despite everything, Wesker still… cared about him? He couldn’t believe it. Yet, lifting up his gaze at the older man he could see that Wesker was telling the truth in those red eyes. No longer hidden by the dark shades he wore, he could see the honesty in those eyes despite the cold front.

Smiling like an idiot, Chris couldn’t help but chuckle at the hilarity of the situation. “Leave it to a pandemic to make us confess our feelings huh?”

“Shut up, Chris.” Wesker mutters and leaned in this time capturing his lips instead.

Unbeknownst to them, one of the neighbors were recording them and had uploaded this online.

Jill was not happy. Not at all.

“AND THEY WERE QUARANTINED!” She yells to Barry over the phone as she made her way through the hallway passing the two people walking by.

“Oh my god, they were quarantined.” Rebecca said melodramatically to Piers, much to Piers’s bewilderment and amusement, both of them knowing fully well whom Jill was referring to.

#I FUCKING HATE MYSELF FOR THIS #LMAOOOOO #chris redfield #albert wesker #wesker x chris #chrisker #resident evil #this takes place in an au and they are a bit oc but i tried my best not to make them too oc #GOD HELP ME #quarantine au

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twistednuns · 4 years

Text

February 2020

I managed to use my iPad as a second monitor for my computer. So tech savvy. Yay me!

Joking about developing a sex-based cardio programme with Manu. Powerfucking! Might help against aggression as well.

A late night phone call with Tom. Not saying much.

Making a huge pot of my grandmother’s signature veggie stew.

More Bon Appétit test kitchen videos. Chris recreating tacos. Claire making Ben&Jerry’s. Priya making her mum’s Indian curries.

Writing a letter to Lena. Drawing upside down bats (which makes them look like they’re having a wicked dance-off). Just the act of writing. I thoroughly enjoy looking at my handwriting.

Using the Salted Coconut handscrub by Lush. Especially now that I wash my hands so often when we’re working with clay at school. I feel like the peeling triggers some pressure points on my palms.

That Saturday productivity high. Cooking and preparing heaps of stuff, cleaning the windows, doing laundry.

Painting my nails like an expressionist artist.

Some portrait studies. Accidentally drawing Sirius Black.

Being really motivated to improve my Spanish. Working with Lorena, the Duolingo app and even starting my own grammar/vocabulary book.

This ultra quirky ASMR video. Also: watching videos with Erin an her boyfriend Chris. It’s amazing how well they work together. How you can almost feel their connection, how similar they are.

Carrot cake oats.

Seeing the The Darkness live again, this time with Margit. Justin’s outfit and personality, singing along, especially to Time of my Life, the band’s traditional first song after the show.

Meeting Chris. Having a Bramblette cocktail at Pusser’s. I like that place. Feels very old-timey with a rowing boat right under the ceiling. We made out in front of a tiger slide in a toy store window on our way to the next bar.

Peeling fresh carrots.

Pickling onions and making kimchi. My fermentation game is strong these days!

Looking through Dominik’s sketchbook. I loved the tree whose bark resembled a mole burrow with its underground tunnel system.

The flu. Yes, really. Fewer pupils at school. Quiet times. I’m actually surprisingly healthy. I’d guess my probiotics must play a role here… Who knows.

More sourdough experiments. Writing about it (DELICACY - a haiku. Oven-warm sourdough / salted butter, alpine cheese / and a strawberry).

Finding a really interesting list of SanFran hippie era book recommendations at the end of Robin Sloan’s Ajax Penumbra: 1969. In the mood to read Maya Angelou, Tom Wolfe, Jack Kerouac, Richard Brautigan.

Even more beautiful books: I really enjoyed Die weiße Stadt by Karolina Ramqvist, a feminist author from Sweden, and the graphic novel version of To Kill a Mockingbird. But two books that literally (well, figuratively obviously) blew my mind were Circe by Madeline Miller (mythology, loneliness, animals and plants, magic and monsters, some desperate kind of feminism, independence and strength) and Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo (magical realms, university setting, psychological depth, unexpected twists and turns). I haven’t read anything comparable in a very long time and I desperately hope that there’s more to come from these authors.

A beach collecting all the world’s single socks in The Magicians. Oh and of course seeing them break the moon. What a sight. The show is super confusing, obnoxious and absolutely fabulous at the same time. Best example: the Freaky Friday szene in which Margo and Eliot switch bodies. I love how the actors took on each other’s speech patterns and behaviour.

A new addition to my colour vocabular: celadon (a greyish green; there is a type of ceramics you’ll only see in this colour which is not surprising since the shade provides such an interesting contrast to the the earthy, rusty orange of burnt clay.)

Manu telling me that he had rarely seen people with more joy in their eyes than me (“Ich habe schon Freude in deinen Augen gesehen! So ein Leuchten kann man nicht simulieren.”) after complaining about being bored and lifeless. / Making curry with or, well, for him the other night. Drinking Liqueur 43 with cinnamon and milk. Playing the Jackbox party games for which you can use your phone as a controller.

Finding myself in a well-known sitation from the past. Lying in Frank’s bed in the early morning hours, not that tired yet, when he starts talking about his life and his depression. In English, obviously, because that’s our emotional filter. Relating, since I feel quite similar. Coming up with a suggestion for a reciprocal support system. Let’s see what we can do for each other.

Looking at travel photographs. The sea, the cenotes. Longing to go back to Mexico or Australia. Diving. Taking it all in.

Dreaming of my grandmother talking about her biggest regrets in life. Weirdly she was in a little bundle under a coffee table, much like Voldemort in the last Harry Potter movie.

My weird, weird brain. How both pleasure and pain enhance my sense of smell and increase my brain activity, almost causing hallucinations and fixations on ideas. Like geometric shapes in gloomy off-colours and a beige silicon-like surface the other night. All I could think of was a benchscraper.

Blue eyeliner.

Brainstorming three-letter-words with Frank since I’m thinking of getting personalised Nike Blazers. Sad cat. Yes but. Dat ass. Why tho.

Flying squirrels. Watching them wobble through the air. How they look like cute exhibitionist when they’re extending their limbs and thus stretching their, well, let’s just call it wings.

The fact that red cabbage has an intricate pattern like brain convolutions when you cut it open.

Talking to Sonja for the first time in over two years. What a strange person. Interesting, too. At least in homeopathic doses.

Ripe strawberries and nectarines. Oh my god. I love fruit.

Meeting Eve at Pub Quiz. She identifies as female, loves swing dance, used to be an animator and I love her style. Also, I realised that really like Betty. And Dennis wasn’t mean to me for once. I love my nerd friends <3 And I learned that Starbucks was named after the first mate in Moby Dick! Also, coincidentally they asked a question about the city where To Kill a Mockingbird takes place (Maycombe, Alabama) after I had read it the week before.

Inviting Lorena to the Botanical Gardens. I always feel very happy and very much myself when I’m there. I sometimes wish I was a gardener. Lorena was late so I walked along the Spring Path outside and it might have been the first time I’ve seen a brussels sprouts plant. Inside I learned lots of Spanish words and marveled at the incredible butterflies. The huge yellow one right behind the entrance was my favourite. Its delicate feelers were fascinating.

Washing my hands at the Keg’s bathroom. Looking into the mirror. Suddenly thinking of the perfect karaoke song… Rescue Me by Bell Book and Candle! I kept singing it for days on repeat. My neighbour must hate me (nothing new here) especially since my voice is too low for the chorus.

It isn’t hard to see how such attachment patterns can undermine mental health. Both anxious and avoidant coping have been linked to a heightened risk of anxiety, depression, loneliness, eating and conduct disorders, alcohol dependence, substance abuse and hostility. The way to treat these problems, say attachment theorists, is in and through a new relationship. On this view, the good therapist becomes a temporary attachment figure, assuming the functions of a nurturing mother, repairing lost trust, restoring security, and instilling two of the key skills engendered by a normal childhood: the regulation of emotions and a healthy intimacy. // An interesting article on attachment styles and why theraphy works; it makes me want to learn more about attachment theory. This School of Life video is a nice addition as well.

That dream. About a book shop modeled after my picture of Penumbra’s 24-hour bookstore. There was an old man in a very narrow but high-ceilinged room full of books. There was no light source except for moonlight or some street lights. There were loads of stairs, very steep, leading to the back of the house. Upstairs the man would set out cat food and on the rooftop there was an old sailing boat. One day the man decided to open the door to the roof and let visitors see the ship, much like a museum; perhaps to attract customers. However, in the next night a cat-shaped ghost appeared who reminded me quite a lot of Kot Behemoth character in Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita. The ghost was not amused about the old man’s decision and took away his key, a big golden one adorned with a red ribbon.

Toasted sesame makes pretty much every dish so much better.

Watching High Fidelity with gorgeous Zoe Kravitz (I adore her effortless style and her outfits), getting in the mood for making a playlist and listening to more music in general. There are all these great songs out there I forgot about.

Remembering the xkcd storm chaser comics.

Making a wicked good batch of Pho for Tom.

Spending a nice evening with Alex at Shamrock. Singing along to American Boy by Estelle. Confirming the hypothesis that the nerdy, quiet ones usually have a freak streak. That moment in the morning. Eye contact and kegel exercises.

Karaoke with Margit and Betty. Meeting Manu’s doppelganger. Same type, looks, voice. Eerie.

Making a BA Gourmet Makes meme for Steffen after he had passed his law examps. Strangely Gaby kinda looked like him after I was done with it.

Saturday morning in bed. Reading comics and graphic novels. Fresh bedclothes, surrounded by books. Since it was February 29 I thought about leap years and asked a few friends what their inner seven-year-old would have done that day (based on the thought experiment that your birthday was on February 29 and you’d age in 4-year-steps which would divide your age by 4 obviously).

I came up with: visiting grandma / eating Cini-Minis / falling asleep with my face buried in a cat / beating my neighbour Anna at Memory / drawing while listening to a Bibi Blocksberg cassette.

Alex said he’d have been outside all day, building a snow igloo. Not noticing his mum telling him to come to dinner. If the weather had been bad he would have played with his dinosaur collection. His inner 7-year-old was a hopeless dreamer who got agitated whenever his parents had a fight. Who came home late from school every day because he forgot about time when he was talking to his friend next to a hedge with thorns that looked like tiny airplanes.

Lena said she would have been outside all day long, playing in the mud with the neighbours’ kids. Of course.

#things i love #present perfect #personal #february 2020 #february #2020

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chillihansol · 6 years

Text

Night Intruder ; H O S H I

[ bf!soonyoung x reader ]

word count: 1,727 genre: very (if you squint) fluff a/n: i have this in my drafts for the longest time, idk why i just posted it. and omg why am i not posting a christmas scenario,, someone pls save me from my inconsistency. but if im not mistaken, this was requested by anon,, im sorry it took forever to be posted asdffhgkl.. i hope you enjoy it! ps. thank you so much luna for proofreading this, you’re so kind and sweet

53: “My shirt looks better on you.” 54: “Are you sure this is legal?”

It was a cold Saturday night when you thought you were going to die. Dramatic - yes - but the flu can make people think incredible things. A thick, pastel blanket was wrapped around your body. Your feet were being hugged by those warm fuzzy socks your boyfriend had bought you. And, surrounding you was a warm, dim glow from the lamp. Yet, even in the comfort of that room your head was spinning because of a very painful, and unnecessary headache. You had absolutely no energy to move at all, but, still you flinched from the loud thud you assumed that came from the terrace.

Your head pounded as you used your elbow to support your weak body and lift yourself upright. Through blurry eyes you found yourself squinting, catching a glimpse of a tall figure standing just outside your room. Yes. Someone is definitely at your terrace.

You suddenly came back to your senses, sitting up straight, and fumbling the nearest weapon you could fine. Unfortunately, that just so happened to be a pen. It could at least leave a puncture to the intruder, right?

Slowly and silently, you crawled out of your bed, tip toeing to lessen the noise of your footsteps. There are two downsides to this, firstly t’s two in the morning, secondly, you’re suffering from a not-so-mild flu - wait - how in the world are you going to think of a plan of attack?!

You stopped on your tracks. Yep, you were panicking. With a wild look in your eyes you scanned your packed room trying desperately to find a place to hide, but, it was too late. The terrace door opened, and with that cold shiver of wind you swore it was welcoming your death.

A loud, yet, hoarse squeal escaped your mouth as the intruder approached. “Gosh , Y/N. Where do you get so much energy to squeal at this time?”

You were struck still as the stranger passed by. He switched on the lights and suddenly you were blinded. A bright light filled the room, and you found yourself squeezing your sensitive eyes shut to compensate.

When you managed to adjust, you found your boyfriend standing in front of you. “Soonyoung?”

Soonyoung’s mouth was agape as he took in your condition. You had dark circles under your eyes, you lips cracked, and pale, your shirt was inside-out, and a pen gripped between your suddenly very sweaty palm.

“Y/N, oh my goodness. What happened to you?” He carefully placed the box you didn’t notice that he was holding before walking up to you. Soonyoung quickly wrapped his arms around your hips.

As soon as he touched you, he felt your fever immediately transfer to his skin. “Are you sick?” he asked, cupping your cheeks with one of his palms. “And, why are you holding a pen?”

You brought a hand to your mouth before coughing. “I caught a flu, probably from the kid next door,” you replied very weakly, attempting to softly push Soonyoung away but he didn’t move a single inch. “As for the pen, I thought you were an intruder. I thought I was going to die tonight. Why didn’t you just knock on the front door?” you whined, pinching his arm.

“Baby, you can’t kill me with a pen!” He laughed, swaying your body to his own rhythm. “And why didn’t you tell me that you’re sick? I would have brought some medicine for you.”

You pulled away from his grip, before proceeding to sit on the edge of your bed. Soonyoung however remained standing in front of you. “I didn’t want you to get sick, dork. Seungcheol will be mad.” You pouted at him.

“I’d be more mad if you don’t tell me about your health.” He replied seriously, holding both of your hands this time. “Please, tell me next time if you’re not feeling well, okay? Seeing you hurt right now is unbearable for me.”

You felt your lips rip a little from the dryness as you attempted to give him a small smile. “I’m sorry, I’ll tell you next time.” You pulled him down to sit beside you. “You’re not mad at me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.” He chuckled, eyeing you from head to toe except you spotted him narrowing his eyes at your choice of clothing. “I’ve been looking for that shirt for two weeks now.” He mumbled, shaking his head.

When your eyes snapped to the shirt barely engulfing your figure, a very light shade of pink dusted on your cheeks. “You told me I could keep it!” You continued to pout as you snuggled closer to his arm.

“I did?” he asked confusedly. “I don’t remember saying that,” he joked, forcing himself not to smile from your sudden affection.

You peeled yourself from him, mind spinning for a millisecond, reminding you of your existing flu, before letting out a very deep sigh. “Okay, I’ll just give it back to you when–”

“I’m only kidding. You can keep it! Of course, I remember saying that.” He interrupted far too enthusiastically, pulling you again into his grip. “You can have the rest if you want too! My shirt looks better on you anyway.”

“Can I get Minghao’s shirts too? They’re very stylish and–”

“No! My shirts only.”

“Okay.” You laughed, nuzzling your face into his chest.

A sudden silence fell between the two of you. The only sound was that of your breaths which were remarkably soothing for your pounding head. With the warmth of his body you almost forgot your shivering state earlier when the night breeze crashed into your room. Eventually, your eyelids grew heavy.,

Soonyoung’s fingers were running a marathon on your hair, sending a calming sensation through your sick body. Although on the verge of snoozing, curiosity started to plague your mind. Why was Soonyoung here are two in the morning?

“Babe?” you mumbled into his chest.

His chest vibrated as he hummed in response.

“Why are you here again?”

With your question, he flinched, making you sit upright, your sleepiness washed away.

“Right,” He muttered, reaching for the box resting on the floor. This was the second time you noticed that box, and also the time your anticipation grew.

He sat on the floor, legs crossed, and placed the box in his lap. “I found this earlier outside the building.” He lifted the lid to reveal a stray kitten, covered in pure white fur. Its blue eyes shone in contrast to the white, and there on the tip of its tail was a small black spot. Except, that wasn’t what caught your full, undivided attention, no, it was its one folded ear made your cheeks lift up to heaven.

If you’d have had more energy right now, you would have jumped and squealed from the sheer cuteness of the kitten, but, you were just too tired . “It’s so cute, oh my gosh. Baby, look at the ears!” Your voice cracked in attempt to speak in a higher, excitable tone, making Soonyoung burst out laughing.

“Don’t talk like that, you’re hurting your throat.“ His eyes turning into crescents as he gazed at you dearly.

“Does it bite?” The kitten let out a soft high pitched meow which you swore that made your heart dance crazy.

“Oh my gosh,” You cried, obviously falling in love with the kitten. “Can I touch it?”

“Yeah, she’s very kind.” Soonyoung carefully held the cat in his hand, setting it down on your lap.

“She?” You giggled, rubbing its chin.

“Yeah, I’ve checked it already. What name do you think suits her?”

Your eyes widened at him. “We’re keeping her?” you asked hopefully.

“Yeah, she doesn’t deserve to live on the streets, right?” He scooted closer to you, leaning his body against your dangling legs.

“But you literally stole a kitten from its mother, are you sure this is legal?”

The corners of his lips rose, his mouth pouring sets of laughter because of your statement. “You’re so cute.” He cooed. “It’s legal. It’s not like I’m going to get arrested because I want to take care of a kitten.”

“But you stole it!” you exclaimed.

“I did it for a good cause.”

“Well, you have a point.” You shrugged, still petting the cat.

“Aren’t I a sweet boyfriend? Lending cash, giving you comfy clothes, and a cat, plus I’m a good choreographer, oh and I’m pretty darn cute. I can be sexy too if I try–”

“Who said you have to try being sexy? You already are.” You winked at him.

Though you and Soonyoung have been dating for a while now, you never fail to make his heart flutter. “You’re so in love with me.” He smirked.

“True.” You whispered with a grin plastered on your face. When your attention went back to the kitten she was already sound asleep, head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Yet you noticed that she was also shivering. “Babe, she’s asleep.” Your voice very low.

Soonyoung grabbed one of your throw pillows, placed it on the floor, before lifting the kitten from your lap to move it onto your soft, fluffy cushion. You watched the way she shifted her position, making herself at home.

You sneezed, making your boyfriend turn to you his eyebrows scrunched together. “Are you allergic?” He asked softly, stroking your knee.

Sniffling you shook your head twice. “It’s just the flu.”

“Let’s get you to sleep.” He stood, before walking over to switch off your light, whilst you crawled into your bed.

Together you both slipped under the warm blanket. Your tensed muscles relaxed as soon as Soonyoung’s arms wrapped around your body. “I won’t be able to sleep anyway.” You mumbled into his chest.

“Why?” He looked down at you, with a worried expression etched into his facial features.

“I lost one pillow.”

“You don’t need that. I’m your extra pillow.” He chuckled, hugging you closer. “Good night, love you.”

You smiled into his chest, closing your eyes. “Love you too.”

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braindamageforbeginners · 6 years

Text

Day 36, Radiation 24, Serum Infusion 5 (sort of)

I realize that I tend to be discursive and verbose (in writing, anyway, I’m a surprisingly quiet person in real life); HOWEVER, dear reader, if the potential walls of text seem intimidating, let me just say, I cover a helluva lot of ground in this one. Benchmarks shall be reached; insights had; exhilarating heights and terrifying lows reached. Or, yesterday marked an important date, I had some critical insights to surviving deadly diseases (

So; yesterday marked the final initial serum infusion (I know that sounds like I’m a demented time traveler; hang with me). The “initial” treatment period for GBM - usually agreed as the “critical” treatment period - is a six-week course of 42 days of chemotherapy, 30 radiation doses (you get weekends off), and, in my case, five injections of Abraham Erskine’s Special Sauce. This is followed by a 20-30 day vacation - of sorts, followed by a year of on-again-off-again chemo (and, in my case, added bacon bits to Dr. Erskine’s elixer). That’s if everything goes well. If the radiotherapy (which is the very best that every single physician I consulted with recommended) isn’t as effective as predicted/hoped; you can start planning on what requests you’ll make for Tom Petty and Whitney Houston. I mean, there are some things they can do to forestall the disease, manage symptoms, etc. but that’s pretty the cancellation notice on a TV series you were watching. Again, I am amazingly horrified, upset, and angry that my life expectancy and potential is dependent upon which artificial rogue proton hit which carbon ring in an alien invader in my brain. And I’m going to be getting sentenced (as it were), in a month, and a helluva lot will be due to random chance. And healthy people would see this whole thing that the end is in sight, and thus begins a new stage of life (here’s a teachable moment, healthy folks; if you have a friend with a progressive disease, the stages are that they get worse until they die; new stage of life is that they get to skip some stages). So, yeah, after a year of awful news, it feels rather less that the parole board is convening, and much more that the Roulette Wheel is spinning. And I suppose the secret to doing this thing with grace and courage (which, again, I have no intention of doing; I was born a miserable misanthrope) is figuring out how to maximize those spins before the cashier collects. But, that is still a full month off, there are still positive (and negative) possibilities in play, and we shall leave the dark Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come for the rest of the post in favor of me (I suppose I’d be the Ghost of Christmas That one Time Dad Accidentally Misplaced and Mislabeled Everyone’s Gifts, So the Day Ended in a Really Stupid Series of Arguments)(I mean, I love the Christmas Carol, but I think we can all agree that I’m much more in the vein of idiotic-yet-funny family history stories we use to scare Grandma into silence)(Again, ladies, I am single).

So, we start events bright and early yesterday with me getting my blood drawn. Which always sucks, but I have learned a few tricks over the years (holding the phlebotomist’s family hostage in case they have to stab you more than three times isn’t as effective as you’d think). I have really hard-to-find veins; they’re small, you can’t see them, and they clench up and hide well after a bad attempt. But, I now have the patter down to a fine art, and most decent nurses and phlebotomists can do it by the second try (the record number of attempts, for anyone keeping score, was an MRI tech in NoCal - this was back in the days when techs were allowed to inject dyes into patients on their own; the rules have since changed). The vampire tech in question got me on the first time, and, then installing the IV, accidentally spritzed me with my own life essence. In all fairness, I’ve suffered worse the last time I spilled a drink, in terms of liquid exposure. And, because it’s me, it’s not even the first or second time I’ve been drenched in my own blood - it might be the third or fourth time, I’d have go back and tally them up (and, although “drench” is far too strong a verb in this instance, it wasn’t strong enough to capture the previous occasions)(I desperately wish I was making this up). Now, this wasn’t terribly painful, or, as it turns out, even very inconvenient - thankfully, there’s some mega-methanol fabric cleaner on hand (I don’t know why this surprised me; I’ve had a semi-permanent place in the hospital system since before I could vote) - which is fortunate, because the constabulary takes a dim view of grown men with blood stains on their crotches (that wasn’t some sort of design on my part, it was just a weird - albeit amusing - outcome of the angles and pressures involved. Anyway, after securing the IV in place, and making me presentable for a court appearance, the Vampire Tech (and this isn’t a slam on her, or anything; it’s just that the job of drawing blood and installing IVs is done by - according to my count - nurses, phlebotomists, technicians, nurses in training, training phlebotomist technicians - you get the idea; there’s 45 possible job titles for the person sticking me with an 18 gage needle)(crucial tidbit for future patients; 20-22 gage needles are about the smallest they’ll use on an adult, and, if you have a documented history of hard-to-find veins, you might want to consider asking for one of those) apologized to me for the mishap; I reciprocated, and she mentioned that she’d used a slightly smaller needle than she thought and moved a little faster, based on my description. She then mentioned - and I do hope you are sitting - that I have really, really big veins, they’re just a bit hard to find.

THE BETRAYAL. ALL IS LIES. You have to understand, folks, I’ve been told that I have small, hard-to-find, hard-to-poke veins, and, all this time, I have mid-grade kitchen pipes. I have to believe - because I’ve had my blood drawn more often than Lance Armstrong in the last sixteen years - that someone would’ve mentioned that my veins are fine, they’re just invisible and not where you expect them, and I forgot. That would be bad, and upsetting, but I would’ve liked to have thought that someone would’ve noticed and mentioned it a second or third time. Of course, I also did down two liters of water a half-hour before the blood draw, so it’s possible my venous system is more aggressively reactionary than Southern politics (drinking a lot of water right before a blood draw a well-known, very effective way to make the phlebotomist’s job easier), and this poor woman underestimated.

So, fast-forward 1400 years to me, in the chemo seat (which is supposed to be comfortable, but it’s amazing how unpleasant impersonal barcaloungers are when you have a tube in your arm, and you daren’t jiggle it lest you get billed for someone’s dry-cleaning bill), getting grilled by Research Coordinator, about assorted side-effects (that’s what they’re testing me for, remember), and he mentions that I’ve already reached the maximum recommended dose and tolerated it well, so I’m probably at my maximal side effects, super-soldier wise. Which makes me feel good, because, even though my arm and shoulder hurt like a sumbitch the next day and I have vague flu-like symptoms, if this is as bad as it gets, experimental drug-wise, it’s pretty tolerable (I mean, depending on how things shake-out, if this is a bimonthly, standard dose, I’ll ask them about some sort of stronger pain-killer or something, because this is extremely unpleasant, but, if this is the price of another decade or two, it’s doable)(even with horrible, horrible Gatorade). Which made me feel all Captain American-y for a brief moment and shine a bit of hope on the darkness. Research Coordinator also mentioned that, even though you only get one radiation treatment per lifetime, if I beat this thing the first time and it comes back, he and the Warlocks are already working on potential treatment plans, trials, and virgin sacrifices to keep me alive. Folks, I’m going to use some strong language here, but, I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, this is why, if you have a serious illness, do not fuck around with the folks at the local health-mart; go directly to the best. I’m still scared as hell that the radiation won’t take hold and/or this tumor will kill me, but I do feel like, if I can beat this one, I might have something like a normal life expectancy. That might just be the bargaining part stage of grief, though, and it does kind of require me to survive the next several months, which is far from guaranteed. to say the least. HOWEVER, Research Coordinator did assure me that, win, lose, or draw, I’d be getting a few weeks off from Gatorade (I’ll discuss this in further detail later, because it’s not exactly what it sounds like). My major complaint about that interaction is that they skimped on the budget and didn’t get Stanley Tucci to do the interview.

I also had a fascinating conversation with a chemo nurse who was double checking assorted side-effects, prescriptions, patient history, what-have-you. The following conversation has been condensed and slightly edited. NURSE: So, no nausea or vomiting? SELF: Not yet. NURSE: And you’re still on zofran? SELF: Uh, yeah, although i was queasy after the second infusion, so Research Coordinator suggested I double the dosage. But that’s in all the history, and it’s factored in to all of my prescriptions and stuff, as far as I can tell. NURSE (suspiciously): And you’ve never skipped a dose or cut back? SELF: Ma’am, it makes physically bearable and keeps me from puking. Why would I feel the need to experiment with that? NURSE: Oh, you’d be surprised. SELF: Look, if I get all my dreams and die at age 90 in excellent health; I want to be buried with a full bottle of zofran in case I need it.

Eventually, I did get to make it to another part of Socal, because Mother Dearest and the dog decided to visit me. Again, I’m going to be vague in an attempt to preserve some sort of anonymity (if not on my part, at least my dog’s); but we were able to coordinate this because I found a pet-friendly hotel in a part of town half-way between home and the hospital - as opposed to the really nice, but really expensive resort town. I’m now ready to call it quits with the resort area - it was quieter, friendlier, cheaper, and more personal. There’s less to do there, but people actually talked to me (or they talked to my dog, which I think is close enough). Everyone I talked to at this neighborhood was friendly - like, the meanest response of the night is from me, when a baker came out from behind the counter to hug my dog and I kind of winced, because that doesn’t seem very hygienic. But the croissants were amazing (like, worth dog-germ-risk to a technically-immunocompromised person amazing). And I got to celebrate the serum-sorta-completion-almost date the way American Jesus intended: with steak tartare, near-raw burgers, (it could be laden with tuberculosis, but, screw it, I got zofran, I’m not gonna puke), and double-helpings of beer (and, to those of you who don’t know me, few people like microbrew more than I do). It was a delightsomeful, memorable evening. I’m sure she meant it as a compliment, but Mother Dearest expressed far more wit in a single observation than the entire Trump administration: “You’ve become a much more interesting diner since you gave up that heart-health thing.”

And I sort-of slept. Maybe. A few hours. I will say this about the horrible super-soldier serum; it does produce the most amazingly life-like dreams I’ve ever experienced. Yes, I know they’re not technically hallucinations, but, you people didn’t attend the Super Bowl last night. Admittedly, that’s s a really weird, specific, helluva strange object for my focus (I give less thought to the NFL than I do to alfalfa profit margins)(not that either takes up much brain space). It felt like I was there, just like the last hyper-realistic post-injection dream. Which was weird and cool, and, certainly one of the more intriguing side-effects. Which led to a nastier, far-too-frequent side-effect; my arm feeling like it was trying to disattach itself from my frame. Fortunately, after last time, I knew exactly what to; go directly to Tylenol and Gatorade, which made things tolerable. Or as tolerable as Gatorade-based mornings can be. It did occur to me that, if I can’t be Captain America, maybe my right arm can grow and mutate and turn into some sort of really cool/scary demon-hand, like Hellboy. Which would enable me to punch through the flimsy walls of this universe to Hell itself, so that I could track down the inventor of Gatorade, and give him a well-earned thrashing (I know I’m an agnostic, but one thing I am absolutely theologically certain of; the creator of Gatorade is in Hell).

And, as I was musing - like you do, when you’re waiting for superpowers - I recalled the nurse saying that people just experiment and go off zofran (again, kids, if Santa Claus ever brings you zofran, you write a thank-you note immediately). This kind of coincided with another revelation, and I do apologize if it’ll take some time to connect the two, because they make a very important point for everyone planning on surviving cancer. I was packing up the dog’s stuff (specifically, his bowl and bag of food), and thought I’d just pour the leftover food into the bag on the porch/parking-lot area - food’s gonna spill, after all; if it happens out there, some lucky squirrel can deal with it. Mom immediately stopped me so that she could do the exact same thing in the sink area. Depositing dog food all over the sink, and turning a two-minute task into a five-minute cleaning job; without any apparent gain apart from cleaning kibble out of the sink. Now, because it’s Mother Dearest, I’m sure I’ll get some note about how I’m wrong and efficiency and cleanliness are overrated. What occurred to me is that it was a minor case of someone exercising some form of agency merely because they could.

And I get that; I really do. I organize my bookshelves, keep a highly regimented gym schedule, etc. And it suddenly occurred to me, based on this thought (and the chemo nurse’s statement that people stop taking zofran just because), there has to be a chunk of the populace that goes off doctor’s orders or refuses care or whatever for a variety of reasons. That’s all old news; I was an EMT, I’ve seen stupid shit you couldn’t even begin to believe. BUT, the heartening part of it - for me, anyway - is that I have, since Day 1 (since before then, actually), religiously followed doctor’s orders and suggestions (for the most part; I still shave, eat raw foods, and train in the gym; but I’ve never missed an appointment, prescription, dosage, or medical exam, and I’ve never lied to my physicians when questioned). Now, I realize that I have a dangerous disease that isn’t well-understood or have a terribly predictable outcome; but, it is worth noting that, every time I tell some medical professional I’ve lived with this disease (or chronic brain tumors, anyway) for 16 years, I get the exact same reaction as if I’d told them I went to school with Archimedes. I am, apparently, in the world of cancer, patients, nigh-vampire-unkillable. Which is pretty cool and makes me feel good, but, for everyone who wants to learn that secret, well, it’s pretty simple.

You want to go to the very best doctors. You want to figure out the best treatment plan for you; the one that offers the most chance of success. HOWEVER, once you have those things; you follow the rules and stick to the treatment plan like your life depends on it, because it does. I have no idea whether this is going to work, or what my life expectancy will be, but I am near-certain that if I decided to screw around with things, I will have a very grim future.

In figuring out an appropriate ending metaphor for all of this - and the importance of sticking to the medical plan in a world filled with changing variables and crises - I hit upon China Mieville’s book, “Kraken.” It’s an odd urban fantasy that prominently features a cult that worships giant squid as deities (it’s not the dumbest religion I’ve ever heard of). However, there is a minor plot point about the cult’s version of chess - “Kraken Chess,” which is just like our chess, except it features a piece called the Kraken (because of course it does). The Kraken piece is the most powerful piece on the board, because it can - like the queen - move any number of squares in any direction; however, the Kraken piece can also not move at all. It just forfeits a turn.

Folks, as you navigate a dangerous disease, there will be many, many periods where you don’t see any real results, there is no end in sight (or, as the case may be, the visible ends tend to look scary). I will work tirelessly to figure out some sort of coping strategy for all that - believe me, a large part of my life is centered on that, right now. All I can say is, don’t exert agency when none is needed, especially if that comes in the form of skipping your zofran. Sometimes, you must be the kraken; silent, beaked, still, and waiting for the opportunity to kill Sam Worthington.

I mean, uh, take your meds, follow the doctor’s directions, and don’t miss your appointments.

At the moment, I’m back home, waiting for my next appointment (it’s in a few hours);everything’s as close to normal as it can be. I’ve finished up all my administrative health lackey duties, so all bills that can be paid, prescriptions that can be renewed, appointments that can be made, etc. have been scheduled, and I can’t do anything for a few hours. Which is almost a relaxing feeling. I might go sit in the yard with a book and try and get in touch with my inner squid. Sometimes that’s the best you can do.

Folks, I do apologize if that was a bit lengthy and choppy; I had to write it exceedingly fast because I took a day off and there was a lot to attend to while I wrote. So, sorry if it’s a little disjarring; I can do better than that, I just didn’t have the time (and parts of it were written while I was still a little loopy from Captain America serum). The good news - sort of - is that there’s still a lot of things on the cutting-room floor that I’ll be revisiting in short-order. You’d best believe I’m going to revisit that kraken metaphor very soon, I have dark plans for the importance of vomiting on people (sort of), and why we, as a species, might be okay in the end.

#Cancer #brain tumor

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insideabunker · 7 years

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Halloween: Part 1 of 2

A Clexa Star Wars Halloween AU

“Oh, honey, you look so cute!”

Lexa rolled her eyes as her mother approached, camera in hand, ready to capture every moment of the awkward humiliation she’d agreed to suffer through.

“Mom… Please, don’t.”

It was too late. Lexa's mother was already snapping pictures as Aden danced around, overjoyed to be out of school and in costume, free to fully inhabit the role of a tiny Darth Vader.

“Lexa! Lexa! Look at me!”

He pranced around, nearly bouncing off the walls with frantic energy, his nervous excitement palpable as he ran up and down the hallway, wielding his red lightsaber wildly.

As overstimulated as she felt by the chaos of it all, Lexa couldn’t help but smile at her little brother, secretly acknowledging what a miracle it was he had so much energy to spare. Only a year earlier, they’d been celebrating Halloween from the confines of an isolated hospital room, Aden’s chemotherapy having weakened his immune system to nearly nothing. Lexa remembered holding the exhausted, hairless boy as he’d stare sadly out his window, watching as other children ran around in costume and prepared for the night's revelry.

To add insult to injury, Halloween happened to be Aden’s favorite holiday, and his inability to participate, coupled with nausea from his treatment, combined with the stress of his Neuroblastoma, and his parent's constant worry, had created a perfect storm of overwhelming emotion for the worn out, terrified five-year-old. Lexa had held his head in her lap all night long, stroking this fevered brow as he’d sobbed, repetitively wailing about how profoundly unfair the ordeal was.

In comparison to that holiday, Lexa would take a hyperactive, wild Aden any day. Secretly, she counted her blessings that her brother was alive and happy, and healthy enough to guilt her into the embarrassing couple’s costume she’d begrudgingly agreed to. She checked her reflection in the hallway mirror, groaning as she took in the sight of herself clad head to toe in a stormtrooper outfit.

“Just kill me now,” she thought. At the very least she’d have a helmet on. Surely that would provide enough anonymity that her friends and neighbors wouldn’t realize that she was dressed as a commando from outer space.

Even with the crushing embarrassment of the get-up and her near panic at the idea of being recognized, Lexa had found it hard to say no to the whole affair. One year before, in the quiet darkness of the hospital room, the matching costumes and outlandish theme had been her promise to her baby brother.

The words played on a loop in her mind, as she adjusted her outfit in the mirror. “When you get well baby boy, we can go together. Just you and me; matching costumes and everything.”

He’d nodded his sweaty brow and curled into her a little further. “Anything I want?”

“Anything you want.”

Of course, he’d wanted Star Wars. That part hadn’t been a shock. The multiple series of movies had become a lifeline during his lengthy and terrifying treatment. The originals had been Lexa’s favorite when she was young, and as Aden suffered through radiation, and chemotherapy, and surgery, she’d used them to connect with and inspire him. They had become a framework for every conversation she and her parents had with Aden about illness, treatment, and being brave in the face of uncertainty. After all, he was five. It was much easier to explain mental resilience and fear of the unknown when they were using the force and Luke Skywalker as metaphors.

The only problem was, the movies had stuck in a way that they’d never imagined. Post-cancer, Aden was now a Star Wars junkie, and as she watched him prance around in his Darth Vader outfit, Lexa couldn’t help but feel like she’d created a monster.

She glanced over at him as he continued to practice his lightsaber moves. “You’re positive you’re feeling up to this, right buddy? You’re sure you’re gonna make it around the whole neighborhood?”

Aden halted in the middle of the hallway, planting his feet firmly and pointing at her with a gloved hand. “I find your lack of faith disturbing!”

She rolled her eyes. “Great,” she thought. “He’s memorized the lines.”

Lexa held out her hand for him, motioning towards the front door. “Alright kiddo, come on. Let’s get this show on the road.” A moment later they were posing for pictures on the street corner. Her father beamed with pride at the sight of his two children.

“You two look terrific. Best costumes on the block, I tell ya’!”

Lexa smiled, as she accepts the old pillowcases he handed to her and Aden. “Thanks, dad. When should we be home by?”

Her father cracked a mischievous grin as he checked his watch. Silver-haired and clean-cut, he had always looked a little too handsome to be a marine biology professor, Lexa thought; more like someone who would play one in a movie. He cocked his eyebrow as he considered the time. “Well, the party starts at 7:00, but people probably won’t start showing up until 7:30.”

He glanced over at his wife giving her a questioning look. “I think you we can let you keep him out until 8:00. That is, if he’s feeling up to it, AND…” Joe paused, giving his son a stern look. “He promises to go to bed as soon as you get back.”

Aden jumped up and down, a drawn-out plea of “but dad” barely escaping his mouth before his mother interjected. “Aden Gerald, that’s already half an hour later than normal. You’re still getting better. No buts. Take it or leave it.”

Aden hung his head glumly, resigning himself to his fate. “Ok, fine.”

Lexa patted the small boy’s back smiling reassuringly. “Don’t worry buddy. I'll bet we can hit at least five blocks before then.”

With that, she turned back to her mother, who was busy snapping one last photo. Cynthia Woods smiled at her daughter, making sure to chide her with the kind of sensible advice only a fifth-grade teacher could deliver. “Make sure you two walk on the well light part of the street and stay in the neighborhoods you know.”

Lexa rolled her eyes. “Mom, I’m 20, not 10. I promise I can handle this. Besides, we live in Marblehead, Massachusetts, not East St. Louis. We don't exactly live in a rough neighborhood.”

Cynthia nodded. “Well, all right then, but make sure to bring him home early if he runs out of steam.”

Lexa cocked an eyebrow, looking down at Aden, who was back to jumping around, his lightsaber making swishing sounds as it cut through the air. She dawned her stormtrooper helmet and gave her mother one last look. “I wouldn’t worry about that. The force is strong with this one.”

Clarke stared at her appearance in the screen of her phone, raising one eyebrow as she snapped a selfie. She flipped the device over in her hand, typing off a quick message before pressing the send button.

Just behind her, a still dressing Wells struggled to adjust his boots, trying not the stumble over the lab equipment he’d just finished putting away. His phone dinged, and he glanced at the screen, laughing when he saw the tweet Clarke had just posted.

“‘Oh, the things I do for my best friend,’ eh?”

Clarke smiled at him. “How many girls do you know who would fill in on a couple’s costume this nerdy when their best friend’s girlfriend gets the flu? I mean, come on… Finn and Rey?”

Wells grinned at her devilishly, nearly knocking a beaker over as he failed in an attempt to shrug on the leather flight-jacket that completed his outfit.

“Hey, you act like this wasn’t your thing back in the day. I distinctly remember a little girl who was obsessed with Princess Leah, and used to compete with me to see who could do a better Wookie impression.”

Clark shoved her best friend. “Yeah, when we were six. I’m not the one who had an R2-D2 alarm clock into high school. I branched out.”

Wells stuck his tongue out at her playfully. Shoving a binder full of lab notes into his book bag, and shutting down the autoclave that had been sterilizing equipment. “I think you mean you got popular.” He began walking are the room as he spoke, making sure everything was shut off for the evening .”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “What’s your point? It’s not like I got popular and suddenly forgot you. I seem to remember my insisting you always be included in everything I did with my popular…” She drew out the word for emphasis, making air quotes as she spoke, “friends.”

Wells nodded. “Yes, and you know how much I’ve always appreciated you not forgetting us little guys when you suddenly got cool.” He smiled, winking at her as he shut off another piece of equipment. “But, my point is that you didn’t admit to liking this stuff after that.”

Clarke sighed. “Ok, ok… Your point is a legitimate one. But, in all fairness, if I hadn’t toned down my enjoyment of that stuff, neither of us would have been invited to parties in high school. She furrowed her brow. “Which would also mean that you would never have met Raven.”

Clarke smiled, remembering the night the beautiful, brilliant girl had met her shy, chess club captain of a best friend. The two had been inseparable ever since, even attending the same college.

Wells shut off the final set of lights and grabbed his keys off the counter. “Also a good point.” He held the door open for Clarke as they exited his office in the small lab.

“Remind me again why we had to change in your lab, instead of your apartment?”

Wells smirked, locking the door behind him. “Raven is still contagious, and honestly? I didn’t think you could handle the projectile vomit.”

Clarke recoiled. “Ew. Thanks for that image.”

They made their way out of the building quietly, Wells shutting off lights as they went. As the hallways of the marine laboratory grew dim, Clarke grabbed her phone, using it to light their path, and noting the time on the screen’s face.

“When did you say this thing started again?”

“7:00, but My advisor told me that I should wait until around 8:00, or I’d be stuck standing around, awkwardly making small talk with professors.”

“I still can’t believe you’re going to you’re professors Halloween party.”

Wells rolled his eyes. “He’s not my professor, he’s my advisor, and he’s the best in his field, so I want to be in his good graces. Besides, it’s free drinks, and it isn’t going to be all faculty. Apparently, they throw a costume party every year for their neighborhood. He’s from Marblehead. Apparently, we went to school with his daughter.”

Clarke groaned. “Hold on a minute. I thought this was going to be in Salem. You didn’t tell me this party was going to be in our hometown. Wells, what if we run into Finn, or some of his friends?”

Wells sighed as they exited the building, making their way to his old Chevy station wagon, parked by a sign that “Cat Cove Laboratory.”

“Clarke, people don’t care about it as much as you think. I mean, some of his friends have been saying nasty things, but everyone knows those guys are jerks.” Wells sighed, his face filled with compassion. “Raven told me that all of your friends are ok with what's going on with you. Besides, everyone thinks Finn is an asshole for doing what he did.”

“Wells,” Clarke paused, taking a deep, shaky breath. “My boyfriend of almost four years broke up with me in a text after I admitted to him that I’m bisexual. Then he followed it up by sharing topless selfies I’d sent to him with half the guys we know.” Clarke’s voice broke a little as she continued, betraying her attempt at nonchalance. “Half the world had seen me naked. It’s humiliating.”

Wells patted his friend on the shoulder, giving her a sympathetic look. “Griffin, you’re the painter who’s mural is decorating the side of the art building at our old high school. You graduated in the top ten percent of our class and got a merit scholarship to Tufts. Most importantly, you’re the funny, smart, loyal girl, who never forgot her best friend when she became one of the most popular kids in our class. You’re an amazing person. A few people seeing your boobs doesn’t change that.”

Clarke avoided Wells’ gaze, nodding solemnly as she wiped at the stray tears her friend's speech had elicited. “Thanks, Wells. You always know what to say.”

Wells smiled, pulling his friend into a hug, and rubbing her back in soothing circles. “Anything for the girl who saved me from getting beat up by Bobby O’Brien freshman year.

Clarke laughed, sniffing into Wells' shoulder. “Ugh, he was such a jerk.”

A moment later, calm and adequately soothed, Clarke released her grip, and the two climbed into the car. The engine coughed and sputtered, rumbling to life reluctantly, after a few tries. Wells breathed a sigh of relief as he flipped the headlights on, adjusting his mirrors and winking at Clarke.

“The old girl has still got it.”

Clarke nodded, patting the fraying console gently. “That she does.”

The old Chevy pulled off the gravel parking lot and onto the street. Wells cast a glance over at his friend, trying to read her demeanor.

“You know, if you aren’t feeling up to this, we don’t have to go.”

She waved her hand, dismissing his concern. “Wells, I’m fine.”

He nodded as a comfortable silence fell over the car, his mind wandering to the many questions he’s been reserving since Clarke’s breakup with Finn. Considering the idea tentatively, he finally decided that now seemed as good a time as any to start asking some of them.

“So how did you know exactly?”

“Hmm?” Clarke cocked her head, casting him a sideways glance.

“How did you know that you were bisexual? I mean, I always kind of wondered, what with the number of Tegan and Sara albums you own, and all those posters of female soccer players.”

Clarke punched him in the bicep and Wells giggled, fending her off with his free arm.

I’m kidding! I’m just joking! But really…” Wells paused. “You started dating Finn sophomore year. Wasn’t it hard to come to that realization given that you’ve never…” He paused again trying to choose his words as carefully as possible.

“Given that I’ve never what?”

He shrugged. “You know… I just think it would be hard to know that for sure if you’ve never tried doing anything with a girl.”

Clarke rolled her eyes dramatically. “So, you’re saying you weren’t sure you were into girls until you awkwardly kissed Becca Simmons at Octavia Blake’s sweet sixteen?”

Wells nearly choked on his laughter as the embarrassing moment flashed through his mind, filling it with images of himself as a gangly, heavily bespectacled teenager. He remembered swaying on his feet in the middle of the Blake’s living room, second away from vomiting, having proven that he had no idea how to hold his liquor. None the less, he’d been determined to make a move on the pretty, freckled girl in front of him.

Ultimately he’d leaned in, sliding his lips against her’s, only to have them slide right off again, thanks to the combination of her heavy chapstick, and his poor balance. He’d stumbled sideways, planting a kiss on her eye socket instead, and smearing her makeup in the process. Then, in an almost seamless transition, he’d doubled over, vomiting all over the girl’s shoes. It had been a bad night, to say the least.

“Ok, you make a good point. But, what was it though? I was just wondering.”

Clarke shrugged. “Honestly, I think part of me always knew. The thing is, Finn and I started dating before I’d had a chance to do any real self-reflection about sex and sexual identity.

Clarke ran her finger through the fog on the window, tracing infinity symbols. “Anyway, even though I had those question in the back of my mind, I never completely figure things out until last year. Finn and I were at separate colleges, and for the first time, I finally had some distance from him, and from all of the crazy emotions that went along with our relationship. The distance gave me a chance to think.”

“About girls?” Wells interjected.

She wiped away her window designs with the back of her hand. “Yes, but more specifically about my feelings about other girls. I started realizing that all my life I’ve tended to idolize certain women.”

The old car lurched over a pothole as they made their way down Canal Street. Clarke shifted nervously in her seat, thoughtfully piecing together an explanation that would make sense to her old friend. “Don’t make fun of me, but I do think that the female athletes I’ve hero-worshiped are an example of this.”

Her admission had Wells feeling smug, though he did his best to hold back his smirk as he waited for her to elaborate.

“I mean, obviously I respected them because they were talented, but I also think that some of that hero worship was my way of justifying my attraction to them. Even in school, there was one girl in particular that I admired in a way that went a bit beyond just looking up to her. It was more like…”

Clarke stared at the worn out car mat under her feet, settling on the right words, though hesitating to say it out loud. “It was a more like adoration. I would notice her whenever she was around, and when she was, it made me so nervous.”

“You never talked to her?

Clarke shrugged. “I mean we talked, but it was never anything that constituted a real conversation. I was always way too intimidated to do anything more than making small talk with her.”

She ran her hand over the window again, the cool of the glass soothing the tips of her fingers. “I always thought that nervousness was born out of respect, or maybe even a bit of jealousy, but eventually I realized it was an attraction. Subconsciously, I think my reluctance to get to know her was my way of avoiding having to deal with those feelings.”

A dedicated listener, Wells remained silent, nodding thoughtfully as Clarke finished her explanation. Never one to jump to conclusions or offer rash commentary, he took his time in responding at all. “That makes a lot of sense.”

He stared out at the road as they rolled down the nearly empty street, continuing to process Clarke’s explanation without comment. A few moments later he cleared his throat and cast a curious glance at his friend. “What was the moment you were sure?”

Clarke groaned, reluctant to admit to her best friend that her tastes were as predictable as he probably assumed. “Well, that one particular girl from high school…”

“Yeah?”

“I thought about her a lot when I was sorting through this stuff, freshman year. I tried looking her up on Facebook, but her account had been deactivated. Instead, I found myself constantly looking at her picture in the yearbook and our varsity team photo, trying to figure out why I was so tongue-tied around her.”

“Wait!” Wells stole an excited glance at her before snapping his gaze back to the road, reluctant to take his eyes off the darkened street on a night when children were so likely to be darting back and forth across it. “You’re telling me this girl was someone who was on the soccer team with you?”

“Yes.” Clarke nodded, watching as Wells developed a smile that could rival that of the Cheshire Cat.

“I knew you were into those soccer girls!” He glanced at her again, winking. “Anyway, go on.”

“I spent a lot of time wondering why I’d never felt comfortable getting close to her, even though we were on the soccer team together for four years, and even though we ran in some of the same circles. I kept telling myself it was just intimidation, or that it was because I was competing with her. I had a million rationalizations for it. Then, about a month after summer started, I saw her.”

“You hung out with her?”

Clarke shook her head. “No, I literally saw her, standing on the platform across from me in the Park Street T station. I got off the Red Line coming from Davis, and there she was. She was just standing there, waiting for a train, and the only thought in my head was how amazing it would feel to kiss her. It just popped into my head, and before I could shake it off, or rationally it, she was gone.”

“Wow.”

“Yep.”

“So, that was the moment you knew for sure?”

“Yes. Once I’d figured it out, I felt I had to be honest with Finn about it. I sat down with him a few days later and told him that I still loved him. I said that even though I still wanted to be with him, I thought it was important that I be able to acknowledge it. He said that he needed time to think, and I said that was ok.”

Clarke gazed out her window, refusing to look at Wells. “A week later, while he was up at his family’s lake house partying with his idiot lacrosse buddies, and I got a text saying he was breaking up with me.

“Was that when…”

“Yes.” Clarke cut him off not wanting to re-hash how a slanderous social media post and several half-naked photos of her had made their way from a lakefront bonfire in New Hampshire, to the inboxes of half the men with whom she’d gone to high school.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow!”

“Yep.”

The clanking and groaning of the beaten up old Chevy were the only sound as an uncomfortable silence settled over the two. Wells continued to concentrate on the road, contemplating his friend's story, while Clarke stared out the window, transfixed by something off in the distance.

“Clarke, the thing is, Finn is an asshole. I don’t just mean he’s become an asshole recently. He’s always been an asshole. We all think so; Raven and I, most of our friends, and basically everyone except his lacrosse buddies. I never said anything in high school because I knew how you felt about him, but honestly… He’s a grade A, top-shelf, 100%, fully certified asshole. What’s more, his parents are basically our town’s leading asshole making factory."

Wells gripped the wheel a little tighter as he rattled off the list of offenses. “His older brother, Spencer, nearly got expelled from school for plagiarism until his father donated money for a new athletic center. His other older brother, Graham, drunkenly drove his Range Rover through the side of a boat that was sitting in dry-dock. His oldest brother, Tripp, lost his bid for state senate because he got caught cheating on his wife with a girl who was basically underage. Plus, Finn’s dad is the scumbag selectman who keeps voting against building more affordable housing in town.”

He sighed, “I know you’ve been having a rough time with the breakup, and I don’t blame you, but I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re not with him anymore.”

Clarke nodded, patting her friend on the shoulder. “I know. I am too." She paused. "Happy, I mean. The truth is he had d become a pretty bad boyfriend long before the breakup."

"Bellamy’s up at UNH with him," she added after a moment. "He told last year that he’d caught Finn a few times, fooling around with other girls at parties.”

“That dickhead!” Wells’ jaw clenched, his hands tensing on the wheel even further. “Clarke, if I see him again I swear I’m going to punch him in the face! He’s not nearly good enough for you!”

“I know.” She patted Wells’ shoulder again, giving him a brave smile, heralding to her sometimes overprotective friend that she was over the shaggy-haired, rakish boy who had broken her heart.

Slowly, Wells relaxed, smiling back at her as he patted her thigh with a large, sturdy hand. “You know what, forget that guy. Tonight, you and I are going to cut loose, drink up my advisor's booze, and forgot all about school, and ex’s, and small-town drama. What do you say?”

Clarke winked. “I dunno,” she paused, casting a serious glance at him as she dropped her voice low and attempted an impression that ultimately sounding more like John Wayne than Harrison Ford. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Wells laughed at her use of the Han Solo quote, a favorite movie line from their childhood.

“That’s the spirit, Clarke!”

Lexa stepped through the front door, brushing a few drops of water off the white vinyl of her sleeve before removing the ill-fitting plastic mask that had been bobbing around on her head for hours. She set the offending garment next to her, and pulled the elastic from her hair, shaking it free and running her fingers through the wavy, brown mess. She closed her eyes, enjoying how good it felt not to have her hair tied up anymore, or to have her face hidden inside the mugginess stormtrooper helmet.

“Dad! Dad! Dad!” Aden came crashing through the door just behind her, crossing the living room in leaps and bounds as he made his way through the sea of party guests towards the man clad in the denim shirt and blue pants that were synched up too high. “Look how much we got!”

Joe Woods turned around at the sound of his son’s elated voice. A twinkle gleamed in his green eyes, which were hidden behind oversized, wire frame glasses. He wore a bright red knit cap; a full-bent billiard pipe clutched in his toothy grin.

Lexa rolled her eyes as she approached him, holding out her pillowcase, so her father could see their haul. “Jacques Cousteau again, eh old man?”

Her father laughed maniacally, peering into her candy bag. “What can I say kiddo?” He winked at her, shifting until he was hovering over his son’s outstretched hands. “I’m predictable.”

Joe stared into Aden’s pillowcase, stroking his stubbly chin as she considered the contents. Finally, he looked up at Aden. “Well, no doubt about it young man. You beat your sister this year.”

Aden’s face light up at those words, as he began bouncing on his toes. “I got more than Lexa?!”

His father nodded, turning to his wife, who had just come striding in from the kitchen, carrying a tray of hors-d'oeuvres.

Lexa smirked, staring at her mother’s outlandish, solar system print dress and curly orange wig. “Miss Frizzle I presume?”

Cynthia nodded, “It’s an oldie but a goodie.” She gazed down, examining the contents of her children’s pillowcases. “Your father’s right. Aden wins this year.”

Lexa frowned. “You know, Frizzle’s wildly experimental teaching methods always seemed overrated to me.”

“Huh!” Her mother put her free hand to her chest, feigning offense as she headed off into the sea of guests, intent on distributing the food before it was cold. “By the way Lexa,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the crowd. “Anya has been looking for you. She’s in the kitchen.”

Lexa rolled her eyes as Aden began a victory dance around her. She stuck her tongue out at him playfully before she conceded to his joy. “Alright, alright. All hail Aden, king of Halloween!” Lexa dropped her pillowcase, kneeling in front of the tiny boy and tickling his sides until he was writhing on the floor, helpless with hysterical laughter, and pleading with her.

“Stop! Stop!”

Satisfied, Lexa stood, holding out her hand to her brother. “Here, gimme your candy, and I’ll hide it for you until tomorrow.”

Aden clutched his pillowcase a little tighter and looked at his sister skeptically.

“Aden, you have to go to bed. I’m just putting it somewhere safe, so the guests don’t eat it while you’re asleep.”

He furrowed his brow. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Reluctantly, the tiny boy handed over his bounty, and Lexa slung both bags over her shoulder as she made her way through the swinging door and into the kitchen.

Wells held the door for Clarke as they made their way from the heavily jack-o-A dedicated front porch of his advisor’s home into the living room. The blonde couldn’t help but be in awe of how much attention to detail had been put into the party decorations. Orange and black streamers ran up and down the banister of the stairs, and every table, shelf, and mantle had Halloween paraphernalia completely covering it; from bowls of candy to synthetic cobwebs to fake severed zombie hands. What was more, the room was buzzing with conversation, and nearly overflowing with party guests. Over in the corner, a headless horseman was talking to Micky Mantle, while on the couch, a slightly-too-short Abraham Lincoln appeared to be putting the moves on a female ghostbuster. By the fireplace mantle, Freud, Einstein and Teddy Roosevelt seemed to be deep in conversation. Here and there, astronauts, movie stars, long-dead politicians, ghosts, zombies, and two different men dressed as Beethoven, milled about talking and grabbing food off of a platter carried by a woman dressed as Miss Frizzle from The Magic School Bus.

It was a lot to take in, and Clarke remained a fly on the wall as long as she could, until she felt Wells tugging on her arm, leading her over to a man in a red, knitted cap.

“Clarke, I want you to meet my advisor, Professor Woods.” He turned to the middle-aged man. “Professor, this is my best friend, Clarke. She’s filling in for my girlfriend tonight.”

Clarke held out her hand to the handsome, silver-haired man. He took it eagerly. Enveloping her tiny palm in his robust and leathery grip, he shook it enthusiastically. “So happy to meet you, Clarke. Any friend of Wells' is a friend of mine.”

His smile was genuine and welcoming, and Clarke found herself beginning to relax.

“Clarke Griffin. Pleased to meet you too, Professor. By the way, I like your Steve Zissou costume.”

Professor Woods chuckled, giving her hand a final shake before he released it. “Actually, I’m supposed to be Jacques Cousteau, but the Zissou character was based on him, so you’re very close.”

Professor Woods looked Clarke over for a moment, mulling over something. “Griffin, eh?” He pursed his lips, scrunching one eye halfway shut in contemplation. “Your father wouldn’t happen to be Jake Griffin would he?”

Clarke’s eyes widened upon hearing her father’s name. “He would! Do you know him?”

The professor’s face light up, his strong jaw turning up into a warm smile once again. “I’ve known you dad for almost twenty years! We met working on a big construction project up in Gloucester. He was the lead marine engineer on a pier renovation, and I was the chief environmental officer. Brilliant guy, your dad. Just brilliant.”

Professor Woods paused, suddenly noticing Clarke and Wells’ costumes. He beamed when he realized the theme. “Aden! Come take a look at this, buddy!” The professor smirked, as he looked them up and down. “My son will flip when he sees your outfits. He’s a real Star Wars nut.”

Wells perked up at the statement, looking around the room for the individual who apparently shared his passion. “Oh, yeah? Is he in college too o…”

Wells trailed off when he felt a small hand tugging his pant leg. He looked down at the little boy clad in black robes; a Darth Vader mask pushed up above his forehead. The child smiled up at him sheepishly.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Wells waved down at him, slightly astonished. “Is this… I mean… Sorry.” He paused, looking back and forth between the professor and Aden. “I just figured that your son would be a little older.”

The little boy beamed up at the two college students, ecstatic to have a real life Finn and Rey in his home. He looked over at his father before turning back to Wells and smiling eagerly. “I was a surprise.”

The three adults burst into awkward if not genuine laughter, as Professor Woods grabbed the tiny boy, hoisting him up on his hip. Settling into his father’s side, Aden locked eyes with Clarke and smiled shyly.

“Hi.”

Enamored with the funny little boy, Clarke leaned down. She gave him a warm smile and extended her hand. “Hi there, I’m Clarke.”

Faced with a pretty girl in a Rey costume, Aden became uncharacteristically nervous. He smiled back at her bashfully, tentatively grabbing two of her fingers in his tiny fist, and shaking them. “I’m Aden.” He looked over her costume, smiling as he took in every detail of the beautiful girl. “Can I tell you something, Clarke?”

She nodded.

He leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “Rey is my favorite.”

Clarke smiled at him, leaning towards his tiny ear as she whispered back. “Mine too.”

Professor Woods watched the exchange, charmed by how at ease the girl was with his young son. He adjusted Aden in his arms, bouncing him a bit. “Aden here was our later in life baby, but our daughter is your age. Wells, I believe she graduated from Marblehead High the same year that you did. She’s here tonight, actually. She came all the way home just to take her little brother trick-or-treating."

He hoisted the tiny boy in his arms. "You two should say hello.”

He cupped a hand to his mouth, calling over the hum of the crowd. “Lexa?” Professor Woods looked around, searching the room for any sign of his daughter, but coming up empty. “Where did she get off too?” Unable to make heads or tails of the faces in the crowd, he turned back to the young people in front of him, failing to notice the way Clark’s eyes had gone wide. “Well, no matter. I’m sure you’ll run into each other eventually. The night is young after all.”

Aden yawned, resting his auburn head against his father’s broad shoulder, his face betraying the telltale signs of exhaustion. Professor Woods rubbed his son’s back soothingly, and Aden nuzzled further into his shoulder, his eyelids beginning to droop. “Anyway, you two,” the older man nodded to Clarke and Wells. “Looks like I should get this one to bed.” He hiked the boy up on his hip and jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Drinks are in there. The house rule is that those eighteen and over can help themselves to whatever they like, so long as they agree to turn over their car keys for the evening.”

Wells nodded. “No problem, Professor. My house is only a few blocks from here. We can walk home.”

Professor Woods held out his hand, and Wells fished his key ring out of his trousers pocket, depositing them into his advisor’s waiting palm. Joe tucked them into a nearby drawer.

The professor adjusted his son in his arms, extending his free hand to Clarke once more.

“Miss Griffin, it was a pleasure meeting you. Please, tell your father that I say hello.”

Clarke nodded nervously, hoping the professor wouldn’t notice that her palms were now sweating. “I will, of course.” She swallowed nervously. “By the way, Professor, is there a bathroom around here I could use?”

He pointed through a doorway. “Down that hall, second door on the left.”

With that, Professor Woods started up the staircase. Wells had barely raised his hand to wave goodnight to a half-sleeping Aden when he felt himself being tugged out of the room. Clarke’s sweaty palm gripping his hand like a vice as she frantically pulled him down the hall.

“How could you not tell me this was Lexa Woods house?!”

“He was adorable,” Lexa mumbled, simultaneously trying to chew a mouthful of caramel apple. She ducked, putting an arm up to fend off her giggling attacker, as Anya tossed a stale candy corn at her. “He was determined to beat our record, even after it started raining.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “It was barely drizzling.”

“There were big, fat raindrops, Anya!”

“Whatever, it only rained a little.” She threw a few more candy corn in Lexa’s direction, popping a final one in her mouth with a smirk. “I might be a little impressed.”

Lexa ducked, dodging the rain of rock-hard novelty candy. “Admit it woman; you’re as happy as I am that he’s doing so well.”

Anya rolled her eyes, trying not to give herself away as she turned away slightly to hide her smile. “It’s possible.”

Lexa smirked, picking an abandoned donut hole off the counter, and tossing it in her cousin’s direction. “How’s the application going by the way?”

Anya shrugged. “I won’t hear back about the academy until May, but I’m not worried.”

Lexa smiled at her beautiful, cocky cousin. Anya had always been tremendously confident, and it was little wonder why. At 5’ 7” the gorgeous, slender twenty-one-year-old cut an imposing figure. Her perfect, slightly tan skin, high cheekbones, and sharp eyes had always set her apart from the crowd and made her the obsession of every teenage boy in a three-town radius. What was more, she was smart, athletically gifted, and seemingly impervious to self-doubt. Anya was the kind of person who was instantly good at everything she put her mind to, the type of person who never failed at things. Lexa had worshiped her older cousin as a child, had envied her as an adolescent, and relied on her almost exclusively for advice as an adult.

“What I still can’t believe is that uncle Gus and Uncle Nyko didn’t kill you when you told them you were dropping out of school to become a police officer.”

Anya rolled her eyes, snatching a piece of candy out of Lexa’s hand. “Don’t let them fool you. My dads act like they’re heartbroken about my not finishing school, but they’re secretly gushing over the fact that I’m following in their footsteps.”

Lexa took a bite of a peanut butter cup. She chewed it greedily, savoring the taste before washed it down with a swig of beer. “So you think you’re gonna get picked up for the academy?”

“I’m pretty confident,” Anya replied casually.

“That sure, huh?” Lexa popped the remaining bit of Reese’s in her mouth, devouring it in a single bite.

“Of course. Even if I hadn’t aced the civil service exam, and even if my fathers weren’t retired police officers, I’d still be an international adoptee, who speaks two languages, and who was raised by gay dads. Let’s be real here. Those things make for a pretty unique candidate, and the BPD is in the middle of a huge diversification effort.”

Lexa grinned mischievously. “So being Kyrgyzstani give you an advantage?”

This time, Anya threw an entire mini bag of skittles at Lexa. The tiny, red bag smacked the brunette in the face before plummeting to the floor. Anya furrowed her brow, feigning righteous indignation, though she knew full well Lexa was only joking. “Jackass, the term is Kyrgyz, not Kyrgyzstani, and I know you know I was adopted from Nepal.”

Lexa nearly choked laughing as she tried to swallow the candy in her mouth. The misnomers were a running joke between her and her cousin. Anya would pretend to mix up her sexual orientation, and she would act as though she couldn’t remember where Anya had been born.

“How is the whole sapiosexual thing going for you anyway?” Anya gave her cousin a devilish grin. “Or was it Polysexual?”

“It’s just gay Anya.”

The taller girl smirked, knowing the information full well, as she’d been the first person to whom Lexa had come out.

Lexa stared at the floor, kicking at a discarded piece of candy that had landed near her foot. “It’s fine.”

A moment of awkward silence passed before it became clear that Lexa had no intention of elaborating.

“That’s it? Come on, Lexa! It’s been nearly six months since you broke things off with Costia.”

Anya handed her cousin another slice of caramel apple from the tray on the counter. “At least tell me you’ve gone on a few dates?”

Lexa shrugged, making sure to avoid her cousin’s gaze as she accepted the sweet. “No, but it’s is fine. I’m not still upset about Costia.”

She kicked at the floor again. “Honestly, I’ve just been busy with other things. Aden was just finishing his treatments when we broke up, and then I had to finish the transfer process from State to MIT, and then there were the summer prep courses in Boston.”

Lexa took a bite of the caramel apple slice. She chewed slowly, happy to have a reason to not to speak. Finally, she looked up at her cousin. “It’s was a lot. I haven’t had time for a love life.”

Anya sighed. “I’m still pissed about what the girl did to you.”

Lexa shot her cousin an understanding but frustrated glance. “She didn’t DO anything to me, Anya. She just couldn’t handle everything that was going on.”

Anya jumped off the counter, her face conveying a look that practically screamed: “are you serious?” “Lexa, supporting a significant other when their life gets hard is, literally…” She leaned forward, repeating herself for with added emphasis. “LITERALLY, the barest of bare minimums that you should expect from a girlfriend.”

“She was going through a lot too!”

Anya’s hands flew into the air wildly. “Adjusting to college life and pledging a sorority isn’t exactly the school of hard knocks!”

Anya groaned, cupping her palms to her forehead. “Lexa, you ought to be angry at her. She cut and ran when you needed her most. That’s not ok!”

Lexa folded her hands behind her head and sighed in exasperation, her fingers weaving together through her wild, brunette mane. “Ok, fine! I’m angry that she bailed on me! There, I said it! Are you happy now?”

“Yes! You deserve to be mad at her!”

The two cousins seethed at each other for a moment; their tempers slowly returned to a manageable level. When cooler heads finally prevailed, Anya returned to her seat on the counter, and Lexa leaned back against the refrigerator, allowing the cool of the metal door to sooth her flushed skin. She glared over at her cousin.

“I’ll admit, I was a little mad when she broke up with me. To be honest though, by the time Costia and I ended things, I ‘d pretty much fallen out of love with her anyway.”

Lexa sighed, closing her eyes in an attempt to collect her thoughts. “Costia was everything I could have asked for in a high school girlfriend. She was outgoing, fun, up for anything…”

“Not to mention hot and rich.”

Lexa clenched her jaw, trying not to be frustrated with Anya’s cheek. “Yeah, sure… But, she was also shallow, and self-involved, and she didn’t handle adversity well at all. Plus, she wasn’t good with Aden, and you know how I feel about that.”

Anya nodded. “Right, right… You don’t trust people who aren’t good with kids.”

“Honestly, sometimes I wonder if I ever loved her, or if what we had was just…”

“Great sexual chemistry?” Anya cut her off, smirking.

Lexa glowered at her cousin. “As accurate as your insight is, it’s still unbearably annoying when you finish my thoughts for me.”

“Can I help it if I know you better than most?” Anya winked, beaming at how well she knew her the younger girl.

“You know, you don’t know everything about me.” The statement was a challenge, and Lexa knew it. She waited with bated breath for her cousin’s inevitable smart-ass response.

Anya smiled evilly, staring her down as though she was a snake about to lash out at her prey. “I know Costia wasn’t the person you really wanted to be dating in high school.”

Lexa froze, wondering what the sly girl was insinuating. “What do you mean?”

Anya’s smile only widened as she leaned forward on the counter, her eyes narrowing. “Two words. Clarke. Griffin.” Anya stressed each syllable carefully, drawing the name out, popping the K in Clarke for added emphasis. “You had a huge crush on her. Don’t you even try denying it.”

The accusation hung in the air like the fallout from a nuclear bomb. Lexa’s pulse began racing madly, and she felt all the blood rushing from her legs to her face, where she was sure a furious blush was now forming. “How the FUCK do you know that?!”

Anya jumped down from the counter again, patting her cousin’s shoulder as she headed towards the door to the back hall. “I was your roommate in every hotel we stayed at, at every soccer tournament we attended, for three years. You, my dear, have an annoying habit of talking in your sleep.”

Anya began to push the door open but turned back to Lexa to add a final thought. “Actually, it was really more moaning in your sleep than talking.”

She grinned triumphantly, watching as the blush in Lexa’s face turn a deep crimson. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the commode.”

With that, Anya disappeared through the swinging door, only to reappear a second later, eyes wide. Lexa stared at her; sure she had come back to deliver additional humiliation.

“Have you returned to watch me die of shame?”

Anya stood utterly still, dumbfounded and unable to speak for a good thirty seconds.

“Anya?”

Finally, the slender woman’s attention snapped back to her cousin. “You know the old expression ‘speak of the devil?’”

Lexa frowned, unsure of how the adage was relevant. “As in, ‘speak of the devil, and he’ll appear before you?’”

Anya nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Yes, Anya. Obviously, I know that expression.”

Anya snorted a bit as she attempted to speak, holding back laughter as best she could. “Well, you’re never going to guess who I just saw walk into your downstairs bathroom.”

Wells nearly tripped over his own feet as Clarke pulled him hurriedly down the dimly light hallway. At the second door on the left, she took a sharp turn, drawing them into the half-bath seconds ahead of another party guest who’d just exited the kitchen.

“Sorry, we’ll just be a minute.” The blonde looked at the startled girl apologetically, abruptly shutting the door in her face a second later, and locking it for good measure.

Secure at last in the confines of the tiny bathroom, Clarke proceeded to unleash an angry diatribe against her friend.

“HOW!” She smacked him on the shoulder.

“COULD!” She smacked him again.

“YOU!” Smack, smack.

“NOT TELL ME!” Smack, smack, smack.

“THAT YOUR ADVISOR’S DAUGHTER WAS LEXA WOODS!”

She continued to punch his shoulder, glowering at him furiously. None of the blows honestly hurt, though they were hard enough that Wells could tell she was upset.

Wells raised his hands defensively trying to fend off the tiny girl. “Whoa! Whoa! Clarke, I don’t understand! Why are you so upset?”

The blonde groaned, dropping her hands as she sank into her friend's chest and moaned loudly. Wells, still unsure of his circumstances, resigned to let her keep seething until she explained. A moment later, Clarke straightened up, cupping her forehead in her hands. She leaned back against the counter, dropping one hand onto the sink, and pinching the bridge of her nose with the other. Her brow furrowed, and she screwed her eyes shut tightly.

“Wells… Remember the girl I mentioned to you earlier? The girl from high school?”

Wells stared at her blankly.

“My crush? The girl I ran into at the T station?”

Her friend's eyes grew wide with realization, his mouth hanging open. “Wait! That was Lexa Woods you were talking about?!”

Eyes still shut tight, fingers still pinching the bridge of her nose, Clarke nodded. “Yes! Wells, why didn’t you mention that she was your advisor's daughter?”

Wells shook his head dumbfounded. “Clarke five different girls in our school had Woods as a last name. I honestly didn’t realize it was her. Besides, I didn’t know it mattered to you until just now.”

Clarke sighed, looking up at him glumly. “Wells, what am I going to do? I could barely put two words together around her in high school, and that was back when I was confident and had everything going for me. How am I supposed to talk to her now, when humiliating, nude photos of me are being spread around like the common cold?”

Wells smiled down at his friend. He gently placed one of his large hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Clarke, you’ve still got everything going for you.” He chuckled at the pouty face she made when she looked up at him.

“Clarke…”

“What?”

Wells placed his other hand on her free shoulder, staring at her thoughtfully. “Have you seriously had a secret crush on Lexa Woods since high school?”

She nodded, breaking their eyes contact and staring at her feet.

“Lexa Woods, who was president of the student body our senior year?”

She nodded.

“Lexa Woods, who made co-captain of the girl’ varsity soccer team as a sophomore?”

Another nod.

“Lexa Woods, who graduated second in our class?”

Clarke finally looked up at him. “Only because you got a C in wood shop.”

Wells grimaced at the reminder, frowning. “The same Lexa Woods on who most of the guys in our school had a crush?

It was Clarke’s turn to frown now, her jaw setting in annoyance. “Yes.”

“The same Lexa Woods that was so well liked that nobody made so much as a sideways comment about it when she came out?”

“Yes, Wells.”

“And, I mean… Lexa didn’t just come out. She came out, and suddenly she was dating the head cheerleader. It was like Costia Greene flew out of the bisexual closet the second that Lexa told people that she was gay.”

“What’s your point, exactly?” Clarke deadpanned.

“Just that Costia Greene was seriously attractive. A huge bitch to be sure, but super hot, none-the-less.”

“Ok, I get it!”

Snapped out of his train of thought, Wells cocked a half grin, trying not to laugh at the annoyed look on Clarke’s face.

“You know, you were really popular in high school, but Lexa… That girl was on a whole other level. I honestly can’t think of a single person who didn’t like her, and she was pretty much friendly to everyone.”

Wells grinned down at his best friend sympathetically. “Well Clarke, you set a seriously high bar for yourself. Then again, I’m glad to see your standards have gone way up since Finn.”

Clarke punched him in the chest, still annoyed, but finally feeling less sensitive. “Wells, stop teasing me. What am I going to do?”

The tall boy raised his shoulders, cocking his head to the side in an admission of his uncertainty. “No idea, kid. Then again, there are so many people here that you might not even see her. Plus, I’ll be with you the whole night. If we end up running into her, and you get tongue-tied, I’ll just wingman the hell out of you.”

Clarke looked at him skeptically. “You are going to be my wingman? Wells, I love you, but you could barely talk to girls when you were single.”

Wells cocked one eyebrow, giving Clarke a profoundly smug look. “Hey, my game has improved considerably since high school. Not to mention, it’s easier to talk to girls when I have nothing at stake personally.”

He grabbed her shoulders, spinning her around as he opened the door, and lead them back into the now empty hallway. “Besides, you don’t have a lot of other options.”

Wells held up a finger, eyeing at the door across from them. “Look, the kitchen is right through there. You wait here and take a moment to pull yourself together. I’ll grab us a little liquid courage. Sound good?”

Clarke nodded, waiting until Wells had disappeared through the swinging door before she collapsed against the wall with an aggravated sigh.

“Anya, stop messing with me!”

“I’m not!” Anya crossed her arms over her slender frame, a freshly formed, shit-eating grin complementing the already smug expression on her face. “I swear to you; I just saw Clarke Griffin pull some guy into the bathroom. She’s here Lexa, and apparently, she’s making out with your parent’s party guests.”

The hallway door swung open suddenly, startling both girls into stunned silence. A tall, dark-skinned boy entered the kitchen and locked eyes with Anya awkwardly, apparently unsure of what to say. Finally, he raised a balled fist to his mouth and cleared his throat nervously. “Um, the bathroom is free now, if you still need it.” He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry for taking so long.”

Anya narrowed her eyes menacingly, intent on giving the intrusive young man a piece of her mind. “You know, most people would consider hooking up in the bathroom of someone else’s home to be a social faux pas.”

The young man was taken aback by Anya’s insinuation. He looked at her in astonishment, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he fumbled for a response. “You think I… ” He looked over his shoulder and then back to Anya. “That we…” He pointed at his chest. “You think that I was fooling around with the girl that pulled me into the bathroom?”

Anya’s arms crossed over her slender frame defensively. She cocked her head to the side, her expression growing even more skeptical and annoyed. “Dude, I just saw you, and the other half of your couple’s costume disappear behind a locked bathroom door, which I might add, you didn’t reemerge from for a good ten minutes. Am I supposed to assume you were playing charades in there?”

The young man rolled his eyes at her, becoming irritated with Anya’s accusations. “Look, I understand why you’d think that, but you’re mistaken. That girl is just my friend, the couple’s costume doesn’t mean anything, and she pulled me into that bathroom because she…”

He trailed off, finally noticing Lexa, still leaning against the fridge. Wells stalled, searching for a way to censor himself. “She went through a rough breakup recently.” He looked back and forth between the girls nervously. “She wanted to talk is all.”

Understandably empathetic to the boy’s plight, Lexa shot Anya a look that practically screamed: “back off.” She turned to Wells, smiling at him apologetically. “I’m sorry to hear your friend’s having a rough time. I hope she’s ok.”

Wells nodded, his eyes still locked on Anya’s. “She’s fine now. She just needed to vent.” An intense few seconds passed before the boy finally broke off his stare-down with Anya. He turned toward Lexa, glancing at the refrigerator she was propped up against.

“So… Professor Woods told me that the drinks were in here.” Lexa nodded, pushing herself off the fridge with her foot, and popping the door open for him. She held it wide, revealing an assortment of beers and white wines. She simultaneously pointed to the counter, where a few bottles of red wine sat, half-drunk. “Help yourself.”

Well scanned the contents of the fridge and counter-top, carefully considering his options. He gave Lexa a tentative smile. “Look, I don’t want to overstep my boundaries here, but it’s been a bit of a long day. I don’t suppose you have anything a little strong, do you?”

Lexa hesitated a moment before deciding that the young man was probably responsible enough to handle a little hard liquor. “Of course.” She smiled at him understandingly. “Bourbon or vodka?”

Wells bit his lip sheepishly. “Would one of each be ok?”

Lexa nodded. “Sure, coming right up.” She disappeared into a small pantry off the side of the kitchen, returning a moment later with two very full solo cups. “This should be more than enough to help you unwind.

Wells accepted them with an appreciative grin, trying not to spill as the cups changed hands. “Thanks, I owe you one.”

Somewhere in the interim, Anya had settled back against the counter. She starred at Wells, suspiciously certain that the familiarity of the young man’s face was more than a fluke. She pursed her lips. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Wells set his jaw as he faced the less friendly of the two girls. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

Anya strained her eyes, staring at him as though she could read his mind. “Are you sure, because I could swear I recognize you.”

Wells turned back to Lexa, decided that the beautiful but surly girl’s line of questioning was his cue to cut and run. “Thanks again for the dr…”

The sound of fingers snapping and feet hitting the floor cut him off, and before he had a chance to duck out of the room, Anya was in front of him, a huge smirk on her face.

“I do know you! You’re the guy that vomited all over Bill Simmons’ sister at Octavia Blake’s sweet sixteen!”

The corners of Wells' mouth immediately turned down into a deep and sullen frown. For a brief moment, he was filled with the strong desire to take both of the drinks he was holding, and pour them over the head of the irritating girl in front of him. He took a deep breath, allowing himself a moment to calm down. “Yeah. That was me.”

Anya clapped her hands together, the boy’s annoyance only serving to egg her on. “I knew it!” She stepped backward toward her cousin, nudging her in the arm. “You should have seen it, Lexa. It was the most epic party foul I’ve ever seen!”

Lexa grimaced, not so grossed out by the story that she didn’t feel bad for the young man. “Sorry about her,” she sighed, shooting Wells an apologetic look. “She gets a little obnoxious when she’d had a few drinks.”

Wells stared at them, his mouth set in an emotionless straight line that did little to cover his aggravation. “I’m sure.” His clenched his jaw, raising the plastic cups and tipped his brow slightly. “Thanks again for the drinks.”

Lexa nodded back at him, as Anya snickered behind her. “Yeah. The hard stuff is in the far left cupboard in the pantry if you need refills.”

He grimaced at Anya, rolling his eyes as she continued to stifle her giggles. “So great running into you Anya.” His tone was pure sarcasm, and he let the acid of it linger for a moment before pushing his way through the door, and disappearing back into the hallway.”

Lexa immediately turned on her heels, punching a still snickering Anya in her shoulder.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

The younger girl rolled her eyes. “You can be such an ass! You embarrassed that poor guy.”

Anya’s pupils rolled up towards the ceiling, and she tilted her head back, groaning dramatically. “Oh, come on! The guy should have a sense of humor about it. I mean, if you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?”

Lexa stared at her as though she’d just missed the most obvious point in the world. “Anya, that’s literally the opposite of what you were just doing.”

“Oh, please! That guy needs to grow thicker skin.”

Lexa fought against the impulse to shift the conversation into an actual debate, knowing full well that her hard-headed cousin would never concede the point. A tougher, more loyal best friend Lexa could never have asked for, but her cousin was also profoundly self-righteous and stubborn to a fault. Once Anya had made up her mind that she was right about something, there was little point in drawing out an argument with her.

Lexa growled, grabbing two more beers out of the fridge and handing one to her cousin. “Look, just try to be nicer if you run into him again.”

Anya huffed, as she made multiple attempts to pry the beer’s cap off with the bottom of a lighter. “Ugh, fine. I’ll be nice to him.” She made a few more attempts, growling in frustrating when each one failed.

Lexa shook her head at her iron-willed cousin, snorting as she laughed at the girl’s antics. She held out her hand. “Give it here.”

Anya handed the beer and lighter over dejectedly, seething at the self-satisfied look her cousin gave her. Lexa positioned the bottle cap against the edge of the Bic, pressed the plastic lighter into the cap and flicked her hand, popping it off with ease.

“Takes practice.” She grinned triumphantly, handing back the beer and lighter, knowing full-well that Anya hated nothing quite so much as when Lexa bested her at things.

Anya scowled, taking a sig of the beer and ignoring her cousin's subtle gloating. A beat passed before she remembered what they had been discussing. “So wait… we still need to address the fact that Clarke Griffin is here, in this very house. Not to mention, she just broke up with her boyfriend.”

Lexa shrugged and continued to sip her beer distractedly. “So what?”

“So, that means she’s single, Lexa! How are you not more excited about this?”

Lexa cast an annoyed glance at her cousin. “Anya, I can’t just snap my fingers and make her interested in me. It doesn’t work like that. She’s straight.”

Anya pushed herself off the counter. “So you say, but I’ve heard differently.”

The comment was enough that Lexa’s paused, her hand halfway to her mouth for another sip of beer. She scrunched one eyebrow, staring at her cousin skeptically. “What is it that you’ve heard exactly?”

Anya's face turned up into the coy smirk, the kind of look she always harbored when she had privileged social dirt to levy.

“And, what will you give me if I share this highly classified information?”

Lexa rolled her eyes, grabbing a small box of Mike & Ikes form her pillowcase full of candy, and tossing it at Anya. “Would you stop playing around and just tell me?”

“No dice.”

“Ugh, fine! Take the whole thing!’’ Lexa grabbed the sack, well aware that the bounty of candy was what Anya wanted. She shoved the stuffed bag into her cousin's eager hands, frowning. “Just don’t touch any of Aden’s!”

“Fine.”

“Good. Now, tell me what it is you’ve heard.”

Anya didn’t say a word. Instead, she pulled her cell phone from her back pocket, holding up a finger when Lexa began to protest. With the highest precision possible, she tapped the screen repeatedly, scrolling through what appeared to be a group text.

“Aha,” She beamed up at Lexa when she found the conversation for which she had been looking. “Read it.”

Lexa accepted the phone and stared down at the group conversation. She read slowly, her heart beginning to race with each new line of text.

“Oh, g-d…” She trailed off, her eyes growing wider as she reached the last portion of the conversation. “Jesus Anya… That’s so awful. Poor Clarke.”

Anya reached out for the phone as Lexa handed it back to her, shaking her head as she gave the saved conversation a final once over. “Ugh!” She stuck out her tongue, grimacing. “I still want to punch that Collins prick.”

Lexa shuffled back and forth uncomfortably, feeling awkward in the knowledge that everything she’d just learned about Clarke came by way of old text message gossip. Part of her wanted to feel elated at the possibility that the affections of the beautiful girl might genuinely be available to her, rather than merely remaining the distant daydream of her high school days.

However, a more significant part of Lexa was incapable of feeling anything but heartbroken for Clarke. For the life of her, Lexa couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to do something so deliberately and mercilessly cruel to the charming, effervescent girl who’d once invaded her thoughts on a near constant basis.

Lexa took a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts. She ran a hand through her hair, and looked at her cousin, unsure of what to say. Luckily, Anya was ready with advice.

“You should make a move.”

Lexa grimaced, screwing up her face as though Anya’s suggestion was the most ridiculous counsel ever given. “Are you crazy? Considering what she’s just been through, I’m sure the last thing she wants is some girl she barely remembers hitting on her.”

Anya groaned, holding up the phone again and dangling it in front of Lexa “Look,” she pointed to the date stamp on the first message. “That conversation took place more than four months ago.”

Anya shoved the phone back in her pocket and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “Clarke and I are both friends with Harper McIntyre, and not two weeks ago she mentioned that Clarke had said was ready to get back out there.”

Lexa considered the information carefully, a thousand scenarios regarding how to start a conversation with Clarke running through her head. Overwhelmed, she dropped her elbows to the counter and buried her face in her hands.

“Ugh! Why did she have to show up tonight of all nights!” Lexa groaned desperately. “I could barely form a sentence around her when I was her soccer captain! How am I supposed to talk to her now, when I’m wearing this ridiculous costume?”

Anya shook her head at the pathetic ball of angst that had replaced her ordinarily confident, unsinkable cousin. “You need to pull yourself together.” Anya took a long drag of her beer, mulling over the conversation she’d had with Harper. “You know, McIntyre did mention that she’s had a long-standing crush on some girl from MHS.”

Lexa groaned again, turning as she sank to onto the kitchen floor in defeat. “Oh my g-d, I’m sure it’s Octavia Blake!” She sighed. “Those two were inseparable in high school. They were basically all over each other.”

“Baby Blake?” Anya scrunched up one side of her face, clearly disagreeing with the idea. “I seriously doubt that, Lexa. That girl has been permanently attached to one or more parts of Lincoln Forrester for as long as I’ve known her.”

Anya attempted to swig her beer, but snorted on her laughter a second later, sending liquid pouring out her nose. “I’m pretty sure Linc’s balls have taken up a permanent residence in her purse.” She choked on more beer as she continued the laugh at her joke.

Anya stared at her unfortunate cousin who was still crouched on the ceramic kitchen tile, forehead resting on her knees, and arms wrapped protectively around her shins. She nudged Lexa with her foot, finishing the final swig of her beer and tossing the empty bottle into the recycling bin under the sink. When Lexa made no move to get up, her cousin grumbled in frustrated impatience. “Ok, seriously… You're ridiculous.”

Anya crossed to the refrigerator, yanking the door open to retrieve another beer. As she bent down to peer at the available selection of hooch, something on the far kitchen counter caught her eye. She smirked, straightening up and staring down at the downtrodden girl balled up on the floor.

“Hey, Lex…”

“What,” Lexa’s exasperated voice was barely a whimper, muffled by the sound of the knees that his her face.

“I think I just figured out a way for you to talk to Clarke.”

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#clexa #clexa fanfic #clexaau #CLEXA AU #clexa halloween

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