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thelibrarian1895 · 2 months

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Gotham Rich People

So there are other millionaires and billionaires in Gotham besides Bruce Wayne.

I'll wait for you to get over the shock.

You good? Ok

There are other stupidly rich people in Gotham. A thought that if you've really made it in stupidly rich society in the dc verse then you have to have some property in Gotham where you stay for like a month or so every year like it's the regency society season. It's a sign that you're so ridiculously rich that it doesn't matter if someone steals your priceless painting or holds you for ransom because you can afford it and still be ridiculously rich. You are rich enough that your bodyguards are so skilled that they can keep you safe in Gotham. Because people are stupid and people who are rich and want to be snobs about it and show off tend to be a little more so than not.

Ridiculously rich seasonal Gothamites will also absolutely think that being kidnapped and held for ransom by one crime family or another or a rogue shows a different level of quality and status. Because they are just that bored and just that rich. And it lets them deal with the ✨trauma✨ ala gallows humor.

Lex Luthor has a bunch of snobby rich people look down their noses at him because he doesn't have Gotham property (Bruce keeps outbidding him when he tries and then Tim does the same when Bruce is busy because neither want Luthor in their city though sometimes people just won't sell if they find out it's Luthor trying to buy the property because they don't want him in the city either) and while he's rich enough to make mechs to go after Superman he can't afford quality Gotham caliber bodyguards.

Oliver Queen might have had a tiny by rich people standards apartment in Gotham, he inherited it. It may have been destroyed during the quake. He doesn't bother to rebuild or buy a new one and just stays in fancy hotel if he has to be in Gotham for any length of time and grumbles that Bruce won't let him crash at his place.

Tim gets Drake Manor back, if he didn't have it already, and puts it in his and Kon's name so Kon can be smug at Luthor because Kon has property in Gotham. Tim might come up with another secret identity as Connor Luthor's Gotham bodyguard just for fun. Superman may be Luthor's villain nemesis, Tim is determined to make himself Luthor's social and business nemesis because Tim apparently doesn't have enough people who want his head on a pike. Also fewer people give Tim well meaning lectures against villainy when Tim makes trouble for Luthor than when he's made trouble for Clark after Clark has said or done something dumb to Kon. Plus having a business nemesis makes being primary shareholder in Wayne Enterprises less mind numbing for Tim.

These other stupidly rich people also end up getting fleeced for millions by the Waynes for the Wayne charities because if they're going to have all these extra idiots to keep an eye on then these extra idiots are going to pay for things like the road work that the city isn't paying for because the city budget was embezzled by some jerk who ran off with the money to some other hole in the ground.

If Jason is bored enough he will be one of those rogues who kidnaps one of the Gotham elite visiting for their maintain the status month and the ransom money goes directly to literacy and educational programs. This way his preferred causes are funded and he doesn't have to be stuck in a suit at a horribly boring gala where he has to be polite. He is also considered the top tier platinum star in rogues to be kidnapped by since he is professional, has kidnapped Waynes before (Damian convinced him to do it so Damian could get out of a series of civilian parties and go hang out with Jon instead and a few times Cass has gotten Jason to "kidnap" her so she doesn't have to deal with a gala either) and is known for returning people when the ransom is paid. He has, on occasion, returned people after the ransom demands were made and denied and it is later discovered that he took the ransom anyway and the person who denied to pay the ransom finds themselves in serious physical and legal trouble. Seasonal Gotham rich people will absolutely brag about having been kidnapped by the Red Hood who clearly has good taste in hostages.

#bruce wayne #batman #tim drake #gotham #lex luthor #kon el #jason todd #damian wayne #young just us #cassandra wayne #damian wayne al ghul

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thefreakandthehair · 1 year

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Perspective flip for meeting you was coming home!!! I still absolutely adore that fic, Lex 🥰 take your pick of scenes bc I love them all

ahhh Jen!! I'm so glad that you still love this fic, it was so so so much fun to write for our exchange! 💕 I'm so sorry this took almost a week but I almost Midnight Sun-ed this entire fic and had to reign it in lmao. here's the beginning of Meeting You Was Coming Home from Eddie's perspective!

February 14, 2022

Eddie Munson has always loathed Valentine’s Day.

A skeptic by nature, cynic by choice, and pessimist by way of personal experience, he’s never been one for the red and pink hearts, the teddy bears, the chocolates and flowers. He’s only ever had one Valentine: Greg Portia in the seventh grade. Greg got a handmade card and gimp bracelet he’d made with painstaking care, while Eddie got a silver skull ring from a gumball machine and a hug in the abandoned, poorly trafficked stairwell. A week later though, Eddie found the gimp bracelet left in his locker with a break-up note, ending a relationship Eddie hadn’t even registered as a relationship until it was over. Greg never hugged him again.

It’s not something that Eddie thinks about often, but he does think about the pattern that’s emerged since: short-lived relationships that are over before they even really start, so Valentine’s Day just doesn’t mean anything to him. As far as Eddie’s concerned, Cupid is just another myth weaponized by Hallmark to make a quick buck and he’ll have no part of it, thank you very much.

In fact, the only reason he’s subjecting himself to the horror of the bar's annual Valentine’s Day Emo Night is to avoid witnessing Gareth and Chrissy’s rather excessive displays of affection. Watching Gareth stare aimlessly at the aisles upon aisles of kitschy cards with red envelopes in their local Walmart had been more than enough.

And if he’s honest with himself, maybe he also left for the night to avoid the green monster that curls up in his chest when he’s reminded that love is out there, and it just hasn’t chosen him. But he’s not looking for honesty tonight, just a distraction and a drink or two, so he claims a hightop for himself in the corner of the bar and people-watches.

It’s poor planning on his part, all but a few couples looking either entirely enamored or happily tipsy, and he’s just about to cut his losses and summon an Uber when he sees a man walking towards him. Bathed in the lights that swirl and strobe around the bar, he looks damn near ethereal, a heralding of some kind of… well, Eddie didn’t pay much attention to his Uncle when he talked about the Bible but he’s sure there’s something in there that could’ve described The Man better than his own feeble words could.

A red tee-shirt hugs The Man’s chest in all the best ways, ways that leave little to Eddie’s imagination besides what he’d like to do should the offending shirt disappear, and a black and red plaid fleece hangs over his shoulders. Black jeans cuffed at the ankle and white sneakers cap off the ensemble, and Eddie’s too intrigued by the smile that’s somehow both confident and shy when they make brief eye contact to care that he clearly is very into Valentine’s Day. So understandably, he’s a bit stung when The Man bypasses his table in favor of the bathroom.

Shit, Eddie thinks, sinking back against his chair, not realizing that he’d literally leaned forward to stare like an idiot. He turns back to his phone and scrolls back to Uber. Somehow, in the minute that’s passed since closing the app, all of the prices shoot up and he groans to himself. Insult to injury, Eddie thinks.

The song changes to something less pop-punk and more punk-punk, so he bobs his head up and down as he considers how terrible walking back to his apartment would be. Or maybe there’s another bar nearby? A diner? Maybe I can convince someone to give me a free omelet if I look sad enough–

Eddie’s thought process is cut off by the sound of a chair scraping against the concrete floor, and The Man slowly comes back into focus as he saddles up beside him.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re sitting over here alone, and that just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

unusual fic-specific asks for authors!

#steddie #eddie munson #ask game #myfic #this was so much fun omg

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zahroreadsthings · 1 year

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Intermission: Jacket shopping!

Check notes for previous instalments

Before Lex can leave you ask, 'Where did you get yours? Looks cool.'

They look down at their jacket. 'Don't even try. They don't make them this nice looking down here.'

'Second best, then?'

'Look, it's too late to shop now and you'll get fleeced if you go alone. Meet me here tomorrow morning.'

Maybe the best course of action would be to buy a jacket before moving on to the town hall. For now, turning in for the night is all that's left to do.

You meet the next day and walk into a small, dim store. You quickly realise you'll have to go for second hand options. Aspiring apprentices don't have much in the way of money, after all.

After what feels like an hour of 'That colour does nothing for you' and 'The fit sucks' you narrow your options down to four jackets.

#polls #cyoa #result wont affect where the plot goes but yall deserve a mini dress up game. as a treat. (<- needs to figure out where the plot should go)#(and is filling out so so many forms for a new job)#bonus poll: are yall gonna make me make lex a romanceable npc

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degibusdesigns · 5 months

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: The North Face Chilkat II Waterproof Pull-On Winter Boots 14.

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vespertine-legacy · 3 years

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Exciting news!

First, story time!

Several years ago, I made a fleece blanket for myself with all of the Eeveelutions from Pokémon appliqué embroidered on it ( @galexy-astra helped me out with some of the patches and with finishing the edges so I didn’t lose my mind)

Anyway, during our move from Indiana, that bitch got stolen (I hope whoever took it is enjoying it, or gave it to a small child who is enjoying it).

Anyway!

We’re about to get into the time of year here where it is Too Cold To Live, and I have circulation issues. I’ve been just borrowing Wife’s fleece blanket for now, since they haven’t needed it, but when the real cold hits, we’ll both want fleeces. So I decided to make a new blanket.

I wanted my new blanket to be swtor themed. Wife and I originally kind of tried to talk me down from Brontes-themed, even though Brontes is the evil queen of my heart, steering me toward maybe just something with the class symbols. But then I started talking with the Hell Server about it and I got Enabled.

I have not yet finished the blanket, but!

the patches are pretty much ready to go for appliqué! I may still fix up some of the details on the mask, and I may add more details to the colored parts of the Holocrons of Dread and Fear.

But I’m super proud of it so far, and super excited to be able to snuggle my wife and Brontes every night (we’re gonna be that “me, my SO, and their [thing they shouldn’t be cuddling in bed]” meme, poor Lex just like “me, my wife, and her Dread Master who could kill us both in our sleep and we’d say thank you”)

#swtor embroidery #dread master brontes #if you can’t read the aurebesh:#the holocrons have ‘cower in fear’ across the bottom #and the words around the mask are ‘yes… come closer… closer…’#(because I am a stupid simp for that woman and that line gets me every time)

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fanfictionfaberrycentral · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supergirl (TV 2015), DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor Characters: Kara Danvers, Lena Luthor, Lex Luthor, Alex Danvers, J'onn J'onzz | Hank Henshaw, Hera (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore) Additional Tags: Kara as Jason, Lena as Medea, Inspired by Jason and the Golden Fleece (Ancient Greek Religon & Lore), But like... with a happy ending because there are too many sad gay stories as it is, Lena Luthor Loves Kara Danvers, Evil Lex Luthor, Lex doesn't ship Supercorp, Kara Danvers is a himbo, Lena Luthor has magic, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping Series: Part 2 of Supercorp Greek Myth Retellings Summary:

Kara is the rightful princess of Iolcos and has been promised her throne in return for the Golden Fleece. With the blessing of Hera and her companions, J'onn and Alex, Kara sets off on the Argo, desperate to gain the thing that will help her claim her throne. Lena is the sister of King Lex of Colchis and finds herself torn between Lex and the stranger she has begun falling for. Kara and Lena have to figure out what their priorities are and fast.

([More wholesome] Jason and Medea Retelling)

#Aoo #Supercorp #new

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collectorscorner · 3 years

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lesbi-adhd · 4 years

Text

Practical Tips for ADHD College Students

@adhdstudybitch made a great post about this here and these are my additions/comments in response

Disclaimer also similar to Lex’s: These are taken from my personal experience. What works for me may not work or be possible for others.

1. Just like the original said, wear comfy clothes. I’ve even brought little fleece blankets into cold lecture rooms with me before. I know what I need to help mget the most out of a lecture and it’s not hurting anyone else when someone decides to look comfy in class. Go for it.

2. Find your ideal study setting. Mine has always been pretty standard- alone at my desk, but there’s a twist. The jars of various office supplies, freshly filled water bottles and ready to go snacks NEED to be there for me as well as pieces of motivational art that I make for myself arranged on the walls. That’s just a quick rundown of my personal happy study space. Ideal spaces will be different for everyone.

3. Use headphones and white noise. Listening to music from my motivational or calm playlists can help me out in many settings. To stay focused once I’m ready to start work I personally turn off the uplifting tunes and move to white noise. When I’m really struggling to get focused I listen to an app I have called Rain Sounds for the first 20 minutes of work or so and then take out my headphones if I feel I’m able to concentrate without them.

4. Create motivation to stay organized. I’ve tried to organize my life many times and finally realized this year that won’t work for me unless I keep it simple and visually appealing based on my own tastes. My necessities for each day I carry in a $15 tie-dye backpack with just three compartments that are effective in keeping my basics from becoming a jumbled mess. My files at work have been condensed into 6 chunky folders, one in each color of the rainbow. I’m way more likely to remember where I put a file and refrain from losing them when I have to paw through 20 ugly folders to find it’s place.

5. On a very similar note, find an aesthetic you love and run with it. Just stocking up on my favorite metal tipped 0.7 purple Pentel Energel Liquid Gel Ink pens has done me wonders this semesters. I’m motivated to take notes when I do my readings because this pen is so pretty and writes boldly and smoothly, rarely smudges despite it’s gel ink.Similarly, I love getting a chance to use my pastel highlighters or glitter gel pens. Plus those little motivational reminders and bits of artwork I make for myself that I mentioned earlier, I’m no artist. I still find them super cute and uplifting.

6. I’ve failed so many times in school. I work with my counsellors to try and keep a healthy mindset towards my studies. Unfortunately this isn’t a service that is anywhere close to being accessible as it should be. I am so lucky to live in a place where I can avail of walk-in appointments for free counselling on any weekday I wish. I would recommend considering some basic counselling sessions if they’re available to you and something you’re interested in.

#adhd college tips #adhd #adhdstudybitch #mental health #coping mechanisms

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warringpeace · 4 years

Text

THE MUN

NAME: alex NICKNAME: lex FACECLAIM: cats. bunnies. puppies. PRONOUNS: she/her HEIGHT: 5'.01″ BIRTHDAY: january 28 AESTHETIC: piles of unread books, open journal with a pen across it, a cup of coffee, two fluffy lumps ( aka my dogs ) atop a fleece blanket, jeans with sneakers, slogan shirt LAST SONG YOU LISTENED TO: "i’m a mess” by b.ebe re.xha FAVOURITE MUSE(S) YOU’VE WRITTEN: all of them :P

THE MUSE(S)

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO TAKE ON THIS MUSE: mainly my curiosity as to whether i can bring them to life and put them in certain situations that aren’t part of their ‘canon’ material.

WHAT ARE YOUR FAVOURITE ASPECTS OF YOUR CURRENT MUSE: that they’re different. they’d reaction differently to situations, prompts, and are sometimes unpredictable.

WHAT’S YOUR BIGGEST INSPIRATION WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING: i usually turn to music and the muses’ source material for inspiration. i also draw inspiration from things that i see everyday. for the historical muses, i get inspiration from documentaries and books about them ( my inspiration for e.leanor of a.quitaine, for example, comes from a.lison w.eir’s novel about her and the documentary series s.he-wolves: england’s early queens ).

FAVOURITE TYPES OF THREADS: i actually don’t have a preferred type of thread; i’m pretty much open to any type of thread ( smut threads are selective though ), but i’ve been writing more adventure and action threads lately. >:)

BIGGEST STRUGGLE IN REGARDS TO YOUR CURRENT MUSE: it’s not them, it’s me. i’m easily distracted, plus work’s picking up, so i can have an entire day off but barely make a dent in my drafts. D8 then there are muses that are stronger than others, so the less used ones end up hibernating ( like t.hranduil ).

tagged by: @carnivorare ( thank you <3 ) tagging: whoever wants to do this ;)

#; mun

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nixniivalis · 5 years

Note

From the guest room in Neraine's home, there's a sudden and very loud BANG followed by a soft thud after a moment. Sounds like Lex has hit his head on a door frame again.

Outside the window snow fell in flurries. Big, fat flakes that piled on the sill and frosted the glass. The sky and surrounding buildings were but a white haze. Even the streets below were muffled. Neraine was a girl from the tropics. Singapore had two seasons: Hot and Dry; Hot and Rainy. Only spending hours locked in a walk-in freezer could have prepared her for Baltimore. Her first snow lost its luster within hours of her first snow ball. She was more than content spending her Sunday evening indoors, warm, and reading.

She nestled on the couch end, pillows piled under her back and knees. A blanket laid over her legs and she had pulled on a fleece sweater over her shirt. A cup of tea was close at hand. Neraine flipped the page of her book, took a sip of tea, and returned the mug to the table. Down the hall she heard Lex’s bedroom door open and his quiet shuffling about. Then a gunshot went off. Neraine startled, book ejected from her lap as the noise echoed through the apartment. The lamp on the table rattled and a soft ‘thud’ echoed off the carpet.

Alert now, Neraine sat-up, logic telling her that the noise couldn’t have been a gun. The noise was proportional to her shock, it just sounded louder. She looked over the back of the couch to the hallway where she heard Lex and the noise. Lex was nowhere in sight and didn’t respond to her verbal query. She pealed the blanket and then hissed when her bare feet impacted the cold tile floor.

Neraine walked over to the hallway, eyebrows knit. She gaped. Lex laid prone on the floor, hands folded over his stomach, and peering, flat-faced, at the ceiling. The slight rise and fall of his hands told her he was at least still breathing. Even from this distance Neraine could see the slight indent now in her doorframe. She left him to his contemplation as she inspected the damage. At the top of the door frame the wood had splintered in the distinct size and shape of his head. The paint flaked and pealed off. Her mouth dropped open, gaping like an idiot at the damage.

How the hell was she going to explain this to the management? A blow like that would’ve killed any human. The fact that Lex walked fast enough and so carelessly that he left a mark was absurd in itself. Neraine brought her hand to her mouth, then smoothed it closed. She glanced back down to Lex. It’d been a while since he’s come here. There’d been other incidents as he went through what she could only call his, ‘awkward teenage phase of figuring out arm length.’ He knocked over things. Broke stuff. Walked into a couple door frames. It was like having an incredibly gangly dog that didn’t know its own size.

Lex’s gaze beset on the ceiling above him, some mixture of defeat, exhaustion, and pain painting his features. A bright red, darkening bruise formed on his forehead. Neraine leaned against the door frame, her eyes darting-up to the dent, to his forehead. From behind the press of her fingers to her lips, she chuckled. It rolled through her shoulders as she failed to hide her amusement.

“You know--” Her hand dropped, falling to her shoulder as she suppressed a giggle. “I think, the door frame won this one, Lex.”

-- And there she broke, all semblance of control evaporating as she devolved into open laughter. It was the kind that hurt, where she struggled to breath. That she shouldn’t laugh at him or his pain, made it all the worse. It wasn’t that she was laughing at him either, it was the absurdity. That she had a seven foot werewolf living in her tiny apartment with the graceless coordination of an overgrown great dane. This was what her life had come to.

Finally, the initial laughter died down to something manageable, and that didn’t make her feels as though she’d crack a rib. Neraine knelt beside Lex, still trying to control her wild smile. It was difficult to focus on her magic when her hands still shook. Then the gentle blue ignited. It was as cold as the ice and snow that gathered outside but this did not make her shiver. She pressed her palm to Lex’s forehead, it would soothe the pain and help him heal. It would not help his pride, especially when Neraine still couldn’t look him in the eye for fits of giggles.

Hours later, and then days later, when they’d move on from that scene and the snow had long since melted, whenever Neraine looked at the mark left in the bathroom doorframe, she laughed.

#teardownheaven #❉ Destiny's Path┋IC #❉ Spiritum┋Verse: Urban Fantasy #❉ Pests┋Asks #icb this #lex is the first person to get neraine to laugh on the blog

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possibilistfanfiction · 6 years

Text

we were wild & fluorescent (come home to my heart)

[they jus keep fallin in love (lexa’s pov)]

the second date you go on you take her to a very highly rated retrospective. it’s your favorite museum, and you pay for the tickets and you walk through, tell her little facts you know and she grins and takes your hand once you pass a series of paintings about vaginas that make you blush, despite every single effort not to.

clarke makes you stop in the middle of four huge paintings, one for each season, and her grip on your hand tightens. she’s an artist, you know, or she told you this reluctantly, lightly.

she doesn’t say anything, just takes a step closer to the painting you think is about winter. it’s warm outside, sweltering and muggy in the city, your skin sticky even just from the walk from your apartment to the bodega on the corner, but she sucks in a breath and you take in her bright, sunny hair, the blue dress she’s wearing, the color of her eyes and the horizon line on a clear day. she doesn’t look like winter, not at all, and the painting is dripping with deep purples, a mourning, a loss. there are words scribbled to one side, about sleep and a poet and a dream about a monster. or maybe you’re reading it wrong, because there are stubborn spots of yellow on the canvas as well, and it’s pale but alive, like the palm of your hand, clammy and nervous and joyful; sometimes they sting.

clarke clears her throat and turns to you and wipes her eyes quickly with a little laugh.

‘it’s one of my favorites,’ she says, and you almost don’t know what to do, or say, and you maybe forget to breathe because she’s so honest, and you’ve never been brave like that.

you kiss her, right in the middle of the four seasons, just once, softly but you hope she knows that you mean it. you kiss her and she kisses you back and you feel your heart taking root in your body.

she sighs and kisses your cheek and starts off toward the next set of paintings. you spare one glance back, and read, just barely, warm in ray of winter sun.

she stays over at your apartment after you get very, very drunk drinking tequila and eating tacos at the bar nearby, and when you got home she pressed you up against your door and you shoved your leg between hers with a gratifying, and loud, moan, until anya cleared her throat from the couch, nursing a bottle of merlot and a bowl of popcorn.

you’d rolled your eyes and clarke had blushed and you’d tugged her to your room, laid you down on your bed and you’d kissed her until you started to feel dizzy, which was embarrassing but you’d pushed her back, gently and regrettably. she kissed your forehead and pulls your shirt back down, snuggles in beside you with her head on your chest, little puffs of heady, tequila-warm breath against your neck.

when you wake up you’re hungover, groaning, and she’s not next to you but the bed is warm and her shoes are still flung in the corner so you’re not worried.

you walk out into the kitchen and she’s swallowing some medicine, which you think is advil, so you walk up behind her and put your arms around her waist, sleepy and soft.

she startles, a little, and you don’t know if you’ve done something wrong, because all you’d wanted was advil of your own, honestly, but you back up immediately and she turns to you and looks a little helpless and a lot stubborn and you realize, then, the force of her. people don’t stay, people have never stayed, and you lived out of a garbage bag for your childhood; you never had enough food and one time when you were thirteen you had asked the foster father you were staying with if you could get a new notebook and he was drunk and shoved you so hard into your bed that the frame broke against your shoulder.

clarke looks at you and her expression makes you think something terrible is going to happen, that she’s going to leave and it’s only been a little while but you think it would hurt you, and deeply.

‘i take anti-depressants,’ she says, and the relief you feel almost brings tears to your eyes before you remember that this is something she very reluctantly shared with you.

you take her hand and squeeze and kiss the crook of her neck before you pull her into a hug.

‘okay,’ you say.

she sighs, just once, and nods against your shoulder.

you know you love her when you’re on the Q train, going from some dumb, packed market in midtown she’d wanted to go to back to her apartment by prospect park, and she had gasped and turned around when you were going over the bridge.

she’d told you all about the light, the resolution, the city skyline, as the train had kept going and she’d tried to take pictures of it all, this perfect moment, on her phone.

she’d smiled at you, and you’d felt dazed, and she’d taken your hand.

‘i’m glad i saw that with you,’ she says, as you’re climbing up the steps at her stop.

you nod, lace your fingers even tighter; you can’t imagine letting her go. it’s getting colder and she hunches up on the walk home and you don’t know how to say it; you’ve never been good at saying things, but you shrug out of your jacket and put it on her shoulders.

‘lexa,’ she says, ‘no, that’s okay.’

you shrug.

she sighs and puts it on fully, kisses your cheek and takes your hand again.

you’re at your friends’ housewarming party, wine and cheese themed, and clarke is away for the weekend with her friends, celebrating the end of exams. you get very, very drunk on rosé like you’re a sophomore in undergrad again, because you feel achy and school is about to start and you’re young, really, and your students expect you to have so many things figured out, and you don’t.

you sit on the counter and eat a startling amount of smoked havarti and laugh, though, as your friends try to sing hamilton, and someone offers you more wine so you take that too.

clarke texts you that she’s arrived safely at her parents’ cottage and sends a picture of octavia already holding up a fish and raven scowling behind, and you laugh. you almost type i love you but you’re far too drunk and so you hit backspace for probably a minute and then send hearts instead.

you’re about to put your phone away when it lights up again.

costia: how are you?

your breath catches a little, like it always does, because you had been in love with costia for years, and she’s beautiful and her smile can light up rooms. you’re older and you’re not the same people you were back then, back when you climbed out of your dorm window and and climbed into hers because you’d lost your student ID at a party and you just needed to be near her, because your shoulder hurt and you couldn’t stop having nightmares.

you climb the stairs to your friends’ roof, and the air is cool and fresh, fluttering after a summer downpour. you call her instead of texting, because the screen is blurry and you miss her voice, and she seems surprised when she answers but happy anyway.

‘i met someone,’ you find yourself saying.

‘that’s good, lex,’ costia says, and your fingers ache. ‘are you drunk?’

‘very,’ you tell her, and she laughs. ‘she wants me to meet her parents at her graduation.’

‘you’re scared.’

you debate hanging up.

‘lexa.’

‘yeah, whatever.’ you take another gulp of wine.

you know costia smiles when she says, ‘they’re going to love you.’

you clench your jaw and apologize when you hang up because it starts to rain again.

she traces your tattoos one night in bed, as she often does, propped on one elbow and curious.

she doesn’t ask about them, and you don’t offer, but she murmurs something about how beautiful they are and that’s enough.

you kiss her with tears in your eyes, because some cover scars and some are a kind of scar themselves. you taste salt.

you try to teach her to skateboard, one fall day, and she laughs so hard so many times she can’t even make it twenty feet without the board shooting out from underneath her.

‘clarke,’ you say, ‘you need to focus.’

‘i am the most uncoordinated person i know,’ she tells you. ‘it’s not going to work, babe.’

you sigh and dramatically and in slow motion show her how easy it is, and her eyes glaze over a little bit.

‘were you looking at my butt?’ you ask, incredulous.

she grins.

you’re knee deep in grading midterm essays on the crucible when clarke bursts into your apartment, still in her scrubs, a fleece jacket from the hospital on over them, and when she takes it off and flings it to the floor, you see she’s covered in blood.

you’re stuck, you don’t know what to do, because you know about the boy she loved who died, and she knows about your parents, and you know how you get into fights and she chain smokes—but you don’t think any of this is her blood; she is hurting and you don’t know how to take it away.

you walk over to her and gently take her hand, ask her what’s wrong. she shakes her head and you sit her down on your couch, go into the bathroom and start running a bath. when you walk out she hasn’t moved, so you go and pour some bourbon into a mug and walk back to her, put it in her hand. when she smells it she nods minutely and it would be cute if she wasn’t so sad, and you take her hand and lead her to the bathroom, check the water before looking into her eyes and when she nods you lift her top off.

she’s not injured, anywhere, no cuts or bruises, and it has always astounded you, how few scars she has. she lets you take off her pants, her plain underwear, her bra, and she gets into the tub without a word. there’s blood on her neck and her arms and you sit on the edge of the tub and wet a washcloth, lather soap, your most relaxing, that you still buy at the market because it’s where you met her, it’s where you started to fall in love.

when you gently, as gently as you possibly can, start to wipe off her collarbones she starts to cry, quiet, heaving sobs.

a child died, in her hands, his blood everywhere. she tells you this, and you feel the ache acutely, because you love your students and because your girlfriend is hurting and because you were a hurt child, once.

her sobs eventually turn into sniffles and eventually she sighs, meeting your eyes finally, and hers are clearer, more resolved.

you tug on her earlobe with a crooked smile and she rolls her eyes and she dries off and puts on some of your pajamas while you heat up pizza for her, make her a salad even though she hates them.

she dutifully eats it, though, while you read her the worst lines from the essays you’re grading, and she laughs. she makes you hot toddies and you eventually put your papers aside, and she takes off your glasses and kisses you.

it’s a thank you, and it’s a lot of love, and you think of stones pressing someone to death, and you think of how to take them away.

you’re busy yelling at your long jumpers about their form during warmups when you see a flash of blonde hair and when you look over, clarke is sitting in the stands next to some of your coworkers—and friends—she’d met at a few happy hours.

it’s a shitty JV track meet and it’s probably going to rain, but she gives you a dorky thumbs up and your students are far too old to be making kissing noises but they do it anyway.

you make them run an extra lap and clarke laughs and she kisses you in the parking lot later, against the hood of her car like you’re teenagers, tugs on your track jacket and traces her tongue against your teeth, not stopping even when it finally rains.

you groan and swat at the offending hand, trying to take away the duvet you’d dragged to the couch after you’d woken up with a terrible fever and thrown up twice, texting your principal that there was no way you could go today.

‘clarke,’ you whine, and you curse the sunny, huge windows and the bright walls in the apartment you’d moved into together because when you crack an eye open the light stings and gives you an immediate headache. ‘let me suffer in peace.’

it’s dramatic and someone laughs, but it’s not clarke, and you sigh when you pull the duvet down a little from your face and see abby.

‘oh,’ you say, and reach around for your glasses that you’d flung somewhere on your coffee table.

abby hands them to you with a little smile and puts the back of her hand against your forehead, and she’s so gentle and motherly you immediately feel like you’re going to cry.

‘clarke sent me,’ she says. ‘she got held up in surgery but she said you had a fever.’

abby hands you two pills and tells you that they’re fever reducers and will help you sleep, and she’ll stick around until clarke gets home, just in case you need anything. you take them and she hands you toast and gingerale that you slowly work your way through, drowsy by the end, and she settles on the far end of the couch and flicks on the tv. you fall asleep but wake up sometime later for a moment, and you can’t wait to tell clarke her mom watched hours of mtv.

you pick a fight, because you’re exhausted from AP exam prep and clarke has been working insane hours and you’re frustrated. you miss her and you’re too stubborn to tell her that and she’s too stubborn to figure it out, so she yells at you about not taking the recycling out and you tell at her about leaving a candle burning in the bathroom yesterday and she huffs into your bedroom and when you try to follow, still seething about the potential fire hazard, she slams the door.

you put on shoes and slam the front door on your way out, and you only realize until you’re down the block, picking up wine from the store around the corner.

you sulk back home, take the long way but you’re in shorts and it’s getting cold with the wind at night so you don’t stay out, and you roll your eyes at yourself and hit your buzzer.

‘hello?’ clarke’s voice is tinny and irritated but you’re beyond relieved she answered after a few rings.

‘hey,’ you say.

she hangs up and you roll your eyes and hit the buzzer for a full two minutes and forty-eight seconds before she finally answers.

‘what, lexa?’

‘i forgot my keys.’

she doesn’t buzz you up.

‘and it’s cold.’

still, nothing.

‘i bought chardonnay.’

there’s a pause but then, ‘the new organic one?’

‘yeah.’

she sighs, long and hard, and you want to continue to be angry and annoyed but you’re so fond of her and it makes you smile. she buzzes you up and opens the door and you hand her the bottle.

she rolls her eyes and puts it on the front table and kisses you hard. you work her shirt off and she reaches inside the elastic of your shorts and fucks you on the couch, fully clothed and residually mad, but afterward you take off your clothes and cuddle on the couch and drink the chardonnay she likes but you think is too oaky—but she’s happy, so you have it too.

‘i missed you,’ you say, and she kisses your shoulder.

‘missed you too.’

you’re at the park and there’s a pet adoption fair and she glares at you from behind her sunglasses but you just shrug innocently.

you walk away from it with a tiny, stalky grey pitbull with bright blue eyes, and clarke makes a big fuss about making sure he doesn’t eat her shoes or pee on her rugs, but you walk home to him curled up on her lap while she dozes on the couch, clearly exhausted after a night shift, and you kiss the crown of her head and he licks her cheek and she smiles.

on your birthday, which you genuinely cannot stand, she doesn’t say a word but tugs you into a clumsy, soft hug and rocks back and forth in your kitchen, until you’re swaying together, dancing to a song floating from the old record player jake had given you for christmas.

our love is a star, it plays, and you want to fold your body into hers, learn all of the crevices you can’t quite touch, know her until you don’t remember anything else.

it’s cold outside, again, freezing and white and gloomy, for four days before it the storm finally breaks. it’s early, early morning, when clarke trudges in with a big, heavy sigh, and it’s a weekend so there’s no need for you to be up but you love her, so you get out of bed and sit in the bathroom yawning while she takes a hot shower and mumbles about her day, the surgery she performed, how good she’s getting at her sutures.

you feed her pieces of fruit because she acts too tired to eat them on her own, which makes you laugh, and her hair is still damp but you let her lay down in your lap while you sit on the couch, run your fingers through the tangled waves.

it’s dawn, in your apartment, and it’s freezing outside, you know, but clarke breathes deeply against your leg, tender and safe, and you understand, now, maybe: the winter, the sun, the warmth.

#possibilist #possibilistfanfiction #clexa #clexa fanfiction #idk theyre just doin their thing #perfect places au #message me if u have more stuff u wanna see theyre just lil scenes

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