#why the fuck did I pull my highschool physics book out of the closet

[mydeerfellow]

Alastor and Vox having some degree of telepathy with each other is my favorite dynamic to write

and hear me out

Electromagnetics is a weird and wacky place in the realm of physics, and although they seem like two very different devices - and they are, in most ways - both radios and televisions operate through the use of electromagnetic waves

Let's consider what Alastor and Vox's powers manifest as within Hell: They manifest and magically amplify electromagnetic energy. They weaponize electromagnetics, when you look at it in plain terms, and what's more, they weaponize the same fucking type of frequencies.

If you remember old analog TVs (I see you antiques out there), you might remember that sometimes a nearby radio's broadcast would skip to the TV. The same thing can happen with television broadcasts, in theory, but they typically use alternate frequencies.

Notice that they can project to radio frequencies.

So, consider this additional delicious tidbit: TV can go down to radio frequency, but radios simply cannot keep up with the vast number of frequencies and the volume of information contained therein.

Science lesson over, let's apply this information to our fandom like the monstrous beasts we are:

Assuming Vox and Alastor are playing within the same principles of physics that exist in reality, and assuming they're not playing too fast and loose with the laws of the universe, this makes it pretty plausible that they're practically... inevitably going to be able to come and go from each other's thoughts.

After all, the show is quite clear that both Alastor and Vox literally embody the essence of radio and television. Those frequencies? I reckon they can be pretty much directly translated to their consciousness.

Of course, frequencies can only travel so far, and there are ways to block them... which might explain why neither Alastor nor Vox seemed eager to meet in person.

ANYWAY I'M REALLY HIGH AND I JUST MADE HOTDOGS SO I GOTTA GO

[ayyyymichele]

Richie/Eddie Angst

Summary:When a simple kiss on the cheek lands Eddie in hot water, he leaves harboring a lot of anger at his closest friend.

Warnings: Triggering Content, Homophobia, Slurs, Violence

Less Serious Warnings:I never post my writing for a reason so read at your own risk :P

Notes: Highschool freshman Losers. Also a very upset/scared/angry Eddie and upset Richie may be a bit OOC.

The nice thing about coming out of the closet to a group called The Losers Club is that you’re already a loser. You’re already welcomed for your differences, maybe teased, but always welcomed.

Eddie was still nervous though when he came out to them after already telling Bev. He figured feelings and shit were easy for girls to sort out, so maybe she could give him some advice. She had been unsurprisingly welcoming and compassionate about it. In fact, when he told her, she quietly waited for him to go on, like there would be something more that would justify the fear Eddie felt.

It’s nice to still be able to sit knee to knee with Bill when they’re on his couch watching movies, to be able to hop on Stan’s back an demand a piggie back ride because he doesn’t feel like walking through the mud, to be able to meet up with Mike alone if the other losers are busy (they all see each other in school, but Mike is still homeschooled and it’s not fair for him to not see his friends), or to be able to still wrestle with Richie without any of them being weird about it. Though he does have to laugh because Ben believes that suddenly he has a friend who wants to listen to NKOTB with him and that is most certainly not the case. He just tells Ben to keep his shitty music away from him.

Physical closeness had never been a problem between the gang. They could easily sleep in a heap of one another when they went camping, Billy almost could always plop on Stan’s lap with little to no retaliation, and Richie was never fearful of being a little more hands on dragging the boys around by the hand or standing in any of their personal space. It’s why it was once so easy for Henry and his goons to say things like “your fag friends.”

The not so nice thing? When your friends forget that they’re not the only ones on the planet who can see them. It’s how Eddie winds up in the bathroom washing some dirt and blood from new wounds he received while the new Henry’s of this world showed up to “teach him a lesson” for being gay. He didn’t even do anything. Stupid fucking Richie platonically (he thinks?) kissed his cheek and the wrong people just happened to see it. He hisses when he brings a warm paper towel to his face, the same spot Richie had kissed, was now marked by a small cut from some upper classman’s ring when his fist cracked into his face. Why couldn’t they just have punched Richie? Hell Eddie would have cheered them on. Ok well not really.

When all of his new wounds have been washed and cleaned properly, Eddie kneels down to grab his backpack. He’s positive he has a handful of band aids left in there somewhere, but he doesn’t make it that far before he feels a rough kick against his back, sending him down to the ground and Eddie yells in surprise and brief pain. He’s quick to roll onto his back to see the attacker and to no surprise, it’s Belch and Victor who have only gotten worse since the deaths of Patrick and Henry. Whatever redeeming qualities they had washed away when they blamed the losers for the loss of their two friends. The Losers always had targets on their backs during, before and after Henry’s reign of terror. When Eddie hears Victor sneer, “They really shouldn’t let /him/ in here anymore.,” Eddie figures his target on his back has gotten substantially larger.

Eddie scrambles to get up, but Belch kicks him back down again and leaves his boots pressing down into Eddie’s chest. “Who told you you could move?” He asks and his voice is dripping with hate. Eddie swallows nervously and eyes bolt to the bathroom door in hopes someone will come in. Though anyone who did would surely know better than to cross Victor and Belch unless it happened to be one of his friends. If only Bev would use the men’s room She’d kick their asses. Victor’s attention follows Eddie’s eyes to the door and thankfully misinterprets the look as waiting for his friends rather than just anyone or seeing an escape route. Had he even considered the idea of Eddie managing to squirm away he would have blocked the door.

At least an escape is still open.

“What? Waiting to be saved by some prince charming, fag?” Victor seethes when he pulls a pocket knife from his jeans. They both have one now, like it’s some kind of tribute to their fallen friends.

Eddie’s eyes widen at the sight of glistening silver. “A-anyone would do, really.” Eddie quips, desperately trying to pull Belch’s foot off of him with no luck. It’s only when Victor steps forward and kneels down to him with the blade pressed daringly close to skin below his jaw that Eddie reaches for his back pack by his side and grabs the first thing he feels. He doesn’t think twice before cracking his history textbook right into Victor’s temple.

The blonde boy falls over gripping his head with a hiss of pain and when Belch reaches down to grab him, Eddie fumbles for his inhaler. It’s real, but no medicine is actually in it, mostly water. Eddie still frequently has panic attacks that escalate to the point where he believes his inhaler is needed. While he’s working on mentally accepting that he doesn’t have asthma, his body still calms with the placebo effect of the inhaler, so he finds it’s actually still useful. And hopefully its placebo effect is useful for him now too.

He plunges down on the button and sprays the content in Belch’s eyes and the large boy screams and presses hands to his eyes. Eddie scrambles to his feet and grabs his bag, quickly bolting for the door, and once it’s there and he’s got it open and the hallway is the freedom behind him, he shouts back, with a hint of a laugh in his voice, “It’s water, you fucking baby!” What a sight that must have been for anyone behind him. Two of the school’s largest bullies brought in pain and screaming while little Eddie Kaspbrak is victoriously leaving the room.

He’s never minded Richie’s playful antics before, but after today’s trouble, when he sees the boy waiting for him by his locker with Bill, he feels how annoyed he really is. Bill looks uneasy as he glances to the clock hanging high in the hallway, while Richie looks like he’s telling some epic tale because his hands are flying everywhere. When Bill spots Eddie the color in his face drains and he pushes past the kids in the hallway to go over to the small kid, like he might need help getting to his locker. Fortunately nothing is broken and he can walk just fine. Just sore. “W-what happened to y-you?” His eyes roam everywhere like he doesn’t know where to start. From the bruises and cuts, to the dirt stains and grass on his shirt.

Richie follows right behind Bill when he spots what has Bill looking so worried and the moment he’s near, Eddie blows up. “Don’t you fucking come near me!” He points at Richie threateningly and there’s fire in those big eyes. But Richie also sees the fear and that has him taken back.

“Woah, woah.” Bill moves between them, looking down at Eddie in surprise, though he’s sure Eddie would never actually hurt Richie. “What h-happened?”

Eddie pushes past Bill and Richie to head back to his locker where he grabs whatever books he needs for the night. Richie stays quiet for once and just watches while Bill is still waiting for an answer. Eddie shows no sign of addressing them so Richie steps forward and lightly jabs Eddie in the side where he’s usually ticklish. Too fired up, Eddie retaliates and slams his locker door closed. “Don’t fucking touch me! The next time you think it’s ok to touch me I swear to God I will-”

Once he starts getting hyped up, Bill steps in and puts two hands on Eddie’s shoulders, holding him firmly in place. “Calm d-down.” His eyes are soft and pleading and Eddie tries to focus on that rather than how much he wants to slam Richie’s head into his locker and repeatedly close the door on it. “B-breathe.” He instructs and Eddie does as told while Richie watches with mixed emotions, eyes flickering from the ground then back to Eddie while he nudges at the dirty tiled floor of the school hallway.

“You want to tell me what I did wrong or do you plan on wearing that dress and having this tea party forever?” Eddie tenses and Bill drops his head in a defeated manner but holds Eddie in place. Richie means it playfully as always, but it’s not the time.

"Everything, Richie. Fucking everything you do is wrong!” That seems to have Richie taken back when there isn’t an ounce of humor in Eddie’s voice. Usually they banter back and forth and it’s the highlight of Richie’s days.

Stan is the next one to show up, hands clasping his book bag straps close to him while he slows his walk when he hears and feels the tension. He shifts his eyes among the group, but they linger on Bill while he silently asks what is happening. Bill responds with a shrug of his small shoulders and a deep frown. “I’m usually all for Richie mobs…but-” He’s cut off and he looks over to the boy he mentioned when he begins to talk.

“Eds, come o-” He starts sounding exhausted like there’s no time for Eddie to be playing drama.

“Don’t.” Eddie warns again and Bill has to actually hold the small boy back now and he looks like he just might cry, but of course, he doesn’t. But he really does look like he’s about to burst into tears. He gestures to what he can of his injuries while being held back by Bill and his voice cracks when he cries, “This is all your fault.”

Stan leans over to examine the cuts and bruises. While not anything to go to the hopital over, unless you’re Eddie’s mother, it’s enough to look like most of Eddie’s skin would be tender. So he straightens his posture and defensively looks back to Richie. “What on Earth did you do?”

Richie’s mouth falls open and closed a few times and he puts his hands up to his chest in defense of himself. “Me?! I didn’t do anything!”

“Well /that/,” Stan points back to Eddie, feeling protective over the smaller boy, especially when it comes to Richie related things, “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

Bill looks back to Eddie and examines the cut on his cheek, gently brushing a thumb over it making Eddie jump and step back from him. It’s Bill’s turn to be taken back, but he stands up straight and regards Eddie with a frown. “Eddie.” He says his name softly, encouraging him to talk.

“Some stupid goons saw that-that kiss you gave me-” He looks mortified even mentioning it and he points to his cheek in case Richie forgot where, and Stan narrows his eyes at Richie and folds his arms while shooting him death glares. “And this is what happened! Then Victor and Belch pinned me in the bathroom-” At that all of the boys snap their direct attention to Eddie knowing nothing good comes from a run in with those two, especially if they are alone. Richie is starting to look horribly remorseful. “-And Belch kept me down on the ground and Victor-he-he-put that knife to my throat and it’s all because you don’t fucking think!”

Eddie is fuming and Bill can see that clear as day, but he sighs and tries to offer Richie some aid. “He d-didn’t mean to get you h-hurt, Eddie, you know that.” He struggles to say so much at once, but it’s all understood. It doesn’t help Richie’s case as Eddie is still looking at him with so much anger, fear and hurt. Those large brown eyes are filled with thick tears.

“Yeah?” Eddie snaps his head at Bill looking unimpressed by his words. “Well the next time he wants to do something stupid like that, HE can take the punches. HE can get cornered in the bathroom. And HE can have a knife pulled on him.”

The group goes silent because while it is true that Richie never thinks of repercussions, he would never do anything to purposefully get Eddie hurt. In fact, he might be the most protective over Eddie since they are very close, even if Eddie doesn’t need a protector. And that’s not even considering the monumental crush Richie has on their small friend.

“That’s….” Stan pauses to think, looking between the two boys. Eddie is shaken with rage and Richie is stunned into silence, adjusting his glasses and trying to act like none of that just absolutely destroyed him. “Not really fair, Eddie…” He finishes and looks back to his friend. “Your anger is misplaced.” Bill nods furiously in agreement.

Richie shakes his hands and waves what Stan is saying off and steps forward to ask what’s weighing on his mind. “You wouldn’t really want that for me…would you, Eds?” He’d never lift a finger to hurt him and to hear that Eddie is so willingly ok with the idea of Richie being physically assaulted hurts. A lot. Probably more than Eddie’s actual wounds. Had he been there either time he would have done his best to either keep Eddie safe or make sure they shared the beating. Hell, if Eddie had told him or went to him the first time he got hurt Richie would have been glued to his side the whole rest of the day. He’d gladly take all the kicks, punches and cuts for Eddie, but not just because Eddie’s looking at him like he’s the worst person on the planet right now.

Eddie blinks his eyes repeatedly and shakes his head in disbelief like Richie said something stupid yet again. “Do you want that for me? To get hurt and f-fucking attacked?” He redirects the question and instead of sounding like he is made up of all anger, a bit of hurt escapes his tone this time like he desperately needs Richie to understand this and the other boys exchange solemn looks.

"Of course not, Eddie.” Richie answers, voice soft and apologetic.

"Then fuck off and leave me alone.” Eddie furiously wipes his shoulder against his cheek to wipe away a stray tear and slams his locker door closed befor he storms off leaving a stunned Stan and Bill and heartbroken Richie behind.

[firstade-universe]

More Than You Think You Are

You walk briskly along the familiar sidewalk on your way to the diner you used to frequent all those years ago when you lived in this neighborhood. The bitter chill of this winter morning nips at you and you pull on the collar of your favorite peacoat, trying to block some of the wind. It doesn’t help. As you approach the door, you think back to last week when you first discussed this little meeting.

“She wants to see you. To apologize, explain herself.”

“I don’t care, Anya.”

Anya sighs and shakes her head defeatedly. “I know you don’t Lexa, that you say you don’t anyway. Just promise me you’ll think about it?”

You scoff. You don’t know why she cares, why it matters. You’ve been happy for years now and she knows that. She's not only your cousin, but she's one of your best friends. “Why? Why did she call you? Why didn’t she call me herself?” “You know why.” Anya crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re stubborn as fuck, you would have hung up as soon as you heard her voice. Slammed the door in her face if she showed up here.” “You’re damn straight.”

“Not really.” She tries to make the joke, but you’re too wound up to appreciate it, even though you normally would. Instead you just glare. “Anyway, she called me because before you two dated, I was her friend. Do you even remember that?”

“I remember, Ahn. I also remember that she’s the one who took off and left all of us. She's the one that asked you not to contact her anymore. She made that choice, not me.” Your ex was Anya’s friend for five years before you moved to their town at the beginning of high school.

“I know.” She looked down at the hardwood of your living room floor, sheepishly. “Just please, think about it. Discuss it with -”

“My wife is my number one priority. Of course I will discuss it with her.”

Anya sighs again as her shoulders drop. “Okay. Let me know what you decide.”

Your hand reaches for the metal handle as the door begins to open, you have to sidestep the young boy trying to help his mother, who is carrying a car seat. You grab the door above the boy’s head to hold it open and offer the mother a soft smile as she thanks you and reaches for her son’s hand. Once inside, you let the door swing freely, then take a deep breath and look around the room for your ex-girlfriend. Your gaze moves slowly, taking in the room. This diner has always been busy, a neighborhood staple.

Way back when, the waitresses all knew you, called you both by your first names, you knew them too. You often asked about their kids, their families, but that was a lifetime ago. Or so it felt.

You come to find the woman you are looking for in the back corner booth, the one you always shared.

From a distance you can see some things about her have changed in the years it’s been since you’ve seen her. She looks fuller, in a healthy way. You remember those arguments you had back then about her undiagnosed emotional and eating disorders. You tried to help her, tell her how beautiful and perfect she was, suggest she see someone. It never seemed to work. It always ended with either an argument or sex but never any progress. You realized a few years ago, she used sex to shut you up on most occasions. You did your research a while back and decided she might have been bipolar. You’re no doctor, but the signs were all there.

Her hair is longer too. When you were together she always had it cut short, a bob that just brushed her shoulders. Now though, it was longer, falling almost to the middle of her back, even in a pony tail. She has colored it as well, her natural color being blonde, it is now a deep auburn.

When you get within ten feet of the table, she looks up at you from her focal point in the middle of the empty table with sad eyes. Eight years ago, those eyes would have broken your resolve right then and there. But this isn’t eight years ago, and she is no longer the woman you love. The woman you love is at home, giving up her Sunday morning cuddles with you for this little endeavor. She is the one who encouraged you come here today, that you get closure.

“Anya called me.”

You sigh and run your hands up and down your face attempting to rid yourself of your frustration. She doesn’t deserve for you to take it out on her, none of this is her fault. “She shouldn’t have. I’m twenty nine years old and capable of discussing things with my wife.”

“I know Lex, that’s what I told her. But you know Anya, she must be heard.” You feel her arms slip around your shoulders as she leans into place a kiss on your cheek. You’re sitting at your desk in the house you bought together last year after the wedding, writing the next novel in your book series. You know she’s just arrived home from her client meeting. She places a second kiss on your jaw and you hum, slowly swiveling the chair so you are facing her. She laughs when you open your arms, silently offering your lap. She places one knee on the outside of your right thigh. “I’m so glad you got the oversized chair. It’s so comfy.”

She lifts the other leg to properly straddle your lap and you smirk. Her hands slide up your chest and wrap around the back of your neck as she presses her lips to yours. You grip her thighs and squeeze once, then pull her tighter to your body with your hands in the back pockets of her jeans. She hums and her thumb strokes your cheek as you greedily accept her tongue.

You love her like this, well you love her in every way, but especially like this. When she takes the lead and gives you exactly what you need, even when you don’t know what that is. Right now you just need her, and she knows it. She pulls back and places her forehead on yours. “I love you Lexa, I am so glad I have you in my life. I’d be so lost without you.” She whispers.

Her words ignite a fire in your chest, and even though words are your livelihood, right now you have no ability to form them. You stand holding her tightly to your body, and she gasps in shock. You make your way quickly to your bedroom, intent on showing her all the feelings you can’t seem to verbalize right now.

You lay together after, your head on her stomach as she runs her fingers through your hair. You’ve developed a habit of drawing shapes on her hip bones when they are exposed. You let her think that is your favorite part of her body, but it’s not. It’s her collar bones, you love to nip at them and draw the little mewling sounds out of her. “I don’t want to see her.”

She hums, motions through your hair never stopping. “Why not?”

“Why should I? She broke me.”

“I respectfully disagree.” You shake your head against her, but she doesn’t let you fight her. “You may have had a few sizable dents in your armor that needed some repair when we met, but that just means you lived. Life is painful and heartbreaking sometimes, but it’s those experiences that help mold us into the people we are meant to be.”

She’s right and you know it. If you hadn’t gone through the pain of losing Costia, you would have never buried yourself in your work. You would have never been on that book tour and met Clarke in that hotel bar. You would have never learned what a healthy relationship with the love of your life could be like. You kiss the soft skin just above her bellybutton, for no other reason than because you can. “Do you think I should meet with her?”

“I think that decision is yours alone to make. I do think you might need some closure. If you don’t want to go because you think I’ll be upset that you are meeting with your ex, you’re wrong. I trust you with every fiber of my being.”

“Okay.”

Her fingers still in your hair. “Okay? Okay, you’ll do it?”

“Okay, I’ll think about it.”

“Okay.”

“Lexa, hey. It’s nice to see you.” She stands awkwardly from the table and shoves her hands in her pockets. You notice, now that you’re closer, that she looks older than she is. Not significantly older, but she looks like she is in her mid-thirties when she’s only just hit that decade a few months ago.

You’re trying your hardest to be polite, but you really don’t want to be here. You don’t want to give her the time of day, not after the way she left, not after how she hurt you. So when you say her name it comes out with bite, with venom. You don't mean it but you do at the same time. “Costia.” You slide into the booth, leaving her awkwardly standing next to the table. She slowly moves to sit back down and you huff slightly. The air between you is stiff, awkward. You knew it would be, assumed it would be. “Why am I here?”

“I want to apologize. I need to apologize.” She opens her mouth to begin when she is interrupted by the waitress. Costia orders coffee, you ask for a water and she leaves as quick as she came. Costia pauses a second time, looking at you like she used to when she was nervous about something, and you feel a twist in your gut. Just the one small look from her is enough of a reminder to bring back the physical pain of the night you came home from class to find her, and everything she owned, gone.

“Cos!” You shout as you enter the apartment. You drop your backpack into the armchair in the livingroom like you do every evening. The apartment is quiet, more so than usual. Your girlfriend normally has some sort of soft instrumental playing as she works on her homework. She’s been your girlfriend since junior year of highschool, friends since freshman year, and your life revolves around her. She’s been the one constant in your life besides your two cousins, Anya and Lincoln, for the last seven years. “Cos! I’m home, what do you want to do for dinner? I was thinking Thai.” When there is still no response, you venture down the hall to your bedroom. The door is open, but you don’t see Costia anywhere, when you turn toward the window, you notice there are no clothes in her side of the closet. You look around frantically shouting her name. You make it back to the kitchen, and that’s when you see it. A letter. It's handwritten in the same script as Costia pens.

You read it. Then again and again, not believing what it says. She cheated. She's pregnant. She's gone back to her family in Omaha.

She's gone.

She left you.

She cheated.

You weren't enough for her.

She's gone.

You’ll never be enough for anyone.

“I know I hurt you when I left. With what I did. I never, ever wanted that.” Her voice pulls you out of the memory and for that you are somewhat grateful for that. “But I had to go.” You know she expects you to react, to respond, but you didn’t come here to hear yourself speak. You stare, with a clenched jaw, until she gets the hint to continue. “I wasn’t in the right mindset, you know that. I had so many issues and I know. I know you tried to help me. I should have let you.”

“Yeah, you should have.” She nods and you really don’t know what else there is to say. She apologized, everyone can just move on now, right? “Why, after all this time, did you think this was necessary?”

“I, um. My daughter, Lily, she’s  seven now. She asked me a few months ago if I have ever been in love with anyone beside Roan, my fiance. I told her yes, and I told her about you. When she asked why you weren’t around anymore I told her I made a mistake that hurt you very badly and I regretted it. She informed me that when you hurt someone’s feelings, you have to apologize. I have been a coward about this for so long. I don't want to set that example for her.”

“Sounds like you’re raising her right.” You say with a lopsided half smile. She smiles softly at you and it slowly morphs into a frown.

“The way I left, it was wrong. I should have stayed, told you in person.”

You sigh, because you know the truth. As much as you don’t care about alleviating her pain in anyway, you feel the need to tell her your feelings. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I know- wait, what?” She looks confused. You expected that though. Over the past few years you have come to believe, as Clarke does, that everything happens the way it should.

“Eight years ago, I was so in love with you. If you would have stayed and talked to me, told me about your affair in person, I would have probably wanted to work it out. I would have wanted to be there for you, for the baby. Help you.” You take a sip of your water and she looks at you like you have two heads. “After reading your letter and you asking Lincoln and Anya to cut contact, I spiralled out of control. I was so hurt, my trust in people so thoroughly broken that I isolated myself from the world. When I did go out, I found some meaningless fuck and moved on. I was like that for four years, and looking back it was actually awful, but I wrote my first two books in that time. If you had stayed and we worked it out, that wouldn’t have happened.”

“I see.”

“Not yet, you don’t. When I had my first book published a little over four years ago, I was still an emotional mess. My manager, Raven, she insisted that I do a book tour and signing when I hit the bestsellers list. The last stop was in New York. I had taken up the habit of drinking whiskey in the hotel bars to deal with not being able to isolate myself.”

You stride up to the bar and settle in a chair near the middle. The bartender, Kevin you soon learn, throws down a coaster and asks you to pick your poison. An old fashioned is your current drink of choice, which he seems to respect.

“So many young women tonight who have learned to appreciate the finer things in life.” He chuckles slightly at himself and walks to the other end of the bar, leaving you somewhat confused. That feeling is alleviated when the blonde next to you turns in her chair just enough to face you and tilts her glass in a silent toast. You are blindsided by how stunning she is and drawn in instantaneously by those entrancing blue eyes. Then, she does something that you instantly regret seeing. She smiles. She smiles, and you hate it because you are so fucked. Your stomach is quite possibly in an Olympic tumbling competition hosted inside your body at this very moment.

“You've made a great choice. Kevin makes the best old fashioned in the city. Isn't that right Kevin?” She shouts down to the barkeep and you can't help but smile because her voice is amazing. It's mirth and sex mingling perfectly, and you never want it to end.

“Don't listen to her, miss. She's a drunk.” He shouts back and she tosses her head back in laughter. You have to revise your previous thought, you never want this sound to end.

“When the drunks are complementing your services, Kevin, you really should roll with it.” You speak before you even think, something that puzzles you. In the past four years you have avoided interacting with people so vehemently that over thinking your dialogue has plagued you on your book tour. It's caused awkward pauses with fans and you hate it.

She smiles again, this time it's directed fully at you. You almost ask Kevin for the sharpest spoon he has to scoop your heart out and just hand it over to her so you can avoid the inevitable breaking she'll do. She going to ruin what's left of you and you know it. “And always listen to the advice of pretty girls, Kevin. That's how you land one.”

You smirk at her, as Kevin sets down your glass and thanks you for your advice. “So, is that how you land pretty girls? Listening to their advice and using it on them?”

She hums as she swallows the sip she has just taken from her near empty glass. “I hope so.” You raise a questioning brow and it's her turn to smirk. “Do you have any advice I should follow?”

She's smooth, you'll give her that. Smooth and beautiful and confident and sexy. So fucking sexy. “Blondes are trouble.”

She smiles again, this time big and goofy and you love it. “I guess it's a good thing you're a brunette isn't it? I'm Clarke.” She sticks her hand out and yours moves automatically to grasp it.

“Lexa.”

“Lexa, it's seventy eight degrees of beautiful New York sunshine outside and there is a bar on the roof, would you like to join me up there?”

“And leave Kevin? I don't know…” You joke because you're obviously going to follow her. She knows it just as well as you do. You hear Kevin laugh and he says he'll make you two more for the road. You finish your first quickly and stand from the barstool, offering your hand for stability as Clarke moves to do the same.

“So chivalrous. Thank you. Kevin, please put these on my room tab.”

“Of course, Miss Griffin. Have a great night ladies.”

The ride up in the elevator is shared with three drunk frat boys, but Clarke is leaning into you and you couldn't care less about the other occupants. When you arrive, it's just what you are expecting. Two dozen high top tables and chairs and a bar. Above you as you walk to a table are strings of lights creating an intimate ambiance.

“This is interesting.”

She hums and nods in agreement. “There's better. San Francisco, Chicago, LA. The skyline views are amazing.”

“You must travel a lot. Business or pleasure?”

“Business. I'm an artist. I travel to wherever the commission's take me if need be. I spend most of my time home though, in LA. You?”

“LA, huh?” You're surprised, but also excited. You live in Los Angeles as well, and you have never believed in fate before, but you are starting to. You shake that train of thought of because there is no way she would want you for more than tonight. “Me too, I'm a writer.”

“I have a stack of books I'm supposed to read back at home. My best friend keeps me in the loop with the popular stuff. Are you popular, Lexa?” You don't know when it happened, when she got this close, but she's pressing against you and running her finger down the lapel of your jacket. You clear your throat slightly and take a sip of your drink.

“I am slightly, yes.”

“Anything I've heard of?”

“Possibly. I wrote Grounders.”

Her jaw drops slightly. “That's a Times best seller. I know for a fact that's in my stack of books from Octavia because she wouldn't shut up about it and how she wanted to be a grounder.” You chuckle, because you hear that a lot. Especially over this book tour. “Is that why you're here?” You nod. “How many books have you written for the series?”

“One that's published. The second is finished and the third is about halfway done.”

���That's so sexy.” She husks. You decide then that she shouldn't be allowed to say that word around you.

“You think being a word nerd is sexy?”

She laughs again. You love it. “I am an artist, I paint what I can see. Sometimes I see things that other people don't, and even when I try to explain it, they still won't. But you, and that big brain of yours, can imagine and write down a whole new world for people to see when they close their eyes. They can immerse themselves in your universe. That is totally sexy.”

She's even closer now, and she nearly whispers the last part and you can help it. You've known her for all of twenty minutes and you know right now, you're done for. Your hand that has been on the table this whole time goes to her waist, while your other comes up to her face, cradling her cheek. You lean in slowly, savouring the anticipation of those excitement charged moments that flutter through your body just before you kiss someone for the first time. Your lips touch, barely brush, and you know you're already addicted. Then she pushes up on her toes and connects your lips fully, and for a brief second, you swear your heart stops. That you have to be dead. She pulls back far too soon for your liking, but she makes up for it.

“Someone once told me that blondes are trouble. Want to find out how much?” You do, god you do. So you drain the last of the liquid from your cup and let her lead you off the roof and back to her room.

“If you hadn't left the way you did, I would have never met Clarke. She is, I'm not saying this to hurt you in any way, the single greatest thing to ever happen to me.” You see a small frown on your ex lover's face. “Just like Lily is for you, I'm sure.”

She brightens slightly at the mention of her daughter. It strikes you then, that if things had gone differently, had Costia stayed, Lily would more than likely be considered your daughter too. It sombers you for a moment, the thought of having a little one. You close your eyes briefly and you can see it, him. A mini male version of Clarke, all blonde hair and blue eyed. He's running around the back yard with Lucky, the golden retriever your wife convinced you to buy three months ago, he's giggling up a storm as you stand on the patio with Clarke wrapped in your arms. Your vision is snuffed by the voice of your lunch companion.

“She is.”

“Then there is really nothing more to say, is there? In hindsight, yes, you caused me pain. But you also gave me so much joy. So thank you. I wish you the best in your life. I hope nothing but good things for you, Roan and your daughter. I hope he loves you even more than I used too, and this time you don't let him go. I forgive you.” You stand, and drop a few dollar bills on the table. It's time to go, you need to go back home to Clarke.

“Thank you, Lexa.” She nearly whispers, she sounds sincere. You see then that you needed to say those words just as much as she needed to hear them.

“Oh. And remember that Anya and Lincoln used to think of you as family. I wasn't the only one you hurt back then.”

She nods. You know she's been in contact with them both recently and they were taking the reintroduction to her life slowly.

You hurry out of the dinner back to your car, back through those old familiar streets to the new familiar ones. You park in the garage and make your way through the house to where you assume you'll find her and you do. She's perched, cross-legged on the couch with the puppy in her lap, glasses on, red pen in hand, reading the first unedited copy of your sixth novel. You gave it to her this morning, she always says it's her favorite surprise from you, being the first to read your work.

She never asks you how the writing is going, just like you don't ask how pieces are coming along. You both know how many people are waiting for works from both of you, and neither of you wants to add pressure. You are a power couple in the arts world. Her pieces sell for a minimum half million and your books are the most pre-ordered in history, each novel surpassing the last and breaking your own record. You both know the pressure the other is under to produce. That's not to say work is an unspoken topic, you just allow one another to bring up something if it is to be discussed. For instance, Clarke helped you come up with the gear shaped emblem the leader of the Grounders in adorned with in your third novel.

You stand there, leaning one shoulder on the wall in the entryway of your living room, watching as she scrunches her nose up at something then writes in the margin.

“That bad, huh?” You watch as she jumps slightly, gasps, then places a hand over her heart. “Sorry.”

“You sneak.”

“I promise that was unintentional.” You hold your hands up in mock surrender until her scowl turns into a smile. You make your way toward the couch, and she shifts Lucky off of her lap and onto the floor, then sprawls out with her back against the armrest. The puppy licks your hand when you bend down to pet him, then scampers off to his bed. Your attention returns to your wife. “What did you write?”

“You'll get my notes when I'm done, you know the drill.” She sticks the pen in the booklet and places it on the coffee table as you join her on the couch, draping your body over hers. Your right hand slips under the soft cotton of her T-shirt, one that you're almost positive is your T-shirt, and you splay your fingers over soft skin just because you want contact. You lay there for a while, you're not really sure how long, before she speaks. “How'd it go? I called Raven and told her to draft a statement just in case I needed to bail you out of jail later.”

You laugh. Simply because it's ridiculous. She knows just as well as you do you would never physically fight Costia. You laugh for several seconds, and when it subsides, you kiss her.

“It was awkward.” You recount everything for her, tell her how she apologized and how you thanked her. “I'm glad I went.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” You nuzzle her face into her neck and kiss just below her ear. “You were right, I needed the closure.”

“Mark this day in history, I have been proclaimed was right as by the all mighty Lexa Woods.” She giggles and it's infectious, you start too.

“There is a first time for everything you know.” You remove yourself from the couch, from her, and hold out your hand. “Come on love, let's go get some lunch.”

She cocks her brow at you, questioning. “Didn't you just eat?”

You shake your head. “We didn't get that friendly.”

The drive to your favorite sandwich shop is quiet. Clarke holds your hand over the center console and plays with your fingers. Something she has done since that first day.

“You have strong hands.” She tells you, her head on your chest as she traces your fingers with her own. You don't respond, you just kiss the top of her head, breathing in and closing your eyes. You want this evening to last forever, to pretend that you're not broken and angry and not good enough for her. She shifts, in that moment, like she knows what's going through your head. Your eyes meet and she frowns slightly. “Who hurt you?”

You sigh. “My first and only girlfriend of five years. Who hurt you?”

“How do you know someone hurt me?”

You shrug slightly. “Takes one to know one, and you knew.”

She nods into your chest, then fixates on your fingers again. “My college boyfriend of nearly a year. I was apparently his side chick. Silly me, I was so in love with him.”

You intertwine your fingers with hers before you elaborate on your story. You haven't talked about Costia in four years, and never to a stranger, but Clarke doesn’t feel like a stranger. “Mine cheated and got knocked up. Moved back to Nebraska while I was in class one day. All I got was a letter.”

“Ouch. That's rough.” There is a long pause before she shifts to look into your eyes. Neither one of you speak, you both just look at each other. She kisses you after a moment, and for whatever reason it makes you feel good about yourself. The self deprecating thoughts start to creep in soon after and you know that flutter in your chest is only the calm before the storm. That it's inevitable that Clarke will find out how desperately inadequate you are. Then she does it, uses her obvious gift of ESP and reads your mind. “No matter how your relationship was with her, the problem wasn't you. You are worthy of another shot at happiness. I know when someone cheats on you, it's easy to feel like you are the problem, that you weren't enough, but that just not true.”

You rotate your hips, gently flipping your positions, and gaze down on her. “You’re so beautiful.” You know you mean in every way, mind body and soul, and you hope she knows it too. She smiles and you're one hundred percent sure you won't survive her. So in this moment you embrace it, you attempt to drown in everything she can give you. In this moment you decide to do what you haven't been doing the past four years, you decide to live.

“There's something else on your mind.”

“You're not supposed to use your powers in public, Clarke.” You joke, earning a smile and a shoulder nudge as you walk down the sidewalk back to the car after your lunch.

“So what is it? Huh? Spit it out.”

You just shake your head amusedly. “I just love you, that's all.”

“You're not fooling me.” You open her door for her, something you try to do often and she smiles softly before taking her seat. You stand next to her with the door still open and she raises a brow before turning back in her seat to face you. “Lex?”

“I knew when we met, the first time you smiled at me, that I would need you in my life. I forget to tell you just how much you mean to me. I know I tell you I love you everyday, but sometimes I feel it's not enough.” You lean in and kiss her softly. “I need you to know that you possess my very soul and I would never change a single moment of my life with you.”

The way she looks at you then, the complete awe written on her face, tells you she wasn't expecting you to get so sappy on her.  She leans forward and kisses you deeply. “Take me home, Lex.” You nod and do as she’s asked.

She's sitting on her side of the bed, still reading your novel. You're next to her, arms around her waist, head on top of her thigh as she strokes her fingers through your hair. This is the usual scene when she reads your work, you silently cling to her waiting for her approval. You’ve almost fallen asleep from her ministrations when she closes the booklet. You try to bury your head deeper in thigh, rubbing your forehead back and forth.

“Babe. Look at me.” She gently coaxes. You hate this part, not her review of the work, but the anticipation right before she says how she feels. You slowly lift your head off of her leg and her hand slips under your chin, cautiously raising your gaze to meet hers. “This is, by far, the best work you’ve ever done. I am so proud of you.”

You sigh out your relief with closed eyes and she leans in and places a soft kiss on your forehead.

The next day, your cousins come knocking. Well, they don't really knock, they use their key and shout their presence from your kitchen. You round the corner from the hall to find Lincoln raiding your fridge.

“I know for a fact that you can afford to buy your own food.”

“Yeah, but there has got to be some leftovers in here and you know how I feel about Clarke's cooking.” He finds a container and turns from the fridge to you as he opens it. “When did you have lasagna?”

You roll your eyes, but know it's a losing battle now that he's actually seen the food. “Saturday night.” He nearly squeals in excitement and pops the container in the microwave.

He turns and grabs a fork before speaking again. “Where is Clarke?”

“Client meeting.”

“So, how'd it go yesterday?” Anya asks from in front of your keurig and you really need to have a discussion with Clarke about changing the locks.

“Fine.” You shrug. “It's not like we're going to be friends or anything. She said her peace, I thanked her for leaving. It's done.”

Your cousins share a look before Anya continues the questioning. “You thanked her for leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I'll bite. Why?”

“If she hadn't I wouldn't have Clarke.” They both hum in understanding. Then you add to it. “Linc, you wouldn't have Octavia and Ahn, you might not have Raven. So yeah, I thanked her, and you should too.”

They both look at you, then cast their eyes down at the counter. It’s clear neither one of them thought about that. There is a thick, heavy silence between the three of you that's interrupted by the microwave just as it's getting awkward. You're pretty sure you hear Lincoln let our out a thankful sigh.

“How did she do it?” Anya nudges your arm and you know you look confused as to what she's talking about. “How did Clarke break through all that ‘love is weakness’ shit with you?” You stare at her for a second, because you really don’t know. One second you were alone, hating the world, surviving. Then the next, Clarke was there and she made you believe you deserved better than that.

So you say the only answer you can come up with, mostly because it’s true. “She just did. She’s my soulmate.”

You were out with Anya last night, drinking and trying as hard as you possibly can to forget the ocean blue eyes that pierced through to your soul two weeks ago. She’s called you, three times in fact, and each time you let it go to voicemail. You tell yourself that it’s better this way, for both of you. She deserves more than you can give her, you don’t deserve the heartbreak of seeing her walk away when she ultimately realizes that. Now, your head is pounding with the after effects of your alcohol consumption and noise level of your fans as they chat in line, eager to meet you. Raven called you last week and insisted on one more signing stop here in LA. You begrudgingly agreed after she reminded you that you are the one that chose to write a book. You glance at your watch, sighing thankfully that your time is almost up.

“You should really try to look like you’re enjoying yourself, not suffering endlessly at the hands of your fans.”

You don’t want to look up, because you know that voice, you know it’s her and you already feel your resolve crumbling. You do it anyway.

“Hello Clarke. How did you know -”

“It’s called the internet, Lexa.” She smirks and shakes her head. “Besides, you were never going to call me back and I just don’t give up that easily when I want something.”

“You shouldn’t want me. I’m damaged goods. Why shop at the thrift store when you can afford designer?” She wrinkles her nose at your analogy, you can’t help but find it cute. “Sometimes, you find one of a kind designer pieces at the thrift store.” You stare at her, not completely sure that she’s real, you could very well finally be losing it. “Have dinner with me? Please? After, if you still think it’s a bad idea, I’ll drop it.”

You rub your temples, then give in. “Alright. Tonight though. I’ll meet you at Polaris at 7:30.”

“Really?” She asks, shock evident in her voice. “I mean. Yeah, okay. That works.” She turns to walk away then quickly turns back. “Oh, one more thing.” You raise a brow, then she hands you the book that was previously tucked under her arm. “Can you sign this for Octavia?”

Its 7:12pm and you are pacing a wear pattern into the hard wood in front of the door to your apartment. You picked a restaurant in walking distance to your place to give yourself ample time to freak out. It’s childish, and you know it. You take a deep breath and reach for the doorknob as your phone vibrates in your pocket. Thankful for the distraction, you pull it out and read it.

[Clarke 7:13pm] I’m really hoping this dress isn’t going to waste and you aren’t thinking of standing me up.

You smile at the message, then feel guilty for your hundreds of excuses you came up with to bail.

[Lexa 7:14pm] Well now I have to see what all the fuss is about with the dress.

She’s standing on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant when you stride up. You see her before she sees you and you are completely floored by her beauty. She’s wearing figure hugging a lacy navy dress with a plunging neckline. You swallow thickly before you move toward her, you reach out, softly touching her elbow and she jumps. Nearly sky high. At first you feel bad for startling her then you chuckle, which makes her pout. You have the urge to kiss the pout right off her face, and before you know it, you are. Your hands go to her waist and your lips are softly pressed to hers before you register that you haven’t even said hello. She pulls back and you chase her lips, not wanting this to end yet.

“You are the queen of mixed signals, you know that?” She whispers, holding onto your jacket.

Your thumbs brush her hips. “I’m sorry. I can’t control myself around you and it drives me crazy.”

“Do you just want to hook up? Because I don’t really think I want that.” You shake your head, because you really don’t. Before her, you hadn’t even entertained the thought of an actual date or even seeing the same girl again. With her it felt like you didn’t even have a choice.

“The only thing I know is when I kiss you the rest of the world melts away. It’s just you and me, and I’m not this broken mess.”

She looks at you with concern. You can’t believe you’re having this conversation on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. “What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid, I know things.”

She hums, it sounds skeptical. “And what is it that you think you know?” You sigh. “I’m not enough for you, one day you’ll realize that and leave like she did and I’ll be even more broken than I am now.”

“There is no possible way you could know that. What makes you think you aren’t enough for me, huh?”

“I wasn’t enough for Costia.” You feel anger starting to build, you don’t want to argue with Clarke, but then again you don’t know what you want at all. You’re frustrated, yeah, that’s it. Frustrated.

“Well, my name is Clarke, not Costia. We happen to be two different people. I’m sorry she hurt you, but her biggest mistake in life might just be the highlight of mine. So we’re going into this restaurant,” She’s poking you in the chest now, punctuating her points. “you’re buying me wine and dinner, and you’re going to fucking like it.” It’s commanding and demanding, and oh so sexy. You clench your jaw and stare her down, but she doesn’t relent. So you turn slightly and offer her your arm, and she smirks at you knowing she’s won. You like it, you really fucking like it.

You wake up the next morning with your nose pressed into her hair and your arm around her slung protectively over her waist. You pull her a little bit closer to your body.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Her voice startles you slightly, you didn’t expect her to be awake. You lessen your grip a little. “I didn’t say to let me go, I just said I wasn’t going.”

“Promise?” She turns in your arms, and your eyes meet for the first time that morning. You think you might just have a new favorite color. She trails her finger from your hand, up your arm then cups your cheek in her palm. She gently leans in, pressing her lips to yours, she whispers back.

“I promise.” That’s when you break. The tears you have held in for the past four years pour out and there is no stopping them. Although, you don’t think you want to. This is the moment you needed, a baptism and rebirth if you will. You cry hard and she holds you, rubbing small circles in your back and pressing her lips to your forehead, as you lean into her chest.

You wake, sometime later and she isn’t there. You reach for the sheet and splay your fingers across it. Cold. That’s what you feel, the coldness starts creeping back in, because she’s gone. You knew it was too good to be true. She was too good. You are to broken and she doesn’t want you. You start to sniffle again, feeling the tears come back.

“Oh, good. You’re awake. I made us breakfast. You have a surprisingly well stocked kitchen.” You turn over and she’s there, holding a plate and there’s food on it. You know there is but you don’t register what it is, you’re moving too fast. You take the plate from her hand and place it on the bedside table then you stalk forward. You are on her in an instant and you’re not sure exactly which motions happen in which order but her legs are around your waist and you’ve got her back pressed into the dresser.

“I know what I want. You.” You tell her between hot, passionate kisses.

“You have me.”

You hear the familiar jingle of keys as the door to the garage opens. Then the clack of Lucky’s nails on the hardwood floor. He bounds forward and tries his best to jump on you. You tell him not to jump, and squat down to pet his face.

“Hello Woods Clan.” Clarke greets as she rounds the corner into the kitchen. “Lincoln, are you eating my lasagna?” He looks at her with his mouth full, sauce apparent on lip and chin, and shakes his head no. She cocks her head to the side and puts her hands on her hips. “No, huh? So that red all over your face is what? The blood of your enemies?” Everyone laughs and you move to wrap your arms around her. “Hi, babe.”

“Hey.” You kiss her temple. “How was your meeting?”

“Good, I love owning my own gallery so I can make the rules and have Lucky there. You two staying long?” She points to your cousins.

“No, Linc and I have a meeting with Indra about buying more space to expand the gym. We were just leaving, actually.” They both move to leave.

“Ah ah. Lincoln.” Clarke points to the dish he used then to the dishwasher. “How does O live with you?” She shakes her head and chuckles.

Your cousins leave as quick and quiet as they came, but you don’t remove yourself from Clarke. You stand in the kitchen with her in your arms. She leans into you more and you know there is something she is thinking about. You don’t have the same powers as she does, but you know when she has something on her mind. “What’s up?”

“Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking.”

You squeeze a little tighter, feeling her relax against you. She’s quiet for a time, and you start to feel concern because you are the quiet, sort of broody one. She’s the bubbly, lively one. That’s why your relationship works so well, balance. She pulls away and faces you, and your concern only grows, but then she smiles.

“I want to have the talk. The baby talk.” She looks at you with hope sparkling in her eyes. God you love those eyes.

“Yeah, okay, let’s have the baby talk.”

“Really?” She nearly shouts, clearly excited. You shut down the talk three times before, stating different reasons. First it was too soon, second you both were too busy in your careers, third you just plain weren’t ready. This time though, this time you feel it’s right.

“Really.” You smile and she hugs you then pecks your lips.

“I love you so much, Lexa Griffin-Woods.”

“I love you more than anything, Clarke Griffin-Woods.”