I Love Capturing That Roadtrip Feeling On Film From The Sunny Backseats Of My Friends Cars

Lena Luthor smiling because of Kara Danvers. (pt. 2)

She said what she said… ✌🏼❤️🔊

reading a textbook for class and i’m going insane. why is this just poetry. what. this is a STEM class what’s going on.

“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you…I could walk through my garden forever.”

— Alfred Tennyson

Ava mimicking Bea’s fight style because she was trained by her

one word prompt: falling

‘hey, bea?’

ava talks at night. you learned this fact while sharing a bed with her, night after night, tucked up in a bed that had been exaggeratedly labelled a double. wrist to wrist, shoulder to shoulder (ashes to ashes). on some nights, when ava was feeling lonely or mean, she would hook her ankle around yours too. or wriggle, making frustrated breathy noises, onto her side like a fish on the sand, and throw an arm across your waist and her face right into the curve of your neck. and then she would talk.

(you can feel her lips against your neck when you concentrate. you have been filling your mind with other, better, safer things instead. like how many hours it’s been since you left switzerland. like miguel being michael being doctor salvius’s son. like how many hours it has been since you prayed, since you emptied out the vessel of your heart and mind, entrusting it’s contents to God. it has been twenty-three days, four hours since my last confession, you think, and stop precisely there.)

‘bea?’

‘i’m here.’

‘how’s your leg?’

you hum. flex the muscles carefully working up from ankle—twinge—calf, knee, thigh. your thigh hurts in a dull way you recognise. it was the strike that staggered you, numbed your leg to the point where it couldn’t bear weight. it would be bruised for a long time but shouldn’t cause you any trouble.

‘much better. and yours?’

in the dark, you can’t see the way she kicks out with both legs but you feel it, the way the bed shakes and the sheets pull and give way, messily. she kicks again and the cool air from the air-conditioning floods beneath the sheets, now fully untucked. her heels thud back down to the mattress. the sheets settle more slowly, falling around your limbs.

‘ava!’

‘gotta test them. all good again.’

‘you’re worried,’ you say, because that was another thing you learned in switzerland. anything you say to each other in the dark can be forgiven. anything you say in the dark is only as real as you want it to be come morning. ‘about the halo. about being paralyzed again.’

‘yeah. and a lot more than that.’

it’s not a perfect darkness. when you turn your head, her profile is outlined by the glow of the balcony lights. anything you say in the dark is forgotten, forgiven. what about what you might do? you reach out. touch two fingers to her forehead. she gasps. doesn’t move as you follow the light, the path laid out in front of you. you chart her forehead, dip at the bridge of her nose. such a light touch. she doesn’t move. when you reach the tip of her nose, she scrunches it just to make you smile. you’re still smiling as your fingers drop to her lips.

ava breathes out. hot air against your fingers. you trip over her top lip, lightly graze the bottom, and when you make it to her chin you’re breathing like you ran a marathon.

‘bea,’

‘i would stay,’ you tell her. ‘if it went out. if you wanted me to. maybe,’ you say, because you can be mean too, ‘even if you didn’t want me to.’

“I don’t regret us but I wouldn’t do it again.”

— Unknown