𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖗 @nosuperm4n ( s3x19 buried memories. )

Lex  sat  in  the  passenger  seat,  oddly  enough  he  never  rode  shotgun  not  like  this,  he  was  driven  around  by  staff  &  even  then  sat  in  the  back.  He  never  expected   Clark  Kent to  drive  him  anywhere  it  was  usually  the  other  way  around.  He  didn’t  mind  it  not  now,  between  the  countless bumps  to  his  head,  & the  Summerholt  treatments—  he  was  relieved  he  didn’t  have  to.  It  was  for  the  best,  Clark  wouldn’t  let  him  in  this  state.  He  was  fine—  or  he  would  be.  He  just  needed  to  get  home,  wash  down  the  memories  with  booze,  crawl  into  bed,  sleep.  Lex  tried  to  resist  he  didn’t  need  anyone  worrying  about  him.  Not  after  the  conversation  they  just  shared  prior.  BUT  the  other  man  was  vehement  on  chauffeuring  him  back  to  the  mansion  regardless  of  his  false  sense  of  stability.  He  could  collect  his  car  tomorrow.  The  pair  sat  in  silence,  no  radio  just  the  wind  passing  through  cracked  windows  and  the  sound  of  tires,  the  road  beneath  them.  Cornfields  and  open  road  laid  before  spanned out for miles,  but  all  of  it  was  a  blur,  settled   he  realized  how  off   he  was, overstimulated.  Every  vibration  in  the  rickety  frame  made  the  old  Chevy  creek,  sending  shocks  of  pain  to  his  head.  He  winced,  looking  over  at  Clarks  hand  on  the  steering  wheel,  the  sun  pooled  behind  him,  shining  through  the  window,  blinding  warm  light.  Sights  doubled  and  then  the  scene  fell  away.  There  was  a  touch  to  his  cheek.  This  felt  too  real,  through  low  lidded  eyes  just  a  crack  in  vision.  He  wasn’t  looking  at  Clark  anymore,  at  least  not  how  he  knew  him.  This  boy  was  much  younger,  rounded  cheeks,  messy  raven  hair—  and  that  same  smile.  They  weren’t  alone,  Jonathan  driving  and  Martha  Kent  next  to  them?  Lex  was  curled  in  his  father’s  lap,  cradled  close,  couldn’t  recall  ever  being  held  like  that  before.  Never  remembered  much  from  “that  day.”  Other  flashes,  came  in  wicked  succession.  The  truck  fell  away,  and  he  felt  a  wave  so  hot,  it  could  peel  skin,  the  fractured  sounds  of  help  me.  That  S  carved  on  a  human  scarecrow.  Breathless  Panic,  Hyperventilation.  Asthma  attack. 

Then  nothing.  Just  void-less  black,  blotches  of  light  came  Clark  bleeding back through   still  driving.  Lex  gasped  into  reality,  with  a  quick  click  he  clawed  out  of  the  seat  beat  smothering  him,  placed  one  trembling  hand  on  the  dash.  Bewildered,  stunned,  stuck  to  the  leather  of  the  seat.  Lost  of  his  voice,  he  strangled  out  his  friend’s  name.  ❛❛  Clark…❜❜  Was  it  obvious  where  he  just  came  back  from?  These  memories  took  him  out,   clark's & his father’s  wise  warnings  about  these  treatments  singing  in  his  ears,  before  speaking  over  the  noise.  He  thought  he'd  get  those  seven  weeks  back  but  all  he  got  was  buried  trauma  from  his  childhood.  Lex  filled  the  silence  again  more  winded  than  he  wanted,  didn’t  think  about  how  he  would  sound,  the  words  fell  right  out  his  mouth  soft  tumbled  before  he  could  stop  them.  ❛❛  I  thought  the  bridge  was  the  first  time  we  met…  but  I  saw  it  just  now.  Your  family’s  truck.  The  hospital.  You. ❜❜   he  swallows,  letting  the  weight  drop  to  his  chest.  ❛❛  We  were  very  young…do  you  remember  any  of  this  at  all  ?  I  think  I'm  actually  losing  my  mind.. ❜❜ he asked more honest than, hell maybe ever. Not expecting any truth or for Clark to even remember it, but Lex knew now, even if no one believed him.

While in game Costco carries a lute with him, his actual favorite instrument to play is the flute. He enjoys how fluid players look when they play and how the music seems to dance through their whole body like a spell. Sure he can get that movement when he's rocking out on the lute but something about the flute just entrances him.

He's too embarrassed about the noise level to every play it in camp or to practice though. Instead, he just fingers along to songs in his head while the mouth piece rests on this shoulder. The night before the elder brain fight, fearing that they might die in the battle, Costco slipped out of Elfsong and went off the the cemetery since... not a lot of living ears there. He played his flute out loud for hours and felt the most free since the nautiloid.

Me, checking Tumblr: *Checking notes, checking tags, more fanfic/headcanon reading, fangirl over Iida and Mr. Compress, refresh page*

Me, checking Twitter: *scrolling through posts, liking/commenting on posts, nosebleed from NSFW art, refresh page*

Tumblr; oh hey wouldn’t it just be terrible if we fucking DESTROYED the only platform you have any relevance on???

Presents for all, everyone happy, carols, chestnuts, open fire, the whole deal.

Alfred steals away from the party to be sad for a while. Enter Wilhelmina, who touches his arm gently and offers him a present: a portrait of Drummond, just small enough to be hidden in a watch or a pocket book.