THE MAN OF TOMORROW.

IND. PRI. SEL. DCTV & DCEU LEX LUTHOR. WRITTEN BY SAM.

[geniuscorp]

WHAT'S THE OLDEST LIE IN AMERICA? THAT POWER CAN BE INNOCENT. - IND. PRI. SEL. LEX LUTHOR. DCTV & DCEU. WRITTEN BY SAM.

[gnnosis]

on brothers

[ jewish literacy, rabbi joseph telushkin / the bear 2x06 + 2x10 / east of eden, john steinbeck / succession 3x09 / “brothers,” kevin atwater / the west wing 6x16 / prison break 5x04 / greywaren, maggie stiefvater / boy (2010) / “he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother,” the hollies ]

[1liv]

"Come on. You're too easy. Like anyone really wants to hear things turned out just peachy." WILDERNESS 1x01 "Happily Ever After"

[rejectory]

Are they pretending Lex isn’t the reason he had to write it in the first place? It’s hard to read the room a hundred moods per hour. Certainly never stopped him from trying before.

Thanks, he nods because he was raised well. Lex knows the one.

He can’t help, ❝A win for you.❞

He can hear Lex’s potato–potahto. The court of public opinion isn’t as cutthroat in Metropolis as it is in Gotham. Before coming in, Clark checked his homesickness at the door, chalked it up to old joys.

Maybe if he keeps looking hard enough—

❝What do I sign with it?❞

He sits down bowlegged.

[geniuscorp]

a win for you. oh you smug shit -- lex grins widely and lets out a bark of a laugh, shrugging humble, aw gee shucks buddy what can i say! see, he's not the only one who can pull the wool of homegrown cornfed all american bullshit over everyone's eyes.

your death certificate. "ah, that's my bad - i've missed a little trick there, i suppose, it's just a statue. not a real pen. but maybe with a pretty box, you can put it in your bathroom or an office or something. make the little lady at home jealous, y'know."

this is so insipid.

"i'm glad you came by, i had something i wanted to run by you."

[lgbtcorp]

when lex was young, he'd spent a season at the manor referring to himself as only sebastian. it was tiresome, and a needy grasp for attention, and lionel screamed himself blue in the face whenever lex refused to answer to his real name. sebastian, itself, is innocuous. a nom de plume, another face for a moment. it was peeled, gently, purposefully, from the second lex'd tore through the picture of dorian gray. victoria lucas was spat from the etchings in the back of the bell jar, and scrawled across lex luthor's visitor's log over the past few weeks.

"my meetings finished early." she owes him no explanation, but it comes willingly. one leg is folded neatly over the other, and they're set for today's game. he plays white — always, and she doesn't care for the advantage it gives him.

"white to play first."

[geniuscorp]

he has the good grace not to dig into the response - it's simple enough but she didn't have to say it and after all these many, many weeks of insisting it's chess talk or nothing, well. it's refreshing to be offered even such a small tidbit. jesus suffering fuck ain't it sad to see such a giant of men reduced down to begging for scraps of conversation from the woman who put him behind bars?

(don't be confused readers: he did this to his goddamned self.)

lex sits, knees together as he shuffles under the little metal table, the lumbering thumb of a prison guard securing his handcuffs to the loop at the centre of the bench. every time the chain slides into place and that neanderthal soaked in dior sauvage gets close, there's an air of masturbatory self satisfaction, ah-ha i am the biggest boy on the playground because i get to cuff lex luthor to a seat! and lex struggles not to roll his eyes. sad!

"well. it's lovely to see you. how is the stock looking these days?"

[geniuscorp]

THE MAN OF YESTERDAY feat @lgbtcorp

a deep dive into the twisted mind of lex luthor & the family who shaped him.

[brutlist]

𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀 !

independent captain francis crozier of the doomed antarctic expedition to find the north passage from the novel The Terror ; loosely based on the first season of the amc show of the same name . 21+ . PST . written by miska .

[geniuscorp]

@lgbtcorp / i never email anything that i wouldn’t want to see on the front page of the times.

lena says it and drops the newspaper on the table - it's a long and oak and ostentatious thing bequeathed to lex from an estate closed down and picked apart and sold off (it's uncouth for luthor's to talk about downsizing but dad is dead and the stock is in the fucking trash and they need to look perfect) - and rolls her eyes.

"you're saying it's bullshit, then? what they've printed?" he asks. there's no accusation involved, his tone is steady, and he watches her from the highbacked chair by the fire as she slips out of her heels and gets the look on her face that he knows is just for him.

(because lex is very, very clever but he's an easy fucking mark; the weak spots are few and far between, the puzzle a complicated picture the further away you look from, except lena has been pressed up against the window her entire life. lex has marionette strings and she has learned how to tug them in all the right ways. it looks like this: heels discarded, perched on the arm of the chair he's sat in, a drag from the cigar he's smoking. she's going to work just like him.)

of course it's bullshit.

and suddenly all lex can think about is that she's right. of course, she's right. she's beautiful and brilliant and the only person who has ever had lex's back; in the end, it'll be the two of them with an empire below. fuck dad. fuck mom. it's just them.

lex sighs at the touch of fingertips threading through his hair (a tactic; calming, distracting, easy). "sorry. i've been a little on edge lately."

[geniuscorp]

@rejectory / clark / this is beneath even you.

well, well, well. here he comes. knight in shining cunt coloured cape (tah-dah! with the glasses on, it's all toothless barking, but drape a curtain across his back and suddenly we're one on one about who gets to sit at the start of the fucking food chain). clark kent and superman, clark kent is superman, clark kent the hero and the great protector and clark kent, lex luthor's best fucking friend. oh isn't this so fucking rich coming from the man who has lied and cheated his way into the inner circle, talking about morals.

lex sips at his whiskey and watches clark laugh as he holds up the little statuette -- something lex had custom made. it's a fountain pen, solid bronze with gold inlay and a ruby as the nib; nothing fancy but it's beautifully made and lex wants to fucking stab him with it. ten years. ten years of lies and deceit and shoving shit down lex's throat again and again, making him take it over and over, swallow lex, swallow the bullshit, swallow the next mouthful and the next, just like every fucking other person, just like everybody else.

viciously, in his mind: i'm no one's fucking lackey.

"well, what's a little joke between friends," he says, pushing his mouth into a laugh. a sip of whiskey. clark has the audacity to look fucking pleased. "it's a congratulations on the article. it's a hell of a win for the planet."

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM BODY HEAT 🔥 *  assorted dialogue from the 1981 film, adjust as necessary

my god, it's hot.

i want you with me.

i got a serious question for you. what the fuck are you doing?

i have to be with you.

i've lived so much of my life with nothing.

i'm going to make it up to you tonight, but you must behave.

you and me. your body near mine, close. i'm not right when you're not with me. i get the shakes.

i wouldn't mind having breakfast.

you've had your fun.

don't test my patience for even five more minutes.

i think i've underestimated you. i don't know why it took me so long.

this is beneath even you.

i would have gladly come to the house.

i'm not looking for company.

you're not too smart, are you? i like that in a man.

how about i buy you a drink?

i would have noticed you.

me? i need tending. i need someone to take care of me. rub my tired muscles. smooth out my sheets.

i just need it for tonight.

i asked you not to talk about the heat.

you don't want to lick it?

look who's here. isn't this a coincidence?

do i remind you of hot air?

i'm not that eager.

how'd you know i drink?

you shouldn't have come. you're going to be disappointed.

you must come here a lot.

maybe you shouldn't dress like that.

i don't like my body much. it's never been right.

sometimes... i don't know. i get so sick of everything. i'm not sure i care anymore. do you know what i mean?

i'm not looking for trouble.

i mean it. i like you. but my life is complicated enough.

i think you should go now.

i don't think you want me to go.

there's nothing to be afraid of.

you're not so tough after all, are you?

i didn't want this to happen. but i didn't try hard enough to stop it... because i wanted you.

i wanted you here, like this. this is bad for me.

now nothing's going to be the same anymore.

jesus, i think you're right. you better be on the bottom.

no one must know. promise me, [name]. no one.

hey, wanna make love?

what do you take me for?

don't you like it?

i want to be in bed.

is that all you ever think about?

you've never been shy about that stuff.

please don't say it if you don't mean it.

tell me the truth, please. i'll understand. i swear to you.

from now on, when it starts coming down on you... i'll be there to protect you.

come to me.

it scares me to talk about these things.

that's what you want, isn't it?

maybe you should let me do it for you.

that's the way it is. there's nothing we can do about it.

i'm going downstairs. do you want anything?

all that matters is we're together.

no, darling. don't talk that way.

get the hell out of here and don't come back.

i don't blame you for thinking i'm bad.

you must believe one thing. i love you. i love you and need you. i want to be with you forever.

you imagined it.

i tried to make it up to you.

is there something wrong with your phone?

[weltenwellen]

Susan Sontag, As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh: Journals and Notebooks, 1964-1980

[typewriter-worries]

[ Text ID: Let it hurt, let it hurt. ]

[geniuscorp]

@spining / i can keep a secret, if that’s what you’re wondering.

lex watches her face move as she looks over the penthouse; the place is thin, unpacked boxes pushed into corners gathering dust because he's barely been in the months and months he's owned this place. it's a stop gap. a place to sleep when he's in town and a place to think when absolutely necessary. there are remnants of personal assistants' efforts to tidy up the main living area and a dressing rack full of suits abandoned to one side. a fully stocked drinks sidetable, of course.

lex pours them a couple fingers of whiskey and hands it over.

hats off to the uptight bitch, she's got a real poker face -- if there's anything here which might cause upset or confusion, one would hardly notice. it's boiled down to a glitch in the matrix: her eyes dart back to the same spot once, twice, three times. it's subtle but it's there and lex knows what she knows the second it happens.

(it's the bedsheets which give it away. strewn over the hard marble floor under a canopy of wild papers, scribbled over and tacked to a wall, vicious red and blue streaks across it where the formulas are all wrong wrong wrong, design flaws circled and crossed out and redrawn hastily. it's a madman's wall. a craetive genius. a real thinkers paradise!)

"is your jaunt on the other side of the palisades living up to your expectations?" he asks, slipping a leg over the other, picking imaginary lint off his knee. she looks as if she might be gearing up to ask something but settles instead on i can keep a secret, if that's what you're asking.

lex grins. "i don't doubt you can, camille. but i don't need a safeguard. i need a master of spin."

[hamndgirig]

the girl who played with fire ( book ) sentence meme

       inc. nsfw, homophobic & misogynistic slurs, violence and rape mention.

‘ aren’t you going to offer me a cup of coffee? ’ ‘ just how dangerous is she? ’ ‘ would you like company? ’ ‘ i have no reason to forgive you. ’ ‘ you ever touch me again, i will kill you. ’ ‘ i’m going to stop having sex with guys who smell of smoke. ’ ‘ you look like you just woke up. ’ ‘ that was brave but awfully stupid. ’ ‘ my kitchen is 100 per cent ikea. ’ ‘ i thought you were dead or something. ’ ‘ do you want me to leave? ’ ‘ you’re such a mystery. you never talk about yourself. ’ ‘ i burned everything that would burn. ’ ‘ just keep in touch. i’d like to know whether you’re dead or alive. ’ ‘ you’re an entropic chaos factor. ’ ‘ in that case, all that’s left is for me to commit suicide. ’ ‘ you don’t give a shit about other people. ’ ‘ usually it’s other people who don’t give a shit about me. ’ ‘ i thought you’d died. ’ ‘ you really are out of your mind. ’ ‘ now you’re really going to have to explain to me who you are and what you want. ’ ‘ this is going to be a long night. ’ ‘ go home and get some sleep. ’ ‘ we don’t know the motive for the murders. ’ ‘ it was an execution, pure and simple. ’ ‘ i need a burger. ’ ‘ i can keep a secret, if that’s what you’re wondering. ’ ‘ is she unbalanced? ’ ‘ is she capable of murdering two people in cold blood? ’ ‘ i’m a cynic. i believe everyone has it in them to kill another person. ’ ‘ shit, the whores are looking worse all the time. ’ ‘ you’d have to be pretty desperate to pick her up. ’ ‘ it doesn’t feel like the act of a lone nutcase. ’ ‘ can you describe the man you say you saw attack her? ’ ‘ does she have a police record? ’ ‘ i don’t think it was you who shot them. ’ ‘ they sell handcuffs and whore outfits and stuff like that. ’ ‘ lesbian satanists. ’ ‘ maybe you don’t give a damn but i want to know who killed my friends. ’ ‘ what would you do if it was me? ’ ‘ don’t you like men? ’ ‘ i don’t give a shit what you believe. ‘ ‘ how i choose to live my life and who i have sex with is none of your business or anyone else’s. ’ ‘ so you found my strap-on in my drawer. what did you fantasise about then? ’ ‘ my answer is that it’s none of your fucking business. ‘ ‘ that surly cunt is squirming like a snake. ‘ ‘ am i being arrested for anything? ‘ ‘ if your questions piss me off, i won’t answer. ‘ ‘ there are no innocents. there are, however, different degrees of responsibility. ‘ ‘ fuck you too. need help? ’ ‘ she’s one fucking freaky chick. ’ ‘ you had made her angry. ‘ ‘ i’m not innocent. but i didn’t kill them. ‘ ‘ even psychopaths need motives. ‘ ‘ do i look like a satanist? ‘ ‘ you’re a sadistic pig, a pervert, and a rapist. ‘ ‘ as far as i’m concerned, you should be put to death at once. ‘ ‘ she was a whore. whores get paid. ‘ ‘ it’s not me you need to ask for forgiveness. ‘ ‘ you didn’t have sex with her. you raped her. ’ ‘ you must be one of the sorriest perverts i’ve ever met. ‘ ‘ you look like a car crash. ’ ‘ i’m going to kill you! ‘ ‘ thanks for being my friend. ‘ ‘ in case you get any stupid ideas, if you even try to get up i’ll shoot you right in the gut. ’ ‘ you look like shit. like a fucking prostitute. ‘ ‘ you’d really like to kill me, wouldn’t you? ‘ ‘ there can’t be a man who’d want you. ‘ ‘ he’s not a fairy. he just doesn’t have sex. ‘ ‘ she was always the one with the brains — you were just worthless filth. ‘ ‘ you’re just a run-of-the-mill creep who hates women. ‘ ‘ i can tell him to break the bones in your body one by one until you answer. save us the trouble. ‘ ‘ do you really think this is going to blow over? ‘ ‘ i’m going to kill you too. ‘ ‘ you came here to kill me and nothing else. ‘

[geniuscorp]

WHAT’S THE OLDEST LIE IN AMERICA? THAT POWER CAN BE INNOCENT. - IND. PRI. SEL. LEX LUTHOR. DCTV & DCEU. WRITTEN BY SAM.

[weltenwellen]

Wislawa Szymborska, from “Nothing’s a Gift”, View with a Grain of Sand: Selected Poems

[vvilent]

"i'm sure. my schedule's a little booked up, but have her call my assistants." she'd much rather a lunch with the ceo himself, but lena luthor is a good catch too. it's unlikely to happen though — as much as it's at her insistence, camille thinks she looks down on her chosen path. there's not much she can't spin, so fucking kudos.

she supposes it's just right that the question can be asked straight back to her like the sharp knife that it is. and the truth there is also not quite as it seems — the ushers, for all their wealth and growth and absolute fucking domination in the pharmaceutical market and whatever banal offshoots her siblings might venture into, are no happy-slappy family. not a single campfire or kumbayah to spit into.

"please. i go to these things so no one else has to. congratulations on your launch, lex, but you could've done without half the fucknuts here." she doesn't scorn him, because she's as aware as anyone else that most of this is purely the board's decision, but within the same breath, it gives her time and opportunity — there's few better places to find out more than where there's coke and aberfeldy being passed around like a fucking joint. puff puff pass, bitch.

"you've managed to keep a tight lid on it. what are we celebrating, exactly?"

[geniuscorp]

fucknuts. it's so uncouth that lex almost laughs - but it's crooked, a cut off thing, halted and squeezed in his throat until it comes out high and almost manic. what are we celebrating for. lex wants to be vicious with it and bite it out between sharpened teeth. a brave new world, an empire renewed, trimming the fucking fat because i am sick beyond measure of the useless and pointless fucking handshaking, the endless barrage of bloodless hounds who are so stupid they end up chasing their own tails, fucking each other in the ass until it's boring. boring boring boooooooooooooring.

"that's a surprise for another time. this is just preamble to the kicker," he says, smile tipping onto manic. "but i promise it's to die for."

lex looks out onto the dancefloor and sips the water masquerading as vodka neat on ice; he's not interested in indulging tonight. that's going to come later. "i've always loved this waltz. care to dance?"

[geniuscorp]

master of ceremonies, the prodigal son turned mass hysterisist, a king amongst peasants, lion among sheep: many names and many titles, but lex luthor wanders through the crowd bored and docile. this is stockholder appeasement. were it up to him, this room would be empty except for him and lena, left alone to bask in the brilliance of them. the board, however, have yanked on the leash (he has yet to test it's limit but the collar is beginning to fucking chafe, that's for damned sure) and he has allowed it to bring him to heel for the time being. for now.

which leaves him festering in the same ballroom his father used to host the waynes and fosters and van der bilts; a new era of luthors, and ushers. opulence reeks - how many are decked out in designs from nazi sympathisers, racists, colonialist props? lex isn't one for a moral soapbox, obviously, but double dipping bores him.

"it's not about stock price, though, is it?" camille is tolerable - moreso than napoleon or whoever else can drag themselves out of the muck they mired themselves within. "always nice to see you, darling."

[vvilent]

in her line of work, it's not about stock price, and more about being seen, weaving your own web and watching as the media swallows down every bitter pill while grinning into their chequebooks. (she can make them swallow their own shit and thank her for it — that's the power of the right people in the right places, the right interviews, the right prepping. that's the power of monogrammed paper and carefully-curated quotes that allow the audience to peer just behind the lines in the exact manner she chooses. the spin is about twisting the lie so it rings of truth. and in places like this, game sees game.)

"careful, lex. that almost sounds like an alibi." there's enough dirt buried deep within the luthorcorp tower to bury a man that's not quite like lex luthor. she takes a metered sip and places the glass back down against the bar, and eyes shift back to him. he's... pristine, in a way. every hair is perfectly sized and cut within a tolerance of half a milimetre of each other, every tooth is straight, every smile is just the right hint of confident without showing too much shark. (there's enough dirt buried deep within the luthorcorp tower to bury any man who isn't lex. that's where she settles on it.)

"where's your sister? couldn't drag her out of the lab for a couple hours?" above anything else, she understands strained relationships with siblings. however squeaky clean lex might be, her absence is that peer between the lines that she's worked so hard at understanding.

[geniuscorp]

he doesn't want to talk about lena. no one asks because most hardly remember and if they do, it's reminiscent of white elephant parties with a sullen little fat girl vying for a vicious, uninterested mother's attention: lex, of course, doesn't subscribe to the illusion. his sister is a boon to this family in ways their mother was just too small minded to understand or admit. camille carries an air of over familiarity, forgetting her place in the ladder, asks about an absent sibling as if she has any sort of fucking idea what lena means to him or to anyone else, god the new money audacity to presume.

lex grins the crocodile and doesn't think about how desperately he'd begged her to make an appearance, the fight which had ensued about boundaries and whatever other obnoxious therapist bullshit lena had come up with. (some new hack who has put it in her head their relationship isn't quite as healthy as it should be.)

"tied up in a new project - she sends her regards and is insisting on lunch sometime with you." she absolutely insisted on no such thing but it does for appearances. "what about you? flying solo?"