Le0davisarchive - *5 AM* MY TIME AGAIN

text; leo ⇄ xav

xav: did you know before she gave birth or

xav: lemme know when she knows so i know if i should lie or not if we chat

leo: I didn't know until the baby was basically being born

leo: I also found out that my ex girlfriend is her best friend

leo: Xav, I'm about to fucking lose everything

leo: lie until I could tell her, please

PENN BADGLEY 📷 ICON Magazine

renfarber​:

Ren smiled as her face was peppered with kisses, the fear abating for now. All she felt was safe and warm and happy, and she traced her fingers along his arm, as if to remind herself he was really here. “Good morning,” she whispered, “Just making sure you didn’t sneak off in the night,” she smirked, as though she hadn’t actually been afraid of that. She repositioned herself a bit, a sleepy little hum escaping her as her leg wrapped around his and she gave him a soft kiss. “I called in to work. I need a day to recover.”

-

“Morning,” he replied with a lower tember, a crack rolling in his throat. His body so tired that even if vocal cords were spent. He peeked at her, her angelic face shining right at him in the light shining through the curtains. He fought hard to keep his gaze steady as he stopped kissing her face. He hadn’t intended to wake up now, but she was awake and smirking up at him. He’d gather all strength to see the way she was looking at him now. It made him feel like the sun. He propped himself up to hover over her with more stability. “I can’t sneak off while inside you.” He said with a knowing smirk of his own which ended up growing into a unabashed smile. "You need a day to recover?” He questioned as he returned her kiss. He pulled away wanting to hear her repeat it. Leo looked down at himself with a little nod, giving his lower half silent praise to affect her mobility skills. “Does that mean round twelve then? Or is it thirteen?” He asked so smug and proud of himself as he skated his fingertips on her bare arm. 

renfarber​:

who: @le0davis​ where: some half-abandoned theatre in lower manhattan what: in which leo and ren get slapped in the face with nostalgia

This wasn’t Ren’s first time away from Max, but it still felt weird every time she left him with her mom. Being alone felt unnatural now, like she was missing a limb. She’d spent her entire life trying not to get too attached to anyone at all, and now here she was, heart aching for a boy. All that being said, she did find a moment to marinate in the eerie silence of the almost-abandoned cinema. Just as she’d suspected, there was absolutely no one in here, and the ticket seller had looked at her like maybe she was a ghost.

The film was an obscure horror film from the 50s called The Creeping Unknown, and the old floors creaked as she made her way through the empty auditorium to find a seat. It was the perfect atmosphere for some much-needed alone time… but then she saw the mop of curls peeking over a seat in one of the middle rows. Not only had this intruder invaded her quiet night, but they’d also taken the best seat in the place. Despite herself, she was intrigued, and made her way over, just to see what kind of person had the same strange idea of a fun night…

But of course it was him.

“…Leo?” she asked (but who else would it be?). 

-

Leo needed a moment to himself that didn’t involve women, work, or alcohol. he needed the silence and care that a theatre could give him. He scored as he sat down on the perfect seat, dead center of the entire theatre. It was completely empty. Just him and the silver screen. It was a haven that he hadn’t had in a long time. And of course, it was an obscure science fiction horror film was a comforting choice for him. He sat comfortably with a small bucket of popcorn in one hand with his soda on the ground in front of the left seat beside him. 

He had heard the theatre creak but had thought nothing of it. Until he had heard a voice, he flinched at the sound of his name. Who had found him here in his safe space? He turned his head to see the owner of the voice. He looked at her, stunned, with his hand frozen in his popcorn bucket. “R-ren?” he questioned with narrowed eyes as he looked upon her in the dim lighting. He couldn’t believe it. and then it happened, a brief flash of the first time he saw her to the painful last time he had seen her. it was like his heart in his chest was given a tight squeeze and dragged down to his stomach. “uhh,” he drawled through the pain. it had been ten years but it felt like yesterday, seeing her now. “i’ll leave.” he blurted out, standing up so abruptly, bits of popcorn flung everywhere. 

closed starter: @blakemadden​ location: subway station

Leo craned his neck to hear the muffled yet echoed sound of the announcement of the train’s stop. In doing so, it brought his gaze up and straight at a face he thought he knew, but onto a shape, he didn’t. So Leo looked away not fully believing it to be Blake. No, he had just seen her. Another train stop was chimed out loud. Brought he his eyes back to the woman again, she does seriously look like Blake.. Leo’s legs began to beeline to her. The whites of Leo’s eyes get wider and wider as she shape of Blake’s belly appears as if it’s growing with every step he took. He looked downright frightened seeing how her clothes stretched upon a rounded belly. 

I am not violent. I am not malicious. I am a result.

Death, The Book Thief (via literatureandfilms)

closed starter: @averydawson​ where: avery’s apartment

“Aaaaay...” Leo’s voice drawled out the first syllable of Avery’s name. He repeated the vowel from his seated position in front of Avery’s apartment door. His posture was slack against the wood. His muscles so loose with the amount of alcohol he had consumed to rid himself of his guilt. It took sixteen shots to do so. He repeated the vowel again meaning to be louder but instead reached a much higher pitch. It reminded him of a song a particular song from the sixties called, Sherry by Frankie Valli & the Four Seasons. He tried to reach the falsetto once again using Avery’s name in place of Sherry’s as he began to sing the song. “Aaaaa-AAA-ver-yyyy, can you come out tonight?” He practically screech sang in the empty hall. 

(500) days of Summer (2009) dir. Marc Webb

text; leo ⇄ xav

xav: because youre an idiot

xav: but youre my fav idiot

xav: id be surprised if she didnt leave you

xav: but if you DO love your wife, no

xav: you dont deserve her, but thats not my place

xav: my ex husband just texted me a sext that was supposed to go to rylan fucking pratt

leo: I'm sure she'll leave me too

leo: I just can't tell her, not yet

leo: wait, Nate knows how to sext?

leo: he doesn't look like the type

seasonal aesthetics.    —  by dismaymemes. bold what applies to your muse.                      for : leo davis.

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑.    a chill right down to the bones.   tobogganing.   teeth chattering.   sleeping all day. sitting by the fireplace.   spending time with family.    layered clothing.   seeing another’s breath.   loving the cold.   a state of inactivity.   cold hands.  blistering winds shaking the closed windows.   a bookcase full of brand new books and all of the time in the world to read them.  cable knit socks.   a bitter remark.  a log cabin in the middle of nowhere.  hating the cold.  full-length windows to peer out of.  pale skin.   deep conversations. watching the snow fall. sharp edges. hot cocoa.   smelling every candle in the store.  a wild snow storm. melancholy.  lighting candles around the bathtub.  snow globes.  expressing yourself but never finding quite the right words. the softest of blankets.   liking, but not loving something or someone.

spring, summer & fall under the cut.

𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. the smell after it rains. being in control of yourself. a soft breeze blowing your hair. lightning when it strikes. cherry blossoms. bright mornings. the first sign of hope. the relief of finding something you lost.  paris in the spring. birds chirping. the art of growing.  a kiss on the cheek. the clap of thunder. a tornado in the valley.  smiling at a stranger. planning. saccharine pinks.  making promises. trying something new. hugs when you need them most.     a bee sting.  sitting on the steps of the met. coming inside drenched from the thunderstorm.  picnics on a red checkered blanket in the new sun. that feeling you get when you put on a good dress. a long hike. rushing when you can take your time. going to the gym/training at ungodly hours. excitement for what’s coming. becoming yourself.  rain boots.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑.       lanterns lit around a campfire.   seeing the sunrise like it’s the first time again and again. melting ice cream. the warmth of sun rays upon skin. fireworks. the feeling of never wanting something to end. beach days.  the lone blow up floaty left in the pool.  drifting with the warm nights breeze and nothing else. music blasting at 3am,  loud and proud.  palms trees on sunset boulevard.  longer days and shorter nights.  wanderlust.  nights spent staring at the stars.  sand castles.  road trips.  blood orange sunsets. leaving the laundry to hang outside. flowers in bloom.  sneaking out of your room late at night.  pure contentment. barefoot in the sand.  the street lights coming on.   the sound of the ocean in a seashell.  freshly squeezed lemonade. loose clothing.  a cannonball into the pool. sunflowers. the hazy pink before dusk.   relaxation.

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋.   the leaves changing colors.  a heavy backpack. the smell of old books. eating until you’re stuffed. deep, dark woods.   the silence in loudness ( the loudness in silence ).   abandoned houses.   ripped jeans. crunching leaves beneath feet.  feeling like you’ve been somewhere before.  sitting at a bay window. having endless amount of work.  charcoal drawings.  screaming into a pillow as loud as you can.  pumpkin patches. creaky floorboards.   accepting that some things do have to change.   museums.     small talk.   being ignored.  procrastinating.   a door slamming shut.   going to bed early.  baking pies.   the fear of walking alone in the dark. feeling completely and terribly lost.  a twig snapping. crisp, cool days. belly laughter after crying.  converse. foggy mornings at the shoreline. writing a daily entry in a journal. a lonely day.