#leigh writes some shit

[thatweirdoleigh]

love letters

I have wax sealing stuff and need excuses to write letters. therefore love letters!

Rules: One request per person, X reader or Character x Character. Angst? yes Fluff? also yes. Smut? No. Requests go in inbox via asks

Characters:

TVDU: Elijah Mikaelson, Klaus Mikaelson, Kol Mikaelson, Rebekah Mikaelson, Freya Mikaelson, Finn Mikaelson, Hope Mikaelson, Hayley Marshall-Kenner, Marcel Gerard

MCU: Steve Rodgers, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, Vison, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Virginia (Pepper) Potts, Loki, Holland!Peter Parker, TASM!Peter Parker, Mj Jones, Ned Leeds, Harley Kenner,

S&B/SoC: The Darkling, Alina, Mal, Kaz, Inej, Nina, Matthias, Jesper, Wylan

Taglist incase any of you are interested.

@imgoingtofreakoutnow @elijahs-wife @yn-ymn-yln @dumble-daddy @xxwritemeastoryxx @hellotvshowtrash @dizzydancingdreamer @imaginearyparties

#leigh speaks #leigh writes some shit

[black-rose-writings]

It's funny but also sad, how Clone Wars, a kids cartoon, managed to be more mature, have more depth of character, more moral depth and understand and show the horrors of war and the crushing pressure of being seen as the salvation of the world(/Galaxy) better than the Grishaverse, a YA series, also starring a teen female protagonist pushed facing a massive war and a chosen one (granted, CW had them as two different characters, but the point still stands).

#clone wars #shadow and bone #grishaverse #anti leigh bardugo #i guess #also atla #2000s kids cartoons were just bangers in general #I don't mean to sound like a boomer #but honestly #can you look at the quality of writing we get today and say it wasn't better in the early 2000s? #that shit holds up no matter how many times you watch it #modern media crumbles on the first watch if you forget to turn off your brain #like sure there were some plotholes and cringe #but i prefer cringe to the braindead low-effort entertainment meant for audience that has had their brain fried by tiktok #and can only understand things that are right in front of them #no hate to anyone who enjoys it #but be honest with yourself

[me-uglypretty]

the urge to delete and not share long length fics anymore— but to write my own book and explore those characters to my freedom???

#y’all will never read this long ass leigh story ig #or the one with nat and that shit is like *screams* #might even remove the one with peggy cause fuckkk i wanna write a BOOK #i just wanna figure out writing n publish some gay ass shit n see who’s gonna comes n attack me #but also for my own self fulfilment cause my other seams will never come true lol #maybe publishing a book will be a lil bit easier or realistic????

[superblysubpar]

masterlist | the music

Chapter Warnings: spoilers for the movie franchise Star Wars | mentions of the holiday Halloween being celebrated by others and reader enjoying it | Leigh is not my character creation, a shared character who @sweetsweetjellybean originally created & I put a little twist on for this story with her permission.

Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

9.4k words | A/N: I can't begin to express my gratitude for those who've read this story & those that helped me get through writing it, especially my beta extraordinaire @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz for helping me break that pesky wall of self doubt and writer's block always. I have a big long A/N on the epilogue that's posting right after these two chapters with more sap. Thanks for being here, I love you immensely if you've made it this far from the beginning or you're just arriving 💛

In the movies, they like to make those big plot twists drag out for the protagonist to let it really sink in. Or maybe it's more for the viewers. Special effects, camera angles, flashbacks, and poignant music playing - all to make seconds feel much longer than they are. 

In your experience, these plot twists are usually predictable. Of course that guy’s the villain, it was the best friend all along, he’s Luke’s father, et cetera, et cetera. You’re utterly baffled every time by a character’s lack of intuition to see it coming. You’ve booed at writing and acting and told yourself that in real life, it’s so different. 

Sure, surprises happen. Reality does not care about predictability, the fragile state of the human heart, or what’s fair. You get that. People cheat, they make mistakes, they die, they lose - and there isn’t some fade-to-black-happy-ending guarantee when they do. There isn’t a countdown on the bottom of a screen letting you know there’s still time left to make it all back from whatever happened, no assurance that it’ll all work out. 

To call something real - something happening directly to you - a plot twist, seems horribly wrong though. Is there another word for it? Those moments that manage to catch you off guard, that come without warning or a build up. Moments that hit you repeatedly like a knife to a chest in a slasher flick. Or feel like the instant demise of oxygen leaving your lungs as a door opens to space. That sucker-punch from a red glove to the jaw when you think you’ve just won the big fight. 

What do you call that shit?

Robin’s voice is an echo, muffled and distorted as if you’re deep underwater. “Oh my god, hi! Wow, you are so much prettier than Steve mentioned.”

Who is with Steve?

Robin keeps going, putting her entire foot in her mouth, oblivious to the way Steve’s eyes haven’t left yours. You only stop staring yourself, after what feels like hours, to finally take in their intertwined hands as Robin babbles. “Wait, I mean…no, see…alright, he told us you were pretty is what I’m trying to say, but like you’re even prettier…”

Who the hell is with Steve?

Her laugh cuts through the fog and your eyes finally focus on the woman attached to the sound. 

She’s pretty, just like Robin keeps saying over and over again.

Dark, shiny hair, piercing eyes that you can see - even from this distance - are a hazel to almost match his. A hypnotizing smile, curves and a confidence radiating off of her… everything you wish you were but aren’t.  

She laughs again, assuring Robin she gets it (in an infuriatingly humble way), introducing herself as Leigh Kensington.

Nancy perks up at the name when Robin gasps and shouts, “Oh my god! Nance!” Robin looks back, waving her over, “Just like Legally Blonde!” Her voice attempts to lower as she sighs to Leigh, “She loves Reese Witherspoon. It is Vivian Kensington right?” The question louder and directed at Nancy again. Robin doesn’t even take a breath to let her answer though, “Which is hilarious because Steve’s mom’s name is Vivian and you’re dating Steve and you work in legal, right? And-“

Emerald glass shatters around your feet as the bottle of beer falls from your hand, the sharp shards scatter quickly, too broken to ever be put back together. Your legs turn to lead and muscles are no longer in communication with your brain as it finally makes the connection to what you’re seeing and hearing and what that means for you. 

“Shit! Jesus, woman-“ Eddie jumps back from you as the glass skirts across the pavement further. 

Robin finally turns in your direction at the commotion, her brows knit together in worry. Face progressively getting more concerned as it tightens. Her hand lets a bean bag fall to the board with an echoing thump. “Hey, you look-“

Not waiting to hear the end of her sentence, you will your legs to work and spin, taking off in search of literally any place that isn’t there. Your feet pound against the pavement, thuds that vibrate through the rubber of your soles all the way up to your eardrums.

It’s seconds, less than a minute, and it’s as if the entire stadium - hell, your entire world - has spun upside down. Roars to your left, the rumbling of fan’s excitement from the nosebleeds down to the field mingle and harmonize with the rapid beating in your chest. As you keep running with no real destination other than away, your shoulders bump stranger’s, meeting their frowns and scoffs with whispered and rushed apologies. The familiar sting behind your eyes forms, eyelashes growing damp as you suck in a sharp breath. No more running, you need somewhere to hide. 

You’re not going to cry about this. You’re not. How could you be so stupid? How could you let this happen?

The familiar long line all women are accustomed to grabs your attention and you’re off again. Disgruntled and shouted annoyance from everyone in line echoes across the dull gray tile as you rush past them, yelling something about an emergency. You slam a turquoise door, sliding the silver latch with shaking fingers as your forehead rests on the cold material of the stall. You focus on breathing through your nose and out your mouth, this is fine. You’re fine. 

A buzz in your pocket once, twice, and then a third time, and you don’t have to pull your phone out to know they’re texts from him. Despite your better judgment, you look:

It buzzes a fourth time and you lock the phone, debating just chucking it into the toilet. 

The sleeve of your sweatshirt presses to your mouth as you clear your throat. No tears are falling for him, not today, not ever. 

You hate Steve Harrington. 

This was always the plan.

You hate Steve Harrington. 

It’s not like you were in love with the guy. 

Even as you think it, the panic turns to defense inside of yourself - scrounging around for rocks and bricks, reinforcing the wall around your heart you had started to let crumble for a boy you thought was worth it. 

“Girl, what the hell?”

A familiar pair of red converse with writing and doodles covering any space they can, mirror your feet at the base of the stall. You step back, fingers hovering over the latch, ready to tell her it’s fine. Robin isn’t an idiot though, and you’re certain that despite your denial, she’ll take one look at you and make you spill your guts. 

Her feet move closer, the familiar clink of rings meeting metal hits your ears, letting you know she’s pressing her palms to the door. Robin’s voice is softer and for one brief, horrible moment, you think she knows. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

The guilt that’s hovered over you for months like a storm cloud, releases, engulfing you completely, the promise of sunlight no longer on the horizon. Funny how just hours ago, you were thinking about Robin finally knowing, about how she couldn’t be mad, not when you were both so happy. Your gut twists. You’ve lied to your friend for so long, and for what? 

“Just, um, cramps.” The lies keep on building, pushing at the dam you’ve created to keep it all from her. You’re just buying time now, the pressure is going to reach its breaking point soon and you’re worried your friendship with Robin will be washed away when it does. 

At the mention of cramps, the disgruntled voices of those in line turn to understanding - muted solidarity in the form of tampon and painkiller offerings. 

“Robin, why don’t you grab her some food or something? Maybe a ginger ale? I’ve got stuff in my bag and we’ll meet you all out there,” another familiar voice suggests. 

“But I can-“

“That would be really great, Robs,” you interrupt her protest, pushing out the words to sound as eager as you can. 

A pair of white tennis shoes sneak between Robin’s and the stall door - like Nancy is trying to put space between the two of you, shielding her girlfriend from any more of your lies. 

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Robin starts hesitantly, “I saw this gourmet grilled cheese stand thing and-“

“No!” Fingers curling over your mouth at the severity of your interruption, you take a beat before quietly continuing, “Uh, um, actually, just some chips please?”

Your eyes close, willing the memory of your last grilled cheese away. Now is not the time to remember the man you shared it with.

How he looked at you.

How he asked you to open up, how it made you feel when he said he knew you.

How he kissed you.

You hate Steve Harrington.

The initial shock has stopped sizzling and is now a full burn, anger releasing over your frazzled nerves. What else has Steve claimed, what other things could be ruined when all you can do is relate them to him? But as quickly as the anger for him forms, you have to glance down and realize there are three fingers pointing back at yourself.

Why did you give him the opening?

“Roger that, kitten!”

You’re sure she gives a salute to your closed stall door, the red sneakers turning on their heels, her footsteps fading away. The pristine white of Nancy’s twist slightly towards the door. Her voice is quiet as she asks, “Can I come in there?”

Clearing your throat once more, you try to brush her off, “Nancy, really, I’m fi-“

“Bullshit.”

Maybe it’s the way she says the word - that a girl you don’t know all that well can see through your lies, be so sure you’re not fine. Maybe it’s because you desperately wish that you could have opened the door for Robin, to leave the football game and go drown in margaritas and dissect every little thing that led to this moment and let her tell you it was all going to be okay and boys are stupid. Or maybe, it’s the fact that you’ll never get to do that, never allowed to tell Robin, that makes you slide the latch unlocked for Nancy Wheeler.

She slips in quickly, her brown curls that are clipped in a half up-do bounce as she tilts her head quizzically at you. Her arms cross over the embroidered team logo on her sweatshirt, her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She’s got this way about looking at you that, without saying anything, makes you want to tell her everything. An energy radiates off of Nancy, a quiet curiosity bubbling under the surface - or perhaps it’s frustration. You’re being studied, a puzzle she can’t crack. 

Her lips twist as she clearly debates her words before she finally settles on a simple, “You didn’t know?”

Nancy’s question makes your stomach drop, solidifying that she not only knows about you and Steve, but that Leigh is not a new or unknown development. Your mind swirls to their argument on the beach, Nancy finding you in the bathroom - how long has Steve been seeing Leigh? 

“No,” your response comes out in a half laugh, trying to cover up any feelings that attempt to sneak out and reveal too much. The toe of your sneaker scuffs at a knick in the tile as you avoid her eyes. 

She tucks a curl behind her ear and sighs. Her face pinches into that quizzical look again, huffing, “He’s an idiot.”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. You don’t want to dwell on how she connected the dots about you and Steve or how you’ve all been lying to Robin, and you especially don’t want her pity. “Nancy, I really don’t need you to comfort me. I’m fine. Can we just go?”

At the clamp of Nancy’s mouth shutting and the purse of her lips, you regret the icy tone almost immediately. Squeezing your eyes closed, you try again. “I’m sorry, I’m just…” trailing off because where do you even start? You’re mad, hurt, confused, blind-sided, the list could go on and on and you don’t care to reach the end at this moment. You force a smile, changing the subject all together, “Don’t you want to get out there and hear how incredibly little Robin truly knows about sports?”

Nancy’s lips twitch and her arms drop to her sides with a sigh. “Right, well, if you change your mind, I like to think I’m a pretty good listener if you ever want to talk about anything.”

Sometimes, people say things to say things - like they feel as if they’re supposed to say a certain thing when a certain situation calls for it. One look at the kindness in Nancy’s eyes, the small smile on her lips, and you know that is not the case right now. She genuinely, truly means she’s there to listen if you need it. Despite lying to all of them, despite barely knowing her, and the realization has tears forming behind your eyes for an entirely different reason than earlier. 

“Thanks,” the word leaves you quietly. It feels small and inconsequential in return for a gesture you’re not even sure Nancy realizes the weight of. 

That is, until she turns from the door, her hand hovering over the latch as she faces you again. “I should mention though, that one of you is going to have to tell Robin. Sooner rather than later. And I make no promises it won’t be me, but she should hear it from one of you.”  Her tone is adamant with absolutely no room for arguing.  

Your guilt tugs you down harder now, only able to nod in response. 

Nancy’s head bobs once in return, silently agreeing to drop the subject unless you bring it up again, and she leads the way out of the bathroom. 

You hear Robin before you see them. She’s passionately arguing her case about a new musical group that Eddie is scoffing at. Leigh holds her hand up at Eddie’s argument and begins agreeing with Robin, who beams before sticking her tongue out at him. 

“Hey.”

The word freezes you and Nancy clears her throat as she makes her way towards the others. Steve pushes off from the brick wall as you turn to face him. 

You’ve seen many looks in his eyes before now. When they glint with mischief and charm as he flirts, how they soften as you tell a story. When they’ve turned darker as clothes are shed and they get to roam freely over your body, taking you in like an artwork. How they seem to melt like honey all over you when you’ve found them staring and they don’t care to appear ashamed he’s been caught. 

Now, they’re looking at you with far too much pain behind them that doesn’t seem fair. He shouldn’t get to look at you like that, he shouldn’t get to look sad. 

Steve extends his hand, a green can with beads of condensation running down the sides of it in his palm. You ignore how your fingers touch and they way his try to linger as you take the soda from him.

When you don’t say anything, he pulls the sleeves of his maroon sweater over his fingers, the toe of his boot scuffing the pavement as his brows meet in the middle. Several pieces of hair fall over his forehead that’s wrinkled with concern, letting you know he’s run his hands through it too many times to have already broken whatever products he’s put in it. 

“Can we go somewhere and talk for a sec?”

A sec. 

A quick conversation, one he just wants to get over with. To tell you what? Things you’ve already concluded from his surprise today? That he’s with someone. He wants to stay friends. He never felt the way you were starting to feel for him. This was always the plan. 

You’re not interested in anything Steve has to say any more. 

“Game’s about to start, Harrington, maybe later.” Your tone is clipped and short, smile forced. 

His brows pinch closer together as he tilts his head, the harsh line of his jaw flexing. “Really? Cause the way you ran off and that tone could have fooled me.” 

“I’m fine, I don’t know exactly what you’re hearing, but if you have something you’d like to say, by all means Steve, let’s hear it.” 

Steve closes his eyes and a long breath leaves his nose, “Please-“ his plea is cut off by her. 

“Hi, I’m Leigh. It’s so nice to meet you, Steven’s told me so much about you! I hope everything is okay? Everyone was so worried…”

She reaches forward, arms wrapping around you and your stiffening body. 

She’s fucking hugging you. 

“Uh, yeah, you…too. And yes, thanks, I’m fine. This will help.” Untangling yourself from her, you hold up the can and force another smile. “Thanks Steven.”

Leigh beams at him, grabbing his hand and you just can’t help yourself, turning to him again. “Actually, Steven was just letting me know he had something to tell me, what was so important, buddy?”

Eddie coughs as Steve narrows his eyes. Nancy claps her hands, interrupting the tension filled moment, “Alright, ready guys?”

Robin points towards the bleachers. “I’m ready for tip off! To our seats!”

Nancy gives you a look, some sort of attempt at bringing light to the moment in front of her, before she wraps her hand around Robin’s arm and starts to walk away. “It’s kick off, hun.”

Leigh laughs as Robin lets out a long ‘Oh’, Steve and her following. When Steve glances back over his shoulder at you, the full can of soda meets the trash as you turn towards Eddie. Stealing the fresh beer from his hands, the plastic cup tips to your lips, foam slowing you down as you chug. 

“Woah, woah, woah! Easy killer.” Eddie tugs on the cup, pulling it from your mouth. “From my understanding, football games are long and we need to pace ourselves. Stevie is not worth a two in the afternoon black out.”

Your mouth opens to protest and he waves his hand in front of your face, “Ah, ah, ah, you can squeeze my fingers or something whenever you feel like punching him instead.”

“Ed-“ you begin, adamant you need another drink (or twenty) to deal with the day you’re about to have. 

He begins to walk away, waving his hand dismissively, “No really, I’m a secret masochist, I’ll love it.”

Your eyes narrow, hating the way your lips fight a smile that wants to meet his mood. Despite everything, you’re grateful for him and Nancy. Unsure of how to even attempt to show them how much you appreciate them. Especially after Nancy’s reminder that someone was going to have to tell Robin eventually, and these two had been lying for the both of you, keeping your secret when they didn’t need to.  

Up ahead, you hear Leigh laugh, catching her head thrown back and his smile, the squeeze of her fingers on his bicep and you gulp. Your feet plant to the ground harder and you tug on Eddie’s wrist. As the group rounds the corner, heading to their seats, he turns to look at you with his eyebrows raised. 

Eddie must see something in your expression because he mumbles, “Such a fucking idiot,” before he turns to the nearest vendor. “Yeah, hi, I need four very large beers. And I’m talking take your idea of large and triple it.”

This time the smile wins just a little. It’s quick to fall though, when Eddie taps his cup to one he hands you and proclaims, “If you can’t date ‘em, drink about ‘em. To the losers who break our hearts.”

“I-“ ready to tell him that’s not it at all, but his look makes your mouth close. 

You don’t say it out loud, you don’t dare to speak it into existence - Eddie is wrong. You’re not broken hearted, you’re just mad Steve didn’t tell you. You’re mad that clearly they all knew, so why not you? That’s all. 

Your cup taps Eddie’s again and you let the beer wash away the bitter taste in your mouth. 

Screw Steve Harrington. 

As the third cup of cheap beer hits your lips, you risk a glance down the line of your row again. Immediately regretting it like you have every other time. Leigh pushes the loose strand of hair on his forehead back and your eyes return to the field quickly.  You’re sure your skin is turning just as green as the artificial turf, the beer making it a little easier to admit to yourself that you are jealous of the intimate moment. Your gut twinges slightly at the remembrance of only a few short weeks ago when you purposely tried to make him feel what you are now. You have no right to be mad at him. 

The players blur as they move in an intricate dance only they know before anyone else. You’ve always liked sports, but today has been a good reminder as to why. Players and teams practice and memorize skills and plays that work - but there’s no guarantees. They need intuition to know when to use certain moves, to have a good defense and follow their gut and deviate from the plan when they think the other team is pulling a new play. 

It’s all predictable, but not at the same time. Risks and playing with the odds, yet revolving around something incredibly low stakes like a ball in a net or getting past a painted line on fake grass. It’s also realistic. Sure, there are once in a lifetime passes like the Minnesota Miracle or a ball sinking into the net from a distance unfathomable as the final buzzer sounds - but most of the time, it’s just about who’s the best that day. Who ran faster, who slipped through someone else’s mistake. You like that the players can pour themselves into it and it’s still not going to be a win every time, because it’s just not sometimes, and that’s okay. They lose and they get up and they do it all over again. They also know that if they win, it doesn’t mean they’ll keep doing so without hard work and dedication. 

Poetic to your circumstances, really. Steve was just better at the game, and you knew the eventual outcome of your deal with each other. So really, is there anyone to be mad at here other than yourself?

Steve’s laugh echoes down the line and your jaw clenches, because maybe Steve was better at the game, but he certainly wasn’t playing fair. 

Yeah, you can still be mad at him. 

Your eye twitches as Robin and Leigh gush over horror movies they both love, a breath you didn’t know you were holding leaving you when they head off together for a bathroom break. 

His eyes actually burn your cheek from the way they stare down the row in your direction now that he doesn’t have her to focus on. Clear to you now that all you are - all you ever were - is an afterthought, something to pass the time. 

Refusing to look his way, you try not to feel bad about the sigh you hear all the way from five seats away. 

Oh, I’m sorry Steve, are you mildly upset that I don’t want to talk to you after you got me to open up just to blindside me?

You’re not surprised when a dark denim leg presses against your shoulder, his large brown boots landing on the open seat next to you as he climbs over. As he sits, you stand, quickly making your way down the row, occupying Robin’s empty seat on the other side of Nancy. 

Steve stands, hands on his hips as he frowns. “Are you being fucking serious right now?”

Turning your attention back to the field, your knees bounce with restless energy, anticipating his next move. An intricate dance just like the players below you. 

Steve climbs back over, and you can’t help but relish a little in his groan and mumbled comment about being twelve under his breath as you shimmy between Eddie and Nancy, shoving Eddie into your old seat, ignoring his grunted protests. Unable to help yourself, you smirk into your beer, watching out of the corner of your eye as Steve’s jaw clenches. Making him irritated seems only fair under the circumstances. 

You’re ready for his next attempt, sure he’s going to make Nancy swap with him or come up behind you. So when he puts his foot on the chair, you move to the edge of your seat. Steve pounces, tumbling over the back of the row in front of you instead. He’s breathless, cheeks flushed pink as his hands land on the armrests of your spot. His arms cage you in as he leans over the back of the blue metal chairs, ignoring the grumbled complaints of those he bumped out of the way in his pursuit. 

His face fills your vision, freckles that dot the sharp slope of his nose, the light scruff he’s let grow more highlight’s the angle of his jaw and the curve of his cupid’s bow. For a second you forget you’re supposed to be mad when you finally meet his eyes. They steal all of your attention and you hate that you can’t look away. 

You hate him. 

“We’re gonna talk,” he huffs, catching his breath.

“You should hit the gym.” A sad attempt to change the subject, to hurt him a little. Your eyes flit down to his lips in a mistake. You can’t look at his eyes again so you settle on his cheek, trying your best to ignore the endearing pair of freckles. 

“I know you’re mad, and if you just let me explain, I-“

“You’ve had plenty of chances to explain before today Steve!”

The hush of the people around you makes your eyes close, taking a moment for a calming breath. Eddie coughs into his fist on your left and squints at the field, Nancy scratches the denim on her thigh and clears her throat on your right. 

Steve’s eyes narrow, his top lip pulls in, tongue licking over it before he lets out a cold laugh, “Jesus Christ, what was I supposed to do, tell you while we’re fucking? Or how about after you told me about your parents? I-“

The beer in your hand splashes across his face as he coughs and sputters. His fingers wipe over his eyes and you stand, pushing past the gawking crowd and down the stairs. 

Nancy and Eddie were right.

Steve Harrington is a fucking idiot. 

You’d rode the train past your stop twice, both your airpods in and a look about you that dared anyone to even glance at you the wrong way. At the sight of the sun sinking past the horizon, you bite down on your cheek, willing your gut to stop twisting as it attaches a thing you love to him. Steve Harrington was not going to ruin sunsets for you, you draw the line at fucking grilled cheese and football. 

The flick of your entryway lamp illuminates your place, the lyrics “You call me strawberry wine…” drift out of your airpod as you remove it from your ear. You’ve had enough of the universe’s poetic irony today. Tossing the case and your keys into their dish as you turn the lock on your door. 

The sunset is the least of your worries, what didn’t he touch here? Your door, the coffee mugs he proclaimed as his favorites, the counter, the fire escape. You reach for the bottle of wine on top of your fridge as you click on the Instagram notification. 

A caption reading ‘We just hope both teams had fun🏈 ’ below her photos. A selfie first, Robin’s bashful face filling the screen, getting her cheek kissed by Nancy. Another, this one with you - she must have caught it during bags - a shot of Eddie and you mid-laugh. The last one clearly taken after you left, the group in the stands, Steve’s sweater gone, replaced by a dry light blue t-shirt. You click your phone locked again and drink straight out of the bottle as you walk down the dark hallway. Old wood floors creak underneath your feet as you make your way to your room. 

Fuck, your room.

It’s a moment that perhaps you should be crying during, do normal people cry when boys like Steve Harrington blindside them? When a man you start to break down for was spooning you fully clothed at the start of the day and getting a beer tossed in his face by the end, shouldn’t some sort of despair come out in the form of dramatic tears? Nothing leaves your eyes though as you strip the sheets off of your bed. Steve’s not worth any. No guy is. 

Tugging harshly at the last corner of the fitted sheet with a frustrated grunt, you throw all of your bedding out into the hallway and slam the door. The flutter of paper on your desk as the door swings closed catches your eye, your chest tightens at the realization of what you left there. 

The glow from the setting sun outside washes over the photobooth strip as you walk towards it, lit up in a perfect square of tangerine. Your thumb brushes the last photo as you pick it up, wondering how it all went so wrong, so fast.

It rips easier than maybe it should have, diminished to something small and as broken as you can make it before you toss it in the trash in your bathroom. Your eyes linger on the shower curtain and then your shampoo. The wine bottle presses to your lips again as you make a mental note, adding those to your list of things to replace tomorrow as well. 

Your phone pings again, the group chat you’ve just been recently added to: 

Your thumb presses the lock after turning it to silent, the dots from Robin appearing letting you know you don’t want to keep reading all of them talk. Your bare mattress stares at you as you drink more wine. They’re home. Together? In his apartment? In his bed?

It doesn’t matter, good for Steve, hope he’s happy. Good fucking riddance, right? 

Opening your bedroom door, you sigh at the pile of bedding, stepping over it and making your way to your couch. Your protective wall is still standing, your armor dusted off and polished once more. It’s time to pick up the pieces, replace what’s broken, and move on from what others like Eddie may want to tell you is heartbreak, but you would argue is just called life. 

And life is pain, and anyone who tells you differently is selling something, right?

Halloween season used to be one of your favorite times of the year. Parties and opportunities to dress up like someone you’re not. Evenings to be a character in a story far different than the one you were living, with lines already planned for you to say, an ending meticulously thought out. Now, however, the red fabric that clings to your body serves only as a reminder of how your life is the furthest thing from picture perfect. 

Originally, when you found the dress thrifting with Robin, it had felt a little like fate. A tiny and gentle nudge from the universe in the right direction - a sign. Now, you’re sure it was actually some twisted joke. Someone, somewhere out there, is laughing it up as they play with you like a plastic doll. Because even meeting Robin, a thing you were positive was divine intervention, is now wrapped around him. Some evil force at work as they had you meet her, then him, while they cackled and said ‘Ha! Watch this! This one’ll be good.’

Your costume now a cruel oxymoron - a girl who resents love dressed as someone who cherishes it. Pretending to be a girl who loved a boy endlessly, so devoted, she claimed to die the day he supposedly did. A girl who-

“You know,” a finger pokes your cheek, “For a princess, your sour look is not very princessey.”

Robin raises her eyebrows at you, hands on her hips, orange fabric of her skirt swishing around her thighs as she turns. Her sparkly red turtleneck and shine of her black mary jane’s glint in the strobe lights that are making sweeps over the room. 

You try to smile, if only for the fact that Nancy actually got her to wear the costume. Crossing your arms, your eyebrows raise as you respond, “Well, you must be a detective or something, Miss Dinkley.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but fights a smile, fiddling with the magnifying glass in her hands. When you don’t say anything more though, her big blue eyes soften as they glance up at you through fake glasses, and she reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. “Seriously, is everything okay? I feel like…” she trails off, shaking her head, at a loss for words it seems - an unusual thing for her. 

The line for the bar shifts forward and you nod, that terrible feeling still sits heavy in your stomach like a bag of rocks - you’re weighed down, to be left at the bottom of your guilt to drown. “I’m fine, Robin,” it slips out when you repeat the words quieter, because maybe if you say it enough times it’ll come true, “I’ll be fine.”

“Aha!” She points a finger in your face, “You just said be fine, implying something is in fact not fine currently and-“

“Robin,” your laugh is unconvincing even to yourself. You rub your temples as you face the bar. “Quit being a meddling kid.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out with a little more bite than you intend and her mouth shuts quickly. It’s silent for only a few seconds though, before her shoulder bumps yours. Her question quiet, “How long were you waiting to use that one?”

Your head rests against her shoulder in a silent ‘I’m sorry’, hers against yours in an equally unspoken ‘You’re forgiven’ as you sigh. “Oh, just since you put on the costume.”

She hums and then lifts her head and faces you. “Last thing, and then I’ll drop it, I swear.”

Facing her, you swallow harshly as she stares at you with eyes that feel like they can see everything. Even more so when she says, “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but you’re important to me. And if there’s something going on…” she trails off before smiling sadly and continuing, “You can tell me, okay? You can open up and I’ll probably talk too much and offer too much advice, but comes from a place of love and-“

You hug her tightly, Robin wraps her arms around you just as fiercely as her sentence breaks off. Your response sticks in your throat, an alarming hope of ‘what if I told her?’ rising in you that you need to squash down quickly. She can’t know, despite Nancy’s warning that she should. If she did find out, you’re not certain she’d be on your side anyways. It was all your idea to lie to her, it’s selfish of you to ask her to comfort you in this situation. 

Especially after you made her practically drag you to the party tonight. Eventually giving into her puppy dog pout (for a girl who easily falls for it, she has a pretty convincing one herself), your guilt all but consuming you at this point. You could put on a smile, a brave face - you could pretend to be someone you’re not, just tonight, and just for her. 

You haven’t seen Steve since the football game, ignoring any sort of notification related to him in your phone. But in the process of trying to remove anything Steve from your life, you’ve removed Robin from it as well - a packaged deal. Each ignored message, each call you watched ring and left unanswered, every dodged lunch, were just more punches to your gut, pieces of your heart ripped off and stepped on. You missed Robin so much, one night out, forced to make small talk with him, was a fair price to pay for the deceit and lies - if it meant you got to see her again. 

When you break away from the hug, it’s your turn for the bar finally. Both of your eyes widen at the sight of the specialty drink menu. ‘Bootini’s’ and things like a cocktail called ‘Vampire Kiss’ making both of you frown at the dollar signs next to each. You’re suddenly grateful for the tequila that’s still filling your stomach with warmth and Eddie’s insistence on taking the shots before leaving Nancy’s. 

“They do have like, a regular bar, right? Cause your girl is on a budget and…” your sentence trails off as Robin smiles at something, someone, over your shoulder. 

“Well, there isn’t much money in revenge.” 

His voice alone is enough to make your shoulders go up, to cause your stomach to twist, but when you spin to see him, you know it’s not the tequila making the room feel fuzzy and your stomach heave.  

He can’t be serious. 

He is not wearing that. He’s not.

“Come up with that all by yourself, did ya?” Robin pats Steve’s shoulder and before he can reply she’s holding up a hand in front of his face, letting out a low whistle. “Hoolly cooww.” She motions for Leigh to spin who blushes and laughs, but obliges as Robin keeps going, “Miss Morticia Addams, if you wanna ditch Dingus here…”

Steve puts his hands on his hips, an edge to his tone you may have found amusing if it wasn’t because of his best friend hitting on his girlfriend. “Seriously, Robin? Are you being serious right now? Where’s Nancy?”

Robin rolls her eyes at him and Leigh laughs more, squeezing his shoulder. “I should be the one saying holy cow! Look at you two! Y/N, where did you find that dress?”

God, you hate that she’s nice. 

Her dress is phenomenal. The low cut, black fabric that hugs her curves and drapes over her flattering in a way it simply wouldn’t be on you. She’s got the perfect gauzy sleeves, the rings and red lips and nails, she’s even got a rose and scissors in her hand. 

You hate that you want to like this girl. 

Your smile is tense, “I, uh-“

The bartender clears her throat and you point, saved by the bell, turning your back on the group. A name of one of the drinks leaves your lips and you’re vaguely aware of Robin saying something about finding the others and to not order her something with whiskey in it because he remembers what happened last time.  

The deep breathing through your nose is a sad attempt for composure when you get a longer chance to take Steve in. Even with the dim bar lighting, the mirror behind the shelf of various liquors gives you a perfect view. You’re not sure whether you want to kiss him or punch him. 

Steve’s dressed in all black, head to toe, the v-cut of the flowy top revealing quite a bit of his dark chest hair and you swallow, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter. You always hated how Buttercup couldn’t tell it was Westley, in fact, you hate it in any movie when a character has a mask over their eyes and suddenly everyone is unable to tell who they’re dancing with, hell who’s kissing them. If anything, the black band of fabric across his face only makes the lips below and the eyes underneath it stand out more  - the curve of his top lip you can still feel under your tongue. The colors of his iris’ so distinctly Steve that you’d recognize anywhere - instead of a sea after a storm, a forest. He really went all out, even his scruff shaved to have a thin mustache, he’s wearing the black cap pushing down his normally styled and perfectly messy hair, and when you glance down, you’re not surprised to find matching pirate boots standing next to you. 

His hand reaches across your chest with a matte black card - that kind that isn’t glossy like a normal one and you quickly hand the bartender crumpled bills instead, earning a sigh from Steve. 

“You’re not seriously wearing that.” Weeks of no contact, and you hate that your voice doesn’t come out strong and confident when that’s all you can think to say. 

Risking a glance his way, you find his eyes are already on you, his jaw clenching before he asks, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Your inhale is sharp - how can he be this cruel? How can he act like that costume means nothing, or like the last few weeks weren’t awful? Weren’t they awful for him? To go from talking almost every day to nothing?

“Are you fucking kidding me Steve? After everything, after what you said at the game, you’re really gonna stick to not admitting what this is?” Gesturing up and down his body as you ask. He truly can’t be this much of an asshole, he can’t-

Steve shrugs. “I’m just a pirate. I don’t know what your problem is.”

Turns out, he can be. 

Before you can even start to formulate something nasty to respond with, a person walking by shouts out, “Oh nice! As you wish, dudes!” Clapping Steve’s shoulder as they waltz past like it’s the 90’s and people still say ‘dudes’ to strangers. 

Dude did just make your point for you at least, though. 

You hold your hands out to the retreating body in a show of ‘see?’ and then childishly flip Steve off. “The case rests, your honor.”

“It was last minute and I didn’t-”

His weak and pathetic attempts at excuses fall on deaf ears as you push your way through the crowd towards the beacon of red neon announcing an exit for this god forsaken bar. 

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, but you don’t think it is - screw Steve Harrington for ruining a fucking bar, for ruining the word dude, for ruining The Princess Bride, for ruining everything. 

Screw everything.

The sting of rejection and the quiet anger that’s been sitting at a simmer since the game rests over an open flame now. Your insides quickly grow to a rapid boil. Apathy and anger rage for the top spot as everything you’ve tried to keep under a lid steams, ready to overflow and burn. 

Ignoring the calls of your name, something still makes it past your seeing red rampage of an exit, connecting the voices, aware of Steve saying something to someone, but you can’t really find it in yourself to care who or what. The cool air hits your body as you push outside, stinging against the damp skin under your eyes. 

A hand on your shoulder makes you jump, his voice quiet, “Y/N-“

“Don’t touch me, Steve,” you warn, taking a step backwards after yanking your shoulder from under his fingers. Your hands balled into fists as you spin to look at him. 

He runs a hand through his now uncovered hair, face fully revealed without a mask too. He watches you closely, his voice gentle, as he raises his hands up, “Look, I just want to make sure you’re okay. You can-“

“You don’t get to check on me anymore, or worry about if I’m okay, you’re not my boyfriend,” your tone scathing. 

Steve’s gaze bounces over your face, his jaw hardens as the vein in his forehead dances. Somehow his voice is soft despite the bite to it, “Yeah, I know. You’ve made that perfectly clear. But I am your friend, and I -“

Your laugh causes him to break off. You gesture inside and then to his outfit. “Friends don’t treat each other this way, Steve.”

He drags his palms down his face, his own disbelieving laugh echoes against the brick of the bar. “Are you kidding me? I have been nothing but your friend! I am sorry about what I said at the game, but really, when was I supposed to tell you? And this costume…I…” He shakes his head, licking his lips as he takes a step closer to you. “Look. I should have told you about Leigh sooner, but if you would have given me five minutes to-“

“Five minutes. A sec.” Your hands move in quotation marks as you recall the conversation he wanted to have at the game too. Your face pinches into an irritated scowl as your hands drop in front of you, palms open. Exasperation laced around your words, “What the fuck is there to explain anymore, Harrington? You’re dating her and you didn’t tell me - the story is over.”

Steve stands just in front of you now, that gravitational pull at silent work again, even weeks apart unable to switch it off. Your bodies move with each other, your voices rise in sync, your chests fall with shared breaths. A different sidewalk, that same feeling of flight or fight, but you know that it’s too late this time. Even turning the heat off isn’t going to fix the damage that’s been done. 

Another laugh huffs out of him, “You’d like that, right? That’s it, case closed. Y/N calls the shots and decides everything.” He shakes his head and points to his chest, towering over you, “This is all such total bullshit. You’re mad at me for something that was your idea, because you didn’t get to decide when it was over.” He shrugs, waves of nonchalance carrying his words through the air to hit you hard like a slap across the face. “You’re a spoiled brat who’s mad because you’ve lost a toy.”

Any maturity you attempted to have towards the situation has evaporated. 

“Me? The spoiled brat? Excuse me, Mr. 50th floor and Daddy’s Credit Card. Take a look in the fucking mirror, Steve!”

Your chests almost touch with each ragged breath as his hands run through his hair and he pulls. A frustrated groan at your words, while the volume at which his come out becomes louder, “I’ve got plenty of fucking mirrors, why don’t you take your own advice! You’re a hypocrite. You can’t even admit it to yourself, can you? Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you didn’t ask me for this arrangement. Tell me that the words ‘no feelings’ and ‘just sex’ didn’t leave your mouth. Tell me what you have to be upset with me for then!”

Your chin quivers at his words, the truth of them daring the tears behind your eyes to fall. 

Steve gulps, his fingers dance on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. His eyes shine with his own held back tears, like he regrets how he said it but not that he did. His voice quiets as he pleads, “Tell me.”

He doesn’t get to look at you like that. He doesn’t get to say those things to you and then look at you like that.

What happened last time Steve Harrington asked you to open up and tell him something?

Tequila lingers on your tongue, aiding in the formation of words that are meant to sting - you want to hurt him like he’s hurting you. You bite down on your jaw, the anger and pain ready to fall down your cheeks as you remove yourself from him. 

Your hands press against his chest, “You’re bullshit. This is bullshit.” A small shove as you practically growl the next words, “I’m a hypocrite? How about the fucking bathroom at that party where you told me I couldn’t have it both ways, but then you’re dating someone while getting all jealous?” Another shove, this time his fingers brush your wrists, a halfhearted attempt to get you to stop. “Begging me to open up to you? For fucking what, Steve? This costume? You…” you close your eyes and let your hands drop, letting the words do all the work now, “You’re a liar. You’re an asshole.”

Steve’s head ducks down, his fingers brushing his nose before he rolls his shoulders back. When his mouth opens, you step backwards, shaking your head. 

“Lose my number, Steve.”

His eyes roam over your face, waiting, searching. He only nods once and takes his own step back. 

“As you wish.”

Your breath sucks in sharply, a sob you’ve been holding in since the moment he said the words ‘Sorry we’re late’ threatens to finally crack out of your chest. You wish you had another beer to toss in his face for using those words at this moment. 

It’s not said with the kind of reverence of the movie. There isn’t a narrator to let you know what he actually means by the phrase. But you know. It’s not an ‘I love you’, not like this. No, it’s merely a promise to do as you asked. 

All you can do is turn away from him, hold your chin up and roll your shoulders back as you walk down the sidewalk.

There is no hopeful glance back over your shoulder, no loud smacks against the pavement made by his feet chasing after you like in the movies. 

Like you said, your story is over. 

'One New Voicemail':

“Hey, just thought I’d try ya, I know you’ve been busy. Um, well, Steve and I are heading to the Rocky Horror show tonight and I know he’d love someone to aid in his teasing of how totally into it I get. Right Steve?” 

[muffled sounds of movement and whispers]

“Hm…yeah, I uh-” 

[a clear smack to his shoulder]

“It feels like forever since I’ve seen you or we’ve done something just the three of us! Anyways, call me back, text me…beep me if you wanna reach me…ugh, sorry that was so lame, okay bye. Love you!”

If you were surviving before them, you could survive without them. It seemed simple enough. 

You’ve never stayed in one place for long, friendships like Robin, Eddie, and Nancy had been left before. Friendships that were never given a chance to really even start before you were gone. The promise of any relationships packed into boxes and off to the next city. Addresses and phone numbers and notes of ‘Keep in touch’ left to collect dust until forgotten about completely. 

So, it should have been easy to continue to ignore their messages. To ignore the holes in your chest, to ignore the want to call or text one of them when something happened as mundane as a stranger calling another stranger ‘toots’ in your mailroom. If Steve touched things in your life and now caused them to wilt in your memories and sights, the other three made things bloom. They breathed life into you again. 

You weren’t going to let Steve Harrington take something like that away from you. 

Which is why you found yourself curled into your father’s sweater for courage, walking down the sidewalk towards the cemetery with a promise to meet them there.

Orange and brown leaves crinkle underfoot before they blow across the pavement. The moon is full, the sky that deep indigo it seems to only get this time of year. Both a perfect backdrop for the bare trees that dance in the wind and the blocks lined with homes with glowing porch lights. Orange buckets overflowing with candy rush past in a blur, laughter and squeals of children echoing down the street past you. 

As you make it to the black iron fence, your eyes roam the blankets and patrons occupying them in the park next to the cemetery. Apple and brown sugar meet your nose and you take special note of the mini donut booth attached to the scent. Which is where you see Eddie, shoving two in his mouth and rolling his eyes at Nancy. He spots you and grins around the sugary dough, nudging the shoulder to his right and nodding in your direction. 

Robin spins and you see her shoulders visibly fall and a grin spread across her face. She says something to the other two who head in the direction of the blankets and she races through the crowd. Muffled oofs and sorry’s meet your ears as she dodges and spins around people balancing concessions.

You reach the front of the line, a sandwich board proudly displaying the original ‘The Evil Dead’ poster sits next to an older woman on a stool at the gate. She smiles at you, holding a flashlight towards the ground. “Ticket, dear?”

“Rose! Rose, she's my girl!” Robin shouts, breathless as she makes it to the gate. 

“Oh!” The elderly woman smiles wider, ushering you through, “Have fun ladies! Tell Edward I’m still waiting for my hot chocolate.”

“Yes ma’am.” Robin salutes with two fingers and then grabs you in a hug. “Jesus Christ I missed you!” Her voice is loud and she shrinks in your arms as the lights of the booths go out and the crowd surrounding you turns and shushes. Her voice shifts to a whisper, “Whoops. Come on, we’re towards the back and we still have all the commercials to chat without too many nasty looks.”

Robin holds your arm in a death grip, a silent promise to not let you out of her sights and clutches so long as she can help it again it seems. When you reach the blanket, Nancy and Eddie’s conversation stops abruptly and their smiles seem painted on as they look up at you. 

It’s one of those moments, those silences that are too stilted and too abrupt, letting you know exactly what was being discussed just seconds before. You wave a little, ears burning since you have no doubt about who the subject of their interrupted conversation was. 

“Eddie,” Robin begins, huffing as she falls to their cushy spot with extra blankets, trays of drinks, and several bags of sweets littered around them, “Rose is fiending.”

“Oh shit!” Ducking and wincing when someone turns around and glares at him. He grabs one of the cups with a big R on top and squeezes your shoulder as he stands, “Be right back! Glad you came!”

Sitting as Robin pats his now empty spot next to her. “Can I get you anything? We have cocoa and cider, donuts, popcorn, candy corn, caramel corn, basically any kind of corn and-“

“Robin,” Nancy hums, almost singing, as she sips from a cup. She squeezes her fingers. “You have to actually take a breath to let her respond.” 

“I’ll never say no to a cider or donut,” you point to the items with a laugh. 

Robin grabs them and hands it to you. She whacks pillows and squishes around, rolling and frowning and readjusting. 

Eventually, she sighs, content, and grabs Nancy’s hand and then a donut from your bag and knocks it against one in your fingers before taking a bite. 

“Happy?” Nancy asks as Robin hums around the sugar she licks off of her lips. 

“You know it. Only thing that would make tonight better is…” she trails off with a grin.

You take her words as a warning to look around, wondering where he is and mentally preparing yourself. 

Nothing could have prepared you though. 

It happens quickly and yet not at the same time. 

Your head turns to see them walking hand in hand. A swing of fingers as they walk past twinkling lights, the breeze blowing her hair perfectly.  

Nancy says “Shit,” under her breath as she sits up. When you turn to look at her with a frown, she opens her mouth but no words come out. 

The movie starts.

Eddie slows down as he makes his way back towards the blanket, looking at Nancy then over his shoulder then back at you. 

Robin waves her arm too much and you turn to look again, trying to figure out what you’re not getting.

Steve’s eyes meet yours and he stops, tripping over his own shoe.

Leigh waves and something sparkles on her hand in the moonlight.

Robin beams and squeezes your wrist. “Oh my gosh I can’t believe they actually came! I figured with the whole engagement thing they wouldn’t. Now it’s all officially perfect. All my favorite people together on my favorite day.”

Plot twist: Steve Harrington is engaged. 

WCIL taglist:

@loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii

#steve harrington #modern!steve harrington #modern!steve #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington series #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #we'll call it love

[bitchthefuck1]

sorry if you've talked about this before but i really don't like when people are like 'there's no way kaz (or the other crows) is a teenager i had to imagine them as 30yr olds' idk if its because i read the books when i was 15 myself but even now (at 23) i don't really get the argument. i'd love to hear your thoughts on it

I made like a million and one posts about this on my old account back when season 1 came out, but basically yeah. I've always seen them as teenagers, and I think the whole "Leigh only made them teens for it to fit the YA market, they're really in their 20s" is kinda bullshit. Like, so much of where the characters are emotionally is directly tied to their ages and the story and their arcs just wouldn't work the same way of they were older. People will point out ways that they're emotionally immature or inconsistent or arrogant or don't seem to know what they want/how to be in a relationship and it's like. yeah that's cuz they're teenagers. That's not a flaw in the writing that's what being a teenager is like.

It also explains their almost absurd level of "yeah, we can do that" about genuinely impossible-seeming things. That kind of "I'll fight God idgaf" energy is really characteristic of teenagers to me because you're still figuring shit out and therefore don't have a set idea of what things are or are not considered "possible", so you're way more open to big risks and wild ideas.

And I know people always point to their skill levels as what makes this unbelievable, but these are a bunch of people who have been forced to develop a specific skill set at an absurdly young age basically at the expense of anything else. Kids and young people can really master complex things at a level most adults don't have, and are in some ways more suited to it, the problem is that it's almost always at the expense of a lot of other important developmental experiences and needs. We as a society generally agree that putting kids in the position where they specialize really intensely at a young age and neglect everything else is bad, so we don't generally do that, but these are kids who were put in that position on a basically life-or-death level and managed to survive.

That's in part why I'd really like to see soc 3 at some point down the line. Not just because I want more content or whatever, but because once you leave your teens and hit your 20's you're forced to confront all the deficiencies in your childhood and how things that you thought are just in the past are very much lingering and becoming impossible to ignore. It's a really intense place to be in emotionally and it's something I think it would be really fascinating to watch the crows have to navigate, on top of the fact that a lot of them have just achieved lifelong dreams and goals and now have to figure out what they want to do next.

Anyway, that went way longer than I thought it would, so TL;DR the crows are absolutely teenagers and the story is better that way.

#not sure you were looking for a whole essay but here we are #six of crows #soc #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #matthias helvar #nina zenik #kanej #wesper #helnik #crooked kingdom #asks

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, April 21, 2024

My posts

Initially I wrote, “I ran my mouth about the Watcher streaming/paywall situation because I make bad decisions,” but I think the post has actually gone over well? In short, I want to see them succeed but I am also deeply fuckin’ baffled. I so desperately want the tea about what was really going on behind all this, and how the guys are reacting to it now, and I really hope they can turn this around somehow. 

Side note, Friday was CHAOTIC. 

Reblogs of interest

The Hot Vintage Lady Polls are escalating in round four. We got to a point where I posted propaganda for Ava Gardner AND Dorothy Dandridge in their matchup. Probably the biggest scandal of round three was Vivien Leigh getting knocked out, but she’s now High Chancellor of the Shadow Realm. The most contentious matchup this time seems to be Judy Garland vs Natalie Wood, which is nearly 50/50 as of this writing. But keep your eye on Hedy Lamarr, who may have Mifune Sweep energy. 

(I think I love these brackets for the same reason I love Dracula Daily: it’s delightful that thousands of people on Tumblr actually have deeply-held opinions about things from many decades ago, and if they didn’t before, they do now.)

(“I’m Katharine Hepburn, and this is Jackass!”)

--

Happy Bread Day (Observed)!

Hozier Watch 2024: “Why Would You Be Loved” has arrived on the Wasteland, Baby! special edition. I like this post about how that song is in conversation with “No Plan,” one of my favorites. (I wrote about “Movement” a while ago, but I could have fully inflicted an essay on you about how “No Plan” pulled me out of my six years of hiding from the internet. Anyway, it’s a great album from a few years ago, check it out if you haven’t.) 

Generally I keep my mouth shut about Taylor Swift, but the new songs sure have some lyrics. I love Florence Welch, but I’m scared.

You’ve heard of spoon theory, now check out spell slot theory

“You’re either frolicking in this field with me, or...” is funny, but then you get to the reblog.

What if we lay in this field together and held feet

A deep breach of etiquette with a little dog named Gucio

A story about statue vandalism with a delightful twist

You gotta fight mint with mint (like I can bring in my lemon balm, but at what cost?) 

I saw this post about feeding wild skeletons on Pinterest and I loved it so much that I tracked down the original. 

Once again, Holy Shit, Two Cakes theory

Remember the haunted house I grew up in? Yeah, it had a carpeted bathroom like this.

“gonna start formatting my posts like fics on ff.net circa 2008” will do you exactly the psychic damage you’re imagining 

The Round Table attempts to use Zoom

Video

Lil Nas X covers “Jolene,” Dolly Parton loves it, and @oscar-wet-and-wilde has further Black Country recs

A big loud steppy

“He’s retrieving”

Crispy meows

Watching this angel of a Doberman get a full spa treatment is also self care

AND YOU DARE SAY NO MORE TREATS??!?

The sacred texts

I don’t like thing, now with artist credit 

Personal tags of the week

I love when I can use a really niche, specific tag, and this week, it’s mouth perfect size for meme, with a little shaped on the side.

#weekend links #odds and ends #linkspam

[straykidsholicleigh]

hi everyone!! just wanted to say that I'll be leaving tumblr soon bcs I tried again for jyp and got accepted! so many of my wips may not be released but I will try my best to write some of the asks that got sent in. I'll miss u all sm 🤧 thank u for being with me on the journey ahead! most probably will delete on the 1st of April but I will be creating a new blog so all my moots I will dm u once that's open. my ☘️, 🪭 & 🌸 anons I am so sorry but u can no longer send me requests 😭 I thank u tho for the amazing ideas!

I will send a goodbye post on the 31st of this month before I delete my acc. so I suggest all the fics u guys like u all better copy paste that shit bcs it'll all be gone lol. just giving u guys a heads up. love ya!

- xoxo, leigh.

#leigh rambles

[sad-outsider]

Why I didn't like the ending of R&R. Final part

The final part of my analysis and the main reason for my indignation is that the ending of R&R destroyed the entire arc of Alina’s development as a heroine.

Where does the trilogy begin? Alina is powerless, sick, lonely, not finding a place in this world and the only close person is Mal (although this is a controversial statement). Then, according to the classics, she turns out to be the chosen one, she finds allies, enemies and a great goal. In a good story, the main character is faced with difficult choices more than once over the course of the story, and each such choice changes him; each action has consequences and, as a rule, irreparable ones.

What do we see in the ending of TGT? Alina is back where she started, alone and powerless again, while constantly remembering the brightest period of her life, when she was a Grisha, and Mal, whom she sacrificed for the sake of victory, was ✨magically resurrected✨ simply because it was necessary, because Mal her one “true love”, her ray of sunshine and she doesn’t need anyone else, ugh.

What is the message of this story? Never grow up? Live in childhood? Shift responsibility to others, because you don’t want to do something yourself? Maintain the status quo, because you don't care about other people's problems? if you are oppressed, be patient and hope for a miracle? Do not under any circumstances dare to resist oppression, otherwise you are a villain and deserve to die? Excellent moral, Leigh Bardugo… for some immature people.

This ending is tantamount to what if Harry Potter had not destroyed the Horcruxes at the end, become a Muggle, allowing some strangers to kill Voldemort, and then got a job at McDonald's to provide for the Dursleys and returned to live in the closet, nostalgic for Hogwarts, and the author would have said in all seriousness , that everything was originally planned this way and would present it as a happy ending, and not as a tragedy. Do you think many fans of the franchise would be happy with such a “happy ending”? I don't think so.

For those who say that the ending should not always be standard and predictable, I agree, but you just need to be able to write a non-standard ending, otherwise it is better to follow the well-trodden path. After all, the whole point of surprises is that they should please. If someone shits under my door, I will certainly be surprised, but will I be happy?

And for those especially gifted who believe that I have no right to judge the author, because “this is her world, she sees it that way, and if you don’t like it, don’t read it.” I wouldn't say a word if this were fan fiction. But this is a commercial product, I bought these books with money, hoping to read an exciting story with a dark romance (yes, I am one of those people who started reading and finished it mainly because of Darklina), but instead I got wasted potential and disappointment. And people usually get angry when they aren't sold what they want.

#grishaverse #shadow and bone #ruin and rising #anti leigh bardugo #alina starkov #anti mal oretsev #anti malina #darklina

[multifandumbmeg]

Internet I need a new hyperfixation please send in your recs for shows with male love interests that are emo asf, preferaby geared toward adults in terms of tone, not necessarily content.

Some examples of My Type™ are:

Stiles from Teen Wolf (also very partial to Derek, obviously)

Leo Fitz from Agents of Shield

Diego Hargreeves from The Umbrella Academy

Anthony Lockwood of Lockwood and Co

Peter Bishop from Fringe

Edmund Pevensie from the Chronicles of Narnia

Prince Zuko from ATLA

Zach Goode from the Gallagher Girls book series

Kaz Brekker and Darlington from Leigh Bardugo's Six of Crows and Ninth House respectively (this woman writes for ME PERSONALLY)

Bucky Barnes and Druig from all of the Marvel shit

Animes also welcome, examples include:

Roy Mustang of FMA

Tomoya from Clannad

Tamaki (and Kyoya? Dont look at me) from Ouran

Yukimaru from Fenna Pirate Princess

You'll notice not all actually "emos" but rather, the ideal man has childhood trauma, daddy issues, so much love in his heart to give, zero ability to communicate his feelings, and is haunted by guilt and/or loss, protective and generally loyal as hell

Honestly, hot goth girls, especially with gentle and affectionate partners also veryy welcomed

Please help a girl out send me your faves so I can collect serotonin

#asking for help #asking for recs #teen wolf #agents of shield #lockwood and co #fma brotherhood #ohshc #kaz brekker #Druig #bucky barnes #stiles stilinski #atla

[catastrxblues]

INTRODUCTION !!

currently shadowbanned which means i can't interact in ANY way at all through this blog so sorry if you replied to my posts or mentioned me and i haven't responded 😭

“our sheer capacity for a feeling has got to be so unwieldy that we staggered under it, like atlas with the weight of the world.” — oliver marks, if we were villains.

palestine : masterlist | to help | thepalestineacademy | boycott | free palestine

⛧ okay so hi! i’m nadine. she/her. muslim. student. apparently an isfj. virgo. afternoons enthusiast. #1 full machine by gracie abrams enjoyer. think about everlark a lot.

┏ i like to read, watch, and sometimes write. but nowadays i really just prefer rotting and decaying on my bed because school is absolutely exhausting and i have no better idea than to use all my spare time for simply sleeping.

┏ STEM at heart, but sometimes all i really want to spend the rest of my life doing is reading, pondering over poems, learning to bake, crying over songs, writing in an immense amount and is good at it, working at a bookshop, collecting so many books that i have sagging bookshelves on the walls of my room, watching the moon, examining the stars, and enjoying the afternoon sun in a meadow or hills or somewhere with running creeks and flowers (but that's unrealistic so)

┏ i come on here to reblog, read fanfics, and rant about my obsessions (and also my life so sometimes this actually does feel like my little messy personal diary- that's a warning by the way)

──────────────────────•

-> currently reading : the ballad of songbirds and snakes by suzanne collins, six of crows by leigh bardugo,

-> currently watching : gilmore girls s2, brooklyn nine-nine s1, the summer i turned pretty,

-> some favorites :

(books) the hunger games, percy jackson / riordanverse, a good girl’s guide to murder, hp & the marauders, nevermoor, if we were villains, anne of green gables, djats & tshoeh, keeper of the lost cities

(artists) taylor swift, gracie abrams, phoebe bridgers, lorde, conan gray, sabrina carpenter, olivia rodrigo, maisie peters

(movies) mcu, romcoms, little women, thg adaptations, legally blonde, clueless, bridge to terabithia, lady bird, barbie, heathers, before sunrise

(tv shows) bridgerton, stranger things, heartstopper, jatp, asoue (show), disney channel shit (both), alexa and katie, nhie, lost in space (2017)

*(the italic ones are the ones i currently actively (and sometimes intensely) hyperfixate on on this blog!)

(+) fictional characters

[ i also will like to add that i am a peeta mellark, katniss everdeen, percy jackson, annabeth chase, anne shirley, jo and amy march, pippa fitz-amobi, and ravi singh enthusiast & i will defend them to the end of the earth thank you <3 ]

──────────────────────•

sideblogs & others

┏ i have a writing blog!! (@kitchentablebillsaredue) it’s not exactly a fanfic blog, just a blog to post all of my miscellaneous semi-personal mess <3 (it’s collecting dust right now because i didn’t realize how hard it will be to get myself to post some writings on even a small corner of the internet whoops)

┏ i created another (actual) sideblog because i was bored and i thought why not. it’s @andillwatchh (as in a reference to that famous little women 2019 scene) and it’s for some movies/shows insanity etc.

┏ another one thank you. @iborrowlibrarybooks mostly for bookish things & moodboards.

by no means this is a consistent fandom blog by the way, i'm just really annoying and can't stop talking. but yeah that's it!

#look i made it!! #(i ended up spending the entire afternoon making this instead of continuing my reading but oh well) #i’m not sure how to tag this though #blog intro #intro post #fandom shit #<3 #will be updated as needed #nadirants

[partly-hueman]

Woman of the year!

How weird is it that as we near the years end and awards begin coming out for "such and such" of the year so many :woman of the year" awards are going to men.

Dylan Mulvaney won an award from Attitude Magazine out of the UK as it's "Woman of the year". How low is your opinion of women that you pick a man to be the "Woman of the year"?

Minnesota did it earlier this year when "Leigh" Finke won. This is "Leigh":

That Frankenstein's monster of a man in bad make-up is a better woman than ALL of the women in Minnesota. Take ALL of the mothers, teachers, doctors, lawyers, bus drivers, assembly line workers, single mothers with two jobs, educators, advocates, waitresses, cooks, janitorial staff etc.

Leigh is a better woman than all of you. Leigh hasn't experienced being a young girl, never had a period or any of the bodily and mind changes that young women go thru. He has two kids, that is Trans widow gave birth too, but he has no idea what motherhood is.

He's still a better woman than the 2.811 million women in Minnesota. THAT is how little the Democrats and the morons who voted this creature in as woman of the year think of you.

I'm not here to talk to about Leigh. Fuck that AGP having psychopath. No, I want to write about my buddy. Dylan Mulvaney. The Non-Trans Transgender identifying man who makes waves everywhere he goes. If toxicity and social poison was a person it would look like Dylan.

The social misfit, drama club overly flaming twink who clocked his "days of being a 'girl'" and got himself a carte blanche visit with Grandpa Joe in the White house and a letter of congratulations from Kamala Harris because they obviously have nothing else to focus on than to celebrate the erasure of women as a sex class in society and law.

I digress.

In his interview with Atituide Magazine Dylan is quoted as saying: “And some people don’t see me as a woman at all. No matter how hard I try, or what I wear, or what I say, or what surgeries I get, I will never reach an acceptable version of womanhood by those hateful people’s standards."

At his age I'm lost as to why he doesn't understand that sex isn't an attitude, a feeling, a performance, a costume, or body parts repurposed or purchased à la carte — and that it can't be changed — and my stating so doesn't make me hateful, just sane and tethered to reality. At best, #dylanmulvaney is a vacuous narcissist and a shameless grifter. At worst, he's a bought-and-paid-for Gender Industry shill, knowingly helping to obliterate sex classes and sex-based rights. Either way, he's entirely undeserving of awards or accolades, except maybe the Most Heinous Piece of Shit Award, for which he should receive a statuette of himself sculpted from monkey feces, and a one-way trip to the moon. Just get that piece of garbage off my planet.

Dylan will always talk about the challenge of his being seen as a woman. He'll do it because Dylan is an actor who is getting rich pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman. But that's what he is: A man pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman.

WOMAN OF THE YEAR: DYLAN MULVANEY

I expect to get a lot of push back for my language and the subject matter but once again I want to write. If you get offended or angry I want you to know that with each cell in my body I don't give a baboons red ass what you think. Stop erasing and endangering women and transing kids you fuckin ghouls. Don't lie it? Cope, seethe and dilate.

#transgenderism #lgb without the t #transgender #cope and seethe #dylan mulvaney

[oskarwing]

Idk I just rewatched the haunting of Hill House and I enjoyed it a lot more than my first watch through and I kinda maybe wanna write some meta about it but also holy shit I love that way Leigh embraces Steve at the end just holding him and the way Kevin holds Shirley's hands while she confesses. I just think the two oldest Crain siblings chose themselves some really good spouses and I think the beauty in it is that their marriages are so different from their parents'.

#the haunting of hill house #the haunting of hill house spoilers #steven crain #shirley crain #I have a lot of opinions on Hugh and Olivia tbh

[mermaidsirennikita]

I was thinking about what you said irt trad historical romance being in a weird spot and decided to look at Sarah Maclean's website to see when her next book is releasing, only to see her next book is a contemporary! Like talk about on the nose

Lol I will admit, I knew about that when I made the post, but it's not WHY I made the post. And disclaimer: so happy for Sarah, I'm reading that book 100%, love the premise as a Succession fan, and I'm also interested to see what she'll do with a different publisher... which is an interesting part of all this, imo. She's said she'll do historicals forever, I believe her, the Duchess book is out in 2025, I trust Sarah with her love of historicals.

I doooo however see a lot fewer trad pub historicals coming out (and I say this as someone who is on NetGalley a lot--I see the incoming trad pub historicals). And the ones I do see are often from smaller presses, which isn't bad, but--Avon seems to be slowing it down, and they have been one of the big historical romance publishers in the past. I've said this before, but they also lost Carrie Feron, one of their majorly influential editors who worked with a lot of big historical romance authors, last year. I don't think that's a coincidence...

And while Sarah MacLean isn't leaving historicals, a lot of core authors haven't been publishing as much. Lisa Kleypas hasn't published a book since Devil in Disguise in... 2021? Ms. Bev hasn't published a historical, think, since To Catch a Raven in 2022. Elizabeth Hoyt's less book was pre-pandemic, I think.

Joanna Shupe has a historical romance, The Gilded Heiress, out in December year. But it doesn't appear to be a part of a series as of now which is kinda unusual for historicals in this day and age and indicates a shorter deal unless there's more to come, I could've sworn it was due out earlier originally (and that could be her needing more time, but it could also be Avon delaying it, I honestly don't know) and I mean.... Joanna has been publishing indie a lot more in recent years, both historicals under the Joanna name and mafia under the Mila name. I see Minerva Spencer doing more indie stuff with her S.M. LaViolette pen name, too.

Eva Leigh seems to be pivoting to fantasy romance for her next few releases. Tessa Dare has been out of the game for a bit, though I think there are many reasons behind that.

Now, on the bright side, we see authors like Adriana Herrera, Liana de la Rosa, Cat Sebastian, Alexis Hall, Amalie Howard etc doing new and interesting things with the genre. Alexandra Vasti has her full-length trad debut this year. These are good things!

But I do see a lot of authors saying on social media that publishers are not very open to histrom as of late... and as someone who wants to write it, that's discouraging lmao.

Obviously, I wanna say, I support ALL of these authors doing things that aren't histrom (can't wait to see what Eva's books are about omg). BUT.... I do hope that this doesn't submerge out of tradpub for a billion years. And if it does, I know indie is a resource, and I hope that histrom readers pick up the all and support indie historical releases.

The struggle there, imo, is that a lot of histrom readers are a bit less into ebooks (stereotypically) but like--tell your mom who loves historicals to read shit on KU. Tell your buddy in her 20s who thinks it's all stodgy and chaste that there is some WILD SHIT in there. Tell your dark romance reader friends about all the dubcon and kidnappings lol. Spend money on these books when you can, and obtain them from your library, subscription services, etc when you can't. This audience does need to push to support authors who are doing the work.

#romance novel blogging

[horrorknife]

it makes me so mad how people really love boiling saw iii down to “lesbian sex movie” when in reality it’s a movie about john and amanda’s relationship which i actually find a lot more interesting than lynnmanda because john and amanda actually, like, Have A Relationship To Speak Of? no shame in shipping lynnmanda or anything but idk dude i think a lot of ppl who like saw need to learn how to take off their shipping goggles

cuz like. im gonna be real idgaf about lynn. i think shes a nothing ass plot device character and tbh jeff has more character motivation than she does. ive said it before but lynn feels insignificant next to such a bold and loud character like amanda lol the writing just. doesn’t do it for me.

Anyway. saw iii is a movie chiefly about john and amanda and their relationship and no one seems to…give a shit…? leigh whannell wrote some of the most shockingly accurate portrayals of what bpd episodes feel like but because john and amanda aren’t a romantic relationship it doesn’t get talked about.

and like, the shipping goggles thing isn’t Just a problem with saw iii (i can easily pinpoint what ppl are Ignoring in favor of the other popular ships as well) but the fact that john is so heavily underdiscussed in the fanbase in general sucks and it really sucks that ppl do this because john is the most important character in relation to amanda, their bond is INSANE and the devotion of it is so painful. it does a huge disservice to amanda to ignore her story like that!!! sorry!! but like could you guys actually interact with the character? since you apparently give enough of a shit about her to draw her rawing lynn or whatever?? does she exist as anything other than a sex object to the fandom?

#something something the misogyny issues in the saw fandom are fucking horrific #the character annihilation via shipping is horrific as well #the way hoffman only gets thirstposted abt too is like…Cool…do u have any actual thoughts tho #but noooo everyone is too busy paying attention Only To Adam and making the same posts about him every day #no one Actually cares abt lawrence either. lawrence is just the dick that fucks adam none of you give a shit #LIKE I LOVE ADAM. ADAMS MY FAVORITE FUCKING CHARACTER. TALK ABOUT ANYTHING FUCKING ELSE #TALK ABOUT ANYTHING OTHER THAN SHIPPING #HOW DO YOU GUYS NOT CARE ABOUT THE OTHER CHARACTER RELATIONSHIPS AT ALL #GOD. #jonah.txt

[messedupfan]

When I Look At You | Chapter 11

Summary: The parenting adventures of Y/n and Leigh.

Special Writing Guest: @abimess

Warnings: Smut (18+), fluff

A/N: Guess who graciously offered their assistance again... Thank you oh so very much, B! Doing gods work for us! I hope you all enjoy!

Masterlist | All Chapters | All Stories Taglist ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leigh taps on your face to wake you up. You swat her hand away and groan to make her stop until you hear the wailing baby. Shit, you think to yourself. It’s my turn, you roll to get closer to the edge but misjudged how close you already were and fall off of the bed completely. “If I had a dollar every time…” Leigh mutters in remark to you falling out of the bed often. 

You rub your head and with tired, heavy steps, you stumble over to the baby’s room. “Awe, I know, sweetheart.” You lift the baby out of the crib to assess the situation. You have to ask yourself multiple questions. Is her diaper full? Does she need a bottle? Does she have gas? What is it that she needs in order to get back to sleep? Luckily, the problem presents itself pretty fast when you can smell her as soon as she is in your hands. You take her over to the changing table and carefully clean her. You swear that she saves the worst for you. Clearly favoring Leigh over you. Not that you minded, she did spend months creating her and several long painful hours giving birth. 

She stops crying as soon as she doesn’t feel dirty and you are filled with relief. On the day she was born, you could’ve sworn it was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Now you do anything and everything to make it stop. As you make sure to check hard to notice areas so she doesn’t get a rash or an infection, you tell her a story about what her older sister was like as a newborn. She looks like she is listening carefully to every word. You like to believe that she is and understands but there’s no way for you to know. 

When she is in a fresh diaper and new pajamas, she wouldn’t allow you to put on the one you took off of her, she stares at you with her green eyes that she inherited from her mother and you smile at her. You use the hand sanitizer close by to disinfect your hands. “Let’s get you back to bed,” you speak softly. Unfortunately, she isn’t ready to return to her crib. She threatens to cry every time you lower her in the crib. Not wanting to hear her cries, knowing there will be plenty of that when you have to do the cry training, you sit on the rocking chair to soothe her back to sleep. You hum a lullaby to her and watch her curious eyes fight sleep for some time. She was only a couple months old, the world was all new to her and she wanted to observe every moment of it. But eventually, she gives in. You don’t move to put her back right away. She was so peaceful and small and fragile and yours. She is yours and she is Leigh’s. She is real. You watch her sleep, completely enamored by her. 

You don’t realize that you had fallen asleep until Leigh is taking the baby out of your arms. She didn’t want to disturb you, but your body had feared that you were dropping her. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” she says just above a whisper. “You might want to go back to the bedroom. The chair is comfortable but your neck is not going to be forgiving.” She is right, of course. When you sit up, your neck is stiff and it hurts to move. 

Walking back to the room is tough but you manage to flop back onto your comfortable bed. You’re grateful that Leigh left the heavy curtains closed. With them shut, not a drop of sunlight could make its way through. Leaving it a mystery of what time of day it was. It didn’t matter. You needed to sleep. As you’re falling asleep, Leigh joins you and she slips herself under your arm to snuggle into your side. 

The next time you wake up it’s because Leigh is leaving the bed. It was her turn to tend to the baby. The two of you were exhausted but were finally starting to find a new rhythm with the new family addition. The only one still having a hard time adjusting was Bandit. He was so used to having all of the attention that he wasn’t too happy about sharing it. As of now, he was whining at your feet, requesting that you take him for a walk. Since the baby was born, you’ve been lazy about his needs and have opted to only let him out in the backyard whenever he needed to go. He didn’t like it. He liked his daily walks with you and Leigh. 

He pushes your foot again and this time yelps when you continue to ignore him for the extra seconds of sleep. His bark startles the baby and Leigh hurries to the bedroom. “Y/n, take the poor thing outside. He’s scaring the baby!” She demands. 

You groan as you tiredly stand up, “Come on, buddy.” You mutter as you pat your leg to get him to follow you. Excitedly, he hops off of the bed and wags his tail while he follows you. Then you open the door to the backyard and he sits, refusing to move. “Damnit, Bandit. I’m tired. What do you want?” You ask desperately, you will give him anything in order to crawl back into bed. “Food? Water?” He stays quiet for those words. “Outside,” he yelps and spins around then sits, so you point in the direction of the backyard but he doesn’t run out the door. Instead, he runs to a direction in the house and returns with his harness and leash in his mouth. He sets it down at your feet and gives you puppy dog eyes to convince you to take him for a walk. You frown at the animal but instead of giving him what he wants, you demand that he go to the backyard. 

When he returns inside, you give him a treat before returning to your bed. Leigh was already there, with the baby monitor in her hands. The corner of your mouth lifted slightly as you pried the device out of her hand to look at the image of the sleeping baby. She was so precious. You couldn’t believe that you were part of an experience like this again. When Taylor and Alison had died you were certain that was it for you. Having all of this never even crossed your mind. You are so grateful to have moved past that because you did deserve to have this happiness again. Taylor would have wanted this for you. 

You set the monitor on the bedside table closest to Leigh because you knew she loves it to be on her side, then you admire your sleeping wife for a moment. You thank the universe for putting the two of you in the same neighborhood at the perfect time. You crawl in next to her and whisper to her that you love her as you press your lips to her temple. 

“Wow, you are stunning,” you say as you approach the woman reading a book beside the pool. “Can I buy you a drink, gorgeous?” 

She holds up her hand to show the rings on her finger, “Married, sorry.” 

“Yeah, to me. Here you go,” you hand her the beverage and she shakes her head at you. 

“I thought you left to go see if our room was ready,” she says as she takes a sip. She is impressed and compliments the flavor. 

“I did, and it’s not. So, I got us some drinks while we wait. Oh, you’re right this is good. Can I try yours?” You set your cup on the small table between the pool chairs and reach for hers. 

“Excuse me, I do not share my drinks with strangers,” Leigh says, holding her drink away from you. “You could be sick with something and I am on vacation.” 

You laugh and tell her to forget it as you continue to drink your own. You get a notification on your phone and you hope that it’s from the hotel letting you know that the room is ready, instead it’s a video from Amy showing Avery trying to teach your daughter how to finger paint the way she prefers it. “I don’t know how I am ever going to go on another work trip ever again,” you show Leigh the video and she takes your phone so she can replay it. 

“Damnit, why did you show this to me? Now I want to go home!” She complains before she starts gushing over the footage. Your daughter was getting close to being a year old, she was still too tiny to be dragging her all over the country. Neither of you wanted to leave the baby for this book tour for the second book that you wrote together but it was in the contract that at least one of you went to promote it. Since you and Leigh couldn’t agree on who went, Amy offered to take care of the baby so that both of you did the tour. 

“Oh please, you’ve wanted to go home since we left.” You say as you pick up the book she has abandoned for your phone. “So this is what you picked up at the gift shop?” You read the back of the book and find it oddly familiar. Then you look at the so-called author’s name and shake your head at your wife. “Really? You bought a copy of the enemy’s book?” 

Leigh shrugs, her eyes remain trained on your phone. As if analyzing every single detail of the video. “I wanted to see what has been keeping my spouse up at night, other than our very loud screaming child. Oh my goodness, look at her! I can’t believe she’s ours.” You watch her face light up when she hears her daughter's giggle and sees the toothless smile that you are convinced is all Leigh.  “Also, that is without a doubt your book. Different character names, a few word changes but, it’s your book. They don’t have a case.” 

You set it back down on the small table and decide to put it out of your mind for the time being. Today was a rest day. They are very important, and stress has been affecting you physically lately. You sit back and settle in the seat while you enjoy the hotel's beverage. Eventually, Leigh returns the phone to you and mentions how ready she is for the room to be available. She wanted to be in bed, lying in your arms, not with this much space between you and her. You agree, with plans of being fast asleep without the disruption of children running around the pool keeping you awake. 

“Leigh?” Someone says and you’re surprised to hear her name so you look in the direction with her. Then you look at her and watch as she recognizes the man that has approached her. He looked oddly familiar but you couldn’t quite place where you’d seen him before. 

“Danny, hi,” Leigh politely greets. “It’s um, it’s been a long time.” 

The man puts his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “Yeah, it has. Um, wow, of all of the places I thought I’d run into you, I think this is the last place I expected.” She agrees and asks how he’s doing and what has brought him to this location. “I’ve been really good, actually. Uh, I’m here on my honeymoon.” 

Her eyebrows raise in surprise, “Wow! That’s so great! I would love to meet her! Unless that’s weird. Is that weird?” 

Danny begins to play with his ear as he considers it. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t have to be weird. But she’s at the spa right now. We needed some alone time away from each other.” 

“Maybe we can get together for dinner,” you chime in. Leigh jumps, as if she had forgotten you were there for a moment. Danny looks in your direction, now acknowledging your presence. 

“That sounds like… an idea,” Leigh says, lacking enthusiasm, not really sure if she wanted to have a meal with her ex and her spouse. You still couldn’t place who he was but assumed he must’ve been a friend that she fell out of touch with over the years. “Danny,” Leigh states his name carefully. She wasn’t sure why she felt she needed to tiptoe around his feelings. It could be because of what he said all of those years ago about replacing his brother. It could be because they dated and things ended horribly. It could just be that she was nervous of how he might respond in front of you and she didn’t want anything to distract from the good day the two of you were having. Whatever it was, she felt a little ridiculous. “This is my spouse, Y/n. We’re here for a work thing,” she finally says. 

Danny steps around her lounge chair to shake your hand and the two of you introduce yourselves. “Congratulations, nothing better than being newlyweds,” you kindly say. 

“Thank you, and congrats to the two of you. How uh, how long have you guys been together?” He asks as he joins Leigh on her chair without asking. She has to move her feet to make room for him to have a spot on the end. She was annoyed that he decided to stay for longer than a greeting. 

You look at Leigh as you try to put a number to the timeline since the two of you officially got together. “I want to say four, almost five years?” She nods along trying to figure it out herself. The two of you weren’t really hung up on knowing how much time you’ve spent together. With how life moved along for the two of you, the time didn’t really matter. What mattered was that you were together. 

“Wow,” he whistles. “That’s really great. I’m really happy for you, Leigh. I’m glad that you were able to move on after all.” His words strike you and you realize that he must’ve known her when she was married the first time. 

“Oh, did you know Matt?” You ask cluelessly, still trying to put together the pieces. In response Danny starts laughing. You look to your wife to clear up the confusion and she is giving you a concerned expression. 

“Danny and Matt are brothers,” she clarifies for you and that’s when you are finally caught up. 

“Oh, you’re that Danny. My apologies, when I’m on these tours I see so many people that my mind forgets who everyone is.” You excuse the confusion. “I’m lucky if I remember our daughter’s name!” You joke which steers the conversation away. 

“You have a kid?” Danny asks Leigh. “I thought you didn’t want kids. At least, that’s what Matt always told me.” 

Leigh makes a face. Why would he tell Danny that kind of lie? “That’s not how it was. Matt was the one who didn’t want kids.” 

Danny shakes his head, “No, it was you. I know you pretty well and I knew him better than anyone. Besides, Matt was a teacher, of course he wanted kids. No one teaches kids without wanting some of their own at some point.” The way he’s trying to gaslight your wife makes you dislike him more than you did when you realized he was Leigh’s ex. Not to mention his logic on teachers was off. 

Leigh scoffs, unable to believe what he was saying. Part of her knew he was only being stubborn because he liked to push her buttons. But another was starting to think that maybe Matt did want kids, it just wasn’t with her. No, she wasn’t going to let him warp her image of her dead husband again. He was depressed and afraid of being his dad. He told her himself that he didn’t see kids in their future. She remembers trying to convince herself that she didn’t want them either. That she would be happy with only Matt. Maybe they could get another dog or two. That would be enough for her. “I think I know myself better than you do and–” 

“Excuse me,” one of the hotel staff grabs your attention. “Your room is ready any time you want to head up.” You thank them and look to Leigh to see if she was ready to leave the conversation where it was. Or if she wanted to keep upsetting herself. 

Leigh stands from the seat while she collects her things. “Danny, always a pleasure,” she says, making it clear that she didn’t mean her words. “Let’s go,” she says to you, already halfway to the entrance. You give Danny an awkward tight lipped smile before following your wife. She is quiet the entire way to the room and you don’t know if you should say something or let her live in her head for the time being. 

You choose the former. “So, that was your ex,” you state slowly. “He seems like… a guy you’ve dated before.” She scoffs before groaning. 

“I don’t know why I was about to let him get under my skin again. Gosh, the second he started talking it was like I was thrown back to that year.” She shakes her head as her gaze wanders to the framed art in the room. “After Matt passed, all Danny could do is remind me over and over again that I didn’t know my husband. It was like a competition to him or something. He turned out to be right about some things. But this, this is where Danny is wrong about his brother and I don’t know why I want to prove it to him until I’m blue in the face.”

You put your hand on her back and rub small circles. “Because you always have to be right,” you offer, half jokingly. She gives you an unamused look as she steps away from your touch muttering that it’s not funny. “I’m sorry,” you say sincerely. “It’s probably some unresolved anger towards him that you never really let go of. I know that if certain people came back into my life questioning my growth it’d send me spiraling. Ugh, and for anyone to suggest that I replaced Allison with our daughter. That would make me sick. You might actually have to hold me back for that one.” 

This makes Leigh smile. You weren’t the type to fight, ever. You were such a teddy bear in her eyes. She still didn’t believe you when you said that you pushed the crazy man over when you rescued Bandit. “Oh yeah, you’d be a real problem. Pushing everyone into bags of trash. I might have to get some back up to hold you down.” 

“Hey, that did happen! You can ask Bandit, he’ll back me up.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she says playfully. “Give that boy a treat or two and he’ll corroborate every story you tell.” The two of you share a laugh and Leigh takes a deep breath of relief. “I love how you do that,” she steps closer to you and locks her arms around your neck. 

You’re confused, “Do what?” 

“Make me happy again,” she kisses your lips. “Alright, time to nap.” She presses her hands on your shoulders. As if to push you away without actually pushing you away.

You hum against her lips as you slip your fingers under her shirt. “I don’t think I want to nap anymore.” 

She smiles, “Oh, I don’t think you’ll mean that later.” 

“It’ll be fine, I’ll be asleep later. After I make you even happier,” you pull her shirt up and she lifts her arms above her head to help make it easier for you to remove it from her. She beams at you as she resumes kissing you. 

“I suppose that will be fine,” she says as you walk her toward the bed. You fall on top of her and the two of you share another laugh. 

Your kisses travel down her body as soon as you're properly on top of her, and Leigh's skin shivers everywhere you touch her, her core already aching. As for you, feeling her skin under your lips is like tasting the most delicious - and addictive - of nectar; each new touch keeps you begging for more, the delighted sighs she lets out, making your body tingle. 

And it's only then the two of you realize how you've barely had this kind of time to yourselves after your little girl was born. There were many exchanges of intimate glances, soft kisses and long embraces. But moments like this, of complete carnal devotion and desire, were extremely rare, always interrupted by incessant crying or incurable fatigue. 

So you make the most of the time you have, and as soon as you wrap your lips around her breast, toying with her nipple on your tongue, Leigh lets out a satisfied moan, arching her back for you to be as close to her as possible. Wanting to give them both your full attention, you take your hand to her other breast, squeezing it in your hands the way you know she likes best. 

It doesn't take long for Leigh to start pushing your shoulders down, and you take no time in obeying, moving your kisses down her stomach as you scratch her skin lightly, making her shiver under your fingertips. You get rid of her pants and underwear at once, and Leigh would've teased you about your desperation if you hadn't sunk into her the next moment, ripping a sharp moan from her. 

"Oh, right there, baby, yes." She whimpers as you suck on her clit, delighted by every reaction you're able to rip from her. No matter how much time goes by or how many new things you experience together, this will always be one of your favorite sights - your wife with her eyes closed and lips ajar, moaning and squirming at your touch. 

It doesn't take long for her to reach her high, hands on your hair and her warm cum on your tongue. You lick her clean unhurriedly, smirking at her sharp sighs and tugging on your hair at the overstimulation. "Baby, please, oh, it's too much." She asks behind a tired voice, and you finally make your way back up, leaving a trail of kisses all the way to her collarbone and neck, sucking her skin on her favorite spots, making sure you don't leave a mark. 

As soon as you're close enough, Leigh pulls you close for a sloppy kiss, sighing at the mixed taste of her juices and your tongue. "What are you doing?" She asks with a smile against your lips as she feels your hand moving up her inner thigh, and you move your kisses back to her neck, taking your fingers to her wet folds, feeling her sigh. "I'm sure you can give me another, can't you, pretty girl?"

"If you take your shirt off I can think about it." She hits back promptly, trying to disguise the effect your touch has on her, but her fingers tight on your hair giving her away. Your chuckle against her skin makes her shiver, but you pull away soon after, getting rid of the piece of clothing in a swift motion. The garment barely hits the floor before Leigh is pulling you down again, kissing you one more time just as eagerly. 

"Oh, fuck-" She chokes on her moan as you thrust to fingers inside her without warning, her wetness helping them slide with ease inside her. As you move your digits inside her throbbing pussy, Leigh gives up kissing you, throwing her head back as her nails sink on your back. The moment as a whole makes your body warm up to the point of boiling, wanting more than anything to rip another orgasm off of her soon. 

Pressing your thumb on her clit, you curl your fingers inside her the way you know it drives you crazy, earning yourself an arch of her back and a loud moan against your ear. It doesn't take long for Leigh to come undone after that, your fingers pumping in and out of her in the perfect rhythm, your wet lips kissing the sweaty skin of her neck. 

When she's sure she can't take it anymore, Leigh moves one trembling hand to your wrist, begging you to stop. Grudgingly, you do as she's requested, pulling your fingers away from her and feeling her walls squeezing your digits one more time as they leave. You try to kiss her again, but she's in too much of a bliss to match it properly, so you go back to attacking her collarbone. 

A few minutes later, however, Leigh's hands find your shoulders, pushing you away to reverse your positions. "It's my turn now." She murmurs against your lips as she sees your confused expression, her mischievous smirk sending a shiver down your spine. So in the next moment she's ridding you of the rest of your clothes, and you're sure as hell not complaining. 

The second the tour is over, you and Leigh are in a rush to get home to the baby. Unfortunately, because of flight delays and traffic, the two of you don’t arrive at Amy’s condo until late at night. Not wanting to disrupt the baby’s sleep and not wanting to return to the house without her, you and Leigh decide to crash on your mother-in-law’s sofa for the night. Bandit, who was also staying there, was so happy to see the both of you that he made it almost impossible for you guys to fall asleep. He tries to wedge himself between you and Leigh and when neither of you let him, he settles for laying on Leigh’s chest. 

In the morning, there’s a ten month old playing with your face. Her little fingers grab at your nose and lips. You open your eyes with a breathy laugh. She smiles as she claps her hands. Successfully waking you up. You beam at her and greet her in a whisper to not disturb Leigh who was lightly snoring in your ear. You look around the room for your mother-in-law but don’t find her or Bandit anywhere. 

“Where’s grandma?” You ask your daughter. Her response is to poke your cheek. You rub Leigh’s side as you try to coax her awake. “Leigh,” you call softly. You nudge your shoulder up and down slightly to wake her up. She is annoyed by your disruption and she pats your face repeatedly. “What are you doing?” You chuckle. 

“Trying to find the snooze. I need ten more minutes,” she mumbles against your chest. 

“Sweetie, poke mommy,” you say to the little girl who is now patting your face as she copies her mom. “Poke your mommy,” you tell her again. 

She doesn’t do as requested which makes Leigh laugh. “That’s my girl.” You close your eyes as you are gently attacked by your family and when Amy returns you dramatically cry out for help. But all she does is let go of Bandit’s leashes. Allowing the dog to join in on the fun as he jumps around Leigh to lick your face while the girls continue to pat your face. “Okay! I’m awake,” Leigh announces as she carefully spins on top of you so that she can face you. She smiles up at you as Bandit makes himself comfortable next to your head and the little girl starts to place stickers on your face. “I bet you’re wishing you stuck to your plan to live alone with a dog now, huh?” 

You shake your head, “Never. That was not the life I was meant to have. This is.” 

Amy makes a noise that lets the two of you know she was crying and Leigh lays on her side as she asks her mom what’s wrong with her. “I just, I didn’t think you would get a second chance at this. I’m so happy for you,” she says as she dabs the tears with some tissues. Leigh gets up from the couch to hug her mom. 

You get up too, scooping up your daughter on the way so that you can make it a family hug. “Thank you, mom,” you say. The four of you embrace for a few seconds longer and you’re the first one to break away because of the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach. “Alright, I’m going to make some breakfast. Here you go,” you hand the girl to Leigh and she happily takes her daughter from you. Amy tries to stop you from making the breakfast that she feels she should make. But you tell her not to worry about it, she’s done enough. 

For the baby’s first birthday, Leigh surprisingly wanted a very small and intimate celebration. When setting it up, you recalled the folders of the baby’s first seven birthday parties that she had planned while she was pregnant and she pretended not to know what you were talking about. They were extravagant ideas, far too much for a baby, but you wanted to tease her about her big ideas. However, when you see her happily decorating the cake the two of you baked together, you let it go. As much fun as it is to get her riled up and annoyed, it was heart stopping to see her happy and content. 

Besides, the two of you had plenty of fun making a mess in the kitchen while baking the cake. Your daughter was giggling the whole time as she watched her parents throw ingredients at each other. It wasn’t the best example for her young impressionable mind, you’re sure that the two of you will pay for it later when she can reach for things and throw them. But you’re hopeful she won’t make a habit of it. As long as you and Leigh learn how to behave yourselves. 

“Why did you want a small party?” You eventually ask after dinner is over and the few guests that were there were all occupied with their own conversations. Drew and Mike, your editor and now Drew’s sort of boyfriend, were spoiling your daughter with attention. Jules was dividing her attention between her daughter and her current girlfriend, who eventually ended up ignoring Jules for each other. You weren’t sure about the girl at first, Jules met her at an AA meeting and was open with you about her problems. She makes your sister-in-law happy, she is really good with Avery, and she seems stable enough so you had hope for them. Then there was Amy and she was having a friendly chat with Leigh’s father, Richard and his current girlfriend. A woman that was significantly younger than him. No one really had much of a thought about her, she was polite and kept to herself most of the time. Leigh didn’t really want her there since she also invited her step-mother Sabrina and her step-sister Evie, but there wasn’t much she could do when he showed up with her and her two rowdy kids anyway. It wasn’t necessarily a small party, but it wasn’t nearly as big as the baby shower. 

“You’ll see,” Leigh says cryptically. Then she checks her smart watch for the hundredth time, “Oh, you should bring the cake out and then we can do the presents!” You nod and while she gathers everyone back to the dining table you grab the cake out of the refrigerator. Your heart tightens at the reminder of who wasn’t there when you see their name on the cake. The last thing you wanted to do was connect your daughter to someone who was no longer around. But long before Stevie had died, you and Leigh already decided on her name. Neither of you could think of a replacement middle name so Leigh convinced you it was the best option. It took some time for you to get comfortable with the idea but as she starts to show more and more of her personality, there probably wasn’t a more fitting name. You often wonder if one day she’ll prefer that name to her first name. You place and light the candle before you carefully walk the cake over to the singing group of people. 

“Happy birthday, Y/d/n! Happy birthday to you!” They finish the song as you place the cake in front of Leigh and Y/d/n. The baby’s eyes widen at the sight of the flame and before they can extend their curious hand, Leigh blows out the candle and everyone cheers. Y/d/n looks around gleefully with bright eyes, loving the attention. One of the many things that reminded you of Stevie. She claps along with them with the giggle that spreads a warmth through your entire chest. 

You and Leigh serve everyone a slice of cake and a couple scoops of ice cream. Once everyone has a plate, she insists that you start opening the presents. You wanted to enjoy the desserts and conversations but she was anxious to get started on the gifts. You suggest that maybe she should open them and she steals your plate from you. The behavior was odd, familiar but still odd. After a few attempts to get your food back and Leigh threatening to toss it out, you sit down and do as she asked so that you could get your cake back. 

“Oh wow!” You react to each toy, onesie, tiny pair of shoes, and little outfit with a false enthusiasm at first until you show them to Y/d/n. She loves every single gift making noises to communicate as much. Her reaction made every gift that much more appealing to you and you weren’t upset about not having cake anymore. The toys were the usual stuffed animals and dolls and things that babies her size won’t choke on. Some of the clothing had cute designs, cartoon characters, and funny phrases then one in particular catches your eye. “Promoted to big sister?” You read the shirt a few times out loud. Everyone goes quiet as you process what that means. They exchange glances with each other and with Leigh. “Who is this from? She’s not close to becoming a big sister quite yet, guys.” You laugh awkwardly while digging in the bag for a card or something that will have more information. A small envelope sits at the bottom of the excessive amount of tissue paper. Inside is a sonogram picture with the word surprise written in Leigh’s handwriting on the back. “Are you serious?” You ask your wife who was grinning. 

“Yes,” she says and you jump from your seat to wrap her in your arms and spin her around. “Okay! Haha I know you’re excited but I will throw up on you!” She says as pats your shoulders to drop her. You set her down and take her face in your hands to give her a big kiss in front of everyone. 

“I can’t help it, I love you so so much,” you say with a bright grin. 

“I love you too,” Leigh pulls you in for one more quick kiss. 

“We’re pregnant!” You announce it officially to everyone. They start to cheer but Leigh stops them.  “Hold on, I’m pregnant,” she corrects, making you laugh. You make the announcement again, clarifying that she is pregnant. They wait for Leigh to say something before they celebrate. “Okay, be happy now!” She says and one by one, the guests collectively give Leigh a hug to congratulate her. Several months later, Leigh is giving birth to twins. A boy and another girl.

Chapter 12

Taglist: @madamevirgo @wqndanat @thisischaismagic @artisannat @olsensnpm @evenbeingcrazy1998 @bentleywolf29 @awkwardmandalorian @agaymilflover @sayah13 @princessprudy  @wandsmxmff @wandavisionmoot @angryraisin @likefirenrain @tearsofglitter @feltlikethat @piningismymiddlename @the-writer-arcane @rightwereyouleftme @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @karsonromanoff

#sorry for your loss #fanfiction #leigh shaw #leigh shaw imagine #leigh shaw x reader #sorry for your loss imagine #leigh shaw x y/n #leigh shaw x you #when i look at you #smut #abimess

[peachdues]

Kind of jumping off your other ask about how much grosser you can get, I feel like there’s potential for a lot of horror/terror stories regarding demon slayer and other media, but I feel like a lot of people are afraid to put it out there (myself included). I love writing the most fucked up shit you can imagine, but I get worried about posting it because inevitably some people are gonna hate on it, even if I’m just exploring themes and using personal experiences to fuel those themes.

All that to say, I love fucked up shit and if you ever post some, lmk bc I *will* read it (smut or otherwise).

YES!! Im so glad other writers feel like this. It’s daunting (especially on a place like tumblr where people seem to reeeeaalllly only engage in smut for smut’s sake) but I think writing angst/horror/fucked up mental shit really allows you to explore so many different themes. And you’re so right — so much of it often comes from personal experience, in a way, so it can be cathartic for both writers and the readers.

As for whether I’ll write more of that type of content — The Sweet Far Thing definitely contains psychological and physical horror, given the setting. Some mutuals have read a particular scene that combines smut with psychological torment (though they’ve only read the draft — not the fully fleshed scenes) but I’m already excited by their reactions (thank u Leigh/rhea/ghost!!)

And the same to you bestie — if you write it I will eat that shit up because god do I love torment.

#🍑’s asks