#oh my god leith

[ambivertcuno]

Thats what happened right?

[devils-little-sistaaa]

Low key freaking out over a collaboration between my two of my favorite music artists. I already knew they were going on tour together it just didn’t feel real until I saw them together in one of their houses.

WHERE IS THAT GUF OF THE SWIRLING ORANGAATANG I CANT FIND IT ANYWHERE

[soobnny]

we'll never have sex — changbin x reader ; established relationship & hurt/comfort (1.2k words)

there is nothing more beautiful than the promise of love even if you cannot guarantee or give that certain level of intimacy just yet

for my girls with a complicated relationship w sex & yes this is based off of leith ross’ song

Facetimes with Changbin always last longer than they should. 

Had it been anyone else, the call would’ve dropped more than an hour ago. You’d have been found guilty for finding any excuse to warrant you some silence–the slightest tinge of awkwardness, the moment conversation runs out, faking plans.

Never with Changbin.

The static of phone calls stretch on, neither of you having moved much. You can’t remember how long it’d been since either of you said something, but you’ve never minded. The quiet that came with your boyfriend had always felt comfortable. Almost safe.

In your periphery, just at the top most right of your screen, you can see him sprawled across his bed, signature hoodie to match the boyfriend look, and fingers lazily scrolling through his phone. 

“Still awake, baby?” His voice breaks the silence, teasing almost, but still gentle. 

“Mhm.” You hum, shifting in your position a little. “But ‘m a little sleepy.”

“You should go to bed.”

“No.” Changbin chuckles at your refusal, deep and raspy through the phone. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, distinguishably fond even with the poor quality of the video.

For a second, you allow yourself to just watch the boy–his glazed eyes, the softness in his features accentuated by the low light of his room, the warmth of his smile. 

Almost safe. Almost reassuring. 

You wonder if it’s all a facade, wonder when he’d finally break, wonder when he’d leave you because you refuse to let him do anything beyond a kiss. Maybe no amount of love, even from the right person like Changbin, will ever be enough to change that.

You try to scold yourself. Self-destructing thoughts are too familiar, they reverberate in your head like you’d been thinking about it for a while, like they’d been practiced and practiced until permanently tattooed. 

The tears come without warning, mid-scolding. Big and heavy and warm. They pool at the edges of your version, and it makes you feel pathetic that you hurry to press the sleeve of your hoodie against your face. 

Changbin notices immediately.

“Hey.” his voice sharpens, the playful edge he’d been sporting earlier gone in a split second. “(Name)? Baby, hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, and oh god, he’s going to leave you. He’s going to leave you because you’re such a crybaby, and anyone with a normal fucking mind wouldn’t do this to him. Anyone under normal—kinder—circumstances wouldn’t think like this. 

“Baby.” He tries again, softer this time. “Talk to me.” 

Your throat tightens around something akin to a lump. You try to swallow it down. 

“Why’re you crying? What’s wrong?” 

There’s a long pause before you finally speak.

“What if I… what if…” You start, voice barely above a whisper. You don’t know how to continue, words disjointed and dismembered. “If I said you could never touch me, would you still want to be with me?”

Changbin pauses for a fraction of a second, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion. But you go on, inundating him with the fears that have spent your entire life trying to catch up with you.

“I can’t give you what you want. It’s what you want, isn’t it? Would you still stay with me even if I told you that I never want to have sex?”

The boy’s expression softens immediately. He can hear his own heart break at how fragile you sound, at how shattering it is to look at your tear-streaked face through a screen, at the things that could’ve transpired for you to think that he’d ever leave you because of that, just because of something so menial to him in a relationship.

“Of course I’ll stay.” He says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “That doesn’t change anything.”

His words are meant to be comforting, the small but sure smile on his lips should’ve been enough to return your peace, but instead, the tears well up again. Heavier this time. 

“Wait. Wait, wait—hold on.” His face suddenly disappears off the screen as he fumbles with his phone. He sounds rushed. “I’m… I can’t just look at you cry and not do anything about it.”

Then the call ends.

It isn’t until fifteen minutes later when a sudden knock on your door shakes you from your self-pity do you see him again. And he’s standing there, slightly out of breath, the same hoodie you’d seen earlier half-zipped with his hair tousled from the cold wind outside. 

“Binnie.” Your voice cracks. “What are you doing here?”

Changbin doesn’t say anything at first, just allows himself to look at you—eyes tracing over the tear stains on your cheeks, and the way you’re hugging yourself with the sleeves of one of his jackets. 

Then, without a word, he slips a hand beneath your jaw, tilting your face to look you in the eyes. His palms on your skin feel warm, calloused but gentle as he cradles you in his hands. “I think…” He pauses. 

A heartbeat passes.

“I think you look lovely.” He murmurs, tone low and gentle, abating the tempestuous anxieties swelling in the pit of your stomach. “And I love you. Not because of what you think I’m expecting from you, but because I love you. The entirety of you.”

You press your face into the crook of his neck as an ugly sob escapes your throat. The tears spill over again, faster, and you feel so ridiculous for crying even more in front of him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He pulls back, leaning in to press a kiss to your wet cheeks. His voice is firm, but not unkind. Never unkind. And his eyes held no hesitation, no flicker of doubt in the way he’s looking at you right now. “Did I say anything to make you feel this way?”

Changbin tries to hide how he feels about his question, like he could never imagine being the reason why you’re sobbing like this.

“No, oh my god. Binnie, no. It’s not you.” 

“Okay, it’s not me.” His voice is still kind, relieved. “I’m never expecting anything from you, okay?”

And just as gentle as he’s holding you, he kisses you. Nothing desperate, nothing hurried even. Just slow and lingering, like he’s savoring the moment for exactly what it is. He isn’t kissing you to take you to bed, not to ask for anything more, not even to change your mind.

Changbin kisses you just to kiss you. 

Just to hopefully show you that he means everything he said to you. 

“I’ll take care of you.” His fingers thread through your hair. “I love you.”

Quietly, tiredly, you start to show a small smile. “Thank you.”

Loving you is so easy for Changbin. Like second nature. Like falling in love with your laughter, and the little parts of you that make up your sum. And you’re aware that it’s going to take time to heal yourself—that it won’t be so easy all the time, that there will be days like these again, but you also know enough that he is genuine and that he loves you with no expectations even if it’s hard to believe sometimes.

Seo Changbin loves you with every bit of conscience he was born with. He loves you simply. 

You stay like this for a while. Safe. Reassuring. Until you feel the sickness less and less.

[dearsnow]

ORLANDO (FIRST KISS)

- charlie, your best friend, attempts to set you up with the crush he is convinced you have. (charlie dalton x gn!reader, includes some neil being a good friend, slight angst into fluff, happy au, no beta we die like real men)

word count: 2,647

a/n - i love charlie so much oh my god 😭 hopefully there’s more to come with him! i’m planning a very long fic for him, hopefully similar in feeling to my neil fic “the last time” :) this is slightly inspired by the song “orlando” by leith ross so pls check them out!!

It’s 1:32 AM on a Friday night (Saturday, technically, but that rarely seems to matter), and Charlie Dalton is refusing to let you sleep.

“You’ve got to tell me. I swear, cross my heart, I won’t tell a soul.” He begs.

Charlie has been your best friend for god knows how long. You met so long ago that you don’t even remember how or why; it just was. That’s exactly what your relationship is. There’s really no rhyme or reason, considering you would detest anyone else with his personality, but you’re friends anyways, and you love him with all your heart. Opposites attract, you suppose. You don’t know for sure. Most days, including today, he is extremely and desperately annoying.

You slump down onto his bed, covering your eyes with your hands. He’s gotten it into his mind that you have a crush, and he won’t rest until he finds out who it is. Lucky you.

“Charlie, it’s no one.” You groan, peeking past your fingers to stare at him with a cross expression. “Even if I did like someone, I wouldn’t tell you.”

The problem is, you do like someone, and he’s sitting right in front of you with messy hair and pajama pants.

Your feelings for him, just like your meeting, are so far buried in the past that you couldn’t dig them up with an excavator. One day, you suppose, you just started to fall in love with him. He’s annoying and rich and a total smart-ass, but you love him. In some soft, quiet ways, he is the kindest boy you’ve ever met.

He notices when you get cut off mid-conversation or when you’re just a little too uncomfortable to talk to the person in front of you. He knows you like the back of his hand and puts his knowledge to use without ever having to ask, like how he always gets you exactly what you want on your birthday. He’s smart and energized and a breath of fresh air, no matter how stale the room is. And, of course, though you would rarely tell him, he is dashingly handsome.

He sits up straighter and begins listing every boy you’ve ever come in contact with. “Meeks? You always did like his type. Ooh, or Pitts? He’s a pitiful lady-killer. Todd is another good choice. Knox has got his thing with Chris, so you probably wouldn’t like him unless you’re into getting your heart broken.” He stops his ranting to take a breath, then continues on. “You cannot like Cameron because if you do, I won’t ever talk to you again. It isn’t Cameron, right?”

You scoff. “I don’t have a crush. Stop trying to guess a person that doesn’t exist.”

“Neil?” He questions. You hesitate just a bit before waving away his suggestion. Neil is a very good friend of both yours and his, and truthfully, he would definitely be the best boyfriend out of all of them. Despite that, you do not love him like you love Charlie. Not even close.

He catches on to your hesitation with scary accuracy. The tilt of your head, the twitch of your hand, the way the corners of your mouth almost curved up into a smile. Charlie feels his heart drop. “Oh my god, it’s Neil. Of course it’s Neil, it’s always Neil! You like Neil.” Neil is, unbeknownst to him, a complete catch. It makes sense that you would like him. After all, he’s kind, outgoing, and a whole lot nicer than Charlie is. That doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Like you, Charlie doesn’t exactly know when you came into his life. Maybe a stuffy dinner party or a prep event- all that matters to him is that you’re here now, and he loves you. He does, however, know when he started loving you.

It was seventh grade at a school dance, and you had decided to go with a boy he barely knew. When the boy asked you out with a pocketed rose and a shy smile, Charlie felt his blood boiling. How dare he, he thought, take you away from him? You’re his best friend. He would have bought you an entire flower shop had you said the word.

Seeing you waltz with him in your pretty outfit, as awkward and stiff as you both were, was too much for him to bear. Charlie left early, prompting you to follow him. The scene that resulted was one you both tried heavily to erase.

“Charlie, what’s wrong?” You panted, hurrying after him as fast as your pinchy shoes would allow. “Charlie. Charlie! Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing. Just go away.” He sniffled. You turned the corner to see him sitting on a curb, tears tracking down his face. If you knew one thing about Charlie Dalton, it was that he hated crying. You sat down next to him, but he turned to face the trees to his left.

“What happened?” You asked gently. How he despised your gentle care.

“I hate you. Go away.” His voice broke in the middle of his sentence. “I never want to see you again.”

Something in you snapped in that moment, something angry and sad all at once. He was hurting, and you loathed it, but Charlie always got what he wanted in the end.

You stood up and left, muttering a “sorry” over your shoulder.

He tried to avoid you for a while after that, but as with all fated things, he couldn’t stay away for long. He went back to you without a hint of apology, and you took him. Begrudgingly, you just couldn’t be without your best friend for very long.

He knew he loved you then, and that fact hasn’t changed in the present.

“I don’t like Neil.” You insist. “Trust me.”

Charlie stands to pace around his room, talking with his hands as per usual. “Y’know, you always seem smiley around him. I should’ve seen it coming, really. The way you talk to him can’t be platonic.” You sigh from the bed, and Charlie flops down beside you. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin. It’s pleasant, like a ray of sun on a cold day. You instinctively move closer to him as he opens his mouth. “I could probably get you a date with him. Not that you couldn’t do it yourself, but,” he pauses, a hint of hurt humor in his eyes, “I could be your wingman.”

He doesn’t want to be. He really doesn’t want to be, but what can he do? He would rather see you happy with Neil than miserable with no one. Despite how much he hates it, he’s gotten over most of his prepubescent jealousy. He knows deep down in the very achingly sad part of him that you don’t love him. At least, not the way he loves you.

You’re facing him, your nose inches away from his chest as your heart pounds in yours. He really wants you to get with Neil. Well, if that’s how he feels, you don’t feel the need to reject the offer. Maybe this is just the thing you need. What’s the point in pining after him when he’s actively trying to set you up with his second best friend?

“Yeah. That… I would like that.” Charlie’s heart crumbles in his chest.

“Then I’ll get right on it.” He grins. Behind the smile, sadness is swimming in his eyes, but you don’t bother to look at them.

It’s winter break, one of Charlie’s favorite times of the year, but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this sad before.

By the time the next weekend rolled around, you had almost forgotten about Charlie’s proposed setup. But, on this Saturday when you’re cozy in your room, Neil comes knocking at your door.

You open the door, slightly surprised. He’s holding a bouquet of flowers with a small grin on his face. They’re your favorite flowers.

“Hi.” He says. His voice is breathless.

You raise your eyebrows, but for some reason, you can’t help but smile. Neil is standing in your doorway, and you feel like you know what he’s going to ask. “Hey.”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” He implores, holding the bouquet out for you to take. “It doesn’t have to be right now, but… I’m ready if you are.” He’s dressed in a crisp suit, and if you’re being honest, you’d hate to make him go home without putting it to use.

You laugh lightly, the feeling bubbling out of your stomach. “Yeah, I’d love that. Just let me get ready and I’ll be out in ten minutes.”

Two days prior to Saturday, Charlie proposed a dead poets town trip. They were milling around, bouncing from shop to shop before Charlie clasped Neil on the shoulder.

“What do you think about Y/N?”

Neil turned, confused. “What do you mean?”

There was a smirk on Charlie’s face, but he hesitated like he didn’t actually want to say the words he was about to say. “I mean, I think you two would be a pretty cute couple.”

Neil let out a huff of air, almost in disbelief. “You’ve been in love with them since seventh grade, Nuwanda. Don’t try to act like you aren’t.”

Charlie gasped exaggeratedly and put a hand over his heart. “How dare you suggest that! I just want the best for my dearest friends.” The others laughed. Every single one of them knew that Charlie harbored deep feelings for you- and every single one of them knew he would never admit it. “Look, just one date. Ask them out on Saturday. They really like you, and I know they’re free, so they can’t pull any excuses.”

“I just don’t know.” Neil admitted. “They’re great and all, but I’d feel bad if I stole away your crush of four years.”

“You won’t be stealing anything, my boy. Just think about it.” Charlie knew he was lying, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he also knew that somehow, he was making the right decision.

Like all of your romantic endeavors, your date with Neil is slightly awkward. He’s your friend, sure, but you’ve never really thought about him like this before. You never even considered dating him. It’s always been Charlie. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to broaden your horizons.

After the initial tension, you would like to believe it went well. Neil walks you out of the restaurant, holding your arm. He’s smiling, and you feel your own expression falter. You like him, you really do, but some part of you knows that he will never be Charlie.

He leans closer to you, almost close enough to touch. Your heart pounds in your chest as he whispers something into your ear. “Don’t look, but Charlie’s watching. Pretend I’m kissing you.”

You’re taken aback as your eyes try to search for his brown hair, but after a second, you comply. You shut your eyes and thread your fingers through Neil’s. To anyone else, especially anyone inside of the restaurant, it looks like you’re smashing tongues with him.

Neil walks you home as the day fades into night, and as much as you ask, your questions are left unanswered with a sly wink.

“I can’t believe you would do that.” Charlie rages. “It was meant to be a date, not a date and a tongue fuck! That was their first kiss, Neil, and you’ve stripped them of it!” He doesn’t know why he’s so outrageously enraged. It was a quick kiss from the boy you’ve been crushing on. He should be overjoyed for you.

“It wasn’t like that, Charlie. Just ask them.” Neil is surprisingly calm, considering his friend is screaming at him. “Ask them. Go on.” He pushes Charlie’s shoulder. “I walked them home.”

Charlie grumbles, his gut twisted into shaking, angry knots. “I will. If they tell me you did anything weird, though, you’re dead.” Neil shakes his head.

“I think you’d kill me even if I didn’t kiss them.”

For the second time, you hear a knock at your door. This one is loud and frenzied, but through the haze, you can tell who it is. Who else would knock so harshly at 11:23 at night? It’s a good four hours after your date, so it definitely can’t be Neil.

You open the door, clad in pajamas and a frown. “Seriously, Charlie? You’re gonna wake the whole neighborhood.”

“Did he kiss you?” Ah, straight to the point. He’s never one to beat around the bush.

“What’s it to you?” You defend. “You didn’t care about that possibility when you wanted me to date him.” You cross your arms. Why the hell is he so upset? You don’t understand anything about this. His motives, his feelings, right now, they’re more confusing than he’s ever been. Well, save for one night. Oddly, this reminds you of that dance a few years back. You don’t want that to happen again, so whatever’s going on has to stop.

He opens his mouth and then closes it like he’s actually considering what he wants to say for the first time in his life. “I just…” A defeated expression tugs his face down. Your heart plummets. You rarely ever see him crestfallen. The last time was four years ago, and you had hoped you would never see him like that again.

He turns to walk away. He can’t do it, he just can’t. He’s walking so fast the pavement under his feet is a blur, and you chase after him.

“Charlie, what are you-“ He turns, seeing the confusion on your face.

When he looks at you, all Charlie can see is love. He loves your voice, the curve of your lips, the way you do anything and everything. In that moment, when he sees you with tired eyes, his inhibitions flee like rabbits from a wolf. Maybe, just maybe, he can.

Before you can ask, yet after you see the fire in his eyes, he grabs your arm and cuts you off.

“Can I kiss you?”

You’re taken aback for a moment, lips parted, not speaking a word. His hair is messy and the tear tracks on his cheeks glisten in the street lights. It’s like everything you’ve ever wanted has sprung to life before your eyes. “Yes, but-“

He presses his lips to yours, effectively cutting off any further communication once again. His grip on you softens as his hands reach up to cup your face. Your eyes flutter shut, and a million different things race through your mind. All you can consciously think is that you never want it to end.

When he pulls away, breathless, something new is shining in his eyes. “I hope that wasn’t bad for a second kiss.” He smiles. He’s still worried, more so than he’s ever been, but that was the most amazing thing he thinks he’s ever done.

“Second? Charlie, that was my first.”

He pauses. “So Neil didn’t kiss you?”

You laugh, and upon seeing his even more excited face, you laugh so hard you double over. He joins, and your giggles are probably too loud for how late it is. “No! God no, he told me to pretend because you were watching.” Your voice comes out humorous and strained, with so much joy behind the tone that Charlie can feel himself starting to laugh again. “Were- Were you in the restaurant for our whole date?”

“Yeah.” He chokes out. “I couldn’t just let the love of my life date some other guy without my knowledge, right?”

“Oh, totally. Maybe you should ask me out next time, then, to completely avoid this whole scenario.” He pulls you in, laughing against your shoulder.

“Sure. Yeah, I think I will. Next time, I’ll make sure of it.”

[archaospetryx]

…

What

WHAT

HE KNOWS WAYY TOO MUCH OMG

HIDE EVERYONE, HIDE

(Also, yeah i did change the background of my Twitter)

[star-girl69]

clarisse is definitely i hate everyone but you trope SHES VERY “10 things i hate about you” PATRICK CODED

OMG I FORGOT ABOUT THIS TROPE. no bc it is SO clarisse it’s insane and i must elaborate

while she’s not necessarily a bully she’s just insecure and her first instinct is violence!

she is just kind of an asshole tho

she standoffish and her reputation at camp is not very positive!

people are just really shocked and all your siblings are SO concerned that she’s like going to punch you in the face or smth???? it’s really funny tbh

clarisse is just SO hard and tough and that’s just her persona and who she is

but you just bring out a side of her that no one else gets to see

well they get to see it from afar

you’ll be like standing next to her table at lunch trying to talk to her about something and she’s like

“hold on pretty girl hold that pretty thought can someone fucking move so she can sit down?? jesus christ.”

or sometimes she’ll just push one of her siblings food away and tell you to sit right on the table

mumbling “sorry sorry” to all of her siblings but they’re used to it

her love language is touch and acts of service so she’s always touching you, any part of your body, always kissing you, and it’s just so SHOCKING

like just pure whiplash she’ll call one of her friends a dumbass for tripping but if you were to trip over something she would catch you and be like “you gotta be more careful, dummy” and smile at you

one of her siblings would jokingly point out how unfair it was and she was just like deadpan

“yeah? she’s the most amazing woman at camp. what are you? you’re not beautiful like her. you’re not smart like her. you’re just….. you…. which is not a good thing”

she’s always just doing things for you

like if you ask her to grab something for you trust it’s getting grabbed

but also like ares kids notice EVERYTHING

you won’t even realize you’re cold or hungry or something and all of a sudden she’s placing a jacket over you or shoving food into your mouth

she loves to feed you but not in a weird way

she just likes to provide for you???? do i make sense???? she just wants you and everyone to see that she’s capable and strong and confident and she can take care of you AND herself

and you’re obviously always so nice to her

like borderline sitting in her lap, touching her muscles, talking about how pretty she is

everyone is like “have you met clarisse before??”

y’all know you on my arm by leith ross? she wants to buy you pretty little things and never ever lie to you

she just gets so BORED with everyone else

like she’s a little bit better to her siblings but still

they’ll be talking sometimes and she’s like oh my god shut up

then you come around and start rambling to her and she does get bored too she’s not perfect but she just zones out and listens to your voice

or sometimes if she’s really bored she kisses you so you’ll shut up

and it’s really weird bc like she’s kissing you and SHES KISSING YOU so you’re like omg and then she’s just mumbling “sorry sorry sorry” against your lips like bae what are you even talking about that???? that was before the kiss who cares

also she has to kiss you before EVERY capture the flag game before EVERY spar or match or else she’s convinced she’ll lose

after capture the flag games that she wins she’s like sitting somewhere recounting the events with her siblings with you in her lap

she’s just obsessed with you really

[harleith-harlot]

@ajoure's Harleith art masterpost

(bold was added to the list in the most recent update, italic is a several page comic. Last update: April 7, 2025)

Non-AU

they both don't get personal boundaries at all (evil gays) (the OG omg???)

more evil scientists

time passes but habits remain the same

and they were roommates

worth a shot

them 🫶

horrible things (ft securityangel)

sketches

everyone should be thanking god for making ajoure an artist with free will

boys being boys again (Skullsz_Writes fic)

they like to tease each other soooo bad

Valentine's Day went wrong for them, eh?

Looking at this person who asked me to draw 'em evil gays again

pet owner moment

pet owner moment pt2

portrait study

"elaborate...?"

700 people asked for wireplay

painted nails are the least gay thing Pierre can do

a not-so-good morning for Pierre

british men (not Harlieth but I wanted to include it)

Angel barber

something sweet

oh they're at it again

hypermobility

puzzle pieces

Out of context (ft. Stella & Eddie)

"uhh well that just happened"

Harley is absolutely insufferable

AU (4cmit)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

I got a really silly idea, hear me out

aww, they're bonding by bullying Pierre in cardboard games <3

Sensitivity test

Mistakes were made (metalkitty fic)

Harley is touch starved

Cassidy they're fucking the robots-

Two bodies pt 1

Two bodies pt 2

Eepy evil scientists

Possessive (and very creative) robot gf

Ship of Theseus

Please don't take this body from me

In front of Eddie's soup

Two bodies pt 3 (spice edition)

People with blue eyes be like

The sunrise

The sunrise follow-up (metalkitty fic)

eepers

Harley Sockser

They're not on the spectrum, they are the spectrum

Harley would rather die twice than show affection (yet)

The Blue Danube Waltz

Harley's conducting an experiment

Overthinking

Pay attention to him, Leith!

Lipstick marks

Two silly kids trying to bring their evil fathers together

Harley's body just got updated

Rendezvous

Midnight snack (not Harleith)

Sleepy morning (metalkitty fic)

Shorty

Animal Parallels

Instructions unclear - the apple didn't work

Apple follow-up

But can we blame Leith for this?

Boys care about their Shorty

Ruthlessness

Run Rabbit Run

Doggyboy and Catboy

Guess who made this body for me (my fic)

I'll make it enjoyable

Harley's slowly getting more senses back

Nightmares (metalkitty fic)

Harley's having fun with his taste back 👀

ahh, kids are having fun with their chewing toy<3

Harley is having fun with his taste back again

Harley's having more fun (beware erotic machinery)

Immortality is the curse of the weak

Look at them, all dressed up, so elegant

A place to belong

hey we get you Leith don't worry (Eddie don't ask questions you wouldn't want to know the answer to)

damn that's certainly a creative way to use wires

people asked for some more wires chewing<3

*angry British yelling*

girls fighting 💔

Leith's nail polish (ask)

Ah this goofy old man

Fics inspired by this AU in general

"Way Down We Go" by @ombroberry

"reflections, in tension" by one last touch of flesh anon

"almonds, whiskey, lavender milk" by anonymous

Song fic by @midnight193

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Depollute Me, Pretty Baby

masterlist

inspired by We’ll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross aka one of my all time favorite songs. i was listening to it and it made me think of finnick:’)

pairing(s): Finnick Odair x Female!Reader

warnings: basic finnick story warnings since baby boy is traumatized😭 reader and finnick struggle with somewhat similar pasts

word count: 2.64k

In a quiet cottage by the sea, love grows in the space between breath and memory. You and Finnick are still new to this—still learning how to be held without flinching, how to be kissed without expectation, how to be loved without pain.

Depollute me, pretty baby

Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream

Oh, dilute me, gentle angel

Water down what I call being grateful

The sea air always smells a little sweeter when he’s around. Brighter, somehow. Like salt and sun and something softer—something that hums beneath your skin without ever making you flinch. The kind of peace that doesn’t need permission.

You’re curled up on the porch of the little seaside cottage, legs tucked beneath you, swaddled in one of his old sweatshirts. It hangs too big on your frame, sleeves swallowing your hands, and the collar stretches wide enough to bare the slope of your shoulder to the sun. It still smells like him—clean laundry, ocean breeze, something like spearmint and warmth.

The wind ruffles your hair, but you don’t move. Your gaze is unfocused, locked somewhere in the middle distance, caught in the old ache that still lives quietly behind your ribs.

Inside, you hear the soft clink of a spoon against ceramic. Water boiling. Cabinets opening and closing. The song of a small, sacred routine.

He appears a minute later with tea you didn’t ask for—didn’t even realize you needed. No fanfare. No fuss. Just Finnick kneeling beside your chair, gentle as ever, and pressing the warm mug into your cold hands.

“You weren’t breathing again,” he says, not unkindly.

His voice is soft, like he’s afraid of startling you out of the thoughts you’re caught in. It doesn’t sound like a question. Just a knowing truth between the two of you. He’s gotten good at recognizing the signs—the way your shoulders go stiff, the way your eyes get too still.

“I was,” you mumble. “Sort of.”

He raises one brow, lips twitching into the softest kind of smile. “Sort of doesn’t count, pretty girl.”

You don’t answer. Just let your fingers curl around the mug, soaking in the warmth.

Finnick doesn’t push. He never does.

He just lowers himself to sit beside your chair, resting his chin on the armrest like it’s second nature. He looks up at you like he’s trying to memorize the exact shape of the pain you’re wearing today.

“I’m here,” he says simply.

Three little words. Said without hesitation. Without need. Without expectation.

You blink. Swallow.

You don’t say thank you. Not because you’re not grateful—God, you are—but because the words don’t feel right in your mouth anymore. You’ve spent too long offering them in exchange for scraps. For tolerances mistaken as kindness. For the bare minimum dressed up as mercy.

So instead, you let your hand fall gently into his hair. Your fingers thread through sea-slicked curls, and he hums at the contact, eyes closing like he’s found his place in the world tucked up against your side.

“I know,” you whisper. “I know you’re here.”

You don’t need to say thank you.

Finnick’s already heard it in the way you let him hold your silence.

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me

Not to take me home

It was simple, it was sweetness

It was good to know

He doesn’t talk much about his past.

Not in full sentences. Not in linear stories. But the truth of it still finds its way into the quiet moments—into the way his shoulders tense when a voice gets too loud. Into how he pauses, sometimes, before reaching for you, like he has to remind himself that this kind of touch won’t cost him anything.

It’s one of those mornings when the silence speaks more than either of you can. Early sunlight filters through the gauzy curtains, the kind that makes everything golden and dreamlike, but there’s a heaviness to the air.

You find him by the window, shirtless, sea-damp curls tousled from the water. He hasn’t said a word since he came inside. Just stands there barefoot, arms folded across his chest, watching the ocean like it’s holding a secret he doesn’t want to hear.

You hesitate in the doorway, bare feet pressing into the cool floorboards. Then you walk over quietly, wrapping your arms around him from behind. Your cheek rests between his shoulder blades.

He doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t melt either. He just stands still.

“You okay?” you murmur.

His response is a gentle nod, but it’s the kind that’s too careful. Too practiced.

You know what that means.

So you slip around to face him, placing both hands on either side of his face. He doesn’t meet your eyes at first—just looks down and to the side, as if he’s trying not to be seen.

“Finn,” you whisper. “Look at me.”

He does. Slowly. Carefully. And when his eyes meet yours, you can see it—the part of him that still doesn’t fully believe he’s allowed to be loved without a catch.

So you lean in and kiss him.

Not because he looks sad. Not because you want to soothe something in him. Not even because he’s beautiful standing in the morning light like that, all sun-kissed skin and sea-glass eyes.

You kiss him because you love him.

Because you want to.

Because he’s here, and you’re here, and that’s reason enough.

He stills under your touch. His hands twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. So you take them—thread your fingers through his and squeeze, gentle and sure.

You pull back just far enough to speak. “You don’t have to be anything for me to want you,” you whisper. “Not charming. Not composed. Not okay.”

His throat bobs, and his lashes flutter. He doesn’t say anything.

So you kiss him again. A little firmer this time. Still slow. Still sweet. A kiss with no strings. A kiss for nothing but the knowing of it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur.

He breathes in like he hasn’t done it properly all morning. And when his forehead drops to yours, he doesn’t shake, doesn’t try to speak. He just breathes. With you.

And you stay like that, pressed together in the golden quiet, hearts speaking what mouths never needed to.

You look perfect, you look different

I don’t wonder about your indifference

If I said you could never touch me

You’d come over and say I looked lovely

It rains in soft rhythms, the kind that tap gently at the windows like a lullaby. Everything in the cottage feels cocooned—warm, still, safe. You’re bundled on the couch in one of Finnick’s old sweaters, sleeves too long, your knees tucked up to your chest. The ocean’s roar is muted by the weather, but the waves still crash somewhere in the background, steady and dependable.

You haven’t spoken much today. Not because anything’s wrong. Just because it’s one of those quiet days. One of those days when your skin feels a little too loud. When the idea of being perceived, even by someone who loves you, feels like too much.

Finnick knows.

He’s always known.

You hear the creak of the floorboards before you see him, the soft shuffle of his feet from the kitchen. He appears in the doorway, tea mug in hand, pausing when he sees the way your eyes flit up toward him, then drop again quickly. How your arms wrap tighter around your torso. How you shift deeper into the sweater like you wish you could vanish inside it.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong.

Doesn’t call you out.

Just sets the mug on the little table and crosses the room in soft steps. Then he kneels beside the couch—same height as you now—like he always does when you need him to be gentle.

“Mind if I sit?” he asks.

You nod, and he does. Close, but not touching. He stays quiet, gaze soft, like he’s waiting to see what you need.

You don’t reach for him.

You don’t say anything.

And you don’t have to.

Finnick just tilts his head and smiles—barely there, but it’s real. He glances down at the oversized sweater swallowing your frame, then back up at you.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, easy as breathing. “You know that?”

You shake your head a little, not in protest, just disbelief. “I don’t feel it.”

“You don’t have to feel it,” he says gently. “It’s still true.”

You blink, staring at the floor like maybe the words will settle easier if you don’t look at him while he says them.

He doesn’t try to fix your posture. Doesn’t pull your arms away from where you’ve curled into yourself. Just reaches over and brushes his fingers over the ends of your hair, tucking one soft strand behind your ear.

“You look perfect,” he murmurs. “Not the kind of perfect someone demands. The kind that just is. Different than anyone I’ve ever seen. And better.”

You open your mouth to say something—maybe to argue—but he leans in before you can, resting his forehead against yours with a quiet breath.

“If you told me not to touch you,” he says, voice low, “I wouldn’t. I never would. But I’d still be right here. Telling you how goddamn stunning you are.”

You exhale slowly. A little shaky, but steadier than before.

He doesn’t kiss you. Doesn’t ask to.

Just stays close.

And in the quiet between you, something inside you settles.

He doesn’t need your affection to prove he’s wanted.

He just needs to remind you that you are.

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me

Not to make me cry

It was simple, you are sweetness

Let’s just sit a while

Finnick is curled sideways on the couch, a worn book forgotten in his lap, the late afternoon light spilling through the window and setting his curls aglow like spun copper. He’s been quiet today, but not in the way that scares you. Not closed off. Just… soft around the edges. Like the tide at low moon.

You sit beside him, sideways too, your knees brushing his. His thumb is idly tracing the fraying seam of a cushion, but his eyes flick up when you reach for him.

You don’t say anything.

You just lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Gentle. Steady. Not asking for anything.

He freezes for half a second, like his brain short-circuits when affection doesn’t come with strings attached. Then he exhales, and something in his chest visibly loosens.

“That wasn’t a fix-you kiss,” you murmur, brushing your nose along his. “Or a distract-you kiss. Just a… ‘I love you and I can’ kind of kiss.”

Finnick blinks at you, lashes fanned against his cheekbones, and you can tell he’s trying to wrap his mind around the idea of love being so simple. So safe. You watch the moment it lands—the way his gaze softens, the way his hand comes up to cradle your cheek like you’ve given him something sacred and he’s afraid to drop it.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Just leans forward and presses his forehead to yours, breathing in as if the only way to stay grounded is to fill his lungs with you.

“Thank you,” he whispers finally. “For letting me be held. For not needing me to—”

You press another kiss to his cheek before he can finish. “Shhh,” you smile softly. “You don’t owe me anything but yourself.”

He smiles back, small and a little crooked, and it makes your heart ache with how good he is. How beautiful he is when he’s allowed to just be.

“Let’s just sit,” you whisper. “Nothing else.”

He shifts slightly, leaning back into the cushions, and tugs you gently with him until your head rests on his shoulder and your hand is nestled between both of his. His thumb starts tracing slow circles over your skin. Not for distraction. Not to soothe. Just to feel you.

Outside, the ocean keeps whispering, and the world keeps turning.

But inside the little cottage, it’s just the two of you.

Not broken.

Not fixing.

Just held.

Depollute me, gentle angel

And I’ll feel the sickness less and less

Come and kiss me, pretty baby

Like we’ll never have sex

It’s late.

Not quite night, but the world is quiet in that way it only gets when the sun’s gone and the sea hasn’t noticed yet. The breeze shifts through the open windows, soft and salt-sweet, and the only light in the cottage comes from the little lamp beside the bed—dim and gold, like a candle flickering inside a snow globe.

Finnick is lying beside you beneath a quilt patched with old stories. One of his hands is curled loosely at your hip, the other tangled in your fingers. Not tight. Just… there. Just steady.

He’s not asleep. You can feel it in his breath. In the way his thumb brushes gently across your knuckles like a rhythm he’s trying to memorize.

You shift slightly, curling toward him until your foreheads touch. His eyes flutter open—green and heavy and open in a way he saves only for you.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey,” he echoes, soft and warm.

There’s no weight to it. No expectation. Just a word, passed like a seashell between palms.

You reach up and brush a strand of hair from his face. “You feel okay?”

He nods slowly. “I think so,” he murmurs. “It’s just… quiet.”

You nod too. “Quiet’s good.”

Finnick watches you for a long moment. Then, without saying anything, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s not a deep kiss. Not fevered. Not heavy with meaning. Just his mouth against yours, slow and sweet and achingly careful. Like he’s not asking anything of you except this.

You kiss him back just as softly. Just as fully. You pour your love into it, all the things you don’t always know how to say, and he feels it—you know he does. It hums through the way his breath catches. The way his fingers tighten just a little in yours.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours again. You feel his chest rise and fall with something that sounds a little like peace.

“You always kiss me like it’s the only thing you need,” he murmurs.

You smile, brushing your nose against his. “That’s because it is.”

He goes still. Not tense—just stunned. Like love shouldn’t be this gentle, this safe, and yet here it is. Here you are.

You shift a little closer, tucking your head beneath his chin and resting your hand over his heart.

“You make it quiet,” you say softly. “Even the parts of me that never shut up.”

Finnick exhales through his nose. His arms wind fully around you now, holding you with a kind of reverence that says he knows what a miracle it is to want nothing but closeness.

“You make it quieter too,” he whispers. “Like I can breathe in a way I didn’t know I was missing.”

Your hand strokes slowly along his ribs. “We don’t have to be anything we’re not,” you murmur. “Not here. Not with each other.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just holds you tighter.

And in the hush that follows, nothing aches.

You don’t think about the before. Not his. Not yours. Just now.

His hand moves in slow circles along your spine. Your legs tangle beneath the quilt. And when he kisses your forehead—barely a breath—you feel the sickness loosen its grip on your bones. Not gone. Not cured. But lessened.

And that’s enough.

He kisses you again, right between your eyes. Right where the hurt always settles. “We don’t have to do anything,” he says. “Just this.”

You smile. “Just this.”

And you kiss again. Like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known how to do gently. Like there’s nothing waiting at the end of it. Just love.

Just light.

Just the hush of the sea and a little cottage by the shore.

Like you’ll never have sex.

Like you’ll never need anything more than this.

[cofikoyok]

HIIIIII

Oh God I should remember about this account more :((((

Anyways, BACK WITH FATHERS

HARLEY SAWYER AND LEITH PIERRE ARE MY PARENTS THEY'RE KISSING EVERY NIGHT TRUST ME!!!!!!!!!:DD

LOVE THEM SM AAAAAAHHH

+ bonus

This is for @xnijl , who wrote AMAZING PERFECT AWENSOME fanfiction about them, plz go check it out on ao3 it is worth it, luv ya bro :33

[archaospetryx]

*sighs hard* oh god… uh…

remember my previous post abt Harley n Arthur? So uh,,, guess what I made for that one suggestive post,,

🔞NSFW WARNING,, MINORS DNI👇👇

This is my first time drawing nsfw and hell I suck at it but worth a shot!…

*sighs in sheer agony and evaporates*

👇

Im placing as much warnings as I can,,

👇

👇

👇

👇

STRICTLY MINORS DNI, NSFW AHEAD

🔞

🔞

🔞

🔞

Last warning

👇

👇

👇

👇

👇

NUH uh I’m not showing the uncensored one, I hate anatomy but uh wow first freaky art of Harthur, what a surprise��🫥

Arthur is Harley’s first btw and after this I’d bet he requests Harley NEVER to do that on any hard surface bc his back was killing him— poor guy was never made to be lying on the cold concrete floor

Never have I ever realized I’d learn how to do nsfw this year, I’m gonna run to the sewers now,,

Meanwhile Leith Pierre realizing he paired his ONLY sane employee with Playtime’s most psychotic scientist only to find out that his ONLY sane employee is as worse as Harley gets;

[poppyfan]

EVEN MORE INCORRECT POPPY PLAYTIME QUOTES

Leith: Are you a painting?

Harley: What-?

Leith: Because I want to pin you to a wall.

Stella: OH GOD I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY YOU WANTED TO HANG THEM OR SOMETHING-

*playing twister*

Stella: Right hand red.

Leith: *ends up on top of Harley*

Harley: You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

Stella: I stopped spinning like 15 minutes ago. Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't notice.

Harley, looking through their clothes: Has anyone seen my top?

Stella: Leith's in the kitchen.

[innovation-is-key]

*Clears throat and throws @dr-harley-sawyer at Leith*

I found you something to chew on

:D

"'oh my god.'"

"'looking good.....'"

[angellayercake]

Oh well @sakuraspoke if you insist on me rambling about Terzo who am I to refuse? ☺️

We know from some interview snippets about him that by the time he becomes papa he is bitter and he hates himself and he is somewhat of a recluse which is clearly a massive contradiction to the caring, entertaining, silly, sexy charmer we see on stage. That man seems a lot more in keeping with the description we see from Bishop Necropolitus Cracoviensis who describes Terzo during his time as a Cardinal. As being a visionary who cares for his flock and revels in sin.

So how did he get here and how does that relate to this song?

I think we can all agree that his hopes for what he would achieve during his reign as Papa were squashed very quickly. He clearly put up a fight and was starting to gain momentum by the end where perhaps he thought it might be possible (hence why he was dragged off stage, humiliated and murdered) but we can see that nothing really went to plan and this is what probably sent him down the spiral of depression and self hatred.

But to bring it all back to 'We'll never have sex'. He created a very specific persona that was very likable and charming and I have no doubt that those are aspects of his personality and he had no lack of partners within the Ministry and without. But they ONLY wanted the Charming Papa™ and when his darker side would reveal itself, his self loathing and dissatisfaction they would run for the hills, if they even stayed long enough to see it. Because he is Papa right? Sex god leader of the Satanic Church, champion of the female orgasm, he is above wanting to be loved or cared for.

He is lonely, depressed, hopeless and desperate for some connection. So he keeps up the facade, keeps accepting the one night stands and casual propositions just to stave off the loneliness for a night or two until he just can't anymore. He closes himself off and comes to terms with the fact that no one will ever want just him.

This is all my standard headcanon for him in general and most of my fics unless otherwise stated but this also leads specifically into banchetto so I will put that under a read more in case anyone doesn't care about that bit ���

This is basically where he is emotionally at the beginning of Banchetto underneath the hurt about his removal from his position and his brothers interference etc.

So why does he do what he does to poor reader? Well I think personally he has forgotten how to relate to people romantically other than sex. He hasn't had a traditional 'relationship' for many many years probably since he was a very young man and first learned about falling in love and heartbreak.

When he realises that reader is attracted to him he also finds her a distraction from wallowing in his depression and even though he had grown to hate no strings sex he falls back on that easy seduction to give him that taste of connection he craves. That is until he realises how much he hurt her by playing with her and that's when he realises

1. He may have found someone who really does care for HIM not what they can get from Papa. She has seen him at his worst. Complete rock bottom and still she cares?

2. He is beginning to care for her too. He looks forward to seeing her everyday and the light she brings into his life. He wakes up earlier so he can be up as soon as she arrives and he wracks his brains for question after question so he can justify following her around as she works. It's only when she disappears for that week after he cornered her that he realises this though.

And this is why they are taking it so slowly (aside from the fact she really does have a job to do which he tends to forget and at this point has completely forgotten). She has picked up on the fact that this is unfamiliar territory for him and really there is no need to rush right? What could possibly bring their happy little domestic bubble to be popped??? 😈

On that note I will leave it there. If you have got this far I love you 😚😚

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - Best of 2024

Welcome to the final rec list of 2024 in which I look back at the best fic’s I read this year--what are YOUR favorite fics of the year? 

Hot Rod Red by FrankTheSnek

Steve has been single since the abrupt end of his engagement 5 years ago (despite the efforts of his friends). When he accidentally stumbles across an attractive cam model online, the idea of having a virtual booty call on hand seems appealing. The only problem, Tony is far more charming than Steve would have imagined and there is more to him than a pretty smile and a nice body. Too bad all their interactions are just part of Tony's job��� or are they?

Picture This by mistymountainking

“What if—” Steve doesn’t clear his throat this time. He swallows. And oh, Tony watches like it’s happening in slow motion, the tensing of tendons, the roll of Steve’s Adam's apple, the way his suprasternal notch collapses and fills as his esophagus works to, what, keep words down? Saliva? A moan? Steve blinks and the glassiness clears. The blush all but vanishes. “Never mind,” he mutters.

And that…that just won’t do.

Tony leans forward ever so slightly over the foot of the bed, further into Steve’s space by a fraction of an inch. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed, but Steve does. He stares at Tony from up near the headboard, a plaintive expression deep behind his eyes, a problem that Tony can’t help but want to fix.

“Would you like my help, Steve?”

***

Steve gets caught attempting to take his first-ever dick pics. It's a struggle, he explains, because it brings up a whole host of lingering body image issues. Tony, very gallantly and not at all because he is in love with Steve, offers to take the photos for him.

how light carries on endlessly by meidui

“I'm fine. I always heal up fine.”

“Do you?” Tony asks, two little words flaying Steve open. Steve looks up at him, and against the dusky light, Tony Stark strangely looks nothing like his father.

-

Between a near-drowning in the Hudson River, a panic attack in the middle of a mission, and a kidnapping, Steve learns to be happy.

business affairs by meidui

It’s two years of wanting him the way he hasn’t wanted Emma since their honeymoon to the pearl of the Pacific, eighteen months of Steve slipping into his hotel suite on business trips away from the prying eyes of New York, and twelve months of staying late after the cleaning staff clock out because Steve will ride him behind his desk with the door unlocked.

Senseless by Scavenge4Dreams

Blinded, deafened, exhausted, injured and afraid, Tony raised himself up into a defensive position, the knife coming up just like Nat had taught him.

“That had better fucking be you, Steve Rogers- it had better be you. Fucking disarm me. If you let me kill you, I swear I will be very, very pissed.” Tony snarled, sure it was Steve approaching. Had to be. Had. To. Be.

What if it wasn’t?

Sunshine on Leith by AvengersNewB, KandiSheek

With the new government law prohibiting the employment of unbonded omegas, Tony has no hope of keeping his job at SHIELD, knowing full well that he has little chance of ever finding a mate. That is until he's officially claimed by a very special alpha: Steven Grant Rogers, also known as Captain America.

In the Springtime of His Voodoo by shaenie 

“I’m removing Captain Rogers from this base, but not from active duty. I want him as SHIELD’s liaison to Stark Industries first and foremost. He’ll report directly to me,” Fury says. “As it is, your identity as Captain America is not public knowledge and it will remain that way until I say otherwise. That said, if you think you can get Tony Stark to work with you if you disclose that information, you have permission to do so.”

talk just right by meidui

The most Tony hears Steve talk is when they argue, but hand to god, that's not the reason Tony keeps picking fights with him.

Well, maybe a little.

As Sharp As Any Thorn by RurouniHime 

It’s four days to Christmas, there’s a city in shambles, and the nation is in mourning because of the actions of a single man.

Double Exposure by shetlandowl

After a brief stint in the third installment of the Captain America franchise, Tony Stark was brought back to reprise his role as Iron Man in the fourth Captain America movie, Avengers Assemble. Tony had spent most of his twenties becoming a household name as a rising star in Mexican telenovelas, and Avengers Assemble is his breakout role on the big screen – and, more importantly, his introduction to the mainstream US audience.

Even after the movie is completed, Steve and Tony’s friendship remains a source of support that they instinctively rely on for encouragement and guidance. Tony’s fearless approach helps Steve break out of his comfort zone, and Steve’s solid grounding helps Tony focus on what matters.

This promotional tour is a new experience for Tony, but with Steve’s help, his learning curve isn’t so steep. Steve’s learning curve, on the other hand, is life changing.

[scotianostra]

On February 28th 1261 Margaret of Scotland was born at Windsor Castle, England.

Margaret was the daughter of the hapless King Alexander III, who famously fell off a cliff at Kinghorn, her mother was Margaret of England, Margaret was a popular name back then. To differentiate her from others she is known as Margaret of Norway, not to be confused with her daughter, Margaret, yes another one, who we know as Maid of Norway, confused? It's okay I'll explain it all, because there is actually not a great deal else to tell as the medieval history is a bit scant of detail!

Alexander and Margaret were married on Christmas Day 1251, he was ten years old and she was eleven, for the early part of the marriage they were kept apart and Margaret grew up feeling very homesick, she wrote to her father, Henry III of England saying she felt she was being mistreated, Henry sent representatives north and to check on her wellbeing. It wasn't until the year 1260 Alexander travelled south to visit the English royals, it's not known how long Alexander stayed, but he was back home by November that year, leaving his Queen , who it was discovered was pregnant, to give birth at Windsor Castle in February 1261.

Henry had promised to return Queen Margaret and her child to Scotland by Easter Sunday, 24 April 1261, but in the end - perhaps because of complications or an illness after childbirth or the young queen's reluctance to leave her parents and her homeland - they remained in England until the end of May.

Inevitably, little is known of her childhood. Her brother, named after their father and the heir to the Scottish throne, was born on 21st January 1264, and after a very long gap, another brother, David, was born on 20th March 1273, their mother died two years later on February 16th 1275, a fact I should have picked up on a couple of days ago, but such are the troubles of keeping on top of medieval history dates!

Anyway back to the subject and enter the Scandinavians. King Magnus VI of Norway, whose father Haakon IV Alexander III had defeated at the battle of Largs in 1263, died on 9 May 1280, and within weeks Alexander had opened negotiations for Magnus's grandson and heir Erik II to marry Margaret. Erik was born sometime in 1268, so was at least seven years younger than Margaret and at the time of the wedding negotiations only eleven or twelve to her nineteen; despite his striking nickname of 'Priest-Hater', he seems to have grown up to be a rather mild and ineffectual young man.

A wee look at the "newspaper" of the day the Lanercost chronicle reports the negotiations:

"At this time the king of Norway died, leaving as successor his son called Magnus; who hearing that the king of Scotland had an amiable, beautiful and attractive daughter, a virgin, of suitable age for himself (being a handsome youth of about eighteen years) could not rest until a formal mission, divines as well as nobles, had been sent twice to obtain her as his spouse and consort on the throne." Margaret's feelings about marrying a boy a few years her junior are a matter for speculation, though she did send a letter (in French) to her "very dear uncle" Edward I sometime in 1280 - whether before or after the marriage negotiations is hard to say, as she didn't date the letter - telling him that she was "healthy and cheerful" (saine et haite) by God's mercy. She ended by wishing Edward "a thousand greetings," , and requested that he constantly inform her of his own health and his wishes towards her.

Yes I know the ages are a bit mixed up, but I'm doing my best here, and some of these Chroniclers sometimes got it wrong, it is generally accepted to be true in this case. Oh Margaret's brother, I should say, was Edward, "Longshanks", bogeyman to us Scots for a period of our history.

The wedding negotiations were completed on 25th July 1281, and Margaret sailed from Leith on 11 August with a huge dowry of 14,000 marks, arriving in Bergen on 15 August; among those accompanying her were the earl and countess of Menteith and the abbot of Balmerino. She was greeted in her new land with "demonstrations of great joy." Her wedding to thirteen-year-old Erik, and her coronation as queen of Norway, both took place in Bergen in August. A wedding hymn in Latin has fortuitously survived, the first stanza of which Marion Campbell translates as:

"From you has risen, o gentle Scotland, a light which gleaming Norway truly acknowledges, at whose transit you sigh deeply because your king's daughter is taken from you."

Little can be said about Margaret's rather brief tenure as queen of Norway, though she appears to have been very popular, and was said in her new country to be "she who made our king a man." She became pregnant in the summer of 1282, many speculate it would have been around Erik's fourteenth birthday, when he would have been of age to take his wife into the marital bed.

Tragedy struck in early 1283: Margaret of Scotland, queen of Norway, died on 9th April (or 28th February, her birthday, according to Lanercost), aged twenty-two, shortly after giving birth to a daughter. King Erik II was now a father and a widower at the age of only fourteen or fifteen. Their daughter was named Margaret after Margaret herself and her mother the queen of Scotland.

The Lanercost chronicler, who for some reason really had it in for poor Alexander III - who has always struck me as a very pleasant and likeable man, as well as a strong and excellent king - blames Margaret's death on her father and says that it came about "in order that God's long-suffering should by many afflictions soften to a proper degree of penitence the heart of the father through whose wrong-doing these things came to pass." He also blames the early deaths of Alexander's queen and his sons on Alexander's "sin."

The other early deaths are David, who died June 1281 aged just 9, and Alexander, Prince of Scotland, who died on 28th January 1284, aged around 20.

With King Alexander's fall over the cliff his granddaughter, Margaret, Maid of Norway became "Queen" of Scotland, although she was uncrowned.

There aren't many depictions of Margaret of Scotland, I did manage to find this 14th century manuscript illumination of King Edward I of England presiding over his Parliament. On his right is Alexander III, maybe Margaret is in the pic somewhere, but unnamed, maybe not, it's the closest I could get. She was buried in Christ Church in Bergen.

[keesdarlin]

☆// think about it (MDNI, 18+)

info! keegan russ / angst + gender neutral reader

cw! breakup, keegan is a weenie and thinks he knows best, reader has kids, guilt, attempted homewrecking

prompt! “if you come to me in my home with my three kids. if you asked me to leave, to be with you and split. well, i’d at least have to think about it” I’d Have to Think About It by Leith Ross

“we can’t do this.” his voice was gruff and raspy, and he was still grimy from just getting off deployment, not yet showered. the bag he held as he stood on your front porch looked hastily packed, not completely zipped.

you wilted against the doorframe. “what? no, no, i made dinner and everything. i cleaned, i did laundry-”

keegan shook his head, weight shifting from foot to foot. “no, i mean it. it’s not gonna work. you’re a civilian, it’s not… we can’t,” he rambled, bordering on frantic, but something about his tone seemed final.

you didn’t quite understand what was happening as your body started reacting to the situation. a tidal wave of emotions hit in your chest, churning heavily right below your sternum, and your eyes began to water. “you’re serious about this,” you breathed, and in your mind it wasn’t a question. the way he struggled to meet your eyes said everything.

he gave a single firm nod. “i am.”

“so what, kees? i haven’t seen you in months, you get right home from deployment, and then what? you’re breaking up with me before you’ve even hugged me? before you’ve even come inside? before we can even do the whole ‘oh thank god, i’m so glad you’re alive’? this is just it?” you tried not to seem too hurt as you cross your arms over your chest. a few tears escaped but you ignored them, letting them run down your cheeks without wiping them away.

keegan adjusted his grip on his bag, knuckles white and red just outside of your peripheral. another nod. “this is it.”

you nodded to yourself, a shaky sigh escaping your lips. “okay then,” you muttered, pursing your lips. you grimaced when you heard how watery your voice came out. your head felt like it was full of cotton where you leaned it against the doorframe. “i’ll text you when your shit is in boxes, then you can come pick it up. sound good?” and it all came out breathy and weak and not at all as solid as you intended for it to be, but you couldn’t quite find it in yourself to care at the moment.

keegan didn’t give a verbal response, just nodded.

you both stood there for a moment, him staring at his shoes and you watching him, both just breathing. then he jostled his duffle again, turned and started walking down the porch steps.

“was it something i did?” you called after him, the words leaving your mouth without your consent. but in all fairness, your brain and your body felt like two separate entities as you tried to process the news.

keegan froze on the cement path to the front door, knuckles now white as he gripped his hand. he didn’t turn completely, just barely moved his head to see you in his peripheral over his shoulder. a beat, and then, “yes.” he thanked every star in the sky that you couldn’t see the way his brows knit together or the wobble of his lower lip as he walked off into the night.

ten years later things were very different. you found yourself content. comfortable suburban house, three kids, and a dog. it was a beautiful afternoon, the kind that feels golden when you sit and reminisce about it a decade later. a weekend, no plans except for staying in. the kids had decided that they wanted to make brookies, so your spouse ran out to pick up a few ingredients you were missing.

in the meantime, the kids were a little hungry so you were cutting up some fruit for them. just a little snack. the three of them were talking and giggling at the kitchen table, kicking their feet, when there was a knock at the door.

your oldest looked at you for a moment, then stood. “do you want me to-”

you shook your head, setting down your knife and pushing the cutting board away from the edge of the counter. “i can get it, don’t worry,” you assured him, already moving towards the door. “just sit and watch your sisters. i’ve got it.”

your oldest nodded dutifully, sitting down at the table again with his hands clasped and trying his best to keep his siblings distracted. the dog, who had previously been lingering around your ankles, laid down on the floor beside his seat. you smiled at the sight, unlocking the door. “hello-?” and there stood keegan looking for all the world just like the day he left you, just a touch more jumpy. “oh.”

both of you stood there for a moment, just staring at each other.

“how’ve you been?” he blurted awkwardly, wringing his hands behind his back.

your brow knit together as you leaned against the doorframe. “i-i’ve been alright,” you answered, letting the door fall gently against your shoulder. “keegan, what are you doing here?”

he huffed a deep breath, bringing his hands around to his front. “listen, i know it’s been a long time. i made a mistake all those years ago – i knew it the second it did it. i was scared of you getting caught in the crossfire somehow or becoming a target. but i never stopped loving you, never stopped thinking about you. i just wanted to see if we could talk maybe? have a real-”

one of your daughters shrieked a laugh particularly loudly from the table. you jumped, turning around to look, door falling slightly open with the motion. all three of your kids smiled back at you, nibbling at strawberries you had already set out for them. “everything good?” you asked softly. all three of them nodded back, each giving their own toothy smiles. you nodded an affirmative to yourself, turning back to keegan, who looked at you a little dumbfounded.

“you have kids,” he said breathily.

you nodded, suddenly bashful. rubbed at the back of your neck, looked over your shoulder at the three of them around the table. “yeah. i do.”

he blinked at you, gaze longing. we could’ve had kids.

“my oldest is seven.” you kept smiling at them over your shoulder, watching as they played some little game and giggled to one another. “and the girls are four and three.”

keegan inhaled and it was like he had finally taken stock of where he was. the house, the dog, the family. what it should’ve been like with him. 

he took your hand, gentle. brushed his thumb over your knuckles.

you turned to him, confused. he was looking at you like he used to when he got back from a long deployment. like you were the sun and the moon and all of the stars bottled up just for him.

“we could try again.”

you exhaled in a huff, surprised. “what?”

“this should’ve been our life,” he said. “come with me. we could go somewhere – anywhere. we could start over, the way it was supposed to be. before i got possessed by whatever the fuck that was and made the worst decision of my life.”

you looked around anxiously. you had neighbors, your partner would be home any minute. how would this look? “keegan…”

“we could try again. i want to fix it,” he tried, voice strained.

and for just a second, you and him were in your own world. for just a second, you considered it. you had thought about it when you were still together, what it would be like to have this with him. kids, a house, a dog. and you remembered what it was like before all of this, when it was just you and keegan in your shitty, tiny house watching made-for-tv movies and eating ice cream straight out of the tub. when he would come home from months on a mission and pick you up and smile at you like you’d hung all the stars in the sky just for him. you remembered the late night grocery trips in your pajamas, both of you laughing your way through the store; and the way he would lay his head on your tummy and hug you around your waist when you were watching tv together after a long day. lazy days in and one-day vacations and nights out. him tying your shoes and combing through your hair with his fingers and taking your makeup off for you when you were just too tired. and for just a second, every part of you longed to be back there. things were different now, but maybe if you could have that again…

“we could do it all over. i would, and i know that you would too,” he pleaded, voice cracking. “we could start over. we could leave right now. i would do anything for that.”you sighed and smiled, squeezing his hand. i will always love you. neither of you needed to say it, but you both knew.