#harriet fanfiction

[frost-queen]

The little things (Fem!Reader x Harriet)

Requested by: anon  Forever tag: @missmelodramatic​, @theletterhart​, @alex--awesome--22​, @elllie-does-the-posts​, @floatlosers​, @merlieve​, @queen-of-books​, @glimmering-darling-dolly​, @denkisclown​, @wildieflower​, @meyocoko​, @bubblybrianna​, @justanothercoco​ @idkwhatmyusernam,  @subjecta13-thefangirl,  @m-rae23​, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr​  

You touched your cheek feeling the sting of pain. – “Shit!” – you called out. Spitting some blood on the ground. Sonya walked over to you, moving her gun to her back. Her face contracted with sympathetic pain. – “That is for sure going to hurt.” – she said. – “Why did that idiot had to use his gun as a puncher!” – you exclaimed, looking down at the man. – “Well at least have some comfort that he is dead.” – Sonya answered setting her foot on his thigh. 

“Yeah, thanks for that.” – you breathed out. – “No worries. Harriet would have my head if something would’ve happened to you.” – she replied patting your shoulder. You laughed quietly putting your own gun away. Sonya moved her arm around you, walking you back to the vehicle. – “I think Harriet will have my head after seeing this.” – you pointed at the wound on your cheekbone. 

Sonya shrugging her shoulder. – “Maybe today is a good day to die?” – she laughed getting behind the wheel. You hopped in the seat beside her. Dust flying up from underneath the tires. You kept touching the wound, flinching at the pain. Sonya sighed. – “Will you stop touching it, you probably make it worse with your dirty hands.”

“I don’t have…” – you started looking down at your hands. Grinning sheepishly, you tugged them between your legs under Sonya’s ‘told you so’ glance. Sonya drove the truck back to camp. It didn’t take long before Harriet approach the truck. Stopping in shock at the aftermath on your face. You smiled, the only thing missing was you say ‘tadaa’. – “What the hell happened!” – Harriet looked to Sonya, angered. 

Sonya shut the door of the truck hard. – “Some idiot bullet’s ran out so he decided to knock Y/n with his gun.” – Sonya told her. Harriet gaped at you seeing you pull your shoulders up. – “Don’t worry he didn’t lived very long after.” – Sonya said having approached Harriet. Leaving her hand on her shoulder. Sonya looked over her shoulder to you before heading off. You came closer to Harriet, swallowing nervously. – “Sorry…” – you said, eyes down. 

Harriet exhaled relieved, wrapping her arms around you. – “I’m just glad you are alive.” – she spoke hugging you tighter. You hugged her back, needing her comfort. – “Come.” – Harriet said, taking your hand. You followed her through the camp.

She seated you down near a bin that contained burning wood for heat. – “I’ll be right back.” – she said leaning down to kiss your forehead. You nodded watching her head into a tent. A moment later she returned with aiding supplies. Presenting them flirtatious to you. You dramatically waved yourself some cool. – “Oh I am so getting spoiled now.” – you teased when Harriet came sitting down in front of you. 

“Give me one more heart attack and I won’t be so spoiling anymore.” – she commented sarcastically. – “Then I’ll just have to do it for you.” – you answered with a wink. Harriet rolled her eyes at you. – “This might sting Y/n.” – she let you know, putting some liquid on a tissue. She touched your chin to keep your head in place. You flinched making Harriet lower her hand bothered. – “I haven’t even touched you yet.” – she said. 

“I know, I was just preparing.” – you answered. Harriet grabbed your chin firmly wanting to make sure you wouldn’t pull back again. The tissue touched your wound as you bit on your lip, fighting the urge to curs you heart out. – “Told you it would sting.”

“Fffff fuck!” – you blurted, needing to shout something for the pain. Harriet chuckled dapping your wound more. – “You are enjoying this aren’t you?” – you spoke seeing her smile. – “Not at all…” – she answered pressing the tissue deeper onto your wound, making you cringe in pain. – “Okay maybe a little.” – she confessed teasingly with a chuckle. You crossed your arms, finding it anything but funny. 

“Oh come on Y/n. I am just playing around.” – she said lowering her hand. She reached down for a bandage. Before she stuck the bandage on your cheek, she kissed you by surprise. You smiled, kissing her back. Harriet grabbed for your shoulder, taking it. You gulped, pulling away at something sticking on your arm. You looked at your shoulder, seeing the bandage stick half on your skin. 

Harriet laughed loud apologizing. She took a new bandage sticking it over your wound. – “Now you may once more.” – you told her, gesturing for her to kiss you again. – “Yes please.” – Harriet answered kissing you. Her fingers running through your hair.

Later that night you laid on Harriet’s stomach watching the stary sky. Harriet moving her fingers through your hair. Her other hand on yours that laid on your chest. – “Does it still hurt?” – she asked. You shook your head. Harriet’s fingers going through your hair was so soothing it made you sleepy. – “Harriet.” – you said hearing her hum loud in response. – “I love you.” – you needed to say out loud before you’d fall asleep. – “I love you too Y/n. My survivor girl.” – you laughed at the nickname. 

Harriet’s upper body shuddering with laughter as well. You removed your head from her stomach so that she could lay next to you. You snugged up to her, taking a deep breath. Her arms protective over you. – “I’ll always protect you, Y/n.” – she’d whisper. You drifted away, falling asleep from a long day. Harriet kissed your forehead. Enclosing you tighter in her embrace.  

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[servantserah]

I finally, FINALLY posted the first chapter of my GoodGardenerAU story Three Months! You can read it here on ao3: [Link]

Summary: Lilith J. Ashtoreth is the new nanny of Warlock Dowling, aka the antichrist. This is a glimpse into their first three months at the Dowling estate. It showcases their mental struggles and how they eventually let down their walls to befriend some of their new colleagues (among them the estate's gardener) and start their process of healing from millennia of trauma.

Next

I really wanted to draw a proper cover for this and oof it has taken me ages to make. I‘m both excited and terrified to share this story since I'm not very confident in my writing skills yet. And as always, I had to include some sketches to accompany this chapter!

ℹ️ You can find a guide with all my Good Omens AUs and comics >>here<<!

[rwac96]

(prompt, original stud werewolf) the aces ops are sent to vale to find out about this werewolf sighting. when they catch it, jaune, fucking a student, pyrrha, harriet offers to *sacrifice* herself for the greater good. they know that is total bull, especially with how she is swaying her wide hips towards the beast.

Platt!-Platt!-Platt!-Platt!

The transformed Jaune howled, as he held the Ace Ops Speedster by her hips with his monstrous claws. The werewolf hammered his golden, furry hips against Harriet Bree's bare, ebony ass cheeks. It started as a reconnaissance mission in Vale, hearing about reports of the Werewolf sighting. They spent one long day talking to eyewitnesses, retracing the beast's tracks, and investigating rumors of Pyrrha Nikos being seen with the monster. Then, during a patrol in the Emerald Forest, they heard wet smacks of flesh & fur, and a girl moaning. Seeing Mistral's champion being fucked by the monster, Harriet offers herself a 'heroic sacrifice', but her teammates see the aroused glint in her eyes.

"Haaah, fuuuck!!" Harriet moaned at the top of her lungs, her uniform torn to expose her breasts, ass, and orifices. "S-So big--Oooh, shit~!!"

"He's so incredible," Pyrrha Nikos says through pants, watching her Beloved ravaging the Ace Ops speedster.

"So tight," the transformed Jaune growled, as he continuously pounded his pelvis against the dark-skinned Atlasian's ass. "Hnngh, so good~!!"

Schlap!-Schlap!-Schlap!-Schlap!

[dearharriet]

HII!! CAN I REQUEST TEN THINGS I HATE ABT YOU + JAMES POTTER PLEASE 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 I FOUND UR BLOG AND I AM OVSSESSED !!!!!!

hi hi you’re so lovely!!! i had to think on this one for a while but i think i like how it came out! james seems much more like cameron than patrick, i hope u don’t mind <3 (wc: 1.2K)

You get the sudden feeling that you’ve been completely messed about at this stupid house party.

Down the driveway, your so-called friend is climbing into the passenger seat of a Porsche, leaving you behind in less than ideal autumn-garb; A red dress that falls too short and clings too thin to your wind-whipped torso, and a sad excuse for a shawl are all you have for warmth.

And if things could get any worse, you’re likely going to have to walk home in the kitten heels you insisted on wearing.

Behind you, a clunky wooden front door heaves open, producing the sweet but hopeless guy who’s been following you around all night. James, you think is his name.

He’s relatively attractive, in a sort of lost puppy way. Big brown eyes and pouty lips, a softness to his tone that could probably buckle knees if he took better advantage of it. Still, he’s thinner and scraggly, and lacks any kind of social quip to make that likely.

He skips down the steps, his dress coat flung dejectedly over his shoulder, and a frown tying his brows together. His friend from earlier is nowhere to be seen.

“Hey,” you say tentatively and his hung head picks up, though his mouth only hardens its angry line. He takes in your unlucky state, and any trace of the puppy-love softness he’d shown you all night is gone.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

You scoff. “Please. He’s not my boyfriend.” His face remains stony and unaffected. “I don’t know what I ever saw in him.”

James reaches his free hand up to push back his hair, and you stare at his tensing arm without really realizing it.

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, hiking his jacket further over his shoulder and walking past you.

In a small window of time, you realize he has keys that he’s fishing out of his slacks pocket—car keys—and your aching feet override your nerves.

“Uh, James?” You both spin towards each other, your back now to the house and his to the cars. You realize that’s probably not the only thing that switched between you tonight. Ironically, you’re the one chasing after him now.

“Yeah,” he says, agitated, when all you do is stare. You look to the empty space where your ride once was, and back to James.

“Could you give me a lift home?”

Something about the way his expression slackens turns your insides out. When was the last time someone looked so disappointed in you? As far as you know, most of the decisions you make go over very well, and no one is ever upset with you (save your sister, who is never happy if she can help it).

But here is James, with eyes holding the most loathing likely ever directed your way, and with every right.

He shakes his head, but says, “Yeah, whatever.”

Somehow that might be worse.

Trailing after him, you come up on his old sedan, a car that seems like it’d have a myriad of mechanical problems. He has to stick his key in the driver’s door to unlock it.

When he gets his door open, he unlocks the rest of them, and you slide awkwardly into the leathery bench beside him. James seems to notice your unfamiliarity and shreds your self esteem further with a scoff.

“It’s not a convertible, I know. Sorry to disappoint.”

“No,” you immediately defend, warm from his apt assessment of you. James gives you a sideways glance of warning. “I mean, yes, I was expecting something else, but it’s—I’m not…”

“It’s fine,” James sighs, turning the car on, “it’s just a lift home. You made it pretty clear that that’s all you want me for.”

As James pulls into the street, you watch the house slip away, party like a fizzling ember fighting the midnight cold.

“That’s not true,” you say, though you’re not sure you feel it at all. Your voice is overly sweet, an attempt at the voice that serves to get you what you want, when you want it.

You’re not entirely sure what you want anymore, but James brushes it off anyway, like it’s a revolting bug.

“Yes, it is.”

It astonishes you how easily he can cut you down. He’s hardly speaking loud enough to be heard above the radio, just a bitter rake of a comment, but you’re floored all the same.

The car falls silent, and you stare at your lap instead of out the window. You feel thoroughly scolded, dissected and left to put yourself back together. You don’t think you’ll cry, but you’re not ruling it out.

When James pulls past a stop sign, approaching your neighborhood, he glances over at you.

“Yknow.” He pauses, licking his lips. “I didn’t even expect you to like me back.” His eyes return to the street “And it’s fine that you don’t, but—but you could’ve just told me.”

You rub your hands over the hem of your dress, a foreign set of nerves gripping your chest. Realistically, you could weather the storm until he drops you off, but for some reason you desperately want to rectify the situation.

You want to tell him that yes, of course you liked him all this time, because that should be true. Except it’s not.

James’ car rolls up to the curb outside your place. He sighs, gripping the steering wheel.

“I really cared about you. I went to that party for you, and I ignored everyone who said I was stupid for doing it.” Shaking his head, James looks at you, anger peeling back to reveal raw hurt. “But you’re so conceited.”

You expel a painful breath, all the wind knocked out of you.

“I know.” Breaking eye contact, you flick your eyes to your shoes. Flattery and shame twine together in your throat. “Did you really go to the party for me?”

James nods.

“Went to the party, got that guy to date your sister,” he lists. “I even learned French for you. And what did it get me? A whole lot of—”

Without really thinking, you surge forward and pull James’ lips onto yours. They lay warm and firm over your mouth, and you can’t deny how right it feels.

You’re expecting James to pull back, to push you away, but he does the opposite. One hand laces into your pristine hair, holding you to him, and the other wraps around your back.

It’s a perfect kiss, the kind that you always dreamed of, and it makes a giddy laugh bubble out of your mouth.

When you pull away, you’re dizzy and a little self-pitying. You could’ve been kissing James like this whole time instead of chasing after some pea-brained asshole in a nice car.

James seems to watch the thought wash over you, because he kisses you one more time to remind you that it doesn’t matter, that you’re here now. Then he lets you go, and you relish in the way his hands linger over your waist, your neck. The giddy feeling comes back twofold.

“Night,” you say through a prim smile. “Thanks for the lift.”

James’ eyes crease a little at the edges from his returning smile. “G’night, beautiful.”

+

thank you for reading! xx

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join the celebration!

[beachy--head]

We are headed home (3)

For as long as he could remember, the name ‘Avery’ had represented everything he was struggling with - legacy, fatherhood, high expectations and stiff meetings.

It had taken him a long time, but he finally felt like maybe he could try to take it on.

Jackson navigates his new life in Boston as a son, a father, and everything in between.

Trust me, I'm as surprised as you probably are, but chapter 3 is finally here! I'm sorry it took so long, and I hope you'll enjoy it!

Just so you know, the rating of this fic has been raised to M because of this chapter. 👀

In the few years when they'd been apart, Jackson had missed a lot of things about April. He'd missed the smug expression she usually sported when telling him about a bargain she made during a purchase, the way she would swat him when he made a joke, her laugh and the way her dimple would slowly appear or sometimes just pop. He'd missed seeing her with Harriet, cuddling her or playing with her, he'd missed her both in his professional and his personal life. But he was man enough to admit that one of the things he'd missed the most was the look she was sporting right now.

Read more on ao3 or ff.net

[nomoreusername]

Preferences Masterlist

Requests Open

🌸 is fluff

🥀 is angst

🌷 is platonic love

🪷 is hurt/comfort

🏵️ is none

🌻is short

🪻is medium

💐 is long

What They'd Be Like Drunk 🏵️ 🪻

Drunk Texts 🌸 🪻

How They Would Go Christmas Shopping 🌸 🪻

What They Would Get You For Christmas 🌸 🌻

Their Favorite Place To Kiss You 🌸 🌻

Pretty Like... 🏵️ 🌻

You Belong With Me V.S You Belong To Me 🌸 🌻

Their Repeated Lyrics 🥀 🌻

The Girls Tropes 🌸 🥀 🪻

The Boys Tropes 🌸 🪷 🪻

They Do The "But Do They Make You Laugh?" Trend 🥀 🌻

Their Favorite Color On You 🌸 🌻

They Find Out You're Bipolar 🪷 💐

The Girl's School Stereotypes 🏵️ 🌻

The Boys School Stereotypes 🏵️ 🌻

They Share a Bed With You 🌸 🪷 💐

What Life Would Be Like In The Safe Haven With Them 🌸 🪷 💐

They Help You When You're Sick 🪷 🪻

Costumes They Would Wear With You 🌸 🌻

What Dating The Boys Is Like 🌸 💐

How The Boys Would React If You Lost Your Voice 🪷

What Dating The Girls Is Like 🥀 🌸 💐

[lilyerida]

Harriet from The Never-ending Road by @laventadorn is my cruuuush 🥺

[the-lying-heavens]

"All Those Years Ago"

[The Maze Runner Book, Newt and Sonya]

Masterlist

Summary: Newt and Sonya remember

Warnings: angst, suicidal ideation, mental health, loss and grief, childhood trauma, violence, hurt/no comfort, the Flare, canon divergence, character death(newt)

Word count: 980 words

A/N: I finished Fever Code and it hurt. I changed Newt's dead scene a bit. A birthday present for myself!

Newt just wanted to die. Why couldn't Tommy just give him that? Why couldn't the Cranks, WICKED, the world give him that?

They wouldn't in the Maze, and now they wouldn't when he was becoming his worst fear. He wanted it to stop. Letting Thomas see him like this was horrible enough. What if Lizzy saw him like this? What would she think?

Lizzy. Sonya. His sister. The one WICKED forced him to forget. The one WICKED took away from him after stealing them from their parents. The parents WICKED killed.

He remembered everything now.

He hated it. Hated it hated it hated it-

"Make amends! Repent for what you did!" His throat hurt as he yelled at Thomas to do it, to kill him. He had only so much shucking sanity left. "Kill me, you shuck coward. Prove you can do the right thing. Put me out of my misery."

Thomas shook his head, looking distraught. "Newt, maybe we can—"

"Shut up!" he yelled, "Just shut up! I trusted you! Now do it!"

"I can’t."

Hated it hated it hated it. "Do it!"

“I can’t!”

Did he not understand? "Kill me or I'll kill you. Kill me! Do it!"

Thomas said his name softly despite the situation. It made him angrier.

If I kill you, you can't tell Lizzy anything! Do it before I become one of them!"

"Lizzy?"

Thomas doesn't know. Of course, he doesn't. He doesn't remember.

He doesn't remember sneaking around the WICKED compound with Minho and Alby and then Chuck later on, doesn't remember being sent to the Crank Pit, doesn't remember helping him see Lizzy that last time after Newt had spent years watching her from behind a wall of glass.

“Sonya..." he says quietly afterward. He hated that name—Elizabeth. Her name was shucking Lizzy. They made him forget his own, but he would never forget hers.

"What?" He shakes his head. "You can- you can tell her yourself-"

So much. He wanted to tell her so much. He could go on for years if he wanted to. And he did, but he didn't have the time.

"Sorry. Tell her that..." He breathes heavily. One word that wouldn't change anything but maybe Lizzy would understand.

"Newt-"

His head was clearer, one strand of sanity left. He had to get it done.

"KILL ME!" he gasped painfully. "Please, Tommy. Please." Thomas was his only hope.

He saw the gun shaking in his friend's hand. Thomas closed his eyes.

Newt went to thank him but didn't get the chance.

He was finally dead. As he should've been all those years ago.

------

Sonya paced impatiently around the Safe Haven for the umpteenth time she had been there as she waited for the others to come. For her brother to come. She could hardly believe it when she remembered him.

Newt was her brother. She has a brother! The idea made her giddy.

Sonya would be lying if hope wasn't part of the reason she wanted her memories back. Her family being alive was next to impossible but she still wanted to know. She had to know.

And her hope had paid off. Her older brother was still there, still alive. Though she hadn't had the chance to tell him who she was yet. So she hoped once again. She knew he wasn't immune, Janson had told them and, well, she remembered. But Newt was the strongest person she had ever known. He'll be here. He will.

"Are they here yet?" She asked Harriet. Again.

"No. They aren't. Just like they weren't here 15 minutes ago. Or before that. Or-"

"Okay, I get it!"

"Why do you wanna know anyway?" Harriet frowned. "Is one of the boys your boyfriend?"

"What?" Sonya stared at her dumbfounded. "No!"

Sonya hadn't told her about Newt yet. She didn't want to, not until she told him.

"Right. Well, whatever, stick." Harriet walked off. What was up with her?

Doesn't matter.

------

They were here.

People had started coming from the Flat Trans for a bit now. Every time she didn't see Newt and his friends she panicked but tamped it down. He would've stayed behind, made sure everyone else was through before he went himself. But he would come. She told herself that again and again.

And when he did they would make up for all that time they lost because of WICKED. They would talk about their childhoods before and about when they were in the Mazes and-

Sonya's heart raced as the familiar figures walked from the shack with the Flat Trans. And then the shack lights on fire. Huh. Better safe than sorry.

She squinted, desperate to catch a glimpse of her brother, to make sure he was really there.

Brenda, Thomas, and Minho finally came into view.

Something was wrong.

"Newt!" she shouted, breaking into a run. She pushed past Minho, searching the faces for the one she longed to see. "Where is he?"

Surprise was written on all of their faces as she looked around them.

"Why do you want to know?" Brenda's brows furrowed.

Sonya ignored him as she looked at Thomas. She wasn't an idiot, she knew how much Newt cared about him even before her memories had returned.

"Thomas...where is he?" He would know. The look on his face told her he did.

"I-the Flare-he wasn't..." he trailed off.

Immune. That's what he meant, wasn't it?

"Where is he?" Her voice wavered.

"He's..." Minho started, his voice thick. "He's gone."

The word hit her like a punch to the gut. "What do you mean gone?"

"He—he didn’t make it," Thomas stumbled over his words, "We- I tried to help him, but—"

"No!" She shook her head violently as if denying the truth could change it. "You’re lying! He can’t be gone!"

What was all that hope for? She knew better. She lived in a world that knew better.

"He called you...Lizzy?" Thomas phrased it like a question.

Lizzy. Yeah, that was her name, wasn't it? All those years ago.

[snapesmorningcoffee]

👉🏻👈🏻

[simplykayley]

Does anyone recognize this The Maze Runner fanfiction?? I can't find the link anywhere. 😭

I believe that there was Newtmas (don't quote me but I do remember their developing relationship being a talking point) and it is a fix-it where they make it to the Safe Haven. Sonya was actually a large POV in this one and we see her developing relationships with Harriet and Newt. I remember that the Safe Haven already had a population of people living there that had a problem with the "Munies" coming so that leads to a lot of conflict between the two groups that eventually leads to the adults forcing them to do a Secret Santa sort of thing. Sonya gets Harriet as the person she needs to make a gift for and a lot of the story is her trying to figure out what gift to make.

[mollywog]

Thinking about one of my first Hunger Games fanfiction ideas: Prim as Jane Austen’s Emma…

[bucket-barnes]

Memories: Harry Hook

(That’s right, I’ve done it again, this time in my psych class. Have fun)

Harry has a few memories of his mother. He remembers her watching as his dad taught him to sword fight, how she always called him “kiddo”… and how she was the only person he ever heard say “I love you”

Harry was six when he started hearing things. It started small, hearing someone call his name when no one was there, hearing clock ticking when he wasn’t anywhere near his family’s shop…but then he started seeing things too. As he got older the voices became louder and the visions more clear, he’d always seem out of it, his maniacal laughter scaring people away and seeming unable to focus…but then there was Uma. Uma wasn’t afraid of him, she trusted him, she saw him as an ally, someone to be kept around…Harry liked having Uma around

Harry was ten when his mother died…sickness, a terrible way to go, really. He would always sit with mother while she lied in bed, he’d always tell her about what was happening that day, sometimes even bring her back a little gift that he “bought” from Jafar’s junk shop. His favorite thing he ever got her was a little pocket watch, it was damaged and stuck at 11:30, but it had a little design engraved on the back… a swan craning out it’s neck, surrounded in a frame of vines and roses, he always loved that watch

The day his mother died, Harry sat with her and told her about what happened that day, how he and Uma pulled a prank on Cruella deville and didn’t get caught, how Harriet beat up a guy who called Captain Hook weak, and how he even saw a little dove by the docks…though that one wasn’t real, just him seeing things again. When his mother died, Harry saw his father cry for the first time, Harriet tried so hard to shield him from everything, but there was no hiding him from that. Harry hugged his father tight and tried to tell him it’s ok and that everything will be alright, just like Harriet would do for him…but then the voices came, and it wasn’t just whispering, they were loud and saying terrible things, it eventually got so bad he had to let go of his father and sit in his room with his sisters until it got silent again

Harry was eleven when he gained a reputation. Harriet always told him that if the voices got bad to go find her, but Harry added an extra step, if the voices got bad…play it up, laugh, smile, whatever, just act insane so people stay out of the way. Harry had gained the reputation of “Hook’s psycho son” though that didn’t stop his classmates from giving him heart eyes, so he also became the Isle’s heartbreaker, which wasn’t necessarily a bad reputation to have once he got a little older. Always feared, or a fantasy

Harry was sixteen when the hallucinations were at their worst. Everyday there were visions of violence and carnage, and the voices…the voices were the worst part, always yelling, always saying horrible, horrible things. Harry’s day always started with whatever strange medications Harriet found on the barges, and ended with him throwing up over the edge of the lost revenge. Uma and Gil would always stay close to him, tell him when what he was seeing was or wasn’t real, guide him away from prying eyes when the visions and voices got bad, and would help sell the act of his insanity…he had a reputation to keep up after all. One voice always stood out from the others, it wasn’t loud or vicious, it was soft and gentle…always saying “I love you”, it was the one voice Harry didn’t mind…reminded him of his mother

Harry was eighteen when he joined his father for a drink. He had indulged plenty of times, always with Uma and the rest of the crew, but never with his father. Harry’s vision of his father had been shattered long ago after he caught his father three bottles deep, swearing him out for a menagerie of things he did or didn’t do through mournful cries, though Harry didn’t really hold it against him…he knew his father was just trying to numb the pain of well, everything. The barrier has been down for a few months and Harry was getting overwhelmed, Auradon was a lot to take in and the hallucinations weren’t helping. On a crisp autumn night, Harry went down to the Jolly Rodger, sat down next to his father, and took a swig of rum. The two men talked through the night, about Auradon, Harry’s visions and the voices in his head, and about all the things Hook tried to numb, the pain of losing his wife, the pain of his oldest daughter growing up to fast, the pain of his only son hearing and seeing things that weren’t there, and the pain of his youngest daughter never truly knowing her mother.

That night, Harry barely slept, his mind was rattled by the rum and the voices were so loud, and yet, he could still here one… “I love you”

[eiramew]

Conditional Variance | Harriet Morse & Colt Vahn, Harriet Morse/Wenjie Evans | Rated M

“Dead men tell no tales, but broken planes do. ‘You ever heard about survivorship bias?” “Wenjie mentioned something about it. I didn’t want to hear it from a scientist.” “And will you listen to a pilot?” “I will hear it from a friend.”

[rwac96]

CEO Schnee (RWBY AU)

Weiss: "It's my greatest honor to take my mother's place as the CEO of the SDC, to continue restoring the company's good name."

Harriet: *deadpan* "Why the hell are we here with this nepobaby?"

Elm: "It was either this or look after her father's cell."

Weiss: "First order of business, get rid of any of my father's cronies, sycophants, or anybody who is scheming to discredit me."

Yang: *bored* "Uh, why are we here?"

Ruby: "Team Solidarity!"

Yang: *groans* "Gods, I wished I had gone with Blake to her island...but she's busy with being chieftain."

Ruby: "Yang, I know our friends seem busy with stuff in a now Post-Salem world, but...it hey, we're still a team."

Weiss: *holding a violet Dust vial* "Okay, I don't wanna know what my father intended to do with this! Gods, this is going to be a long first few weeks."

Atlas Aristocrat: *irate* "Miss Schnee, did I just hear about you approving equal wages for those animals?!"

Weiss: *glares* "Faunus, Karin! This isn't the SDC under Jacques Schnee, you adulterous cow! That's right...I know about you and your gardener!"

[dearharriet]

"you're really red right now." with george weasley? and congrats on 150! 🥳

thank you sm for the request! <3 (wc: 851)

Swinging under the restricted access rope, you climb the stairs to the twins’ annex two at a time. Behind you, the store is mostly quiet, except for Fred’s loud singing as he feeds the pygmy puffs.

The banister is creaky when you lean on it, so you’re sure George can hear you coming. His door is open, so you let yourself in, announcing yourself with a rap on the stained pine trim.

“Fred says you’re hiding, but I can’t imagine what from,” you say instead of hello. “Certainly not me, I hope?”

George glances away from his books, halfway through a bite of takeaway. His mouth stills its chewing as he blinks owlishly at you. His hair is all askew, likely from tugging at it in concentration, and he has a tiny speck of sauce on his chin. You’d probably find it embarrassing if you didn’t like him so much.

“Sorry, hello,” you amend, realizing you caught him unawares. He remains frozen, though his jaw starts working to rid itself of the food that’s keeping him silent.

“Hi,” he ekes out, “on your break, are you?”

You hum affirmatively, coming around his desk to converse more privately with him.

“Yeah, and I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this idea I have for a product we could release near Christmas,” you ramble, leaning a hip against his desk and crossing your arms. George is staring up at you like you’re a star he’s never seen before. “A red-hot cocoa. We could infuse dragon peppers into the mix—to make it really spicy, yknow?”

George doesn’t look too convinced. If anything, he looks like he hasn’t heard you at all.

“I know it’s sort of similar to flaming fudge, but I thought the effect of making it themselves might add intrigue for customers,” you continue, starting to feel a little bit embarrassed.

Silence stretches just long enough to be uncomfortable, emphasized by an especially loud zzzzzziiiiiip from downstairs.

Biting your lip, you wince. “George?”

He blinks, seeming to come alive again, somewhat.

“Did you do something to your hair?” he asks out of the blue.

You frown. “You didn’t hear what I said, did you?”

To his credit, George looks terribly guilty in the face of your accusation. He takes it in stride, too, despite being every color of wrong.

“Is that what you were telling me about?” he asks.

Sighing, you take his loosened tie and shake it around in teasing frustration. There was a time when doing something as familiar as that would make you feel unprofessional, but you know better now.

“No. I was telling you about my idea for a new product.”

George’s mouth opens and closes silently, searching for words. He looks hot around the collar, from embarrassment or flustering or both. You like to tease him like this, because upon meeting him, he didn’t seem the type to be fazed by flirting at all.

Feeling maniacal, you take the opportunity to wipe away the food still on his chin, letting your touch linger a hair longer than necessary. The color in George’s neck shoots up to his pale cheeks, giving him the hue of a ripe strawberry.

“Merlin, George,” you muster through a grin, “you’re really red right now.”

He ducks his head then, ardently avoiding any inch of you he can. Cursing, he presses the backs of his hands to his cheeks to cool them.

“Sorry.” He steals a glance at you, his brows furrowed in what might be confusion. “Remind me what your idea was?”

You accommodate him, running the idea past him again, with more confidence this time. You don’t mind wasting your break away talking, at least not with George.

“Hot cocoa,” he repeats, rubbing his chin. You weren’t expecting a promotion or anything, but his mild response worries you. “We could workshop it together, yeah?”

“Sure,” you say, nerves winding tight in your chest. “If you’re not too busy.”

“Honestly, I haven’t done any work since an hour ago,” he admits. “Is it busy downstairs?”

You strain to listen past George’s office, down the stairs in the popular shop. It’s easy to make out the fizzing lightning effects and the siren-like sounds that engulf the love potion display, but any real crowd bustle is absent.

“Hardly,” you say.

George pushes up from his chair, making for his door. “Good,” he says, “we can start now.”

He closes the heavy door, and then retrieves a cauldron and hauls it over to his desk. Before he sets it down, though, he holds it up in front of your face.

“In case you were wondering why I thought you did something to your hair,” he explains, “it’s because someone did something to your hair.”

In the warped reflection on the brass cauldron you can see yourself—and your flaming pink hair.

“Merlin, I look like Tonks.”

George laughs at that, dropping the heavy basin onto the rich mahogany table. He doubles back to his shelves again to collect some ingredients.

“Any idea who did it?” he prompts.

You roll your eyes.

“Yeah. He looks a lot like you.”

+

thank you for reading! xx

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[cc-tinslebee]

lil Jane character study fic for the soul