#maeve harris

[elementhomex]

Elevating Dining Experiences: ELEMENT Home's Vision of Dining Room Furniture

In today's homes, the dining room has evolved beyond its conventional purpose to become a key hub of warmth, hospitality, and remarkable shared memories. At ELEMENT Home, we truly understand this progression. We are dedicated to designing dining room furniture that not only meets functional needs but also acts as the focal point of contemporary living rooms. We create things that are both beautiful and functional, and they fit into today's lifestyle.

[iamthemoonagedaydream]

I think my new favourite Marlene McKinnon hc is that she's a derry girl (ive extended the post by @thedeakyamp , and I'll link their post in comments), and that she says Catholic as Cyathlic.

Cuz just, yes.

YES.

I hc her to be a working class Catholic punk girl from Derry (and gets soooo annoyed when English ppl say Londonderry) who does lent. LENT HC GOES SO HARD.

Like, at Hogwarts she's one of the only Irish (nvm Catholic - some other Christian kids but they're like Anglican or Protestant prolly) kids, and has to always explain to her friends why she has to go home to her family at Easter, Christmas and why she does lent. AND ST PATTIES DAY!!!

She's Catholic and lesbian (her family accept her cuz they're lovely) but would talk about the Catholic trauma she has endured (things the church have said that didn't agree with,and the homophobic guilt that certain aspects of the community made her feel), and her friends would js listen because none of them are Irish and they also need to understand what was happening in Derry at the time. She'd also explain what the raa is to them and the religious segregation that was occurring throughout Ireland

She was a wonder, and an educator to the school on issues that affected hardly any of them, but she made them care.

She'd also take them to Ireland after 7th year (Marauders + skittles), and take them to the best pubs (Remus discovered a newfound love for Guinness).

Oh and she'd dress up for St Pattie's day cuz cmon ofc she would.

(Nothing against Irish people or Catholics, my family are both <3)

[leche-flandom]

The upper grades at my kid's school held a mock election

Harris: 310 votes

That bloated sack of shit with poor diction and dishonest hair: 11 votes

Half of USA, are you smarter than a 3rd-5th grader (in suburban GA no less)?

[anotherramblingfangirl]

It genuinely sticks with me in Battle Ground, that Harry “Refused a Red Court Ceasefire Because He Learned They Exploited Kids” Dresden, when he realises the Paranet rumours that Winter Fae are yanking kids is true and Molly is complicit in it? Molly who is cackling in absolute manic delight as she commands those kids into the shitshow that was the Chicago battleground?

He directly implies those abductions may not be a bad thing after all. That’s all he says, to the effect of huh those rumours were right and that works out well for us here.

Harry who has also heard from Fix, Meryl, Lilly, Ace what the Winter Court does to changelings they lay claim too through heritage (it taking the Summer Knight’s direct protection to free them).

Like?? Maybe it could be partly excused during the battle, he’s dipping very deep into the Knight mantle and doesn’t react to several things as he should there. Enough so I do think that’s a deliberate element of the mantle influencing Harry’s character.

But if this doesn’t get addressed at all henceforth, at least some sort of objection to Molly even or bringing it up at least on does she use kids like that more often?? Then that is a very frightening moral decay in him to not only genuinely not care but say it may not be a bad thing.

If it has already been I can’t remember it.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 13

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 |-| Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19

AO3

Summary: As D-Day looms, Frankie fights not to feel the pressure

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 3.4k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles @love-studying58 @justheretoreadthxxs

A/N: WE'RE BACK!! sorry this chapter took a while! I was finishing up with uni and everything has been sooo hectic, but please enjoy this! <3

The runway had never seemed so alive, not even on a mission day - men scurrying back and forth, unloading supplies this way and that, mechanics swarming around the planes like moths to a flame. With D-Day on the immediate horizon, time was of the essence, and no one wanted to be the person to fuck it up.

Frankie had clambered into the wheel well of one of the bombers, invisibly from the waist up to any passersby as she worked away, tightening bolts and ensuring the landing mechanisms were all working perfectly. A screwdriver clenched between her teeth, hand stained with grease, sweat plastered stray wisps of hair to her temples, the afternoon heat exacerbated by the pressure of their work. "Bevan!" One of the officers called as he marched over, face growing visible through the gap in the metal below her. "Bevan, I swear to god, I need you to come look at the temperature bulbs, I've asked you already, will you please-"

Letting out a huff, she pulled the screwdriver from her mouth, leaning back on one elbow as she stared down at the man. She couldn't remember his name. "Calm the fuck down, alright? I've told you I'll get to it - I'll fucking get to it. I've done my time in customer service, love - if you yell at me, I'm not doing it."

With a scoff, the officer began to walk away, muttering to himself about professionalism as he went. If anything, Frankie was just glad she didn't actually work for the Americans. She didn't quite know what she'd have done if she couldn't ignore them. Resuming her work, she grunted as she tightened another bolt, humming mindlessly as she began to murmur the words to her tune, brow furrowed in concentration.

"Never saw the sun shinin' so bright, never saw things lookin' so right... hmm hm hmm... blue days, all of 'em gone..."

"Hello!" Another voice called, loud and jovial and making Frankie jump, accidentally smacking her forehead against one of the metal support bars as she whipped her head around.

"Shit!"

"Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry," ATS Private Maeve Scarrow called from the tarmac below, expression pinched in sympathy as she peered up from under the brim of her cap. "It's just, uh - I've got the replacement fan blades you asked for in the truck."

"No worries," She grunted, rubbing at the sore spot, already feeling a bruise begin to bloom. "Thanks, Maeve. Just leave 'em there, I'll get 'em."

"Okay! Oh, and Lemmons is just... sorta standing here. I don't know if you know about that."

Brow furrowed, Frankie crouched down on her ladder, momentarily re-emerging from within the plane's wing. "What do you want?"

Ken stood in polite, patient silence, hands folded behind his back until she addressed him. "You hungry?"

"... What?"

Raising one hand, he produced a paper bag from behind his back. "Got sandwiches. Want one?"

She hadn't realised how starving she was until the prospect of food was presented, and suddenly her stomach was growling. "Yes," Frankie nodded, and he stepped forward, holding one of the sandwiches up to her mouth so that she could eat without touching anything, her hands still utterly filthy.

"This is all... weird, right?" She asked after a moment of silence, mouth still full.

"What's weird?" Ken frowned, biting off the corner of her sandwich.

"Yunno - we've been waiting for this for ages, and now it's actually happening and it feels... surreal."

"Big day, that's for sure," He nodded. "It just... it better work, s'all."

"It will."

"Didn't know you were such an optimist."

"Times change, Ken," Frankie shrugged, craning her head forward to take another bite.

Lemmons smiled softly. "... So. How's your guy?"

Pausing to chew, she nodded along as he spoke. "Yeah, he's good - I think being a Major suits him. He likes feeling like he can actually help the new guys, yunno?"

"You ain't worried?"

"Always. But you work through it." Frankie's brow furrowed, looking down to scratch at the dirt beneath her nails. Reaching out, Ken squeezed her shoulder gently, and she met his eye with a smile.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I'm gonna be honest with you here, I think this is a terrible idea," George stated, placing a fresh cup of coffee on the corner of Crosby's desk as she passed on the way to her own. Blakely was perched on the edge of her desk, peering at the papers in his hands and looking up with a warm smile as she approached. The pair had spent the last two days watching Crosby with expressions of increasing concern as exhaustion steadily took a greater and greater toll on the man.

"George, I just gotta get these maps done," Harry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair to scrape it out of his face.

"Not sure I'd wanna fly with maps made by a guy who was practically comatose when he did 'em," Everett pointed out. "Just sayin'."

She nodded in agreement. "This whole 'macho man' 'I-can-do-anything' bullshit is a little embarrassing, Croz. At this point you've either gotta take a serious nap or snort some coke if you wanna keep going."

"You're both very unhelpful," Crosby grumbled, hunched forwards so far over his maps that they could barely see his face.

"Oh, and Kidd wants you in his office," George added. Throwing up his hands in despair, Harry rose to his feet, taking the coffee with him as he left the room, muttering to himself.

Shrugging, she turned on her heel with a sigh, brushing against Blakely's knee as she returned to her seat at the desk. He was silent for a long moment, flicking through the file in his hand until he spoke. "... So this is bad, right?"

"Oh, definitely."

"Great, just checking... D'you wanna get dinner when we're done with all this?"

An involuntary grin made its way across George's face, a surprised bubble of laughter escaping her throat. "You mean after the invasion of Nazi-occupied Europe?"

"Well, yeah. Future of the free world's relying on George Aarons, I won't deprive 'em."

She beamed, fighting to suppress a giggle as her cheeks flushed a deep pink. Ev glanced over at her when she wasn't looking, a smirk curling his lip. George resumed her work, tapping away at the typewriter keys to distract herself, still feeling his gaze on her, shaking her head slightly in mock disapproval at such blatant a flirt.

After a short while, Crosby emerged from Kidd's office, and - if possible - he appeared in even worse shape than he had mere minutes ago, swaying on his heels as he took one wobbly step after another, eyes barely half-open. Still lingering at George's desk, the pair watched him wander out with shared frowns of concern, awaiting what suddenly seemed inevitable.

"Is he-?"

"Yep."

Before he could take his next step, Harry teetered and keeled over to one side, hitting the floor with an audible thud as those around him leapt to their feet in his aid. Exchanging a pointed look, Blakely stood up, bending down to whisper in George's ear before he too went to help. "If you're gonna laugh, you gotta do it outside."

Raising her hands in surrender, her expression contorted with mocking disbelief. "I'm not going to laugh!" She protested, and he furrowed his brow at her before heading towards where Crosby lay unconscious.

Scarcely a minute passed before Everett noticed her again, crossing the room towards the door, jaw clenched tightly as she visibly suppressed a smile. He chuckled, shaking his head.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Frankie's back rested up against the outside of the mechanics' hut, the sun heating the metal so that the warmth seeped through her clothes, legs crossed and tucked beneath herself as she sat cross-legged in the grass. A newspaper lay unfurled across her lap, creasing itself over her knees as she surveyed its contents, rarely making it beyond the headlines and pictures. The movement of a shadow across the lawn caught her eye, and looking up, a grin began to crease her cheeks as she noticed Rosie making his way towards her, hands folded behind his back.

"Aha!" Frankie exclaimed, calling over to him. "Welcome to the feast. We've got, uh... some crackers! And... this carrot," She nodded, holding up the half-eaten carrot in her hand.

"You're just gnawing on that like a rabbit, huh?" He smiled, pausing as he reached her and positioning himself between her and the sun, casting her in shadow so that she didn't have to squint.

"The propaganda posters say they help you see in the dark," She shrugged, patting the grass beside her so that he would sit down. Rosie let out a grunt as he lowered himself onto the ground, pulling his hand out from behind his back to reveal a fistful of freshly picked poppies. A faint squeak of surprise escaped her, eyes widening slightly at the flowers as she took another bite of her carrot, tossing her newspaper to one side, swiftly forgotten. "Where'd you get those?"

"There's a whole bunch a few fields over, just bloomed these last couple days. George told me they're your favourite the first time I met her, but I could never find any."

Frankie frowned slightly. "Why'd she tell you that?"

Head lolling to the side, Rosie raised a brow. "Why'd you think, honey?"

She slowly began to nod. "Fair enough. Y'know-" She said, wagging her finger at him. "-I did know you had a crush on me back then."

He scoffed loudly, head shaking side to side in dissent. "What? No you didn't!"

"Of course I did! You weren't as slick as you thought you were, buddy."

"No, no - you don't get to talk. You almost kissed me one time and you ran away and refused to talk to me for weeks."

"That was way later!" Frankie cried. "That is not the same thing!"

Rosie laughed, pressing his shoulder against hers. "Whatever - just shut up and take your flowers, okay?" He grinned, holding the bouquet out to her.

She let out a chuckle, reaching out for them. "Thank you, dear."

"Yeah, yeah, love you," He jokingly rolled his eyes, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her lips. Humming, he pulled away slightly, their noses still touching. "You smell bad."

"All for you, sweetheart," Frankie teased, and he laughed before going in for another kiss. She broke away with a grin, shifting sideways to rest her head against his shoulder, rolling the stem of one of the poppies between her finger and thumb.

"I got a call from George earlier... Apparently Croz is out for the count - passed out right in the middle of the office."

"Holy shit," Rosie's brow furrowed, bolting upright, and was about to make to stand when she put a hand on his arm, bringing him back down.

"Nah, he just needs to sleep. She was pissing herself on the phone, so he's fine," Frankie chuckled slightly, recalling George's laughter as she had described the way the navigator 'absolutely ate shit' in vivid detail. Once Rosie had settled, steadily accepting that his friend wasn't in need of help, he nestled back against the wall of the hut, stretching his arms out to wrap them around her shoulders, tugging her tight against his chest as she smiled.

"Called my dad last night - he asked me to make sure you're feelin' good before tomorrow."

"Oh, your dad wants to know, huh?" He asked incredulously, peering down at her with a raised brow and a smirk. Frankie was practically lying across his lap, his arms a vice grip around her shoulders, allowing just enough movement for her to reach up and twist the stray curl hanging against his forehead around the tip of her finger.

"Look, I know you'll be fine - you're a fuckin' pro," She tittered. "I think he's just concerned you'll condemn me to spinster-hood if anything goes wrong tomorrow."

"It would certainly be a loss to the world if no one ever got to see you in a wedding dress," Rosie teased, squeezing gently at the flesh of her arm.

"Oh piss off," She snorted, batting at his hand. "You think I couldn't find someone else to take me if you go down in a blaze of glory? I'm a catch."

"Awful. Horrible," He shook his head, letting her go as she let out a guffaw, resting on her back across his thighs. "Terrible - you're a terrible wife."

Frankie shrugged. "Could find someone who wouldn't call me a terrible wife n'all." Rosie reached around to the side of her stomach, digging a knuckle into the ticklish patch of skin above her waist, and she let out a shriek, kicking out her legs as she pushed herself upright, his expression creasing as he laughed. She opened her mouth wide in fake outrage, smacking him across the chest with the back of her hand. Before she could retract it, he seized her wrist, placing a kiss to her palm as she echoed his laughter.

It was easier to exist like this. At least, she knew it was for him. To simply be, to pretend nothing was coming - to put on a brave face and ignore the fact that tomorrow he would get into his plane and that, like every other time, there was a chance he wouldn't come back. Living in the future, in the 'what-if?', was going to kill them both eventually. It was easier to act like nothing was coming, and open themselves to the consequences once it was over. To mop up the blood at the end of a long day spent pretending they didn't know it would always be there.

She knew that Rosie needed this. He'd never ask, but he needed someone who didn't look to him for answers and wisdom and a plan to do the impossible. He needed Frankie to make him laugh, to give him a tiny sliver of time where he wasn't a Major or a pilot or the guy who flew twenty-five goddamn missions and came straight back for more - he was just Rosie. She could do that. She could make that her job. It was easy to do when she was doing it for him. As easy as breathing.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The planes had left three hours ago. In the officers' club, a radio had been set up atop the bar, playing the BBC broadcast since eight o'clock that morning, chairs clustered in a tight semi-circle as people listened in, desperate to catch every development. George had popped in on her break, lingering by the door for just long enough to notice Frankie's absence. The other mechanics had all assembled, functionally inert until the planes returned, but she had not been among them. Ken met George's eye from across the room and shrugged, silently confirming that he hadn't seen her. In an instant, she knew exactly where to look.

Frankie looked up as the door to their hut swung open, smiling at George as she entered from where she sat cross-legged upon the bed, shoes discarded in a heap on the floor. Her bouquet of poppies had spent the night in a vase on the bedside table, but now she was taking scissors to the stems, chopping them down and splaying the petals neatly upon the pages of her book.

There was no need to ask. George knew she was distracting herself, knew exactly what she was doing with the flowers - preserving them as a manifestation of the subconscious fear that Rosie wouldn't be coming back to give her any more. Wordlessly, she crossed the room towards her bed, reaching underneath it to retrieve the heftiest hardback she owned, so heavy that the mattress creaked as she put it down beside Frankie. She looked up at her, brow raised.

"That one's heavier. It'll press them flatter."

"Thanks," She smiled, beginning to transfer the flowers from one book to the other. It was silent for a long while as she did this, and George perched on the edge of the mattress, feet dangling onto the floor.

"... I'm not hiding, or avoiding anything, by the way," Frankie pointed out, still staring down at her work.

"You think I'd fucking judge you if you were?" George frowned. "You do whatever you have to, I'm gonna be here either way."

She looked up at her then, the faintest of smiles curling her lip as she simply stared for a while.

"You're basically the love of my life."

"Well, obviously - who else was it gonna be?" George snorted, and Frankie began to grin, wordlessly passing over the last of the untouched poppies so that she could join in. With gentle fingers, they splayed each petal, sliding the flowers in place between the well-worn pages of George's book. It was undoubtedly an act of love. For whom, it didn't really matter.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Crosby's eyes opened slowly to the sound of laughter, a gentle afternoon breeze blowing across his cheek as he blinked against the sudden sunlight. His head lolled to the side as he gradually took in the scene around him, and for a moment no one noticed he'd even awoken. Rosie sat on the bed beside him, using his thumb to mark the page in his book as he looked up with a smile. The window had been propped all the way open, and Frankie leant her shoulder against the frame, arms folded across her chest as she chatted in hushed tones, George just visible beside her. The two women were forbidden from entering the men's huts, but with the window open so far and their bodies leaning through, they were practically inside anyway.

"Oh shit - the great navigator lives," George said, and Harry could practically hear the smirk in her voice. He blinked hard, trying to adjust his eyes well enough to make out the time on Rosie's watch as the Major grinned at him.

"What time is it?" He asked blearily, pushing himself up slowly on one elbow.

"Hmm, seven-thirty?" Frankie guessed, squinting as she peered up at the sky. Rosie nodded in confirmation.

A sudden jolt of adrenaline shot through him. Harry could picture his maps on the office table, just sitting there, painfully incomplete as the clock ticked each second steadily away. Before he even registered his movement, he was on his feet, scrambling for his clothes. "There's still time! There's still time, come on, goddammit - why are you all standing around!?" He barked, panic lacing his every word. They didn't have time for this - they needed to get to work right now. Why wasn't anybody moving?

George was the first to break, taking a step back from the window as a cackle erupted from her throat, followed almost simultaneously by Frankie as she let out a snort, face reddening with laughter. Even Rosie had begun to chuckle. Harry suddenly realised he wasn't wearing any trousers.

"Seven-thirty Saturday, Croz," Rosie explained, the two women still giggling like schoolgirls, collapsing back into hilarity each time they made eye contact with one another. The realisation that he had missed the day they'd all been working towards hit like a freight train, knocking the wind from Harry's lungs, and he was certain he would've been devastated had the others not been there, grinning back at him. They were okay - hell, they were smiling, seemingly happier than they had been in weeks. It was an immediate balm, soothing the burn before it even had time to swell.

Crosby took a deep breath, trying his hardest to summon any words that might relay the moment.

"... Can you two get outta here until I put some pants on?"

Frankie snorted again, and George nodded hurriedly, clearly trying not to slip back into laughter. The pair stepped away from the window, their muffled voices floating back on the wind as they wandered away, linked at the elbow, until they'd vanished from earshot. Letting out a huff, Harry rummaged around until he found some trousers, shooting Rosie a look as he tugged them up over his hips.

"... Why'd you let 'em in when I don't have any pants on, man?" He asked, throwing his hands up in despair.

Rosie's brow furrowed in momentary confusion. "Well, what d'you expect me to do when Frankie shows up?"

"Not let her in?"

He tilted his head to the side, raising a brow as if to say 'Really?'. Croz let out a long sigh. "Right. Yeah, I remember... You guys are weird."

Rosie just shrugged.

[harris-krieger]

[miamarie1960]

Quality time with the kids

[thecabinsixwitch]

From that time on, the world was hers for the reading. - Betty Smith

Hermione Granger in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 (2011)

Jo March in Little Women (2019)

Maeve Wiley in Sex Education (2018-)

Wanda Maximoff / The Scarlet Witch in Wandavision (2021)

Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice (2005)

[maevesheart]

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪ masochistic desires

♪ summary: prince harry, known for his extensive drug use and lewd band, openly rebels against his birth into the most famous english family in the world. his norm of getting everything he wants is challenged when you, the know-it-all, smug american, rejects his advances. but the prince is never one to turn down a challenge.

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

♪ pairing: prince!dark!harry styles x fem!reader

♪ wordcount: tbd

♪ status: ongoing

♪ warnings: dark!harry, drug & alcohol use, domestic violence, mentions of self harm

♪ note: just recently re-read the selection… will never get over those books so i had to feed my royalty / celebrity prince obsession somehow. also wanted to do something involving grunge (if you can call it that lol) and like rock so here we are. super excited to write this and for u guys to read this :))))!!!!

♪ playlist: kiwi - harry styles / when the sun goes down - the arctic monkeys / stargirl interlude - the weeknd / sex - the 1975 / teeth - 5 seconds of summer / lurk - the neighbourhood / in my feelings - lana del rey / cry - cas

NSFW MARKED WITH *

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

prologue

one

two

three

four

five

epilogue

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

last updated: jun 22, 2023

next update: tbd

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

4. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”

Harry x Uma

Not the exact quote, but the spirit is here. Just some Harry/Uma moments, it’s good for the soul.

Maeve Mim is an OC of @tiredflowercrown which I borrowed (along with the Overgrowth as a whole), beacuse it’s funnier if the Mims keep doing things like this on purpose. Like, Maddy would also write a contract in a dead language, but, not on purpose exactly? She thinks it’s a perfectly normal language to use.

Also, I could have dragged this out longer, but then the semblance of a plot would be lost. Maybe I’ll write a bonus scene or something, who knows.

Uma is sitting  at her desk, numbly staring at the page before her. Trade agreement with Overgrowth or something. Gods forbid the Mims use any combination of languages known to humankind and/or currently in use. Uma is tempted to just burn the whole fucking page just to show them what she thinks of that attitude.

However, the Overgrowth controls the medicine market. Bloody bitches, the lot of them. And unfortunately, Uma cannot afford to leave her infirmary undersupplied

So she sighs, mentally cursing Maeve Mim and every single one of her cousins/sisters/ whatever they are – spawn of demons, anyway. She glares at the dictionary that refuses to magically show her the correct translation and rolls her shoulders back. Ow. Blame the never-ending shifts in her mother’s restaurant and the scuttles on the deck, the Serpent Prep when she bothers to attend– Just about everything, really.

„What’s it, Uma?“ Harry asks from where he’s seated over his own paper, watch assignments for the crew for the week, if she remembers correctly. Though he might have picked up something else, she has no idea how much time she’s wasted trying to translate this stupid treaty.

„Maeve is being a bloody bitch again, that’s what it is,“ she says.

„Oh,“ Harry answers, putting aside the paper and grabbing his hook, leaning forward a bit. „I can kill her for you,“ he offers.

She does her best to give him a stern look, pretty sure she’s failing at that. But can you blame a girl for not being at the top of her game when a boy offers to kill for her?

„We’re not even sure the Mim granddaughters are mortal, Harry,“ she says instead. She very much doubts that. Just as she doubts the existence of Mim daughters for that. Not that she’s too eager to know how the fuck these harpies spawned or what. 

„I could find out.“

She laughs at that. He certainly would like to try that, she is sure.

„The Overgrowth controls the medicine and drugs, Harry. Better leave them be. And if Maeve dies, who knows who would step up as a leader?“

„Maddy, probably.“ He has leaned back again, though he’s still playing with his hook absentmindedly.

„You wanna bet on it? With the Overgrowth and the Mims? They could put forth the mangy kid of theirs, just to fuck with us,“ she wishes she was joking entirely.

„Pff,“ Harry snorts, „I’m pretty sure that kid has rabies or something.“

„You thought CJ had rabies for at least half a year, Harry.“

„In my defence, darling,“ he drawls, „She kept biting us every time Ettie as much as suggested she should take a bath.“

Uma laughs at that, because what else could she do? Harry smiles at her amusement, still playing with the tip of his weapon.

She shrugs, intending for the gesture to stop the conversation; however, the movement sends an uncomfortable wave of pain through her shoulders and she can’t hold back the grimace.

Harry’s smile immediately drops. „You okay?“ he questions.

„I’m fine,“ she lies easily, even though he’ll see right through it.

And really, he just keeps staring at her with the forget-me-not eyes of his, and she can see the near-apocalyptic scenarios forming behind them.

So she gives in, almost as easily as she lied moments earlier, and she sighs: „I’m okay,“ she states again, „My shoulders hurt a bit, but I’m not injured. And,“ she adds with a glare at the dictionary, „Maeve insists on giving me a tension headache.“

If she can blame anything on the Mim bitch, she will gladly do so.

„You sure I can’t kill her?“ Harry sighs overdramatically and, no, she is not having this conversation again. She glares at him.

„Fine, then,“ he resigns, „Let me help you with the translation.“

She could, yes. But she would just end up going over it herself anyway, to make sure it’s all correct; she makes a face at the thought, curling her lip in displeasure. He must see it, too.

„You’re too much of a perfectionist, Uma,“ he informs her, as if she cared, „Just let me help you.“

„You helped already,“  she states instead, „Got me the book, didn’t you?“

He did, from Facilier’s Arachneum, the only semi-functional library on the Isle. She’s pretty sure bribes to the Faciliers were included – or maybe bribes to CJ, to keep the Faciliers occupied.

„But–“

„No but.“

He deflates from his argument, letting the Hook fall into his lap, and falls silent.

Uma peruses the pause to very usefully glare at the dictionary and rolls her shoulders back again.

The silence doesn’t even last long enough for her to actually pick up the work again.

„I could give you a massage,“ Harry says out of nowhere.

„What?“

„I could give you a massage, Uma,“ he repeats and gestures to her with the hook, „To help you with your shoulders, at least. You could even still work on the treaty, if you want to,“ he adds after a bit of a pause.

Uma thinks about it a bit: A massage sounds nice, actually. „Yeah,“ she agrees, „Go for it.“

He stands up.

„Alright. Take off your jacket, then Captain.“

She leans forward, shrugging off the leather.

„Would be best if you took off your shirt, too,“ he adds with a small smirk.

She protests at that: „Hey now, Hook! You’re just trying to get me naked!“

He shrugs, smirking even more. „Depends. Is it working, Captain?“

Instead of an answer, she throws the jacket at his face. He catches it, unbothered, and throws it carelessly on the bed.

„I’m so not stripping for you, Hook,“ she grumbles.

„Yet.“

And, you see, she really regrets having nothing else that she could conveniently throw at him without much damage or too much work lost. She settles for attempting to glare holes right through his brain.

He stares back for a heartbeat before surrendering and averting his eyes. „Sorry, Captain,“ he apologises quite easily, looking at her again, „May I?“ he gestures around, asking for a permission to continue.

„Yes,“ she huffs, though she’s only pretending the annoyance already, „Get on with it. And give me your hook.“

He moves behind her, already holding out the loop of the hook for her to take when he asks, why does she want it?

„I want something to hold,“ she answers, „And if I hold these fucking papers, I’ll tear them apart.“

„So you just want my hook to play with it.“ he turns the weapon around, the metal glinting over her skin.

„Yeah. I like it. Give it to me.“

„You like it,“ he repeats with a hint of disbelief.

„It’s nice,“ she shrugs, „Calming.“

He withdraws the weapon away, raising it to her eye level.

„This,“ he says, twirling it just so that it would catch the light, „Is a lethal weapon. You know that, darling, right?“

She does know that.

However, she said what she said, and she’s not taking it back.

She stares at him with her best rendition of innocent doe eyes.

Predictably, it doesn’t take long for him to give in: He sighs for the show and smiles so bright it almost makes Uma smile too.

„You’re one of a kind, Uma–“ he says and she can almost hear the sentence echoing around, cut short before he can finish it. She doesn’t linger on that too long, as he lifts the hook to carefully caress her cheek with its curve. Now she smiles.

She shots up her hand to meet the weapon and her rings cling on the metal.

Once she holds the weapon securely, he lets go of it: „Here you go, my dear.“

And then his hands are on her shoulders.

[gwopijon]

As of now, any and all video of this cheating fuckboi looking straight at the fucking camera with those children after she removed "Proud Mom" and left "2x world champ" from her bio for days is probably to look good for the possible child custody hearing.

P.S: She at least remembered their names.

[missmeganlee]

Matilda by Harry Styles is so Maeve Wiley coded

[shesnake]

Westworld season 1 episode 9 (2016) // season 4 episode 4 (2022)

[preathuswnt]

krashlyn -> divorced

ashlyn possibly “hanging out” with sophia bush!?

[lara-transilvania]

Me: Oh, yes. I do have a few comfort characters.

The "comfort" characters: