#harriet writes: snippets

[harrietwritesstuff]

200 word snippet of the puppy ficlet below the cut 👀🐶

"No treats - sorry -"

Vova offers out an empty hand, fingers splayed, with a tired smile that feels like someone reached behind Emmanuel's ribs and twisted his heart. He knows that this reprieve for Vova is painfully temporary - a scrap of ragged gauze over a bloody wound - knows that his thoughts are not really here; they are with his people in Kyiv. Emmanuel tries to give him these moments of peace, the rare chance of an evening of silence - without sirens; all the while holding the knowledge that it will never be quite enough to erase the hollow shadows that linger in Vova's face when he believes attention to be elsewhere.

Nemo gently noses into Vova's outstretched palm, unbothered entirely by the lack of food-based gifts. After a thorough investigation of the palm of Vova's hand, he chooses to press his wet, cold nose with renewed intensity against his trouser leg, snuffling softly, tail beginning to wag.

"What is it, mm?" His voice is soft now, sweet even as he reaches and fondles at the dog's velvety ears, almost out of habit. "What do you-- oh--"

His laughter then suddenly fills the room, gentle and unexpected - it brings a lump to Emmanuel's throat that he cannot swallow and he rubs a thumb quickly at the corner of his eye.

[timothyslucy]

idk if i'm gonna include this in my chenford pregnancy fic, but i was thinking about who would be the certified baby whisperer at mid-wilshire, and at first i was like, "it's totally grey", but then as i was thinking about it some more i was like, "nah it's totally smitty". 😂😂

[harri-etvane]

🌧 THIS, PLEASE

"Sssh, love."

She murmurs it on instinct, even though he's barely made a sound for hours, days, his scraps of consciousness threaded with delirium, slurred utterances that she tenderly picks apart and rebuilds into something clearer. She shifts a little in the seat, feels the pull of the muscles in the small of her back as she reaches over, one hand still cradling his, the other gently pressed against his cheek, hoping in vain for some change in his temperature - finding none.

A dull feeling of helplessness engulfs her as she feels Vova lean into the palm of her hand, heat radiating from him, his eyes flickering shut as he finds a little relief in the coolness there. Olena quietly strokes her thumb against his temple, feeling his soft, sweat damp hair as it curls gently. It tugs at her heart - this fleeting second, like so many others - he looks so much like their son with his dark hair, those big dark eyes. It tears the breath from her lungs, pulling her back into memories of Kyrylo's childhood fevers that could only be helped by her presence - sitting with him for hours in the darkened night.

This feels like something different, more ferocious as it tears through him, carrying with it the same awful sense of being utterly powerless against this hurt - knowing that if she could take it from him, if she could bear it and not he, she would do so in a heartbeat, but being utterly unable to do so.

The physical discomfort nagging at her pales into the background, replaced by a sudden pang as Vova turns away from her hand and presses his cheek into the pillow, suddenly too hot again, a weak groan filling his next exhale, trembling.

"I know, darling. I know. I'm sorry."

The tremor in her voice threatens to spill over into tears, her apology swallowed into a sob.

[ricardian-werewolf]

Fic snippet:

So, before I found out about this:

I wrote this! (scene below the cut)

“Nikolai?” Alina called out, disliking the uneasy silence. “Alina! Over here!” Nikolai answered. Suddenly, there was a large, animalistic growl of some creature, and a wet squelch. Then, a purr broke the cacophony. “Good girl, you had me worried for a minute there…” she heard Nikolai murmur. Alina’s face turned puzzled as she rounded a bend in the path. That puzzlement turned to horror, as she spotted a massive green plant with leaves and writhing tentacles sink her teeth into Nikolai’s hand.  “Nikolai!” she shrieked. Nikolai grinned. “It’s fine, Alina. Don’t shout, you’ll frighten her.” He murmured, turning back to the massive plant. He opened his hand and the monster released its grip, leaving his hand unharmed. Whatever was in his hand was swallowed by the monster.  “Her?” “Audrey.” Nikolai corrected, stepping over to scratch the plant’s leafy underside. Alina could only watch in shock, and horror. Her mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish, and she shook her head. “It has a name?!” “She has a name. And don’t worry, she’s perfectly harmless. I was worried she wasn’t eating, so I’ve been coaxing her to take smaller bites of meat for the past few hours.” “Meat.” Alina replied, still in a state of shock. “Fine. What is she?” She cocked her head to one side. “A Venus fly trap.” Nikolai replied cheerfully as Audrey let out another purr and let Nikolai examine her teeth.

[bridehall-if]

--The hungry mouth of Bridehall Manor lets out its clarion call. You have been compelled to answer.

DEMO OUT NOW!

You play as the youngest child of the Simonson family, born out of infidelity-- a perfect Victorian scandal. Due to your unfortunate birth circumstances, your parents have decided to send you away to take up a position as household manager at the remote Bridehall Manor after the previous one's untimely (and altogether strange) passing. You expect your time in the mansion in the Catskills of New York to be uneventful and isolating.

You'd be wrong.

The longer you stay at Bridehall, the more secrets you find hidden behind its mahogany doors, beneath its ornate wallpaper, under its rich hardwood floors, and especially within the denizens of the house themselves.

Just be careful not to drown in the deep, deep black of its shadows.

+ Customize your MC-- what's their attitude towards society? How do they feel about working at Bridehall? What are their thoughts on the supernatural?

+ Also, choose your gender,* interests, personality, name, and more.

+ Discover more about the (troubling) history of Bridehall and the people that have lived in it.

+ Experience the world's most uncomfortable carriage ride.

+ Romance 1 of 5 ROs-- the matriarch, the minister-in-training, the runner-up, the major, or the phantom.

+ Befriend those who live there, or make enemies. Connection is a fragile thing, especially in a place like Bridehall.

+ Blood sacrifices! If you're into that sort of thing.

TW: Gore (not extremely descriptive), mentions of infidelity, violence, brief suggestive content, mentions of animal death, mentions of drug use. This IF is recommended for those 16+

================================================*Disclaimer: Because this IF is inspired by the 1880s, gender roles are still sort of a thing. There is an option to play as femme/masc non-binary, but based on your presentation, that affects how you are treated in society and some additional world aspects. However, there will not be any transphobia/intentional misgendering in this IF. It's just not something I want to write. I'm not non-binary myself, so I'm very open to suggestions on things to change relating to this topic.

================================================

🌑Harriet Margrave -- the matriarch -- (she/her) {FMCs only}

| Assured. Respectable. Intimidating. The wife of Amos Margrave, although she doesn't like it when people bring it up. She runs the house, some might say with an iron fist. She seems to have taken a dangerous liking to you.

| However, beneath her strong, cool exterior, she's not all that she seems-- you catch glimpses of something dark and curious lurking. It's up to you to decide whether it should never see the light of day or, perhaps, to be consumed entirely by it.

| Harriet is in her late 40s, with ash brown hair always kept in a neat, complex updo and deep blue eyes that shift with tones of green in different lights. She has a light but rosy complexion and stands at around 5'7. She tends to wear a lot of black, as if she's in perpetual mourning, although she doesn't mind an occasional blue accent.

"Low and deep Spake in mine ear her voice: "And didst thou dream, This could be buried? This could be sleep? And love be thrall to death! Nay, whatso seem, Have faith, dear heart; this is the thing that is!" Thereon I woke, and on my lips her kiss." -- snippet of Assurance (1887) by Emma Lazarus

================================================

🌒Ansel Margrave -- the minister-in-training -- (he/him)

| Flighty. Devout. Gentle. A hopeful future Methodist minister, he's recently been plagued by supernatural visions (or so he says,) and your arrival and the circumstances surrounding it do nothing to calm his worries. You may be able to reassure him otherwise.

| As you get to know him, he may reveal that he has far better reasons to be afraid than you might think. Will you walk with him through his troubles, or leave him to wander the solemn corridors of Bridehall on his own?

| Ansel is in his early 20s, and he looks much like his mother with his ashy brown hair and pale complexion, although due to its lack of rosiness it sometimes borders on ghostly. He'd like to dress more vibrantly but fears reprisal from his clerical peers, thus, he usually sticks to muted greens and browns. He stands at around 5'9, and wears spectacles.

"In solitude profound, As shadows fall, what memories, Thick as dew-drops on sun-risen meadows Troop around thee!" -- snippet of Night In Egypt (1880) by George Vaughan

================================================

🌓Cecil/ia Blumenthal -- the runner-up -- (gender selectable, he/him or she/her)

| Independent. Scrappy. Creative. C's been working at Bridehall for practically their whole life, climbing the ranks until they could finally reach the position of head butler/housekeeper they deserved-- until you came along. In their eyes, you have everything you want on a silver platter, and how much work have you done to get it? None. In short, they've got a real bone to pick with you. Will you play into the feud, or maybe try to change their feelings? Honestly, best of luck on that one.

| Because of how long they've been at Bridehall, C knows more about its history and secrets than they let on. Much, much more.

| C is in their mid-20's, with shiny brown curls that F!C keeps in an artfully rushed bun and M!C keeps just a bit too long. They have coffee-brown eyes and warm, tanned skin dotted with freckles. They stand at 5'6. They prefer to dress for convenience rather than style, but they always wear a tarnished silver brooch in the shape of a bird-- F!C pins it to her collar, while M!C pins it to his lapel.

"I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I waterd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears: And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night. Til it bore an apple bright. And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine." -- snippet of A Poison Tree (1794) by William Blake

================================================🌔 Marshall Ward -- the major -- (he/they)

| Outgoing. Empathetic. Perfectionist. A new arrival at Bridehall like you, he's an old family friend of the Margraves who plans to stay for the autumn. He's the perfect picture of polite society-- porcelain smiles and impeccable manners. Despite the divide between him as a guest and you as the help, he insists on making a connection with you. One that may be a bit too strong for his own good.

| Now, you don't know much about the military yourself, but it is a bit odd that a non-retired military officer was permitted leave for an entire season, and whenever you ask questions surrounding his arrival, you only get heavy silence in return. It's as if there's a tight wire of secrecy underlying his sunny veneer, and the more you press, the more it's likely to snap.

| Marshall is in his early 30s, with short, coily black hair and an impeccably combed mustache. They have light tan skin and have a small scar running across their cheek, and he stands at 6'2. He is very meticulous in the way he dresses and is particularly fond of red ties with embroidered patterns on them.

"Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell. They that had fought so well Came through the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred. -- snippet of The Charge of the Light Brigade (1854) by Lord Alfred Tennyson ================================================

🌕Annabelle -- the phantom -- (she/her)

| Mysterious. Quiet. Ethereal. Every so often, out of the corner of your eye or the reflection in a mirror, you catch a glimpse of her. Is she even real, or is she simply a product of your own mind, spiraling ever deeper into instability? Whatever she is, you feel an indescribable, intangible pull to her that may become very hard to resist.

| Annabelle is inextricably linked to the house and its history. If you dig to learn more about her, you may unearth the very roots that Bridehall stands on. Roots that it would very much like to keep underground.

| Annabelle appears to be in her mid-20s, although the semi-translucent, filmy aspect to her makes it a bit hard to tell. She has very dark skin that glitters and shines under moonlight, and she seems to be perpetually wet, as if she had just been thrown in a pond. She wears a pale pink dress a decade or so out of date, and stands at about 5'3.

"For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling-- my darling-- my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea-- In her tomb by the sounding sea. -- snippet of Annabel Lee (1849) by Edgar Allan Poe

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[bethanydelleman]

Does that Jane Austen heroine like Taylor Swift?

Elizabeth Bennet - Of course she listens to Taylor Swift! She has five sisters! She was a fan of the earlier albums, but her younger sisters keep her up to date now. Mr. Bennet retreats to the library when they all start to sing Love Story (Mary pretends to be above Taylor Swift, but everyone knows the truth)

Jane Bennet - was never that into Taylor Swift until after Bingley left, then she spent a few weeks privately crying over every bittersweet breakup song

Catherine Morland - loves Taylor Swift, her and Mrs. Allen sang along all the way to Bath. Hasn't discovered any Gothic music yet, but Isabella will help with that

Elinor Dashwood - She's a casual fan, knows enough of the lyrics to sing along

Marianne Dashwood - she used to listen to Taylor Swift, before she knew what good music was, now she listen exclusively to indie artists and tries to get Margaret into them. Margaret is a total Swiftie

Emma Woodhouse - loves Taylor Swift, but despite being able to afford it, cannot go to a concert because the very idea scares her father. Her "improvement" plans for Harriet often just turn into writing snippets of their favourite lyrics in Harriet's quote book

Fanny Price - loves Taylor Swift, but when Mrs. Norris "moved heaven and earth" to get Eras tour tickets, she only bought them for herself, Maria, and Julia (with Sir Thomas's money). Fanny stayed home with Lady Bertram

Anne Elliot - she doesn't listen to Taylor Swift, she mostly enjoys classical music, but she'd never be mean about it. If asked, she'd say she admired Taylor Swift's commitment as an artist

(This AU assumes that the heroines are their proper ages now, in 2025, so Elizabeth Bennet was born in 2004 for example)

[severus-snaps]

a ramble and some open questions for fandom elders (and others) about whether Snape was only made more sympathetic on account of Alan Rickman's popularity/casting, and similar things

so I stopped engaging with a tiktok creator for a while who I'd previously found very interesting because nearly every time they brought up Snape, they'd throw in some casual "if Harry was a girl, Snape would be really creepy/predatory about it" or some other weird Snape take not rooted in anything (to my mind). Like, it was weird to me because they bring in book quotes or pottermore/interview snippets to other analyses of other characters and ideas, but never Snape - for Snape, it was always just about vibes and feelings. For Snape, the fact we never hear that he killed someone or the fact we never heard that he stalked Lily is, in fact, strong evidence that he did do those things - or certainly thought about it - and certainly enough to be considered predatory and likely to dose Lily (and later a hypothetical Harriet) with a love potion or keep them in his basement, or something.

I disputed that idea in the comments one time, and some Snape supporting comments outside of mine got removed and users blocked, meanwhile my comments were (I think deliberately) misinterpreted. I stopped using tiktok entirely for a while, and never went back to see if the comments got deleted or whatever. Tiktok never gave me any further notifications about it upon re-downloading, so I guess they were removed? Idk. I have no desire to check.

but all of that is background really; she's lately posted some videos (I still find the rest of her content interesting, but apparently snape content is a no-go lool) saying that Snape's whole characterisation is different after the 'three year summer' - that is, that JKR saw how popular Snape was in the films, that she had to find a way to keep Alan Rickman on board when he wanted to leave, and that when she took her break between writing GoF and OotP I think, Snape sort of morphed into a new character and she had to attempt to redeem him (which, in her eyes, he's not redeemed even at the end which is like. ok). She implied that there's no evidence of James' bullying prior to OotP, no evidence of Snape ever having had a relationship (much less a friendship) with Lily, and that all of that was tossed into the later books retroactively to 'redeem' his character. (Obviously, I have Thoughts on that, which I'll come back to).

Of course, with the sort of... bad vibes she's built up around pro-Snape comments on her videos, all of the comments were in agreement with her. I'm also new to HP/Snape in terms of actively engaging with the fandom online, as it somehow passed me by at the time. But now I have Thoughts

So with all of that in mind, and just because I want to hear other people's thoughts but TikTok comments are a nightmare on their own with the character limit, inability to read them properly/in order, and general vibe of TikTok comments (even without the creator deleting/getting antsy about pro-Snape ideas), if anyone wants to discuss this lot, I am keen to hear people's thoughts:

Was Snape always a popular book character, or did that change/skyrocket with Alan Rickman? (For my part, I don't remember hating Snape when I read the books the first time around - in fact, I hardly remember registering him at all - but I do remember hating Umbridge).

How true is it that Snape was made 'more sympathetic' following the films? To me, it doesn't make sense; the first big, weighty suggestion of the marauders bullying Snape was in PoA, which was released mid-1999; the first evidence that Snape was spying was in GoF, in mid-2000. The first film didn't even come out (Alan Rickman's charisma included) until 2001. Weirdly, the PoA stuff the user is convinced just says that Snape was jealous of James (probably true, not denying it) but in the exact same book Remus/Sirius all but admitted to Sirius trying to kill Snape, which seems like a massive overreaction to Snape being an annoying little hater of a teen that she never comments on because, I guess, Snape deserved it?

Also, does it matter if he was made 'more sympathetic'? ootp was published in 2003, and in early 2002 Alan considered leaving. sure, JK might have added/exaggerated SWM to make him more sympathetic, but the reasons for adding in scenes don't change the fact that that's now part of the fabric of the character - a character who, by this point, had already been revealed in PoA to be the subject of a near-murder plot at the hands of the Marauders and was Very Not Okay about it; the marauders had already been described as troublemakers; Snape was already shown to be wary of Lupin for reasons that weren't solely about him being a werewolf, but about the Prank/Trick/Willow incident. An incident, much like SWM, that occurred because Sirius thought it would be "amusing" to put Snape in a horrible position. if JKR wanted to, she could've made Sirius the ringleader in SWM - but for Snape, I think she just wanted to solidify why a grown man hates a child who looks exactly like his father, which was also referenced in the early books and strongly prefaced by the events of PoA in the Shack (I don't think she had it 'all planned out' from day dot, however, but went with the vibes and fleshed out the details later). Obviously, to this creator, Lupin's idea that Snape was solely a little bitch because he hated that James was better at Quidditch is to be taken at face value, despite the fact the conversation then moves on to Snape's near-death following Sirius 'trick'ing Snape into the willow

Same as above but with his characterisation; she acknowledges that the later books are darker and have a more adult tone, but somehow it's still suspicious that Snape's sympathetic backstory was never once alluded to in earlier books (which, again, I think it's fair to say it was alluded to, but in sufficiently lacking detail so that JK could deal with it when she got there). Also with PoA and GoF especially, there are hints of Snape going from his more 'silly evil teacher' which he kind of was in books 1 and 2, heading towards the more realistic, but still delightfully bitter and flawed, adult character as the books aged up. I haven't read the books in a while I'll admit, but from the Snape passages I have read, I never noticed a sufficient difference pre or post three-year-summer that didn't match the wider tone of the books changing also.

Unlike the tiktok creator, I also think that Snape's reaction to Harry in general is almost entirely to do with James, rather than Lily's so-called rejection, and so there's no evidence that Snape would be weird to a 'Harriet' that resembled his mother, or weird to Lily if he saw her again; I think with his characterisation it's more likely that Harriet would've been treated like Hermione, Ron, or Tonks - being largely ignored with the occasional insult and told off for causing trouble - aka, how Snape would treat most people. Outside of the one isolated 'mudblood' incident, Snape was a bit of a doormat when it came to Lily (bless his heart). He followed her from the train carriage without comment, backtracked when she appeared angry in the post-prank conversation, even the "I won't let you" seemed more "I won't let you turn him into some kind of hero" or even, at a stretch, an "I won't let you be with him" out of Lily's own safety or something than "I won't let you leave me", to me - because he did just let her leave him in school? James and Snape continued hexing one another in 7th year, but there's no suggestion that Snape ever tried to be weird to Lily.

To my mind, there's no suggestion that Snape stalked Lily, no suggestion that he asked Voldemort to capture her - just to spare her. And then Snape went to Dumbledore anyway, probably immediately based on how harried he is on the windy hilltop scene, because he knew Voldemort wouldn't spare her, and even if he did, Snape would probably have to keep up the ruse of 'desiring' Lily, and do the sorts of thing Snaters suggest he wanted to do, just to keep her alive. But with Dumbledore involved, Snape wouldn't ever have the chance to imprison/love potion her - and that wasn't what he wanted. He just wanted her alive so he wouldn't have played a part in her death. I also doubt that Snape had much time to think when Voldemort revealed who he was choosing to kill; it's not as though Voldemort makes decisions by committee. He'd have revealed his plans and Snape would make a quick, panic-stricken decision to tell Voldemort that he desired Lily (which he may have done, to an extent; he'd need to draw on something to back up his request when Voldemort undoubtedly looked into his mind to see why Snape wanted to spare his Priority #1 victim). And like I say, he then set up a meeting with Dumbledore, probably immediately/as soon as he could, sensing that that wouldn't work (was he not convincing enough? Did he just know Voldemort too well? I have so many questions about how that conversation went down, and subsequent conversations about Lily which presumably occurred after V's resurrection).

anyway, no conclusion, only thoughts too rambly for tiktok comments

[pancakesanddiatribes]

because the night

i haven't written anything in a very long time, but my recent grey's rewatch switched on something in me, and i could not get this japriet scene out of my head. i hope you enjoy it, even a little bit. i surely did enjoy writing it. i've read so many japril drabbles and fanfics these last few weeks, some of them extremely beautiful. i feel very blessed to share my small contribution. okay, enough rambling... and thank you anyway! 🫶🏼

here's a little snippet:

Harriet rolls out of bed and goes straight to her mom. Her eyes have adjusted to the dark, and she doesn’t have to walk far. When she enters her mommy’s bedroom, though, something is off. Something is different. She squeezes her eyes to get a better look and — what?

because the night

Harriet is scared. Just a little, because it's very dark, the house is completely silent, and the dream she's just had was not nice at all. She knows now it was only a dream, and she’s not really in the park, falling from the red swing over and over: she's in her room (well, her messy room), with her toys (not all of them, of course), and her mommy is surely in the bedroom next to hers. Everything is fine, Harriet. She is fine. But just to be sure, just to be sung to sleep by her mommy’s sweet voice, she decides to go to her and sneak into the big bed her mommy has all to herself. Her mom is taller than Harriet, but not really that tall; and surely not as tall as her daddy. A few days ago, she heard him say with a smile, so much vigour in such a tiny woman. Then her mommy slapped him on the chest - gently. Her daddy wasn’t mad — he was still smiling — and actually, his eyes were even brighter than usual. Harriet didn’t understand why her mom slapped him or what the word vigour meant. Mommy and daddy are silly sometimes, she thought, and then carelessly returned to the new Lego set sprawled on the carpet. Anyway, daddy is right: her mommy is tiny. So Harriet doesn’t understand why she needs such a big bed if Harriet isn’t allowed to sleep with her every night — well, the nights when she stays in her home number one, the messy home with the messy pillows. Harriet rolls out of bed and goes straight to her mom. Her eyes have adjusted to the dark, and she doesn’t have to walk far. When she enters her mommy’s bedroom, though, something is off. Something is different. She squeezes her eyes to get a better look and — what? Does mommy know someone is sleeping in the big bed with her? Did she notice? It wouldn’t be the first time she hadn’t noticed something. Harriet remembers when mommy was taking a shower for so long that daddy had to use his special emergency key to get into the house (Harriet isn’t allowed to open the front door - yet). He brought ice cream to share with them — his two favorite girls, he said— but mommy was taking so long in the shower that she didn’t even realize daddy was in the house, waiting with Harriet in the kitchen! So when she finally came out in her soft lilac robe, her hair all wet, saying Hattie, we should get dressed! Daddy called twice, and for sure he’s on his way here. We don’t want to be late for the mov— Harriet and daddy both laughed, their mouths full of ice cream — she was talking so fast! Mommy looked a little surprised to see him in the kitchen, but definitely not unhappy. I had to use the emergency key - he said - The ice cream was melting, and you weren’t picking up your phone or answering the doorbell — that's emergency enough, right, munchkin? Harriet nodded, focused on the delicious chunk of chocolate brownie she had just found. I was only in the shower for ten minutes! (Daddy raised his eyebrows at her) And you both finished the chocolate brownie! There’s another tub waiting for you in the freezer, mommy! Daddy brought one just for you! So mommy had the ice cream too, and daddy couldn’t help but touch her lilac robe — it really was the softest robe. Because mommy sometimes gets distracted, Harriet tiptoes closer to the bed, her bad dream completely forgotten. She has to tell her mommy — because what if mommy doesn’t know? But first, Harriet has to know herself, because she is a curious little munchkin, after all — her daddy tells her that all the time. Who is this other person?

One small step toward the big bed; another and — "Daddy???" She doesn’t mean to speak out loud — mommy and daddy are both sleeping — but she is surprised. Very surprised. Daddy sleeps in her house number two: the one without the messy pillows. They always see each other now: he drives her to school almost every day, they all go to the park together, and to the cinema, and to Balloon Benny every Sunday, because Sunday is for waffles after church, and Balloon Benny makes the best waffles in the whole universe. But right after dinner, after mommy and daddy tuck her in and kiss her goodnight, he goes to his pillow-free house. She knows that because sometimes she sleeps there too, in her room number two (the un-messy one), while mommy stays here. Did he forget? "Daddy?? Daddy!! Wake up!!" "Sweetheart, what happened? Are you all right?" His voice is groggy and quiet, much quieter than Harriet’s, who’s getting a little excited. "Daddy, what are you doing? Do you know this is mommy’s bed? Did you forget to go back to your home for the night? You have your own big bed, don’t you remember?"

He’s slightly taken aback by the stream of questions in the middle of the night, but he chuckles softly as he says "Sweetheart, isn’t this home too?" After thinking for half a second, a cascade of fast-paced words tumbles out of her. "Well of course, daddy, it’s your home too because we’re here all the time, mommy and me, and you always say home is wherever I am, and I’m here, and mommy’s here, and you like mommy, and you always come here to stay with us and have dinner and play and watch movies, but then you go sleep in your own big bed. Mommy only shares her big bed with me - sometimes. Did you tell her you’re sleeping next to her tonight? You know mommy, maybe she hasn’t noticed, and we should tell her you’re here, so she knows." Her daddy laughs; Harriet doesn’t get why this is so funny, but she laughs too. She loves it when they laugh together — Harriet, daddy, and mommy, of course. She loves them so much, and she knows they love her too — to the moon and back, they always say. "I think you’re right, maybe she doesn’t know I’m here. So we should definitely tell her, and then we can all go back to sleep. Come on, sweetie, come here. Did you have a bad dream?" he asks, reaching out for her hand. "Wait, daddy. Mommy is tiny, and I am tiny, but you are not tiny. Are you sure there’s room for me on the bed?" "There’s always space for my munchkin"

So Harriet climbs onto her mommy’s bed, her mommy still asleep (Harriet, on the other hand, is wide awake now). Her daddy kisses her sweetly on the cheek before settling her between him and her mom. The bed is bigger than she remembered because the three of them fit perfectly. How exciting. Harriet snuggles under the covers and whispers "Daddy, can I tell her? Can I wake her? Can we sleep with our eyes open like fishes do?" "You wake her, Hattie, if you can. I’m sure her eyes are pretty closed though" he says, still smiling with his voice as he strokes her curls. Harriet turns her back to her dad and gently touches her mommy’s peaceful face. This is too exciting. This is the best surprise. "Mommy!! Mommy, wake up!! Do you know daddy is sleeping next to you? Well, he’s not sleeping anymore because I woke him up, but do you know he’s here?? AND IT’S THE NIGHT! I think he forgot he has his big bed in the other home, but it’s okay, right? I don’t really mind. Do you? This is the best bed with the fluffiest pillows" It takes her mom a couple of seconds to register what’s happening. When she opens her eyes — Harriet knows she’s sooo sleepy — she looks at Harriet, then at daddy, and then… she gives her a huge smile and the biggest hug. "This is the best bed, peanut, and it really has the fluffiest pillows. And you know why?" Her voice sounds a bit emotional, but Harriet doesn’t quite get why. It’s just so exciting to snuggle in bed with her two favorite people. Harriet knows what’s coming next; a smirk plays on her lips as she turns to face her daddy again. It’s really dark, but she can see his smile and his eyes so clearly. He knows what’s coming too, and tries to give an unconvincing look of disapproval. "Because mommy and Hattie always know best, daddy!" Mommy and Harriet recite in unison their not-so-secret mantra; it’s their joyful pact of unity. Daddy always pretends to resist, but Harriet knows he loves it.

"Yeah, yeah, you’re the most perfect bubbly duo. I don’t think there’s a higher concentration of stubbornness in the world. Happy, ladies? As usual, you win the argument" "And your heart, daddy?" "That you won a long time ago, sweetheart" "Yeah, but I wasn’t born a long time ago, daddy. I’m a child. You and mommy are old. So mommy must have won it first" Her parents both laugh, gently caressing her hair and her belly. It’s soothing and calming and so full of love. It’s the best feeling for Harriet. It even tops Grandma Catherine’s bedtime stories. She could stay here forever. "See? I have nothing left to add, your honor, this child of mine, who wasn’t born a long time ago, is too prepared” “And on this note, child of yours, it’s time to return to our good night’s sleep” Mommy looks at Harriet, but Harriet’s eyes are already closed; apparently, she can’t fall asleep with her eyes open like fishes do. However, she doesn’t mind now. She’s too comfy. The last image she captures before drifting off again is her daddy’s bright eyes, looking intently at her mom. He’s so focused, and his eyes are so alive. Her mommy looks at him too, and Harriet knows she’s smiling. I know you so well, she thinks, already half-asleep.

“All the planning, Jackson, to weigh the best moment to explain it to her, and then she wakes up in the middle of the night and poof! It’s been over a month since she last woke up in the middle of the night, I thought we were safe! I had a whole speech prepared: Mommy and daddy are already close, but we want to be even closer, so how do you feel about saying goodbye to one of your bedrooms so we can all stay together and—” “Babe, you’re stressing out too much. You know what I think? I think we were so busy talking about how to talk about it, and hiding it from her like she doesn’t have eyes and great observation skills, that we kind of missed her putting the pieces together in her own way. I mean, I don’t think she knew knew, but she did catch us making out in the bathroom. Did she believe you when you said you were sitting on me to pop a pimple on my cheek? Maybe. But she’s five, she’s not stupid. Now let’s all sleep, please, it’s 3 in the morning” Their voices are brisk but hushed, and it’s what lulls Harriet to sleep. Her mom laughs and sighs a little. “This child of ours has outsmarted us once again” Harriet feels their embrace tighten around her; she is outsmarty, isn’t she? — her last coherent thought before sleeping till morning.

[hirukochan]

I know you are busy right now with your fics and I really admire how brilliant they turn out to be with you working on multiple projects. I really appreciate all your hardwork and dedication and ugh, I just love your work so much.

But can I just say that I saw your comment in one of your fics about a potential forbidden Malfoy OC/Reader x Voldemort and I am really looking forward to that? I'm a huge Harriet x Voldy fan but i really love the Malfoy idea and the whole corruption concept. I have this weird imagery of them like Voldy being the snake from the apple tree in Eden and Malfoy Reader being naive, trusting, and too curious for her own good Eve.

Thank you so much!!! It means the world to hear that! I am thrilled to know so many people enjoy these silly little stories I come up with :D!

I am very much looking forward to writing that story! And I will. First I need to finish some published stories but this one is at the top of the list! I hope I'll get to it some time next year and I will be certain to post about it here too!

I don't know from what perspective I will be writing it yet.

Corruption is a main theme for the fic as I've been planning it right now. The youngest child of Narcissa and Lucius is a very sickly girl who had little influence outside her family and who has never even left her family's estate! Voldemort shamelessly preys on that and revels in the slow but steady destruction of her innocence and purity - something he never got to have.

I have a little snippet/teaser here of that fic for anyone who is interested! I have yet to find a name for the fic - because love coming up with names for stuff!!!! (not.)

Malfoy daughter X Voldemort Snippet

words: 1200

warnings: none that I can think off :D

Astrea Lucretia Malfoy knows there are certain expectations that come with being a member of the ancient and most honourable house of Malfoy. Astrea knew these expectations before she could as much as crawl. They were handed down to her from the very first beat her heart took inside her mother’s womb and Astrea would sooner throw herself off the roof of her family home than do anything that would bring shame to her house and her parents.

Astrea loves her parents.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are proud people and Astrea would never want to embarrass them. Astrea knows how to behave. She knows how to greet people and how to make pleasant conversation. Astrea can play the piano and dance and yet despite having devoted her life to trying and be the perfect heiress to her proud parents - she is not.

She is a smudge on her family’s proud family tree and there is nothing she can do.

Astrea looks down at the crimson spots on the snowy white handkerchief in her trembling hands. Steps sounding from the hallway have her hastily fold it and stuff it in her dress. The corset her governess put her into for today’s special occasion.

Time has run out. Astrea can’t escape him any longer. She knows it was an endeavour doomed from the beginning but she had to try.

Her governess opens the door, looking like a banshee coming to announce Astrea’s death, dressed in her stern black uniform. Astrea hates the sight of that uniform. Hates the black dress that makes her think of death every time she sees it because death is the last thing Astrea wants to think about it and yet it’s the first thought on her mind when she wakes up and the last when she falls asleep. Death hunts her in her dreams and she knows death is approaching steadily in reality as well. The handkerchief stuffed between her breasts and the corset bears the proof of that.

Astrea has been sick for as long as she can remember. Despite hiring the most renowned healers and researchers and even shamans nobody has been able to give the proud Malfoys and their inexhaustible vaults at Gringotts an answer as to why their only daughter is a sickly, weak child. She just is. Getting infected with the Dragonpox that would later take her severe, powerful and feared grandfather Abraxas Malfoy did little to improve her condition.

Nowadays Astrea can at least leave her bed and walk freely about the Manor but she knows that little and treasured freedom will be snatched from her the second her overprotective father learns of her relapse.

Astrea pushes her governess' hands from her hair and gets up. She ignores the lightheaded dizziness rushing through her at the swift movement. She does not let it show either.

She can wait no longer.

He is expecting to be introduced to her after all.

The Dark Lord. The most powerful wizard of all times, once believed to have vanished and now returned, reborn. Of course, Astrea knows all about him. She has been taught about him alongside her older brother Draco all her life. Taught of his greatness, his might, his goal to save wizardingkind and she has been taught of her duty to serve him.

And yet she stole from him.

The precious dress made of fairy-spun silk slides over the carpeted stairs. Astrea’s chest strains against the corset. Her governess tied it tighter today against Astrea’s protest.

Nobody here listens to her.

Nobody cares.

Oh, they all ‘care’ - they bend over backwards to delay the inevitable, forcing her to go through heinous treatments to expand her life and yet nobody cares.

Expect for her Uncle Sev perhaps. Her godfather, her father’s best friend and also on the few occasions she is allowed to practise magic, her tutor. He always has an open ear for her and a shoulder to cry on when she needs it.

But there are a few secrets she keeps even from him. The handkerchief and her impertinence. Both she carries on her person tonight. Perhaps a mistake though she seriously doubts the greatest Legilimens to ever live would need her to carry her sin with her to detect it. He’ll know the second he sees her, therefore her avoiding him. In the days before the Dark Lord’s arrival to take up residency in her family home she strategically scattered gasps and moments of pause into her demeanour and speech, then on the morning of his arrival Astrea dipped the thermometer her governess forces past her lips every morning in her teacup for a few seconds as the old hag was preparing her bath.

She spent the past week in her bed but she can’t keep this charade up for long without risking her feeble sham-freedom.

Astrea treasures her freedom above all else.

She enters the sitting room. Her parents are sitting on a sofa with Draco in between them. Uncle Sev sits on their opposite, his face as expressionless as always, swirling whiskey in his glass lazily. There, right across from Astrea is he.

The dark one.

The most powerful and dangerous man to ever walk the earth.

And Astrea not only gets to walk on the same earth at the same time, she gets to be in a room with him, to breathe the same air as him, share dinner with him.

Her chest is bursting with pride, her heart flutters in its cage of fragile bones like the many exotic birds in their cages in her room. Her father keeps bringing them home in hopes of making her smile but Astrea finds no joy in dooming others to share her fate and yet what can she do? These birds, much like her, have no chance of surviving outside their cages and yet she can’t help the occasional thought of just letting them all go, letting them try their luck and run after them, with bare feet and no shawl and wouldn’t that be worth the impending death following them? Living and if only for one second?

Astrea has never felt so alive as she does right now. Her trembling fingers grasp the edge of her dress and lift it slightly as she sinks to her knees, bowing her head at the same time. She struggles to keep her back straight and her body stiff, to not fall over and to make it all seem effortless too. Her long pale blond hair falls over her shoulder. She doesn’t even pause to remember she has never curtseyed in a dress cut like this one, doesn’t remember the corset, doesn’t realise her hair is shielding the sight from her parents and Uncles and doesn’t notice how crimson eyes darken as they skim over her, lingering on the neckline of her dress.

Astrea has grown up well-protected and so she does not realise the different ways men look at quickly coming-of-age girls like her. Merely a year away from being presented to society, something Astrea has never had to worry about as her poor health will hardly allow for such a thing her mother has neglected to prepare her, to warn her of the more unsavoury desires of some men. And still - Astrea knows more than her parents think. She is no idiot and has read nearly every book in the Manor, even those her father keeps away from her in his own library and especially his study and what she can’t find in books her friend tells her about. Her only friend.

“Rise.” The high-pitched voice caresses her skin like morning dew, the leaves of her flowers in front of her windows. Like the wings of her feathered companions, her bare arms. Astrea shudders and - against all her formidable education - she stares.

Amusement twinkles in the crimson eyes of her lord and master, dark red like the drops on her handkerchief. They assess her, gliding over her body, her dress and eventually coming to a halt on her eyes. The corner of his lipsless mouth twitches and for a second Astrea has forgotten everything. The blood, the fatigue, the guilt at lying to her parents, the weight of her sin pressed against her naked thigh beneath her dress.

Lord Voldemort looks different than she could have ever been able to picture him. Pale skin that’s scattered here and there with a bundle of scales that shimmer in the flickering light of the gas lamps on the walls, shimmering like the expensive opal jewellery her parents brought back for her from one of their trips to France once. His pupils are long, shaped like those of a snake and where there is supposed to be a nose, only slit nostrils stretch across his skin.

He is tapping his nails on the armrest of his armchair, one with a regal, high back and luxurious tropical wood, stained dark to fit the room’s aesthetic.

“It is an honour to meet you, my lord.” Astrea says, though her voice sounds strange even to her own ears. “I am saddened to have missed your arrival.”

“I am as well.” Voldemort says, his voice silky smooth, sounding so familiar and yet so strange. Though the fluttery feeling it ignites in her belly is very familiar. She has only ever felt it around her only friend…

Voldemort rises from his seat, abandoning his untouched drink on the table beside his armchair. He towers over her, taller even than her father and uncle. Astrea feels minuscule next to him, not only due to the size. She doesn’t even reach his shoulder.

“Join me? I am curious to learn more about the youngest Malfoy offspring.”

“I am an open book for my lord.” She says with a chaste incline of her head, hiding both from the intense gaze of her master and the redness spreading across her cheeks. “My lord merely needs to ask.”

The stolen leatherbound diary pressed against her thigh she accepts Voldemort’s arm and follows him into the dining room where he even pulls out her chair. No man who does not also share blood with her or is made of ink and magic has ever treated her like this. Astrea sits down and is glad for the rest, ignoring the sweat drenching her back beneath her dress and corset. She doesn’t notice the eyes wandering to her décolletage once more.

“I hope my family’s home becomes my lord well?”

“Yes.” He says, red eyes blazing. “Alas I was uncertain for a bit but it could convince me after all.”

“I am relieved.” Astrea looks up and smiles, finding it contains the same amount of joy it has when addressing it to her ink friend and all the joy it lacks when looking at her family.

“So am I.” His upper lip twitched into a crooked grin, revealing a single, sharp, long fang. The grin looks so familiar-

Astrea shakes the thought off.

Perhaps she should not have brought the diary but she can’t leave Tom in her room alone! He is her only friend and she has to keep him safe! Perhaps Voldemort does not know she has stolen it from her father’s study all those years ago in a fit of infantine anger and desire to hurt her father back for all that he is keeping her from. All she wanted was to join Draco’s birthday celebration and he forbade it. Tom said she did no wrong and that she should believe him but Astrea finds it difficult at times.

She has considered putting the diary back many times but Tom has told her how lonely he was before she saved him and one does not abandon friends! At least that’s what Tom says. Astrea has never had a friend but she trusts Tom. He would never want to harm her.

***

What a curious little creature, Voldemort thinks as he slips into the girl’s room unnoticed. She is lying in a huge bed framed by flimsy, delicate curtains, as delicate as the girl they give fleeting shelter to.

She is asleep, her lids closed, hiding the bright blue of her big eyes. Her luscious lips are slightly parted. Beneath her hand, curled into a feeble fist on top of her pillow, beside her head sits it.

The impertinence. The utter impudence to bring the stolen object to her first encounter with its rightful owner. It’s almost charming. Like an ant that believes itself so powerful it can revolt against the boot.

He will take pleasure in crushing her. In ripping her chaste innocence from her to savour it, to claim it for himself. He’ll punish her for her crime and Lucius for being so careless he has not even realised it’s missing. The object Voldemort entrusted to him. A piece of his master’s soul - though that part he is obviously unaware of. Voldemort is not so stupid as to hand over crucial information to a mere henchman like Lucius. Though his daughter will make a lovely addition to Voldemort’s bed.

He reaches out a pale hand with skeletal fingers to take the diary, reclaim his stolen Horcrux-

Voldemort is pulled away, something tugs on his mind and he falls forward, like dragged into a pensieve and he finds himself in the Slytherin common room, standing by the fireplace he once tossed the annoying cat of a classmate into. In front of him on the leather sofa lies the girl, the same girl, in the same flimsy, nearly see-through nightgown and she is asleep in his arms. In his arms.

Within the blink of an eye his younger self, looking the role of the proper Prefect he had been at the time, stands in front of him. Voldemort had never been short but his adolescent self can’t match the height of his new body and yet he doesn’t seem impressed or like he even remotely cares.

“She is mine!” He hisses in angry parseltongue, his eyes flashing red and Voldemort is forcibly expelled from the diary, such force he stumbles a step backwards, staring at the girl sleeping on his diary as peacefully as humanly possible.

Read it here

[fizzingwizard]

The Gay History Behind Your Favorite Childhood Book

I enjoy so much of Kaz Rowe’s content. This is such a great “intro to queerness in children’s lit” video. There’s a brief snippet on the Moomins towards the end, but the focus is on several well-known children’s authors (in the English speaking world) who you may not know were gay. The sections on each author are short, but it’s really great to see them altogether and understand a little of the challenges and choices they faced in their lifetimes, as well as some of their writing philosophy. I never knew how much backlash there was to “Harriet the Spy.”

Growing up, I read most of the books mentioned in this video, but the ones which were most formative for me were definitely Tomie dePaola’s. I had many and loved them so much that when I heard dePaola died, I was genuinely sad. My favorite of his books as a child were “The Clown of God” and “Marianna May and Nursey.”

[harrietwritesstuff]

✨️ Surprise Snippet Sunday ✨️

His voice is ruined, scraped so raw, his face buried in her shoulder - just for a split second, this fleeting moment - he is a boy again, and everything can be solved by his mother.

[mysticstarlightduck]

Last Line Tag!

Thank you for the Tag, @oh-no-another-idea! This ended up being a Last Snippet because this scene was just too perfect not to post, it's also chaotic and Augustus' sense of self-preservation is unhinged, but I love this duo so much! They've taken up every corner of my mind lately, lmao.

"If it serves as consolation... it's not all my blood. I think. Well, most of it is. I can never be completely sure, but they're dead now. We should probably go." He leaned against the wagon's gilded door, trying to seem nonchalant - though, through the cuts in the white fabric of his suit she could see a plethora of deep stab wounds painstakingly healing, stitching up together like glue. Whatever those goons did to him, Augustus must've gotten quite a few of their souls as payback. Still, she's unsure whether he's pretending to be fine or if he truly does not feel pain at all. But that's a weird question for another moment, so she mentally archives it among all the other unanswered mysteries of her life. Harriet shook her head with a stuttering breath, forcing herself to look away. She was sure she'd turned pale as a sheet but tried to bring herself back to the mission at hand - getting off this train. "I'm not entirely sure you know what consolation means if you think this is one. But alright."

Tagging: @little-peril-stories , @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @your-absent-father, @writernopal, @rickie-the-storyteller, @clairelsonao3, @chauceryfairytales @memento-morri-writes, @bardicbeetle, @steh-lar-uh-nuhs, @saltysupercomputer @forthesanityofstorytellers @i-can-even-burn-salad and @lassiesandiego

[harri-etvane]

I can't wait to read Let Yourself Be Held, it looks so good (when you get around it, of course, no pressure!) 🥹 💓

I'm curious about In the dream - I don't tell anyone and Bite Your Tongue (Grit Your Teeth)

🫶

ahhhh thank you so much! 💓 I hope it's not a dreadful disappointment when I eventually post it; but it's been nice to try something a little different to the usual Unspoken Yearning.

I've posted a snippet from in the dream just here so I'll waffle about Bite Your Tongue for a min if that's okay?

It's the continuation of this fic; mostly because there have been several Maks & Vova In The Gym scenarios that have been rattling around my brain for a very long time and tbh at this point I just want to get them out there.

I came across this particular prompt in a list that was floating around Tumblr (“I won’t go easy on you” || “I don’t want you to”) and it sparked a whole Thing. Snippet below the cut if you'd like it & thank you, endlessly, for reading my silly scribblings xx

Maks knew this had been a bad idea.

He knew it the minute Vova had looked at him in the office upstairs, the rings beneath his eyes bruised and sore, his voice raw. But, he'd still followed him down to the gym because that's what Volodymyr had wanted - what he needed.

Not this though.

Shit.

"Sir?"

Vova is on his knees on the mat, breathing heavily, his hands pressed against his ribcage.

[childotkw]

Omg the last week has sent me into a beautiful reminiscing about your blog over the years and how many AUs have spawned and how good your writing is that only a snippet can create such a hold on people!!

I about screamed when I saw an actual posted chapter of i don’t owe you my forgiveness! I remember the first few snippets and the heartbreak when reading Harry being rejected by Tom

And the most recent ask about carve my name into your arm had me feral 😂 and ready to blog dive

I was wondering if you remember the name of a particular AU from a few years ago…it was a cross over of your stories CS, ybtm, and a female Harry raised by Walburga…all three Harry’s were transported to canon (I think) and raise Harry? I don’t remember much but the vibes were hilarious and I’m in a nostalgic mood now

Thanks for all you do!

God, last week was wild 😂😂

i don't owe you my forgiveness has just been one of those AUs that hangs around in my brain tbh, ever since it first cropped up, so I was glad to at least get the first chapter up!

And I think that AU is Shadowed Smiles? It's largely a Hadrian and ybtm!Harry AU, but Harriet does get thrown into the mix eventually! Or there's Hadrian and Harriet's Parenting Adventure where, as the name suggests, Hadrian and Harriet get yeeted into canon, find Harry and go yoink.

And thank you for being so sweet and supportive! 🥰🥰🥰

[newtedison]

WIP Game

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

thank you for the tag @crestfallercanyon !

so i don't actually have many full WIPs as i rarely start a project i don't intend on finishing. however i do have many drabbles and bits of writing practice that i've kept over the years so i'll list all of those for fun.

Grease AU Drabble (the maze runner, newtmas, from like 2015-6 i wanna say?)

Madge/Katniss (the hunger games, could never finish this as the knowledge of the books from last year has left my brain but it was a fun moment while it lasted)

NYC Drabble (the maze runner, newtmas, also from like 2015-6 i think)

Psychic Sonya/THAH-Verse (the maze runner, sonya/harriet primarily. this was going to be a companion fic for "to have a heartbeat" but i couldn't quite get it to work.)

Spirk Drabble 1 (star trek: the original series)

Spirk Drabble 2 (star trek: the original series. both of these ended up being practice for what became my actual spirk fic(s).)

SWATH (snow white and the huntsman. yeagh)

Thomally Safe Haven (the maze runner. this was a quick moment that sadly faded)

and then my actual WIPs:

9. Brenderesa Draft (the maze runner. this thang is like 30k ish and has changed shape so many times over the course of several years. never had a project i've had this much trouble with. other projects keep preventing me from finishing this but i'd love to let it see the light of day. there's some good stuff in there.)

10. Caspeter Timeloop (the chronicles of narnia. yes i'm back on my caspeter bullshit. this thang just hit like 21k and i fear how long it's going to get.)

since i ended up having 10 things i'm not going to tag 10 people. i'm also really bad at tagging for these things in general i forget everyone who's ever existed and what their URLs are i'm so sorry. if you want to do this just say i tagged you and it will be true.

also as per the rules if you want me to post a snippet or anything more about these send me an ask and i gladly will

[kirloris]

Hey there, cherubs! What's up?

So, this is my second blog here (or does it count as the third?). Just wanted to share a little snippet of a story I'm writing, that's all. Writing blogs is kinda new for me, and I’m not sure if I should add more to this or just jump straight into the piece I wrote. Anyway, here ya go—ta-dah!

☆.𓋼𓍊 𓆏 𓍊𓋼𓍊.☆

Grace sat elegantly troubled upon the window ledge, her face kissed by the sun, lending her the stately air so characteristic of the Lee family. Her impending marriage was nothing more than a necessary tragedy—or so she repeated to herself, like an unceasing prayer.

“Oh, Miss Butler.”

Her lament drifted from her lips as she gazed through the glass at a forlorn peddler making his way down the abandoned alley, yearning to earn even a mere sliver of the now-precious bronze.

“Why do I feel so helpless when it should be quite the opposite? You have heard my parents—marriage is the best course for me. Mr. Harrison is even wealthier than my own family; it is said he has ties to King Matthew. He is a man who could protect me, ensure that I wake each morning to witness the dawn painting the sky with color once more. So why am I so miserable?”

The young blonde’s words escaped like a solemn litany, an expression of the burden upon her back. Though well-educated, she remained so innocent, so easily swayed—a butterfly unaware of the existence of its own wings, which made her all the more coveted.

“Oh, I know—it is foolish to bemoan this misfortune with such dramatics.”

Grace straightened herself with poise, her gaze drifting toward Harriet, searching her eyes with quiet desperation, hoping to find an answer within them.

“But it simply does not align with the success and happiness that everyone has envisioned for me.”

☆.𓋼𓍊 𓆏 𓍊𓋼𓍊.☆

I hope the translation stays true to the original text. I can understand a good portion of it, but not completely. Either way, in another post, I’ll share the excerpt in its original language.

The story doesn’t have a name yet, and it’s inspired by the late 19th and early 20th centuries, but with a bit of a Victorian essence. It takes place in a fictional universe with various sources of inspiration. I read that surnames used to come from professions, which is why I chose “Butler” as a last name.

Byeeee, cherubs!