#It pleased the part of her that craves recognition of her authority from someone at the top of a hierarchy

[hephaestuscrew]

I'm sure Minkowski never forgot that Cutter was the first person ever to call her Commander. After recruiting her in Once in A Lifetime, he starts to call her Lieutenant, then breaks into laughter, before correcting himself: "What am I saying? Commander Minkowski." He draws attention to himself granting that title, stressing its significance. By initially calling her by a lower ranking, then conspicuously correcting himself, Cutter emphasises that he's the one granting her that title. Right at the beginning of Minkowski's employment with Goddard Futuristics, Cutter plants the seed for his line in the finale: "People cared about you because of what I made you: A soldier. A leader. A commander. I gave you that, and now? I taketh away."

And he does take it away. Cutter makes a point of calling her Commander in that first meeting, but he hardly ever calls Minkowski Commander after that. He almost always calls her Renée. He makes the point in that first interaction that he has the authority to grant her that title, and then in every subsequent interaction he tries to make the point that she doesn't have command over him. Having called her Commander once makes every time he doesn't call her by her title seem more deliberate. It's not that he never uses titles - it's that he uses them selectively. He gives her a taste of that sense of authority, but he doesn't want her to feel worthy of it.

In the liveshow, he cuts her off by shouting "I AM SPEAKING, LIEUTENANT!". Minkowski is the Commander of the Hephaestus in official terms at this point and Cutter even refers to her as "a mission commander" later in the same episode. So there is a deliberate malice to Cutter calling Minkowski Lieutenant here. Not only does it emphasise the use of authority structures as a means for control and the abandonment of first-name-basis false friendliness, calling her by another title makes his choice not to call her Commander even more explicit, denying her that authority.

Apart from when he recruits her, the only other time I can think of when Cutter directly calls Minkowski Commander is in Ep60, when he lays out his offer to let Minkowski leave on the Sol: "How does that sound to you, Commander?" Again, calling her Commander is a kind of power play, an attempt at manipulation, highlighting the sense of responsibility that motivates so many of Minkowski's actions. Cutter is prompting her to ask the question she would be asking herself anyway: what choice would a good Commander make? Just as he did when he recruited her, Cutter offers Minkowski something she desperately wants, and the use of her title here only draws attention to the idea that Cutter is the one with the power, choosing what to give her.

[katcadecascade]

Reuniting Strings (Zuko’s Scar oneshot)

Summary: 

Toph asks, “What were you in for?”

“You can’t just ask that!”

“I just did, Sugar Queen.”

Chit Sang laughed over them, “Are you sure you all want to know? It’s a long story.”

An array of emotions is on everyone’s faces. Toph, Aang, The Duke, and Teo are genuinely curious. As fellow ex-prisoners, Hakoda, Haru, and Suki don’t seek an explanation but like Sokka and Katara, they want the topic to get away from Azula. 

Zuko knows that the people who end up in the Boiling Rock are people the Fire Nation wants to ignore. It could be for any reason, politics or crime or revolts be it violently or nonviolently, he doesn’t know where Chit Sang categories into.

“Oh that sounds intriguing,” Toph answers for them, “Yes please.”

Chit Sang looks around the circle, mentally preparing his story. His eyes land on Zuko. The older man doesn’t appear nervous but there is something hesitant in the way he unlocks the tension in his jaw.

“I used to be a guard in the royal palace, tasked with escorting generals in and out of their meetings.”

Immediately, Zuko freezes.

Because they used a fishing trip as their cover story for doing a prison break, Toph bullied Zuko and Sokka into actually fishing for dinner.

Toph was craving fish.

She also punched both boys’ arms because she cares.

Fortunately they have Hakoda, an expert fisherman, to help. Unfortunately Katara tagged along because she wanted family bonding. She shooed Zuko away as the family headed to the nearest river.

He doesn’t complain about that so he reviews Aang on his homework.

Zuko never really imagined himself as a teacher, that was Uncle’s role and honestly Zuko was not the best student. While Aang would occasionally whine or stumble through a kata, the kid wasn’t as near temperamental as Zuko once was, thank the spirits.

It’s a bit relaxing to focus on Aang’s training after the adventure Zuko and Sokka just did. Zuko just needed to get his mind off of Azula. There was a lot to unpack there, especially her supposed case with Suki, but Zuko believes a good hour of not thinking about his sister is deserved.

The Water Tribe family gets to have time together, being happy that they’re all alive. Zuko can’t help but notice that only the siblings have ever talked about parents. 

So after Zuko ends Aang’s bending review, the Avatar does his cool down stretches and says, “I wonder what number of prison breakouts this is. We did a lot.”

Zuko doesn’t blink at this fact, too used to the hectic stories they vaguely explained.

“Well, be prepared for Sokka to retell this break out or maybe the Chief will?”

“Yeah, Hakoda and also Bato are great storytellers,” Aang nods enthusiastically. As they leave the temple’s training grounds, Aang comments, “Gotta say, Sokka’s the last person I thought would spontaneously do a prison break.”

“What. Is Katara more revolutionary?” Aang just stares at Zuko. “Okay yeah, she is but Sokka really wanted to do this. He risked it all to save his dad.”

“Sokka really loves his dad, Katara too of course, but for him it was about proving himself as a warrior.”

“Yeah, he told me something similar,” Zuko said.

“They’d do anything for their family,” the young boy smiles. In the slow sunset, a shadow lingers over Aang as he glances over to a temple mural of nomads. “The first time I went into the Avatar State was back at the Southern Air Temple.”

A huge amount of dread burns low in Zuko’s gut.

“Oh Aang,” he trailed off, thinking of the century old skeletons.

Aang stood in front of the mural. It depicted monks shaping clouds. “Katara calmed me down, said that I was a part of their family now. And when we met Bato, he said I was a part of the Tribe too.”

Zuko moved to Aang’s right side, “The Water Tribe is all about community, right?”

He nodded, “Monk Gyatso and the others were my people but they taught me that anyone could be my family.” A conflicted expression flickers over Aang. “I met a guru. He said that in order for me to master the Avatar State I have to let go of my love. I couldn’t accept that. All I had was love and I don’t want to give that up.”

There is so much about the Avatar that people will never know. Their sacrifices and decisions and mistakes, it is influential to the world and the spirits. Only a selected few will be able to see how each Avatar lives and dies.

Zuko is lucky to know the depths of two Avatars.

“If there’s one thing I know,” Zuko places a hand on Aang’s shoulder, “is that the Avatar will always find love and family. Like Roku.”

Aang smiles brightly, “Yeah, like Roku. He showed me his past.” The smile dips into a loopy hopeful tone, “He got married to a girl he had a crush on.”

Zuko knows that he’s thinking about Katara but Zuko can’t help but latch onto something else, “Was that all of his family that you learned?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Aang questioningly stares at Zuko with that Avatar wisdom, “Why, is there something you know, Zuko?”

Feeling targeted, Zuko quickly weighs the consequences of telling Aang.

Is he prepared for dealing with an energetic all-powerful kid?

In the corner of his eye, the sunset shines fading pinks and oranges on the faded murals of a nearly gone nation.

Yeah, there’s no harm in telling Aang he has a bigger family than he thought.

“So Roku is my mom’s grandfather.”

Immediately, Aang is hugging Zuko. No doubting, just clear acceptance and joy. In return, Zuko slowly hugs back, gently butting his head against Aang’s. Whatever is going on in that bald noggin, Zuko hopes that this helps him.

When they reach the main temple area, the sky is still that warm orange tone. Everyone has rounded up for the hefty amount of fish the Water Tribe has brought. A fire is already up with fish skewers roasting.

Sokka waves Zuko over for the empty spot next to him and Suki. As for Aang, he normally sits with Katara who has a vegetable meal readied but Aang takes his sweet time before that.

The Avatar’s super big grin is the only warning of Zuko’s misery.

“We have another family reunion!”

“I regret telling you.”

Zuko covers his eyes, not ready to see everyone’s confusion shift into amusement.

“What are you on about Twinkle Toes?”

“Aang stop.” Zuko is ignored.

“I’m Zuko’s great-grandfather!”

Unlike Aang, there is casted doubt and confusion so Zuko explains shortly, “Uncle told me that Avatar Roku is my ancestor.”

“The Dragon of the West?” Chit Sang, their impromptu prison break escapee, specified in the only context he knew.

“Yep.”

Back to the main topic, Sokka laughs, “So wait that means Aang has parental authority over you.”

“It does not.”

“Come on Zuko,” Aang elbows him jollily, “Learn to respect your elders.”

“Maybe after you master firebending I will,” he huffed, moving away to sit by Sokka.

“Don’t turn your back on me mister!” Aang poorly used an old man impersonation.

At least the jest ends there as dinner gets served.

That’s when Toph points out, “That also makes you Azula’s great-grandfather.”

Everyone gets quiet, preferring to chew on their fish kabobs.

“Huh,” Aang says around his fried eggplant, “I’m not ready for that family reunion.”

“I think she’d be elated,” Suki said, “Azula loves drama.”

“She loves reactions,” Zuko specified, “thrives off it really.”

“Oh and then she’ll do that scowl before forcing a smile.”

“It’s not forced. She’s just instantly thinking ten steps ahead where she’s winning.”

Suki taps her chin, “Okay, that makes a lot more sense.”

Being in the middle, Sokka was constantly whipping his head back and forth. Eventually a look of recognition passes through Sokka, Toph, and Aang. Yet out loud, someone else comments on this.

“It’s you who the Princess always visited,” Chit Sang concluded as if he solved a big mystery. “We heard rumors that she was interrogating a prisoner but no one really knew who.”

“Well she can’t visit me anymore,” Suki chirped and bit fiercely into her fish. She probably senses Sokka’s distress because she automatically leans into his side.

“What about you?” Toph asks, “What were you in for?”

It’s like Toph knows she’s the only one who can appall Katara without any consequences.

“You can’t just ask that!”

“I just did, Sugar Queen.”

Chit Sang laughed over them, “Are you sure you all want to know? It’s a long story.”

An array of emotions is on everyone’s faces. Toph, Aang, The Duke, and Teo are genuinely curious. As fellow ex-prisoners, Hakoda, Haru, and Suki don’t seek an explanation but like Sokka and Katara, they want the topic to get away from Azula.

Zuko knows that the people who end up in the Boiling Rock are people the Fire Nation wants to ignore. It could be for any reason, politics or crime or revolts be it violently or nonviolently, he doesn’t know where Chit Sang categories into.

“Oh that sounds intriguing,” Toph answers for them, “Yes please.”

Chit Sang looks around the circle, mentally preparing his story. His eyes land on Zuko. The older man doesn’t appear nervous but there is something hesitant in the way he unlocks the tension in his jaw.

“I used to be a guard in the royal palace, tasked with escorting generals in and out of their meetings.”

Immediately, Zuko freezes.

He escorted generals to war councils. That detail lights something on fire in Zuko as Chit Sang continues.

“These old generals get a little too comfortable in the palace, thinking that they’re rubbing elbows with the elites. One day I escorted a group of generals out. One starts badmouthing something that went down in the meeting, how his speech or whatever got interrupted.”

No…

Oh no.

Everyone around the campfire is quiet. Zuko can’t run off without any of them noticing. Spirits, Sokka is right next to him too. Zuko tries to ignore Sokka glancing at him, likely sensing the distress Zuko is keeping at bay.

“The general complained about the naivety of a kid. How if soldiers enlisted for war, they should be prepared to die for whatever plan they and the Fire Lord approves of.”

Subtly, Zuko takes a deep breath.

No, he decides, he has to stay seated. Zuko owes that to the victims of this story. He also ignores the numb feeling in his legs, shackles of shame rooting him.

Somehow Chit Sang is a part of this three year old tale. It feels alarmingly similar to another man Zuko knows.

“That’s when I recognized this general.” He rolled his eyes with fond amusement, “My brother complained all about him in his letters.”

Hakoda laughed, instantly getting it, “New warriors just love to rag on their captains, don’t they?”

“It’s the best way to make friends in your fraction,” agrees Chit Sang but his lighthearted tone is gone as he states, “My younger brother and cousin were of the 41st Division.”

(“I have a daughter, a little older than you. She joined the army and hoped to later transfer over to the navy unit. She really wanted to serve under my command but first she was sent off to with the other new recruits.”)

A weight drops in Zuko’s stomach as two conversations are overlapping, one around the temple’s fire and another from the past. It brings back cold sea air with its words.

“Anyway, the general keeps yapping. The interrupter is sentenced to fight for his honor. In my head I can’t understand why this went to such extremes. That is until the day of the Agni Kai match.”

“What’s an Agni Kai?” Teo asked.

“A traditional firebending duel of honor,” the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe answered much to everyone’s surprise. “I always heard stories but it’s usually about soldiers, not generals.”

“It used to be a just soldier thing,” Chit Sang nodded, “or maybe you’re thinking about something we called the Ten Duel Commandments. Anyway, Agni Kai fights eventually became a political power move. This one is different. Only the top elites and highest ranking officers were allowed access. But this was the royal arena, there were guards stationed at the doors outside.”

“Is this where you come in?” Aang leaned in, both impatient and eager to learn more. “You got arrested for stopping the fight?”

“No,” he said with shame, “I didn’t know who was up to fight. I’m not sure anyone really knew until it happened. Even then, I don’t know if anyone had the guts to stop this match.” Chit Sang drew in a deep breath and the campfire mirrored it. “How could a simple guard stop the Fire Lord from burning his… young subject.”

Zuko bit his lip. The need to plead and beg Chit Sang to stop talking is at the forefront of his mind.

Instead when Chit Sang meets his gaze, Zuko nods subtly.

He wants to hear the end of this.

“We all wondered why this happened, how something so disrespectful occurred in the front of the Fire Lord for this Agni Kai. The guards and I tried to piece it together the day after. One guard heard it was a dispute in the war meeting, I knew it was about a plan for the 41st, and another guy remembered how that general was notorious for losing his youngest troops.”

The firebenders could all see everyone trying to piece this together but they needed one last jigsaw to truly understand.

A part of Zuko wants them to never understand, to never know the end of this tale. He has a feeling if he asks Chit Sang to stop he will but Zuko actually prefers his narration over whatever Zuko could attempt.

Zuko nods again. He ignores Sokka’s inquisitive glance.

“Then two guards spoke up, said that General Iroh let the Crown Prince into the meeting.”

He had seconds to prepare himself so Zuko chose to stare at the fire and not the many eyes targeted on him.

“It wasn’t a pretty picture even with the scattered information I had,” Chit Sang filled up the silence, recounting the details, “The Prince spoke against a plan that would send the 41st Division to death. He participated in an Agni Kai for his beliefs but chose to not fight against his father.”

Zuko doesn’t look up, his eyes too captured by the bright whites and oranges dancing. He thinks his eyes are tearing up from the heat.

“I sent it all in a letter to my brother. I had no clue if it reached him.”

(“Months passed and I haven’t received any letters from my daughter. I got worried. She sent me so many letters during her basic training. I thought for sure I’d get a letter about her traveling through the Earth Kingdom.”)

“We don’t know what happened to them and it wasn’t long before I got arrested for leaking news about a royal scandal that could be detrimental for the Fire Lord’s image.”

“That’s why you were arrested?” Sokka barked with so much scorn, “You warned a troop that their general was sending them to die and Zuko, he…”

Zuko wills himself not to look at Sokka. He can’t imagine what is on everyone’s faces.

“Yep,” Chit Sang popped, “I got shoved into the next prison transport and haven’t heard any news of the outside world ever since.”

(“Instead I and other families got silence or were told to wait for any reports. I pulled some favors to get answers but it was unsuccessful.”)

In a small voice, Toph asks, “You don’t know what happened to the division?”

That fact has haunted the prince for years. It automatically had Zuko hopelessly say, “No one does.”

(“An official report said that the 41st Division reached the Earth Kingdom and that was it. Nothing else. No letters ever came back from the general in charge.”)

“Actually,” Chit Sang began and this time, Zuko tears his eyes away from the fire to meet the other bender, “My buddy landed in the Boiling Rock a year later and told me something. At some point, my mom got a letter. It was from my brother. The 41st didn’t believe my info and by then they were already docked at the Earth Kingdom, headed to secure a hill near Ba Sing Se.”

It’s like Zuko’s tongue can’t decide if it’s too heavy to move or impatient to spew words. “And then what?”

He meets Zuko’s eyes, a fateful determination flaring up, “My brother and cousin vowed to keep their division alive, whatever it takes. They didn’t write back what they planned to do. They did mention that they’ll do it for the Crown Prince because he saw honor in them.”

“I don’t, what I did,” the former prince shook his head, his voice raw and cracking, “Are they even alive?”

“I have hope,” he said, “That’s all I got left.”

There’s a heavy emptiness in the temple ruins. Zuko tries his mightiest to not make a noise as tears well up in his eyes.

After all these years, Zuko gets new information. It’s not the best one, a vague confirmation at best, but it’s still something. A burning part inside rip apart the hovering sentence of the 41st Division seeing honor in their Prince.

Now if only Zuko and the soldiers’ family knew if those kids are alive or not.

Sokka broke the solemn silence, “Hey Chit Sang, what did your brother looks like?”

The Water Tribe boy gets a lot of raised eyebrows but Chit Sang shrugs.

“He looks kind of like me but bigger eyebrows,” he described, “and my cousin, she has a mole under her nose.”

Now that sends an alarmed look between the original trio.

“Wait Sokka, you don’t think,” Katara trailed off.

“What,” Zuko rushed, his body shaking, “What are you talking about?”

“My first firebending teacher,” Aang answered with a peace that Zuko envies, “Jeong Jeong the Deserter. At his camp there were a lot of people, both young and old.”

“One of them, she had a mole right here,” Sokka tapped under his right nostril.

“That’s my cousin,” Chit Sang breathed out heavily. In fact his whole body nearly collapses with that breath.

This man got his resolution but others have not.

“Did you learn any of their names?” Zuko asked with an intensity he can’t contain.

Three heads shook no.

(“What’s your daughter’s name, Lieutenant?”)

(“Jiang.”)

��Jiang,” Zuko repeated, not that any of them knew he was repeating the name, “Did you hear that name at all at that camp?”

Again they shake their heads but Chit Sang tilts his.

“Jiang, right? Wong and Kari mentioned her in a letter,” the older firebender smiled reassuringly. “She’d be with them. They’re all good friends.”

Hope, it’s hard to believe in hope alone because most of the time it is shapeless. At this moment in a temple ruins, surrounded by people who were originally known as his enemies, they gave Zuko hope.

“They’re alive,” he utters between trembling lips.

“Because of you,” The former guardsman stood up and walked over to him. “You stood up for them, burned for them,” Chit Sang bowed to Zuko, his hands in form of the symbolic flame, “You have my gratitude, My Prince.”

(“Thank you for seeing the value in their lives, My Prince,” Lieutenant Jee bowed, his hands formed the symbolic flame.)

Around Zuko there are a million other conversations. Shocked and processing this all, appalment at the war council, disbelief the horrible reality of who the Fire Lord is, and how this is the life that shaped Zuko.

It all burns Zuko. The origin of his inferno was his honor, a subjective identity he burned into his soul. He may have regrets for speaking out of turn, for disobeying his father’s order to fight, and for a thousand other things but Zuko does not regret speaking against the planned death of the 41st Division.

The price of that was not the burn or the scar or the banishment but the unknown if his efforts meant anything.

Zuko stands with shaking knees, still registering the massive amount of information, and bows to Chit Sang, his hands formed as the respected flame.

“Thank you,” Zuko’s throat is beyond dry, his core knocked out of orbit only to rush back to into place.

The silence returned to hear his small words, vulnerable to their sudden new light of Zuko.

Now that Zuko is paying attention, most of his friends look sick as they stare at his scar. He doesn’t mean to avoid their eyes but he faces Toph, her blindness taking the edge away from all of this.

Yet again, Toph is the one to initial the heavy topic, “Your father and your scar…”

He doesn’t want to say it out loud, it would be easier to just nod or do nothing but it’s Toph, Zuko doesn’t want to leave her in silence. “Yes, he gave me my scar.”

That is the first time Zuko has ever verbally acknowledged the rawest truth of that event.

For years he worded around it with verbs of rightly punished, branded as dishonor, or a million other self-loathing ideologies that burned angry, pride, and shame throughout Zuko.

He takes a deep breath and on the exhale, Zuko feels a little lighter.

-

This is chapter ten of my fic Petals in a Storm. It is an abo au of Avatar and I know that isn’t really everyone’s cup of tea. But this chapter is one my favorite things I have ever written since it is my take on the whole Zuko’s scar trope. So I edited out the minor bits about abo and this could be read as just another oneshot about the scar. 

Thanks for reading! 

[phantomato]

Chapter 7 is now posted!

“If you want to check that your foot is still connected to your leg, you can either wiggle it directly or you can touch it with your hand, yes?” She watched his perplexed nod with some satisfaction. “If your foot goes numb, wiggling it won’t tell you anything because you have no sensation in the foot. However, you can still use your hand to touch it.” He no longer nodded, and the furrow between his brows deepened, but she could tell he was still following based on the look of intense concentration in his eyes. She erased one of the lines on the second graph, leaving a single vertex disconnected from the other five. “If your wards and alarms were deactivated, however improbable that may be, you have no other way to communicate with that part of your soul short of tracking down the physical container. It’s the same situation as you’re in now. In other words, wards, alarms, any standard magical protection—they’re all just hurdles for someone determined to destroy your horcruxes. They leave you fundamentally unprotected against the eventuality that some wizard or witch would have the talent and the luck to silently dismantle your spellwork and gain access to your soul.”

Meta coming up immediately, no jump this time because I feel strongly about the interpretation of this one scene.

Firstly, please accept my apologies for bringing math into this fic; they say to write what you know, and I have a particular comfort zone. I hope the descriptions of graphs were relatively intelligible.

Secondly, let me talk about Hermione. Hermione’s a tough character for me, because she’s often an author-insert in both the original canon and fan representations, and so her set of possible character traits is fairly broad. To be blunt: I hate a lot of Hermiones. So, in writing my Hermione, I had to face the challenge of making her interesting and tolerable for me to write while still having humanity and flaws, so she’s not a secondary character in her own romance. One of the things that defines her, for me, is this sense that she thinks herself exceptional, and therefore is allowed to make exceptions to the rules, but feels very strongly that everyone else should play by those rules without exception. As a teen, this quality can make her character intolerable (she’s ~~not like other girls~~), but with the mellowing influence of adulthood, it can take on a more self-aware tone. 

Her scene with Amandine in this chapter is my go at playing with this idea. She’s annoyed—rightly so—by the way her friend dismisses her for being an unmarried woman of low birth, but she doesn’t recognize that she does the same thing in return because of her friend’s lifestyle. She wants, craves, recognition and respect (our girl is a striver) but when given the opportunity to buy in to that society, she rejects it. She married the handsome pureblood but divorces him rather than have a child. (Which, to be clear, would have been my choice as well, but she does not consider compromise or the fallout of that rejection.) She is dismissive of Amandine’s choice to divide responsibilities in her marriage, thinking it makes her a weak-willed woman. She’s kinda rude in her blatant disinterest in her friend’s kid. So Hermione has this moment of revelation about how of course the purebloods would fall behind Tom, because they fall in line behind the patriarchs, which is both partly true and yet still insulting to the agency of the wives and mothers and sisters in these households. And then Tom sweeps in, and he’s so much fucking better than Hermione at playing the pureblood social game, and that is what first gets her to think of him as Voldemort. Not the use of Dark Arts, not the murder, not the horcruxes—the fact that he plays the social games by the same rules as everyone else and earned respect because of it.

[lottabank]

name: evelyn charlotte banks nicknames: charlotte , lottie , lott , char , charlie , charmander , etc. but she no longer goes by evelyn in this lifetime age: twenty three physically , sixty seven biologically sexuality: panromantic / sexual pronouns: she / her , cisfemale  species: vampire sign: gemini spotify: here pinterest: here

hello moon beams and star shines , this is late but i’ve just been busy with work ! i’ve got the time to try and finish stuff now , so i’m gonna work on trying to do my daughter’s intro. if you’d like to plot feel free to hmu via tumblr im or ask for my discord bc i’ll gladly give it. i also play rune ( shadow graced human ) so yeah it’s snottie back at it again , anything you want to know about me or lottie alike hmu or just read below to find out more about my sweet serial killer vamp princess

── the high council is prepared to hear the story of EVELYN CHARLOTTE ‘ LOTTIE ‘ BANKS , a VAMPIRE while noted as a WANDERER. we might of mistaken them as MADELAINE PETSCH. appearances may be deceiving, with immortality being so common among supernaturals. this being has walked the earth for NINETY years, and their face reflects an age of TWENTY THREE they’re a CITIZEN of estonia and will be residing in TALLIN.

during their stay of the harvest they shall work by day as a STRIPPER to blend in with the mortal crowd. however, at night you might find them as AN ESCORT / ASSASSIN. they’re UNHAPPY about the harvest, however, they plan to please the high council.

PERSONALITY.

vampire beauty queen , primadonna , self-proclaimed princess. this darling girl has always loved attention , luxury , all things beautiful and transitioning to the darkness only heightened that love. so much so that she will do just about anything to satisfy her own wants or needs. lottie is ruthless , verging on sociopathic. she is delicate , but she is dangerous. she is by no means unfeeling though , nor incapable of love. she can be sweet , she can be soft , she can be pink cheeks and bright smiles just as she can be bloody lips and deranged laughter. she is genuinely kind , loving and gentle unless your death would make her happier than your being alive.  

ruling planet: mercury — the planet of communication body parts: shoulders , arms , hands element: air good day: fascinating , original , resourceful , charming , wise , adventurous bad day: restless , distracted , two-faced , judgmental , depressed , overwhelmed favorite things: cell phones , fast cars , trendy clothes , obscure music , guitars , books , clubbing least favorite things: small-minded people , dress codes , authority figures , silence , routines secret wish: to have all the answers how to spot her: mischievous twinkle in her eyes,  humming , talking with her hands where you’ll find her: taking pictures , behind the bar , in a chat room , playing devil’s advocate keywords: communication , collaboration , synergy , cleverness , wittiness , inventiveness ,  ingenuity

charlotte’s energy circulates in a quick and frenetic way , witty wordplay and dynamic dialogue are her forte. she is great for brainstorming and socializing , but craves “ twin flame ” and kindred spirit energy and is always up for an intellectual meeting of the minds. 

under the influence she can find herself with the gift of gab , talking and conversing with others for hours hopping from pop culture trends to deep political topics. beware of when she becomes a “ gossip girl , ” as she can crank up the rumor mill. as renowned dr. bernie siegel says , “ we have the ability to cure with either ‘ words ’ or kill with ‘ swords. ' ” 

the essence of charlie’s energy is fascinating , original , resourceful , charming , wise , and adventurous. some negative manifestations can devolve into more restless , distracted , two-faced , judgmental , depressed , and overwhelmed energy. 

lottie has a tendency to ride the roller coaster of life , spiraling skywards one minute and plunging into lows the next. if you can keep up with her vibes though , you’ll have one hell of a thrill !

charlotte exhibits great creative synergy , instantly connecting people to each other. always inclined to spend time with friends and focused on changing the world one idea at a time.

a little bit older and wiser , more flexible and comfortable with change than others. she can “ chameleon ” herself to fit into a variety of situations. 

can come across as clever and quick-witted , eager to dish out the juiciest pieces of news and happenings to their friends via text message and social media. in case that’s not enough , she’ll probably send you a snapchat story for good measure.

lottie loves fast cars , trendy clothes and any wacky gadgets or games they can tinker around with. part of the fun ( and curse ) of this fiery red head is that you’re never quite sure which personality you’re going to experience. will it be the vivacious , pun-dishing jokester or the snarky , mean-spirited critic ? if you’re willing to see fifty shades of crazy , she’ll color your life in thrilling ways !

BACKGROUND.

evelyn charlotte banks was born june fourth , 1930 and was given the dark gift in the early fifties ( so you’ll definitely notice some call backs to that time period ). she has grown and developed and adapted throughout time better than most , but you can take the sock hop away from the girl but not out of her. she remembers her life before , but doesn’t dwell on nor even really miss it.

she grew up in your rather classic straight lace upper middle class suburban family and community with her perfect nuclear family. the town they lived in was small , close knit , and everyone knew everyone but especially who evelyn’s family was. 

she was in a lot of pageants growing up and was even platinum blonde for most of her human life , because she was so afraid her red hair would keep her from being successful.

when she was eighteen years old with big shiny dreams of silver screens , luxury , and eyes all on her was all she could think of. she left her family and their small generational hometown in georgia for bigger , better things in none other than hollywood. 

she was on her way ,  so desperate to be in the movies and be like marilyn monroe but shortly after is when she became ensnared by darkness and evil.  she wasn’t very successful at all in the beginning so , she started wearing tighter , shinier outfits when she was on stage when suddenly she started getting actual recognition. 

she wasn’t acting like she had intended , but it turned out her voice was good enough to land her plenty of lounge singing gigs in multiple joints. it was one particularly dark , seedy , dangerous joint that only opened once the sun set completely and closed upon the sun rise that she finally started to get propositioned to do so-called ‘ film gigs. it was also in this place where she met him for the first time. 

( tw: cult ment. ) her maker is very old and before she ever knew he was anything more than a handsome older gentleman she was fully under his control. he was something of a cult leader who for the most part glamoured his ‘ followers ‘ , but that was never necessary with charlotte. she was thoroughly and completely in love with her maker , she even ‘ married ‘ him and lived on his compound.

( tw: rape ment. , assault ment. ) it wouldn’t be for a few more years that he would finally turn her ,and only after he found her brutally beaten and raped for nothing more than a snuff film. her maker found her on the verge of death and wasted no time in saving her life by bestowing his dark gift upon her. 

( tw: murder ment. ) to say that lottie felt indebted to and fell in love with her maker to the point of obsession was an understatement , she would do anything and everything he asked of her including murder not in the name of feeding.

( tw: death ment. ) the films she was in were kept in the dark underbelly of the industry and no one was none the wiser , not to mention everyone thought she was dead after her last film.

so , she eventually did make her debut in film and was even on the silver screen finally. this only lasted for as long as she could get away with not aging before eventually she disappeared off the radar with her maker. the two traveled far and wide for a long time , but eventually went their separate ways even though lottie wanted nothing of the sort her maker commanded she live her own life without him now.

( tw: murder ment. ) she has since become something of a murderer ?? she prefers to call herself an assassin but it’s rare anyone actually pays her to murder anyone. you could even call her  a serial killer if you take into account that her victims are almost always men of the unsavory variety , but she has two sides to her personality and it’s not like she’s full maniac.

ETC.

if you know what yandere means she fits that description very well , and if you don’t know what it means well:  a common term in otaku fandom , a yandere is a person ( usually female ) romantically obsessed with someone to the point of using violent means to get them in their arms. often can be seen featured with a sharp weapon and a psychotic grin.

pretty much she comes off as this sweet , lovely , beautiful woman with lots of talent but in reality she can switch that off in an instant and literally kill you without any hesitation if it benefits her or someone she loves.

anyway she has been in estonia for only a bit now , but how long is flexible. she probably likes the scenery and the supernatural presence , but she’s honestly not a country mouse at all. 

also not that she needs money , but there is very little she loves more than attention and money. she works at a club as live entertainment on occasion , singing or stripping or bartending or occasionally doing , mostly for the attention but also if she’s in need of money.

[inked-iwtfw]

Inked - Stylishmuser

We all know how hard it is to find new writers on tumblr (let’s face it, it’s hard to do anything on tumblr these days), and that sometimes means talent gets buried. So, as two writers, we wanted to do something to highlight the wonderful talent the Harry Styles fandom has.

If you’d like to take part, or you have a writer you’d like to see get some recognition, fill out this handy form HERE! Please don’t be shy about putting yourself forward, this isn’t a popularity contest, this is about you and your writing being found. We’re also on Wattpad so if you have an author on there you’d like us to talk to, feel free to suggest them.

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Love, Mo, Van, and Elena x

Our next talented author is the lovely @stylishmuser!

Find her writing here: Tumblr | Wattpad

When did you start writing? Who inspired you to give writing a go? I first started writing in 2013! It’s kind of weird how it started, actually. I was put in an AP English class against my will and every week we had to write a 1000 word essay about whatever we read that week. It was around the same time I finished ‘Gossip Girl’ and I started discovering what fanfic was. I got really mad about how the series ended so I decided to write my own ending for Nate’s story! I originally only shared it one friend, a guy, and he told me it was so good. Encouraged me to publish it, and I did!

Tell us your 1D/Harry origin story. I’m one of the fans that got into them after hiatus and have been suffering ever since! I actually had a Harry Potter fanfic blog, and I got curious about this other Harry so I started reading some fic, listening to more 1d. And then one day I realized I wanted to try something new and I made a 1d sideblog. Eventually I delete the hp blog and it wasn’t long before I started wanting to write for Niall too and was a full fledged Narrie. 

Tell us why Harry is your muse. AH well that’s a very tricky question. Obviously, he’s very attractive but as I started getting more into him and 1d in general, I realized he’s one of the kindest guys I’ve ever come across. Which, I guess, is strange because we don’t really know him, do we? I think what makes Harry so fun to have as a muse is you can write him into any situation because his personality is so concrete across the fandom. 

Do you tell people you write fanfic? Do you tell people you write at all? I do, yeah. I don’t tell them for who or what the fic is really about, at least not to people I’m not close to. I don’t really suffer from the societal “shame” that comes with fanfic. I’m proud of what I do and I obviously don’t pass out links in real life but I’m not afraid to defend my writing and fanfic in general. All the important people in my life are supportive so I’m lucky! 

Do you have a writing playlist, or do you need complete silence to write? I don’t have a playlist! But I do listen to music from time to time. I listen to the same song on repeat usually cause it’s like background music and doesn’t distract me. 

What’s your favourite thing you've ever written. Oh man.. hm… okay for Niall I really liked the blurb “Something More” and Harry definitely “Timeless.” 

What's your favourite thing you've ever read? Fanfic and non-fanfic? I think my all time favorite fic is “Little do you know” by nightingiall. Book wise, my favorites are “The Light of Paris” and “Still Me.”  

Do you tend to stick to one genre, or do you like to change things up a little? Hmm I guess romance would be an overarching genre to all my stories, but I’m trying to do more AU’s. They’re challenging, but really fun! 

Do you have a fixed plan of what you're going to write, or do you just see where the story takes you? Oh god no I always have a tedious outline, down to the pieces of dialogue I want in that chapter. In some cases I have just a general idea of what happens and then I flush it out once I get there, but most times I known exactly what I need to write. 

Is there a schedule you follow in terms of when you write? Or are you more impulsive and just write where and when you can? For my chaptered stories, yes. I upload every Friday and then write on the weekend. I think when I write blurbs and drabbles I’m more impulsive. 

Are your stories driven by plot or character? Both work together, I think. The characters are flawed and that makes the plot move on and whatever the plot throws at the characters makes them transform.

Some readers are wary of leaving feedback because they're unsure how the writer will take it, how do you personally like to receive feedback? Do you want to be critiqued, or would you like to just know if they did or didn't enjoy what they've read?

I think, personally, if I didn’t receive the feedback I do then I would’ve deleted my stories a long time ago. The thing about feedback on tumblr is that it comes in two forms: asks & notes. Some, if not most, writers get one or the other. I consider myself really lucky to have readers that not only want to read each week but take the time to message me their thoughts. As far as what the feedback is, I think it depends on how people read. It’s always nice to hear what people liked, or what made them curious, but I’m not against constructive criticism given the right way. If it’s telling an author they don’t like the character, etc, or yelling for an update — not here for it. I had someone once tell me Rhea was spineless (like 4 chapters into the book) and it rubbed me the wrong way. If you read on, you know she isn’t! So I guess what I’m trying to say is, if that person would’ve phrased it differently like - “Rhea bothers me because ___” then it would’ve been constructive rather than destructive. It’s all about how you word things!!!! (I rambled on this one, sorry!)

Do you use a beta? If so, feel free to give them a shout out! How do they help you? Absolutely! I use a different beta for every story cause I like to see what they suggest. Some betas read, some betas suggest, and some do both! They’re genius at helping me figure out minor plot holes. Some of my lovely betas are: @thatoddpanda, @yeahmynameissushi, @fireawaynjh, @harrysdodgyankles, @roseonhissleeve, @irish-nlessing

Is writing a hobby or do you have aspirations of writing professionally outside of fanfiction? I would love to publish books one day! I write for work, non-fiction, but my heart resides in fiction.

Do you post your writing in other places? Where do you you find to be the best place for your work? Yes,wattpad! I like tumblr for feedback and visual content, but I like wattpad because you get concrete numbers on stats and have in line comments!

Favorite writing trope? Enemies to lovers & friends to lovers! I can’t pick.

AU or OU? I’m going to say BOTH but with a strong inclination towards OU.

Preferred types of writing: Blurbs, short stories, or full fics? Full fics. I used to write blurbs all the time but now… it’s just so nice to dig your heels into a full storyline and really develop characters!

Do you draw anything from your personal life? What inspires your subject matter? Not heavily, but yeah. It’s subtle things. Like a character’s favorite cereal, or what kind of pens they prefer to use. Rhea’s family story was reminiscent of mine in some ways. I would say my Indian culture kind of has a big play in my stories too.  

What's your purpose for writing? What do you hope to accomplish? I like to write because I like to create worlds where I get things I don’t in my own life. It’s the perfect combination of escape and want. I want to keep challenging myself and keep writing until I die, lol.  

And finally, do you have any advice/tips for your fellow fanfic writers? Yes! I think, it’s very easy to get caught up in the validation aspect. It’s natural, and it’s something I still go through, but I’ve learned that enjoying what YOU do is really the key to writing. I would say don’t stop doing what you love no matter what people think of it. Don’t get caught up in the accolades and the humdrum and just keep doing you. It’s hard on tumblr, but sometimes the validation we crave comes when we least expect it. Write for you, not anyone else. And most of all… have fun, because that’s kind of why we all started writing right? To have a fun escape. Tell your authors you love their fics! And finally, don’t feel scared. Reach out to other writers, writers you admire! It’s a community that can seem very cliquey, but it doesn’t have to be that way. People are always willing to help in my experience (me included).

[hrina]

Harry Styles Masterlist

Please do NOT steal or repost my writing; this includes posting it on any other forum/site even though you’ve given me “credit”. It’s happened several times and it’s a huge pain in the ass. You do NOT have my permission to repost my work anywhere.

If you enjoy my work and are able to, please consider donating to my ko-fi. You can also find more of my writing on my Patreon!

Don’t forget to support fic authors via reblogs and feedback! Thank you.

[*] indicates smut

~*~

One-Shots:

Model Material* 

“Every night for the past week,” Harry began, his voice low, “You’ve tried to get me to show you the pictures. I’m gonna crack sooner or later, so I’m just…trying to avoid it, that’s all.”

You blinked.

And then you smacked his arm. Hard.

“Ow!” Harry yelped, and the tranquility of the moment was gone.

“What the damn hell?” you said loudly, scowling. “You had me really worried for a second!”

“This is a worrisome situation!” Harry protested, but you could hear the laugh in his voice. You narrowed your eyes at him, balling your hands up into fists and crossing your arms over your chest. Harry tried to mirror your expression but eventually, the humour of the affair overtook him, and he grinned teasingly at you. Your frown only deepened, and he made a cooing sound, his right hand cupping your cheek and rubbing at the corner of your lips.

“Don’t be like that,” he said, “Smile for me, pet.”

or

Harry refuses to show you his spread for Another Man magazine.

Kisses*

“You sure you’re alright?” Harry asks, frowning in concern. You look up at him.

His cheeks are rosy, bright green eyes gazing at you. His arms are crossed over his chest to keep warm, and his breath comes out as a faint, opaque cloud of air. You swallow heavily, turning away.

“Yeah, I’m good.” It’s difficult to force the words from your mouth, and before you can stop yourself, you’re spewing, “I’m just frustrated since you seem to have forgotten that I rode your fucking thigh last week.”

The chattering of Harry’s teeth stops.

“And—you know—,” you’ve started and now you can’t stop, “You kissed me and got me off and ran me a bath and napped with me. And now you’re pretending like nothing happened, and I just—,” you whip around, staring at him helplessly, “—I’m lost, Harry. I’m so fucking lost!”

or

Harry’s kissed you a few times now, and it’s hard to know where you stand. 

Wife*

“Just wanted everyone to see the marks my wife gave me,” Harry mumbles, slowly kissing up your neck. “My wife…”

You sigh, your left hand sliding up his back before disappearing into the tuft of hair atop his head. He lets out a satisfied noise, running the tip of his nose along your jawline. “You’re my wife…,” he says, as though the thought has only just dawned on him for the first time, “You’re my wife, love.”

“I am,” you concede breathlessly. “And you’re my husband.”

Harry groans, dropping down so that his forehead is pressed to your collarbone. “Fuck…that sounds so good.”

or

You and Harry have a bit of fun on your honeymoon. 

Popsicles And Kiwis*

“Hi,” you murmur. Your fingertips come up to tap gently on your lips; you do that every time one of Harry’s kisses catches you by surprise. It’s almost like you’re trying to savour the flavour of his mouth.

He finds it unbearably adorable.

“Hi,” he smiles at you, his grin lopsided. He’s feeling the effects of his post-orgasmic haze: his insides are warm, eyes droopy, muscles loose and flexible. He always becomes insanely cuddly and affectionate after his release, and his mannerisms spark a flicker of recognition on your face.

“Did you…?” your lips part in surprise. His response is simply another pert kiss delivered to your nose, and you gasp, pushing away from him.

“Harry!”

or

You accidentally turn Harry on, and payback’s a bitch.

Fairies First*

You frown gently, reaching for the handle on his nightstand. You’ve pulled the drawer halfway out when two firm arms wrap around your midsection, the hands attached settling nicely onto your stomach. You nearly drop the folded clothing, twitching in surprise.

“You scared me!” you say breathlessly, and you’d put your hand on your heart if it weren’t for all of the fabric tucked into your arms. Harry chuckles, pressing a gently kiss to your cheek before following it with several playful pecks to the column of your neck. For a moment you stand there, closing your eyes and swaying slightly as he rubs his palms over your belly in a greeting to your unborn child.

“She was kicking before,” you say airily, distracted by the way Harry ghosts his lips along your skin.

He hums in surprise. “Was she now? Always waits ‘til her daddy is gone, the little rascal.”

“She can hear you,” you tell him matter-of-factly. Harry smiles.

or

You’re pregnant, but you want more.

Four Hours*

“It’s too bad you missed the show,” he rasps, his hungry eyes trailing down your body. His gaze lingers on your erect nipples for a few seconds before sweeping down to where your thighs are pressed firmly together. “But you understand, right? Understand why I had to punish you?”

“Yes.” The affirmation is breathless.

Harry nods. “Tell me,” he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I wanna make sure you know.”

or

Harry leaves you tied up for quite a while.

French Fries and Feelings*

“Want a fry?” you ask, and then the moment is gone. You hold out the red carton as the words scrape against the roof of your mouth, and Harry’s eyes reflexively fall to your hand. He blinks a few times before nodding slightly.

“Just one,” he concedes, before flashing you a wicked grin. “Gotta reward myself for doing some late-night charity work.”

You gasp, shoving at his bare shoulder before he can pluck a fry out of the cardboard container. “You dick!”

“I’m joking!” Harry laughs, holding up his arms to shield himself from any further blows. “Christ, woman!”

“Take it back,” you order sulkily. “You know I’m an emotional drunk.”

“Fine,” Harry smiles; his eyes are tender when they meet yours. “I take it back, yeah? You’re wonderful.”

You sniffle. “Thank you.”

or

You’re drunk, craving something salty, and a bit too honest for your own good.

Gone Cold*

“My mum came by the other day,” he says suddenly. He’s fully aware that talking about his mother may not be the best tactic out there, but he can’t stand the awkward quiet hanging in the air. “She asked about you.”

You swallow heavily, trying to keep your voice level. “Oh…what did you say?”

“Said you were doing well,” Harry hums, playing idly with the spoons lying on the counter. The metal clangs when they bump against each other, ringing out loudly in the stillness of the room. “She misses you.”

Your smile is sad. “I miss her, too.”

“Think she likes you more than she likes me, to be honest.” Harry chuckles softly. “Always asks me how I was able to let you go.”

You don’t reply.

or

You show up at Harry’s house at the ungodliest of hours, and things get messy before they get better.

Serotonin*

“Welcome, everyone,” Dr. Renault starts, and you turn your attention back to him. He’s standing behind the podium now; there’s a small stack of papers in front of him. “First things first: can you all hear me properly? Or will I need to use a microphone for the duration of this course? I don’t mind.”

A low rumble of responses travel across the room. You shake your head; Margaret and Mateo do the same. You can all hear him just fine.

“Alright,” your professor clears his throat. “My name is Gabriel Renault, but you can call me ‘My Lord’.” He smiles, and the class laughs weakly. Dr. Renault holds out his arm, gesturing to the tattooed man that you’d been studying before. “This is my assistant, Harry. He’ll be grading most of your work this semester, so if you’re looking for someone’s ass to kiss, it should be his.”

Everyone laughs a bit louder this time, including you. Harry steps forward and offers a small smile but doesn’t say anything.

Margaret leans into you. “He’s kind of cute,” she mumbles, shrugging. “In an old-man sort of way.”

or

You find yourself drawn to Harry—the man who dresses like a grandfather and scribbles encouraging little notes on all of your work, and who also happens to be the TA for your class. 

   → Dopamine* (extra)

Trials and Tribulations*

“My tie,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “I forgot to put on my bloody tie.”

You cock your head to the side. “Where is it?” you ask. “I can grab it for you.”

“Should be on the kitchen counter,” he tells you. “I was about to finish up with it before you got here.”

“Sorry about that,” you chuckle, shooting him a playful look as you speed back into the kitchen. Sure enough, Harry’s tie is resting on the counter, folded into a neat little square. You snatch it up quickly, making your way back toward where he’s waiting for you at the door.

“Got it,” you say, holding up the fabric and letting it unfurl with a flourish. Harry takes it from you once you stop in front of him, smiling widely and looping the silk around his neck.

“I like the pattern,” you say, observing the material with eager eyes.

He grins. “Thanks. I’m really into, like, non-traditional designs.”

You nod. “I can tell.”

or

Harry is balancing life as a midwife and a single father, and you’re just trying to make it to the end of nine months.

Polished*

“It doesn’t matter!” you say, looking up at him earnestly. “You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t,” he says. He’s staring at the mirror behind your head, refusing to meet your gaze. “And if it weren’t for me, you would have died.”

“That’s exactly my point!” you cry. You wrap your fingers around his forearm, hoping that the contact is enough to make him understand. “Who says my life is more valuable than yours? Some stupid fucking paycheque? Or—?”

Harry cuts you off before you can say anything else, squishing your cheeks together with his left hand. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, your brows knitting together at the suddenness of the action. You’re sure that you must look extremely unappealing, with a puckered mouth and inquisitive eyes, but he just gazes at you solemnly, licking his lips before speaking.

“I would take a bullet for you, no questions asked.” He stresses every syllable, like he doesn’t want to risk any potential misinterpretation of his words. “And not just because it’s my job.”

or

Harry is your bodyguard.

Close Quarters*

“Back door,” Harry tells you, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the exit.

You squawk in surprise. “Are you serious?”

He peers at you from over his shoulder. “Does it look like I’m joking?”

Your eyes are wide, pupils blown out with an unmistakable cloud of lust. He can feel you simmering like a pot that’s about to boil over. You stop in your tracks, and it quells his movements, too. He turns around and opens his mouth to question you, but you seal your lips to his before any words can slip out. His hands shoot upward; one buries itself in your hair while the other clasps firmly around the nape of your neck, keeping you close. You moan wantonly into his mouth, arching your back so that your chests smear together.

“What if someone sees?” you whisper when you both pull back.

Harry smirks. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Your lips move, but no sound comes out.

He snickers; your silence is all the confirmation he needs.

or

Harry’s patience has run out, and you like the thrill of getting caught.

Something Strange

After a brief moment, you give in, sliding your knuckles into his open palm.

“It’s alright, really,” you say, speaking around the lump in your throat. “The piece was tiny—it hardly broke the surface.”

Harry inspects the laceration closely, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

It’s not that serious, you want to tell him, but you refrain from letting the words escape. Part of you is enjoying the way your hands fit together so perfectly. You don’t want it to end—not yet.

“You’re bleeding a bit, babe,” he announces faintly, brows cinched in concentration.

“I am?” You try to tug your arm back, but he keeps a firm grip on your wrist. A low, confused noise echoes in the back of your throat; Harry peers up at you, his features unreadable.

“It’s just a spot,” he murmurs. “Let me.”

And before you can say or do anything else, he’s taking your finger past his lips and giving an easy, gentle suck.

or

Harry is an insufferably arrogant scammer with a secret heart of gold.

~*~

Patreon-Exclusives:

Vodka Cranberry*

“Have I ever told you how cute this is?” you ask, dipping your thumb into the crater of his dimple.

Warm air rushes out of his nose.

“Once or twice, maybe.”

“Good,” you say, arching closer to him. “Because it is.”

He giggles—actually giggles—before dropping to the ground. You gasp at the suddenness of the action.

“What are you—?” you begin, but then his fingers brush the button on your jeans, and it all sinks in. “Not here—Harry, your knees—”

“It’s alright,” he says, grunting. He pulls his own coat off, discarding it effortlessly before shooting you a wry grin. “I like having souvenirs.”

or 

A steamy one-shot based on this ask. (SIGN UP TO BECOME A PATRON!)

The Thrill of the Chase* (IN PROGRESS)

“You’re up,” he says gruffly, stepping through the threshold.

You scramble back, eyes widening in fear. He pauses.

You’re afraid, he realises, tilting his head to the side. This may be more difficult than he initially thought.

“Soup,” he says slowly, holding out the small clay bowl in his hands. “You need to eat.”

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice is patchy and frail. “Where am I?”

He sets the dish down onto his dresser before shooting you a stern, expectant look.

“Eat.”

or 

Harry’s simple life is uprooted when he finds you wounded in the woods. 4/4 parts posted.

PART I

(The other parts of this series are only available on Patreon. SIGN UP TO BECOME A PATRON!)

~*~

Series:

Il Ritorno (COMPLETE)

“So where will you stay?” you ask, your brows knitting together. Alex shrugs, his gaze falling to the floor.

“I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

For a long moment, nobody speaks. Alex feels awkward, like he’s just ruined the happy mood, and he suddenly becomes very interested in the dirt speckling his black boots.

“Nonsense!” you say loudly, and the confidence in your voice shocks Alex into looking back up at you, his eyes wide. You turn towards your parents, nodding your head assertively before facing him once more. “You’ll stay with us! At least until you find somewhere.”

or

Alex returns home from the battle of Dunkirk and stays with the family of his fellow comrade. He had known the war would be hard, but he wasn’t prepared for the love and loss that would follow in the aftermath. 

I: Il Ritorno*  

II: L’Amato*  

III: Il Devoto*

    → Apericena* (extra)       → Primi Passi* (extra)

Thank God for Sewing Needles (COMPLETE)

Harry clears his throat. “Yeah. Thank you so much.”

“It’s my job, Your Lavishness.” You grin, and he rolls his eyes teasingly, unable to keep the corners of his lips from kinking up.

He usually hugs you after a visit, but you’re sitting behind the counter, and—as much as he hates it—the two of you aren’t alone. You never are.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” Harry asks, backing up as he speaks. The promise pulls at his heartstrings. He says that every time he leaves your shop, but the words never hold true. He only ever sees you when he needs clothing tailored or stitched up. That’s it.

You smile softly at him, but there’s a hint of sadness brewing in your eyes, like you’re thinking exactly the same thing. “See you around, Harry.”

or

Harry’s a prince, you tailor clothes for the royals, and he just really wants to see you happy. 

I: Thank God for Sewing Needles*  

II: Hanging by a Thread*

In The Ring (COMPLETE)

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” He sits up too quickly, nearly catching his forehead against the metal of the bar. When he turns around to face you, he finds you doubling back, approaching him and nibbling apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“I actually—,” you pause, like you’re unsure of how to continue, “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing his hands over the black shorts covering his thighs. “Go ahead.”

“It might be kind of weird,” you warn. “Don’t laugh at me.”

He shakes his head, blinking solemnly. “I won’t.”

“Would you—,” you begin, and your fingers come up to play with the pendant resting at the base of your throat, “—teach me how to box?”

or

Harry is an underground boxer who may or may not have feelings for his coach’s daughter.

I: Jab 

II: Cross* 

III: Hook 

IV: Uppercut*  

→ Knockout* (extra) [READ IT NOW ON PATREON]

1923 (COMPLETE)

“Are you upset with me?” Harry asks, digging his hands into his pockets. You’re so taken aback by his question that your head snaps toward him, brows cinched together in confusion.

“What?” The question falls from your lips before you can blink. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“You won’t even look at me,” he hums, shrugging casually.

“I’m looking at you right now.”

“Not before, you weren’t.”

“I—” you break off, pursing your lips and squeezing your eyes shut. You pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers, trying to keep yourself composed. “I have to go.”

or 

You’re not quite sure how to feel about Harry, the groundskeeper of your estate. 

I: The Day

II: The Week

III: The Month*

~*~

Blurbs/Drabbles (some—most, actually—are *): 

Blurbs/Drabbles Tag

[omgsatisshroffme]

Book Review: Satis Shroff Book Review-Kathmandu Blues: The Inheritance of Loss and Intercultural Incompetence by Satis Shroff 'My characters are purely fictional,' says Kiran Desai. In her book (The Inheritance of Loss) she has tried to do exactly that, namely to capture her own knowledge about what it means to travel between East and West, and to examine the lives of migrants who are forced to hypocrisy, angst of being nabbed, and have biographies that have gaps, and whose lives are constructed with lies, where trust and faith in someone is impossible, as in the case of Sai and Gyan. Migration is a sword with sharp blades on both sides. The feeling of loss when one leaves one's matribhumi is just as intensive and dreadful as having to leave a foreign home, due to deportation, when one doesn't have the green-card or Aufenthaltserlaubnis. Everyone copes with such situations differently. Some don't have coping solutions and it becomes a traumatic experience for the rest of one's life. Some pull up their socks, keep a stiff upper-lip and begin elsewhere. The problem of illegal migration hasn't been solved in the USA, Britain, France, Germany and other European countries. It is an open secret that the illegal migrants are used as cheap laborers according to the hire-and-fire principle, for these people belong to the underclass. In the USA it's chic to have Hispanics as baby-sitters, just as Eastern Bloc women are used by German families to do the household chores. Nepalis work under miserable conditions in India as darwans, chowkidars, cheap security personnel and the Indians have the same arrogance as the British colonialists. The judge, Lola and Noni are stereotypes, but such people do exist. It's not all fantasy. I'm sure the Gurkhas looking after photo-model Claudia Schiffer and singer Seal's house and guarding the palace of the Sultan of Brunei are well paid and contented, in comparison to other people in Nepal and the Indian sub-continent. What does a person feel and think when he or she goes from a rich western country to the East? And what happens when a poor Indian comes to the USA (land of plenty) or Germany (Schlaraffenland)? Is there always a feeling of loss? I've been living thirty years in Germany and I have met and seen and worked with migrants with biographies from Irak, Iran, Turkey, Nepal, India, Pakistan, Vietnam, Kosovo, Albania, Croatia and East Bloc countries. The worst part of it is that the Germans ignored the fact that it had already become, what they call 'ein Einwanderungsland.' They thought they'd invited only guest workers after World War II, with limited stay-permits, not realizing that they'd encouraged human beings with families and emotional ties, hopes and desires of a better future in the new Heimat with for their children and their grand-children. Kiran Desai flashes back and forth, between Kalimpong and New York, and she uses typical clich's and Indian stereotypes that have also been promoted by Bollywood. She's just as cynical and hilarious with her descriptions of fellow Indians in the diaspora, as she is when she describes the Gorkhalis in Darjeeling. Her portrait of the Nepalis in Darjeeling is rather biased, but what can one expect from a thirty-six year old Indian woman who has been pampered in India, England and the USA? Her knowledge of Kalimpong and Darjeeling sounds theoretical and her characters don't speak Nepali. She lets them speak Hindi, because she herself didn't bother to learn Nepali during her stay in Kalimpong. The depiction of a Gorkhali world might be true, as far as poverty is concerned, but she has no idea of the rich Nepali literature (Indra Bahadur Rai, Shiva Kumar Rai, Banira Giri to name a few), and folks music in the diaspora. Gyan's role was overdone, especially when Sai demands that he should feel ashamed of his and his family's poverty and so-called low descent. What is Gyan? Is he a Chettri, Bahun, Rai Tamang, or even a Newar? Describing a country, landscape is one thing, but creeping into the skins of the characters is another. The Gorkha characters remain shallow, like caricatures in Bollywood films, and she overdoes it with the dialogue between Sai and Gyan. For someone like me, who also went to school in Darjeeling, Kiran Desai's book was a pleasant journey into the past, where I still have fond memories of the Darjeeling Nepalis, their struggle for recognition and dignity among the peoples of the vast Indian subcontinent. I'm glad that peace prevails in the Darjeeling district, although I wish Subash Ghising had negotiated more funds from the central Indian government, and a university in Darjeeling. Gangtok (Sikkim) also does not have a university. The recognition of Nepali was a positive factor, but a university each for Darjeeling, Kalimpong and Kurseong would have given more Nepalis (pardon, Gorkhalis) the opportunity for higher education and better jobs, if not in the country, then abroad. To eat dal-bhat-tarkari at home and acquire MAs and PhDs within one's familiar confines would have immensely helped the Gorkhali men and women, even more than the recognition of Nepali. We can regard it as a small step towards progress. The description of Gyan's visit to Kathmandu was extremely superficial. Kathmandu is a world, a cosmos in itself, with its exquisite temples and pagodas and stupas and the culturally rich Newaris families from Lalitpur, Bhadgaon and Kathmandu. Kiran is, and remains, a supercilious brown-memsahib, like the made-over English characters of Varindra Tarzie Vittachi's fiercely satirical book 'The Brown Sahibs' in her attitude towards Gorkhalis and the downtrodden of her own country. I can imagine that the Nepali author D.B. Gurung is piqued about Desai's portrayal of the Nepalis in Kalimpong as 'crook, dupe, cheat and lesser humans' and his own emotional rejoinder regarding the Bengalis as 'the hungry jackals from the plains of Calcutta.' Since D.B. Gurung is known for his poetic vein, perhaps he can treat the long standing problems between Indians and Nepalis, or as Desai puts it, Bengis and Neps, in his lyrical verses. But please, less of the vitriol and more of tolerance, because even a poet and novelist can make or break human relations. I, for my part, am for living together, despite our differences, for variety is the spice of life in these days of globalization. Vive la difference. The story is served like a MacDonald's Big Mac for the modern reader, who has not much time, and there are multi-media distractions craving for his or her attention. As small morsels of information, like in a sit-com. I found the story-pace well timed and interesting, and she has a broad palette of problems that migrants face when they leave their homes, and when they return home. You can feel with Bijhu when he embraces his Papa in the end. A foreign-returned son, stripped of all his belongings. It was a terrific metaphor. I'm glad that there are women like Kiran Desai and Monica Ali (Brick Lane) who've traveled and experienced what it is like to be in the diaspora and try to capture the emotional and historical patterns in their lives as migrants. When you read the last page of the Desai's book you feel a bit dissatisfied because you wish that the unequal love affair between Gyan and Sai will go on and take a positive turn. There are so many Nepali-Indian couples who live happy conjugal lives with their families. I know at least three cases of Nepali women who're married to Bengalis. The Nepali women speak perfect Bengali, but their husbands don't speak Nepali, even though they live in Gorkhaland. They are proud that they can speak English instead. Nepali (Gorkhali or Khas Kura) is such a colorful and melodious language and we ought to listen to Sir Ralph Turner's when he says: 'Do not let your lovely language become the pale reflexion of a sanskritised Hindi.' Dinesh Kafle calls Desai 'schizophrenic.' Well, when you talk with an Indian he always praises the achievements of India in terms of the second Silicon Valley (Bangalore), the Agni and Prithvi missiles, the increasing nuclear arsenal, the expanding armed forces etcetera. But, Gott sei dank, there are Indians, who like Gandhi, are humble, religious, practice humility, are poor, deprived, castless, untouchables and, nevertheless, human and full of empathy, clean in their souls and hearts, and regard this world as merely a maya, an illusion, an earthly spectacle to be seen and felt---without being attached. D. B. Gurung is wrong when he assumes that Desai seems 'unable to acclimatize herself to either the western milieu or her own home.' But where is her home? She's a rootless, creative jet-set gypsy, who calls India, England and USA her home. The gypsies (Sintis and Romas) were originally from India (Rajasthan), weren't they? Even V.S.Naipaul (Half a Life, The Mimic Men), J. M. Croatzee (Youth), Isabel Allende (The Stories of Eva Luna) and Prafulla Mohanti (Through Brown Eyes) haven't gone so far in their description of a race or nation the way Desai has in her book. What is missing in her writing is the intercultural competence. Instead of taking the trouble to learn Nepali and acquiring background knowledge about the tradition, religion, norms and values, culture and living style of the Gorkhalis in Darjeeling and the Nepalese in Nepal, and comparing it with her own Indian culture, and trying to seek what is common between the two cultures and moving towards peace, tolerance, reconciliation---she just remains adamant , like her protagonist Sai. She does not make an ethnic reflection, but goes on and on, with a jaundiced view, till the bitter end. The dialogue between Neps and Bengis, between Neps and other Indians (Beharis and Marwaris and others from the plains) or between the British and Indians cannot be described as successful intercultural dialogues. The dialogues are carried out the way it should not, because there's always a fear that one is different in terms of social and ethnic status, even between her two main protagonists: Sai and Gyan. There is no attempt to reveal the facts behind an alien in a new cultural environment, no accepting of the problems of identity and no engagement for equality and against discrimination. If you're looking for frustrations-tolerance, empathy and solidarity with the Gorkhalis in the book, it's just not there. The characters necessary for intercultural interaction are joy in interaction with foreign cultures (not arrogance and egoism), consciousness of one's own culture, stress tolerance, tolerance of ambiguity, and bucketfuls of empathy. Had she shown empathy towards the Nepalis from Darjeeling and Kalimpong and made a happy-end love story between Gyan and Sai, the Nepalese would have greeted her with khadas and marigold malas. The way it is, she has only stirred a hornet's nest. Kiran just doesn't have empathy for Neps, despite the Booker Prize. Great women are judged by the way they treat the underprivileged and downtrodden. Perhaps it's time for meditation and self-searching in Rishikesh, like the Beatles. Pic of Kanchenzonga, courtesy: pixaby