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ihavemanyhusbands · 4 months ago

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Heaven or New Vegas

PART TWO: UNMASKED

Part One

Also on AO3

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Courier!Fem!Reader

WC: 4.7k

Summary: Crossover fic (Fallout tv show and Fallout New Vegas), a rewrite based on the “Beyond the Beef” side quest in the game. — You and Cooper head in for a meeting that the dead private investigator was supposed to attend, and you uncover the truth of what's going on behind the scenes.

Warnings: canon typical violence (some graphic depictions), some canon divergence (with canon NPC dialogue/actions), mentions of cannibalism, mentions of death, small instances of discrimination against ghouls, pre-established relationship sort of (what they have is complicated okay), Cooper’s a companion (and a little shit), aaaand i think that’s it? But lmk if anything else.

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You had never felt as on edge as you did when you passed by the lobby once more to get to the steam rooms. Mortimer was still at the reception desk, his smile sharp-edged, seeming more like a devilish sneer. You tried your best to smile as genuinely as you could, walking deliberately slow to make it seem like nothing was amiss.

Cooper’s hostile energy was barely kept at bay, but the firm grip you had on his arm made him hold his tongue. Just to mess with Mortimer, though, he removed his hat and covered your faces as he bent down to give you a brief kiss. Not many were in favor of humans having romantic relationships with ghouls, and seeing the reactions on their faces was always priceless to him.

You didn’t much care about other people’s opinions as long as they didn’t actively try to cross you, but you did have to admit it was amusing to see them so disgruntled. You just didn’t like it when Cooper was getting the short end of the stick, so you let him get payback however he wanted.

And as predicted, Mortimer had averted his gaze, scowling. The two of you snickered quietly amongst yourselves, taking the opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

“You’re really something else,” you said with a slight shake of your head, but affection was still very much apparent in your voice.

“Just couldn’t help myself,” he replied with a self satisfied grin. “We did a good job of cleaning ourselves up, I don’t think he noticed anything.”

“Well, not that he wanted to look at us for too long… All that wasted effort!” you bemoaned mockingly.

He chuckled at your dramatics, and you glanced down at your Pipboy to check the time – ten minutes to go. You desperately wished you had your weapons, still on edge from earlier. You weren’t sure what kind of person you would find in the steam room, but you did not want to have to fight your way out again if you could help it. One could never be too careful, though.

You entered the bathhouse and the first thing you found was a large pool, the glistening body parts of a couple of swimmers breaking through the surface.The atmosphere was warm and humid, and it smelled of chlorine. Both the floors and the walls were tiled with white mosaics, which looked damp and slippery.

You made a point to slow down your steps just in case, holding onto Cooper for support.

“Shame you didn’t bring a swimsuit…” he sighed. “You would’ve blended in quite nicely here.”

You clicked your tongue, chastising. “Behave, you! Keep your head in the game.”

You glanced over to the pool and considered it for a moment. A swim would be an incredibly rare luxury you couldn’t pass up so easily, but first you had to make sure you stayed alive to do it.

You conceded a little, though. “But when all is said and done… maybe. If you’re lucky.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder, smirking. He was always especially handsome when his smiles were flirtatious, and you had the urge to kiss him again, but you had to suppress it for the time being.

The sauna wasn’t empty when you finally walked into it. Despite the cloying warmth, the dark skinned man who waited there wore a tuxedo, but just like Mortimer, he did not wear a mask. He seemed vaguely familiar, and you thought perhaps you had seen him somewhere near the bar when you’d first arrived.

“Who are you?” He asked warily.

“You first,” Cooper countered.

“Oh, you don’t know?” His shoulders sagged slightly with relief. “That’s good. Guess they didn’t send you after me. Where’s the gentleman I was supposed to meet?”

“Dead,” you said. “We found a message in his matchbook telling him to come here.”

“My goodness!” He gasped. “They must have known he was talking to someone on the inside…”

“You mean the White Glove Society?”

“Yes, of course. They’ll be watching everyone closer now, I knew this was a mistake.”

You thought for a moment, watching as he dejectedly cradled his head in his hands. Cooper glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was nearby and nodded for you to continue.

“Is there… a particular reason why you’re afraid of them?” You ventured in a more sympathetic tone, unsure if you would get any more answers out of him.

The man lifted his head and sighed heavily. “It’s Mortimer. If he knows I spoke to the investigator, he’ll have me killed, too.”

You and Cooper shared a sideways glance as your suspicions were confirmed.

“Why, though?” You asked. “Is he behind the bride’s disappearance, too?

The man nodded. “He and, um, some of the others they… Have regressed to the old ways. They have taken many people over the last few months. Always from Freeside or other secluded places, you know, where they wouldn’t be missed. But it wasn’t enough… Now they’re also going for tourists out in the Strip and even in the hotel.”

You instinctively inched backwards, feeling like a stone was sinking in your stomach. Cooper let out a huff, arms crossed over his chest.

“He’s got a funny definition of fine cuisine, that Mortimer,” he said.

“What were you supposed to discuss with the investigator?” You asked, swallowing bile.

A look of deep shame crossed the man’s face. “I… know what happened to the bride, because I distracted her fiance while they took her. I had to do it! They could tell I was having second thoughts about the whole thing.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve gotten a few decent meals yourself,” Cooper spat. “Too little too late to be feelin’ guilty.”

“No, no, I couldn’t possibly! Look, some of the White Gloves started meeting privately a while back, saying we had lost our identity, and I started attending the meetings because I thought they’d be about changing some of our politics. But by the time I knew what was really going on, there was no way out. They’d kill me for all the things I’d already heard.”

You scanned his face to try and find a hint of dishonesty, but you only found guilt and remorse. You sighed, already knowing what to ask next.

“What about Ted Gunderson? They have him too, don’t they?”

He nodded. “He’s alive. Mortimer has special plans for him, so they’re keeping him fresh. The White Glove society has a private banquet every night at seven. Mortimer is planning on reintroducing human flesh into our cuisine, but he is going to do it in secret. And once everyone has eaten it, he’ll tell them.”

You shook your head in disgust. “Wouldn’t they punish him for the deception? Marjorie seemed pretty strict about the ‘no-cannibalism’ rule.”

“They might, but to him returning to the legacy of returning to the old ways is worth his life. He thinks so much of himself that I don’t think he would expect it, though.”

“Right… So where are they keeping Ted?”

He swallowed hard. “I don’t know exactly, I wasn’t in on that. I really think some of them have stopped trusting me. But I’d wager he’s in the members only section in the back of the Gourmand… The chef, Philipe, has an obsession with fresh ingredients. He likes to get experimental with his recipes. Maybe you could talk to him, see what kind of recipes he’s got. But if you try to break in there just to make a rescue, you can’t let them see you or Ted out in the open. There’s guards all around.”

“Got any more suggestions?” Cooper asked. “Don’t think it’ll be particularly smart to make a whole lotta racket fightin’ our way out of there.”

“Well, I guess I could sponsor her as an honorary member. The White Gloves are always lookin’ for someone who can elevate their status, and she certainly fits the bill with all you’ve done around the Strip.”

“Except it wasn’t just me who did all those things,” you countered, incensed.

Cooper put a placating hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I don’t mind sittin’ this one out, darlin’. You’re the one with the pretty, smooth face, after all.”

“Well, as long as someone knows, that’s all I care about. Not gonna take all the credit,” you huffed, still irritated. “So, if we do that, then what? Any ideas on the banquet?”

“Really sorry, I did not mean any offense,” the man said sheepishly, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Er, they’re doing a Pre-War wine tasting before the meal, so I suppose you could drug them. Though that wouldn’t stop any future kidnappings, and it doesn’t necessarily guarantee Ted’s safety. You have to expose Mortimer but… Oh! What if his revelation was a lie?”

You raised your eyebrows. “You mean, find some sort of meat replacement?”

“Yes! You could replace Philipe in the kitchen, I’m certain he has a suitable recipe,” he said. “And once Mortimer gives his little speech after dinner, you could walk Ted right into the middle of that room. Then he’d have some explaining to do.”

“Hmm, that actually sounds like a solid plan. And what will you be doing?”

“I have to lay low, at least until the banquet. We should meet after you’ve… Disposed of Philipe. I will send you two a message somehow.”

“Fine by us,” said Cooper. “We’ll get to it, then. We ain’t got much time.”

The man nodded. “Good luck.”

With that, you and Cooper crept back out to the main pool area. You tried not to look at anyone, your vision fixed on Cooper’s back until you safely made it out.

But right when you reached the bath house’s exit, you heard gunshots coming from the steam room, echoing throughout the place. Chaos ensued, swimmers loudly splashing around as they tried to exit the pool and run away from danger.

Bodies shoved past you, some slipping and falling on the tiled floors before painstakingly getting back up. Cooper caught your arm and steadied you as someone nearly knocked you over.

“Shit, well there goes our insider contact,” He muttered, ushering you out the double doors.

“Mortimer sure is moving fast,” you said as you made your way down the hallway, blending in with those fleeing.

“Then we’ll have to be faster.”

—------------------------------------------

Because you were sponsored as an honorary member of the White Gloves, you were given a key to the members only section within the hotel. You’d had to speak to Marjorie once again, a painful awkwardness lingering throughout the conversation. She had conceded due to your stellar reputation — No one else had managed to get into the Lucky 38 casino in many, many years.

There had to be something special about you, after all.

You and Cooper sauntered in there like you owned the place. Special privileges were given to you due to the nature of the situation, though you hadn’t shared many details with Marjorie. It was not a light accusation to make without any tangible evidence, and you couldn’t ruin your plans before you’d even set them into motion.

Cooper had enough MedX to drug the whole banquet if necessary, but you wanted to try your chances with Philipe first. If worse came to worst, maybe Cooper could distract him while you pickpocketed him.

You found your way to the kitchen and slipped past the swinging doors with ease. No one was around the main area, which struck you as odd. But then you noticed a stairway leading down to the basement level, unease curling in your stomach.

“Kitchen or bunker?” Cooper mused, looking down at the darkness waiting at the bottom of the steps.

“To keep them in or keep them out?” you said, trying not to shudder.

“Well, that’s the real question, ain’t it? And there’s only one way to find out.”

He went ahead of you, wielding a knife that he’d swiped from one of the counters. You followed closely, keeping your eyes and ears peeled. There was a long hallway leading in both directions, faintly illuminated by the intermittent red light. There were various unmarked doors lining the walls. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to explore every single one of them, but Ted might be anywhere.

Cooper saw a figure down the hallway and dashed to take care of him quickly and silently. He brought back a stolen dressing cane and handed it to you, the smallest relief over having a weapon washing over you. You nodded at each other and started off down the left side of the hallway.

You opened the first door to find a man inspecting an array of ingredients laid out on one of the steel prep tables. He brought them close to his face to try and find even the smallest imperfection, those not passing going straight to the trash. What a waste!

He looked up as you stepped in, Cooper lingering behind momentarily to make sure no one else was coming down the hallway.

“Why are you just standing there drooling? Do you think the world’s just gonna wait for you to get caught up? Get back out there and get to work!” He barked, his tone imperious.

“And who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” You snapped in return.

The man raised his eyebrows, a look of both disdain and astonishment on his face. “Who the fuck you do you think I am? I’m the fucking god of New Vegas brahmin fusion cuisine, that’s who! I fucking invented edible food around these parts! If you like food, then you owe me your entire garbage existence.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, anger boiling to the top and threatening to spill over. Your grip tightened on your weapon, and you knew Cooper wasn’t far behind. Okay, so maybe you would have to shift into plan B after all, unless you could hold yourself back from bashing his brains out.

“So, Philipe, then, is it?” Cooper said through his teeth, holding on by a thread. He leaned against the doorway to block off any attempts at escape. “I think you might have her confused with someone else.”

“Oh, really? So despite her filthy face and vacant expression, AND her clear lack of human dignity, you’re telling me she’s not a server?”

“Why you little fucking rat–” You snarled, lunging at him, but Cooper stopped you before you could get very far.

“Hold on for a second, darlin’, let me try to talk some sense into him first.” He said, though he sounded just as angry as you. “We were here to make you an offer, but thinking about it now, maybe I oughta just unleash her on you. Unless, of course, you apologize for your poor fucking manners.”

Philipe scoffed. “What sort of offer could you possibly have for me?”

Cooper tilted his head to one side slightly. “Ever thought of, I don’t know, publishing a cook book?”

“A cook book?” he seemed genuinely surprised, not having expected it at all. “Me? The supreme ruler of the Nevada dining scene teaching lowlife half-wits how to make food that doesn’t smell like burning excrement? Do you think it would sell?”

You laughed derisively on the inside, praising Cooper for playing to the man’s immense ego instead of immediately trying to barrel at him with murderous intent. Your shoulders relaxed some as you tried to fully regain your composure.

“With your talents? Most definitely,” Cooper said. “You wouldn’t even have to deal with the public yourself.”

“As it should be,” Philippe said with a wry chuckle. “And how will you make this come about?”

“Oh, we’ve got a few connections here and there… Say, you ever heard of Mister House?”

“Mister House, eh? Now that’s the real deal…”

“‘Course it is. But as a sign of good faith, you know, we’ll need some recipes first.”

Philipe hesitated for the briefest second. “You’re pushing your luck, but alright. I have a few copies on me, here you go.”

He reached into one of his pockets and handed a couple of folded up sheets of paper to Cooper.

“This better be good enough, or we’re gonna have a real problem.”

“Oh, we won’t have any problems, but you on the other hand… You never did apologize. I tried to warn ya.” Cooper let go of your arm, nodding at Philipe with a sharp grin. “Have at him, sweetheart.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, raising the dressing cane over your head and swinging at Philipe’s head. You heard a crack and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious but not dead.

“Thank you,” you said, satisfied with the small revenge you were able to get. “We should probably tie him up and hide him in the freezer.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, handing you the stack of recipes. “See if there’s anything of note here. Looks like we might have to prepare the banquet ourselves.”

You nodded, both of you immediately getting to work. You scanned through the recipes, intrigued by all the exotic combinations of ingredients. The penultimate one made you pause due to the fact that the dish was called Imitation Long Pig.

You scowled, nausea threatening to claw its way up your throat. Philipe had cared more about the prospect of money and fame that he might not have remembered he had this one on him. It was experimental alright, but overwhelmingly useful, despite all the gnawing questions it left you with.

Still, with the array of ingredients he had at his disposal, it might be possible to make a passable decoy meal. All that was left to do was find Ted Gunderson and get him to safety.

“We might have to split up before dinner is served,” you said as Cooper returned from the freezer. “I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly in the banquet hall, while you look for Ted down here. I’d wager he’d be open to helping us expose Mortimer, don’t you think?”

“I’d say so, what with the kidnapping and all,” he said. “Here’s to hopin’ he trusts the likes of me, ‘cus he’s shit outta luck if he doesn’t.”

“I don’t know, I think my charm has started to rub off on you.” You elbowed him on the side teasingly. “You played that asshole Philipe like a fiddle. Had it all thought up, didn’t you?”

He chuckled. “I used to be an actor back in the day, sweetheart. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Don’t I know it?”

The two of you spent the next two hours preparing the intricate meal. You left the tasting to him as he would be able to tell more accurately if you were on the right track. When all was said and done, the kitchen was a mess, but the food was actually pretty decent. It didn’t smell half bad, but the presentation could have been a little better. Hopefully, it would be enough to fool Mortimer and the other members.

You glanced at your Pip-Boy to check the time, finding you had only twenty or so minutes left.

“Alright, time to get this show on the road,” you said, a sudden wave of nervousness threatening to overtake you. “I’m gonna get in touch with the head waiter and get things set up. I’d say we have another hour while they eat. Think you can manage to make it on time?”

“I’ll do my best,” Cooper said, grabbing a cleaver from a wooden block. “That is, if he is still alive.”

You sighed, trying not to think of the other possibility. “I’ll meet you in the dining room, alright? I’ll try to find a uniform and a mask around here somewhere, so be careful who you go swinging that knife at later.”

He grinned slyly. “Don’t worry your pretty head about that, I’ll be able to recognize you.”

————————————

“I know I’m not the scheduled speaker, but I’ve got a few words to say, if I may.” Mortimer’s voice was arrogant, almost gloating. Like he had already won. “There was a time not so long ago when we were bound together not as members, but as family. As a clan.”

You stood in the shadows near the kitchen door, peering out at the dining room from underneath a doll mask. Sweat beaded on the small of your back, praying that Mortimer liked the sound of his own voice enough to keep going for a little while longer.

They had just finished eating a couple of minutes before, and based on Mortimer’s confident speech, he’d definitely been fooled by the fake meat. You smiled a little, savoring another small victory in your plans. You just hoped that Cooper wasn’t far behind, hopefully with Ted in tow.

“Among us, it is a crime to discuss a return to the old ways that unified our people,” Mortimer was saying, nearing the end of his speech. “Tonight, that all changes. The taboo ends.”

Marjorie started to stand up, astonished. “Excuse m–”

“Let me finish, Marjorie.” He interrupted. “For our society to be truly elite, we most dine on the most delicious, most exclusive food known to us. And tonight, for the first time as a society, you are sampling that very dish – the meat we are forbidden to taste, the way it was meant to be eaten! Bon appetit, my fellow members of the White Glove Society!”

There was a chorus of shocked and horrified gasps from the crowd. Marjorie nearly fainted but was caught by a woman sitting next to her. You almost felt bad for her. Your eyes swept over the perimeter of the room to see what the guards would do. They were poised for attack, but they were seemingly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The diners, on the other hand, were unsure of what to do, murmuring amongst themselves. Then there was movement in your periphery and you heard the tell tale jingle of spurs. You slowly breathed out in relief, watching as Cooper and a man you assumed was Ted Gunderson approached Mortimer from behind. Upon seeing them, he took a step back, one side of his mouth curling up in a sneer.

“What the– You two are trespassing! This is a private event!” He exclaimed.

“Bad news, Mortimer, no one’s eating the fella you’d kidnapped for tonight,” Cooper said loud enough for all to head, gesturing at Ted.

“What are you–? Why is he here?” His voice trembled. “Who are we eating right now, then?”

You slowly pushed off the wall and unmasked, unable to help a smug grin. There was recognition first, followed by vitriol, which made the reveal all the more satisfying.

“It’s a secret recipe,” you said, twirling your dressing cane casually, barely concealing the threat beneath. “But it’s not human meat, I can tell you that.”

Mortimer stammered, panic in his eyes as he glanced around. Some of the diners started rising from their seats.

“No, t-they’re lying! I didn’t kidnap anyone,” he said, making Ted take an angry step forward. “Okay, well, e-even if I did, no harm done! See? He’s alive after all!”

“Too late for that, Mortimer. You’ve already said a little too much.”

Knowing he was backed into a corner, Mortimer became incensed, whirling around to glare at everyone.

“You’re all hypocrites! How can you call yourselves connoisseurs when you don’t even allow yourselves the greatest of all meats?” He spat, disgusted. “I am ashamed to have once called everyone here family. But I’ll begin anew, and the White Glove Society will never achieve the greatness of my new order! You’ll all hear from me again!”

With that, he fled, much faster than you’d expected possible. Cooper was about to run after him, but you held him back as a couple of White Gloves pursued him instead. Ted crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head reproachfully.

“Well, I’ll be damned… if it weren’t for y’all, I’d have been made into pot roast,” he said, shuddering slightly at the imagery. “I tried to tell my old man that meeting with these people wasn’t a good idea. They always gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

“We sure as hell were lucky,” Cooper said, clapping him on the shoulder. “But I still don’t trust the rest of ‘em.”

You looked over to where Marjorie was being fanned by the woman sitting next to her, while another woman offered her ice cold water. You let out a noncommittal grunt.

“Marjorie certainly seemed to be none the wiser, at least,” you said. “But it might be smart to take your business elsewhere, after all. You can tell your father all about it, in fact. We’ll take you to him.”

“He’s still here?”

“Oh yes, I don’t think he could ever leave you behind. And he did hire the best, to be fair.”

Ted looked at you and Cooper in turn, both of you beaming proudly. He let out an amused huff and nodded, smiling gratefully.

“I see that now,” he said. “Lead the way.”

You took him all the way back to the bar where, true to his word, Heck Gunderson still waited. Upon spotting the three of you, he leapt to his feet, his expression breaking open with relief.

“Oh my god, Ted! Are you alright?” He asked, frantically searching his son for any injuries.

“Quit your hollerin’. I’m just fine!” Ted gruffed, but he let him continue fussing over him.

“You got me my boy back. I got no words,” Heck said tearfully as he turned to you and Cooper. “Who did this? I wanna skin their hides myself!”

“It was the maitre d’, Mortimer, who had Ted taken. He’s a cannibal,” you explained. “But he ran away right after we exposed him.”

“Well that does it! None of them maniacs will ever do business with Heck Gunderson as long as they live. They control the food? Well there ain’t gonna be no food, not for anybody in this whole damn town!”

“Hold on now, let’s not get too hasty,” Cooper intervened, holding up his hands placatingly. “That would be just what he’d want. You’d be driving everyone in the city to eat each other.”

Heck eyed him for a moment, but it was clear his suspicion had mostly subsided. He let out a deep sigh, relenting.

“I don’t particularly like this place – the whole Strip, really. But you got a point, they’re all ready hell-bent on depravity here, and I don’t wanna help ‘em along,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a sack of caps. “Well, I promised y’all I’d make it worth your while, so here you go. Don’t go spendin’ it all in one place, y’hear me?”

“No promises, sir,” you said, testing the heft of the bag before handing it to Cooper for safe keeping. “Thank you, and good luck with business.”

Both men tipped their hats and, with that, you parted ways. It seemed much easier to breathe now that it was all over, but the afterglow of victory was certainly worth all you’d both been through. You weren’t sure what you’d have done if Cooper hadn’t been by your side. You grasped his hand for a brief moment and squeezed his fingers appreciatively.

“So, what’s next for us, cowboy?” You asked, surreptitiously leading him back to the bath house. “After my swim of course.”

He chuckled, offering his arm for you to take.

“I heard Gomorrah's got some shady business going on, might be worth checking out at some point. But we definitely deserve some time off, and we got the caps for it.” He said, looking over at you with a roguish grin. “Say… do you think Yes Man would be able to officiate if we asked it to?”

“Well, it can’t say no, so… I’m sure there’s a way.” You smiled, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’ve already got this nice dress, so we might as well put it to good use. But you know that means we’ll have to earn even more caps for the honeymoon, right?”

“All the more reason to hit up the casinos.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just hope none of them also have a cannibalism problem. I’ve had enough of that.”

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THE END.

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout fanfiction #fallout new vegas fanfiction #cooper howard fanfiction #the ghoul fanfiction #cooper howard #the ghoul #minors dni #walton goggins

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broadwaybalogna · 7 months ago

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[Zutara] oneshot based on the story told in Travelin’ Soldier by the chicks

May 2, the Southern Air Temple

Katara,

Thank you for allowing me to write you during these times. We didn’t get to talk much aside from that day at the lake. Your kindness will not be taken for granted. Being able to write to someone during these times— the other men say it will keep me alive. Although we have yet to become close, I place my wholehearted trust in them.

It’s been a week since we’ve established camp. The General has been rough on all us soldiers, but it makes us stronger. At least, that’s what he says. It feels weird wrong fighting against my own element, I can’t help but think about the boys whom I grew up with, knowing they are fighting in support of the deaths they will bring to thousands if not millions.

I am aware that the other soldiers are weary of me, being from the fire nation would harbor such feelings toward me. It is my goal to prove my loyalty to them. And to you, too. Sokka speaks fondly of you, he says your smile itself would be enough to cease fighting on all sides of the war. The hour we spent at sunset on the pier brings no doubt to my mind about his words. I sense he’s still on edge about me writing to you. I will be sure to prove myself worthy of this, I swear. Sokka says to expect a letter from him in a day or two.

-Zuko

June 29, Omashu

Katara,

I sincerely thank you for writing back. I will be honest, I did not expect much in return for my letter. Sokka bragged that you wrote more to him than I, we have grown closer during this past month. He never says a bad word about you. Though perhaps he would’ve preferred to leave out the weekly yelling matches you two have. “Sibling rivalry” he says, “all in good fun”. He muttered about always buying you hot chocolate after. He never shies away from embarrassing you, however. I’ll spare you my knowledge but you should know that I find it, if anything, cute that you keep all your childhood stuffed animals close.

I cannot help but thinking more fondly of you the more I learn.

Our last few exchanges have sent warmth to my heart.

One of the soldiers here said he was an artist before being drafted. He offered to draw a portrait of you for Sokka based on his description. Sokka jumped at the opportunity of a portrait. I never knew how poetic he could be when describing a person. He would say things like your hair having waves like the sea. I simplified his words. He truly loves you beyond what I believe you know.

Not many other men have warmed up to me (pun not intended). They are all quite avoidant of me. I wish they would trust me as much as I do them. Sokka has not suffered at all being friends with me. He’ll sometimes talk me up to the other soldiers. He’s a true extrovert. His mindset is almost perfect for a soldier, our General said.

We lost our first two men not long ago just outside the Southern Air Temple. One of them I believe you may know, Hahn. He was brave until the end, and he will forever live in our memories.

Sokka keeps your portrait in his bag for safe keeping. I’ll steal a glance whenever I can. Every time I look, you’re more extravagant than the last.

Your friend,

Zuko

September 13, Natsuo Island

My dearest Katara,

The war has had few good effects on the soldiers. Sokka attempts to maintain his optimism but as fall begins and the cold winds reach us, it is hard to live up to his past. He doesn’t speak as much of you, it must be hard on his heart. Mao died to a gunshot wound not less than two days ago. I’ve spoken of him a few times in our previous exchanges. He had a daughter and wife whom he wrote as often as we do you. In his last letter, he promised to come home and raise their child with the utmost love.

Sokka cried when he died.

He says he made a similar promise to you; coming home. I wish I could’ve told him to raise his hopes.

Mao was a man who had my utmost respect. And I would say no different about Sokka. We all know the possibilities of this war.

I pray to the spirits with Sokka for opportunity and blessings each night. I never used to do that before, pray. I find it gives me peace of mind. Sokka speaks of the water tribe spirits and the legends behind them. I have learned much about Tui and La.

Every time I think solemnly, I look back to the sunset we spent at the pier. I try to remember each moment before sleeping each night. The way the wind blowed in your hair, the way your eyes glistened the colors of the sunset, your perfect smile. It brings me hope.

You bring me hope.

I don’t know what to call it. Sokka says “love” and I look away.

I fear if I call it that, I will have to face these emotions in full.

Do you find yourself wondering the same?

Best regards,

Zuko

December 20, Fire Fountain City

My dearest, Katara,

Do you ever wonder what would have come of our lives had the war never begun? Would I have found you at the café near the train? Would you have taken me to the pier overlooking the nearby lake? Would your eyes had sparkled as bright as that day?

Sokka smudged the portrait Jan made for him of you the first few weeks we set out. He silently cried to himself that night. I couldn’t hear him, but I knew he did.

Every time we face a hardship, I close my eyes and see your face looking back at me. It is hard to imagine a world without you.

It is also hard to imagine a world without war.

Sokka has a scar on his shoulder from a gunshot that grazed him. A few other scars I’ve seen are similar on his legs and arms, but his shoulder is most prominent. I know he hasn’t written to you about this because he desperately wants you to believe he is the strong older brother you look up to him to be. But I fear his mortality is fading.

I’m sure he’s told you about my own scar.

It is hard to see or hear out of my left eye and ear. Sokka says you love me no matter my appearance. I trust him. I also trust you. I’m sure our love will never come to an end. Sokka says we share the adoration of a newlywed couple. It’s impossible to believe we’ve only seen each other once. I feel like I’ve seen you each day of my life.

My heart burns to see you again, glistening in the sunset. I fantasize about seeing you again each night. I wish you perfect prosperity.

Don’t worry, but I won’t be able to write for a while.

With love,

Zuko

January 1, Crescent Island

My sister,

You do not understand the life you have given me with death surrounds my every move. You have been the light that shines at the end of the tunnel for many people in my unit. I tell stories of our adventures when I can, when it doesn’t hurt to think about, which is not often anymore.

To say that you have given hope to the people who have had the honor of knowing you is an understatement. You have given life to people who believed they had nothing to live for.

Katara, on December 25th, Zuko was caught in crossfire between our and fire nation units not far from Fire Fountain City. He was shot and killed on impact.

The war has caused the deaths of many men, but never would I believe Zuko would be one of those men.

It was foolish of me to believe there would be a world that favored love over war.

He loved you more than himself.

He couldn’t tell you this, but each time he read your letters, I would watch his face flush and a smile inch at the corner of his lips. He would speak of you with pure adoration.

He will be missed by the thousands of lives he has directly and indirectly saved through his work. He will be missed by the units that benefited from his fire during the cold. He will be missed by me.

But I know that he will be missed by you the most.

I do not know when the war will end. And I know less of when I will return to you. But I know it will happen.

Katara, this soldier will come home to you.

I promise.

-Sokka

#angst #boyfriend to death #zutara #atla katara #atla #atla zuko #katara #zuko #war #letters

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dangaer · 3 months ago

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it's stifling, the idea that she chooses to place her faith in a soul already forgotten by those who no longer wish to think of him with as anything beyond his usefulness to them and a thought he knows better than to indulge in without warrant. whether she chooses to follow such belief's after the next outburst, reaction, is another expectation entirely ━━ he's familiar with the fickleness of human emotions, how love and hate blend between themselves far too easily to be considered anything beyond a threads-width away from one another ━━ but sometimes even he caves into the caress of a what if, moments in which even he would look at the garden beyond the soul he is destined to try and taint and now, as he is coming to understand, is now leading towards such a point. not in a way he would have ever expected, though, he realises the moment his body freezes at the sensation of her arms wrapped around his waist with an uncertainty on whether he should continue to stay or go. something indescribable flickering upon her face, a clear sort of certainty lining her tone as she refers to the permanence of her death in turn, the warmth of her body threatening to smother the chill against his chest and he should have known better than to lead them down this path, taken a course far more safer than the fates from god's or witches ━━ but he didn't, isn't, curiosity lurking as if never having disappeared at all and it's enough to have him opening his mouth ━━ if only to close it again, unresponsive, as he shifts to rest his forehead in the curve of her shoulder, long pause taken in favour of wrapping one arm in a mirror of her own. his other gentle, reluctant, as it runs through spools of blonde hair.

❛ i won't change, no matter what happens. ❜ kou admits, softly, closing in on the silence that's been left to swallow them whole for the past few moments as he curls the strands against his index finger, his thumb rubs against them, briefly, before he guides it back around her shoulder, allows his head to turn enough to catch the spools against the morning sunrise; she deserves something like this, he considers, the type of lover who can take her out like this any time of day. the type of lover he would have been if they had met a hundred years ago, when they could have been considered more or less the same.

one second, two second, three ... despite it, he doesn't choose to let go.

❛ no matter what place you will inevitably have to depart to, i have no qualms in following you there. no matter what you come back as, i will love you the same as i do now. my love is eternal, and so is my support in what you choose to do. ❜ something of a nervous exhale escapes him at that, both an admittance and not. no matter what sort of exterior he's held, even his hardened exterior has felt like it was bleeding before alice. he feels better to be honest now, give her the choice he once believed he had; he isn't sure he can admit it outright, isn't sure she'd take it seriously if he let such spill from his lips without an aftermath. she hasn't pushed him away, at least, and he takes it as a sign she can take he's somewhat serious, if not anything else / he hasn't made her want to run away, at least, not in the way he has certainly managed to throughout the months.

another inhale, exhale ...

❛ this may break my heart one day, but it doesn't matter ... i am not going anywhere. if you're choosing to stay after that, then i want you to know you can use me. ❜ like his old friends, his old family, his master ... whatever she does will be far more kinder than the choices they bring, even if that is far from such a point. ❛ even if they come down directly to separate us, there is no way i will give up on you so easily again. ❜ the hand on her waist merely squeezes tighter, as if afraid to feel her slip through at speaking these words. ❛ i will vow my eternal love to you, no matter what cost it may bring to me in tow. ❜ until the very last second, until even his bones turn to rot.

kou lifts his head from it's temporary perch, mismatched eyes glancing directly back towards her own. hand unperturbed as he brings those strands to his lips, a delicate sort of kiss swallowing the once glittering light behind him. ❛ make me your chip, alice-chan. otherwise there'll be nothing holding me back from blowing away my own to add you to such a collection. ❜ to keep that warmth, his sunshine, back in his garden forever. / @redemptioninterlude cont'd!

#redemptioninterlude #❛ 𝐊𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐔𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐈 ⧽ — ic.#long post /#diabolik lovers /

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cranetreegang · 1 year ago

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In the Light of Death - Part 1

Sebastian x FemReader with former Ominis x FemReader

This will be I think a four or five part series - depending on how i break it down. I have it all written, it was just A LOT to slap into one fic.

Uhhhh fic kind of depressing at first, but we'll get through it to the more spicy bits <3 def a friends to lovers type fic

Summary: Suffering from death of her beloved husband, Ominis, Sebastian comes to comfort and support her.

Word Count: ~2,800 words

Warnings: Death, Depression, Loss, Grief

Find Whole Light of Death Series Here

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She stands above Ominis, his body resting upon a stone bed adorned with a white silk sheet. Matching white flowers lay all around him and he almost looks like he’s floating on a cloud. He looks peaceful, as if he’s in a pleasant dream with a faint smile playing on his pale lips. Even the sun peeks through the dense gray clouds, casting its light upon him. It makes the nightmare she’s living all the more painful. She leans down, softly pressing her lips on his forehead, her eyes shut as tears continue to fall and her body trembles.

“I love you. Now, and forever,” she whispers, gently stroking his cheek that’s far too cold.

With a hard, sharp breath, she slowly steps away from her beloved Ominis. Several arms and hands wrap around her, offering comfort, but none of them provide the warmth she so desperately craves. But, they’re the only thing keeping her standing, and not shattering at the base of his altar into a hundred, million pieces - never to be whole again.

A golden light envelops Ominis’ body, and he’s consumed in a beautiful, radiant glow. She watches as the light drifts off, ascending into the sky, leaving her with a suffocating pressure around her throat. But, she doesn’t cry. Instead, a harrowing thought rings in her head like a deafening bell.

He’s gone.

She’s not sure how she made it home, but she now stands in front of the kitchen sink, gazing out towards the garden that they planted. He loved to be out there in the warm afternoon sun, tilling away with his hands. Then he’d come inside to show her his harvest, a proud smile tugging on his lips while dirt coats his pale cheeks. She can almost hear his teasing laughter as she tries to clean him up.

Instead of finding solace, only bitter, crushing emptiness smothers her. An indescribable pain and yet a chilling numbness all at once. Her mind - unable to comprehend such a loss. It’s like a vital piece of her is gone, and she’s merely a husk doomed to walk the land until she turns to dust.

Lying in bed, her eyes fixed on a picture of them together, she can’t bring herself to move. He didn’t want to take the picture, but she asked him to anyway. He’s scowling at first, then she kisses his cheek and his whole face lights up into his beautiful, warm smile. She pulls his pillow to her face, inhaling his scent, as the numbness suffocates her.

Everything serves as a cruel reminder of what she no longer has: His empty chair at the table, his favorite nook to read at collecting dust, the lack of his upbeat humming to banish the quiet. Even her dreams are no longer a sanctuary, as Ominis is always there, but just beyond her grasp, walking further and further away. Never once turning to look back - no matter how much she screams and begs.

A knock at the door startles her. She stares at the door from her place on the couch, momentarily disoriented, before dragging herself over to answer it. Sebastian’s face brings a flicker of welcome relief as he smiles at her, familiar and warm. For a brief moment, she smiles, her lips forming Ominis’ name to call for him, but her eyes fall to the ground instead.

“Sebastian,” she whispers.

“Hey,” he whispers in equal softness. “May I come in?”

She nods, stepping aside, and he strolls inside. Sebastian’s eyes widen at the once-lively rooms, now shrouded in darkness, with drawn curtains and an eerie stillness permeating the air. He grimaces, his dark brows furrowing, as he follows her towards the kitchen.

“Let me make us some tea,” she says.

Sebastian joins her in the kitchen, observing her movements for a moment, “Shouldn’t I be the one making you a cup?”

She pauses then musters a tight smile, “Last I checked, you’re notorious for burning tea.”

Sebastian chuckles, “You still won’t let me live that down, eh? That was one time!”

“I never thought it possible. So excuse me for still being in disbelief,” she giggles, surprised by the noise for a moment. He smiles to himself at hearing a bit of joy from her, even if it’s at his expense.

While she prepares their mugs, Sebastian looks around the dimly lit room. It really is too dark in here, he concludes. He yanks open the curtains one by one, letting the fading afternoon sun in. As he opens the final curtain in the living room, his eyes land on a picture on the fireplace mantel. A sad smile tugs on his lips as he approaches it, holding the picture like a delicate flower.

He recalls this moment - Christmas two or three years ago with himself, Anne, Ominis, and her. They’re all wearing horrible, matching sweaters that Anne insisted they wear, but everyone is smiling and laughing despite it.

“I was happy to burn that horrid thing afterward,” she says, diverting his attention to her as she hands him a mug of hot tea. “Ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s Anne for you. Impeccable taste.”

She stares at the picture, her smile fading into a deep frown. They’ll never have another Christmas together, and they’ll never have moments like that again. It’s all gone.

He places the picture back up on the mantle and he guides her to sit on the well-loved couch. With sunlight cascading onto her, he can finally see the depths of her despair. There’s a dullness, a void, in her eyes - a dark, empty well that seems bottomless. The dark circles beneath her eyes only amplify the effect. Although her hair is brushed and her clothes are fresh, he doubts she’s been eating. He shifts his gaze to the tea in his hands. The steam swirls up to his face and he can see his frowning reflection peering back at him.

“I thought the funeral was nice,” he says. “Didn’t expect so many people-,”

“Is that why you’re here?” She interrupts, her tone sharp as she sets down the mug with a huff. “I don’t need, nor want, more condolences.”

He places his mug beside hers and turns to face her, “No, that’s not why I’m here.”

She barely turns her head towards him, so he continues.

“I have some work in the area - research mainly - and I was hoping I could use the spare bed.”

She stares at him, blankly and unnaturally still. He takes her hand and she jolts, her eyes blinking rapidly. Eventually, she nods.

“Of course. You’re always welcomed. You know that,” she smiles, but it’s forced and doesn’t come close to her anguished eyes. Sebastian squeezes her hand and she notices how warm he is compared to her. He’s practically an inferno.

“And as appreciation for your humble hospitality, I’ll help you around the house. Cook you dinner from time to time. Run errands, anything you need,” He offers, grinning.

There’s a certain yearning in his eyes. She’s familiar with that look. He does it every time she’s angry or upset with him, and he’s trying to make her smile or laugh. It usually never fails to wear her down, and she’s thankful to have a bit of normalcy right now.

“Thank you,” she whispers with a slight frown. It’s a weak show of gratitude, but it’s all she can give him. She withdraws her hand from his, finding his warmth too much to bear, and stands up, “I’ll… go check to see if the room’s picked up.”

As she disappears into the back bedroom, Sebastian runs his hand through his hair with a heavy sigh. He’s never seen her like this before - it’s like she’s dead too. It’s hard for him to keep himself from falling into the same void with her. His gaze returns to the picture on the mantle, stirring a bittersweetness within him.

Oh, Ominis, she’s far worse off than you thought she would be, he thinks to himself. He grits his teeth as he stands, determined to rekindle her spark again.

The bedroom is neat, untouched since their last visitor. She runs her fingers along the patchwork quilt as she tries to recall who last stayed over. She thinks it was Sebastian, and they all enjoyed a long weekend by the lake. Her eyes squeeze shut, her hands clench to her sides.

All of their memories hurt. Like something is tearing and ripping at her throat as her heart sinks further into her chest. Thunder rumbles and rocks the house, plunging the room into darkness. She sucks in a sharp breath, not realizing she’s been holding it in, and she leaves the room.

The sounds of clanking dishes and sizzling food lures her into the kitchen. It’s a familiar noise, bringing a bloom of warmth amidst the pain. But when she rounds the corner, it all fades. Instead of her husband, it’s Sebastian who occupies the kitchen. She watches, captivated by his dance, as his wand is hard at work - swishing the air to command the various spices, vegetables and pots. Ominis would do much the same, cooking for her as he hummed a soft song. She always loved to watch him, silently smiling as he pretended to not notice her staring.

Sebastian is far more chaotic to observe - and far noisier too - as he has the whole kitchen sprung to life. She finds herself smiling at his excitement. The evening sun bathes the kitchen in a warm glow, the storm passing as suddenly as it appeared, and Sebastian seems to almost shine, like a beacon.

“It smells nice,” she comments.

Sebastian whips around and smiles at her, his whole face lighting up.

“Hope you don’t mind, we’re having pasta tonight. It’s all I could scrounge up, so we’ll need to hit the market tomorrow,” he spins back around and continues about his preparations. She joins him in his whirlwind and gazes at the pasta creation. A pot boils golden noodles, and a bright crimson sauce simmers. She steps closer to feel the steam against her face, a smile tugging at her lips. Sebastian grins at her.

“What do you wanna have this week? Ah,” he snaps his fingers with a chuckle, “you know what I’ve been craving for? That roast of yours - with those little potatoes and carrots. Merlin’s Beard, I can almost taste it now.”

“Sure, that sounds nice,” she murmurs with a slight giggle. “Do you need any help?”

“Just set up the table, and pick out a bottle of wine. A good one. I know you’ve got something stashed away back there,” Sebastian teases with a wink.

She lets out a snort as she heads to the cupboard. There’s several bottles and as she skims over them it’s like she’s tossed right back into her sorrow. She pulls out a bottle her and Ominis were saving for their anniversary. She runs her hand over the label with a sad smile before putting it back. She grabs a bottle at random and sets it on the dining table. By the time she’s got the table set, Sebastian is levitating a steaming pot over.

He fills their bowls, sending the pasta away, then he opens the bottle of red wine. He pours their glasses with the dark burgundy drink and he raises his up with a smirk.

“To my incredible cooking.”

She giggles as she clanks his glass, “We’ll see about that.”

His cooking is actually decent, impressing her. The flavors and robustness warms her heart. She can’t remember the last time she enjoyed a good meal, lacking any motivation to cook since she first got the news. People had brought their own food over, of course, but it all tasted bitter or bland. As she sips her wine, glancing over at Sebastian, she can almost pretend that they’re waiting for Ominis to walk through the door and join them.

It’s silent, save for their chewing and forks scratching their plates, and as they drink more and more of the bottle, the more she enjoys herself. They shove their plates aside and they both lean back in their chairs with their fourth glass of wine in hand, and their bellies full. Sebastian has a smile playing on his lips and she catches the light of mischief within his dark eyes.

“Well,” she says with a grin, “say it.”

“Say what?”

She rolls her eyes, “What’s on your mind.”

He laughs with a slight shake of his head, “I truly can’t keep anything from you. You’re just as bad as Anne!” Biting his lip as he swirls his wine, he says, “I was just thinking about when we all went to that wine garden in France.”

“Where you made a fool of yourself by mispronouncing all the wine they had?” She chuckles.

“The very same!” He laughs as he leans over to her, “But, it wasn’t me who was embarrassed, was it? Ominis was about ready to rip my tongue out.”

She hides her wide smile behind her hand as she recalls Ominis’ outraged face.

“I’ve never seen him so embarrassed. Actually, that’s not true,” she giggles. “There was this one time where we were at some gathering. I don’t know how it happened, but he ended up holding hands with, well, not me.”

“No!” Sebastian exclaims with an open-mouth smile. “He’s so good about that.”

“I know, I know. I blame the beverages they were serving, they were quite strong, and you know how he gets with sweet drinks. But, oh, I wish you could’ve seen him. I went up, I tapped on his shoulder, and I said, ‘Excuse me, I’m looking for my dashing husband, have you seen him?’”

They both burst into laughter, sipping more wine as they calm down.

“Ah,” he nudges her, “remember our school days?”

She scoffs, “How could I forget?”

Sebastian grins, “Remember when we all drank Garreth’s ‘brilliant brain brew’, so we could pass our Charms exam we forgot to study for?”

She falls back into her chair with a groan, “Oh, I wish I didn’t. I have never puked that hard in my life! I never should’ve talked Ominis out of hexing Garreth into a toad.”

“You talked him down from that? What were you thinking?”

The warm buzz is pleasant and she laughs with a shrug. As she stares up at the ceiling, she recalls many fond memories from their days at Hogwarts.

“Remember when you first showed me the Undercroft, and Ominis caught me straight after? I’ve never been scolded like that before in my life.”

“You and me both. Now, that was a tongue-lashing that would put that poor old librarian to shame,” he sighs.

She leans forward, chipping her nails along the glass stem with a soft smile.

“That’s how I first met him, really met him. I thought he’d always hate my guts. Now look at us,” her smile fades, replaced by a grimace. “Fifteen years… and now he’s gone.”

A sharp gasp leaves her. She covers her face with her hands as sobs escape her. Hard rain pelts against the windows and a gale rattles the shutters. Sebastian’s hand is quickly on her back, pulling her into his chest.

“It hurts so much, Sebastian. H-How am I supposed to live without him? I-I can’t bear it. I can’t. I can’t. I just want him back.”

Sebastian holds her tighter, “I know. I’m… He’s… He was special to me too.”

He doesn’t know what else to say, so he just holds her as she cries for a love forever lost. Lightning flashes, casting eerie shadows across the room, and thunder rumbles, making the walls tremble, in time with her rapid breaths. As her tears subside, so too does the storm, and she slowly removes herself from Sebastian’s embrace. She wipes her cheeks with the back of her arm and gives him an apologetic look.

“I-I’m sorry. I… thank you for dinner. I think I’ll just go to bed now,” she whispers, her voice raw from her outburst.

“Okay,” he nods with a gentle smile, squeezing her hand. “Get some rest.”

She leaves, collapsing onto her cold bed, and dragging Ominis’ pillow to her. A whimper escapes her at his scent already starting to fade. She doesn’t want to cry anymore, yet more tears come. It feels endless, like being trapped in an abyss. She shudders, clutching the pillow close to her, and she gazes at their picture - barely visible in the darkness.

“Why did you have to leave me? Why couldn’t you have taken me with you?” She whispers.

Ominis only smiles - like all is well - and she closes her eyes - wishing that were true.

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Read Part 2 Here

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AN: i really wanted MC to be disjointed and sporadic - like time is moving around her but she's sort of stuck. And I def want her emotions to be all over the place. She's both feeling nothing and everything all at once. Hopefully that's conveyed well enough. ngl, when i first wrote the intro, i nearly cried. and i hope i made one of you cry cause im a terrible person. SHARE IN MY MISERY MUHAHAHA

As always, feedback welcomed. Love to hear what y'all think and if i got seb right or not LOL

Also I love the idea of Seb being like a lil puppy trying to cheer her up. also also, this is how i think of older seb. no idea where this pic came from, i had it saved in my google doc. forgive me

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #fanfic #creative writing #former ominis x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian x reader #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fic #sebastian x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #fanfiction #much angst #hogwarts legacy sebastian #grief #loss #writing ominis dying hurt my feelings #sebastian being a the bestest best friend

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r-chaics · 6 months ago

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𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝟎𝟕: 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒 & 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

# 𝙸𝙼𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙶𝙴𝚁 𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂. dependency, separation anxiety, depictions of fire, financial stress

star sign: libra

libras are said to be diplomatic, just, and prioritize love and beauty. they are also known for being obsessed with symmetry and creating balance in their lives. libras are ruled by venus, the planet of love, beauty, and money, so they are said to enjoy art, intellectualism, and beautiful objects. some say libras make great designers, decorators, art critics, and stylists. however, they may also struggle with indecisiveness, dependency, and laziness.

mythological creature: chi long — dragon of protection and auspiciousness

chi long was originally an animal from the sea; after years of magical cultivation, it became a type of dragon that looks like a gecko with no horns. the marine origin made chi long a good fighter against fire. unlike other strong dragons, chi long is closer to people’s daily lives, which makes it the symbol of luck, happiness, romantic relationships, and a promising career. therefore, its image was widely used in people’s clothes, accessories, and decorations.

folktale: the butterfly lovers

it's the story of two lovers, liang shanbo 梁山伯 and zhu yingtai 祝英台, separated by fate and yet, not even death could separate them. death transforms them in two marvellous butterflies whose wings will beat together forever.

fairytale character (classical or modern): sosuke from ponyo

sōsuke is a five-year-old boy who lives with his mother, lisa, in a small house on a cliff by the sea. his father, kōichi, works as a captain on a ship, which means he's often away from home. sōsuke is kind, brave, and mature for his age, taking on responsibilities that are beyond his years. by the end of the film, sōsuke's pure-hearted love and commitment are instrumental in ponyo's transformation and in restoring harmony between the human and magical worlds.

3 fictional tropes: golden retriever boyfriend, malewife, the power of love

golden retriever boyfriend - a "golden retriever boyfriend" is a male character who embodies the cheerful, loyal, and loving traits commonly associated with a golden retriever dog. he is the epitome of positivity and enthusiasm, always eager to please and deeply devoted to his partner. his affectionate nature is expressed through physical touches, kind words, and thoughtful actions that demonstrate his unwavering support. this character often brightens the mood with his playful and sometimes goofy demeanor, providing a sense of joy and comfort to those around him. he stands in contrast to more aloof or brooding characters, highlighting his warmth and approachability. in romantic comedies or dramas, the "golden retriever boyfriend" is the heart of the relationship, offering steadfast loyalty and an infectious zest for life that makes him an ideal partner. malewife - the "malewife" trope describes a male character who takes on traditional domestic roles typically associated with a housewife, challenging conventional gender norms. this character is nurturing and emotionally supportive, often excelling in household chores such as cooking, cleaning, and taking care of the home. he provides a loving and stable environment, acting as the caregiver within the family dynamic. the "malewife" supports a partner who may be the primary breadwinner or more career-focused, demonstrating that domestic labor is valuable and respectable regardless of gender. in sitcoms or dramas, the "malewife" is portrayed as competent and caring, emphasizing the importance of emotional labor and the strength it brings to family and relationships. the power of love - the "power of love" trope is a timeless theme in literature and media, depicting love as a transformative and redemptive force capable of overcoming great obstacles. love motivates characters to perform heroic acts, make significant sacrifices, and achieve personal growth. it serves as a healing force, helping characters recover from past traumas or emotional wounds. love unifies and brings harmony, often leading to reconciliation and happy endings. in romantic narratives, love triumphs over adversity, while in epic tales, it inspires protagonists to defeat evil and save the day. the enduring message of "the power of love" is that love's strength lies in its ability to transform lives and bring about positive change, making it a central theme in stories of all genres.

romantic or platonic trope: puppy love, defrosting ice queen, friends to lovers

puppy love - the intense, often naive affection and infatuation typically experienced during the early stages of a young romance. This relationship dynamic is characterized by its innocence, playfulness, and earnest emotions, mirroring the boundless energy and enthusiasm of a young puppy. Partners in a puppy love relationship are often deeply enamored with each other, displaying an idealistic and romanticized view of their bond. They revel in each other's company, engaging in affectionate gestures, constant communication, and a seemingly insatiable desire to spend time together. defrosting ice queen- she is the ice queen: cool, reserved, and giving nothing away. she may want love as ardently as anyone, but she masks her soft heart behind a wall of ice. it is up to someone else, typically her love interest, to soften her cold demeanor and win her love. friends to lovers - the "friends to lovers" relationship dynamic is a beloved trope in literature, film, and real life, characterized by the gradual evolution of a deep friendship into a romantic relationship. this dynamic begins with two individuals who share a strong, platonic bond built on mutual trust, understanding, and shared experiences. they are each other's confidants, offering unwavering support, laughter, and companionship. the beauty of this dynamic lies in its foundation; the couple has already established a significant emotional connection and a profound understanding of each other's personalities, quirks, and dreams. intimate healing - oftentimes, the only way to treat someone is to engage in some rather intimate activity. some of these techniques are derived from actual methods, but often they're played up. you know why. frequently done to a plot-induced illness. variants include the "mouth-to-mouth medicine dosing" or "medicine kiss", climbing into bed with the patient to keep them warm/cool them down (nakedness "for better skin contact" optional), and so forth. more explicit titles may have straight-up "healing through sex"

creepypasta story: the fire

it's right up against the city's edge now. it's no longer speaking. it's screaming. its hundred voices are shouting in that language. this all sounds crazy, even to me, and i'm living through it. the guys in white coats obviously failed at whatever they were trying to do with the fire. we saw an unmarked white helicopter fly overhead, with that same guy's voice blaring down. something about an evacuation. i couldn't hear him. the fire was screaming too loud. there are more of those crazy people, like the ones in the tents. maybe it's just the fire driving people insane. i'm surprised i'm not totally cracked, having to live next to a screaming fire. i suppose it's just a matter of time now.

greek god or goddess: apollo

greek mythology states that apollo had been mocking the god of love, eros (also known as cupid). in retaliation, eros fired two arrows: a gold arrow that struck apollo and made him fall in love with daphne, and a lead arrow that made daphne hate apollo. under the spell of the arrow, apollo continued to follow daphne, but she continued to reject him. apollo told daphne that he would love her forever.

time of day where they draw the most energy: 6 am

their achilles heel: kindness

medieval weapon of choice: fire ships

survival, starvation, or death by the undead in the apocalypse: survival

which of the seven sins represent them? horseman of the apocalypse?: lust, none

what their superpower would be: healing touch

could they pull excalibur from the stone?: yes

one aesthetic for each of the five senses (taste, hearing, sight, smell, touch):

taste - the salty taste of your best friend's blood while sucking on their papercut before bandaging it. hearing - side-splitting laughter over a bad joke ringing with pure delight sight - a harrowingly beautiful sunrise in a lurid colors of vibrant reds and oranges that remind you of fire smell - a rich and enticing smell of savory dishes simmering on the stove lulling you into satiation touch - a golden locket containing a picture of your loved one pressed against the heart

a bad habit that won’t go away: frivolous spending

a recurring nightmare: a house fire, separating him from his loved ones

an object they consider their lucky charm: a key to taka’s home worn around their neck instead of on a keychain

#ANCHORTASK07 #╰┈➤ ❝ TASKS ❞ : AANG ꒱

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betterillusionist · 11 months ago

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Professor Wu's Baking Bash

Emerging from the dimness of the library, Duncan raises a hand to shield his eyes from the bright outside light. The air is alive with the sound of enthusiasm and smells of freshly baked goods. The warmth of steaming cookies paired with the crispness of cupcake icing makes his mouth water in an instant.

A mix of conflicting emotions swirls in his gut.

"I forgot today was the Baking Bash," Malorn comments beside him with a smile. "Want to take a look around?"

Duncan pulls a long frown. He probably should; 50% of all profits are going to be donated in honor of Malistaire's wife. He'd feel bad for not supporting the effort. Yet, on the other hand, the event is organized by Professor Moolinda Wu...

His stomach rumbles. "Fine," he sighs.

Laughing, Malorn leads the way over the little bridge, bringing the two into the Commons proper. Streamers hang on large posts. Below them, small stalls are decorated with table cloths and banners. Price sheets stuck to poster boards stand near each stall, listing the gold amounts for each baked good on sale.

Despite his distaste for the event, Duncan can't stop his mouth from watering even further upon viewing all the decorated confectioneries that could be eaten.

The two Necromancers join the crowd of other students browsing and buying goods. Looking around, Duncan notes a few familiar faces; students he used to see in his classroom, now dressed in different colors. Some of them even notice the Necromancer pair and quickly avert their eyes, shuffling away if they get too close. They think they're being subtle about it, but he notices. He notices all of it.

Traitors, Duncan can't help but think with a small sneer.

He turns to Malorn, wanting to take his attention off the crowd. "Did you bring any gold?"

"I have a bit," Malorn answers, his eyes bouncing from price sheet to price sheet. His brow is knit with worry. "I don't think it'll be enough for anything though. You?"

Duncan shakes his head. He never carries money with him. He has to save it for when he needs it. Having but a single coin in his pocket is enough to make him itch with the need to spend.

"Hey Malorn! Duncan!" a voice suddenly calls out from the crowd, making the two stop and look around for whoever would be trying to get their attention. On their left, Ceren Nightchant is waving to them from his booth with a smile.

"Ceren!" Malorn shouts back. Not wanting to be left alone, Duncan drifts after him quietly, trying not to stare too menacingly at the Theurgist. Ceren is one of the only other wizards beyond the Death school that Duncan sort of likes, and that's certainly saying something.

"Didn't think I'd see you guys here," Ceren says as they approach. A sparkle of sympathy gleams in his eyes as he regards the Necromancers, a look that makes Duncan's heart burn with mild frustration. "Thought you'd be home or... something."

"We were studying in the library," Malorn informs him. His gaze drops to the baked goods between the two, and so does Duncan. Cupcakes are decorated with bright green swirls and white chocolate leaves. Cookies cut into the shape of the symbol of the Life school, lined with carefully piped frosting. He's even selling bags of peppermint bark!

"Oh, wow," Duncan mutters through his salivation.

Malorn can't seem to help but laugh. "It all smells so good."

"Thanks," Ceren replies somewhat sheepishly. "I spent all morning trying to get it all ready."

"All morning?"

"Yeah. It was pretty stressful."

Malorn raises an eyebrow questioningly, but the Theurgist doesn't elaborate further.

"Anyway," he says, pushing past the awkwardness. He gestures to each item on the table and rattles off their prices, "one bag is fifteen gold. Cookies and cupcakes are ten a piece; seven if you get two of one or one of each."

This makes Malorn finally rummage around in his pockets for whatever change he brought with him. Duncan's hunger grows by the second with the hope that Malorn will be kind enough, and have enough money, to buy literally anything and split it with him. He'd prefer the peppermint bark, but if he got a cookie he'd be happy with that, too.

Malorn counts his coins in his cupped hand silently, sliding them around with a thoughtful frown. His eyes stray back to the table for a moment, then he turns to Duncan.

"I've got twelve," he says.

A sad sigh escapes Duncan's mouth as his shoulders slump. "Alright..." He turns to the table to survey is remaining two options. The Life iconography would bother him more if his stomach wasn't demanding to be filled. But would he want a cookie, or would he rather take one of the fluffy cupcakes?

"Hey," Malorn says, slapping Duncan sharply on the back of his head, "I never said I was going to buy for you."

"What?!" Duncan exclaims.

"If you want something, you buy it yourself," his friend replies firmly. He sets seven coins down onto the table and selects two of the finest cookies from Ceren's booth. Then, to Duncan's surprise, he holds one of the cookies out to him and says, "You owe me seven gold tomorrow. Your lunch is collateral."

Duncan doesn't know if he should be upset or overjoyed, but he accepts the cookie nonetheless and begins to nibble on it. Seven gold shouldn't be much of an issue... so long as he doesn't forget to bring it.

"Thanks, Ceren," Malorn says, smiling once more.

"E-Enjoy the cookies," the Theurgist replies, bewildered. He takes Malorn's payment and drops the coins one by one into a glass jar hidden off to the side. Duncan does his best to ignore their soft plinks.

Walking off, Duncan lowers his cookie just long enough to mutter, "Thanks, Mal."

"Just want to remind you to bring your own funds next time," Malorn replies, now starting to dig into his own treat.

"Right..." Duncan returns to his nibbling, savoring each sugary crumb as much as he can. It reminds him so much of his mother, how sweet the house would smell each time she was able to bake something nice. And they'd sit around the fireplace, nibbling away at the treats and snuggling under the single blanket they owned, taken from the bed upstairs. And for that moment in time he could forget all the worries that plagued him, just like he is able to do now, able to enjoy this very simple thing to its fullest extent.

"Duncan?" Malorn asks, his voice cutting through his thoughts. Duncan's gaze returns to reality. His friend has finished his cookie, whereas he's only managed to get a quarter of the way through. They're standing near the entrance to the Shopping District, but Malorn's stopped walking. "I'm... going to go back to my dorm now."

"Oh," Duncan mutters. "See you tomorrow."

"Yep."

With slight hesitation, Malorn starts to walk back in the direction of the Baking Bash, back to Ravenwood. Alone, Duncan goes back to his cookie and takes his own leave.

This is the only reason why he likes Ceren.

#writing #wizard101 #duncan grimwater #malorn ashthorn #death dudes (tm)#short story #fanfic #headcanon #ceren nightchant #professor wu's baking bash #cookies #treats #honestly makes me hungry just writing this #i want to go make cookies now

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thelustdevil · 1 year ago

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Take this next bit of writing however you want. It’s mainly me rambling based on a mix of things I’m going through right now & the idea of grieving a significant other. This isn’t written in any universe but I did rewrite my original thoughts with the ability to imagine a chosen character as the POV.

When sudden tragedy strikes the small home you’ve built with your partner. They find struggling with your absence is never a linear process.

tw: grieving, death (no explicit description), depression, hopeful ending. Written from their POV.

I wake up in a cold sweat. Gasping for air as I frantically pat the space next to me before abruptly stopping. What am I looking for? You’re not there, not for a while now. I sigh as I run a hand over my face, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Time to wake up I suppose.

The floor is cold when I slide out of bed and stand. The ache in my muscles greeting me as I stretch. It fades as I walk, while the ache in my heart remains.

I’m missing the comfort of your energy. It’s painfully obvious at this point. The house is quiet, empty even, without you here. You were the warmth that kept it together. That kept me together.

Grabbing a single cup for coffee feels wrong now. Only making enough breakfast for one carries a weight I’m not fond of. Now it’s just Señor Mittens and I sitting at the kitchen island. Poking at our food because you’re not here laughing and telling stories as you relax after your graveyard shift.

Everything only felt right when it came to you.

You, you were the moon shining the way for all the other stars. The excitement you carried was infectious and the wisdom you shared was beyond your years. You carried the youngest and oldest soul I’d ever encountered. Every interaction I had with you left me with something new to cherish about that gorgeous, bright soul of yours.

Breakfast is left half eaten while I decide a shower is the new focus of this morning. It’s been longer than I want to admit and even Mittens is giving me a look at this point. He follows me to the bathroom, probably to make sure I actually go into the tub. I can’t find the effort to be offended by this helicopter cat behavior. You probably told him to. A small chuckle escapes at the thought before trailing off. The sound feels hollow in this moment, wrong even.

I can’t bring myself to look into the mirror while I undress. Letting my clothes fall to the ground before kicking them out of my way. The baggy shirt and boxers practically dwarf me when I wear them but it’s all I can bother to wear. You never cared what I wore. Even a paper sack would’ve made you holler about how cute I looked, how unbearably hot I was. And I started believing you.

Every insecurity died in the face of your unwavering support & confidence. Beyond looks and clothing even. You believed in me even when I didn’t myself. Every day was a new adventure, a new challenge for you, and you were always so ready to bring your loved ones along for the ride.

Turning on the water, I step into the hot shower before I decide to break down on the bathroom floor. It wouldn’t be the first or last time but I know I need this. You would have told me the same. The water is a heated distraction from the hurt I want to wallow in.

But you hated being sad or upset.

And I promised myself I would never not be grateful for being allowed to know you in this lifetime. To love you.

Every day, I loved you.

Every day, I still love you.

Every day, I will always love you.

The promises I made to you and myself in the dark hours of the night. Both before and… after. Quiet whispers against pillows that float into the starry sky, carried by a soft breeze that lingers against skin. You looked beautiful under the moonlight.

A choked sob tries to force its way out of my throat. I lean against the tile of the shower, letting my shoulders drop and the tears flow, mixing with the water from the shower head. There’s a dark feeling that rises when I think about you, how beautiful you are… were. Like it’s a crime, a betrayal, to take something so pretty away from the world. From me.

At this rate I’m going to ruin this whole shower idea. The soap and shampoo remain untouched and I’m unbothered by that fact. Choosing to focus on my emotions and grief.

And I know that, in my heart of hearts, you rest easy now. Peaceful and angelic as always. They’ve always said;“The prettiest flowers get picked first”. Which, I get it now. That corny line finally resonates. You were the most breathtaking creature I’d ever seen.

As I reluctantly reach for the soap I try comforting myself by telling myself that I know I’ll see you again one day sweet girl. That you haven’t left me. You linger in the scent of your body wash as I lather it along myself. In the memories of hearing you sing from the kitchen while I get ready for work and you get ready for bed. In the way Señor M meows when he hears his food can because you taught him to say please and thank you like a true gentleman.

God you were the definition of perfect. An angel on earth.

Shutting off the water, I step out and grab a towel. Throwing it around my waist and heading back towards my bedroom. Small paws patting as they follow me from the bathroom. Sitting on the side of our bed I stare at the closet door. Knowing your scent will pour out once I open it. I flick my eyes over the the dresser instead, knowing majority of my clothing lies in there. My stomach rolls as I think of reaching into my drawer, hand brushing the velvet box in the corner.

Which option will hurt less? Do I really have to put clothes on?

A meow pulls me from my thoughts and I sigh before tossing a look at the cat and standing. Drawers it is, at least my clothes just smell like me. I make a point to grab from the opposite side of the drawer. Small steps. Right? Whatever, it’s just a ring, I lie to myself.

As soon as the thought crosses my mind I throw it out. You mean more than that, you always have. If you heard me now you’d definitely give me shit for my attitude.

It’s definitely not just a ring. Not when it came to you. Months, years, went into this ring. I wanted to give you the perfect ring, something as unique and gorgeous as you. Something you could show off in your own little way.

By the time I’ve gotten dressed, I’ve made up my mind. I’m tossing a loving thought up to you as I grab the velvet box, my car keys and a one of the many collars you painstakingly picked out for Señor. He adored you just as much as I did & you took great pleasure spoiling him.

I decide to pay a visit to your parents too. And then the jewelers.

#tave time #dealing with grief #mha #bnha #JJK #Tokyo revengers #bakugo katsuki #bnha fanfic #angst comfort #hurt comfort #mha angst #bnha angst #JJK angst #getou suguru x reader #baka-tsuki n co (bnha)#pointy hat gang (jjk)#character death

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megaphonegirlk · 2 years ago

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If you're in the mood for an "essay": 💪! Maybe about you and Kotoko? :D

💪 Describe a theme or other element of the original source material that you feel is strengthened or reinforced by the presence of your ship.

One of the major themes of Ultra Despair Girls is the destructive weight of 'Talent'. People who are considered talented are exploited, hurt, abused, and destroyed by a system where only those who are 'special' succeed , and everyone else is nothing more than some drone.

Gifted Child Treatment x1000, combined with the legitimately horrible and abusive things people can do to try and force their children to be those special 'talented' . This is of course reflected in Hope's Peak, which is a criticism of both irl school and societal behavior, and in universe...a horrifying science experiment devouring children for it's own agenda. (The Izuru Kamukura Project and it's obsession with 'Hope' and superhuman talent).

Kotoko had been hurt more than most, like the rest of the Warriors of Hope, and treated horrifically by her mother from a young age. The Warriors of Hope are a product of the society Hope's Peak fostered, and you see constantly throughout how badly it effected each and every one of them. So they lash out against it, to try and bring it all down and take out the adults who've hurt them.

Meanwhile, Komaru (me :3) isn't talented. She's one of society's write offs. a 'thoroughly average' girl, who's personal desires, hobbies, and goals are all mocked throughout for being 'dull' 'average', 'normal'. Mocked for being scared of death, for liking manga or wanting to be an artist. She's not an adult, not yet, and not anyone Hope's Peak and Co see any worth or value in.

Someone who's brother was chosen at near random to 'ascend beyond' the '''average''' life society had given them. Who'd survived a deadly killing game. Who'd been placed (against his will) on a pedestal as an 'Ultimate Hope'.

Komaru feels lost and helpless in a world that considers her just another face. Kotoko is hurting and angry at a world that treated her with violence in the name of Talent.

When they find eachother, even on opposite sides of a conflict…Komaru feels an intense sympathy. In this ship, Komaru has heard everything that happened to Kotoko and her friends, and is horrified and desperate to help.

Kotoko especially, she feels a deep affection for, at first in a 'big sis Komaru' type way, with a growing romance from there. Komaru sees her as more than the talent horrible people foisted upon her, and Kotoko reminds Komaru that sometimes a little kindness and warmth is better than any label slapped on you from some stupid school or job.

Together, they find that middle ground between Hope and Despair. Talent isn't everything, and you are more than what exploitative bastards say you are. They're their own people, and they have love. affection for eachother, and with the Warriors of Hope, the Towa Trio (Toko, Komaru, Byakuya), and beyond.

I just think it really drives home that central theme that Talent isn't everything, and people can slowly heal from adversity with the support of someone who cares and understands.

#🌟🌺#ask answers #danganronpa meta #hopes peak academy #kotoko x komaru #komaru x kotoko #komaru naegi x kotoko utsugi #kotoko utsugi x komaru naegi #komasugi

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dramavixen · 2 years ago

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dramavixen reviews – curtain call (south korea, 2022)

If you even slightly adore Kang Ha-neul and/or Ha Ji-won, run away from this show like you're a gazelle being hunted by a lion on a desert plain. They don't deserve the horrors of this show being pinned on them, just like you don't deserve the horrors of watching it.

***This review contains spoilers.***

There's something heart-racing about starting a show that you've seen few people talk about. Is it a dark horse? Or is it just so subpar that it's sunk into obscurity before most viewers even know its name?

The second one. It's the second one.

Curtain Call opens with the introduction of Grandma Ja Geum-soon (Go Doo-shim) in a sepia flashback of her younger self (played by Ha Ji-won). When the Korean War descended upon the peninsula over 70 years ago, she fled to present-day South Korea. Her husband and infant son were left behind in the chaos. She manages by herself for a while, looking out to the sea for a ship that will bring her husband and son back to her—a ship that never comes. She eventually remarries and has another son and three grandchildren, in the meantime building a hotel empire with her bare hands.

In 2000, she meets her adult North Korean son and his child, a young grandson, at a government-hosted reunion. In spite of the grandma-grandson pair vowing that they will meet again, that promise enters an indefinite lull with the death of her son and the subsequent loss of communications with her grandson.

Fast-forwarding to present-day: Grandma is old and sick, and her right-hand man Mr. Jung (Sung Dong-il) decides that he wants to grant her happiness before she dies. He's had a PI searching for her North Korean grandson in order to bring him to the south and fulfill their promised reunion. The investigation bears fruit, but a rotten one—grandson Ri Moon-sung (Noh Sang-hyun) has grown up into a cold, violent smuggler who bounces between North Korea and China, a fate that Mr. Jung firmly believes will upset Grandma and send her to an early grave.

So he does what anyone with a functioning brain cell would do, which is craft up a massive con that involves hiring no-name actor Yoo Jae-heon (Kang Ha-neul) to act as the North Korean grandson—a morally angelic version—until Grandma ascends to heaven. That's right. We are going to scam a 92-year-old woman. I should've known in that moment that it couldn't end well.

You'd really hope that in spite of the enormity of this lie, there's enough room for found-family-style warmth. After all, such is the selling point of the entire drama. Couldn't Jae-heon gradually grow to truly love Grandma as she fills the void left by the mother who abandoned him? Can't it be a tale of mutual healing between two individuals whose loneliness cannot be understood by others?

Nope. I could count the number of times the two interact one-on-one on my ten fingers, though I would prefer not to put myself through the pain of recounting this show's events in such detail. Grandma basically has the presence of a supporting character as everyone else around her busies themselves with tricking her, which really shouldn't be all that difficult since no one cares enough to check on her in the first place. The writer is too busy focusing on fake grandson over here and his supposed blooming romance with his "cousin," Park Se-yeon (Ha Ji-won), a romance which is beyond terrible, by the way. Sorry that I'm not so open-minded that I'm into watching cousins date, even if they're not actually related. (Wait until the day I tackle a review for Autumn in My Heart. Then we'll really be in for a ride.)

Except for Grandma and her real grandson, every character in this show is a villain. The main frustration is how they're presented as if they aren't villains. Her entire family masquerades around, pretending to rule over a moral high ground as they lie to her over and over again with the excuse that they don't want her to die. Guys, I don't know how to break it to you, but she's going to die. They act surprised about it even though everyone is informed of this in the very beginning and even though it's supposed to be the reason everyone ends up going along with the fake grandson shtick in the first place.

When grandson Moon-sung himself reaches South Korea in search of Grandma, absolutely no one even considers telling Grandma. They instead enter a panic, fearing the consequences of their act being unveiled, and discuss how to prevent the two from meeting.

Imagine the malice that exists in these people. Grandma is dying. Grandma's last possible way of making amends with a past that caused her and her North Korean family extreme suffering is by connecting with the grandson she met once, two decades ago. Yet, even when every single person knows that that grandson is now here, no one argues that they deserve the time to reconnect. Instead they tell Moon-sung that he should go back. Let me reiterate that in case anyone thinks I'm exaggerating the severity of these people's cruelty: they want the guy who's from North Korea to go back so that he can't meet his grandma because he's messing up their plans.

Grandma and Moon-sung are robbed of their potential time together by a "family" that dares to claim that they're doing so for Grandma's sake. Jae-heon steals every single remedial moment that's meant for Moon-sung, a man who has spent his entire life harboring hatred for a grandma he used to adore because that's the only way he can reconcile himself to the unfairness of his life. And none of that lost time is made up for, because how could it be when Grandma's health is declining so fast and everyone's tricking her? How absolutely, disgustingly insulting and heartbreaking. Everyone's selfishness is physically revolting, especially as episodes drag on and nobody shows intentions of telling Grandma the truth.

Ultimately, even though it tries to shove the beauty of such a horrific white lie down your throat, Curtain Call never convinces me that anyone is acting out of love for Grandma. All they really care about is keeping her favor so that she'll return their affection in the form of a shiny inheritance and/or more control over Grandma's hotel empire. Yeah, in the end, I guess stereotypical rich people will still act like stereotypical rich people.

I might not have cared that much about the endless lies if there existed any effort to make it seem like Grandma and her fake grandson formed a real bond. Instead, Jae-heon is the worst fake grandson ever. All attempts to create an emotional connection exist only on a superficial level, a classic case of a drama telling you that they love and appreciate one another instead of showing you. Just look at this man: he gets to the house and loiters around for a couple days, then abruptly decides to go on vacation with his fake wife for a whole week. Without Grandma. I just...I...what is the point of paying him a fortune to make Grandma happy if he won't even spend time with Grandma????? Is no one else witnessing this absurdity? Even if you're ignoring the moral pitfalls of it, you can't brush aside that he's a slacking employee.

The whole setup doesn't allow you to sympathize with any of the main characters. Had the scam been constructed because Mr. Jung's search for Moon-sung came up empty, then whatever. A fake grandson might turn out to be better than none, especially since they're on a timeline, and then when real Moon-sung appears and chaos ensues, that's understandable. But knowing that Moon-sung is alive, knowing who he is, what he looks like, where he is, and still deciding to replace him? The nerve of some people.

Returning to Mr. Jung's excuse, which is, oh, Moon-sung is an awful person that would make Grandma sad. Moon-sung is an "awful" person because: his father essentially raised him as a single parent after the death of Moon-sung's mother. Moon-sung's father then dies from illness, in both emotional and physical agony as he recalls the absence of Grandma in his life from circumstances that were not their fault. Moon-sung gets married and his wife, too, falls ill and needs an organ transplant. No one's trying to excuse his methods, but is it truly "wrong" that he resorts to violence and crime for money when he's desperate to save the last living person whom he loves?

Not to mention, when he finds Grandma himself and talks to her, he could choose to reveal his identity. But he doesn't, because it breaks him that Grandma is ecstatic and relieved to discover that her "grandson" remained happy and pure in spite of growing up in North Korea; and he knows that he isn't either of those things. Wow, what a monster. Granted, no one else knows about this encounter, so fine, let's just have a spoon of dramatic irony.

But my greatest qualm is that it doesn't matter what type of person he is. Grandma not only has the right to know, she must know. Of course she hopes that he grew up healthy and happy. But what are the chances of that? It's not like Grandma isn't aware of the consequences of the Korean War...you know, the one she personally escaped from all those years ago. How is it possible that she isn't mentally prepared to learn that her grandson had a hard life? The point of family is to accompany one another in times of hardship. In what world should anyone else, be it other family or total strangers, have the audacity to deny her of that knowledge and supersede her need to meet her own grandson?

Regardless of the acting, few things about Curtain Call feel redeeming when the characters and story lack the moral and ethical standard necessary to satisfy viewers. You just can't bring yourself to sympathize with anyone except for Grandma and Moon-sung. Here's a list of everyone that you'll learn to hate:

Grandma's first husband, the one that gets stuck in North Korea. I don't care how nice he is, this guy is an S-class dumbass. He misses the boat to flee because he's busy saving someone else's kid while holding his own infant. He can't try to hand his baby off to his wife who's already on the damn boat before helping a stranger's child? Hey, genius. Self-sacrifice and altruism aren't so cool when you're dragging your kid into the fire pit with you.

Mr. Jung. A hypocrite of a douchebag who was rescued from a deadly gangster lifestyle by Grandma and then decides to repay her by preventing her from meeting her gangster grandson because said grandson is a gangster.

Jae-heon. The dude spends all his time trying to get close to his "cousin" because she's pretty and only shallowly interacts with Grandma every so often to make sure he gets his paycheck. He then wallows in the whole tragic male lead backstory of being abandoned at an amusement park as if I can't feel bad for someone and despise them at the same time.

Se-yeon. When she learns that Jae-heon is a sham, she goes along with the lie because she thinks it's what's best for Grandma. Understandable, since she doesn't know the real Moon-sung has already been found. Nope, she learns that and is instantly like "no, we can't let her meet him." Because her hotel shares! Her hotel position! What a conniving, two-faced...

Seo Yoon-hee (Jung Ji-so). Jae-heon's partner-in-crime who plays his "wife" in the scam. She, for some reason, thinks that this is a worthwhile thing mainly because she likes Jae-heon, which is really the only evidence you need to predict that a woman did not write this show.

Bae Dong-je (Kwon Sang-woo). This man results from a writer's boss telling them that they need a second male lead even though they really don't need one. He chases Se-yeon around, insisting that she marry him because he's rich and is so obnoxious about it that I spent every moment of seeing his face just begging her to agree so that she could slowly poison him to death and take his money just to shut him up permanently.

Park Se-joon (Ji Seung-hyun). I don't know what he wants half the time. He plots to take down the hotel because reasons, so it follows that he hates his sister who doesn't want to take down the hotel, because reasons. He also has zero functioning logic cells and spends several episodes threatening to reveal that Moon-sung is Grandma's real grandson, but never does because reasons.

Park Se-kyu (Choi Dae-hoon). The exception to the rule: the only bearable character because his main goal is to stay stupid and lazy while everyone else around him succumbs to total lunacy. Can you blame him?

Long story short, this drama is on the opposite side of heartwarming and I learned that grandkids will treat you like an old bag of garbage while keeping you alive because they want your money.

I would recommend this to: people who are so desperate to feel alive that they're willing to subject themselves to hours of rage if that's what it takes

#curtain call #kbs curtain call #*#scribbles*#my mission is to save even one kang ha neul fan from this fate of sustaining themselves through a ??? show just for him #one of these days i'll get back to writing long-format essay-style reviews of shows i actually enjoyed #this is a uh 2023 new years resolution #it'll happen i swear!!

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stomart · 4 months ago

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The Unwavering Loyalty of Dogs: A Tale of Man’s Best Friend

Dogs have been by our side for thousands of years, evolving from wild wolves to our closest companions. Their journey from the wild to the warmth of our homes is a story of unwavering loyalty, unmatched affection, and remarkable intelligence. As we dive into the enchanting world of dogs, we uncover why these four-legged friends have earned the title of "man's best friend."

A History of Companionship

The bond between humans and dogs is ancient. Archaeological evidence suggests that dogs were domesticated over 14,000 years ago. This bond likely began with wolves, who scavenged near human campsites. Over time, the tamest wolves formed symbiotic relationships with humans, providing protection and aiding in hunting. Humans would soon begin to train these domesticated animals as dogs, who would later become man’s best friend in the animal kingdom. These early interactions laid the foundation for the deep connection we share with dogs today.

Loyalty Beyond Measure

One of the most celebrated traits of dogs is their loyalty. Stories of dogs displaying unwavering devotion to their owners abound across cultures and history. One such tale is that of Hachiko, an Akita dog in Japan who waited at a train station every day for nearly ten years after his owner's death. Hachiko's story is a testament to the profound loyalty dogs are capable of, earning him a bronze statue at Shibuya Station in Tokyo, a symbol of enduring faithfulness.

The Science of Affection

The love we feel from our dogs is more than just a warm, fuzzy feeling; it’s rooted in science. Studies have shown that when dogs and their owners interact, both experience an increase in oxytocin, the "love hormone." This mutual boost in oxytocin strengthens the bond between dog and owner, promoting feelings of happiness and well-being. It's no wonder that spending time with our furry friends can reduce stress, lower blood pressure, and even improve heart health.

Intelligence and Communication

Dogs are incredibly intelligent creatures, capable of understanding and responding to human emotions and commands. Their ability to read our facial expressions, body language, and vocal tones allows them to communicate with us in ways that few other animals can. This keen sense of empathy makes dogs exceptional companions, particularly for individuals with disabilities or mental health conditions. Service dogs, for example, are trained to perform tasks that assist their owners, from guiding the visually impaired to providing emotional support for those with PTSD.

Heroes in Fur Coats

Beyond companionship, dogs have proven themselves as heroes in various fields. From search and rescue missions to bomb detection, their keen senses and trainability make them invaluable assets. During the 9/11 attacks, search and rescue dogs worked tirelessly alongside first responders, locating survivors and offering comfort amidst the chaos. Military working dogs have also played crucial roles in conflicts, using their sharp noses to detect explosives and ensure the safety of their human counterparts.

A Friend for All Ages

Dogs have an extraordinary ability to connect with people of all ages. For children, they offer lessons in responsibility and empathy, and provide a source of joy and comfort. For the elderly, dogs offer companionship and a sense of purpose, often becoming their most trusted friend. Therapy dogs regularly visit hospitals and nursing homes, bringing smiles and a sense of normalcy to those facing difficult times.

The Future of Our Bond

As we look to the future, the bond between humans and dogs shows no signs of weakening. Advances in technology and science continue to deepen our understanding of these remarkable animals. Dogs have recently appreciated new gadgets likes led lights dog leash and other technological products the world has introduced to them. Studies into canine cognition and behaviour are unlocking new ways to train and care for our furry friends, ensuring they lead happy and fulfilling lives.

In conclusion, the story of dogs is one of loyalty, love, and unparalleled companionship. They have been our protectors, helpers, and friends for millennia, and their unwavering devotion has earned them a permanent place in our hearts. As we continue to share our lives with these incredible creatures, we are reminded of the simple yet profound joy they bring, proving time and again why dogs truly are man's best friend.

#training dogs

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nolaraised · 8 months ago

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URL : heartbare

SIRE-BOND OR NOT, HOPE MIKAELSON HAS ALWAYS HAD A WAY OF BRINGING HIM BACK TO EARTH. The overwhelming noise and bustle seems to fade in her presence, like they were never even there. His world narrowing down to breaths in sync, the sound of her heartbeat reverbating through his skull.

“No, it’s you. It’s ALWAYS been you.” Ever since he was a little boy, laying eyes on the amazing marvel that is, and always has been, Hope Mikaelson, Henry’s loved her in a way that surpasses all known language, all known thoughts. Just a deep understanding that he would do anything his Hope asked him to do, would lay his life down for hers without a second thought. (She didn’t need a sirebond to order him about, he would follow her into hell and beyond without complaint.)

“As your future husband, it’s my job to remind you that THIS WASN’T YOUR FAULT. It was my choice to turn, my choice not to speak up. You are not responsible for being manipulated, Hope.” Roman Sienna better hope he never sets foot on the same continent as Henry again or he’ll TEAR HIM APART.

He rises to bridge the gap between, arm curling to support her back as a hand reaches up, entangling in the soft locks of her hair. He leans into the touch, turning just enough to place a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist, grey eyes meeting blue. “ And i love you, Hope. I always have, and I always will.”

He mentions being her future husband and it reminds her that she could have taken her own children away. If she STOPPED to think about it for more than three seconds there would be options running in her mind. I gave him EVERYTHING that mattered to me. His hands on her arm as she cried for her mama the days leading up to her death would HAUNT her still.

Her future is now in her control and Hope knows that she will marry this man and give him EVERYTHING that he wants. Marry me. Hope thought as his love and admiration washes over her in waves. The soft kiss to her wrists, his warmth and it is easy to get lulled into comfort. She should be comforting him in the fact his life had gotten harder but she can’t. ❝ I should have KNOWN that he was… ❞ a beat given as she swallows down emotion. I could have had you a lot sooner. ❝ Did you even think about it before asking me? ❞ Hope swallows hard waiting the answer. Did you THINK about what this meant? Being a hybrid was a target on his back and hers. It was a dangerous game and she doesn’t care because it meant she was his and he was hers. Sometimes, she hates this because he was not HIMSELF.

HE LOVES HER SO MUCH HIS HEART ACHES WITH IT. His beautiful girl with her blue eyes and kind heart, always worrying about everyone else but herself. (And hadn't that been exactly what Elijah Mikaelson preached? The salvation of her father's soul and the weight of the world on her shoulders.)

"You cant know everything, Hope. He was a damn good liar. It was never your responsibility to protect yourself from him. Dr saltzman should've done his research and NEVER let him in In the first place, let alone anywhere near you." Roman sienna used her and broke her trust in the worst way possible. Saw her as an abomination to be prevented instead of the little girl who healed butterflies just because she could. (Who saw a little boy grieving his mama and knew he needed a friend, even when she had every right not to give a damn.)

"I thought so, before. But.." no amount of mulling it over and considering all the consequences could've prevented him from the reality of what was coming for them, the storm brewing at home, needing only the smallest of nudges to break loose. Even if he had managed to stay in control amidst the overwhelming sounds and sensations, kept it together against the hunger and rage boiling beneath, his very existence was all they needed to point fingers, to justify their needless hatred and gather the vampires against a common enemy.

"I didn't think it would lead to this."

#i'm going to jump and grow wings on the way down「Henry B. / ic」#& hope mikaelson / hcpemikaelscn #//this isnt getting cut bc its from an older blog #//damn i was actually Good at writing back then sdhjd]

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keepsdeathhiscourt · 9 months ago

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Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Story Summary: It's been ten years since Lucie LeMarche last set foot in New Orleans. But when she's forced to return to bury the woman who raised her, she finds herself pulled into the midst of rising supernatural tensions in the city. Entangled in a web of intrigue and seeking answers, Lucie must learn to navigate a powder keg of warring factions, family secrets, and old wounds if she hopes to survive.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Language, Death, Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Family Drama, Gore, Depictions of Violence, Death

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Chapter 6: Remembrance

Any vestiges of vitality she has left follow Elijah out the front door. Lucie leans into the wall to support her wobbling legs and regrets it. Her gashed shoulder throbs, reminding the rest of her body that it's been running on fumes for hours.

Beyond the brick wall of exhaustion, she can glimpse the mounting pile of concerns waiting for her. But there is no room to reflect, not tonight. She's pushed herself far beyond her limit in every sense. Her body aches and her courage trickles away. Calling on a shallow reserve of magic that's laid dormant for years leaves her feeling drained and hollow. All are worthy of consideration, but Lucie can't form a coherent thought beyond an all-consuming desire to sleep.

She makes it as far as the living room, only taking time to check the locks, flip the lights, and kick off her muddy boots before dropping face-first onto the couch. Any worries she might have are forgotten the second she hits the cushions. Sleep takes her as soon as she shuts her eyes and she falls into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

When she wakes sometime in the late morning, it's to a different world. The storm passes sometimes in the night, yielding to a golden morning. Light streams through the gaps in the linen curtains, bright strands that settle over her closed lids, coaxing her into full wakefulness.

She rises with a groan, limbs stiff. Her arms reach above her, fingers wiggling away any numbness as her eyes flutter open with some reluctance.

Motes of dust dance in her field of view. She yawns, savoring the warmth of the morning sunlight on her skin. It's always been her favorite time of day, those peaceful, sleepy hours when everything seems to still be coming back to life.

There's a brief, perfect moment that often comes after a deep sleep, when there are no memories or worries, no thoughts beyond I am alive and I am awake. Lucie revels in it while it lasts.

In the blink of an eye, it fades and reality seeps in at the edges. Her stomach turns as it all returns to her in a rush. Each recollection is more troubling than the last, crystal clear in the light of day. The attack by the river, the Original vampire that had saved her, that she had invited in, berated, and then all but shoved out the front door.

Your smart mouth will bring you nothing but trouble, Violette’s voice sounds in her head, clear as if she were sitting on the couch beside her. Stern words that had been delivered with little bite to a little girl with a penchant for talking back. She doubts even her great-aunt could have foreseen the mess she's dug herself into now.

Grief flares, cutting through the anxiety. A terrible ache settles as the full truth of where she is sinks in.

The walls of the living room close in on her, alternating vertical stripes of soft yellows that only amplify the sunny feel. Her eyes drift to the dark wood of the fireplace, a permanent fixture from when this place was built sometime in the 1870s. A thick layer of dust covers the mantle as well as the framed photos resting there.

She pretends not to see them, every inch of her bruised body crying in protest as she rises to her feet and heads out into the main hall.

The door across the narrow width of the hall is cracked open just enough for a glimpse of the rich, patterned rug inside. Violette’s room is the closest to the front door, perfectly positioned as a last obstacle for teenagers trying to sneak out —or in. The smell of cloves and jasmine lingers around the doorframe, haunting the threshold of the room where her aunt had once slept — the room where she died.

She doesn't linger. Her feet still remember the best path for avoiding the creakiest floorboards, a testament to years of rebellion.

Two more rooms branch off from the same side of the hallways following Violette’s. The next one, settled in the middle, is closed. There’s a resolve to the barred passage, a divider between the present and the painful memories on the other side.

She slips past it, not realizing she's holding her breath until it's behind her.

At the end of the hall is a final bedroom, directly across from the kitchen. Unlike the others, this door is flung open wide. She can't help but look inside.

Her breath catches and she falters, hand wrapping around the doorframe for support. The first thing she sees is sage green walls, haphazardly plastered in band posters and album inserts, all relics of the interests of an adolescent girl. The twin bed sits in the middle of the little room, splitting it in two. The dark gray coverlet is neatly pressed, not a wrinkle to be found as Lucie ventures in and runs a hand over the fabric. The headboard is ancient, made of curved wood. It’s part of a matching set alongside the nightstand and a long dresser.

The chest of drawers is covered with small stacks of books, an anthology of a college freshman’s curriculum. An attached mirror rests above, serving as both a jewelry hanger and photo album, polaroid prints tucked into the edges.

And there, set in the middle is a music box, a delicate construction of carved wood and hand painted. Lucie takes hold of it with shaking hands, sinking down onto the bed as she winds it up.

The high, clanking notes fill the room, only slightly off-key from years of disuse.

It's as if she's traveled in time, each and every aspect of her childhood bedroom exactly as she remembers. She'd assumed that Violette emptied it, repurposing the space and striking the memory of her wayward girl from the record.

But she hadn't. The room stands as a shrine to a willful girl who hadn't appreciated what she had, who had done something wrong and ran far, far away. Not a single speck of dust can be found.

The first sob that breaks free is small and tearless, a decibel above a whimper. The next is bigger, constricting in her chest. She braces for tears, longs for the catharsis they'll bring. But they don't come, trapped in the cage of her ribs, buried somewhere beneath all the aching.

The music stops. She clutches the box to her chest and waits for the pain to pass.

In the days that follow, Lucie spends more time than she'd like to admit looking over her shoulder. For more nightwalkers seeking to whisk her away, for Marcel to descend upon the Garden District to punish her for using magic. Even for Klaus to appear in all his fury and rip her heart from her chest. But somehow, in all her paranoia she never thinks to keep an eye out for a threat dressed up in a suit.

She follows his advice, checking out of her hotel early and keeping her head down. The morning after their argument, her bags appear on her porch, contents all accounted for and neatly packed. She tips the delivery man, who can't quite seem to recall who had hired him, returning to his van slightly stupefied.

And she watches as he pulls away and, clutching the mug of coffee, in her hands, she feels the beginnings of regret.

She's still angry at Elijah and it's mostly justified. His judgment and his attempt to drag her headlong into problems she wants nothing to do with fester like a sore tooth. And can't leave it alone, leaving the wound red and raw. But as she returns to the kitchen and spots the borrowed suit jacket draped over the back of a chair, she concedes that she'd allowed her emotions to run away with her and maybe —just maybe— he hadn't deserved all of her ire.

A day passes and then two. The initial shock fades and reality takes its place. She finds herself with long stretches of free time and nothing to do but think.

Someone had enlisted those vampires to take her, someone connected neither to the Original faction nor Marcel—

Marcel. Another sword hanging above her head. She waits with bated breath for his men to beat down her door or corner her in the neglected back garden and enact his retribution. But it never comes.

She spends much of the time within the confines of the house, amongst dusty photographs and empty furniture. Occasionally, she makes it out onto the back patio to observe the comings and goings of life in the back garden -if it can even be called that. The arched trellis entrance, once verdant with bright, climbing ivy is a sad cluster of dry, dead vines framing the graveyard of neglected plants. Long rows of overgrown shrubbery border the narrow pathway, the flagstones covered over by dirt, as it meanders around patches of struggling stems and shriveled blooms. The flowers that used to fill the air with sweet perfume are now dormant and sickly. She wonders how long it’s been since anything bloomed here. Even the birdbath at the center is devoid of life, its visitors long gone in search of more pleasant places to pass the time.

Lucie feels a flicker of regret. This place had been Violette’s dominion, more so than any other aspect of the house. She’d attended to each fixture with a devotion that bordered on obsessive. A stooped figure in a broad sunhat, she would spend hours out here, pulling weeds and whispering encouragement with the same sternness she used to rear the children. And the plants responded, thriving under her steady hand. It had been the beating heart of the LeMarche residence. Now it lies in a state of decline brought about by years of arthritis flare-ups and summer illness. She stays outside, even after the discomfort becomes heavy, forcing herself to take it in. Only when she can’t bear it another moment does she retreat back into the shady refuge of the kitchen.

The Lower Garden District remains quiet and her unease slowly settles into a desperate need to see something other than the inside of this graveyard of memories, to hear a voice that isn't her own.

She ventures out if only to prove to herself that Elijah isn't right, that she isn't hiding. At first, it's only to the coffee shop at the end of the block, then further out to the shopping district to window-shop and get some sun.

She would be more afraid if her stay here wasn't about to end.

In two days she’ll be gone. The chaos of New Orleans fading in the rearview, easily forgotten in the shuffle of routine. She isn't exactly looking forward to long shifts and tv dinners, but she's carved out a semblance of a life for herself in the Southwest. A shabby haven free of magic and vampires and secrets.

Her outings beyond the old house pass without incident. She tests her luck by making her way to the French Quarter, enjoying the fresh air from the St. Charles Streetcar.

In the coffee shop on Conti where they'd agreed to meet, she finds Cami with her nose tucked in the pages of a backbreaking psychology book. She doesn't notice her until Lucie slips into the seat across from her.

Her face lights up with a smile.

“Hey!” She tucks a bookmark between the pages before closing the volume. “Good to see you.”

“Hi,” she smiles back, settling in. “Thanks for meeting me here.”

“No need to thank me. I'm surprised you called. I wasn't really sure if I'd hear from you.”

Lucie feels a twinge of guilt. She'd left Rousseau's on her first day in town with Cami’s number and the intention of meeting up but the exchange had been forgotten in the chaos of the last days.

It doesn't last long. Cami is friendly and easy to talk to, and before long the conversation finds a rhythm. An hour passes, discussing shared teenage hangouts around the city and exchanging memories ranging from sweet to embarrassing.

“Are you sure you don't want to hang around for a few days?” Cami asks her after an hour passes. “I'm off this weekend and we can find something fun to get into.”

Her expression is earnest and so without guile that for the first time, Lucie feels a flicker of regret over her impending departure, enough for her to hesitate before saying, “My boss is already pissed at me for being away this long…”

“All the more reason to blow off steam before going back,” Cami replies without missing a beat. “If not the weekend, then just one more night. You know you want to.”

There's no real pressure behind the sing-song suggestion. Cami doesn't strike her as the type.

She is in the process of voicing a denial when a figure sidles up at the end of their table, too close to be passing by.

Lucie stills like a rabbit caught in the open, but Marcel only has eyes for Cami.

“Well, well. Fancy seeing you here,” he drawls with a smirk. “I was beginning to think you were a permanent fixture over at Rousseau's.”

“This coming from a man who spends most of his time in the bar,” Cami rolls her eyes, offset by a good-natured sparkle in her eyes. “Unlike you, I have hobbies beyond drinking and bothering innocent bartenders.”

“Like?” His almond eyes glitter flirtatiously.

“Like spending time with friends. Something that you're currently interrupting, I might add.”

His eyes slip from her face and fix on Lucie, truly seeing her for the first time.

Goosebumps prick her skin, muscle tensing on instinct. He won't make a scene here –will he?

She's ready to spring from her seat when he says, “Hey there Lucie. You sure have a habit of popping up all over the Quarter, don't you?”

His tone is friendly, she scans his dark eyes for any flicker of recognition, any indication of threat. She finds none.

“You two know each other?”

The two supernatural beings eye one another, waiting for the other to speak.

“Oh me and Lucie's family go way back,” Marcel says, breaking the silence. “Been a while though.”

Cami looks to her to confirm and Lucie nods.

“Feel free to join us then, if you two want to catch up.”

“No, it's all good,” he says with a casual wave. “I'm passing through to meet a friend too. Just saw an innocent bartender to bother and couldn't resist.”

There’s a little ‘hmmph’ from Cami’s end of the table. His smile broadens as he says his goodbyes to the bartender. Then he turns to Lucie. They lock eyes.

“It was good to see you too, Lucie,” he says without a particular inflection. “Maybe we’ll see each other around.

She seizes the second before he turns to retreat to search his eyes, scanning them for any sort of indication of double meaning. But his dark eyes are soft and she can’t catch a hint of malice. Either he has no idea or he's a damned good actor. She knows Marcel can lie with the best of them, but something tells her that he’s not playing a part.

Could it be possible he really doesn't know?

____

Elijah’s phone is never far from his person as he waits for word from Niklaus. All the while, he does his best to keep himself busy, fills the time attending to other matters and for the most part, it’s effective. There’s enough on his plate —though none are quite as pressing as Niklaus holding up their carefully brokered bargain with Marcel.

He's done all he can on that front. Now it's up to Niklaus to handle the rest. It's an unsettling notion, one that forms a stubborn knot in his gut that won't leave no matter his level of distraction, but overthinking will accomplish nothing. All he can do now is trust his brother will do his part and hope that his temper won't get in the way.

The screen lights up as he checks his phone once more. Finding no new notifications, he sets about occupying his mind with something else. The bookshelves that occupy three of the four walls from floor to ceiling provide a worthy diversion as he sets about exploring their contents with an air of determination.

The encounter with the LeMarche girl had been disappointing, to say the least. He had not expected her to embrace an alliance with enthusiasm and had prepared himself for some level of hesitance, but an outright refusal was not something he had planned for. Perhaps it was his fault for not conveying the gravity of their situation, for not fully highlighting what was at stake. Or maybe, presented with the broader picture, he had neatly filled in the lines of how the encounter might go and overlooked that which did not fit.

And had he not allowed his own hopes to cloud his judgment, he would have seen the signs clear as day. She had been frightened and disoriented at times, but surprisingly steady for someone who had just lived through what she had. And while she had been reserved, she did not shy away from answering his questions or from posing her own, following the lines of logic with a sharp astuteness. A ll of it pointed to a steelier resolve and a shrewder mind than he had initially believed. These characteristics he had missed and then in his anger, he had pushed her and found himself met with a blazing defiance.

Elijah flips through a hand-bound journal, perusing the contents before placing it back on a high shelf.

He had underestimated the girl. It is not a mistake he will make twice. He only hopes she survives long enough for them to find a way forward.

In the meanwhile, he commits himself to discovering the meaning behind the lead she had given them in a reluctant show of gratitude.

And so he settles in the leather armchair near the empty fireplace, a glass of bourbon in hand, and begins to read. He's pulled an impressive number of materials from the shelves, ranging from dense, leather-bound grimoires to handwritten manuscripts - the byproducts of six lifetimes of careful collection. Anything that might possibly yield information of a Harvest Ritual he had tugged from its place and added to the piles steadily collecting around him.

The first hour yields little success. A folio on the heightened magical properties of plants harvested at the autumnal equinox. A waterlogged grimoire rendered nearly illegible with a smeared depiction of a snake swallowing its own tail. Each is interesting and valuable in its own right, but utterly irrelevant to his current purpose.

That is until he reaches the journal at the bottom of the second pile. The cracked leather is soft beneath his fingers, a rich, earthy red. His body responds to it before his head can catch up, his heart lurching painfully before he realizes what he's holding. It's enough to give him pause, to debate whether or not he should leave this one be. Celeste’s journal had been one of the few possessions that had survived the mob, Elijah had taken it into his own keeping as a memory, a warning.

Chasing away old ghosts, he cracks it open. A sprig of lavender slips from the pages and lands in his lap. He plucks it up, setting it delicately on the end table, and reads. The intimate details of her day-to-day life are interspersed with diagrams, the specifics of spells, and celestial movements. A star chart draws his particular attention, fingers grazing over the elegant lines of her handwriting. It reveals to him the workings of a planetary alignment that happens once every three hundred years. Under a sketch of a constellation, the word ‘harvest’ is written beneath one end and ‘reaping’ at the other. His breath catches. There's nothing on the next page or the one after that. The journal ends, punctuating Celeste’s life.

Groaning furniture echoes, breaking the spell. He leaves the book on the table and follows the sounds of coughing into the main hall, digesting the information.

Hayley Marshall stands in the middle of the salon, barefoot amidst heaps of covered furniture and piled storage. The edges of a tarp knotted in her hand, she inspects an antique crib, a holdover from when the governor had owned the place. Dust scatters in all directions, settling in a haze across the surfaces in the interior of the grand plantation home.

The girl coughs again, hand drifting up to cover her mouth.

“Are you alright?” Had he known she was of a mind of unpacking, he might have offered his help. Or at least suggested she wear shoes. The floor is dirty, unfinished and home to errant nails.

“Just dust,” she replies, voice a little hoarse. “This place is ancient.”

It prompts him to look around, taking in the columns and fine white moulding of a place that he once called home.

“Yes, it should serve our purposes. It's a sanctuary from our business in the Quarter.” There’s a detachment between the life lived here before and the present situation, like an opaque veil dividing them. It unsettles him in a way he does not expect. Thus, like Elijah is prone to do when faced with the discomfort of his own emotions, he turns all his attention to someone else. “Right now, you are the most important person in this family. You need a good home. So I'm curious... in all this time, has anyone asked you how you feel?”

She cocks an eyebrow at him, hazel eyes glinting with sarcasm. “About having a miracle baby with a psychotic one-night-stand?”

“About being a mother.”

Her expression softens, vulnerable as she wraps her arms over her stomach. “I – I was abandoned when I was born and my adoptive parents kicked me out the second that I turned into a wolf,” she says, softly. She pulls away from his stare to look up at a point on the far wall. “So... I don't really know how I feel about being a mother because I... I never really had a good one.”

It impacts him more than he expects, this revelation. And he feels for the girl. To be thrust from a life of self-reliance and rejection only to have all autonomy stripped away —dragged into the center of a supernatural conflict that began years before her birth— it must be harrowing.

“This family will always protect you,” he says. “You have my word on that.”

It surprises him, the force of truth backing the vow as well as a surge of protectiveness. She reminds him of Rebekah sometimes —or rather how Rebekah had been as a human. Something in her movements every now and then when she tosses her head a certain way or makes a specific gesture.

But as they grow to know each other, he's reminded more and more of Niklaus too. She's only a little younger than his brother had been when they were turned. And there's a harshness to her, a defensiveness used to protect the sensitive nature beneath — a fierce, burning desire for love and acceptance. He's beginning to understand how the werewolf girl and his volatile brother had been drawn into each other’s orbits.

“And noble Elijah always keeps his word.” Klaus saunters in, as if summoned by Elijah’s thoughts.

He elects to ignore the jab. Conflict with his brother often tends to escalate. “Is it done?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Your underhanded deal worked quite well. Marcel was only too happy to accept my blood even as he accepted my heartfelt apologies. His man, Thierry, yet lives, and I remain a welcome guest in the French Quarter.” Elijah breathes a sigh of relief. “My only concern now is this coven of impudent witches.”

Ah yes, the witches. It’s the one looming issue that offered him the most resistance to conquering. “I believe them to be honorable. They did release Hayley to me. Although, they haven't been entirely forthcoming. Marcel obviously has something that they need. They don't want him dead. There must be a reason why.”

He does not tell Niklaus that he’s on his way to discovering what that reason may be.

#elijah mikaelson fic #elijah mikaelson x oc #elijah mikaelson x ofc #keepsdeathhiscourt fic #original female character #elijah x ofc #elijah x oc #the originals fic

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