#no one needs to feel conflicted about living

[incomplete-leclerc]

　𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗧, 𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗬 𝗖𝗔𝗧.　oscar piastri · #81

　　　your boyfriend loves to take naps, and occasionally, you decide to join him.

genres : fluff ... established relationship.　word count : 0.7k.　warnings : none.　 note : my first official f1 fic!! super excited but also nervous to be posting this :') it's the start of a new era <3　　　( masterlist )　( taglist )

Oscar took the chance to nap whenever he could. The constant jetlag messed up his sleep schedule throughout the entire season, so when his body felt tired and there was even 5 minutes to spare, he would take the chance. Lando, not missing any opportunity to tease him about something, said it was because he was still going through growth spurts at twenty-three. 

Given your boyfriend’s habit and love for sleep, you often arrived to see him completely knocked out, whether in the garage, hotel room, or at home. It was endearing, and you had your own way of finding enjoyment in his habit. For instance, your camera roll was overflowing with sleepy Oscar pics; excellent blackmail material if you ever needed it, but most often, you just looked at them whenever you missed him. But your favourite part of it all was waking him up.

Tousling his hair, poking his cheek, booping his nose, kissing his forehead or lips— your methods were practically endless. A lovesick smile was permanently stuck on your face whenever you heard the groggy mumbles he let out as he woke up or saw his scrunched up face at the feeling of your touch. There was a certain charm to all his clumsy, loserish habits, contrasting so starkly with his confidence on track. There were many sides to Oscar, and you had fallen in love with all of them over the years.

It was around 2PM when you opened the door to your apartment, grocery bags in hand. It had been a day full of miscellaneous errands that you had kept putting off, one of which was stocking up on Oscar’s favourite snacks. Now that the 2024 season was finished and he was back home with you— yours for the next four months— you wanted to cook him some of his favourite meals. You had expected to see Oscar in the kitchen or living room, as he usually was. But the house was unusually quiet as you put away food in the fridge. Though, one look into your bedroom told you where he had been hiding.

After knowing Oscar since you were teenagers, it was unsurprising to you when you found him fast asleep on your bed, hugging your pillow to his chest. You smiled at the sight, figuring he must still be struggling to adjust back to the timezone. With you gone first thing in the morning, there wasn’t anything to keep him awake, either. It was no secret that Oscar was the clingier of you two (quite a problem when it came to races conflicting with your schedule), and for all the hoodies and shirts of his that you stole, he liked your pillows. 

The mere sight of your boyfriend comfortably cosied under the blankets on the bed had you starting to feel drowsy yourself. You hesitated for a second about whether to wake him up, join him, or leave him entirely and drink another cup of coffee to get through the day. But you realized quickly that more than anything, you missed his touch the last couple days. Cuddles to sleep was all you craved for. So with all hesitation gone, you climbed up on the bed, easily slipping your arms around Oscar’s waist, hugging his back. The movement was enough to wake him, and he blinked, slightly dazed as he turned around in your arms. 

“You’re back,” he mumbled, words barely above a whisper before he closed his eyes again like a cat squinting in the sun. You giggled, adjusting the pillows as Oscar nuzzled closer to you. “You smell nice… did you get a new perfume?” 

You smiled, closing your eyes as well as Oscar wrapped his arms around your waist and your hands found their way to his hair. “I did. It’s peach. You like it?” He hummed in confirmation. “Still jet lagged?”

A gentle squeeze from Oscar was all the answer you got, but it was all you needed to understand. With the scent of your perfume, your hands threading through his hair, and a soft kiss pressed to his lips, he was already falling back into his dreamland. You soon followed, wrapped in his arms; close, content, and comfortable.

[ahhnini]

general headcanons with sevika! (relationship ver.)

a/n - this is taken place post arcane canon!

warnings - angst, men and minors dni, strap use, thigh riding, I am aware this is lowkey kinda ass I wrote this in a yearning frenzy at 3 am last night.

sfw

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ I imagine she smells woody, almost piney with a hint of that sweet pinecone scent. it’s subtle, and it doesn’t overwhelm your senses. only when you’re cuddling her can you smell it. and she smells like home.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ surprisingly a homebody. when she walks down the streets of the undercity she gets flashbacks to harsher memories, so she prefers to stay home with you and make new, better ones.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ however, she feels conflicted. zaun is her home, where she grew up in, so sometimes she forces herself to walk along the alleys where she’s seen so much blood been shed. it’s her home.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ she rants to you about the council members, telling you how pretentious they are and how she hates working with them. you listen, pouting at her frustrations.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ since she works at piltover now, she sees vi sometimes, and her heart clenches because she resembles jinx. you’ve made a small tribute to her, as well as isha in your shared home.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ she is so protective of you. always an arm wrapped around your shoulder or waist when you two go out. she doesn’t let you out of her sight.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ she’s so so so pouty!! :( when you visit her in her councilor’s office sometimes, you see her pouting over her desk looking at the cases. and it’s so adorable. she also pouts when she sleeps!!

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ speaking of sleep, she’s a soft snorer, but heavy sleeper! you two could literally be living next to a train station and she would not move at all. however, if you move, then she’s gonna wake up right away.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ lowkey an insomniac. the only way for her to get comfortable is to have you by her side.

nsfw

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ okay, we all saw and heard how sevika literally GROWLED when cait bit her hand…and I have a LOT of thoughts about that…

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ LOVES when you challenge her in bed. brat tamer to the max!!

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ her fav position is where you’re sat on her lap, she’s manspreading, and she watches you ride her thigh :3

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ she would snake her metal arm around your back, the coolness of the material making you shiver. her other hand would gently caress your face, her soft touches making you feel loved.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ she lovesss seeing you beg for your orgasm, she loves having that sense of control over you. even when you did nothing wrong, she’d still make you beg to cum.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ this is so obvious; her strap game is insane. she’d manhandle you so easily on the bed, pushing your face down on the pillow, pushing into you inch by inch, bending down to whisper in your ears.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ she’s relentless with you, pounding into you fast and hard, bottoming out each thrust. but if she knows you’ve had a rough day, she’ll be gentle towards you. kissing down your body, moving her hips slowly.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ gives the sweetest aftercare. she runs a bath for the both of you, carrying you with her muscular arms into the tub. she sits behind you, massaging your body and scrubbing you down, eyes full of love.

PLSS I NEED THIS MIDDLE AGED WOMAN SO FUCKING BAD

[aventurineswife]

...Shadow I do believe you need to write an enemies-to-lovers with sunday, to feed the sunday fans.

(i'm not one but i do encourage the creativity) -Smooch Anon 💋

The Spaces Between Us

Summary: In the Dreamscape, a realm where reality and illusion intertwine, you and Sunday, the Halovian Protector of Dreams, are forced to confront your differences and growing attraction while traveling aboard the Astral Express. Though you despise Sunday for his role in creating the Sweetdream Paradise, a utopian world that ensnared countless souls, a series of heated debates and vulnerable moments reveal cracks in both your facades. As you grow closer, the lines between hatred and love blur, culminating in a kiss that neither of you fully understands but both deeply feel.

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Slow burn, Enemies to lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Tension, Forbidden love, Psychological conflict, Flawed characters.

Warnings: Heavy emotional conflict, Intense philosophical debates, Vulnerability and guilt, Brief kiss, leading to unresolved feelings, Potential for future developments.

[Inspired by]

The Dreamscape was a realm of whispers, where the tangible and intangible blurred into one. It was here that you had first crossed paths with Sunday, the Halovian Protector of Dreams. His presence was a quiet command, his eyes glowing with an unsettling mix of empathy and authority. But to you, those eyes had always felt more like judgment than compassion.

You were no stranger to the Dreamscape’s twisted allure. It had swallowed up people you cared about, reducing them to smiling shells. Sunday’s Sweetdream Paradise had been the root of it all—a utopia, he’d called it, though you knew better. To you, it was an insidious prison. And he, its architect, was the one you blamed.

"Your hypocrisy knows no bounds, Sunday," you said sharply, folding your arms as you faced him across the astral-lit room.

The two of you were aboard the Astral Express now, bound to the same journey under Welt Yang’s watchful eye. It was a situation neither of you had chosen, and the friction was palpable.

Sunday tilted his head slightly, the golden glow of his halo casting faint patterns on the walls. “You mistake intention for malice,” he replied, his voice calm but cool. “The Paradise wasn’t meant to harm.”

You scoffed, stepping closer. “Tell that to the people who lost their lives chasing a lie.”

His wings quivered slightly, a rare crack in his composure. “I acted out of mercy. Do you think the chaos of this world is kinder?”

The proximity between you grew suffocating as you leaned forward, pointing a finger at his chest. “Kindness without consent is tyranny, Sunday.”

For a brief moment, his serene mask slipped. His eyes searched yours, a storm brewing within their depths. “And what would you have done?” he asked, his voice lower now, tinged with something unspoken. “Watched as people tore each other apart, believing it to be freedom?”

The air between you was electric, charged with unspoken emotions and barely concealed tension. His wings shifted, fingers brushing against your arm as he stepped back, breaking the moment before it could spiral into something more.

The arguments didn’t stop. If anything, the days aboard the Astral Express only intensified them. Every mission, every philosophical debate, seemed to draw you closer to the edge of something neither of you could define.

One night, after a heated exchange about the nature of sacrifice, you found yourself alone in the observation car. The stars outside blurred into streaks of light as the Express surged forward, but your thoughts were stuck in the past.

“You’re quieter than usual.”

His voice startled you, but you didn’t turn. Sunday stood a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back, his halo glowing softly in the dim light.

“Don’t you ever get tired of pretending you’re above it all?” you asked, not bothering to mask the bitterness in your tone.

He stepped closer, his boots clicking softly against the floor. “Pretending?”

“Yes.” You finally turned to face him, the intensity of his gaze unsettling. “You act like you’re untouchable, but I see through you. You’re just as lost as the rest of us.”

His expression shifted, the faintest hint of vulnerability breaking through. “And if I am?” he asked quietly. “If I’m lost, does that make my intentions any less genuine?”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. For the first time, you saw the cracks in his armor—the guilt, the doubt, the weight of his choices.

You stepped closer, your voice softer now. “It makes you human, Sunday. Something you seem determined to deny.”

His wings fluttered, a subtle but telling reaction. “Humanity is... complicated,” he admitted. “I’ve spent so long trying to protect others that I’ve forgotten how to protect myself.”

The honesty in his words left you momentarily speechless. The distance between you had vanished, and for the first time, the tension didn’t feel like a battle but a fragile truce.

It was during a mission to a shattered planet that everything changed. The two of you had been separated from the rest of the crew, forced to rely on each other as you navigated the ruins of a forgotten city.

The arguments were fewer now, replaced by quiet conversations and lingering glances. But the undercurrent of tension remained, shifting into something neither of you dared name.

When a sudden cave-in left you trapped in a narrow passage, the closeness became unbearable.

“Are you hurt?” Sunday asked, his voice tinged with genuine concern as he brushed the dust from your shoulder.

“I’m fine,” you replied, though your heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the collapse.

He was too close, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that left you breathless. “You’re trembling,” he murmured, his hand lingering on your arm.

“It’s the adrenaline,” you lied, though the heat rising between you told a different story.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air was thick with unspoken words, and his wings fluttered softly, hand brushing against your back.

“Why do you hate me?” he asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t—”

“You do.” His hand moved to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. “And yet, you’re still here.”

The vulnerability in his eyes was disarming. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the distance between you disappeared. When his lips brushed yours, it was hesitant, as if testing the boundaries of a fragile truce.

The kiss was brief but electric, leaving you both breathless.

“We shouldn’t—” you began, pulling back, but his hand on your cheek stopped you.

“Perhaps not,” he said softly, his gaze steady. “But tell me you don’t feel it too.”

You couldn’t.

The journey ahead was uncertain, but the walls between you and Sunday had begun to crumble. The love that bloomed between you was as complicated as the man himself—marked by tension, conflict, and the hope of something more.

In the end, it was the imperfections that made it beautiful.

I tried if you couldn't tell 🧍‍♀️

My fav trope may be enemies to lovers but I'm definitely horrible at writing it☹️💔

[ellena-asg]

@itsadmiralactually

I agree with your point about James being a good choice as "a man who totally would do that job". Cause you're right, he's absolutely responsible and has sense of duty etc.

The reason why I am against him being captain of THAT ship is James' life situation. Both in movies and in Sins of the father book. All his life is literally serving and obeying other people. His shitty father (who treated him like a toy/tool), people with power, society rules and so on. He's under someone's control since childhood. All his life looks like duties, duties, duties. Navy, navy, navy.

Always doing things for others. Always repressed. Always so lonely. The Dutchman? Just another duty and obeying Calypso's rules (more noble than serving in the navy - cause you help poor dead souls - but still, it's something that became a curse, it's a job with cruel "you can't go to a land (...)). It's a job you have to do cause you stabbed a heart (no one wants it, even Jack changed his mind). It's a job... hey, Calypso, how about you doing it? 😉

It's years that will make you feel alone. All what James knows is feeling alone. He deserves a change. A life he never had. He deserves to have someone, friends. Someone who will want him for him and not for "being useful". The vision of Lizzie, Will, Jack & Co living there on land/Pearl and having their happy moments while Jamie is alone (or with some random crew/ghosts) and all time on the sea, in other part of the world, working and working... It's too sad. It's... unfair.

I think that what he needed whole his life was... freedom. The Dutchman is not a freedom. But there are other ships that are. And there are people who would want him in their family. Oh, they would, I believe! And there is a place for him there. There is a place for him learning and embracing his redemption.

Where I do see him? On the Pearl. On the ship that means freedom. On the ship with friends (Lizzie, Will, Jack). Him being their friends would be such a change. Him having freedom and doing things for himself (oh!) but also still for others - but this time with free will and for a good reasons. Him building a new place, new rules, new world for himself and his new allies, friends.

Him on Pearl again (DMC my beloved) but this time he truly sees himself there, he feels a part of this ship, this crew/found family. Him respecting and maybe even loving now the Pearl - a ship he once chased and wanted to destroy. Him joining Jack - a man who maybe is so different but also mirrors him so much. They're both victims of their fathers/families and the system. Both trying whole their life to prove they're worthy (as a Captain and Commodore/Admiral) because they weren't enough in people's eyes. Others made them each other's enemies, they had to fight, James thought that "all pirates are evil". But now? Him seeing all the bullshit, seeing all the mistakes, seeing how he, Jack and other people were hurt. Him finding friends on the other side of old conflict. Him being friends with those who he "hated". Him fixing things together with them. Oh, redemption being a big lesson. Gosh, him being friends with Will after all that mess! Him being besties with Lizzie like they deserved! Him having Gibbs again on his side! And Jack, oh gosh! And him fixing things with them, helping all people who were hurt on both sides, maybe even fighting with the rich power and Beckett-like guys? That sweet irony of life 😄

To be clear: I respect your view sooo much ♥️ I just wanted to explain my feels. And I wanted to say that I know James would be a great captain and would do that task and yeah, he's one of the finest men there and he would want to help poor souls. I just think that his anxious past makes him also a bad choice. I mean, he doesn't deserve to be lonely, serving and not knowing what a happiness is (and how a truly free life tastes). The Dutchman isn't it for me (but it's just my opinion and I know many people will disagree with it and also with my feels that James has a great potential to be a good pirate like Willabeth and Jack - and it's totally fine ♥️♥️♥️).

I want to see him with people who know him and respect him, who will say "come with us, Jamie". I want him to smile, laugh, having free days, adventures, little pleasures. I want him to feel the warmth. To be needed as him, as James. Him enjoying a simple life. Him being a sailor (man on a ship) but with freedom. Sailing when and where he wants to sail. Him focusing on the sun, wind, sea, birds, his friends. On what he can do (to quote Jack 😉).

P.S. Also, agree that it (Dutchman plot) would be better than his death 😭 Btw, it would be a great chance for Willabeth, Jack & Co to try to help him and take him away from there 😉 (something what 5th movie tried to make with Will's son, Jack & Co in Will's case - just imagine his reaction when Calypso is like "Oh, niiiiice, looks like some people miss you and wanna fight me for you. Go, boy, go to them" 😭).

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

“Nosferatu” (2024) and the Female Gothic Genre, Paganism and the Occult

The Gothic novel genre is deeply connected with female authors like Ann Radcliffe, Mary Shelley, Brontë sisters, Mary Robinson, and Charlotte Dacre, because it allowed them to explore themes that were “off limits” to women at the time (19th century) especially sexuality and women’s place in a patriarchal society. Hence the “Gothic female” genre was created, as a way for female authors and readers to digest their mixed feelings about these topics. This is the world Robert Eggers transports his audience in “Nosferatu” (2024).

This film checks every box of the Gothic genre: claustrophobic atmosphere, environment of fear, the threat of the supernatural, ruined buildings (usually from the Medieval ages), dreamlike states, nocturnal landscapes, demonic possession, blend of “high culture” and “low culture” (folklore), superstitious rituals, melancolia, melodrama, decay, fate, the macabre, the intrusion of the past into the present, stories of persecution, imprisonment and murder as metaphors for social conflict.

Indeed, the audience can’t analyze this story through contemporary lenses or bias, because it’s suppose to be an immersive experience into the Gothic genre and the Victorian era. The terms “gothic” and “romantic” exist in their historical context; “gothic” as in the literature genre (gothic novel), and “romantic” as in the 19th century artist movement (Romanticism).

No, this is not a story about grooming nor abuse... it can be, but not in the way many are interpreting it. Folks also need to let go of previous adaptations and their meanings, because this is Robert Eggers take on this story. And, it’s everything a remake (or retelling) should be, because its not a rehash, it’s a new interpretation of a old story, “Dracula”.

Robert Eggers tells us that the themes of sex and death are at the core of his story, it’s a “demon lover story”, and it’s Count Orlok and Ellen psychosexual connection that makes his adaptation different from the rest.

Ellen is our female gothic protagonist, and, like similar characters of the genre, she’s a persecuted heroine fleeing some a villainous outside force, personified by Count Orlok, the archetypal Death. Metaphorically, she’s a young woman haunted by her own mortality, by Death itself. She also has a sense of Doom looming over her, the heavy hand of Fate; can we outrun our destiny? “Providence!” Herr Knock screams throughout the film; as in a supernatural force, commonly God, guiding humanity destiny.

Ellen is no typical young woman, though. As she tells Von Franz, she had occult powers since childhood, being able to perceive glimpses of the future and suffering premonitions (knowing the contents of her Christmas gifts and when her mother would die). Her father called her “his little changeling girl”, as in the European folklore of human children kidnapped by supernatural creatures (fairies, demons, etc.) and a substitute being left in their place. Herr Knock also compares Ellen with a “sylph”, when he informs Thomas he’s to travel to Transylvania. “Sylphs” are air spirits from 16th century Germanic folklore and alchemy, a sort of nymph connected to air element in hermetic literature; throughout the centuries they have been culturally associated with fairies, too. We have two characters in the story connecting Ellen with a fairy-like creature. Interestingly enough we, the audience, see her floating in the opening scene.

“You are not for the living. You are not for human kind”, Orlok tells her, and calls her “enchantress”. Von Franz also said Ellen could have been a priestess of Isis had she been born in pagan times. Isis is one of the major Egyptian deities, considered the goddess of magic and healing. She was also connected with the Dead and funeral rites, since she was the sister-wife of Osiris, ruler of the Underworld. Pagan priestesses also entered trancelike states as Ellen “hysterical seizures” or “epilepsies” when communicating with the spiritual world, which is what Von Franz, the occult and alchemist student, recognizes in her. Ellen is a supernatural force, too.

Eggers Orlok was a sorcerer in life, a practitioner of Black Magic. He was one of the Solomonari, wizards from Romanian folklore, believed to be students of the Devil, who learned to ride dragons, and control beasts and the weather. In Eastern European tradition, the Solomonari were believed to be recruited among common folk and disguise themselves as beggars, Orlok is a Romanian nobleman who sought to achieve immortality, to conquer Death. As the abbess tells Thomas, the Devil preserved Orlok’s soul that his corpse may walk again in blasphemy, as a vampire feeding off the blood of the living and spreading plague.

However: who was it who awoke Orlok in “Nosferatu”? The Devil or Ellen?

At the prologue, we see Ellen crying and begging for companionship. She prays for a guardian angel, a spirit of comfort, a spirit of any celestial sphere, anything, to hear her call and come to her. She’s summoning some occult force and inviting it into her life. Orlok answers her call. And why is she doing this? She feels lonely, isolated and misunderstood by those around her. As she tells Von Franz, she’s no longer her father’s “little girl” and he recoils from her touch, because she’s no longer a child. As she grows older and enters womanhood, she starts to feel ostracized and put aside by 19th century society who has rigid gender expectations of her.

According to Orlok, it was Ellen who awoke him: “O’er centuries, a loathsome beast I lay within the darkest pit… ‘til you did wake me, enchantress, and stirred me from my grave. You are my affliction.” Which Ellen later confirms to Thomas: “I have brought this evil upon us” because she sought companionship and tenderness. This is a belief Von Franz also shares: it’s Ellen who “wills it”, and she’s the one who unleashed this plague upon the world.

This is very fitting with the Gothic female novel, where the supernatural connects with female societal status of this time period, generally women’s discontent with patriarchal society, difficult and unsatisfying maternal position (in “Nosferatu” we see this with Anne’s character, where she equals being pregnant with being drained of her life force) and their role within society (fear of entrapment in the domestic sphere, their bodies, marriage, childbirth, etc.).

Eggers’ Orlok is a combination of several Romanian folklore creatures, associated with vampirism: strigoi, moroi (these two are the “classic” vampires) and zburător (a ghost-like creature, usually handsome, and only visible to young women, attacks at night, usually newly-wed ladies and does “indecent” things with them). The influence of this legend in Ellen and Orlok story is evident.

Ellen tries to summon a spiritual companion in her teenage years, most likely when she reached puberty and her sexuality was starting to awake. A demon who’s a personification of appetite, devourance, sex and death is the one who answers her calling. They end up in a sexual spiritual connection, as Ellen experiences her sexual awakening with him, as shown in the prologue and later confirmed how Orlok took her as his lover. She also reveals to Thomas it was “sweet” and she “had never known such bliss” at first, until it turned into torture (seizures and nightmares), when her father found her laying unclothed and called her a sinner and it’s implied she might have been institutionalized, as she tells Von Franz. This episode might be a metaphor for masturbation and the historical shame associated with it. Hence her connection with Orlok being her “melancholy” (depression) and her “shame”, symbolic for the sexual urges 19th century society forced women to repress.

Count Orlok is the archetypal Death; which culminates with the “Death and the Maiden” motif at the end. This was a very popular Art History archetype around the so-called “Plague years” (14th to 16th century) in Europe, and it’s often connected with other motifs like “Danse Macabre” and “Memento Mori”. It has several meanings depending on the author intent, usually a reminder of our mortality, but also a meditation on sex and death, as in the French “la petite mort” (“little death”), the post-orgasm sensation, sexual release potentially causing temporary loss of consciousness (fainting) or dizziness. In the Medieval Ages, physicians believed orgasms could lead to death because they drained the “life force” from the body. This was when the term “petite mort” was created, and this belief persisted into the Renaissance and beyond. In “Nosferatu” this probably translates in the sexual pleasure that Orlok imprints on his victims as he drains their life force.

Ellen’s “hysterical seizures” miraculously stop once she meets and marries Thomas Hutter, our tragic romantic hero. This can also be a nod to Gothic Bildungsroman (“coming of age”) genre; where the female protagonists grow from adolescence to adulthood in the face of the impossibility of the supernatural, and come to the conclusion there’s a rational explanation. In Ellen’s case, it’s medical, as she’s diagnosed as a melancholic somnambulist hysteric (in another words, a depressive hyper-sexual sleepwalker).

At the beginning of the story, Ellen and Thomas are newly-weds fresh out of their honeymoon, which means sex (historically necessary to consummate marriages). With Thomas, Ellen is “free of her shame”, as she says so herself. Because, her sexuality is safely contained within marriage, as it’s socially acceptable. But Thomas dismisses her concerns about his well-being, and doesn’t believe her until he experiences the supernatural first-hand, having an homoerotic encounter with Orlok himself, which also causes him great shame. This is probably a Easter egg for Bram Stoker possible closet homosexuality and “Dracula” being a metaphor for that.

Thomas’ main concern, throughout the story, is to fit into the patriarchal ideal of his genre, as a provider for his wife, and he aspires to be like his long-time friend, Friedrich Harding, the “perfect patriarch” with the perfect religious and dutiful wife, Anna, and their precious children. The Hardings are the perfect Victorian family; they are everything society expects them to be. Friedrich even chastises Ellen for her nature, and it’s clear he resents her for what she represents: “otherness” and “deviance” to societal norms.

However, soon enough, Ellen’s seizures return, symbolizing Thomas cannot sexually satisfy her. She’s “too ardent” as Harding calls her. “More! More!” She begs Thomas when they have sex to scorn Orlok. Not only her sexuality is too strong, but Thomas also shares with Friedrich his desire to wait to have children with Ellen because he wants to gain financial stability first. This in a time period when contraceptives weren’t widely spread, meaning abstinence.

Symbolically, Ellen’s seizures can also be connected with her fear of childbirth. Her “epilepsies” return while she’s staying in the Harding household, where they are children and Anna is pregnant. Children is what is expected of Ellen next, after all. But it’s sexual pleasure that Ellen seeks, and this causes her great shame and torment, because 19th century women weren’t suppose to known “such things”. “Sin! Sin! Sin!” as Ellen’s father screamed at her when he found her naked.

Fear of entrapment represented as Ellen tries to rip off her corset and “free herself”: this happens during one of her Orlok induced seizures.

As Robert Eggers tells us, Orlok both disgusts and attracts Ellen, she loves and hates him at the same time. He’s repulsive, rotten, animalistic and lustful, both literally and metaphorically. His character design is meant to invoke contradictory feelings in the audience: overall he’s foul and monstrous, but he appears almost handsome in some shots. This is intentional. Not only he’s a personification of Death, but of Ellen’s repressed sexuality by 19th century society. He represents the monstrous and dangerous female sexuality the Victorian era sought to contain. He’s the transgression and taboo theme in this Gothic story, as well: necrophilia. Which is probably Eggers “gotcha” moment to “vampire lovers” everywhere, as he forces his audience to confront their own bias.

Ellen herself is a medicalized character, as we see her being institutionalized, drugged, bound to her bed, forced to wear a corset to bed, and used as a scientific experiment by physicians. She’s not in control of her own body, and has little agency over it, overall. We see her being contained, literally and metaphorically, too. This is probably meant to symbolize women as a whole in 19th century Western European societies. The “disability of being female” is one major theme in Gothic female novels, after all.

And if Ellen unleashed Orlok unto the world and he’s connected with her what does this mean for this story? The obvious interpretation of the ending it’s Ellen sacrificing herself to save Wisburg from Nosferatu’s curse, like every other adaptation. But this appears to be somewhat disconnected from the overall themes of this particular retelling. Here, it’s Ellen who unleashed the curse, and only her can put an end to it.

We see Ellen summoning Orlok in two occasions: at the beginning and at the end of this tale. At first, she did it unconsciously, she dabbled with the occult and wasn’t aware of what she was inviting into her life. However, does this indicate Ellen has some degree of control over him? Orlok himself says she’s “his affliction”, and they are bound to one another. She’s not only a seer, she’s compared with a priestess of a Goddess associated with funeral rites and with the ability of resurrection and looking after the Dead (Isis). We can almost interpret her as a necromancer.

Here, we can have a different interpretation of Orlok unleashing a plague upon the society who ostracizes Ellen for her nature. Symbolically, he’s her reckoning, her vengeance upon society norms and expectations of gender. He’s the “plague carrier” and brings a “blood plague” transmitted by rats (symbolic of the Black Plague; the medieval ages terrorizing the modern world of science and rationality) upon Wisburg, and the “good Christians” who contain and shame “Pagan” Ellen.

Orlok’s most notorious victims are the Hardings, the perfect patriarchal Christian family model Ellen can never fit into; the patriarch Friedrich, the pregnant Anna and the two children. This also fits the Gothic female genre of the supernatural menace as a metaphor for women’s status in 19th century society. Ellen doesn’t want to be married to a patriarch like Friedrich, she doesn’t express any desire to become pregnant nor have children of her own. Consequently, we see Orlok killing all of these archetypes in the narrative.

Interestingly enough he spares Thomas and saves him for last when he should be his first victim once he arrives at Wisburg, because he’s the husband. However, Thomas is a character Ellen loves and cherishes, as he somewhat accepts her nature and represents her chance at a “normal life”. He’s also determined to save her from Death/Orlok, but is unable to. Symbolically, Ellen chooses death over conforming to gender norms and expectations.

However, we can’t forget Ellen’s supernatural nature, nor her connection with Orlok. She weds Death at the end, she’s no longer terrified of him, and she fulfills their covenant, and her dream premonition of marrying Death: “standing before me, all in black… was… Death. But I was so happy, so very happy. We exchanged vows, we embraced, and when we turned round, everyone was dead. Father… and… everyone. The stench of their bodies was horrible. And - But I never been so happy as that moment… as I held hands with Death.”

A “covenant” is a pact, both a religious and a occultist practice. This is a “blood covenant”, as their flesh becomes one and he drinks from her. “Blood is the life” is a quotation from the Bible, where “blood covenants” are also mentioned, because a “blood covenant” has the power to either destroy or redeem. For instance, Christ’s sacrifice redeemed humanity according to Christians. “Redemption” as Von Franz says, because only Ellen, like Christ, can redeem the habitants of Wisburg. He uses the expression “with Jove’s holy light” before dawn redemption will come to them: “Jove” is Jupiter, the “King of the skies”, and its energy neutralizes Saturn’s, connected with “melancholy” (depression).

However, that’s not what’s happening here, because Orlok is a servant of the Devil, and a literally un-dead “warlock”. So, what is Ellen pledging herself to here, exactly? Her covenant with Orlok has nothing to do with God or Jupiter, for these are forces of good, when Orlok is a force of evil and darkness.

Ellen also fulfills her role as “priestess of Isis” at the end, as she guides the un-dead Orlok to his physical death; like Isis, she resurrected him, and is now taking him into the Underworld with her. Because, like Orlok also told her, she’s “not for the living”, that’s her fate, the destiny she accepts at the end; she’s meant for Death, as Isis for Osiris.

“Our covenant is fulfilled. Your oath re-pledged.” Orlok tells her. But what was Ellen’s oath? We have to look into the prologue scene “You shall be one with me ever-eternally. Do you swear it?” And in the ending “As our spirits are one, so shall be our flesh. You are mine.” They fulfill their pact both in the physical and the spiritual worlds, and both make the ultimate blood sacrifice, by physically dying for “self-renunciation” is essential for blood covenants.

And a deity is always summoned to bless such a pact… but who was blessing this one? Ellen and Orlok indeed, died in the physical world, but are joined in the spiritual world forever, as decreed by their covenant, so where did their spirits go?

They are also surrounded by lilacs, their signature flower throughout the narrative, which symbolizes first love, yes, but also renewal and rebirth. Orlok conquered Death and immortality once before, because the Devil kept his soul. Now that Ellen is joined with him in spirit, what does this mean for her, and for them both?

[blueskittlesart]

One of my favourite era of the wild headcanons is that when Link pulled the master sword, he saw flashes of all his previous lives (if you take the era of the wild taking place much later in the timeline at face value lol). Not enough to inherit their memories, mind you, just enough that he was cognizant of his role in the world and that significantly changed his personality from bubbly kid to stoic soldier. Did you have any thoughts on this? I love your botw takes :)

boy do i have a comic for you

ok truthfully i have mixed feelings about this. that comic was an au where the major change is that link is specifically aware of the cycle from a young age, which is the inciting event for alterations to the story. i think that link doesn't necessarily NEED to be aware of the cycle for his actions to make sense. the intense pressure is already there no matter what. his position as the one single soldier who has the power to seal calamity ganon means that his entire life will, no matter what, culminate in him either dying or becoming an untouchable, mythical hero. that alone is, imo, enough to make any kid freak out a little bit. And from a writing standpoint, a lot of the conflict in botw exists specifically due to a LACK of knowledge about what the prophecy and calamity actually are and why the motions they're going through exist in the first place, so i think it's actually kind of out of place in the rest of the story to make link the only exception to this. in canon, his own shortcomings in this regard are a source of anxiety for him, too--he can't hear the voice of the sword, he doesn't have any idea what to expect when the calamity strikes, etc etc. in rare moments of leisure he immediately pulls out that sword and starts swinging it around, because what else can he do but train harder? He has no idea what to expect, so he has to be strong enough to face anything. TLDR i don't think he knew any more than anyone else--if he did, he might have had some idea of how to effectively stop the calamity the first time around.

[saraannereads]

Antis: Azriel needs someone who understands his darkness!

So. Very. Wrong.

Canonically, Azriel has only shown that darkness when in battle, when seeking revenge against his abusers, and when enraged about harm coming to those he loves. Outside of these very specific circumstances, he’s actually written by the author as quiet, shy, polite and gentle. Even with Cassian, who he is arguably the closest with. Even with Rhys, who he has known for most of his life. Need I remind you how embarrassed he got when he was caught chugging Rhys’s fine wine?

What I find even more interesting is how much people will say that you CANNOT apply your own opinions to textual analysis but then in their next breath will say Azriel needs someone who understands his darkness. My sister in christ, that is your opinion and not supported by the text.

Where is the text proof for that? Where?? Show me.

It doesn’t exist.

It’s a headcanon/pop-psychology level analysis of a character who the author has taken great effort to show the reader as at odds with himself over said darkness because he has to suppress his feelings and emotion to be THAT dark, that devoid of empathy.

What he does (spy and torture) is not who he is, and that disconnect is shown time and again in the text over multiple books and series. He is not the darkness that he has to become in order to live with his job. That is one of his central conflicts.

And I would argue the BC is more textual evidence of the cognitive dissonance he experiences in order to maintain his role within his court.

Him burying the thought of G being happy is even more proof of the emotional suppression he has to engage in, which is a parallel to him sitting outside in the freezing cold earlier in that chapter. He has to quite literally force himself to live in that darkness in order to function and it is to his mental and emotional detriment. That’s what Sarah shows us in his bonus chapter.

And if it is to his detriment, as the author is showing us, then why does he need someone who can match that darkness? Why wouldn’t he actually be craving and wanting light?

Answer: he is craving light. He has been his entire life.

[impactrueno]

The Beetlejuice movie and Beetlejuice musical are (personally) pretty different to the point I would consider each its own thing, but do you think Beetlejuice Beetlejuice could ever be adapted into a musical/sequel to the original Broadway show?

i have no idea. would it be set in the year 2048? or do we wait another 30 years to see it? do they even make sequels in musical theatre???

the SEQUEL *AIRHORNS* joke where beetlejuice mentions going on a search for his dad was just that, a joke. but they have the opportunity to make it even funnier by making an actual new show about it and making it as ridiculous as you would expect lol

also delores.....can musical bj even have a delores? he doesn't seem to go to the netherworld at all (avoiding his mom i presume) and it appears he simply spends his time on earth feeling lonely and trying to find people who can see him or tricking naive newlydeads like the maitlands. so maybe....delores could be a newlydead that got tricked by him and is now hunting him down for revenge? or something? idk i'm having a hard time coming up with anything

as for rory, i also find it very hard to imagine musical lydia with a rory. something must've gone terribly wrong for her to end up being with someone like him. in the movie, lydia is with rory because she was vulnerable, and the root cause of that vulnerability is her trauma with beetlejuice that she never got to deal with, so it made her struggle with relationships and marriage throughout her life. but musical lydia isn't traumatized by her beetlejuice, so she would remain her usual tough self, only happier since she made peace with her mother's death and accepted her weird little family as her home. she would be impenetrable to rory's tactics. so musical rory doesn't seem feasible to me unless they revamp his whole character and motivation.

and then there's astrid. astrid is a lot like musical lydia, so giving HER an astrid of her own wouldn't...be as interesting, i think. there would be no conflict. unless (once again) they rework her entire character.

so basically it all boils down to making yet another bold departure from the original source material. which means it can be literally anything they want. theatre doesn't stick to one actor per role like movies usually do, so the stuff that the BJBJ movie had to do to work around this (removing the maitlands and charles) wouldn't even need to happen in the first place.

i've always been of the opinion that the musical is pretty solidly self-contained. i'm never able to come up with anything interesting for a continuation of the musical because the narrative, character arcs and resolution all feel airtight. everyone got what they wanted and they lived happily ever after. in the original movie you see beetlejuice back in the waiting room, and he won't be there forever, leaving it open for a possible continuation where he returns. in the musical he seems to be...gone forever? the netherworld works differently in the musical. but who knows, maybe after that dramatic exit he can one day pop up casually out of nowhere like "hi" lmao

[callmearcturus]

valonia47: IMO Dottie taught Ted avoidance and denial as the only allowed coping skills, which is how he ends up in England in the first place: avoiding the conflict and denying how bad his marriage has gotten. In that sense returning to Kansas is Ted breaking out of that and reconnecting with Henry on a regular basis instead of avoiding the inherent reminders of his relationship with his dad

two problems with this take, if you'll forgive my need to make a rebuttal.

ONE: Ted winding up in England because of conflict avoidance and denial is not how I read the situation at all. Hell, I don't think a man can move to another country without knowing things are bad, and every time he brings up Michelle, it's regarding the trouble in their marriage.

also, uh

given the entire fuckery with Dr. Jacob, I don't know if I actually agree at all with that take. Ted winds up in England because a pretty serious betrayal of trust.

this is one of the most interesting things the show does imo. like when Ted first talks about therapy and is dismissive/negative on it, I literally went "ah another otherwise progressive midwestern man who nonetheless doesn't like therapy" because bruh that's a thing for sure

and then ted tells sharon about his history of therapy and I was like "okay that's a little unusual but cmon ted you're better than this"

and then the fucking slap in the face happens and oh my fuck, Ted was right, he was manipulated by a fucking therapist holy shit, like all of his hesitations are entirely justified.

TWO: For Kansas to feel like a success for Ted, a LOT of shit would have needed to be done differently.

a. he needed to make the choice of his own volition, not because his mother pulled That Shit on him as punishment.

b. the show needed to actually show Kansas as living place that has support systems and people Ted loves. WHICH TO BE CLEAR: THE SHOW COULD HAVE DONE. fuck, if you want to read a fic that actually makes Ted moving back to Kansas make sense, I highly recommend Lafayette Goes To America, which I vouch for as a Missouri native is a loving and wonderful depiction of KCMO and why you'd want to live there.

c. why the fuck did they do that creepy fucking musical sting on the final shot of ted in kansas? i watched it with a friend who'd never seen the finale and they fucking gasped at it.

d. and this is a huge one for me is the trick each season with the opening/closing shots.

each season opens and closes on one character in a very deliberate move, like a reminder that you should be focusing on this person and the journey they've been on.

and it's not a necessarily positive journey.

with Rebecca, we watched her through season one transform from a hurt, vengeful, cruel person who was thrilled to ruin the lives of everyone around her if it helped her meet her goals into someone who finally recognized the gravity of their callousness.... but not before her actions led to the team being relegated.

with Nate, we watched him blossom as a tactician and strategist, and he winds up the head coach of West fucking Ham by the end..... but in the process, he loses everyone who supported him and he repeatedly fails to recreate those relationships in S3

with Ted, the show holds me down and kicks me repeatedly in the stomach until i admit i love a good tragedy I MEAN ted is successful, loved, respected, and supported by the people around him, he continues to work on himself in this place that he comes to adapt to and love... and instead of him asking "hey maybe i should review my custody arrangement and ask my son if he'd like to live here with me" he loses ALL OF THAT

there's this moment that makes the pain worse, this little (intentional? unintentional?) jab rebecca gives him. she begged this man to stay, offered to make him the best paid coach in the league, to personally assist in helping his family join him here, and he leaves.

it's a rejection. it's a rejection of richmond as meaningful, as people who love him, as his community and family. it hurts so fucking much.

none of them were worth trying for, ted? not rebecca, who held you tight when you had a panic attack? not trent, who detonated his career after shielding you from a press shitstorm? not roy, who came back to you and fucking quoted Jerry Maguire to your face, choosing to speak your language? fucking hell.

I blame Dottie for this, for how she looks at all the process Ted's made, resents it, and tears him back down. but the refutation of these people and their worth is part of the tragedy.

ANYWAY UH. I RESPECTFULLY DISAGREE. SORRY.

[lovelyjj]

💔

part 2

part 1

There you were with another guy, laughing, and JJ felt like he got shot in the lung and then the heart, repeatedly. You looked so happy and like you moved on. JJ was gonna kill this guy. How dare he touch what’s his. But you weren’t his anymore. JJ felt his heart actually break in half. He screwed everything up and he lost you.

JJ woke up in a panic. He had a terrible terrible dream. He instinctively reached for you but you weren’t there. That’s when he started to panic again. Where have you gone? Then he remembered what happened last night. And then he remembered you went to sleep on the couch. Unfortunately for JJ he was in the dog house.

JJ needed to see you or he was gonna go crazy. He got up and went to the living room. He saw you curled up on the couch sleeping peacefully. His heart ached because of what he did. He just wanted to hold you again. He had half a mind just to let you sleep but he knew he needed to fix this.

JJ decided to make you breakfast. He went to the kitchen and got the ingredients for pancakes out. He also made eggs. He prepared the meal and set your place at the table. He then went to the couch and woke you up. “Good morning my love I made you breakfast,” JJ spoke softly and shook your shoulder.

“Mmm,” you yawned and sat up. For a moment you forgot why you were in the couch. JJ smiled softly at you and then it all came flooding back. You frowned. JJ sighed, “Come on just eat something for me please.” You got up without a word and sat at the table and started eating. JJ was gonna take what he can get.

After you ate breakfast you thanked JJ for making it. That didn’t mean you forgave him though. “Can we talk?” JJ asked. “What’s there to talk about?” you responded. “Y/N, please.” JJ pleaded. “What?”

“I’m so sorry, let me make it up to you,” JJ reasoned.

“How?”

“Look, sleeping without you was literal hell. I hated it and I never want to sleep without you again. Let me show you how much I love you. Let me fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before,” JJ begged.

You were conflicted. You were tired of being mad but you did love him and that wasn’t going to change. JJ probably felt terrible you knew that and so maybe you would give him a second chance because no one knew you better than JJ. You honestly felt like it would never happen again. Not only did you trust him but you knew he was loyal. It must of been a slip of tongue. We’re you fully ready to forgive him? Let’s see.

“Okay, show me how much you love me,” you replied.

JJ grinned. He felt like he finally got through to you. He ran to you and picked you up in his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He kissed you on the mouth. JJ poured every ounce of passion he had into the kiss. It was heated and messy. He kissed you like you were his lifeline. His tongue entered your mouth and you started french kissing.

JJ took you to the bedroom and laid you down. He carefully undressed you then himself. He kissed your jaw and then down your neck. “I love you so much my beautiful girl,” he mumbled into your skin. You smiled a giddy smile at his words. You ran your fingers down his bare chest and he groaned. “I need you like I need air, please don’t ever leave me,” JJ begged.

“I won’t,” you whispered.

“Good.” JJ kissed down your stomach and you felt your stomach fill with butterflies. You felt your heartbeat faster. JJ always made you feel things. Most of the time he made you feel like you were the only girl for him. “I’m gonna be honest baby, you’re the only one my dick could get hard for,” JJ smirked.

“Oh really?”

“Yes.” “Need to be inside you mama,” JJ announced. You let out a whimper. JJ thought that maybe you need him as much as he needs you. JJ lined himself up at your entrance and you nodded your head signaling for him to fill you up. He entered you slowly and he let out a moan at the feeling. “Fuck Y/N, you feel so good,” JJ cursed. “It’s like you were made for me.”

JJ thrusted in and out setting a good pace. His cock massaged your walls and you felt like you were seeing stars. JJ looked down at where you we’re connected and moaned. He felt euphoric as you sucked him in. “You’re my whole damn world baby girl, i love you so fucking much,” JJ panted.

“I love you too,” you replied. “Wait really?” JJ stopped. “You mean that?” “Of course I do.” “Does this mean you forgive me?”

“Yes I forgive you.”

“Baby you’ve made me the happiest man alive, you won’t regret this I promise. I’m the luckiest person ever, thank you so much,” JJ was ecstatic.

JJ reached down and started rubbing your clit. He could tell you were getting close with the way you were squeezing him. “Let go for me.” A few more sloppy thrusts and the band in your stomach snapped. Your orgasm washed over you and soon JJ spilled his seed inside you. “Fucking hell,” JJ whispered.

“I love you Y/N,” JJ repeated.

“I love you too,” you responded.

“You know I had the worst dream of my whole life last night,” JJ mentioned. JJ laid down and pulled you close.

“Really? What was it about?”

“You were with another guy and you forgot all about me,” JJ cringed at the thought.

“Well that’s never gonna happen. You are stuck with me.”

[vacoomer]

The Bindings 2

Part 1

The man’s footsteps echoed as he walked down the creaking hallway, leaving behind the heavy silence that now clung to the apartment like a suffocating blanket. [Name] remained frozen in place, her gaze fixed on the card that had slipped from his fingers, resting on the floor in front of her like a reminder of everything she had tried to bury.

The offer still stands.

The words lingered in the air long after he had left, gnawing at her. She didn’t want to pick up the card, didn’t want to acknowledge the twisted comfort it promised. Yet, as the faint glow of the neon sign outside flickered and the first rays of dawn began to pierce the darkness, a strange tug pulled at her chest. It was a pull she couldn't quite explain—an internal conflict between rejecting the past and confronting it.

She stepped forward slowly, the weight of the room’s stillness making her movements feel like an intrusion in her own life. Her hand hovered over the card, the sleek business card lying innocently on the floor, its edges crisp, its surface clean. Almost too clean. The number scrawled on the back seemed to mock her, daring her to pick it up and take the step she had been avoiding for five years.

Her fingers brushed against it, cold and fragile in her grasp, as though it might crumble under the weight of her hesitation. She turned it over. The digits were clear, stark against the black ink.

45 billion won. A life rebuilt or shattered. Her choice.

The irony of it stung. All this time, she had convinced herself that the price she had paid was too high, that her peace could only be found in isolation. But now, standing at the precipice of it all, she wasn’t so sure. The weight of the choice felt almost unbearable. She had buried the pain, shut out the memories of the people she had watched die, and locked away the anguish of having survived. But was this truly living? Was this the life she had imagined when she had walked away from the games, with her fortune and her soul hanging in the balance?

As the sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room, she realized that she was still running. Running from the past, running from herself. The recruiter had been right in some ways—she had molded herself into something she thought was safer, a shadow of the woman she used to be, but had it really made her stronger? Or just more fragile?

A sudden surge of anger flared within her, directed at him, at the games, at the world that had twisted her into something she didn’t even recognize. But it wasn’t just him she was angry with. It was the system, the life that had been forced upon her, the endless suffering that had come with winning something that was supposed to be a blessing.

She closed her hand around the card, the edges pressing into her palm like a warning. Her heart raced, uncertainty flooding her veins, but beneath the uncertainty, there was something else—a glimmer of hope, the smallest flicker that maybe, just maybe, this was her chance to reclaim control.

Her thoughts collided, the anger, the guilt, the shame—all intertwined in a web that felt impossible to unravel. But the one thing that remained clear in the center of it all was the truth she had buried deep: she couldn’t continue living like this.

She had a choice. It wasn’t about redemption or forgiveness. It was about her. The woman she had been and the woman she could still be.

With a shaky breath, she dialed the number.

The phone rang twice before a voice answered—cool, detached, and all too familiar. "Yes?" The recruiter’s voice was a velvet rasp, as though he had been expecting this moment all along.

“I’m listening.” Her voice was steady, but beneath the calm, a storm brewed.

The silence on the other end was long, deliberate. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I knew you’d come around eventually.”

Her hand clenched tighter around the phone, but she didn’t waver. “I’ll need more than a promise of power,” she replied, her voice hardening with resolve. "I need you to explain exactly what you want from me."

His chuckle was low, almost predatory, yet there was something else there—something acknowledging in his tone, as if he had been waiting for her to reach this point all along. "You’ll see soon enough, [Name]."

And for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t afraid.

She didn’t know what was coming next, but for once, she was ready to face it.

The days that followed were a blur of restless anticipation and cold, sleepless nights. Each hour stretched like an eternity, filled with thoughts of what lay ahead. The recruiter’s words echoed in her mind, haunting yet oddly comforting. You’ll see soon enough, [Name].

She had made the decision—there was no turning back now. As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting long shadows across the city, she prepared herself for what was to come. The apartment had grown too small, too confining. The walls, once a barrier, now felt like they were closing in on her, pushing her toward a new path she hadn’t quite mapped out yet.

The phone call had been short, a date and a mere exchange of coordinates. A secluded part of the city. Abandoned, quiet. No one would be watching. No one would care. It was a place where the past could be forgotten, buried under layers of concrete and steel.

The thought of facing him again stirred something deep within her—something primal, something she couldn’t quite understand. She had chosen this. Chosen to let him show her what it meant to become like him, to embrace whatever it was that had turned him into the monster he was. She wasn’t ready to admit it, but a small, dangerous part of her longed for it. She longed for control, for mastery over her own life, even if that meant wielding power like a blade, cutting through everything that stood in her way.

Her footsteps were deliberate as she left her apartment, each one a reminder that she was stepping into a world she had once feared. A world where survival wasn’t just about living—it was about becoming something else entirely.

The city was quiet, unnervingly so, as she navigated through the labyrinth of streets. It was late, the kind of late where only shadows remained. The neon lights from the bars and shops had dimmed, leaving the streets bathed in the ghostly glow of streetlights. She didn’t know why, but she felt the weight of the city pressing in on her—its pulse beating in sync with her own.

She reached the location just as the clock struck midnight. An abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the district, tucked away behind a row of dilapidated buildings. The place looked as though it had been forgotten, its metal walls rusting, the windows boarded up with rotting wood. Yet it felt alive. Alive with the echoes of memories she didn’t want to remember, memories she couldn’t escape.

The door creaked open at her touch, the sound a harsh contrast to the quiet night. She stepped inside, her breath hitching as the door clicked shut behind her, plunging her into darkness.

"Welcome," a voice said from the shadows. Deep. Unwavering. Familiar.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even look for him. She knew he was there, watching her, waiting for her to make the first move. She was the one who had come to him. She had made the choice. He would let her take the lead, for now.

She stepped forward, her footsteps echoing off the concrete floor. She couldn’t see him yet, but she felt his presence like a weight on her chest. The recruiter’s figure materialized out of the shadows, emerging with smooth, calculated movements. He was wearing the same black suit, his expression unreadable beneath the cold glow of the single overhead light.

"Do you understand what you’ve come here for?" he asked, his voice low and deliberate, carrying the weight of a thousand secrets.

[Name] didn’t answer immediately. She was still processing, still trying to put the pieces together in her mind. She had made a choice, but what exactly did that mean? What did she expect from this meeting?

Finally, she nodded. "I understand. You’re going to teach me how to become like you."

A flicker of something—satisfaction, perhaps—passed across his face, but it was gone before she could fully register it. He stepped closer to her, his presence overwhelming, like a force of nature pressing in on her.

"You want power," he said, his voice a smooth, almost hypnotic drawl. "You want to be able to take control of your life. To stop running, to stop hiding. But you must understand that with power comes cost."

She squared her shoulders, feeling her heart race. "I’m ready for the cost."

He chuckled darkly. "Are you? I think you’re still naïve. You believe you can control this. But in reality, control is an illusion. It’s only about who you are willing to destroy to get what you want. You want to be like me, but are you prepared to pay the price?"

The words cut through her like a blade, but she held her ground. She was tired of pretending she wasn’t capable of darkness. She had been through hell and back. She had survived. And now, it was time to finally learn how to live—truly live.

"I’m ready," she said again, this time with more conviction. "Teach me."

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes piercing, as if he was looking straight through her. Then, finally, he nodded, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Very well," he said, his voice low and full of purpose. "Let’s begin."

The training was grueling. The recruiter taught her not just how to think like him, but how to be him—how to shed every ounce of weakness, every emotion that might cloud her judgment. How to view the world as a game, and how to play it better than anyone else.

They began with strategy. Every decision, every move in life was a calculated risk. She learned to watch people, to read them as if they were open books, their weaknesses etched into their faces, their gestures, their eyes. She learned to make deals, to barter with more than just money. Power was currency, and she was going to become an expert in trade.

Next, he taught her the art of manipulation. How to make people do what she wanted without them even realizing it. It was subtle, a gentle nudge, a whisper in the right ear. It was about controlling the narrative, bending others to your will without them ever questioning it. She was good at it. Too good.

But the hardest lesson of all came when he forced her to confront her own demons. To face the trauma, the fear, the guilt that had driven her for so long. She thought she had buried those feelings, but he made her dig them up, piece by piece. He pushed her to examine everything she had done, everyone she had hurt, and use that pain as fuel, not as a weight.

"It’s not about forgetting," he told her during one of their late-night sessions, his voice soft yet chilling. "It’s about using it. Channeling it. You’ve been running from your past, but in reality, it’s the key to your power. Embrace it."

Each lesson, each day, twisted her further. She could feel herself changing, molding into something different, something darker. The woman who had entered that warehouse was no longer the same woman who walked out. The lines between right and wrong blurred. What once felt like betrayal now felt like survival. She had shed the skin of the naive girl who had been broken by the games.

She was learning to be something else. Something better. Something stronger.

And the recruiter? He was no longer just a man in a black suit. He had become something more. A mentor. A mirror. A person she now confided in.

She often wondered if she let her guard down too fast, too unprepared. Yet, after she started learning his arts, he never gave her a reason to mistrust him anymore. She thought as if he also confided in her like she did in him.

The building was always quiet, but tonight it felt heavier, more oppressive. The low hum of distant traffic, the faint echo of footsteps in the hallway—all of it seemed like a distant memory as [Name] stepped into the space where their meetings always took place. Her pulse quickened as she crossed the threshold, as if she could sense the weight of what was about to unfold.

She took notice of the shift in the atmosphere a long time ago. Innocent, almost too casual touches. She didn’t know what was the cause of this though.

He was already there, standing by the tall, dark windows that looked out over the city, the last of the daylight retreating, leaving a stretch of deep blue in its wake. He didn’t turn as she entered, but she knew he was aware of her presence, the way the room seemed to tense in anticipation.

"You're late," he said, the coolness of the words, almost dismissive, masking something deeper.

Her eyes narrowed as she walked toward him, taking in the slight, mocking tilt of his lips. He knew what he was doing—pushing her buttons, watching her, trying to provoke her reaction. It was a game, but one that was becoming harder and harder to play. She had learned to read him, his every shift in posture, his every calculated glance. But tonight, there was something different. Something underneath it all.

"I had things to do," she replied, her voice controlled but carrying the weight of a challenge. She could feel him watching her as she approached, sensing his eyes on her skin as if he were tracing every line, every subtle movement.

As she stood before him, just close enough to feel the heat of his body, she couldn’t ignore the tension that hung between them. It was something that had always existed, but now it was sharper, more electric. There was no denying it anymore—every time they met, it became harder to pretend that she wasn’t drawn to him in ways that made her uncomfortable. Ways that made her afraid.

But she couldn't back down now. Not after everything she had been through, not after everything she had learned. She had made a choice to come back, to step into his world again. And this time, she would control the narrative.

"You’ve been watching me," she said, her words quiet but firm, almost like an accusation.

He turned his head then, the sharpness of his gaze locking with hers. His eyes were dark, intense, like an abyss that threatened to swallow her whole. "What else would I do?" His voice was low, rough. "You think you can just slip away from this, from me?"

Her breath caught in her throat. He was closer now, his hand brushing the side of her arm as he took a step toward her. The contact was light, almost casual, but it sent a jolt through her body. A reminder of the power he had over her. A power that was becoming harder to ignore.

"You're becoming like me," he said softly, almost as if to himself, his eyes flicking down to her lips before meeting her gaze again. There was something almost pleased in his tone—he was watching her evolve, watching her give in, bit by bit.

She stood there, feeling the weight of his words like a heavy stone pressing against her chest. "I’m nothing like you," she retorted, her voice colder now, harder. But even as she said it, she felt the lie. There were moments when she found herself thinking like him, acting like him, taking pleasure in the things he had taught her—the darkness, the manipulation, the power.

He chuckled, a low sound that vibrated through the air. "You’re just lying to yourself, [Name]. You’re more like me than you realize." His gaze darkened, his smile tightening into something far less playful. "But I’m not here to push you. Not tonight. Tonight, I want to see if you’re ready for what comes next." The air between them was thick with heat now, the tension almost unbearable.

"I have to decline the offer, I wanted to do so from the start." she stated firmly, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. The close proximity makes her head swirl.

The air between them crackled with tension, his face mere inches from hers, his breath a warm whisper against her skin. He leaned in slightly, as if inviting her to bridge the gap, but her instincts took over, igniting a fire within her that her mind struggled to comprehend. Her heart raced wildly, and her hands, resting on his chest, could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a reminder of the closeness they shared.

"I was aware of that from the beginning," he replied, his gaze intense and unwavering. "But honestly, I no longer wish for you to accept it. I would much prefer to keep you close, just for myself." As he spoke, his hand found its way to her lower back, drawing her in even tighter, as if he wanted to shield her from the world around them.

"You don’t have to fight this anymore," he whispered. "You know that, right?" His fingers brushed the curve of her neck, tracing the delicate line of her jaw as though mapping out the places he had touched her before. "You can let go now. Let me in."

The words were soft, coaxing. But they were also an order. A command. He wasn’t asking for permission. He never had. And as much as she wanted to resist, wanted to shove him away and scream at him for trying to break her, she couldn’t.

Because every word he spoke, every touch, every glance, dug deeper into the part of her that had long been dormant. The part of her that needed him, even though she hated it. Even though it terrified her.

His lips brushed against her ear as he spoke again, his voice low and almost seductive. "You feel it, don’t you? The need. The hunger for more. You crave it just as much as I do."

The truth of his words rattled her. It was the lie she had been telling herself—this wasn’t just power. This wasn’t just control. It was something else. Something darker. Something she couldn’t escape.

A gasp escaped her lips, a sudden intake of air that seemed to freeze time as his mouth met hers at last. The kiss ignited a spark that coursed through her veins, wild and untamed, as if he were consuming her essence in a single, fervent sweep. She surrendered to the intensity of the moment, allowing herself to be swept away by the tempest of desire and shadow he had woven around her, feeling as though she had finally discovered her rightful place in the chaos.

The world around them faded into a blur, the noise and distractions dissolving into nothingness as their lips connected. It was a kiss that transcended mere physicality, charged with an energy that felt almost primal, as if he were claiming her in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. She embraced the whirlwind of emotions that surged within her, letting go of all reservations and diving headfirst into the depths of the passion he stirred in her soul, a place where she felt both vulnerable and invincible.

Just moments before, his hand had gently cradled her cheek, a tender gesture that spoke volumes of affection. Now, that same hand has shifted, encircling her neck with a possessive yet intimate grip. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down her spine, igniting a spark of electricity between them that is impossible to ignore.

Meanwhile, his other hand roams freely across her lower back, tracing delicate patterns that seem to dance across her skin. Each movement is deliberate, a silent invitation that draws her nearer to him, as if the very air around them is charged with an unspoken desire. The world around them fades into a blur, leaving only the two of them in this moment of shared intimacy.

As he pulls her closer, the space between them evaporates, and she can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her own.

(Next Part 18+ —> Part 3)

[tiredandoptimistic]

First off, I definitely agree with you about the social weight of the Herondale name being a Shadowhunter thing. It's something I always chafe against on a personal level, but it makes sense for other characters to see family name as something important. Jace's personal conflict over identifying with the Herondales also makes sense, because he's suddenly being handed all this history and pressure to live up to the legacy. Accepting that he's a Herondale so that he can continue the line means accepting that he must become a part of this historic legacy.

The thing with the demon blood is that I think the way you're interpreting it would be more interesting than how it actually is in canon. I prefer the story of Sebastian and Jace both having the same potential for good/evil but being shaped into totally different people by how they were raised (Valentine saw Sebastian as demonic and Jace as angelic and treated them accordingly, and Jace got to spend half of his life with the Lightwoods while Sebastian was left with Valentine for his teen years), but I really don't think that's the intent of the text. Full disclosure, I haven't reread the Sebastian stuff in about two years (I'll get to COG soon), but I remember the story being that Sebastian is literally inherently evil and cannot feel affection. The hypothetical non-evil Sebastian who was never given demon blood is treated as a different person (he's got a different flower card and everything), and part of this is that "good" Sebastian would have Jocelyn's green eyes instead of Valentine's black ones. He gets all the evil burned out of him at the end, and it changes his eye color because the black eyes from Valentine are a sign of his evil nature. I don't think I need to explain why dark eyes being treated as morally inferior to light ones is uncomfortable.

I AM NOT TRYING TO ACCUSE CC OF DOING THIS MALICIOUSLY. I AM A FAN OF HERS.

I guess what I'm saying is just that I think Sebastian could have been a really interesting character if his villainy came from being treated as evil from the time he was born, but based on my memory that isn't what the books do with him. The day he was born, Jocelyn looked into his eyes and saw something nonhuman there. I wish it was confirmed that her revulsion was a result of her mental state, that she couldn't bring herself to love the child who resembled her abusive husband, but I'm pretty sure the books say that she was right to see straight to his demonic nature. (I could be wrong, I'll see what I think about COG this time around).

For contrast, look at James and Tessa who also had demon blood and yet used their powers for heroism. They clearly had free will, and I just don't think Sebastian did. (Jace and Clary also had free will, and I agree that their angel blood never made them perfect people. I just think it's a little odd that Jace's fears that demon blood made him evil was resolved by him learning that he had angel blood instead. It's not that angel blood makes him a good person, it's that he thought demon blood would make him a bad person and was never proved wrong about that).

Like I've said, my memory might be failing me, but I really strongly remember the message of Sebastian as a character being that he had no free will in regards to his villainy, and that he was born evil due to demon blood and the only way to make him a good person would be to burn away all traces of the demonic influence.

I'm also enjoying the chance to think a little more about TMI, and I do still enjoy Sebastian as a villain (much like I enjoy Jace's Herondalism), I just think you can see a bit of a shift in the overall philosophy CC writes with. TSC is very nurture in the small scale and nature in the big picture, if that makes sense; and Sebastian and Jace are where you can see some messy intersection between those perspectives.

My firmest TSC take will always be that Jace should have gone by Lightwood in the end. I get that him being a Herondale makes sense in the grand scheme of the TSC universe (him, Will, James, Kit, and Edmund are all birds of a feather), but his personal arc is far more dependent on the family who raised him. Learning about his biological parents is of course important to him, but calling himself a Herondale doesn't actually feel like a resolution to his identity crisis. TMI is all about rejecting the hatred handed down from previous generations, which is why neither Clary nor Jace identify as Morgensterns. While Stephen was nowhere near as bad as Valentine, he also did even less to shape Jace into his adult self. Robert and Maryse on the other hand actually raised him for half his life, and Alec Isabelle and Max grew up alongside him as his siblings. He's a Lightwood in every way that matters, I don't get why Jace (in-universe) would choose to identify himself as a Herondale when there's nothing tying him to that family but blood spilled before he was born.

Anyways, I'm a Jace Lightwood truther for life, thank you for coming to my tedtalk

[waitineedaname]

MXTX protagonists ranked by how bad their mommy/daddy issues are

Luo Binghe: absolutely nuclear level of mommy/daddy issues. this is the consequence of giving your protagonist two deadbeat dads and two dead moms, and then letting him project all those issues onto his overly indulgent teacher

Wei Wuxian: he could've had perfectly normal orphan levels of parent trauma, but what's that?? IT'S THE JIANG PARENTS WITH A STEEL CHAIR!!! the combo of fear and respect he had for Yu Ziyuan is already bad enough, but then there's also the feeling of responsibility for the Jiang siblings that they put on him, which then leads to, you know, all the Yunmeng sibling problems

Lan Wangji: this dude is so haunted by his father potentially kidnapping his mother and then locking her up and putting himself in seclusion, and this significantly shapes his relationship with Wei Wuxian. plus he took his mother's death really, really badly :(

Shen Qingqiu: he like never mentions his parents?? which is weird, but at least he's not haunted by it. however, he gets the special privilege of being the person exacerbating someone else's mommy/daddy issues. he brought this on himself. he doesn't get to walk out of a confession involving a metaphor where he'd be pregnant with his partner and act like that's normal

Xie Lian: he definitely has trauma surrounding his parents for sure, but they don't seem to have manifested as specifically mommy/daddy issues? it's just, you know. normal grief. honestly, there's so much shit going on with his trauma and baggage that he can't be defined by this one thing

Hua Cheng: does not seem to care about his parents?? at all???? he's presumably an orphan and they're probably the origin of his self worth issues, but like. in the grand scheme of things, they do not seem to be that big of a concern for him. who needs mommy issues when you have devotion to dianxia i guess

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

finished hazbin hotel and what the fuck it's actually kind of??? good???

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

wough weird sad feelings about my dad who could have expected that

[askshivanulegacy]

This definitely gets to be said to the people who take international flights, who also absolutely deserve two-hour showers and red meat. Delicious.

Trying to keep your footprint as low as possible is a great way to self-destruct.

And I'm not saying this to people who take two hour showers during international flights while shoving red meat into their mouth. I'm saying this to my fellow activists who feel conflicted about heating their home on fossil fuels even though they don't have any other options (and struggle to afford it).

Like, we can talk about how 'consumer choice' is never going to save the planet and stuff, but more importantly: You are not a sin. Your basic needs deserve to be met. You deserve to be warm and filled with food that satisfies you and you deserve to see your friends.

We are not fighting to save 'the planet', that's a piece of rock. We want to save ecosystems and plants and animals, including people. You are part of that. Don't leave yourself out of the list of creatures that deserve to thrive.