#i’m like LOOK AT HERR!!!
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poppy dancing to bad decisions last february ❤️🩹
#i’m like LOOK AT HERR!!!#and she’s literally 5 pixels wide 😭#also happy new year!!!!! first post of 2025 🥳#impoppy#poppy#moriah rose pereira#bad omens#poppy singer#bad omens and poppy#bad decisions#noppy
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Aemond had been welcomed at the council
English is not my first language, be kind.
•Warnings: incest, p in v, smut, kissing, taking of sexual themes, smut, chocking.•
OC!Aemond x Sister!Reader

“You’re so good– So good– Fuck, Aemond!” She moaned loudly, as she arched her back, her hands tucked up her head on her mattress, held tight in his hand.
“Fuck– You’re so tight– You’re fucking sucking me in–” He growled as he started moving faster, meeting her skin with harsh hard thrusts as he felt himself loosing in the feeling.
“My big brother is part of the council now?” She moaned as she widened her legs more, looking down at his cock entering her so furiously. He let go of her wrists, grabbing her throat to make her lay back her head.
“Such a dirty sister I have, mh?” He growled against her temple. “Aegon simply welcomed me.” He said as he trailed his other hand on her chest.
“Aegon–” She pants as she tries to speak despite the overwhelming pleasure. “Aegon trusts you– You’ll find yourself being his hand in no time– Fuck! Aemond!” She threw her head back as he hit one particular spot inside her, that almost left her breathless. He put his hand over her breast, squeezing it in his hand.
She reached his face with one hand, but he pulled away for a moment, a flash on challenge flashing his eye, but she quickly reached again, tearing off the eyepatch from his eye.
He chuckled as he felt her clenching around his cock at the sight of his scar.
“You’re a freak. Fucking freak.” He groaned as he thrusted faster, trying to angle himself to hit that sweet spot inside her once again.
“I’m a dragon–” She panted. “I’m your dragon–” She choked as he tightened his hand around her throat.
“Mine.” He growled in her ear, as he loosened his grip around her neck, leaning down to suck her breast in his mouth.
“Oh, Gods– Aem– Fuck– You’re so good to me–” She placed a hand on the back of his hair, keeping him close as he licked herr nipple, sucked and bit, wettening with his own saliva.
“You like when your brother takes care of you? Mh?” He squeezed her tit again, licking it all over, as his hips pace never faltered.
“I’ll kill them!”
The sound of skin slapping was filling the room, Aemond and his sweet sister too engrossed with their own pleasure to care about what was happening outside her room.
Careless if the world was about to fall apart.
If some head was rolling around.
“Yes– Fuck!” She moaned loudly again as he hit that spot again.
“There it is– Yes!” He leaned back up as he gripped tightly her hips, pulling her back against him as he started thrusting in her like a mad person, watching as her tits jumped up and down by the force and speed of his hits.
“I’ll kill them all!”
She moaned loudly in despair, as she started leaning back on the mattress.
“Fuck! Aemond!” She leaned back enough to make him slip out, as she panted, looking up at him as he growled, his eye fixed on his core, as his sapphire glistened, reflecting the light of the candles.
“Don’t you dare–” He pulled her back and slipped back in, resuming his thrusts just the same, finding, to her surprise, the perfect angle again. She whined in despair, as he pulled her legs back on her chest, getting deeper inside her.
“Gods– Aem–”
“You’re so fucking loud, sister—“ He panted. “Everyone will hear you, if you keep going like this—“ He kept thrusting harder and faster. “Is that what you want? Everyone to find out how your big brother is fucking you good? Uh? Find out how much of a whore you are?”
She moaned at his words, her cunt clenching around his at the idea.
“They’d have to marry us then— Finally— Aemond!”
He shushed her with an aggressive kiss, slipping his tongue in her mouth greedily, savoring her taste. She is quick to respond to his kiss, and return it, she sucked his tongue in her mouth, forcing a moan out of him.
“This is war!”
He pulled back from the kiss, hovering over her, leaning on his elbow as he lowered his hand on her pearl, massaging it lightly.
“Ohh–” She sucked in a breath, arching her back suddenly, letting out a long whine. “Aemond! Aem– Fuck– Aemond!” She gripped his forearms tightly, digging her nails in her skin, making him groan. He could feel her clenching repeatedly around him, sucking him in in such a delicious way, all of it, mixed with her moans, the smell and the sounds of sex, and the sting of pain on his arms, he was losing control.
“Fuck– You like me being a powerful man? You like that I am part of the council?” He leaned down to growl in her ear. “That I could be the King’s Hand?”
“I declare war!”
“Yes– God!” She threw her head back. “Fuck me– Fuck me like the powerful man you are– Ah!” She kept moaning, her voice completely out of control.
“God– Yes, you feel so good, sister–” He moaned as he kept thrusting harder faster, gripping her tightly. “So tight— So fucking loud.” He could see her in ecstasy beneath him.
“Come on my cock, I can feel you clenching like crazy– Shit– Come on me– Now.” He ended up growling like an animal, but it only fit the way she was fucking her right now. She moaned again, her legs wrapping around his waist as she came undone with a long moan, holding on to him, as he thrusted a few more times, finally reaching his own release.
“Shit– Fuck–” He quickly pulled out, despite her moans and her cunt sucking him in so sweetly. He jerked off in front of her as she spread her cunt with her hands, the sight too arousing to hold back any longer.
He gasped as his sperm painted her inner thighs, his body jerking violently by the force of his release.
She smiled up at him, gathering with her hand some of his release, then bringing her fingers to her mouth to suck them clean. He looked with a moan at her movements, as he sat back on his haunches, caressing her calves.
Only then they heard the fast steps and rustle outside.
“Gōntan mirros massigon?” She asked as she looked at the door, confused.
-Did something happen?-
He looked at her, then at the door.
“Nyke ȳdra daor gīmigon.”
-I don’t know-
Taglist: @ka1afbr @cynic-spirit @ladythornofrivia @zenka69 @queenofthekeep @adorewhatever @diannnnsss @kotadislikesthissite @iloveallmyboys @valyrianflower @dixie-elocin @gelacat0413
#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond smut#aemond x oc#aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#ewan mitchell#aemond x you#hotd aemond#hotd s2#hotd season 2#house targaryen#house of the dragon#hotdedit#hotd fanfic#hotd#modern aemond x reader#modern aemond#prince aemond#aegon ii targaryen#hotd aegon#king aegon#aegon the second
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Mr. and Mrs. ??
pairing: liam lawson x singer!reader
summary: What to do when you get married in Vegas, wake up alone with only your half of the marriage certificate? Wonder what your new last name is and sing about it at the F1 75 Live show.
a/n:what? is? happening? in? Redbull? like seriously?? I can’t even…
a/n2: some affectionate swearing is included
Masterlist | Taglist
y/n

liked by user, user, charles_leclerc, and 5,823,193 others
y/n: Hey mama, I made it! From my little garage concerts to playing in the Sphere! It was an amazing experience and I’d do it again in a heartbeat — Thank you Las Vegas!
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user1: what a concert!
↳user2: was it as amazing as it looks?
↳user1: it was so much better
user3: you looked ethereal in those lights
↳user4: i mean she always does — a face card that never declines
↳user3: oh but she shone brighter than the Strip tonight
user5: ok but why is a vroom vroom boy in my girl’s likes?
↳user6: Right? That’s what I want to know
↳charles_leclerc: talent recognizes talent?
↳user7: we stan a king that knows a good thing when he hears it
user8: jealous of literally everyone in Vegas this weekend — Max winning WDC, Mercedes dominating, AND y/n’s final show in the Sphere?!?
↳user9: as someone who was at both?? Immaculate vibes. 100+/10, would definitely do it again
↳user8: you have no idea how jealous I am…
user10: ok but what are the chances we get an f1 x y/n crossover???
↳user11: just because they’re all in Vegas doesn’t mean they have to interact??
↳user10: but wouldn’t you like to see that?
↳user11: …ok yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s necessarily gonna happen
↳user12: we could only hope…
y/n

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 4,920,293 others
y/n: celebrating my last night here and I met some guys that can party almost as well as I can!
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user13: girl that is 4x World Champion Max Verstappen and runner up Lando Norris
↳y/n: Mr. Drink Man and Mr. Music Man!
↳landonorris: MS MUSIC
↳user14: oh I love it when y/n drunk posts
↳user13: she’s hilarious 😂
maxverstappen1: Ms. Music! Where are you!
↳y/n: IM AT THE BAR. WHERE ARE YOU
↳user15: why are you typing in all caps?
↳y/n: ITS VERY LOUF IM HERR
↳user16: You’re typing in all caps because it’s loud in the bar?
↳y/n: YED
charles_leclerc: Hou’re lartying wiyh us? Where? I WANNA MERT YOU
↳y/n: HI IM AT THE BAR
↳charles_leclerc: IM AT THE BAR. YOU ARNT AT THE BAE
↳y/n: SHHH A CUTE BOY SAID I WAS PWETY
↳charles_leclerc: BUT I WAMTRD TP MEET YOI
↳user17: this is the best thing to come from Vegas this year and I’m a max fan 😂😂
y/n has posted a story, charles_leclerc has posted a story, yukitsunoda0511 has posted a story

[DRINKD EITH MT NEE FRIENDS][@.y/n WHERR SRE YOI???][I leave him alone for just a minute…]
user18 replied are your new friends f1 drivers??
user20 replied loving the energy here
user21 replied I know you go crazy in Vegas but I think you’re going a little far…
yourbff replied bitch take a drink for me!
↳y/n oh you know it!
landonorris replied WHERR ARE YOU BESTIE
↳y/n drinks!!
↳landonorris YES BUT WHERR
pierregasly replied calmar where are you?
↳charles_leclerc IM LOIKING FOR MY NEW BEDTFRUEND
↳pierregasly you have a new best friend?
↳charles_leclerc YES HRR NANE IS Y/N AND SHED THE VERY BEDT
maxverstappen1 replied WHAY DID YOI DO WITH Y/N
↳charles_leclerc IM LOOLING FOR HER NOW
↳maxverstappen1 YOI LODT HER??
↳charles_leclerc NOO
↳charles_leclerc MAYBE
user22 replied how do you lose a woman??
user23 replied man how much have you had to drink??
user24 replied who is that??
user25 replied is…is that Liam?? And a girl??
user26 replied now you’re even shorter!!
user27 replied man I’m so jealous right now…
user28 replied what I wouldn’t give to be in Vegas right now…
Private Messages, y/n and yourbff
Private Messages, Yuki and Liam
(Translations — Idiot, How are you so stupid, idiot, lol)
Private Messages, the Grid (Unserious)
y/n

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbff, user, and 4,824,029 others
y/n: had some thoughts, sang some tunes…surprise coming soon!
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user29: oh my god NOBODY TALK TO ME
user30: this was NOT on my bingo card for the year…
↳user31: it absolutely was not
yourbff: is this about you know who??
↳y/n: shut up?
↳user32: does y/n have a boy now?? liked by yourbff
user33: Surprise? What surprise? What’s happening??
↳user34: 🤞🤞🤞 it’s new music
user35: ok but who is the muse? y/n has talked about how she only writes when she’s been inspired…
↳user36: is it a breakup? has she been seeing someone?
↳user37: not to our knowledge?
charles_leclerc: New music? Without me?
↳user38: Stop. Wait. What? When? Who? Why?
↳y/n: Vegas
↳charles_leclerc: Vegas!
↳user39: Not the pairing or situation I was expecting to come from Vegas…
↳y/n: haha
↳charles_leclerc: …
↳user39: wait what?? What is that?? What’s happening??
y/n
liked by charles_leclerc, user, user, and 3,924,103 others
y/n: my new single “Who Are You” is out now!
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user40: oh my god yes!!
↳user41: I’ve been praying for days like this..
↳user40: big mood!
user42: best birthday present ever!!
user43: ok but this song? slaps? like the best ever?
↳user44: I wanna know who it’s about!
↳user49: Same! The yearning…the confusion…the wishfulness of it…
↳user50: ok but what if that’s the point?
↳user51: what do you mean?
↳user50: maybe y/n had a mysterious guy and she doesn’t actually know who it was?
user52: love this!
↳user53: gonna be the song of the year for real
y/n

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, landornorris, and 4,822,193 others
y/n: I’m happy to announce I’ll be performing at the F1 75 Live show this February!
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user54: oh my god yes!!
↳user55: IM SO EXCITED
user56: this is the best news ever!
↳user57: oh the fomo…
charles_leclerc: it’ll be good to see you again!
↳y/n: yes it will!
↳user58: still don’t really understand how this friendship was born…
maxverstappen1: this might actually be interesting…
↳y/n: well hello to you too Mr. Drink Man!
↳maxverstappen1: Ms. Music!
↳user59: this is even more unexpected…
liamlawson30: wait a minute…
DM’s, Liam and y/n

liamlawson30

liked by yukitsunoda0511, lorgansargeant, pierregasly and 492,920 others
liamlawson30: days with you 💙
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user60: soft launching? in this economy?
user61: what in the world?
yukitsunoda0511: What? Something you want to share with the class?
↳logansargeant: Seriously? Not even a heads up in the gc?
↳liamlawson30: shockingly you aren’t part of my relationship?
↳user62: relationship confirmation!
oscarpiastri: is this what i think it is?
↳landonorris: i think it is!
↳user63: ok but what do you guys know??
↳liamlawson30: generally, nothing
↳oscarpiastri: bold words for someone in your position…
f1gossip

liked by user, user, user and 1,824,240 others
tagged: liamlawson30
f1gossip: Liam is letting out the juicy gossip today — when asked about what races he was looking forward to this year, he mentioned how he liked Vegas although it probably wasn’t going to be as exciting as last year.
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user64: ok but does anyone remember yuki’s story from last year?
↳user65: No? Why would we?
↳user64: he posted that he lost someone while at Vegas!
↳user65: So you think he lost Liam? And what?
↳user64: well what is Vegas really know for?
↳user65: Do you seriously think he got married in Vegas?
user66: I’m gonna go with the very mundane reason — max won his WDC last year in Vegas…
↳user67: same thoughts here…
user68: idk I think I’m with user64…Liam had the look of a man in love…
↳user69: oh I see the delulu is strong this season…
↳user70: ok but you’re the one who thinks Ferrari is capable of having a perfect strategy?
liamlawson30

liked by y/n, yukitsunoda0511, logansargeant, and 1,284,592 others
tagged: y/n
liamlawson30: a little late but here’s to a honeymoon with you 🥂 💍
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user71: HONEYMOON?!??
↳user72: What is the Sebastian Vettal is this???
y/n: better late than never!
↳logansargeant: hi! I’m Logan and I’m one of Liam’s best friends. Where did you come from?
↳liamlawson30: go bother her on your own post?
↳liamlawson30: and y/n…better with you than anyone else 💙 liked by y/n
user73: Liam? Is? Romantic?
↳yukitsunoda0511: since when??
↳user74: that’s what we’re trying to figure out!?!
user75: silly season is starting early again this year…
↳user76: this better not be like last years’ silly season — my heart can’t take it..
user77: ok but how did HE pull HER?? liked by yukitsunoda0511, logansargeant
↳user78: asking the real questions here…
y/n

liked by liamlawson30, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and 6,273,193 others
tagged: liamlawson30
y/n: all wife’d up! (And we both go down 🥵)
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user79: I don’t think either pr team is gonna like that caption…
↳user80: who cares about the caption — look at those photos…
liamlawson30: babe really?
↳y/n: 🥵🥵🥵🤤🤤🤤
↳user81: oh these 2 are gonna be my new favorites…
user82: can Liam fight? Like can he fight?
↳logansargeant: no
↳liamlawson30: I can and I will liked by y/n
↳y/n: that’s hot
charles_leclerc: your mysterious Vegas girl is y/n????
↳y/n: awww he told you about me?
↳alex_albon: i mean we did learn about you…
↳logansargeant: some of you did!
↳alex_albon: oops 🙊
user83: did you guys really get married in Vegas??
↳y/n: we did! And we ended with our own half of the marriage certificate so we didn’t even know who we got married too…
↳user84: how even did you find each other?
↳liamlawson30: I saw her at the f1 show and knew she was the one… liked by y/n
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#f1 smau#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 x you#what happens in vegas#f1 instagram au#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 smau#liam lawson imagine#liam lawson#liam lawson fluff#liam lawson x reader#liam lawson x y/n#liam lawson x you#Liam Lawson fanfic#liam lawson smau#Liam Lawson instagram au#formula 1 social media au#formula 1 instagram au#formula 1 x y/n#formula 1 x you#formula 1 x reader#formula one x reader#formula 1#formula one#formula 1 x female reader#formula one x you
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plsss make mikasa headcannons 🙏🙏👨🍼🤾♂️🗑️
GIRLFRIEND MIKASA HEADCANONS ᯓᡣ𐭩
content: sfw, female! Reader, fluff, bit of smoking mentioned <3




Mikasa’s strong. Like, really, really strong. She’s effortlessly able to pick you up. The ease of doing so always leads to her swooping you up in her arms when you’re too tired to walk up the stairs of your shared loft. She adores how soft you look in her arms.
Mika’s obsessed with your cooking. OBSESSED. Coming home to a warm plate of food you fixed for her after a long hour at the gym is like coming home to heaven. She’ll definitely make sure you know it, too.
Also because she can’t cook to save her life.
She’s definitely the type to be up at the ass crack of dawn. I’m talking 5:30 am, going on a morning jog, heading to the gym, working on something hands-on.. or sometimes just for the sake of being up. She always makes sure to give you a kiss before she leaves, of course.
Her phone is filled with pictures of you. All 1,209 of ‘em. Her lock screen is her favorite one, where you’re smiling and so beautiful in the pretty beach dress you wore when she first asked to be your girlfriend. It was your senior year of high school, and ever since then you two have been inseparable.
You’ll say something about a new TikTok challenge or a new meme you found while scrolling on Instagram and she’ll nod at you without a clue. She’s a bit behind on pop culture references and things like that :(.. Probably because she’s always off doing something productive.
She’s big on games— especially storymodes, though she doesn’t mind the occasional online multiplayer ones. Any free time she’s got is gonna be spent on her PC playing video games. Usually Red Dead Redemption 2, The Last of Us, Life is Strange.. sometimes Fortnite (she’s definitely a chapter 1 season 1 player don’t play w herr). Every once in a while she’ll force you to play something together. Scary games in particular. God, she loves making you play horror games.
“Im scared! Miki where did that thing go? It was just—,” suddenly, the monster jump-scares you and you’re screaming— almost falling off your girlfriend’s chair. You stare at the screen with a pounding heart and furrowed eyebrows, noting the ‘respawn’ button as you were killed for the millionth time now. You huff in frustration.
“Bye! I am not playing this game no more.” You turn to face Mikasa, when you see her laughing.
You cross your arms. “What’s so funny!?” Mika tries to stop giggling, but the cheeky pout on your face only makes her laugh even harder.
“‘M sorry, you’re just too cute. We can play that roblox game now if you want.” Mikasa giggles, as she exits off the game for you. Pressing a sweet peck to your nape, she gestures for you to flip your position on her lap. Now straddling her waist, you sigh with relief as she rubs soft circles onto your back, thankful that horror is over.
With a calmer heart, you turn to log into your account on the computer. “Let’s play Dress to Impress?”
Giving your cheek a little kiss, she whispers, “Whatever you want, baby.”
She’s very easily flustered. You would tell her she looks pretty and she’s already turning red. It’s adorable how bashful she gets 😭
She’s very, very, veryyy protective. Sometimes even too much. Always has you plastered to her, with an arm around your waist or a possessive hand around your hip. She never leaves you out of sight, even if its a quick grocery run or a shopping day at the mall— you’ll be right in front of her, and she’ll be right behind you. She always has a glowering look on her face, and if her overwhelming body language didn’t scare away lingering stares, then the threatening look on her face sure did. She’d never want anything to happen to her precious girl :(
That also applies to her doing absolutely everything for you. Carrying a bag? She’s got it. Need to run a quick errand? Don’t worry, she’s already grabbed the keys. Too tired to walk up the stairs? She’ll carry you. Heading to book an appointment for a massage? Like hell she’s letting someone touch you. She’ll have the 5-star experience at home.
Her physique is sooo delicious. She’s got strong arms, toned legs, defined abs.. she’s just so fit. Always sends you pictures of her at the gym, all sweaty and pretty for you.
Whispering sweet nothings in your ear, gently caressing your back.. she lovess to feel you relax in her touch. Really, it’s cause she loves to always have her hands on you. You’re just too gorgeous.
Loves back hugs. There’s just something so sweet about being able to hold you so tenderly, pressing warm kisses to your neck. Definitely her favorite type of hug.
Has to have you sat on her lap. There’s just no other way. When you watch movies together, play video games, when you’re having a quick smoke sesh, when you’re kissing— she’s always gonna have you pulled right onto her. She loves seeing you sat so prettily on top of her
LOVES when you get a new set of nails. Bonus points if they’re long, charmed ones. They feel so good when they’re wrapped around her pretty neck when your making out.
Kissing you is her favorite thing; if it’s on your lips, on your cheekbone, on the spot right in between your eyebrows, anywhere on your body— but she especially loves to kiss your neck. Always before going to sleep, she’ll make sure to snuggle up real close and litter you with kisses all over your face and neck before letting you rest. she just loves you too much
Mika always makes you feel loved. Whether that’s through sweet gifts she spoils you with, thoughtful gestures, passionate kisses, or loving words. She’s just perfect.
A/N: HI BABIES!!! I apologize for the fat text coming up. it’s been one hell of a 2 years. this was just rotting up in my drafts, along with countless other works i haven’t had the time nor motivation to finish. so so sorry for the late response nonnie. this isn’t proofread, and unfortunately isn’t too organized either. the writing and characterization might also suck.. as it’s been quiteee a long time 😅. also, i didn’t use the “Girlfriend!Mikasa who (..)” start.. but i think i might for other works in the future?? would you like that? lmk! I feel like tumblr has moved on from the usual bullet point nd dump haha. sorry again sweetheart! hope this was alright for uuu <3 i will try my hardest to be more active for u guys soon!! MWA💋💋
#hey.. how y’all doing..#I MISSED U GUYS#aot fics#attack on titan#fluff#mikasa x reader#sfw#wlw#mikasa wlw#aot x reader#mikasa#mikasa fluff#aot headcanons#Mikasa headcanons#x black reader#aot x black reader#snk#anime#mikasa x black reader#LOVE U
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Unfortunately, Google (or Baidu) does not exist in xianxia. Shen Yuan cringes, thinking of all the questions the poor disciples peak wide should be able to look up in the privacy of their own laptops, free from embarrassment. Of course, there’s an obvious solution; Shen Yuan just needs to become the new google.
Leaving a sign and message box outside of the Qing Jing Library, Shen Yuan invites members of every peak to slip in their questions anonymously to be sorted and answered by Qing Jing’s scholars. What use is reading all those books if you don’t do anything with the knowledge?
Many of the questions are simple. What is the property of this beast, where does this grass grow, etc. Some are more…. Unconventional. These Shen Yuan saves to answer personally.
Here’s a spread from this week he’s yet to respond to:
How do you get your Shizun to acknowledge you more when you’re already a high ranking disciple? No matter what I do, my Shizun always favors the junior disciples over me… -🐜
I think I like girls (I’m a girl) and I don’t know how to ask out the girl I have a crush on. She’s from another peak, and like half of the sect wants to ask her out! What do I do???-🎀
How to subtly hint that you’re trying to court someone? -⚔️
How to convey the depths of your regret? -🐕🦺
I’m a disciple from Xian Shu, and I also only like girls, but I like to write stories about men in love. While my brother likes men, I don’t want to ask him about this sort of thing, and I have no other male friends. What is the sensory experience like to take it up the ass when you’re a man? -📒
How to ask someone to stop hitting you while conveying it’s actually hot and you would be into it if they asked? -🐹
One of my martial family members has an absurdly thin face, making it nearly impossible for me to do my duty as a member of Qian Cao. How do you make someone understand that they need to tell thier doctor everything, and there’s no need to be embarrassed? -💊
Are demons bad? Like, obviously we had that demon invasion, but are they all bad? Shizun says they have cultural differences to us, but those cultural differences seem violent and sinister. -🐑
There’s this one hookup I’ve linked up with for years, going on a decade. Usually it’s great, just fantastic sex and occasional fortune telling, but I think I want to marry her? What are you supposed to do when you catch feelings? -✂️
I love my wife soo so so much. She’s my world, my evrrytgibg I lorvve her. I want to make her a custom scalpel set but I don’t know what designs handle well for doctors? It need to be perfect she is my world I lobe herr. -⚒️
How do you propose to humans someone? -❄️
How to know if your are uniquely terrible -🐦🔥
(Once again pushing my mtf Mu Qingfang agenda)
#svsss#scum villian self saving system#shen yuan#shen qingqiu#yue qingyuan#shen jiu#luo binghe#ming fan#ning yingying#liu mingyan#liu qingge#shang qinghua#airplane shooting towards the sky#qi qingqi#wei qingwei#mu qingfang#mobei jun#liushen#qijiu#mingning#madam meiyin
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Question about deathbed: i havent seen much about it yet but what ive seen doesnt make it sound very...fun to be alive in that world and that its like influenced by practices of the christian church during the middle ages and stuff like that, so im wondering how that would affect being able to even really play a woman being badass in that game?
Is it basically hardmode difficulty if you wanna play a woman?
I have two answers to this.
First is that in Death Bed, a woman can be badass. I’ll demonstrate by making Herr Rike, an old literary and AD&D character of mine, in Death Bed. @thepleasuregoblin @ashweather and @umbraldame can attest that she is just about the most believably badass person there is. (Despite the title of “Herr,” she is a woman and always has been. Well she’s female, technically she isn’t human and in her setting “woman” is a human-specific term while other sapient species have their own terms for genders but you get the point.)

(art by @chaospyromancy)
I’m not gonna go through this very granularly because in Death Bed most stats are rolled, start out very low, and then are upgraded one at a time by level-ups. But over the course of building her stats up to where they should be to represent her I would focus on Agility, Scripture, Dexterity, Vigor, Strength, Endurance, Arcane, and Attunement from highest to lowest in that order.
For Traits, I would get her
(this is a men-only Trait, and also one I will probably nerf before final release, but a female character can still take it, at a price.)
(she isn't actually humble, but the effect of this Trait fits her personality.)
(note the sidebars in this one)
(in no particular order)
I might also consider giving her Gentleman (Men only.) but at the moment in the game’s unfinished state that Trait has an unclear interaction with Lady.
Yes, she does have both men-only and women-only Traits, that’s allowed, it just reduces her Social Status. I rolled it and at the end of all those Traits she still has a Social Status of 27, which is fairly high.
Social Status is a stat representing how respectable the character is by the standards of 1400s society. It determines who gets to talk down to and degrade who. What the higher Social Status character says goes, and if this pecking order is challenged, that tends to distress people.
Characters who have Traits which fall outside their perceived gender suffer a debuff to Social Status, because that’s just how it was back then. Hell, that’s how it is today.
So she could kill monsters and shit with a sword just fine, the worst she would get is maybe the occasional weird look, especially since, in the Middle Ages, it was irregular but not strictly forbidden for women to practice martial arts. The super strict sex-segregation of martial arts was way more of a Renaissance and onward thing.

Now for the second answer.
A lot of what our cultural idea of what is “cool” and “badass” is extremely masculine-favoring. And while yes, swords and armor and violence are cool and badass, (I’m not immune to thinking that the things knights do is cooler than the things their wives do.) a lot of “feminist” or “egalitarian” or otherwise “pro-women” media that is historically set ends up having the message “This woman is badass and cool because she’s.. like a man, unlike those other lameass women who are like women.”
It ends up being the medieval version of that action movie trope that goes like
Male Lead: (pleasantly surprised) “You know how to fight and be badass?”
Female Lead: *racks shotgun* “I grew up with 7 brothers and so I had to learn how to play rough and played army instead of Barbie dolls and I didn’t have a mother and my ex-special-forces dad taught me how to fight starting at a young age. All that masculinity helped me grow up to be cool and tough woman instead of a boring helpless stupid woman.”
instead of, like, celebrating the other 99% of women in that time period who just did woman stuff.
Death Bed allows you to make a character that is a woman but effectively fills the social roles of a man such as killing stuff with a sword*(which is something just about every other TTRPG on the planet also allows), and it allows you to make a character that is a woman and fills all the more normal social roles of a woman while still being a very valuable asset to the party both in and out of combat (and Death Bed has a lot of “out of combat” stuff going on. It’s a classic dungeon crawler, which involves a good amount of combat, but is not purely combat and a party needs plenty of characters who are focused on other things if they want to survive.)
*and again, this wasn’t even something women were strictly barred from doing at the time.
Fencing Master: (Men only. +1 Social Status.) This struggler has +1 Scripture, +1 Strength, +1 Dexterity, and +1 Agility. Additionally, upon gaining this Trait, give him any three Weapon Special Attribute Masteries, selected at random from those he does not already have. Additionally, reduce his Hollowness by 1 each time he gains a new Special Weapon Attribute Mastery. However, this struggler must make a Despair roll any time his martial technique is called into question or disrespected, unless he proves himself. If he attempts to prove himself and fails, he must take an added instance of disadvantage to this Despair roll. He must also make a Despair roll each time his weapon is reduced in Maintenance Rating as a result of a failed attack roll.
Additionally, this struggler gains 2x the EXP from engagements in which he fights alone without allies.
Frightening Demeanor: (+1 Social Status.) So long as this struggler is not a non-combatant, apply a -1 to this struggler’s Attention each time their Attention is increased. However, apply an added instance of disadvantage to their reaction rolls.
Humble: (+0 Social Status.) This struggler’s good nature is a bulwark to disrespect. They gain an added instance of Advantage to any despair rolls related to disrespect. They gain an additional added instance of advantage to any despair roll related to disrespect from characters of lower Social Status.
Lady: (Women only. +3 Social Status.) This struggler has an added +3 to Scripture,[1] and an instance of advantage on reaction rolls. However, she must take an added instance of disadvantage to any Despair roll resulting from being disrespected by a man or woman of lower social standing, and must make a Despair roll up to once per Scene in which she is not wearing fine women’s clothing.[2][3]
[1. Sidebar] Literacy was considered the domain of noblewomen, clergy, and scribes.
[2. Sidebar] This Trait does not require the struggler to be a non-combatant. Though it was unorthodox for them to participate directly in battle, women of noble standing were not barred from martial training. In fact, a nobleman’s wife was expected to command his levies in battle should their home be attacked while he is away.
[3. Sidebar] Wearing fine women’s clothing does not preclude the wearing of most armor, so long as the visibly feminine elements are preserved.
Additionally, up to once per Scene, this struggler gains 100 EXP if she goes the entire Scene without getting her shoes or dress muddy, wet, or otherwise dirty. [gains EXP from reading literature or eating fine food and drinking fine wine? Figure this out.]
Paranoid: (-1 Social Status.) This struggler has an added instance of advantage to Agility rolls to avoid triggered traps, and, once per Hourglass, the player of this struggler can ask that the Narrator reveal to their struggler any and all traps in a room or general surrounding area and the Narrator will do so. However, they must make a Despair roll if they ever accidentally trigger a trap, or if anyone ever startles them such as by walking up behind them or waking them from their sleep.
Also, when the Narrator makes a wandering monster roll, the player of this struggler may ask that the result be revealed to them, but if they do so, this struggler makes a Despair roll.
Up to once per Scene, this struggler gains 10 EXP for being right about the dangers that lurk nearby.
Sharp Tongue: (+0 Social Status.) This struggler’s quick tongue and quicker wit allow them to wind around any social slight with the agility of a skilled fencer. At this struggler’s choice, they can cause the object of their ridicule either an added instance of advantage or an added instance of disadvantage to any Despair rolls related to disrespect from this struggler. Either advantage or disadvantage is doubled if their words are actually said in dialogue or at least summarized and the Narrator deems their remark sufficiently clever.
Tactician: (+1 Social Status.) Once per engagement, this struggler can bark out a specific order to an ally with a Social Status up to 3 degrees higher than their own, or any degree lower.[1] If the ally they are ordering complies, that ally gains an instance of Advantage to the next 3 rolls that carrying out that order may entail. However, if the ally refuses or fails to carry out this order, then this struggler must make a Despair roll. If the ally dies as a result of attempting to carry out this order, then this struggler must make a Despair roll with an instance of Disadvantage.
[1. Sidebar] This can be done even if this struggler is a non-combatant.
Additionally, this struggler gains 5 EXP for each successful roll on the aforementioned next 3 rolls made by their ally complying with their orders.
#middle ages#ttrpg#medieval#indie ttrpgs#medieval women#rpg#ttrpg tumblr#indie ttrpg#ttrpg community#ttrpgs#women in history#15th century#14th century#dark souls#dark souls 3#dark souls 2#ad&d#ad&d 2e#ad&d 1e#d&d#knight
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1813
(Jisoo X Male Reader)

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@mintwithchoco thank you for this promp. Was a lot of fun!
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September 5th, 1813 – Weißenfels
The war has led me to many villages like this one—quiet, modest places, their people hardened by hardship, yet resilient. But Weißenfels is different. Not because of its thatched-roof cottages or its cobbled streets, nor because of the bakery that fills the air with the scent of fresh bread, but because of something - or rather, someone - I saw as we rode in.
Our corps arrived in the village just after midday, the autumn sun casting long shadows as our horses’ hooves clattered over the stones. The people of Weißenfels gathered in the square, some watching in quiet awe, others whispering among themselves. Some had seen French troops march through not long ago. Now, it was Prussian banners that fluttered in the wind.
As I rode behind my superior, Hauptmann Reinhardt, I surveyed the villagers.
That was when I saw her.
A young woman, standing next to an elderly pair, watching the procession with a mixture of curiosity and caution. She was not like the others. Her dark hair was neatly braided, her features delicate but unfamiliar. And when her gaze met mine, something in me stalled, if only for a moment.
She did not lower her eyes immediately, nor did she smile. She simply observed, her expression unreadable. And I, despite my training, my discipline, could not help but admire her foreign beauty. Then, as quickly as it happened, the moment was gone, and I rode past her, following my superior.
After he set up his office in one of the rooms of the village’s townhall, he sent for me for an audience. The sun already began to set as he ordered me to stay with the local baker’s family. Since I’m an officer of the Prussian army, a leading officer of the 1. Brandenburg Dragoon Regiment even, I didn’t have to make camp with the rest of the lower ranking soldiers.
September 5th, 1813
Herr and Frau Lindemann greeted me warmly when I arrived at their home. Their bakery, modest in size, carried the rich aroma of flour and yeast, comforting in a way I had not expected.
“It is an honor to host a Prussian officer.”
Herr Lindemann said as he ushered me inside.
“I pray this war ends soon, but until then, we are grateful for your protection.”
“My thanks. Your kindness is noted.”
Frau Lindemann turned towards the small table where another figure sat.
“And this is our niece, Kim Jisoo.”
I recognized her instantly. The girl from the square.
She stood as I approached, her posture graceful but not overly formal.
“Leutnant von Amsberg.”
She said, her voice carrying the slightest accent, her German better than I expected. She must have caught my name as I introduced myself.
“Fräulein Jisoo.”
I acknowledged, dipping my head slightly.
“It seems fate has arranged another meeting.”
Her lips quirked slightly at that, but she said nothing.
Dinner was pleasant, though conversation quickly turned toward the war. Herr Lindemann, like many villagers, had seen both French and Prussian troops pass through his home. He expressed relief at the alliance against Napoleon, but worried for the future.
“Do you believe we will ever see the end of this war?”
“I’m sure of it. Napoleon cannot sustain a war on all fronts. If the next battle ends in our favor, we may finally see an end to this.”
“And if it does not?”
Jisoo’s voice was quiet, but firm.
I looked at her, surprised by the directness of the question.
“Then we fight on.”
I said simply.
“There is no other choice.”
She held my gaze for a moment longer before turning her attention back to her meal.
September 9th, 1813
I have never met a woman who loves horses as much as Jisoo does.
We had spoken briefly over the past days, but always within the confines of her family’s home. It was not until this morning that I discovered her fondness for riding.
“I used to ride in Joseon.”
She told me as she brushed the Lindemanns’ mare in the stable.
“Not for war, but for the joy of it.”
At this, I could not help but smile.
“Then let us ride.”
She hesitated at first, glancing toward the bakery.
“Herr and Frau Lindemann-”
“Will understand.”
I assured her.
“The day is too fine to waste indoors.”
Moments later, we set off, her riding the Lindemanns’ horse while I rode my own. The fields stretched out before us, the autumn wind carrying the scent of fallen leaves.
We came to a hold near a grove of trees to let the horses rest for a moment after tying their reigns to a nearby tree. We didn’t talk much during the ride, but now I wanted to take this opportunity to get to know her better. In the confines of her relative’s house, we weren’t able to converse freely without anyone listening in. Jisoo told me about her parents in Joseon and how her father owns a small restaurant. Her parents wanted her to leave and follow her uncle’s footsteps, hoping for a better life for her in Europe. She asked me about my own family as well. I mentioned my father’s military career and how he is now a horse breeder after his retirement. Jisoo’s eyes suddenly sparkled in envy and surprise, her fondness of riding shining through.
We kept on talking for a while after that, until the sun began to sink. As we were untying the reigns of our horses, Jisoo’s suddenly jerked its head away with all its might, making her stumble forward. I reached for its reigns and instinctively placed a hand on her lower back to keep her from falling. For only a split second we kept standing like that without either one of us moving. My hand on hers, which was holding the reigns, my other hand slightly supporting her back. I felt my heart stutter, an unfamiliar warmth creeping up my neck. I could smell the hint of flour and the yellow dandelions she picked, after tying her horse to the tree earlier. I immediately took a step back, my hand grazing hers in the process. She glanced at me, her expression unreadable, but there was something in her eyes. Something unspoken.
I cleared my throat.
“Apologies.”
“There is nothing to apologize for.”
She murmured, though I thought I saw a faint flush on her cheeks.
We said nothing more about it, but the moment lingered long after we continued our ride.
September 10th, 1813
During dinner today, Herr Lindemann mentioned the upcoming ball in honors of a royal general’s birthday.
Jisoo’s spoon stopped on its way to her mouth, her eyes falling on me.
“Will you be attending the ball as well, Leutnant von Amsberg?”
I caught the curiosity in her voice, which made me fondly remember yesterday’s accident.
“Of course he will, dear.”
Frau Lindemann spoke up, before I had a chance to do so myself.
“Every officer in this town will be at the townhall in five days.”
She was just about to eat more of her soup, when she suddenly gasped out.
“Oh no, you don’t own an appropriate dress yet, dear.”
The older woman reached out to hold Jisoo’s arm in apology.
“We will visit Herr Schneider first thing tomorrow. He will make you a beautiful dress for the ball. I promise.”
Jisoo couldn’t help but smile at me in amusement and after thanking her aunt, she looked at me once more. This time, her expression was on the more mischievous side.
“Do you dance, Leutnant?”
“I would like to think that I dance as good as I ride.”
I replied and a second later, I could already see a teasing comment forming in her head by the way her lips slightly twitched. It made me happy top see how comfortable she was with me. After all, we haven’t known each other for long yet.
September 15th, 1813
Tonight, as I prepared for the ball, I found myself paying more attention to my uniform than ever before.
My blue coat, adorned with golden epaulettes, had been brushed to perfection. The brass buttons gleamed in the candlelight; my boots polished to a mirror shine. It was strange, I had worn this uniform in countless battles, but this was the first time I truly cared about how I looked.
As I fastened my saber at my hip, I caught my reflection in the small mirror provided in my quarters. Would she notice? Would she care? I shook the thoughts from my mind, straightened my collar, and left for the hall.
The hall was bright with candlelight, laughter, and the hum of music. My superior, Hauptmann Reinhardt, found Herr Lindemann early on, engaging him in conversation. I stood nearby, only half-listening as Reinhardt spoke of the army, of battles, and of Prussia’s and Saxony’s future.
When Jisoo entered, I lost my train of thought entirely. I wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of the dress when she brought it home yesterday and I was disappointed when I was unable to see her as I left for the ball earlier.
She wore a deep blue gown, simple yet elegant, her dark hair pinned with delicate silver ornaments. She looked… radiant. Her smile seemed to light up the room as she walked towards the four of us. I tried not to stare, but when her gaze met mine, she smiled - shy, yet affectionate.
It was Reinhardt’s voice that pulled me back to reality.
“Leutnant, I wasn’t aware you had such a bright smile.”
His words would have sufficed as a warning for me to regain my composure, but he made a point out of saying them too late. Jisoo’s cheeks turned pink as she took her place next to the older couple.
I heard the small orchestra preparing for the next dance and took a step closer to Jisoo, suddenly aware of my own heartbeat. Surprised by my own forwardness I cleared my throat before I addressed her.
“Fräulein Jisoo,”
I said, inclining my head.
“Would you grant me this dance?”
I held out my hand and she placed her own on top of it, her eyes bright with amusement.
“I would be honored.”
And as we stepped onto the floor, for the first time in years, I felt truly at peace.
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Hi, everyone. I hope you enjoy this short fic. I'm considering making that a small series, depending on how it goes and how much time I have.
Stay healthy!
#kpop#kpop smut#kpop girls#kpop gg#male reader#bp jisoo#jisoo smut#blackpink jisoo#kim jisoo#jisoo#blackpink smut#blackpink
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Avengers Age of Ultron x Reader - Part 1
You were taken at the age of 2 to a HYDRA base. You get the powers of air, water, fire, nature, metal manipulation and teleportation.
When twins, Pietro and Wanda show up, you form a brother-sister-sister-like connection with them. They are also protective of you.
Once the Avengers show up, things start to change...
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-3rd person perspective-
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“Report to your stations immediately. This is not a drill. We are under attack. We are under attack,” The announcer calls out as all soldiers rush around, getting to their stations as three mysterious figures stand in the doorway, two tall and one smaller. A white-blonde-haired and brown-eyed male in the middle, Pietro Maxamoff and on either side, two women. One, with long brown hair and matching brown eyes on his left, his twin sister, Wanda Maxamoff. But, on Pietro’s right, another girl, but, a young girl. The girl is only 13. She has y/h/l y/h/c with y/e/c that have bags under them. Her name, is y/n. Doesn’t know or even remember her last name as she was taken at the age of two.
She’s the longest survivor here at this Hydra base. She gained the power of air, water, fire, nature, metal manipulation and teleportation. Strange, right? Well, Pietro, her honorary older brother, has super speed whilst Wanda, her honorary older sister, has telekinesis, energy manipulation, and some form of neuroelectric interfacing that allows her to both read thoughts and also give her targets waking nightmares. They’re like three strange related and non-related siblings. Anywho, back to the story.
Pietro takes both girls' hands in his fingerless gloved ones and reassuringly squeezes them as panic erupts around them.
We go back over to the leader, Strucker, who is talking with a Fortress Soldier. “Who gave the order to attack?” He asks, “Herr Strucker, it’s the Avengers. They landed in the far woods, the perimeter guard panicked,” The Soldier informs the leader. Strucker turns to Dr. List, “They have to be after the sceptre,” He says then turns back to the Soldier, “Can we hold them?” Strucker asks impatiently, “They’re the Avengers…” The Soldier answers with concern and worry, “Deploy the rest of the tanks,” Strucker tells him, “Yes, sir,” he replies.
Back to the twins, we see y/n looking around the room with blank glances as she scratches around the metal bracelet on her wrist which holds her powers still, but Pietro grabs her hand again, forcefully, yet gently and when the girl looks up to him, he looks at her with a worried glance, but sees in her eyes that she’s sorry and they both look forward again as Wanda worries more for the girl of 13. You see, y/n has lost her capability of forming true human emotions over the years. She’s basically emotionless, well, she is. She’s also gone mute over the years as she never had someone to properly teach her how to speak though the twins have tried and failed.. Her eyes, as Pietro and Wanda say, tell them everything they need to know.
The three spot Strucker and the the doctor, Dr. List, look their way for a brief moment, then they go back to their conversation.
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-Slight time skip, 3rd person still-
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“We will not yield! The Americans sent their circus freaks to test us. We will send them back, in bags. No surrender,” Strucker announces to the soldiers in the room who reply back with, “No surrender!” Then get back to work. Strucker turns to Dr. List and whispers, “I’m going to surrender. You will delete everything. If we give the Avengers the weapons, they may not look too far into what we’ve been…-” Dr. List cuts him off, “The twins and the girl,” He says whilst looking to the doorway, “They’re not ready to take on-“ Strucker begins to say but is then cut off again, “No, no. I mean…” Dr. List trails off as he points to the doorway and says, “The twins and the girl.”
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-Pietro pov-
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I didn’t want to leave the girls. But they convinced me.
As I’m spreading through the forest, I spot a guy with a bow and arrow and, casually, I speed up to him and knock a bullet into him. Slowing down, I look down to the guy in pain and say, “You didn’t see that coming?” Then I speed off again and, once again, spot another dude who I knock off a bike causing me to chuckle as I continue running.
I reach back to where I was before, and see only y/n there. I walk over to her and ask, “Where’s Wanda?” I wrap an arm around her shoulders as she shrugs them and I sigh. Wanda doesn’t like to listen much.
Y/n suddenly pushes my arm off her shoulders and heads off somewhere. “Do you feel her?” I call out and she nods whilst starting to jog. I just stand where I am, staying hidden as well.
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-Y/n pov-
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I jog to where I now hide behind a corner. Why? Well because there is a man with a big shield around the corner. Whilst hiding, I hear him talk, “Baron Strucker. Hydra’s number one thing,” Big shield man says, “Technically, I’m a thug for SHIELD,” Strucker tells big shield man, “Well then technically you’re unemployed. Where’s Loki’s sceptre?” Big shield man asks and I start start to wonder who this Loki guy is.
Though, my thoughts are cut off, “Don’t worry, I know when I’m beat. You’ll mention how I cooperated, I hope,” Strucker says as I roll my eyes at this, “I’ll put it right under illegal human experimentation,” I look to the ground at what big shield man said, but I sense Wanda more and emerge around the corner slightly.
“How many are there?” Big shield man asks and I see Wanda knock him down the stairs with he telekinetic power, then quickly leaves. Luckily for me; sense the sarcasm? He lands right in front of me. He looks up at me and I look down at him and we both stay still for around three seconds, then, without thinking, I speak and say, though my voice is cold, rough and static-like because I don’t speak, I get something out, “Help.”
That’s all I can produce and he quickly stands up and continues to look at me, “I have two more enhanced. Both female. One very young. Do not engage,” Big shield man says, “Stay here,” He tells me in a soft tone and I nod my head slightly as he turns his attention back to Strucker as he speaks, “You’ll have to be faster than…-“ But Strucker is cut off by the big shield guy throwing his shield at him, and, which I see, knocks him out.
“Y/n, come on,” I hear Wanda say in my mind, “We can get out, come on,” She says but I stay put, I don’t want this guy to get mad at me. I must have been staring off into space because the next thing I hear is, “Kid, you alright?” I blink and I see big shield guy kneeling at my height in front of me. As we look into each other’s eyes, I shake my head slightly as big shield man sighs and shakes his head lightly, “What have they done to you?” He mutters as he puts a hand on my cheek, making me flinch back slightly.
“I’m not going to hurt you kid, I just want to help you,” He tells me softly and I stare at him, “I’m Steve. Steve Rogers,” He tells me, still in a soft tone, “And you are?” He asks, “Y-Y-Y/n,” I tell him with the same tone of voice as before and he nods, “Last name?” He asks kindly and I shake my head and, though painful to speak, I do speak, “C-can’t r-rem-em-ber,” I stutter and see his face fall, “You poor thing…” He says as he stands up to his full height now and looks down at me and holds out his hand, “Come with me. The others and I can help you. I promise,” Steve tells me in a reassuring tone and I look at him with no emotion.
His eyes show many emotions. Sadness, hope, anger and more. I look to his hand, then back to his eyes and see him nod so, I take a deep breath, then take his hand. He gives it a reassuring squeeze as he picks up Strucker with one arm and over one shoulder as he leads me out, the silence being comfortable.
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Next chapter
Part 2: Will write for soon!
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A/n: Only part to bring over for this one
#marvel#avengers#avengers age of ultron x reader#avengers x child reader#pietro maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x reader#steve rodgers x reader#natasha romanoff x reader#tony stark x reader#bruce banner x reader#clint barton x reader#thor x reader#thor odison x reader#vision x reader#ultron x reader
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People saying that Ellen won against Orlok is pretty funny considering that Orlok wasn’t going for world domination or wasn’t trying to make her a vampire in the film. He just wanted to get sated by Ellen and have hot sex with her. He got it. He also didn’t struggle against sunlight or showed any anger towards Ellen. Dude wasn’t mad. Bill said in one interview that Orlok wanted to die. He got his wish by also marrying Ellen and consummating their marriage. Ellen ended up dead and wed to Orlok, embracing Orlok covered in their flowers lilacs. I’m pretty sure that victory anon was talking about doesn’t look like that.
Completely agree.
This post perfectly explains what Ellen really gained in the script, and it has nothing to do with winning against Orlok specifically, succeeding in killing him, or getting revenge on him, it's a personal victory about her desire :
As for these, they explain very well how Orlok was perfectly aware that he was going to die and wanted that. He was never fooled by Ellen :
#nosferatu#nosferatu 2024#nosferatu (2024)#ellen hutter#count orlok#orlok#ellenorlok#ellok#ellen x orlok#orlok x ellen#gothic romance#gothic horror
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Remember when I used to make headcanon masterposts? Yeah, me neither, but here we go again! I don’t often get the chance to talk about Norway in depth, but he has been at the forefront of my mind lately. So I thought, why not bring my thoughts together in the form of a very long masterpost? This masterpost is packed with big and small ideas about his character that shape the way I personally write him.
I tried to gather everything I could think of, though I’m sure I’ve forgotten something along the way. I’ll happily update the list later. If people are interested, I’d love to finish similar posts for the rest of the Nordics as well as revisit some of the older ones!
So, without further ado, brace yourself and read the whole list below!
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Introduction
Norway’s human name is Sigurd Nordvik, and Mr. Norway (Herr Norge) is the title by which he is formally addressed. However, he doesn’t really care about official titles and prefers people to call him Norway or Norge. Sometimes his closest friends may use the human nickname "Sigge." In the past, he was called Sigurðr — or Siward in English. Sjur Ødegård has often been his go-to alias.
His chosen birthday is the 17th of May (Norway’s Constitution Day), but he has never been the type to celebrate himself. He prefers to keep the day as a celebration for his country and its people. He likes rotating the type of bunad he wears every year, and he heads to the streets to celebrate together with his people.
He speaks Norwegian and English, and due to his close relationship with his neighbors, he can speak Swedish and Danish too — though hesitantly, only when necessary. In the past, he spoke Old Norse, Latin, German, and French. However, he has since forgotten most of these languages and is no longer able to communicate through them efficiently.
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Appearance
Sigurd has light grey eyes, reminiscent of mountain bedrock or morning fog. His head is long and narrow. He has a slightly bumpy, downturned nose, hollow cheeks, and a relaxed, expressionless face. His lips are thin, his eyes narrow, and his wavy, light blonde hair falls just to his neck, a little unkempt. A modest amount of facial and body hair adds to his understated ruggedness. His skin is pale but reactive, quick to flush in the cold wind, burn in the sun, or betray his mysterious image during heightened emotions. He's naturally quite thin and in fit shape due to his hobbies. He's tall, around 185 cm.
Sigurd doesn't outshine with his sense of fashion, dressing for convenience rather than looks. While he owns plenty of well-fitted suits and tailored longer coats for the occasions that call for them, he feels most like himself in chunky wool sweaters and hiking trousers, fit for the weather for the majority of the year. He seems to avoid bright colors, except red, but he loves detailed colorwork knits. He's frugal when it comes to many things and thus still knits his own sweaters. He claims he doesn't want to waste money on items he could easily make himself, and he certainly has similar sweaters in many variations in his closet. But, in contradictory fashion, he'll wear insanely expensive outdoor gear, technical boots, and windproof jackets without seeing any problem in subtly flexing through them.
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Personality
Sigurd is a reliable, composed, and trustworthy person in any situation — the kind of friend you want to keep in your life. His honest yet genuine demeanor tends to leave a lasting impression, and he’s generally viewed in a very positive light. Though Sigurd is quiet and mysterious, his presence tends to spark curiosity rather than intimidation. Everyone wants to claim him as their best friend.
Naturally reserved, he can sometimes come across as distant or emotionally cold. However, he simply prefers to keep to himself, avoid bothering others, and not stand out too much. Sigurd makes a conscious effort to be respectful, often avoiding situations that could feel awkward for either party, so he tends to keep his social interactions formal and brief. Social settings overwhelm him easily, and if given the chance, he’ll quietly slip away before anyone even notices or makes a big deal out of it.
Emotionally, Sigurd is guarded. He struggles to express his feelings out loud, fearing they’ll be used against him or cause worry for others. He's used to being the sensible one, calming others down or offering a voice of reason. Sigurd being in a position where he’s the one needing help feels foreign to him. But once he’s drunk, he’ll open up more than usual, only to be hit with crushing embarrassment the next day for letting his guard down. He’s painfully shy around strangers and tends to overthink social interactions, worrying he’ll reveal too much. But to those who earn his trust, he reveals a gentler, more thoughtful side. He’s among the first to notice when someone is unwell, silently checking in—even if his concern comes out as awkward teasing. He cares deeply about his family and friends.
Still, beneath the stoic surface lies a playful spirit. Sigurd is a subtle trickster — fond of poking or teasing those he's close to, and dropping dry, sarcastic remarks with perfect timing. He pretends not to care, but he thrives on attention, especially after years of feeling like the forgotten player in their group. He secretly loves being talked about, praised, and even admired, though he quickly shuts down compliments. Still, he tends to view himself through his flaws rather than his strengths. Sigurd believes there are only a few things he’s truly talented at. When he falls short of his impossibly high standards, it feels like a crushing failure of his entire being. Despite his insecurities, Sigurd takes pride in his achievements. He’ll brag (modestly, but often) when things go well, especially if he wins something. He does his job well, always on time, and with quiet perfectionism that is often underappreciated.
Sigurd lives at his own pace, content without chasing flashy or grand goals. He’s outdoorsy, self-reliant, and focused on himself. You could say he's health-conscious due to many health-related issues in the past. But sometimes, he becomes overly fixated on it, especially during times of stress, to the point of overworking or limiting himself harshly. His relationship with money is also complicated. He’s used to surviving on very little, so even spending on small comforts can feel indulgent. He sometimes gets uncomfortable when people comment on his country’s wealth, fearing they’ll judge him personally because of it. As a result, he often steers the conversation away from the topic. Sigurd is snarky and elusive, the kind of person who could lie with a straight face if he wanted to. He's particularly skilled at keeping things about himself tightly under wraps, making him incredibly hard to read. He often projects calm and composure even when he’s unraveling inside. If anyone were built to be a manipulator, it would be Sigurd. But thankfully for those around him, he’s not malicious.
Sigurd’s emotional world is buried deep, shaped by experiences he rarely speaks of — tucked behind layers of dry humor and thoughtful silence. Perhaps because of this, he often drifts from the present, dissociating, his mind slipping into daydreams. Sometimes, he imagines fantastical scenes, far removed from the noise of everyday life. When faced with complicated emotions, Sigurd retreats into his head, withdrawing from others. Without a healthy outlet, his bottled-up feelings tend to leak out sideways — through excessive sarcasm, bullying, or self-sabotage. Left to his own devices for too long, Sigurd can grow apathetic and cynical, sinking into depression. That’s why he needs people who won’t give up on him, people who keep reaching out, even when his instinct is to push them away.
Sigurd’s emotional wounds surface in his relationships. He has trust issues, and his first instinct is to build walls when he fears getting hurt. Letting people in doesn’t come naturally to him. His past unions weren’t exactly unhappy, but they lacked mutual respect, leaving him feeling unimportant. His opinions and feelings were rarely considered in decision-making. Those experiences left a mark, making him doubt the idea of real love for someone like him. In his eyes, marriage between Nations has always been more political than personal.
Mysterious, humble, and sincere could all be words to describe Sigurd. He brings a calming presence but with a layer of sharp wit. His kindness is subtle but ever-present, tucked beneath layers of sarcasm, shy smiles, and a masked desire to be seen.
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Lifestyle
Sigurd resides in Oslo due to the capital's role as the center of politics and entertainment, but he has previously lived in Bergen and Nidaros (Trondheim). When he has time off, he retreats to his mountain cabin to recharge. However, he sometimes has to deal with unexpected guests when his family also wants to enjoy a picturesque cabin weekend. It’s partly Sigurd’s own fault for wanting to be nice and offering the cabin for others to use whenever they want.
Sigurd's house is a bit chilly and serene, to the point where you can hear the old clock ticking through the halls or the walls cracking on the coldest winter days. The muted colors, a rocking chair, and large wooden cupboards all add to the tranquil atmosphere. He has a lot of old furniture he’s either kept or discovered in vintage shops. Both his house and cabin are filled with books and worn-down furniture he hasn’t dared to get rid of. He rarely buys new things as long as the old ones still work. When the silence stretches too long, he finds himself showing up unannounced at Björn’s or Magnus’ place (and raiding their pantries, calling it harrytur). The trio jokes that Sigurd is like a household cat — aloof and low-maintenance, but always returning when he wants warmth or food.
Still, Sigurd’s adventurous side doesn’t let him stay a hermit at home for too long. He’s well-traveled and deeply curious about other cultures. If he disappears for a while, he’s likely off-grid, hiking in jungles or trekking through remote landscapes. There’s hardly a place left on Earth he hasn’t visited — not even Antarctica. He’s terrible at keeping in touch or letting people know when he’s leaving, but they trust he’ll return home safely with new stories and the same worn backpack.
Sigurd has a strong, almost spiritual connection to nature. It means everything to him, and he’ll go stir-crazy if forced to stay indoors — even when he’s sick or injured. He genuinely believes in folkloric creatures like trolls, fairies, and elves, and he’s careful not to disturb rocks or trees out of respect for them. He’s passionate about environmental preservation and fascinated by Norse mythology and sagas. While he doesn’t publicly identify as a practicing pagan, he occasionally dabbles in folk magic. These interests, along with his deeply introverted habits and daydreaming nature, make him feel like someone stuck in another time. His brothers don't waste the opportunity to call him plain odd because of it, though.
Sigurd lives an active lifestyle. He skis, runs marathons, sails, and fishes — again subtly flexing with his high-quality fishing and hiking gear and regularly making trips to the northern wilderness. Back home, he goes for morning runs before sunrise, wearing reflective gear and a headlamp, preferring the peace of empty trails. In winter, he swaps running shoes for skis. Sigurd is sometimes seen as a kind of patron of sports, being the face of campaigns encouraging people of all ages to stay active. He loves attending sporting events and is always touched when asked to present awards and give speeches. He’s especially proud of working with youth sports organizations and anti-bullying campaigns.
Despite appearing like the poster boy for healthy living, Sigurd’s diet is another story. He survives on a strange mix of comfort foods — sugar-free cola, tacos, waffles, and frozen pizza, to name a few. He’s a decent cook but rarely strays from the few meals he enjoys. He’s not big on sweets, but he won’t turn down a piece of kransekake or anything almond-flavored. However, during hikes, he must carry a chocolate bar with him, which he'll open at the top of the mountain, resting for a moment and taking in the stunning view.
Sigurd also has a rich musical side — he plays the violin. In his youth, he would entertain others with his fiddle, providing atmosphere for celebrations. But most importantly, the instrument was a tool through which he could hone his skills and earn recognition. These days, he’s fascinated by electric violins. Sigurd enjoys emotional rock ballads and epic instrumental music. But once he’s drunk, he’ll sing along to Norwegian party songs with all his heart. He can become quite the loud party animal when intoxicated — but firmly denies it if teased.
Sigurd’s speaking voice is calm and airy, and he has a beautiful, soft singing voice. He has even been asked to narrate audiobooks of Norwegian literature classics. In quieter moments, he enjoys knitting and watching odd TV shows while curled up in his chilly living room. He developed an interest in roleplay and fantasy games in the 1970s and would gladly do it more often with the right group of friends. He’s also a cat person and adores kittens. He has two Norwegian Forest cats named Olaf and Mons.
As the youngest of the three brothers, Sigurd sometimes struggles with being compared to Magnus or Björn, becoming visibly upset and defensive about it. During his childhood, he had to fight for attention just to be seen and valued, but he rarely received the recognition that his brothers often did. Maybe that’s why he’s so fiercely competitive. Sigurd is always ready to join a friendly sports match — so long as he thinks he has a shot at winning. Even the most peaceful beach day tends to turn into a spontaneous contest, with Sigurd pestering someone to time his swim to settle once and for all whether he’s faster than Magnus or Björn. The same applies to chess, which Sigurd is insanely good at, or other strategic board games. Game nights in their family can thus turn rather chaotic very fast.
Sigurd isn’t particularly tidy either. After long fishing or hiking trips, he’ll barge into Björn’s place and flop onto the couch without a second thought, opening a bag of chips, still covered in travel grime. Naturally, Björn whines at him about it. But in true Sigurd fashion, he just shrugs and grins, teasing his way out of the scolding.
Sigurd’s view of his own immortality has shifted over the years, but his role as a representative of Norway has always given him a sense of purpose and motivation. He’s had bad experiences with other immortals, so he tends to seek meaning and comfort in his work — representing something he truly values. He wants to focus on what matters to him, finally pursuing his own goals instead of being held back by others. His job has strengthened his sense of self and purpose. While his responsibilities can feel limiting at times, he can recognize his immortality's nuances and appreciate the good sides of it.
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Relationships
Sigurd is a reserved guy who doesn't have many deep friendships outside of his family. Most of the time, he hangs out with Björn — which is maybe a bit embarrassing for him. Sigurd doesn't like parties or big social gatherings, as he feels most people end up invading his personal space, thus making him uncomfortable. Also, his social battery runs out extremely fast. While he prefers to keep to himself, he has a strange kind of charm that draws people to him.
With such a massive coastline, Sigurd sees the Atlantic as his home and has good relations with fellow Atlantic nations. He has traveled far and wide, and generally, the Commonwealth countries have been friendly toward him, often allying with him on various matters. He sometimes goes on skiing trips with Switzerland, Liechtenstein, or Austria, as they bond over mountains and ski-related sports. They get along surprisingly well, as long as Sigurd’s silence doesn’t bother them. New Zealand is another outdoor enthusiast Sigurd gets along with — an unlikely friend from the other side of the globe.
Sigurd is usually the first to point out that Björn and Magnus have gotten old and aren't nearly as fun as they used to be. Perhaps he just doesn’t like being reminded of the passage of time or of how comfortably others have settled into ordinary lives. He feels like he’s only just now gotten his own life on track! The idea of having children or getting married doesn’t appeal to him at all. These days, he cherishes his freedom and self-reliance, which he desperately aspired for so long.
Sweden / Björn The core aspect of Sigurd's and Björn's dynamic is the love-hate relationship. They love to annoy the hell out of their söta bror, their sweet brother. They’ll nag each other nonstop and drive one another crazy all day, yet still spend the night talking, braiding each other's hair, and falling asleep in the same bed. At the same time, they constantly mock each other for being copycats, always blaming the other for mimicking their style or stealing their stuff. After all, what’s worse than being constantly compared to your sibling? Björn and Sigurd grew relatively close and spent a lot of time together growing up. They were just as competitive then as they are now; it’s definitely a trait that developed in their childhood. Both had to make do with limited resources, so competition was sometimes necessary, maybe even encouraged. Nowadays, they’ll compare anything: who has the better car, the greener yard, more birthday wishes on social media. They never seem to tire of the comparisons, though everyone else around them certainly does. But truthfully, they’d do anything for one another if it came down to it; their nagging is just a weird combination of their love languages. While they complain about the other’s incompetence and lack of brains, they still show up when needed, no questions asked. They just can’t bring themselves to admit they care; it’s too corny, not their style at all. They’ve been in various unions throughout history, though rarely by choice. Those unions have definitely left a mark, and there have been times when their relationship was seriously strained. While Sigurd usually ends up being the voice of reason around Magnus and keeps an eye on him, with Björn, he lets himself be unapologetically bothersome. Björn sometimes calls Sigurd slow and out of touch, like he’s stuck a few centuries behind. Björn can be nitpicky and meticulous, which drives Sigurd crazy. To Sigurd, Björn is a perfectionist who’s always trying to keep up appearances, even during the worst of times. Even now, Björn has a tendency to meddle in other people’s business; Björn might scold Sigurd for how he treats his little brother Eiríkur, but Sigurd will snap back and tell him it’s none of his business. On the flip side, Sigurd’s free-spirited nature and lack of structure drive Björn mad. Sigurd is strong-willed and hard to cooperate with once his mind is set on something. He’s opinionated but keeps things bottled up, which leads to spiteful and inconsiderate behavior when things don’t go his way. His antisocial tendencies and bluntness can be frustrating and even embarrassing for Björn, especially since Björn himself is so conflict-avoidant and tries to keep everyone happy. Despite those unions, however strained, they have created a strange dependency between them. Even when they’re at odds, they try to understand what the other is going through, comforting each other at their worst. Their interests and hobbies are pretty similar, so it’s no surprise they spend so much of their free time together. Neither of them does well in big crowds, and they both deeply appreciate the calm, casual atmosphere they share when it’s just the two of them. They can sit in silence doing nothing, and that’s more than enough. Though Sigurd still occasionally tries to inject a little adventure into his brother’s routine. Nature is their shared escape, and they go hiking, skiing, or kayaking when they can. ─•~❉᯽❉~•─
Denmark / Magnus Magnus and Sigurd still share a deep emotional bond that's unique to them. They’re able to speak rather openly about their worries and offer each other genuine advice. Magnus relies on Sigurd and holds him in high regard, being the best friend Magnus would trust with his life. Sigurd, on the other hand, doesn’t quite share the same enthusiastic view. He keeps his distance when he can and doesn't always give in to Magnus’s wild proposals. Still, Magnus sees Sigurd as a constant in his life, someone who always has his back, no matter what. Magnus can get lost in his own world at times, forgetting things or getting distracted, so Sigurd ends up following behind to clean up the mess — just as he always has. It annoys Sigurd, but he knows Magnus doesn’t do it out of selfishness, and he’s learned to live with it. Together, Magnus and Sigurd are something of a comedic duo. Magnus's wild schemes test Sigurd's patience every single time and put them on some kind of adventure. Sigurd has learned to say "Magnus, no" almost instinctively to everything, but if nothing else, he keeps an eye to ensure Magnus doesn't get into too much trouble. Whenever Sigurd helps him out of a mess, Magnus showers him with gratitude—until he inevitably drags Sigurd back into his mess again. That’s probably why Magnus instinctively turns to Sigurd with every problem, even when it would make more sense to ask Björn. Only Sigurd seems to know how to talk him down and help him understand even the messiest of situations. Magnus tends to worry on Sigurd’s behalf — a habit Sigurd doesn’t appreciate due to past experiences with Magnus’s more controlling tendencies. But Magnus’s intentions are good; he simply wants to help and offer support. Accepting that help, though, is a real challenge for Sigurd. Magnus knows Sigurd has a tendency to bottle things up and fall into depressive episodes, and it’s something he’s quietly concerned about. He tries to keep Sigurd’s spirits up and remind him of the brighter side of life. They often visit each other’s places, though for entirely different reasons, and as a result, they end up spending a lot of time together. Sigurd often thinks Magnus’s way of doing things is ridiculous — but he gets a good laugh when he puts Magnus on skis or drags him up a mountain, watching him struggle through the harsh winter terrain. Magnus, for his part, is just happy to be entertaining. Sigurd cares about Magnus, too, in his own quiet way. He’s just learned to set boundaries so Magnus doesn’t walk all over him. He knows how much he means to Magnus, so he can’t bring himself to be too cold or dismissive. He’ll help when asked but won’t hesitate to scold Magnus to keep him in check. Magnus knows he wasn’t always the best to Sigurd in the past, so he tends to be pretty laid-back when Sigurd teases or mocks him. As much as Sigurd has had to put up with Magnus, he doesn’t hold a grudge—not even when he easily could. They’ve worked through their past issues more than once and, for the most part, moved on. And no matter how much Sigurd complains about Magnus’s constant presence in his life, he always answers the phone when Magnus calls—and always shows up when asked. ─•~❉᯽❉~•─
Finland / Timo Sigurd and Timo get along remarkably well, sharing a number of common interests, like winter sports and music, that give them easy ground to bond over. Sigurd is unusually generous with Timo, often lending him gear or bringing him over-the-top gifts, which Magnus and Björn find unfair, as they’re not given such privileges. Sigurd insists that Timo is simply more trustworthy, and he trusts Timo to handle his stuff with care. Sigurd and Timo tend to drift to the sidelines during gatherings, content to sit with a cup of coffee and talk quietly. They have been through similar experiences they can both relate to, and thus far, they haven’t provoked one another too badly, making their friendship rather drama-free. Timo has always admired Sigurd, ever since they were young. There was something distant and mysterious about him that made Timo want to get closer, mimicking Sigurd in little ways, trying to be more like him. That admiration hasn’t really faded; Timo still sees Sigurd as someone effortlessly cool, someone worth looking up to. He follows his lead with almost blind loyalty, always ready to join him on hikes or fishing trips with eager enthusiasm. Sigurd, in turn, finds Timo’s stories amusing and his quiet resilience endearing. They’re not each other’s first pick when it comes to social plans, but when they do spend time together, they genuinely enjoy it. Sigurd appreciates how easy it is to be around Timo, how he laughs at his dry jabs about Björn or follows along with his plans without needing to be convinced. Sometimes, though, Timo’s passivity and eagerness to please clash with Sigurd’s snarkiness and competitive streak. He feels a bit guilty if he's being too sarcastic with him. Timo’s too kind to push back, and more often than not, the sass may go completely over his head. Because of that, Sigurd holds back more than he does with others. ─•~❉᯽❉~•─
Iceland / Eiríkur Sigurd has never been good at parenting or taking responsibility for others, so he has a lot of regrets concerning Eiríkur. He has always known Eiríkur is his brother but has never been able to connect with him. That doesn't mean he doesn't care about the kid, but Sigurd just never found a way to claim that big brother status. They're very similar in nature, but that also means they're both bad at communicating and prefer to keep everything in. Nowadays, Eiríkur sometimes insists on his independence with the same stubborn pride Sigurd once had, insisting he doesn’t need anyone fussing over him. Sigurd respects that space, but his distance can unintentionally reinforce Eiríkur’s fears regarding Sigurd. The irony isn’t lost as each is trying, in their own clumsy way, to protect the other from disappointment. Sigurd's attempt to reclaim their lost bond is sometimes irritating to Eiríkur, even though he knows it shouldn't be. He just has lots of disappointing memories when it comes to his brother, which is the reason for his underlying insecurities between them, like the lingering fear that Sigurd might disappear again, as he has before. On the other hand, Sigurd has always given Eiríkur the freedom Magnus never knew how to give. He took Eiríkur on long trips and taught him necessary life skills that gave him the critical tools to survive on his own. Eiríkur adored Sigurd growing up, always choosing him over anyone else. He used to light up at the mere mention of Sigurd’s name and grew jealous if someone else claimed his brother’s attention. When Eiríkur was nervous or unsure as a child, Sigurd would tell him fantastical stories and restore hope in him, uniting them through their shared love for stories and imagination. When Sigurd was bedridden by the plague, little Eiríkur stood by him. He would sit by his bed, read books, and talk to him, as they'd tell each other stories. Eiríkur could bring Sigurd messages and meals while occasionally spying on Magnus and Björn, reporting back what they were planning. But other days, Sigurd was too ashamed or tired to even let Eiríkur into his room, giving the poor kid mixed signals on what he was supposed to do. Many times, Sigurd's own need for autonomy took precedence over his responsibilities to Eiríkur — desperate attempts to hold on to the few meaningful tasks that gave him a sense of purpose. Sometimes, the choices weren’t even Sigurd’s to make, as orders from above pulled him away. There were days when Eiríkur expected Sigurd to come and visit him, waiting patiently at the harbor, watching every ship that came in, expecting his brother to step off the deck from one of them. But he didn’t. Eventually, Eiríkur learned not to get his hopes up, but the disappointment carved itself into him, leaving a quiet scar that never fully faded. Sigurd feels immense regret for not being there when Eiríkur was small, left alone on a harsh island during his most formative years. But Sigurd was only a teenager himself then. Even if he had been there, he doubts he would’ve been the role model Eiríkur needed. Still, the guilt lingers, and he tries to make up for it in the present. They go camping and fishing when time allows, returning to the wild places where they feel most at ease. Around the campfire, they talk about the past. Eiríkur is endlessly curious about their roots and history, and Sigurd does his best to help, though time has eroded many of his memories. Sigurd wants to make sure his brother has what he needs, that he’s equipped to live better, freer, and more fulfilled than Sigurd ever was. But expressing love has never come easily to him, so instead of words, he keeps buying things for Eiríkur, always asking if he has everything he needs, which Eiríkur insists he does. Both Sigurd and Eiríkur have regrets and disappointments regarding their shared past, but they will always have that unique family bond no one can take away from them. ─•~❉᯽❉~•─
England / Arthur Both Sigurd and Arthur are old friends who go way back, bound by years of cooperation. Both are ambitious by nature and aware of what they want, yet not always the best at being emotionally present or vulnerable. In many ways, their similarities make their friendship feel effortless. Sigurd has always seen Arthur as a respectable peer, someone who understands and sees Sigurd’s effort. Over the years, Arthur has supported Sigurd during some of the most difficult periods of his life, offering help when people wouldn’t expect him to. While Arthur has managed to get on many people's wrong sides and people's opinion isn't always favorable of him, Sigurd has gotten rare glimpses of a softer Arthur that very few get to see. They often collaborate closely, especially in matters of work, and there's a warmth to their friendship that shows most in small gestures. Sigurd, for instance, never misses the chance to go all out with Christmas gifts. And while Arthur is often busy and hard to pin down, he never turns down the chance to share a drink with his quiet old friend. However, sometimes Sigurd is faced with an awkward position due to Arthur’s and Eiríkur’s disinterest in one another, as he doesn’t want to seem like he’s siding with one over the other. Arthur and Eiríkur just don't really get along, but for the sake of Sigurd, they try to at least pretend. ─•~❉᯽❉~•─
Ireland / Saoirse Saoirse's and Sigurd's histories are deeply intertwined, shaped by tensions and collaborations between their former peers. Saoirse, sharp-tongued and quick-witted, didn’t exactly warm up to the Norseman right away. But even back then, she had a sense of humor that cut through his cold exterior. She also had a fearless spark that challenged him in ways few others could. When he pushed her, she pushed back. When he played rough, she returned the energy with twice the force. Saoirse, too, has always loved storytelling and music, talents that Sigurd has long admired from a distance. Her creativity and charisma drew him in, even if he didn’t always know how to say it. During their time in America, the two reconnected as adults, finding more common ground than before. The noisy rivalry of childhood gave way to a friendship marked by loyalty and a shared determination to survive in a new harsh situation. Nowadays, Saoirse teases Sigurd every now and then, especially when he’s in the presence of Arthur or Alasdair. This is to remind them he’s an old friend of hers too! Unfortunately, Saoirse has a knack for sniffing out gossip, so Sigurd has to keep his guard up around her to make sure his secrets stay buried, for now. ─•~❉᯽❉~•─
Scotland / Alasdair Alasdair and Sigurd have known each other for as long as either of them can remember. From the very beginning, their relationship was shaped by the tensions from deep-rooted rivalries. First impressions were tainted by prejudice but also riddled by a persistent curiosity. As children, they played together despite the tension — sometimes too rough, ending in scratches and one of them running off in tears. And yet, no matter how many times they separated, that pull toward one another never quite faded. In those early days, Sigurd was bolder, at times impossible to handle. A menace in the eyes of many, especially during the chaos of the Middle Ages. Alasdair, by contrast, was already brimming with pride and an unshakable sense of confidence, always standing tall even when others tried to cut him down. His fierce spirit and charisma fascinated Sigurd, while Alasdair was equally intrigued by Sigurd’s mysteriousness. But Sigurd's path got complicated. Tied down by the demands of centralized rule and weakened by the plague, he found himself trapped within constraining unions and a loss of influence that left him weak and apathetic. During the Kalmar Union, his failing health and desperation to retain a sliver of autonomy left him too afraid to meet many of his peers, feeling like a shadow of his former self. And yet, when Alasdair reappeared in his life, something shifted. The Scot’s energy offered Sigurd comfort and relief, giving him a brief escapism from his state. In another timeline, perhaps they would have worked together more, built something lasting through alliances, but history had other plans. Even when political duties kept them apart, they remained close via handwritten letters, with something unspoken lingering between them. During occasional meetings, whether by trade or diplomatic visits, their connection only deepened. A quiet, persistent yearning began to take root, romantic in nature but carefully concealed beneath layers of duty, uncertainty, and timing that never quite lined up. It wasn’t until the 19th century that they found themselves drawn together again — both of them older, hardened by experience. Sigurd, now part of yet another union, was fighting more fiercely than ever to carve out his independence, while Alasdair was navigating his own path through the tides of industrialization and being more tightly cooperative (or controlled) through his siblings. The two of them crossed paths more frequently, and this time, their bond became something unapologetically intimate, though still kept from public view. Their relationship became a quiet rebellion, a way to find solace while being drowned by decisions made above their heads. Neither of them asked for the roles they inherited, but in each other, they found a rare compassion and freedom. Even now, they continue to see one another — no longer as secretive as they once were, but still careful. Their relationship is unconventional, perhaps even unserious to some, but it works. Neither is in a rush to settle down. Sometimes, they both wish history had been kinder to them. But then again, they've never let fate stop them from trying. After all, it’s a rare privilege to love someone since childhood and still have eternity to figure it all out.
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#wow i said everything there is to say about him. i'll never talk about norway again /j#i wanted to write a detailed history section but the post was getting too long. enjoy these ~8K words for now#hws norway#hetalia#hetalia headcanons
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———


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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 2: I’m The Son Of Rage And Love]
Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍
Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.
Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.
Chapter title is a lyric from: “Jesus Of Suburbia” by Green Day.
Word count: 6.2k
💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜
Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰
On the shores of the Susquehanna River, just north of Harrisburg, you find a Wawa with no gas: bags on all the pumps, cars with their fuel caps unscrewed and dangling. This is a common courtesy adopted en masse, like rationing during the World Wars or flying American flags after 9/11. It signals that a car has already been siphoned, no gasoline to be found here, no transparent flammable gold made of eons-past decomposition. You wonder if in a few million years, some unfathomable new apex species will be drilling your liquefied remains from the lightless layers of the earth to power their spaceships.
“Then we got sent to Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling,” Rio continues, gnawing on a piece of beef jerky, Jack Link’s in a red bag, teriyaki. Mercifully, whoever took the gas left some of the food. You are sitting in the parking lot, a quaint zombie apocalypse picnic, trail mix and Rice Krispies Treats, Herr’s potato chips and Tastykakes, warm soda sipped from plastic bottles. Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the Tahoe. Jace is tearing the convenience store apart; he is convinced the employees must have kept a gun somewhere in case of robberies. You know he’s fine. You can hear him banging around and swearing in there.
“Then we built some schools and a hospital in Djibouti,” you say.
Aegon is baffled yet intrigued. “Djibouti…?”
“It’s on the Horn of Africa, near Ethiopia and Somalia.”
Luke snorts. “It’s nice of you to assume he knows where Africa is.”
“Huh.” Aegon tosses a green M&M into his mouth. “Djibouti is horny.”
Rio says: “And after that we spent like six months in Key West, and then we got shipped to Corpus Christi, where Chips very narrowly avoided getting impregnated by, marrying, and inevitably acrimoniously divorcing a Marine.”
Everyone laughs except Aemond, who gives you a teasing smirk. “Did you really?”
“Uh, no. He asked me out, I ghosted him, that’s as far as it went.”
“Why’d you ghost him?” Baela says, crunching on Utz Cheese Balls.
Aegon turns to Rio. “You want a Honey Bun?”
“You’re my Honey Bun,” Rio replies. Aegon smiles, his sunburn flushing darker.
You shrug, eat a handful of candied almonds, tell a half-truth. “I just didn’t like him enough.”
Rhaena yelps and points: a snake, black and maybe five feet long, is slithering across the parking lot. It passes beneath the shade of the Tahoe and then continues towards the bushes. A moderate amount of panic erupts.
Helaena glances up from her notebook. “Rat snake. Not venomous.”
Rhaena shudders. “Well, I still don’t like it.”
“Where were you stationed next?” Daeron asks Rio.
“Chinhae, South Korea. Wicked cool place. The people love Americans, the food is incredible. We were there to rebuild a pier that got wrecked in a typhoon. They have these cute dolphin-looking things, they’d swim right up to the edge of the water with fish in their mouths to try to give to us. Like cats bringing home mice for their owners.”
“Finless porpoises,” you say.
“Yeah, those. And after Korea, it was Diego Garcia.”
“Diego…what?” Rhaena says.
Aegon turns to Luke. “Try to act like I’m stupid for not knowing where that is.”
“Diego Garcia is a tiny little island in the middle of the Indian Ocean,” you say, a bit wistfully. “It’s technically owned by the British, but we share a base there, we use it for airfields and to refuel submarines, things like that. We were renovating the housing facilities for Camp Thunder Cove. At night we’d go to the beach, have a few beers, look out into the ocean and it was just…nothing. Wide open dark nothingness for as far as you could imagine.”
“That’s what we need now,” Helaena murmurs as she makes elegant cursive annotations in her notebook, the cover picturing different species of spiders, a pinktoe tarantula, a green lynx spider, a black widow. “Someplace to go where no one will find us.”
“So you’ve known each other since basic training.” Aemond’s remaining blue eye shifts between you and Rio, like he’s still trying to puzzle it out. There’s really no mystery. You’re friends, and you’ve always been friends, and you’ve never been more than friends, despite many of your fellow seamen’s jokes to the contrary.
You tear open a Slim Jim. Aemond rebandaged your hands this morning, though they barely hurt anymore; he touches you with a clinical, focused restraint. “Not quite that long. Rio enlisted a few months before I did, so we weren’t at Great Lakes together, and then carpenters do technical school in Gulfport, Mississippi near Biloxi, and electricians train at Sheppard Air Force Base in Texas. We met after we were both assigned to Naval Mobile Construction Battalion 1.”
“The First and The Finest,” Rio quotes the motto, grinning. “The original Seabees, founded during World War II. People called our battalion the Pioneers, which…is kind of ironic now.”
Aegon says, munching noisily on trail mix: “It’ll be so appropriate when you end up dying of a broken leg or the flu or in some other totally preventable way.”
“It’s so crazy, people died of anything back then,” Luke marvels gravely. “Tuberculosis, pneumonia, infections, starving, freezing, poisoning, getting kicked by a horse, giving birth…”
Rhaena shoots him a fearsome look and Luke shuts up, but of course he can’t take it back. There is a long uncomfortable silence punctuated only by birdsong and Jace’s muffled outbursts from inside the Wawa. Everyone looks at Baela, concerned, pitying, entirely unable to do anything to improve her situation. She is still eating Cheese Balls with one orange-stained hand, but the other rests on her belly.
“Clearly, the timing is less than ideal,” Baela says after a while, and if she’s terrified she doesn’t sound like it. “It wasn’t planned to begin with, but I was determined to make the best of things. I figured that I could still finish up my master’s degree with a baby, and Rhaena and our parents could help, and Jace would be done with law school soon, and it might be stressful for a while but we’d all get through it. And now…” She shrugs wryly. “Now all those plans are gone. Just gone.”
“You’re going to be okay,” Aemond says; a fierce low determination, a promise, a vow.
Baela smiles at Rio. “How old is your baby?”
He is caught off-guard, clears his throat, averts his gaze. Aegon looks over at him, alarmed. “Oh, he, uh…he’s little. Really little. He…” And Rio, so rarely at a loss for words, can’t continue. He eats his beef jerky instead.
You explain for him. “Sophie’s due date was right around the time the phones and internet went down. The last we heard, she was headed to Odessa to stay with Rio’s parents.” Aemond and his companions nod and don’t say what they’re thinking, but it’s swimming in their eyes: Sophie could have died, the baby could have died, they both could have died, you and Rio might be risking your lives to cross the continental United States for nothing. “Rio’s parents live in this…well, I joke around and call it a doomsday prepper cult, but that’s not really what it is, it’s just a farming community out in the middle of nowhere. People who have their own chickens and gardens, churn their own butter, don’t wear deodorant, make medicine out of tree bark…and a lot of them have kind of a survivalist mentality, they stock pantries and collect guns. So we figure we can reunite Rio with his family and then carve out lives for ourselves in relative peace.”
Rio reaches over to bump his fist against your shoulder. He is grateful. You punch him back, fairly forcefully; it’s like hitting a brick wall. Rio is as tall as Aemond but probably outweighs him by a hundred pounds.
You ask Aemond: “What’s in the Bay Area?”
“Our parents have a beach house. It’s up on a cliff by itself, pretty isolated, and surrounded by state parks. That’s where they were when everything shut down. I assume they’re still there.”
“Beach house?” Rio raises his eyebrows. “On a cliff?”
Rich kids. REALLY rich kids. “Your parents couldn’t just fly you to California in a private jet or something?” you say.
“Our pilots stole the jets,” Aemond replies, not realizing you were joking.
“Oh.”
“Jace and Luke’s parents were home in London, so getting there isn’t really an option, and then Baela and Rhaena…”
“Mum and Dad were on a business trip to Moscow,” Baela says. “I’d like to think they weren’t eaten, but…they were probably eaten.”
“I am so sorry,” you manage awkwardly.
A single zombie goes shuffling past the Wawa on the main street, a woman in a floral church dress, hair falling out of its curls, one pink high heel that clicks on the pavement, blood all over her mouth and chin. She notices the nine of you and begins to hiss, lurching closer. Daeron shoots her down and then trots over to retrieve his arrows, yanking them out of her cheek and eye socket. Rhaena winces. Aemond, distracted, bites into a Nature Valley granola bar. Aegon opens a can of Pringles, pizza-flavored.
Luke is peering through his binoculars, looking south towards Harrisburg. Faintly, you can see sunlight glinting off the gilded statue of a woman—the Spirit of the Commonwealth—that tops the green clay tile dome of the state capitol building. “What is that?”
“The sculpture?” you say.
“No. Farther away. Those big concrete towers, right on the water.”
Now you know exactly what he means…and you’d forgotten all about it. It’s an oversight you hope doesn’t cost too much. “That’s Three Mile Island. And we should leave so we can put more space between it and us.”
“Oh, fuck me…” Rio mutters.
Now everyone else is squinting to see the facility, barely visible from the Wawa. “Why?” Aemond asks you.
“Because it’s a nuclear power plant. And since the electricity is out everywhere, as soon as its backup generators fail, it will melt down and the whole area around it will become radioactive.”
Aegon puts two Pringles into his mouth so they look like a duck bill. “How do you know?”
“Did no one else go through a Chernobyl obsession phase in high school?”
“The professor mentioned it in one of my chemistry classes,” Aemond says, but he sounds doubtful; this must have been years ago, when he was consumed by med school prerequisites and had no space left in his brain for mere curiosity.
“Okay, listen up.” Rio knows the key points; he’s had to study different sources of electrical power. He demonstrates with dramatic hand gestures. “You have super radioactive reactor fuel, usually uranium or plutonium. You have a pool of water around it that circulates continuously. The heat of the fuel evaporates the water, which makes steam, which spins turbines, thus creating power. But if the external electricity fails, the water stops circulating, and the heat vaporizes all of it, and when there’s no more water the reactor fuel overheats and melts through the floor and poisons the earth, air, and groundwater. Any questions?”
There is a chorus of distressed chattering as people swiftly rise to their feet, clutching armfuls of snacks for the road. Jace comes trudging out of the Wawa, conspicuously not in possession of a firearm.
“No luck?” Daeron asks.
“Obviously not.” Then Jace snaps at Aemond: “Why were you stomping around all pissed off in the medicine aisle earlier? What were you looking for?”
“Nothing,” Aemond says quickly.
“Seriously, dude, what was it?”
“Nothing!”
“Damn, Plankton, calm down.” Jace shields his face from the sun, following Luke’s nervous eyeline towards the concrete cooling towers to the south. “What’s that?”
“Three Mile Island,” you say. “And we’re leaving now.”
Aegon yawns loudly. “I’m so full! Rio, can you carry me to the car?” And before anyone can tell Aegon to shut up, Rio has crouched down to let him scramble onto his back. Aegon cackles and waves his can of Pringles around as Rio sprints to the Tahoe. Now there are a few more zombies stumbling up the street, but you don’t waste arrows or bullets on them. Baela runs them down as she swerves out of the parking lot and drives northwest, heading towards Clarks Ferry Bridge where you will cross the Susquehanna River in a less populated area and commence the long slog to the Ohio border. She turns up the volume on the CD player: London Bridge by Fergie. Immediately, Rio, Aegon, Daeron, Rhaena, and Luke are singing along.
Baela checks the fuel gauge and looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “We have half a tank left.”
“We’ll find gas somewhere.”
“Aemond, it’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.”
“You’re not going to be able to walk to California.”
Baela can’t think of a response. He’s right. Outside, the miles roll by in a blur of radiant, reptilian, early-summer green.
~~~~~~~~~~
Each time the interstate is blocked by a snarl of crashed vehicles or a backup too thick to navigate through—both common occurrences—Aegon digs the folded map out of his shorts and charts a new course for Baela to follow. This particular divergence might prove fortunate. The Tahoe has rolled into Distant, Pennsylvania, an Appalachian speck of a town, churches, coal mines, dilapidated old sheds. On the outskirts, perched on a hill and surrounded by oak trees, you find a small single-story brick house with a myriad of banners on the flagpole: an American flag, a Confederate flag, a black POW/MIA flag, Don’t Tread On Me, Trump 2024.
“Yeah,” Aegon says, scratching his scruffy chin as he peers up through the windshield. “I feel like they probably owned guns.”
“How do we know they’re not still home?” Baela asks warily.
“No car in the driveway,” Aemond observes. “No windows boarded up. They probably ran into trouble while they were out somewhere and never made it back.” Then he waits, the question upspoken. Are we going to risk it?
“We’re down,” Rio says after exchanging a glance with you.
Aemond turns to Jace. Jace—curly dark hair down to his shoulders, eyes on the house, chewing his full bottom lip apprehensively—doesn’t reply at first.
“You said you wanted a gun, Jace. All the Walmarts are cleaned out. This is what shopping looks like now.”
“Fine. Okay. Let’s go.”
Baela parks the Tahoe in the gravel driveway and tells Rhaena and Luke to stay inside with Helaena until the property has been cleared. The rest of you climb out, afternoon sun and mountain wind, dandelions crushed under your shoes. There’s a barn behind the house, you see now, gaps between the wooden boards and flaking red paint.
Luke is standing up through the open sunroof, inspecting the scene with his binoculars. “No movement.”
“We’ll take the house, if you want,” Rio tells Aemond. You’re clutching your borrowed baseball bat with bandaged hands, though it still feels unnatural; your M9 is in its holster in case of emergencies. Jace, Baela, and Daeron start plodding across the yard towards the barn. The grass is tall and mostly shaded, the oak trees decades old, massive, weaving a patchwork canopy of leaves.
Aegon trots over and slaps Aemond on his left shoulder, his blind side. Aemond says without looking at him: “I’ll go with them. You wait out here.”
Aegon drives an imaginary ball with his golf club. “I’m very sensitive to rejection, you know.”
“You’ll survive.” Then Aemond follows you and Rio to the house.
Rio tries the knob, locked. He doesn’t waste a bullet by trying to shoot the lock off the door, something that is far less reliable than movies would have you believe. He kicks it open instead, three tries and then the screws that secure the latch give way and the door swings ajar. You wait, counting seconds in your head, listening for growls or footsteps. There are no sounds except the breeze sighing through the trees, the warbles and wing flaps of birds. You steal a glimpse of the barn. Jace, Baela, and Daeron have unhooked the rusted iron latch and are venturing inside, Daeron last and glancing around watchfully, his compound bow already drawn. Rio steps into the house.
It’s hot, stifling, all the windows shut. But this has its advantages. You inhale deeply: no trace of decomposition, no black swampy nauseating rot, just dust and lemon Pledge and old-people staleness.
“Smells fine,” Rio says. And then, loudly: “Anyone home? We’re just looking for supplies. We don’t want to hurt you. If anybody is here, just let us know and we’d be happy to leave. And, uh, sorry about the door.”
You stay close to Rio as he sweeps through the living room—floral couch, television turned off, crosses on the walls—and then the kitchen, where bananas are turning black on the counter. Aemond is to your right; he’s placed you on his blind side. He trusts me, you think. When did that happen? You haven’t heard anything from Aegon or the barn. That must be going well.
In the bedroom, Aemond pulls the curtains open to let some light in. You search the drawers, the closet, under the bed. No weapons. The bathroom has 1950s-style pink porcelain, the dining room table is set for a meal that never happened. There is a deer head mounted on the wall, ten points, not bad.
“I can’t believe these fuckers didn’t have guns,” Rio says. “But where the hell are they?!”
You have always watched more than you’ve spoken. That’s why you’re good at shooting things, and why you’re still alive. Rio talks and you listen; Rio acts and you reflect. “Wait.” You turn to Aemond. “Did you see a cellar outside?”
“A what?” He is perplexed. “Like…a wine cellar…?”
“No. A regular cellar.” You walk back into the midday heat and circle the house, Aemond and Rio hurrying to keep up. Over by the barn, everyone else is stretched out across the grass, joking, relaxing, Baela with her hammer on the ground and her hands laced over her belly, Helaena cradling a praying mantis in her palms and showing it to Rhaena. Aegon is teaching Luke how to smoke with a pack of Marlboro Golds he found at the Wawa. Luke, game yet somewhat anxious, takes a puff and then immediately coughs until he starts retching.
“I want to try too,” Daeron says.
Aegon shakes his head, taking a nonchalant drag off his own cigarette. “Nope. Not for you. Illegal. You’re under eighteen.”
“I want to try!”
“Shut up, you can’t even vote.”
“Nobody can vote, the government has collapsed!”
You find it at the back of the house: a pair of large metal doors leading down into the underground cellar. The weeds have begun to encroach on them, wild violets and black nightshade.
“Awesome!” Rio says, lifting the doors open one at a time, the hinges shrieking. They’re heavy, but they cause him no trouble. Underneath is a staircase and a room dark with shadows; you can see a light switch that won’t work, the electricity long gone. Rio unclips the flashlight from his belt—taken from Saratoga Springs, waterproof with a 90-degree head so it doesn’t roll, known as a Moonbeam—and ducks down into the cellar. It’s a small room, easy to clear, and then you can start inventorying your findings. Rio is laughing, ecstatic. There is a workbench, a coil of thick rope, an array of tools—screwdrivers, wrenches, hammers, saws—some homemade leather wallets and holsters, cans of Brillo color spray…and then a treasure trove of weapons mounted on the walls.
You scan the collection. “We got Marlin .22s, we got Ruger Magnums, we got Remington 12 gauges, we got hunting knives…and one Glock 20.”
“A lot of ammo under here, Chips,” Rio says, yanking boxes out from beneath the workbench and stacking them on the floor, organized by caliber.
“No scopes?”
“Not that I’ve seen yet.”
You lift one of the Remingtons off its hooks and examine it: dusty, unloaded, vines of rust on the receiver. “We’ll have to go through and sight all of them. I don’t think they’ve been used in a while.”
“That’ll be a lot of noise. But here’s the place to do it, I guess. Low population, and we’re not staying.”
“Exactly.”
“Sight them for close range, like ten yards?”
“Yeah, that should work.”
Aemond says, eyebrow raised: “I didn’t know the Navy used shotguns.”
“Everyone hunts where I’m from.” You put the Remington down on the workbench then pick up the Glock, a box of 10mm ammo, and a can of Brillo. “Come on. Grab one of those hammers. I’ll show you how to shoot.”
You bound up the cellar steps and out into the shade of the oak trees, not stopping until you are at the edge of the property. Across the backyard where he lounges on the grass, Aegon gestures to the barn and asks Luke: “What’s in there anyway?”
“Nothing. Saddles and a few dead horses.”
“Oh, dynamite, I gotta see the dead horses.”
Jace says: “Aegon, man, what is your diagnosis?”
You use the can of Brillo to spray a large chocolate-colored circle onto a tree trunk, then make another two feet above that. You count your steps as you walk back towards Aemond: approximately ten yards. You load a single bullet in the Glock, aim for the bottom circle, and fire. A hole appears at the very edge of the circle. You take the hammer from Aemond and give the rear sight a few knocks. “This isn’t recommended, but it usually works.”
Aemond is smiling. “Okay.”
You load the full magazine and try again. The bullet hits closer to the middle this time. “Here. Both hands.”
Aemond takes the Glock but hesitates. “Is…my eye…?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem. A lot of people close one eye anyway when they’re aiming. I always do.”
He is relieved. “Oh. Good.”
You tap the underside of the Glock. Aemond obediently lifts it. “The line of sight is slightly higher than the barrel, so you have to account for that. And then gravity will pull the bullet lower, and the longer the range of the shot, the more it will drop. So when you fire, the barrel should be angled upwards just the tiniest bit, not horizontal.”
“Like throwing a football.”
“Yeah, exactly. It’s an arc, not a straight line. At first it’ll feel like you’re trying to do all these calculations in your head, and it will be overwhelming, but then it becomes muscle memory and you don’t even have to think about it.” Jace, Baela, and Daeron are now eagerly crossing the yard to help Rio carry the guns out of the cellar and receive their own lessons. “Alright, we’re going to start with a really terrifying enemy. I want you to shoot that tree.”
“What a formidable tree.”
“Aim for the top circle. And if you hit it, then you can practice on Jace.”
Aemond laughs, butter-yellow sunlight filtering down through the trees, the shadows of leaves flickering over his skin, a mosaic of flesh and earth. You ghost your open hand down the length of his arm as if adjusting the angle. Really, you just want to touch him, to feel his warmth and his stillness, the tension of his muscles, the rhythm of his pulse. He’s watching you, lips parted, goosebumps rising beneath your fingertips. Birds are chirping, sparrows and blue jays. High above, squirrels leap and scrabble through the branches. You pull your hand away.
“Look through the sights. The rear sight at the back of the barrel is shaped like a U, and the one at the front is an I. Is the I in the middle of the U?”
“I have no idea.” A pause as he reconsiders. “Yes.”
“Right, it is, and the bullet should go exactly where you want it to because I already sighted that Glock. I’ll show you how to do it later. Now shoot the tree.”
Aemond aims but doesn’t pull the trigger. He’s nervous; he doesn’t want to seem incompetent, pathetic. You imagine it is rare that he isn’t the one with the solutions.
“Hey,” you say softly, and he looks over at you. “You don’t judge me for not knowing how to cure people. I won’t judge you for not knowing how to kill them. Deal?”
Now he’s smiling again. “Deal.” He returns his attention to the tree, lets a few more seconds tick by, and fires. He hits one of the branches. “Oh, that is…embarrassing.”
“It’s not that bad. You hit something. Try again.”
More seconds, more birdsong, more wind through the grass and the leaves. Aemond’s second bullet pierces the trunk about six inches above the top circle. “Yes!” he cheers, boyish triumph on his scarred face.
You resist touching him. It is startlingly difficult. “That was really good.”
He lowers the Glock, and you click the safety on for him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” you say.
“Why’d you ghost that Marine at Corpus Christi?”
“I told you. I didn’t like him enough.”
“Okay, sure, but actually. What was wrong with him?”
“I’ve known you for like twenty-four hours. You think you’ve earned all my secrets?”
“Well, not all of them,” Aemond says, grinning. Rio is showing Jace, Baela, and Daeron how to load the .22s. Aegon is swinging his golf club in circles as he follows Luke into the barn. Helaena and Rhaena are giggling as butterflies land on their outstretched fingers. “But our time together could be very finite. It seems unwise to waste it by trying to preserve some amount of mystery.”
“You’ve convinced me.” You want to be known by him, you want to be understood. That is a frightening thing to realize. It’s like handing a stranger the keys to your home. Will they visit graciously, or will they rob you, ruin you, burn you down? “I haven’t seen many examples of love working out for people. I’ve seen couples who hated each other, and couples who split up, and a lot of women having to raise kids all on their own and turning into these…bitter, exhausted, hollowed-out versions of themselves. I never wanted that to be me. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like that was just one wrong choice away from becoming my life. I don’t want men to disappoint me. So I don’t give them the chance.”
You think Aemond is going to say something cheap, flirtatious, awful: Give me a chance, baby. I won’t disappoint you. Instead he says: “I haven’t known many happy couples either. I mean…Luke and Rhaena would be the closest, I guess. But they’re so young. I’m not sure if they count.”
“Rio and Sophie seem happy. But they’ve also barely seen each other in five years.”
“It does things to you, when you start to believe love might be doomed to end or tear you apart or turn to hatred. If it’s just an evolutionary mirage to trick us into reproducing, what’s the point of giving someone that power over you?”
“Exactly.”
“I feel like one of us should be trying to talk the other out of being so fatalistically cynical.”
“Yeah, totally. Okay. You talk me out of it.”
He chuckles. “No, I don’t think I can. You talk me out of it.”
You’re watching Aemond, realizing you like everything about him—his smirk, his height, his hands, the clear direct blue of his eye—and wondering what the hell you’re going to do about it. Then there is a scream from the barn.
What?? Who??
“Luke!” Aemond shouts, and takes off across the yard. Now you’re all running, even Rhaena and Helaena who don’t have anything to fight with. Everyone is yelling, their lungs heaving in wild June air, their shoes pounding against the earth.
Inside the barn, on a wooden floor strewn with hay, Luke is shrieking as he tries to push a zombie off of him with his bare hands. She’s an older woman, grey hair in rollers, yellow nightgown stained with gore. Something has happened to her feet. Both of her legs end in exposed tibias and flapping strips of purplish, rotting skin. Aegon is beating her with his golf club, but he can’t get a good shot at her head. If he accidentally hits Luke, he could make it worse, he could stun him or even knock him out, and he’ll be bitten in the few seconds it takes anyone to remove his undead assailant. Rio lunges to grab the zombie. She snaps at him with bared teeth and he retreats, drawing his M9.
“Don’t shoot!” Jace is saying. The air is putrid: dead horses, dead people. “You’ll hit Luke!”
Your own M9 is suddenly in your hands, the safety clicked off, one eye closed. “Luke, don’t move.”
“Kill it, kill it!” he pleads hysterically, pushing the zombie as far from him as he can, his palms sinking into the decomposing bruise-colored tissue of her chest and throat.
“Don’t shoot!” Jace orders, but you ignore him. He fades into the background with all the other frenzied voices. Your finger on the trigger, a boom like thunder, bits of bone and brains against the wall. Luke shoves the corpse away, trembling, sobbing. Rhaena flies to him.
Aegon spots the fresh blood on Luke’s right hand and panics. “Is that a bite?!”
Luke notices the wound for the first time. “I don’t know!”
“What do you mean you don’t know?!”
“I don’t know!” Luke wails, tears flooding down his pink face.
“I thought you cleared the barn!” Aemond roars at Aegon.
“It fell out of the loft, we didn’t think anything was up there!”
Luke is blubbering: “I hit my hand against one of the stalls, I think that’s how I cut myself, I was just…I was pushing it away…I didn’t think it bit me…oh my God, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t want to die…”
“It only takes once, kid,” Rio says grimly, fidgeting with his M9, looking at Aemond as if for permission.
“Don’t touch him!” Jace hisses, stepping in front of his brother and clutching his bat. “No one is going to hurt him, it’s not a bite, you can’t prove it’s a bite!”
You reach for Luke’s bleeding hand. “Can I see—?”
“Get away from him!” Jace swings his bat. The tip of it connects with your skull, just a graze fortunately, but still enough to rattle you. Rio charges Jace, tackles him to the floor, starts throwing punches. Baela has apparently forgotten she’s heavily pregnant and is trying to pull them apart. You join her.
He’s going to demolish Jace. He’s going to break his nose or jaw or something. “Rio stop, I’m fine, stop!”
There is another gunshot, a cataclysmic earth-shaking explosion that makes the pain in your head surge from a ripple to a wave. Aemond is aiming his Glock skywards; a hole has appeared in the roof of the barn. “Stand up!” he commands. Rio and Jace reluctantly comply. You help Baela to her feet.
“Aemond,” Jace says. “You have to stop them, they’re going to kill Luke—”
“No one is killing anybody.” Aemond lowers his Glock. “Maybe he’s been bitten. Maybe he hasn’t been. And even if we knew for sure that he was going to turn, we don’t just execute people like this, threatening them when they’re terrified. We have humanity. We have compassion.”
There is a silence that strikes you as heavy, laden, holding meaning that escapes you. Aegon points at Luke. “So what the fuck are we going to do about him?”
“We’ll tie him up,” Aemond decides.
“What?!” Luke exclaims.
“There’s rope in the cellar. We’ll tie his arms and legs so he can’t do anything and keep him like that for a few days until either his hand heals up or he turns into a zombie. Someone will always have to be with him to help him eat and take a piss and also…you know. Deal with it if he turns.”
“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says immediately.
Aemond’s voice is now gentle, sympathetic. “I don’t think you want this.”
“If Luke has to die, I should be the person with him.”
“You’ve never had to put someone down before.” And in this statement lives another: Aemond knows what that feels like. Aemond has had to kill someone when they turned.
“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says again, this frail harmless doe-eyed girl, and you see a steeliness in her that you hadn’t thought existed.
“Okay,” Aemond relents. “When you’re asleep, Jace or I will take over.”
“It’s not a bite,” Jace murmurs, like he’s trying to convince himself.
“We’ll all find out soon enough,” Rio says, casting him a glare, then goes to fetch the coil of rope from the cellar.
Aemond cleans and bandages the wound on Luke’s hand. Then the weapons, ammo, and newly immobilized Luke are loaded into the Tahoe. Aemond asks you once everyone else is inside: “How’s your head?”
“Fine, I think.”
“Hurts?”
“Just a little.”
“Dizzy? Double vision?”
“No, nothing like that.”
He takes a quick look, parting your hair with his fingertips, feeling gingerly for blood and swelling. And this is becoming a serious problem: every time he touches you, you want more.
“Aemond…who did you have to kill?”
He doesn’t answer. For another moment his hand lingers by your temple, then Aemond turns away and climbs into the Tahoe. This time, no one sings along to the next song on the mixtape. Heads rest on windows, eyes are vacant and misty. Baela steers the Tahoe westbound on Route 1004, the Chainsmokers drifting through the speakers: All We Know.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Pick a card, any card,” Aegon says when he’s done shuffling. He fans out the entire Uno deck face-down and offers it to Rio, Aemond, and Jace. They each select a card, then Aegon picks one for himself. Finally, he holds out the deck to Luke, who stares up incredulously from where he’s still bound with rope and sitting on a curb in the parking lot of a Burger King just outside of Yarnell, Pennsylvania.
“Are you serious?”
“You’re an adult male, aren’t you? You think being in the middle of transforming into an undead murder machine exempts you from gasoline siphoning duty?”
“I’m fine!” Luke insists.
“Great. Then pick a card.”
“I can’t move my hands, you idiot.”
“Pick it with your mouth.”
“I hate you.” Luke bites his card of choice and waits with it clasped between his teeth, glowering.
“I want to pick a card,” Daeron says cheerfully.
Aegon refuses. “No. Too young. A baby.”
“Aegon, I’m seventeen!”
“Can’t enlist, can’t do jury duty, can’t buy lottery tickets, can’t sign up to drink gasoline. Okay, everybody show their cards.”
“I got a three,” Jace says, then yanks Luke’s card out of his mouth and reads it. “He got a skip.”
Aemond’s card is a nine, Rio’s a five, Aegon’s a reverse. “That means you lose, Jace,” Aegon announces, admittedly rather gleeful. “You had the lowest number.”
“This is bullshit, I had to siphon last time!”
“Then stop picking bad cards.”
“Jace, I can do it,” Aemond says.
“And get to be the martyr, as usual? No thanks. Give me the damn hose.”
Aegon roots around under the Tahoe seats and produces a long, semitransparent siphoning hose. “All the ones with the little pump attachments were sold out everywhere by the time we thought that might be useful,” he explains to you and Rio.
“That sucks, Jace,” Rio says. “I mean, literally, it sucks.”
“Next time we cross a bridge, I’m pushing you off it.” Jace takes the hose from Aegon, pops open the gas cap of the Dodge Ram 3500 you’ve found, and threads the hose down into the tank. He sucks on the other end and then shoves it into the Tahoe once the gasoline starts flowing. The fuel gauge was hovering just above E. Hopefully you can get at least a few gallons out of the Ram, another fifty or a hundred miles, maybe even two hundred, enough to get you across the Ohio border.
Jace is bent over and vomiting gasoline onto the pavement. Rhaena and Baela sit with Luke as Aemond feels his forehead and peers into his eyes. Daeron accompanies Helaena as she goes to scavenge inside the Burger King, her burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Rio is now holding the siphoning hose and watching the liquid gold pour into the Tahoe, his smile growing with each passing second. Your eyes fall on Aemond and stay there, his careful hands, his brow knitted with concentration.
A whisper from behind you: “We could fake date to make him jealous.”
You whirl to see Aegon, mischievous smirk, neon green plastic sunglasses. “That is a super generous offer and I appreciate the thought you put into it, but no.”
“Why not?”
“It’s dishonest. It’s manipulative. If something is going to happen with Aemond, I want it to be real.”
Aegon sighs. “No, you’re right, it was a dumb idea. I just figured I have a lot of experience.”
“Experience with what?”
“People pretending to love me.” He flashes a strange, sad smile, then follows Daeron and Helaena into the Burger King.
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond x you#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x y/n
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Ellen Hutter and Jungian archetypes in "Nosferatu" (2024)
Persona: Victorian identity
The “conformity archetype”; created for reasons of adaptation or personal convenience. The “masks” we wear in different situations; it conceals our true selves, presenting us as someone different to who we really are.




“Everything I say sounds so childish.” "I was but a innocent child." “Keep away from me! I’m unclean!”
Ellen projecting an image of innocence, naivety, purity and modesty, and infantilizing herself before others (because Victorian society decreed women should have these characteristics). Her overbearing “protection” and worry over Thomas, to present herself as a submissive and doting Victorian wife (we only see her acting this way around Victorian characters). For instance, when she scares Anna in the middle of the night, she even sounds like an actual child (“May I stay with you tonight?”). This is her mask, her Persona, that she uses to hide her true self.
This convinces both Thomas and Anna Harding, but not Friedrich Harding, who sees her true self because they are alike (“rutting goat”; “always hungry”, "ardent nature”) and there's an unconscious recognition happening here ("Why do you hate me? You never liked me. Never."); Harding resents her because she a woman, and as such she shouldn’t have this nature, while Ellen is envious of him because he gets to display his sexuality freely, while she has to repress hers.


Ego: Her true Self
The Ego and the Self are different, but connected. Ego is both conscious (our individuality) and unconscious, and Self is the total personality of the individual. To achieve the Self it can be a lifelong process, through individuation and self-realisation. The unconscious is where the Shadow self and Anima/Animus exist.




“The honeymoon was yet too short [...] One minute more.” "He told me about you. He told me how foolish you were. How fearful. How like a child. How you fell into his arms as a swooning lily of a woman." “You could never please me as he could.”
Ellen’s sexuality and her supernatural abilities, that she seeks to repress with her Persona. Her calling out to Orlok the entire story (prologue; maiden’s token; giving him entrance to Wisburg and to the Hardings household), but since her Shadow self is not integrated, she behaves as if she is a victim of Orlok’s haunting: begging Von Franz to help her; talking about how her dreams "grow darker" and accusing Orlok of corrupting her innocence; when it's her sexual energy that conjures him and everything that happens in this story is according to her own will.
Her true self comes to the surface on some occasions: when her teenage self performs Black Magic at the prologue (necromancy); when she’s so happy at her dream of everyone dying and marrying Death (Orlok); when she creates the maiden’s token; when she passionately kisses Thomas (devouring him, almost); when she rejects God; when she displays her sexual desire for Orlok and when she taunts Thomas about his failures; and when she says she needs no salvation. This is who Ellen truly is.


And like Friedrich Harding resents Ellen, we see Ellen resenting Herr Knock ("I never liked that man. Never."). What recognition does Ellen sees in Knock? They both use Sex Magick (sexual energy) to conjure Orlok, for a start. Unlike Ellen, Knock doesn’t hide his connection nor covenant with Orlok. What Ellen claims to be her “shame”, Knock is proud of. They both reject Christianity, but Knock fully embraces Paganism.


Shadow Self: Count Orlok
When we over please others with our Persona, it creates the Shadow. This is the unknown dark side of our personality; everything we deny in ourselves (what we perceive as inferior, evil, or unacceptable) becomes part of our Shadow self.
A weak adaptation of the Shadow results in low level of personality, causing the individual to behave like a passive victim of his shadow, extremely worried with the opinion of others, a walking Persona. Those who don’t look at their Shadow directly, project them onto others: the qualities we cannot stand in others, it’s the qualities we have in ourselves and don’t wish to see (which is what is happening between Ellen, Friedrich Harding and Herr Knock in this narrative).




“It is not me. It is your nature.” "You deceive yourself."
Orlok as a monster of Ellen’s own creation by the repression of her true self: he’s the embodiment of her “devourence" and "appetite", uncontrollable lust after being repressed for so long. He’s also a representation of demonized female sexuality by Victorian society; seen as a monstrosity and a plague in need of containment; hence why she resurrected him during her sexual awakening (15 years old) and her sexuality stays connected to him after that (which she considers “her shame”).
He symbolizes free sexuality, demonized Pagan beliefs, the demonized foreigner. He and Ellen are like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He’s also described as very masculine, and Thomas feels emasculated by him, as we see Orlok feeding on Thomas (as Ellen herself wished she could devour him). Orlok is also the animus to Ellen’s anima. We see Ellen rejecting Orlok because he represents the parts of herself she doesn’t want to confront nor claim as her own.
And if we go to the Freudian angle of Ellen conjuring Orlok over being hurt and lonely because her father didn’t give her physical affection anymore, oh boy… and this happening during her sexual awakening? Electra Complex. It’s the total opposite of those ridiculous “Ellen’s father abused her” interpretations, because this is Ellen wanting to have sex with her father. Especially since Orlok was probably the same age as her father at the time.
Integration/Assimilation of Shadow:
Our Shadow self can be integrated through Shadow work, because this is a central part of the process to balance our psyche and of the process of individuation. As we integrate our Shadow self, we dismantle the Persona, and come closer to our true Selves. In the “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” dynamic it has to be Dr. Jekyll (the conscious personality) to integrate the Shadow, and not the other way around (otherwise one becomes a slave to their Shadow self); and this is what we see here, as it’s Ellen who has to accept Orlok, of her own free will, and not the other way around.


“I need no salvation. My entire life I have no ill but heed my nature.” “Our spirits are one.”
At the end, Ellen accepts Orlok’s covenant of being one with him ever-eternally, which symbolizes the integration of her Shadow Self, and the dissolution of her Persona (Victorian identity), as she embraces her true self.
In this last scene we see her assimilating her Shadow, as she accepts herself completely, and her past resentment towards Friedrich Harding and Herr Knock resonates in this scene: she embraces Paganism and uses Sex Magick to break Nosferatu curse, and publically displays her sexuality and connection to Orlok to Thomas, Von Franz and Dr. Sievers. No longer shameful nor hiding: it's in the broad daylight for everyone to see.
This is a very simplified version of a broader subject; and I was waiting for someone from the psychology field to analyze this topic. The “anima/animus” is whole discussion I won’t enter because this surpasses my area.
#nosferatu 2024#Ellen Hutter 2024#count Orlok 2024#Thomas Hutter 2024#friedrich harding#Anna Harding#Herr knock#carl Jung#jungian psychology#jungian archetypes
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Epic pfp mention and more about my dandy design since I think people like him, ALSO I DONT THINK IVE EVER SHOWN THE CONCEPT OF MY ASTRO REDESIGN AAAGGH
Anyway dandy design info dump
He’s already twisted, surprise??
He consumes ichor because he’s a weirdo
Due to ichor consumption he’s able to alternate his body with it (hence the reshaping of his petals)
Because of the fact above he has multiple different twisted forms I think like…3… I will be going over them in more detail in a different post cause why not but ones shown here!!! (It’s stationary) each comes with their own trinket 🫡
@fermithesilly Surprise!!!!!! I loved the concept of this sleepyhead and couldn’t help but doodle herr!!! Also sick template btw definitely gonna use it in the future again
ima be drawing more ocs from super cool people 🐇🫶🫶 looking at you @piquuroblox I just wanna let you two know that both your and fermi’s reblog comments are so sweet (as much as everyone else’s are) and I’ve caught myself re reading them a lot lolol… AND I DINT KNOW HOW TO TELL YOY GUYS HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE ITT 😿😿🫶🫶 — not very active here even though it’s literally the second social I have.. (and the only second..) but I am getting way more active than I used to!!! I’m gonna reblog things more aha… 🫡🫡
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Coming back home for the summer hasn’t been fun in ages. Thankfully, that is just about to change when you lay eyes on Matthew who, according to Taerae, isn’t into older girls. Never backing down from a challenge you decide to approach him anyways - making yourself younger than you actually are and calling Matthew “oppa” more times than probably necessary.
Pairing: Seok Matthew x Fem!Reader
Genre: Comedy, Smut
Word Count: 5.2k
Warnings: Reader is actively lying to Matthew to get into his pants, loads and loads of usage of the word “oppa”, alcohol drinking (idk in what country this universe is, they call each other with honorifics but they kind of are in the states because i made the drinking age 21…. just don’t pay it any mind ok, it’s porn disguised as a funny story) , this work contains adult content! MDNI! Smut warnings under the cut!
Playlist: Hot in Herre - Nelly (you’ll get it), Yeah - Usher, Murder on the Dancefloor - Sophie Ellis-Bextor, Break Your Heart - Taio Cruz, Durch den Monsun - Tokio Hotel
A/N: thank you sm @xscoupsx for the perfect header & divider!!! absolute masterpiece i am still staring at it. finally got this worm out of my brain!!! take this with a grain of salt, it's all fun and giggles. Tags: @cheolism, @the-boy-meets-evil
When you get home that day it’s his number on your phone (that he saved as ‘matthew oppa’ of course) that pops up asking if you made it home safely. It’s Taerae’s number that pops up to let you know he’s blocking you. Giggling, you fall down onto your bed, your slippers hanging off your feet threatening to fall off any second, but instead of caring, you open up instagram. You find him quick and easy, Seok Matthew followed by Gyuvin and Taerae and Hanbin and basically everyone you know in this small town. How come you’ve never seen him before?
Smut warnings: oppa kink, sexting, masturbation (f&m), unprotected sex (booo!), blowjob, cumming in mouth, lmk if i missed anything!
“Forget it. He’s not into older girls.”
Taerae is sipping on his milkshake watching you watch his former classmate and friend Matthew. You’re in the mall in Taerae’s hometown which also happens to be your hometown. You’ve left for college around a year and a half ago and coming back here never truly excites you anymore. Or at least it didn’t use to. Now, looking at the young man outside of Mikey’s Milkshakes handing out flyers with sweat dripping down his temples, you think that just about changed.
“He doesn’t know that I’m older,” you shoot back, sucking on your own straw and enjoying the taste of peanut butter on your tongue.
“You look older, noona.”
A napkin hits Taerae’s forehead. It was you. You threw the napkin. He just chuckles and shakes his head
“No, you don’t get it. Matthew is… weird. Like he has this whole thing where he hates when people call him cute. He gets all upset and tells them he isn’t cute, he’s Woohyun oppa.”
While you do cringe, you also find it quite interesting. You’ve heard of this before - younger guys who didn’t like to be younger. He was Taerae’s age, so freshly 21 and attending the local college with Tae, which meant if anything he would have to go for girls 18 or 19 and, come on, they surely couldn’t please him like you!
“How convenient,” you smile in a way that makes Taerae shiver in something close to fear, “I’ve always wanted to try calling a younger guy oppa.”
“You’re horrible,” Tae comments, shoving his milkshake away from him, “horrible and crazy. He is never going to fall for you being younger.”
“Really? Want to make this interesting then?” The evil grin on your face certainly means nothing but trouble. But it’s summer and this town is boring as hell with nothing ever happening. So, why not? Taerae shakes your hand, betting against you that you, in fact, will not succeed to bed Matthew. It’s not just pride that’s on the line but also free milkshakes for the rest of the summer.
You somehow convince your friend Gyuvin to act like you’re his same age cousin from a different town. As it turns out he also knows Matthew. How does everyone know this guy but you? And why has no one ever mentioned to you how they have an extremely attractive friend who just so happens to have an oppa kink?
It’s honestly a mystery to you how Taerae didn’t think you’d be able to pull off being a 04’ liner. You can pretend to be way younger than you are! You don’t look like you’re twenty-three! Matthew is eating out of your hand by lunch. He listens to you attentively and everytime you call him “oppa” he seems to melt into his chair.
When you get home that day it’s his number on your phone (that he saved as ‘matthew oppa’ of course) that pops up asking if you made it home safely. It’s Taerae’s number that pops up to let you know he’s blocking you. Giggling, you fall down onto your bed, your slippers hanging off your feet threatening to fall off any second, but instead of caring, you open up instagram. You find him quick and easy, Seok Matthew followed by Gyuvin and Taerae and Hanbin and basically everyone you know in this small town. How come you’ve never seen him before?
His profile isn’t private which means you didn’t have to follow him to stalk his 103 posts, but you still do. It saddens you that you can’t comment things like “you look so good, oppa” or “woah, that color looks so perfect on you, oppa”, but you digress. Sucking on a popsicle from the freezer, you scroll through his feed, seeing that he definitely hasn’t been this hot for a long time. There is a ringing in your ear and you try to lose it by scratching it. What the hell? Back to Matthew, please! Just last year he looked like a teenager freshly hitting puberty and now? He’s buff and handsome and just thinking about what might be under that shirt makes your thighs press together. Perhaps you have a serious problem because when you spot the highlight saying “gym” with the flexing arm emoji, you are already halfway down with your hand to touch yourself.
His gym pics are a goldmine for your dirty fantasies and thoughts about the man you’re planning to seduce. There is one where he flexes his arm and grinning while winking into the mirror he’s taking the pic in. Then there is the one where he is sitting on the bench press, leaned forward with a half smirk, his tight tank top leaving nothing to the imagination. The shorts he’s wearing make you feel dizzy and as you imagine what his cock would look like and what he would feel like inside of you, you begin to circle your clit with your thumb, throwing your head back as you continue your fantasy. Matthew and you on that bench press, his strong arms holding you down as he fucks into you mercilessly.
A ‘ping’ disrupts your session and you open your eyes, looking down to see he had texted you again. It’s almost comical - you thinking about him fucking you and touching yourself to that thought and him texting you a “it was so nice to meet you” message as if you weren’t thinking about him fucking your brains out.
Sighing, you pull your hand out of your panties, wiping them off on your shorts and decide to text him back.
matthew oppa: it was so nice to meet you
you: you too, oppa <3
matthew oppa: hehe
matthew oppa: so, what are your plans this week?
you: hmm, not much… why?
matthew oppa: oh well, i was wondering if maybe you’d wanna go to a drive in with me?
you: ohh, like watching a movie in a car?
matthew oppa: yeah, exactly!
Now, this is where your current horniness decides to take over. Licking over your lips you sink deeper into your pillows, your slippers completely fallen off now, your legs spreading slightly as you stare at the screen, thinking about how you can make this guy jerk off to you right now without sounding too experienced.
you: well… i would love to see you again, oppa, but…
matthew oppa: but…?
you: my friends… they told me some things about drive ins you know
matthew oppa: huh? what things?
you: uhm… like that when you go to a drive in with a boy… well you know 🙈
matthew oppa: oh
matthew oppa: y/n you don’t have to worry
matthew oppa: i won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, oppa promises
you: that’s nice of you to say, oppa💕
you: but… what if i want something you’re not comfortable with?
matthew oppa: what do you mean?
you: it’s embarrassing 🥺
matthew oppa: you don’t have to be embarrassed with oppa, yn
you: ok if you say so…
you: it’s just that i know we only met today but
you: i just can’t stop thinking about you
matthew oppa: that’s cute
matthew oppa: oppa can’t stop thinking about you too, if that makes you feel better baby
Baby. You bite down on your lip. As much as it makes you cringe it makes your pussy wet, the way he speaks and reacts, how he addresses himself as ‘oppa’. You wonder if maybe your need to get laid is taking over the intelligence you usually inhabit.
you: really? 🥺
matthew oppa: yeah
you: are you also… thinking naughty thoughts, oppa?
matthew oppa: oh
matthew oppa: are you thinking naughty thoughts, baby?
you: idk… 🥺
matthew oppa: you can be honest with oppa, baby, i would never judge you
you: i am thinking naughty thoughts
matthew oppa: like what?
you: saw oppa’s instagram… your gym highlight
matthew oppa: you liked it?
you: a lot 🙈
matthew oppa: how much did you like it, baby?
you: so much that i got all wet… down there
You want to die and at the same time you don’t think you’ve been this wet (down there) in ages. Not the dude from the semester end party who had fucked you in the smallest bathroom known to mankind and most certainly not Jiwoong last summer. You wonder if anyone has ever made you this wet without even physically being present.
matthew oppa: fuck
matthew oppa: you got wet just from my pictures? you like oppa that much?
you: i do… it’s so embarrassing
you: stared at you the whole day today… now i want you to do bad things to me, oppa
matthew oppa: yeah? what do you want me to do?
you: wanna get on my knees for you and have oppa fuck my mouth 🙈
matthew oppa: shit… got my cock so hard from just reading that, baby.
you: does oppa wanna fuck my mouth?
matthew oppa: fuck yeah. your mouth and your wet pussy baby
you: i’m so wet oppa, so wet for you 🥺
matthew oppa: can i call you?
He ends up calling you before you can respond his raspy voice on the other side of the line already telling you he’s getting off. What follows is just the two of you simultaneously masturbating while telling the other dirty things you wanna do to each other. He tells you how he wants to fuck you (his main fantasy seems to be you on all fours and him behind you drilling into you like a sledgehammer) and how you need him to fill you inexperienced pussy.
Obviously you don’t say that, you just hint at it. Matthew wants to be an oppa, he wants someone younger who looks up to him - especially in a sexual way. So, of course you’re gonna lie to him and tell him you’ve only had sex like twice and both times had been five minutes tops and you also had never had a guy make you cum or cum inside of you. All of these are lies. Your body count has gotten to a point of you not even remembering anymore and the amount of plan bs you had taken should probably be illegal. You’re not responsible when it comes to fucking and you are well aware. Matthew, though, doesn’t need to know this.
When he cums with your name on his lips and you cum begging for him to fill you up, you call it a night.
The drive in idea doesn’t come up again. You worry for a day that he might have lost interest. Then, you hear from Gyuvin that the drive in had to close because there was a fire and Matthew has just been swamped with work. You deem that as a good enough reason for him to leave you on read for approximately two seconds before it starts to piss you off. Thankfully, summers in your hometown promise extreme ragers every weekend to which you are sure Matthew will come too. At least you hope he does.
Out of all people, Jiwoong is the one to throw the first big rager of the summer and even knowing that Jiwoong could very easily blow your cover, you decide to go. With your sluttiest little dress and some skimpy underwear on, Taerae only sighs when you get into his car.
“You will give the man a damn heart attack,” he comments as he turns out of your parents driveway. You chuckle.
“Let’s hope that happens after I win that bet against you, Taetae.”
“You truly are a horrible person. Lying to get into someone’s pants? Shouldn’t that be below you?”
“Dramaqueen.” You roll your eyes and pull down the visor to open the small mirror and check your make-up.
“I’m just saying,” Taerae continues as he stops at a traffic light, “watch out. If he finds out you’re lying chances are he’s gonna be mad.”
“Come on. I’ve lived in this town my whole fucking life. If anything it’s kind of his fault for not knowing me.”
It is odd. How he has apparently been in Taerae’s class all this time and neither of you knew each other. But then again, how were you supposed to know everyone? You don’t see Taerae looking at you with the biggest side eye. And even if you had, you probably wouldn’t have cared.
Jiwoongs house is huge. His parents are both lawyers or whatever and you remember vividly how one of Jiwoong’s friends wanted to hit on you, some small unremarkable guy you had already forgotten the name of, and how Jiwoong saved you from him, getting your pussy as a thank you. In his parent’s room. You wonder if they ever found out.
There is already loud music playing when you get to the house, Tae parking his car in the last available spot on the street. Getting out, you try your best not to flash the people walking past you and Tae chuckles when you land on your heels a little shaky. You decide to ignore him and just start walking towards the door, him right behind you. Right at the entrance you already spot Gyuvin with Ricky and Gunwook and you raise your brows when you spot a red cup on the latter’s hand.
“It’s coke, noona, I swear!” He says the second you reach him, showing off the contents of his cup by tilting it slightly. Clicking your tongue you nod in approval, moving on to the other two.
“Technically,” Gyuvin says, his own cup suspiciously close to his chest and far away from your glaring eyes, “you are the same age as us tonight, so…,” he seriously tries to talk him out of this. You put your hands on your hips and look at him, Ricky, his cup, Ricky’s cup. The two share a gaze before sighing and finally handing the cups to you. You smile triumphantly.
“Very good. Thank you, boys.”
“Aaaand these are for me, thank you very much,” a voice startles you, taking the two cups from your hands. Your look to your right and see Taerae grinning widely.
“What? If they are underage, so are you, bestie.”
Waving with his occupied hands, Tae goes inside humming along to the music. You groan and roll your eyes, knowing full well you did this to yourself but also hating Taerae because this was obviously all his fault.
“Now, now. We can all have a wonderful time without alcohol!” Gunwook smiles widely and if he wasn’t so adorable you might have punched him in the stomach. Instead, you just sigh once more and walk into the house, leaving the three boys behind.
Inside, there is a big crowd of people gathered in the spacey living room and your eyes are already scanning your surroundings for Matthew. While you really want him to fuck you (like so much you literally thought about not wearing any panties just for him. Then you put on your dress and realized there was no way in hell), you also need to stay in character. You are innocent, shy, a young girl who needs her oppa to show her the ropes. Perhaps, you are even a little insecure because he left you on read for two days, who knows?
It doesn’t take long to spot him. And when you do, you are suddenly thankful Tae took the cups away from you because you for sure would have dropped them. It’s almost comical that Nelly’s “Hot in Herre”starts playing right this second.
Matthew has his hair styled up, a few strands falling into his forehead, his face so perfectly on display you want to place kisses all over it. And as if that wasn’t enough, there is a white sleeveless shirt on his muscular body that lets everyone know he is buff and proud of it.
Fuck. You need him. Like, right now.
No one has ever looked that fucking delicious, you decide. He is the yummiest person on this planet and you’re gonna have him.
For a few moments, you only watch him. Watch how he talks to someone you don’t know, how he nips at his cup, how he laughs at a joke. It’s a miracle you haven’t started drooling. People keep on walking around you and only when one nearly runs you over, you decide to move closer to Matthew. So far, he hasn’t seen you.
Biting down on your lip, you wonder how you could best catch his attention without going right over to him. The solution presents itself in the form of Hanbin standing leaned against the wall with a cup in one and his phone in the other hand.
Showtime. You grin to yourself. Then, you get into character.
“Hanbin oppa!” You squeal, loud enough for Matthew and the girl he is talking to hear. And when Matthew sees you, sees the way you beam at Hanbin, he feels a sting in his pride. His eyes burn into you, making you feel hot all over.
Hanbin, on the other hand, is more than confused. Mainly because you’re older than him and just called him oppa.
“Uh, what?”
“Play along, or you’re dead,” you say with the same enthusiastic beam as before, your voice lowered for only Hanbin to hear. He clears his throat and nods. He knows not to mess with you and your antics.
“S-sure, uhm, whats up?”
“Trying to make Matthew think I wanna fuck you instead of him,” you laugh loudly, as if he had said something funny, your left hand slightly hitting his shoulder, while the other twirls a strand of hair around your finger. Hanbin’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Right, Tae mentioned you were doing that.” He shoves his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and watches you with his brows still raised.
“Don’t judge me, Sung Hanbin. I remember very well how you tried to get with Katie last summer and literally told her your dad invented fucking Microsoft.”
“Is it my fault she didn’t know Bill Gates?” Hanbin defends himself right away and you chuckle.
“No. Is it my fault Matthew’s into younger girls?”
Hanbin stays silent for a beat, the song now changing to Usher’s “Yeah” and you wonder what decade you’re in.
“Fair point. But then again I’m just confused becau-,”
“Y/N!”
An arm is wrapped around your waist the next second, an arm you’ve been fantasizing over for days now.
“Oppa, hi,” your eyes are basically hearts staring up at him. Hanbin thinks he’s very likely stuck in a simulation.
“Hyung,” Matthew smiles at Hanbin, but even someone blind could have figured out it wasn’t an actual smile, “I think Hao hyung is looking for you. Better go check on him, yeah?”
Hao hyung definitely isn’t looking for him. Hao hyung is upstairs with a cute boy and a cute girl and Hanbin is well aware. Taking this as his leave, he nods at both of you and leaves you to your idiotic game.
“Hey,” Matthew now looks at you, eyes softening only slightly.
“Hi,” you repeat yourself, biting down on your lip.
“I was hoping to see you here.”
He moves closer to you, your back hitting the wall and his other hand tugging a loose hair behind your ear.
“Did you? I thought maybe you weren’t interested anymore after we, you know….” You truly deserve an Oscar for the performance you’re giving. Matthew licks over his lips.
“After you came so good for me on the phone, you mean?” His eyes bore into yours and your panties are seemingly swimming away.
“I- I, yes, after that.”
“Of course oppa is still interested, baby. Oppa just had a lot of work, oppa is sorry.”
He leans closer to you, both hands now on your waist and you can feel the growing tension.
“Oppa..,” you whimper when he is right there, so close to kiss you.
“Oppa has been thinking about you and your tight pussy all week, will you let Oppa fuck her?”
You moan when his hands creep around and squeeze your ass.
“W-We didn’t even r-really talk!” You cry after, but Matthew just chuckles, his lips hovering over your own.
“We can still talk after, doll. Now I desperately need to sink my cock into you, ‘am already so fucking hard.”
And then he kisses you. Kisses you hard and so full of lust and desperation your knees give in. He pulls you closer against him and you can feel he didn’t lie. He is hard. You decide not to give it too much thought as of why.
Instead, you part from him, breathlessly and grab his hand to take him to the one room you know for sure won’t be occupied.
Matthew’s hands are all over you. Groping your boobs one second, then they are back on your ass, all while Murder On the Dancefloor blasts through the house. Desperation radiates off of him and you bathe in it. Bathe in the way he drags your dress up and touches every second of skin he frees. His lips chase yours in haste and you wrap your arms around his neck, letting him push you towards the large bed in the center of the room.
“Shit, you’re so hot,” he whispers against your lips and you suck his tongue into your mouth as a response. You know he’s already hard. Can feel it when you press your hand against his crotch. He moans and kisses you harder, tongue continuously slapping against yours like he needs to prove a point.
Your back hits the bed seconds later, his thigh pressed between yours against your clothed cunt that’s already throbbing with want.
“Want you so bad, oppa,” you cry out, hands fumbling with that god forsaken muscle shirt that has got your pussy wet the second you spotted him in it. He rips off his body the next second and you sigh in absolute bliss. Immediately, you move to touch his toned torso, his defined abs, his perfect shoulders. Fuck, he is incredibly hot.
“Yeah? Want oppa to fuck you, hm?” His voice is deep and raspy against your ear and you nod rapidly, moving your hips against his thigh. Matthew chuckles, hands back to squeeze your tits, causing you to arch your back against him. His touch feels intoxicating, already got you addicted. It’s the way he is still oh so desperate for you. His kisses are sloppy and his cock is hard against you, his hips moving for any kind of friction. A part of you wants to take your sweet time with him, put him in your mouth, have him come undone on your tongue. Work him so long until he can fuck you for real. But there is a party downstairs and people will eventually notice you’re gone.
“Put it in me, oppa, please, please, please.”
He groans at your begging, his head nodding as if in trance, quickly ridding you of your panties and himself of his pants. You watch with a heaving chest how he doesn’t even fully shove his jeans and briefs down his legs, how they pool there at his ankles as he gets on his knees and flips you over. You gasp in surprise, another enormous wave of lust overcoming you when he pulls you up, your ass in the air, the perfect position for him to fuck you like he wanted to.
Matthew is surprised he isn’t foaming at the mouth with you in front of him like this. His eyes are glued to your glistening pussy, his cock hard against his stomach. Grabbing his cock, he jerks himself off a few times before guiding himself to your entrance - only to stop just before he breaches you.
“Shit, I don’t have a condom,” he curses. You look back at him.
“Just pull out, Matthew, please.”
In your impatience you forgot to call him “oppa”. For a second you’re worried but he is too distracted by you wanting him to fuck you raw he doesn’t even notice the missing honorific.
Without any more hesitation, he finally sinks into you, his thick head stretching you out just the way you hoped it would. Your fingers grab the bedsheets, eyes falling shut as you get used to the way he feels, inch by inch. And, shit, does he feel good.
Matthew is scared he’ll come right away when he bottoms out. His cock has never felt more comfortable inside anyone before. Almost as if he was made to fuck you and only you. Thankfully, he doesn’t immediately shoot his load and instead begins to move. And really, he tried to start slow and steady, he really did. But he’s just a horny dude, in the end. His thrusts are rapid and hard and you feel like you’re high. Your thoughts are empty, there is only him and the way he fucks you like an animal. All you feel is your rising orgasm, your pussy squeezing him over and over, your moans getting louder and louder. Matthew isn’t quiet either - both of you seem like you’re harmonising as he fucks you from behind with gluttal moans escaping him every few seconds. His eyes are rolled back and his hands are around your waist, holding you so hard you’re sure there will be marks later on. You are more than ready to welcome them.
“You- You take oppa’s cock so fucking well, fuck,” Matthew is so close to finishing, you can feel it.
“Oppa fucks me so good! Don’t stop!” You push your hips against him and he gifts you another one of his melodic moans that have you gushing over his cock. He curses under his breath.
“Yeah, I can feel how much you like oppa fucking you, such a naughty girl, aren’t you?” His nails dig into your skin and you cry out, his dirty words doing exactly what they are supposed to: bring you close to the edge.
“Ngh- Oppa! Gonna c-cum!” Your mouth hangs open, drool landing on Jiwoong’s parent’s bed. Matthew’s head is spinning and he does his best to keep fucking you exactly like this. He wants you to cum before he does, wants you to cum on his cock, wants to feel you squeeze and clench around him. Wants your release to be the finishing touches for his.
And when he leans slightly forward, his arm creeping around you to press his thumb to your clit, you can feel the knot tighten and finally explode.
You’re cumming hard around his cock, vibrating around him with nothing but utter pleasure. You keep calling for him, tell him to keep going, to fuck you through your orgasm and he manages to pull out of you just when you deem yourself satisfied. Quickly, he jerks himself off, ready to finish on your ass, when suddenly you are right there, your mouth around his tip, catching his spurts of cum that shoot out the second he feels your lips around him.
“O-oh, f-fuck! Yeah, t-take all of oppas cum! Fuuuuck!” He pushes you further down his cock, nose in his neatly trimmed pubic hair, more and more strings of his cum gushing down your throat. You swallow every last bit, even lick him clean when he pulls you back, his eyes meeting yours.
“That was insane,” he says, helping you sit up fully. You grin and pull him down into a kiss he is more than happy to return.
With your clothes back where they belong, the two of you walk out of Jiwoong’s parents room only to run into… Jiwoong. A mad Jiwoong. Who has a girl with him. A girl who looks more spooked than she should considering she came up here with Jiwoong for probably the same reason as you and Matthew did.
“Oh, hey!” You chirp and Jiwoong looks from you to Matthew and back.
“”Oh, hey”? Are you fucking with me?”
“Pretty sure I was just fucking with him, oppa,” you counter, thumb pointing over your shoulder and at Matthew who awkwardly lifts his hand in a wave. Jiwoong groans.
“Would you give us a second?” He says to the girl and the girl rolls her eyes but finally nods, making her way down the hallway and back downstairs, where Taio Cruz’s Break You Heart is most definitely making the people lose their shit on the dancefloor.
“Yo, hyung, sorry, I know this is your parents room and all, but-,”
Jiwoong raises his hand and Matthew stops speaking.
“Frankly, I don’t give a fuck, thank you very much. I am more interested in what the fuck this is.”
He points between you and Matthew and the two of you share a look.
“What- what do you mean?” You ask, continuing to play innocent.
Jiwoong blinks.
“Are you- are you for real?”
With being so focused on not understanding what the fuck Jiwoong is on about, you fail to see Matthew using his hands to gesture to Jiwoong to stop talking!
“Jiwoong oppa, what is your problem?” You ask, crossing your arms.
“My- what my problem is? Jesus, Y/N, just last summer you turned Matty down and instead went to fuck me and now this?”
“What are you talking about, what Matty, wha-,”
Matty. Matt…y… Matt….hew. Oh.
You remember. Remember the friend that had hit on you, the small unremarkable guy that you couldn’t even remember the name of when you tried. You hadn’t been mean to him, just politely said no and while he did take it as an answer, he still tried to make conversation. Matty.
Slowly, you turn to Matthew, your mouth hanging slightly open. He is red as a beet and one of his hands is rubbing his neck awkwardly.
“You- you are Matty?” You ask. After another beat of silence (not really silence considering there was still a party going on) he nods.
“Yes, that would be me.”
You are dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. In shock. Your arm flies to Jiwoong’s shoulder to hold yourself steady.
“But you are- you are so-,”
“You told me you saw the gym pics, didn’t you?”
Oh yeah, you did.
“You know I am not younger than you?”
“Younger than him, wha-,” Jiwoong chimes in, but neither you nor Matthew pay him any mind.
“Yup.” He pops the “p” at the end and you feel like you’re about to faint.
“So… everyone knows…. you know?”
“Yup,” he repeats.
They are playing fucking Tokio Hotel downstairs now.
“Right. Right, sure. That- uh, my bad.” You stand up straight again, letting your hands run over your dress.
“Noona-,” Matthew starts, but you hold up your hand.
“Let’s not. I need to let this sink in.”
You walk down the stairs and of course Taerae is leaning against the frame of the big arch, grinning from ear to ear. There is no way of knowing how he even fucking knows what just happened, but he does. When you finally get your hands on your first drink of the night, you are sure the bet was all part of the plan you were so kindly left out of.
Later, when you spot Matthew with Hanbin and Gyuvin and your eyes meet, you tip your cup at him. Well played.
“If it makes you feel better, he probably would have had you call him oppa during sex anyways,” Ricky says from next to you and you close your eyes.
This is going to be a long summer.
#zb1 fanfiction#kvanity#zb1 smut#seok matthew smut#ksmutsociety#matthew smut#matthew x reader#zb1 x reader#seok matthew x reader#matthew fanfiction#seok matthew fanfiction#matthew au#seok matthew au#zb1 au#zb1 imagine#seok matthew imagine#matthew imagine
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Man, each year I get to it, I love the May 5th entry and what it means. I take something new from it each time. Like last year I noticed the sacrifices and efforts the Driver and the other passengers made to try and save Jonathan, a stranger to them, by showing up early, by giving him gifts, by blessing him, despite the danger that puts them in. Especially when Dracula, as the driver, points it out to the Driver of the first coach, what he was trying to do, and scares him by pointing out what he said (despite it being heard far out of normal earshot and over the sound of horses galloping).
This year though, I notice that, but I see some of the smaller details too. Like how the mountains are full of blooming fruit trees, and how we are so used to the “gothic” aesthetic we almost forget it’s Spring. How Jonathan takes notice and comfort in the view, despite the growing unease he feels because of the people around him. He is trying to distract himself from how scared he’s getting based on their warnings. Warding him from the Evil Eye.
"No, no," he said; "you must not walk here; the dogs are too fierce"; and then he added, with what he evidently meant for grim pleasantry—for he looked round to catch the approving smile of the rest—"and you may have enough of such matters before you go to sleep."
I also take notice of this from the driver, as it’s almost a morbid gallows humor that he clearly knows to expect the wolves, and knowing what happens later, I’m sure the people here have a horrible fear of them, knowing what Dracula can do…and what he does to that poor mother later.
There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the mountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we had got into the thunderous one.
We also get here what might be our first indication that the Count can control the weather to an extent.
They were driven by a tall man, with a long brown beard and a great black hat, which seemed to hide his face from us.
All I can imagine is Dracula in a fake beard now lol.
"You are early to-night, my friend." The man stammered in reply:—
"The English Herr was in a hurry," to which the stranger replied:—
"That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift."
But God, this must have been terrifying for the driver and the passengers. What would Dracula do to punish them for trying to escape him? Would he dare make an example in front of the Englishman right now, or would he grant them mercy to say nothing else as Jonathan is unsuspectingly led to his doom, so they think.
"Denn die Todten reiten schnell"— ("For the dead travel fast.")
The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up with a gleaming smile.
It feels like they’re all in on some sick joke that they know the punchline to, but Jonathan doesn’t, so with the dramatic irony, it feels like we the readers are the same peasants, trying to do anything to save or warn Jonathan but it’s already too late.
I also notice how quickly Dracula tries to shift the power dynamic with Jonathan, and have him doubt his sanity so soon, and he’s not even in the castle yet.
He drives him in circles to try and disorient Jonathan and make him feel even more lost, also keeping him out for far later and making Jonathan question if he’s dreaming or if what he’s seeing is real. I’d also bet more than anything that wine he offer Jonathan on the coach that Jonathan didn’t end up taking was drugged. Because it’s far easier to disorient an unconscious passenger in the dark than it is to disorient a conscious passenger. But he still does a pretty darn good job.
Then there’s the blue flames, which Jonathan doesn’t know how to react to as they seem supernatural and he doesn’t know how to rationalize it yet, so he takes it as if he’s dreaming.
This gave me a sort of shock, for I suppose the general superstition about midnight was increased by my recent experiences. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.
Jonathan also has already felt the fear and nerves associated with the supernatural and superstition after what all of the townsfolk have told him, and later he tries to brush this off and rationalize again, try not to get too scared, but a part of him already realizes something is wrong.
Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the road—a long, agonised wailing, as if from fear.
I also want to point this out, as it’s right before the wolves surround the coach, but it’s the second time a “dog” has been mentioned howling in the night, and with this evidence, I bet Dracula uses the wolves as a threat to keep the peasants and townsfolk in line, as he can’t munch down on everyone. But it shows how powerful he is and what a threat he poses. I wonder who the wolves kill in the night.
Also how Jonathan, as an Englishman where there were no more native wolves, can’t even imagine that’s what they were and thinks they are dogs.
And it makes sense now that earlier when Jonathan was getting out his good ol’ polyglot dictionary, how the two words mean the same thing.
"vrolok" and "vlkoslak"—both of which mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is either were-wolf or vampire.
As Dracula, as we see later, can transform into a wolf himself, and so there is probably less distinction between the two in this culture than we have tried to establish in the modern day.
Once there appeared a strange optical effect: when he stood between me and the flame he did not obstruct it, for I could see its ghostly flicker all the same.
Ah, I wonder if this is an early indication that Dracula cannot be depicted through traditional means? Like how he can’t be seen in the mirror. Certain lights just, pass through him.
I shouted and beat the side of the calèche, hoping by the noise to scare the wolves from that side, so as to give him a chance of reaching the trap.
We also see Jonathan taking an active and proactive approach, in this manner trying to be helpful and aid his (what he assumes human) driver. With these sorts of actions already, I can see signs of the man who will pick up a shovel to try and do what needs to be done. Who takes a knife and vows action, not hesitating.
He is polite right now, he’s on business. He doesn’t know what’s coming. But regardless, that person is still in him, and he’s capable of taking great action and doing great things for the sake of survival and doing what he thinks is right.
And Dracula commanding the wolves to stop as the driver, and the cloud passing overhead, I feel is like a subtle display of power and threat to Jonathan. He’s still playing pretend, but when Jonathan does figure out he was the coach the whole time, and he plays coy, the Count knows Jonathan will remember this threat, and it feels that much more sinister.
Jonathan still questions and thinks he fell asleep, as he doesn’t see how he’d have missed the approach of the castle otherwise, but I think he was awake because it was dark, and the count was intentionally taking him a winding and confusing path under a lot of fear. Though if he did fall asleep, I’m that much more terrified about how Dracula was driving him about, now secure in the knowledge that Jonathan would be thoroughly isolated and lost.
And the thing that nearly gives Dracula away twice as the driver is the strength of his grip on Jonathan’s hand, also lacing a subtle threat.
through these frowning walls and dark window openings it was not likely that my voice could penetrate.
Well this is just scary knowing how trapped Jonathan becomes later, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear the outside world, and how the outside world might not be able to hear him, and how he’s already acknowledging that.
The time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and fears crowding upon me. What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people? What sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked?
He already is expressing doubts and fears, he isn’t ignorant of what situation he might be in, and it’s only later when he tries to rationalize with the count and is given the comforts manipulation of food and sleep, that he tries to dismiss these fears and take the Count at his word.
Was this a customary incident in the life of a solicitor's clerk sent out to explain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor—for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was successful; and I am now a full-blown solicitor!
Okay, this is just really cute. Mina said You passed the Bar, you Deserve to call yourself a Solicitor Jonathan <3
Also explains a lot that Jonathan is a fresh faced baby lawyer who just passed the bar and needs this assignment. He’s probably hoping that after this pay day he can marry Mina and have enough for them to start making a life together. Also says a lot for Dracula’s strategy to him to get someone young, inexperienced, and unfamiliar with the area, who might be seen as “expendable” so that Jonathan’s sudden “disappearance” might go unremarked by those in charge (though Mina would notice).
I began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if I were awake. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with the dawn struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt in the morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered the pinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed awake and among the Carpathians. All I could do now was to be patient, and to wait the coming of the morning.
Again, those early signs of doubt and fear from Jonathan, showing his unease already at the situation. We did not deserve to be clowning on him so much when this book club first started. It’s not his fault he’s not genre aware 😔 I’m sorry Jonathan.
And when Drac does show up to open the door:
"Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!" He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone.
I wonder if he’s like that because he needs to be invited into places to be there, so if it’s almost like a supernatural hold of importance for him to offer the same thing. Almost like a subtle joke or curse with the knowledge that after Jonathan enters, he won’t be allowed to leave of his own will
holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed as cold as ice—more like the hand of a dead than a living man.
I also like how all the clues are there, and since Jonathan has written them down and taken note of them, the expression on them must be some of the things he’s piercing together about his own fears as well that he’s afraid to voice aloud or in his journal, because if he voices his suspicions, they might become more real to him.
The strength of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was speaking
See? He knows what’s up, he’s just afraid to say it.
I also didn’t pick up that Jonathan’s room is octagonal for some reason. I wonder if there’s any reason for that or symbolism with the 8 sides?
Also the letter from Mr. Hawkin’s feels very ominous in retrospect knowing what’s coming and how Dracula will treat Jonathan:
"I must regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time to come; but I am happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters."
I feel like Dracula knew to take advantage of that, and also this feels like him basically reading the menu for an ideal victim once his business is said and done, so I get shivers, brrrrr.
Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine; but seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather coarse—broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal.
I also like that while Jonathan is describing Dracula, he notice his hands. And I am also struck with how little it is brought up that he has hair on his palms, and I can see the more wolf-like nature of this vampire mythology. I wonder if Bram Stoker intended for werewolves and vampires to be the same thing in his novel? They are certainly compared and have similar powers and weaknesses, so it’s possible I guess.
Also Dracula has corpse-breath lol. Nasty.
I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over everything; but as I listened I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many wolves.
Ah ha! Also the first foreshadowing we get for the importance of dawn and dusk in the novel, as we know later how important timing becomes for our protagonists, so seeing its affects already make me smile at the recognition of the signs so early.
"Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make!" Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he added:—
"Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter."
And ah, an iconic line. Though I just get second hand angry and uncomfortable at Dracula’s insistence that he’s a “hunter” 🤢. God I just hate him haha.
I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!
And literally Day 1 of being in the castle and Jonathan is already questioning his sanity and piecing things together he’s afraid to even voice in his journal. This is the second time in as many days he has already wished that those around him find this journal and laments should anything bad happen to him. It creates the impression of one who knows they’re walking into danger but must go on anyway.
But I love Jonathan so much, and I definitely really like the May 5th entry, and it does so much work to set up what happens later.
#dracula daily#dracula#Dracula daily may 5#Dracula may 5th#jonathan harker#count dracula#re: dracula#dracula meta#my post#original post#Skele talks#skele talks Dracula#long post#skele analysis#Dracula analysis#mina murray#mina harker
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