#this all came about because I was thinking of the powers of the North and South Dragons

[ghostlynightpanda]

hello!!! this is gonna seem familiar but can u do one where reader only listens to a certain aib character? (so basically the reader having a friend that only listens to them except the reader only listens to an aib character)

AIB Characters react to Reader only listening to them

content/warnings: Ann, Kuina, Mira, Aguni, Niragi, Last Boss, Chishiya, canon typical blood and violence, 4.132 words

Ann

You met her in a game that should have killed you.

It was a Clubs game, some twisted puzzle in a half-flooded hotel. The kind of game where hesitation meant drowning, where allies turned on each other before the second round. You were new then—still trying to believe that this world was just some nightmare you could wake up from.

You misstepped. Trusted the wrong person. Got cornered on a submerged stairwell, the water rising past your chest. Your so-called teammates had already fled.

You would’ve died.

But then she appeared—calm, focused, precise.

Ann.

She didn’t say much. Just extended her hand, eyes steady. No urgency in her expression, but something solid behind it. You took her hand without thinking, and she pulled you free like it was nothing.

Afterward, she led you to the Beach. Said they could use more players who weren’t total liabilities. You knew you hadn’t impressed her with your skills. You figured she saw something else. Maybe potential. Maybe stubbornness.

You didn’t know it then, but something shifted in you that day.

From then on, it was simple.

You followed her.

Not like a lapdog, not mindlessly. But with a certainty you hadn’t felt in your whole time here.

Other people barked orders—especially once you were inside the Beach hierarchy. Aguni. Niragi. Hatter. They all talked like their words were law.

But their voices never reached you. Not really.

Only hers did.

When Ann said “Watch the perimeter,” you moved. When she said “Don’t trust this one,” you kept your distance. When she looked at you and simply nodded, you knew what she needed.

It wasn't about obedience—it was about belief.

Niragi noticed. At first, it amused him. He’d test you in little ways. Bark contradictory commands just to watch you ignore them.

“Hey. I said you’re covering the north wing, not hanging around Ann’s shadow.”

You didn’t reply.

“Getting off on being her pet or something?”

Still nothing.

It escalated. He didn’t like being disregarded. Not here, where power came from dominance and fear.

One day, after a mission went sideways, he cornered you behind the Beach’s storage wing, gun low at his side, finger on the trigger.

“You deaf, or just stupid?” he sneered. “I give you an order, and you look through me like I’m a ghost. One more time, and I’ll put a hole through your head, you get me?”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t speak.

Because she hadn’t told you to. And you would’ve stood there, silent and still, even if he pulled the trigger. But he didn’t.

Because her voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Put the gun down, Niragi.”

She walked toward you with that cool steadiness that made people shut up without being told.

Niragi’s lip curled, but he lowered the weapon. “Tch. Control your little soldier, Ann.”

She stepped between you and him. “They don’t belong to me. But they don’t belong to you either.”

He left, but not without a glare. One that promised the issue wasn’t over.

That night, in the quiet between shifts, you were sitting with her on the Beach rooftop. The firelight from inside flickered through the windows below, distant voices blending into a low hum. Up here, it was quieter. Safer.

She didn’t look at you when she asked. “Why do you only listen to me?”

You thought about lying. Playing it off. Saying it was just tactical, that she was competent and you were just smart enough to know it.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you said, “Because you saved my life before I even proved I was worth the trouble.”

She was still.

You kept going. “You never lied to me. You never played games. Everyone else down there… they want control, power, loyalty they haven’t earned.”

You looked over at her then, and she met your gaze—quiet, unreadable, as always.

“But you… you don’t ask for anything. You just do what’s right. I trust that. I trust you.”

Something flickered in her expression. Almost surprise. Almost softness.

She nodded once, slowly, like she was filing the words away somewhere private.

Then she said, quietly, “Thank you.”

And for a second, her shoulder brushed against yours. Just enough to notice. Just enough to know it wasn’t an accident.

It was small. But in a world where trust was rare, where people died for less than a misstep—

That moment was everything.

Kuina

In Borderland, alliances didn’t mean much.

They could be traded, broken, killed off in the next game. But your alliance with Kuina was different. It wasn’t declared. It wasn’t negotiated. It simply was.

You met her during a difficult Hearts game—brutal and built to tear people apart. But she didn’t flinch when others turned on each other. She didn’t ask for loyalty. She earned it.

She watched your back. And you watched hers. It became unspoken.

Wherever she was, you were close behind. And wherever you stood, she knew you’d never let anyone get to her.

You didn’t follow orders. Not unless they came from her.

Chishiya noticed that early.

The three of you ended up working together more often than not. He was sharp, cold, unreadable. Kuina trusted him, and because of that, you tolerated him.

He talked to you sometimes, as if testing the boundaries.

“You should take that route instead,” he said once during a game—calculated voice, that smug smirk in place. “It’s a higher probability of survival.”

You met his gaze, then glanced at Kuina. She was still scanning the field, weighing options.

You didn’t move.

Chishiya raised a brow. “Not listening, huh?”

“I’m not yours to command,” you said plainly.

Later, Kuina nudged your shoulder with a grin. “You really don’t take orders from anyone but me?”

You smiled back. “Only one voice I follow.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade.

The games were getting harder. Face cards were soon to come. Fewer friends, more traps. Without the Beach, you were constantly moving, rarely resting. But you and Kuina stayed side by side. She didn’t need to ask. She knew you’d be there.

Chishiya remained close, his connection to Kuina pulling him into your circle. You shared meals, played cards, cracked dry jokes under broken moonlight, waiting for the next stage to start. You didn’t dislike him. He was smart. Useful. He didn’t waste words.

But when he said “Move up the west wing” during the King of Clubs game, you didn’t even blink.

Kuina called out moments later, “Change of plan—take the right side.”

You were already in motion before she finished the sentence.

Chishiya sighed dramatically behind you. “Incredible. You really are selectively obedient.”

You grinned. “You’re lucky I even talk to you.”

You and Kuina had a rhythm. You didn’t need constant communication. A look, a nod, a shared breath in tense moments—that was enough.

She never abused your loyalty. That was part of why you gave it so freely.

One night, after a narrow escape from the Jack of Spades game, you were sitting near a cracked window in an abandoned building. She was patching up a cut on her leg, you were cleaning your weapon. The city buzzed low in the distance, broken and half-alive.

“You ever wonder why you only listen to me?” she asked, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

You paused. “Not really.”

“No?”

You leaned back, giving her a rare bit of honesty. “Because you’ve never led me wrong. You think fast, fight smart, and don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

She snorted softly. “Sounds like admiration.”

You met her gaze, steady. “It is.”

She looked away for a second, and when she turned back, her smile was smaller. Quieter. “You know, most people here only look out for themselves.”

“I’m not most people,” you said.

“No,” she agreed, softer this time. “You’re not.”

The silence after was comfortable. Weighted with something unspoken, but not unwelcome.

She didn’t thank you. She didn’t need to.

Because the next time she said, “Watch my back,” you were already there.

Mira

She fascinated you the moment you saw her.

Mira Kano—smiling like the world was a game she already won. Wearing black like it meant something, eyes glinting with quiet madness beneath layers of charm. Most people didn’t know what to make of her. Some were drawn in, others kept their distance. 

You watched from the sidelines.

And she noticed you.

“Why so quiet?” she asked one evening at the Beach, swirling her wine in that slow, hypnotic way. “Everyone here is partying, but you—you watch.”

“I’m not interested in something like that,” you said.

She laughed—light and hollow at the same time. “Then what are you interested in?”

You met her gaze without fear. “Truth.”

That caught her attention.

She invited you to her side after that.

Not with grand gestures. Just slow, soft steps. Shared conversations under moonlight, whispered observations about the people around you, her voice always laced with mystery. She never asked for your loyalty outright. But she didn’t need to.

You gave it willingly.

And the strange part was—you knew better. You knew she could be dangerous. That beneath the smile and the softness lived something sharp and unrelenting. But you didn’t care.

You trusted her. Not because she was kind. But because she was honest—in her own, twisted way.

Mira didn’t pretend to be good. She only promised to be herself. In a world of liars, that was rare enough.

People warned you.

Chishiya looked at you once and said, “You realize there’s more to her than you can see, right?”

You didn’t blink. “That’s okay.”

Even Kuina gave you a subtle warning. “Just be careful. Mira plays a long game. She can twist people.”

“I’m not being twisted,” you replied. But even you weren’t sure if that was true.

You didn’t follow anyone’s orders—except hers.

Not Kuina’s, not Chishiya’s, not the ones barked out by remnants of the Beach council as it fractured.

But if Mira so much as tilted her head and said, “Would you fetch something for me?”—you were already moving.

She never needed to raise her voice. Never demanded. She simply asked—and you obeyed.

Not because you were afraid. But because some part of you wanted to.

One day, she tested it.

“You won’t listen to anyone else, will you?” she asked, voice a lullaby wrapped in curiosity. “Not even your friends?”

“No.”

Her eyes sparkled, pleased.

“So if I asked you to betray them… would you?”

You didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched like a blade between you.

She stepped closer, so close you could hear the shift in her breath. “I wouldn’t ask something so cruel,” she whispered, smile delicate. “Not unless I was sure you loved me more than them.”

You exhaled. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t love anyone.”

Her smile widened. “Except me?”

Another silence. A longer one. “I trust you,” you said finally. “Even if I shouldn't.”

That was all she needed.

Another night, she found you sitting alone on the roof—back resting against the cold concrete, eyes tracking the stars shining bright above you.

She sat beside you without asking. “Do you have an idea what the next game could be? Only the Ten of Hearts is missing,” she asked.

“I don’t know. We’ll see.”

“Do you think I’ll betray you? Lie to you?”

“I know you will.”

She looked over at you, genuinely curious. “And you’ll still listen to me?”

“…Yes.”

A soft laugh escaped her lips. Not mocking—moved. “You really are a strange one.”

“You’re the only voice that matters to me,” you said. And it was the truth.

Even if it destroyed you.

Aguni

The Beach ran on illusion.

Hatter gave the speeches, smiled like he was building a kingdom. The executives played politics, shifting loyalties like poker hands. Everyone wanted power, or at least protection. You watched it all with quiet detachment, knowing the paradise was one wrong move from falling apart.

But Aguni—he didn’t pretend.

He didn’t waste words or sell dreams. He stood in the background, a shadow with a rifle, letting others wear the crown while he bore the weight of its consequences.

You noticed that.

The first time you saw him make a call—quick, brutal, and clean—you knew he was the one who truly kept the Beach standing.

It was during a raid. A Five of Spades game brought you outside the Beach walls. Someone panicked. A group tried to run, abandoning others mid-strategy.

One of the runners was your partner for that game.

Aguni didn’t hesitate. He stopped the deserters before they could cost more lives. Made the call no one else was willing to. When it was over, no one said thank you. They looked at him like a monster.

But you saw it differently.

That night, you found him sitting alone, cleaning his weapon in silence.

“You saved everyone,” you said.

He looked up, gaze steady but unreadable. “No. I made the call that had to be made.”

“Same thing,” you replied.

From that moment, you were his.

You didn’t say it out loud—not at first. You just started showing up where he was. Took assignments when he took them. Followed his lead in games without question. You didn’t care what Hatter said. The moment Aguni gave a command, you moved.

It didn’t take long for people to notice.

“You listening to the wrong executive,” one of them said, sneering after a strategy meeting where you flat-out ignored Hatter’s orders.

You didn’t bother responding.

If it didn’t come from Aguni, it didn’t matter. He didn’t ask for your loyalty. Didn’t need it.

But one day, after another close-call game, he finally said something.

“You don’t follow orders unless they come from me.”

You nodded. “Because you don’t make decisions for show.”

He held your gaze for a long moment. “That kind of trust can get you killed.”

“Maybe,” you said. “But if I go out, I’d rather it be following someone who does what needs to be done.”

He grunted quietly, something like respect in his expression.

After that, he let you closer.

When the Beach started breaking—Hatter unraveling, the hierarchy splintering—you stayed at Aguni’s side.

Even when people started whispering about coups, about power struggles.

They asked you who you were loyal to and you didn’t answer. But your presence at Aguni’s right side said enough.

One night, you were both standing at the balcony overlooking the pool. The place looked peaceful—almost like the lie it wanted to be. But his shoulders were tense, jaw clenched like he was already preparing for the weight of tomorrow.

“You think we’ll survive this place?” you asked.

“Some of us.”

“You?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then: “Only if I keep making the hard calls.”

You looked at him—scarred, weathered, steady.

“You’re the only one I’d follow into hell,” you said simply. And you meant it.

He looked over at you, the faintest trace of something softer beneath the hard lines of his face. 

“I know.”

Niragi

Rules didn’t mean much in this world.

Not when the people giving them out were already bleeding inside. Not when fear and ambition drove every so-called leader to preach survival while clinging to their own illusions of power.

Hatter spoke like he was building a society. Ann acted like the voice of reason. Mira wore masks with a smile.

You didn’t care about any of them.

Just like he didn’t.

Niragi never pretended. He didn’t dress his madness in silk or civility. He burned through the world like a fire that no one could contain—unapologetic, violent, dangerous.

He didn’t follow orders. He took them from only one person—Aguni.

And you? You didn’t even do that.

You ignored everyone. Even Aguni.

Except him.

Only him.

People thought you were crazy.

“You’re wasting yourself,” Ann said once, sharp eyes trying to understand you. “Niragi’s unstable. He’s going to get you killed.”

Maybe.

But you still followed him into every game, every mission, every reckless firestorm he dragged himself into. And you did it without question.

He noticed, of course. Niragi wasn’t stupid, he was far from it. Just unpredictable.

“You don’t listen to anyone,” he said one day, licking blood off his fingers after a game gone ugly. “Not Hatter, not Ann, not even Aguni. But me?” He tilted his head at you, smirking. “You come running the second I lift a finger.”

You didn’t flinch. “Because you don’t pretend. You say what you want and you take it. You’re real.”

That answer lit him up. “Real, huh?” he echoed, like it was the first compliment he’d ever believed. “That’s one word for it.”

He started testing you after that.

Giving you commands just to see if you’d follow them.

“Stand over there.” You did.

“Don’t help them.” You didn’t.

“Pick that guy off before he runs.” You pulled the trigger.

No hesitation. No questions.

It wasn’t about fear. You weren’t afraid of Niragi.

You just… believed in him. Even if it didn’t make sense. Even if it was reckless. Even if the whole world said he was too far gone.

He was strong. He survived. He did what had to be done. In this place, that counted for more than anything.

He leaned into it. Started ordering you around more brazenly. Taking pride in it. When people questioned him, tried to overrule him, he just laughed.

“Don’t bother,” he said once, throwing an arm over your shoulders. “They only listen to me. Isn’t that right?”

You nodded.

He grinned like a devil with a crown. Like having your loyalty was his personal badge of power.

And maybe it was. But you didn’t mind.

You weren’t stupid. You knew Niragi was a maniac.

Unstable. Unrelenting. Cruel when he wanted to be. But he didn’t lie. He didn’t pretend to be anything but what he was.

That made him worth following.

In a world this rotten, honesty wrapped in violence was still honesty. And if that came with fire and blood?

So be it.

“You’re out of your mind, you know,” he said once, after a night soaked in red and smoke. His voice was low, almost thoughtful. “I could tell you to burn this place down, and you’d probably do it.”

You stared at him, steady. “You already know the answer.”

He stared back, lips twitching into a smirk. Then a laugh. “Damn right you would.” He stepped closer, eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction.

“Good.”

Last Boss

Words lost their meaning in this world.

Everyone was talking—about plans, safety, trust, survival. The louder they were, the less they meant. Hatter sold dreams, Mira smiled through lies, and even Aguni had begun to bark commands to keep the order from unraveling.

But you… you stopped listening a long time ago.

Except for him.

Last Boss.

He didn’t shout. Didn’t scheme. He just was—a shadow in the room, watching while others played their roles. Most people feared him. Some called him a lunatic because of the way he moved, the way his silence hung like smoke around him.

But you saw something different.

You saw the calm.

While others cracked under pressure or chattered to cover their panic, Last Boss stood steady. He didn’t talk to assert control. He didn’t need to. When something was wrong, he knew. When it mattered, he acted.

And that was enough for you.

It started simple.

In the games, you stayed near him—not clinging, not needy. Just there. Moving when he moved. Waiting when he waited. People questioned it. They didn’t understand.

“You don’t even know if he’s going to protect you,” someone said once.

You shrugged. “He hasn’t let me die yet.”

And that was more than most could say.

You never needed him to speak.

It was his stillness you trusted—the weight of his presence, the way his eyes tracked everything like he already saw the outcome. He wasn’t loud, but he was present. Focused. Controlled.

That was what made you follow him blindly. Because in a world where everyone talks, the only truth left is in the ones who don’t.

And when he did speak—rarely, quietly, with purpose—you listened like it was law. Because if Last Boss opened his mouth to say something, it meant something.

One night at the Beach, when tension rippled through the halls like static, you were sitting near the edge of the rooftop, knees tucked up, eyes watching the world blur below. He approached silently, as he always did.

He didn’t say a word. Just stood near you, arms folded, eyes on the moon.

You didn’t look at him, didn’t need to.

After a long while, he finally spoke. “Don’t go with them tomorrow.”

Just five words. That was it.

You stood up without hesitation. “Okay.” No questions. No explanation needed.

If he said it, you listened.

Later, someone asked you why you always obeyed him of all people.

“He barely speaks,” they said, half-laughing. “You don’t even know what he’s thinking.”

You met their gaze and said, “Exactly.” That’s why you trusted him.

Because people who talk all the time—they spin stories, manipulate, lie.

But silence? That’s honest. If someone saves their voice, it’s because they only use it when it matters.

And his voice—when it came—was the only one that ever did.

Chishiya

You stopped pretending you cared about survival a long time ago.

This world—this twisted apocalyptic world—took too much from you. Stripped away everything that gave life meaning. Family. Friends. Future. All gone in the shuffle of suits and blood-soaked games.

Now? You didn’t play to win.

You just… moved. And you moved when he moved.

Chishiya.

He wasn’t kind. He didn’t make promises. He never offered hope.

But he saw things others didn’t. The tiniest cracks in people. The strategies beneath chaos. The patterns hiding in bloodshed.

He wasn’t a leader, not in the traditional sense—but if he told you to do something, it wasn’t a guess. It was a calculation. A precise move in a larger game.

And you followed it. Every time.

“You’re not seriously putting your life in his hands,” Ann had said once, trying to read your expression. “He wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice anyone if it served his goal.”

You didn’t argue.

She wasn’t wrong.

Chishiya was selfish. Detached. A tactician who saw people as pieces—valuable when useful, disposable when not.

But you had nothing left to lose.

And in a world where everyone screamed about loyalty, survival, and friendship, at least he never lied about what he was. That made him more honest than most.

You weren’t blind. You knew your trust in him was reckless.

Sometimes, you looked at him and wondered if this was what cults felt like—mindless devotion, waiting for a signal.

But it wasn’t like that.

You didn’t follow Chishiya because he made you feel something. You followed him because he made sense.

And because if you had to die in this world, you'd rather do it on his terms—executing a strategy that meant something—than in another pointless game with people pretending to care.

“Why do you always follow me?” he asked one night, out of nowhere. His tone wasn’t mocking, just mildly curious.

You didn’t answer right away. The two of you were seated across from each other in a dark hallway of the Beach, the world oddly quiet for once.

You looked up at him. “Because you’ll always make the smartest call. Even if it kills me.”

His eyes held yours for a moment longer than usual. Then he looked away. “I wouldn’t expect anyone else to be okay with that.”

“I’m not like anyone else.”

He huffed something that might have been amusement. “Clearly.”

You didn’t know if your trust in him was mutual. You didn’t need it to be.

But sometimes, he’d pause before sending you into danger. Sometimes, he’d offer you a rare look—quiet, unreadable—as if weighing something more than just logic. As if your loyalty wasn’t just another move on the board.

Maybe he saw something in you.

Or maybe not.

But you saw something in him—beneath the cool smirk and smug intellect. A ghost of a person who once cared about more than winning.

And that was enough.

If your trust in him cost you your life? So be it.

Because you weren’t just placing your bets on Chishiya the strategist.

You were placing them on the man beneath the mask—the one who, despite everything, might still be capable of letting someone in.

Even just a little.

[paarksunghoon]

resignation | sunghoon

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: desperately need to rant about my life and I’m doing it by way of enhypen 😩 this is a small little chapter and I have no idea if I’m gonna make this a whole thing, but we’ll see. enjoy for now and let me know your thoughts! xx

WARNINGS: none :)

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

Like a bird stuck in a metal cage, you feel trapped in an enclosure that’s meant to prevent you from flying away. That’s what it feels like to work at Park Inc., an international venture capitalist firm that serves Asia and the greater North American and European landscape. Your job is boring and meaningless, and today is the day you decided to do something about it. 

Your alarm rings every morning at 5 A.M. on the dot and today is no exception. Since becoming Park Sunghoon’s assistant six years ago, you’ve learned the masterful art of never hitting snooze after hearing an earful from Sunghoon himself when he requested your presence the following hour (you failed to arrive in time and learned to never go back to sleep unless it was your day off). 

This life seemed like a dream at the ripe age of twenty-one. Freshly graduated from college with no real career goal in mind, one of your academic mentors suggested entering the workforce as a personal assistant to gain social capital and learn about different areas of industry that could potentially lead you towards a career. Your measly business degree left you feeling unfulfilled and your parents’ aloof demeanor towards the lack of job offers lining up after graduating wasn’t the kind of news you were ecstatic about. You jumped at the chance to work as a personal assistant with the assumption that it would be the kind of job that you could pursue in the meantime until something else came along.

This position at Park Inc. fell into your lap like some kind of dumb luck. The role wasn’t posted on any job site. Rather, your name had been submitted on behalf of your academic advisor, which got you your first interview. You suppose that must be some kind of nepotism. After six separate interviews over the course of three months, the job was yours.

You’d saved up enough money, working the night shift at a local restaurant to afford a rundown apartment and a new office-appropriate wardrobe from the local second hand stores in your neighborhood. Pencil skirts, fashionable blouses, heels that promised to last a long time, and blazers that looked professional enough lined your closets for future use. It was an exciting prospect and starting your new life after graduating university felt like a different ball park than when you were still pursuing your degree. 

Despite all of that, you feel listless.

Your days begin before the sun rises and ends just after sunset. Anticipating Sunghoon’s needs is seamless for you, to the point where you’re able to think on his behalf without second guessing yourself. He agrees on most days and doesn’t put up much of a fight when it comes to business matters because you’ve been by his side for over half a decade. You’ve picked him up from many late night rendezvous with women who definitely wanted more than he was willing to give, and you’ve accompanied him to events where he couldn’t bother asking somebody to be his date. You’re his assistant, and therefore you’re always available. 

But you’re just the help. You don’t have any real stake in Park Inc., nor does anybody take you seriously unless Sunghoon agrees with your opinion. You know this company inside and out, and you know exactly how Sunghoon envisions this company to succeed. You act like you’re a managing partner without the title because you’re by his side nearly every hour of the day, and it’s gotten to a point where people me either whisper about a silent affair, or look at you with sympathy because Sunghoon can’t seem to function without you. 

It was fun, at first. Learning how to stand on your own two feet while leaving everything you knew behind felt exhilarating. Abandoning your hometown to explore the big city was a dream come true, and you envisioned all of the late night food runs you’d go on in an attempt to explore each neighborhood within Seoul. The beginning was tolerable at best—if you count crying in your small apartment after thinking you’d never get the hang of this job—and Sunghoon knew to delegate tasks to you based on experience level. He had you fetch coffee and take care of his dry cleaning in the first few months, on top of organizing multiple reports until you were ready for more. He was kind like that, and you’re sure his willingness to help you in your career was why you stayed for as long as you have. 

Six years ago, receiving the amount of responsibility you carry felt like you’d reached the top of the tallest mountain after dreaming of the day Sunghoon could trust you enough to let you do your job without much supervision. You could complete a task for him before he delegated it to you, because you understood his workflow and what needed to be prioritized. The both of you worked well like that, and after six years of getting to know each other, many would say you’re both joined at the hip professionally. 

It comes to a point where you learn that the Sunghoon you see is far different than the Sunghoon everybody else sees. He’s naturally funny and a bit clumsy. He’s professional and stoic when he needs to be, but behind closed doors, Sunghoon laughs your ear off about old men who think they can walk all over his business tactics and people who are too rich to see that they’re the problem. Sunghoon is the best boss you’ve ever had, bar none. 

He’s unlike any of the wealthy, stuck up assholes you deal with on a daily basis. Sunghoon hides his witty, flirty personality behind a professional face in the eyes of higher ups and investors who he does business with. He keeps his personal and work life separate, as far as he can, with the exception of occasionally letting women he meets accompany him to select events that almost always end up in having to kick them out of his penthouse apartment the morning after if they haven’t left already. His lifestyle is one you’ll never get used to. Even after six years working beside Sunghoon, you go back to your humble one bedroom apartment, the same one you moved into once you were able to afford living without any roommates. 

It seems as though life moves for Sunghoon. He doesn’t have to do or say much to get people to fall to their knees or grant his every wish. He’s good looking (that’s something you’ll never deny because he’s objectively handsome), he manages to say all the right things, and he’s really good at his job. Sunghoon comes from a powerful and wealthy family that’s existed in Seoul for as long as anyone can remember, and there aren’t many bad things people say about him behind his back. He’s risky but strategic, gambling on chances that would typically slip through the cracks if not for his watchful eye and modern approach to business. 

You’ve learned a lot from him, too. Sunghoon grew into the man he is today. He’s no longer the overly arrogant and cocky person he was when you first met him, and he’s gained a deeper understanding of the company he’s about to inherit once his father transitions his title unto him. There’s much to be said about powerful men who choose to view everybody he works with as an equal, and while you might legally be his personal assistant, Sunghoon has allowed you to partake in the business too. You’ve been his right hand man ever since he realized you knew the company as well as he did. Yet, you can’t help but feel utterly stuck in this endless cycle of work, work, and more work.

There must be something out there for you that doesn’t consist of answering emails and letting your inbox pile up until the stress eats you alive. Being able to travel alongside Sunghoon for business opportunities has granted you a pathway to see the world, but it’s not enough to accompany somebody else. You want to explore the world by yourself and create agendas for your taste and likeliness, not Sunghoon or potential business partners while you sit in the back and take notes during every conversation. You want to live your life without being chained to a desk and learn what it feels like to try something new. 

For the past six years, your life has been dedicated to Sunghoon and only Sunghoon. 

“Sir?” You say tentatively, knocking on his door while pushing the heavy wooden door open. 

“Come in.” 

You know well enough he’s got nothing on his schedule that would impose a distraction. You slip into the room and close the door behind you with your fingers gripping a beige Manila folder behind your back. Sunghoon wears a suit that’s tailored to his likeness and his hair is slicked back like he’s trying to resemble Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of an unscheduled interruption?” Sunghoon asks with humor in his tone. He knows you typically keep to your inbox unless something is imminently urgent.

He turns around from looking outside of his window and watches as you hesitantly walk towards his desk. The office space is huge, bigger than your entire living room, and the sudden realization that you’re about to make the biggest change of your life is weighing on your shoulders. Your feet feel heavy beneath you when Sunghoon glances between your face and the folder in your hands. 

“What’s this?”

You don’t hesitate to open it and put it on his desk facing up.

“My resignation letter.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Sunghoon stares at the letter you’ve typed out and notices the large, black signature at the bottom of the page. His eyes flicker back at you as if to detect any lie in your face before he scoffs with a short laugh.

“Right. April Fool’s Day has already passed. No need to keep me on my toes like you usually do, though I appreciate a good joke.” 

You shake your head. “I’m being serious, Sir. I’m quitting.” 

The seriousness of your voice seems to catch him. He takes a seat on his leather chair and pulls himself closer to the desk to fully examine the letter.

“Dear Mr. Park, I am writing to inform you that I will be resigning from my position as your personal assistant at Park Incorporated. My final day will be two months from the day I hand you this resignation letter. I am committed to ensuring a smooth transition, and will facilitate seeking a replacement while I complete projects and tasks on my docket.” 

He looks up at you.

“You’re breaking up with me.” 

“No, I’m quitting this job.”

“Which is the same as breaking up with me. You’re my business partner, for God’s sake. You come with me to every meeting and important event that requires my presence.”

“I’m your assistant. There are many people who would die to be able to do that for you.”

He looks at you like you’ve set his office on fire. “I will not let you quit.” 

You tilt your head. “That’s not how it works, you know. Soobin from HR will process my resignation, even if you beg him not to. I’m giving you a two months' notice because that is how much I value my time here.” Sunghoon clasps his hands as if trying to make sense of the matter.

“But why? Why now? You’re impeccable at your job. Is the pay not suitable enough for you? I can give you a generous bonus and pay raise, if that will convince you to stay. Do you want a bigger office or reduced working hours?” 

“I don’t need any of that. I’ve made up my mind, Sir.”

“Why?” 

With a sigh, you sit down in front of him. “I’ve spent nearly every day for the last six years catering to the needs of you and this company. I’ve loved my time here, and I credit my ability to navigate this industry to you and this job. You’ve given me incredible opportunities that I probably wouldn’t have gotten elsewhere, and it’s been fun learning the ins and outs of this business.

“But I don't have a personal life at all. My days are spent catering to your needs. I don’t have many friends aside from the people I see in this building. I don’t travel and I’ve had to miss important family milestones because of work obligations.”

“Is more time off what you need?” Sunghoon interrupts. “You’ve earned your fair share of requested time offs, even if it’s a personal day for no reason. You’re responsible enough for me to know you can handle your workload when you get back.” 

You shake your head. “It’s not just that. I…I don’t meet new people anymore. I don’t make new friends and I don’t date because this job eats up my life. I feel like I’ve been wrapped up in this company and doing whatever it takes to help it succeed while neglecting my own needs. I’ve had six incredible years, but it’s time for me to move on.”

“…Date?”

With a sigh, you respond. “Yes, Sir. Just because you can find women at the snap of your fingers doesn't mean that everybody else can too.” 

“You don’t date at all?”

You scratch the inside of your wrist at his question. “I can’t date. I don’t have the time to.”

“So you’re quitting because you want to date.”

“No. I’m quitting because I want to experience life without being on call for when you need my help.” 

Sunghoon purses his lips and you can’t read his expression. In the years you’ve worked with him, learning his every mood has been critical to maintaining cordial balance between the two of you, and with other people who Sunghoon isn’t particularly fond of. You’ve extinguished emotional fires just by glancing at him, but the way he looks at you is something you can’t seem to figure out. 

While you wouldn’t say you’re exceptionally close with Sunghoon, you’d argue your relationship to him is far closer than other assistants in the firm. He might be hard headed and stubborn, but he’s compassionate and understanding. He doesn’t expect you to stay in the office until he leaves unless explicitly stated (which consists of half the week, but you can’t complain when some of your colleagues are constantly working longer days than you). 

He compensates you well from time to time, buying you new wardrobe for events he’s requested you to be at. You have a drawer full of exquisite jewelry. You’ve had the privilege of accompanying him on international business trips. From the outside, your life looks like one glamour shot that’s been afforded to you through diligent work, which is partially true, but seldom do people see the dark circles underneath your eyes or how many meals you skip because you need to cater to Sunghoon’s needs. 

For as lucky as your career has been thus far, it’s all on company time, and nothing is ever because you want to. You get the perks, but it’s a transaction. There’s nothing you want more than the freedom to choose what time you wake up and what time you go to bed.

“I can’t say I’m too happy with this news,” Sunghoon says as he leans back on his chair. “You and I work together really well. I don’t think I’ve ever had an assistant as diligent and as smart as you.” 

“You had three assistants before I came into the picture.” 

“They were terrible. Why did you think you went through six interviews?” 

“I can train my predecessor to be as excellent as I can be. I can do it in two months because that’s the time it took me to get used to you and your habits.” 

Sunghoon remains silent for a moment. 

“They’ve got big shoes to fill.” 

Part of you thinks he’s accepted your resignation. He doesn’t immediately grab the Manila folder with the papers in it. Rather, he closes it and keeps it shut on his desk with his hands clasped like he’s afraid it’s going to materialize and escort you out of his office.  

“You’re still needed for events and other internal-facing meetings until your time comes to an end.” 

“Of course, Sir.”

The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. “There’s one tonight. I wasn’t going to have you come to this one initially, but given the circumstances, I think it’s fair that we squeeze in as many as possible before you’re off the hook, no?”

You can’t say you’re incredibly excited by the idea, but knowing Sunghoon, he’s either forgotten he needs someone to act as arm candy or one of his many flings bailed on him at the last minute. 

“I’ll have my car pick you up from your apartment at 8 P.M. Don’t worry about checking in early tomorrow, either. Come in at nine instead, and get some sleep tonight.” 

Nine is still early, especially if you’re going to accompany Sunghoon to an event this evening, but it’s better than getting four hours of shut eye before you’re needed the next day. 

***

A section of your wardrobe is dedicated to items Sunghoon has gifted you throughout the years you’ve been with him. They’re far more expensive and of higher quality than the garments you buy for yourself, and the jewelry is far too precious for you to mix in with your everyday wear. They sit in their own designated section, away from your business attire and weekend wear.

Back when you started this position, Sunghoon found it amusing that you refused the luxurious gifts he’d offer for large tasks such as acting as a liaison at black tie events or helping him with projects that required you to look more presentable than remaining in an office. He bought you enough dresses, shoes, and jewelry until you were able to rotate a few pieces so that you’d never have to wear the same thing twice in a row. To assuage your mind about the prices of each item, Sunghoon would tell you to wear it out on a date with a special someone or to important events that required you to dress up a bit.  

When you pull out a sleek baby blue powder dress that hugs your body in all the right places and jewelry to match, the memory makes you laugh. There hasn’t been any time for engaging in those types of things and your life does not reflect that of Sunghoon’s. They gather dust in your closet until you’re needed to make an appearance as his well-trained, capable assistant. His colleagues know to defer to you unless Sunghoon’s word needs to be confirmed, and that’s how the dynamic has been for the entirety of your working relationship with him. 

You don’t put much effort into your appearance tonight. After touching up your makeup and slipping on a pair of black sling backs that match a black Italian clutch purse he had gifted you on your first international trip, you wait for the car to arrive at your doorstep. 

Surprisingly, Sunghoon steps out from the backseat and holds the door open for you.

“…Sir?” 

“Right on time. You look stunning.” 

His compliment flies over your head as you try to make sense of what you’re seeing. You’re used to meeting Sunghoon at the fairgrounds and not holding the door open for you in his personal mode of transportation. The only time the two of you arrive together is when you depart from the office. Sunghoon is a busy man who makes work his priority. He doesn’t escort you from place to place. That’s your job.

“What are you doing here?” 

He beckons you inside of the car. The partition is raised to give the two of you some privacy. Sunghoon slides into the backseat and puts a respectable distance between the two of you when the driver begins to drive away.

“It dawned on me that I rely you on you for so many things, and yet, I can’t seem to take an hour of my day to ride with you to events I’ve asked you to be at.” 

“It’s my job.”

“No, your job is to make sure I don’t lose my head.”

“If letting you work while I drive alone makes your head stay on your shoulders, I think that’s a job well done.” 

He purses his lips. “Still, I don’t think ending my workday early to pick you up will kill me.” You raise your eyebrow at him.

“This isn’t changing my mind, Sir. I still plan to leave the company.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Worth a try. But I meant what I said about accompanying you. We’re a team, even if your position is just my assistant.”

“Sir—”

“Sunghoon,” he interrupts. “Call me Sunghoon.”

“...Sunghoon.” He smiles.

“That’s more like it.” 

***

will there be a part 2? who knows

[motorsportbarbie13]

Christmas Showdown

In which you and Lando run into an ex-boyfriend while you're home for the holidays.

Warnings: talk of abusive relationship (no details though). Established relationship. Protective Lando. This could probably be better and it's pretty short buttttttt I needed to get this out of my head, so enjoy! Pairing: Lando Norris x Girlfriend!Reader Word Count: 1.8k words

Master List

It had been several years since you spent the holidays in your small Midwestern hometown. Usually, your family flew out to London or Monaco to spend the holiday’s with you there, much preferring to leave Michigan’s several feet of snow that was typically on the ground during Christmas. This year was different thought. Your grandmother had been too ill to make the long flight so instead, you came to them. Which was fine with you, you had missed seeing friends that were home for the holidays and missed the nostalgic nights spent around the Christmas tree with your family. The one person who was not fine with it, however, was your boyfriend. 

Lando Norris simply hated the cold. He hated being cold. Hated thinking about the cold. Hated the snow. Anytime the temperature dipped below 50 degrees Fahrenheit ( which also a fight you two had often was how he refused to learn the difference between Fahrenheit and Celsius while also simultaneously refusing to do the same for him.) So you knew he must really be down bad for you when he had agreed (albeit a bit sluggishly) to spend the Christmas holiday with you in your (freezing) hometown. 

There was minimal complaining for the first few days you were at home, mostly because it the weather was fair enough to not be something comparable to the North Pole, but trouble arose the day of your Aunt and Uncle’s infamous Christmas party. The first sign of trouble was your brother’s insistence on a family outing to the sledding hill that was a few miles from your house. Of course Lando had packed several parkas but when he had seen the Canada Goose store in the mall the day before, he had bought the thickest, best cold rated puffer jacket he could find. Despite that and several layers of long johns and sweaters, by the time you reached the sledding hill your poor boyfriend was shivering like your grandma’s ancient chihuahua. 

To his credit though, there was not one single utterance of a complaint or plea to go back to your parents house for a cup of hot chocolate then entire time. Lando happily chased your nieces and nephews around the sledding hill and even went down the hill a few times with you. 

“Okay, folks!” Your dad calls out as the afternoon sun hangs low in the sky. “I think it’s time we all head home and get ready for Judy and Steve’s party tonight. I expect everyone to be at their house by 7pm sharp!” The ‘this reminder is for your benefit’ look that your dad sends you has your already wind chapped face turning even more red. 

“I don’t know why you’re glaring at me! I’m always on time!” You shout, grabbing for Lando’s hand. “We’ll see you guys tonight!” 

Once you get in the Range Rover that Lando had rented for the two week visit, he immediately turns the heated seats on full power and cranks up the heat. 

“Do you want to swing by Starbucks and get something warm before going home?” You ask as Lando pulls out of the park and onto the snowy street. “I feel like I might need to just get you an IV of hot chocolate at this point.” 

Lando gives you a sidelong glare. “I think I have icicles in my nose hairs.” 

Laughter tumbles out of you, quick and light, sending a thrill of pleasure down Lando’s spine. You two had been dating for a few years now and there were still times he’d look over at you and think ‘how the fuck did I convince this girl to be my girlfriend?’. You had come into his life at a particularly challenging time and had been his rock since day one. 

“Starbucks it is, my poor little snowman. There’s one up here in this strip mall. Turn left at this light and then it’s on the right.” 

The parking lot, which is a shared lot with several other big box stores, is an absolute zoo and you can see the line snaking around the inside of the Starbucks before you even go in. To save some time, Lando drops you off at the front door while he goes and finds a spot for the large SUV. 

The line is long when you get inside but you’re thankful to at least be out of the bitter cold. While you wait in line, you mindlessly scroll on your Instagram, which is locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Going private on all socials and not being featured heavily on Lando’s had been one of the things you two had agreed upon when things started getting serious nearly two years ago now. People who were huge Lando fans knew who you were but the casual F1 fan probably wouldn’t have been able to pick you out of a lineup. 

Your casually scrolling, minding your own business, when a deep voice calling your name jolts you out of your little social media bubble. 

“Jeff?” You sputter, surprised to see your college boyfriend standing in front of you in line, huge smile on his face. 

Jeff had been one of the guys you and your best friends had drooled over in high school, having been nearly two years ahead of you when you were teens. You didn’t start dating him until your freshman year of college, when he was already a junior. To say the man was toxic was an understatement. In fact, now that you had a few years distance between the now and the end of the relationship, you could confidently say Jeff had been pretty abusive. 

“Hey, stranger!” He says, leaning in for a hug. You go completely still, totally unprepared to be faced with the man who had caused you so much trauma in the two years you had dated. “I have’t seen you in ages, visiting your family for the holidays?” 

You toss a look over your shoulder, desperately wishing for Lando to come walking in the door. “Uh, yeah. First time in a few years. I usually fly them over to London or Monaco for the holidays.” 

A dark shadow passes over Jeff’s face at the mention of where you live now. “Monaco, huh? You always thought you were too good for us here, didn’t you?” 

Your stomach twists painfully at the look in his eyes and you briefly consider just turning around and walking right out of the Starbucks without your drinks.

Before you can stutter out a response, a strong pair of large hands wraps around your waist as Lando drops his head onto your shoulder. “Darling. Baby. Sweetheart. Love of my life." Lando croons in your ear, not yet picking up on your body language. "I adore you but why the fuck did you have to be born in a place where the air hurts your face?” 

You laugh stiffly despite yourself. “Talk to my parents about that one, love.” 

Lando drops a kiss on your cheek before looking over at the other man. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were talking to someone.” 

Across from you, Jeff had been watching this exchange between Lando and you with an increasing amount of annoyance. Who the fuck was this and why was he calling you the love of his life? 

“Lando, this is Jeff.” You turn slightly, giving Lando a knowing look which he catches onto immediately. “Jeff, this is my boyfriend, Lando.” 

“That’s an interesting name. Only heard that name twice before, once in Star Wars and…” Jeff’s voice drops off as he finally makes the connection. “Wait. Lando…as in Lando Norris?” 

The smug grin that stretches across Lando’s face nearly has you giggling. “That’s me. And you’re Jeff, huh? I’ve heard a lot about you. None of it good.” 

Lando remembered the first time you had ever opened up to him a few months into dating about how you had been in an abusive relationship in college and how much work it had taken to recover from it. He had been your first serious relationship after leaving Jeff, having left the country just to get away from him. Internally, Lando raged at the man standing in front of you two, the protective instinct in him screaming to just lay the guy out right here.

Jeff’s already ruddy face turns red with incandescent rage. You had totally forgotten he was a big Formula One fan and when you remember the fact that not only is he an F1 fan, but a huge McLaren fan, the urge to giggle hits you again. Oh, this was just too good. 

“How’d you…” Jeff stutters. “How’d you manage to bag yourself a Formula 1 driver?” 

The question is a pathetic attempt to rile you up and insult you but both you and Lando see that question for exactly what it is. 

Lando plants another kiss on your cheek and you know he’s doing it to be an asshole. “I was actually the one who pursued her. She turned me down left and right for nearly a year, didn’t you baby?” 

You nod, remembering the way Lando had come into your office at the McLaren Tech Center day after day just to make small talk at first but finally had worked up the nerve to ask you out. You were one of the newer people on the comms team back then and you hand’t wanted to jeopardize the career you had worked so hard for so you had turned him down for nearly a year, insisting that you wanted nothing more than a friendship with the driver. 

“But eventually, he wore me down. He flew me to Monaco and took me out on his yacht for our first date, it was all very romantic.” It had actually been Max’s yacht, but Jeff didn’t need to know that bit. 

You can see Jeff practically seething at this point, knowing that you’re doing so well and he’s still apparently stuck in your hometown. 

“And how are you doing, Jeff? Still working at your dad’s law firm? How is Vance doing? And Laura?” You know it’s killing him, asking about his parents by their first name. 

Jeff just blinks at you for a few moments, realizing you weren’t the little girl he used to push around and take advantage of in college anymore. “Made partner last year, actually.” 

“That must be easy to do when your dad owns the practice, huh?” Lando says, voice nothing but light innocence. 

Jeff’s eyes bounce between you and Lando for several moments before he suddenly reaches into his pocket. “If you’d excuse me, it looks like the office is calling me.” 

“A call from the office the day before Christmas! Gosh, you must be very important, Jeffery.” Lando’s low blow to Jeff’s big ego hits true and without another word, the man scampers out of the Starbucks without a second glance in your direction. 

Once he’s gone, both you and Lando dissolve into giggles, your head finding it’s favorite spot on Lando’s shoulder. “I’m surprised he didn’t try to deck you there are the end.” 

“And mess up his pretty lawyer hands? Honey, I doubt he even knows how to throw a punch.” 

tag list @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago

[scrimblescromble]

Hello, I'm back, with things I have noticed about Eragon that makes parts of the book very strange or funny or sad

Garrow's farm is TEN MILES OUT from Carvahall, which is already small. What the hell was he thinking??? It takes like 3.5 hours to walk that much???? And Eragon walks FURTHER THAN THAT to go hunting at 15???? Go behind you??

When hunting in the beginning, Eragon spends days just going for one doe. Which, all things considered, is not a lot of meat, especially for what's probably a 4 day hunt. For one person, it's unrealistic to carry more than that, but still.

Leading on from that, I'm led to believe that their family probably mostly ate bread and vegetables, and maybe cheese. No wonder he's pretty attached to meat.

Despite living so far away, Brom knows Eragon's knack for asking Too Many Questions, which implies this happens often.

How the hell does Brom make money? Storytelling??? There's only so much money that can get you in fifteen years, he's definitely got something on the side. He was a gardener in Morzan's estate for a while...

So far up north and isolated, Eragon DEFINITELY has a STRONG farmer's accent. Combined with his formal training with the elves, he probably has the weirdest way of talking, where it's both overly formal and casual at the same time.

Eragon is such a prodigy it's not even funny. By the time he meets Murtagh, he's a good enough swordsman after JUST A FEW MONTHS that they're literally equal. Murtagh has been doing that his WHOLE LIFE with a really good swordsman. Magic also comes pretty good to him, even if he's not always sensible with it. He learns to read well enough to read full books in a week.

Eragon and Roran are pretty similar with the dangerous stunts they pull, except Eragon's are usually with magic and Roran's are physical. They are both absurdly intelligent too, even if Eragon is known to act like a dolt sometimes. In his defence, he's stressed and like 15-17 years old. All things considered, he could be far worse.

Somehow, with his back ripped open and cursed, with his dragon crashing through the crystal ceiling which is raining on top of him, Eragon is able to not only remember to stab Durza in the heart (requiring turning around), but also shout an unnecessary spell.

Eragon probably could do magic before he bonded with Saphira. His mum wasn't a rider and had the "genes" for it, and his dad was a rider. It wouldn't be as strong, but maybe he's such a powerful spellcaster because he had some sort of baseline.

I bet that the first time Eragon wandered into the Spine, he was pretty young, and everyone kinda assumed him dead. He came out a week later with a bunch of rabbits or something

The fact that the Blood Oath Celebration made Eragon very pale implies that he's naturally the whitest boy ever and he just had a constant tan going (likely, because he's a farmer). This is just very funny to me, that in removing all injuries it took his tan.

Another point for absurdly powerful Eragon - the fact that his accidental curse had such an impact on Elva, to the point that it straight up affected her development. It wasn't even a spell! Or intentional!

I'm sorry, but Eragon casting empathy and that unintentionally killing the bad guy is so funny. He was SURRENDERING, but cut a bitch so deep that he imploded himself. Iconic.

Literally he is just so nice. Willing to run across the world, separated from Saphira, to support Orik in his campaign - when he totally could have given an excuse, or even just say the truth, which is that he's very much needed where he is. There's so many more examples, but he's just a good person.

I'm sorry, but Oramis was kinda a bitch for assigning the one hour of duelling in his training. Like, it flares up his seizures like crazy (which he ALSO SUFFERS FROM), AND he doesn't stand a chance against the elves in strength. I understand the point, but something had to give there. At the very least, reassign someone that won't actively torture him??

Adding onto that, we know that he's only able to succeed at the listening to the forest task after the transformation. I suspect that the mind is a sort of "sixth sense", and we know that elves have stronger senses; it's possible Eragon would have to have been bonded for a decent while for this to even be possible. I bet anything that human riders were usually trained by elder humans, and Oramis was struggling with a fledgeling human instead of an elf, as well as the time constraint.

Why the hell does Brom look so old? Yeah, he's old, but Galbatorix doesn't look that old? Is it something to do with his dragon being dead? The way I assumed it would be is that riders look like thirty for a verrrryyyy long time, no? Is it because Saphira died? Was he just going to perpetually age? Or does the beard age him?

Your cousin who feels like a brother goes missing, ran away, after your father's death. Soon you're leading everyone you've ever known to the rebellion in a desperate attempt to keep them safe and save the woman you love. Your cousin is wanted, even more than you are. He returns. He's different. Barely human anymore, hardly the boy you once knew. He's their last, and only hope. His war cry has been the same since he was six.

Now that I think about it, Garrow really is the odd one out in the family. His sister was the Black Hand, a highly dangerous assassin and magician. His son is Stronghammer, one of the deadliest soldiers in the country. His nephews are Eragon and Murtagh, both highly skilled swordsmen and magicians, riders, and both known as Kingkiller. Garrow is a farmer who can read.

Selena naming her son Eragon is soooo funny. "His dad - who is a secret! - is a rider, and Eragon was the first rider. It's so uncommon a name even among the elves that literally nobody will know this. My abusive husband and the evil king both know I hail from this place. He totally won't stick out in any way whatsoever!" Iconic, 10/10. It worked???

If any of these are inaccurate please remember I am going off my very deep-seated knowledge from reading the books so many times at a formative age. I haven't actually read them in years

[horsegirlwarcrimes]

for @skeren ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

"Mu-shidi?" Yue Qingyuan asked.

Mu Qingfang was sitting on a decorative rock in one of Qian Cao Peak's small meditation gardens with his head in his hands. Yue Qingyuan paused, hesitating at the edge of the garden as he watched Mu Qingfang's shoulders heave with a deep sigh.

"Zhangmen-shixiong. In your purview as sect leader, do you believe I have the power to medically relieve someone from their position of authority on the grounds of madness?" He asked.

"Ah, I should have known this was coming," Yue Qingyuan said. He approached and sat next to Mu Qingfang on the rock, folding his arms over his knees and offering a small smile. "Will Mu-shidi finally be requesting this one's resignation?"

Mu Qingfang snorted a laugh and uncurled, but not without rubbing once more at his brow. "Actually, I meant myself."

"You?"

Mu Qingfang turned to look at him. Yue Qingyuan's brows shot up, startled at the absolutely exhausted and frantic look on his face. The healer was pale, his eyes shadowed, and Yue Qingyuan realised for the first time that some of his hair was slipping out from his wooden guan.

"What happened?" Yue Qingyuan asked, reaching out to catch Mu Qingfang's wrist. Mu Qingfang allowed the contact, not protesting at the reversal of their usual position as Yue Qingyuan probed his meridians, which Yue Qingyuan thought was a sign something was truly wrong.

"It's Shang-shidi," Mu Qingfang said gravely, which was not what Yue Qingyuan was expecting.

"What do you mean? Did something happen to Shang Qinghua? Did he—do something?"

"Is Zhangmen-shixiong familiar with the Bleeding Heart-Tongue Berry?"

"The one that causes full-body hemorrhaging?"

"No, that's the Crimson Bleeding Heart Berry."

"Oh. Oh, the one that requires oral dual cultivation to cure the deadly fever?"

"No, that's—it doesn't matter! The Bleeding Heart-Tongue Berry's sap and flesh is a powerful truth serum. It compels anyone who consumes or comes into physical contact with it to say whatever is on their mind, with complete honesty."

Yue Qingyuan looked around nervously. "We don't have an outbreak, do we?"

Mu Qingfang sighed one more, pushing his hand under his glasses to press against his eyes. "Shang-shixiong came into contact with some when he was on his last mission off the mountain. I have no idea how, since he was assigned to go secure a trade deal to the North East and they only grow in the South West, but—"

"But he was afflicted, and is now compelled to speak the truth?" Yue Qingyuan asked.

Mu Qingfang slipped his hand from Yue Qingyuan's so he could grip his arms, leaning in intently.

"He is driving. Me. Insane."

—

Mu Qingfang led Yue Qingyuan to one of the nearby patient rooms. Inside, Shang Qinghua sat at a low tea table, sipping at a cup that smelled medicinal and poking at some nuts and seeds on offer. Nothing looked amiss—Shang Qinghua didn't look damaged or ill, and the room was neat and orderly.

When they entered, Shang Qinghua's head shot up.

"Mu-shidi! Zhangmen-shixiong! This one is—not super glad to see you! Not that you're not great. Mu-shidi, I really appreciate how you keep us all alive. Remember that time I accidentally drank ink as a disciple and you had to pump my stomach? Yeah, I so am glad you were there to do that and not let me die. And Zhangmen-shixiong, you're very hot, and I love that, and I find how sad you life is—well, troubling actually, although not enough to do anything about it. You kind of make me uncomfortable to be around. But the hotness helps! Not right now, though. Right now I would love if you would leave, because I really don't want to tell you about anything I am thinking about, because I just got done spending three days sucking demonic dick and I really don't want to answer any follow up questions about—"

Shang Qinghua's eyes went wide. He grabbed a handful of the snacks and shoved them into his mouth, presumably hoping to stem the flow of words. Instead he immediately choked on them and coughed up walnuts and melon seeds over the table.

Yue Qingyuan rubbed his forehead. "Ah. I think I see the problem."

[anghraine]

I know I've ranted about it a million times, but every time someone brings up Roman, Byzantine, and Egyptian inspirations/influences on Gondor in more mainstream Tolkien fandom spaces (not me, because I don't even talk about it off Tumblr/DW), it seems like there's always someone who gets super weird and defensive about it. I've seen so many "well actually there's no need to consider any influences outside of England, mythology for England blah blah" responses.

And it's like! Oh, you want to play the decontextualized Tolkien quotes game? How about this one:

“But this [the setting of LOTR] is not a purely 'Nordic' area in any sense. If Hobbiton and Rivendell are taken (as intended) to be at about the latitude of Oxford, then Minas Tirith, 600 miles south, is at about the latitude of Florence [in Italy]. The Mouths of Anduin and the ancient [Gondorian] city of Pelargir are at about the latitude of ancient Troy [in Turkey]. Auden has asserted that for me 'the North is a sacred direction.' That is not true. The North-west part of Europe, where I (and most of my ancestors) have lived, has my affection, as a man’s home should. I love its atmosphere, and know more of its histories and languages than I do of other parts; but it is not ‘sacred’, nor does it exhaust my affections. I have, for instance, a particular love for the Latin language, and among its descendants for Spanish ... The progress of the tale ends in what is far more like the re-establishment of an effective Holy Roman Empire with its seat in Rome than anything that would be devised by a 'Nordic.'”

Or this one:

we come [in ROTK] to the half-ruinous Byzantine City of Minas Tirith

Or:

In the south Gondor rises to a peak of power, almost reflecting Númenor, and then fades slowly to decayed Middle Age, a kind of proud, venerable, but increasingly impotent Byzantium.

Or:

The Númenóreans of Gondor were proud, peculiar, and archaic, and I think are best pictured in (say) Egyptian terms. In many ways they resembled ‘Egyptians’ - the love of, and power to construct, the gigantic and massive. And in their great interest in ancestry and in tombs. […] I think the crown of Gondor (the S. Kingdom) was very tall, like that of Egypt, but with wings attached, not set straight back but at an angle. The N. Kingdom had only a diadem (III 323). Cf. the difference between the N. and S. kingdoms of Egypt.

Or:

Thank you very much for your letter. … It came while I was away, in Gondor (sc. Venice), as a change from the North Kingdom

Middle-earth is not equivalent to England, or northern Europe in general, and Gondor especially is not northern at all!

[hgb94]

“The Dwendalian Empire kind of sucks, you guys.” I really enjoyed the three responses from the empire kids to Jester’s perspective on their home. 

Nott is the most positive but her response seems largely based in optimism and a lack of experience with the empire as a whole. “There must be some nice places here, right?” Like the village they just came from, like Felderwin. It makes perfect sense. Apart from the unfortunate goblin attack, Felderwin seems like a fairly idyllic small town, and while Veth’s childhood certainly wasn’t ideal, it was due to childhood bullies, not government oppression. With little exposure to the rest of the empire, what reason would she have for thinking poorly of it? When she does begin traveling as Nott, any negative treatment she experiences can easily be rationalized and justified by her as an appropriate response to a goblin, and until joining up with the rest of the Nein, she and Caleb spent the majority if their time together in the woods or on the fringes of society, focused more on survival than the problems of an empire. 

While Beau comes from a fairly privileged background of wealth and comfort, she is the most openly negative about the empire, fully in line with her distrust of authority and power. She’s also a bit more worldly than Nott, having traveled for a bit after leaving Zadash, and being more free to move through society as a human. She cynically points out that the further north they travel, the harsher restrictions will become, and while there might be nice things in the north, it’s because that’s where all the money is. But she also doesn’t seem deeply invested in its flaws. She’s only recently been encouraged by Dairon to seek out corruption in systems of power, and at this stage the concept of trying to change her country on such a fundamental level must seem insane. The empire is “kind of lame,” but hey, it is what it is.

Caleb stays quiet at first but his focus immediately shifts away from his book and toward the conversation. When Nott says there must be nice places in the empire, he very quietly replies “Not really.” It was so quiet, I had to replay the scene several times to be sure. Outside of that, he remains very factual, almost neutral in his own statements. “The further out you are, the easier it is to bend the rules.” “They have the best of the best in the north.” He quietly agrees with Beau when she points out that restrictions will increase further north, but other than that he observes the conversation more than he participates in it. Interestingly he only really speaks up after Beau voices critique of the empire, probably filing away her position as a positive point in her favor when he considers the pros and cons of opening up to her about his past later. I wonder how he would have responded if anyone in the group held a stronger pro-empire stance. 

[turtle-paced]

Wouldn’t it benefit Littlefinger to keep Joffrey alive? Joffrey is a walking disaster for the Lannisters and as Tyrion points out would have been a worst king then Aerys and when he came of age he would have gotten rid of Tywin and everyone else holding him in check and Littlefinger had cleared the blast radius when he went to the Vale. Why did he have him killed?

Littlefinger didn't just kill Joffrey. He also framed Tyrion for the crime.

While Littlefinger couldn't know Tywin would be murdered shortly afterwards, creating an even worse power vacuum in King's Landing than just a transition to eight-year-old Tommen ruling, what Littlefinger could rely on was a) Cersei's hatred of Tyrion and b) the Tyrells having a vested interest in Tyrion taking the fall. Murdering Joffrey and framing Tyrion for it forced the Lannisters to start cannibalising themselves in earnest. With the Tyrells in the background going "yes! definitely Tyrion! Not us!" Which was not the wildest gamble Littlefinger's made in the series by a long shot.

The other thing this is, is a distraction.

With her legitimate brothers dead or presumed dead, Sansa's perceived political value to anyone interested in claiming the North skyrocketed after the Red Wedding. The Lannisters were very careful not to leave Sansa just lying around somewhere or have her wandering off. She was spied on and definitely not free to go where she liked, even though the leash was long enough for her to attend social events and visit public access areas in the Red Keep.

Joffrey's assassination ensured that Sansa's captors would be most thoroughly occupied for those few critical minutes where Sansa evaded that laxer physical custody - while the conditions for her to travel away from King's Landing remained about as safe as possible (unlike any attempt to smuggle her out through a riot or a battle).

And the other other thing? I reckon it's spite. Littlefinger is not a coldly logical actor. He does not pick and choose his gambles on the odds alone. He is very much emotionally driven. Resentment, ego, entitlement, all of them motivate Littlefinger's plans.

So fuck Cersei - she turned down Littlefinger's request to marry Sansa. Fuck Tyrion, too clever by half, but not as clever as Littlefinger, ha ha ha. Fuck all those Lannister pricks who think they're better just because they were born with money. Killing Joffrey isn't just business - it's a pleasure.

[trulycertain]

On Dragon Age & Accents

(My unhelpful tuppence, as an English player.)

One small thing I wish had come up in Veilguard from previous games: the accent worldbuilding. It wasn't always consistent - DA:O only seemed to care about country or race, anyone non-human being generically North American and anyone human being mostly RP English unless they were Antivan; for regional accents, they seemed to purely use them for effect or go with VAs' natural ones. (There are about two bandit NPCs who seem to have badly-done Midlands English accents purely because they're not meant to be very bright; thanks, love Canadians reinforcing that stereotype. Anders being Lancashire seems to be pure coincidence because of his voice actor - you rarely ever hear the accent in any consistent way in other NPCs, and it's completely ignored in his very Southern DA2 recast.)

But by DA2, there seemed to be definite trends: Free Marches could be RP English or North American depending where you came from; dwarves tended to sound North American but there were exceptions for some people raised on the surface; elves tended to be either Welsh or Irish, which matches the "very old culture with a linguistically completely different root from Trade/English". Starkhaven is most definitely Scots.

And then DAI! DAI, my love.

DAI kept DA2's trends, while finally giving us more complexity and regional accents, albeit limitedly (and still with some inconsistencies). Finally, we have a (vaguely Germanic) Nevarran accent! And Miranda Raison did such careful work constructing it! The Avvar, Ferelden's mountain folk, sound Northern English. I'd hazard a guess that several sound Yorkshire, actually - this matches the whole "the Orlesians got up there less" lore in real terms; Northern England and Scotland, particularly Yorkshire, was under Viking rule longer than the South, which became Norman-conquered earlier, and there are subtle dialectal differences to this day. (Similar thing happened with the Celts and Romans, and the Avvar are blatantly Celtic and Pictish). There's a reason that RP ("neutral posh") English is Southern, from the seats of power. Cullen's from Honnleath, somewhere smaller and less Orlesianified, and while it's softened by the character's travel and the VA's own posher bents, there are moments the Northern English accent gets leaned into, a little similarity with the Avvar. It's a coincidence but it works so well, lore-wise. Sera's VA sounds... Derbyshire? I think? which is Midlands/Northern border and sounds more than Northern enough to keep a consistent Fereldan sound. And in terms of NPCs? A lot of Fereldan NPCs suddenly start turning up Northern, albeit less broad in their accents! Have a listen round the Crossroads. I remember Gaider mentioning Dorian wasn't originally meant to be Indian, they sealed it for sure when they cast Ramon Tikaram, at which point everyone went, "Yup, let's run with it", cast his dad accordingly, and Gaider figured that Dorian was either part of a pretty big migrant population (which, other than the Dorian Gray reference, the fact his name roughly means "from across the sea" also makes sense), or quite a lot of Tevene folk natively were. Considering Tevinter started as essentially "mage Rome" and morphed into, even according to the writers themselves, "mage Byzantium" and it's very close to Seheron, which I feel is North Africa/Middle East influenced - Tevene folk being akin to folk of Turkish, Middle Eastern, Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi, Sri Lankan and Bengali backgrounds makes a ton of sense.

It is... exceedingly rare to hear working-class British accents in fantasy series at all (unless Brits make them, and then we're still often peasants or generic NPC #2, a la Origins). It is even rarer to have a fantasy series bother to keep immigrant accents and show the moulding of them through the generations. And I can only think of one other video game that has consciously cast British Asian actors, that's how rare it is even in games that supposedly care about representation - despite the fact that Asian folk make up something like 30% of our population.

Now: would I like some more background on why some accents in the Marches sound British and some don't? Yup! Would I have liked to have more regions in the elves' Irish accents and the dwarves' NA? Yup! But do those really matter? Nope! They would have been lovely icing on the cake, but the underlying cake was great. The plot didn't need it. It didn't have to be perfect, and the filtering of British culture through Canadians, and strategic anachronism? Those are things I love about Dragon Age. I loved how much they seemed to be trying and how much they were thinking about the lore. And I loved hearing a "British accent" that finally made sense to me, not played into the long attempts by toffs to stamp out everything North of London or outside England.

And then Veilguard sort of... forgot about it most of it? Adored that we could play as a Geordie! I really, really love them continuing pointed casting of folk with British Asian ancestry for several Tevinters (*waves lovingly at elek and neve*). But then... uh... look! Working-class Tevene people with generic Mancunian accents! To show they're working-class! That's fantastic progress... for Origins. But lore-wise, by DATV we've already shown that Manchester and Northern English accents live... *points at Ferelden* somewhere over there. We're back to "Tevinters mostly sound like generically evil English folk", as in DAO and bits of 2, which, sure, Dorian doesn't contradict - but then why not have everyone sound Southern, like him? Or add a different tint to it? And no, I am not saying everyone should put on bad "ethnic" accents, and I do appreciate the number of American, English and Mediterranean accents in Tevinter showing a very Roman "you're a citizen of the Imperium but you might have been born in one of its several countries" - but…

Gideon Emery's slight Afrikaans tint made a ton of sense with Fenris and what part of Tevinter he was meant to be from, even if it was unintentional; Jennifer Hale's take on Krem was going for English but came out more Aussie to my ear. Something like those could have been really interesting. But that also means that, including Fenris, we've now had several slaves with an accent that reads... quite posh, to English ears. Same with Neve, who is supposedly proudly from the shithole part of Minrathous, but she and several others have very RP "posh" accents (while others like Tarquin and Elek are Mancunian). Now, not everyone picks up their local accent! I am one of those people! I ended up cursedly plummy for a long time! But... we had hints through the series that Tevinter class markers would be very different from Fereldans', but they're now the same, for some reason?

Add that to the fact that they didn't want to make even one VA suffer through doing the Nevarran accent... See, it makes total sense for Emmrich, who's a posh professor who's done a lot of international study and would probably have learned Common as a second language with a very generic, "neutral" accent; he also was very concerned about appearances with his class background and trained himself not to give much away. And I'm sure the Mourn Watch has international students. But no Nevarran NPCs sound pointedly Nevarran? Not a one? Kal Sharok has hints of something interesting going on but it's rare, and the Anderfels is just... full of sad English and American-sounding people. Rivain is supposedly Caribbean and there are a bunch of actors of Caribbean descent they could've cast, but we only have one NPC sound even slightly so? That's when it stops being "Trade is taught with a neutral accent and there are a lot of Fereldan immigrants and slaves in Tevinter" and starts feeling handwavey.

Basically: I wouldn't mind if we'd gone with most fantasy games' "Eh, we cast broadly based on sound, stereotype or none of the above"; I'm very happy to just go with it. However, DAI told me to pay vague attention because the accents meant something. Then DATV has heel-turned and is telling me "Nah, go with it" the way Origins did. My ears are... confused, to say the least. And we're back to "'working-class' has one accent, and characters with something to say who aren't cast as stereotypically plucky underdogs are all Southern and posh", which just... makes me really sad. I don't hear people who sound like me, my family, or my friends growing up, in Dragon Age anymore. I did hear they had a different voice director in DATV, so maybe it's that?

[nthspecialll]

I think we sometimes as a fandom tend to hyper-focus on certian characters' backgrounds simply because we like the character when in reality other characters who might not be as interesting has way better backstories, because no, Javier, Arthur and John are not the only ones with sad backstories

Like why does no one talk about what happened to Leopold's sister? Why does no one talk about young Lenny tracking down and killing folk? Why does no one talk about Javier actually in a way working for the government for a while and the reason why he killed that powerful military man? Why does no one talk about why Dutch is called Dutch and not by his actual first name? Why does no one talk about Bill's worst childhood fear coming true? Why does no one talk about both Swanson and Micah saving Dutch's life or that Tilly is also a murderer?

Anyways here is a full explanation of all the Van Der Linde gang members backstories.

Sean MacQuire

Sean Macquire and his father lived in Ireland possibly with more family but had to flee because the English (who were at the time in charge of ireland) were chasing them. They fled for their lives and they were in Boston for a month before his dad was shot in his sleep, showing the remaining Sean that there was truly no honor or shame in the world.

He was then sent to a reform school, which we all know was abusive and a living hell, so he ran, living as a low-life thief, he was a teenager, when he in a bar somewhere in North Elizabeth saw Dutch and Hosea and liked Dutch's watch. He followed the two into an alleyway and threatened them at gunpoint, however they laughed at him and told him to shoot, so he did, except the two others had noticed him first and taken the bullets from his gun. Sean started crying, thinking they were going to kill him but instead of doing that they gave him a home, a place to belong.

Lenny Summers

Lenny's grandparents as well as parents were slaves and his mother was born on a cotton field and taken away from his grandmother, who hadn't even known she was pregnant, immediately. His grandmother was then told to simply get back to work.

After the civil war, the old overseer kept making advandages towards Lenny's grandmother, to a point that in the end she needed to kill him and just barely escaped being lynched. Lenny's mother never saw the grandmother again.

Lenny's mother later met Mr Summers who was an educated man and taught Lenny to both read and write, however when Lenny was 15, his dad was beaten to death by several drunk men. Lenny stole a gun, tracked and hunted down the men, shooting them and showing no remorse even years later.

Kieran Duffy

Kieran Duffy's father was an Irishman who came to America with a dream of farming. It was there that he met Kieran's mother and not long after having Kieran, they both passed due to Cholera and not shortly after that the stables that he worked at to support himself threw him out. He decided to join the army to support himself but it didn't last long before he quit due to it "not working out well."

After returning from the army, he fell into work with a bunch of unnamed outlaws, though they all passed away, leaving him alone once again.

At some point he ran into the O'Driscolls who gave him a choice, to ride with them or to get killed, esencially forcing him to join them and work as a stable hand for them, though he was at the bottom of the latter simply working with the horses before being kidnapped by Arthur Morgan and joining the Van Der Linde gang.

Leopold Strauss

Leopold Strauss was born into severe poverty in Austria and his family struggled heavily with food. By the time that Strauss was only twelve, his older brother was beating up nightwatch men for whatever cash and food scraps they had on them. By that time Strauss's father had already sold his younger sister Anna, by the age of nine, into bonded labour to be able to provide for the rest of the family.

When Stauss was seventeen he was sent with his uncle to the US due to health problems, however the hellish sight of Brooklyn gave Strauss's uncle a heart attack on the spot, leaving Strauss alone in a forgein country. To survive he began doing illegal money scams and after doing so for years Dutch picked him up.

Tilly Jackson

Tilly Jackson was the daughter of a slave and became an outlaw by the mere age of twelve, running with a gang called the Foreman brothers who kidnapped her but after murdering the leaders cousin after he made advandages on her, she had to flee. She returned to her mothers workplace but found that she had already passed.

Later Tilly ran into Dutch Van Der Linde and as he was already taking care of John Marston and Arthur Morgan, he took her in, becoming just as much as a father figure to her as to the boys.

Micah Bell

Micah Bell was born directly into a life of crime as his father Micah Bell jr was a petty but ruthless and violent outlaw. Already when Micah was 17 him and his father were on run from the law as they had slid Jean and Roscoe Briggs throats and later hung them as well. His father was also his primary partner in crime, however he also seemed to have teamed up with his brother Amos a few times as well, however Amos regretted his past life and started a proper one with wife and children and threatened to kill Micah if he came close.

Micah had several partners in crime later in life, including Joe and Cleet who appears later in the game, as well as a fellow named Norman.

Micah runs into Dutch Van Der Linde in 1898 in a bar as Dutch is trying to sell some stolen goods, however the deal doesn’t work out and Micah steps in to help Dutch and save his life, earning a place in the gang.

Bill Williamson

Bill Williamson, also known as Marion Williamson, was born into an abusive family with a father who lost his mind to alchohol, even going to the point of mixing moonshine with whiskey. Watching this Bill always feared falling in love with liquor and suffering the same fate.

Bill always showed signs of being more of a troubled kid and being sent to a reform school did not stop him from building s solid criminal record as a kid.

Bill would later apply to the military and serve in the 15th infantry, fighting against the native americans before being dishonorably discharged for deviancy and attempted murder in 1892. For a year after he lived rough, truly falling in love with liqour and stealing from people om the side of the roads, one time being robbed himself by a "woman" (likely a cross dresser or genderqueer person).

In 1893 Bill tried to rob Dutch and got angry as the man simply laughed at him, however he calmed down as he was allowed a spot in the Van Der Linde gang.

Daniel(?) "Dutch" Van Der Linde

Dutch's mother was an english woman named Greta and his father a dutch man who lived somewhere near Philadelphia who fought in the civil war and died, which is why Dutch hated southeners.

Dutch's nickname rumors to come from his father's desperate attempt at keeping touch with his ancerstory.

When he was 15, he left home due to troubles with his mother whom he never got along with and simply saw him as a disobedient and troubled kid. He wished for freedom above all so to gain this he started a life of crime and in mid 1870 met Hosea Matthews.

(Second edit: I am not 100% sure Daniel is his true name, thus the ?, however I found it on his wiki page and added it)

Hosea Matthews

Hosea was born in around 1844 and lived the majority of his earlier life in the mountians, growing to love fishing and hunting. His father was mostly absent, living a life of "sin and debauchery that would make an emperor blush." Hosea saw his dad only about three times in his life but loved him none the less.

He tried to make his way with comedy as a stage actor, however he turned to petty thieft, stealing from his audience and later others in town. He was caught by the sheif stealing a chicken and sentenced to be hanged. Luckiy for Hosea the town folk saw it as a punishment too cruel and a riot broke out which ended with someone shooting the noose around Hosea's neck, allowing him to flee.

Mid 1870 Hosea found Dutch sitting by a campfire and decided to rob him, however found that Dutch had already robbed him. Hosea feared for a moment for his life but it ended with the two of them laughing it off and teaming up.

Molly O'Shea

Molly O'Shea was born into a wealthy Irish family, set up to live a proper and educated life, however she quickly got bored and showed little interest in the life set up for her, so she ran off to America in search of adventure and excitment. At some point she ran into Dutch Van Der Linde and found an interest in him and his life style, only to later genuiently fall in love with him.

Arthur Morgan

Arthur Morgan was born to Beatrice and Lyle Morgan in northen US. His mother died in his early life and he never really got along with his father whom there are rumors was abusive. Lyle lived a life of petty crime and was arrested and executed. Arthur saw his father die and although not having the best relationship, Arthur kept his father's hat and picture.

In 1877 Arthur was 14 and a wild delinquent. He ran into Dutch and Hosea, being picked up and taken under their wing, taught not only the ways of crime but also skills like reading, writing, hunting and so on.

Uncle

Uncle was born in Ohio (insert Penelope Braithwaithe shutter) with the only family present being his parents who died when he was nine and an "uncle" named Jeb whom Uncle hints at being a pedofile.

After his parents death he was on his own and was forced to a new city where he had to care for himself, and from that time to the game start in 1899, we know he has been married at least twice.

Uncle tells many stories of his past such as going to Africa and being worthshipped like a god by the locals, however the truth of these stories are highly doubted due to his tendency to lie. He does tell stories of being a "one shot kid" in his younger days, the truth of these also being doubted, however it may have been his tricket into the Van Der Linde gang.

Susan Grimsaw

Along with Hosea, Dutch and Arthur Susan was one of the founding memebers of the Van Der Linde gang, having run into Dutch during a poker game where both he and she found interest in one another, causing the curious couple and their unruly son to stay in the area a bit longer, paying poker long into the night while Susan sat on Dutch's lap.

Having gotten into a romantic relationship with Dutch, Susan was allowed to join the small group and even stayed when Dutch moved on to Annabelle, now serving as a form of housemother, making sure that people did their work, took properly care of themselves and made camp feel like home.

You can also hear Susan talking to Mary-Beth one time in camp, admitting that she had a fiance once however he went to heaven.

John Marston

John Marston was born in 1873 to an illiterate scottish father born on the boat to New York and a prositute mother who died during his birth. At first John lived with his father who constantly spoke of Scotland and his love for the country, however he was blinded in a bar fight south of Chicargo and later died when John was eight. The true cause of his father's death is unknown however John was told it was a barfight.

John spent a few years in an orphanage before running off and living on his own, at the mere age of eleven commiting his first murder by shooting a man, though he claims it was not his fault.

At the age of twelve John had been caught stealing from homesteaders who planned to have him hanged, however Dutch stepped in and took him under his wing.

Orville Swanson

Swanson used to wrok as a Clergyman but after indulging in the "earthly pleasures", being seduced by alchohol and sex, he lost his family, job and in the end faith, though he desperately tried to regain it.

At some point or another he fell in love with a woman named Margaret, though she was already married, so he simply added bigamy to the list of sins he had already commited. When the two of them were in San Fransisco, the law finally caught up wth them and while she fled onto a ship headed for Shanghai he was stuck and never saw her again.

Under unknown circomstances Swanson came to save Dutch's life and due to Dutch's debt to Swanson he was allowed to join the gang.

Mary-Beth Gaskill

Being a woman of good nature, Mary-Beth did not struggle getting close to her victims after having found herself needing to find a living in the streets. Due to her looks and personality she could with ease fool the richer men into thinking they were saving a poor maiden in need while her fingers slipped into their pockets.

It was through this that Mary-Beth got in trouble with not just the law but her victims as well. One night she had gotten a few foul men on her tail that she ran into the Van Der Linde gang who saved her and asked her to join them.

Charles Smith

Charles Smith was born to a Native Mother and a free African American father, all three of them living fairly happily with his mothets tripe together with a few other free men before the US army chased them away.

They continued to live together but a few years later Charles' mother was captured by the army, leading Charles' father to fall into alcoholism and a deep depression.

At the mere age of 13 Charles left his father and began to live on his own, becoming a supreme survivalist from an early age.

Some point during the late 1898 ran into the Van Der Linde gang in the Grizzlies and joined them.

Simon Pearson

Simon Pearson's family were whale hunters and although Pearson wished to follow in their footsteps it did not go that way due to the whale industry having lessened by the time that he got out of school. Having been forced to look for new employment options, Pearson joins the Navy where he even managed to get stranded for fifty days on a ship filled with plauge, watching his friends and coworkers slowly drop one by one.

After having returned from the Navy Pearson begins to struggle financially and takes a loan, however unable to pay it off loansharks comes after him and it is during one of these attempts at getting to Pearson that the Van Der Linde gang saves him and brings him to camp as a cook.

Abigail Marston

Abigail Marston, originally born Abigail Roberts, was orphaned at a young age and started roaming around bars, scraping whatever few coins she could take from folk before starting a work of prostitution, making an earning by selling her body and at some point running into Uncle at a bar who introduced her to the gang.

Now living with the gang, Abigail still worked as a prositute up until falling pregnant with Jack Marston by John Marston.

Josiah Trelawny

Josiah Trelawny was born in England though he has no memories of his life there, he later imigated to America where he starts working as a conman and trickster. It was during this line of work that he met yhe Van Der Linde gang and joined them bur with a special advandage as he, unlike the others, was allowed to appear and disappear as he pleased, always knowing when Dutch planned to cut him off and return with a big hit.

Josiah has a family living in Saint Denis concisting of a wife and two sons named Tarquin and Cornelius. Just as with the gang, he would disappear on them for months.

Karen Jones

Karen Jones lived as a scam artist in her early years and absolutely loved the outlaw lifestyle and hoped for a bit more which partly drove her to accept the Van Der Linde gang's invitation, hoping to achieve more.

Javier Escuella

Javier Escuella was born in Mexico to a drunkard father who worked for Allende' (a main antagonist in rdr1, a military man) uncle. When he was young he saw his own uncle as well as four other separate men get casterated and fed to pigs for simply suggesting fair wages for their work.

Javier moved on to become a violent and known bounty hunter and revolutionary, fighting against what he saw as a corupt system.

Javier ended up killing a powerful former military man for a woman that he loved, fearing for his loved ones life he fled to America where he knew no english and had no work or food, leaving him starving.

It was in America that he ran into Dutch as they both were trying to steal the same chickens. Dutch took Javier in, fed him, gave him a family and a life, leading Javuer to idiolize Dutch also for his revolutionary ideals.

At some unknown point someone attempted to kill Javier, leading to him having a prominent scar on his throat.

Sadie Alder

Sadie Alder grew up in a harsh envioment and from a very early age learned how to hunt and ride to care for herself, things that Jack Adler fell in love with. The two of them married september 1896, moving to a ranch in Ambarino where they had three happy years of marriage before the O'Driscolls arrived at their cabin.

[respectthepetty]

Pit Babe 2 Colors Ep. 1

The crowd said I have to watch Pit Babe 2 the same way I watched the first season, so just like the first season, I'm watching it on mute with no subtitles, and double-speed. It's just me and the colors that will be guiding me through another season of Barbie, a Black Brooder, and Charles, a Blue Boy, being disgusting in love.

I don't need subs nor the colors to know they are horny for each other.

But it's nice to know they are still deeply *wink* in love with each other this season too.

And so is beautiful Alan who gets hit with a little pink light and a pout as he looks at his boyfriend.

But this season, I'm going to trust Jeffrey because, oddly, he is extremely blue.

Actually, everyone is.

Even North understands the color assignment! It's as if the team is visually demonstrating that they are a solid group that stands together.

So I love that William showed up in orange to cause havoc and beat all of them because orange is cocky and also a warning, and because I think Charles senses William, I think William also has powers; however, I don't think Willy Wonka or Charlie will be fighting over the Chocolate Factory (pick up what I'm dropping off) since I think William actually likes Charles. If Barbie wanted Charles, why wouldn't another cocky racer?

But why would anyone want Charles, a guy who can steal other people powers? Because he does exactly what he is supposed to; therefore, whatever Pete is working on his lab in that blue vial will take away others powers since that is what Blue Boy Charles' power is.

And there is the tiniest barrier between Charles and Peter, so although I think everyone is on the same team this season, I think this testing business is going to cause a rift.

Because when doing the experiment, the lights on the person turned from blue to red, and the reds were the baddies last season, so if they figure out a way to take people's powers, then that means they could also figure out a way to give someone power or, even worse — to do what Charles actually does — take people's powers away so they are powerless and he is more powerful.

And that's why I think William's orange is going to show up as a warning this season since he already came in and took the number one spot. Does he have a similar power as Charles? Can he block people's power? Or can he make them more powerful, like an amplifier? Is this why Jeffrey's nose was bleeding (and not because he is pregnant since nosebleeds are common when someone is pregnant)? Are his vision becoming more powerful or being blocked because an Orange Oddity showed up?

Jeffrey still has the slightest red on his collar, and Barbara also has the smallest hint of reddish lighting on his hands when he lost, so although I don't think William is (Tony) bad, I, once again, think he is a warning that their powers are about to explode. How bad would it be if Barbara's powers were blocked? How dangerous would Barbara be if his powers were heightened? How dangerous would that guy be if he could kill more than just a flower?

Now, I felt like I was missing a scene since I had no idea how Kentana, Dean, and Whiny Winifred got in that van but since I know Dean isn't dead, I think he will be one of the first to be experimented on to give him powers, so could these two get powers too?

Perhaps this is why Alan is smoking because from the trailer, he was going to get powers too!

But what's even crazier is that Peter kept the note he left Waymond!!!!!

However, it makes sense because when Peter walked in, the way the moment was filmed made it seem like Peter was Waymond's partner.

I get that everyone misses him, but . . . I don't think he is dead.

The colors mean things, and the fact that Jeffrey is consistently showing up in blue means he is committed to his man and this team.

Barbie is a Black Brooder and Charles is his light Blue Boy. They are true to their colors since the first season.

And Peter, who is also a Black Brooder, showed up with the appropriately blue-wrapped flowers.

So Kimberly being a blend of Southwest Airlines and Vegas' Hedgehog's colors could mean poly! JUST JOKING! But I do think their colors are important.

When Barbie was dreaming, he remembered giving Waymond the necklace.

When Jeffrey had his vision, he saw Peter putting his hand on someone, but the focus was on two things: the necklace and the bright power, so either Peter was using his power or his power was being blocked.

The last time we saw Waymond, a guy who could control people, he was dying in white when he had always worn black before.

And now we meet Christopher, in white.

Which brings me back to these two who could never get their colors together in the first season. I had a theory that the white indicted which guys would save the day, but now, I find it strange that Sonic has returned in white while North is getting closer to the blue.

Especially when this bitch showed up in the last second in white.

So now I'm wondering who in white is working with Tony? A man that is supposed to be dead or a boy who could never get his color together?

Sonic, what have you been up to, buddy?

[captainzigo]

i’m making some of my edgy ocs from when i was little. “the alicorn experiments.” they are victims of pegasus ethnofacists that were planning to take over equestria. the pegafascists all lived in a one of a few cities that were like cloudsdale but they moved around a bunch like with the seasons. the capitol was called the north wind. their war machines were just called storm clouds and they were like blimps but the balloon was a cloud and they had cannons that shoot lightning. they hated the new democracy like the other regressive post-celestial monarchist movements, but they used it as an excuse to advance their supremacist ideologies.

mistletoe was a voluntary experiment. he’s an insider defector spy. all the pegafascists names are based off of Christmas because I thought it was really funny when I was little. all of these pegafascists idealize the old pegasopolis in the same way that Nazis, or other fascists idolize ancient civilizations like notably the Romans. but since pegasopolis is mostly remembered in the context of the heartswarming tale, they have a sort of christmas fascism (lol christofascism) I don’t know, it made a lot more sense to me when I was a child. It’s still a little funny though.

i was really into starwars at the time (more so than i normally always am) so of course the bad guys i made up were fascists with huge war machines. but i think fighting fascists is awesome. and unfortunately something some people seem to be forgetting.

the alicorn experiments were them trying to make an alicorn basically by variously sewing together a unicorn and a pegasus. they had other things they tried like cloning and magic too. they wanted to create a new royal line because the celestial sisters stepped down and they regard twilight’s creating a democracy as her forfeiting her rule. (i came up with these guys years before the sisters retired in the show, so at the time it was just because they didn’t like them) but that’s not how alicorns worked so the experiments are just a bunch of righteously angry misfits with weird powers that i can pull protagonist character from. the pegafascists really only care about pegasi and form some other plan to appease the monarchists and/or ultra religious in their ranks.

[windupaidoneus]

ok ive slept (thinks about this harder)

been thinking abt emet teaching hilde black magic during shb. why not. he would already have been learning it... more potential for misery & angst afootttt

[jon-sedai]

The thing about Jon that a lot of people forget is that he is actually a rather well known figure all around Westeros. I don’t think it’s incorrect to say that he’s Ned’s most famous kid by a large margin, and perhaps even one of the more famous teens in Westeros; especially now that he has become Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and his reputation has began to stretch to a different continent. Because of his very unusual origin - being honorable Ned Stark’s bastard son by an unknown woman - his name has been passed around in noble houses across the entire continent. He’s not some random kid from the North that no one has heard of. The majority of people may not have seen him, but they have at the very least heard of him.

I bring this up because people tend to act as if Jon would be automatically scoffed away by just about everyone if his true parentage ever came to light. After all, they say, why would anyone believe that some random kid from the north is a Targaryen prince? But this is not really true. Jon is not a random kid. His father was one of the most powerful men in the entire land. And not only that, but Ned’s reputation as an honorable man with no fault ensured that the scandal of begetting a bastard was known by everyone who is someone. The thing is, readers tend to ignore a very large gaping hole in the story when it comes to public perception of Jon’s parentage. People all over Westeros have been talking about Ned and his bastard, but no one can agree on the mother - this is actually important!

Most people would not have questioned Ned to his face, but they too want to know who Jon’s mother was, even if it’s just for a little bit of gossip among nobles. Jon’s parentage is a mysterious puzzle that a lot of people have tried to solve themselves. Catelyn hears one answer in Winterfell, but Davos hears another on his way to White Harbor. Edric Dayne from Dorne says a different name to Arya, while Cersei and Robert (who both live in KL) hear different things. That there’s so much variation all around Westeros is actually proof that a lot of people are talking about this one issue. And Ned’s refusal to name a woman may actually end up having unexpected consequences when someone finally mentions the name “Lyanna Stark”.

So I would like to push back on the belief that no one in Westeros would care about the R+L=J reveal or that they would immediately write Jon off. GRRM deciding to keep Jon’s mother an in universe mystery that is the topic of constant conversation will have major payoff. While I could see some being incredulous, it’s absolutely not a foregone conclusion that most people will choose not to believe it. And it’s not a foregone conclusion that this reveal will only matter to the Stark kids and no one else. Sure GRRM is playing with fantasy tropes, and Jon squarely falls under the hidden prince/king. But something that makes Jon quite different from a lot of his genre counterparts is that he’s not an unknown figure who shows up at the last minute to claim the crown. Jon is not an unknown entity. He is well known, it’s just that very few people have dared to think too deeply about the very large elephant in the room regarding his origin. But I’d imagine that if R+L=J was to be revealed, it wouldn’t be too shocking for a lot of people. It’s not so far fetched that honorable Ned Stark actually chose to protect his sister’s son.

And in regards to GRRM playing with fantasy tropes, Young Griff always comes up in conversation as Jon’s foil. People say that he will be the one to be believed because he looks the part of a Targaryen, whereas a random kid from the North won’t be believed because of his brown hair and grey eyes. Jon doesn’t look like some random unrecognizable Northman. He very specifically looks like a Stark! And anyway, is Jon’s story - that Ned took him in after his sister died and raised him as his own under the protective banner of House Stark - any less believable than Young Griff’s - that Varys had the foresight to save him and whisk him off to Essos before the Mountain bashed his head in? Until now, people have never heard of Young Griff so they’ve never had the opportunity to ruminate over and gossip about his origin story. But they know Jon. And they know about Rhaegar and Lyanna. And Jon looking so very undeniably like a Stark (like Lyanna Stark!) could perhaps work in his favor.

[iphigeniacomplex]

I have long been interested in the resonances between the Nakba and the Maafa – this is the Swahili word chosen for what is otherwise dubbed the “Middle Passage” in the history of African enslavement in the Americas, in North America specifically in this case. Both terms translate to the same thing: disaster or catastrophe. Both are used for enormous dislocating experiences that go on to define ongoing lives of struggle. Whenever I hear “Nakba,” I think immediately Maafa. There is a need to insist on these terms in these languages because, as the argument goes, there is no way that the language of the colonizer – the language of the criminal who criminalizes us – can adequately express the experience of this crime,  a crime against humanity, our humanity, and a crime against history. The Nakba was a presence in the overwhelming majority of my interviews with Palestinian former prisoners (who might become prisoners anew at any time, we must add). I would begin by asking where they were from to find out who they are and how they began their lives in the revolutionary struggle. They would often narrate their histories in terms of origin in a now “far” place, followed by displacement around 1948. Each micro-autobiography was also a Nakba story, about families scattered and how people came to end up in Ramallah or Hebron from Haifa or Jaffa. It may be helpful as well then to think of the ongoing Nakba as part of a regime of captivity, and not only as dispossession and expulsion, as it is commonly discussed by other academic perspectives in particular. This is no dichotomy. A focus on captivity could nonetheless highlight Zionism’s ongoing attempts at controlling Palestinians, not to mention others, “here and there.” In the context of apartheid in South Africa or Jim Crow in the US, people often think the term “segregation” accurately identified what was going on. But this is misleading – there was never really “segregation” by any name in those cases. There was always a line that the colonizer could cross when he saw fit for purposes of economic or sexual exploitation or any other reason and that the colonized couldn’t cross without facing murderous violence. The “separations” of “Apartheid” are breached in and out of colonial interests, as a rule. Similarly, when we think of the Nakba it is very much about removing Palestinians from land as well as controlling and containing them at whatever remove at the same time—in Gaza, in the West Bank, in the diaspora beyond. Look at the assassination of the escaped prisoner Omar Zayed, who was newly captive in seeking refuge in the Palestinian embassy in Sofia, Bulgaria. Also, one former prisoner whom I interviewed in Majd El Kurum described that village as “a West Bank-style refugee camp” in ’48 Palestine. We could talk about how gentrification operates like this in Palestine and the U.S. with all its attendant policing and state violence. Like Malcolm X said, a long time ago now, this is very much about the power of control and containment in the bloody occupation of land, wherever you are or end up – all limiting terminology aside.

—Professor Greg Thomas for the Nakba Files, “Palestine in the Sun of the Black Radical Tradition”

[anghraine]

I originally compiled a set of quotes about how Elrond and his children are not identified exclusively as Elves a couple of years ago in a reblog, but I wanted an easier version of my post for reference, so here it is:

The distinction between Elves and half-Elves is most glaring with Elladan and Elrohir, but there’s an interesting description of Elrond as great among Elves and Men, as if (despite his fate lying with Elves) he’s both/neither. And, of course, when Aragorn wishes for Elrond as he goes about healing, he describes Elrond not as a better healer because he’s an Elf, but because “he is the eldest of all our race, and has the greater power” (ROTK, “The Houses of Healing”).

In addition, I think the language used around Elladan and Elrohir is really interesting. When they show up with the Dúnedain of the North, Legolas says of them, “they are fair and gallant as Elven-lords; and that is not to be wondered at in the sons of Elrond of Rivendell” (ROTK, “The Passing of the Grey Company”). They are like Elven-lords because they’re Elrond’s sons, but not actually called Elven-lords.

When we actually see Elladan and Elrohir, we hear: “So much alike were they, the sons of Elrond, that few could tell them apart: dark-haired, grey-eyed, and their faces elven-fair” (same chapter). They look as fair as Elves. But when the Grey Company, including Elladan and Elrohir, goes to the Paths of the Dead:

“The company halted, and there was not a heart among them that did not quail, unless it were the heart of Legolas of the Elves, for whom the ghosts of Men have no terror” (same chapter).

Later, as the armies of the west make their way to the Black Gate, we hear:

“And from that evening onward the Nazgûl came and followed every move of the army. They still flew high and out of sight of all save Legolas…” (ROTK, “The Black Gate Opens”).

Even the random minstrel of Gondor at the Field of Cormallen addresses those present at the victory celebrations with:

“Lo! lords and knights and men of valour unashamed, kings and princes, and fair people of Gondor, and Riders of Rohan, and ye sons of Elrond, and Dúnedain of the North, and Elf and Dwarf, and greathearts of the Shire…” (ROTK, “The Field of Cormallen”).

So the exceptional nature of Elrond and his children does seem a) accurate, given the exclusion of Elladan and Elrohir from generalizations about Elves, and b) very generally understood and accepted.

Oh, and there’s also Tolkien’s extratextual translation of Elladan and Elrohir’s names:

“Both signify elf+man. Elrohir might be translated ‘Elf-knight’; rohir being a later form (III 391) of rochir ‘horse-lord.’ Elladan might be translated ‘Elf-Númenórean’” (Letters 282).

Rohir is “a later form” of rochir because it’s Gondorian/Númenórean usage. The El- in both names and the suffixes indicating 'mortal man' clearly refer to Elrond’s family—so for instance, Elladan can only be considered a Númenórean of any kind through Elrond. If, as Elrond’s sons with a fully Elvish woman, they are not considered Elves, this can only be all the more true for Elrond himself.