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queenrhenpendragon · 4 years

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You know whose arc gets me every time?

Dameon’s. Dameon Maurva's arc is so beautiful and significant and affects not only himself but multiple other characters and also the entire heckin plot of the game and it moves me Every. Single. Time.

So I’m going to rant about it, welcome to the post I’ve been waiting to make for fourteen years.

First of all, this precious sun, this dear one, this absolute angel, was most likely raised mainly by an Ahriman sympathizer-- like, c'mon, am I supposed to believe Talia kept a child in the dream realm? Even without the nightmares it's dangerous, and very isolated. If something were to happen there would be nowhere she could send Dameon while she dealt with it. It’s one thing in fanfiction, but when I actually consider the logistics, either she was a truly terrible, irresponsible parent, or Dameon lived in Aveyond with his father. I've played Ahriman’s Prophecy; responsibility is Talia's middle name. Dameon was raised in Aveyond.

He has to have been a lonely child. He most likely had no human friends, and definitely none his age. Maybe the binis or fairies or sometimes Vata babysat him when Mr. Maurva was unavailable. Maybe not. Either way, such contact couldn’t replace his need for love and validation from his incredibly busy and important parents.

He probably constantly sought his parents' approval and was constantly falling short because how do you impress an immortal sun priest, millenia old and the last of his kind? Especially one who is apparently becoming disenchanted with the ideals he once fought for, the ideals his fellow priests died for. How do you impress a half-fairy who saved the world at the tender age of 17, who then became the Guardian of Dreams and is responsible for the safety and well being of every mortal creature? Especially! When! You only see them when they’re not busy keeping the universe running smoothly!

Furthermore.

Please understand that I love Talia and do not wish to vilify her in any way. I point out her flaws because I love her, because her shortcomings are so human and tragic and are part of what make the story as impactful as it is. And Talia... does not easily express affection. She is not likely to have cuddled Dameon during the times his father took him to the Dreamworld-- which just can't have been often, I just can't imagine a parent who even kind of cared about their child taking them to such a place frequently. She is not likely to have praised him or spent any notable amount of time showing interest in his interests. I do not say this to condemn her. She had a lot of responsibilities. She had never been a mother before-- and yes, she had a great example of motherhood in her Grandmama, but her own mother also left her in the care of others, abandoned her to pursue a louder call. Is it any wonder that she ultimately did the same to her own child?

She has no real relationship with Dameon. Even without all the evidence I have already laid out, this much is obvious in the way they speak to and about each other. Talia doesn't even mention Dameon is her son when she first tells Rhen about him. She gives him no more than an epithet, "Dameon, the sun priest." She does not express particular concern over his safety, even though she knows the druids are in danger and she herself was almost killed.

And Dameon calls her “mother,” and it is not because of the dialogue style of the game. Talia calls her parental figure “Grandmama.” Rhen calls Tailor “Pa” and “Daddy,” and Ma is known only as “Ma.” But Dameon calls Talia “Mother,” and his father “Father,” because that is the level of familiarity between them. The Maurvas live a strict, solitary life. Is it any wonder that Dameon is stiff and formal at the beginning? Is it any wonder he struggles to connect with others beyond a thoughtful compliment or an antiquated form of greeting? He doesn’t like himself, let alone trust himself. No one has ever taught him how to. He is so isolated, and lonely, and touch-starved, and unloved, and if that was the end of his character it would still move me. But there is more.

Talia literally killed his father, her own husband. It had to have happened when Dameon was still very young. If you take into account Devin’s apparent age, and the fact that a barely-aged Jack in av2 remembers Alicia as queen of Thais when we know that you can only ascend to the throne of Thais if you are married, and a few other details which I would be happy to pull up if anyone is interested, you will realize that Dameon can’t possibly be more than a year older than Rhen. More likely, he is younger, and this would be in line with the other canon ships we see throughout the Aveyond series.

And we found out in Rhen’s Quest that his father was murdered “many years ago.” MANY! YEARS! He was still a child, maybe 11 years old, at my best guess. He most likely hadn’t even attended a magic school yet. It’s possible he wasn’t even thinking about it. And then he had to take the position as Druid of Light. When he was a child, still mourning the death of the person most precious to him, at the hands of the only other person he could have had any semblance of a relationship with in all of Aia.

The people who were supposed to be teaching Dameon how to be gentle, loyal, and upright instead taught him how to hurt, and betray, and murder those closest to him. Even without Ahriman's influence, how is a child raised in that environment supposed to turn out healthy and good?

And yet he is still good! He is gentle and thoughtful towards not just Rhen but everyone he meets on the quest. That includes heckin MAD MARGE if you forgot. That includes an actual ogre. That includes people who are spiteful and dismissive towards him. He treats Rhen like she outranks him, the Guardian of the Sun, when she is still a peasant with a practice sword. He is kind to literally everyone except Talia, and he is at least respectful even to her. He never raises his voice at her. He never calls her anything except Mother. Never traitor, never murderer, never any of the curses we know Amanda had no qualms about using because she used them plenty in AP. Just Mother.

In fact he appears to be the reason Ahriman decided against killing Talia. Yes, Dameon wants justice for his murdered father. I think anyone who is being honest with themselves can admit they would, too. But he doesn’t want to kill her. He doesn’t want her to die. He just wants her to understand what she did, to understand the hurt she caused. He is apparently so against killing her that Ahriman has to change his carefully laid plans before he can convince Dameon to change sides.

And consider. During all of this, Dameon is literally possessed by Ahriman, or under his demonic influence, or however you want to phrase it. This influence likely began even before the game, but even if you ignore that, it is no small thing. Remember how quickly Mel became corrupted under this influence? Remember how quickly Galahad, who resisted the urge to drink blood for actual centuries, became corrupted? The fact that Dameon has any shred of goodness at all, after years of exposure to such darkness, even if you ONLY take into account the actual duration of the game, is evidence that Rhen is right; Dameon has a genuinely good, incredibly strong heart.

And speaking of that conversation. Please allow me to share some of my favorite screenshots in the entirety of the series.

My precious sun really went from this:

To having this very level-headed and respectful conversation, of which I have shared only two tiny snippets:

To THIS:

This. Is tangible, real difference, at a rate which makes sense, and I am so proud of him. I have seen people try to dismiss it, and his other development, by saying he is just pretending in order to make Rhen trust him. That literally. Does not make any sense. First of all, if this was part of his efforts to persuade Rhen to join Ahriman he would have done absolutely anything except agree that perhaps Talia was right. He would have tried to convince Rhen that Ahriman was right, not admitted he may have been wrong. And second, even if you ignore that incredibly obvious discrepancy, he either would have forgotten about the conversation with Rhen by the time they returned to the sun shrine and his mother asked him the question again, or he would have pretended to have forgiven her completely. Instead, he acts as though he is uncertain, because he is uncertain.

And his actions in the dream realm, confronting and fighting Agas for attacking his mother and desecrating her shrine, prove that he is sincere. Of course it takes him some time. Of course he hesitates. Forgiving someone for taking your parent from you is an enormous act. Forgiving someone you trusted for causing you that much pain is unfathomable. His progress is profound and inspiring and does not deserve to be treated like any less.

And he makes this progress while still under Ahriman’s influence! Can you even imagine! Aasgakadgjlkjklj. He tries to do what he believes is right even at the cost of those things most precious to him, his beliefs and ideals and the sacred memory of the person who raised him. ONE conversation prompts him to question everything. While Ahriman still has possession of him. I cannot even begin to comprehend being that brave. And this is just one small example.

I have seen many negative, unfair evaluations of the fairy dust scene. It is deeply tragic to me that such an important, eloquent, beautiful symbol could be so widely misunderstood. I have tried to explain it before. Allow me to indulge myself once again.

Fairy dust always reveals the truth. This effect is well established, not just in Rhen’s Quest but even in Ahriman’s Prophecy. It heals physical wounds (aka HP) and reveals the truth, and that’s all. There is never any indication that it can change hearts or magically “goodify” anyone or anything. It is not a deus ex machina. It was included specifically to exclude the possibility of that interpretation. It only reveals the truth, and if Dameon had already been aware of the truth, or if he truly honestly wanted the same things Ahriman wanted, it would have changed exactly nothing. That’s why Rhen’s choice to use it is so significant. It shows that she trusts him, as he is. She knows that he has a good heart and will do what is right when he knows what that is; she has been saying so for the whole game. In the final battle she gets the chance to prove she believes that.

And she does.

And she’s right.

When the truth is revealed to Dameon, he follows it, at the cost of his chance for justice, at the cost of living forever, safely, with the one person who has ever shown him any significant amount of affection, at the cost of everything he ever dared to want in his short, lonely, miserable life. While still under Ahriman’s demonic influence! Ahriman is still in his head! And he chooses to resist even though it means he will lose everything.

Now, this whole plot could have worked without the fairy dust. Previous cutscenes in the game have already proven that Dameon listens to Rhen. The screenshots I included are just a few examples of this; trust me, I could go on for a while. Dameon believes her and believes in her and trusts her, where he doesn’t trust himself. Amanda could have had Rhen just tell him what to do. Rhen could have had another conversation, told Dameon to switch back, and that would be that. It would be consistent and believable with what had happened in the game thus far.

Except then Dameon still wouldn’t trust himself, or like himself. He would still be lonely and self-loathing and miserable, or even if he wasn’t, there would be plenty of room for that interpretation.

But instead Rhen gives him a choice. Instead Amanda makes it clear that his redemption is not Rhen’s responsibility, or her decision, or her doing at all. All Rhen does is throw the fairy dust, and then lets Dameon realize what is right, and choose for himself what action he will take. She gives him the opportunity to trust himself, to believe in himself, for perhaps the first time in his life. She makes it clear that she believes in him. She gives him the support he’s been starving for his entire existence, and then she steps back, and let’s him choose.

This part is so significant for her arc, too. I have ranted about it elsewhere but allow me to sum up: Rhen has spent the game feeling like she doesn’t have a choice, and questioning her own judgement and her own significance. Dameon is the first to give her a choice, one which she seriously considers. She realizes she’s always had a choice. And she finally acts on her own judgement, without prompting from anyone else (in fact, without prompting even from the player, because as you might recall the choice the player is offered has always been “fight Dameon,” and yet Rhen never lifts a finger against him). She trusts her own heart and invites Dameon to trust his. She has always been a hero but this is the moment she really steps fully into the role. She saves herself. And then she gives Dameon the choice to do the same.

And they fight Ahriman, at staggering personal costs. Dameon fights while, again, still under Ahriman’s influence. He has to fight Ahriman physically and mentally, or spiritually, or all of them, most likely. He is not free until Rhen plunges the Sword of Shadows through Ahriman’s heart.

This part. I cry every time and I am crying thinking about it. Dameon has been a prisoner for likely as long as he can remember. His father supported Ahriman. He likely let that influence into the sun shrine. He let it affect Dameon. Dameon has likely never known a life without that darkness. Or if he did, he was too young to remember it. And now, finally, he is free. There is light for the first time. And because Rhen gave him a choice, he has the confidence and experience to stay free, to make himself and be proud of himself and not be just what he thought his parents wanted.

His gratitude to Rhen is profound. He has always been respectful and supportive of her, he has always listened to her and trusted her, as demonstrated during their first conversation when she meets him in Aveyond, and their conversations in the manor in Sedona, and every other tiny interaction they have. He looks up to her immensely.

And I think that is part of why he is so resolute about continuing in his role as the Druid of Light. Rhen has spent the game shouldering responsibilities that no one else could or would. Being the Guardian of the Sun is his responsibility, and he is determined to follow her example.

It is also the only thing he has ever known.

In the midst of his own uncertainty, still reeling from his own losses, resigned to a lonely eternity in his childhood prison, he still offers Rhen his support and devotion. This is before she ever makes her choice. He listens to her, sympathizes with her, and encourages her. He loves her, explicitly, out loud in canon dialogue, in literally. Every ending. No matter what she chooses. Nobody ever taught him how to love and yet he does it so scrupulously.

And in the canon ending, the True Ending as many of us like to call it, he finally, finally gets a chance to grow beyond his family’s legacy. To love someone and be there for her. To be adored by her. To be happy. To make a difference. To live a good life and die of old age and be buried beside his best friend and true love, and to face the shadowy unknowns of the afterlife together. And he accepts it, in an instant.

This is redemption not only for himself but for Talia, and Nino. All the Maurvas with their good intentions, who never got to see their happy ending because another call was too strong. Talia gets a second chance to watch her son grow, this time in a kinder world. And she gets a second chance with one of her dearest friends. Nino's legacy of absence and broken trust is finally set right. They all get a second chance to become who they intended to be, before they heard the calls they could not ignore. All because Dameon chose truth and love over every other voice, at every cost.

It was a very fairy-like thing to do. In overcoming his families' legacy, he steps into their true heritage. Aian Fairies value truth and love most of all.

There is an inscription on the statue that guards the fairies in AP. It has always resonated with me and I think it will help describe what I mean here:

Heart of gold thy secret guards

Love, felicity, light

Gaia's precious children

I am moved. I do not know a better way to say it. Dameon Maurva inspires me, and comforts me. His example has made me a better person. He has made me a happier person. I am so grateful to Amanda for being brave enough to tell the story she did, and being brave enough to stick by it. Her story changed my life and I honestly, truly do not believe I would be here without it. Her story saved my life, and I can never praise it enough.

#aveyond #dameon maurva #aveyond rhen's quest #aveyond 1 #talia maurva #rant

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ganymedesclock · 5 years

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A revelation that I’ve been kinda rolling around in my head ever since it occurred to me:

Radiance is basically a destructive muse.

The plague is basically her sneaking ideas into people’s heads until it turns destructive. She’s a beautiful, feminine entity that evokes a lot of things traditionally regarded as appealing or enlightening. Seemingly, she sings, at least according to the lore around Crystal Peak when that seems to be a citadel of her power and the crystals seem to refract and focus her- those crystals are described as “singing” and having your head trapped in them as the Crystal Guardian does, the Hunter muses they must see “only light”.

A lot of the dreams people seem to experience when they’re either going under or already affected appear very personally tailored to them. Guards perceive you as an intruder; the affluent side of the City of Tears has husks that think you’re trying to steal their fortune. Bretta dreams of being forgotten; Sly dreams of his students and possibly someone else he lost. It suggests Radiance pokes around in people’s minds to see what will work on them.

(which, of course, is probably part of why her tampering could be mistaken for a conventional viral plague- because those closest to the afflicted would probably be the likeliest next targets, since now she has a whole person to lure them down with)

The most interesting thing, though, is that she seems to have actually served as a kind of patron to the Soul Master. He certainly seems to imply, several times, that the inspiration for his soul hoarding came from an outside source.

In his dream nail dialogue he mentions his dreams...

My dreams are eternal and so am I!

Which he clarifies in the post-Soul Tyrant monologue:

In my dreams I could see it. The Kingdom's salvation, the cure for the plague... the answer was in the soul that animates our bodies.

But the King... why?! He opposed everything I did...

Which- sure, some people get scientific insight or breakthroughs by testing something that came to them in a dream. Dreams are psychological recycling. It’s not impossible.

Just, in a world that has an aggressive dream god? That looks a lot more suspicious. As does the fact that he and his followers all have solid orange eyes, but, by their dream nail dialogue, seem more lucid (or at least, struggling with other afflictions besides the standard plague) than the average plague-afflicted being.

His Soul Tyrant dialogue though?

You promised I would live forever! Did their souls bring me closer to the light? That voice...Was it never there...?

He mentions “the whispering of their souls” in his standard dream nail dialogue, but it’s as Soul Tyrant that he mentions a singular voice- that suddenly as he’s dying, he’s not sure he can hear any more. He also mentions being pulled closer to “the light” and that someone promised him immortality.

The smoking gun, here, to me? The Soul Sanctum bugs aren’t the only magic-users in game, but they do use a unique attack among them, that the Soul Master, Twister, and Warrior all make use of: these small balls of bright orange-gold light that home towards Ghost.

Nobody who isn’t a Sanctum bug uses the homing light balls. Nobody...

...Except Radiance and Absolute Radiance, who uses more sparkly, refined versions of them.

Maybe PK had a pretty specific reason for disliking the Soul Master, even outside of a certain hypocritical dislike of the whole vampiric mass-sacrifice charnel pit. Because, having faced Radiance in the past...

...He’d see a researcher ostensibly “inventing” his old enemy’s spells.

Soul Master may functionally be a warlock who didn’t even realize he was getting fed ideas by Radiance and unwittingly set up a cult acting on her will within PK’s own capital city.

#Hollow Knight #Soul Master #Radiance #readmore

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theglowstickchronicles · 4 years

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FMLS90: catch up, plus getting ahead since I know this weekend will be super busy

12/18 - Do you have a regular sleep pattern? What time do you go to bed and wake up? Do you nap?

So last year I took a Monday through Friday, 8-5 kinda gig. Prior to that I was working 3 days a week, 12 hour shifts, and would occasionally nap on my days off. Now I only get 2 days off (Saturday and Sunday) so I do not nap. The one outlier to this is if I flex my work hours and work weird hours... or am sick. I typically go to bed around 9-10pm, and am awake around 4:30-5:30. This week has been different since I worked weird hours, was sick, and it was a holiday.

12/19 - Do you have any challenges that make getting sleep diffacult? Things like being a new parent, or shift work, or chronic pain? How do you deal with these challenges?

I've had bouts of insomnia in the past but otherwise no. I do keep melatonin on hand which doesn't necessarily put me to sleep, but does sometimes make it easier.

12/20 - How Is your sleep environment ? Does it promote good sleep? Are there any changes you would like to make?

No, I think my sleep environment is a good one. Nice big bed to myself, comfy sheets, more pillows than I could ever use, nice and quiet and dark. I would probably sleep in later if I didn't have cats who NEEDED to eat breakfast at 4:30am every day but such is life.

12/21 - Do you find yourself falling asleep when you don’t intend to? Do you have any other sights that you may not be getting enough sleep?

Not usually! Occasionally I have a super boring meeting that I find myself drifting a little, or this week I was falling asleep on the couch (but again, sick) but usually I save it for bedtime.

12/22 - If you could offer one sleep tip to the community, what would it be?

You really do have to find what works for you. My old college roommate needed sound, usually the TV, to fall asleep... I usually like quiet and darkness, though sometimes I'll play music. TV usually keeps me up.

12/23 - Share either your favorite or least favorite memory of 2019. If you would like, feel free and do both.

My favorite and least favorite memories might be the same weekend. We went away to upstate NY with friends and had a great time playing games, drinking, going to a show, etc... but during that same weekend we went hiking and I just was so out of shape. That weekend is what prompted my foray into running.

12/24- Share a picture and or story from the beginning of the year and one now. Talk about what has changed over that time.

Last spring the manager of the floor I am the educator on was out for 2 weeks (and then ended up leaving for a promotion but that's a different story). While she was out I was working 12 hour days, 5 days a week. The floor was floundering and I was right in the thick of it. This week the new manager is out all week for the holiday... and I've managed to leave right on time, if not early, every day. This is kind of sad but part of me realized that it's no longer my job to staff the floor or fill in for charge, and that this is just work; I only get paid for 40 hours a week, so anything after that is on my own time. No one on the floor is willing to come in on their own time, so I stopped spending so much of my own there. I can't say I'm totally perfect because I still spend over 40 hours there quite often, but it's nowhere near as much as it used to be.

12/25 - What did you learn in 2019? How can you apply that in the future?

I learned a lot about what people are and are not willing to do for me, despite what I do for them. I pet-sit for some friends and make sure I feed, water, and play with their pets, including cleaning the litterbox; only one of them will reciprocate and watch my animals, and they drop down the bare minimum of food and leave. I asked to go to a cidery for my birthday and only 4 people came; my two closest friends left early for another birthday party in the family and asked for us to meet up at a bar to celebrate later that night. I ended up leaving early because I was tired but I didn't even get a "happy birthday", nevermind a free drink. I am willing to come into work at 4am to see night shift but they aren't willing to stay past 0730 for a 10 minute in-service. And I'm not saying I expect these things, but it did show me that just because I do something for someone doesn't mean I am going to get any form of reciprocation. I've re-evaluated how far I am willing to go for people and reigned it in, just a smidge. I used to go out of my way and sometimes even put myself at a disadvantage to do all of these things and now I've stopped doing that as much.

12/26 - How did your friendships and relationships change in 2019? Are you satisfied with this? What do you want to do to improve your most important relationships in 2020?

2019 was a little rough with work friends because they literally almost all have kids now, so we don't go out aftrer work almost ever. Things have to be planned way in advance. I don't think my relationship with my best friend has changed, but also I don't think it needed to? We have a great friendship. My two closest friends in state changed a little since I realized that I was putting far more effort into the friendship than they were, and I toned it down a little.

12/27 - How did your habits change in 2019? Are you satisfied with this? What do you want to do to improve your most important habits in 2020?

I worked out more and ate better, but not great on either front. I have a plan for 2020 to fix this :)

12/28 - What is your theme for 2020? Describe how you would like 2020 to be in a word or sentence

Glow-Up

12/29 - What is one goal you have for 2020. What are you going to do to make it a reality? (We will revisit this in more detail next week, for now write a few sentences documenting the goal and high level approach to deal with it.)

Become more active!

I have a plan for this but basically I want to hit certain yearly milage goals, spin class goals, clean eating goals, outdoorsy goals... I have a whole process that I am just fleshing out at this point. For so many years I have dieted and exercised based on fads or certain diets (keto, AIP, intermittent fasting, etc).... but now I am trying to tailor my diet to my specific needs and wants. More to come on the subject :)

#fmls90 #fmls90 catch up

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aedyre · 5 years

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Ohhh, I was about to go to bed when I saw @ariela-of-aedyr‘s ask meme :D decided to do it now and not wait for asks since well... bed, and technically it’s Thursday here already :’) also i just wanna babble about my baby

1. What did your Watcher make of the Deadfire Archipelago? Was it their first time there, or had they been there previously?

First time! Alfaris had never actually left the Aedyr Empire before the start of POE1 and hasn’t even seen all of the Empire at that. His first impression was pretty much “ugh so much ocean and see travel I don’t like boats-- OH GREAT I’M ALREADY STRANDED. awesome.” He... still isn’t that keen on it by the end, though he gets used to it. He also doesn’t like how the archipelago is run very much and could do without everyone and their mother vying for power against each other instead of addressing the very obvious problems being had. He did like the weather though! At least better than the Dyrwood’s.

2. Did they have a favourite location?

Not... really. Neketaka probably comes closest by virtue of being the biggest city around, but it also has both the Gullet (which pisses him off because the Roparu have such shitty living conditions) and the Kahanga palace (which pisses him off because he does not get along with the Kahanga royals :’D). Other than that he liked visiting small, unimportant villages that just peacefully existed. And the Engwithan ruin the Wahaki live in, because of the Thaos mural.

3. How about a favourite companion? Or a favourite NPC?

Of the new Deadfire crew, definitely Tekehu 😛 He’d endeared himself to Alfaris by the time they entered the Gullet together and Tekehu expressed his shock and dismay about how the people there are treated, and after that they got to comforting handholding really fast which was some wonderful gay shit. (...Also I just like it as a romance trope. Loved it with Aloth in the first game, loved it here, it’s good.)

As far as NPCs go... he rather likes Director Castol and Flaune Elette because he likes their idealism and vision. It’s why he very firmly sided with Castol during the company meeting, which should have been clear to the governor from the beginning -- “Ah yes, this extremely idealistic person who wishes to help people and has no interest nor need in making money (because he comes from money and is essentially never without it) will surely side with my profit oriented leadership over another idealist visionary!” ...Yeahhhhhh, no.

4. Was there a companion or an NPC that they just couldn’t stand? What was it about them that irritated your Watcher?

None tbh. Alfaris is relatively easy to get along with and to go into the “I can’t stand you” category you need to be a huge dick. (And if your name is Thaos, even that isn’t enough :P) He’d butt heads with Vatnir and Ydwin over ideology, philosophy and theology --though in Vatnir’s case he’d mostly want to help get Vatnir away from Ryrmrgand and more comfortable -- with Ydwin he’s lowkey “well you’re wrong about the wheel but I guess you’re entitled to your wrong opinion :/”, but he doesn‘t dislike either of them. He also wishes Serafen would “talk normally” and Maia ends up leaving because he sides with the Vailians, but they get on well until then.

5. Was your Watcher glad to have Eder, Aloth and Pallegina back again (if indeed they did)? Was there any other companion that they would have liked to have back in their party?

Yes!! I mean, Aloth is one of his bfs and Edér and Pallegina are his bffs. He wouldn’t mind any of the others except Durance back, though he especially misses Sagani and Kana.

6. What was your Watcher’s ship(’s) name(s)? Did they enjoy being Captain of a boat? Would they rather have been back at Caed Nua?

.....I can’t fucking settle on a name tbh. Last playthrough it was The Prince, named by his mum the Mecwyn when she heard that he would like a nice big ship with maybe a lot of cannons because there are pirates everywhere here, mother, can you believe it? But that wasn’t all that creative and is subject to change if I think of something I really like after all :D

He... didn’t exactly enjoy being a Captain, because traveling by ship is not his preferred method, but he also wouldn’t have preferred being at Caed Nua -- he was getting close to done with what he could do there to help and would have installed a steward before long anyway, and the Deadfire is where he was needed now.

7. Did they have a favourite quest or side quest? How about a least favourite?

I’d say no real favorite -- there were moments he enjoyed, like being able to help Biha, or get medicine for the sick Roparu, but nothing where I would say “Yes this entire quest is something he loved”. Similarly there were a lot he really did not like, but it’s hard to point to a specific one -- shoutout goes to Nemnok’s though because he got really damn pissed about the whole “oh let’s sacrifice our children to our new god” thing. a) No!!! Just no!!!!, b) dammit Thaos, once again proof your entire plan didn’t work because people are *still* doing this shit. The sacrifices ended up being all right after all, but the spirit of it still made him mad :P

8. Did your Watcher find romance, or close companionship, in the Deadfire? If so, who did they get close to, and how did that relationship develop?

HOO BOY does Alfie ever have companionship :D I don’t often care much for polyshipping, but he’s a big exception to that. Admittedly, hc wise he was already in a relationship with Aloth, because screw this dancing around your feelings for 5 years stuff in their case (and honestly, no way Alfaris wouldn’t have made sure to keep in contact with Aloth, while Aloth was off hunting down the Leaden Key!). He’s already close to his past incarnation too, though Caolan’s part of their soul ends up being kidnapped by Eothas and thus not around for a big part of the game.

And then there’s Tekehu, who, along with Aloth, is basically tailor made for Alfaris :P Sweetheart who wants to help people? Sad woobie who needs emotional support? A big sub? Yes. Good. Perfect. Alfie was making hearteyes at him by the time they left Neketaka together after dealing with the mess in the Gullet. Tekehu was similarly drawn to the Watcher rather quickly (he’s so easy to raise affection with...) and they talked a lot about the Deadfire and about the Huana and whatever was going on in their quest(s) at the time. Then his last fears that maybe Alfaris wouldn’t want to or couldn’t give him what Tekehu wanted were laid to rest when Alfaris revealed that yeah, actually, he is a dom and he likes taking care of people and giving them what he needs and literally everything Tekehu just described as seeking in a romantic and sexual partner is something he’s happy to give.

9. Which faction did your Watcher side with in the end, if any? Was there a particular reasoning behind their decision?

The Vailians! The pirates were never in the running despite Furante’s attempts, Alfaris was already annoyed with Onekaza and her brother over the Gullet and Onekaza’s behaviour (please stop trying to do ~banter telepathically kthxbye), then she sent him on a menial errand to get Mairu (”I’m a visiting foreign Prince but ok, maybe this is some cultural difference I don’t get”) which resulted in him freeing the dragon and then him and Onekaza slinging insults at one another. “It’s a poor ruler who doesn’t recognize what is under her feet” gave me life and him too for getting it off his chest :’)

And when it came down to Rauatai vs the Republics, he decided that animancy was more useful to deal with the crisis at hand. Which admittedly was also helped by Pallegina being his bff and very much influencing his opinion of the Republics towards being more positive.

10. Where do you imagine your Watcher’s life takes them after the events of Deadfire?

He would absolutely keep an eye on what’s going on on Ukaizo, considering how important rebuilding the Wheel is (especially since he’s such a big fan of reincarnation too!), but since he can’t exactly help the animancers fix it faster... I think he’d visit home, try to spread the truth about the gods more (which is helped, I imagine, by Eothas’s actions), help Aloth with the Leaden Key, and just generally keep an eye out for the next crisis to lend his hand, since his overarching goal is to make the world a better place and prove to Thaos that kith doesn’t need the gods for that and isn’t as bad as Thaos has come to believe.

(Though my money for a potential sequel plot would be something involving Yezuha considering the storms are now gone.)

#pillars of eternity #deadfire #watcher wednesday #poe watcher wednesday #the watcher #watcher alfaris #well i guess i did something other than an edit after all :D #man i can't believe the game is already a year old again... and last year around this time we actually had nice weather lmfao #jules.txt

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almostafantasia · 6 years

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Lancelot (5/14)

Lexa Woods, an impeccably dressed British secret agent for the covert Kingsman organisation, whose latest mission sees her sneaking through the corridors of the White House in the middle of the night, finds herself having to seduce the daughter of the newly elected President of the United States in a bid to save the world. It’s a surprise to Lexa when she ends up falling for her target as fast as she does, meanwhile Clarke doesn’t expect her gorgeous date for an international political gala dinner to drag her into a world of thrill and danger where one wrong move could cause a global disaster.

a clexa kingsman au | chapter 5/14 read on ao3

“A lesbian bar?” Lexa asks incredulously. “You brought me to a lesbian bar?”

As Lexa peers around the bar, with its grungy lighting and soft background music, her immediate thought is that she should have picked a gayer outfit. A lot of the women in the room are dressed in flannels or shirts or v-neck tees, and Lexa feels a mournful pang for the shirts back in her hotel room. The outfit she’s wearing is nice - a sheer, sleeveless top paired with dark skinny jeans - and her winged eyeliner game is on point, but she dressed for a generic night out. Had she known that Anya had a lesbian bar in mind, Lexa would definitely have dressed a little differently, and she is left feeling like she doesn’t quite look gay enough to have earned herself entry to this bar.

Which is ridiculous, Lexa is fully aware. She knows that there’s no such thing as “looking gay”, and her wardrobe back in England holds everything from dresses to tuxedos, from sweatpants to a three-piece tweed suit, but Lexa finds that the way she dresses affects her mindset. When she wears a crisp shirt and a tailored suit, the perfect knot of a tie sitting neatly at her collar, she’s Agent Lancelot, ready to think quickly on her feet to save the world; when she wears jeans and a casual tee, she’s just regular Lexa doing her supermarket shopping or reading a book or hanging out with her thirteen year-old brother on the weekends, a normal twenty-two year old living a normal life. It’s only a little thing, but it works mentally, it helps distinguish the different parts of Lexa’s life.

And it seeps into other things too, enough that Lexa feels out of place right now, like she’s dressed up for the wrong night out.

It’s a good job that she has no intention of pulling tonight. Lexa feels a little bit too off-balance to even consider bringing out her charm and using it on any of the girls in this bar tonight.

Noting Lexa’s surprise, Anya asks, “Would you rather I took you someplace where we’ll get hit on by gross college boys all night?”

Lexa thinks back to her previous experiences of entitled straight men and grimaces when she imagines what they might be like on this side of the Atlantic, where infant boys are weaned off their mothers’ breast milk onto a diet of misogyny and toxic masculinity before they can even say their own names, to an even greater extent than Lexa is used to back at home.

Conceding that perhaps Anya’s idea to come to this particular bar may not have been a terrible one after all, Lexa says, “No.”

“Good,” grins Anya. She wraps a playful arm around Lexa’s shoulders, forcing Lexa’s body to lean into her side as they walk up to the bar, then asks cheekily, “Buy me a drink?”

“Really?”

“Yes, because I’m a better agent than you.”

Lexa tries to find within her the strength to dispute Anya’s point, but following her abysmal performance in the White House two nights ago, she really doesn’t think that she can put together much of an argument.

“For once, I don’t think I can disagree,” admits Lexa, too tired to be bothered by any gloating that Anya might do.

They reach the bar and Lexa orders drinks for both of them, while Anya starts scanning the room. Lexa knows exactly what Anya is doing, searching for a potential bedfellow for the night, but she refuses to join in. Lexa doesn’t want to become a cliche, a tourist in a strange city looking for a one night stand to quell a hunger for adrenaline.

“Okay, the hottest girl in the room is definitely the one over there,” says Anya, nodding to the corner of the bar furthest from the door. “Dibs.”

“You’re welcome to her,” shrugs Lexa, quickly thanking the bartender, before picking up both glasses and passing Anya’s drink over to her. “I’ve got no interest in having a meaningless one night stand just because we leave the country in the morning.”

Beside her, Anya has fallen oddly silent, still staring out in the direction of the girl she’s eyeing up. Lexa rolls her eyes, slightly frustrated by the fact that Anya has dragged her out of the hotel, only to take interest in somebody else straight away, and she finds herself hoping that Anya can get a move on so that Lexa can retire to her hotel room once more, earlier than planned.

Anya laughs breathily, almost in disbelief, then says, “Lex, you might want to revisit that plan. Look who is sitting next to Hottie.”

Lexa follows Anya’s gaze, quickly locating the girl that her best friend has got her eye on. She’s easy to spot, exactly Anya’s type - dark hair and dangerous eyes and a trace of a smirk tugging at her lips. She sits at a table with three others, and though two have their backs to Lexa, there is no mistaking the third. Lexa doesn’t think she could forget that face in a million lifetimes.

Clarke Griffin is here.

The very same Clarke Griffin that Lexa made an idiot of herself in front of two nights ago.

The very same Clarke Griffin who watched her get tasered and dragged out of the White House in handcuffs by several members of the Secret Service.

The very same Clarke Griffin that is so incredibly beautiful that Lexa literally forgot how to function as a human being in her presence the last time they were in the same room.

“What the fuck?” Lexa exhales in disbelief.

“I knew that going out tonight would be a good idea,” grins Anya.

“Did you know she was going to be here?” asks Lexa, because it’s not completely out of the realm of the possibility that Anya spent the time Lexa was in a cell to track Clarke’s movements specifically so that Lexa is forced to confront the girl she made such a terrible first impression on.

“Of course not,” says Anya, shaking her head. “I think the universe is sticking its middle finger up at you, and I’m one hundred percent here for it.”

Lexa takes a long sip from her drink, then lets out a groan as she says, “I can’t believe she’s here. In a lesbian bar!”

“Well, she is bi,” says Anya.

Lexa hates how fast her head snaps up at this revelation, hates how it betrays her thoughts and hates the knowing smile that Anya gives her in response.

“How do you know that?” asks Lexa, trying to keep her voice as casual as possible even though her mind is running a marathon as she thinks of all the possibilities now that Clarke is here and apparently interested in women.

“Because she came out in a magazine interview last year during Abby Griffin’s campaign,” explains Anya. “I’m pretty sure I sent you a link to the article when it was published.”

“You know I don’t pay attention to celebrity gossip,” shrugs Lexa.

“So are you going to say hi to her?” asks Anya

“How can I?” groans Lexa. She uses the fingers on the hand not holding her drink to count as she continues, “One, she thinks I’m in jail, and two, she thinks I’m a fucking moron!”

“Then she already has low expectations and it can only go up?” suggests Anya. “I’m going over there with or without you, are you coming?” Anya pauses for Lexa’s response, and when she doesn’t get one, continues persuasively, “I’ll put in a good word for you. The very best for my very best friend.”

“Fuck it,” concedes Lexa, downing the rest of her drink for courage and waving at the bartender to get her another. Turning back to Anya, Lexa says, “Though I won’t let you forget you said that. Last week you said I was - and I quote - tolerable.”

“Tolerable as a best friend,” says Anya, with a grin. “Because nobody else is good enough.”

With a fresh drink in her hand, Lexa follows Anya across the room to the table where Clarke and her three friends sit. Lexa tries not to let herself panic too much, deciding that throwing herself into the situation without thought is probably the best option. That particular tactic usually works pretty well in the field - jumping out of a plane, for example, is something that Lexa finds much easier to do if she doesn’t give herself the time to remember that a fault with the parachute could result in her crumpled body hitting the earth from ten thousand feet - and Lexa hopes that it works with pretty girls too. Specifically, that it will work with Clarke.

“Do you ladies mind if we join you?” asks Anya, turning her charm dual up to the maximum as soon as they reach the table.

All four pairs of eyes snap up, focused on Anya at first, but they drift to Lexa soon after. Lexa tries to look anywhere but at Clarke, feeling her eyes watch her with burning intensity long after the other three return their attention to Anya. Instead, Lexa looks at the girl closest to them, the one that Anya has got her eye on, who pushes out the empty chair closest to her and gestures for Anya to sit in it.

“Be my guest,” says the girl, a small smile on her face as she appraises Anya with curiosity. “Is that a British accent I hear?”

“It is,” nods Anya, taking her seat, “and before you ask, yes I have met the Queen.”

Anya quickly launches into a true anecdote that seems to capture the girl’s attention, carefully omitting the part where she foiled an attempt on Prince William’s life.

While Anya makes herself at home immediately, Lexa is left standing beside the table like she’s a little bit in the way. She dares to spare a glance in Clarke’s direction, only to find steely blue eyes staring at her with the kind of intensity that could bore a hole straight through Lexa’s skull. Clarke’s expression contains mixed recognition and confusion, and Lexa feels herself getting very self-conscious the longer she stands there.

Luck, as ever, is working against Lexa, and the only spare seat at the table is the one to Clarke’s immediate right. The only thing working in Lexa’s favour is that the empty seat is as far away from Anya as possible, as she is grateful that Anya is probably going to miss a lot of Lexa’s future embarrassment in front of Clarke.

Clarke, understandably, has some questions.

“Aren’t you…?”

“Later?” Lexa asks, her tone pleading, not wanting to get into the gritty details so soon, especially while the two friends of Clarke that aren’t being charmed by Anya are watching Lexa with intrigue. “I promise I’ll explain.”

Clarke hesitates for a long moment, then nods.

“Okay,” she says, conceding even though there’s a sharp look in her eye that promises Lexa she won’t forget that she wants an explanation. “Well, this is Monroe and their girlfriend Harper. Talking to your friend is Raven. And, well, you know who I am.”

Lexa greets Clarke’s friends with a smile and polite nods of her head.

“I’m Lexa. It’s nice to meet all of you.”

“So what brings you to America?” asks the girl that Clarke introduced as Harper.

“Just work,” answers Lexa, keeping her answer as vague as possible, though she can feel Clarke’s watchful eyes burning into the side of her head once more. “We fly back in the morning so Anya thought it would be a good idea to enjoy our final night in D.C.”

“Oh, what do you do?” asks Harper.

Lexa feels Clarke fall still beside her, as if waiting to hear how Lexa will choose to answer that question, and Lexa wonders how much of her altered truth Clarke has managed to find out.

“Nothing exciting,” Lexa answers vaguely as possible. “I don’t want to bore you with the details. Tell me, how do you all know each other?”

Lexa’s deflection works, or perhaps Clarke picks up on the fact that Lexa is deliberately avoiding talking about her work and jumps in to save her, because Clarke is quick to offer up an answer.

“The three of us went to high school together and Raven is a college friend of mine,” she tells Lexa. “Harper and Monroe live here in D.C. and Raven is staying with me for a week or so during spring break. We thought it would be nice to go out and here we don’t have to deal with gross men hitting on us.”

Lexa nods understandingly, and says, “That was Anya’s reason for choosing here too.”

Clarke pauses for a few seconds, watchful eyes not leaving Lexa’s face once, before she replies in a voice that is a little lower than before, “Well I’m glad that she did.”

It’s almost intangible, but Lexa feels a spark crackle between them, and it causes the breath to hitch in her throat.

Lexa’s mouth is dry as she replies, “So am I.”

Lexa thinks that she can see the corner of Clarke’s mouth twitch as if going to smile, but then it’s gone, perhaps just a product of Lexa’s wishful imagination.

Though there is a seed of doubt in Lexa’s mind, wondering whether the chemistry between them is something she’s made up in her mind, it must be evident enough for the others around the table to notice it, because Monroe asks, “You and Anya aren’t dating then?”

Beside Lexa, Clarke glances across to where Raven is laughing at something that Anya has said, one of her hands resting on Anya’s forearm, then looks back at Monroe as she answers for Lexa, “I doubt Anya would be hitting on Raven quite so blatantly if she was dating Lexa. Unless that’s what you’re into?”

Clarke arches a questioning eyebrow in Lexa’s direction.

Lexa shakes her head, because although there was a girl in Bali that proposed a threesome with them both when they visited, Anya is too close of a friend for Lexa to even consider seeing her in that kind of way. Besides, while the jury is still out on Anya, Lexa is definitely the monogamous type.

“Nope, definitely not dating,” says Lexa, wincing at the thought. “Anya is more of an annoying older sister.

“Anybody else special in your life?”

Clarke reaches for her drink as she asks the question, and Lexa has to fight back a smile, experienced enough at reading other people’s body language to know that Clarke is trying to pass her question off as casual curiosity, which probably means that she’s actually got a personal interest in Lexa’s answer. Which probably means that…

Lexa shakes herself out of her thoughts, trying not to get ahead of herself. If there’s anybody with a personal interest in the other, it’s definitely Lexa, and she tries not to let her attraction for Clarke project unrealistic scenarios onto her imagination.

“No,” answers Lexa, now doing her own best attempt at trying to remain casually unaffected by the conversation. “What about yourself?”

“Nobody,” answers Clarke. “Still waiting for the right person to come along.”

Lexa nods and tries to act unaffected by this new piece of information, though she files it away in her mind as she tries not to get too caught up in hope that maybe the right person is her. Instead, Lexa turns her attention to Harper and Monroe.

“So how long have you two been dating?”

Harper and Monroe bid them farewell after they finish their drinks, claiming that they have an early start to visit Harper’s parents the next morning. Raven and Anya are absorbed in a conversation of their own at the other end of the table, and they soon disappear to the bar for another drink, where they stay, finally leaving Lexa alone with Clarke.

With some newfound privacy, Clarke wastes no time in questioning Lexa about the other night.

“So I heard a rumour that you’re MI6,” she says, raising an eyebrow as she regards Lexa with curiosity.

Lexa hesitates before she answers, wondering whether she should go along with the lie or construct an entirely new one for Clarke’s benefit. But there are still twelve hours until her flight out of the country, twelve hours in which Clarke could easily contact somebody very important and let them know that the intruder from the other night is not who she claims to be. It’s easier to go along with a lie that has a few forged documents to support it.

“Well, yes,” nods Lexa.

“Are you going to tell me what you were doing inside the White House?” Clarke asks.

Her eyes are full of intrigue, her really gorgeous eyes, and Lexa has to remind herself that confessing all her secrets to a new acquaintance who happens to be the daughter of a powerful world leader would probably not be her cleverest idea.

Instead, Lexa leans back in her seat, looks Clarke in the eyes and then, using a line that Lexa is pretty certain she picked up from a movie, deadpans, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Clarke’s reaction is worth it. Her face cracks open into a smile and a bubble of laughter leaves her throat, and though Lexa’s words were intended to be aloof and mysterious in a way that she hoped might charm Clarke, Lexa is the one that is left feeling disarmed.

“I bet you use that line on all the girls,” says Clarke.

“Only the pretty ones,” Lexa quips back.

“And does it work?”

Lexa feels her entire body relaxing because this, this is how you flirt with pretty girls, not whatever bumbling mess she made of herself the other day. She reaches for her a drink, taking a sip and savouring the moment as Clarke watches her and waits for Lexa’s answer, then glances up at Clarke with a trace of a smile on her lips.

“I don’t know, does it?”

Why, oh why can’t Anya be here now to witness her charm Clarke with carefully chosen lines?

Clarke looks away shyly, picking up her own drink as a way of giving herself something to do. And with Clarke caught off-guard, and her own confidence spiking, Lexa presses on with the apology she’s been so desperate to give ever since she saw Clarke across the bar and realised she might have a chance to redeem herself after their first meeting.

“Clarke, I really must apologise for how I came across the other night,” says Lexa. “I promise you, that’s not normal behaviour for me. Obviously I had a lot going on and then you showed up and took me completely by surprise.”

Clarke looks back up at Lexa, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, and she says, “Normally when girls fall for me, it’s not because they’ve been tasered.”

Lexa’s cheeks flush pink, though she thinks that Clarke’s teasing is flirtatious rather than actually mocking Lexa.

“Hardly my finest moment,” admits Lexa.

“I know there’s probably a lot you can’t tell me, but I’m curious about one thing,” says Clarke. She leans a little closer, then asks, “How do you get into being a secret agent?”

Lexa relaxes somewhat, because she doesn’t need to construct elaborate lies to answer this question. She can just be herself and tell the truth, and hope that Clarke likes the real Lexa.

“I joined the army straight out of school at eighteen,” answers Lexa. “Well, I tried to. I shattered my kneecap during basic training and had to drop out.”

Lexa grimaces at the memory. One moment she had been pushing herself to complete the obstacle course in the best possible time, and the next, one of her fellow trainees’ hands, slick with the rainwater that pounded down relentlessly over the training compound, slipped through her own while helping her up a sheer wall and she was falling from the high obstacle. The only thing that Lexa can remember from that point with any degree of clarity is the sickening pain, and she feels a twinge of pain in her knee as she recalls the horrendous agony.

“I had surgery on my knee and lots of physiotherapy,” Lexa continues to tell the story, while Clarke listens and watches with concern on her face. “I was just thinking about starting training again when a friend recommended me for a vacancy in intelligence. I went for it and I got it and now here I am.”

“Wow,” says Clarke, appearing impressed. “That all sounds way more exciting than my life.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” says Lexa. “Your mum is the first female President of the United States!”

“Mum,” grins Clarke, mocking Lexa’s accent.

Rolling her eyes and pretending to be offended, though she secretly thinks that Clarke’s playful teasing is the best thing to happen to her all year, Lexa asks, “Did you ever think that your life would end up like this?”

The smile slides off Clarke’s face, replaced by a thoughtful frown. She pauses for a few seconds before she answers.

“In a way, no,” Clarke tells Lexa honestly. “Obviously she’s always been in politics, but this is completely different. But also, it feels like this was always supposed to happen. I have a really vivid memory from my childhood - I must have been, like, six - and I got mad at my mom because she wouldn’t let me play outside after dinner. My dad pulled me aside and said, ‘Clarke, you have to listen to your mom. She’s going to be the President one day.’ And I think I believed him.”

“And now here you are,” concludes Lexa. “She’s the President.”

“She is,” nods Clarke, smiling proudly. “I’m so proud of her, proud of everything that she’s achieved and everything that she wants to do in the future. She’s been President for two months and she’s already leading that new global climate change initiative. There’s so much more that she wants to change. She’s the most amazing woman and the best mom I could ask for. But I do miss my old life sometimes.”

“That’s completely understandable,” says Lexa.

“God, you must think I’m such an ungrateful shit,” groans Clarke. “Complaining about being the President’s daughter when there are millions of people around the world who face real struggles every day. I’m so grateful for my life and everything in it. I mean, if my mom wasn’t President, there’s no way I’d be having a drink with a mysterious spy!”

“Mysterious?” smirks Lexa.

“You broke into my house and I have no idea wh-” Clarke trails off mid-word and Lexa thinks she can see everything click into place in Clarke’s mind and the understanding wash over Clarke’s face. “It’s to do with those other problems with the security, isn’t it?”

Lexa can’t help but smile to herself. As much as she feels as though revealing the exact details of her top secret mission to the very person whose untimely interruption the other night led to its catastrophic failure, Lexa is impressed with Clarke’s intuition and intelligence.

“Not just a pretty face,” teases Lexa.

“So,” says Clarke, her face burrowing into a frown of deep concentration, as she asks, “were you the one responsible for the others or were you trying to stop them from happening?”

“Trying to get an idea of what was behind them so we could stop them from happening again,” answers Lexa. “Unfortunately, somebody showed up before I could actually do any investigating.”

Clarke grimaces and mumbles an apology, before she tentatively asks, “You’re not going to get fired, are you?”

“No. Just demoted to the really menial missions where there are no beautiful girls to distract me.”

Clarke blushes and replies, “I knew you were secretly a charmer. Nobody looks that good in a shirt and tie without being a smooth operator.”

Once again, Lexa feels a pang of sadness for the more dapper side of her wardrobe that she left behind in the hotel room. Knowing that Clarke is into that kind of look only makes Lexa more frustrated with herself that she chose not to dress up a little more for her night out.

Lexa is also worried about Clarke’s words. Though she thinks she’s doing a pretty good job of letting Clarke see the real her, she wants to make sure that Clarke knows that it’s just Lexa’s job that is extraordinary, not her.

“I don’t make a habit of this,” Lexa tries to explain to Clarke. “I don’t want you to think that I’m this international super spy who travels the world and beds a different woman in each city.”

“So I’m special?” asks Clarke, a hint of a teasing smile crossing her lips.

Lexa relaxes a little, then answers breathily, “You have no idea.”

Lexa is like a glass of ice cold water in the middle of a desert, like the sun on Clarke’s face on the first day of spring after a cold winter. Clarke has met a lot of people in her twenty years of life, and particularly in the last few months as her position in the public eye has grown, Clarke has met a lot of people who decide to try their luck at getting it on with the President’s daughter. But there’s something unique about Lexa, a burst of something refreshing, that makes her stand out from the crowds of mediocre frat boys that usually approach her in bars.

Perhaps it’s the fact that she comes across as so quintessentially British. Clarke doesn’t know if Lexa is a typical example of her people, having not met a Brit in the flesh before, but Lexa has a delicate politeness interspersed with delightful charm that has Clarke warming to her immediately.

Of course, that’s ignoring the obvious magnetism of Lexa’s job. Clarke can hardly believe that she’s sharing a drink with an actual secret agent, her very own female James Bond, and the few anecdotes that Lexa shares from her career are so shrouded in combined excitement and intrigue that Clarke can’t help the way that she drinks up every single word, wanting to hear more.

Clarke realises very quickly that she’s attracted to Lexa, but who wouldn’t be? Lexa is gorgeous, a face that is two-thirds cheekbones and the rest lovely lips with a slight natural pout to them. Clarke has been attracted to Lexa since their first meeting, despite the awkward blunders from Lexa, though Clarke realises now that their initial encounter only endears her to Lexa more, knowing that even an international super spy is a flawed human. Clarke is slightly sad that Lexa isn’t wearing a shirt and tie again, having always had a little bit of a weakness for ladies in suits, but the top that Lexa wears tonight shows off toned biceps that cause Clarke’s mouth to dry out every time she ends up looking at them.

Like now.

“You’re staring,” says Lexa, her words snapping Clarke sharply out of her drooling trance. “Have I got something…?”

Lexa glances down at herself, searching for whatever imperfection she thinks might have caught Clarke’s eye, and Clarke is quick to correct her.

“No! There’s nothing.” After two and a half drinks, Clarke feels bold enough to add, “You have very nice arms, that’s all.”

“Oh,” responds Lexa, eyebrows raised in apparent surprise at Clarke’s compliment. “Thanks.”

Seeing Lexa a little bit flustered has Clarke momentarily regretting her decision to voice the truth. But arms have always been a weakness of Clarke’s, on both men and women. There’s just something about seeing a pair of strong arms and the implication of what those arms could do to her in the right situation, and all the moisture leaves Clarke’s mouth and moves south as she tries not to picture Lexa’s body above her own, one arm pinning Clarke’s hands above her head while the other does wicked things between her legs.

Clarke hasn’t had enough to drink to process thoughts like that.

Arms are Clarke’s weakness but so are tattoos, which Lexa also has. There’s an intricate, almost tribal-style tattoo curling around Lexa’s right bicep, and Clarke likes it very much.

“What does this mean?” asks Clarke, reaching out to trace her fingertips across Lexa’s tattoo.

Clarke doesn’t miss the way that Lexa shivers slightly at her touch and she watches a ripple of goosebumps erupt across Lexa’s forearm. The bar is warm, almost too warm now that it’s getting busier, and Clarke knows that Lexa can’t be cold. The realisation that Lexa is reacting that way to her brings a smile of satisfaction to Clarke’s lips.

“It doesn’t really mean anything,” answers Lexa. “I got it when I was eighteen. I was about to join the army and I was worried about being surrounded by men twice my size so I got it because I liked the design and I thought it might make me look tougher than I felt.” Lexa pauses, and then adds, “I know this is stupid, but I also hoped that getting a tattoo would make me look gayer.”

Clarke laughs at Lexa’s reasoning, though she understands completely. She’s been guilty of adjusting her own appearance depending on whether she wants to be considered attractive by men or women, though nothing ever as extreme or as permanent as getting a tattoo.

“I like it,” she tells Lexa, brushing her fingers over the tattoo one final time before she lets her hand drop back into her own lap. “Have you got any others?”

“You’ll have to wait and find out, won’t you?” replies Lexa.

The elusive response is laced with flirtation and Clarke can’t help but hope that Lexa is implying that there might be a continuation of this conversation later, only with much fewer clothes. The thought is enough to render Clarke dazed and speechless.

When Clarke makes no immediate reply, Lexa seems to interpret her silence as something that it isn’t and starts apologising.

“I’m sorry, I don’t actually talk to girls very often,” admits Lexa. “Well, I do, but never like this.”

“Like what?” asks Clarke.

Lexa hesitates and frowns, as if trying to find the right words to explain what she means, and then starts talking.

“I’m not a stranger to talking to girls as part of a mission,” she tells Clarke. “Sometimes I get given a mark, I flirt with her a bit, tell her everything that she wants to hear, and get information out of her.” Lexa pauses momentarily again, chuckling softly under her breath, then continues amusedly, “You’d be surprised how easily some people will tell you exactly what you want to know after you tell them their hair is pretty and give them a couple of orgasms.”

Clarke’s cheeks flush at the thought of Lexa giving girls orgasms, and it takes a few seconds for her to realise that the girl she’s picturing in her head is her, with her fingers fisted through Lexa’s brown hair and her back arched off a bed as Lexa’s mouth works its magic between her legs and oh wow, this got inappropriate fast.

Clarke reaches for her drink and takes a long sip to cool herself down, hoping that the lighting in the bar is dim enough that Lexa won’t notice the pink tinge to her cheeks.

“But that’s work,” continues Lexa, apparently oblivious to the truly debauched direction of Clarke’s current thoughts. “I can do all that with my eyes closed because there’s no attachment there. It’s just another mission. A routine, a certain state of mind.”

“Okay, ladykiller,” teases Clarke.

Lexa shoots Clarke a look, something almost like a glare but ten times more devastating and with a hint of ‘done with your shit’ to it. If Clarke wasn’t attracted to Lexa before, then she definitely would be now, with the slightly aloof stare that Lexa gives her that is equal parts arousing and intimidating - exactly what Clarke likes in a girl.

Lexa finally relaxes, though Clarke doesn’t think she will be able to follow suit, and continues talking.

“I never really let myself talk to girls for me, you know?” says Lexa, and Clarke nods to show that she understands. “So when I do, I’m sort of completely out of my depth. You’re here, and I like that, and I like you, but internally I’m panicking because I don’t know how this is supposed to go.”

There’s something endearingly attractive about Lexa’s honesty. And even though their lives are completely different, Clarke’s so regimented by the security measures in place and her desire to stay out of the public eye while Lexa’s life is full of thrills and uncertainty, Clarke thinks that this might be an area where their lives share a similarity. Because Clarke never really allows herself the luxury of getting close to other people too. Since coming into the spotlight in the last year or so, Clarke’s sexual encounters have been sparse and only with people that she implicitly trusts to remain discrete, while the possibility of romance has been so distant it might as well be on another planet.

Something about being here with Lexa, about flirting with Lexa, just feels right. Clarke can only hope that trusting her intuition won’t become something she regrets.

“I’d say you’ve done pretty well so far,” says Clarke flirtatiously.

With the slight buzz from the alcohol, it’s easy to speak her mind, a sentiment that seems to be echoed by Lexa.

“You’re incredibly beautiful,” confesses Lexa.

Clarke realises that Lexa is watching her, green eyes full of an intensity that Clarke thinks she recognises as desire. Lexa’s gaze drops to Clarke’s lips, and Clarke smiles in triumph.

“See?” says Clarke, exhaling softly as she turns slightly in her seat so that she’s facing Lexa properly, rather than just sitting side by side. “This isn’t so hard, is it?”

Lexa shakes her head and starts to lean in, her eyes going cross-eyed as she tries to keep watching Clarke’s lips. Clarke lets her own eyes drift closed, tilting her head slightly to the side in anticipation of their lips meeting. She feels Lexa’s breath hit her face, still warm, and knows they they must be an immeasurably small amount of time away from actually kissing.

And then Clarke’s phone goes off.

“For fuck’s sake,” groans Clarke.

She can’t believe that they were so close to kissing. Their lips must have been only a hair’s breadth apart. If only they had spent less time flirting in the lead up to the kiss and more time just getting the fuck on with it.

“It’s fine,” says Lexa, who looks disappointed about the interruption but still leans back to put enough distance between them to clear Clarke’s head. “It might be important.”

It’s not important. A text from Raven lights up the screen of Clarke’s phone and she unlocks her phone to read it, her heart still aching with disappointment.

Raven Reyes Left with hottie. Don’t wait up.

“Your friend has made quite the impression on Raven,” says Clarke as she taps out her reply - a thumbs up followed by a series of lewd emojis. “They’ve gone.”

“Anya has never been one to mess around,” shrugs Lexa. “If there’s something she wants, she’ll make sure that she gets it. I think that them leaving together was inevitable from the moment…”

“Lexa, I don’t want to talk about Anya and Raven,” says Clarke, switching her phone off to avoid any further interruptions and placing it face down on the table.

“No?” asks Lexa, her breath hitching in her throat.

Clarke shakes her head and just goes for it, reaching up with one hand to cup Lexa’s face and using it as an anchor to draw Lexa’s mouth to hers, even as she leans in herself.

Lexa lets out a little grunt of surprise as their lips collide, then relaxes, one of her own hands coming up to tangle into Clarke’s hair. Clarke coaxes Lexa’s lips, softer than she could ever have imagined them to be, open with her own and swipes her tongue into Lexa’s mouth, while her fingertips traced a gentle path along the sharp plane of Lexa’s jaw.

Kissing Lexa is unlike anything Clarke’s has experienced before, and certainly seems like it is realms away from the other slightly tipsy kisses she’s shared with strangers. There’s a certain familiarity to kissing Lexa that feels as though Clarke has done this a thousand times before, yet the thrill of a first kiss is still there.

And a really good first kiss it is too. Clarke has experienced her fair share of first kisses before, and the thing that most of them share is awkwardness. Noses that bump together as they get used to new angles, teeth that are a little too sharp and tongues that are too invasive - all things that Clarke has come to expect from kissing somebody for the first time.

But this feels as though Lexa has read and memorized a manual entitled How to Give a Great First Kiss. Because that’s exactly what this is. It’s by no means a perfect kiss, but as first kisses go, Clarke finds it hard to imagine how it could be improved. It’s just the right amount of tentative, Lexa’s lips are curiously explorative, and her hand in Clarke’s hair keeps Clarke anchored to reality when she feels so giddy that she could soar away and leave the entire world behind.

Even though Clarke was the one to initiate the kiss, she feels as though she has relinquished all control. Clarke is glad she’s sitting down because her entire body feels as though it has gone slack beneath Lexa’s lips. Lexa must have magical kissing powers, because Clarke doesn’t want to stop doing this ever.

And maybe Clarke can’t do this forever, because she will eventually need to do things like eat and shower, and she has responsibilities like college and showing her face at the right times to support her mom’s political career, but fuck if she isn’t going to try to keep doing this for the foreseeable future. Which is why Clarke lets her free hand drop to Lexa’s thigh, running her fingers in light circles across the rough denim of Lexa’s pants. She gradually pushes the patterns she draws higher and higher up Lexa’s thigh, not with the intention of actually touching Lexa there, because even though this is what she wants, even Clarke has a boundary of what she’s willing to do in public with a virtual stranger. But she pushes her hand high enough to just give Lexa a hint about where Clarke would be very happy to take things tonight.

Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect, because Lexa pulls back from the kiss and rests her hand over Clarke’s, stopping its movements.

“Clarke, we shouldn’t…” gasps Lexa, letting her forehead drop against Clarke’s, her eyes still close as if she’s trying to will herself not to succumb.

“I know,” agrees Clarke. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Lexa lifts her forehead off Clarke’s and puts a bit of space between them, staring down into her own lap as if trying to avoid looking at Clarke’s directly in the eye.

“No, I meant that we shouldn’t … you know,” says Lexa, letting Clarke fill in the end of the sentence. “I fly back to England in the morning.”

Clarke’s heart feels heavy with disappointment as she tries to wrap it up in a layer of humor.

“And you’re worried that after one night with you, I’ll be hopelessly in love with you and heartbroken when you leave,” teases Clarke. “I’m a big girl, Lexa. I can manage my own feelings.”

“Actually, I was thinking of how early the flight is and the fact that I still need to pack. But you’re right. We’re never going to see each other again. It’s probably for the best that we leave it at a kiss.”

Clarke can’t help but find herself wondering how many times Lexa has bedded a woman for one night in a foreign city, only to never see her again. At least a few, Clarke decides, if not countless times. The thought brings an unwelcome sting to Clarke’s eyes as she wonders what is different about her compared to all those other women for Lexa not to want to sleep with her, and she quickly blinks away the tears before they can even start to glisten in her eyes.

“That’s probably sensible,” Clarke says, her words agreeing with Lexa even though her mind is screaming the opposite.

“I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you though,” adds Lexa, reaching out with one hand to lace it through Clarke’s fingers.

Clarke has a horrible feeling that Lexa is trying to let her down gently, but she squeezes the fingers back anyway and tries to keep her emotions in check.

“Yeah, same.”

Lexa tilts her wrist, glancing down at the chunky - and probably very expensive - gold watch that she wears.

“It’s late,” she tells Clarke. “I’ve had a wonderful evening but I really do need to go back to my hotel. Are you going to be okay getting back on your own? I can call you an Uber if you like. I’ll even go with you on the way back to…”

“No, it’s fine,” says Clarke, shaking her head conclusively. “There’s a car waiting a couple of blocks away to take me back to the White House.”

“Good,” nods Lexa. Her gaze drops to Clarke’s lips, like she’s about to lean in for another kiss, but then she looks away, getting to her feet and saying, “Can I walk you to your car?”

Clarke masks her disappointment with a smile, standing up and picking up her jacket from where it hangs over the back of her chair. Clarke slips her arms into the sleeves, knocks back the rest of her drink in a single gulp, then nods to let Lexa know that she’s ready to leave.

The walk to the car is a silent one. Clarke wants to reach for Lexa’s hand, or to loop her arm through Lexa’s, perhaps under the guise of being a little unsteady on heels after a few drinks, but she chickens out at the last minute and they end up walking side by side without saying a word until they reach the vehicle.

“Well, here we are,” says Clarke, filling the awkward silence with unnecessary words.

Full of chivalry, Lexa reaches for the back door and opens it up, holding it open like a chauffeur so that Clarke can get into the back seat. Right when Clarke thinks that Lexa is going to close the car door and leave without saying even goodbye, never to see each other again, Lexa speaks up.

“Can we swap numbers?” she asks Clarke, taking her own phone out of the pocket of her jeans and tapping on the screen a couple of times, before holding it out to Clarke with a new contact open, ready for Clarke to input her details. “If you’re ever in London, I’d love to show you around.”

“Sure,” nods Clarke, accepting the phone and typing her number. “And if you’re ever back here…”

“I’ll give you a call,” promises Lexa.

Clarke can’t help but wonder how much truth there is to that promise, whether she will ever visit London or if Lexa will ever return to D.C., how quickly Lexa will forget about the few hours spent in Clarke’s company that will probably become an inconsequential dot in a life that is a constant whirlwind of adventure.

Lexa takes her phone back from Clarke and presses the green call button, and Clarke’s own phone starts to ring in her pocket, giving her Lexa’s number to add to her contacts later.

“I guess this is goodbye,” says Lexa, as she tucks her phone back into her pocket and takes a step back, her hand still resting on the open car door. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

It’s all a little too formal, like they didn’t spend the night flirting and then end up kissing. It’s like a business transaction, not a goodbye to a person whose tongue was in Clarke’s mouth not even ten minutes ago.

But that’s how it ends, Clarke’s brief encounter with a gorgeous British spy. The car door slams shut and the engine rumbles to life as the driver pulls away from the side of the road. Clarke lets her head drop against the window, trying her best to ignore the fact that Raven is somewhere in the city getting it on with a hot woman of her own, while she has been sent home without so much as a parting kiss.

It’s going to be a long and lonely night.

#clexa #clexa fanfic #clexa fic #clarke griffin #commander lexa #kingsman au

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pagesofkenna · 6 years

Text

@kaelvas tagged me in a 11 questions meme!

1. What piece of media has shaped you or otherwise deeply impacted you recently?

I feel like I haven’t actually consumed a lot of new media in the last 6 months..... because I’ve been spending so much time on Critical Role. so, as a DM, that? it’s definitely helped shape how I prepare games for my DnD group, which in turn has effected how I think about writing

2. What’s something you really struggled with this last week and how would you have approached/handled it differently?

gonna be honest, the last week or so I’ve mostly been solving (or taking great positive steps towards solving) a lot of the things I’ve been struggling with, so... I guess, getting overwhelmed with the various things I want to accomplish, to the point of prioritizing less-important things? and making a list of all those tasks and organizing them by priority ahead of time would have been better

3. If you had a piece of advice you’d give to younger you or to a future child, what would you impart first?

be more present for the people in your life? don’t live your life for other people, but having people in your life is super important, and part of that is being in their lives too. it goes both ways.

4. What is something you’ve always wanted to say, but were too afraid to?

in general? I guess... I always want to be more confrontational with people about gender? like I’m obviously... not at the same place about this as most people, and I generally don’t care how others feel about me in specific or the concept of gender in general, but whenever it comes up in mixed company I wish I could be more confident in just... speaking my piece

5. If you could change one aspect about yourself, what would it be and why?

lol I kind of wish I could be more productive and on-task? my eternal struggle is wanting to do things on a theoretically basis, but not actually put in the work. and I also know I do a lot more than I give myself credit for, so I guess I’d also like to recognize my positive aspects more often (but I think most people are like that)

6. What is a fear you struggle with and how often does it win?

I think my biggest abstract fear is that I’ve brought all my problems on myself - that its my fault things are happening to me, or that I can’t do what I’m trying to do because I’ve screwed up in a major way somehow. and depending on how things are going, I probably have a good cry about this like... once a month or so?

7. When you feel like singing, what pulls you most that way?

it’s funny because I actually have strong feelings about singing; I love singing. I love the minute amount of vocal control I have and making music without assistance (I learned a few instruments as a child and have since forgotten how to play, and I really miss having the control to make music at will on an instrument). however, i also do not want people to hear me sing, ever. I might sing a line if I’m trying to get someone to remember what song I’m talking about, and I sing publicly at church during hymns, and that’s it.

so, when I feel like singing, it’s usually because I’m alone for a period of time, and probably the first time in a while. I sing when I’m driving myself, and if I have the house to myself. I don’t necessarily have to be in a good mood - sometimes I’m just bored, or trying to cheer myself up. it’s usually just the sheer comfort of being physically alone, though

8. What about screaming?

this is the opposite, because I never scream. I have a weird thing about raising my voice above a certain limit? which might come from hearing people yell as a child - when I was a kid I would always talk so quiet, people were always making me speak up so they could hear me. so, screaming, not something I do. the times when I’ve yelled the loudest, it’s because I’m so angry or frustrated I straight up forget to hold myself back

9. How often do you lie to yourself about what you actually want so you’ll be less disappointed with life?

hahaha wow um. ‘too often’ is the right answer. I think I’m the kind of person who legitimately doesn’t mind second best, but then I tell myself that ‘second best’ is actually what I’m aiming for, instead of what I really was aiming for?

10. Who do you feel you can be absolutely yourself with?

probably just myself. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought lately - there are a lot of aspects about myself that I’m just not forthright about? it’s not that I’m trying to lie or anything, I just... don’t think to tell other people things about myself? like fundamental parts of how I experience the world? because it feels really personal for one, but also means explaining really basic things about my identity that I don’t know how to explain well? so even the people I’m closest to, who know most of my ‘identity’ boxes, I subconsciously tailor my behaviors around?

straight up, friends, if you ever think I’m doing this around you and you want me not to? let me know, and I’ll try. I don’t want to be, but it’s like practicing radical honesty. we’re just not trained that way

11. If you don’t know who you are, what are 5 things you’ll do alone this week to test those waters? If you do, what’s your favorite pastime?

I like to think I know who I am. so, in that vein, my favorite pastime is consuming stories. fiction or nonfiction, medium doesn’t matter. I don’t mean ‘i like to read and watch tv!’ I mean the human art of expressing reality in a structured format. we neaten up our world into palatable chunks in order to convey extremely complex ideas and its fascinating?? storytelling is one of the most fundamental aspects of human existence, and its basically all I want to participate in at any given moment

ok, that’s the last question! normally with this meme you’re supposed to make new questions/tag people to answer them, and I’d love to pass this on but I’m actually at work right now (I know, I shouldn’t be on tumblr at work) so I can’t spare the time to think up any good new questions? I love that this meme has slowly evolved into way more interesting questions over time, though

#ask memes #about me #I've been tagged in a few things the last few months i never ended up doing?#and I feel bad bc these are actually super fun #also I was waiting for my project to dry lets see if it dried!

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haikyuu-imagines-and-others · 6 years

Note

Heyooo!! Can I request a scenario where Kuroo, iwaizumi, and Kenma has a Latina girlfriend and she constantly switches from Japanese to Spanish? If it's too much, you can choose whoever ya wanna do!

Ahhhh I love this request because it reminds everyone that you don’t have to be a specific kind of person to imagine being in the world of the volleyboys! As a latina, I really love this request! The only issue is how it’ll be read…. So regular talk in Japanese will be regular text, but Spanish will be in italics and it’ll be read in english…. Does that make sense? No? I think it will when ya read it! Thanks for requesting! - Admin Satori

Kuroo Tetsurou:

Tonight’s plans had been set in place for almost a whole month. Meaning Kuroo, your boyfriend, had had almost a whole 2-3 months to plan for what he was going to wear tonight. The plan was for a large, elegant dinner with your family, extended family, and you family’s closest friends. Your mother had made a huge deal about everyone looking as fancy as possible, and while you’d already chosen a gorgeous dress that looked oh so elegant, Kuroo had been looking around for his own monkey suit to match yours.

And he thought he’d found something.

But when he walked out of his bathroom and into his room, you felt you stomach drop. What had he been thinking?? His suit, not only didn’t match first off, but it was also almost a whole size and a half too large on him. Even after that, the style was about 3 years old from what was currently in season. You, honestly, couldn’t give a damn about these small details, but you knew your mother would have a fit the moment she saw Kuroo.

“Well? What do you think, Kitten? Looks good huh? Bo helped me pick it out!” Kuroo smiled, almost proudly, as he modeled it in front of where you sat on the edge of his bed. You brought your hands up to your mouth as you watch him, trying your hardest not to make any sort of negative expression, and also trying not to laugh at his absolute ridiculousness.

“It’s very…. unique.” You admitted, standing and walking over to your backpack, where, thankfully, you had some outfit altering supplies. You’d known you couldn’t trust your messy boyfriend to pick something elegant to wear. This boy always found trouble in the weirdest situations. “But it’s a little long, so let me tailor it just enough so it’s not making you look 300 pounds larger, yeah?” You smiled innocently at him.

Kuroo pouted at you, but there was a mischievous hint to the way the corner of his mouth curled just the tiniest. “Whaaat? You don’t like how it looks on me? It’s kind of roomy…” He held out his arms on either side of him, and you could see just how large this suit was on him, this suit was for a man with flappy flag underarm. You internally cursed, but smiled nonetheless, “Ah, so you do like it.” Kuroo smiled knowingly at you as you stepped up to him with your altering kit, golden eyes watching your fingers intensely as you worked to shape the too large suit to his specifications.

“It’s absolutely awful, but you like it, so I guess I’ll just have to deal with your tasteless choice in clothing.” You mumbled in Spanish, rolling your eyes once you’d made it safely to his back. Your fingers worked to put the suit in somewhat of a presentable fashion, and you knew it wouldn’t be the best fix job you’d done, but with so little time and too much fabric, it was the best you could do in a time like this.

“Tasteless? Awful? How cruel of you to judge my clothing so harshly, _____. I would have thought your mother would have taught you better than to speak behind someone’s back…. literally.” Your eyes widened as you stared up at the back of his head, feeling your heart beating out of your chest as he turned his head ever so slightly to regard you out of the corner of his eye, a smug smirk on his lips. “What? You thought you’d be the only prodigy in this relationship?” Kuroo asked, and you couldn’t help the gasp that came from your lips as you pulled from his back.

“You…. You can speak AND understand Spanish?” You were at a loss for a comeback to his taunt, and how could you have been? There was no way you could have prepared yourself for this kind of shocking discovery. You’d always thought he’d only learned English and Japanese throughout this schooling, only taking a real interest in his sciences and nothing more. You’d even come to learn that he particularly didn’t excel in his English classes. So how had your boyfriend of almost a year and a half… suddenly come to learn Spanish?

Kuroo turned around, pulling the sleeves of his suit just slightly so they covered the entirety of his arm properly, and you felt your heart beat even faster. Trilingual AND a complete hottie? How had you gotten so lucky. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling back from his face, and you felt uncomfortably overdressed for this type of situation. “English, Japanese, Spanish, and Russian.” He winked at you, and you had to step back to take a seat on his bed before your knees went completely weak. Kuroo smirked as he took the few steps required to be in front of you, kneeling down on one knee in front of where you sat on the edge of his bed, “What’s wrong, ______?” His smile turned mischievous, and you felt as if you couldn’t breathe properly anymore. “Cat got your tongue?” He whispered just before leaning forward and pressing his lips against yours, his right hand cupping the back of your head while his other pulled you to straddle his thigh, pressing your body closer to his.

You’d completely forgotten about the dinner by the end of the night.

Iwaizumi Hajime:

It’d been a very, very long day. You and your boyfriend, Iwaizumi, had been running around all day Christmas shopping for all your loved ones. Well, you’d been the one to shop, he just kind of followed you around and gave you his opinion when you’d ask for it. He just wasn’t really one to put a lot of work into getting gifts. He knew what his loved ones wanted, and ordering them online was just a simple click away. But he’d known you’d wanted company while shopping, so he’d offered to walk around with you.

So to make up for the long day of shopping, 2 emotional breakdowns from your side, and long long lines, you’d decided to take him to his favorite fast food restaurant. You would have treated him to his favorite ramen restaurant, but you knew the two of you were tired and wanted to go home.

Lying your head on your boyfriends chest, you closed your eyes as the two of you waited in line, feeling him move the two of you forward every time someone completed their order. Every now and then, he’d lean down and press his lips against the top of your head, making you smile and lean further into his embrace.

“Ma’am? What would you like to eat?”

You opened your eyes, suddenly in a panic, realizing there were people waiting behind you and probably getting annoyed by how long you were taking to get your order situated. Iwaizumi went to speak for you, knowing you weren’t really paying attention, but you’d beaten him to the punch.

“3 Pork Meat Buns, please.”

The cashier’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked at Iwaizumi expectantly, hoping maybe he would have some sort of answer to what you’d just said.

Iwaizumi cleared his throat and looked down at you with confusion, “You want the meat buns… right?” He asked, his dark green eyes showing his uncertainty at what it was you wanted to eat, but also at what it was you were trying to get across. He’d always known you spoke three languages, and he found it not only exotic in the most amazing way, but it was also very intriguing to hear you speak in Spanish whenever you so chose. Iwaizumi hadn’t even learned English completely, and yet you were flying by with your trilingual household.

You frowned a bit at his asking you exactly what you’d just said, but nodded, “Yeah? That’s what I said, Hajime.” You reached up and patted his cheek playfully, “Maybe we ought to get some Q-tips to clean out your ears.” You teased.

“Yeah… She’ll have the meat buns… 3 of them….” Iwaizumi turned his attention back tot he cashier, trying to push out the way you said his name in your native language. But not being able to ignore the way his heart was beating faster the more you talked to him in Spanish. The cashier nodded, took Iwaizumi’s order, then offered the two of you take your seats until your to go order was ready.

“Did you hear me, Hajime? Jeez… Tooru was right… You don’t listen very well.” You smiled as you sat next to him in one of the standby booths, taking his hand in yours and lacing your fingers together.

Iwaizumi’s dark green eyes suddenly snapped to you, and you stilled in your movements, seeing a heat in his eyes that you knew all too well. “Are you purposefully trying to get me riled up, _____?” He asked, genuinely curious as to what game you were playing at this time. You shook your head, and his eyes squinted, suspicious of whatever your end game was, “Then why are you suddenly saying my name in Spanish?” He whispered heatedly, leaning closer to you so his lips were right at your ear.

Your eyes widened and you couldn’t help the blush that raced up your neck and rested on your cheeks, “Oh…. I… I didn’t realize I was talking in Spanish.” You laughed anxiously, “Whoops…” You leaned your head against his, feeling his lips press ever so softly against your ear, “I’m not always trying to turn you on, Hajime… You just get riled up really easily.” You stuck your tongue out at him playfully, and gasped when you felt his lips against yours hungrily, “Hajime… we’re in public.” You whined, but smiled against his lips as he pulled you closer to his side.

“Okay?” Iwaizumi smirked as he pulled away, his eyes glancing around him to see absolutely no one was staring at the two of you, “So what?” You huffed and struggled ever so softly in his arms, letting out a small laugh when he only leaned forward and pressed his lips to your neck.

“Hajime~” You whined, giggling when he only continued to press kisses to your neck and ear, “Stop~” He smirked as he pulled away, seeing your face red from his affection and your embarrassment. “You’re absolutely impossible.” You chastised with a wide smile, “But… I’ll definitely have to keep talking to you in Spanish if that’s the kind of attention I’ll be getting.” You winked at him playfully just before your order was called. You easily broke out of his hold in his stunned state and walked over to the pick up counter, “Hajime, let’s go home.” You smiled over you shoulder at him as he quickly got to his feet at you calling his name in Spanish once more.

You knew you were in for a treat once you got back home with him.

Kozume Kenma:

Long lines were nobody’s favorite. They weren’t your favorite because that meant you’d have to get up earlier than usual to get a good spot in that line. And they weren’t your boyfriend’s, Kenma, favorite because…. Ew, people. But that’s the sacrifices the two of you had to make in order to get the newest release of NekoPlane, a rendition of a retro game. Totally made that shit up, guys lmao

You’d been waiting with Kenma all morning, from 4 in the morning until now at noon when you’d finally stepped foot into the game store. The line wasn’t all that much longer from where the two of you stood, but still you and Kenma leaned against each other, his eyes focused on the original NekoPlane on his portable game console, while you stretched just enough to see what was holding up the line. You were probably 3 people from the register, and you knew there weren’t all that many to be handed out in the first place. Kenma had told you as much, saying it wasn’t a big deal or anything, but goddamnit… If your boyfriend wanted a game, then you’d stand in a line 300 times the size of Apple lines to get him that game. Because you loved him. And he deserved it.

“We can just go….” Kenma spoke up, and when you looked to give him a incredulous expression, it fell on blind eyes as he focused his attention completely on the game in his hands. “I’ll just get it in a couple of months… when everyone’s forgotten about it.” He assured, glancing up at you when the ‘Game Over’ title flashed over his screen.

You pursed your lips disapprovingly before shaking your head, “No, no… We’re already here, Kenma. Don’t worry, we’re going to get it!” You smiled, and he couldn’t help the smile curve of his lips as he looked back down at his game. That’s what he liked about you… So determined. And it wasn’t even something you liked. He’d have to make it up to you somehow, and as the two of you continued to wait, he tried thinking up ways to show you his appreciation.

It was only when you’d been standing in the same place in line that you started to get irritated. Usually, when game lines started moving, it was at a constant pace - since everyone was buying more or less the same item. But this was ridiculous. You’d been standing as fourth in line for almost an hour, and your last nerve was being tested. You stood on your tip toes to be able to see what was going on, and felt your restraint snap at the conversation you’d tuned into.

“Okay… But… like… is it as fun as the original? Does it still have the same functions and armor because if not, this is a sad excuse for a game, and I won’t be a part of it’s support team.” The rather large, sweaty, pizza faced man wheezed out. It wasn’t his appearance that made you hate him immediately… Not at all… It was the fact he was taking a whole hour to determine whether the game he’d stood in line for for almost 10 hours was worth the money.

Just as the employee was about to lose his mind, you stormed up to the front of the line, hearing Kenma stutter out your name in surprise as he watched you. You fumed next to the large man, “Excuse me….”

His lazy, small eyes regarded you with insult, “Um, excuse you? You’re cutting the line.” He smirked, as if it had been a killer line he’d just cut you down with.

“You think I give a fuck about this dumbass line? Who the hell do you think you are? I’ve been here since 4 in the goddamn morning with my kitten of a boyfriend waiting to get this damn game, and you’ve probably been here since before then, but you’re choosing NOW to decide whether you want it or not?” You were pissed. You hadn’t even noticed you’d started speaking in Spanish. It was just a natural reaction for you to switch to your native language when you were pissed - you’d never gotten angry while speaking Japanese, so you’d never really learned how to not flip that switch.

The large man stared at you in complete confusion, blinking as he tried to understand what it is you were yelling at him about. “…. What?” He asked, turning to the cashier, but seeing even the young employee had no idea what was going on.

“_____… Come on… Let’s go home.” Kenma tugged on the back of your shirt, but you brushed him off, too fired up to give up now.

“I know you have more than 3 fucking copies left, so give me a damn game and let me and Kenma go home.” You hissed, handing the cashier the amount of money required to get the game. The employee was about to protest but realized your anger was not something to be taken lightly, so he quickly fumbled to grab the game from behind the counter and hand it to you in exchange for your cash. You swiped the game from him roughly, sending him a glare and flipping off the large man in the front of the line, “Fucking idiot, doesn’t know how to fucking think. You had more than 10 goddamn hours!” You growled out as you stormed ahead of Kenma out of the game store and down the sidewalk towards his house.

Kenma rushed to your side, his wide eyes on your expression, noticing the further you got from the store, the more relaxed your expression and walk became. “….. Are you okay?” He asked quietly, and you turned to him with shame written in your eyes.

You felt bad. You realized your anger was misplaced, and not right for the moment, but it’d burned like fire that felt so good to let it out. You blushed and scratched the back of your head, looking away from him, “Yeah… I’m fine….”

“______ …. I don’t …. I don’t know Spanish…” Kenma frowned in confusion, wanting to know if you’re okay but not having any idea of how to decipher Spanish. The only languages he’d come to learn were English and Japanese… That’s all. When the two of you had started going out, and he realized you spoke three languages, he’d tried to learn Spanish, as well, but found it to be difficult. Although…. He had learned the word for ‘Fuck’.

Realizing what you’d done, your face erupted in a blush rivaling the red of a fire engine. “Oh my god….” You mumbled, understanding now why no one in the game store had responded to your anger, “Oh my God!” You groaned, stilling in your walking and covering your face with your hands, “Oh…. My God.”

Kenma couldn’t stop the amused smile on his lips as he watched you come to your senses. It was probably a bad boyfriend move to find it funny, but how could he not? You’d just gone off like a gun inside the store and hadn’t really had any backlash - and now you could understand why. Reaching out, Kenma pulled you into his arms, letting you rest your head on his chest, and resting his chin on the top of your head in return.

“Thanks…. For the game…” He couldn’t stop the silent laughter moving his chest when you let out a distasteful whine and lightly smacked him in return.

“It’s not funny.” You whined as the two of you continued on your walk back to his house.

#admin Satori #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! scenario #spanish #Kuroo Tetsurou #Iwaizumi Hajime #Kozume Kenma #buy me a coffee #buy me a kofi

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spytap · 7 years

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Italy 2017 - Part 3 of 4: FLORENCE

This took a lot longer than I expected, but I had a lot of thoughts (and even a twist ending.)

So here’s a theory: Florence is Italy’s Greatest Hits album.

It has all the big names: The House of Medici, Machiavelli, The Renaissance. You’ve experienced them a thousand times over, to the point where they’ve become part of the background radiation of modern culture. If there was a classic rock station for art and architecture, they’d be playing Florence 24/7 like it was Bohemian Rhapsody or Don’t Stop Believin.

But there’s a flip side (#OldMediaReference) to that analogy: the thing about Greatest Hits albums that makes them equally interesting and frustrating is that because they’re composed entirely of snippets in time, they’re not really complete albums in and of themselves.

Oh sure, obviously you can enjoy everything on a Greatest Hits album when you take them as singular experiences, but they’ll never really come together with the cohesion you’d expect from an entire album. They’ll always be slightly fragmented, with stylistic changes that reveal themselves as products of their specific moment of creative inception; never quite gelling into a singular whole.

Put more simply, no Greatest Hits album will ever feel as complete as Dark Side of the Moon, or My Kind of Blue, or To Pimp A Butterfly. They may be chock full of beautiful, meaningful, or culturally relevant snippets, but absent the context of time, place, and stylistic symmetry, they’ll always ultimately feel a little…shallow.

------

We came into Florence knowing it was almost everyone’s favorite city in Italy. When I asked for recommendations on things to do/see/eat in Italy, 95% of them (not an exaggeration, I just counted) were in or around Florence. A dozen times or so, I heard people say “Florence is my absolute favorite” or “it’s magical,” or “no city in Italy can match Florence” or something similar. So we had high expectations as the train pulled into the station and we clamored out onto the track alongside several hundred of our closest friends.

Navigating any city on foot and with luggage is difficult. Navigating any city on foot, with luggage, and in the rain is outright hard. Navigating Florence on foot, with luggage, in the rain, where your apartment is smack dab between the biggest outdoor market in the city (open rain or shine) and one of the biggest tourist destinations in the country - well that’s an exercise in personal murder restraint.

So we began our journey into Florence splashing through the puddles, trying to avoid sinking a wheel into a missing or uneven cobble, explaining - for the fifth time this block - that no I don’t need new luggage; as you can plainly see I have luggage. It’s right here. In my hand. Please get out of my way.

Fifteen minutes of rather terse urban navigation later, we reached our apartment, nearly tossing our suitcases as we crossed the threshold of the doorway just to be rid of them. After a quick overview of a very-not-to-scale paper map, we figured out that we were actually very ideally placed for the city. So doing our best to discard the negative energy we’d accumulated between the train station and the apartment, we ventured out into the great unknown to go get lost just as - as if by way of an apology - the city immediately pulled out sapphire blue skies and fluffy white clouds.

Let me be upfront: I … never really gelled with Florence. It was beautiful, and I’m genuinely glad we spent so much time there, but in many ways it felt so polished and so familiar that it just never really felt like a real city. The feeling I got walking around the city was that I could have very easily just been in a well-made theme park land. I also don’t think that feeling was helped by the fact that out of all the cities we visited in Italy, Florence was where I felt most surrounded (and at times, overwhelmed by) tourists, and the one where we heard near constant English somewhere around us.

And again, Florence is unquestionably gorgeous. I have easily 100 photos of, around, up, and on top of the Duomo. It’s a stunning piece of architecture and design, and we devoted three quarters of an entire day to just exploring its wonders. But after seeing Florence from Piazzale Michelangelo, and touring a half dozen choice tracks from its greatest hits catalogue, I still didn’t get any sense of the city itself. I knew what it *was* - that was made absolutely crystal clear all around you - but what I was searching for was some sense of what it *is*. Today. Right now.

And the part that bothered me most about Florence is that I don’t think I ever found it.

Let me sequence break a bit here, and take a step back. My personal travel philosophy is that I tend to prefer semi-blind exploration over planning, and getting to know a city by its food and layout. I like to wander, and let a city and culture open themselves up to me - as opposed to seeking out elements that I’d bookmarked in advance. That sense of not knowing and then finding is more thrilling to me than checking off a previously-considered to-do list. Does this mean I sometimes miss the “can’t-miss” elements of a city? Absolutely. But it also means that I get a better sense of what the people who live there experience and find important, and have a thousand large and small adventures that are uniquely mine and almost irreplicable.

To be clear, I often have one or two things that I’m interested in experiencing, but I try to keep it to one planned or expected thing per day - such as a specific attraction or area of the city - with the rest of the day devoted to getting as thoroughly and properly lost as possible.

So when we were setting up the trip, I only had a couple specific things I wanted to do beyond “eat and drink my way through Italy.” Generally my unstated goal for each city was to find the most authentically “here” food experiences, to see the streets as its citizens do, and to do my best to discover what really and truly matters to that city.

So the irony (or personal hypocrisy?) of all of this is that for the four days we were in Florence, the food and wine were, without exception or equivocation, absolutely superb:

We had the best pasta I’ve ever had in my life in Florence - made by dumping freshly made, just cooked noodles into a wheel of Parmigiano-Reggiano, and then mixing the cheese and pasta up with an absurd amount of cream and freshly-shaved black truffle.

I had the single largest steak I’ve ever eaten, at somewhere between two-and-a-quarter and two-and-a-half pounds, served perfectly crusted on the outside and just this side of raw in the middle - Florentine style.

We took a day trip out to Chianti and drank the best Italian wine I’ve ever had, and then went to the Tuscan Wine School the next day to surpass it again by discovering a dozen different ways to turn Sangiovese grapes into joy.

If you go beyond simple culinary hedonism, everything you’ve ever read about the architecture of Florence is, somehow - impossibly - actually understating it. For all my comments above, there’s a very good reason the Cathedral di Santa Maria del Fiore is one of the most visited cathedrals in Europe. Even today, standing in front of it, it seems absurd - like something CGI-ed into the background without thought or consideration to real world physics or historical technology. How does it…why does it…just…exist? Right there? Still? And we can go inside?

Turns out that goes doubly so for the inside, which defies all attempts to properly convey or communicate scale of size or effort. Suffice to say that whole lives were lived singularly devoted to the construction of this one building. Whole families. For generations. This singular structure was their entire purpose in life.

Pick a museum and start wandering through, and you’ll stumble on names that probably ring a bell such as Michelangelo, Botticelli, Caravaggio, or Da Vinci. They’re all there, because like First Avenue & 7th St Entry, they all got their start there. And then you find yourself standing in front of The Birth Of Venus, or Adoration Of The Magi, or Annunciation, or David.

It’s surreal. And overwhelming. And humbling.

But…

Beth and I have talked about this a lot, but I came away feeling like Florence as a whole was so focused on highlighting portions of its past that I never got a sense of what it meant today, hundreds of years removed from its former glories. To continue the classic rock analogies, Florence felt like seeing The Rolling Stones live: no one’s shelling out to hear the new album, so everything is tailored toward making the experience about the familiar.

After a while, it felt a little like a video game: no matter where we went, we were pulled back into one very specific period of Florence’s past - like the developers were using an invisible hand to bring us back onto the gameplay path. We found ourselves in a cycle of tourism which, while perfectly comfortable, remarkably easy, and occasionally awe-inspiring, lacked the sense of adventure, or intrigue, or curiosity that Milan and Genoa provided. To steal from game design terminology a bit, in Milan and Genoa we discovered things, but in Florence I never felt like we had much agency.

Perhaps this feeling was why my favorite moments in Florence were the quiet ones: a post-dinner gelato and walking through a square at midnight. Hiking up to Michelangelo Park at sunset and gazing down at the city while the sky lit up purple and red. Pizza and people-watching on the upper level of the market. Everything about our day in Chianti. The quiet moments were the ones where I could feel like I was starting to appreciate the city and not just being moved through the “attraction -> shopping -> attraction” pathway.

So that leads to the big questions:

Did I enjoy my four days in Tuscany? Yes (mostly.) It (obviously) wasn’t my favorite city of the trip, but it was still four days in a beautiful, historic city with incredible architecture, excellent food, and an almost endless supply of inexpensive but superlative wine.

Will I go back? I may; one day. I feel in many ways that I’m being unfair to the city. Perhaps I was too taken by Genoa, and judged Florence by an unfair set of expectations upon which it was never designed to compete. Perhaps that I owe it to the city to give it another chance. Perhaps, having done all the big attractions already, I can wander around with no destination in mind and finally find the connective tissue that makes the city more than just Renaissance Disneyland.

But as I write this out, now comfortably back in California, it strikes me that maybe I’m just …well, maybe I’m just wrong. Maybe, like standing in front of a Caravaggio and thinking “wow it’s…really dark” I’d focused on the wrong elements and missed the point entirely. Maybe the most important element of Florence’s identity today *actually is* that it forever reminds us of a very specific time.

The grand irony of Florence is that by celebrating its past so overtly, Florence stands as a demonstration to the modern world of what a place and its people can do when they deliberately choose to cast aside a slavish veneration of the past. That we can choose to reshape ourselves around comprehensive cultural progression. That even in the darkest of ages we can choose to pull whole civilizations forward towards renaissance and discovery. And there’s something beautiful to that sentiment.

Perhaps that’s what Florence is today: a timeless reminder that the moments in human history when we allow ourselves to dream and be driven by a sincere desire to explore and support artistic and intellectual creativity are the moments in human history when we build the great works that will forever define us.

And even if we’ve heard that refrain a thousand times before, maybe there are moments in human history where we need to be reminded of that, and hear it again as if for the first time.

------

Leaving Florence, we head off to the last stop on our journey: Rome. We’ll only have a few days here, so we won’t have much of a chance to really get to know it with any real amount of intimacy, but amongst the literal ruins of Western Civilization I’m hoping that we can at least get a glimpse of the city’s heart and soul.

And maybe eat a cannoli.

#travel #italy #florence #vacation #longreads #long reads

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astrorarepairs · 7 years

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A few things abt this: 1) i havent edited this so iapologize if there are parts that arent grammatically correct/dont make sense 2) this takes place during the historical period when korea was still ruled by Kings and Queens but i didnt do much research on it ddjf 3) *spoiler * its angst 4) lowkey wanted to title this as love in the moonlight bc i wanted to watch that drama while writing this

The midnight bell rings from the high tower inside the palace walls for all of Cheongju to hear. It’s loud and daunting, a useless reminder to the citizens of Korea to be in bed by now or be punished. The only ones who hear the midnight bell are the royal guards, who do their nightly rounds on the streets to catch anyone who roams about with suspiciousness, even though every civilian would never dare to. Only a fool would dare to put their entire life and family for a mere walk in the moonlight.

Minhyuk considers himself smarter than a fool, which might explain why he hasn’t been caught all this time. He runs in the shadow of the night and has enough experience to make not a single sound as he sneaks. His small stature and flexibility allows him to sneak in the smallest and cramp places when he hears the step of royal guards coming his way. So he doesn’t think he considers himself a fool to be caught.

He continues to run and turn at every corner, away from his small home where his family are asleep, unknown about his fortnightly activities and where he’s headed. He feels a pang of guilt at the possible thought they might wake up and find him gone, worried and scared for them and their son but it fuels him with even more determination to not get caught. He follows the complicated path he knows by heart.

He walks closer and closer to the outskirts of the cityand clings to the stone wall, careful not to reveal his figure or make too much noise. He stops walking when he’s reached a certain point and feels the figures and random pattern of the stones that barricade the palace. He listens carefully for any incoming footsteps and when the coast seems clear, he steps back into the woods and climbs the first tree he reaches.

He counts the number of branches he climbs until he stops at the fifth branch. He carefully drags himself to the end of the branch without rustling the tree too much. He stops until the near end where his feet barely reach the end of the stone wall and he’s a few feet away from a lit room. A shadow comes into view and scans the room before coming closer to the window.

Moon Bin is dressed in a sleeping outfit that has too much expensive and long layers for Minhyuk’s taste and has a worried look on his face as he looks at him. He’s wide eyed, scanning for any sign of movement that might find out their secret meeting and Minhyuk’s fondness for him grows as he watches the royal prince.

“My love,” The prince pants when he finally turns to look at him with worried eyes. His heart skips a beat at the name. “Are you okay? No one seemed to follow or see you right?”

“I’m fine Bin, but have some faith in me. I’ve been doing this for the past two years. I know the path by heart and I know my heart will never betray me.” He gives him a warm smile.

“I apologize, things have been rather tense in the palace and my father has been requesting for more guards to roam around. You know your safety means everything to me, and the mere act of you doing this m-“

“Makes me so worried.” Minhyuk finishes sentence for him. He’s heard Bin repeat the same guilty confession more than a hundred times. His words are forever itched into his mind, bringing him guilt and worries of his own on nights he can’t sleep. “I know your heart and concern my prince and it is in my best concerns that you don’t get a heart attack from worry every time that we meet. We could always go back to writing letters as we did in the past.”

Moonbin turns into a shade of pink and firmly shakes his head. “As selfish as I am, I much prefer being able to see you like this.” Even though we can never touch each other. Minhyuk finishes his sentence again. He ignores the pain in his heart and smiles at him.

“I miss you.” He confesses. He doesn’t want to talk about their fears and the dangers of their relationship. They have limited time before the sun rises and he has to run back home without being noticed he was missing. They cannot spend their precious time of meeting full of tears and sobs (they once did cry, six months into their routine, when the king had forced Moon Bin’s sister to be wed off and Minhyuk’s family shop wasn’t doing so well. A royal servant, Eunwoo, had heard the prince’s cries outside of his room and asked what was wrong. They quickly resolved their fight and promised to never fight again).

“I missed you too,” He flashes him a smile. His eyes turn into crescents and his shoulders relax and he knows he means the truth. “I know it’s only been two weeks since we last saw each other, but it feels like been an eternity.”

“I’m here now. Tell me what’s on your mind.“

“A lot.” He sighs. “Father’s been busy meeting with other officials and generals from other kingdoms to discuss on dealing with the outburst of thieves that’s been rumored to be coming from the South forest. More important people in the palace means more guards lurking around, hence why I was so worried about you being caught. Good news is I made another friend, like you told me to! He’s one of the servant’s, his name is Sanha.” He crosses his arms and gives him a proud smirk.

“How old is he?” The crown prince’s falls and stutters out a reply that’s too low for him to hear. He puts his hand toward his ear, knowing it irks him. “What was that?”

“H-he’s seven.” He repeats, loud enough for the other to hear. “B-but he’s great! He’s a great listener, we have nice conversations, and he plays games with me!”

“That’s because you’re probably his only playmate other than his mother.”

“He still counts as a friend! You didn’t add in any specifications to your request!” Well, he got him there.

Minhyuk sighs, knowing he couldn’t win an argument against his hotheaded boyfriend. “Alright then, you, although didn’t really-“

“You’re fault for not specifying on your definition of friends!” Moon Bin defended and stuck out his tongue at him. Minhyuk merely rolled his eyes at his childishness.

“I congratulate you Prince Moon Bin, crown prince of Cheongju, for successfully executing the difficult task I had given you last week.” Minhyuk bowed did a silent clap, dramatizing his achievement. Bin was relishing in the moment and enjoyed listening to him admitting defeat. “How do you wish for us to celebrate this extravagant new accomplishment of yours, your royal highness?”

Moon Bin hummed in his glory and began to think, stroking his imaginary beard. Minhyuk could only sigh internally and dread for the worst possible activity he would possibly be told to do. After a few seconds, he looked at the window to find him thinking seriously about it. He found the sight of his partner in all seriousness and deep in thought a cute sight and wonders if he’s the only few who’s able to see this childish, stubborn and proud side of Bin. He wonders if this is the side of Bin that the public only knows, the one that makes everyone in the land praise and respect him so highly. He wonders if he’s the only few who’s able to see childish, stubborn and proud side of Bin. wonders if this is what Moon Bin looks like when he’s in meetings or what he generally looks like in the daytime, going over royal duties (he avoids the thought of being able to be by his side in the daytime and how nice that would be).

“I want to touch you.”

The words are enough to break Minhyuk out of his thoughts and his breath hitch. His playful smile is gone and he looks at him with a sad gaze. His heart aches remembering the fact that they’ve never been able to had any physical contact with each other despite having been together for two years. He supposes it was one of the consequences of dating the crown prince when he was a mere tailor’s son. The closest type of contact they’ve ever had was making eye contact while he was washing clothes by the river and Bin was horseriding in the same forest.

“B-bin,” He swallows the lump in his throat, wanting so desperately to reach out and hold him, to hold his hand, to kiss him, to initiate any sort of contact with the man he’s so much in love with. But he can’t and it pains him so much to admit it.

The full moon and stars glimmer brightly tonight, as if waiting for them to be caught in the forbidden act and spread the sight to everyone. The moonlight shines so bright and Minhyuk has an idea. He holds back his tears and smiles at him. “And so we shall.”

He holds out his hand into the moonlight, stretches out just enough for a shadow of his hand to appear on Bin’s window sill. He understands his idea and holds out his own into the moonlight, moving it around until his hand’s own shadow is in the same position as Minhyuk’s is. They stay like that for a while, moving their fingers around to try and get the shadows to show their intertwined hands.

The gesture is a terrible attempt of fulfilling his request and holds the same meaning as an empty promise. They look at each other and see guilt and love stare right back at each other. It’s not enough, nor will it ever be enough to fulfill Moon Bin’s and his own desire. But for now, as the birds chirp in sign of dawn coming and as the moon starts to set, as they quietly say ‘I love you’s to each other, before Minhyuk departs and races against dawn, it will have to be enough.

wELL THAT WAS SAD!!!!!!!!!!!!! the last scene made me really sad i want them to be able to hold hands :(((((((((((((((((( prompt anon you write really well, my heart is so <///3 i felt the longing i felt the struggle ; - ;

this is really good prompt anon, im excited to see more of it if you’re going to continue it! im ready for more Pain

#prompt anon #fic #prompt anon's fic #i was already warned about the angst and yet im hurt anyway hahaha #submission

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archworks-gaming · 7 years

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So, I’ve been playing Fallout 4 again recently.

Because whilst the story is kind of ham-fisted and unimaginative the raw appeal of being a lone-wandering scrap hunter/robot maker is too strong for my frail human brain to ignore.

So from that you can likely gather I don’t really enjoy the story. To be more concise I don’t enjoy the main story.

Y’see, I’m the kind of gamer that will ignore the story at all costs. Not on a first playthrough mind, but for all subsequent playthroughs? That story might as well not even exist to me. Specifically with western-style, open-world RPGs.

It’s the same reason I recently got my hands on the remastered Skyrim, but you won’t see many story trophies/achievements appear under that title for me, because I haven’t done anything story-related. I’ve played the story already, it was... OK at best. Now I want to build a character and have their journey.

To get back onto Fallout 4, something that really stood out to me during a recent session was when I went to Diamond City to do an intro quest for Piper.

I forget the name of the quest, but it requires your character to be interviewed for the Publick Occurrences newspaper.

And for the most part the game will allow you to make up stuff during this interview. And generally just let you get away with whatever you want to say. (Well, out of the four options it gives you per question anyway)

But then you get to one of the final questions. Which is in regards to why you’re travelling across the Commonwealth, why you’ve wound up in Diamond City.

And the game gives you options for this, but only one of them actually does anything.

And that’s super disappointing. This isn’t a story critical conversation. I’m not going to lose anything by choosing the wrong answer. No matter what I say, Piper will publish it and then become a companion.

But for some reason at this point in the sidequest, Bethesda thought it would be best to force the player to pretend they give a shit about Baby Shaun.

I don’t feel like I’m alone when I say I couldn’t care less about Shaun in Fallout 4. And in fact the majority of the problems I have with Fallout 4′s story are directly related to Shaun.

“Oh but you have to feel attached to him because... He’s your baby, I guess?”

No. No I don’t. Because he’s not my baby, he’s a baby. Even without the gamer/game disconnect or the 1′s and 0′s argument, by this point in the game I had spent a grand total of about 30 seconds with him before he was taken.

We had one interaction with baby Shaun in the opening part of the game where we tickle him a little bit and that’s it.

That’s our full backstory with Baby Shaun. As a player I couldn’t be less engaged with this “character”. I’d spent more time telling the Vault Tech sales rep to piss off than I had actually interacting with what is supposed to be my son in Fallout 4.

I’ve grown attached to settlers more than I have with Shaun.

But for some reason, whenever my character is showing any kind of empathy towards another survivor in the Commonwealth the first words they’ll usually utter are:

“I know what it’s like to lose a child...”

Hey asshole, we’re in a post-nuclear apocalyptic wasteland! There are literal fucking monsters outside that like to eat us and use our bones for decorations! Safe to say pretty much everyone knows what it’s like to lose someone!

And the thing is, for the most part your character will always go straight to “MY BABY WAS KIDNAPPED!” and never the more understandable:

“MY HUSBAND/WIFE WAS SHOT IN THE FACE WHILE I WAS TRAPPED IN A METAL BOX MERE FEET AWAY WHERE I COULD SEE EVERYTHING! ALSO HELLO! I WAS ALIVE BEFORE THE WAR, EVERYONE I EVER KNEW OR LOVED IS MOST LIKELY DEAD!”

It’s amazing to me how little of a deal it is that you are a pre-war survivor in this game. The only time to my memory where the character openly states that they gave any kind of a shit about the pre-war world is in the epilogue.

Hell, most of the characters you talk to about this to either understandably don’t believe you, Believe you outright with no proof and honestly don’t react to it all that much or they knew you already.

And I feel that’s one of Bethesda’s greatest missteps in creating the story for Fallout 4. We as the player have no reason to care about anything prior to what is happening right now in the wasteland. But are expected to regardless.

Even the player character doesn’t care enough about the world they were forced to leave behind because we and by extension they spent almost the entirety of it standing in front of a fucking mirror!

I personally pre-made my character’s appearance to look like they already lived in the wasteland, scars, bruises, that kind of stuff. And then they have to dawdle around in the pre-war section looking like their spouse says “I love you” with a hunting knife?!

This is the first time in a Fallout game where we’ve had even a glimpse of the pre-war world, let us have some fun with it! Let us have a reason to give a shit about it and not frantically mash buttons and jump hedges to get out of it.

If we’d gotten some sense of what the world, pre-war was like. If we’d been introduced to baby Shaun and given some actual time to interact with him, maybe even see him grow up a little bit because the next time you actually see “Shaun” he’s like 9-10 years old.

That section when you first enter the institute and are confronted by a Synth of Kid Shaun, that would have had so much more impact if that was what Shaun looked like when he was taken.

instead you’re yet again, FORCED to have your character lose all semblance of sense at the mere sight of a robotic ten year old. There’s no option for disbelief when you find Synth Shaun in the institute, despite the fact that your character is knowingly infiltrating the place where fucking synths come from!

Beyond that, Father’s devotion to the Institute would be so much more meaningful if he was old enough to take it all in when he was taken, instead of being basically tailored from birth to accept it.

It would make sense for an adult Shaun to release you from your cryo-pod at the start of the game if he was old enough to even remember you when he was taken, instead of this whole “Oh, I let my parent out on a whim, just to see how far they’d get” bullshit the game actually gives us!

And then there’s the games core “twist”...

“Oh no! my 1 year old son was taken whilst I was frozen, I should go looking for him with the expectation that despite being re-frozen after he was taken that he will still be a 1 year old baby!”

“Oh no! I have found my son and now he’s older than me and somehow dying of cancer in a future underground science utopia where they literally build human beings from scratch!”

... I’m not the only one who’d guessed that Shaun was going to be either long dead or an old man at the very beginning of the game, was I? It was just that blatantly obvious, wasn’t it?

I feel I would have been more satisfied if when you wake up in the pod after Shaun’s been taken, that Father had come to personally wake you up.

With cancer threatening his life they’d need a genetic back-up for the synth experiments and you’re the closest match. So out a sense of familial-fueled curiosity he accompanies the recovery team, but you manage to fight back and escape and you build up kind of an antagonist viewpoint of “Father” up until the moment you meet him in the institute, where he reveals he’s Shaun. Boom! Story twist.

It’s probably just as easy to see coming, but hell if it isn’t more engaging.

Maybe the reason Father has cancer in the first place could be because he tried to get out of the institute at a younger age and he got irradiated trying to find you? Then when he’s leader of the whole place he finally has the clout to force people to take him to you.

And with that kind of approach, when you possibly decide to take down the Institute his sense of betrayal towards you will feel a fuckload less hollow!

“Oh mother! I can’t believe you’re against the institute, especially since all they did was murder your husband, my father and kidnap me, putting you through almost literal hell trying to find me, only to find that they’ve robbed us of any meaningful time we were ever going to spend together, just so they can built robots that can more effectively kidnap and replace other people’s family... I thought more of you!”

And it’s fucking bullshit! You can’t even convince him that he’s wrong!? What kind of shit is this? I get that not everyone who’s committed horrible acts for “Good intentions” can accept that their actions were horrible. Some terrible people die safe in the personal knowledge that they’re probably not monsters.

But they are. And in the case of Shaun, this is a fucking videogame. A place where I as the gamer, the one in control, should have some sway in the matter.

Up until this point there has been an option to change everyone’s minds.

Fuck, I talked an armed chem dealer into not only leaving a place empty-handed but to also give me all his money before doing so. And he’s a chem dealer on the surface, he’s probably legitimately crazy.

So the apparent lack of any option to reason Shaun over to your way of thinking is baffling, since he’s so enamored with you that he actually names you his successor as leader of the institute (Which is another problem entirely).

If he values you and likely what you think so much why is there no option to persuade him to re-think his position? It’s mind-boggling!

To touch some more on the point I just made about how you can become the leader of the Institute, Why is there no active “good” option for this?

Why is it I can be named the Successor to the head-seat of the Institute but I’m not allowed to take this information to say... The Railroad and let them know that as soon the current leader is gone that I control the place where Synths come from.

Or take it to the Minutemen and tell them that in a little while Synth’s probably won’t be a problem and in fact might even serve as pretty good servicemen for the Minutemen (Especially the Gen 1 and 2′s).

Or I could go to the Brotherhood where I’d undoubtedly be shot on sight for saying I control the Institute.

Why can’t I choose to continue Synth production, but refuse to continue the abduction and replacement of humans on the surface?

Or why can’t I opt to halt Synth production to focus on things that can make surface life better? Like more effective water purification? Or something that can clean radiation from soil? Hell, even just make prosthetic limbs or organ replacements?

Admittedly, I’ve never seen fit to actually take the Institute option at the end. Even so, there’s a whole load of potential good that can be done with the place and for all my searching I can’t find a shred of evidence to suggest that any of it is actually possible... So far as I’ve seen the only difference you get in siding with them is that Synth’s take up control points on the surface and talk about how they control everything now.

In summary, the story is the weakest part of the whole Fallout 4 experience and it’s all Shaun’s fault.

#Fallout 4 #Analysis #Story #Spoilers #Shaun #Father #Bethesda #Gripes #blunders #shortcommings #fixes #opinions

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