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ecargmura · 1 month

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Pokemon Horizons Episode 48 Review - Artistic Freedom

Congratulations, Roy, you finally won your first official battle! It took 44 episodes, but there’s some progress! This was a good episode highlighting Roy’s positive and negative qualities and showing off what he is like as a character. As a positive, he’s innovative; however, his negative quality is that he is impatient. I think that he needs to have someone tell him that he doesn’t need to rush and that he needs to take his time to progress and improve his battling.

I’m surprised that Roy had two battles in one episode. The first was a match between him and Nemona, which he loses, obviously. Though, this battle does show his impatient aspects as he immediately wanted a rematch with Nemona as he blamed the loss on the rain but gets stopped as he was told by Brassius to focus on art. The second battle was the long awaited rematch between him and Brassius. This time, Roy was a bit more strategic and got his first victory.

I love the parallelism of this match. When Brassius first appeared in Episode 10, he was in an art block and Roy was the one who helped him out of his funk. Episode 48 has it to where Roy was struggling and Brassius was the one to give him advice by comparing battles with art. Like art, battles can use many different strategies and styles for expression. Pokemon Trainers express themselves with their Pokemon choices and battle style, so it is an art form in a sense. Speaking of which, Fuecoco learned Stomping Tantrum during his first match with Brassius, but it’s ultimately his newly learned Flame Charge that scored a win for Roy. You know what this means? Fuecoco got rid of Ember! I think what makes Roy’s battle exciting is the fact that Fuecoco has the most variety in his move pool. Fuecoco is seen using the most moves of the main Pokemon by far too! Floragato mainly uses Magical Leaf and Quick Attack and sometimes Scratch while Quaxly only knows three moves.

The subplot with the art festival is actually nice! Like how Katy’s episode focused around baking, Brassius’s episode focused on art and creativity. Hassel and Liko’s father Alex appears in this episode as well. Alex came to the festival due to his picture books. I was a bit disappointed that Hassel and Brassius’s relationship was only mentioned and their closeness wasn’t really shown other than them saying pet names to each other. I get that this is a kids’ show and that the focus is on Roy. Maybe if they were to make another appearance in the future, their closeness will be shown? Despite that, I do love how each of the kids’ art works is a reflection of themselves in a way. Liko is a naturally gifted artist thanks to being Alex’s daughter, but she works with her Pokemon as they finger paint and she does the Arboliva drawing. Roy uses clay and when things get awry at first, he and Fuecoco burn the clay and even uses metal rods to hold it up. I’m actually amazed that he can make a clay sculpture of that caliber. He has artistic talent as well. I think that him using clay is a reflection of his active personality and that he was raised on an island as clay is made from minerals found in nature. Dot’s art piece revolves around using Tinkatink’s hammer obsession to make a ferris wheel. She’s the only one to borrow another trainer’s Pokemon as she borrow’s Roy’s Wattrel for the mechanical aspect of it. This reflects her tech-savvy background. As someone who loves art, this really got a kick into my artistic creativity. I hope that it does the same for all you artists out there!

Now that Roy passed his Basics test, it’s now Dot’s turn! Will she pass? Will she fail? I have this inkling of a feeling that she’s going to fail the first time and then pass the second time. Why? For drama. Anyways, what are your thoughts on this episode and what are your predictions for the upcoming Dot vs Iono match?

#anipoke #pokemon horizons #liko #roy #fuecoco #dot #nemona #pawmot #brassius #sudowoodo #alex #hassel #review #anime #anime review #ecargmura #arum journal

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purplerose244 · 3 years

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Irrational - Chapter 4: Study

Fourth day of the @spacecampweek, here I come! We’re talking ‘Freckles’! 😍

This is a short, fluffy one, with the participation of head over heels Seamus and oblivious Krel! Enjoy!! 💙💙

Summary: It had started as a random subject of a research during his free time. It had turned into a realization science could hardly explain.

Read it on the AO3

Krel was finally ready to put an end to this.

After all, at first, it had been all abound finding a way to pass time while Mrs. Janeth explained her limited understanding of math to the class. In all honesty, it could had been anyone else in that room, every single human might had caught his eyes during his desperate effort to find something interesting to do. It had turned out to be him probably because having another person besides himself appearing this bored – to the point of falling asleep, impressive – had been almost comforting. Giving a look had been normal, staring a natural consequence.

Then, he had noticed them.

Despite what absolute new environment was this planet, he had taken his time to discover a bit about this place. It had turned out that biological bodies possessed quite the variety of features, and those red dots were only a minuscule part of it. They were called ‘freckles’, defined as extra patches of coloring or pigment under the skin: a hereditary trait, typical of humans with clear skin and called ephelides by professional human healers. They apparently emerged as an over product of melanin, and they reacted to ultraviolet radiation – if their morning star was such a problem, how come they had not worked on a planetary shield yet? Ay ay ay, these humans.

Even with this knowledge and the awareness that it was nothing more than a few points, Krel hadn’t been able to look elsewhere. There was something fascinating about seeing theory applied into reality, even for a matter as simple as this – besides, anything was better than this lesson.

It had started like this.

Then, it had become a constant. A regular occurrence to hold on to.

His life was the very opposite of normal, his existence alone would have gained him that infamous ‘weirdo’ nickname even without his own apparently unnatural personality. There had been hardly a time where he had the benefit of having something to hold onto, his sister was his rock but with the arising danger the risk of losing her as well as their parents had made him grown restless. His mind was too much sometimes, highlighting every single thought. He had needed a distraction.

A study.

Of course, it was so simple! There was clearly a reason why that freckled face was so captivating to him, he needed to research, as always! When something other than fixing their ship to go back home had made its way into his mind, life had turned out to be a little less stressful.

Getting a good look at Seamus during lunch was awfully easy, the blonde himself always seemed interested in him – not sure why, perhaps Krel’s way of eating was almost too human like –, and it seemed like every time those red points doubled. He was sure of it, even during the skelteg situation, seeing him run away had been enough to notice the change – that occurrence had been particular, especially since Mary had given him such a smirk, was she aware of his experiment? –, concluding that there was definitely something going on. Between bounty hunters and school, the chances to take a look had been quite numerous, to the point he had noticed Seamus staring back sometimes, a scowl on his face – hard to tell if it was threatening or his natural expression.

Then the math duel had happened, some pleasantries had been exchanged, the subject had turned out to be someone he might had been interested even as a friend – hearing him looking at him in amazement later in Battle of the Bands had definitely helped –, yet somehow Krel had managed to forget to check on his face the entire time. Which was ridiculous, since he had been unable to think of anyone else but him, even after the delson was over.

What was worse, observation had turned out to be extremely difficult from that moment forward.

It was clear, the blonde was now aware of his study and was doing his best to prevent him from doing it. That had involved covering his face, turning away from him when he was around, and most of all activating biological defense mechanisms. Turning his face red in order to hide his pigments, a truly advanced tactic.

Luckily it worked only when Seamus noticed him staring. Seeing his freckles over his nice, relaxed, pink skin was quite the moment. Even a pleasant one.

More delsons had passed… more than they were supposed to.

Krel was still not back to Akiridion-5. They were still not home.

Not only that, but everything in his life was crumbling. Morando was still out there plotting who knew what, the Mothership was grounded with little chance to go back to fly, Varvatos was a traitor and had almost died for them and now had disappeared. It was piling all over, one brick over the other, it was getting hard to deal with everything. Aja had said it was going to be okay and that had been nice at first, but somehow infuriating later. What did she know? What if it wasn’t? what if it wasn’t going to work out, and they were only stalling the inevitable??

At the end, behind all of these problems, all uncertainties about the future, everything came down to this stupid, insignificant thought into his mind, the one that kept making him inevitably interested into that guy. His own most serious issues weren’t going to be solved anytime soon. If he could at least stop stressing over one thing, it was going to be for the best. It had started as a way to spend free time, but now… he was afraid of what it implied.

Steve had been useful for once, explaining to him where to find Seamus – “Good luck lovebird!”, he did not need that name after the birdie encounter. The theatre was not very crowded for now, he had been able to lean against the wall to wait without being bothered by humans. Today it felt like he could had lost his patience very easily.

At some point a group of guys exited the building, blues eyes crossed his.

There they were, those freckles. They were more than ever. He truly didn’t understand what was happening, why couldn’t he give it a rest and- ah, there it was again, that defense ability of his. Biological beings were such a mystery.

“Tarron?” Seamus blinked at him, confused. “Huh, uhm, hi, what are you doing here?” His friends waved at him with little grins, leaving them alone.

Krel breathed out, feeling the weight of everything ease a little from his shoulders. Huh.

“I am here for an experiment. I have been conducting it for some time now, I am sure you have noticed.” Judging from his confusion it seemed not, which made no sense considering his responding attention to his movements. “I have a certain fascination towards an aspect on you, and I would like to conduct one last test before leaving out the question once and for all. I am dealing with a difficult situation, I do not want any other problems getting in the way.”

“Problems…? Wait, f-fascination?” Oh, apparently there was no limit on how red this human could get. If only he wasn’t there to end his research he would have gladly tried to pick on this new topic. “F-for me? Huh, I mean… what experiment?”

“I will need you to stay still for me. I promise I will not harm you.”

“Whatever you wa- I mean, uhm, s-sure no problem!” Seamus was still staring, a little red, nodding his head. He looked in a way Krel couldn’t described. Not bad. Very nod bad.

“Very good. With your permission.”

It was only a study. He had weirder stuff in the past, especially during his skelteg interest phase – he had enough of those bugs for now –, this was nothing. Observation had brought him nothing, there was a chance tact was going to be useful and lips were the most sensible part of the human body. It only made sense, so he held Seamus’ cheeks and pressed his mouth over his freckles, between his eyes and his nose. Nothing. No difference in texture, nothing he could reasonably conclude. There really was no point into his tests. Despite the feeling of failure, there was something pleasant into touching warm human skin like this.

When he pulled away, a wave of shame hit him, as this problem wasn’t going to be solved and was going to be add to all the others. Then he looked up, seeing the freckles disappear once again, and the largest grin he had ever seen appear.

Seamus was giggling, eyes glimmering.

“That… that was… eheh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “… nice.”

“Nice? Really?” Krel was confused. Was his failure a joy for others? This human couldn’t be that cruel. “It is good to know I guess, because my study was a complete failure.”

“Your what now?”

“It does not matter… I should go.”

“What?! No, wait!” Humans could be quite swift. Even strong, at least judging from the way Seamus had clawed his shoulders. “You didn’t! I mean, I have no idea what this is about, but it wasn’t a failure, I promise!” There was still no trace of the freckles. It felt like this entire experience was place outside his comfort zone, Krel was starting to shake. Curiously… he didn’t hate it. “I liked that, I swear, I’ve been thinking about doing stuff like that with you for a while now!”

Krel widened his eyes. Stuff like that? Stuff like what? Checking the subject of his study? Allowing others to perform tests on him? Why was this confusing, he was never confused!

“I don’t understand…”

“You kissed me, you do understand! And it felt good, and I would like to do it more!”

Kissed?… wait.

“It felt good? Really?” Seamus nodded vividly, looking like he was dying to be understood. But… but that was ridiculous, it was only a brush between human skins. How could it be something pleasant to experience? “Does it truly feel this nice?

Seamus widened his eyes. He swallowed, stepping closer.

The prince felt a sudden wave of tension hit him.

“Yeah, it does. It’s like, well…” The blonde swallowed again, slowly holding up his chin. “It’s… it’s probably clearer through practice than theory.” His finger was shaking. Krel was also shaking. His blue eyes were getting closer and closer, bigger and deeper, something he had always known from the very beginning. Huh. Perhaps he didn’t notice his freckles alone. A sekton later they were closed, and the prince felt a pressure over his cheek. His entire body was enveloped by flames. His mind was emptied, finally free from pressure and pain. “… s-so?” Seamus was looking again, still with those enormous eyes, expecting a conclusion.

Krel was frozen. Oh. Huh. That was new. Feeling stupid. That was very new.

Those freckles were never multiplying, nor they were particularly engaging on a scientific level. They were Seamus’, he was getting closer. That had always made the difference.

A little smile arrived, because at last, he did have one answer.

“You’re right, it does feel nice.”

Seamus breathed out, looking relieved and so, so happy. So very endearing.

“Good. Great, awesome, I mean…” He reached out for him again, embracing him, close to his chest. Krel could hear his human heart. It was beating. What a very fascinating topic again. “D-does this mean the experiment is still on? Are you still gonna watch me during math class and all those times?” He did notice. He really was smart. Perhaps he wasn’t completely accurate at determining exactly the topic of the research, but he was close enough. Krel really liked that aspect of him. “Because, well, in case you want to go beyond observation and deepening the study, we could, I don’t know…” He laughed nervously, his hold tightening. “Uhm, deepening the research? Maybe d-during lunch or something?”

It felt like reaching a very high point in science. It felt like at least one thing was going right into his life. He was right, the research was still very much open and able to develop, it only had a wider subject now: the entirety of the Seamus Johnson.

The prince slowly smiled, welcoming the feeling of warmth over his face.

“I’d like that.”

#space camp #space camp week #toa space camp #kreamus #krel x seamus #toa kreamus #krel tarron #seamus johnson #tales of arcadia #toa #toa fic #toa fanfiction #fanfiction #toa 3below #3below

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hajike · 4 years

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hitsuhina: Forecast

For: alexiethymia for the hitsuhina gift exchange! Feel free to check it out on AO3 too :)

Words: 2.3k

Notes: Set post-manga ending and based off your lovely headcanon -

-Renji, once when he was really drunk, consolingly put his hand on Hitsugaya’s shoulder as if to say he understood. Hitsugaya’s ensuing glare could freeze his soul and he then realized that it was only because he was Hinamori’s friend that he wasn’t cut down on the spot.

Whatever had happened on the trip to and back from the 6th Division’s Senkaimon had apparently completely rattled Renji’s brain. Somewhere along the way to return Ichigo and his friends to the Human world after the wedding reception, Renji had taken whatever speck of common sense he had and promptly tossed it out with the last pathetic remnants of his self preservation.

Or maybe, Toshiro reasoned, they had gotten attacked by some remaining Quincy. Or Arrancar. Or even bloody Captain Mayuri looking to test out his new toys on some unsuspecting idiots idiots. Hell, maybe this wasn’t even Renji, maybe this was some Reigi clone, because the real Renji would know better than to—

“—keep holding strong, Captain Hitsugaya! The bond between you two is strong, stronger after everything, just like ours! Happiness is still in reach!”

Toshiro eyed the arm firmly draped over his shoulder with no small measure of disgust. Renji appeared oblivious to it. The vice captain’s other hand was frantically wiping the horrid mix of tears and snot streaming from his face as he kept choking out, “I know, Captain Hitsugaya, that if you persevere! If you persevere, you too will be in my position one day, joined together with your childhood—“

The small bit of reiatsu that leaked out of him was enough to freeze the sake cups before them solid. As well as a good portion of the mess on Renji’s face, along with part of his hakama sleeve. “Ah! My nose! What—“

Renji lifted his slightly frostbitten head to meet Toshiro's stare and froze. What little of a drunken flush he had left quickly bled into a look of deep regret. Ah, the poor man had sobered up some. Enough, at least, to realize that it was only the smallest of margins that kept him still able to use his extremities, margins that included the fact he was a vice-captain of the Gotei 13, that he had imbibed enough sake to not be completely in control of his motor functions, as well as the most important—

“Oh, Renji! Congratulations again!” Momo’s voice echoed through the bar, even through the din of Rangiku appearing to be challenging Captain Kensei to another drinking game in an effort to keep him from dragging away his already unconscious lieutenants away. Pour souls.

Toshiro forced himself to pay some attention to the ensuing scuffle, even as his childhood friend smiled across the table, her face beaming with a drunken flush and pure joy. Joy currently directed at the man putting careful distance between him, rubbing at the icicles that still clung to his nose.

Renji’s face was lit up in relief at her arrival. “Momo! Just in time!”

Toshiro shot him a sharp look just as Momo blinked. “Eh?”

Renji darted looks between the both of them - Toshiro’s face blackened with impending doom and Momo’s slight confused smile, one of her hands brushing back a small strand of hair that had fallen from her intricate bun. The newlywed's mouth opened and closed, once, twice, and just as Toshiro was rather sure the man was about to stick his foot in it—

Rukia slid in neatly beside him at the head of the table, her arm linking with his. Her face was a mask of polite geniality of the Kuchiki variety. “Ah, my apologies Captain Hitsugaya and Vice Captain Hinamori! I’m sure what my husband meant to say was, how glad he was that the two of you could make it to our reception! And with everything seeming to wrap up, you’re both just in time to give last congratulations.”

It was a shoddy deception but effective, Toshiro had to admit. Momo’s face immediately brightened at seeing the now married pair. Renji was staring at his wife like she was Bodhisattva come again. Although, to be fair, it wasn’t a far cry from how he typically looked at her so there was every chance he had already forgotten the precarious position his loose lips had put him in.

“Rukia! Rukia, we’re married! In the marriage registry! Together!”

Definitely. He’d definitely forgotten. And gotten sidetracked enough that he was gushing about his wife again, same as when he’d first sat down next to Toshiro. Although now she had appropriately substituted in as his arm rest, thank the frozen heavens. Rukia’s answering smile as she leaned into his shoulder was full of amusement and a near overflowing affection. “Yea, Renji. I was there.”

Toshiro couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Renji’s answering cheer, knowing it was only the fact he’d frozen the sake in his cup that it didn’t spill all over the inebriated man and his now wife. Although Rukia probably wouldn’t have minded much, not with the lovestruck look on her face from her husband’s excitement.

The soft moment was interrupted by a sudden hiccup, following by the sound of high pitched sob. Ah, Toshiro noted with a wry smile, crybaby Momo strikes again.

“Rukia, Renji…I’m so happy you’re together!” She was looking at the linked pair of Vice Captains with tears streaming down her cheeks, frantically wiping at an eye with the corner of her kimono. “So..hic…happy!”

Toshiro frowned. Ah, she was gonna mess up the sleeve. Rangiku had gushed about the kimono to him earlier, calling her one of her best selections apart from her own peony patterned one, selections that had taken a good half a day longer than the time off she’d gotten approved for. He’d complained as much as expected, but it hadn’t been that much of a chore taking over the paperwork. Not when they’d both returned flush faced and grinning over the spoils of their fabric battle, sharing excited giggles and promises to visit that draper’s again. And besides, paperwork actually got done faster without Rangiku there to stuff the longer forms in the back of her cabinet.

Momo’s own kimono pattern was dotted with peach blossoms and was a soft blue that left the whiteish pink petals as a striking contrast. A far cry from the dull brown she’d used to favor in their youth. Then again, it had been some time since he’d even seen her with a new kimono. Or new anything.

Resolving to give Rangiku some leeway the next time she insisted on rushing off for another girl’s shopping spree in the human realm, Toshiro jumped in, “Stupid Momo. Aren’t you the one who told them they had to have a wedding ceremony? Now you’re going to spend the entire time crying?”

She sniffed in response. “I can’t help it! It’s so wonderful! After everything, it feels like my heart is boiling over in excitement!”

“Eh? You sure it ain’t just the entire bottle of fruit sake you finished on your own?”

“Shiro! I did not!

He shrugged, leaning on an elbow. “Right, right. Your zanpaktou must have just evaporated it, huh?”

Momo puffed out her cheeks, ready to snap back just like her sword’s release, only for a crash from the other end of the bar to take their attention. For heaven’s sake. Toshiro groaned. He took his eyes off Vice Captain for five seconds and this.

Apparently Captain Kensei was not at all as straight laced as he had been led to believe. Or maybe he still didn’t understand exactly why it was that no one ever accepted a drinking battle with the Vice Captain Matsumoto. Toshiro had seen members of the eleventh division clear a path for her the day after one particular competition, one where he’d heard on good sources that both Madarame and Yumichika had needed to be sent to the fourth after. Commander Kyōraku was one of the few that could keep up with her, although with his new duties he hadn’t had much time…which might explain why Rangiku was currently trying to induct Kensei into her drunken circle.

“Ha! You’re just on three? I’m on four, Captain of the Ninth, four! Four whole bottles of sake!”

Mashiro had woken up from her slumber, although not necessary her stupor, to cheer her captain on. “Waa, Kensei! You’re losing, you’re really losing! Your super lieutenant is so disappointed!”

Hisagi slurred next to her, “Your super-duper lieutenant is still here for you, Captain!”

Red faced and swaying a little, Rangiku still shot him a look, “Ah, Shuuhei, you’re really rooting against me? I’m hurt! Our drinking relationship means nothing to you, huh?”

“Oi, don’t try and turn my vice captain against me,” Kensei growled, eyes narrowed and barely supporting himself on the table with a hand. “Loyalty is everything in the ninth! Right, Hisagi!”

“Ah, no, I mean,” Hisagi waved his hands around, “As your vice captain I’m rooting for you, Captain! By as a friend I’m also rooting for Rangiku! Not that I don’t see Captain as a friend, I—“

“Wait, how many bottles?” Rukia leapt from her seat, yelling out, "Idiots, we’re covering this one, you’re gonna use up all our gift money!”

Renji, who had apparently been relying on his wife to sit up straight, cursed as he started to slip sideways. Toshiro watched with amusement as Momo struggled to catch him before he broke his head open on the table. He kicked away the leg of an already passed out Kira before she tripped on it, ignoring the way the man drunkenly groaned and rolled over, cuddling a sake bottle to his chest.

Rangiku was absolutely unashamed facing the new bride. “Ah, ah, already tight with the purse! Just ask your brother, I’m such Captain Kuchiki would love to assist his lovely little sister!”

“Like hell I’m asking my older brother to cover you drunkards! I’m taking this out of the seventh and tenth division budgets, don’t think I won’t!” Rukia shot back.

Rangiku puffed up, pumping a fist holding a sake cup in the air. “Too bad! Captain already cut my expenses off from the division! Besides, I have! No money! Hah!”

“Wow,” Mashiro said, eyes wide and nursing another sake bottle. “You say that so proudly, Rangiku! Amazing!”

Kensei looked at them with a stricken face. “Wait…am I on the hook for this? Dammit, you evil witch! You’re worse than Lisa!”

Beside him, Momo laughed, light and free. Toshiro couldn’t help but tear his eyes away from the developing scene again to watch her. She’d managed to balance Renji before he hit the table, which was good, although the man had already broken free to cheer his wife on in her berating of their drunkard friends. Quite loudly, if he might add. Momo seemed none too put off by it, her laugh only growing louder as Renji offered to back Rukia up in beating the sake out of them. Toshiro barely registered the noise, attention entirely fixed onto his childhood friend.

It’d been…a long time since he’d seen her laugh like that. Growing up her smile was a given, as regular as the sun rising in the morning or one of his spinning tops knocking everyone else’s out. She’d smile at everyone, everything, and always saved that brighter smile for when he was looking at her and returning it.

Granny smiled at him too, but it wasn’t the same. Didn’t feel the same, anyways. Momo had always smiled like she was welcoming the world home, taking everything around her in and finding such delight in it that it couldn’t help but spill over her face. Her smile was energy, condensed, and he’d coveted it like a man starved.

And maybe he had been. It had certainly felt like he was wasting away whenever she was upset, or hurt, or during those long months she’d been in the fourth and twelve divisions recovering from the betrayals of a world that dared not value her enough. Her. Of all people.

Other could tease him all they wanted on their childhood friendship, their suspicions of further feelings, but Toshiro never spared a thought for what they thought, only following what he knew. And what he knew was that Momo was the most important person in the world to him. That he would protect her, always, that smile of hers, the light of hers, that unending warmth she so freely gave, every bit of her light that graced this world and blessed him with the opportunity to bask in it.

It felt greedy to ask for more, when he’d already been given so much. And yet…

As Rukia made the ill formed decision to challenge Rangiku to a drinking battle for the money, Momo’s giggles turned to quick snorts of amusement. When Rukia began to argue about taking shots of alcohol per body mass instead of cups, and that Rangiku counted as three of her, her snorts turned into peels of laughter that left gasping, following by — a rather loud burp.

Toshiro raised his eyebrows in astonishment. The noise managed to wake up Kira for a second, who promptly hit his head on the underside of the table and passed out again.

Momo clapped her hands over her mouth in embarrassment. Toshiro slowly smiled at her and she flushed further red. “It—it was the sake!”

“Uh-huh,” he replied, unconvinced. She noticed and hunched her shoulders, kimono wrinkling at the action.

“It was!”

Toshiro leaned his chin against his hand. “Bed wetter, cry baby, and burp champion, Momo. You’re really wracking up the titles, huh?”

“Shiirroooo,” Momo groaned, burying her face in her hands completely. The sight of her, flushed and embarrassed because of him, sent a quick burst of contentment in his chest, a warmth that was at odds with the permanent chill of his reiatsu. He couldn’t help but let his smile soften as she continued to bluster in embarrassment, somehow also managing to press closer to his side as if trying to hide in his captain's haori. He absentmindedly tucked her closer, running a hand down her back.

A flicker of movement nearby caught his eye and Toshiro looked to see Renji giving him a smug look. It would be worthy of reprisal if not for the soft, understanding gleam in his eyes.

Toshiro humphed and turned his head away, making sure not to move so much that the inebriated woman latched onto his shoulder fell off.

Fine. Maybe Renji was onto something.

#hitsuhina #bleach #hitsuhina gift exchange #hinamori momo #toshiro hitsugaya #t

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bugsybeans · 6 years

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Haters Just Need a Hug Part 3

Summary: Phil’s soulmate tattoo ends up being a homophobic slur. Can he convince his supposed “other half” to love him back, regardless of his gender?

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Homophobia, swearing, mentions of death.

A.N: In all honesty, I’m not as proud of this chapter as the other two, but it was the best I could come up with for where I’m at in the story. I definitely have more planned for this fic though! Thank you so much everyone that liked the first two chapters, you really motivate me to keep writing. Anyway, I’ll shut up now. Enjoy!

Dan

Dan remembers when his aunt explained the concept soulmates to him for the first time. She sat him down and explained it to the best of her abilities in a way that her six-year-old son could understand.

“When you get to a certain age, you’ll get a tattoo, just like the one I have here.” She raised her left hand and pointed to the embolden words. “These are the first words that you’ll hear from a very special person. When you meet them, you won’t be able to let them go. They are the one chosen by God to be with you. You’ll fall in love with them, just like your auntie Christine and I.”

“Will it hurt, Auntie Jen?” Dan asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

�� “Not even a little, sweet child.”

Dan was preparing himself for war, or the beating of his life. But what he got instead was the same hateful spirit expected from his parents directed towards the man with the sparkling blue eyes. Dan’s newly discovered soulmate. His father spent the entire car ride home complaining about how “he was pushing his lifestyle on his son” or making up conspiracies about how it was all a stunt to get them out of there. Whatever it was, Dan thought, it had for once made his father angry at someone else.

That was the last Dan had heard of the guy for the next few days. His life actually went relatively back to normal. Well, if you could call homeschooling and church rallies normal. But Dan couldn’t help but wonder what the guy with the matching tattoo was up to. Did he attend festivals like that consistently? Had he ever gone to church? Soon enough, all of his thoughts were consumed with him. It was too much to bear.

Then, the once innocent thoughts started to take a sinful turn. He was wondering what his lips would feel like against his own, what he looked like shirtless, or what their bodies would like pressed together. Dan prayed, and prayed, and prayed. Nothing could take his mind off the man with the striking blue eyes.

But thoughts are just thoughts, right? Besides from zoning out and occasionally waking up with wet sheets, they didn’t carry into his life at all. His parents were none the wiser. That was, until he actually started showing up.

Phil

Charlie’s pissed. Of course, him being Charlie, he won’t admit it, but he’s still pissed nonetheless. Ever since the parade, he has locked himself up in his room, not even coming out for meals.

“Charlie! Hey Char, I know you’re upset, and I completely understand why. But I was wondering if we could put on a film or something?” No response.

“We don’t even have to talk about it. Look Char, I just want my roommate back.” Phil banged his head on the door to his best friend’s room, the same one he’s having to speak through.

“Has it ever occurred to you how much you mean to me? You were the first person in my life who has ever made me feel wanted. Do you know how that felt? But no, we have these goddamn tattoos that are supposed to tell us who to love. I love you and you only. No one else can ever replace you. But you’re destined to be with someone else, aren’t you? I saw the way you looked at him, Phil. In all the time I’ve known you, you have never looked at me that way, and that fucking hurts.”

“Charlie. I’m so, so sorry. You mean the world to me, I need you to know that. But, just like I can’t choose whether or not I’m gay I can’t choose who my supposed “soulmate” is. Trust me Char, if I could have it any other way I would. You are such an incredible person, I’m certain you will find your soulmate too. It will have been so worth it. But I don’t want to lose you as a friend, not now or ever.”

“I don’t want to lose you either, Phil.” Charlie opened the door.

“No matter what happens between me and him, we’ll always be close. I promise.” Phil asked.

“I would really, really like that.”

“Lets just put this all behind us.” Phil said. “How about a Buffy marathon?”

“Already one step ahead of you.”

———————————————————————————————————————

Phil had made amends with his friend for the time being. But there were far worse battles to come. First off, if he thought that having his thoughts attuned to Dan and his pretty face all the time was bad, running into him was even worse.

At first it was at the supermarket, which is probably the last place you would expect to see the love of your life for the second time. But unfortunately, the Universe absolutely adores surprises. They were both reaching for the same cereal box, completely unaware of each other, until their hands touched. It was so light, Phil could hardly feel it, but Dan pulled his hand away as if he had burned him with his bare hand. Phil tried to call out to him, but Dan had ran off before he even had the chance to open his mouth.

The second time was on the street, the two were walking on two completely different sides, going in opposite directions. If it wasn’t for the distance sound of a car horn, scaring them into taking in their surroundings, they never would have even acknowledged each other. Phil tried to cross, but the street was far too packed with cars. Besides, Dan had already hurried away, pretending that he never even noticed.

It was starting to get overwhelming. Phil couldn’t do anything without the intense thoughts of his lover. He didn’t even know him, yet he felt a sense of loss, like a piece of him was missing. He couldn’t let this go on any longer. No matter what, he was going to do everything in his power to clear things up with this boy, even if it means his homophobic family will hunt him down.

———————————————————————————————————————

Dan

He was everywhere. In his dreams, in his thoughts, in his reality. Dan was starting to think this was some kind of test that God is putting him through to challenge his loyalty, and he is determined to pass. He will not cave into his desires. Even if his heart says otherwise.

It’s family vacation season in the Howell household. Their religious practices are somewhat extreme, but their travel plans are surprisingly, relatively normal. Besides the fact that their bibles make more than half the weight of their suitcases. Anyway, Dan normally despises spending time away with his family, this vacation however, he couldn’t be more excited to leave. Something to finally take my mind off of that stupid boy, Dan thought. He must be a Uni student and on that kind of budget, he shouldn’t have the time or money to go to some family resort for summer break, right?

After dropping off all their luggage in their room, Adrian decides to head down to the beach to enjoy some of that Floridian sun. Dan makes the mental calculation, would I rather stay here and pretend to listen to my parents’ banter, or sit by the pool and pretend to watch my younger brother? He figured the latter is the best option. After all, he’s fortunate enough to have parents who can afford to take a week long holiday in Florida, so he should spend time enjoying it.

After a race down to the pool (initiated and won by Adrian, of course) he was sitting in a ridiculously comfortable lounge chair, the sun beams tickling at his skin. He only got to chapter two of Great Expectations before he drifted off to sleep. It was so easy, with the warm weather and the comforting sounds of distant splashing. But unfortunately, his beauty sleep was rudely interrupted by a group of rough-housing older boys. He was ashamed of the reputation bestowed upon teenaged males. They are seen as stupid, immature and sex-obsessed. And it’s groups like this one that only enforce the stereotypes. They were hollering, clearing drunk, while pushing one another into the pool. Clearly this was only to get the attention of a smaller group of girls, whispering and giggling to themselves.

“Let’s get this shit started!” One of them screamed, and turned on a bluetooth speaker that was blasting some hard rock music that his parents would deem is “straight from hell.”

Just when Dan got up to leave, he heard that all too familiar voice once again. “Hey Dan! Where are you going?”

He can’t escape. There’s absolutely no where to run to. It’s either facing his soulmate or running straight into the group of scary older boys. So, he once again chooses the lesser of two evils by sucking it up and turning to face that pair of haunting blue eyes.

“My younger brother is in the pool and I think things are getting a little too rowdy for a twelve year old.” Dan tried to keep his tone steady, but it came out broken and timid.

“Those guys? Yeah, they’re not the brightest but I can guarantee you, they’re harmless.” Phil said. “So, you’re here with your family?”

“Yes. It’s not like I would be here with anyone else.” Dan exclaimed. “We’re on vacation.”

“Well, me too. I managed to get time off of my job at Azda, so me and those idiots will be here all week!”

You have got to be kidding me. Dan thought to himself. He couldn’t help but stare at the boy in front of him. He was completely shirtless, with bright and green polka dotted swim shorts. That is so adorable. No, not adorable. Don’t give in. Don’t give in. Don’t give in.

“Well, so will we.” Great job idiot. Now he’s going to bug you at every chance he gets.

“Great! Look Dan, I’m going to have to cut to the chase here. First of all, I'm really sorry about the whole pride thing. I don’t know what overcame me. Second of all, I really like you. But I also completely understand if you don’t want that. Though unfortunately, it’s almost as if the Universe won’t let us stay away from each other. So, maybe, to give the Universe what it wants, we could try being friends? I promise, I’m not going to force you into anything, I just want to get to know you.”

Given his upbringing, Dan never really had any friends. Most everyone at his church is either elderly or a family with very young kids. Even interacting with someone his own age is a foreign concept.

“Okay. But I need to make it clear, I’m NOT dating you. Or any boy for the matter.”

“Got it. Message received.”

“By the way, I never caught your name.” Dan said.

“Oh yeah! How rude of me, I’m Phil.”

Phil. That’s really cute.

“Well I guess it’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you as well.”

Just before Dan could think of something else to say, his younger brother ran towards him, completely wet from swimming. “The lifeguard kicked me out. One of the drunk guys threw up in the pool.”

———————————————————————————————————————

Phil

Some of his buddies invited him and Charlie to tag along on their annual summer escapade. Of course, all of those guys hadn’t even come close to finding their soulmates yet, so the summer holidays were the perfect time to hookup with every guy or girl they find attractive. There really isn’t an exact age where you’re supposed meet your soulmate, some people have known them all their lives. But for most, they meet their other half once they become adults. In all honesty, if things work out with Dan, Phil won’t miss the occasional hookups or his attempts at dating. They were enough to satisfy the craving, but there were no true feelings behind it. Call him cheesy, but Phil has always looked for true, authentic love in a relationship. He has spent long enough waiting, he’s not letting Dan go. No matter what.

Anyway, he was very pleased with the way their conversation went. It seemed almost as if Dan was starting to trust him. Phil was so happy about that, he almost forgot about Charlie.

“Phil! Wake up! The guys want to know if you want anything to drink.”

“Um. I’ll just have a beer, thanks.” Phil said, snapping out of his trance. He was on cloud nine, really. A beach vacation with his buddies and a soulmate that might actually start liking him back. What more could he want?

———————————————————————————————————————

Dan

It’s just one week. Dan thought. I can do this. All I need to do is keep Phil and my family as far away from each other as possible. Sounds easy.

It really wasn’t. Dan’s family was very keen on doing things together. Even if one of their sons might possibly be gay, he sure as hell is joining in on the activities. Dan barely had time to himself, let alone enough time to spend with another person. But spending time apart from Phil was really taking a toll on him. Dan figured it was worth the risk getting caught.

When he heard his parents head to bed, Dan made a run for it. Well, as quietly as possible. Luckily, his brother slept like a log. Dan quickly changed, then went downstairs to the front desk where a young man with dark, curly hair greeted him.

“How can I help you?” He asked, lacking any enthusiasm. The late hours were clearly getting to him.

“Um.. I need to make a really important phone call, so I was wondering if you could give me someone’s room number?” Dan asked, avoiding eye contact.

“Yeah, sure. Who do you need?”

“His name is Phil.”

“Phil, who?” The guy looked at Dan expectantly.

“I didn’t catch his last name. But, I know he was here with a bunch of college-age guys.”

“Oh yes. The party kids. Some of them were kicked out due to noise complaints, but the ones that are left checked into room 207.” The man went back to staring at his computer, ignoring Dan.

“Thank you so much!”

That was a lot easier than expected. Dan thought. Now time for the really difficult part.

———————————————————————————————————————

“Um… Is Phil there?” Dan asked quietly into the phone. He was currently using the one in the lobby of their hotel room, right between where his parents and brother were sleeping. He had no idea what would happen if he got caught, but there would be a punishment for sure. Somehow though, getting to hear the sound of Phil’s voice made it worth the risk.

“Yeah… Phil! It’s for you!” The guy on the other end yelled. Must be one of his crazy friends. Dan thought.

After a few seconds of incoherent muffling, someone picked up the phone. “Hey what’s up?”

“Hey Phil. It’s me, the one you bugged by the pool.”

“Ha! Hey Dan, sorry I was going to give you my number. I completely forgot.” Phil said.

“It’s okay. I got your room number from the front desk. Is that too creepy?”

“No. Not at all. I’m actually really glad you called. Anything important you need to talk about?” Phil asked, concerned.

“No. I just kinda wanted to chat.”

And so they did. For nearly four hours, the two shared jokes, interests and anecdotes, all without worrying about being judged. It was the first time Dan had ever been truly honest with someone, and the first time since his aunt passed away that he fell asleep smiling.

#phan #angst #homophobia #phanfiction #phil lester #daniel howell #teenage!dan

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perahn · 6 years

Text

Codex Entry #3

The encryptions acquire a new layer of complexity at this point, as though the writer has grown more creative, more intelligent, more paranoid, or all three. As well as the devices formerly used, the writer has started using a system of scattered dots – some raised, some dug into the page, and some developed into tears – as well as directly encoding the text into diagrams and drawings, so that what appears to be a graph is in fact a description of a fight against flumphs, minotaur skeletons and a flameskull, while a lovingly-rendered sketch of a dozing displacer beast conceals a furious tirade against sorceresses and illithids.

… Threat Assessment: Shayazi (9th revision)

Shay continues to develop her skills; I suspect her elders at the monastery will be pleasantly surprised by her progress when we return. My own capacities likewise increase; my options to deal with her, should it become necessary, are more varied and likely to be efficacious than previously. As in previous revisions, the key is to keep my distance and to strike first. There are only two issues prompting this update to her previous threat assessment.

The first is this new power she has developed since her experience with the clerics of Yurtrus. It is, of course, counter-productive to ignore the very real impact the gods can have on the world, either directly or through the actions of their idiot faithful. I would not have predicted that Shay would choose to align herself with such parasitic, demanding and arrogant creatures; I will even confess to a small disappointment. I had a higher opinion of her than that. Nevertheless, I cannot deny that it has earned her power. I have not seen her use it often enough to be entirely certain of its purpose, which is concerning, and, having opened the door to divine interference in her life, it is difficult to see where it may stop. I shall monitor her for developments.

The second is possibly more concerning. Harper continues to ingratiate himself with her, quite blatantly, and I am unsure how to counter him. She is supposed to be my bodyguard, but I confess I have been depending unduly on her own sense of duty. The means I would use to cultivate another Red Wizard are almost meaningless to her, and although I am learning as swiftly as I can, the fact remains that Harper is more familiar with such tactics. If I should lose her to him, the balance tips dangerously out of my favour… My advantage, I think, is that I know the Order of the Long Death tolerably well, and what Shay has been used to within its walls; I can leverage that, but then Harper’s manoeuvring against her inexperience is covering much the same ground. Brothels, really? That is not ground on which I will compete. Gifts, perhaps? She and Twitch seem to have developed something of a rapport – perhaps that Bag of Tricks I saw in the bazaar would amuse her?

A span as yet decrypted follows, eventually clearing into the following passage. In contrast to the tone, the writing remains steady and even.

… he spoke, and I raised my hands to my eyes and gouged them out. I gave them to him, and he mounted them in his rotting eye sockets. It took exactly seven strokes of the dull blade to sever my tongue. My mouth filled with blood, washing the spells away. Then I forced the blade through my left wrist. It stuck halfway, and I screamed that I could not obey until he set his hand over mine and freed the blade. Twenty-three strokes to cut off my left hand. Thirty total, average fifteen. I begged him to help me. I could not cut off my right hand without help. I promised him anything he desired, if only he would help me sever it as he wished. He said the means was within my power. I set my teeth to my right wrist. Blood and blood. Crack and crack. Again. Two hundred and sixty-one. Seven. Fractions. Twenty-three. Again. Thirty. Broken numbers. Fifteen. Broken. Again.

- I did not recognise the voice. I am unsure what this dream portends, but at least it was relatively mild. I was more disturbed when it changed and I felt them again. All those mage hands all over me. All of them watching and laughing. I thought I’d trained my subconscious out of replaying that particular memory. Probably the alcohol was to blame; I had similarly undisciplined and unpleasant memories in place of useful dreams after Khaseth poisoned me.

Still, these things pass. It is more important that I retain clear memory of everything that occurred while I was so stupidly drunk, and more important still that I did said or did nothing irredeemable. In fact, my training held almost perfectly; with one exception, everything I babbled about could either have been gleaned from commonly-available sources, or reasonably extrapolated from them. Or, indeed, from my observable behaviour. The exception, of course, is that while Harper could have safely assumed that I distrust him and wish to penetrate whatever it is that veils his mind, he was extremely unlikely to have guessed that I considered Banishing him. His reaction to that was a little curious, I think… I am still not convinced that he is human.

My mouth still tastes of stale blood, my brain feels rather as though someone is carving its sulci deeper with an acid-coated awl, and we set out into the Underdark today. I truly have become dangerously stupid out here. I suppose that is one good thing to be said for the presence of the drow; I have someone to keep me from drifting entirely into poor habits.

The next few pages contain disdainful descriptions of a wide variety of fungus.

… Threat assessment: Katy (6th revision)

Wild Magic effects: Invisibility on others but not herself; pink, feathery beard. Inanities.

New spell observed: Hex.

Katy has become far more adept with her magic, to the point where her effectiveness in a recent battle came perilously close to matching my own. I am not averse to letting her waste her spell energy, but nevertheless… this sudden increase in her usefulness in concerning. I might be mistaken about divine magic, but not this. Hex is not a usual manifestation of sorcerer magic; it is a warlock spell.

She would not be the first sorcerer to realise her haphazard innate magic is not sufficient, and to turn to other means of procuring power. The warlock pact has always stood ready for such fools. It would also, possibly, explain the peculiar creature she summoned and called Bob; it could easily be a manifestation of her patron, or a creature that answers to it. If she has indeed sold herself to a patron, it falls on me to discern what manner of being it is, and what its motivations are likely to be. Some of the beings known to sponsor warlocks are highly inimical, while others are simply unknowable. There is no telling what actions it may require of Katy.

Of course, there is the possibility that I am getting ahead of myself. There are other means by which Katy might have acquired a warlock spell, not least that it may simply be an unusual quirk of her wild magic. Nevertheless, I judge her quite likely to have made such a pact. I will watch her behaviour closely for evidence for or against this hypothesis. I also intend to question her about that summoned creature, and possibly study it for myself. It seemed to have an unhealthy influence over her.

… cannot shake the feeling I am overlooking something obvious. The letter to Metoth Zurn must have been intended as a test for me; there are myriad secure ways that wizards such as he and Anishta Daraam could communicate. There is a portal between their territories, for Szass Tam’s sake: they could have spoken in person! I probably performed much to expectations – that is, not sufficiently well to avoid putting myself in a vulnerable position. What is the relationship between those two? Why would she inform him of an artefact and potential influence to be gained instead of going after it herself, if it were genuine?

The whole affair makes much more sense if it is not – but, then, it could hardly be aimed at Metoth Zurn, as he would hardly go after it himself. Unless the artefact itself exists as a threat to him… There are too many unknowns at present.

It would make more sense still if it were all directed at me, but I have hardly done anything to mark myself for disposal – unless Anishta Daraam is oversensitive about perceived disrespect. Which she might well be, given that her blue eyes clearly mark her blood as impure. I can more easily understand why one of the others at the Skullport Enclave might wish to remove me: I would turn a wary eye myself on someone who had a personal audience with the head of my Academy, who then made a public showing of her prowess, asked for uncommon materials, and went on expedition. But the letter predates that. If, then, this is truly aimed at me, it must be orchestrated out of Thay. It would not have been too difficult to arrange. I must think more on the rivals I left behind me…

… Threat assessment: Taliesin Harper (23rd revision).

This man is taking up far too much of my precious thinking time. Nor do I expect the situation to resolve soon; almost every time I approach him with questions – of which I have many, after some of the things he said or implied during that unfortunate drinking session – he is otherwise occupied, obviously not disposed towards inquiry, or forestalls me by asking a flurry of his own questions. It’s not that I mind answering, since almost everything so far has either been obvious (are you homesick, then?) or utterly pointless (so why go back?) – it’s the time it takes. It would seem counter-productive to refuse to answer or to tell him to shut up so I can take a turn (and I can all-too-easily envisage the infuriating smirk that would answer me if I said anything so foolish). So, among other things, this revision marks yet another conversational weapon.

Well. He gave me a look with a distinct ‘I intend to castigate you later’ overtones after I confirmed my hypothesis about the drow and his relationship with Lloth. Possibly after such a conversation, if I can appear sufficiently contrite, I might have an opportunity to interrogate him. Such information, naturally, is unreliable – I know he is an accomplished liar – but anything is better than the mystery he currently presents.

He continues to spread his pernicious influence among the group. He already had Katy under reasonable control when we met; as noted in Shay’s last assessment, he appears to have made alarming inroads there as well. It is more difficult to judge his progress with the drow – not least because their conversations are almost invariably nauseating – but at the very least, he is more courteous with Harper, and seems more inclined to listen to him. He certainly places Harper as the leader of this disparate little group, when anyone with even a passing familiarity with my order should cast me in that role. In any case, it is probably safe enough to assume that when Harper makes the move for which he has been gathering so much support, the drow is likely to side with him.

He still has not displayed any magic beyond whatever it is that shields his mind. Furthermore, while he continues to grow stronger and swifter in combat, he has shown no unusual development at this point. However, he has grown sufficiently talented in stealth to successfully approach the drow undetected. This is of severe concern.

I know I have not verbally told him more than I wished to at any point, but I suspect that has not been enough. If I could survey his thoughts I could glean a more accurate assessment of what he has deduced about me and my capabilities, and I would feel a great deal safer. I know he is attempting to manoeuvre me into some position, but I do not know what that is, or what he wants. He remains one of the most dangerous threats I have encountered, and it seems that I still need him. I must be more cautious, and I must learn more.

… bitterness on the wind, less pungent that the acidic decay in the black water roiling around me. The Silent is unheard. Lashing tentacles, a host of mouths all over its body. The Thirsty is taking notes. One eye, larger than the mind can hold. The drow laughs. Eighteen. Teeth, black in black mouth in black water. Twenty-five thousand, two hundred and five point six. The Erratic vows vengeance for a hat. Tentacles snaking around my wrists, tearing my hands free. Blood in black water, laughter like ashes on the wind.

- Again this… dehanding… element surfaces. Two main connotations continue to occur to me. The Tyrran – although there is some confusion, since Tyr is represented with one missing hand, not two, and still called by the epithet ‘the Even-handed’. And, of course, it may also be emblematic of the loss of power, especially when it is my own hands. In any case, it has surfaced often enough to be of concern. Also a point worth noting: this dream marks the first in which all three of the recurring can be clearly identified, and the first in which the drow appears at all. This is disturbing on a number of levels.

Threat Assessment: The drow (4rd revision/6th including Garrod Drake’s entries)

New spell observed: Mass Healing Word. This is definitely indicative. As far as I can remember from my brief study of divine magic, this is solely the province of clerics. This raises three queries. 1) Do I recall correctly? Divine magic is not particularly interesting, and my notes on the subject are long ago destroyed. There might be other disciplines with access to the spell. 2) Did I observe correctly? It might have been some other spells with a similar effect, and I was not particularly close to him. 3) How did he cast it? Scrolls and other enchanted items are only the most obvious ways to cast a spell to which you would ordinarily have no access.

If, however, I do remember and did observe correctly that he cast Mass Healing Word, it strongly suggests that he might have some cleric training. This correlates moderately well with his obvious issues with spiders and his status as a male drow. Lloth despises males and does not permit them among her clergy. He must follow some other deity (as strange a thing that is to speculate about someone so obviously capable in his own right). I cannot seriously imagine him worshipping an idiot goddess of dancing naked in the moonlight, and Eilistraee is the only other member of the Dark Seldarine I recall at present. Of course, he might have chosen the god of some other pantheon entirely to fellate in exchange for power. Mask, perhaps? In any case, while this hypothesis seems sturdy enough to guide my actions, it demands further evidence.

I suspect the others do not truly understand just how dangerous he is. Like myself, he was born into a society of power-hungry individuals, his value only in his use to those above him in power or in what he carved out for himself. Temporary alliances bound for betrayal, an innately dangerous world around him, a certainty of death or something much less pleasant as punishment for mistakes. Like myself, he’s survived so far, which marks him as an individual of cunning, ambition, and cleverness. However, there is one crucial difference: I am a Red Wizard, and, as such, one of the ruling class of Thay. My enemies are, for the most part, roughly my equals in power. The drow, on the other hand, is a male – part of the lowest possible classes in his society, deliberately kept subjugated. He has therefore risen respectively further than I have, has probably maintained his position longer (given drow lifespans in comparison to human) and so, is better at this than I am.

He is also on his own territory here. His advantages cannot be overstated. I wish I had found a means and opportunity to speak to that drow who warned us not to ally, even temporarily, with our guide. I might have learned something of use.

The drow knows my order well enough, probably, to predict my actions – one reason why I decided to try a tactic borrowed from Harper and offer an apology for needling him about the spider corpses. It was not as difficult as I thought it would be, although still I disliked doing it. His reaction was also satisfying, if inconvenient. It is a distinct relief to speak to someone who sees the world as it is, and respects me sufficiently to assume that I have good reasons for what I do.

If the moment were right, I could disable him. At the very least. I occasionally entertain the image of Animating his corpse and forcing it through all sorts of indignities. Pleasant as the thought of the drow grovelling at my feet is, it would probably not be worth antagonising Shay or the chance someone would resurrect it.

The next page is encoded as a drawing of a rotting, kneeling drow.

#writing #d&d #dakoyone #codenamecynic #bettydice #alternative ethics #Khemuret Xul

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bard-llama · 4 years

Text

O war! thou son of hell

Read on AO3

Calanthe had prepared before engaging in what would become known as the Battle of Hochebuz. She had done everything right – planned her strategy, stationed her men in tiers to play to their strengths – hell, she’d even held the calvary line herself when it came down to it.

Her plans had paid off. The Nazairi banner retreated further by the moment and Cintra was victorious. She was victorious.

Calanthe took stock of the battlefield around her. The grass had gone soggy with blood, even in the few spots that weren’t occupied by some part of a human body. Some of those bodies likely still lived, and with the war won, now she would have to begin the long process of clean up.

Calanthe pulled off her gauntlet and helm and swiped her hand across her face. The taste of blood in her mouth was familiar, but she was used to it being her own. In the height of battle, literally keeping her front line from crumbling, Calanthe couldn’t even be sure of that. She turned her head to spit and saw the tooth she hadn’t even realized she’d lost fall to the ground.

Was it wrong that she felt like laughing? But even with the cost, Calanthe had more than shown that she was a Queen to be reckoned with and that knowledge thrilled her. She had fought and she had won. And now there was blood in her mouth and adrenaline coursing her veins and her muscles were tense and ready – but there was no enemy to fight. The Nazairi military had retreated and all that were left were those too injured to flee and that was hardly a good fight.

She wanted a real fight, something she could sink her teeth into and tear apart.

But the war was over. Her people needed her to take charge in the aftermath: to oversee the sorting of bodies and check in with the medical tents and begin drafting the ransom demand to return Nazair’s men to them. If she truly wanted to be Queen, she had to lead not just in battle, but in the filthy reality that came after.

When her father had first taught her of war, he’d told her that the worst part of it was living. When she’d drawn back in confusion, he’d explained that if you died in battle, you died a hero. But if you lived, you had to actually continue on – and that meant figuring out where her kingdom stood now and pulling order out of the chaos of battle.

Calanthe forced her jaw to open and began barking out orders. The men in earshot lept into motion at her voice – and if it was a little too high, a little bit tremulous, no one dared comment. As her men checked who was alive and who was dead and which side they were on, Calanthe strode towards the medical tents. Her face was stretched into a feral grin and she couldn’t seem to make it change even though people flinched away when they saw it.

Her boots squelched as she walked and the stench of blood and shit and mud was overwhelming. And still, Calanthe felt on the verge of hysterical laughter. Where was the horror, the disgust, the agony over the realities of war? Wasn’t that what everyone talked about? Whenever the knights talked about their first kills – after they were drunk and somber and honest – they talked about throwing up and passing out and pissing themselves and just generally losing control of themselves in face of the true horror of war.

As she bullied the medical tents into order and ensured they had enough supplies, Calanthe kept waiting to feel like that. Oh, she felt out of control – her grin was bloody and broken, but she couldn’t make her mouth move and her fists still shook even though clenched tight enough to turn white. But she didn’t really feel anything about the war itself, except for wanting more, wanting another target to slash at, another enemy to thrash.

“Your Majesty,” a young squire approached her, sweat and blood dotting his forehead. “Forgive me for being presumptuous; I know there are many demands on your time. But I wondered if, perhaps – that is, if you have energy to burn, wouldyoubeupforaspar?”

Calanthe blinked. “What?”

He shifted awkwardly and cleared his throat. “Would you be up for a spar?”

She tilted her head, looking him over. His heraldry was of a minor Cintran noble family, and if he’d been serving as squire to any of her knights, then he damn well knew how inappropriate it was for him to approach her so casually.

Calanthe liked that. And the suggestion of a spar – energy was still coursing through her veins, making it difficult to stay still for any period of time. A spar would settle both her body and her bloodlust.

“What’s your name?”

“Danek, Your Majesty,” he bowed his head to her.

“All right, Danek. Let’s spar.”

He returned her feral smile and followed her when she rose and left her command tent to find somewhere appropriate for a spar. Appropriate, and perhaps private. While this squire seemed to know that she needed to fight, others would likely be less understanding, and the last thing she needed were rumors tainting her victory.

Calanthe led the squire past the medical tents set up and away from the battlefield. She brought them to a rocky hill and drew her sword. She should have asked Danek if he was sure about this. These swords weren’t blunted and their armor was not in the best state after the battle. If she failed to pull a hit too soon, he could easily lose a limb.

She couldn’t force the words out, and Danek didn’t seem to be waiting for them. He drew his own sword and took a guarded stance with his sword held low. Then he waited for her to make the first move.

Calanthe was delighted to oblige him, blood already pumping with the fever of battle as their swords clashed. Danek was actually quite skilled, but his experience was lacking. Which wasn’t unexpected – starting at ten years old, squires were the youngest actual combatants on the field, and they were expected to survive four years of that to become a knight. Calanthe, who had been knighted by her father at her fourteenth birthday, had at least a couple of years of experience on Danek. He was probably close to becoming a knight himself, but sometimes, that extra bit of experience made all the difference.

Fighting was natural for Calanthe. She had drilled hard as early as her father would let her hold a blade, and each motion required no thought at all. Danek was fast, but his inexperience meant he left openings and wasn’t thinking about his overall tactic. His next slash left his right side open and Calanthe stopped her blade a hair’s breadth from his armor.

“I yield,” he dropped his sword away from her with a giddy laugh. “Wow, you’re – you’re incredible, Your Majesty. I thought I almost had you a few times, but – wow.”

Calanthe’s face finally felt like it would respond to her commands, but she kept her feral grin nonetheless. “You did pretty good. When are you due to be knighted?”

“At the end of the year.”

“Hmm,” she looked over him assessingly. There was an inkling of an idea growing in her mind. If her men had been better trained, she wouldn’t have lost so many. But the ranks of knights were too numerous – every nobleman’s child was expected to become a knight. They were groomed for it from the age of eight as pages, before graduating to squires at ten years old. Their actual training depended on their parents – who, presumably, had survived long enough to have children, but who may or may not have been skilled themselves.

But Calanthe had the power to change that. “What if knighting were based on valor and skill, rather than a coming of age expectation?”

“Are you asking me?” Danek asked, eyes wide.

She hadn’t been, actually, but now she was curious what he might say.

“Well, um –” Danek darted a look at her face and she hoped this wasn’t the moment he learned deference. He licked his lips and straightened. “I think that’s a good idea, Your Majesty. But what happens to the nobles who never become skilled enough to be knighted?”

Calanthe tapped her fingers against her sword. “There’s no real point in having all nobles serve. Untrained soldiers are as much a threat to their own side as their opponents. It would be better if we could manage training for all knights to ensure they’re up to standards.” She looked Danek over. “How would you like to help me figure out this system as my Knight Commander?”

He blinked at her, face slack. “What?” his voice came out as a squeak.

“I’m making you the test,” Calanthe decided. “Kneel.”

He dropped to his knees without question, even though he continued to look gobsmacked. She raised her sword and placed it on his right shoulder, “As your Queen, I grant you this commendation,” she raised the sword over his head and placed it on his left shoulder, “which will symbolize your duty and bond as liegemen in fealty to the crown of Cintra.” She stepped back, pointing her sword down and resting her palms against the pommel. “Rise, Knight Danek.”

He slowly pulled himself to his feet. “But – why?”

Calanthe clapped him on the back and began leading them back to the command tent. “Because you knew what I needed and you took care of it.” She shrugged, “I need men I can rely on.”

“I will always strive to be so, Your Majesty.” Danek bowed his head to her with a grin tugging at his lips. “And thank you. I’m squire to my older brother and he’s an absolute blowhard.”

Calanthe chuckled. “Well, keep it up and soon he could report to you.”

She rolled her neck and reveled in the way her muscles were finally releasing their tension, the way her pulse was slowing and instead of the frenetic energy of before, lethargy settled over her. This was the proper way to respond to the aftermath of war.

She would have to remember for next time. A spar afterwards with someone who could keep their mouth shut, and she could be the Queen her people needed her to be.

In the meantime, Calanthe would explore this new knight structure and she would see how Danek shaped up as a knight. She expected to have many more victories in the years to come, and she was determined that the losses would be fewer.

#my fics #queen calanthe #danek #war #tw blood and gore #the witcher #fic #writing #knights

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