#division dance battle

[wanderer-stan]

𝗛𝘆𝗽𝘀𝘂𝘁𝗲 || 𝗕𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗣𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗱𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄.

𝗖𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 (𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 by @/linktieria) || 𝗧𝘄𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 || 𝗢𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗦𝗶𝘁𝗲

#hypnosis mic #hypmic #hypnosis mic rule the stage #rule the stage #hypsute #hypstage #buster bros #fling posse #mad trigger crew #matenro #dotsuitare hompo #bad ass temple #north bastard #onigawara bombers #dotonbori divers #itonokai #desperado 4 #D4 #division dance battle #battle of pride #*butai #i'll support you guys until the end 😭

[nonsenseofyesteryear]

Anime I've watched so far in 2024:

Trinity Blood

Dance Dance Danseur

The Mystic Archives of Dantalian

Moyashimon

Aoashi

MARS RED

HYPNOSISMIC: Divison Rap Battle - Rhyme Anima

Chaika: The Coffin Princess

Undead Murder Farce

Liar, Liar

Talentless Nana

Berserk of Gluttony

My New Boss is Goofy

School Babysitters

KAWAGOE BOYS SING -Now or Never-

Libra of Nil Admirari

And I have 24 shows left in my watchlist (assuming I don't add any more, which I'm liable to do)

#anime #trinity blood #dance dance danseur #the mystic archives of dantalian #moyashimon #ao ashi #mars red #hypnosismic division rap battle #hypnosismic #chaika the coffin princess #undead murder farce #liar liar #talentless nana #my boss is goofy #school babysitters #kawagoe boys sing #libra of nil admirari

[sapphire-writes]

Hey, if your requests are still open and you accept... How about Aemond being inevitably soft towards jace's twin (who he claims to hate)? Maybe they were close as children but they drifted apart due to family division. During her family stay at kings landing, not a day goes by without them engaging in some good old fashioned arguing/battle of wits. One day he finds her all alone and in distress and before he can say something mean, she bursts out crying and hugs him tightly (almost like he's the only solid thing around her). Cue Aemond being out of sorts and unable to get out a scathing remark out while innerly: "No, stop! I'm supposed to be mean and scary. I'm not soft 🥺🥺"

A/N: Oooo nonnie I loved this request. I love some banter, I definitely ran with them really taunting one another. I hope you like this! I made them pretty feisty towards one another 😂💚

Dragon's Bane ~ Aemond x Velaryon(Strong)!reader

word count: 1.8k

warning: reader is Jace's twin, some violence

masterlist

EDIT: PART 2 is live 💚

Your stomach twisted with nerves as you arrived at the Red Keep. Your mother squeezed your hand, to comfort you and you offered her a small smile. You glanced at your twin Jacaerys who stood tall, looking towards the red towers. Luke, however, paled at the sight before him. You placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“It shall be alright,” you told him, causing him to smile weakly. Driftmark’s succession had been challenged, the reason for your return to the capital. You pushed your fear down, deep inside of you. You needed to be there for your brother, focused on nothing else. 

As your mother and Daemon made their way into the castle, you followed your brothers towards the training yard. The sound of clashing steel in the early morning rang out across the yard as a crowd gathered to watch. Jace nudged your elbow, beckoning you.

Finding a window between several heads you saw your uncle, Aemond Targaryen, was the source of all the clamor. He twirled expertly away from Ser Criston’s attack, silver hair fanning out behind him. He looked rather graceful, as though he was engaged in a dance rather than a fight. 

Aemond and you had been close as children, friends even. The two of you bonded over not having dragons of your own. Aemond was not awarded a dragon in cradle, and yours had failed to hatch. It wasn’t until later in your adolescent you had claimed a dragon of your own. 

With the loss of his eye came the end of your friendship. Luke was your brother after all, it was your duty to protect him from the Queen’s justice. Though you empathized with Aemond, for the wrong done against him. 

“Nephews,” Aemond called, “niece.” His sword was pointed, his violet eye locked onto you. He was handsome, you had to admit, even with the scar and the eyepatch that hid half his face. 

“Come to train?” he asked, a challenge more than a question. Your twin stood eerily still next to you. You snort out a laugh as his remark. Aemond’s eye narrowed.

“Something funny, niece?” he asked, as you crossed your arms in front of you. 

“I just found it rather unappealing, tis all. Need your ego fluffed up a bit more, uncle?” you told him, raising your brows. Aemond’s mouth formed a tight line. Jace’s head snapped towards you. 

“Sister,” he warned. Aemond’s lip curled. 

“Careful, niece,” he says, voice smooth, “you begin to tug free from your brother’s leash.” Aemond makes a tsk sound with his tongue. Your cheeks fill with fire. You open your mouth to say something else when Jace wraps his hand around your arm. 

“Come on,” he orders, pulling you from the scene, “he’s not worth it.”

The incident in the training yard was hardly the last quarrel you got into with your uncle during your time at King’s Landing. It was as though your mere existences annoyed one another and yet you could not see to stay away from each other. 

Everywhere you went, he appeared. The library, the gardens, the sept. There was no escaping his torment.  

“I didn’t know you could read, niece,” Aemond had said, snatching a book you tried to reach, walking past you. You huff in frustration, trailing after him, deeper into the library. 

“Give it back.”

“Ivestragon issa isse valyrīha,” he says (Tell me in Valyrian). 

Your face scrunches. Your mother tongue has been difficult for you and your twin to learn. You and Jace spent ages in the halls of Dragonstone practicing the language of Old Valyria. 

“What?” you ask, causing Aemond to smile at your defeat. 

“Nykeā zaldrīzes qilōni daor ȳzaldrīzes,” he says chuckling (A dragon who cannot speak).

You curl your hands into fists. You can feel the humiliation in your bones.

“Say it in the common tongue, if you’re so brave,” you taunt him, reaching for the book. He moves out of the way effortlessly. 

“Kostilus tolī.” (Perhaps later)

“It must be exhausting, being this insufferable all the time,” you tell him.

“You’re very cruel when you are feeling inferior,” Aemond tells you, a smirk on his face. 

“Inferior? To you?” you bark out a laugh, “you wish.”

“I already know it to be true,” he says, leaning against a desk, “in knowledge, in name.”

You sigh dramatically, tipping your head back to expose the skin of your neck. Your dark curls fall down your back, bouncing at the action, nearly mesmerizing your uncle. 

“You speak so poetically uncle, it almost feels like you’re trying to make a point.”

Aemond merely hums in response. He eyes your neck as though he wishes to sink his teeth into your flesh and tear out your jugular. 

“You always were a spiteful little creature,” he murmurs, eye narrowing. 

You hold his gaze for a moment. 

“Give me my book.”

“No, it is mine.” 

Your mouth forms a smirk then, eyes gleaming with mischief. 

“Cannot part with it for an afternoon?” you tease, pouting, “very sweet uncle, like a child with a toy.”

This causes him to throw the book across the room. 

Dinner is a nightmarish event. A fight is likely to start once your grandsire is removed from the room. Aemond stands to make a final toast. 

“Final tribute, to my nephews, and niece,” he drolls, holding his cup out. Your ears ring as he continues, you watch his smug mouth move the words lost to you. All you see is red. 

“I dare you say that again,” Jace says, from his spot with Helaena. You stand from your chair and move away from the table. 

“Twas only a compliment,” Aemond insists, “do you not think yourself strong?” 

Jace is on him, punching him in the jaw. Aemond barely moves, pushing Jace to the floor. You walk over to him, slapping his cup from his hand. It clatters to the floor, the wine pooling like blood. Aemond’s smirk only grows.

“Do you not tire of being your brother’s lapdog?” he says. You slap him before thinking of the consequences. He turns back to you, cheek an angry red. He twists his hand in your curls, pulling you close to him. You can feel his breath on your face. There is only Aemond in the room, the noises around drown out. You hold his gaze, both of your faces masked in rage. 

“I hate you,” you hiss. A growl rumbles low in his chest. 

“I hate you right back.” 

Daemon has to drag you from the room, at the instruction of your mother. You sit within their chambers trying to cool your head. 

“You are too quick to anger,” Daemon scolds, as you fix your hair. The roots sit painfully from being manhandled by your uncle. 

“He vexes me,” you snarl and Daemon chuckles. 

“He will not bother you long.”

You look towards your mother who rests her hand on her stomach. Her lilac eyes are sad. You wish you looked like her, especially when you were young. You often dreamt of waking with lavender eyes and silver hair. 

“What do you mean?”

Daemon glances at Rhaenyra for permission. Though Daemon has been your father figure for most of your life, he still looks to Rhaenyra for guidance when it comes to you. She nods.

“When we return to Dragonstone, you shall journey to Winterfell,” he begins, “to wed Lord Cregan Stark.”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins. It was only a matter of time, you supposed, but you had hoped your mother would delay it. 

“What?” you say through your teeth. 

“My love,” Rhaenyra says beckoning you to come sit with her, but you back away. 

“No, no! Mother please,” you beg, tears filling your eyes. Your voice is strained and panicked. 

You have sat in your mother’s lap and listened to her cry over being forced to marry. You have seen her tears and listened to her sobs in the night when she believed you to be sleeping. You have seen her unhappy, heard her thoughts on the matter. And yet she puts you in the same position. 

“I will not go!” you insist, though you are afraid you sound like a petulant child with your demands. 

“You shall do your duty,” Daemon says, a warning look in his eye. You do not meet your mother’s gaze as you flee from the room. 

Aemond finds you in the gardens. He had come to get some air after the event of dinner. When he spots you sitting on a bench his whole body tenses. He feels a throbbing where his sapphire eye sits as though your very presence is enough to bring on one of his painful fits. 

Aemond struts towards you, tongue ready to release a cruel remark. A twig snaps beneath his foot in his haste and you turn towards him, tears streaming down your face. Aemond feels as though he has been kicked in the gut as all the air in his lungs leaves him. 

Your face is red, dark eyes glassy with fresh tears as you stand. Your lower lip wobbles as the streams on your cheeks glisten in the moonlight as fresh tears wet your face. Aemond’s lips part as he readies to speak, to throw an insult your way. 

A sob slips through your lips and suddenly your arms are around him, and her nearly topples over as you throw your weight onto him. His chest muffles your sobs as you hide your face from him. Aemond froze, his hands held out to his side, as you anchored yourself to him. It is as though you cannot leave King’s Landing as long as you are tethered to him. 

Your hands claw his back, holding on as though someone intends to tear you from him. You are in the palm of his hand, how easily he could humiliate you now. But he does not. Aemond’s arms relax against you as he holds you to him. He brings a hand to stroke your dark hair from your face. 

He finds himself unable to speak, the words fizzling from his mind as he feels the heat from your body melt into him. All he can do is stroke your hair, rub soothing circles in your arm as his tongue fails him.

It unsettles something within him and disturbs him. His bastard niece, this is wrong, he thinks to himself. Aemond does not believe himself to be a comforting man. The kindness he displays to his niece is foreign to him. 

You hate her. 

You despise her. 

She is everything you loathe in this world. 

You look up at him with those big brown eyes, and Aemond believes you must think the same about him. Neither of you speaks. This is not a language either of you knows. But as your cries lull, you stay in his arms in the gardens bathed in moonlight, exploring this unknown territory together.  

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond drabble #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond imagine #hotd aemond #sapphire answers #house of the dragon fic #aemond targaryen fic

[t34-mt]

northern winter uniform of GA soldiers, explanation on the history behind it under ->

21-06-23 edit:

Since GA is the first and last war altuyur had, well maanuls and kyhuines didn't know how to even battle properly. Many things related to that age have a sort of clumsy beginning, and so do uniforms. Firstly they used modified versions of the decorative armor that were originally used in theatrical plays, religious performances, and even sports. The modified versions had fewer metal pieces, and no decorations, but were completely inconvenient as they were not thought out for battle. Combined with the crazy temperature recorded in the battlegrounds (mostly in the southern desert) armors were just terrible! a literal oven. So quickly they abandoned the armor to just tissue, but uniforms stand out so much from how their clothing normally looks that looking back at them, it just feels alien to them. lifeless even. an example of an early armored uniform can be found here.

Now back to the northern uniform, when a small part of the north joined the red troupes by believing in their aggressive propaganda campaigns. They then had to make special uniforms for the recruits and soldiers, as in the north there are seasons when the temperatures get quite low. Much like what you have in western/central Europe, which makes the far north of altuyur stand out as the rest is hot with only 2 distinct seasons.

When making the northern winter uniforms they based it on already existing pieces of clothing (in this case basic northern winter hunting clothes with some pieces taken from dancing garments), but striping them off from any decoration, simplifying them to the bare minimum. Moving the ventilation holes to the side of the torso to protect the opperculums more, tho it makes them quite uncomfortable but recruits and soldiers just get used to it. The most "unique" thing about the uniforms is the patch on the arm with the person's name, and yet that piece is easily rippable, in case the owner dies so they can just rip it off and recycle it for new naive recruits that aren't even aware someone died in these clothes before.

They lack any creativity to them, for maanuls as well as a kyhuine these are soulless, as they highly value the art of crafting. There's no passion, no real purpose but a nonsensical war in these uniforms. Nothing to make them truly worthy in their culture. These are just morbid for them to look at during the silver age.

The maanul featured in this drawing is Qua'tuli, which easily translates to "one'whisker". He's a northeast maanul which explains his dark pelt, he has a singular whisker with a mole and is born without tahofahs which is a birth defect and also means he can't smell anything. Like many young influenceable people, he was tricked to join the red troupes thinking it would make him a hero for his people forever, that the war would just last a week, that they'll easily reach kaar'kchir in a week. And that after his service he will be granted special permissions (ex: being able to build his own fisherman's house, building permissions is a law that appeared in GA to force people to join the ranks). Although he started his service in the west as he was living there. When the north joined the war his division was then sent to the north.

here's a silly drawing to show the 3 layers

Fun fact, Monmartre and Qua'tuli meet as young recruits in the west. Enjoy monmartre that caught a cold.

#qua'tuli #oc #my art #uniform #concept art #xenogiology #traced the legs under several times to assure myself its not funky #and yeah its accurate but that still makes him look like he's going to fall #artists on tumblr #speculative zoology #worldbuilding #digital art #sketch #brown #xenobiology #maanul #GA #altuyur #long text jumpscare #txt

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Nineteen - Dance Lessons

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

Your entrance to the throne room is entirely different today than it was yesterday. This time you’re walking in on your own two feet; albeit a tad bit painfully. But, it gets better by the minute.

Seungmin walked next to you. Both of you kept up light conversation on your way in. He asked questions about the front lines, everyone’s wellbeing.

It surprised you how many questions he asked about Jeongin; you had no idea how close the two were.

As per usual, Chan and Minho were at the back of the throne room. Both of them are talking about the war and different things they had planned.

When you limped into their view, they stopped talking. Chan stood up from his throne quickly.

“Y/N!” he exclaims. “What are you doing out of bed? You need to be resting.”

You scoff and roll your eyes with a smirk. “Attempting to keep me in bed would be the same as it would with you, my lord.”

Minho smirks and chuckles lightly, his hands clasped behind his back.

“She is correct about that one,” Seungmin mutters under his breath.

Chan sucks his teeth and meets you halfway across the room. His hands hover all along your body, trying to place them somewhere. He wants so badly to help you, hold your arm to help you walk, check the bandage underneath your pants to see if it needs to be changed.

But instead, he settles for grabbing your shoulder lightly.

“How are you doing today?” he asks gently.

“Fine, my lord.” You look down at your leg. “It is a little sore, but nothing I cannot handle. I have felt worse.”

Chan clicks his tongue. “Your Elven blood works fast.”

Hearing him say that still sends a chill through your body. The rebuttal sits on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow it. For the first time in your life, you just let a comment like that roll off your back.

“Thanks to Felix, it is only a typical stab wound.”

The grip on your shoulder tightens a bit. A cocktail of emotions fly over Chan’s face, you’re not able to read all of them. His facial muscles twitch so much with each one.

You clear your throat and look down at the floor.

“Any news of the front lines?”

Chan releases your shoulder reluctantly, his hand dropping at his sides. He shakes his head once before turning to walk back up to his throne.

Minho is the one that speaks up. “Aye, our armies successfully captured Fort Burnside.”

You and Seungmin walk up towards the throne together. 

Yes, you’re thrilled that Miroh has claimed another victory. But, why does it feel so bittersweet? What are you all missing?

“Why do you seem so upset by that?” Minho asks you.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by you that his question seems genuine. There’s no venom or passive aggressiveness to it. 

“Forgive me if I do not seem as mirthful as I should be given the victory.” You pause, looking down at the floor. “It is just… This all seems too easy.”

When you look back up at Minho and Chan, they’re both listening intently to your words.

“I began to grow suspicious after the victory at Bonereach Blockade. It was not until my journey home with Jisung that I realized we have not seen a single soldier from the Mercy Division.”

Chan’s eyes widen and he sits back in his throne.

“I believe Erbus is plotting something. They are lying in wait until our guard is down.”

Seungmin shifts next to you. “Is the Mercy Division the ones who–”

“Yes.” Chan cuts him off. “Yes, they are.”

Chan moves around on his throne and rests both of his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in between.

“Not a single one has been at these battles?”

“Nay, not that I have seen, my lord.”

He nods a few times, looking around the room in thought. Minho watches the side of his face carefully for any reaction. He’s probably able to read him like a book at this point.

“It seems you are not alone in your suspicions, Minho,” he speaks to his advisor without looking at him.

Chan’s eyes shift to Seungmin. “Do you think that Inuin’s ambassador will have any correspondence about this?”

“Hard to be certain, but most likely. If Inuin is planning any sort of alliance with Erbus, this is how we will find out.”

The Jarl’s eyes flicker to your face for a moment before he looks back at Seungmin. His head cocks to the side a bit in a nervous twitch.

“I just do not believe that–”

“Chan, it is the only way, and you know it.” Seungmin interrupts him.

“She only just got back.”

This grabs your attention right away.

Chan continues, “The circumstances have changed due to the injury. I strongly believe that she should not carry out this mission with you.”

Once again, do they not realize you’re right there? You’re having flashbacks to your first visit to the throne room.

With one eyebrow cocked up, you raise your hand a bit and grab all three men’s attention. “Hello? I am right here?”

Chan shifts around once more. His nerves are making him too fidgety to stay still in one place for too long.

“Apologies, Y/N.” he says quickly. “I am simply… apprehensive about the mission that we had called you back to Miroh for given your current state.”

“I spent a better part of the day informing our Jarl that nothing will keep you here, injured or not.” Seungmin doesn’t look at you when he says this, he keeps eye contact with Chan.

You roll your eyes. “I can speak on my own behalf.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you look off to the side. “I would also very much appreciate it if I was told what this mission was. You have been alluding to it since before my departure a month ago.”

Seungmin and Chan stare at each other for a few more moments. If looks could kill there would be a double homicide in the room.

Neither of them answer you. 

Minho scoffs and grabs your attention. “You know of Inuin’s ambassador’s masquerade ball, correct?”

“Aye.”

“You are to attend the ball with our rogue and assist in pickpocketing the key off of the ambassador so that Seungmin can sneak up to his office and steal whatever correspondence he can find.” 

You raise an eyebrow and eye Minho suspiciously. “And how am I supposed to do this? I am no thief.”

“Nay, but you are a woman with a high appeal.”

The compliment goes right to your head and your heart stutters in your chest. Your cheeks suddenly grow hot and you can’t keep Minho’s gaze. 

Foot to foot, you shift your weight and clear your throat. 

“And?” you ask, voice a bit strained from the embarrassment of receiving a direct complement.

“ And , a man can become quite distracted when dancing with a beautiful woman.”

Your jaw drops a bit and you look at him with wide eyes. Then you look over at Chan, who has since broken his venomous focus with his rogue.

He rubs his hands together nervously, tongue coming out to lick his lips. “You can refuse.”

“It is the only way we can get those papers, Chan!” Seungmin’s voice is the loudest you’ve ever heard it. 

This man has never raised his voice once in your presence. Your head snaps over to look at him; his lip is pulled in a sneer and his eyebrows furrowed.

“I worked for weeks to get an invitation to this ball! Y/N says she is fine, the masquerade is not for another week, giving us plenty of time for preparation and travel.” His arms move about wildly to emphasize his point. “We will not get another chance like this one to get ahead on anything!”

Chan’s head twitches to the side and he sucks his teeth. His fingers pick at the skin on one of his hands.

“This war is bigger than you, Bang Chan. It’s bigger than anything. And you are apprehensive over something meaningless.”

Angrier and angrier, Chan’s expression pulls. Nevertheless, Seungmin keeps going. “It is only dancing! Do not sacrifice a military advantage simple because you harbor–”

“Enough!” Chan snaps suddenly. His voice booms out through the stone room.

Your entire body reacts; you physically flinch away from his bellow. Your shoulders come up by your ears and slump forward. 

Chan clenches his jaw so tight you see the muscles move around on the side of his face. The veins in his neck pop a bit. Seungmin remains still and silent.

A few silent moments pass. 

The Jarl looks down at his hands, collecting his thoughts. A long, heavy exhale leaves his nose before he looks up right at you.

His expression is still unreadable. But his eyebrows twitch like they want to pull together in pain. 

“Y/N,” he addresses you thickly. His throat bobs.

“Yes, my lord?” you reply weakly.

“ If you choose to complete this quest, you would be taught the ceremonial Dove Waltz. It is a tradition at formal Inuin events. During the dance, every man dances with every woman twice. You would need to successfully pickpocket the ambassador during one of these turns with him.”

A dance? You would need to learn a dance and pickpocket skills? In a week ?

Licking his lips again, Chan punches one of his hands into another while leaning back on his throne. His eyes leave yours for a moment as he looks around the room, then back to you.

“But it is entirely up to you and how you feel.” His eyes glance down at your leg quickly.

A soft ‘huh’ leaves your lips in disbelief. Tonguing your cheek, you fidget with your shirt sleeve for a moment. Then, you crack each knuckle on both hands.

“How simple is the dance?” you ask first.

“Extremely. Children learn it.” Seungmin answers immediately.

“And how easy is pickpocketing?”

Seungmin snorts. “Extremely. Children learn it.”

You can’t help but laugh and shake your head in disbelief. Glancing up at Seungmin, you raise an eyebrow at him.

“And would you be teaching me to dance?”

Before he can respond, another voice calls your attention.

“Nay,” Minho smirks. “That would be me.”

----------------------------------------------

“I did not even know that the Keep had a ballroom.” you say looking around the vast space. The ceilings are high and several chandeliers line it. Beautiful paintings cover the wall, it's a shame that they’re covered in a thick layer of dust.

“We do not typically use it,” Minho answers you.

When you had passed by in the past, you just thought it was a dusty, unused room in the back of the Keep. 

“When was the last time Miroh hosted a ball?”

Minho thinks for a moment, “I was a youngling when the last event was here.”

The door to the ballroom closes behind the two of you. 

A large fireplace was lit in the wall, different scones along the stone were alight with flames of their own. The light gleamed off of the cobwebs collecting in the corner.

“Why did we need to come in here?” you ask, glancing around the dank room.

Minho left your side and walked over to an apparatus that sat on the wall. It was about chest height and covered in a dusty, white sheet. 

“Miroh only owns one of these,” he grabs the sheet and pulls it off the instrument carefully. 

It looked like a cabinet with a horn on top. The brass curled around and got wider as the opening of the horn got bigger. A large crank sat on the side of the main body of the thing. 

“What is that?” you ask, eyeing it from a distance.

Minho behind winding the crank over and over again. Several clicks are heard inside the cabinet. While he’s cranking it, he fiddles with something on top.

He continues to ignore your question while he cranks the contraption.

You take a few steps closer to him, watching closely.

Minho stops cranking it and once he lets go, music begins to flow out of the horn opening. It sounds tinny and farther away than any live music you’ve ever heard. Your eyebrows furrowed together and you cock your head to the side.

“I am guessing the mercenary has never seen a crank music player.”

“Nay.”

Minho only smirks and steps closer to you. 

The music begins to play. It’s a slower waltz tempo, the music sounds smooth, each note flows into the next.

“Now, as Seungmin stated earlier, this dance is rather simple– children learn it.” He stops right in front of you, his head tilted down to look into your eyes. “We only have a week for you to learn it.”

“Do you believe it will take me a week to learn a mere waltz?” 

“Nay, I think it will take you a week to be able to pickpocket me while dancing this waltz.” His eyes scan you up and down. “Now, arms up.”

Both of Minho’s hands grasp at your own. He keeps your right one outstretched to the side and places your left on his shoulder.

Both of you maintain eye contact, something glints in his eye and you can’t quite put your finger on what it is.

“The steps are simple, Y/N.” His voice dips down to a lower register. The hand in yours tightens and grips you snugly. His other hand goes down and rests on your waist. “The man always leads, which means he steps forward first, you will step back. Left foot.”

Minho steps his left foot towards you and leads your body backwards, you step back with your back.

“Now, to the side.” He shifts both your bodies to the side. “Shift your weight a bit, now you step forward and to the side. It’s just a simple box that you’re stepping in.”

Your steps are a bit choppy, but you still do the steps nonetheless.

“Perfect, now we do this over and over while going in a giant circle for a bit.”

Without stopping, Minho leads you over and over again through the grand room. The music playing loudly from the player against the wall. 

After a few steps, you look down at the floor at your two clumsy feet. Minho quickly lets go of your waist to grip your chin.

“Eyes on me, mercenary.” he says lowly. Your jaw clenches and you keep his eye contact.

His hand returns to your waist. In a fluid movement, while he’s stepping forward, he pulls your body flush against yours.

Chest to chest, hip to hip, the two of you twirl around the ballroom. 

His lips are pressed into a line, that mysterious light in his eyes doesn’t leave. It only amplifies in the candle light.

Minho smells of a clean musk; like pine and bergamot. 

Since your return to Miroh yesterday, he hasn’t looked at you with venom or hatred once. What changed?

“This is not so bad,” you whisper, holding his searing eye contact. 

“This is only the main step of the dance.” Minho smirks and squeezes your hand once. “Are you ready for the next?”

You roll your eyes, “Aye.”

He stops in place.

“After four box steps, the man will twirl you out.” Minho’s hands move and he pushes your waist to encourage you to spin out. “And then he will bring you back in.”

When you spin back in, he does not come chest to chest with you, no. Minho’s entire front is pressed against your back. 

His breath is hot against your neck.

“Hold your arms like this,” he whispers in your ear. A shiver tears up your spine. 

Minho grabs your wrists and crosses your arms over your chest and has your palms facing out to both sides. His own arms wrap around your body to hold his hands like yours are against two mirrors. 

“Lean to the side,” Minho’s voice has a slight rasp to it as he’s murmuring into your ear. He pushes you slightly to the left, while he leans to the right. 

His face is right next to yours, your noses almost brushing together. 

You can’t look into his eyes, you can only stare at his perfectly plush lips. They’re slightly wet, he must’ve just licked them. They part for a split second and you can feel the shaky exhale come out of his lips and fan over yours.

“Come back to center,” he whispers and both your bodies return back to the position they were in. 

Minho grabs your right wrist, “Bring this arm up and around like this.” He brings your arm up and around the back of your head to stretch out to the right again. “Turn to me.”

Your bodies turn and meet again in the waltz hold. This time, Minho holds you even closer than before. 

“Got it?” he whispers to you, eyes searching yours. All you’re able to do at the moment is nod.

Your stomach is doing flips from his warm grasp, from the way his entire body is pressed flush against yours. All you can think about is Minho.

“One last step before you change partners.”

Minho’s hand wraps tighter around your lower back. 

“Dip back,” he hushed.

You lean back slowly, his hand remains strong and firm on your back. HIs body follows yours a bit as you bend backwards. Your chin falls back to expose your neck even more.

The hand you have up his bicep tenses.

Minho’s grip on your hand tightens even more and due to your sensitive hearing, you can hear him take a deep breath and then gulp.

When he exhales, it fans out along your neck. Goosebumps raise all along your arms.

He holds you in this dip for much longer than you think is necessary. Minho’s entire body is hovering over yours, his strong arms keeping you up as you bend backwards in the most graceful way you can imagine. 

“Then, you’ll come back up.” His voice is thicker.

Slowly, as if not to jar you, he brings your body back up to his. Once more, you’re chest to chest, nose to nose.

His hand doesn’t return to your waist, it stays on your lower back, fingers splayed out to keep you as close as possible. 

Your breathing intermingles. His scent surrounds you with his arms.

It was the closest you’ve been to Minho without a snarky word or dirty look thrown from one person to the other. 

The fabric of his thin tunic feels soft under your fingertips.

You’re unable to meet his eyes once more, you’re looking down at the collar of his shirt. 

Minho’s nose bumps into yours lightly and your breath hitches.

His lips are so warm you can practically feel them on yours. 

He gulps.

The music continues to play.

The hand in yours twitches.

His heart slams against his ribcage just like yours.

“Then what?” you murmur. Minho hesitates.

“Then,” he rasps, “you twirl away to the next partner.” A pause. “And the dance starts all over again.”

He makes no move to step away from you. The grip he has on your entire body is unwavering, if anything, it’s tighter. 

The music swirls in the air. 

“Y/N,” he whispers. His lips barely move when he says it. 

You look up at him.

His skin is so flawless in the dim candlelight. There’s a pink tinge to his cheeks that stretches all the way to his ears. His eyebrows are pulled together like he’s in deep thought, lips are pursed.

Minho clenches his jaw and licks his lips. He opens his mouth to say something and immediately closes it again. 

“Yes, Minho?” you ask quietly. 

His face twists a bit more, his eyes dart down to your lips and then back up to your eyes. His hand in yours feels a bit clammy.

“Y/N, I–”

The door opening behind you causes Minho to jump away from you a bit.

“How is it going in here?” Seungmin calls across the room.

“We only just finished going over each of the steps.” Minho answers, clearing his throat.

“Am I able to see it?”

“Aye, you’ll be one of her partners after all.” There’s a distinct tone change when Minho responds to Seungmin. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that Minho was jealous– again.

Minho reluctantly breaks away from you and struts over to the music box.

Seungmin stands along the outer edge of the dancefloor. “I will be ready to take your place as your next partner, my fair lady.” he says with a mock bow.

You scoff and roll your eyes. Your heart is still racing from your intimate moment with Minho.

The advisor cranks the music box again and resets the top of the music. He stalks back over to you. 

“Now, let us try the whole thing from the top.”

Minho nods his head in time with the music a few more times. You feel him go to take his first step forward, so you step back and to the side, like you practiced. He leads the two of you around the floor, completing four waltz box steps.

He twirls you out, then back in.

Your hands press together, your bodies lean to the side. When you look over at him, it takes so much willpower to stare into his eyes and not down at his lips.

With your bodies returning to center, you turn out and come back to the waltz position. Minho’s hand slides around and he dips you back.

The dip is quicker this time. But, you don’t miss the cool blow of air he pushes out over your exposed neck.

When he brings you back up, he assists you with spinning to the side and you’re stopped by Seungmin taking a hold of your body in the same way that Minho had.

His grasp feels different.

No less pleasant by any means. Just different.

His warm chocolate eyes stare down at you with a proud look to them.

“Excellent!” he praises you and you flush. “Now, you just need to be able to pickpocket the ambassador while you do so.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #i.n x reader #stray kids fantasy au #skz fantasy au #animals without direction

[writingraven]

Hello, would you be able to post tips on how to start a pirate au? This is my first time making one.

【 Hi! My tip for any au (or any story, really) is simply research. It’s important to understand the dynamics and realism. So I put together some pirate knowledge for you! I’ll probably make more posts on this soon. I’m thinking pirate terms, ship terms, common weapons, things like that. If you’d be interested, let me know. Hope this helps, and good luck on your story (: 】

The Pirate Life

warnings: violence

✶

↳ Drinks

⇝ portable drinking water was hard to come by so many ships carried an abundance of wine, beer, and rum

⇝ a famous mariner drink is grog (sugar-water, lime juice, and rum) which was known to prevent scurvy

⇝ another is bombo/bumboo (sugar-water, nutmeg, and rum) or rumfustian (water, raw eggs, sherry, gin, beer)

↳ Eye Patches

⇝ not only worn because someone lost an eye

⇝ worn to keep one eye adjusted to darkness

⇝ when fighting/raiding below deck they could switch the eye patch instead of waiting for vision to adjust

↳ Flags

⇝ not all pirate flags were black with a skull and crossbones

⇝ most pirate flags were plainly black or red (completely red flags were known as the most aggressive)

⇝ if there were designs, many adorned hourglasses to represent the inevitability of death

↳ Freetime

⇝ when not working, pirates often played cards or dice (although, gambling was against the rules on some ships), sang, danced, partied, etc.

⇝ stopping at ports was a fairly regular occurrence so they could take a break from the harsh sea to sell goods, repair the ship, and of course find women

↳ Life of Crime

⇝ sure, some people became pirates for the life of crime, but the overwhelming majority were simply sailors who abandoned their jobs due to horrendous working conditions

⇝ pirates were treated far better by their captains than navy men

⇝ there were even periods of time where pirating wasn’t illegal — governments would enlist pirates during wartime to plunder enemy ships. these pirates were labeled ‘privateers’ and legally allowed to operate under ‘letters of marque’ which basically made them military contractors

↳ Longevity

⇝ pirate careers were a few years long tops (even the famous blackbeard only lasted two years)

⇝ many were killed or injured especially because medical facilities were practically nonexistent

↳ Positions

⇝ well-run ships had a clear division of labor

⇝ positions included captain, quartermaster, boatswain, carpenter, cooper, gunner, navigator, etc.

⇝ the captain had absolute command during battle and chose where/when to go somewhere

⇝ the quartermaster oversaw ship operations and divided the loot

⇝ pirates were not as chaotic as media portrays — they were actually quite democratic

⇝ but the illusion of being brutal would be beneficial for plundering as the possibility of surrender was increased

⇝ most pirates were illiterate, but there were quite a few who actually came from higher social classes

↳ Raids

⇝ looting gold/silver was much less common than looting supplies (food, drink, candles, navigational tools, repairing equipment, medicine, etc.)

⇝ most pirates didn’t want to kill people — they would steal the goods and leave the crew (or let the crew join them) especially because the bounties weren’t usually worth it

↳ Rules

⇝ most pirate ships took their rules very seriously, with punishments being severe

⇝ common rules were against lying, stealing amongst themselves, fighting on board, gambling, etc.

⇝ walking the plank was not a common punishment (it actually rarely ever happened) — punishments were usually flogging, dunking, tying to the mast, hanging, marooning, or keelhauling

✶

Famous Pirates to Check Out for Motivation: Stede Bonnet, Anne Bonny, Francis Drake, Calico Jack, William Kidd, Henry Morgan, Mary Read, Bartholomew Roberts, Edward Teach (Blackbeard)

#writing #writing tips #story ideas #reference #knowledge #writing reference #pirate prompts #pirates #pirate au #writeblr #writer things

[uroboros-if]

Which of the ro's would win in a karaoke contest. No scratch that which one would win in a belly dance battle, no wait which one would win at uno...no wait chess..no wait which one would win at sudoku. Which one knows divisions which one knows the phytagorean theory. Which one is good at counting on their fingers....which one would win at the telephone game, which one knows charades, which one would win in a no blink battle, which one knocks on wood three times to not jinx it, which one hides important documents under the sofa, which one would win in arm wrestling with santa clause, which one can do tricks with a yoyo, which one would win if they participated in corgi races, which one-

Short answer below! 💕

Best singer to worst would probably be Ciocana > Luciel > Salvatore > Alessi!

SALVATORE is not particularly good, but they can carry a tune and probably loves to sing if given the opportunity! Again, a hard work over natural talent case for them. Humans turned something they use for communication into an art, an instrument in themselves--that's amazing!

LUCIEL can hum and sing softly, which they do rarely if they want to soothe someone or lull them into sleep. Their voice is naturally calming, so it's already suited to that! Of course, they're no trained singer.

CIOCANA would probably be the best at singing, which they usually do when no one is looking. They love to sing to themselves, and they have a rich and lovely voice already. You'd be hard-pressed to hear it, though.

ALESSI definitely sings for fun, so they aren't aiming for "good," they're aiming for "loud." It'll grate on your ears, but if you're singing along, you'll hardly hear it! The best to sing with, fun-wise, and they also probably have some upbeat tunes up their sleeve that'll get stuck in your head for days.

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For a belly dance battle, I would say Alessi > Ciocana > Salvatore > Luciel!

SALVATORE... needs practice, like usual. Or else they will sway side to side very, very awkwardly. They will be into it, I promise, but it will be more comical to look at than anywhere near good.

LUCIEL is even worse, but you won't find them even participating. It's less for themselves and more for people watching; they don't need to witness the mess that would be them trying to dance like that.

CIOCANA is already quite a good dancer, but they've never tried anything like that. Again, they'd probably be extremely embarrassed to do it, so unless they can convince themselves to do it as a joke or a prank, then they will never do it in public!

ALESSI is also a great dancer! Unlike Ciocana, they have no shame, and they will be happy to do it in front of other people, and to take pride in what they do. In fact, they'd have a blast belly dancing!

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At Uno, it's a bit of a toss-up, so I wouldn't say any of them particularly wins! As far as how they play, though...

SALVATORE would be sweating and trying hard. They will win a round of this mortal card game even if it kills them, or they will eat their non-existent hat. They're too obvious when they play, though, and probably have rotten luck of being the one who runs out of a +2 or +4 in a stacking game.

LUCIEL would be pretty good at it, actually! They have a calm demeanor, a natural poker face, but they will let Salvatore win if they're playing together, or anyone else for that matter if it looks like they're dying where they're sat just to be able to win. They probably have a tell, though!

CIOCANA would be the most annoying to play. They might not even play to win, they'll just play to annoy the person next to them, or anyone else for that matter. This is probably Salvatore. If they did try, though, they could win if they wanted.

ALESSI would just play for fun, but their idea of fun is winning. They will go hard in this card game, and no one will stop them from winning THIS round of Uno, and they will die before they let anyone else win. Unlike Salvatore, though, they're not struggling as much.

... why is this Uno game a perfect reflection on how the ROs would react to the main conflict of the story 😭

༺═──────────────

For a game of chess, it'll be Ciocana > Luciel > Salvatore > Alessi initially; if they picked it up, it'll become Ciocana > Alessi > Luciel > Salvatore.

SALVATORE loves these human games, but they are so strange and have so many rules. They really like this horsey, and why does this guy runs so slow when he's the most important piece? They throw every part of themselves in playing, but they would be destroyed since they're so obvious.

LUCIEL plays defensively, so it would just be hard to win against them. Less in danger of actually losing, though. They're the most calming to play with, though, like an old man you play at your local park.

CIOCANA is the most calculating of all the ROs, and chess is a great example of showing this. They act confident and certain, and try to distract the other opponent by teasing or charming them. The only thing they're not good at hiding is their surprise, if you do something unpredictable.

ALESSI has never played chess, and would rather just plow through the king than go through all this. They'd play terribly at first, but as the need to think more carefully dawns on them, they quickly pick up on the rules and movements, and starts playing quite aggressively.

༺═──────────────

Sudoku might be Salvatore > Ciocana > Luciel > Alessi.

SALVATORE loves these casual, fun puzzle games, and if it existed, I actually imagine they'd play it a lot! So weird and interesting! They'd get good at it through practice and experience, and also an overcompetitive zeal.

LUCIEL would rather take their time looking over everything than compete with other people. If it's who gets to do it all first, they wouldn't play very hard to win.

CIOCANA would be very good at this, but they would find it a little tedious and just aim to distract whoever's trying very hard--namely, Salvatore.

ALESSI would just find it all confusing and weird. Who actually enjoys this? Also, they're not very good at looking at either letters or numbers, so they have that barrier to overcome. If they learned their letters or numbers, though, I imagine they'd be on the same level as Luciel.

༺═──────────────

As far as maths, Salvatore and Luciel are best educated, Ciocana and Alessi would employ unorthodox methods but get to the answer eventually. Namely because Salvatore has gotten some education, and Luciel has read and studied a lot! Ciocana would get the answer, but not through any traditional method--they'd figure it out themselves. Alessi's methods are not quite as pretty, but with a lot of thinking and tears and working their way through it, they'll get the answer. That is, if they know their numbers and letters already.

༺═──────────────

Salvatore, Luciel and Ciocana do calculations in their head, so... Alessi is the best finger counter? :)

༺═──────────────

Who wins a telephone game?? If you mean the best at listening and hearing things exactly, then it would definitely be Luciel. They're good at picking up on quiet noises! Runner-up would be Alessi.

༺═──────────────

As far as charades...

SALVATORE would be the most animated in acting out something, so it would be easy for anyone to pick up on what they're doing! Guessing would not go as well, though.

LUCIEL would be reserved in acting out, but they always figure out how to do things with grace and with the least movement. Perhaps easier than Salvatore to guess, then, considering there's less flailing and confusing movement going on! They'd also be very good at watching and picking up on cues from others.

CIOCANA would get too impatient with the other person for not guessing their very obvious movements. They probably act with dramatics, too, which might complicate things, actually. They'd do much better at guessing.

ALESSI acting out is less hurried than Salvatore, but they're always looking to win in everything they do, so it is done with quite a bit of urgency. When they guess, they probably shout out answers and audibly cheer when they get it. They'd also boo loudly when someone else wins.

༺═──────────────

LUCIEL would win a no blinking contest, followed by Alessi, Salvatore and Ciocana. Alessi is cool and composed while not blinking; Salvatore will try very hard. Ciocana would have the hardest time.

༺═──────────────

CIOCANA knocks on wood three times not to jinx it. They can be pretty superstitious; they would know a thing or two about jinxing.

༺═──────────────

ALESSI might shove important things underneath the sofa. An easy place to look, somewhat hidden, but their documents will always be crumply. They exist, but they're all folded with crinkles.

༺═──────────────

ALESSI would win in an arm wrestling match with Santa Clause. The others might feel shame in beating him, but they will destroy Santa Clause. The only time they wouldn't is if this evil man somehow threatens to not give presents this year.

༺═──────────────

ALESSI can do tricks with a yo-yo. Salvatore would try very hard, and Luciel would at least have the patience to learn a trick or two eventually. Ciocana would find it pretty hard, and they can get impatient at things they're not immediately good at.

༺═──────────────

What is a corgi race??? My guess, Salvatore?

༺═──────────────

Thanks for the ask 💕🫶!!

#uroboros-if #uroboros #asks #hampsdesu #hamps my beloved #character asks #luciel #ciocana #alessi #salvatore #all ros #characters

[my-never-ending-nightmare]

Ian Kevin Curtis (July 15, 1956 – May 18, 1980) was the troubled singer, songwriter and guitarist for Joy Division; best known for his baritone voice, quirky style of dancing, and lyrics that invariably expressed feelings of loneliness, emptiness, alienation & intense hopelessness.

Curtis fought a lifelong battle with epilepsy and depression but died by suicide in the early hours of May 18th 1980 on the eve of Joy Division's first North American tour.

His wife, Deborah Curtis, recalls in her biography Touching from a Distance that the evening before he had informed her of his intentions to spend the night alone and made her promise not to return to the house before he had taken his scheduled 10 a.m. train to Manchester where he was to meet up with his bandmates before departing for America. Instead she found him in their home that morning after he had written a note in which he declared his love for her before using the kitchen's washing line to hang himself.

Curtis had spent his last hours before this watching Werner Herzog's 1977 tragicomedy film Stroszek and listening to Iggy Pop's 1977 album The Idiot - the latter of which was inspired by Fyodor Dostoevsky's novel The Idiot about the spiritually sensitive and epileptic young prince whose goodness and openhearted simplicity results in him being driven mad by the tragic and violent society in which he lived.

His wife also recollected that he had taken photographs of their wedding and their baby daughter off the walls so that he could view them as he composed his suicide note.

He was just 23 years old.

"Strange as it may sound, it wasn't until after his death that we really listened to Ian's lyrics and clearly heard the inner turmoil in them."

—Bernard Sumner (Joy Division, New Order)

Joy Division - New Dawn Fades

A change of speed, a change of style A change of scene, with no regrets A chance to watch, admire the distance Still occupied, though you forget Different colors, different shades Over each mistakes were made I took the blame Directionless, so plain to see A loaded gun won't set you free So you say

We'll share a drink and step outside An angry voice and one who cried We'll give you everything and more The strain's too much, can't take much more

Oh, I've walked on water, run through fire Can't seem to feel it anymore

It was me, waiting for me Hoping for something more Me, seeing me this time Hoping for something else

#Youtube #ian curtis #joy division

[cherrysalsa]

bringing back dis ancient new order thing i fucking guess

1. How long have you been a New Order fan? 4 years, since spring 2020

2. How many New Order concerts have you been to? 0 sadly, but way more ph+l than id like

3. What was your favourite New Order gig? not sure what gig this actually was but my fav live thing of them ever was an egg/temptation segue that was deleted off youtube a while ago

4. What is your fav New Order album? movement and republic rap battle in my head every day

5. Fav New Order song? all day long

6. Favourite Member of New Order? GILLIANNNNN

7. Favourite Former Member of New Order? rob (rip king)

8. How many NO albums do you own? 8 i think

9. Do you own any Joy Division? up and closer

10. Least Favourite album? out of the relevant ones, technique, otherwise fucking wftsc or some shit i guess

11. Do you have all the side project albums? i have all of o2 (+ some extra) and all of monaco

12. Which is your favorite side project? THE OTHER TWO SUPREMACY

13. Favorite remix? i dont listen to many remixes

14. Favorite video? tbthog (true faith and world are rap battling for 2nd)

15. Favorite cover? dont listen to many covers either, but daywave's ceremony one is nice

16. Should Hooky rejoin the band? HELL nah

17. Do you like Barney’s dancing and fav dance move? HELL nah fav move is the one where i put him in my human size mouse trap

18. How many times a day do you listen to NO? idfk man

19. Is New Order your favorite band? nope (cocteau twins my beloved) but they were for a few years there

20. Should Steve audition for Dr. Who? sure. why not. whatever u fuckin say i guess. i would support him

21. Favorite Barney collaboration? fuck barney bruh all his collabs give me brain damage

tagging the only real one on this site @tastyfish and ermmmmm @youngoffender (hi im kweenofthenight instagram sory for the tumblr jumpscare)

#new order #joy division #bernard sumner #peter hook #stephen morris #gillian gilbert #sometimes im like i should post more jdno on here #then my eyes perceive the diabolical shit that happens in their tags on here #not trying to be associated w some of that. #but im sick as fuck rn the diseases are getting to me so fuck it we ball

[nerdygaymormon]

hi hi! You don’t have to answer, I guess I just wanted to ask for your thoughts on something, as someone whose blog has really helped me do some good introspection and feel a little more comfortable with my identity. (a little, it’s an uphill battle for me)

anyway, I went to dinner with a friend and we got on the subject of politics (as u do) and she was talking about how despite trying to see a liberal viewpoint on multiple issues she always comes back to conservatism and that’s where she stands. She identifies as bisexual and so I asked her how she feels that fits in with her conservative beliefs, as I made a sweeping generalization that most conservatives don’t like gay people (generalization, I’m aware, I know, I can be wrong). Long story short I think she just ended up saying that conservatives try to make sense of the world through their religious lens and said some buzzwords/phrases like “love the sinner not the sin” and “if I love my gay neighbor am I condoning their behavior” that whole mess. She then continued on to talk about how she had kindof put “that life” behind her (she almost proposed to her gf I think?) and knew that God had something just as good waiting for her and knew God needed her to do other things right now etc etc. She kept putting this part of her identity aside, or pushing it down, verbally throughout our convo, and that made me sad.

It’s just left a sour taste in my mouth, and I am not out yet so it was harder for me to have that conversation and not say the things that I really wanted to. Like maybe she’s put “that life” aside but other people haven’t, and don’t want to, and the party she aligns herself with is actively harming those other people! This isn’t just “God, how do I love my neighbor please help me” it’s “obviously these people are wrong and sinning and it’s my responsibility to punish them on behalf of God because I am Right”.

Sorry, I know this is long. I’m struggling with it, and struggling with being friends with this person, and now I feel guilty about reading my sapphic fanfics that I love! How lame is that. Any advice appreciated. 🤍

There are many ways to describe what it means to be liberal or conservative. One way is that conservatives tend to have a more hierarchical way of seeing the world than liberals, in other words, the world consists of divisions which are inherent and meaningful. Conservatives believe the lines between categories or concepts matter, that the differences are important. Liberals will tend to see those differences as superficial and not as defining, that things aren't so clear cut, and divisions should be reduced and transgressed. 

For example, a conservative may believe that the line separating men and women is natural and innate and important, it must be recognized, enhanced, and maintained. A liberal may see these distinctions as more cultural and want to remove the barriers in how individuals get to express their gender by removing laws enforcing gender roles. A conservative parent may choose to not let their son wear pink or take dance lessons or play with dolls because that transgresses gender lines, but a liberal parent may choose not to impose those sorts of restrictions.

Another example would be how a conservative may think that lines between rich and poor reflect meaningful differences in people's work ethic, talent, morality or value to society; but a liberal may see the differences as being rooted in the family situation and neighborhood you were born into, what educational opportunities were available to you, plenty of people work hard at two jobs and have trouble earning enough to provide for a family.

The line of when life begins is a big reason conservatives and liberals have trouble coming to an agreement on abortion, because a conservative may say life begins at conception and that's important and meaningful to them. But a liberal may say life emerges incrementally and therefore an abortion may be permissible before the fetus is fully a life, and that people of different backgrounds can have a different view on when life "begins" and so it's not fair to say that only the most conservative view on when life begins gets to make the decision about abortion for everyone. 

Those who view themselves as the norm, as the standard, can tend to view others as somehow lesser and will tend to be conservative in their politics because they want to protect and promote their viewpoint and their place in society. Those who don't fit the "standard," will tend towards liberal politics because they are looking for the restrictions and barriers to be removed which hold them back.

When applied to LGBTQ+ people, a conservative viewpoint may say the traditional family model of the 1950's is the only moral way to form a family, and the government's might should be used to enshrine and enforce this model. This means there's a gender binary and members of one gender should only be allowed to marry and have sex with people of the opposite gender, a family must consist of a man and a woman married to each other, and so on. They draw lines and create a hierarchy of what is the ideal and best. They may recognize there are other types of family arrangements but either they're not moral or they're lesser than the ideal, and therefore shouldn't be encouraged.

————————————————————

My experiences as a queer Mormon and as a queer American definitely affects how I view these types of divides.

I lived over half my life with gay sex being illegal and cops could and did arrest people for this. My choice of whether to have consensual sex with someone has no effect on anyone else, yet it was illegal for me. Often these sodomy laws which outlawed gay sex had exemptions if the two people involved were not of the same gender, so it wasn't the behavior (oral or anal sex) which was immoral, it was who was doing it. And yet someone who is married could cheat on their spouse and that not be illegal even though it could impact their legally recognized relationship. That didn't feel fair or just to me.

That causes me to have reservations about imposing strict legal restrictions on others who have a different experience or understanding from me. It frames the way I think of government as a tool to provide a fair and equitable environment, to remove restrictions which keep people stuck in lesser economic or social situations and to give everyone the same rights under the law.

The hierarchical way of thinking exists in the LDS Church when it teaches that only one type of family, only a cisgender binary, and only one type of sexual orientation, are worthy of being included in the Celestial Kingdom. That those who don't fit this idea of God's Plan aren't deserving.

Over and over in the Bible I read of God disrespecting the social norms--the second born gets the birthright, the one violating gender roles get chosen. I read of Jesus upsetting the established hierarchy of society and being with the marginalized and promising them a place in heaven with Him. Paul wrote that the divisions which separate people on earth disappear in Christ (There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus--Galations 3:28). I read the Book of Mormon's warnings that racism and economic inequality are dangers and we should seek to live in a way that benefits all.

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Being able to see the other's viewpoint is what helps hearts and minds to change. Its why representation is so important, not just so I can see people similar to myself, but so that I can learn the stories and experiences of people who are different from me.

Being able to understand how other people view the world is useful because it helps us know how to explain our experiences and viewpoints.

Your friend's approach is that queer people are "wrong and sinning," and that justifies her supporting policies which don't support their equality. Yet an important part of God's Plan is agency, people need to be able to make choices. She gets to make choices she believes will lead to a meaningful and happy life for her and I get to make choices that I believe are the right choices for me.

Our responsibility is to love others even if they're making choices we don't agree with. "Love" and "condoning" aren't the same thing.

I think Elder Jack N Gerard said it well this past General Conference, "Would others see God through my conduct?" This could be rephrased as "Would others feel loved by how I treat them?"

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Mortuarius - Chapter IV

The flame disappears before his eyes. Adler snaps his fingers quietly, the flame returning as soon as the movement is complete. The small void dances over his fingertip, devoid of the characteristic crackles of fire. He gets his other finger closer, and the flame smoothly passes on. Adler repeats that action time and time again, marveling at the feeling. It feels like silk gliding across skin. 

Or, at least, that's how he remembers the sensation. 

The important, yet dull monologues of his colleagues fall deaf on his ears. Divisions, emplacements, mine fields, assault groups… discoveries of the recent, so-called "war games" rouse the younger commanders, dressed in clean, pressed, black uniforms. Despite their positions, they seldom wear armor. He sighs at this image. Some of his fellows, as time-worn as him, call this the collapse. The collapse of tradition, the collapse of old morality. Even of the old world. Although he would disagree with this nihilistic perspective, the reality doesn't elude him. 

Old guard. Those words resonate within his soul ever since he first heard them. That's what the new bones call him and his peers. No longer do they look at him as a shining example, the main display of Umbra's military prowess. Now, they see him as a rather dated decoration, an old yet charming vase. He's still seen as a source of general knowledge, but he's not perceived as the leader he was before. Not anymore. 

Adler sighs. Where did he go wrong? Is it even his fault, or rather - the inevitable advance of warfare? 

"Lord General?" 

The voice brings him back to reality. He swiftly extinguishes the flame, and looks back at the table. Almost every skeleton is looking at him, their eyes flickering with excitement and expectation. The officer that asked the question, whose name Adler couldn't remember to save his unlife, is pointing at a set of intricate wooden carvings of Legionaries and Rankmen, placed over a bridge. 

"Lord General…?" The man asks him again, fully snapping him back. 

"Yes." Adler clears his throat. "I see your point, and I can get behind it."

The commandant, seemingly satisfied with the answer, turns back to the table. 

Although he can very well grasp and understand the idea of artillery and gunpowder weapons, he can't comprehend the change these two brought. Suddenly, large regiments of melee troops were "undesirable", "risky". Heavy cavalry, so favored by Adler, was labeled as "pointless" and "too expensive to remain effective". Seemingly overnight his entire concept of warfare has been flipped on its head. 

He still doesn't see anything wrong with a good shock cavalry charge. The roar of a hundred hooves, the clouds of dust brought up behind the terrifying echelon of bone, armor and pointed lances… Yes! He still remembers it vividly from his time commanding the troops in the War of Vengeance. There's no amount of divine help that can save a man impaled halfway on a three meter lance.

Adler smiles and the black flame on his fingertips shakes as memories of violence come back to him. He remembers his formation tearing into the line of armored infantry during the battle for the capital, lances punching through shields and the men wielding them as if they were nothing but paper. He recalls discarding his weapon and drawing the axe, cracking helmets and skulls from the top of his undead mount. 

The sounds of screams, the sight of bodies crushed underneath the stampede of skeletal horses and the enemies routing in panic fill his mind. Too immersed in thought, Adler pays no attention to either the officers slowly leaving the room, nor the servant cleaning the table. His running thoughts are interrupted when a familiar figure sits on the opposite side of the table. He raises his head to meet Watcher's gaze. The other undead smirks. 

"Reminiscing old times, are you?" The liche crosses his arms over his robed ribcage. 

"Hm." Adler hums in response, putting out the black flame with a flick of his wrist. "There's nothing wrong with going back to the better days."

"That's all you have been doing recently, hasn't it?" 

The general scoffs. Watcher glances at his watch, and quickly straightens his gowns. 

"At least try to look presentable. They should be here any second now." 

Adler fondles his armor piece by piece, making sure everything is properly attached. The proper meeting was about to begin - it was in his best interest to show himself from the best angle, especially due to the caliber of individuals that would attend the meeting. 

And, of course, only a fool would look sloppy in front of any of the Death Knights. Let alone three of them. 

Right as the door opened, both skeletons jumped to their feet, their ornate chair scraping the floor loudly as they stood up. 

Three figures emerged from behind the wooden barrier. Adler didn't have to see to recognise the first character - the stench of rotting flesh and decay was so strong that it transcended mortal senses, making his very soul shiver in disgust. Plague came in with his more formal attire - out of all of his fellow Death Knights he was the one that favored variety of the wardrobe the most. Instead of his armor, a black frock coat covered his figure, featuring golden buttons with intricate carvings on them. Despite tightly fitting his fairly unimpressive frame, the clothing lay on him as if there was actual flesh underneath. His skull was practically indistinguishable underneath the combination of a black top hat with a wide rim, and the white leather crow mask, contrasting fashionably with the rest of his outfit. His hands, clad in white leather gloves, rested on a hardwood gentleman's staff. As he entered, he tipped his hat slightly in a gesture of greeting. If not for the oppressive stench, Adler would find him quite unimposing. 

Suddenly, the now serious voice of Watcher sounds out in his mind. 

"Don't look at Sibtu. This is one case where ignorance will do you good, Adler."

His eyes immediately dart to the floor. As much as Watcher likes annoying him, he never threw around warnings haphazardly. Listening to his words of advice, especially spoken in such a stern tone, would do him only good. The only sight of Fear his eyes register are the ornate boots, dated in style even by his standards, decorated with square, iron buckles. 

Adler looks up at the last newcomer. The first thing that catches his attention - as it always does - is the uniform Adaru wears. It is a somber ensemble, tailored from a deep, lustrous black fabric that seems to absorb both light and attention from everything that surrounds him. The coat, adorned with intricate silver embellishments, hangs sharply on his frame, giving him an imposing silhouette. Despite his fairly narrow stature, Adaru stands at an unnatural height, casting an imposing shadow on those before him. The angular lapels and precise stitching hints at meticulous craftsmanship, while the black gloves, tight and sleek, add to the oppressive air of formality. As customary for the members of the Commission, Adaru's face was wrapped carefully in pristine, white bandages. His hat was not unlike that of the newer generation of officers, and of course - black. 

Black, black, black. Why is everything they want to wear black? Is this, perhaps, another characteristic of the new era? In his time, black was the color of commoners, not one suiting the top of the hierarchy. Nowadays it seems to be the cornerstone of order and elegance, but he just couldn't shake the association with grime and soot. Despite multiple offers and suggestions to do otherwise, he never ditched his old heraldry. In his opinion, most of his colleagues could use some color. 

His thoughts were suddenly halted when Adaru turned to him, stretching out his arm for a handshake. Carefully, the skeleton took it, cautious so as to match the strength of his superior.

"General Aldehan Adler. It is always a pleasure to see you." Even if his eyes were covered, Adler was sure they were focused somewhere else. He relaxed slightly, comfortable in the notion that he was too uninteresting for the Knight. Having his attention was never a good thing. 

Adler nodded, forcing a friendly note into his voice. "The pleasure is all mine, Lord Bearer."

Without another word, Adaru moved to stand at the head of the table, with Sunqu to his right and Sibtu to his left. Adler was seated on the other end of the table, with Watcher to his left. 

"Gentlemen!" The Bearer of Pain spoke, his voice smooth and fairly modest in tone. "I am pleased to see you here in full attendance. The meeting will now come to order."

With that signal, everyone took their seats. 

"It has recently come to my attention that the soul transplant procedure, at last, yielded results." The glance at Plague is enough of a suggestion, promoting him to reply. 

"Indeed. Thanks to some improvements in the process, methodology and, of course, the appropriate host - for which the credit goes to Sibtu - I have managed to keep the subject stable and alive." Sunqu turns to the former humans. "I have placed him in the care of two of my most trusted associates."

"It is our honor, Lord Adaru." Watcher responds, placing his hand over his chest. "We appreciate the trust placed in us."

"I applaud your selection of assistants, brother. General Adler is a fine choice when it comes to martial matters." Pain smiles at the skeleton in question, before dropping his voice slightly, gaze pointed directly at him. "Even if the means and strategies change as the ages go by, his mind remains sharp and his constitution noble. And so does his sense of fashion."

Adler feels his long-gone heart drop. The feeling of three pairs of eyes burning into his very soul freezes his vessel, rendering him speechless. With a considerable amount of effort, Adler makes the motion to clear his throat.

"Thank you, Lord Adaru. I serve the Great One with all my strength."

Adaru smiles, slightly clearing the air. Gazes drift away from Adler. "Anyhow. I have yet to see the results in person. Would you be so kind as to share any information regarding the subject? How can we be sure he is fit to survive?"

"I have found this human to be very resilient, very resilient indeed." A dry voice echoes from where Fear sits. It is dull, but constant. Every vowel is spoken with a different layer of the same, mechanical tone, varying in pitch and volume. "His grip on life is impressive, and his resistance to Necro is beyond anything we have encountered before."

“I see, and I trust your judgment. Now, we need to pose ourselves the question of what to do with our new acquisition. Has any Bearer voiced a particular interest in him?” 

“Sakurai Denki is yet uncontested.” Sunqu chimes in. “He is still an unsure investment. He appears to be stable, but his capabilities are still being tested.”

Adaru nods. “General? How is the subject’s performance during training? Are your perspectives positive regarding his future in the military?”

A trick question. Should his views be too optimistic, he might be considered a fool, but if he is too negative, his reputation as an objective authority will take a significant blow. He needs to find a middle ground. “The Sakurai is in good physical condition, but the Necro inside of him is quite unstable. It seems to fluctuate, although I can see no pattern in these changes-” 

“Denki is still unstable, as fresh undead tend to be.” Watcher interrupts, his eyes focusing on Adaru who listens on with interest. “But the changes have yet to cause any damage. I believe that with our assistance  - and Lord Sunqu will second me in this opinion - he will stabilize soon.” 

“... Even if he makes mistakes quite frequently, he does not suffer a shortage of determination within him.” Adler continues, throwing a bitter glance at his predecessor. “I have yet to see him yield, even under my most… invasive methods. In my opinion, Lord Adaru, Denki has potential with a strong base to build upon.”

“Thank you, General.” Adaru straightens up, and puts his hand to his chin. He remains quiet for a moment, immersed in thought. ”I will admit this, gentlemen - the Adarian State Commission suffers a shortage of reliable field agents. If Sakurai is indeed as promising as you make him out to be, then I could find use for him, provided that he isn’t needed elsewhere.”

“Ah, I see what kind of a use you have in mind. But that depends. An individual of unchallenged loyalty and unshaken resolve is needed here. I can assure the former, but does our subject have the latter?” Sunqu moves his hand, subtly signaling at Adler. 

The undead thinks for a moment, making sure to do so in images rather than words to make his considerations harder to read. Isn’t it too early? Denki is young to be a soldier, perhaps too young. And certainly he shouldn’t be made to…

“General?” Sunqu speaks again, his tone lacking malice, but the sting of his gaze is quite a telling signal. 

Adler stops himself, and speaks out without much hesitation. “I will do as you ask, but I am not willing to take responsibility for the results. Your proposition can influence him in significant ways, all of which may make his training… harder to complete.”

“Have some trust in my handiwork, General. But very well, I will humor you - the responsibility for this test will fall on me personally. On one, single condition.” Sunqu smiles, his polished teeth reflecting the light cast from the chandelier above. “You will test his mettle tonight. I want to see if this venture is worth my time.”

Adler looks down at his gloved hands, and sighs in quiet annoyance. 

“I shall do as you command, Lord Sunqu.”

—

Waltz eyes his guest as he uses the silver pincers to lift the blue crystal to his jaw. He promptly crushes it between his teeth and lets the shards fall through his mouth and down into the ornamental bowl below. The juicy, sweet taste of a cold strawberry (or rather the memory of it) pulses pleasantly from his core and throughout the rest of his skeletal body. 

What spoils the delightful taste in his soul, however, is the crude sight of Denki’s whole hand clenched around the fork’s handle as he shyly picks at the Coq au Vin on his plate, wielding the cutlery as if it was a dagger. Not even the rich, opulent decor of the private lounge he rented can distract him enough from the sorry sight in front. 

Waltz clears his throat, making sure to keep a steady expression against the odds. His right hand grips his wine glass, the other straightening out his collar. 

“I take it, Denki Sakurai, that you are not from here.” He starts out, and Denki looks up. Waltz’s white pinprick eyes meet the gray pupils of the human. “Your name is reason enough for a particular speculation, but it is not appropriate to make assumptions.”

“I’m Inazuman, sir.” Before he can elaborate, Waltz cuts in.

“I see! That explains your… unfamiliarity… with the cutlery. Allow me.”

Without hesitation, Waltz jumps up from his chair. The screech of the wood against the floor stings Denki’s ears. The skeleton starts moving over with decisive steps, circling around the long table. His heart drops as the realization hits it and with that, time seems to slow around him. 

Mistake. Mistake. He made a mistake. He made a mistake and there will be consequences.  

Denki’s heart is picking up the pace, and so is his breathing. Not yet. His hands adjust around the hilts of the silverware, his mind darting from memory to memory, searching for any reference. Every step Waltz takes feels like a painful eternity. 

He was told, wasn’t he? He was taught how to use these, but he forgot, and he knows what that means. Punishment, forgetting means punishment. He disappointed Waltz and forced him to waste his precious time to correct him. 

His thoughts overwhelm him like a river’s current. His eyes turn azure, setting loose memories. Instincts. Lessons from the past years and what followed, dealt by hands of the teachers. Waltz’s skeletal visage twists into a pale face wrapped in bandages before Denki’s eyes, his Vision twisting into a glimmering Delusion. 

Not yet. Not yet. The footsteps draw closer. Denki can still taste the blood on his gums from today’s earlier mistake, his jaw still aches dully, he can’t take one more.  It was going so well. He explained things to him, gave him food, treated him well, and this is how he repays Waltz?

There’s no time. Nothing comes to his mind. He wants to beg, plead for just a moment longer, promise that he will do better, but is unable to. Fear turns into terror, constricting his throat and silencing his voice. Desperation. But Denki knows better than to cry and be pathetic. Nothing will save him now. He lowers the cutlery with shaking hands and latches them to the table, seeking any comfort.

Waltz says something, but Denki can’t make it out. He stiffens, gaze obediently fixed on the plate before him, away from Waltz. The footsteps stop, and in a split second the man’s mind is flooded with their toolkit. Open palm. Fist. Kick. Whip. Cane. Baton. His body tenses in preparation for whatever torture is about to come. He knows better than to resist, it will only make things worse. 

Denki sees hands coming towards him. Too much. Too soon. He lets out a quiet gasp and it turns into a cry of pain as he feels something cutting the skin on his back. 

Suddenly, silence. No new pain, no slur, no laughter. 

Denki opens his eyes, preparing for a disciplinary blow. Instead of his teacher, however, he sees Waltz, frozen in his tracks with his arms still outstretched. Through the mist of his tears Denki can read an aura of concern emanating from the undead.  

There's a moment of silence. The skeleton lowers his arm, letting it drop limply against his side. The narrow points in the undead’s eyes shrink further, not larger than grains of sand. Waltz narrows his non-existent brows, and slowly moves closer to Denki, placing a skeletal hand on his shoulder.

“Are you unwell? Should I call a medic?” He asks with a stern, yet worried voice. Denki takes a deep, shaky breath and wipes his face with his sleeve.

A sense of shame overcomes him, the sort of shame that encourages him to scratch out his very eyes and flee to die in a dark corner. 

Denki swallows the embarrassment and tries to speak. “I’m sorry-”

“No-no. It's alright.” In response, the skeleton softly pats Denki on his shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes with a sense of camaraderie and understanding. “The fault is all mine. With what I know about you, I should have been more careful. Now, Denki Sakurai, would you mind if I showed you how to use these?” He points to the tableware. 

Denki nods. With slow movements and a steady tone, the general showcases the proper method of handling the tableware and, before long, Denki operates them with more confidence, allowing Waltz to return to his seat. 

“Although I am unfamiliar with the exact details, I do know that your passing has been, shall I say, less than ideal.” He gestures towards Denki. “When you were startled, your eyes turned blue. May I know what that means?”

The young man remains silent for a moment, pondering the question. His thoughts are interrupted when the searing pain on his back catches his attention. He slides his hand behind his collar and traces his fingers down where the pain originates from. Suddenly, he feels the familiar warmth of blood and a large, fresh gash on his back. After retracting his arm and confirming his suspicions, Denki answers. 

“I’m not sure, sir.” The blood on his fingers is a deep crimson, contrasting with his nearly snow-white skin. “I wasn’t aware of it until now.”

Waltz nods. “It seems pointing it out to The Watcher might be a good idea. Anyhow, please, help yourself to the food. It won’t taste as delightful when cold.”

After discreetly using his sleeve to wipe the blood clean, Denki tastes the meat doused in brownish sauce and is immediately hit with a rich, intense and slightly alcoholic flavor unlike any he had experienced before. He closes his eyes, letting it dissipate pleasantly on his tongue. 

Waltz smirks at his companion's reaction. He chews another piece of candy, this time the taste of a freshly baked, buttered bun. His hand instinctively reaches for the wineglass, finding it filled to the brim with fine Clochette Terrestre, the memory of which has been meticulously formed into a dense, red mist. As he lifts the vessel to his jaw and tilts it upwards, the substance pours down his bones, latching onto the copper wires lining his spine, flowing down into his core and dissipating. Waltz revels in the rich, deep flavor of someone's finest memory of the drink. 

His eyes find their way back to Denki, who is picking the meal apart with his fork. 

“Is everything to your liking, Denki Sakurai?”

The man seems startled by the question as he freezes, but promptly clears his throat and relaxes. 

“Yes, general. It's a bit different, more intense than anything I had in the past. That's all. Also, if I may…” Waltz gestures encouragingly with his hand, and Denki continues. “In Inazuma, the family name is usually said before the first name.”

Waltz's irises flicker and he frowns. What a fool he made of himself! His mind scrambles for an explanation. He didn't know! Right, yes. 

“Forgive my ignorance, Sakurai Denki. My home nation, Fontaine, is everything but close to yours, and so is Umbra, in which I spent the last fifty three years, meaning my lack of knowledge is a somewhat natural result of my situation.”

Waltz sends Denki a courteous smile. His foot starts tapping on the marble tiles below with impatience. 

“It's no problem.”

Waltz deflates, the façade of his smile turning into a genuine expression of satisfaction. Crisis averted. 

“Speaking of, your lineage must be truly worthy of respect. After all, who else is there to honor for raising such a well-mannered young man?” 

The other shifts in his chair. He hesitantly tastes the next portion.

“Thank you. My parents made multiple contributions towards the safety of Inazuma, but they never received recognition from the public. Their occupation was a lot less flashy than that of other nobles.”

Waltz can't help the smile. “Ah! So you're of high birth… That would explain your eloquent speech and predispositions. I see why the Great One chose you.” Denki doesn't seem to think much of the praise. Instead, his face remains blank, but the wrinkles of exhaustion seemed to deepen. The undead clears his throat. “Although the way you speak of them encourages a certain conclusion. My condolences.”

A slight, dismissive nod comes as a reply. Denki chews quietly for some time, causing an awkward silence to envelop the table. Waltz lets out a nigh inaudible sigh as he takes another sip of his wine, waiting for an answer. 

“Forgive my bluntness, Sakurai Denki, but it seems that being a good conversation partner is not your forte.” Waltz leans forward in his chair, a note of annoyed disappointment in his voice. “Which is unusual considering your origin.”

Denki's eyes flicker with a purple tint. “General, I’m sorry that you find me uninteresting. My social skills might not be on a high level as I didn’t have the opportunity to learn everything. I… didn’t have enough time.” “Oh. Forgive me for my insensitivity. How old were you when you passed, if I may know?”

For a moment, the human tries to recall the last time he called Narukami Island his home. The memories are blurry, with many undated gaps between his departure and revival. “I think I was around seventeen, sir.”

Waltz takes a sip of his wine and nods. “I see. You are a proper young man it seems, but your intelligence is quite beyond your age. I’m sure you had an easy time making friends in your earlier years?”

A small smile starts to turn Denki’s lips as the first pleasant words in his recent memory warm his soul. He shakes his head slightly. “To be truthful with you, I wasn’t the type to enjoy outings or parties, neither formal nor informal. I spent most of my days with a book in my hands.” “That’s commendable, Sakurai Denki. Especially seeing as youth tends to dismiss education these days, no matter where they are in Teyvat. What I had seen in Fontaine seems to apply to Umbra as well.” The general’s skeletal head turns with interest. “Speaking of Umbra, what are your impressions?” “It’s very cold here. Whenever I look out the window of my room or train, it always seems to be snowing or raining. Inazuma isn’t a warm nation, and I had some…” Denki pauses, searching for the right words. “... experiences in Snezhnaya, but still I cannot see the climate as anything but… sorry.”

In response, Waltz lets out an echoing chuckle. “Then it seems our opinions are alike. I also miss the temperate weather of the continent. I miss the hot summers, the brightness of nature awoken by spring - I even long for a winter. It has been too long since I’ve seen clean, white snow instead of the brownish slog covering the city now and then.” After seeing his glass is empty, the general raises his hand. A living attendant comes shortly, dressed in a proper three piece suit, and refills Waltz’s cup. “I have always wondered why the only season here seems to be autumn.” “Maybe it’s the wind?” The same waiter comes to take Denki’s plate. When the man asks if he wants dessert, Denki shakes his head and places a hand on his heart in a universal gesture of gratitude, prompting him to leave. “I have read that, in some parts of Teyvat, Anemo is strong enough to form currents that can push and pull clouds over thousands of miles. Maybe Umbra is near one of them.” Waltz nods. “It’s plausible. The people here, however, seem to have their own theories.” “What do they believe?”

Denki stops himself from lifting his cup of green tea right before it touches his lips. He lowers it and looks inside. The tea is comfortably ordinary with nothing unexpected inside. Relieved, he takes a sip.  

“You see, Sakurai Denki, they believe it is a curse. A punishment from the Gods, to be precise. It is said that when the Cataclysm took place, a group of desperate survivors prayed for salvation to death itself, hoping to avoid punishment for their sins against the heavens. The Great One took pity on them and came to their aid, taking them in His care. With His power he tore out a piece of the ocean’s floor, carving out what is known as Umbra to this day as a safe haven for them. In return, they accepted Him as their leader and god, serving him both during their lives and beyond. However, Celestia loathed The Great One for harboring the unworthy. For his rejection of their rule, the Gods doomed Umbrians to life in this eternal, cold, hellish mudscape you see around you.”

Silence falls as Denki takes in the story. A question suddenly shines in his mind. “Why didn’t the Gods punish The Great One directly?” Waltz shrugs. “I don’t know. Perhaps for an immortal god, seeing their people suffer over a span of centuries is punishment enough?”

“Maybe you’re right, sir. At the end of the day, we might never know for certain. It is the gods we are talking about, after all. We aren’t in a position to understand them.”

“They are higher beings indeed. Even if we have transcended our mortality, our souls and minds are human still, and will likely remain so.”

Suddenly, a series of knocks on the wooden door sounds out. Both of the men turn their heads towards the noise. Waltz frowns. “Who goes there…” He whispers the phrase through his grit teeth, and changes his tone into a louder one. “Come in!”

The waiter opens the door and two skeletons, dressed in uniforms of similar fashion as Waltz’s enter the room. One stands near the door as the other marches up to the general. He leans in and whispers words into where the general’s ear once was. Although Denki can’t tell apart the words that are being spoken, their sounds suggest they are in Umbrian. Waltz listens intently, leaning towards the envoy with a pensive expression. 

After relaying his message, the skeleton steps back. Waltz turns back to Denki, and raises up. 

“I apologize, Sakurai Denki, but duty seems to call - in the most frustrating of moments, as usual. I’m afraid we will have to postpone our conversation until our next meeting.”

Denki stands up slowly. “I understand.”

He watches as Waltz draws a small block of white paper strips. Pulling out a black fountain pen with a golden tip, he makes several writings on the topmost one with just a few flicks of his wrist. Waltz tears it off and hands it to the waiter. 

The skeleton’s eyes find their way back to the human. Waltz stretches out his hand, flashing Denki a smile. The man approaches him and takes the gloved hand in his, shaking it gently. 

“Thank you, sir. The food was outstanding and it was an honor to be in your company.” As he speaks, Denki bows out of habit. Waltz doesn’t seem to mind, the feeling of a smile never escaping Denki’s mind. 

“Ah, nonsense! I should be the one thanking you for your time. Someone of such a reputation and unique situation as yourself surely measures his time in Ether.” Their hands part, and Waltz places his hand on Denki’s shoulder. “Besides, you must have trained hard today. You are surely exhausted.”

Their eyes meet, and Denki’s heart warms at the sympathy he finds in Waltz’s irises.

“I wish you a restful night, Sakurai Denki.”

-

But there was no rest to be had that night. 

Around midnight, when the pale light of the moon was the most prominent, Denki was shaken awake. Without a moment to question or even understand his situation, he was forced to spring out of bed and dress up amidst shouted orders. The skeletons that came for him wasted no time, shoving him out of his room and practically dragging him through multiple corridors and staircases. 

As he marched through the fortress, he could finally collect his thoughts. The most instinctual part of his mind raises alarms - it wasn’t the first time in his life when his privacy and rest was violated. But this time, it is the undead that ripped him out of the bed. What would surely scare the majority of people, however, brings him a sense of comfort in separating the memories from the present. 

He sneaks glances at the soldiers that are escorting him. Their weapons are absent from their sheaths, but the rest of their equipment is in place. Black, matte plates lined with similarly dark padding underneath effectively hide every bit of bone from the onlooker. The padding stretches from their heavy boots, over their rib cages and up to a high collar, tucked into their tight-fitting helmet on their skulls. In the front, the metal visage of an expressionless man covers their features, but Denki can still spot their glowing, white eyes within. He has seen their kind of armor before - he wore it during his training, learning how to put it on and getting comfortable with its weight. Without a doubt, they are Legionaries, the same that Denki saw Adler around many times before. 

Despite the exhaustion imprinted on his face, Denki smiles. Will he become one of them?

They lead him towards a side door that the human assumes to be, based on the lack of any windows, several layers beneath the ground level. Without knocking the soldiers push the door open, and motion for Denki to go inside. In the room stand two more Legionaries in full uniform, a skeleton in a flowing black robe and Adler himself.

The commander approaches Denki right away. 

“Ready?” He asks with a demanding voice. 

Denki nods, but his voice comes out slightly mumbled. “Yes, sir.”

Adler frowns, and turns his gaze left, where a large, open barrel stands. Several cloths are partially submerged in the water within, likely used in cleaning the soldiers’ equipment. Adler submerges his hand into the vessel, gathering water into his glove. Promptly, he turns back to Denki and splashes it across his face without warning. Denki recoils and gasps as the icy fluid instantly brings his senses back to working order. He coughs out the water that got into his mouth, and Adler crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Feeling awake yet? More confidence! You’re a man, not a teenage girl, Denki.”

“Yes sir!”

“Better.” He points to a rack with a complete set of equipment, polished and ready. “Get your armor on, pronto. Everybody is waiting for you.”

Denki wastes no time and rushes over. He starts with the leather jacket, draping it over his shirt and quickly buttoning it up. Despite being designed primarily for undead, the cotton reinforcement was left exposed from the inside, giving the wearer surprising comfort, along with plenty of warmth. Adler watches closely as Denki puts on the lower part of the fit, replacing his nightgown bottom with a thick, protective layer of dark leather and sliding heavy boots with studded soles on his feet. The armor plates are next - the most difficult part of the process. He quickly throws the top plate over his chest and starts clumsily buckling the straps, securing it tightly to his muscular chest. What comes after is easier - the greaves, braces and other limb protection doesn’t prove as challenging to fit. Soon his equipment is finished up with three belts - one for his waist, fitted with small pouches and two for his sides, with that for his right thigh holding a sizable knife, and the other an empty holster, with a secure strap on the top. Denki adds the helmet, tailor-made for his flesh-covered head, and reaches for the mask.

“You aren’t a skeleton, are you now? You don’t need that.” Adler says, and motions for Denki to come over.

The man obeys. Adler reaches down with his left hand, unbuckling his holster and drawing the weapon inside. He turns it so that the handle is pointed towards Denki, and the human takes it in his hand. 

The gun is unlike anything Denki ever saw in his life. A flintlock pistol from Fontaine is the closest item that it could be compared to, but it would still do no justice to how different the contraption was. Instead of wood, most of it was constructed from metal, this weapon’s being painted a dull gray with accordance to the nighttime camouflage pattern he was wearing. Instead of the multitude of parts one could see in a musket, this armament’s jaw was made up of a single element - a hammer-shaped piece of metal that would strike the unusual, box shaped part located right next to it when the trigger was pulled. It was shorter, yet heavier than a flintlock pistol. In spite of how often his mentor made Denki handle such a gun, he was still unsure every time he took it in his hands. The occasional tournaments in Inazuma were almost impossible to attend due to the noise, and firing such a device was all the more difficult than watching it in the hands of someone else. 

Still, he needed to swallow his worries. He won’t become what he is meant to be by being fearful.

“Reza Model 22. Rules.” Adler eyes Denki with expectation. The latter takes a deep breath, and begins reciting what he was made to remember.

“I keep the safety on until the mission begins. I only use it in an emergency. I never aim it at my teammates. I keep my finger off the… the…” His heart skips a beat as he sees the skeleton’s aura darken. “T-trigger.”

Adler nods. “Good. Now load it.” 

Denki takes the small cartridge box from Adler’s hand and cracks it open. The bullets within are as unique as the weapon itself. The outer layers of each are made exclusively out of brass, with the shell hiding what he was told to be the gunpowder, with the bullet, mounted at the tip and shaped like a dull spike of sorts being the only exposed part of the whole cartridge. 

He picks out five of them. Cocking a small lever on the side lets the barrel be moved. Denki carefully slides each round into a chamber, taking care not to use any force this time. His arms still ached from holding himself up as punishment for when his recklessness caused him to damage the barrel of his training pistol. After filling the chamber, he puts it back into place. 

“I need to put the safety on.” He says before Adler has a chance to instruct him again, a glimmer of approval shining in his eyes.

Denki uses his thumb to slide a small, wooden cap to the side. It shifts to rest between the hammer and the cylinder, preventing an accidental firing. He then slides it into place on the back of his left thigh. 

“Well done. It seems that you can follow simple commands.” Adler chuckles, turning around to face the rest of the skeletons. 

They stand near the undead in the robe, their backpacks on and crossbows in their hands. Denki slides on his gauntlets, made of thick, dark brown leather with small armor plates on the outside parts. They are painted, just like the rest of the metal - to prevent light from reflecting off of them and giving the wearer’s position away. Snatching the rectangular shield and his shortsword from the rack, Denki focuses his mind on the weapons, and soon enough, they glow a bright yellow. He marvels at them as they fall apart into small, shining dust before completely fading away. Despite their dematerialisation, he can still feel they are nearby. He flicks his hands as if attacking something with the sword, just like Adler taught him, and surely enough the sword reappears in his grip. Denki dismisses the weapon and eyes the final weapon on the rack - a heavy crossbow. He takes it in his hold, and at last he joins the rest of the group. 

The lich raises up from the floor, uncovering the complex chalk drawing on the tiles. Copper wires line every part of the symbol, connecting at the small red crystals placed on overlapping points of the icon. 

There’s a moment of silence. Adler talks to the mysterious skeleton in Umbrian, Denki being able to recognise just a select few of the words spoken. His shoulders are quite close to the heads of the skeletons around him. 

Was he this tall before? Suddenly, a violent screech fills the room, making Denki almost drop the crossbow. He looks up at the source of the noise, one hand over his ear, and sees… nothing. Where the wall was just moments before, there’s a tear - just as if someone outlined the area and painted it black. However, no light was reflected by as much as an inch of the surface. 

“Let’s move.” Adler says, and the skeletons step forward. 

Without hesitation, they just walk into the rift, their frames vanishing into the void beyond. Denki approaches from the side as his last comrade walks through. He finds that it is not, in fact, a crack in the wall, but rather a space floating in the air, directly above the chalk circle. As he moves his head to view it from the side, he finds it to be… invisible? He looks back at the front, and the black gash reappears. And yet, when he views it from behind, he can see only an impatient Adler-

Denki’s eyes widen, and he springs back to the front. He waits for a verbal correction, but none comes. 

“Fascinating, right? I wasn’t believing my eyes the first time I saw a portal, just as you are.” He walks towards the rift and places his heavy arm on Denki’s back. “I can tell you more about them, but later. For now, get a move on.”

A slight push forces Denki to step closer to the passage. No sound, wind or smell comes from within. He tightens his fingers around the stock of the crossbow in his hands, and runs into the rift.

For a brief moment, his vision goes completely dark. Then, a barrage of colors, some of them he would be unable to even name. They twist like worms, flowing into various, repeating patterns with spike-like protrusions. Overwhelmed, he feels his knees give out and he falls forward, plummeting face first into the ground. 

Denki's head throbs. Unable to see with fractal patterns dancing before his eyes, he feels the ground with his hands. 

Mud. Slick grass. He takes a breath. The air is cold, humid, but not frigid. Sounds of rain surround him. He feels the droplets sink into his clothing. 

Finally daring to open his eyes, he sees what he has nearly forgotten. Grass. Fresh, lush, slightly bluish in the moonlight. He drags his fingers over its blades, unable to feel it through his glove. Slowly, he raises up, snatching his crossbow from the ground. 

Rain pours down from the black sky above as he examines the area around him. Grasslands, barely visible in the dark, stretch in every direction, sprinkled with birch and oak trees here and there. The terrain houses many bushes, fallen trees and rocky irregularities, but remains mostly flat. 

His team is barely visible to him, but squinting his eyes reveals their silhouettes, even darker than the backdrop of the rocks they crouch behind. Denki wastes no time and scurries to a lone stone, hoping his small stumble didn't earn him a punishment. 

Adler stands several meters away from his position, looking around. Denki cannot help his curiosity, and looks behind the rock he is resting against and in the same direction Adler's gaze stopped on. 

Despite the fog raised by the rain, the city is clearly visible as the lights within pierce through the obstruction. It's walled and positioned on a small rock isle, a stone bridge lined with lanterns being its only connection to the mainland. On top of the towers, several, multi armed windmills draw his attention, completely still in the hostile weather. 

He sits back down. How did the opening carry them from Umbra up to here, a thousand kilometers away?

The commander raises his hand. A skeleton approaches him, and after a brief exchange takes off to the side. 

Minutes pass. Denki's shirt is soaked, the rain pouring through every opening in his armor without pause. He lets loose an involuntary shiver, his breath turning to fog in the night's cool. 

At last, Adler speaks, breaking the monotonous rustle of the rain. 

“On me.”

As one, the skeletons raise up and jog up to their commander, with Denki following suit. His boots sink into the muddy road, but he presses on, splashing it around with every hastened step he takes. Before Denki can even fully warm up, their units stop abruptly. His comrades part, letting Denki see Adler motioning for him to come closer. He complies. 

“Over there.” Adler points, Denki's eyes following his clue. Right away, he notices the warm, orange light of a campfire some distance away, accompanied by several rugged tents. “Hilichurls.”

Although it takes a moment, Denki notices a handful of lean figures through the rain. “Are they who we are looking for?”

“Well, in a sense, yes. Our target practice.”

Denki furrows his wet brows. He knew what they came here for, but hearing Adler's words, acknowledging their meaning and consequences makes him uneasy. 

Hilichurls are monsters, yes - just like slime, like Vishaps or Whooperflowers. But there's something exceptionally human about them that sets them apart from the rest. The way they can build, light fire, speak and form groups always seemed eerie for Denki. 

He grips his crossbow tighter, the weapon of fast approaching murder. 

It's just Hilichurls. Monsters. They are dangerous, he thinks. They need to be removed, else somebody might get hurt. He knows this, and yet, the idea doesn't spark excitement in him. 

“We're going to go to the right, over there. See?” The skeleton points again. “Near those bushes. We’ll get a clear shot.”

Just a few seconds are enough for the unit to change their position. Adler kneels down, Denki joining him before the undead’s armor could touch the ground. Denki knows what to do. 

“Five in the camp in total, three asleep. I don't see any noteworthy weapons in the tents.” He whispers, eyes darting from figure to figure. Despite how barbaric he knows them to be, they seem harmless. Peaceful even. 

“Very well. I want you to take out the one sitting on the log to the right. It should be an easy shot for you to take.” Adler switches his language, tone remaining firm but quiet. “Load.”

Denki understands the command and quickly lowers his crossbow. He slides the metal now underneath the sole of his shoe. After freeing the string, he pulls it upwards. Every muscle in his torso and arms tense as the heavy crossbow creaks quietly, but eventually he pushes the tip of the line into a dedicated slot. Opening a pouch on the back of his belt, he draws a short bolt and places it carefully on the track. 

“Aim.”

Denki raises the weapon, lining the tip of his bolt with the humanoid figure by the fire. His heart pounds. His right hand rests over the trigger, ready to push upwards in a split second. 

His arms wobble under both the weight of the weapon and the sinking feeling in his heart. Denki bites his lips and props his right elbow on his raised leg. His aim grows still. 

“Fire.”

Denki pushes the level upwards, setting the projectile loose. 

Simultaneously, five more bolts are released as the team fires with him. In a flash, Denki's arrow finds its mark. The missile sinks into the Hilichurl’s side with a full thud. It lets out a yelp and falls from the trunk. 

A second passes. Then the next. The only sounds are the droplets of rain plummeting from the sky. In the camp, there are no movements. The Hilichurls lie still on the mud and in their tents. Some of them never woke up. 

“Clear.” Adler says, raising his hand and waving it forward. “Let's go.”

The company moves as ordered, this time at a normal walking pace. As they approach the campsite, the fog clears enough for Denki to get a better look at the tents. Calling them makeshift would be an insult to all things provisional. The cloth is made up of various fabrics differing in color, stitched together with thick threads. The water weighs heavy on the covers, coming through the ever present holes in slow, steady streams. Despite that, as he enters the camp, he can tell the hay inside every single one is at least partially dry. 

“Search! Grab every valuable item you can find.” Adler orders, and the undead get to work. Denki picks out the shelter closest to him and goes in. 

There's no monster carcass inside. Instead, he finds it full of crooked pottery and rudimentary boxes with red paint chaotically splashed across them. Denki strikes the top with the butt of his crossbow. The lid proves tougher than he expected, but another more forceful blow shatters the shoddy construction. The man can't see its contents through the darkness. He reaches for the pouch on his belt and draws a crystal. He unwraps the wire, and right as it is untied it starts glowing a bright yellow light. Using the Electro crystal’s light, he examines the contents. Rotten fruit, bags of stolen grain and rusty weapons fill the box. 

Nothing interesting. But then again, what did he really expect from Hilichurls? 

He leaves the tent. The area is littered with broken planks, smashed pottery and various miscellaneous pieces of junk. Someone already stomped out the fire, leaving most of the site to be illuminated solely by the moon. A red glint in a nearby puddle catches his eye. 

Blood has long started pouring from the creature he killed, mixing with the rainwater on the ground. It lies on its side, facing away from him. Denki crouches down and gently turns it over, coming face to face with its white mask adorned with unintelligible symbols. Using his free hand, Denki tugs at the fur around its neck, but it doesn't budge.The hairs are wet and filthy, littered with mud and dried, yellowed remains of… something. Below the mask the mane is stained dark red with blood, prompting him to turn his attention to the bolt. Only the back end of it sticks out of the body, seemingly having either broken them or passed in-between, burying itself in the right lung of the creature. He trails down, noticing how, despite having a fragile appearance, muscles line its stomach. Its nails, placed on five fingered hands, are long and unkempt with dirt and blood underneath. There's a simple bracelet around its wrist, composed of sea shells and pieces of polished metals. 

“Admirable shot.” 

Denki jumps and nearly falls onto the body. He turns around and sees Adler, looking down on him with a smirk of approval. The man recovers and rises to his feet, wiping the mud off his thigh plates. 

“Have you found anything interesting?” 

Denki shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“Happens. Not every expedition yields income. Now come, we're done here. Let's not waste time.” Adler walks away, but Denki doesn't follow. Instead, he turns back to the Hilichurl. As if reading his mind, Adler speaks over his shoulder. “I’d advise you to leave the mask on. It's there for a purpose.”

His hand, already reaching for the wooden veil, stops, and he raises up to rejoin his comrades. 

Under the cover of darkness, they move southwards, away from the city. The rain faded, shortly giving way to the chirping of crickets. As the soil absorbs water, the terrain becomes more traversable. 

In a low voice, Adler breaks the silence.

“Remember, boy, that everything you can get your hands on that is on or near the enemy is yours to keep - that is the conqueror's right.”

“To the victor go the spoils.” Denki speaks out, and quickly adds: “Sir.”

His mentor nods. “Aside from Mora. Mora has much more use than a mere currency. Alchemy, forging, necromancy, sciences - any practical art you can name makes use of its power. Regardless, you can exchange it for Ether, ten to one.”

“I understand, sir.” 

The unit reaches a small clearing. Someone draws a pair of binoculars, and examines some areas invisible to Denki. The Legionnaire turns around and signals to Adler with a small nod. The general hums, putting an arm around Denki's shoulders. 

“Now, Denki, we'll see if you have what it takes to become a man. We'll find out what you are made of.” Aldehan Adler takes the binoculars from the scout and passes them on to Denki. He takes the wooden instrument in his hands, bringing them closer to his eyes and turning them in the direction pointed to by Adler. 

His eyes instantly pick up the light coming from a small crevice in the terrain. During daytime, the camp within, adorned with triangular, green cloth to stop the rain would be nigh impossible to spot. Now, however, it's easy prey-

Prey…? 

He shakes off the thought. 

Unlike the camp of the Hilichurls, this one is far more organized. Denki spots a tent over the rocky elevation, partially obscuring his view. It's completely gray, clearly designed with care - the shape is perfectly triangular, and the ropes stretch from the pegs and under the fabric to ensure the construction is stable. Behind the shelter there's a small, makeshift fence on which various clothes rest, their every thread thoroughly soaked. 

“We separate into groups of three. Two and four go with you from the left, and the rest of us jump down from the right. We jump down after you kill the wachmann, and start the massacre. They will be panicked, disoriented, easy to kill.” Adler speaks quickly, likely impatient. 

Denki wants to say something against the plan. Anything, even for a nonsensical reason. Whoever is in there likely doesn't have good intentions - why else would they choose to camp out in the open? Even if they are Treasure Hoarders, criminals, low lives, the very scum of the earth… No.

He couldn't do it. 

He hands the binoculars back to the scout. Denki turns to his master, but as soon as he opens his mouth to speak his words die right in his throat. 

What would Adler do if he said no? 

Weak. That would be what he would hear. Pathetic wimp. Waste of time and space. He would have to hold himself up for hours on end, run in ankle ties of sharp wire, crawl over sharp rocks and mud until he would beg at Adler’s feet for forgiveness. He would mumble and cry, again. 

And yet, he didn’t want to do it. 

He didn’t want to obey, but was there really an alternative? Adler took him under his wing, The Great One offered him a new life. He was given a home, a place of safety. He was never hungry. He was never cold. All he is asked in return is a choice. A choice between weakness and… strength. Grit. Stoicism. He can show them that he can move on, be strong again. Achieve, mature. Become someone worthy of what he has received, a man deserving of respect, both feared and adored by those around him. 

He has to do it. 

“I’m ready, sir.” 

Without delay, Adler waves for two of the Legionaries to come with him. “I like that attitude, Denki. Get going.”

His group turns around. Denki follows their lead, careful to maintain his balance on the uneven, partially sunken road. The leading soldier quickly locates a smoother descent and slides down to the level of the camp, the other two following suit. Keeping a borderline crouch position, they wade through the trees and approach the entry to the base as close as the greenery will allow them to stay out of view. Denki sees his teammates load their crossbows, and so does he. One of them turns to him. 

“Do you see the man in that lean-to? Shoot at him with me. Wait for my signal, and remember to aim at the chest. It will be easy to hit.”

Denki takes aim, his hand tucked securely away from the trigger mechanism. His gray eyes pick up a flash of purple light from the rocky platform above the campsite. Illuminated by the signal are the other members of the team, their shields and swords at the ready. 

His eyes wander back to the human at the other end of his weapon. 

They sleep clothed, covered with ragged blankets. There’s a flask and a knife by his side, the candle that once illuminated them long burnt to the end of the wick. 

“Fire.”

The tension in his body is released as the bolt flies loose. The bandit opens his eyes, but before he can even react the projectile pierces his stomach, with the other planting itself directly in the middle of his chest. He curls and falls to the ground with a choked grunt. Behind him, the rudimentary roof collapses under the weight of the three armored undead as they jump down into the camp. A woman raises up from the ground, but her life is taken before she can make a sound. An axe leaves her skull split in half, painting the wight’s armor red with fresh blood. To the right, Adler stabs a startled human through the stomach, pinning him to the ground. With violent glee he turns the blade in his flesh, making his victim wail.

“Charge!” The command falls from the skeleton on Denki’s right. 

He slings his crossbow over the shoulder and dashes out of their hiding spot. As he enters the camp, his melee weapons are already resting in his hands. A quick glance over his surroundings reveals most of the work has already been done. Bodies lie strewn around the ground, amongst packs and chests splattered with blood. With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Denki rips the front flaps of the tent to his left, revealing a lifeless body with a crossbow bolt lodged in its back, wrapped in bloody bed sheets. With his next breath, Denki takes in the nauseating scent of copper, causing him to back out and into fresh air. 

He lowers his weapons. It’s done. He turns to view the others. 

The subtle sound of a body being turned over escapes his ears.

In a flash, someone latches onto his back. Denki curls on reflex, making the assailant’s blade miss his throat by inches, sliding harmlessly off his armor. He struggles, trying to shake them off. The blade strikes again and again, each time meeting hard steel instead of vulnerable flesh. Fighting back, Denki dismisses his shield and uses his left elbow to strike at the attacker, causing them to let go. He darts around, coming face to face with a smaller figure clad in a brown cloak. 

She wastes no time and delivers a decisive kick to his knee, causing him to stumble. He raises his sword just in time to block her dagger arm, but his victory is short lived as he receives another kick, this time into his groin. He growls through the pain, and clumsily uses his whole weight to ram the bandit. They both fall through the tent, tripping over the dead body and plummeting to the ground. The woman pushes the disoriented Denki to the side, but he manages to get a fistful of her hood along with the hair. She yelps and kicks him in the face, using the initiative to flip around and stab at his eyes. Denki covers it with his iron-clad arm, rolling over to his stomach and tackling her again, sending both of them over to the edge. He pushes himself up to hover over her and grabs a hold on her neck. She attempts to retaliate with the knife pointed at his throat. Denki attempts to seize her wrist, yet is stopped by a knee right to his stomach. A glint of steel is all he sees before the very tip of the knife buries into his face and slices upward right through his left eye. 

He lets out a howl of pain, clutching his wound but never letting off the girl. She kicks and punches to get herself free but his body is too heavy. Grabbing a hold of his shoulders and flipping him over. Denki strikes at her chaotically, knocking both of them through the stick fence and down into the sandy ditch below. The woman yelps as his armored body crushes her hand with its weight, her only weapon falling out of her grip. She lands on the ground with her opponent rolling just past her. 

She tries to scramble to her feet, but her damaged hand proves unable to provide any support. Sobbing, she grabs a handful of wet sand and throws it at Denki who is rising up, using his sword as a booster. He stumbles over, knuckles growing white from his grip on the weapon and teeth clenched tightly, adrenaline pulsing through his body. 

The woman whines, raising her good hand defensively, but instead of mercy she is met with a crude horizontal slice across her chest. She screams and is promptly silenced when Denki points the sword at her stomach and rests on the handle with his full weight, pushing it through her like through a pillow. 

He pants heavily as he stares into her green eyes, wide with shock and agony. His remaining iris glows deep purple while blood continuously drips from his destroyed eyeball and onto her clothing. 

Denki watches as life slowly leaves her eyes. At first she struggles, attempting to push the sword out of her wound but soon grows weak, her gasping for air replaced with slight twitching.

Before long, her body grows completely still. 

With a groan of extension, Denki withdraws his sword and falls back. He doesn’t even have the strength to look up when clapping sounds out through the night. “Well done!” Adler congratulates Denki with several slow claps, a wide smile on his absent lips. “Sloppily, barely, but well done!”

Followed by the team, Adler steps through the collapsed fence and down into the ditch. He looks over at the body, and then back to Denki, who by that time managed to sit up, his blade still stuck to his hand. He looks up at Adler. 

“Why didn’t you… help me?” His voice is hoarse from exhaustion and screaming. He feels as if someone had poured acid down his throat. 

Adler crouches down to meet the man on eye level. “Because I don’t want losers, dead weight, wimps. I want men. Men who can fight for their life and win. Those that can help themselves first. And it seems that you, Sakurai Denki, are one of them.”

Denki tries to stand up, but his knees feel weak. Adler grabs his arm and hoists him up against the nearest tree, allowing him a stable support to grab. 

“A-am I…?”

Nodding, Adler seems to smile even wider. “Yes! Your strength, the sharpness of your mind, the pure desperation for survival… And the lack of hesitation. My boy, you aren’t just a natural survivor, oh no. You’re a born killer.”

Adler’s words distort in Denki’s mind. His eye feels heavy. Adrenaline rapidly leaves his system, the pain in his eye growing to an agonizing level. He fails to support himself and slides down to the ground. 

He closes his eye. 

The rain picks up again. 

Thank you so much for reading!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact au #genshin impact necro au #necro au #nau #genshin necro au #necro au sakurai denki #necro au aldehan adler #necro au felix waltz #necro au sunqu #necro au adaru #necro au sibtu #necro au the watcher #sakurai denki #aldehan adler #felix waltz #sibtu #sunqu #adaru

[queenofdragons12]

A True Queen —  Jake Sully

paring: jake sully x f! Dragon shifter! Queen! reader

warnings:  this is an avatar oneshot. It should say itself.

a/n: pt. 1

pt. 2

Days had passed, and it was over a week since Jake Sully came to the home tree.

You've watched as Neytiri trains him unknowing to the two. You've watched as Neytiri trains him unknowing to the two Na'vi. But as you glide over the forest, you know only you can look after Jake and learn about his future here.

Soon enough, it would be time for his wedding ceremony, which would be performed solely by you, as you would take him on a ride with his ikran, and if he is lucky, he could ride on your back. But only a few warriors have done that, and the forest clan knows that, and they hope most of all to make you happy.

You land in a clearing away from the clan, away from the bowing and worshipping unbeknownst, and away from the eyes of gold that watch you as you stalk around in the soft, water-heavy grass. Soon you go over to a circle of neat white flowers, rumble before opening your right talon, and sparkles of blue fire emerge. Soon, encircling the flowers, they reach up to touch the flashes, and you smile happily. The forest has always liked your magic, and you love it for it.

Suddenly your ear twitches, and you turn around slowly as a smirk washes over your face. You can smell Jake Sully's musk on your scent glands. But you decide to play with him after all; what is the fun in knowing he's there?

You walk away from the small cube of flowers to a spot devoid of softness, only a scorched creation. You trace the edges with your fingers before you sigh and breathe a plume of fiery hot breath, and instead of burning the creator, it hovers above the center, and you slowly crawl after it, dancing around it with wings spread.

then you stop, land on the ground again, and call softly, "I know you're there, Jake, don't worry, I won't bite." There's a ringing in the under groove, and you know that Jake is deciding whether to come, but you just smirk and lay down wings, spreading slightly on the ground, touching the hardness of the creator.

Soon enough, you hear footsteps shushing on the soft grass. "Sorry," you hear Jake whisper, but you just snort, "No one has ever apologized for sneaking up on me before." You mutter in Jake's ears, "How... come?" he asks. You sigh and roll over to show your bare stomach littered with crisscrossing scars, yet so undeniably beautiful for Jake that his breath hitches momentarily, and his eyes widen.

"I have been in many battles, little dream walker, and I have seen the division your people cause to mine." You trace a scar running from the base of your throat to the spot where your heart is. "I have seen the wonders of humanity vanish like snow on a hot summer's day, like water in a too-hot basin." Another claw traces the scar that runs from your heart to your stomach.

"Dreamwalkers are known for their distinctive power and lust to own or destroy everything. I never trust humans, as you call it," you turn to look at him, pale eyes glowing, "but I trust you, Jake Sully, and I always will, no matter what you do." 

#jake sully x reader #dragon #wings of fire #pt.2

[obihiro-division]

"Fear is temporary. Regret is permanent.”  -Dan Skinner

Introduction

Hisoka Tetsumasu is the leader of the Obihiro division rap battle team, Veiled Vanguard. He is widely known by his old nickname, now stage name N. Although he is recognized today in the world of zoology as a man dedicated to breeding race and show horses in Japan, the shadow behind him details a long history of crime. The most significant of his old ventures cemented him as one of the first men to establish a black market on illegal hypnosis microphones. Now several years later, he reemerges back into the public eye, albeit unwillingly.

While most people may describe Hisoka as a strong, silent man who spares only a few words to his colleagues, Hisoka's true personality shows when he is isolated with his horses. That is a surprisingly soft, timid man who is absolutely obsessed with horses. While the circumstances that have led him to the northern part of Japan was unfavorable to say the least, Hisoka has been quite content raising horses for both racers, hobbyists, and even rich and famous people. This led to his connection with the Kamiyama family, the father of said family being a huge fan of the horses Hisoka and his colleagues raise.

Hisoka has been antagonizing the Chuohku government for years now, but with this sudden summons by the Chuohku officials, the man is doomed to sing and dance for his captors hoping he can find another way out from the mountain of damages and debt he has left in his wake.

Appearance

Currently Hisoka sports a head of long red hair that obscures a portion of his old tattoo; A dragon that wraps around the length of his right arm and up around the right side of his head. His eyes are a sunny yellow color.

Typically he sports a black, white, and pea green tracksuit, with the team's symbol on the front as a logo. The jacket of his tracksuit is typically unzipped and shrugged off his shoulders to show off his black turtleneck underneath. For footwear, he dons a pair of black combat boots. He also wears gloves, both to cover the end of his tattoo on his right hand and also for his work.

Hypnosis Microphone

Originally Hisoka had no talent when it came to wielding a real hypnosis microphone, which led to his making of faulty, weak hypnosis microphones. However after his life had been turned around and getting thrown into the D.R.B., his microphone actually takes form! Hisoka’s mic takes the form of a grey amethyst microphone with a silver horseshoe arching over the head of the square mic. Instead of being on a stand as most amethyst microphones typically are, it appears to be handheld. His speakers take the form of an abstract chandelier, with the main body acting as the main speaker. The branches of the speaker alternate between ordinary candle holders, to hands which wriggle and move around behind him (something he is having difficulty getting used to).

His rap ability “NULL” completely nullifies his opponent’s ability. This ability is dampened by the fact Hisoka is seemingly unable to use this ability on command, rather it is dependant on his emotions.

Hisoka’s gravelly voice makes for an intimidating factor. His chances for actually utilizing this effectively is dampened by his anxiety. While in the past he might have been able to egotistically sing about himself, a good majority of his tracks these days start with him repeating phrases as a way to hype himself up. But as soon as he can rid himself of his anxiety, he is surprisingly capable of returning to his old self, with a new appreciation of his teammates supporting him.

Entomology

Hisoka - Written as “scarlet”, “think”, and “song”. 

Tetsumasu - His last name literally translates to “iron growth” or “iron expansion”.

Trivia

Hisoka is right handed.

He loves horses and nearly all forms of racing but despises police officers, detectives, and anyone else that may pry into his life.

His favorite food is carrots while he hates red meat and brussel sprouts.

Surprisingly, Hisoka used to live a very reckless and dangerous life in his past dabbling in an array of violent and addictive habits. This was all dropped after his life was literally and figuratively destroyed by ████.

Due to the trauma he suffered at the hands of ████ Hisoka has severe PTSD. He has difficulties sleeping and can be irritable in stressful situations (no doubt something that’s going to increase).

Hisoka used to be a researcher that worked under Rei Amayado when the war had technically ended. Hisoka however chose to betray him and steal from Rei to establish his black market business after being influenced by his brother. Hisoka lives under the assumption Rei may be trying to hunt him down, although it’s unknown what the conman really thinks of Hisoka.

He owes a lot to the Rikiya family, especially to Toshiko Rikiya as she was the one who helped him recover and get him connected with the owners of Spur Stud Ranch.

#hypmic #hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis microphone oc #obihiro division #veiled vanguard #hisoka tetsumasu #nugsters art

[kofu-division]

Ayame's thoughts on Aoyama Division

Tomi Chōten

"i don't meet him personally because i not go to galas often,no one of us do it but when i go with Reiji and kei i think saw him once but i don't remember well, besides the fact his mother sometimes buy a few of the jewels designed by me... according to Reiji apparently he know about my past in the sexual work but it not mind me...my past is the past and although i don't sell myself still having sex often and i enjoys it....even if my body is corrupted"

Karada Kessaku

"i remember saw him once, when i did a dance perfomance in a night i see him for a moment, apparently he stopped by the street where i was dancing but Reiji told me more about him apparently he's a personal trainer and bodybuilder but i don't know more"

Luis kōkyū

"contrary to Reiji and Kei i go a bit more often than them to his restaurant when i need eat something after a perfomance, it's one of my favorites places to eat apparently Reiji feels dislike for kōkyū san but when i asked him he said some about his "darling"-Ayame sighed and appart the look

"Reiji and Kei needs to realice that their way of love isn't a good type of love buy that moment still very away"

Jet Set Trio

"i-i don't know what should say about this team,they seems to have the code of "money,power, respect" and they are very know in other divisions but...they have a lose in this tournament from they first battle but in wonder how could be they second battle"

#hypmic #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis microphone #kofu division #ayame kurokawa #aoyama division #jet set trio #tomi chōten #karada kessaku #luis kōkyū #diabolik love

[gemalia]

Miscellaneous Facts about the Quartet

I have a bunch of random facts that are canon to me about my Pan, Bulla, Kuriza, and Cell Junior. A lot of them will never see the light of day in my series, so I might as well jot them down here.

Bulla likes collecting old school, 'retro' technology and toys (e.g. lollipop phones, password-locked diaries etc.)

Junior enjoys listening to Nicki Minaj (the only real-world pop star with a counterpart in the DB world)

Kuriza doesn't know the specifics of Arcosian asexual reproduction

Kuriza's favourite planet before Earth was Freeza Planet 32, a planet full of tall trees and luscious rainforest

Pan dislikes her mother's cooking even though Gohan loves it

Pan has a bigger manipulative streak than Bulla, contrary to popular belief

Junior is a prodigy at anything arts related

In terms of combat power, from weakest to strongest: Pan, Kuriza, Bulla, Junior

In terms of battle prowess/technique, from weakest to strongest: Kuriza, Bulla, Pan, Junior

Junior is the fusion that resulted from all the Cell Juniors on Monster Island fusing into one (after seeing Trunks and Goten do the fusion dance during their time there) and then never unfusing due to them all being genetically identical

Junior has a bigger appetite than the others

Kuriza has the smallest appetite

Kuriza enjoys seafood the best

Bulla's favourite colour is pink

Junior knows exactly how Arcosian asexual reproduction goes, but he won't tell Kuriza about it

Junior doesn't enjoy spending time with Pan's family because he feels Gohan and Videl don't like him

Pan's favourite food are the burgers from Mr Satan World (a fast food chain her family owns)

As of Dominion, Pan is the only one of the quartet to attend a regular human school

Bulla was pulled out of kindergarten at a young age as she was too ahead of her peers and could not connect with them

Junior, Bulla, and Kuriza attend school together at Capsule Corp., taught by specialised teachers hired and thoroughly screened by Bulma herself

Kuriza got into Freeza's wine stash once and got absolutely wasted over half a bottle of it

Pan has a wide collection of fictional books and a whole section of her family's library dedicated to them

Bulla is not interested in fiction, and only reads non-fiction

Junior wants to learn electric guitar

Junior thinks skateboarding is cool, but also thinks it doesn't go fast enough

Junior plans to attach rocket boosters to a skateboard at some point and try it out

The one who does best at traditional schooling is Pan

In terms of raw intelligence, however, Bulla is unchallenged

Bulla struggles to feel empathy

Socially, Pan is the most well-adjusted

Bulla listens to Ann Azuki, even though she is considered to be outdated and about to retire from the idol scene

Pan likes ballads

Kuriza likes instrumental music

Both Bulla and Junior have photographic memories

Junior does the best in high-pressure situations

The one with the shortest temper is Bulla, though she is quick to forgive and forget in most circumstances

Pan has a slow, deep style of anger that takes a while to manifest; she holds grudges and will not usually forgive people who have wronged her

Pan is the reigning champion of the Junior Division (which made a return after the 28th) from the 29th to 30th World Tournament, securing her latest title just months before the events of Dominion

Junior spent approximately 4 years in the wild by himself before he was discovered by Android 17

Kuriza was born from Freeza alone, an outlier in Arcosian reproduction as asexual reproduction is a last resort of their species; despite this, they are somehow not genetically identical

Bulla and Kuriza are baseball fans, much to Yamcha's bemusement (but overall delight)

Pan loves and respects martial arts the most out of all of them

Pan is the only one of the quartet to have friends outside of their group

Junior has a phone that has a cover with the pattern of Cell's skin on it

#bulla #bulla briefs #kuriza #cell junior #son pan #dragon ball super #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #dbs #freeza #frieza #headcanon #fun facts

[moon-toons]

🔥🎤Live Show at Katsucon 2024!🎤🔥

Me and AKKISlayer (@the-insanity-of-mojiru) will be performing our English adaptations of various songs from Hypnosis Mic Division Rap Battle at Katsucon's idol dance lounge!

Get ready for fire rhymes, good vibes, cool zines... and maybe even win a prize in our raffle!?

WHERE: Cherry Blossom Ballroom (doors across from the Gazebo)

WHEN: Saturday February 17th, 5pm

[RSVP to the event on FB]

We better see you there! ✌🏾

#hypmic #hypnosis mic #music project #katsucon #katsucon 2024 #idol #kaigai idols #kaigai idol #rap #rapper #hip hop