#rhythm: ark

[tsunagite]

Doodles

[sticker-star4]

Did I win the “Dead Fandom” contest?

Also here are the two websites (with the Wayback machine)

Note: whoopsies I didn’t realize that I spelt BEMANI wrong 😭

[sinceileftyoublog]

Shemekia Copeland Interview: Break It Down to the Basics

Photo by Dave Specter

BY JORDAN MAINZER

A couple weeks ago, in speaking with Shemekia Copeland over the phone, I called her out. Though her new album Blame It On Eve, out Friday via Alligator Records, is her purported attempt to make an album that's a "break from the news" instead of "breaking news," she still sings about doomscroll-worthy topics. She admitted it right away. "I can't help myself," she said. "There was no way I couldn't talk about women's rights on this record." The album's very title refers to society's tendency to put the woman at fault, one that, of course, has biblical precedent. Copeland always has a way of selling you without hitting you over the head. "Hurricanes and tropical twisters / Always gettin' named after some sisters," she sings on the title track, "But the worst winds come from DC / Stealin' rights from you and me." Even alongside Jim Hoke's skronking saxophone and Luther Dickinson's screaming guitars, it's Copeland's wail that rises above.

Copeland calls herself "an idea person" who works with a stellar team of songwriters. Like most lyricists do, she jots down song ideas when they come into her head, and flushing the songs out with her team happens organically. "It's like getting a dress tailor made to fit you," she said. Blame It On Eve is her most balanced record yet. There are autobiographical songs (the blues stomp "Tough Mother"), paeans to interracial love ("Cadillac Blue"), gospel-rock jams ("Tell The Devil"), educational treatises ("Tee Tot Payne"), and even a couple covers, including her father Johnny's "Down on Bended Knee". Copeland turned to longtime collaborator Will Kimbrough to produce the record and play various instruments on it, and the core band of Kimbrough, bassist Lex Price, and drummer Pete Abbott treats Copeland's words with appropriate gravity. Kimbrough's mournful, echoing licks mirror Copeland's pained expressions on "Only Miss You All the Time". And the band's rock and roll strut gives levity to an otherwise serious song "Broken High Heels", where Copeland cleverly compares our collective attitude towards climate change to "Dancing in a graveyard in broken high heels."

Indeed, Copeland's songs that one might call "political" aren't really that--they're just about issues that affect everyday life. "Anything uncomfortable, people want to call it political," Copeland said. On "Is There Anybody Up There?" a duet with Alejandro Escovedo, the narrator starts to doubt that God is listening when looking at the ills of the world, like our broken immigration system, before realizing that his very doubts make him a sinner, too: "If they crucified poor Jesus, think what they'll do to me!" "Tee Tot Payne" is, of course, about the Black man who taught Hank Williams the blues. Copeland views the song as part of the larger conversation going on about Black influence on country music, and an important opportunity to engage with Black history. "Rhiannon Giddens wrote an amazing essay about the banjo and how it wasn't originally an instrument used amongst white bluegrass artists as much as it was used within Black culture," Copeland said. "They're trying to get rid of history, so for my last records, I try to put something educational in there."

As traditional as is the music Copeland makes, her view on making records and performing is pretty consistent with that of today's world. She's the first artist I've ever interviewed to admit that the sequencing of her albums isn't crucial. That is, she doesn't care whether listeners listen to the album's songs in order as much as they pay attention to what's in each song. "In all honesty, I don't believe sequencing is that important because people don't listen to records that way. I still do, but people don't listen to records in sequence. People pop it into their device and listen to it the way they want to," Copeland said. She then offered a caveat. "But it's important to me that they hear all the songs. They all fit on the record in some shape or form." That's Copeland, the idea person, thinking big picture, knowing that the collection of songs makes a whole, but each individual track tells a unique story. It's perhaps why her approach to playing live is so effective. Sequencing a set is important to Copeland, but it's less about planning and more about doing some of her own listening. "I don't really do setlists. I try to feel out the audience. I have some idea what we're gonna do, but I change it up," she said.

At the end of the day, Copeland has an innate sense for what makes songs tick. As she and her team write and practice, they start to think about who else could feature on the song, always without overloading it. It's how they ended up with Jerry Douglas contributing lap steel on "Cadillac Blue", Dashawn Hickman providing Sacred Steel guitar on "Tell the Devil", and Cara Fox playing cello on "Belle Sorciere", on whose chorus Copeland sings in French. Copeland's song-making prowess, though, is never more so evidenced by her version of Ron Miller's "Heaven Help Us All", recorded most famously by Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles. The album closer, it features Kimbrough on organ and Lisa Oliver Gray and Odessa Settles providing impassioned backing vocals. Copeland had first heard the Charles version, which appeared on his 1972 album A Message from the People and featured Gladys Knight. "It [has] a lot of background vocals and horns. It was done in a very big, produced way," Copeland said. "I thought I wanted to break it down to the basics." She's not a minimalist, but when you listen to Copeland's albums or performances, or even talk to her on the phone, every word and moment is essential. She can't help it.

Tour dates:

8/30: Peoria Blues & Heritage Music Festival 2024, Peoria, IL 8/31: Fishers Blues Festival, Fishers, IN 9/1: Rhythm & Roots 2024, Charlestown, RI 9/5: Bell's Brewery, Kalamazoo, MI 9/6: The Ark, Ann Arbor, MI 9/7: Wheatland Music Festival, Remus, MI 9/17: Americanafest Showcase at 3rd & Lindsley, Nashville, TN 9/20: Fanatics Pub, Lima, NY, United States 9/21: Pittsburgh International Jazz Festival, Pittsburgh, PA 9/22: Center for the Arts of Homer, Homer, NY 9/27: Rochester Opera House, Rochester, NH 9/28: Spire Center for Performing Arts, Plymouth, MA 10/10: One Longfellow Square, Portland, ME 10/12: StageOne at FTC, Fairfield, CT 10/13: Ardmore Music Hall, Ardmore, PA 10/17: Daryl's House, Pawling, NY 10/18: Elkton Music Hall, Elkton, MD 10/19: Rams Head On Stage, Annapolis, MD 10/20: The Tin Pan, Richmond, VA 11/14: Music Box Supper Club, Cleveland, OH 11/15: The Acorn, Three Oaks, MI 11/16: City Winery Chicago, Chicago, IL 11/17: City Winery St. Louis, St. Louis, MO 11/22: Lizzie Rose Music Room, Tuckerton, NJ 11/23: Barre Opera House, Barre, VT 11/24: City Winery Boston, Boston, MA 11/30: SFJAZZ Center, San Francisco, CA 12/6: Sam's Burger Joint, San Antonio, TX 12/7: The Kessler Theater, Dallas, TX 12/8: Houston Blues Society Holiday Bash at Rockefeller's, Houston, TX 1/19: One Longfellow Square, Portland, ME 2/7: Zellerbach Theatre at The Annenberg Center, Philadelphia, PA 2/16: Vero Beach Blues Festival, Vero Beach, FL 2/22: Soka Performing Arts Center, Aliso Viejo, CA 2/23: Poway Center for the Performing Arts, Poway, CA 4/4: Lied Center of Kansas, Lawrence, KS 4/7: McCain Auditorium, Manhattan, KS 4/12: Bitterroot Performing Arts Council, Hamilton, MT

[st-peculiar]

I love these little tunes, they’re so lovely

another to:a jingle. this time it's a little gloomy

it's not as much of a jingle as it is a theme for the ship as it is a little silly piece of fanart because it feels arke-like to me it does bring joy tagging @st-peculiar because to:a :)

[multifandom-pleasures]

shadow x reader

A/N: this is just a ramble of shadow and nightmares because i like the idea of him having terrors of his past and such. there is no coherency.

he woke with a start, jerking up in his bed with the blanket kicked down to the foot of the mattress and his fur raised in different ways from his fitful tossing and turning. he didn’t need sleep as much as others did, but it didn’t mean he didn’t need it at all; he still had to sleep on occasion.

he dreamt of his life back in the ark, of maria. of how he had failed to keep her safe and witnessed her death firsthand; the life draining from her youthful eyes and her body fall limp before he was sent hurtling to earth in his chamber. of being awoken after 50 years stasis into a world he had only heard about, full of people being too loud, too greedy, too oblivious. of his burning hatred for these fleshy creatures that were the byproduct of those who rid him of the only place he had ever known as home.

he also dreamt of how he hurtled down to earth a second time, after rescuing the planet alongside the blue hedgehog he so despised. how even in his weakened state, he felt the burning of heat as he crashed through the earth’s atmosphere. of the black arms; of black doom, who of which he was made of; like eve from adam’s rib. he was just as cursed as she.

nightmares, you had called them, when he had woken one night with a cry of maria’s name and woken you as well. you knew all he had gone through, and even in his refusal of your comfort, you helped him to understand; and sat beside him as his adrenaline wore down, helped him count as he took staggered inhales and exhales. his legs swung from the side of his mattress and he made his way to the door, exiting his room to find yours.

you were still sleeping when he cracked open the door, watching for a moment as your chest rose and fell with your slow and steady breaths. his feet still moved before his mind could deny him, climbing onto the mattress carefully; he didn’t want to wake you. he knew why he had craved your comfort, why his heart and mind craved to be near you. he had come up with his own nightmare tonight.

he had lost you. his mind finally conjured up it’s own fear and you were the reason. you wormed your way into his chest and found a home beside his beating heart, cocooned in the hollow of his ribs. your touches were burned into his skin, feeling the ghost of your ministrations even long after you had gone. your laughter and voice echoed in his mind, your sweet words a broken record as he replayed them over and over to himself. as proof that he was as good as you made him out to be.

he feared losing that; of losing you. the one person after so long that he could turn to and feel safe being vulnerable with. you had never judged him. you welcomed him with open arms and comforted him even when he berated your sympathy; insulted your kindness. he didn’t understand how one could show such emotions without an ulterior motive.

he admired your sleeping form, so tempted to reach out and stroke your cheek, brush your hair from your face or to kiss at the expanse of skin before him. why could he not be more like you? when you were ever woken by a nightmare, you never hesitated to seek his comfort. albeit, his comfort was simply raising his blankets and allowing you to clamber on beside him, curling into his side and finding your own comfort by him.

he found he didn’t get nightmares those nights you slept beside him.

he instead carefully wrapped his arms around your torso, easing you to his chest; making sure your stirring was not you waking. he tucked his head into the crook of your neck and curled around you, feeling your breaths and faint heartbeat against his chest. he mimicked you, his own breaths settling into your rhythm.


he would be gone before you woke up; he still was too prideful of himself to allow you to see him after he had sought you out in the night. that he was just as simple as every other mortal creature; who in the desperation of fear, desperately crave and seek comfort. but for now, even if he no longer fell back asleep, he would hold you tightly. assure himself you were living and breathing and his nightmare was exactly what it was - a nightmare.

he would allow the swell of selfish protectiveness in his chest fester that of course you would be fine with him around. he was the ultimate life form, of course, no one would dare cross your paths; or even think to place a singular scratch on your beloved skin. and as the sun would rise and the golden glow would stretch in the expanse of your frame, he would press a kiss to your temple and slip out of your room, to pretend as if nothing happened in the night.

he could only hope one day, his nightmares would cease; and he could search for your touch without the shame of weakness holding him back. and you would be waiting patiently for that day.

[mizzskelter]

"Did you hear about that girl who went missing for a month?" "The one from the orphanage?" "Yeah. I'm not even surprised. All the weirdos there disappear sooner or later."

List of songs below cut:

Destroyer (Saint Motel) | Color Your Night (Lotus Juice) | Sadie’s a Sadist + Matador (The Buttertones) | Bubbly + Atlas (Good Kid) | Therefore You and Me (si-o) [vocaloid] | girl in blue, every word, touch, Walk The Line (Animal Sun) [look I just really like this band] | Talk Too Much (COIN) | Fight for Me (Aliceband) | Veils (Moonfall) | Save Me (Saint Motel) | Rollercoaster (Sainte Blonde) | Odoriko (Vaundy) | I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE (Måneskin)

Suzerainty (Polite Fiction) | Curious (Ark Patrol) | Rhythm of Your Heart (Marianas Trench) | I Touch Myself (Bella & the Switchblades cover) | I Don’t Want You Anymore (Cherry Glazerr) | More (The Haunt) | Any angle (noa) | Girl Side A (Daoko) | Good-bye, Ms. Floral Thief cover (sana) [this and Girl Side A fit a lot of players imo (if you know you know)]

Sorry this little project of mine is taking so long. I tried my best to finish more covers while I was sick but my pile of wips from last week is looking no less scary.

[mya-valentine]

Beneath the Rain

Synopsis: As the rain pours endlessly over Fontaine, signaling Neuvillette's hidden sorrow, you step in to lift his spirits. Through light-hearted teasing and a shared moment in the rain-soaked courtyard, you help him find solace, reminding the Chief Justice that even in the storm, there is room for renewal and peace.

The skies above Fontaine were heavy with dark, rolling clouds. A steady downpour fell over the city, the sound of rain tapping rhythmically against the windows of the Palais Mermonia. The rain had been falling since early morning, and everyone in the city knew what it meant—the Chief Justice, Neuvillette, was in a somber mood.

Inside his office, Neuvillette sat behind his imposing desk, his silver-blue hair cascading over his shoulders as he reviewed legal documents, eyes scanning each word with meticulous care. The faint light of his office lamp reflected in his pale blue eyes, giving them an ethereal glow. Outside, the rain showed no sign of stopping.

You stood just outside his office, leaning against the doorframe, watching him. You were a bailiff—one of Fontaine's many law enforcers—and while your job often required a certain level of seriousness, your personality was anything but. Playful and mischievous, you loved finding ways to tease and surprise Neuvillette, especially when he was lost in his work.

Today, though, something was different. The endless rain told you that something was weighing on his heart. While most people in Fontaine feared the Chief Justice's stern and stoic demeanor, you had always seen something more in him. Beneath that composed exterior, there was a gentleness that few were privy to. And, of course, a certain vulnerability that came with the rain.

You knocked lightly on the door, not waiting for permission to enter. Pushing it open just enough to peek your head in, you caught sight of Neuvillette still deeply immersed in his work, his posture as straight and regal as ever.

"You know," you began, voice light and teasing, "if you keep this up, we might need to build an ark to escape the flood you're causing."

Neuvillette's quill stilled, and he slowly lifted his gaze to meet yours. His expression was calm as always, but there was something in his eyes—a hint of melancholy that matched the rain falling outside. He regarded you in silence for a moment, as if weighing your presence, before he spoke in that deep, rich voice of his.

"Shouldn’t you be attending to your duties?" he asked, though there was no real reproach in his tone.

You shrugged and stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind you. "Already done for the day," you said with a smirk, crossing the room to stand in front of his desk. "Now I’m here to make sure you don’t get washed away in a sea of paperwork."

Neuvillette sighed softly, setting his quill down and leaning back slightly in his chair. His hands folded neatly in his lap as he looked at you with that same serene, though distant, expression. "There is much to be done. The court does not rest simply because the weather is… unfavorable."

"Sure," you replied, moving around his desk so you could lean against the side of it, close to where he sat. "But even the Chief Justice of Fontaine needs a break now and then. Besides, it’s not just the weather that’s unfavorable, is it?"

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked out the window, watching the rain slide down the glass in steady streams. The sound of it filled the silence between you, a gentle yet persistent rhythm. After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice quieter than before.

"The people of Fontaine look to the skies to understand the emotions of their city. But they don’t always understand… that the rain is not just for them."

You softened at his words, recognizing the weight behind them. "You’re sad," you said, more a statement than a question.

Neuvillette’s eyes remained on the window, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps. There are always things to contemplate… mistakes to correct, injustices to remedy."

You watched him for a moment, your heart aching at how much he carried on his shoulders. Neuvillette was Fontaine’s pillar of justice, yes, but he was still just one person. You knew how much he cared—about fairness, about his role in the city’s legal system—but you also knew he often kept his emotions hidden, even from himself.

"Hey," you said gently, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. His gaze shifted to you, and for a brief moment, you saw the vulnerability he so carefully kept buried. "You don’t have to carry everything alone, you know."

He didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at you said enough. There was gratitude there, even if he couldn’t express it out loud. You smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

"Tell you what," you said, standing up and pulling him with you, surprising him with your sudden motion. "Let’s take a break. You and me. A little walk outside. Who knows, maybe the rain will stop if you clear your mind."

Neuvillette hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave his work behind. "The city requires my attention—"

"The city can wait for an hour," you interrupted, still holding his hand as you led him toward the door. "Besides, what’s the point of having the Chief Justice if he’s too exhausted to think clearly? Trust me, a little fresh air will do you good."

Though it took some coaxing, Neuvillette eventually relented, allowing you to pull him away from his desk and out of the office. Together, you walked through the grand halls of the Palais Mermonia, the echo of your footsteps mingling with the steady rain outside. It wasn’t long before you reached the courtyard, where the rain was still falling softly, though not as heavily as before.

You stepped out into the courtyard, not caring that the rain would soak through your clothes. You turned back to look at Neuvillette, who had stopped at the edge of the doorway, watching you with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

"Come on," you called, holding out your hand. "It’s just a little rain. What’s the worst that could happen?"

Neuvillette stood there for a moment, considering. Then, with a quiet sigh, he stepped out into the rain, joining you in the center of the courtyard. The droplets fell gently on his silver hair, sliding down his face and clothes, but he didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he looked up at the sky, as if trying to understand what the rain was telling him.

You took his hand again, squeezing it lightly. "See? It’s not so bad."

Neuvillette glanced down at you, and for the first time in hours, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It was barely there, but you saw it. And that was enough.

"It is… peaceful," he admitted softly, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "I forget, sometimes, to appreciate these quiet moments."

"That’s what I’m here for," you said, giving him a playful nudge. "To remind you when to stop being the Chief Justice and just be… you."

Neuvillette’s eyes softened even further at that, and he lifted your hand, brushing his lips lightly against your knuckles. It was a simple gesture, but one that made your heart flutter nonetheless.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely louder than the rain.

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with affection. "Anytime."

For a long moment, the two of you stood there, hand in hand, letting the rain fall around you in gentle, steady rhythms. The clouds still hung low, and the city was still shrouded in grey, but the atmosphere between you and Neuvillette felt lighter, more at ease.

And then, as if sensing the change in his mood, the rain began to ease. The heavy downpour that had drenched the city all day finally slowed to a drizzle, and for the first time in hours, there was a hint of light breaking through the clouds.

Neuvillette looked up at the sky, his expression thoughtful. "Perhaps," he mused softly, "the rain is not only a reflection of sorrow… but also of renewal."

You grinned, tugging him a little closer to you. "I like that idea."

As the last of the rain tapered off, you stood there together, the soft sounds of water dripping from the rooftops mixing with the gentle breeze that began to blow through the courtyard. In that moment, it felt like the city itself was breathing a sigh of relief—just like Neuvillette.

And as he stood there beside you, his hand still in yours, you knew that whatever storms came next, you would always be there to remind him of the peace that followed.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[canmom]

The themes of NieR Reincarnation

A post about the recurring elements of Drakenier and the use of branching timelines as a storytelling device. I'll be discussing spoilers for basically every DoD/NieR game.

Records

A somewhat understated recurring motif of the Drakengard/NieR series is the idea of stories or memories of humanity being stored in some massive archive.

It's an idea that first entered the series in NieR Gestalt/Replicant. Early drafts of the game focused on the idea of a world built out of stories and fairytale characters, and while most of this was cut, some remained in the Forest of Myth area.

Following NieR's obsessive love of hopping between different game genres, the story here is delivered through prose/text adventure segments. There is a sense that this area of the game exists as prose, with the characters slightly aware of narration - narration which absorbs the characters until you find a way to escape. Eventually you find out - it's rather cryptic in the actual game, but spelled out explicitly in Grimoire NieR - that it's a huge computer system storing records of the deceased humanity.

In your second visit to the area, the story focuses more on distant history, that all these stories are fragments of memory of the lost pre-apocalpytic world. You encounter a Gestalt (human soul extracted from body) that is eating the memories stored in the tree, and kill it, and for Nier and co., this is enough - but for the player, you really don't know half of what is going on.

In the story The Lost World, which was adapted for the additional Ending E added in the Replicant remake, Kainé returns to the Forest of Myth and finds the computer system expanding. She fights clones of herself before eventually speaking to a mysterious administrator and descending into a virtual world that seems like a corrupted version of her memories. But she's able to connect to her memories of NieR, Emil and Grimoire Weiss, and through that connection cause a kind of timeline collapse effect that allows her to resurrect Nier. Terms from DoD3 such as 'singularity' come back again.

In NieR Automata, the idea of the legacy of humanity becomes increasingly central. While the androids believe they are reclaiming Earth for humanity, the Machine Lifeforms' motivation is in large part driven by their efforts to pore over the records of humanity and learn how to evolve their condition, even by blind imitation. Many of the different Machine Lifeforms you encounter are shaped by their interpretations of human society. The motif of human buildings recreated in white blocks recurs at certain points.

In the final sequence of the game, you climb a tower, and inside it visit simulacra of locations from the Replicant/Gestalt. You learn that the machines have infiltrated the androids' network and downloaded basically all the information the androids have, including all their records of humanity. When the machines' 'Ark' is launched into space, it carries their memories and consciousness in data form.

The YoRHa: Dark Apocalypse raid series in FFXIV continues this idea of obsessive, blind reconstruction. The machines you fight here are now all the more explicitly connected to the apocalyptic shit in DoD; they have also been frantically creating duplicates of YoRHa android 2P, the Bunker and so on in corrupted form. Although the story here has mostly other interests, it's another recurrence of the idea of trying to recreate things that were lost.

Along with this idea of the archive comes the idea of preservation of that archive. Whether by accident or deliberate attack, the survival of the archive is not guaranteed.

This is all absolutely central to what Reincarnation is about.

Branches

The Drakenier series has played around with branching narratives pretty much from the start. It's somewhat infamous for it in fact - did you know that NieR is actually a spinoff of ending E of Drakengard, the one where you appear over Tokyo and have to do a rhythm game? Yeah, so...

Most games are fairly cagey (ha ha) about the mechanics of these branches. Indeed, although we speak of branches, the structure of these games is not really a branching one like a visual novel. The branches and 'endings' are usually unlocked sequentially.

Drakengard/Drag-on Dragoon (DoD1) is probably the closest you get to a traditional branching structure. You can unlock routes in certain missions by fulfilling certain conditions. The exact logic of these branches is not really explained - you can go back to a point before you recruit a party member and get a different branch where they're present for example. That said, it's not like a visual novel where you can be 'on' one branch or another - you can always jump to any level from any timeline.

This oddness of the branches is also lampshaded a little more in DoD3, the game that is most explicit about the nature of the branching timeline. DoD3 is, from the player perspective, a linear game. After you complete the first 'ending', you unlock new levels that appear at earlier points in the timeline, and diverging branches appear. In the later branches, the logic of the world is starting to break down. Party members who you'd recruit later in the story are in your party much earlier, in some cases suffering from amnesia, the implication being that it's an effect of the Flower's corruption.

The game is intermittently narrated by a character called Accord, an android 'Recorder' whose job is to document all the different versions of the story for an unknown party. Accord isn't supposed to intervene in the story, though she occasionally talks to protagonist Zero, and in the final D route, she decides to break the rules and save Zero. Otherwise, she's responsible for 'sealing' branches where it seems the world cannot be saved.

This is Accord:

The final cutscene of DoD3, available only after you beat the ludicrously difficult rhythm game that is the 'final song', shows a bunch of other Accords appearing and talking about what a mess this all is.

Accord's other role in the game is to sell weapons. Another series tradition running back to DoD1 is the 'Weapon Stories'. In each game, you can collect weapons, which can be upgraded through a series of four stages. Each stage unlocks another part of a story. These stories tend to be quite brief - each entry is at most a short paragraph. They also, particularly in the DoD games, tend to be comically grimdark.

DoD 3 came out after NieR Replicant/Gestalt, but in every game since then, there have been cryptic mentions of Accord. In Automata she's mentioned in a note as a weapons seller; in the updated version of Replicant she is mentioned as visiting Nier's village while the party is away on her adventures, and you see a documention that mentions the 'Accord Corporation' supplying magic weapons.

OK, so, put a pin in that, we'll come back to her later.

The side material commits further to the branching idea. The original Drakengard is established to follow from the DoD3 Story Side novel, while Branch A gives rise to the Shi ni Itaru Aka manga and the DoD 1.3 novel. The YoRHa stage plays spawned alternative versions, namely YoRHa version 1.3a and Shōjo YoRha version 1.1a, with the gender of the casts flipped. YoRHa 1.3a also has Accord in it. The anime NieR Automata ver. 1.1a also presents an increasingly diverging version of the events of the game - notably, Adam turns into a multi-armed monster.

DoD2, something of the black sheep of the franchise, was originally written to follow DoD1 ending A; later it was retconned to belong to its own branch. Just 'cause.

With me so far? ...no? Yeah, that's fair. You can read about all the details I've gathered so far here, but in short, there are lots of timeline branches, and multiple versions of several stories with small or large divergences.

Reincarnation

NieR Re[in]carnation is a gacha game that's been running for the last three years, and is going to be shut down at the end of April. At the time it came out, it was acknowledge for having unusually nice graphics for a mobile game, but rather desultory, grindy, repetitive gameplay. Which remained true throughout the game's life, so I can't exactly recommend playing Reincarnation, especially at this point.

But! I would definitely say it's worth your time to dig up the story on Youtube/Accord's Library if you're into NieR stuff. I won't be going into all the ins and outs of the story and how it all fits together in this post, but I am gonna talk about how it's structured.

NieR Reincarnation places you in a vast stone city called the Cage, calling to mind the environments in Ico. At the outset, you play as a young girl travelling with a weird ghost-like creature called Mama, tasked with restoring the memories stored in objects called 'dark scarecrows' which are being subverted and corrupted by black birds which form into various monsters.

Within each chapter of NieR Reincarnation, you get a short story in four parts, presented in a kind of cutout style, which are the four segments of a weapon story. You collect the weapon and the character.

The Cage is shaped by the content of the weapon stories somehow bleeding into the simulated setting. A character's memories can be used to restore the stories to their proper course. It is possible to interfere in small ways with the worlds of the stories.

The corruption of the stories tends to involve subverting characterisation to make them crueller, more prone to random violence etc. - or points when a character could be threatened in a narratively unsatisfying way. For example, a peace-loving runaway prince could be turned into a warlike king.

Over the course of the first arc, you discover that the girl you are playing is actually a monster who has taken the form of a human girl and, regretting it, wants to give her her embodiment back. The second half of the arc has you playing the girl trying to reunite with her monster friend; at the end, you get her own backstory as a victim of brutal prejudice. After all is said and done, both characters transform into weapons, which Mama picks up and hides away.

The second arc, The Sun and the Moon, deals with a brother and sister from present-day Tokyo. Both of them have been transported into the Cage by more of the weird ghost thingies, to participate in a strange ritual that is allegedly going to restore the Cage. The rules are highly mystical - a significant sacrifice is needed.

In the most recent arc, The People and The World, the characters all emerge from their stories as the Cage becomes increasingly corrupted. We finally get the long awaited point where these characters can interact with each other, and advance the stories from a series of tragic vignettes to something more. At the same time, we get a lot more allusions to other games in the series - from the Lunar Tear room where Emil memorialised Kainé and later 9S memorialises 2B, to a brief appearance Devola and Popola.

There's even a nod to Yoko Taro's other terminated gacha game, SINoALICE, which is going to be made into a movie oddly enough. There's a wry nod to the game being shut down.

And in the most recent chapters we find out that the Cage is actually a server on the moon containing records of humanity - 10H from A Much Too Silent Sea is one of the main characters. 'Mama' is actually the Pod tasked with overseeing the archive, and wiping 10H's memories whenever she learns too much - though it seems at some point 10H learned the truth and affirmed that she'd protect the archive anyway and they stopped wiping her memory.

Over the course of the chapter, 10H helps the gang make their escape from the moon through the androids network, to Earth. But when they get to Earth, they find themselves in a strange white city more resembling the Cage.

We'll finally get some answers, maybe, later this month. Anyway...

So, these records come from multiple diverging timelines, and they take the form of weapon stories. You have a unity of the ideas of character - weapon - memory - world. A record is simultaneously a tragic series of events, a person who can manifest inside the Cage itself, a simulated world which other people can visit, and a weapon.

In addition to the main storyline chapters and 'character stories', each character is associated with two additional 'EX' storylines, termed Dark Memories and Recollections of Dusk. Each one is a much more substantial narrative than most in the game.

Some of these EX stories clearly take place in different timelines to the first ones we encounter. Akeha's story, for example, takes place after her death in the original version. For the brother and sister from the Sun and the Moon arc, originally from present-day Tokyo, their Dark Memories take place in the backstory to NieR Gestalt/Replicant - the period where humanity is dying out to White Chlorination Syndrome and fighting monsters called the Legion. In this one, before the siblings could be torn apart by family drama and resentment, the apocalypse happens. Both of them end up coming into their own as heroic fighters. In the finale arc, the characters learn a bit about these alter egos, and it's made very explicit that this is a different timeline.

The monster Levania's Dark Memory is especially weird. It's the story of a salaryman who plays a monster called Levania in an MMORPG. His MMO character inspires him to live more bravely in the real world, and his life seems to be improving, but he is murdered by a jealous coworker. He wishes for reincarnation as he dies - classic isekai stuff. But the connection to the Levania you encounter in the main story is far from clear. Are all versions of Levania derived essentially from this man's tulpa?

The nature of the 'enemies' attacking the Cage is still not yet clear. They take the form of black birds. The birds are given a small amount of dialogue and characterisation, and they seem to not be malicious, just confused. The girl from the first arc in particular tends to interact with them sympathetically. However, they seem to be connected with the mysterious 'God' who was trying to destroy the world in DoD1, and the Angels and Flower of DoD3.

The birds are able to gathe together to manifest much larger monsters, the largest being giant elk and fish called Cursed Gods. During the finale arc, one of these becomes something that resembles the Mother Angel from DoD1 - and yes, there is a rhythm game - though mercifully a pretty easy one.

In the same arc, the character Yurie, an AI city overlord with grandiose ambitions and a loathing of imperfection attempts to download the entire history of humanity from the Cage and become a more perfect being. She succeeds, only to find the answers disappointing...

This is perhaps the closest thing we ever get to an explicit statement of what all these stories and histories add up to, but despite all this, the throughline is very strongly that these stories are essential to preserve. NieR characters exist in small groups, and it is their intense connections to these others, their treasured memories of travelling together, that motivate them to fight to preserve that thing, even if the results are destructive.

Similar themes emerge for example in Noelle's Recollection of Dusk story, which sees her travelling to preserve a place valued by her sister in crystal. And they also connect to the theme of sacrifice - the recurring ending device where the player must delete their save data in order to help someone (something echoed in Hina and Yuzuki at the altar of the sun and moon, or Levania and Fio). It's perhaps fair to say that nothing is more valued in the world of Nier than memories of a treasured person.

What about Accord? She has in fact made a brief cameo in Reincarnation already...

It seems incredibly likely that Accord originates from the Cage, and the accumulation of weapon stories is accomplished by androids like her. Definitely in the fandom there's a lot of excitement for the idea that Accord - something of a fan favourite - will show up at Reincarnation's ending.

So mystery solved, the Cage exists in the world of NieR Automata on the moon server? Not so fast - there are various discrepancies which seem to suggest that the world of the Cage exists in a separate branch than the one we see in Automata. For example, the androids are aware that the humans are dead and what remains on the moon is a huge archive of their memories; the humans seem to have survived much longer; 2B and 9S seem to have died in different circumstances. There are other oddities which fans have compiled.

And yet, despite being a divergent timeline with a much older point of divergence, some things seem to be fixed. There is still a YoRHa, still a 10H deceived about being on the moon, still a 2B and 9S.

One popular fan theory is that Reincarnation belongs to the NieR Automata anime (ver1.1a), since Adam turns into a monster there similar to the ones in Reincarnation. The black birds are reasoned to be the Machine Lifeforms, since we know they come from Earth. I'm not 100% sure of this, but maybe?

Anyway, that's basically the gist of it.

A story told through permutations

In many fictional series with a shared universe, there is an effort to maintain a consistent shared universe, so all the different events can fit into a timeline with understandable cause and effect and characters living out their lives. Even when this proves impossibly unwieldy, as in comic books or Star Wars, the attempt is made.

NieR does not really take this approach. The creators leave many details of the world, such as place names, incredibly vague - the focus is always on telling an emotional story with characters. There is, as we've seen, an almost gleeful willingness to declare another new timeline.

There is also a certain aspect of repetition, or more kindly reiteration - the same core character dynamic revisited and retold in various forms. (2B9S gets the worst of it). A character is something like a principle or ideal, and each story shines another light on that 'core'. In the earlier storylines of Reincarnation, it became quite frustrating because it seemed like e.g. the character event stories were just rehashing the same idea rather than advance the story.

However, the more accustomed I get to this style of storyline, the more I think this kinda works. It is of course quite similar to the ideas proposed towards the end of Homestuck, or to time loop stories - the idea of varying the contingent circumstances to try to better illustrate the core characterisations and dynamics.

Yoko Taro has talked about how he constructs stories from a very simple idea, typically a moment of high emotional impact at the climax, and then works backwards to figure out what sort of story could lead into that. In Reincarnation, each character gets fairly limited time to establish themselves, so they tend to be defined in terms of a pretty narrow high concept.

For example, Akeha is an assassin in a vague historical Japanese setting; her introductory story sees her decide for the first time to disobey her lord after she finds another person who has been treated as instrumentally as her. Most Akeha stories focus on her assassinations, her relationship to her retainer, and what she sacrifices to perform the duty. Only her Dark Memory lets us see an Akeha who has escaped that life - it's a simple story about preparing food, but that's given meaning by all the other Akeha stories.

Hina and Yuzuki are defined by the same traits in their flashy scifi Dark Memory stories as in the more mundane ones - Yuzuki the quiet outcast, Hina the self-sacrificing star. Fio is defined by kindness in the context of abjection, seeing the good in monsters. Levania stories are about the desire for escape and transformation. Argo is always a shitty dad who only feels alive while climbing mountains.

The staticness of these characters seems on some level to be the point - in that we are told in Hina and Yuzuki's story that the mechanism of the Cage is to sort characters into 'Light' and 'Dark' natures, and push them to inevitable conflict, even if they try to break free. In the final arc, the characters seem to finally approach some resolution as they leave their contexts behind. Given the themes of Automata in rejecting an inevitable tragic fate, similar movement may be at work. There's an ambiguity - the need to hold on to even tragic histories, vs the wish to not be confined to them. (Perhaps it's significant that it's called the Cage...)

With so many balls in the air and so many mysteries still unanswered, it's hard to figure out how Reincarnation can deliver a satisfying resolution in just one remaining chapter, but the final arc has been really cooking so who knows! But I'm also coming to appreciate it as a kind of broader lens to notice all these recurring elements and tie them together.

Stories about alternate timelines and branching narratives are very common nowadays, particularly as a tool for revisiting a nostalgic franchise. Something something effect of the fan wiki era. So I can't exactly say NieR is doing something completely unique, but I do think there is something to its fragmented, collage-like approach to putting together story elements. There's something quite honest about it - an ability to say 'these details aren't important'.

Yoko Taro always talks about himself as an entertainer rather than an artist. And probably it is true that a lot of this eemerged from an iterative design process rather than being the plan from the beginning (the first draft of NieR envisioned it as something closer to what SINoALICE ended up being, about a world of fairytale characters; NieR Automata began life as backstory for an idol project). There's definitely a strong sense that it's being improvised. And yet despite that, it does feel like it is cohering into some sort of picture, that there is an artistic throughline to all this.

Or perhaps that's just the effect of getting way too invested in something. I won't deny that NieR brings out the fan in me.

Anyway Accord had better show up next month. Guys. You've been teasing us for so long...

[fuumiku]

A shadow of myself, just who am I?

… I committed to the bit

Alright everyone do we want to listen to the Shadow identity crisis song the Shadow ptsd attack song or the Shadow existential angst song. Alexa play I Am All of Me. Alexa play Rhythm and Balance. Alexa play The Chosen One.

Appealing to the tiny overlap between Dungeon Meshi and Sonic fandoms. Mithrun is also like Omega in many ways (stoic but enthusiastic about maiming). Hm sometimes team Dark just be Mithrun, Cithis and Lycion... I need Mithrun to get a voice like Shadow’s in the anime soo bad please, raspy and deep... Parched throat with 0 intent or motivation to intonate aka low and pretty flat

Okok let’s gooo assigning characters chars, Fleki Sticks, Izutsumi Sonic because she craves freedom, Kabru Knuckles because he’s all about duty and isolates himself… Laios & Falin, Surge & Kit because it'd be funky and their parents want them to be people they aren’t :) Everyone having matching Sonic phone straps would be so cute. The context in that comic was that both groups passed each other by at the grocery store and Mithrun's big flashy merch sure is big and flashy (which happens to be quite bothersome for him) Laios is a Metal fan. Reasons: 1) he’s cool and murderous and there is a causal link there. 2) He transforms into a dragon once and it’s both empowering and angsty. 3) "No one SEES who he IS!!" says Laios and I as we burst into tears. Also Fleki is a big Team Chaotix fan I know it in my heart

You know it’d be fun drawing what Shadow’s dungeon would be like if he was dungeon lord. I’d imagine something like Mithrun’s. The ARK, but with flowers growing everywhere for her, his dead sister alive and well besides him as they live isolated from the rest of the world. It’s all fake, but Shadow’s heart feels at peace for the first time in so long, he is at home. See, they’re similar

Merry Christmas! I hope Mithrun gets a Shadow plushie

[knight-hiccup]

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐌 | Hiccup x Fem!Reader

This is Chapter 1 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Summary: After a deadly tempest rage against Berk, a maelstrom in the sea claims your parents—Where you were then eventually passed into the gruff, tender care of Gobber as his adopted niece. Help raising you beneath the clang of his forge alongside his own godson, Hiccup, a boy destined to defy the world. Hiccup and you stand through many hardships as childhood friends, and awkward occasions as two misfits against the world—a fierce baker of breads and a dreamer craving Viking glory. Pairing: Hiccup x fem!reader Genre: romance, fantasy, suspense, drama, angst, dark, vioIence, friends to lovers, dark themes, heavy Viking lore, Norse mythology, canon divergence Word count: 5.1k Warnings: This will have the lore of the films (and shows with side stories) but with much darker themes. Gore/blood, mentions of death, Norse mythology, some realistic dragon themes, more realistic scenarios, and mature themes starting at the point httyd 2 ark comes in, so, ofc NSFW. Any other warnings will be properly tagged upon story progression. A/N: Reader descriptions are not described besides the clothing, true to Viking/httyd fashion from time to time. Divider by @saradika-graphics & gifs/edits, dividers + template credit to #uservampyr my co-writer + beta reader ♡

CHAPTER 1

The Great Hall of Berk hummed with the morning clamor of a village waking to the promise of a new day. The air was thick with the scent of yeast and woodsmoke, the sweet smell of fresh baked goods ready for the taking but not without a symphony of chaos swirling around you as you danced between ovens and tables in a blur, with flour-dusted hands.

Loaves of bread, their golden crusts glistening with a crisp perfection, stacked high upon the counters in a tantalizing display. Among them, an irresistible assortment of buns—barley, ryes smothered in butter, and berries with oats—each mouthwatering with rustic flavor.

Stretching before you, a mile-long table groans under the weight of temptation: frothy eggnog, honeyed mead, and robust ale, each poised to dance with creamy skyr's or steaming bowls of porridge. And that's just the beginning. Succulent meats, tender fish, plump eggs, vibrant fruits, and crunchy nuts sprawl across the spread, a cornucopia of delights ready to satisfy the ravenous hunger of the tribe.

While the shouts of hungry Vikings echoed through the stone walls—orders barked with the urgency of warriors prepping for any sudden battle.

"More rye, lass!"

"Where's the barley flatbread?"

"Don't skimp on the butter this time!"

You stumbled over your own feet, catching yourself against a barrel of pickled herring before it toppled, a laugh bubbling up despite the madness. This was your domain, your forge of flour and fire, and though the frenzy threatened to swallow you whole, pride sparked in your chest like a well-tended ember.

You kneaded the last batch of dough with a fierceness that would've made a dragon crawl away, slamming it onto the table with a satisfying thwack. The rhythm of it steadied you—knead, fold, press—until the dough was smooth and ready for the oven. Wiping sweat from your brow with the sleeve of your elbow, already streaked with flour, you surveyed the kitchen.

Milkmaidens darted about, their aprons flapping like dragon wings, juggling trays of cheese and slabs of smoked fish. The head cook, a stout woman named Marta, bellowed at a young lad who'd nearly upended a cauldron of porridge. It was a storm, yes, but one you'd learned to ride with the same grit that kept Berk standing against the war.

"That's the last of it," you called, sliding the dough into the roaring oven. The heat kissed your face as you shut the iron door with a clang. Turning to Marta, you tugged at the ties of your apron. "I've got to run—Hiccup's waiting."

Marta's head snapped up; her wooden spoon poised mid-stir like a weapon. "Now? You're leaving me in this mess? The chieftain's crew'll be here any minute, and they'll eat us alive if the bread's not—"

"You've got it under control," you shot back, already halfway to the door, snagging a cloth from the counter. With a deft hand, you bundled a wedge of creamy goats' cheese, between a hunk of fresh flatbread, with some smoked meat and a fried egg—Hiccup's favorite, a little morning ritual you'd started years ago when his skinny frame needed coaxing to fill out. "Besides, I'll be back before Stoick's beard hits the table!"

"Lass, you're a menace!" Marta hollered in her heavy accent, but there was a grudging fondness in her tone as she waved you off, already turning to scold the porridge boy again.

You burst out of the Great Hall into the crisp morning, the wind tugging at your hair as it carried the tang of salt and pine from the cliffs and mountainside. Berk sprawled before you, alive with the clatter of hammers, the bleat of sheep, and the distant roar of a blow horns and shouts overhead—probably one of the twins stirring trouble again.

Your boots pounded the dirt path, the bundle clutched tight against your chest, warm and fragrant. The village blurred past—old man Mildew grumbling at his cabbages, a gaggle of kids chasing a chicken—and your heart thudded with a mix of urgency and something softer, something that always stirred when you thought of Hiccup.

He'd be waiting, probably perched on that rocky outcrop overlooking the harbor you two always shared, scribbling in his sketchbook or muttering to himself about some wild new idea. Ever since you were kids, he'd drag you into his schemes—mapping new ideas that would benefit Berk, testing contraptions that usually ended in singed eyebrows or a stern lecture from Gobber.

You'd been his shadow, his anchor, and somewhere along the way now both at the tender age of fifteen, that quiet crush you waved off had settled in your chest and blossomed more unwillingly. Only sometimes you'd hope he'd never see you as just the bread making Viking who tagged along. A small hope that flickered every time his green eyes lit up with a grin meant just for you—though you'd long convinced yourself it was nothing more than friendship to save yourself.

The path climbed, and your breaths came sharp as you rounded the final bend. There he was, silhouetted against the rising sun, a lanky figure hunched over, legs dangling off the cliff. Hiccup's auburn hair caught the light, tousled by the breeze, and his head was bent over something—probably another madcap invention doomed to earn Gobber's exasperated sigh.

You slowed, catching your breath, and felt that familiar tug in your chest. As you stepped forward, cheesecloth in hand, the wind carried a faint growling-rumble from him, and a laugh slipped from your lips—half at the oddity of the sound, half at the sight of Hiccup's hunched frame as he scribbled away in his journal.

His head snapped up at the sound, green eyes catching yours as you crested the hill. A grin flickered across his face—real and unguarded, the kind he saved just for you—and he set down his tools quickly as you closed the distance. You dropped onto the grass beside him, nudging his shoulder with yours.

"Brought you your fave again," you said, unwrapping the cloth with a flourish. "My original, egg-cheese, meat breakfast muffin!"

Hiccup's eyes lit up, and he snatched it from your hands, sinking his teeth into it without a second's pause. "Gods, this is my favorite," he mumbled through a mouthful, voice warm with that earnestness that always tugged at you.

You smiled, pulling out your own and taking a bite, the rich tang of the cheese and smoky meat settling on your tongue. For a moment, you both fell quiet, chewing in companionable silence as the sun rose higher, painting Berk's jagged cliffs in hues in warm orange and blue. The village sprawled below, a patchwork of roofs and smoke trails, framed by the endless sea stretching toward the horizon. It was a rare stillness, the kind that felt like a held breath.

Hiccup finished first, brushing crumbs from his tunic with a satisfied sigh, then turned to you, his face alight with sudden energy. "I did it," he said, voice buzzing with excitement.

"Finished your food first?" You respond sarcastically.

"Yes, but no—Finished the dragon trap. It's gonna catch a Night Fury—the Night Fury."

You nodded, still savoring your muffin, as he leaned closer to you.

"This is it, y'know? If I can pull this off, everyone'll finally notice me—Dad, the village, everybody. Maybe I'll even. . ." He hesitated, a flush creeping up his neck. "Maybe even get a girlfriend."

You kept chewing, the meat turning a little tougher in your mouth as you tilted your head, listening. His eyes were fixed on the horizon now, bright with dreams you'd heard a hundred times—dreams you'd helped him sketch on scraps of parchment, dreams you'd quietly wished might one day include you. But you nodded anyway, letting him ramble on about the trap's clever gears and the glory he was chasing.

"You'll do it, Hiccup. You've been planning this for months now. Now we just wait for that dragon. Hopefully, of course, without destruction on its part. . ."

His eyes flicked to yours, brightening, and he nodded—a small, grateful smile breaking through his usual tangle of nerves. "Thanks," he said, soft but sure, the word landing like a spark between you. "And for having my back on this."

For a beat, you held his gaze, that ache in your chest flaring, before the distant clang of the forge bell snapped you both back to Berk's relentless rhythm.

"Gobber's gonna skin you if you don't get back to work," you teased, brushing crumbs from your hands as you stood. Hiccup groaned, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, and Marta's probably got a ladle with your name on it," he shot back, smirking. You laughed, hefting the empty cloth.

"Meet you at the forge later? After I've survived the Great Hall, and you've dodged Gobber's wrath?"

"Deal," he said, already turning back to his workbench, muttering about adjustments. You lingered a moment, watching him, then turned down the path, the rumble fading into the morning's hum.

The hours slipped by in a blur of Hairy Hooligan chaos. Back at the Great Hall, you dodged Marta's sharp tongue and the Vikings' endless appetites, morning, afternoon, and now evening. Your hands stirring while your mind wandered to Hiccup's trap—and the plans to come after.

Meanwhile, the village churned on: smoke curled from chimneys, sheep bleated, and somewhere, a horn sounded signaling another practice raid thwarted. By evening, the sun hung low, casting sharp shadows over Berk's rugged sprawl, and you finally broke free, boots kicking up dust as you headed for the forge again.

The forge glowed like a dragon's maw, heat rippling the air as you approached. Gobber's voice boomed over the clang of metal, his hammer-hand punctuating a lecture you could've recited by heart. "—and if ye think I'm cleanin' up another one of yer 'genius' messes, Hiccup, ye've got another thing comin'!"

Hiccup stood by the anvil, head ducked, fiddling with a tangle of rope and gears that looked suspiciously like his trap. He caught your eye as you stepped in, flashing a sheepish grin—half apology, half plea for rescue.

"Saved by the baker," you called, leaning against a workbench. Gobber wheeled around, his eyes narrowing, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Oi, lass, don't encourage him! This one's been goofin' about all mornin'—nearly set me eyebrows on fire, he did." Hiccup opened his mouth to protest, but Gobber barreled on, waving his hammer-hand.

"And you—shouldn't ye be feedin' the village instead of nursin' this troublemaker's ego?"

"Already did," you said, crossing your arms. "Thought I'd see if Hiccup's still in one piece." Hiccup rolled his eyes, but the grin lingered as he hefted the trap's frame, its metal glinting in the forge light.

"It's ready," he said, voice brimming with that restless energy you knew too well. "Tonight's the night—I can feel it."

Gobber snorted, muttering something about "fool's hope," but you caught the flicker of pride in his gruff stare at Hiccups invention. The forge hummed around you, a heartbeat of steel and sparks. Whatever Hiccup was chasing, it was coming fast and it almost made you nervous.

The forge's glow dimmed into the late dark evening, shadows stretching long across the cluttered workbench. Gobber's patience finally snapped, his hammer-hand clanging against an anvil for emphasis as you too went on and on about things he could care less about.

"That's it—I can't be around ye two anymore tonight! Bunch of misfits, schemin' and chatterin' like a pair of natterin' nannies. Don't blow the place up, ye hear?" He stomped toward the door, muttering under his breath about needing a tankard of mead and a moment's peace, leaving the air buzzing with his departure.

You side glanced at Hiccup, catching the glint in his eye as he turned to you, practically vibrating with excitement. "Finally," he said, running up to his dragon trap tucked away near the corner space. You admitted it looked really neat, like some of his previous inventions—this was a contraption as wild as his imagination. It didn't surprise you.

"C'mere, look at this." He said excitedly patting it before he crouched beside it, beckoning you closer, and launched into an explanation that tumbled out faster than a terrible terror could attack.

"See, the tension's all in the springs here," he said, tapping a coiled mechanism. "One good shot, and it'll snap shut—bam!—right around the Night Fury's entire body. Fastest dragon out there, but it won't see this coming." His hands danced over the trap, tracing ropes and pulleys, his voice alive with that reckless hope you'd always admired.

You leaned in, squinting at the tangle. "Looks like it could catch a Gronckle. . .or maybe just tangle you up instead," you teased, nudging a loose rope with your index finger. He huffed a laugh, adjusting it with a quick tug.

"Nah, it's foolproof. Well, mostly. Okay, fifty-fifty." He grinned. "But if it works, Dad'll have to notice. The village, too."

"And Astrid?" you added before you could stop, keeping your tone light despite the sting. He flushed, shrugging, and you let it drop, pointing at a jagged edge.

"Better smooth that down—don't want your Night Fury limping away with a grudge."

"Good call," he said, grabbing a file and setting to work. You traded ideas back and forth—tightening bolts, testing the trigger—until the forge grew quiet, the night pressing in around you. Hours slipped away, the fire dwindling to embers behind you both as you sat waiting on the cliff again, and still no raid came. Hiccup's shoulders slumped as he stared out at the dark, star-strewn sky expression disappointed.

"No dragons," he muttered, disappointment lacing his voice. "Thought tonight was it."

You placed a hand on his back, forcing a smile. "They're just waiting to catch you off guard. C'mon, let's call it—Gobber'll have our hides if we're dead on our feet tomorrow." He nodded, reluctant, and you both trudged out, locking the forge behind you.

The village lay silent under a shroud of clouds, and you parted ways—him to his house, you to yours—carrying the weight of an empty home to go back to.

Hours later, the skies still clung tight to the new morning night, heavy and restless, when the first screech tore through Berk. A dragon raid—fierce and sudden. You were already in the forge, having been shaken up by Gobber barging in and yelling at you for help.

Sweat streaking your face as you and Gobber worked in a frantic rhythm, the air thick with sparks and steel. Axes clattered onto the counter, swords hissed against the grindstone, and Vikings roared past the window and above, silhouettes against bursts of flame attempting to steal the sheep.

"Faster, lass!" Gobber bellowed, tossing a freshly sharpened blade to a burly warrior who barely grunted thanks before charging back into the fray.

"These beasts'll have us for breakfast if we don't arm this lot!" You nodded, hands steady despite the chaos, passing out axes like loaves of bread on a feast day. The forge was a storm—metal clanging, fire roaring, and the stench of singed wool and leather as a stray ember caught someone's cloak.

Then the door banged open, and Hiccup stumbled in, all gangly limbs and wild hair. "I've got it—tonight's the night!" he whispers shouts to you. His eyes were bright, desperate, like he'd finally glimpsed his chance.

You glanced up from the axe you were sharpening, catching his gaze, and flashed a quick grin before continuing to sharpen the blade down for a waiting warrior. Gobber spun around; hammer-hand raised mid-swing.

"Oh, nice of ye to join the party!" he bellowed, sarcasm dripping like forge sweat. "I thought ye'd been carried off!"

You snorted, hefting a different weapon, a sword, onto the grindstone, sparks showering your apron. "Aye, by a dragon too picky to eat him—couldn't stomach all that brawn," you quipped, shooting Hiccup a smirk.

He grinned, shoving your shoulder playfully as he hauled a giant hammer to the wall and moved closer to you, nearly tripping over a pile of scrap metal.

"Who, me?" Hiccup said, puffing out his chest. "Nah, come on—I'm way too muscular for their taste. They wouldn't know what to do with all. . .this." He flexed, all gangly bravado, the gesture so absurdly exaggerated you choked on a laugh, even as you handed off the sword to a Viking who didn't spare you a glance.

Gobber rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "Well, they need toothpicks, don't they?" he joked, turning back to the anvil with a grunt.

You smirked, but the high demands of Berk's warriors drowned out any retort—shouts for "More axes!" and "Hurry it up!" pulling you back to the grindstone. Your hands flew, sharpening steel, passing tools, your focus split between the work and Hiccup's whirlwind energy as he darted past you, dodging Gobber's half-hearted swipe to reach the window.

Hiccup wrestled getting to work muttering about angles and tension, a lanky form of determination. You tracked him with quick glances, axe blades singing under your hands, too buried in the rhythm to catch every word of their brewing argument.

Then Hiccup's voice cut through—"I might even get a date"—and your head snapped up, interest flaring with small hope.

Your eyes flickered to him, catching the hopeful tilt of his grin, until a Viking's bellow—"Oi, lass, where's my sword?!"—jerked you back. You muttered an apology, hands scrambling to finish the blade, ears still tuned to their banter.

"If ye want to get out there and fight dragons, ye need to stop all. . .this," Gobber said, waving his hammer-hand at Hiccup in a broad, exasperated arc. You turned, mid-motion, eyebrow raised as you caught the tail end.

Hiccup blinked, incredulous. "But you just pointed to all of me. . ."

"Yes! That's it! Stop being all of you," Gobber shot back, flashing a winning grin that made your stomach twist. You shook your head, jaw tightening, and slammed a pile of sharpened tools onto the counter for the next wave of Vikings.

Gobber's jabs at Hiccup always stung you sideways—too close to the scorn the village heaped on him—and you buried the flare of anger in the work, pounding steel harder than necessary. They kept at it, trading barbs over the forge's roar, while you stayed silent, letting the clatter of metal drown out the urge to snap.

Then a shout shattered the air—"Night Fury!"—and the forge trembled as a shadow-streaked past, unseen but felt, a ripple of dread through the chaos.

Gobber straightened, peg leg thudding. "Mind the fort, ye two! They need me out there!" He wheeled on you both, hammer-hand jabbing.

"Stay. Put. There. . .both of ye. Ye know exactly what I mean." With that, he was gone, charging into the fray with a bellow, leaving the forge quieter but no less alive.

You turned to Hiccup, wide-eyed, the air between you crackling. You knew that look—the glint of a chance he'd been chasing since he first sketched that trap. "You going?" you asked, voice low but steady, a hint of worry.

"Yep!" he shouted, already snagging the trap's frame. "I'll see you soon!" He bolted for the door, a blur of lanky limbs and reckless hope, and you watched him go, heart thudding against your ribs. The forge hummed along with yelling Vikings piling up, embers glowing all around outside, and the Night Fury's sound echoing everything growing chaotic.

"Be careful. . ." You had whispered after he could let you say anything.

You stood alone in the heat, the air thick with soot and the tang of molten steel and turned back to the grindstone. Vikings pounded at the wood framed window, hands outstretched—"Axe, lass!" "Sword, now!"—and you moved quickly, sharpening blades, tossing them out, your arms burning but relentless.

You kept your head down, hands focused on the job at hand, but your mind flickered to Hiccup—out there with that rickety trap, chasing a dream he worked so hard to build. You only prayed he'd be ok.

The raid raged on, a blur of shouts mixed with dragon's roars and flame. You sharpened another sword, passing it back to a warrior whose beard was singed black and strands still burning. The forge was your second battlefield besides the kitchens, and you held it—alone, steady, until a distant crash jolted the air, sharper than the usual din.

You stayed put, as Gobber had ordered, piling blades on the counter before they could take them, ears straining for any hint of Hiccup's fate. The sky lightened, a bruised gray creeping over the horizon as morning began to peak, when a new sound reached you—Stoick's bellow, loud enough to rattle the forge walls, followed by the murmur of a gathering crowd.

Wiping sweat and soot from your face, you stepped outside, the dawn air sharp against your skin. Down the hill, the village had clumped around the wreckage of a catapult tower—flames licking its splintered remains. Hiccup stood at the center, shoulders hunched, dwarfed by Stoick's towering frame.

A Monstrous Nightmare roared, pinned by a toppled net, and Stoick wrestled it back, barking orders—"Take it to the pens!"—before rounding on his son. You edged closer, boots crunching on charred earth, catching the tail end of the lecture as the crowd watched, a mix of pity, shame and scorn in their eyes.

". . .Every time you step outside, disaster follows!" Stoick thundered, his voice a hammer strike. "Can you not see that I have bigger problems? Winter's almost here, and I have an entire village to feed!"

Hiccup shifted; voice small but defiant. "Between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding, don't you think?" A few Vikings gasped offended, while you covered your mouth to hide the laugh, but Stoick's glare silenced them.

"This isn't a joke, Hiccup! Why can't you follow the simplest orders?" he demanded, hands clenched.

"I—I can't stop myself," Hiccup stammered, gesturing helplessly. "I see a dragon, and I have to just. . .kill it, you know? It's who I am, Dad. . ."

Stoick pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperation carving lines into his face. "You are many things, Hiccup. But a dragon killer is not one of them." He straightened, turning to the crowd.

"Get back to your homes!" Then, softer, to Hiccup, "Get back to the house." He glanced at Gobber, who'd limped up beside him. "Make sure he gets there. I have his mess to clean up."

Gobber nodded, slapping Hiccup with his good hand. "Aye, come on." The crowd dispersed, muttering, and Hiccup trudged forward, head down, hands shoved into his tunic as he ignored the other teens. You stepped out from the edge, heart twisting at the slump in his frame, and caught up as he passed. Gently, you laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing just enough to say I'm here without words.

He glanced at you, eyes shadowed but softening, a faint, tired smile flickering. "See you later," he murmured, barely audible, and you nodded, letting your hand fall as Gobber steered him toward the house. You watched them go—Hiccup's lanky silhouette beside Gobber's hobbling bulk—until they vanished up the path, the weight of his failure and your quiet worry settling like the ash around you. Lingering a moment, the weight of his slumped shoulders etched into your mind, then turned back to the forge.

The chaos had ebbed, leaving charred wood and bent steel in its wake, and you busied yourself stacking axes, the rhythm dulling the knot in your chest. But it didn't stop your ears from straining for his footsteps, or your thoughts from circling back to that scream down the hill.

By mid-morning, you'd exhaustedly traded the forge for the Great Hall, sleeves rolled up, hands buried in dough like every other day before it. This time with barely any sleep. The air hummed with yeast and mead. The low grumble of Vikings in the hall nursing wounds with pride over their porridge.

Marta barked orders as she always did, her ladle a scepter, but you barely heard her—your mind was still out there, with Hiccup, wondering what mess he'd stumbled into now, and how you wished your shift would end so you can visit him or sleep.

Flour dusted your arms as you kneaded, the familiar pull and press a tether to sanity, when a shadow slipped through the door. 

Hiccup—eyes wide, darting like a hare caught in the open. He sidled up, voice a hushed rush. "I hit something," he said, tugging your sleeve with that restless energy you couldn't ignore. "Last night, with the trap—I think it worked. C'mon, you've gotta see." His breath was quick, his grin half-thrill, half-panic, and it left a spark of unease in your gut.

You froze, dough clinging to your fingers, and shot a glance at Marta. Her back was turned, but her glare could burn holes through stone. "Hiccup, I'm up to my elbows here—" you started, but his pleading look cut you off, green eyes bright with the kind of wild hope you'd never learned to say no to. You sighed, wiping your hands on your apron. "Fine. But if Marta skins me, you're baking the next five batches."

"Deal," he said, already halfway out the door. You followed, ducking Marta's wrath and the curious stares of a few Vikings, your boots hitting the dirt as Hiccup led you uphill, past the village's edge. The woods loomed, damp and tangled, and he rambled as you went—words tripping over each other about the trap's "perfect shot," the bola's arc, how he'd heard something crash. You stumbled over roots, swatting branches, and tossed him a dry look.

"Perfect shot, huh? Or did you just knock down another tower and call it a win?" you teased, dodging a low limb. He huffed a laugh, shoving you lightly.

"Come on, really? This is it—the Night Fury. I know it." His voice trembled with conviction, and you didn't argue, just kept pace, the air growing thick with pine, earth and the faint tang of rain. You didn't bother to counter, simply matching his stride while you two made it deeper into the woods.

The woods closed the deeper you got. The damp earth tugging at your boots, your heels throbbing after what felt like hours—though you couldn't be sure. Maybe one, maybe two; time blurred by quickly. You hadn't wanted to disappoint him, not with that fire in his eyes. So, you kept on, even as he groaned every mile, his makeshift map—a mess of 'X' marks scratched into his sketchbook—crumpling in his grip.

He edged closer to you, shoving the map under your nose. "Here—see? It's gotta be near," he muttered, tracing a jagged line with a dirt-smudged finger. You squinted at it, biting back a smirk at the chaos of his art, and shifted your weight, wincing as your heels protested.

"Hmm. . .Hiccup?" you said, slowing to a stop. "You think maybe we should head back and try again tomorrow?"

He sighed deeply, a gust of frustration that seemed to deflate him, and snapped the book shut. "Oh, the gods hate me," he grumbled, voice dripping with self-pity. "Some people lose their knife, or their mug. No, not me." You froze, biting your lip to stifle a snort, watching him trudge on, still ranting to the trees—and you.

"—I only manage to lose an entire dragon," he spat, slapping a broken branch in his path. It whipped back, smacking him square in the face, and that broke you. A burst of laughter erupted, echoing around you both as you doubled over, hands on your knees, the sound of your laugh leaving you silent at its peak from sheer force. Hiccup whirled, cheeks flushed and waved a desperate hand to cover your mouth. "Shh! Shush, shush—quiet!" he pleaded, voice a frantic hiss.

Your smile faded as his urgency hit, and you ducked lower beside him, breath catching. The woods stilled—too still—and a rustle rippled through the underbrush. Hiccup's wide-eyed glance met yours, a shared pulse of adrenaline, and you crept forward together, his crumpled map forgotten in his fist. The trail dipped into a ravine, steep and shadowed, and he slowed, breath catching as he heaves—quickly ducking.

"There," he whispered, pointing with a trembling finger. You peered over the edge, and your stomach twisted. There it was—the Night Fury—bound in a snarl of ropes and bola weights, black scales glinting like wet stone against the earth. Its wings still, pinned, and its chest unmoving.

"Hiccup. . ." you breathed, voice barely a thread. "You actually did it," you murmured, awe tinged with worry, your gaze darting between them. He swallowed, face pale, and you saw it—the crack in his resolve, the flicker of something deeper.

He edged closer, pulling his knife from his belt. You lunged to grab his arm, roots jabbing your knees, but he slipped free, clambering over the ravine's lip before you could stop him. He ducked behind a boulder—the only shield between him and the beast—and you crouched, watching, worry gnawing at you. Your lip stung as you bit it hard, tasting iron, eyes locked on his lanky frame huddled in the dirt.

He peeked out, voice rising, loud and brash. "I—I did it! Ohh, this. . .this fixes everything! Yes!" He straightened, chest puffed, and you rose too, both of you bold with the certainty the dragon was dead—its stillness a grim trophy. "I have brought down this mighty beast!" he crowed, stepping forward to plant a foot on its side, triumphant.

Then the Night Fury twitched—a shudder of muscle under scales—and Hiccup froze, the blade shaking in his grip. You stumbled forward, the air thick with earth and the beast's ragged breaths, its green eyes snapping open to bore into his. Very much alive.

[jewishconvertthings]

How to Immediately Ingratiate Yourself in [Most] Jewish Communities

(*caveat that I'm an American, liberal Jew, so my experiences are not universal despite being common)

So you've just started going to shul and you're worried about fitting in with the congregation. Or, perhaps, you're moving out of the community you converted in and are worried about finding your place in a new community. Maybe you're switching shuls. Whatever the reason, you're starting in a new community and want to be accepted right away. Here are some tips for becoming a rapidly accepted fixture in the community:

If your community has a weekday minyan, go to minyan. That will show you who the real machers are in the community: the ones who make services happen regularly and who aren't shy about calling or texting people to get butts in seats. If you're Jewish, you might be Jew #10, the perennial hero of daveners everywhere. If not, you're communicating to them that possibility in the future. (No one was more excited for me to finish conversion than the minyan regulars.)

Okay but what if I'm a woman (or not halachicly male person) attending a non-egalitarian community? If it's liberal orthodox community and/or has a partnership minyan, I'd still consider going. I attended morning minyan at my Modern Orthodox shul for months before I completed my conversion because it was less awkward than going to the Conservative minyan and having to clarify that no, they still couldn't count me yet. (And I really liked the people and the post-minyan drash the rabbi would give.) They were actually delighted to have me holding up the women's side of the mechitza and welcoming in the occasional women who would come for a yahrzeit.

Do you have rhythm and/or are possessed of decently good coordination? Learn the cup song! [Tutorial] People will be very excited albeit potentially confused if it comes out that you didn't grow up going to Jewish summer camp. (I'd just tell them you saw the song on the internet and thought it looked fun.)

Are you musically talented or a semi-competant guitar player? Many communities would love to involve you in the songful parts of the service if you let leadership know.

In general, pay attention to what your community is always begging for volunteers for, especially things you can do as a non-Jew or not-quite-yet-Jew if that's your situation, and sign up for one or two things you think you'd be good at. I would say it's better to pick one thing and focus your energy on being THAT guy rather than trying to do a little of everything (voice of experience here.) Real life examples I can think of: being a greeter, arranging set-up for events, helping out with food prep such as kiddush or post-minyan bagels, running groceries to homebound congregants, delivering mishloach manot if your community does that, childcare or assisting with children's activities if you like kids, etc.

Put a fair amount of energy into remembering people's names and faces, and try to work out early who is related to whom. Bonus points if you can file away information about their lives that they tell you during your conversations with them.

If you're asked to do honors by the gabbai, try to say yes to anything you know how to do and are qualified to do halachicly. If you're not Jewish, many liberal communities will still let you open the ark or take a multi-person aliyah with someone who is Jewish, or have you read some of the contemporary English language prayers. Bonus points for if you are able to learn and perform hagbah (especially if you're left-handed/able to hagbah when the sefer Torah is heavy on the left side.)

Honestly, if you're between the ages of 18 - 35, most communities will be thrilled you're there and tripping over themselves to get you to come back. In combination with the above? You're their new best friend. If you are older than that or still a minor, they will still be very happy to have another friendly and helpful face, even if it's just that you regularly attend minyan.

Good luck and here's to becoming a beloved fixture in your new community!

[thatskynews]

Imagine this...

It was Traveling Week of February 2021. TGC dropped the news showing the silhouette of the TS of the week. It was the Respectful Pianist from Season of Rhythm, known for their duck mask and winter piano.

Fast forward to Thursday, the time has arrived to meet the duck! However, there was a slight problem...

That is not the duck.

And this was the beginning of the story dubbed by yours truly as The Duck-Crab Incident.

Back then, seasonal spirits were not in their area unless they were the TS of the week, so you got hundreds of post-Enchantment players rushing to the Ark to nab the crab walk emotes and their cosmetics before TGC can fix it.

Hours later, the duck got their rightful place and everything goes back to normal, right?

Well, not really... Because in the next TS announcement, TGC just outright announced who's the next one instead of the silhouette guessing game.

And it was the crab.

Though iconic it might be, it wasn't the first time a switcharoo of Traveling Spirits happened. The first recorded switch was with Sassy Spirit, who was replaced with Dismiss Spirit due to the difference patch versions of players.

And after the Duck-Crab Incident... Twirling Champion was suddenly replaced by Earth Prophet. And again, TGC has to announce early that the Prophet is the next TS. History repeats itself as they say lol - Anxy

[aradassbadass]

bad pt iii | d.dennis

maybe he isnt so…bad

your eyes scanned your surrounding, the dancing of the lights making it all the harder to accurately see who was all present.

you glanced back down at your phone the message still on your notifications.

‘tell that nigga get off u for i act up’

you rolled your eyes reading it again. it had been over 5 months since his last visit and you had successfully blocked him on everything- or so you thought.

you did even respond just blocked the new number and continued dancing with that tall dark-skin man behind you. his hands gripped at your waist as you continued to grind back on him. old school r&b had been playing all night the rhythms easy to keep even in your tipsy state and for that you were thankful.

“you trynna go to my crib lil mama?” you feel his breath on your ear. you contemplate for a moment before nodding. his hand grips yours as he begins to lead you out of the section. you silently follow keeping your head down until you come to and abrupt stop.

“man fuck you doing with my lady.” you hear the all to familiar voice. you head snaps up seeing duke and davo standing in front of you.

“yo lady? nigga she coming with me move round bro.”

“boy he said thats his lady fuck nigga move round for i up this bitch on yo ass.” you look up and you see him flash his stick. you can basically hear the liquor in davos voice and in any other instance you would laugh but your frozen in your spot.

“man hell nah.” the man in front of you says releasing your hand and walking off.

a disgruntled noise escaped you mouth as duke zeroed in on you.

“so this what we doing now?” he mumbles in your ear gripping your arm pulling you into him.

you chose not to answer and attempted to pull away from him only to have his grip tighten.

“man hell nah, we need to talk. come on.” he growls pulling you by your ark through the masses of people in front of you. he pulls to the back, slipping through security and you finally end up outside where you assume he is parked as you see his jeep.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” his tone is as harsh as you expected his grip finally falling from your arm though.

you continue with the silent treatment looking off past him. his hand slams against the wall behind you causing you to flinch.

“look at me.” he growls eyes face only inches from yours.

you peer into his orbs, and he finally smiles. its cat-like and you know its only because he feels he is winning in this situation and that infuriates you.

“now why you been ignoring me? got me blocked, cant even text you off davo shi. why you doing all this?” his voice is deceiving if you had not known any better you would have thought he was actually hurt.

you laugh,“duke please cut the bullshit.” your words are cold. “this aint shit. you aint shit, not to me at least.”

he flinches at the last part and the smile goes into a straight line and you cant help but be smug at the sight.

he leans in closer, “you think this shit funny huh?” dont forget what happened last time yo ass wanted to be a hard body.”

you tensed up at the words because how could you forget. you had been chasing that feeling ever since, but no other man seemed to take you where he could and it caused nothing but frustration.

“oh i remember alright. dont care to forget what we did- just to forget you.”

he grips at your neck pushing you up against the wall breath heavy.

you cant help the sensation that begins to tingle at your middle and you smirk.

“look at you, all mad cause youve been forgotten.”

he laughed diamonds dancings as he did so, “dont worry, ion got a problem reminding you mama.”

his lips attach themselves to yours, this kiss full of lust. you didnt immediately reciprocate the emotion, it was only after he gripped your waist and lifted you off the ground did you give into his temptation.

he began towards the vehicle, using one hand to support you the other to pull the back door open and sitting you in the seats closing the door behind him as he crawled atop of you.

the fabric of your dress bunched around your waist as you slid further back into the seat giving him more room to crawl between your legs. a hitched moan escaped your lips as his fingers connected with your clit through the thin fabric of your panties.

his lips attached themselves to your breast as he roughly pulled them from your top. his tongue swirled around the hardness of your nipple fingers stimulating you all the while. you spread your legs as far as the small confines of the backseat will allow and grip his head pushing him down to your core.

he so graciously obliges and takes the initiative to push your underwear side tongue sliding up between your lips stopping once he arrives at your clit and he sucks on it causing you to shudder and tangle your hands into his locs.

ungodly noises fill the car as he slurps and sucks all the juices you produce like he is a starved man, and this is the first meal in eons. your chest feels heavy as his oral assault continues and you can feel your climax approaching. you say nothing only gripping his hair and dragging his face up and down your sex peering down at the sight of your slickness coating his lips and even nose.

you bite your lip and grind down onto his face continuing to pull him closer and closer into you. he doesn't complain and if anything, it seems he is enjoying the experience just as much as you are. deep groans escaping his mouth between the erotic noises that is made between the connection of his mouth and your wetness.

you shift up a little further and cry out as his tongue grazes your ass. you stay in place as his tongue works the rim of it and goes back down to thrust into your hole.

you feel your body begin to convulse and you squeeze your eyes shut feeling as you release yourself into his mouth.

your cries of immense pleasure dont cease when youre done because he continues to devour you even after your done, so you use all of what little strength you have to push him back and squeeze your thighs shut.

his eyes are cat-like as he peer up at you and his smile is devilish, and even through your exhaustion you can tell he feels like he has won.

you go to pull up your panties and he tries to stop you, "nah we aint done."

you laugh, "yes we is. i got mines- go find somebody to give you yours."

you open the door behind you and slide out feeling content for once. you hear him calling for you to come back desperation seeping from his tone.

you went back into the club immediately going into the bathroom. you stared at your self in the mirror and the feeling was surreal.

you didnt feel used or less than- you felt a deep sense of power. power of freedom and something like raw dominance. and for once since the time you had met duke you felt good. the realization hits you as to why he did it. why he used you whenever and however he wanted. how he knew you needed him. how good the desperation sounded to his ears.

to feel good you have to be bad.

yesssss finally finished this little endeavor of mine 😩 hope yall liked itttt!!

[lephalacat]

Hey fans of Shadow or Maria, check out this song "Space Colony" by Mili, it fits them perfectly.

(Original song is "Cosmo" in the game Cytus, remixed) Context = The song's included in the rhythm game Deemo, which is also about someone losing a dear family member. (Which leads to a number of songs in the game dealing with the topic of loss, love, etc.) Anyway, according to the wiki, these are the lyrics (translated, can also be found in the vid) and they fit Shadow and Maria's relationship PERFECTLY:

~~~

The sky, it blooms. Turning the stars into dreams. The humans, they know. As they look upon the sky. The past and us, will stay forever unchanged. We raised our palms, and watched devotedly. A streak of light rapidly went by, that was my ship. It was our future, that we connected with. The ark advances, giving us a ride. Carrying on our dashing thoughts. U may ("yume/dream") , I see you. So say ("sousei/world-creation") , I say you. U may, I see you. I know, U may die. The ark flies, giving us a ride. Defying gravity, the ark continues to fly. Finally it broke--our ark of hope. With our dreams it burst open and fell, nowhere to be found. ~~~ ....No one can convince me that this ISN'T about Shadow and Maria.

Doomed siblings with the death of one/both implied & a space colony of hope called an "ARK" ... This fits them so well...!! ; - ;

[birgittesilverbae]

tmtl: after the ark

Camila is the one who finds her, the one who sits at Beatrice's side, pressed against her at shoulder, hip, knee. The Ark hums behind them, turns their faces an eerie, flickering blue. 

"With me, Sister Beatrice," Camila says finally, once Beatrice's breathing has settled back into an even rhythm. She stands and reaches out to Beatrice.

Beatrice grasps Camila's hand and lets her pull her to her feet.

Camila leads her to the front seat of the van, gets her buckled into place, cups her cheek in her palm. Beatrice can barely feel the contact. Can barely feel the weight of Yasmine's eyes on her, pitying.

The drive is slower this time around, Camila careful and settled behind the wheel, glancing over at Beatrice again and again. She doesn't push the point, doesn't question, doesn't pry, and for that Beatrice is grateful.

In the courtyard, Camila gets Beatrice out of the van and turns to begin unpacking gear, a learned habit. Beatrice can't do anything but stand, blank, as her sisters stream past her, seemingly unaffected in the face of Beatrice's incalculable losses. 

"Bea," Camila says softly, shaking her arm. She has a backpack on and a rifle case slung over one shoulder. 

Beatrice makes a noise, something along the lines of asking to help, to take the burden, but Camila shakes her head. "Let's find Mother Superion, okay?"

Jillian's scream echoes through the compound. Beatrice begrudges her the release. She had known Michael was going to his death. Beatrice had been lied to and misled and sheltered like– Like a child.

She catches sight of Vincent on the way inside and snaps. She puts him up against a wall, knife in her hand, and Camila's urging is not nearly enough to pull her away. Asking him how he has the audacity to show his face here when she's lost everything to him. 

"Beatrice, carry yourself!"

It's all Bea can do to choke out a broken 'Ava' and then Mother Superion turns on him herself.

There's still blood on her knuckles where they rest on the handle of her cane when she sits Beatrice down in one of the mansion's side rooms and asks for an explanation.

Beatrice sits, quiet, staring, for an eon. And then- "I didn't take care of our girls."

[thewritingark]

The Favourite?

The song I loved the most yesterday

On repeat, at the top of my playlist

Has now drifted away

It isn't that special

The memories it has, isn't my life now

The tears dried, that once fell due to its symphony

The ability it once had to put rhythm in every thought of mine,

Now, there is nothing to convey

From reality to memories

From the favourite one to one of them

It was a short journey,

I don't even remember how and when.

~ark