#never do that and yet I don't learn

[girlivealwaysbean]

i never grew up it's getting so old

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[nostalgebraist]

Due to recent experiences, I am feeling an urge to make an anti-drug-style PSA except it's warning impressionable machine-learning-curious teens to never, ever try a thing called "Huggingface transformers Trainer"

Not. Even. Once.

[loverboybrightsideghost]

one of my favorite clark headcanons that i have (that is completely unsupported by canon) is that he's transgender by kryptonian standards. martha and jon kent raised him as a boy and as he grew up he never had any reason to doubt it at all, he was like yeah i'm a boy, makes sense. and then he gets to the fortress of solitude for the first time and it turns out how Gender works on krypton was just Different enough that clark doesn't really fit the kryptonian standards of whatever he was supposed to be. bonus points because this makes him feel like even more of an outsider as a kryptonian, even if he's the last one left.

[spotaus]

New Age Au (Nighttime Worries)

Okay remember how I said I'd be back? Yeah. I'm unwell. This is a shorter one that I think could definitely be approved upon, but I live for posting drabbles so 🫡🫡 good luck soldiers <3

This is an Error pov set maybe a month or two after Night became small.

Also @ancha-aus and @papiliovolens and @mutzelputz ! Welcome back! :]

   "Nightmare?" Error's voice broke through the blackness of the space outside his workshop. The inside wasn't much brighter, a few loose blue strings being the only thing giving the room a faint glow. "What're you doing up here so late?"

   There was no point in titles right now. Error had always been pretty bad about using then, but especially now that the king was... younger than him. Now that Nightmare was smaller.

   Besides, it was the middle of the night, up in the top room of a fairly tall tower. He was the only one who came up here, and he'd know if there was anyone aside from Nightmare around.

   The King had come to his door, and now stood outside it. He had his cloak wrapped at his shoulders, but Error was pretty sure he could see the soft, thin, purple of his sleepwear. He didn't even see Night's mask. It was just that soft white eyelight peering up at him in the dark.

   "I... I'm not sure." Nightmare replied quietly.

   Error let a breath pass between them.

   Silence.

   "You're not sure?" Error repeated incredulously.

   Surely Nightmare wasn't visiting for no reason. Surely the king hadn't just popped by far into the night for fun.

   Nightmare seemed to clutch at his cloak a bit tighter.

   "I was in my study reading over documents, and I mentioned being thirsty, so Dust left to go get Ccino up and have him make something." He explained, then. The words coming quickly. "They took longer than I expected, so I moved to go meet them, but-" His breath quickened.

   Error was piecing it together now. The stiffness. The rapid way he'd grabbed for the strings which would alert Error to his presence.

   "I swore someone was following me, and you were the nearest." He finished, his eyelight dragging away to gaze back at the stairs behind him.

   They were cold, and unwelcoming, and curved shortly out of sight into a dark pit. Away from Error's guiding lights.

   Error gazed at Nightmare as he gathered a few more strings from his sockets. The magic spooled and glowed between his fingers, growing bright enough to cast Nightmare's shadow. Long and tall. Like his old form.

   He wasn't focusing much on that, though. More, the dark circles that seemed to be under Nightmare's sockets. They made him look so weary, and sad. Tired.

   "Well, I can tell you no one followed you up here. I'd know." Error offered him the quick comfort, and watched as Nightmare gave a hesitant little nod. Though, he couldn't seem to draw his gaze away.

   It was like he was straining to hear any little noise. See any hidden face in the darkness.

   Error sighed to himself.

   Internally, of course. He wasn't that comfortable around the king. If only because he doubted the jumpy ruler would appreciate a fond sigh in the midst of his worry.

   He'd heard from Ccino that Nightmare tended to get worried, and seen it enough times now that he had been spending more time outside his workshop.

   "We should go back to your study, your highness." Error suggested, his strings already flying behind him, clutching and wrapping at his current project. Pulling it towards him, slinging in a satchel to hold tight to his side.

   Nightmare glanced back to him briefly. In worry.

   "If Ccino and Dust are both up and they get back to find you missing?" He asked loosely, "They're going to turn the castle upside down."

   Something in that seemed to register for Nightmare, because he seemed to jolt and look fully towards Error.

   "You're accompanying me?"

   Error really held in that fond sigh this time. He cursed himself for picking up on that habit from his brothers.

   "Sure. I mean, who am I to deny a chance to work in the study again?" He joked, before changing his tone slightly. "Plus, I have my magic. Anyone following you would be dusted before they could try anything."

   This seemed to finally reassure Nightmare enough.

   Error didn't think about Night's past all that often. He certainly thought of the king, but never what led him to feel so vulnerable. He figured it wasn't just that loss of magic.

   Error stepped out of his workshop and stood beside Nightmare on the small landing.

   They were very close. Close enough that Error's bones fizzled with the ghost of pressure as Nightmare's robe fell into one of Error's arms.

   He flinched away, and Nightmare did the same with a quick little 'apologies'.

   They stood there a moment, collecting themselves, before Error started down.

  

   The stairs were long, and cold, and Error regretted his choice to not slip on his sandals before exiting his workshop, but there was no way he was turning around and being a big baby about it.

   He kept a sense on Nightmare. His shoes clicked quietly and diligently against the tone, Light little patters just behind him.

   Error remembered a time when he used to move in complete silence. He preferred it like this.

   The steps were illuminated in blue magic, a Cyan coating every crack and crevice, giving them a little bubble of sight coming directly from Error's hand where he held the wad of illuminating magic.

   It wasn't a very long trip. Not at all. But the quite felt tense and nervous. Error figured it was just Nightmare's worries feeding into his own tired energy. He'd not slept yet either.

   Soon enough they came to the break in the hall, where the arch to the stairway intercepted the main hallway between the Twin's wing (the one where Nightmare resided with the Knights) and the rest of the castle.

   Error hadn't realized how true it was that Night must've panicked halfway to his destination and rushed up to Error.

   The hall was quiet so far, and devoid of people, so he led the charge into the wide, cold space.

   The floors here had nice rugs lining the center, and he hopped onto the island of comfort away from the ruthless stone. Nightmare followed him swiftly.

   He tried to appear comfortable, because he could tell Nightmare was staring. He always did that when he was trying to figure something out.

   Something about feeling emotions when he was big and goopy. He couldn't do it anymore.

   "Still clear." Error reported, and Nightmare nodded again.

   They moved towards Nightmare's wing.

   Error hadn't been here long, but he knew that Nightmare's wing was where he had his room, one he's had since childhood, his study, and the rooms where his knights had all eventually ended up.

   It wasn't separated by a physical barrier, but no one dared to go into it unless they were invited by Night or the Knights. Or Ccino.

   Error has had permission since first arriving, Nightmare insisting if he needed anything he could come searching. Error had never taken the offer before all this.

   Of course, now was different.

   Now the king was small, and his age, and they were friends. Or, he hoped they were, at least.

   They moved quietly down the hall, passing rooms Error figured held Nightmare's resting elite guard. Or, maybe they were all off doing projects. He was pretty sure Cross was the only one with a decent sleep schedule among them.

   Regardless, there wasn't any sign of movement, no other souls anywhere in the stretch of hall.

   When they arrived to the study door, it was slightly ajar.

   Error held out an arm, halting both himself and Nightmare just outside. A glance revealed Nightmare was surprised to see the door open.

   Nightmare always closed doors behind him. It was a force of habit Error had seen plenty of times.

   "Dust?" Nightmare tentatively called out.

   Thank the gods Nightmare has faith in his knights. The thought that Dust might be inside hadn't even crossed is mind.

   Error flinched slightly as the door swung inwards, revealing Dust.

   He seemed to scan the hall, quickly taking in the scene. Error, standing partially between Night and the door. Night unharmed.

   "My lord, you had me worried." Dust said quietly, that voice low and almost a mumble.

   He moved out into the hall, past the two of them.

   Dust was short. Nearly shorter than Nightmare. He'd apparently never been tall, if the joking he'd heard was to be believed.

   Nightmare muttered an apology, quietly, and Error grumbled a bit to himself as Nightmare started around him, towards the study.

   He followed, quickly moving from carpet to stone to carpet again.

   He stayed on the ground just long enough for Nightmare to get comfortable on one of his sofas, where a few documents were strewn, before pulling himself and his project up into the air. To the small platform of strings he'd been constructing among the rafters of the high-ceiling. 

   "Nightmare, you alright?" Dust questioned more quietly once he shut the door, "Why'd you leave?"

   Error watched from his perch as Nightmare sunk in on himself a bit. Though he didn't flinch away as Dust took up a spot on the nearest chair.

   "I thought I heard something, so I came to find you." He said smally. "But I thought I heard it again in the hall, and I wasn't sure how far away you had gone to find Ccino, so- so I rushed up to Error's workshop instead of coming back."

   Dust seemed to think about it for a second, before he nodded to himself. Error couldn't see his eyelights thanks to the angle.

   "Alright, I understand." He said simply, "I apologize for leaving you alone like that."

   Nightmare just nodded a bit to himself, turning back to his papers.

   "It's alright. Error brought me back safely." He said, then.

   Error was glad he was up in his perch, because Nightmare's voice was very nice when he was calm. And it felt really nice to have Nightmare speak highly of him. He tried not to react as he saw Dust lift his skull and squint up at his platform among the shadowy rafters.

   He stuck a hand out, the one with the strings still glowing around it, and gave a thumbs up to the knight.

   He was well aware the Knights weren't all that trusting of him. But, then again Error was the newest one, and seemingly someone Nightmare had decided to trust all on his own.

   Though, Dust seemed different. He just nodded and focused again on Nightmare. He didn't chastise him for sticking around or bother him to come down.

   In the ensuing silence, Error got to work unraveling his project from his satchel.

   The glowing string moved about to light the dim space, as a few well-placed pulls allowed the pieces of his work to gently spread out onto the woven ground of his platform.

   Several arrowheads were spread before him, a few shafts discarded to the side. Each arrow point was covered in different magical layers, some looser than others, some more obvious.

   Error had been working for a bit now on an idea he'd had when he first got to the town where the wizards had been setting up for the King's arrival. To impress him, and hopefully be hired.

   One of those people had been accompanied by an archer, and their showing had been of magic-tipped arrows that could harness blue magic once they were stuck inside, forcing an enemy to a full stop if they were hit.

   It was a clever idea, but it was a one-trick show, and could only be used by the monster shooting them because they had a blue soul trait. Humans, non-patience monsters, they'd be out of luck.

   Error wanted to try something like that, but better. Use pre-made arrows and find a way to easily coat them in his magic. His strings always stayed, and the potency always remained strong, no matter how far away he was. He'd not realized that back at school, when he was testing something at his house, and accidentally set a room on fire back at the academy with strings he'd left behind.

   Though, progress had been slow. It was hard to work with materials he didn't make, but it made no sense to craft them from scratch himself, it'd be a waste of time to make enough for the entire guard, especially since arrows were a one-time use.

   The ones he'd made technically worked, but the strings either dulled the point, or loosened on impact and were easy to pull out. He needed them to stay put.

   Oh.

   An idea rushed into his head, and he scooped up one of his unused arrowheads, spinning it between his fingers, before collecting more of his magic and getting to work on his idea.

   It didn't take long, not at all, but it took just long enough that he hadn't noticed Ccino enter the room.

   Error rolled to the edge of his platform, leaning over a bit, to spot that Ccino was now sat on the couch beside Nightmare, the king tucked into the older skeleton's side. Was he shivering?

   Error figured that, just maybe, Nightmare wouldn't be in the mood to look at his deadly magical weapon right this second. He was fine with that, he'd just show him tomorrow. Or whenever he visited again.

   Before he could commit to rolling back out of sight, he found his eyelights meeting Ccino's over Nightmare's skull.

   "Oh, Error!" He greeted quietly. Ccino was always careful around him. Not unkind. "Would you like some tea? Dust's not having any, so I have an extra cup."

   The offer was surprising, and Error debated.

   Sure, why the hell not. He hadn't had tea in a while, and should probably drink something.

   He wordlessly rolled off his platform, one hand ensuring strings dropped him gently to the carpet behind the couch that Nightmare and Ccino were sat on.

   Ccino smiled at him, gently nudging Nightmare to sit up so that he could pour a new cup.

   When Night straightened, he wiped at his sockets before turning around to face Error. One hand held his tea gently, the other was free and braced against the wooden couch back.

   It seemed like he was going to say something, when he blinked and focused in on Error's hand.

   "Oh! You were working on a project?" He asked quietly, and Error internally cursed his habits.

   He still had the arrowhead loosely draped from strings in his other hand. He hadn't even realized it. It was just easier to not forget where he put things if he kept hold of them.

   "Yeah. It's... not finished yet. This is just the best version I have right now." He said, lifting his hand up so that Nightmare could see it better.

   By proxy, the other two could see it as well. Ccino returned with the cup, and held it out on its saucer to Error over the back of the couch.

   He didn't seem offended when Error used strings to grip it and hold it. It was easier to keep from spilling, and free up his hands as he did other tasks. He had better awareness with his strings than he did his normal body.

   "Mm. Magic arrows, like from the Wizard Tryouts?" Dust spoke up from his seat a bit further away.

   Nightmare blinked in surprise as he seemed to be reminded of that showing. Then his brow furrowed. "Didn't you say that those were poorly designed?"

   It was true, Error had given a full report on why he hadn't been impressed by anyone else at the showing once he was hired. He was surprised Nightmare's remembered it.

   "Those ones had shit design, yes." He confirmed, flicking his wrist so the strings shortened and pulled the arrow closer to his palm. "These ones aren't custom-made. It's your regular everyday arrow with a sleeve that wraps tight to the arrowhead."

  

   He couldn't help himself as he stepped a bit closer to the couch. "The ideal design would be something that stays on when entering the target, but remains in the wound after the arrow is removed." His strings shifted, he used his free hand to point to a band of bright blue wrapped around the center of it. "This version adds barbs to the edges, so as long as it stayed on until it hit the target, it would leave blue magic behind, dug into the wound"

   He jostled his hand a bit so the string would allow it to spin a bit. "Of course, this sort of design would only work being made of my magic, but if I made enough tiny sleeves anyone in the guard could have some nasty archery shots."

   He was grinning. He always got excited when he got to explain his creations. They were his pride and joy.

   "Gods, that's... a little terrifying, kid." Dust said with a weary chuckle.

   Error's offense, though, was quickly overridden by a motion from Night.

   The King reached a hand out to gently cup under the arrow as it swung to a stop.

   "I think it's very clever!" The King said slightly, eyelight plastered on the prototype weapon, "It's far more efficient than training our magic users in blue magic, and would certainly take enemies out with less arrow cost and man-power on our end."

   That was exactly it. Error was always relieved when the two of them were on the same page.

   "You were right Error, your design is far more impressive than that man's was." Error was less relieved when he recieved a compliment. It always felt jarring and undeserved.

   And yet Nightmare always seemed to genuine.

   "Of course it's better, my liege." He said, grinning as he retracted his hand. The arrow moving with it. "It hasn't been tested, though, so I'll need to continue working on it before we can be sure." He redirected, trying very hard to hope he hadn't blushed at the kind words.

   Nightmare hummed, "Right. I'm sure we can arrange for a few archers to try them out once you're ready." He agreed gently. "Thank you for sharing your design early, Error. It's always a treat."

   Ohh. Nightmare why infront of the others??

   Error nodded, "I'll let you know when I think I have the perfect version to test." He agreed, before stepping away to let his strings tug him back up into the darkness, along with his newly acquired tea.

   The others spoke for a bit longer below, but Error hardly listened. His cheekbones were surely flushed, and his hands shook a bit. He had to reply on pure stubbornness to continue improving on the design and not get caught up in the thoughts of how much he enjoyed Nightmare's company.

   He just had to get this right. 

[king-spite]

genuinely believe that the only correct way to approach the whole marecal vs mareven deal is to adore all three of them with your whole heart. and see them as a trio rather than a love triangle. like sorry but if you don't lowkey fw all of them and like each of them as a character on their own AND accept the many layers of the relationship they have with one another you're not getting things right :/

[uncanny-tranny]

There's something so insane to me about being able to create and recreate vintage or even ancient music, clothes, fabrics, building architecture, anything, really.

I watched this video about a lady who knit a WWII-era vest, and it was really unique, because the cable work would eat up yarn, when there were shortages of fibers. This pattern would have likely been used by people to send overseas to soldiers, and now it's being created in a time where this war has been over for generations. What were the people making this pattern thinking of? What about the people making the vest? Could they fathom a world where world wars didn't happen back to back? Could they imagine what peace felt like, or did it fade like a distant memory, a faint friend? All we have now are the remnants of their efforts, a "simple" vest that would warm the bodies of countless people the knitter would never have imagined were here on earth with them.

We're reaching across time to learn about other people - we're reaching our hands out just to grasp anything tangible. And when we've take hold of something, all we can do is say I love you I love you I love you

[elizabeth-mitchells]

so i was thinking about downloading all of Lost, as one does. but i was just shocked to find out the file size for the whole thing. which makes sense because it's a wild number of episodes. so i thought well. maybe just my fave 3 seasons. nope. still too much. one at a time? nope. my laptop still cannot do that. maybe if i delete all other movies/shows i'm holding on to. so i guess i'll download only a handful of my favorite episodes and make a plan to delete a bunch of stuff from my laptop in the near future!

[amidnightqueery]

I don't hate my job or anything, but man, being a float educator is so fucking thankless

[quirkle2]

who wants zombie au writing. don't answer that ur getting it anyway (1.6k words)

His shoes knock against the old flooring of the house, wood creaking under rubber soles that slide over the woodgrain. He drags them a bit, lifts his limbs up no more than he strictly has to, and they lead him to the nearest sittable surface.

The couch is old and dusty and has likely gone untouched for months, much like everything else nowadays, so he watches the thin cloud of dust billow off the cushions largely with disinterest. He collapses into the fabric heavily, feels the whole thing scoot back an inch and hit the wall behind him. The sound echoes, carried by lifeless rooms, while he unceremoniously drops his backpack to the floor by his feet.

The breath he lets out is slow and methodical and born of pent up muscles, aimed at the ceiling where he rests his neck against the back of the couch and relaxes every limb one by one. It’s a process he forces himself through, if only to rid the constant ache beneath his skin.

Slow, sweeping footsteps meander around the room in front of him, and Ritsu angles his gaze down from his craned back position to look at his brother. He wanders, like he so often does—seemingly aimless, but there’s something procedural about it that he’s convinced he just hasn’t figured out yet.

Shigeo’s empty eyes crawl along the hearth of the fireplace, explosions of ash sprayed out across the red brick. His head tilts up to trace his attention around the angular lines of the television, hung on the wall and screen grey with dust. He flits back and forth between the roundness of the bricked mantle and the sharp edges of the screen, like he’s taking notes.

Shigeo paws the television. Four lines of muck are cleared. The zombie blinks, paws at it again with dusty, curious fingers. Ritsu watches him make a mess of the television screen in silence, blinking tiredly.

He almost closes his eyes, but he fights against the urge and moves his fingers down his lap to reach for his bag. His middle hooks around the loop at the top and he lugs it up and into his lap, where he unzips it and peers into the shadowy contents.

Ritsu fishes out the water bottles. He finds the one with the messy R scribbled along the cap in sharpie and takes a big swig of it. It’s warm going down, constantly insulated in a bag of old, sweaty clothes. He feels like he can taste the odor in it, but it clears the grain in his throat from stomping all over dirt roads today, so he’s still grateful.

He holds out the one labeled S to Shigeo. “Thirsty?”

Shigeo looks at him from where he’s crouched down to the floor now, inspecting the soot along the hearth. Unfortunately, he sees handprints in the black already, and when his brother reaches a hand out to take it, his palm is covered in soot.

He lets him have his fun and settles his own bottle back in the mess of tangled clothes and rolls of bandages. Ritsu rakes his fingers through their stock with no real purpose—he knows exactly what’s in here, and none of it is useful.

They’d been searching all day; Ritsu doesn’t really know how far they’d walked, but it had to be a lot of miles. In and out of stores, up and down empty houses, weaving between warehouses—they didn’t really stop for a break. Not when Ritsu can hear Shigeo’s stomach from here and he himself has shaking hands. They can’t afford a break.

Nothing, though. Not a single goddamn thing worth taking. A settlement must have come through here long ago and swept the highway. They’re in the countryside, where houses are spaced out acres from each other and there’s entire cow pastures between properties. And yet every house they’d seen and entered provided nothing.

Ritsu stares into the negative space in his bag where there should be supplies. His stomach cramps and if he smells another whiff of that godawful sweaty, bloody sweatshirt he still carries, he’s going to throw up bile.

He leans away from the open pouch, eyes wandering to his brother who draws… something into the soot of the hearth. His water bottle sits on the floor, abandoned and still unscrewed. Ritsu leans forward with great effort and a grunt, leaning over his bag to grab at the top of it.

It takes him two tries to get Shigeo’s attention, and one more for an answer on where the cap is. It’s then placed in his palm, covered in soot and also saliva. Ritsu swallows down the nausea that rolls up his throat and wipes it off with his frankly already disgusting sleeve, and screws it back on.

He leans back again, succumbing to the urge to let his eyes rest, and he listens to the very subtle swipe of his brother’s hands across brick. There’s birds outside, chirping, and even though it’s still very much a common occurrence, Ritsu cannot help but feel nostalgic about it.

If he ignores the awful hum of silence, and the distinct lack of an electric thrum throughout the walls, and the fact that this is a stranger’s couch and not his, he can almost imagine normalcy. He can almost say this feels like those quiet moments after school, when he settles on the couch and scrolls through his phone in a house that only holds him and his brother because their parents simply aren’t home yet.

He can almost hear the creak of wood from Shigeo walking around his room upstairs. He can almost tap his fingers on the couch cushions to the pattern of his brother making his way down the steps. He can almost hear the fridge opening, and the sound of milk being poured into glass.

Almost. But Ritsu listens to sharp silence instead, and he tries not to think too hard.

He drifts for a while, feels himself truly sink into the couch and let the cushions claim him, and he thinks about nothings because if he doesn’t, then he’ll lose it. He carefully sifts through the nothingness of his mind, through the passing thoughts that have no bearing, and he focuses on that, on the lack of substance. His head is too full of things that have too much substance.

He misses boredom. He tells himself he misses boredom—the complete insubstantiality of it—because if he lets himself think of what he really misses, it’ll drive him insane.

The cushions move, and Ritsu peels his eyes open and lets himself get pulled from liminal mindspace. The cotton in his head recedes, and he blinks, and then he’s swiveling his head to look at his brother who sits in the cushion right next to him.

His hands and the cuffs of his hoodie are smothered in black. Shigeo sits hunched, gaze still wandering even when there’s not much decoration in this house to look at. He studies the off-white walls, the chips in the paint, the holes drilled in where there maybe used to be photos hung.

Ritsu gazes at him quietly, chest instinctively rising and falling to match his brother’s rhythm. He watches the expansion there, under his hoodie, in the subtlety of the folds and the way they warp over the movement. It’s slightly quicker than what he’s used to, but Ritsu knows his brother’s heart rate is much slower. He’s felt it before. He’s listened to it before, with his ear against a chest.

Ritsu’s attention moves to his eyes, and the heavy bags underneath them, and the paleness of his pupils and the ghostlight of him underneath that. He stares into them, looks for stray, familiar thoughts that might enter his head. Looks for old memories that might shine through in the form of recognition when he sees furniture layouts, and candy wrappers, and ads for soda.

Ritsu looks for it all the time, that glint of familiarity. And he finds it, sometimes. And really, he thinks that’s keeping him going more than food ever will.

Shigeo turns his head, and looks at him. Sometimes, when his brother looks at him, there’s not much there. No substance, no anything. And Ritsu finds it a bit evil that he craves silence in his own head, and yet noise in Shigeo’s, and often times it is the other way around.

His brother looks at him now, though, with that comforting recognition. That growth of the pupils, that softening of the hard edges of his face where unknown stressors have gotten to him. Ritsu wonders what zombies get stressed out. He figures it’s the same deal with humans, considering they’re largely alike.

Ritsu wonders if Shigeo knows he’s sick. He wishes he could ask him. He wishes for a lot of things. Silence in his own head is one of them.

Ritsu swivels his head away and stares at the ceiling, if only to force the thoughts to pause. He studies the popcorn ridges above them, traces the peaks with his gaze. It calms him, gives him something to focus on. He looks for patterns in the shadows they make.

Shigeo shifts next to him. And then he shimmies down, settles into the cushions, and plops his head right down on Ritsu’s shoulder.

Static roars in his mind and his heart stammers. Ritsu swallows the lump in his throat but that just makes it bigger, so he clamps his mouth shut and breathes carefully through his nose.

The tears cut through the grime on his face. He plops his own head down against his brother’s, and lives in the noise.

[shadowedvales-gone]

hot take, but the "i dump your ass" line wasn't even funny and was just super ooc…….

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 44 Museposting

Hello internet void. What a great conclusion to a fantastic arc! I'm locked in and ready to spend the rest of my life with this manga now. ...Maybe. No matter how the manga proceeds from here, I'll hold the Rakuzaichi arc close to my heart for it's nuanced examination of family and duty. And for introducing my favorite character in ages.

Hakuri the precious unhinged bean is STAYING! Another rescued abuse victim for the goldfish bowl, hooray! I hope he isn't shelved after this arc but my goodness he definitely deserves a break. The whole cast does, yeah, but this boy still has a lot to process.

I love how Hakuri's character arc is resolved here - he's finally free to choose his own path after everything he's been through. Ice Lady broke him out of the Sazanami mindset, Chihiro proved there was hope for him, and Shiba gave him an opening to leave his cage behind. Now he can truly find out what's waiting for him beyond the misery and despair he lived with for so long. Oh Hakuri, you deserve all the happiness you find.

And once again, Chihiro's empathy is on full (if somewhat subdued) display. The scene of him wanting to encourage Hakuri as he says he's lost now that his dad is dead squeezed my heart into pieces. Yeah, Kyoura was shitty. But losing an abusive parent isn't a ticket to sudden happiness and purpose most of the time. They were still your guiding star, as Hakuri himself says- for better and worse. Especially if they only became overtly abusive later in your life. The grief that comes with their passing is hella complicated and often leaves you feeling worse off even if your life will be objectively better from now on.

Hakuri was in survival mode for so long thanks to Kyoura that he doesn't know what to do now. He and his remaining family are better off without each other too. Chihiro probably doesn't grasp the complexities of this kind of grief but he does know what it's like to lose everything and be set adrift in the world far too young. So he gently reminds Hakuri of the potential waiting for him outside of the cage...

... and Hakuri responds so sweetly:

Aaaah my heart. You shouldn't talk about yourself like you're property, Hakuri!

This gives me some hope that we're not quite done with him yet. Hakuri's free now but he (understandably) has a low opinion of himself. He still feels the weight of failing the Ice Lady and Chihiro trading Enten for his life and wants to do more. Be more. Feel worthy of what they've done for him. And who better to help him make the most of his new lease on life than the guy he sees as hope incarnate? The grief might overwhelm him at times, and the effects of the abuse he endured won't fade for quite some time. But he'll be alright as long as he's with his samurai.

This is Chihiro's story above all else so I don't think we'll get another deep dive into Hakuri unless it's to further our protagonist's character. But I'm waiting to see what he's set up to do going in to (what appears to be) the Kamunabi arc with baited breath. I hope he really does get to be Chihiro's equal instead of learning the art of Offscreen Sorcery from Shiba. And even though it'll probably be Hiyuki's turn to shine next, I hope she doesn't overtake him in terms of importance to Chihiro's story and the narrative as a whole.

I'll save the doomposting for another time (if it's even warranted). I've got a ton to say about Hakuri now that the arc is over, but that'll probably be a separate post made while we all succumb to brain rot during the break. But yeah. Hakuri. I love him so much. I just hope I'm not pining for scraps of him after all the work the author put in to making him so endearing.

No dwelling on what-ifs! Onward! What about that random shot of a drum?

I think it's interesting that we get a small panel of taiko/wadaiko. They have nothing to do with any major themes in the arc itself, other than the sticks used to hit them being called bachi (Hokazono probably patted himself on the back for that one). I think it's used to lend a sense of finality to the end of the proceedings for the Sazanami clan. These drums have a variety of uses through their long history in Japanese culture, but the one most relevant here I think is in theater and performance arts. Small taiko drums are used to help accentuate performances by setting the mood. Here in Kagurabachi, I think it's specifically linked to Kyoura's line at the end of Ch. 39:

Yeah, the origin of the meme. The EN translation is apparently pretty conservative while the original JP line had more of a showman flair to it. "The show must go on" or along those lines. I'm not a pro at Japanese by any stretch, but it would tie in nicely to the continued use of performance-related terms in this week's chapter. The cruel spectacle is over for good. The curtains are drawn and it's time for all the living participants to go home.

2/2 on destroyed buildings marking the end of an arc. Let's keep it up!

But what is next, indeed? How many people expected Chihiro to try joining the Kamunabi, anyway?! Definitely wasn't on my short list of things that could happen, but I'm really warming up to the idea because of what it says for him as a character.

Normally, a shounen protagonist is someone who is reacting to the plot as it happens. Even if they're out to change the status quo, something has to occur to give them an opportunity to act (yes, even after they've answered the Call to Adventure). Bad guy acts first, something happens to a loved one, natural disaster strikes, etc. The universe gives them an opening and the protagonist strikes. But here, Chihiro creates his own opportunity.

Hiyuki and Tafuku could have just taken the blade away from him in his weakened state and left him at square one trying to find leads. Most authors would take this development path I think! But this is Kagura-fucking-bachi so we get to see another fascinating side to Chihiro instead.

Chihiro recognizes that he doesn't know as much as he thought about his dad's legacy. And that he can't continue his crusade without some serious power on par with the Hishaku clan. So instead of doing the typical shounen protagonist thing and resolving to push through adversity with friendship and sheer force of will, he adjusts his tactics. His resolve is intact but his strategy is changing.

This was indirectly foreshadowed courtesy of Shiba in ch. 12 and reinforced by John Hishaku in Ch. 32:

Don't you love it when characters consistently actually act how we're told they do? Chihiro's always thinking and learning; he's not waiting for fate to give him a chance. No matter how strongly he feels about recovering the swords, he's able to accurately assess his own situation and make the most rational decision (hot-headed moves fueled by deep empathy for others being an exception). I love a protagonist that recognizes when they're out of their depth and adjusts accordingly, man. No practicing slamming his head against a brick wall until it breaks for this guy- he'll find some scaffolding to climb over it instead. Or ask a badass woman to punch a hole through it for him.

I also think it's quite significant that Chihiro's directly asking others for help now. In the beginning he seemed uneasy about letting others share the burden of his father's legacy, but now he's trusting Hiyuki and the Kamunabi to help him manage it. Obviously he's asking to join because he won't let them take full control and responsibility, but he's still facing reality head-on. How will that play out for him? Opening up to Hakuri and trusting in him paid off massively, so maybe it'll work out again?

The last time he worked with the Kamunabi, most of the squad was wiped out by Sojo though. I would not be surprised to see a grudge match of some kind between Chihiro and Kazane despite both of them being on the same side in the same org this time... but we've gotten a few glimpses of all kinds of potential inter-group conflict since very early on. It's not surprising that the Hishaku may want to exacerbate those fractures by letting the Kamunabi get a hold of Magatsumi:

Ch. 7

Ch. 11

Ch. 18

Ch. 22

Ch. 24

So as of Ch. 44, it's clear that internal politics will play a major role...

Chihiro I love you for being able to put the pieces together yourself instead of relying on someone else like other protagonists often have to do.

I expect that working within the Kamunabi will help Chihiro form a firm opinion on whether or not they can be trusted to help him in the long-term. It'll probably also be Hiyuki's development arc as she reconciles her ideals, what she sees in Chihiro, and what she's witnessed at the Rakuzaichi with how the group operates.

I don't want to speculate too much on exactly how it'll all play out but I'm so freakin' hyped man. This is also a great chance to learn more about Kunishge, Azami, Shiba, and the Seitei War...! Oh man! LORE! WORLDBUILDING! I live and breathe for this kinda stuff when it's done well. The war criminals' different takes on the Kamunabi have had me interested in the org for a while now so I wonder what Chihiro will think of them by the end of the arc. Will he be able to work with them for the rest of the series? Will they splinter due to their internal conflicts and the Hishaku's machinations? Will Hiyuki stay with them or go her own way? I want to know! Hmm... on the topic of working with the Kamunabi... I know I said earlier that Chihiro's been opening up since he met Hakuri and is willing to work with the Kamunabi full-time now, but I don't believe he's at the point where he's willing to fully entrust the dangerous, painful parts of his dad's legacy to other people yet. Chihiro's still feeling personally responsible for the deaths the sword WMDs are causing while putting all the pressure to succeed on his own head. He's letting other people help him out but it's his duty alone to minimize the damage. I won't be surprised if this is touched on either in the Kamunabi arc or a later one. Keeping Shiba's "you'll break" line in mind once more, I think Chihiro learning to share his pain and burden could be a major turning point for him.

I don't want to say it must or will happen -I'm not the writer. I just think it's a very potent thread that's had some buildup since the start. Who can Chihiro trust to help him with more than logistics and fighting? Does he even need someone like that or is he going to become strong enough though learning from his enemies? I'm really interested in seeing if the little family he's building will be able to do more than cheer him on from offscreen at the very least... I've got some worries about the story structure going forward but I want to wait and see what happens in the next arc before letting my hopes be crushed.

Seriously, I'm not going to doompost yet. Really. I'm just going to fucking die waiting an extra week to see what happens next.

[melancholic-pigeon]

Okay this is the *actual* last comment, for real, but I just found out Spider is now smearing me as a convert and accusing me of being involved with drama I was not involved with because he mistakenly attributed my apologies for his public temper tantrum as being about something unrelated.

THIS IS A FALSE ACCUSATION and I do not appreciate having yet another bit of fake malicious intent falsely ascribed to my actions and* attributing a completely unrelated attack to me.

Also, it's very sad and disappointing whenever a Jew gets mad at a convert because something else is going on in the Jew's life and the convert happens to be in the splash zone and the Jew falls over backwards to smear the convert and invalidate her faith.

Just....the childish aggression is making me so, so sad and disappointed, from someone I used to think very highly of, who is now lying about me and publicly smearing me with false accusations based on a conflict he started because he misinterpreted something I said and I went out of my way to give him the benefit of the doubt when trying to clear up the mistake HE MADE that led him to decide bullying and attacking me for three fucking days was appropriate and okay and that I'm the bad guy for saying it's wildly unprofessional to behave like this in public to a former customer face.

Sorry, but facts, reality, linear time and the truth of what I actually said and did are on my side here, and I will not stand for being smeared and attacked and shat all over because I had the gall to try to kindly resolve his uncalled for, unjustified temper tantrum.

I am also not sorry that I left a side note in the tags that it was also unacceptable for HIM to drag his daughter into a stupid internet slapfight based on his own reading comprehension failure. Because it was and is unacceptable, and she needs to hear that message from someone.

End of story. Keep digging that hole as long as you like, Spider. It's not helping your case and is continuing to make you look progressively worse and more unreasonable, and the only person you have to blame is yourself.

*revised for clarity

[memento-morri-writes]

I've been thinking a lot about how Rook's reunion with his former mentor, Zara, is going to go, and since I can't predict what the DM is going to have her do or say, I can only dwell on what I know is going to happen. Which happens to include taking off the illusion ring that's been hiding his injuries from her. So have a snippet of the description I have planned for that moment:

tw for description of (mostly healed) injuries

He hesitates, twisting a ring on his finger. Looking at it more closely, she can tell it’s very finely crafted, and must have been very expensive. A large emerald is set into the band. Rook sighs, and pulls the ring off his finger in one quick motion.  Immediately she’s struck by the difference in his appearance as the illusion melts away. He looks awful. His warm, healthy skin fades to a dull and sickly grey. There’s huge bags under his deeply sunken eyes, and his cheeks are hollowed, as though they have been carved out by an overeager sculptor. He looks like he’s recently risen from the grave.  While he was thin before, now she can see his ribs under the skin, and his collarbones are exaggeratedly pronounce. Thin white lines left by dozens upon dozens of recently healed cuts are scattered across his body. On top of that, faded bruises cover most of his visible skin, a mottled mosaic of purple and yellow. They’re clearly days, maybe weeks old, and she can only begin to imagine what they must have looked like when fresh. Bandages are barely visible under his shirt, wrapping around his back, hinting at even more injuries.

[carnage-cathedral]

Unsurprisingly, yesterday's ordeal has triggered some issues, and due to the severity of them, we aren't able to contain them to Homelander. This goes to show you just how damaging it is to say things like that to a person. Best case scenario, you've said something vile to someone and they feel mortified that you would wish such harm upon them. Worst case scenario, you say that to a trauma victim, and they spend the next several days thinking about what happened to them, and how some people out there think it's funny to joke about it.

Never, under any circumstances, should you tell someone that you hope they are sexually assaulted. Never.

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

i think one of the main things i've always loved about singers is the way they can just let go and sing as loud as they want and you can hear it in their voice, how unhindered they are and how much practice it must have taken to get to be able to control their voice like that

meanwhile i am one of the quietest people on earth that struggles to speak up to a hearable volume, or sometimes can't speak at all, even if i really want to

and hearing them be able to do that, inside it makes me kind of feel how they must feel, what kind of release that must be to just let all of that out

i always feel some kind of second-hand feeling from it in my chest when i hear them do it and it makes me want to do it too