#and uh. lots of stabbing

[haunted-medievalist]

'we're better than you because we have better taste in human sacrifice' stellar logic from medieval iceland (from kristni saga, source here, give it a read, it's good fun)

alt text:

The heathens then held a well-attended meeting and made a decision to sacrifice two people from each Quarter, and called on the heathen gods not to let Christianity spread throughout the country.

Gizurr and Hjalti held another meeting with the Christians, and they said that they also wished to hold a sacrifice of as many people as the heathens. They said this:

'Heathens sacrifice the worst people, and push them over cliffs and crags, but we shall make our selection on the basis of people’s virtues and call it a victory offering to our Lord Jesus Christ. We must therefore live better lives and be more careful to avoid sin than before, and Gizurr and I will come forward as the victory offering for our Quarter.'

[ntj2pj]

[humanoidrangoon]

for context to my last post: i have a folder in my art folder dedicated SPECIFICALLY to wips of stuff like this

and finally, my favorite

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

3. BLOOD - Which of your OCs would you want to have as your child?

Thanks for the ask, Marz! From this ask game.

3. BLOOD - Which of your OCs would you want to have as your child?

Can I have them as grown up children? Because I don't need any more small ones 😅

Hmm. Carr would probably make me cry lol. Nykim, sames. Serin, sames. Kadin would drive me nuts (how is that any different from my current children though lol). Alaia is way too touchy feely 😂

Probably Resh? Dude is pretty chill. And nice. Wouldn't bite my head off or stab me 😂💜

[vermillioncrown]

You know I was certain Aomine had a superpower but I looked it up and he really just balls, the closest he comes is the formless shots which are more unlikely to be a go to move in official games instead of streetball but is slightly less insane than what the rest of them have going on. And then because everyone took the vaguely grounded in reality skills, Akashi had to develop clairvoyance to stay in the game and also keep everyone from laughing at his edgelord lines

i really don't know enough about basketballing to say more, but i think of it as unpredictability. formal learning of basketball, like other sports, has 'forms' as an efficient way to do things. like for instance, it's very important in badminton bc sure you can fuck around and hit shit all you want, but you telegraph everything you do, you waste energy, and it's very difficult for novices to control the birdie's trajectory. the forms, the exact steps you take are drummed in to make your actions and reactions ingrained and thus take up less braincells bc you now have consistency.

but formality means that most people will have set procedures in doing actions. knowing what form someone is moving into can give great insight into predicting your moves. as bullshit as 'reading your opponent' may be, it's a skill that can be honed

(also it's kinda sad bc the way akashi's bs is described is like... hyper-vigilance. no one develops that to that degree unless they grow up in a shitty, unpredictable environment.)

aomine might be the biggest threat to akashi because he's able to work with the lack of form, thus akashi has less to read off of him. aomine has the physicality and experience (yes talent, but you cannot discount how much streetball he's played) to push through what should be a disadvantageous lack of efficiency and make it work for him

the 'clairvoyance' is def all the middle schoolers getting high off paint and buying into each other's hype

[chojuuro]

character/s: Karatachi Kagura, Shimizu Hiroki (oc), Chojuuro rating: T (language? mentions of almost-death) content: kagura deals with survivor's guilt, post-stabbing from boruto e246 (im still not taking it well), takes place in my canon-divergent oc canonverse a bit after this fic. oh and father/son bonding <3 words: 1456

Hiroki’s awoken to the sudden sounds of something that his sleep-hazed brain can’t quite place and a gentle illumination coming from the other side of the hospital room.  He runs through his mental checklist, making sure everything else in the room is secure, and of course it is – Kiri’s hospital is one of the more secure buildings in the village.  Even still, he’d made sure to place an extra seal on the windows for the extra security as soon as his arm felt good enough to weave chakra without putting up a fuss.  And it did still put up a fuss; he’d exacerbated his old injury for sure during the fight with the Funato’s roach, that much is certain.  Even now, a few days later, his nerves ache and burn dully under his skin and the stiffness makes even regular movement tough.

Maybe Misuno’s right.  Maybe he’s getting old after all.

Hiroki checks his phone but stops just as he’s unlocking it at the sounds, again, and he feels the hair at the back of his neck prick and raise and mentally, he makes a list of everything in the room that could be used as a weapon both by and against him as his arm flexes–

And then he realizes what he’s hearing is crying.  Ah.

“Kagura?”

“Oh, uh–”  Kagura shakes his head, wipes at his eyes with the back of his arm.  He offers Hiroki a weak smile; the same one that Hiroki’s been seeing since Kagura was little, the one that tells him that his boy just needs a little reassurance, a little care and love.  “I…thought you were asleep.  Sorry.  I’m fine.��

Slowly, Hiroki shrugs off his hospital bed and perches at the edge of Kagura’s, reaches over and ruffles the boy’s hair when he sits up.  Kagura tries to protest, he really does, but Hiroki knows half-assed when he hears it.  The smile he throws Kagura’s way is softer than normal, gentle in the wake of his eldest’s distress.  His bad arm hangs limply at his side, closer to Kagura, so he’s twisted awkwardly in a way that, really, right now, he doesn’t mind.  

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Kagura looks at him, finally, and in the weak lighting from his phone plus the puffiness from crying, the dark circles under his eyes are that much more pronounced.  He hesitates a moment and Hiroki’s ready to tell him that he doesn’t have to, that really, if Kagura isn’t feeling ready to talk about it then he’s not obligated, but Kagura beats him to the punch.  He reaches up and moves Hiroki’s hand off his head – Kagura warns him of the inevitable stiffness in his back if he stays twisted like that, and Hiroki can’t really argue.  

Kagura sighs gently through his nose, frowning down at the bed sheet over his legs; Hiroki watches quietly as Kagura finds the words, searches his mind for exactly how he wants to go at this.  

“Do you…”  Kagura’s brows furrow and his frown deepens, and Hiroki swears he can see tears collecting at the corners of his eyes again.  “Do you ever feel like, maybe, the first time they attacked…”

Hiroki waits patiently as Kagura tries so, so hard to get the words out, but he can see how desperately Kagura’s trying to force the words out and how badly it hurts.

“...Do you ever wonder if maybe you shouldn’t have made it?”

It feels like somebody reaches into Hiroki's stomach, grabs hold of his guts, twists and yanks.  He feels his heart shatter; Hiroki knows how fucking badly it hurts and now empty Kagura must feel and he wishes so, so badly he could take the hurt, take the pain, take the grief.

"Sure," Hiroki says, finally, voice quiet. "Sometimes."

"Really?"

Hiroki laughs once, humorlessly. There's a far away look in his eyes as if he's focusing on something in the distance that isn't quite there.  "It gets better the more time passes.  Easier.  A lot of people died during that first incident and I very nearly was one of them.  But y’know what?”

“What?”

“I wasn’t.”

Kagura’s mouth drops open for a brief moment in some cocktail of surprise and uncertainty of whether this is a joke.  But Hiroki’s face is steeled, for once; the comforting little smile of a father leveling with the son that he very nearly lost.  

“And neither were you,” Hiroki continues.  “I know it hurts now, and it probably will for a long time, and you don’t have to talk about it till you’re ready to.  But your dad and I are so fucking proud of you.”

Kagura looks down at his hands, brows furrowed deeply as he mindlessly rubs a finger along his knuckles, over an old callus.  Tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he takes in a shuddery breath, and Hiroki doesn’t dare to say anything, to move; he watches Kagura carefully, trying not to let his heart break.

“It just kinda feels like, why me?  You know?”

It’s at that moment that Hiroki caves.

He reaches over and carefully – so, so carefully – wraps his useful arm around Kagura’s shoulders, pulls him in for a hug with half the normal amount of arms but just as much love and affection as he always has.  Kagura curls into him, fists a hand into the front of his shirt; he leaves tear and snot stains in the fabric, and knows that Hiroki welcomes them the same way he’s welcomed everything else. With an open mind and an open heart, a big grin and a bigger hug.  

"You just gotta remember," Hiroki says, and Kagura thinks it may be the most gentle sound he's heard from his papa in a long time, "you survived for a reason.  You're still here for a reason.  You're a strong kid, Kagura; you've got a huge heart and a bright future ahead of you. You're gonna be okay, kiddo.  Promise."

Kagura nods slowly, but the look on his face is grim.  And, Hiroki supposes, he can understand why; Kagura is barely 16 years old.  Barely 16 and has already stared death in the face, turned his back on it and said not today.  Many lives were lost, both shinobi and civilian alike, in the war  with the Funato, and among all of them, Kagura was not one of them.  Kagura is a survivor, and that’s not easy for anybody.  

Kagura is just a boy, and it’s hard to remember that sometimes.

They’re quiet for a long time and that’s when Hiroki notices the room getting lighter; the sun’s rising slowly outside, Hiroki realizes with a sigh.  He goes to move off the edge of Kagura’s bed so they can both try and get some sleep, but he’s cut off at the pass before he can make a real move.

“I…  Thanks, for this,” Kagura tells him, gratitude written all over his face.  Hiroki gives him a big grin, the signature Hiroki grin that shows off his teeth – and he stands, reaches over to ruffle his hair and revels in the soft, half-hearted protests.

“You know you can always talk to us.  None of that Kiri pride bull here, right?”

Kagura sighs softly, but he nods, looks up at Hiroki with a tired little smile of his own.  “I know,” he says.  “Thanks, mama.”

“–What did you just say?”  

It takes Kagura a long moment before the realization sets in and he flushes to his ears, rolls over onto his side with his back to his father’s side of the shared hospital room and yanks his covers up almost over his face.  “Nothing, goodnight!”

Hiroki laughs from deep inside himself and finally climbs back into his hospital bed, and though he doesn’t fall asleep right away – though he’s a little too busy unexpectedly playing back some old childhood memories of his eldest – he finally dozes off, feeling warm and full.

He and Chojuuro really did raise a great kid.

—

(“You’re mama!” a young Kagura declares with all the confidence of a five year old.  His finger is inches from Hiroki’s nose as he changes the victim of his point from Chojuuro to Hiroki, and it takes everything in the new fathers to keep their laughter inside.

“Why am I mama?” Hiroki asks, and he’s not even sure if it’s genuine curiosity or if it’s just to see what he says.  Probably both.

Kagura puts his hands on his little hips and nods, so incredibly sure of himself.  “‘Cause!  He’s daddy.  And you can’t have a daddy without a mama.”

Chojuuro looks at Hiroki with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.  “You hear that, mama?”

Hiroki can’t explain the way his heart swells.)

[beaversatemygrandma]

...i really hope that bank job has dental. Like really really hope.

[midoribai]

i’m trying.. you’re gorgeous…

-🌘

MIDORI: "......"

MIDORI: "..Okay. You sure look dazed. I guess that means it's working..?"

MIDORI: "Alright. Let me just start already." He presses the knife to your thigh, looking for any kind of reaction.

[depresseddepot]

the closer my first dnd session gets the more my anxiety begins sharpening and weaponizing itself like a knife

[deadsetobsessions]

Gotham rained a lot more than Amity ever did.

Danny could not help but appreciate the differences. From the way the city itself curled around her inhabitants to the weather, Gotham was far darker than Amity ever managed to be.

Still, there were similarities. The screams, for one. In Amity, it was ghosts, their victims, and whichever ghostbuster of the day rocking up to rock each other’s shit. Another similarity? Danny’s inability to not get himself into troublesome shit, because he could never ignore a cry for help.

That scream was a cry for help if he’s ever heard one.

Danny cursed himself as he slipped through the alleyways, strides becoming smoother and agile than he normally walked like. He stuck to the shadows, the prickling of ghostly senses and honed vigilante instincts guiding him towards the scream. It was a man, getting stabbed by a guy in a red helmet.

Danny maintained that he was new here.

Which is why his foot connected solidly with Red Helmet's... red helmet.

"Motherfuc-" Red Helmet shouted as he was punted several feet away.

"Holy shit dude, are you good?"

Danny helped the guy up.

"Thank fuck! Back up! What took you so long?! Boss is gunna be so pissed if we're late!"

Hold up. Boss?

"Boss?"

“Black Mask, asshole! We gotta go before he decides to cut off our limbs!”

Danny yanked the guy to the side just as a bullet ricocheted off the rusted fire escape.

“Ope!”

“You’re not going anywhere.” A mechanical voice growled behind them.

“Oh fuck, Red Helmet guy.” Danny muttered.

“Shit, ya gotta run, tell boss I got caught.” The injured goon- because it was now apparent to Danny that the guy was working for someone dangerous- said. Danny appreciated the thought, but he only intervened because the guy was getting stabbed.

“Uh,” Danny hesitated. Clearly the guy had the wrong idea.

“Don’t make a move, unless you want your fucking heads blown off,” Red Helmet guy- wait, why does he feel liminal?- raised his guns. “Why don-”

Red Helmet guy was cut off by the thud of the now unconscious goon.

His helmet tilted down and then back up at Danny.

“Guess it’s just you and me,” Helmet guy sneered out. “Better tell me everything you know about Black Mask, or else you’ll get a taste of what he had.”

Danny held up his hands even though he knew he could just let the bullets phase through him. The smart thing would be to absolve himself and not get in the middle of two criminal’s beef as a civilian.

Danny’s full name, however, could have been Danny ‘Dumb Decisions’ Fenton. So, Danny practically interjected himself like an overexcited puppy at a doggy daycare.

“Okay, no need to get bloody. But uh, I have a question.”

Red Helmet cocked his head and mockingly gestured with his gun. “Sure, why not.”

Danny let as much of his midwestern accent into his voice as possible. “Who’s, uh, Black Mask?”

Red Helmet paused. Then he sighed. “You’re not from here, are you?”

“No…? I’m, uh, new in town.”

Red Helmet lowered his guns, and for some reason, Danny could tell that he was exasperated.

“Why would you even get in between a fight, dumbass? I have a gun! I coulda killed ya! He’s a criminal’”

Danny protested. Rude! “In my defense, you were stabbing him! You’re a criminal too, you know!”

“That makes it worse! You-!” Red Helmet paused. “Wait, do you even know who I am?”

Danny let his gaze wander down to the red bat-shaped logo on the guy’s chest. “Uh… Red Helmet… bat-guy?” He hazarded a guess.

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot.”

Danny gaped. “Excuse me?!”

“You heard me,” Red Helmet put his gun back and planted his fists on his hips. “You’re an idiot. Who gets in between a vigilante and the goon of a crime lord.”

Danny crossed his arms, leveling an unimpressed look at Red Helmet. “I’ve never heard of a vigilante killing someone, Red Helmet Bat-Guy.”

“It’s Red Hood.” Red Helmet sighed, walking closer. “And I wasn’t going to kill him.” Danny scoffed.

Danny relaxed, sensing the truth coming from Red Helmet guy’s liminal aspects.

“He’ll die looking at your ugly mug,” Danny sassed. “You’re gonna get him to a hospital, right? I’ll go with you.”

“Are you midwesterners all this trusting? What if I was the goon and this guy was the vigilante?”

Red Hood hiked the goon over his shoulder in a fireman carry. Danny followed after him.

“He’s the one that told me to go running back to his boss, Red Helmet.”

“It’s Red Hood.”

“That doesn’t look like a hood.”

Danny grinned as Red Helmet grumbled. How interesting! Maybe he won’t miss Amity as much as he thought he would!

“Ugh, fine, I guess someone’s gotta watch your dumb ass so you don’t get mugged.”

“I can take care of myself!”

Hood grunted. “I guess that kick wasn’t half bad.”

Danny beamed at him. “Thanks!”

——

Danny chucked a chimichanga at Red Hood.

“Wait a minute, you’re a crime lord! Being a goon was way less illegal than being a vigilante crime lord!”

Red Hood cackled at him.

[taupewolfy]

so weird that despite not really liking OVERALL ai somn i cannot wait to play the sequel heh

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

is it gay to collect lots of lore on your new girlfriend, make it into a binder, and then hide it under your shared bed where she will absolutely never find it???

Vaggie: "Charlie? Uh, quick cleaning question."

Charlie: "Hmmmm yeah??"

Vaggie: "So I was looking under the bed-"

Charlie: "Under the b-" (LEAPS across the room) "-NO WAIT LEMME DO THA-"

Vaggie: "-and there's this binder, with my name on it."

Charlie: "AHH!!"

Vaggie: "In your handwriting?"

Charlie: "AAHHHH!!!!"

Vaggie: "It's about the size and thickness of a telephone book-"

Charlie: "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH....!!!!"

Vaggie: "Babe. Do I wanna know."

Charlie: "IT'S NOTHING CREEPY OR WEIRD I SWEAR!!!!!"

Vaggie: "... that honestly just makes it weirder. What's even left?"

Charlie: "Normal stuff! Just, normal everyday Vaggie-related observations! In alphabetical order. And. Cross filed by category and sub grouping, for quick reference."

Vaggie: "..."

Vaggie: "You've made a reference book on me."

Charlie: "Okay, now when you say it like THAT it sounds WEIRD!"

Vaggie: "Any, uh, particular reason you're doing this?"

Charlie: "My brain likes knowing things about you. I mean, I like knowing things about you."

Vaggie: "What... kinda things?"

Charlie: "Can I see the binder? Thanks." (pages through) "Ah-hem. Things Vaggie doesn't like! Not having wings, back pain, back pain from not having wings anymore, people being rude to me, not stabbing people who're being maybe a bit rude even though she really wants to, leaving her spear at home on dates so she doesn't stab people with it, stuff being messy even though she tries to hide how grumpy it makes her when I don't fold the towels up again, guitarists, swords, angels, any mention of heaven-"

Vaggie: (sweating) "H-how 'bout some examples from another category, sweetie?"

Charlie: "Right! Ummm- okay. Things Vaggie likes! High places! Backrubs- especially after she's slept wrong again because we cuddled the wrong way during the night oops- the way her hair looks now it's growing out long! Long gloves and thigh high stockings! Cleaning! Doing stuff together- like tidying up our room! Buying me binders so I can keep my notes together instead of stacking them piles in our room! Threatening people! Threatening people specifically with-"

Charlie: (growling) "Her. Spear."

Vaggie: "What?"

Charlie: "Nothing!" (goes back to smiling) "Holding hands!- with me. Snuggling!- with me. Kisses!- again specifically with me. Staring up at the light of heaven from high places-!"

Vaggie: "And you."

Charlie: "-and me! ...And me?"

Vaggie: "I like staring at you, too."

Charlie: "....."

Charlie: "Can you- hold on just ONE moment I- I need to make a note and, for that I need a glitter pen..."

Vaggie: "You're writing all this down in glitter pen?"

Charlie: "I want it to be cute! Like you!!!"

Vaggie: "And I kinda wanna kiss you."

Charlie: "You- because of the, weird non-creepy binder thing??"

Vaggie: "Yep."

Charlie: "....Noted!!!" (snaps binder SHUT) "I can totally make the actual notes later though, you know, if you want to do the kissing thing right now inste- Mmf!"

[undreaming-fanfiction]

In honor of Easter...

Eddie Munson can't sleep. Maybe it was the almost expired can of spaghetti that he had for dinner, maybe it's the new campaign he's itching to plan, maybe it's being back in the Hawkins High with yet another fight for graduation he's bound to lose because his literature teacher was yet another victim of Danny Munson's petty crimes, and what better revenge than to repeatedly fail his son that Danny lost to social services ten years ago?

Or maybe it's the weird rustling under his window.

Now Eddie, he's a survivor. He runs, yes, but that's because there's nothing to protect. His honor? Oh please.

But if there's someone trying to break into the only real home he's ever known? That's different.

He grabs an empty beer bottle that he's been intending to throw out for a week or so and heroically - and stupidly - jumps out of his window. He expects to maybe land into a bush. Do a superhero landing or something.

What he doesn't expect is a pained wheeze and "what the fuck?!" yelled by his landing zone.

Eddie scrambles back to his feet and raises the bottle. Perhaps he should have broken it first to make it more threatening? He swings it against the trailer wall and it shatters almost completely, leaving with a small ring of glass in hand.

The figure he landed on curses again and tries to scramble back on their feet.

Eddie raises the pitiful remains of the bottle. "Uh. Stop you...you scoundrel!" he threatens, except it doesn't sound like a threat, more like a plea. "Or I'll stab you with this..." he looks at the glass ring again, "...with this."

He hopes the intruder will flee. More likely, he's going to be jumped, punched and killed. But what Eddie absolutely does not expect is the town's pretty boy, Steve Harrington, dusting his knees and glaring at Eddie with hands on hips like a pissed off soccer mom. "Jesus Christ, Munson, are you trying to wake up the whole park?" he hisses.

Eddie suddenly feels very stupid. He lets go of the broken bottle and it lands in the dirt with a quiet clink. "Harrington? Uh...dude, I mean no disrespect and all, but why are you under my window?"

Steve's look could kill. "It's Easter tomorrow, what do you think I'm doing? Hiding eggs." He points to the basket full of eggs nearby.

It makes sense. Except it doesn't. Eddie pokes the eggs and they don't explode, so at least that's good. "Why on earth would you, Steve "the Hair" Harrington, be hiding eggs in a trailer park? Don't you have like, a fancy neighborhood to do this in? With Belgian chocolate eggs and champaigne for the bored moms and stuff like that?"

Steve sighs and runs fingers through his hair. Eddie notices with a pang of guilt that it's flattened where his foot landed. That's also a good moment to realize that he's only in his boxers and a t-shirt and barefoot.

But Steve doesn't seem to notice. He just vaguely gestures around. "Those neighborhoods have committees and stuff like that. And it's normal there. Look, I don't think local kids have a lot of good stuff going on. I know one of them, and she deserves to have one day like a normal kid, no worries, no thinking if her mom can afford it. So I'm preparing an egg hunt here. Or I was, before someone half-naked dropped on top of me and shattered a bottle over a pretty good hiding spot I found."

"Shit! Sorry!" Eddie immediately starts picking up the shards, or at least tries to in the dark. At least until a large hand grabs his own.

"Christ, Munson! Stop!" Steve hisses. "Do you want to cut yourself? I will just move the egg somewhere else and pick up the glass before it starts in the morning. And for fuck's sake, stop moving! Do you want to step on a shard?"

That finally calms Eddie down. He sighs and hangs his head down. "You know, Harrington, one might think you're a good dude. If one wasn't careful."

Steve nudges his side. "One should be careful. Now come on, I will give you a boost." When Eddie stares at him, he adds: "to your window. You want to go back to sleep, no?"

Eddie clears his throat. "Actually, I was thinking I'd love to grab my sneakers and help you, I know a lot of good hiding spots. Is that cool?"

Harrington thinks for a moment, then he nods. "Yep, cool. Now, do you need a lift?"

Back in the familiar clutter of his bedroom, Eddie thinks it was a fever dream, a hallucination from a food poisoning, the final revenge of the spaghetti can.

But then he hears Harrington whisper after him: "Don't you dare come out without those sneakers, Munson! No bare feet are getting near shattered glass on my watch!"

And Eddie just snickers, leans out of the window and whispers back: "For you, big boy? I'll even wear pants!"