#what I did instead of writing

[queenharumiura]

2024 Akira Amano 'The Characters' Exhibition bonus 'Selfie-style' cards.

[ID: Official art of multiple characters from the manga and anime Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

They're all drawn as if taking a selfie, most of them smiling and/or doing a peace sign or another playful gesture with their hand.

Reborn, Colonnello, Viper and Fon are in their cursed forms, with Viper pulling their hood down, trying to hide more of their face.

Gokudera waves at us, with "Vongola Famiglia" written on his palm and the Vongola's emblem drawn on it too. Lambo is in his Ten Years Later version, Tsuna's shown both in his normal state and in Hyper Dying Will mode, Basil is in Hyper Dying Will mode too and Chrome's wearing cat ears.

Squalo and Xanxus are scowling. /End ID]

ID courtesy of @hopeswriting.

[radiance1]

"May I help you, mister...?"

Pariah Dark paused, slowly looking the old (by human standards) butler up and down before slowly sheathing his sword and crossing his arms. He looked the butler up and down once more, before glancing at the mansion and back at him.

Hm.

Hm.

"May I come in?" The king asked calmly, voice kept carefully lower than he would usually speak with. He was aware that his normal tone of voice was 'loud' in human standards. The butler stared at him for a moment, before slowly stepping to the side. "Of course, sir. Though I am certain I have not yet gotten your name."

He pushed his foot forward, soon passing through the threshold as fire wrapped around his body as he shrunk. Armor being exchanged for more 'comfortable' clothing besides his cape as he stepped through the doorway and grunted. "You may refer to me as War."

The butler nodded, not batting an eye as the sudden shift in clothing or size. "You came at quite the convenient time. Would you like to join us for dinner, sir War?"

Him?

Eat mortal food?

Perposterous.

"If you would have me and it's no further effort on your part, I could make such an arrangement." He fell in step easily behind the butler, hands folding behind his back in a similar if not a bit more extra way as his cape and hair swayed behind him with his every step.

"I believe I can arrange something to your liking," There was a sliver of mischief in the butler's tone as he led the king to what he assumed to be the dining room. "So far, all of my guests had only good things to say about my hospitality. I do so hope you're among them as well, words of praise from one of your station is quite hard to come by."

"I trust that your hospitality be nothing but kind." The king said, coming to a stop at a door the butler soon held open.

"Please, make yourself comfortable while I go inform those who will join you and make something more..." There was a slight twinkle in the butler's eyes. "Attuned, to your pallet."

The king chuckled. "I look forward to it." Then stepped inside.

[wasyago]

i imagine it's quite chilly in the black sea (for the lack of sun and color), so they're wearing slightly warmer clothes now uwu

+ thoughts

[damiel-of-real]

that fucking flower i hate

[vvachillessongvv]

[mitchasaurus-r3x]

Trying to figure out how to draw the wwdits cast, sorry if he’s a lil funky !

[saltedbiscuiit]

Matching pyjamas mayhaps?:3

[hellsquills]

Disclaimer: I know about the duffle bag Filbrick threw at him, but you can ignore that if you want

My thoughts below the cut! (this turned into a whole ass fic lmao)

My personal headcanon is that Filbrick is as much of a coward as he is of an asshole. Therefore, he wouldn't have kicked Stan when he did in canon. Probably not for a while after that.

However, he does try to send him to military school. He keeps talking about how this kid needs to learn discipline and respect, and if he's not gonna bring money to the house, then he should at least bring some honor to his family.

Stan obviously does NOT want to go. Not only because it's a pointless war ("what've the vietnamese done to us anyways?") but because he remembers his mother's face when Shermie got drafted and he will NOT make her go through that hell again. Also, he doesn't wanna die!!!! Hello?????

He talks it out over the phone with Ford, who's obviously just as against it as he is. He tells Stan that, if he gets into a PhD program, he could skip military. Stan laughs in his face. It'd be easier to jump off the plane without a parachute.

And so, he comes up with a plan. When he goes to take his physical, he tries his best to botch it. If he is bad enough, if it looks like he can't do it, maybe he won't have to. Unfortunately, the recruiters are far too used to this by now, and they don't buy it. Stan goes home with a recruitment letter hidden in his jacket.

Everything goes downhill after that. He runs away from home, changes his name several times, does some crime here and there... The military is after him, and it doesn't take rejection kindly.

Stan stays out of contact with his family for a few years. He can't risk getting them involved in this mess. They don't deserve it. So he just leaves, without saying a word, in the middle of the night. No phone calls, no notes, nothing. Not even he knows where he's going. But if it just looks like he abandoned them, maybe they'll hate him. That will make them sound more believable with the police. They aren't covering for him, because they genuinely have no idea where he is. It's the best way to keep them safe.

In that time, Ford doesn't stop looking for him. He finds him every once in a while, but only his phone number, and he knows that could give away his brother's location and get the family in trouble. So, against his deepest instincts, he doesn't call.

One, three, five, seven years pass. Stan has been around almost all the country, and is genuinely considering leaving it. Maybe going to Mexico, or Colombia. Those sound nice. Maybe they'll be nicer to him.

He's passing his time and thinking about this in a small town restaurant in wherever he's in (somewhere he's not banned from, yet), when a family enters. He doesn't make eye contact, but he can't help but stare at them: a man and a woman, probably in their 50s, with 7 kids; one must be older than him, the second one around his age, the third one a little younger, the fourth one a teenager, and the last three between 10 and 15, no more. Except for the last three, they're all taller than him, even the mother, and they have various degrees of blond hair. Their clothes (overalls and plastic boots) suggest they must work in one of the farms he's seen around the state. They don't wear any accessories, except for the glasses that the father and four of the kids have. They're talking loudly and laughing. They look exhausted from a morning of hard work. They seem happy. They... look nothing like his family, and yet, he can't help but think about it.

He can't help the sob that comes to his throat. It's loud and messy from trying to suppress it, which obviously makes it worse. He covers his mouth immediately, and at that point he notices the tears that have run down his cheeks. "Great", he thinks, "that will make it easier to hide, for sure".

He doesn't move. He wants to escape, but that will draw even more attention to him, and he hasn't even paid for the food yet (normally he'd leave without paying, but the old waitress was kind enough to give him some extra food when she saw how little he ordered). He settles for not moving, lowering his head and covering his face, hoping that no one heard (unlikely) or cared (very likely).

"Ya'lright, son?"

The voice startles him. I wasn't very deep, but it was close enough to send his body into immediate danger mode. He looks up at the man towering over him, who's standing in front of him at a prudential distance.

"Y-Yeah, yeah, no worries."

He hates how broken his voice sounds. He's spent more than enough time sweet-talking his way out of trouble, he should be better at this by now. The man looks about as convinced by it as he is himself.

" 'lright then. Can I help ya?"

Damn villagers and their welcoming demeanor. If he wasn't a wanted man, he would appreciate it. But right now, it couldn't be worse timing.

"Come get ya food, kids!" The waitress' yell yanks him out of his thoughts.

"No", he blurts out, and he turns to the man. Least he can do is show him some respect and look him in the eyes. "I'm fine, thank you."

The man smiles lightly and nods. "Okay. Welcome to the town."

Stan watches as the man goes back to his table. He wishes he had been more polite, the guy was just worrying about him, but he can't afford it. They already know his face, he can't risk anyone else recognizing him-

"Sweet Mother of God almighty."

Stan turns to his right. One of the kids, the one about his age, is looking at him like he just grew a second head. He's frozen in place, his eyes wide as plates behind thick glasses. He doesn't say a word, and it's getting increasingly unnerving. Was the bruising on his face still visible? Maybe it's more apparent in broad daylight than in the shitty light that last motel had in the bathroom.

"I'm sorry, I- Can I ask your name?"

The fuck?

"No", answers Stan. Considering how nice his dad was, this guy is pretty rude.

"Son, leave him alone." The mother seems to have manners too, good to know.

The guy does pretty much the opposite. He comes closer to him, until he's right in his path, blocking his exit. That can't be good. Stan feels trapped.

"Are you Stanley Pines?"

Well, that's about it.

Stan tries his best to stay still. This guy doesn't look like a cop, not even an undercover one. But he knows his real name, so maybe someone in his family or friends works in the police; or worse, in the military.

"Listen man, I don't know who you're talking about, but that isn't my name. See?" He reaches for his wallet. He pulls out an ID, with a very clear Jackson Cage on it. He makes a mental note to change it soon, just in case his hunch is right and this guy has connections. "Now, if you excuse me, I'd like to pay for my food and leave. Move."

Stan is already on his feet, but the guy hasn't moved. Stan looks him up and down, trying to appear threatening despite his face probably still being a little red from before. He also gauges how feasible it'd be to escape if things turned bad; the dude is taller than him, sure, but he's also as thin as a toothpick, and by the anxious look on his face, he doesn't seem eager for a fight. The real problem would be evading the restaurant's staff and the other costumers, which include eight carbon copies of the guy in front of him. Probably better to try to de-escalate the situation.

"I- I can't let you leave. Please. I know who you are."

This man is making it really difficult to believe he's not a cop.

"No, you don't. I'm new in town. Move."

"Listen, I-"

"Move out of my way."

"I know your brother."

The words are like a bullet between his eyebrows.

"You look just like him-"

Against his better judgement, he quickly grabs he guy and pins him to the wood in between the booth benches, arm to his throat. If he knows Ford, he knows too much. God he just wanted to have lunch.

The commotion is immediate. He doesn't break eye contact with the guy who's grabbing his arm, whose strength is frankly surprising. He can hear, however, the screams from the dad and the siblings, as well as a couple of gasps from the other costumers. This is not going to go well, but fuck that. He's escaped worse.

"Stop!", the guy shouts as he keeps Stan's forearm from blocking his airway. "Don't hurt him! Don't get closer!"

It takes Stan a second to process what he said. The first part, sure, who wouldn't shout 'stop' when you're being attacked? But the second half doesn't make sense. Is he protecting him? The attacker?

Whatever it is, it works. The family stops in their tracks, still very ready to attack if needed. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the three younger kids moving closer to their mother. For a split second, he feels a pang of remorse for the scene he just caused.

"Hang up the phone, Clarisse, it's okay. Please."

Stan looks in the direction the guy was talking to. Right behind him, the waitress reluctantly puts the phone down.

He looks back at the guy. He looks a little shaken up, probably from the impact his back (and his head?) made with the wooden plank, but he doesn't look scared. He almost looks... sympathetic? Stan is confused as hell.

"I know who you are", the guy whispers, low enough for Stan to hear alone. "You're Stanley Pines, and you have a brother named Stanford. I know him, okay? He's my friend. I met him a few years ago in a quantum physics congress and we've been talking ever since. He told me about his family in New Jersey, and about you. About how he hasn't seen you in years, and how he was trying to find you, to no avail."

Stan is gradually loosening his grip on the guy's neck, who takes a deep breath. He should know better, but- shit, hearing that Ford was looking for him was not what he expected. Even if he doesn't know yet if this guy is lying out of his ass, it's enough to make him doubt.

"I know you were called to Vietnam. He told me. I spent a week with him in his place when he found out, he was unconsollable. When you ran away, he called me. He knew what it meant for you and he thought he'd never see you again, whether you got caught or not. All because of that stupid war." Stan is now trembling a little, he knows it. This guy must know it too, with how close they are. If he stays here any longer he'll break down, but he can't move. Anything to hear his brother's name a little longer. "I know what it's like. Three of my cousins were drafted last year, and I know at least one of them won't be coming back home. Please... let me help you."

Stan meets his eyes. They're green and brown-ish, not unlike the immense fields he's seen in his last journey, the one that led him to this town. With the years, he's learned not to trust beautiful eyes, because they are better at hiding. These ones, however, seem serene and honest, just like his words, and he can't help but believing them. This guy, whoever the fuck he is, knows just about enough.

Stan lowers his right arm. The guy still has his hand on it, but this time is much less defensive and much more comforting. He doesn't complain.

"My name's Fiddleford McGucket, and I'm gonna help you find your brother."

______________________________

Essentially, after this Fidds calls Ford as if nothing happened (per Stan's request, since he's still paranoid about the police tracking his calls) and asks him to come to Tennessee. Ford argues that he's very busy and all, but Fidds convinces him in the end.

Obviously the twins have a dual breakdown and cry their heart out. In this AU they're much less emotionally constipated lol

Ford tells Stan that he's gonna build a house in a small town in Oregon as a part of his research, and asks him to move in with him once it's finished. Stan, of course, accepts.

In the meantime, Stan stays in the McGucket farm and helps them out as a way of laying low. He has a great relationship with his family, and they're very proud of him for what he did (i believe that the McGuckets are hippies at heart, and they're VERY anti-war, especially when it already took three of them)

I don't know how much of the canon storyline would this AU follow, but it's pretty much your average Mystery Trio AU with some different backstory

[e-payne]

Bonus:

crystal promoting her latest MV on instagram

fic series honey, are you coming? here on ao3

[doomdaysdecays]

just read “vaginal birth” & thought as opposed to what? anal birth?? but then i thought ohhhh. circumcision

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pages from trying to keep a little sketchbook-scrapbook type thing going for two weeks lol. I gave myself specific rules in hopes they might all end up more cohesive/consistent seeming, but alas, scribbly chaos reigns, it seems

[chirpsythismorning]

El being *12 hours earlier* than the Cali timeline when she arrives at Nina. Will saying ‘it’s been 9 hrs’ in the scene following his monologue in the van.

We know that at some point their timelines merged when they arrived to save her…

But we don’t know when exactly those alignments took place when they were still apart… which just makes you wonder…

[mbirnsings-71]

*sips my drink* God I love being a multishipper sometimes.

[realbeefman]

stacy is sooo interesting because she's in love with house but knows that they will never ever be able to have a healthy, stable, sane relationship because they're too similar so. she finds house-lite instead and marries him and. essentially moves on with her life! and is successful in this because she's a moderately well-adjusted person!

wilson, in contrast, never manages to escape the inevitable, in spite of his best efforts to find a house-lite of his very own, because he's an absolute fucking freak and ends up glued to house to the bitter. bitter end

[drurrito]

you in a honky tonk

an: all mistakes are mine for sure

warnings: alcohol...

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

It's your first night off in weeks, and you're spending it in some country bar in the middle of nowhere. Sam didn't need much to convince you. Your original plan was to waste away on the couch watching Gossip Girl reruns.

You're two drinks in by the time you're hitting a line dance with Sam and Carol. The rest of the crew watches on from the safety of a long table.

Clint has a trucker hat pulled down just enough to cover the bruise that some heavyweight painted around his eye last night. Bucky flicks the brim of the tan cowboy hat that he "borrowed" from a nearby table. Yelena keeps picking at the frayed bandage on her hand to the tune of Natasha scolding her every other minute for doing so.

"Stop your fussing, go out there already," with a huff, Yelena nods towards the dance floor. Natasha spares half a glance, and it's enough to catch the way your smile gleams under the colorful lighting. For a second, Natasha's heart thumps in double-time with the music.

"I don't dance," Natasha takes a swig from the beer bottle in her hand and focuses on it while the music slows and the dance floor begins to clear. The DJ pitches a one-liner about slowing it down for a couple songs to give people some reprieve. You only make it a few steps towards the table when Carol stops you with a hand on your arm.

"Wanna dance?" she asks like she already knows the answer. You match her lopsided smile with one of your own.

"I'll lead."

You take her hand and follow her back to the dance floor. Natasha watches the way you twirl Carol under your fingers with a natural ease. Even the way you two-step in tandem with Carol seems practiced, Natasha looks at Yelena's wounded hand to keep her mind from galloping off into the sunset.

Carol is hardly around. But when she is, it's a whole thing. She always hand-picks someone to be a lucky participant--last time it was Steve, this time it must be you. Of course Carol likes to go dancing--turning heads everywhere she goes has always been her M.O.

"Your face is going to get stuck like that," Yelena quips. She takes a sip of her drink and then licks at the Whiskey glossing her upper lip. Natasha spreads and flexes her fingers so they don't ball into fists.

"All eyes on her, just the way she likes it," Natasha does a piss-poor job of trying not to sound like a grump.

"Maybe," Yelena takes another sip, "she just likes to have fun, and doesn't care about who is watching."

Natasha entertains this with a hum and ignores the tender spot where Yelena's words dig. Carol just wanting to have some fun could (very likely) be true, but that would mean cutting this pity party a lot shorter than anticipated. Natasha's worked too hard these past few weeks to not indulge herself.

She is toying with the bottle in her hand when Yelena jabs an elbow into her arm. Natasha glares at her and then looks over in time to catch you dipping Carol as the song ends. She feels her jaw twitch as you pull Carol up with a laugh. As if on cue, Carol's hand finds the center of your chest and her lips stretch into a smile that is far too wide.

"Now's your chance, sestra," Yelena sings into the mouth of her glass but knows better than to look her sister in the eye at this point.

One time. Natasha smiled for a little too long after talking to you one time, and Yelena has never let her hear the end of it.

Carol and Sam slide into a seat at the table. You're about to do the same until a slow and sweet tune fills the room.

"I love this song," you look towards the dance floor to find people already pairing off.

"Need a dance partner?" Yelena hardly tries to hide her enthusiasm as she points at her sister. Natasha thinks about the force needed to bend Yelena's finger backwards so it looks like she's pointing at herself.

"If you'll have me."

You're earnestly smiling like you didn't just ask Natasha to embarrass herself in a bar filled with strangers.

"I would, but I can't dance," her eyes stay on yours. Even under the funky bar lighting, the way your eyes crinkle with your smile makes her stomach twist something awfully spectacular.

"That's okay, just follow my lead, you'll make it back in one piece," it's at this moment that Natasha realizes she can't even pretend like she can say "no" to you.

Natasha downs the rest of her liquid courage in one gulp to wordlessly take your hand without a second thought. Yelena bites her lip with amusement. Bucky puts his hat on your head when you're not looking. Natasha takes this opportunity to adjust it while she makes you promise not to get upset if she smashes your toes the entire song.

"You watched me get choke slammed by a guy five-times my size less than 24 hours ago and you're worried about stepping on my toes?"

Natasha hates how easy it is for you to make her laugh while she's looking down the barrel of public humiliation. You test the waters with a few steps before spinning Natasha into your side. You can feel how stiff she is against you.

"I got you."

The confidence in your voice makes Natasha's shoulders instantly depart from her ears. You sway and step together for a few beats and then raise both of your arms and spin yourself so you're in front of her again. For a split-second, Natasha thinks she's getting the hang of it until she steps on your foot while you're trying to twist her one way and then the other.

"It's okay, it's okay," you quickly soothe, pulling her closer than she’s ever been to anyone in the observable universe.

Natasha has no time for regret when you throw her arm around your neck with ease and spin the two of you across the dance floor. She can faintly hear the chorus as your hand slides up to her shoulder and your face is barely an inch from hers. Natasha can feel your other hand ghost the outline of her ass, travel the length of her thigh and arrive at the bend in her knee. Her breath is about to catch in her throat when you honest to god dip her like something out of a movie.

Without thinking, Natasha throws her head back like she's done this before as you lower her close to the ground.

"See? You're a natural," god, that makes her blush. Natasha's not even thinking about how her front melts against yours when you pull her back up and sway like that for a couple bars. You tangle and untangle yourselves again before letting her go with an encouraging "spin, spin!" and catch her with a proud smile that touches your ears.

Every time you hold out your hand, Natasha takes it without question. It makes sense when you grab her waist and her arm drapes over your shoulder. Where you go, she goes. You're a very good dancer. She starts to wonder if the chemistry she saw between you and Carol was all in her head.

"You trust me?" Natasha stifles a shiver when your lips brush against her ear.

"We're about to find out," she fights off another shiver when you respond by breathing out a laugh against her neck. You take a few steps with her, twirling her away from you. When you pull her back, you sweep her off her feet until she's almost upside down.

"Hold onto me," is all you say before bringing her back up. Natasha's death grip on your tricep relaxes when her eyes are back on you once more. She forgets the crowd and doesn't realize the song is ending as you spin her around and around until both of her feet are on solid ground.

"Not bad for your first dance. My toes made it out unscathed too!" You share a laugh on your way back to the table. You're both tapping a foot to the music as you talk. Natasha stiff arms Bucky so she can keep you in that hat on for a little longer.

[necrotic-nephilim]

I am always thinking TimJay thoughts related to the fact that they have matching scars from getting their throats slit, and not only that, but Jason slit Tim's throat first in an attempt to threaten Bruce, where Tim was nothing more than a pawn for Jason to use to emotionally manipulate Bruce.

batman (1940) #618

And then, just a little while later when Jason is trying to confront Bruce and do his whole dramatic moment with Joker in UTRH, and Bruce slits Jason's throat to stop Jason from killing the Joker.

batman (1940) #650

It makes me so Unwell. They have literal matching scars. When do you think Jason realizes it? When do you think, while running his fingers over the scar he has to always remind himself that Bruce was willing to jeopardize Jason's own life just to save the Joker, Jason realized it was the same scar *he* gave Tim? And does it click for him too, that he and Tim are a lot alike? Being used as pawns in Bruce's game? And for the first time he maybe understands Tim Drake, just another kid trying to get Bruce's attention and approval? And Jason did to Tim exactly what Bruce did to Jason? And that's part of what spurns on Jason's obsession with Tim, trying to "save" Tim from Bruce's ideology?

When they finally get together does it make Jason even more possessive? He put that mark on Tim and now he has his own to match. It's the closest to being understood and loved he's ever felt when Tim runs his fingers over Jason's scar at the same time Jason touches Tim's. Mirrors of each other, in a fun, fucked up little way.