#*˖ ⊹ normal au ╲ no such thing as magic ⋅

[aithusarosekiller]

It's the time of year when I begin to think about that one au where reg survives and comes out of hiding in 1981 only to discover that not only are both of his partners dead (rip jily) but his brother is in prison, his partners had a son who is now an orphan, Remus and Mary are nowhere to be found so can't take care of him (bc in my mind Mary becomes an unspeakable, it's one of my fav hcs icl...) and the poor baby was about to be sent to the family Lily had cried to him about so many times

So he jumps in, uses his political power, and takes Harry. He tries his best to look after him but he just can't help but feel like a failure. He isn't a natural carer, he tries to remember what he can from James and Lily describing their childhood and the few times he met his neice, but he's never really had to look after a baby or toddler before. Harry seems to be developing fairly normally and clearly loves him, but he still panics that he's doing it all wrong. For years, he tries to give Harry the childhood he deserves but can't help but feel like there's a certain homely connection missing. Until he has an idea.

He spends the month before Christmas of 1990 trying to remember the exact recipe for the Christmas pudding that Lily used to make for the three of them every year since he caught her in the kitchens making it in 5th year. He was determined to show Harry a part of his mother that wasn't stained with death and sadness so every time Harry was on a play date with the local children or shopping with Kreacher, he'd write down his alterations and try to get as close to the original as possible. Even if it was the last thing he did, he was going to make Harry this old Evans family recipe and show him as much of his Lily's love as he could.

When he finally got it right, it was mere days before Christmas and the second he took it out of the oven and saw it, smelling the fruity warmth, he couldn't help but cry. It was almost as if she was there, behind him, laughing into his ear as she helped him measure out the ingredients and dump them into the bowl. Come Christmas Day, he made the roasted vegetables James always perfected and cooked the turkey himself instead of letting Kreacher do it. The Christmas pudding sat in the middle of the table, kept warm by magic, until it was ready to be eaten.

For the first time since 1981, he felt that overwhelming sense of home without the smallest shred of doubt in his body.

[cripplecharacters]

So, I have this AU where characters are divided into ghosts and ghost hunters. One of the ghosts was a cane user, and ghosts can't float in this setting, so...

How does a ghost cane work?

Canes can't die and become ghosts, but wouldn't it be weird to have a character with a cane suddenly not have it anymore? Would it be hard for them to get used to walking without it even if they don't have a body that can feel pain/weakness/etc.

(Also, they're not the only character with a mobility aid, there's a few alive ones as well)

Hello!

This is one of the best and worst parts about working in the fantasy genre.

On one hand, you don't really have much to go off of if you're looking for realism. There isn't exactly a set precedent for what happens to disabled ghosts -- or any ghosts really.

On the other hand, that really means that you have full creative control here. While we can provide some suggestions and ideas, it's up to you in the end. You're the one that knows your world the best after all.

Without more information on your ghosts, we can't provide any specific help with how to navigate this.

That said, a few potential thoughts:

If ghosts can interact with objects, they could use a normal cane.

If ghosts manifest with the clothes/items they're wearing at the time of their death, you could apply the same logic to their cane.

You could give them a cane that is made out of things that were once living. For example, one made of bone. Not sure how realistic it would be but it could be cool.

You could give them an alternative aid or accommodation.

Depending on the scope here, you could also use this as a way to further develop your world.

Maybe there's a special kind of wood that can cross between the world of the living and the dead and the cane is made of that wood?

Maybe there's a way to get items/canes in the ghost world?

Maybe there's a certain substance that can allow ghosts to interact with objects and the character coats their hands in it?

You are right that taking their cane/disability away in death wouldn't be a good move, especially if they're coming back as a ghost and play a notable part in the story.

That said, depending on why they use the cane though, they may not need it as a ghost.

For example, if they use it for chronic pain and can't feel pain as a ghost then they may not use it anymore. That said, if you go that route I'd advise to still leave other aspects of their disability. Maybe they walk with a limp out of habit or out of necessity? Maybe they use other aids like braces that they were wearing at their time of death? Just something to show that their disability is still there and not magically gone.

Hopefully some of this is helpful!

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

Hey!

An idea that I think would be cool is to have the cane be considered a part of their body, and so it would become a ghost too. A lot of mobility aid users treat their wheelchairs and canes as a part of them, it would go pretty hard if it was validated in the ghost realm.

mod Sasza

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Five - On Trial

Apologies for the delay as there were a few speed bumps that my foggy brain just did not want to hump over. This chapter gave me some grief, but I'm still happy with how it turned out :)

Trigger Warnings: religious imagery, ptsd, angst, brief mentions of rape/incest/assault/drugging/coercion/miscarriage

Flat deadened eyes bore chasms through your own.

They peeled away the impregnable shroud of shame masking the abhorrent malefactions of those you’ve wronged.

In a split second of time, those eyes foisted judgment upon all your heinous sins with an executioner’s toll. Damning you to an endless oblivion amongst the cacophony of wailing souls eternally condemned to the River Styx.

Behold! The face of your adjudicator!

Blackened barbed wire constricts the fat of his gluttonous form. Exposed sickly ashen skin held together by threaded catgut, bursting at the seams with bone-white mold. Hellfire caged in little glass vials illuminates the agonized expression glued to a visage of perpetual torment, standing against a backdrop of towering decayed limbs, basking in the multitude of jewel toned offerings left by those who worship at the base of this miserable creature’s sacrificial altar.

…Of all the cheerful residents from the Hundred Acre Wood, who on god’s green earth decided that Eeyore of all things would be the poster boy for Christmas?

The melancholically predisposed cartoon character was a mess of tangled Christmas lights, having apparently failed in his endeavor to liven up the wilted excuse of a barren evergreen behind him and somehow succeeding in trapping his own pudgy form in the decorations instead – the ‘D’ in December knocked crooked in his fruitless struggles.

A paltry souvenir magnet from someplace sunny holds the calendar aloft, Winnie the Pooh designs posted on the side of your fridge with thick glossy sheets. A gift from your fathers; a new one included in their holiday care package every year. 

You’re sure the overstuffed box currently shoved beneath your kitchen table for lack of anywhere more reasonable to house it has its plastic-wrapped replacement buried amongst the other contents. Previous years involved such colorful settings as early 2000’s internet memes or a compilation of fun facts regarding the world’s different varieties of cheeses. Not for your own enjoyment, of course, but for the chagrined expression your family insisted on basking in come Christmas morn.

Not that you admitted to liking this past year's theme of childhood whimsey…

The curlicue numbers on the wintery grid mark the passage of time – crossed out with dry streaks of red ink. Christmas is naught but five days from now, the emphasized date stamped in the upper righthand corner with a glittery ribbon as if the holiday needed even more call for attention. It means almost nothing to you outside of a familial facetime over a microwaved breakfast of cheap eggo waffles. 

You’ll suffer congenially through the good natured poking and prodding. Chloe will send a text; Alex won’t. And the day will pass by in a whisper of silence – the magic of miracles stored back in their damp corporate box for cheapened rehashing the following year.

Holing away in the confines of your solitary habitat came with the added benefit of only exposing yourself to the overhyped celebration on a reasonable once-weekly basis, driving to and fro your therapist's office; painfully ignoring the garish spectacle of such yuletide enrichment as fuzzy wonky reindeer antlers wedged atop sticker splattered minivans, off-key fourth graders caterwauling carols in the backseat, tinsel and fiberglass grating on your teeth.

At least, your antisocialness normally would save you from such headaches. 

When the pharmacy didn’t bungle communications with your primary care physician and refill your prescription two weeks early. 

The voicemail left on your phone this morning was a little more than a minor annoyance. You’d only just finished chasing the taste of bile with citrusy mouthwash, leaning your leaded weight against the cold marble of the sink, stomach still spasming with painful braxton hicks-like contractions. Shaky hands splashed tepid water on your face, wicking away the evidence of exertion and clearing your chin of digested chicken noodle. 

You’d only half paid attention to the robotic voice droning over speakerphone, wiping off your face with a disgruntled glare at your reflection and muffling a groan into the pilled fabric of your hand towel at the automated message. This was not a day to be playing at adulthood. This was a day for warm chunky socks and Disney movie marathons. 

And now because some overworked new hire chugging Red Bulls probably keyed in the wrong refill date in an over-caffeinated zeal, you were once again paying for someone else's mistake. 

(A running theme for your life.)

You shook off the bitter thought with a weary sigh, hanging the damp towel from the plastic command hook on peeling wallpaper. The buzzing of the keypad rattled the counter as you’d cleared out your phone’s voicemail, scooping up the device and trudging back around the corner to begin what should’ve originally been an easy day. 

Now, a few hours of lounging had garnered you enough gumption to voyage out amongst proper society once more, rinsing your chubby dinosaur mug from earlier in the sink as your eyes flick up unwittingly to the calendar nearby. 

You know what you’re counting even as you abash yourself for it. 

The crumpled bag of mostly full coffee grounds has been sitting in your bin for the past two days, put there in an abstract protest to the blatant disregard of your feelings by a caustic alpha. The taste on your tongue has become as phantom as the scent that once clung to your coat rack, wafted away by a bottle of descenting spray the same way you wish to purge his lingering effervescence from where it's taken root in your spine.

The offending bag collects dust at the top of the pile, placed there in a huff at the start of every morning. When its existence mocks your suffering and the grief of a life you’ll never get to live is at the forefront of every painful heave into grimy porcelain, forced onto your knees like the flaccid servient creature that beast has morphed you into. 

Still, there’s no sign of refuse or food waste on the flimsy outside packaging. It never stays put long enough to accumulate filth or bury itself in neglected disuse. At the end of the night, when the wounds of before are wrapped in a somnolent layer of protective padding, it returns to its spot amongst the clutter of your countertop, a pitiful idol to the foolish part he’s allowed to fester against your better judgment.

God, you’ve tried so hard to ignore it – you really have. With what little there is to occupy your mind in this lackluster environment, the labor of staying detached is proving arduous. John’s memory agitating the stripped-bare axis of simple order your world rotates upon.

Distraction eludes you at every attempt to forget. The warmth of your nest is the comfort of his leather embrace, the Zofran on your tongue the calloused paw at your nape grounding you in tempered reality. Soft boar hair bristles are his fingers, the zest in your meal his vigor. His face is in the deep prussian sweater jailed to the back of your closet for the sole crime of coming too close to the cerulean shade that haunts your waking memory.

You thought you already knew what it meant to belong to another. To be branded with someone else’s signet like a bored kid in history class taking chunks out of his desk until it was too desecrated with graffiti to be regarded as anything other than his unofficial property. No one wanted to touch what the school bully had already sullied.

Until John.

It didn’t matter that the seat was already occupied. He just scratched out the nameplate with safety scissors and staked his claim with a wad of gum beneath the chair.

He was dark matter wedging its way to take up space between condensed molecules, bullying the other elements into submission until his chemical makeup twisted you to something there was no coming back from. Sweeping in with the strength of a category five and the persistence of the big bad wolf.

You despise John for the damage he’s incurred to your house made of straw – all of them really – but you detest yourself even more for the gnawing disappointment flooding your gut that he hasn’t shaken the foundations further.

The hiss of pain between your teeth as you adjust the abrasive scarf around your neck serves as a sobering reminder of the real cancer infecting your cells. Even if the claim was buried under layers, it didn’t mean your flesh didn’t still carry the scars from its etching. 

Slinging your purse over your shoulder, you take to the task of unlocking each of the bolts guarding you from the true terrors of an alpha’s altruistic attention. 

Please just let this be quick.

The sneer from the old crone in aisle two has you ducking the latter half of your face in the itchy fabric that hides the one thing you’re currently being judged for.

You don’t know her name, but you’ve seen her outside the steps of your apartment enough with her hellspawn of a pomeranian to know she lives in your building. The grey curls of her poodle cut perm do nothing to hide the splotches of alopecia that come with age. Tissue paper skin dappled with sun spots begs for the youth of collagen, gaunt around her cheekbones and only highlighting her witchy exterior, a moth eaten shawl hanging loosely over the quasimodo hump keeping her from standing at a height taller than that of a twelve year old child.

The grouchy bat is clever, though, you’ll give her that. There’s a discerning eye behind those tortoiseshell frames that speak of a bygone prime filled with intrigue and gossip that’s followed her well into her twilight years. 

She’s honed her intellect well.

And she knows.

Your skin crawls with maggots under her heated glare, boring subdermal tunnels that reach beyond the capabilities of a simple itch. The writhing anomalies only add to the growing discomfort of waiting in the pharmacy queue for far longer than need be. Ten minutes you’ve been behind the same middle aged man – too diffident to interrupt the conversation going on ahead of you – as what should’ve been a simple snatch and grab of his blood pressure medication turns into three decades of catching up with a bygone acquaintance from primary school.

“–when Janine drank some weird concoction back at Jimmy’s place. Fucking health nut has his own carbonator in his kitchen and she got the bright idea on six shots of cuervo to run a glass of milk through the damn thing. Ended up spewing all over Crystal’s pants.”

To their credit, the pharmacist had at least been working on filling prescriptions as he prattled on with the bald spot beta in front of you, bustling between stocked aisles of jarred substances and counting out little white tablets with every ping from the database. He just didn’t seem to care about the goings on inside the store. “Adam mentioned that when I ran into him at the football match last June. Isn’t that O’Hara’s omega? The one who used to save her gum in a giant ball after she was done chewing it?”

Eww. Seriously?

“Nah, that’s Abigail. Crystal was Billy and Carter’s girl.”

That seemed to catch the other alpha in his tracks, a quizzical brow replacing one of mild interest as he paused his fingers over the keyboard. “Was? What happened to her?”

“Fucking up and left them, that’s what. And right after they supported her through that unfortunate miscarriage too. Came home one day to an empty nest and a note on the table telling them she was done. Poor guys never even saw it coming.”

“Wow. Who would’ve thought she’d turn out to be one of them?”

“Yea,” the beta’s tone turned sour. “Unfaithful bitch.”

The Unfaithful. 

That’s what they call you now. 

Those who have forsaken their oaths and disgraced the name ‘omega’. The sanctity of packdom desecrated by egocentric bond breakers. Scheming harlots abandoning their worshipful protectors– denying them their designated rights and withholding the gift of eternal peace upon those alphas worthy enough to be chosen.

False omegas. Government apostates to how things are supposed to be run.

Doesn’t matter that those who claim to be victims before the courts are the same conniving bastards stripping us of our bodily autonomy. Nothing is impermissible. 

Rape. Incest. Assault. Drugging. Coercion. Words that carry weight become cotton candy deadlifts in the face of a mating bond. It has no undoing – no magic words or medical procedures. There is no running towards the arms of a better pack in hopes of a brighter future; no room for another in the tether of your soul. That anchor has taken root in the rock bed and cannot be claimed outside the mysticism of a scent match. 

Crueler parts of the world would hunt you down like the runaway slave they’re too cowardice to admit they perceive you as, a bounty placed upon your head and welts on your back for disobeying, brittle nails clawing at the dirt in a last attempt at freedom, dragged back to your master in an iron wrought collar displaying the shame of your sins. 

Suppose you should consider yourself lucky that here, amongst the dredges of refined society, your kind are merely shunned.

Bosom friends all turn their backs, work desks empty into a cardboard box under the guise of ‘performance issues’. The deli at the corner claims they’re closed, red blocky letters drawing blood by the gallons as the patrons inside regard you like you’re nothing more than a sopping wet stray begging for scraps in the rain.

There are no laws that protect from discrimination for people like you. The lease in your fathers’ names and the lie from their lips are the only things sheltering you from homelessness. Others are not so fortunate as to have the word of an alpha keeping them off the street. 

The forlorn promise of a better tomorrow is all that greets you now in the wake of devastation. There is no higher contract than the bite marks on your neck. 

The scathing look from the disgruntled woman would be warranted by those around you if they were privy to the same suspicions she carried. The signs were all there if they only knew where to look.

“Miss?”

You hardly notice when they end their interaction, the off-putting customer service smile from the alpha behind the counter making the pit of your stomach rumble with unease as you scurry to the front, quietly offering up your personal information as you place your ID on the counter.

If he only knew he had the power to blacklist you in his hands…

You fork over the cash in far shorter time than the previous customer did, spending less than two minutes to his twenty before you duck away from the substantial line that’s formed in the time since your subsequent arrival. 

It’s your luck the old hag is three guests behind you, averting your gaze to the task of stashing your meds to try and keep from further interaction. Too bad a half century’s worth of smoking comes out in the rasping slur she spits at you from underneath her breath.

“Fucking glitch.”

You’ve heard the words directed at you once before, only far more cutting and uttered from a far different mouth. That didn’t stop the insult from piercing through to bone, a deep ache in your ribs that slows your gait and gives you pause beside the basket drop-off. 

A quick glance around confirms a lack of disdain from your fellow shoppers. You’re surprisingly fortunate that her biting remark hadn’t been made any louder. You frequent this shop often enough to be recognizable to most of the staff – though not on any sort of conversational terms. Being blacklisted here wouldn’t just result in an inconvenient trek farther for medical service, but a mark that would deny usage no matter the location.

Every step out your front door is a chance for your past to catch up to you… in one form or another.

A shock of cold jolts you from your far-away stare, startling a yelp that draws brief attention as you jump back from the unwanted contact, hand retreating away at the abrupt offense. Cradling it to your chest, you’re met with cobalt eyes and sunshine hair, a bright eyed pupper beaming up at you from its spot perched at your feet.

“Sorry about him!” An apologetic voice squawks to the left of you, calling your attention to the hobbling beta woman at the other end of the leash. Her neon green marshmallow puffer greets you before her dark curls and round cheeks, a prosthetic hand keeping grip on her furry friend. “He’s a well behaved boy I promise! Ain’t gonna bite ya or anything.”

“Oh no, he’s fine!” The tremble in your words is more from social awkwardness than anything, having been caught off guard in a place far too crowded for your tastes, rolling your shoulders to halt the impulse to scratch. “Just wasn’t expecting a wet dog nose is all.”

The beta, on the other hand, has no problem running a knitted mitten over the back of her neck. “Yeaaaah, it’s not often he gets away from me like that. You see, he’s my service animal.” She calls attention to the black vest around his body, a litany of bright colored patches and big blocky words adorning the functioning harness that you hadn’t quite discerned upon first glance. “He uh… was just alerting to you.”

It takes you a moment to process the words, blinking down at the panting canine regarding you with eyes more keen than the pea-brained expression would suggest. 

Good to know even a dog can sense you’re nine different levels of fucked up.

“You can pet him if you want,” comes the gentle offer upon spying the embarrassment painting your features, taking her faithful companion’s inattention in stride. The quirk of her mouth gives you a green light even if her words already did. “Far be it for me to disagree with the boss here when he puts his mind to something.”

The words of declination rest limp on your tongue, a moment’s hesitation giving way beneath the understanding gaze of an impartial animal whose sole purpose is to provide the comfort of love. Crouching down to its level – uncaring of the salt trekked state of the tile – it's almost instinctual to wrap your arms around the retriever for an act that seems so much more dangerous coming from any other being. The muzzle that finds home in the junction of your shoulder roots you through the floor, going beyond solid concrete foundation and miles of serpentine pipeways, winding through terraceous cracks unyielding to the progress of man to find purchase in the damp soil unseen for thousands of years, unbowing to the anything but the turn of the earth.

Calm is not the word; the pounding pulse in your ears and the headrush of being out in public still ring through the chittering bustle of checkout lanes to keep you on your toes. Yet the ache in your soul feels less like a boulder and more like a handful of a pebbled shore.

Pulling away from the smell of damp fur, slobber greets your face in the form of affection, features pulling taut against the playful onslaught trying its best to intrude between the cracks of your mouth. 

“Easy does it, bud.” A soft yank on his harness serves as a gentle reminder, turning from loveable pup to esteemed gentleman panting in perfect submission. “No one wants to taste what you had for lunch earlier today.”

You flash her a grateful smile for the interference, fingers moving next to scritch around the bright red collar mostly hidden by dense hairs, a glinting dog bone with cursive scrawl clacking against the knuckles of your hand. “Rocky, huh?”

“Yea,” she chuckles. “Don’t judge, but he was actually my favorite power ranger as a kid.” Her mittened hand joins yours in the thick pelt of his neck, scratching at some secret spot that gets his tail thumping, the appendage a whirling propeller trying in vain to achieve liftoff. How long they must’ve been in each other’s company for such familiarity. “Figured since this little guy was gonna be my hero too, he deserved a name befitting the courage he inspires.”

Her sincerity sparks something in you as you reach back to your own childhood, the sizzling of pancakes on the griddle against a backdrop of Saturday morning shows. Your smile warms at the memory. “Hey, no judgment here. After all, mine was Tommy.”

The moment breaks with shattered glass somewhere off to the right, the both of you reacting with varying degrees of frazzled nerves. You don’t miss the way her hand strikes out with practiced swiftness towards her hip, something nonexistent bumped away from flexing fingers by a patience nudge. Wide eyes glance down at her stalwart companion, already staring back with all the surety of his namesake, pushing her palm further against the smoothness of his head, urging her to stay with him in the safety of the moment. You don’t know the ghosts that haunt her–doing your best to avert your gaze from the glimpse of carbon fiber–but you watch as they retreat with calming breaths back to the place where they were born.

She shoots you a look you know she rather wouldn’t, an unspoken apology wrapped in embarrassment as familiar to you as it is to her, understanding passing between mirrored irises. There’s a shuffling of feet as you both scurry on your respective ways, you towards the outside air while her path takes her further inward. A quick glance over your shoulder finds him pressed against her side, snout turned upwards with a lolling tongue and dopey smile, eyes on the caregiver staring back at him with fond devotion. To have something that loves you that much…

Your gaze softens along with your words. “Good boy, Rocky…”

Fire ants bite into your cheek as the sharp crack that accompanies them leaves an outline of lava, the slap mark on your face glowing red hot and searing with the weight behind their assault. It dulls as the molten rock cools, a beating heart on the surface kept in time with the now racing pulse in your neck. The shock of it is almost as painful as the protruding iron shelves getting knocked against your spine, blowback jostling the festive display contents some poor stocker worked so hard on as cardboard cubes of kleenex clatter like ornaments to the muck-stained floor.

The outcry from your lips is muffled in comparison to groaning metal shifting under your weight, hand instinctively flying up as a wall to protect from further onslaught. Heat blooms again even under your careful touch, hissing in a gasp as wide eyes filled with glistening saline catch up a moment before your nostrils take in a familiar decadence. 

Her omega scent of rich warm brownie, fresh out the oven – but swallowed from the edges by the beginnings of char. Too high a temp getting cooked for too long, potent in its fury as it cracks and concaves. A sickeningly sweet outer shell transmuting under pressure, turning perfect gooey fudge into bubbling tar.

The visage that greets you is tempered by dread; a mixture of refined beauty and smoldering hate.

White fluffy earmuffs contrast against long chocolate waves spilling like molasses over a matching pristine peacoat – as if not even fate itself dared to sully such purity. If the air of refinement somehow doesn’t outclass you than the designer handbag does. No pack could ask for a more exemplary omega.

You’ve seen those cheekbones on the cover of magazines, that glassy skin splashed clean in luxury skincare ads. Perfect porcelain as artistically rendered as fine chinaware. Every model you’ve ever envied taken shape as your worst nightmare. Dark bambi eyes red-ringed with acidic tears, button nose flaring with each heaving rise of her trembling shoulders. Full pouty lips quiver under the enormous weight of emotions that threaten to claw almond manicured nails through your skin like chainsaws.

There is anger, but there is also pain.

And you caused it.

You do not know which response consumes you more: panic, or shame. 

“You–” her voice breaks like her heart, delicate wind chimes in a spring downpour. “You s-stay away from them…” Her words come in a struggle, fighting for stability whilst she hangs onto her composure with a thread as thin as spider silk. “They’re not yours… so… so just– just leave us alone!”

Gone is the lighthearted vision spun in innocent etherealness from that day in the store. Sparkling doe eyes now filled with scorn don’t suit the unblemished being not a foot in front of you. There’s an ingrained sweetness in her now pitiful form that so easily calls to an alpha’s protectiveness, a creature that deserves to be cherished, adorned; royalty reincarnated to a modern day princess.

There are only traces of that now standing a few feet in front of the automatic sliding doors, a smashed box of tissues keeping the mechanism from closing and sending a chill over the entire conversation. 

You shrink in on yourself, lowering your gaze in a meek show of submission that speaks where your own voice fails. How could you continue to look her in the eye when you are the reason this woman is suffering? When you are the bad guy in every sense of the word?

Filth. Sullied. Poison. Suffocating her with your very presence as if your own tainted pheromones could overcast hers.

You expect more–deserve more–but she turns on her heels, the sensors allowing passage as she hurries back out the way you suspect she only just came.

You’re as stunned as the bystanders around you, blinking at her retreating form into the small parking lot beyond. You can’t help but watch as she races across the asphalt, thoughts of her own task left behind in a trail of her own tears. Badly muffled whispers start in earnest at the display. Chorused words of ‘wicked woman’ following you out onto the pavement. Tongues lashing into open wounds kept bleeding by your own shame. 

That pain is nothing in the wake of the familiar figure of a towering form.

He meets her halfway, hulking mass climbing out from the cab of a blackened range rover at the first sign of her obvious distress. From this far away you can only make out the sounds of heaving sobs, watch as dainty hands clutch the dark material of her protector, the furrow of his brow as he searches for answers to her suffering.

Whatever she responds, you find yourself once more snapped in place by the weight of his stare, looking no less worse for wear than the first time he did. 

Logic says the phantom tartness on your tongue is a hallucination ingrained from previous exposure, but the inner omega whining helplessly to be understood doesn’t comprehend the self inflicted wounds she scores with brittle claws at the first chance to taste. In many ways, designative instincts retain the innocence of youth: purely reactionary in their naive disregard. They’re doe-eyed five year olds holding up the mangled body of a broken baby bird and proclaiming ‘they can fix it’. To them, they don’t realize the damage that comes with wishing for a bite of lemon zest when they know that cupcake is theirs, deaf to the scolding of a parent who knows better. 

After all, what gives you the right to take what hasn’t been offered? For wishing for the comfort of an alpha’s scent that doesn’t belong to you? All it does is make you feel like the shameful thief the people in the shop think you are.

So you keep your distance from the alpha and his mate, once more stuck in a whirlwind of unintentional trouble. He’s too far away to make out the hues of his eyes, but his body language tells you exactly where he stands in all this. Fingers flexed in a possessive grip, the placement of his hand curled around her mid back, the subtle hunch he takes as he tucks her tearstained face beneath his covered chin.

A choice. 

Conceal. Protect. Intruder.

You once wondered at the outcome if you hadn’t run that night; if the call that beckoned you ‘wait’ had kept you rooted to the floor. How would this mammoth have reacted - the one who only watched in pure neutrality as your world crumbled apart? Would he have let his friend make the first move forward? Would there have been an altercation? Spoken words and awkward introductions such as with their Scottish brethren? Did they care about your cowardice? Did the alphas give you chase? Lose your scent in the produce aisle and catch their breaths in the crisp night air? 

At last you have your answer. 

The judgment he passes as he turns his back to you has far more gravitas than the mopey donkey on your fridge. The conjured images of morbidity that entertained you earlier this morning feels like a holiday in comparison to the way your arteries shrivel from necrosis; down another size and a half by Grinch standards.

(Would it ever grow again?)

Closing your eyes against the sight is all you can do to maintain your sanity.

“Lass!”

As if life hasn’t finished causing you torment enough, the rough brogue catching your ears has your eyes peeling back open, the depression gluttoning away at your insides taking note at the promise of further feast, cackling gleefully at the tousled mohawk rounding the the opposite side of the vehicle his companions are approaching. Concern sits heavy on his brow, footsteps sure of their path as the pair sidle up along the drivers side of their SUV, lemon shuffling his omega through the open door he holds and into the relative safety of the back seat. You expect John to join them – to fuss and coo over her the same way he did for you in the cafe. Your masochism soaks up the envy like a yorkshire pudding at Christmas dinner.

But he makes no move to join his mate, blazing a path that leads beyond.

It’s not her he’s calling out for. It’s you.

Something smothers in your chest at the meaty glove that yanks him backwards, the heft of his brawn outmatched by the iron grip stopping him from advancing any further, shoved back against the shiny black of the range rover. The suspension creaks from the sheer force of the impact, giving you a hint as to the momentum which was suddenly reversed and applied to the hull, vehicle tilting a few centimeters off its wheelbase before thudding back down to settle on its chassis.

Charged static fills the air as overwhelmingly as the growl ripped from their chest – from which alpha you aren’t sure. The palpable anger that must be flaring in their scent chokes those unfortunate few nearby into hurrying along, a group of teenagers giving wide berth as the old man a few cars over shoves something fragile into the boot with a telltale crunch, slamming the latch shut before climbing over his center console to the steering wheel from the opposite side. No one wants to get involved in pack business, much less find themselves collateral damage in a showdown between behemoths. 

Where lemon’s mouth is obscured, John’s isn’t, giving you unfiltered access to the snarl he spits up at the man a few inches taller than him. He makes his displeasure clear in a volume still too quiet for you to grasp, but his argument is apparent in the gesturing of his arms, the wildness matched by the heart he so clearly wears on his sleeve. His packmate stands in complete opposition to the outward show of aggression by the former, striking in his marble-like appearance, firm against the blunted chisel of whatever’s being discussed. The only sign that he’s participating comes in the form of the other’s interrupted pauses. 

Your thoughts turn to the omega inside overhearing all of this. The discontent she must feel down the bond from those she loves most has to be just as painful as the ability to hear the quarreling itself. What must she be going through–huddled alone in the shadows by herself–having to listen to what you assume is an argument over another woman… one that a mate is clearly defending?

What consumes her more? Is it rage? Betrayal? Anguish? Abandonment? Jealousy? Your heart goes out to her at this moment in a way you’re not sure her packmates are knowing or even empathetic to. 

You suddenly flinch as if being struck by the accusatory finger pointed in your direction by the up-until-now stoic alpha, nose to nose with a man he’s spent nights pressed even closer against. Whatever point he makes, there’s no rebuttal from the Scot this time – only a strained moment’s silence.

At last John shoves away the arm holding him, straightening his jacket with a look that says this isn’t over as his companion walks away to the driver’s side door. You don’t pay him further mind though as John huffs out his anger like a bull, raking a hand through his hair before meeting your gaze with far more softness. He sees it in your eyes the same way it reflects in his. Two pained apologies spoken without words.

Dark tint keeps you from seeing them as they enter the vehicle and drive off, peeling away with a nod to the discomfort inside but with enough self control to not endanger the ‘precious cargo’ in the back seat.

You knew the other day was too good to be true. It’s clear now the damage you’ve incurred in your foolish desire to forge a connection. The lies John told you to placate his unthinking selfishness. Why the radio silence has been deafening your apartment. 

Nothing is alright. Everything is broken. You’ve ruined god knows how many years of passion and devotion by the sole act of your own pathetic existence. 

You’ve robbed her of that–robbed them. Another reminder that they cannot give it to you. She has taken your place. They cannot claim another.

It’s your fault. Your fault.

Your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault… 

You can’t breathe.

Something’s crawling up your throat. You can’t– 

As customers pass the threshold of the automatic glass doors, no one pays any mind to the sounds of retching in the dumpster.

<< ✿ Previous ✿ <<

[monodramatic-cannibal]

Yet another new utau oc ^^ Yusuke (+ a ref of his other form too)

More info under the cut. Will be adding to it when I think of more

More info on his design:

His height is 6’5 (not counting his ears). In his ‘snow leopard’ form there’s a doodle near the bottom right of it’s size compared to a 6ft person (to it’s shoulders it’s around 7’11)

Late 20s in terms of age (will edit if I choose an age), a little bit younger than most Sanses.

Pansexual, He/Him/They/Them

Is basically nearly always seen with the pillow. If he isn’t seen with it he is either holding onto someone he trusts or his tail

His tail can be any size, but he often has it long. 

Ability to turn into his ‘snow leopard’ form at will, for him this doesn’t take up much magic.

Can be drawn in other clothes, his clothing tends to be baggy techwear clothing, or just baggy stuff. Will often have star themed clothes, will also have a triangle accessory (In reference to Nix-Ceto, his best friend.)

Isn’t technically a Sans, but in his au he and his brother were referred to as ‘Sans’/’Papyrus’ respectively. 

In his skele form he has a ‘halo’ has it to match with Nix’s halo. He normally doesn’t have it in his ‘snow leopard’ form.

In his skele form he has paw feet, but wears specially designed shoes for his paws, mainly because he doesn’t want to get them dirty/wet.

-----------

His magic:

Has a high magic reserves but never tends to use his magic, this means he has magic build up and times his magic may go out of control. When he does remember to he will often try to waste his magic doing dumb stuff with it. 

With his magic he can flip back and forth between his two forms, His main form (skele) and his ‘snow leopard’ form. Both forms have different ways of using the magic. And despite being a ‘snow leopard’ he mainly has ‘fire’ based magic.

Skele form: Is mainly support focused, can create barriers/shields in this form he can use his fire magic to create a barrier that harms anyone that touches it. He can boost the stats of allies, e.g. speed, hp, def, etc. Can do this to multiple stats of one person. Can summon a pen that he can draw in the air with, he can create objects that can appear/get created through what he draws. Can’t create living things or food/water. If he wants to make specific things he can read up a little bit of information about how something works, and he’s then able to create it and have it work e.g. a motorbike. Depending on how big the object is, is depending on how much it takes out of him (e.g. draining him in terms of magic) Has mastery over basic ‘skeleton’ magic. E.g. bones/blasters. But due to his high magic reserve he can output this magic a lot better/quicker than the average skeleton.

‘Snow leopard’ form: Uses a lot more fire, and his fire has a poison/burn effect in this form. Basically anyone who is hit by this fire feels a burning pain that may never go. Can surround his whole body in this flame to protect himself from attacks. Uses the flame to push things away e.g. like a wind attack but with added fire. His tail can extend/shrink in length, can use it like a whip to strike people from a distance, or can use it almost like how a snake would use its body. Can turn himself into a ball of flame to go in one direction very quickly. His flames can get so hot that any water near it evaporates instantly. When in this form his stats change to boss monster stats. 

-----------

Used to have an au. For as long as he could remember it was always him and Papyrus. When he was a little kid having to look after a toddler/baby. He’d try to take any jobs he could (e.g. helping the villagers snow shovel, tidy, etc) as the villagers in snowdin looked after them, he had so much anxiety about being useful to the adults helping him, to repay their kindness. As he got older and could take part time jobs he jumped at the chance to take multiple and earn money to support both him and his brother, as a minor and it being a part time job he never earned that much so took multiple jobs to try to earn enough. He always tried to make time for his brother, always finding time to come home to read Papyrus a story and tuck him into bed. When he became an adult and Papyrus a teen he could quit a few of the jobs, since he was now full time and earning more money due to being an adult. But he still worked 2 jobs, he wanted enough money to provide for his brother, for his brother to have a good life. 

One day when tucking his brother into bed, his brother asked him to pick up a pillow that was across the room. Which when he went over to the pillow and picked it up, he was suddenly hit with the worst ‘gut’ feeling he has ever had in his life. He could tell his brother felt it too by his brother calling out his name. But when he stood up and turned around it’s like half the house had disappeared (like this, but only half), including the bed his brother had been laid in. He stood there in shock, before frantically looking for where his brother went. Looking out he could see the rubble of the house had been knocked halfway across Snowdin, and more buildings were getting ‘pushed’/destroyed, he ran as fast as he could to the other half of his house frantically digging through the rubble, shouting and screaming for his brother.

He could hear destruction around him, screaming and crying, but he didn’t care he needed to find his brother. He still had a hold of the pillow he had picked up, it now discarded at his side. He found dust, and his brothers scarf, leading to him having a breakdown, clutching both the scarf and the pillow. He could hear someone shouting in a commanding voice, but due to his state he couldn’t hear what was being said. 

He was snapped out of it when his shoulder was roughly grabbed by someone, when he turned to see, it was someone who looked quite similar too him. He basically got dragged over to a gateway, a portal. He yelled the whole time not wanting to leave the rubble where his brother had died. But the other him smacked him upside the head, telling him he can ‘grieve later, right now he needs to live, or to help him go gather more people to evacuate’. Realizing the people of Snowdin needed help as well he quickly began to help guide people to the portal, them going to other areas of the underground to do the same thing, till everyone who was left was now through the portal.

When they both got through the portal, he sat down still clutching the scarf and pillow, just staring at the floor, not really knowing what to think. He could hear others trying to comfort people that had come from his au, other versions of people that he knew talking to everyone. Hearing someone settle down next to him, he looked over to see the same guy that he had helped. The guy never said anything just watched on as people grieved. Leading to him doing the same. After a while tears started to silently fall, muttering things like ‘I could have saved him, I should have grabbed him when I got that feeling’. The guy next to him quietly listened to his muttering for a while before finally speaking. “You didn’t know that was going to happen. You want him to live, but think about it the other way, he’d want you to live if he was in your position right now… I can’t exactly tell you how you should live your life now, especially after something like that. But keep going, for his sake.”  

-----------

It took him a while to adjust to his new life, and ended up going by the new name Yusuke. He already had anxiety and such from when he lived in his au, but after the incident of his au, his worried and such doubled. He had found out the name of the other him that helped him that day was Nix-Ceto, though he just called him Nix. Nix would often stop by to check on him, which Yusuke appreciated since he was finding it really hard to make friends. He still kept a hold of the pillow and scarf, though he put the scarf in the pillow acting as extra stuffing for the pillow.

After a bit of struggling with life in the Omega Timeline, Nix offered to have Yusuke travel across aus with him, to help aus and such. Which he accepted, wanting to be close to Nix, seeing Nix as his only good friend. Due to their original time traveling together him and Nix became very close, he was able to see a side of Nix that basically no one would see. Which in turn he would try to show Nix more of himself and what he is really like.

After around 2 years of traveling together Yusuke finally decided he wanted to settle down back in the Omega Timeline. He desperately begged Nix to join him, not wanting to be alone really. But Nix decided to keep traveling, but promised that he’d try to stop by whenever he had time. 

Yusuke spent a lot of time learning a lot of creative skills such as 3d modeling and such, working remotely from his home in the Omega Timeline, this meant he rarely went out, so he found it really hard to make friends, he wanted to meet more people that were into the same things as him, so would often try to frequent places like café’s/etc with his laptop as he works. But could never meet anyone, because the people who were like him, were inside their houses refusing to leave, unlike him who was trying to make an effort to meet people in his own way. When Nix would stop by he loved it, Nix would often try to introduce him to other people, trying to help Yusuke make friends, and a few people he did manage to keep a friendship with, but for the most part his life is very quiet in the Omega Timeline. 

After a few more years passed, he got sick of feeling so lonely, especially with Nix going for longer periods of time. So Next time he saw Nix he asked to begin traveling with him again. Which leads him to current day when he is traveling with what group Nix is currently taking around.

-----------

Yusuke is a relatively chilled out guy who acts sleepy most of the time. He loves to joke around and just chill out and talk with people he gets along with. Despite being rather chill he’s also a crybaby, and can be easily upset, e.g. upset at any form of confrontation. He does try not to cry as much, often trying to hold it in. He feels bad when he makes people worry about him, and will often try to reassure people when he gets upset. He is still a very anxious individual, and can be easily spooked.

When he finds someone he can trust he will often be able to joke around with them, tries to find out people's boundaries when it comes to jokes, doesn’t want to accidentally cross a line. When he befriends someone he will adore them, and will often try to do things for them when he can. If he feels particularly close with someone he’d often hold onto them, only when he feels super okay with them/asks them if they’re okay with it. It takes him a long while to consider someone a close friend. He can be good friends with someone but not see them as a close friend. Depending on the person he’s friends with is depending on how quick he may also see them as a close friend. 

His pillow from his au that belonged to his brother is his comfort item, and panics when it's out of his sight. Gets nervous whenever anyone mentions the pillow, or whenever anyone touches it. When he doesn’t have his pillow in his hands he will often hold onto a close friend or his own tail. 

Is a fairly observant person, tends to notice things about people, places ,etc. Normally a quiet observer of things going on. Tends to step in and say something if he feels it’s something that needs to be mentioned. Will shake like a leaf if he has to confront someone about something. 

Hates being his fur being pet/brushed by someone he doesn’t know/isn’t close with. Will let very few people touch his fur, even less people can brush/take care of his fur. Will slap stuff (like a cat), normally stuff that's in front of him, can tell he's going to slap something when his ears suddenly go back. If someone he doesn’t know/isn’t close to touches him he will also slap right away with no warning, it will be out of panic. Has the agility of a cat/snow leopard, though he never really shows it off really. Will knead on fluffy things, or people he likes/is close too (if they’re okay with it, he will still ask them even if he knows they’re okay with it). Purrs really loudly, almost sounding like an engine he’s that loud.

When he’s in his other form, his ‘snow leopard’ form his personality changes slightly, to be more animalistic. Not fully animal, still with intelligence, but he won’t fully be himself. He’s more likely to run off of animal instinct in this form. Unlike him being passive in his main form, this form tends to be more violent, e.g. instead of getting upset about something he may get mad instead. 

-----------

Relationships/ (Friendships/etc) with other characters/thoughts on other characters: (will only write about my own ocs here, or fandom characters. Won’t write about others ocs due to not wanting to mischaracterize them)

Nix-Ceto: Is very close with Nix. Nix is his best friend. He appreciates everything that Nix has done for him, and actively works to at least try to repay Nix’s kindness despite Nix always telling him he doesn’t have to do anything for him. Bases some of his looks off of Nix, e.g. the flame halo to match Nix’s shark halo, and triangles across his design to match with Nix’s triangle theming as well. One of the few people that Yusuke lets touch him/his fur. In term he’s one of the very few people Nix lets touch him as well. Will often joke around with Nix, but knows Nix doesn’t tend to joke around as much with other people there. Will also jokingly flirt with Nix, just because he finds it funny and Nix is fine with it. Will often just yap to Nix, he knows Nix is listening even if it doesn’t look like it. How he knows Nix listens to his yapping is because one time he talked a lot about anime to Nix and then next time he saw Nix, Nix gave him a hoodie based off of an anime he was talking about. 

Tanue: Is kinda scared of Tanue, knows Tanue mostly means well, and does sort of get along with Tanue when Tanue is more chilled out. But for the most part he only tires to interact with Tanue when Nix is there. Tanue’s fight-y/loud nature spooks him. But when they do get along Yusuke enjoys the conversations that they have, and Yusuke also enjoys the food that Tanue may make for the group every so often.

[thefallenangel2008]

I came up with new stuff about my take on the Relativity Falls AU! Ok, so, I talked about it here (and here are some design choices in case y'all are interested). Although these are with Bill like he is in cannon because I hadn't come up with that idea yet but these were mostly concept plans for this AU, SO IT'S OK.

ANYWAY, so, at first I thought about leaving Bill kinda the same, but at school I was blessed with enlightenment by the gods of hyperfixation and I realized. I COULD SWAP HIM WITH CANDY. AND HERE'S WHY.

Okay, so, I think you remember that in the show there was an episode in season 2 where Stan took the twins plus Candy and Grenda on a road trip and Candy had a crush on Dipper which was one-sided on her part. And it reminded me of how in Billford the feelings are one-sided on Bill's side after the betrayal (whether those feelings are romantic or pet-owner thing is unclear, but yeah). So I thought to myself "What if Candy saw Dipper, was fascinated by him and his nerdiness and also figured he could help her with her plans for Weirdmageddon (of whichever the motives I'm still trying to think)?" And then Candy would actually fall in love with Dipper while Dipper stayed the same. He would of course be fascinated by her but he wouldn't have developed any romantic feelings towards her. Just admiration.

I feel like she would also like pain like Bill but because humans feel pain differently than her kind does, it would be mostly because of interest and for experiments. She would be mad at Dipper after the portal incident and him giving up but would try not to show it (much), so when Dipper would fall asleep she would possess his body and work on repairing the portal (and maybe slap his face and stab a few objects on his arms for leaving her after he found out her plans) until Dipper got that metal plate inserted.

Also Candy would be a circle. I came up with that thing mostly so that Mabel can joke about knowing that her brother liked curves, lol. Btw Dipcifica is happening because I swapped Pacifica and Fiddleford together (and in this after the Northwest family kicked Pacifica out they left Gravity Falls out of shame that one of them lost her mind, and the mansion was empty until the Mcgucket family, a rich, country family moved in. I might change that bit, idk).

Also, since I swapped Candy and Bill, I thought about Bill and Stan being friends, but their canon rivalry is just too funny to pass up so maybe whoever swaps with Grenda (maybe Pyronica? I low-key like that. If I keep that idea her name will change to Veronica or Pyronica is gonna be a nickname cause she would like arson) will be trying to make them boys get along, and the only reason Bill wouldn't leave would be because that person is his only friend. One reason why Stan would hate Bill (other than him being a spoiled little brat) is because he likes his brother and Stan KNOWS he's gonna be a bad boyfriend for Ford. Also Bill and Fidds would have some beef (Robbie and Dipper kinda vibes) because they would be both crushing on Ford while Ford would remain completely oblivious and be head over heels for Manly Dan (who is swapped with Wendy).

But Ford would be fascinated by Bill because he would know how to do magic tricks. Bill in this is VERY Helga Pataki codded because his parents would be mostly focused on his successful, normal, with-no-eye-deformities older brother Steve (yes, I came up with it rn while writing it, and yes, I'm putting Pyramid Steve there CAUSE I CAN) and because he would hide his true feelings for Ford (everyone knows but Ford). Bill wouldn't outright bully Ford, but sometimes Ford would wonder if Bill likes him or pretends to because he's "friends" with Stan due to the jokes he makes.

Bill would come from a kinda wealthy family and his parents would give him everything he wanted (except their attention) which is why Stan calls him spoiled. Bill here also has a false schizophrenia diagnosis because when he was little he would say he saw some weird stuff (they're real cause, yk, it's Gravity Falls) and he takes a bunch of medicine, both for schizophrenia and anophthalmia (which is a rare condition where you're born with only one eye. Bill hides his missing eye behind his hair). The medicines make him feel drowsy, and like he's not really there, but he's good at masking it behind a wide smile and a cocky personality.

At some point Bill will come to the conclusion that he doesn't deserve Ford because he can be so kind, and sweet, and understanding (everything that he's not) so he would (begrudgingly) let Fidds have Ford and step out of the unofficial "contest".

One last thing, I'm swapping Soos with Durland and Melody with Blubs.

[tobi-rx]

If I make a humanformers au I will go all out on the worldbuilding.

What would make it distinct at all from base transformers would really just be the framing of it and an excuse to draw transformers gijinka I think.

The T-cogs give the humanformers equippable magic mech suit armor and also make them bigger as in fully grow up cause the T cogs are partially a metaphor for puberty in TF:One you cannot change my mind. Plus like the removal of the T cogs being like permanent infantilization? Like never being allowed to grow, change, or reach your full potential.

Getting the t cogs would be Mario getting the red mushroom and fire flower all in one, but the fire ability the flower grants is an iron man suit or Samus Aran suit that can be equipped and de-quipped via magical girl transformation.

The alt, or vehicle modes usually give the transformers a speed or maneuverability advantage and that’d be what the suit does, besides also giving them ability to access/summon to their various tools and/or weaponry they’d have in canon. I think the transformers who are also vehicles that can transport other transformers would be like, same size as the other transformers when I transformed but when they are in their vehicle modes, there’s like a chamber within the possible transform-able ship, or train, or something, that houses their true body like a giant spark chamber but it’s a pod or something. I like the drama where it’s like eh it’s just a giant vehicle oh wait the giant vehicle is alive and a person?! Or made from a person. Any Star Wars fans ever read the fics where the Jedi are the ancient giant space ships and the clones were made to pilot them? Yeah.

Effectively the no-cogs would be smaller, weaker, unarmed, more vulnerable without armor to protect their squishy selves in comparison to those with T cogs. Those with T cogs would appear as if demigods in comparison.

Also I think it’d just look cool if they transformed to have guns, canons, or other stuff while without the armor cause then it’d be like Parasyte, Akira but more sleek scifi lookin, or the Plants in Trigun, some sort of flesh/machine seamless amalgamation.

If I were to draw it out I’d probably make the cogged humanformers have metal plating or technical components on them that seamlessly meshes with the “flesh” parts of them when they’re not transformed, and they’d tower over the un-cogged as they do in TF:One.

The un-cogged humanformers would be like normal humans but there’s a scar on their torsos from where the T cogs were surgically removed at birth.

Also I think it’d be cool should this conception of humanformers ever went to Earth cause the whole robots in disguise part would still work, but there’d still be the whole size difference/world made of cardboard thing. Idk just imagine these futuristic cyborg lookin guys twice the size of average human beings walking around and humans being like yooo sick cosplay or something idk

[annamationsart]

this au came to me in a vision. putting the mag in magical girl

[alumirp]

The Good Citizen

An AU where Izuku is just an ordinary boy. He never meets All Might and has his application for Yuuei's entrance exam rejected because of his quirkless status. He still wants to be a hero, but then again, he's just a normal kid with a mom who works two jobs, and since he failed to get into his dream school, he still has to get into another one, he doesn't have time. to go to the gym or learn to fight, or whatever. And yet, he wants to be a hero, so he grabs a pair of old skates and a stick. And he sneaks out the window at night, intending to be a vigilante.

But like a normal boy, he's a bit of a coward, so when he encounters his first crime, instead of getting involved, he calls the police. He calls the police and hides and is delighted when a police car arrives a few minutes later and does its job. And then he repeats that, goes out, finds a crime and calls the police. And repeat. And the next time, he identifies himself as "Good Citizen" when the person on the line recognizes his voice. And the name sticks. And Izuku keeps it, thinking of it as a way to keep his identity safe. But one day, 'The Good Citizen' calls the police on a group of men beating up a guy. And next he stops a man from harassing a girl.

The mens who beat the guy are part of a powerfull gang and their high-rankers discovers that the person who reported them was the same person who has been making several reports. The old man who harassed the girl was an important member of the HPSC, whose arrest creates a huge scandal

With this he successfully angers the villains and the HPSC all at once. Next week there's a bounty on 'snitch's head. And an arrest warrant for the vigilante who is 'an enemy in the making for the society of heroes'.

Then a race begins, villains and heroes mobilizing to kill/arrest one (1) well-intentioned green bean.

And, out of nowhere, this all becomes Aizawa Fucking Shota's problem.

[the-last-quest]

Dumbass fairy and his lameass brother

[yurki-posts]

The Nopony

(I made the eye wrong on the upper right aaaghhhhh)

[bonkalore]

He'll get a glamour eventually, but also this is NYC and nobody on the subway is going to give a shit that he looks like a demon if he plays it off right, and he definitely has the charisma for it.

[starheirxero]

What if Lord Eclipse's joints glowed in the dark bc of the star...... like could u imagine him in a dark room and just seeing the white glow of every section of his body and ever space between his fingers and where his arms connect to the torso from across the room? could you imagine watching him slowly uncurl and more and more lights from his various hands and body segments shining through the dark?

now could you imagine looking up into a high domed ceiling and seeing that looming over you with his eye completely trained on you?

[llumimoon]

speakinf of hero. some old doodles of her featuring the second half of my switched au (where the plots of s1&2 are essentially swapped) simply bc Hero drives me BONKERS in that one. POV ur little brother gets sucked into a cult bc of his mascot obsession but he wont listen to you because he genuinely thinks these people are his (first ever) friends. wdyd.

[as-thra]

🐍 It might've ended up being his problem anyway! Can't be too sure

Somerild belongs to @sunglow-fae !!!

Messages from the end of year three:

> [Do you think mama and papa were right about...?]

> [He didn't actually use four]

> [He wouldn't be that irresponsible]

> [Right?]

> [I saw it, Daniel]

> [...]

> [Somer said he had to grow up around it and saw it as normal]

> [He should've known better, As]

> [No matter how much I might hate the Freys I can't imagine]

> [...]

> [Are you still at the pitch?]

> [Behind, I don't think I could've stayed there]

> [I'll be there in a sec]

> [And stop looking at the GC, you'll make yourself panic]

Excerpt from summer of 2012:

His hand trembled as he aimed his wand at the mirror, they did that often now.

AAAND ADDITIONAL TAG FOR @that-one-light !!!! since this is technically an am!au lore post, even though most of it is dumped in the tags whoops

[antennatoheaven]

after all this i need an AU where simon and betty adopt marceline and try to navigate raising a literal demon child. and no i don't care about the timeline or logistics of all that right now <3333

[phosphorus-noodles]

also! if the entire knuckle wasn’t removed then the claws would grow back, but it would be all messed up and grow like into the flesh iirc? which would be super uncomfortable if not painful. so like if whoever declawed oli didn’t go all the way to the knuckle…

anon please you're making me feel bad for declawing my catboy,