TOO MANY AUs

2

Some old doodles that I did last year uwu since you guys loved this au so much!

Some things to know about this au (aka: the parent trap au) 

  • Lance and his girlfriend had the baby the last year of high school. Lance is the type of guy who wanted to wait for “the one” before having sex, so you can guess how in love he was about her. Sadly, the gf didn’t felt the same and the moment she had the baby she left him with her. 
  • Adriana has ADHD just like her father
  • Lance is studying to become a pediatrician but also he has a part-time job in a store. His parents pay for his studies but he has to pay for his apartment and their everyday need. 
  • He barely has time to spend with Adriana, so here comes cool uncle Hunk to help them out and be Adriana’s baby sitter whenever Lance needs it
  • Keith is Adriana’s favorite teacher, even if she hates math, he always helps her when she is lost (also he has a motorcycle! how cool is that!?)
  • Adriana has the looks of his father but the shape of her eyes are like her mother, she was of asian roots so Adriana has asian shaped eyes. 
  • Lance and Keith knew each other from high school, but they never really talked before
  • Lance has a new girlfriend right now. she’s the first gf he had had since Adriana’s mother left him. Adriana hates her.
  • Normally is Hunk who goes to the parent meetings and to pick Adriana from school. 
  • Adriana really loves his dad, she’s so proud of him and knows he’s doing his best. 
  • Adriana is a very smart girl, her favorite classes are science and PE. She can’t seem to be still though, school is difficult some times when there’s too much written information.
  • In this au Lance, Keith and Hunk are 25y/o while Adriana is 7 
  • Adriana stopped asking about her mother when she was 5y/o, she realized that it hurt her father and she left betrayed by her.

It’s not easy looking back at the burnt and cursed land you left
wondering if you can still save it and it’s King.

I blame @ohohohobro @claramarla and @maltedmilkchocolate for always managing to give me FHQ Au feels. Check out their work!

  • AU where Kars crashes into Joseph's back yard while holly is a child. Holly was out there playing when he crashed. Seeing her, he said
  • "Where is Joseph Joestar" not knowing she is his child.
  • Holly, completely immune to his menacing aura, said "Daddy? Let me go get him, so wait here!" She skips into the house leaving Kars awkwardly standing there. She returns a few minutes later
  • "Daddy is on the phone right now so you'll have to wait. So let's play until he's done!"
  • She then grabs his hand and drags him to her room. She pulls out a chest of dress up clothes. "We're gonna play tea party, so we got to get you ready"
  • Kars, for reasons unknown to even himself, plays along.
  • By the time Joseph is done with the phone call, he enters holly's room "Ok holly, where is this friend you were talking abo-"
  • He sees Kars, sitting in a tiny chair, wearing a sun hat, a pair of women's sunglasses, a hot pink feather boa, and poorly applied makeup.
  • "Joseph" Kars says lifting the powder pink teacup to his lips, pretending to drink the nonexistent liquid.
  • Joseph closes the door and walks away 
4

I think I went a little overboard putting male Robin in a yukata

But I got the idea from an otome game I play bc I was admiring the kitsune mask of my fave chara (who also has white hair lol) which was my main insp for this and I was like…you know who else has a purple/gold color scheme and also has white hair? ROBIN.

Bonus: Robin’s a youkai or is the vessel of a demon spirit (like Grima lol)

“Form Voltron !!” 
Well, close enough.

Air Gear crossover 

and

i need an aggro skating au ???

Jumping on the sharcannibal bandwagon 

Hannibal’s spine goes side to side while swimming; Will’s goes up and down. They have an ever-growing collection of sea dogs (seals) that Hannibal can’t argue they have no space for, because the entire ocean is their home. 

Sharks often bear mating bites/marks (it’s a violent affair).

Chapter 2 page 1

It’s time to start fresh with a new chapter! I hope you guys don’t mind me constantly changing the style (digital to traditional colored, and now to traditional drawing) this comic is all for good ol’ fun, though!

Now behold the rare sight of Sonic with a tummy :)

3

MODERN WITCH AU

@reserve​ and i were talking about contemporary witch kylo on twitter dot com and we agreed a lot of it is probably just kylo buying too many crystals and trying to get hux to wear protective charms (and also kylo making up weird rituals to try to get hux to try new things in bed) ANYWAYS i really like the aesthetic

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR (AO3)

“Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain Cheng were truly madly deeply in love with each other. Then life gave an 180°.
Adrien wishes to a shooting star he had never crossed paths with Marinette. Next day he wakes up on his bed, eight years younger with the choice to re-do his life.”

or read under the cut

“ADRIEN AGRESTE AND MARINETTE DUPAIN-CHENG ARE GETTING A DIVORCE”

The front page of the newspaper welcomed him at the office. The tabloid seemed to be written in neon lights rather than in the bold Arial font. Though he tried to avoid gossip newspapers and magazines, this kind of news were impossible to ignore.

He took the paper in his hands, walked to the closest chair on the round table and sat on it. The secretary followed him, putting a cup of tea in front of him. Adrien thanked her and took a sip of the red warm tea. Then he read the title one more time and flipped the pages until he found the article.

It wasn’t the first time he found this same tabloid on a magazine, it may be the fifth or sixth time he read the same title displayed on the cover of one. He perfectly remembered the first time he had seen one of those. It had been years ago, months after the day of their wedding.

He was walking home after a long day at the office, trying to hide in the shadows of the old buildings, ignoring stranger eyes and hoping to avoid known ones when his sight stumbled with the magazine. He couldn’t help but laugh.

Keep reading

kaitrionabalfe  asked:

I'm in dire need of a fluffy scene where Claire tries to read the lines on Jamie's palm and she ends up failing miserably.

Liv says: So this isn’t fluff, so to speak—but I hope it’s still fun! Set about 2-3 years before puir Frank the Mailman died in the Three Witches AU. No worries if you haven’t read it. This one stands alone! :)


Intersection: A Three Witches Story

Claire knew this was against coven rules. Like, totally outside the realm of acceptable witch behavior.

To dole out one’s magical talents—particularly at the county fair—was a bit manipulative (in regards to the customers), a bit sad (in regards to Claire). Still, she liked to think she was working for a kind of greater good. Ensuring the happiness of all mankind! And that was almost admirable, wasn’t it? Giving hopeful glimmers of adulthood to the stork-like teenagers, comforting the mopey singletons who trudged around, heads bent? She’d offered such assurances as:

“A new man will come into your life. A handsome one—with a huge prick! His name…I think his name begins with a ‘T’.” (This to the recent divorcee, clutching her naked ring finger like a burn. She hadn’t known what a “prick” was but was no less forthcoming with her money.)

Or this, to the bucktoothed 16-year old picking at his acne scars: “You’ll be the coolest person in college. Captain of the ultimate frisbee team!” He’d been disappointed at that one, enormous chompers clamping over his bottom lip. “Ho ho ho there, young man!” she’d said then. “Ultimate frisbee is cool where you’re going. The coolest cool.” And then he’d smiled, a patchwork of teeth and holes, which Claire hoped someone might find endearing. A nice and wholesome blind girl, maybe.

And then this, to the both of them: “For just $5 more, I can guarantee it! All you have to do is buy this magical rock and carry it with you wherever you go.” Nevermind that said magical rock was actually from Claire’s backyard. Nevermind that several of them were speckled in bird shit. Maybe some cicada guts.

But that was the thing about desperate Mortals. Metaphorically speaking, their whole lives were a succession of bird shit plops and smeared bug guts. So they didn’t even notice when it was covering their $5, not-magical rock.

“Yes please! I’ll take two!” the divorcee had cried, handing Claire a ten dollar bill. (Did she think this would bring two men into her life? Because that’s not how Claire’s bird shit rocks worked.)

“Um. Yeah. That’s sounds pretty sick,” said Beaver Bobby. “I’ll buy a rock.” He’d paid in all quarters but, hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

If her best friend Gillian were here, she would likely call this “an exploitative farce,” two terms she would’ve picked up from her beloved Word of the Day calendar.

Claire,” she would hiss, “this is such an exploitative (Wednesday’s word) farce (last Friday’s word).” And then she’d pull out her Moleskin, update her word count with a self-satisfied tick. Her record, she claimed, was sixty words in a single morning, and Claire imagined a horrible plague descending upon their town, zombifying everyone until they could only grunt “verisimilitude.” Gillian thought an expanded vocabulary made her smarter but, really, it just increased her smart-assedness to a barely tolerable level.

Luckily, Gillian wasn’t here to offer one of her impressive synonyms because she’d bailed on their plans. If Claire could place money on it—and she couldn’t, with only $7 to her name, the very reason for this “manipulative/sad/exploitative farce”—Gillian was protesting GMO’s one county over. Perhaps arguing for the rights of beluga whales. Or, and this was the most likely, she was loitering at the Creamy Whip, breasts thrust at a very specific angle so that customers’ cones would find their shirts and not their mouths.

Psh! Now if that wasn’t an “exploitative farce” then Claire didn’t know what was. Gillian had mosquito bite boobs and a push-up bra more magical than her own powers.

But here was the thing: Claire wasn’t completely faking it. She wasn’t, so to speak, wearing a bra with three inches of padding. She could read palms, see futures unfurl, weblike, across strangers’ skins. Forks, divots, complex branches—each had such a distinct voice, that Claire had no doubt as to whether or not, say, Mr. Duncan over there would choke on a hot dog and die very suddenly. Or whether young Malva—that girl with the cotton candy and ruffled socks—would pop out a kid by the time she was 17. Claire, being a witch, knew precisely what would befall her clients by simply looking at their hands.

But of course, teenage pregnancy and death by synthetic meat logs weren’t exactly good for customer satisfaction. And so Claire would read Mr. Duncan’s palm, and she would see Mr. Duncan’s red face, gasping on a particularly troublesome bit of hot dog, but say he’d live until he was 85. A little white lie for a happy client. And a happy client meant A) money, B) a potential second visit, and thus C) more money. The $5 rocks weren’t scams, just for-profit business cards.

So she was lying, but not, y’know, totally lying. She’d deal with the prevention of hot dog-induced deaths later, when it better benefitted her monthly budget. (Because just as she wasn’t a complete liar, she wasn’t a complete asshole either.)

The fair had died down to a trickling of stragglers: mostly drunks, a couple of junkies who’d staggered into Nayawenne County for cheap-rate smack. Sighing, Claire stood to begin packing up, turned off the moody sound effects, gathered Gillian’s stack of Tarot cards (all hand-painted variations of herself: man Gillian; tree Gillian; Gillian with bigger-than-mosquito-bite boobs).

In the five hours since Claire had arrived, she’d made $120. Not a terrible turnout if one compared it to last year’s fair, when an angry swarm of Bible-thumpers had tossed her earnings into the funnel cake fryer. Sally Bain—or, as Claire called her, Sally Bane-of-Her-Existence—had rallied her troop of Jesus warriors and thrust crucifixes into Claire’s face, chanting things like, “Begone Satan!” and “This is God’s land!”

Which was kind of funny when you thought about it. If God wanted to claim ownership of Nayawenne—out of every other place in the universe—then he was pretty damn stupid.

Fortunately, Claire had suffered no further Bible-thumping, crucifix-wielding disturbances. Sally Bane-of-Her-Existence had fled town once she’d discovered her husband had fucked the organ player up in the ass. And in the church rectory, no less. (Such irony! Claire’d had absolutely nothing to do with it. Ha.)

It had been a windy afternoon, and Claire’s crystal ball was now coated in a fine layer of dust. Though it was only for decorative purposes—for customer satisfaction!—Claire decided she ought to give it a nice shine, make it look at least halfway capable of revealing visions of tomorrow.

Witch Tip #1: Unbeknownst to Mortals, crystal balls were like kisses from a true love. Which was to say, not powerful in the slightest. The most a kiss could do was give you mouth herpes. And, at its highest power, a crystal ball would fly across a room, break a window and the pinky toe of an irritating significant other. Not that Claire had experience with either situation. Certainly not the mouth herpes.

Claire ripped off a paper towel and went to grab the Windex, only to realize she’d left the Windex at home. Had, by a stroke of poor planning, only brought the herbal tonic she sometimes had to spritz into her eyes when they got a bit cloudy.

Witch Tip #2: Seeing the future had its drawbacks. Your eyes would get all crusty if you did it too much. As if your body was punishing you with goopy morning blindness. Honestly, it was pretty gross.

Well shit, Claire thought. She spat on her hand and rubbed the ball, hoping the couple beside “Whack-A-Democrat” wouldn’t think she was, like, doing something sexual to an inanimate object.

But whatever the couple thought, they were watching her, whispering behind their hands and giving her darting glances. Oh God, Claire thought, Bible-thumper radar blaring. Did Sally Bain send them? Did she organize a sabotage via prayer? Was it possible to raise an army of vengeful Baptists an entire state away? (Claire wouldn’t be surprised. She’d heard of stranger things. Done some of them herself. See also: anally-fucked organ player before he was anally fucked.)  

But no, the couple wasn’t looking at Claire with the fury of God in their eyes—but fascination. The woman, a petite but sturdy thing, was shoving her partner in Claire’s direction. Making a not-so-obvious pointing gesture, like, Her. Her! that he seemed somewhat reluctant to obey. Still, he did, and soon he was striding towards Claire, long legs stomping up clouds of dirt dust, red hair matching the synthetic blood of a “whacked” Bill Clinton.

“Are you…” the man began, looking nervously over his shoulder. The woman pursed her lips, arched her brow like, Do it, you pussy. He shoved his hands in his pockets, defeated. “Are ye done for the day, lass?”

“I was just about to pack up, but I’ve time for another reading if you’re interested.”

“Aye…” he said, completely unconvincing. “Aye, I suppose I’m interested.”

“Well then, take a seat, Mr…?”

“Fraser. Jamie.”

Keep reading