#miscecanis pack

[pack-the-pack]

Important update: We've implemented accessibility support for physical impairments as well as psychological ones. Such as slower text for the blind and system set up for DID/OSDD systems, etc.

JOIN MY NEW OMEGAVERSE SERVER!

What can you do in my new server:

Find Writing Buddies to help you with your omegaverse stories!

Find Beta readers to Beta Your Works!

Find Works to Beta!

Find new Fanfics to read!

Find a mate!

Find a partner!

Find more Miscecanis people!

What you can't do in my server:

Interact with the NSFW or Dead Dove channels if you're a minor, sorry.

Start a revolution.

This is something I put together in like, three days still tho hahahaha so it's a bit barebones to say the least. But we'll adjust it as we go and see more things to be fit and others not so much anymore. We'll grow this community together as we always have.

EVERYONE IS WELCOME!

[bluexfires]

Currently laughing at something I did that I didn't notice as a pack alpha / system caretaker.

Went to a concert and got a shirt of my favourite artist, and told everyone in the system that this is my shirt. Mine.

Of course, everyone gets their hands on it and wears it constantly. Says its their "comfort shirt" simply because it's mine.

The shirt got ripped on the side so no one could wear it for awhile, but today I sat down with a sewing kit and patched it up, only to realize I didn't even do it for myself, my own shirt, but did it for everyone else so they could continue to wear it.

I look out for them over the smallest things. /lh

[thejohnlockedfemboy]

*sadly yearns for a pack*

[militantwere]

I wish it was more normalized to want to be in the physical space of anyone who isn't your partner.

I want to rub my face against my friends, and playfully bite at them because I love them.

I want to be a pile of fur and love and compassion with the people I consider my packmates outside of our body.

I want to press my nose into their necks to let them know I'm here.

I want to be under their skin. I want to smell like them.

I want to keep them safe. I want to make sure they're well loved, and well fed, and well tended to.

Bursting at the seams.

[alteredinstincts]

So I have a pack now and it’s amazing. It consists of four people, including me.

It’s my (platonic)mate, my pup, and our beta(roles secretly assigned by me they don’t know this)

They’re all amazing and I love them and I need to scoop them up and take them to my nest and I want them all to smell like me damn it.

I got to lay in a pile with my mate and pup and it was amazing, I miss them already, I love my pack.

Only my pup is a therian but my mate and our beta are super accepting and supportive.

[tommyssupercoolblog]

Gender is made up and cringe culture is dead. Identify as an Omegaverse gender unironically.

(and maybe even also form a queerplatonic or polly pack type group or nest or have a specific scent or tie it into being a therian if you are one and feel like it)

This has been: Miscecanis Lifestyle propoganda

[chronicallyleggless]

Differmate mixed bag!! (Full pack)

Gonna be honest, I absolutely suck at grammar so I’m not really sure if you can ‘be’ differmate or if you ‘have’ a differmate or, both. Still love how these came out though!!

[rabidbatboy]

MISCEVERSE PACK FLAGS: individuals who are in, want to be in, or are seeking to be in a pack, or individuals that prioritise a pack dynamic

alphaomega | alphabeta | betaomega

TAGGING: @omegai @omegarchive

🧼 ——— FLAG COINED BY ME

[nestinqomega]

i wanna put my pups and kits in a nest so bad but i don’t even HAVE ANY

[crossfoxx]

I feel like pack cuddling is so underrated !! yea yea heats ruts knots- CUDDLING !!

[pack-the-pack]

How would you decide if one's an alpha or an omega? Like, besides the "feel" you get, are there any specific characteristics you feel would mark on as an a b or o? How do you decide how your oc fits into the verse? (Also, I'm kind of indulging myself since I would like to know where *I* would fit into the verse. The quizzes usually ask stuff like, "are you emotional?" but I don't think it would be a good indication, seeing as A are dramatic too!)

Ah interesting question! I actually do have things I find that are *generally* good indicators of one's dynamics.

I'm actually working on a personality quizz for it atm with these very traits 👀

But I'll let you know how I categorise them in the test. The wilder groups. I'll leave each more detailed result a mystery still.

[Alpha Arch]

- Assertive

Or

- Protective

[Beta Arch]

- Practical

Or

- Analytical

[Omega Arch]

- Nurturing

Or

- Imaginative

I'll already preface this by saying that yes, one can have overlapping affinity even in different dynamics. Cause it's not like only Omegas are imaginative, or only Alphas are protective. It's more a matter of ratio. Like what are you MORE of than the rest. What prevails.

When I drop this test I'll let y'all know.

[intenderstendencies]

sleeing with your pack, but staying just a little wakeful to watch over them just a bit. keep your pack safe and help them sleep better. you help me sleep well and of course I'll help you

[thejohnlockedfemboy]

Nothing Permanent But Change pt.3

[ tw for mentions of past su*cidal ideation + attempt, od, depression, along with foul language and one mild innuendo ]

cross-posted on ao3

Millen had forgotten just how much he’d hated PT during the past several years working in cushy, air-conditioned Intelligence stations.

He’d done enough jumping jacks, pushups, and situps that he was near to vomiting. His shirt was plastered to his lean frame with sweat, his tongue lolling from his mouth as he panted for breath. This was his fifth lap around the training field, and his knees were close to giving out.

He couldn’t remember even basic training being this brutal, though, that had been quite a sum of years ago. The time was slipping away through his fingers like sand down an hourglass, and he was powerless to slow the steady bleed of one day into the next. It seemed like a distant memory, the first time he had stood in his uniform and felt a fiery pride in himself for having come so far.

Now the colors of his shirt and trousers seemed dull, his skin sallow, gaze lackluster, joints weary. Every hour and minute seemed to flow like sludge even as his life flashed before his eyes in broken increments. He had lost his zest for living in the parachute malfunction that had sent him spiraling through empty air. He had been forced to look death in the face, and he had, to his own surprise, accepted the end. He had been ready, had closed his eyes and imagined a feeling of deep rest, and felt something like anticipation and relief, having never realized just how tired he was until that moment.

But then he hadn’t died. He had heard his own legs snap like green twigs and recognized the nasty crunch of his vertebrae taking the brunt of the impact before his head slammed into the ground and the world went dark. The pain, when he woke nearly three weeks later in a military hospital, had been far more than enough for him to wish that he had fallen from just a slightly higher altitude.

Since then, things had been a whirlwind of uncontrollable events. Ghosting aimlessly from one office to another, rebranded as someone to be the subject of quietly whispered pity when rookies watched him limp across a hallway on crooked legs or when his former unit had each clasped him on the shoulder and said that he was lucky, that he’d get assigned some fancy pencil-pushing job where he could relax and ride out the rest of his army years with ease.

As if they knew anything.

After that came the bitterness—

A deep-seated, festering hatred for whatever sick god had woven the threads of fate for him to have been so misfortunate. Every time he looked in the mirror, it was with a loathing of such intensity that it kept him awake at night in fear of what he might do if he failed to maintain his tight grasp on his emotions. In the back of his mind, he knew that there were others who had lost so much more than he had, suffered things too terrible to name, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He wanted out.

If the nurse hadn’t found him that night, overdosed on his pain meds that he had squirreled away during medicine rounds, he’d be dead. Oh, how he had wanted to scream at her. He would lay unresponsive from sheer despondence, staring up at the ceiling like he could burn a hole through it, and fantasize with anger of a filthy degree about all the names he could call her, how he could allow his biting words to bubble up from the pustulated cavity of his heart, to burst from his lips and claw her precious omegan ego to the ground.

He only managed to narrowly avoid a psychiatric discharge on grounds of suicidal ideation by claiming that it was one of the other nurses that had given him too many pills, that he hadn’t known any better. He was just a poor, crippled fellow, trying to be a good patient and take whatever he was given without a fuss.

His fucking idiot of a mandated therapist believed him.

In a way, it was a small victory. The lie was sharp and deceitful, and Millen liked that. It made him feel that perhaps there were very limited bits of his new existence that he could alter, to reshape to his liking. He learned to embrace the scathing judgement of his own brain, to repurpose it away from its jabs at his fragile confidence to blister those around him instead.

He wasn’t always proud of it. More times than he cared to admit, he had buried his face against his pillow and wept over how mean his own desires to cause hurt were. What had happened to the pup he had been, kissing better the scraped knees of his siblings and raising up those around him? It was almost like grief, in a way, when those fits of despair would overtake him and leave him shrouded in a depressive fog, a mourning for a bright young man whose dreams for the future had been dashed when his parachute tore open at the seam and the free-fall that had been his life since then began.

Breathe, Millen.

He came back to himself suddenly. He was doubled over, hands clutching his thighs as he heaved desperately for air. Price must have called them to a halt.

Soap jogged up alongside of him and thumped his back heartily. His social beta scent danced upon the edge of bearable now that it was masked with exertion-based perspiration. “Ach, jus’ take a wee moment, man. Bit out o’ shape, are ye?”

Millen wanted to snap at Soap, to tell the horribly friendly Scotsman that he was not unfit, thank-you-very-much, but he gritted his teeth instead and focused on trying to calm the screaming of his burning lungs.

A shadow as thick as a large tree fell over the pair, and Millen instinctively cowered under the scrutinizing eye of Ghost.

“Don’t worry,” the lieutenant said gruffly. “We’ll get you back up to top form within the month. That, or you’ll ship out.”

“I’m— fine—“ Millen wheezed, even as black spots dazzled his vision. “Just have— to get used to— drills again.”

Ghost grunted lowly. “See that you do. We can’t afford liabilities on this team.”

“Go easy on him, Ghost,” said Gaz, walking up. He was breathing a bit hard, but seemed otherwise unbothered. “He’s new, yeah? Cut him slack, he’ll get the hang of it.”

Another grunt from the san. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Soap rolled his eyes. His scent flared with momentary irritation. “Jesus, L.t.”

Ghost glowered at the beta. “Don’t you get snippy with me.”

“Or what? You gonna tell Price?” questioned Soap smugly, staring unafraid up at his lieutenant. He was brimming with braw cheekiness, a testament to his mischievous highland heritage.

Ghost crowded in on the beta with a rumble that would have made most men tremble in terror. With a soft chuff, he knocked his masked face against the side of Soap’s neck, making the Scot’s head jerk to the side, exposing the two packmarks on his nape— one from Price, and one from Ghost himself, since only the superior members of the pack marked the subordinate members. Price marked Ghost and the three sergeants, and Ghost marked the trio, as well, and then the sergeants were free to bond with each other if they wanted to. They might also mark the packmates above their station, but only if given permission.

Since Ghost couldn’t nip at Soap while wearing his balaclava, he instead ground his mask down against his scent gland, stimulating the sensitive flesh there. Soap shuddered, bunching his shoulders, the coiled muscles at the base of his neck tensing. His gaze lowered, his breath shuddering out. “A-alrigh’, L.t. Ah’m sorry.”

Ghost gave a noise of satisfaction. “Good lad. Now, off to the showers wit’y. All we ‘ave for the rest of the day is clocking in our time at the shooting range. I expect you in my quarters at 1800 hours.”

Soap, face flushed, scuttled off towards the showers. Gaz trailed after him, already teasing about the other beta’s show of submission. Roach popped up beside Millen. “Wanna hit the gym with me?”

Millen looked between Roach, then Ghost, then to the retreating forms of Soap and Gaz. He looked like he was struggling with a very complicated thought. “In your quarters…” He blinked, then his eyes widened. “Oh. Oh .”

Ghost glanced the xi up and down. He gave a gruff snort that might have been a laugh. “Just now figured that out, eh? Bit slow on the uptake, but I’ll credit you for putting two and two together.” “Is that even… allowed?” Millen asked skeptically. “It’s allowed,” confirmed Roach. “Well, sort of. There’s a lot of workarounds in the regulations, if you know the right people.” Ghost gave a curt nod. “Captain arranged it for us.” He rolled his shoulders, releasing the pent-up tension there. “Roach, I’ll spot y’ in the gym, if y’want. I can hit up the range after.”

Roach purred happily. “Sounds good, sir. Millen, you coming?”

Millen paused. Suddenly, the thought of even doing one pullup in front of the staggeringly strong lieutenant or sweet omega made him want to shrivel up and die like a fly baked in an old kitchen windowsill. “I, uh, no… I think I’ll go to the range now, instead. I’m pretty out of practice, need to get back up to par.”

Roach nodded understandingly. “Good luck,” he said simply, a chirp in his voice. His sentences were becoming shorter, the tiredness from training catching up to him. He chopped a few signs.

“Rec room later?” Ghost translated.

“Yeah, sure,” agreed Millen. He had been looking forward to a quiet evening of showering and then crawling into his bunk to silently bemoan his assignment here, but he could not bring himself to deny the omega when Roach was looking up at him with such genuine friendliness and quietly inquisitive hope. “1730 hours good?” Roach made a noise of assent. Despite himself, Millen felt his lips tug up into a smile.

[militantwere]

Love making noises at our packmates. We do a lot of chutting / bubbling (noises guinea pigs make when they're happy, it's the closest explanation we have to the sound) and chuffing (the sound lions / tigers make) at eachother.

Can't explain how great it is to have atleast six other people make the same noise back at you.

[alteredinstincts]

Made a scent flag edit from @rabidbatboy

mixed the rain and vanilla scent flags because that’s a mix of my chosen scent and the scent my mate associates with me!

Feel free to use, and thank you again Batsy for the inspo and flag base!

[omega-named-bear]

I got an alpha x omega hurt/comfort wlw with a southern twang to it. I'm low-key in love with the characters but figuring out their scents has been a pain.