#chaos poly…

[mrs-pianofandom-98]

Alice:Lilia where’s my-

Lilia:By the door.

Jennifer: Lils have you seen my-

Lilia: On my nightstand.

Rio: Lilia did Agatha hide my-“

Lilia making breakfast with an annoyed expression: Independent women my ass. You all would fall apart without me.

[cinnamini-mon]

｡*ﾟ✲*☆ ~ s p r i n g i s s p r i n g i n g ~ *ﾟ✲*☆

[luckykittysshowerthoughts]

Also consider: Solomon and his husbands Michael and Raphael

Mc and their househusband Solomon and his boyfriend archangel Michael <3

[ariowl-arts]

In another universe.. they could all be safe and happy together 💚🩵💛

Inspired by one of @silencedfalcon 's ideas :3

[hatsbuckets]

Good evening fine people of the blr. Never have I had a single omegaverse thought about the 141 once in my life. (In the 5ish months I've been knowing about them.) Or omegaverse period??? Not once outside of just like reading other people's posts. And now I have… and I kinda wanna post, but I don'---

Omega!Price never having nested before.

This man. This emotionally constipated, duty first, mother fucking man. Has never built a nest. Not once as an adult.

He absolutely repressed his instincts. Not because Omegas are seen as lesser—they’re not. Omegas are important, valuable, powerful. No, he just didn’t let himself. Didn’t have the time. The space. The luxury. Always the leader. Always on alert. Comfort was a thing for after.

And then one night, Omega!Soap finds out.

He’s drunk. Half-curled in Ghost’s lap, legs kicked up on Gaz, talking shit with his mouth full of crisps—and Price, sipping tea like the goddamn Victorian war wife he is, just says it as the conversation goes. Casual.

“Haven’t nested since I was a kid.”

Soap goes still. Blinks.

“You,” he says. Slow. Dangerous. Like a drunk man about to start a bar fight with gravity. “You fuckin’ what?”

Price doesn’t even look up. “Did as a kid. Didn’t see the point, after.”

And Soap sits up. Wrenches himself upright with all the force of a wronged man. (Gaz half prepared to catch him.)

“Ye didnae see the point?! Are ye fuckin’ mad?!”

He scrambles off the couch, finger pointed like a damn executioner. “We—we coulda had a nest! A real one! Soft an’ big an’ warm! Wi’ blankets an’ hoodies an’ shirts that smell like us! We coulda shared it! An’ you—”

He points again, accusatory. “You just decided tae go without?! Like comfort's a bloody weakness or somethin’?”

Price raises a brow. “Soap.”

“No. No.”

He turns in a wobbly little circle and points again, now at everyone.

“And you lot! You’ve all just been lettin’ him live like this?! Nik? Ghost? Gaz?!”

Gaz: “I only found out two seconds ago.”

Ghost: “I’d rather die than talk about his nesting habits."

Nik, the ever utterly unbothered Alpha, shrugs off his jacket and hands it to Soap without a word.

Soap clutches it. Breathes in deep. Nods.

“Good,” he says. “That’s a start.”

And then he storms off toward Price’s room, tripping slightly over his own feet and yelling, “Yer room’s a fuckin’ void, John! Hollow! I’m fixin’ it an’ yer gonna help me! Bring me yer hoodies! Yer old shirts! That daft jumper ye wore in Sarajevo! All of it!”

Price: “You don’t have to—”

“Nope! Won’t hear it!”

He’s already at the door. “You sit on th’ floor, you sit on th' mattress an’ drink tea in a cold barren box like a sad wee soldier ghost! Well guess what? Not on my fuckin’ watch, sir. You’re nesting tonight, whether ye like it or not!”

Price blinks. Ghost is smirking behind his hand. Nik’s already unzipping a second layer. Kyle stands up and stretches like, “Welp, better get the laundry.”

And when Price finally walks into his room ten minutes later...

Soap’s there. Sitting in the middle of a pile of hoodies, jackets, jumpers, and soft things stolen from every member of the team. He’s building it with frantic precision. Muttering under his breath. “Too cold on this side. Needs another jumper. Where’s that shirt—oh there ye are, sweetheart.”

And there’s already a space in the middle.

Left open. Waiting.

Price stares at it for a long moment. Then shrugs off his hoodie. Adds it to the pile.

Just to help.

That’s all.

(And then Soap looks up at him, flushed and stubborn and very clearly drunk, and says, “In ye get, then,” and Price sighs but yeah. He gets in.)

[brattypagansub]

How I imagine the 141 community Soapy boy bulletin group chat going

(Soap is drunk at his twin sister’s wedding)

Farah: and don’t lose Soap.. you look away for two seconds and he’s gone

*two seconds later*

Gaz: Boys… where’s Soap?

Price: Do I need to..

Keller: No sir.. just temporarily misplaced him

*half hour later*

Gaz: well fuck that didn’t work how it was supposed to.. Cap.. you need to come collect us from the ER

*enclosed is a picture of a drunk and clingy Soap. Practically on the lap of a masked up Ghost who had a head injury.*

Ghost: They used me as bait and Johnny aimed a bit too high on the tackle

Farah: be there in ten, everyone but Ghost and Soap are sleeping in the vehicle bay

[thewriterg]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬’ chp. 6

pairing(s); simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader, johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x fem!reader, kyle ‘gaz’ garrick x fem!reader, john ‘bravo six’ price x fem!reader, werewolf!soap, harp crow hybrid!gaz, dragon hybrid!price, wraith!hybrid (?) ghost, phoenix!hybrid (?) reader

summary; new moon, before, and diplomacy

word count; 5.4k+ | chasin’ chaos masterlist

warning(s); monster au, dark twisted themes, normal cod violence, firearms, knives, combat, pinning (?), poly themes, death, r call sign is flatline, blood consumption, eventual smut, kissin, and language

A/n: trying to post every 3-5 days… don’t quote me

You all watch as Soap sits on hind legs, attention directed towards the moon. He pants softly with his tongue slightly darted out, his thick auburn fur keeping him protected from the occasional winds of the night. When the moon reaches its peak the Scott howls with a carrying pitch loud enough to hear for miles pass base.

“Calling for his pack.” Price clarifies eyes pointed at You and Ghost with a smirk that was all too knowing. Gaz clumsily howls back at the call; the wolf's head swivels, his eyes shifted from their domestic green to a glowing teal, the whites of his eyes now pitch black. You don't quite zone in on the conversation the dragon and harpy have –something about sitting out due to his wing you were sure– instead you tilt your head at the shifted sergeant and he mirrors you. The interaction makes you hum before you see the captain making his way to the field; he stands with his knees slightly buckled and his arms spaced away from his sides. The wolf playfully growls and the dragon's tail sways gently behind him.

“Alright lad, be gentle.” The four legged hybrid doesn’t waste another second, sprinting towards his locked target with precision head first into his chest. Johns sturdy though, and doesn't budge hopping on the back of his neck.

“Not bowling me over this time, son.” Johnny is quick to nudge him off his being and the man lands on his back, quickly moving out the way as the wolf went to pounce on him. You and Gaz watch as Ghost jumps over the wall landing on his knees with a thump immediately catching his attention.

“Alright, Johnny. Show me what you've got.” The skull masked wearing lieutenant quips. The sergeant immediately takes interest moving in a position to pounce, not taking note of Ghost's palms planted in the cut grass. When he goes to jump onto the masked lieutenant he misses; the wraith uses his shadows to push him up in the air using the upper ground to stare down at the wolf. Simon doesn't expect him to jump as high as he does, neither does he expect your familiar sparks of energy to nudge the wolf away. The sergeant lands on his paws force making his limbs slide through the dirt before coming to a stop.

“Hope you don't mind, pretty boy. They'll pull something if you're too rough.” You tease and you're sure you hear both men scoff while the shifted hybrid playfully growls at you before dashing off of his back legs. You're quick to move out the way as he topples over Simon in result of your place. Not who he was focused on but he plays all the same; he licks the lieutenant's stomach pushing up the black jacket to get to his skin. Price jumps on the wolf's neck loosely wrapping his arms around the base.

“You two enjoying yourself?” He calls out

“You could say that.”

“In a rough patch.”

“Need a nightcap, sir?” Kyle questions while Price cracks his neck rolling his shoulders; he eventually strayed away from the field.

“Probably stronger than that, Gaz. Later starts tomorrow, Simon, Y/n, take the the morning off. I’m guessing you’ll need it.” He hums at the sight of both his lieutenants while the Harpy snickers. You’re rubbing your palm on the underside of the wolf’s snout and Ghost takes place at the side of his neck. The Scott licks at your shoulder; vibrating with hums underneath the skull masked lieutenants person, tail swishing up and down.

Eventually the captain and sergeant call it a night leaving the three of you alone. You make way to more scheduled area, finding stray piles of tarps and bug out bags to lie on. Your eyes avert at the night sky, connecting random stars to make odd shapes in the scheduled sanctuary of your mind; something you hadn’t done since before… You’re quick to shift your eyes to meet the gaze that burns at your temples before continuing your bidding at the sky.

“Spit it out” You tempt plainly, you have your phoenix mask swept over your face, its orange and red tones contrasting against the night. Others have trouble reading you but never Simon.

“The anniversary’s next week.” He prompts back, it’s more of a statement than a question; the wraith knows damn well it is, practically branded in his memory with a hot rod. You snort at the choice of words he uses, shaking your head in response.

“Just another day.” You shrug seemingly unbothered but he knew better. The way– your shoulders got a tad stiff before resetting to their lax position, the slight pause in your subconscious movement, the way your lips slightly part before closing. The tell tale signs he stubbornly refused to ignore.

“Think I haven’ been around you long enough to know when you're arsein’ me?” The skull masked lieutenant glares at the side of your face and you huff beginning to get irritable at his proding.

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” You hiss out returning the hostile look with just as much intensity.

“Tell me when's a good time for you then, love? Humor me.”

“Don't sta-”

You both suddenly break away at the sound of whimpering beneath you. Soap whines, lying on his stomach paws situated underneath his snout; he rubs his fur coated body against the both of you nudging your shoulders with the tip of his nose. Simon scratches behind his ears and you pat the side of his jaw. After a moment you part your lips to speak.

“Ghost-”

“Simon” He corrects you and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“It was a long time ago, Si. I've come to terms with it.” You lower your body to the ground using your shoulder to prop up your head. Simon has a distant, hesitant look in his eyes and when he averts his gaze you place a hand on his jaw redirecting his attention to your person. He huffs against your hand, a bit stiff before he settles into the warmth of your palm. You lean down to press your lips against the corner of his masked mouth; When you go to pull away he wraps a hand around your back pulling you closer to the warmth of his body. He lift a hand to his face moving his balaclava to sit atop of the bridge of his slightly crooked nose –result of years of it being broken and reset– his scared face is no stranger to you and even as you only see a quarter of its surface you could recall every scar that littered his pale skin. His lips meet yours and even though you can’t see it you picture the scar dragging from the bottom of his cheek to end at the the middle of his cheek.

You're both interrupted again and it humorous of how annoyed the wolfs growl sounds. He tugs the sleeve of Ghost’s jacket pulling the blonde back a few inches –not– enough room to squeeze himself between the two of you opting to roll on his broad back. You can't help but let out a chuckle at Simon's face while Johnny whines for your attention giving the best puppy dog eyes he can muster. The skull wearing lieutenant rolled his eyes as you silently cave rubbing your fingers up and down the four legged mutts stomach.

“Don't pout.” You tease a smirk on your face at the lieutenant whose frown seems to deepen as you called him out.

“‘M not.” He sighs for the umpteenth time as you all begin to settle, getting as comfortable as you could; trying to accommodate each other's bodies. Simon watches as your blinks delay and the rises in your chest become further apart in time. Johnnys already out, having settled on his stomach paws set underneath his chin. The wraiths not too far behind, –while no stranger to the absence of sleep– he’s not sure how he feels about the sudden exhaustion that overcomes him.

💌💌💌💌

Simon groggily peels his eyes open; scratching the side of his bare head, the blonde shaved sides prickling the pads of his fingers. His eyes dart at the sound of movement at his side and the lieutenant is quickly gone rigid. The brunette scott –returned to his human skin– is pressed against his side, a leg thrown over his. However what makes the wraith's feathers ruffle is the wolf's attire, nothing.

💌💌💌💌

“Lt.” You can feel his presence before you see him, slowing the speed in your step until it comes to a full halt. Your head shifts over your shoulder, your eyes piercing as you reply back with his call sign falling from your masked lips. While the brunette adores it, he can't help but yearn for the softened exterior of your eyes he remembers. You note the sergeant is more decent than when you left him, having opted to part ways from the two men in the wee hours of dawn. He grins with a tilt of his head, dark mohawk complying with it.

“Not ‘Johnny’ anymore?”

“Getting your lieutenants mixed up, sergeant. You're slipping.” You muse sarcastically moving to turn on your heel.

“Pretty Boy then?” He stops you again.

“No need to read into it.” You surrender after a while and it's funny how quickly his face shifts to one of a drunk —peely, embarrassed, and comical beads of sweat.

“Just assessing the damage from last night. My wolf is- I know he can be a lot.” He views you from the peripheral of his vision, arms crossed over his chest, fiddling with the fabric of his tshirt.

“He’s you isn't he? Oh, I see. Embarrassed are you?” You finally direct your attention back to his being, eyes slightly squinted with a teasing undertone to your voice. The sergeant doesn't seem impressed at the humor you seem to find in the situation. You can see his poking canines as he parts his lips to rebuttal.

“I'm allowed to be.” He practically huffs.

“Don't be. He was a real good boy.” You hum patting his cheek with a gloved hand, it throws you a bit when he takes your wrist into his.

“Deity-” He starts

“Flatline.” You correct, trying your hardest not to hiss it out through your teeth. You mind breeches pestering Price for a golden star. Though, through it all the scott never dropped your hand.

“I woke up smelling like you two. Am I supposed to read into that?” You stare at him for a second and he notes how much easier he thinks it is to read Ghost over you; despite your same shared preference of a mask the scott couldn't understand how the other three did it.

“Up to you, Johnny.” You state plainly and he wants to scream at the mellowness of your tone; a frown adorning his lips while his eyebrows scrunch.

“...Wanna learn something new about werewolves, ma’am? Taking back control after going full wolf- it's like surfacing after a dive. Things are murky sometimes but what my wolf did, I remember it all.” The Scott’s clawed hand adorns yours, not waiting for you to give a proper response. As he goes on he slips off your glove, orange glowing cracks kiss the surface.

“What he smelled, what he saw, what he tasted.” Your fingers twitch against your will when the brunettes tongue darts, out swiping over the surface of your palm, never breaking the eye contact you shared. Your lips part and before you could speak the two of you are on guard as a voice booms down the hall.

“Aircraft in landing zone. Personnel respond.”

“...We're not done here.” You mutter in passing, shoving your glove back over your bare hand.

Soap was so damn close.

💌💌💌💌

Ghost could smirk at the scene of you making your way out to the landing; Soap following in suit. You move to stand next to the blonde fixing him with a pointed gaze that he raises his hands at in surrender. Boots clank against the metal ramp leading out to the open. Two men walk out one with patches of tan fur running up his arm with spots of a jaguar; he could shift between two of something –you couldn't quite recall– his cat-like tail mirroring the pattern of the fur above. The other you couldn't make much of due to his gear other than his tail; a little more fluffy then his partner but less fluffy then Soaps.

“The corps wasn't supposed to drop you off until tomorrow” Simon hits the head on the nail, never the one for small talk, beating around a bush.

“We know- but our window has shortened. That cockatrice was a bad omen. We sent word of the change of plans last night” Alejandro, –you recall now– stands with his arms crossed over his chest. Soap somewhat sheepishly grins taking fault.

“Uh… we were busy. Full moon.” Rudy –it had to be– nudges the back of his partner's neck and if the look on his face didn't tell him ‘I told you so’ the mutters from his lips did.

“Can't be helped. I'm Sergeant John ‘Soap’ Mactavish. That's Ghost and Flatline.” The Scott, quick to break formalities pointed at the two of you with his thumb before shaking the pair's hand.

“Lieutenant Simon Riley and Y/n Y/l/n! Good to put a face to a name, so to speak.” You hate how eager he is at the drop of your name, like he knows you. Your shoulders tense and the tips of your fingers tingle.

“Real reputation you two have. Real mean sons of bitches even before-”Another thing you couldn't stand were reptiles and here was a literal snake in front of you; talking about you in your own base. Valerias in front of you quicker than you'd like. The python haired woman squints her faint green eyes at your person, scales take place up her arms in patches. Simon's shadows project up his arms more opaquely and the Scott swore he could see your irises flicker that burning orange.

“C’mon this way. Captain Price’s got more experience being the welcome committee.” The wolf tries to make light of the situation with a stiff chuckle, sweeping the trio away from the two of you. When he averts his gaze over his shoulder he frowns at the sight of your tense selves and it deepens when he catches your form slipping through the doors of base in the opposite direction with some pep to your step. Simon opting to stay outside however, unknowingly turning his back to the brunette's gaze rubbing his palm down the back of his neck.

💌💌💌💌

“Heard from Soap our new arrivals made a bad first impression.” Price hums coming to stand next to the skull wearing lieutenant who didn’t move to stand from his seated position. The wraith unclenched his fist and clenched them again in a rhythm. His shadow sat more stubbornly, traveling up his arms making their presence known instead of being the usual fly on the wall they were.

“He tell you wha’ I had for breakfast as well?” John shrugs, raising a brow, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“Could ask. Would he know?” Simon looks at the captain through the peripheral of his eyes before directing his attention back in front of him. The dragon notes the slight dip in mask at his forehead signaling the scrunch of his eyebrows.

“…They knew who we were. Before.” The older hybrid moves to sit next to the wraith, one knee propped up. His wing twitches to expand around the back of the man next to him, his hoard. He silently gives into it.

“Contracts of silence only go so far. We knew people would talk. They’ve gone and made Johnny curious. He wouldn’t push either of you, you don’t have to tell him.” The brunette assures the blonde and he sighs.

“…No. I do. My part at least” It’s Prices turn to huff now a small smile on his lips.

“Deity’ll catch up. She’s already startin’ to poke and take interest.” Simon hums knowingly; John notes how the blondes shoulder just barely release pressure at the mere mention of his second lieutenant.

“Smoke with me, Riley.” It’s more of a statement than a question, as John holds out a cigar for the lieutenant to take.

“That an order, captain?” Simon take the brown lug in his hand

“I’m sure you’ll force me to make it one.”

💌💌💌💌

*about six years ago*

“Rare to see you hovering, captain.” The blonde hums —his sides are short and there’s only about an inch or two on the top— cigar pinched in between the skin of his index and ring finger. They both look down at the scene of you training your soldiers; –normals, that day– you were on track to be so fresh at the role but, they expected no less from you.

“Thought I’d come see your boys work through their drills.” The dragon drags the smoke, allowing it to settle in his lungs before letting it go. His wings sit strong on his back, the slight breeze he catches in them makes him think about taking a flight.

“You mean Vernon.” The lieutenant replied stiffly.

“He's lagging.” The captain confirms his observation aloud.

“I know. But he's the only one who came back from Roba alive. We’ll need him on strike” The blonde curates strategically as he watches you make the soldier run a lap.

“All logic with you.” Price grins around the tobacco, arms crossed against his chest.

“Well I’m not keeping him for sentimental reasons.” Ghost huffs; dog tag dangling from his neck while he leaned on the stone wall beneath him. He feels an itch in the small scar kissing his cheekbone, he doesn’t scratch.

“Try as you might, I know there’s a heart underneath that scowl, Riley.” The older dragon hums

“A sorry excuse for one.”

“Simon.” The lieutenant averts his gaze from the field to his captain.

“I’ll have to hang back on this one. Roba’s men had their gear fine tuned to ping my heat signature ever since our last run in.” The brunette hums averting his attention from the way your tank top begins to rise at the low of your back.

“And They ‘aven’t gotten hers?” The blonde questions tilting his head towards the field. John huffs out a laugh, shaking his head.

“There’s not much their tech could detect on a Phoenix. Her heat signature alone wouldn’t be able to be measured, make their system go to shit.” The lieutenant thinks it’s oddly fitting for you watching as you bark positions.

“Putting these boys in the hands of you two. So you’d better come back in one piece. That’s an order.” The clawed hand on his shoulder is warm and Simon doesn’t think twice before responding.

“…Copy that.”

💌💌💌💌

“Simon Riley. You’re a difficult man to crack. To think you’d break your own damn wrists to escape! I’d be pissed about the mess but hey- four less men I’ll need to pay, eh?” The light of the hallway is brighter than the fire of hell; it shines down on Simon’s body and he closes his eyes, head hanging low. The wooden chair he’s bound to is anything short of comfortable —his wrists are rubbed raw behind his back by the too tight ropes, his ankles are bound to the front post of the oak wood chair legs, and he feels the urge to throw up at the throbbing in his temple with the dried blood sticking to his forehead from an open wound.

“Ah well, you special forces guys are all nuts. But you know what they say about us chupacabras” Boots smack against the ground without much remorse, approaching him stealthily. Robs is truly a blob of flub, his stomach pokes over his pants sitting atop of his belt. Slim brown spikes —a shade lighter than his darker than his kept hair— placed in a line through the middle of his head, his ears are pointed at the tips, his thick bushy mustache starts at the top of his lips and wraps down to his thick chin.

“There's no hide we can't sink our teeth into.” The grin on his mouth is nothing but sinister, teeth sharp. Ghost can feel his breath on the crown of his head; can't find the urge to redirect his closed eyes, tilted towards the floor and before he knew it the presence right above his shoulder began to leave.

“Your man Vernon- he learned that the hard way. Was all too eager to squeal on you and your captain, once we really got started. But ah as far as rats go, not much of a prize.” The blonde lieutenant listened as the gruff man simply shrugged it off while nothing was simple about it.

“You though… Señor Riley… you're just a Human, mixed up in matters you’ll never understand.” Simon wants to throw up at the quick movement of his head; claws roughly slip into his scalp, the pulling of his hair making him grunt.

“What do you say huh? I'll cut you a deal, same as your girl. I let you go home and you squeal when I pull on your tail.” He tenses at the mention of you, he wonders if they've killed you since they split you up after trying to escape. They would all find a fate worse than death if –he could never see your eyes again, never could feel the warmth of the small smiles youd give specially to him and John, never hear how you defended their honor when they weren’t present to. He’d kill every last one of them.

“I'll even sweeten the deal- be good and you might even get a promotion, eh? Between the two of us, Captain Riley sounds much better than Price, no?” Simon is beyond trained for these situations, hell he's found himself in these situations it was a routine; Don't let them know they've broken you, don't panic –it makes it all the worse–, assume no one is coming for you, and keep your mouth shut. As the leader drops the hold on the lieutenant's hair he’s quick to grab his face squeezing with too much pressure.

“Well?”

“... I'd rather rip your tongue off and feed it to you” The tone of Ghost's voice could make the highest of killers shiver. It wasnt like he had an aspiration to do it, no. The honest, certainty could make the opposing man go rigid. Instead he huffs out a deep chuckle.

“That look in your eyes… I bet you really would. Crazy son of a bitch. Ah, well. That's what I get for trying diplomacy. Should've taken the deal pendejo. You're about to learn exactly why humans aren’t built for deputies between monsters.” Roba tosses his head, slashing his claws through the skin of his cheeks when he does so. The sting is nothing compared to the look in his eyes when he hears a voice all too familiar approaching the room.

“Get the fuck off me!” Simon struggles against his restraints as you’re dragged underneath your arms by two men who were all too rough; one being your own damn soldier. You look frail, your skin is covered in patches of dirt, they've stripped you to your bra –having the decency to let you keep your pants that are littered with splatters of blood–, and there's a cut reaching from the tip of your brow and down the skin of your lid ending at the beginning of your cheekbone. You're thrown to the cold stone floor given barely enough time to break your fall with your wrists. Your hair is wet, the curl toppling down your back at the weight of the water.

“Your girly… she's like you. I offer to make her a captain, just for a few tests on the wings. Let my boys do their research, didn't budge one bit.” The blonde curses something colorful at the chupacabra as his greasy palms slip to the back of your head, dragging you to be situated in front of the lieutenant. Roba nods at his men and Simon curses Vernon just as fluently as he pulls your arm to either side of you leaving your back open.

“You lay a finger on her and they won't be able to find all the pieces to you!” The leader laughs from behind him, walking like a lion stalking its prey before situating himself behind your struggling form.

“See what I don't think you understand is… If I can’t have what I want, no one else can have it either.” You feel the cold steel of the knife on your back and before you can register your bra is cut. The lieutenant roars as the undergarment falls to the floor. Adrenaline picks up as he tries to lift his body up and down to break the oak wood.

“How about your pretty bird… won’t sing no more eh?” Simon watches as your breaths begin to rise and fall too quickly; you were too young, too young to be a damn lieutenant, too young to be in special forces, too young to be here.

“Si.” His name falls from your lips with a gasp. Your eyes are cloudy and all of sudden there's a lump in his throat.

“You’re alright lovie. Look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me, alright?” He knows you can tell it’s an order by the firmness of his voice but, his tone is so soft with you. Always with you.

“Funny thing about the Phoenix, my friend. They have these freaky little… tendrils of nerves called queues. My men were trying to figure out where the hell they could be, your man here though… gave them an idea.” You don't know what you were expecting but it sure as hell wasn't a knife in your back. The scream is short of human; it wasn't a human noise, in fact. It served no purpose but to express its pain in all ways seeking out relief. You try to keep it together for Simon, you try not to scream –you fail. While the cold steel of the knife rips down the skin of your spine it's a contrast with the white blinding, burning, pain you feel. You can feel the connection from your wings fading, dying, and the panic in your body stills, they've broken you. You open your eyes and can see Simon struggling on his side against his restraints; the remains of the chair scattered not too far from him.

Tears flow down your face in a never ending stream and your hearing you didn't know you'd loss returns as Roba ends his assault at your tailbone. You don't feel anything; you don't feel how you’re lowered to the floor, the smacking of boots around you, or the slam of the cell door. Simon moves his ass, rocking himself until he was able to sit up and scoot to your fetal position. You shiver at the air on your back; the wound leaks crimson in a way that makes a mess of everything it touches, slowly mending itself together.

“You're alright, you're gonna be fine. They'll fix you up real good when we get home, yeah? ” You try to hold your anguish but the effort is fruitless. You shake your head, lips parting before they close again.

“I can't f-feel my wings, my w-wings.” His heart drops again at the pure pain in your voice that shakes your chest. You can't find it in yourself to stop crying and he doesn't tell you to. Something so sacred, the only thing left you had connected to your past life –ripped from right underneath you.

“I know lovie, I know. You're gonna be alright, we're gonna be alright.” The blonde doesnt know if he's reassuring you or himself; he doesn't care to find out.

It feels like ice poured down your back when the door is swung open and you’re ripped apart from each other again. This time just a few feet apart instead of rooms down. Your body feels like it knows what's going to happen before your mind does; you've seen this scene before. A new sense of adrenaline is found within you when you project the back of your head to smack into the soldier behind that wraps their hands around your wrist; you come to find that it's the brunette who betrayed your team and the crunch of his nose is all the more satisfying. You're not given much time to do anything before you're grabbed up again and you feel sick as the fanged leader's chuckle falls over the room. Roba reaches over to take a gun from another man behind you. He pulls the barrel back and it clicks as he walks in front of Simon –who's forced on his knees–, still giving you a clear view of the scene. His earthy brown eyes dart to you quickly as you shout then quickly switch to the being in front of him.

“Please! Roba!” You begged him. You begged to any God out there that could hear for help; Understanding that life was pain, another living being had learned. Your body aches as the men behind you tighten their grip as you thrash beneath their touch.

“Sweetheart.” The blonde calls out to you and your stomach drops at the pet name; he knows what's going to happen and a weight tugs at the organ in your chest. You're sobbing again –you can't remember if you ever stopped– while there's a hand that pulls at your hair keeping your gaze locked in front of you.

“Please. I'll tell you anything, please just let him go.” Begging must look short of pathetic on you while Simon sits there on his knees. You hate that look in his eyes, like he's signed his name on his contract of fate in black ink on a dotted line.

“It's too late.” It doesn't feel real when the gun goes off; your ears ring once more and you fight against the hold restraining you. You scream trying to get to Simon; they've actually done it, they killed him. The way his body falls to the floor so limply, so lifeless. The last time you try to dart out of your restraints the butt of a pistol meets your jaw, your vision is black.

*****

Wraiths are amorphous, semi-tangible beings born of strong desires for vengeance. Often mistaken for poltergeists or demons, wraiths are characterized by explosive bouts of anger and violence which manifest through black ‘smoke’ that cling and stains their skin.

Myths around the world depict wraiths as the great equalizer in a world where humans are comparably defenseless. Folklore depicts wraiths as humanity's last resort, a way to balance the scales against the might of monsters.

The risk of creating a hellbent killing machine would often deter mass pillaging and destruction and would send a message to those careless enough to leave a survivor.

In the birth of a wraith, myths highlight the necessity of being at a ‘graveyard’ when close to death, as the impending return to earth tricks The Reaper into complacency… only for the surely dead to go on living.

Simon Riley kicks at the roof of the box he's in, the wood eventually caves beneath the force of his feet. The thumps and slight moving of pebbles of dirt are unheard by no one near; he snarls around the white cloth wrapped around his head, situated in his mouth.

Wraiths are characterized by immense focus. Anger.

The lynchpin of their transformation is their stubbornness to die and their burning desire for retribution.

His short fingernails morph to claws ripping the ropes that bind his wrist; his teeth adapt fangs that snap the tension of the silencer in his mouth. Thick black streams of smoke crawl up his neck.

They are known as living spectres. Their bodies' death clings to with such passion, that even Mother Nature believes they are dead. More commonly, these beings are known by a simpler moniker.

He's a dead man crawling up from his grave, his eyes are unfound on his face clouded by the smoke that crowded them. His uncanny long tongue darts out his mouth as he huffs a puff of rage, fangs aching as he snarls.

“The one's death didn't want.”

💌💌💌💌

Locked in clocked in this whole chapter

Yay Ghost and Deity lore! (events that traumatically alter their brain chemistry)

does chat want a tag list?

[onesiesdaydream]

hear me out what if poly skk with reader

i mean ermmmn if you want ehe no pressure <3 (i just like their ot3 dynamics, feel like skk as a ship is so deeply connected it slots in pretty well with a third too. kinda like cats from the shelter you have to adopt together if you get what in mean 😭)

Welcome Back, Idiots I Dazai Osamu x Reader x Chuuya Nakahara (Poly! Relationship)

Summary: Your dumbass boyfriends come back from Europe—with broken bones, emotional baggage, and a baguette. Domestic chaos ensues.

A/N: Thank you for requesting, love ♡ I don’t usually write poly, but this request was too fun (and too them) to resist. Thanks for trusting me with your idea, love—hope you enjoyed the mess 🥰

MASTERLIST

The airport was packed—buzzing with reunions, the scent of cheap coffee, and the mechanical voice of the PA system reminding everyone to “please watch their belongings.” You stood near the arrival gate, heart thudding, a cardboard sign clutched in your hands that read:

“Welcome Back, Idiots ❤️” 

in bold red marker, hearts doodled with the dedication of someone who’d spent too many nights worrying.

In your other hand: a warm coffee tray—two drinks, exactly how they liked them.

Your phone screen glowed in your hand as you refreshed the arrival schedule for the fifth time.

Flight from Paris – LANDED. Finally.

They were finally coming back. Two weeks in Europe for a mission you weren’t allowed on — “Too risky,” they said. “We’ll be back before you miss us.”

Liars. You missed them before they even boarded the damn plane.

You exhaled, part relief, part tension. Missions abroad were always dicey, and when it came to Dazai and Chuuya, "routine" usually translated to "how many diplomatic incidents this time?"

You didn’t have to wait long. The arrival gate whooshed open. Passengers spilled out—families, business travelers, jet-lagged tourists—until one short, furious blur emerged like a hurricane.

A blur that nearly knocked over a stroller.

“CHUUYA?!”

There he was. Sunglasses shoved up in his hair, mouth set in a grimace, one hand clutching the handle of a wheelchair with a kind of rage usually reserved for broken wine glasses and Dazai’s face.

Chuuya’s scowl broke when he saw you. “Yo! We’re back!” he called, waving a hand like this entire image wasn’t batshit insane.

Then you saw who was in the chair.

“Careful, Chuuya, I’m a delicate flower now.”

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Dazai?!”

The infamous Dazai Osamu, your favorite migraine and disaster magnet, was lounging in the chair like a smug, mangled prince. Both legs were in thick white casts, propped up on a support bar. There was a baguette—an actual baguette—balanced in his lap like some sort of culinary trophy.

"Heyyyy, sunshine!”" he beamed. "Have you missed me? Look, I brought you authentic Parisian bread! ALso Swiss chocolate,” Dazai added helpfully, gesturing vaguely to a duffel bag. “And possibly a few international arrest warrants. But mostly chocolate.”

You blinked. “WHAT THE HELL—”

“Don’t ask,” Chuuya cut in sharply, his voice already fraying at the edges. “I swear to god, if you say ‘what happened,’ I might cry.”

You met his eyes and sighed, stepping forward to hand him the coffee. He blinked down at the cup in surprise before taking it—then, like the exhaustion suddenly caught up to him, he leaned his forehead gently against your shoulder.

You froze for a moment, then reached up to rest your hand against the back of his neck.

“I brought your usual,” you said softly.

“I love you,” he muttered into your jacket. Then added, “You’re a saint.”

Naturally, you turned to Dazai. “WHAT. THE HELL. HAPPENED.”

“What happened,” Chuuya snapped, lifting his head again, despite saying not to ask, “is this dumbass jumped off a two-story balcony backwards, yelling ‘I am the wind!’ Now he’s got two broken legs, a concussion, and my last shred of sanity.”

"I was demonstrating finesse," Dazai added cheerfully. “To a Countess. It worked.”

"He was drunk."

"Tipsy."

"She was married."

"To the mayor, Chuuya. You’re forgetting the spice."

You crouched beside Dazai, brushing some hair out of his eyes. “You look like hell.”

“Hell never looked so good though, right?” he winked. But for a moment, his eyes softened. “Missed you.”

You smiled and leaned in to kiss his forehead. “Missed you, too. You idiot.”

You stood up and walked alongside them as Chuuya wheeled Dazai forward. “Are you actually—how bad is it?” you asked.

Dazai gave you a look so overly dramatic it could’ve been framed. “My body may never recover. I’m a broken man. Tragedy incarnate. I— ow, ow, CHUUYA, THE RAMP—”

Chuuya hit the incline a little too hard.

“Oops,” he said, deadpan.

You winced as the wheelchair jolted over the ramp, Dazai groaning in exaggerated pain. Chuuya shot you a sideways glance, like this was all part of some elaborate torture ritual you hadn’t been warned about.

“Smooth, as always,” you teased, reaching down to steady the chair.

Chuuya shrugged, taking a long sip of his now lukewarm coffee. “I’m doing my best, alright?”

Clearly not true.

“Here,” you said, gently nudging Chuuya aside. You look like you could use a break. Let me take over.”

Chuuya blinked at you, clearly exhausted but still stubborn. After a second, he relented with a small grunt and handed over the wheelchair, stepping in beside you. You adjusted your grip, pushing Dazai with one hand and sliding your other arm around Chuuya’s waist.

He didn’t say anything—just leaned in slightly, letting out a breath he’d clearly been holding for hours. His arm slipped around your shoulders in a quiet, grateful side-hug.

“You’re a damn lifesaver,” he murmured, sipping his coffee again. “And not just for the caffeine.”

You smiled at him, giving his side a light squeeze. “I’ve got you.”

TWO DAYS LATER

The apartment smelled like lavender detergent, burnt toast, and the faintest trace of antiseptic cream.

Dazai had claimed the couch like a Roman emperor in exile, his legs stretched out on a pile of strategically-placed pillows, one arm thrown dramatically across his eyes like a tragic widow.

“I’m dying,” he announced to the ceiling. “This is it. I’ve named the dust bunnies. I’ve accepted my fate. Chuuya won’t let me have wine. I am but a husk.”

“You tried to open a bottle with your teeth,” you called from the kitchen, flicking the toaster down again.

“That’s no reason to oppress me.”

“You’re on painkillers, dumbass,” Chuuya snapped from the hallway, emerging with a laundry basket tucked under one arm and his hair still wet from the shower.

He wore a faded t-shirt that might’ve been yours—or maybe Dazai’s, it was hard to tell with the way your clothes seemed to migrate lately—and a pair of joggers low on his hips. He looked tired, but stubbornly functional. Classic Chuuya.

“And you left a damn trail of bandage wrappers across the hallway,” he grumbled, setting the laundry basket down by the closet and tugging a towel off his shoulders. “You’d think a world-class idiot would know how to use a trash can.”

“Now, now,” Dazai crooned from the couch, cracking one eye open. “That idiot saved the day in Cannes. I was very heroic, you know. Charming, even.”

“Your idea of heroic was starting a bar fight with the mayor's son because he said your coat looked cheap.”

Dazai made a wounded sound. “That coat was vintage!”

You stepped out of the kitchen with a plate in hand, giving Chuuya a quick once-over—damp hair, flushed cheeks, and that subtle tightness in his shoulders that told you he hadn’t really slept last night. Not well, anyway. You offered him a small smile and the plate.

“Toast?” you asked gently.

He paused. “Did you butter it like—?”

“Just the way you like.”

“…Thanks,” he muttered, taking it and sinking onto the armrest of the couch near Dazai’s head, chewing in grumpy, contemplative silence.

Dazai, of course, used the opportunity to rest his head on Chuuya’s thigh with the smugness of a cat that just stole someone’s seat.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Don’t bleed on my pants.”

“I’m not bleeding, Chuuya,” Dazai said sweetly. “I’m suffering. There’s a difference.”

“You bled on my blanket last night, don’t even start.”

You settled beside Dazai’s feet, carefully lifting his casted legs onto your lap and reached over to brush a crumb from Chuuya’s sleeve. “You know you didn’t have to stay again.”

Chuuya shrugged, trying for casual. “Didn’t feel right leaving you to deal with that alone.” He nodded toward the couch goblin draped across both of you. “Besides, it’s only a couple nights. I’ll go back to my place when he can get to the bathroom without yelling for backup.”

Dazai let out a scandalized gasp. “You like helping me. Admit it.”

“I like seeing you falling face-first into the toilet.”

You bit back a laugh. “He did that, didn’t he?”

“Oh yeah. Knocked over a plant. Woke the neighbors.”

Chuuya glanced down at him, and for all his griping, his hand drifted into Dazai’s hair on instinct, fingers combing gently through the messy strands. It wasn’t something he even seemed to realize he was doing.

“You’ve got a few weeks left before the casts come off,” you said quietly, resting your head against the back of the couch, your hand on his casts. “Doctor said you’re healing fast, though.”

“He’s too stupid to stay injured for long,” Chuuya muttered. But his hand didn’t stop moving.

Dazai sighed, finally sinking into something almost peaceful. “I wouldn’t mind if he stayed a little longer.”

Chuuya’s fingers froze. “You trying to guilt me into moving in, bastard?”

Dazai cracked a lazy smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Just saying the couch is comfier when you’re yelling nearby.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

You looked between them—your chaos magnet curled up in a mess of blankets, and your short-tempered knight in rumpled sleepwear who wouldn’t admit how much he cared if it knocked on the door and slapped him.

You reached across Dazai’s legs to hold Chuuya’s hand. “You know you’re welcome, right? Even after he’s healed.”

Chuuya didn’t answer at first. Just stared down at Dazai, still running his fingers through his hair.

“…Yeah,” he said eventually. Quiet. Almost careful. “I know.”

You all sat there for a moment—warm toast and The Big Bang Theory playing in the background, tangled limbs and mismatched socks, the scent of lavender and healing things in the air.

Maybe it wasn’t perfect.

But it was getting close.

[iloveabortions]

SEGA: Sonic Adventure 2 ‘Chao Garden’ (2001)

[shadesofhogwarts]

(5) Poly!marauders as girl!dads where their daughter is lost

Wordcount: 1.9k

It started with Sirius kicking James off the bed.

Literally– one well-aimed shove and James thudded to the floor with a loud “Oi! What was that for?!”

"You were hogging the covers," Sirius mumbled, face buried in the pillow.

James grumbled, rubbing his hip and glaring at the clock. 8:17 AM. Far too early for violence. Or arguing. Or–

His stomach dropped.

“Where’s Daisy?”

Sirius cracked one eye open. "What do you mean, she's in her room, idiot."

“No– she came here last night! Bad dream, remember?”

In the armchair, where he had been quietly reading (because of course he was), Remus froze. His book slid from his hands.

“When I woke up... she wasn’t here.”

The room went still.

Sirius sat bolt upright, hair sticking in every direction. James' heart hammered painfully against his ribs.

They both scrambled out of bed, knocking into each other and Remus, and tore into Daisy’s room.

Empty.

The tiny pink bed was perfectly made, her stuffed Hippogriff tucked under the covers like it was mocking them.

“Oh fuck,” Sirius whispered.

And then came a run through of the whole house with panicked screams from Sirius and "DAISYYYY MY CHILD??? ARE YOU IN THE PANTRY??". No she was not.

Remus ran a hand through his already messy hair, pacing. "Think. Think. She can’t Apparate– she can barely tie her shoes. Where would she–"

Then they saw it.

A trail of black soot, leading from the living room floo container, across the rugs, into the fireplace.

James went cold. “The Floo.”

"She tried to Floo?" Sirius said, eyes going wild.

The next second, all three of them were elbowing each other out of the way to reach the fireplace.

James grabbed a handful of powder, nearly dropping it in his panic, and flung it into the flames, bellowing the first place that made sense. "The Burrow!"

Green fire roared up, and the familiar cozy kitchen of the Weasley house spun into view– along with a very startled Molly Weasley, who dropped a mixing bowl with a clatter.

She barely had time to open her mouth before all three Marauders practically fell through the fireplace, shouting over each other.

"IS DAISY HERE?!"

"WE LOST HER!"

"CHECK UNDER THE TABLES!"

Molly blinked at them, utterly bewildered. "What– ? No! She’s not here! What do you mean, you lost her?!"

James looked half a second away from fainting. Sirius was already tearing cushions off the couch. Remus checked under the dining table with the wild-eyed desperation of a man hunting for his soul.

Molly, realizing the full scope of the emergency, gasped and clapped her hands sharply. "Fred! George! Ginny! Search the backyard! Bill, go upstairs– look in the attic, look everywhere!"

Like a well-trained army, half the Weasley children shot off in different directions, shouting at each other, a blur of red hair and panicked voices.

Molly rounded back on the Marauders, eyes blazing. "Where was she last seen?! What was she wearing?! Do you have a tracking spell on her– tell me you have a tracking spell on her!"

All three men froze.

"...We were going to get around to that," Sirius said very weakly.

Molly looked like she might murder them herself.

Just then, Fred skidded back into the kitchen, panting. "She's not in the garden! George checked the broom shed– nothing!"

The three men exchanged wide-eyed, white-faced looks.

Remus, voice tight as piano wire, asked, "If she’s not at home and not with you... then where the hell is she?"

CUT TO:

Daisy Potter-Lupin-Black, all of six years old, wandering Diagon Alley with a lollipop in her mouth, completely unbothered.

She pressed her face to every shop window, nose smudging the glass, marveling at the twinkling lights and broom displays, smiling a wide mouthful of gappy, missing teeth at every suspicious-looking adult who dared glance her way.

Absolutely living her best life.

...

Back at home, chaos reigned.

James was already halfway into the fireplace, Sirius was pacing a trench into the carpet, and Remus was muttering things that sounded suspiciously like complicated death threats– and not even in English anymore.

"Diagon Alley," James barked suddenly. "We know she's obsessed with the sweet shop there–"

"And the owlery!" Sirius added frantically, grabbing his jacket.

"Alrightyy, here we go– mission: locate Daisy," Remus muttered grimly, heart racing fast.

They practically fell into the Floo, shouting, "Diagon Alley!" and tumbling out the other end like panicked clowns.

...

Meanwhile:

Daisy was having the best morning of her life.

She had already successfully:

- Convinced a group of third-year Hogwarts students she was lost (they bought her a pumpkin pasty and then immediately lost her again).

- Pet three illegal magical creatures.

- Attempted to shoplift a Fanged Frisbee (got caught, flashed her biggest innocent smile, and got a discount instead).

She was currently sitting on the curb outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, swinging her legs and eating a triple-scoop sundae the size of her head.

THAT'S when she spotted them.

Her dads.

Barrelling down the street like three very distressed, very dangerous-looking thunderstorms.

"Daisy Potter-Black-Lupin!" James bellowed loud enough to rattle the windows.

People turned. Owls scattered. Shopkeepers peered put nervously.

Daisy calmly took another spoonful of ice cream.

Sirius skidded to a stop in front of her, dropping to his knees, clutching her shoulders like he was checking for mortal wounds.

"ARE YOU OKAY?! DID SOMEONE TAKE YOU?! DID SOMEONE TOUCH YOU? DO I NEED TO KILL SOMEBODY?!" he shouted in one breath.

"I'm fine," Daisy said serenely, licking her spoon. "I wanted ice cream."

James stumbled up next, nearly crying. "Baby, you scared the bloody hell out of us–"

"Language," Remus snapped automatically, appearing beside them, eyes wild, hair a mess.

Daisy blinked up at them, utterly unbothered. "I left a note."

There was a beat of stunned silence.

"You– you left a note," Remus repeated faintly.

"Yeah," Daisy said proudly. "On the fridge."

Another beat.

"But... you can’t write?" Remus said weakly.

James groaned and buried his face in Sirius' shoulder.

Remus looked like he might actually sit down and weep right there on the cobblestones.

Sirius, ever the dramatic one, threw his hands to the heavens and declared, "We have raised a menace to society."

Daisy just smiled sweetly and offered him a bite of her ice cream.

...

Just as Remus was trying to pull himself together and James was dramatically mumbling about how he was going to need a blood replenishing potion after this, the fireplace inside the ice cream parlor flared violently green.

And out stepped Regulus Black, looking crisp, cold, and extremely judgmental.

He dusted imaginary soot off his immaculate robes, gave a sniff of disdain at the chaos before him, and said coolly,

"I was told there was an emergency involving my god-daughter."

His sharp grey eyes landed on Daisy, happily swinging her legs and still munching her triple-scoop sundae, completely unconcerned by the three frantic men practically collapsed around her.

Regulus blinked.

Once. Twice.

Then he slowly turned his head toward his brother and said, deadpan, "You're all idiots."

James let out a wounded gasp. "We were worried about our DAUGHTER, Reg! She could have been kidnapped!"

"Eaten by a dragon!" Sirius added dramatically.

"Or arrested for grand larceny," Remus grumbled darkly, eyeing the mischievous glint in Daisy’s eye.

Regulus looked skyward, clearly questioning whatever deity had burdened him with such ridiculous family members, before he crouched neatly in front of Daisy.

"You," he said, voice sharp and smooth as a dagger. "Why did you attempt to floo to my home at seven in the morning?"

Daisy beamed at him. "I wanted to show you my drawing!"

She pulled a very crumpled, slightly melted piece of parchment out of her pocket. It was a stick-figure drawing of Regulus (labeled Uncle Reg) holding hands with her (labeled Daisy Best Girl Ever) in front of a massive ice cream cone. All incorrectly spelled.

For a terrifying second, nobody moved.

Not even the air dared stir.

Then–

Regulus' face twitched. The tiniest twitch.

A barely-there crack in his pristine, emotionless exterior.

"...I see," he said stiffly, taking the melted picture with two fingers like it was the most precious royal decree.

James made a noise that suspiciously sounded like an awwwwww.

"You're grounded," Regulus announced coolly.

"You can't ground our daughter!" Sirius squawked.

"She's OUR daughter," James added indignantly.

Regulus ignored them all. He lifted Daisy effortlessly off the curb, wiped a bit of ice cream off her nose with a handkerchief, and said, "Come. I will buy you another sundae before these three incompetents faint from stress."

Daisy squealed happily and hugged his neck.

Meanwhile, the Marauders stood blinking in the street, completely forgotten.

"...Did our daughter just ditch us for Regulus?" Remus asked faintly.

"Yes," Sirius said, voice hollow.

"And betrayed us for more ice cream," James added, equally hollow.

There was a long, solemn pause.

Then all three men nodded gravely at once.

"Respect," said Sirius.

"Respect," agreed James.

"Respect," finished Remus.

They dusted themselves off, resigned to their fate, and trudged into the ice cream parlor after their tiny, fearless traitor.

[mrs-pianofandom-98]

Alice looking at the coven: Gods they’re all so pretty ..

Billy: Don’t be jealous alice your pretty to!

Alice: I’m not jealous I’m gay.

[liliapleasesteponme]

Ok, so AAA week is coming up so im gonna pause work on my reqs atm so I'll be ready for it !!

A peak into what each day will be -

Young!lilia highschool au

Poly!coven band au

Politics au lilia x agatha x reader (calderess)

Pirate!lilia x siren!reader

Vampire!reader x lilia

Soulmate au rio x agatha x lilia (lithario)

Princess!lilia x handmaid!reader

Eeek im really excited !

[kitabearuwu]

Sick of people manifesting Ben breaking up with Gia my lord do you people even care ab this show or is it just ab the ships

[darknoverse]

LETS GOOOO POLYCULEEEEE

i missed them so so much i need to draw them and the AU more ig!

i think their dynamic is so interesting, mansplain manipulate manslaighter .

Arséne is such a fun character to me because he did actually change through the whole story a lot especially via interactions with Torque and Nos , going from just doing kicking ass at the slightest inconvinenece to being more tactical about it . more clever about it . he changed in a way he's like a middle ground between both his partners i think its dope. Arséne really kinda rejected hiw whole planet, family, his few ex-friends who weren't his mafia as a result of the obsession and OVER loyalty (especially for nos)

tldr; evil bitches all three of them they make eachother worse and it's ok /aff

also AY YO ME GOING BACK TO MY COSKU BULLSHIT??? OUI????

OUIIII I THINK WE MAY BE BACK BOYS WE MAYBE BE BA-

i missed them too, maybe time to rewatch SJ again boys

Taglist:

@candyheartedchy @berryshipbasket

@radaverse @tireddovahkiin

@banechomp @lficanthaveloveiwantpower

@rexscanonwife @ree3942 @sunflawyer

@artcomestolife @self-shipping-crow @mothlessmood @retrorabbit @silverlining-ships @ellie-woody

[dirtyassvoiceactors]

Liam: “I’ll give you my reaction if you wanna reroll that one, cuz i know you like rerolling ones*smirk*”

kkkkk masterful powermove liam as always

Sam: “Boy I don’t usually do that… But as a show of good faith…”

Braius: “I’ve always liked you little one, and I’m gonna steal your boyfriend-“

Kkkkk petty af and i love it, he’s like ok you didn’t even give me a chance and turned me down for the other bard, I’ll make a move on him then, steal him from you then you’ll realize your loss on me kkkkk

[whotfelsewantedtobelynnyx]

Coven of chaos but a misfired spell turns them into cats. That’s it, that’s the post.

(Who’m I kidding of course that’s not it)

(Semi coauthored by @second-drawer-on-the-left ! (We came up with most of these by ranting at each other like maniacs)

Billy: …Alice?

Alice, from the other room: Yeah?

Billy: I think I messed up…can you come in here?

Alice: Ask Lilia, dude, I don’t know.

Billy: Uh…

*distant mew*

Alice: Wait, wha-

Billy, voice getting rapidly higher: I THINK YOU NEED TO COME IN HERE!

*Alice comes into the room and just comes face to face with this*

(From top to bottom: Agatha, Lilia, and Jen. No, I have little to no explanation for why I chose these cats. They just…are.)

- Rio very helpfully turns herself into a cat (this one) and refuses to turn back. She (unlike the others) retains her human mind and is perfectly capable of shape shifting back whenever she pleases. She just refuses to.

Alice: *flops onto the couch with a groan and covers her eyes*

*a cat jumps up and starts happily kneading on her chest*

Alice, sighing and reaching out to scratch the ears: Hi, Jen.

Cat! Jen: *trills at her from the windowsill, where she’s snuggling with Lilia in the sun*

Alice:…

Alice: *opens her eyes*

Alice:

Alice: RIO-

- Alice repeatedly has to separate Agatha for getting into fights with the other cats. Different methods have been attempted to contain cat! Agatha have included:

• Shutting her in the basement (she escaped).

• Putting her in Señor Scratchy’s playpen for a timeout (she escaped).

• Wrapping her in a blanket like a naughty burrito (she escaped).

• Locking her in the bathroom (she screamed so loudly that Sarah Proctor passed by the window and glared disapprovingly at Alice).

• Putting her in Señor Scratchy’s playpen with Rio for a timeout (she escaped and bit Teen’s ankles just on principle, then went back to cuddling with Rio).

• Borrowing the panini press of shame from a neighbor who’s a vet (seriously, google cat catcher nets if you’ve never seen one, they’re hilarious)

Obviously, none of the above have proved effective yet.

- Lilia keeps climbing to ridiculous high places and causing Teen ENDLESS amounts of stress. No amount of coaxing, pleading, or bribery will get her to come down until she’s good and ready.

- Jen is just the BIGGEST attention whore and demands it CONSTANTLY from Alice. When Alice is sitting around, she drapes herself around her neck. If Alice is petting another cat, she butts her way in. If Alice is drinking coffee, she shoves her head in to steal a sip. If Alice is reading something, she lays across it.

Alice: Jen.

Cat! Jen: *relaxed trill*

Alice: Jennifer.

Cat! Jen: *blinks innocently*

Alice: I need my laptop to turn you back into a person.

Cat! Jen: *disinterested yawn*

Alice: C’mon, J, get off the keyboard…

Cat! Jennifer: *stretches and lazily bats her with a paw*

Alice: *exasperated sigh*

(She gets Jen off the computer and Rio immediately steals her spot, prompting indignant meowing from Jen and more exasperated noises from Alice)

- Alice hears distressed meowing and walks into the room to see all four cats crying at a bug they can’t reach. She takes a video and saves it for blackmail.

- Agatha figures out how to open doors and cabinets with her paws and immediately causes chaos.

Alice, repeatedly rereading Jen’s notes in hopes of finding a solution:

*muffled mewling from somewhere in the house*

Alice: *groans*

Alice, wandering into the kitchen to see Rio on the table, Lilia looking disapprovingly on from the window, and Agatha sitting suspiciously in front of a kitchen cabinet: Who was just yelling at me?

Rio: *licks her tail*

Lilia: *continues to look disapproving*

Agatha: *swats at the suspiciously rattling drawer with her paw*

Alice:

Alice: Where’s Jen?

Agatha: *blinks innocently*

Alice: Agatha, I can and *will* scruff you, where’s Jen?

- Alice moves Agatha and frees Jen (who started wailing pathetically from inside the drawer as soon as she heard Alice’s voice and insists on being held for the next two hours in order to be pacified)

- Agatha escapes and gets into Herb’s rose bushes, prompting poor Teen to have to sprint across the street and make up a lie about being Agnes’s cat sitter to retrieve her (she hisses, shrieks, and tries to scratch them both the entire time).

- Alice tries to leave the cats with Teen to entertain them so she can go take a shower. All four sit outside the bathroom door and shriek until she gives up and lets them in (at which point they sit outside the shower door and shriek).

Alice, opening the shower door with an irritated look on her face: Do you actually *want* to come in here? I don’t think you do!

Cat! Agatha: *gives her a disgusted look*

Alice, trying not to get soap in her eyes: That’s what I thought.

Cat! Rio: *waltzes right in and flops down in the water*

Alice: …of course.

(She eventually gives up and just takes a bath so that the cats can sit on the side of the tub and paw at the bubbles)

- Lilia chases Agatha around for half an hour just to pin her down and groom her while she whines dramatically about it (Alice saves the video of that for blackmail too).

- Billy fucks up again and turns himself into a kitten, leaving poor, stressed Alice alone with all the cats.

Alice, walking into the room: Hey Teen, I think I found a spell that might work? If we-

Four cats and a kitten, staring at her:

Alice:…please no. Please tell me that’s not-

Cat! Agatha: *squashes the kitten with her paw and begins aggressively grooming him*

Alice: Nope, definitely is. I need a drink.

(Cue Alice trying to keep three of the five cats out of her glass of wine)

Bonus:

Kitten! Billy

Kitten! Billy and Cat! Agatha

Cat! Agathario

What Cat! Alice would look like (that cat has unlocked the secrets of the universe and would like you to lock them back up thank you very much)