#vortex marble

[hskinhome]

Davesprite self care, for anon. Sources x x x / x x x / x x x

[obeythebutler]

Coming home after a day at RAD means taking a nap.

Classes are an hour long, eight periods every day. Curses and hexes, potions and spells, mathematics, history, seductive speed craft, law, language and code of conduct.

Sometimes a new potion is made instead of the intended one. Or a black vortex is created, and one time you accidentally hexed Leviathan so that he stood upside-down on the ceiling.

Exhaustion weighs heavy on your shoulders as you step through the door, marble floors echoing each other brother’s footsteps as they depart to their respective rooms.

Beelzebub grabs a snack from the kitchen first, Satan chugs a glass of water as Mammon throws his bag on a nearby chair, conveniently forgetting that his elder brother will make him pick it up later. Leviathan and Asmodeus make a beeline for their rooms: one to recharge and the other to complete routine.

Belpheghor will likely have fallen asleep in his room, and Lucifer brews a fresh cup of coffee before departing to his study.

You change out of your uniform and freshen up enough to plop back into bed.

It’s aftermoon.

The bed sinks with your weight, overhead lanterns dimming themselves when you snap your fingers. There’s no homework due tomorrow, and with that joyous snippet of information you snuggle deeper into your pillow. Your eyes are heavy with fatigue.

And in the silence you fall sleep.

Sometime later, when tea has been brewed and everyone gathered one of the brothers will come to wake you up. A pat on your head, crooning as they gently stir you from slumber.

And when you mumble and groggily try to pull them into bed with you your demon will chuckle.

It's only for a moment, they swear. Just to amuse you. And its already five pm, Name, sleep too long and you won't be able to fall asleep at night again. They'll mutter and mumble as they draw the covers over you both.

But the warmth of your bed with their beloved human is too tempting to get rid of.

And it is in a demon's nature to never resist temptation.

[alphajocklover]

Wake Up Pops

**A sequel to my earlier story, ‘Wake Up Bro’. It might be little premature to write a sequel only a month later, but the second picture really inspired me. Hope you guys like it, and check out the story of Owen’s transformation into Big O**

“Wake up pops.”

Ben Smith looked up at his son in shock. Lately his son, Owen Smith, had been acting strange. He had shot up more than a foot seemingly overnight, and had gained an almost impossible amount of muscle. It almost hurt Ben’s brain to think about it, like he was noticing something he wasn’t supposed to be able to. Like he was staring at the sun. But he brushed his son's seemingly impossible transformation as a strange growth spurt, just like everyone else did. What other explanation was there? What he couldn’t brush off was his sons… other changes. It was like he was an entirely different person. He had gone from the shy, sensitive, geeky kid that Ben adored to a sport obsessed, crude, overly sexual jock. Worst of all, their relationship as father and son seemed to have just… stopped. Owen and Ben used to be so close. Owen looked up to Ben, Ben adored Owen, and they did practically everything together. But since Owen’s transformation into ‘Big O’ he had consistently ignored his father. Too busy with his new position on the football team, with his new jock bro friends, and with the girls he seemed to constantly be hooking up with. This was the first time that Owen had spoken to Ben in weeks, and what he was saying made… no sense.

“Owen? Is something wrong?” Ben asked, his first instinct to help his son. Strange transformation or not, Owen was Ben’s child. He had to make sure he was ok. Owen grinned a cocky, dumb grin, looking at his dad with slight dull eyes.

“Everything fucking great pops. I just need you to wake up pops.” Owen said. Ben looked at him with confusion. What was his son talking about? He was awake, wasn’t he? Own continued, looking at his father with a strange mix of dull amusement and genuine love. “I know you miss the old me. You miss us being close. I’ve missed you too pops. We can be the same again. You’ve just got to wake up pops.”

Ben, concerned and confused, made a move to comfort his son, when suddenly a wave of vertigo overcame him. The room around him dimmed till all he could see was his sons grinning face, his voice echoing around him. “I love you pops, but a stud like me needs a stud dad. A mentor. I can’t have a geek for a dad. And this way we can be close again. You’re meant to be more than this. It’s time to wake up pops.” Owen said, his grin turning more satisfied and victorious.

Ben felt the room began to spin as he fell back mentally, the words repeating in his mind like an all consuming loop, almost like a vortex. Wake up pops. Wake up pops. Wake up pops. WAKE UP POPS.

Ben was so lost in the words that he barely noticed as his son led him over to a mirror. Ben was so shocked by what he saw that he almost passed out right there. He looked… godly. He was impossibly big, with a body so thick and beefy that it commanded respect. His face had become so chiseled and manly that it put marble statues to shame. He barely looked like the suburban dad he once was. More like he belonged in the movies or in porn. He heard Owen laugh, a confident, manly laugh that Ben felt himself echoing without even meaning to. Owen spoke once more, a look of pride on his face.

“Fuck yeah pops! Now we’re both total studs! You let your inner jock wake up, and now we’re gonna fucking rule this town together!”

Ben felt his old self recede, as something else, someone else woke up and took control. Ben fell asleep, and Big Os pops, Coach Smith, woke up. Coach patted his son on the back, a smug grin on his face “Fuck yeah we will son.”

[lev1hei1chou]

Physics Class

Dad!Gojo x reader Genre: Fluff Synopsis: Gojo teaches physics to his child, and it doesn't go the way they want it to. Masterlist

It was a typical evening in the Gojo household, or so it seemed. Satoru Gojo was seated at the dining table with his teenage child and a pile of physics textbooks. His usual demeanor was replaced with a look of sheer desperation as he attempted to explain the intricacies of quantum mechanics.

"Okay, so imagine this," Gojo began, summoning his Infinity to illustrate his point. "You have a particle, and it can be in multiple places at once..."

Haru, stared blankly at his father, eyes glazed over with confusion. "But Dad, I still don't get it. How can something be in two places at the same time?"

Gojo rubbed his temples, mentally cursing the day he decided to take on the role of tutor. "Well, you see, it's like... umm... Hollow Purple!" With a flourish of his hand, he conjured the swirling vortex of energy, hoping it would somehow make the concept clearer.

Haru's expression didn't change. "It just looks like purple fog to me, Dad."

Gojo sighed dramatically. "This is harder than fighting curses," he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, a light bulb seemed to go off in Gojo's head. "I know! Let's try a practical demonstration." Within seconds, he summoned a small rubber ball and a series of miniature black holes using his powers.

Haru's eyes widened in alarm. "Dad, are you sure this is safe?"

But before he could protest further, Gojo released the ball into the gravitational field of the black holes. Chaos ensued as the ball disappeared and reappeared in seemingly random locations.

"Dad, I think you just broke the laws of physics," Haru exclaimed, a mix of awe and terror in his voice.

Gojo chuckled nervously. "Well, umm... let's just say it's a... creative interpretation."

Despite the chaotic lesson, Haru couldn't help but smile at their father's antics. "Thanks, Dad. I still don't understand quantum mechanics, but at least I had fun trying."

Gojo grinned proudly, tousling his hair affectionately. "That's my kid. Now, let's tackle the next chapter: Kinetic Energy!"

As Gojo delved deeper into the world of teaching normal subjects, he realized that traditional methods simply weren't cutting it. So, he decided to incorporate his sorcery skills into the curriculum, much to the dismay of his teenager.

Satoru decided to demonstrate the concept of kinetic energy using his Infinity. He summoned a couple of marbles and set them rolling on the table, intending to show how their speed affected their energy.

"See, Haru, the faster the marble moves, the more energy it has," Gojo explained, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

His son nodded along, trying to follow his father's logic. But when Gojo decided to ramp up the demonstration by using his powers to increase the speed of the marbles to near-supersonic levels, chaos ensued.

The marbles careened off the table, ricocheting around the room like tiny bullets. Furniture was overturned, vases shattered, and Gojo found himself ducking for cover behind the sofa.

"Dad, I think we should stick to the textbook," Haru yelled over the chaos, dodging a marble that whizzed past his head.

Gojo emerged from his hiding spot, looking sheepish. "Right, maybe that was a bit much."

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the Gojo household. The door swung open, and you walked in. You were greeted not by the usual calm ambiance of home, but by a scene of utter chaos.

"Baby, what on earth happened here?" you exclaimed, taking in the overturned furniture, cracked decorations and the faint scent of burnt rubber lingering in the air.

Your husband looked up from his haphazard pile of textbooks, relief washing over his exhausted features at the sight of his wife. "Oh, thank goodness you're here. We've had a bit of a... situation."

Your son sat at the table with tears glistening in his eyes, surrounded by scattered papers and half-hearted attempts at calculations. He looked up at his mother with a mixture of frustration and defeat.

"Mom, I just don't understand any of this. We tried so much and nothing worked," he confessed, his voice trembling with emotion.

Your heart broke at the sight of your son's distress. You crossed the room in a few quick strides, wrapping him in a comforting hug. "It's okay, sweetheart. We'll figure this out together."

Turning to Gojo, you found her husband in a state of near-panic, his usual smirk replaced by a look of sheer desperation. "Love, what's going on? Why is everything in shambles?"

Gojo ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his frustration palpable. "I've been trying to help Haru study for his physics exam, but nothing seems to be sinking in. I've tried every trick in the book, and then some my personal tricks. It didn't do much though."

You couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of your usually unflappable husband on the brink of a meltdown. "Well, why don't we take a break, and then try some different approach?."

[istoleyoursphenoidbone]

Would You Fall In Love With Me Again?

DPxDC (With a smidgen of Epic the Musical)

Okay, so yall really liked my last one (and thanks to all of you, I'm glad you guys enjoyed). I wanted to try my hand again and see how this goes, idk about you guys, but Epic the Musical has been my soundtrack for weeks now, and the Ithaca Saga has my heart so...Husbands!Danny and Jason torn apart due to bad resurrection? Why not.

Warning for referenced character death and blood mention, nothing too graphic, tho. Pit Rage makes people do questionable things, ya know?

The Justice League's meeting room was cloaked in unnatural shadows, the atmosphere thick with tension, like the heavy silence before a storm. A team from Justice League Dark stood in the center, preparing for a ritual. Zatanna, her voice a whispered incantation, traced glowing glyphs onto the marble floor. Constantine, who had been trying to tell them all this would be a bad idea, leaned against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips despite the no-smoking signs, while Doctor Fate floated nearby, his ethereal presence a calm amid the chaos.

Batman stood at the edge of the circle, arms crossed. He hated magic—always had—but these were desperate times. Jason Todd, the Red Hood, had been spiraling for months. His vendetta against Gotham’s Rogues had left behind a trail of bodies, destruction, and secrets too dangerous to let slip. But it was more than just Jason’s rage. Strange energy readings tied to the Infinite Realms had begun to swirl around his every move. Whatever connection Jason had to that otherworldly dimension had become unstable, and they needed answers—answers only the Ghost King could provide.

“Are we ready?” Batman’s voice cut through the room. Zatanna nodded, stepping back as the last glyph flared to life. “The summoning spell is complete. Brace yourselves. This entity isn’t like anything we’ve dealt with before.” Constantine snorted, flicking his cigarette to the ground. “Ain’t that just bloody reassuring.”

The air split with a deafening crack, and green light spiraled upward, forming a vortex. From it stepped a figure draped in black armor, a faint crown glowing above his head, his eyes burning with an eerie green light. Danny Phantom, the Ghost King, stood before them. "Who dares to summon the High King of the Infinite Realms?" His voice carried an unearthly echo, a stark contrast to the mortal men and women in the room.

Constantine muttered something under his breath—likely a curse—but Wonder Woman stepped forward, her voice steady. “We require your assistance, Ghost King. There’s a man, the Red Hood, aka Jason Todd, whose actions have drawn the attention of both our realm and yours.” Danny’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening. “Jason Todd?” Batman stepped forward, his voice rough but resolute. “He’s my son.”

Danny’s gaze snapped to him, the glowing green light flickering with intensity. “Your son,” he repeated, his tone colder now, sharper. Zatanna stepped in to explain, her voice calm but urgent. “Jason is targeting Gotham’s Rogues, several have been killed. But it seems he has a connection to the Infinite Realms. His ectoplasmic energy is spiking. We believe he’s drawing power from your domain, whether he knows it or not.” Danny’s expression darkened, and his voice dropped to a low, almost imperceptible growl. “And you want me to stop him.”

“Not stop,” Wonder Woman corrected gently. “Help. If he’s tied to your realm, we need to understand why—and how to sever that connection, if necessary.” Danny stood motionless, the green light in his eyes flickering with a mix of emotions none of them could decipher. After a long moment, he nodded, sharp and final. “I’ll handle it. Alone.” Batman started to protest, but Danny cut him off with a steady gaze, his voice softening, just a fraction. “You’ve done your part. Let me do mine.” Without waiting for a response, Danny turned and stepped back into the swirling portal, leaving the Justice League in a heavy, uneasy silence.

---

The Infinite Realms churned around Danny as he passed through the portal, an energy that mirrored the restlessness gnawing at his heart. When he had been summoned, he had expected a crisis—another rift in the realms or a rogue spirit threatening the balance, hell even just cultists trying to mess with the order of things again. What he hadn’t expected was to be summoned to deal with him.

Jason...his sweet and loving Jason.

As the portal closed behind him, Danny heard Batman’s grim explanation echo in his mind: Red Hood was spiraling. He’d already killed Joker, Riddler, and Two-Face. And it seemed like Penguin was next. The Pit Rage had taken hold, and no one—least of all Bruce—had been able to pull Jason from the edge. The Justice League had turned to him because the energy Jason radiated had drawn their attention to the Infinite Realms.

It had been twenty years since Jason disappeared from the Realms—twenty long years since Danny had watched his husband, the man he had married in death, pulled from his side and resurrected in the mortal world. For Danny, it felt like an eternity.

As Danny emerged from the portal into Gotham’s shadowed streets, the oppressive energy in the air pulled at him, thick with Jason’s rage. He could feel the ectoplasmic aura that surrounded him, like a storm cloud about to break. But more than that, Danny could feel the familiar tug of Jason’s presence. It was raw, chaotic—lost.

And Danny? He was all too familiar with being lost.

There was no turning back now. Jason was out there, a tempest of pain and blood, and Danny couldn’t stop the wave of dread that surged through him. This was his husband—the man he had fallen in love with, over and over again—and now he was out of control.

Danny’s eyes glowed as he moved deeper into the city, knowing that whatever happened next, he wouldn’t be alone in facing it. Not this time. Jason Todd stood among the wreckage of a smuggling ring’s hideout. The docks were eerily silent except for the gentle lap of water against the pier. Blood slicked his gloved hands, and his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. The Pit Rage roared in his ears, demanding more—more destruction, more vengeance, and more blood.

The ghostly glow appeared behind him, and Jason spun, guns drawn. The figure emerging from the green light made him falter.

Danny.

Jason blinked, the haze of rage momentarily thinning. He couldn’t trust his eyes, not after everything. But the way Danny looked at him—with love, pain, and something infinite in his glowing green eyes—cut through Jason’s defenses. “Jason,” Danny said softly, his voice trembling but steady. Jason lowered his guns, his shoulders slumping. “Danny?”

Danny stepped closer, his glowing cape billowing behind him. “It’s been twenty years.” Jason flinched. “Eight.” His voice cracked. “Only eight here.” Danny’s eyes softened. “It felt like forever.” Jason staggered back, shaking his head. “I’m not—” He gestured at the blood staining his armor. “I’m not who I was. You shouldn’t be here.”

Danny reached out but didn’t touch him, his hands hovering just inches away. “You’re still you, Jason. You’re still my husband.” Jason’s laugh was bitter, almost a sob. “You don’t understand. I’ve killed them. Joker. Riddler. Two-Face. There’s no redemption for me. I’ve left a trail of blood and bodies. I’m not the man you fell in love with. I’m not—”

“Stop,” Danny interrupted, his voice firm. “Stop telling me who you think you are. I know you. I’ve always known you.” Jason clenched his fists. “Would you still love me if you knew all I’ve done? The things I can’t take back? The lives I’ve destroyed?” Danny took a step forward, his expression raw with emotion. “Yes. I would. I do.” Jason’s knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, his hands covering his face. “I’ve tried to fight it, Danny. I’ve tried to be better, but the rage... it doesn’t stop. It’s like drowning, and every time I surface, there’s more blood.”

Danny knelt in front of him, his hand finally resting on Jason’s shoulder. “I know,” he said softly. “I’ve felt it too—the weight of things you can’t undo. But you’re not alone anymore. I’ve been waiting for you, Jason. Waiting for you to come back to me.” Jason’s breath hitched, and he looked up, his blue eyes rimmed with tears. “How can you still love me after everything? I’m not... I’m not the man you knew.”

Danny smiled, his own eyes glistening. “You’re still the man I fell in love with. You’re still the man who carved our initials into a tree in the Infinite Realms. The man who made me laugh, who promised me forever. And I meant it when I said forever, Jason. No matter where or when or what you’ve done, I’ll love you. Always.”

Jason let out a shuddering breath, and for the first time in years, the weight on his chest lightened. He leaned into Danny’s touch, the Pit Rage ebbing as warmth spread through him. Danny cupped his face, their foreheads touching. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore. Let me help you. Let me love you.” Jason closed his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.” Danny’s laugh was soft and full of love. “That’s for me to decide. And I’ve decided—over and over again—that I’ll always choose you.”

Jason’s arms wrapped around Danny, holding him tightly as if afraid he might disappear. But Danny held him just as firmly, grounding him, anchoring him. The green glow of the Infinite Realms pulsed around them, a quiet promise of redemption, of love that could weather even the darkest storms.

---

Danny didn’t leave Jason’s side that night, nor would he ever again. Together, they began the long, painful process of healing. The road ahead wasn’t easy, but they faced it together, their love, a beacon in the darkness.

The heroes would just have to get used to the unearthly presence of the Ghost King in their plane of existence. And no matter how much time passed, Danny knew one thing would never change: he would fall in love with Jason Todd, over and over again, for eternity.

[m00nchildwrites]

Threads of Eternity

pairings: female!reader (you) x Xavier

tags: romance, eventual smut, based on storyline of game but diverges, little angst and feelings, resolved feelings, fluff, hurt/comfort, injury, these two need to just kiss already, use of her/she/you depend on the pov at the time, reader/MC/you is expressed as female and during smut times will use female-at-birth anatomy terms, will have nsfw content mdni- please read with caution, my smut gets ...vivid.

Xavier x You teaser snippet

Xavier stood in the grand halls of Philos’s palace; the walls seemed to shimmer and pulse with the light of the planet’s molten core beneath. The throne room was cold despite the white marble and glistening splendor, a reflection of the man who ruled it.

"You will obey me, Xavier," his father’s voice rang out, sharp and unyielding. The king’s shadow loomed large as he stood up on the raise dias, his crown tilted forward like a predator’s teeth.

Xavier’s fists clenched. "I won’t let you do this."

"You think your love for her matters?" the king spat, his words laced with disdain. "She’s not a person; she’s the key. Her Heart is the only thing powerful enough to stabilize Philos. Without her, we all die."

"A planet that consumes to survive doesn't deserve to live," Xavier said through gritted teeth.

"Foolish boy. This is why she exists. Why the Gods graced us with such a gift. She is born to die," The king’s laugh was harsh and hollow. "You’ve let your heart blind you to duty. Guards!"

Xavier barely heard the heavy footsteps echoing behind him as he turned and fled. He sprinted down the gleaming corridors, his heart pounding as he pushed through the palace gates.

The plan he had was simple: take her far away, somewhere even his father couldn’t reach- to Uluru. But as he reached the gardens, she was waiting. Why was she there in the palace? She should be at the Academy. This was all wrong!

The air shimmered. A Wanderer had been lurking in wait in the gardens, its twisted form bending reality as its protocore ruptured. A vortex opened, pulling Xavier toward it with an irresistible force.

"Run!" he shouted to her, his voice raw with desperation as guards began to enter the gardens.

But she didn’t run. She reached out towards him, her eyes wide with fear and confusion, just as the portal swallowed him whole.

Xavier’s last sight of her was the tears glistening on her cheeks.

When the dream shifted, as dreams often did. But this, this was a nightmare, for he was too late. She lay on an altar of crystal and stone, lifeless, her heart—her Aether Core—gone.

He fell to his knees, a scream tearing from his throat, the pain of her loss cutting deeper than any blade.

-

Xavier woke with a jolt, his chest heaving, the image of her lifeless body from his nightmare seared into his mind. He struggled to get his bearings as every time he had witnessed her death, held her in his arms as she died, every time he had to tell her goodbye- or the one time when she held him in her arms as he faded to be absorbed by Philos greedy core- all of the times he lost her flicked through his mind like a horror show.

He fought with his covers, throwing them from his legs as he stumbled from his bed to his bathroom. The bright light flickering on burned his eyes as he leaned and wretched into the toilet. When at last he emptied his stomach and calmed himself from the panic that had swallowed him, he stood on shaky legs to wash his hands and face. He gargled mouthwash and spit with a wince. On his way to the kitchen for water, he snatched his phone from his bedside table.

His apartment was dark, the city’s lights casting faint patterns across the ceiling. The water was a cool relief to his acid burned throat as he chugged the contents of his glass. He rubbed his face, trying to calm the storm inside him.

What had triggered the nightmares this time? They had been having a relatively easy time of things at work. He was lucky in that he was her partner, and as such, he got to see her almost daily. He knew she was safe, asleep in her apartment below him... and yet-

Without thinking of the time, he grabbed his phone and dialed her number.

"Hello?" Her voice was groggy but warm, and it immediately steadied him.

"Hey," he said softly, gripping the device like it was a lifeline.

I hope you enjoyed this small sample of what I am working on! Let me know what you think so far! Let me know if you want to be tagged for future updates! I have never had a tag list so I will do my best!

tagged list:

@moonsavior @2kyute2poot

[todays-xkcd]

I have so many plans. It would incorporate a Galton board, a Ranque-Hilsch marble vortex tube, and a compartment lined with pinball bouncers with a camera-and-servo Maxwell's Demon that separated the balls into fast and slow sides.

Marble Run [Explained]

[an-idyllic-novelist]

A Brilliant Color From A Voiceless Völundr

[Jack The Ripper x Nezuko!reader] [platonic]

Warnings: violence, hurt/comfort, ooc, spoilers for season 2

Special thanks to @onecantsimply​ ​ for providing feedback/edits to make this best possible fic it can be. 

The battle was over.  Another victory for humanity, and another god swallowed by their opponent’s malice. 

But was the outcome worth it all in the end? 

Jack the Ripper would remain despised as a psychotic serial killer who sent Heracles’ soul to Niflhel. A sentiment that both human and godly spectators shared when they slandered him in the arena, screaming to give their beloved hero back to them. When one rock bludgeoned Jack across the temple, more of them followed in a steady shower. The crimson vortex of the audience’s emotions only grew stronger, much bigger, when he bowed to them with a wide grin stretched across his bloodied mouth. 

Just when a rotten tomato then hurled towards him, a clawed hand caught it in midair. He blinked in surprise, seeing a young lady standing near him protectively and growling through her bamboo muzzle, [Hair Color] locks and [Favorite Color] kimono covered with just as much sweat and blood as him. 

[First Name]. His Völundr. 

Although he had been informed by Brunhilde that his partner for the fight against Heracles was to be a young lady by the name of Hlokk, certain…circumstances had happened. In short, the aforementioned Valkyrie refused to bond with him because of his reputation even when the existence - or annihilation - of humans was at stake in this Ragnarok. Although Brunhilde struggled with this sticky situation at the last minute when her younger sisters also refused under the same excuse, she found a willing volunteer in [First Name]. Thurd tried to argue with Brunhilde, protesting that their sibling’s mental state was still delicate, yet the latter refused to compromise further. 

She knew [First Name] was much stronger than the other Valkyries gave her credit for. Brunhilde could never forgive the gods for the unspeakable crime they had committed against [First Name]….but if that malice can be harnessed as a weapon, then so be it. The healer who had overlooked her sister’s mental conditioning assured her that the hypnosis was perfected. 

Her enemies were the gods who acted high and mighty. [First Name] would protect the humans as if they were her family. But if a human acted maliciously against her, cripple but do not kill them. 

Dropping the fruit, [First Name] swiveled around and stood in front of Jack, her small back facing him. Before he had a chance to speak to her, she leaned down and hooked his legs around her middle, keeping a steady grip as she stood up at her full height, dashing towards the arena’s exit, carrying him as if he were a small child and not a gentleman with his arms around her shoulders just so he wouldn’t fall backwards. Jack felt a small twinge of embarrassment at their current situation…though how could he have the heart to tell [First Name] otherwise when she was so earnest in doing this?

“Much obliged for your assistance, young lady.” 

[First Name] did not say anything and just kept running down the marbled corridor towards the medical wing. If it weren’t for the slight squeeze of his legs, Jack would have thought that she was ignoring him. 

“I am aware that you cannot speak, given your current…situation, though would you allow me to express my gratitude?” Another squeeze prompted Jack to continue. “Thank you. Firstly, I did not expect such…support from you in the fight, young lady.  ‘Tis one thing to allow me to change anything into a weapon against the gods, but to also harness the power of fire with my piano wire and knives as a conduit? Quite brilliant against a god of immeasurable strength.” Jack frowned. “Yet with this victory…I’ll never see that color of his ever again, will I? It’s funny, really. I reveled in seeing that beautiful color when life was being drained from the people I’ve killed, yet now…all I feel is remorse for extinguishing that light from Heracles. Fate is a funny thing, isn’t it?”

Silence fell between the human and his Völundr for the rest of the way to the medical bay. Nurses were already standing by the double doors, prepped to heal humanity’s representative immediately. When [First Name] lowered him to the ground, he almost expected her to leave and go about her business. But just when he followed the medical personnel inside, the Valkyrie stood in front of him. 

Standing on her tiptoes, [First Name] carefully pulled Jack down to her height before her clawed hands stretched forward to cup his face. She stared at him long and hard, [Eye Color] orbs reflecting neither malice, exhaustion, or grief. Instead, they shined with pride and concern as her fingers gently caressed the bloodied, bruised skin. 

Like a loving parent would act towards their child. 

Although her actions made him speechless, it shocked Jack even more to see the bright and warm yellow light circulating around [First Name]’s body. The very same color Heracles possessed right up to his untimely demise by Dear God. How was this even possible?

“You -”

“There you are!” A voice boomed before [First Name] was suddenly lifted up in the air by two large hands coiled around her waist. The culprit was an enormous green-eyed woman with reddish-orange hair pulled back in a braid and fitted crimson armor. Although his Völundr wiggled around her grasp she did not try to harm the stranger. Instead, she appeared…annoyed? 

Jack blinked, seeing a pair of pristine wings jutting out from the woman’s back. Ah, she must be one of the Valkyries. What was her name again? Hrist? No, that was the samurai’s Völundr. Then who…

“Lady Thrud!” A nurse squeaked. 

The Valkyrie hummed in acknowledgement before she turned her attention to [First Name], a frown stretched across her face. 

“You were fearless in the match, my dear sister. I am proud of you.  But there is a difference between being brave and needlessly reckless!”  A whine emitted from [First Name]’s muzzle as she began to wiggle again in Thrud’s grasp, only to have the older woman tighten her grip ever so slightly on the Ripper’s Völundr. “Don’t you dare say that you are fine! I was in the arena when you were carrying him out, and I know your side is still bleeding! We might be able to heal ourselves, sister, but we are not invincible. Which is why you are coming with me to for a medical checkup, now.” 

[First Name] mewled pitifully in response, stubbornly trying to pry herself free until a pained groan spewed from her muzzle. Thrud looked down and huffed. “See? This is what happens when you do not listen to your elders.” 

Jack could only watch in slight amusement and worry as the Valkyries bickered for a bit longer till [First Name] finally agreed to be taken away to a separate section in the human’s area to be healed. It was obvious that she wanted to stay with him. Although he was touched with her concern, he wanted his Völundr to get some proper rest. She needed to, should they ever be summoned again to fight for humanity’s sake. 

As Thrud walked away from the medical wing with [First Name] in her arms, she peeked over the giantess’ shoulder and waved at him enthusiastically, her voice muffled by the muzzle before she winced, earning another scolding from Thrud.

Jack chuckled and waved back, watching the two figures grow smaller as they traveled further down the corridor before he walked inside the hospital wing. Who would have thought that a black-hearted monster like him would kill a god, and yet be saved by the loving touch of a voiceless Valkyrie? He certainly did not deserve it. Perhaps…this is the ultimate punishment bestowed upon him by God.

Bonus Content:

Once he was healed, Jack took it upon himself to bake a homemade apple pie to share with [First Name]. It took him plus Hrist and Kojiro to persuade the terrified Valkyrie that it was not Brunhilde’s specially made pies. 

[First Name] was allowed to eat and drink without her muzzle so long as she was not within the vicinity of the gods or else she would (possibly) go berserk upon seeing them. 

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[foxilayde]

Collisions in Entropy [Peter Roiter x Fem!Reader]

Summary: You were drawn to him like gravity. Like the only two bodies of mass on a lattice field, dipping in the center like marbles, stretching the fabric of time with the weight of yourselves and converging at the center into a singular point.

Length: 5.5k

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Romantic smut. Oral: f receiving. PiV.

Author’s Note: I couldn’t stop thinking about Peter making it to Rome and then confining himself to wait out his remaining days like an invisible stranger, careful not to disturb this timeline. I like to think his curiosity couldn’t keep him away from a special event he never got to see firsthand. Enjoy!

The wedding of Callum Roiter to Rebecca Bradley took place at Creeksea Place in the Essex countryside on Saturday September 30th 2023. Is taking place, rather. Currently taking place. Peter Roiter arrives in a rented grey suit and gate crashes his own parent’s wedding, 13 months before his birth.

They’re taking the photographs now, the photographs that will adorn the walls of his childhood home. The same photograph he will accidentally shatter In 2032 while playing cricket in the house. He recognizes the angle of the pink jaunty bouquets up in the air, the collection of color in a joyous line on the red brick footbridge beside the white gazebo, a bridal party draped in lavender taffeta posed in what looks like “a silly one” where they lovingly encircle the blushing bride—Rebecca Roiter née Bradley.

The camera flashes weakly against the midday light and at the same instant a bridesmaid looks in Peter’s direction and smiles.

He’d cut his palm on that picture frame—the shattered one—the bridal party laid in fragments in that parallel future time. He looks down at his hand and the thick scar is still there. He wonders if the Peter Roiter who will be born 13 months from tomorrow will get the same cut. If he will hit the cricket ball in the same exact angle, turning his head to the same exact call of his mother’s voice from the other room. “Peter!” Crash. A vortex.

That’s what had ruined the photo in the end. Not the shattered glass, but the blood. Will this timeline’s Peter Roiter grow up and do what he’s done? Do it exactly the same? Blood and shattered glass in the parlor. Blood and shattered glass in the terminal 4 bathroom.

He’s never been to a wedding like this before. Never even heard of one with so many people, unrestrained smiles, photographs, laughter, dancing… nowhere outside of a movie, that is. His own wedding to Helen was private, as most weddings in 2050 were. Out of necessity. Sweet and civil. She held peonies and they danced to Marvin Berry in the backyard, underneath the stars and the patio lights. He has an insane urge to make a toast to the people of 2023 and tell them, “eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.”

They’re so unaware. Unbothered. It’s beautiful to see. Like the carefree cheers-ing that must’ve been happening on the Titanic cruiseliner 10 minutes before they collided with an iceberg.

He doesn’t feel sorry for them. He is jealous. They’re feting in the last roaring moments of civilization, right before the interminable lockdowns will begin. He conservatively guesses that half of them will be dead within the next ten years.

He stays as invisible as he can, observing his parent’s tender happy moments from afar. They’re so young. He’s nearly old enough to be their father.

During the ceremony he sees both sets of grandparents for the first time in his life in person. Maybe that should be his alibi instead of “cousin of the bride”, he’s much more believable as “colleague of the father of the groom”. If only he could remember what Grandfather Roiter did for a living… insurance, maybe?

He won’t stick around long enough for anyone to ask just how he knows the lovely couple anyway. He’ll stay invisible for now, just another speck in this world that doesn’t belong to him.

This timeline might be defunct anyway, he may very well be cautiously tip-toeing around what he only assumes is a sleeping beast, but may in fact be nothing more than a carcass. Peter errs on the side of caution anyway and sips champagne from the further-most table.

Callum Roiter, looking everything like the father of his childhood, stands from the center of the high table and clinks his crystal glass. His cheeks look hurt and shiny from smiling, he holds his new wife’s hand and makes his toast, he thanks the guests for coming and makes a joke about how more guests might’ve showed up had they hosted the ceremony on the Boleyn Ground. He’s so young. So untroubled. The trip to Essex was worth every potential risk to the balance to see the joy in his parent’s eyes in real time. He feels supremely lucky to be a product of such an astounding love.

And then Callum raises his glass higher, winks to Rebecca and announces, “and lastly, a great big thank you to American psychologist Doctor Eliza Knight,” There is a knowing laugh amongst the wedding party who are privy to the story of the bizarre phone call from a Dr. Knight. “Without whom, I would have never met my beautiful bride. Wherever you are, love, cheers.”

“Cheers” the crowd responds. Peter downs the rest of his glass, “to Beatrix,” he mutters.

“You know what that’s about, don’t you?”

It’s the first time anyone has addressed him all day. He hadn’t seen her approach. The young woman from the bridal party. The one who smiled at him as the flashbulb went off. Pink roses, purple gown, shards of glass, blood, and a cricket ball.

“What’s about?” His voice slips into the Essex dialect like it’s nothing. He wonders how much of that is the chip and how much of it is his real voice— the one his mother and father taught him to use. He looks down at his lap when the woman sits beside him.

“The American doctor story.”

Oh he knows. He’s heard the tale his whole life, moreover he’s overturned timelines and sold out the souls of billions for the American doctor in question. “No,” he says to the pretty bridesmaid. “Would you let me in on it?”

*******

“Can’t believe you haven’t heard it before,” you smile, “would have thought Cal and Bex told damn near everyone in England by now.”

“Must be a good one.” He says with almost no defensiveness. Almost.

He’s cute. Older than you. A little scruffy, but in a very pleasing way—slightly overgrown at the nape of his neck and shadowed in the roughness of his sharp jaw. His eyes are kind though. So hopeful, sweet, and terribly familiar.

“Come outside with me and I’ll tell you, it’s getting warm in here.”

He glances to the high table, there’s a line forming of folks offering their congratulations along with envelopes of money to the young couple. He nods to you, leaving his grey rented coat on the back of the chair. He offers you his arm and you take it with a “thank you”, leading him to the French doors and stepping out onto the grounds.

The air is late summer. Warm and green. A million twinkle lights glow along the pathway to the pond, the place where you’d first laid eyes on him this afternoon.

“What’s your name?” You ask, trodding slowly towards the gazebo, your arm still in his. His forearm is warm under the white cotton dress shirt.

“Oliver.”

“Hmm.” You smile.

“What?” Defensive.

“Could have sworn it was something else.” You goad.

You can feel his pulse pick up from your fingertips on the crook of his elbow.

“What’s your name?” He counters.

You ignore him. “I didn’t bring you out here to tell you my name, I brought you out here to tell you a story, remember? Do you want to hear it or not?”

Peter breathes deep as if he’s winding up to tell you something but all he does with the breath is exhale and nod, “Please.”

“Last year, November the 23rd, 2022, to be exact, both Callum and Rebecca got a mysterious phone call from a Doctor Eliza Knight, a psychoanalyst from America, telling them that she knew their son. That he was a 39 year old time traveler sent from the year 2062 named Peter Roiter and he claimed to be on a mission to save the world. What do you think of that, Oliver?”

His grin is tight, dismissive, “sounds like a nut job.”

“The odd thing is, Callum and Rebecca had never met each other before. Doctor Knight gave each the other’s information and told them it was crucial that they meet and fall in love and have this child. Peter.”

Peter says nothing.

“So they do get together. Because of the absurdity. They go out for a drink, out of curiosity, to laugh about the madwoman who told them they were going to raise the messiah of the twenty first century.”

Peter leans against the railing of the gazebo and glances back to the house where the party is winding down. “And the rest is history.” He nods toward the red bricked abode.

“That’s not all,” you smile conspiratorially.

“No?”

“No. See, I looked into it, just to check to see if there was a Doctor Eliza Knight, and there is… or there was.”

He remains silent and surreptitiously fingers the raised scar on the inside of his hand while you talk. Nervous habit.

“See, the very next day after she made the phone calls, Doctor Knight walked into an airport bathroom in New York City and disappeared… disappeared! They checked all the security footage. She walks into the restroom and never walked out. They did find her clothes, and a shattered syringe full of blood that wasn’t her own, a tape recorder in a trash can. But her? Nowhere to be found. Can you believe it? The very next day after calling Bex and Cal. That’s insane, right?”

He nods, lost in thought across the lake.

“It’s funny, most people get a real kick out of that anecdote. I was excited to tell you. Brought you out to the dim ambiance and everything.”

“It’s a great story. Really. I’m just tired is all.” He folds his arms across his chest and looks at you with a believable amount of sleepiness.

“You’ve heard it before, haven’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“That would be one explanation for your boredom— you know the story by heart… How do you know the bride and groom, Oliver?” You nearly whisper, stepping closer to him.

“Who are you?” He backs away a step, bumping into the rim of the gazebo and catching himself on a polished beam.

“Peter, you’re about to upset a very fragile ecosystem that we’ve been curating. I had to get you out of that party, I hope you understand.”

“We?”

“Peter, if you care about the future, you need to kiss me right now, in the next five seconds, it’s our only chance.”

Peter doesn’t hesitate. With a look of solid determination he takes two steps towards you, cradles your head in his hands and presses his lips to yours, kissing you with reserved lips that didn’t match the committed blaze in his eyes. You break the kiss in near disbelief and regret.

“That was mean, I’m sorry.”

Peter’s face scrunches and he takes half a step back, letting you fall out of his grasp.

“What? Wait, tell me who you are, what’s going on? Did the W.H.O send you? Do you have a message for me? Did the project work? Any word on Beatrix?”

You press your fingertips to your lips and your eyes widen.

“Are you fucking with me?” You accuse.

His face drops from hopeful to incredulous and the two of you stare at each other with mutual suspicion for a beat.

He licks his bottom lip. “Why did I need to kiss you? Who are you?”

“I’m… I’m a friend of Rebecca’s. I… hang on, are you— is your name really Peter? I just called you that because… because of what the doctor told Bex…” you can hear your heart hammering in your ears.

Peter’s eyes narrow, “you were teasing me?”

“Holy shit. The… the doctor? The story? Peter Roiter?”

Peter remains stock still, his back rigid, gritting his teeth.

You clap your hand over your mouth and laugh. “Oh my god! Bex is going to murder me if she finds out I snogged her son. This is so weird.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t! I mean, god, no one actually believes that story about the doctor, do they? it’s insane! something straight out of a movie! I figured they met each other on tinder and wanted a cuter “how’d you meet?” Story and made this one up for clout or something, but… then we were taking photos today and you were lurking in the back of the setting up, lurking the back of the ceremony, sitting all by yourself in the back of the reception— not talking to anybody… which is exactly what someone who isn’t trying to alter a timeline might do. What am I saying? And god you do really look like half Bex and half Cal… it’s uncanny.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this, you understand?”

“Tell anyone? No one would believe me if I did! I don’t even know if I believe me! Besides, I’m not joking about the whole ‘Bex would kill me’ thing, I’m kind of skeeving myself out right now. I mean they’re both fit and well obviously,” You gesture to Peter up and down before slapping your forehead, “oh my god, I need—I need to shut up.”

“Wait, wait, wait, just calm down. Okay. I need to—look, if this isn’t a dead timeline, I can’t have you treating Cal and Bex’s son any differently than you would had you not learned that.. that I’m him. So—“

“Hang on, dead timeline? What the hell does that mean?”

“Is the name not obvious enough for you?” Peter begins to pace around the pergola, the valley between his brows growing deeper by the minute.

Your eyebrows shoot up, “well excuse me for not understanding your sci-fi speak, Mr. Coherence.”

“Dead timeline. It means the statistical likelihood of salvaging the future of this particular timeline is… astronomically low. If this is a dead timeline, then there is a near 100 chance humanity will be destroyed within the next 40 years.”

“Oh god.”

“It might not be. There’s no way of knowing right now.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“It could be a loop timeline, in which case, it’s important for you to—“

“Not treat the forthcoming baby Peter Roiter any differently.”

“Exactly.” He breathes with relief.

“Even though he will apparently grow up to be a man who potentially puts me and everything and everyone I know and love into a dead future or whatever you called it.”

“That’s not—“

“It’s fine, Peter, the less I know the better, right?” You shift in your heels and lean against the polished railing. “Might make it difficult to take him out for ice cream knowing that I snogged him at his mum’s wedding. Bleeding Christ, I really am sorry about that.”

“You’re surprisingly easy to convince. And you’re taking this extremely well. I’m not used to that— people believing me. And it’s fine, its my fault for being here, for following you outside. I promised I wouldn’t interact with anyone and now we’re getting… inextricable.”

“I don’t know why I believe you. I mean I know it’s crazy, it’s the least likely explanation for all of this, but I just feel like, I have to believe you. I just… have to. Now that sounds crazy.”

He shakes his head. “I really thought I was being stealthy coming here today. It was probably a mistake.”

“Well, if we are in a loop timeline, as you called it, I don’t think there can be any mistakes. And if we are in a dead end, then the mistakes don’t matter, right?”

“Who are you?”

You tell him your name. He shakes his head with that same worried valley between his brows.

“I don’t remember you at all from my childhood. Or hearing about you from my mother. I’m not even sure you were in the photo that I broke.”

“The photo that you broke? What photo?”

There’s a sudden cacophony from the French doors where you exited the reception with Peter. A group of groomsmen stagger out, each with a champagne bottle in their hand, singing what you can only assume is a fight song from Cal’s alma mater.

Peter runs his thumb and forefinger over the stubble surrounding his lips. Those lips that you made him kiss you with. God, what is happening?

“C’mon,” he mutters placing a hand at your lower back and guides you to the path by the pond, further away from the celebration. “Just being cautious.”

There’s a bench aglow with twinkle lights near the pond, out of view of the estate house. It feels good to sit and take some pressure off the silk heels you bought special for this evening. You slip them off and let your feet rest on the cool grass.

“What photo were you talking about?” You ask.

“The bridesmaid photos with the bouquets on the bridge. I grew up with that photo in my house. But one day I was playing football— no, it was… it was cricket. I was playing cricket in the house and the photo shattered. I cut my hand trying to hide it from my mum, look.”

You take his hand, inspecting his palm and turning it over. He continues. “But I don’t recognize you. From the photo. I don’t think you were there. You weren’t looking at the camera. You were looking at me.”

“I don’t see a scar.”

“What?”

Peter pulls back his hand.

“It is kind of dark out, so that could be why.”

“Wha…” Peter holds his hands up to the twinkle lights in the willow branches above the bench. He shakes his head. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Deja vu.” You whisper.

Peter’s hands fall from inspection, he rubs his fingers together at his sides. “What did you say? Did you say Deja vu?”

“Yeah. I’ve— I’ve been here before. This has happened before. With you. What’s happening?”

Peter sits back down next to you on the bench, grabbing your upper arms with insistence. “Are you messing with me again? Are you screwing with my head?” He’s breathing fast. He looks scared.

“No! No, I swear Peter. This just… feels so familiar. Do you feel it? The smell in the air, the champagne bottles popping, you checking your hands in the light, the kiss in the gazebo… what’s happening? What does it mean that I’ve felt this before?”

Peter lets go of your arms and runs his thumbs across the smooth insides of his knuckles. “It means… it means it’s elastic. This timeline is still alive. I’m not in a loop, I’m not in a dead end. Something is happening… or something will happen. Either way, we’re all still breathing…” Peter laughs quietly for a few moments before silencing himself with his own hand. “Somewhere, somehow, in the past 20 minutes or so, a vortex was formed— a shift in the timeline.”

“What does that mean? Is that good or bad?”

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t know. We—us in the future—don’t even fully understand it. It’s a technology we discovered from elsewhere in the universe. I’ve been thinking lately that we don’t have the receptive capacity to understand the dimensionality. Like trying to conceptualize a tesseract.”

“What are you doing here? Still trying to save the world?”

“No. That window closed. Or at least, I thought it had.”

“So your window is closed. You didn’t succeed?”

He stares into your eyes for several beats. He thinks about December 31st in Rome. How he waited on platform 23 at the piazza di Spagna until the last train came it at near midnight. And how he walked around the Villa Borghese alone when security shooed him away from the station, he walked back to the red tiled hotel alone. A doomed mission. He must’ve passed at least a dozen kissing couples that night ringing in the new year.

“No. I didn’t. I’m sorry.” His apology feels personal.

“It’s okay.” You say with a small voice, placing a hand on his knee. “So, now what? Do you go back, to your original time, the future?”

“Can’t go back. Can’t go anywhere. Even if I could, there’s no one to retrieve me.”

“So you just live out the rest of your days here in 2023 onward?”

Peter bites his lip and looks out over the pond. “Yeah.”

“What happens when baby Peter Roiter is born?”

“You’re too quick, you know that?” Peter snorts and shakes his head.

“I watch a lot of sci-fi movies,” you smile, shouldering off your lavender shawl and pointing out your tattoo. “See. It’s a—“

“DeLorean.” He traces his finger over the small line drawing tattoo.

“A 1981 DeLorean DMC-12 to be exact.” You grin proudly.

Peter swallows and traces his finger down your bare arm, making your hairs raise.

“You got it the day of your 18th birthday. You had a fight with your father and you got it on a whim. You were so angry at your father that you cried when you got it and when the tattoo artist asked if you needed a break from the pain you said—“

“How do you know this, Peter, you’re scaring me.”

“You said, I’ve had worse.”

“Peter—“

“I know you. We’ve been here before. This bench. The lights, the way they glow on your skin.” He swipes the side of your face lightly with the back of his unblemished hand.” He gulps. “I kiss you on the gazebo by the pond, I kiss you under a willow tree far away from the house, I—“ he shifts closer, his forehead nearly touching your own. “I carry you like a bride up the stairs and I kiss you in a room with golden leaves on the ceiling.”

You shift closer to him, your noses touching.

“Don’t you remember?” He asks, cupping your cheek. “No matter where I go. There you are. Entanglement.”

“I remember.” You nod. “Tell me, Peter. Tell me what happens when you’re born.”

Peter cradles your face in both of his hands and pulls back a fraction of an inch, eyes flickering between your own before he sighs and shuts them in a near grimace.

“I die.” He kisses you. And its so different from the kiss on the gazebo. Your little lie, your little trick in back there that got him to kiss you the first time. A lie— or so you thought at the time. Something made you say it to him you’re sure of that now. The deception was compulsory. It wasn’t why you led him out at the time. But now it its.

As sure as he knows the date of his own birth, he knows he will die. In almost exactly 13 months. Or sometime before; but never after. They didn’t teach him every facet at The Project, mainly due to their own ignorance; and he wouldn’t have to face his demise if he had only taken himself to the extraction point… but that had been out of the question. And what is he doing now? With you on this bench? 100 yards from his newlywed parents. This is a new dream he is fulfilling, the erasure of his scar, these new-old memories, the fulfillment of a loop.

Your silk shoes abandoned in the grass, he scoops up your knees onto his lap, he holds your face so tenderly and kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you beneath the willow tree.

He carries you like a bride to your bedroom at the top of the stairs. If any party stragglers notice you, you aren’t aware. You cling to Peter with your face buried in his neck, holding to his broad shoulders, your bare toes make brushing contact with the walls of the stairwell as you ascend. You don’t need to tell him which room is yours, he’s been here before hasn’t he? You certainly have. In a dream. In another life.

He lays you gently on the bed, kissing up your ankles, sliding the satin of your sheath dress up your legs as he goes, crawling up and up and up you, his lips trailing over the rise of your knees with abject devotion. His strong hands splay and scoop under your dress, under your hips, to grab your lace panties. He looks into your eyes from where he kisses the crest of your thigh when he slides the material down your legs and tosses them to the floor.

“How could I have forgotten you?” He whispers with a longing against your skin, pushing your dress up until it pools in a satin puddle at your middle. He kisses the tip of your hipbone before he settles between your thighs, his stubble scratches pleasantly at the sensitive flesh when he runs his nose along the junction of your hip and thigh.

Cradling your hips in his palms, he shrugs your legs over his shoulders. He’s still fully dressed, the only disrobing he did of himself was the grey jacket abandoned on the the back of the far-table chair in the reception hall downstairs, and the blue tie he loosened and discarded somewhere near your panties. His disguise.

He crawls up further onto the bed to fully press his face into your sex. He latches onto your puffy cunt with his kiss-swollen lips and licks you open with messy, savoring swirls of his tongue. His mouth hot and slick, chin and nose pressing into you with a rocking hungry motion. You don’t intend to cry out at the sensation but he’s making love to you with his mouth like it isn’t the first time and you have no choice but to strangle your own keen of pleasure and fully and gracelessly recline on the bed, the prop of your elbows unable to hold you up through the slick furnace of pleasure that is Peter Roiter’s mouth.

You scrunch your eyes closed and bite your bottom lip when his tongue focuses in on your clit, hot mouth still sealed around your pussy, he lathes you with stern and steady lashings to your point of pleasure. Your hands fist in the pool, of silk at your belly. He sighs hotly into you and works his own fingers through yours, loosening your grasping hands from your dress. He laces all his fingers flush with yours, soothing the sides of your palms with his thumbs.

He never stops the hot assault of your spread sex with his tongue. Your grass stained heels rest lightly on the taut warm linen of his dress shirt. You can feel the way the muscles back there flex, your feet sliding every so slightly when his hips buck gently into the mattress. You don’t open your eyes until you’re desperately close to cumming in his mouth and when you look up all you can see are flashes of gold.

Your hips lift off the mattress with the arch of your back and the contraction of your thighs. You let out a long low keen and his face tilts up to follow your clit, sucking you lovingly, his hands gripping more tightly to your own than ever before.

“Peter,” your lips tremble, you slowly open your clamped shut eyes.

There it is. The gold leaf ceiling glinting in warm yellow light. Just as he said. Just as your remember. You stare dazedly at it and you know in less than a moment Peter will crawl up your shaking sweating body and place a kiss on your lips. He does. You grab him by his thick curls and push and pull and twist him in a debauched kiss till he’s flat on his back and you’re on top. His mouth is hot and sticky and so, so giving.

He runs his hands lightly over the open back of your dress. You only unbuckle him enough, and shimmy his trousers midway down his thighs, to get him inside of you. When you sink down on him he holds your forehead against his and gasps in disbelief.

“I—“ He chokes, catching his breath and fighting his eyes rolling back so he can get a good look at you when you take him all the way down.

“What?” You smile, stroking his cheek.

“I— I’ve missed you. Ahh.” He grabs you hard then, sitting up slightly and clawing your dress strap down so he can bite and suck the softest parts of your chest.

You cradle his head there, grinding into his lap slowly, gasping softly at the feel of him inside you.

“You won’t disappear, will you?” You whisper in a daze of pleasure.

No, he chants against your breast.

“No, no, no. I can’t lose you.” He holds you tight to him like he means it.

Peter has pulled the top of your dress down to your waist now and his hands roam freely over your back, plotting the elevated terrain of your shoulders, the valley between your breasts, and the maps of rivers at your wrists.

He lays fully back down and takes you with him. You smile against his kiss.

“Getting tired, old man?”

“Mmm, I’m younger than you—technically— negative one years old next month.” He bites your ear. You laugh. He thrusts up into you. You moan and clutch him by his clothed shoulders.

Peter cups your cheek in his hand. The one with the missing scar. You turn your face to kiss his unblemished palm. You rock on him slowly, his mouth parts in bliss.

“Does this mean anything can change at any time?” You ask, glancing at the inside of his hand.

“Yes but that’s always been a given.” Cheeky.

“No, I don’t mean just anything. I’m not talking about normal changes, I concerned about—“

“Dissolving out of a photograph? Ceasing to exist?” He teases, flicking your tattoo.

“Or Chuck Berry never writing Johnny B. Goode?”

“Who?” Peter delivers in convincing deadpan curiosity before breaking out into a beautiful grin.

You pinch his side. “Rat.” You can feel the intensity of his jerking response to the pinch where he’s buried warmly inside you.

Peter nods, “I don’t know. I hate saying that I don’t know and I hate that worried little look on your face, but I promise that it doesn’t change anything. We are here and like it or not the only thing certain is change.”

“The mortal agreement.”

“There is one thing I do know. No matter what I change, no matter where I go. I find you. Even when I send you away, you bounce back. Right back into my arms. A less scientifically minded man might think that love has it’s own special inter-dimensional set of physics. We just… keep extracting entropy from a closed system. No matter how hard I break the billiards they fly right back to the center of the table in formation. Not always in the same order, but… still… accounted for. I thought it was fragile, like butterfly wings, you know? But I’m learning it’s durable. It’s elastic, alive. And you always bounce back.”

“Sounds less like time travel and more like pattern reconfiguration.”

Peter tucks your hair behind your ear and drinks in your face, nodding thoughtfully. “Everything you say. Everything you’ve said. It’s all like something that’s on the tip of my tongue.”

You grin, bending over him, taking his pretty face in your hands, you kiss him and suck his tongue into your mouth, bobbing your mouth on the tip of it suggestively, “is it?” You smile. He’s still hard in you. You hope he never stops. This is how you should have every conversation about everything from here on out. Joined together, the beast with two backs as Shakespeare would say.

“I don’t want to cum.” He groans into your mouth, “when I cum I’ll have to stop being inside you, and I don’t want that, I want to live inside you.”

Call it the contrarian in you, but the admission only makes you want to force it out of him against his will. To make him fall apart precisely because he said he was trying his best to keep it together.

You clench, ride him, and moan into his ear until he’s nearly tapping out from ecstasy and when he comes he calls your name.

“Oh no.” You gasp, looking around worriedly.

“What? What is it?” Peter halfway sits up, adrenaline opening his eyes fully.

“Do you think your parents heard us?” You grin teasingly.

Peter sighs with relief and shakes his head, kissing your cheek and crushing you against his chest in a hug.

You don’t worry about tonight, the shoes you left outside, the rented jacket in the reception hall, or what will transpire in the next 13 months. Everything will bounce back in the end.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Tagging everyone who interacted with the post asking who was interested in this Peter Roiter fic:

@ozarkthedog @toracainz @mundivagantsoul @ominoose @astroboots @orestesimp @spacecowboyhotch @steven-grants-world @convrsation16 @onefinnedwonder-fm @grumpyeagleandfriends @miguellohara @winchestershiresauce @user215sstuff @greg-drunk @poeedameronn @piptoost @danilovesyarn @toracainz @red-hydra @motleyfolk @ladywillowgrey @munasolid @karoblaer @theaterm @howellatme @mistaknight @dailyreverie @guruan @lunar-ghoulie

Usernames that have been crossed out, I was unable to tag, check your tumblr settings to receive tag alerts.

[amaramizuki666]

DPx DC crossover ⚠️trigger warning graphic content⚠️

Ok we know the bit of danny has to flee from the GIW after getting cut open and shit. If you want more angst make it his parents. Then he flees to the ghost zone and ends up through a portal leading him to the dcu. So now I want to propose danny thinking it was vlads portal and with being deloris from bleeding out and being extremely tired dosnt relize he isnt in vlads mansion no he is in Wayne mannor.

___________________

Danny couldnt keep breathing it was draining to much of his focuse. His lungs burned as they deflated and his heart stopped beating. But danny couldnt pay attention to it not while he was in so much pain.

Ectoplasm and crimson blood marbling and spilling from Danny's mouth and injures. Danny's vision is foggy, his only coherent thought is to run, as far as he can.

Danny's hand pressed tightly to his torso trying to hold his very human insides in his body. Danny sees the swirling green of vlads portal and makes haste flying through it stumbling his way into vlads mansion.

Danny makes through the portal not noticing the multiple sets of eyes on him. He trys to lean aginst a wall to stabilize himself. Danny's vision turns black and he collapses onto the hard wood floor, green and red pulling around him. A ring of lights flashes over him and he is forced into his human form. Danny really isnt having a good day.

_____________

Dick, jason, tim, cass, and Damian where all sitting in one of the lounge rooms infront of a lard plasma screen TV watching a movie when a green swerling vortex appeared.

Out fell a boy that looked around Tim's age with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, and pale green skin covered on glowing freckles. He was wearing what looked to be a jump suit but a cape made of stars grabbed over his shoulders and a glowing crone that looked to be made of aroura floating over his head.

The boy collapsed to the floor without spearing the others in the room a glance. The vortex he came from closing behind him. The group of young vigilantes stare in awe as a white light washes over the boy leaving behind Bruce adopte bate.

The others stare tensely at the boy waiting a moment to see if he was going to get back up when blood marbled with Lazarus green pooled around him. Jason was tha first to snap out of his stupor rushing to the boys side tim close behind him. Dick, cass, and damian stood behind them. Jason gently flipped the kid over, and his vision burned with green.

The others in the room gasped in horror, when jason turned the boy over intestines spilled from a large Y incision running along the boys torso. Illuminated by a glowing orb in the boys chest.

"FUCK! Replacement hold his organs gently, we need to get him to the cave! Dickface call doc get her to the cave emiditly!" Jason ordered and held the boy gently in his arms tim right next to him. Holding firmly to the boys spilled organs.

Everyone moved, dick to get doc, Damian to get Bruce, cass to get alfred, tim and jason who where rushing to the cave.

_____________________________

This whent longer than it was suposed to be. Anyway might continue might not. Feel free to add.

[probablybadrpgideas]

OH I AM SO HERE FOR WEIRD DICE WEDNESDAY

pictured:

55mm d20 (dark elf dice)

d100, d60, d48, d30, d24, d16, weird d12, weird d8, d7, d5, weird d4, and a d3/re-skinned d6 (dark elf dice)

33mm liquid core d20, which i forgot to shake before taking this picture (dark elf dice)

d20 but every side is a 1 (heartbeat dice)

10mm d20 and d8, from a 7pc mini polyhedral set (dark elf dice)

2d20 and a d8 from a retro dice set, sporting a funky digital font (orcansee games)

d20 and d6 from a set of chessex lab dice (set IV, gemini black/white with pink), showing the little design of an erlenmeyer flask with a d4, d10, and d20 inside

d8 and d6 from a set of chessex dice (vortex electric yellow with green), chosen for being the most and least opaque respectively

the last two are from the first dice set i ever bought, which i chose specifically because they looked horrible. they're marbled florescent yellow & transparent, with bright green ink, and they're even worse in-person

i also have 3d20 made out of silicone, which i sadly don't have on me right now! vibrant as hell and more on the squishy side than the bouncy side, all from normal human designs on etsy

dark elf dice also sells 45mm metal d20s and a d120, both of which i'm hoping to get eventually <3

very jealous of the liquid core - Paper

[slightly-crazy-pyromaniac-vixen]

This is a Lancer RP blog

((OOC: This is my first time doing this form of RP, really only made a Tumblr acct for this tbh. Lancer is something I've gotten into somewhat recently, so please go easy on me! Sofie is a bit of a pyromaniac and it's my first time playing someone like that.))

//Omninet connection>. . . Successful!

//Input Username?> VortexWish

//Logging in. . . Input Password?> ************

//Incorrect Password. . .

//Try again?> ***********

//Password Success! Logon Success!

VortexWish:

"Hey Omninet! This is my first ever post, so I'll just introduce myself a little, I guess! I'm VortexWish, but I can go by Vortex if you want to call me that! I'm also called Sofie to some, but here I go by Vortex! I just got back from burning a hole through a few people with Kasya.. introduced me to the omninet right after I got back to the station, and oh boy was I hooked. I am a freelance merc pilot right now, doing odd-jobs and BASICALLY ANYTHING people pay me to do! Last Breath is a Worldkiller I salvaged several years back when just roaming around, saw a funny looking flamethrower and decided I wanted it heh. Turns out it wasn't a normal flamethrower! Kasya's actually a plasma thrower! A very, VERY beautiful display of white flames whenever I use her.. she is amazing! Oh, I should also post a photo of myself too!"

[Attached is an image of Sofie Lorenzen standing atop of her Worldkiller named Last Breath. She has the biggest smile on her face as she looks out over a sea of burning white flames, seemingly covering two entire mechs and the surrounding area.. not stopping it's burning. Sofie, or Vortex, seems quite small in height, but it's hard to determine her actual height. She looks to be a marble fox at a glance, with beautiful ruby hair flowing from her head down her back and to her ankles. A wonder that hasn't caught on fire! She also has a bit of a lighter ruby color to her eyes, and is wearing a full armored firesuit in black and yellow coloring, obviously protecting her tail too.]

"Well! That's me! A Vixen who stands the test of time! If you're curious to my height, it's 4 foot 4, short I know, blame my parents for that one! Do ask any questions about me, or just reach out at all for anything! I like meeting new people!"

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Ballad Of The Magenta Witch

After centuries of solitude and betrayal, the enigmatic and powerful sorceress Mea finds herself drawn to the war-torn lands of Paradis. With her loyal, sword-wielding companion Goldfish Levi at her side, Mea arrives in the midst of a brewing conflict between the Scouts and Marley. Her flippant demeanor and extraordinary magic disrupt the regimented lives of Eren, Levi, and the other Scouts, sparking chaos, curiosity, and alliances that none of them could have foreseen. Amidst the clashing of titans and nations, a forgotten legend breathes life into a new chapter that will shape the fate of Paradis itself. Will the Magenta Witch be a boon to their cause or a force of beautiful destruction? (Eren x OC)

Chapter Eleven

The swirling magenta vortex dissipated as Mea stepped onto the ground of what had once been her homeland—Colchis. But the land before her was not the one she remembered. The sprawling coastal city that lay ahead was unrecognizable, brimming with life and industry. Modern cars clattered over cobblestone streets, emitting plumes of smoke. Streetlights cast an orange glow as the evening set in, their light faintly illuminating the polished facades of art deco buildings that towered above bustling marketplaces. Laughter and chatter filled the air, accompanied by the distant sound of jazz music wafting from a nearby club.

Mea’s boots hovered an inch above the ground as she floated forward, her magenta hair swirling gently around her shoulders. The lively scene faded into silence as she entered the city center. People froze in their tracks, their eyes wide with confusion and fear at the sight of the floating woman with striking magenta hair and glowing eyes.

“Who… who is that?” a young man stammered.

“She’s floating! How is she floating?” someone else whispered in disbelief.

“Is she a ghost?” a child asked, clutching their mother’s hand.

Mea paid their whispers no mind. They weren’t important. None of them were. The bustling streets, the unfamiliar architecture, the vibrant culture—it all faded into white noise as her mind reached back through the centuries, searching for a connection to the land she once knew. She floated through the streets, her eyes darting around in search of landmarks that no longer existed.

“This was where the palace stood,” she whispered, coming to a halt in front of a grand government building. To anyone else, it was an impressive structure—a symbol of progress and governance. But to Mea, it was a jarring intrusion into a sacred space. Her father’s palace had stood here once, a beautiful and imposing fortress of ivory and gold, surrounded by lush gardens and fountains. She could still picture it vividly in her mind, though the vision was overlaid with memories of its destruction—the flames, the screams, and the look of betrayal on her father’s face.

Her lips trembled as she reached out, her hand ghosting over the polished marble columns of the modern building. “Father,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry…”

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks as the memories surged forth with a vengeance. She floated forward, her steps aimless as she moved deeper into the city, her surroundings fading into a blur. Her thoughts spiraled, dragging her back to a time before the tragedy—a time when she was simply Medea, the cherished daughter of a mighty king, blessed by the gods with gifts of magic.

She remembered running through the palace gardens, laughing as her father chased her in a rare moment of playfulness. She remembered the pride in his eyes when she first demonstrated her magic, summoning fireflies to light the banquet hall during a festival. She remembered the warmth of his embrace, the strength of his voice as he told her she would one day rule Colchis with wisdom and power.

And then, she remembered Jason.

Her tears turned into sobs, loud and uncontrollable. She collapsed to her knees in the middle of a bustling square, clutching her chest as if trying to hold herself together. Her sobs echoed through the streets, drawing the attention of more onlookers, who now stared at her with a mixture of fear and pity.

“What’s wrong with her?” someone asked.

“Do you think she’s dangerous?” another whispered.

Mea’s aura flared, magenta sparks crackling in the air around her as her grief and rage intertwined. The onlookers backed away in terror, their murmurs silenced by the raw power emanating from her.

“You took everything from me,” she whispered, her voice trembling with anguish. “You destroyed my happiness… my family… my life…”

The memories of Jason’s betrayal flooded her mind, mingling with the screams of her brother, the rage of her father, and the sight of her homeland burning under her own hands. Her sobs grew louder, turning into guttural cries as she clutched her head, unable to escape the torment of her past.

The magenta sparks grew more violent, and the air around her seemed to ripple with energy. A nearby lamppost flickered before exploding, sending shards of glass scattering across the cobblestones. The crowd screamed and fled, leaving Mea alone in the square, her cries echoing into the night.

“Why?!” she screamed into the empty air, her voice breaking. “Why couldn’t you just love me? Why did you have to ruin everything?!”

Her energy surged again, and the ground beneath her cracked as if it couldn’t bear the weight of her pain. She fell to her knees, her magenta cape pooling around her as her sobs subsided into quiet whimpers. For a long moment, she stayed there, her head bowed, her shoulders shaking.

Then, with a shaky breath, she wiped her tear-streaked face and rose to her feet. Her eyes, still glowing magenta, scanned the ruins of her emotions. “This is not my home anymore,” she whispered. “It hasn’t been for a long time.”

With a flick of her staff, the magenta energy dissipated, and the square fell silent once more. Mea glanced around at the empty streets, the shattered glass, and the cracks in the ground. She floated upward, her expression a mixture of sorrow and resolve.

“I’ll carry this pain forever,” she murmured to herself, her voice soft but steady. “But it won’t define me anymore.”

With that, she conjured the magenta vortex once more and disappeared, leaving the remnants of Colchis—and the weight of her memories—behind.

…

Meanwhile the scouts were gathered in the main hall of HQ, the tension thick in the air as they waited for any sign of Mea. She had vanished in her magenta vortex nearly an hour ago, leaving them with nothing but cryptic words about "ending the war." Goldfish Levi hovered over a stack of paperwork, though his usual efficiency was hindered by the nervous flapping of his fins. Eren paced the room, his brows furrowed as he replayed their last conversation in his mind. Something about Mea's sudden departure had unsettled him deeply.

"She’s been gone too long," Mikasa muttered, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"Mea doesn’t exactly play by anyone’s rules," Hange replied, though her tone betrayed her unease. "But I have to admit, this is… different."

Before anyone could respond, a swirling vortex of magenta energy opened in the center of the room, illuminating the walls with an eerie glow. Mea emerged, her magenta hair cascading around her like a curtain, her combat outfit gone and replaced with her usual white halter sundress. She clutched a magenta cocktail glass in one hand and a second drink in the other, which she casually tossed toward Eren.

"Miss me?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock sweetness as she floated to her chaise. She reclined dramatically, taking a long sip from her drink as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

The room fell silent as everyone stared at her. Something was off. Mea's usual playful demeanor seemed exaggerated, her laughter a touch too loud, her gestures too wild. Goldfish Levi narrowed his eyes, instantly noticing the subtle difference in her energy.

“Something’s wrong,” he muttered, low enough that only Levi and Hange could hear.

Eren, standing closest to Mea, could feel it too. Her aura, usually whimsical but grounded, felt chaotic—like a storm barely contained. "Where did you go?" he asked, his voice cautious.

"Marley," Mea said nonchalantly, swirling her drink as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“And?” Levi demanded, stepping forward. His sharp eyes scanned her face, searching for any cracks in her mask. "What did you do?"

Mea waved him off with her free hand, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Relax, Captain Shorty. I handled everything. You’re safe now. No need to thank me."

"That’s not an answer," Levi shot back, his tone dangerously low.

Mea rolled her eyes, her playful demeanor cracking just slightly before she forced it back into place. "Fine," she said, sitting up and crossing her legs elegantly. "If you must know, I paid Marley a little visit. Had a chat with their generals."

“And?” Hange pressed, leaning forward eagerly.

"And…" Mea took another sip from her drink, her eyes twinkling with something between amusement and madness. "Let’s just say there won’t be any more war efforts from Marley anytime soon."

"What does that mean?" Jean asked, his voice filled with suspicion.

Mea leaned back on her chaise, gazing at the ceiling as if reminiscing about a fond memory. "Well, I may have… rearranged their leadership a bit."

"Rearranged?" Armin repeated, his voice wavering.

Mea's grin widened as she tilted her head, her magenta eyes glowing faintly. "I killed them. All of them. Every last one of those warmongering bastards."

The room descended into stunned silence. Even chicken Zeke, who had been pecking nervously at the ground, froze in place. His wide eyes darted to Mea, then to Levi, as if hoping someone would call her out.

"You… killed them?" Mikasa finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Brutally," Mea confirmed, her tone almost cheerful. She gestured dramatically with her drink, spilling a few drops onto the floor. "You should’ve seen their faces. One minute, they thought they could threaten me. The next, poof! They were begging for mercy."

"Mea," Levi growled, his fists tightening. "Do you realize what you’ve done?"

"Saved your asses," Mea shot back, her playful mask cracking for a moment as irritation flared in her voice. "Or did you think Marley would just leave you alone out of the kindness of their hearts?"

"That’s not the point," Levi snapped. "You—"

"Do you know what those people have done to us?" Eren interrupted, his voice cold but steady. His eyes burned with a mixture of anger and admiration as he stepped closer to Mea. "They deserved it. Every single one of them."

"Eren—" Mikasa started, but he cut her off.

"No. They sent titans to kill us, destroyed our homes, slaughtered our families. And now, because of Mea, they’re finally afraid of something. For once, they know what it’s like to feel powerless."

"Exactly," Mea purred, reaching out to cup Eren’s chin. Her voice softened, taking on a seductive edge. "You understand, don’t you? Sometimes, power is the only language people like that understand."

Levi’s jaw clenched as he watched the interaction, his unease growing. "This isn’t about power, Mea. This is about you losing control."

"Control?" Mea laughed, the sound high-pitched and almost manic. "Oh, I was in complete control, Captain. Trust me. If I’d lost control, there wouldn’t even be a Marley left to discuss."

Goldfish Levi, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. "Mea," he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. "Enough."

Her playful grin faltered as she turned to him, her eyes narrowing. For a moment, the room felt even colder, the magenta glow around her intensifying. But then, just as quickly, she deflated, sinking back into her chaise with a dramatic sigh.

"Fine," she muttered, waving her hand dismissively. "You’re all so uptight. I did what needed to be done. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need another drink."

As she conjured a fresh cocktail, the scouts exchanged uneasy glances. Mea’s actions had saved them, but at what cost? The whimsical, carefree persona she had adopted felt like a thin veneer, barely concealing the turmoil underneath.

Levi turned to Hange, his voice low. "Keep an eye on her. Whatever’s going on, it’s only getting worse."

Goldfish Levi perched atop a stack of documents, glaring at Mea as she lazily lounged on her chaise. She was sipping yet another cocktail, magenta sparks flickering lazily from her fingertips as she conjured small bursts of fire under Zeke’s feet. The unfortunate chicken clucked in panic, his feathers singed as he scrambled to avoid the heat. Mea’s laughter echoed through the room, light and whimsical, but Goldfish Levi wasn’t amused.

“Enough!” Goldfish Levi snapped, his voice sharp and commanding, cutting through the chaos. His tail slapped against the desk for emphasis. “What are you even doing, Mea?”

“Having fun, Goldie,” Mea replied, stretching languidly as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “You should try it sometime.”

“You call this fun?” Goldfish Levi retorted, gesturing with a fin toward Zeke, who was now hiding behind a chair, peeking out nervously. “You’re tormenting him like a child with a magnifying glass and an ant. What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Mea echoed mockingly, sitting up and placing her drink aside. “Goldie, darling, I just saved this entire island. I deserve to let off a little steam, don’t you think?”

Goldfish Levi wasn’t swayed. His beady eyes narrowed as he floated closer to her. “Saved the island by slaughtering Marley’s leaders. Sound familiar?”

Mea’s playful demeanor faltered, her magenta eyes narrowing as she met his gaze. “And what exactly are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying this,” Goldfish Levi began, his tone colder now, “is the old you. The Mea who leveled cities and left nothing but devastation in her wake. The one who claimed she wanted to change. You said you wanted to be better, to help people out of kindness, not despair.”

Mea’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing. Goldfish Levi pressed on, his voice rising. “You came here to make up for centuries of destruction. To prove to yourself that you could be something more. But look at you now—slaughtering without hesitation and laughing about it.”

Mea waved a hand dismissively, though her fingers twitched ever so slightly. “Marley’s generals weren’t innocents, Goldie. They were warmongers who got what they deserved.”

“Was every one of them a monster? Or did they just follow orders like so many others you’ve destroyed before?” Goldfish Levi challenged.

Mea flinched, the sparks at her fingertips dimming. For a moment, the room was silent, save for Zeke’s nervous clucking. Then Mea scoffed and leaned back against her chaise, her mask of indifference sliding firmly back into place. “I don’t have time for your lectures, Goldie.”

Goldfish Levi wasn’t deterred. He swam closer, his voice quieter but sharper now. “When was the last time you checked on the Arcanum?”

At those words, Mea froze. The playful smirk disappeared from her face, replaced by a flicker of irritation. Her magenta eyes darkened as she turned her head slowly to glare at him. “What does the Arcanum have to do with anything?”

Goldfish Levi’s gaze didn’t waver, though his voice softened. “Everything. You’re acting like you’re blind, Mea. Blind to things that are right in front of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped, her tone defensive now.

“It means,” Goldfish Levi said cautiously, “that there’s no way you haven’t noticed how much Eren resembles Jason.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Mea’s jaw clenched, her nails digging into the armrest of her chaise. “Don’t,” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare bring him up.”

“I’m not trying to upset you,” Goldfish Levi said quickly, his fins fluttering nervously. “But you have to admit, there’s a resemblance. A strong one. And if you’ve truly noticed it, why haven’t you said anything? Why haven’t you reacted?”

Mea stood abruptly, her magenta aura flaring around her. Zeke squawked in terror and darted behind another chair as the other scouts cautiously backed away. Even Eren, who had been watching the exchange in silence, tensed as Mea’s energy filled the room.

“Because it’s a coincidence!” Mea snarled, her voice shaking. “That’s all it is. A coincidence. Eren is nothing like Jason.”

“Is it?” Goldfish Levi pressed, though his voice trembled slightly. “Or is something keeping you from seeing the truth? Something like—”

“Enough!” Mea shouted, her staff appearing in her hand with a flash of light. The magenta orb at its center pulsed ominously, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she struggled to calm herself. “I said enough.”

Goldfish Levi fell silent, his fins drooping slightly as he backed away. The tension in the room was suffocating, and no one dared to speak.

After a long, heavy pause, Mea took a deep breath and forced a smile onto her face. “You’re overthinking things, Goldie,” she said lightly, though her voice lacked its usual warmth. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do than entertain baseless theories.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode toward the door, her aura flickering like a dying flame. The scouts watched her go, their unease growing with every step she took. Goldfish Levi sighed heavily, his small form sagging as he muttered, “This is worse than I thought.”

Eren watched her retreating figure, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know what was happening, but one thing was clear: Mea was unraveling.

As the door slammed shut behind Mea, the room remained in a suffocating silence. Everyone stood frozen, processing the intense exchange they had just witnessed. Levi crossed his arms, his jaw tight, and his expression dark. Hange blinked rapidly, and she exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Levi.

"Did he actually bring up Jason to her face?" Hange muttered in disbelief, her voice barely above a whisper.

Levi nodded curtly, his sharp eyes cutting over to Goldfish Levi, who now floated tiredly over the table. "Yeah. And he's lucky we're not all fried corpses on the floor right now."

Goldfish Levi, looking thoroughly exhausted, rubbed his fins over his head. "You're welcome. She needs to hear it—sooner or later. But that’s as far as I’ll go tonight. She’s unstable enough already."

Eren, however, was beyond confused. He took a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides. “What the hell did you mean by me resembling Jason?”

Goldfish Levi paused mid-swim, his beady eyes narrowing at Eren. “I’m not repeating myself.”

“That’s not good enough!” Eren snapped, his voice rising. “What’s going on? What is this about Jason? Why did Mea freak out like that? And why—why did you look at me like that when you mentioned him?”

The rest of the scouts, including Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Connie, and Sasha, stood nearby, their confusion evident. Mikasa’s concern was written all over her face as she instinctively stepped closer to Eren, her protective nature flaring.

“Yeah,” Mikasa said, her voice calm but firm. “What does Eren have to do with Jason? We all deserve to know.”

Goldfish Levi sighed heavily, floating down to the table where the book Hange had been studying was still open. He tapped it with a fin. “Show them the book.”

Hange hesitated, looking to Levi for guidance. Levi nodded once, his expression unreadable. With a resigned sigh, Hange pushed the heavy tome forward. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. This is going to make everything even more complicated.”

Eren stepped forward, followed by Mikasa, Armin, and the others. They all leaned over the book as Hange flipped the pages to the one featuring the illustration of Jason. The moment their eyes landed on the image, the room was filled with a collective gasp.

It was uncanny.

Jason’s romanticized portrait depicted him with golden blonde hair and striking green eyes, but it was those eyes—sharp and intense—that were an almost exact match to Eren’s. The bone structure was similar, and while Jason's overall appearance was a little softer, the resemblance was undeniable.

Jean broke the silence first. “What the hell? That… that looks just like you, Eren.”

Sasha nodded slowly, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced with confusion. “Yeah, it’s almost creepy.”

Mikasa’s brows furrowed, her eyes darting between Eren and the image in the book. “How is this possible?”

Eren’s mind raced as he stared at the image, his heart pounding in his chest. His breath quickened as he shook his head. “It’s just a coincidence. It has to be. This—this doesn’t mean anything.”

Goldfish Levi sighed, his voice tinged with irritation. “That’s exactly what Mea just said. But I know that Mea doesn’t believe in coincidences.”

Levi turned sharply to the goldfish. “What do you mean?”

.“Nothing in this world is a coincidence, Mea was the one who taught me that. So the fact that she would even call it a ‘coincidence’, tells me that something is very wrong here. She had to have noticed the resemblance, it’s impossible not to.” Goldfish Levi said.

Armin frowned, piecing things together. “If she noticed the resemblance, why would she dismiss it so quickly? Mea doesn’t strike me as someone who ignores things like that.”

Goldfish Levi hesitated before speaking. “Because she doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Look, I’ve been with Mea for centuries. Jason is a wound that’s never fully healed. Even hearing his name can set her off. And now, Eren looks like him?” He paused, his tone dropping. “I think it’s more than just denial. I think the Arcanum is influencing her.”

The mention of the Arcanum made everyone tense. Mikasa’s grip on Eren’s arm tightened as she demanded, “That evil book again? What do you mean exactly?”

Goldfish Levi floated closer, his voice serious. “The Arcanum grants what it perceives as your greatest desire. For Mea, that desire is to forget Jason and everything he represents. I think it’s blinding her to the resemblance. She’s subconsciously ignoring it because the Arcanum won’t let her process it.”

Jean crossed his arms. “So, what? This magic book is messing with her head?”

Goldfish Levi nodded. “Exactly. The Arcanum is powerful and dangerous, even for Mea. It twists things in ways you can’t predict.”

Hange adjusted her glasses, her mind racing. “If the Arcanum is truly influencing her, does she even realize it?”

“No,” Goldfish Levi replied firmly. “She’s completely unaware. She’s always been careful around the Arcanum, but it’s like trying to tame a wild animal. She thinks she’s in control, but it’s been subtly influencing her for centuries.”

Eren clenched his fists, his voice filled with frustration. “So, what does this mean for me? Why do I look like him?”

Goldfish Levi gave him a long, hard look. “I don’t know. But if Mea ever figures it out... it won’t end well.”

Mikasa stepped forward, her protective instincts flaring. “What happens if she figures it out?”

Goldfish Levi looked away, avoiding her gaze. “You don’t want to know.”

Levi, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. “We tread carefully. Whatever’s going on, we don’t push Mea, and we don’t push Eren either. This isn’t something we can solve by being reckless.”

Hange closed the book with a heavy sigh, her voice filled with tension. “This just raises more questions than it answers.”

As the scouts began to disperse, Eren lingered behind, staring at the portrait. The resemblance was undeniable, and the weight of it pressed heavily on him. What did it mean? And what would happen if Mea ever decided to face the truth?

~

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[xxscarletlightxx]

Gluttony's Embrace: First Meeting, Day 1: 1/2

Word Count: 2,151

Ships: Loona × Bee-lzebub (HoneyMoon) + A little Vortex.

This is my first full Fanfic so constructive criticism is always welcome. :)

As she pulled up to the glowing gold mansion, Loona checked her phone. This must be the right address. Right? It fit the description Vortex had given: a huge mansion, surrounded by palm trees and a crowd of people. The seemingly endless sunlight reflected off the hundreds of hexagonal segments that made up basically every glass amenity, including the ginormous dome that served as the main party space. The parts that weren't glass were pristine white marble, encircling the dome in three rings.

Loona texted Vortex on her phone, “Hey I'm here where are u?”

“Hey! Loona! Over here!” Her head shot up as she looked around for the owner of the voice. A shadow suddenly loomed over her. She spun around, panic jolting through her veins.

“Shit! Vortex, don't sneak up on me like that.” She sighed, relaxing slightly.

“Sorry, Loon.” Loona looked up to meet Vortex’s eye, the one that wasn't blinded. He stood above the crowd of hell hounds, his hulking frame looming over anyone he talked to, his jet-black fur contrasting with the pastels and party colors of the hounds around him. Vortex grinned apologetically, and Loona returned an awkward smile.

“T-thanks for the invite,” she said, averting her gaze while nervously tucking her hair behind her ear and blushing

Vortex led Loona inside, nodding at the bouncers who promptly stepped aside, allowing them through.

“One sec, let me get us some drinks.” Vortex smiled while retreating into the crowd.

“Okay… good luck!” Loona yelled after him, and then immediately cringed. Good luck? Ugh, it's going to be so awkward when he gets back. Her ears drooped slightly.

Suddenly, the crowd behind her started cheering wildly. Loona spun around, her eyes widening as the lights dimmed. A giant disco ball descended from the ceiling, casting colorful beams of light around the room.

“Heyyyy, bitches!! Who's up to par-ty to-night!?” a voice called down from the disco ball.

A figure dropped from the disco ball, twirling gracefully through the air. Loona’s jaw dropped slightly as she recognized the figure as a hellhound. They flew through three floating rings made of some golden liquid. As Loona studied them, she noticed they had a small pair of insect wings on their back, along with two pairs of arms. An insect-hellhound hybrid, then? The demon did a loop-de-loop around the disco ball, followed by a steep dive, before landing with a flourish. The lights focused on her, allowing Loona to finally get a clear look.

The demon, a fox hellhound-insect hybrid, was pastel yellow with black fur on her legs and arms. She had huge ears with maroon markings on them and her face. Her eyes had long lashes with hot pink pupils. Her long hair and tail appeared to be made of honey, with a gradient of blue to gold to pink. The Hellhound was wearing a pink crop top and light pink booty shorts that revealed one of her most interesting features: her stomach appeared to be clear and filled with the same honey substance as her hair.

“Y'all ready to party with the Queen Bee of Glu-tto-ny? Come on!”

The Queen of Gluttony? Loona swore she had heard that name before. Oh,shit. That’s Bee-lzebub. She realized as Bee-lzebub jumped into the air, cheering and howling as she used her magic to conjure sweets and indulgences only possible in Hell. She flew around the room, enlarging food, even growing a fruit punch bowl into the size of a swimming pool.

At this point, Loona started to feel nervous. Where is Vortex? This wasn't what she had come for, she had come to hang out and shit. Not this. This wasn't her kind of party—actually, most parties weren't her kind of party—but this was too much. Her hands began to shake, and she covered her ears to block out the noise.

A comforting hand suddenly pressed down on her shoulder. She looked back to see Vortex, his face full of concern. In his other hand he held two red solo cups filled with a golden liquid.“You good, Loon?” he asked, studying her face.

Loona forced a smile. “Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I don't get out much, so this is a bit overwhelming for me.” Vortex looked at her with a puzzled expression but handed her a drink.

“Awooh! Vortex!” Vortex and Loona turned to see Bee-lzebub flying straight at them. Loona flinched as she stopped at the last second. “The party’s buzzin’ now!” Bee exclaimed, looking at Tex. “Fuck!” she shouted, dusting herself off. “I think I went a little too hard with the confetti this time. I have, like,” she waved her hands, materializing a mini rainbow, “a rainbow... in my vagina right now.”

Loona's jaw dropped slightly. This is the Queen of Gluttony? She was flabbergasted.

Beel-zebub abruptly turned her attention to Loona. “Oh, hey! Is this the adorable pup you told me about?”

“Excuse me?” Loona snarled defensively

“She's such a fuckin’ cutie!” Bee-lzebub flew around her causing Loona to spin dizzily in an effort to keep an eye on her. She laughed as Loona stumbled. “Where you been hiding girl?”

Loona glanced at Vortex who laughed along with Bee. Ugh This is so embarrassing, I'm making a fool of myself. Loona felt anger bubble up inside her. “Is there something funny**?**” She growled, grinding her teeth, her ears pinned against her head.

“No, no.” The Queen held up her hands in mock defensiveness, while smiling. “I’m just so high in all this tasty energy right now!” She flew upwards spinning around with her hands out, as if basking in the light and attention. Bee-lzebub’s attention suddenly snapped back to Loona, she dove stopping until her face was inches from Loona’s “Tex says you don't get out much,” before pulling back, she gestured around. “I hope this itty-bitty get together as a fun intro.”

Loona glanced behind The Queen as two hellhounds started aggressively making out. “Mm-hm.”

“I would have thrown a bigger one but Belphegor wouldn't let me break into her stash of party drugs.” The Queen put her hands on her hips and crossed the other pair, seemingly pouting. “Fucking lame! I usually steal them, but she changed the locks.”

“Heh. Anyway, yeah Bee, this is Loona. And, Loona, this is my girlfriend Bee.” Vortex stepped up putting an arm around Bee-lzebub.

“Nice to meet ya bitch!” Bee shot finger guns at Loona.

The realization hit Loona like a truck. “Oh, this is… she’s hot!” That's what you did with couples right? Compliment them?

Bee laughed “Ha! You didn't tell me she was hilarious!” She glanced back at Tex. When she turned back her Loona swore she saw a confused half smile, before quickly pulling back into the grin Bee had on at all times. “Like seriously, so funny! You don't care how freaky you come off and I think that's. Fuckin’. Beautiful.”

Loona forced a smile “Yeah…” She turned to leave.

Hey, you good? You're given’ off, like, not good vibes right now.” Bee spun her back around, trying to look her in the eye. Loona glanced at Vortex who was looking at her, concerned.

Loona felt rage flow like lava in her veins. Why was Bee acting like she knew what Loona was feeling? She had it all and Loona had nothing. She could never relate. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She brushed Bee’s arm off.

“You sure? I'm always here to talk if you wa–”

“DON'T FUCKING ACT LIKE YOU KNOW ME!!” Loona spun around, screaming at Bee. “You act like you know what I'm feeling but you could never relate to me! We are not alike!”

Bee-lzabub’s nostrils flared, she stepped towards Loona. “What's that supposed to mean? You got a problem with me sour cream?” Suddenly Bee-lzebub, who Loona was just looking down at, was taller than her. She was growing, her eyes turned fully red and the mark on her forehead that Loona had thought nothing of had opened up like an eye.

You wanna go? Let's fucking go! Loona thought, reflexively she glanced at Tex, he averted his gaze. Suddenly Loona was jolted to her senses. What was she doing embarrassing herself in front of all these people and probably getting herself killed? She made one last aggressive glance into Bee-lzebub's eyes before stepping down. “You're right, I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” She looked down and dejectedly stalked away.

Bee shrunk back down to her normal size. Glancing at Loona with something like regret before turning to Tex. “Sorry, sorry. I got a little spicy there.” She took one last glance at Loona, who leaned against a wall, staring into her drink. “Now come on, let's party!” She pulled Tex back into the crowd.

Loona glanced up at the crowd and saw an imp couple dancing together, their smiles genuine and carefree. The sight made jealousy bubble up in her. She averted her gaze to look instead upward, taking in the interior of the dome. It looked even more impressive than the exterior, with grand staircases lining the hall, a huge open bar in the middle, and multiple levels along the sides, resembling a beehive.

A great disco ball spun on the ceiling, connected by what looked like a stripper pole, casting colorful lights across the room. Loona sighed, looking down at her drink. Feeling out of place and sick, she tipped her cup, pouring the contents into the plant next to her.

“I hope you aren't wasting my good honey,” a voice suddenly remarked.

Loona started, righting the cup's angle and looking up. Bee-lzebub stood not ten feet from her.

“Come to yell at me more? Listen, I’m gonna leave in a few, so you can go back to partying—”

“I don't want you to leave.”

“What?” I took all the willpower in Loona not look shocked. She stared Queen Bee in the eyes; this was the same person she had tried to fight just minutes ago. But when Loona locked eyes with her, she saw regret? That couldn't be right.

Bee walked toward her, stopping to lean on the wall next to her. As she slid down to Loona’s level, she sighed. “Look, I'm sorry for what happened back there,” she began, staring off into the crowd. “I- I can taste the flavor of people at my parties and I could tell that you weren't having a good time, so I tried to fix it ‘cause you know—the more people who are happy, the happier I feel. But I was thinking about what you said, and it's true.”

Loona couldn’t believe it. Did an actual Sin just validate my feelings? “Look, I see what you're trying to do, but I'll be leaving soon so you won't have a damper on your party, and you can just move on with your life like I never existed. That would be easier than this—”

“SHUT UP!” Loona froze as Bee stood up from the wall to look her in the eyes, then rubbed her temples. “Sorry, what I mean is, stop talking to yourself that way! I bet you could have SO much more fun at parties if you just let yourself go.”

Loona gave her a confused look, and Bee sighed again. “And maybe I don't get it, maybe a Sin could never truly understand someone at the bottom of the hierarchy. But something I can tell you is that you're so focused on not being a bother and impressing people that you don't let yourself have any fun.”

“I- I don't know what you're talking about,” Loona stuttered, breaking the stare.“

Look, I won't pretend I didn't see the way you look at Vortex. We’re totally up for new partners by the way\~” Loona turned red instantly. In some rings, a Sin would kill you for looking at their partner the wrong way, but Bee was inviting her into their relationship?

Bee guided her chin to look her in the eyes. “But that's the thing about parties, they're a place where people let themselves go. If you pretend to be this stuck-up, party-hating bitch the whole time, no one's gonna want to date you. Plus, even if they do, they're gonna find out it's not the real you pretty fast.”

Loona narrowed her eyes. “So, what is this about?”

“This is about you letting yourself enjoy the party!” Bee moved back, looking up with her arms out. “And letting your true self shine!” She looked back at Loona. “So what do you say? Wanna give it a try?”

With that, Bee-lzebub, one of the Seven Deadly Sins, extended her hand to Loona, a Hellhound at the bottom of the bottom. Loona hesitated for a second. Maybe Bee was right; maybe she was acting like a stuck-up bitch. Perhaps it was time she just let herself go. Loona looked Bee in the eyes, then grasped her hand, allowing herself to be pulled into the vibrant chaos of the party, ready to embrace whatever came next.

Like for a Pt.2 :)

[athanasialove]

♥𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓕𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓓𝓮𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓮♥

Paring: Yandere!Diavolo x Demon Princess!reader Genre: Idk Past/Chapter 1 Summary: The agreement. Word Count: 1.2k

In the heart of Azurethra, where the fires of Hell burned brightest and the shadows whispered secrets too dark to comprehend, stood the palace of the Demon King and Queen of Azurethra. Within its opulent halls, power reigned supreme, and alliances were forged with blood and fire.

Azula, the formidable Demon Queen, stood at the throne alongside her husband, Azareal, the imposing Demon King, their forms wreathed in flickering shadows that danced like specters in the night. Their eyes, gleaming with an otherworldly light, held the weight of countless centuries of rule and the burdens of a kingdom built upon the bones of its enemies.

Azula thought upon their daughter, the princess destined to inherit their legacy, a sense of pride swelled within their hearts. For she was the embodiment of their hopes and dreams, the future of Azurethra itself.

But little did she know that her fate had already been sealed, her destiny woven into the fabric of time itself by the hands of her parents, the rulers of one of the main kingdoms in hell.

"Azula," the Demon King said, his voice deep and resonant like the rumble of distant thunder. "It is time."

Azula nodded, her eyes narrowing with determination. "Yes, my love," she replied, her voice as cold as the icy winds that swept across the barren wastelands of Hell. "It is time to fulfill our obligation to the Devildom."

With a wave of her hand, Azula summoned forth a swirling vortex of darkness that coiled and writhed like a living thing. Within its depths, she glimpsed the form of Diavolo, the Prince of the Devildom, his golden eyes burning with a fierce hunger that sent shivers down her spine.

"He awaits," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Shall we proceed?"

The Demon King nodded, his expression unreadable beneath the shifting shadows. "Yes," he said, his voice heavy with the weight of their decision. "Let us make the decree."

And so, with a gesture of his hand, the Demon King unleashed a torrent of flames that danced and flickered like a deadly serpent, illuminating the darkness with their searing light.

"By the power vested in us by the ancient laws of Hell," the Demon King intoned, his voice echoing through the chamber like the tolling of a funeral bell. "We hereby decree that our daughter, the princess of Azurethra, shall be wed to Diavolo, Prince of the Devildom, in accordance with the sacred pact forged between our kingdoms."

The words hung heavy in the air, their implications echoing through the chamber like a death knell. For Azula knew that this marriage was more than just a union of two souls—it was a binding contract that would shape the future of Hell itself.

But even as the decree was spoken, a sense of unease gnawed at Azula's insides, a whisper of doubt that refused to be silenced. For she knew that the path ahead would be fraught with peril, and that the consequences of their actions would reverberate through the ages.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

You stand before your parents, Azula and Azareal, the King and Queen of Azurethra, feeling a mix of confusion. The air in the throne room is heavy with tension, every flicker of candlelight casting eerie shadows across the marble floors.

Azula, regal and commanding in her bearing, watches you with a steely gaze that brooks no dissent. "My dear," she begins, her voice echoing off the walls of the chamber, voice as cold as the depths of the Abyss. "Come forward. it is time we discuss your future."

You approached the throne with measured steps, your heart pounding in your chest like a war drum. Beside her, King Azareal sat upon his throne, his eyes ablaze with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, steeling yourself for what you know is to come. For days, whispers had circulated throughout the palace halls, rumors of an impending marriage alliance with the Devildom. And now, it seems those rumors have come to fruition.

Azareal, ever the stoic figure at Azula's side, nods in agreement. "Indeed," he says, his voice like thunder in the silence of the room. "It has been decreed that you shall be wed to Diavolo, Prince of the Devildom."

The words hit you like a physical blow, leaving you reeling with shock and disbelief. Diavolo, the enigmatic ruler of the Devildom, known for his charm and cunning. The thought of being bound to him in marriage fills you with a sense of dread that threatens to consume you whole.

You square your shoulders, steeling yourself against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "With all due respect, Mother, Father," you said, your voice steady despite the tremor in your limbs. "I cannot accept this. I will not be used as a pawn in your political games."

Azula's gaze softens, though the steeliness remains in her eyes. "We understand your reluctance, my child," she says, her voice a soothing balm against the turmoil raging within you. "But this alliance is crucial for the future of Azurethra."

Azareal steps forward, his expression grave. "The Devildom grows restless, daughter," he says, his voice heavy with regret. "We must do whatever is necessary to ensure peace and prosperity for our kingdom, even if it means sacrificing our own desires."

You hang your head, the weight of their words settling upon you like a leaden cloak. In your heart, you know they speak the truth. As a princess of Azurethra, duty and honor dictate that you must obey their wishes, no matter the cost.

But still, the thought of marrying someone you barely know fills you with a sense of unease that refuses to be ignored. You steel yourself, pushing aside your doubts and fears, and square your shoulders to face your parents once more.

"I understand," you say, your voice steady despite the tremor in your limbs. "I will do as you command, for the good of Azurethra."

Azula and Azareal exchange a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. "Thank you, my child," Azula says, her voice soft with gratitude. "You have made the right choice."

With a heavy heart, you turn and leave the throne room, the weight of your impending marriage to Diavolo bearing down on you like a leaden cloak. But even as you walk away, a spark of defiance flickers within you, a determination to carve out your own destiny in a world dictated by duty and tradition.

As you make your way to your chambers, you steel yourself for the challenges that lie ahead. For the road ahead will not be easy, but you are determined to face it with courage and determination, no matter what obstacles may come your way.

For you are the daughter of Azula and Azareal, the Princess of Azurethra, and though your path is fraught with peril, you will not falter in your quest to uphold your kingdom and forge your own destiny.

And so, with a resolve as steely as the blade of a sword, you prepare to embark on the journey that will shape the course of your life forevermore.

For she was the princess of Azurethra, and her destiny was written in the stars.

♥𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓕𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓓𝓮𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓮♥

Next

[tilthedayidice]

yay for name pallettes being open! could i request Calvin?

The internet while I'm trying to find the meaning of the name

According to every site I reference from

Calvin is of Latin origins meaning "Bald" or "Little Bald one":

Dice Envy Caramel Cortados for Bad Kids

Dice Envy Limcello

Chessex Festive Circus

Chessex Ivory Marble

Wiz Dice Goblin Teeth

HD Dice Eggshell Rose

Tea Twenty Dice Pan du Lait

My color associations:

Chessex Orange Vortex

Chessex Speckled Lotus

WOTC Wild Beyond the Witchlight companion dice

Koplow Yellow Glitter

HD Dice Milky Yellow

T&G Yellow Blen

T&G Orange Blend