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ereana · 1 year ago

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Neuvillette x Furina - I’d come for you. No matter what, when you need me, I will be there.

The news hits Fontaine like a drop of rain across a still pond.

Furina is gone.

It ripples out from the point of impact in waves.

Furina is missing.

It provides only a second of warning, enough time for people to look up and wonder, before the rest of the rain falls.

Furina has been kidnapped.

The sudden deluge appears from nowhere, pedestrians quickly flee for shelter and vainly attempt to shield themselves from the heavy drops of rain that pelt the land below as if in punishment. In his manmade lair of marble and glass the Hydro Sovereign feels five hundred years of control snap.

Had Focalors known what she was doing when she returned his power? Had she known what it would unlock inside him? Emotions, once dull and frustratingly out of reach, now howl in his breast. Neuvillette snarls and feels fangs in his mouth. There is no hiding from the vortex of rage and fear that consumes him, he embraces it.

He has to find her. He must find her. He needs to see her stand before him unharmed and unfazed, smiling excitedly as she talks about the new dish she is attempting to master.

The fools who have done this do not know what they have unleashed, what now hunts them with unwavering focus. People uneasily watch from the sides of the great lake as its waters swell and churn, mirroring the mood of the enraged dragon.

If Furina has been hurt they will wish the prophecy had taken them.

Messages are sent out, officers are given tasks, and Neuvillette clamps down on the growing need to walk out the Palais doors and start hunting by himself. Patience, he reminds himself. He needs more information, the sort that only comes from human networks and investigation.

Clorinde eyes him with uncertainty as she reports back, seeing the promise of savagery that lurks beneath his human guise. Neuvillette does not try to hide it. His claws scrape across the grand wooden desk of his office as she tells him of the group of rogue scientists from the Fontaine Research Institute who had sought to experiment with Primordial Sea water. Their proposals had been soundly rejected by the Institute so they had left to look for other opportunities and had come across the news of the only Hydro vision bearer who could control the dangerous substance.

Clorinde does not look away as she relays this to him nor does she flinch when the arm of his chair splinters under the force of his grip. There is a satisfied tightness in her eyes as she stands before him having just condemned these men to death.

Neuvillette enters their hideout alone.

He ignores the concerns from the Melusines and the Gardes. It is misplaced. He does not bring them with him not because he doubts their abilities, but because he will not be able to ensure their safety once he steps foot inside the wretched hole in the ground. His power simmers in his veins ready to be called upon, to obliterate anyone who has dared lay a hand on Furina, and he cannot guarantee that any assistance would be caught in the crossfire.

This is where they have kept her? A rotting network of pipes and caves that reeks of chemicals which sting his nose.

Unforgivable.

The first sinner kidnapper that he sees dies without uttering a word, merely gargles as water in the air starts to condense rapidly in his mouth and lungs.

This is no trial. No arguments. No evidence.

They have dared to put their hands on Furina; the woman who holds the heart of the Hydro dragon in her hands, the woman who could command him to drown a thousand nations for her and he would do so gladly, the woman who never would because kindness is an intrinsic part of her very soul.

Everyone in this pathetic shelter has already received their final judgment and all that remains is for Neuvillette to carry out the sentence.

Corridor after corridor passes in a blur of yells and the crushing force of his power. With each step his panic rises. Not here. Not here. He hasn’t found her yet. She isn’t safe.

What if-

He rounds a corner and is met with the most beautiful pair of mismatched eyes looking at him from behind the raised hilt of a sword. The fight leaves him instantly and he almost staggers towards her.

Furina lowers her blade at the sight of him. Her familiars float around her, searching left and right for enemies, Mademoiselle Crabaletta snaps a claw in his direction.

“Neuvillette? How did you….What are you…” She stutters, before her eyes widen. “Is that blood?! Are you alright?” She steps closer to him, hands waving wildly as she frets over the red splotch on his coat. Normally he would listen intently to her every word but not at this moment. Not when a wave of relief crashes over him with the force of a tsunami.

She is here.

She is alive.

He sees the tear in her coat and shirt, the telltale bruises around her wrists that could only have come from chains, and part of him wants to continue through the base and rip apart the ones responsible. The rest of him doesn’t want to leave her side.

“Are you listening to me?” Furina asks, waving a hand in front of his unblinking eyes. “I think I made it about halfway up before they noticed I escaped and I think one of them raised the alarm. I mean I didn’t expect you to come but we should-”

“Why?” Neuvillette asks hoarsely. “Why did you not think I would come for you?”

Furina startles at the interruption, before dropping her gaze to the floor. Her body language shifts from a battle ready stance to something smaller, weaker. It conjures fresh memories of a fateful trial and a broken woman sitting silently on her throne.

“W-Well, I-I mean you’re so busy with running Fontaine and I-I’m nobody important anymore, just a civilian. I know we’re friends but I know you have other priorities.”

Neuvillette listens to her and hears what remains unsaid.

And the last time I needed you, you left me alone.

He falls to his knees before her.

He doesn’t reach out to hold her like he so desperately wants to, not until she allows him to.

“I’d come for you.” He swears to her. “No matter what, when you need me, I will be there.”

Furina freezes, her hands momentarily still in their fluttering before she clutches them to her chest. She looks at him with equal parts trepidation and hope, five hundred years working together and she’s never heard him speak so ardently.

His oath echoes in the room around them and outside the world itself seems to hold its breath.

She lets out a shaky breath, sniffs once. Twice.

And then she pulls him into a crushing hug as she starts to cry into his shoulder.

Neuvillette returns the embrace immediately, careful not to hold her too tightly lest he inflict more pain than he already has, and lets his goddess find the comfort she needs in his arms.

#genshin impact #neuvillette #furina #neuvifuri #focallette #my writing

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an-idyllic-novelist · 2 years ago

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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.

taglist:

@recreationalfanfics

@nyxthehunterxdblog

@onecantsimply

@rukia-writes

@radioactivesweet

#snv x reader #record of ragnarok x reader #record of ragnarok #jack the ripper record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #fluff #record of ragnarok fluff #snv jack the ripper #snv #jack the ripper #ror x reader

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foxilayde · 1 year ago

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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.

#Case 63 #Peter Roiter x you #Peter Roiter x Reader #Oscar Isaac #fanfiction #fan fiction #reader insert #self insert

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amaramizuki666 · 2 years ago

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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.

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probablybadrpgideas · 1 year ago

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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

#weird dice wednesday

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athanasialove · 8 months ago

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♥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♥

#obey me #obey me scenarios #obey me shall we date #diavolo #princess #demon x reader #demon #demon prince #obey me diavolo #diavolo x reader #obsessive yandere

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ferociouslycreativemystery · 2 months ago

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Doctor Who (1996) reaction

My hopes were for this to be quite cheesy and a little bit shit, and it turned out to be supremely cheesy and quite shit, so I'd say that was a good reason to watch the movie. I mainly wanted to see what the 8th doctor and his TARDIS looked like in action after listening to the big finish audios, so I got what I came for (plus a little bit more). On to the actual 'live' reaction (spoilers, obviously):

The time vortex looks really good!! I love how organic it feels.

Yeah, I suppose you would describe that control room as gothic. Not quite the way I'd imagined it though, a bit more stripped back, mechanical and certainly much larger and more open than I thought. I do recognise the Meccano pillars/cage around the console. He's got an armchair! Of course he's got an armchair.

The first five minutes are certainly very 👁️👁️ eye centric

Ah yes, the US. I knew that would feature heavily. Wow that's a lot of guns.

SDFHALFKHA WTFFF that death is the goofiest thing I've ever seeeeen

So we're in "the future" are we? New year's 1999! I'm about to be born in 3 weeks :)

Water snake.

BRILLIANT companion introduction (I'm assuming that's her?). The poise? The valour? This is the sincere commitment to drama that modern cinema is too cowardly to pursue.

They're making this regeneration soooo difficult for him fkajhhfa I'm loving it

The morgue guy is fantastic. So sorry but you're about to lose your marbles my dude.

Okay nvm he's actually watching Frankenstein, in a morgue, during a thunderstorm, on new year's eve. He's asking for this.

Das him!! 🫵

Idc if the dead guy just kicked in your big metal fridge door, that reaction is not befitting of that tiny little thing wrapped up tight in a littol blanket SKGNAFKAF the Frankenstein parallel is Hilarious. Sir that is a baby. Why are you fainting

Why can't movies commit to visuals this hard anymore I'm actually getting mad. Where in an active hospital do they have this apocalyptic wing you ask? I don't know, but don't you think every major hospital should be required to have a bad vibes room to attract the evil spirits and let the psychologically unstable see themselves literally reflected in their broken surroundings? This could be our future if you're not a coward.

hmmm... there's a green haloing effect behind the Master's head when his eyes go green the first time. Wonder what post production process created that artefact? I want to look into that later.

OOOOHHH THAT CLOSE-UP OF THE CLOCK!!!! IT'S THE SAME AS IN RORY'S HOSPITAL IN THE 11TH DOCTOR'S FIRST EPISODE!!! REFERENCE I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW WAS A REFERENCE!!!!! (or maybe that's just what hospital clocks look like idk. It's a reference in my heart anyway. Also it's extra special to me cause I know it from this video, which is the reason I've wanted to make fan edits since I was 12.)

She's even called Grace?! Perfection 👌

He's gonna get in the elevator with her isn't he? YES YES HE IS. Oh god he's so weird <3333

Pulling that thing from his chest was genuinely unsettling to watch 🥴

I saw someone say in a post that they thought the 8th doctor was Like That because of his regeneration being interrupted. I think I agree entirely

DKSJHGSKDHG even the tardis doors don't look the same on the inside. What a mindfuck. Wow that thing is HUUUUUUUGEEE. (edit: wait I think the inner doors were different for the 1st doctor as well? Maybe others too? Then no one came in immediately pushing the doors wide though, so it wasn't as jarring. You could imagine there was maybe some kind of gap between them since they opened in different ways.)

*squeal* he's ADORABLE (That's just what getting a good pair of shoes feels like though!)

"The cloister room" are you FUCKING kidding me 🤣 okay there's the gothic look I was missing—bats an' all! Is this where he keeps the error bell?

Did the audition process for the Doctor mainly consist of pained grunts and moans? I mean he does do them well, would check out if that were the case.

And there's the kiss, already knew about that one as well.

Those are some Crusty glass effects.

Things are just happening now. Guess we're on a bike?

"I'm half human" and I'm entirely sure canon never meant anything on this show (are the writer(s) aware this isn't Star Trek?)

Just gonna skip over the fact that the master slimed up all those men pointing their guns at him real quick I don't need to know how that happened (why is he goo?)

The cop drove into the TARDIS! And straight out again! Fantastic!!

THE CEILING CAN BE SEE-THROUGH I WAS RIGHT! Really neat feature I like it a lot 👀

Oh no we're breaking the 180 degree rule 😬 that's so jarring

Grace NOOOO

Going heavy on the jesus symbolism what with first emerging from the death cave and now that spiked crown-vice thing aren't we? Also with the butchering a fish right as we arrived in the US. Was this written by an American or just heavily tuned for an American audience? (edit: the writer is British and has a history with the show, so probably just over-tuned for the American market appeal. They were trying to get the show picked up over there iirc.)

The hospital clock is back! :D

Okay maybe don't put your main actor in a device that doesn't allow him to actually act? Just a thought.

This has too much physical confrontation for doctor who 😂 Unless the choreography can be done in a single take by a guy in his 50s (50s?? I thought he was older) wearing frills, I'm afraid it just won't compute.

"Life is wasted on the living" What a... line.

And there's magic fairy dust of ressurection now too? Canon really does mean nothing. Oh thank god they just hug.

Also apparently this doctor is ominously all-knowing? Yeah, definitely going heavy on the jesus symbolism.

Unnecessary final kiss.

And that's it!

Thoughts: It's fine. Loved the cheese. The romance added nothing, the Master had no personality (they turned him into the terminator 😭), and the Americanisation is rampant in more ways than just the jesus thing. It lacks much of the genuine passion and respect for the unknown that carries the rest of the show. The Doctor knows a lot of stuff because he loves exploring and finding out there's more to learn, not because he's god. There were flashes of this here and there, but it didn't carry the story.

My pet theory is that this is a common thing when comparing British and American stuff. Like with Ghosts: in the British one, they're all just stuck as ghosts because fuck them ig and there is no clue as to the rules. The point is they're all just trying to make the best of it, and how they succeed or fail in doing that. But in the American one there has to be a System, and figuring out and finding your purpose in that System is what makes you happy—and that's when you 'die', cause you've nothing left to live for then, have you? Apparently they have a 'go down' as well as being 'sucked off', which just reinforces the apparently cosmic importance of Rules (I didn't watch that far though).

Anyway, I really liked the beginning, as is often the case with stuff I watch lol. Probably the reason I love Merlin so much is that it all just feels like one long beginning, so that I can make the story what I want when I want it in my mind.

I'll give this movie two out of five stars ★★☆☆☆. Would recommend to weirdos and bad movie enjoyers. I am at least one of those, so I enjoyed it well enough!

#gave the tag a quick scroll and I've commented on all the same things that people have already clipped and giffed lmao #welcome to the 8th doctor hivemind everyone #doctor who #classic doctor who #maddie's dw tag #maddie's writing tag #8th doctor #eighth doctor #doctor who 1996

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