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shelovesosa · 2 days ago

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paring: Fictional!Satoru X F!Reader

art credits to scarlettismm on X!

sum!! After staying up late reading an emotional fanfic, a college student wakes to find the fictional love interest—Satoru Gojo—somehow real and lying beside her. Confused and out of place in the real world, Satoru begins to unravel. As they grow closer, they share laughter, secrets, and something deeper… even as time threatens to take him away. But sometimes, endings aren’t what they seem.

CW: MDNI, Romance,Contemporary Fantasy, Soft Sci-Fi, Magical Realism, Bittersweet, Angst with comfort, Temporary Love, Borrowed Time, Soft Smut, First Time Together, nerdjo cameo, soft dom, Memory Loss / Fading Reality Unexpected Second Chance. WC: 10.9k

It’s 1:41 a.m., your eyes are puffy, your nose is running, and you’ve just finished sobbing over a fictional man named Satoru who doesn’t even exist. And yet, somehow, he broke your heart like he did.

You’re curled up on your side in bed, blanket cocooned around you, the glow of your laptop screen still burning into your tired, emotional retinas. You knew what kind of fic it was going in—CEO AU, enemies-to-lovers, workplace drama. Classic. But nowhere in the tags did it say “character death.”

You sniffle loudly and scroll back to reread the last paragraph, as if torturing yourself again will somehow dull the pain.

“I should’ve said it sooner,” he whispered, blood soaking into the snow, eyes never leaving hers. “It was always you.”

The lights from the city faded behind him. And he didn’t blink again.

[End.]

You slam your hands on the keyboard.

“You’re kidding me,” you mutter out loud, nose stuffy and voice cracking. “You killed him? Seriously?! You made me sit through twenty chapters of slow-burn sexual tension, one shared bed trope, three almost-kisses and a forehead touch—just for this?”

You groan, throwing your arm over your face dramatically.

“God, I hate you, Satoru,” you whisper into your pillow. “I hate your stupid perfect face, and your ice-cold business demeanor, and your secretly soft heart, and the way you just died before you even got to live.”

You roll over, flinging a crumpled tissue at your desk.You sniff, dragging your fingers cross the keyboard to angrily type into the comments.

You:

@shelovesosa HOW DARE YOU. Fix it. Fix it right now or I’ll manifest this man into my bed myself.

“Stupid author,” you add bitterly. “Oh Sosa. May your coffee always be lukewarm and your favorite show get canceled on a cliffhanger.”

You slam the laptop shut and toss it aside.

With a final sniff, you curl deeper into your sheets. Your brain is spinning in post-fanfic grief. You mumble one last thing, more out of sleep-deprived delirium than real intent:

“…I wish he were real.” You fall asleep with the ache of unfinished stories in your chest.

The morning comes too fast. You’re groggy, head foggy from too many dreams and too little sleep. Your alarm bleats somewhere in the background as you reach to turn it off.

Except your hand doesn’t land on your phone.

It lands on something warm. And solid. And breathing. You freeze. Your eyes fly open.

There’s a shape beside you in bed. A weight. The blankets are shifted, your mattress slightly dipped like someone else is laying there. Slowly, you turn your head.

And the world tilts. There’s a man in your bed. White hair. Pale skin. Shirtless. Lean muscle. His face is turned toward the window, but even from this angle— It’s him. Your heart lurches.

Satoru. Not cosplay. Not a dream. Not just similar. It’s Satoru, exactly as he was in the fanfic. Down to the small scar above his brow the author described in chapter six.

Your lips part, no sound coming out. You're frozen. Shaking.

He stirs. Brows knit. Eyes flutter. And slowly, his lashes lift. Blue eyes. He sees you. And everything happens at once.

He jolts upright, sheets sliding off his bare chest. You scream. He flinches.

“Wh—what the hell?!” he chokes, eyes wild. “Where—what is this?! Who are you?!”

You scramble back, nearly falling out of bed. “Me?! Who are YOU?! This is my room!”

He stares at you, chest heaving. “No. No, this isn’t… This isn’t right.”

He looks around, dazed. Confused. His voice is raspy, like it hurts to speak.

“I was in Tokyo,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “It was snowing. I was bleeding. I was with—” He swallows, eyes darting toward you again. “Where is she?”

You blink. “Who?”

He stares. His voice breaks.

“…You’re not her.”

Something cold seeps into your spine. Because you know who he means. The her from the fanfic. The girl he loved before he died.

“But you’re not real,” you whisper. “You’re fictional. You died. I read it last night—I read your death—”

“I remember dying,” he snaps, voice shaking. “I felt it. I saw her crying. And then I woke up here.”

You both sit in stunned silence.

He presses a palm to his forehead. “This is a nightmare. I’m dreaming. Or— Or I was rewritten. Or this is some kind of punishment—”

You crawl slowly to the edge of the bed, still watching him like he might vanish.

“I think I summoned you,” you say weakly. “I cursed the author. As a joke. I said I wished you were real.”

He glares at you like you’re insane. But underneath it all—his trembling fingers, the way he keeps glancing around the room, the panic in his breathing—you see it:

He’s terrified. And it makes your heart hurt.

“…I want to go back,” he finally says.

Your throat tightens. “I don’t know how.”

He stares at you like it’s your fault. Maybe it is.

You clutch your sheets and whisper, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

His voice is flat.

“You’re not supposed to be her.”

You’ve never wanted to faint so badly in your life. He’s still sitting in your bed—your stupid college dorm twin XL bed—with your blush-pink blanket slung over his lap like that’s the most offensive part of all this.

His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, and he’s still staring at the wall like it might open up and take him back to wherever he came from. Fiction. Paper. Imagination.

But now he's here. And he’s not pixelated or made of words. He’s real.

“I need to go back,” he mutters again. “She’s waiting.”

You chew your lip. “She’s not real.”

He flinches like you slapped him.

“I mean, she was real to you,” you add quickly. “But… she’s just words. I read her. She’s a reader-insert. She’s a blank space.”

“No,” he says, voice firm. “She was real. I loved her.”

You fall quiet. What are you supposed to say? Sorry, she was just me with better confidence and no student loans?

You sit down slowly on the edge of the bed. Satoru tenses, but doesn’t move.

“This is going to sound absolutely insane,” you start carefully, “but I think I pulled you out of your story. I was mad at the ending, I said I wished you were real, and then… this happened.”

He scoffs. “So I’m a pity project. Great.”

You frown. “No! You weren’t supposed to actually show up! I thought maybe I’d dream about you or something, not… wake up with you in my bed, very shirtless and very confused.”

You realize you’re staring at his chest. You immediately look away.

“This is a glitch,” he mutters. “Some kind of cruel rewrite. I shouldn’t be here.”

You glance at him. “Do you… remember everything?”

He nods. “Every scene. Every chapter. I remember dying.”

There’s a long pause.

“God,” you whisper. “That’s so messed up.”

He finally laughs—but it’s not a happy sound. It’s dry. Hollow. “Tell me about it.”

You rub your eyes. “Okay. Look. We have two problems.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Only two?”

“One,” you hold up a finger, “we don’t know how you got here. Two… you’re glitching.”

He stiffens. “What do you mean?”

“You were flickering,” you say, voice soft. “Just for a second. Like… your edges blurred. Like a dream.”

He doesn’t respond. His jaw clenches, like he felt it, too.

“…So I’m not stable.”

You say nothing. After a moment, he exhales and slumps back slightly.

“God, this is pathetic,” he mutters. “I was the most powerful man in the city. I could ruin a company with one phone call. I had private jets. Now I don’t even have pants.”

You try—try—not to laugh.

“I can get you pants,” you offer.

His eyes narrow. “Don’t pity me.”

“I’m not pitying you,” you lie. “I just don’t think walking around shirtless in a college dorm is going to help your situation.”

He mutters something under his breath but doesn’t argue.

You grab a pair of sweatpants from your drawer and toss them at him. “Bathroom’s down the hall. You’re gonna have to sneak.”

He catches them with ease and stands, still moving like he owns a twenty-story skyscraper. You try not to stare at his back as he walks to the door.

He turns the knob, then pauses.

“…What’s your name?” he asks, glancing back at you.

You blink. “Y/N.”

He stares for a beat.

Then says, quietly, “I don’t remember that being in the story.”

You smile a little. “That’s because I wasn’t in it.”

He hesitates. Then opens the door and vanishes into the hallway.

You spend the next fifteen minutes pacing your room like it’s about to burst into flames. There’s a fictional man in your dorm bathroom.

You summoned him. You broke something. Maybe the universe. Maybe yourself.

He’s glitching. You don’t know how long he has. And he’s desperate to get back to a girl who doesn’t exist. But for some reason, he’s still here. Still real. And you don’t know what that means yet.

You’re sitting on the edge of your twin bed, clutching a lukewarm cup of instant coffee and trying not to spiral. Because this is real.

It’s not a dream. Not some grief hallucination brought on by staying up too late reading slow-burn fanfiction and eating sour gummies. There’s no typo, no delete button, no author’s note to reverse what’s happened.

Satoru is here.

The fictional man you loved and mourned and cursed the night before is now somewhere in your dorm’s communal bathroom, wearing your ex’s old sweatpants and the expression of someone who’s been yanked out of death and dumped into a college campus like a tossed USB file.

You stare at the door until it creaks open.

He steps inside cautiously, drying his hands on the front of his hoodie. His white hair is still damp, falling slightly in his eyes. He looks softer like this, like less of the towering CEO you met through carefully crafted prose and more like a very lost man who’s trying not to shatter.

You clear your throat. “Everything okay?”

He looks at you, nods stiffly, then glances around the room again like he still can’t quite believe where he is.

“I counted six women brushing their teeth in one bathroom,” he says, sitting on the desk chair like it offends him. “One of them offered me dry shampoo. I don’t know what that is.”

You snort into your cup. “Welcome to dorm life.”

He doesn’t laugh. He just studies you with unreadable eyes. Sharp and searching. Like you’re an answer he doesn’t want to need.

“This place…” he murmurs, gesturing vaguely to your walls cluttered with sticky notes and fairy lights, “this isn’t… scripted.”

You raise a brow. “No. That’s kind of how real life works.”

He leans back, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“You said I’m not supposed to exist here. So what does that mean? Am I… fading? Am I going to just—stop?”

Your throat tightens. You’ve been wondering the same thing.

“I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “But you’re still here now. That has to mean something.”

He exhales, head tilting back to stare at the ceiling.

You watch him in silence. His hands are resting on his thighs, long fingers twitching slightly like he’s resisting the urge to reach for something. A phone. A pen. Her. You put your coffee down.

“Look,” you say softly, “I know I’m not her. And I didn’t mean for this to happen. But until we figure out what’s going on, maybe you should just… stay.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Here?”

You nod, cheeks warming. “Just for now. You clearly have nowhere else to go. And I don’t think you're ready to navigate student housing or explain why you don’t have ID.”

Satoru stares at you like the concept of help is foreign. Which, based on the version of him you read about, it probably is.

Finally, he murmurs, “I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” you say gently. “It’s a blanket and some time to breathe.”

He looks at you, expression unreadable. But he nods once.

You set up a sleeping bag on the floor that night. It’s the best you can offer in a room barely large enough to fit two people standing up. He lies stiffly on top of it, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling like sleep is a stranger.

You lie in bed, eyes open.bYou think about how he held the love of his life while he died. And now he’s here. Not holding anyone.

“Do you miss her?” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away. But when he does, his voice is soft.

“I think I miss the way she made me feel. Like I wasn’t just a weapon in a suit.”

You’re quiet.

He adds, a beat later, “But maybe that feeling wasn’t even mine. Maybe I only loved her because someone wrote me that way.”

You turn to look at him. But he’s already looking at you. Neither of you says anything after that.

You wake up to the smell of something burning. Your eyes shoot open, heart already sprinting.

You stumble out of bed, nearly tripping on the sleeping bag where Satoru isn’t anymore. You hear the clatter of pans, the groan of the microwave, and a very muffled, very confused “Why is this machine yelling at me?”

You rush into the kitchenette area down the hall, still barefoot, to find Satoru standing in front of the microwave, poking at the buttons like they insulted his mother.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, half-laughing, half-panicked.

He points at the microwave indignantly. “It said ‘popcorn’ but there were sparks! Sparks, Y/N!”

You grab the bag—oh god, the foil kind—and toss it in the trash before it sets off the building alarm.

He stares at you, wide-eyed, hair slightly messy, wearing your oversized hoodie and sweatpants like he’s a very lost, very pretty houseguest.

“Have you never used a microwave?”

“Why would I?” he asks, completely serious. “I had a private chef in Tokyo.”

You stare at him. He stares back. And then, maybe for the first time since he showed up… you both laugh.

Real laughter. Yours high-pitched and breathless, his deeper, more surprised. It crackles in the small space between you. And for just a second, he doesn't look like a man unraveling.

He looks like a boy. New. Unwritten.

Later, you’re sitting on the floor together, eating cereal straight from the box. His hair keeps falling in his eyes. You reach out without thinking and brush it back.

He freezes. So do you. His eyes meet yours. And for a second—just a second—there’s something like electricity in the air. Not sparks from microwaves. Not glitchy fiction magic.

Something real. You pull your hand back quickly. But he doesn’t stop looking at you.

“…I didn’t feel this way in the story,” he says quietly. “Not like this.”

You glance at him, heart thudding. “Feel what way?”

He doesn’t answer. But his knee brushes yours, and neither of you moves.

That night, he glitches. You're the first to notice. It’s small, at first. You're talking about breakfast cereal—how you mix Frosted Flakes and granola together like a heathen—and he tilts his head, eyes clouding slightly.

“I’ve never had cereal,” he says.

You blink.

“Yes, you did. This morning. You ate like half the box.”

He frowns. “No, I didn’t. We went to that place. With the… tiny pancakes.”

“…Satoru,” you say softly, “that was from Chapter 11. Of the fanfic. The Paris trip.”

His expression blanks. And then something in his face glitches. Like static behind his eyes. It only lasts a moment—but it’s long enough.

He exhales, hand pressed to his forehead. “It’s happening, isn’t it?”

You don’t know what to say.

He looks at you, voice quieter now. “I’m not built for this world. I’m already forgetting.”

You kneel in front of him, gently placing your hand on his. “Then we don’t waste time.”

His breath catches. You hold his hand like it’s the only thing anchoring him here. And maybe it is.

You don’t go to class the next day. You don’t even pretend to.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re “monitoring the anomaly” or “preserving the fabric of reality.” But really, it’s because Satoru wakes up on the floor with the most lost look on his face and whispers, “Where am I again?” and it breaks your heart clean in half.

You sit with him until he remembers. Your name. The coffee spill. The dorm microwave. He laughs about the popcorn again, a little shakier this time. But it still counts. After that, you don’t leave his side.

The two of you walk the campus late at night when no one’s around. He keeps staring at trees like they’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“I didn’t have these,” he murmurs. “Not like this. The ones in the fic were always perfectly sculpted. Background props.”

You smile softly. “These ones grow crooked. They drop leaves. Sometimes birds poop on you.”

He tilts his head. “I like them better.”

You take him to the library next. He walks the rows of books with reverent hands, trailing fingers across every spine like he’s scared they’ll vanish.

“I thought I knew words,” he says, voice low. “But this is different. These were made by people. Not an author playing God. Just… people.”

You nod. “People with lives. Mistakes. Ugly handwriting and messy endings.”

Satoru turns to you.

You don’t know what he sees in your face, but it’s enough to make him pause.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “Expected from what? Fanfiction?”

He shakes his head. “No. From reality.”

You teach him how to use your phone. He FaceTimes the pizza place by accident and panics when someone picks up.

You try to explain memes, which leads to you both scrolling through TikToks on your bed for an hour straight. He becomes obsessed with cooking videos.

At one point, your head drops onto his shoulder. He doesn’t move. His breathing slows, steadies, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. Neither of you says anything about it.

You stay up one night talking. Really talking. You're lying side by side on your bed, not touching, but so close your arms are brushing.

“I used to think I was in love with her,” he says.

You stare at the ceiling. “The version of me from the story.”

He nods. “But she didn’t challenge me. She didn’t argue. She was soft in all the ways the author needed her to be.”

You don’t say anything. You’re not sure how to feel.

He turns his head to look at you. “You’re not soft.”

You blink. “Gee, thanks.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” he murmurs. “You’re… messy. Complicated. Real. You snore.”

You shove his arm lightly, and he grins.

But then his smile fades.

“I’m scared I won’t remember this,” he whispers.

You turn your head slowly. He’s staring at you like he’s memorizing you.

“I’m scared I’ll forget you.”

Your chest tightens.

You whisper, “Then I’ll remember for both of us.”

Something shifts in the space between you. Like gravity pulling tighter.

You don’t kiss. Not yet. But his hand inches closer to yours. And this time, when your fingers touch— You hold it tighter.

It starts small again. A pause mid-conversation.

A moment where Satoru tilts his head and says, “Remind me what this is again?” while pointing at something he’s already asked about twice.

You want to pretend it’s nothing. That he’s just distracted. But then you catch him standing by the window later that evening, staring out at the streetlight like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

“Do you remember this morning?” you ask quietly, stepping beside him.

He turns slowly. “…Was there cereal?”

You nod.

He gives you a sad smile. “I forgot the flavor.”

You don’t know what to say. So you walk over, wrap your arms around his torso, and press your cheek to his chest.

His breath catches. You feel his arms come up, slowly, hesitantly. Like he’s afraid he’ll crush you. Like if he holds you too tightly, he might disappear completely.

His chin rests on top of your head. His heartbeat is loud beneath your ear. Neither of you moves for a long time.

That night, he doesn’t want to sleep on the floor.

“I know I said I would,” he mutters, eyes flicking toward the sleeping bag. “But I just… I don’t want to feel far from you right now.”

You nod. You move over. He climbs in beside you. He stays on his side at first. Doesn’t touch you. But eventually, in the dark, his fingers find yours beneath the covers.

He holds your hand like it’s the last thread connecting him to the world. And maybe it is.

You dream of water. A soft tide pulling you away. Something fading. When you wake, he’s already looking at you. His hand is on your cheek. His thumb brushes just under your eye.

“I had a dream,” he whispers.

You hum sleepily, not opening your eyes. “What about?”

“I was back,” he says. “In the story. She was there. The office. The desk. The skyline.”

You open your eyes. He’s quiet for a long time.

Then: “But I didn’t feel anything.”

You turn to face him. “What do you mean?”

“I saw her. But she didn’t look like you. She looked like a blank space. Like a fill-in. She smiled at me, but it wasn’t you.”

He reaches for your face again.

“This world is loud. Messy. Exhausting. And I still want to stay in it.”

Your throat burns. “You might not get that choice.”

He leans in, forehead resting against yours.

“I know.”

Silence. Just your breath and his. Then he whispers:

“But if I’m going to vanish, I want to remember you.”

It’s quiet in the room. The kind of quiet that hangs between words never spoken. Between goodbyes that haven’t happened yet.

You lie beside him, breath soft, chest rising and falling in rhythm with his. His hand is still resting over yours beneath the blanket, fingers loosely entwined like a tether to reality. His thumb brushes gently along your knuckles.

“Satoru,” you whisper, your voice nearly lost in the hush of the room. “Are you okay?”

His eyes are already on you. He doesn’t answer for a long time. Then: “No.”

Your heart twists.

“I feel like I’m slipping,” he says, voice low, a little raw. “Like parts of me are coming undone. I try to remember the story, the office, the people... it’s all fog. But you—” His hand tightens around yours. “You’re the only thing I still feel.”

You swallow, throat thick. “Then hold on to me.”

His gaze drops to your lips.

“Can I?” he whispers. “Really hold you? Just once. Before I forget?”

You nod. The moment stretches. And then he leans in.

The kiss is slow. Uncertain at first, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish too. But when you sigh against his mouth, it deepens—his hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head so he can kiss you fully. Thoroughly.

He kisses you like he wants to taste your memory. Like he’s carving the shape of you into whatever part of him still exists beyond the glitch.

You shift closer, and his hand slips beneath your shirt, splaying across your waist. His palm is warm. Steady. You shiver at the contact.

“Tell me what you want,” you whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

“You,” he says. “Slow. Real. I want to make it count.”

You sit up slightly, letting him pull your shirt over your head. His eyes trail over you, and something in them breaks. Reverence. Hunger. Grief.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes. “I can’t believe I almost didn’t get to see you like this.”

You press your hands to his chest, feeling his heartbeat thudding beneath your palm. His hoodie comes off next, followed by his shirt, and you press your lips to his skin—his collarbone, his sternum, the small scar just under his ribs like the one described in the story. But it’s different seeing it here. Seeing him here. Alive. Real. Yours, even if only for tonight.

He lies back and pulls you with him, hands exploring your body like you’re something precious—trailing down your sides, across your back, fingers gripping your thighs with quiet desperation.

When you grind against him slowly, feeling the thick press of him through his boxers, his breath catches hard in your ear.

“You’re killing me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. “You’re so soft—so warm—I didn’t know this part of the world could feel so… good.”

You roll your hips again, and he groans deep in his throat, hands locking tight on your waist.

“Need to feel you,” he whispers. “All of you.”

You shift your weight and reach down, guiding him free from his boxers, his cock hard and hot in your palm. His breath hitches as your fingers wrap around him gently, stroking once—slow and curious.

His voice is ragged. “Please.”

You press a kiss to his lips, then rise just enough to line yourself up.

And when you sink down onto him, he gasps—eyes fluttering shut, head falling back against the pillow.

“Oh god—”

You’re both breathing heavy now.

You pause, adjusting to the stretch of him, the tightness between you. His hands slide up your thighs, then settle at your hips, holding you still as he tries not to lose control too soon.

“You feel… perfect,” he chokes. “Better than anything I’ve ever known.”

You begin to move, slow and careful, your bodies rocking together in a rhythm that feels older than either of you. His hands roam—palming your breasts, sliding up your spine, gripping your hips as you roll against him with aching tenderness.

“Satoru,” you whisper, leaning over him, your forehead pressed to his.

He opens his eyes. And in them—desperation. Need. Love.

“I don’t want to forget this,” he says again, voice breaking.

“Then remember me like this,” you whisper. “Remember the way I feel. The way I look at you. The way you make me feel so full, like I was meant to hold you.”

He groans at your words, thrusting up into you with more force. You gasp, clinging to his shoulders, meeting him with matching urgency.

It builds between you—need turning sharp, trembling, sacred.

You come first—tightening around him, breath catching as you moan his name through clenched teeth, nails digging into his back.

He follows you seconds later, holding you tight to him as he spills inside you, your names tangled in breathless gasps.

Afterward, you lie on his chest, both of you still shaking. His hand runs gently down your spine. You feel him press a kiss to your temple.

“You’re the best thing I never got written for,” he whispers.

You don’t answer. You just hold him. Because you know what’s coming next. And he’s slipping again.

you lie with him for a long time. His body is warm, tangled with yours beneath the blanket, his breath steady against your shoulder. One hand rests lazily over your stomach, like he’s anchoring himself to your skin.

You’re not sure how long you stay like that—wrapped in the kind of silence that only comes after something true.

But eventually, you feel his fingers twitch. Then still. Then again.

“Satoru?” you whisper.

He blinks slowly, then furrows his brows like something's wrong.

“…What was your name again?”

Your heart drops.

You sit up, brushing hair out of his face. “Don’t joke.”

“I’m not,” he says, voice quiet. Distant. “I know you. I feel like I know you. But it’s slipping. Like I’m trying to hold water in my hands.”

You press your palm to his cheek. “You’re still here. You’re still with me.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. That’s when you realize—This is it. He won’t last much longer. Whatever brought him here—whatever magic, glitch, miracle—it’s running out.

And if he goes like this, half-glitched, half-lost, it’ll break both of you. So you do the only thing you can.

You get out of bed. Pull on a hoodie. And sit at your desk. The words don’t come easy at first. But then your fingers move. Not on your phone. Not in a fanfic comment thread. On paper.

With a real pen, real ink, real hands. You write him an ending. A soft one.

Where he’s not a CEO haunted by guilt. Not a tragic man doomed to die before he can fall in love. You write him waking up in a quiet home, sunlight through curtains, coffee in a chipped mug, a cat that curls on his lap. You write him laughing. You write him safe. You write him at peace.

And you write that he gets to say goodbye. When it’s done, you read it aloud to him. Your voice shakes.

He listens, seated on the edge of your bed, blanket wrapped around his hips, eyes full of something that doesn’t feel like a glitch anymore. It feels like gratitude.

When you finish, you look up. He’s smiling softly.

“You did it,” he whispers.

“I gave you an ending,” you say. “You deserved one.”

He stands. Walks to you. And kisses you again. This one is slower. Full of something final.

“Thank you for writing me something better,” he says against your lips.

Tears well in your eyes. “Thank you for being real. Even just for a little while.” His fingers linger on your cheek.

He vanishes in the morning. Not with fanfare. Not with light or thunder or spark.

Just… A flicker.

You’d gone to brush your teeth. You’d left him tangled in your sheets, watching you from the bed with sleep-soft eyes and a crooked smile.

You came back— And the sheets were cold. You say his name once. Then again, louder. But there’s no answer. No trace. No indent in the pillow. No warmth in the blankets.

Just a silence so sharp it cuts. You don’t cry at first.

You sit on the edge of the bed, fingers curled around the hem of your shirt, blinking at the place he had been just hours ago. You try to replay his voice in your head, his laugh, the things he whispered against your skin. You press your face into your pillow and breathe deep, desperate to find even a trace of him.

But all you smell is fabric softener and loss. He’s gone. Like he never belonged here at all.

You grieve quietly. You carry his memory in the scribbled pages of your notebook, worn at the edges from being opened again and again. But you don’t write for him anymore. You write for yourself.

You don’t talk about it. How could you? You go back to class. You go back to microwaving leftovers. You scroll past fanfiction tags and never click again.

Some nights you still whisper his name in the dark, just in case he hears it. But he never answers. You begin to believe maybe he was just a dream after all. A beautiful, impossible dream.

Three months later, on the first warm day of spring, you’re sitting outside the library, notebook open, headphones in, sunlight catching in your lashes.

You almost don’t hear it.

“Excuse me—,” someone says.

You look up. And your heart stops.

A young man stands hesitantly before you, holding a crumpled campus map. His glasses slip slightly down his nose, his hair tousled from the breeze.

He looks unfamiliar yet somehow familiar.

“Could you help me? I’m completely lost,” he says, voice gentle but uncertain.

“Do you know where the science building is?” he asks, sheepish. “I’ve been walking in a circle for like twenty minutes.”

You stare. He’s different. No polished arrogance. No CEO swagger. No tailored suit. But it’s still him. That face. Those eyes. That voice.

You slowly take out your earbuds.

“…What’s your name?” you manage, breath shallow.

He smiles at you—confused, but kind.

“Satoru,” he says. “Satoru Gojo.”

Your lips part. His gaze lingers on your face for a moment too long. Then—

“Have we met before?” he asks, tilting his head.

“No, we haven’t met,” you whisper.

He chuckles, eyes bright.

“Maybe it’s a good thing. A new story.”

And as the sunlight pools around you both, you realize some endings are just beginnings in disguise.

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wistfulnightingale · 2 days ago

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An Unexpected Encounter (or, 2 Angels and a Demon walk into a Park...)

[From the "Moments That Matter" scene analysis series]

The fight at the Bandstand in S1 is a painful conflict to watch. It seems to establish a pattern of how Aziraphale conducts himself. He doesn't just prattle heavenly platitudes occasionally -- in times of stress, he praises heaven and devalues Crowley, hurting him deeply and damaging their relationship.

Except, I don't think that's what really happened here. Back in 1862, at St. James Park, Aziraphale said awful things to push Crowley away --because the angel realized that hell was still closely monitoring Crowley, watching and listening, after finally releasing him from the 1827 kidnapping and punishment. Azi was never going to let that happen again. I talk more about it in Anything to Protect Crowley and also in The Night That Changed an Angel.

I believe something very similar happened at the Bandstand. Our Angel wasn't speaking freely. He knew that they could be overheard and discovered at any moment, because there was another angel in that same park -- a very powerful and potentially dangerous angel.

The Supreme Archangel Gabriel had taken up jogging. In that park. On paths in view of the Bandstand itself.

Crowley and Aziraphale had agreed to meet at their "third alternative rendezvous", the old Bandstand, to share info and plan what to do next. Instead, it all quickly fell apart. Aziraphale was closed off, tense and edgy from the moment he arrived on the scene.

When Aziraphale approached the Bandstand for the secret meeting, he was frantically looking around. Crowley was already there waiting.

Aziraphale, I believe, had unexpectedly seen Gabriel just minutes before in the park, or even had to speak to Gabriel while on his way to meet with his-best-friend-a-demon to subvert the Apocalype -- and there was no safe way to warn Crowley that this absurdly impossible and incredibly dangerous thing had happened. To say it aloud was to risk being heard in an alliance. To leave Crowley there alone with the Supreme Archangel so close by was unthinkable.

To protect them both, Aziraphale had no choice but to turn the meeting into a confrontation.

Let's break down the two park scenes to see how all this comes together.

Tricksy as always, Good Omens separated the two park scenes into separate episodes. In all my re-watches of GO Season 1, I'd never noticed that the bandstand from E3 was literally in the background in E4 when Gabriel jogs away from Aziraphale after their conversation, miracles back, and jogs away again.

(Clue #1) I didn't catch on until I was formatting photos for my post on Good Omens & The Existential Art of Not Giving Up. That's when I realized that, in the E3 bandstand photos I showed above, the small figure of Aziraphale wasn't just casually glancing around to confirm their privacy. He was practically walking backwards as he approached the bandstand, arms and coat swinging wide as if he were turning around urgently.

But why?

The answer that makes the most sense is that Episode 4 wasn't the first day Gabriel went jogging in the park. So I started examing the scenes. And in my down-the-rabbit-hole gotta-figure-it-all-out way, I found more to justify this solution.

(Clue #2) In E4, just after the intro, Aziraphale is just hanging out in the park (4:02). We see him strolling aimlessly and looking widely around, as if looking for something (or someone!), just before the "Last Day of the World" sign is shown to us. Then he gets distracted by the golden "angel" busker. (Since when does Aziraphale just wander around a park alone? Especially when there's an Earth and all humanity to save by teatime??).

(Clue #3) Gabriel, confident as always, seems quite familiar with his route. He doesn't react to either the golden "angel" human or the easily recognizable Principality. No weird glances, no mocking eye roll. He just jogs on. As if neither one is unexpected. As if he's seen both in the park before.

And why wouldn't he? Physical training programs are typically a daily thing (so I've heard!). E4 is literally the day of the expected Apolcalypse, which the Supreme Archangel declares is "right on schedule". He knew exactly when it was coming. Even if Gabriel doesn't actually need to train, it's unlikely he would go for his very first run on the actual day of Armageddon Far more probable that he's jogged here at least a few times. Good ol' Gabe understands the assignment -- he's got a custom-made sweatsuit and running shoes, after all!

(Clue #4) Nor does Aziraphale appear upset to see Gabriel jog by. He's startled that he didn't see him coming, but our Angel's face is steady, determined. He's not surprised or anxious to see him here.

Azi gets his bearings and immediately jogs after the archangel and tries (quite unsuccessfully!) to pull ahead of him to talk.

Azi already knew that Gabriel would be there, because he'd seen him there yesterday (E3). Our Angel came back to the park today to wait for him, hoping to convince him to cancel Armageddon. He'd apparently planned to flag the archangel down, but missed his chance when he got distracted.

(Clue #5) Aziraphale had eagerly grabbed for the phone in E3 when Crowley called (around 49:43). The moment he hears Crowley's voice, he starts to light up, then his expression becomes perplexed as Crowley uses their code words for the rendezvous location. Azi looks stressed, but otherwise normal as they arranged to meet at the old Bandstand in 15 minutes.

Aziraphale's manner towards Crowley is entirely different when we next see him, presumably only 15 minutes or so later. He walks up the few steps of the Bandstand and stops, hands tightly clasped, body tightly poised, keeping Crowley at a distance. He is no longer open to or eager for this meeting.

(Clue #6) Look at Aziraphale's face -- he's not greeting his dear and familiar friend to talk together about something that makes him anxious. That's his trauma mask, wide eyes and a frozen expression to hide his feelings and his fear. The angel's sightline doesn't even seem to be focused on Crowley's face yet.

He's encountered Gabriel on his way to their meeting. Possibly that's why Crowley arrived first and is waiting for him -- Aziraphale might have gotten delayed by the surprise encounter. If our Angel had been forced to speak with Gabriel, as is likely if Gabriel also saw him, it would be absolutely unnerving!

Gabriel is somewhere in the park, right now, training for a war to destroy demons. Crowley is vulnerably standing in that open structure where paths through the park intersect, one behind our dear demon and one behind Aziraphale. The Supreme Archangel could turn onto a path that leads him back towards the bandstand at any moment, from either direction. He could spot them from a distance, possibly even miracle close enough to hear everything before Azi sees him approaching.

Aziraphale had no safe way to warn Crowley, or tell him that Gabriel was on the park paths that day. He could only hope they wouldn't be discovered -- or do his best to ensure that, if Gabriel did come across them at the Bandstand, nothing would be seen or overheard that could be used against them.

(Clue #7) Just like in the 1862 conflict in St. James Park, Aziraphale's eyes keep darting around watchfully every time Crowley says something too familiar, something that sounds like they're friends. When Azi refutes this, he can't meet Crowley's eyes -- because he doesn't really mean it.

And, for awhile, Crowley knows that the Angel doesn't mean it.

A: I don't even like you!

C: You dooooooo-oooo.

When Crowley steps in too close, Azi sometimes glares, sometimes looks down. If you watch it without sound, it can easily look to an outside observer like Crowley is threatening Aziraphale, and that the angel is defiantly resisting.

Aziraphale is struggling to keep up the act. He wants to respond genuinely, and has moments where he does, before forcing himself to continue provoking Crowley and pushing him away.

Finally Aziraphale aggravates Crowley enough with heavenly rhetoric and a superior attitude that their argument becomes mutual. Crowley is angry, and it hurts to watch.

Our Angel knows that Gabriel could circle back around at any time. Crowley, especially, is in grave danger. The Supreme Archangel would be furious to find them "fraternizing" -- who knows what further harm he would inflict on Crowley in his anger. (We know from S2 that Crowley is terrified of Gabriel when caught unawares.) If Aziraphale appears to have the upper hand on Crowley, perhaps Gabriel won't feel a need to step in to smite the demon.

Crowley has to be kept safe... He has to leave. NOW. Aziraphale pushes the ultimate button. "There is no OUR SIDE, Crowley. Not anymore. It's over!"

He says it deliberately. It sounds Final. It breaks Aziraphale's heart.

(Clue #8) Need further proof? Despite how definite Aziraphale sounded at the bandstand, his manner is very different when Crowley finds him the next day outside the bookshop (E4). Crowley jumps out of the Bentley to apologize -- and Aziraphale literally exhales a sigh of relief that Crowley hasn't actually run away hating him. We can see his breath in the chill air (around 33:41).

He didn't need the apology. He's pleased to see his demon.

Because Aziraphale never meant what he'd felt forced to say in order to protect Crowley.

Unfortunately, everything is still happening too fast -- Crowley gives so much rapid information to react to, Aziraphale is distracted and determined to contact God, Crowley is in a panic about the powerful demons coming after him, and they don't get to sort out what happened the previous day.

But their trust still holds. As soon as each deals with their immediate crises, Our Ineffables reach out to each other. Aziraphale still calls Crowley to tell him where the Antichrist is. Crowley apparently tries to call Aziraphale back on his cell phone, which manifests a flame image and sends Crowley racing to rescue His Best Friend.

We don't need to condemn Aziraphale to defend and protect Crowley.

Aziraphale has already completely dedicated himself to doing so. And Crowley, when he's not in a temper flare, trusts him completely.

*****

Thanks for listening! If, like me, you believe in the strong bonds our Ineffables formed across the milennia, you might be interested in some of the other weird MOMENTS THAT MATTER:

Crowley on Patrol (They Weren't Entirely Caught Off-guard)

"They're Not Talking..." (But are they communicating?)

Fearful Memories (Aziraphale KNOWS)

Other posts I mentioned, about 1827 & 1862:

Anything to Protect Crowley

The Night That Changed an Angel

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #the bandstand #good omens scene analysis #good omens gabriel #Gabriel jogs in the park near the rendezvous bandstand #aziraphale loves crowley #and will do ANYTHING to protect him!#wistfulnightingale

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candlemouse · 2 days ago

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Tim Drake’s Guide to Post-Mortem IVF and the Consequences of Teenage Parenthood

Gen; currently 2.6k words, 1/? chapters

Tim accidentally creates a baby out of his and Kon’s DNA in grief. He keeps this a secret until he can’t, and then pivots onto the story that he’s “babysitting.” With a family full of detectives, it’s a story unlikely to last.

Read on Ao3! Excerpt under the cut

Look, Tim hadn’t wanted to become a father at seventeen. It had just kind of…happened. One moment he was trying to clone his boyfriend back from his death in some grief fugue state, the next he was slumped over the test tubes crying about said boyfriend, and then by some act of providence, his tears and Kon’s DNA had mixed to create the beautiful baby girl he was currently rocking to sleep.

Lila had Kon’s curly black hair and his bright shade of blue eyes, but the rest of her features—nose, mouth, chin—mirrored Tim. Not like a clone, because she really wasn’t a clone. Kon wasn’t either. A true clone would just be one person’s exact DNA. Lila had both Tim and Kon’s DNA, and it mixed together in the normal way it should.

If anything she was simply a test tube baby with extra steps. Post-mortem IVF.

Even though she was an accident, Tim had fallen in love immediately. First off, she was the only experiment that worked, and he had run out of DNA. So, she was the only thing he had left of Kon.

With Bruce gone, it was a bad time to have a baby, but eventually, the crisis settled. With Tam’s help, he cared for and kept Lila a secret while following clues and dealing with the League and the Council of Spiders. He found Bruce, yanked him out of the time stream, and got to say I told you so to everyone.

But, Kon stayed dead.

And everything was still so up in the air, Tim didn’t feel like it was the time to drop the bomb that he had whipped up a baby with his dead boyfriend’s DNA and was now a teen dad (a boyfriend they never really even knew about—because they didn’t even know he liked boys).

And without Kon here…Tim didn’t really want anyone to know. Because he wanted to share the news of the baby with Kon first. Which was fucking stupid because he was dead, but Tim had a hard time with the irrationality of grief.

Even Tam didn’t know the parentage of the baby, because of this stupid mental block that Tim had. She only knew that it was of the utmost importance to keep the baby hidden and safe. And once they had returned to Gotham, Tim told Tam he had returned the baby back to her parents so Tam wouldn’t worry or ask more questions.

Before telling anyone about Lila, Tim needed to wait for Kon to come back—or for his mind to accept that Kon was never going to. Whatever came first.

Unfortunately, two months since returning to Gotham, neither had arrived and so Tim still hadn’t told the bats. He barely showed up to the cave, and limited his Red Robin outings. (Thankfully, by the time they returned to Gotham, Lila had started sleeping through the night. But, he still had a baby monitor in his utility belt and a constant feed of sound, so he could run back whenever she needed something.)

He still sent in his case work to Bruce and he still worked for Wayne Enterprises—just from home—and it usually all worked out.

Until it didn’t.

Tim’s phone began to ring, and he fished it out of his back pocket with one hand as he continued rocking Lila back and forth. He rolled his eyes when he saw it was Bruce’s number, and slotted it in between his neck and ear so his hand was free to cradle Lila. “Hello?”

“We need you to come in to the cave,” Bruce’s voice came across gruff, halfway to his Batman register.

“Uh, no,” Tim answered. “Just send it to my computer and I can review whatever you need.”

“It’s physical evidence.”

“Take pictures.”

“Tim,” Bruce said, exasperated. A voice in the background asked after him, probably Dick.

“Look,” Tim said. “I’m busy.”

“You’ve been busy for weeks.”

“Yeah.” Tim had stopped rocking Lila in his concentration on the call, and her eyes fluttered open. Her lips pouted and her eyes glassed over. “Oh no. Can I call you back?”

“Tim? What’s—”

Lila’s loud cry cut off whatever Bruce was going to say.

“Shh,” Tim soothed, trying and failing to rock her back to calmness. “Come on.”

“Is that a baby?” Bruce asked. Excited voices joined in the background, too muffled for Tim to discern.

“Uh, yeah,” Tim said. Lila cried louder. “I’m babysitting. See, I told you I’m busy. I meant it.”

“He’s babysitting,” Bruce said, presumably in answer to the peanut gallery of vigilantes in the cave. A chorus of muffled questions rose in response and Bruce grunted. “Dick wants to know who you’re babysitting for. And for how long.”

“Well, that’s none of his business—or yours, for that matter,” Tim snapped. Lila cried more, maybe at his tone, and Tim scrambled. “Lila, sweetheart, shh. Shh, it’s okay.”

“You can bring Lila with you to the cave,” Bruce said. “Alfred can take care of her. Give you a break.”

It was a tempting offer, but there was no way Tim was about to hand her off to anyone. Even being in a different room caused his chest to tighten and his lungs to shrink. Patrol was hell enough. If he came to the manor, she would be strapped to his chest as tight as a missle.

Tim didn’t answer Bruce, focused on whispering comforting words to Lila. Bruce spoke again. “We’re having lasagna for dinner.”

Now, that paused Tim. Alfred’s lasagna? That almost made it worth it. He’d been around the manor a handful of times in the past six months, but never long enough to stay for dinner because he had needed to get home to Lila. But if he brought her this time…

Tim did need a break.

He loved Lila, but there was only so many blowouts and hours of crying he could handle before getting a little frazzled. It’s not like the bats had to learn about her parentage. He was just babysitting, to them.

“Okay,” Tim said. “I’ll be over in four hours.”

“Two,” Bruce corrected.

“Five. Or never,” Tim asserted. It would give him time to bathe her, do tummy time, second feeding, diaper change, and nap time before heading over.

Lila finally calmed down again, her cries quieting to soft whimpers. Tim pressed a kiss to her forehead, and stroked her nose to soothe her to sleep.

“Fine,” Bruce grunted. “Four.”

With that, Tim hung up.

Continue reading on Ao3 here!

#Tim Drake #kon el #connor kent #timkon #timkon clone baby au #timkon clone baby #family feels #bruce Wayne #dick grayson #dcu #dcu comics #dc comics #dc #fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc fic

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prettypasteibunny · 7 hours ago

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More of my hc on what the batboys types would be. (Not based in any canon)

Part one is linked at the bottom!

Tim, Damian (older), duke. (Should I do the girls too?)

This is all Written for fun, and for the 2 people who requested more (ily guys). And also the men’s sections are still quite short but I think a lot of it comes down to the fact I would just be repeating the women’s ones in different words.

Tim: women

- he would probably go for a girl his age who attends his high school/college. (So yous can hang out easy)

- I think he’d take a fancy to smart girls, people who can keep up with his wit.

- would like a modest girl but if he really likes them he could give less a shit what they wear. (Is scared to be seen as too controlling)

- idk I see him to be like a Victorian man, the SLIGHTEST bit of skin is show and this man cannot focus. He’s the reason schools don’t allow girls to show shoulders.

- I think he would like taller women, gets flustered around his taller wife. (Like a bird lol)

- also, women who have more muscle then him? He’s dead on the ground if you flex them.

- he doesn’t care about weight or size, if he sees a pretty woman, he likes.

Tim: men

- Tim strikes me as the type to go out with a jock (I don’t know if it’s just nerd x jock banging around in my mind, lol)

- again, somone stronger then him, just able and willing to throw him around.

- blonde hair, blue eyes.. name starts with ‘b’ ends in ‘ennard’

- nah but for real, I think he’s got a thing for blondes. Man or woman, he likes.

Damian: women

- due to being around women with loads of power his whole life he has grown to like women who are stronger/more socially powerful.

- a woman he spots at a gala who is much much richer and has more power then him or his father? Staring the whole time.

- likes modest women, but if you get together he won’t say anything about more revealing outfits.

- he tends to scowl at women similar to the type his father used to bring home (but will still talk if they approach)

- he prefers fit women, he doesn’t need a muscle mommy but someone with a bit of bulk has his eyes.

- people (man or women), who speak multiple languages. Especially his mother tongue. (He likes hearing you speak it)

- he would probably like a more feminine woman but he wouldn’t mind a masculine one.

Damian: men.

- I don’t really see Damian with men but I’ll try

- he strikes me as the type to like men who are just big airheads

- and by big I mean, tons of muscle.

- he does like a man with smarts, but if they can make up for it in muscle he decides he likes them.

- likes a more traditional man, gentlemen if you will.

- he watched boxing once to get closer with his father and was blushing at the men in tiny shorts fighting one another the whole time (Bruce was concerned) (dick was not)

- languages again, but also he likes people who can play instruments.

Duke: women

- he likes pretty girls, traditionally pretty or girls with pretty eyes.

- he also likes girls who can take care of themselves.

- I don’t think he’d find any of the people at galas very attractive, but alot of the reason for that comes from his lower class background.

- there are some exceptions to this but he tends to only find them attractive and then move on with his day.

- he’d probably like somone he can do romantic teen things with (like the movies), arcades, movie nights and cuddling, anyone up for this has his heart.

- as soon as he joins the batfam he closes off to any suitors because he’s not used to this many and is scarred they’re using him for money, until he finds that half of the people don’t even know he’s living with the Wayne’s.

- I think he likes chubbier/plus sized girls. (And making his girl chubby)

Duke: men

- he would turn away from snobbish men. He finds them hard to find attractive.

- but pretty boys? God save him.

- he doesn’t really like bigger men, someone his size (muscle wise) is fine with him.

- a man in his social class, he can’t keep pulling his phone out every time they say a fancy word.

- he probably likes people who have their own job, he likes the fact that they’re supporting themselves.

- a man who can cook and eat well, has his heart.

#batfamily x reader #batfamily #batboys x reader #duke thomas #duke thomas x reader #the signal #tim drake x reader #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #dc robin #dianedrawls #headcanon

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hauntedtrait · 29 days ago

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DOES ANYONE HAVE VAMPIRE SIMS TO SEND ME PLEASEEEEE 🩸🩸🩸

#they will be showing up in the background of 1 post...#maybe more. but atm this project i have in mind is 1 post only lol #we'll see what happens!! but i need sims i dont wanna make a bunch from scratch just for this

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pairingbrainrot · 1 month ago

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#the official FX YT channel pinned this comment (their own comment!) under the table scene #someone probably posted this on here already but I just found out this comment exists #gave me a mini meltdown #the bear #sydcarmy #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #I'm just going to ramble in text about this scene for a bit #if that's ok?#this is my personal favourite scene in the entire show #when I watched it for the first time in 2023 #it's like something finally clicked in my brain #about how their relationship is emotionally intimate and their chemistry is absolutely palpable #I felt something had changed between them from that scene in season 2 ep 1 where their at their lockers #and there are the scenes in carmy's apartment and carmy's panic attack #but THIS was the scene where I realized their relationship was something else #the way the camera slowly panning closer and closer to them as the scene continues #come back by pearl jam playing in the background #how the table could be seen as a metaphor for the restaurant with syd and carmy fixing/buliding it from the ground up #how they are SCREWING under the table #their prolonged looks #their voices soft throughout #“I wouldn't even wanna do it without you”#“you make me better at this”#“you're not alone syd...”#“neither are you”#I just...#can you tell that this scene has been stuck in my head for the past two years and I have alot of thoughts #pairing brainrot 2025

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transformers-synergize · 9 months ago

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do seeker sizes reflect the size of whatever jet they scan?

all bot sizes are reflected in their alt mode; bots can only take on alt-mode in their size class, so a bot with a fighter jet or truck alt would be much larger than a bot who turns into a car or a stunt plane. Mass displacement is not a thing in synergized. The size of a bot is always around the size of their alt-mode,

Bot sizes are generally sectioned into size ranges. Standards are not an exact height or weight but a vague general size range that is used as an indication of what size alt-mode they can take on. If a bot says their standard one, it means they could probably easily take on a normal car alts, stunt plane alt, or a smaller boat alt

Some sizes are more common than others. If you round every bot size to the nearest standard sizing, 20% are mini, 40% are standard 1, 25% are standard 2, 10% are standard 3, 4% are standard 4, 0.97% are standard 5, the last 0.03 percent is non-standard cybertronains like shuttles, cassettes and titans

Most bots who get seeker modifications are between standard 3 and 4 but can be as small as a standard mini, though that is extremely rare.

Seekers are just normal cybertronians with heavy modifications that allow them to fly in robot mode, so the same rule applies. they start off life as normal ground bots, so unless stated otherwise, lore for unmodified bots usually applies to seekers

#shuttles have their own size classes system witch is pretty simlar execept a mini shuttle is like 3x bigger than a standard class 5 #most the bots i have shown have been either mini or around standard size 1 class bots #i will eventually have characters of larger size classes show up :]#just pretent the entire background is a titains foot #transformers fan continuity #transformers #tfs #transformers synergize #art post #ask answering #text post #maccadam

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nightfurynova1217 · 3 months ago

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@dnrarepairweek 2025 #1 - Shinigami

AU where Near contacts Linda to help on the shinigami-face-recognition-software (also referring to this as my adult-Linda design).

Time Taken: 2:55 hours

DeviantArt Instagram AO3 YouTube Discord: @nightfurynova4112

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firehandlerfred · 10 months ago

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Watching critical role but starting at campaign one so everytime i get a cr post it's like dodging a fucking bullet

#yes i know I'm 8 years late shut up #i got introduced to it by the vox machina show #and I've wanted to get into DnD for a WHILE #and now because i have work i have 9 hours every day to watch in the background #and I'm loving it so much #I'm so excited for every episode #AND excited for campaigns 2 and 3 #but yeah #i would live post about it but #1- it's at work so i cant very well just stop everytime smtg cool happens #2- I'm already halfway through the campaign #3- i barely use this place anyways #though i should more often #anyways #critical role #maybe?#if you made it this far #ily

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cuteniaarts · 11 months ago

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Digitalised + coloured + redesigned version of my Suiren and Vaatu sketch from two days ago, as promised!!

Coming up with Suiren’s design was a very long process of trying and failing because after you’ve drawn 9+ different versions of one character, the creativity starts to run a little dry, but I’m actually really proud of this one, she looks absolutely adorable <3

(Also yeah I did mostly just scribble Vaatu’s pattern because who has the energy to draw the all out accurately. Not me, that’s who, I’m chronically tired. People who draw him on the regular have my utmost respect. He’s still a funky little guy though :D)

Bonus, Raava incessantly screaming inside Suiren (and being completely ignored because Suiren is tired of her) while all this is happening:

#and yeah I did say I’d do a fuckass background but all my energy went to figuring out Suiren’s design #plus I suck at backgrounds so.. woe. LoK screenshot be upon ye #my art #artists on tumblr #the legend of korra #avatar suiren au #original character #sotrl suiren #vaatu #I don’t really know what to say in these tags lmao #usually I reach the tag limit really really easily but between my previous post and answering that ask I’ve ran out of things to say #someone please indulge me in this au I have Way Too Many Thoughts about it #hmm…#you know. I think people often make different avatar aus because they dislike Korra or think she’s a bad avatar #I don’t. I love Korra. I would kill and die for her #(says the red lotus stan. yes I’m well aware. no need to call me out)#and I think she’s a good avatar who was dealt a shitty hand both in universe and by the show’s production team #I’m making this au BECAUSE I love Korra. if Suiren is the avatar Korra gets to be a normal SWT girl #she’ll get to grow up with her parents. not isolated and degraded all the time for not being perfect. maybe she’d have a sibling or two #and Suiren gets spared her sotrl trauma too. win win for everyone!!#(I return Suiren gets the weight of the world on her shoulders lmao. but it’s fine. 1. she isn’t alone in it. she has her family #2. three quarters of the LoK threats are basically automatically eliminated for her. the RL are her parents. she fuses with Vaatu #and all she has to do to defeat Kuvira is to take her dress off 😁 /hj. basically. she’ll be okay. better than in sotrl at least)#also look. I love Suiren. she’s my dear child who’s been with me since I was 12. of course I wanna make her the main character in everything #and dark avatar Korra AUs have been done countless times before me. Kat’s doing one right now!! I just wanna do something that’s my own #and also I wanna focus less on pain and trauma for once and more on the sheer hilarity of the shenanigans that will occur post-fusion #cause this isn’t Adumbration where Korra lets Raava go and fuses with Vaatu instead. here Suiren’s got both of them at the same time #and they have 10000 years’ worth of grievances to air out. it’s like living with your divorced parents #trust me I would know. except mine aren’t divorced. they’re Worse and everyone wishes they’d just separate #anyway. that aside. Suiren’s not getting any sleep any time soon while those two duke it out

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witchysniffles · 18 days ago

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Seriously need someone to like spritz me with a spray bottle or something every time I open a new doc, this is getting so excessive 🙃

#officially up to 4!! active wips i'm hopping back and forth btwn depending on my mood and (at least) 3 in pre-production so to speak #the good news is i'm on vacation starting friday!! and part of that vacation is a collective 40ish hours on a train #i'm limiting my enrichment to a couple shows for the background. a podcast. one book (w/icked). and my word docs.#hoping to focus on prof au ch2 bc that is SO overdue and i finally feel like i'm getting somewhere with it!!#but we'll see what i end up focusing on lol #it'll be *something* it's just a question of what bc the plot bunnies are very convincing sometimes #btw the active wips are 1. prof au part 2. r stealing a's cold 3. an ANGSTY post-draining fic and 4. a m/aya x q/uinn cold fic #anyway this vacation is LONG overdue and big exciting things are happening but i'm just as excited to be able to just *write*#witchyrants #not snz

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mejomonster · 5 months ago

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the more i listen to behind the bastards podcast history stories, the more i'm like 'wow rich people really will do endless horrible stuff in pursuit of ever more wealth (even if they're already comfortable and could remain comfortable simply NOT doing more horrible stuff to others)' and also 'wow lack of empathy is a huge problem'

#rant #things i wish were taught so much more (but with schools being defunded and all the other stuff ehh i doubt i'll see it for a while)#are: critical thinking. and Building Empathy #i wish local libraries did weekly Critical Thinking classes where they showed public visitors to the class a news article. then explaine #how to check the sources and how to determine the biases of the author and the goal of the author. and then did that with an instagram post #and a facebook ad. and a bot reddit post.#and a news piece on TV. it would help regular people SO much to have a refresher class on critical thinking #and then also a weekly library class on Building Empathy #it could be really simple: invite everyone in the class to introduce themselves and some facts about their background or likes or family #and have everyone in the class do a team building activity - possibly a fun one like make an art piece together that'll be hung up in libra #library. or plant some plants in a community garden. simply MEETING people outside their normal groups #will foster more empathy.#do the same with a kids class. other activities can include encouraging people to read 1 new narrative book every few month #the library can recommend the book or take recommendations from the class. and then each meeting the group discusses thoughts on the book #its about getting the whole GROUP to practice empathizing with characters that are unlike them. sometimes the book will have a narrator #unlike someone in the group.#just some regular weekly community classes like this would do SO MUCH to help a community #i'd love to see schools do this too - as there's structured time to actually do this (team building activities and empathy building)#and assignments where teachers can focus on critical thinking (essays. news article/book analysis. history class. english class. science #class. any class using sources of information can practice teaching kids critical thinking)

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liebelesbe · 2 years ago

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trying to find good pictures of the spiderverse characters so I can make icons...

#why aren't there a lot of high quality pictures of all of them aughhhh #hwatever I think I found ok ones for most of them #I tried to get one with mask & one without mask for like. the main ones at least #I think I'll post each character seperately tho bc I planned on putting all in one post at first #but I think I won't do that bc it'll be 4 pics for each of them...#(1 mask 1 without mask & each one in gay and trans)#doddie redet #if you want a character that doesn't show up a lot lmk and I'll try to find a picture of them!!#even if it's just a character that shows up in the background for a few seconds. but then you might have to provide me with a screenshot

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nasa · 2 months ago

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Seeing the Invisible Universe

This computer-simulated image shows a supermassive black hole at the core of a galaxy. The black region in the center represents the black hole’s event horizon, beyond which no light can escape the massive object’s gravitational grip. The black hole’s powerful gravity distorts space around it like a funhouse mirror. Light from background stars is stretched and smeared as it skims by the black hole. You might wonder — if this Tumblr post is about invisible things, what’s with all the pictures? Even though we can’t see these things with our eyes or even our telescopes, we can still learn about them by studying how they affect their surroundings. Then, we can use what we know to make visualizations that represent our understanding.

When you think of the invisible, you might first picture something fantastical like a magic Ring or Wonder Woman’s airplane, but invisible things surround us every day. Read on to learn about seven of our favorite invisible things in the universe!

1. Black Holes

This animation illustrates what happens when an unlucky star strays too close to a monster black hole. Gravitational forces create intense tides that break the star apart into a stream of gas. The trailing part of the stream escapes the system, while the leading part swings back around, surrounding the black hole with a disk of debris. A powerful jet can also form. This cataclysmic phenomenon is called a tidal disruption event.

You know ‘em, and we love ‘em. Black holes are balls of matter packed so tight that their gravity allows nothing — not even light — to escape. Most black holes form when heavy stars collapse under their own weight, crushing their mass to a theoretical singular point of infinite density.

Although they don’t reflect or emit light, we know black holes exist because they influence the environment around them — like tugging on star orbits. Black holes distort space-time, warping the path light travels through, so scientists can also identify black holes by noticing tiny changes in star brightness or position.

2. Dark Matter

A simulation of dark matter forming large-scale structure due to gravity.

What do you call something that doesn’t interact with light, has a gravitational pull, and outnumbers all the visible stuff in the universe by five times? Scientists went with “dark matter,” and they think it's the backbone of our universe’s large-scale structure. We don’t know what dark matter is — we just know it's nothing we already understand.

We know about dark matter because of its gravitational effects on galaxies and galaxy clusters — observations of how they move tell us there must be something there that we can’t see. Like black holes, we can also see light bend as dark matter’s mass warps space-time.

3. Dark Energy

Animation showing a graph of the universe’s expansion over time. While cosmic expansion slowed following the end of inflation, it began picking up the pace around 5 billion years ago. Scientists still aren’t sure why.

No one knows what dark energy is either — just that it’s pushing our universe to expand faster and faster. Some potential theories include an ever-present energy, a defect in the universe’s fabric, or a flaw in our understanding of gravity.

Scientists previously thought that all the universe’s mass would gravitationally attract, slowing its expansion over time. But when they noticed distant galaxies moving away from us faster than expected, researchers knew something was beating gravity on cosmic scales. After further investigation, scientists found traces of dark energy’s influence everywhere — from large-scale structure to the background radiation that permeates the universe.

4. Gravitational Waves

Two black holes orbit each other and generate space-time ripples called gravitational waves in this animation.

Like the ripples in a pond, the most extreme events in the universe — such as black hole mergers — send waves through the fabric of space-time. All moving masses can create gravitational waves, but they are usually so small and weak that we can only detect those caused by massive collisions. Even then they only cause infinitesimal changes in space-time by the time they reach us. Scientists use lasers, like the ground-based LIGO (Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory) to detect this precise change. They also watch pulsar timing, like cosmic clocks, to catch tiny timing differences caused by gravitational waves.

This animation shows gamma rays (magenta), the most energetic form of light, and elusive particles called neutrinos (gray) formed in the jet of an active galaxy far, far away. The emission traveled for about 4 billion years before reaching Earth. On Sept. 22, 2017, the IceCube Neutrino Observatory at the South Pole detected the arrival of a single high-energy neutrino. NASA’s Fermi Gamma-ray Space Telescope showed that the source was a black-hole-powered galaxy named TXS 0506+056, which at the time of the detection was producing the strongest gamma-ray activity Fermi had seen from it in a decade of observations.

5. Neutrinos

Because only gravity and the weak force affect neutrinos, they don’t easily interact with other matter — hundreds of trillions of these tiny, uncharged particles pass through you every second! Neutrinos come from unstable atom decay all around us, from nuclear reactions in the Sun to exploding stars, black holes, and even bananas.

Scientists theoretically predicted neutrinos, but we know they actually exist because, like black holes, they sometimes influence their surroundings. The National Science Foundation’s IceCube Neutrino Observatory detects when neutrinos interact with other subatomic particles in ice via the weak force.

6. Cosmic Rays

This animation illustrates cosmic ray particles striking Earth's atmosphere and creating showers of particles.

Every day, trillions of cosmic rays pelt Earth’s atmosphere, careening in at nearly light-speed — mostly from outside our solar system. Magnetic fields knock these tiny charged particles around space until we can hardly tell where they came from, but we think high energy events like supernovae can accelerate them. Earth’s atmosphere and magnetic field protect us from cosmic rays, meaning few actually make it to the ground.

Though we don’t see the cosmic rays that make it to the ground, they tamper with equipment, showing up as radiation or as “bright” dots that come and go between pictures on some digital cameras. Cosmic rays can harm astronauts in space, so there are plenty of precautions to protect and monitor them.

7. (Most) Electromagnetic Radiation

The electromagnetic spectrum is the name we use when we talk about different types of light as a group. The parts of the electromagnetic spectrum, arranged from highest to lowest energy are: gamma rays, X-rays, ultraviolet light, visible light, infrared light, microwaves, and radio waves. All the parts of the electromagnetic spectrum are the same thing — radiation. Radiation is made up of a stream of photons — particles without mass that move in a wave pattern all at the same speed, the speed of light. Each photon contains a certain amount of energy.

The light that we see is a small slice of the electromagnetic spectrum, which spans many wavelengths. We frequently use different wavelengths of light — from radios to airport security scanners and telescopes.

Visible light makes it possible for many of us to perceive the universe every day, but this range of light is just 0.0035 percent of the entire spectrum. With this in mind, it seems that we live in a universe that’s more invisible than not! NASA missions like NASA's Fermi, James Webb, and Nancy Grace Roman space telescopes will continue to uncloak the cosmos and answer some of science’s most mysterious questions.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#NASA #space #science #outer space #STEM #Sun #black holes #history #fun facts #solar system #galaxy #universe

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