#lost society fanfiction

[ifidiedinadream]

Since you take Samy requests 💜

*gently places this in your ask box*

What if Samy's partner is a little taller than him, and so were all of their ex lovers, and although Samy knows reader loves him nevertheless, he can't help but feel insecure about it. When he finally opens up, his partner would not only reassure him but also take him shopping to buy a pair of platform boots for him to wear, so they are both the same height, at least.

hi hello!! hope you like this 🖤

also on ao3

You and Samy are out on a simple date, just strolling around and talking. 

You're walking arm in arm to keep each other warm. You don't mind the cold, you love how it's an excuse for your sides to touch and his cologne smells amazing, so distinctly like him. It would be perfect, perfect, if it wasn't for the way Samy's gaze darkens from time to time. 

You can't help but notice. 

The mood of your chat is cheerful but sometimes he misses a beat, not answering right away, taking a while to understand your joke and laugh at it. It would be almost imperceptible if you didn't know him by now - if you didn't know it's when something bothers him that he acts like this.   

You catch him looking at himself briefly in the shop window you're passing by, lowering his eyes immediately after, suppressing a sigh it seems. He doesn't react to your joke. It's time to do something. 

You point to a store on the other side of the street. "Let's go to that coffee shop over there. I'm hungry. And cold." 

Samy doesn't protest. You sit at a table inside, and the shop has a cozy atmosphere that warms you up from the inside. Samy is back at smiling and being in a lighthearted mood, but you can't help but feel that it's a bit forced. 

"What's wrong, baby?" you ask, taking his hand in yours on the table. 

"Nothing's wrong," Samy says, furrowing his eyebrows. "I love being here with you." 

Your thumb caresses the back of his hand. "You look pensive." 

"No, it's just - " He shakes his head, pressing his lips together. You can tell he's pondering whether he should tell you what's on his mind or play it cool. "It's stupid, don't worry about it." 

"It can't be stupid if it's bothering you." 

Samy looks away. The waiter comes with your fuming cups and he takes advantage of this moment to collect his thoughts. 

"Trust me, it is. It's just me being insecure is all." 

"Insecure? Why would you be? You're the coolest, hottest looking person in this damn coffee shop." 

His silver tooth catches the dim light of the cozy room for the brief moment Samy smiles. He keeps playing with his coffee, turning the teaspoon in his cup and observing the twirls that appear on top. 

"Promise me you won't laugh?" 

"You know I would never laugh at you." 

"But it's so damn stupid I couldn't even blame you if you did." 

You throw him a look. One that says that he should just stop with this bullshit already. 

"Alright, alright." Samy raises his hands. "It's... it's that you're taller than me. My ex was taller than me. My ex before that was taller than me. I'm always the short one. And I know you don't care, I know you love me anyway, but I can't help but feel... what's the word for it? Emasculated." 

"Emasculated?" 

"I would like to feel manly for once: tall, strong, big. But..." He wraps the fingers of his right hand around his left wrist to prove his point. "My bones are tiny." 

"But babe. You sing in a metal band. You're covered in tattoos. I assure you you look pretty tough." 

He sighs. "I know," he says, his attention back on the cup, which isn't fuming as much anymore. "Just a few more centimeters wouldn't hurt is all I'm saying." 

He finally takes a sip of his coffee. You look at him fondly and then an idea takes shape in your head. 

"You have the centimeters in all the right places if you ask me." 

Samy almost chokes on his coffee, but his laugh is genuine and you love the sound of it. 

"Let's finish our coffees," you say then, "and then we'll see if we can do something about it." 

"About me being short? How?" 

"I just think our date doesn't have to be over yet is all. Can you take some more walking?" 

"Of course." 

"Then trust me." 

*** 

"Where are we going?" Samy asks when you drag him out of the coffee shop and down the street, yanking him by the wrist as he's still in the process of putting his beanie back on. 

"To the thrift store." 

"Why?" 

You stop in your tracks and look at him. "Thought you liked thrifting?" 

"I do, I just - " 

"It's time for new shoes." 

You resume walking right away but don't miss how Samy's face softens after a moment of brief confusion. He intertwines his hand in yours and you feel no urge to be in a hurry anymore. 

Samy took you to this specific thrift store on one of your first dates, saying it's one of his favorites in town. His eyes start glowing as soon as you enter, and a leather jacket immediately catches his attention, but you're quick to guide him to the shoes aisle, telling him the jacket can wait. 

"What about... those?" 

You point to a pair of Demonia (or Demonia-like) platform boots, shiny black, with huge buckles on the sides. They fit Samy's style perfectly and he rushes to grab them from the shelf, searching for the size tag. 

"These are perfect." Samy turns one of the shoes over in his hand, inspecting carefully. "They look like they've hardly been worn." 

"How tall are they?" 

"Looks like five, six centimeters?" 

"Try them on." 

Samy sits down on a nearby stool, takes off his shoes and proceeds to put the platform boots on. He moves his ankles, assessing their wearability, then stands up, taking a few steps. 

"Comfortable," he remarks. 

You take his hand and guide him to the full length mirror by the band shirt stack. In the reflection you're standing close together, and Samy is about the same height as you, if not a bit taller. He's smiling and you kiss his cheek. 

"You look great in them." 

"Thank you," Samy says, and you're under the impression it isn't about the compliment. "I love you." 

You tilt his head towards you with a gentle finger and kiss his lips. "I love you too. Now let's find that jacket again and check out."

[theflyingfeeling]

So while you wait for me to finish more of the Valentine's Day prompts, I offer you this spicy little Mirko/Arttu thingie that I came up with this morning 💕

~

The long brown hair was spread all over the pillow under Arttu’s head. Even after the night before, Mirko still had no idea how something which, on a good day, looked so shaggy and unruly could feel so fine and fluffy in between his fingers. He was tempted to refresh his memory and caress the locks, but decided otherwise when he heard Arttu sigh peacefully in his sleep. 

Instead, he let his eyes rest on the man as he reminisced how the other parts of Arttu’s body had felt under his touch, such as the firmness of Arttu’s body as Mirko’s hands had wandered all over it, the pulse thumping on his neck under Mirko’s lips, or how hot Arttu’s mouth had felt around his cock, how intoxicating it had been in that moment, with his hands full of Arttu’s hair and his head full of Arttu’s everything.

Memories of the night before made a slow smile find its way to Mirko’s lips and his blood rush towards his loins. However, he wasn’t going to be that creeper who jerked off looking at their sleeping partner, meaning he would either have to suppress his needs and wait for a better time, or ruthlessly interrupt Arttu’s Sunday morning dreams for both their benefit.

There was no reaction from the sleeping man next to him when Mirko turned to his side and shuffled his body closer to Arttu’s, safe for the quiet exhale that made the strands of hair resting on Arttu’s face flutter with the sudden breath of air. Mirko lifted his hand to brush them away and smiled at the calm, soft expression that was revealed from underneath it. He almost abandoned his plans of a gentle rise and shine and instead considered waking up his lover more straightforwardly with a passionate kiss, and he might have, if the image of Arttu being gradually teased back into awakeness hadn’t been so strangely exciting to him from the moment the thought had entered his head.

Arttu’s warm skin was like satin under Mirko’s fingertips as he sneaked his hand under Arttu’s duvet. Carefully, ever so tenderly he traced the same pathways across Arttu’s bare back and bottocks that had become all too familiar to him during the exploits of the previous night; admired all the curves and lines of Arttu’s body like they were the eighth wonder of the world. Indeed, to Mirko, the naked body lying beside him was more precious than any ancient temple or long-lost garden, and the undying desire to worship it drove Mirko crazy some days. 

(Then there were days when Arttu wordlessly curled up next to him on a couch backstage and slid his hand under Mirko’s shirt, or days when Mirko wondered about the sudden disappearance of his favourite sweater, only to spot it on Arttu mere minutes before showtime. Those were the days that made Mirko soft with affection, powerless in front of the love he felt for the man.)

He felt slight movement under his palm, barely a subtle change in Arttu’s breathing rhythm, which might have gone unnoticed by anyone else. Mirko, on the other hand, was no stranger to Arttu’s habits and his entire presence, so it took him only a second to understand his lover was no longer dreaming.

Encouraged by this newfound knowledge, Mirko shifted his body even closer while letting his hand roam Arttu’s backside with more force and determination, from the nape of his neck, down his spine, past the rise of his bum to the strong thighs that had wrapped around Mirko’s hips tightly just a few hours earlier with the moon still illuminating the room. Travelling back up again, he took a moment to gently rest his hand on the small of Arttu’s back and just take in the calm before the storm, before he would move his hand an inch lower again and firmly squeeze the plump, soft muscle there.

“Mmmmhhh,” he then heard from next to him. He had to fight back the urge to muffle the sound with his own mouth; this morning, he had no intention to hurry.

“Morning,” he only said. If he had blinked, he would’ve missed the slight tug at the corner of Arttu’s lip.

Oblivious to Mirko’s intentions, Arttu wiggled his body in an apparent attempt to get closer to Mirko who was, despite his admirable self-control from just a moment ago, eager to meet him halfway on the bed. His body reacted instantly once he felt Arttu’s naked one against his own again, having missed the sensation already, even though mere hours had passed since they had last been all over each other, touching each other wherever they could reach. 

Mirko’s breathing was shallow when Arttu’s head was suddenly resting beside his, the tip of his nose not quite touching Arttu’s, and suddenly Mirko couldn’t wait anymore. He leaned in to close the gap between their mouths, unable to hold back the satisfied sigh when their lips finally met, only to soon groan with frustration when the wetness of Arttu’s mouth suddenly disappeared. 

The eyes staring back at him were full of sleep and mischief.  Mirko cursed himself for falling for the same trap again, thinking he could, for once, outsmart his opponent; instead, he had been the one being lured into temptation all along.

Despite the ominous smile dancing on Arttu’s lips, Mirko dived in again for another kiss like the reckless, lovesick fool he was, only to be denied the pleasure once their lips brushed against each other. This was followed by a few more impatient attempts that were equally fruitless and frustrating, as well as distracting Mirko from how Arttu was now lying on his side as well, his hands advancing dangerously close to Mirko’s hips.

By some inexplicable whim of mercy, Arttu at last gave in and allowed Mirko to devour him for good, allowed him to satisfy his thirst for Arttu’s tongue against his, for Arttu’s heavenly lips moving in unison with his own, and yes, for even Arttu’s devilish teeth nibbling on his lower lip. They left the lip hot and swollen, similar to what was happening lower down his body, with the friction provided by Arttu’s thigh having sneaked in between Mirko’s legs and rubbing against his crotch. 

Eventually Arttu released Mirko’s lip and he would’ve been ashamed of the moan that then escaped his mouth, if the pleasure Arttu was giving him hadn’t felt so damn euphoric. He was fully aroused by then and could feel Arttu’s hardness poking his stomach as well. Happy to detect the same desperation in Arttu’s movements which he had been nurturing inside himself all morning, Mirko began to mirror Arttu’s efforts and rolled his hips to meet Arttu’s touch with even more force. He savoured the sudden shift in Arttu’s expression, changing from cocky to gasping out loud in a matter of milliseconds as Arttu’s erection pressed against Mirko’s abdomen.

Mirko watched Arttu squeeze his eyes shut and wanted to do the same when their movements became more hasty, but the sight of Arttu overcome with pleasure was simply too lovely to miss. He craved for another kiss off Arttu’s lips and was this time granted one with no tormenting, the teasefulness from earlier now replaced with urgency and lust.

The hand that had until then been grasping Mirko by his hips was now moving towards Mirko’s navel, with intentions Mirko had no trouble guessing. Still, he cried against Arttu’s mouth when the hand gripped his dick and began pumping it in a quick, effortless motion, with no prior warning whatsoever. His immediate reaction was to start thrusting in Arttu’s fist, which alone had a familiar warmth building up inside him, dangerously soon for his preferences; he wanted this moment to last, wanted to revel in Arttu’s touch for as long as he could, as if it was the last bit of bliss he’d ever be given again in his life. Fair enough, the orgasms Arttu gave him were often so intense that Mirko felt like he was ascending straight to heaven, so he really was expecting to pass away from pure pleasure one of these days.

He was left panting with his lips still touching Arttu’s when the man grunted, once more shuffling closer to Mirko although they were already as if glued to each other. Mirko was soon to find out the reason for Arttu’s insistence when he felt Arttu’s hot cock against his own member. Loud moans of pleasure filled the room when Arttu gave their cocks a few squeezes, only silenced when Arttu removed his hand to swiftly spit on his palm for more lubrication. There was no time nor chance to protest the absence of Arttu’s hand before it resumed its humble task of jacking them both off with experienced flicks of his wrist. 

Feeling Arttu’s pulsating cock rub against his own made Mirko’s journey to climax even more speedy, frustratingly so. He tried to focus on Arttu’s eyes, still partly dazed with sleep to distract himself, to force himself to last longer instead of coming all over his lover’s hand after just a few thrusts. He tried to concentrate on Arttu’s heavy breathing brushing his cheek in hot waves, but that only made him more desperate with need, more greedy to already reach the goal by the hands of the person who had the power of making him feel invincible. 

By the way Arttu’s breathing was now coming in bursts instead of steady and rhythmic, Mirko knew he was getting close. Even more so than before, Mirko was determined to hold himself back, for he wanted to still be in his right mind to witness Arttu reaching his climax, as he knew he’d lost all awareness of the world around him after he’d reach his own, except for maybe the hand on his cock and the mouth hovering on his.

“Fuck,” Arttu breathed, and soon Mirko felt something hot flow in between their dicks, making it easier for them to glide against one another. Arttu’s gasps and cries were music to Mirko’s ears, and together with the twitching of Arttu’s cock against his, they were enough to make Mirko come over the edge too. He thrusted into Arttu’s fist one more time before spilling on his fingers and on the sheet below them, almost laughing with the euphoria of feeling Arttu’s cock throb a few more times in rhythm with his, contributing to the sticky mess they had made in between them and on the bed before Arttu finally withdrew his hand, both of them already sensitive to the touch.

A comforting serenity fell in the room, as if to remind them both it was a Sunday morning and there was no haste to get out of bed just yet, no responsibilities to fulfil, no errands to run that day. In his post-orgasm paradise, Mirko felt as if he was floating in the feeling of relaxation, drifting in the peaceful currents while Arttu was the ocean, gently guiding him to the home port. Sometimes what he felt for Arttu in times like this almost overwhelmed him, and Mirko had never been a great swimmer, but something reassured him that with Arttu’s arms wrapped around him as they waited for their breaths to catch, there would be no fear of drowning.

[exquisiteagony]

whumptober is here! 1213 words of samy in the murder channel au!

[saint-petah-the-good]

my biggest fear is being closed in a room with all of my fictional crushes

[another-clive-blog]

VERY low effort meme redraw I drew in like five minutes because my free time today was like. Five minutes.

Original under the cut !!

[starsofarda]

So, I recently read that a fanfiction writer wants to sue The Rings of power and the Tolkien Society for copyright infringement...

I am ugly laughing and ugly crying.

Please, tell me this is a joke.

It MUST BE a joke.

This is so cringe.

EDIT: OH NO THIS IS FUCKING TRUE

You know what, people like this one truly deserves Anne Rice's lawyers.

[ultfreakme]

You must be in a tumblr bubble because how have you never seen posts with thousands notes claiming most classical literature is actually fanfiction of bible and the rest is of mythology. Like, this isn’t a hot take on tumblr, unfortunately.

Probably because I have a life outside of tumblr and curate my experience, but yes, I have seen posts about how Paradise Lost is just Bible fanfic and Dante's Inferno is self-insert fanfiction, but mostly from people who watch OSPD videos and say it as a joke. It's a major simplification of about a dozen concepts but okay, if you look at it from the point of definitions, yeah, Paradise Lost & the Divine Comedy are technically fanfiction; they are based on pre-existing work, with Dante there's irl people in scenarios they've never been in, etc etc.

Although I have never seen anyone saying any particular fanfic is a literary masterpiece that must simply be taught in academic settings, which is what that OP's post was actually implying.

And here's the thing; I think fanfic has the potential to be considered a classic. Because, what makes let's say, the Divine Comedy so important? It's not because it's old, but because it struck a nerve among the masses, it did things against the societal structure no one dared to do before, it transformed the Italian language as we know it, it's this carefully, excruciatingly crafted work in terms of sentence structure and is primarily a theological exploration. Now this stands out also because the og canon content, the Bible, is MASSIVE in influence. That thing STILL shapes social norms, conventions and expectations.

No current fanfiction now will ever come to be seen as a true classic unless the canon thing the fic is based on reaches Bible levels of influence on society, which is going to take centuries. Same can be applied to Greek Myths in general(also in both these cases the canon thing is also tied to social structure and religion which large portions of the world follow). We don't want to equate the term 'fanfiction' to that stuff because it feels like it's beyond that but technically, yeah. It's fanfiction.

But the term fanfiction itself is extremely recent, it was said first in 1939 and therefore carries temporal contexts and definitions. It's why it feels juvenile and uncomfortable assigning such a new, and initially frowned-upon term to classics. Being angry about what is and what isn't fanfiction depends entirely upon how you view the term 'fanfiction'.

For me, it is value-neutral and doesn't immediately denote lowered quality these days because at the most fundamental level, fanfiction is literary work based on pre-existing media. But if you add the current cultural context in which fanfiction is primarily written, ie., posted online by anyone and everyone with a desire to write, mostly to fulfill shipping fantasies or certain character scenarios canon didn't provide, then I can see why people would consider giving the label of fanfiction to the classics an insult or "shooting too high".

Maybe 'fanfiction' isn't fitting because of all the social stigma around it, maybe it doesn't apply because it feels like trying to apply modern story beats and terms to ancient mythology. What specifically, is making someone uncomfortable about the term 'fanfiction' on the classics? What the hell even is "fanfiction" in the first place because you could argue that The Song of Achilles is canon-compliant POV change fanfiction but its advertised as a retelling. Pride & Prejudice & Zombies also counts for fic. I think there's a good discussion to be had on what makes "fanfiction" as we know it now what it is because even I think assigning the term to Divine Comedy or Paradise Lost feels wrong. Maybe it's about intent? The classics are written with the need for social change or to make people see things different; art for life's sake. But most fic these days are purely art for art's sake- it is peak self-indulgence and self-expression.

I'm looking it up and people keep narrowing the definition of "fanfiction" as like

Amateur writing

Based on copyrighted characters

Without permission from og creator

Now that whole "copyright" concept complicates things because Romeo & Juliet? Not originally by Shakespeare. Dude borrowed characters from a different play, pretty sure he changed Juliette's name, and he wrote it when the og was only recently made. The concept of "copyright" and "author permission" is also VERY recent. What even counts as actually "amateur" because Van Gogh is considered a pro now but when he was alive he only sold one painting apparently so back then he could've been classified as "amateur"?

I have fully derailed. I forgot what I wanted to say-- Okay yeah I'm aware people say the classics are fanfiction, and in a way, yeah, it is, depending on how the individual defines "fanfiction".

[yessirplease69]

❝Domain Expansion: Love❞

Synopsis: You are Gojo Satoru's only weakness. When the bearer of the Six Eyes discerns that your life is in jeopardy, he will do everything to keep you safe.

෴ Genre: fiction, fanfiction, mystery, dark fantasy, short story, one shot, romance, imagine.

෴ Content: husband!gojo satoru × wife!reader, jujutsu society, sorcerer!reader, angst, fluff, sensitive content, bloodshed, suggestive (mature content), satoru gojo!yandere, satoru gojo!tsundere, this takes place shortly before the shibuya incident arc, reader has a maternal relationship with megumi, pregnancy.

෴ Word Count: 3.4K

— Oi, I ain't revised it yet, so sorry if there's any mistakes! Hope u enjoy it 🤞✨

Satoru Gojo is the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer in existence. However, the moment he sees you, his beautiful wife, unconscious on the battlefield with nearly incurable wounds, this man's world crumbles completely. Suddenly, all of his physical and mental energy is being drained, even his enthusiasm to exorcise curses vanishes. He is motionless in place, trembling enough with wide eyes under the black blindfold, and even though they are hidden, they scrutinize all the blood leaving different parts of your body. Minutes ago, there was a stupid and arrogant smile shaping the face of the confident man all the time as he killed horrendous creatures. A countenance of terror overtakes his face now. He feels his legs weakening, his feet seem to be too far from the ground, and he remembers that he is not manipulating the space to make it levitate. He is feeling weak for not having been able to arrive in time to protect you, this emotion has intertwined with him. Especially since Satoru Gojo never even had a weakness until you came into his life.

His heart is beating rapidly and his breath is so intense that all the curses around him are impacted by the reaction of the mighty man among them. Time frenetically ceases as the strong cursed technique is creating an invisible barrier in the air and continues to repel the malevolent creatures that persist in their futile attempt to touch the bearer of Mukagen and Rokugan, while he himself is left vulnerable like a puppy that has just lost its owner.

Didn't she use the reverse cursed technique to stay healed?

Why...

"Satoru." The presence and hesitant voice of Nanami become noticeable at a certain distance. The tie-wearing sorcerer clenches his jaw, too tense as he sees you in a deplorable state. Nanami fails to try not to show all his agony. Witnessing one of his closest friends on the brink of death equals the feeling of having his heart cut with the cursed blade he carries.

Amid the scene, Satoru is lowering the blindfold covering his eyes, the white locks of hair cascading as the black cloth falls. The fabric hangs on his neck before revealing the orbs, the bright blue darkening as a storm brews within them. A lost and distressed gaze is exposed on his face, as if you somehow took his emotions along with you.

"My wife shouldn't be on that suicide mission." The tone of voice of the Jujutsu High teacher is harsh, firm in the way he usually imposes on a very serious subject. A power which makes the walls vibrate when he is arguing with Gakuganji. He is so angry.

As he melancholically walks towards you, the semi-grade 1 curses around him are exploded in a matter of seconds. There are parts of physical structures scattered and fluids like blood painting the ground at this moment, justified by the power of his ability to manipulate space.

"I should've just isolated her from the world, maybe locked her on the 15th floor of a building and then acted as if I didn't do that." A small sad smile forms on the edge of his mouth, he is imagining how you would laugh at this idea if you were conscious now. You would probably find it absurd and put him to sleep on the couch.

Damn, he misses you and wonders why it hurts so much. His intention is to act quickly to take you to the jujutsu sorcerer doctors and stay by your side the whole time while they are taking care of you. He will not leave you for even a minute, and those are the words of Gojo Satoru against anyone. If someone dares to touch you right in front of him, he will definitely be willing to kill.

The strongest sorcerer abandons these thoughts, he does not hesitate to carefully wrap his arms around your body, holding you close to his chest. The man notices the wounds on parts of your face, your jujutsu uniform is dirty with blood and so destroyed, revealing your naked skin. The sweet taste on his tongue is bitter now, his mind can only focus on the fact that you suffered from fighting until you could not take it anymore. You resisted too much because of your undeniable strength, and on one hand he feels so proud of it. He loves showing everyone that his wife is one of the best professional jujutsu sorcerers, strong like him. But you should not be dealing with this cruel world. You are the most precious thing to him.

Satoru could feel your energy miles away, making it easy to identify your presence. But now he's not sensing any cursed energy flowing according to your emotions. It's all so quiet and calm. The powerful energy emanation should be surrounding your body as it always has, but it's as if something inside you is blocking it right now, since he can't feel your aura. It's different. He will question Shoko about this as soon as he takes your body to her for analysis.

"Do not mention it to the students, especially Megumi." The request leaves Satoru's mouth like a command. He imagines how the teenage Fushiguro would react upon finding out your condition, as you had become a maternal figure by making sure to take care of him since he was so young. The spiky-haired student is on a mission with others, and the best choice is not to disclose the information as the bad news would have a big negative impact on the boy. Gojo knows you would want that too.

On the other side of the area, the grade 1 sorcerer nods in deep silence. Nanami feels the muscles strengthen beneath his formal clothes. He is aware of the gravity of the situation, the actions and the consequences. He is not one to conceal lies, but that will be an exception he makes.

"She's losing a lot of blood." The blond man pushes his glasses closer to his eyes with his hands as he gazes at the white-haired sorcerer. He sighs deeply, containing the desperation within him. "Take her out of here before it's too late."

"Thank you, Nanami."

And that was the last thing Satoru Gojo said before teleporting with you unconscious in his arms.

෴⥊෴⥊෴⥊෴⥊෴⥊෴⥊෴⥊෴⥊෴⥊

The night takes over the city, darkness has crept upon Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, and 2 hours have passed since the sorcerer of the Six Eyes emerged in the place, insane, with you clinging to his chest and enraged enough as he searched for an available doctor. Gojo laid your body down onto the nearest stretcher, his hands dirty and consumed by your blood, staining the sheets red and making a mess. 2 hours ago he was screaming at anyone who crossed his path. At this moment, silence hangs in the air like a fog, it is peaceful again behind the school doors.

In one of the infirmary rooms, you are peacefully sleeping on the stretcher. Your chest rises and falls in a steady motion, your body completely healed through the spell cursed technique reversal performed by professionals. The minor wounds and even the most serious ones - like the rupture of your rib - had vanished, and your skin is renewed under the hospital gown you are now dressed in. Sitting in a chair quite close to you, the strongest sorcerer is comfortable with legs apart, assuming a relaxed posture as he rests the upper part of his body on your legs enclosed by the sheets. Satoru Gojo is resting, his eyelids is closed and his head supported by his own arms. He spent so much time watching you sleep that his eyes were influenced by exhaustion. Satoru has no idea of the time he spent caressing your face, running his fingers through your hair, and kissing your forehead several times before settling into his current position. His neck is turned towards the ceiling, his white hair falling naturally loose. There is only a black t-shirt hugging his torso as he had taken off the jacket of his jujutsu attire since your blood had stained most of his clothes. The exposed skin of his arms is almost glistening in the light of the room.

He has kept you safe all this time, only leaving you when he realized that everything was under control. The man always ensures to protect you at all costs, even though most of the time you don't need it. After inspecting the entire perimeter and realizing that you were safe at Jujutsu High, he went to finish the mission that was according to the superiors, just as it had been ordered to you. Since he completed the task of exorcising a special grade curse, his precious time now remains only for you. By the time indicated on the wall clock, Satoru wishes so much to take you home and he only thinks about holding you close until morning comes again. Nevertheless, Shoko was quite insistent when she said that you still require monitoring by a doctor, and that for now you should stay here. What did she mean by that?

This question echoes in Satoru's mind, suddenly he awakens fully and opens his eyes as quickly as if he felt some creature attacking him without warning. A movement of your legs under the sheets does not go unnoticed by him, his blue orbs almost popping out as they contemplate you lazily waking up from eternal rest. For him, it was truly eternal.

"I knew you were here." You whisper. Your voice is weak from just waking up, but a strong smile spreads across your face when your eyes slowly open and meet the white mane. You try to push yourself up out of bed using your arms, but your efforts are blocked by Satoru.

"Babyyy! Easy, easy." Your husband gestures with his hands, a gaze of relief on his face. You're really strong, huh? He is smiling like a little boy who just tasted his favorite mochi flavor, and you are certain you see stars twinkling in his eyes. "Gee, you're already eager to fly."

"Satoru, if you don't let me get out of this bed right now, I swear I don't know what I'll do."

"When in doubt, do nothing." He is clapping consistently to highlight the idea. "Settle that cute and pretty booty down right there, I've locked all the doors and you ain't leaving here. Now tell me how you're feeling, my lovely wife. That's all that matters to me."

"Argh." A small huff of air escapes your lips while you roll your eyes towards the ceiling, defeated enough. The man right next to you is playfully disapproving of your behavior. "I'm fine, 'Toru. You know that better than I do. My skin's just tingling from someone else's reverse technique." You report during the time you notice the scars that have formed on your arm after the outcome of the cursed method. A technique that you have the experience to perform on yourself. After all, you don't carry the title of special grade sorcerer for nothing.

"Nah, don't sweat it. I'm gonna take good care of you." There's an intense gaze that matches his words. The man emits a little chuckle as he realizes he managed to tease you with that.

"And where's 'Gumi?" You inquire, more to yourself than to Satoru. Your eyes are scanning the entire room in search of finding the black-haired teenage boy. You still ponder the king of curse's intentions towards Megumi, it consumes you and leaves you with a nagging feeling.

"You're more worried 'bout him than 'bout yourself, heh." The man raises his eyebrows, indignation stamped on them. A comical expression, almost too much. "You know that tough boy is independent, he's able to handle anything. Can you chill out for a minute, lady?" Satoru's smile broadens before he proceeds: "I took care of everything already, I told him to swing by here before heading to the dorm. Didn't go into the details, of course."

"He's probably gonna be surprised to find out we're here at Jujutsu High at this time of night... Guess I must have slept for a while, right?" You touch the skin of your husband as you place your hand on his face, and give a radiant smile as you realize that there is no invisible barrier holding you apart, even though he always deactivates it when he is with you. "Hey. Thank you for keeping things on the down low. And for everything you do for me."

"Awww! You're welcome, bae." Satoru copies the way you smile, but it is quickly replaced by a grimace. He puts his hand right on top of yours, the wedding rings on your fingers colliding with each other. "Ain't nobody care 'bout me like that. What did I do to not deserve it?"

"It's like I wouldn't be worried about you even if you could move mountains with just your own thoughts." You are rolling your eyes for the second time. Once you blink, he is staring at you with a stern and intimidating look.

"I'm the one here who got the most worried 'cause you got me feelin' this way. A guy like me shouldn't have these kinds of feelings." His voice is husky and his cold blue eyes unravel your soul, the temperature is freezing you. "Don't do that again, or I'll lose my mind and kill anyone around me." The way he adresses this, it is not a bluff. It seems like an objective he would fulfill, a mission that would not require anyone's authorization, not even the higher-ups of the Jujutsu society.

"Satoru..."

"You're trying to make me a widower, hah?" His voice becomes light again, genuine good humor returns. Now he has a broad smile on his face, the eyes are nearly closing due to that action. As if he hadn't announced something so violent just 10 seconds ago. "If I tally up how many folks got worried 'bout you, there won't be enough fingers on Sukuna's hand to count it."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to do that." You are making amends, and he cannot resist gazing at your lips without stealing a quick kiss. A man clingy to his wife. "I had just exorcised a special grade cursed spirit when I started feeling dizzy. My head began to spin."

Satoru reveals a pensive expression on the face, one hand resting on his chin. The most powerful sorcerer is contemplating all the possibilities to uncover the reason behind that eventuality concerning your cursed technique.

"So, I suppose that might have been the reason you didn't recover yourself at that moment, considering you experienced signs of fainting. Your brain became destabilized." He pronounces, cautiously, witnessing you confirm the information. "Were you feeling like that before you got the fight started?"

"When we split up to head towards the mission I was feeling fine." The corner of your mouth moves, you display your teeth to the man in an attempt to reassure him. Gosh, he is being so serious about that. "Maybe I used up too much of my energy, I guess I hit my limit. That's it."

"Hmm, there's something more. It's interesting and surprising how your energy flow is strongest now." The white-haired man is examining you with a curious look.

"Are you saying I'm accumulating this more than usual? Is that possible?"

"It's a fact. And I'm the one confirming it, little sweetheart." There is a smug smile playing on his lips. "But at least you're feeling better right now, yeah?"

"Hell yeah, I feel brand spanking new thanks to Shoko's skills!" You are shooting fire arrows with your eyes towards the bold man. "Can you stop staring at my tits now?"

"I'm just checking to make sure everything's really okay." He speaks with such honesty, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours. Satoru cannot shake off the thought of how beautiful you look to him, a very sugary sweet and his favorite. You make him feel so mushy and nearly diabetic.

However, Gojo Satoru is a natural provocateur.

"You're getting on my nerves, 'Toru."

He opens his mouth to laugh out loud, giving you a wink. You also join in his laughter as he starts poking your body several times, this real jokerster tickling you. The antics are suddenly interrupted the moment someone knocks on the door. Shoko Ieiri appears seconds later behind it, revealing only the upper part of her body.

"Sorry to interrupt the lovebirds." She smiles faintly, continuing: "I need a quick minute to talk to Satoru." The experienced doctor has a lit cigarette between her fingers, she is pointing it in your direction. You see its tip sparkling at you. "And you, go rest. Don't even think about escaping from that stretcher until we come back."

"You heard that, huh? This time it didn't come out of my mouth." Gojo has one finger pointed at the tongue he sticks out.

You gaze at them and fold your arms, simply accepting your fate.

"Alright. Goodbye." You are turning your back on them and burrowing into the blanket. "If possible, turn off the light before you guys leave."

"Going to sleep without giving me a kiss? That's not fair." Satoru is shocked enough, a pout forming on his lips and a puppy dog look in his eyes. He truly displays his emotions, reminding you of how every night Satoru Gojo questions that same thing after going to bed with you. Every night, the same thing.

"Okay, you two. I'll wait outside." The woman manages to capture the attention of both of you before the noise of her high heels against the floor fades away.

As soon as she departs, warm lips land on the side of your neck and journey up to your mouth. You need to raise your head to reach Satoru's lips, his skin burning against yours like a flame. The instant his hand wraps around the flesh of your waist and grips it tightly, you understand that he would never let you escape his grasp, or his domain expansion. He is kissing you as if he were thirsty and you were the water fountain, this man is showing you how much he requires you in his life. Preferably alive, of course. Otherwise, he will make sure of it for you.

"Hmmm, get outta here. I promise I'll make it up to you with a full kiss later." You moan at the touch, trying not to show that you're shivering just to not further inflate his already oversized ego. As if it were possible to be any bigger than usual.

"Oh, is that so? You know I'll hold you to that, babe." He growls near your ear.

At the moment the sorcerer is leaving the room, he halts on his path and gives you a long look with his blue eyes. Inside them, Satoru harbors concern.

"What's going on?"

"I'm feeling sorry for my friend." Ieiri ignores Satoru, making one's way to her desk. Instantly, a breeze from outside the window extinguishes the cigarette ember in her hand, smoke spreading throughout the room. "She is truly doomed to sacrifice her life, including putting up with your strong-willed nature for the rest of her life."

"Oi, what's that supposed to mean?" Satoru wears a playful smile on his lips. He places his hands in his trouser pockets in a relaxed and unconcerned posture, anticipating a highly amusing joke.

"You have no idea what's happening, do you? And what's going to happen from now on." She sets aside the cigarette, burying it in the ashtray on the table. Gojo watches everything attentively before rolling his eyes, he's starting to get bored with all the fuss. "But I believe you may have already noticed that the train is off the rails."

The doctor is moving around the small armchair in the room. When Shoko sits down, she leans her back against the backrest and then crosses her legs, silently facing Satoru. The expression on the white-haired man's face is impassive. He wishes he had the ability to read minds.

"Y/N is pregnant, Satoru." The sound of Ieiri's sigh is loud. "She is carrying your child in her womb. It's extraordinary that the baby has survived."

Satoru Gojo's world crumbles once more, for the second time that day. Not only is his own world shaken, but also the entire Jujutsu society.

[nsk96]

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Part 2 ->

[shuenkio]

Rewrite the stars | PJ.s 🍂

Paring: Jay x Male!reader | Genre: Angst but fluff.

Synopsis: the man who once broke your heart, decided that he will make a change between you and him, to form the love once again.

Cw: nothing just two exes getting back together.

Non proof read | Eng is not my 1st lang.

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

A-N: This was way back in June so it's a bit 🤏 cringe and many dramatic scene you'd discover, again I'm still develop how to express character emotion:> .

Years of dating with Jay crumbled in a blink of an eye when m/n saw him with a girl on a date with his gift that m/n gave him during his birthday. M/N calmed down, trying to process what's truly happening. We can't judge a book by its cover, but the moment M/N saw Jay press a soft kiss on the girl's cheek, it's over.

There's no explanation for this. M/N's tears break down unconditionally; he wants to go there and scream at Jay's face and ask why he would do such a thing to his boyfriend here. That's the ugliest memory you had of him. Nevertheless, since I love him very much, he can't seem to let him go.

Not because of his wealthy status; it's because he loves him so much from the bottom of his heart that he swears he would do anything for Jay. However, Jay had asked M/N to break up with him, and with no more heart in those eyes that once used to be, the adorable expression he made just for you when he talked about his day is no longer in this broken relationship.

Begging for him to stay would just make you pathetic and blinded by love. When m/n has decided he has to let him go, the person who's once been the love of his life is now leaving for their own good. Are all of the memories and promises nothing to Jay? The question seemed unspoken without an answer, clenching in his chest painfully in sorrow, along with the hurtful words that haunted your sleep every single day.

"Let's break up"

—5 years later, after  M/n graduated and found his true passion with his dream job. He was no longer stressing about nonsense; he got everything at the age of 25: money, a car, a house, importantly, a job. chapter of his life wherein he can get whatever he wishes for. I worked as a designer, making tons of exquisite and high-quality collections of luxurious clothes and dresses that hit the market every single time they were launched.

His name soon became the hot topic in society; not only did he walk with the trend, he was also loved by everyone with his relatability and kindness. Moreover, during the week, while he was spending his time at the spa, M/N got a call from his manager saying that there'll be a new member of a top-tier design team who wishes to work with you, especially as one of the co-workers. This was not new, nor is it difficult to handle, but what was coming for you was a blind spot.

The time has come; M/N is now in a meeting room, waiting for the new guy who is eager to work with him so much. He wonders who it could be, as a top-tier designer in this city will make an appearance in front of you at any moment soon. The glass door was opened by a pair of hands, and his manager came in with the taller man behind in his black suit. Everyone in the room stood up as a sign of respect except M/N.

He was so lost in thought at the new face behind his manager. He is quite familiar. M/N refuses to care if he's scolded by the supervisor, yet who cares? The whole group settled down in their own seats, and due to M/N sitting across from the table, he began to focus on the meeting instead of giving his attention to that guy.

"Everybody, Meet Jay Park! He will be working with us from now on, as a designer, of course, just like our gem, M/N. Haha, and it looks like this gentleman is here. I look forward to working with you. How do you like that m/n? " It was horrible the unrequited attention on you was your least favorite thing you thought would never happen; the uncomfortable shift in your seat explained everything.

"Very well, Mr. Park. So then, since I've already seen him, I'll take my leave. Please excuse  me." Once m/n knew who he was, he spared no time before leaving the place immediately. A glance on Jay's face, flashing back all of those nightmares once again. I don't know if it's because of work or something else, but deep down, a part of him said Jay is probably planning to take you back. How annoying.

Ever since the first meeting, of working together with your ex, M/N got nothing but troubling. Whenever Jay had time alone with M/N, he would always bring up the past topic all over again. He was truly sorry for his actions—for hurting you and for cheating on you with another girl. Jay swears he would wear his skin to the bone just for you to accept him once again.

However, it was such a bad move. Due to how much popularity M/N had, there's some reason you thought he would come back for you just because you had fame. Along with the sudden request to get back together, what will happen if he's going to cheat and repeat all the events once again? A busy day ended with the finished touch of your creation. M/N didn't know how long he had been standing here in the studio. All the sections are in pitch black except him. Employees have all gone back to their own homes. Prepared for you stuff to head home after a long day, a fade of voice fills the room from behind. Well, it was loud and clear to recognize.

"M/n i... Aren't you supposed to go home yet?" He paused, dipping his hands into his pocket.

"I'm about to. It's getting late; you should too," m/n implied with no enthusiasm for a small talk.

"Look, um, I know it's hard for you, but please hear me out." Jay's words seem so desperate; the low tone in his voice gives me chills. From the head to the bottom, not gonna lie, it's true he's a total mess. The bags under those eyes were visible on his face, and the lip was dry like he hadn't drunk any water. Is he going to make you pity him? No? At least you give him a chance to talk.

"If you talk about our relationship again, you should stop. I have nothing for those past  memories."

"I’m so sorry... I never should have hurt you. I'd let you go. But every day without you is like living in a world with no sun—cold, empty, and endless. I was wrong to think I could burn on my own and that I didn’t need you. Without you, I’m just ashes. Please, I can’t keep pretending I’m okay. I’m losing pieces of myself every day. Give us another chance—I need you more than words can say" He whispered, his voice thick with regret. His hands trembled as he reached out, but he hesitated. Still respect your boundaries and keep the space between them. M/N stood there, stunned.

His chest tightened, and he could feel the lump forming in his throat, making it impossible to speak. Memories flashed through his mind—the laughter, the nights spent together, all the moments they shared. Tears began to well up in his eyes, blurring his vision. He tried to hold them back, but they spilled over, one after the other. His hands shook, and he felt completely lost, unable to do anything but let the tears fall.

Unable to hide his own weakness, he covers his own face with the pair of his palms, breaking down on the spot as his knees feel weaker than ever. Why should you cry over someone who once broke your heart, someone who left you in the middle of the ocean with no shore at all yet? Till today, he was crawling back, begging for forgiveness, swearing he'd never done it ever again.

Isn't that two times more painful than before? Should you accept him back or not? Or are you scared of getting stabbed again? His heart sank as M/N started crying. Seeing him so broken made Jay's chest tighten with guilt and sadness. Jay can't contain himself to stand while watching you in this state; he was the one who caused this after all.

Unexpectedly, you were surprised to see him wrap his hand around you before pulling you into a tight hug. Listening to your sobbing was enough for him to bury himself alive in the graveyard. He wanted to wash all his sins away for having wounded you; if he could go back in time, he'd sacrifice anything just to keep you close

once again.

"Let's rewrite our story hm ? I'll be a better man from now on. I promise there'll be fewer tears in your eyes, pretty. I'll love you till the day that i die " 

🗣️ Reblog and like is much appreciated ♥

🗣️ please mind my English! ><

🗣️ dividers: Thecutestgrotto and crd to all the pic owner..

Thanks for this pookie 😽❤️ IWALY!!!!

[theflyingfeeling]

All I want is Aleksi and Olli taking Rilla and going for the most cozy week in some cabin in the woods to celebrate their birthdays by spending the time cuddling, exploring the forest, doing some cooking together and lazily making out... 💕

So...something like this, maybe? 🥰👬🐶🐿️

~

One fact about Aleksi Kaunisvesi was that he was not a religious person, per se. He did celebrate Christmas with his family in a traditionally Christian way, yes, and he had appreciated the long weekend they were always given from school during Easter, even if he had usually spent the four days stuffing his face with overly sweet chocolate and watching cartoons rather than contemplating the Passion of the Christ, but he did not believe in an “invisible force” that allegedly controlled all life on earth as if it was his personal puppet show. Likewise, he wasn’t entirely convinced of the existence of places like Heaven and Hell, or any other form of afterlife for that matter; the moment he’d be lying dead and stiff in a wooden box, Aleksi supposed (and partly hoped) the only place he was going was six feet under.

He did think, however, that if there was a heaven somewhere, it would be a lot like where he was right now: under a blanket on the couch of his family’s summer cottage, with scented candles and the remains of a birthday cake on the coffee table, and two sleeping figures pressed tightly against him, one curled up in the crook of Aleksi’s neck and sighing dramatically in his ear from time to time, the other resting his head on Aleksi’s chest with one of his arms wrapped around Aleksi’s waist. To him, heaven was the smoothness of Olli’s lips, the look in Rilla’s eyes when she hurried to him with her favourite toy in her mouth, Olli’s sleepy moans in the morning when they pleasured each other in bed, and all their footprints on the front porch of the cottage after a morning walk on foggy fields and mossy forests.

Indeed, if the clouds in Heaven weren’t as soft as Olli’s curls or Rilla’s fur just behind her ear, Aleksi sure as hell wasn’t going to bother living a life free of sin. On the other hand, if the life hereafter was anything like this, Aleksi wouldn’t have minded passing away this instant, as long as it meant he’d get to spend eternity exactly where he was now, all snuggled up with the two creatures he loved the most in the whole terrestrial world.

The drumming of the rain against the windowsill was almost like a lullaby that nearly made Aleksi lose the battle against sleepiness, which he had been fighting bravely ever since they all had settled on the couch together; not because he wasn’t feeling drowsy from the three-course meal they had had – minus Rilla, who had turned up her nose on the filet mignon flavoured Cesar meal – but because he simply couldn’t resist savouring the sight of his loved ones clinging on to him like touch-starved baby koalas. He was, in fact, maybe just a few seconds from nodding off himself, had it not been for the smallest, barely audible rustle sounding from behind the front door.

“Ril–” Aleksi didn’t have any more time to react before Rilla bolted up and sprang to the door, barking sharply at the visitor behind it.

“Mmhhuh?” a sleepy voice mumbled against Aleksi’s sweater. 

“The darned squirrel is back again,” Aleksi sighed. “I told you we shouldn’t have started feeding it.”

“But it looked so sad and starved!” Olli exclaimed as he lifted his cheek off Aleksi’s chest and rested his chin on it instead, locking eyes with Aleksi. Although Aleksi knew it was unintentional on Olli’s part, he couldn’t help but smile fondly at Olli’s face which was an impeccable image of the expression the squirrel had pulled the other morning as it had looked at them through the window while they had been having brunch. Olli had insisted the poor animal had been staring at their late breakfast snacks, and before Aleksi had had a chance to point out that he doubted squirrels were particularly keen on chocolate muffins or yoghurt, Olli had taken a handful of blueberries and put them on his already empty bread and butter plate before tiptoeing to the porch and placing the humble offerings on the small glass table under the window. 

Now, Aleksi had always considered himself a man of reason and rationality, and this part of him argued they should restrain from interacting with wildlife like this, no matter how cute. In a few days, their little vacation in the middle of nowhere would be over and there’d be no one leaving the squirrel blueberries fresh from the grocery store anymore. But when it came to Olli Matela, he knew this sort of reasoning was no use; sharing his life with Olli, Aleksi had learnt not only that ‘a second breakfast’ was more than just a silly quirk from the pencil of Mr. Tolkien, but also that some matters were simply meant to be dealt with by your heart rather than by your (annoyingly logical, as his bandmates often complained) head. 

Inviting a lonely squirrel to your breakfast table was clearly one of these matters, and since then, their new friend had paid them a visit at least once a day, making subtle noises on the porch to attract their – and especially Rilla’s – attention. Aleksi thought the furry rodent was trying his luck a little too boldly, climbing up the wooden pillar of the porch just inches before Rilla’s teeth would snap its furry tail, but Olli admired its persistence and bravery and rewarded it with a squirrel-sized portion of salad seed mix (whereas Rilla, Aleksi assumed, was of the opinion that the squirrel would be better off as far away from her territory,  which consisted of the area surrounding the cottage as far as Rilla’s eyesight could reach and a little beyond that, just to be sure). Yet, no matter how stern Aleksi tried to be, it only took him one glance at the way Olli’s eyes brightened as he observed the squirrel nibbling on whatever little snack he had given it from their travel cooler, and Aleksi knew he wasn’t going to stop Olli from feeding the animal the next time it would arrive either.

When the squirrel had finished its meal of the day and scurried back to the nearby pine where they suspected it slept in, Olli turned to Aleksi and shuffled closer, right into Aleksi’s personal space. 

“Shall we continue where we left off now?” Olli’s low voice was like hot chocolate on a winter evening, especially now that Aleksi had already lost all the body heat they had built together under the blanket. 

“Mmmmh,” Aleksi hummed and let himself be dragged towards the couch, slowly and a little clumsily, as neither of them couldn’t bear letting the other go once they were entangled in an embrace once again. “Or maybe…we could do something else?” 

Olli didn’t answer;  he didn’t need to. The answer was given in the curve of his lips, in the brilliant gleam in his thunderstorm coloured eyes, in the tongue that immediately found Aleksi’s when their mouths touched. As Aleksi felt himself be pushed back on the couch cushions, gently but with certainty and purpose, he knew he wouldn’t have to second-guess whether or not Olli had understood his indirect suggestion.

Divine, Aleksi thought when Olli’s hungry eyes undressed him before his hands could. Celestial, he sighed in his mind when Olli’s hands groped his body wherever they could reach, in perfect sync with his equally celestial tongue. Angelic, he almost whispered out loud when Olli’s lust-filled eyes met his. Holy, he wanted to scream when their bodies moved together, the windows of the small cottage fogging up. Heavenly, when Olli finally collapsed on top of him, panting heavily, sweat glistening on his chest.

Heaven, when they kissed slowly by the kitchen counter, waiting for their mulled wine to brew; when they sat wrapped around each other at 3 am, chatting idly about everything and nothing; when their naked bodies melted together as they finally fell asleep.

To think of it again, maybe Aleksi could find a little bit of religiousness in himself after all.

[exquisiteagony]

1413 words of samy in the murder channel au 🙌🙌

[floralcyanide]

𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 - 𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧!𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫

cillian murphy!oppenheimer x reader

DISCLAIMER: this is fanfiction. it isn’t real. Oppenheimer is a real person, however Cillian!Oppenheimer is not. he is a character. if you have something bad to say just keep it in the drafts (:

“let's all go play Nagasaki, we can all get vaporized. hold my hand, let's turn to ash. I'll see you on the other side.” - 137 by Brand New

warnings: spoilers for Oppenheimer, descriptions of nuclear bomb/ explosion, fear

word count: 1316

author's note: I love Cillian so much, and he did so good in Oppy!! I just had to write about it. please keep in mind there are spoilers in this, don't read if you haven't seen the movie. also, there's only like, one other fic on here for Cillian!Oppy which is sad but I'm sure there'll be more soon. (:

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

For the last few nights, Robert has woken up abruptly from his sleep. He’ll sit upright and pant, trying his best to catch his breath. It alarms you every time he does this despite him acting like it didn’t happen. But you know he doesn’t go back to sleep after because you feel him toss and turn until morning. Test day is tomorrow, and you can feel Robert’s nervous energy radiating off him. This was it- this was the epitome of his life’s work, and if it failed, he would be lost. And you’re torn between wanting it not to work for humanity’s sake and wanting it to work for Robert’s. 

You have worked alongside your husband for many years despite the pushback from society. But he knows your intelligence and insisted you be involved in the Project. He refused to have anything to do with it unless you assisted him. Lieutenant Groves reluctantly agreed, but he still knew just how capable you were to help with the Project. 

You’re very much a housewife outside of work, though. Despite being a knowledgeable person, you still have duties at home. You’re busy folding laundry when Robert exits the bedroom after getting ready for a meeting. It was the last one before tomorrow’s events. Robert doesn’t say much to you before bidding his farewell and heading out. It wasn’t abnormal for him to mumble a goodbye before putting his hat on and leaving without anything else said. He was reserved unless it was necessary to say something. That’s one thing you admired about Robert; he could be cynical and sarcastic yet humble and a man of few words. 

You would attend a later meeting that evening, so it’s possible you may not see Robert until bedtime. You aren’t worried about him not kissing your son goodnight or missing dinner. You mostly worry he won’t sleep enough.

Later in bed, you and Robert both lay on your backs, staring at the ceiling wordlessly. 

“How are you feeling?” you suddenly ask, breaking the eerie silence.

Robert opens his mouth before shutting it again, shrugging.

You sigh, turning on your side to face him, “I can feel you have nightmares, you know.”

Robert cuts his eyes toward you before giving in and rolling over to face you as well, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you furrow your brow, “There’s nothing to be sorry for. What we’re- what you’re doing is incredibly stressful and world-changing. It’s normal to be anxious over it.”

“That’s exactly why I’m anxious.”

“Which part?”

“The world-changing part.”

You’re quiet for a moment before answering, “What do you dream about?”

Robert’s eyes study yours closely, searching for any instance of potential recoil from what he’s about to tell you. He searches even though he knows he won’t find it because Robert knows that you’d never leave him no matter what. Even if his nightmares were incomparable to even the most descriptive horror stories. What’s worse is that Robert knows no one has ever seen the results of a bomb the magnitude of the one he’s created. So it’s up to his imagination. And his imagination is one of grotesque imagery that he hopes won’t come to fruition.

“Death,” Robert says plainly, with a cold look, “Destruction. Everything in my dreams is obliterated by fire and disintegrates into ash, and even the ash turns into nothingness.”

You purse your lips, gently reaching your hand up to touch Robert’s cheek, running your thumb over his cheekbone.

“I don’t fear for me or for us. I fear for our children,” Robert gives a watery laugh, “And the world they’ll have to grow up in knowing that such weaponry exists.”

You tuck Robert’s head into your chest, “You are merely the creator, darling. You have no control over how they use your creation. And I know that worries you, but you cannot do much about it.”

“I know. You’re right. But the fact I’m the one responsible for such a destructive device,” Robert trails off.

“Your creation is for science exploration and nothing more,” you say, “Remember that tomorrow.”

When you awake at two in the morning to prepare for the test, Robert has already gotten up from bed. You figure he didn’t sleep and has already made his way down the street to prepare. You hurriedly get dressed, grab your son, and walk out the front door. You let your neighbor, one of the wives of another scientist, watch over your son while you and Robert are away. A vehicle has been sent to your home, probably by Robert, to retrieve you. The ride is quiet and bumpy. You figure they would take you to the main hall, but they keep driving into the desert. Everyone must already be at Trinity. 

Trinity is alight, with people who worked on the project scurrying around to find the perfect spot to watch the explosion. You climb off the vehicle and run to the tent where Robert resides with the others. A relieved smile grows on his face when he sees you walk in.

“I didn’t want to see this without you,” he says, pulling you in for a tight hug.

“Did you sleep at all?” you mutter into his shoulder.

“Unfortunately, no. But sleep can come later,” Robert says, returning to the detonation station. 

You cross your arms and walk around aimlessly, watching the scientists scramble to take their places and put sun shades on.

“Ninety minutes,” Robert says from behind you.

You turn around to look at him, a half smile growing on your face, “I’m proud of you.”

“And I’m proud of you, too. Without your suggestions, we may not be here,” Robert plays with a loose strand of your hair.

“I doubt that,” you chuckle, “Your brainpower alone has done the job.”

“I’ll see you on the other side,” Robert says.

After a little under an hour and a half of checking that everything was perfect and prepared, everyone took their places where they wanted to view the test. You’re next to Robert, with goggles on your face that match his. Both of you have ports to get a fantastic view. The countdown begins.

Everyone becomes dead silent as the bomb is detonated. The flash causes you to gasp, your eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness despite the goggles. When the light subsides, you see a mushroom cloud of nothing but fire beginning to rise to the atmosphere. Beside you, Robert grabs hold of your hand and grasps it tightly. 

“Now I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds,” Robert says with a haunting tone.

You remove your goggles along with everyone else as you squint against the harsh brightness. Before you is the most terrifying, breathtaking thing you’ve ever seen. A firestorm that is capable of mass destruction. A scientific miracle. But before anyone can relax, the sound of air rumbling and rushing toward the tent is heard. The sound of the explosion hits the viewing base violently. The blast wave smacks everyone as they brace themselves against the high wind. Once the hot gust of air subsides and the explosion tapers down, everyone begins to cheer and clap.

“We did it,” Robert says in disbelief before he looks up at you, “We actually did it.”

You nod, smiling at him proudly before engulfing him in a hug.

“I have destroyed the world,” Robert whispers in your ear, and you pull away to see an odd flash of emotion cross his face.

“You haven’t,” you whisper back, as people begin to approach your husband, “But you’ve changed it forever.”

As colleagues surround Robert and move him outside, you remain in the tent for a moment. You replay the mushroom-looking explosion in your head. You begin to ponder what the Manhattan Project’s creation will do for the world. And whether it’s good or bad.

Either way, everyone has been forever changed.

[balkanradfem]

I know I just made a serious post and I'm about to post something silly but stay with me here. I've had an experience that was deeply unsettling and horrifying to me and my mental health, and now you have to hear about it.

So I was reading fanfiction, and you can judge me, it's fine, I don't feel guilty for my little thought crimes, but it was a m/m fanfiction of two fictional blorbos I will not name in this instance. And this fanfiction was absolutely beautifully written, the prose had me in the first sentence; it was sophisticated, detailed, words so unusual and interesting I had to consult a dictionary. It started off wonderfully too, my characters were bantering, they were having issues, then had to work together and be civil to each other, it's what puts a smile on my face.

However, one of these characters had been changed in the fanfiction, in a way that felt unsettling to me. First the author changed his hair to long – and it happens sometimes, I'm okay with it, why not, make him look like an elf. Then his outfits were color-coordinated, and described in detail (it was like reading my immortal). Then he started wearing his hair in a long braid, which is normal, but, then he changed it to two braids, which I felt, was taking it too far, like this would happen only if he lost a bet and was being made fun of. Then he lost all of his desire for banter and started acting very dainty and vulnerable. I was having a bad feeling about it, but I still hoped it would get better. Maybe they would still fight.

The fanfiction had some very detailed and unusual descriptions of food, and it was food I've never heard about, red onion marmelade? I had to stop reading to consider if that was real. The food was a big issue and every meal had several courses and multiple fancy deserts and we were getting information about ingredients and freshness level. Then the characters started a discussion about the food, and the character I'm describing understood in detail how food is made, from what ingredients, in what manner, and I've felt suspicious about that, how would he know about cooking. Unreasonable.

I've still been hanging onto hope until finally, I got to the part where this character was in the hospital, and here I found out that the author erased all of the scars on his body. Not only that, but the character was obsessed with having skin free of blemishes and flaws and from what I was seeing, probably had a skin care routine. This was deeply unsettling because the scars have been vital to the plot, a proof of what had happened to him, and to just erase all this to make him blemish free? There was no hope. I knew it then for sure. I understood what was happening. They had turned him into a tradwife.

The outfits, the braids, the blemish-free skin, the extensive cooking knowledge, the lack of banter, the dainty behaviour... they did that to a fanfiction character. A male character. Nobody is freaking safe. The trend is so strong it bled into my emotional-support fanfiction. I am stripped of one thing that usually comforts me, two fictional males having a female-written relationship.

And the other character, who was supposed to be pursuing him, was written like a sexual predator. Consistently turned on by all of the tradwife elements and pretty much only by that. I generally love this character but in this fanfic I hoped someone would kill him. It was disgusting and disturbing. By the time the characters got to intimacy I was grossed out and skipped it entirely because I was about to throw up.

This is a common issue for me, a big bulk of fanfiction has already been ruined by rape fantasies, by bdsm, ddlg, fetishes, pedophilia, power imbalances, and all other influences of patriarchal society but I can usually FILTER THOSE OUT. Nobody will tag a fic 'tradwife' after they do this to a character. I've never seen a fic ruined in this particular way before.

This is mormon church's fault. They did this to me. They need to be taken down for this bs. This is taking it too far. Give me my adorable fanfictions back.

[fabled-lady-twilla]

At this point, my hopes for the ending of MHA have been completely destroyed. I expected this but was still desperately hoping for something more.

I hate how some of the most abused characters in the series had depressing as fuck endings. Many fans saw that abuse and empathized with it. Saw themselves in the League of Villains and was hoping that, even if they were going to die, their deaths would have MEANING or at least given the time they deserved.

I hate the black and white thinking on morality and views of criminals and crime. That's one of the biggest gripes I have with this series. Life simply doesn't work that way. There's little to no nuance and it drives me crazy that Horikoshi portrayed it like that.

I hate that important characters didn't get the time/energy dedicated to their stories that they deserved and fans weren't given satisfying endings/closure that they needed. Why the fuck do we get to see Overhaul's closure and not Tomura's? Why the fuck do we get to see that stupid grandma get a chance at redemption but not Tomura's? Why the fuck did Horikoshi set up so many great parallels for Izuku and Tomura and drop so many hints at a better ending and yet they didn't get to talk or interact in a satisfying way AT ALL? And we're somehow told that he was saved off-screen by Nana Shimura? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

There is SO. MUCH. LOST. POTENTIAL in this series! The series is great but one of biggest issues I have is how Horikoshi fumbled the ending after all that we've been given. After the meaningless deaths, the hurt that so many characters suffered through, all the shitty character story line endings and lack of closure for important characters. Where is the change in society? How in the world is this series supposed to be about hope? Where's the hope???

Sorry, this is really ranty and is way more than I'd complain otherwise, I do love this series a lot and that's why I'm so upset. It's genuinely kinda shocking that such a wonderful and beloved story gets such a terrible ending. But that's what fanfiction is for and that's the only saving grace I'm feeling right now. I'm so freaking sad. 😭😭😭

[linkspooky]

What ending would you have liked for the League villains in BNHA?

Well, there's two answers to this question. What would be my ideal ending to the League of Villains requires major story structure changes. To the point where it almost becomes an entirely different story,v venturing into fanfiction territory.

Basically keeping the story as it is until My Villain Academia, there's no longer a clear and distinct line between Hero and Villain. Shigaraki is now the real deuteragonist of the story, and the story is split between Deku's journey and Shigaraki's.

The league are no longer just an insane fringe element that doesn't deserve to be listened to or have their wrongs redressed. Since they now have the MLA they have public support behind them, they like become actual rebels against hero society with even public support. Either the War Arc doesn't happen, or the villains win and society is effectively destroyed so that the heroes no longer have their tight grasp.

A bunch of kids die in the war, because they weren't relevant and it's a consequence for UA raising child soldiers. The remaining relevant kids are forced to cope with two realities, number one they were violent enforcers of a broken system, number two the villains are right in some ways. A moment of the kids going "Are we the bad guys?" However, they can't agree with destroying everything so they have to fight to rebuild. The kids have lost faith in the adults, break off from them entirely so the adults no longer hog all the screentime and try to attempt to solve the problem on their own. Also, Enji dies in the war arc because Hori didn't do anything satisfying with his character beyond that part, and Dabi is hit with feelings of: oh no killing my father didn't fix my problem.

Then you'd basically have to have the narrative find a compromise between Shigaraki's complete radicalism but lack of any motivation to rebuild, and Deku's desire to save others but lack of self-awareness about the evils of his society and how the system can't be fixed as it is. Like a war between the opposite forces of preservation and destruction and Deku and Shgiaraki having to eventually work together to build their world. Maybe Deku even manages to convince Shigaraki there is a future, and save him from statements like "I don't care what happens next." The League of Villains and the reduced Class 1A are like two parallel groups in the manga running in tandem, and also Deku's bonds with his friends are closer now and actually shown in story they become a tight knit group so both sides are trying to protect the people they love too.

Here was my realistic ending I was expecting when the war started. The kids fight their respective villainous foils and then manage to talk them down and solve things with words instead of violence. Then the villains and heroes team up in order to save Shigaraki from AFO, which is the first step of redemption of the league, and also the kids realizing that the league love each other. At the end of the fight Deku tells Shigaraki what he's always wanted to hear when he was Tenko, "You can be a hero, too." bookending the story with the words All Might told him. The villains either get rehabilitated because they helped take down AFO, or they run off to become vigilantes.

What we got was everyone being sent to hell instead and that sure is something.