#and i haven't seen oppenheimer yet.....

[rogerdeakinsdp]

Cillian Murphy + favorite music moments

happy birthday, Robin! (@madeline-kahn)

[delishen]

This Oppenheimer hype is making me revisit my old Manhattan Project obsession.

[rjshope]

this or that ✨

(sending a lot of kisses to @cosmicdreamgrl and @jkvjimin for tagging me <3)

used book or new? read with coffee and tea? collect books or pass them on? read outside and inside? classics and new releases? e-book or audiobook (paper book, always)? historical fiction or dystopian? the smell of a book or the feel of worn pages? short chapters and long? Earth and invented world? read alone or book club? poetry or short stories? movie and tv show adaptation? read on a sunny day and rainy day?

hardcover or paperback? bookstore or library? bookmark or receipt? stand alone and series? nonfiction and fiction? thriller or fantasy? under 300 pages or over 300 pages? children's or ya? friends to lovers and enemies to lovers? read in bed or read on the couch? read at night or read in the morning? keep pristine or markup (i use pencil, does it count?)? cracked spine or dog ear?

barbie or oppenheimer // ketchup or mustard // crinkled fries or curly fries (just regular fries thank you) // robots or dinosaurs // silly hats or silly socks // spring and autumn // vacation or staycation // day and night // board games or video games // books and movies // money and love // milkshake or iced coffee // waffles or pancakes // chocolate or candy // beach or pool // laundry or dishes // take-out or dine-out // fantasy or sci-fi //lays and pringles

i super late for this so not tagging anyone x)

[fatimajpeg]

is there a term for that type movie that's 2+ hours long, critically acclaimed, ans mostly just people talking in a few static settings until the climax where everyone kills each other but that's supposed to be super meaningful because each dead body is a symbol for something?

british war movies

[theleanbean]

I've got a 50 page essay that I've started to write about Oppenheimer that essentially boils down to, watch the movie before posting your hot take, analyze the movie from a filmmaking perspective and for what it is, read books, and watch foreign cinema

[icedteaandoldlace]

As someone who voted for Barbie in a poll she was losing about whether more people would go to see Barbie or Oppenheimer, I am thrilled with how things are turning out.

[honesthearts]

conservatives hating on the barbie movie because it's "anti-men" vs greta gerwig saying feminism includes men idk who annoys me the most

[catabasis]

i don't normally write reviews here because i have letterboxd for that, but man, what a joyous ride Barbie was. visually stunning, super charming and fun, very emotional too, and with so much personality and a lot to say. a bit messy at times, but it works! Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach did a really good job, and Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling truly were born to play Barbie and Ken. i'm so glad Ryan is back, i've missed him so much.

[swiftiephobe]

anatomy of a fall is incredible. no words.

[betty-burnout]

told my bf I'd take the day off work to see Oppenheimer in 70mm and he was all, "noooo don't use a day off to see Oppenheimer, use your days off to-"

"-do something fun that I wanna do?" I cut him off and he was fuckin. gagged lol

anyway next wednesday afternoon I'm seeing Oppenheimer in 70mm 🌟

[joshoconnaissance]

i don't care abt the oscars generally but i hope anatomy of a fall wins a few esp sandra hüller she was incredible

[heavenknowsffs]

It's not barbieheimer until someone smashes both movies together and makes a whole new movie out of it

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part One: My Boyfriend's Father

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

It was 15 months ago when you first met the man who, unbeknownst to you, would eventually become the center of your disastrous life and that man was not your current boyfriend Maximilian Murphy, a twenty-two-year-old Irishman from Dublin.

You had been going out with Max for about a year when you met the man who changed everything for you and, whilst Max was almost an entire year younger than you, you had both met at London's top medical school after he had transferred from Trinity College. 

Max was energetic, confident and intelligent. He was popular with the girls and, although you were drawn to him because of his sense of humor and easygoing nature, it was quite obvious to you that he was much less serious about life in general than you were. 

After a year of non-serious dating, Max eventually told you that he was taking you to Dublin for his father's 46th birthday and it was then when you first laid eyes on him. Cillian Murphy, your boyfriend's father. 

The name "Cillian Murphy" didn't ring any bells for you at the time as you had never seen any of his films, but now, 15 months later, you knew everything that there was to know about him due to the publicity his movie Oppenheimer had received in recent weeks. 

You went to see the movie too with some friends and whilst you had broken up with Max about a year earlier, you happened to recall the weekend you shared with him and his family in Dublin. 

Both Cillian and his wife Danielle made you feel welcome when you arrived with their son Max late on a Friday afternoon at their large Victorian townhouse near the coast, just outside Dublin.

The house was decorated with tasteful modern furniture and a collection of modern art hung on the walls. The living room featured large windows overlooking the sea with heavy curtains blocking the view when needed.

You spent most of Saturday relaxing by the pool with Max, swimming and sunbathing before enjoying a dinner prepared by Danielle for her husband's birthday.

As you sat down at the table, Cillian seemed distracted, and it wasn't until the second glass of wine that he asked you more about yourself and your aspirations.

"So, what do you want to specialize in?" he asked and you looked down at your plate and replied softly, "I haven't decided yet. I think I might enjoy working in pediatrics."

"Working with children can be emotionally demanding," Cillian said, "but I am sure it's  incredibly rewarding," he then went on to say before acknowledging that Max had told him that you were at the top of your class. 

"It sounds like you have a bright future ahead of you," he told you and your heart fluttered a bit as you heard his voice, deep and resonant, filled with warmth and confidence. It was a contrast to Max's playful teasing, something about which made you feel comfortable and safe.

Danielle, Cillian's wife, chimed in with a question for you, "What got you interested in medicine in the first place?" she asked. You paused for a moment, considering how best to explain such a complex answer.

"Well, my dad was a doctor, so healthcare was a part of our household growing up," you began thoughtfully. "But the real turning point came during high school when I visited a friend who was hospitalized with leukemia. Her doctors and nurses took such great care of her, and it really opened my eyes to the impact that medicine could have on people's lives."

Cillian nodded along, seemingly genuinely interested in your response.

"That's amazing," he murmured. "You are genuinely empathetic and that's a good trait to have, especially as a doctor," he went on to say with a smile and you couldn't help but blush slightly under his intense gaze. His piercing blue eyes seemed to look right through you, making you feel vulnerable in a way you hadn't felt before. But instead of feeling uncomfortable, you found yourself strangely drawn to him. There was something magnetic about him, something that made you want to spend more time with him despite the fact that he was twice your age.

The day after his birthday party, while you were lounging around the poolside, you couldn't help but notice Cillian looking at you intently from across the lawn. His eyes held a mysterious glint, a curiosity that seemed to grow stronger every minute.

As if sensing your presence, he approached you and started a friendly conversation. The topics ranged from movies to books, and even personal interests. It was a pleasant surprise finding out that both of you shared a love for Jazz before Max pointed out to you that Jazz music was for "old people", causing Cillian to laugh.

The sound of Cillian's laughter was soothing and comforting.

You felt butterflies in your stomach as adrenaline surged through your veins. You tried to compose yourself, focusing on the casual exchange of small talk, hoping to distract yourself from the strong attraction you felt towards your own boyfriend's father.

But no matter how hard you tried, those enchanting blue eyes kept drawing you back in. The subtle smell of his cologne lingered in the air, filling your senses with a mix of excitement and shame.

Luckily for you however, on Sunday morning, Max and you travelled back to London, leaving behind the memory of the lingering gaze that Cillian gave you as you boarded the plane while, in hindsight, you realized that Cillian's gaze did leave something behind - a seed planted between the lines of your otherwise innocent encounter.

In the months that followed, you found yourself thinking about Cillian more often than you expected and, unfortunately for Max, at the same time as fantasizing about his father, you became more and more annoyed by his immaturities. 

And then, one evening, after another argument between you and Max over whether you should go clubbing or stay in and study, you finally snapped.

"This isn't working out anymore, Max," you told it him straight. "We need different things in life and we would be better off breaking up now rather than prolonging something that won't work long term," you told Max, sitting on the bed of his dorm room, causing his chin to drop.

"You don't mean it," he said, sounding shocked.

"Yes, I do," you said firmly as you looked away from him, knowing that he wouldn't understand why you couldn't go on like this.

"No, please, give me another chance. We can make this work," Max pleaded, moving closer to you, reaching out to touch your arm.

"No, Max, I've made up my mind," you said firmly, avoiding his pleading eyes.

You knew that it was only a matter of time before Max would come to terms with the truth, but you also knew that the process would be painful for both of you.

Max moved closer, grasping your hand gently. "Maybe we just need to communicate better," he suggested, his eyes full of hope. "I love you, you know. I am happy to try anything," he continued but you shook your head.

You pulled your hand away, fighting back tears. "I just... I can't anymore, Max," you whispered quietly. "We tried to make it work several times, but our expectations are quite different. I am taking university serious, but you are not. You have different interests and I think that you would be better of with someone else," you confessed, averting your gaze.

"But... but, what about the future? What about us?" Max stammered, desperation seeping into his tone. You remained silent, allowing the silence to hang heavily between you two. Finally, you took a deep breath.

"I don't want to lose you, Y/N," Max pleaded, his voice quivering. "We have been together for a year, surely we can find a way to make it work. I promise."

You shook your head sadly, unable to meet his desperate gaze.

"We are both still young and year is nothing if you are in your early twenties. I'm sorry, Max," you managed to whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I think it's best if we end things here."

He let out a choked sob, his face crumpling. "Please," he implored, clutching onto your wrist. "Don't leave me like this."

But you couldn't stand it any longer, pulling your arm free. "I need space, Max," you said sharply, rising to your feet.

"I need to focus on myself and my studies right now," you told him while, deep down inside, you knew that something was missing, something was holding you back from fully committing to your relationship.

And it wasn't long before fate intervened as, just over year after your breakup with Max, you ran into Cillian again at a jazz concert in London...

Tags:

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[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. (:

masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here

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.

[cellgatinbo]

cellbit: oh wasn't einstein a character in oppenheimer?

foolish: oh really? did he make an appearance? i haven't seen the movie yet

cellbit:

cellbit: they had sex

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Ngl, I kinda want to know how Rhian and Rafal would react to the movie trends like Barbenheimer and the Wicked movie??? Like Barbenheimer is kinda obvious, the twins would probably argue over what to watch first but I can't for the life of me tell how Rafal would react to Wicked. I can see Rhian loving Wicked because I think he would be a theatre kid irl but I don't know how Rafal would react. Would Rafal be against it? Would he say he hates it but would grow to love it? Is he even theatre kid enough to enjoy it full-heartedly ?????? If he is, what kind of musicals would Rafal even watch??? What movies would he even watch??? I need this information....for possible mind fanfiction purposes (the pain of having no time to write so you just imagine it instead 😭)

Disclaimer: I have seen the musical, but haven't yet had a chance to see the movie, meaning my answers will be based on the musical's plot.

⸻

In response to the Barbenheimer trend:

Rafal: I don't get it.

Rhian: Don't you see! It's us.

Rafal: [flatly] It's a middle-aged man and a lady in pink.

Rhian: It's symbolic and the release day timings coincided. The movies are "twins" despite being near total opposites.

Rafal: [skeptically] They certainly look like total opposites.

Rhian: And yet they're both existential and deal with themes of mortality.

Rafal: [scoffs] Well. We'll never deal with mortality.

[Correct me if I'm wrong. I haven't actually seen Oppenheimer, but I know the general story of the Manhattan Project, Einstein's involvement, and the irradiated desert ecosystem leftover from the first atomic bomb testing site in an American desert.)

⸻

In response to Wicked:

[During "Dancing Through Life:"]

Rhian: Could Fiyero be any hotter?!

Rafal: [sighs] At least he's not a pirate...

Rhian: That was rhetorical. [He continues to stare intently at the actor though.]

[Later during "For Good":]

I've heard it said That people come into our lives For a reason

Rafal: [snorts derisively] And the reason is to be nuisances. Everyone who's come into Elphaba's life has caused problems—eugh, even her prince. Even the "Good" witch.

Rhian: [elbows him, hard.]

Rafal: A whole musical about Evers and the lesson is that they [mockingly] improve each other's souls. Couldn't get more trite than that.

Rhian: [under his breath] Deeply shallow. [He starts to tear up at the rest of the song.]

Rafal: [drains the last of his frozen drink unaffectedly.]

[ELPHABA] And just to clear the air I ask forgiveness for the things I've done you blame me for

[GLINDA] But then, I guess we know there's blame to share

Rafal: [starts to choke so badly Rhian has to pat him on the back.]

Rhian: Called it.

⸻

After leaving the theater:

Rhian: So—what did you think, brother o' mine?

Rafal: Excruciating.

Rhian: [pleased and quite smugly] Well! That's clearly more than apathy, isn't it? If it's truly caused you that much pain, I dare say: you were affected. And now, we're done with it.

Rafal: [with a thousand yard stare] Mm.

Rhian: You've done your Good deed of the decade by accompanying me and are off the hook from attending future events. I'll even ban you from the Snow Ball, so you're not obliged to attend, if it makes you happy.

Rafal: [deadpan to himself] No good deed goes unpunished. All helpful urges should be circumvented—for my sanity.

⸻

I don't think Rafal would like the concept of musicals, at least not at first, given how they're "inefficient" at conveying information. What can be said versus what can be sung is part of that distaste. Also, musicals have the challenging task of maintaining a certain mood in many cases, but the introduction of songs (and theatricality in general) can often automatically make the source material (if the story was adapted from another medium) seem light and overblown, if not handled well.

Though, I think musicals would appeal to his somewhat lesser known dramatic side since he's not always no-nonsense. Maybe he would like Phantom of the Opera or Heathers. I'm not familiar with a lot of musicals, so I can't say.

And, I think he would like the psychological horror genre and detective/crime fiction or films. He would try to solve the mysteries mentally, and learn from how the criminals fail to hide the evidence. Generally, I'm not sure if he would be much of a consumer of media. He would probably claim he has more "important" things to do, yet that also wouldn't mean he would be media-illiterate. He would probably like Shakespearean tragedies and Paradise Lost (and maybe John Milton's works in general). Plus, he would probably love it when "problematic" things got past censors, if he lived in the 1500s.

I must admit that, to me, he's a triple-threat vessel for ascetic/Spartan, Utilitarian, and Hobbesian values. I think he would quickly dismiss the entertainment industry as a whole, and so, it's hard for me to come up with anything he'd watch wholeheartedly and not for ironic purposes. He could like bloody, historical reenactment documentaries or documentaries about unethical (psychological) experiments or war theory.

If he were a theater kid (he's usually not flamboyant enough to be one by my interpretations?), he would be a closeted one, or his theatrical mannerisms would only emerge when he's being overtly terrifying and slamming victims to walls.

Again, I don't have specific movies I would associate with him, but maybe, he'd like dark humor, the anti-joke, or observational humor and whatever these are: