I love, love, LOVE it when I can tell a fic author has integrated their specialized knowledge in a fic. I was reading a fic that at some point included the character going to visit an art therapist, and it's so clear that the author is an art therapist themself, and the details included are just immaculate and I love it. I've previously read about a character doing fencing for no other reason than the author clearly wanting to write a sport they understood. A character being given a hyperfixation on bugs just so the author can infodump themselves.
I eat it up every time, it brings such a smile to my face
how it feels when you're reading a fic and a character you love is mischaracterized so horrendously to the point where it's not even them but everyone in the comments love it
Synopsis : your beloved Boyfriend, Damian Wayne, sleeps like a corpse, literally.
Your beloved boyfriend—Damian Wayne—sleeps like a fucking corpse.
No exaggeration.
The first time you had witnessed your boyfriend’s resting form, you almost called for Alfred to ready the medical station. Fully convinced that he was either dead or on his way to be dead.
It was early on in your relationship. Yet, Damian was already fed up with you taking a guest room instead of staying in his.
So when you came over to spend the night at his home, he made sure to inform Alfred not to arrange any other accommodation for you.
You didn’t even fight him on it—much to his delight. It’s not like you weren’t always on him 24/7, sleeping in the same bed was just another opportunity for a cuddle session.
But nothing—absolute nothing—could have prepared you to the horror of waking up next to Damian at three in the morning.
He didn’t toss. He didn’t turn. He didn’t snore. No twitching or shifting either. Damian laid there on his sheets, flat on his back, hands folded over his stomach like an ancient monarch forever resting in an extravagant tomb.
His breathing was silent. Even the rise and fall of his chest was so slight, you could barely make it out in the darkened room.
To make matters even stranger, he wasn’t a deep sleeper. Quite the contrary, actually.
How did you find that out, you ask?
Simple; you made the mistake of extending your arm over, letting it hover hesitantly for a second before attempting to touch Damian’s shoulder.
Keyword being; attempted.
Your wrist was seized immediately in a blur of rapid movement. Green eyes narrowed at you in confusion, still heavy with the haze of sleep.
To say you were startled would be an understatement. You would have been a perfect addition to the carpets on the floor, if it wasn’t for the boy currently holding you in place.
He noticeably relaxed upon realizing that it was you trying to touch him. “Beloved, what are you doing awake?” He inquired, loosening his grip on you, assessing you for any injuries, signs of distress or discomfort, and anything else he should pay attention to.
“Checking for pulse.” You admitted, voice a little shaky from the heart attack his reflexes almost gave you. “You were like…dead.”
He stared down, clearly confused by your statement. “Habibti, I am very much alive.” He stated, smoothing his thumb over the erratic pulse fluttering against your wrist.
“You weren’t moving!” You hissed, dropping back onto the pillows with a dramatic groan. “You were lying there like a statue! Normal people breathe, Damian.”
He clicked his tongue—an audible ‘Tt’ that lacked any bite—as he shifted to lay on his side, facing you.
“Normal people don’t possess the ability to maintain environmental awareness while sleeping.” He spoke as if he were reading you a page from an encyclopedia—at which you side eyed him. “You should be proud, beloved. That means I can efficiently protect you, even while resting.”
You turned your head to look at him, distraught by the implications of his words—of course you knew that Damian would stop at nothing to keep you safe, even if it meant permanent harm to himself, or even flinging himself to his death.
Looking in your eyes, he anticipated the lecture you would give him; you would say he wasn’t obliged to protect you. That you don’t need that protection, and how he would be stupid to face his death just to save you from a flesh wound.
But he wasn’t protective of you because he thought you incapable of doing so yourself or because he was obligated to do so as your boyfriend. It was because he loved you, and to Damian loving someone meant giving his all.
Heart, body, and soul.
There was a reason he called you hayati—which means my life in Arabic.
Before you could start your rant, his hand was on you on your waist, hauling you flush against his chest.
“You are the worst.” You mumbled into his chest, though your hands instinctively came to wrap around him anyway, soaking in his warmth. “I was two seconds away from screaming for Alfred.”
“Pennyworth is well aware of my resting heart rate,” Damian countered, fingers slowly tracing shapes on your back. “Now, hayati. Cease your dramatic monitoring and go back to sleep.”
You let out a soft hum, closing your eyes as the steady thump... thump... thump of his heart reverberated right against your cheek.
A soft, reverent brush of his lips to your temple was all you felt, before slipping back into deep sleep.
Months had passed since that peculiar sleepover, and you had gotten somewhat used to Damian’s less than normal sleeping habits.
Yet again, what exactly was normal about your darling Damian?
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
a/n : greeting and salutations, moonbeams! (Idk just go with it) while browsing the ever so powerful Pinterest, i came across a comic panel of my beloved Dami sleeping like a literal corpse and then wrote this lol. I think it’s so funny and cute. Anyhow, I don’t think I am done with that idea tho, maybe I will write more about sleepy time intimacy because I think it’s so cute. As always, thank u for reading <3
and we're not even counting the ones that the supposed 'author' (llm users aren't real writers: hate me all you want, doesn't change the fact) hasn't disclosed as gen ai. same goes for fan art.
to that i say. begone @ wanna-be fic makers, spammers, baiters, fools, and stealers. try to create your own paragraph, support improving accessibility, then talk to us again. we're losing both skill sets and the ancient texts at a rapid rate smh
readers: don't click on ai fandom content; scroll on. support any experts, intermediates, and beginners in this complicated craft who pour all their time, ideas, imagination and energy into writing for you, for free, at length, with human passion, with no shortcuts or using a climate-annihilating bot that swallows up other people's writing only to vomit unsatisfactory cringe (and we all can tell)
Just read this fic by RipSoul, and the plot is so unique but it works so damn well!!! This genuinely sent me down a lucha libre rabbit hole, this sport is so so fun to watch and the athleticism and art is genuinely impressive
"I'm not like other girls." Well, that's good for you, but I am. I love reading books and fanfics. I love obsessing over fictional characters and screaming music at the top of my lungs. I love fangirling over celebrities and getting overly invested in ships that will never be canon. I cry over sad endings and laugh at memes no one else understands. I love getting way too excited over small things, daydreaming about impossible scenarios, and staying up late to finish just one more chapter. I love getting lost in fictional worlds, losing sleep over them, and rewatching my favorite shows a million times. I love spending hours scrolling through fan art and feeling alive through the stories, music, and love for people I will never meet. I love being like other girls.
