#like to help defend against monsters and such?

[wchswift]

✰ COZY STUDY TIME

→ summary: you love the fact that you went to Stanford with your best friend, now he can help you with your essays while you nap on his lap.

⤿ stanford!sam winchester x best friend!reader / cw: eventual best friends to lovers, fluff, casual intimacy, studying together, reader is also a hunter, sam is a puppy in love, maybe more but I don't remember lol.

⤿ word count! 1k (this is short but i'm thinking of writing a part 2...)

lina yaps: sooo I know I usually only write for Dean and Sam isn't even on the list of characters I write for, but I wanted to share the fact that since the first time I watched Supernatural I've been a Sam girl, I defend Sam tooth and nail and I simply love him so much. After many times rewatching it I ended up becoming more attached to Dean and becoming completely obsessed with this man while Sam continued to be my favorite character, even so I always found myself having an easier time writing romantic things for Dean. But then I had this idea while studying for my last exams and I finally had to write for my sammy.

You’d always said Sam Winchester gave the best back rubs.

Though to be fair, you’d also said he gave the best hugs, helped with the worst essays, and had the best judgment—except for that time he thought spaghetti and pickles would be a “fine�� combination because you didn’t have anything else in the dorm kitchen.

“Sam,” you grumble, half-asleep, your voice muffled by his thigh. “Please don’t use such big words. I can feel my brain giving up.”

A warm chuckle rumbles through him above you. You’re stretched across the length of his dorm bed, your head resting comfortably on his lap. He’s leaned against the wall with your laptop in front of him, long fingers typing away with that casual brilliance that has always made you both proud and exasperated.

“It’s literally your assignment,” he says, glancing down at you with an amused grin, fingers pausing just long enough to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, but you’re better at it. And I’m sleepy.”

“Are you always this manipulative when you’re tired?”

You squint up at him, one eye half-lidded. “Only with you.”

His lips twitch.

You’ve known Sam Winchester since you were nine years old. Your dad and his dad were both hunters, both stubborn, both terrible at being parents. Dean had always been a kind of older brother figure, but Sam? Sam was yours. Your person. The one who stayed up late researching monsters with you, who fell asleep next to you in the backseat of a dusty Impala on cross-country hunts, who once held your hand so tight during a banshee exorcism that your knuckles ached the next day.

The one who looked at you when you were fifteen and said, “I don’t want to do this forever,” and you just nodded because you’d been waiting for him to say it out loud first.

Stanford had been his dream. You’d just made it your own.

You weren’t exactly sure when his room had become more yours than your own. When your books started showing up on his shelf. When his drawers started having your socks. When his sheets started smelling faintly like your lotion, and neither of you said a thing about it.

And now, Friday evenings looked like this.

Sam working on your American Literature paper. You, curled up beside him, one leg over his, eyes fluttering open every few minutes just to admire his jawline in the low lamp light.

He’s halfway through a sentence when he notices your breathing even out again.

“You’re asleep, aren’t you?” he whispers, almost to himself.

You don’t answer.

He smiles, soft and small. The kind of smile he only ever gives you when no one else is looking.

His fingers slow on the keys, then still. He places the laptop to the side, careful not to wake you, and lets one hand drift into your hair, combing through it gently. You make a faint sound—more content than conscious—and nuzzle deeper into his lap.

He swallows.

You’ve always been affectionate. Since you were kids, you’d leaned into him like a sunflower leans toward light. Rested your head on his shoulder, held his hand in motel beds, tugged on his hoodie sleeves until he laughed and let you wear them. It was never weird. It was never anything.

Except now, sometimes, it feels like something.

He doesn’t know when that changed.

Maybe it was the night you showed up at his door soaked in rain, crying about a failed test, about the fear of never being normal enough to be able to live a normal life and a missed call from Dean, and he just held you, heart aching in a way it hadn’t since he left hunting behind.

Or maybe it was last week, when you walked out of the bathroom brushing your teeth, hair messy and shirt half-tucked, and he thought, God, this looks like home.

His thumb brushes your cheek.

You mumble in your sleep, brow scrunching slightly before smoothing out again.

“I’m almost done with your paper,” he murmurs, as if you can hear him. “It’s not bad. You actually had some good points… not that you’ll remember them.”

His fingers trace the line of your jaw.

He shouldn’t do this. Not like this. Not when you’re so close. So soft. So impossibly familiar.

But maybe that’s just it.

You’ve always been his gravity. His calm in the chaos. The reason he stood up to his father so he could leave and go to college. The reason he didn’t run when college got hard, when he felt too different, too haunted. He’d look across the quad and see you—head thrown back in laughter, eyes bright—and suddenly it didn’t matter what was chasing him. He was still running toward something.

You.

“Sam…” you murmur sleepily, not even opening your eyes.

“Yeah?”

You shift, wrapping your arms around his waist now, head pressed to his stomach. Your voice is drowsy but warm. “Thanks for doing my homework.”

He huffs a laugh. “Anytime.”

“I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow,” you promise, already half-asleep again.

“You always say that.”

“This time I mean it.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to your hair. It’s featherlight, reverent. Your breath stutters just slightly, and he freezes.

But you don’t move.

So he exhales slowly, leans back, and lets the moment hang there between you.

Maybe you felt it. Maybe you didn’t.

Maybe one day, when the world stops spinning so fast, he’ll tell you all of it. How you were always the one. How you never needed to ask him to stay, because he never had a plan that didn’t include you.

But for now, he looks at you—curled up beside him like you’ve always belonged there—and he thinks maybe, just maybe, you already know.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

⛥ main masterlist.

special tag for my sam moots: @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @xoswiftieprincess @acklesarchives @sunsettsam (I don't know if I'll write to Sam again at some point but if you want to be added to a possible taglist let me know <3)

[kaorucup]

wander....but he's a magical boy!!! (AU)

these are all drawings for my new au where wander becomes a magical boy :] keep reading below to know what it's all about, and I'll explain a bit of what you see above!

Story

(I actually don't have a lot of lore planned for this so bear with me if something doesn't make sense 😔)

Early on into his journeys through galaxies (like say maybe a few years after his big traumatic incident), Wander follows a shooting star to where it falls. Upon coming close to it, he's temporarily blinded by its strong flash of light. When he wakes up again, he realizes everything about him is.... different.

Soon enough, Wander realizes he has powers now, so he does what does best— help others out! Now with a cute fit on :]

What Would Wander Do.....In Battle?

Here's a quick segment to explain how Wander acts in battle! Because as you might know, some magical girls actively throw hands with their monster of the week. What would Wander do if he's a pacifist? The answer is that he's great at defending himself against attacks and strictly does purification attacks that don't hurt the enemy, they just cleanse the enemy of evil. Though, most of the time these purifications are more for like monsters of the week because the villains in control tend to just flee when Wander starts pulling out his banjo. (If you're familiar with Precure, you'd know this is literally just how the Wonderful team "fights".) On the topic of the banjo, you might have seen that alt text i put on the picture of it. The banjo can be turned into the staff you see there, used for the aforementioned purification attacks. Think of how he used the banjo against Screwball in "The Boy Wander". Those are basically his powers.

On the topic of Screwball, this all gets thrown out the window when it comes to him, though. Expect Wander to try and actively attack this guy.

Development

a while back, one of my favorite artists in the WOY community made a wander au, and I was like, "holy moly.....i wanna make a wander au too!!" so since may, I've been designing a magical boy outfit for wander! as I researched and referenced for the design, I was genuinely this close to just putting the guy in a cute skirt (we've seen him rock feminine outfits before, i wouldn't turn down the idea). the challenge of designing a magical boy outfit was entertaining, though, so I stuck to it. after a LOOOOT of trial and error, i finally landed on the one you see now, and i'm pretty satisfied with it (trying to design things around this guy's proportions is NUTS).

like always, i yapped what i needed to yap (I think)!! if you have any questions about the au feel free to ask me. i would have LOVED to shove every little detail in here but I think the post is already long enough as is, so yeah I hope you liked this concept for my AU :]

[littlepikmins]

Flickering Warmth

Summary: Bernard still rarely spoke in detail about his time in the cult, but whenever he did, it always felt like an emotional blow to Tim. During moments like this, he had to face the reality of just how bad the cult was - of how deeply it'd really affected Bernard.

Or, Tim gets injured in a fight with Joker goons and comes to his boyfriend's apartment to treat his wounds.

Read Below or Click The AO3 Link

He often found himself reading through the linked articles of monster sightings, featuring blurry images of cryptids and long posts attempting to explain the existence of such creatures.

-

Bernard knows he could probably be doing something more productive with his time - like finishing his biology homework, for example. Instead, he is scrolling through a recently posted thread on his favorite cryptozoology forum.

However, beyond his brains' need to study and explain the unknown, he is also scrolling through this particular thread because it is about Manbat.

The original poster had included some quickly taken photos and mentioned seeing a bat-like figure atop the Gotham cathedral. “Batman or Manbat??” they had put as the thread title.

Bernard reads through the comments where a few people mention seeing a similar figure at multiple other Gotham locations. After meeting the Batman in person, Bernard easily identifies which photos are Batman and which are Manbat.

He writes the locations of the Manbat appearances on a notepad, eager to be of some help to Tim assuming Robin will want to handle this new Manbat situation before the creature starts attacking people.

His important online research is interrupted by a loud trio of knocks at his window. Bernard jumps and fumbles to grab something to defend himself.

With his computer mouse ready to be used as a projectile, he faces the window.

And sees Robin.

He exhales with relief and hurries over to the window, a smile pulling at his lips as little butterflies flutter in his stomach.

It had only been a few days ago that Tim and him had discussed Tim's secret vigilante life. Now that Tim was aware Bernard knew and Bernard was officially really in on the secret, he couldn't help but daydream of their new romantic potential.

Just last night, he had dreamed Robin had grabbed him by the waist and ziplined him all the way up to the highest point of Wayne Tower so they could watch the sunset together.

However, as Bernard pulls the window open, he notices Robin is holding his side.

"Hi, sunshine. You um, got a first aid kit?" Tim says, wincing as his feet touch the floor of Bernard's apartment and the blood coating the side of his Robin suit comes into view.

The last time Bernard had to use the medical supplies in his bathroom was...

The room spins for a moment, and his hands start to shake.

He wills himself to be steady and calm, to focus only on helping Tim. He thinks of Darla and the school nurse doing everything to try and save her while Bernard could only watch on helplessly. Things were different now - Bernard could help.

He pulls the chair away from the table. Tim falls back into the seat with a strained, thankful smile and pulls his dynamo mask off. Bernard's apartment is mostly barren, but he does have a few clean kitchen towels, so he hurriedly grabs one to press against the wound on Tim's side and slow the bleeding.

Tim hisses, but replaces Bernard's hand over the towel as the blonde pulls away.

With Tim settled, Bernard runs to the bathroom and rummages through his cabinets for all his medical supplies.

Tim takes a slow, deep breath as he waits for his boyfriend to return. He can't help but feel bad for ruining Bernard's evening like this. He'd needed to stop somewhere safe to deal with how much he was bleeding though.

Bernard is suddenly in front of Tim again, making the vigilantes head spin. He hadn't lost consciousness for a moment, had he?

He doesn't think about it too long as he watches his boyfriend reach for a decent supply of medical gauze and remove the bloody towel from the wound to use the gauze instead.

Bernard looks over the rest of Tim's body as he applies pressure to Tim's side.

"What happened?" he asks.

Tim shrugs. "I got caught in an ambush of Joker goons. It was going well until one of them got lucky and managed to slice my side. They got a few other cuts in, but the side wound is where I'm losing the most blood."

Bernard nods slowly. "Joker goons. Definitely not a group civilians want to run into."

"Definitely," Tim agrees, smiling at his boyfriend's attempt to act nonchalant about the whole thing. Bernard shouldn't even be in a situation like this, but so far he was handling it rather well.

A little too well, Tim thinks as he eyes the medical supplies on the table. Bernard has more bandages and gauze than just a regular first aid kit would have, not to mention a few other medical supply items that are unusual for a regular person to have. Had Bernard stocked up on supplies assuming something like this would happen eventually?

Bernard applies another batch of gauze, entirely focused on the task at hand as the bleeding begins to slow.

It's unusual that the blonde is so quiet. Even when he's anxious, Bernard tends to frantically ramble to keep himself busy. Tim tries to meet the blonde's eyes, but Bernard remains deadly focused on Tim's wound.

"Hey, I'm sorry about all this. I know it can be a lot," Tim says after a tense couple of seconds.

As if pulled out of a trance, Bernard looks away from the bleeding wound with wide, surprised eyes.

"Oh no, Tim, baby, you don't need to apologize. I'm really glad you trust me enough to consider my apartment a safe place to get help a-and I like being able to help you. It's just..."

He trails off as if struggling to speak and looks away from Tim again. The vigilante gently places a hand over one of Bernard's own that's still applying pressure to the wound.

The gesture successfully calms Bernard some as the blonde emits a long sigh and begins to explain.

"When I was still part of the cult, I would treat my wounds at home just like this," he says. "So, y'know... bad memories stirring up and all that."

Tim feels himself go cold at the admission. Bernard still rarely spoke in detail about his time in the cult, but whenever he did, it always felt like an emotional blow to Tim. During moments like this, he had to face the reality of just how bad the cult was - of how deeply it'd really affected Bernard.

With the wound only bleeding a little now, Bernard carefully begins to clean around it, carefully pulling the bloody and sticky parts of Tim's Robin suit away from his skin and using a sterile cloth to gently wipe the blood away.

Tim's heart feels heavy as he recalls Bernard repeatedly asking their high school nurse how he could help as Darla bled out.

And now here Bernard was giving Tim first aid without needing any kind of direction. The reality of how much had changed hits him hard, and he finds himself wishing Bernard was asking Tim what to do rather than cleaning his wound in such a practiced manner.

"Did you teach yourself first aid?" Tim has to ask.

"A little, I guess. Most of what I learned was from another member of the cult."

Tim waits for Bernard to elaborate, but he doesn't. It's a sharp contrast to how Bernard usually is or rather how he used to be.

He can easily recall their math teachers' shrill voice as she told Bernard to pay attention over and over again.

Bernard had always been especially bored during their math lessons and would turn to whisper about random things to Tim during class.

Sometimes Tim found it annoying. Other times, he was thankful for it because he was also bored.

Bernard still had a tendency to ramble when he was excited and he would occasionally blurt out an odd question or thought, but Tim could tell he was more practiced at holding himself back now.

Gotham had snuffed out a decent amount of Bernard's adolescent innocence, just as it had done to Tim.

Bernard shifts away from the now clean wound and interrupts Tim's thoughts.

"Sorry, I got you stuck in your head, didn't I? You don't need to worry about me, Timboo. It's thanks to you that I'm free from the cult now. I've got plenty of time to work through everything."

Tim frowns and tries to think of the best way to voice his thoughts on that. He doesn't want Bernard to push aside his own issues to keep Tim from worrying about him.

Bernard speaks up again before Tim gets the chance.

"I'm an amateur at stitches," the blonde states, quickly holding up the medical sutures and tools to get Tim's attention. "I can try to stitch you up here, but I won't blame you if you'd rather get it done by someone at the batcave."

Honestly, Tim would prefer to stay here for two reasons. The first is that cuddling with his boyfriend sounds like the best way to distract himself from the aches and pains caused by his recent fight. The second is that he also wants to make sure said boyfriend is doing okay - he has the awful vision of Bernard crying as he tosses and turns in his bed all night, unable to sleep without nightmares.

"You won't get any better at stitches if you don't practice," Tim states with what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

Bernard smiles just a little in return. "You've got a point. So, do you let all your romantic partners practice first aid on you? Is it your love language?"

Tim is relieved to hear some mirth return to Bernard's voice.

"It might as well be a love language for people in Gotham. Especially Gotham vigilantes and their goofy civilian partners," Tim replies.

"Wow, so this is like an initiation then!" Bernard suddenly exclaims excitedly, his eyes lighting up a little. "I'm patching up Robin's wounds, I'm really one of the bats now!"

If Tim wasn't worried about causing his wound to start bleeding again, he'd lean over to give his dorky boyfriend a kiss. It's moments like this when Bernard is so warm and bright that Tim wants to share in it somehow - wants to press his lips to Bernard's comforting smile and focus on the high of love as Bernard happily giggles a little against his lips.

He's about to lean over for a kiss anyway when the mood shifts as Bernard turns away to prepare the suture tools. Once he's ready, he faces Tim again with a nervous smile.

"Guide me through this, boy wonder."

-

Tim eats the last of the food Bernard had set out for him as soon as all of Tim's wounds were sufficiently cleaned and bandaged.

Bernard is cuddled up beside him under a blanket, leaning against Tim with his eyes closed. The blonde had put Star Trek reruns on, but neither of them were paying any attention to them.

Bernard had fallen asleep a while ago, no doubt exhausted from the mental toll of this evening. With water, food, and painkillers in his system, and a loving, clingy boy beside him, Tim feels warm and pleasant, but his mind is too awake to let him sleep.

There's a noticeable scar on the inside of Bernard's wrist, and Tim finds himself rubbing his thumb along it. He wonders just how badly Bernard had bled from the cut initially, and then he wonders if it had been another cult member that had sliced at his wrist or if Bernard had done it to himself.

Tim suddenly feels terribly sad and angry, sick to his stomach. He wants to punch one of the cult leaders in the face. He wants to yell at Bernard's parents. He wants to go back in time and tell his young talkative high school friend that people do care about him; that he is so very important to Tim and that he needs him to promise he won't ever hurt himself.

Tim uses the skills Batman had taught him to calm himself down - to blink away the angry tears in his eyes and ease the tension in his body.

Bernard stirs as if sensing Tim's heavy mood. He pulls his wrist away from Tim's hand and instead shifts so he can wrap both his arms fully around Tim and snuggle in even closer.

Tim's cheeks warm, suddenly reminded of a Robin plushie he'd happened to notice while over at Bernard's house during high school. It'd been tucked away in Bernard's closet, looking more worn and squished than the new ones that lined shelves at Gotham toy stores. He feels like he might as well be that exact plushie to Bernard's sleepy brain at the moment... Thinking about it, he realizes he would actually prefer to always fill in for that plushie.

"Y'know," Bernard mumbles softly, surprising Tim who was certain the blonde was fully asleep. "In the grand scheme of things, it's hard to believe we're here right now."

"Yeah?" Tim whispers back.

"It's like... we're bugs that have been squished far too many times. Yet somehow, we're still going."

Tim slowly nods, leaning into Bernard's touch. "That's the most relatable thing anyone's ever said. I definitely feel like a bug that's been squished too many times."

Bernard smiles. "I knew you'd get what I meant. You're all smart like that. My genius boyfriend, Timmy."

Tim scoffs, his eyes starting to feel droopy. "If you start calling me Timmy, I'll start calling you Bernie."

Bernard grins playfully. “If you do that then you'll have to pay the ultimate price for it.”

“And how exactly will I pay the ultimate price? Gonna threaten to sell me to bolivian organ pirates again?” Tim says, letting his eyes drift shut with a goofy smile on his face. It was nice having simple teasing conversations like this. It was like he was in high school again.

“Nah, it'll be much worse than that. I'll start hitting on Bruce any chance I get. It'll be like how I acted around Dana except far worse seeing as I really do find Bruce extremely attractive.”

Tim sighs in defeat and fond exasperation as sleep hangs over him. “Alright… I don't need to hear about how attractive you think my adoptive father is... You win, I won't call you Bernie.”

Bernard presses his lips to Tim's mouth softly and Tim responds sluggishly in return. A gentle and comforting warmth settles in his stomach.

Bernard pulls away and presses their foreheads together.

“Sweet dreams, Timboo.”

Tim melts in Bernard's arms, finally nodding off.

[toyherb]

while I think the story and game design of totk is really strong, I feel like the game lacks the sense of wonder that was in botw. it doesn't help that totk barely recognizes botw despite being a sequel. botw did happen and people will say as much, but many less prominent NPCs have forgotten Link and all of the physical evidence has disappeared or disposed of. No one mentions any of the champions except for Mipha. It's like a part of us, those who played botw, and in a way, Link, has also been buried. Just like the champions. The divine beasts. The sheikah. The gaurdians.

Maybe just like how they emerged from the ground, all the towers and shrines and divine beasts have sunken into the ground again. But no one acknowledges it, and the gaurdians themselves have disappeared. I miss the music and excitement that came from seeing one.

The zonai aren't nearly as mysterious and strange as the old Sheikah shrines. We know who Rauru and Sonia are. We understand that zonai devices are powered by zonaite. But the sheikah technology, the blue flames, its all gone up in smoke.

I dunno. it feels like I'm looking into a foggy mirror reflecting botw back at me. it's missing pieces that would make it whole. Walking around Hyrule, I feel like I keep seeing ghosts.

[unwavering-devotion]

Do you hate answering questions :( your tags imply :(((

I don't hate answering questions, it is the false claims that offend me.

[beast-of-the-void]

.

[autistichalsin]

In retrospect, four years later, I feel like the Isabel Fall incident was just the biggest ignored cautionary tale modern fandom spaces have ever had. Yes, it wasn't limited to fandom, it was also a professional author/booktok type argument, but it had a lot of crossover.

Stop me if you've heard this one before: a writer, whether fan or pro, publishes a work. If one were to judge a book by its cover, something we are all taught in Kindergarten shouldn't happen but has a way of occurring regardless, one might find that there was something that seemed deeply problematic about this work. Maybe the title or summary alluded to something Wrong happening, or maybe the tags indicated there was problematic kinks or relationships. And that meant the story was Bad. So, a group of people takes to the Twittersphere to inform everyone who will listen why the work, and therefore the author, are Bad. The author, receiving an avalanche of abuse and harassment, deactivates their account, and checks into a mental health facility for monitoring for suicidal ideation. They never return to their writing space, and the harassers get a slap on the wrist (if that- usually they get praise and high-fives all around) and start waiting for their next victim to transgress.

Sounds awful familiar, doesn't it?

Isabel Fall's case, though, was even more extreme for many reasons. See, she made the terrible mistake of using a transphobic meme as the genesis to actually explore issues of gender identity.

More specifically, she used the phrase "I sexually identify as an attack helicopter" to examine how marginalized identities, when they become more accepted, become nothing more than a tool for the military-industrial complex to rebrand itself as a more personable and inclusive atrocity; a chance to pursue praise for bombing brown children while being progressive, because queer people, too, can help blow up brown children now! It also contained an examination of identity and how queerness is intrinsic to a person, etc.

But... well, if harassers ever bothered to read the things they critique, we wouldn't be here, would we? So instead, they called Isabel a transphobic monster for the title alone, even starting a misinformation campaign to claim she was, in fact, a cis male nazi using a fake identity to psyop the queer community.

A few days later, after days of horrific abuse and harassment, Isabel requested that Clarkesworld magazine pull the story. She checked in to a psych ward with suicidal thoughts. That wasn't all, though; the harassment was so bad that she was forced to out herself as trans to defend against the claims.

Only... we know this type of person, the fandom harassers, don't we? You know where this is going. Outing herself did nothing to stop the harassment. No one was willing to read the book, much less examine how her sexuality and gender might have influenced her when writing it.

So some time later, Isabel deleted her social media. She is still alive, but "Isabel Fall" is not- because the harassment was so bad that Isabel detransitioned/closeted herself, too traumatized to continue living her authentic life.

Supposed trans allies were so outraged at a fictional portrayal of transness, written by a trans woman, that they harassed a real life trans woman into detransitioning.

It's heartbreakingly familiar, isn't it? Many of us in fandom communities have been in Isabel's shoes, even if the outcome wasn't so extreme (or in some cases, when it truly was). Most especially, many of us, as marginalized writers speaking from our own experiences in some way, have found that others did not enjoy our framework for examining these things, and hurt us, members of those identities, in defense of "the community" as a nebulous undefined entity.

There's a quote that was posted in a news writeup about the whole saga that was published a year after the fact. The quote is:

The delineation between paranoid and reparative readings originated in 1995, with influential critic Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. A paranoid reading focuses on what’s wrong or problematic about a work of art. A reparative reading seeks out what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art, even if the work is flawed. Importantly, a reparative reading also tends to consider what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art for someone who isn’t the reader. This kind of nuance gets completely worn away on Twitter, home of paranoid readings. “[You might tweet], ‘Well, they didn’t discuss X, Y, or Z, so that’s bad!’ Or, ‘They didn’t’ — in this case — ‘discuss transness in a way that felt like what I feel about transness, therefore it is bad.’ That flattens everything into this very individual, very hostile way of reading,” Mandelo says. “Part of reparative reading is trying to think about how a story cannot do everything. Nothing can do everything. If you’re reading every text, fiction, or criticism looking for it to tick a bunch of boxes — like if it represents X, Y, and Z appropriately to my definitions of appropriate, and if it’s missing any of those things, it’s not good — you’re not really seeing the close focus that it has on something else.”

A paranoid reading describes perfectly what fandom culture has become in the modern times. It is why "proship", once simply a word for common sense "don't engage with what you don't like, and don't harass people who create it either" philosophies, has become the boogeyman of fandom, a bad and dangerous word. The days of reparative readings, where you would look for things you enjoyed, are all but dead. Fiction is rarely a chance to feel joy; it's an excuse to get angry, to vitriolically attack those different from oneself while surrounded with those who are the same as oneself. It's an excuse to form in-groups and out-groups that must necessarily be in a constant state of conflict, lest it come across like This side is accepting That side's faults. In other words, fandom has become the exact sort of space as the nonfandom spaces it used to seek to define itself against.

It's not about joy. It's not about resonance with plot or characters. It's about hate. It's about finding fault. If they can't find any in the story, they will, rest assured, create it by instigating fan wars- dividing fandom into factions and mercilessly attacking the other.

And that's if they even went so far as to read the work they're critiquing. The ones they don't bother to read, as you saw above, fare even worse. If an AO3 writer tagged an abuser/victim ship, it's bad, it's fetishism, even if the story is about how the victim escapes. If a trans writer uses the title "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter" to find a framework to dissect rainbow-washing the military-industrial complex, it's unforgivable. It's a cesspool of kneejerk reactions, moralizing discomfort, treating good/evil as dichotomous categories that can never be escaped, and using that complex as an excuse to heap harassment on people who "deserve it." Because once you are Bad, there is no action against you that is too Bad for you to deserve.

Isabel Fall's story follows this so step-by-step that it's like a textbook case study on modern fandom behavior.

Isabel Fall wrote a short story with an inflammatory title, with a genesis in transphobic mockery, in the hopes of turning it into a genuine treatise on the intersection of gender and sexuality and the military-industrial complex. But because audiences are unprepared for the idea of inflammatory rhetoric as a tool to force discomfort to then force deeper introspection... they zeroed in on the discomfort. "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter"- the title phrase, not the work- made them uncomfortable. We no longer teach people how to handle discomfort; we live in a world of euphemism and glossing over, a world where people can't even type out the words "kill" and rape", instead substituting "unalive" and "grape." We don't deal with uncomfortable feelings anymore; we censor them, we transform them, we sanitize them. When you are unable to process discomfort, when you are never given self-soothing tools, your only possible conclusion is that anything Uncomfortable must be Bad, and the creator must either be censored too, or attacked into conformity so that you never again experience the horrors of being Uncomfortable.

So the masses took to Twitter, outraged. They were Uncomfortable, and that de facto meant that they had been Wronged. Because the content was related to trans identity issues, that became the accusation; it was transphobic, inherently. It couldn't be a critique of bigger and more fluid systems than gender identity alone; it was a slight against trans people. And no amount of explanations would change their minds now, because they had already been aggrieved and made to feel Uncomfortable.

Isabel Fall was now a Bad Person, and we all know what fandom spaces do to Bad People. Bad People, because they are Bad, will always be deserving of suicide bait and namecalling and threatening. Once a person is Bad, there is no way to ever become Good again. Not by refuting the accusations (because the accusations are now self-evident facts; "there is a callout thread against them" is its own tautological proof that wrongdoing has happened regardless of the veracity of the claims in the callout) and not by apologizing and changing, because if you apologize and admit you did the Bad thing, you are still Bad, and no matter what you do in future, you were once Bad and that needs to be brought up every time you are mentioned. If you are bad, you can NEVER be more than what you were at your worst (in their definition) moment. Your are now ontologically evil, and there is no action taken against you that can be immoral.

So Isabel was doomed, naturally. It didn't matter that she outed herself to explain that she personally had lived the experience of a trans woman and could speak with authority on the atrocity of rainbow-washing the military industrial complex as a proaganda tool to capture progressives. None of it mattered. She had written a work with an Uncomfortable phrase for a title, the readers were Uncomfortable, and someone had to pay for it.

And that's the key; pay for it. Punishment. Revenge. It's never about correcting behavior. Restorative justice is not in this group's vocabulary. You will, incidentally, never find one of these folks have a stance against the death penalty; if you did Bad as a verb, you are Bad as an intrinsic, inescapable adjective, and what can you do to incorrigible people but kill them to save the Normal people? This is the same principle, on a smaller scale, that underscores their fandom activities; if a Bad fan writes Bad fiction, they are a Bad person, and their fandom persona needs to die to save Normal fans the pain of feeling Uncomfortable.

And that's what happened to Isabel Fall. The person who wrote the short story is very much alive, but the pseudonym of Isabel Fall, the identity, the lived experiences coming together in concert with imagination to form a speculative work to critique deeply problematic sociopolitical structures? That is dead. Isabel Fall will never write again, even if by some miracle the person who once used the name does. Even if she ever decides to restart her transition, she will be permanently scarred by this experience, and will never again be able to share her experience with us as a way to grow our own empathy and challenge our understanding of the world. In spirit, but not body, fandom spaces murdered Isabel Fall.

And that's... fandom, anymore. That's just what is done, routinely and without question, to Bad people. Good people are Good, so they don't make mistakes, and they never go too far when dealing with Bad people. And Bad people, well, they should have thought before they did something Bad which made them Bad people.

Isabel Fall's harassment happened in early 2020, before quarantine started, but it was in so many ways a final chance for fandom to hit the breaks. A chance for fandom to think collectively about what it wanted to be, who it wanted to be for and how it wanted to do it. And fandom looked at this and said, "more, please." It continues to harass marginalized people, especially fans of color and queen fans, into suffering mental breakdowns. With gusto.

Any ideas of reparative reading is dead. Fandom runs solely on paranoid readings. And so too is restorative justice gone for fandom transgressions, real or imagined. It is now solely about punitive, vigilante justice. It's a concerted campaign to make sure oddballs conform or die (in spirit, but sometimes even physically given how often mentally ill individuals are pushed into committing suicide).

It's a deeply toxic environment and I'm sad to say that Isabel Fall's story was, in retrospect, a sort of event horizon for the fandom. The gravitational pull of these harassment campaigns is entirely too strong now and there is no escaping it. I'm sorry, I hate to say something so bleak, but thinking the last few days about the state of fandom (not just my current one but also others I watch from the outside), I just don't think we can ever go back to peaceful "for joy" engagement, not when so many people are determined to use it as an outlet for lateral aggression against other people.

[sammigrll]

deadpool!

….as your boyfriend.

description: deadpool as your boyfriend!

pairing: deadpool x you!

contains: 18+, mentions of sex!

|an: just saw deadpool & wolverine.. couldn’t help myself.

- awful with emotions but always finds a way to make up for things whether through humor or sex.

- speaking of humor you’re never not laughing with him, or bickering, or fucking

- you’re the only person he can actually feel vulnerable and comfortable with, he cherishes that and he loves you so much for that.

- you’re his person, he would genuinely kill for you if it meant he would lose someone so important in his life.

- if someone makes you sad, mad or uncomfortable ooo…not his babygirl.

- he usually doesn’t keep people or friends in his loop often, they could find him annoying or over the top but not you.

- you love absolutely everything about him, his outlandish humor, his extroverted personality, his big ol’ mouth. you think it’s so hot.

- so hot when he’s mean to you so hot when he’s soft with you

- you literally bicker like two teenage girls all the time and he always somehow clocks your tea it’s ridiculous but you also find it impressive that he always has something to say that you cannot come back from😭

- god you need to pray that no man ever even has the thought of coming on to you… he’ll experience some banter with your boyfriend before it’s lights out.

- not only are you his but he’s yours! he’s super loyal and if he can’t get someone to back off , you sure will!

- you’re always having fun with him date nights are some of the best times of your life, he always finds a way to entertain you no matter what you’re doing.

- always gotta hand somewhere, your ass, a singular cheek, a titty, somewhere. how could you expect him not to! you’re all his.

- you literally have him wrapped around your finger, he’d do absolutely anything for you.

- also always bullying you he is so straightforward😭

“hon that has got to be the ugliest shirt i’ve ever seen on you”

“wade-“

“i know you got better in that closet that i snoop through and try on all your clothes when you aren’t home now go!”

- he’s so tall so if you’re short oh wow…you’re never catching a break

“soooo how’s the weather down there.” wade said, placing his elbow on the crown of your head.

“prick…”

…

“yeah that’s enough of that dirty mouth!” your boyfriend had announced before bending down and wrapping an arm around your behind, throwing you over his shoulder and positioning his palm on your ass.

“god, wade put me down!” you’d laughed playfully hitting his back.

“don’t make me have to spank you!” he said, lighting pinching your ass.

- do not get an animal bc it will quickly become his center of attention and he will defend it over you.

“wade, we’re having my mom over please put it in the room”

“ugh…she’s so mean isn’t she sugar?” he’d said stroking your pet, followed by a “yes she is yes she is!” as the animal licked his face.

sigh.

- good lord we got a cuddle monster on our hands!

- absolutely adores any type of affection and practically begs you for it 24/7. he loves being little spoon specifically. also loves it when u scratch or message his back, bc that also gets him going..

- speaking of, you got this guy rock solid 24/7

“hungry for seconds?” he joked, hugging you from behind and pressing his hardened cock against your ass.

“we literally jus-“ you’d started just to be interrupted mid sentence.

“so! cmon baby throw a dog a bone.” he muttered, hand already gripping your inner thigh.

you’d sighed, god you can’t resist him.

- it doesn’t matter what you’re doing he finds anything you do hot i stg

- a M-U-N-C-H! for life, literally came in his pants from eating you out once! he loves making you feel good.

- a goofball during sex he cannot do shit seriously😭 he be talking you and your pussy thru it!

- again, if you’re petite god help you bc he is large.

- babe, you better match his freak because yall doing anything.

- trying a new thing every night multiple times bc that sex is never vanilla and that dick is never tired! at some point he’s just making positions up😭

[capricioussun]

tags via @kiok0r0

YES !!! Lichrally!!!!!! It just makes me sooo crazy because like, Papyrus, undertale Papyrus, is such a contradiction of a character – he is unfailingly himself at every turn but he’s so adaptable, molding himself into the shapes he thinks he needs to be for whatever his reasons are. Is it popularity? Is he just a people pleaser? Or is it something else entirely?

He claims he wants to be in the guard and he wants to be popular, but it seems almost everyone who knows him even just in passing is rather fond of him. It's obvious he knows and understands the concept of death and what breaking the barrier entails, but Undyne thinks he’s too naive and soft to handle being a guard, and he lies about believing the others are just "on vacation" in the king ending. He’s invested in creating puzzles but also seems incredibly frustrated by them and refers to them as stupid.

He’s flowey's favorite.

Like, there is just the unknowable gap of knowledge surrounding Papyrus, what he says versus who he is versus what he does, but frankly, in my own opinion, I've always felt even Papyrus doesn't fully know. Maybe there's memory problems, maybe it has something to do with Gaster, maybe it's just really weak sense of self! Who knows!

But it's so tremendously shaped the way I see him as a character and the way I see the other Papyri and when I see this character trying to contort himself into these other shapes that still somehow fit inside his own mold, how much harder that gets when the shapes abstract further and further, when they contradict his own so terribly, I can't help but feel uf Papyrus is just...always so incredibly stressed, his own sense of self even more stretched and flawed, because of the compromises he’s had to make, alongside personal lore I like to abide by involving Gaster n stuff, and the overall stress of living in a world like that and trying your damndest to find your footing on crumbling ground.

On one hand, it's definitely helped him adapt some skills that come in handy for a job that big and serious, like a much stronger sense of responsibility and more refined masking skills, but on the other, the more he divorces himself from his own nature, the more easily he’s shaped by what's around him. Maybe, in a sprint and professionally, that helps. But in the long run, and especially personally, it could leave him with a permanently damaged understanding of who, of what he is.

A weapon? A brother? A monster? A friend? A pawn in a much bigger game than he can fully comprehend..?

A solid support group and others that can ground him I'd imagine to be crucial to his success and happiness. But I also think it'd still take a long, long time for him to really have a better grasp of...well, himself. And without that, where do you even start to understand how to approach true change? While under a microscope, at that...man.

I was trying really hard to be normal abt that platonic reader fic but I can't bc I can't ever be normal n not angsty abt anything

That being said I think uf Papyrus has SUCH a difficult relationship to socializing and the way he’s perceived. Underground, half the monsters didn't take him seriously and the other half were scared witless of him, and even those who knew he was more bark than bite knew better than to let that determine how they approached him because of Sans and Undyne, too.

And underground that was good. It was good to be feared or respected or at the very least left alone. It was part of his and Sans whole bit to keep themselves safe and in the kings good graces (as much as they ever could be). A tenuous balancing act that kept them safe because their choices were safe or dead, there wasn't room for considering things like happiness or quality of life.

And then surfacing and all the complicated joys and grievances that came with it. The prejudice, the uncertainty, the incredible possibilities and opportunities.

Humans are stronger than monsters. If one human child can decimate them so easily I can't imagine what kind of threat an adult would appear as, and not only that by they hold all the political power as well. Monsters are playing by their rules to achieve any sort of place on the surface.

Not just their political rules but their social ones too now, and I can't imagine a Papyrus that doesn't struggle immensely even with social cues and rules they've grown up with, let alone entirely new ones introduced with tremendous consequences behind them.

And then stick that Papyrus in one of the highest ranking positions in charge of handling monsterkind's future on the surface. I cannot even begin to imagine how intimidating that would be.

There's so much at play, so much stress, so many expectations, he’s already had experience playing at being untouchable, but god, it's so different now, too, because he has to be strong, unshakable, but he can't be intimidating and untrustworthy. He has to inspire confidence, not fear, he has to be professional and diplomatic, but stubborn enough to get the job done. And it's not just his and Sans' lives on the line anymore.

Even with everyone else's help it's just...insane really thinking about how difficult it would be on Papyrus post surfacing and acting as Ambassador. His people are scared and cagey, but hopeful and at their most vulnerable, and now they're looking to him to pave the path ahead. Steel enough to forge the way, malleable enough to cushion against rough waters, but always sturdy enough to handle it all.

I'd imagine even without those pressures, even if he didn't become the ambassador, there would still be so much difficulty in changing his outlook on how he’s meant to appear to others. Striking fear into the hearts of others isn't really the goal anymore but it's been so long he’s not really sure what else he can be.

He’s been shaped this way by his world. Sharp and rigid, necessary when needed but unlike his guard armor he can't take it off. It doesn't protect him anymore. As a matter of fact, it hampers him.

Fear means safety but it also means distance. Loneliness. Bad first impressions and a lot of complex feelings when just his appearance alone is enough to make a stranger cross the street rather than risk walking past him.

So yeah I think whenever he meets ppl like Frisk who r just kinda immediately like 'umm. Ur my friend now we're having soft tacos for dinner' he is SO unprepared, and SO uncertain, but it's not fear so it's not safe but it's not like that anymore, right? It's okay to be liked. It's okay to be likable. Right?

And then that's it own whole cans of worms because uh oh! Looks like you don't actually know how to do that, do you! You've spent so long wearing that mask you don't know what's underneath it anymore. All the while having to try and gauge if it's safe to take it off yet, and not knowing what you'll find if you do.

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 13. Damian attempts self-reflection

PREV PART trigger warning: medical + physical + emotional neglect, name is officialy fucking done and they'll make it known, Name is no longer hiding that they want to leave, Damian centric chapter, short filler  main m.list       series m.list

You are about to kill a motherfucker, and that motherfuckers name is Damian. Not only is he following you, he continuously attempts to place trackers and to get your medication to give to Bruce. And after your latest shift, you were done. Robin was now spying on you while you were working, and you are absolutely fucking done.

So when you see him at the dining table you couldn’t contain your anger. “You and I are going to have a talk, privately,” you hiss at him, smacking a bag of broken trackers on the table. “or so help me, and I actually get a fucking restraining order against you.”

This sure as hell got his attention, and he nods and follows you to the kitchen. You need a room that can be trashed, and in the kitchen you have more shit to throw. “You are out of line,” you say, looking at him with a stare that one could describe as threatening, enraged and calculating. “if you do this again I’ll be sure to fuck Robin up the next time he comes to visit me at work.”

You didn’t want to play your cards out, they have no need to know that you know. Of course Duke knows, but he’ll always be the exception.

Damian laughs, he can’t help it. You think you can fuck up Robin? Please, he didn’t know you had a sense of humour. What a delightful surprise.

At least he has enough sense to stop laughing when he felt your stern gaze become a glare. Truly, you aren’t like Bruce a lot, but your stare… your stare is purely Bruce. “Why do you think you being followed by Robin has anything to do with me?” he asks, genuinely curious. He just hopes you won’t put all the clues together, he’s quite relieved with the fact that your pain keeps you oblivious. Unable to use all of your intelligence.

“Nightwing and then Robin, it’s obvious they are in Bruce in pockets,” you say trying to make it seem like you weren’t omitting something. But Damian did notice a slight change in your body language, but he’ll dismiss it for now. “get him to back off, or I will file a formal complaint of stalking against him. Wouldn’t be so good for his already shitty reputation, right?”

Seems like you hit a nerve, Damian looks away ashamed, regretful and at the same time grateful. Good, let him think you’re oblivious, the more he underestimates you the safer you will be. A boy like Damian is even more dangerous than a man like Jason, Damian was raised to kill, but Jason just copied the aggression he learned. And when he lost his joyful nature, he became the monster he is today. You take Damian’s silence as compliance. “Do me a favour and tell Brucie that I will be at Maria’s for the rest of the week,” you say as you turn around, ignoring how he takes a sharp breath. “I don’t want to see your face until I return.”

Damian knows your hyper independent nature is due to their actions, due to what they’ve done to you. But he can’t help but feel bitter, he didn’t know better. He didn’t understand your side, and he wants to be your brother. He always wanted to be your brother.

From the moment you defended Tim he knew that he wanted you to defend him like that, that he wanted you to love him like that. But after Jason’s attack he learned how your family treated you, and he wanted nothing to do with you. Fearful of losing his father’s approval, and you don’t know about their life. Involving you would lead to you being kidnapped and at worst killed.

He knows he could have had a civilian relationship, but after he chastised you for your anger towards Jason he knew he no longer had a chance. He knew, so he didn’t try.

He didn’t try because he didn’t understand.

So now, as you pull away from them instead of them pulling away from you Damian doesn’t know what to do. He wants to be your sibling, he wants the bond you seemed to have with Tim (a bond he now knows doesn’t exist), he wants to be loved by you. And he wants to protect you.

Can’t you let your brother protect you?

You’re the older sibling, shouldn’t you do anything to make your younger siblings happier?

NEXT PART guys, I know this is short, but listen, I wanted this out because I keep having Damian being a gremlin brother thoughts and not in a good way. also I keep seeing one specific username that is such a typical name where I am from that I'm like; shit do I know this person?

taglist CLOSED!: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[mydearestbeloved]

Imagine...

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW: Implied Yandere (If you squint), mild grotesque imaginary of killing a magic beast

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

This is now officially a series! You can check "Trial Player AU" here: [Masterlist🦋✨️]

You never imagined your life would take such a drastic turn. One moment, you were typing away on your laptop, and the next, you found yourself in a universe where Hunters, dungeons, and magic were the norm.

As a casual fan of the manhwa, you were more than familiar with the storyline and its characters. But this was real, painfully real, and your heart raced in your chest as you tried to make sense of it all.

Isekai'd into the world of Solo Leveling was unexpected, but this?

This was even more bizarre.

___

Isekai stories were meant to be fun. A fresh start in a different world with cool powers and thrilling adventures, right?

[Congratulations!

You have been selected by the System for an exclusive test run.]

The first time you saw that message, you had no idea what it meant. But after receiving a few more cryptic messages and nearly dying in a lower-rank dungeon?

You would be foolish if continue that thought.

You weren’t just dropped into this world—you were the 'Trial Player'. A glitch, a test subject for the system before it latched onto its true player.

It sounded like a game, a brief test before things returned to normal.

Except now you’re stuck.

___

You didn’t want to interfere, to change the storyline you knew too well.

The system gave you powers once you started leveling up.

Since you weren’t a fighter by nature, learning how to defend yourself have been a whole other story. Healing however, had come to you almost too naturally. You were rather fortunate (or is it unfortunate?) in that regard, as you discovered early on that your specialized ability was more… versatile, than it seemed.

Simply put, they were dual-edged.

Healing and harming were two sides of the same coin—just a matter of intent.

You could heal yourself and allies just fine, but with enemies? The same touch that mended could also cause harm.

A giant serpent once learned that the hard way.

___

The cold wind brushed against your face as you stared down at the monstrous serpent writhing in its final throes. You hadn’t meant to do it that way—honestly, it was an accident.

You had only wanted to defend yourself, yet in an act of panic, you had somehow amplified the beast's venom glands, forcing it to produce venom at an uncontrollable rate to the point of overloading its own internal organs.

The monster literally drowned in its own deadly concoction.

As the hissing faded, you watched with wide eyes as the giant serpent collapsed, dead. A familiar notification dinged in the corner of your vision.

[Congratulations!

You have successfully defeated a C-Rank Venom Serpent!]

The cheerful tone that rang in your ears was far too enthusiastic for your liking.

[System will now place Blue Venom-Fanged Kasaka in its place.]

You let out a shaky breath, still in shock.

[You have just proven yourself to be quite entertaining,

Trial Player (Name)_

Shall we continue with more interesting challenges?]

What the hell just happened?

___

From the start, you’d made the decision to stay under the radar.

At first, it was overwhelming.

The system's notifications, the power you gained with each step, and the dangerous world you were thrust into were enough to make anyone completely lost their mind.

But, despite the insanity of your new reality, you had to admit you’d adapted rather well.

From that day forward, the system acted more like a mischievous partner than a mere overseer.

In fact, the system had seemed delighted by your attempts to remain discreet, since it was more than willing to help you falsify your ranking, allowing you to masquerade as a mere C-rank. Not that you cared much about rankings, but blending in was important, especially since you knew what was coming. You didn't want to stand out when the real chaos began.

The system had its reasons, no doubt, but you didn’t question it. As long as it kept your secret and allowed you to survive without drawing too much attention, you were content.

With your knowledge of the Solo Leveling storyline—albeit you still need to fill in some gaps in your memory here and there—you avoided changing the narrative too much. However, when it came to the protagonist, you found it difficult to completely stay away.

As a fan, you already knew what hardships awaited him, and as much as you tried not to interfere, your heart ached terribly seeing him suffer through his early days as an E-rank hunter.

Even knowing he’d become the world’s strongest eventually, you still found yourself lessening his burden.

You weren’t trying to change anything significant—just minor things. Healing him faster when he was injured and unconscious after dangerous raids, anonymously covering some of his mother's medical bills, leaving useful items at his doorstep. All of it was done behind the curtain, leaving no trace.

You kept your distance; each act was a silent tribute to a hero you believed deserved better.

Or maybe, it was because you saw something in him that reminded you of your own struggle—your own loneliness in this strange world.

After all, this wasn’t your story. It was his.

___

You vowed not to meddle in the timeline.

That was to say, you had no intention of getting involved in the main storyline.

So, when the time came for him to finally accept the system’s offer and became the player, the trial period for you ended.

The screens pop-ups ceased.

The missions vanished.

The system had gone silent.

You could finally step back, let him take the reins. You could enjoy the world for yourself, live your life in this reality.

Or so you thought.

___

It was supposed to be a quiet day, just like any other.

You found yourself wandering through a familiar street in Seoul, lost in thought.

You weren’t sure what it was that tipped you off—the weight of someone’s gaze on your back, perhaps—but when you turned around, your breath hitched.

Gaze locked in with sharp, glowing blue.

And a familiar chirp in your mind, as smug as ever.

[Fancy meeting you here,

Trial Player (Name)_ ]

Damnit, you sly—!

"‘Trial Player’, huh?"

You clenched your fists and bit your lip as his voice cut through your inner turmoil.

Stormy hues, and ebony locks that looked too fluffy not to touch.

Taller, and his voice deeper than the last time you heard him.

There was no way you could mistake him for someone else.

There was no way you could forget him.

Sung Jinwoo

The system hummed in amusement behind him, oddly pleased with itself.

A screen flickered in your periphery.

[Dear Trial Player, (Name)_

Be careful not to spill your secret to Player Sung Jinwoo,

else you may find the penalty quite costly.]

Playful, yet the warning echoed in your mind.

You had no idea what the system’s penalty might be, and you weren’t eager to find out.

“I’ve been wondering about the mysterious healer who’s been helping me. I guess I have my answer now.”

Calm, that tone of his was way too calm, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt your stomach drop. How much did he know? How long had he suspected—

“Don’t look so surprised,” Jinwoo continued with a chuckle, a small, dangerous tilt playing on his lips, “The system can be… revealing at times.”

The insufferable chirps like giggles in your ear following his statement made it clear—there was no escape now.

Sung Jinwoo knew, or at least, he knew enough.

“I’ll make it easy for you,” Jinwoo said, stepping closer.

You instinctively took a step back.

"Join my party."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat instead.

“What?"

“I want you to join me,”

Jinwoo repeated with the same exact tone, as if that one sentence was enough for your mind to grasp at—whatever situation this had spiral to be.

Your brain scrambled for an answer. You couldn’t. You shouldn’t. “I prefer staying out of the spotlight,” you muttered, trying to avoid his gaze.

Jinwoo leaned in slightly, his expression unreadable. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t think I’m going to let that happen.”

The system pinged again.

[Player Sung Jinwoo has extended a party invitation.]

“I didn’t agree to—”

The screen popped up again.

[Trial Player cannot refuse this invitation.]

You blinked at the screen, then at him.

Jinwoo kept his eyes on you—glowing in that beautiful, beautiful blue—practically daring you to refuse.

You felt trapped.

___

And that was how you found yourself reluctantly dragged into Sung Jinwoo’s (formerly solo) party.

You were supposed to be a background character at most, but now you were standing beside the future strongest hunter, going on raids, facing dungeon bosses, and… spending far too much time with him outside of said raids.

You don’t know why, but outside of dungeons were even worse. Jinwoo seemed to find excuses to be around you, despite your best efforts to avoid him. Whether it was casual visits to the same cafés you frequented or crossing paths in the market, he always seemed to be there at every turn. It was unsettling how often his gaze lingered on you, as if he was trying to unravel the very essence that made you, you.

Persistent, relentless, and far too observant for your liking. Jinwoo followed you, making sure you never slipped away, sticking close like your own personal shadow.

You might have laughed at the irony, if you were not the center of his attention.

Sung Jinwoo refused to leave you alone.

You weren't sure how he'd managed to pull you into his orbit, but he had, and now you were stuck in the very story you were trying to avoid.

A soft laugh; a rare sound that made your heart skip a beat.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, My Healer.”

___

"Oh, what have I gotten myself into..." you muttered under your breath, feeling the weight of the situation crash down on you.

The system chimed in, always and without fail, far too gleeful for your liking.

[What indeed, Trial Player?

What indeed.]

You really, really, want to kick this damned system to space.

End Note:

Finally, I can sleep now...

Every related imagines I post after this WILL NOT follow any particular/chronological order.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic Idea: The Contingency plan

Alfred Pennyworth has lived a long life. As a child, he was chosen to train for the Queen's army in exchange for dorms, education, and food. It was a golden ticket to a better life for a young orphan with no connections and no future.

He dug his way out of poverty by gritting his teeth and excelling in whatever task they gave him.

He has seen and done things in the name of his Queen and her country that keep him up at night. When he was free from his services, he started a family with a stranger, then realized he was too weak to raise that family, leaving them and his home country behind.

He found love in a woman promised to another.

He watched her marry a man he loved and hated in equal parts because while he could not have her, he at least lost to one of the kindest, most honorable men he'd ever met.

He raised their son when they were stolen from them too young. Stood by the lad's side as the boy slowly lost himself to his vengeance, edging on the line of madness and wondering if he would one day have to be the one to reunite his love with her son if he ever went over that line.

She would have never forgiven her son for becoming the kind of monster Alfred was raised to hunt. In the darkest, broken part of his heart, he often wondered if he would do it when Bruce wasn't looking—to save him the pain of being killed by the man who raised him as a favor for a lost love.

Alfred could never bring himself to, and when Master Bruce returned from his training, he doubted he could. He was good, but Master Bruce got better. He became dangerous to a near-uncontrollable level.

Alfred watched him set up his tools, prepare for his big reveal, and battle against crime with a passive expression and a hand curved around a hidden gun. He waited a few weeks to make sure Master Bruce wasn't the monster that he so clearly was capable of being.

He never told Master Bruce, never allowed a single hint of doubt to show in his words or actions, but he waited, watched, learned, and searched for an opening.

He was a master spy; an actual spy can wait years before they struck. Alfred had been gathering information since he was seven years old, searching for a way to make the older boys regret every looking in his direction. It became apparent that he would never win if Master Bruce turned his skills on him and went on a murderous spring.

So Alfred contacted the same program that made him a success story. They sent him a child who was more than ready to convince Master Bruce he was nothing more than a poor, unfortunate soul searching for a foster home.

Daniel Fenton. A young boy who appeared in England a few years ago in a swirl of green. He fell from a portal to an unknown world that the English hoarded. He was placed in a deep underground lab, used a lab rat, and slowly trained into a weapon for the crown. He was ready to bring Master Bruce to his knees should the need arise.

Alfred instructed him to only strike if Master Bruce ever stopped being the city's defender. The boy agreed, apparently willing to do anything to get out of the government's hands. Alfred had been counting on that.

He remembers those childhood days. The scars on his body are a gashly reminder of whether he ever dared forget. It helped that Daniel had an American accent- though from where was hard to pinpoint.

It was almost as if the lad was from a state that did not exist—and it was easy to slip him into Gotham's streets, easy to convince him to break into one of Master Bruce's cars to sleep in under the pretense of escaping the cold, and far more straightforward to persuade Master Bruce to offer him a warm bed for the night after his ward found the lad while parking in Wayne Manor's garage.

Alfred Pennyworth has seen many things in his life and has always had a contingency plan. He didn't like using them, but if there was one motto he lived by his entire life, it was this: "A good man can not kill a monster. Only another monster can do so."

It was cruel to place Daniel, who was abused by his countrymen, into this house only to kill the other boy he raised as a son. But it was necessary, as he had long ago accepted.

He just hopes he does not become attached to Daniel. He's seen that look in the younger recruits' eyes before, shining like a soft glint in the far corners of their eyes.

The glint of hope that one day, he would escape. Alfred would hate to have to take out his own contingency plan.

[himbosandhardwear]

Two Truths I 1.3k I NSFW-ish

“How'd you get it to stay?”

“Soldered it into one solid piece,” he brags, cigarette caught in the corner of his smile.

“You're insane. I can't believe that was you the whole time.”

“It was Ronnie's idea, I just made it happen.” He taps his cigarette out in the crystal ashtray balanced on his knee. His legs are spread open, so Steve can reach the ashtray if he needs to. “I thought he looked very metropolitan with an earring. Chic even.”

Yeah, the gold hoop earring in the mascot tiger costume was ultra modern. Steve rolls his eyes but doesn't argue. He doesn't give a shit about defending a stupid High School mascot over a harmless prank from five years ago. Eddie's antics are a thousand times more entertaining than any of his stupid basketball stories.

“You know what game you'd kill at?”

“Monopoly? Dog! I called it, you can't have it, I'm always the dog!” He nearly dumps the ashtray in his excitement.

“No, shut up. I'm the car anyway, duh. I was gonna say, Two Truths and a Lie. That's your game.”

“Hmm, never played.” He rolls his head around the back of the couch, his haphazard bun goes even looser. “Is it a drinking game?”

“Doesn't have to be. Just a guessing game really. You just say two things that are true and one lie and the other person has to guess which one is the lie. But it can't be like, ‘I have brown eyes, I have brown hair, in 1983 I helped defeat a monster from an alternate dimension.’”

“You have hazel eyes.”

Steve blinks for a second. “Yeah. But anyway, it has to be less obvious, is what I'm saying.”

“Got it. So, like, okay… My dad is in the penn for Grand Larceny, Wayne's only confirmed kill in ‘Nam was a poor defenceless monkey, and my favorite subject in school was Home-Ec.”

“Shit. I don't know if I want the monkey thing to be true or not.”

Eddie's dimples make an appearance. “My favorite was Theater. Home-Ec was a close second though. I made a pillow and used it to sleep through Algebra.”

Steve cracks a laugh. “Yeah, that tracks.” Okay, his turn. His life suddenly seems boring in comparison, even with all the shit he's been through. He used to be good at this game but he's kinda set himself up for failure here against Eddie.

“Dying of boredom…”

“Shut up! Okay, how about this… My paternal grandparents were from Scotland, I have a B.B. permanently lodged in my ankle, and my first three-way was with Tommy and Carol.”

Eddie chokes on air, making Steve laugh in delight.

Once he's got his breath, he looks at Steve in suspicion. “I'm gonna assume you didn't actually get close to Hagan's freckled weiner.”

Steve's grin feels mean, like whenever Tommy said something particularly scathing to some anonymous Freshman. “B.B. is stuck in my thigh actually.” He pulls his shorts up enough to show him the white scar.

God, the look on Eddie's face - perfectly, comically shocked, mouth open, eyes white around the iris - makes him feel so good, to have something like that up his sleeve, something to shock the wildest guy Steve knows.

“You're gonna catch flies like that,” he says, smug. “It's your turn.”

Eddie snaps his mouth shut, teeth clacking audibly. “Fine. Let's see,” he taps his finger against his chin, “raising the stakes…” He slips Steve a look, conveying his playful scheming. “I've had sex at school, I've had sex at the Hideout, I've had sex at your house.”

His immediate instinct is to call bullshit at Eddie fucking here, because when exactly would he have accomplished it, but then he remembers who provided the favors at most of his parties and he hesitates. Eddie watches Steve go through this realization, watches with a smugness that he wants to wipe off.

“It had better have been on my parents bed,” he concedes.

“Laundry room actually.”

“I hate you.” He crosses his arms and pouts, nearly asks who with but he's not sure he wants to know. “So which one was the lie?”

“School. Obviously. My dick couldn't get hard there even if I wanted it to.”

Memories of sitting in class surface, trying desperately to hide his boner, but he's not gonna admit it. Even though he's certain Eddie had the same problem at least once. It’s basically a rite of passage for dudes.

“My turn, you absolute freak.” Now what does he admit to to top getting it on with some mystery person on his parents dryer? “Hmm… I put actual notches on my bedpost, I've got a pair of girl's panties stashed in my underwear drawer, I used to jerk off with Tommy when we were younger.”

“Okay, now I know you're fucking with me,” Eddie exclaims, arms flailing.

“Which one, Munson? Take your pick.”

Eddie continues to stare, which is a bit nerve wracking but Steve maintains his composure. He's 99% sure Eddie is gay, and therefore won't judge him on this, but there's always that small chance Steve is wrong and this whole thing goes sideways. Three-way with Tommy? Could be a drunken mistake. Teenage jerk off sessions? It happens, no big deal. But both? At one point in Steve's life he'd been able to write off both as normal but Robin had put the writing back on the wall, so to speak.

“That's why he said he didn't want your sloppy seconds,” Eddie mumbles.

Steve blanches. “Who?”

“B- Nobody.”

No fucking way. No. Fucking. Way.

“Eddie. Did you fuck Billy Hargrove in my laundry room?” His voice is eerily calm.

“No.”

Steve waits a beat. “Did Billy Hargrove fuck you in my laundry room?”

“.......no.”

“Your turn,” he growls.

“Wait, which one was the lie?”

He crosses his arms, still pissed off beyond belief. “I don't put notches on my bedpost, that's tacky.”

“On the belt then?” He tries to snark but it falls flat. Steve just stares until he looks away. “Fine. Let me think.”

If he admits to fucking Billy, Steve doesn't know what he's gonna do. The very idea of it makes him want to tear his hair out.

“I over-charged you on weed for years, Gareth is mean to you because he has a crush, I'm sorry I gave Hargrove head in your laundry room.”

Steve gets up and leaves the room. Eddie doesn't call him back. He stomps all the way to the kitchen, yanks the fridge open, grabs another beer, and chugs the entire thing standing there with the door open. When he gets back, Eddie is standing in the middle of the room, awkwardly shuffling like he wants to leave.

“Sit,” Steve barks, “we're not done here.”

Eddie complies but with a stiffness that reads like he may bolt at a moment's notice.

“I fucking know you over-charged me for the weed so I have to assume Gareth does not, in fact, have a crush on me.”

Eddie nods, sheepish. “Hates you for the usual reasons.”

“Right.” The important takeaway here shouldn't be that Eddie had sex with Steve's arch nemesis, it's that he's admitting to being queer. Good. He stares at the side of Eddie's head. “I was straight, I am bisexual, I have bad hair days.”

He watches as Eddie's entire body rotates around to stare directly into Steve's soul. His tongue makes an appearance, wetting his lips.

“I am gay, I am very gay, I am the most gay anyone has ever been.”

That's comical. “No, the most gay anyone has ever been was Robin when she left the room during that scene in The Hunger.”

Eddie matches Steve's smirk. “Correct.”

“I want to kiss you, I want to make you forget Billy Hargrove’s name…..I have brown eyes.”

Eddie's grin rivals that of his grand theft auto exuberance. “Your eyes are hazel.”

“Correct.”

“I am going to kiss you, Billy Who, and…oh, who gives a shit.” He tackles Steve into the arm of the couch.

They don't make it to the laundry room but there's always tomorrow.

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 stein

synopsis: while you're laughing at the stories told to you by some rando at the bar, zoro can't help but be affected by the green-eyed monster. nami and robin try to quell his worries... but things take a turn for the worst when the man puts his hands on you.

cw: lots of fluff, comfort, (justifiably) crazy boyfriend zoro, possessive zoro, needy zoro, he is once again down bad for reader, reader is super pretty.

a/n: if my man doesn't act like this I DON'T WANT HIM. link to the outfit I was envisioning if you want it x

As the man next to you donned a smug grin, the vein in Zoro's forehead bulged, his fingers tightening around the handle of his stein with a near bruising grip as you let out yet another silvery laugh, tickled by the "hilarious" story.

He was about two seconds away from breaking the bastard's face.

The swordsman's usual indifferent expression was swapped with one of severe annoyance, his chest burning with the violent urge to maim as you threw your head back with a small snort, your hands coming up to clutch your stomach.

He impatiently drummed his fingers against the table, brows endlessly furrowing downward at the scene in front of him.

He leaves for two goddamn seconds...

'...and suddenly everyone on this island's a fuckin' comedian.'

To say he was displeased would be a grave understatement.

He was downright pissed.

Only a few moments ago you both were yukking it up at the bar, drinking the place dry as you reminisced on the crew's most recent adventure, regaling each other with stories from your respective fights and showing off new scars acquired.

But he left for two fucking seconds to take a leak, and all of a sudden everyone decided to come out the woodwork, pulling up to your spot at the bar like vultures on the hunt.

Had he not rested his hand on your hip as you walked in?

Had he not toyed with the strings of your shirt as you talked?

Had he not kissed you on the cheek before he left for the fucking bathroom?

What part of his demonstration was unclear?

You were his girl.

His woman.

His partner-in-crime.

So why the fuck was he sitting on the sidelines while some no-name, smooth-talking bastard tried to put the moves on you?

"Because I'm not gonna let you go on some jealous rampage while everyone's trying to have a good time," Nami stated, simply, her thumb pointing toward Luffy, Usopp, Chopper, Franky, and Brook, who were dancing next to the jukebox. "We've been through enough this week... the last thing we need is a bar fight."

Zoro scoffed, rolling his eyes as he turned away from the woman, taking a rough swig of beer before his gaze instinctively drifted back to you, his expression almost akin to that of a neglected child.

Robin softly smiled, amused by his adorable display.

She never took the swordsman for the possessive type...

"Is there something about her interacting with another man that bothers you?" she asked, curious, as she rested her cheek in her palm. "Do you think she would oblige his advances?"

Nami gasped, offended on your behalf.

"Zoro! (y/n) would never!" she defended, turning to him sharply. "That girl never shuts up about you. In fact, you're probably what she's over there gabbing about."

The swordsman glanced back in your direction, watching as you happily talked away, the man resting his arm against the bartop and leaning into you.

He didn't even try to look like he was paying attention...

Zoro grit his teeth, brows furrowing.

"I don't think the bastard gives a damn..." he seethed, staring daggers at the man.

"You keep on glaring like that and you're gonna pop a blood vessel..."

Robin's calculated eye scanned over Zoro's expression once again, learning a new piece of information.

"So it's the man specifically that's causing all this worry," she mused.

"The man?" Nami cocked a brow, rolling her eyes when she realized the swordsman was now glaring even harder. "C'mon, Zoro, don't you trust (y/n)? You know she would never let anything happen—"

"I know she wouldn't," he stated, curtly, not taking his eyes away from the sleaze-ball. "It's him I don't trust."

Zoro watched as you paused your conversation, turning to ask the bartender for another drink, the man next to you taking the opportunity to let his gaze wander.

Slowly, his eyes trailed up your body, gliding over your smooth legs and your exposed torso to reach your chest, staring shamelessly at your tits.

They sat perfectly in the tight, tiny soccer crop-top Nami loaned you, the flesh of your legs accentuated by the equally small shorts, as well as your matching, chunky boots.

His thoughts were loud, Zoro reading his mind just off the expression on his face.

Crrkt!

The swordsman didn't like it one bit.

"Zoro!" Nami exclaimed, eyes wide as she looked at him, incredulously. "We're gonna have to pay for that!"

The swordsman looked down at his hand to see that in his silent anger, not only had he broken the handle off his stein, but he'd snapped the handle in half.

"Nami-swan! Robin-dear! How are my lovely ladies doing?!" Sanji twirled his way over, donning a large smile and a lovesick look.

Though, all that changed once he got a look at Zoro.

"Huh? What crawled up your ass, mosshead?"

Robin smiled, "A man at the bar seems to have taken a liking to (y/n)."

Curious, the cook turned to the scene, brows immediately furrowing at the man's body language, and heart aching for your innocent, engaged expression.

"What the—?" he spat, almost disbelieving of the man's audacity. "Is he fuckin' serious?"

Nami's brows raised with confusion, and she took a look at the man again, but found nothing off about him.

"I don't get it," she stated, shrugging her shoulders. "He looks perfectly nice to me."

"You don't know men," Zoro and Sanji answered in perfect unison, voices dripping with venom.

Just then, your tone raised, expression sharpening into a glare as you stared the man down.

Everyone's attention snapped to you, Zoro shooting up from his seat almost immediately.

"Hold on there, tiger," Sanji rested a hand on his shoulder, taking a drag of his cigarette. "(y/n) can handle herself."

Abruptly, you stood from your seat, the man across from you seeming to become irritated by the words coming out of your mouth, meeting you with just as much aggression.

It looked like you both were arguing.

"What happened?" Nami asked, concerned. "They were talking just fine a moment ago."

"This doesn't look good," Robin stated, seriously.

"You watch your mouth when you're talking about my captain, you bastard! You don't know shit!" you barked, calling the attention of everyone in the bar.

"Captain?! You're a fuckin' pirate?!" he exclaimed, surprised.

"Of course," Nami dropped her head on the table, letting out a small groan.

"Yeah, I'm a pirate! And you're a bad-breath havin' ass piece of bounty hunter shit! What gives you the right to talk like that about others when you look the way you do?!"

The entire bar burst into uproarious laughter at your retort, going wild as the man looked around with shame, their cackles punctuating the embarrassing scene.

The boys in the corner were completely floored, Luffy practically rolling around on the ground.

Nami, Robin, and Sanji couldn't help but let out a few of their own snickers, muffling it by covering theirs mouths or taking a sip of their drinks.

Zoro was practically beaming with pride, a cocky smirk stretching across his lips as an angry expression began to grow on the man's face

'Atta girl.'

But, suddenly, all of that changed once a biker from behind you stood up.

In a flash, he looped his arms under your armpits, holding you in place as the man launched forward and sucker punched you in the face.

The entire Strawhat crew was moving before he could even pull his fist away.

Now... Zoro played about a lot of things.

His life—daily.

His money—on the regular.

His liver—every damn day of the week.

But there were three crucial things he did not play about.

His crew.

His captain.

And, secretly at the top...

You.

So it was safe to say that he went absolutely fucking berserk the moment that man put his hands on you.

And, to save you all the gory details—which, believe me, they are gory—I'll leave the scene at this...

Luffy, Sanji, Usopp, Franky, Chopper, and Brook had to actually, physically pry Zoro off of the man to keep the swordsman from murdering him with his bare hands.

Back on the Sunny, Zoro sat on a bed in the infirmary, quietly watching as you rummaged around for some bandages for his raw knuckles.

The rest of the crew was still on the island, assisting Chopper as he cleaned up the bio-hazard your swordsman left behind on the bar floor.

According to the doctor's prognosis, it would be a miracle if the bounty hunter was ever able to eat solid food again.

Grabbing the first aid kit out the cabinet, you walked back over to your boyfriend, the man shifting in his seat to open up his lap for you, which you instantly obliged.

Settling on top of him, you wrapped your legs around his waist, using his shoulders to steady yourself before you got to work.

"Are you alright?" he asked with a slight rumble as you carefully took his left hand in yours, using a rag and a nearby bowl of water to wash off the foreign blood.

His eyes were trained on the dark bruise that sat right on your cheekbone, the memory of the man punching you in the face already rekindling the flames of anger burning in his chest.

He got off too easy...

"I am... thanks to you," you noticed, attempting to quell his rising fury. "Swoopin' in to my rescue like a knight. I felt like a real princess, y'know?"

He let out a small chuckle at your joke, his free hand coming up to rest on your hip.

Though, he was still concerned, the faint smile on his lips staying there for only a moment before it was gone, as if it was never there.

"And to answer your question, it hurt about as much as a punch could," you answered, already able to see the question forming in his mind. "He wasn't incredibly strong, so the most it did was wake me up a little."

You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes at the memory.

"And it's a good thing it did because I was two seconds away from throwing myself out the window if I had to talk to him any longer."

Zoro suddenly raised a brow, confused.

"I thought you two were getting along?" he asked as you dipped the bloody rag in a bowl of water. "You seemed eager to talk to him."

"Fuck no," you scoffed, incredulously. "It was the complete opposite. Talking to him was like watching paint dry; but, I had to put on a good show if I wanted him and his bounty hunter gang to pay for a couple of our rounds. "

Twisting the rag, you rang out the dirty water, moving on to clean his right hand.

"He wouldn't shut up about himself, and he wouldn't stop giving me weird looks when he thought I wasn't paying attention."

"So what set you off?" Zoro asked, intrigued. "What did he say?"

Your brows furrowed, your mouth biting back a curse word or two as you recalled.

"He saw Luffy's wanted poster behind the bar, and with the alcohol loosening him up a bit, he got to talking," you explained, pissed all over again. "He said the world would've been better off if Luffy had died at Marineford, right next to his weak-ass, bastard brother."

Zoro's eye widened, your reaction now perfectly understandable.

He would've done the same, if not worse.

Finishing up with the rag, you tossed it in the sink, moving to wrap his hands with the bandages.

"But it looks like he won't be speaking for a while now," you lightly joked. "So I'll suck it up and let it go."

Pausing for a moment, you hand rose to cup his cheek, the man leaning into your touch as you rested your forehead against his, placing a soft peck on his nose.

"But thank you," you smiled, looking into his eyes lovingly. "You were a real hero today, despite what the others may say."

Allowing himself to finally relax, his shoulders sank, and he leaned further into you, content with having you in his arms.

His silence spoke volumes, and you couldn't help the lovesick grin that managed to find it's way to your face.

God, you loved this man.

And, even though others may find you crazy for it, you couldn't help but be incredibly aroused as you recalled the way Zoro sprang into action, beating your attacker to a bloody pulp without hesitation.

"Y'know..." you started, cheekily, the man raising a brow at your sudden change in expression. "You're hot when you're jealous."

The comment took him by surprise, but as he checked your darkened eyes for confirmation, he could tell you were one-hundred percent serious.

"Oh, am I, now?" he smirked, teasingly, shifting his grip on your waist to flip you both over and pin you to the bed.

You let out a happy squeal as he pressed his lips against yours, your body melting into him instantly.

As you relished the feeling of his strong hands gliding across your skin—the same hands that nearly beat a man to death only moments earlier—you couldn't help the warm flutter reverberating through your stomach.

You kissed him back with just as much fervor, if not more, allowing him to use his position to get the angle on you and deepen the kiss.

Zoro had made it abundantly clear that you were the last person in the world to mess with, and as rumors of what happened on the island spread like wildfire, one fact became as certain as stone...

If you like your life... don't flirt with (p/n) (y/n).

[bet-on-me-13]

Danny was forced to Reincarnate

So! One day, Dr Fate was doing a routine check on the Barriers between the many Dimensions that brushed up against his Universe, when he found an Anomaly.

Somewhere in the United States, Illinois if the spell was accurate, there was a Sustained and Stable opening into the Infinite Realms. Which was impossible. The Infinite Realms was Chaos Incarnate, the birthplace of God's and Monsters like the Lords or Chaos or the Ancients. Openings to the Realms were never supposed to exist for more than moments at a time, if not less than that.

So of course he immediately went to investigate it.

What he found shocked him.

Not only was there a stable Portal to the Infinite Realms created by Scientists of all things, but Realms Spirits have been regularly attacking the small town it was located in without his, nor anyone else's knowledge, for Years. Thankfully it seemed like one of the Realms Spirits objected to their attacks on the Mortal Plane and was defending it, but that was a problem in and of itself.

He quickly took off to rectifying the situation.

He approached the Protector Spirit and proposed an alliance, helped him chase down any loose Spirits still wandering the Mortal Plane, and then with his help Dr Fate closed the Portal for good. The Protector Spirit helped destroy all knowledge of how to contruct the Portal from the Scientists Servers (he was never good with technology) and Dr Fate used a few memory spells to wipe the knowledge from their minds.

The Protector Spirit then thanked him for his help, but Dr Fate told him that there was still one problem that needed rectifying.

He quickly summoned a Spell to immobilize the Spirit, and began the Ritual he had been preparing since the moment they had met. He was never planning to allow the Realms Being to wander free after his work was finished. Good Hearted as he may be, Realms Spirits were still too dangerous to let freely roam a world of Humans. He was never going to be allowed to leave once this was over.

Still, he had helped Dr Fate in his endeavors. For that, he had earned a more merciful fate than the others had. Rather than banish the Spirit to the endless void as he had the others, he instead cast a ritual to allow him to Pass on and find peace.

With his work done, Dr Fate left the small town and went back to his Tower.

...

Unfortunately for Dr Fate, he didn't know a few things about that particular Spirit. He didn't know that it was a Halfa, and was thus still partially Human. He did not know that it was still a Child by Ghost Standards, and that his Core was not yet matured as it should have. And he did not know that this particular Ghost was favored by an entity that governed all of Time. One that had a rather petty vindictive streak.

Because he wasn't the type of Spirit the spell was intended for, the Protector Spirit (Danny if case you hadn't caught on) was thrown into an entirely different type of Afterlife. The Cycle of Reincarnation.

Clockwork, angered that his friend had been betrayed so calously, helped his soul pass more easily through the cycle of Reincarnation. He wouldn't keep his memories or powers (at least not at first), but there would be echoes of who they used to be.

Which is how Danny Phantom, the little known Ghost Hunting Hero, was reborn into their new life as Zatanna Zatara, the well known Magician Hero.

[fangsandfeels]

I gained the next level of appreciation for how well Dragon Age 2 understood trauma, the ugly side of it.

I don't blame Fenris. I understand why after enduring years and years of abuse, humiliation, having your autonomy, your memories, everything that constituted you including your own name stripped away from you, you have no empathy for anyone reminiscent of your abusers - especially if nobody came to save you in the end and you are the only one fighting for your life and freedom. I understand why upon hearing how someone (who reminds you of your abusers) suffers unfairly, the only thing you can say is "Good" - and lash out at anyone trying to tell you off for it. Where all these fucking preachers were when you were suffering? Why even in the land that is supposed to be different from your own hellhole, your word and your experience still don't matter?

I don't blame Anders. I understand why after being betrayed by your own parent, after the decades of listening how you must suffer for the sin of being born, being confined to isolation, being treated like a monster while being a child, being denied the simplest of comforts, you fiercely defend people who share your abilities - because nobody else would ever look out for you and them. Of course you would clash even with someone who has legitimate reasons to be negative towards people like you because your own wounds sting more than their pain. You have dealt with the Chantry's vile propaganda for so long, you no longer take things at face value. Of course, Chantry would say that the foreign land where mages rule is foul, and corrupt, and full of blood magic and demons! So many times rumors, lies, and twisted religious depictions have been used to abuse, lobotomize, and enslave you, you're no longer letting it happen - and you only believe what you see and hear. And all you see around is injustice and indifference. And you're only the one screaming into the void, raging against the horrors everybody else is willingly blind to.

I don't blame them both for losing their mind in their own ways while the rest of the group silently wondered why they couldn't just be normal.

Personally, I don't think there was any chance for them to become friends or make peace during the events of the game. The "I suffered so I don't want anyone to suffer like I did" or "I'm a bigger person" are pretty lies and half-truths at worst. At best, they are mindsets only possible after someone who suffered finally feels safe and can be out of their survival mode. Which is not really true for Fenris and Anders, even during the final act of the story.

Even on high friendship or romance, Anders is still self-destructive, ready to die at Hawke's hands after launching his plan in motion. Even with a friend/lover at his side, he is alone in his head, in his vision of the world, in his pain.

Even with proper support and help, it takes Fenris three years to accept a relationship, but it doesn't change his perspective and if you don't have enough of his trust, you lose him to his trauma-based response.

I may be overthinking it, but I am truly thankful to the game for not toning down the complex, hard and uncomfortable aspects of trauma. People have always been in love with the concept of the perfect victim (who hates only "the right" bad guys and suddenly knows when to be tolerant, nice and accepting and doesn't say any rancid and hateful shit ever), but it became particularly aggravating lately.