#you're good anon! :]

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

Hey hey hey may 31th anon! How's 2024 going? ☆ヾ(*´▽｀)ﾉ This year I have for you a leaked Sherlock season 5 image. Thinking of you!! And everyone!!

[frownyalfred]

I wanna see a fic where the Batkids realize that no, Matches Malone isn't just their dad's crimesona. He was a real dude who committed suicide, and Bruce committed identity theft for a mission and then proceeded to... not stop committing identity theft. Like, it legitimately sounds fucking insane when you actually hear it

Bruce: "You've never heard of the sunk cost fallacy?"

Jason, leaning about Matches Malone's origins in detail for the very first time: "Did you -- did you just make a joke?"

Bruce, deflating slightly: "...Matches likes jokes."

Jason: "Oh my GOD--"

[springheatedwine]

(There is no pressure on making this request if you're not comfortable or don't have the time/motivation for it) Can I make a request for a reader who's going through a bad patch with their best friend who's slowly replacing them with someone else, and it's obvious that they'll be having a fallout, so Veritas comforts them and reassure them about it?

[pokeberry5]

If you are still taking requests, may I please inquire if I could have a drawing of Jason and Tim working together as a team, please?

this probably isnt exactly what you had in mind, but i think that red robin and batboy from that one death in the family movie ending are so precious

the cowl in question:

bonus:

[barrenclan]

slugpelt’s writing unironically helped me mend my relationship with my mother. I can’t say stuff like that about a lot of characters

[luminique]

hii hii lumii !! I ADORE your interpretation of lighter so far— I love him smm

anyways, I hope my req is okay but I was wondering if you could do a comfort fic ? maybe reader has been a lil distant lately and just in some feels and he gives them a lil talk after being blown off here and there to find out they were having issues w their mental health and not feeling good enough and maybe he’s caught off guard because reader is usually so out going and always has a smile on their face and to see them feel so small makes him wanna take care of them so much and gives them so much reassurance and gentle kisses and cuddles 👉👈

I hope it’s okay !! I’ve been in the feels lately

hi anonn !! im gonna answer this one first because i've been in the feels too and i think we all deserve some reassurance, especially after all of the sad lighter story.

i don't take lighter for the kind to be too intrusive. that's not to say that he doesn't notice the way you're staring off into the distance, as if always having something on your mind. or the way you left earlier than usual for the SoC's nightly hangouts around the fire. or the way you had just been distancing yourself from him.

maybe you just needed a day, or two, and so he waited. he waited, and waited, but it just seemed like it was getting worse. he was beginning to get anxious, coming up with possibilities and worse case scenarios. even his favorite grape-flavored lollipop couldn't reduce the anxiety that was building up inside of him as he followed after you one night.

he shook off his nerves, spending quite a bit of time at the front door of your lodging while in blazewood. mentally practicing what to say so that he wouldn't make things even worse than they already were. one step, two deep breaths, three knocks on your door. he cleared his voice, usually confident and smooth but now carried a hint of worry in it.

"hey, uh... everything alright?"

you could hear the ruffling of his jacket, the soft metal clinks of his gloves. he didn't dare open the door until you allowed him to, so he waited, just like he always had. "lighter? yeah, everything's fine," was that a slight crack in your voice? no, no, he had to have imagined that. he knew it was wrong but he had waited long enough. he turned the knob, opening the door just a little bit but still not walking in.

"you don't have to tell me everything. just... know that i'll be here, waiting for you." he wasn't the best at comforting, nor was he good at even navigating these sorts of things but at the very least, he wanted you to have the knowledge that you had him. it didn't take long for you to finally get up, opening the door that separated the both of you. you looked so... different. the light absent from your eyes, the edges of your lips normally turned upwards but now they weren't. if he couldn't say what you wanted to hear, maybe you'd understand through his actions.

his arms wrapped around you. squeezing you just a little tighter than usual as he somehow made the both of you waddle backwards into your room. he had kept his gloves in his pants, not wanting to hurt you even more with them. his embrace was a familiar warmth, like the fire during particularly cold nights in the outer ring. you could hear his heart racing, was it from nervousness? anxiety? fear? even he didn't know.

he took this as an opportunity to place soft kisses on the top of your head but then stopped all of a sudden. he turned around to the door and realized that it was still wide open. he kicked it close with his foot, feeling embarrassed at the fact that he had to stop because of something so minor. he wanted you to feel safe, to have privacy, to be able to breathe without others barging in. technically, he had invaded this space of yours but you were slowly melting into him, as if you had been waiting for this too.

every passing second hugging you, kissing you, it made his own worries disappear. he hoped the same for you as you slowly spoke to him about your own problems. as he listened, he'd pause every once in while to give you a deadpan stare. not because he was making fun of you or anything, but it genuinely baffled him how you could say such things about yourself. you felt so insecure about yourself and your image, about being with him, being with the SoC. he had to physically stop himself from just blurting "i love you" every time you said something so degrading.

instead, he chose to wait and listen. his calloused hands gently caressing yours, his lips pressing kisses on the side of your head as you nuzzled into him. he loves you for who you are, the person in front of him, not the image that you had made yourself out to be in your mind. but he waits for you to let it all out before he says anything else. he will wait, he will listen, he will always be there for you.

[m1d-45]

bloodletting

summary: a budding god needs a place to test their new powers, and childe was always a little too eager to lose a fight... a match made in heaven!

word count: 1.7k

-> warnings : minor AQ spoilers ? just like, general gi plot.. fairly graphic depiction of blood + other injuries (might be classed as body horror???). generally obsessive tendencies (childe <--> you). i cannot stress this enough, reader is 110% a sadist.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

power was not something that came easy. it was fought over, stolen, defended with teeth and claw, tides of blood shed just so one could have power over another. social, physical, financial; no matter the leverage it provided, power was hard won. to give someone power was to admit defeat, a certain death that tartaglia had learned and taught more than his fair share of times. nobody undeserving of power ever held onto it for long; it was an acknowledgement that you were better, that you deserved it, that you’d won. power was a fickle resource that childe would kill to keep, only ever laying down his blade for a precious few.

the tsaritsa, of course. his fellow harbingers, skilled both on and off-field, who themselves could rival the archons. his family, for whom he’d happily give the world.

and naturally, who would be more worthy to hold power than you?

you, not just a god but the, the highest authority across all of teyvat. you bore a hundred names and a thousand monikers, your worship the one thing the world could agree on. granted, nobody could quite agree on how, but that was fine. childe did not need external powers to tell him what to do. he knew, in his deepest heart, that he had gotten it right.

he knew—and, on occasion, flaunted—that he was your favorite. of all the vessels you had chosen, you returned to him time and time again, wishing on his stars until his vision gleamed. his bow shone with power, even his weakest weapon more than enough to push his strength to new heights. part of him wondered what he could do if you’d granted him swords, or a claymore… but that was speculation for another time. didn’t it say something that you had still chosen him at his weakest?

the thought always made him smile. thick in the heat of puppeteered battle, before the sun to after dark, your presence was a constant in his life. at every altar, with every offering, when his hands stung from the rash of leather and his blade was covered in rust, your name a prayer behind blood-soaked teeth. he could not remember a time when his pocket was not weighted with a charm.

his devotion was no secret. he wore your bow with pride, entirely phasing out his other weapons. it didn’t matter that he was technically more controlled with them, for you had chosen this path for him. your word was his guide, a polar star through bitter nights.

he did not doubt when your presence ebbed or flowed. who was he to dictate when or where you spent your attention? no, his faith did not waver. it had no reason to. he waited patiently, going about his regular duties, lingering in snezhnaya for no other reason that he just felt like he had to.

who was he to question to buzzing in the back of his head? who was he to decline when he felt an instinct to leave, to go for a trip far past the city gates? who was he to think himself better than the guiding light that had never led him astray?

for you, he was whatever you needed. and so he went, armed with a thick coat and snowboots, hands shoved deep in the pockets to hide the slight shake. down the main road, an arbitrary turn into an alley and down an abandoned path, into a part of the city he’d never traveled. but a golden thread had tied itself around his heart, pulling without hesitation. he easily hopped over the fence gate, not bothering with hauling it open through the snow. the path beyond was covered in a thick layer of powder, his foot crunching through a foot of it before hitting solid ground. still, he continued.

snezhnayan winters were not warm. they bit and dug into every gap in your clothes, stealing away the precious warmth within. and yet, with his half-done coat and incomplete guard, he was not cold. or, rather, he couldn’t feel it. his hands were pink with frost, stiff at the knuckles, but he couldn’t feel the resistance. his body was not important, not now.

the snow began to thin. it fell from his knees to his shins to his ankles to his toes, until he was face to face with a thick wall of bramble, impossibly overgrown. he was beginning to overheat in his jacket. twin blades made quick work of the wall, and the sight behind it easily dispelled any breath left in his lungs.

the air that washed out of the bubble was thick and heavy, like a humid spring instead of snezhnayan woods. his breath came in short gasps, a shameful wheeze that he hoped was missed beneath the howling snow. he didn’t want you to see him as weak, as someone so easily tired by a short trip to a falling star; he didn’t want you to think of him as anything other than his best.

but you didn’t push him away. you helped him up—his head was buzzing with delusion, he could hardly see, when had he fallen to his knees?—and brushed the snow off his hair, not pushing him away when he leaned into your touch. he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could barely collect himself enough to recognize that he needed to get you inside, away from the wilds.

that was power. to so effortlessly take over every thought in his head, to hold his mind in your hands and pull it into your liking, that was the power he adored you for. gods were figureheads of power, a physical incarnation of their dominion. a god of the entire world would only naturally have power to manipulate that world to their liking. how blessed was he, that he could be the first you made yours.

he was with you when you first stepped into zapolyarny palace, looking around at the chandeliers and fine tile. he opened the door for you to her majesty’s throne room, sucking in a sharp breath as you brushed by. he was by your side when the tsaritsa swore you her fealty, delicately placing the gnoses in your hands.

and oh, how he’d fallen to the floor right then and there, dizzy from the wash of power that rolled off you in waves, an ocean that he willingly dove into. the floor was cool beneath his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin as sweat quickly began to bead. he didn’t bother pushing himself up on his hands, teeth sinking deep into his lip again to control his panting breath. copper bloomed over his tongue, filling his mouth and clogging what remained of his senses.

dimly, he was aware that he was being pathetic, that this would surely change your mind about him. he heard your voice, faint through the fog of his mind, your wisdom lost to his own inadequacy. and yet, despite his weakness, every part of him was tuned into you. he knew it was your hand whispering across his shoulders, he knew it was your influence that stole the breath from his lungs. he knew it was you, because it was always you. you were all he could think of, and now you were finally able to leverage your full power over his self.

he’d woken up in a hospital bed. saline dripped into his arm and the lights pierced his eyes, his head full of snow and iced over. and yet, the moment he was cleared for release, he found himself desperate to be back to your side, racing through the tiled halls of the palace and following the urgent burn in his chest. you would have been right to turn him away, to deem him too weak to stay by your side, but you didn’t. you smiled when he lost his breath and laughed when he wavered, brushing off his concern. you invited him with you—his lungs burned with the need for oxygen—as you twirled the gnoses between your fingers, as if they were toys or paperweights rather than objects of divine power.

divine to him. child’s play to you. a courtyard of snow was cleared in an instant, ripples of pyro melting permafrost while keeping the flora beneath intact, a lazy show of power that pulled little more than a slight hum from you in response.

he wasn’t so much a fool as to think he could teach you everything, or even something, about being divine. and yet he clung to your side like a sailor in a storm, watching as you grew familiar with the elements. he watched, stubborn and weak, as you stopped hesitating.

flowers bloomed as you walked by, crumbling to ash with the slightest look. electro jumped from your skin to his, a painful spark that drew his mind from his head, finally seeing your amused eyes instead of just mindlessly staring. you could—should—have just left him behind, but you didn’t. you instead asked for his help, taking his hand in yours and leading him to a quieter hallway of the palace. you didn’t comment on his thundering pulse despite the fact that you could certainly feel it, tracing a finger along the crease of his palm.

“i wonder…”

a claw of geo cut across his skin, a sharp sting that quickly welled with blood. he barely felt it, watching with detached awe as it filled up his hand, sliding over the edge and dripping to the floor. you didn’t show any emotion, just… watching. his heart beat in his hands, a pool collecting on the floor, and still, you just watched. your other hand moved over the surface, barely an inch away, the blood collecting in a bubble beneath it. with a hum, your fist tightened, pain lighting up his arm. a strained grunt slipped between his teeth, hand flinching closed, brushing against the ball of his blood you had pulled from his veins. his hand was stained red, shaking in your grasp, minutes stretched into hours.

all at once, it dropped, forced back into his body as forcefully as it was removed. with a snap, the skin stitched itself shut, and you were again dragging him along like a child did their favorite toy.

you did that a lot. pull him aside and experiment with whatever new reaction you had discovered that month, week, day, hour, watching his reactions with unabashed delight. and he let you. every time, without fail, he eagerly followed, knowing full well he’d end up rigid with lightning or with ice crystals studding his throat. it was worth it, though. you always fixed him up, squeezing his hand with a whispered ‘good job’ that never failed to make him dizzy.

it didn’t matter what you did to him. it never did. even when his mind was hazy with pain and he couldn’t quite stand on his own, he never regretted it. unconsciousness licked at the edges of his vision, burning black stains that lingered even after you stopped, but he never once hesitated.

if you asked him to jump, he’d ask how high. if you felt like holding him underwater, he’d cherish every bruise. to be kept as a toy was still to be kept.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Mayhaps your thoughts on how foul legacy/childe would view and interact with a Divine Creator trope?

i assume you mean SAGAU where you're viewed as a god rather than as an imposter, and ask and ye shall receive!!!

although he serves the Tsaritsa, Childe's true devotion lies with you, like almost all of the Harbingers. the Divine Creator, the one who carefully crafted Teyvat and all who live there, hung the stars in the sky, mapped out the cycle of fate- truly, your power surpasses all of Celestia and the Abyss, and Childe is only happy to bow to the one who gave life to the world. Foul Legacy worships you even more somehow, the entire Abyss holding you in reverence, as the one who gives them strength while all above the surface scorn them. he's sworn to serve the Creator, should he ever meet you- what will he become at your hands? a servant? an assassin? a weapon of war? whatever you decree his fate to be, Foul Legacy accepts it with open arms and a steeled conviction

none of these, as it turns out. you're quiet and uncertain when you meet Childe- quite odd for such a powerful deity- but your eyes light up when he tries to show you his use through his Foul Legacy transformation, reaching up towards him with a soft smile. Legacy tilts his head curiously with a chitter- perhaps you want him to be at your height? - and lowers his head slowly. but you simply put a hand in his hair, ruffling the coppery locks and scritching behind his twisted horns, and Foul Legacy's single, crystalline eye flares, then dims as he melts against your touch. Childe's Abyssal half begins to purr, carefully slumping onto the ground so he can focus entirely on leaning against your hand, being as close as possible. your smile grows with delight, and all of Teyvat hums with your happiness as you pet and caress a rumbling Foul Legacy, both of you gazing at each other adoringly

the Creator said, to the Eleventh Harbinger, "Please, be my friend." and so he agreed, and never left

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Halloween!!! The untamed pretty please?

a continuation of 1 2 3

Nie Huaisang at ten isn't that jarring, even considering the adult version he left behind, because he's pretty much exactly as Jiang Cheng remembers him.

Seeing Nie Mingjue at thirteen as a sullen child instead of the looming specter of his memories takes some adjusting.

Nie Haoyu wouldn't take no for an answer and it hadn't helped that A-Ying had been thrilled at the invitation and immediately started peppering the Nies with question that they'd answered in good humor the whole way back. Nie Haoyu seems delighted with A-Ying, finding him amusing and impressive and complimenting Jiang Cheng several times on raising such an impressive son.

He just glares back but Nie Haoyu's good humor is unaffected. His memory of the clan leader is spotty at best and he's coming to the slow and horrifying realization that it was Nie Huaisang and not Nie Mingjue that got his personality from their father.

Joining a clan is probably good for them, long term, and the Nies are the only other tolerable major clan, not that he'd ever expected to get practically kidnapped by them.

The only problem is that Nie Haoyu is going to be dead in two years time and if he wants A-Ying and the Nie siblings to have some semblance of a normal childhood, he's going to have to. Do something about that.

[tgtbata]

i hope it's not too weird but it'd be so cute if you could draw sam w (dog) tail and ears i think </3

they're researching how to get rid of the curse (well, sam is, at least.)

[canisalbus]

As I sit here tending to a nosebleed I think about how that was the first picture I saw of your characters. His open, almost casual self loathing resonated with me. So much of people with "gross" physical traits seeking love is explored only in metaphor, but here is art that shows it without shame.

Your dogs make me feel like a real human being. Thank you.

.

[yandere-daydreams]

okay. okay. batfam fic. is this a really late response? who cares (the answer is no, fuck you, it's perfectly on-time)! i just had a lot i wanted to say. so... let's start. i LOVEEE having a reader that's so aware? i just think - while i adore when readers kick and scream or whimper in trained obedience or whatever - there's something so scrumptious about someone who knows they're trapped and is trying to learn to maneuver carefully (even though it all goes to shit anyway). i can't help but wonder what would happen as time goes on. or immediately in the aftermath. would reader even be able to attempt to go back to pretending everything was normal? or would it just send them straight to where they were at the start? and then i think about everyone else. how would they respond? would the reader even tell them? in an effort to maintain normalcy, would they keep it a secret from the rest of the family? or would they be so distressed they'd be unable to? and then their response would really be the deciding factor in the family's response. if they pretended it didn't happen, how long would it take them to figure it out? and how would they respond to knowing they withheld that info? if they were distressed and told them, would they explode as a family? or would it worm into their heads as... a more concrete idea? if jason did it... why can't some of the others? i mean, i bet one of them would be willing to believe that the reader wouldn't have been so upset, if they had just been the one to do it. jason's so rough and rude, even without trying. he can be so mean. no. reader should have that experience with someone who is gonna be nice to them, who wants nothing but their pleasure, over and over and over and.... well, you get the point. personally, it felt so realistic to have the reader try and be calm and rational. i'm kind of passive when it comes to confrontation. i'd prefer to keep the peace. but.... well... i'm also curious. i probably wouldn't be able to stop myself from eavesdropping or snooping, especially if i knew it concerned me. i'd want as much info as possible, even if it made me sick. sorry this is so so long i'm gonna cut it off here just want to say i LOVED the fic. your batfam is my favourite. i love how you just make them all such freaks in their own way. none of them are safe.

ahh thank you so much! long asks like this in response to my silly little fics keep me fed for days T-T

plans for a continuation are still solidifying and i'd hate to give two much away, but prt one was very much the reader desperately trying to prolong the 'fucking around' phase (or, the not fucking around phase? ig?), whereas we've thoroughly transitioned into the 'finding out' stage of things at the time a continuation would pick up. they're all such poorly contained freaks when everyone's still trying to pretend they don't want to fuck their step-mom, it might take a little while to figure out how they'd behave once fucking the aforementioned step-mom is up for further discussion.

[somegrumpynerd]

I think that nightmare living with his boys after the truce(actually even before that) is literally hearing a clink and him yelling "KILLER, DUST, GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN AND STOP FIGHTING"

(I don't know if I worded that right so I'm sorry if you can't understand-)

Oh absolutely!! When Nightmare hears rummaging around in any room he has to go check, because usually it's just Horror preparing food or one of them doing something, but there's always a chance he's about to break up a fight

What I like to imagine is how long after an agreed truce (and assuming Dream comes to visit now and then) does Dream feel confident enough to break up the fights

(He's very good at it, as it turns out)

[erinwantstowrite]

hey, im the one who sent you that ask about the dream where the one shot kept on getting longer, i just wanted to apologize, i just saw what you posted it wasn’t my intention to pressure you or anything ! i know it’s going to be a one shot and you’ve already explained it would be shorter than the halloween one shot, i just genuinely thought it was funny that i had dream about it!

this wasn’t me setting up expectations for reality not at all! (i’ve no idea if this was even about me or not, but just in case, i wanted to clear that up)

don't worry that post wasn't about that!! i thought it was funny too, i had a dream similar to that. it just struck me that someone *could* get disappointed because of how long it's taken to come out, so i wanted to make sure it was clear

[utilitycaster]

I truly have no patience for "criticizing a creative choice is disrespectful" as a statement. If you can't tell the difference between sending hate or harassing creators/fans, vs. saying "I didn't like this and here's why" you are an idiot. And on the flip side if you're a creator and someone says "I didn't like this" without any sort of personal attacks or hate involved, simply on the basis of critique and personal preference, and that makes you feel bad enough to stop creating then maybe you should step back and either get offline or make room for someone who has an actual creative vision that isn't "I want everyone to like me."

[some-pers0n]

I might be poking at a bear here but I kinda really dislike the "all or nothing" attitude the WoF fandom has. This character is evil the worst piece of garbage imaginable or is secretly a great character and you're just a fool for thinking otherwise. It's ridiculous at times

Like I recall the stuff with Secretkeeper a while back. Now, call me crazy, but I don't think she's some horrifically abusive and neglectful parent. She did the best that she could. Was it great? No, but she was trying to keep her daughter safe in a hostile world that she was terrified would reject or, worse, hunt her. Her leaving Moon alone for days was bad, yes, but she wanted to keep Moon free from the horrors of the volcano. She loved Moon and clearly took care of her a lot. You can't just look at a character and paint them as being a "horrible abusive POS" for something that, let's be real here, is much more forgivable and understandable than anything Coral, Scarlet, Diamond, Cobra, Jerboa, or Kestrel did