#all platonic

[imhyperfixiating]

Hi Hi!! Could I please request Jamil doing henna art for kid! Yuu? Tyyy :D

Ahh so cutee!!

[ona-fish]

boys carrying girls

[yarttalk]

Warning: This concept delves into heavy themes and sensitive topics. It is a work of pure fiction meant for creative exploration; not an endorsement or reflection of real-world beliefs, ideas, or practices.

ᴅɪʙʙʟᴇ ᴅᴀʙʙʟᴇ/ʙᴜᴅᴅɪɴɢ ꜰɪᴄ ɪꜰ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ; 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐞 ⋆˚𖤓˖° 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 & 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

hai... gulp

main idea; neglectful!batfam & yandere!reader. i dont know if this has been used yet, but hear me out:

yandere reader doesn’t truly understand they’re a yandere—they grow to have a vague understanding that it isn't necessarily normal; but is anyone really, truly normal? if not in the world, then most certainly not in Gotham for heavens sake! yandere reader was raised by an aspiring mother with an inkling to Icarus— but instead of dying in the flames, she was unable to grasp the hand of the clouds.

Bruce Wayne. Certainly as pale as a cloud; and just as untouchable, high in his place above Gotham’s filthy streets. Or maybe that was Brucie Wayne she met, and hoped she charmed the day she was sent to photograph his gala for the paper.

She had gotten nothing but bad luck after that— “the cost of a bad seed”, she’d say. Her stunt in the back room of the gala lost her the opportunity of the best shots, and her fangirlish focus on Bruce Wayne made her deemed incompetent for their paper company. The only thing she could feel, however, was the joy from the opportunity she was given. She had gotten a chance to be with the Bruce Wayne, as a normal woman. It was only later when she realized she was pregnant did some of her walls crumble; but the idea of something of his being hers, too, did she decide her fate.

“A blessing it was, to touch his skin…”

“I should’ve done more!”

“You’re like a sunburn; proof of my exploration.”

“…You’re lucky I let you mark my skin. You’re blessed to be him; his essence, his fire. If you weren’t, I would get rid of you even now.”

yandere reader was their mothers’ obsession as much as they were her ire; and maybe that’s where their twistedness stems from. It’s the only form of love they’ve seen— their mother is obsessed with their “father” for all he is (or what yanreader’s mother made them believe he is, along with the short parts where they’d see the money he’d donate to help people in need from the photos and articles her mother has taped in her walk in closet— hazardously shoved in there once it got too big in her dresser drawer), and yanreader as-well for all they have from him. Is it Bruce himself, or is that just love?

Maybe it’s both, they come to think as their mother’s suicide over Bruce’s other, acknowledged family— or just the biological kid, they had tried to explain— sends her into too far of a depressive dip too fast. yanreader’s world completely flips during this time, unable to understand life outside their mother’s teachings and more deluding than guiding words, trying to find their footing in a house so unfamiliar; it feels like a church, more than anything. Big and empty, waiting for something larger than life to fill it; the need to be perfect and prove it to the eyes watching, actually or not. Alfred was the one who picked them up, after all, and the deathly glare their half-brother sends them as soon as they enter throws them into a loop. Did he see their impurities too? This soon?

The idea of that fills them with horror. How would Bruce act when he sees them?

(Their mother never let them call him their father; they couldn’t pass the gray, not if she couldn’t— they weren’t enough to bask in that light. They had to rot with the rest of Gotham in the shadows, if only so their mother could have an ember.)

Their mother lives under their skin, rotting their mind. There’s no voices, or info-chan(is there…?). It’s the illusion that their mother is there next to them, reminding them of the opportunity they were presented with, and how they couldn’t let it slip through their fingers like she did. Freshly 18 and uneducated about college, to the batfam(batkids, specifically) they seem… like a freeloader. They were their mother’s attempt at forcing Bruce into a relationship, in the family’s eyes, and yanreader being a bit reserved only helps the kids solidify their opinions about them being there for that quick cash.

They float around the house, deepening their own delusion and the distance between themself and the family. Yanreader, admittedly, never tried with Bruce. They never seeked him out in the hall, never ate a meal with him, and never told him about things he needed to do at the school. They told Alfred, but Alfred’s plate was full, just like they hoped, and a simple call day of when yanreader reminds him sadly just as it’s too late is enough for the school to wave a forgiving hand.

Of course, that’s where it stops within the family, too. Damian gets caught in their webs; guilty by association, in a way. If Bruce lets him in, and he’s his blood son, it’s obvious to Bruce that he’s the full son, and yanreader is stuck as the half bastard to their family. But the others? The adopted kids? They’re chosen to be family to Bruce, which means they’re safely tucked under yanreader’s ribs— but yanreader wouldn’t hesitate to rip out their own heart at a look from Bruce Wayne, so that doesn’t mean too much.

They’re content in the shadows, lurking through Gotham and continuing their life in the gunk; keeping tabs on whatever rot tried to reach the manor. They might not be protecting the world like their family, they’ll come to realize after they uncover their identities, but they’re protecting their world, which is close enough to whatever Mr. Wayne was spieling to them.

[coolingrosa]

Posting this instead of linking it as well

[bexie-n-things]

ok—all right, so how are we feeling about an au where rabbot foster and eventually adopt dennis? like dennis is four-years-old and visiting pittsburgh with his parents from broken bow.

but when dennis comes down with a case of food posioning, he's brought to the pmtc—where it's revealed that dennis is being verbally and physically abused by his parents.

so basically, it's a family!au, but like i'm kinda hesitant because i don't want people to get the wrong idea about this au. i don't know what to do :(

[technically-not-a-loner]

COLEOPTERA

Chapter one: WEEVIL

Hybrid!141 x beetle hybrid!reader (Platonic) Previous, CH1 (You are here), CH2

Tw: Implied abuse

Hate. It’s a strong word, but you think you’ve earned the right to use it. You hate Gaz at this very moment. You don’t know why you let him talk you into this.

He said it was going to be a light jog and you should tag along. You were going to decline his invitation but the only other choice was sparing with Ghost. You could have got whiplash from the speed that you shook your head no to that. 

The rattling from Ghost tail unnerves you and you didn’t want to hear it while getting your ass kicked.

Now though, you think you could have managed whatever consequences came from getting slammed onto the floor by the lieutenant because this really can’t be that much better.

There is sweat and dirt all across all your fatigues, your boots are caked in mud, you’ve been trying to catch your breath for the last thirty minutes. In the last hour you had to blink more than you’ve had to in your entire life. 

You don't need to blink to keep your eyes moist like humans and most hybrids, you don’t have eyelashes either. However with all the dust and other stuff flying around, you were blinking to get everything out of your eyes. Gaz was having the time of his life a little bit ahead of you, making some strange hissing sound and chasing the mice across the ground. He had been talking to you about Ghost in the middle of catching and chasing his prey.

 “He’s not as bad as he seems, Bug!” Gaz probably thought it was funny, calling you something like that. You already had a callsign, it’s Beetle and that’s the only thing they’ll get to call you.

You hiss loudly, vibrating your whole body, and there is anger and hatred in the entire sound. You hadn't meant for it to be that loud. It was supposed to be something to ground yourself, something to ground the anger at the nickname. He didn’t mean anything by it, you know he couldn’t have because he didn’t know anything about your past.

None of them did. None of your team should know anything substantial about you. You like it that way. Your heart can barely pump with the walls you've built around it. It can’t get out, but no one can ever get in after the last time. You can still feel the hands tugging on your horns and wings. You shiver some. You stare at him before you shake your head and sign in the little bit of ASL that you know, ‘don’t call me that. Sorry.’ You don’t know what you're apologizing for, for hissing, for being angry at him for something he doesn't know about, you really don’t know. Gaz, bless his heart, only nods.

“...Alright.” He’s sweating though, it's an awful smell that clings to his skin.

He’s quiet for the rest of the run. Good. You don’t think you could handle too much noise right now. When you get back you quickly shed your fatigues and shower and get in something comfortable. You lay on the bed in your room, face down into the pillow and let out a heavy sigh. You just hope these few weeks pass quickly so that you can leave. There's a soft knock on your door a few hours later and you open it to see Gaz. You tilt your head some. He’s holding out a jello cup. You were about to refuse it before you read the label. It's an insect jelly cup. You haven’t had one in years. You hesitantly take it. “An apology for earlier. I’m sorry.” It’s simple, and it's the most genuine apology you've gotten in your entire life. You really weren’t even that upset anymore and it really wasn’t his fault.

“Are you…okay? You don’t have to accept it-” You gently poke his side and nod at him before closing the door. You slide your mask down and tear into the little jelly cup.

Outside your door, Gaz smiles to himself and walks down the hall and goes back to his room. He’s glad he listened to Ghost about giving you something sweet as an apology. ______________________________________________________________

I really don't like this chapter, but I was supposed to post it two days ago. I've rewritten it 3 times. It will probably get rewritten and reposted when I get it how I like. The next one will be better.

Taglist: @wowtheuniverse

[blackstaredhibiscus]

Bernadette

Yandere platonic Fount of Knowledge with child reader (RE-EDITED)

CHAPTER ONE

The grand amphitheater of Earthbread hummed with an energy that felt almost divine. High upon the stage, bathed in a warm, ethereal glow, stood the Light of Knowledge. Before he would ever be known as Shadow Milk Cookie, before darkness and distortion warped his brilliant mind, he was the pinnacle of wisdom, grace, and performance. His magnificent blue cape caught the light with every sweeping gesture, and his voice carried across the massive crowd like a beautifully composed symphony. To the cookies gathered below, he was a beacon of truth, delivering enlightenment with an infectious, theatrical passion. He lived for the applause, yes, but more importantly, he lived to share the beauty of pure, untainted knowledge with the world.

Far below the towering stage, you wandered through the sea of legs. You were a tiny thing, no older than three years old, easily swallowed up by the massive crowd. The loud cheers and booming declarations had overwhelmed your small senses, causing you to slip away from your mother’s grip in a moment of pure, childish distraction. While she was captivated by the magnificent speaker above, you had simply followed a stray, glittering butterfly of light that drifted toward the backstage steps.

Up the marble stairs you climbed, completely oblivious to the guards or the rules of the grand theater. Your tiny shoes made soft pattering sounds until you reached the wings of the main stage, just as the grand speech came to a thunderous conclusion. The applause was deafening. The golden Cookie stepped back into the curtains, a brilliant, genuine smile gracing his face as he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, thoroughly satisfied with his performance.

He took a deep breath, soaking in the adoration of Earthbread, when he felt a faint, repetitive tugging at the hem of his long, ornate cape.

Curious, he paused. He turned around, his vibrant eyes looking downward, expecting perhaps a stagehand or a fellow pure cookie. Instead, his gaze landed on a remarkably small child. You stood there, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes, your tiny hand still tightly clutching the fine fabric of his outfit.

"My, my," he murmured, his voice dropping from its booming stage presence to a soft, melodic purr. He knelt down gracefully, his cape pooling around him like a cloud of pure light, bringing himself right down to your eye level. "And who might you be, little one? Did you wander away from the audience? You are far too small to be navigating the grand stage all by yourself."

You didn't answer with words, only letting out a small, tired whimper as you pointed back toward the massive crowd. The realization hit him immediately. You were lost, separated from your parents in the chaos of his massive turnout. A deep sense of gentle responsibility washed over him. He was a guardian of knowledge and a protector of the folk; he could not simply leave a helpless child to fend for themselves.

"Do not fret, little star," he said softly, offering a warm, reassuring smile that instantly chased away your rising fear. He extended a hand, allowing your tiny fingers to wrap around just one of his large, comfortable fingers. "Come now. Let us find where you belong."

With immense patience, he walked slowly to match your tiny, stumbling steps. He didn't summon guards or hand you off to a stranger. Instead, the great speaker himself escorted you through the backstage corridors and out toward the gathering area. It didn't take long to spot a frantic, terrified cookie scanning the dispersing crowd—your mother, tears welling in her eyes as she called out your name.

When you let out a joyful squeak and pulled against his hand, he knew the search was over. Your mother turned, gasping in absolute shock as she saw the magnificent, revered Light of Knowledge walking hand-in-hand with her missing toddler. She rushed forward, immediately scooping you into a fierce, tearful embrace, pouring out endless apologies and profound gratitude to the golden cookie standing before her.

"Think nothing of it, dear citizen," he replied with a flawless, benevolent bow, his hand resting over his heart. "A mind so young and precious should always be fiercely guarded and treasured. Keep a close eye on this little one. The world is vast, and they are still so very small."

With one final, lingering look at you, he offered a gentle wave, watching as your mother carried you away into the safe embrace of the evening.

Hours later, the sun had fully set, burying Earthbread in a quiet, starlit slumber. Inside his private sanctum, surrounded by towering bookshelves, glowing scrolls, and the blueprints of cosmic truths, the brilliant cookie sat alone. Usually, his mind after a grand speech was a whirlwind of new ideas, philosophical breakthroughs, and theatrical concepts for his next presentation.

But tonight, the grand library was entirely silent.

He sat at his desk, a quill hovering uselessly over a blank piece of parchment. For the first time in his existence, the endless depth of universal knowledge could not hold his attention. Every time he closed his eyes, he didn't see the thousands of adoring faces in the amphitheater. He didn't hear the roar of the crowd.

Instead, he felt the faint, delicate tug on his cape. He saw the image of your tiny, fragile form standing amidst a world far too big, far too loud, and far too dangerous for someone so innocent.

"Three years old," he whispered to the empty room, his voice echoing softly against the marble walls. "So utterly defenseless. So beautifully unblemished by the harsh realities of existence."

A strange, unfamiliar sensation tightly coiled deep within his chest. It wasn't malice, nor was it the chaotic madness that would one day define him. Right now, it was a pure, overwhelming, and terrifyingly intense surge of pastoral protectiveness. He thought about how easily you had wandered away. He thought about how unsafe the world outside his library truly was. There were monsters, accidents, and careless cookies who could easily harm a fragile little thing like you.

Your mother had been careless. She had let you go. The thought of that negligence made his jaw tighten, a faint, uncharacteristic shadow flickering across his brilliant eyes before quickly vanishing.

You needed a guide. You needed someone who possessed all the knowledge in the universe to ensure you never stumbled, never got hurt, and never wandered into the darkness. You needed him.

He looked down at his hand, the very finger your tiny hand had gripped so tightly. He curled it inward, holding onto the phantom warmth of the interaction. A soft, breathless laugh escaped his lips, a dramatic flair returning to his posture even in the solitude of his room.

"Yes... a mind so young must be cultivated," he murmured, his eyes shining with an intense, brewing obsession. "You are a blank page, little star. And I shall be the one to write your story. I will keep you safe from the clumsy hands of the world, even if I must build a kingdom of pure truth just to shield you."

He finally lowered his quill, but he didn't write about the stars or the laws of nature. Instead, he began to sketch a perfect, detailed memory of your face, a soft, fond smile spreading across his features. He didn't know how, and he didn't know when, but he knew with absolute certainty that he would see you again. And next time, he would make sure you never had to let go of his cape.