#future lgbt pairings

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

Pt.3 SILLLY LITTLE BAT.

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ There are only memories, fragments of a past that, like shadows, will haunt you until your last breath, whispers of what was and will never be. Gotham cries out for a guardian, a soul to face the darkness, to challenge fate in its shadowy alleys.

But tell me, who will rise to protect you, traveler of scars and broken dreams? Who will watch over your light when the world swallows your hopes?

In the eternal night, amidst the echo of fear and longing, there is only one path: to confront the monsters and become the hero this city needs, even if the price is the forgetting of oneself.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation.

Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt2. Pt.4

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— Here is the continuation of the other parts. There will be a few more parts but you should know that we will soon reach the end, but there are still things to clarify and so on. I don't know if you would like me to do another Batfam yandere series in the future or similar. Send me your ideas if you want :3

They are upset because I left

Where they never included me.

The car moved slowly under the gray sky of Gotham, as if the universe itself understood the weight of the pain you carried in your small figure. Commissioner Gordon, with his firm hands on the wheel, cast furtive glances at the rearview mirror, where he saw you curled up in the back seat. Wrapped in an old blanket, the same one you had hugged for days, your face was hidden among the folds, but the silent tears that fell could not be disguised. There were no words that Gordon could offer to heal the recent wound of losing your mother, but his empathy, though silent, was there, wrapping around you like the coat that couldn't quite warm you.

In your lap, a small Batman doll rested, pressed against your chest, as if that fabric toy could protect you from the world that had just destroyed your innocence. Your eyes, still swollen and red, looked out the window without seeing, watching the city that seemed so distant, so foreign.

"You will be loved and cherished," Gordon whispered, breaking the silence that had weighed like fog in the car. "Bruce Wayne... he will take care of you, I promise."

But you didn't respond immediately. The name Wayne felt strange, distant, as if he spoke of someone living in a story, not in your reality. You looked up, your eyes meeting Gordon’s for a second in the rearview mirror.

"And if they don't want me...?" you murmured, insecurity clouding your childish voice. "I don't know them, Commissioner... and they don't know me. What if they leave me in an orphanage? Mama always told me those places aren't nice."

Gordon swallowed hard, understanding the depth of your fear. "You were just a child, but you had already learned that love was not a guarantee." The world had taught you that cruel lesson too soon.

"The Waynes..." he began, searching for the right words, "are good people. You might not understand it at first, but I assure you they have suffered too. Bruce..." he paused, recalling the losses that man had faced. "He understands what it is to lose someone. He will do everything he can to make you feel safe, to help you find a home again."

But you kept looking at the doll in your hands, your fingers squeezing it tightly, as if it were the only stable thing in a world crumbling around you.

The silence grew heavy, uncomfortable, as if the words wanted to come out but didn’t know how. Again, Gordon spoke, his voice low, almost afraid to break the stillness.

"And/y/n... what was your mom like?" he asked softly, not taking his eyes off the road, as if by doing so, he could give you space to be honest, to not feel pressured.

You fell silent for a long moment, your small fingers nervously playing with the edges of the blanket. The world outside the car seemed a reflection of what you felt inside: cloudy, cold, distant.

Finally, you exhaled, as if gathering the courage to speak. Your voice came out shaky at first, filled with a mix of sadness and a hard-to-accept truth.

"My mom..." you murmured, not taking your eyes off the window. "She wasn't a good person, but... she wasn't a villain either."

Gordon nodded slowly, without interrupting you. He knew things were rarely black or white, that life had that cruel ability to mix the two.

"She... told me she grew up in an orphanage. She never had anything that was really hers." You paused, your eyes glassy as you recalled details that now seemed more painful than ever. "Well, except for me."

"Gordon felt a knot form in his throat." He knew that loss was a terrible burden to bear, but there was something more in your words, something suggesting that, amidst it all, there had also been love. An imperfect love, but real.

"She always dreamed of having a little house..." you continued, and for the first time, a faint smile appeared on your face, though it was tinged with melancholy. "A house with a garden, lots of Barbie dolls, and a little dog. She didn't need more. She just wanted something that was hers."

You stopped for a moment, as if the simple act of recalling those dreams your mother had hurt you. You knew she would never have them. That the world had been cruel to her, denying her even the small things she wished for so fervently.

"But... she never got it. We were always moving around, fleeing, searching for something better. And now... she doesn’t even have that."

The car seemed to shrink, the air denser. Gordon felt a wave of compassion for that woman who, though perhaps not perfect, had dreamed of something so simple, so human, and yet had not achieved it.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n," he murmured.

"Commissioner, what if... what if I can't forget her?" you asked, almost in a whisper. "What if I can't stop thinking about Mom?"

The silence in the car became heavy, almost tangible. Gordon wanted to tell you that you didn't have to forget, that it was natural to carry that pain. But the words didn't come, and instead, only a long sigh escaped his lips.

"It's not about forgetting, Y/n," he finally said, his voice low but firm. "It's about moving forward, even though it hurts. Your mother would want you to find happiness again, even though it may not seem possible now. And I’m sure Bruce will do everything in his power to help you."

The car turned onto the long, dark road leading to Wayne Manor. The trees formed a tunnel of shadows, as if the road were wrapped in the same mourning you carried within. The mansion, with its imposing grandeur, appeared in the distance, its walls as high as the secrets it held. "You were so small in the face of the immensity of this new life that awaited you."

"We're almost there," Gordon said softly, as he slowed down. "The wind outside whispered through the trees, like an echo of everything you had lost."

You didn’t know it at that moment, but that house would be full of stories, some broken, others in the process of healing. And although you felt like a stranger in a strange land now, Gordon hoped that, one day, that place would become your refuge.

The car stopped in front of the enormous gates. Gordon looked at you one last time before getting out. In his eyes, you could see a mix of sadness and hope, an empathy that went beyond words.

"You are not alone, Y/n," he said, his voice now firmer. "You will never be alone again."

You remained silent, gazing at the mansion as you clung to the blanket and the Batman doll. The weight of the world still rested on your small shoulders, but for the first time, there might have been a glimmer of relief in knowing that someone, even if he was a strange and distant man, was waiting for you inside."

And in that moment, although you still felt the burning pain of your loss, a ray of hope began to break through the shadows of your heart.

Y/n was sitting in the BatCafé, that corner of the city where the tables wobbled and conversations were woven into murmurs, as if the place knew how to keep secrets that even you wouldn’t dare to share aloud. The walls, a mossy green, were filled with stories that no one had asked for. She looked at her lukewarm latte as one looks at a future that hasn’t quite arrived, a liquid mockery evaporating before it could warm her hands. It had barely been a month since she left her family home, but she already felt that independence was more of a myth than a fulfilled dream. At first, the heroism of having thrown herself into the world had filled her with pride, but now reality lurked like a treacherous chill seeping through the cracks, and the fact that she was waiting for her potential roommate didn’t help matters.

“Well, at least the rent will be cheaper,” she told herself, or rather to the coffee, as if the dark liquid could reply with something sensible.

Sharing an apartment was, for Y/n, the only way out. Her salary barely covered survival, but only if she fed on fresh air and broken dreams. And there she was, waiting for someone named Pamela Isley, who, according to the ad, didn’t even seem to be from this planet. "I hope she’s not one of those people with invisible cats," she thought. Of course, the alternatives weren’t very promising: people who collected Batman figurines or guys who made friends with cockroaches in the kitchen. She had seen it all; after all, her apartment was in one of the most dangerous areas of Gotham, and she knew it all too well.

You were born in that area. One could say the neighborhood chose you before you had a chance to choose it. You didn’t remember exactly which apartment; in that hive of broken windows and half-painted bricks, all the floors seemed like a blurry copy of the previous one, each with the same square footage and an air of silent resignation. In the end, it didn’t matter, because in a way, everything was the same. Dust in the corners, worn tiles, cracks in the walls that seemed to form a map of some invisible and secret city, a place that only you could decipher if you stopped to observe long enough.

It was an unpretentious place, where people rarely smiled, but neither did they let themselves be trampled. There was something in the air, a kind of poorly disguised pride, as if every neighbor, every stray dog, knew that surviving there wasn’t a matter of luck but of will. Heroes didn’t exist in that corner of the world, but villains didn’t dare impose their law without facing some gaze that, without saying anything, said it all. It was rough terrain, where kindness camouflaged behind growls and complaints, and malice grew tired before it could fully settle.

And yet, you loved it. It was absurd, but you loved it with that devotion reserved for things you don’t choose, for roots that sink into your chest without asking for permission. The place was filled with memories you didn’t ask for, stories you never wanted to hear but that seeped into your skin. Tales of people who vanished in alleyways, of broken promises around the corner, of loves that drowned in factory smoke. And yet, those same tales were like echoes that held you, reminding you that you were born there, in that half-hell where life was always a fight but never a complete defeat.

The clock in the BatCafé struck six ten when the door opened. What happened next was hard to explain, like when you dream and you don’t know if it’s the pillow or the universe holding you. Pamela Isley walked in, and it was as if the wind, that autumn wind that brings memories, had gently pushed her in. Y/n looked up, and the first thing she noticed was her hair, a red that was out of this world, more fire than pigment, more nature than dye. The roots tangled as if they were living branches, and for a moment, Y/n wondered if the sun had made a mistake and was shining only on her.

Pamela walked as if she had a pact with the earth. Her steps were slow but firm, as if her feet waited for the ground to respond before settling. She wore a jacket that was impossible to describe without sounding crazy: green vines and small buds peeking out, as if at any moment the plants would grow over her. "Where does this woman come from?" Y/n thought, feeling something beyond mere curiosity. There was something she couldn’t deny, an attraction that felt unsettling, like those waves that, without warning, sweep you away when you think you can still touch the bottom.

Pamela approached the table with a calculated calm, a calm only nature or time can sculpt. And then she smiled. In that smile, Y/n felt something familiar yet strange, as if she were facing a younger version of her mother, but instead of being terrifying, it was comforting. What was happening?

“Y/n L/n?” Pamela said, her voice reminiscent of the whisper of dry leaves underfoot.

“Yes, that’s me,” Y/n answered, trying to make her voice sound normal, even though everything inside her felt out of place.

Pamela sat down across from her, crossing her legs with an almost feline elegance. The BatCafé seemed to conspire around them; the air smelled of wet earth and freshly brewed coffee, a strange mix, like the combination of what was about to be born and what had already died.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” Y/n began, not knowing exactly how to finish the sentence. She wasn’t even sure what she was expecting.

“Strange?” Pamela completed, with a playful smile that left Y/n with a sense of defeat and fascination in equal parts.

“Something like that,” Y/n replied, looking at Pamela’s hands. Her long, slender fingers were covered in small green spots, as if she had just planted a forest with her own hands. There was something almost magical about her, as if every part of her being was connected to the earth in a way that Y/n couldn’t quite understand. And there, amid that confusion, was the fine thread of attraction.

Pamela let her gaze fall on her own latte, turning it between her hands as if it were about to reveal some hidden secret in the foam.

“So, what do you do? I mean… aside from, you know… looking like you walked out of a Tim Burton movie,” Y/n said, attempting a bit of humor to ease the tension she felt in her stomach.

Pamela glanced at her and laughed softly, a laugh that felt like an unexpected breeze on a hot day.

“I’m… a caretaker. Of plants.” She paused, gauging Y/n’s reaction. “And other things.”

“Other things?” Y/n asked, intrigued but also amused by the way Pamela toyed with the mystery.

“Yes, like people who don’t know how to water a plant without drowning it,” she replied, arching an eyebrow mischievously.

The response made Y/n laugh, a laugh she hadn’t expected, as if Pamela had found a way to touch something deep within her, something that hadn’t bloomed in a long time. And without being able to help it, she felt drawn, not just by the way Pamela moved, spoke, or even by the air of mystery surrounding her, but because there was something more, something familiar, something that reminded her of her mother, but without the shadows of authority and judgment. It was like a wild, free version of what had once been security.

“So… are you going to save my cactus or criticize it?” Y/n said, trying to sound casual while feeling that her heart had started playing a game of chess with her emotions.

Pamela smiled again, and this time it was a different smile, one that seemed to carry a promise.

“It depends. Would you let me stay to try?” Pamela said, with a playful seriousness that left Y/n unsure whether the question was about the cactus or something much larger.

Y/n blinked, trying to process the phrase, but deep down she knew that any answer would sound awkward. Pamela’s question hung in the air between them like a leaf falling slowly, right at the perfect point where it was neither entirely a joke nor completely serious. And there she was, caught in that space, wondering whether she should laugh or just blush.

“Well… you can try,” she finally said, trying to hide the warmth creeping up her face. “But I can’t promise the cactus will survive. I’m something like… a serial plant killer... When I was younger, I had time to care for them as they deserved, with help from… from my father. But now work consumes me a lot, and the truth is I’ve neglected them too much… they must feel the same way I felt when… sorry, I talk too much about myself, don’t I?”

Pamela raised an eyebrow, with a smile that seemed to say more than either of them dared to voice at that moment.

“Oh, no, keep talking about yourself; I’m used to it. I have very… eccentric friends, to be honest.” She leaned a bit closer, as if about to share a secret. “Though I prefer not to work under threats, so don’t look at me like I’m going to be your next plant murder victim. But I doubt a little scared bat can kill even a fly.”

Y/n laughed nervously, surprised at how easy Pamela made everything. She, who had always been clumsy with conversations and glances, felt like the words flowed with Pamela in a way she didn’t quite understand but didn’t want to question either.

“...Little Bat?” Y/n asked, with a clumsy and blushing smile as her fingers nervously toyed with the edge of her cup.

Pamela let out a low giggle, that laugh that always seemed to carry the sound of dry leaves being trampled in autumn. With a gentle gesture, she pointed to her clothes.

“Is it that obvious?” she said with a half-smile, raising a playful eyebrow as she leaned a little forward.

She wore a dark fur coat, enormous, with a wide fall that, under the dim light of the BatCafé, seemed to have the precise shape of bat wings extending. The high, well-fitted black boots completed the image of a figure that seemed to have emerged from the very shadows. And for a moment, Y/n didn’t know whether to laugh or get lost in that air of mystery that Pamela seemed to wear like a second coat.

“Well…” Y/n diverted her gaze with a shy smile, “it’s not like you’re hiding it much.”

Pamela smiled with that touch of mischief that characterized her.

“Does it bother you? I’m sorry, it’s just… I’ve been fascinated by bats since I was little.” she asked, her voice low and slow, as if measuring every word, as if the world were a delicate plant that required to be touched with the tips of her fingers.

Y/n let out a small nervous laugh, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks again.

“No, not at all. I think it’s…” she hesitated for a second, searching for the right word, unsure how to avoid the obvious, “I think it suits you well.”

Pamela watched her for a moment, and then, with that look that always seemed to go beyond what words said, added:

“You’re turning red, you know?”

Y/n’s eyes widened a bit more, surprised by Pamela’s directness, but all she could do was laugh at herself.

“Well, it’s just that, I’m not really used to… this.”

“This?” Pamela repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Sharing coffee with someone or bats?”

“Both,” Y/n admitted, shrugging, which provoked another smile from Pamela. “I always wanted one as a pet… but I have a vegan little brother who’s very… spooky… so I’ve always been afraid he’d steal it from me or accuse me of having exotic pets.”

Pamela settled into the chair, not taking her eyes off Y/n.

“But you’ll get used to it,” she paused, letting her words float calmly.

Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine, a mix of nerves and a spark of something she couldn’t quite define. Pamela’s dark coat and relaxed smile were a disconcerting yet strangely familiar contrast, as if they had always been there, waiting for her. And suddenly, all she could do was wonder how soon that would happen… getting used to it.

“Although I can’t promise my apartment isn’t… a battlefield,” Y/n said, trying to sound confident, but noticing the slight tremor in her voice.

Pamela looked at her intently for a moment, with that mix of flirtation and something deeper, something that seemed impossible to decipher completely. Then she relaxed in the chair, as if the game had just begun.

“A battlefield, huh?” she said, playing with the spoon of her coffee. “Well, I like challenges. And chaotic places have their own charm if you know where to look.” Pamela let the phrase slide smoothly, like someone throwing a stone into a lake and waiting for the ripples.

Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that every word Pamela spoke carried a double meaning, but far from making her feel uncomfortable, it sparked something akin to contained laughter, as if they were sharing a private joke that she was just beginning to access.

“Don’t you have plants at home?” Pamela suddenly asked, as if the question had sprung from the foam of her coffee.

“Well, there are a couple of cacti… and a fern that I think hates me,” Y/n replied. “But I always forget to water them. Or I overwater them. Seriously, it’s like plants come to me already doomed.”

Pamela smiled, one of those slow smiles that seem to grow little by little, like a sprout deciding when the perfect moment to emerge into the light is.

“It’s not just about water, Y/n,” she said, with that voice that seemed to carry the calm of the wind and the weight of centuries of nature. “Plants need attention. Patience. Sometimes they just want to know you’re there, even if you don’t say anything.” She paused, letting Y/n’s gaze get lost in her eyes. “Sometimes, like people.”

Y/n felt a little shiver. It wasn’t what Pamela was saying, but how she was saying it. There was something in her voice that disarmed her, as if every word had been calculated to penetrate a defense that Y/n hadn’t even realized she had up. And then, almost without thinking, she let slip a truth she rarely shared.

“I’m not very good with people.” The confession came out of her mouth before she could stop it. She said it without drama, almost as if she were talking about the weather. But something in Pamela changed, barely perceptible, like a leaf moving without the wind touching it.

“Really?” Pamela asked softly, but without an ounce of pity. Just curiosity.

Y/n looked down for a moment, fiddling with the edge of her cup, before daring to continue.

“I grew up in a huge house, but… empty. My father… well, he was busy with his things. Business, parties, the usual. Shrugging it off, wanting to downplay it, even though inside she knew it wasn’t something that could easily fade away. Alfred, the butler, raised me. And yes, he was amazing. But it was always just him and no one else. It’s not the same as having… friends.”

Pamela listened in silence, but not in that awkward way where people listen just to see how you respond afterward. No, there was something in her attention that enveloped Y/n, as if she were giving her space to bare herself without fear of being judged.

“You never had friends,” Pamela asserted more than asked.

Y/n shook her head.

“Until now,” Pamela said, with that same softness that seemed to have become her trademark, and something in Y/n’s chest stirred, as if she had just heard the most important thing in the world.

There was a moment of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence that somehow connected them. And then Pamela broke the spell, with a mischievous smile that lit everything up again.

“So… are you going to let me be your first friend, or would you rather keep killing plants?”

Y/n couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, a sincere and liberating laugh, as if something inside her had broken an invisible chain. After all, it was clear that Pamela wasn’t just another person passing through her life. There was something different about her, something that made the air feel lighter, that made the future seem less uncertain.

“Well, if you can survive the cactus…” Y/n said, leaving the sentence unfinished, but knowing Pamela would understand.

And then, for the first time in a long time, Y/n felt that everything might be okay. That maybe, just maybe, Pamela Isley wasn’t just a roommate, but the first person in a long time with whom she could imagine a less lonely future. She was already caught in that web, and the worst, or perhaps the best part, was that she didn’t care at all.

Bruce Wayne was sitting in the mansion's garden on a gray afternoon that seemed to drag memories along like the wind drags fallen leaves. In his hands, a cup of black coffee, still steaming, its strong and bitter aroma mingling with the scent of damp earth after the rain. In front of him, on a small wrought-iron table, rested a piece of dark chocolate cake topped with melting strawberry ice cream, forming a pink puddle around it. But he found no pleasure in the view. It was more of a bitter symbol of a routine he once believed unbreakable.

In the garden, where the wilted flowers swayed gently, a little girl flitted about with contagious energy, as if the chill of the afternoon did not exist for her. Her laughter, so innocent and pure, filled the air, breaking the sepulchral silence that seemed to reign in that old home for a moment. She wore a pink dress with small white dots, an 80s style that would have been charming in another time but now seemed out of place with the scene. Her patent leather shoes shone as she ran back and forth, chasing her dolls.

In her small hands, she held action figures, one of the Batman her father portrayed and another of the Joker, his eternal rival. The girl, no older than six, organized her battles with adorable seriousness. In a high-pitched, mischievous voice, she brought the characters to life, staging an epic duel between hero and villain.

“You won’t defeat me this time, Batman!” she exclaimed, raising the Joker figure with a malevolent laugh.

“I will stop you! I always do...” she replied with her other hand, giving voice to Batman, but with a childlike touch that contrasted with the darkness of the character.

Bruce watched the scene with a mix of tenderness and pain. He knew she wasn’t really there, that this vision was nothing more than a distant echo of what never was. Y/n, his little Y/n, had vanished months ago. And he… he had never given her the love she deserved, always wrapped in his own shadows, in his endless struggle to protect a city that never rested.

The air felt thick, heavy with nostalgia and regret. The girl continued to play, laughing, talking to her dolls, oblivious to the weight of the years, to the loss. And Bruce, although he knew it was an illusion, couldn’t look away; he couldn’t stop imagining what it would have been like to give her what he never knew how to offer. What it would have been like to see her grow, to laugh more, to run through those gardens with the carefree spirit only childhood allows.

Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps interrupted the daydream. Alfred appeared at the garden entrance, always elegant, always with that air of discretion and understanding that only he possessed. He approached slowly, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder as if he understood the pain that kept him trapped in that scene.

“Mr. Wayne” he said in a low voice, filled with compassion, “it’s time to come back.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, letting Alfred’s words seep into his consciousness. He knew what they meant. He knew that girl, in her 80s dress and her dolls, was nothing but an idealized memory, a distorted reflection of what never was. Because Y/n wasn’t like that. She didn’t like those old dresses; she had always preferred the fashion of the 2000s, with its vibrant colors and comfortable clothes. And she never enjoyed the chocolate cake now sitting in front of him. She liked carrot cake, simple and sweet, but he had never paid attention to those details when he still could.

How did he know those little details about his daughter? Bruce often wondered. It wasn’t because he had learned them by being close, because proximity had been a luxury he never allowed himself. No, those small fragments of her life he had discovered in the album that Alfred kept with an almost reverential discretion. That album was more than just an object; it was a silent refuge where Alfred had archived what the big house, always filled with shadows and echoes of footsteps that never came, had refused to hold.

The day the children learned of the album’s existence marked the beginning of a chaos he still remembered with a mix of exasperation and a contained smile. They had decided, like little conspirators, that treasure belonged to them. A kind of all-out battle had ensued in the mansion, something that over time acquired the quality of family legends.

Bruce, standing in the study, could still see the sparkle in Damian’s eyes, the intensity, the almost playful fury with which he had taken that assault as a personal mission. Damian, with his perpetual impatience, had been the fiercest of all. He vividly remembered how his youngest son had burst into the room wielding two katanas, with the cold precision of a millennia-old warrior, even though his hands were still too small to fully grasp the handles.

“It’s mine!” Damian shouted, with that mix of stubbornness and vulnerability that only the youngest possess, as if he could cut not only the air but the very uncomfortable silence that always floated between them.

“It belongs to all of us, Damian” Bruce had tried to intervene, with that authoritative voice that, curiously, never managed to control his own children as he did with the chaos of the city.

But Damian wasn’t listening. For him, the album was not just an object; it was a relic, a bridge to something he felt but couldn’t name. His sister Y/n, so distant in daily life, was closer in those pages than in any superficial conversation they had ever had. She was his sister, but not enough. He wanted those photos, those notes that Alfred had kept, he wanted to understand what it was about her that slipped away from him daily.

Bruce watched from the threshold, not really intervening. He let the chaos unfold, as if it were necessary. The children fought, but it wasn’t just for the album. They fought for something deeper, a kind of silent reclamation of what they had never been able to have: time, connection, perhaps even love. Alfred, from a corner, merely smiled with that quiet wisdom, knowing that those battles of childish katanas, of shouts and disputes over photos and notes, were actually the way they tried to find each other in a house full of absences.

Bruce sighed, remembering. Alfred had always known more than he did, always understood those invisible things that Bruce, no matter how much he wanted to, could never quite grasp. And so it was that he himself, at the end of it all, also ended up snooping in that album, with a silent curiosity he would never admit. There, in those carefully tended pages, he found his daughter. Or at least, he found the idea of her, the pieces of a life he hadn’t shared but that, somehow, had always been present in those photos, in those little notes that Alfred, more of a father than he was, had kept with such love.

“She won’t come back, Alfred... I lost her... maybe forever... ” Bruce murmured, his voice barely audible, as if admitting it aloud would make her absence more real—“and I… I was never there for her as I should have been.”

The old butler sighed, his tired eyes filled with infinite patience.

“It’s never too late to remember, sir. It’s never too late to honor her memory in the right way.”

Bruce opened his eyes, looking again at the scene, but this time more clearly. The girl had disappeared.

The wind blew gently through the Wayne mansion's garden, carrying away the murmur of the dry leaves. Bruce remained motionless, as if the weight of the years, of the mistakes, had turned him into another statue in that landscape. The aroma of coffee had dissipated, and the cake before him remained untouched. Y/n’s figure still floated in his mind, her laughter like a distant echo that wouldn’t fade but also wouldn’t console him.

Alfred, with the patience only a father at heart could have, stood by his side, his firm hand on Bruce’s shoulder, as if in that gesture he could transmit strength to face the pain that gnawed at him.

“Mr. Wayne” Alfred began, his voice soft but laden with meaning, “the kids have gone looking for Y/n again.”

Bruce closed his eyes, allowing those words to sink into his consciousness. He knew all the Robins and Batgirls had been following leads, searching for answers in the darkest corners of Gotham, but the emptiness he felt remained overwhelming. They had failed so many times… what did another attempt matter? The city, always hungry for its heroes, seemed more a trap than a cause.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Alfred” Bruce replied, his voice rough, worn down by years of struggle. “None of this will change what happened. Y/n… is gone.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Alfred interjected, this time with a firmer tone, “Y/n is still out there. And as long as there’s a single chance to find her, you cannot allow yourself to give up.”

Silence stretched between them. Bruce’s gaze remained fixed on some point in the garden, lost in thought. But Alfred, with his usual insight, knew he needed more than empty words to awaken him.

“There’s something else,” Alfred added, taking a breath, “a new figure appeared last night during a robbery in the East District. They call her Kerosene. The White Bat. She was seen taking out a group of assailants in seconds.”

Bruce didn’t react. Kerosene. The city had always generated figures willing to fill the void he had left every time he stepped away, every time Gotham lost the light of its vigilante. But this time, he didn’t feel the urgency to learn more. What did it matter? He repeated to himself. Gotham already had its heroes.

“I don’t care” he murmured, his voice empty, as cold as the air surrounding the garden—“Let others deal with Gotham. Kerosene, the Joker, or whoever… the city doesn’t need me anymore.”

Alfred tightened his grip on Bruce’s shoulder, almost like a father refusing to see his son give up. He stepped forward, and this time his voice was lower but more incisive.

“This isn’t about Gotham, sir,” he said with an intensity Bruce hadn’t expected—“It’s about Y/n.”

Bruce lifted his gaze, his eyes finally meeting Alfred’s, as if those words had ignited a spark within him.

“If you don’t want to protect this city, do it for her ” Alfred continued—“Because you will find her, sir. I’m sure of it. And when you do… how would you want her to find you? Destroyed? Defeated? No. You need to be ready, you need to be strong, for her. Wherever she is, Y/n is still waiting for her father.”

Bruce felt the pain in his chest intensify, a constant reminder of his failure, but Alfred was right. Y/n was somewhere out there. Alive or not, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that as long as he didn’t find her, he couldn’t give up.

“The kids have done everything they can to find her,” Alfred said, softening his tone—“They’re still at it. Every day they search for new leads, explore new corners of Gotham… but there’s only one man who can put everything in order. There’s only one father who can bring her back.”

The air tensed between them, and for the first time in a long time, Bruce felt a slight tremor inside. He remembered the moment he decided to become Batman, driven by the guilt and pain of losing his parents. Now, that same guilt, that same pain, called to him again, but this time, it wasn’t for Gotham. It was for Y/n. His daughter.

“Tell me, Alfred, who is this Kerosene?” Bruce murmured, finally reacting to the information Alfred had given him.

“Yes, sir. Her abilities are astonishing, according to reports. Agile, fast… but her true identity remains a mystery. Some say she’s just another vigilante trying to fill the void you left. But the important thing is that she is acting with lethal precision.”

Bruce stood slowly, leaving the cup of coffee on the table, already cold and forgotten. He looked at the empty garden, but this time, with a new determination blooming in his chest.

“If this Kerosene is connected… if there’s any link to Y/n, I will find out,” he said, his voice firmer, closer to the one Alfred had known for so many years—“And if not… then I’ll find her myself.”

Alfred nodded, a mix of relief and satisfaction reflected on his face. He had managed to awaken the man Gotham needed, but more than that, he had awakened the father Y/n deserved.

“ Very well, sir,he replied with a slight smile, always the unwavering servant—“The Batcave is ready for your return.”

Bruce turned toward the mansion, but not before glancing once more at the garden, where Y/n’s figure, so real in his mind, faded like morning mist.

Wherever you are, I will find you.

Richard “Dick” Grayson knocked forcefully on the old apartment door, the echo resonating in the narrow hallway of the building, where dust gathered in the corners like forgotten memories and the lights flickered as if trying to perform one last dance before going out. Beside him, Barbara Gordon, the commissioner's daughter, crossed her arms, staring at the door with an intensity that could have splintered the wood.

Jason Todd, restless to his left, kept his gaze fixed on the doorknob, his body tense, as if each passing second brought him one step closer to breaking through that wooden barrier. Above, on the roof, Red Robin, The Spoiler, and Batgirl waited, shadows in a world that seemed to ignore their pounding hearts, ready to act.

“I don’t know why we always have to deal with the worst specimens of humanity,” Barbara murmured, adjusting her coat as she shot a sidelong glance at Dick, who seemed to have a plan in mind.

“Because we’re lucky,” Jason replied, sarcasm lacing his words, a crooked smile on his lips that didn’t quite fit the situation. “And when I say ‘lucky,’ I mean we’re carrying someone else's karma because we… are screwed.”

Dick knocked on the door again, this time with more force. The echo reverberated through the hallways, a declaration of intent.

“We should break it down. You know it’s not going to open just from a gentle knock,” Jason said, stepping forward, his intention clear and palpable.

“Calm down, Jason. Not all problems are solved with violence,” Barbara retorted, though a part of her knew that idea faded every time they found themselves in a situation like this.

“Sure, as if we have another option. Do you want me to schedule a tea date instead of kicking down the door?” Jason frowned, the tension palpable.

Finally, a sound came from behind the door. Chains, the metallic echo of locks being unlatched with a maddening slowness, as if someone on the other side knew that every second of wait was boiling the blood of the three standing before the door. At last, the door opened just enough to reveal a face: the landlord. A short man with small eyes and a slimy smile that seemed to ooze like dirty oil through his yellowed teeth.

“What do you want?” he asked in a thick voice, looking at Dick with suspicion, but his gaze soon dropped to Barbara, lingering unpleasantly on her figure, and then to Jason, who had already tensed the muscles in his jaw.

“We’re looking for Y/n Wayne L/n,” Dick said, trying to maintain his composure, the heat of anger threatening to overflow. “We know she lives here. And we know you know where she is.”

The man let out a laugh under his breath, a rusty squeak that resonated like a heavy joke.

“Ah, the pretty girl… yeah, yeah. And who are you all, huh?” he asked, his slimy tone sending chills that seemed to crawl over Dick's skin.

“It’s none of your concern. We just want to know where she is,” Barbara said, her voice firm and resolute, although the tension in her body betrayed her impatience.

The landlord tilted his head, like a cat playing with its prey, and smiled with a disturbing mischief.

“Well, if you haven’t found her in five months, maybe you don’t want to know,” he said, letting the words drop like stones in a pond, creating ripples of discomfort.

“I warn you, this isn’t a game,” Jason interjected, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t make me remind you what can happen when a man plays with fire.”

The man shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned, although the glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Jason's hand rested near his belt, right where he kept his gun, and although he hadn’t drawn the weapon yet, the threat was clear.

The landlord noticed but instead of being scared, he wore a repugnant smile, like a predator that had just spotted a wounded prey. His gaze shifted back to Barbara, and then, without the slightest respect, murmured something that made Dick’s fists clench.

“Ah, Y/n... yeah, I remember her. She came around when she had just turned eighteen. Good material, if you catch my drift. She looked innocent, but... those are the most interesting ones, right?” The man's gaze darkened, scanning Barbara again, as if evaluating merchandise.

“Say that again,” Jason growled, drawing his gun in a motion so quick that the landlord barely had time to blink before feeling the cold barrel pressed against his forehead. “And I swear I’ll blow your brains out right here.”

The words hung in the air, sharp, loaded with contempt and a lust that twisted like a snake inside him.

The man let out a cynical chuckle, relishing the moment.

“The last time I saw pretty Y/n was a while back. I don’t know what she’s up to now, but I kept some pictures of her and her friend.” His tone was defiant, almost mocking.

Rage was bubbling in Jason. His fists were clenched, a deadly spark in his eyes.

“What did you say?” His voice trembled between anger and control, like a string about to snap.

The landlord, feeling invincible, continued. “I don’t know if they’re lesbians, but seeing them together was quite the spectacle. Both of them were hot, you know?”

Jason could no longer hold back. The anger erupted like a volcano.

“Shut up!” he shouted, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the tense silence that had invaded the room.

Before the landlord could react, Jason pulled his gun, aiming with precision.

“I’m going to give you one chance. Tell me where Y/n is. Now.”

The man’s laughter faded, his eyes widening in shock. “Wait, wait, there’s no need to…”

“WHERE?!” Jason's voice thundered, firm and filled with rage, like a storm rumbling in the atmosphere.

The tension became palpable, the air thick with promises of violence.

“Alright, alright!” the landlord stammered, but Jason’s voice turned even colder.

“I’m not going to ask again.”

“She just left for work at night and that’s it…” he started to say, but Jason could no longer hear. The man had photos of Y/n. Compromising, crude, and that simple mention ignited hell in his chest.

In an instant, the sound of an explosion resonated in the hallway, and the man fell to the ground, his silly smile erased by the terror that had overtaken his face. Blood gushed forth in a dark torrent, staining the floor and nearby walls.

Barbara covered her mouth in shock, while Dick stood frozen, stunned.

“Jason!” she exclaimed, but the image of the landlord lying on the ground with his vacant stare was etched in her mind.

Jason holstered the weapon, his breath rapid and uncontrolled. He had crossed a line, and in that moment, he realized there was no turning back. Anger had found a way to break free, but at a terrible cost.

“I won’t let anyone hurt Y/n again,” he murmured, his eyes filled with determination. No one else would stand in his way to find her, no matter the price he had to pay.

The room was saturated with the echo of the gunshot, and the silence grew heavy, almost palpable. Barbara took a deep breath, the anger sparking in her eyes as she looked at Jason, who still seemed dazed by the act he had committed.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she said, her voice contained but sharp as a blade. “That’s why we didn’t bring Damian along, because he would have gone off just the same, but in a much more reckless way.” Her gaze fixed on the corpse, lying in a pool of blood, a scene that could have come from the mind of a disturbed artist.

Jason, with his chest heaving and jaw clenched, simply shrugged.

“I couldn’t just stand by. He knew something, and I wasn’t about to let it slip away.” The fervor in his voice didn’t hide the confusion that was beginning to seep in, like the cold of the night creeping through the windows.

Barbara didn’t respond, but the silence that filled the room grew even denser when the others entered, alarmed by the gunshot. Tim, Stephanie, and Cass arrived, their expressions filled with concern that quickly transformed into indignation.

“What happened here?” Tim asked, his eyes widening at the scene. Blood slid across the floor like a dark river, and the landlord’s body faded beneath the flickering light.

“Are you crazy, Jason?!” Steph exclaimed, disbelief palpable in her voice.

Cass crouched down, her expression grave as she looked at the fallen man. She didn’t need to speak to convey her disapproval; every glance said more than a thousand words.

“It doesn’t matter how we got here,” Dick intervened, his authoritative tone trying to restore order. “We need answers. Let’s investigate.”

With a determined movement, Barbara approached the body, while Jason still breathed irregularly, as if the weight of his actions began to settle on him. Barbara looked around; the apartment was a dusty and sad place, filled with shadows that seemed to whisper secrets.

As the others searched, Tim found a series of photos pinned to the walls, each one showing Y/n and other women from the area, frozen laughter in time, trapped between moments that should have been happy. However, there was something unsettling about the way they were arranged, a disorder that seemed a declaration of possession.

“Look at this,” Tim said, pointing to the images. There was Y/n, always smiling, but next to her was a figure that couldn’t be ignored. The silhouette of Pamela Isley, better known as Poison Ivy, stood beside her, her red hair like a fire that seemed to consume the sadness of the place.

“Pamela…” Cass murmured, her voice almost a whisper. “She’s been in Arkham for three months.”

Barbara moved closer, examining the photos more closely. “This is more complicated than we thought. Ivy has been involved, and that changes everything.”

Jason, still trying to comprehend the chaos he had unleashed, ran a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll find Y/n. I don’t care what I have to do.”

Barbara looked at him, her expression one of challenge but also understanding. “We can’t do this recklessly. We have to be smart. Silent.”

The group nodded, realizing that the road ahead would be filled with dangers, but also promises of redemption. They were all willing to kill for Y/n, but they had to do it quietly, like shadows slipping through the streets at night.

“Listen, we’re going to find her,” Dick said, his voice resonating like a mantra. “No matter how many doors we have to break down, how many truths we have to drag into the light.”

And so, in the echo of the silence that followed the violence, the five united in a tacit pact, intertwining their destinies in the search for Y/n. Each lost in their thoughts, each remembering that shadows sometimes have the power to conceal not only secrets but also the light that clings to hope.

The shadows stretched as they moved away from the apartment, leaving behind the vestige of a dead man and the echo of trapped laughter. The search had begun, and Y/n’s fate hung in the balance, a thread of light in the darkness that promised to bloom amid the ruins of despair.

The city lights flickered in the distance, like lost stars in the asphalt.

The tears of Y/n fell onto the slippery ground, forming puddles that blended with the blood, a dark ruby staining every part of her thin body, as if sins were being tattooed onto her skin. The humidity of the place smelled of iron and fear, of broken promises and a destiny she had chosen but didn’t quite know how to accept.

“It doesn’t feel good, little one?” said the Doctor, his voice a bitter whisper echoing off the damp walls of the room. He, with his dirty blonde hair falling messily over his forehead, wore a white coat that looked more like a rag than a symbol of authority. A cynical smile spread across his lips, revealing teeth that seemed sharper than the fate he had designed for her. “Bathing in the blood of enemies, isn’t it an exquisite pleasure?”

Y/n, her gaze lost at a point on the floor, nodded slowly, as if each movement cost her an eternity. The blood, warm and sticky, slid between her fingers, a sensory experience that drowned her in contradictions. On one hand, there was a dark delight in the power that image conferred upon her, a power she had learned to wield. But on the other hand, there was an abyss of pain threatening to consume her.

“It’s…” she whispered, barely able to form words. Her voice trembled like a leaf in autumn, indecision etched in her features. Guilt suffocated her, and each tear that fell was a reminder of what she had lost, of what she had left behind.

“What is it?” asked the Doctor, leaning toward her, his eyes lit by a glow that was not exactly compassion, but rather a cruel satisfaction. His gaze seemed to pierce through the layers of her being, scrutinizing the dark corners of her soul. “Is it pleasure you feel, or is it fear?”

Y/n recoiled, feeling her skin burn under his gaze. The Doctor’s words tangled in her mind, forming a knot that seemed impossible to untie. Her voice, almost a cry for help, resonated in the air.

“I don’t know! I don’t know if it’s pleasure or pain.” The words shot out like arrows, but only managed to embed their tips in the empty air, finding no destination. She trembled, caught between repulsion and the desire to free herself from the invisible chains that kept her anchored in that place.

The Doctor let out a cold laugh, as if he were enjoying the spectacle unfolding before him. With a careless gesture, he threw another bucket of blood onto the floor, creating a small puddle that slid toward Y/n.

“That is the beauty of your situation, my dear. You have been chosen to cleanse Gotham of the scum, and along the way, you will discover that pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin.”

“Chosen?” replied Y/n, her voice shaking with the fierce mix of disbelief and rage. “Chosen for what? To be your puppet?”

The Doctor stepped closer, letting the distance between them fade. His presence was oppressive, like a shadow that swallowed light.

“You are not a puppet, Kerosene” he said, pronouncing her name as if caressing it. “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution. The tears that fall now are the ashes of the old you, and it’s time you embrace what awaits you.”

Y/n felt the air grow dense, as if the Doctor’s words were trying to envelop her, to convince her. But there was a truth in his voice, an echo of what she had longed for deep within her being. Hadn’t she been searching for purpose, a place to belong?

“No… I don’t want to be what you’ve made me.” she said, though her voice sounded more hesitant than determined. It was as if reality slipped around her, like the slippery ground she stood on.

“Of course you do, Y/n.” He smiled, and there was something unsettling in that smile, something that made her feel she was on the brink of a revelation. “Your pain is the echo of the city, and you, little one, can be its savior.”

The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, and Y/n felt herself teetering on the edge of the abyss, the possibility of becoming Kerosene, the force of vengeance and power. She fought against the idea, but there was a part of her that was beginning to awaken, to open like a flower in the desert.

“So, what do I have to do?” she asked, finally facing the reality that surrounded her. The tears, instead of being a sign of weakness, now seemed a recognition of her new identity.

The Doctor looked at her with a mix of satisfaction and complicity, like a teacher who sees the spark of greatness in his student.

“First, you must accept that the past does not define your future. The blood that surrounds you is only the first step toward freedom. Become what you have always been. Your destiny is to burn, and in doing so, illuminate others.”

Y/n felt the weight of her decision slowly fading away. By accepting her destiny, she had found a new way to free herself, a purpose that shone like fire.

“Then I will do it.” she said, her voice now firm and resonant, as if she were finally embracing the darkness that had always dwelled within her. “I will be Kerosene.”

The Doctor smiled, and in that smile lay a world of possibilities. Together, they could shake the foundations of Gotham.

“That’s right, my dear Kerosene.” He stepped back, allowing his figure to fade into the shadows..“And remember, every decision you make will be a step toward glory or toward downfall. The line is thin, and you are destined to cross it.”

“What about them?” Y/n asked, pointing to the shadows surrounding her, referring to the Waynes who remained silent in their luxurious prison of silence. “Where is Batman?”

The Doctor paused, his gaze turning serious and contemplative.

“Since your appearance, the Waynes have become shadows of what they once were. Batman has vanished, as if fear has locked him in his own game. They don’t want you to know the truth, and I wonder if, deep down, he fears what you are capable of.”

“Fears?” repeated Y/n, incredulity splattering her voice like a rain of dead stars. “Why?”

“Because the truth is that there is no longer space for the good in this city.” The Doctor stepped closer, his tone low but filled with fervor. “Soon you will go after the Court of Owls. We will expose those monsters in the streets, as they deserve, and they will have no one to defend them. Not even their beloved bat.”

A chill ran down Y/n's spine. The idea of stepping out into the night, of facing the villains who had ravaged her city, filled her with a strange power. She remembered Pamela, laughing amidst the shadows, her voice like an echo urging her to fight.

“I will not be their puppet. I do not want to be a pawn in a bigger game.” The words erupted from her with the force of an approaching storm, and the vision of Pamela dancing among the flowers filled her with a sudden sweetness.

“You will not be a pawn, Kerosene.” The Doctor smiled, and in his eyes was an air of admiration. “You are the queen in this game. Your vengeance will not only bring down those villains, but it will also seek the man behind the mask of Batman. We need to end him.”

“End him?” The question hung in the air like a trembling whisper. Her heart stopped for an instant, remembering the nights spent with Batman, the unspoken words, the caresses of an absent father.

“Yes. Because he, like them, has become a legend that needs to fall.”

Y/n felt the darkness looming over her, a shadow whispering promises of power and pain. But there was something more, a spark igniting within her, a fire burning with the strength of a new dawn.

“Then I will do it.” said Y/n, her voice resonating with a clarity that surprised her. “I will expose the Court of Owls and make my father see.”

The Doctor watched Y/n with palpable satisfaction, as if he had finally ignited a spark deep within her being. With a gesture of his hand, he made the invisible shackles that kept her trapped fade away. In that moment, a strange freedom slipped over her skin, a freedom laden with dark responsibility.

“Come, Kerosene.” he said, his voice now a hypnotic chant rising among the shadows. “There is something you need to see.”

He led her through a labyrinth of damp hallways, each step resonating like an echo of past decisions. The walls seemed to whisper forgotten secrets, tales of those who had fallen into the abyss before her. As they advanced, the light of day faded, and the gloom became an accomplice to their thoughts.

Finally, they reached the balcony of the building, a place where time had stopped its march. The Doctor gently pushed Y/n toward the railing, forcing her to look out over the vast expanse of Gotham that stretched before them. The city was a canvas of flickering lights and deep shadows, a portrait of intertwined chaos and order.

“Look, little one.” the Doctor whispered, his voice wrapping around her like a veil of mystery. “This is your city, a monster that feeds on the secrets you hold in your chest. The blood that stains your skin is a symbol of the struggle that lies ahead.”

Y/n leaned over the edge of the balcony, feeling the cold wind caress her bare skin. The city glimmered like a sea of dying stars, each light a story, each shadow a whisper of betrayal. The vision enveloped her, and for a moment, she felt like a spectator of her own destiny.

Her bare skin, still stained with blood, prickled at the chill of Gotham, a freezing breeze sneaking through the cracks of crumbling buildings, as if the city itself reminded her that she was alive, that darkness embraced her with its mantle of forgetfulness and despair. Each small contact of the air made her more aware of her vulnerability, and at the same time, of the power that blossomed from within her. It was a reminder that, amidst chaos, she was the spark of a new flame.

The puddles of blood that had stained her skin, silent witnesses to her transformation, shone like a dark ruby under the dim light of the moon. In that moment, each drop was an echo of past decisions, a symbol of the life she had left behind. And yet, in her mind, the Doctor's words echoed: “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution.” The irony of her state wrapped her in a sweet and bitter confusion; deep down, her nakedness felt like a release.

The city stretched before her, a vast ocean of twinkling lights and lurking shadows. Gotham, in its complexity, seemed to breathe, a living being pulsing with stories of pain and longing. The streetlights flickered as if about to go out, and Y/n felt that each flicker was a whisper calling her, a reminder that she was destined to be part of something much larger than herself.

As she gazed at the horizon, her mind filled with images: the faces of those she had lost, those she had loved, and those she had to confront. Her heart wrestled between the desire for vengeance and the longing for redemption.

“What do you see?” asked the Doctor, his eyes shining with an unsettling intensity.

“I see…” Y/n began, but the words slipped away like sand through her fingers. The city was a labyrinth of emotions, a stage where pain and pleasure intertwined in a macabre dance. It was a reflection of her own internal struggle, her desire for vengeance and her yearning for redemption.

“I see a sea of shadows, a stage where illusions collapse like houses of cards.” she finally replied, her voice echoing. “Each light, a hope; each shadow, a whisper of unhappiness.”

“Perfect.” The Doctor smiled, his face illuminated by an almost fraternal satisfaction. “Gotham is a mirror, and you are the light that can break the darkness. You must be able to see beyond what shines.”

The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, tearing through the veil of confusion that enveloped her. In that instant, Y/n understood that every tear shed had fed the city, that every drop of blood on her hands was an echo of what she had lost. And yet, vengeance offered her a new purpose, a path into the unknown.

“The city cries for change, for a fire to purify it” she whispered, her voice gaining strength in the night breeze. “And I… I am that fire.”

“That’s right, dear.” The Doctor nodded, a mix of pride and malice in his expression. “The fire that will purify Gotham and, in its wake, consume everything that stands in your way.”

Y/n felt the air fill with electricity, a palpable current connecting her to the city, to its pain and desire. Deep within her, something began to change. She was no longer just a puppet; she was no longer merely the shadow of her past. She was Kerosene, the spark that would ignite the flame of change.

“But, Doctor, what about those who love the darkness?” she asked, her voice now an echo of what she had learned. “What if they cling to their shadow?”

The Doctor stepped closer to her, his penetrating gaze filled with complicity.

“Darkness is a possessive lover, but there is always a price to pay. The truth is that they cannot hold onto it forever. And when the fire burns, only those ready to be reborn will be saved.”

Y/n felt a mixture of anguish and determination. The city before her became a symbol of her internal struggle, a stage where light and shadow intertwined in an eternal game. Every street, every building, every corner whispered her name in a song of warning and challenge.

“And when the fire consumes everything in its path, will there be anything left of me?” she asked, her voice trembling with the fragility of a leaf in the wind.

The Doctor smiled, a smile that seemed to mock the questions still dancing in her mind.

“Perhaps, dear Kerosene, you will find yourself in the act of burning. Or maybe, you will fade into the ash. That is the enigma of transformation: in the fire, death is merely the prelude to a new beginning.”

As she gazed at the city, Y/n felt her identity fragment and fuse, in an endless cycle of creation and destruction. The image of Gotham before her became a metaphor for the human soul, a reflection of the struggles everyone faced in the darkness. The city, with its chaos and its heartbreaking beauty, enveloped her like a hug.

With one last look at the flickering lights and lurking shadows, Y/n stepped back, a firm decision rising within her.

“There’s no turning back now” she murmured, her voice an echo of her new reality. “I will be the fire that illuminates this eternal night.”

The Doctor, with a gesture of approval, retreated into the shadows, leaving her alone in her revelation. As the city spread before her, a mantle of mystery and power, Y/n knew that the true journey was just beginning. The line between fire and ash was thin, and in her chest burned the certainty that by crossing it, nothing would ever be the same.

“So be it, Kerosene” she said to herself as the wind enveloped her in secret whispers. “Let the fire speak in your name and let the night receive your lament.”

And looking at Gotham, she understood that, in the end, her destiny was not merely to be a spectator, but an unstoppable force, a storm that would unleash chaos. And so, with her heart beating to the rhythm of the city, she prepared to embrace her truth, her fire.

☆

A/N — Here is the long-awaited third part of this series. Thank you for all the support and love you have given me. I decided to make this part longer (at the cost of not being able to include the last image :( ) so that you can enjoy it more.

I was reading your comments where you were asking if Y/n and the Doctor would have a romance (which horrifies me a bit :d, but it gave me an idea) or if he performed a lobotomy on her. Well, that will be answered in the next part or in a headcanon, whatever you ask me.

By the way, in the tag list, there are some users I couldn't add, sorry about that 😔. I really appreciate your understanding and patience. Your enthusiasm keeps me motivated to keep creating and sharing these stories. I hope you find this installment engaging and that it brings you the excitement and emotions you’ve come to expect from the series. Enjoy!

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

take a bath!

Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @imnotdumbimstupif @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii

@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @sheepintherain @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @kiarst @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith

Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!

[stargazerlillian]

Happy Pride Month, y’all! Here is a list of some of my canonically LGBT OCs.✨🏳‍🌈✨

Lesbian:

Marianne Mezmer

Rosita Lee Stewart

Gay:

Jamison “Wild Dingo” Armstrong

Pierre Alexander (married to Percy Livingston)

Timothy James Pipkin (eternally partnered to his Scottish fisherman lover who I have yet to name)

Bisexual:

Alannah Fitzgerald (dating Jasper Avalon)

Finn Fishburne

Jareth LaFontaine (dating Billie Jo Stewart)

Jasper Avalon (dating Alannah Fitzgerald)

Percy Livingston (married to Pierre Alexander)

Princess/Queen Hallai (dating and later married to Zephyra)

Transgender:

Donna LaFontaine (MtF, bisexual)

Mitchell Ray Stewart (FtM, bisexual, madly crushing on Donna LaFontaine)

Noble/King Zephyra (Genderfluid, bisexual, dating and later married to Hallai)

Noble/Princess Kashanti (Genderfluid, bisexual, dating and later married to Aureliano De Anda)

Sally Jones (MtF, lesbian)

Pansexual:

Billie Jo Stewart (dating Jareth LaFontaine)

Asexual:

Arnold Deacon (Demiromantic)

Aureliano De Anda (Panromantic, dating and later married to Kashanti)

Baxter Deacon (Aromantic)

Bibiana Dobrovolny (Heteroromantic, madly crushing on Arnold Deacon)

Elizabeth Lacey (Aromantic)

Herman Carol (Heteroromantic)

Lester Levine (Aromantic)

Rosie Gold (Heteroromantic)

Straight Allies:

Atticus Jones (dating Elora Angert)

Bill Hawkins (madly crushing on Rosie Gold)

Darren Kingsley

Elora Angert (dating Atticus Jones)

Undetermined/Unlabeled:

Ivey Kincaid (dating Zachariah Belasco)

Mary Kingsley

Zachariah Belasco (dating Ivey Kincaid)

[rexshadaoart]

Every June, I exclusively make and post new Dorzma art, mainly to spread awareness of what I consider to be one of the oldest LGBT pairings in fandom circles (and one that many should remember in this day and age). This one is Ozma and Dorothy doing a tango of sorts with an LGBT heart as the background.

It was based on this pose provided by @adorkastock

I initially planned to do the whole body... but I find the legs to be too excessive to the whole picture, especially when the hands are in a very unique and difficult pose to draw. I decided to cut the legs and focus on the hands, which was tricky since they are clasping in a manner that is very complex in design, yet also beautiful in overall simplicity. I like how they turned out.

You might also notice that Ozma doesn't have her tall crown in this picture. Well, that's because I wanted Ozma to eventually be animatable, and thus I need to experiment to see if Ozma's design would work without a crown (she still keeps the headdress with flowers). It looks nice overall in my opinion.

I still plan to make more of Dorzma in the future. This is me getting back into the grove.

[yurimother]

Hayley Kiyoko Teams Up with 'Mage & Demon Queen' Creator Color_LES in Music-Inspired LGBT Webtoon

On Monday, Webtoons released "Forever," a one-shot comic created through a collaboration between musician Hayley Kiyoko and Mage & Demon Queen creator Color_LES.

"Forever" shows a young queer couple imagining their future and living a life together.

The webtoon is part of Love Stories, a collection celebrating pride month that pairs prominent musicians and with webtoon creators. Each week, Love Stories will release a new episode inspired by the artists' music. There are a total of three one-shot episodes, each featuring a different pairing of artist and creator.

The second episode, "Sleepwalker," is illustrated by Hannah Patten (Forever After) and inspired by Ava Max. Webtoon will release "Sleepwalker" on June 19. The third and final episode pairs MAY-A with The Four of Them creator Mai Hirschfeld and is scheduled for release on June 26.

You can read "Forever" and the other upcoming episodes of Love Stories for free on Webtoon.

[omgthatdress]

Apparently, Molly is low-key a major gay icon, and honestly, I get it. After all, Molly did *really* like her pretty teacher, Miss Campbell. If you think about it, it makes sense that lot of future lesbians would absolutely love Molly. Most dolls in the 90s were hyper-feminine princess dolls, and Molly was... not. I’d imagine the market for girls who want to play with dolls that aren’t pretty pink princesses is pretty large and the supply is pretty small. Just like there’s plenty of boys out there who want to play with something other than GI Joes. Molly (and AG in general) fits neatly into that market, which I’m sure is why she was so successful.

Last year, with its re-launch of the classic dolls, AG put a post on it’s instagram, “To all the Molly girls in the world, we see you and celebrate you,” which a lot of folks on Twitter took to see as confirmation that Molly was gay. When asked if they just outed Molly, AG gave a very non-committal reply. AG has always had a distinctly feminist slant, but it’s only ever toed the line of actually being LGBT inclusive. So far the only actual inclusion we’ve seen from them is a Girl of the Year with a pair of gay aunts. Even that tiny whiff of queerness was enough to set off a frothing horde of angry conservative moms screaming for a boycott. Since Mattell is only motivated by profit, I doubt we’ll get more representation any time soon, but we can dream.

Anyway, World War II was pretty gay to begin with.

A lot of historians point to WW2 as the starting point of the modern gay rights movement because before it, you had very many people living on isolated farms and never going very far from home in their lifetimes. With mass recruitment of men into the military, gay servicemen were able to find other men like themselves and build a community. It was much the same way for women who went to work in factories, joined the WAC or WAVES, and joined women’s baseball leagues. That’s right, the league of their own was gay as FUCK.

As far as Molly’s fashion goes, I love her lack of pink. I’m glad there’s a doll out there that isn’t hyper-gendered, and I wish there were more dolls like her out there.

With sweaters coming into fashion in the 1920s and 30s, the sweaters of the 40s started to see more complex and colorful knits coming into style.

Much of the fashion of this era was dominated by frugality. Europe’s couture houses were shut down, and fabric was rationed. Hems were shortened and baggy cuts and useless frills were done away with. Britain introduced the “Utility Scheme” which hired designers to make chic ensembles using as few resources as possible. Because of this, separates and outfits that could be made with scraps of fabric were very popular, and at-home knitting and sewing continued to be highly popular.

“After the United States entered World War II in 1941, companies began to experiment with various materials in anticipation of rationing and shortages. This example is a prototype from Nina-Fay Foundations, which uses plastic for closures and stays instead of the usual metal. Although metal was not ultimately rationed, the company was experimenting with alternatives to metal zippers and hooks in the event that it was needed for the war effort.”

(The Met Museum)

Women were taking men’s jobs and taking on masculine roles

But they were still expected to maintain a certain level of femininity, “To give our boys something to fight for.”

Because of all of this, the gender politics of the 1940s are really complicated and interesting.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Christopher Wiggins at The Advocate:

The federal government is poised to apologize for decades of intolerance toward the LGBTQ+ community. U.S. Senators Tim Kaine, a Democrat from Virginia, and Tammy Baldwin, a Democrat from Wisconsin who is the first out LGBTQ+ person elected to the Senate, have introduced a resolution on Tuesday that seeks to formally apologize for the historical discrimination faced by LGBTQ+ people in the federal workforce. The resolution, introduced during Pride Month, acknowledges the mistreatment and wrongful terminations of LGBTQ+ civil servants, foreign service officers, and service members, dating back to 1949.

“LGBT civil servants, foreign service officers, and service members have made countless sacrifices and contributions to our country and national security. Despite this, our government has subjected them to decades of harassment, invasive investigations, and wrongful termination because of who they are or who they love,” Kaine said in a press release. “This Pride Month, I’m proud to lead this resolution alongside Senator Baldwin to reaffirm our commitment to righting our past wrongs and fighting for equality for all LGBT Americans.”

A dark chapter in history

The resolution highlights the Lavender Scare, a period from the early 1940s through the 1960s during which queer federal employees were targeted and persecuted. This era, marked by heightened suspicion and discrimination, saw thousands of federal workers lose their jobs due to their sexual orientation. The most recent wave of such discrimination was perpetuated by the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, which was in effect from 1994 to 2011 and led to the discharge of more than 100,000 LGBTQ+ military service members.

The resolution acknowledges the extensive harm caused by these discriminatory policies, stating, “the Federal Government discriminated against and terminated hundreds of thousands of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender individuals who served the United States in the uniformed services, the Foreign Service, and the Federal civil service for decades, causing untold harm to those individuals professionally, financially, socially, and medically, among other harms.”

[...]

Support and future steps

The resolution is co-sponsored by a host of prominent Democratic senators, including Chris Coons of Delaware, Jeff Merkley from Oregon, Pennsylvania’s John Fetterman, Patty Murray from Washington, Brian Schatz of Hawaii, Jeanne Shaheen from New Hampshire, Bob Casey from Pennsylvania, Dick Durbin of Illinois, Massachusetts’s Edward Markey, Richard Blumenthal from Connecticut, Ben Cardin of Maryland, Rhode Island’s Sheldon Whitehouse, Kirsten Gillibrand of New York, Colorado’s Michael Bennet, Ron Wyden from Oregon, Sherrod Brown of Ohio, and Virginia’s Mark R. Warner.

What happens next?

The Senate will now review the resolution. If it gains sufficient support, it will proceed to a vote. If passed, it will serve as a formal acknowledgment and apology for the historical injustices faced by LGBTQ+ federal employees.

Tim Kaine and Tammy Baldwin, a pair of Democratic Senators, introduced a resolution seeking a formal apology for decades of anti-LGBTQ+ discrimination in the federal government, especially during the Lavender Scare era.

[destieltropecollection]

DESTIEL TROPE COLLECTION 2023 | DAY 4 | Mutual Pining

Open Mic Night | @blessyourhondahurley

Rating: General Word Count: 1,357 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe Summary: Cas works at a bookstore. Dean wants to impress him.

Ladies' Night | @blessyourhondahurley

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,519 Main Tags/Warnings: Wayward Sisters, Truth Spells, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Wears Panties, First Kiss Summary: Dean comes to Ladies' Night at Jody's, and the ladies put him through the ringer.

The Rainbow Confection | @brainfuzz

Rating: General Word Count: 3,231 Main Tags/Warnings: Homophobic language, no warnings apply Summary: Where Dean owns a LGBT+ friendly coffee shop/café and Castiel is oblivious.

Thy Name is Dumbassery | @spnisthewayoflife

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4,314 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Implied Meg Masters/Castiel - Freeform, Dean is JEALOUS, Castiel & Meg Masters Friendship, Castiel and Dean Winchester Being Idiots, Idiots in Love, Dumbasses, the pair of them, Sassy Meg Masters, Meg Masters Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Pining, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Friends to Lovers Summary: Dean and Castiel aren't aware that they have been pining after each other for years and that their mutual feelings have remained unspoken. Until Castiel starts avoiding Dean and Dean realizes that he can't imagine his life without Castiel in it. Will they ever tell each other that they are head over heels in love?

Grumpy Angel and the cat (feat.Dean) | @destiel-pirate-in-middleearth

Rating: General Word Count: 6,130 Main Tags/Warnings: Mutual Pining, Jealous Dean Winchester, Sam ships it, Love confession Summary: Dean is getting silent treatment from Castiel because he won't allow Castiel to take a poor abandoned cat home with them because that's the hunter's rule. No pets in the bunkers and for starters Dean hates cats. It's not that he's jealous of that cat getting all of Castiel's affection which he longs for but he hates that monster cat with a stupid face. Or The one where Sam is just done with everyday’s bullshit because his brother is getting a silent treatment from the angel again.

Wings to Dancs | @sunshine-zenith

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 12,621 Main Tags/Warnings: Normal Human AU, Dancer Cas, past homelessness, minor internally homophobia, implied top Dean/bottom Cas (no smut) Summary: A night of awkward conversations, humiliating moments, and halfhearted attempts at trying to learn to dance for his brother's wedding take a surprising turn for the better for Dean when he realizes he accidentally locked himself out of his car. He and Castiel, the dance instructor he's admired from afar for so long, end up bonding over buried memories of past pain and find themselves dancing towards a brighter future together.

Why did the chicken cross the road? | @whichstiel

Rating: Mature Word Count: 15,007 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate universe - canon divergence, Chickens, South Dakota Summary: Castiel raises show chickens on a small farm, alone after the death of his benefactor and friend. A runaway chicken leads him across the road to Winchester Auto Repair where he must contend with the easy charm of Dean Winchester. A canon divergent story set in rural South Dakota.

Scent-Blind | Destielshipper4Cas (AO3)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 15,194 Main Tags/Warnings: Mutual Pining, Strangers to Lovers, Paramedic Dean, Temporary Anosmia, Slight Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Smut, Alpha Dean, Omega Cas, Top Dean, Bottom Cas Summary: An accident has left Castiel without a sense of smell. In order to test whether his ability to scent is coming back, he has to regularly (try to) scent an alpha. Just like anything else, paramedic Dean Winchester doesn’t smell like anything to him. Until...

Proverbs 13:12 | @angelcasendgame

Rating: General Word Count: 16,298 Main Tags/Warnings: best friends deancas, stuck in a net, angel cas Summary: “A human and his angel get caught in a net,” Dean says dryly, not seeming to notice how completely still Castiel has gone. “Sounds like a set up to a bad joke. Or a Bible story.” “I can assure you, Dean,” he manages to say, trying desperately not to fixate on Dean's words. “This has never happened in the Bible.” (feat. autumn longing and hope, a game of I spy, hozier and led zepplin, mentions of the mixtape, and most importantly, dean and cas being best friends and helplessly in love with each other)

A Mature Student | @startswitheff

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 22,939 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - College/University, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Professor Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel is Seriously Depraved, College | University Student Dean Winchester, Dirty Thoughts, Masturbation in Shower, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Date, Castiel is a hot mess, First Date, sex on the first date, silver foxes, top!Castiel, bottom!Dean Winchester Summary: Prof. Castiel Novak does not know how to handle the smokin' hot silver fox in his Intro to American History class.

Maybe Next Time | @motherofdragonflies

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 37,134 Main Tags/Warnings: Modern!AU, Musician Dean Winchester, Doctor Castiel, Meet-Cute, Idiots in Love Summary: Dean Winchester agreed to sing at his ex-girlfriend’s wedding for the sole purpose of getting revenge on her for cheating on him. He never expected that he would meet anyone, let alone a man with beautiful blue eyes that Dean can’t stop thinking about. Castiel Novak agreed to attend his colleague’s wedding solely for the networking opportunities. He never expected that he would be instantly captivated by the beautiful singer of the wedding band. Despite being inexplicably drawn together, every time they run into each other they’re interrupted by Dean’s phone. Or Dean’s ex. If she even is his ex. Maybe next time they meet, Dean and Castiel will finally overcome the obstacles that the universe keeps throwing in their path, and find the happiness they didn’t even know they were looking for.

The Very Touch of You Corrupts (WIP) | @labgeek2002

Rating: Mature Word Count: 78,707 Main Tags/Warnings: AU, Detective!Cas, Criminal!Dean, internalized homophobia, implied child abuse Summary: While closing up the biggest career in Detective Castiel Novak's life, bringing down Chicago's notorious Lunguino crime family, everything gets put on hold when he catches Dean Winchester, his childhood crush, breaking the law. Soon after he snaps the cuffs on Dean, Cas' world is turned inside out as he's led down the dark path of organized crime and police corruption. With no one he can trust, will Cas learn to rely on the man who once brought comfort and protection, or will he find betrayal around every corner?

Finding You In Every Sign | @casblackfeathers

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 99,407 Main Tags/Warnings: coffee shop au, flower shop au, language of flowers, Deaf!Castiel, American Sign Language, Deaf Characters, bottom Dean/top Castiel, bottom Castiel/top Dean, mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, slow burn, hurt Dean, hurt and comfort, miscommunication Summary: Castiel was content with the constant flow of his life. He had his brother Gabriel, had his coffee shop and the weekly book club meetings as well as a small but solid group of friends. If there was one thing his hateful family had taught him, it was how fast things could go wrong if he let too many variables shape his life. So when he met Dean, a gradual regular at his shop, Castiel knew he was trouble, because Dean was like a comet, beautiful but beyond reach. Ever since his father died, there wasn’t a single constant in Dean’s life. Moving on, never stopping, never getting attached to one thing for too long had made him a drifter for the past seven years. Being the only hearing person in his family hadn’t been easy with a father like John Winchester, so as soon as Dean saw an escape, he took it. Settling down to open his flower shop was anything but easy, especially when he met the elusive deaf owner of the coffee shop next door. The more he discovered about Cas, the louder the voice in the back of his head whispered that maybe Castiel was the person finally worth staying for. And maybe, just maybe, Dean was willing to listen now.

[peachxpie]

Okay, I LOVE Dndads but unfortunately it was the first ttrpg podcast I listened to and raised my expectations so high it’s been damn near impossible to find more that are similar. SO, if you have that same problem I am begging you to listen to “The Neon Streets.”

It’s genuinely so funny, like just as funny as dndads, and everyone on it is so witty and hilarious. Genuinely they are so good at improv, and they’re very character and story focused like dndads is, which is great cause it can be a bit hard to find ttrpg pods thats main purpose is to tell a story. The amount I love this podcast is kinda crazy, it just has some of the BEST characters and best humor and talented people from almost any podcast I’ve listened to, it’s seriously tied for first along with dndads.

Season 1 is set in a cyberpunk capitalist world in the future with two main characters, Dizzy and Test, which may sound like too little compared to dndads’ four, but them paired with some of the best NPC’s ever makes it so you’re never bored or lacking on fun character moments. They are both forced under the control of an evil mass corporation, Test for almost his whole life, and Dizzy after being captured and coming out of cryo sleep five years later. They meet for the first time after being assigned to both of their first jobs under the corporations control, and from there the rest of the podcast consists of heartfelt moments of friendship, change, love, regret, piss, a shit ton of drugs, and so much more.

It’s seriously so good and while it’s one of the funniest prices of media I’ve ever consumed it does have amazing serious angsty moments, very similar to dndads. ALSO, if you’re interested, it has some of the best causal lgbt+ rep and especially non-binary rep that I don’t really expect a lot of the time when I’m consuming media, but I was so pleasantly surprised. They way they handle lgbt+ characters is so casual and natural, it’s so refreshing and such a nice feeling.

Genuinely I love “The Neon Streets” so much and I think it deserves so much love!! Listen to it if you have the chance because you WONT regret it! Also, the creators recommend listening to season 2 first, but definitely start with season 1. While it’s not necessary to listen to S1 first it’ll be a bit hard listening to S2 without knowing some of the easter eggs from S1.

Give it a listen, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!!!!!

[crimsonxe]

Something I’ve seen floated as a bash numerous times:

“BB is written by 2 straight white men”

I frankly don’t give a single shit about the creatives gender, sex, or identity. Just the story they present not being fanservice or harmful stereotypes; and the relationship being legit. Although it does deserve mentioning that not only is Miles NOT white, he’s half-white and half-hispanic, but that the writers currently include Eddy who isn’t white and Kiersi who is a bi woman.

What the writers of RWBY have done:

- Presented a grounded/realistic journey of discovery for two women. Not some sugary world of gay or any world of gay to be clear; but one where there were hetero options and they felt like legit ones not just tokens thrown in to push against the “world of gay” idea.

- Presented an actual bi character, instead of a lesbian with a bi sticker slapped on

- Presented a slowburn that put time into building the relationship up. No trying to over-do things or put a spotlight on them. They were just a relationship developing like any other. Which is a big plus, for me. So many rush into their LGBT+ currently cause they’re aiming for an LGBT+ specific audience, while RWBY chose to aim generally. If anything this is a plus for the writers being straight, cause they aren’t over-doing it. It isn’t “GAY GAY GAY ALL THE TIME GAY!”, but grounded and realistic like a typical story. To try to present an example: RWBY is a shounen/seinen-adjacent w/ LGBT+ mains vs. a shoujo-ai/yuri where everything is about the gay story. BB is an element within the story, not the entire story or even a central pillar of the story. That makes it that much more special and real for being non-fairy fantasy type, one of many reasons BB carries far more weight than some others that I’ve run across. Blake and Yang are characters that have gone on a whole ass journey with multiple arcs together and not... that happen to be LGBT+.

- Never fanserviced the characters in general but also not together, nor going into the future will. There’s not going to be sex scenes between the two or over-the-top things between the two, because they don’t do that. Even Renora never did that sort of thing, only more grounded things. Like Blake gently grabbing Yang’s arm (like her mom does for her dad) to calm her or supporting her (which is something Yang definitely needs), even Blake’s flirty and cheery original self coming out is part of that. Because the show doesn’t do fanservice

- Presented all of this in a world where that isn’t sunshine and rainbows. Deaths do happen, grimm exist, Salem exists, danger exists, and there’s no real “sugar” to it.

The writers did all of this as well as showing respect for their female characters allowing them to be badasses and complex, regardless of whatever their labels are. In fact the way they did things in their writing actually is MORE appealing to me than other LGBT+ written/created shows, because of it being more general audience and less over-the-top gay-focused. Its the difference of a shipper writing fanfic and a writer just writing a general story; there’s a clear difference in the two. Blake and Yang feel REAL. Also pretty sure the guy in charge of Warrior Nun is also a straight dude and that show is just as awesome with its just as grounded wlw pairing that hits a special spot for me.

[respectthepetty]

Y Journey is a trip

Watching Y Journey: Stay Like a Local is such a trip (pun intended) because it's government-sponsored. [The Tourism Authority IS the Ministry of Tourism and Sports]

It reminds me of Step by Step on so many layers that I wonder if Director Tee and Dee Hup were actually approached with this idea because it is wild that the government is using BL couples to promote tourism in a country that is LGBT-friendly, yet denies its queer citizens several legal rights.

However, I think the creative team behind it, Half Toast lead by Oil Savit who has directed and written other queer shorts, took the time to check the required boxes (tourism, sustainability, food security, and environmental protections), while also presenting social commentary on this predicament.

We aren't going to get kisses from these couples since we are barely getting shoulder touches, yet four of them are established pairs known for higher heat, and all the actors have been involved in higher heat scenes.

It's almost like Half Toast wanted to present the acceptable-to-society version of these pairs (aka watered down) while still presenting couples who are very well known for their unacceptable-to-society behavior within their shows. Like a wink-wink, nod-nod to each other since their bosses probably have no idea.

Because these shorts aren't couples who just happen to be queer enjoying all the country has to offer. These are queer couples who aren't out to their parents, yet instinctively give their boyfriend food without thinking about what that looks like to their parents.

These are queer couples who are worried how their parents will respond to knowing the friend they brought home isn't just a friend.

So although we are getting this palatable version of queer couples, I'm going to give the production company kudos for not going full Hallmark with this task.

I love a Hallmark movie as much as the next basic bitch, but Hallmark tends to put every person regardless of race, ethnicity, sexual identity, etc. into the same story, so none of the characters actually feel Black, Hispanic, queer, etc. It just happens to be a Black person in the movie, yet they show none of the Black experience. Yet Half Toast seems to be presenting some of the queer experience in these shorts.

It's nothing revolutionary, but the company really took the government's check (and a big corporation's), cashed it before the government could take it back, and said "let's be kind to the gays."

While heavily encouraging people to "create a sustainable future together."

So up next, openly gay actor Fluke Natouch will introduce a man to something he has never tried before.

Don't forget this is government-sponsored, so the savory treat will be food.

Not him.

But hopefully the creative team will continue to sprinkle a little queer experience on top of this government-sponsored tourism ad.

Because they already cashed that check!

This is the gay agenda.

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

I would like to request romantic yandere scott summers x reader where his darling has amnesia. Now I don’t know how they got amnesia but scott brings reader home from the hospital one day and takes reader home claiming the reader is his wife or husband( gender does not matter), even though they were not married before. Scott takes advantage of the fact reader has amnesia, I would also have to assume they are not at the mansion so scott can do his yandere doings

BAG OF BONES

Sinopsis. You remembered nothing, not even your name, yet he wove stories with threads of gold and promises. His voice, a refuge; his gaze, a cage. He claimed to love you like never before, like always. How could you doubt someone who swore to be your everything, even if his love felt like a prison disguised as home?

pairing ── Yandere! Scott Summers x Amnesiac! Reader.

Content. MDNI ── Dark themes, violence/death, blood, retrograde amnesia, forced marriage, inappropriate touching, insolation, invasion of privacy, kidnapping?, Slight mention of pregnancy, delusion, Angst, murdering, Disturbing Content, Death of a canonical character, lgbt?, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish— Honestly, I've always been interested in the Yandere x Amnesiac theme. It's really fascinating how the psychology of the characters can be so complex in these types of stories. Also, thank you for being clear and concise in your request, and I hope you enjoy it.

They say one should never try to go back to the past, that the present is where we must live and the future what we must build. But how could you do that when you felt a piercing emptiness in your chest, a pain you didn’t understand? Your heart screamed that something was wrong, that what you were experiencing wasn’t real, that danger lurked closer than you could imagine.

The white glare of the hospital lights blinded you as you opened your eyes. You felt your body heavy, your mind clouded, and an absolute bewilderment that made you tremble. Everything felt strange, as if you were a piece out of place in an unknown puzzle. Then you saw him.

A tall man, with a firm build, wearing burgundy glasses that hid his eyes but not his excited expression. His smile lit up upon seeing you awake, and before you could say anything, his lips pressed against your forehead, your cheeks, your hair, leaving desperate and anxious kisses.

“Thank God you’re okay,” he whispered with a warm, relieved voice.

But you weren’t. You remembered nothing. Not even your name. Confusion filled you, and words wouldn’t come to your lips. He, however, seemed to have all the answers.

“I’m Scott Summers, do you remember me?” he said, taking your hand gently. His fingers were warm, but the way he squeezed them made you feel trapped—“We just got married.”

Married? The impact left you breathless. You looked at your hands, and there it was: a beautiful diamond ring along with a wedding band. Its shine seemed to confirm his words. When you looked up, you saw he wore a similar set on his left hand.

“I... don’t remember...” you started to say, but he shook his head gently.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re alive, and that’s all that matters. I’ll take care of you.”

His voice was sweet, reassuring, and you decided to believe him. Why wouldn’t you? Everything seemed to fit: the ring, the familiarity in his gestures, the way he looked at you. But deep inside, there was something you couldn’t silence.

There was something in his smile, something in the way his fingers never stopped touching you, that made you feel exposed. Vulnerable. Like you were a butterfly trapped in a display case, admired but with no escape.

How naïve you were to think that warmth meant safety.

When he took you to what he said was your home, the confusion inside you grew heavier, more oppressive. It was a small cabin in the midst of a lush forest, completely isolated from the rest of the world. Scott explained that the distance was necessary, that you had always preferred the tranquility of nature, away from societal judgment, especially for what you were: a mutant.

“You used to say that here you could be yourself,” he murmured with a smile as he parked the car. His words were warm, but they sounded strange.

As he guided you through the house, you noticed how his explanations seemed overly rehearsed, almost mechanical. The master bedroom was cozy, with dark wooden furniture and a large bed, but there was something unsettling in how orderly everything was, as if you had never truly lived there.

“This is the guest room,” he said as he opened a door. The space was filled with tools and paint, as if it were in the process of being transformed—“I’m preparing it for something special.”

You didn’t ask for what. There was something in his tone that dissuaded you from doing so.

The kitchen, however, came with a warning. “Don’t enter here without me, okay? I want to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

“Hurt myself?” The phrase hung in your mind as he showed you the rest of the house. Finally, you arrived at the living room, the space that unsettled you the most.

It was a mix of museum and altar. There were photos of you everywhere: smiling, reading, walking in a park you didn’t recognize. Some included Scott, his arm always firmly around your shoulders, and others showed a group of people who seemed unfamiliar yet strangely familiar.

In one of the photos, a group dressed in flamboyant, almost theatrical clothes stood out. It was a mosaic of colors and textures that evoked something lost on the edge of your memory. In the image, you were in a corner, embraced by a young woman with pink glasses who seemed a few years younger than you. On your other side, a brown-haired woman with white streaks smiled subtly, though she didn’t touch you. She seemed close, important.

However, what caught your attention the most wasn’t any of them, but a figure in the background, almost hidden behind Scott. A woman with bright red hair who seemed to look at the man with particular intensity. The photo was slightly blurry, as if someone had manipulated it or neglected it on purpose.

“Who is she?” you asked, pointing at the blurred figure before you could stop yourself.

Scott tensed immediately. His smile vanished for an instant before returning, though more forced. “Oh, just someone from the past. It doesn’t matter now. The only thing that matters is you and how happy we are together.”

You didn’t press. His response wasn’t enough, but something in his gaze told you that pushing was dangerous.

That night, as you tried to sleep, doubts burned inside you. Who was that woman? Why couldn’t you remember anything about your life, not even the people in those photos? And above all, why did every time you looked at Scott, the weight in your chest grew heavier, as if you were trapped in a gilded cage?

You didn’t love Scott. You couldn’t. Maybe you had at some point, but if that was the case, that love didn’t survive the accident that erased your memories. Now, he was a stranger, and his constant need for contact suffocated you. Scott wasn’t just clingy; he was voracious. Every caress felt like an indelible mark on your skin, every kiss a reminder that you weren’t free.

He adored being glued to you, almost as if he feared you would disappear if he let go. He insisted on bathing you, choosing your clothes and dressing you, his fingers grazing your skin more than necessary. He prepared every meal with devotion and served it to you as if you were a deity to be worshipped. But even those gestures, so carefully disguised as love, carried a shadow you couldn’t ignore.

“I want you to feel cared for, protected,” he would tell you with a smile as he brushed your hair. His words were sweet, but the way he said them was unsettling, as if he were convincing himself more than you.

Days passed in suffocating routines and deafening silence. Scott took you outdoors, around the cabin, making sure not to stray too far. He said it was for your safety, but you knew that wasn’t true. Every time you looked at the forest, so vast and full of possibilities, you felt a growing urge to run, to escape, even though you didn’t know where to go.

And then the flashes began.

At first, they were fleeting images, fragments that emerged when you least expected them. A smile that wasn’t from Scott. A soft laugh. Bright green eyes framed by fiery red hair. The woman from the photo.

Every time those memories surfaced, a sharp pain pierced your head, as if your mind struggled to protect you from something you didn’t want to know. But the most disturbing thing wasn’t the woman, but how you saw her: standing next to Scott, his hand in hers, their lips forming words you couldn’t hear. Happy. United. Almost as if…

No.

The first day you had that memory, you screamed in the middle of breakfast. The spoon fell from your hands as you instinctively recoiled in your chair. Scott was beside you in an instant, his hands firm on your shoulders, his eyes hidden behind glasses but his face filled with concern.

“What’s wrong, love? Are you okay?”

“I... I...” You tried to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was look at his hands, those same hands that in your visions touched another woman with the same devotion as they now touched you.

Scott frowned, his expression darkening for a moment before a nervous smile returned to his face. “It’s just your mind playing tricks on you. It’s normal, sweetheart. Take a moment.”

But it wasn’t. And you knew it.

That night, as you brushed your teeth, the mirror in front of you trembled. Not from any external movement, but because your mind was slowly breaking, releasing pieces of a puzzle you were just beginning to recognize. A flash hit you, as if a storm were dragging you to another time.

She was there, the red-haired woman you had seen before, but this time she wasn’t a blurry image. Her laughter was warm, almost contagious, and you were next to her, shy, with a small smile that barely dared to emerge. Her hand rested gently on your arm while the other figures around you joined in the conversation.

The dark-haired woman with white streaks watched you with a mischievous look, an eyebrow raised as she crossed her arms. Beside her, a young woman with pink glasses laughed loudly, patting your shoulder as if she had known you forever. Nearby, another tall woman, with deep eyes and a majestic demeanor, looked at you with a mix of understanding and affection. They all seemed to encourage something, their animated voices like a chaotic melody you could barely comprehend.

“He’s a good man,” one of them said, her tone firm but kind. “He adores you!” exclaimed the youngest, with a beaming smile. “Just go and have a little fun.”

But not all were so enthusiastic. The red-haired woman didn’t share their laughter or their words of encouragement. Her expression was softer, almost melancholic, and her eyes met yours for a long moment. When the others dispersed, she stepped closer to you.

Her hands took yours, warm and steady, and for a moment you felt more protected than you had in a long time. She didn’t say anything at first, just hugged you tightly, her embrace speaking more than any words. Leaning toward your ear, her voice was a whisper, but her words were etched into your memory.

“You have my blessings…” Her breath was shaky, and you felt her fingers tighten slightly on your back—“And I love you.”

You stepped back slightly to look at her, but her smile seemed like a mask. There was something in her eyes you couldn’t understand at that moment, something that hurt you in a strange way.

The memory faded as quickly as it came, leaving you standing in front of the mirror, gasping. You gripped the edge of the sink, your fingers white from the pressure. Your reflection seemed distant, as if it weren’t yours.

Who was she? What did it all mean? And above all, why did her face, her voice, her embrace fill you with a warmth that made Scott’s love feel cold and forced?

The mirror in front of you trembled as you hit it with your hands, gasping, your pupils dilated with terror. Your reflection didn’t look like you. It was a broken version, trapped in a life you didn’t understand.

Scott appeared behind you like a ghost, his hands wrapping around your waist firmly. His warm breath on your neck made you shiver.

“You look tired, love. Let me take care of you.”

The first time you saw him in full clarity was in a dream, or so you thought when you woke up, gasping and with your body soaked in cold sweat.

You were in a dark and damp room, the air heavy with the metallic smell of blood. Your hands trembled as you held a fragile, cold, lifeless body: a woman with red hair, now dulled and stuck to her pale face. Blood stained her lips and flowed from multiple wounds on her chest, as if something had pierced her repeatedly. They weren’t normal wounds; they were small, irregular caves, burned by a heat that couldn’t be human.

Jean. Her name hit you like lightning. Jean. Now you knew, and the weight of that name on your chest made you sob as you held her against you, trying, futilely, to cover the wounds with your hands.

“No... no, please, wake up...” Your voice was a desperate whisper, broken, a lament in the void.

The sound of footsteps behind you made your body tense. You recognized them before turning around. Their walk was unmistakable: confident, calculated, almost victorious.

Scott was there. His figure was silhouetted against the dim light, his burgundy glasses shining with an unsettling glow. His face showed no sadness, no guilt. Only satisfaction.

“It had to be this way,” he said with a calm voice, too tranquil for the scene before you. His tone was gentle, almost kind, as if he were explaining something simple.

You stood frozen, your hands still holding the body of the woman, while your mind struggled to process his words.

“What... what did you do?” you managed to murmur, though your voice was barely a thread.

Scott took another step forward, his boots echoing on the stone floor. He knelt before you, ignoring the blood staining the ground and spreading like a river between you two. His hand rose to caress your cheek, and you flinched, unable to move.

“Now that she’s gone…” he continued, his tone filled with a sweetness that was terrifying—“nothing can separate us. We can be together, just as we were always meant to be.”

Your body reacted before your mind did. You let Jean’s body fall, stumbling backward, your hands still trembling, covered in her blood. “You’re crazy!” you shouted, though your voice broke into a sob at the end.

But Scott didn’t seem affected. He stood up with the calmness of someone who knows he has already won. He took a step toward you, and then another, until you had no space left to escape.

“No, love,” he said, leaning toward you, his breath brushing your ear—“I’m in love.”

The intensity in his voice paralyzed you. It was a declaration, not an explanation. He truly believed that everything he had done was out of love.

The dream, or the memory, ended there, with his face so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his skin. You woke up with a start, a muffled scream in your throat and your heart pounding in your chest.

Your hands continued to tremble as you looked around the room. You were in the cabin, in your bed, but the smell of blood still seemed to linger in the air.

“Are you okay?” Scott’s voice broke the silence. He was next to you, watching you with his typical feigned concern, his hand already reaching for yours.

You instinctively recoiled, pulling away from his touch, but you tried to hide it. Your breathing was ragged, and you forced yourself to nod. “Just... a bad dream.”

He smiled, but his eyes behind the glasses didn’t stop watching you with that intensity that always seemed to hide something more. “I’m here for you. Always.”

That night, you decided you had to uncover the truth, even if it cost you your sanity... or your life.

A/N ── Yes, it’s not a happy ending, but at least it’s an ending that leaves a lot of room for reflection. I wanted to try out a conclusion like this at some point, and I hope it didn’t make anyone uncomfortable. Thank you for reading, and if you want to request something, feel free to do so as long as requests are open. More information in the pinned comment!

Take a bath!

[sketchfanda]

A Little Moxxie Love:2 Squirrels and an Imp!!

Skullfuck Productions was an enigma to some, a production and publishing company for material of the adult entertainment variety, or to be more blunt and direct, they did porn. Porn of a very high quality at that, enough to have fans equally among the heterosexual and lgbt community alike in terms of its demographics and have established working partnerships with notable studios such as Double Z, owned and operated by the one and only Zigzag herself. It was said that SF Productions own CEO was an enigma, any to nobody but a select knew who he was or what he looked like but his fans and critics could agree on one thing. The man knew how to make some smut!!

Mr.Sketch as he was known of course, had more that his share of secrets and chief among them was that he wasn’t event human and his studio was based in Hell itself!! And every once so often he was always on the lookout for new talent or for his current roster crop to prove they had what it took to be sexy bitches and absolute unit studs. Especially at the monthly parties he’d host in his personal penthouse in the living world, which could be considered the lewd equivalent to Queen Bee-elzebub’s regular get togethers, a veritable sea of bodies human, demon and furry alike enjoying some good food and drink and a little casual consensual fun. It was also a good chance for regulars to more or less show off their talents and prove to the flaming skull headed head honcho they had what it took to be the next big thing for future projects.

Which of course brings us to the latest ongoing party and a dispute that was drawing quite a few eyes and ears for attention as a pair of squirrel babes were busy glaring at each other with such intensity thst if they were lasers? They’d have no doubt burned each other’s heads off, but what did you expect when it came to Marika and Sarita? The bimbo and the shortstack squirrel were both nympho sluts and proud of it, far as they were concerned God had blessed them with their bombshell bodies and the libidos to match but as Hughlander once said, there could be only one!! Yes indeed Marika and Sarita’s arguments were a regular occurrence at gatherings like this and naturally these disputes could only be settled by what could be called slut-offs!!

Among the guests eavesdropping and rubbernecking on this ongoing war of words between the nympho squirrels was Verosika Mayday herself, as ever in tow with her entourage of succu-bitches. Reclining like the boss slut she was on a couch with a drink in hand, (nothing liquor loaded of course, she promises, just some Shirley temples and Roy rogers) as she observed with a devious eye. Before turning to sneak a glance at one of the bodyguards she’d hired for extra security currently standing on either side of Tex in the form of Moxxie and Millie (Blitzo was willing to be reasonable for the high price his pop star ex was offering for this gig), the former to be exact who was looking as stylish and adorable as ever. Shooting a little wink and blowing a kiss his way at how shy he seemed at the current environment he was in, no doubt the casual sexual nature of the part and the near to full nude dress code was a it overwatch for him.

Millie of course had been beyond ecstatic and excited when she found out their job was being a security escort for the succubus pop idol at a party hosted by her favourite Smut provider. She was a fan of the works of Mr.Sketch’s body of work so the fact they were at a soirée like this with a chance to even see and meet him in person was a dream come true. Hence how and why Moxxie came along, he couldn’t disappoint his wife and cost her a chance to meet her personal fave writer and director so he was willing to endure being around so many bombshells. He figured the worst they’d have to deal with was a possible cat fight brawl set to breakout between the two squirrel babes, it was looking to be as unpretty as it sounded before Verosika suddenly spoke up, catching everyone’s attention as she tapped a fork against her glass.

Verosika:*Soon as she saw all eyes in her, Sarita and Marika included, she smiled as she spoke up.*”You know, if you really want to have a slut off, I know just the guy for the job…”*The succubus pop star gestured to Moxxie, much to the sweet possum’s equal parts shock and confusion.*”This little stud would be perfect for a game of endurance, first of you two fuzzy tailed hoes to outlast the other and milk him dry is the winner, and the boss man can decide the prize…” *Moxxie could only drop is jaw and not be able to muster a word at the fact Verosika was setting him up like this, feeling like he on a platform for a hangman’s noose when the two squirrel hotties turned their eyes on him. No doubt they were thinking of calling bullshit on him but nope, it was clear they were at their point of their argument where they’d take any kinky idea on board.*

Before he knew it, Marika and Sarita bother grabbed him by his cute little bow tie, Millie cheering her man on while Verosika shot him a wink and a smile as the party goers hooted and hollered knowing they’d be in for a show if they managed to find a monitor to view. Mr.Sketch had private rooms set up with hidden cameras for the voyeurs among his guests, after all you can’t host a party with porn stars and those of the sexually liberated persuasion and not expect a free show to happen. Moxxie soon finding himself in one such room as the squirrel hotties threw him onto the bed as Marika and Sarita battled to be the first to get him naked, starting with his pants. Not able to much but pray for his survival if these two’s combined libido would kill him.

Marika:*Face to face with Sarita as they were stripping The imp, throwing his coat, bow tie and shirt aside. Their efforts for his pants being offset by one another’s hands smacking and slapping each other away.*Back off bitch!! I get first dibs on this shrimp!! He’s gonna know heaven from me over a shorty like you!!”*The back and forth wasn’t helping Moxxie’s growing fear induced boner as the pair of stunner’s movements was making their big furry fits bounce and jiggle, risking inevitable nip slips from their bikini tops. Not to mention the overwhelming scents of their perfume was as intoxicating as the pheromones Verosika and her girls gave off, which was really wesring down his resistance.*

Sarita:”As if you wanna be!! A runt like this needs a real classy lady like me to get him off!! One round with my hand and tongue and he’ll be-!!”*Whatever Sarita was about to say next and any retort from Marika came to a halt as got Moxxie’s pants off, boxers and all as they beheld his fully nude body. Eyes wide as they felt their pussies gush and soak their things and thighs, looking in with erotic shock and awe at his imp cock in all its erect glory as inches of crimson red, veiny womb hammering pussy pounding fuckmeat pulsed and twitches as If sensing the presence of two very horny ladies. Suddenly it became clear to them why Verosika nominated this little dude as their personal judge for this slut-off as their hands grasped and began to stroke it. Making him groan and and shudder as their bimbo brains flipped switches off into full on horny mode, telling them to get right to having this slab of sexmeat rock their world.*

Which they certainly did as they got right to conducting fellatio upon Moxxie’s cock as they assaulted his length and girth with sloppy licks and kisses. Shifting between battling for control and dominance or just going with the flow and tolerating one another’s presence as they sucked and blew on his cock and balls, drowning them in their saliva. Lipstick marks designating their battle to claim this imp as territory as the imp could only groan against being caught between their competitive onslaught but he coild only handle snd endure so much. He wasn’t some sex toy they were going over using, he was a man damn it!!

Before Marika and Sarita knew it, they found him sitting up and grasping them firmly by the fur or hair in their sweet sexy little heads and proceed to unleash his pent up lusty frustration. Masacara tears flowing down their pretty faces as they found themselves on the receiving end of deep, powerful facefucking. Those heavy crimson balls slapping their chin as inches of his length and girth shoved and jackhammered into their mouths as he forced them to deepthroat it. Choking and gagging on it as flowing hearts began to form in their eyes at such assertion of dominance.

Marika has had her share of big cocks, certainly a fact and not an understatement especially ranging from partners with bodily sizes going big to small. From rhinos and dogs, particularly hellhounds to bulls and stallions and Moxxie was putting the latter two to shame and then some. Sarita much as she was loathed to admit was quite the size queen herself with a taste and presence for well endowed parters that could use her like a fleshlight and split her in half and yet the imp was definitely a whole new level for her. Their juices soaking their thongs and thighs with sticky warmth as their mouths and throats became an oral preview for what awaited their pussies.

But oh to say nothing of the flavour of his pre as it dazzled their tastebuds, making their nerves tingle with erotic delight. More so as their dominant little possum came and blew his load, showing their faces and ties and spraying into their mouths with his jizz. Gasping and moaning as they made out and snowballed, swapping the cream between them with a metal, shared sloppy desire. Gazing in awe at that saliva soaked alpha male imp dick as it twitched and pulsed, still hard and ready to go.

As the squirrel duo cleaned off one another, forgetting their mutual contempt for one another, they proceeded to remove their bikinis and things, exposing their tires and snatches before moxxie in all their furry naked glory. Brains having gone fully into bitch in heat mode as they began making out with the imp, caressing snd groping as they sandwiched his compact red frame between their warm furry figures. All the while hidden cameras within their private little love-nest broadcast and streamed this little threesome to a few select monitors scattered throughout the penthouse. First come first serve for those who wanted the best view of the action.

Marika”Aaahn, damn daddy….I can barely sandwich your whole slab here..You liking these big furry titties daddy? Aaahn You bitch..” *That last remark was directed to Sarita who was eating out her pussy while she gave Moxxie a titfuck. Hands clasped together with his as he thrust his shaft between her furry mounds, making her kiss and lick it whenever it reached her dicksucking lips. Sarita shooting a cheeky wink and a smile her way as she teased Marika for having such a tasty and pretty pussy gushing so much. Mutual as their lust was, they were still rivals.*

Sarita:”Oooh fuuuckfuckfuckfuck!, I’ve never felt this good before don’t stop fuck me me daddy! Fuck me hard, harder!!” *The high class squirrel slut cried out with little to no shame or sense of inhibition as she bounced on Moxxie’s jackhammering dick. Arms and legs draped around the imo as he performed a standing fuck, feet firmly planted on the mattress as his hands squeezed her juicy furry bubble butt. Marika kneeling and hugging their little stud judge from behind as her tits massaged and pressed against his back as she kissed and licked along his neck. Taking delight in seeing Sarits reduced to a total whore state.*

Marika:”Ooooh good dsddy I think I’m seeing heaven!!”*Not that she was any different or better herself of course as she was flat on her back, taking it from Moxxie in a mating press. Her ass feeling the force of those heavy balls smack against them as his cock jackhammered into her greedy snatch. Sarita laying behind them, lounging on her front as she licked and kissed where their loins met and connected. Her tail wagging sensually and seductively as she awaited her next turn while shaving her self some schaudenfraude at Marika’s expense.*

Sarita”aaahn you’ve cum so much and you’re still so hard…wreck me daddy…”*The shortstack squirrel pleaded as she laid on her back, head hanging off the edge of the bed as she found Moxxie shoving that addictive dick of his right into her mouth. Her mascara tear streaked face burning with her lust as her eyes twinkled with lust at those balls smacking her forehead. Her throat swelling from now deep and filling his cock was all the while Marika ate out her pussy as her bimbo arch rival returned the favour from before. An eye for an eye as they say,*

minutes passed into hours as Moxxie fucked the two squirrel sluts either one on one or two on one depending who had the need or not to catch their breath and recover their energy. Seated lotus to sideways spooning, to having one sit on his face as the other rode him cowgirl style to fucking one in missionary or doggy style as she ate the other girl out. Their fur becoming sleek and sticky with his cum, that is when it wasn’t being pumped down their throats, up their booties or filling up with wombs. Millie, Verosika and her crew among those who got a good monitor viewing spot as they enjoyed their man prove himself an absolute sexual unit, and they weren’t the only notable figures watching, for in the private room of the host himself at this moment….

Sketch:”I want a name to go with that face and find out where he lives. A guy like that is too good to pass up, GET!! ME!! THAT IMP!!”*The skullheaded smut magnate declared on his phone and to an assembled crew of employees, non chalant to the fact he was doing so naked in bed while having his succubus personal assistant deepthroat him. Never let it be said that their boss didn’t enjoy the luxury and perks of his work, you didn’t put out the kind of work he did without around the clock hands-on experience. The creative enigma liked what he saw and right now, he knew he wanted Moxxie as his next big star. You didn’t get an imp like thst every century or so!”

[pviscelle]

Your Devil: A Doomed Catastrophe | MasterPost

Pairing: Jungkook x Female Character x Jimin

Genre/Tags: Dark, Mystery-Thriller, Love Triangle

Word Count: 45.1k

Status: Ongoing

Rating: Explicit

Content Warning: Explicit sexual content, graphic depiction of violence, mental health issues, character death, LGBT characters, mutual pining, and angst.

Synopsis: ❛Ours isn't a fairytale love, baby.❜

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New Year's or no New Year's, the infamous Jungkook had somehow found his way onto everybody's lips again. He always did.

But this time, it wasn't because of his usual indifference or cold, vampire-like vibes. This was different. Anyone could tell, even the new employees.

Aera might have something to say about this difference too, something that shouldn't concern her but left her feeling unnerved nonetheless.

━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━

After eleven years since the haunting night at Winter Fest, fate once again weaves the story of Han Aera with that of Jeon Jungkook, an interior architect at Kim Enterprises. As lingering mysteries strain to emerge, their lives are upended when their past catches up, intertwining with the present and risking their future.

Read Here

[forkyyyy]

INTRO fork

MY NAME IS FORKY!!! Or Fan, Michael, Trauma Meatgrinder. You also can call me by my real name(Anya) if we're close friends!!:3

She/her > they/them, 16 YEARS OLD, rus/eng/lt

INFJ, pansexual quoiromantic demigirl, autism spectrum, mom friend, a russian speaking, furry

DNI!!! Everything LGBT-phobic, talking about politics, basic dni, sexualization.

TRIGGERS!!! Real videos and/or photos of harm being done, monkeys, pigs, water bear, syringes.

Main fandoms are Object show, DSaF, DnB, Block Tales, Dandy's world, Pressure, idk random roblox games like Ocean Terror, PHIGHTING!

Main kins are Bambi(DnB), Bandu(DnB), Dave/Davetrap(DSaF), Fan(II), Vee(DW), Angeredfish(OT)

I LOVE!!! Paleontology!!! Please talk about dinosaurs and weird animals with me!!!

I am studying to be a cook (if u even care)

You can always text me or send smth funny, id love to make friends in this app!

Oh and before we start talking about fandom ships — im selfshipper, and im super uncomfortable with almost EVERY pairing in EVERY fandom... Sorry ☹️

I HAVE TWO EXOTIC CATS AND ONE SAINT BERNARD DOG!!! I Love them!

I have a bad memory. Sorry for ignoring or forgetting something, my mind is always full of random stuff or I'm busy! Don't be shy to remind me of something!!!

Mostly i DON'T use translation, so sorry if my text looks weird

I ASSOCIATE MYSELF WITH FOXES AND OWLS!!!

Salty > sweet

I am a very timid person, and even though I can call a dog cute on the internet, in real life I will tremble with fear at the sight of the same dog

MY SUPER COOL OC

↓↓↓

Yeh THE BABYGIRL THAT CHANGED MY LIFE IS BLOCKY BFB im absolutely obsessed with him!! GrrrrRRR please draw Foku and Blocky together and I will pray for your health all my life

I listen to the порез на собаке, 4 позиции Бруно, птицу емъ the most, also Jazmin Bean and random things :33 ALSO THE ONIBI SERIES BY MASA WORKS DESIGN IS SO MY VIBES HELP!!! ITS MY OST ITS HOW I SOUND LIKE

Gonna add more stuff in future cuz i forgot everything about myself again

FOKUBLOCKS FOREVER 🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥🍴🟥

[nikathesiren]

Let the voice of love take you higher ☝✨

More of my art

It's been a hot minute since I draw some fluff stuff like this. Since... 2018? In fact, I have never ever drawn fluff about Jojo's, and it was weird, but in a good way. I was melting in cuteness during the process (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

There are a few pairings in this series I would die for, and I would love to draw them in a cute and romantic way, too. If you have suggestions, don't ask me about explicit NSFW content, but I don't mind spicing up the scene a little bit... 😉

LGBT+ fact about this drawing: for the background, behind Josuke, I painted the colors of the gay flag (the green and blue one), and behind Okuyasu, I painted the colors of the bisexual flag, and blend them all together, to state my headcanon in this matter.

If you've read this far, I want to thank you and let you know that I'm thinking of adding Okuyasu to my Youngstars universe as Josuke's husband in the near future (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Would you like to?

[sylunisart]

Poorly explaining my Pikmin LGBT+ hcs cause I’m bored(might be edited in the future)

Olimar: I’m kinda torn between demi or straight ally

Louie: somewhere on the ace spectrum(grey ace probably) but he does like men, uses he/they/it

Alph: gay trans man

Brittany: bisexual who leans VERY heavily into women

Charlie: bi

Lisa/Pom: nonbinary sapphic, uses they/she.

Collin: either gay or achillean(I hc he’s married and has a husband back on Giya)

Shepherd: lesbian(sorry not sorry Dingo)

Russ: pan

Dingo: thinks he’s straight but he’s actually bi

Yonny: transmasc(he did his own top surgery) and is probably somewhere under the nonbinary umbrella. Also no one can quite figure out his sexuality, uses any pronouns.

Bernard: gay(he and Santi are the most on and off pair there is)