#i love to see a man learn a lesson
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I'm not a big disney fan outside of childhood nostalgia but every time I see one of those prince rankings I'm like ok but I could rank them better. and I happened to be bored so I did
some mentions I have to make so people don't wonder:
flynn rider: basic choice. scientifically engineered to be a hot man. no bite or edge to him. if you look at concept art he was supposed to be a big guy but they changed him to this market researched douche with a soul patch. absolute travesty
aladdin: he’s cute and good-hearted, lies to get his way but learns to be true to himself. lessons we all learn in life. next
jim: has the best song. i too want the moment to be real
phoebus: mmm. ehh
prince charming: literally what it says on the tin. storybook prince. not a man, a plot device
cinderella's prince: has a thing for feet. nice. funny in the sequels but a cardboard box is more interesting than his design
and now the top 10:
10. hercules: hunky demigod himbo. true hero is tested by the strength of his heart. the lesson all gym bros need to learn.
9. quasimodo: has heart and character, and sang “out there” like an angel.
8. prince eric: spends all his days with his dog and playing the recorder. who let him out of containment. too nervous to kiss a girl he likes even though she is sending obvious signals. he wants to get the know her better. king
7. tarzan: loin-clothed hunk with the facial structure of a statue. roams the jungle to the tunes of phil collins. loves his mom without being weird about it. prime man
6. the beast: eye and soul candy for the monsterfuckers. hot take but he wasn’t that bad as a human. he was hot. especially when you consider that his backstory included him being so snobby and vain that he was turned into the beast. like isn't that the consequences of your actions pretty boy. love to see it
5. milo: linguist. has round glasses and that 90s curtain haircut. all features that can indicate sleeziness but he is a good guy, meaning sometimes a man with round glasses and 90s curtain haircut can be trusted. a lanky charming nerd and therefore my exact type unfortunately
4. kenai: excellent protagonist. so deep in the throes of toxic masculinity he gets turned into a bear. isn't that the consequences of your actions pretty boy
3. shang li: bisexual king. nothing more to add.
2. prince naveen: now I may come from a protestant culture but a lazy jackass learning the value of hard work and love is what it’s all about. a dish. gets turned into a frog, isn't that the consequences of your actions pretty bo-
1. robin hood: “he's a fox hahah furry" FUCK YOU. HE IS THE FINEST MAN OUT THERE. HE HANGS OUT WITH HIS BEST FRIEND IN THE WOODS. HE HAS BEEN TRUE TO HIS SWEETHEART SINCE CHILDHOOD. he thinks he’s not good enough for her, but in a chivalrous way instead of pathetic. steals from the rich and gives to the poor. great with kids. they don’t make men like this anymore, and with that I mean men of integrity. “MARIAN MY DARLING I LOVE YOU MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF.” (CRIES)(THROUGH TEARS) LOVE IT SEEMS LIKE ONLY YESTERDAY YOU WERE JUST A CHILD AT PLAY
#nor's rambles#does not include commentary on why disney turns all their poc protagonists into animals. saving that for some other time#i love to see a man learn a lesson
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What’s the relationship like between Peppino and Fake Pep? I wonder what its like to be friends with a literal clone of yourself…
hoo boy, it's a very interesting thing indeed! (and something i'm WAY too enthusiastic about sharing my ideas about hehehe 👀💧) especially when the clone of yourself is completely different from you in morals, tastes, actions, interactions..... just about the only thing that's similar is looks.
that's not to say that Peppino and his Fake don't get along though! it's gotten... better since Fake Peppino first showed up at Peppino's Pizza and then refused to ever leave. at least Fake Peppino has no desire to kill Peppino any more, he's a fellow Peppino and that would just be rude! not to mention how he regrets trying to kill him before... but it's all fine now!!
Fake treats Peppino with a decent amount of respect, part of it just because he considers Peppino a friend now, and part of it being how badly Peppino kicked his ass for things in the past. there's still an awful lot of things Fake Peppino does that makes most normal people uncomfortable... Peppino included. making inhuman noises, hiding in cramped spots just to jump out and spook you, eating things that definitely aren't meant to be eaten... Fake's fairly comfortable in his new home, and while Peppino feels a lot better about him, there's still times that it makes him feel a bit... anxious.
seeing something that once tried to kill you and still acts very off sometimes, acting as if you're a dear friend and snuggling up to you like a beloved family dog, that IS a little bit... uncomfortable, to say the least. but at least things could be worse... Fake could still be trying to kill Peppino like he was made to do.
there ARE a lot of things that Fake Peppino does though, in attempts to actually benefit Peppino. whether or not these are ACTUALLY good things is very debatable. clearing out any pest that make their way in is pretty nice at least, but then there's the more... questionable things that Fake does to try and help. for example, Fake doesn't tolerate any kind of rudeness towards Peppino or his restaurant. he still considers himself a Peppino in a sense, and sees the pizzeria as both Peppino's AND his own, so insulting either of those is the last thing you want to do.
do NOT ever behave in an unruly manner, or say rude things about Peppino in his pizzeria. you never know who might be listening...
... or that it might be the last mistake you ever make. be wary while making your way home after that... there might just be something that's tagged alongside you.
.... it IS a little worrying to Peppino that most rude customers never seem to show up again... but maybe they just stuck to their word and left? surely that's the explanation for it... Fake Peppino does look rather well-fed today though... but ah well... at least that's less angry customers to deal with?
but see, Fake Peppino DOES genuinely care for Peppino's well-being now! and Peppino, though still fairly wary, is at least thankful that he's not a threat to him. so while it's not exactly the most comfortable life, at least Fake doesn't cause Peppino any trouble... not that he knows much about.
but it WOULD help him feel a bit better, if Fake Peppino's instincts would stop acting up from time to time. there's only so many times that Fake's "kill and/or eat Peppino" brain instincts can kick in before it starts getting real uncomfortable. but at least he's not ACTUALLY trying to kill Peppino... it just tends to be that from time to time, Peppino might find himself getting licked or gently nibbled on. a wee bit unsettling when it's meant to be a clone of yourself doing that.... at least he's not really eating you??
so... uncomfortable at times, but could be worse! Fake Peppino can be fairly handy to have on hand too, a nice helper for cleaning and keeping watch! just.... don't worry about where some of the ruder customers have been going... i'm sure they're just fine.
#ahhh an Italian Man and his Gooey Messed-Up Clone version of himself..... a truly wonderful duo indeed!! 😊✨#i... MAY have gotten carried away with this with my love of writing Character Interactions... it got uhhh a little long 👀#i have been having a lot of fun lately thinking about my Peppino and Fake's relationship though! of course not THAT kinda relationship...#- Peppino just sees his Fake as well... a weird family member? maybe not a brother that's too personal..... weird step-cousin??#he DOES still tend to treat Fake like a person though. he's not about to dehumanize him even if he IS pretty weird sometimes.#but he's learned the most important lesson of all over time... treat Fake Peppino with respect and he shall do the same!#you don't want to know what happened to the people who didn't show Fake any respect..... 👁👁#my art#pizza tower#pizza tower peppino#pizza tower fake peppino#pizza tower gustavo#also. *winks at the camera at me drawing Peppino and Gustavo lying in the same bed together* 👀💧#they were having a nice night's rest together.... until the resident Gooey Lap Dog arrived. 💧
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the never stop blowing up vhs is where cute twinks go to get harmed
#not art#nsbu spoilers#kirk blade.... johnny manhattan..... maybe tenuously cosmo chase#also genuinely I Love that vic ethanol is showing himself to be bit of a dick#and kingskin conversely First Actual Communication With The Player is like. idk I just work here#(I am vibrating in my seat abt liv bloodlust. shes experiencing a bit of emotional consequence. hope she powers thru it and#becomes even worse)#I also love that g13 and jack manhattan are both like. gone#I know in adventuring party they're charting it to shape up as like. usha also slowly losing herself to the work like g13 did#and them becoming one entity entirely in the sense that their selves stop mattering in the face of their hacker capacity#(also called the Forum Moderator Dilemma)#but I also like to think that g13 handed it back to usha cleanly in the second episode with that one interaction#and is now fully unplugged from everything. left the movie. man is Sleeping#we all agree that paula ate jack manhattan tho I think it's fine to assume that#and! the way russell has been like. fully going whole hog full tilt into helping other people and moving the plot along#while Suggesting That Doing Self Reflection And Learning Lessons From This World Might Help to Other People#like I love that. 1/lieutenant syndrome but also 2/extremely transfem coded#like past the ''ohh I have realisationd I'm coming to'' stage. far past. man is bored with thinking abt genders#not new realisation to him! had that thought two decades ago. not motivated enough by anything to change anything#I think I just love the scenario of like magical mystical journey in a fantasy world clearly designed to make you contemplate ur gender#and ur like oh no what? we did that years ago. whats up#deeply interested tho. open up russell we wanna see whats up with u#dang is perfect no note 10/10 more important than anything else he is genre aware and savvy and that truly is all he needs here#the ''let's make it fun'' scene he does with liv is SO good I love him. Im so scared the vhs will snatch him away. hes too genre perfect
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s3 episode 11 thoughts
dare i say it… new favorite episode?
whatever expectations i had, they were blown away. usually the episode after a two episode arc feels weird and stiff, but this? this hit every box on a checklist i didn’t even know i had.
i’m bouncing off the walls right now. i'm pacing my room and mumbling to myself while gesticulating wildly. i am filled with an energy that caffeine has not ONCE given me. and it's called "your character, that is so near and dear to you, got an episode dedicated just to exploring their inner life and workings and belief system and faith in God and the world". try it if you get a chance.
so let us begin. let me give you my verbatim notes, so you can watch the excitement grow.
oh boy! oh boy oh boy! i am excited! and i know by now to not expect any real continuation from the last episode, but i’m still excited because the last two were so good! and this one is like… good omens? with a kid that can start the end of the world?
wow. never have i thought to myself, how would mulder and scully handle biblical revelations? but here i am. wondering it.
hope the kid is chill. hope he has good vibes. mulder will like him anyway because he’s actually a huge softie but still better if he’s got good vibes.
we open on a sermon. the priest or pastor- depending on the denomination- whatever his title is, he is talking about faith. saying that miracles are real. and now he’s shaking and moaning. is this one of those churches?
OH HE’S BLEEDING from between his knuckles like some sort of blood wolverine. people are looking at him, thinking, what is going on? and this is something i am also wondering. maybe it was fake though…. little capsules in his hands, maybe???
he’s dabbing off his makeup now. as a man enters his dressing room. saying that some people really do believe. but he’s being weird.
and then this guy escalates to murder. and when he touches this pastor he’s burning up??? huh??? a firebender?? in pennsylvania??
THE INTRO WAS DIFFERENT AGAIN THIS TIME. WHY DOES IT CHANGE. i have come to know these beats VERY well!! they are like a heartbeat to me. you cannot simply alter them as you see fit!
scully looking at the body of the dead pastor/priest, talking about how it looks like rope burns around his neck. mulder crouching VERY close by.
HEHEHEHEHE mulder is like “he was bleeding from his hands like the crucifixion” and scully goes “stigmata?” heheheheheeeee i’m blushing
(talking about belief systems is apparently a way to my heart? like c'mon, tell me how you understand the universe and which elements you surrender to knowing that you will never comprehend. you look cute while doing it)
no wounds on the hands, though… so mulder licks the blood. and i froze JUST as scully makes this horrified face... i’m CRYING. yes, it is fake blood, and yes, he has some on his lips and teeth, and yes, its adorable. but what a risky move!
ohhh he was wearing a sugar pump sort of thing! yum yum. couldn't be me, i'd be slurping that.
so mulder has been tracking religious murders related to stigmatics (excellent word!)
scully’s talking about how certain people believe at any given time there are 12 stigmatics in the world. and they represent the 12 apostles. and i’m blushing terribly.
nods solemnly. i am learning a lot about myself through this show.
scully you are so preeeeetty.
okay, cut to elementary school in ohio. kevin is blowing spitballs. his teacher is bullying him into doing math on the board. when all of a sudden, his hands start bleeding!! and we see that he has the holes!!!
he’s in the nurse’s office still when mulder and scully show up. damn how did they get to ohio that fast… OHHH they had put out an FBI alert and maybe this happened more than once. yes, this is exactly what is explained mere moments after i made the initial comment.
so it happened BEFORE, and they assumed it was an incident of abuse, but it wasn’t proven. still, his dad was institutionalized after saying Kevin was chosen by God. okay! things escalated.
scully is talking to the boy. she feels his forehead and says he feels feverish. okay doctor!! and she says he is very brave. queen. smart and kind.
mulder is meeting kevin’s mom. explaining that he might be in danger from a religious fanatic.
oh! the thermometer in his mouth broke. straight up exploded. hope that was fake mercury in there.
they’re going to put kevin back “into the shelter” which i feel like would make him an easier target for a serial killer?? but on the off chance it WAS his mom, it would make him safer. so mixed feelings here.
mom yells at the teacher, teacher says she loves her job, and mulder has this excellent smile. then waves scully out to leave. it was kinda funny to me for some reason, the waving her out. quite domestic.
mulder thinks the kid did the cuts to himself to get his father back. hmm. not buying it. so they go to talk to kevin's dad.
dad claims the forces of darkness have been watching kevin. in the great war between good and evil. he’s really talking to scully and he says they just “come full circle to find the truth”. she says dude idk what that means?? and he says “you will” okay... i’m creeped out a bit!!!
kevin is back at the children’s home. telling a bunch of other kids scary stories. and he seems to be explaining a scary guy who is walking into the building as the storytelling goes on. just as the scary guy enters, all the kids leave. scary guy is looking at the wounds on kevin’s hands!
soon after, mulder is with the group of children who saw the guy. we learn here that mulder is 6 foot 1. which is very funny.
kevin was abducted by the fellow it seems he was describing before his arrival!!! and his mom seems to blame scully. she looks really upset.
they see the drawing that they think does not look like a real person, and kevin’s mom is like it’s owen, who did the yard work.
so it’s owen time. he’s carved noah’s ark and he has kevin. but he says he can’t let him go home. because it isn’t safe. he refers to himself as kevin’s guardian angel. hmm. that makes me suspicious.
owen grabs a shotgun when a car pulls up. but the agents get him to put it down and scully is on a quest to find the little dude. and he was there… but now he isn’t?
so owen says God asked him to protect kevin.
OH ANGRY MULDER IS GONNA QUOTE SCRIPTURE AT YOU!!!!! now give him some DAMN ANSWERS!
owen is like, well YOU believe, don’t you scully, because you have that necklace on. he’s calling her a BAD CHRISTIAN??? the audacity….
then owen gets up and JUMPS OUT THE WINDOW??? and runs away??? somehow??
(mulder jumped down from the porch to chase owen, and his big coat floated around him like a cape... i giggled)
now where did this dude go...?
kevin made it home!!! he’s yelling for his mom. she doesn’t seem to be there, but someone rang the doorbell. and we only see a quick glance but it LOOKS like the killer!!!
who burns off the doorknob with his firebending!!! so yes, it is the og killer from the start of the episode! he comes in and asks for kevin. saying he knows he’s here.
mom, now would be a good time to roll up with a gun.
he picks up a family photo and sees kevin in a picture then checks the closet to see if he’s in there but kevin is in the hamper. and the hamper is bleeding!!! dead giveaway.
but owen rolls up just as the firebender guy opens the hamper, and starts fighting for him!! so kevin is making a break for it!!!
he runs and runs and RUNS INTO MULDER!!!! scully is telling him that he will be okay.
they only find dead owen. no firebender.
and kevin asks scully if she was sent to protect him… she does not seem to know what to say because. do you mean like by the government... or jesus?
autopsy time!!!! she’s talking into the voice recorder like always. it always gives vlog energy. anyway, his body looks very much alive. despite the very much dead thing.
mulder interrupts this. and scully asks him to SMELL the dude. he obliges. with only a smirk!
scully says he smells a bit… floral.
OMG!! OMG I RECOGNIZE WHAT IS GOING ON HERE. they talk about it in the brothers karamazov, how a holy body is said to stay intact and even smell good when it ought to be decomposing. so the real question is: is she imagining it?
i mean, she is the body expert. so i’d want to say no. but also, this dude was playing with her head. so it’s hard to say. i'd think she would identify the body correctly no matter what, but a little smell hallucination thanks to the power of suggestion cannot be ruled out in any situation.
AND SHE TALKS ABOUT IT!! apparently it is something you learn in catechism. okay, well i just picked it up from that summer i got through that book, but we all learn somewhere. mulder is like “you’re serious?” and i feel he should be encouraging this open discussion rather than ridiculing it. AND SHE STARTS NAMING SAINTS IT HAPPENED TO!
mulder is saying that those things didn’t really happen, and i’m not taking this from alien man.
mulder has transitioned into listening mode now. OH! SCULLY! she says:
“isn’t a saint or a holy person just another term for someone who’s abnormal?”
“do you really believe that?”
“i… believe in the idea that God’s hand can be witnessed. i believe he can create miracles, yes”
“even if science can’t explain them?”
“maybe that’s just what faith is”
YES! YES I AM CHEERING AND JUMPING UP AND DOWN. we were owed a scully-centric episode, and never did i even THINK we would get something so aligned with my interests that we’d start exploring her religious beliefs and how that intertwines with her faith in science and her work. that sounds like something i’d write a fic for because it’s hyper specific to my interests. but no. this is CANON!
mulder is saying that she shouldn’t get swept up in these things (and how ironic that the roles are reversed! it’s exquisite. we’ve found his weak point, he’ll believe in anything but a Christian God)
scully is lost in thought. taking a deep breath. steeling herself.
pause. it’s a scene change. but mulder has a pencil in his teeth. it’s adorable, really. he takes it out to write something.
they pulled prints from owen’s neck!! burned right onto the skin. and they found who did it!! the man i was previously calling the firebender, his real name is simon gates, one of the south’s wealthiest men, arrested 3 years ago on a DUI.
so then he went to israel, and this is how i learned of something called “jerusalem syndrome”, where people come back from the holy land with religious delusions. i have not heard of this before. but it could be a motive. except for the whole burning fingerprints into necks thing. i'm unfamiliar with any sort of place turning you into prince zuko.
okay, so someone saw kevin with his mom the same time he was seen with a social worker??? doubles?? twins??? ghosts??
kevin and his mom are on the side of the road with a broken down car, when who pulls up but SIMON!!
she asks what he wants and he says “i think you know”, then kevin makes a break for it.
now. can an old man outrun a child? children have small legs, but boundless energy.
BUT HE’S RUNNING?? AND ANOTHER KEVIN GETS OUT OF THE CAR??? to talk to his injured mom. then running kevin DISAPPEARED!!! AND MOM HITS THE DUDE WITH A CAR!!!
sadly, it wasn’t out of excellent aim that she hit him, but rather because she had her face smacked into the ground by simon and was concussed or something similar. she drove into a ditch.
NO!!! KEVIN IS SAYING SHE DIED BECAUSE OF HIM. DEATH??? I JUST THOUGHT WE WERE DEALING WITH CONCUSSION HERE?
i guess it can be a quick trip from one to the next. but i'm sad for poor kevin.
scully is near him, telling him she promises she won’t let simon hurt kevin. OH LORD, YOU GOT HER PROMISING THINGS, SMALL CHILD.
he doesn’t want to go back to the shelter. and she says he doesn’t have to. are they going to take this small child for a bit….?
she avoids mulder’s gaze when telling him she wants kevin to come with them, saying she is not getting personally involved, but like mulder is gonna complain having a kid around.
(he actually didn't seem to have his typical instincts kick in today. how curious...)
and turns out simon rented the car under the name of one of the devil’s disciples. yikes!
so creepy simon is watching this go down despite being hit by a car.
back to the motel. scully is running kevin a bath and sees he has a big scratch on his side. from the crash… or?
mulder is fake pouting. “you never draw my bath” JCHDJSBJSND
she’s freaked out because she knows that cut was NOT there before. OH? is it the jesus spear thing??
she is busting out her theological training- he could be in two places at once, like st. ignatius! and mulder is talking about how it was all a metaphor, that bible. mulder, if you are dismissive ONE more time...
OH, I GASPED AT THIS NEXT PART. HOLD ON I NEED TO WRITE THIS DOWN:
“how is it that you’re able to go out on a limb whenever you see a light in the sky, but you’re unwilling to accept the possibility of a miracle, even when it’s right in front of you?”
“i wait for a miracle every day, but what i’ve seen here has only tested my patience, not my faith”
“well, what about what i’ve seen?”
UGH. how PERFECT is that dialogue!!! how brilliant is that exchange!!! why is what she has seen less believable than his x files and aliens and beasts? he spends so long looking to his own stars that he’s forgotten others can form constellations as well. and how often does the narrative favor him, his thoughts running like a prey animal, chasing and chasing any sort of lead. why can’t she have something that cuts her to the quick just as deeply?
sure, science is great, science is the building block of her reality. but you can’t change the way you grew up, either, the pattern recognition, the fear of the divine. and she’s never had trouble balancing the two, we just haven’t had a reason to see them interact before, because she generally compartmentalizes the day to day world and the spiritual- and how many of us can say we do the same? probably most, if we believe in anything at all. but then it comes straight to a head- and after she has been through so much as well, losing her dad, her kidnapping, her coma, losing mulder and her job (which luckily came back), losing her sister forever- is it selfish to want there to be a caring force out in the universe?
but on the flip side, that means that there is real and genuine evil, forces of the devil and hell- unless you think it’s poetry, like mulder does. but wouldn’t that explain all the suffering she’s been through? the horrific things this job has showed her? and wouldn’t it be worth it in the end to go through that all if you know it was to be defeated?
okay i just spend so long typing that up the screen went dark. SORRY SORRY I’M COMING BACK I PROMISE!!! I JUST GET EMOTIONAL.
NOOO! a weird noise was heard, so mulder kicks down the now locked door where kevin was supposed to be taking a bath. AND THE WINDOW WAS MELTED OPEN!! so scully basically comes face to face with the evil that must be real if miracles are as well. oh! i’m eating this up.
but she promised him he would be safe! so this is not looking good!
she wants to go talk to his father again. and mulder doesn’t want to, but she is NOT taking no for an answer.
kevin’s father is not coming up with an answer. the doctors have increased his meds and he’s very foggy.
she asks again about the full circle to find the truth thing. and she runs out, in a daze.
mulder gets a call that there has been a simon spotting, but she doesn’t hear; she’s pointing at a recycling bin, saying that it’s arrows that form a circle. she thinks he’s at a recycling plant; he thinks he’s at the airport.
mulder asks if she thinks she’s the one that was chosen to protect him. and she says she doesn’t know; her voice cracks as she says that if she’s wrong, she’ll meet him at the airport. OH! religious burdens, the divine pressure of fate. he watches her leave, looking troubled.
at the recycling plant- and simon IS there, saying kevin has to die, for everyone, so the new age will come. and his hands are bleeding again. all the others were false.
SCULLY AMBUSH!!! but simon is taking him into a recycling chopper. AND HE DROPS HIM IN!!! we see chopping occur!!! but it was SIMON AND NOT KEVIN THAT WAS CHOPPED!!! kevin caught himself on the ledge!!!! she pulls him up.
he says he knew she’d come, and they hug so so so tight, and she places a kiss on his head when she’s holding him, and i’m gonna cry like a baby
when they’re getting him around to leave, she says that maybe she’ll see him again sometime, and he says that she will.
and scully looks like she’s crying- i don’t think she is, but she puts her head in her hand- mulder comes in and asks if she’s okay. she says she thinks so, and he holds out her jacket to put on. it might have been the most tender thing i have ever seen. he says they need to go make a statement; she asks him to do it alone, she has to go run an errand.
again, she mostly avoids his eyes. but he agrees, and goes to make the statement alone. he doesn't press.
AND SHE GOES TO CONFESSION???? FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 6 YEARS??? she starts talking about not being able to discuss something with mulder. she asks about miracles; if she was seeing things when it comes to saving kevin, or if she was imagining them.
she doubts herself because mulder didn’t believe them!!!!!!!!!!! and usually he believes without question!!!
maybe they weren’t meant for him, maybe they were meant for YOU, he says. and she asks if this was to bring her back; he says “sometimes we must come full circle to find the truth”
and it makes her afraid!!!! that god is speaking but no one is listening!!!!
WHO THE HELL WROTE THIS EPISODE. NO. NO, HOLD ON I’M GONNA LOOK THIS UP.
KIM NEWTON. KIM. YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON WHO GETS ME ON THIS PLANET. NO ONE ELSE DOES.
wow okay. i’m going to be pacing my room about this for 100 years. there are going to be think pieces about this, from me, for the foreseeable future. i’m losing my MIND.
i don’t think i could have cooked up a more perfect episode if i had tried. something centered on scully entirely (mulder has had his fair share of attention), something about faith, something where she questions what she holds close and why she holds it close and what it means that she does so at all. what it means for there to be human good and human evil and divine good and divine evil. how god speaks to people and how we listen. or hear things that he didn’t say, like simon did.
holy FUCK i literally could not think of anything better. and i have SO much to say. i already SAID SO MUCH, too. like i’m seriously bouncing off the walls right now. whatever love i had for scully before just quadrupled- and who knew this was even possible??
for things to be reversed, for mulder to try and talk her out of a belief, how bizarre that must have felt to him, and how cold it felt. how he just couldn’t see it, how his not being able to see it drove her to doubt herself, how she must doubt herself already, but that sprung everything to the surface. how she doubts that god would use her. and use her for good.
but still, despite his lack of understanding, despite his trying to get her to think rationally- he is there for her, even if he doesn't get it, even if he could have done better. the way he held her jacket while she processed everything, the way he didn't question her needing time for herself. somethings are best left unspoken.
lord, i’m gonna have to stop there because if i don’t. i just might never shut up ever ever ever. and i still need to proofread all my raw notes, and i’m sure i’ll think of something else to say.
i started this episode AN HOUR AND A HALF AGO LMAOOOO i just had SO much to pause and observe and say which is NOT a complaint in the slightest.
wow. new fave episode i think. i’ll have to add it to the list.
please let me know what you thought- are there any other scully truthers out there who lost their minds over this? did you like the episode? is it disliked and i'm strange for going on such a ramble? did you have trouble reconciling faith scully and science scully? personally i don't, but i could see how some people might. did you find mulder too dismissive? or did you think he was trying his best? some combination of both? did scully protecting that kid make you emotional? please, spill EVERYTHING. i always want you to spill everything, but now so even more than usual.
#so here we are a full two hours since i started the episode and i still have a million things to say#but my laptop is gonna die soon so maybe that's a sign#ugh mulder was so puzzling to me in this episode. he pushed back on her but i think he realized he had overstepped when she said#“what about the things i've seen” i think that put things into perspective for him#i think he realized that this is a two way street when it comes to convictions#and honestly he probably hadn't given any thought into her beliefs before beyond the necklace and the science and the#sort of “it's best not to ask” mentality. he doesn't seem like he chats about personal philosophy. philosophy yes but not personal#i do think he learned a lesson here. not to invalidate her emotions and experiences and upbringing#at least i hope so. it seems like he was trying at the end even if he was confused#and you don't HAVE to get it. you never have to get it. you just have to see that something is important to someone you love#and that is enough to know something is worth respecting#man. i tired myself out with this one but i'm sure i'll think of a million other things to add when i fall asleep#ah well. i can make many posts on one subject!#my day was otherwise pretty unremarkable so good to have something to stand out about it#juni's x files liveblog#the x files#txf
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me when someone shows me their chart and they have a strong venus square saturn aspect (especially when coupled with venus in capricorn)
#like i see that and im like ah. i know you've had a very difficult (re: relationships/self love) life your whole life#aka me reading my own chart#LMAO#i feel so bad for anyone else who also has this placement </3#obv it teaches many more lessons thats the silver lining. you learn so much in life about#boundaries self love self worth assertion money management resource management etc#but man is it hard!#luna.txt
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hm. i do not like chilshi 🤔
#sylph.txt#everyone likes to joke abt how much of an epic divorce man chilchuck is#but i dont think he ever even refers to her as his ex-wife. i could b wrong bc it's been a while since i read it tho#idk a lot of his arc is him learning to b more open w others (which is essentially what ended his relationship)#and u can see how much he's grown in the chapter where senshi goes into his past#to me it would b a lot sweeter for him to take on these lessons and go back to her and make things work#it's been 4 years but he's remained loyal to her depite their issues. idk to me it rlly does feel like he still loves her he's just a fool#it's made p clear that he's a coward and that he's quick to run away so actually committing to her would b a nice way to wrap things up#we don't get to see much of his wife so i get y ppl r quick to put him w the only other man in the party#but like senshi knows abt his wife too like i do not think he's gnna b making any moves here bc he has morals lmao#(*only other older man in the party. laios doesn't qualify for old man yaoi to most chilshi likers)#(even tho chilchuck isn't old either but shh they don't care abt that)#when it comes to senshi the changeling chapter def helped him w understanding how old the rest of the party is#but he clearly still views them as significantly younger than him#i don't think he views chil as a child anymore but for the majority of their time together he did#and so going from that to in a relationship is uhh rlly weird to me!#senshi has always taken a sort of parental role upon himself#w him romance is no where as interesting as the platonic bonds he has w the rest of the party#similar to how romance is entirely unimportant to izutsumi in the succubus chapter#idk i def don't hate the pairing and there r some takes on it that i find funny#but for me i just don't see anything between them i think ppl just want an m/m ship to play with#that ao3 gap is only gnna get bigger lmao
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Tired: Colin teaches Penelope how to fuck Wired: Colin teaches Penelope how to flirt Inspired: Colin teaches Penelope how to fIGHT
#bridgerton#polin#colin bridgerton#penelope featherington#bridgerton season 3#look at me#LOOK AT ME: if we don't get boxer Colin in S3 i will riot#i will write so many posts and fanfics about it y'all will be beyond sick of me#(more than you already are i mean)#i need to see flashbacks of a teensy colin gleefully teaching daphne and eloise everything he learned from B + A#i need to see Colin telling Penelope that if a man is making her uncomfortable she should aim for his throat *(thank you red)#and then realizing she's too short#so she should punch them in the gut instead#those lessons damn well better include him cheering her on when she finally lands a hit on him#GIVE IT TO ME BTON!!!!#someone fucking hire me to write this season#i have IDEAS#also Colin has like. . .0 game#come on let's be real#i LOVE it about him#so so much#but the 'colin teaches penelope seduction' is the blind leading the blind#pen: i don't know how to find a husband#colin: i don't know to find a husband either
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#i have once again found myself in love with a man who doesn't care if i live or die lmfao#i simply refuse to learn my lesson#i pretend i do not see it#personal#me#selfie#majo
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Oof I am so sorry to anyone with daddy issues for what I am currently doing to Sanemi and Genya in the google docs
#what if I used stupid fanfiction to cope lol#literally any time I see a character with a bad dad I hear that fucking lady Gaga sound#of her jazzily singing ‘uh oh! uh oh!!! WWOAUH OHH!!!!!#like uh oh! they’re MY sons now ! and also my coping mechanisms!#sorry Shinazugawa brothers mommy’s going Through something and now so are you :)#postcards from stupid town#sanemi at his mothers behest is trying to be nice and not angry#trying to forgive and be the bigger man and leave his heart open instead of closing it off with anger#(:#his reward for this will be Violence#and learning the hard lesson that it’s easier and often safer not to love
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Oh waitttttt I love Medstar
#yael is reading star wars#as long as i ignore jos's existence and focus on the barriss parts it's wonderful#barris and luminara content! it's great!#and jedi talking about the dark side we love to see it#funny that we had ahsoka being anakin's padawan for almost 5 seasons but barely got any shared meditations or normal lessons#like yeah learning through adventure i guess and other stuff would be boring for kids#but if filoni thought even a bit about anakin's turn to the dark side we could've had some really neat stuff#and just jedi lessons in general would've been nice#practice makes perfect was great but it was child soldier training not jedi training#wish we knew more about ahsoka as a jedi#the ahsoka novel does a pretty good job at that i think#but there's no real background of where she learned stuff#would've loved a luke and yoda on dagobah-esque lesson with ahsoka and anakin#or even just a small montage like we had in forces of destiny with ahsoka and ezra#but filoni doesn't think anakin is a good jedi so guess we can't have that#like man even the wbw in ahsoka was a life lesson not a jedi lesson#sorry for the rant lmao i just started thinking about this#medstar
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sometimes megatron can be so personal
#uh oh sisters! ( ooc. )#he's just my little guy#he's just my man who is trying to make up for all the harm he's done and like#man idk as someone whose fear reaction is anger and had a terrible early-20's it can be something so personal#to see the wrongs you made and try to make up for them#anyways i love es megatron and i won't make excuses for him but i will fight in the trenches for his right to exist and Make Up for#all he did to himself his planet and even his allies#its about knowing that you aren't too far gone and can still be held accountable for your actions while while being allowed to grow past th#you know! what kids need to learn.#bc at the end of the day it is a kids show with kids lessons#even if es is a love letter to transformers and all of us who grew up w/it
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some wips of a new ref for my boy miska from my comic (unfamiliar hours on webtoons and tapas xo) !! yall why is anatomy so hard. i hate it soooo much also old refs of him there 👇 xo hes been around for 4+ years now and he mightve not changed a lot but my style sure has !
#unfamiliar hours#shoutout to this little man#goofy ass design#now with all these refs shoved in ur face u might feel almost like i do having to see him Constantly <3#jk hes my little boy love him#also if psa if youre thinking about starting a comic#FUCKING. INVEST IN REFERENCE SHEETS#i dont mean make them pretty i dont even actually reccommend taking any pressure in posting them#just make good good turnarounds#360°!!!! ok!!!!!! 360 not just 90#make sketches of what your character looks like when theyre looking up down left right whatever#in any sixth direction#make a list for yourself of what facial features you want your characters to have and write them down#for example miska has “heavy upper eyelids” and “straight and fairly big nose”#decide what bodytype shapes your characters are and draw those in a few different poses#i mean it itll help you sooo much with consistency#i didnt and ive LEARNED MY LESSON#entitysart#digital art#comic art#oc#ocs#original character#webtoon#webtoons#character design#lgbt#art#artists on tumblr#my comic
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Also on mob psycho I am just so happy and sad and all the feelings for mob. My god that boy is going through it. Only just started season three but man. He has got a quite amazing support system but also so many people using him and I can only imagine this going poorly.... as much as reigen may actually care for mob now like hes the luckiest man alive to both be alive and also still have mob's trust. Mob and emotions and fridndship and ahhhhh. The "get a clue" scene just. Oh man. I wish I was more articulate but I just started watching it today soo. Just excitement
#imagine my surprise when reigen is like. actually literally kinda pathetic and not just in the uwu affectionate way like a little pitiful#man what are you doing#like its working somehow but also kind of sad#also simultaneously less of a douche than I'd expected too? though thats those moral lessons he gave mob doing a lot of heavy lifting#was also surprised to find out serizawa's entire character. I thought he was like normie with esp that came into their life somehow#cool to finally get to know him though#I have to say I appreciate the way girls are depicted in this theyre just such. normal people? in a way I didnt even realize I was missing#ofc still taking more of a backseat/ side character designation but they get to be weird and human about it#and also ofc with the exception of tsubomi but that is a special case and even with mob's perception of her we still get to see#her far from perfect personality#and its pretty blatant to see it is him that idealizes her and not the narrative itself#of course hearts forevrr for autism coding and heartwrenching/hearwarming depictions. lovely beautiful#rounded#adoring seeing mob grow and learn to be more of his own person#learning to not let people walk all over him as much and value the good things in his life#but also keeping his morals in the process#becoming assertive does not mean becoming unnecessarily cruel <33#at times I was like “this is like steven universe if it was good” but like that show wasnt that bad.#i do like the way they conbey concepts and messages better in mp100 I think though#idk essay in the tags for my entire audience of 2 mutuals <3
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THE HAT RULE, t. owens
word count | 1.7k words
pairings | tyler owens x meteorologist!fem!reader
summary | where tyler owens decides to show the reader what the hat rule is.
warnings | MINORS DNI!! 18+ ONLY!! HEAVY smut! reader doesn’t know the hat rule. not proofread. lowercase intended.
a/n | first of all, sorry for disappearing, i've had NO motivation to write on here, but i saw twisters yesterday and seeing glen powell in a cowboy hat changed me as a person, and also gave me motivation to write. i’ve never written a full smut so i apologize if this sucks, i've stepped out of my comfort zone for this one.
the first time you had ever encountered a tornado was a memory you were sure to never forget. growing up in new york meant rain and snow but no tornadoes. so when traveling to nebraska on a field trip in high school, you were unprepared when the sirens sounded, sending everyone into a frenzy. you had watched as the rain pelted from the sky, a funnel forming up above. you were mesmerized as your teacher pulled you to safety, a sort of thrill tearing through your body. from that moment on, you knew what you wanted to do. you went to college for meteorology, graduating near top of your class before going onto to work at a local news station. but it never quite settled the feeling that something was missing, until you stumbled across tyler owens’ youtube channel.
tyler owens had become a sensation, a daredevil who did more than just chase the storms, he rode into them. and that seemed to heighten that need of a thrill. so, you hit him up and to your surprise, he replied. and what had started out as a week off of work to storm chase with the daredevil, turned to going part time at your job and joining him on the road.
that was a season ago, and now you were sat at a dingy bar, sipping a beer with tyler and the team. the man himself was sat on the stool next to you, nursing his own beer and listening to lily speak. you ignored the slight butterflies that entered your stomach as he laughed. you had learned to never mix work and love, but something about tyler had you questioning that lesson. he looked mighty fine in his blue jeans and button up, supporting a cowboy’s hat on his head. you noticed your beer was gone, standing up you turned to your crew.
“i'm gonna get another beer, can i get anyone anything?” no’s were murmured around the group except for one.
“i could use another, how ‘bout i come with ya?” you shrugged, tyler getting up to walk with you. lily let out a low whistle, stopping at your glare.
“be my guest.” you two walked over to the bar top, signaling the busy bartender. “can we get two more, when you get a sec?” the bartender nodded, going to make a few drinks before he could grab their bottles.
“so, miss city girl, how you likin’ riding with us? ready to go back to the big apple yet?” tyler questioned, turning to look down at you slightly. damn the height difference.
“don’t think you’re getting rid of me that quick, i have a lot more storm chasing left in me, cowboy.” you winked, tyler laughing. you debated for just a moment before reaching up and taking the cowboy hat from his head.
“the hell you think you’re doing?” tyler questioned as you placed the hat on your own head, admiring your reflection on your phone.
“you wear this hat all the damn time, i just wanted to see if there was something special about it? maybe it has some magical powers or something.” the bartender came back around, beer bottles in hand. you thanked him, handing him some cash before turning back to tyler, who had an odd look in his eye. you quickly took off the hat, worried you had pissed him. you went to hand it back to him, when tyler shook his head:
“keep it on, it suits you.” tyler picked up his beer, beginning back to the table. the comment caused a light blush to dust your cheeks. shaking your head, you hoped it didn't show too much as you followed him back. you sat in your seat, confused by the odd looks you received from the crew. nobody said anything about the hat as the night went on, but that didn’t stop the odd looks.
by last call, it was you and tyler left of the crew. thankfully the bar was across the street from the motel, tyler paying the tab much to your protest, before setting off back to the motel. you had forgotten you still wore tyler’s hat upon your head, only remembering when you went to brush your hair from your eyes, your hand bumping the rim. “hey, do you know why everyone kept giving me weird looks after i put your hat on? and why boone and dani wouldn’t stop snickering?” tyler looked over to you as you climbed the stairs of the motel.
“you don't know?” you shook your head in response, tyler holding a bewildered look. “you don't know the hat rule?”
“there’s a hat rule?” tyler stopped at his door, which neighbors your’s and lily’s. “what?”
“you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” he deadpanned, your eyes widening and a heavy blush coating your cheeks.
“oh my god! i promise i wasn’t trying to imply that or anything. not there’s anything wrong with you, because you’re– well you’re you, and–” you fumbled over your words, stopping mid sentence when tyler laughed.
“hey, it's fine. if you weren’t trying to insinuate that, that’s fine. but if you were, well, now's your chance. and i’d be more than happy to show you how that rule works.” tyler walked closer, a minimal amount of space between you, just enough to allow you to choose whether you close that gap or leave.
you stood there for a moment, stunned at his offer. and without much thought, you closed the gap, hands going to grip his face and pull him closer to you. his hands moved to your hips, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts. the kiss was feverish, all unspoken feelings surfacing. tyler began to pull away much to your dismay, one hand leaving your hip to fish out his keys from his pocket as he moved his other arm to hold your waist. he unlocked the door with ease, pulling you inside and shutting the door before pushing you up against it, the hat falling as he did so. he went to town on your neck, enticing soft moans and whimpers from your lips. the way he sucked at your neck and how he had previously handled you had conjured up a pool of wetness in your panties.
your arm wrapped around his neck, holding him to your throat, as your fingers tugged at his hair. he groaned against your skin, biting down ever so softly when you tugged on his hair. he gripped at your leg, pulling it up to give him better access to your cunt. he rubbed his clothed cock along you covered cunt, pleased with the moans that escaped your mouth.
“god, keep moaning like that and i might have to take you right here.” you blushed once more, pulling tyler to meet your lips once more. you pushed off the door, lips still connected to tyler’s as you blindly pushed him back to the bed. his legs hit the edge of the bed, tyler breaking the kiss as he pulled off your shirt, both of you kicking off your shoes and socks before lips were reattached once more.
you pulled back, tyler unbutton his shirt as you began to work on his belt buckle. “woah, easy, pretty girl. you’ll get a taste, don’t worry. the night’s still young. but for now, i gotta show ya what happens when ya wear the hat.” tyler pulled off his shirt, walking to pick up the forgotten hat, placing it on your head. “this stays on.” you nodded, eyes hooded as tyler pulled your shorts and panties down. “you’re even more perfect than i had imagined.” before you could question him, tyler pulled his jeans off, his boxers next as his cock sprung up. tossing them to the side tyler pulled you onto his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed, “you sure ‘bout this? i don’t have any condoms.” tyler asked, different from how he just was. you nodded, kissing him softly.
“i’m on the pill, and i trust you.” tyler nodded, holding over his cock as he slowly guided it along your pussy. you held yourself up as tyler’s thumb rubbing your clit, enjoying your whimpers. “please, tyler.” you begged, tyler aligning his cock with your entrance before guiding you down. you hand went your hat as your head rested on tyler’s shoulder, almost pornographic moans escaping from your lips. “oh my god.” he slowly eased himself into you, whispering praises as he did so.
“god, feels like you were made for me.” your cunt hugged his cock beautifully. when his cock was fully in, he allowed you to get used to the stretch, “tell me when you're ready.” you stilled for a moment, adjusting to his size. you kissed and sucked on his neck, slowly beginning to rock your hips. “fuck, let’s get this off of ya.” tyler’s hands skillfully unclipped your bra, tossing it to the side, fingers ghosting over your perky nipples. you pulled off his shoulder, giving him better access to your tits. “you’re fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’.” tyler attached his mouth to one of your nipples, enticing a soft moan. you continued to ride him, hips moving faster as you chased your incoming orgasm. your left hand gripped tyler’s shoulder, fingernails digging into his bare skin as your right hand held onto the hat that adorned your head.
as your orgasm inched closer and closer, your movements became more erratic, chasing your high. tyler moaned, whispering praises as your walls clenched around his cock. he knew you were close, mouth moving to your pulse point as he pounded into you, taking over. tyler clapped a hand over your mouth as your orgasm hit, muffling your screams so you didn't wake up your neighbors. his movements however did not slow as he worked you through your orgasm, chasing his own high. your legs trembled as he continued to pound into you, your second orgasm of the night approaching quickly. “fuck! fuck, ty-” you cut yourself off, body shaking as you hit your climax once more. tyler began to huff and moan, pulling you impossibly closer as he reached his own high. you blubbered, unable to form actual words as tyler’s hands roamed your body. you pulled back, kissing him roughly.
“goddamn,” he helped you off his cock, helping guide you onto the bed, “think you’ll be able to handle a round two?”
“don’t go thinking you can get rid of me that easily.”
#angelicsoka#tyler owens#tyler owens x reader#tyler owens smut#twisters#glen powell x reader#glen powell smut#imagine#glen powell imagine#tyler owens imagine
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🫠
#a fifth yr do be looking better and better LMFAO#idk man this stats class kicking my fucking ass i have no idea what’s going on#and i keep putting it off during the week i still haven’t learned my lesson lmao#so now i gotta do the whole thing over the weekend again and i’m HELLA busy this weekend again 🤩🤩🤩#so like highkey i’m bouta get like half of it done again 😭😭😭😭😭😭 bro idk#like hw is 25% of the grade and i’ve never been good at like estimating slash calculating my grade lmfao but#idk maybe it could still work if i ACTUALLY GET MY SHIT TOGETHER FOR THIS CLASS#but then the question is if that’s possible lowkey#bc i’m fuckingggggndbdbfjssjdhdhjsjdjd 😭😭🫠🫠💀💀🤡🤡😵💫😵💫😀😀😭😭😭😭😭😭#gonna talk to an advisor tmrw (today lmfao in like . 7 hours 😀)#idk we’ll see likeeeeeeee#worst case scenario i drop the class which is possible#i have two late class drops on my transcript lmfao 😵💫#i fucking survive this semester lol#i have to probably take another semester bc i can’t stick it in next sem that’s already packed too XD#andddddd i have a show to codirect next sem 😈#i deal w my own self judgement abt going over 4 yrs even tho literally there’s nothing wrong w it#and then i might get an extra sem here w my club lmao 😭 depends if i do actual sem or summer#so that’s what i’m thinking abt at this lovely hour lmao 😵💫😵💫😵💫#🧍🏻♀️ idk#anyway glowstick club was great today it made me very happy <333#also was doing some (pretty basic tbf but) data analysis not exactly for class and that was cool bc i was like chat gpting and stuff#but i kinda knew what i was doing heh#which can’t be said for this stats classssssss wooooooooo#i need to go to sleep bro i have a meeting in 6 hours LMAO#and then more back to back meetings thru out the day#🫠🫠🫠🫠 no break lmao#jeanne talks
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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
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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!
#yandere batboys#fem reader#x reader#dc x reader#yan blog#yandere#yandere batman#yandere bruce wayne#yandere damian wayne#yandere dc#yandere dick grayson#yandere jason todd#yandere red robin#yandere red hood#yandere robin#yandere alfred pennyworth#yandere x reader#reader insert#yandere batfamily#yandere batfam#neglect#neglected reader
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