#and see if I need to modify something or not

[delilahsturniolo]

ᝰ.ᐟ NEW CLASSIFIED MISSION FILE . . .

★ secretagent!chris x secretagent!reader

⋆˚࿔ “JEALOUS, SUNSHINE?”

in which . . . chris flirts with another girl on a mission, and you get jealous

contains . . . just a bit of angst but nothing more!

written by @delilahsturniolo, do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

view more of this au here!

it’s supposed to be a simple intel grab. you and chris are posted up at a rooftop bar in monaco, tails on a weapons trafficker with loose lips and a fondness for blondes. unfortunately, so does chris. you’re watching through binoculars from across the bar, tracking the target’s security detail. chris is supposed to be staying close, blending in, observing, ready to extract the guy’s access card when the timing’s right.

instead, he’s laughing. laughing with the target’s date. touching her arm. leaning in like he’s known her his whole damn life. you lower the binoculars so fast you almost knock over your drink. “he’s flirting,” you mutter into the comms, so people back at headquarters can hear. chris’s voice crackles back in your earpiece, all smug and easy. “relax, sunshine. just getting her comfortable.”

“you’re drooling on her.”

“can’t help it,” he says. “she’s got great taste in suits.” you grind your teeth. “you’re not even wearing a suit. you’re in a jacket that looks like it came from a clearance bin.”

a low chuckle. “jeez, sunshine. that sounded almost… bitter.” you stand up from the table, ignoring the pounding in your chest, and stalk across the terrace like you’ve got something to prove. he sees you coming. of course he does. you slide in next to him, offering the woman your most professional smile. “sorry to interrupt. shadow, i need a word.”

“can it wait?” he asks, lips twitching. “we were just getting to the part where she tells me her hotel room number.” you smile tighter. “nope. now.” he gives the woman an apologetic shrug and follows you toward the edge of the rooftop, where the city lights blur into gold. the second you’re out of earshot, you round on him. “what the hell was that?” he raises an eyebrow. “you mean me doing my job?”

“you were enjoying it.”

“yeah. that’s called charisma. it’s useful in undercover work.”

you cross your arms. “you touched her arm.”

“wow,” he says, eyes glinting. “jealous, sunshine?” you scoff. “please. i’ve seen you flirt with vending machines. doesn’t mean i care.” he steps in closer, not quite touching, but enough to make your breath hitch. “then why are your ears red?”

“they’re not.”

“they are.”

you look away, jaw clenched. “just keep it professional, chris. the last thing we need is you catching feelings for the first rich girl who gives you attention.” he laughs. it’s low and warm and a little infuriating. “oh, sunshine. you think i want her?” you glance at him. he’s close now. too close. “don’t,” you say quietly. “don’t what?”

“don’t call me that right now.”

he tilts his head, studying you. and for once, he drops the act, no smirk, no joke. just something real behind his eyes. “you’re the only one i call that.” you swallow hard, heart kicking up like you’ve just been thrown into a sprint. but you don’t say anything. you can’t.

he leans in like he might say something else, like he might do something, but then the comms crackle again. “target on the move. heading downstairs.” the spell breaks. you both step back, masks sliding back into place.

“i’ve got the keycard,” he says, tapping his pocket. “you take lead.” you nod, slipping past him, ignoring the heat in your cheeks, the thud in your chest, the fact that for one tiny second, it felt like he might’ve kissed you. and that you might’ve let him.

© delilahsturniolo

[inkieun]

INKIEUN'S CORNER: MASTERLIST!──★!!

all banners and dividers were made by me! Please don’t take without asking! name: katrina || she/her || 23 ──★!! side blog : afterheese ★!!

💌 A Little Note Before You Dive In! 💌

Just a gentle reminder that the works in this corner may contain smut, yandere themes, and dark content—all intended for readers who are 18+ only. Each piece will come with its own content warnings, so if something ever feels a bit too much or uncomfortable, it's totally okay to click away. Your comfort always comes first! ♡ ‧���˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

💭 Requests are welcome! Just a tiny sprinkle of patience, please, as it may take a bit of time to get them posted. ✮⋆˙

🚫 Please don’t repost, translate, or use anything from this blog without permission.—these stories are close to my heart and meant to stay right here. ♡

Thanks for being here and reading! Stay cozy and safe~

WEAK HERO CLASS 1 & 2 a quiet but deadly student takes on ruthless bullies with brains and brutal fists in a high school where survival means fighting back.

YEON SIEUN ──★

Twisted : Walking home used to be routine. Easy. Safe. Now? Every step feels like a mistake. There's this feeling that's clinging to me like a second skin that I'm not alone. That someone... is always just out of sight. (completed)

The Bystander Effect : He stepped closer again, and this time your back hit the edge of a desk. His voice came out low, slow, like a knife dragged across glass. “You stood there.” You shook your head. “No—I—” “You watched. You didn’t stop it.” (completed)

OH BEOMSEOK ──★

Word for Word : “You ever meet someone who just feels off?” you ask, stabbing your straw into a watery iced americano. Suho and Sieun trade a glance—Suho half-hidden in his hoodie, Sieun boredly tearing at his sandwich. “That Beom-seok guy?” Sieun says. (completed)

GEUM SEONG JE ──★

SERIES ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

Pretty Mouth : You get shoved into the bathroom by Seongje, the door slamming shut behind you and before you can even catch your breath, the lock clicks into place. “You’re not leaving, not until we fix that mouth of yours.” (Updates in the Works 💌)

featuring : Na Baekjin ✩ Park Humin

(part one) || (part two) || (part three)

ONE AND DONE -`✮´-

Pretty Little Thing : His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The kind that said he wasn’t seeing a person. Just… something he could get his hands on. “Well, well,” he said, voice smooth like oil over something sharp. “Didn’t know you came with accessories, Hyun-Tak.” (completed)

STUDY GROUP in a school where fists speak louder than books, a quiet student joins a brutal fight club to protect his friends and prove brains can brawl too.

MINHWAN MA ──★

Hide & Seek : Just as the metallic click of Min-Hwan’s modified gun froze her veins, a whisper “I see you” came from behind, and when she turned, he was already there. (completed)

More on the Way!―୨୧⋆ ˚

BRAVE CITIZEN a once-fiery boxer turned teacher fights back against injustice in her school, proving you don’t need a ring to stand up for what's right.

HAN SUGANG ──★

You Poor Thing : Being a foreign exchange student in a Korean high school isn’t just hard — it feels like a cruel social experiment. But none of that compares to Han Su-Gang. (completed)

More on the Way!―୨୧⋆ ˚

[thefiresontheheight]

SEVERAL YEARS PRIOR

The problem is that humans are inordinately complicated machines. It’s easy for some of the brass to realize that some shmuck from a downwell nowhere on Terra or Mars or whatever costs, on average, several orders of magnitude less than the AIs we were trying to use early in the Valkyrie program. But then you realize for their bright idea to work you need to make a human, or something kinda like a human anyway, from scratch. And that’s just not easily doable.

So we didn’t.

Kevin Dalton lay down on the operating table and gave the labtechs a thumbs up. Good kid, brave, loyal, family-guy, or at least that’s what the file said. To be honest, he didn’t matter much. He looked good on camera and he had a working brain. We could have had a million like him. What mattered was his sister.

I wasn’t in the surgery team. Even back then C&D was doing their own thing. I was watch from the observation room above, safe behind a two-way mirror. I watched as the lead gave the kid a last friendly fist-bump, lied to him that the drugs they were about to administer would feel a little like a shot of adrenaline, like he was about to be in a fight, and then sedated him.

Of course, it’s trivially easy to close a genetic copy of Kevin Dalton in a vat. We had his genes on file from when he enlisted, that would be easy. But what then? Then we have an infant, and even if we waited thirteen, fourteen years, trained it, molded it to by a pilot, it still would be no better than baseline human pilots were in all the sims. And that was not what we were after. We needed to modify, to iterate, and for that we needed useful points of comparison. A baseline. Say, an identical twin.

In the surgery suite the labs were doing non-invasive brain scans. They had done all this before, of course, but still, more data was always good. They wanted to see one last time how Kevin Dalton’s brain worked before they took it apart.

So, that was the idea. To build a better pilot we’d need a fairly unique brain. To do that we’d need a fully analyzed brain that we could construct over, and over, and over again, and slightly modify each time as quality checking process. Thousands of times if we were at all successfully. And we’d have two brains this way, identical save for the part we’d isolated in Amy. The part that had, we were fairly sure, made her apply for the Gender Affirmation Packet when she’d enlisted. Just a little bonus we could, if we wanted, turn on or off at will in the brains we’d make that we’re, roughly, patterned off these two.

Beyond the glass window I watched with mild interest as the techs opened Kevin Dalton’s skull and began to dissect his brain. Cell my cell, layer, he was being undone, and the data fed into a vast database. Random chance in neural development would not bother us. We could make this brain as many times as we wanted.

Not that Kevin Dalton would ever live again, no. We’d test, iterate, refine. The first few hundred cores never even got to me for their training. Turn off the section of the brain that handled empathy. Pull away everything you didn’t want. See how badly the results broke, slowly add stuff back. Experiment, validate. Switch segments of the brain off, then on again. Add data from his sister, twist, turn, play.

And in the end we got what we wanted, of course. Sometime north of a thousand the results started to become predictable, standardized, neat. No memories of Reclaimed Nebraska, of course, nothing anyone who had known either of the Daltons would have recognized, had anyone asked, which no one did. No, this was sleek. This was quick and predatory and controllable.

This was what I had spent my entire life working toward. Life on my terms. So yes, I would say in my own, admittedly slightly unusual way, I loved all my kids.

There’s a Valkyrie in my repair bay…

“In” is a sort of operative word here, because the only parts “inside” are the crown and 60% of the torso. The legs and three of remaining wings are hanging out clear into the scrapyard. And the fourth wing is still sitting in the crash site half a mile down the hill.

If a drone or any Colonial Empire ships pass over they’ll spot her. And then she’s done for. And my entire family probably will be too.

But we couldn’t just leave her out there.

After we got the Valkyrie towed 'inside', a process that took all three of our heavy loaders and the skifftruck, some of the uncles went to work with the arc cutters on the crown. We figured after being down for three hours now if the pilot still hadn't ejected already something must be really wrong, so we set ourselves to the task of getting them out.

"Ay cousins!" one of the uncles shouted. "Get a chain over here and we can pull this cut plate out!"

Theresa tossed a coil and hooked it on to the crane while I threw it up the scaffold to uncle Rica.

"Estra," they said after catching the chain. "Come up here and help us get this thing open."

I took off up the rails of the scaffold, right as the crane started pulling at the plate.

"Alright take it up Theresa!" uncle Ortega called out.

The slack pulled out of the chain and there was a heavy groaning noise on both ends before the cutout of the plate snapped loose and flew past our heads.

We waited for a moment in silence to see if someone was gonna crawl out or something. "Hello!" Uncle Theo shouted towards the hole in the Valkyrie's crown "We're from Claret Family Salvage, "he continued. "We towed you out of the desert and we're just looking to make sure you're alright yeah?" Another prolonged minute of no response before he passed me a torch. "Hey Estra, take a look inside, Goddess knows I'm too fat to squeeze in that hole," he added the last part with a chuckle.

I laughed in return before taking the light from him and sticking my head down in the gap. The inside wasn't particularly large, no bigger than my bunk honestly. I didn't see any panels or controls or even a chair to sit on. Which should have struck me as odd at the time but I guess I must have glossed over it. Half of the space was taken up by a large, bulbous looking sack of some sort. But I saw no people, living or otherwise. I pulled my head back out of the hole. "Get that chain over here, and some drop lights. I'm going down in there."

Five minutes later cousin Martine and I were inside the crown, a few drop lights hung on the walls.

"So... where is the pilot?" Martine asked.

"You're the mech fanboy," I replied. "You tell me."

"I dunno man, there's no controls or anything in here," He said. "What's this thing?" He pointed at the sack.

It was attached to the ceiling and part of the back wall of the crown, up close I could see a reinforced, rubbery green texture to it that almost looked like it was... sweating?

"Condensation maybe?" Martine asks, gesturing to the wet sheen of it.

I reached up to run my hand across it and a small zap of static arced from my fingers to the sack, and the whole thing suddenly convulsed violently.

"Fuck!" Martine shouted as we both jumped back. "Goddess, what the fuck is that?"

I had a hunch and I didn't like it. Nerves twisted in my stomach as I stepped towards it. I raised my torch up and after a moment's hesitation I pressed the bezzle into the rubbery material, the whole thing lit up like a sickly green lamp and I gasped in horror as I made out the humanoid shadow inside it. Without thinking I pulled the knife off my harness and drove it into the material as shallowly as I could before running it across the bag. As soon as it opened this viscous gel, thicker than oil poured out all over the floor, followed immediately by a mass of cables and a mostly naked human body.

"Estra what the fuck??" Martine shouted again.

"Get the doctors!" I shouted up to the uncles before kneeling next to the body. "Martine help me get these cables untangled from them."

He knelt down on the other side and started tracing the various tube with his hands, trying to get them loose. I put the fact that they looked borderline emaciated out of my mind while I started looking over the only thing resembling a piece of clothing or armor which was the visorless, full helmet fully incasing their head, with more cables coming out of it, I could see some fasteners on the side of it and went to go undo them before Martine spoke up again. "Estra," he said shakily, a pale horror in his voice. "Look..."

I looked over to where he was holding his light to see one of the cables he'd traced and where it ran straight into the pilot's spine. "What the fuck..." I mumbled looking at the series of other connectors coming off the length of their boney spine. I quickly began looking over the pilot before I noticed something on their arm. I pulled my light over it to see a tattoo in bold back lettering.

VALKYRIE CORE MODULE NO. 7723

"Martine..." I said feeling sick. "It's not a pilot..."

"What do you mean they're not a pilot?!?" He shouted, equal parts fear and confusion.

"It's part of the machine," I said following the cables up into the bag and straight into the machinery of the mech beyond that. I looked him in the eyes. "The Empire turned people into computers to run their war machines..."

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Dark Water” pt.1

The Bad Batch x Reader

Summary: Before they were the Bad Batch, they were just four misfits bred in a lab and deemed too defective to succeed. Five years before the Clone Wars, a Mandalorian warrior—one of many brought in by Jango Fett to train the Republic’s growing clone army—is assigned an unusual task: shape Clone Force 99 into something useful. But what begins as an assignment slowly unearths moral fault lines, personal connections, and the uncomfortable truth that these ‘defects’ are still just children with no say in the war they were born for.

The descent into Kamino’s atmosphere was like sinking into a living bruise. Stormclouds churned in every direction, and rain lashed the transport’s hull with relentless force, a rhythmic hiss that reminded you more of hydraulic steam than water.

You’d flown through worse. But it still felt unnatural.

As the pilot aligned for docking with Tipoca City’s landing ring, you stood at the rear of the shuttle, arms crossed, your beskar damp with condensation. Mandalorian armor always ran hot under pressure, but here, it simply felt heavy—suffocating in the artificial chill.

You didn’t bother to remove your helmet until the hiss of the airlock seal released. When you stepped into the sterile white hangar, you were met with the smooth gliding gait of the Kaminoan attendants, their dark eyes unblinking, their movements too fluid to be comfortable. One looked at you with a curious tilt of the head, as if studying a museum relic.

Behind them stood a man you hadn’t seen in years.

Jango Fett.

Still armored, still coiled like a spring, still unreadable beneath the edge of his Mandalorian visor. He stepped forward and gave a nod that passed for welcome.

“Glad you came.”

“I owed you,” you replied, your voice flat through the vocoder. “And I’m curious.”

He gestured for you to walk with him, away from the docking pad and into the bowels of the facility.

“Curiosity’ll get you far here,” he said. “Just keep your mouth shut in front of the whitecoats.”

You snorted. “That’s never been my strength.”

“Wasn’t mine either. That’s why you’re here.”

You followed him deeper into the labyrinth of white corridors—cold, gleaming, and lifeless. Kamino didn’t bother with aesthetics or morale. Efficiency ruled. There were no colors beyond white and grey. The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional hiss of automated doors or the soft clatter of clone cadets moving between drills. Identical boys. Identical voices.

But you hadn’t come for the standard ones.

“You brought in others,” you said, eyes scanning the clinical halls. “Mandalorians. Mercs. Old friends.”

“Most of them washed out,” he replied. “Or couldn’t handle the Kaminoans breathing down their necks. They’re not looking for heart out here. They’re building weapons.”

“And what am I training?”

Jango stopped before a sealed blast door. He keyed in a command, but didn’t enter.

“A squad,” he said. “Small unit. Four of them. Different from the regs. Genetically modified.”

Your head turned slightly. “More than the standard acceleration?”

He gave a tight nod. “Each one has a unique mutation. Done by design. Kaminoans call them Clone Force 99. Prototypes. Failed in their eyes.”

“But not in yours.”

“They’re effective. Unpredictable. Problem is—they don’t take well to regulation. Or… routine discipline.”

“So you want me to break them.”

He looked at you for a long moment. “No. I want you to shape them.”

You said nothing for a moment, then glanced toward the observation window beside the door. The interior room was empty now, but you could see the faint burn marks on the walls. Scorch marks. Impact dents. A combat simulation room, not built to simulate standard infantry.

“Where are they?”

“Rest cycle,” Jango answered. “And you won’t meet them today. First, you need to understand what they are.”

He turned and gestured for you to follow again. You passed a long chamber where cadets—young, probably six or seven in standard years—stood at attention before a drill instructor barking orders. Uniform in posture. Identical in voice.

“Not like them,” Jango said, nodding toward the clones. “Clone Force 99’s mutations go beyond just strength or speed. They were given autonomy. Traits you can’t program.”

You said nothing. You didn’t need to. Jango knew you understood—because you were the same. You’d fought in chaos. Led irregulars. Survived under no banner but your own.

Eventually, you arrived in the laboratory wing. Inside waited Chief Scientist Nala Se, her towering frame bent slightly forward, hands folded in front of her.

“Fett,” she greeted him first. Then her dark eyes shifted to you. “And this is the Mandalorian instructor?”

You removed your helmet and tucked it under your arm.

“I don’t do ranks,” you said plainly. “Call me what you like.”

Nala Se blinked slowly, her tone even. “Jango Fett has recommended you to oversee the combat conditioning of Clone Force 99. Your assignment begins with an observational phase.”

She gestured toward a nearby monitor. With a flick of her hand, four holo-displays lit up—each tied to a different clone.

“CT-9901,” she began, “possesses heightened spatial awareness, sensory enhancement, and reflexes. We believe this is due to a mutation in his neural mapping. He calls himself Hunter.”

The feed showed a dark-haired clone moving through a jungle course simulation, almost too fast to follow. He paused behind a holographic tree and lifted his hand slightly—feeling something. The feed’s bio-data confirmed heightened EM sensitivity.

“CT-9904,” she continued, “is a sniper-class clone with extreme visual acuity, skeletal modifications for stability, and a behavioral profile marked by cold efficiency. He refers to himself as Crosshair.”

That feed showed a leaner clone with a perpetual scowl, taking perfect shots mid-sprint, never missing a beat. The rifle was almost an extension of his arm.

“CT-9902 is known as Tech. Enhanced cognitive function, accelerated pattern recognition, and reflexive calculation ability. He is… uniquely articulate.”

That was an understatement. The feed showed the pale clone dismantling a live blaster in under ten seconds, rewiring it, and using it to hack a control panel.

“And CT-9903…” Nala Se paused for a half-second. “His physical strength exceeds all clone parameters. He is… emotionally unique. Calls himself Wrecker.”

The last feed nearly overloaded its frame as the large clone lifted a heavy training sled and hurled it across the sim yard, laughing.

You frowned slightly.

“They’re not just enhanced,” you said. “They’re completely divergent. This isn’t evolution—it’s experimentation.”

“Indeed,” Nala Se replied, her expression unreadable. “Your job is to test whether such deviation can be… weaponized.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re not just asking me to train soldiers. You’re asking me to civilize a storm.”

“They don’t need civility,” Jango said beside you. “They need control. Focus. Discipline from someone who understands what it means to be different.”

You stared at the frozen frames of the four misfit clones.

They didn’t need a handler. They needed a warhound.

You turned to Jango. “When do I start?”

⸻

The observation deck was cold.

Not just in temperature, but in design—glossy white walls, bright overhead lights, and a reinforced transparisteel viewport that stretched from floor to ceiling, allowing an unobstructed view into the combat simulation chamber below.

You stood with your arms crossed, helmet tucked under one arm, and your gaze fixed on the chaos unfolding beneath you.

“Simulation 04A: Urban siege conditions,” came Nala Se’s cool voice from the comm station behind you. “Objective: breach, secure, and hold all four zones. Timer: three minutes.”

A sharp tone echoed in the room below.

And then they moved.

Hunter was the first to sprint ahead, motioning silently to the others, a vibroknife already drawn. His black headband clung tightly to his brow, strands of unruly hair bouncing as he dropped into a low crouch and vanished behind cover.

Crosshair hung back, perched in a high corner of the sim room, balancing a training rifle almost too large for his frame. One eye closed. One held open. He didn’t speak.

Tech darted in the opposite direction, mumbling rapid-fire calculations under his breath, adjusting the scanner in his glove mid-run while slicing a fake terminal on the fly.

Wrecker? He just charged forward through a barricade, roaring with laughter as faux-debris scattered in his wake like leaves in a storm.

You blinked slowly. They were… coordinated. Sloppy in some ways—Hunter’s knife was over-extended, Crosshair’s shoulders were too tense, Wrecker didn’t check his corners—but still, for ten-year-olds?

Damn.

Jango stood to your right, arms folded over his chest, watching silently as his “projects” swept through the simulated zone.

“They move like they’ve done this a hundred times,” you murmured, eyes still locked on the viewport.

“They have,” Jango replied. “Twice a day. Every day. Since they could walk.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Below, Wrecker took a simulated hit to the shoulder. He laughed it off, grabbed a nearby training droid, and hurled it across the chamber. It shattered against the far wall.

Ten years old.

“It’s easy to forget what they are when you watch them like this,” you said quietly. “But they’re still just boys.”

Jango’s jaw shifted slightly. “They’re soldiers.”

“They’re children,” you shot back, turning to face him. “You can train them to kill. Train them to obey. But that doesn’t change what they are.”

His gaze was flat, unreadable. “By Mandalorian tradition, you were what—eight? Nine? When you started?”

You didn’t answer right away. The memory came unbidden: the biting cold of Concordia’s air, the sting of practice blades on bare arms, the weight of your father’s armor strapped to your back for the first time.

Finally, you said, “The difference is, I had a choice.”

Jango didn’t flinch. But something subtle shifted behind his eyes.

“You think I didn’t?” he asked after a pause.

You looked away, back toward the viewport.

Below, Crosshair dropped a final target with a clean shot between the eyes. Tech shouted something, gesturing toward a timer that had just run out.

Hunter stood, breathing heavily, a little scratched but alive. Wrecker lifted both fists in the air, victorious. Like it was a game.

You exhaled slowly. “They’re good. Raw, but good.”

“They’re better than good,” Jango said. “They’re alive. And in this war, that’s going to matter more than anything else.”

You glanced sideways at him.

“There is no war,” you said. “Not yet.”

Jango didn’t smile. “There will be.”

⸻

Next Chapter

[fleuredelys]

On the topic I was meaning to address: It concerns Cartethyia and Fleurdelys. It's known that Cartethyia split herself so that if she were to lose herself to Leviathan, only part of her would and the other would be able to find a solution to it. This caused two things:

☥ The memories of one fading away with her experiences in combat along with it, thus remaining in a stasis that prevented her to continue ageing up for the following 20 years. This in combination with the seclusion and heavy limitations of moving about however she wanted. A key aspect of her is that this is the side of her that wanted to live. ☥ While the other kept all her life experiences and continued her crusade against the Dark Tide and ultimately against Leviathan without the knowledge that Threnodians won't die so long as human civilizations continue to exist. Furthermore, she continued to grow as the years naturally passed.

Fundamentally, both of them had different experiences in the following 20 years that arguably shaped her as different individuals (and as a good KH enjoyed, this could perfectly make them different individuals), but the story doesn't treat them like that, which I'm fine with it. Cartethyia had the chance to get rid of the memories and potentially make Fleurdelys fade away with it and she didn't, which further solidifies that they are both one and the same despite the dissonance of ageing.

Keeping all of these in consideration, what makes me unable to be fond of this is that Fleurdelys is considered as a "form" when Cartethyia is in need of using the power she cultivated in her continuous crusade. I understand the struggle and fears because Leviathan is still there (however It is there still is unknown, but for the time being I'll take for granted that It's still alive, albeit significantly weakened) as well as her hesitation to use her powers completely due to how destructive they can be and because at the end of the day, she isn't in full control of them yet.

In addition, we have seen traces of Cartethyia being herself as she always was while at the same time having changed slightly, as if assimilating with Fleurdelys shaped her as a result of it (and as per my own headcanons that I will write slowly, more than just that). Another indicator that solidifies my following take is that she went from being unable to fight at all to be highly capable of it without using the battle experiences Fleurdelys honed.

So after all of this ramble, where I want to get is that I won't portray Fleurdelys as being "another form" to Cartethyia. With the passing of time (briefer than what a natural growth would be, although it can't be said that her growth to be unnatural considering her circumstances), she will physically take Fleurdelys' appearance (I think that she'd be able to do that fast, just as Fleurdelys herself was able to take Cartethyia's appearance and change immediately) until the differences between both become almost negligible.

TL;DR: There will be no more "Cartethyia and her alternate form", but Cartethyia/Fleurdelys as a whole (Fleurdelys continuing to exist in her consciousness nevertheless).

[bread-wizards]

I think that Orym actually does doubt Imogen, but this isn't a thing that is unique to Imogen. Orym doubts all of them to an extent, because paranoia is something he struggles with (and this is continuously reinforced by the story).

It's not a 'good' thing that he should never get over, nor is it an immoral character flaw that proves he actually hates Imogen. However it's also not something I think he can get over as long as the threat of having to possibly fight his friends exists.

"I have all the faith in the world in you guys, all of you. And I have also spent time thinking how to neutralize each of you."

[undefeatablesin]

Please enjoy some Rare In Game Screenshots of Ruza's Newest Look because I finally remembered that I could in fact take screenshots lmao ✨

[headslikekites]

me telling myself 'yes today I will finish my current wip' and then coming away an hour later, no progress on the wip, instead with a whole entire cosplay draft

[235uranium]

aaaand once again the aspec community has shown it cannot handle internal criticism. aroallo ppl expressing frustration over sex negativity and complete lack of us in discussions about aphobia isn't hate unless you're the person doing the sex negativity

[piebutt]

no. guys. he can see it.

it's not important in the long run but like. c'mon lol who dug up this tweet from january

i dont know if this has been posted before. i'm sure it has. but when i did a search for "jerma dick" and "dick jerma" and "ultraviolet dick jerma" i didnt get any results so i'm just gonna post it anyway

[x]

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

The Viewers

Danny and Tucker move in together for college in Gotham

Tucker decided to make tiktoks just for fun, he could teach people about technology and help give tips.

He didn't realize that his viewers could see Danny in the background in some clips.

Danny being Danny was never caught doing something normal instead it was always something weird.

~

Tucker: "So you just switch this piece here-"

Danny in the background more than half his body in the fridge, the fridge is very noticeably growling

Tucker who is so used to it, it doesn't even register in his mind that it's not normal.

~

Tucker fan-boying about the new Wayne tech

His viewers looking behind him at Danny

Danny running around fighting his food which is also growling & flying

~

Tucker modifying his tech for the viewers

Danny's voice in the distance: "Bye Tuck, I need to go soup this guy real quick!"

Viewers: "Cannibalism?!"

~

Tucker: "Ah yes a very normal video!"

His viewers watching Danny:

~

Just an Idea

[applefishing]

18+ sharing your warmth with caleb. size difference. pet names. breeding. use of gravity evol.

“You can’t feel me at all?” you ask again, your fingers stroking up his forearm.  It’s still hard to believe his arm is not entirely his anymore – that they’d modified it. It still felt like him – like he always had: warm and strong and yours. 

He watches the meandering path you make up his arm, fingers ghosting over his skin. “Not like this,” he answers in a whisper.

It wasn’t right. They’d taken part of him from you. It makes you angry.

He hisses as you pinch the skin at his elbow. 

Then, he smiles. “So cruel.” 

His smile drops off his lips as you intertwine your fingers with his. “I hate them,” you mutter, bringing his hand towards your lips. You hold him there, a breath away, knowing he can’t feel the warmth of your breath against his skin.

He’d held your own hands like this just the day before, warming them with his hot breath and shoving them into his pockets before they could turn to ice again.

He’s reminded of the same thing; he’s having the same thought. You see it in his eyes as he pulls your intertwined hands towards his own lips now. “I won’t always be able to tell if your hands are cold,” he says. “Not unless you always walk on my left… unless you hold my left hand.” He pauses, eyes moving from your joined hands to look back at you. “Will you do that for me, Pips?” He asks. “So I know when you’re cold?” 

“I can just tell you.” 

He smiles again, squeezing your hand a little. “Can I trust you to tell me?” 

You frown slightly. 

He laughs. 

“On my left, then,” he says, decision made.

It’s a familiar end. His decisions were hard to shift once he’d made them. He was hard to steer. Still, you would always try.

You readjust your position on his lap, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs. 

“Would you tell me if you were cold?” you ask.

He tilts his head, his hair falling across his forehead. 

You know the answer before you’d asked. But it wasn’t about getting an answer. You were attempting to make a point: the same point you’d been trying to make for months now – since he’d come back.

You tug your hand from his and place your hands on his chest, pressing him back into the pillows propped up against the headboard. Answer me, you threaten silently.

“Why would I?” he asks as his right hand settles on your hip, like you might need help just to stay perched in his lap – like you could fall and he needed to be ready to catch you.

“So I can help you, like you would help me,” you answer.

His lips part, then close. He looks to the side, out into the snowy night, then back at you. “I’m never cold.”

In the past, you might’ve huffed and crawled off him – left him there to stew in his own stubborn refusal to admit to a completely human weakness. Instead, you cup his cheek with your palm, gentle, “Don’t tell childish lies. We’re adults now, you know.” 

He smiles softly – a slight curve of his lips that seems to soften his eyes, too.

“I can warm you when you’re cold,” you whisper, quiet, unwilling to risk scaring the softness away.

He blinks. His eyes drop to the hand at your hip. He’s quiet.

You wait.

Then, “What if I can’t feel your warmth?” he asks, so quiet you almost can’t make out the words.

You take a shallow breath, and then you lean forward into him, pressing your chest up against his. Your face rests comfortably against his shoulder — warm breath ghosting over his neck. “You can feel me everywhere else,” you remind him. Everywhere but his right arm.

His fingers press into your hip, and then his hand drops away. 

Retreating.

You turn your head a little and press your lips to his skin, just in the crook of his neck.

He freezes.

Retreat paused.

“Right?” you prod, lips brushing against his warm skin as you speak. “You can feel it here?”

He takes in a shaky breath, and you’re sure he’s about to lift you off him, say something to lighten to mood, distract you like he always does: retreat again.

You part your lips and exhale against his skin, “It’s warm, yeah?” you ask, determined.

You swear, just for a second, that you feel the brush of his hand at your back, but it’s gone before you can be sure of it. He’s still, apart from that, until, finally, “Yeah,” he breathes.

Victory.

You know it, just in that little word. He wasn’t backing away; retreating.

He was giving in.

You take in a few shallow breaths, shaken by the prospect of him finally surrendering. Then, gently, you press your lips to his neck in a kiss. “You’ll tell me then?” you ask. “You’ll tell me when you're cold?”

His hand presses to your lower back, you’re sure this time. It’s heavy and unwavering. “So you can warm me?” he asks in return, his voice far less steady than his hand at your back.

“Mm,” you hum, moving your head side to side a little so your lips graze his skin in the spot you kissed him. 

“All right,” he breathes.

“Promise?”

He’s silent, unmoving.

You hook your finger into the collar of his t-shirt and pull it down slightly, enough that you can press your lips to his collarbone. “Promise,” you prod, never moving far enough away that your lips aren’t touching him. Always touching. “Promise me you’ll tell me when you’re cold.” 

His head moves a little, chin dipping. Then, like an afterthought, he speaks, “Yes. Yeah. I’ll tell you. Promise.” 

Then his hand presses into you harder, like he’s trying to close the little gap between your bodies. 

You resist for a moment, then give in, letting him press you up against him. 

You’re forced to lift your head from his neck as you readjust; forced to meet his eyes. 

His pupils nearly engulf his purple irises entirely, darkness swarming and mixing with the softness that still hasn’t left. That’s how he was these days, you ponder as he looks back at you: soft and comfort and all those things that made him so familiar, but also, dark – cold, unpredictable, different – someone capable of igniting fear in a crowd of uniformed men. 

“It makes me feel greedy,” he says, pulling you from the swirling in his eyes.

You blink, “Greedy?” 

“Just thinking about it,” he clarifies. “You’re so warm that I…” His eyes dip to your lips as he speaks, short little glances that wouldn’t be so noticeable if they weren’t so frequent – if he didn’t linger there the more he looked, like the act of looking away was wearing him down. “I might… take it all. I might never stop. I might want it all and never ever stop.” 

You squirm a little, just slightly, an involuntary almost roll of your hips. “That’s okay. You’ve been cold for a long time, yeah? You need lots and lots of … of warming up.” 

He nods, but it looks a little uncontrolled, like he wasn’t thinking much about answering you at all. It’s a lazy kind of nod; distracted.

Lazy. Kind of like the way you begin to roll your hips.

He doesn’t look away as you roll against him, transfixed there as your breathing slowly shifts into deeper, unsteady, puffs of air between parted lips.

You can feel his hesitation, like breaking himself from his frozen trance might make it all stop – as if he were in a dream. 

“Am I warm here?” you ask on a shaky exhale, rolling your hips with a little force this time – pressing your heated centre into him.

Then you’re still, captured by the invisible force you’ve always known as his evol. It holds you there as his hand snakes up your back, a firm warmth that shifts the fabric of your shirt a little with it as it goes. It only stops when he reaches the back of your head. There he holds you, fingers tangled in your hair. You blink. His gravity releases you, and he falls forward – his forehead pressing against your own. 

His breath mixes with your own as he holds you there, waiting on his response. 

“That’s where you’re warmest,” he says, finally. “There,” he closes the gaps between your lips a little more. It almost tickles, the ghost of him – so close. “And here.” 

Then he’s on you, delving into your mouth in a way that leaves no room for escape. His hand holds you to him as he takes and takes and takes, tongue’s dancing and spit making a mess down to your chin.

Your hips move on their own.

You grind into him as you consume each other, assisted a little when his other hand presses into your lower back. 

Warm.

It’s all you’re thinking.

You’re so warm. He’s so warm. His warm hands holding you close; his warm chest pressed to yours; his warm thighs underneath you; his hot tongue, slick against yours. 

An embarrassing sound slips from your throat. You pull away, gasping in much-needed air as his eyes flick across your face.

His fingers twitch against your back. 

You shiver.

His hand, at the back of your head, drifts down to cradle your cheek. 

It’s his left hand.

His thumb brushes against your skin in gentle strokes.

“I’m cold,” he says.

You shiver again. It’s not from the temperature. The truth is, it’s not cold at all. His apartment might even be a little warmer than most people would find comfortable. He kept it that way for you, especially on winter nights like this: the ones you felt a little harsher than he ever did.

“You are?” you question, bringing your hand up to his cheek, mirroring him. 

Warm. His cheek is soft and radiating heat to match the red flush of his skin.

He nods, looking suddenly a little like a wounded puppy. You could almost swear his lower lip, wet from your kisses, was protruding a little… almost like a pout.

You press against him, chest to chest, as if there was any space left to close between you. “Even after…” you pause. “But I thought that was my warmest part?” you question, reaching up to touch your lips with your fingers.

His eyes drop and linger there, watching where you touch your mouth. Then, “Yeah, it is. You’re so warm there. So, so warm,” he says, distracted.

You wrap your arms around his neck. His arms fall to your waist, wrapping around you tight. 

“But you’re still cold?” you ask.

His eyes flutter closed. One shaky breath. Two. They open again. “Greedy,” he breathes. “I told you, yeah?”

Your cunt pulses between your legs, hot and sensitive. “Maybe…” you drift off, distracted by the increasingly desperate urge to shift a little to the side and press down directly onto his firm thigh. “Maybe you need to use both.” Your voice is breathy. It might be embarrassing if you weren’t so distracted.

“Both?” 

Your lashes flutter as you fight closing your eyes and giving into temptation. “Both my warmest places,” you whisper.

His fingers press into your waist, and then, he’s pulling you down, firm, into his lap. “I need to use both?” he asks, breathy. 

You nod. “I’m warm there, I promise.” 

He looks between your eyes and his head drops back a little, eyes closing, before he catches himself. He rocks forward again, keeping you close. “Yeah?” he breathes.

“So warm,” you say with another nod, your voice taking on a desperate, pleading, sort of tone. “Hot. It’s hot. I’ll warm you up, Caleb. I promise. I’ll keep you warm.” 

His lips nearly brush yours when he speaks, “Yeah, baby? I might need to stay inside, though. You might have to keep me in there so I can stay nice and warm, yeah? Is that okay?” 

You nod. It’s a little frantic, as desperate as your pleading.

When his lips press to yours again, you’re vaguely aware of movement elsewhere, of him using a combination of his evol and his hands to lift you just enough to shove his pants down his legs a little and resettle you in his lap, one less layer between you.

You nibble at his lower lip as his warm fingers play with your flimsy shorts, slowly, lazily, snaking their way into one of the legs. You gasp into his mouth, jolting at the tickle of his fingers as they brush over your underwear, over your throbbing cunt.

“I can feel it,” he says as he sucks in shallow breaths. “I can feel how warm you are.” 

You blink at him, incapable of saying anything at all – focused instead on catching your breath. 

He continues, warm fingers brushing lightly back and forth against the cotton between your legs, “Right here,” he breathes. “Hm? Right here, yeah?” 

Your lips part, and close, and part again. Then, you nod.

Your world tips. He lifts you and lowers you onto the pillows before tugging you backwards against his chest – flush against his body, each of you lying on your sides. His breath is warm on your neck when he speaks, “I should check,” he says. “Just to be sure.”

It’s easier to speak like this, with your eyes on the snow falling though the window, instead of looking at him. “How?” you ask, a little crack in your voice.

His palm moves to your lower stomach, settles there a moment, then presses, forcing you right back against him. “You’ve gotta be close,” he says, his voice taking on the tone he’s always used when he was helping you study, gentle, patient – listen closely, it says, I’ll help you. “Just like this,” he continues. His hand leaves your stomach. He shifts a little. Then, his finger sneaks back through the leg of your flimsy pyjama shorts, forcing them to rise up right around the tops of your thighs until they’re basically a second layer of underwear. “We’ll leave these on for now, okay?” 

You nod, nonverbal.

He tugs your underwear a little. You have no idea what for, distracted by the pulsing between your legs. 

Then, heat, soft. His cock slips beneath your underwear, and in one smooth motion, slips along your sensitive cunt, skin to skin. 

You whimper, twist towards him, and grip his bicep – stunned by the sudden reality of feeling him like this, pressed hotly against you. You’re sharply aware of the wetness he finds there; of the way you’ve been leaking for him.

His hand moves back to your stomach, holding you steady. “Just like this,” he breathes. You can’t see his eyes like this, twisted back towards him just enough that he can take your lips in his. 

You whimper into his mouth again, unable to stop your hips from rocking back and forth.  You take him with you as you rock – his cock trapped in your underwear. 

You can’t get enough friction. He’s hot, and he’s hard, and you desperately want to reach down and press him against your cunt harder, so you can grind against the length of him like you did to a pillow when you were younger. As it was, you were pushing closer and closer to something almost painful.

You whimper and whine against his lips as he laps at you, making his own sounds – each one triggering a tightening of your walls, empty and desperate. Empty. 

Empty.

Empty.

It’s an internal mantra that eventually seeps out of you in a pathetic, murmured, incomprehensible whine.

He separates from you enough to mutter, “What?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, suddenly overwhelmed without the distraction of his lips.

“What was that?” he asks again.

Your eyes flutter open, “I’m so empty.” It’s a pathetic sort of sound, the way those words slip out of you. But it was hard to be embarrassed when his pretty brows were twisting up and his lips were falling open and – “Fuck,” he breathes. 

His hips roll into you, a satisfying pressure that has you gasping and gripping onto the arm that holds your waist. 

“Say that again,” he groans into your neck. “Tell me how it feels inside.” 

“So empty,” you answer, pressing back into him – bodies aligned perfectly now you’re twisted back to face the window. “All empty inside.” 

“Yeah?” His cock slips against your slick hole, soft and warm. “Here?” he asks. He rocks against you as he mumbles into your neck, breath hot against your skin. “You all empty, pretty girl? Just here? Just for me?” 

He could be saying anything. You nod, hardly hearing his words, just rocking back to meet the roll of his hips. “For you… for you,” you mutter breathlessly.

His hand slips beneath your shirt, pressing to your lower stomach. His breath ghosts behind your ear, and then he whispers as close to your ear as he can get, “Here?” His hand presses firm, right where that emptiness hurts most.

The sound that leaves you could be a cry. It’s a squeaky, broken sound. 

The weight of his evol settles over you, a comforting weight that holds you still, preventing you from rocking against him. Then he’s rolling his hips back a little, just enough that his leaking tip prods at your swollen entrance. He plays with you like that, rocking in tiny movements – prodding over and over and over. 

“Your hot little mouth isn’t your warmest spot, baby,” he says, still holding you still. “It’s right here,” he breathes, stilling prodding at your twitching hole, “Right between your soft thighs. Where I can’t see. Where no one can see.” His hot breath hits your neck as he speaks; as you hopelessly fight the weight preventing you from pushing back into him. “You’ll let me see, won’t you?” he continues, wrapping his arms around you fully. 

“Caleb,” you whine, desperate.

“Mm? What’s wrong, baby?”

“Let me go. Please. Let me–”

“Why? Will you be a good girl? Or are you going to try and take me inside? Hm? You being greedy?” 

“Inside,” you answer without thought, too desperate to do anything but say exactly what your mind is screaming. “Inside.” 

“Mm,” he hums, nibbling at your earlobe. “That’s what I thought. Naughty girl.” 

He shifts his hips back a little, taking away the only thing keeping you sane. “No,” you whimper.

Caleb kisses at your neck, wet, lazy kisses that feel a lot like how he was kissing your lips earlier, but then he sucks. It comes with noises. Wet, messy noises. 

“Let me go,” you cry. “Let me–”

The weight lifts. He lets you go. You shift backwards, forcing his length along your cunt, over and over – an uncontrolled type of movement resulting from the build up of desperate need. 

Then you catch the tip of him. You can’t reach down between your legs with the way he’s wrapped around you. You’re forced to roll your hips and try and guide him inside. His hand drop to your hip, preventing you, just as you get close.  It’s too much. You’re at the end. And just when you’re about to break, he rolls you over onto your belly, his body covering you completely. He seems bigger like this – so big the world seems to disappear. 

“Okay, okay,” he says in that way that so often makes you want to stamp your foot or punch him in the gut – a tone of voice that usually makes you feel like a baby having a tantrum. Not now, though. Now, it’s sweet relief. 

His big hands reach down and drag your shorts down your legs, then your messy underwear, soaked through.

Then, his leaking tip finds you again, right where you’re desperate to take him inside. He prods a little, feeling the way you attempt to suck him inside, slick and warm. “You can be greedy now,” he whispers, letting his tip nestle at your twitching cunt as you grind back against him, trying to push onto him. “You can be greedy with me, baby.” 

He sinks inside, letting you suck and clench around him with a pathetic sort of broken cry. 

It’s not without suffering all of his own. You feel the vibration of the sound he makes into your neck. It sounds like he’s in pain – like maybe it’s too much. 

You’re suffering together as you pulse around his heavy cock, twitching where it’s buried deep inside. 

“Warm,” he mumbles, lips pressed to your neck. “Oh, fuck.” 

You clench around him. 

He whimpers.

“Warming you up,” you mutter, feeling very much out of your mind – like maybe you’ve forgotten how to string words together to make a sentence.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s right. Keeping me warm. Pretty little pussy. So warm.” 

Your responding hum sounds more like a squeak. 

His arms tighten around you, warming you in his own way – his body heavy all over you.

“Gonna keep you like this,” he mutters, hips starting to grind a little, hardly pulling out at all, just pressing you into the mattress over and over. “Can I keep you like this? Hm? Keep you under me, fucked full, fucked… so full.” His palm shifts to your belly, right where he’s buried. “Here,” he groans, then bites at your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “Right where you’re warmest, yeah?”

“Mm,” you hum, gripping the sheets in your hands, desperate for something to hold onto.

It’s not until he’s pulling out and dropping his hips back into you that you speak again, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hips smacking against you loudly with each drop – shoving you into the mattress. “Don’t leave,” you sob. “Ple-please, don’t stop.” 

His harm loops around your front, draped across your collarbones, holding you firmly beneath him. “Greedy girl,” he says, breathless. It sounds like praise. “It’s okay,” he says with a soft kiss to your neck. “Need to stay inside. Gotta stay warm. We’ll get you nice and full, yeah? Full of hot cum? Hm?” 

“Okay,” you agree with a sob.

His responding, “Okay,” sounds like a sigh. “Yeah, nice and full. And we’ve gotta keep it there. Gotta stay inside.” His hips snap against you a little faster, a little less time pressed heavy and still at the end of each drop. “Until I’m hard again,” he continues between shallow breaths. “Until I can fuck you with it.” He sucks at your throat. “That okay? Can I breed my pretty girl? Hm? Get you all messy?” 

You’re not sure you’ve ever been capable of speech in your life. It’s gone. Your lips part and you can’t make anything come out apart from a tiny, broken, call of his name.

“You can do it,” he coos. “Say it for me, baby. Tell me I can fill your little belly with cum. Tell me I can make you nice and warm inside.” 

One of his hands finds your jaw, then his finger is pressing between your lips, like he’s trying to help you get the words out. 

“Yes, please,” you manage. It’s small and pathetic and a little muffled by his finger in your mouth.

He shudders, his entire body suddenly a little heavier over you.  It’s still then, all tension and weight. The next time he moves, it’s the pad of his finger pressing against your tongue. “Gonna give you everything.” His finger presses into your mouth in tandem with his cock deep inside you. That’s how he fucks you, pressing inside each of your warmest places, where he belongs. 

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑊ℎ𝑜 𝐺𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑇𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑌𝑜𝑢

Warning: flirty talk, spicy vibes, and grown-up stuff. When Bakugo finds out she's inexperienced, he doesn’t judge… okay, he does, but he also volunteers real fast Part two

"Seriously?" Bakugo asked, voice still rough from sleep, like the words scratched his throat from how damn incredulous he was. He propped himself up on one elbow, leaning in just enough to find your face in the shadows of the room, like he needed to see your eyes to actually believe it.

"Never? Like, never never? Not even a little?"

You turned your face away, dodging his gaze like that could somehow save you from the embarrassment. Heat bloomed from your neck to the tips of your ears. You crossed your arms, as if that could shield you from his expression—that dangerous mix of amusement and mischief that always made you feel stupidly vulnerable.

"Why the hell would I lie about that?" you snapped, defensive, curling slightly into yourself. "You think this is funny or what?"

"Nah, nah." Bakugo chuckled low, that raspy tone he used whenever he was about to say something you knew would piss you off. He flopped back onto the couch, head resting beside yours, and his hand—big, warm, sure—slid lazily over your waist, like this conversation wasn't actively setting your brain on fire.

"Shit..." he muttered, still smirking. "You're so fucking pure I feel like a goddamn degenerate just touching you."

You growled at him, like that could erase your existence from the conversation, but he only laughed harder.

"You're telling me you dated three dumbasses and none of them earned a blowjob? I don't know if I should give 'em a medal for being useless or thank 'em for leaving you untouched."

"You're sick," you muttered, a knot forming in your stomach—half nerves, half... something else you really didn't want to name out loud.

"I volunteer as tribute," he said suddenly, with that annoying confidence you hated and loved at the same time, leaning in just enough for his voice to brush against the skin under your ear. His warm breath made your skin prickle. "If you're gonna make your debut, better be with me. I'll train you, grade you, give you a final exam—whatever you need..."

You stared at him, horrified.

"Training?"

He raised an eyebrow, his grin totally out of control now. "Well, if you're gonna bite, better it be me. I’ve got high pain tolerance."

"Katsuki!"

"What? Gotta be ready. First-timers are like puppies—use their teeth for everything."

You covered your face with both hands, half-laughing, half-praying the couch would just open up and swallow you whole.

"No rhythm," he went on, completely unfazed, counting off on his fingers like he was listing groceries. "Forget to use their hands. Swallow air like they're training for a free diving comp. And that's if they don’t gag in the first sixty seconds."

"Shut up!" you laughed.

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to. Ever," he said, his voice dipping into something lower, serious.

You fell silent, caught off guard by the shift. His fingers moved softer now over your waist, more like comfort than teasing. Bakugo could be a dick, yeah. A world-class asshole. But sometimes—with you—he could be sweet, too.

"But if one day you do wanna try..." he smiled again, and his eyebrow arched in that smug way, "you know I’ll take one for the team."

"You're insufferable."

"And yet you’re dying for me."

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[dollishmehrayan]

# “I NEED YOUR LOVING, LIKE THE SUNSHINE, EVERYONE’S GOT TO LEARN SOMETIME.” ── .✦ ( batboys when they have a crush on you ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ )

dollish note ౨ৎ: yes this is based off that one korgis song and if you know it, your elite marry me immediately anywayss I need like more cute events to do omgg and guys I’m going to look for a new divider edition but the bunny will always stay don’t worryyy tags: (batboys x reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

He’s so obvious. Everyone knows. Even villains probably know, even you probably know but we always play hard to get. (that’s js me sorry)

Overly casual compliments: “Wow, you look… good. Like, really good. Is that new? No? I just never noticed how great you always look??”

Purposely hangs around you way more than necessary. “Oh wow, fancy seeing you here again... at this coffee shop... at this exact time... for the fifth time this week…”, “uh.. sure okay dick.”

Gets physically flustered. You smile at him and he bumps into a wall.

Brings you little gifts like coffee, snacks, or something you mentioned once two months ago that he totally remembered.

Accidentally lets it slip to Barbara. You find out two days later because she’s evil (and supportive). GIRL BOSSSSS

RASON RODD (IF YKYK) ── .✦

Denies it to everyone. Even himself. “Me? Crushing? Pfft. Please. I'm just being nice. I’m always this nice. Shut up.”

Acts all chill and tough but turns into a sarcastic teddy bear when you're around.

Tries not to care but notices everything about you like when you’re tired, upset, or need space.

Gets really protective, then downplays it. “Yeah I threatened that guy because he was being annoying. Not because he was flirting with you. Nope.” ( our little nonchalant guy )

Will read/watch your favorite stuff in secret so he can talk about it with you, then pretends he hated it. “No, I didn’t like it. But the plot twist in episode 7 was wild. Just sayin’.”

Probably punches a wall the first time someone calls him out. Literally everyone in the family: “Just ask them out already.”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Has a million tabs open on “how to tell if someone likes you back.”

Obsesses over every text you send. Sends a reply. Deletes it. Writes a better one. Deletes that too. Eventually sends “lol yeah same” and regrets it instantly.

Runs into you and forgets how to function for 3 seconds. “Hey—hi—hey. Sorry. I mean. Hello.”

Will research your interests so he can impress you or casually bring them up. “Oh, you’re into ___? I read a couple papers about that, super cool stuff.”

Accidentally calls you “cute” in passing, then vanishes for two days to a point you wonder if he might appear on the missing website thing.

You find out he has a playlist called “maybe someday” and the first song is something painfully romantic.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Pretends he doesn’t like you. Like, aggressively. But it’s so obvious.

Gives you weirdly thoughtful gifts and says things like, “I noticed you were using inferior supplies.”

Blushes if you compliment him. Denies he’s blushing. “Tt. The temperature is simply warm.”

Subtly changes his schedule to be around you more. He’ll be in the library when you’re there, in the gym at the same time it’s definitely not a coincidence (even though he insists it is).

Draws you. Like, sketches. Constantly. Says it’s “for anatomy practice.”

Acts annoyed when you talk to someone else, then pouts in a corner like a feral cat.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

He doesn’t even realize it at first. It hits him out of nowhere, like genuinely out of thin air.

Brooding increases by 200%. He stares off into space, thinking about you, and Alfred has to snap him out of it.

Becomes awkwardly formal. “Would you… perhaps… like to join me for dinner? I understand if that’s… inconvenient.” ( like despite being a former player and all and smoothhh as hell when he genuinely likes someone he can’t be smooth, your like his Andrea beaumont but if they worked out )

Totally asks Alfred for advice. Alfred gives him the same advice he gave him at 16.

When you smile at him, he short-circuits a little. You get a rare, soft Bat-smile in return.

Once he’s sure of his feelings, he’s all in but oh boy, it takes a while.

[hanniebaeee]

Jisung's Baby Fever

Jisung x fem!reader

Warnings: suggestive? MDNI

Genre: established relationship, fluff

Summary: You and Jisung are out at the beach, and witnessing a certain interaction has Jisung experiencing a wild case of baby fever.

It was a beautiful day. Sunny and warm - and Jisung had a free day in forever, so you two were at the beach. The sand was warm beneath your knees as you smoothed out the walls of the sandcastle.

A little moat encircled the castle, complete with a small bridge made from a piece of driftwood you found earlier.

"Masterpiece," you muttered to yourself as you leaned back to admire your work. 

Jisung sat on a beach towel, sunglasses perched low on his nose as he watched you, strumming his guitar. 

"Masterpiece? Sure," he teased, a smirk pulling at his lips.

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. "Don’t insult the castle you didn't lift a single finger to help build."

"I’m supervising, and providing the background score," he quipped, strumming the guitar harder. "You’re welcome."

He put his guitar aside with a grin and laid back, his arms folded under his head. 

Before you could fire back, a tiny voice interrupted, "Can I help?"

You looked down to see a little girl, no older than three, clutching a bright pink bucket and looking up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. Her mum waved from a beach towel nearby, giving you an apologetic look. 

"Of course you can!" you said warmly, giving her mum a thumbs up, and shifting over to make room. "Here, you can be in charge of the turrets."

The girl giggled happily and announced that her name is Mina, plopping down beside you and immediately getting to work. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and soon the two of you were modifying the castle. You helped her scoop wet sand into her bucket, and look for shells and other things for decoration. Mina squealed in joy as you showed her some sea glass and you both got back to your castle, giggling. 

Jisung propped himself on one elbow as he watched the scene unfold. Ok. Wow. What's going on?

His heart twisted in ways he hadn’t expected. The sight of you laughing with the little girl, doing something as simple as building a sandcastle, hit him hard. He watched in silence for a good fifteen minutes.

“Look at her, Sungie!” You said, with a little laugh, watching the little one put shells on the castle.

"She’s adorable," Jisung said, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. "But, uh... I think it’s time to go home."

"Already? We just got here." You frowned.

He ran a hand through his hair, visibly flustered.

"Yeah, well, I’m... feeling some things. And it’s kinda a lot." He said, grabbing his guitar because he needed to ground himself. 

“Feeling things? What things?” You asked, eyebrows raised. 

"It means I’m looking at you playing mom over here, and it’s doing things to me," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "Like, maybe-we-should-make-one-of-our-own kind of things."

Your eyes went wide as you said, "I’m sorry. What?!"

"I’m just saying. You’re over here building castles with babies, and now I’m thinking about babies. Specifically ours." Jisung shrugged, trying and failing to appear nonchalant.

"Han Jisung!" you hissed, glancing at the Mina, who was too engrossed in her work to notice. "You can’t just say stuff like that!"

"Why not? You’re the one who started this," he teased, leaning in closer. "This is all your fault."

You huffed, turning back to the castle to hide the blush creeping up your neck. "I’m not abandoning my new bestie just because you’re having an existential crisis."

"Existential crisis?" he repeated, feigning offense. "I’ll have you know this is a perfectly rational reaction to seeing my insanely hot wife being ridiculously good with kids."

"Goodbye, Jisung," you said flatly, refusing to look at him.

"Fine," he said, standing and brushing off the sand. "If you won’t come willingly..."

Jisung looked over at the girl's mum and said, “Your little girl is amazing, she's such a joy!”

And the lady smiled, thanking him. And he said, “We're kinda heading back, so -”

You glared at him as he made small talk with Mina's mum as she came over, and then she thanked you for playing with her daughter. 

You gave Mina a little high five before helping Jisung gather your things with a stony expression. He could see that you were miffed as you followed him really slow. When you two were a safe distance away from the family, Jisung struck.

You barely had time to process what he was doing before he scooped you up in his arms.

"Jisung!" you squealed, wriggling as he started walking toward the car. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he said, grinning. "You're slacking."

“Jisung, I swear to God!”

"You’re gonna thank me later, babe. Promise." Jisung chuckled, tightening his hold on you.

"I don't even know what to do with you," you grumbled, though you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.

"You love it," he shot back, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "Now let’s go. We’ve got a baby to plan."

“Oh my God! You can't just-”

He interrupted you by popping open the back door loudly and set you down gently on the seat.

"Okay, thanks for the ride. You can go now," you said, crossing your arms in mock indignation.

But instead of shutting the door and heading to the driver’s seat, Jisung climbed in after you, closing the door behind him.

"What are you doing?" You gave him a suspicious look. 

"I think you need some convincing," he said matter-of-factly, settling in beside you.

"Convincing me of what?”

"That we need to fast-track this whole ‘baby’ thing. Like, today."

"Have you lost your mind, Ji?" You asked with a soft laugh. 

"Probably," he admitted, leaning in closer with a grin. "But can you blame me? You were out there looking all cute and mom-like, and now my brain won’t shut up about how amazing you’d look holding our baby. You’re doing this to me, babe. This is your fault."

"Oh really?" you asked, trying to keep a straight face as he edged even closer.

"Listen," he said, his voice dipping lower as his gaze locked onto yours. "I’m serious. I was sitting there, minding my own business, and then suddenly, bam - baby fever. And it’s bad, babe. Real bad."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You are ridiculous."

"You should see yourself through my eyes right now. You’re beautiful, you’re amazing with kids, and you’re mine. And I’m just sitting here wondering how I got this lucky and how fast I can get you to come home with me."

His words made your heart do a funny little flip, even as you tried to keep things light.

"Jisung, you can’t just throw around words like that and expect me to go with it."

"Ahh babe," he murmured, leaning in until his nose was almost brushing yours. "I just need you to kiss me and admit that I’m right."

"Right about what?" you asked, your voice a teasing whisper.

"Right about us," he said softly, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. "Right about how we’d be amazing parents. Right about how we’re meant to be going home and working on the baby making right now."

You didn’t have a clever comeback for that. Instead, your heart thudded loudly in your chest as he closed the small gap between you, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss was soft at first, almost tentative, but it quickly deepened as his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His other hand rested on your waist, anchoring you to him.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, a triumphant smirk tugging at his lips.

"So," he said, his voice low and teasing. "Are you convinced yet? Or do I need to keep going?"

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hide your smile. "You’re impossible."

"I think you mean irresistible," he countered, leaning in for another kiss. "Now, how about we head home and make some magic happen?"

You laughed, pushing him away playfully. "You’re lucky I love you, Han Jisung. But fine. Let’s go."

"That’s my girl," he said, pulling you close one last time before climbing out of the back seat to let you take the wheel.

And as you settled in for the ride, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, he was right.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120

[k-hippie]

k-707 ( 2025 EDITION ) RELEASE - FIRST WAVE

It’s finally here! Well, the first part of it—because let’s be real, this beast of a project is too massive to drop all at once ( unless we suddenly gain the ability to compress/expand time ) ;)

For now, we’re rolling out the first wave of k-707, covering :

- Base Game/Seasons ( Willow Creek, Oasis Springs, Newcrest ) - Get to Work ( Magnolia Promenade ) - Outdoor Retreat ( Granite Falls ) - Vampires ( Forgotten Hollow ) - Cottage Living ( Henford-on-Bagley ) - High School Years ( Copperdale ) - Life & Death ( Ravenwood )

Yes, we know ... you want more—but trust us, this is already a lot. The rest will come soon-ish ( don’t ask for dates, we’re not EA ) and as we say again and again, this is a work in progress, time for us to understand some more things with blender managing vertex painting and so on ;)

For everything related to instructions, how-to and so on, see the previous post or the "Download Page" of the k-707 on our website.

We replaced, reshaped, optimized, and obsessed over hundreds of trees and plants. Everything is optimized for directX11 ... Now, in theory, all should move right, look right, and fit right :D If you encounter a purple question mark on this new release, just send us a message. We'll see this together :)

Do not be surprised, some trees ( very very few ) are not yet modified ( -> I think about topiaries ) and some others have been fully replaced ( such as the ugly majestic and royal palms in base game )

Never forget this is still a work in progress and some changes will be done later ;)

As soon as we do some minor modifications and checks, we'll release a SECOND wave ( which should be very soon indeed )

Later ( End of February ) a THIRD and final wave will be released ...

Installation & Warnings

Each Expansion has 2 folders : one for plants, one for trees

The base game is split into 4 folders : 2 lots + 2 debug

Expansions with minimal greenery ( City Living, University, Get2Work ) are in single folder named k-hippie-k707-multi-greeny-2025

Do NOT mess with the folder structure unless you love chaos. If you merge files and something breaks, that’s on you. We won’t be able to troubleshoot Frankenstein mods ... More information on our website or into the previous post ;)

Final Notes

K-707 isn’t perfect ( yet ) :D We’re still tweaking, improving, and fixing things. We are aware some textures and styles need to be refined/modified. It will be done in time. But this is already a massive upgrade. So, enjoy your lusher, greener, better-integrated Sims world—and if you spot a tree acting weird, just pretend it’s haunted until we fix the green :D

Remember the k-mods are still and always free. Thanks to freely give a little something if you can. This is a massive piece of work and so, a massive piece of time ;)

If you think it’s good enough to drop our way : PayPal link

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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - > UPDATE ! February 25

We added few missing plants to the base game ( both lot & debug ) and some modifications to some plants ( azalea - hydrangea ) ... Some textures have been fixed. As we said, there will be adjustments and tiny updates. You know, a work in progress ;)

Tonight, a bit in advance, we release too :

k-707 ( 2025 ) for Sulani ( Island Living )

k-707 ( 2025 ) for Tomarang ( for Rent )

We know the gameplay bug related to for rent expansion but we finished trees & plants for this expansion, so better to release :)

By the way, as Windenburg and Britechester, Sulani will get a small k-505 redux quite soon. It won't be huge but it will correct details here & there. That was the Sunday late news and releases. Have a great week everyone !

Sorry for the delays but real world got massive changes and I confess I didn't have time to make more k-707 stuff this time ...

See you soon fellows :)

Download the K-707 mod HERE

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