#Manual Chucks

[unit-id-k725]

where can I read employee documentation?

does anyone know any ways I can find/explore employee documentation? Nothing too specific, but as some examples. Training books, cyberamic animatronic manuals, costume procedure, things of that nature.

If there are places that archive scans, or videos I can watch, do leave them here. I'd really enjoy going through those. Especially through and detailed documentation pretaining to the schematics, upkeep, maintenance, and operations of the animatronics. I was considering going into electronical/mechanical engineering as a possible career path, so I figure reading manuals like that would be a fun and practical way to learn more on the subject.

All possible related material is appreciated, and thank you for your time and consideration

[asexuallucanisdellamorte]

the worst part of dragon age veilguard is whenever im having so much fun destroying enemies and everyone in the game is like oh no there is so many we can't win and meanwhile rook is throwing down meteors, poison swamps and explosions before any enemies can stand up

[ridiculousmachinetools]

Unlock the secrets of drill chuck arbors with Ridiculous Machine Tools' comprehensive guide. Explore the different types, functions, and applications of these essential components. Gain invaluable insights to maximize efficiency and productivity in your machining operations.

[kabr0ztrousers]

hey could you write about a pussy portal? with whatever monster you feel like! also could it be semi-public (public but hidden)? also knotting is appreciated!

Kabr0z Writes episode 53: Hornyposting

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: portal sex; knotting; public sex; cum in vagina; unknown male; freeuse; recieving cunnilingus; age gap; implied impregnation; interspecies; portal fucking

A/N: I do love writing portal fucking, though I'm not sure I understood the prompt properly on this one, so enjoy reading about fem!reader being fucked by a knotted cock while falling to avoid notice

Also, any requests etc, please drop an ask!

#######################################

When you bought something called a "telepresence glory hole" you weren't honestly expecting what you got. It arrived OK, and came with a phonebook of a disclaimer which you didn't bother reading. What was really interesting was, it actually seemed legit. In the box you got a pair of panties, and a handheld device that looked kinda like a fleshlight. Both had strange disks integrated to them made of some kind of metal. You spent the next hour going through the manual, registering them to a phone app and generating a friend code.

Testing went without a hitch, you plugged the friend code into the app, and the link established with a faint buzz. Next came the fun part. You broke the link, before taking to the internet. Would you believe there's a whole community centred around these things?

You got changed, a nice sundress to go out in, those panties underneath. A quick picture later and you posted your selfie and your code, out in the aether. You set off, walking to the cafe, locking the app as you left. For the next 4 hours, you're open for business.

The bell on the café door jingled as it opened. The local corporate chain, you weren't going to risk getting chucked out of a café you actually liked, but even if the coffee sucked here the wifi's free and there's plenty of people around. You joined the back of the line and inched towards the counter.

You felt a draft down below. A breath across your cunt. There were still a few people ahead of you. A shiver ran up your spine, it's starting already.

A wide tongue grazed your outer lips, starting slowly. You tensed your cunt a little to egg whoever this was on. You'd said in your post that you were up for any guy to give you a fuck, though maybe you hadn't mentioned what you'd be up to in the meantime... But that's very much what things like this were designed for, nobody's wearing these for a quiet night in.

The tongue came again, holding back a little less this time, coating the outside of your pussy in drool as it licked up and down your-

"Hi! What can I get for you?" The rictus grin of the cashier snapped you out of your thoughts

"C-cappuchino please. Large" you stammered out, speaking fast to try and avoid your voice giving you away.

You paid noiselessly, tapping your card on the machine which beeped compliantly before stepping over to the other counter with your receipt and the order number printed on it.

The tongue got more aggressive. Your knee buckled as it circled your clit. You squeezed your eyes shut a moment as it threatened to slip into your eager hole. You leaned on a low wall behind you, trying to look nonchalant as you checked your forum post.

WolfDaddy1969 had replied to you "Don't need to tell me twice" was this the person so diligently licking you out? He didn't have a profile picture. God, but whoever this was, they're good with their tongue. You rolled your head backwards in ecstasy, trying to disguise it by rubbing the back of your neck, but the quiet whimper you gave drew the eye of the suited woman beside you as she stepped forward to grab a tray of paper cups.

"Order 42, large cappuccino, regular milk"

Your legs threatened to betray you as you as you stepped up and took the almost litre cup of coffee with your order number stuck to it. You turned to try and find a table, almost stumbling as you did. The movement was shifting your pussy lips, moving them subtly against one another as the tongue pushed between them. You fell into a seat, legs spread. You could feel moisture leaking around the edges of the portal, the combination of drool and your pussy juice starting to slick your crotch.

The tongue had barely let up before you felt something else pressing against you. Hard and drooling, there was no mistaking it. You'd been with a lupine before, you knew how they start squirting precum almost as soon as you get them hard. You imagined it, if this wolf really was born in the late 60's then he'd have been in his thirties before you were even conceived... It turned you on knowing this cock was old enough to be your father.

He pushed in, or maybe down? Your pussy making up the business end of the toy he was fucking himself with. He slid in easily. Your toes curled in your shoes as you gripped the table in front of you, clenching your teeth as he started fucking you properly. He angled his toy, only slightly but enough that you could feel him thrust up into your g-spot before continuing into you. Despite your efforts, you could feel yourself making small, choked sounds with every thrust. His thumb hit your clit. You groaned as your legs started to shake, failing to hide your release as people started to take notice. A mix of worried and disgusted looks fixed upon you, some people clearly having an idea of what was happening.

The cock filled you up. The clenching of your aching cunt getting to the cock inside you. You felt the knit start to inflate. It was pulsing so deliciously, your mouth sagged open in a silent wail of delight and release.

The cashier from before was next to you "I think you should leave" his smile was gone, he just looked tired.

You nodded and got up, The movement of your legs rolling the swollen knot inside you, forcing you to walle away, your drink forgotten as you tried to ignore the mix of arousal and cum dripping down your legs.

The outside air was cold on your skin, the wetness covering your thighs stinging as it cooled in the brisk February air. At least you're within walking distance of home, though it's anyone's guess if you'd get back before the wolf was done with you.

He was still using you to jerk off, the knot thrusting up and down as you tried to walk, dictating the rhythm of your steps. You weren't hiding your noises any more either, there were fewer people on the suburban streets, but every one of them knew you had something going on down there. Some hurried on, some threw dirty looks, one or two gave wolf whistles and catcalls, only making you wetter.

You were halfway home when the knot started twisting in you, this way and that. You grabbed a lamppost as you moaned out, trying desperately to keep from falling as your knees gave way and your cunt gave another squirt of girlcum. He turned his cock again and again, feeling how you clenched and milked his knot, wringing every morsel of cum from him, before withdrawing with a pop.

That tongue came back. You slid down the pole, landing on your knees as the wolf licked deep inside you, tasting his cum as it mixed with your essence. You could swear it hit your cervix as you groaned and whined for all to see.

The tongue withdrew. The portal shut off and you were alone again, leaking onto the floor underneath you. You staggered to your feet, still clinging to the street furniture as you got your breath back. Legs still shaking, pussy still twitching, you got home.

The portal buzzed to life again. You checked your post. You'd been pinned to the front page, it looks like WolfDaddy left you a glowing review "10/10, tight pussy, would impregnate again"

You were going to have a lot of fun with this

#################################

There's a little narrative dissonance between where it started and where it went here, but I thought it shook out pretty well, and you're not here for tight editing.

As always, any requests, ideas, thoughts, questions or fanmail is appreciated! My DMs and asks remain open for use!

Also, see below for a surprise poll!

[seat-safety-switch]

Once upon a time, everything came with an instruction manual. You'd open the box and immediately chuck that manual into the trash, because recycling wasn't popular back then, and you could still make a living cutting down trees to print more manuals with. Nowadays, the humble instruction manual is gone altogether, replaced with – at best – an interactive electronic instruction manual. I still don't read them, but now it's because I can't.

You see, "having a working computer" is a lifestyle that is simply incompatible with my existence. Despite the fact that our civilization has produced approximately 171.3 computers per person, I somehow have no ability to make them work. So I'm at the public library, where they get really mad if you take a transmission apart over their keyboard. Look, people, the keyboard catches the spring clips when they go flying out. Would you rather have this or me crawling around on the carpet?

When I'm on the side of the road because my futuristic garbage exploded, I can't always use my dumpster-dove flip phone to look up the manual, either. That would require me to buy cellular service, instead of just calling 911 and asking the firefighters to transfer my call every time (don't ask the cops to do it.) The only way forward is to assume there was no manual at all. Doing so also prevents me from receiving additional frustration, when I jump through all these hoops to find out that the fancy online manual does not have a chapter for "this product is now 37 years old and has corroded its entire wiring harness, here's your diagram on where 'purple' goes." Why even bother writing one, assholes?

Sometimes I call up the Haynes service manual people, and yell at them, telling them to make a print manual again. Then I tell them what I had to go through because of the eternal obsolescence cycle of all things electronic. Then they make me a job offer, which I refuse because it would mess with my unemployment payments. I'm holding out for an offer from Chilton. If it was good enough for Frank Herbert, it's good enough for me.

[princessbrunette]

♡₊˚ 🦢🩰・₊ ♪ ₊˚⊹♡

thinking bout older brothers best friend jj, a friend he has outside of the usual pogues who he’s known since they were younger — but never got to be around his best friends pretty little sister until recently.

“you know you don’t have to hang out with us. i’m not a babysitter.” your brother lightheartedly chucks an empty beer can your way making you pout from your curled position on the futon, the two boys sprawled on the couch taking up space with their long legs.

“damn, be nice to your sister dude. she’s not hurtin’ anyone.” jj shoves his shoulder lazily, directing his attention towards you with a lopsided smile. “you’re stayin’. today you’re gonna learn about sports whether you like it or not, ‘kay?” he jokes and you nod eagerly, earrings jangling. you’d do anything jj said.

your brother finally leaves the room after an hour or so of watching the game— moreso you asking questions and your brother telling you to shut up whilst jj cracked jokes and mansplained things in a way that made your toes curl pleasurably in your socks. you take the time to strike, standing up in your mini skirt that was already testing the blonde and walking over to the tv.

“jj, do you mind if i turn the volume up? can’t hear what the ref’s saying.” you pout, fiddling with the hem of your skirt to purposely draw his eyes there. he blinks away his urges after his eyes skim down twice, lips parting like he’d forgotten how to speak.

“uh, w— yeah, knock yourself out.”

his tongue finds home between his lips as soon as you turn around, tilting his head with the movement of your ass as you bend over to the side of the tv, manually turning the volume down with the button on the side of the screen. you take your time, really bending down to give him a view of the white dainty lace beneath your skirt.

you turn your head around, smiling all sweet and sultry so he knows you did it on purpose— staying in that bent over pose just for his viewing pleasure.

“well this feels like a set up.” he deadpans, pulling a cushion subtly over his lap.

“hm?” you hum as you stand up straight. he hears your brothers footsteps approaching the room, and licks his lips with a wordless shake of the head.

“you’re trouble, ‘know that right?” he speaks right before the door opens again, forcing the two of you to leave it at that.

♡₊˚ 🦢🩰・₊ ♪ ₊˚⊹♡

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 34

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Postpartum depression; allusions to child abuse; perceived child abuse - read with care

A/N: I am so sorry it has taken me this long! The move has really done a number on my mental health and I've been struggling to write anything substantial. I've taken some serious liberties with Georgia weather. If you noticed, no you didn't. Lol I don't hate Rick. His mindset isn't the greatest at this point. We know that. Just making sure everyone is aware that I love our deputy. Post partum depression is a real thing and it sucks. This chapter has some really angsty, dark tones, and should be read with care, especially toward the end (beginning at “Oh,hey.” She greeted, patting the ground next to her). I did lots of research and sadly, what transpires is a real thing that people do for reasons that aren't necessary. Please try to give Carol and reader some grace given the circumstances. But if you're sensitive to anything dealing with making a child uncomfortable, you might want to skip this. It gets a little heavy. I would be happy to give you a summary of what is happening if you would rather skip the last few paragraphs (see above where to stop reading). Just message me.

I love you all! Thank you for your patience with me.

You weren’t sure when it happened, when the switch flipped or the dial turned. All you knew is that every single time your daughter cried, you wanted to break down and sob with her. When you held her to your breast, you couldn’t look at her. You left her with Lori or Carol more and more, the looks they gave you annoyingly understanding. When you would hand her off to Daryl and walk away, you couldn’t bear to see that expression of befuddled dismalness. 

“Postpartum depression.” Carol finally said one bitterly cold morning. She was changing Birdie with swift movements, eager to shield her from the drafty atmosphere of the warehouse. 

You had your back to her—your face in your hands—while you silently cried, two small bottles of breast milk sitting at your feet, still attached to the manual pumps. Sniffling, you glanced over your shoulder just as she placed the shifting blanketed bundle against her shoulder. “I hate my baby, Carol.” You whimpered. “That’s more than depression.”

The silver-haired lady shook her head. “Honey, I promise you don’t hate her.” 

“I don’t want anything to do with her.” You bit back with more vexation than you had intended. “I can’t stand it when she cries. I just want Daryl to keep her away from me.” When she tilted her lips with that gentle smile, it took all you had not to chuck one of the bottles at her. What was wrong with you? Could she be right? Were you depressed?

“I went through this, sweetheart. It will pass.” When she offered you little Birdie, you reeled. “You can’t keep avoiding her.” She was right and you hated it. With a huffing breath, you accepted your daughter, distributing her small weight across your arm for her head to rest in the crook of your elbow. “I have an idea.”

You heaved a sigh, not really interested in whatever it was that Carol was going to suggest. You had to stop taking your frustrations out on the woman. And Lori. And Daryl. And especially little Birdie. She was perfect and you knew in your heart of hearts that you could never truly harbor anything other than unrelenting love for her. Yes. Carol was right. You were definitely depressed. 

“What?” You finally queried. 

“What’re you two doin’ in here?” You heard Daryl’s boots crossing the concrete floor until they stopped just behind you. His lips pressed gently against the crown of your head. “Hey.” You said nothing. So much for not taking things out on your fiancé. 

“Daryl, right on time.” Carol beamed. 

“For what?” The confusion was evident in his tone.

“Y/N pumped some milk for the baby. It won’t keep unless we get more snow and can store it in the drifts.” She informed. “Why don’t you feed the baby?”

“Feed ‘er? Like with a bottle?”

“Unless you’re miraculously lactating, yes. With a bottle.” There was a hint of jocularity in her tone. You could almost feel his glare without turning. 

“I mean—yeah, okay.” Annoyance momentarily forgotten, you focused on the uncertainty in your partner’s voice. You didn’t miss the tremble. Neither did Carol. 

“You’re gonna be fine, Daryl.” She said encouragingly. 

“Ain’t me m’worried ‘bout.” The archer mumbled as he circled around you. He was hesitant in reaching for Birdie, but took her into his arms immediately when you sat up straighter and shifted her. The movement must have upset your daughter, her little limbs flailing as Daryl positioned her in the bend of his arm. “Ain’t no need for all that fussin’, lil Bird. You’re gonna get fed.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “By somebody. May not be me after I screw this up.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re better with her than you give yourself credit for.” It came out flat and harsh, your default setting as of late. Still, one look at the expression that decorated Daryl’s features, you found yourself ashamed. “You’re a great father.” You added, softer and with sincerity. 

Daryl held your gaze and, for a moment,—for the first time in a long time—it was uncomfortable. When he nodded and turned to Carol, you were able to exhale, though your stomach remained in knots. 

“Gimme the thing, I guess.” He held out a hand and looked down at his daughter, her little face reddening. Her mouth opened with the slightest squeak. She was two seconds from shrieking. “Keep your diaper on, lil’ girl. It’s comin’.” Daryl gingerly bounced his arm, Birdie’s features smoothing out for a moment, just long enough for Carol to hand over the bottle. 

You found yourself leaning forward, biting your lip as if ready to spring into applause when he accomplished the “impossible” task. When you caught his gaze, both of you looking up at the same time, you sat back and cleared your throat. When had things become so awkward between the two of you? It was almost unbearable. 

“Tilt her up just a little.” Carol instructed. “Touch the nipple to her lip, she’ll—there you go.”

You heard the soft snort of Daryl’s laugh and let your eyes travel from Birdie—now happily suckling away at the bottle—to your fiance. His eyes were soft but excited, sparkling in a way you’d never before seen. His lips were tilted upward, only the slightest fraction. Smiling suited him. You wished he’d do it more often. 

“Told ya that ya wasn’t gonna starve. Slow down. Ain’t no one gonna take it away.” He babbled, scrunching his nose with that smile still adorned. Was he even aware that he was lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of you? You didn’t think so. At that moment, no one else existed to him; just a father and his little bird. 

You only felt the smile on your own face when you looked over to find Carol watching not Daryl and Birdie but you. With a soft, knowing expression, she mouthed see? And see, you did. You nodded, tears stinging behind your eyes. The room was silent aside from Birdie’s gulps and breaths and squeaks, and for moment, you thought:

Everything’s gonna be just fine.

If only you knew just how wrong you were.

“We can’t have her crying like this!” Rick was swiping a hand roughly over his tired face, looking haggard. Things between him and Lori were not improving. They seemed to only be worsening. Even Daryl had called out the deputy’s behavior once or twice in the last two weeks. The archer was currently glaring daggers while he rubbed a fingerless-gloved hand over Birdie’s back through the sling that held her to your chest. 

The loss of the warehouse had been tough on everyone, but you and your baby were affected the most. Your mood swings were only growing worse, though less and less toward the little one in your arms and more toward the adults that were only trying to help you. In turn, Birdie remained in a constant state of inconsolable. Hershel had thrown around words like colic and had Daryl dosing out gas drops to the little one but nothing seemed to soothe her.

The cars had run out of gas, as well as Daryl’s bike. The archer had pushed the motorcycle along for a time before he declared that he couldn’t protect Birdie if he was too busy hauling a damn bike. He had hidden it under some brush, easy to be tracked back to later. It was Merle’s bike and you knew what it meant to him. However, Birdie meant more. Much, much more and he would crawl into hell and back for the little girl strapped to your front.

“She’s a baby, man. How else she s’posed to let us know she’s needin’ something?” Daryl snapped, his voice intentionally higher to be heard over your daughter’s cries. 

“Daryl, you know this isn’t safe! She’s gonna bring every walker for miles down on us!” Rick threw out an arm, gesturing broadly. “Or—or the living! You saw what they would do!”

“Ain’t much we can do! She ain’t hungry! She ain’t needin’ changed! She’s just pissed off an’ I ain’t far away from bein’ right there with ‘er!”

“Boys.” Lori admonished, squeezing your shoulder. When had you started to tremble? “All this negative energy isn’t helping.”

“She’s right.” Hershel agreed, adjusting his gloves. “Babies are incredibly intuitive.”

“We just need to find fuel—cars.” Rick sniffed, hands on his hips. “We’re sitting ducks like this.” His eyes met Daryl’s in a heated challenge.

After an intense staredown, it was surprisingly Daryl who backed down first but not without a menacing growl. Turning to place his body between you and Rick, he brushed his bare fingertips over Birdie’s hooded head and then across your jaw. “Y’want me to take ‘er for a bit?”

You shook your head even as the temptation beckoned you to acquiesce. “I don’t think jostling her would help right now.” A single tear trailed down your cheek. As much as it pained you to admit, Rick was right, but how could you coax your baby to stop her noises of discomfort when you had no idea what was ailing her? Daryl used his thumb to swipe away the moisture, his expression equal parts distress and sadness. He clearly felt as helpless as you did.

“S’take a break.” He said suddenly, ushering you to a nearby log. Lori was immediately lowering herself beside you with a great deal of difficulty given her round belly. You could sympathize with her struggle, having been there not so long ago yourself. Her hand came to rest on the back of your head with loving strokes meant to soothe your nerves.

“I think that’s a great idea.” She agreed, offering you a gentle smile when you searched out her gaze. After a moment, you nodded and began to remove Birdie from her sling. Carol appeared with an extra blanket to cover you and shield the baby from the cold as you tried to nurse her. Daryl was hovering, shifting from foot to foot with his fingers digging into the strap of his crossbow. As much as you loved the man, his nervous energy wasn’t helping things in the slightest. 

“Why don’t you go hunting?” You suggested, reveling in the relief when Birdie quickly latched and her wailing ceased. Her little hiccups around enthusiastic gulps remained heartbreaking. The past few days had seen you begin to settle though the fraying of your nerves lingered. At least you were now aware of how much you loved your daughter and that you wouldn’t change a single moment that brought her barreling into your life. 

Daryl quickly shook his head in refusal, his already white-knuckled grip on that strap growing impossibly tighter. “Can’t leave ya here like this.”

You bit back the urge to yell at him, make the demand that he go. He meant well. “Please?” He wrestled with indecision, his expression damn near crumbling before he skillfully schooled it with a sigh.

“Fine.” He huffed at the same time that he took a single step toward you. He seemed to think better of it and turned on a heel while stripping his weapon from his back. “Be back in a hour an’ we can move on.” You knew as well as he did that there was little to no game to satisfy the group’s hunger. He was only trying to placate you. The two of you needed time alone, needed to talk and work through the tension between you. 

With an inward sigh, you watched him disappear into the trees and shushed Birdie when she released your nipple and began to squirm and fuss. 

“So,” Lori began, “am I looking at the future Mrs. Dixon?” Her question caught you off guard, your eyes shooting wide even as you stared straight ahead. Only when she tapped the back of her hand against your arm did you acknowledge her and her request to take Birdie. Passing the baby off, you adjust your clothing and draped the extra blanket over your daughter.

“How did you—”

“He asked my advice.” Lori carefully arranged Birdie against the front of her shoulder, alternating between patting and rubbing the little one’s back. Tiny grunts and squeaks sounded from beneath the blanket, an audible passing of gas following close behind. The experienced mother turned toward where Hershel had sat to rest as well. “Maybe a touch of colic?” There was that word again. 

The older man hummed. “Could be. I’ll fetch the drops.” You felt bad watching him struggle to his feet from the forest floor, but couldn’t be persuaded to do so yourself. You were just too damn tired.

“What is colic?” You asked, your brow drawing inward. It was obviously not a danger to your baby, given Hershel’s lack of serious concern, but if something was hurting her, it was hurting you. The very thought of her pain had tears springing to your eyes.

“It just means that she’s uncomfortable. It might be the lack of protein in your diet. It could be gas. There’s no real explanation. She’s just—not feeling well. It’s nothing to worry about except she won’t be easily soothed for a while.” Her lips thinned into a sad smile. “It’s nothing and a lot all at once.”

“I’ll take her.” Carol offered whilst petting your hair as Lori had just a few moments prior. Extricating Birdie from Lori’s arms, she bounced the infant tenderly against her chest. “Y/N, will you come find me once you’ve finished up here?” Sporting a questioning look, you still nodded and watched her walk away after returning the gesture.

“He asked your advice?” You stared toward the empty space of Carol’s retreat for a moment longer before turning your attention to Lori. This time, her smile was genuine if not cheeky. 

“He did.”

“Hey—Hey, uh, can I ask ya somethin’?” 

She hadn’t really noticed Daryl approaching but that wasn’t surprising. He was a hunter and stealth was something in which he excelled. Lori paused in her stirring and tapped the spoon on the side of the kettle. The beans had yet to even begin to heat over the small fire inside the house, so she had a few minutes to spare.

“Of course.”

Daryl had changed so much over the course of the months he had been with the group, and she had you to thank for such a large part of that. And now, she had little Birdie to thank as well. The man was going to make an excellent father, despite his lack of confidence.Though she knew so little, she was aware he wrestled with unnamed demons, but you were there to help see him through it. He would be just fine. All three of you would.

“I, uh—well—” The archer rubbed at the back of his neck, something she noticed he did when he was uncomfortable. “Ain’t good at any’a this shit, so m’just gonna say it.” Lori raised her eyebrows when he paused to chew intently on the side of his thumb. “Wanna ask Y/N to, y’know—to marry me.” Her first instinct was to cheer, to celebrate his commitment, but thoughts of Rick—of Shane���trampled any immediate joy and ushered in skepticism. “You’re sure?”

Daryl scoffed. “Course m’sure! Lookit what she went through—what she just did for me. Why wouldn’t I wanna make ‘er my wife?” The confusion—the utter exasperation—on his face gave her pause but she continued.

“But do you love her?” She asked. Daryl wiped a hand down his face, ending with running the length of his index finger across his bottom lip. “It’s not a hard question, Daryl. Do you love her?” She didn’t realize—or maybe she did—how difficult it was for the man to admit something that deep to anyone but you. She wasn’t aware that he had said it before, had said it in the van, in the presence of the Greene’s and Carol, but whether or not they had heard was not something he had bothered to care about during that pivotal moment. 

Finally, Daryl sighed, his voice quiet. “I love ‘er. Yeah.”

Lori felt something in her chest release, a strong sense of relief and—if she were being honest—jealousy overwhelming her senses, making it impossible to speak for a moment. Gathering her bearings, she nodded and turned back to the pot, picking up the spoon to begin stirring. “Then you just ask her.” She sniffed, tilting her head just so in order to hide her tears from him. She was happy for you, compellingly so, but there was no denying the sadness that weighed on her own heart. Still, this wasn’t about her. This was about you—her friend. “Don’t rehearse lines or try to make it perfect. You just ask her. On the spot and from the heart.”

She heard the quiet hum from the side. It was the most straightforward form of acceptance toward her answer that she was bound to get from him. As his bootfalls receded into whispers on far away hardwood, she smiled.

Try or not, he was going to make it something that would mean the world to you.

You wiped away a tear and sniffled, consumed with a fresh wave of guilt for how you had been treating him as of late. He was handling your mood swings with grace, never lashing out, even if you did see him bite his tongue on more than one occasion. He had every right. Hormones or not, he deserved better than what you had been giving him.

“Thanks.” You whispered.

“So?”

You sniffled a second time, wiping at both of your eyes. “So what?”

Lori chuckled, her hands on either side of her belly. “Did you say yes?” 

You smiled and shook your head, recalling the moment to the forefront of your mind—hearing his tone, summoning the myriad of emotions you had experienced. It really was a Daryl Dixon proposal and it couldn’t have been more perfect. “I said yes.” You gave an indignant oomf as you were pulled against Lori, her arms squeezing as tightly as they could manage. “Wait, wait, wait.” You laughed, patting her back in an effort to coerce her into releasing her hold. When she let go, you sat back, expression light. “We’re keeping it quiet for now, making it official later.”

“Why?”

You shrugged. “A lot can happen in a short amount of time. He could change his mind.” Especially with these fucking mood changes. 

“You’re right.” She agreed. You shot her a look, almost as if you had been expecting her to disagree with you. “ A lot can change. We don’t know what’s going to happen even in the next few minutes.” She paused. “Who we might lose.” Leaning forward, she cupped your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Think about it.” You studied her for a moment, the sadness and apprehension radiating from your friend and forming a veil over you that was almost smothering. You nodded. “Good. Now go see what Carol wants. I think I need a nap.” She gave you an encouraging smile and didn’t move as you stood, looking over your shoulder at her before you disappeared to find the other woman and your daughter.

It wasn’t hard to do. Not at all. You just followed the loud exclamations of a disgruntled infant. As you approached, you could tell your daughter had just been given a fresh diaper and was in the process of being swaddled. The cold, flat ground beneath her couldn’t have been helping things. The weather was warming but at a slow rate Regardless, you had no idea what was coming next: what Carol would share with you and the disaster that would follow.

“Oh, hey.” She greeted, patting the ground next to her. The lack of her usual gentle tone and welcoming smile were your first clues that something was amiss. She sighed heavily, not meeting your eyes once you were cross-legged at her side. Her hand was splayed over the top of the blanket, gently rubbing circles over Birdie’s belly. “There’s something I want to tell you—advice, if I can even call it that.” She said solemnly. You weren’t sure where her thoughts were at that moment but it was somewhere dark, somewhere in a place she had deserted since the deaths of Ed and Sophia.

“What is it?” You needlessly adjusted the knit hat on Birdie’s head; pulled the hood of the tiny jumpsuit more snug around her little round face.

“Babies cry, Y/N. It’s how they tell us when they need something. It’s the only way they can tell us.” Why was she schooling you on something you had already learned? And in such a monotonous fashion? “I don’t want Rick to be right but there are dangers and few options if a herd follows the noise.” She sighed heavily, her shoulders held slumped under an invisible weight. “I don’t like it but it’s fact.”

“I know that, Carol.” 

“It’s just—” When you looked away from the baby, your gaze was immediately drawn to the lone tear straying from her closed eyes. “When Sophia was born, she was—she was such a quiet baby.” Her words came so softly, so full of melancholic nostalgia that you felt your own heart clench. Then, when her eyes opened, they were hard, her expression stern and twisted. “He gave me a break. Ed.” She didn’t even need to say his name. You knew. “A couple of weeks before the—old habits came back. The bruises, the screaming.” She was trembling, her hand leaving Birdie to curl into a fist on top of her knee.

“Carol, we don’t have to—”

“Sophia felt it.” She nodded, staring off to nowhere in particular. “That energy—she began to cry, she was so unsettled. Ed didn’t like it. Shut her up or I will, he would say.” She bent forward, her face crumbling as her hand slid up to twist into the front of her jacket. “I didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t know how else to keep her safe.”

You waited her out, terrified of what she was about to tell you. When you said nothing, she inhaled deeply and released her hold on the coat, stroking the back of a knuckle over Birdie’s cheek.

“Y/N, I am going to show you something. I only ask that you please try not to think less of me.” Your mouth was moving but no sound emerging, your wide eyes watching her lean over your daughter, shushing the discontented cries. “I would never hurt your daughter, just as I would have never hurt my own.” Before you could speak, she was pinching Birdie’s little nose with one hand and covering her mouth with the other. The crying ceased but the flailing did not, her little limbs jerking.

“Carol!” You threw yourself forward and snatched her wrists, pulling them away from your daughter, throwing the other woman off balance and onto her hip. Carol caught herself, her palm shoving toward you in a desperate gesture for you to calm down. “What the fu—”

“Look!” She pleaded, her head jerking toward the now silent baby.

Birdie was still, her tiny blue eyes open and searching, stunned. She wasn’t crying, not at that moment. Your jaw was agape, your mind warring between anger and bewilderment; between betrayal and understanding.

“You only do it for a moment, not long enough to cause any harm.” Carol sat up, tears flowing down her cheeks, unchecked. “I couldn’t let Sophia cry. I did what I had to do.” She shook her head adamantly, her eyes closed tightly as if she were trying to jar the unpleasant memories loose and out of her mind. “I don’t regret it. I don’t. She was safe from him.”

“I don’t—Carol, I can’t do that.” You were crying openly now, picturing yourself denying your daughter precious breath. Even just one attempt would break you, split you open from the inside out.

“I’m not telling you that you have to, but Y/N,” she paused, gathering herself back up onto her knees at your side. She intentionally kept space between the two of you. “Rick—he’s trying to keep us safe. You saw what those monsters were going to do to her. You’ve seen what walkers can and will do. Just until we find a car. Until—”

Your face was in your hands now, Birdie’s crying having picked back up. “What if I—”

“Only a moment, Y/N. She will catch her breath. Eventually, it—it trains her.” Carol hesitantly touched your shoulder, and you broke, bowing over your little one with open sobs. Your body trembled from the force of your crying, any sound muffled by the blanket pressing into your face. “I’m so sorry. I just want her to be safe. I want her to have a chance.”

The two of you stayed that way for an uncertain amount of time, long enough for your sobs to drain away into hiccups and whimpers. Sitting up, you roughly wiped at your face, red and puffy eyes frozen on your screaming baby. How could you do what she was suggesting? How? What would Daryl think? “I need to talk to Daryl.”

Carol nodded, but her expression screamed uncertainty. “Maybe you should show him.” She suggested. “He can see that it’s not hurting her.”

“The man wouldn’t even wipe her ass because he was afraid of hurting her, Carol.”

“You’re right. Maybe this was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have—I’m so sorry.”

She felt ashamed. You could see it all over her; her face, the way she began to curl in on herself. She was ashamed of something she was forced to do to keep her baby girl safe. And then she had lost Sophia. It was clear that Carol wasn’t proud of the way she had to ensure her child’s safety. It wasn’t a hack you go around bragging about at neighborhood get-togethers. It was survival.

“Show me what to do.”

Expression grim, Carol moved closer and instructed. The actions were so simple. It was the very idea itself that was so impossibly difficult. Pinching Birdie’s little nose, the baby gasped wetly through her mouth just as your hand was coming down to cover it. Your heart was seizing, vibrating painfully in your chest. Just as your fingertips touched her cheek—

“What the fuck are you doin’?!”

Daryl.

[littlebabyyd0ll]

thinking about being felix’s incompetent little girlfriend 😩 tw: bruises and mentions of throwing up. r has long hair.

“‘ve got another bruise.” you mumble heedlessly, barely even thinking about the words that come out of your mouth as you apply lotion (which is probably enough to cover a months rent in a two-bed flat) to your calves. felix, hunched over his textbook with a blue ballpoint pen between his lips, turns swiftly towards you, following the sound of your sweet, airy voice.

he sighs at the pretty image of you, body covered by one of his old t-shirts, practically eating you whole, hair falling over your shoulders and delicately manicured fingers massaging into your supple skin. he’s sure that his eyes go soft, practically heart-shaped, watching you in your own little world. he can see the constellation of bruises that you’ve already accumulated, seemingly from nowhere. pulling the pen from between his lips, he chucks it down onto his desk and rises from his swivel chair.

it’s then that you look up at him, not a thought behind your pretty eyes. his heart flutters at the way your pupils double in size, the way your lips tilt upwards at the mere presence of him. he fills your space without hesitation, so big and full of life, so warm, so handsome. your smile widens as he sits down next to you, the depth of the shift of his mattress. bright brown eyes linger upon your legs, taking in the dark purple discolouration. felix hums, looking back at you.

“does it hurt?” he asks, reaching out towards you. his skin is warm and soft, hands of little manual labour but so much comfort and love.

you know this game, have played it a thousand times. a dramatic sigh falls from your glossed lips, pretty pout settling mere seconds afterwards. “terribly.”

“need to be more careful.” he says lowly, fingertips tracing the anklet with his initials on, a present you received during your 18th birthday in paris. the gold shimmers as he moves, raising your leg with a light yet dominant touch. felix leans down, dark strands of hair falling over his eyebrow piercing, and his lips kiss a trail upwards. he kisses you in a manner so achingly sweet, a way so felix, until he reaches the afflicted area. the kiss that he leaves there is bigger. “my little airhead, hm?”

or when you’re all drunk and sloppy :( he’s just watching you so carefully, so effortlessly your knight in shining armour. felix doesn’t stop you from downing your jägers, doesn’t stop you from sipping his stella, but his hand doesn’t leave your side the whole night, doesn’t let you out of his sight, even when you’re hunched over a group of bushes, chundering your guts up on the walk back to your accommodation.

those loving hands rub soothingly up and down your back, shushing your heaves. “that’s it. good girl, get it all out.” he doesn’t care for the violent smell, or the way that it splashes against his trainers. just cares about helping you, getting you tip-top again. his other hand gathers your hair, holding it up and away from your face.

“she’s so fucked.” arabella, one of your friends from back at your all-girls private school slurs on her words, bumping into felix’s side. he resists the urge to roll his eyes — as if she wasn’t the one shoving shots down your throat. “just give her some fucking water or something. i want to get back.”

“no one’s stopping you.” he says, motioning with his head, pointing to the way back to college towards farleigh, subliminally trying to tell him to take the others and leave the two of you to yourselves. you, of course, miss this interaction, too busy with your tear streaked cheeks and spit coated lips. your little hand reaches back blindly for him, grasping onto his green polo. his hand resumes its gentle strokes.

farleigh groans behind the butt of his cigarette, dragging your friend away and motioning for the rest of your posse to come along.

“felix.” you sob pathetically, feeling far more than sorry for yourself. his poor baby, he thinks, doing so little to take care of yourself. your heaving stops for a moment and you fall to your knees. felix is quick to react, scooping you up from underneath your armpits and pulling you away from the pile of your own sick.

“i’m here, bambi. you’re alright.” he murmurs as you shove your head into his shoulder, undoubtedly staining his top. his hands still never once leave you, even as he gives you time to regulate your breathing and choked cries, pushes your hair back time and time again.

even then, nostrils stinging with the sour smell and shoulder dead from your limp limbs, he can’t help but smile. he smiles at the knowledge that only he gets you like this, all reliant and incompetent, so desperate for him and his, in your eyes, omnipotence.

“‘m never drinking again.”

“that’s not true.”

you whine, pushing your face further into his neck. “it’s not true.”

yeah, he thinks, he’s pretty lucky with his sweet, incompetent girl.

[toodazegone]

my absurd supernatural headcanons that have no explanations ✩

Sam once spent hours building a lego set only to realize his instruction manual was wrong

Dean knows exactly how many licks it takes to get to the centre of a tootsie pop

Cas likes collecting pretty rocks and sticks

Jack has a very bad spice tolerance

either Metatron or Chuck has committed tax evasion at least once.

Crowley got swarmed by a group of 7 geese once

Garth watches HGTV and tried to get Kevin into it.

Gabriel only ever drinks flavoured water/drinks, specifically fruity stuff, cause, he’s fruity.

Charlie likes eating popcorn with a fork.

ducks hate John, ducks always attack John.

[together-we-got-it]

Costume change manual for October 1985. This manual was sent to locations as a guide on how to dress up the characters in their costumes. Unfortunately, these costumes were not mandatory, which means that there are no known photos of them actually being used.

There was no Halloween themed showtape made for October 1985. The showtape that would be used during the Halloween 1985 season was Salute To Kids.

Although it has been rumored that there was unique Halloween themed audio that was recorded by Scott Wilson for the Chuck E Phone game but that is unconfirmed.

[dadfuckerfest]

DADFUCKER DANUARY IS HERE. HAPPY DADFUCKING HOLIDAYS, YA FILTHY ANIMALS!

Dadfucker December is a celebration of SPN dads fucking during December, in the form of a prompt meme. “Fucking” is loosely construed. So is “dad.” And also the event will be open through January 15th.

HEAD ON OVER TO AO3 NOW!

Keep reading for rules and regulations:

HOW DOES THIS WORK? Leave a prompt, claim a prompt, fill a prompt. Prompt submissions are now open! Fills will be accepted through January 15th. Make sure to link/cross-post to tumblr so we can reblog and save your creations for posterity!

WHICH DADS AND WHICH FUCKERS? John Winchester is the daddiest and most fuckable of all dads, but other eligible dads include Chuck, Cain, Crowley, Castiel, Sam, Dean, etc. Any dadfucker is allowed as long as the dad they’re fucking is their dad, or they’re otherwise fucking some other dad in a dadfucking way.

HOW LONG SHOULD MY PROMPT BE? A prompt can be as long and detailed or as abstract as you want. You can request a “vibe” in a couple of words, or you can specify a pairing and an act and a line of dialogue; the prompt tagging feature is your friend!

HOW LONG SHOULD MY FILL BE? Your fill has to be zero words long! Art and gifsets and edits and mixtapes are most welcome! If you do want to write fic, however, a minimum of 500 words is probably a safe place to start.

HOW MUCH DADFUCKING? We’re here to celebrate dadfucking, obviously, but sometimes just a little hint of dadfucking is enough. This is to say, we’ll gladly take all ratings as long as the work can be reasonably tagged with a slash (“/”).

MUST MY PROMPT/FILL BE HOLIDAY-THEMED? No. The holiday is the dadfucking we jerk off to along the way.

I WANT TO MAKE SOMETHING THAT NO ONE HAS PROMPTED. Send in the prompt yourself! Prompts are anonymous! Otherwise you can just mention @dadfuckerfest on your lovely creation and we’ll go from there. And don't forget to add it manually to the AO3 collection!

I HAVE ANOTHER QUESTION YOU DIDN’T ANSWER. Send an ask, our box is open!

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Summary: After a failed engagement, you move back home and reconnect with your friends. Maybe, just maybe you can find love with someone you never expected.

Pairing: Neighbor Yoongi x Teacher F. Reader

Warnings: Explicit Sex, Swearing, Cheating (Not Yoongi), Fighting, Protected/Unprotected Sex, Toxic Past Relationship,

Genre: Enemies(?) to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers, Small Town Romance, They own a farm, Hurt-Comfort, Slight Angst, Romance, 

A/N: A small teaser for my next story that won't come out until WHISPERED VOWS is complete.

“Kookie, let her talk,” Hobi scolded him.

“Y/N!” You look up and see Jungkook waving at you excitedly from under a large Tannie Farms sign. “You're here!” Jungkook comes around to the front of several white tables that stand under a large tent from where the sign dangles and hugs you tightly. Your eyes widened in surprise at the act of affection. You bring your hands up and tentatively pat his pat in return. “Are you back for good? Joon said, "Joon said that you're going to work at his school. Are you going to help us every weekend?”

“Sorry, I just really missed you,” he whispered to you. Guilt. You feel so fucking guilty.

Hobi and Jungkook showed you how to stack all the produce in wooden crates that they were going to sell and how to keep them looking presentable. The more uniformed they were, the more appealing they supposedly were. They chatted away telling you all of their ideas to expand their products at their spot here at the farmers market and in the local stores as you stacked and fixed the wooden crates like they showed you. They told you how they wanted to start selling baked goods using the fruits and eventual nuts that they grew, but none of them could bake that well. Jin was the closest to making something edible, but it just wasn't good enough. 

“I missed you too, Kook. Don't worry, there is plenty of time to catch up. Okay, show me what you want me to do,” you tell him, a fake smile plastered to your face. You link your arms together as you make your way to their spot. 

“You could help with that!” Kook said excitedly. “Your  breads were always so good when you made them in school. OH! Your birthday cakes were amazing. We always looked forward to everyone's birthday because of your cakes.”

“I never got one,” a deep voice soon joined the conversation. Yoongi walked by you carrying a crate of tomatoes.  

His dark hair that you always remembered him having was now a darker blonde. He looked the same, though. He looked good. He was still handsome with an arrogant aura around him that he always had. You were actually surprised that he was carrying something. You figured business and marketing manager meant a cushy office, not manual labor. Someone who would never give up his weekend to help work the crowd on a hot summer's day. You thought it was more suit and tie than flannel and ripped jeans. 

“We were never friends,” you shot back at him. 

Yoongi turned and pinned you down with a glare. You swear you can feel your cheeks heat up, and you don't know if it's from anger or attraction. Your small, very, very small, almost microscopic crush from high school might still linger….maybe. 

“Okay,” Hobi says, clapping his hands, drawing your attention back to him. “Our price list is here on the sheet for your reference. Just entice people to come with that pretty face, and Kook will ring them up.” Yoongi scoffs. You quickly pick up an ear of corn to chuck it at him, but Hobi takes it away from you just as fast. “Listen, I know you two have had your differences in the past, but we are actually adults now. Just be cordial, at least.” 

"Fine,” you say, feeling ashamed that you let Yoongi get to you. 

“Okay,” Yoongi agrees and shrugs nonchalantly. “I have no issues on my end.” 

“Great,” Hobi says happily with a clap of his hands. “Let's get this party started.”

[ridiculousmachinetools]

Experience unrivaled accuracy with our top-grade Morse taper drill chucks and industrial tools. Engineered for maximum concentricity and gripping force, our drill chucks deliver ridiculous productivity. Invest in quality tools that outperform and outlast.

[rinnie-marylin]

No context.

Btw, chuck didn't have his condiments ray gun with him for some reason so he had to use the condiments on his belt manually😔 (a.k.a my excuse for not drawing it because it looks too complicated)

Here's the inspo:

[elizabethsnuts]

can we get a flasback of winterwidow before their daughter was born?? Like all the preparations and stuff :D

Preparations

WinterWidow x Daughter!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Bucky are getting ready for your arrival by finishing the important tasks.

———

Natasha sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor of the nursery, she was looking around the room and reviewing it. She and Bucky had spent weeks making it perfect for you, even if you were going to be sleeping in their room for the first few months of your life.

Bucky entered the room, carrying a large cardboard box labelled "Baby Clothes." He set it down gently on the floor, then straightened up, putting his hands on his hips. "Alright, Nat. Ready to sort through these?" he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Natasha turned to him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Absolutely. There’s a lot of stuff in here."

Bucky joined Natasha on the floor, opening the box and pulling out tiny, adorable outfits. There were onesies in every colour imaginable, soft little hats, and even a pair of teeny tiny socks.

They started with the clothes, sorting them by size and type. Natasha held up a tiny onesie, grinning at how small it was. "Can you believe she's going to be this tiny?"

Bucky took the onesie from her, holding it up to his chest. "No, I really can't. It's so crazy."

Natasha picked up another piece of clothing and held it up, it was a frilly pink dress, and her expression was filled with warmth.

“This is so so cute! I cannot believe she's going to be wearing this soon." she said, her voice tinged with awe.

Bucky chuckled, reaching over to take the dress from her. "The time is going too quickly, I swear."

They continued sorting through the clothes, carefully folding each piece and placing it in the dresser drawers. As they worked, they talked about their hopes and dreams for you, the kind of parents they wanted to be, and all the adventures they would have together.

Natasha picked up another piece of clothing and raised her eyebrow in amusement. “A suit? Really? Who gave us this?”

Bucky laughed and fixed the tie attached to it. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say Tony. He wants her to be Ms Billionaire Baby.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and chucked it in the drawer. “I’m honestly not surprised one bit.”

Next on the list was assembling the crib. The pieces were spread out across the floor, along with a rather intimidating set of instructions. Bucky picked up the manual, flipping through the pages with a furrowed brow.

"This doesn't look too bad," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise.

Natasha laughed, giving him a playful nudge. "Come on, we've faced worse than this. We can handle a crib."

They set to work, Bucky handling the more complex parts while Natasha read the instructions and handed him tools.

"Careful with that screw," she warned. "We don't want it to be loose."

Bucky glanced at her, a smirk on his face. "I've got this, Nat. You just relax."

She rolled her eyes but leaned back, watching him work. There was something incredibly satisfying about seeing Bucky so focused and determined. It reminded her of the countless missions they'd been on together, except this time, the mission was creating a safe and loving home for you.

After a bit of effort and a few playful arguments, the crib was finally complete. Bucky stood back, admiring their handiwork. "Not too bad, huh?"

Natasha nodded and smirked, placing her hands on her hips. “I’d say you did pretty good! Now, can you do a stroller?”

Bucky shrugged and gestured to the crib. “I did that, how hard could it be?”

The stroller was in fact quite difficult. The crib was more of a breeze than the stroller which proved to be more of a challenge. It came with a manual that seemed to be written in an alien language. Bucky unfolded the various parts, scratching his head. "Who knew a stroller could be so complicated?"

Natasha took the manual, squinting at the tiny print. "I think we need to attach these wheels first."

They fumbled through the assembly, laughing at every wrong screw and backward piece. At one point, Bucky tried to fit a piece where it clearly didn't belong, and Natasha couldn't help but tease him. "Super soldier, huh? Can't even build a stroller."

Bucky feigned indignation. "Hey, I'm doing my best here!"

Eventually, they managed to put the stroller together. Natasha gave it a little push, watching it roll smoothly across the floor. "We did it."

They took turns pushing it around the living room, laughing at the absurdity of pushing an empty stroller. Bucky even tried fitting one of the cats inside, but he promptly jumped out and hid under the couch.

"Guess we'll stick to just the baby," Bucky said, grinning.

Next, they tackled the baby shower gifts. They had received an overwhelming number of items from friends and family, each one wrapped in colourful paper and adorned with ribbons. Natasha unwrapped a gift and pulled out a plush octopus that lit up and played music.

"What is this even for?" she asked, holding it up and pressing the button to make it glow.

"No idea," Bucky said, laughing. "But it might keep her entertained for a few minutes. Or scare her. One of the two."

They continued opening gifts, finding a mix of practical items and more… interesting ones. There were adorable blankets, diapers, and baby bottles, but also things like a baby food processor that neither of them knew how to use and a set of tiny sunglasses.

"These are ridiculous," Natasha said, holding up the sunglasses and putting them on her nose. "Do you think she'll actually wear these?"

Bucky chuckled loudly. "She might, but she definitely won't keep them on for long. Babies aren't exactly known for their fashion compliance."

As they sorted through the gifts, they made a pile of things they thought they'd use often and another pile of the more questionable items. Bucky picked up a baby hammock and shook his head. "Who even thought this was a good idea? It looks like a miniature torture device."

Natasha laughed so hard she had to hold her belly. "Well, we can always re-gift it. Maybe someone else will find it useful."

By the time they finished, the nursery was organised and clean, and both of them were exhausted but happy. Bucky looked around and then at Natasha, who was resting on the rocking chair with her feet up.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Bucky whispered, placing his hand on Natasha’s bump, feeling the soft kicks of your tiny feet inside.

“Me too… we still have to get her car seat ready though.” Natasha giggled and rubbed the bottom of her stomach.

Bucky groaned and chuckled, rubbing his eyes. “We’ll do that later! We did so much today.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, thinking about the future and how you would soon join their family. The preparations were almost complete, but the real deal was just beginning.

[themareverine]

Toy Soldiers | TEASER | worst!wolverine x fem!IOC drabble

a/n: so yeah basically i'm still working on this fic, it's taking longer than expected. doing more with it than i thought. figured you all deserved a teaser, so here you go! enjoy!

“Easy, sweetheart,” early morning gravels his words, which hang low in baritones not at all unfamiliar, “‘m not gonna hurt you. You breathin’ ok?” Genuine concern passes through his eyes, deep and alive, but—not in a bright way. The corner of his lip tips up, “Don’t mean to scare ya, pretty.” 

“What the hell are you doing here,” she challenges, taking a half step back. Memories of kickboxing classes, somewhere in her youth, escape through the fingers of memories in the back of her head. More boxing posture than anything, she lifts her arms to chin level. Fingers tear into the stuffie like it’s a lifeline, like it’s protection. And for now, it is. 

Not giving him the chance to answer, his mouth hangs open in muted response, “This is my apartment—you can either leave or I’ll–I’ll forcibly remove you.” It would take a 911 call—it would mean grabbing her phone from the nightstand, punching the emergency button, and staying away from him during response time. All unlikely, given proximity. The size of the apartment. How he blocks the only damn exit with his huge-ass frame. 

Jaw snapping closed, a thick brow pops up. He chuckles. He thinks this is funny, “Whoa, take it easy, bub—” 

“—shut up! Stop talking!” Pointing a strong finger at him, she shuffles back on light feet. Bobbing as best she can, trying to appear light. Prepared. But everything in every manual in the world wouldn’t have prepared her for home invasion—all those home defense classes. The hours shooting clays and targets with her father. Worthless. 

I am so going to die. 

Another step into her sanctuary, holy of holies. “Quit moving, damnit!” 

The stranger stops mid-stride, brows popped in surprise at her tone of voice, squinched nose and roughly shut eyes. Her eyes pop open. Hands drop to his sides for all of a minute before he chuckles. And he laughs with his entire body for all of a few seconds—

—until the stuffie chucks directly at his face, a blur of hot-pink fur and fluff.