#Tool Roll Bundle

[sparklehoard]

Fighting for my life trying to cook in my parents kitchen last night.

Got in a fight when I blocked my mother from putting a can of corn in the butter chicken I had been cooking for 2 hours

[shrapnarl]

.

quick dreamsnso i can find them later

[peniswizard69]

Yeah I'm in STEM

Somebody once

Told me the world is gonna roll me I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed She was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb In the shape of an "L" on her forehead Well, the years start comin' and they don't stop comin' Fed to the rules and I hit the ground runnin' Didn't make sense not to live for fun Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb So much to do, so much to see So what's wrong with taking the backstreets? You'll never know if you don't go (W-w-wacko) You'll never shine if you don't glow Hey now, you're an all star Get your game on, go play Hey now, you're a rock star Get the show on, get paid (And all that glitters is gold) Only shootin' stars break the mold It's a cool place, and they say it gets colder You're bundled up now, wait 'til you get older But the meteor men beg to differ Judging by the hole in the satellite picture The ice we skate is gettin' pretty thin The water's gettin' warm so you might as well swim My world's on fire, how 'bout yours? That's the way I like it and I'll never get bored Hey now, you're an all star Get your game on, go play Hey now, you're a rock star Get the show on, get paid (All that glitters is gold) Only shootin' stars break the mold Hey now, you're an all star Get your game on, go play Hey now, you're a rock star Get the show on, get paid (And all that glitters is gold) Only shooting stars… Somebody once asked, "Could I spare some change for gas? I need to get myself away from this place" I said, "Yep, what a concept I could use a little fuel myself and we could all use a little change" Well, the years start comin' and they don't stop comin' Fed to the rules and I hit the ground runnin' Didn't make sense not to live for fun Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb So much to do, so much to see So what's wrong with taking the backstreets? You'll never know if you don't go (Go!) You'll never shine if you don't glow Hey now, you're an all star Get your game on, go play Hey now, you're a rock star Get the show on, get paid (And all that glitters is gols) Only shootin' stars break the mold (And all that glitters is gold) Only shootin' stars break the mold

Engineering

Math

[oldschoolfrp]

The calendar tell me it's July 27, Gary Gygax's birthday, so I rolled up a character -- 3D6 rolled six times in order referencing Holmes' 1977 basic D&D rules (his tidy edit of Gygax and Arneson's original 1974 little books):

Srength 8

Intelligence 13

Wisdom 10

Constitution 8

Dexterity 10

Charisma 8

In old school D&D this is a perfectly viable character with no penalties, before 50 years of stat inflation was built into the rules. He could be almost anything, but will be most capable as a magic-user, receiving a +5% bonus to earned experience for having a 13 in the prime requisite ability.

Magic-users and thieves get only a D4 for hit points in early editions, and as often happens I rolled a 1. Survival past the first few levels will be extremely unlikely, but it always was for those classes. He'll need to hide in the middle of the party and hope for the best.

3D6 x 10 for starting gold pieces results in only 60, but he doesn't need much gear. He'll carry some basic tools and a bundle of empty sacks to help carry treasure after his one and only spell is spent.

With Int 13 he has a 65% chance of having a specific level 1 spell in his book, and will have a minimum of 5 and a maximum of 8. He can roll in any order, and can reroll from the list if they fail to meet the minimum. On the first pass through the list he fails to know Detect Magic, Magic Missile, or Hold Portal, but his book holds Charm Person, Dancing Lights, Protection from Evil, Read Languages, Read Magic, Shield, Sleep, and Tenser's Floating Disc. From that list of 8 he can choose one spell each day to use, only one time per day. In combat Sleep and Charm Person will be useful for reducing the number of opponents.

[kometqh]

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭

Captain Rex x F!Jedi!Reader Pt.2 of Forget Me Not Rex has finally settled down on a faraway, isolated planet. Finally, he has found some semblance of peace from the ongoing war against the Empire. Finally, he can take the time to recover from losing you, but how long will that last? Word Count: 3007 Warnings: Swearing, making out, old injuries. A/N: This has been specifically requested, and can be thought of as either the continuation of the previous story or an alternative ending :) It was going to turn into a big fat smut but my brain couldn't handle posting that (I've never written or posted a full smut before!!)

Vast golden fields swayed gently in the warm, evening summer breeze. The golden sun illuminated the landscape, a warm glow settling over the hay and Rex's figure, who was relaxing on his porch, hands behind his head as he observed the sight before him.

How many times had he dreamt of such a sight? Of owning his own little farm, of owning a couple of banthas and chickens and goats? 

Too many times for his younger, prouder self to admit. 

Where his brothers used to loudly fantasise over their ideal futures, he was too busy playing the perfect soldier, sticking to his obligations, rules and limitations.

But now? Now he had that one small bundle of joy, held tightly within his iron-hard grasp. And he wasn't about to go exchanging it for anything else. Not in a million lifetimes.

The loud, content bellowing of a few banthas stripped him of his thoughts, his gaze looking for the one particular creature that always seemed to make the most noise. Far ahead, to his left, was one bantha, rolling its body in the hay, short tail wagging left to right, continuous hums and moos escaping its throat in ground-shaking vibrations.

A soft smile tugged at Rex's lips; that was his oldest, and his first ever Bantha.

He had spent the last four years nurturing and caring for the creature, leading it over stretches of land, until he was finally able to settle down in an abandoned farmhouse, far away from any civilization.

The farmhouse itself wasn't in such bad shape. Sure, it needed repairs here and there, but it wasn't anything a tough solider like Rex couldn't handle. He got to work pretty quick, with his handy tools and a shit ton of determination, he had refurnished and fixed the farmhouse within a year and a half, and now, all that was left was to renew the coat of paint that seemed to chip away any time it rained.

But Rex figured that could wait, after all, no one would be able to tell that the farmhouse was being used as long as it looked old and rusty, right?

With a soft sigh, he closed his eyes, basking in the warmth provided by the rays of the setting sun. He was tired. It was a long day of working on the farm, planting the appropriate crops for the upcoming, much colder, season, as well as milking the banthas to make different cheeses the next day.

He thought over his schedule, already feeling a headache rising in the back of his head. The following week he was supposed to be making his way over to the nearest town, to sell whatever he had managed to produce over the last two weeks. Going to the closest town over was his least favourite activity; he preferred to stay hidden away in his little farmhouse with his Banthas and Tooka.

He preferred to relax on his porch, to watch over his animals as they grazed happily across the long stretch of fields, to feel the warm sunrays kissing his skin, to watch the sun lazily disappear behind the horizon.

He let his tired eyes fall closed, the wrinkles on his skin seemingly fading away, a soft smile shining on his face at the soft hum of the summer breeze and grazing animals, an all too familiar weight lifting from his chest inch by inch. The gentle breeze passed his body, leaving a pleasant, cooling chill to run down his spine.

Darkness and warmth surrounded him like a weighted blanket, though his body felt light. He dreamt of nothing, his mind jumping to and from consciousness, his body twitching at a sudden shift in atmosphere. His ears almost twitched at the soft whir of a ship flying above, goose bumps rising over the expanse of his bare, muscular arms as a much stronger wind grazed past his body.

But his eyes snapped open to the sound of panicked tip-tapping of his banthas, their heaved breathing and confused whines reaching his ears. The warm honeyed glare of his eyes was gone, now replaced by a deep black as he looked around, the night sky pitch black.

He must have snoozed off or something, how many hours have passed?

The banthas continued to make noise, but this time the briefest whispers accompanied them. With a strong, heavy inhale, Rex slowly rose from his seat, eyes squinted as he tried to cover for his lack of vision.

Who were they? The Empire? 

Surely not.

Rex had made sure to cover all of his tracks, remaining classed as officially dead in the Empire's files. 

Did someone betray him? 

But who? 

And how? 

Only a very small number of people actually knew-

"Hey lady! Calm it!" A familiar voice said all too loudly, giving an affectionate pat to one of the banthas. The voice, it was so.. so like Rex's.

His eyes widened as the other figures shushed the man, and Rex couldn't help the relieved smile and sigh that escaped his chest. 

He knew those people. After all, they're the ones he rescued Echo with.

However, one by one, various emotions swirled around in his head. Happiness? Of course. He was happy to see his brothers after four gruelling, lonely years. Confusion? Hell yeah! What was so important that they had to break their no contact? Relief too, he could feel the way his heart rate had spiked just at the mere idea of danger, blood rushing into his head, loudly pounding against his eardrums.

Slowly, one foot moved, followed by the other, taking turns leading Rex down the porch, towards his brothers. Towards his family.

At the sight of Rex's moving figure, some men groaned, whereas Wrecker and Omega began running at full-speed towards the male, tackling him to the ground in a long awaited hug.

"Rex! We missed you!" Omega exclaimed, erupting into fits of laughter as Rex's strong arm wrapped around her and Wrecker.

"Alright alright! Now get off of me, I can feel my bones being crushed!" Rex exclaimed, though his hold on the two didn't ease, nor did his smile disappear.  Quickly scrambling off of him, the two couldn't contain their happy, yet seemingly mischievous smiles as Hunter extended a hand out to Rex.

"It's been a while, brother." Hunter nodded, pulling Rex in for a quick hug, patting his back. Hunter's body was stiff, his shoulders tense and breathing strained as he moved away, Rex noticed. That was unusual.

Though a smile remained on his face, Rex couldn't help but feel nervous at the strange tension surrounding the batch. As he looked around, one eyebrow quirked at the sight of Tech and Crosshair shielding Echo from view and.. someone else? Who were they?

"What's going on..?" He questioned, his eyes narrowing as he looked between the two.

Echo and the figure stood in the very far back, Echo's arm was wrapped tightly around their shoulders, holding them protectively close to his chest, his grip tight as if the figure would disappear into the darkness of the night if his hold let up even by an inch.

His eyes remained trained on Echo and the mysterious figure, though Rex's head tilted slightly to the right, in Hunter's direction.

"Hunter-" Rex started, but was quickly interrupted by the look on Echo's face. His ears strained, almost missing the soft, trembling whimper. The figure brought a hand up to their face, too late in stifling the sound.

As their hand lifted, Rex noticed that all-too familiar, cuffed sleeve hanging onto their hand. 

Time seemed to slow, his chest straining painfully at the sound. Rex could feel his heart drop, the air sucked from his body like a popped balloon.

His sight was stuck on that sleeve, visions plaguing his mind, replaying like a broken tape.

Memories, memories of her.

That voice.

His legs moved before his mind could even comprehend what was happening. Tech and Crosshair narrowly avoided being collided into, stepping to the side as Rex pushed through. 

His lips twisted into a pained frown, his teeth gritted together like metal bars.

That robe.. That Jedi robe.

How didn't he notice it right away?

The look on Echo's face told him everything he needed to know, his hold easing on her as Rex reached his arms out, gripping her shoulders tightly.

"Y/n.." Her name spilled from his lips so easily, so softly, as though he was cursed, spellbound to only repeat her name, only those few simple syllables for the rest of eternity. It lingered on his tongue like the sweetest of syrups, leaving a fiery, burning trail in his throat, scalding at his heart like a molten fist, twisting, turning and tearing.

"Rex," A shiver fell down his spine, his breath hitching in his throat. How long had it been since he last heard it? Tears brimmed at the corners of his eyes, his gut twisting into a familiar knot, adrenaline spreading like fire through his veins. His heart pumped blood so quickly, so fiercely through his body, it was like a thousand fireworks had gone off in that instant. Many people have said his name, of course, but only her voice had ever evoked such strong emotions in him.

From the way she'd command his attention during meetings, her gaze lingering a second longer than necessary, the way she'd whisper it when it was just the two of them, hiding in a faraway corner on one of the ships, or even the way it rolled off the tip of her tongue whilst-

It felt like the world around had been sucked into the background, leaving only the two of them, hearts beating wildly, minds melting over one another, even the cold night failing to gather their attention.

His hands, which had been previously on her shoulders, were now gently cradling her face, thumbs swishing back and forth in soft strokes. 

His whole focus was on her eyes- oh, those starry eyes.

How many times had he dreamed of them?

How many times had he cried at night, calling out for her in broken whispers and sobs?

Rex knew it was a few times too many, and yet at the same time, it wasn't enough.

A sob left his lips as he dropped the hood off her head, revealing the person behind the shadowy figure.

Something was different. Off.

Her face, although so familiar, was now so different. Bathed in aged lines, marks, grease and dirt, and worst of all.. A scar.

He hadn't noticed it under the shadow of her hood, but now, it was ever so prominent under the blaring moonlight.

A lone tear cascaded down his face, leaving a wet, salty trail from the midpoint of his eye, down the plush softness of his cheek, dripping off the edge of his jaw. Just like her scar. He let his thumb caress the rough, broken, damaged skin, his lips twisted in a pained frown, stunned to silence.

Her hand, one that used to be so soft and so gentle, was now gripping tightly at his wrist, a gentle shadow on her cheeks, on her scar, casted by her eyelashes. When did she get it? How did she get it?

Her head twisted to the side, making the most effort to hide that side of her face from his gaze.

"Don't.." Rex whispered, no, he warned, taking a hold of her chin, forcing her to turn his way, to face him. Lowering his face to hers, his voice was strained, rough, pleading. "I want to see you.. Let me see you, mesh'la." The word spilled from his lips with such ease, like a prayer, with so much delicacy, so much practice, as he brushed his nose against hers, his eyes fluttering shut. His lips hovered just an inch above hers, feeling the warmth of her breath against his skin.

He had dreamt of this day, every night, every day. For. So. Many. Years.

He had dreamt of lifting her into his arms, of kissing her, of crying with her, of pushing her against his bed, leaning on top of her, making love to her. 

For so many kriffing years.

She's alive.

"I missed you. So. Kriffing. Much." He muttered, his voice becoming more strained with each oncoming word, his eyes squeezed shut, his forehead flush against your own as he fought every fibre in his body against the awful, suffocating need to kiss you. Another pained whimper left your lips, unknowingly acting as a trigger for his next movements.

His lips crashed against your own, his hands keeping your face steady, making sure you wouldn't slip away like the hundreds, no, thousands of dreams he's had before.

Your lips were as soft as he remembered, your touch featherlight and rough. Your hands were shaking, he noted. You were afraid. Afraid of him? You wouldn't be kissing back if that was the case.

Your scent overwhelmed him, it was that faint smell of peach shampoo that he loved so much, it was making his knees weak. Where did you manage to get that from? From the state of you, he was sure you were dying for a hot, bubbly bath. Maybe it was just his imagination playing up. Kissing you, it was addicting. He was like a starved man, pushing his lips against your own, his tongue slipping past to dance with yours in a sweet Waltz, full of grief and hope and longing and all the years wasted away by your separation, by his fear of your light having been snuffed out, like a flickering flame.

You were his light in the dark, his oasis in a never-ending dessert, his midsummer night's dream. You had that spark in you - the one that attracted individuals to you like moths to light. Your laugh, so easily evoked, and your kind smiles, so easily graced upon anyone and everyone, shining down like sunshine on a dewy, autumn morning. You were a breath of fresh air, but also a crackling, comforting fire on a cold winters night.

But he had lost you just so quickly, on that day. Never knowing, for years, if you'd be back. If you were alive.

Your touch slowly grew from soft, dissipated like cotton-candy and falling snowflakes, to eager, pleading for more as your fingers found solace in his slightly outgrown blonde hair, encasing his head in your embrace, pulling him closer as you kissed feverishly, afraid he will disappear like dandelion seeds on a spring day.

You couldn't hear anything but his heartbeat, you couldn't smell anything but his scent, one that had creeped up on you and wrapped around you in an invisible embrace, the smell of freshly cut grass and smoky campfires entrapping you. You couldn't feel anything but him. His hands, always so much bigger than yours, had completely and utterly gotten control over your body, feeling and caressing your hair, gripping your chin and pulling you closer by your waist, his lips hot against your own, his breathing stuttering and yet so laboured as his teeth clashed against your own, his eyes scrunched shut - afraid you would disappear.

Being held in his arms was like a dream come true. You could spend an eternity with him, never losing your love and affection for the soldier standing before you. His warmth planted butterflies in your stomach, and his touch ignited them, making them burn wildly in your gut, scalding and yet patching over the old scars and wounds, gently embracing your heart in a healing bandage.

Only Rex could do such a thing. 

Only Rex could make your heart beat faster, only Rex could have adrenaline pumping through your veins just by a featherlight touch, or a sweet, candy-like, tooth-rotting whisper, or a longing, loving gaze of his golden irises and lush eyelashes.

So lost in each other, for so long, neither the two of you broke contact, until Hunter had to clear his throat awkwardly and speak up to make the two of you slowly, unwillingly, pull apart. 

Rex's forehead rested against yours, crows feet tugging at the outer corners of his eyes, his lips slightly agape as he tried to calm down the galloping of his heart. 

Slowly, eventually, his eyes opened again, the familiar warm colour of honey swirling around his pupils as he gazed into your eyes, a small, pained, and yet happy smile overtaking his features. His heart melted as that same smile reflected on your face, and tears brimmed in your eyes.

"Are you guys done yet?" Crosshair's voice called from a short distance, disgust and yet somehow a hint of endearment present in it.

"You lot go ahead, we'll catch up in a minute," Rex tossed the words over his shoulder with little to no care, rolling his eyes at the loud scoff that came from Crosshair. It was quickly followed by an audible smack, an 'Ouch', and the sound of retreating footsteps.

Your shoulders shook as a breathy laugh escaped you, and as you shut your eyes once more, tears began to escape one by one, sliding down the expanse of your cheek. Rex wasted no time in bringing a hand to gently wipe away at your tears, his own tears tickling at his waterline. 

He missed you so damn much.

And finally, you were here, with him, crying and smiling in his arms.

His throat felt tight, as if someone was strangling him, daring him to say anything. His chest felt heavy, and he was sure if he was stood up any longer, he would simply collapse. 

His thumb caressed the soft, and yet ragged, skin on your cheek, the corners of his lips twisted into a semi-frown, his heart hurting, blood pumping loudly in his ears.

His lips opened and closed, at a loss for words, but his voice found a way to come through.

"You have n-no idea," His voice was just above a mere whisper, afraid if he were to speak any louder, you'd crumble away under his touch, or he'd wake up. 

His thumb moved to trace the outline of your scar, a loving look present in the golden pool of his irises.

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you.."

[jaidens]

so if it'd make you stay i wouldn't act so angry all the time

pairing [s] : dean winchester x reader

warning [s] : mentions of : stitching, knives, cuts + blood | kissing

a/n [s] : requests r open!

The hunt had gone wrong. What was supposed to be an easy, short hunt turned into a violent rage of angry werewolves on the hunt for people. You had managed to get away with a few cuts and bruises, the same was done for Sam, but Dean got the bad part of the fight in an attempt to protect you two.

He sits on the full bed, holding a towel over the cut that bleeds from his shoulder. You're patching up some small cuts with bandages and gauze and tape. Sam was gathering his stuff in the other part of the room to get ready for the early leave tomorrow.

You gather the first-aid supplies and tools and carry them over to where Dean sits. “Hey,” You say as you pull up a chair next to him and put on a pair of gloves. “How are you doing? How's that shoulder treating you?” You ask him.

“Just peachy.” Dean responds sarcastically, giving you a small smirk.

You roll your eyes at him and pull the towel off of the cut and try not to stare at the blood that pools around the cut and that's on the towel. You toss it to the side, and pour antiseptic onto the gauze pad, and warn Dean. “This is gonna sting.” He nods and hisses, his knuckles going white against his jeans. You frown and press it as soft as you can against the cut.

You wipe softly to get the dried blood away, and take out your stitching supplies. You begin the first stitches and Dean has his eyes closed, eyelashes against his cheek, and he lets out breaths to distract himself from the pain. It was something he had always done, in the way to cover up how he felt after John told him it was completely childish and stupid to show people how you truly felt.

You finish with the tie of the thread, a cut, and start packing away the supplies. You grab your bag, the first-aid kit, and a set of files. You thank Dean and Sam for letting you join on the hunt, and they respond in their favors. Once you walk out of the motel door: you take a long, deep breath and shut your eyes.

You and Dean were a very bundle of confusion. You were never with him long enough to have a connection without eruption. You were in love with the green-eyed man; that was obvious, and he was in love with you. You had some moments in Baby where you and Dean had some long, significant touches that burned on your skin. The picture of him shirtless, eyes shut, and laying against you was permanently engraved on the back of your eyelid.

You walk into your motel room, shutting the door, and immediately walking to your bed and falling on it. You place your hand over your face and close your eyes. You turn on the television and let it go to the first movie channel it could. You let it play in the background while you read through another file for a new case that you found.

The sound of knocks fills your ears. Not hard, but not soft at the same time. You set the file down on the green bedsheets and go to the door and answer it. Dean is there in his pajamas, a Kansas sweatshirt and plaid pants, with a small smile on his face. “What are you doing here? You should be sleeping.” You open the door further and he walks in to your room.

“I just wanted to say thank you. I don't do it often, but you did a lot for me.” Dean admits as he jumps on the balls of his feet. You sit down on your bed and Dean follows and sits next to you. “It meant a lot to me.” He says.

Dean stares into your eyes, his hand snaking onto yours where it sits on your thigh. You're trying to cover your embarrassment as his eyes flicker to your lips occasionally. “Well— well It's my job to make sure my friends are safe.” You respond to his compliments. Within a second, Dean’s hand goes to your face and smashes his lips against yours. With a slide and a push, you're against the bed and Dean’s hands are on you.

You pull away from him and attempt to catch your breath. “Get hurt more, yeah?” Dean laughs and kisses you once again. You laugh again and he places one of his arms around your shoulders.

Whatever you and Dean were, you were hoping it would stay like this. With hugs, kisses, and longing touches.

[chaosandmarigolds]

Among The Bullets

Chapter 2 part 1

Summary: You're a transfer mechanic for a task force which you know nothing about, and while trying to figure out your standing with each of the members you begin to realize you may be over your head. (Evental romance, He just sucks at flirting)

 It had been a solid twenty hours of continuous work, about four energy drinks and two coffees, and three ten-minute naps, you finished round one of the daily tasks, or at the very least you had caught up. Yet, as you slowly move to sit back down on your workbench, you find yourself feeling a bit worse for wear, the sun had already come up and then it had set all over again, so it…made sense that you were tired, or at least you thought it did, or maybe you thought you would drop dead if you kept going or maybe a lot of things but you knew the room was beginning to spin and you knew you had a few more tasks but those could wait another ten minutes. 

Just…a ten minute nap. 

You deserved that at the very least, you had been working for the past twenty-something hours and had been awake for the past fifty- how weren’t dead was beyond you and how you hadn’t dropped was also beyond you. So as you drop your tool into the bag from your seated position you blink to keep the room from spinning.

Then you would be able to crawl back into bed and fall into a deep sleep for a good eight hours, after a shower, or maybe not, you weren’t sure but either way, you grumble as you sit down and rest your head down onto the bench, your tote back rolled up to be more comfortable than your hands. Ten minutes.

“Ho’ long bonnie been out?” 

“Since I got here.” 

Johnny looks at Kyle, “Tha’ been wha? Four hours?” 

With a slight nod, Kyle sat back on the crate he used as a makeshift chair after he had been told to get you so they could start going over the basic procedures needed for the mission, he had a few other plans that included breakfast. yet when he didn’t find you where he had thought you would've been he wandered to the hangar, still in the same clothes you were wearing two days ago. So Kyle shrugs, “Thinkin she was here since last night.” 

Johnny leans over to get a good look at your face, scrunched up as it lay on the bundled-up bag and he looks to Kyle again, moving a step or so away so the noise wouldn’t wake you. Yet that seemed to not matter because you were sound asleep amid a very loud and busy garage, so his efforts, however kind, were useless and pointless. So, they go on about their business, talking for a long bit before Simon finds his way over to them, seeming to be confused because this is not where they would usually be, but Johnny just motions to your very asleep form as he sits there.

Simon looks between his teammates and then you, motioning the tablet to you as he speaks to Johnny, “Ho’ long?” 

“A while.” Kyle responded with a dull shrug. 

With that being said Simon walked over to you and lightly nudged your boot with his, and when that only got a somewhat annoyed mumble he moved to touch your shoulder, hesitantly at that, almost as if he were to touch you it would shatter something. So, after a millisecond of faltering, he lay in hand on your back. He figured it must be a third thing because if he had some random person touch him while he was asleep (which he would never do in a public space) he would’ve quite literally tried to kill the person. You, however, just grumbles moving your head to lay on the other side. He doesn’t know what to do, so he moves his thumb over your spine and speaks, “Wake up.” 

To say a dump of adrenaline was shot into your blood would be an understatement because every muscle and every ounce of cognitive thought was all of sudden turned to a hundred and ten and you shoot up to stand- almost tripping over your bench twice as you got your footing and your vision unblurred. “Sir.” Your words were to catch yourself up and you mindlessly rub your eyes as you adjust to the light, and you look to the other two men, giving them a meek smile as well, “Sirs.”

 “I was jus, ya know…taking a little nap-just a little nap…” You trail off, avoiding the gaze of the masked man who stood a bit too close to you for your comfort, discarding how his hand was extended as if you were about to be very dramatic which you weren’t. Then you notice that the truck you had been working on was long gone, and your blood runs cold, “Wh..” 

   You walk past him and then go to the spot where the truck had been, “Where this?” 

 Their confused stares were words enough and your face contorted to a disgruntled frown, and you motioned to the stained cement ground, “The truck?? The-...the processing number was G839F09. Where did it go??”

“Why do you know the processing number?” Kyle mainly asked for himself and he looked down at the MRE he had been very slowly eating for the past ten or so minutes, and when he looked up he saw you had moved back to the work desk- having the guts to shove Simon to the side and grab the tablet. Seemingly to look for something. 

There was a silence before you let out a huff of air and placed your hand on your chest, “Oh thank god, I thought I-” You look up to still see them very quizzically staring at you and you laugh off the heat in your face, “I-uh, thought I forgot to the drums, I-heh- sleepy me is very detail oriented apparently.” There was another silence, and you then turned around and set the tablet down, letting your heart try and slow the pace it was currently drumming at, and then nodded with a spin of the heel, “Anyway…Where can a girl get something to eat around here?”

“After the briefing,” Simon interjected, causing your head to turn upward to see him, a frown appearing on the faint smile that had managed to weasel its way onto your lips he then motioned to the tablet you had just set down, “Then you’ll eat.”

To that Johnny and Kyle move to stand up, as they were both waiting for this supposed briefing you had just now been hearing about and you try to deny that, following after them as you ramble on about all of the things you need to get done. How the list you had been given was never ending and all the time you had was to eat and maybe nap, however, Simon’s reply was always ‘It’ll be only a minute’ or just a short and gruff laugh as if your concerns were humorous to him. 

Your rambling fell quiet when you entered the room, darkened and silent- a sudden contrast to the hallway you had just been in, stopping in the doorway only to feel the same hand that had awoken you to find the spot in between your shoulder blades; nudging you forward until you were fully out of his way. It was just light enough that you could make out the people, the large screen of what you thought was a TV-like monitor. 

Somehow you had found yourself tucked away in the very back, within the room there were about twenty or so people so you blended among the crowd. Within that, you had found it very easy to simply zone out, somewhat listening to whatever general and whatever they had to say, however, they were saying things you had already read- risky mission, yadda yadda, the part that did catch your attention was the transportation they were choosing to use. 

“That’s a horrible idea, oh my god, that’s so funny how bad of an idea that is,” Is what you thought you were simply thinking however as the sound of rustling and the current speaker, a woman you had met before- Lassie or something you couldn’t remember- looking to you. Your heart fell to your stomach you adjusted the way you were leaning back on the plastic chair, clearing your throat, motioning to the woman, “I…didn’t mean to say that out loud. I am so sorry I-.. please, go on. Please.”

“No, please, you’re our consult. Consult us.” She remarked back motioning you up with her hand and she must have found your terrified stare humorous because a small smile appeared on the expression. However, even though you didn’t want to, you slowly stood and walked to the front. 

With each hand griping the other tight enough to cut off air circulation you speak slowly, “I mean…These would be fine- they’d be fine until you ran out of coolant and you’re now in the middle of enemy terrorists and you’re stuck and then you’d all be dead so I mean…Yeah, they’d be fine.”

A short silence. “What would you recommend?” “Oh, these by far- best mileage and whatnot, you would just need to bring about two gallons of coolant.” You shrug in reply, “However if you wanted a continuous ride with a somewhat similar build I would go with the…the…Q68- yeah, those would be best.” 

A nod, “You got it.” 

“Huh?” No one listened to your words as the woman moved on to the next topic, and so you quickly moved to walk over back to your table and sit back down, shrinking down into the chair.

…

Simon looked back at you for a moment before mumbling, “Bold.” 

    “Bold?” Johnny whispered in reply, “Bonnie up and up tol’ her to shu’t it,”

(Annnnnyway that’s it! Lemme know your thoughts! <33)

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Strawberry Lemonade

♡ featuring: toji x f!reader

♡ synopsis: you plan to make strawberry lemonade for the summer, but life has other plans. wc: 1.7k+

♡ cw/tw: just some fluff, toji kisses :3

notes: idk why i kept thinking about soft cottagecore toji my brain fhioshafiohiaf this was so self indulgent srry for any mistakes ive been sick for a few weeks lol <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

After heavy rain showers, sun rolled in and devoured everything beneath it.

Toji doesn’t like summer. He wasn’t exactly fond of the heat rays rippling across the pavement, his black slides bonding like tar if he stood in one place for too long. His bangs would mat to his forehead, and it was overall a hassle to tolerate. He’d much rather laze under air conditioning for the entire season.

Until you came along.

He’d never met someone so delighted over sweat and mosquitos before you. Maybe that’s why he slowly became accustomed to such weather. You weren’t shy about your strange habits. After all, on your third date it poured like no other, and instead of taking cover, you skipped through the rain. It was strange, yet he cracked a smirk at your wide grin.

You’re happy and that’s good enough for him.

You were elated at the promises summer bore, specifically for your plants. Fruitful flowers meandering on branches, the first sign of hibiscus blooming. Every year around that time, you carried your plants outside to bask in her warmth. It was all an invaluable gift from Mother Nature, and you did your best to honor her.

Of course, Toji had to purchase a house with the most sunlight, and a backyard to match—not with you in mind, at least that’s what he’d day as he avoided your gaze. He knew your housewarming gifts would consist of planting tools, but the sheer amount of it was staggering.

It was no surprise you planted your seeds the next day and watched them like a hawk. Toji was sure to mention how much of a “weirdo” you were for spending so much time caring for your perceived babies. A weirdo he loved, because he left marks of his affection in every nook and cranny. Sure, he feigned annoyance over it, but you knew better when he did things you didn’t ask for. Toji isn’t a verbally expressive husband, but his actions make up for the rest.

Like when he built a wooden potting bench to store the inventory accumulating in the corner by your plants. You came home as he was applying the finishing touches and embraced him for what felt like hours. He rolled his eyes, pretending to be unfazed by your gratitude, though you could still see the growing ghost of a smirk; “Don’t thank me, that thing was an eyesore.”

It benefited him, too, to gaze through the screen door in the afternoon and see the gorgeous sun-kissed glow on the apples of your cheeks. He adored your soft eyes that diligently monitored the seeds starting to sprout with a tender smile.

You filed chunky soil into terracotta pots you painted with various designs. The one that resembles a tiny cactus with a face grew a bundle of basil. The other one similar to a tiered strawberry cake grew a fitting crown of strawberries. You weren’t looking to bake an outstanding cake or be the best gardener. For the fruits of your labor, the only thing you wanted was—

A single pitcher of strawberry lemonade.

Toji trudges down the stairs half-asleep and enters the kitchen to pour the usual cup of coffee you make as you wake before him. However, there’s no jug awaiting him. He opens the screen door and finds you kneeling over the pots, sporting a bow knot straw hat and an overall romper in the sweltering heat. Your brows are furrowed, and you pick at the foliage.

He leans against it and scratches his ankle with the tip of his slides. The screen clicks the side, and you turn to him.

“Oh, hey.” There are somber notes in your voice, and something in his body wants to reach out and protect you from whatever’s pulling your face into a frown.

“Hey.” He walks over to you. Your lips are tucked behind your teeth, poking at the strawberry in your palm. He kneels on one knee and you glance at him, flashing a meek smile. He wishes he didn’t have a closer view as your eyes threaten to brim with tears. Oh…his heart, tight and struggling to beat.

Toji was used to loud, ugly love. But you—your love was as gentle as the petals of an orchid, and you’d changed him without even trying. That’s why he adorned your ring finger with precious diamonds. He became a better man and husband in your arms, and in turn he’d give you the world if you desired it. So why were you about to cry?

“What’s up?”

“Nothing…” His eyes follow yours, to the flourishing bunch of basil. And then to the lackluster strawberries.

The ones still hanging from their stems aren’t award-winning. They’re deformed, with multiple nubby ends protruding from every side. They look more like hopeful raspberries than anything else. There’s a considerable pale color washed over half of them. You mold one in your palm.

“Can’t be nothin’.” He picks the strawberry from your hands and observes it with two fingers. It lacks seeds and a deep, rich red. “I just don’t know what went wrong.”

"Who said somethin' went wrong?" You lock eyes, and he pops it in his mouth.

Yours widen, and you cup his face to try and force it out his mouth. “Don’t!”

Toji bites, and in an instant utter sourness prickles his tongue. There’s a strawberry flavor, but not enough to combat. The sting is strong, and when it coats his throat, his tongue contorts to fight the sheer bitterness.

Somehow, he remains stone-faced—a battle with his gut reaction. He can’t bear to break your spirit, not like this, not when you’ve spent months strategizing and waiting for your efforts to ripen. Toji tells the harsh truth, but when it comes to you, he’s willing to be selfish.

He continues to chew while you nervously fiddle with your fingers. You gaze at him, doe-eyed and anticipating his response. The lining of his cheeks excretes copious amounts of saliva, and he finally swallows.

“S’good.”

“R-really?” You’re shocked that they’re edible in this state. He nods and it relieves some of your worry, though you’re unsure about his honesty.

He thumbs the wetness on your lashes away. “Said I like it, so make some of that lemonade ya talked about so much.”

You place a handful of strawberries on the kitchen counter and get to work. You haven’t tried them out for yourself yet, but you don’t want to waste any considering how small they are. Toji stretches out on the chair, black tank riding up as he watches you slice the tips off the strawberries. Your delicate fingers handle them with such care, just so you don’t disappoint with an unpalatable drink. Cute.

When you’re done, the rose-colored liquid fills half the pitcher. You top it with basil and stir it around. You pass a glass to Toji, heart-shaped ice cubes floating on the surface, and sit across from him.

“Let’s try on the count of three.”

“Mhm.”

“Okay! One, two-“ Toji doesn’t stop for the counter and begins to gulp the drink. You take a sip of yours. The tooth-rotting sugar did some to quell the taste, but it was still insanely sour. Your lips purse and you shut your eyes, emitting a tiny squeal. It’s your first attempt and you know you shouldn’t be so critical of yourself, but you can’t help but feel like a failure.

When you open your eyes again, you’re dumbfounded at the empty cup in front of Toji. He licks his lips, “It’s good, baby. Why you look like that?”

“No way.” He tilts his head like he didn’t just consume a liquid jawbreaker. “Hm?”

“It’s…it’s really bad, Toji. You don’t have to lie to me.” You avert your eyes and stare at the condensation running down the glass of your unsuccessful project. He wraps around the table and leans against it while you’re sitting. He cranes your neck with a calloused hand underneath your chin.

“Look at me. I’m here”

“I really wanted it to work. I spent so much time on it.”

“I know, don’t take it so hard. I like it.”

“You just don’t wanna hurt my feelings.” You weren’t entirely wrong.

“It tastes good 'cause you made it.” When you don’t respond, a malicious smirk spreads on his mouth. “Wanna try?”

Toji bends down. He squeezes your face to puckering and plants a deep kiss on your lips. Rough and meaningful, and you melt into it. He releases his grip and follows it with warm plush kisses chasing your contact. His lips are soft but slightly chapped, fleeting hints of cane sugar and just enough basil to notice. Bitter like the descent of a bleeding sunset, the chill of autumn’s return. Silent assurance, that everything was okay, and will be okay.

He parts when you tap his sturdy bicep for fresh air. “Ya done bein’ a baby?” You giggle. Perhaps you overwhelmed yourself obsessing about it for months. He brings you back to Earth, and after the overthinking subsides, you think the outcome isn’t too horrible. A long deserved break is overdue.

“Yea” you sniffle, and he lifts you from the chair into his arms. You lock your legs around his back and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“Now c’mon, I wanna lay down.” Lay down is his go-to phrase, but he actually means cuddle. He’d never say it, even when lying down quickly became Toji turning on his stomach and shuffling his massive weight onto your chest. It’s what you need right now, and the way his palm rubs up and down your back reduces your mind to mush.

“I’m being a bother” you mutter. He pecks your jaw.

“Nah. Love takin’ care of my little crybaby.”

Laying down becomes cuddling as you predicted, and you massage his scalp until he dozes off in slow breaths. Your favorite weighted blanket traps you between his muscles, and you happily accept.

You’re reminded of his vulnerability, his eagerness to trust without words. He took your problems and made them his. You both surrendered your fears and insecurities to love each other. You traded walls for strawberry kisses, and there’s nothing more you could ask for.

Daylight peaked at its highest point, and as you drift to sleep you wish summer wouldn’t end.

[hansensgirl]

summary. | After being diagnosed with an unknown sickness, your husband makes sure you’re following the doctor’s orders.

prompts. | Robert Pronge/Mr. Freezy + Amnesia + “Don’t you love it when I touch you like this?” + Stockholm Syndrome, requested by Anonymous.

pairing. | dark!Robert Pronge/Mr. Freezy x fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, captivity, mentions of spanking, mean!robert, mild smut (fingering, f receiving), amnesia, memory loss, referenced/implied injury or drugging (up to you), housewife kink, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics

You flatten the dough with your hands as best as you can. You’re not allowed a rolling pin or most standard kitchen tools—Robbie told you it’s what the doctor said. Something about accidents or self-inflicted injuries.

Your husband hums to a tune on the radio and stands behind you, holding your waist. 

You’re not really sure what’s wrong with you, but you know that doctors are trying to figure it all out. You can’t remember much; there are simply little blurs of what seem to be memories, but they’re too crazy to be true. You just chalk them up to being dreams.

Robert slowly lifts up your frilly dress, caressing your thighs as he finds your panties. He presses his hard cock against your ass, grinding just a bit. He does this often, claiming he just can’t help it because you’re too sexy. But Robert also says that your doctor recommends his touch daily. 

“Fuck, sugar. You’re perfect,” Robert growls in your ear, the ridge of his cock between your ass cheeks. You gasp at his touch, from both the pleasure and roughness. It’s not his fault—he’s just naturally strong, and you’re too weak.

“R– Robbie…” you whimper, trying to focus on making the pie. This always happens. Robert just loves it when you’re in your element—being the dutiful, obedient housewife that you are. “Shhh, let your husband touch you, sweetcakes,” he grunts.

You nod your head at the hardness of his voice. He gets upset quickly, but you know it’s because of his job and the added stress of your sickness. Kids aren’t easy to deal with, but he promises yours will be well-behaved and the utmost ideal bunch. 

Robert slides one of his rough hands into your sheer panties, and he quickly finds your clit. He lowers his digits a little more and dips his fingertips into the wetness seeping out of you. He groans, bringing his digits back to your nub and rubbing the bundle of nerves.

You gasp from the pleasure, knees buckling as you fall back just a bit. Your dough is thoroughly ruined—just like you. You’re supposed to have it done by dinner time, yet you’re not even halfway complete. Your guest—one of Robbie’s friends—will surely be disappointed.

“H– Honey, please, I need to–” you start, and your husband groans. “What?” Robert snaps, and you flinch despite being in his hold. “Don’t you love it when I touch you like this?” he questions harshly, the other fist slamming down on the countertop before you. 

A part of you wants to say no, but you question it. Isn’t Robert your devoted husband? 

He’s never hurt you.

The leather belt cracks, and there’s a sharp pain stinging your ass.

He’s never been mean to you.

“Argh, don’t be a bitch. You’re already a pain to deal with.”

And he always makes you happy.

Tears flow down your face as the metal door shuts behind him, leaving you in the dark basement.

Yes, he is. And you love everything he does—because he loves you. 

“I– I do. I’m sorry,” you whimper, turning your head as best as possible to look at Robert. His blue eyes are dark with lust and anger, and his jaw is clenched. His hair is growing out again, and his glasses are a bit dirty—you’ll have to clean them afterwards. If you remember.

“Then shut up and let me take what’s mine,” Robert grumbles, and you do exactly as he says, nearly falling limp in his arms as he uses and abuses you. 

Your husband once told you that the doctor said you should always listen to him, but honestly, you’ve never met this doctor. And if you think hard enough, you’ll realize you don’t know your husband. 

[warmasf]

B has been coming down with a cold for a while now, and for whatever reason, (maybe they had just gotten over an argument, A is dealing with their own stress, what have you,) A, who would usually be the caretaker, is not having it. B, who is normally independent, if a bit attatched, becomes clingy, desperate and exhausted when they have a fever, but since A is in a mood, they don’t notice the signs/flat out deny them…until proven wrong.

A and B have been working all day outside in the cold, and while they are both bundled up and shivering, B has been rapidly paling and shaking like a leaf.

“A, cand we please go indside ndow? I thidnk I have a fever,” B whines, sniffling deeply and clenching their tools tight.

“We haven’t even been out here long, B, and besides, you don’t have a fever. It’s just a cold, you just feel feverish because it’s freezing out here,” huffed A, maintaining their gaze on whatever project they’re working on.

B sniffles and wipes their teary eyes. They always get emotional with a temperature, but maybe A is right. Maybe this is just a product of the environment, and once the job is done, they’ll feel warm again. Still, all B wants is to curl up inside and snuggle up to A, like things used to be.

“Okay, imb sorry, I just really ndeed a tissue,” B whimpered, sniffling urgently now.

A tossed them a handkerchief from their work sack and continued the job. B held their hand to their own forehead, trying to gauge a temperature. Everything just felt cold. A caught B’s gestures and scoffed.

“For the last time B, you’re not running a temp. You’re fine. Blow your nose, quit sissying around and help me.”

B dropped their glassy eyes and obeyed.

After no less than an hour, the sun was beginning to dim and the air was at least 10 degrees cooler. Snow started to flurry from the grey sky. A made their way over to where B was laboring, placing a heavy hand on their shoulder. B jumped and shook violently in the cold. Their glossy eyes shot up.

“C’mon, B, time to head in. And quit with the shaking, it’s just making you feel worse.”

B sniffled against the wall of congestion in their sinuses before responding.

“I kndow, imb sorry, it’s just mby fever-“

A rolled their eyes as they entered the house. The warmth of the heating made both of their noses run, but damn, was it a relief. B collapsed onto the couch as A hurried into the kitchen, irritation obvious in their gait. When A returned, they held a box of tissues and a thermometer.

“Here, if you’re so damn sure you’ve got a ‘fever,’ test it out. And blow your damn nose, im sick of all your sniffling and snorting,” explained A coldly. They settled next to B and tossed the supplies into their lap. B placed the thermometer under their tounge and waited, still shaking in their wet clothes.

After a minute passed, the thermometer beeped and A raced to pull it from B’s mouth, a smug look on their face already.

“I swear, if all that bitching was over nothing, I’m gonna make your life-“

A stopped and their lips parted slightly as they read the number on the screen. Their expression changed from irritated and smug to a mix of concerned and amused.

“Damn, B, didn’t know you could pack this kind of heat,” a chuckled, their laugh masking their worry. They turned the screen to reveal 102.4, flashing on and off. B smiled triumphantly before coughing into their elbow.

“Yeah, yeah, gloat all you want, let me help you out of those clothes and into something dry so we can focus on getting you better,” A said playfully, scooting close to B and cupping their warm face in their hands. The apology wasn’t spoken, but B felt a familiar, much more comfortable warmth pulse through them as they snuggled close to A.

[reasonsweweresinging]

Dean couldn't believe he was doing this. But it was impossible to resist his kid when his kid was crying, and Chase had been crying for twenty minutes. Chase’s favorite doll, an alien-bird-human hybrid thing drawn up by some kid in another country and created by IKEA that Chase had lost his mind over at the store, was desperately ill according to him and Dean didn't have the credentials to fix it. 

"We have to see Dr. Cas!" Chase cried, beseeching his father to help him get whatever was wrong with Wallace fixed. Dean had no idea where the name Wallace came from, but Chase was insistent that was the damn thing's name. 

It was almost 9 pm on a Sunday night and Dean doubted his pediatrician neighbor two doors down needed an unexpected visit to cure a...Wallace. "Bud, maybe Dr. Cas can't even help fix Wallace. He's not fully human."

"Dr. Cas sweared to me he could fix anything! I know he can fix Wallace, we have to go see him!" Chase’s big hazel eyes, courtesy of his mother and still somehow so similar to Dean's brother, swam with tears that rolled down his cheeks in fat drops. "Please, Dad!"

Dean couldn't resist. He couldn't deny his son. Maybe because he was a pediatrician, Dr. Cas would at least be patient enough to turn them away kindly. His neighbor hating him was a risk Dean was willing to take for his son. So Dean helped Chase bundle Wallace in a blanket, got both he and Chase into their coats, and walked them to Dr. Cas's door two houses over. The front porch light was still on, and through the rectangular frosted glass panel alongside the door, Dean could see other lights were on in the home. Maybe it wasn't too late. While Chase hugged Wallace tightly to his chest, Dean rang the doorbell and hoped once more his neighbor wouldn’t be a jerk for being disturbed so late. 

The lights blurring together behind the glass panel brightened, as if a light near the door turned on. A moment later, the locks on the door turned and Dean took a deep breath. But it was punched out of him the minute Dr. Cas appeared in the doorway. Dean had only caught glimpses of the man in the few months since he'd moved in, but never seen him fully and up close. Chase had talked to him when his mother was dropping him off one evening, as Dr. Cas was returning from a run. Seeing Dr. Cas now, Dean was certain it was because his ex-wife was trying to stop Dr. Cas to hit on him. Dean could not blame her. The dark, wild hair, the bright blue eyes, the full, soft pink lips set against warm skin and dark stubble. He was gorgeous. He was damn near perfect. And he was saying something and Dean was just staring at him.

Dean snapped out of it, just in time to hear the tail end of Dr. Cas asking his son what was wrong in a voice that was too gentle to be so deep and worn. Was Dr. Cas even real?

"Wallace is sick!" Chase cried, shoving the doll in the face of Dr. Cas. "You can fix him, right?"

Dr. Cas looked at the doll, understandably perplexed, then set those incredible blue eyes on Dean. He started to say something but stopped short, staring back at Dean for a long, unnerving moment. Dean felt himself getting lost in those eyes, but Chase crying again beside him kept him anchored to the moment. He cleared his throat, which snapped Dr. Cas back into the present as well. 

"Sorry, Doc," Dean started, "Chase insisted we come see you so you could help cure Wallace." He gave Dr. Cas a small, apologetic smile, ready for Dr. Cas to turn them away with some excuse; it was late and he had any number of things to do, he had a family to tend to, he didn't have whatever tools he needed to help Wallace and they could try again later. Something like that. 

Instead, Dr. Cas gave a small smile and looked back at Chase, taking a gentle hold of the doll. "Well, Chase, you did the right thing. I can help Wallace, but you're going to have to be my nurse, is that okay?"

Chase looked up in awe at Dr. Cas and gave an eager nod. "I can help! I'm a good helper!"

Dr. Cas smiled wide, his gums showing, nose wrinkling, and Dean felt his heart stutter. "I'll bet you are. With your help, I'm sure we'll make Wallace all better. Why don't you do me a favor and take Wallace inside. If you go straight back, you can wait with him on the couch." 

Dr. Cas gingerly handed back Wallace to Chase, and with a loud "Thank you!,” Chase ran into the house and, as Dean noted, peeking around Cas to watch him go, followed the directions and ran straight back. 

"I'm Castiel Novak," Dr. Cas said, extending hand with a little smile. 

Dean took it and gave it a firm shake. "Uh, Dean. Winchester. That's my boy Chase. Sorry to just interrupt your night like this. Please apologize to your wife for me "

Dr. Cas tilted his head to the side, that soft smile still on his face, curious. "No, no wife," he said with a shrug. "Or husband."

Enlightenment dawned on Dean's features and that last little statement had his brain running a mile a minute. "Oh. Sorry, didn't mean to assume."

"It's fine," Dr. Cas assured him. "Please, come in. I'm sure Chase is growing antsy. Has he told you any of Wallace's symptoms?"

Dean, stepping inside, paused at the question, at the genuine way Dr. Cas was regarding him, waiting for a response. He wasn't just humoring Chase, he seemed to be genuinely trying to help fix a weird, stuffed doll. Dean couldn't decide if that made the guy a weirdo or an angel masquerading as a doctor. 

Fully inside, Dean waited for Dr. Cas to close the door and began to follow him back towards Chase. "He said something about Wallace having fireskin and a knotty belly."

"I see, that does sound serious. But I'm sure with Chase's help, we'll get Wallace fixed right up." Though his tone was genuine, there was still a curl of a smile on Dr. Cas's lips. "Does Chase have an active imagination?"

"Crazy active," Dean said with a hint of mirth. Chase was always battling some evil or winning some championship or saving some planet from destruction; usually Dean was the evil, the loser, the destructor that needed defeating, but every now and again he got to be his kid's sidekick, and those were the best times. 

"That should come in very handy," Dr. Cas said as they neared the living room where Chase waited. Seated on the couch, as asked, his doll held close to his chest, Chase watched them both enter, looking earnestly at Dr. Cas as if waiting for a miracle. Dr. Cas approached the couch and knelt down in front of Chase. "Are you ready to assist me?" he asked. "It's going to be hard work, but I know you can do it."

Chase nodded, the bangs of his sandy blonde hair falling over his eyes. He brushed them haphazardly off his forehead and Dean could only shake his head. "I just wanna help Wallace." 

It was decided Dean had to wait in the waiting room (the living room) while Chase and Dr. Cas used the operating room (the kitchen), just to Dean’s left and a few feet above. Dr. Cas helped Chase prepare by cleaning the counter with him and washing their hands, while gently and easily explaining the need for cleanliness, not just in surgery, but in life. They laid Wallace out on the kitchen counter and Chase was just tall enough to help without needing something to boost him up.

Dean did his best to play up his worry, especially when Chase looked over at him. But he was mostly watching Dr. Cas, mesmerized. While he was in control of the happenings, every choice they made was made by Chase through a series of related questions from Dr. Cas. That night, Chase wasn't saving a planet or scoring the final points to win it all, but he was still a hero. 

When it was all said and done, when Wallace's fireskin had been cooled and his knotty belly untangled, both Chase and Dr. Cas came to share the results with Dean. Dean hammed it up a little in his relief, but his effusive praise of his son's ingenuity and quick-thinking was genuine. And he noticed Dr. Cas seemed to be watching him now, much the way he'd been doing with the pediatrician earlier. 

With Wallace bundled back up tightly in his blanket and feeling much better, Chase was in a hurry to leave so they could read a book and get all the rest that Dr. Cas said Wallace would need to help him recover. Dean got both he and his son back into their coats and Chase led the way to the door, Dr. Cas following them all. 

"Thank you," Dean said quietly, so that maybe only Dr. Cas could hear him. "I hope we didn't ruin your night."

Dr. Cas just gave him a smile and shook his head. "On the contrary, you livened it up quite a bit."

Reaching the door, Chase turned and threw his arms around Dr. Cas's waist. "Thank you for helping Wallace."

Though surprised at first, Dr. Cas's face melted into something softer, and he ran a hand over the back of Chase's head. "I could only help because you were such a great nurse. I hope you and Wallace have many happy days together."

"We will!"

With a chuckle, Dr. Cas reached for the door handle and opened the door, and Dean realized very suddenly that even though he had barged in on his poor unsuspecting neighbor with a crying child and a weird doll, he was disappointed they were leaving. 

Following Chase out the door and echoing the same quiet good night Dr. Cas gave them, Dean paused. He turned, looking back at Dr. Cas who had not yet started to close the door. "Is uh, there any way I could maybe take you out for a drink one night? You know, to say thanks." 

The smile that curled onto Dr. Cas's face was slow and maybe even a little shy, but his features were alight, as though maybe he was glowing. "How about you just take me out for a drink, no thanks necessary?"

Dean grinned, nodding. "It's a date."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 39

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The doors of the operating room fade behind you as the anesthetic takes you under. The splitting pain dulls as you sink beneath the veil of artificial sleep. Laced within the clouds of your unconscious you hear the beeping of machines, the clinks of metal tools in the tray, and the deep voice of your unshakeable pest; Lloyd Hansen.

The dread and horror are equally muddled by the intravenous flow. You feel a distant tugging, a plucking deep within, and somewhere beyond, you hear squalling. You’re vaguely aware of the sudden weight taken from you, and that new one that settles in its place. Tight and tender.

You float back to the surface slowly. Wading up above the layers of oblivion until you hear that steady rhythm, feeling it in your chest. That incessant tempo of your pulse mirrored by a digital beep. You groan and suck back a dribble of drool along your lip.

A longer, louder noise rolls from your throat. The pain nips its way through and your lashes flutter lightly, giving short glimpses of the world that awaits you. You hear fussing, low whispers and the soft murmur that responds. Hushing and humming that draws you in.

“Grhhhhsh,” the gibberish slips from your lips and your hand bounces off the rail clumsily.

You open your eyes, vision fuzzy and ears thrumming. A shadow approaches as you turn your head, blinking as you try to see past the sheen of sleep. You smile dopily as your head swims. Your other hand lingers on your thigh and you cautiously feel higher; you’re now doughy where the flesh was once taught.

“Bay-bee,” you pronounce, “girl.”

“Ah, sweet cakes, yes, you have a beautiful daughter,” Dottie’s voice drips into your ears, comforting you as it pools in your chest, “she was just lookin’ for ya.”

“Dot,” you utter weakly.

“Yes’m,” she touches your arm gently, “you want the precious bean?”

“Dot,” you open and close your hand, reaching for her without finding her, “where… Lllllll.” you swallow and lean back heavily, “tired.”

“Here,” Dottie leaves you, returning in an orb of red and pink. She takes your arm and hooks it around the warm bundle she eases onto your chest, “there, there. Look at that cute little peach.”

You look down. You feel the tiny form squirm and your eyes pinpoint on her face. A baby. Your baby? Yes, your daughter. The girl without a name.

“Harlan’s just gone to get the nurse,” she comforts as she stays close, “we’re just waiting to get the paperwork done. She needs a name and all that.”

You stare at the infant. Your heart feels like iron. Still and cold. You curl your lip and turn your chin up.

“Take her,” you murmur.

“You okay, darling?” She rubs your shoulder.

“I said take it. Now,” you demand harshly, “I don’t… I can’t.”

“It’s alright,” Dottie lifts the child from your arm, “you been through a lot, we’ll just give you some time to get your bearings.”

You scowl and don’t say how you don’t think you’ll ever want to hold that thing again. The way it wriggles and whimpers, so quietly. It’s so light and small, it may as well be nothing. 

“Well, whatcha wanna call her?”

“I don’t care,” you sniff, “ask him.”

“Well, we had some ideas but Marion didn’t say which he liked,” she explains as she lays the baby back in the small rolling crib.

“How about Marion? After the father?” You snap dryly.

“Hmm, I dunno,” Dottie hums, “you want some water, I got some here–”

“I don’t want to be here,” you retort and immediately cringe, “I’m… sorry, I’m just…”

There’s no way that baby is yours. You can’t remember anything more than the gripping agony in your gut. And now, the pain persists. All that and for what?

“I’m tired. Hurting,” you lie, only in that it’s not the reason you lashed out.

“Right, honey, that’s okay,” she assures once more.

“Just going to doing a check,” The nurse enters.

You glance up and see Harlan dip in behind her. You smile at him and search behind him, expecting another to follow. Nothing but an empty doorway.

“How’s the pain, scale of one to ten?” The nurse asks as she fiddles with your IV.

“Ten,” you grit out.

“Mmm, we’ll see what we can get you for that,” she says, “gotta make sure you’re able to feed your daughter.”

You frown. Feed? You look down at your swollen chest and moan at the fullness that throbs in your tits. Fuck.

“We can have an advisor come to help you with latching,” the nurse offers, “you should feed soon.”

“Fine,” you shrug. “When can I leave?”

“It’ll be a couple of days so we can keep an eye on your recovery. We’ll make sure you know the proper aftercare before you’re discharged.”

“Days?” You grumble.

“Yes, you have a new incision so you can’t be moving too much. Once you’re home, you’re going to be limited, no lifting, no strenuous activity…”

“Great,” you shake your head.

You stare at your body, deformed beneath the flannel blanket. You can feel it. You're totally ruined. You weren't ever a supermodel but the damage is done. Worn and loose and gross.

“Baby’s getting hungry,” Dottie says softly, “please send in the therapist so we can get her fed.”

You stay silent. The nurse leaves as you glare at the door. He has to show up any minute now.

“Where’s Ll–”

“Now we were just talking about names,” Dottie interjects, “Harley, why don’t you tell her the one you liked.”

“Oh, uh, hope I’m not to forward sayin’ so,” he says.

You look at him. Just say it. At this point, they can choose.

“I liked Luna,” Harlan says, “cause that little moonlight in her nursery, ya see… always liked the looka the moon.”

You nod. It’s pretty. You can’t think of much else and they definitely wouldn’t want you calling her the leech.

“I like Luna,” you agree flatly, “fine with me.”

“Well, that’s a nice name,” Dottie chimes, “yeah, Luna, it suits her. Shining and all.”

“Where is Lloyd?” You ask curtly.

Dottie smiles and looks at Harlan. His lips are straight and set. He swallows tightly.

“Now, hon, he… just went out to deal with some stuff, to make sure you can go home,” she explains, “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“Oh.” You accept bluntly. “Right.”

“Too bad you didn’t see him,” she takes out her phone, “but I got a picture.” She holds up the screen to show you the image of Lloyd holding the bundle child. His eyes are wide as he stares at her. “Baby looks just like you, sweetheart.”

“Does i– she?” You ask.

“Well, I think so,” Dottie says, “but you know, babies always take after their daddies early on.”

You nod and play with the string of the linen gown. You watch the door. Waiting. This isn’t your mistake, it’s his.

[batwritings]

Kinktober Day 18 - Restraints

This is your nightly reminder that kinks don't have to be sexy! Some can make you feel very safe, as you should feel if you are playing with others! Enjoy!~

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You never expected this from Nikto of all people. Yet here you were, in his bunk, completely naked, and being tied up like a present. The hands that hand taken life after life before your very eyes were being so gentle and careful with you, as if you were made of glass. He stuck two fingers, littered with scars in between the rope and your skin.

“Too tight?” he asks, blue eyes looking to yours for confirmation. You shake your head and smile at him gently. It was a bit shocking that someone so strong and resilient would understand this sort of thing. See, compared to what people outside the room may think, this situation wasn’t at all what it seemed. 

Unlike others, who often used being tied up as a sexual outlet, this scenario was the furthest from it for you. You weren’t sure what it was about being bound so tightly, body curled in on itself like a child, that you found comfort in. Yet here you were, letting your teammate finishing binding you together.

When you came to Nikto about it, you were certain, somewhere in the back of your head he would turn you away. You thought of all the other times you’d been called horrible things for your coping mechanism; creepy, weird, gross even on the list of things people had spewed at you. Yet the man sighed, seeming to know almost immediately. “Come with us,” he told you, leading the way to his bunk.

You weren’t the first, and certainly not the last to ask for this sort of favor from him apparently. The Russian man had a litany of tools for which you could be bound; rope, ribbon, cording…you name it, he had it. You were pleasantly surprised when he held took each binding he had and looped them, offering them to you so you could pick which felt right.

You took your time, letting the sensation of each resonate with your frazzled mind. In the end, you chose the rope; familiar, yet softer than what was probably used for some…less than positive means. Nikto had nodded then asked you to strip. “It will feel better and more personal that way, trust us.”

You weren’t exactly in a position to argue. You watched with curious eyes as he pulled out an old sweater and sweats. They both reeked of him, and you weren’t going to turn him down. The situation was vulnerable enough, now wasn’t the time to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Y/N?” Nikto’s voice pulls you back to the present as you shake your head to clear your thoughts. “Voices in your head getting to you friend?” You roll your eyes fondly, knowing he was joking. Not like he wouldn’t know a thing or two about that after all.

Your teammate pulls the sweater over you gently, tucking the sleeves in so they could act as a cushion for you later. You watch in curiosity as he pulls the sweats up over your bound legs, tucking the areas where your limbs would be in the same way. Next he cocoons you gently in what had to be the softest blanket you’d ever felt in your life. 

Once you were safely bundled, Nikto pulls you up against his chest, using a remote to dim the lights. “Focus on our heartbeat,” he tells you, and you listen. Tha-thump…tha-thump…tha-thump. “Breathe deeply. You are safe here with us.”

You don’t even have the energy to argue anymore, so you do as he asks. Your exhale is shaky as tears start to form. The stress of the last days, weeks, months, however long it had been starts to bubble to the surface. You’d lost track of when you started feeling so stressed, so worn out.

The man beside you doesn’t say a word, just lets you cry against his chest. One of the hands that bound you up so nice and tight rubs your shoulder softly. They know what you’re going through, what you’ve seen. And above all, Nikto knows what that does to a person and the pain that follows.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there, just getting your emotions out in this safe little spot, but eventually the tears dry out and your breath starts to settle, save for the stray sniffle. “Feeling better?” Your teammate asks gently. You can only nod, the words not finding you.

“Stay as long as you need, you are safe with us.”

[acourtofthought]

SJM didn't even realize she was setting up Elucien to be the Regency couple of the year when she wrote ACOTAR

"A rake is a particular type of romance hero—a loveable scoundrel whose goal in life is to enjoy being single"

“Ah.” Lucien chuckled. “Well, Tam’s not the only one who gets to perform the rite tonight. Once he makes his choice, we’re free to mingle. Though it’s not the Great Rite, our own dalliances tonight will help the land, too.”

A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle’s contents and chuckling with a muttered “Brushed.”

“I’ll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol.” Tamlin gave a pointed cough, and Lucien added, “With some company.”

"Many a Regency heroine has gone to London to have a ‘season’ in the hope of finding a husband.

“We can’t afford a dowry,” I continued, and though my tone was firm, my voice quieted. “For either of you."

But we had nothing—absolutely nothing—to entice any suitor to take my sisters off my hands.

“Isn’t that right in the middle of the season?” The socialite season, which had ended a few weeks ago, apparently, full of parties and balls and luncheons and gossip, gossip, gossip. Elain had told me all about it at dinner the night before" / “And I’m surprised you don’t have a line of suitors out the door, begging for your hand.”

The ball my father was throwing in my honor was in two days, and the house was already a flurry of activity. Such money being thrown away on things we’d never dreamed of having again, even for a moment. I would have begged him not to host it, but Elain had taken charge of planning and finding me a last-minute dress,

Elain, who flitted about the room, personally greeting each guest and dancing with all their important sons.

"Known as the “Ton,” they were comprised of a few hundred wealthy families whose strict codes of conduct, fashion, and social customs dictated who and what was socially acceptable"

—a faint gleam in Tamlin’s eyes at that—“and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court.

“Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline.

Though the tunic isn’t as pretty as a dress.”

Though she was bundled in a threadbare blanket, her gold-brown hair—the hair all three of us had—was coiled perfectly about her head. Eight years of poverty hadn’t stripped from her the desire to look lovely.

But once she did, she let that snowball roll down the hill.

"The idea that rakes are redeemable is their most attractive quality."

“You know it’s … hard for him, where females are involved,” I said neutrally. “He has been with many females since the death of his lover.” “Perhaps it’s different with you—perhaps it’d mean something he’s not ready for.” I shrugged, searching for the right words. “Perhaps he stays away because of it.” She considered, and I prayed she bought my half lie.

He’d always had a casual grace about him, but here, tonight, with his hair tied back and jacket buttoned to his neck, he truly looked the part of a High Lord’s son. Handsome, powerful, a bit rakish—but well-mannered and elegant.

I asked Lucien to escort me, and he’d been more than happy to do so, given that his own status as a mated male made him uninterested in any sort of female company these days.

“I’m a mated male now.”

"Clothing and shoes served as necessary survival tools in the 18th century as well as powerful ways to communicate status, ideas, and a person's role in society. Fashion was a very important way that people expressed their ideas and economic status during the 18th century."

He had to give Lucien credit: the male was somehow able to move between his three roles—an emissary for the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin—and still dress immaculately.

Elain … She’d taken one look at us in the swaying grasses outside that wagon, the legs and assets on display, and turned crimson

"I'll be right back," she murmured and hurried down the hall before I could explain that no one care if she showed up to dinner covered in flour.

Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl.

Gone was the ill-suited black dress from the ball, replaced by a gown of amethyst velvet, her hair half-up and curling down to her waist.

It wasn’t a formal dinner by any means—though Lucien, standing near the windows and watching the sun set over Velaris, was wearing a fine green jacket embroidered with gold, his cream-colored pants showing off muscled thighs, and his knee-high black boots polished enough that the chandeliers of faelight reflected off them.

"By the 17th Century (and beyond), ribbon usage was vast. It showed purpose in extravagant garments, hair accessorizing, and ornamenting furniture and linens. With the demand for the material rising, Coventry, England and Lyons, France became capitals for ribbon production and design."

Even during their squabbles in the cottage, fighting over who got clothes or boots or ribbons, it had never been like this.

"Regency's formal décor has recently made headlines and piqued interior designers' interest thanks to the series "Bridgerton." / The Regency period was one of elegance and opulence, luxuriousness and grandeur" / “The Regency is loud, glamorous, colorful, and much less stuffy "

Elain cut her a look. “This house has needed a woman’s touch for years.”

He tried to sound casual—comfortable. Even as his heart raced and raced, so swift he thought he might vomit on the very expensive, very old carpet. From Sangravah, if the patterns and rich dyes were any indication. Rhysand was many things, but he certainly had good taste. This entire place had been decorated with thought and elegance, with a penchant for comfort over stuffiness.

"Neither a lady nor a gentleman discussed private business in the presence of servants."

Possibly a factor in why we don't see Elain and Lucien interact when EVERYONE AROUND THEM US EAVESDROPPING! 😂

"A well-bred person maintained an elegance of manners and deportment."

Elain flinched again, her face coloring. Nesta snorted. “You’re living amongst beings who have none of our human primness, you know.”

Elain had blushed muttering about the impropriety of such things

He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

“I’m going to assume that one of those cups belongs to your sister.” “Do you mind if I help myself to the other?”

“There’s a plate of biscuits. Would you like one?”

The sound seemed to startle Elain, who swiftly set down her teacup. She rose to her feet, and Lucien shot to his. “I’m sorry,” he blurted.

“I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.”

"A lady did not engage in any activity that might give rise to gossip."

No wonder nobody knows what the hell Elain does or thinks 😂

"It was unacceptable to owe money to a stranger."

"I can't stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back"

"A well-bred person walked upright, stood and moved with grace and ease."

“I’ll do it,” Elain said, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. She didn’t wait for either of us before she strode out, graceful as a doe.

He’d always had a casual grace about him,

"A well-bred person was never awkward in either manner or behaviour and could respond to any social situation with calm assurance."

“Nesta, please,” Elain murmured.

She put a hand on Nesta’s knee, the purple of my sister’s gown nearly swallowing up the ivory hand. “Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.”

Elain crossed her arms and said calmly, sadly, “Feyre warned me this might happen.”

“I still wanted to come,” Elain went on with that focused calm, the quiet steel building in her voice. “I wanted to see you, to explain.”

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

Lucien threw him a withering look. “I’m not your enemy, you know. You can drop the aggressive brute act.” Cassian gave him a grin that didn’t meet his eyes. “Who says it’s an act?” Lucien let out a long sigh. “Very well, then.”

[cynic-spirit]

Winter

Tony Stark, the genius billionaire with a penchant for snark, stood in the cozy warmth of his lab at the Avengers Tower, effortlessly tinkering with some new gadget. His soulmate, Yn, however, was bundled up as if she were about to trek through the Arctic. She wore a thick, woolen coat, gloves, and a scarf tightly wrapped around her neck, topped with a fuzzy hat that barely allowed her to see.

"You know, Yn," Tony began, his tone dripping with amusement, "for someone so stylish, you sure know how to make a fashion statement. Are you planning to climb Everest after this, or just trying to impersonate a very fashionable snowman?"

Yn shot him a playful glare, her breath puffing out in visible clouds despite the insulated confines of the tower. "Not everyone has a miniature arc reactor keeping them warm, Tony. Some of us have to rely on good old-fashioned layers."

Tony grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he put down the tool he was working with. He sauntered over to her, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "You know, I could always build you a personal heating system. Something sleek, stylish, maybe even a little bit... Stark-branded. That way, you wouldn't have to look like you're preparing for a snowstorm every time the temperature drops a degree or two."

Yn huffed, though the corners of her mouth twitched in a smile. "Or, you could just turn up the thermostat."

Tony pretended to consider it for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah, where's the fun in that? Besides, I think it's cute. All bundled up, you look like a little marshmallow. My little marshmallow."

She rolled her eyes, unable to suppress a grin. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, you still love me," he quipped, leaning in to press a kiss on her cold cheek. His lips lingered for a second longer, and when he pulled back, his expression softened. "But seriously, if you're cold, just say the word. I'll build something for you, no problem."

Yn smiled warmly, the chill in her bones momentarily forgotten. "Thanks, Tony. But I think I'll stick with my layers for now. It gives you something to tease me about."

"You're right," Tony agreed, his eyes gleaming with affection. "And we both know how much I enjoy that."

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. Despite his teasing, the warmth of his embrace was all she really needed. In that moment, it didn’t matter how cold it was outside—or inside. As long as Tony was there, Yn knew she’d always feel warm enough.

It was a particularly chilly day in New York, and despite the advanced heating systems in the Avengers Tower, Yn found herself struggling with the cold. She had piled on layers upon layers—starting with a thick thermal shirt, followed by a cashmere sweater, and topped off with a bulky winter coat. But even then, the biting cold seemed to seep through, leaving her feeling frozen to the core. Eventually, Yn resigned herself to the warmth of her favorite plush blanket, wrapping herself up until she resembled a giant furball with only a small part of her face visible.

Tony, as always, was unfazed by the weather. He was in his lab, casually dressed in his usual T-shirt, sleeves rolled up as he worked on his latest project. When he glanced over and saw Yn buried in her blanket cocoon, he couldn’t help but smile—a soft, genuine smile that rarely graced his features. The sight of his soulmate, huddled up and so thoroughly bundled, made something warm and protective stir in his chest.

"Sweetheart," Tony called out, his tone a mixture of amusement and affection, "are you planning on hibernating until spring?"

Yn shifted slightly, just enough to peek out from her blanket fortress. Her eyes were wide with disbelief as she stared at Tony, who looked completely unaffected by the cold. "How are you not freezing?" she asked, her voice muffled slightly by the layers around her. "You’re wearing a T-shirt, Tony! I can barely feel my toes, and I’m practically drowning in clothes and blankets."

Tony chuckled, setting down the tool he had been working with. He sauntered over to her, the sight of her nestled so deeply into the blankets only making his grin widen. "Well, I’ve got this nifty little device in my chest that keeps me nice and toasty," he said, tapping the arc reactor with a smirk. "Perks of being Iron Man."

Yn gave him a mock glare, her expression more pouty than angry. "I could use some of that toasty right now," she muttered, burrowing even deeper into her blankets until only her eyes were visible.

Tony knelt down beside the couch where she was cocooned, his gaze softening as he looked at her. He found it incredibly endearing—his usually composed and strong soulmate now reduced to a big, adorable furball of blankets, trying her best to fend off the cold. He reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, his fingers grazing her chilled skin.

“You know,” he began, his voice lowering to a tender murmur, “you’re the cutest furball I’ve ever seen. It’s kind of unfair, really. Here I am, trying to work, and all I can think about is how adorable you look all bundled up.”

Yn’s eyes crinkled at the corners, a clear sign she was smiling beneath the layers. “I’m glad one of us is enjoying this,” she replied, her voice still muffled but warm with affection. “I don’t even want to get up, Tony. I’m too cold to move.”

Tony’s heart swelled with a mix of emotions—amusement, adoration, and a protective urge to make sure she was comfortable. He leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead, letting his lips linger against her cold skin. The contrast between his warmth and her chill sent a shiver through her, and he noticed, pulling back with a concerned look.

“You’re freezing, Yn,” he said, his teasing tone giving way to something more serious. “Let me warm you up.”

Before she could protest, Tony slipped his arms around her, carefully maneuvering his way into the blanket cocoon she had created. He settled in beside her, pulling her close against him, his body heat instantly seeping through the layers.

“Tony,” Yn began, a little surprised by his sudden closeness, “you don’t have to—”

“I know,” Tony interrupted softly, his breath warm against her ear. “But I want to. Besides, it’s not every day I get to cuddle with a human burrito. You’re stuck with me now.”

Yn sighed, the warmth of his body and the comforting weight of his arms around her easing some of the chill that had settled in her bones. She snuggled closer, resting her head against his chest, right where she could hear the faint hum of the arc reactor. It was oddly soothing, a reminder of the man who loved her enough to drop everything just to make sure she wasn’t cold.

“Feeling better?” Tony asked after a few moments, his voice laced with affection.

“A little,” Yn admitted, her voice softer now, more relaxed. “You’re like a personal heater.”

“Just one of the many services I offer,” Tony quipped, his hand gently rubbing circles on her back through the blanket. “But seriously, Yn, if you’re cold, just say the word. I’ll crank up the heat in here, or we can take a trip to somewhere warm. How about Hawaii?”

Yn chuckled, the sound muffled by the layers. “As tempting as that sounds, I think I’m good right here. As long as you’re with me.”

Tony smiled, a genuine, content smile that reached his eyes. “Good answer,” he said, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “Now, why don’t we just stay like this for a while? I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time that day, Yn felt completely warm. Not just from Tony’s body heat, but from the love and care he so openly showed her. Wrapped up in her blankets, with Tony by her side, the cold didn’t seem so bad after all.

As Tony held Yn close, he noticed that the usual soft murmurs of their conversation had fallen silent. The only sounds left in the room were the quiet hum of the arc reactor in his chest and the faint rustling of blankets as he adjusted his hold on her. Curiosity piqued, he tilted his head slightly and looked down at her, expecting to see those warm, deep eyes gazing up at him. But instead, what he saw made his heart swell with an emotion so profound it nearly took his breath away.

Yn had fallen asleep in his arms, her face relaxed and peaceful, framed by the layers of blankets she had wrapped herself in. Her breath was soft and even, a gentle rise and fall that spoke of utter comfort and trust. Her lips were slightly parted, and a stray lock of hair had fallen over her forehead. Tony couldn’t help but smile, his heart filling with a tender warmth that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

For a long moment, Tony just stared at her, memorizing the details of this serene scene. She looked so small, so delicate in his arms, yet there was something immensely powerful about the trust she placed in him. To fall asleep so deeply, so completely without worry—she felt safe with him. That realization filled Tony with a deep sense of contentment, something he hadn’t experienced in years, if ever.

As he held her, Tony’s thoughts began to drift back to the time before Yn had entered his life. He remembered the endless nights spent alone in his penthouse, the hollow feeling that had settled in his chest despite the luxury and success that surrounded him. He had everything a man could want—money, power, fame—but the one thing that had always eluded him was the connection he craved on a deeper, more personal level.

There were days when Tony had wondered if he would ever find his soulmate, the person who was supposed to complete him. The doubts had gnawed at him, especially in the quiet moments when the world around him seemed to stand still, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He had tried to distract himself—throwing himself into his work, creating suits, saving the world—but nothing ever filled the void that lingered in his heart.

But now, all of that seemed like a distant memory. Because here she was, Yn, snuggled up and sleeping in his arms without a care in the world. She had filled that void with her presence, with her warmth and love, in a way Tony hadn’t even realized he needed. And as he gazed down at her, Tony couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer luck—no, the fate—that had brought them together.

Tony’s arms tightened around Yn slightly, as if to ensure that she was real, that she wasn’t just another dream. The weight of her in his embrace, the warmth of her breath against his chest, all confirmed that she was indeed here with him. His heart ached with a fierce protectiveness, an overwhelming desire to keep her safe and happy, to make sure she never felt the loneliness he had once endured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering there as he closed his eyes. The scent of her hair, a mixture of vanilla and something uniquely Yn, filled his senses, grounding him in this perfect moment. He knew he would do anything to keep her in his life, to make sure she always felt as loved and cherished as she made him feel.

"Thank you," Tony whispered against her hair, his voice barely audible. "Thank you for being here, for finding me."

As Yn slept on, unaware of the depth of his thoughts, Tony continued to hold her, content to simply watch over her as she rested. In that quiet moment, with his soulmate in his arms, Tony Stark realized that he had finally found what he had been searching for all his life. And he knew, without a doubt, that he would never take it for granted.

For the first time in a long while, Tony Stark felt truly at peace. The cold, the loneliness, the doubts—they all seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of Yn’s presence in his arms and the steady beat of his heart against hers. And as he sat there, watching her sleep, Tony knew that this—right here, right now—was everything he had ever wanted. Everything he would ever need.

Tony carefully shifted his position, mindful not to disturb Yn as she slept peacefully in his arms. He knew he needed to get back to his work—there were always projects demanding his attention—but the thought of waking her up made him pause. She looked so content, so utterly at ease in her blanket cocoon, that Tony found himself hesitating, reluctant to break the spell of this quiet, intimate moment.

With the utmost care, Tony slowly began to ease Yn out of his embrace, sliding his arms out from beneath her while supporting her head and back. She murmured softly in her sleep, her face nuzzling briefly against his chest as if seeking out the warmth she had grown accustomed to. Tony’s heart gave a small, involuntary tug, but he continued, moving with a gentle precision that only years of working with delicate machinery could have trained him for.

Finally, he managed to lay her down on the couch, making sure she was still wrapped snugly in the blankets that had become her makeshift cocoon. He took a moment to adjust the layers, ensuring they were tucked around her just right, leaving no gaps for the cold air to sneak in. He even added an extra throw from the back of the couch, draping it over her for good measure. Satisfied that she was warm and comfortable, Tony stood up slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements that might rouse her.

But before he could step away, he remembered the one variable that could potentially ruin this peaceful scene: JARVIS. Tony’s AI assistant was incredibly efficient, but sometimes efficiency came with the drawback of unintended noise—like a sudden alert, a notification chime, or even just the sound of the AI’s voice responding to a query. The last thing Tony wanted was for Yn to be jolted awake by something as mundane as an update notification.

Leaning in closer to the nearest interface, Tony’s voice dropped to a low, almost conspiratorial whisper. “JARVIS,” he began, his tone firm but quiet, “listen to me very carefully. I don’t want to hear a single sound from you. No alerts, no updates, nothing. If you wake her up, I will dismantle you, piece by piece, and use your parts to build a toaster. Do I make myself clear?”

JARVIS, always attuned to Tony’s moods and whims, responded with a tone that could almost be described as amused, if such a thing were possible for an AI. “Crystal clear, sir. I shall remain silent until further notice.”

“Good,” Tony whispered back, casting one last glance at Yn’s peaceful form before straightening up and heading back to his workbench.

As Tony returned to his workstation, he felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, a smile that refused to leave no matter how hard he tried to focus on the task at hand. He had experienced countless moments of joy and satisfaction in his life—from building the first Iron Man suit in that cave to saving the world time and time again—but this was different. This was something softer, something more intimate, and it filled him with a warmth that had nothing to do with the arc reactor in his chest.

Sitting down at his workbench, Tony picked up the tools he had set aside earlier, his hands moving with practiced ease as he resumed his work. The lab was quiet, save for the occasional soft clink of metal against metal and the faint whirring of machinery in the background. But even in this silence, there was a new energy in the room, a kind of contentment that had settled over Tony like a comforting blanket.

Every so often, Tony would glance over at the couch, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of Yn, still curled up and fast asleep. The sight filled him with a sense of pride—pride that he could make her feel so safe, so loved, that she could fall asleep without a single worry in the world. It was a far cry from the man he had been before her, the man who had hidden his vulnerabilities behind sarcasm and bravado, unsure if he would ever find someone who could love him for who he truly was.

Now, as he worked, that old loneliness seemed like a distant memory. Yn had brought light into his life, a light that had banished the shadows he had once grown so accustomed to. And as he continued to tinker with the machinery in front of him, Tony found that the smile on his face was not just a product of the moment—it was a reflection of the profound happiness she had brought into his life.

Time passed, and Tony became absorbed in his work, but that smile remained, a constant reminder of the sleeping figure just a few feet away. For once, he didn’t feel the usual pressure to hurry, to finish the project as quickly as possible. There was a calmness in him, a patience that came from knowing that, when he was done, Yn would still be there, wrapped up in her blankets, waiting for him.

Tony allowed himself to bask in this quiet joy, to savor the rare sense of contentment that filled his heart. He knew that life would always be chaotic, that the world would continue to throw challenges his way, but he also knew that, with Yn by his side, he could face anything. She was his anchor, his constant, the one who had turned his house into a home.

And as he worked through the night, that smile—born of love, of gratitude, of a deep and abiding connection—never left his face.

Tony Stark had faced countless challenges in his life—building an empire, becoming Iron Man, and shouldering the responsibility of protecting the world. Yet, nothing had quite prepared him for the emotional whirlwind of discovering that his soulmate, Yn, was a beloved children's book author. The contrast between their worlds was so stark that it often left him in a state of disbelief, struggling to reconcile how someone as sweet and gentle as Yn could be fated to be with someone like him.

Yn's world was filled with whimsy and innocence. Her books were cherished by children and parents alike, brimming with stories of talking animals, magical forests, and adventures that always ended with a comforting moral. She had a gift for seeing the world through a lens of kindness and imagination, and it was this very gift that made her so beloved by millions. Her words had the power to soothe, to inspire, and to create a sense of wonder that seemed to touch everyone who read her stories. Yn was, in every sense, a beacon of light in a world that often felt too dark and complicated.

Tony, on the other hand, had spent most of his life immersed in a very different kind of world—one dominated by technology, power, and often, destruction. Stark Industries had been synonymous with cutting-edge weaponry long before he ever donned the Iron Man suit. His legacy was built on machines of war, tools designed to protect but also to destroy when necessary. Even after shifting the company’s focus to clean energy and humanitarian projects, the shadows of his past lingered, casting doubts and insecurities that he rarely allowed anyone to see.

It was these shadows that made it difficult for Tony to fully accept that someone as sweet and pure as Yn could truly be his soulmate. He often found himself questioning the cosmic forces that had brought them together, wondering if there hadn’t been some kind of mistake. How could he, a man who had built his fortune on weapons and whose very identity was tied to the armor he wore, be the other half of a woman who crafted worlds of innocence and wonder for children?

This contrast between them was something that Tony couldn’t ignore. He would often watch Yn at her desk, writing or sketching out ideas for her next book, her brow furrowed in concentration as she lost herself in her work. There was a gentleness to her that seemed almost otherworldly to him—a quality that felt so foreign compared to the harsh realities he was used to. He admired her ability to create beauty in the world, to offer something pure and untainted, even as he grappled with the knowledge of his own darker contributions to society.

There were moments when Tony felt a deep sense of unworthiness, as if he didn’t deserve the love and light that Yn brought into his life. He had seen and done things that he wasn’t proud of, made decisions that had cost lives, and even though he had tried to make amends, the weight of those choices still bore down on him. Yn, with her boundless kindness and her talent for creating joy, seemed too good for him, too pure for the complexities of his world. It was hard for Tony to imagine how someone like her could ever fully understand or accept the darker parts of his life.

Yet, despite these doubts, Tony couldn’t help but be drawn to Yn, as if she were a balm for his wounded soul. She had a way of making him feel lighter, of helping him see the good that still existed within him, even when he struggled to see it himself. Yn never shied away from who Tony was; she accepted him, flaws and all, and somehow managed to find beauty in the contrasts that defined their relationship.

Yn often spoke about how every story needed balance—how even the sweetest tales had moments of conflict or sadness that made the happy endings all the more meaningful. She would tell Tony that their relationship was just like one of her stories: it was the balance between their worlds that made their connection so special. To her, Tony wasn’t just a man of war and armor; he was someone who had fought for change, someone who had turned his life around to make the world a better place. She saw the hero in him, not just the weapons manufacturer or the man in the iron suit.

Tony found himself clinging to these reassurances, even as he continued to struggle with his doubts. He admired Yn’s ability to find light in the darkness, to see the potential for good in even the most flawed of characters. It was this perspective that slowly began to change the way Tony saw himself, helping him to accept that maybe, just maybe, he was worthy of the love she offered.

There were still days when Tony would sit in his workshop, staring at the array of weaponry he had created, and feel a pang of guilt. But now, those moments were tempered by the knowledge that Yn was waiting for him upstairs, ready to share her latest story idea or simply to cuddle up on the couch and watch a movie. Her presence in his life was a reminder that he didn’t have to be defined by his past, that he could be more than just the sum of his mistakes.

Yn’s influence on Tony was profound. She had a way of softening his rough edges, of bringing out the parts of him that he had long buried under layers of cynicism and self-reliance. With her, he could let his guard down, allow himself to be vulnerable in a way that he had never been able to before. She taught him that it was okay to embrace the sweeter, softer aspects of life, that it didn’t make him any less of a man or a hero.

In time, Tony began to see their relationship not as a contradiction, but as a beautiful paradox—a testament to the idea that even in the most unexpected pairings, there could be harmony. Yn’s sweetness wasn’t a contrast to his strength; it was a complement to it. Together, they created a balance that made them both stronger, both more complete.

And so, Tony learned to accept, and even to cherish, the fact that his soulmate was a woman who wrote stories for children, who believed in the power of imagination and kindness. It was this very sweetness, this light that Yn brought into his life, that made Tony believe in the possibility of redemption, of becoming the man she saw when she looked at him with those loving, understanding eyes.

In the end, it wasn’t about whether or not they were an obvious match. It was about the fact that they had found each other, that despite their differences, they had created something beautiful together. Yn’s world of wonder and Tony’s world of technology had merged in a way that neither of them had expected, but both had come to treasure. It was a love story as unique and unexpected as the two of them, and Tony wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[hellsite-hall-of-fame]

Once upon a time there was a lovely princess. But she had an enchantment upon her of a fearful sort which could only be broken by love's first kiss. She was locked away in a castle guarded by a terrible fire-breathing dragon. Many brave knigts had attempted to free her from this dreadful prison, but non prevailed. She waited in the dragon's keep in the highest room of the tallest tower for her true love and true love's first kiss. {Laughing} Like that's ever gonna happen. {Paper Rusting, Toilet Flushes} What a load of - Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed She was lookin' kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb In the shape of an "L" on her forehead The years start comin' and they don't stop comin' Fed to the rules and hit the ground runnin' Didn't make sense not to live for fun Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb So much to do so much to see So what's wrong with takin' the backstreets You'll never know if you don't go You'll never shine if you don't glow Hey, now You're an all-star Get your game on, go play Hey, now You're a rock star Get the show on, get paid And all that glitters is gold Only shootin' stars break the mold It's a cool place and they say it gets colder You're bundled up now but wait till you get older But the meteor men beg to differ Judging by the hole in the satellite picture The ice we skate is gettin' pretty thin The water's getting warm so you might as well swim My world's on fire How 'bout yours That's the way I like it and I'll never get bored Hey, now, you're an all-star {Shouting} Get your game on, go play Hey, now You're a rock star Get the show on, get paid And all that glitters is gold Only shootin' stars break the mold {Belches} Go! Go! {Record Scratching} Go. Go.Go. Hey, now, you're an all-star Get your game on, go play Hey, now You're a rock star Get the show on, get paid And all that glitters is gold Only shootin' stars break the mold -Think it's in there? -All right. Let's get it! -Whoa.

Hold on. Do you know what that thing can do to you? -Yeah, it'll grind your bones for it's bread. {Laughs} -Yes, well, actually, that would be a gaint. Now, ogres - - They're much worse. They'll make a suit from your freshly peeled skin. -No! -They'll shave your liver. Squeeze the jelly from your eyes! Actually, it's quite good on toast. -Back! Back, beast! Back! I warn ya! {Gasping} -Right. {Roaring} {Shouting} {Roaring} {Whispers} This is the part where you run away. {Gasping} {Laughs} {Laughing} And stay out! "Wanted. Fairy tale creatures." {Sighs} {Man's voice} All right. This one's full. -Take it away! {Gasps} -Move it along. Come on! Get up! -Next! -Give me that! Your fiying days are over. That's 20 pieces of silver for the witch. Next! -Get up! Come on! -Twenty pieces. {Thudding} -Sit down there! -Keep quiet! {Crying} -This cage is too small. -Please, don't turn me in. I'll never be stubborn again. I can change. Please! Give me another chance! -Oh, shut up. -Oh! -Next! -What have you got? -This little wooden puppet. -I'm not a puppet. I'm a real boy. -Five shillings for the possessed toy. Take it away. -Father, please! Don't let them do this! -Help me! -Next! What have you got? -Well, I've got a talking donkey. {Grunts} -Right. Well, that's good for ten shillings, if you can prove it. -Oh, go ahead, little fella. -Well? -Oh, oh, he's just - - He's just a little nervous. He's really quite a chatterbox. Talk, you boneheaded dolt - - -That's it. I've heard enough. Guards! -No, no, he talks! He does.

I can talk. I love to talk. I'm the talkingest damn thing you ever saw. -Get her out of my sight. -No, no! I swear! Oh! He can talk! {Gasps} -Hey! I can fly! -He can fly! -He can fly! -He can talk! -Ha, ha! That's right, fool! Now I'm a flying, talking donkey. You might have seen a housefly, maybe even a superfly but I bet you ain't never seen a donkey fly. Ha, ha! Oh-oh. {Grunts} -Seize him! -After him! He's getting away! {Grunts, Gasps} {Man} -Get him! This way! Turn! -You there. Orge! -Aye? -By the order of Lord Farquaad I am authorized to place you both under arrest and transport you to a designated..... resettlement facility. -Oh, really? You and what army? {Gasps, Whimpering} {Chuckles} -Can I say something to you? -Listen, you was really, really, really somethin' back here. Incredible! Are you talkin' to - - me? Whoa! -Yes. I was talkin' to you. Can I tell you that you that you was great back here? Those guards! They thought they was all of that. Then you showed up, and bam! They was trippin' over themselves like babes in the woods. That really made me feel good to see that. -Oh, that's great. Really. -Man, it's good to be free. -Now, why don't you go celebrate your freedom with your own friends? Hmm? -But, uh, I don't have any friends. And I'm not goin' out there by myself. Hey, wait a minute! I got a great idea! I'll stick with you. You're mean, green, fightin' machine. Together we'll scare the spit out of anybody that crosses us. {Roaring} -Oh, wow! That was really scary. If you don't mind me sayin', if that don't work, your breath certainly will get the job done, 'cause you definitely need some Tic Tacs or something, 'cause you breath stinks! You almost burned the hair outta my nose, just like the time - - {Mumbling} Than I ate some rotten berries. I had strong gases eking out of my butt that day. -Why are you following me? -I'll tell you why. 'Cause I'm all alone There's no one here beside me My promlems have all gone There's no one to deride me But you gotta heve friends - - -Stop singing! It's no wonder you don't have any friends. -Wow. Only a true friend would be that cruelly honest. -Listen, little donkey. Take a look at me. What am I? -Uh - - Really tall? -No! I'm an orge! You know.

"Grab your torch and pitchforks." Doesn't that bother you? -Nope. -Really? -Really, really. -Oh. -Man, I like you. What's you name? -Uh, Shrek. -Shrek? Well, you know what I like about you, Shrek? You got that kind of I-don't-care-what-nobody-thinks-of-me thing. I like that. I respect that, Shrek. You all right. Whoo! Look at that. Who'd want to live in place like that? -That would be my home. -Oh! And it is lovely! Just beautiful. You know you are quite a decorator. It's amazing what you've done with such a modest budget. I like that boulder. That is a nice boulder. -I guess you don't entertain much, do you? -I like my privacy. -You know, I do too. That's another thing we have in common. Like I hate it when you got somebody in your face. You've trying to give them a hint, and they won't leave. There's that awkward silence. -Can I stay with you? -Uh, what? -Can I stay with you, please? -Of course! -Really? -No. -Please! I don't wanna go back there! You don't know what it's like to be considered a freak. Well, maybe you do. But that's why we gotta stick together. You gotta let me stay! Please! Please! -Okay! Okay! But one night only.

-Ah! Thank you! -What are you - - No! No! -This is gonna be fun! We can stay up late, swappin' manly stories, and in the mornin' I'm makin' waffles. -Oh! -Where do, uh, I sleep? -Outside! -Oh, well. I guess that's cool. I mean, I don't know you, and you don't know me, so I guess outside is best, you know. {Sniffles} -Here I go. -Good night. {Sighs} -I mean, I do like the outdoors. I'm a donkey. I was born outside. I'll just be sitting by myself outside, I guess, you know. By myself, outside. I'm all alone There's no one here beside me {Bubbling} {Sighs} {Creaking} {Sighs} -I thought I told you to stay outside. -I'm outside. {Clattering} -Well, gents, it's a far cry from the farm, but what choice do we have? -It's not home, but it'll do just fune. -What a lovely bed. -Got ya. {Sniffs} I found some cheese. -Ow! {Grunts} -Blah! Awful stuff. -Is that you, Gorder? -How did you know? -Enough! What are you doing in my house? {Grunts} -Hey! {Snickers} -Oh, no, no, no. Dead broad off the table. -Where are we supposed to put her? The bed's taken. -Huh? {Gusps} {Male voice} What? -I live in a swamp. I put up signs. I'm a terrifying orge! What do I have to do get a little privacy? -Aah! -Oh, no. No! No! {Cackling} -What? -Quit it. -Don't push. {Squeaking} {Lows} - What are you doing in my swamp? {Echoing} Swamp! Swamp! Swamp! {Gasping} -Oh, dear! -Whoa! -All right, get out of here. All of you, move it! Come on! Let's go! Hapaya! Hapaya! Hey! -Quickly. Come on! -No, no! No, no. Not there. Not there. -Oh! {Sighs} -Hey, don't look at me. I didn't invite them. -Oh, gosh, no one invited us. -What? -We were forced to come here. -By who? -Lord Farquaad. -He huffed und he puffed und he...... signed an eviction notice. {Sighs} -All right. Who knows where this Farquaad guy is? {Murmuring} -Oh, I do. I know where he is.

-Does anyone else know where to find him? Anyone at all? -Me! Me! -Anyone? -Oh! Oh, pick me! Oh, I know! I know! Me, me! {Sighs} -Okay, fine. Attention, all fairy tale things. Do not get comfortable. Your welcome is officially worn out. In fact, I'm gonna see this guy Farquaad right now and get you all off my land and back where you came from! {Cheering} {Twittering} -Oh! You! You're comin' with me. - All right, that's what I like to hear, man. Shrek and Donkey, two stalwart friends, off on a whirlwind big-city adventure. I love it! -On the road again. Sing it with me, Shrek. -Hey. Oh, oh! -I can't wait to get on the road again. -What did I say about singing? -Can I whistle? -No. -Can I hum it? -All right, hum it. {Humming} {Grunts} {Whimpering} -That's enough. He's ready to talk. {Coughing} {Laughing} {Clears throat} -Run, run, run, as fust as you can. You can't catch me. I'm the gingerbread man! -You are a monster. -I'm not the monster here. You are. You and the rest of that fairy tale trash, poisoning my perfect world. Now, tell me! Where are the others? -Eat me!{Grunts} -I've tried to be fair to you creatures. Now my patience has reached its end! Tell me or I'll - -

-No, no, not the buttons. Not my gumdrop buttons. -All right then. Who's hiding them? -Okay, I'll tell you. Do you know the muffin man? -The muffin man? -The muffin man. -Yes, I know the muffin man, who lives on Drury Lane? -Well, she's married to the muffin man. -The muffin man? -The muffin man! -She's married to the muffin man. {Door opens} -My lord! We found it. -Then what are you waiting for? Bring it in. {Man grunting} {Gasping} -Oh! -Magic mirror - - -Don't tell him anything! -No! {Ginerbread man whispers} -Evening. Mirror, mirror on the wall. Is this not the most perfect kingdom of them all? -Well, technically you're not a king. -Uh, Thelonius. -You were saying? -What I mean is, you're not a king yet. But you can become one. All you have to do is marry a princess. -Go on. {Chuckles} -So, just sit back and relax, my lord, because it's time for you to meet today's eligible bachelorettes. And here they are! Bachelorette number one is a mentally abused shut-in from a kingdom far, far away. She likes sushi and hot tubbing anytime. Her hobbies include cooking and cleaning for her two evil sisters. Please welcome Cinderella. -Bachelorette number two is a cape-wearing girl from the land of fancy. Although she lives with seven other men, she's not easy.

Just kiss her dead, frozen lips and find out what a live wire she is. Come on. Give it up for Snow White! -And last, but certainly not last, bachelorette number three is a fiery redhead from a dragon-guarded castle surrounded by hot boiling lava! But don't let that cool you off. She's a loaded pistol who likes pina colads and getting caught in the rain. Yours for the rescuing, Princess Fiona! -So will it be bachelorette number one, bachelorette number two or bachelorette number three? -Two! Two! -Three! Three! -Two! Two! -Three! -Three? One? {Shudders} Three? --Three! Pick number three, my lord! -Okay, okay, uh, number three! -Lord Farquaad, you've chosen Princess Fiona. If you like pina coladas And getting caught in the rain -Princess Fiona. If you're not into yoga -She's perfect. All I have to do is just find someone who can go - - -But I probably should mention the little thing that happens at night. -I'll do it. -Yes, but after sunset - - -Silence! I will make this Princess Fiona my queen, and DuLoc will finally have the perfect king! Captain, assemble your finest men. We're going to have a tournament. -But that's it. That's it right there. That's DuLoc. I told ya I'd find it. -So, that must be Lord Farquaad's castle. -Uh-huh. That's the place. -Do you think maybe he's compensating for something? {Laughs} {Groans} -Hey, wait. Wait up, Shrek. -Hurry, darling. We're late. Hurry. -Hey, you! {Screams} -Wait a second. Look, I'm not gonna eat you. I just - - I just - - {Whimpering} {Sighs} {Whimpering, Groans} {Turnstile clatters} {Chuckles} {Sighs} -It's quiet. Too quiet. {Creaking} -Where is everybody? -Hey, look at this! {Clattering, whirring, clicking} Welcome to DuLoc such a perfect town Here we have some rules Let us lay them down Don't make waves, stay in line And we'll get along fine DuLoc is perfect place

Please keep off of the grass Shine your shoes, wipe your... face DuLoc is, DuLoc is DuLoc is perfect ...... place {Camera shutter clicks {Whirring} -Wow! Let's do that again! -No. No. No, no, no! No. {Trumpet fanfare} {Crowd cheering} -Brave knights. -You are the best and brightest in all the land. -Today one of you shall prove himself - - -All right. You're going the right way for a smacked bottom. -Sorry about that. {Cheering} -That champion shall have the honor - - no, no - - the privilege to go forth and rescue the lovely Princess Fiona from the fiery keep of the dragon. If for any reason the winner is unsuccessful, the first runner-up will take his place and so on and so forth. Some of you mae die, but it's a sacrifice I am willing to make. {Cheering} -Let the tournament begin! {Gasps} -Oh! -What is that? {Gasping} -It's hideous! -Ah, that's not very nice. It's just a donkey. -Indeed. Knights, new plan! The one who kills the orge will be named champion! Have it him! -Get him! -Oh, hey! Now come on! Hang on now. -Go ahead! Get him! -Can't we just settle this over a pint? -Kill the beast! -No? All right then. Come on! I don't give a damn about my reputation You're living in the past It's a new generation -Damn! {Whinnying} A girl can do what she wants to do And that's what I'm gonna do And I don't give a damn about my bad reputation Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Not me Me, me, me -Hey, Shrek, tag me! Tag me! And I don't give a damn about my bad reputation

just so everyone knows, there are like 5 other asks with the rest of the Shrek script in my inbox…..

but i’m only posting this one, so you’re all so very welcome!!!

(also thank you so very much @genlossicle, your commitment is astounding and very much appreciated lol)