#put peepers eye on the right side this time

[skebbles]

[dirtyvulture]

Peeping Kate Bishop - Part 9

Possessive!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Fem!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 1604

Summary: Kate gets caught in an awkward spot.

AN: Our favorite peeper is back! Check out the other parts here. Enjoy!

“Can I borrow your vest?” Kate asks, skipping over to Yelena in the kitchen.

“What for, Kate Bishop?” Yelena responds, not even looking up at her to focus on lining up the banana slices on her peanut butter sandwich.

“Clint’s taking me on a mission with Steve tomorrow. He said to pack light, and I know your vest has a lot of pockets to make things easier to carry,” Kate explains.

“Yes, that is the purpose of the pockets.”

“So can I borrow it? I’ll make sure to clean it before I give it back,” Kate says.

“I didn’t think green was your color,” Yelena comments.

“The color doesn’t matter,” Kate exasperates. “Please?”

Yelena pauses like this is an extremely important decision she’s about to make. “Sure,” she finally says. 

“Yay! Thanks, Yelena!” Kate disappears towards the bedrooms, but comes back a minute later empty-handed. “Where’d you put it?” she asks Yelena.

“What do you mean?” Yelena takes a big bite of her sandwich.

“Where’s your vest?”

“Is it not in my closet?”

“Nope,” Kate responds.

“Oh!” Yelena swallows. “My sister borrowed it last week. It’s probably still in her room.”

“H-Her room?” Kate had basically self-banned herself from going into Natasha’s (and yours) room after the amount of times she had stumbled in on the two of you in what should have been very private moments.

“Her and Y/N are still coming back from a mission,” Yelena says dismissively. “Just be quick, Kate Bishop.”

“Right, right.” 

Kate wanders down the hall, her heart beating in anticipation. She stops at Natasha’s door, knocking several times and waiting for a response. When she gets none, she pushes the door open slowly, completely relieved to find it empty. She goes into the closet (which she’s envious to find is almost as big as her entire room) and starts pawing through the clothes, embarrassed to recognize which ones are yours just from the scent lingering on them.

She fights the urge to bury her nose in one of your hoodies, hunting around for Yelena’s vest. It doesn’t seem to be anywhere, and she goes through the clothes on the hangers one at a time, hoping to find it.

Suddenly, Kate hears voices and runs back to the closet door, but is too late and sees you and Natasha walk in. She gets tangled in a pair of sweatpants on the floor and nearly falls through the door, but catches herself on the frame just in time. Natasha’s eyes sweep past the ajar door, but Kate shrinks back and holds her breath. Natasha gives her no second glance.

“I’m ready to sleep for a year,” you announce, dropping your bag with a loud thud by the door and throwing yourself onto the bed. Natasha jumps on your back with a giggle, and Kate’s heart pounds in her throat. She has to make her presence known now, or she knows she will severely regret this moment for the rest of her life.

“You can’t sleep now,” Natasha pouts, as you roll onto your back and let her lie on your chest.

Kate puts her hand on the door and starts opening it–

“You have to fuck me first.”

The blood drains out of Kate’s face and she shrinks back. She can’t leave now. 

“You think I didn’t feel the strap you’re wearing?” Natasha says, aggressively rocking her hips against yours and you moan. Kate feels a jolt go straight to her core when she hears you, and she kneels down, cupping herself between her legs and trying to will away her arousal.

“The mission kind of tired me out,” you admit.

“Well, you can just sit back and let me do the work,” Natasha smirks. It still surprises you sometimes how horny she can be, but you would never deny her.

“Sure, baby.” You scoot up higher on the bed, taking off your clothes and throwing them to the side haphazardly, letting Natasha grind on your strap. 

Kate inhales sharply and slaps a hand over her mouth to hide her awe. Even though Natasha is blocking most of her view of you, Kate still thinks that you are the most beautiful specimen she’s ever seen. Your body looks like it was sculpted by God himself, your muscles perfectly proportioned, the features of your face set in the most attractive way Kate could even think of. Kate is pretty sure she’d be willing to commit murder if it meant getting her hands on you, even for a few minutes. But since that possibility would never happen in this universe, she had to settle for the next best thing: watching you with your actual partner and pretending it was with her instead.

Natasha strips off her clothes and continues grinding against you, placing her hand on the center of your chest and pushing you back against the headboard. Kate can hear you panting now and her own heartbeat picks up and she surges forward until she almost hits her head on the door. 

“You’re so beautiful, Nat,” you say, and Kate pretends you’ve said her own name instead. 

“Just relax, baby. I’ll handle this,” Natasha says. Still, your hands wrap around her thighs, lifting her up just so Kate can see the bottom of the strap you’re wearing and the filthiest thoughts flood her head. Natasha sinks down on your strap and moans. You start to rock your hips, and Kate has had enough. 

She hastily unzips her own jeans, a mix of embarrassment and shame filling her at what she’s about to do, but then she hears you moan again and watches as your girlfriend rides you roughly, your muscles flexing as you keep both of your bodies upright. Kate slips her hand past her panties, pushing two fingers into herself, shocked at how wet she already is. She wishes it was your fingers instead, clenching hard around herself at the thought. She wishes she could have you pinned to your bed, her hands holding onto your biceps, rubbing her center against your rock-hard abs until she cums over and over.

“Fuck, you fill me up so well,” Natasha moans, bouncing on your lap. Kate pumps into herself harder, swiping her thumb over her clit and her legs tremble at the extra stimulation.  

“Cum all over my strap,” you tell her, and Kate wants to scream that she would do anything for you. She’s soaking all over her hand and she bites on her bottom lip to stop herself from making any noise. She has never reached an orgasm so fast and doesn’t even notice that Natasha’s finished and climbs off your lap, taking your strap off before dipping her head between your legs.

“Oh, fuck. Right there, baby.”

Your voice makes Kate peek out the crack of the door again. She wants to faint now at the sight of you flat on your back, your chest and stomach heaving with Natasha’s mouth attached to your center. 

Kate’s mouth practically waters as she wonders what you would taste like, how the weight of your muscular thighs would feel in her arms as she tries to keep your legs apart, but then she’ll give in so you can wrap them around her head to draw her closer to you. Again, Kate starts fingering herself, still frustrated at how close yet far she is from you. She closes her eyes to properly imagine being between your legs and bringing you to a blissful high, pretending that it’s her name you’re moaning instead of Natasha’s.

Your hand threads into Natasha’s hair as another obscene moan escapes your lips. You’ve already cum twice and Natasha seems to have no intent of stopping any time soon. Her lips close around your clit and suck hard, and you’re gone again. But after the fog clears from your head, your legs trembling uncontrollably and your skin covered in sweat, you finally push Natasha’s head away from you.

“Okay, okay, I’m done, baby,” you say, feeling like she’s literally drained the life out of you.

“That enough for you?” Natasha says, winking as she sits up and wipes her mouth.

“Yeah.” You flop back on the pillows, panting.

Natasha gets off the bed, grabbing the bathrobe hanging behind the front door. You lift your head enough to watch her lazily. She comes back to the bedside, reaching under the nightstand into the mini fridge and taking out a bottle of red Gatorade.

“Stay hydrated, baby,” she says, giving it to you with a kiss.

“Thank you.” You open the bottle and offer her the first sip. She smiles as she takes it, then moves to throw the blanket over you. You’re too tired to question her, taking the Gatorade back and chugging it. 

Natasha goes to stand in front of the closet, which is slightly ajar. She crosses her arms and says, “Kate Bishop, get out of the closet.” Your eyes widen as the door seems to open on its own and Kate Bishop emerges, shuffling forward uneasily with her hands buried in her pockets. Her zipper is down, but no one comments on this.

“I am not going to ask, just get the hell out of our room,” Natasha growls.

Kate nods, her face redder than you’ve ever seen before, and waddles out of your room.

“Did you know she was in there?” you finally ask after a few moments of silence.

Natasha smirks at you.

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

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[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Hi, I don't know if I'm doing this right but can I request the lines, ❛ do you really think you’re in a position to give orders? ❜ and, ❛ you keep your hands where they are or i'll tie them up. ❜ for Trickster? Have a nice day :)

I know it was suppose to be smut lines but the horror of the call of the abyss got me i also have no idea what embalmer's personality is lol i tired

Rated Mature | Warning: monster reader (pitch black level sort of)

The one called ‘Trickster’ is the one you find to be strange. The attempt to keep the other’s humanity in check by being humorous is different from the seriousness of others in the group who have ventured here. Here being your nest, your paradise, they call it the Nether or the Abyss. You never gave this place a name, you are not sure what to call it when you created it from the bones of those who lived in this mansion. Abyss is rather catchy, and threatening. Nether sounds like a limbo, something but nothing all at once. You watch as they go forth, cautious, hyperaware of the surroundings. You hate when fools enter your home, as the place has parts of you everywhere, and you are very much aware of their presence. The shadows of your power, the darkness that consumes the light when it is gifted freely.

Humans, you tilt your head to the side before returning your vision to the current area your body rests in. Yes, a body, this flesh long ago corrupted, you always wondered if you were human.

Or maybe you made this to be human?

With no memories, you will never know. Not that it matters, nothing matters so long as you have peace in your home.

A peace that is being disturbed. You pet the tendril of darkness, you look at the glass around the room watching as the group is running away from a creature that made its home here. You do not mind neighbors, they keep the peace when you do not feel like putting in effort. What was that one called? She has pretty eyes reminding you of a cat… Hmm, whatever. You sit on the ground as the tendril disappears and the room is once again hollow as you are. The glass around the room shifts to different sights where the human group trying to escape the peacekeeper, the peepers keep you informed of their locations.

“I want that one.” Pointing to the man with a coat that is worn improperly. Why does he bother to wear in such a manner? The tendrils in the room shift as it glows a dull blue, your command transmitted to the peacekeeper. She will play with the others and the rooms will shift to bring you the one called ‘Trickster’.

“No killing. Taste only.” You are not hungry today and will allow them to leave but your taint will stain them as a warning to any who wish to be foolish, “Play with them outside in the garden.”

Peacekeeper stops to turn to the peeper then nods before returning to the hunt.

He is rather small. Are all humans this small? They seem bigger when you are watching them. He is on the ground bleeding out a bit, he should not tried to resist. You stand tall above him, the swirls of your power must be intimating for he has not stopped shaking. You lean down with your hand reached out with a blue glow around it.

“Ah!” Moving away but a tendril stops him by gripping his ankle. He reaches behind him but stops when another tendril is at his throat, the sharp tip pressing against his Adam’s apple. A warning before you say it. It moves away when he brings his hands up to show he will not do anything.

“You keep your hands where they are or I'll tie them up.” Monotone, “I am only going to take your pain away.”

“Don’t touch me!” He is afraid, all humans are yet they some many stupid things that put themselves in positions of fear.

You inhale the scent before sighing in the form of annoyance, “Do you think you’re in a position to give orders?” Pressing your hand on the wound, you make sure it hurts a bit more than you first intended. He grabs your wrists with both of his hands, his blood and body are warm something you have not felt in a long time. “Foolish thing.” He squirms then stops as the pain is gone. The gash on his side is gone as if it was never there! He touches it, pokes it, then looks at you with wide eyes. “You do not need to thank me.”

“Didn’t plan to,” He stares at you, “Are you corrupted?”

“Corrupted?” Crouching down to his level so he would not crane his neck to look at you, “No.”

“But you look human.”

“And you look like a fool, does that mean you are a fool?” The man looks rather offended by those words, “No, I was born like this.” Then you look away from the glass to see the peacekeeper has allowed the group to escape. “You will leave and not return. The next time you enter this place I shall keep you.” The words he might have said are silence by the mist of darkness that removes him from both your sight and your home. Once more peace, yet, you look at your hand covered with his blood and feel… Melancholy. As if you lost something you cannot quite place. Maybe you were hungry?

[golatcxr]

Focus [Mike Morton x ADHD!Reader]

Genre: Fluff

"Focus, unfocused, but on you I'm ever focused."

TW: none

<3

It had been several months since you first stepped into the manor. When rumors said it was a dead-alive game, you found it quite relaxing and even friendly outside the battlefields.

Every day you would wake up and participate in matches, you often visited the hunters' side after matches hour had ended too. You held no grudges against them, neither did they. On the other hand, you were nowhere close with your teammates, having suffered from ADHD, it's extremely difficult for you to form a proper bond especially with your bad memorizing skill and you constantly zoning out.

Survivors, all vulnerable they seemed, but it's easier to break apart a mountain than to actually befriend some.

.

.

"No more failed calibrations..." you thought to yourself after getting electrocuted twice, whenever you failed one, your decoding progress would be decreased by 20%, however, that effect could be trippled up. You ran your fingers across the dusty metal keyboard, cursing at your own divided attention.

"Seems like you are having a hard time to concentrate, (Y/N)?"

Your attention was immediately drawn to the Acrobat who stood right next to you.

"Oh god, Morton you scared me!" You breathed out heavily in frustration and relief at the same time. He was the closet "friend" to you among the survivors so there was almost no worries of being scolded.

"Can I decode with you? I haven't had any chance to gain another fireball and Margaretha has already shooed me away. I don't think the hunter is nearby now, is that okay for you?" He asked with a smile.

"Sure." You were much assured and settled down.

When the cipher you were working on was almost done, you heard Jose screamed "The hunter is near me!" but then you saw the red spark on your right.

Which meant The Ripper had teleported to your machine, at that very moment, it popped. You ran to the pallet next to you and threw it down.

"Focus on decoding!" That was your final message before looking back to find Jack trampling the pallet.

20 seconds had passed...

40 seconds had passed...

Then 60 seconds...

2 more ciphers to go and you were stumbling in your half- health state. Suddenly something caught your eyes, it was Margaretha's slow music box. For other survivors, that would be a great kiting place but you, you were so drawn to it that you forgot to turn around. The hunter mercilessly knocked you down and destroyed the music box.

"Sorry..." you cried out, and yet another machine was done.

Jack hummed and picked you up, he then headed to the nearest rocket chair.

"Don't worry I just want to test something."

You were left speechless. Jack didn't bring peepers nor camp the chair although he was at risk of losing.

Odd. He wasn't the type to admit defeat so easily.

Eventually, Jose came for the rescue but then he was targeted instead of you. On your way back, you heard a familiar voice.

"(Y/N)! You okay??" He called out,

Instead of healing you right away, Morton pulled you into his tight embrace and asked if your injuries were too bad. You wanted to burst into tears, but then calmed down right away to let Morton heal you. His touch always melt your anxiety away, it was so gentle.

Later on, Jose was captured and the last cipher was ready to be popped.

"He is quite near the other gate now, I still have tide turner so let me do the rescue." You stood up then headed to the rocket chair immediately, you swore you saw Morton pouted a bit.

Your team could have a 3-escaped but a terror shock turned the table.

After Margaretha was sent back to the manor, you were the last survivor, desperately searching for the dungeon. Unfortunately, you were discovered and knocked down not long after.

"Little one, you ran right pass the dungeon over there." Jack chuckled lightly. "I have something to tell you so please come with me." He carried you to where the dungeon was located and put you down.

"We all know Mike Morton, the Acrobat, is such a skilled actor, but I did not expect him to be that obvious."

"Wgat do you mean by that?" You tilted your head, hand holding your aching head.

"Oh dear, if you really haven't figured that out then I shall let you know, that boy has something for you, quite a sight indeed." He hummed. "I suggested that you meet him after this match. Have fun."

The match ended with you being the only survivor who escaped, you didn't understand a thing that Jack had told you earlier, partly due to your lack of concentration. Strangely, it kept circling around your mind. Without realizing it, you were looking at Morton sitting at the dining table when you arrived at the lobby.

"Are you focusing on me? That's rare." Morton smiled.

"No."

"Oh."

"Well actually yes but no."

"Are you up to something (Y/N)?" He asked.

"Oh, right.. I gotta ask you something." You blurted out, whilst trying your best to not get distracted.

"Sure, but first, the next match is starting soon so we'd better retreat." He walked away, waving his hand to catch your attention.

In a second, you caught it. Morton flinched at the sudden contact but he let it be.

"Uhm, Mike?" You spoke up.

"I like it better when you call me by my first name." He smiled.

That adorable thing just blessed your soul but in change, increased your heart rate which make you stammer.

"So, uh, a certain someone told me that you had feelings for me, I wonder if that was true." Instantly regret it when you caught his gaze, he was facing you.

His eyes widened, Morton put his palms on your shoulders.

The flashback of the match kept your mind thinking back and forth. Completely unaware until Morton pinched your left cheek.

"Listen (Y/N), I know you get along quite well with the Ripper but you shouldn't always believe in what he said to you." He replied. "But this time, you should."

You froze in place for a few second, you were focusing on him, on Morton.

"You don't know how much I gotta say I love you to express it." He then cupped your cheeks with his hands, forcing your face up to look at him. "You are listening right?"

"I am, you have my full attention everytime you look at me like that." You pecked his cheek playfully, earning a small gasp and a blush from him.

Too busy on your thoughts, yet again you were brought back by him. But this time, it was a kiss.

It's hard to stay concentrated, but you felt your yeyes never wanting to leave him.

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

Author's note: No one, but me editing my draft all the way back in August 2021 at midnight 🤡👏 I fucking love Mike Morton and I won't deny it, happy Halloween y'all ✌️✨👻 I don't actually have ADHD, more like short attention span only so if this seems too unaccurate, I'm very sorry.

P/S: I have 25k frags and ready to drag his S skin pack home by the collar 🤌

[bishop-percival]

@monarchofmayhem

(prev) Hater heartily laughed at Bishop Percival’s impression. He was about to demand to hear more when he heard Peepers’ shrill voice from the other side of him and froze. “It’s soused gurnard you uneducated swine! You didn’t even use a single word in that sentence right!” Peepers snootily huffed before mocking Percy right back. “That hideous, gag-inducing, loathsome guy who smells like a cheap pickled fish will be nothing but nonsense once my toy gun spills his red zinfandel, a commonly pink bargain bin girly drink!” …Wow, Peepers could do that too!? Hater glanced between Percy and Peepers several times. Peepers’ impression was slightly off but that only made Hater realize how similar they sounded. How ironic! Hater couldn’t help but snort at both his impression and how funny it was that the two watchdogs constantly at each other’s throats had similar voices. Which, of course, attracted Peepers’ attention and if looks could kill he’d be dead on the spot. So he immediately threw his new “bud” under the bus. “I know right?” Hater said with a casual scoff. “I told him it was actually soosed ganard! And I totally knew it was gross fish food.” “Oh?” Peepers said as he tapped his foot like a feline stalking prey and raised half his eyelid. “And how, exactly did it come up?” “I- well-” Hater nervously glanced around before pointing an accusatory finger at Peepers. “It’s YOUR fault for always saying weird stuff!” Peepers’ eye briefly widened as he started to step back. After a moment he climbed up Hater’s cloak in a flash so he could grab a fistful of his hood and look him in the eyes as he yelled, “Weird? WEIRD!? You’re the one that calls yourself O.P! It’s overpowered you idiot! You don’t actually say each letter! And that’s not even half as bad as pronouncing laughing out loud like lull! Fucking lull!”

The commander’s Percival impression got one laugh out of the Glornist crowd; a single chortle from Reverend Mike that accidentally slipped out. Percival glared at him while Mike pretended not to notice he was being glared at. 

When Commander Peepers crawled up to grab Hater’s hood and started yelling at him, Percy leaned away and put his hands to the sides of his forehead. When he was done, he leaned back toward Hater to speak to him like a little shoulder devil. 

“Glorn’s grievances, how do you put up with this guy, Lord Hater? Insulting your intelligence, doubting your word? Don’t listen to him. Someone as important and busy as you doesn’t have time to pronounce phrases in full!"

[love-seared]

@threadsandwings answered your ask!

Arryn’s whole body radiated in pain, like a wave of a bass ripping through her muscles. It makes her sputter in breath before coming to, yellow peepers struggling to focus on the matter at hand. Slowly her senses return, the breeze on her burning skin, the smell of cooking meat, cooking bacon. If Arryn wasn’t hungry then she wasn’t alive. As she attempts to sit up that’s when she realizes she is restrained. “may all your bacon burn…” she hissed. Finally in an upward position (not entirely up, it was hard to find the strength to do so) she looked at her captor. When the deal was proposed to her, she looks on with knit brow and squinted eyes. Partially due to her sustained injuries and sun exposure, accompanied by confusion. This was supposed to be a captive-captor situation, right? Never look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I promise.” A shaking pinky lifts in the air, showing how serious she was. “I will eat anything you put in front of me.” Her voice was desperate, her dry mouth and cracked lips made a gravely tone. Rolling over to her chest, she pushed up on the cot and raised to her feet. It took time, twitching tendons threatened to let her fall on her face. She collected her belongings, and tossed them down next to the cot just to flop back down and await breakfast. “I like my eggs sunny side up.” She mused, despite how her body screamed at her.

[madhattersez]

Model Kit Build: "Mrs. Loheng-Rinko" by Bandai

Yesssss! I've been wanting to build this kit the moment I saw the box the first time years ago.

If you squint real hard, you may see a traditional anime-style space battleship, and that's just what they were going for! It's a battleship, but also... a gorgeous Captain lady.

What it is is amazing, I tell ya.

This was the first thing my eyes darted to when I opened the box. Welp, that's creepy as hell. Haha.

This is the first model I've built that had... eye and eyebrow sockets. The eyes are like this because there are a ton of different-looking options you can swap out.

Funny enough, this isn't even the eye option I was going for, but I didn't realize it until I had already solidly placed the first eye down and I thought it looked really cute anyway, so I went ahead with the matching one.

Obligatory torso shot, seeing as how I apparently include one in every build post. It's just a great checkpoint, I suppose.

Decision time - Plastic butt or rubber butt?

This is the first model I've ever built that had rubber pieces! Only her skirt is rubber, and I guess that's to make sure it keeps shape no matter which way she's bending.

The plastic butt is what I need, though, because it's a necessity to put her on the included base(kind of like a seat) in the pose I'm aiming for. The front of the skirt will still be rubber, though.

I didn't take a ton of progress pics because this model was super easy and I just kind of forgot to pause now and then.

Here's a shot of her with all of the battleship gear on - I'm pretty impressed she can balance with all this shit on, honestly, haha.

She has a more "human" looking option that includes loafers for shoes, no turrets in the knees, and, you know, no spaceship parts. But where's the fun in that?

Let's get right to it - Fully built and posed on the included stand! I have her somewhat in the same position as on the box, because again, I really dug it at first site.

I'm blown away - She's incredible!

I also tried a new technique rather than the "clumsy gaijin nipping parts directly from the sprues" technique I have used up to this point. I now clip the branches around the part (like professional builders do) and then do a quick twist to set the parts free.

I had almost zero jaggies or stretch marks. It took longer, but it was so, so worth it. Cleanest build I've ever done, by far.

A back and side shot so you can see all of the battleship equipment on her. What a dope design!

And here are the rest of the peepers that will sit lonely on this sheet, maybe forever.

I was originally going to use 3 and 4. Ah well.

The ones on the right look like some Sonic the Hedgehog shit.

Welp, that's all for this one! The next one I'm putting together is probably the silliest and girliest one yet. And that's saying something! Stay tuned.

For more of my model kit builds on Tumblr, click here:

[crocodiletears123]

Can dry eyes be cured naturally?

In the event that your eyes sting and consume, look red, or feel coarse as though some sand is trapped in them you might have dry eyes. This condition can happen when the little organs in and around your eyelids don't take an adequate number of tears to keep your peepers solid and vision clear.

At the point when tears go about their business competently, they keep the outer layer of the eye smooth, agreeable, and hydrated, and wash away residue and flotsam and jetsam and shield it from contamination. Solid eyes make tears the entire day on natural treatments for dry eyes , consistently, to remain wet.

In any case, once in a while specific illnesses, prescriptions, or even progressing in years makes your eyes make less tears. Dry eye can likewise happen when your eyes don't make the right kind of tears to get out particles or keep the surface very much greased up.

How you make your blue eyes, tans, or greens more agreeable relies upon what's causing your dry eyes.

What Is a Dry Eye?

Dry Eye illness is an eye condition that happens when there is an irregularity in your tears. Your tears are comprised of three parts, including:

A sleek layer delivered in your meibomian organs

A watery (fluid) layer delivered in your lacrimal organs

A mucous layer delivered in the conjunctiva of your eye

Every one of these layers fills a significant need in keeping your eyes wet and solid. An absence of any of these parts can prompt both of the two sorts of dry eye infection.

What You Put in Your Body Matters

Studies have shown that diet assumes a part in dry eye illness. Ensuring you're getting an adequate measure of the accompanying nutrients and supplements might diminish your dry eye side effects:

Omega-3 unsaturated fats

Nutrients A, B12, and D

Research shows that omega-3 unsaturated fats are especially useful in further developing the eye's oil film. It was found that individuals who utilized omega-3 to deal with their dry eyes saw a 17% diminishing side effects.

Remain Hydrated

In the event that you don't remain sufficiently hydrated, your body can have issues creating an adequate number of tears. As you probably are aware, an absence of tears can prompt fluid insufficient dry eye.

To keep away from dry eyes, you ought to hydrate consistently.

Flicker More

One of the main sources of dry eye is drawn out screen use. While taking a gander at a screen, individuals flicker fundamentally short of what they should, making the eyes dry out.

To hold your eyes back from drying out while utilizing a screen, make sure to flicker frequently. You can likewise rehearse the 20/20/20 rule, which expresses that you ought to have some time off at regular intervals to take a gander at something 20 feet away for 20 seconds while utilizing a computerized gadget.

Utilize a Humidifier and a Channel

A blustery or dry climate can cause brief dry eyes. On the off chance that you live in a dry environment, you can utilize air purifiers, channels, or humidifiers to add dampness back very high, keeping your eyes clammy and sound.

Remember the Packs

Indeed, even something as straightforward as a warm pack can give help to your dry eyes. The intensity from the warm pack can help clear your meibomian organs.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

not allowed, interlude | 20220617

drabble: ‘not allowed’ series; fluff actually just crack tbh pairing(s): est. relationship jungkook x reader

You know what you enjoy doing? That's right, browsing Jeon Jungkook's Twiiter tag. For... reasons.

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii

sorry not sorry JK, I just have to tease you about the infamous mattress allegations

--

“Noona!”

“What?”

“ARMY are making fun of me again! They made fun of me because the hyungs exaggerated about my stuff and now they’re making fun of me because I defended myself on VLIVE!”

You tittered about on your phone, distracted. “Oh no.”

The loud voice continued as if you said nothing at all. “You need to tell them to stop!”

“I’m not in charge of ARMY, they cannot be controlled. Oddly similar to BTS, I must say. I guess you do take after what you love, huh. And, besides, I think it’s kind of funny.”

“It’s so unfair!”

You tried not to snicker, barely maintaining your serious tone. “Well, Jungkook, you know what they say, all’s fair in love and war, and ARMY love you very much, so it can’t be helped.”

“That’s not how you use that!”

You looked up from the amusing tweet, your wide eyes meeting the biggest peepers. Framed by dark furrowed brows was the scrunched-up face of Jeon Jungkook, who did not look the least bit amused.

“How do you use it then?” you asked, your voice full of bewilderment, asking to be enlightened.

Jungkook’s mildly angry expression dropped, now also riddled with confusion, because, as expected. “Uh… I dunno.”

You blinked at him.

He blinked at you.

You went back to your phone and copied the link to the funny tweet. Then you sent it to the group chat.

“Also!” Jungkook yelled. “I heard there’s a secret group chat!”

You gasped dramatically, clutching your phone twice as tightly. “No! Who’s in it?”

“You!”

You gasped again, nearly falling out of the chair in your exaggerated antics, fully prepared to deny these false accusations that were quite frankly slander and defamation. Not quite unlike… someone else on VLIVE the other day. Huh.

“And the hyungs!” He stomped over to the dining table where you were sitting (thankfully, no laundry there today, maybe he had been inspired to put it somewhere else after being exposed) and you quickly scrambled off the chair, darting to the other side to put some distance between you and the fearsome double bunny. “I heard you send them memes! That’s how they find out this stuff!”

“What are you talking about? Hope-ah and Taehyung are on social media all the time! It’s all them, I tell you!”

You looked down at your phone and typed quickly, running from side to side as Jungkook tried to corner you. Who told him?! The messages came in fast. Not me, no way! And I haven’t said anything, followed by, kekeke, ARMY are so funny, and then how would he know? Two people didn’t respond: Kim Namjoon, most likely reading at this time, and Min Yoongi, who never responded to shit, unless he had been drinking or genuinely found whatever it was funny as fuck. He was hard to amuse, but never mind that.

Wait, no.

The last person responded.

This was supposed to be a secret? Oop.

“KIM TAEHYUNG,” you yelled, running around the kitchen island.

Jungkook tackled you from behind and picked you up, shoving his chin onto your shoulder to read what was on your phone.

“I KNEW IT.”

“Ow, Jungkook, that’s my ear!”

“Oh shit, sorry, sorry,” he sputtered, drawing back and planting kisses everywhere, all over your hair and neck, missing your ear entirely with your squirming, and you were laughing, thinking it was forgotten, except for the fact he was still holding you and not putting you down. Welp. Still in trouble.

Jungkook leaned in close, whispering dangerously low. “I knew it.”

“Technically, you didn’t know because it was a secret chat,” you whispered back, gripping your phone very tightly.

He breathed on your neck, as unsexy and creepy as possible, but he was still Jeon Jungkook and therefore you were still wildly attracted to him, so some additional weirdness did not do much to deter that. He was always weird. Eccentric, some might say (Yoongi, even). You turned your head as far as you could and grinned your apology, which was more a sorry-I-got-caught than asking forgiveness for your grievance.

Can’t imagine where you learned that from.

Jungkook squinted at you, seeing his own expression reflected back at him.

“I knew they knew too much. A secret group chat is not allowed, noona.” His eyebrows raised then furrowed, peering at your phone. “Why are you called Spoons in the group chat?”

“I can’t use my real name, obviously.”

Jungkook let you down but his arms remained solidly around your waist. “But why Spoons? That’s random.”

“Oh, because in that game you guys made, BTS In The SEOM, the little hands are basically circles, I mean, there’s no fingers, so they reminded me of a spoon. The spoony hands. Spoons.”

There was a long silence.

“Noona.”

“Yes, Jungkook?”

“That’s the weirdest thinking I’ve ever heard.”

“True, but it’s not me that has eight mattresses in their home.”

Jungkook roared your name but by then you had wiggled out of his loosened grasp and were bravely running away.

-

drabble some In The SEOM nonsense, lol

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

[grogusmum]

Hazelnut!! I saw this prompt list you posted, and I was wondering if I could ask for one??

Wrapping your arms around your lover's waist and pressing your forehead against their back/resting on their shoulder, swaying to music only the two of you can hear.

With Pero and his hedge witch! Or someone else, however the mood strikes you 💖💖

Oh, oh Jennibean! Yes! This is my jam!

Only I can not decide who so I'm doing three! Pero, Frankie and Ezra.

From Hedge Witch and the Mercenary with Pero and his Mariposa

(pero x f!reader)

You found Pero standing in a meadow with a few rabbits on his belt, he had been checking his snares in the forest, you had been gathering mushrooms and had wandered beyond his sight. He no longer worried about you being out of his sight, it had taken some time after the ordeal in the village.

You came quietly behind him, put your foraging basket down, and slid your hands around his waist bringing them under his shirt to hold on to his warm belly. He hummed and took your hands in his.

You sighed and pressed your forehead against his back.

"My love," you murmured turning your head to the side ear to his back listening to his quiet hum. Slowly you both shift your feet until you are swaying, you recognize the lullaby he is humming. You smiled, closing your eyes.

"What are you thinking?"

"About building you a house," Pero replied.

"Here?"

"Do you like it?"

"I do," you said tightening your hold.

"Pero?"

"Mmm," Pero pressed kisses on your knuckles, then looked over his shoulder while you peeked over it.

"Well, Papa, we had better get started."

"Yes, I would want to finish before the fir-" he stopped short and turned. Your arms moved up to his shoulders. "What did you call me?"

"Papa, Pero. I called you Papa," Your smile widened as your eyes danced merrily.

Pero's eyes opened wide, his mouth falling open in shock and then split into a grin. Then he dropped to one knee, placing his mouth to your belly, and kissed it.

"Mi preciosa bebe, you will not want for anything. Te quiero," he said to your tummy, then looked up at you, "te adoro, mama."

From Your Spot with Frankie and Rocket J

(frankie x gn!reader)

Frankie stood hands on his hips, looking at the first stars coming out. You smiled as you ducked out of the tent.

You stretched, walked up behind him, and wrapped your arms bear hug style around him.

He groaned, smiling. You loosened your arms, and let them fall to his belly, where they loved to be. Kissing the back of his neck, you then tucked your head on his shoulder.

"No moon, we'll see some great constellations tonight."

You hummed in agreement.

"Thanks for the present, I really love it." He nodded at the telescope to his right, "you shouldn't have, it's a really good one."

"Well, it's not every day someone gets his pilot's license back," you murmured into his back.

He hummed in thought, then-

"Some just don't lose it, to begin with."

"Frankie, please, just be proud of yourself." You shifted a little hips swaying. "Dance with me."

"There isn't any music, Rocket"

"You sure?" You swayed more, smiling into his flannel.

Crickets creaked, the spring peepers peeped fireflies flashed, and swooped their mating dance. Frankie joined you in your swaying, arms around yours.

"I'm starting to hear it," his voice became thick, "What did I do to deserve you, babe?"

"That question can be flipped very easily, Frankie."

He chuckled.

You peeked from his warm shoulder, and a flash caught your attention.

"Frankie!"

"I saw!"

"Do you wanna get the telescope," you asked making to pull away, but Frankie's strong hands pulled you back to where you were.

"I just wanna look, just like this."

Frankie's hips started to sway again as three more comets zinged across the sky.

From Seven Tears with Ezra and his Moonbeam

(selkie!ezra x f!reader)

Ezra listened to the gulls' cry and watched the seals on the rocks offshore. You made your way down the strand, watching him. You bit your lip, was he missing the sea? Coming up behind him you brought your arms around his chest under his sweater. He was warm despite the chill in the air. He would credit the fine wool sweater you had gifted him, waxing poetic about you having knitted it for him. Of course, you felt your knitting a sweater was nothing to him diving to find you a pearl and stringing it on a silk cord for you, A pearl for my Pearl, a tiny moon for my Moonbeam. The waves crashed and brought you back to the chilly shore, you tightened your arms about him.

"Are you alright?" You asked.

"I was just communing with my brethren, while you were at work. But I admit without reservation or hesitation, that things have decidedly improved since the moment of your arrival. "

"Is that so?" You stifled a laugh.

"Oh don't you doubt it for a moment, Moonbeam."

"Are you-" you stopped yourself to bury your face into his sweater taking in his smell. Your hands began to drift up and down over his chest and across his tummy. In response Ezra gave a growly hum and began rocking side to side.

Then without warning, he turned in your arms, putting one arm around your waist the other taking up your hand- kissed it, and then brought it to rest on his chest. He rocked you more, shell and pebble crunching underfoot.

"Is ceol mo chroí thú.(Is cee-oal mu khree how) I want to be nowhere that prohibits me being wrapped around you, a stór."

Gaelic translation-

Is ceol mo chroí thú you are the music of my heart.

Thank you for the request Jennibean!!💚💚💚

prompt list

[clarinartiste]

EEEEEEEEEEK IM SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW

They put my favorite boss Werner Werman in the Cuphead Show! And his episode is SO GOOD aaaaahhahhah thanks I LOVE IT

They did the German rat so much justice, he’s super entertaining to watch and I love him

SPOILERS AHOY! And lots of gushing too :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Main Stuff

Why is he so SMOL aaaaaahhhahhhh

he’s so tiny and cute?? I don’t understand…but also like… a mischievous little rat bastard hahaha

He’s such a smug little jerk OH MY GOD look at his snarky face I love it so much

I also love the tiny goggles they gave him?? It really brings out the maniacal mad genius vibes and I’m absolutely living for it

Looks like another design change too… instead of his cartoony blue shoes from the game/comics now he has scampering little rat feet… and a tail!

The pie-cut eye design (relative to his game design) also increases the cuteness by 10000%

Werner is every bit as crafty and brilliant as he is the game too, with his kicking boot gadget and detachable pickelhaube spike and I’m just like….yes go you evil rat genius GO GO GO

The soup can tank makes an appearance!! And ofc Werner uses it to run over Elder Kettle’s feet

His smug teasing when he makes the cup bros whack each other… he knows exactly what he’s doing.. what a little menace aaHAAAAhhhaa

The unamused look on his face when he sees the dancing cheese thing that Mugman does… he smashes it with a hammer out of nowhere (time to slap another aroace headcanon onto one of my favorite characters? Methinks yes)

Little bastard just straight up… devours the entire surprise cake… and the poor cup bros can only glare at his smug rat face haHaha

Werner teleports everywhere, and I mean everywhere. Sometimes it’s just fun to suspend your disbelief and enjoy the cartoon logic!

He threatens to blow up Cuphead and Mugman with dynamite oh my GOD NO

His face when he realizes that Elder Kettle gave him a stick of dynamite instead of a pen.. the squeaky sound… *chef’s kiss* comedy GOLD

This entire episode had me CACKLING

Absolute S-rank of an episode thanks I love it

Quotes

“We don’t know that’s how it got in!”

“Zat ees how I got een”

“aah YOoOohOoo!”

Other

I was kind of hoping that Katzenwagen would be there and we’d get some wacky antics, but nonetheless I’m super happy with what we got

Tom and Jerry was one of my favorite cartoons when I was younger (I especially love the Chuck Jones era) and this episode captures the spirit of that slapstick so perfectly! It’s such a fun time

On a side note, I’m noticing a pattern here of liking tiny evil cartoon geniuses a LOT (ahem Commander Peepers my beloved)

Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I’m going to watch Rat’s All Folks for 15th time :)

Auf wiedersehen!

[moonstruckbucky]

The Recruit (8/?)

Summary: Becoming a SHIELD agent had been your dream and finally, you’ve achieved it. You’re at the top of your class in every field except one—hand to hand combat, and it doesn’t impress Captain Rogers in the slightest. Instead, it seems to convince him you’re useless, setting off a tense relationship between the two of you. In an effort to bridge the gap, Bucky offers to help you train to earn your way back into Steve’s good graces. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes (not Stucky)

Warnings for Chapter: Angst, pouty Steve. More soft Bucky. That’s it, that’s the warning. 

Notes: Thank you all for the feedback of the previous chapter and for your patience while real life took over for a bit. Someone mentioned that they felt like Bucky/their relationship wasn’t featured enough, so I hope this chapter fulfills that for you! x

Also, a giant thank you to @marauderskeeper​ for this beautiful artwork!!! I’m so fucking in love with this! How perfect is this artwork, y’all?!

Steve finds patterns in the ceiling, shapes. It’s near-silent in the room save the sound of peepers through the open window, the soft breathing beside him. The weight against his chest shifts, sighs, rolls over, and he swallows thickly. Traces the lines of her body even though they’re all wrong, catches the scent of her hair - the wrong color.

He isn’t a stranger to the modern concepts of love and relationships, but it’s an indulgence he doesn’t frequently partake in. The women he meets are great, just none seem to strike that chord in him. None that seem to challenge him or intrigue quite like you.

The woman leaves with a friendly smile, an easy exit with no lingering questions of another night together or anything. He remains in bed for a little while longer, hands tucked up behind his head as he connects constellations in the ceiling. Training begins in thirty minutes, and he inhales deeply to quell the raging in his belly. He’s nervous; it’s the first he’ll see you after his apology.

He’d heard about your successful mission and he’s proud, almost excited for you, even though he knows he has no right. His treatment of you only serves to prove he’s failed as Captain; he’s meant to lead and guide and encourage. Instead, he judged and ridiculed and humiliated, drove you to the point of persevering to prove him wrong.

And you did. He’s embarrassed, ashamed - but proud all the same.

He dresses slowly in the SHIELD-issued black tac pants and navy t-shirt, the SHIELD logo emblazoned on the breast. Someone like Nat or Bucky or even Sam might accuse him of stalling as he carefully and meticulously laces his sneakers, but to anyone else he’d appear sluggish. To anyone else, he’d say he’s tired, that he’d had a late night, but if it were any of the aforementioned three, he’d pointedly keep his mouth shut.

He’s nervous - he’s man enough to admit it. He’s unsure of what to expect, unsure if he’d imagined his apology and your reluctance to believe him. He hates not being sure, not being confident, hates being thrown off his axis, out of balance. Structure, routine, and control is weaved into his DNA, and by apologizing, he’s given up that control, given a piece of him away for someone to do with as she pleases.

He hates it, loathes the way it makes his movements slower, stiffer, like he slept on a bad mattress all night instead of his cushy pillow-top next to a warm body. A warm body he really had no business bringing back here last night, but he brushes that thought away.

He takes a little longer than usual brushing and inspecting his teeth, snarling into the mirror and using floss of all things until he looks at the time and knows he can’t put this off any longer. Schooling his features into impassive steel, Steve sweeps from his room. The ride in the elevator down to the training room is spent building up a wall in his mind, a wall away from her - from you.

You’re already there when he enters, along with Bucky and a few other recruits. You’re smiling, teasing Bucky, and it puts lead in his chest. Absolutely scorches when you notice him and your smile promptly drops. He feels his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows heavily, and the burn in his chest lessons only a little when you offer him a respectful nod.

He returns it, catches Bucky’s eye and his friend gives him a reassuring smile. Steve’s not sure it helps. Mentally shaking it off, he begins the session, starts them off with running laps while he and Bucky spectate.

Steve can’t help but watch you; you’ve got near-perfect running form and you seem unbothered by your knee. You keep pace with everyone, even set it once or twice, and his scrutiny of you means he catches every little side-glance you give his best friend. The little curl at the corners of your lips, a darting glance away.

He catches the same expression on Bucky’s face - and he knows. How could he not know? The way he’d intervened when Steve was being unreasonably harsh, the easy, gentle teasing between you just now, the ever-present smile on Bucky’s face whenever he looks at his phone, the secret glances now as you increase the pace and pull ahead.

As Steve moves the group on to sparring sessions, the looks between you and Bucky become less sneaking and more appraising, and Steve has to dig hard beneath to find any joy that his friend has found his own happiness. Steve knows Bucky deserves it, after all he’s been through and yet.

The obvious connection between the two of you makes his chest hurt and jaw clench so tight it aches. When Bucky calls on you to demonstrate with him, Steve has to hide his curled fists in the pockets of his sweats.

His mind is muddled; he has no reason to be this angry - jealous, surely - but angry? No. Aggravated enough he wants to knock Bucky’s teeth out, sick enough at the sight of the two of you, moving in such synchrony, that he almost looks for the closest trash barrel.

Instead, he pushes the recruits hard, calls out tips to avoid making his previous mistake again, and offers assistance where it’s needed. An adjusted position here, a tip about roundhouse kicks there. He can almost ignore you and Bucky grunting and shouting only feet away.

You, meanwhile, are almost hyper-aware of Steve and the one-eighty he’s seemed to have made. He’s keeping his distance, though you don’t miss the pinched expression to his face or the underhanded glances he shoots you. Probably anticipating a snarky reply or otherwise prove you aren’t trying to remain civil.

He’s made his way over as Bucky pulls you into a headlock, the position warming something deep within you. His arm is loose enough around your neck that he isn’t cutting off any air, but his pelvis is flush with your backside and you even think he’s grinding it - imperceptibly enough that it goes unnoticed by the others. He’s fresh, you’re learning, pushing boundaries wherever he can.

Normally, you’d play along, dig and push a little back, but not with Steve watching the way he is. Arms crossed, feet hip-width apart in his typical Captain stance, but he’s far less rigid than he was. You execute S.I.N.G. (solar plexus, instep, nose, groin) with anxious butterflies, but you manage to successfully complete the move, spin, and move to jab Bucky again. 

Steve’s voice is even gentle when he tells you, “Move your feet. Don’t lock up or remain stationary.”

It’s such a far cry from his previous gruff behavior that it throws you, knocks you slightly off-kilter so that you stumble into Bucky’s chest. With heat in your cheeks, you push away from him, try to resume as if you didn’t fumble at all. You’re meant to be the picture of indifference and yet Steve’s one-eighty has you completely floored.

Should you be, though? He did promise you he’d be better, and so far he’s kept that promise. Perhaps a part of you hadn’t believed him, hadn’t had any reason to believe him - about anything. The fact that he’s trying stirs something in you, and it leaves you open to wind up face-down on the mat.

“Shit,” you grunt as the wind rushes from your lungs.

“That’s what happens when you get distracted,” Bucky teases before reaching with his metal hand to help you to your feet. “Your enemy won’t hesitate to exploit that opening if you give it to them.”

“Yeah,” you agree on a sigh, “yeah. Let’s do it again.”

The warmth in your cheeks doesn’t cool as you run through your spar again. This time, you manage to block out Steve’s close scrutiny and get Bucky on his back, a knee pressed into his chest. You know he can toss you off without a hitch but he lays there, lets you have the win.

“Better,” Steve compliments with an approving nod. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, so you stare at his chest - which, to your shocking admission, isn’t all that much better. The intrusive thought forces you to duck your head, busy yourself with your water bottle as Bucky and Steve begin a rundown of the next exercise.

If either notice you take a little longer to collect yourself, they don’t say anything. After a few more moments of distracting yourself with your water bottle, you return to the group as the Captain and Bucky begin a mock-mission to sharpen your skills.

By the time you’re released from training, you’re covered in a layer of sweat that shimmers under the overhead lights, your mind is tapped, and your entire body feels like it went a round or five against Mike Tyson - super soldiers in your case, but they’d pulled their punches. The muscles in your back pull taut as you stretch, a tightness that makes you wince, expel a tiny whimper.

A gasp as a set of hands lands on your back - one warm, the other just slightly cooler - and the thumbs dig in, find the tightest muscles and press.

“Fuck,” you hiss, arching against Bucky’s skilled hands. A pained smile over your shoulder and, “Hi.”

“Hi.” He grins and leans forward to drop a kiss to your temple. “You did good today.”

“Feels like I went ten rounds with an MMA fighter, but thank you.” Another hmph as Bucky digs his knuckles into your lower back, and a sigh as the tightened muscles release. You slouch against him, disregarding the slight dampness to his compression t-shirt, and turn your face into his neck.

“Feel better?” he asks, throat vibrating against your forehead. Wordlessly, you nod.

“Until tomorrow when it really sets in. You’ll have to carry me everywhere,” you retort cheekily, tilting your face to meet his glimmering eyes.

“Oh, will I?” A teasing upturn of his lips and your eyes dart to them, hold there for a moment as your heart trips over itself in your chest.

“Uh huh.” A pause, then you shrug. “Or you can just stay in bed with me.”

The darkening of his eyes is offset sharply by the awkward look that suddenly shadows his face, cheeks going rouge as he quickly averts his eyes. It’s an odd reaction, and you tilt your head, mouth popping open before he overrides you.

“Whatever you want, doll,” he assures with a smile, all traces of bashfulness gone.

It’s a bit disconcerting how quickly his charming, easy-going demeanor is back in place, but you chalk it up to his former status as an assassin. Give nothing away, a mask he can flip off and on. He further pulls your mind away by lifting your hand to his lips and dotting small kisses across your knuckles.

“C’mon. Should take an ice bath for those muscles.” And he tugs you down the hallway.

“Mother of fucking SHIT.”

Bucky chortles, applies pressure to your shoulders to keep you from popping out of the bathtub he’s filled with ice and water. There’s a burn in your limbs from the cold, and your nails scrape at the ceramic of the tub, squeaking in the small space. Breath rushing in and out as you try to relax, loosen your sore, tightened muscles to let the coldness do its job.

But it’s hard, your mind whines, and your verbalize said whine pathetically.

“It’s so cold.” It’s a whisper, because speaking any louder is downright impossible as your brain works overtime to warm your body.

“I was frozen in ice off and on for seventy years,” he reminds you teasingly, “you can handle it.”

You hiss a laugh, and it makes his mouth twitch. He recalls the first time he ever made a joke about his history with HYDRA. Steve nearly shit a brick before chiding him about how he shouldn’t joke about such things.

“Steve, it happened to me,” he’d reminded, “I should be able to joke about it all I want. Better than going into total shutdown every time HYDRA is mentioned.”

Steve hadn’t said anything after that, but each time Bucky made a jab at HYDRA, he didn’t miss the disapproving gleam in his friend’s eye.

He feels relief that you laugh, feels, well, normal, and like he’s made progress if he feels he can confidently joke about his trauma. He knows he’s made progress, but there are still instances where he feels the others aren’t so sure.

With you, though, he doesn’t have to second-guess it. You don’t treat him like glass, like he’s going to shatter at the first sign of distress. It’s refreshing from the overbearing manner with which Steve treats him on most occasions. He’s thankful you hadn’t known the Bucky from before, the one Steve grew up with, the ghost of a time that’ll never come again. You’ve nothing to compare him to, nothing to miss like Steve does. It’s as refreshing as ice cream on a hot day...or an ice bath following a rigorous workout.

“C-Can I g-ge-get out yet?” Your teeth are chattering, arms crossed tightly over your chest and rubbing at your arms, riddled with gooseflesh. Your lips are even turning slightly blue as they wobble with the cold. 

“Can you feel your muscles?” he asks, reaching for the towel he’d placed on the toilet seat.

“I ca-can’t f-f-feel my lips, never m-mind my mus-muscles.” The snark is lost amongst the clicking of your teeth, but it gleams heavy in your eyes. Smirking, Bucky holds out the towel and helps you stand on shaky legs, like Bambi on ice.

Leggings and sports bra plastered like a second skin, they in no way help to warm you even out of the ice, and after you’re wrapped in the towel, Bucky gives you your privacy to strip down and get changed. Movements unsteady, your wet clothes are plopped into a pile on the tile floor and new, warm, dry clothes are hastily thrown on. Despite the rigorous workout this morning, you feel freshly invigorated, like maybe you could run a mile - once feeling comes back to your legs, that is.

Burrowed in the new clothes, you step out of the bathroom to see Bucky reclined on your bed, looking quite at home. It puts a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest as you approach, and it only grows when he opens his arms for you to burrow into the heat of him. His arms wind around you, the metal one a comforting weight against your back.

It’s silent for a little while, a peaceful blanket pulled over the two of you in the small space of your room. Bucky’s chest rises and falls gently beneath your cheek, slow breaths, and you almost think he’s asleep until he speaks.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

You ponder for a couple beats. “What’s your favorite part of the 21st century? I mean, you were frozen off and on for so long, you didn’t really get a chance to enjoy anything right?”

He hears the trepidation in your voice, the slight intonation that you might actually be crossing a line by asking. He smiles, chuckles a little so you know you haven’t offended him.

“Is it predictable to say the food?” At your head shake, he goes on, “I mean, in the 30s and 40s, we barely had nothin’. Sometimes we’d all go to bed hungry with no dinner, and sometimes I gave my sisters my portion of food. I was the oldest, you know? Had to take care of my family. But now...now there’s just, so much. And so many different kinds! You know, when I first came to the compound, after Shuri fixed my noggin, I didn’t eat a lot. Ate only what I thought I was allowed to eat. One small serving.  Was still going to bed hungry even when all this food was at my disposal.

Then Steve came to talk to me. Told me he was the same way, when he first came out of the ice. Said he had to take it slow because even though he was bigger, his body wasn’t used to eating so much. Neither was mine, even though I was healthier when I... before. HYDRA didn’t feed me, not really. No hot, home-cooked meal for the Fist. It was MREs, or a feeding tube - if I was awake long enough at the base. My system got used to it, and then when HYDRA fell, it was always...Ramen or canned meat, some fruit, if I could afford it. Nothing real substantial. Even in Wakanda, I was still only eating small portions. My first three-course meal here, I puked it all up. I was so astounded by the fact that I could eat as much as I wanted to, but my body wasn’t ready for it. It was used to rationing itself on small meals, used to fasting sometimes, too. But it got better. I ate a little more at each meal, got my body used to eating three times a day. Started working out more, too, to up my hunger. Eventually I could put away three servings at each meal and still have room for dessert. I’ve got a wicked sweet tooth.”

The last line is so unexpected, it makes you snort, choke on the breath, before you can laugh for real. It’s short, though, when you take in the entirety of his story and realize there’s so much you still have to learn about one James Barnes, so much of himself to reveal, so many layers to peel back so you can see who he truly is. A little skip in your heartbeat betrays your excitement to find out, if he’ll let you.

"I’ve got a list,” he then says, “of things people have recommended I try. Maybe you can help me cross some of them off, huh?”

“Bucky Barnes, are you officially asking me on a date?” you tease, leaning your head back to aim a cheeky smirk his way. 

His chest rumbles against with that warm chuckle that warms you to your bones. “Suppose I am. You gonna leave a guy hangin’?”

“Hm, I suppose then I could assist you with this foodie bucket list. We’ll make a cultured man out of you yet.”

[bishop-percival]

@eyeballcommander

(prev) “Heh,” Peepers whispered to Percy with a sly smile. “Masochist.” Hater didn’t hear Peepers being a little shit. Not that he knew what that word meant anyways. “I’m just gonna throw you both in the pit. Peepers sold the flying tigers anyways.” “For the last time I rented them because you said you wanted ones just like Emperor Awesome’s! How much better could you ge-!” “THEY’RE EMPEROR AWESOME’S!?!?” “Well…” Peepers crossed his arms with a scoff. “They were until they succumbed to a diet of burgers, tacos, and alcohol…” “So cool…” “No! It’s stupid! See, this is why I was against you get-” Hater crossed his arms which, coincidentally, put Percy right above Peepers and sternly stared into his eye. “Annnyways..,” Peepers lilted as he stepped back with his hands innocently held behind his back. “May I go grab my weapons? And a coffee?” “Only if you get me popcorn. And make it snappy!” “Yes sir! Now…” Peepers glanced at that wannabe prophet before turning towards his followers. “You already know what I can do. So it’s only fair that someone tells me about you.” “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,” he said as he pointed at a different one with each word. “Catch a tiger by the-” “Don’t bring up tigers.” “Catch a wizard by the toe. If he hollers end his-

“PICK ME! PICK ME!"

The deacon Lola raised her hand and jumped up and down. She couldn't stand the suspense of eeny meeny miny moe.

"BISHOP PERCIVAL CAN'T-"

Autumn, standing next to her, slapped their hand on top of Lola’s mouth. “Shut up you dolt!”

Percival shook his fists. “Whose side are you on, Blabber!? Are you trying to earn yourself a week in the labyrinth dimension!?”

He then folded his arms with a huff. "I thought you already knew plenty about me, Commander. As a sorcerer, I'm average. You said so yourself."

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt 2

Pairing: Eventual Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Length: 1.5k words

Warnings: Too many commas, some extra ‘u’s in words as I’m Canadian..., not enough time spent world building. Hope y’all got an imagination.

Notes: They meet! They meet!  (Tags at the end.)

PART ONE

The morning sun saw Frankie already awake and amidst his trees. He knew that most people thought him stubborn by wanting to run his little orchard himself. He had heard the whispers, seen the side glances, the quirked eyebrows. The odd reputation he was gaining was worth the solitude and peace he had found.

The reputation of Town Recluse was better than That Ex-Cokehead Murderer. A small part of his brain knew that he was being too hard on himself but a larger part was convinced he deserved it. 

So, he worked his penance here. Frankie nursed the trees back to fruition, his sweat and blood sacrificed to bring forth life; refusing to use pesticides or any form of agent that might harm another living thing. Deer, rabbits, mice, and bugs were the bane of a harvester’s business but Frank had decided to find joy in their presence. If he didn’t have to see another death until his own, that would still be too soon.

It had taken him three years to get anything more than a few barrels of apples. Most asked why he didn’t just cut them all down and start anew. They didn’t understand, hell he barely did, but in his soul, Frankie knew he needed to prove that he could do good. He had made his own baskets, built sheds, mended fences, and slowly built the business and a small loft for himself in the old barn.

Looking down the rows and rows of trees, Frankie was starting to get the feeling he might need help this harvest season. It wasn’t easy for him to acknowledge this but if he didn’t get at least one helping hand, more than a few bin-fulls would go to waste. Frankie decided he would put up a flyer on the notice board the next time he went to town and pray that only quiet people would apply.

The trees were his pride and joy. A variety that had been lost and forgotten until he had bought the aging orchard and a man named Tom Brown had come along asking about the fruit.

He felt at peace when he worked as it let his mind focus on the job at hand and was tired enough to slip into a deep slumber at night. Previously plagued by nightmares, long days of pruning, fixing, or working in the mill proved the cure for a dreamless sleep.

“I’m sorry, how much did you say the total was?” you asked while rapidly trying to do some math in your head. If you purchased everything you needed at the hardware store that would only leave you forty-seven dollars left in this week’s budget. And it was only Monday. “Ermm, on second thought, I don’t know if I really need the plaster and trowel just yet. I’ll just take the drywall and screws, please.”

Leaving the store, head down, you were feeling like such an ass you didn’t even notice the two older ladies watching your exit and whispering madly to each other. The owner of Hank’s Hardware, whose name was oddly Allan, kindly helped you pile the drywall into your truck box. You were too busy with the tie-downs to notice him join in on the developing whispered plot.

Unable to resist, you purchased a bouquet of sunflowers. They were your favourite and, once you mentioned that you were new in town, the sweet older gentleman selling them gave you an extra bunch for free. The bright flowers lightened your heart enough to almost, almost, make you forget your even lighter wallet. 

The laden-down truck was nearly out of town when you spotted an open-air market down a side street. It had a surprising number of booths set up and looked so welcoming that you couldn’t resist.

Slowly walking between the stalls, you smiled at each vendor and complimented their handiwork. A few you recognized and thanked for the delicious foods they had brought by when you had first moved in.

You wished you could have supported more of the vendors, you respected their ability to create and be confident enough to share their wares. Taking one last look around, your gaze was caught by a familiar logo: it was the same one you had seen scattered across your porch a few weeks ago. ‘Catfish Cider’ in bold script framing a picture of a gnarled old tree. Maybe you should buy some and have Jacquie over for a less depressing girl's night? But could you afford it, even with leaving behind some of the reno items at Hank's?

You didn’t realize how long you had been standing there staring at the display until a voice called out.

“You gonna buy something or just wanted to block off my stand?”

Whipping your head up you noticed the man standing behind the stand for the first time. His face, for the moment, set into a grimace you assumed was due to him being upset at your loitering.

“I dunno,” you fired back, annoyed by his annoyance and too tired to stop yourself from saying a bratty, “is it actually worth the money?” 

His grimace turned into eyebrow-raising shock, the tan skin of his rather attractive face reddening a shade or two with anger.

“Oh, you have such a discerning pallet to know better?”

“I- what? No! I just want to make sure I’m spending my money on something worthwhile.”

“Like flowers?” He challenged, his stance widening and arms crossing across his chest. 

You’d seen that pose too many times in the past; Brad used to tower over you posturing himself just like this asshole at the market. He liked to hover over you menacingly any time you had mustered up your courage to state an opinion or to belittle your ideas. It made you inwardly flinch, making you angry at yourself for still acting like a meek victim, and then, in a show of great maturity, you projected that anger onto the stranger who initiated the exchange.

“Like it’s any of your business!” You cried out in a shrill voice you didn’t even recognize as your own. “But yes, these flowers make me happier than anything else I’ve seen today could.”

“I’ll have you know-” he ground out, jabbing his finger at you.

“Nope!” You interrupted him, “I’m going to stop you right there. I’m done listening to men like you!” 

“Men like me? Men like ME?” He crowed, “Pray tell, what the hell do you know about men like me?”

Had you been acting like a functioning adult you might have realized that your voices were beginning to get noticeably loud. A small crowd around the two of you had stopped what they were doing to listen while also trying to look like there weren’t eavesdropping.

“I know all I need to,” you proclaimed, not quite able to stop the tremble in your voice. “and I’m not going to waste any more of my life listening to one.” With that, you sharply turned and made your way through the suddenly thick crowd of people.

Once the adrenaline from your encounter had worn off, you found yourself crying in your truck and regretting the way you had snapped. The hot guy at the stand might have been a bit brash with you but he hardly deserved you taking out all your inner turmoil on him like that.

Frankie winced again, thinking about how quickly out of hand the conversation had gotten. His remark was supposed to come out light and teasing but he was out of practice talking to people. Pretty people. People who were framed by armfuls of sunflowers, whose skin glowed in the Autumn sun, who had a ready smile for everyone she talked to. 

He had found himself craving one for himself, and when she had stopped at his booth, looking lost in thought, he silently begged for her to look up. Impatient, he just blurted out the first words that came to his head and instantly regretted even trying. His cheeks grew red from embarrassment and Frankie just stood there looking at her blankly, not sure how to salvage the situation.

Before he could open his mouth to apologize though, the woman responded with a retort of her own. While it could have been interpreted as teasing, there had been a fiery glint in her eye that had pushed his pride button. Frankie was suddenly ready to throw down or at least regale her with the accolades of his cider and how it came to be.

What a mess he had made. He had riled up the beautiful stranger to the point her voice had wavered with barely repressed emotion. Not to mention the stir he had caused in front of half the town.

Once the market quieted down and everyone was closing up shop, Greg from the stall next to his, called over, “Know who that was?”

Even though it had been over an hour since the spat, Frankie knew he was referring to the woman with the sunflowers.

“Hopefully just some Leaf Peeper, I’d hate to run into her again.”

“Oooooh I dunno,” mused Greg, “A woman with passion in her blood like that can be a boon to crusty old men like us.”

Frankie noticed the gleam in Greg’s eyes and felt an odd burning in his stomach because of it. It was not jealousy at the unbidden image of Greg and the woman together. Definitely not.

PART THREE

@rebelliouscat @pedro4ever @speakerforthedead0 @yespolkadotkitty @ilikechocolatemilkh @weirdowithnobeardo @pedro-pastel @disgruntledspacedad @a-skov 

[leroyzboots]

you and i are trying, together.

part one

Benrey's been looking for the opportunity to apologize for...quite some time now, in fact.

Just looking at Gordon and his dripping stump he now has instead of a hand causes his stomach to churn with intense discomfort.

It doesn't help with the nightmares, either.

As if the abuse of the soldiers and the military of Black Mesa constantly swimming in and out of his dreams wasn't bad enough, now they're coupled together with the deep black room where the horror occurred.

They're standing in the mixology lab, Darnold is explaining something to Gordon, when the flashbacks are triggered heavily by a loud bang and mechanical shock from one of the many computers.

Sharp, angry metal poles stick deep into Benrey's neck and fill him with electricity, drawing a long, piercing shriek from his throat that melts into Gordon's rapid wailing.

And then Benrey is crouching on the ground, and the soldier's boot is slamming into his side, crushing and breaking his ribs, and Benrey tastes blood.

He's kneeling in it, the blood pours out from his lips and covers the floor, a massive pool of Gordon's life fluid.

The world is spinning, and Benrey faces Gordon again, and watches as the scientist raises his bloody stump, now transformed into a gun, makes a fist and shoots.

The bullets strike a numbing pain into Benrey's brain, and as Gordon shoves past him, not even sparing him a glance, he expects the daytime nightmare to end.

It doesn't.

Benrey presses his hand to his forehead, the only place the shots entered, and it comes away shaky and covered in wet, sticky red liquid.

Guess that part of it was real.

It doesn't take more than a few seconds out of the lab before the bullets clatter onto the ground and the wound heals.

--

They're barely a few hours out from the Lambda lab when opportunity strikes.

The ground shakes beneath their feet, and Dr. Coomer lets out a little yelp and latches onto Bubby's arm, who grabs onto Tommy's collar as the floor begins to break apart.

Bubby realizes with a horrible jolt that they only have two hands.

The tiles shatter and crumble beneath Gordon's boots, and he grabs at the closest person next to him, which is unfortunately Benrey.

As the hole expands, Benrey catches ahold of the edge of it, and stops himself from falling through, but as Gordon wraps himself around Benrey's pants leg, the combined weight of the man and his HEV suit is too much for one-handed hanging.

They fall.

It's deep, and Benrey tenses as his torso hits the concrete below with a breathtaking amount of force.

Definitely half a dozen broken ribs, a fractured shoulderblade and his spinal cord snaps.

Whatever.

He'll recover.

But Gordon lands feet first, with a sickening crack that causes him to scream and tumble over onto his side.

Benrey heals as quickly as he can, feeling his nerves re-attatch as he forces himself to stand, eyes peering up at the hole they came from.

Tommy's color-splotched face peeks over the edge, so far away that Benrey just barely can make out his features.

"Are you tw-two okay, Mr. Freeman!?" Tommy has to shout the question down at them.

It had to have been a 40, maybe 50 foot drop.

"We're...we'll be fine!" Gordon shouts back upward, his leg clutched between his hands.

"I'll circle around until we find a way back up. Keep...just keep heading to the lab and I'll c-catch up."

"Alrighty, M-Mr. Freeman!"

Tommy's head disappears, and distantly Benrey hears their retreating footsteps.

Gordon winces as he stands and tests his leg, which sticks out at a slightly bent angle near the middle of his shin.

"Dude, it's definitely broken," Benrey notes, and Gordon tenses before making a face of annoyance.

"Right," he groans, "I forgot you're with me."

And Gordon stomps off, far harder than he really should on his leg, and leaves Benrey standing beneath the light shining through the hole.

Sighing, Benrey makes a decision.

He follows, jogging to catch up to Gordon's pace before trailing slightly behind.

--

Gordon is very clearly not doing so hot.

He's limping, and sweating like a stuck pig to the point it's dripping off his nose onto the ground.

Benrey's been watching him carefully, and Gordon....hasn't said a word to him since the beginning.

He's leaned up against Benrey a few times on accident, but not a single sound has been in his general direction.

It's when Gordon stumbles over a fallen chair and whimpers from the pain that Benrey breaks the silence.

"Dammit, man. Alright. Sit down, dude, please?"

Gordon turns, scowling, but the exhaustion on his face is showing.

"Why do you care?"

Benrey pauses.

He could lie, of course, make something up or tell a joke to get Gordon to sit.

But he wants to apologize, and starting it out with a lie isn't..something Benrey wants to do.

So he tells the truth, even if it is hard for him to say it.

"Because I care about you, and we're friends, man. Sit down?"

Gordon scoffs, turning around all the way, and slipping slightly with his broken shin.

"We are not friends, not after you so-sold me out to the fuckin. Boot boys, the soldiers!"

He's not thinking straight, the pain alone is causing Gordon to reach incoherence.

"Yeah, well you led the soldiers to us!"

Gordon opens his mouth to retort, but Benrey cuts him off, barreling onward.

"I wasn't fucking. Angry, like Bubby was, but the dude doesn't know his damn limits, 'aight? So. Had to jump in, you know? Thought it'd be uhhh, funny little prank. Like all, surprise!"

Benrey waves his hands in place, stopping only to take a breath before continuing.

"Well, it didn't work how either of us wanted. They. They uhh."

Blood, his blood is on Benrey's hands and knees.

"They cut your damn hand off. It just..just...they cut it off like butter! Ha, ha haha, butter...and it-it was so much blood and..."

Benrey gulps, and he almost chokes as he loudly mutters the next few words.

"I thought. Thought I'd killed you, you know? Gordo, I th-thought you were dead."

He struggles, and a high pitch of navy blue sweet voice hangs in the air for a second before Benrey goes on, after another deep breath.

"Gordon, I'm really sorry. I know that. That I'm not always your gamer buddy, but I'm sorry. So if you could just fucking sit down, so I can stop watching you die, that'd be fantastic."

Gordon stares, his mouth open just a little, before he sits down, a small groan escaping him as the pressure comes off his leg.

Benrey lets out a sigh of relief, before heading back a little ways to grab the bandages from the medkit on the wall.

Crouching around the chair Gordon stumbled over, he snaps off the middle support piece and tests the sturdiness.

Gordon glances up as Benrey steps over to him, the sweat wiped away and his eyes a more gentle gaze than before.

Benrey kneels, and gingerly works off the protective plate of Gordon's boot before he looks up again, the chair beam in his left hand and the bandages in the other.

"I'm gonna uh. Set the bone. Homemade splint, you know? Tommy. Tommy, he taught me how to do this a long time ago."

Benrey pushes the beam gently against the other's shin, wrapping it down with the bandage near the bottom.

"It's. Gonna hurt, but uhh. S'gonna feel better and you'll be able to put p-pressure on it again."

Gordon takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes as Benrey pushes down hard.

The bone snaps back into place, and Gordon cries out through gritted teeth, but it's over quick and the pain is lessened by a great amount as the security guard before him wraps the entirety of his leg up to his knee.

"There. You should still uh. Rest a bit. Imma lay down."

Benrey gets to his feet, and starts to walk away, but Gordon reaches out and grabs ahold of his pants, stopping him for a second.

".....Thank you."

Gordon lets go, and leans back against the wall and closes his eyes.

Benrey stays in place, watching him carefully until he falls asleep, before sidling down a little ways off to keep watch.

--

Things are definitely better between the two of them after that.

When Gordon wakes up, he's much friendlier to Benrey, without any real hostility.

Honestly? Gordon's glad.

His relationship with Benrey had always been a bit complicated.

Sure, before, Benrey was annoying as hell, but he always made Gordon laugh.

He was nice, someone Gordon's own age for once, and if not someone who he could confide in, a friend.

But then, the soldiers have him, and the pain in his arm is excruciating, and everything Benrey did or does suddenly isn't so comforting.

Convinced Benrey's jokes were meant to demean him, his casual touches and close contact deception, Gordon turned and just kinda.

Let Benrey have the short end of the stick.

But earlier...Benrey tells him he cares, that Gordon's life was always in his best interests, and that they were and still are, friends.

So, it feels good to no longer make Benrey the target of his affliction.

Gordon's about to suggest looking for a vending machine, for some food, when creatures round the corner and attack.

Gordon whips out his gun hand and fires, and vaguely to his right, pistol shots ring off the walls.

The peeper puppies, as Dr. Coomer had called them, bound away from the bullets and circle the pair, releasing their sonic barks and baring their open mouths filled with jagged teeth.

Gordon steps backward, holding his gun hand close to his face to blow cool air on the barrel, the metal radiating pure heat.

Benrey bumps against Gordon's back, hastily re-loading his gun, his face screwed up in careful precision.

But then he turns, and gives Gordon a strained little smile.

A little puddle of happiness forms in Gordon's stomach before the soldiers kick open the underground doors and shoot before they aim.

Gordon finishes off the peeper puppy, then stumbles and shifts his line of fire towards the soldiers.

It's a messy fight, with Gordon constantly limping on his wounded leg, and both sides being attacked by alien creatures.

Gordon's never really seen Benrey fight before, so watching him is definitely an experience.

The way he acts is familiar.

Gordon glances between the reloading gunman ahead of him and Benrey behind him.

The way their hands move over the bullet cartridges, the way both of them hit the side of it with their palm when they're about to reload.

Benrey was trained by the same soldiers shooting at him now.

But the way that they handle guns is the only similarity, because while the military of Black Mesa are ruthless and cruel, Benrey is his own, merciful person.

Gordon fires the last few rounds of his hand before it has to cool down, and thankfully the last soldier drops to the floor.

Benrey is breathing heavily, wiping sweat from underneath his helmet visor, when he pales.

Gordon glances down as something rolls from the soldiers hand to his feet.

A grenade.

Gordon doesn't even have time to react before Benrey lunges, scooping the explosive into his hands and clutching it close to his chest, practically rolling across the ground until he's a good twenty or so feet from Gordon.

He looks back, catching Gordon's eye, and explodes.

Shrapnel bursts from the walls and cracks the paint, debris scatters all around the site and lands in the scientists' hair, who is kneeled over coughing from the dust, his eyes searching the room.

Gordon doesn't want to be alone again, he hates being alone, he hates it.

He turns, ready to head back, and then Gordon wants to vomit.

Benrey staggers, halfway through the revival-respawning process, clearly not wanting to leave Gordon too long.

But dear god.

Half of his body is still skeletal, his entire left side is just an open orifice of bones and muscle.

The bones in Benrey's legs snap together, muscle forming overtop them, before flesh and clothing crawl down to form a whole.

His leg hits solid ground, and it has to be partially startling because Benrey lurches forward, and brain matter slops out of the empty eye socket onto the floor before it vanishes.

His neck cracks, and his head moves jerkily as skin reforms over his jaw and teeth, Benrey's one green eye spinning wildly in place before the tired lid creeps back to hold it still.

A few more disgusting crunches and Benrey is back to normal, passing Gordon now, casually placing his gun back into its holster and moving on.

Gordon blinks a few times, holding back his revulsion for a moment, before chasing after him, through the doorframe into a poorly lit hallway.

"Woah, woah woah man, slow down."

Benrey stops, turning and raising an eyebrow.

Gordon points through the doorframe they came through, gesturing helplessly.

"What. What the actual hell, was that?? You...just, what??"

Benrey blinks, as though he is completely clueless.

He just might be.

"You...you died for me," Gordon finishes, a little quieter than he meant to.

"Uhhh, yeah? Isn't that what friends do?"

Benrey grins as if it's a joke, and Gordon feels the surge of irritation, but also something else he can't quite put his finger on.

"No, it is not something friends do. We do not die randomly for people."

"Yeah. Uh, you do if one of em' can't die. Then it doesn't count, idiot," Benrey says all this casually, in his own, joking around style, but Gordon pauses.

He leans forward, and adopts his casually pleasant expression, but delivers his next question with the tone one would use for a ceremony or a funeral.

"So what happens when I decide to die for you, huh?"

Benrey turns, the smirk still on his face, and opens his mouth to respond with another joke when he stops, eyes wide.

Gordon's....entirely serious.

It surprised him too, but. After the leg wrapping and the grenade stunt, Gordon is. Plenty shocked but pleasantly surprised at how willing he'd be to die for Benrey.

He expects some kind of rebuke, but instead Benrey.

Blushes?

A deep flush goes across his cheeks and his eyes dart away from Gordon's, mumbling under his breath all the while.

Gordon wonders for a second if maybe Benrey's previously irritating teasing had been something else, before he sets off after the guard, a warming smile on his face.

--

Tommy had lied- of course he lied, he had to lie- when he told Mr. Freeman that he couldn't handle a gun.

How else was he supposed to explain without melting the poor man's brain that he was actually an incredibly talented shot, not because of military training, but because he could control the metal?

How was he supposed to explain that through sheer mental prowess, he could morph and create the bullets to go in any direction he wished, never running out of ammo because he could simply will the ammunition into existence?

He didn't want to scare Mr. Freeman away.

Tommy hurries after the Coomers, his long legs easily making distance across the lit hallways of Black Mesa.

Having just emerged from a scuffle with aliens, they were all on edge, wary.

The three hadn't been traveling long, only a couple hours, but worry had already crept down their throats.

Surprisingly, Bubby voices his concern first.

"Do you think they'll get along all right?" They quip, mostly to Harold and himself but to Tommy as well.

"Oh, I'm certain Gordon will make it out just fine," Dr. Coomer replies, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly as a stim.

"And Benrey certainly has always survived whatever Death's thrown his way!"

Bubby nods, but the ends of their mouth turn down with a crease, and he turns to Tommy, who understands their message perfectly.

"Y-yes, Mr. Coomer but! Gordon and Ben-Benrey don't get along together very well."

Anxious, Tommy absentmindedly pulls a spare Beyblade from his pocket and fiddles with the wheels, the soft whir of the toy is calming.

"I'm worried, um, I'm worried! A-about whether they'll m-manage to...to cooperate long enough to survive together."

Dr. Coomer chortles, but the nervous look behind his eyes betrays him.

Bubby shrugs, airing out his still heated hands before speaking.

"Who knows? Maybe they'll work it out and that dumbass will finally tell Gordon how he feels."

Tommy pauses, his mouth puckered.

"Y-you know about Benrey and-and Mr. Freeman?"

"Of course I know, everyone with a damn brain knows," Bubby snorts, then falls short noticing the look on Tommy's face.

"Then you know the kind of trouble th-they're going to walk into."

"Yes," Dr. Coomer sighs, taking Bubby's hand tenderly; "we unfortunately do."

--

Benrey's gotta get those feelings under some goddamn control, because if he doesn't, then.

Game over, you know?

Gordon doesn't seem to understand what he does to Benrey, but it's driving him crazy.

That little thing he pulled back there?

It doesn't help, idiot. Only makes him fall for him more.

But they're both in a good mood, making some distance between them and the last time they saw the soldiers.

It's around midnight by now, and Benrey is ready to go back to sleep.

"Hey, come check this thing out!"

Gordon's excited yell shakes Benrey out of his sleepy stupor, and he hurries over to where Gordon is poking around inside of a barely-lit room, the door frame busted off its hinges in order to access the inside.

Benrey pokes his head in, and his heart slides all the way into his stomach with a horrendous lurch.

This is the room.

He hasn't been here in maybe six, seven or so years, but everything is the same as he left it.

The tube shattered, still connected to the ceiling and floor, the plaque bearing his subject number stubbornly.

The tables, bolted to the floor.

The papers, scattered and ripped, the shelves tipped over and splintered beyond saving.

"What do you think happened here?" Gordon asks, kneeling by the tube in examination of something long discarded on the floor.

Running his hands over the metal table, fingers brushing the shackles, the memories return to Benrey.

Shock collars. Sweet voice tests, hours or days or weeks locked in his tube, sick of breathing the containment fluid.

"I...I know what happened here."

"Er, what? I'm sorry?"

Gordon looks heavily confused, and reluctantly, as if this place will never let him go, Benrey lets go of the chains and shuffles over to the tube.

Taking off his badge, he holds it up to the tube plaque, both bearing the same text.

B3_NY

#7037

Gordon stares, his eyes wide, before turning to the guard.

"I thought that was like, your serial number. They...they made you here?"

Benrey swallows his anger, tossing the badge to the ground and going through the next door.

"They did more than just make me."

It's all still there.

The room is lit only from above, with a dim lightbulb buzzing meekly in its socket.

The long metal bed sits in the center, almost beckoning to Benrey with omnicity.

One of the only scars Benrey has, the precise incision made jagged by struggle, prickles on his back at the sight of it.

He just stands, biting back tears as Gordon goes around the room, looking through boxes, his scientific curiosity never satisfied, until he finds something.

He's not looking, Benrey is not looking at whatever Gordon has clutched in his fist.

In his hurry to get out of this awful room, he slams into the metal table, pushing it into the wall with a reverberating crash.

Benrey drops to the ground outside, shaking and clutching his helmet, with shuddery sobs echoing around him.

He's trying to shut out the memories, but the knives are in his back and Gordon's blood is on his hands and the lightning is in his skull and it's all so terrifyingly loud.

It's a few minutes before Gordon comes back out into the hall.

Benrey goes rigid as Gordon sits down beside him, but he makes no effort to push the subject.

Benrey relaxes, just a little, lowering his hands and leaning against the wall.

A heavy warmth wraps around his hand, and as the guard looks down, he realizes Gordon's hand is on top of his right.

Gordon is purposefully not looking at him.

Heart in his throat, Benrey slowly turns his hand palm upward, and Gordon laces their fingers together.

They're holding hands.

They're holding hands and Gordon looks a little sheepish, but he's smiling fondly and his cheeks are flushed.

Benrey stares, and then cautiously leans into Gordon's shoulder, his helmet clunking quietly against the plate of the HEV suit.

Gordon doesn't let go, and Benrey falls asleep tucked close to his warmth and their hands clasped together.

[passable-talent]

SoftZukoSoftZukoSoftZuko Pleasseeeee I need fluff and aftercare (doesn't have to be nsfw but I want my teeth to rot from the sweetness)

Zuko had had a hard day. Being a seventeen year old Fire Lord will do that. Sometimes when life got hard on him, he went to his uncle.

But Iroh wasn’t always home.

He was so young, and your relationship so new, that he hadn’t been quite ready to show so much vulnerability in front of you. But he knew he needed to talk to someone, or maybe cry in front of someone, and the person he was closest to trusting was you.

He trusted you, of course. He trusted you enough to share his bed with him, to share his time. He trusted you not to poison his food, and he trusted you to fix his hair when needed. But trusting you with the weights on his shoulders- that was something else.

You had been sitting in the gardens next to the duck pond. The sun was just about below the horizon, not that you could see it, but you could look at the red streaks wisping away into a dark blue night sky. The turtle ducks were long gone, and the peepers and badger frogs in the surrounding mountains were starting to sing their nighttime songs.

“Y/N?” Zuko asked, appearing at a doorway. You looked at him over your shoulder, and smiled. “Will you come to my room with me?” He had asked you such a thing before, obviously, and yet each time you reacted with just a little extra smile, a quick jump to your feet. You followed him to the fire lord’s bed chambers and when he paused at his dresser, taking a moment to let his hair fall, you waited for him.

“I just need to talk,” Zuko said, voice low, “and I need someone to listen.” Your head fell to the side, because you’d noticed the way he walked. There was a slump to his shoulders, a hang of his head, as though he were feeling defeated. And yet, there was a sharpness to his step, like his guard was still up. He must have something on his mind, it was obvious.

You stepped forward and placed your palm flat onto his back.

“You can tell me anything,” you promised, and you watched as he closed his eyes, absorbing your promise and deciding how much of his soul he was willing to bare. He took a deep sigh, and sat down on his bed.

“I’m frustrated,” he said with a hard exhale, “about the situation in Yu Dao.” You knew that he had been visiting Yu Dao a lot, but you didn’t really know what was going on there. It was a former colony, sure, but other than that you had no clue. You sat down beside him, slowly, taking his hand and setting it on your lap.

“It’s frustrating because I feel that what I’m doing is right. Breaking apart multi-generation families just doesn’t make sense, especially since after the war were supposed to be working on unity. It doesn’t matter what nation their grandparents came from, or at least I don’t think it should.” You nodded, following along, but didn’t offer any input. You weren’t educated on the issue and so felt you’d have nothing of importance to say.

“But Aang doesn’t see it that way. And neither does King Kuei. It feels wrong to be disagreeing with my allies, but they don’t understand.” The more he spoke, the quicker his words got, and though his tone couldn’t be described as ‘panicky’, it did seem that he was losing control of his emotions. “We can’t draw hard lines between nations anymore. I know that’s my fault, because it’s my nation’s fault, it’s my grandfather and father’s fault, but still, I have to protect these families-“

You turned to him and hugged him tightly, shocking him into silence for the time being. Slowly he defroze and hugged you back, tucking his face down and resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“You’re making the right choice,” you told him, even though you may not have all the facts. “I trust you. The nation trusts you. You’re not your father, you’re doing what’s right for the world. If you think this is the right decision, then it is.” He nodded slowly against your shoulder, and you closed your eyes.

“I just feel like- I’m fighting with all my friends. And one of them is the avatar- if you’re facing the avatar, aren’t you on the wrong side?” You pulled away from Zuko, gently reaching up to brush some of hair from his forehead.

“Aang is the avatar, but he’s also just a teenager, just like you. Sometimes he may not see the whole picture. But he will, because he’s your friend.” Zuko looked down, and you leaned forward to gently press a kiss to his scar.

“You’re a good man. And a good leader. You know how to make choices that will help people.” You laid down onto the mattress, putting your head next to his lap so that you could watch his expression. “I trust you.”

“You trust me?” You let a smile come to your face as you looked up at him, a softness in your expression and your heart.

“Zuko, you are so good. I’d call you perfect, but that’s a lot of pressure to put on you. You felt the scourge of the fire nation but instead of letting it beat you into submission, you found your way in the world, and found who you were meant to be.” You reached up, tucking your first and second finger into his hair to pull down a few locks to play with.

“You helped the avatar win the war, at the cost of your own family. You grew stronger and braver than your forefathers have ever been.” You paused, letting your gaze settle on his scar.

“And you brought more light and happiness into this palace than I’ve ever seen. The staff trusts you not to banish or strike or burn them when they do something wrong. You’ve let these people laugh again.” You let your hand drop, as it was getting tired, but you grabbed his again on the way down and brought it to your face, rubbing his knuckles against your cheek.

“Even if you don’t think you are, you’re a great leader. You’re already greater than any Fire Lord in recent history. Now, that might not be saying much, but-“ Zuko let out a small laugh, and you caught his eye.

“But I think you’re going to be one of the best Fire Lords that our history has ever seen. Including Sozin’s ancestors.” Zuko lowered himself to the sheets, and made possibly the most ungraceful movement you’d ever seen from a member of the royal family to scoot downward until he laid beside you. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“I trust you too,” he said, and you wondered if he’d been stuck on that aspect of the conversation this whole time. “I know I can come to you. Rely on you. I just worry that that’s too much of a burden, being Fire Lord and all.” You chuckled a bit and turned sideways to him, your arm acting as a pillow for your head.

“No matter how much you spill to me, it won’t match the pressure of actually making speeches. Don’t worry about confiding in me.”

“But what if it does become too much?” He asked, his gaze still pointed to the ceiling as though he were afraid to look at you. You reached over and took hold of his jaw, turning his eyes to you.

“Then I’ll tell you. You trust me to be honest with you?” His eyes flicked around your face for a heartbeat before he nodded, and you leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips.

“I’m in love with you, Zuko. I am. I’ll give you any support you need.” Zuko’s eyes widened, even though he’d heard you say it before.

“I love you,” he said, voice soft and low as though he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

You didn’t, either. It was a promise made between the two of you, and no one else. No one else had the right to the bond you shared with him.

“Y/N?” He said softly, after a long moment of easy quiet.

“Hmm?” You asked, your voice rough in your throat. You were almost close to sleep, laying in his soft bed with him.

“I’m always going to be here for you.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean- just because I’m Fire Lord doesn’t mean I can’t help you, too. I love you. And I want you to trust me enough to share everything with me.” You rolled over further until you were laying half on his chest.

“Zuko, what is it with you and trust? Of course I trust you. Of course I’d come to you with anything.” His eyes slid from yours and so you brought your hands up to cup his face.

“Zuko,” you insisted, and his gaze returned to yours.

“I’ve betrayed everyone, at one time or another,” he admitted, and you took one hand from his face to lace with his fingers. “Uncle, and Katara, and Aang, and Toph. My nation. I’m so used to not being trusted. It’s only a matter of time until you feel the same way.” Briefly your heart broke for him and you leaned forward to kiss him again.

“Listen to me, Fire Lord Zuko,” you demanded, not letting him look away. “That’s no way to speak about the best thing that’s happened to the fire nation in a century. You have your reasons, and I trust that. But I know that you aren’t who you were when you made some of your bad choices.” You pressed your finger into his chest, right above his heart.

“Stop living in the past. You know who you are right now- a kind, understanding, trustworthy leader.” You laid your head down once he nodded in conceit, and murmured another point on your way. “Trustworthy boyfriend.” He let his hand come to rest on your back, letting out a slow breath.

“Thank you,” he said, and you squeezed his palm into yours.

“Don’t thank me for stating the truth.”

-🦌 Roe