#GONNA PRINT EM AND STICK EM ON MY WATER BOTTLE

[binart]

i sat down and made a little sticker design of my wolgraha ship 🥺🥺

guys i can just,,., dO THIS?? i can just MAKE A LITTLE THING THAT MAKE MY HEART HAPPY... WOW... Powerful...

[edenfire]

it’s 2020 and i still miss free!; ;

i was watching my makoharu amv playlist while i was supposed to be warming up to work on another print, and i accidentally drew water husbands oops,,

i might make these into stickers for myself lol

[starrybbarnes]

sticking together [b.b]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Summary: just a normal day where Bucky happens to see a familiar face stuck on your laptop

Word Count: 1,710

Author’s note: this was inspired by this interesting sticker I saw, and it made me laugh. but please, if you have seen that person, lemme kno. I also wrote this at 1am, and scheduled it for later today so let’s hope it's published.

“Y/N! Pizza is here!” 

“In a minute!” you yelled, closing your laptop and swiftly getting out of the couch. It was a slow Tuesday afternoon, and you and Bucky decided to just stay in.

“Hurry up or else I’m gonna eat it” Bucky lamely threatened, placing the plates onto the kitchen table. 

You feigned horror, hand draped across your forehead: “You wouldn’t dare Bucky!”

Laughs erupted the kitchen as Bucky set the box of pizza and wings in the middle and handing you a cold beer. It was a warm summer afternoon, a breeze coming through the kitchen window. 

You both dug into the pizza, with you almost burning your tongue. A chuckle escapes from Bucky’s mouth as you smile back at him.

“So,” Bucky started, speaking with his mouth filled with pizza, “I saw that you were looking super concentrated on your laptop. Work got you stumped?”

You scrunch a paper towel and chuck it at Bucky, “What’d I tell you about manners, Buck! I don’t wanna sound like an old geezer that’s mad at the youth.” 

“Hey, that was one time!” Bucky interjected, “Those teenagers were being a nuisance outside, so obviously I had to straighten ‘em up somehow.” 

“That doesn’t mean you walk up to them in your tactical gear and a gun.”

“But have you seen any teenagers making a ruckus outside our apartment?”

“Nope.”

“Exactly. You’re welcome.”

“You’re really something else, babe,” you sighed, taking a sip from your beer, “anyways, I wasn’t concentrating on work. I was looking for something on an online store.”

“Oh? Did you find it?” Bucky asked. He knew you loved to online shop, but was very particular about certain things. You’d check the reviews, the descriptions, and anything else to make sure the item comes as described. Also because sometimes you’d pay for 5.99 shipping and that made your wallet wince. 

“Well I’m not sure,” you replied, “I’m just window shopping at the moment, but I need some new art to put up somewhere around the apartment.” 

Bucky hummed in agreement and got up, “well, whatever or wherever this art is, I know you have a very good eye for it. Anything you choose is beautiful, and I appreciate you for adding so much color in my life.”

He planted a kiss on your forehead and then hugged you from behind. Your heart fluttered at what he said and you replied, “You’re such a sap, Buck. You’re making me blush.” 

Bucky just flashed his signature smile at you and made his way to the living room. Once you finished up eating and cleaning the dishes you joined Bucky on the couch, reaching for your laptop to resume your art scouting. 

An hour has passed, and Bucky has passed out on the couch, his quiet snores filling up the silence of the room. You were still searching far and wide on your favorite art website, but still no luck. 

You were about to call it a day when you hear Bucky almost choke on his spit while sleeping. He semi-coughs kinda chokes and then goes back to his nap as if nothing happened. 

You decided to type Bucky Barnes on the art website and click search. 

Almost immediately, you see photos of Bucky photoshopped with flower crowns, a halo, or him in a polaroid-type background. You have stumbled upon fan art for Bucky, and boy have you hit the jackpot. 

You clicked on the sticker section, and there it was. 

The perfect sticker for your laptop. 

It was in the style of a wanted poster, and it read: 

Wanted: Have You Seen This Person? No Crime (Other than stealing my heart). Reward Available. 

And right in the smack-dab middle was a photo of Bucky that you vaguely remember seeing in a magazine. People really loved your boyfriend, and the sticker brought an absolute smile to your face.

You saw the dimensions of the sticker and decided to go with the medium-sized one, to put it front and center. 

You also found some art of the skyline of your favorite show, so you decided to buy a decent-sized canvas print of it. 

You added to cart, and once you bought you saw they’d be ready in 5-7 days. 

You absolutely couldn’t wait. 

。。

Days passed, and the mail finally came in. Luckily for you, Bucky was still at the compound, so you didn’t have to worry about hiding the package this time around. 

You opened up the box and saw the canvas print. It looked absolutely beautiful, you mentally thanked yourself that you got a size big enough to put above the couch. The hues of blue, purple, and pink really made it stand out in the living room, and definitely complimented your living room. You knew Bucky would be constantly admiring it. 

You rummaged around the box a bit more and then felt the cool sticker paper. You yanked it out the box and saw the sticker in its entirety.

It was more than you asked for and saw it would fit perfectly on this lower-left corner of your laptop. You cleaned the spot it was gonna be on, and once it was on, it looked amazing. 

You couldn’t stop giggling to yourself because there was an actual picture of Bucky on your laptop, and he looked just adorable, might you add. You also bought 3 other miscellaneous stickers: one of a koi fish, another of some poppies, and the last one that simply read “lol ur not bucky barnes.” 

You put the 3 stickers on your metal water bottle. After being content with the placement, you collected the box and its trash and started to make your way to the front door.

As you turned the knob, the door wouldn’t budge open. And when you decided to let go, a very eager Bucky almost swung open the door. Almost. 

Bucky looked at you wide-eyed and started apologizing profusely, “Babe! I didn’t see you there! Were you gonna take out the trash? Don’t worry I’ll do it.”

“Bucky, I’m okay! Just come inside already and give me a kiss.” 

He happily obliged and pulled you into a hug. “So I’m assuming your art came in?”

“It did!�� you beamed, “come looked at it!”

You practically dragged Bucky to the living room and had him stop in front of the couch.

You saw Bucky’s eye light up in admiration. “Wow...” Bucky whispered, “this is an amazing art piece, sweetheart.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” Bucky reassured you, “this might be my favorite piece to date. You buy anything else?”

“Well, I did buy some stickers.” you hesitantly said. Your ears went pink and Bucky saw immediately.

“Can I see them?” Bucky asked.

“...yes?” you coughed. 

“Are they nude stickers or something? You’re acting funny.” Bucky added.

“Psh, no!” you interjected, “why would I put that on my water bottle??”

“Then show me!”

You took your sweet time to get your bottle from the kitchen while doing a quick scan of the apartment, quietly thanking yourself that your laptop is nowhere to be found. 

You finally grabbed the bottle, and since bucky was growing impatient, he just walked up to you and stuck out his hand. 

“I really don’t see anything wrong with the bottle,” Bucky said, as he was examining the bottle. What he didn’t realize was the “lol” sticker was covered by his hand.

“Scoot your hand to the left,” you said.

He did so and raised an eyebrow. “L o L, you’re not Bucky??” he asked incredulously, “but I am Bucky?? Or am I ?”

“You are Bucky, silly,” you said as you snatched your bottle and set it on the table. “the sticker just means that whatever fool is talking to me, it won’t matter, ‘cause they’re not you.”

“Interesting,” Bucky responded, “and you can just buy stickers like that?” 

“Pretty much. There were a lot of stickers related to you.” 

“Really?” Bucky said with interest in his voice. “That’s pretty neat.”

“If you’re thinking, yes they’ll probably have some embarrassing ones of Steve and Sam,” you added. Bucky did a small cheer and you just rolled your eyes. 

You turned on the TV and decided to catch up on the news while Bucky was raiding the fridge.

“Hey Y/N, it seems that there’s nothing good in this thing,” Bucky started.

“Is that so?”

“Yup. I’m gonna order take out, sound good with you?” Bucky asked.

“I’m game, babe!” You replied, not taking your eyes off the TV.

“My phone just died, I’m gonna borrow your laptop real quick,” Bucky hollered as he walked to your shared room to retrieve it.

“Sounds good,” you yawned, feeling your eyes flutter closed. The silence and the low volume of the television were about to engulf you into sleep until you heard your name.

“Y/N..”

You froze. You just remembered about the sticker on your computer.

“... yeah, Bucky..” you responded.

“Uh... can you just come to our room real quick?”

You shuffled your legs as quickly as possible as you see the sight before you: Bucky is holding your (closed) laptop up to his face, wearing an incredulous look.

“Bucky, I can explain!”

“Out of all the pictures, you chose this one??”

“I, uh, what?” you stuttered, processing what he said.

“Was this the only picture they had??”

“Well, yeah, someone made it and I just bought it.” you explained, your face turned pink and you kept hiding your face.

“Oh, babe, I didn’t mean to embarrass you!” Bucky said as he embraced you in a hug. “It just threw me off that there’s a whole ass sticker of my face on your laptop.”

“It’s a good photo!” you argued, “Besides, people need to know that you are a criminal, for stealing my heart!”

“Someone alert the media,” Bucky joked, “because I’m gonna make sure you’re falling for me, hard.”

He started kissing you all over your face and pulled you closer to him.

“Oh Buck,” you sighed, kissing him on the lips and wrapping your hands around his neck, “You already did that ages ago.” 

Bucky smiled. “Do you think I can get that exact same sticker with your face on it?”

“I hope so. Let’s investigate together.”

。。

A/N: as always, feedback is greatly appreciated. love you guys!

[sockdreams]

DIY: Spray Dye!

We've posted bunches of DIYs on dyeing your socks before, it's one of the most fun and easy ways to customize your sock drawer. But, we recently encountered a different way to dye, one that reminds us more of bleach stamping, thanks to it's stencil-ability: spray dye! It's way easier than vat or pot dyeing and super fun, so let's learn how to spray that dye!

Because we wanted to show the full range of possibility, I tried several different techniques: spraying on dry, spraying on damp, spraying on wet, and using smoothly textured stockings. What I learned is that there's a world of ways to mix and match techniques, so if you're interested in using spray dye, get ready to experiment! It's very fun but you'll want to test things out before working on that dream project. Luckily, I've tested some things for you, so you can go into your spray dye session with confidence!

First, here's what you'll need:

A work surface covered with newspaper (and I recommend laying down a plastic trash bag or something, THEN newspaper, for minimum mess). Be sure to really cover everything, you don't want any stray spray spattering things unwanted!

Simple designs to use as stencils. I used some printed-out clip art shapes—here's the sheet I used.

If your designs are on regular printer paper, you'll also want a sturdier piece of card, because it's gonna get soggy quick.

A craft blade to cut out your shapes and something safe to cut on.

Your spray dye, I'm using SEI Tumble Dye, picked up at a local craft store. Other dyes can be diluted and put into spray bottles as well, you'll want to read instructions on the dyes you use for best water-to-dye ratios.

Socks to dye! For science, I'm using a wide range: Extraordinary Thigh Highs, O Basics, Midcalf Woolies and the Opaque Nylon Stockings

Not shown: a place to lay out the socks to dry

Optional: a spray bottle of water

Optional: cardboard to put in the socks for less bleed-through

These spray dyes are pretty neat. I picked up a range of options, they were all under $5 each: two plain colours (Mint and Turquoise), two glitters (Silver and Gold) and a glow in the dark. The instructions are very clear on the packaging, you basically shake before using, spray and dye. They do also say "no gloves needed" but my fingertips ended up getting a bit dyed, so unless you're incredibly neat and way better at spritzing than I am, you may want gloves.

Spray dye on dry socks

I'll start with some Extraordinary Thigh Highs. To prevent excess bleed-through, I cut up an old shipping box into one long strip and slid the sock I was working on over it. It's a little tricky, but if you gather the sock up like you're putting it on a leg, you'll be good.

I cut out my stencil shapes, saving the cut out part to use as a reverse stencil. Simple shapes are good, both in making them easier to cut out and so the edges of the shape aren't lost from the texture of the sock or the dye bleeding.

Time to spray! The bottles were pretty easy to use, but some of the various types had a more stubborn spritzer. I found using both hands to squash the top down (and shaking the bottle regularly) helped a lot.

On a dry sock, the spray beads up a bit and is very "splashy" and airbrush-y, it's neat. I think it'd be really cool mixed with other surface design, like painting or stamping. Or . . . GLOW IN THE DARK DYE.

There's a faint colour to the glow in the dark dye (I'm pointing at it in the second half of the image above), but it's pretty subtle. It sort of blended into the Mint dye, so it's not very noticeable, which is rad. Surprise glow is the best glow. In later testing it seems like going super heavy on your spray by spraying close and several times makes for a better glowing shape.

Once I got one side looking how I wanted, it was time for the next! Having the cardboard inside made it very easy to flip and to hold by the edge so I could line up the splashes of colour. No matter what, you're going to have some "seams" on the sides of what you're spraying, but this helps break it up.

The end result isn't my favourite of the batch, but I am a fan of airbrushing and glow in the dark, so I still like 'em.

Wait, I take back what I said about which is my favourite. Because as soon as the lights are off, these socks ROCK. Please take this blurry, but vividly glowing image as proof of why. It's like  proof of Bigfoot's existence, only way more exciting:

DANG! I'm sold.

Spray dye on damp socks

This spray dye says it's particularly good for tie dye, so I knotted and folded up a pair of O Basics and misted them heavily with water. I followed that up with some heavy sprays of Turquoise and hit them again with water, hoping to encourage some colour spread.

The results seem far more subtle than regular tie-dying, as the socks were damp, not wet, so the dye only spread minimally, though misting the water made the edges soften.

The end result is like drifts of clouds, but I personally would stick with a vat or pot for tie dyeing myself, because I prefer long dye times that are easier to achieve when the thing you're dyeing is sitting in the dye, rather than your dye sitting on the thing you're dyeing.

I did try something else rad on this pair, but you gotta wait to the end of the post to really see it.

Spray dye on wet socks

Well, socks, what if we go full-wet? I got a pair of Midcalf Woolies fully soaked and wrung them out thoroughly. I then learned two things.

First, if you're going to work with very wet socks, putting plastic under them will make things a little neater while you're working. I grabbed an old shopping bag, which ended up being perfect because I flipped it after I sprayed one side, so the socks weren't sitting in little puddles of dye.

Second, wet wool sure has a smell I forget about.

I loosely folded the socks sort of accordion-style, to get organic stripes and then liberally spritzed them all over with the Mint dye. Then, using the Turquoise dye I started at the toes, aiming towards the cuffs of the socks, for a sort of gradient.

With this pair I used a "reverse stencil" by laying down a cut out star shape and spraying around it. I super love how this looks and it's partially why this pair is my favourite of the lot.

Also: stripes are the best. And the natural-off white colour of the wool yarn adds a depth to the dye colours I really am digging. Plus, this pair has a little surprise you can probably catch in the images above.

Spray dye on dry nylon stockings

Socks are rad, but when it comes to fine detail their texture keeps things rough. Like RIT, SEI Tumble Dye works across different fibers—from the cotton Extraordinaries and O Basics to the wool Midcalf Woolies. So I knew it'd work great on nylon. Most dyes love nylon. And the super fine and smooth texture of the Opaque Nylon Stockings just begs to be drawn and dyed on!

I went a bit wild with the stencils on this one, but also experimented with drips, not quite by choice (the stencils were getting pretty soggy, but I went with it). The more detailed flower stencil worked like a champ on these stockings!

The finished result is like something a mermaid hippie would be into and that makes me love them.

Tips, treats and wrapping up

Since this has been a more free-form DIY, the various things I noticed trying out this technique get to go here. More than any other surface design technique, spray dye is something you want to keep fiddling with. I'm already eyeballing one pair to hit with the spray again once I've typed this all up.

Lay flat to dry, for real

The instructions on the dye mention that hanging what you've dyed will encourage the dye to bleed downward. If that's not your jam, then lay everything flat to dry on a fresh surface of newspaper. Once everything is nice and dry, put them in the dryer for 20 minutes to heat set the colour.

Sturdier stencils, seriously

I thought I was being all wise, using mid-weight card stock for my stencils. Well, dampness laughs at such hubris. I recommend not using anything less sturdy than a file folder and maybe having a couple of each stenciled shape, so you can swap when they get over-damp. This is a stencil only one pair of socks in, already buckling under the wet.

I also recommend having rags or paper towels on hand to blot your stencils and wipe your hands. Dye will pool and build up on your stencils, making things a little risky when you remove them from your socks.

Watch those wrinkles!

If you're going for a smooth or more patterned look, really use a piece of cardboard inside the sock and make sure everything is nice and flat before you start spraying. The overall look of spray dye is sort of free form; but getting slashes of the sock's colour in the middle of a dyed area, because you forgot to smooth things out, might not be something you want. I still think the stockings this happened to me on look awesome, luckily.

GLITTER!!!

Astute readers may have noticed I mentioned glitter spray dye in my list up at the top and then never mentioned it again. That's because it was 100% the best thing about the spray dyes and I wanted to show off the sparkles. Even as it was making an epic mess on my workspace (they spray much more enthusiastically than the regular dyes), it was beautiful and shimmery.

It's not a heavy sparkle, but what it does do is add a fairy dusting to whatever you're spraying. It took everything in me not to coat all the socks with glitter dye. I did happily get the stockings and the wool socks with it (silver and gold, respectively) and I'm thrilled.

Heads up: we did notice the be-glittered socks shed a little bit of their shimmer onto our hands, but we're not sure what the long term lifespan of the glitter is for these.

Go forth and spray dye!

Like a lot of more free-form dye techniques, spray dye offers a lot of possibility and rewards experimentation. If you've been wanting to play with dye but don't want to mess with the vats and buckets and dipping and dunking, spray dye is a fun and accessible way to spice things up with a little colour. Test and try and keep playing and you'll end up with a pair of socks you love that you made look that awesome!

♥ Brenna Socks by Sock Dreams • Free Shipping in the US • $5 International Shipping Find us on facebook | twitter | pinterest | instagram | sock journal | g+

[ashlynncoy-blog]

Wading In

A pointless piece of fluff. This story features the GFFA equivalent of French fries, a game that’s basically 3D shuffleboard/curling without ice, Leia wearing shorts, and Han being Han.

You’ve been warned.

When Luke had come bounding up to the Falcon and informed Han Solo that some of the pilots were having a party, and that he ought to come join, Solo had not hesitated to agree. The last time these rebels had thrown anything they’d referred to as a party (as opposed to a reception which had been as stuffy and buttoned-up as it sounded) had been the night after their victory over the Death Star. It had been a raucous and jovial gathering, and Solo had enjoyed himself immensely. If the same pilots responsible for that night (he’d been informed that Gold Squadron always won the after party) were in charge of whatever was going on today, then he was more than happy to join in the reveling.

Luke led him out the west exit of the old Massassi temple and through a brief tangle of trees to a clearing that had until recently been home to a lookout tower. As the base was being deconstructed in advance of the impending evacuation, the clearing, halfway between the temple and the nearest friendly patch fresh water, looked to have been adopted as a social gathering place.

Most of the pilots of Han’s acquaintance were casually hanging about. They were lounging on a few canvas camp chairs and a number of munitions and supply crates that had been repurposed as seating. There was a game of hoversnap in progress, the field taking up the center of the semi-circle they’d arranged themselves in. Dressed in civilian clothes to the man—half of them shirtless and a few barefoot to boot—they might have been a bunch of university buddies on holiday rather than a bunch of battle-hardened fighter pilots eking out a bit of down time. It didn’t look so much like a party as just a few guys making the most of an afternoon off, but it still beat sitting around the hangar waiting for his next cargo.

Especially since his buddies from the flight line were hardly the most interesting thing to Solo’s eyes. It was the unexpected presence of Princess Leia that had his attention. She’d run off almost immediately after the ceremony where she’d hung the Medal of Heroes around his neck and he hadn’t heard yet of her return to base.

She wasn’t dressed like herself, either. The cut-off trousers she wore were only barely decent, hanging onto her hips only thanks to a length of rope she had tied through the belt loops, and rolled up at the cuff to show more leg than Han ever imagined he’d see of her. She had a short-sleeve uniform blouse unbuttoned and tied up at her waist, her ivory camisole was visible, as was a strip of bare skin between its tail and her shorts. She had her hair braided around the top of her head, and a look like she hadn’t a care in the galaxy as she stood behind what looked to be a makeshift work station.

“I didn’t know you were back!” Han said to the princess as he and Luke joined the group.

“Just this morning,” Leia answered. “these guys accosted me almost the moment I landed. But I had heard that you were sticking around. Glad to hear it.”

“Yeah,” Han said back, “your Commander Willard took me aside—told me you all’d be evacuating this base. Said he could use good pilots with fast ships to get through the blockade. Told me I could name my price. So here I am.”

“How noble.”

“We can’t all be heroes, Princess.”

“Didn’t you just get a medal for heroism?” Wedge teased from his seat just to Leia’s left.

“Yeah, well,” Han said with a shrug, “we can’t all be heroes all the time.”

“I suppose,” Leia groaned, “Here,” she said, pointing to a plate of golden-brown something at the far end of the table where she stood, “have a handful, we have plenty. Luke, you too.”

“What is all this?” Luke asked, not hesitating to pick up one of the long, thin pieces and have a taste.

“These are Alderaanian salt tubers,” Wedge replied, “Tycho grew them.”

“Her highness brought me the starts four… five trips home ago,” Celchu piped up from his seat nearby. One of the few pilots with a shirt on, he also wore a hat and sunglasses. Solo wondered if he was concerned about possible sunburn.

“Help yourself,” Leia encouraged, “there’s plenty.”

“And If we need to do another batch, we can,” Wedge added, “Get Leia to cut them, she does it better than the rest of us.”

“But whatever you do,” Tycho added, “don’t let her highness touch the fryer.”

“It was an accident!” Leia challenged.

“How’s your hand, by the way?” Janson asked. He was standing at the edge of the hoversnap field, scoping out his next throw, and looking a little ridiculous in a pair of too-tight shorts and a faded old shirt in a very loud print, which he wore open over an otherwise bare chest.

“It’s getting a pretty nice blister,” she replied, holding up the back of her left hand for inspection.

“Yeah, it is,” Han affirmed. He’d seen burns like that plenty of times on his own hands when he’d gotten a little too careless working on his old speeder before allowing the manifold proper time to cool. It was an oil burn, and it was liable to hurt—a lot. He was kind of surprised she seemed so nonplussed by it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his commlink, waiting to hear Chewie’s characteristic warble on the other end before speaking again. “Hey pal, listen,” he said, “I’m out in the clearing off the west end of the building with a bunch of the guys. Do me a favor, will ya? We got a coupla cold cases under the deck plates—pull one out and bring it back here. And grab a medpac while you’re at it. “

“I don’t need a medpac,” Leia insisted, “it’s not that bad.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” Han agreed, putting his commlink back into his pocket. “Put a little burn cream and some firm wrap on it to keep it from gettin’ infected and it’ll stay that way.” Leia rolled her eyes and went back to slicing tubers.

“These are really good,” Luke said, his mouth full of fried tuber as he reached for another handful.

“They’re my favorite,” Tycho said back, lining up at the edge of the hoversnap field to aim his next throw.

“I still can’t believe they took to the soil,” Hobbie said.

“I’m not surprised,” Tycho replied. He tossed the sphere into the field and balled his hands into fists as it hit Janson’s last sphere, knocking it into a lower scoring range. “They’re pretty hearty,” he added, turning around and flashing a grin at Wes, who was shaking his head as he stepped back to the throwing line.

“But they won’t grow in space,” Wedge added, crossing to stand beside Leia and beginning to scoop the newly-sliced tubers into the fryer basket.

“Just about the only thing that kills them is artificial light,” Tycho explained, making his way over to the platter and snagging another few fried tubers for himself. “So we’ve got to eat ‘em before we evacuate. Wedge built the fryer,” he said to Skywalker, who was still hovering over the platter, helping himself to the bounty three at a time, “and Janson spent days rendering the lard and nicking pots of cooking oil from the galley to get the thing working.”

“Looks like I came back just in time,” Leia said, reaching around Wedge’s back to grab a bite for herself.

“Yeah you did,” Wedge replied, dropping the basket into the fryer. “We didn’t want to do this without you, but we were about to have to. This is our last day of stand-down before we’re airborne again. We won’t have another chance before we’re evacuated to hang out in our civvies eating tubers and playing hoversnap.”

“And drinking lager,” Han added.

“What?” Janson asked, turning his head to look at Solo so quickly it effected his throw. His sphere wound up outside the scoring field altogether, but he didn’t seem to care much. Solo was pointing into the jungle, toward the temple. Chewbacca was walking toward them, carrying a large rectangular case.

“Had some bottles in the Falcon’s stores,” Han replied. “Seemed like a good time to share.”

Chewie quickly closed the distance and set the cooler down between the fryer and the crates the pilots were using as seats. Solo snagged the medpac from the top of the case and raised his eyebrows at the princess. She rolled her eyes, but acquiesced, following him to sit on an unoccupied trunk so he could bandage her hand.

Yowling his objection to being out in the heat, Chewie bid the group adieu and headed back toward the air-conditioned ship.

“I don’t blame him,” Janson said, pulling open the cold case and examining its contents, “it’s hotter than blazes out here. But this is going to help,” he added, “thanks Solo.” Janson then took on the job of passing out libations, pulling out the tin bottles and passing them around to his friends.

“You’re welcome,” Han replied. “And there’s more where that came from, so drink up. I’m gonna need to cargo space t help you rebels evacuate.”

“None for me,” Hobbie said, “I have deck duty later.”

“If you’re only saying that for my benefit,” Leia said to him, turning her head so as not to watch Han tend to the burn on her hand. It looked gnarly enough without the addition of the viscous burn gel he was using. “Don’t worry about it. I can’t imagine one bottle of lager would be enough to cause problems. But if you want to make absolutely sure,” she added, “pass me one and I’ll let you know if I get buzzed. If it doesn’t affect me, you’ll know you’re safe.”

There were a few hoots and chortles at Leia’s assertion, and Janson hurried to put the next opened bottle into the princess’s un-burned hand. Han finished his ministrations on the other, coating the blister and the red skin around it with anesthetic and antibiotic and then sealing it up with self-firming bandages to keep it from infection. Leia took a pronounced swig of the lager, much to the delight of the others, as Wedge pulled the fryer basket back out of the oil and dumped the freshly-fried treats onto the platter beside him.

Luke was quick to snag another several.

“Han, you really should try these,” he said to his friend.

“If you want,” Wedge added, “I’ve got a jar of Mieriks mustard for dipping. It’s over on the far side of Hobbie—help yourself.”

Han stood up and moved toward the plate of fried tubers, snagging a lager out of his cold case on the way.

“Careful with the mustard,” Tycho said, “that stuff will take the paint off your X-wing. I don’t want to think about what it’ll do to your insides.”

“Solo’s a fellow Corellian,” Wedge reminded his friend, “our palates aren’t so delicate as our dear Alderaanian colleagues.”

“Watch who you’re calling ‘delicate’,” Leia challenged between gulps of lager, “I happen to like spicy food.”

“Yeah,” Hobbie chimed in, tossing his final sphere into the hoversnap field, “well, you’re tougher than the rest of us put together. So your opinion on spicy mustard doesn’t count.” The hoversnap field unit chimed then. All of the spheres fell from their places in space onto the dirt and the scores were projected in the place of the hover-field. “You want next game, Solo?” Hobbie asked then, “I’ve beaten all the rest of these chumps.”

“Nah,” Han said, taking his first bite of fried tuber and immediately reaching for another. “I’ve never been any good at hoversnap. But if any of you have got a deck of cards….”

“Do all pilots enjoy gambling?” Leia asked, as she got up from her seat and ducked around Solo to snag a fresh fried tuber slice off the top of the platter, “or just the ones I manage to attract?”

“I think it’s all of us,” Hobbie answered her, “except maybe Skywalker.”

“He’ll learn to like it once I teach him how to win,” Solo countered. Luke, his mouth still full of tubers, couldn’t help but laugh.

“Maybe,” he allowed, shrugging his shoulders and reaching for another bite.

“Don’t have a deck of cards,” Wedge replied to Han’s earlier question, “but you know what we could do—now that Hobbie’s affirmed his position as the undisputed hoversnap champion—?”

“What’s that?” Solo asked.

“Well, it’s hotter’n Centerpoint on meltdown,” he answered, “so I figure let’s all go jump in the river while we’ve got the chance.”

“Yessssssss!” Janson shouted, taking off at a flat run toward the narrow strip of trees that separated the clearing from the nearby river. There was a chorus of whoops and laughter as the rest of the pilots took off behind him, Luke bringing up the rear with a generous portion of freshly-claimed fried tubers clutched in his hand. Tycho was already out of his clothes and in the water, and Wes was tossing his loud-patterned shirt over a nearby tree branch.

Han headed off after them. Unlike the others, he was dressed in his everyday clothes, and it was far too hot to run—even toward the blissfully cool river. Leia seemed to be taking her time as well, following the others, but without any semblance of enthusiasm.

“I see you’re hangin’ back,” he said, “what’s the matter? Can’t swim?”

“Of course I can swim,” she snapped back, frowning up at him.

“Oh,” Han said then, “so what is it then? Don’t want the guys seein’ you in your skivvies?”

“No,” she replied. “It’s not that… I’m not modest.” Han felt a pit form in his stomach. Somehow he knew what the issue was. He lowered his voice as they moved closer to where the others were piling into the river.

“You’ve still got bruises,” he said. Leia’s eyes got wide as she looked back at him, and Han knew he’d hit the nail on the head. They’d never talked about what had happened to her on the Death Star. But he knew what the Empire was prone to do to prisoners they thought might have valuable information. He’d always approached her with the presumption she’d been tortured, or at least subjected to treatment he would classify as torture, and she’d never said a word to the contrary.

After the moment of surprise at Han’s assertion, Leia nodded subtly.

“Only a few,” she confided. “If they were fresh, I could pass them off, but it’s clear they’re not. I thought they’d be gone by now.”

“Yeah,” Han said, patting her on the shoulder as they slowed their approach even further, “Deep tissue bruises are a pill. I once had one on my leg from a speeder crash took more than six months to go away completely. It doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?”

“No,” she said promptly. “It’s just ugly and I don’t want to talk about it with the guys.”

Han patted her shoulder again before crossing his arms over his chest.

“I hate to be a party pooper, princess,” he said then, loudly enough that the guys in the water were likely able to hear, and surely audible to the few who were still undressing on the river bank. “But that firm wrap I used on your hand is kinda old. I don’t know if the seal is trustworthy—I’m not sure it’s suck a good idea for you to get in the water.”

Leia turned her head in surprise.

“Leave it to you to patch me up with substandard medical supplies,” she snarked back at similar volume, but Han could see the gratitude in her eyes for the out he’d just given her. “I’ll just take my boots off and wade in up to my knees,” she said then, “so I don’t get it wet.”

Han smiled over at her as he plopped down onto a downed tree branch and began tugging off his boots. “You okay with that?” he asked under his breath. Leia nodded.

“Thank you,” she said softly as she bent down and began unlacing her boots.

“Hey, no problem,” he said back, “we haven’t known each other all that long, but we’ve been through some stuff and I’ve got your back. You and the kid both,” he added, ���as long as Chewie and me are around, we’re on your side.”

“Thank you,” she said again, “I appreciate that.” Leia slipped her feet out of her boots and yanked her socks off before standing up again and stepping to the edge of the river. Han was out of his boots as well; he rolled his trousers up at the cuff and waded into the water beside her. “You’re not getting in?” she asked. Han shook his head.

“I didn’t get dressed for swimmin’ this morning,” he said, “if you know what I mean.”

A flush rose to Leia’s cheeks.

“I’m glad we’re getting to know each other,” she said, wading farther out into the cool water, “but I didn’t need to know that.”

“I’m glad we’re gettin’ to know each other, too,” he said back. “And I fully intend to see you eat a spoonful of Mieriks mustard before I bug out of here for good, because I’m havin’ a real hard time imagining an Alderaanian princess likin’ that stuff.”

“So I just refuse to eat spicy mustard, and we get to keep you around?” she teased, grinning up at him as though she’d just beaten him at something, “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

[matcha-chocolate]

I’m combining prompts again! These are from @samwichwilson​ Sam + cooking   and samsteve + vodka

“It’ll be good for our spirits,” Steve had said.  “I read that it’s good for forming closer bonds,” Steve had mentioned not-at-all-casually over breakfast. “Don’t you want some fresh air?” Steve had called loudly on one of their runs, as he lapped Sam.  “We both have some time off coming up, don’t we?” Steve mused as he did chin-ups, barely sweating. Sam, breathing hard through his 64th pushup, finally snapped.  “I’m not going camping, Steve. Shut. Up. About it.” Steve just grinned sheepishly. Sam groaned, because he knew a ‘I’ll drop it... for about 2 days’ look when he saw it. 

“The mountains must be beautiful this time of year,” Steve had murmured against Sam’s neck late at night, his arm pulling the other man close to his chest.  “This again,” Sam muttered sleepily. “Steve, why are you so obsessed with this?” “I never went as a kid,” Steve said mournfully. Sam made an unimpressed snort.  “Me neither. Try again.” “It ...looks like fun?” “Paying good money to buy a tent and camping supplies, leaving my warm apartment-- which already HAS sleeping and cooking and showering amenities, might I add-- to get my ass bitten by mosquitoes and bears?” When Steve spoke, his voice shook a little from repressed mirth. “Are the bears and mosquitoes in cahoots, or--” “I’m leaving you.” “C’mon, Sam,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to his lover’s skin. “Please. I promise it’ll be fun.” “... don’t make me regret this, Rogers.”

Sam sincerely regretted meeting Steve Rogers sometimes. The object of his annoyance was currently trying without success to tie a tarp over their tent. Because it was raining (of course.) And their tent was leaking (fantastic.) And it was leaking because Steve Rogers was still a cheapass despite having a pretty sizable bank account (Sam understood why, but shut up.) “Okay, I think I got it!” Steve called, sticking his head into the tent and positively beaming. Nothing -- not the bad weather, not the shitty tent, not even the absolute swarm of mosquitoes that adored him-- nothing was dampening his spirits. He clambered ungracefully into the tent, dripping water, and then shook his head to get the water out, spattering cold drops of rain all over Sam and his sleeping bag. Sam shot him a poisonous glare that Steve totally missed. And what was the point of glaring at someone if they didn’t notice, really?  “How you holding up, Sammy?” “Don’t call me ‘Sammy,’ Rogers.” “Aw, geeze. You’re grumpy, huh?” “Die.” “Great! Okay, let’s get some dinner going...” Sam tried to hold on to his bad mood, he really did. He was damp, he was cold, and he could only think that right at that moment, he could be home with ESPN and some good whiskey, but noooo. But Steve was... he was so damn happy to be out here with Sam, fussing over him and setting up their little heat stove, rubbing his arms to warm him up, making him hot cocoa... Sam softened a little.  (Steve’s wet t-shirt being plastered to his ridiculous torso helped to cheer him up, too.) “What’ve we got to eat?” Sam asked, his voice slightly muffled from the sleeping bag being pulled up near his mouth. Steve rifled through their supply pack, pulling out a somewhat baffling assortment of food.  “We’ve got... Spam, beef jerky, raisins, I think this is a potato, and... Skittles? You like Skittles, right? Oh hey-- a carrot!” “Rogers, did you just close your eyes and grab random shit off the shelves at the supermarket?” “Uh...” “Rogers, did you not go to the supermarket?” “I spent a lot of time looking for a reasonably-priced tent! I ran out of time!” “Oh my god, you just took whatever was left in our pantry.” “I was ... being resourceful?” “You were in the war, man, how do you not know how to pack supplies?!” “I wasn’t in charge of the supplies, I was in charge of punching holes in Nazi tanks!” “Ohhh. My god.” Sam shuffled out of his sleeping bag and made his way over to Steve, who was looking decidedly sulky (but only because he really had fucked up on the food.) Sam sat on his haunches near him and placed his hands on either side of Steve’s face.  “I love you, but you’re an idiot.” “....you love me?”  Sam blinked. He hadn’t meant to...  “Well, yeah. Guess so.”  Steve positively glowed, leaning forward to kiss Sam soundly on the lips. “Me too. The love thing, I mean. But about you.” “You’re a disaster,” Sam muttered, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. Steve shrugged, still smiling like a dope as he watched Sam unzip a small section of their pack.  “Lucky for you, some of us thought to go to the corner store yesterday.” “I read somewhere that raisins can go in stew,” Steve offered, trying to be helpful. Sam considered for a second.  “Why not? Chuck ‘em in.” The beef(jerky), carrot, potato, and now raisin stew ... smelled surprisingly good. Sam had come through with a few ready-to-heat pouches of soup, and they’d decided to combine the things that seemed least troublesome into some kind of soup-stew-meal-thing.  “I bet I can find some wild onions!” Steve said suddenly. Sam looked up, frowning.  “It’s pitch black and storming out. Onions aren’t worth all that--” “I can see fine. I’ll be right back, okay?” “You don’t know how to pack for a camping trip, but you can spot onions at night during a storm?” “Yup. Not the first time I’ve done it.” Sam shook his head and went back to stirring the stew.  Picking onions shouldn’t take two hours. Sam was damn sure of that. He chewed fretfully at his lip, glancing at his phone again. He’d called and texted Steve several times; the storm wasn’t letting up, and Sam was slowly becoming more and more worried. Rogers could take care of himself, but he was also a magnet for trouble.  Sam heaved a huge sigh and squared his shoulders, coming to a decision. Turning off the heat of their little camping stove, Sam put on his jacket and shrugged into the heavy pack. Would he ever get a break from saving Rogers’ dumb ass? Sam was immediately soaked to the bone upon exiting the tent, the cold water trickling down the back of his neck. Camping was the worst.  Sam used his hand to shield his eyes from the rain, squinting to see if he could pick out where Steve had wandered off. Using the flashlight in his pack, he swept the ground in front of him, looking for a familiar boot print-- and behind him, he heard the sound of tearing fabric. Whirling on the spot, Sam aimed the beam of the flashlight at the tent, and nearly had a heart attack when the cold flash of an animal’s eyes caught the light. Bears.  Seriously. Bears. Sam was a brave man, but knowing that if he’d stayed another 5 minutes in the tent, he’d be a dead brave man made him feel a little faint. One of the massive animals gave an inquisitive huff and moved towards him, and Sam bolted the other way. Usain Bolt who?

“Sam? You okay?” “It’s raining, you went missing and aged me 5 years, our tent got attacked by bears, and I just fell off a cliff.” “Yeah, that hill up there’s a doozy. Wait, bears?” “A doozy. I accepted my death on the way down, Steve. This is how I was gonna die. Running from bears, in the rain, falling off a cliff.” “The fall wasn’t that long.” “Let me be dramatic. Please. It’s been a shitty night.” “I-- you’re right. I’m sorry, Sam.” “Thank you. Also, fuck you for dragging me camping.” “Noted. I’ve got some good news, though!” “What could possibly be good news at this point?” “I see lights over that way,” Steve said, pointing. Sam noticed even in the dim beam of the flashlight (which had somehow survived the fall) that he was covered head to toe in scratches. Steve never got the hang of falling with grace, which was something Sam had had to learn fast during the trial runs of the Falcon wings.  “If that’s not a decent hotel, I’m going to murder you,” Sam said matter-of-factly, offering his hand to Steve to pull him up.  “Fair,” Steve nodded, leading the way towards the lights. 

The front desk attendant looked terrified as the sopping, bloodied and limping men stumbled into the elegant lobby of the hotel. Steve’s patented Captain America Smile, Sam’s charming witty banter, and a Stark black credit card got them a pretty nice room.  “Ooowww!” “Holy shit, Steve, you’ve been thrown off of buildings. You’ve been thrown through buildings. You’ve been shot more times than I can count. Quit whining, they’re just scratches.” “I gotta act stoic in front of the troops. I mean, the team. The serum made me stronger, not immune to pain. And there are a lot of damn scratches and you’re pouring vodka all over them.” “Gotta disinfect them,” Sam said cheerfully. He’d already tended to his own surprisingly few cuts (see? learning to fall properly paid off), but since his field kit had been lost in the bear attack (seriously. bears.) he had to make do with the overpriced tiny bottles of vodka in the minibar and the boxes of band-aids that the woman at the front desk had worriedly pressed into his hands upon them checking in.  “I’ll heal up in a few hours, Sam, geeze.” “Sorry, did the serum make you immune to infection? Because I seem to remember someone getting a pretty nasty infection from a splinter because oh, the serum.” “Point.” “Damn right,” Sam muttered. He dabbed at the last (and worst) of Steve’s scrapes, gentle with his hands even as he grumbled about how foolish his boyfriend was.  “Sam,” Steve said quietly sometime later, halfway through tucking into a hamburger mercifully provided by room service.  “Hmm?” “I uhm, when I fell off the cliff...” “Yeah?” “I just. I thought of you. I was worried about you and-- and I thought, ‘What if I never see him again?’ It made me feel sick.” Sam looked at him for a long moment before putting aside his mostly empty plate and scooting closer to him. He took Steve’s hand in his, threading their fingers together.  “Yeah, Steve. Welcome to being in love.” They passed the tiny vodka bottles back and forth as they told each other about their camping mishaps while apart. It turned out to be a lot funnier on the retelling than when it had actually happened. That, and vodka made everything hilarious. 

“You still cold?” Steve asked into the darkness. Sam mumbled sleepily and Steve took that to mean ‘yes,’ because he was soon shuffling closer behind Sam, holding him and letting his body heat warm Sam. “I hate you slightly less,” Sam sighed, finally content. “Music to my ears,” Steve yawned. They would both wake up with the warm afterglow of love. And pretty nasty hangovers.