#I had enough inspo for bee

[corxoran]

[forever-rogue]

OMG TASM INSPO OKAY OKAY!

I saw this prompt a while ago that said: one small kiss before fully devouring the other person and I thought it would be perfect for pining idiots Peter and r. Maybe they dare them to kiss at a party or they get tipsy enough to be very affectionate which leads to the kiss. But then one of them is like shit I ruined our friendship and ghosts the other until they talk and get back together and kiss again 🥰

AN | If there is one thing I love it’s blind fools in love! Enjoy ���️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 4.5k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He was so pretty like this.

Wild, unruly hair, plush lips, pink cheeks and eyes like rich honey. 

“What’re you lookin’ at, huh?” he reached over and brushed a lock of your behind your ear, so close that you could smell the sweet alcohol that lingered on his lips. Your heart skipped a few beats at the tender touch; it was nothing new but every one of his touches felt like the first time. He rested his palm against your cheek as you swallowed the lump in your throat, “you’re being weird.”

“Nuh uh,” you narrowed your eyes at him but your weak attempt at being serious did nothing for him. Instead he laughed, a sugary sweet sound you wanted to bottle up and keep as yours and yours only forever, “you’re being weird, Pete.”

“Whatever you say,” his long, lithe fingers ghosted along your jaw before he retracted his touch. You missed the warmth of his skin on yours almost immediately, “I think you’re drunk.”

“Shut up,” you groaned and finished the last bit of the hard cider in your bottle. You were so far from drunk, having nursed the same bottle over the last hour and a half just as he had with his beer. Neither of you were even tipsy, just enough to feel a slight buzz in your bones, let alone drunk, “‘m not. Just tired of you.”

“That’s a lie,” he whispered as you nodded meekly. You could never lie to him, or even fool him in the slightest. He’d been your best friend for almost a decade; he knew you better than anyone ever had.

“It’s a lie,” you confirmed, shifting your gaze away from him. You looked around the room, trying to focus on literally anyone else at the party. Unfortunately, no one else seemed to capture your attention - at least not as much as Peter Parker did. You could feel his gaze trained on you, and part of you was worried for a moment that he was almost able to hear every single thought you had running through your mind. You turned back and immediately felt your warm up, “Pete?”

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, voice so soft that your ears were playing tricks on you. When you saw the quiet and determined expression on his face you could tell that you had actually heard what you thought you’d heard.

“What?” you’d leaned in closer, inadvertently, but found yourself inches away from the pretty boy. The corner of his mouth tipped up in a very Peter-esque smile - that your smile. You wanted to bottle it up and keep it safe in your heart forever. You huffed when he just stared at you like you were magic, “Peter. What did you say?”

“C’mon Bee,” you could hear the subtle groan in his voice, “you heard me. I want to kiss you.”

“Why?” your brows knitted together in confusion; you were so ridiculously cute especially with the way your nose scrunched, “me? Pete, you’re just drunk.”

“Yeah you,” an incredulous huff escaped his lips. How? How did you not know that he was in love with you? Especially since he’d fallen for you days into your friendship so many years ago, “I like you, you know. And I’m not drunk. Not in the slightest.”

“Of course you do,” he was drunk. He had to be despite his insistence that he wasn’t. Right? You swallowed thickly, “you’re my best friend.”

“No, you don’t…” he put a hand on your neck, his thumb brushing along the soft skin under your ear, “I’m going to kiss you, okay?”

“Okay,” your voice was so small it was basically a squeak, but it was enough to set him at ease to actually do what he’d been dreaming of for so long.

Peter closed the small gap between the two of you, pressing his lips to yours - softly at first, questioning and learning. When you didn’t panic or pull away. He deepened the kiss, earning a small moan from you. That sound made electricity shoot throughout his entire body; he wanted more, he wanted it all. All your sounds just for him. 

Before you let it get too far, you pulled back, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and taking his hand away. Peter stopped immediately and looked at your in surprise and… hurt? on his face. You held up your hands, both of them shaking, your mouth opening and closing a few times as you searched for the right words.

“Bee?”

“I-I can’t do this,” you scooted your chair back and stood up, shaking your head, “this was a mistake. I’m sorry, Peter. I gotta go.”

You grabbed your bag and started to push your way through the throng of crowds to leave. Peter had jumped up to his feet and attempted to follow you, “wait - Bee!”

But you didn’t wait. By the time he got to the door, you were already long gone. He sighed heavily, banging his head against the wall as he tried to figure out what he did wrong. But, he figured, he’d give you space tonight and then check on you tomorrow. Surely this was all just…a misunderstanding. 

Surely you felt the same things he did. He’d been wishing for nothing else for so long.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Peter’s hopes that he would be able to talk to you and get to the bottom of what was going on were quickly dashed the next. 

He didn’t hear a peep from you - but it wasn’t for the lack of trying. He texted and called and even showed up at your apartment to no avail. In reality you’d received and read every text, sent every call to voicemail, and ignored his knocking. You just couldn’t face Peter, not today…make not ever. 

You were still trying to put all the pieces of what had happened together. He’d told you that he liked you and that he wanted to kiss you. 

And then he did exactly that. 

But it didn’t make sense. Peter Parker was your best friend, and best friends definitely didn’t kiss like that. He said he wasn’t drunk but there couldn't be any other reason, right? Why else would he suddenly want to kiss you? Part of you was afraid that you’d taken advantage of Peter to get what you wanted. Of course you wanted to kiss him; you’d been in love with him for years. Instead of risking anything, you’d kept yourself thoroughly in the best friend zone. You’d rather pine for him and suppress those feelings and keep him in your life, than potentially risk losing him completely. 

Life without Peter Park wasn’t anything you wanted to experience. 

And in a few moments of inhibition, you might have ruined everything after all. You couldn’t face him ever again. The thought of that alone was enough to make you want to curl up and cry. 

You were being dramatic…you knew you were. You needed something - someone - logical to keep you from spiraling. Grabbing your phone, you quickly found her contact and called her, pacing around as you waited for her to answer.

“MJ,” you let out a sigh of relief when she picked up after a few rings, “I did something bad. Can you come over?”

You heard her sweet laugh on the other side, “of course. I’ll be there in twenty? Shall I bring a bottle of wine?”

“Yes please,” you rubbed at your forehead, “two bottles if you have it.”

“On my way!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Little did you know, MJ was already way ahead of you. She was already well aware of what had happened; Peter had called her, close to tears, about an hour beforehand. He was quick to spill his guts out to her, trying to make sense of everything…and definitely panicking that he’d never see you again.

MJ, meanwhile, was terribly amused at the panic both of you were displaying. She was well aware that the two of you were in love with each other, even if you the two of you weren’t aware. To be fair…everyone was aware but the two of you. It was so obvious to anyone that spent even a moment around you that you were in love. Somehow that just didn’t get through to you - not yet but Mary Jane Watson was determined to finally get you both to realization and clarity. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hi honey,” MJ let herself into your apartment with the key you’d given her long ago. You raised your hand and gave her a small wave from where you were curled up on the couch, buried under a heap of blankets. She set the bottles of wine down on the coffee table before raising an eyebrow at you, “and just what do we call this?”

“It’s calling wallowing,” you huffed, sitting up and looking at her with an upset expression on your face, “I fucked up.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” she insisted softly before going into the kitchen and grabbing a couple of wine glasses and a bottle opener. You made room for her on the couch, and sat down next to you, carefully opening a bottle and pouring a couple of glasses. You picked yours up and clinked it against hers, “cheers. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“Peter,” you took a huge drink before allowing yourself to look at the giant grin on MJ’s face, “it’s Peter.”

“And…what about Peter?” she was prying, gently doing so, but curious to know. If there was someone that knew Peter almost as well as you it was her. She’d dated him for a few years in high school after all, “what did he do? And/or what did you do?”

You sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly just as you’d learned in yoga class. You pinched the bridge of your nose before setting your glass down and angling your body closer to her, “hekissedme.”

“Pardon?” oh, she’d heard you loud and clear and you both knew it.

“Peter kissed me,” you said more slowly, letting the words wash over you as the memories of last night popped, “and I…kissed him back.”

MJ was practically giddy with excitement, barely holding back her smile. She was definitely the president, vice-president, secretary, and treasurer of the ‘you and Peter fanclub.’ She took another sip of her drink before setting the glass down and reached for one of your hands, “and what’s the problem with that? The two of you are clearly in love! It’s about time one of you made a move!”

“What?” you tilted your head to the side and looked at her in confusion, “what do you mean?”

“Oh my god,” she threw her head back with a loud groan, “how are you so smart and dumb at the same time?!”

“MJ-”

“I know how you feel about Peter,” you’d confessed your love and adoration for your best friend many times - tipsy, drunk, and sober. And it wasn’t like either of you did anything to hide it. You huffed and looked at her like a lost little puppy, “and I know how he feels about you. I’m not sure what the problem is…”

“Peter doesn’t….he was drunk.”

“Peter doesn’t get drunk,” she raised her eyebrows in a sort of tell me I’m wrong expression, “but what exactly led to him finally making a move?”

“We were at that party at Beth’s and we were just hanging out and talking. I’d had a few drinks and he did too,” ugh. The way he’d looked at you was like something else, “and later on he told me he wanted to kiss me. I asked him why and he just sort of…made it seem like it was obvious. I asked if he was drunk but he said no and I don’t…fuck, I don’t know.”

“It is obvious, all things aside,” she waved her hand, “but if he says he wasn’t drunk, what’s wrong? Was it bad?”

“No. No,” it was anything but bad. In fact, you were ready to admit that it was easily the best kiss of your life. That made you both nervous and excited, “it was good.”

“But you didn’t want it?”

“I did, I do,” you drained the rest of your glass before pulling your legs up and hugging your knees to your chest, “I liked it and I want to do it again. You know I do. It’s just…what if he thinks its a mistake? What if he hated it and it’s ruined everything. I don’t want to lose him, MJ. He’s too important to me.”

“Honey,” she mirrored your position and her face turned serious, “I mean in the most loving way possible, but you are so incredibly obtuse. Peter is in love with you. You’re in love with Peter. What else could you possibly need to know?”

“I know I love him,” you agreed, “so much. But how can you be so sure?”

“Because he’s told me!” she threw up her hands as your eyes widened in surprise. She put her hands on yours and gave you a little shake, “he’s told me that he’s in love with you. More than once. I’ve just been…the two of you are so damn stupid. You’re so clearly in love with each other but neither of you can just admit and move forward. You’re not going to lose Peter, I swear on that. But sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith and move forward. Otherwise nothing is ever to change.”

“MJ-”

“It’s not even that big of a leap,” she whispered gently, “it’s Peter. He’s always going to be there to catch you.”

You swallowed thickly, blinking back the tears stinging at the back of your eyes, “I’m scared, MJ.”

“I know,” she gently brushed her knuckles against your cheek, “and it’s okay to be scared. But this is a sure thing. But, for now, let’s have some more wine and watch a bad movie and order pizza?”

“That sounds perfect,” you agreed sniffling slightly, “thanks MJ.”

You hoped she was right. You hoped that this leap of faith would be worth it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As it turned, your great leap of faith…was a little delayed. As in one thing led to another and your nerves and anxiety got the better of you and you hadn't seen or talked to Peter in two weeks.

It was the longest you'd gone in the decade you'd known him without talking or seeing each other. It sucked. You knew Peter was a huge part of your life but you hadn't realized just how much…until he was gone. 

And it was definitely your own fault. Peter kept trying and trying to get through to you. That part warmed your heart and made things worse at the same time. You almost wished he could let it go but you knew that wasn't his style at all. His persistence and big heart were some of the many things you loved about him. You were going to talk to him at some point…you just needed to work up the courage. Soon hopefully. Soon.

Soon, as it turned out, came on a chilly fall day as you saw at your favorite cafe. You were halfheartedly sipping on a coffee as you worked on your laptop. You had hoped that getting out of the house and the office to work in a different space, one you normally loved, would help to cheer you up but it didn’t work. Not that you had anyone to blame but yourself. 

With an unwittingly heavy sigh, you looked up and stared out the window, watching the rain drizzle down. The city was beautiful this time of year; only this time it didn’t feel as lovely. 

What you didn’t expect, however, was to find Peter Parker stopping mid-walk and looking straight back at you. A tentative little smiled up the corners of his mouth as held up his hand in a small wave; a white flag gesture. You let out a nervous huff of laughter before smiling back at him and holding up your hand in response. 

He stood there for a moment before mouthing something at you, motioning with his to see if you’d come out. This time you didn’t hesitate as you shoved your laptop into your bag and almost ran outside to meet him. You didn’t know where you stood with Peter, but even just seeing him already made your heart feel so much better. 

“Hi,” he sounded almost nervous as you stopped in front of him, neither of you caring that you were getting wet. 

“Hi,” you whispered back, unsure of what to say or do. But this time you couldn’t run away or hide; you had to face up to what was going on, “can we talk?”

“Yeah,” he took your bag from you and hooked it over his shoulder, starting to walk in the direction of his apartment. You fell into step with him, neither of you saying anything, but walking close enough so that the backs of your hands continued to gently brush against each other. The tension hanging in the air between the two of you was palpable but you were afraid to say anything to break the silence. 

Peter didn’t seem to harbor any ill feelings as he continued to open the doors for you. By the time you were inside the apartment, he closed the door and leaned against, watching you closely. You stood there nervously, trying to think of what to say, all the while hoping that Peter would say something instead. 

The two of you looked at each other in silence for what seemed like a small eternity. The next thing you knew, Peter came over to you and took your face gently in his hands, warm doe eyes searching yours. You offered him the tiniest of nods before he leaned in and kissed you. This time, instead of over thinking anything, you allowed yourself to live in the moment. At first Peter was afraid that you didn’t want this and he’d somehow read the signs wrong, but then he felt you loop your arms around his waist and kiss him back. 

And it felt like pure magic. It was everything you could have ever dreamed of and then some more. Kissing Peter felt so…right. Judging by the way he refused to pull away from you until you were both breathless, you were sure that he felt the same. He pressed his forehead against yours and let a small, wistful sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered softly, unable to get your emotions in check from what had just happened. The only thing you knew was that you loved Peter; that was all that mattered, “Pete.”

“Don’t apologize,” he traced his fingers along your jaw and down your neck, causing goosebumps to explode all over your skin, “just talk to me please.”

You nodded, allowing yourself to look into his eyes. There was no malice in them, only…well, you weren’t absolutely sure what it was, but it was…something. There was a hopeful expression on his eyes as you nervously played with your hands. 

“Pete,” he loved the way you said his name; it always made him weak in the knees, “when you kissed me last time, were you drunk? Tipsy? Anything?”

He made a small sound, but shook his head, giving you the answer that you had already known was true, “no.”

“Why did…want to kiss me?” you were adorably; adorably blind. Peter looked at you softly, tilting his head to the side as he tutted. 

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked as you bit your lip. He moved towards his bedroom and motioned for you to follow him. When he stepped inside, he went to his dresser and dug around for a few moments before pulling out a big cardboard box. You watched with rapt attention as he took off the lid and poured the contents out on the bed. It was a large pile of photo strips, receipts, notes, and other silly little trinkets, “I have kept every silly note, every set of photobooth pictures, every receipt from anything important or special that we’ve done in the last decade.”

“Oh,” your eyes started to sting with tears as you looked at everything. You reached for a strip of photos - the first ones you’d taken together - and looked them over. It was the two of you, about nine years younger, making silly poses. Except in the last photo; you were making a silly face but Peter wasn’t. He was looking right at you with that same expression he’d always had just for you. Just for you. You looked at him and found him watching you intently, his cheeks tinged with a pretty shade of pink. It was like everything suddenly clicked in your mind, “oh. Peter…”

“It’s been a long time Bee,” his voice was so soft and low, “all this time, I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”

“You never…” you sifted through the other photos and gathered them all up, looking through them. Fuck, you were an idiot. Every single time there was that look, “you never said anything.”

“No,” he admitted, “I was sure you’d get there eventually, and I’d always be here.”

“But at the party,” you felt even more stupid now; he had basically when telling the same thing then but you just didn’t want to believe that it could be true, “you said something.”

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. You’re so beautiful,” he watched the smile on your face grow as you looked at some of the silly post-it notes the two of you had exchanged when you still worked at the same lab, “I never can. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Wait,” you sat at the edge of the bed, clutching one of the notes tightly in your hand, “can you just…spell it out for me? I-I don’t know if my brain is working properly right now.”

“Bee,” he crouched down in front of you, large hands settling on your thighs, “I love you. Not just as a best friend, but as everything. I want everything, but only if it’s with you.”

You put one of your hands on his and gave it a gentle squeeze, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” he turned your hand over and traced a finger along the heart and life lines on your palm, “I’m in love with you.”

“Peter.”

“I was wondering when you were going to catch up,” he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to your palm, “MJ’s been trying to get me to tell you for a long time.”

“This whole time?” he nodded as you looked at him with a most ardent and loving expression, “when did you know?”

“It was at that first fair we went that summer after we met,” you remembered that day so clearly. From the sounds and the smells to what the two of you were wearing, to all the whispered conversations and longing looks, “you were wearing that pretty sundress - the yellow one with the little daisies on it - and I almost lost it. I think I knew that night. I really wanted to kiss you then.”

“I wanted you to kiss me then too,” you admitted sheepishly, feeling your entire face warm up, “it was that New Years Eve for me. You took me ice skating and I really wanted to hold your hand so I pretended to be super bad at skating. When it was midnight and kissed my cheek, I knew it was always going to be you for me.”

“I knew you were faking,” he laughed softly, eyes sparkling with happiness, “but I really liked holding your hand and didn’t want to let go. I’ve taken every and any excuse over the years to hold your hand or touch you.”

“I’m…I’m scared, Peter,” you couldn’t imagine a life without him. He was the biggest part of your heart, “what if something happens and we can’t be friends anymore? I don’t want to lose you. Ever.”

“I promise you that you are never going to lose me,” you hoped it was true; you desperately wanted it to be true, “not as Spider-Man and not as plain old Peter. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Pinky promise?” you held up your other hand and extended your pinky towards his. He hooked his finger around yours without hesitation.

“Pinky promise,” he repeated, “and you know the pink promise is law. No one can break them. It’s for life.”

“What if you start to hate me?” that would be your worst fear, “if we start dating or something.”

“I hate to break it to you, honey,” he plopped onto the floor and gently pulled and maneuvered you into his lap. Yeah…that might have become your new favorite spot, “we’ve basically already been dating. It’s really not going to change much. Just some…added benefits.”

And at that, you relaxed, allowing yourself to melt into his body, laughing softly as you rested your forehead on his shoulder, “I guess you’re right. But, Pete-”

“I’m sure,” he put his hand under your chin and turned your face up to his, “I always have been sure. It’s always going to be you.”

“Me too,” you took advantage of the moment and leaned up to steal a quick kiss from him, “I am sorry though, for ignoring you for the past couple of weeks. I was scared and then I didn’t know how to approach you after that.”

“I knew you were doing okay…ish,” he immediately knew what he was going to say next, “MJ kept me updated.”

“She’s going to kill me,” you sighed, “she’s been so mad at me for how I’ve been acting - not that I blame her. She told me to tell you how I felt. She told me it was just a small leap of faith.”

“I’m right here to catch you,” of course he was. He had been since the day he’d met you, “how do you feel, Bee? Tell me.”

“I’m in love with you, Peter Parker,” the smile on his face was beaming. It was enough to warm your heart a million times over, “I want you.”

“You have me.”

“I know,” you took his hand in yours and laced your fingers together. You’d held hands before but it felt so different this time around, “you have me too, you know.”

“I know,” he mirrored the actions with your other hands, “I’ve always known.”

“Hmm,” you closed your eyes and hummed in content, “will you kiss me again?”

“Gladly, Bee,” he brushed his nose against yours, “always.”

MJ was going to flip when she heard the news.

[giveafike]

Deck the Halls - B.T.S

TLDR: Decorating the house w the Sheltons! This is part 1/12 of Azzie's Advent Calendar 2024!

Word count + info: 4.2k. including dialogue.

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! No warnings : )

Azzie Notes ✚: I'm so excited to share this with you!! Inspo hit me in the uni library and I immediately got drafting away hehehe. Do we like my new masterlist + homepage? how about the new dark blue and brown? Let me know, I'm still experimenting with the aesthetics here... hmm...Anyways, here's PART 1!

————————————————————————

The airport bustled with holiday travellers, bouncing excitedly as they hauled suitcases and holiday gifts, voices vibrating against the high ceilings. You adjusted your suitcase handle, scanning the crowd with a heart racing in anticipation.

You didn’t have to look for long.

Ben’s was always easy to spot, even in the ocean of people before you. He stood in the arrivals area, leaning casually against a pillar with his broad-shouldered confidence, squinted eyes while chewing his lip. It was some miracle he managed to spot you as quickly as he did. The moment his eyes found you, his face lit up, a grin spreading wide enough to make your chest ache in the best way. God, was he a sight for sore eyes.

Before you could even wave, he was moving, weaving through the crowd with long, purposeful strides, bee-lined and tunnel-visioned to you. When he reached you, he wrapped you in a tight hug that lifted you off your feet along with a few kisses to your temple and head.

“Finally,” he murmured, his voice warm in your ear, the familiar drawl like a balm to your homesick heart. “You don’t know how bad I’ve been waitin’ for this. Missed you so much.”

You laughed, clinging to him as he held you just a second longer than necessary. “Missed you too, Ben but you’re making a scene,” you teased, though your face was buried against his chest.

“Good,” he shot back, setting you down but keeping an arm looped around your waist. “Lemme look at you.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes trailing over your face like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. “Man, you look good. Like, too good. What are you tryin’ to do to me?”

You rolled your eyes, but the way your cheeks warmed betrayed you. “Ben, I’ve been flying for hours. You’re delusional.”

He smirked, grabbing your suitcase before you could protest. “Delusional or not, I’m serious. And you’re not carrying this, c’mon.”

The walk to the parked car was short, but Ben’s presence beside you made the airport fade into the background while he asked a million questions about your journey. When you stepped outside, there it was, a pristine white G-Wagon parked by the curb, its glossy finish catching the glow of the sun as if it had just rolled off a showroom floor. You let out a low whistle and nodded appreciatively.

"You like? Just got it cleaned up the other day for you"

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow as you took it in. “Cleaned up? Ben, it looks brand new.”

He groaned dramatically, tossing your suitcase into the trunk like it personally offended him. “Don’t even get me started. 300 bucks an hour to get it detailed. 300! I’m in the wrong profession, I swear to God. Forget tennis, I should just start my own car detailing business. Bet I’d make bank.”

You laughed as you climbed into the passenger seat, settling into the plush leather interior. “Ben, you’re literally a professional athlete. Pretty sure you can afford a couple hundred bucks for detailing. I think you’ll survive.”

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he shot you a quick, incredulous look. “Okay, but it’s the principle. 300 and for what? A wax job and a good vacuum? I’m tellin’ you, they probably spent 10 minutes on this thing and then sat in the back counting their money.”

You gave him a pointed look, smirking. “So you heard the price and still went ahead and got it cleaned?”

His hands froze on the steering wheel, and his face damped into an expression of pure guilt. “…well, yeah, but-”

“Exactly,” you cut him off with a laugh. “Finance major paying without thinking? Interesting. Aren’t you supposed to be good with money?”

“Hey now, don’t go throwin' my degree at me,” he fired back, though the grin tugging at his lips ruined his attempt at indignation.

“Then stop giving me so much material to work with!” you teased, settling back into the seat.

He let out a loud laugh, tapping the steering wheel as he merged onto the highway. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? I’m over here getting robbed-no- fleeced for you, and you’re sitting there making fun of me!”

“For me?” you echoed, feigning disbelief. “Ben, this is your car.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Minor technicalities. I did it for the aesthetic. So you could ride in style, alright? Don’t ruin the vibe.”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile didn’t falter. “First of all, I never told you to get it detailed. You could’ve rocked up in a dirty beat up Ford Fiesta, and I wouldn’t have batted an eye."

Ben gasped, shooting you a look, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “A Ford Fiesta? Babe, be serious. I hope you’d bat an eye. Your boyfriend would never own a Ford Fiesta. You're getting kidnapped if you even think I'd put you as a passenger in one of those.” He shot you a sidelong glance, his smirk playful. “That’s not who I am. That’s not the brand.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh, the brand. My apologies, Mr. Aesthetic.”

“That’s right,” he said, grinning. “We’re a ‘clean car’ household. Even if it costs me my sanity and half my paycheck.”

“Anddd...you're spiralling,” you sung with a grin.

“Am not,” he retorted, though the corners of his mouth twitched.

“You’re literally ranting about how car detailers are living the dream.”

“Well, they are,” he said, gesturing dramatically. “Do you know how much they probably rake in? I should’ve majored in car detailing instead of finance. I’d be retired by now.”

“Spiraling!” you repeated, unable to stop laughing.

“Okay, now I’m spiralling,” he admitted, chuckling as he reached over to grab your hand. His fingers laced through yours easily, his thumb tracing small, lazy circles against your skin. “But you make it worth it,” he added, his voice softening as he glanced your way, warmth pooling in his gaze, his words wrapping around the words like honey.

Your chest tightened at his sincerity, and you squeezed his hand. “I missed you, Ben.”

His grin widened, warm and bright like the Florida sun. “Missed you more.”

The short drive flew by in a blur of teasing banter and warm laughter. Before long, you were pulling into the driveway of Ben’s home, the house glowing with festive warmth. You barely had time to take in the festive glow spilling from the neighbouring houses before he called out, “We’re home!”

The door swung open, and Emma appeared almost immediately on the doorstep, her face lighting up when she saw you.

“You’re here!” she squealed, racing over to pull you into a hug.

You laughed, hugging her back. “Emma! Missed you!”

Lisa wasn’t far behind, her smile as warm as ever as she kissed your cheek and wrapped you in her arms. “We’re so glad you’re here,” she said softly. “Thank you for spending Christmas with us.”

“Thanks for having me,” you replied earnestly. “And for letting me get involved.”

“Oh, please,” Lisa said, brushing off the gratitude with a wave of her hand. “You’re family now.”

Before you could respond, Bryan emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel and smiling warmly. “There she is!” he said, his voice exuding a coach’s enthusiasm as he pulled you into a firm hug. It was the kind of embrace that immediately made you feel part of the team. “You’re just in time. We’ve got lights to untangle, decorations to hang, and a house to turn into a winter wonderland. Hope you’re ready to roll up your sleeves.”

You grinned, already feeling the infectious energy. “Always ready.”

Ben leaned casually against the doorway, a smug smile on his face.

“Heads up, though. Dad’s been itching to put you to work all day. He treats this like a championship game.”

Bryan clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder, grinning. “And someone’s gotta make sure it gets done right. Speaking of which, Ben, you’re on outdoor duty with me this year. That’s non-negotiable.”

Ben groaned, dragging a hand down his face theatrically. “Man, you’d think we’d hire someone by now to do all this.”

Lisa’s voice floated down the stairs as she and Emma descended with boxes in hand. “Absolutely not!” she called, her tone playful but firm.

“Where’s the fun in paying someone to do the best part of Christmas? This is family time.”

“Yeah, Ben!” Emma added with a grin, carrying a box that looked almost as big as her. “Stop trying to weasel your way out of it.”

Ben raised his hands in surrender, grumbling as he helped Bryan gather the lights from a big bin. “Fine, fine. Just saying.”

As Lisa directed Emma upstairs to fetch another box, you stepped into the living room, your eyes immediately drawn to the towering pine tree standing proudly in the corner. The scent of fresh pine filled the house, its needles scattered on the floor like tiny green confetti. You paused, taking it in.

“Oh, wow,” you murmured, stepping closer. “It’s beautiful.”

“Mhm,” Ben chimed in, suddenly beside you again, his arm resting lightly around your waist. “Dad always insists on the real deal.”

“It’s tradition,” Bryan added with a smile.

Ben leaned down, his voice low and teasing in your ear. “Told ya my family goes all out.”

You looked up at him, your heart full as the warmth of the house and his family’s welcome surrounded you. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The house soon buzzed with energy as Lisa and Bryan headed to the attic to fetch more decorations, their voices drifting down as they debated which box was which. Emma made trip after trip, grumbling good-naturedly about being the “pack mule.” Before long, you and Ben found yourselves cross-legged on the living room floor, knee-deep in a tangled mess of Christmas lights.

“Okay,” you sighed, holding up a hopeless knot. “This is impossible. Who just shoves them in a box like this?”

Ben grinned as he worked on his own section. “Maybe it’s a test. Builds character or something.”

You shot him a look. “Pretty sure I’m not learning anything except how much I hate whoever did this.”

“Mm, wow, festive...” he shot back sassily, leaning closer as he pretended to focus on his knot.

Ben stood as he untangled the lights, gently pacing around, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he untangled lights. You were zoned in. After a while, you noticed something..odd. Ben seemed to be making slow laps around you while whistling a small song. You could feel something snaking up your leg, growing tighter and more agitating.

“Ben…” you said suspiciously, narrowing your eyes.

“Hmm?” He didn’t look up, a whistle of holiday cheer on his lips, a smile breaking on his lips.

“You’re wrapping me in the lights!”

He stopped, wide-eyed with feigned innocence. “What...? No! Must’ve been an accident.”

“An accident?” you echoed, gesturing at your legs. “They’re literally tied around me!”

Before he could defend himself, Lisa walked in, her hands on her hips.

“Benjamin, what on earth?”

Bryan followed close behind, shaking his head as he took in the scene. “Already causing trouble, huh?”

“C’mon,” Ben tried, his grin sheepish. “It’s not that bad.”

Emma peeked in from the hallway, immediately bursting into laughter. “Ben, really? Can’t even untangle lights without turning it into a whole thing? Her first Christmas here and probably her last.”

Lisa sighed, stepping in to help free you. “You’re on your own with this one, Ben, no one's fending for you, young man.”

Bryan clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Alright, troublemaker, let’s go. Outdoor lights are waiting.”

Ben groaned as he was shepherded outside. “Man, I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You don’t get paid at all!” Bryan called back, earning a laugh from everyone.

“Exactly,” he muttered under his breath.

With Ben out of the room, Emma plopped down beside you, grinning. “He’s so easy to blame, isn’t he?”

“Way too easy,” you agreed, shaking your head as you picked up the lights again.

Lisa smiled as she handed you another box. “Alright, girls. Let’s get to work. The house won’t decorate itself.”

The living room was quickly becoming a festive workshop with you three girls chirping in conversation. Boxes were opened, and decorations of every shape and size spilt out onto the coffee table and floor in organised piles.

“Let’s start with the lights for the tree,” Lisa said, pulling out yet another tangled mess of twinkling bulbs. She handed one end to you and the other to Emma, gesturing for the two of you to get to work.

“I swear these things tangle themselves on purpose. Ben never packs them away properly,” Emma muttered, kneeling on the floor beside you.

As you began untangling, Ben’s mischief from earlier was still fresh in your mind. You were hyper-aware of every step you took to avoid recreating that particular disaster as you smiled at Emma's words.

Lisa flitted between the hallway and the living room, bringing garlands, baubles, and figurines.

“I’ll organise these while you work on that,” she said, eyeing the progress you and Emma were making with the lights.

It took some time, but eventually, you and Emma held up the neatly untangled string triumphantly. “Got it!”

“Perfect,” Lisa said, motioning for you both to circle the tree. “Now, remember, don’t just wrap them around the outside. Weave them in and out of the branches. Otherwise, it’ll look like a mess.”

Emma groaned. “We know, Mom. You only say this every year.”

“And yet,” Lisa teased, “every year, I have to redo half of it because someone doesn’t listen.”

Laughing, you and Emma began winding the lights around the tree while Lisa hovered nearby, occasionally stopping you to adjust a strand or reposition a bulb. Slowly but surely, the tree began to glow, the warm light casting soft shadows on the walls.

Once the lights were done, Lisa pulled out the garlands. “Alright, now these go next. Green and gold for the tree, red and silver for the mantle.”

The three of you worked together to drape the garlands, the tree taking shape as a stunning centrepiece.

Then came the baubles. Each one had a story, some were pristine and new, purchased earlier this year, while others were handmade or gifted over the years.

Emma held up a misshapen clay ornament, her face a mixture of embarrassment and fondness. “Oh no! My first-grade disaster.”

“Hey! I still think it’s cute,” Lisa said, hanging it front and centre.

“Mom!” Emma whined, though she was laughing.

You picked up a glittery bauble that had clearly seen better days. “What’s the story with this one?”

Lisa smiled. “That’s from Ben’s kindergarten Christmas. He got glitter everywhere making it. Came home with more glitter in his hair, his clothes and arms than the damn bauble, God, it was there for days.”

Emma snickered. “Classic Ben.”

As the stories continued, Lisa pulled out a delicate glass ornament shaped like an angel. Her expression eased. “This one’s from our first Christmas together,” she said quietly. “Back when Bryan and I were first dating.”

You held it carefully, admiring the intricate details. “It’s beautiful.”

Lisa smiled, her eyes warm. “And this one” she reached into the box, pulling out a small, heavy gold-metal ornament, “was from our first Christmas as a married couple.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of those memories settling warmly over all of you.

When the tree was nearly complete, Lisa climbed the step stool with the star in hand. “This is always my favourite part,” she said, placing it delicately at the top.

The living room sparkled with the glow of the tree, but there was still plenty to do. The three of you moved on to decorating the rest of the house. Garlands were hung on the staircase, stockings were carefully arranged along the mantle, and the nativity set was placed on a small table near the fireplace. In the kitchen, holiday-themed dish towels and centrepieces brought the festive spirit to life, while Emma lined the hallway mirror with a string of twinkling lights.

During all this, the front yard was abuzz as Ben and Bryan worked to untangle the long strings of lights, their voices carrying into the chilly evening air. A ladder leaned against the house, and plastic bins of decorations sat open on the porch. Ben held a tangled bundle of white lights, stretching them out to find the end while Bryan adjusted the ladder’s position along the front porch’s edge.

“You think we’re the only house in Florida still doing this ourselves?” Ben asked, his tone half-joking but with a thread of sincerity. “Bet all these other folks around here got companies for this kinda thing. They’re sittin’ inside toasty while we’re out here workin’ our butts off.”

Bryan snorted, looping a strand of lights over his arm. “You’ve said that about five times already, son. Sounds like you’re angling to hire someone for next year.”

Ben’s grin widened. “I mean, I’m just sayin’. Ain’t it smarter to delegate?”

Bryan paused, looking at Ben from the top of the ladder. “Smarter, maybe. But you can’t put a price on tradition.”

Ben tipped his head back, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Uh, I think you can, Dad. Pretty sure that’s what decorators do. They set the price.”

Bryan shook his head, laughing as he clipped a strand of lights into place. “You’ve been spending too much time crunchin’ numbers. This ain’t a spreadsheet, it’s Christmas, Ben. It’s about makin’ memories, not outsourcing ‘em.”

Ben muttered under his breath, “Still feels like highway robbery not to outsource ladder duty.”

Ben stepped back from the ladder, brushing his hands together as he looked through the living room window. His eyes settled on you, standing between Lisa and Emma, holding up one end of the garland like you three ladies were trying to negotiate a peace treaty. The sound of laughter muffled through the glass as Emma gestured dramatically at her mom, who was clearly in her element directing the two of you. You said something, and whatever it was, had Emma doubled over laughing, leaning against you for support while Lisa shook her head chuckling softly. Ben’s grin softened, his breath escaping in a small cloud in the crisp air.

Bryan caught the look, stepping down from the ladder with a knowing smile. He didn’t say anything at first, just following his son’s gaze. When Lisa threw her hands up, mock-annoyed at Emma, and you quickly stepped in to fix the garland, Bryan finally spoke.

“That’s the good stuff right there,” he said, his voice low but steady. “That’s what it’s all about. Why we do all this crazy stuff.”

Ben nodded slowly, his grip loosening on the string of lights in his hands. “Yeah… I get it.”

Bryan turned to him, his brow lifting. “You do?”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean, I didn’t- not like this. But seeing her in there, fitting in with us so easy? Like, she’s been doin’ this forever? That’s... somethin’ else, Dad. Makes me think about stuff different.”

Bryan tilted his head, studying his son. “Stuff like what?”

Ben hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like... how lucky I am. She didn’t have to come down here for this. She could’ve stayed up n' been with her family, but instead, she’s here. With us. That says a lot.”

Bryan nodded, a small smile playing on his face. “Says even more about how she feels about you, Ben.”

“Yeah,” Ben said quietly, his voice softer now. He glanced back at the window where you and Lisa were laughing over something. “She’s just... she’s somethin’ else, Dad. I don’t know how I got her to say yes to all this.”

Bryan chuckled, clapping a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Yeah you chose a good one. But don’t sell yourself short, kid. You’ve got a lot goin’ for you, just don’t forget it’s a two-way street. She’s here ‘cause of you, yeah, but she’s also here for what we are, what this is.”

Ben nodded, his grip tightening around the lights again. “I won’t forget. Ever.”

Bryan’s hand lingered on his shoulder for a moment before he patted him again. “Good. Now, before this turns into a Hallmark movie, how ‘bout we get back to work before your mama starts thinkin’ we’re slackin’ off?”

Ben laughed, some of the weight lifting from his expression. “Fair enough. Don’t want to end up on her bad side. You know how she gets about the lights.”

“Oh, I know,” Bryan said with a grin. “But that’s tradition too, son. And you know what I always say-”

“You can’t put a price on tradition,” Ben cut in, smirking.

Bryan shot him a pointed look. “Exactly. Now grab the ladder.”

Ben moved to grab the ladder, but not before sneaking one last glance through the window. The sound of your laughter carried faintly through the cold breeze, and he smiled to himself as he got back to work.

The sun had long set by the time Ben and Bryan finished stringing the last set of lights along the edges of the house. The chill of the evening bit through their jackets, and their breaths puffed visibly in the air as they stepped back to admire their work. The house was wrapped in glowing strands of warm white light, flickering icicles hanging from the gutters, and a glowing wreath positioned perfectly over the front door.

“You ready to see if we got it right?” Bryan asked, flipping through his phone to find the timer settings for the lights.

Ben shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, his teeth chattering slightly as he grinned. “Let’s do it. If it doesn’t light up, though, I’m blaming you.”

Bryan shot him a look. “You’re the one who tangled half the cords.”

He clicked a button, and with a soft whirr, the entire house came alive. The lights blazed warmly against the dark backdrop, illuminating the yard and casting a soft glow on the driveway.

Ben whistled low, the corners of his lips turning up. “Alright, fine, I’ll admit it. Looks kinda amazing.”

Bryan grinned, clapping Ben on the shoulder. “Good work, son. Now let’s get inside before we freeze out here.”

The two of them headed for the door, their boots crunching over the slightly frosted ground. Inside, the warmth of the house greeted them immediately, along with the smell of chocolate, cinnamon and marshmallows. Emma was in the hallway, packing up the last of the decoration boxes. Halo padded around her feet, wagging his tail and sniffing curiously at the leftover garlands.

“Don’t eat the tinsel, Halo,” Emma muttered as she scratched behind his ears. She glanced up, spotting Ben and Bryan shaking off the cold. “Took y’all long enough. You better be done, I am not bringing those bins back up tonight.”

“We’re done, don’t worry,” Bryan assured her, stomping the snow off his boots. “And it looks pretty good out there if I do say so myself.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I’ll take your word for it.”

In the kitchen, you and Lisa were finishing up the cocoa. The mugs were steaming, each topped with a swirl of whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the warmth spread through the room like a cozy blanket.

Ben barely made it through the living room doorway before you were there, a fluffy blanket in your arms. His cheeks were slightly red from the cold winds outside, and his nose looked frosty.

“Here,” you murmured, wrapping the blanket snugly around him. He let out a soft sigh of relief as the warmth surrounded him, leaning into your touch as you pressed a soft kiss to his chilled cheek. “You’re freezing.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he said, his voice still tinged with a shiver. “But it was worth it. House looks good.”

You smiled, handing him a mug of cocoa from the coffee table. “It better, after all that work.”

Ben grinned, his fingers wrapping around the mug as he took a long sip. “Okay, this makes it all worth it.”

Lisa ushered Bryan to the sofa in the living room opposite the fire, where she handed him his own mug and fussed over him briefly, adjusting his blanket and settling beside him.

“You two did a good job out there,” she said, her eyes flickering to the fireplace decorations you’d all worked on earlier. “It really feels like Christmas now.”

Bryan took a sip of cocoa, nodding in agreement. “You ladies did a fine job in here too. This place looks great. The fireplace? Perfect.”

Emma finished packing up the last box, then plopped down on the floor beside Halo, who promptly curled up beside her. “Can we officially call it done now?” she asked, looking up at Lisa.

Lisa smiled, glancing around the room. “I think so.”

Ben stepped closer to you, his mug in one hand while his other arm draped around your shoulders, the blanket draped over his back. The firelight cast a golden glow on his face, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his expression soft.

“You fit in here so well,” he said quietly, his voice warm and sincere. “It’s like you’ve always been a part of this.”

You leaned into him, your voice just as soft. “It feels like home. Like I’ve always been meant to be here.”

Ben’s arm tightened around you, his cheek brushing against your temple as he whispered, “This is gonna be a special Christmas, I can feel it.”

You smiled, resting your head against his chest as the warmth of the fire and the quiet hum of laughter and conversation filled the room. It was more than a feeling, it was a certainty.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Show Stopping.

This is the concluding story to the corresponding blog event, It’s Raining Crows and Dogs! I took inspo from Cruella (2021) while writing this piece.

Please note, I was not able to respond to all interaction requests, as many were sent after the submission period, disregarded rules, or simply did not catch my interest 💦 Apologies!

By My Hand.

Drinks dulled the senses, distracting from the din of the charity ball. Alcohol was forbidden on campus—but the sugar and the carbonation was enough to be ride that high, to loosen from the binds of stiff suits, glittering gowns, and falsified formalities.

The orchestra’s song swayed and sloshed like liquid in her ears. The golden lights refracting off chandelier crystals, kaleidoscopic.

Was it the juice or the tiredness messing with her senses?

Knocking back her glass, Raven let the fizzy, fruity concoction tumble down her throat. Bright citrus washed away her worries, the bubbles tickling her nose as it went down. She set the glass, now empty, down and called out to the anxious mob student manning the bar.

“Another, please.”

“… D-Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Raven-san?” Octa A asked. “That’s your seventh drink.”

She stared at him with blank, lifeless eyes.

Octa A immediately set to preparing the eighth. Club soda, fruit syrup, crushed mint leaves, and cubed ice.

“Long night?” he wondered out loud, attempting at conversation.

“Yes.” Raven groaned, nursing her aching head with one hand. “I was up for all of yesterday assisting Crewel-sensei with the final touches on his ensemble for this evening. Didn’t get a lick of sleep.”

“Oh. I-I’m sorry to hear that…” Octa A muttered. He topped off the fresh drink with a twisted lime wedge and then slid it to her. “Did your efforts at least pay off?”

She accepted the beverage with a tired yet grateful smile. “I have no clue. He has yet to arrive.”

Even though he demanded that I be here to witness ‘the fruits of my labor’…

“I’m sure he’ll show up soon.”

Raven cast a glance at her phone. 11:59 pm. Late—far too late.

“I highly doubt—”

BAM!!

The instant the clock struck midnight, the doors to the venue swung open, as if on cue. In strutted two Dalmatians, each fitted in a diamond encrusted collar. Trailing them was a figure in a white cloak with a long train, hood pulled over their face.

Heads turned. Onlookers gasped.

“Who is that?”

Raven stilled.

They produced a wand from a billowing sleeve and waved it in an arc. There was a dog collar looped around the end of the wand, a square magical gem on it.

Fire sprouted at the end of the mysterious guest’s train. It formed a coil, snaking up their body and engulfing the white. The exterior fell away into crumbling ashes and cinders, revealing what was underneath: a handsome face in a black and white eye mask, his suit a sinisterly shimmering crimson.

Divus Crewel, fashionably late.

Raven exchanged looks with Octa A.

The venue bursted into sound like a balloon popped. People rushed at him, flocking like birds, swarming like bees.

“Sir! What a grand entrance! How did you do it?”

“What a show stopping performance.”

“I thought my heart was about to beat out of my chest!!”

“Where did you get this outfit? I would like to own one for myself. Oh, you must pass me along the name of the brand.”

Crewel, right at home among his throng of admirers, chuckled. “I appreciate the compliments, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to find a replica of this look in any store or boutique. This ensemble is an original designed by yours truly.”

“Oh my!” A woman clutched at the string of pearls around her neck. “Would you be willing to do an original for me then?”

“Now, now! I had every intention of asking him first!” a mustachioed man protested.

“Unfortunately, I’ll have to turn down those requests,” Crewel interjected smoothly. “I am presently focused on my role as an educator. Your presence here at this event helps Night Raven College and its efforts to better the future and the local community.”

A murmur of agreement passed through the crowd.

“And another thing,” he continued, “I’m afraid I cannot take all the credit for my outfit. I may be responsible for the design, but the color of the dye was made in collaboration with a student.” Crewel searched the room and found Raven, letting his gaze linger on hers. She felt her mouth drying up. “This is the direction of the future.”

He flashed a dazzling smile. His handsomeness, a cutlass slashing through their defenses. Raven felt the entire room melt in response to Crewel.

“If you wish to support us and Night Raven College’s endeavors, we you may donate tonight. All proceeds will be going to an animal shelter on Sage’s Island.”

Several voices cried out simultaneously.

“I-I’ll donate! Of course I will!”

“Honey, we’ve got to support this cause.”

“You heard the man.”

“Night Raven College is such an exemplary learning institution!”

“Wow, Crewel-sensei strolled in and commanded the entire event,” Octa A mused. “Raven-san, the work you were doing yesterday… now it’s being seen by all of these people.”

“Well,” she said warily, absentmindedly swirling her half empty glass, “as long as he’s happy and NRC gets that money, I guess it’s fine.”

“That shade of red is nice,” Octa A commented. He was already assembling the ninth drink. “It suits Crewel-sensei very well.”

“I should hope so!” she huffed. “It took a lot of workshopping and several samples to find a shade that pleased him.“

“What did you name this one? Since you tend to label your homemade inks.”

“Ah, I call this one…”

Cruel Devil.

[skylarsblue]

✦C.o.D Call Sign Inspo✦

(I've been having a bad writer's block, but, I do have some mini ideas that I can't flesh out. But, I know some people struggle with names/concepts for Y/N's/Characters. So! I'm giving them out for free in hopes it'll inspire something in someone so they don't go to waste!)

✧Somno; Gender Neutral. A y/n that's main trait is being a hyper insomniac. To the point they always seem tired, constantly consuming caffine, etc. But even if they're falling asleep where they're standing, they have incredibly fast reflexes. Could lead to some funny scenarios of finding them asleep in weird places, or, a cute concept (them only being able to sleep when they feel completely safe; ie: with one of the c.o.d characters)

✧Mama; Feminine. Pretty on the nose, but it could also be translated into a different language to match a country of origin. The concept is basically just...an aggressively maternal lieutenant/captain. Because I feel we don't have enough strong MILF's in this world, let alone in this fandom. This could also be used platonically because 141 specifically could use a mom type. Ghost & Gaz specifically.

✧Saint; Gender Neutral. Can be used for a character that's incredibly self sacrificing. Which would make for good fluff & good angst, plus, I think a lot of us can relate to feeling. Partially inspired by a random line I thought of - "If I die protecting you, that's far less frightening than you being gone when I could've protected you. Dying once for you is a peaceful passing, rather than dying every day you're not with me."

✧Salvadora/Salvador; Fem or Masc. Disclaimer; when I had this idea I imagined a woman. An alternative to the cartel story line in Las Almas. Y/N runs a civilian resistance against the cartel and has commandeered a village to keep citizens safe. It's basically a paradise in the crime ridden city. They've been providing sneaky support for Alejandro's men. (Honestly, this concept is pretty specific, and more detailed, and I might break it down more/write it on my own if possible)

✧Copycat/Mimic; Gender Neutral. A y/n that's incredibly skilled at mimicking voices. Whether in different accents or actual voices.

✧Mirage; Gender Neutral. Disclaimer; I imagined this also as a woman because I like powerful ladies. Similar to the one above but instead of just voices, they're just great at disguises in general & particularly sneaky. Like they "fade out of existence" if you look away at the wrong time.

✧Lynx; Gender Neutral. For a small, deceivingly cute looking character that's actually super deadly and quick. Do not trust the toe beans.

✧Nessie; Gender Neutral-Fem Lean. Pretty self explanatory. A character that's illusive and great in water. Bonus points for Scottish rep.

✧Sparks/Fuse; Gender Neutral. Just a fuckin' pyromaniac that can make their own bombs, super impressive and intricate ones. Thought of a scene where they're all in the heat of battle, low on ammo, and Y/N brings up randomly that they were a troublesome teen who almost had a criminal record. Price asks what the charge was and they just light something that doesn't look at all like a bomb, with a giant grin. "It was arson!!" And then they throw a fuckin' devastating bomb.

✧Iris; Gender Neutral. A character known for a very intense/intimidating stare. Inspired by those clips of people losing to Angelina Joline's femme fatal stare. Also, them being able to read a shocking amount about a person purely through eye contact.

✧Sage/Blister/Morphine/Plaster; Gender Neutral. All names for a potential medic!Y/N. (Plaster, for us Americans, is a word for bandaid in the UK. I know y'all prolly know that but just in case)

✧Bee; Gender Neutral. For a Y/N that's visibly smaller than those around them but packs a real hard punch. Also good if they're particularly good at physical combat. "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee."

✧Sugarcube/Honey/Cupcake; Gender Neutral-Masc Lean. I think the idea of a big buff, visibly masculine, intimidating dude being named something like 'sugarcube' is super funny.

✧Lasso/Big Mac/Stallion; Masculine. Isn't it obvious? Big cowboy man who's aggressively American even if he's actually been a UK citizen for years.

✧Bessie/Cowgirl/Chick; Feminine. Once again, aggressively southern Y/N. But, for fem!y/ns.

✧Tex/Stars/Anthem; Gender Neutral. See above, but this time, neutral. Cause I'm about equality in this bitch.

✧Cobra/Mamba; Gender Neutral. For a y/n that specializes in poisons to kill enemies, as well as a character with any association with snakes. Could be interesting for Ghost to hear.

✧Doll/Dolly; Feminine. A more "spy type" for the classic femme fatal who gets intel through allure. If you've seen my two fic concept posts, this is the call sign I'd give to the Y/N in Price's concept.

✧Tech; Gender Neutral. Pretty basic, a character that's particularly tech-y. Good with computers and hacking.

✧Bunny/Hare; Gender Neutral. For a y/n that's small, but super fast & alert. Bonus if they got Hinata jumping powers.

✧Clover/Shamrock; Gender Neutral. Irish rep. Use this for a Y/N that is somehow the luckiest unlucky person ever. Constantly ending up in situations that are stressful/intense but making it out with barely a scratch. Can add some dissonance if they actually hate this call sign because it's not luck that gets them out of these situations, and instead is there skill.

[l223m0nade]

Bees (a stucky au snzfic)

ok

ok ok

so I saw this random thing on a tumblr post:

and it got its Stucky-idea hooks so deep in my brain. It just did. And the thing is my deepest inspo is honestly in the land of snz. (This fic kind of ends abruptly sorry but i want to do more and it'll probably end up on Ao3 w like a M or E rating 😳🫣 when and if that happens i'll link to it)

Stucky au, no powers, age gap, what I'm picturing in my head goes less with the words "silver fox Steve" and more with the words "dorky Dilf Steve" like 2012 Cap fashion with current Chris Evans face? in..a good way? and longhair early-20s burnout Bucky. I have some backstory headcanons that are just hinted at here, hopefully it's tantalizing rather than confusing.

anyway have 11.5k words of this and encourage me to write more bc i have fallen in love with these particular boyz. Some light existential angst but mainly idiots pining aka the sweetest sauce

~Fic~

Sam isn’t sure how much longer he can allow this to go on. His barback and the new semi-regular square dude are once again being all awkwardly flirty while pretending they’re not, like two sad lonely white...ducks, who never learned a mating dance and have zero game.

At least Square Dude has an excuse: he’s the most obvious newly-divorced newly-out family-type guy Sam’s ever seen. He’s clean-cut, with a ridiculously handsome square jaw, wearing well-made but unstylish button-down shirts and pants that make him look like he belongs in a Norman Rockwell painting. He started coming in about two months ago, quiet, friendly when ordering his one or two beers of the evening, and firmly shy when it comes to the inevitable overtures sent his way. It doesn’t take a genius to see that this is him dipping a first toe into the pool: coming to a relatively quiet gay bar, just to sit and watch men talk to each other and let the whole notion sink in.

By now most guys would’ve found someone to spread their wings with or gone elsewhere to find em, but Square Dude, whose name is Steve, seems content to talk to the guy who pours his beer about whatever DIY project Bucky is pulling questions out of his ass about.

The crush is painfully obvious, and suburban closeted Steve can’t be blamed for having no deal-sealing abilities, but Bucky has no such excuse. Sam has watched him pull stiff-backed business bros in five minutes flat when the mood struck him, with his big blue puppy eyes and his dark wicked smirk and long lean slouch. But with Steve all he appears capable of doing is asking him questions about crown molding as though those words mean anything to him while gazing at him like he’s beaming the words You could fix me directly into Steve’s skull. Steve, for his part, just doesn’t seem to be able to look anywhere other than Bucky.

As usual, anyone that tries to strike anything beyond a friendly conversation is kindly but firmly rebuffed. “He’s not ready for that yet,” Bucky had insisted with unnecessary defensiveness when Sam implied it was time for the new guy to move from spectating to participating in the relatively mellow flirting and hookup scene the bar played host to most evenings. “People go at their own pace.”

“The only pace he’s going at is towards you,” Sam smirked. Bucky glowered at his implication. “You gotta make it weird. He comes here to, like, practice. I’m part of that, in a chill, friendly way.” He shrugged and looked at the glass he was drying. “When he is ready, it’s not gonna be for me, it’s gonna be for someone actually in his league, like a...hot college professor, or something.” Sam had rolled his eyes and resolved to stop trying to help Bucky Barnes flail around in his mess of a love life anymore, for the hundredth or so time.

Tonight is busy enough that Sam can mostly be distracted from this bad sitcom, and not so busy that he has to yell at Barnes for being distracted. Still, there are a couple empties on tables in the Steve-less side of the bar, and after finishing the drinks for the people in front of him he turns, catching Bucky’s voice, in a tone of delight he uses when speaking with only one person, saying “Wait. Seriously? Bees?”

“Yeah!” Steve responds, equally puppyish. He’s tall and broad, sandy hair and beard just beginning to show a hint of salt-and-pepper. He looks like anyone’s fantasy fireman or lumberjack, at least in the context of a place like this. He also exudes genuine sweetness and vulnerability despite his intimidating muscled height.

Bucky Barnes, Sam’s barback and old friend, leans against the bar doing the helpless-goober-with-a-crush stare, a look on his face like Steve just announced he was a Nobel Prize winner. “No way. How do you keep bees? Just as, what, a casual hobby? That’s, like, a whole thing, you can’t be an expert in so many things!”

Bucky is all shaggy longish dark hair and stupid cheap graphic t-shirts, with a striking, animated face that is used mainly for sarcasm. He and Sam had been at the same high school a few blocks away, though Sam is older, and in the funny way of life they’ve wound up good friends. He’s working at Sam’s place because, in his words, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing with his life. Bucky’s going through his own version of one of those fairly bleak lost periods of 20-something misery, but he’s smart and not a drunk and decent at what he does for Sam, and if he bangs a third of the customers he does it discreetly enough. Sam never knew dark-blond, broad-shouldered, bass-voice sad-eyed dudes pushing 40 were the kryptonite that made him unable to do anything including flirt, until Steve came in one day and Bucky sprayed himself with the keg he was tapping.

Steve chuckles— is this man blushing? “Oh no, I’m nowhere near an expert. But it’s pretty easy once they get established. Don’t need much from you. I’m not, uh, living at the place with the backyard where the hives are, right now….so….but they’ll be fine without me.”

Steve gets a little quiet and Bucky’s fangirl expression dims with distressed sympathy. It gets sad like this sometimes when talking to Steve. Recently divorced guys had this problem, where everything came back to the one topic. Steve’s not doing it pathologically, didn’t seem like, just genuinely realizing another change. Bucky looks stricken. He doesn’t always seem young, at newly 24, but sometimes it still shows.

Sam finally manages to catch his eye away from gazing at Steve to convey a quick head jerk of get-the-hell-over-there-and-do-the-job-I-pay-you-for, and Bucky peels himself away with an apologetic smile at Steve. Sam picks up the conversation with Steve as Bucky clears tables at top speed, hearing how he’s renting a place month-to-month not far away, not able to plan something more permanent just yet. He doesn’t say anything revealing, but it’s still easy to paint a picture of a small, empty apartment. Bucky’s not the only one with a soft spot for this guy, and Sam is warmed by the thought that his little bar offers him respite.

………………..

“That’s so sad,” moans Bucky a few days later. It’s just after opening on a weekday afternoon, and Bucky seemed quieter than usual so Sam is tantalizing him with what he learned talking to Steve the other day. “Did he say—you know he has kids?”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam answers. He’d been as offhand as a person could be about that sort of thing, but it wasn’t hard to see how he really felt. He was standing in the rubble of a sincere loving marriage to a woman with whom he had two 11-year old twins. Helped explain his rectitude when it came from moving from his spot at the bar, meeting someone other than the staff. Bucky’s eyes are pools of sympathetic anguish and Sam feels the need to say, “This kinda stuff happens to people, Buck,” earning an eye-roll for his patronizing efforts. “It’s good he’s coming here, learning about himself. I think you help a lot, for the record.”

Bucky starts and gives him a bewildered look. “What?”

This is aging him. Sam sighs, “He’s lonely. Maybe feels kinda lost right now.”

Bucky’s mouth gets a pained downward slant to it.

“He. Likes. You.”

At that, of course, Bucky gets uncomfortable, blushing and moving off to wipe tables somewhere away from Sam, rubbing his nose and clearing his throat like he’s been doing since he got there. He brightens when Steve comes in an hour later, and Sam rolls his eyes and leaves them to their game of mouse-and-mouse.

Steve is telling Bucky... how window insulation works. He thinks he asked, he hopes to god he did, at least. He’s been embarrassing himself for weeks, coming to this place almost every day. He’s kept it pretty well under wraps that although he liked the neighborhood simplicity, and talking to Sam, and got comfortable after the first few visits, the real reason he’s there more evenings than not is to see Bucky. With his bright grey-blue eyes and dark hair hanging past his chin, swinging against his cheekbones, with his smile and wicked sense of humor and his confounding ease in himself, the ease that gives Steve despair and hope for himself. With that mouth and that divot in his chin, and those last two thoughts are not allowed, because the need to put his thumb into that dot in his sculpted chin and kiss those ridiculously pink lips is urgent and unthinkable.

He doesn’t do that, he just sits and pines and chats awkwardly with him, and gets to know a few other regular guys and talks sports with Sam. He just likes talking to Bucky, it’s easy, easy like nothing has been in a long time, and he’s a creep, he’s a pathetic older guy using his experience to take advantage of a younger guy—

Only, he’s not actually experienced here, at all. And Bucky is so smart, he’s self-deprecating about it but it’s not like he and Steve aren’t generally on the same level beyond his inner glossary of home improvement terminology. He downplays the fact that he knows cars like an expert, insists the stuff Steve learned from keeping up an old house and the hobbies he picked up to stay sane is somehow far more impressive— Steve’s pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose, to make him feel less adrift and clueless. He has that way about him, of someone who looks after other people without realizing it.

Things were all dark there for a while, with the end of his marriage to Peggy. But he’s pretty sure he and Bucky are friends, and he feels bright when he sees him.

Tonight, though, Bucky seems just a little worn down. He’s wearing a waffle-knit shirt under his incomprehensible-thorny-calligraphy-t-shirt, as though he’s cold, and his eyes are tired. Steve waits for a reply to the last thing he said and looks to see Bucky with a dazed, spaced-out expression, before he shakes his head and rubs his nose, saying “Sorry, I thought I was gonna sneeze, what’d you say?”

Talking about the goddamn weather and window insulation was segueing into a real conversation, to Steve’s delight: “How my mom moved us out to Jersey so we could live somewhere better and I never forgave her.” Bucky gives a wide-eyed grimace of agreement and he can’t help the bright laugh that bursts out of him. “How about you, you grow up in the city?” He’d inadvertently spilled his guts about the divorce on like his third time in the bar, something that humiliated him to think of but Sam had simply said with an understanding face wasn’t too unusual, so Bucky knew the basics about Peggy and the twins, but Steve had felt clumsy asking Bucky about himself.

He rolled his eyes with his problematically attractive crooked grin and answered, “Aw man, I grew up practically around the block from this place. Went to high school at the big catholic cinderblock in the neighborhood. I was at school on the west coast for a couple years, but…” His eyes cast downward. “now I’m back.”

Steve remembers how bad it felt at that age, to not have accomplished enough fast enough. Saying that will make him sound like an old grey dad and even if that’s what he is he can still hold out a little hope of being something different here, so he just says, “Brooklyn’s a good hometown to come back to.”

That makes Bucky smile at him and look him in the eye, like he liked what Steve said, even like it made him feel better. Steve tamps his answering grin down to reasonable levels.

Bucky’s also been rubbing at his nose on and off this whole time, and he can see it give a little twitch right before he breathes out a “scuse-me” through hitching breaths, his eyes flickering closed. He pushes his nose firmly into his long-sleeved elbow. “hhh-hh-tdschuh!” He sneezes quietly and muffled. “Oh, snf, sorry,” he says, blinking and emerging from his elbow but not lowering it, the hazy ticklish look still on his face, breaths hitching. “Another—hhh—‘nother one?” He freezes, looking up at the overhead lights, nostrils flared, but after a second he deflates with a sigh. “Nope, nevermind. Snff.” Steve’s guts swoop. This crush is so unsustainable. He’s gonna fail to be cool and friendly and he’ll have to watch Bucky go all uncomfortable and pitying as he explains to Steve that he has six hot boyfriends who are not almost-forty almost-virgin losers who only know how to take up his time when he’s trying to work. According to his therapist these “harangues of negativity” are “unhelpful.” But Bucky looks tired and a little pale and like his nose is going to start turning pink and Steve is just trying to survive.

“Bless you,” Steve says softly in his gentle voice that’s so deep it takes Bucky by surprise and makes his stomach flutter every time he talks to him. He feels like he might be blushing.

“Thanks,” it comes out husky and he clears his throat hard, moving to the little sink to wash his hands.

“Allergies, or…?” Steve ventures, a little divot between his eyebrows of concern-more-like-pity.

“I dunno, something’s bothering my nose today,” he says lightly with a shrug. In truth Bucky has a good idea what’s making him sneeze. The fucking radiator that was supposed to heat his cheap shitty basement apartment had stopped working in the middle of the night, so he’d spent six hours until dawn shivering, and an itchy tickly feeling had been growing in the back of his nose and throat since around noon. It’s starting to evolve into a runny nose and an ever-present but elusive feeling of being about to sneeze, and he knows that means he’s coming down with a cold.

He sees some convenient glasses to clear and excuses himself with a smile so he can sniffle out of Steve’s earshot; he’s enough of a mess compared to Steve on his best day, he doesn’t need to show off his scraggly urchin runny nose aesthetic of tonight any more than he has to.

For the next hour, these light, tickly sneezes either sneak up on him or abandon him at the last minute, leaving his nose feeling like it’s going to start getting stuffy.

Steve watches Bucky do his job, sniffling, rubbing his nose, and sneezing furtively into his sleeve or collar; tucking the strands of hair that have come loose from his short ponytail behind his ears, and feels so helplessly tender for him that it can’t be normal or healthy even by desperate crush standards.

Bucky’s coming down with a cold. He seems to want to brush it off, but Steve can hear a slight change in the resonance of his voice that gives it away even if the tired pink starting to border his eyes and nostrils doesn’t. The place is getting crowded and he’s busy; Steve feels for him, as well as pathetically jealous of his attention as he banters with him in passing once in a while.

He glances up as Bucky heads in his direction with a short stack of empty glasses and sees his steps slow; he pauses, blinks up at the overhead light, eyes hazy, and then, wavering, starts to turn his face into his shoulder, before pausing again and then sighing and sniffing as the sneeze evaporates. He looks up and sees Steve watching him like a creep and laughs, “Damn, lost her,” and then as he continues behind the bar, “You havin’ fun watching me look stupid?”

“It’s agony actually,” he responds, gets a laugh, and feels the now-somewhat-familiar internal squeal of this is flirting! I’m flirting with a guy and I think he can tell! It’s painfully pathetic, but he can’t help but track the fact that Bucky knows plenty of the folks that come to Sam’s, that he’ll give anyone his attention if they ask for it, smiling and joking, but the only person he really goes out of his way to talk to, initiates teasing with, is him, Steve. It’s still nothing more than polite obligatory chatting, he’s sure— when you work at a bar this kinda thing is natural. Bucky is young and charismatic and gorgeous. His love life would probably give Steve enough combined envy and jealousy to cause heart failure, which would be perfectly appropriate because he is an old square divorcee. It makes him warm and bubbly enough that he seems to be Bucky’s favorite customer to pass the time with.

A guy down the bar gets his beer from Sam and sidles closer. “This seat taken?” he asks with a good-humored cocked eyebrow. This is why Steve actually started coming to this place: to meet people, to meet guys, in a way that, well, went somewhere. To call his own decades-old bluff. Not to moon over staff half his age who woulda been out of his league even if he was still in his twenties. He turns to the guy—his age or a few years older, attractively lithe with muscle, a hard but handsome face, and smiles.

Bucky gets busy for a stretch— Sam’s place is actually full tonight thanks to the playoff game. He enjoys the feeling of being a genuinely necessary part of the bar’s operation, when some nights it’s hard to believe he’s more than Sam’s charity case. Nights like this remind him that he has a real job, he’s decent at it even with a bum left arm; whether he’s living out his dreams or not he’s an adult with a job, a place to live, and people he cares about. Plus it distracts him from feeling sorry for himself for coming down sick.

His satisfied feelings fade when he looks over to the Steve end of the bar and sees Brock Rumlow talking to him. He scowls. Fucking Rumlow. He only ever comes on nights with games these days, but Bucky would be perfectly happy if he never came in at all.

It’s fine. Steve’s fine. He is a grown-up, significantly more of one than Bucky. Of all the people who have no need of his misplaced ineffectual chivalry, Steve has got to be last in line.

Maybe he finds more stuff to do in the general area of that end of the bar, and maybe he’s listening for Rumlow to say something dickish, or maybe he’s just a masochist and he wants to know firsthand if they hit it off. Sam is trying to point his “Don’t-be-Stupid” face at him like a flashlight beam but he resolutely ignores it while he replaces a couple bottles that legitimately needed it, ok, just because they’re in a convenient place doesn’t make that untrue.

“Yeah, I’m glad I found this place,” he catches Steve’s cheerful voice. A wave of bar noise obscures their next words, and then he makes out Rumlow,

“—actual sports on the TV. ‘Course,” the smile is audible in his voice, “the clubby places are good for at least one reason, y’know?” He quiets down to say it but not enough. Steve wouldn’t particularly like that, Bucky guesses, and then grinds his teeth as his brain helpfully supplies him with the memories of how easily Brock had charmed him, months ago. It wasn’t any kind of nightmare, but it was still probably his least favorite hookup to date: he’d been so happily focused on Bucky at first, then rough and selfish in bed, capped off by an unnecessarily clear implication that he wouldn’t be calling. Bucky knew the score with casual sex, but it had still given him enough whiplash to sting; it crossed his mind a few days later that it had been like Rumlow wanted him to feel like a dumb kid.

Steve has sputtered something about “not sure he’s looking for anything like that” while Bucky fumed about the past. He has to grab beers for a couple guys, and bending to get in the lowboy fridge makes his nose run suddenly, and flush with an insistent tickle. He manages, just barely, to squash the sneeze completely into a silent mmp! into his shoulder, andmakes a getaway to the bathroom. He blows his nose, but it won’t stop tickling, so then he stands there like an idiot, holding paper towels like they’re a book he’s reading, staring up into the lights and waiting to coax the sneeze out.

He can feel it coming but it still takes forever. At least the bathroom is empty. He wrinkles his nose exaggeratedly and sniffs and his breath finally starts to catch.

“hehh...heh...heh—heh-Uhh....huhh. Fuck.” There’s no way it’s not happening though, his goddamn nose tickles so bad— “hhHAh—EHSsschhooo!” It’s a ridiculous cartoony sneeze but at least it’s satisfying. He blows his nose again, then sighs. He’s definitely sick. Gonna be great sleeping in a freezing apartment. Turning into kind of a shitty night, he thinks with sarcastic pep.

When he leaves the restroom he can’t help glancing over to where Steve sits, and sees he’s now frowning at whatever Rumlow’s saying, looking politely uncomfortable on the way to annoyed. As he drifts back into earshot he hears, “….fun, but, if you’re looking for more than, um, casual, I dunno, kind of a dead end.” Then his pulse jumps as Rumlow looks right at him and finishes, “not dating material, trust me. Either way,” he leans in, “I think you can do better.”

Bucky closes the distance but puts himself behind the bar so he doesn’t immediately clock the asshole. His fists are clenched. Can he throw him out? If he doesn’t get away from Steve and shut up Bucky’s gonna end up fired and charged with assault, probably, but he doesn’t know if he can throw someone out on the grounds of being a jerk that he hates. Thank God, Sam’s caught on that something is up.

Rumlow doesn’t seem to have won Steve over, in any case. He’s turned cold and hard in a way that makes him look unfamiliar, and he says quietly but very clearly, “I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” He sounds like a straight Army Captain contemptuously shattering an underling’s heart immediately post-office-suckjob or something; in the morass of anger and panic it still registers with Bucky’s dick to his utter bewilderment. It definitely triggers some core memory for Rumlow, who turns the color of old milk before flushing and standing. He takes in the sight of Bucky glowering behind Steve and barks an ugly laugh. “It’s like that, huh?” he asks, shaking his head in mock pity. “Good luck with that rescue mission.”

Bucky feels like he did when Hank Ackerman pantsed him in 8th grade. Everything’s too bright and clear. He wants to cover his face and run into the back, but he’s rooted to the spot by the thought that that’s just what the dumb baby slut Rumlow’s been making him out to be would do.

“That’s it man,” Sam comes up beside him, smile on his face as though he’s just casually joining their conversation. “You’re done. Get outta here.”

Rumlow scoffs, takes a step towards the door, then turns with the beginning of a macho intimidation-lean in Sam’s direction. He’s hammered, Bucky hadn’t realized, and he can usually tell with people. He’s...kind of fucking scary. Had he gotten rougher around the edges, or had he been like this when Bucky went home with him? Jesus Christ.

Sam just returns his stare, all semblance of friendliness gone from his face. “Get out.”

Rumlow glares another second, but then he goes. There’s a reason Sam’s successful running a bar in the middle of the still-managing-to-be-seedy part of Brooklyn, as well as his finely tuned sensibilities to the unmet needs of Brooklyn’s grownup queer folks. He has the air, recognizable to serious troublemakers, of someone who will absolutely meet and raise any escalation. There were, in fact, a taser and a gun behind the bar, but Sam had never had to use them.

Steve stands up sharply, like he’s—what, gonna follow? Bucky opens his mouth to protest, but then—“Steve.” Sam’s got the side bar entry folded up and he’s intercepting his angry stride. “Please don’t.” He goes on, too quiet for Bucky to make out. Steve deflates and sits back down, taking a long drink of beer and then frowning at his knees.

Bucky consciously lets go of his tension as he sees Rumlow’s silhouette, walking outside, disappear from the last window on the right. He feels shaky, the way any kind of confrontation leaves him, and embarrassed as hell. He avoids Steve’s eyes for all he’s worth, scrubbing a hand under his nose and sniffing sharply.

Steve was just a customer. Bucky was just one of many people that Steve made polite conversation with in the course of a day. Feeling like this was just a consequence of getting that confused. Because he’s an idiot. He has to sniffle again. He also feels about ten times sicker than he did a few minutes ago, and successfully blinking away the brief prickle in his eyes just turns it into the need to sneeze.

Steve tries to breathe smoothly and calm down. This frat-boy rage is ridiculous, he still wants to go punch the hell out of that fucking creep. He must be drunker than he realizes, although deep down he knows it has more to do with the inarticulate surge of protectiveness he’d felt for Bucky since the guy had gestured to him with a jerk of his head as he crossed the room.

He hears a shuddering gasp and sees Bucky duck down to crouch behind the bar. His concern flares way up, but then he hears the three muffled sneezes, all in a rush, “hhhMPtchsh—hmptsschoo—hptsshhuh,”. He straightens back up, sniffing hard, more wetly than he sounded earlier. He’s rubbing his nose and glaring at the door, not looking at Steve.

“Bucky,” he says, frowning, determined to get this across, “what that asshole said about you—”

“Steve, snff, it’s fine, just drop it, okay, I’m asking you,” he meets Steve’s eyes with a downcast expression, before it flickers as his breath catches, and he sneezes again, half-pinched down into the collar of his shirt, “ihh-dtsschuh!”

His nostrils keep quivering and he lets out a shaky sigh of frustration before ducking around the corner out of sight with his hands tented over his nose and sneezing, “hiih-hih-HIDtschoo!...hih-HIH-TISchoo! ..heehh...heh—HEH—” the last one deserts him and leaves him sniffling. They’re still pretty quiet, but a lot heavier and spraying than the first sneezes Steve heard earlier. Bucky blows his nose and washes his hands thoroughly, and when he’s back behind the bar his nose is decidedly pink.

“Buck,” Steve says, and Bucky’s lips thin in exasperation— it’s not like him, compared to the guy Steve’s talked to the last few weeks. Whatever, he can’t help but say, “you do sound like you’re coming down with something, you should—”

“Steve, I’m fine,” says Bucky, in a soft tone that brooks no argument. Still tense, he turns to Steve with a crooked smile and says, “Really,” and it’s warm, if strained, between them again, and it seems like that’ll just have to satisfy Steve, and he says as much to Bucky who blushes and bites his lip for some reason.

Sam rescues Bucky by asking him to do inventory in back, letting him be sneeze and be dramatically in his feels without anyone around, especially Steve. The bar is slow enough now that he just shamelessly hides for the rest of the night. He’s constantly sniffling and sneezing and needing to blow his nose with the roll of rough brown paper towels back there, and even without that he’s too keyed up and pissed and miserable for human company, so it’s for the best.

He casts furtive recon glances to the bar where Steve sits, first craning his neck trying to spy Bucky, then brooding into his beer glass which makes Bucky feel like an asshole, then perking up at least a little shooting the shit with Sam, hopefully talking shit about Brock Dickface Rumlow. Then the misery wells up enough to get him to actually focus on work to avoid feeling it, and then it’s a few hours later and they’re closing up and he goes home to his little icebox and tires not to think about anything.

The next day, Sam chooses evil.

Steve and JB Barnes are both at least somewhat complex men, and it is always a bad idea to meddle in the affairs of others. But screw it, he’s had Bucky moaning in his ear for months now, and he was gonna have to recheck all his angry counting from last night, and these guys really seemed dumb enough to let the tension of mutual attraction strain between them until it just broke, some misunderstanding threw them both on the defensive or whatever, and they missed the chance at any of the fun part of connecting with each other.

So.

It isn’t a big surprise when Bucky calls him around 2, apologizing and pausing to make some gross “ihHgjshuhh!” noise, saying he was probably too sick with this cold to come in. What is a surprise, for poor Bucky, is Sam’s implacable response: “Duuude, I’m so sorry, but there’s some kinda convention in town and the place is packed, I need you here so bad, no matter what. You can take the next two days off, I’ll pay you.” He hears Bucky swallow back the what the hell and resignedly say ok. He feels diabolical. But hopefully it will be worth it. Steve usually comes in early on Thursdays, and he’d looked all hangdog-worried about Bucky the night before.

He’s been there twenty minutes already, chatting distractedly with Sam and staring at the TV screens but really looking all over the room like Bucky might be hiding somewhere. Bucky slouches in, ten minutes late, takes in the mostly empty room and gives Sam a betrayed glare.

“You really ndeeded mbe, huh,” he mutters as he puts his backpack away.

“You don’t even sound that bad,” Sam rejoins cheerfully, and Bucky’s mouth drops open with incredulity.

He moves some boxes around in back without issue. Then he tries to start prep by the bar. In a fifteen-minute period he has two sneezing fits that require him retreating to the bathroom to blow his nose endlessly and wash his hands. Sam decides that’s plenty sufficient. He and his customers are gonna pay a price in germ exposure for this stupid ass cupid skit he’s putting on.

“Steve, you believe this guy?” Bucky’s been avoiding Steve’s concerned hopeful looks since he got here. “He insisted on coming to work.” Bucky chokes in outrage, then coughs for real, while Steve moves a few seats closer. Sam turns; Bucky couldn’t look more betrayed if there was a knife with Sam’s name on it in his guts. Lord deliver him from dramatic white boys. “Did you take the bus here, Buck?” There was no other way for the guy to get to work, but he just replies flatly,

“Yeah.”

“You oughtta go home and rest.”

“Le me give you a ride, Buck,” Steve jumps in with the Air-Bud eagerness Sam had expected. They confirm it and bustle Barnes into a Civic while he’s sneezing too much to protest. Sam washes his hands metaphorically of the situation, and also very literally and thoroughly.

Steve’s car is a little old, and cold, and dusty. Bucky shivers as he buckles his seatbelt. He feels silently nervous and thrilled to be in Steve’s Car!!, but at the moment it’s hard to be anything but….sneezy…

“hhh-hh-hhmmPtchuh! S-s-sor-ry-hiihHIptchsh!” Holding them back when he feels like this just makes his nose more irritated and thus even sneezier. He stubbornly jams his fist under his nose to quell the tickle. He has some napkins from work, so a nose-blow is possible, but it doesn’t feel possible, not so close to Steve, who has it a million times more together than Bucky even on days when he isn’t falling apart on a cellular level.

“Bless you,” Steve says quietly. He looks at him reflexively, to see a small, sweet, sympathetic smile. “Ready?” Bucky gives a little nod and the car pulls out into the slushy road.

His nose is running onto his finger, it’s a crisis. This is why it’s always a terrible idea to leave the house when you’re really sick. “Ugh, I gotta blow mby ndose, I’mb sorry, I’mb so gross right ndow,” talking also makes his nose angry. Fucking Sam and his supervillain plan to humiliate him. What had he done to deserve this? He fumbles for the napkins with his less-dextrous left hand, the one he should have stuck under his nose, goddamnit, he’s gonna sneeze again…

“Psh, don’t worry about it,” scoffs Steve like the big huge dad he is, then with a sympathetic glance he turns the radio on, to the classic rock station, because of course, Bucky almost laughs even while racing to get tissues on his face before this giant wet sneeze overcomes him. The music is loud and it does help him feel less embarrassed.

“heh—HEH-KSSSHOOoo!” he gets the wad of napkins in front of him just in time. Blowing his nose after that demolishes them, but he feels a little closer to a human being.

“Bless you!” Steve chuckles. “Man you got a good bug, jeez!”

Why are he and Sam both so cheerful. “Thanks, I’mb glad you’re impressed,” he croaks.

“You have cold stuff at home?” Huh? When Bucky doesn’t answer he continues, “Tissues, tea, soup, medicine, you know?”

“Oh, umb, sorry, I’m tired,” Steve makes a sympathetic sound. “I usually just use toilet paper. I took the last of my Dayquil before work. I dunno if it even helped, all it feels like it did is mbake me jittery and sdeezy.”

“Why don’t we stop by a drugstore.” He sounded decisive.

“Oh, you don’t have to bother with that, really Steve—” he pauses to sniffle desperately. Technically he can afford a couple things, and he probably needs them. “Or—you could drop me off and I’ll get myself home from the store, that would totally be a big help—”

“Is the heat even on in your place?” Steve interrupts, shrewd-eyed. At Bucky’s wide-eyed sputtering response he continues, “I knew it. I used to be a broke Brooklyn kid, once upon a time. Only reason to come into work, am I right? Can’t believe landlords are still getting away with this shit.”

Bucky considers denial, then slumps. “S’why I’mb so much...hhh...worse...hh-huh-hudschuh! Snff-snff. Worse today. They said it’ll be fixed by tomorrow so...we’ll see, ha. I got a space heater and an electric kettle though, I can get in my blankets and drink tea and I’m fine.”

Steve is quiet, no response, and Bucky worries irrationally that he pissed him off. A few minutes of classic rock later, he pulls into the small parking lot attached to the drugstore, turns the car off, and turns to him, looking a little uncomfortable.

“Bucky I—” he breaks off and laughs to himself. “I know you have to be polite to customers, I don’t want to—” he makes eye contact, looking pained and rueful. “I’d like to think we’re friends. But I don’t want to put you on the spot or anything,”

“We’re friends,” Bucky interrupts gently. Steve’s face brightens like a sunrise and Bucky’s chest does a nice warm thing.

“Yeah? That’s...I’m real happy to hear it.” Steve says, sheepish but grinning. Then his eyes get the determined look that Bucky is starting to think means trouble. “Well the reason I asked is, as a friend, I really hate the idea of you trying to ride this out in an icebox apartment. I have heat. And a couch!” He hastens to add at whatever wide-eyed look Bucky’s giving him. “It’s just, I know it’s no fun being sick by yourself, and, well, honestly I wish I’d socked that asshole at the bar last night, and I really wish I’d clocked him as a jerk faster, and I’d feel a lot better if I could do something nice for you, and you really seem like you could do with some rest and medicine. Will you let me grab some stuff here and spend the night at my place—where there’s heat— and let me fuss over you?”

“Steve, that’s—that’s so nice, but I really can’t imb—snff—impose on you, and I gotta be so contagious right now…”

“I don’t care about that,” Steve says easily. “And I know you’re not gonna die on your own, but,” and, whoa, he’s deploying some kind of dignified mature version of puppy-dog eyes, it’s so sincere, and also so certain, that it starts to seem like the only sensible course of action is to let his gorgeous crush take him to his apartment while he’s the polar opposite of sexy, an unspeakable snot factory, and also possibly starting to run a fever.

….His apartment is gonna be so goddamn cold.

And lonely, incidentally.

And Steve is so nice. He’s literally, actually here, he seems to mean it that he wants to take care of Bucky’s sick bedraggled ass as some kind of friend-favor. There’s no way this is a come-on with him in this state, even if he can still muster enough energy to wish it was. No way Steve’s ever gonna want to fuck him after watching him snuffle through 200 tissues and mouth-breathe all evening, but he was nuts to think he ever would anyhow. He’s just that nice, and Bucky is that pathetic, and that might not feel great, but he wants to be Steve’s friend, he really does, and even through his own shyness he can see that the guy is pretty lonely.

“You, umb. You really don’t have to.” He says, watching Steve, who waits with obvious hopefulness. “But. Uh.” Steve raises his eyebrows and gives him a little smile, and Bucky finds himself returning it helplessly. “If you really don’t mbind. It could, potentially, be really ndice to take you up on that. You really don’t have to though!”

“I want to, though.” Jesus, he’s so sincere. Bucky feels some weird kind of protective way about the earnest honesty in his eyes.

“Well, then, okay. Thangk you, I really appreciate it.” He laughs, finally feeling how miserable it would have been to go back home and try to sleep in a cold blanket pile on his mattress on the floor. “Mby place sucks right now.”

“Alright then,” Steve beams. “Let’s get you a couple things and then get you cozy.”

Bucky’s nose is not okay with him using his face to talk instead of constantly blow it. It’s gotten completely blocked, and it’s tingling unpleasantly, and running so bad again he has to smush his knuckles under his nostrils. The tickle crests and his breath catches before he can do anything about it, but he clenches his jaw and forces it into a stifle. “hhh-huh-MMP!!” The problem with doing that is it just makes the tickle— “hh-mMP!” worse. “Ugh, sorry.” His hand is a dam against his nose at this point.

“Bless you!” They both step out of the car, but Steve hurries over to his side with a crinkle in his brow. “Why don’t you just stay here and I’ll grab a few things. Anything in particular, or just tissues and NyQuil?”

“Dyquil is just schndapps,” Bucky grumbles, then his brain catches up a little and he says “tissues,” fervently, and then it catches all the way up and he says “wait, ndo way are you buyig!”

Steve cocks an eyebrow like a handsome jerk. “You really wanna go in there?” With your current nose situation? He’s kind enough to not say.

He casts about for a moment—“Grab me a little pack and then I’ll go in!”

Steve gives him a skeptical look and says “Sure,” in a way that makes him think his orders won’t be followed, but he’s too busy squishing his nose more firmly and silently begging it not to make him sneeze again to keep arguing, or to protest when Steve opens the door for him and puts his car keys in his hand before dashing into the store with a promise to be quick.

He’s back not even ten minutes later, by which time holding his nose plugged and not letting his sneezes out has put Bucky in a state of perma-misery, stifling relentless sneezes every few seconds, unable to keep his eyes fully open. Steve tosses a box of tissues onto his lap before he gets all the way into the car because he is a saint.

“Guh,” Bucky says gratefully, pulls out a wad of about ten, and lets the miserable sneeze that had been building out into the nest of forgiving softness. “HehgSHOOmpff!!” And then blows his nose forever. Finally he feels like he can speak and have a face again; the little drugstore bag is now home to a dozen nasty used-tissue balls. “Well,” he says as he puts the last one in there, “wish I hadn’t had a witness for that.”

Steve just chuckles. “You’re fine,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing rumble. “I grabbed you a toothbrush, and I’ve got some stuff that can fit you for pjs.”

Bucky feels like he sneezed out the last of his strength. “You’re way too nice.” He sniffles and slumps against the window, looking at the familiar blur of orange streetlight. “I should be more worried you’re a serial killer.” Steve chuckles again, and he likes that, so he goes on, “Probly got a nice Jeffrey Dahmer setup at your place. Sorry if I don’t make a good steak.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Steve replies, sounding indignant. Then laughs for real, shaking his head, “I’m not gonna chop you up and eat you, I swear.”

“It’s fine. Just mbake mbe into soup,” sighs Bucky. That would be warm. He’ll just be a big hot pot of Bucky, and Steve will stir him and season him so carefully with his big strong hands. This is a weird train of thought. He might have a fever. But he can still hear Steve chuckling.

Steve pulls into his parking spot and the car shudders to stillness as he takes his key out of the ignition. Next to him, Bucky is asleep with his head mushed against the window. He’d conked out for the last five or so minutes of the drive. “Hey, Buck, we just got to my place,” he says softly, trying not to sound too bedroom-y. His eyes flutter open, the blue of them standing out, and Steve takes a steadying breath because Bucky is so good-looking it catches him off guard and overwhelms him sometimes.

His eyes are glassy-bright and there’s a flush high on his cheekbones, and as he shifts upright in his seat Steve reaches over and touches his forehead without thinking about it. It’s noticeably hot, but not burning. The twins’ childhood bouts with the flu gave him a sense of bad-fever heat. “Think you got a temperature,” he murmurs sympathetically. Bucky just blinks up at him, a little wide-eyed, and only then does he realize his big meaty hand is practically covering half his face. He feels himself flush to match Bucky, and for a second they just look at each other.

Until Bucky sniffs a miserable liquid sniffle and they both almost jump. “Sorry,” Steve mutters awkwardly, and Bucky’s saying the same thing at the same time. They both move to get out, “Just one flight of stairs up.”

“huh—tschumpf!” is Bucky’s answer, his nose buried in a new handful of tissues. “huhh, hUH—huh.” The second sneeze fizzles, leaving him blinking and frowning and wrinkling his nose snifflishly against the ticklish haze as he shuts the door. “Fuck. Sorry, scuse mbe.”

“Bless you.” It’s probably not normal to find someone so sick so adorable.

Steve leads him up and along the hall and then he’s unlocking the door, feeling giddy that he’s letting Bucky into his apartment, and then guilty for being excited, when the poor guy is just hesitantly accepting a much-needed favor. Bucky trails in behind him and then stands still while Steve sets the bag from the drugstore and started to turn to him, saying, “It’s not much, but—”

“ASHHOO!” Bucky’s sneeze interrupts and snaps him forward into his tissues, and then he just stays folded over for a second like it sapped the last of his energy. Then he straightens, rubbing his nose into the tissues and sighing. “Jesus, sorry,”

“Bless you! You don’t have to be sorry, you’ve just got a cold.” Steve has to hold himself still to keep from rubbing his back.

“You’re...hh-huh….? Snfff, ugh. Totally gonna catch this, I owe you way mbore apologies.”

“I won’t hold it against you,” he chuckles, toeing his shoes off. Bucky follows suit and he continues, “I stopped caring after raising toddlers, they’re little germ factories, you catch everything.” Why’d you bring up your old-dad status, Steve? “I’ll grab you some things to sleep in.”

An hour and one confrontation about Steve giving up his bed later, Bucky is ensconced on his couch like the king of cold-medicine commercials, surrounded by blankets and pillows and tissues and steaming cups and bowls. He feels a little more human, which is nice, but lets him access how incandescently awkward he feels at being rescued from his idiotic life like a snotty Cinderella. Steve has been flitting back and forth between the couch and kitchen, fussing over him to a truly excessive degree while exuding satisfaction and cheer, like some kind of calendar-model Santa with a caretaking kink. He was practically rubbing his hands together at the prospect of getting Bucky blankets and tea on his couch. Now he’s giving a rundown of his TV system standing next to the couch and it feels the tiniest bit manic and Bucky can feel himself getting a little too quiet but he can’t help it. After a minute Steve notices, and sets the remote down.

“I should stop babbling at you and leave you in peace,” he says with a bashful chuckle, turning to leave the room.

“No, I— you don’t—” Bucky doesn’t really have a response beyond ‘please chill out and hang out with me and let me picture cuddling with you,’ which will not be said aloud.

“You really don’t hafta feel like you need to entertain me, Bucky.”

“It’s not, I don’t,” he sighs and then sniffles. He doesn’t want to sit here and stare at the wall and stress about this, alone in this room in Steve’s goddamn apartment. He maybe should have thought about just how much he’d fallen for Steve before taking him up on this offer, because the concern and sweetness and fussing are starting to ratchet up his anxiety, because what if there was a chance it meant—

“Is anything the matter?” Steve crouches smoothly to be on his level and torment him with his eyes’ blueness. When all Bucky can do for a moment is flounder he looks more concerned, and a little downcast. “I really don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. If anything’s bothering you, you can just tell me.”

What the hell is an ordinary sinner supposed to do in the face of this much sincerity? Act like he thinks he’s a damn grownup, Bucky guesses, and girds his nervous loser loins.

“Why’re you—” he starts, frowning, then cuts himself off and tries again with a small, apologetic smile.

“It’s just...this is such an imposition, and you seem...kinda weirdly happy about it? I just don’t get why.”

One side of Steve’s mouth quirks up, making him look dry and self-deprecating and unfairly handsome. “You’re worried I’m gonna start talkin about Scientology, or put you in my basement dungeon?”

Bucky shrugs. “Kinda.” Just ‘cause he went home with strangers didn’t mean he had no sense.

Steve seems to cast about for an explanation, and he also starts to turn pink. “It’s—you’re just so—” and then he sighs and sits on the end of the couch, next to his blanketed feet, addressing his words to the wall in a rush. “Honestly, Bucky? I have a huge crush on you, and,” he laughs in embarrassment, decidedly blushing now, “I’m just real happy to have a chance to take care of you in whatever little way.” Now he does turn to look at him, pained. “I’m sorry, that must be so uncomfortable to hear. I promise you’re not my hostage! Please don’t make a break for it, it’s cold out and you’re so sick. I swear I’m not Cathy Bates in Misery.”

“Y—hihdsschuh!” The sneeze catches him by surprise, but he has wadded-up tissues in his hand already anyhow. He has to blow his nose, and he does it thoroughly to buy time. Steve stares stoically at the ceiling as though waiting for sentencing. Is this seriously Steve telling Bucky...he likes him?

“You…” he stops, sniffs. He needs a plan. He doesn’t have one. His mouth is gonna keep moving anyway, “You said, ‘you’re just so—‘, what were you gonna say?”

Steve looks confused for a second, and then just helpless. “Bucky, you’re just so sweet. I’m happy for a chance to do something for you because I owe you, you get that, right?”

“Owe me?” Bucky asks, nonplussed. Steve laughs with what seems like disbelief at his confusion.

“Yes, Buck! For the last few months! For taking pity on me that first night I came into Sam’s. You asked me a question about antifreeze.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. His world is rearranging itself. Steve remembered that?

“I feel—real self-conscious, I guess, coming into the “scene,” he gives it air-quotes and Bucky’s heart swells a little more, “by the route I have. Y’know, married dad who woke up one day and realized the stuff he repressed at sixteen might be the real him. Sam’s was the third place I tried to go into. I just felt so ridiculous, I still do— 39-year-old brand-new gay dude, it’s idiotic. I was practically gonna have a panic attack, I was definitely gonna leave and not try again and just...stop trying in general, maybe, to figure this new scary shit out. Except you were there, this—this smokin-hot guy, and you’re acting like you actually want to talk to me, and… so I stayed. And came back.” He looks Bucky in the eyes and it makes Bucky’s stomach clench. “I feel like you’ve been taking care of me this whole time, helping me ease into things, helping me not to feel bad about being completely uncool, asking me about stuff I actually know about instead of laughing at me because I’ve never heard of ‘poppers’,”

At that, Bucky has to give in to the giggle bubbling out of him, which inevitably leads to a short coughing fit. His first instinct is to keep laughing, rake Steve over the coals, but Steve is looking at him with a careful sort of expression, and it occurs to Bucky that just because he’s older and seems like he has it all together and has great posture doesn’t mean he’s immune to feeling vulnerable. And he looks like he’s feeling really fucking vulnerable right now. Acting like Bucky is worthy of this adorable schoolboy crush is absurd, but it’s not like it was so many eons ago that little baby Bucky Barnes was having his First Gay Bar experience, and he’d been scared as shit.

He already feels like he missed the boat on his life. Steve is starting over at 39. He’s so fucking brave. Bucky...somehow, unthinkably, Bucky is in a position where he could really hurt this guy.

“I’mb, umb. Snfff. Thing is, I’m a little surprised…” And Steve must think that’s the prelude to rejection because he pulls this sad little smile onto his face that’s the worst thing Bucky’s ever seen, and he has to make it go away, “It’s just, to hear you tell it I took pity on you and I’ve been talking to you to, like, guide you along and coach you because I’m some saint!” He smiles, starting to feel amused. “Steve— I just wanted some reason to talk to you, dude.”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

He has to laugh, putting his forehead in his hand. “Sorry. I, just, I have not been operating under the assumption that I had a chance with you? And now it sounds like you’re telling me I do? While I sit on your couch filling your trash can with my disgusting tissue mountain?”

All he gets from the man is “...Huh?”

“You said ‘crush’,” he insists, and he’s not laughing, his heart is pounding actually. “What did you mean by that?” He’s gonna awkwardly say that he wants to fuck, and once that box is checked in his Gay Awakening, he’ll move on to actually date people actually in his league, and that’s maybe not gonna feel great, but, well…

Steve looks up from staring at his hands, makes eye contact, and he looks a little confused and a lot like he’s facing a firing squad. “I meant, I mean that…” he blows a breath out. “Jesus I have no idea what I’m doing. I mean that I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask you out on a date, since pretty much the first night I met you.”

Bucky’s head does a record scratch and Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, “But I guess instead I kidnapped you when you were sick and blurted this out to you while you were trapped on my couch waiting to be left alone to sleep. I was never smooth but I swear I’ve done better than this.”

A giddy feeling is rising up in Bucky’s chest, making him forget completely about how tired and crappy he feels. “Well, I am smooth,” he says, “I’ve got game. At least, I did, until you showed up and turned me into a giggling bimbo. What the hell, Steve.”

“This is starting to seem like a romantic conversation but I can’t tell,” murmurs Steve with his face still uncertain but a little twinkle in his eye.

Bucky’s nose is gonna ruin this, he’s surprised it gave him that long a grace period. “Yeah, snfff, real romantic, I’mb gonna—hih—fuckin’ sndeeze—heh-heTShoo! Againd.”

Another sneeze teases out, and then he has to blow his nose for about ten years. “Bless you,” says Steve all quiet and bedroomy in his deep voice, and he’s definitely smiling, sparkle-eyes, leaning towards him the tiniest bit, but still looking like Bucky’s leaving him hanging a little, unsure, and he can’t help the wave of doubt he feels.

“Steve, you—” he stares at the blanket on his lap. “I’m a mess. You’ve accomplished shit, you have a real goddamn job, I—I’m just, ok, we’re both adults, but I feel like a screw-up kid compared to you.” He takes a deep breath and says what he doesn’t want to, “I’d be...pretty damn flattered if you wanted to hook up. I kinda can’t imagine you actually want to date me.”

He dares to look up and Steve looks more serious. He doesn’t say, “no shit.” He says, “I won’t argue if you say you don’t want anything, but I sure don’t agree with how you describe yourself. I don’t want to hook up—at least, not just that— I want to date you, get to know each other better, because I like you. I trust my judgement, when I think someone’s a good person.”

He says it so simply, and Bucky finds himself believing it despite himself, and a warm happy fire is kindling under his ribs. “Well, shit,” he murmurs, “it’s starting to seem like you’re asking me out.”

“It’s...starting to seem like you might be saying yes? If I am?” Steve looks agonized and Bucky’s doubts are no match for the giddiness fizzing up inside him, and he lets it show on his face with a grin, and whatever that looks like makes Steve kinda gulp and scootch up closer to him. Bucky makes a show of giving a slow, considering nod. Yes.

Steve has this soft, nervous little smile on his face, but his eyes hold something weighty, almost burning, as he moves even closer, and it’s just, it’s really, wow, Bucky has maybe never been taken seriously in quite this way by anyone before, it makes his knees feel watery and kindles something in his core. “I know you’re sick,” he rumbles, “but I feel like I gotta kiss you,” and how is it that the softer he speaks the deeper his voice sounds? He brushes his curled fingers over Bucky’s cheek because that’s how close they are now and this isn’t really Bucky’s life, is it? “What if I was to kiss you, right now?”

It’s hard to tell with the sexiness melting his brain but he realizes Steve is actually asking, because he’s a gentleman— a gentleman Bucky wants to be taken apart and turned inside out by. “Then you would be a guaranteed victim of my plague,” he breathes. “But I wouldn’t stop you, I’m not that selfless.”

“Sounds like a dare,” Steve murmurs, and tilts his head and presses their lips together.

It’s a short simple kiss but they each give a quiet gasp at the contact, and then stay there a moment. Steve’s beard isn’t huge but he feels it, like a firm underline to the shockingly warm plush pressure of his lips. He thankfully tragically remembers that congested people can’t make out and pulls away after just a brief press of lips, but not before giving a soft lick to Bucky’s, full of promised things to come.

They sit there a few inches apart and breathe. Bucky feels like a vibrating tuning fork. He just barely stops himself from shakily saying “wow,” like a highschool virgin, but when he sees Steve looking at him with lips still parted and a gobsmacked expression he changes his mind and lets it out anyway, “wow,” with a giddy grin.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, blinking like he got hit with a cartoon hammer, going from pink to red, and then he swoops in and kisses Bucky’s cheek, and then stands, going, “Excuse me, just gotta go...out of your sightline, and. Do something cool. And serious. No victory dances.”

…..the next morning…….

Steve could hear Bucky in the shower, sneezing three times, but not sounding—four times—nearly as heavy or exhausted as the night before. A few minutes and one loud noseblow later, he came out wrapped in a towel, mercilessly bare-chested, his nose bright red but his eyes clear and cheerful. Steve’s attention caught on his chest as his nipples tightened in the relative chill as Bucky said sheepishly, “forgot my clo-hothes—” his voice swooping to a breathy quaver on the last word, “hhh-hh-hehh—EHisSHOooh!” he turned as far away from Steve’s part of the room as possible and sneezed over his shoulder. “Snnfff. Excuse me, sorry.”

“Can I lend you some warmer stuff, just for now while we eat breakfast? There’s no way you’re not still sick,” Steve fussed, forcing himself to round the kitchen island slowly and casually instead of rushing over and wrapping him up in his arms and kissing his red nose that was twitching again. He quelled it with another sniff that sounded a lot less congested than the previous night.

“Ah, I’m ok. I felt really bad yesterday, but I slept so well,” he said with a warm grateful smile at Steve that went to his toes, “I don’t feel shitty and run-down anymore, just all, like, shnuffly.”

Steve chuckled helplessly and went over to rub his shoulder. “You’re adorable.”

“No way!” Bucky glowered, but then a few drops fell from his wet hair to his chest and neck, and he shivered into a sneeze so quick and light it sounded incomplete, “hih—tish!” followed by “ih-hihtchoo!” and he blinked, taken by surprise.

“That was... the cutest thing that ever happened,” Steve said truthfully.

“Shuddup— heh—edschoo!”

[arcadekitten]

Do you have any interesting facts about Sorella and Walker? Are they both Noisrevian? Since Walker doesnt exactly look the part. Are they dating? Or siblings? Or just friends? What are they like?

Normally I don't, but this time I do!! Sorrela and Walker are actually OCs I've had for a while, so they got a bunch of stuff to go with them!

As stated they were both based on roblox bee swarm simulator! Sorrela being inspired by the player character and Walker being inspired by the dancing walking stick NPC. Both of them are Noisrevians.

Sorrela is a bee. She's a girl and goes by she/her pronouns. She identifies with both the bi label and pan label at the same time. She has generalized anxiety disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder. She's also a princess, and lives in a castle with her mother and 2 younger half-sisters. Her personality is nice and sweet enough, but she's a bit pendantic and gets annoyed/bothered easily too. Often has to do things her way. Her design is inspired by magical girls, too!

Walker is kinda like the Noisrev-equivalent of seeing a mutant monster/alien/creature etc. Like if you as an earth-human met bigfoot or mothman or a werewolf or vampire or something. No one quite knows why/how he looks the way he does--but he can walk and talk and is indeed more person than he is creature. His namesake comes from Walking Stick of course but his bug form looks more like a Gargantuan Stick Insect! His gender is probably best described as "nonbinary boy". Everyone calls him by he/him pronouns and he's got a masculine frame and voice, but he's never really thought much about gender so much as one was imposed on to him. Yet, he doesn't seem to mind it. He is a bit mysterious and does things in unfamiliar ways, he has an air of suspicion to everything he does. But he is generally friendly...enough. And much like his direct inspo, he loves dancing!

They are love interests to one another. I did have a story for them once but its back in the workshop for now. I want to do something different! I want their story to feel like a classic animated Barbie movie, if that makes sense!

Also the art of their height difference. Please note Sorrela is probably around the 5'6" ish mark.

[meltypancake]

🦜

(i bork at you)

🦜 Which artists inspire you?

oghhh hi ria :3 i think art inspos say a lot abt what kind of art you wanna create and care about, so this was a great question to chew on...!! i bork back at you

mead schaeffer

the legend!!! amazing use of limited colour schemes, clear and elegant value structures (i love those flat blacks against the more rendered forms)

beautiful expressive brushwork !! it seems schaeffer was more interested in the overall impression and mood, so he didn’t bother with super realistic details… i strive for that kind of confidence HAHAH overall he’s great at knowing what parts to refine and what parts to leave more simple. there is so much to learn here

yoshimura seiji

YOSHIMURA-SAN…how are you real? what goes on in your head when you draw? his art was my phone lockscreen for the longest time, because it is absolutely stunning. there is an overwhelming sense of calm and peace in his work, as if time had stopped, and he captured the essence of that moment. no joke!!! such subtle use of textures and light on top of incredible compositions… there aren’t enough words in any human language to describe his work

his art can be found here! it is somber and beautiful and makes the soul ache

alphonse mucha

he is known for his art nouveau work which is a feat in itself (insane stuff), but i primarily get inspired by his paintings!! “the tree of life” especially takes my breath away bc it has such beautiful transitions between shades of blues and yellows.

the other painting here is called “the slavic epic - cicle I” and the composition (the colors, values, placement of people and objects) actually crit hits me it is that powerful… stunning blues that flow into brighter cyans, and then far in the back, leading the viewers eye into the distance, that reddish pinkish hue rising up into the sky is just hhejagzudawhakdsz . this is real and someone made that and we somehow manage to wake up every day and be normal!!!! wtf…

nathan fowkes

truly mesmerizing color compositions… they really remind me that art is pure magic and i can never tear my eyes away from his work. i also watched a couple of his courses on schoolism (the composition one is my favorite, but the daily color workouts also slap) and they were incredibly helpful!!

looking at these paintings again actually makes my heart feel like its beeing squeezed fr HEHJKGZUASD (POSITIVE) i feel like he really understands the emotional aspect of color so well. I STRIVE FOR THIS SKILL !!!!

bato dugarzhapov

it’s like he can condense and intensify and capture the color and light of a moment and put it into his art… i study the colors of his work a lot. looking at it is like looking through a lens that lets you see the truth of nature and life (no joke!!)

and five million more artists ofc!!! for brevity's sake i cannot mention them all but art truly is a mystical weird thing that exists in our lives. eternally grateful!! HAVE A GREAT DAY FRIEND!!!

[weirdozjunkary]

I did another fic in the PIB AU. This time of the infamous panic attack scene. It’s fairly long, but not the longest I’ve ever written

———————

KA- FWEEEW!!!

A spectactical aray of confetti bursted from the baker inspo the air. Sonic splat, the confetti clinging to himself. At any other time, this cluster of colourful paper adorned with a cute party horn would’ve been cheerful, but now it seemed more gruesome.

“BLEGH! What?!”

“OHOHO! So that’s what they do!” Ivo cheered. He was already aiming up another shot. Unicorn horns are deadly. “Cool!”

“NO! ITS NOT COOL!” The iridecent beatle shouted, appalled at the doctors amazement by this spread of colourful destruction.

Another horn stuck into a bakers side. “AUGHYOU SHOT ME-“

KA-FWEEEW!!!

Another explosion right in the hedgehogs face. He sneezed at the dust and confetti in the air. “Ugh! The sight is off!” He heard ivo groan. And just as he could stop himself from sneezing, Sonic was hoisted up by his bandana.

“I got him mister Horner!” Another horn stuck into the bakers side.

“MY BAD!”

“Oh no.”

KA-BLAM!!

Silence. Only accompanied by a faint growing ringing through the hedgehogs ears as he flew through the air slowly. It didn’t stop till he tumbled against the ground, his bandana untying itself from his throat. There, just within arms reach, it was the map. It had fallen out of his grasp through the explosion. And as the world around him moved by in slow motion, he propped up on a knee and reached out a hand to it.

He froze. That sound. That sharp and sickening melody that made his hair stand up on end and his stomach twist violently. He could hear it. Just a few feet behind him.

He gasped out air from his lungs. Hoping to god that when his eyes drifted from the map behind him that he wouldn’t see what he dreaded to see. But once his body was fully turned around. As his heart pounded in his ears and his lungs felt tight and empty. He could see it. That jackal. Unsheathing his sickles from his dark cloak. Staring at him with his vibrant eyes.

He is here. HOW is he here? The last time he saw him was running from Ivo Horner’s bakery. And still, those eyes, so glassy but vibrant like marbles. They pierced frozen daggers into his. It made them ache.

His body moved before his brain caught up. His heart raced in his ears, pounding so hard his chest hurtt. His lungs were on fire as he wheezed while he ran. Ran away. Ran far. Ran fast. Just get away from this fucking maniac!!!

“Sonic? SONIC! WAIT!” Tails shouted, grabbing his fallen bandana and chasing after him.

“Tails?” Shadow puzzled. He took his eyes off of the map for a second. Just enough for the face of a large hammer to whack him away.

“Thanks for the map, Stripes!” Amy gawked as she laid her eyes on the map she snatched up from the ground. It sparkled and shimmered. Changing the scenery on it and then the world around them. The ground broke and shifted, sending cliffs and pine trees high into the air.

“NO!” Both Shadow and Ivo shouted in anger at the group that ascended higher into the air.

“HEY! You’ve just been crimed by the Chaotix Crime family!” The young bee shouted.

“So long, you plonkers!” Amy added and left with the rest of them. Projectiles flying past them as they ran into the newly formed forest behind.

“!LOS VOY HACER A TODOS ALFOMBRAS DE BAÑO!” Shadow angrily shouted. He kicked the ground and bared his teeth in frustration. “GRAGH!!! SONIC!!! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

His legs could barely keep him standing. The only reason why he didn’t fall over yet was the proper yak motion of his legs keeping him going forward. His footsteps were heavy and sporadic, so was his breathing. He heaved with each step, each movement of his arms. His eyes darting around the dark forest. He could’ve sworn he saw him. His face. His eyes. Him. The one trying to take his life.

“SONIC! SONIC!” The twin tailed fox cried out with worry. Where could he have gone?

There. He was at the base of a tree. Huffing and heaving as his eyes continued to dart around in front of him. That hunter is near. He’s just waiting to pounce. Waiting to strike. He’s here. He has to be.

“Sonic! Sonic! Are you okay? What’s wrong?!”

Tails’ voice fell deaf on Sonic’ ears. He huffed and wheezed with tears in his eyes. He was waiting for him, the jackal. The moment for him to strike. He didn’t know if Tails was truly there or not. And Tails. This boy was so worried for his friend. He felt helpless. Moreso Sonic to Tails.

But, he looked at Sonic’s face. The pure terror and panic in his eyes. And almost as if he had done this before, he rested his head against his chest. He could feel it, hear it. His heartbeat so fast and loud. A sporadic rhythm that pounded so hard that it could leap right out of his chest.

But as Tails laid there, his eyes shut and an arm wrapped over the hedgehog, he felt a hand lay gently on his head, and the hedgehog’s heart and breathing slow. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t even open his eyes. He just laid there as Sonic pet him. He only looked at him once he heard him huff out a sigh.

“Thank you, Tails.” He said.

“What’s going on with you, Sonic?”

Sonic stammered and looked away. He couldn’t look this sweet boy in the face. Not to tell him what’s really been going on. Why he decided to pursue this star. What his wish truly was. “I… I am down to my last life. And I…” He gulped down a hard lump. “I am afraid.”

“Well, it’s okay to be afraid.”

“No! Not for Sonic the Hedgehog! I’m supposed to be a fearless hero. A legend.” He slumped further down the base of the tree. “But without any lives to spare. I am… nothing.” He shot up and clenched a determined fist. “I need that wish to get my lives back!”

“You should tell Shadow, then. He would understand-“

“No no no! He can’t hear none of this stuff!” Sonic said as he put a hand over the fox’s mouth briefly to silence him.

“Okay?”

What neither of them knew, was not far behind them was the black hedgehog, slicing through the prickled grass. “¿Adónde fueron ese idiota y su zorro?” He muttered to himself. His ears shot up once he could hear the blue hedgehog.

“Shadow will never trust me again. Not after Santa Coloma.”

“But that was just one bad heist.”

“Santa Coloma wasn’t a heist, Tails. It was a church. With a priest and guests… and Shadow.” He reminisced back to that day. A sour feeling painfully waved over his chest. “Everything but me. I ran away then too.”

“Oh...” Tails responded, letting his mind wander a little. “Oh.” He finally gasped in shock once the realization hit him. “OH! You left him at the altar?”

“It was wrong, I know. I’m ashamed of it.” He sighed. “I just wish I hadn’t hurt ‘em so badly. I regret that day a lot.”

“So… maybe you should tell that to Shadow. It might make you feel better about it. It might make him feel better about it, too.”

Shadow stood behind the tree, arms crossed and a look of uncertainty clearly on his face. Of course Sonic wouldn’t have said this to his face, his pride was too fragile to admit defeat. But, something about what he said, perhaps the tone or what have you. It felt genuine, though full of sadness and melancholy.

He had been running all his life, both of them. Running from enemies, from friends, loved ones, eachother. Running out of fear. Fear of being betrayed, of being hurt again. He was like him, even if they didn’t know the extent of it— of each other— they both were running. Maybe. Maybe they don’t need to run.

“Sonic! Fox!” Shadow called as he came into their view. “There you two are. What the hell happened?”

“S-Shadow!” Sonic stammered and stood up, finally tying his bandana back on. “I-uh- I lost the map. I messed up.”

“We’ll get it back, don’t worry. We’ve been in worse prickles.”

“WHAT?! Who told you that name?!” Sonic shouted, only to receive a confused look from shadow.

“…What name?”

“Uh… n-nothing!”

[bittcrsweetsfm]

[ … ]     ❀     you’re  not  from  around  here,  are  you?  i  figured  because  you  totally  just  missed  elena  de  luca  walking  by.  don’t  tell  me  you  don’t  know  who  they  are?  they  kind  of  look  like  olivia  cooke  and  i  could  be  wrong  but  i  think  that  they  might  be  twenty  seven  years  old  right  now.  they’ve  been  living  in  palmview  for  the  last  seventeen  years.  and  i  don’t  know  if  anyone  has  ever  told  them  this  before  but  they  kind  of  remind  me  of  lorelai  gilmore  from  gilmore  girls.  if  you  stick  around  the  town  long  enough  you  might  catch  them  in  action  working  at  pearl's  seafood  bistro  as  a  waitress.  you  see  this  town  isn’t  really  that  big  of  a  place,  some  folks  like  to  call  them  the  lothario  of  palmview!  they  took  a  liking  to  the  name  too  after  a  while,  go  figure.  oh  crap,  they  must  have  heard  me  yapping.  they’re  coming  this  way.  i  got  to  warn  you  though,  rumor  has  it  they  can  pretty  impulsive  at  times.  i  wouldn’t  take  it  too  seriously  though,  from  the  times  i’ve  spoken  to  them  they  seemed  pretty  insouciant  to  me.  we  see  each  other  all  the  time  since  they  live  in  that  2  bedroom  apartment  beside  me  over  in  coral  cove.  i  better  leave  you  to  it.  it  was  nice  meeting  you!

✗     𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢𝖲

full  name  :  elena  sienna  de  luca.  age  :  twenty  seven.  birthday  :  may  2nd,  1996.  astrology  :  taurus  sun,  aries  moon  +  leo  rising.  gender  +  pronouns  :  gender  nonconforming  /  she  +  they.  sexual  orientation  :  bisexual  +  biromantic.  spoken  languages  :  english  +  italian.  height  :  5'3.  tattoos  +  piercings  :  dainty  spine  tattoo,  sun  sign  behind  left  ear  +  earlobes,  belly  botton,  tragus.  allergies  :  strawberries  +  bees.  addictions  :  nicotine  +  borderline  alcoholic.  drug  /  alcohol  use  :  marijuana  user  +  struggles  with  binge  drinking.  family  tree  :  giovanni  de  luca  (father),  isabella  de  luca  (mother),  unnamed  twin  brother  (2  minutes  younger)  +  unnamed  younger  sister.  character  inspo  :  samantha  jones,  audrey  horne,  stassi  schroeder.

✗     𝖡𝖨𝖮𝖦𝖱𝖠𝖯𝖧𝖸

born  two  minutes  before  their  younger  twin  brother,  they  made  sure  that  everyone  knew  that  they  were  the  first  one  to  enter  the  world,  especially  her  parents  when  they  didn't  pay  attention  to  her  right  away  after  whining.

growing  up  in  new  york  wasn't  for  the  light-hearted,  and  it  definitely  didn't  help  with  the  mending  of  the  eldest  de  luca's  mindset;  having  two  lawyer  parents  and  consistent  gifts  provided  whenever  wanted.  at  the  age  of  ten,  the  family  uprooted  themselves  to  move  to  palmview,  a  change  of  scenery  that  elena  hated  the  moment  their  eyes  landed  on  it.

with  mom  taking  an  early  retirement  to  be  a  stay  at  home  mom  with  twin's  at  the  age  of  ten  and  younger  child,  their  father  became  the  main  breadwinner  of  the  family  and  arguements  soon  began  to  take  hold  of  the  de  luca's  family  dinner  nights.  it  didn't  help  that  elena's  spoiled  nature  constantly  added  into  the  arguments,  screaming  at  the  top  of  her  lungs  for  any  ounce  of  attention,  which  was  usually  given  by  siblings  than  parents.

high  school  was  easy  for  elena,  solely  because  of  the  carefree  attitude  that  they  had  and  their  looks.  additionally,  it  was  never  a  downfall  that  the  de  luca  household  was  always  the  place  to  be  for  parties  +  how  easily  swayed  elena  was.  experimenting  with  drugs  and  finding  calmness  in  a  sip  of  alcohol  at  the  young  age  of  fifteen.

being  sex  positive  was  not  always  a  good  thing;  the  labels  of  slut  and  whore  came  from  many  of  the  girls  around  her,  but  it  rarely  affected  elena.  just  because  they  enjoyed  something  pleasurable  without  the  confinements  of  a  relationship  didn't  make  her  a  bad  person.  

at  the  age  of  nineteen,  their  parents  no  longer  wanted  to  provide  an  allowance  to  the  eldest  de  luca,  after  endless  spending  on  things  that  were  dramatically  unneeded.  this  caused  elena  to  begin  working  and  saving  up  for  the  spending  that  she  was  prone  to  doing  when  bored  and  stuck  inside  the  apartment  her  parents  bought  for  her.

college  was  not  something  that  they  could  handle,  entering  the  scene  at  the  age  over  twenty  one  and  dropping  out  two  years  later  with  only  a  couple  semesters  left  towards  graduating.  intelligent,  but  unmotivated,  they  couldn't  handle  the  constant  need  that  came  with  schooling.  using  the  time  to  explore  more  with  their  sexuality  and  spending  more  time  at  house  parties  than  doing  assignments.

now,  twenty  seven,  elena  believes  that  she's  unable  to  settle  down.  easily  bored  and  someone  that  needs  attention  constantly  in  a  relationship;  they  have  managed  to  find  a  routine  that  speaks  to  them.  working  at  a  high-class  restaurant  (rarely  sober,  of  course  they're  going  to  sneak  a  glass  of  wine  during  their  shift)  and  able  to  use  the  mass  amount  of  tips  provided  at  the  end  of  the  night  to  supply  them  with  the  luxury  that  they  believe  that  deserve.

[tinynap]

Wait omg thats so cute stop it 💗😭 what other buildings do u have in that server? i need some inspo if u dont mind sharing ＼(^-^)／

THANK U heres everything i have so far ft me yapping about it all by god do i yap my ass off im so sorry if all u wanted was pictures im incapable of not talking about literally anything. my bad. :3

barn area for my animals + a cute little interior that's technically extra storage space but i dont really use it

MY HOUSE ! the stone + glass thing to the left is my automatic composter setup built off my personal wheat farm (i like to enclose all my crop farms with stone walls bc i think it gives it ~character~ and also it looks pretty) this is a pretty far away picture of my house tho so have another one i took a while ago:

this area has the barn to the left which u already saw and then the storage house in the middle and then my villager breeding area on the right + what's eventually going to be a bee farm in front of it (idrk if i like the placement of it and the build itself just feels very in the way so i'll probably scatter single beehives throughout the entire town space BUT IDK YET!)

storage house ! pumpkin patch to the left and wheat field to the right (it's for when i want to breed the villagers) the inside still isn't entire organized bc well im honestly really bad about putting things in the "correct" chests but im working on it and one day it'll be finished trust

villager breeding house U cant see him rn but there's actually an iron golem that somehow spawned on the upper floor?? ive named him jeff. he goes and stands in the window sometimes but he was being really shy today :/ the random block on the right of the screen is literally there bc an enderman placed it there for some reason and i havent broken it yet

nether portal ! ive only gone through once to check out the spawn but el spent the time to make a path to the world spawn portal (which is where literally everyone else settled lmfao - i originally just set out exploring but i found this area and thought it was cute enough to live in) but anyway i do eventually want to replace the dirt circle, which took freaking forever to lay out btw never build circles in this game ever, with stone + cobble and maybe add some detail to the actual portal it's very up in the air rn. and i do eventually want to put some builds in the actual nether (also way off to the right u can see 2 torches, theyre framing the entrance to my mine where i get all of my cobblestone/deepslate and it leads to my strip mine, im eventually going to add a little mining outpost there and expand it i just havent gotten around to it)

lava farm / mass smelting area + a small crop farm i think it's just carrots and potatoes back there. i actually hate how i did the roof (i play on 90 fov so ifl maybe the angle i was at for this screenshot is fucking with my view of it ?) but things got weird bc i had to scramble to place it and also was replacing the original wood roof with diorite bc who knew lava makes wood catch on fire :/ but it's cute enough i think and it's also really practical i ran out of coal pretty early on this was the 2nd thing i built!

small tiny little enchanting house (got inspiration from some photo on pinterest that i cant find rn rip) bc when i finally decided to start enchanting my stuff i realized i didnt really have enough space for it in my house like i usually do unless i added a basement and i really did not want to do that and i like this better anyway!!! level 30 enchantments + a space to store my lapis + it's just so cute :) downside is theres always like mob sounds bc there's a cave entrance somewhere in this area that i literally just covered up with dirt so

and this is the trading hall + sugarcane farm for paper! followed a youtube tutorial for this one bc ive never really dealt with trading and wanted to make sure i didnt build something really wrong or whatever i had to change the block palette a little to fit the rest of my builds (im a huge fan of spruce and stone if u couldnt tell) but i think it's cute! im still really bad at dealing with villagers tho ive accidentally suffocated a few trying to get them in their spots and theres been some that have been attacked by zombies bc i leave them trapped in boats outside while i go to do other things.......nothing is my fault ever remember this

some extra things bc im nothing if i dont overexplain literally anything i do:

im using complementary shaders unbound bc i think theyre pretty

resource packs autumn biomes + fall pack for the fall theme (this is how im getting the red leaves and the leaf piles on the ground, i'll prob change it once it's christmas-time)

some extra resource packs: flowering crops, fast better grass, and a font change one!

tons of cats spawn and ive tamed + bred a few of them i have i think 6 and am working on naming them all (if i dont have 2 cats called jett and operator in every minecraft world i play on i'll Die.) and i eventually want to venture back to a forest i found and grab a wolf or 2 as well :)

the giant spruce trees in the background of some of the photos were planted by me bc i use spruce in pretty much every single thing i build bc well i like it

EVENTUALLY i do want to let the villagers run free to make the area more lively (i have a slab blocking the door so they cant get out lmfao) but not everything is done rn so theyre staying in their house for now. although i did think about building each one a small little house and giving them jobs and letting them live there thats like. a lot of work. so idk if im gonna do that

build progression if u care: house + wheat farm -> mining area (that i still havent finished oops) -> lava farm -> barn (started out just as fenced pens but i decided i hated that and built an actual space for them) -> storage hall bc i was running out of space -> sugarcane farm -> i found a village over the mountain behind my house and decided i might as well start breeding back home so i built them their own little house next to mine (this is when the 2nd wheat farm got built) -> decided the empty space in between the barn + storage hall was getting to me and built the pumpkin patch -> iron farm WHICH I DIDNT SHOW it's actually a good distance behind the storage hall -> built the trading hall bc why not -> laid out the area for the nether portal -> enchantment table to get some basic enchants on my tools bc the villagers were frustrating me and sitting there rerolling trades was annoying -> actually built the nether portal -> started to work on some detailing, added in some trees in the main area + added coarse dirt, fence, lanterns to the paths -> built bee farm area (might change tho)

and (sorry) ALSO theres a lot of empty space and everything but im working on making paths and adding details around to make it feel like a really connected area instead of just a bunch of builds! i was waiting until i had most of the builds i wanted in place/planned but im kind of stuck on what else to add to really tie the space together especially at the back towards the enchanting house yk but im not too worried about it rn im just having fun :D

anyway thank u for coming to this month's yap about my current interests with jo i hope u enjoyed if u read this far yippee yay wahoo ily

[featherbutt]

I've been thinking a lot about zombie apocalypses from the perspective of someone being turned. So, enjoy zombie apocalypse polycule everyone.

Warnings: Zombies, apocalypse, both romantic and platonic angst, bite wound, blood, infection, decay, body horror, unwanted thoughts and feelings and urges (cannibalism, harm to a loved one), vomit

Background Info: In this universe, zombification is a slow process, and one retains their humanity for an extended period of time. This follows the point of view of Maria (she/her) through the early to middle stages of becoming a zombie.

Today was the day.

Today was the day I felt myself truly slipping into the virus.

It started out with a bite. I went out with Ronja to the woods and it did its best to herd the hoard away, toward a kill she put out for them. However, I suppose that there will aways be things that go wrong, and that was my unlucky day.

One moment, I was collecting the lumber I had chopped, the next, I was holding my bleeding arm to my chest, as Ronja wrestled a zombies face into the dirt, attempting to calm it with the dried flowers we brought for the undead. It told me to run, and run fast. I did.

In the weeks following, Nahlia did xyr best to keep me from attracting the hoards, but with the stinking scent of rot and decay from my wound, it was virtually impossible for me to continue my work outside. So, I remained inside, decorated in flowers that xe would grow.

Those nights we would check the progress of the infection, the decaying of flesh creeping up my arm and down my hands... It felt like I was attending my own funeral.

I watched them cry, I watched them mourn, knowing one day I would no longer recognize them as my lover and as my friend.

I could only hope they would do what they had to when that day comes.

Today, I woke up, and knew I was different.

I had a hunger. A painful hunger. It only grew when Nahlia kissed me on the forehead, a gesture so innocent, but so cruel.

I could smell her. I could smell how its skin was alive. The blood just under the surface. I craved to dig my teeth into it. To feel the blood rush into my mouth as I bite Ronja.

Immediately sickened by the changes within me, I ran to the window, heaving out what little food I had eaten the night before.

Nothing but meat.

It didn't take long for Nahlia and Ronja to figure out what was wrong.

Nahlia was the one who approached me this time. Xe always was out in the garden, tending to the fragrant flowers and the bees who roamed it. Even making, and accidentally wearing, flower oils. It made xem always smell so sweet. Sweet enough to hide the scent of xyr flesh.

It was calming.

"Maria? How bad was it this time? The... change."

Xyr voice was gentle, trying to coax me into telling xem where I'm at in loosing my sense of self, rather than assuming the worst.

I try to clear my throat after I had finish emptying my stomach, but my voice is still hoarse as I speak.

"Urges, Nahlia. Nothing I cant fight on my own yet, but... it disgusts me. I'm... I'm afraid. I don't want you to loose me. I don't want to hurt either of you."

"We know, love," Ronja said soothingly, applying flower scented oils to itself from across the room, as it didn't want to make this any harder on me than it already was, "we'll make sure you don't."

-----To be continued?-----

I ran out of steam lol. Anyways, I may continue this one, I may not. But I've got a lot of zombie ideas. Plus, I'm enjoying these characters. I'll try to post our notes on this as well. Let us know any thoughts or constructive criticism <33

Inspo

[indecisive-dizzy]

Hi bestie I’m 17 now

Have any oc or welcome home ideas u wanna share?

I’m curious to know more about your ocs ^^

🥺 my ocs? u want to know my babies??

fr tho I have SO many but surprisingly not too many Welcome Home ocs (outside Howdy and Eddie's family) haha. I shall talk about two of them! Under Read More tho bc this is Long

First up is CJ Chronicle! I've shared an opposite au version of him for jace's au but never shared the og!

BOOM Here's my boy!! His bio has most info but some extra stuff:

25 years old!

Height is between Frank and Eddie's

Pansexual, crushing on Frank and Eddie. He wants to hold both their hands

He and Frank can talk literature for Hours. Frank lent them some books for writing inspo and that's when they fell.

CJ and Eddie also talk a lot! I hc that Eddie likes to read too and showed interest in CJ's published books. Then he Actually Read Them. CJ was baffled and smitten.

History nerd. He will purposely point out historical inaccuracies in Sally's plays to get under her skin.

on that note he gets along with everyone but Sally and occasionally Barnaby. The dog can be very distracting and he needs quiet when writing.

I'll keep it at that for now! I need to make an official post for him haha

Next up is Valerie Viola! She's a bee from New Jersey and a bad bitch! But also very sweet! I don't have an official art for her cuz I Suck at fem body types (working on it) but I have picrew lol.

Trans mtf, she/her. Biromanitc, Demisexual.

27 years old!

shorter than Howdy, up to his shoulder in height

Rides a motorcycle

Was born hard of hearing, can't hear jack without her hearing aids. Her whole family knows sign!

Architect! She makes building plans and also dabbles in interior design

In a long distance relationship with Howdy! They met in college and kept in touch as they went down their own career paths

They met up again few years later when Howdy was visiting family and confessed feelings they've both had since college!

has four arms, and only two legs. Plus little bee wings that she can use to just slightly lift herself off the ground. High enough to kiss Howdy but that's it lol

Has a pet rat named Stink! He's a little goober

Wants to live with/closer to Howdy but struggles with the idea of leaving her home city.

Has talked to Barnaby over the phone and thinks he's the funniest guy (next to Howdy).

She's joked that if Howdy cheated on her with Barn she wouldn't even be mad. (poly? maybe.)

gets along with everyone else, but Julie can be a lot for her at times

Uuuh yeah I'll leave it at that lol

I need to get to work on getting Val some official art but hhhh high effort art is a struggle rn. Either way I hope you like my babies!! Thank u for letting me show them off sigh I need to talk about them more. Especially Valerie, poor girl got left at the store for a bit lol

[anglercrit]

A Breakdown of Cotton Candy From An Early 2010s Pop Fan

So I got the urge to listen to early 2000s-2010s pop again, and upon listening to it- it gave me examples to put my issues with Cotton Candy into words. I’ll break this down into a couple sections just so I can go over everything in depth as I can (and expect reblogs to this when a new realization hits me.)

1. The Tempo

Let’s compare Cotton Candy to a few different songs- the first is an obvious example, Die Young.

With how big of an inspo Kesha is to Viv, I’m not surprised she’d trying to harness the energy of a song like Die Young. However, the way she goes about it is all wrong. Cotton Candy is…slow. Like- really slow. Now that’s not to say a song going for a 2010s vibe can’t be slow- there were plenty of slower, more somber pop songs. I’ll use We Are Young by Fun. As an example.

When the tone of your party song is more like the fastest part of We Are Young than the slowest part of Die Young, you have a problem.

There ARE party songs with slower beats- an example that comes to mind is Halo by Beyoncé.

However, her vocals really elevate the song, while Cotton Candy’s….we’ll get to that eventually.

2. The Instruments

Cotton Candy is a very repetitive song- not that that’s bad in itself, pop in general is very repetitive. However, the issue is that it doesn’t have the proper energy for a pop song that makes the repetitiveness works. The whole song has pretty much the same few synthy chords with no variation and no real punch- again, look at Die Young, which had drums, guitar, dubstep- it had variety. Cotton Candy is the Four Chords taken to their extremes. It doesn’t even really pick up for the chorus or what’re supposed to be “big standout moments.”

3. The Vocals

Okay, before I get into this section, I need to make one thing clear: I AM NOT ATTACKING ROCHELLE DIAMANTÉ AND I DO NOT WANT ANYONE TO ATTACK HER EITHER. SHE DOES AN AMAZING KESHA AND SHE DID THE BEST WITH WHAT SHE HAD.

However- the vocals aren’t above critique. Like the instruments, the vocals are very samey for most of the song- even big exciting moments are sung in the same tone as the chorus. Now more subdued vocals can work- but the actual music tends to need to make up for it. If the vocals were better or the instrumental was better, this song might’ve had a chance- but unfortunately both are just meh, leaving it dead in the water.

So, there’s my thoughts on Cotton Candy- I definitely could’ve worded some things better, but I hope my point gets across well enough.

[dragynkeep]

RT really put themselves in a catch-22 with canonizing bees to be honest. If they don't make enough money to greenlight another volume, there's going to be accusations of them cancelling the show because they made leads queer, which will lose them even more money. If they do make enough money to greenlight another volume, it'll be more blatant than ever that they only made them canon to get money, which is almost as bad as queerbaiting, and (reasonable) people will start to leave once they realize that.

they seem to be quite fond of putting themselves in catch 22 situations tbh: this has happened before with pilot boi & avoiding byg but also with coco where now byg has to happen or there's just an unabashed nazi inspo character on screen.

compared to actual cases of byg & the hurt to actual representation: i think that losing rooster teeth this way will be delightfully, hilariously reflective of who they actually are. had 10 years to canonize a queer couple with no corporate backlash & the moment they do, with the added benefit of drawing attention away from their exposed queerphobia, the show dies? hilarious.

[jchnstones]

Ben Chilwell | Boys won't be bugs

in which (y/n) finds a spider, and ben locks himself in the bathroom.

song inspo: boys will be bugs - cavetown

t/w: mentions of spiders! (i was terrified of summonding them whilst writing i can't lie)

"I don't mean to alarm you," you start, peering your head around the doorframe.

Ben was sprawled out on the sofa, his head placed softly to the cushion as his curls fell delicately over his forehead. He clung to the remote as though someone were about to snatch it away, eyes glued to the tv screen in front of him.

Since the two of you had moved in together, you hadn't came across many spiders; Ben forcing you to handle the tiny baby ones. He'd still run a mile if ever you chased after him with one, screeching through the halls, but the smaller ones weren't a serious threat to you. Considering both you and ben were deathly afraid of them, you'd done good to avoid them for the most part-until today.

"The day has come. I just found a huge spider in the bedroom."

It took a few moments for him to register your words, instantly sitting up as he understood. He sighs, throwing the remote across the sofa, furrowing his eyebrows at you.

"you're joking, surely." Ben groans. He raises his hand to his mouth, brushing over his lips as his thoughts start to race. You watch as he shuffles uncomfortably in the seat for a moment, unknowing what move to make next. You could see his fear was growing, and wanted to act as calm as possible for him, but the spider was quite big.

"its okay, we got this. we'll just...stare at it and hope for the best." you're stood fully in the room now, your fingers tugging at the hem of your sweater.

Ben pulls a face at you and stands abruptly, brushing his clothes down as though to wipe away the anxiety. "show me where he is."

you lead ben up the stairs and into your bedroom, standing in front of the blank cream painted wall. you stare in confusion, you could've swore it was- you'd lost it.

"are you having me on?" ben asks, throwing his arm up. he turns his body in intervals in search of the spider you spoke of, scanning the bedroom floor and the walls, but there was nothing.

"it was here, i pinky promise. it must've ran away somewhere."

ben turns his head at you in an instant, his cheeks heating in disbelief. without saying a word, he climbs on to the bed and stands, his arms holding the air as he finds his balance. Staring down at you with now folded arms, he huffs.

"oh come on," you say, small giggles escape your lips as you watch him stand in protest. "you're acting like a child."

"a child?" he repeats, offended. "you said its huge. it could eat me alive for all i know. i'm safe up here." he nods as though to reassure himself.

"it was a big one to be fair. but its gone-" you're cut off by a shadow scurrying from the corner of your eye. you turn your attention from ben, stood a height above you, to the duvet on the bed. you're met with the huge spider, making its way quickly over to bens feet, stood in the middle of the bed. eyes growing in fear, you point to the spider who's now quickly makings its escape under the pillows. for a moment, you're frozen-your mouth is unable to move as you're trying to comprehend its size.

"what?" Ben asks as he notices the growing panic in your face. he follows the point of your finger and jumps, realising what it is.

"what the fuck!" ben exclaims, jumping from the bed with a loud thump. he hurriedly runs into the en-suite bathroom attached to your room and locks the door shut behind him.

although stood in panic, you burst into a chorus of laughter as you replay his actions. your body slowly unfreezes, hands falling to your stomach. bens face was priceless- his eyes almost wide enough for them to threaten to fall out, arms flying up in the air.

"stop laughing at me. i can hear you laughing at me." ben whines from behind the door. you can't see him, but you imagine him curled into a ball, head leaning against the door as though he's been in there for days.

"it's just too funny. you're adorable my angel." you're stood at the other side, speaking into the wood that separates the pair of you. with no sign of the spider anymore, you also fall to the floor, back against the door. you sigh, crossing your legs as your hands clasp together in your lap.

"you can't stay in there forever silly."

"but its still out there. i know you'll look after me. but i'm, i'm scared, y/n." he admits, his fingers tapping the tiles on the bathroom floor. he rarely told you he was scared or upset, he liked to prove to you he was strong no matter what. but you loved it when he showed his emotions, even from behind the door. it showed you that he cared. he was just so adorable, and sometimes, you didn't know if your heart was truly yours with the amount of love you had for him.

"so am I, ben. what do we do?"

"we should move house." ben blurts, processing the words that just fell out of his mouth. "or...call the fire brigade. your choice. but maybe not the last one. don't start looking on right move. for now at least." you smile to yourself. oh my, you loved goofy ben. although you know it wasn't nice for him, and he was genuinely scared, you loved being the one to look after him instead of it usually being the other way around.

"i'll call Tom," you say, pulling your phone from your pocket. "He should be okay with spiders." you scroll through your contacts to find your neighbours number. you'd only met him twice-he'd gave you his digits when he went on holiday a couple months ago, in case something happened while he was away. He definitely had other intentions though - you could tell it was just an excuse to get your number, but went along with it anyway, in case something ever did happen- and today it did.

"that sounds a lot more rational," ben chuckles, starting to calm down.

you stand up and pace around in small circles as you press call, waiting as the phone rings a couple of times over.

"hey, y/n! what's up?" tom blares down the phone eventually.

embarrassed, you're hesitant to speak. "t-tom! can you- uh. can you come round for a second? me and ben need your help."

"y/n, it's nine forty at night. can't it wait until tomorrow?" he questions.

"it's kind of an emergency," you snicker. "i can't say why because you'll refuse, and, ben needs you. like right now." you whisper, turning your head to the door, reflecting on why your boyfriend had locked himself in.

tom giggles, his mind going elsewhere. this was not the time for innuendos, you thought to yourself. "i wont ask. give me 2 minutes and i'll be there."

he ends the call abruptly, leaving you to stare at your phone in confusion for a few moments. "he'll be here soon," you say, walking back towards the door. "won't you come out of there now?"

ben signs, standing back on his feet. once more, he brushes himself off before stretching his bones. he signs, scared but tired. he unlocks the door slowly, peeking his head around the corner looking if the coast is clear of spiders. he hopes that soon, he might just be able to get into bed peacefully-without any eight legged intruders.

~

tom had arrived and is standing in your room by the time ben is standing comfortably in the room. the five minutes it took for tom to get here, he'd had stood in your shadow, hoping you'd protect him from his worst nightmare.

"a spider?" tom questions, his hands in fists as they press against his sides. "you wanted me to come to your house, to kill a spider you last saw, in your bed?" his eyes study the room in search of the spider. of course, it was never going to be that easy, but again, it was pretty big. "well this isn't the way i expected to end up here."

you roll your eyes, turning your face to ben as though to signal for him to reply. if you spoke, you fear you'd get angry and go off.

"please just find it, we're exhausted." ben mumbles, glaring at tom.

"okay, okay. i'll sort it."

you watch as tom takes a step forward and pulls back the duvet from the bed-he grabs each of the pillows separately and shakes them before throwing them to the floor. he peels back the bed topper and airs it out, bouncing the mattress with his hands. once he's done, he stands back and admires the mess he's made in your room. "nope. not there."

"look harder," ben whines, fiddling his thumbs in his clasped hands.

Tom looks at him, his eyebrows furrowed. "how about you look harder, scaredy pants." he barks back. ben scrunches his face as he steps away from him, shoving his hands in the pockets of his joggers. you can't help but let out a laugh. ben was clearly letting his pent up anger out slowly. you could tell he was really tired and felt sorry for him-perhaps you shouldn't have said anything those hours ago; let him find it in his own time.

"what about under the bed?" you suggest, kicking the boxes underneath it.

tom nods, bending down on all fours to look. you pull your phone out again and shine the light for him to see more clearly. After a few minutes of moving the clutter aroud underneath the bed, tom finally chimes.

"I see it," he groans, stretching his arms out to cup the spider in his hands. ben takes a couple steps towards the door, ready to run if he sees it.

tom crawls out from under the bed with his elbows, pressing himself up with his legs to stand finally. now, ben stands behind the doorframe of the bedroom, sneaking glances whenever he can.

"want me to kill it?" tom suggests, shaking the spider in his hands.

"no!" ben shouts unexpectedly, shaking his head. his hair shimmies with him, moving softly as he does. you watch him, face full of fear and sorrow for the animal. this is why you loved him-no matter the situation, he was so selfless. "let it out the front door."

you nod, agreeing as tom looks at you for reassurance. you did both hate them, but could never hurt them.

tom stormed out of the room, ben running away in front of him, breath heavy as tom and the spider got closer. there he was, the normal ben.

-

"all done," tom says, placing the spider down outside. the spider scurries away as ben takes a huge gulp of air-he can finally breathe.

"thanks mate," ben says, offering a hand to tom. He ignores the gesture, instead opting for a quick wave to you both.

"no problem guys. next time, lets hope he doesn't arrive unexpectedly so late." the three of your let out a small laugh, trading glances as the sound quiets down.

As you both watch tom disappear into the distance, back to his own home, you reach for bens hand. he laces his fingers between yours; his hands are like mini heaters-the warmth radiating from his skin.

"see, that wasn't too bad, was it?" you ask, standing on your toes to reach bens lips. you plant a soft kiss before pressing your body into his. "he's a right dick isn't he," ben snickers, wrapping his arm around your waist to bring you closer. "but thank god he's not scared of spiders."

you shake your head as he speaks, your smile growing wider. "you've got a bigger heart that you think, you know."

"i know. i just hate showing you im scared." he admits, his lip hiding behind his teeth.

"i love you regardless. emotional ben and emotionless ben," you breathe, "i'd even love you if you were covered in spiders and bathed in them everyday."

ben cringes, letting go of your hand and stepping away. "you're so silly," he chuckles, shaking his hands at you.

"but if you were a spider, i'd catch you."

you gag jokingly, laughing as he folds over with his own laughter.

"let's go inside before he trots back into the house." ben says, smiling at you. stepping closer to him, you hook your arm to his, walking hurriedly from the cold back into the newly spider free house. or so you'd hoped.