#Touching Hair

[hockey-and-timbits]

All it can do is delay it for a while.

—Westley, The Princess Bride

[lovelyrita1967]

As  You Wish ✨💙

“Geralt!” Jaskier whined. “You HAVE to wear a costume.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, but otherwise ignored his roommate as he continued chopping potatoes.

Jaskier threw his hands in the air. “There is absolutely a law against hosting a Halloween party and not dressing up!”

Geralt slid the potatoes into the pot and reached for the carrots.

“Oh, I see. We’re doing that thing where you pretend you can’t hear me,” Jaskier sighed, tapping his fingers on the counter.

“I can hear you,” Geralt muttered as he chopped. “I’m just not wearing a costume.” He side-eyed the bags Jaskier had draped over the kitchen table.

“But I already RENTED them,” Jaskier complained as he picked up the spoon to stir the stew.

Geralt frowned and took the spoon from him. “Don’t touch.”

"Your costume is entirely black!" Jaskier pouted. "It's perfect for you!"

The chef went back to ignoring him as he slid the carrots into the pot.

Jaskier pursed his lips and glared, mind whirring. “What if I cook dinner every night for an entire month?”

The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched. “Pass.”

Jaskier gasped indignantly. “Rude!”

Geralt stirred, trying not to smile.

“I’ll do all the laundry!” Jaskier tried.

Geralt grunted as he shook his head and added some salt.

“Pleeeeease...” Jaskier gave up on the bargaining and went back to begging. “I cannot be Buttercup with the Dread Pirate Roberts! It’s pointless!”

“Buttercup can stand on her own,” Geralt countered. “She’s iconic.”

Jaskier sagged against the counter with a groan.

“Maybe Lambert or Eskel could be Westley?” Geralt suggested, trying to be helpful.

“But I want to do a costume with you, ” Jaskier mumbled, fiddling with the jars of spices Geralt had out.

Geralt put the spoon down and looked at Jaskier. “Why me?”

Jaskier laughed softly and shook his head. “For someone so smart, Geralt Rivia, you sure are an idiot.” He pushed off the counter and grabbed his phone. “I guess I’ll text Lambert.”

“Wait...” Geralt’s arm shot out and grabbed Jaskier’s wrist. “What does that mean, I’m an idiot?”

Jaskier’s eyes met Geralt’s. “Do you really not know?”

“Know what?”

“For Melitele’s sake, Geralt...” Jaskier shook his head. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you. I love the way you pretend not to care about anything, but you do, deeply. I love the way you treat everyone as an equal. I love the way you chop the peppers and onions so small for the nachos because you know that's how I like them. I love how you work so hard for your students because you believe each one can achieve great things. And I love how you look in black,” Jaskier chuckled, taking in Geralt’s usual outfit. “Fuck. I can’t believe I’m saying this. But I love you so much, I don’t even care. I know you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay. All I’m asking...” he took a deep breath and stared hard into Geralt’s wide eyes “...is for you to wear that fucking costume with me on Halloween.”

Geralt threw the spoon onto the counter and took Jaskier’s hands. “I...” And then he kissed him.

Jaskier made a noise of surprise, but his hands quickly wound their way around Geralt’s waist, sliding up his broad back. Geralt’s fingers wrapped around Jaskier’s jaw and threaded through his soft hair

When they finally pulled back, gasping for air, they watched each other in silence, eyes wide and blinking. They ignored the strew about to bubble over.

“Does this mean you’ll be Dread Pirates Roberts?” Jaskier finally asked, still short of breath.

Geralt smiled at him, tilting his head. “As you wish.”

[quillquiver]

Because Dean and Cas are currently on their honeymoon and everyone else can suck it :)))))) ao3

It’s kismet that The Princess Bride is on.

They’re cuddled in the California King, the covers rumpled and half-fallen to the spotless floor as Cas picks through the small bowl of fruit in his lap. His soft robe is open, eyes trained on the TV and mouthing along to Westley’s as you wish. He’s still a little flushed from the shower—shared earlier, with water pressure to die for—and freshly shaven. His damp hair curls against his forehead.

“Hey, Casanova.”

Cas turns to him with a sticky finger caught between his lips. Dean promptly loses his own train of thought.

“What?” Cas grins.

“Uh… nothing,” Dean says. “You’re gonna spoil your dinner.”

Cas squints and tilts his head a bit, and Dean’s friggin’ blush must give him away because that grin turns into a smirk. “I don’t think I can get an erection so soon after the bath, but I’m more than willing to try.”

Dean’s flush climbs to his ears. “Just watch the goddamn movie, asshole.”

“As you wish.”

He laughs when Dean tackles him into the pillows.

The people are reception had taken Charlie’s magic card and charged the most expensive room in the joint for a whole week. They’d even sincerely congratulated them on getting hitched when Cas had mentioned it. Dean had been… quiet; something about all the wealth made him nervous.

But it turns out when you spend an insane amount of dough, people give you whatever you want with a big smile on their faces. They’d been given two vouchers for the restaurant as an apology for having to wait fifteen minutes for their room to be ready, and when they’d arrived there had been a cheese plate, bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries, bottle of expensive champagne and a handwritten card waiting for them. Cas had let his duffle drop to the shiny tile and had beamed.

The shower was more than big enough for two and had water pressure to die for. They had a totally unobstructed view of the ocean, and despite the Do Not Disturb sign, every night, some guy came to give them two chocolates and refill the fancy free shit in the minibar.

Otherwise, they only answered the door for room service.

It’s a little much, sometimes—Dean doesn’t need a twink to bring him towels, thank you very much—but it’s nice. It’s nice to have hear the ocean through the open windows and eat breakfast on the balcony and walk on the beach and fuck at all hours of the day and night. Hell, his barring the beach, his wardrobe has pretty much consisted of a clean and dirty hotel-provided robe. Dean took a nap today.

He’s never been on vacation before.

By the time Westley and Buttercup have reached the Fire Swamp, Dean and Cas have drifted from making out to aimless touching and holding. It’s skin on skin, and it’s friggin’ glorious. Dean runs a hand through Cas’s hair and Cas leans into it like a cat. “Love you,” Dean breathes, because it’s still hard to say. Cas catches his mouth in a lazy kiss.

“I love you,” he echoes.

***

“Dean? We should probably get going if we want to make our reservation.”

“Dude, we’re not leaving in the middle of the Miracle Max scene.”

***

“Hi, uh. We’re a little late—ah. Winchester? The reservation’s under. Um. Winchester.”

Dean smoothes down his flannel and bites his lip. Fuck. They lost the reservation. There’s no record of them. The card was flagged and they know and they’re gonna—

“Oh yes, the honeymooners! Right this way, please.”

Dean only moves when Cas’s palm presses to his lower back. “Breathe,” he murmurs.

Dean moves to hold his hand.

***

“…Yeah that dessert thing was delicious.”

“Mm.” Cas throws himself onto the couch, crooking his finger in an imitation of bad porn. Dean flops of top of him with a smirk. “Dean!”

“What?”

Cas traces over the bridge of a freckled nose and the ridge of his cheekbones. He grins and leans in for a kiss. Dean enthusiastically accommodates him. “So, um… that tasting menu really only lets you taste, huh? You still hungry?”

As if on cue, Cas’s stomach growls.

Dean beams. “Let’s get Dominoes.”

“No green peppers.”

“Duh.”

He’s got his phone pressed to his ear as Cas grabs the ice bucket and nods at the door. “I think we have some beer left in the car.”

“How are you actually the fucking best?” It’s a knee-jerk reaction, one that makes a blush ride high in his cheeks. Moron. “Uh.”

Cas kisses his cheek. “Funny, I thought you held that title,” he says, like it’s no big deal. Like this whole thing isn’t a huge, terrifying, fucking wonderful trust exercise. Like it isn’t a leap of faith out of a goddamn plane. "I'll be back. No green pepper!"

“Hello? Is anyone there? Hello…?”

They polish off two extra-large pies and a couple of beers on the balcony, before going down to the beach with the last two bottles.

“Dean?” Cas murmurs into the crook of his neck, shifting to press his chest more firmly to Dean’s back. Dean wriggles his toes into the cool sand.

“Yeah?”

“I’m having a great time.”

And that shit shouldn’t make him blush, but Dean feels his cheeks heat, anyway. He clears his throat and presses a kiss to Cas’s knuckles, twining their fingers. “Me too, Cas.”

He can feel Cas grinning into his neck.

[gucciwins]

The Hunt

Luna has won the Halloween Hunt two years in a row and she is going for a third with Harry as her partner, the problem well they don’t really get along. 

Word count: 10,761

A/N: Luna, I hope you love her like I do. She was a joy to write. I’m very excited to share so please come and share your thoughts with me. It really means the world to me. Thank you to Gianna (@hunflowers​) for hosting this wonderful Halloween challenge. I hope you enjoy. (prompt: you’ve got to be kidding me).

Halloween. 

The one holiday that Luna is excited to take part in with her friends, finding even the tackiest of activities fun and a joy to do. Luna and Caleb went to the pumpkin patch last weekend and spent the day drinking cider and eating cinnamon donuts. The pumpkin carving was a whole other story that ended with one smashed pumpkin and a grumpy Caleb. 

Luna has spent every Halloween with Caleb for as long as she can remember. From first becoming best friends when Luna and her family moved in next door to Caleb at the age of six to now, age twenty-one going on four years of living together. Much to their parents' disappointment, sparks never did fly for them. Not that Luna ever thought there would be; Caleb just didn't do it for her no matter how handsome he was.  

This Halloween, just like previous ones, they were going as a pair. Their first Halloween at age six, they went as Power Rangers, Luna the yellow and Caleb the blue. It was their most memorable one and has the picture hanging in their living room for reminiscing purposes. Last year Caleb decided on Ghostbusters, and they killed it. Being university students means low money in their bank account, so they went thrift shopping a lot that year. 

Halloween 2020, it is her turn to pick. Luna decided they would be going as Princess Buttercup and Westley from The Princess Bride. 

A true classic that will forever live on, yes, it may be a romantical pairing, but Luna has begged for this for years, and now is their time to shine. She pulled extra shifts at the tattoo parlor she works at as receptionist to get authentic costumes—the red dress of dreams. 

It's Saturday night, there is a Blue moon, and it's Halloween. 

It is time for their third annual Halloween Hunt, where her group of friends pair up and set off to find clues to win the grand prize of a crown, some cash, and bragging rights for a whole year. Luna has won it the last two years with Caleb on her side, and she is ready to do it again. 

Luna stares at herself in the mirror. The gown is elegant and rich with details. The long red, billowy sleeves with a fathered cuff. A high neckline and falls into a loose, pleated skirt. The dress is tied off at the waist with a gold pattern belt. And to top it all off, the beaded crown on her brown curls. The color of her hair the only inaccuracy of the costume. The crown shines more she feels with her darker hair than the original Buttercup. 

Her makeup is minimal, only having used mascara for her long eyelashes she likes having curled. It makes her brown eyes that much nicer to gaze at. 

She grabs her wallet and keys that she will be leaving with Caleb as his look was blessed with pockets, and she does not want to stick anything down her bra for the entire night. She takes the stairs two floors down as they meet at Mitch and Oliver's apartment, who happen to live in the same complex.

To start the hunt, the host will let everyone get into partners before dispersing the first clue, and the first couple to make it to the final location at midnight will be crowned the winners. 

They really are in for a fun night. 

___

Walking in, she sees the apartment somewhat decorated, not much, purple string lights hanging over the large tv they have. Small orange pumpkins scattered around the room. The excessive amount of fake spider web in every corner of the house. Mitch has always said, why to decorate if you're going to be the one cleaning it up. Oliver did not think the same way; she imagines his room looks like the inside of Spirit Halloween. 

Mitch greets her with a drink. It's water. He smiles at her costume before wandering off. She sips the cold water, never one to drink on such an important night. Also, she's wary about drinking growing up; her dad made her start driving at the age of fifteen because he liked drinking when they went over to her uncle's house on the weekends. He wasn't an alcoholic, but he did drink too often, and instead of putting her and her brother at risk, he taught her to drive. This is why now, she will instead be the designated driver than the one having the drinks. Tonight, she needs a clear head to win.

Luna moves past the kitchen, eyes searching for Caleb in his black outfit and mask, but she stops dead in her tracks once she meets his gaze.

 It's a shock.

Caleb is dressed in slim black pants, a white dress shirt, a messy done blue tie, an unbuttoned black blazer, and completing his look is the signature beige blazer. He looks incredible, but not at all how he was supposed to. He winces when he sees the expression on her face. 

She’s upset. He didn't even warn her. Not a single text or call.

There has never been a reason to break tradition, but here they are doing just that. 

"They asked me to host," Caleb says as he steps toward her. Luna manages a nod. She changes her direction and goes across the room to sit alone on the windowsill, leading to a small flower patio. Caleb looks like he wants to head over, but she knows her well enough; it's best to leave her alone. 

As Luna gets lost in thought, she doesn't acknowledge that everyone else has slowly arrived, the chatter getting louder. She also is oblivious to the lingering eyes on her. If she had looked up, she would have met Harry's concerned gaze.

"Hello friends, thank you for gathering with us here on this day of spooks and horror." Caleb stands on the study coffee table to get everyone's attention on him. "This year, you may not pick your partner. No, there will be random draws." 

"Let's hope this makes Luna lose this year," Oliver shouts, getting lots of cheers in response. 

Luna rolls her eyes at the banter but lets a smile overtake her face because she knows no matter who her partner may end up being, she will be a winner.

Caleb announces how only five of them will pick a name and how it has been decided it will be Mitch, Daniel, Charlotte, Abby, and Luna, who will draw a name. 

She is third to pick a slip, not opening it up until the last two receive theirs. She doesn't focus on the others as they begin to search for their partners because Caleb is shuffling over to her looking sheepish. 

He pulls her in and wraps his arms around her, giving her a big squeeze. Long and hard enough to leave her out of breath. A sloppy kiss on her cheeks, she is quick to wipe away on his coat, not at all wanting to dirty her dress, at least not yet. 

Those hazel eyes are hard to stay mad at, and he knows it. Luna can count all the fights they've had on one hand.

"Whatever, you owe me." She bumps his shoulder. 

He nods, quick to agree. "Name your price."

Luna opens up the folded slip of paper. 

Harry 

"A new partner." She whispers, not looking up, hoping if she stares long enough, the name will change. 

Caleb leans in and smirks at the name. "That I can't do. You know the rules." 

She furrowed her eyebrows. "There were no rules until today."

Caleb laughs. "Everyone partner up if you haven't already."

Mitch is already chatting with Oliver, and she knows they will give her a run for her money. These two get on so well, but their weakness is that when Mitch gets a lead, he forgets to address it to his partner most of the time, leaving them separated and lost. 

Justine is with Abby, and honestly, she has no worry over them. Abby is a hard person to partner up with, always wanting to lead even when she has no clue what is going on. 

Calvin is with Daniel, and honestly, she knows they are not competition. Calvin told her the clues confused him. 

Mason and Charlotte, she was hoping to partner with Charlotte. That being her closest friend right behind Caleb. She's a music major, meaning their time together is always a joy. Luna singing a random song and Char telling her random facts she knows about the said song. Luna is not sure how good Charlotte and Mason get on, but only time will tell. 

As she sees everyone paired up, she scans the room for Harry. She doesn't spot him, but she does see Pirate Roberts, better known as Westley, her other half. He's wearing a black shirt that has a lace-up front with a matching pair of pants. The mask and headscarf add a touch of mystery, while the sash and gloves put the finishing touch to the look. As much as she hates to admit it, he looks good. 

"You've got to be kidding me." She says, looking him up and down in disgust. 

Harry scoffs, now standing in front of her. "Guess that means I'm stuck with you."

"Yeah, you can lose the mask now."

"No, I don't think so. Makes my eyes pop." He bats his eyelashes at her. 

She ignores him, moving on to an important question. "Who were you supposed to dress with?" 

"Charlotte." His stupidly, charming English accent responds. "She asked me last week, then told me she was doing Ghostbusters with Mason. Her costume is done too nicely to be done last minute."

This is a setup. 

She knows because Charlotte helped her alter the dress's length so that it didn't drag on the floor as she walked, and in return, Luna helped sew Venkman on her suit. 

The only question is, why would they want her matching with Harry if they don't get on well at all, not even a little bit. Every interaction leaves with one of them storming off, not to brag, but it seems to always be Harry. 

"Well, at least you were warned. Caleb didn't even tell me." She shares. "Had me walk in to see him dressed as an angel." 

"Castiel, right?" Harry says, a bit uncertain.

Luna nods, surprised he knows, thinking this might be their one connection to break the ice. "He posted on his story who he was dressed as." She spoke too soon. 

"You're saying you don't know Supernatural." 

"No, sorry." He says, not sounding apologetic. 

Luna shoots him a fake smile before looking away. "He can't be my partner; it's a disrespect to my morals." 

Her only response is laughter. She wasn't joking. 

"You know the rules, baby," Charlotte says, arms around Mason's waist. Luna narrows her eyes at that, mentally reminding herself to check in with Char about that. 

How had she won two years without knowing any rules? 

"Well, I'll still kick all your asses with Dobby on my team." When meeting Harry's eyes again, she smirks, his face shocked, not sure if she was insulting him. 

"Right, do not mess up our chances of winning." Her voice was deep and threatening. At least she hoped that's how it sounded. 

"I would never" Harry looks down at her with a smirk on his pink lips. "But I need motivation, so what's in it for me." 

Instead of responding with half of the money because that much was obvious, what else would he want? She looks him in the eyes. "I'll kiss you if we win," Luna tells him sarcastically, and before Harry has a chance to respond, Caleb is walking over, handing them their first clue of seven. 

Head to the place no one ever cleans

Harry scratches his head. "That's confusing."

"It's the bathroom. Specifically, the toilet." She hands the clue for Harry to put away, making her way there. 

"You sure?" 

Luna doesn't bother replying, pushing first to the bathroom, wanting to get a move on. It's going to be a long night if he keeps questioning her. 

Harry opens the door and jumps back, he's startled at the sight in front of him, but Luna nudges him aside to take a look and is left impressed.

There is fake blood on the mirror, "You're next" written sloppily. What startled Harry was the body bag in the tub, bloody transparent curtains hanged to make it seem like a messy murder. 

"There's not a body, right?" A slight tremble in his voice. 

"Of course not. No one is a fan of jump scares her." She eyes his face. "Especially you." 

Luna picks up the skull sitting on top of the toilet tank, and taped underneath is the second clue. 

"That was too easy," Harry tells her, already heading out of the apartment, not waiting for her to read the clue knowing this one will lead them outside. 

You may sit, you may stand, you may push, but one must never jump.

"Who even made these?" Harry scoffs. "It's awful." 

She chuckles, agreeing because they do stink. "Caleb. The host has to do them all for each group. Talk with owners of shops and all. It's a long process." Luna explains to Harry as she reads the clue once more. "I'm surprised I never noticed how busy he was the entire month." 

"It's what happens when you're self-absorbed." He mutters. 

"Ouch." She feigns hurt, hands over her heart. 

Harry rolls his eyes, not wanting to deal with her any longer than he has to. He has no clue what that clue is pointing to. He looks over at Luna, who has gone quiet.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Harry exclaims.

"Where is the headscarf? You're messing up the look." She pouts, and Harry would never admit it, at least to her, but she looks adorable. 

"I took it off. It messes up my hair."

Luna stares at his hair. "Looks as messy as always.'

He gasps. "It looks fantastic, trying this new serum to make it shine."

"Sorry to break it to you, but I don't think it is working." She scrunches up her face in disgust. 

"Well, your shoes don't match." He yells. 

She looks down at her Molly metallic leather platform boots that give her five-four self extra height. "My boots are badass. Buttercup still kicks ass in these." She twirls and begins walking away from him. 

"Luna, for fuck sake, where are you going." Harry rushes after her. 

"We've got a hunt to win." 

For someone of her stature, she sure has a fast pace. It seems as if she never slows down, effortlessly moving around pedestrians. All while Harry mumbles apologies as he trips over a person's shoe. 

"The clue." He clears his voice. "How'd you crack it." 

"Easy after a few reads. It's the swings at the local park." 

Harry nods. "That doesn't explain how you knew." 

"Caleb uses things in his life, and if you know him well enough, you can crack it. He's an open book, one talk with him and you'll know his grandparents' name and phone number. He loves sharing everything." Harry motions for her to continue, all while keeping her fast pace, leaving him a little wounded. "As kids, our parents' one rule at the park was that we could never jump off the swings all because one time Caleb and I were going so high I jumped and almost flew past the sand pile and landed on the concrete. No one broke a bone, but we could have." 

"You and Caleb must have given your parents a hard time." 

"Not really, we were angels." 

"Hard to believe." 

She kisses her two fingers before placing it over her heart. "Scout's honor." 

"You were in the girl's scout." 

"Well, aren't you nosy Miss Rosy." She rolls her eyes. "The town didn't have the girl's scout, so when Caleb joined, I made a presentation for Ulysses. He was the man in charge, and I impressed him. He accepted, and no one questioned me."

"Impressive," Harrys tells her, genuinely meaning it. 

"Now shut up, Styles. You have too much information, might have to go kill you or something if these things get out." 

"And here I thought we were becoming friends." 

"Nope, let's keep it that way." 

Harry shuts up, letting the chatter of late-night stragglers fill in the silence. Luna is stopped by a girl their age looking for directions to a party. She is happy to help, giving the girl extra detail to make sure she doesn't get lost. She goes as far as giving the girl her phone number to know she made it there safely. 

Luna is an enigma. 

"I thought you hated all humans, but I see I was wrong." 

Harry is such a jerk that she doesn't bother responding. No, she does something much better. She stops walking, sticking her foot out, knowing how oblivious Harry is. He trips, almost falling to his face, but to some miracle, he manages to right himself without a scratch. 

He adjusts his mask, brushing off the dirt he acquired at the bottom of his pants. "Well, that was mean.

"I thought it was rather kind, knock you off your pedestal." She grins at him, walking away again. 

Harry mutters something under his breath, making sure she isn't able to hear him. 

Luna decides to bring back the conversation of what started their night, his costume. "Why are you even Westley? You don't have the blonde hair for it."

Harry scoffs. "Says the girl with the brown locks of hair."

"The wig was itchy, besides my natural hair is pretty." Her hair is excellent, and she knows it. It's mid-waist, and she does hair therapy to keep it healthy. After Caleb's sister-in-law introduced her to natural hair products, a significant improvement. It added a shine she never had before. She is always paid lots of compliments on her hair. It's enchanting. 

Harry looks at her before staying quiet. He kicks a rock as he walks. "Blondes are overrated."

Luna ducks her head, letting her hair frame a curtain around her face wanting to hide the blush he managed to get out of her. 

Finally, reaching the park entrance, the swings a distance away. They stop, neither of them making a move follow the path.   

"You could just stay here, and I'll text you when I'm done," Luna tells him. 

Harry is quick to rebut, "I'm smart, I can help." 

"I didn't say you aren't smart. It's just I know you don't like me, so why spend the time with me?" 

That's far from the truth, Harry thinks to himself but doesn't deny it. "Together, we're winning this together." He gives her no room for argument walking to the swings. 

Luna nods to herself; she's going to be okay. Maybe the night will start to get better. 

Harry is opening up the clue as she approaches, and he holds it out further, allowing her to read it.

You walk by me, never give me a second glance. Now tonight, I dare you to give me a chance.

"That doesn't sound great," Harry confesses. 

"You alright, with a bit of darkness?" 

Harry nods his head, yes, but he has no idea what's coming next. 

___

Standing in front of the house, Luna feels a chill run up her spine. It's not like she's never seen this house because she had. She grew up in the town and walked past the lonely house that wasted away day by day as she made her way to school.

"This place is creepy," Harry mumbles, standing next to her.

The grass is brown and unkempt; dried leaves scatter the path to the home's stairs, a crunch under their feet as they approach. She walks slow, counting her steps, and at unlucky thirteen, they reach the first broken step. The wood looked as if someone took a hammer to it, having random holes done. The windows are filled with spider webs and dust, no way to look in. The door was red and had scratches. As if someone small had clawed to be let in.

"Sure you want to go in, Luna." Harry looks at the door in fright. "You can admit you got the wrong location. You can't always be right."

"Look, Styles, I know I'm right."

Harry begins to sweep around to make sure no one is watching them break into an old abandoned house. She leans against the rotting wood, there's a chance she might fall through, but she's always up for the risk. In doing so, she shuts her eyes for a second, and a memory pops in her head; it causes her to let out a chuckle, startling Harry. He whips around to shout at her, but the smile on Luna's face makes him stop. He's never been privileged to a smile so intimate.

Before Harry can even ask her what's got her smiling, she is already talking.

"Caleb and I had our first kiss on these steps." Luna's eyes shift down as if the memory begins to play in front of her."

"With each other?" Harry asks, wanting confirmation.

"Yes, Caleb swore he was in love with me in the sixth grade, and I told him he was insane. The feelings were not mutual." She assures, wanting to get her point across. "We were walking home from school one day, and I, as the brains of the duo, told him we had to check out the house. I swore we had our own Boo Radley after reading To Kill A Mockingbird. He was going on and on about how he swore his love for me." She turned to look at Harry. "I looked at him, put my hands on his shoulders, and put my lips to his. He stood there shocked, and once I pulled back, he grinned." Luna deepens her voice. "So, I don't love you like that."

Harry chuckles, enjoying the story. She's not even sure why she began to tell him. "I was like yeah, you idiot, I see you as a brother. My mom could not stop laughing when I told her. My dad not so much." She stood up straight, took three steps to the door, grabbed the rusted doorknob, and it twisted open. There was a loud creak as she pushed.

"In we go, Farm Boy."

Harry shakes his head, mutters "As you wish." He hopes she missed that.

He steps in; first, his eyes quickly sweeping around the house, a doorway to a living room, another leading to what he assumes would be the dining room, and right in front of them a spiral staircase leading to the second floor where they might venture to if they don't find the clue in the main rooms.

"Right, together," Harry tells her.

"Awe, don't be scared, Styles. I'll protect you." She reaches out to pink his cheek.

He swats her hand away. "You'll be the one needing it."

"Don't count on you being my savior then?"

"Not ever, Buttercup."

They walk the first floor and find nothing. It's quite dull, nothing that stands out of place. Nothing haunting, really. A bit of a disappointment. They approach the stair and see footprints. This must be the correct way. She lets Harry lead. Once at the top, they see footprints are leading left and right. Harry nods left, so she assumes he means she has to go right.

It was not what he meant.

As Luna makes her way to the door at the end of the hall, she turns to see Harry entering the first room. She should turn back and go with him. She thinks about it for a second and decides it's best not and continues on.

Luna enters the boy's room. There is a race car bed, with white drawers full of stickers on either side. Everything is dusty, can feel the twitch in her nose. She approaches the bed when a paper catches her eyes on the corner of the dresser filled with different kinds of dinosaurs. It is their clue. It reads

If you wish to find me, you must go to the place where the choice of sweets is never-ending.

Luna smiles gratefully to have found it. She'll figure it out with Harry, she decides. The quicker she is out of the house, the better. As she folds the clue, she hears the door slam shut. It makes Luna jump. 

She approaches the door and twists the knob, but nothing happens. Luna keeps pulling and nothing; she's slowly but surely beginning to freaking out. 

Maybe Harry was playing a joke on her. That had to be it. 

"If you think this is a good prank, you're wrong." She yells, eager to hear his deep laugh before opening the door. But instead, she is met with silence. 

"Styles, open the door." Her voice firm, anger slowly taking over." Still nothing. "Haha, you've had your laugh; let me out." 

The panic is beginning to set. Harry didn't lock her in; he's on the other side of the house. 

"Harry?" She whimpers.

Meanwhile, Harry, no clue in hand, stands at the top of the stairs staring at a mirror frowning at himself. He looked for Luna, but it's as if she disappeared. He has come to the conclusion that she has finally left him. 

Luna, not sure what else to do, begins to scream his name. The tears streaming down her face in panic. She just wants out. That's all she wants. 

She pounds on the door, her throat hurting from the loud screams she's let out. The tears making it hard to keep on going; with one final knock, she lets herself slide to the floor.

Harry was about to descend the stairs when he hears a pounding on a door. It gives him chills; as much as it frightens him to go check it out, he has a gut feeling he has to. He goes right, the original way Luna went, and makes his way to the closed door. He takes a deep breath before turning the knob. 

Nothing happens. 

He takes a step back before pushing all his weight into the door, causing it to fly open. Harry scans the room quickly but sees nothing until he looks down and sees Luna hugging her knees.

Harry is quick to react. He's on his knees in front of her. "Luna, love, it's me, Harry. You're okay." 

She slowly lifts her head. "Harry." She croaks.

"Yes, it's me."

The tears begin once more. "The door was jammed. I was calling for you." She throws her arms around him wanting to be close, needing comfort even if he may not want to give it. 

"Thought you left me once you got the clue." He confesses as he runs his hand through her hair, he might have always wanted to do it, but not like this, never like this. 

"I'm not that mean, am I?" She looks up at him through her long thick eyelashes. A tear runs down her cheek.

He brings his hand up and gently wipes it away. "No, you're sweet and sassy and perfectly you. Not mean. Ya, hear me."

Luna nods. 

"Let's get out of here, okay. We need to figure out the clue now. Can't do it without your brains." He smiles at her dimples on display.

Luna smiles, he helps her out, and they walk out, Harry guiding her with a firm hand on her waist.

Once outside, the cold autumn wind hits them, and it's like Luna can finally breathe again. Harry guides them all the way to the sidewalk, where she hands him the clue. 

If you wish to find me, you must go to the place where the choice of sweets is never-ending.

"Sweets? There's a candy store, right?" Harry isn't sure, remembering seeing one. 

"It's named Annie's Sweets. Two streets from the library." 

"Well, lead the way, Buttercup." Harry links their hands together and begins walking forward is surprisingly the right direction. Luna stares down at their intertwined fingers, and it feels nice. 

Maybe, she's just a little touch starved. 

Luna is quiet, trying to think of anything but that moment she had in that house. She's going to give Caleb a lot of shit for that one. 

As they walk, Luna notices their hands are still together before pulling away. "Sorry." 

Harry shrugs. "Don't mind."

Luna frowns and looks straight ahead as they walk; he's confusing. Why is Harry acting sweet? A little too sweet. She intertwines her hands together in the front wanting the feeling of his hand in hers to disappear. 

"Are you going to tell the others about my crying? I get it if you do. Good story to get a laugh at me." She mumbles the last words. 

Harry grabs her arm, stopping her. She slowly raises her head to meet his eyes through the eye mask. His green eyes soft but filled with an emotion, she can't place. "I would never, what happened was not a laughing matter, this, all this tonight will stay between us, you good with that." 

Luna nods.

Harry clicks his tongue. "Verbal response." 

Her brown eyes go wide. "Yes, I'm good with that." 

Luna can't hide her surprise, and she knows Harry can see that. He's never acted so kind to her. It's a bit weird, but it beats the back and forth remarks. She's also sick of this fa��ade of disliking him. It's exhausting now that she thinks about it. The banter is fun, but it always ends when it gets taken too far.  

"Harry, I know you hate me for some reason," She clears her throat before continuing. "But it's exhausting all the arguing. I'm great at it, but we've been at it for the two years we've known each other. You can keep hating me and not talking to me. I'm used to people not liking me. You won't be any different. We can co-exist in the same group."  

Harry scoffs, "You still don't get it."

She frowns. Get what? "You never gave us the chance to be friends. I'm giving you the chance to cut all ties while staying in the friend group." It's the most straightforward plan. It's honestly perfect.

"Luna, stop." 

She continues on. "Harry, seriously, you make me miserable, and I make-" He turns around, causing her to almost crash into him. 

"I like you." Luna knows the surprise is written all over her face. Harry's face is serious, no dimples insight and all his emerald eyes tell her is that he is full of frustration. "I like how beautiful and kind you are. How you don't let anyone walk over you and how you always manage to be the smartest person in any room."  

"Oh."

Harry likes her. Her. He likes her, and this was his way of interacting with her. He said she's smart, but honestly, nothing is making sense. She's confused; how does she feel? How long has he felt like this? Has it been since they were first introduced? 

Harry stands there staring at her, trying to see her give him any reaction, but all he gets is a blank stare. He clicks his tongue. "Alright." He turns on his heel and begins walking again.

Luna stares at him, walking away before shaking herself out of her thoughts and hurrying after him.

___

It's silent.

The quietest it's been all night, and she doesn't like it, but she's also not ready to address the bomb he dropped on her. 

At the start of the night, Luna believed he hated her. That he had hated her for the longest time only to find out he actually liked her. There is no way she'll bring it up, at least not yet. 

She cuts the tension in the way she knows best. 

"You could have at least grown the stache." He looks over at her, confused, not sure about what she just said or how she is brushing aside what he said. "The mustache adds to the character, and well, you don't have it."

Harry gasps. "I like my smooth face." She lets out the breath she was holding, thankful he went along. 

"Is that your way of saying you can't grow facial hair?"

"I can." 

She shrugs and nods. "Sure, Jan."

Harry is about to go off on her, but Luna runs ahead to the candy store entrance, walking in and letting the door shut behind her. 

He walks in after seeing that the store closes in twenty minutes; he finds Luna chatting with the cashier. He recognizes her as a girl he had in his intro to Psychology. She dropped out eight weeks in. He remembers because he lent her notes once and she had left coffee stains on them. As he reads on her name tag, the girl- Amy- was kind enough to pay him five dollars. Both girls don't acknowledge him, more into the conversation of Luna's costume and how pretty she looks in a crown. If Harry didn't know any better, he'd think Amy was flirting with her. Harry smirks but doesn't say anything waving at the girl before filling himself a bag of candy; he deserves it after all. 

"Amy was telling me Caleb came in a few days ago. Asked her on a date and they'll be going out next week. She thinks he's a proper cutie. Did you know her?" Luna tells him as she grabs the small tweezers to get a few sour gummy worms.

"Had her for a class first year, but she dropped out." Harry is focused on getting a few cherry sours in his bag. 

"Psychology. She was going through a rough time when she did it. Not that she ever needed the course. She's a theatre major now." 

"How do you know her?" He really is curious now, as she talks about her with familiarity. 

She drops a few Swedish Fish in the bag, sneaking one in her mouth, chewing it before moving along to add Tim Tams; he's never known for a candy store to have those. Then again, he's never been in this one. "She's my cousin. A year younger than us." 

"Why hadn't Caleb met her then if you've been friends for so long?" 

"God, you're a curious one, aren't you." She closes her bag and follows Harry as he fills his. He's going for Red Vines, nice and easy to snack on; Luna likes those only for movie nights for some bizarre reason she doesn't know. "I'm a protector of hearts. Amy is the sweetest person you'll ever meet, a real-life princess. Amy has been the sunshine in my life since she was born. I know Caleb, and he's going to fall in love with her, mark my words. I think they are a perfect match, but I also know not to meddle, which is why I wanted them to meet on their own." 

Harry smiles down at her. "Didn't know you could be so sweet, Buttercup." 

"Only to very few people." 

Luna places her bag on the scale, but her eyes go wide as she meets Amy's across the counter, realizing she doesn't have any money on her. Before she can even think about asking Harry, Amy saves the day. "Both your bags are covered. He knew whoever got this clue would most likely be buying, so he took care of it, more than enough actually." 

Luna rolls her head to look at Harry. "He's too kind." 

"What did the clue say?" Amy asks curiously. 

Harry and Luna's eyes go wide simultaneously. "Shit." He whispers before whipping out the slip of paper that led them there. "It says If you wish to find me, you must go to the place where the choice of sweets is never-ending." 

"The Pucker Powder!" Luna shouts, rushing over to the middle of the store where the machine of different flavors of powdered candy stands. There the clue is, under watermelon, Caleb's favorite. "I got it, Westley." 

Harry makes his way over to her waiting for her to read it, but Luna gestures for Amy to come listen as well, and she happily skips over. That's when Harry notices her costume; she's dressed in relaxed fitted jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and a faded brown leather jacket with leather boots. A charm hanging from her neck. "What are you dressed as?" He's confused. 

"Dean Winchester." She answers cheerfully. 

Luna feels Harry turn to look at her waiting for an explanation. "She's paired up with Caleb, He's Castiel, and she's Dean and together they are ‘Destiel’. A long-loved ship in the fandom of Supernatural.

He smiles. "You look great." 

"Don't worry, Ames, the reason we aren't friends, is that he doesn't watch." 

"It's not for everyone, Luna," Amy tells her before nudging her to read the clue. 

You swim to the bottom to find the other side but never come back up.

"Sound like the lake," Harry suggests. “Only source of water here.”

Luna nods, agreeing with him, as they head to the door. She stops, suddenly remembering something. "Do you need us to walk you home? You know how I feel about anyone walking out alone, especially tonight."

Amy blushes, looking down. "Caleb offered to walk me home, you know it's close by, and it's still a while until midnight." 

"Say no more, sweets." Luna leaves and follows behind Harry, as he now leads the way. 

___

It's a half-mile away, not too far but enough to have them silent for a while as they set a steady pace. 

Harry quite likes conversing with Luna and decides to ask her a question that's been on his mind since he saw her back at the apartment. 

"Why this costume, why Buttercup?"

Luna runs her hands down the front of the material, feeling the softness against her hands. "It was my favorite growing up. Still is, honestly. It's a nice story that gives you a bit of everything, romance, friendship, and adventure. Each character was on an adventure, and it brought them all together. Also, because I'd read it to Caleb during lunch breaks, we didn't feel like playing with others. I'd read because he had dyslexia and he grew a distaste for reading." Luna smiles fondly, thinking back to those simpler times. 

"I watched the movie for the first time last year." 

"Did you like it?" Her voice was full of curiosity. 

"Loved it." He tells her. 

She smiles, his answer filling her with joy. "Favorite part?" 

He hums, thinking it over for a second. "When she pushes him down the hill and finds out he's actually Westley." 

"Because he yells as you wish, rolling down." She grabs his arm in excitement, finishing the scene for him. 

Luna realizes what she's doing, and quickly let's go, muttering a small apology. "You're a romantic, Farm Boy."

"Not the first person who's told me." 

The walk to Orchid Lake continues in silence. A comfortable one, each one lost in their own head. Luna keeps playing one moment in her head, the moment Harry confessed his fondness of her, but it doesn't make sense. She replays every one of their interactions, and there is not one moment that stands out to her that proves he likes her. Harry introduced himself the first time but never once pursued a friendship or anything more. Luna is so lost in thought she doesn't realize they've arrived as she bumps into Harry's back as he stopped at the entrance. 

She walks ahead, and instead of walking to the trail in front of them, she goes right and takes a seat on the bench, it's a bit wet due to the mist filling the air, but she doesn't mind. 

"Uh, it's this way." Harry points, wanting to get a move on. 

Luna makes no moves to stand. She runs a hand down her face before letting it drop to her lap. "How is it that you hate, and you like me?" The question slips out before she can stop herself. 

Harry sighs, knowing the conversation is happening now. "Don't hate you." Harry is now standing in front of her, mask in his hand, wanting her to really look at him. "But, you hate me." 

Luna shakes her head, no. She's never hated anyone, she might have disliked Harry at one point, but honestly, they might have just misjudged each other. Harry gives her a look, one that tells her to be honest. 

"Okay, I didn't like you, but can you blame me?" 

"No, I understand completely." Luna stares at him, her eyes now locked with his.  

Harry lets out a deep breath. "I think you're an amazing person. You're kind and smart. Always volunteering to help others. You help set up study sessions for everyone." Luna keeps her eyes on him, not giving him a single expression. "Was mad you didn't treat me that way when we first met." He confesses. 

She nods, letting it sink it. "I've always included you, never not invited you." 

"I mean, you didn't try to get to know me." 

"Harry, I did when we first met." Luna is sure of this. 

"No, I would remember." He exclaims. 

"I'm not that memorable to you, it seems." She rolls her eyes. "Let me paint the picture for you. We are all hanging out in Mitch's apartment when you arrive a little later than the rest of us. A girl is hanging off your arm, not an inch of space between you. Kiersten, does that name ring a bell, Styles?" Luna knows it does. It's his ex, the only one she knows of. "She was rude to me the first time we met, when we were introduced to each other. You stood there and let her do that. Insulted me, and I was fuming. Mitch said you were a kind person and to give you a chance but letting someone treat someone else badly right in front of you, I wasn't so sure." 

Harry stays silent, letting her go on. "The second time we met, she made fun of Charlotte's outfit, and you just sat there. Char cried in the bathroom and then headed home for the night. From then on, I was neutral with you, not giving you anything to move forward on. The last straw was when it was Friday movie night in my apartment, and she tells you it's lame seeing movies together and that the apartment was trashy. You stood there, nodding along, and as soon as I saw you alone for a second, I let you know we wouldn't be friends because you were different than I expected.” Luna tries to calm her breathing, no point in losing control over the past. She's let it go, well, some of it. 

"She was bad. I broke up with her that night." 

"That's not the point. Even in doing that, you didn't apologize, but you did already decide on how you were going to keep treating me." 

Harry has no right answer because he was wrong. He messed up. "I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry, and I'm sorry my apology is so late, but you do deserve it. No one should ever put up with someone else's crap, Luna." 

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

"Honestly, I feel terrible. I think I did it because you didn't treat me like the others and-" Harry stops. 

"Yet you never questioned why. You just acted, and well, I reacted." 

Harry sighs, upset that they could have been friends by now, heck even something more maybe. 

"Wait, Harry." 

"Yes, Luna." 

"What was your' and'?" She stands up, not sure what it could be. 

"Uh, I was going to have a conversation with you to see why you never talked to me and had worked up the courage to also ask you on a date, but I heard you were dating Calvin, so I sort of got jealous and well, yeah." 

"We went on one date." She emphasizes. "No sparks. Who even told you?" 

"Abby." 

"Makes sense; she was jealous that Calvin asked me out. Seeing as he never once flirted with her. We're civil, but deep down, she doesn't like me." Luna isn't sure what went wrong with that friendship. 

They both let out deep breaths, thankful to have everything out in the open now, nothing hidden. A step forward. 

"I'm not that person," Harry tells her, needing her to know.

She smiles at him. "I know. You proved that today." 

"I hope I haven't offended you with my remarks." His smile was sheepish. 

"You haven't." 

"Luna," Harry chastises. 

"Okay, you have, but we can move past because it turns out you're actually really nice." She lowers her voice to a whisper. "And cause you like me." 

Harry blushes, his cheeks now a rosy red and not from the cold weather. "I plead the fifth." 

"Harry," She teases. 

"Lips sealed."

"Doesn't work if you confessed earlier." She reminds him.

Harry chooses to ignore her. Letting her words fall silent on him. "I know we have to get going, but can I do one thing before we do."

Luna nods, not sure what he wants to do. Harry takes a step forward until he is standing right in front of her. He pulls her in for a hug, his arms around her waist. She slowly raises her hands, being as gentle as she can about it. Their height difference makes her smile; her head reaches just under his chin. She hated it before, but now, in his arms, it's actually quite lovely. He's warm and not as firm as she thought he would be; it's like she's hugging a big teddy bear. 

Harry leans back, looking down at her, a shy smile on her face. His eyes flicker to her lips and back to her eyes, leaning in for a moment before stepping back. He clears his throat. "To the lake, Buttercup."

___

There's no fear as she walks to the bridge where the clue should be. It's dark, not much light guiding them besides the moon. Harry wanted to turn on his flashlight, but Luna knows it's best not to disturb their eyes with such a harsh light. 

Luna knows this path like the back of her hand. She comes here every morning, sometimes before sunrise, either for a run or walk but in the summertime, she'll even go in for a swim. The lake is well cared for by the community. There is just one house in the back of the property, and the old couple living there love the visitors. They teamed up with the university to set up students to be tour guides, and it's an excellent part-time job. There's a lot of good here. 

She's sure the clue is on the bridge because one time, Caleb got Luna so mad that she shoved him in. She can't even remember why she was angry, but Caleb surely does. She would bet her life on it. 

It's a wooden bridge, a bit old as it creaks under each step taken. It's low, as it sits on the side of the lake, four feet deep at most. She takes a lookout at the lake, the water showing a beautiful reflection of the bright full moon above their heads. 

Luna picks the paper taking a step closer to Harry so that they can read it together. 

"I was the embodiment of every writer's worst fear: A cliche."

"That's a book quote." Luna recognizes it, but not a single book comes to mind. "Let's head to the bookstore. It's fifteen minutes from here, but we can make it in ten." 

Harry lets her lead. They know time is counting down, not once having stopped to look at the time. Harry feels they might be falling behind with all the stops in between the clues, but he knows better than voice out his worries. 

"Do you recognize the quote?" Luna asks Harry to hand it over to him." 

Harry reads it over twice. "No." 

"I know it, but I can't figure out where. I've read one too many books." She crosses her arms across her chest in frustration. 

"Maybe it's one that you've read to him," Harry suggests. 

Luna looks up at him as if he just hung up all the stars in her name. "You're right. He set this all up." 

It's one she begged him not to make her read, but he gave her an offer she couldn't resist.

Luna picks up her pace; she's close to running but stops herself from doing so. 

"Wait up, it isn't going to run away." Harry huffs out. He thought he was in shape, but tonight has proved him wrong. It could also very well be the boots. 

"Farm Boy, put those legs to work!" She shouts, not at all looking back at him. She didn't have time for that. 

"I'm tired," Harry groans. "We've walked a lot.” 

"Please, we'll get something to eat after we win." She throws him a smile over her shoulder, and Harry happily returns it. 

"Deal." Luna is surprised at how quick he was to recover now next to her. She would have thought he was okay if it weren't for the deep breaths he was taking. "It can be our first date." 

Luna falters in her step. She recovers just as quickly, hoping Harry did not notice. It seems like he didn't. "Great joke, get serious." It's weird; she's feeling butterflies in her stomach at the prospect of what could be with Harry, a date. It doesn't sound so bad, but it's not her focus. 

Luna misses Harry frowning. He was serious, but he also understands they just came to a truce of sorts less than an hour ago. 

Walking into Read to Dream, the first thing Luna does is scan the clock. There are forty-five minutes until midnight. That is plenty of time to reach the last destination after retrieving the final clue. 

The bookstore is a family-owned place. Mrs. Bennet, the owner, will be sure to pass it down to one of her grandchildren. Seeing as her children didn't take an interest, but dear Clara has. Clara is Mason's younger sister. She recently turned seventeen, meaning she's now allowed to close shop independently, seeing as her grandmother lives right above. 

The bookstore is what everyone likes to call an organized mess. There are many books on shelves in their respected genre and ordered alphabetically. Still, there are also books on chairs that no one ever seems to touch, the books on top of the bookcases that don't fit, and the books in the back that are stacked in rows in a rainbow color because they don't have a specific genre. Luna spent many summer days here, this was her first job at fifteen, wanting to have more liberty and Mrs. Bennet was kind enough to hire her on. From time to time, she comes in to have tea with her or even volunteer her time around. It's one of her happiest places. 

"Hello, tootsie!" Luna bounces over to Clara going around the counter to give her a hug. 

"Lunes, it's great to see you. You look gorgeous. Red is definitely your color." Clara gushes. 

"Thank you, I'd love to chat more, but I'm on the hunt for a book." Luna turns to scan the store as if it would stand out to her.

Clara nods. "That I can help with.”

"Gone Girl"

"Three aisles down, second row." 

Luna quickly thanks her, and Harry follows after her. Harry's stuck on the fact that she seems to know everyone they encounter. He's never seen a person as social and kind as her. 

"You read Gone Girl aloud to him." Harry finally processes the information that was given a few minutes prior. 

"He paid me to." Luna defends.

"How much?" 

"In lunch for an entire semester." Luna finds the book and begins to flip through it knowing it must be stuck in there. 

"Fair." 

"Got it!" Luna cheers. She pulls it out and hands it to Harry. He opens it, and that's when her eyes catch sight of the second piece of paper. This one is pale yellow, meaning it's not a clue and specifically for her. Luna slips it under her sleeve, careful not to have it fall out. 

Evil lurks at midnight. I invite you to join me when they begin to rise.

The cemetery. A chilling place to end the night, but a perfect place to be crowned winners. 

"It's a twenty-minute walk from here," Luna informs Harry, putting the book away and heading to the front. 

"I've never been to the cemetery." Harry decides to tell her. 

"It's not as creepy looking as you would think." 

"Don't believe you," He mutters. 

They say goodbye to Clara and begin the walk to the final spot of the night. 

"Ready to win?" She smiles up at Harry, buzzing with adrenaline, knowing how close they are. 

"Yeah, I am." 

As much as Luna wants to run to the cemetery, she wants to enjoy the last alone time she will have with Harry. She knows they are going to be friends after this. She lets herself fall behind a few steps and pulls out the slip of paper. She unfolds it, and it reads, "You can thank me by making me the man of honor." She blushes, but Caleb might be right, and she honestly hopes he might be. Luna can deny how she feels all she wants, but tonight proved something there, something he saw long before she did. 

Something that had been hiding there for quite some time.  

This could very well be the night that changed it all, the story they tell their grandchildren. That stops her letting out a gasp loud enough to grab Harry's attention. A few hours ago, she couldn't stand him and now is thinking about a future with him, and all Luna wants to know is how she let these feelings grow without really noticing. 

"You alright, Luna?" Harry looks concerned. 

No future talk, not now, at least. First, they will win, and then they both can go from there. 

"Luna, love. Times ticking." Harry teases. 

Luna starts forward once more, not having noticed how close they actually are from the entrance. She passes Harry and is now running. "Pick up the pace, Farm Boy." She's gaining lots of distance from him. 

"You can't beat me, Buttercup," Harry says, beginning to catch up, now right behind her. 

Luna lets out a loud laugh causing her to slow down. "We're on the same team, Westley." 

Harry laughs, pulling ahead, but grabbing her arm, making her run even faster. They turn the corner, and that's when she sees Caleb's car and knows the entrance is right ahead where he has to be waiting. 

Caleb is leaning against the rusted golden fence. Evergreen Cemetery, the name on the arch staring down at them. Caleb raises his head, looking away from his phone as he hears footsteps hitting the pavement. 

"Inconceivable!" Caleb shouts as Harry and Luna stand in front of him, out of breath but smiling. "You have arrived with ten minutes to spare, but I hate to inform you-" Luna's smile drops, and Harry can only frown, a profound bit of sadness forming in his stomach.

Caleb bends over, laughing. He wishes he could have recorded that. "I'm only playing. Of course, you won." 

Luna punches his shoulder. "Jerk." 

"Hey, be nice," Caleb backs away, his hands up in defense. "Winners aren't mean." 

"They are if it's to their best friend." Harry laughs, knowing Caleb deserves the well-given punch he received. 

"Honestly, I wasn't too sure you'd win, considering you two aren't- or weren't the best of buddies." Caleb nods his head to their connected pinkies. Harry blushes but makes no move to pull away. Luna tries, but Harry tightens his hold, and well who is she to fight him. 

"Look who's here," Caleb says, looking over their shoulder. 

It's Mitch and Ollie rushing over, a frown on both their faces as Luna and Harry step to the side so Caleb can adequately thank them for being the first losers. 

Mitch scoffs, a smirk forming on his face. "No surprise, they won. Harry would do anything to see Luna smile."

Harry's cheek goes red, but Luna carries on her conversation with Caleb feigning as if she didn't hear a word Mitch said. 

As time clicks closer to midnight, the teams begin to trickle in. Daniel and Calvin come in with five minutes to spare. Mason and Charlotte right on their heels, and at 11:59, barely making it on time are Justine and Abby. There were many mixed emotions as they found out Luna and Harry were the winners. A few eye rolls (Abby) and lots of cheers. 

Caleb has quieted everyone down, as it is now time to crown the winners, and Luna is buzzing with excitement. She might not have won with Caleb by her side, but Harry was just as great as Caleb, if not better. 

"I am proud to crown Luna and Harry, the winners of the Halloween Scavenger Hunt 2020," Caleb yells, having everyone break out into collective cheers. Luna blows kisses to her group of friends, a large smile on her face. 

Charlotte steps forwards and places a jeweled crown on her head. Luna thanks her softly and watches as she does the same to Harry. He bends down so that Charlotte doesn't need to reach up to place it on him. He has a broad smile on his face, he glances at Luna, causing her to go a deep red, but all he does is give her a cheeky wink. Caleb hands over two yellow envelopes, Winner, written on the front, and in each is the $250 prize money. 

It's $500 total, but it's split because of groups. She's not sure who decided everyone put in $50 to get a nice prize out of it instead of just bragging rights, but Luna was thankful for whoever did.

"Speech, please," Caleb says, backing away to stand with the others.  

Harry nods at her asking if she'd like to go first, but she shakes her head no. He clears his throat and puts on a charming smile, always quick to dazzle a crowd. "This year, I was not expecting to partner up with the best at the game, but I am glad she drew out my name. Luck was honestly on my side." He turns his head to find Luna already staring at him. "I can happily say that I'd do it all over again with Luna by my side." Shoots her a smile before locking eyes with their friends. "As now reigning three-time champion, I'm proud to have been at her side. Her brains and my looks won us this hunt." He fakes a hair flip causing Luna and Caleb to let out a giggle simultaneously. She nudges him gently, shaking her head at his antics. 

Harry smiles at her waiting for her to now start hers. She blushes under his intense gaze wishing he'd direct it elsewhere. 

Luna knows they are waiting for her to share, but she's stuck in a trance staring into Harry's emerald eyes. She thinks back to the evening's start in Mitch's living room and the promise she made to Harry if they won. 

Without thinking twice, she steps close to Harry, closing the small distance between them. Luna brings up her right hand to gently cradle his cheek and as for permission. He gives her the slightest nod, and in the next second, her lips are on his. Harry reacts quickly, wrapping his arms around her waist, needing her close, not all believing it's actually happening. 

Harry's lips are soft, his mouth tasting like cherry from the gummies they bought earlier in the night. The butterflies in her stomach are going crazy, trying to find an escape. Harry lets out a small moan. That's when she knows it's time to pull away. Luna rests her hands on his chest, feeling how fast his heart is reacting to the kiss. 

Luna turns to face her friends,  not caring how they were all witnesses to their first kiss. "I told Harry if we won that I'd kiss him, and well, I'm not one to go back on my word." 

Caleb cheers and starts to clap, not at all trying to hide his excitement. Everyone else joins in the hollers, only getting louder, causing Luna to drop her head to rest on Harry's chest as she takes in her friend's excitement, knowing the teasing will soon be next. Harry has not removed his hands from her waist, liking how close she is. Luna doesn't mind it either. It feels quite nice.  

"Alright, let's head to the diner where we'll buy the winner's food." Caleb begins ushering everyone to the cars. He got Amy's help bringing over Mitch and Charlotte's car which is how they will be leaving, finally the end to all the walking.

Luna and Harry are still wrapped in each other's arms, not at all ready to move. Caleb is waiting for them at the small cobblestone entrance.

"We'll meet you there." Luna knows they have no transportation, the diner being close to their apartment that is a good two miles away. 

Caleb nods, stepping closer to toss his keys to her. She catches them with ease. "I'll be riding with Mitch." 

They watch the two cars drive away before turning her attention back to Harry. 

"What a night." 

She nods in agreement, happy that the hunting is over and can now relax. 

"Favorite part?" Harry asks.

She thinks it over for a second before responding, "The haunted house."

"Really." Her answer really surprises Harry, and he doesn't try to hide it. 

Luna shrugs. "Think that's what broke the tension between us; otherwise, we'd still be bickering." Getting locked in a room was not fun, but Harry coming to look for her and help her showed her a side she hadn't seen before. It was worth it, but would most definitely not do it again. "And yours?" 

He leans down to whisper in her ear. "When you kissed me." 

Luna nods, "That was a nice moment, huh." 

"Care to do it again?" 

"Only," Luna pauses before leaning close to Harry. She feels his breath against hers, mixing together. "If you would agree to dress up with me next year." 

"Done deal." Harry answers. His lips are on hers once more. Harry has a hand on her cheek, deepening the kiss, not ever wanting to pull away. "We could be Noah and Allie from The Notebook."

Luna breaks the kiss. "Gross, please take that back." 

"What's wrong? It's my favorite movie." 

"Why?" Luna asks in disgust. "Allie cheats on her fiancé. Sure, they have true love, but cheating should never be condoned, especially in a love story. Sure the book showed their growth and maturity, but you're not talking about the book. I shall not do it, not ever." 

"Guess you just won our first fight, Buttercup." Harry smiles. 

"First? We've had over five hundred!" Luna tells him. "Now, kiss me again because I won." 

"If we're kissing after each fight, then I owe you over five hundred." Luna shuts Harry up by connecting their lips. She knows kissing Harry will never get old, neither will these pointless arguments that will be forgotten seconds later. 

"Enough of giving these dead people a show. Let's go eat." 

"As you wish." 

Luna gasps, pressing her right hand against her heart dramatically. "Are you saying you love me?" She clears her throat, scrunching up her face in apology. "This might be a little awkward then." She points between them both. 

Harry stops walking, throwing his head back, letting out a loud groan of frustration. "You're a pain in my ass." 

Luna giggles. "Would you want it any other way?"

Harry grins, looking down at her soft brown eyes. "No." He responds honestly.  

Pinkies linked together, bumping into each other randomly to see who stumbles the most, Luna and Harry walk out of the cemetery forever thankful for this Halloween night. 

I love you! 

Thank you for reading, come chat the hunt with me

[hennike]

lamen princess bride... as you wish 🥺 w laurent as buttercup and damen as westley

“Rest, your highness. We continue when night falls.”

The pirate’s grip was warm around Laurent’s wrist, unrelenting.

“Unhand me,” Laurent demanded, snatching his arm away from him. He cradled his wrist in his other hand, and was surprised to find it without a bruise.

“That’s hardly polite, your highness—especially to the man who saved you.”

“Saved me, only to hold me hostage,” Laurent shot back. “A man like you deserves no courtesy.”

“Like me?” The pirate’s tone was mild, curious, as if he was simply indulging Laurent’s need for conversation. “And what kind of man am I? If you would be so kind, your highness.”

“I know who you are,” Laurent spat out. “You’re the dread pirate Charls.”

Oddly, the pirate seemed pleased. “You’ve heard of me?”

“A cruel pirate, who pilfers poor villages, and leaves in his wake hoards of bastards and trails of blood. The court never tires of your crusades,” Laurent said, disgusted.

“I serve at the pleasure of the nobility,” drawled the pirate. His nonchalance infuriated Laurent.

“You are a murderer,” Laurent spat. “You have blood on your hands, and you expect me to relish in your presence.”

The pirate snorted, turning amused eyes on Laurent. “So does your brother.”

Laurent paused. “My brother? How could you possibly know about my brother?”

“That is no matter,” the pirate said. He waved a hand in the air in dismissal, but something about his demeanor had shifted. Secretive. Laurent watched him warily. “What matters is your woeful hypocrisy.”

The comment carried with it a sting, and Laurent, against his better judgement, found himself rising to the pirate’s bait.

“My brother fought for his country.”

The pirate clicked his tongue, tutting as if to mock Laurent. “For country, for sport—what difference does it make?”

“The difference is that my brother fought for honor.” Laurent glared at the pirate, disdain toiling within him. “You are a coward, who hides behind a mask as he takes the lives of innocent men, men with families, children, lovers. By your hands, lives are lost in vain.”

He thought of Damen. His sweet, sweet Damen, who had set off in the hopes to make for himself and Laurent a better life, only to meet with the dread pirate Charls’s cruelty. Laurent looked away and watched as the clouds crawled past.

“You killed my love.” Laurent’s voice was strained. The grief he thought had muted over the years came back with a vengeance, his body aching with the sadness of a life with his love, lost. “You killed my love, and you expect me to thank you.”

The pirate was silent.

“All too possible, I suppose,” he finally replied. He appeared casual as he plucked grass at his feet. “I’ve killed many men. Tell me about your lover, then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your love,” the pirate said. “Was he a noble? Ugly? Rich? Scabby? I would expect nothing less.”

“No,” Laurent said. “A farm boy. He was poor. Poor, but kind, and warm, and perfect.”

The pirate scoffed. Laurent turned to him, defensive.

“He left, promising to return to me as soon as he was able. And then you”––Laurent rounded on the pirate, propelled by the force of his heartbreak––“on the high seas, you and your men attacked, and left no man alive, not even the cabin boy.”

“Yes, well,” the pirate said cheerfully. “It wouldn’t do to make any exceptions. That would only cause trouble for me. Mutinies abound, of course, and the reputation I’ve spent so many careful years building would all be for naught.”

“You mock my pain—”

“Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”

Laurent stared at the pirate, struck by his sudden sobriety. Something in him wanted to yell, wanted to shout and hurt, because of course, Laurent knew life was pain. Life was difficult, but Damen always made the burden easier to bear—but then he was gone, and the pain became inescapable.

“Although,” the pirate began, calling Laurent’s attention. He hadn’t even noticed it had strayed. “I recall this farm boy of yours. Five years ago, yes?”

Laurent remained silent. What would it accomplish, to reveal that he knew to the day how long it had been since news of Damen’s death landed itself on his doorstep?

“He died well––that should please you.” The pirate began to pace mindlessly, staring off into the distance in his recall. “Barely an ounce of fear in him. All he said was, ‘Please. I need to live.’ Something about a man he loved waiting for him.”

Laurent shut his eyes, breathing steadily to quell the grief caught in his chest. Oh, Damen.

“I assume, then, that you were the man he was referring to. He spoke of your beauty, of your wit and your enduring faithfulness. Only”—the pirate turned, eyes deadly and frightful behind his mask—“I feel I did him a favor. Look at you. It seems he overestimated your faith.”

“How dare you,” Laurent gasped, grave and seething in his disbelief. “Do not presume to know anything about me.”

“I know enough, highness,” the pirate said. He was angry, too, for reasons Laurent could barely divine. “Tell me, how long did it take until you landed in the prince’s bed? Had you at least the decency to wait a week out of respect, or were you so eager—”

Unbidden, Laurent’s hand shot out and met the pirate’s cheek with a devastating smack. “Another word, and I swear to you on all that is holy that you will not live to see the next day. I died that day.”

They watched each other, fire on fire, and Laurent realized with a start that the proximity between them had grown nearly non-existent. Laurent staggered back, as if burnt.

“Highness,” the pirate began, quietly. “Laurent.”

There was something so distinctly familiar about how the pirate had said his name, but Laurent could barely afford to pinpoint it, preoccupied as he was with stifling the ache spreading through him. Damen, he thought, how did we get here?

Suddenly, the pirate’s attention diverted as the rumble of horses filled the air, and Laurent took his chance.

“Help,” he yelled, moving determinedly towards the horses. He hardly cared who it was he was calling out to, as long as he wouldn’t have to look at the pirate a moment longer. “Torveld!”

He began to ran when fingers closed around his wrist again, tugging him against a solid chest. The pirate.

The pirate crouched behind a boulder, taking Laurent with him. One gloved hand covered Laurent’s mouth, muffling Laurent’s yelling.

“Hush,” the pirate whispered into Laurent’s ear, breath hot. His other arm wound itself around Laurent’s waist, tightening. “They’ll find us.”

Inexplicably, Laurent listened, although his mind raced. There it was again, that familiarity, like a puzzle one step away from completion. “Let go of me,” Laurent said, thinking and thinking and thinking—

And then, the pirate said, “As you wish.”

The world stopped.

“What?”

Laurent turned, and watched as the pirate tore off his mask.

“Laurent,” said Damen.

“Damen,” said Laurent.

The sound of hooves landing heavy on earth grew louder and louder, and Damen stood, his hand back around Laurent’s wrist. “We need to run.”

Without another word, they ran. Laurent forced himself to pay attention to where they were going, to the landscapes passing by them, to the terrain their tired feet stepped on, if only because he could hardly focus on anything else. Every time he looked, there Damen was, leading the way.

Damen.

Breathing. Running. Alive. His Damen.

They stopped at a clearance far from where they had fled, Damen dropping to the ground as his chest heaved with the effort to catch his breath. Laurent, just as spent, moved to his side.

“You,” Laurent began, then stopped. What words were there for when the man you thought you’d lost forever was suddenly in front of you?

“I,” Damen said, turning bright eyes on Laurent.

“I must be dead,” Laurent whispered. He was careful, cautious, as if one wrong move might whisk him away from this moment. “There is no other explanation.”

“We’re quite alive,” said Damen. He brought a hand up to caress Laurent’s cheek. “A reunion would have been easier in the afterlife.”

Laurent barked out a laugh, but it came out sounding like a sob.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Damen said, bringing his other hand up so that we was cradling Laurent’s face in his palms. “Please, please, no. You know how it hurts me to see you cry.”

“Damen,” Laurent said, and relished in the warmth of Damen’s touch. He wrapped a hand around Damen’s wrist, feeling the warm give of skin and the hardness of muscle and bone. “This is real.”

“Yes.” Damen wrapped his arms around Laurent and pulled him closer, into his lap. Laurent could do nothing else but wrap his arms around Damen in return, holding him tightly. “I told you I’d return, didn’t I?” he murmured into Laurent’s hair.

“I waited, then you died.”

“Death cannot stop true love,” Damen said. “All it can do is delay it for a while.”

Laurent pulled back and looked at Damen, his heart throbbing painfully in his chest. “All these years, my memory served me well,” he said after a long moment. “You’re as handsome as I remember, on the day you said goodbye.”

“Laurent,” said Damen, pained.

“Tell me this is it,” Laurent said, desperate. “I waited a lifetime, and grieved for longer. You have returned to me. Tell me the waiting is over.”

“This is it,” Damen answered, his voice urgent. He rested his forehead against Laurent, and Laurent was dizzy with the warmth of him.

“Kiss me.” Laurent ran his hands through Damen’s curls, feeling the bare weight of them between his fingers. He repeated, firmer, “Kiss me.”

“As you wish,” Damen said, and kissed Laurent breathless.

[themurphyzone]

PatB Oneshot: Every Rose Has Thorns and Petals

Summary: Brain’s plan is simple: create a Valentine card with a message that the world should adore him as their new ruler. But he needs extra help in coming up with a catchy message to rein in the consumers for the outer cover. And who better to help than the expert of all things amour?

AN: I decided to see if I could write a good Suavo. Enjoy! Warning for terribly cheesy flirting. I don’t typically write this genre XD

This borrows from the HC that Pinky can still do the Suavo persona.

Written for Valentine's Day/Suavo Sunday. I regret everything.

AO3 Link

At last, a new plan came to fruition! With Valentine’s Day looming upon them with its chocolate-coated fangs and sickly sweet aroma, people would be flocking to grocery stores everywhere to purchase giant teddy bears they could barely carry around and heart-shaped boxes of gourmet chocolate. But most lucrative of all, they would buy Valentine cards with the most obnoxious lovestruck messages that were far cheesier than Pinky’s cheesecake.

Everything clicked into place. The slightly larger than average dimensions of a Valentine’s card. Various red and pink hues for the envelopes. Colorful images with hearts, roses, and Pinky on the front cover (for Pinky met all of the scientific criteria that triggered one’s protective instincts). And on the inside, an image of Brain standing on the world in royal regalia with a message declaring that all the world shall adore him as their new leader.

But there was a single, glaring flaw to his otherwise brilliant plan.

He could not come up with a ridiculous phrase for the outside cover. It had to be eye-catching, humorous, or corny enough to grab a customer’s attention. He stared at the smiling picture of Pinky for several minutes, then gave in.

Pinky was the expert in all things ridiculous after all.

“Life is the road I wanna keep going! Love is a river and I wanna keep going ooonnnn!” Pinky sang along to his playlist, leading a Barbie doll in a tender waltz.

And it was best to interrupt before Pinky’s playlist reached My Heart Will Go On. That sappy 90s love ballad was on there. He was not striking the King of the World pose until he was actually king of the world, but that assertion hadn’t gotten through Pinky’s cotton-stuffed head yet.

Brain grabbed the prototype card and pencil, marching up to the windowsill where Pinky and Barbie danced under the evening sky. The sun lowered, the moon rose, and the first twinkling stars poked out, signifying the beginning of another night.

The phone was propped against a wall, and Brain smacked the image of Anastasia and Dmitri dancing to stop the song as he passed by. Pinky continued to hum, dipping Barbie low enough that her blonde hair touched the windowsill. His eyes were half-lidded, tail swishing to an invisible beat. Though there was no music, his rhythm was steady and his feet never missed a step.

It was mesmerizing. Pinky danced with all the grace of a professional ballerina.

He pricked his finger on a sharp point of the prototype card, and the poke brought Brain back to reality. Right. No distractions.

“Hiya, Brain! Zort!”

Dear Archimedes there were otherworldly blue eyes right in front of his face.  

Startled, Brain leapt back and swung his pencil defensively. There was a muffled narf as the eraser end went into Pinky’s mouth. Once the initial shock passed, Pinky giggled and nibbled on the eraser, several rubbery shavings poking out between his teeth.  

Brain took a deep breath, trying to calm his too-fast heartbeat.

“Quit slobbering on my erasers, Pinky,” Brain snapped. He removed his pencil from Pinky’s mouth, wrinkling his nose at the saliva-coated eraser. He tossed it aside, and the pencil skittered across the counter and onto the floor.

“But they taste so good!” Pinky licked his lips. “Especially with a pinch of dryer lint. That way you get fluff and chewiness in one single fantastic bite!”

Sometimes he truly worried for the state of Pinky’s digestive tract. For now, it was best to change the topic entirely. “As much as I’d love to debate the intricacies of your exotic cuisine, I require some of your eccentric expertise for my latest plan,” Brain said, setting the prototype card on the counter.

Pinky’s tail and ears perked up. A predictable reaction, but reliable all the same.

While Pinky put Barbie away, Brain retrieved a new pencil. There were few writing utensils that weren’t chewed up by a bored employee or Pinky for fun, and it wouldn’t be long before Brain would have to acquire more.

“I gotta help Brain now, Barbie. Thanks for sharing a dance with me! Those ballroom dance classes are really paying off!” Pinky chirped, waving to the inanimate Barbie, who now sat in a pink plastic convertible next to a shirtless Ken doll. He peeked inside the card and clasped his hands together, holding them against his cheek dreamily. “Awww, Brain! This is gonna be so romantic!”

“The very atmosphere I intend to create with these mass-produced cards, Pinky,” Brain replied. “However, while I have all the elements of your typical Valentine card alongside an additional message that will aid us in our conquest, I haven’t worked out one essential component yet.”

He closed the card and tapped the empty speech bubble next to Pinky’s image.

Pinky tilted his head. “You haven’t figured out how to make single people buy your cards yet?”

Drat. He hadn’t considered those outliers.

“Then we’ll just have to infiltrate the postal service,” Brain said, mentally congratulating himself on correcting that error quickly. “But before we implement the plan, I need a Valentine phrase for this speech bubble. A saying that will entice the average infatuated consumer and hook them into purchasing my cards alone. And since you lean heavily toward the sentimental and saccharine…well, this is where I require your assistance.”

“The sentimental and the saccharine?” Pinky echoed. “I don’t think I’ve heard of that soap opera, Brain. What channel is it on?”

Brain opened his notebook and found an empty page, poised to jot down Pinky’s suggestions. “The real life channel. Don’t be concerned about missing it, Pinky. It’s on 24/7 all year long. But I digress. The sooner I find a phrase, the sooner we’ll have the world!”

Pinky tapped his foot in thought, the tip of his tongue poking out like he truly believed protruding tongues had the power to magically grant ideas. For all Brain knew, Pinky probably believed that.

Then Pinky snapped his fingers. “I got it! How ‘bout ‘be mine, valentine’?”

“Too cliché,” Brain muttered. A million Valentine cards would already have similar phrasing. They didn’t have time to seize control of a greeting card factory. “Not unique enough.”

Although the valentine bit wasn’t particularly directed toward him, his grip on the pencil slackened, the tip leaving a graphite smudge along the margins. He quickly turned the pencil around and erased it, hoping Pinky didn’t catch onto his brief moment of inattention.  

Fortunately, Pinky didn’t notice. “Alrighty then. Hmmm…you’re the sour cream to my cheese-slathered potato?”

“…I’ll save it for a last resort.”

Well, he asked for unique. But sour cream didn’t particularly invoke strong Valentine feelings. Idioms that involved sweet foods with enough sugar to induce diabetes in an elephant would be better, and he made a quick note to the side.

“I turtle-y adore you?” Pinky suggested, his blue eyes sparkling accordingly.

Brain felt a light blush settling over his cheeks, and he rubbed his fur to rid himself of the mortifying feeling. “Doesn’t match your picture. And no animal puns unless they involve mice.”

Pinky rubbed his chin, not one to be easily deterred. “There’s gotta be some good ones on the Internet.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Pinky,” Brain sighed. He sat cross-legged on the counter, massaging his forehead to intercept any headaches before they began. “Figured we should’ve gone with the photobooth plan. It’s your fault for influencing my subconscious with your caterwauling over The Princess Bride’s movie adaptation.”

“Troz! I’ll have you know Princess Buttercup and Westley have great chemistry!” Pinky pouted.

Brain rolled his eyes. “Please. They’re about as compatible as two noble gases.”

Pinky went quiet after that. Whether he’d gone off into the imaginary world of talking cheeses or taken unusually great offense on the lead couple’s behalf, Brain wasn’t sure. But the silence obliged, and Brain took the opportunity to ponder their next course of action.

Take a risk and use one of Pinky’s earlier suggestions? Scrap the plan entirely and pull one from storage? Seek a second opinion?  

Then Pinky gasped, his tail pointing high in the air like an inverted exclamation point.

“Brain, are you pondering what I’m pondering?” Pinky asked, gripping Brain’s shoulders in excitement.

Brain leaned back, supporting himself on the palms of his hands. “We break out the Feldman disguises and ask Mr. Sultana for his opinion on what a hypothetical Valentine card should say?”

“I’m sure he’s got a bunch of good ones, but that’s not it,” Pinky said. “Actually, I oughta slip into something more…in-character. I’ll be right back!”

Pinky skipped away, humming as he went over to his dress-up box in the corner of their cage. He pulled a divider around himself so that all Brain could see was a shadowy silhouette rummaging through clothing and accessories.

Brain continued to ponder, though no feasible ideas were coming to him. He closed his eyes, shutting out all visual forms of distraction. He listened to Pinky dressing in the cage, but it was more white noise than a true hindrance.

Five minutes later, he still had nothing. But there was something…different.

A tantalizing scent. Not overly sharp, though just light enough that he couldn’t identify it with confidence. And he wanted to know more.

It wasn’t fruit or soap. Nor was it vanilla, like the scented candles Pinky loved so much.

Something smooth snaked its way under his nose, brushing the fur above his lips. The scent was closer now. His nose twitched.

“ACHOO!”

Startled by the force of his sudden sneeze, Brain’s eyes flew open. He rubbed his nose to wipe off the lingering sensation, staring down at Pinky’s long tail, which sat unassumingly in his lap. The tip was wrapped around the stem of a small red rose.

The tail lifted, rubbing against the fur under Brain’s chin. Brain felt his cheeks heat up again, and he quickly batted the offending appendage away.

“Pinky, you’re not helping my state of-“ Brain began, ready to launch into a verbal tirade on how he needed to think and if Pinky wasn’t going to help then he could make like a mitotic cell and split…and then he saw a very familiar, perhaps all too-familiar, lavender tuxedo with an overstuffed dark purple…something underneath.

He couldn’t tell if it was a shirt, vest, or pincushion. A gold button glinted in the middle of Pinky’s chest.

Gulping, Brain knew the mysterious article of clothing was the least of his concerns. He forced himself to look up, gaze raking past the slender neck and toward half-lidded, coy blue eyes. A sophisticated mustache poked out from each side of Pinky’s muzzle. And he was genteel, charismatic…

Suave.  

Pinky’s ability to play a character to perfection never ceased to astound him. He still remembered? Brain had long destroyed the Personalitron and its blueprints, deeming them unnecessary and cumbersome.

“Pardonnez-moi, you with the giant head and marshmallow body are seeking the passionate advice of I, the great Pinky…Suavvvo-“ he drawled every syllable with that odd French accent, r’s rolling off his tongue like smooth butter “-for your…ah, Saint Valentine card, no?”  

Fu—choose your words wisely—I mean, dear name of a historical contributor to the scientific or mathematical field who I can’t identify properly at this time.

“I fail to see how playing dress-up is going to help with this conundrum, Pinky Suavo.” Brain stood up and crossed his arms. He wasn’t about to let the Suavo persona sway him. He was the Brain, and he bowed to no one.

Exert control over the situation. Yes. That’s what he needed.

Suavo plucked the rose from his tail between two practiced fingers, inhaling its scent deeply. Where did he even get that rose from? The lab wasn’t growing flora for any reason, nor did any scientist have the green thumb to care for anything so fragile.

“Oh, but love is always…how did you say, a conundrum, is it not?” he purred, and Brain scowled. But Suavo was unperturbed. “One may pluck the petals from a pretty flower and ask if one loves or loves not, yet how will one know if they ask the flower and not the lover? Oh, I do not know.”

His voice dipped into a lower, softer register, and a strange sensation traveled up Brain’s spine. Though the riddle seemed directed at him, he wasn’t in the mood to unravel any cryptic meanings.

Just like before, Suavo’s magnetism was…hypnotizing. Like he had no choice but to do what Pinky Suavo said. And wasn’t that ironic? He, the Brain, as the hapless follower instead of the commanding leader.

Suavo appeared oblivious to Brain’s internal dilemma. He simply set the rose back into his tail and twirled one curled end of the mustache around his finger, humming a dreamy, sentimental song to himself. He was waiting on Brain in the most irritating fashion possible.

But if he wanted this plan to work, he’d just have to tolerate Pinky’s attempt at resolving his predicament.

“Pinky Suavo,” Brain sighed, forcing all his pride back. Suavo turned to him, his eyes still in that odd half-lidded position. “Is that overstuffed pincushion actually giving you ideas for the card?”

“Of course, mon ami.” Suavo slicked his ears and fur tuft back with a smooth, graceful stroke of his hand. “For it is he, who is I, who is the connoisseur of…ammooooouuuur.”

Brain grabbed his notepad and pencil, his stomach doing odd backflips like butterflies had somehow burrowed their way into his flesh and laid eggs there. He was not paying attention to Suavo’s hand movements. No, the eye was just naturally drawn to movement. That’s how it worked.

Besides, he was looking at the same being who once managed to get all his fingers and tail tangled up in a complicated cat’s cradle.

Suavo clicked his tongue, deftly plucking the items out of Brain’s grip. “No, no, you silly mouse. You cannot experience amour through pen and paper alone. You must feel it, see it, hear it. For it is everywhere and anywhere you search…if only you would use those big ears of yours.”

Brain gritted his teeth and jumped for his supplies, but Suavo simply held them out of reach with one long arm. All Brain could manage was a tiny hop. It wasn’t getting him anywhere.

So he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax.

“I’m listening, Pinky Suavo,” Brain said, hoping he sounded at least a little cordial. “I believe the colloquial is, I’m all ears?”

A pleased smile flitted across Suavo’s face, his arm lowering.

Perfect.

Then Brain threw himself forward, digging his hands and feet into Suavo’s clothing and hauling himself towards the notepad and pencil. Fortunately, it wasn’t hard to grip. Suavo stumbled a bit, but he refused to yield. Brain grabbed a fabric fold on Suavo’s right shoulder. He was so close-

-and a red nose pushed into his own. Warm, mint-scented breath tickled the fur on his face.

“You know, it is more, ah, polite to take a mouse to dinner before you begin climbing him, is it not?” Suavo crooned.

Brain’s ears flopped against his back, a warm sensation sweeping through his body. His clammy paws lost their grip on Suavo’s clothing, and he would’ve fallen entirely if Suavo’s free arm hadn’t wrapped around his waist and secured him with a strong yet gentle grip.

In hindsight, perhaps his attempt at reclaiming his belongings was ill-thought out.

Perhaps it was for the best that the arm was covered by fabric, but at the same time, some irrational thought of wanting Pinky’s fur against his own wormed its way into his mind.  

Suavo set the notepad and pen down with care, dipping Brain in the process. Brain clutched the fabric tightly, but it was unnecessary. Suavo’s embrace was strong enough to prevent him from landing on his head. Then Suavo straightened up, once again plucking the rose from his tail and holding it next to Brain.  

“Oh, now this is…magnifique,” Suavo murmured, his eyes darting from the rose to Brain’s face. Though Brain tried to maintain eye contact to make his displeasure known, his resolve was quickly crumbling away. Surely it was the close proximity, the thumb stroking his fur, that was picking apart all rational thought and leaving some hormone-driven creature behind?

“What?” Brain asked, and he inwardly cringed. His voice wasn’t working properly. He’d meant to sound more demanding than that pathetic excuse of a question.

“Your eyes, mon ami, are just a few shades lighter this rose,” Suavo said. Brain stared at him in disbelief. Comparing eyes to flowers, or worse, gemstones, was just ridiculous.

And your comparison of Pinky’s aesthetically pleasing eyes to the wild blue yonder above isn’t?

Brain ignored the contemptuous voice. That was completely different. The sky was neither a flower nor a gemstone, and therefore it wasn’t off-limits. Besides, it was a thought for him and him alone. It’s not like anyone else was going to hear it.

“You are but a deer mouse in the headlights. Yet there is no need to hide under a thorny layer,” Suavo hummed, tilting his head curiously. Deliberately. How strange. Even the slightest movement was mesmerizing. His fingers traveled up the flower stem, until his hand rested underneath the petals, supporting the tiny rose in the palm of his hand. “A rosebush may scratch and prick, yet the great Pinky Suavo cannot be swayed. For there’s a pretty bloom hidden in the darkness, and he is who moi shall…shall…NARF!”

Shocked by the return of the nonsensical exclamation, Brain lost his hold on Pinky Suavo’s clothing. He fell onto the counter surface with a pained groan. The hard material wasn’t doing wonders for the bends in his tail.

Something fluttered against his nose, causing Brain to sneeze again. He removed the offending object, and found himself staring down at the rose he’d been teased with. If he ignored the heavy-handed rose imagery Suavo kept spouting, it was rather adequate for a specimen.

“Narf! Zort! Poit! Egad!” Pinky laughed uncontrollably between his usual tics, uttering them at such a fast rate that they started to blend together like a tongue twister. “Ooh, I haven’t—troz! Haven’t said narf in a long time! But it’s poit—it’s okay cause you needed my help!”

Idiot.

Brain sighed and pushed himself to a standing position, then placed the rose on his notepad so Pinky could reclaim it later.

Now that he thought about it, Pinky hadn’t said any of his favorite syllables in his Suavo persona. Of course, they’d been replaced by stupid love poetry and gratuitous French, but the narfs and poits and zorts were rather refreshing.

Odd. He never thought he’d actually miss Pinky’s…unique diction.

“Pinky, were you actively suppressing your usual speech patterns in your strange form of assistance?” Brain asked. He couldn’t help his curiosity.

“Zort! Oh Brain, I’m not nearly as good as suppressing things like you are!” Pinky’s chortles continued as Brain grabbed his wrist and led him straight to the water bottle in their cage. “Besides—narf! Besides, I had to stay in character!”

“Remind me to never have you play a villain for any future plans revolving around cinema,” Brain grumbled.

Pinky’s tail happily flicked against Brain’s own. Though the imbecile was just swishing it around mindlessly, the brief physical contact suddenly brought back that very odd, warm sensation.

Curse this heightened sensitivity! It’s only a principle of thermodynamics and heat transfer!  

“Brain, are you okay? Poit,” Pinky asked as Brain made him sit down in front of the water bottle. “You’re all woozy and whirlywindy. And white and red all over like a newspaper!”

“I’m f-fine,” Brain said. He was absolutely not relying on Pinky for balance. “Just drink, Pinky. And take off those silly clothes when you’re done.”

Pinky stared, not comprehending anything Brain said, but that was normal for him. Then he started to laugh, and only then did Brain realize he needed to watch his word choice, especially around a certain someone, because of course his fluff-filled mind would misconstrue it.

“Not like that!” Brain spat.

Pinky tipped onto his back, legs kicking upwards as his high-pitched laughter continued to assault Brain’s ears.

For the sake of his own sanity, he left Pinky to his own devices and stormed over to the nearest sink. He pushed on the tap for cold water until he’d created his own miniature waterfall, then hopped right in. He welcomed the cascade over his body.

As long as it pushed his homeostasis in the opposite direction, he was fine with resembling a drowned rat for now.

o-o-o-o-o

The plan failed before it ever took off. Brain had been so distracted that he’d failed to notice the lab was completely out of colored ink, rendering the copy machines completely useless.

He’d gone with the ‘you’re the sour cream to my potatoes’ message for the front cover, formatting it into the speech bubble in an elegant cursive font. Though it wasn’t conventional by any means, he simply considered it again since no other suggestions were forthcoming.

But at the same time, part of him wasn’t keen on allowing the masses to lay eyes on the Valentine card.

It seemed special. Unexplainably so.

“Brain?” Pinky called. His verbal tics had long gone back to their normal frequency. “Aren’t we taking over the world tonight?”

Brain shook his head, relieved that he finally had control over his body again. “Not tonight, Pinky. I’m afraid I’ve been prematurely thwarted by the lack of inventory in this lab.”

“Oh, you don’t have to be afraid, Brain,” Pinky said. Gone were Suavo’s clothing and mustache, and Pinky’s lean, muscular arms were on full display as he folded them across his chest. “I’ll protect you from Tory.”

It was an unnecessary gesture, but Brain couldn’t help but be touched by the admission all the same. Brain made a show of carefully placing the card into storage, just so he could distract himself momentarily.  

When he finished his task, he found Pinky holding an elegant paper rose, crafted meticulously with purple tissue paper. A light blush settled over Brain’s cheeks as he accepted the gift from Pinky, whose blue eyes shone brightly as Brain ran his fingers over the soft petals.

“Thank you, Pinky,” Brain said gratefully, and he resisted the urge to rush off immediately and place the paper rose with his globe keychain, another gift from his dearest friend.

“You’re welcome!” Pinky smiled, and Brain’s heart beat faster. Then Pinky’s gaze flicked to the TV screen, and Brain figured he was about to be roped into watching a cheesy love story unfold. “Brain, can we watch Beauty and the Beast please? With those special Valentine M&M’s and chocolate-coated popcorn? I saw a whole bunch in the kitchen! Narf!”  

Well…he could’ve suggested worse. At least this one was tolerable.

And it’s been a while since they’d watched a movie together.  

“Get everything set up, Pinky,” Brain ordered. “I’ll join you when I’m finished with my own tasks.”

Pinky saluted and scampered into the kitchen, grabbing the rose he’d held in his Suavo persona along the way. He sang at the top of his lungs, though he’d forgotten most of the actual words and replaced them with a series of narfs and portmanteaus. Once Pinky was sufficiently distracted, Brain moved his notepad and pen over to the TV, then laid the paper rose over it.

He heard the crinkle of a bag followed by the sound of M&M’s being poured into a bowl. Pinky would be back any minute.

Brain knocked his head against the side of a wall.

Calm yourself. Pinky believes pebbles are precious gifts. You’ll be fine. Probably.

Slowly, he approached the drawer where he’d kept his hidden present. Sifting through several sheets of paper covered with complex formulas he’d deliberately placed in there to ward off Pinky, he found the sunflower pen he’d carefully hidden towards the back.

It wasn’t exactly…traditional for a Valentine’s gift. Simple blue ink with a green body and tipped with a bright yellow sunflower.

But it was bright. And colorful. Like Pinky.

More importantly, it was practical.

Brain’s ears twitched, and he heard the whirring of the VCR as Pinky popped in the movie. Brain debated leaving the pen and presenting it after the movie, but he didn’t want to procrastinate either. Otherwise it would be impossible to enjoy their activity.

Well, he could just drop it in Pinky’s lap. And snatch up some popcorn so his actions wouldn’t be too conspicuous. He climbed out of the drawer, holding the pen behind his back.

A preview for The Little Mermaid began to play. Pinky was enraptured by the animated marine animals. He seemed so happy.

Maybe he should reconsider. Valentine items would be discounted next week. He could just hold off and give a belated…what was he thinking? Valentine’s was just another day to turn profit!

The paper rose was sitting right there. No…Valentine’s meant something to Pinky. Like Christmas.

“Goody, you’re back, Brain!” Pinky cheered, stuffing two pink M&M’s into his mouth. The large bowl beside him was overflowing with chocolate. “It’s not raining inside, but I love your parasol! Where’d you buy it?”

A parasol?

He glanced up at the sunflower. Oh. So there was a resemblance to a parasol, he supposed. If one viewed it at a certain angle, that is.

“It’s a pen. Not a parasol. Take it,” Brain said, holding out the sunflower pen.

Pinky didn’t take it.

Instead, he made a joyful noise and crushed Brain with a flying embrace. Brain dropped the pen in surprise as Pinky’s entire body curled around him, feet off the ground. Brain had to support all his weight, Pinky’s warm fur brushing against his own.

“I love it! Loveitloveitloveit! Thanks, Brain!” Pinky squealed, happy tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“You’re welcome, Pinky,” Brain murmured as Pinky nuzzled his cheek. “Now get off. I require my lungs. And heart. And my digestive system.”

Pinky didn’t get off until the Disney fanfare to herald the beginning of the movie began to play. Then he quieted down immediately, rolling the sunflower pen so that it rested across his lap.

“…happy Valentine’s Day,” Brain whispered, nibbling on a red M&M.

Pinky smiled back, teeth flecked with bits of chocolate. He shushed Brain, not wanting him to interrupt the opening narration.

As the enchanted rose appeared onscreen, Brain stroked the soft tissue paper of Pinky’s beautiful creation. Then he set it aside and reached for some popcorn.

His world was here. And there was nothing more he wanted.

Fun fact: the original name for this fic was going to be Suavo Valentino, but the current title was a last minute change cause somehow I just wrote a lot about roses.

Another change: The Princess Bride bit was originally a dig at High School Musical and how Disney Channel has bad romance in general, but since that was mid 2000s I changed it so this story could reasonably fit in the 90s.

Suavo’s lines...were interesting. I couldn’t stop laughing at how dumb some of them were though.

Brain’s got it bad here. Save him.

Are the roses corny? Yes. Do I care? Not really. Maybe. Possibly.

[chonkychornes]

I’ll Be Home for Christmas

AN: Hi all! Here’s my idea for a Holiday ON shot featuring a sweet Bucky and what I hope is a gender-neutral reader. My first attempt at total fluff. I hope I hit the mark. If you like it, please like and reblog. Thank you to @quant-um-fizzx​ for all her help and support this year, and Pandora, who stays away from Tumblr, but still reads my shit and helps me with all the things!! (All mistakes are my own)  Happy Holidays, dear ones! I hope you’re all finding peace on this day. 

Summary: Bucky and Reader meet up on the way home for Christmas. Will they both get their Christmas wish? 

Words: 6591

“Attention passengers of American Airlines Flight 2135: Baggage is now arriving on carousel four.”

“Okay, where the hell is my bag?” You mutter to yourself as you reposition your purse across your chest and duck around a family with a double-wide stroller. Spotting the carousel you need, you move to it determinedly, but frown when you see a flight number over yours and no bags circling the platform.

Grabbing your phone out of your bag, you see a missed call and a couple of new text messages.

I'm stuck in training. - Steve

I’m sorry. I can send a car for you. - Steve

You pull up his contact number and laugh as he apologizes as he answers, “Steve, I’ll be fine. I’ll call an Uber or just get a cab. It's no big deal.”

“I feel so bad, I promised to meet you.”

“Shit happens. I’m still waiting on my bag anyway, so I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.”

As you drop your phone back into your bag you hear the annoying buzzer for the carousel and feel the push of the crowd as everyone moves forward to try to find their bag. 

You deliberately take a step back and move away from the crowd. You have time and you’d rather wait and not be crushed or hit some small kid with your suitcase because they’re standing too close to the conveyor belt. 

You see someone else on the other side seems to have the same idea as you lean against a pillar out of the way. It’s not until this person is almost directly in front of you that you realize who it is.

“Of all the gin joints in all the world, huh?’ He grins down at you and you can’t help but laugh as you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and squeeze him quickly. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Bucky?” You pull back and take in the penetrating blue of his eyes, the crinkle around them, and the soft smile on his lips. 

“It’s Christmas! Steve would have had my ass if I wasn’t back in time,” he brushes a hand through his hair and you notice how short it is now.

No more manly buns for this one. 

“Where have you been?” You nod vaguely out into the terminal and he smiles as he leans on the pillar next to you. 

“Ireland; Kerry,” he ducks his head a little and you know why. Ireland had always been your dream destination. 

“Was it green and beautiful? Did you catch a leprechaun?” Nudging him playfully in the ribs with his elbow brings back that soft smile. 

“I’ll show you the pictures.”

The exchange is easy and natural. He still makes your stomach flip and you still make him laugh. 

“That’s me,” he says as he pushes off the pillar and grabs his old beat-up duffle, slings it over his shoulder and resumes his place next to you. 

“Now, you’re going to let me guess which one is yours, right?” You laugh and nod. 

The wait is even longer, but he’s promised his car with the remote start and heated seats currently sitting in long term parking, so you agree. 

“It’s the ugliest one, right? You always picked the worst patterns.”

“They’re easy to spot!” You’re a little defensive because everyone always teased you for this. 

But when that neon orange paisley print comes around the conveyor belt, you have to bite your lip from laughing out loud at his incredulous expression. 

“Did you find that in the seventies?” he grabs it and nods towards the door as you take your bag from him. 

The car is not only warm and running when you get to it, but it’s also almost too hot and you shrug out of your coat. 

“Thanks for the ride,” buckling yourself in and settling into the seat, you send him a genuine smile.

“Like I’d let you take a cab,” he says as he pulls up to pay for parking and soon you’re on the turnpike and headed to the compound. 

You’re both quiet and as he navigates through the late-night holiday traffic, you get caught up in the lights of the city. 

“You awake over there?” 

“Huh? I was looking at the city lights,” you shift to look at him. “I’m sorry, did you say something.”

His hand twitches on the shifter and it doesn’t go unnoticed by either of you.

“I was wondering if you were hungry. Everyone, except maybe Steve will be asleep by the time we get there and I frankly do not like it when Nat wakes up angry,” the car glides over closer to an exit. “Do you wanna stop somewhere and eat?”

“Sure, wherever.”

He pulls off into a small metro area and spots a Denny’s about two miles from the highway. Once you’re inside and seated in the back, you realize you might be the last customers in the restaurant. 

After the waitress unenthusiastically takes your order and leaves you alone in the booth. As you rearrange the jelly holder, Bucky stares at you until you finally look stop fidgeting and look at him. 

“So, how’s … everything?” he asks when you sit back and fold your hands into your lap. 

The grimace crosses your face before you can stop it. It had been so easy at the airport, casual, but this feels forced and you don’t want this. Nothing had ever been difficult between the two of you before. 

“Things are good, of course, they are.” You shrug and offer a smile, “Moving to DC was a good choice for me. I like the work that I do and I’m happy with the results.”

He bristles a little at the mention of your work but doesn’t bat an eye at the mention of your move. The two of you had discussed it, at length, when the opportunity had come up; neither of you wanted the move, but you also couldn’t deny that it was a good choice for you. 

When the waitress comes back with your country fried steak and eggs and his bacon cheeseburger and fries you both take a few minutes to situate yourself. Chewing replaces the awkward conversation and you’re grateful for the time being. 

“You still enjoying the life of a superhero?” The question is obviously a surprise to Bucky as he chokes down the giant bite he just took. 

“That’s the designation, but it doesn’t make it true,” he smirks and pushes his plate towards you. Sighing, you set your silverware aside and swap plates with him. 

“Just like old times, right?” You laugh lightly as you pick up the remainder of his burger and take a bite and moan. “Oh, god that’s good.” 

“The job s’okay,” he shrugs as he shovels some scrambled eggs onto his fork. “I still get to travel and I don’t have to take anyone with me anymore, so that’s a plus.”

“Everything works out for a reason, then?” Locking eyes with him, you polish off the last of his fries and smile with bulging cheeks. 

“I think some of our friends might disagree with you on that, but sure; everything works out for a reason.” 

You both fight over the check but in the end, you let him pay. Back in the car you stretch and yawn before reaching for the radio, “Can I?”

“Sure, doll.”

 You land on some local station playing holiday music and you hum along until you feel your eyes start to droop.

“I’m glad I ran into you, Buck,” you rub a hand over his forearm and let it linger there. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here, but I brought you a present.” A lazy grin crosses your face when his face lights up. 

“Well, you gotta come home for Christmas, right?” He nudges your arm away and reaches over to rub the back of your neck, “Of course, I got you something too.”

Sighing into his touch, you wish every interaction with him could be like this; so easy, so real. 

Sometime later, you wake to Bucky gently shaking you, “We’re home, doll. I’ll get your bag.”

After you two are let in by Friday, you both stop at the fork in the hallway that leads to both wings of the private quarters. 

"Nat cleaned up my old room," you provide as it seems Bucky was going to invite you to his room. 

"Oh, that makes sense." He rolls your bag towards you and throws you a smile. "See ya later, doll." 

"Night, Buck."

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

The next morning starts with Steve waking you after eight, which has to be a record for him, but it was nice to have a cup of coffee and catch up a little with him before facing everyone else. 

"How'd you get home, anyway?"

You sit up a little straighter, "I figured you would have spoken to him by now," you shake your head at his curious look. "I ran into Bucky at the airport."

"What is it weird?" 

Rolling your eyes you set your cup down and shrug, “Nothing has ever been ‘weird’ between me and Bucky. Intense, hot, heavy, real?” You tick it all off on your fingers as Steve smirks, “We just never worked right.”

He snorts and stares at you incredulously, “You’re kidding, right?” He forward and claps you on the shoulder, “You and Bucky are like Westley and Buttercup.”

He stands up and moves to the door, “Have you thought any more about my offer?”

“Yeah, I still don’t have an answer for you,” you lean back against the couch cushions and smile. “Apparently we’ll be getting some new desk jockeys come January and I would want to make sure the transition goes smoothly.”

“Maria Hill doesn’t retire every day,” his hands are on his hips and give off his fatherly vibe. “You’ll really think about it? You could be back here with us all the time, and you’d get to call the shots.”

“For the most part,” you add with a wink. 

“Bingo.” He opens the door, “Let’s go make the horde breakfast.” 

After the cast of characters join the two of you for breakfast and take over the clean up, the day is filled with baking cookies with Wanda and Morgan and pulling out the decorations for the tree.  

The tree that Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Tony are going to chop down.

“Where are you going to find a pine or fir small enough to fit inside?” You ask as the men don their winter gear and debate whether an ax is necessary. “Why don’t you just drive into town and buy a tree?”

Silence descends on the large common room and four heads swivel in your direction. 

“Is it something I said?” you ask with a grin. 

“Doll, this is the best way to acquire a tree.” Bucky is as serious about this as he has ever been about anything. 

“It’s the dumbest way to go about it, for sure.” He stalks towards you and you stand up straighter. 

“Do you think I should stay inside? I could stay here and decorate cookies with you,” he sends a wink to Morgan who has snuck up next to you and is tugging on your hand. 

“I don’t know, what do you think, kid?” Hoisting her up onto your hip she taps her lip with her finger and pretends to think.

“Booky, you should stay and use sprinkles with me.” She nods so sagely, you believe she has all the answers to life’s questions. 

“Alright guys, you heard the little lady: I’m staying.” He slides the leather coat off and tosses it to Sam who rolls his eyes, but hangs it back up. “Don’t die.”

The three of you walk back into the kitchen as the guys leave and as soon as they’re gone you finally ask, “What happens if they come back empty-handed?” 

“They won’t,” Bucky says with a grimace and you don’t want to know what that really means. “But Pepper already bought a tree. It’s over in the warehouse, you know, just in case.”

Sprinkles, frosting, flour, and eggshells cover almost every surface in the kitchen and your back and feet are killing you. 

Pepper finally whisked Morgan off for a nap and before you can even think about starting the cleanup, a cup of coffee is being shoved into your hands and you’re being shooed away from the epicenter and told to “take a load off” on a bar stool that sits at the island. 

The groan is quiet, but still present as you sit and it serves as another reminder that you weren’t quite cut out for the life of a superhero; the life of an Avenger. 

You weren’t enhanced and you hadn’t been trained since childhood, you had just been good, great even. They had seen something in you, taken a chance; gratefully it had led to the job you had now and the good work you were doing in DC. 

But you never could keep up with any of them; couldn’t keep up with him. 

“You look awful serious over there, doll.” Bucky is closing the dishwasher and setting it. “You alright?”

“Just thinking about … you.” It’s honest, if not a little gratuitous. You think about Bucky a lot for someone that couldn’t figure out how to make it work between the two of you. 

“Oh, remembering the good times?” He’s got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, muscle and metal rippling and gleaming as he wipes down the counters. 

“Thinking about how I wasn’t cut out for this,” you vaguely gesture around the room. “I did all I could, after ‘The Snappening’ and after Thanos was defeated and everyone came back, to be an Avenger, but my talents are better served elsewhere. Helping people in different ways.”

“Plus, it pays to have a friend on that side of the line,” he says with a slight grunt. 

Bucky never quite got over the fact that you went to work for Everett Ross when everyone came back. Resources were needed; facilities, food, water … you name it, you found it and helped to distribute it. 

You were doing good work that you were proud of. 

Even if you had to work for an insufferable jerk. 

“Not all of us are cut out for this lifestyle,” He pulls you from your thoughts as he leans on the clean counter across from you. 

“You thinking of hanging up the suit?” The surprise is evident in your voice and you feel a weird flutter in your gut. 

“I don’t know.” He shrugs and grabs your coffee mug and drains the last of it. “Sometimes I think I could handle being a desk jockey.” He refills it and doctors it up just the way you like and passes it back to you. 

“You’d hate it.” 

“Would I? Quiet days getting work done and feeling satisfied with it,” he’s leaning on the counter again and smiles. “I guess the grass is always greener, right?”

“Sure, but I don’t leave work every day happy. Sometimes I’m so frustrated because I’m not getting the answers I want or I’m not getting them fast enough.” You drink deep from the cup before pushing it back to him.

“I went to DC to talk about a job opening,” he drops the information so casually that it doesn’t register at first. 

“Wait, my DC? What job?”

“What, like you own it?” You both laugh as Sam and Steve come stumbling into the room laughing, breathless, and red-cheeked. 

“We found a tree,” Sam tells you with a pointed look. “It’s way too big to bring inside, but Tony is bound and determined to decorate it out on the lawn.”

“I’ll track down everyone, I think they’re watching movies.” Shaking your head you stand up and whip off your apron and look over at Bucky, “Text Pepper. I don’t think Santa will leave Morgan’s presents outside.”

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

Somehow you got paired up with Tony and Pepper to trim the “indoor” tree as it was referred to. Tony had brought out a bunch of old tools and spare parts and decorated the giant tree outside but got bored when he realized that everyone was inside staying warm. 

“So, who is trying to convince you to come back?” Tony asks as he untangles the third string of lights. You shoot him a glance and strategically place another bauble on a branch. 

“Everyone. Well, with the exception of Bucky, Pepper, and yourself,” you sigh knowing exactly where this is headed. “I’ve had several lengthy discussions with Maria about this.”

“There’s no one we’d rather work with.” He’s so matter of fact in his statement that you’re taken aback for a moment. It isn’t often that Tony is so genuine, without any hint of sarcasm. “Don’t you miss us?”

Walking around the tree looking for large holes, you snort. “I miss you all. But I call, I email.”

“You missed Morgan’s birthday.”

“Hey, that’s not fair, Tony.” Pepper admonishes from the other side of the tree and even though you can’t see her, you smile in her direction.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you did, in fact, miss it,” Tony repeats and you finally stop in front of him with your arms crossed. 

“I wasn’t even settled and if I’m not mistaken, a certain group of superheroes had just inadvertently taken out a clean water reservoir that I need to need to attend to.” 

“Fair enough,” Tony hands you one end of the lights and you begin to weave it into the tree. “You do realize that if you came to work here, you could help us avoid that.”

“That’s a cheap shot, even for you.” You stick your tongue out at him and tug at the lights in his hands. “For the record, I am seriously considering it.”

“Mom, she stuck her tongue out at me!” He complains to Pepper who laughs and walks away to change the record from Sinatra to Bing Crosby and White Christmas.

“Play nice you two.’

After a few minutes and another string of lights, you finally ask the question you need to know the answer to.

“Do you know what job Bucky went to DC to look at?” Tony looks up at you with something akin to fascination on his face. 

“Has he really not talked to you about it? I just figured that was the reason-” he trails off when the record skips terribly and he jumps up to fix it. 

Dinner is easy enough with gallons of soup and grilled cheese sandwiches to feed the literal army assembled. As per tradition at the compound, everyone gets to open one present on Christmas eve, which is always new pajamas; and everyone gets them from a secret Santa, so they’re all hideous in a spectacular way. 

There are dancing llamas, hanging sloths, crazy reindeer and snowman. Footless, two-piece sets, onesies, and even some butt flaps. Hot cocoa, egg nog, and nightcaps are passed around as everyone settles down to watch “White Christmas”. 

Sometime after Bing and Danny lip sync to “Sisters”, you meander out into the hallway and towards the large front windows to look at the softly falling snow. 

Taking a seat on the stairs and drawing your knees up under your chin, you reflect on the past two years. Everyone came back and the greatest physical threat to Earth was defeated. You were able to hug and share your love with people you thought you would never see again. 

You left. 

The rewarding aspect of your job was almost to self-satisfying. You could say that you were helping to end hunger, lowering poverty levels. The work you helped with brought desperately needed medical treatments, education, and supplies to areas that need it most. 

It looked great on a resume and sounded great a corporate mingles. 

You liked it because you weren’t a self-serving asshole. 

It was white bread and stale to boot. 

But there was still a part of you that missed being even somewhat a part of the action; you missed being around and hearing about the stories. You missed being called for an assignment, even if everyone figured out that you weren’t cut out for it. 

“Why couldn’t I do both?” The thought only just now manifested itself to you and how you hadn’t thought of it three months ago when Maria Hill called to offer you first dibs at her position with the Avengers, doesn’t even make sense. 

“What are you doing out here?” Bucky’s voice is quiet when he pulls you out of your thoughts and plans. 

“It was getting to be a little too much in there, I just need some space.” When you look up at him, you grin when you see his onesie designed to look like The Grinch wearing a Santa suit. 

He’s holding two mugs and tries to pass one off to you. 

“I can’t drink any more coffee or cocoa,” you whine and shake your head.

“I figured.” He says and pushes the mug into your hands, “It’s a hot toddy. Something to help you sleep.”

Taking a tentative sip you smile when you feel the familiar, smokey burn from the whiskey followed by the smooth honey. It’s sweet, but that’s how you like it. You scoot over on the step and pat the space next to you. 

Bucky somehow manages to take up all the room without crowding you; that’s how he’s always been. When you rest your head on his shoulder, you feel him press a kiss to your hair. 

“Is it weird being here with me?” It’s the question that you’ve been dying to ask. Everything has always been easy and simple between you two, even when you just stopped being you two.

“Why would it be weird?”

You sigh and sit up. That was enough of an answer right there if you ever heard one. 

“This was my Christmas wish, doll.” You look over your shoulder to the man with the bright blue eyes and sweet smile. “I wanted you here again, even if it was just for the holidays.”

Without thinking you push yourself into his arms and wrap your arms around his neck. He chuckles as he rubs your back and pulls you closer. When you finally pull away you can see the laugh still in his smile and the longing in his eyes. 

It’s been so long. 

“You know, I used to get so excited whenever I heard you were coming to Wakanda for research,” Bucky tells you with a duck of his head as if he’s embarrassed to confess this to you. “The first time I ever walked into the city there was with you.”

Bucky had always given Shuri and her team all the credit for helping get back to himself; but between the two of you, he made sure you knew just how much you helped him grow. 

“I may have made a few extra trips over there after we started to get close,” you concede. “I was still doing my job, but there was so much more to it then.”

“Then everything happened and then we got you all back. Steve went back for Natasha and they figured how to save Tony,” the memory of all the triumphs makes you a little misty-eyed. “Then one night there you were, knocking on my door.”

“I just wanted to talk,” he says with a laugh. 

You had talked, about everything and nothing for hours that night. That one night turned into a year of quiet dinners, movie nights, and slow dancing in your room. 

But in all that time, there was never any serious discussion about what you two were doing; you could deal with that and you certainly weren’t trying to initiate that talk. Everything was easy peasy, lemon squeezy between you two. 

No definite plans, no routines, and nothing to catch you off guard. 

Until the offer from Ross came and you knew that this was what you were truly meant to be doing. At least, you thought so two years ago; and when you sat down with Bucky to discuss it with him, he agreed. 

“It sounds perfect for you, doll. You should take it if you want to.”

Hindsight had afforded you the opportunity to see that you two often said that to each other, “If you want to.”, or some variation. Not once did either one of you tell the other exactly how you felt, whether it was positive or not! 

That’s why everything was so easy between you two all the time; you just always agreed with each other and nothing ever got done or decided. 

“I wish we had stayed in better touch after you left,” Bucky’s comment pulls you from your thoughts. Here, the perfect opportunity was presenting itself to you. 

“Why didn’t you? I know I had my reasons for not being better about it, but why didn’t you?” You’re trying desperately to keep the desperation out of your voice, but now that you’re asking, you need to know. 

He hesitates, “I actually thought you didn’t want to talk to me.” 

You stare at him for what feels like a full minute before he continues, “This job was a huge step and such a great opportunity for you and I … I didn’t want to be a distraction. I just wanted you to be happy and if you weren’t happy here, with me, then I should just leave you be.”

“I was happy here with you,” you pace in front of him and smile sadly. “I was so unhappy for the first six months or so that I was in DC.”  

Bucky grabs your hand and makes you stop in front of him, “Why didn’t you keep in touch with me? You said you had your reasons.” 

“It sounds so stupid, but I thought you didn’t care where I was; here or there, that it just didn’t matter to you.” You can feel the tears well in your eyes, “I thought you didn’t want me, so I just left you alone.”

“That couldn’t be further from the truth,” he tugs on your hand and you stumble towards him. “I always want you. Since the first time I met you across the globe to when I saw you last night at the airport and even right now.” 

His warm, muscular hand cups your cheek and pulls you in for a kiss. It’s testing and slow and when you melt into him, awkward angle on the stairs and all, he opens his mouth to you and it’s like you’ve never had fresh air before. You drink in every bit of him, trying desperately to absorb his very essence and clinging to the hope of what this one kiss could mean for you both. 

“You know, you both have perfectly good rooms you could put to use,” you both pull away sheepishly and look at Steve who has his arms crossed over his broad chest in his candy cane striped long johns. 

“The Stark’s are headed out.” Steve turns and returns to the common room. 

“C’mon doll, let’s go say goodbye to the kid.”

After hugs and kisses are passed all around you search for Bucky in the small crowd of your friends. Everyone seems to have dispersed and you remember the pile of unwrapped presents in your room and decide that you’ve had enough excitement for one night and head to your room to handle the gifts. 

You spend the next hour or so methodically wrapping gifts and watching “Holiday Inn” and thinking about your future. There are two voices in your head, one telling you to stay in DC and one telling you to return to New York; you’re not at all sure which voice is supposed to be the devil or the angel. 

You think again to how you could both, at least until a suitable replacement was found for you; and wouldn’t that make everyone happy?

You didn’t give a shit if it made everyone happy. You wanted to be happy, you deserved to be happy. 

You wanted to be happy with Bucky. 

After Christmas, you decide, you’ll call Maria Hill. Skype her with Tony and Steve, who undoubtedly will be on your side. Tony can convince Ross and then it’s a done deal. 

Eyeing the present you had already wrapped for him when an idea came to you that caused you to spring to your feet and grab your coat and slide into your boots. You’d need some help with this and if this wasn’t the time for Captain America, you didn’t know what was. 

Quietly creeping down the halls to Steve’s room feels insanely dumb at two in the morning. Calling or texting him would have been faster and simpler, but this was a spur of the moment thing. 

When you reach his door and knock softly it takes a few minutes before the door opens. Natasha, in worn grey leggings and a ratty T-shirt, greets you. 

Sleepy eyed but smiling she asks, “Did you need Steve to help with a grand declaration of love?”

“Yes,” She pulls you into the room. “I’m sorry for waking you up, but I do need his help.”

“S’no skin off my back, just make sure you get him back in time for his Christmas present.” she sends you an overexaggerated wink and you fight the urge to puke and burst out laughing. 

She wanders off, presumably to wake Steve and he stumbles out a few minutes later. 

“What do you need, kid?”

After explaining yourself and helping yourself to coffee in Steve’s kitchen and fixing two travel mugs to go, he stares at you in disbelief. 

“You want to make a four trip to a New York welcome center for a picture?” he hasn’t even put on his coat yet. 

“It will feel much longer if we don’t hurry,” you shove a travel mug into his hands. “I’ll drive!”

The next thing you know you’ve made it to the Adirondacks, done what you wanted to do and now Steve was driving you back to the compound. 

“I can’t believe you woke me up for a four drive and that only took five minutes!” He’s complaining, but he’s smiling. He knows what his means. He knows how happy his two friends will soon be. 

“I know,” you try to stifle a yawn. “It’s gonna be worth it, I think.”

When you get home you part ways, Steve for maybe an hour of sleep before whatever it is that Natasha does for him on Christmas morning and you for as much sleep as you can manage. 

Ditching your coats and boots by the door, you fall into bed and dream of sugarplums dancing. 

The banging could be elves working on toys in Santa’s workshop. It could also be someone trying to knock down your door. You pop one eye open and peek at the bedside clock that reads eight in the morning. 

Two hours of sleep and now someone was breaking down your door, “Hang on, I’m up.” Hollering as you stretch and climb out of bed you head to the bathroom and run through a very abridged morning routine before answering the door. 

Bucky is as handsome as ever in a lovely deep green cable knit sweater and dark jeans. He’s wearing the worn-out slippers you bought him several years ago and it adds to the charm and allure he possesses. 

“Heard you snuck out after curfew last night,” he grins and leans against the doorjamb. “Wanna tell me all about your adventure while you open your present?”

You hadn’t realized, but he’d been holding one hand behind his back. When he revealed himself he was holding a beautifully wrapped package. 

“I thought everyone was doing presents together?” You gesture him inside and take a seat on the couch. 

“We are, but this is special.” He sits next to you and the grin fades into something serious. 

“Well, you look well-rested and refreshed, can a girl at least take a quick shower?” Before he can answer, you’re off the couch and into the bedroom with the door closed behind you. 

Bucky can entertain himself for twenty or so minutes and this will give you enough time to clean up and dress for the day and take of your very last present. 

Over the running shower, you ask Friday to silently connect your phone to the printer in the room. But the time you’re rinsing the conditioner from your hair, it’s done and you can finish up.

After you’re dressed you realize you don’t actually have anything to put it in, so you just slip into a book and take it out into the front room with you. Stealth was never your point, but you could try. 

“Feel better?” Bucky hands you a mug of coffee and you smile widely. 

“Much, thank you,” you move back to the couch, grabbing his present from the pile on the coffee table. “Shall we?”

You hand over your gift before Bucky can give you his and he smiles as he rips into it like wild five-year-old. 

You had found a lovely, antique hinged picture frame. It opened like a book and inside on the left, you had placed a photo taken of the two of you after Bucky’s first visit into the city in Wakanda. Both of you have sunkissed skin and big smiles; he had kissed you right before that photo was taken. It was the first kiss between you two, and it held so many possibilities. 

On the right side, a photo was taken of the two of you after Bruce and Doctor Strange had figured out how to bring Tony back. There was a look of shock and awe mixed with an overabundance of happiness. You two had jumped at each other and hugged and when you pulled apart, someone had thought to capture it.

Bucky is deadly still. 

He’s so quiet you wonder if he hasn’t reverted to Hydra assassin. You’re about to crack a joke to relieve what you believe to be tension when you hear the faint sniffle. 

He’s crying so softly and when he looks at you, your heart wants to break. 

“Bucky?”

“This- this is beautiful, doll.” He wraps an arm around you and presses his face into your neck and inhales deeply, “Thank you. It’s the most perfect thing.”

You embrace him tightly and when you pull away from him you immediately reach for the book to give him the second part of his gift when he shoves your present under your nose. 

“Oh no, it’s your turn. Then you can tell me all about this late-night drive.” He wipes his face as laughs and you sigh and begin to pull at the ribbon on the package. 

You could never rip apart this beautiful paper; the brushed silver background with the royal blue swirls all over it. You’re struggling for a moment until you realize the problem.

“Did you use packing tape?” Bucky laughs at your incredulity and you stick out your tongue as you reach for the scissors on the coffee table and slice through.

When you reach the box inside you can tell it’s lightweight. Opening the box reveals a beautiful knitted scarf in striking emerald.

“It’s from Ireland,” Bucky tells you as you lift it from the box and bring it up to rub it on your face. “I knew how much you liked them and I just figured-”

You cut him off with a quick peck on his lips, “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Pulling the entire scarf out, you notice something flutter to the floor. 

“There’s something else, doll.”

Picking up what looks like a postcard, you turn it over to find an awkward looking photo of Bucky standing on a street under a sign that says “Welcome to Washington, DC”. You stare at it for a few moments and then burst into hysterical laughter.

“I know it’s a bad picture of me, but I thought the sentiment might be good enough,” He isn’t mad, but you can tell, even through your hysterics, that he’s confused. 

“Is this a grand declaration?” You look to him and sober up quickly as he nods. 

Reaching for the book and slipping out the photo you had just printed you hand it over and simply say, “Ditto.”

Bucky is struck dumb looking at you in your Christmas jammies and winter boots and coat in front of a huge “I <3 NY” sign at the New York welcome center in the Adirondacks. 

“That’s what I was doing last night, or early this morning.”

He looks at you and his blue eyes are bright with fresh tears, “What does this mean doll?” 

You take this picture from his hands and set it on the coffee table next to the picture of him in DC. When you turn back to face him you take his hands in yours and smile softly. 

“It means that I haven’t been very happy and I want to be,” squeezing his hands you scoot just a little closer. “I want to be happy with you. I was always happy with you, Bucky.”

“With me? Are you sure?” He’s so earnest and eager. “I’d spend the rest of my life making sure you’re happy if that’s truly what you want.”

Leaning in, you press your lips to his. When he cradles your head and crushes your body to his you know how right this is and deepen the kiss. As he pulls away from you and caresses your cheeks you can feel the tears prick your eyes and the smile crepe over your face.

“Where will we live?” You both laugh and Bucky pulls you into a hug and leans back into the cushions of the couch with you in his arms. 

“I don’t want you to leave your job. You’re still happy with that, right?” When you explain to him that while you do love what you do, the job is stale and you miss being around the Avengers compound. 

You tell him of your plan to talk to Steve and Tony about being able to do both. 

“What about the job for you in DC?” Bucky looks sheepish at your question. 

“You know those desk jockeys you were going to get in January?” he nods as your jaw drops. 

“Buck, you would hate it. Not the purpose behind it, but the actual job,” you turn towards him, animatedly explaining things. “Sitting at a desk all day, writing reports. You’d hate it. I don’t want that for you.”

He opens his mouth to respond but you place your hand over his lips, “I don’t care where we’re based, DC or New York, I just want to be with you. I’ll take Maria’s job and work with the team again.”

“Everything else is just details, right?”

“Right,” you snuggle back into his arms and sigh contentedly. “Wherever we are together will be home.”

Bucky presses a kiss to the top of your head and squeezes you gently in his arms, “Then we’ll always be home for Christmas.” 

A minute passes and you burst out into laughter, “You’re such a dork, Barnes.”

He laughs with you, “A dork that loves you.”

“That’s been my Christmas wish for years,” you turn in his arms to kiss him again. “I love you too.”

@quant-um-fizzx​ @broco8

[bibhabmishra]

The Princess Bride

It feels downright inconceivableI to devote only one chapter in a book about lessons gleaned from eighties movies to The Princess Bride. Why, just off the top of my head, while standing on my head, I can name five life lessons that this movie teaches you that you don’t learn anywhere else:  1. “Never go against a Sicilian when DEATH is on the line!” 2. “Love is the greatest thing—except for a nice mutton, lettuce, and toma- to sandwich when the mutton is nice and lean.” 3. “Life is pain. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” 4. Eventually, you learn not to mind the kissing parts. 5. And most important, “As you wish” = “I love you.”  Such is the depth of wisdom in this film that in 2013, twenty-six years after its release, BuzzFeed devoted a listII to the lessons gleaned from it. A BuzzFeed list! Who needs the Oscars, Princess Bride, when you have that ultimate of mod- ern-day accolades? The Princess Bride is so adored that it’s probablyIII now a clichéd response on Internet dating websites: walks on the beach, an open fire, sunsets, and The Princess Bride. And yet, despite this, love for The Princess Bride is not seen as desperately hackneyed or cheesily safe. The Princess Bride is what you’d need a prospective love interest to cite as their favorite movie for the relationship to progress,IV it’s the one film that would make you rethink a lifelong friendship if you found out your best friend “just didn’t get it”—not that they would ever say that, because I honestly don’t know a single person of my generation who isn’t obsessed with this film.

And not just my generation: in As You Wish, a very enjoyable book about the making of The Princess Bride, Cary Elwes—who played Westley the farm boy, of course—recounts being told by both Pope John Paul II and Bill Clinton how much they loved the movie, proving that The Princess Bride appeals to saints and sinners alike.V Now, having said all that, I have a confession to make. I was not the big Princess Bride fan in my family when I was growing up. That title instead went to my sister, Nell. Our mother took us to see it at the movie theater when I must have been nine and Nell was seven, and even though the film was— incredibly—something of a commercial disappointment when it came out, the cinema was absolutely packed with kids like us. In my mind, everyone in the audience was utterly in thrall to this tale of Buttercup (Robin Wright), her true love Westley (Elwes), and their battles against Prince Humperdinck (Chris Sarandon), Vizzini (Wallace Shawn), and Count Rugen (Christopher Guest), and their eventual assistance from the brave swordsman Inigo (Mandy Patinkin), the giant Fezzik (the professional wrestler known as André the Giant), and Miracle Max (Billy Crystal). Afterward, we stood in the cinema atrium as our mother bundled us back into our coats. “Did you girls like it?” she asked. Standing there in her corduroy dungarees and T-shirt, Nell looked in a state of semi-shock. “I LOVED IT. I WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN RIGHT NOW!” she practically shouted. Now, The Princess Bride is wonderful, but in order to understand how unex- pected this proclamation was, you have to know a little bit about my sister. Ever since she was old enough to throw a tantrum, my sister refused to wear dresses. She never played with dolls. She refused to let my mother brush her hair and had apparently no interest in her physical appearance. She did not like mushy stories—she didn’t even like reading books. In other words, she was the complete opposite to me. How much of that was a deliberate reaction against me, a younger sibling defining herself in opposition to the older one, and how much of it was simply an innate part of Nell was already a moot point when we went to see The Princess Bride: Nell’s parameters were so firmly set by then that her nickname in our family was “the tough customer.” She would consent to drink only one kind of fruit juice (apple), and buy only one brand (Red Cheek), and only if it came out of a can (never a carton), so there was absolutely no negotiating with her about mushy princesses. Lord only knows how my mother got her to see the movie in the first place. She must have hid- den the title from her. And yet, like the grandson in the film, Kevin Arnold,VI Nell found that, against all odds, she did enjoy the story, just as Kevin’s grandfather, Columbo,VII promises. I think Nell made my mother take her to see the film at the cinema at least three more times. As she wished. When it came out on VHS, we bought it immediately and it was understood that the videocassette was officially Nell’s, just as the videocassette for Ferris Bueller’s Day Off was officially mine. When she found out that the film had originally been a book by William Goldman, who also wrote the screenplay, she asked my amazed mother to buy that, too. Nell read it over and over until the pages fell out, so she stuck them back in and then read the book again. The Princess Bride was the book that taught her to like books, as much as the movie taught her to relax some of her other rules. She developed a lifelong crush on Westley and, not long after, she started wearing dresses, too. The reasons why Nell loved this film so much exemplify, I think, why it is universally adored in a way that, say, the vaguely similar and contemporary The Never-Ending Story is not. It’s a fairy tale for those who love fairy tales, but it’s also a self-aware spoof for those who don’t; it’s an adventure film for boys and—for once—girls, too, but without pandering to or excluding either; it’s got a plot for kids, dialogue for adults, and jokes for everyone; it’s a genre film and a satire of a genre film; it’s a very funny movie in which everybody is playing it straight; it’s smart and sweet and smart about its sweetness, but also sweet about its smarts. Unlike, say, Shrek, there are no jokes here for parents that go over the kids’ heads: all generations enjoy it on exactly the same level. It’s a movie that lets people who don’t like certain things like those things, while at the same time not betraying the original fans. But most of all, The Princess Bride is about one thing in particular: “The Princess Bride is a story about love,” says Cary Elwes. “So much happens in the movie—giants, fencing, kidnapping. But it’s really a film about love.” This might seem like a statement of the obvious, but it isn’t, actually. Yes, the film is ostensibly about the great true love between Buttercup and Westley, and their most perfect kiss that leaves all the other kisses in the world behind. Both Elwes and Wright were so astonishingly beautiful when they made the film that, watching them, it’s hard to believe any love ever existed on this plan- et other than theirs. And they, rather pleasingly, were quite taken with one an- other. In his book, Elwes talks at length about how “smitten” he was with Wright, and she says precisely the same about him: “I was absolutely smitten with Cary. So obviously that helped with our onscreen chemistry. . . . It doesn’t matter how many years go by, I will love Cary forever.” Disappointingly, however, Elwes insists that they remained just friends. “Everyone asks if there was more!” he says, sounding a little exasperated, apparently unable to see what everyone else can: namely, that it seems against the laws of nature for two such beautiful people not to have had sex at least once. The last scene that Elwes shot was of him and Wright kissing on horse- back, creating “the most perfect kiss” of all time against a sunset. Surely that was romantic. “Well, not really. Robin and I were friends by that point so we kept laughing, and [the director] Rob [Reiner] was going, ‘Touch her face, touch her face!’ ” He laughs. But Westley and Buttercup’s love is only a part of the film, and only one of several love stories in the film. There is also, for a start, the great love between Inigo and Fezzik. The scene in which a drunken and broken Inigo looks up into Fezzik’s face in the Thieves Forest and Fezzik says a simple, smiling hello is much more moving than the moment when Buttercup realizes the Dread Pirate Roberts is actually Westley (not least because she’s just pushed him down a hill). Even if Inigo does become the Dread Pirate Roberts at the end of the film, as Westley suggests he should, it is as impossible to imagine him going off without Fezzik as it is to imagine Buttercup and Westley being severed. This love between the two men is at the root of one of the film’s subtlest lessons. Bad guys teach audiences how to think of opponents in life, and this is especially true of bad guys in books and films aimed at kids. Because stories for kids tend to be relatively simple, villains in these films are almost invariably evil, and that’s all there is to be said about them. Cruella de Vil, Snow White’s stepmother, the witch in Rapunzel: WHAT a bunch of moody bitches. This is also certainly true of movies for children in the 1980s, from the frankly terri- fying Judge Doom (Christopher Lloyd) in Who Framed Roger Rabbit to the enjoyably evil Ursula in The Little Mermaid. It’s a pleasingly basic approach, and one that validates most kids’ (and adults’) view of the world: “I am good and anyone who thwarts me is wicked and there is no point in trying to think about things from their point of view because they have no inner life of their own beyond pure evil and a desire to impede me.” The Princess Bride, however, does something different. It’s easy to forget this once you’ve seen the movie and fallen in love with the characters but Inigo and Fezzik are, ostensibly, bad guys. When we first meet them in the movie, they knock our heroine, Buttercup, unconscious and kidnap her for Vizzini. We are also told they will kill her. Our princess! In the eyes of children, you can’t get much more evil than that. They are hired guns in the re- venge business, which is not a job for a good guy in any fairy tale. But Gold- man flips it around. We quickly see Inigo and, in particular, Fezzik being ex- tremely sweet with each other, doing their little rhymes together and trying to protect one another from Vizzini’s ire. Their love for one another shows us there is more to these villains than villainy. Goldman then ups the ante even further by having Inigo describe to the Man in Black how he has devoted his life to avenging the death of his father, thus giving him the kind of emotional backstory kids can definitely understand, as well as adding another mission to the movie. Soon after beating (but not killing) Inigo, the Man in Black fights with Fezzik, who we already know has a similarly sad past (“unemployed—IN GREENLAND”). Plenty of villains were once good before crossing to the dark side: Darth Vader, many of Batman’s nemeses, Voldemort. The point in those stories is that the difference between true evil and true greatness comes down to one wrong decision, one wrong turn, and there is no going back from that. But The Princess Bride does something more subtle: it suggests that good people some- times end up doing bad things, but are still good, have stories of their own, and are capable of love. Inigo and Fezzik both killed people in the past for Vizzini, but they’re all still good people. This is quite a message for kids (and adults) to take in: not everything is clear-cut when it comes to good and bad, even in fairy tales. In the original novel, William Goldman goes into much greater detail about Fezzik and Inigo’s friendship, and this is one of the reasons why I—in all hon- esty—pre-fer the book to the film.VIII But the film alludes to it enough in order for audiences to understand the real bond between the men, and partly this happens through the script and partly through the actors, especially one actor in particular. At one point, Arnold Schwarzenegger was considered for the role of Fezzik, but, thank heavens, he was already too expensive by the time the film finally started shooting. Where Schwarzenegger is all jarring rectangles and jut- ting jaw, André the Giant was all soft circles and goofy smiles. Where Schwarzenegger palpably punished himself to a superhuman extent to get the body he clearly wanted so badly, the man born André René Roussimoff suf- fered from gigantism due to acromegaly and had no choice about his size, just as Fezzik didn’t, much to the latter’s misery (“It’s not my fault being the big- gest and the strongest—I don’t even exercise”). It would be a patronizing cliché to say André was born to play Fezzik, but he was certainly more right for the role than Schwarzenegger. By the time he made The Princess Bride, André was seven feet, four inches and weighed more than 540 pounds. Easily the sweetest stories in Cary Elwes’s book come from the cast and crew’s memories of the wrestler, who died in 1993 at the age of forty-six, and this is not mere sentimentality. Quite a few of The Princess Bride’s cast have, sadly, since died, including Mel Smith, Peter Cook, and Peter Falk, but none of them prompts the same kind of fondness as that felt for André. “It’s safe to say that he was easily the most popular person on the movie,” Elwes writes. “Everyone just loved him.” Partly this is due to the extraordinary nature of the man. Robin Wright re- calls going out to a dinner with him where he ate “four or five entrees, three or four appetizers, a couple of baskets of bread, and then he’s like, I’m ready for seconds. And then desserts. I think he went through a case of wine and he wasn’t even tipsy.” But it was André’s innately gentle nature that made him so beloved. His “compassion and protective nature,” Elwes writes, helped Wallace Shawn over- come his almost paralyzing fear of heights when they were filming the climb up the Cliffs of Insanity. When Robin Wright felt chilly when filming outdoors, André would place one of his huge hands on top of Wright’s head. “She said it was like having a giant hot water bottle up there. It certainly did the trick; he didn’t even mess up her hair that much!” Elwes writes. When he died, William Goldman wrote his obituary in New York magazine. The last lines were as fol- lows: “André once said to Billy Crystal, ‘We do not live long, the big and the small.’ Alas.” Next, on a smaller level, is the love between Miracle Max (Crystal) and his aged wife, Valerie (Carol Kane). Initially they seem simply like a squabbling old couple, playing purely for broad comedy (and their scene is the broadest comedic one in the film). But it soon becomes clear that Valerie is needling Max only because she wants him to get back his confidence in his work after Prince Humperdinck destroyed it by sacking them, and her little cheer when her husband agrees to make a miracle for Inigo is really very touching. By the end of their scene, they’re working together, finishing one another’s sentences, holding each other arm in arm, and whispering little asides to one another. As a portrait of elderly marriage goes, this one is a pretty lovely one. Finally, there’s the great love story that frames the whole movie: the one be- tween the grandson/Kevin Arnold (Fred Savage) and the grandfather/Columbo (Peter Falk). In the beginning of the movie, the grandson is irritated by his cheek-pinching grandfather and can hardly believe that he has to stop playing his adorably primitive-looking computer baseball game to listen to grandfather read a book.IX As the film progresses, the relationship between the grandson and grandfather progresses almost like a traditional love story: the grandson slowly gets more interested, clutching his covers anxiously when Buttercup is almost eaten by the Shrieking Eels; then he gets angry, banging his bed with his fist when it seems like Westley has been killed; and finally, he comes around entirely and tells his grandfather to come back the next day to read the book again. “As you wish.” His grandfather smiles, and the film ends. “That wasn’t actu- ally in the script,” Elwes says. “They came up with him saying that on, I think, the last day, and it really captures the love between the grandfather and grand- son. You can also see the tenderness between Fred Savage and Peter Falk.”

[douxreviews]

The Princess Bride Review

[This review includes spoilers.]

Grandson: "Has it got any sports in it?" Grandfather: "Are you kidding? Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles..."

The Princess Bride is often described as a fractured fairy tale, but I don't think that's accurate because it's so much more. In his original book, William Goldman took the standard elements of a fairy tale and twisted them off center into something exceptionally funny, while still retaining all of the elements that made it an enjoyable fairy tale. And then Rob Reiner took Goldman's story and translated it into a movie that was just as good and did the same thing, which is a remarkable achievement. The Princess Bride is a satire, a tale of true love, a touching story of bloody vengeance, and it's hilarious. It's unique, and defies categorization.

It's difficult to launch directly into a fantasy world, so Goldman cleverly encapsulated the fairy tale into a story that a grandfather (Peter Falk) is reading to his sick grandson (Fred Savage). I've always loved the skillful way it goes back and forth ("Is this a kissing book?" "She does not get eaten by the eels at this time"). Because the grandfather clearly loves the story he's telling, and at the end, his grandson does too, it bridges the generational gap between them. Lovely.

But it's the fairy tale that's important, and I love every minute of it. I want Buttercup and Westley to live happily ever after. I want Inigo to avenge his father and find peace at last. And there are so many scenes that are absolute gems. The duel at the top of the Cliffs of Insanity is probably my favorite because of the way the Man in Black and Inigo bond as they're trying to kill each other. The duel of wits with the iocane powder is priceless. I love the shrieking eels. I love the R.O.U.S.'s in the fire swamp. Inigo's duel with the six-fingered man is just wonderful, a perfect emotional climax to the movie.

The performances are also gems. Westley (Cary Elwes) is gorgeous, dashing, and ridiculous. Buttercup (Robin Wright) is earnestly beautiful and beautifully earnest, the perfect straight woman. Inigo's story is the most compelling, and Mandy Patinkin brings perfect comic timing as well as pathos to the role. It's not easy to pull off a line like "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!" not just once, but many times, and to give it so much impact each and every time.

I can't say enough good things about Wallace Shawn as Vizzini; practically every line he says in this movie is terribly funny. Andre the Giant imparts such sweetness to the role of Fezzik, while still being physically imposing. Honorable mention to Chris Sarandon, Christopher Guest, Billy Crystal and Carol Kane. And Peter Cook as the minister, who made one small scene unforgettable; I start laughing even before he opens his mouth. "Mawwidge. Mawwidge is what bwings us togedder today."

The sight gags are special, too. The climb up the Cliffs of Insanity. Vizzini laughing maniacally before keeling over. Inigo leaning against the tree. Practically every scene with Westley after they give him the pill. The men standing guard in front of the gate makes me laugh every time I see it. But my favorite has always been this one:

"We are but poor, lost circus performers. Is there a village nearby?"

If I have any complaint at all, it's that while Andre the Giant is well cast, Fezzik's lines are sometimes difficult to understand. The scene with the holocaust cloak in particular is almost incomprehensible without subtitles. Okay, I've always hated Inigo's hair, too. Small things, though. And I can't imagine The Princess Bride without them.

I still laugh out loud every time I watch this movie, even while I know the lines so well that I repeat them with the actors. It's that good. William Goldman is probably best known for writing one of the great movies, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I love that movie. But I love The Princess Bride more.

Quotes:

I wanted to put half of the movie in the quotes section, but I restrained myself and just listed my absolute favorites. So if I missed a line or two that you love, feel free to add it to the comments.

Westley: "This is true love. Do you think this happens every day?"

Vizzini: "And you! Friendless, brainless, helpless, hopeless! Do you want me to send you back to where you were? Unemployed, in Greenland?"

Inigo: "Fezzik, are there rocks ahead?" Fezzik: "If there are, we'll all be dead." Vizzini: "No more rhymes now, I mean it." Fezzik: "Anybody want a peanut?" I love the way Inigo indulges Fezzik in his rhyming. It's so sweet.

Inigo: "You are sure nobody's follow us?" Vizzini: "As I told you, it would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways inconceivable ... Out of curiosity, why do you ask?" Inigo: "No reason. It's only I just happened to look behind us and something is there." Vizzini: "What? Probably some local fisherman, out for a pleasure cruise, at night... in eel-infested waters..."

Vizzini: "He didn't fall? Inconceivable!" Inigo: "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." The most quotable line in the movie. I use it a lot.

Fezzik: "You be careful. People in masks cannot be trusted."

Inigo: "I do not mean to pry, but you don't by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?" Man in Black: "Do you always begin conversations this way?"

Fezzik: "Why do you wear a mask? Were you burned by acid, or something like that?" Man in Black: "Oh no, it's just that they're terribly comfortable. I think everyone will be wearing them in the future."

Man in Black: "I do not envy you the headache you will have when you awake. But for now, rest well and dream of large women."

Vizzini: "You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous of which is 'never get involved in a land war in Asia', but only slightly less well-known is this: 'Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line'!"

Buttercup: "You mock my pain." Man in Black: "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

Westley: (looking around the Fire Swamp) "It's not that bad. (Buttercup looks at him) Well, I'm not saying I'd like to build a summer home here, but the trees are actually quite lovely."

Humperdinck: "Tyrone, you know how much I love watching you work. But I've got my country's five hundredth anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder and Guilder to frame for it. I'm swamped."

Inigo: "Offer me money." Rugen: "Yes!" Inigo: "Power, too. Promise me that." Rugen: "All that I have and more. Please!" Inigo: "Offer me anything I ask for." Rugen: "Anything you want... " Inigo: "I want my father back, you son of a bitch!"

I'm not much for hobbits or Harry Potter, so this is my favorite fantasy movie. I love every scene and every line. Am I being too effusive? Inconceivable!

Four out of four white horses,

Billie Doux loves good television and spends way too much time writing about it.

[xjefferxx]

First Date

Who: Jeff Sterling & @joiesomer​

When: Fri 7/5- Sat 7/6

Where: Jeff’s room

What; Its just a cute date (tw: anixety)

It was all set up and ready, Jeff was so proud of himself. He had set up the fort, asking his roommates to find somewhere else to be for the night and both were cool with being gone until morning. Probably going to some party, but Jeff didn't care. He was more excited, buzzing even about his evening to come with Somer. The house was pretty empty for the night, which was good when he heard the doorbell and came down the stairs. Opening the door, Jeff stood in his jeans, tee and glasses, smiling to Somer. "Come on upstairs. We have the room to ourselves, but first, close your eyes."

Since Jeff wouldn't tell him much about the date except when and where to meet him, Somer had actually dressed up just a tiny bit. Well, he'd put on a buttoned shirt, anyway, and rolled the cuffs up neatly, and worn slacks instead of jeans. He felt really overdressed when Jeff opened the door for him. "Oh, um, okay?" Just to show how obedient he was being, he put his hand over his eyes.

Jeff looked Somer over, feeling bad that he was so over dressed but it wouldn't matter soon.  He was glad to see that Somer covered his eyes. His hand went to the boy's free hand and brought him to the stairs. "Okay now step up." Walking him slowly up the stairs and down the hall. All the while, Jeff was still buzzing, hoping he'd like the date. "I know you're still not ready to be out there and figuring things out, so I made our date as private as I could. My roommates won't be coming back any time soon." Jeff opened the door, stepping them into the room and locking the door behind them. Over his bed was sheets and blankets, fairy lights hung inside of them. On the bed was a pizza box and his lap top with a movie ready to go. "Okay, open your eyes....I really hope you like it." Chewing his lip

Somer could almost feel Jeff vibrating. He wanted to offer some kind of comfort, but the truth was, he was nervous too. He had no idea what kind of date Jeff might have set up, or what to expect. The bad part of his mind was tossing up all kinds of terrible scenarios, like 'what if Jeff wants to have sex with me I'm not ready for that yet'. And yet, every single word Jeff blurted in his hasty tumble seemed thoughtful. He was guiding Somer perfectly, and Somer's sense of Jeff's body was just getting stronger. Then he opened his eyes, and just stopped, stunned. A blanket tent ... the same kind of dim multisource lighting Somer used in his own room ... he could smell the pizza ... "Jeff," Somer breathed. "It's ... this is amazing. It's perfect." His hand closed tightly on Jeff's. "I just have one very important question. "What movie is it?"

Jeff's face lit up. "I tried, I did. I know I love blanket forts and they normally are a privacy thing so yeah." When he asked about the movie, Jeff brought him over to the bed and turned the laptop to show him. "Princess Bride." He grinned.

"Excuse me," Somer said then. He carefully put the laptop and the pizza on the far edge of the bed from them, then pushed Jeff down to sit on the edge. Standing between the dancer's legs, Somer looked at him gravely for a moment, then put his hand into Jeff's pale hair and kissed him. "Thank you," the redhead murmured. "It really means a lot to me that you listened when I said I wanted to be a little less public."

Jeff furrowed his brow, thinking he had screwed up now. He must not have as Somer had him sit on the edge of the bed then came to stand between his legs. Pressing a kiss back to his lips, his hand rested on the boy's hip. "I want to do this right, its the first time I've really done and I want to do it right for you...." Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, moving Somer to sit on his lap. "Do you like the movie choice?"

Somer grinned. "Why do you think I kissed you, towhead? The Princess Bride is one of my favourite movies." He stepped back and pretended to flourish a rapier. "'My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!'" he declaimed in an exaggerated Spanish accent. Then he pretended to thrust at Jeff with a huge grin.

"Well because you like kissing me, ginger." Jeff chuckled, dodging as he thrust towards him. Standing, he took the hand as if he was holding Somer's that held the sword. "As you wish." He whispered to him. Jeff stepped back then, scooting to the wall and setting things back up. "Come on, lets watch it."

Somer found a pillow and wrapped himself around it, half-sprawling across part of the bed. Happily he took a slice of pizza and immersed himself in the movie. "Humperdinck," he muttered, giggling. "Can you even imagine being named that? Of course he was horrible."

Jeff smiled, looking to him and grabbing a slice of his own. "I think if I was named that, I would so go change my name. I mean but yeah, funny name for the biggest jerk." Biting into his slice, Jeff hummed. "I love this pizza, its amazing...oh gosh I love Wesley but you gotta admit Buttercup is one strong princess."

Somer wrinkled his brow, thinking about that. "I guess," he said at last. "I mean, she didn't kill herself right away -- but she didn't go find the Dread Pirate Roberts herself, or go with Westley to seek their fortunes. She's a little passive most of the time."

Jeff thought about what somer said. "Huh I didnt think about that  part before. I just meant that she kind of stood up for herself at moments. But you're right."

"I still like the movie a lot, but it's not very feminist, you know? But then at least she doesn't faint or anything like that, and she is pretty brave most of the time. I couldn't marry Humperdinck." Somer gave an exaggerated shudder. But then the rhyming scene began, and he shaped the lines under his breath with a happy smile.

"Oh god if she fainted.." Jeff faked it with a laugh. "That would be too much.  " it got quiet then, they both seeming to be sucked into the movie now. There were so many parts that were just something that stuck in your mind. Jeff wanted to put his arm around Somer but he wasn't sure how he'd react to it.

They hardly said anything for the next hour, slowly nibbling on the pizza and wholly absorbed in the movie. Somer somewhat unconsciously snuggled closer to Jeff when Westley seemed to die, wanting the comfort of touch.

The movie had them both pulled in to the point that it took a moment before Jeff felt the closeness of them. His arm moved to wrap around the boy's waist, holding his hip as he pulled him in closer.  He smiled, his head resting on top of Somer's.

After a few minutes, Somer rolled his eyes upward, as if he could see Jeff that way. "You know, just because I'm short, that doesn't make me a pillow," he said lightly. "Also your chin is kind of pointy."

"But I think you make a great pillow." He teased, kissing his hair. "I won't do it again, promise." With that, he laid his head back and still smiled. "My chin isn't pointy." he mumbled, using his free hand to rub it with a pout on his lips

Somer laughed, fumbling around for some part of Jeff to poke. "Well something's digging into my scalp!" He thought something might be poking into his backside, too, but that was not something he was going to bring up.

Jeff yelped as he poked. "Hey now, no tickling." Sticking his tongue out to him. "Well then I guess we have a pointy ghost in the room then." Laughing still, though Jeff shifted some and pulled his arm back that he had around Somer's waist. Instead, he slipped his hand into the other boy's, smiling and looking at the screen as if nothing had changed. "Oh I love this part...to the pain."

"Oh noes!" Somer giggled. "Joie has a ghost! Do you think it's just here -- oh, yes, this is the second best part! But it only works on Humperdinck, you know, because he cares so much about what people think of him. Well, and it would actually hurt a lot ... "

"maybe or maybe its always here, its like hogwarts, they come to play and have fun?" Jeff commented with a shrugg. "Yeah, he's too pretty but I mean i dont think he's attractive, god help someone that does, but hes suppose to be vain so it makes sense....yeah that would be painful. I think its funny though how he falls for it and all Wesley did was stand."

Somer pointed out, "It's not like Westley can do anything else. He's completely paralyzed right now! He has to bluff. It's a good bluff, though. And it's not much of a story if the hero doesn't win." Jeff rolled away, and abruptly Somer shivered. He hadn't realised how much warmth the other boy was giving him.

Jeff saw the shiver, moving back in closer to him again. "Well yeah, thats what I mean. Hamperbutt is so stupid, he falls for it and its all a bluff which I mean, he sees moments later. Very true and you know that true love's kiss thing too." Looking over to Somer as he said it. "Do you believe in it? True love and all that?

"I don't know," the redhead said slowly. "I don't know if I've ever really been /in/ love, you know? I love my family, and I've had crushes on celebrities and stuff ... so I don't know. It seems a bit limiting, sort of."

"I do, I can be a hopeless romantic but I like to believe that there is someone out there for everyone." Jeff smiled, sitting up as the movie ended and stretching some. "I have another movie if you want to watch it or you can choose one and I could close my eyes." Jeff hiding his eyes behind his hands, pretending to peek at Somer.

Somer looked down at the bedspread. "I want to believe in it," he said quietly. "But ... " He shrugged. "It's me. I don't really believe anybody is ever going to feel that way about me. I'm just not that lovable." He looked up at Jeff, mouth all twisted up. "Sorry. This is supposed to be a date, not Somer's pity party."

Jeff shook his head, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. "Its not and you know I'll keep showing you that you are loveable and that you can be liked because well..." Jeff chewed his lip. "I like you and i don't mean in like a friend way. I like you as more and I know you're still figuring things out and all that. Its not to cause you to be more confused or god, not to scare you but you really are likeable...I wouldnt be here with you if i didn't feel that way." He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "So...another movie?"

The redhead had to hide his face as Jeff spoke. He was struggling as much with the idea that he could be worth paying attention to as with the idea that he liked boys as well as girls -- and the former was much more deeply rooted. He wanted to say something, to explain how Jeff was wrong, only the words didn't come. It was just a feeling, a terrible unfounded fear that made his eyes prickle and his throat close up.

Jeff just sat back. He didnt know what to do. He had fucked it up, he had fucked it bad. Just chewing on his lip as he sat there, he finally just turned on another movie. "Sorry Somer." he whispered, not sure what else to say. "Just know I meant all that and if you want to go, I understand.

Somer flinched when Jeff said that. It felt like Jeff was sending him away, and the good part of his mind was screaming at him, trying to get the reins back before he did something stupid. He pulled in on himself, trying to be smaller.

He didn't know what to do, so he did what seemed to be natural. Jeff moved closer to him, pulling Somer into his lap and holding him. He hugged him there and just didn't let go. He could only hope it would turn out okay.

He almost resisted when Jeff hugged him, but already he associated Jeff with comfort, so he went with it. After a second he lightly beat his head on Jeff's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, voice a bit scratchy. "I'm not -- I told you I was broken. I didn't mean to do this right now. I mean, I never /mean/ to do this but I didn't want you to see this part of me."

Jeff held him shaking his head. "I want to see all of you, even if its parts I don't know much about handling...but i want to learn. I want to learn all about you." His hand finding Somer's, fingers lacing then. Just having the boy speak had saved him from a place that he didn't know well anymore. "if you're broken then so am I...and I'll help you put yourself together again if you'll help me." Kissing his knuckles softly.

The feeling of Jeff's mouth on his skin send tingles up Somer's spine, and completely distracted him from the way his brain was betraying him. "Do that again," he squeaked in a whisper.

Jeff kissed his hand again, playing with his fingers. He kissed each finger tip then his forehead. He didnt know if he was helping but it seemed to help Somer, so he was more then willing to keep doing it.

Something surfaced in Somer's mind, right before Jeff proceeded to totally unhook his brain. "I don't want you to hurt yourself on me," he managed. Then he swore, softly., and shuddered. "Jeff, what are you doing to me?"

"I'm not hurt and too late, I'm kind of addicted to you." Jeff smiled to him, shrugging and shaking his head. "I don't know, you have to tell me that...because honestly, what are you doing to me?" His other hand coming to caress Somer's cheek. "You have me feelings elephants..."

"'m not doing anything," Somer protested. "You're the one with my fingers practically in your mouth over there." He closed his eyes, leaning in to that touch. "Fuck." His voice cracked sharply on the k sound. "'ve never felt like this before."

"Oh that, just being silly and kissing you in silly ways." Jeff zerberting his cheek again, trying to get him to smile some. "I haven't either...this is new for both of us." He whispered back, forehead to Somer's as they sat there in the light fairy light.

The cheek kiss did make Somer smile, although it probably wasn't the silly smile Jeff had been hoping for. It was softer, warmer. He took his hand back, cupping Jeff's face in both hands, then leaned forward to kiss him slowly. There were all kinds of things he wanted to say, about how overwhelming this past week had been. But he pushed them all aside and concentrated only on kissing Jeff, slowly learning.

He was glad to see him smile, though this one was soft and warm, it still was nice to see. Jeff leaned into the kiss as well, his hand on Somer's hip and the other in his hair. He didn't tug it this time, just ran his fingers through it as he followed Somer in the kiss. He was letting him control it all right now, letting him set the speed and time.

After a long time, Somer leaned back, one thumb rubbing against Jeff's cheekbone. "I still don't know what you see, but I guess I have to accept that you see something," he said quietly. He glanced over at the laptop, with no idea of what was playing. "I. Um." He swallowed and tried again. "I usually go to sleep while listening to the Mythbusters. I thought, maybe ... if you didn't mind ... you ... could hold me? For a while? And we could watch some?"

Jeff leaned into the touch, turning his face to kiss his palm. "Yeah, I do see something I see a lot." He looked as well. Hearing what Somer asked, he didn't show it but his heart picked up pace. Did that mean he'd stay the night for cuddles? Jeff could only hope. "Sure, I can do that. Do you want...do you want to borrow some sweats to lay in?"

"Maybe just a t-shirt? I mean, unless me in my boxers is a problem?" Somer felt very daring saying that. It was absurd, because he was a swimmer, used to being looked at while wearing much less, but somehow this situation was different.

Jeff shook his head, "Nope, I can do that." He had to slip Somer from his lap as he got up and got him a shirt as well as take his contacts out, glasses going on once more. Jeff handed him the shirt, changing out of his jeans as well. He wouldn't deny, he stole a glance at Somer as he changed. "So does it matter what season we watch?"

"I literally just have them all on random," Somer said, unbuttoning his shirt and letting it just pile into a heap on the floor. He pulled the t-shirt over his head, then shucked his slacks, grinning at how long the t-shirt was on him. "You are such a beanpole, did you know that?"

Jeff smiled, tilting his head. "It looks cute on you...and yes I know I am but it makes for a good dancer." Jeff flopping on the bed. He laid on his side, leaving room on his bed for Somer to lay in front of him as the pizza had been put away and the laptop now moved to his desk so they could see it.

Somer rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Jeff. "I'm not cute," he said firmly. He climbed back onto the bed, walking on his knees over to Jeff, and did a controlled faceplant into Jeff's side. Then he rolled and flopped until he was tucked into the curve of Jeff's body.

Jeff giggled to see how he got into bed. His arm wrapped Somer's waist, pulling him back a bit before he leaned over to press play. The only light in the room now was from the laptop and the fairy lights, making it all the more intimate for them. Lying back once more, Jeff folded his pillow so he could be up more to see, still holding Somer close and semi tight in his arms

If he were being honest with himself, Somer would admit how right this felt. He felt safe in a way that he hadn't experienced since he and Winter had stopped sharing a room at fifteen, wrapped up warmly in Jeff's arms. Nothing could come at him from behind, because he was protected. The fact that it was one of his favourite episodes, the pirate special, didn't hurt. Unconsciously, he snuggled back more firmly into Jeff's body, feet tangling with the dancer's.

Jeff didn't dare say what came to mind when he held Somer like this, how it felt right and comfortable. But it did. Maybe another time, but tonight was good, it had had its bad moments but tonight had turned around. Feeling him snuggle back, jeff held him a bit tighter, trying to in a way reassure him that he was still there.

It didn't take too long for the familiar episode, plus the sense of peace and comfort, to drag Somer down into sleep. He was used to waking up in the night, at least to roll over, but not this night.

Jeff felt his breathing even out, showing was sleeping. He smiled, turning the brightness down on his computer a bit but letting the show play. Settling in, he threw the blanket over them and drifted off as well. His arm never leaving the boy's waist.

Somer had no idea what time it was when he woke up. He drifted to the surface, feeling someone's arm around him, and at first thought it was part of his dream. He blinked his eyes open, and realised he was looking at Jeff's shining fall of hair, and the whole memory of the night before came back. Then their position connected with his dream, and he felt the color drain from his face. Oh, god. What was happening to him? And yet having Jeff tucked securely against him, holding him close, felt so right. Somer shoved his fear into a box and put it under the bed in his mind, then carefully shifted around until he was facing Jeff. "Hi," he whispered.

Jeff was still half asleep when he felt something moving next to him. He held a bit tighter but it seemed it still moved. Hearing a voice though, his eyes opened some to see who it was. It took his brain a moment, catching up and then a soft smile graced his lips as he pressed a soft kiss to Somer's nose. "Hi. How did you sleep?"

"Good," Somer admitted. "I didn't mean to wake you up, though. Do you know what time it is?"

"its okay, I can sleep all day if someone doesn't wake me and waking to you is better then my roommates." Jeff chuckled, reaching over Somer for his phone. "Hmm its 9. You want to get breakfast?"

Somer pushed up on one elbow to peer at Jeff's phone. "It's /how/ early? I never wake up this early, what have you done to me, towhead?" He flopped back down, dragging Jeff back with him. "No," he said in a vaguely sulky tone. "Stay here."

Jeff smiled, still a bit sleepy. "Hey I dont get up until noon on the weekends some time." being dragged back down, Jeff gladly went. He held Somer once more, his hand rubbing his back. "Hmm okay, i'll gladly stay here with you."

"Tell me more about you," Somer requested. "Like, when did you start dancing. And why. And about your family."

"Okay, well I started at 3. I was just fooling around, dancing really, around the aisle of the super market and this lady stopped. She saw me dancing there as my mom shopped. Then she approached my mom about how good I was and how she couldn't stop watching in a good way. So my parents put me in ballet and I loved it. So we added more and more and soon I was learning them all. I became nationally ranked at a young age in each age category and now am in the top 5 nationally for college level. My dad is the CEO of Sterling Banks. My mom is the daughter of an oil refiner. I have 4 younger siblings that are into music and acting. I love to watch movies and hang out more then anything..." Jeff blushed a bit. "Sorry I don't normally talk about myself this much."

Somer bit his lip, eyes rounding as Jeff described his dedication to dance. "How do you even have time to do anything else?" he asked in amazement. "You should be spending all your hours in the studio, my god. I feel like I must be distracting you or something." Then he pictured a 3-year-old Jeff and suddenly giggled.

"I didn't but I didn't really care all that much, I just loved dancing." Jeff shrugged. "Well I mean, my parents would have me take a break at times. Like right now, I'm on a break. For about 6 months out of the year I'm on a break but I'm still dancing to keep in shape for it." He laughed. "You are no distraction for me, trust me. You're more of a muse really." Hearing him giggle, Jeff smiled. "You just pictured little me huh? You want to see a picture?"

When Jeff called him a muse, Somer flushed hotly. Too fast, the bad part of his mind screamed, slow down, you're going to crash! "Maybe another time," he said hastily. "I don't want to move right now. If you love dance so much, how come you're majoring in Music Theatre?"

"Okay." he replied. "Well because I am amazing at dancing so I'd ace it, wheres the challenge in that? So musical theatre, I get to still dance but I have to focus on acting and singing as well."

Somer rolled over, burying his face in a pillow to muffle his laugh. He lifted his head long enough to say, "Wow, that's a little arrogant, isn't it?"

"Maybe a little bit." he made the motion with his fingers but laughed as well. "I don't know I just, I love to dance and i think if it was my major then the love for it would fade away...."

"Okay, that's fair," Somer said, flopping over onto his back. He tugged the t-shirt down over his hips, hoping Jeff wasn't looking there. "And you really are an amazing dancer. I wish I was half that good at the things I do." He put both hands under his head and looked at Jeff, just taking him in in the morning light.

Jeff sat up on his elbow and looked down to him. Sure he had glanced down to see his boxers but he didn't stare either, just smiled to him. "Well I think you're writing is amazing, you're really good at it, so there is that." His tongue sliding over his lips as he just wet them some. Feeling eyes on him, Jeff smiled softly to Somer.

Somer reached up a hand, letting his fingertips drift softly over Jeff's face. Everything about this situation he'd stumbled into was just making him more confused. Was it normal to feel this strongly, this fast? Or was it just because Jeff had been his first kiss, and second, and third ... ? The idea of this just being some kind of puppy love he'd grow out of suddenly made his heart ache.

Jeff leaned into his touch, his eyes closing as he just laid there with him. "A penny for your thoughts?" he whispered, his eyes open once more and looking back at Somer. He didn't know what he was thinking but he could only hope it was all good things.

The writer's stomach gave a lurch, but he managed to say calmly, "They aren't worth that much." He brushed his thumb over Jeff's mouth, pretending to shush him.

Jeff kissed his finger when it touched his lips like that. "No they are. They're well written, a great story line and age appropriate for all that could read it. Its just a fun, twisty turning story. One that could hold anyone's interest that you choose to let read it"

"My thoughts?" Somer tilted his head, puzzled. He'd missed something somewhere. Jeff kissing his finger made the shiver go down his spine again, and made it hard to think.

"What? oh crap, sorry i was thinking about your writing...but either way, you're thoughts are worth a lot." Jeff leaned down, his forehead to Somer's. "Everything about you is worth a lot. " Sitting back up then, just looking to the redhead.

"Jeff ... " Somer sighed. He reached up again, and put his hand over Jeff's mouth. "Stop that for a minute. And while you're at it stop being so ... I don't know, but stop it for a minute, I can't think when you do that." He pushed himself up on his elbows, and levelled a direct, non-flirtatious gaze on the blond dancer. "I know you're trying to persuade me to have a better self-esteem, and I really appreciate that. But," Somer sighed again, "I don't know what you want. Hell, I don't know what /I/ want. And this is all kind of fast." The redhead sat all the way up, bringing his knees up to wrap his arms around them. "Last night was really nice, and this morning is nice, and I just don't know what I'm doing. I don't want to hurt you by accident."

Jeff sat back, letting Somer sit up and letting him talk. He nodded some but didn't say anything. He wanted to make sure his own words were all put together. "I want to spend time with you, get to know you, take you on dates, cuddle with you." He was honest in his answer. "I don't know what I'm doing either, I'm just being honest about how I feel, even if it scares me. "

Somer raked his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what to do with that," he confessed at last. "And I ... I think I just ... need to think about it, for a bit? I still want to hang around with you, and I don't mind kissing -- I think -- I just ... Jeff." The blond's name came out kind of despairing. "I've never felt like this about someone before! I've never even been on a date before!"

"Then think about it, I won't make you or pressure you to do more then you're ready for." Jeff was glad to hear that he still wanted the things, or at least most of the things that Jeff had said he waited. Hearing him sort of whine, Jeff peered to him through his eyelashes. "Neither have I but knowing you has made me want to try."

The redhead climbed out of the bed, stretching as tall as he could. He pulled on his slacks from the night before, then shoved his hands in his pockets in an attempt to feel less awkward. "So. Um. I guess I'm gonna go?" He looked down at his feet, then realised he still had Jeff's t-shirt on. Hurriedly he jerked it off and toed around on the floor for his own shirt.

Jeff sighed some, his fingers running through his hair. "Yeah, but let me walked you out okay?" He didn't want it to be awkward for Somer at all. With his shirt back in his hands, Jeff helped him look and handed Somer his own shirt back. He wanted him to stay, but he wasn't going to force it either. Jeff opened his door and walked with Somer down the stairs and to the front door. Thank god everyone else was still sleeping. Jeff chewed his lip for a moment then pressed a kiss to Somer's cheek. "I'll see you again soon."

[theemightypen]

eomer and lothiriel for 13?

13) Co-stars AU

“Remind me again,” Eomer asks, breath ghosting hot and all-together-too-distracting along the shell of her ear, “why we’re doing this?”

Lothiriel, who is well aware that it is the dead of summer and they’re standing behind thick curtains of an outdoor theater, does not shiver. Not even a little bit, not even when Eomer shifts behind her as he ties the bow at the back of her dress, the heat of his hands making her skin itch with awareness.

“Because,” she says, “we made a promise.”

“A promise,” he grumbles, and she can’t help but smile at the gruffness of his tone, now that she knows him well enough to know it’s an act 97% of the time, “to four of the most devious kids I’ve ever known.”

“Don’t lump Sam and Frodo in with Merry and Pippin,” Lothiriel argues, turning to face him and hand him his mask all in one swoop, “they genuinely like the idea of a play.”

“Hmph,” Eomer snorts. “Or are at least better at looks of wide-eyed innocence.”

That, Lothiriel concedes, might be true.

Regardless, there’s no backing out of this now. Not when Sam shyly presents her with a flower-crown he’s clearly woven himself, or when Frodo emerges from the make-shift dressing room in the tiniest–and arguably most adorable–ceremonial robes she’s ever seen. Merry and Pippin are more comical than cute in their respective costumes, but their mops of curly hair and faces rounded with baby fat tip the scales back in their favor. Faramir and Eowyn, however, aren’t so lucky.

“Laugh all you want,” Eowyn grumbles, tugging at the long, scraggly grey wig that looks disturbingly like Gandalf’s beard, “but you two have the lead roles. Pressure’s on.”

Faramir, who is far too tall and broad to be the wizened old magic man he’s supposed to be, grins widely at Eomer’s long suffering groan. “It could be worse. They roped Eowyn and I into being Romeo and Juliet last year. But with zombies.”

Wait a minute, Lothiriel thinks. This is her first year at the camp as a counselor, after all, but she’s close enough to Faramir to remember him coming home the summer before on Cloud 9, muttering dreamily about the horse riding instructor, four wonderful boys from Hobbiton, and Shakespeare. The little devils are matchmaking, and it’s very apparent who this year’s targets are.

It…should bother her more. Eomer is her soon to be cousin-in-law, after all, and a good bit older than her, and is the complete opposite of any man she’s ever dated before. But he’s also incredibly gentle with the kids, as good of a brother to Eowyn as Lothiriel’s own are to her, smart, incredibly handsome, and–

Well, she’s really running out of reasons as to why she should mind that her campers have apparently noticed her not-so-pint-sized crush on him.

The first run through of the play is. Well.

It’s funny, above all else, because Pippin can’t remember his lines for the life of him–

“You fell victim to one of the most classic blunders–the most of which is ‘never get involved in a land war in…in…’

“Arda!” Merry hisses helpfully from just off-stage.

“Right!” Chirps Pippin.  “–in Arda, but the only slightly less well-known is this: “Never go in against a goblin–”

“–you’re not a goblin, Pip, you’re just a man–”

“But that’s boring, Merry!”

And the only thing funnier than watching a 10 year old bumble his way through lines from the Princess Bride would be watching Eomer (Westley), Gimli (Fezzick), and Legolas (Inigo) try to keep a straight face as he does so. But Lothiriel, as Princess Buttercup, is blindfolded, and has to content herself with making due with hearing the muffled laughter coming from stage-right. (It’s Aragorn, presumably, who has been entirely miscast as Prince Humperdink.)

The stage isn’t really made for some of the feats the boys so loved from the movie–the entire ship sequence had had to be condensed–but they do the best they can. Eomer manages to roll–rather dramatically, much to the enjoyment of the rest of the campers avidly watching from the benches–across the stage, groaning “As youuuu wissshh” as he goes.

Lothiriel flops herself down next to him, equally as dramatic, and has to bite back a smile when he leans himself over her. The kids gasp appropriately when he removes his mask. Lothiriel nearly does too, but not for the same reason. He’s even more handsome than usual, this close, and the brush of his hand over her cheek sets off a riot of butterflies in her stomach.

“I told you I would always come for you,” he says, and oh, that’s really not fair, not fair at all. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“Well,” she says, grateful that the waver in her voice is appropriate for this, “you were dead.”

“Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while,” he says, still looking a touch too smug for her taste because he knows, he obviously knows how much this is affecting her right now.

Valar help her, but if Pippin can go off script, why can’t she? So she kisses him before she can think better of it–which, hm, isn’t technically out of character, especially after a line like that–

Eomer’s tongue sweeping into her mouth is a shock, and a good one, and she could no more stop herself from curling her fingers into his hair than stop breathing–come to think of it, she just might, if he keeps kissing her like that–

“And I think it’s time for intermission!” Someone cries.

Eomer lifts his head, looking as dazed as she feels. The sudden cacophony of noise filters back in around them–wolf whistles, cheers, squeals, all coming from the campers, oh Valar–

“Two for two, Merry!” Pippin is crowing. “I told you it was a good idea–”

“Shh, they’ll hear you,” Sam hisses. “And then we’ll never get the chance to put Legolas and Gimli in a play–”

Lothiriel stifles a laugh into Eomer’s shoulder.

“And you thought Sam and Frodo were innocent,” he grumbles.

“Do not,” she orders, poking him lightly in the chest, “say I told you so.”

Eomer grins. “As you wish.”

[halekingsourwolf]

The Wake of War

[AO3]

“So.” Stiles drops back against the side of the Jeep, elbows braced and spine sinking slow against the dusty blue metal. Derek’s hovering a few feet away, at the edge of the lot, not quite ready to vanish into the night but not prepared to join with the rest of the group, either.

He needs their voices, maybe, to block out the ones in his head.

“Looks like I saved your ass again,” Stiles is saying, flashing him a crooked grin. He looks warm and bright like the rest of them, a glow of victory dancing around him that can’t quite seep into Derek’s bones. “What’s the count, now? ‘Cause I think I’m getting pretty close to earning a victory ride in that sweet new Camaro.”

Derek’s lips twitch, a snort slipping out.

“I seem to recall saving you last time.”

“Hey, we’ve been through this. At best, that was a tie.” Stiles looks so smug Derek can’t bring himself to argue, and maybe that’s the reason Stiles’ grin falls. His eyes go soft, flitting over Derek’s frame.

“I’m glad you’re ok, man. ...I mean, as nice as it would have been to have my very own, hot guy lawn ornament––”

“Why did I look at her?”

He doesn’t mean to say it; flinches at his own words. His hands are too-tight fists he stretches straight with an effort, and when he looks at Stiles again the bright expression’s gone, replaced by tension and an edge of a grimace he’s trying to fight down.

“Forget it,” Derek says, and turns. Maybe he’ll run for a while. Slip into the wild. Shed this skin, shed this town, and try to shed the memories with them. He gets two steps before Stiles catches his arm.

“Hey, no. Look, it… it makes sense that you’d want to see her. I mean, you... cared about her––”

“I don’t care about her.” He doesn’t. His skin’s crawling from the echo of her touch. The thing’s touch. The memory of its words scraping old scabs loose his mind. There’s an ache in his chest and he hates it, hates her for causing it, hates himself for still letting her hurt him.

She’s been dead for two years.

He knew her less than a month.

He never really knew her at all.

“I know.” Derek had almost forgotten Stiles standing there, one hand caught in the sleeve of his shirt, lingering. They’re too close and Derek can’t look at him. The echo of Jennifer had almost been too much but this now, this moment… it’s more than Derek thinks he can handle. Stiles seems to sense it, because his fingers twist deeper into his sleeve, tension pulling the cloth taut. Anchoring Derek in place, while all his instincts scream to run.

“I just…” Stiles continues, “you thought you did. She made you think you did. And… just because you know better, just because you hate her now, doesn’t make the memory of that feeling go away.”

There’s a sting in Derek’s eyes and he presses them shut, wishing he remembered how to run. He hadn’t come back to this town for a reason. Beacon Hills has nothing for him but echoes of old wounds and new ones waiting to gouge open. How much has he lost here? How many times has he failed here?

The smartest thing he’d ever done in his life was leaving.

But Stiles’ hand is wrapped around his bicep, his palm radiating out warmth through Derek’s body, and Derek’s instincts have shifted sharply, begging him to sink into it.

“Hey,” Stiles says, soft. His voice is too close; the air tastes of his breath. “...Look at me, ok?”

Just that, that easy, and then there’s amber in front of him. Bright eyes, steady and sure under the cool gleam of the moon. Stiles’ expression is all hard and earnest, jaw set like he’s gearing for a fight he’d rather die than lose, and Derek doesn’t see it coming when he shakes his head and says:

“She wasn’t your fault. Tonight wasn’t your fault.” Because Derek’s heard that before, in his own thoughts, mostly. Sometimes in stray, late night internet searches when the guilt and confusion left him tossing toward dawn without sleep. It’s always sounded empty somehow: the kind of thing you should say, that lie you repeat to yourself, hoping you might someday trick yourself into believing it.

It doesn’t sound like that when Stiles says it.

“You flinched for a second tonight. So what ? You beat her a long time ago, Derek.” Stiles doesn’t blink as he says it. Doesn’t look away. There’s belief radiating off of him, the kind you can’t shrug off or deny, and Derek’s not sure what to do with that level of raw honesty. “She had her supernatural hooks in you, ok? Had you feeling and thinking whatever she wanted you to, but the second you knew what she was, you did the right thing. That’s… do you have any idea how strong you are?”

The hand’s scorching a slow path up to Derek’s shoulder, and Stiles doesn’t seem to notice the movement. He’s focused totally on his own words, on Derek’s expression, on making sure what he’s saying sinks in.

And Derek’s heart aches so badly he misses being stone.

“You asked me to,” he says simply, and watches Stiles’ breath catch. It’s there again in an instant, this thing that’s always between them. Floating just out of reach and intangible, living in his bones and curling sharp through his gut. This thing they’ll never have , heat-rush and too-deep understanding and––

Derek forces himself back with an effort, stepping away and watching Stiles’ brows furrow. The back of the Jeep’s one sharp twist and shove to his side, and Stiles is looking at him like he wants to be pressed into it. One tug, one lean, and Derek could know how his frame fits against Stiles’ filled out body, how the broadness of his shoulders and the angle of his hips sit against Derek’s own.

He breathes too sharp, a smirk twisting his lips, bitter burning down his throat.

“I always fall for someone I shouldn’t.”

Something complicated dances through Stiles’ expression, hints of arguments rising up and dying in amber eyes. They could still salvage this: push it back to Jennifer’s manipulations or Kate’s lies, but what falls out of Stiles’ mouth, finally, is “Not always.”

It’s a promise as much as an admission, that thing they’ve never acknowledged hitting air. Derek’s helpless against it, weak and stupid, and he can’t fight the urge to lean forward.

Stiles kisses like he speaks, clever and overeager, like Derek’s a challenge he needs to meet and a secret he needs to unravel. Like he knows Derek better than Derek knows himself and he’s damn well going to prove it.

Derek can only cling and give back in kind, lost to the sensation that goes so much deeper than skin. He hadn’t known kisses could feel like this –– the way the sensation can lick out from your core, bloom warm in your chest, be so much more than just bodies touching. But he knows Stiles, and that changes everything. Knows the shift of Stiles’ breath as he gears up for a challenge, barbed words and banter traded for teasing tongues. He’s not surprised at the way Stiles’ hands move over him, restless and eager to experience everything.

He knows Stiles.

...And he knows he can’t have this.

He breaks the kiss, flinches at Stiles’ breathless laugh. He should move away but his fingers are still locked in Stiles’ hair, gripping stubborn and refusing to let either of them go. Stiles’ breath puffs warm against his cheek and it would be too easy to just turn back, twist and lean and lose himself in this small, selfish comfort.

“That was so much better than I pictured.” Stiles is grinning, Derek can hear it in his tone. “And I think we’re in a place where I can admit I’ve pictured that a lot .” He laughs again and his lips are skimming Derek’s jaw, whole body angling toward Derek like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and Derek hates it. “No offense Westley and Buttercup, but I think you just got knocked down a peg in the perfect kisses department, that was––”

“We can’t do this.”

He feels the sting of the words slap over Stiles. The way he cuts off, flinching back, curling faintly inward. There’s guilt creeping through Derek’s gut from every direction, the pack half a parking lot away and most of them probably hearing everything. Derek can’t change that, can’t take back what he’d done, but he can stop this before it gets worse. Keep Stiles from losing everything over a few years of bottled tension.

“...What?” There’s no fight in Stiles’ voice, just hurt. He’s still gripping Derek’s shirt but the hands have gone unsure –– a twitch, shove and pull, against the fabric over his chest. “I don’t…” Then, softer, understanding: “Because of what happened tonight?”

Just that –– understanding –– is nearly enough to have Derek leaning back into him. But he’s less selfish than he is weak and the pack’s right there . And Derek doesn’t know how Stiles could have gotten lust-lost enough to have forgotten what that means for him.

Derek turns in against the crook of Stiles’ neck, breathing soft enough so the others won’t hear:

“I can’t ruin what you have.”

Because Derek ruins people, but he won’t let himself ruin Stiles . He can manage that much, at least.

But Stiles is gripping his cheeks and leaning back to find his eyes, and there’s an expression on his face like he’s not sure whether to be upset or pissed off.

“Wait… what do you think I have ?”

Derek gives him a look, before looking pointedly back toward the Jeep, toward the space past it where the pack’s clustered, strangely quiet. Stiles’ eyes follow, brows furrowing.

“I don’t… do you mean…” Something sharpens his stance –– sudden, shocked understanding. “ Dude , hey, we haven’t been together for ages. Basically since you left, I mean… you saw her kiss Scott, right? That ship’s crashed and sunk and sailed off the end of the earth. Non-issue.”

An old, stupid ache stings and soothes in Derek’s chest, but that’s not what he’s talking about. His eyes narrow, eyes scanning over Stiles’ face.

“Peter said you kissed Lydia.”

He’d delighted in describing it, actually, never quite having gotten past the point in reveling in his nephew’s misery. Months with no contact and then that, skimming past the point of being literally erased from reality, to describe the epic moment where Stiles and his true love locked lips.

Derek sees the words hit, realization blooming out slow in Stiles’ eyes. He stares, gapes , for six stretched-endless heartbeats, before blinking fast, head shaking.

“Peter said… shit , Derek. You thought–– all this time I’m just here openly flirting with you, and you thought––” He finally falls back, and Derek lets him go, watches him rake a hand through his hair, a shaky laugh rolling out. “Yeah, I mean… we did but it was just... It was like this… ancient fantasy come to life, everything I’d thought I wanted since I was eight. And you know what that kiss made me realize, Derek? How completely and utterly over Lydia Martin I am.”

The words don’t add up, flip and reorder in Derek’s mind, seeking purchase.

They aren’t together. Stiles doesn’t want her. They could actually have this.

...It’s too good to grasp onto.

“You kissed her, after a battle. ...Like this?”

The way Stiles’ shoulders drop make him immediately regret saying it.

“Not like this.” And then Stiles winces. “...I mean, not for me, anyway. I… know you’re upset, after, maybe I shouldn’t have––”

The implication hits ugly, grating and wrong. Derek feels his stance echo Stiles’ flinch.

“She has nothing to do with us.” Stiles is everything she wasn’t. Comfort, safety. Frustratingly, beautifully, undeniably real . Stiles is something he can’t even bring himself to fear falling into.

He thinks Stiles must read that, or some semblance of it, on his face. His own softens, and he shakes his head, faintly. His expression says they’re both idiots, and he wouldn’t be wrong.

Derek doesn’t retreat when Stiles moves forward again –– one slow step, and another, until he can reach out and trail his palm up Derek’s chest.

“The second I saw you in that footage, I realized how completely not over you I am.” He must feel Derek’s heart thump and quicken because he smirks, thumb padding over the fabric. “Want me taking my hand off?”

“Want your mouth on,” Derek counters. Stiles’ brows dance up.

“Hey, that’s kind of fast, big guy. I mean, I’m not saying no but we’re in kind of a public space and I’m not sure––”

Derek rolls his eyes and hauls Stiles in. The kiss is soft this time, easy and unhurried. Stiles sinks into the contact with a snort and a pleased sound, fingers lacing through Derek’s hair, and Derek lets Stiles guide him, slow twist and shove, against the back edge of the Jeep.

There’s a short whoop in the distance, and a “Christ, really?” from Jackson. The kiss turns to teeth as Stiles grins against him, tossing a choice finger past the edge of the Jeep for the others to see.

“Loft?” He doesn’t pull back as he asks it, word mumbled against Derek’s mouth. Derek nods, lets the contact drive them into a lazy nuzzle. He still owns the property, technically, since he’d never bothered with the effort of selling it. “Good,” and Stiles kisses him again, moaning a little, Derek thinks, for Jackson’s benefit. He’s moving like he’s found something he can’t bear to let go of, body shifting between the Jeep and Derek’s front. Derek links their fingers together, and the contented sigh that rolls out is all for Derek.

“Good,” Stiles repeats. “Because we are gonna snuggle the fuck out of each other tonight, and celebrate making it out alive by the skin of our––”

“Toe?” Derek cuts in mildly, and it’s worth the kiss breaking for the unimpressed look Stiles shoots him.

“And then,” he continues after a beat, deciding to go on as though Derek hadn’t spoken, “tomorrow we’re going to figure out how to spend our lives making up for all the shit this town’s put us through.” His eyebrows dance up, challenging. “Sound like a plan?”

Derek matches the look, squeezing their fingers together.

“Sounds like a future.”

[caffeineivore]

Still late but not AS late??!!

This is still for @sailormoonreviewevent, and, this will not be directed towards any fic or writer in particular, but more in general-- for which I will list reasoning below.

Day Three - Nov 25th | Motivate Authors of WiPs

So here is why I am not going to name any fic or writer in particular for this episode of @sailormoonreviewevent. As someone who has been writing fanfiction for close to twenty years, in more than one fandom, trust me when I say I have more WIPs, some of which I have basically not thought about for years, than I can shake a stick at. Yeah, I’ll probably never finish some of them, and to those who were hoping otherwise, I am sorry. But, things do happen. Real life stuff gets in the way, or you just lose inspiration, or maybe some particularly nasty, trolling so-called “Review” just made you lose your drive to continue. The mind is a powerful thing-- once you get that negative reinforcement with something, it’ll quite effectively prevent you from doing that thing again. It’s how we know not to touch that hot stove more than once, or eat food that has gone bad. And once you lose that vim, it’s really hard to get it back. And well-intentioned reviewers, the type who go “omg gr8 story plz continue” on a fic that was last updated five years ago may, in some cases, make a writer feel a bit called out, like they’re obligated to return to a task that they no longer have a taste for, that at this point in time working on would feel like a chore than a joy. And that defeats the whole purpose of fanfiction. 

Fanfiction is not like journalism or professional writing or blogging or any other type of writing out there in that there is absolutely no profit to be made from it. Not that journalists or novelists or bloggers should be discounted, certainly, but the bottom line is that they’re getting paid for their work. They have some obligation to finish what they start, if only for money, and while I am sure the vast majority of them do indeed love what they do, it’s not the same as a fanfic writer whose only motivation to write is because they want to. They love the canon material and want to explore it some more, build something further out of it. They make no money, acquire no prestige. They post their works mostly anonymously (i.e. under pseudonyms or handles) online where nothing is concrete and everything can get lost in the shuffle. They do it for the sheer joy of writing and creating and exploring that world which they love so much. 

Authors of WIPs, you’re not alone. It’s okay that your fic is not completed. It’s okay if it’s never completed. It’s okay if you have no completed fics and a gazillionty WIPs that you jump between like an ADHD jackrabbit. We still appreciate your contribution, and you know why? Because every little bit is a thread of colour in the fabric that is fandom. Every 3am burst of energy that causes you to churn out a chapter or one-shot, squinting at the screen under your blankets. Every squee when you get that particularly nice, thought-out review that just totally makes your day. Every bout of writer’s block. Every dive down the rabbit hole that is Wikipedia while you’re doing your worldbuilding research. Every time you agonize for hours over what to name a bit character who literally has two lines. Every time you red-pen the hell out of yourself before posting, then cringe when you realize that you missed one “its/it’s”. Every time you stumble down from a writing binge like someone losing a drug high, bleary-eyed, wild-haired, starving, not quite sure what time of the day it is any more, and sleep it off like a hangover still unsure if you’ve just produced 5000 words of eloquence and art or 5000 words of mindless drivel. It’s all precious, because it brought you joy (in a world that, sometimes, has so little joy), and will bring someone else joy, whether or not you know it. It’s all precious because it connects a group of people (in a world that, sometimes, is too busy and wont to hate and alienate for no reason at all), if only because they want to squeal over the 1293875th campy shippy AU for their OTP, loosely based off a manga about a magical girl who meets a talking cat. Keep doing what you’re doing, guys. Write more fic because it makes you happy. Continue that WIP as much as time and inspiration and all those other factors allow. Or not. As you wish. 

As you wish. In the Westley/Buttercup meaning. Because all of you guys are awesome for what you do. 

[babypparker]

Staring (Peter Parker x Reader)

A/n: wow it’s about time I write something. I hope you all enjoy! 😁😁

Have you ever felt like someone was staring at you? Like you could feel someone’s eyes in the back of your head? I turned around in my seat to see Peter Parker, the smartest kid in class was staring at me. When he noticed that I was staring back he put his head down, but before he could hide his face I noticed a blush form on his cheeks. I don’t think he knows it but Peter is so cute. I sound like a little kid when I talk about him but that’s how he makes me feel. The small conversations that we have can make my day, I just wish I could talk to him more without getting nervous, maybe some day. The sound of the bell going off signified that school is over. I can’t wait to spend a nice long weekend at home in the peace and quiet. A group of my friends were talking in the hall so I decided to join in on the conversation. “ He was totally staring at her.” Gossiping again, not that I care to much but I have to ask. “ Who was staring at who?” You would think that I had four heads with some of the looks I was getting. “ Y/n, Peter was staring at you the entire class. How did you not notice?” A light blush came to my cheeks hearing them say this, I really didn’t think anyone else had noticed. “ Oh my gosh guys she’s blushing! You like him!!” my friend exclaimed pointing at my face. I pushed her hand down in protest but she’s right. “ Stop making such a big deal about it. He sits right behind me in class, he kinda had to look at me.” My nervous laughter just confirmed to them even more that I really like him. “ Yea well he doesn’t have to be looking at you know.” Hearing those words made my head shoot up and look in Peters direction. He’s staring at me again. He put a small smile on his face and began to walk towards me. Before I could protest all of my friends ran away. I silently cursed them all for leaving me to make a fool of myself. Too late to run now, “ H-hey Peter. What’s up?” Oh my gosh I’m already stuttering. Peter laughed, assuming at my awkwardness. “ Hey Y/n. I was actually wondering if you maybe wanna do something with me tomorrow? You don’t have to but you know we could hang out or something.” He lifted his hand to the back of his neck and a blush rose to his cheeks. Is Peter asking me out right now? This isn’t happening. “ Oh umm yea that would be great. What did you have in mind?” Relief, I think, ran across Peters face as he let out a sigh. Oh my gosh he’s so cute. “ Well we could go out to dinner and just walk around o-or if you wanted we could just stay in and watch movies and stuff. Or if you want we can do both !” Just the thought of staying in and watching movies with Peter all night makes me extremely happy. “Hahaha that sounds like a lot of fun.” Just as I finished putting on my shoes I heard a knock at the door. I ran to the door before anyone else could answer it. I opened the door to reveal Peter standing with a few sunflowers and the most adorable smile I’ve ever seen. “ H-hey Y/n, you look so wow, beautiful you look beautiful. Oh and I got you these. ” he lifted up his hand to show me flowers, “ I was thinking roses are too overused. I hope you like them. “I love them, thank you Peter. We began walking down the street but I have no idea where we’re going so I just followed Peter. We walked in silence, but a nice silence. The crowd around us started to get a lot bigger so Peter grabbed my hand to make sure that we stayed together. The second we touched I felt tingles roll up my arm and a shiver ran through my body. I curled my fingers around his and began to walk faster. Peter pulled me into a little corner restaurant, its small and dark but the most adorable restaurant I’ve ever seen. We were greeted by a small man who seemed extremely happy to see us. ” ahhh hello Peter, nice to see you again.“ Peter must come here a lot. The two talked for a minute until Peter and I are lead to a table set up in the corner.

” So you just got up and left?“ Peter asked as he tried to catch his breath. I had just told him the story of the time that I had left class because the teacher said I wasn’t allowed to eat. ” I was hungry! What else was I supposed to do?“ I jokingly defended myself. He let a final sigh and stared at me, fear washed over and I began to wipe my mouth. ” What? Do I have something on my face?“ Peter laughed and shook his head at me, ” No you don’t, you’re just so adorable.“ I couldn’t help the blush that rose to my cheeks so I hid my face in my hands. ” I’m really glad that you came with me tonight. I’ve liked you for so long but I never really had the courage to talk to you. “ I can’t believe that he’s saying all of this to me. Peter has liked me back. This is amazing. ” I like you too Peter but I’ve just been to shy to tell you.“ A look of surprise and pure joy came to Peters’s face. Before I could process anything Peter stood out of his seat and pulled me with him. ” I don’t know what I’m doing but I really want to kiss you right now. “ A giggle escaped my lips at what he had said. I put my hands on the back of his head and whispered as I leaned in, ” I want to kiss you too “ Peters lips are a lot rougher than I thought they would be but they are also soft and sweet. The kiss is slow and passionate, like he has been waiting to do it for so long. My fingers comb through his curly hair and rest on the back of his neck. His one hand rested on my hip while the other was gently laid across my cheek. As the kiss ended Peter still stayed centimeters from my face. I could feel his breath against my lips as he tried to catch his breath. ” I don’t think you know how long I’ve wanted to do that “, he confessed. I couldn’t hide my blush this time so I just nodded my head, ” oh I think I do because I’ve wanted it too. “ A smile grew on his face at my words, a smile that I could stare at forever. Later that night Peter and I had decided to sit and watch movies at his apartment. Right now we’re in the middle of The Princess Bride, it’s at the part where Westley is fighting Inigo Montoya on his way to save Buttercup. ” You know if Westley would have just told Buttercup that he loves her then none of this would ever happen.“ The soft whispers of Peter sent chills down my spine. I turned my head to face him and put my legs up onto his, ” I know but if he did that then there wouldn’t be a story.” He rested his hands on my leg and gently rubbed his thumbs back and forth on my smooth skin. “ I’m really glad I asked you out today. I was hoping I could ask you something else too.” I looked up at Peter confused, what could his question be? I nodded my head, signaling for him to continue. He moved his hands up to hold mine and stared down at them. “ I was hoping that maybe you would want to be my girlfriend. You don’t have to say yes though! I get it if you don’t.” His face is bright red and he still hasn’t looked up yet. I put my hand under his chin to lift his face up. Our eyes met and my heart melted, he had the cutest puppy dog look on his face. “ Peter I’d love to be your girlfriend.” The second those words left my mouth Peter was jumping on top of me and covering my face in kisses. This is the happiest I could be and I’m so glad that it’s because of him.