#gotta throw out that southern charm at him to trip him up

[mishwanders]

Me, looking at Wesker: babe are you an eldritch horror? Because darlin’ you are driving me insane

#albert wesker #biting him aggressively and affectionately #paychoanalyzing him to his grubby little pixels #gotta throw out that southern charm at him to trip him up #mish rambles

[katnissmellarkkk]

Andddd here’s my chappy three thoughts 🥳🥳🥳

Hmmm Katniss saying that her mother has a dress made of velvet is actually really interesting because it shows that Mrs. Everdeen Lily-Rose really was well-er off before she married Katniss’ father Hunter.

Or did she get the velvet dress from Maysilee? Oh well, who knows.

Aww, Katniss’ nervous habit of touching soft things repeatedly to soothe herself 🤧🤧.

“Crying is not an option. There will be more cameras at the train station.” — someone tell that to Peeta 🤣🤣🤣.

Okay I gotta stop picking on Primmers, I know but like. How small is she that she sits on Katniss’ lap like a toddler but then in the following year is the same height as her? Doesn’t matter I know but still I wonder.

Okay so Mrs. E is the doctor for the people of the Seam? Idk I never thought about this but who does people like Peeta or Madge or Delly go to if they’re sick or hurt? Is there a still running apothecary shop that Katniss never mentions? Are her grandparents still running the family biz?

Also okay, I gotta stop having so many thoughts on all the lil details I know but like. Katniss says here she’s familiar with the herbs her mother doesn’t grow on her own so like a). Katniss is more of a healer than she leads on because no average person knows what kind of plant is medicinal and b). Her mother is just growing herbs and Katniss never mentions it again in the whole series? Or I just missed it.

Okay imma move on from this one singular paragraph but Gale and her made a pact a year ago that they’ll supply each other’s family with game if they were to be reaped... I’m feeling like their close friendship is probably only one year old then? Idk. Just my interpretation.

Honestly I love Katniss getting mad at her mom here.

She’s sixteen, for God’s sake, of course she’s angry at what her mother’s illness put her through.

Also I lowkey like that her mother got mad back because that lady in the movies had zero personality.

“Boys who are two to three times my size.” She sounds so little, omg 🥺🥺🥺.

“I don’t care if we’re rich, I just really want you to come home” 🤧🤧🤧😩😩😩😩 okay Primmers, you got me here.

“the Peacekeeper is at the door, signaling our time is up, and we're all hugging one another so hard it hurts and all I'm saying is ‘I love you. I love you both.’ And they're saying it back...” this is so sad leave me be 😫😫😫😫

Katniss is burying her face in a pillow to block out her emotions this is too much for me 🥵🥵🥵

Omg I forgot Peeta’s father visits Katniss 😅

Why does he visit Katniss?

She describes Peeta’s father as a “big, broad-shouldered man.” And then describes Peeta as stocky. Idk the comparison of the two descriptions has always led me to think Peeta is gonna be a big dude when he grows up like his father. This made no sense and had zero correlation but I thought, so I said it, no regrets

Oh he brought her cookies 🤧

WAIT WAIT WAIT. I just had a new thought, y’all. What if instead of the baker bringing cookies being a thing he does for all tributes, what if he’s bringing the cookies because Peeta asked him to, because he made them and wants to give them to Katniss and knows she’ll never accept / trust them coming from her competition? What if that’s the real reason the baker visited her in the first place? Because Peeta asked him to? This was such a shipper comment but idc, no regrets, remember?

Omg Peeta’s father is just mute 🤣🤣🤣

Between an abusive, angry mother and a mute for a father, the Mellark brothers must have had a fairytale of a childhood 😅😅😅😅.

But seriously #PoorPeetaMyBaby

Aww Peeta’s father is gonna help keep Prim alive 😭

Omg I just remembered he’s her mother’s ex boyfriend. Haidon Mellark, as I named him in my fics.

That one fic where he was thought to be Prim’s real father is just playing now in my head, rent free.

But does Katniss not realize that he may be offering to help Prim as a favor to her? Like she claims Prim is just so wonderful people adore her but there’s like zero evidence in the text that make her endearing? Okay I need to turn this bus around, I need to find a love for Primmy Deen.

Madge is not one for preamble apparently. No “hi, how are you? I’m sorry you’re gonna die? What will your last meal be?” Just right to “here, wear this family heirloom of mine, k thanks.”

I like that Madge had to kiss her cheek for Katniss to realize they were friends 😅😅😅.

I remember always loving her and Gale’s hug here. I’ve always felt like it was platonic, but especially when I first read the books and had zero preference one way or another for Gale or Peeta, I really liked how she said even with nothing romantic between them, “when he opens his arms, I don’t hesitate to go to him” or something I’m paraphrasing ok I’m lazy

Also though, this is the first time they’ve ever hugged? Idk why that surprises me? It shouldn’t because where is a hug gonna fit into a hunting trip 😅🤣😂 “I just caught a deer!” “let’s celebrate with a hug!”

I like that Katniss remembers how her father even failed to make a good bow sometimes. Random, I know.

I like that the Capitol weren’t entertained by the people freezing to deaths because it wasn’t bloody enough 🤭🙃

“How different can it be [to kill a human vs an animal]?” She’s about to find out, Gale 🥺. And when she comes back you won’t understand 🙄😔

What did Gale want to say before the Peacekeepers dragged him away?

I used to think it was a confession of love but I’m actually sure it wasn’t now? Just the wording “remember I-“ doesn’t sound like it, considering he never confessed anything prior to her coming home.

I’m assuming now he was just gonna give her some more advice to stay alive 🤷🏼‍♀️. Clearly if it were relevant it would have made its way to the others books.

Aww, she’s never been inside a car before 😭😭. I didn’t even know they had cars in this universe but okay.

I notice though how she says “In the Seam, we travel on foot.” So is Peeta just riding his trolly down the street every day with the other merchants then? 🤣

Peeta just openly crying on camera 😅😢.

I like how Katniss is like “ooo is this an act to get sponsors?” when in reality Peeta’s like “no, I’m just a soft and genuine boy ™️”

Omg I just realized this totally goes along with Peeta’s thing later on “I want to die as myself”

He’s refusing to hold back his emotions because he thinks he’s doomed to die and he’s already refusing to pretend to be or feel something ingenious.

But a Johanna mention in book 1 chapter 3 woohoo 🥳🥳🥳 also Katniss comparing Jo and Peeta is kind of like foreshadowing of their shared torture in book 3.

Omg she just called Peeta broad-shouldered and strong. 🥰🥰🥰 my headcanon for his post-canon body is confirmed

Also why does Katniss keep allotting his strength to carrying bread trays around? Are they heavy? Why have I never once heard of people who carry bread trays being strong? I always thought Peeta was really strong because he learned to fight in order to defend himself against his mother but that’s probably wrong.

But if a mother is abusive, it can lead to one of the kids being physically violent as well and we know Peeta isn’t but he has two older brothers I’m gonna cut myself off now but I think we all smelled what I just stepped in.

Also I just find it so fascinating now how she regards herself vs Peeta here.

When talking about herself, she says, “The competition will be far beyond my abilities. [...] Oh, there'll be people like me, too. People to weed out before the real fun begins.” But when she talks about Peeta, she immediately says, “It would take an awful lot of weeping to convince anyone to overlook him.”

It’s just funny how she discounted herself right from the start but thought he was a real contender and then come to find out, Peeta believes it’s the exact opposite 😂🙃. They’re both so stupid I can’t even take it.

Wait did they actually give the location of the Capitol and the location of District Twelve in today’s world? And I just overlooked it? Brb I’m gonna go to google maps right quick.

Okay so basically what I gathered is the Capitol is probably in New Mexico and District Twelve is somewhere between Kentucky and Alabama. Irrelevant I know. But just a reminder now to everyone that Katniss and Peeta are literally speaking, crying and screaming in thick, backwoods southern accents.

It’s literally so sad how everything for Katniss is about food. Like every motive she has, every action she does is about preventing starvation ever again. 🤧🤧🤧

First mockingjay mention 🤭🤭.

“My father was particularly fond of mockingjays” 😭😭😭 I bet he was 😭😭😭😭

We always go on and on about how Katniss is a mockingjay or her children are mockingjays but Katniss herself here says mockingjays represent her father imma cry, y’all 😫😫😫😫

“It’s like having a piece of my father with me, protecting me” shut up shut up shut up shut up

Awww, Katniss has never had food like this before 😔😔😔

Neither has Peeta 🤧🤧

Katniss disliking the way Effie put the two kids from the year before down and so began to eat like a pig just to prove her point, is so her. And the beginning of her fighting for the underdog.

Omg the Rue introduction 🥺🥺🥺

Bahahahaha the commenters calling District Twelve backwards but charming 😅😅😅 they really are the hillbilly district

Peeta’s unexpected laugh 🥺🥺🥺 I love you, baby

“He was drunk. He’s drunk every year.” “Every day.” Katniss and Peeta are already finishing each other’s sentiments and teaming up to get on Effie’s nerves I love them so much 😍

Oh my God, Effie, you selfish jerk. They’re kids having fun for like one second, no need to throw in their faces they’re gonna die if the drunk won’t help them. I’d forgotten why I don’t really like the book version of her. I actually prefer her as comedic relief in the movies.

I actually just realized I really dislike Effie Trinket, I hope they never speak to her again Post-Mockingjay. Idc how you’re raised you don’t need to treat teenagers who are sentenced to a probable death badly just because they laughed at you 🙄🙄🙄😡😡😡😡. They didn’t even really laugh at her, she’s just annoying and awful, we don’t stan Effie in this household.

Okay, that’s all for my thoughts on chapter three! Until next time, y’all ! If anyone actually read this long mess of a post.

#thgagain #this is so long I’m sorry #also yes I’m gonna use a Jennifer gif again

[wheremytwinwatches]

[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 10

Time to watch Brotherhood, the charming show where absolutely nothing bad is going to happen this episode, right?

Right?!

Starting off with [EXPLOSIONS], looks like a flashback to the Ishvalan Civil War/Genocide, troops in blue running and falling as they charge Ishvalans in a ruined town. Up until there’s a snap of fingers, and the screen turns red. And out of the smoke comes Roy, thinking about how he’ll do everything he can to protect the people he loves.

Jeez. This show’s not pulling any punches when it comes to the reality of war, is it?

In the aftermath of the attack, Roy’s explaining this philosophy of protection to Hughes, who likens it to a pyramid scheme. And the only one who really profits from such a scheme is the one at the top of the pyramid. Hey, Fuhrer! How’s the weather up there?

Roy continues to be incredibly unsubtle about his goal of becoming Fuhrer, Hughes jokes that it’ll at least be fun to watch. And maybe his “naive idealism” can do some good? But as easygoing as Bradley generally acts (this is the guy who easily cut down Mr. Freeze, moves at Homura speeds, and ordered a freaking genocide), I don’t think he’s just gonna step aside if Roy asks nicely.

Back to the present, seems Roy was remembering this as a dream, taking a nap in his office. Not much time for sleep, with all the preparation for the Central transfer.

Episode 10 - “Separate Destinations”

Well, that music’s not ominous at all!

In the hospital Ed’s recounting what happened in the Lab, complete with illustrations. Armstrong and Hughes are discussing the ouroboros tattoos and TC, and all the other mysteries surrounding the case. Of course, any answers they might have gotten are now under a ton of rubble.

...Is that really such an issue? I mean, a good portion of the cast are matter manipulators, can’t Armstrong just punch the boulders out of the way?

Hey! Stop eavesdropping, Brosh!

Ross is smart enough to not sneak a listen on her superior officers. And ooooh dear, it’s the big cheese himself.

Bradley says he’s stopped by for an informal visit. Heard that Ed was injured, thought a nice melon might cheer him up. Um. Ok?

Uh oh. Bradley picked up that Armstrong has been “checking up” on some of the senior staff. And he’s frowning now. Um.

“And now you… my revered Fullmetal Alchemist…” holy crud his voice went all gravely

“Tell me what you know about the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“And I hope for your sake… that you don’t know too much.”

This is bad this is really bad the Goths were bad enough but if the Government really was running that Lab then these guys just trashed a project of Bradley crap crap crap

Wait, what?

“Ha ha ha! I’m only kidding! There’s no reason for you to be so uptight!”

Hold up, what the hell was that all about?

Bradley’s saying that he knows there’s been some suspicious activity in the military lately, and something “needs to be done about it.”

...I’m still mostly convinced that you’re up to something, Bradley. But I’m not sure what.

Ooh, seems all the researchers assigned to officially study the Philosopher’s Stone have been going missing. Goth’s covering their tracks? And Bradley shows elements of being a spymaster, even with his informants he doesn’t know how much the Military’s been infiltrated, beyond “they know a lot about us.”

Now, a direct order from the Fuhrer; “To forget this matter and all that it concerns.” Since the best defense against spying is discretion, they need to keep this to themselves… up until Bradley thinks the time is right to confront them directly.

Hmm. I’m getting elements of conflicting plans here. The Goths are up to some evil involving Ed as a “sacrifice”, the leader of a genocidal government that was researching/making Philosophers’ Stones… There’s something going on here, I just can’t quite pin it down yet. Need more info.

Then all this plotting is interrupted by Bradley going out a window to escape his bodyguard. Still not seeing the Fuhrer in the best light, but you can’t deny that the character Bradley is a riot.

Winry stops by with some train tickets for Ed. Where are you off to, before you’re even healed up fully? Dublith? Play on Dublin? Oh, we finally get to meet this mysterious Teacher! Who even now has the Giant Suit of Armor shaking in his plate boots. A tough taskmaster?

Ed points out the town on a handy map, looks like it’s in the Southern Quadrant. But something shocks Winry about the trip, a town right before it?

“It’s the holy land of Automail engineering. It’s Rush Valley!” Well someone’s excited. Ooh, do we get Winry traveling with the Elrics? Also, predicting an upgrade in Ed’s future, if Winry’s that impressed with this place. What’s so special about it

Aw come on Ed, stop being such a pill. It’s not like you’re hurting for money as a SA. Maybe there’s elements of wanting to keep her out of danger (because you poor boys are trouble magnets), but you can do it! Also, moves my ship along? Please?

[Huges]: “She’ll make you a fine wife, someday.”

[Ed]: “Don’t start that again!”

Speaking of wives, Hughes is heading off to work, Elicia’s being painfully adorable, asking if Daddy can get home early that day. (!) Hughes says he’ll try to get back as soon as possible (!!), Mrs. Hughes tells him to not be late (!!!), Hughes says he’ll probably not see Winry again before she leaves (!!!!!), oh my LETO how many death flags can they wave at us?!

Damnit damnit damnit he is so dead. Why? Why do you have to kill off Hughes?! Guy’s a family man, he’s funny, he’s lighthearted. There’s enough tragedy in this world of lost limbs and genocide and soulbatteries already, you don’t have to up the ante! Uuuuugh. So annoyed at the blatant post-credits last episode, I’ve been delaying watching this one because I was so afraid of this. Gonna stop watching those from now on, too much spoilage potential.

“Oh, and tell the boys I said goodbye.” AAAAAARGH

“You just make sure to come visit us anytime you’re in Central, okay? Our home is your home too. ‘Til then… Take care of yourself.”

AAAAAAAARGH

Uuuugh, let’s try and move on. The Blond Kids are off on the train, Ed explaining that they’re off to visit Teacher for a couple of reasons, namely he’s tired of losing fights. Sadly he and Winry start squabbling about fighting, she wants them to stop. That’d be nice, Winry, but someone’s gotta stand up to the Goths. Also, they want to center themselves, boost their morale, and seeing an old teacher might help with that. As well ask her what she knows about the Stone.

Wait, what? Ooooh crap. They haven’t seen her since before the Incident, have they? So they’re gonna walk up to their Alchemy Teacher and have to explain “Yeah, I lost two limbs and my brother lost his entire body because we broke The Big Rule of Alchemy. So about some more alchemy training?” They are so dead.

Back in Central, Hughes is doing some research, going over the riots in Liore. Hey, don’t you diss Leto, random underling! Been a lot of stuff going on in the East Quadrant, as well as the North and West. Not the South? Current theory is they’re all too scared of the Elric’s Teacher to mess with her turf.

Suddenly, Hughes stands up, says he’ll be in the Archive room. Figure something out?

In the room, music’s picking up, Hughes is circling places on a map. What is- Oh. Oh my Leto. I think I just realized.

Liore, other uprisings, the Ishvalan Genocide...

The Philosopher’s Stone needs human sacrifices, and a Transmutation Circle.

We’ve already seen there can be a TC the size of a city.

Who’s to say there can’t be one the size of a country?

That’s it. That’s their plan. Craft a nation-sized Alchemy reaction. Create the True Philosopher’s Stone from the sacrifice of thousands, if not millions.

But whose plan is it? The Goths? The Government?

...but Hughes isn’t going to find out, is he? A long-haired silhouette just walked in and closed the door.

[Hughes]: “Cool tattoo you got there.”

[Lust]: “Those are your last words? Wouldn’t you rather scream?”

Leave him ALONE

NO

Wait, he got out? He got stabbed through the shoulder but he got out? How oh HELL yes knife to your fucking forehead, you bitch! You don’t mess with

FUCK YOU NO

you got a knife to the brain you don’t get to just calmly take it out no

Receptionist starts joking then realizes that Hughes is injured, he just walks past and says he needs a private line. Yes ok need to tell Roy about his but she’s not as dead as you think she is.

Wait what Hughes why are you walking away. Oh right Military either infiltrated or in on the whole thing, can’t use a military line. Get to a phone booth, use an outside line. Holdup while Eastern receptionist follows protocol, yet another STUPID death flag as Hughes drops a picture of his family… but this took too long. There’s the sound of a gun cocking-

Wait, Ross?! What are oh nonono please just be misguided don’t be part of the conspiracy.

Oh. Right. The Goths have a shapeshifter.

Come on, Hughes. Keep stalling, the phone’s not hung up so if it’s connected then Roy can hear this and get you help. And while the knife didn’t kill Lust it did slow her down so yes you’ve got another one you can

You. God. Damned. Bastard.

Envy has taken the form of Mrs. Hughes.

A shot is fired.

Only now, when it is too late, does the call get through to Roy. And Envy hangs it up.

[Envy]: “You humans don’t make any sense to me. You throw away your lives for nothing.”

hughes comment indicates hughes Goths inhuman hughes chimeras?

“Gracia… I’m so sorry… Elicia… Remember, Daddy loves you… I’m sorry.”

And Hughes bleeds out in a phone booth.

...The Blond Kids are enjoying pie on the train. It was baked by Mrs. Hughes. As was a quiche.

Ed talks about how Hughes is annoying, stopping by his hospital room every day.

Al thinks they should figure out some way to thank him next time they’re in Central.

We’re spared the scene of Hughes being discovered. But now we bear witness to his funeral.

[Elicia]: “Mommy? Why are they putting all that dirt on Daddy?” [Gracia]: “They’re burying him, dear.” [Elicia]: “But if Daddy gets buried, then he won’t be able to do all his work.” [Gracia]: “Elicia…!” [Elicia]: “Daddy said he has a bunch of work he needs to do! No, stop it! Stop putting dirt on him! Daddy!”

Armstrong is crying. Bradley is visibly shaking. Roy looks down.

The sun sets, as Roy chides Hughes for going and getting promoted to Brigadier General, rather than helping him climb through the ranks.

Riza walks up to the colonel. Who admits a large part of him wants to figure out human transmutation now.

[Riza]: “Are you alright, Colonel?” [Roy]: “Yeah, I’m fine. Except… It’s a terrible day for rain.” [Riza]: “What do you mean? It’s not raining.” [Roy]: “Yes. It is.” [Riza]: “Oh. So it is.”

…

Time resumes as Riza goes guns-akimbo at Scar, who dodges into the alley. The alley with Al still in there. Uh oh. And oh my Leto Roy, don’t you dare complain at the lady who just saved your life. “Useless on rainy days” indeed.

…

Roy’s investigating the events of Hughes’ death now, looking into the Archive Room. A trail of blood went to the phone room, and the receptionist reports that he came in, but then left without dialing a number. Roy identifies the code Hughes used as one used only for military emergencies. But he doesn’t know why.

Riza brings Armstrong, who says they have a list of suspects, but can’t determine their identities. And when Roy presses for details, Armstrong has to refuse. Right, the order from Bradley, he can’t talk about the Goths. But he does get a workaround, saying the Elrics were in town for a few days.

From all that, Roy’s able to determine a group is suspected of the murder, an officer above Armstrong ordered him to keep quiet, and the events involve the singular goal of the Elric Brothers: The Philosopher's Stone. Roy’s clued into the conspiracy now. So, in order to solve the mystery and get vengeance for Hughes, he’s going after the senior staff. With Riza at his side.

And so the episode ends, with Roy on a manhunt in the military, and the unknowing Blond Kids cheerfully laughing as their train heads south.

#yup it's that episode #wmtw #where my twin watches #ranubis #full metal alchemist #full metal alchemist brotherhood #fmab #fmab 10

[dwaynepride]

Out Too Late

❝I’m not even tired.❞ With LaSalle?

Words: 823

Warnings: None

Tags: @pageofultron @stanathanxoox @starryrevelations @thebeckyjolene @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty @n3shama

A noise from the front door dragged you out of half-consciousness. Eyes shooting open, only to blink at the brightness of the TV screen. The movie you’d put on has been long over, and you squint to see the time - 12:48. Long after the time Chris said he’d be home.

That was probably him now, jiggling the doorknob and trying to unlock it as quietly as possibly, thinking you went to sleep without him. He keeps trying as you reach for the remote and switch the television off, pushing to sit up and stretch. Chris promised to come home at a decent hour, and here he was, sneaking in at midnight. You didn’t feel bad for letting him fiddle with the lock for a moment.

You stand and make your way over, eyes rolling because you can imagine Chris rotating through his keys, trying to find the one that fits. He must’ve been drinking a lot; he only gets this way when Patton joins the gang. Those two are trouble together, and usually ends with Chris stumbling home.

Patience wore thin, so you finally throw the lock and open the door. Chris straightens up immediately, even though the action causes him to sway on his feet. “Hey, sweetheart!” He greets with a giant grin, as if forgetting his broken curfew. Chris steps into the house, clumsily leaning over to kiss your cheek before he continues in. “Why arent’cha in bed?”

You close the door, locking it once again before following. “I was waiting for you to get home. Don’t you remember promising not to stay out too late? ‘We have to get up early for the fishing trip’ - weren’t those your exact words?”

He pauses; quiet for moment, like he’s trying to remember. And when Chris turns back around, he tries to give you that cheeky smile that usually sways you not to be mad. “We were just havin’ fun, Sugarbelle. I’ll be good to go tomorrow,” Chris says, sounding confident despite the slurring of his words.

They make you huff, head shaking before you come closer and turn him toward the bedroom. “Not if you don’t get to sleep,” you reply flatly. “I’m not missing a fishing trip just because you’re hungover and exhausted.”

Chris scoffs, even lets out a chuckle while you usher him to next room. “’M not even tired!”

“Not now, but you will be.”

“You tryin’ t’get me in bed, honey?”

He asks the question just as you sit him on the bed, so you’re fully exposed to his wide smile. Combined with disheveled hair and glazed eyes, Chris looks almost adorable. If you weren’t so angry, it’d be easy to lean in and kiss him and smooth his hair down straight while you got him ready for bed.

But he broke a promise, and when you got to your knees to yank his boots off, you did so without a lot of gentleness. “Don’t think you can turn on your Southern charm trick, Chris. It doesn’t work on me anymore.” The first shoe is pulled off without trouble.

“So, it’s worked before, huh?” He hums, sounding pleased with himself. Had he been sober, Chris would probably taunt you with this information. Egg you on because that’s what he does best.

Instead, he sighs out loud and falls back against the bed. “I ever tell you that I love you?”

His second boot comes off, and you tuck it under the bed before standing up. Chris still has his work clothes on, so you have to kneel on the best to work on his belt. “Few times,” you answer, not paying him a lot of attention.

But your words tilt his head over, eyebrows furrowed. “Nah, I told ya more than that.” Chris doesn’t even seem to notice you messing with his belt; at least until you’re pulling it through the loops and he awkwardly shifts around to help.

“Okay, fine, you tell me everyday.” With the belt out of the way, you’re free to undo his pants and pull them down. Chris mostly sleeps in his boxers, anyway.

His frown doesn’t go away, though. Much too preoccupied with your response to notice you pulling his pants off. “Nah, not everyday,” Chris mumbles. And then his hand moves to rest on your leg, squeezing lightly. “But I should. ‘Cause I really love you.”

You know he does. Even if he sometimes stays out too late and you gotta get him ready for bed, there’s never a doubt that Chris doesn’t love you. He shows it in every stupid pet-name and playful kiss and protective action every single day.

So when you look to him and see a smaller, genuine smile, that’s when you reflect it and lean in. Chris smells like a bar, so the kiss stays chaste. But it still makes him hum a bit with pleasure. “I know. But we’re still going fishing tomorrow.”

#ncis new orleans imagine #ncis new orleans reader insert #ncis nola imagine #christopher lasalle x reader #christopher lasalle imagine

[lfthinkerwrites]

Between Charybdis and Scylla

Title: Tales from Gotham Academy: Field Trip

Rating: T for mayhem

Summary: The Teachers and the Students get on a boat ride. What could possibly go wrong?

After the kids had had enough time to properly digest their 'food' and Neil and Karlo had been put in teacher time-out, Gordon decided it was high time for the kids to go on some rides. During a quick conference with Bruce and the rest of teachers, he made the executive decision to do one ride as a group before splitting off in separate groups. Gordon took a quick look at the park map in his hands. "Alright," he said. "Looks like the closest rides to us are 'Escape from Pompeii' and 'Between...how the heck do you pronounce this?"

Edward took a glance over his shoulder. 'Between Charybdis and Scylla.' That's a reference from the Odyssey."

"Looks like a boat ride," Gordon said. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'd rather do a boat ride than run an obstacle course after lunch."

Jonathan scoffed. "Us on boats? I give it five minutes before we sink each other."

"It'll be fine, as long as we don't let Karlo and Harris near each other," Harvey grunted. "I keep telling you, we should have just stuck them on the buses."

"Without supervision?" Bruce questioned. "Harv, they would have killed each other."

"Perhaps we should let them fight it out," Miguel grumbled. "It would settle their petty feud once and for all."

"No, no, no," Gordon said, shaking his head. "There will be no murder committed on this trip. Not in front of the kids at least. Let's head to the boat ride." Gordon got off the bench he and the other adults had been sitting at and raised his voice. "All right kids! We're heading to the boat ride!"

The kids got up and prepared to follow the teachers. While Gordon corralled Harris and Karlo, who were sitting on opposite ends of the food court, Duela and Ellen leaned in to whisper to Tim and Steph. "Should we split off now?" Duela whispered. "We could disappear in the crowd before our Dads notice we're gone."

"No," Tim whispered. "Too risky. We need to wait until there are fewer adults around." He narrowed his eyes when he noticed that Damian was watching their conversation. "We have to wait for Damian to do something too."

"Are you sure he will?" Steph asked. "He's been sticking pretty close to Bruce so far."

"Trust me, Steph, he will. He always does." Tim got up. "The teachers are getting ready to go. We better move." The kids got up from their bench as Gordon marched Harris and Karlo back to the front of the group, keeping a close eye on the both of them.

"Let's go! Head 'em up, move 'em out!" The great mob of teenagers followed the teachers as they led them out of the food court. Before they made the left turn towards the boat ride, Mockridge and Zeus decided to say their farewells.

"Have fun kids," Mockridge said in a smarmy tone. His beady eyes narrowed at Edward. "You too, Eddie. I gotta get going, got to get back to work, but I'm sure I'll see you later."

Edward grit his teeth but said nothing. Mockridge laughed, then turned on his heel and headed towards the mock mountain in the center of the park. Zeus then waved his arms up and addressed the group. "Go forth, my children! Be merry!" His gaze turned to Jonathan and his sunny expression darkened into a glare. "Beware the Furies, who may torment you! Beware! Beware!" Zeus walked backward from the group, his arm extended towards the sky, an almost manic look on his face. "Beware!" he shouted one last time, before sticking a hand in his toga and throwing some powder on the ground. A plume of smoke ensued, though all but the ones in the back could see Zeus running to the right.

Gordon, Bruce, and the teachers exchanged a long, bug-eyed stare. "What the Hell was that about!?" Harvey asked.

"That's a riddle I'm not sure I want to solve," Edward muttered. He jostled Jonathan with his shoulder. "Why was he giving you the death glare?"

Jonathan shrugged. "Must be my downhome Southern charm," he drawled.

"Quite," Gordon said, taking back control of the conversation. "Let's get to the ride before he comes back."

'Between Charybdis and Scylla' was a boat ride that ran along the length of 'The River Styx', a long river that ran around and through the length of the park, much like the lazy river ride some of the teachers and Gordon had been on the previous year. Much to their surprise, or rather, dread, there was no line. At the front entrance of the ride there stood a chipper attendant with a permanent smile etched into his face, much like Ms. Droukas had when greeting them earlier. The employees seemed to be more like hostages than employees. "Welcome to 'Between Charybdis and Scylla!" the pockmarked young man chirped. "Let me just go over the rules real quick: keep seated at all times. No splashing or rocking the boats. No hitting each other or other boats with the oars. We recommend that two adults be seated in the front of the boat to help steer-"

"Wait a minute," Jonathan interrupted. "We actually have to row these damn boats?"

The park attendant didn't miss a beat. "You can let the current take your boat, but there are obstacles in the waterway." The teachers exchanged an uneasy look. "But no need to worry, the boats just jostle a bit on impact. Everyone here knows how to swim, right?"

"Surely you have lifevests?" Edward asked.

"On the boat floors," the attendant said quickly. "And the water's only three feet deep. Anyway! Enjoy the ride!" With another uneasy glance, the adults led the students forward. The boats were lined up in front of them. They looked as well-maintained as the rest of the park did. They were large enough to accommodate the teachers and students on one ride at least. Now came the hard part. Deciding how to split the teachers up.

"Neil and Basil absolutely can't be together," Gordon hummed. He took a quick look at Jonathan's bony arms. "And Jonathan's going to need help. Alright, how's this: Jonathan and Miguel take the first group of kids." Both of the mentioned men nodded their agreement and herded a group of a dozen students towards the boat at the head of the line. "Now...Edward, Harvey? I know you two want to stay close to your kids, and your kids are pretty inseparable, so you take the second boat." Edward and Harvey glared at each other, but pleading looks from Ellen and Duela forced their hand. They huffed and began to load the second boat, Ellen and Duela taking the seats just behind their fathers. "Alright...Jervis, you and Neil take the third boat, Bruce and I will take the fourth boat, and Victor and Basil take the last boat. Make sense?" The adults nodded and voiced their agreements. "Well, let's get this over with." Gordon followed Bruce, Alfred, and their group of kids to the fourth boat, while the other teachers and park attendants helped secure the children.

"Dad," Ellen said, holding up a ratty lifevest. "I don't think this is gonna keep me afloat."

Edward looked at it and cringed. "Well put it on anyway. Worst-case scenario, you could always use me as a flotation device."

"We have to be buckled up in these stupid boats," Duela griped. "If this bucket turns overboard, we're gonna drown anyway, so what's the point of these lifevests?"

"No one's going to drown, kiddo," Harvey said, taking a seat. "Now put on that vest." Duela sighed but did as her father asked.

When all were secure, or as secure as one could be in the rickety old things, the attendants stood back and announced that they were safe to take off. Each of the adults took hold of the large oars in front of the boats and pushed off from the bank, letting the current take them down the River Styx. Well, all of the adults except for Jonathan, who gladly let Miguel do all the work. For a few minutes, the boats followed each other down the artificial river single file. It was peaceful and almost soothing, so of course, it didn't last long.

"What are you doing!?" Edward asked Harvey as he used the left oar to steer from behind Jonathan and Miguel.

"I'm getting us out from behind them," Harvey grunted. "Miguel steers like an old lady!"

"I heard that, Dent!" Miguel shouted in front of them. "I'm going as fast as I am comfortable with."

Harvey grunted again and the boat began to drift past Miguel and Jonathan. "There!" Harvey crowed. "Faster we go, faster we can get this over with! Nashton, help me steer this thing."

Edward arched an eyebrow. "Do I look built for manual labor?"

Harvey grit his teeth. "Nashton..."

Edward sighed. "Fine." He grabbed the right oar. "Where to, Captain Smith? Mind you don't steer us towards any icebergs." The boat drifted further down until it came across a fork in the river. In the middle of the fork was a sign with a question and two lines written beneath it, one curved and one straight. "What is the shortest distance on a map?" Edward read out loud. "Ah, I see. We need to pick the correct answer to choose which path to go down. Well, obviously, the answer is-"

"A straight line," Harvey said. He steered the boat towards the left, where the straight line was pointing. "Help me steer, Nashton!"

"No!" Edward shouted. "On a globe, the shortest distance is a curved line, you imbecile! We should go right!"

"Does it look like we're on a globe, Einstein!? Help me steer or so help me God, I'll toss your scrawny ass overboard!"

"Dad!" Duela shouted. "Quit threatening my best friend's Dad!"

"Sorry Pumpkin," Harvey said. He took a deep breath and spoke as calmly as he could. "Nashton. Edward. Pretty please. With sugar on top. Help me steer the fucking boat!"

Edward's eyes narrowed and he was about to say something when he felt Ellen tap him on the shoulder. "Dad!" She said in a sing-song voice. "Remember how you promised Penny you wouldn't start any fights today?"

Edward paled a bit. "You wouldn't rat out your own father, would you?"

Ellen nodded sagely. "I would."

"My little hellion," Edward muttered. "Fine, Harv. We'll go left." With a pained grunt, Edward helped Harvey steer the boat towards the left fork in the river...and towards rapids.

Harvey's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. "What the-" he was cut off by the boat being sucked into the rapids and the screaming of all those aboard. He and Edward barely managed to steer the boat through the fake, but very powerful rapids until the water smoothed out. "Jesus fuckin' Christ!" he shouted when it was safe. "What the fuck kind of park is this!?" He turned to Edward, who along with several of the kids behind him, was puking his guts out into the river. When he was finished, Edward turned and fixed Harvey with a glare.

"I told you we should have gone right, moron!"

The rest of the boats wisely went right.

For the next twenty minutes, all was calm as could be. The boats gradually lost sight of each other as they went down separate forks, but as far as anyone could tell, they'd all made it through the ride relatively unscathed. Jervis at this moment was leaning back in his seat, being lulled almost to sleep by the gentle drift of the boat. Then Neil began to sing. "Yo ho, yo ho! A pirate's life for me!"

Jervis opened an eye. "Neil, much as I enjoy the sound of your voice, that is the sixth time you've sung that since we started the ride."

Neil just laughed. "Where's your sense of high seas adventure, Jervis?"

"I think I lost it when we went down those rapids," Jervis muttered, rubbing his eyes. The river had widened since he'd last paid attention and he could see other boats emerging. He could also hear Edward and Harvey screaming at each other from the far left side of the river.

"...Have you never solved a riddle once in your moronic life!?"

"Shut up and steer the boat, Nashton!"

Jervis shook his head. "Oh, Dormouse. I think we're almost at the end of the ride, Neil."

Neil hummed. "Well I don't know about you, but this was fun!" His eyes caught a boat on the right side ahead of them and they narrowed in mischief. "Oh look, there's Basil."

Jervis sat up straight and gulped. "Now now, Neil, please be civil. The ride's almost over."

Neil had grabbed his oar though and cackled. As their boat passed parallel to Basil and Victor's, Neil slammed his oar down into the water hard, splashing Basil. The theater teacher sputtered in outrage. "Harris, you barbarian!"

Neil just laughed. "Just helping you clean up from lunch, Basil!" Jervis shrank down in his seat, happy at least to be out of range.

Basil grit his teeth together. "You think that's funny, Harris? You think destroying my clothing and humiliating me is funny!?" Grabbing hold of his oar, Basil steered the boat towards the left, drifting towards Neil and Jervis.

"Karlo!?" Victor shouted. "What do you think you're doing!?"

Basil ignored Victor, turning the boat until the bow was directly facing Neil. The music teacher's eyes bulged out when he realized what Basil intended to do and he desperately tried to steer forward. "Say your prayers, Harris!" Karlo shouted. Then he began to row with all his might towards Neil.

"Karlo!" Victor shouted. "Think of the children!" When Basil ignored him, Victor unbuckled his seat belt and pulled on his lifevest. "Everyone out of the boat!" The kids had beaten him to it, pulling on their vests and jumping into the water. Victor jumped off last, letting out a curse. The loss of weight from all but Karlo abandoning the boat sped it up, sending it careening towards Neil and Jervis faster than they could avoid it. The boats collided, the force of the impact pushing Neil, Jervis, and their shrieking kids across the river towards the left-most bank.

At the sound of the screams, Harvey and Edward stopped arguing long enough to turn their heads and see the boats heading on a collision course towards them. "Jesus Christ!" Harvey shouted. "Nashton!"

Edward nodded frantically. "Right!" The current wouldn't let them stop or turn around, so with all their combined strength, Edward and Harvey rowed the oat as fast as they could. The current sent them surging ahead, narrowing avoiding colliding with the two boats.

The fourth boat, the one containing Bruce and Gordon's group wasn't so lucky, for it happened end to emerge from a fork just in time to be impacted by Neil and Jervis' boat. The three boats impacted the left embankment with a loud crunch. The fourth boat turned over on its side, sending Gordon, Alfred, and several children into the water. It was pandemonium.

Harvey unbuckled his seatbelt and jumped into the water. "Nashton!" He shouted. "Get the boat to shore then come help me!"

Edward nodded, steering the boat to the embankment and grounding it at the shore. As soon as he made sure Ellen had disembarked, he took a look at the murky water and cringed. God only knew what bacteria was in there. The sound of Jervis shrieking snapped him back to reality and he got out of the boat, running up the embankment towards the site of the crash. Dozens of kids were making their way out of the water, soaking wet, but uninjured. As he helped the kids out of the water, he saw Miguel and Jonathan wading their way from the right, their boat parked on the other side of the river. "What the Hell happened?" Jonathan asked in between guiding kids out of the water.

"Karlo rammed his boat into Neil and Jervis, then they crashed into Gordon and Wayne," Edward explained. "Jervis!" He called out. "Are you still alive?"

On cue, Jervis stuck his head out, spitting a long stream of water. "I think I've had quite enough adventure for one day chaps," he said faintly, wobbling to his feet. Jonathan steadied him, placing his hands on his shoulders and walking him out of the river towards Edward, who pulled him forward.

"Bruce! Jim!" Harvey shouted. Behind him, Miguel had fished Neil out and carried him bridal style out of the water. Harvey looked at the scene frantically. Most of the kids had made it out, but where were Bruce and Gordon? Bruce emerged from under the boat finally, pulling Jim up with him. Harvey waded through the water and took Gordon as Bruce dove back down. He popped up a second later with Alfred in his grasp. Both men made their way to shore, where the other teachers and students were gathering.

Ellen and Duela meanwhile, had followed Edward up the embankment and found Stephanie, soaked, but very much alive. "Are you ok?" Ellen asked.

"I'm fine," Stephanie said. "Tim was next to me though! Tim!"

"Tim!" Bruce shouted. "Damian!"

There was no response. A silence swept over the crowd as the horrifying realization crashed down on them.

"So," Edward whispered to Jonathan. "Who gets to tell al Ghul his grandson died on the field trip?"

"Not me," Jonathan whispered back.

"Wait!" Duela shouted, pointing at the water. "Look!"

Damian emerged from under the boat with a wrathful look on his face. Behind him, being dragged by the shirt collar out of the water and towards land was a dazed Tim. Damian stomped onto the shore, dropping his brother at Bruce's feet, who rushed to Tim's assistance. "T-thanks, Damian," Tim stuttered through chattering teeth.

Damian huffed. "Tt! I only did it because Grayson would never let me hear the end of it if I let you drown!" He turned his head up to his father. "I can't wait to tell Mother and Grandfather what one of the teachers did!"

"Neither can I," Bruce glowered, turning towards Karlo. The theater teacher was sitting down, surrounded by the other, very angry teachers, several of whom were armed with oars. He only seemed to now comprehend the magnitude of what he'd done. He opened his mouth, only for the beating to begin. Bruce watched with satisfaction.

#high school teacher au #the gotham rogues

[avengerofyourheart]

Leave This Town- Epilogue (End)(Mechanic!Bucky AU)

Characters: reader, Bucky, Tony Stark, Pepper, DumDum Dugan, Peter Parker, others mentioned.

Summary: After leaving the small town life behind, you’ve worked hard to make your dreams come true. Your second chance with Bucky is not without its challenges, but you're both determined to make it work. But eventually, a decision must be made in order for you to fully be together. How can you choose? Or will it be made for you? 

Song Inspiration: Angela by The Lumineers

Warnings: Tiny bit of angst, mostly fluff. Mention of pregnancy. 

Word Count: 3.7k

Tags are at bottom (TAG LIST IS CLOSED I’M SORRY)

**This fic is for @bionic-buckyb ‘s 5K AU Writing Challenge**

A/N: This is it, you guys! The end of this series. I’m a little sad to say goodbye to these characters. They’ve been my constant companion for the past 3 months and on my mind for 6 months before that. I’m ready to take a little break and then move on to something new, though. I really hope you like this epilogue. Please let me know your thoughts! I always love to hear from you! I love you all!!

<<<Part 12   Epilogue (End)

Leave This Town Masterlist

Full Masterlist

_________________________________________________________

Two Years Later

Cruising down the small town’s Main Street, you turned the steering wheel sharply and pulled into the auto shop’s dusty lot before parking the ’67 Chevy Impala out front. You jumped out of the driver’s seat and headed straight for the main office, throwing the door open roughly before entering.

“Hey, DumDum. Where is he?” you asked, never slowing a step.

“Afternoon, Y/N,” the mustachioed man replied, answering your question by hooking his thumb toward the garage.

Stepping into the cavernous garage, you searched for the long-haired brunet but grew impatient. “James Buchanan Barnes!” you shouted into the echoing space, then seeing a head pop up in between cars.

Bucky started to walk your way, wide smile upon his face as he wiped greasy hands on a rag. “Hey, doll. You look…amazing. Wow. What’re you…wait…” he paused, face dropping when he saw your less-than-pleased expression, “what time is it?”

“45 minutes past the time when we should’ve been on the road, Buck,” you answered him, arms crossed over your chest.

“Oh, man…I’m sorry, babe. I just got caught up and…”

“I know,” you said with a resigned sigh. “It’s fine, but you’ve gotta get cleaned up so we can go, alright?”

“Okay,” he agreed, giving that sweet smile of his that got him out of just about anything these days. “You really do look incredible, though. Gonna be hard to keep my hands off you…”

“Don’t you touch me with those greasy hands!” you warned him with a pointed finger, backing away.

Bucky smirked then, still approaching slowly. “What? I thought you liked me all sweaty and greasy.”

You squealed then, dodging away from his outstretched hands. “Don’t you dare! We can get plenty sweaty later, but right now I need you showered and dressed ASAP, you hear me?” you said as both a promise and a threat.

He straightened up with hands in surrender. “Alright, I’ll get going. Can I have a kiss first?” he asked when he was only a few inches away.

You relented, ensuring that Bucky’s hands were clasped tightly behind his back before offering a lingering kiss that under different circumstances would have definitely become more. He pecked one last kiss to your lips and then stepped back with a grin.

“You gonna be alright finishing up there, Pete?” Bucky asked, calling out into the space behind him.

To your surprise, Peter popped up from in between the cars where Bucky had been moments before. He was nearly 18, taller and even more of a string bean than he had been when you first met him. You suspected he would fill out his features in the next few years, though.  

“Sure thing, Buck. Thanks for the help,” Peter replied with ears tinged pink. You weren’t sure if that was from what he overheard or if that was just his natural reaction to you ever since that first encounter years ago. “Hey, Mrs. Barnes.”

“Hi, Peter,” you replied with a smile. He always addressed you formally, even though you’d told him multiple times that he could call you by your first name. It was always Mrs. Barnes or Ma’am, but you preferred the former. You turned back to Bucky, who had gathered the last of his things and was ready to go. “Do you want to take the truck back?”

“Nah, I’ll just ride with you,” he replied as he followed you out through the office. You both said your goodbyes to Peter and DumDum before climbing back into the Impala with you behind the wheel.

________

Half an hour later, you were back on the road. Bucky looked dapper in his suit and dress shirt with no tie, damp hair brushing his shoulders as he turned the Impala onto the highway. He rested a hand on your knee as he drove with his left while evening sunlight filtered through the back window.

You loved these quiet moments with just you and he and the open road. Most of your trips home had been by airplane for the sake of time, but the two of you had made the drive from L.A. last week just because you could. It might be the last road trip for a little while.

The two years since Bucky’s first trip out west had been a whirlwind of travel mixed with periods of calm. You both kept your promises to put each other first with fierce determination to make it work. There were squabbles here and there with the occasional disagreement, but neither of you could spend more than an hour being upset with the other. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.

Bucky stayed that first visit for ten days before returning home, but plans were made for you to spend a month with him within the following weeks. At first it all involved a lot of scheduling and compromises. However, eventually you were able to condense all your meetings and collaborative projects that required you to be in L.A. instead of them being spread out and disruptive to your time together. As much as you enjoyed your work and loved your adoptive home, the eternal Summer of Southern California lost it’s charms after being without the man you loved for long periods of time.

In the end, you worked things out so you were in L.A. for three months and then spent the next three with Bucky and so on with rare weekend trips in between. That first year passed by and you fell into a rhythm of quiet small town life mixed with spurts of Hollywood glamour, which Bucky became more used to and now enjoyed in limited amounts. There was a change in your routine shortly after, however.

You had just left a collaborative writing session and reached your car when you got an unexpected call from Bucky. He was flying in that night out of the blue, which surprised you since he was supposed to visit for two weeks the following month. Bucky was vague about his reasoning at the time, only stating that he had a meeting of some sort, but promised he would share more when he had something “solid”.

Picking him up from the airport, you embraced him enthusiastically while displaying quite the public affection which made innocent bystanders blush. You pestered him on the drive home about this mysterious meeting, but he remained steadfast to keep mum. It drove you crazy, but he only said that it could be a “really great thing for us”.

Bucky left the next morning for his appointment as you struggled to recover from sleep lost the night before. The benefit of being apart for quite some time was the truth of the phrase “Absence makes the heart grow fonder”, along with other parts of your anatomy.

Bucky returned a few hours later with the widest smile on his handsome face. He swept you off your feet and twirled you around the kitchen, making you giggle in surprise.

“I got it!”

“Got what?” you asked breathlessly as he set you back on your feet.

“I got the job,” Bucky declared, triumphant smile upon his face.

You froze in place, shock evident in your features. “What?”

He led you by the hand into the living room and settled on the couch with you beside him before speaking. “I just had an interview at the local community college and they offered me the position of auto shop teacher. There’s some certification I have to finish, but hopefully I start in three weeks!” he told you, excited.

“I…what? A teacher? You never mentioned that you wanted to teach,” you sputtered, still letting your mind catch up with this new information.

“I didn’t really know I wanted to, but the past few years of showing Pete the ropes and DumDum as well, it just kind of sparked something in me. I like seeing the light come on when someone understands how everything is connected in an engine and when they learn to apply that newfound knowledge. I might not have personally chosen to be a mechanic in the beginning, but over time I’ve grown to love it. Plus, it’s a valuable skill to have. I’ll be able to teach kids who might not have the best opportunities in life, but should still be able to make their way in the world with a little schooling. Future grease monkeys of America,” he joked. “So? What do you think?” he asked, awaiting your reaction.

“I’m…wow. I’m so happy for you, Bucky. You’ll be an amazing teacher,” you replied, brushing a hand across his stubbled cheek. “And you’re sure this is what you want? Living here in L.A., full time? Because I don’t want you doing this just for my benefit, I mean, I could never ask…”

“I know,” he interrupted. “You would never ask me to make the move, but this is my choice. I’ve seen how stretched thin you are at times with work and travel, although you’ve never complained and I love you for that. I want to do this for us and I think I can really be happy here, having you full time and also having a purpose. Plus, it does give us the option of going home for a while when the school year ends. It’s possible I could choose to teach Summer semester as well, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

You let that information digest, feeling a little guilty that he had noticed your stress when you thought it was well hidden from him. You hadn’t wanted to worry him. “And the shop? You’ll be alright being away that much?” you asked, wanting to make sure he was positive about this change.

“The shop is in good hands. DumDum has a handle on the business side, along with repairs and another buddy of mine, Gabe, he just moved to town and has been helping out. I don’t think you’ve met him yet, but having another set of hands helped me make the decision to start the job search. I think this is it, Y/N. This is the solution. Are you ready for me full time?” he inquired, expectantly.

A smile stretched upon your face as the pieces fell together and you launched yourself into his arms with a squeal. “Yes, yes, yes!! I am so ready for you. I can’t believe you did this for me. I love you,” you said with tears threatening, grasping his face in your hands.

“Of course I did it. You’ve been so patient and understanding. It was time. I love you so much,” he reciprocated, capturing your lips in a passionate, breath-taking kiss.

__________

After Bucky’s move west and the initial growing pains of living together full-time were settled, you fell into a happy routine. Bucky came home around the same time every evening and you even disciplined yourself to write during the day so you could take advantage of your time together. Your Malibu condo felt even more like a home with Bucky in it and you didn’t think you could possibly feel more happy.

Six months after Bucky moved in, you spent a weekend getaway in Northern California at a gorgeous Bed & Breakfast overlooking a vineyard. It was nice to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city, but also to not have the family obligations of being back in your home towns. You loved your family. Really. You both desperately needed a true vacation alone, though.

Taking a walk one evening as the sun set over the neat rows of grape vines, Bucky slowly strolled beside you with his fingers tangled loosely with yours. His fingertips were still stained black from working on cars and probably would be for life, but it had become one of the things you loved about  him. He worked so hard and his hands showed the evidence of that. You gave him a squeeze to gain his attention.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you asked as he met your eyes. “You’ve been quiet since dinner.”

He shrugged with a hand in his pocket. “Just thinking. It’s been almost two years that we’ve been together, hasn’t it? Two years since you came back into my life,” he said with a smile.

You looked off into the distance a short moment. “Yeah. I think you’re right. Next week, I believe.”

Oddly enough, you weren’t one to dwell on specific dates to celebrate your relationship. You spent every day feeling so incredibly lucky to be with the man you love. Honestly, you were a little surprised that Bucky was the one to think about how long you had been together.

“It’s been an amazing two years.”

“I agree,” you replied as you climbed the steps leading up to the quaint B&B you were staying in. Reaching the top step, Bucky lingered on the wide front porch with you beside him. “Best two years of my life,” you declared with a grin before pulling him close by the front of his shirt for a kiss.

He stepped back then, grasping your hands in his as he took a deep breath. “Y/N….I don’t know how I got so lucky. I really don’t. I don’t know if it was destiny or chance or maybe it really was just sheer luck….but all I know is that I’m so grateful to be with you. I am more in love with you than ever and I have no intention of ever letting you go,” he said, dropping down to one knee on those last few words.

A hand flew to your lips as a gasp escaped you, tears already threatening to spill.

“Y/N (Y/L/N)….will you do me the honor of marrying me?” he asked, producing a square velvet box and opening it for you to see the ring inside.

“YES!! Yes, of course I’ll marry you!” you exclaimed as you tackled him in a hug, nearly toppling him while still on his knee. Bucky stood up then, plucking the ring from the box, and grasping your left hand in his. “It’s gorgeous, Bucky. I love it,” you whispered as he slipped the ring on your finger.

“It was my grandmother’s. I knew you would appreciate it,” he grinned, raising your hand up to brush his lips over your knuckles.

“It’s just perfect. I love you, Bucky Barnes,” you said as happy tears streaked down your face.

“I love you, too. More than I ever though possible,” he replied, leaning down for a lingering kiss as the stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky.

After proper celebrations that night, you spent the next morning sharing the news with both sides of the family and close friends. Everyone was ecstatic and not the least bit surprised. Your whole family loved Bucky and his family loved you. They were all spread out geographically, however, which meant plans for the wedding would be interesting. Making everyone happy as far as location and agreeing on the number of guests, etc., would be nearly impossible.

The whole drive back to L.A, you talked it over without finding a real solution. L.A. was out of the question because you couldn’t ask both families to travel your way. It was too much, even though it was now your home. Selecting either of your home towns would cause problems as well with a four hour drive either way. Someone would be upset and there wasn’t really a location in between to make both happy.

After three days of discussion, you came to the only conclusion that made you and Bucky happy without losing your minds and only a few people mildly upset.

You eloped.

It took a few days to get the proper paperwork, but in the end you put on the new dress you bought for the occasion and arrived at the courthouse for your scheduled ceremony. Bucky arrived separately wearing a new suit and looking handsome as ever with his hair tied back just like that memorable movie premiere on his first visit.

You felt flutters of excitement as he entered the room with Tony following behind. Pepper stood beside you as your impromptu Maid of Honor and the couple would serve as your witnesses. You thought about inviting a few close friends who lived in town, but decided to keep it as small and intimate as possible.

Smile growing to almost a painful degree, you watched Bucky cross the room toward you until he reached your side and took your hand in his.

“Is the couple ready?” the officiant asked.

“Yes,” you answered confidently. “We’re ready.”

Bucky leaned toward you then, speaking in a whisper. “Are you sure about this, doll? You don’t want the big ceremony at the church with the fancy white dress?”

You shook your head with a smile. “Nope. I’ve got all I need right here. You and me. That’s all that matters,” you nodded.

“Well, let’s do this then. We’ve got a honeymoon suite to get to,” Bucky replied with a wink.

Slugging his arm, you then pulled Bucky down by his tie and pecked a kiss on his lips, to Tony’s displeasure.

“Hey, hey! All that kissy stuff has to wait until after the ceremony, alright? There’s an order to these things. Or so I’m told,” your agent said, waving a hand to separate the two of you.

You rolled your eyes, but obeyed and stepped away a foot with only your hands in contact. The ceremony was short with each of you using your own written vows that made you both cry. Once “I Do’s”  and rings were exchanged, the officiant spoke the words “man and wife” and Bucky pulled you close, bending you backward for a deep and passionate kiss that most definitely involved tongue.

“Ew, okay, can you at least wait until we leave the room before you consummate the marriage right here on the premises?” Tony asked in jest, which made you both laugh as Bucky brought you up to standing and held you close.

“Dinner out before we leave for the honeymoon, Mrs. Barnes?” Bucky asked you with a glint of mischief in his eye.

You thought for a moment and then leaned close. “I was thinking more like dinner in. Room service, Mr. Barnes?” you replied with a wink.

Bucky then swept you off your feet, suitably in a bridal carry, which caused you to yelp in surprise. He carried you out of the room, managed to exit the building still holding you, and then reluctantly set you down only to open the passenger’s door so you could slip into the Impala. Tin cans on strings were tied to the bumper behind the car as Bucky pulled out into traffic. Soap letters on the back window spelled out “Just Married” as you drove off to spend your first evening as husband and wife.

__________

The Impala’s headlights lit up green and white on the freeway sign indicating that you were 10 miles from your home town, your destination for the night. Four months of marriage under your belt and you had one more reception in your honor to attend. You had waited until school was out before heading home for a few weeks.

Understandable so, your mother was disappointed and a little hurt that she hadn’t been at the ceremony when you were married. However, when you explained the circumstances that there was no way to please everyone, she calmed down slightly. Especially when you told her she could plan the home reception however she wanted to, within reason, and that she didn’t have to pay a dime. You offered a budget and stayed in contact about certain details, but otherwise it was up to your mother.

A reception in both towns was the compromise to make everyone happy after your initial elopement. Two days previous, you’d had a rambunctious reception in Bucky’s town at a seldom-used dancing hall just outside of town. The diner catered and the whole town was invited. It turned into an all-night party until you eventually fell asleep in a chair, the party dying down as Bucky coaxed you into the car to head home.

Now you were about to find out what your mother had chosen to do for your second reception. Five more miles to go now. Bucky grasped your thigh when he noticed you taking a deep breath.

“You ready for this?” he asked, turning on his blinker to exit before pausing at the only stop light in town.

“Yeah,” you breathed out in a sigh. “Just a little tired.”

“How’s she doing today?” he asked, placing his hand on your barely swelling belly that was well-hidden in your carefully chosen dress.

“You’re still so sure it’s a girl?” you asked with a smile, placing your hand over his.

He shrugged, retrieving his hand to drive into the parking lot. “I’d love a little boy, too, but it’s just a feeling.”

“Well, he or she will be beautiful and perfect. I just hope my mom doesn’t pick up on it just yet. If she knows, then the whole town knows. I like that it’s still just our little secret,” you confessed, holding Bucky’s hand in yours as the Impala came to a stop. It was still a little early to tell everyone, but Bucky knew the second he walked through the door that evening after the strip turned pink. The pregnancy was a surprise, but happily received by you both.

“Me, too,” Bucky replied. “Although I kind of want to shout it from the rooftops. I’m gonna be a daddy!” he cried out within the confines of the car, wide smile upon his face. 

“Shh! I know. Soon, handsome. We’ve got a party to attend first,” you told him as he nodded and opened the driver’s side door before coming around to open yours.

Hand held tightly in your husband’s, you took a deep breath before stepping into the large white tent where you were met with whooping applause.

“Presenting Mr. and Mrs. James Barnes!” a loud voice announced over a microphone as people approached in congratulations.

Back in the small town where it all began, you felt like you were coming home again. But then again, wherever you were with Bucky, it always felt like home.

_______________________________________________________

Whew! And there it is! The end for Mechanic!Bucky. I have so loved writing this series and I can’t thank you all enough for the love and support you’ve shown me. I appreciate you more than words can say. Thank you. As always, any feedback is appreciated. I love to hear from you. I’ll be taking a little break from writing for a bit to switch gears and decide what I’m going to work on next. I’ll still be around, though. I love you guys!!

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[ridingthatbike]

Turn the bike around: Peregrination in Scotland

Photo album here.

We tallied it up, and realized we’ve seen each other in person no more than five times in the last 16 years. But we are important to each other, and in the last few years, we’ve lost some important people, so when Adam asked if I would come over and ride bikes with him, it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world. Of course I will come. Let’s do it. A peregrination is a long and meandering journey, often a pilgrimage of sorts. We named our trip before I’d even bought plane tickets, knowing that we -- two fairly anxious people -- were going to do our best to be open to possibility and not be stubborn about the plan. Our initial plan was to ride a loop in the Cairngorms. Our collective anxiety was high as we took the train up to Inverness and rode to our starting point in Aviemore. A big storm cell had moved in over the Highlands, and it was going to rain there for a week straight. Anxiety crept higher and higher. We looked at the weather forecast, and finally said out loud:

What if we don't do this route? What if we don't ride our bikes in a week of nonstop rain? What if we do something lower stakes? Where can we go to outrun the rain?  ... and all of the pressure and anxiety we’d been feeling about making sure the other person had a good time just disintegrated. We took the train back home to regroup.

We cobbled together a new plan based on the Capital Trail, a 150 mile loop that starts and ends at Adam’s front door. We felt a little sad about giving up on the initial plan, and also maybe like our Plan B wasn’t very exciting or maybe wasn’t hard enough to feel like it "counted." But on the very first day, it got pretty hard, and we realized, oh, this is for real, this counts! And it’s so close to home that we can take all the risks! We can explore every dead end! We don’t have to hurry! We don’t have to say no to anything! We end up having incredible weather the entire time. Plan B is the best plan. Back in January, I set a theme for the year, which is to be unhurried. This is not Hurry-Up Life. Peregrination turned out to be the lowest-mileage, least-hurried, most exploratory bike tour I’ve ever done. I am living my goals even when I’m not trying to. There’s a lesson here.

I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby, like you.

I am tired and feel heavy and slow as we roll through the Pentland Hills, but interestingly, I'm not stressed at all. Sometimes you push your bike. It's all just part of it. We open and push our bikes through and close about 20 gates, we sing Teenage Dirtbag out loud, and I marvel at the wool that has accumulated on every surface -- on every fence line, on every low branch, eventually on my derailleur and pedals too -- and I begin to suspect that Scotland has more sheep than people. I look it up later and confirm that it's true.

We come out into the village of Carlops, which has a bright red telephone booth and a bright red mailbox, and I can’t believe how bright and vivid they seem in the gray day. Our route takes us on the Cross Borders Drove Road, an old footpath for drovers bringing their cattle to market. It's waymarked with a cow emblem, and we love it. Follow the cow road! We find magical singletrack, a magical abandoned stone building, a magical dirt road, and a couple of sheep who have gotten out of their fields and are nervous and try to run away from us but in the same direction we're going. We don't want to stress them out, so we decide to backtrack a little and cook our dinner, sitting in the grass on the side of the road.

We roll into a perfect magical patch of woods and decide it's too lovely to pass up. We set up the tent together for the first time and I think about how cool it is to have adventured with lots of people, to have set this tent up with lots of people, and also how effortless and wordless it is to set it up with Q, my number one adventure partner. I think a lot about how possible adventuring is for me because of the stability in my life, and I feel so grateful for my partner and for my old friends and for the opportunity to see more of this big ol' world.

I have nightmares during the night, after seeing a flashlight pointed at us in the late evening but not seeing the person connected to the light. In my sleep, the person becomes a middle aged man named Kevin and he comes into our campsite and doesn't say anything, just looks around at things, and try as I might, I cannot make my voice loud enough to call out HEY! Adam gently elbows me, and I briefly wake up and fall right back asleep. Kevin is still there in my dream, creeping around. Get out of here, Kevin! You're not invited!

Spooky Wood

While packing up, we discovered that we’d been left a gift overnight: a long-legged dead bird, draped over Adam’s front wheel. Whoa. Was it a fallen hatchling? Or a failed hunt? We’d heard a lot of owl activity overnight. Or was it Kevin?

We pack up and roll into the town of Peebles for breakfast, and then hike-a-bike for several miles up a big hill, high-fiving at the top. Woof. We skip the mountain bike trails that are on the route, but deeply enjoy the waypoint labeled "top of Spooky Wood!" and refer to every patch of woods after it as Spooky Wood. We are delighted to find some huge carefully stacked cairns on a hilltop, and to ride along some beautiful old stone walls through sheep field after sheep field after sheep field.

The cloudy skies turn dark, and the search for a campsite becomes urgent. We find a patch of woods that is too dense to even enter, let alone put a tent up in. We ride along through scrubby heather-covered hills, scouting and scouting, and find a spot where two trails meet, where there is a perfect tent-sized patch of flat ground. I would not ordinarily put a tent so close to trails, but the sky is starting to spit. We lean our bikes, set up the tent in a flash, throw all the things under the rainfly that we think we might want for the evening, and climb inside. It starts raining immediately. 

Adam cooks in the vestibule of the tent, and we eat dinner inside our sleeping bags. The rain eventually stops and a glow settles on the landscape around us that seems too beautiful to be real. We look at the trails around us -- a lovely doubletrack to the left, and an alluring singletrack to the right. We don't even check which way our planned route goes. The singletrack looks too good. We gotta take it.

Singletrack for Breakfast, Hail for Dinner

We are thrilled to be riding some grand and super fun singletrack first thing, get a little too stoked, and totally miss our turn. We get deep into some steep and technical singletrack that we have to walk our bikes down … and push our bikes back up. We sing “Turn the Bike Around” to the tune of “Turn the Beat Around" by Gloria Estefan. We make our way to the end of the singletrack, down some totally bananas little steep sections with gates that are clearly not designed for bikes (this is a footpath through some sheep fields, it’s ok, we make it work), have a picnic at the junction of two beautiful dirt roads, and then cut off-route to the village of Tweedbank via the Border Abbey’s Way, another old footpath that takes us past a massive field of dandelion puffs, ready to explode at the slightest breeze, and are delighted by our choice to go offroute.

We get some coffee at the only spot in town that’s open: the takeout place at the train station. It’s chilly and a rain is coming, so we hunker down in a covered bike parking area to drink our coffee and warm up. Temperature regulation on this trip is challenging. It’s warm enough to get hot riding, but cold enough that we need to pull out our puffy jackets every time we stop for more than a few minutes or we start to shiver. It requires a vigilance that is new for me.

We roll over to the next town via an urban pathway, and back on out of town via the chain bridge, past some nosy cows, and Adam narrowly avoids calamity when he rolls over a scrap of fence wire that wraps around his cassette. It is incredible: this whole tour, we got no injuries, no flats, no mechanicals of any kind. So lucky.

We revel in the double track that dreams are made of, lined with stone walls and huge blooming gorse blobs, under a vivid blue sky with cartoon clouds. It’s impossibly wonderful. We stop in Lauder, where we find a Very Fancy Cafe and Art Gallery, where we eat several slices of cake and charge up our phones and take baby wipe baths in the bathroom to remove some sheep shit and mud and pretend we are presentable enough to sit inside this lovely establishment. Here, we decide to hop offroute altogether, because we are enjoying this footpath and want to see it to the end. It’s the Southern Upland Way, which is waymarked with a charming thistle emblem. It goes coast-to-coast. Let’s ride to the ocean! A few miles out of town in a big open field, we find a stone wall that forms a perfect circle. We stand in the center of it and look at the menacing clouds gathering substance overhead, and decide we better find somewhere to pitch the tent pretty quickly. The thunder starts to rumble as we look for anywhere that’s less exposed than the hilltop we’re currently on. We roll down the other side of the hill, pick our way across a stream, and find a flat spot nestled at the bottom of another steep hill. We throw the tent up as fast as we can, and climb inside just as a hailstorm arrives. We laugh and laugh and laugh at our good fortune. The storm passes quickly, but leaves a chill in the air.

The moors, the wind, the sea

We linger at camp in the morning, having coffee and cookies in the tent for breakfast, drying off the tent, repacking everything after the mad dash of the previous evening. We find ourselves on a heavenly dirt road in the vast expanse of the moorlands of the Lammermuir hills, lined with heather and cotton grass and positively alive with grouse. The track leads us to the top of Twin Law, where we find a matching set of cairns that serve as a memorial to twin brothers who died fighting on opposite sides of an ancient battle. The plaque on the site reads:

And they biggit twa cairns on the heather And they biggit them round and high And they stand on the Twinlaw Hill Where they twa brithers lie.

We cannot believe how beautiful it is, how incredible these structures are, how tender humans are, and we goof around and take a million pictures before descending on a joyful lumpy track with big enough lumps that I get both wheels in the air several times on the way down. It’s good to get rowdy. I am grinning the whole way.

We take some double track through woods that feel like Pennsylvania, and look for a stopping spot for a snack break, just knowing something good will turn up. We pop out of the woods and find Abbey Saint Bathans, which has a bench and a map of the Southern Upland Way. We put peanut butter on our cookies, and ask a passerby if there’s somewhere we can fill up on water … and someone comes out of the house behind us and fills up our water bottles for us. What is this magic? What wonderland are we living in?

The wind gets stronger and stronger all day. On top of an exposed hilltop, we see that we’re level with the blades of the wind turbines in the distance. They don’t put wind turbines in places that aren’t windy. This is just how it’s going to be. Find peace. We lumpity lump along some sheep fields, and I am tired from the wind and the lumps. We joke that we skipped riding the Highlands and are instead riding the Lumplands. I see that the road we’re about to cross will take us right to the sea at Cockburnspath in 5 miles of pavement rather than 7 miles of Lumplands. Adam doesn’t want to ride any more pavement than he has to, but I am cooked, and so he acquiesces. And soon, we’ve ridden our bikes to the North Sea, where we hope to find a cafe and get out of the wind, and maybe get a hotel and take a rest night, but there’s really nothing in town at all. 

We make camp stove coffee on the hill overlooking the sea and make a plan: we’ll ride the ten miles up the coast via pavement to the next town and stay there, I suppose. It isn’t very appealing. We’ve barely set out when Adam spies a dirt path that looks more fun. We take it, and it dead-ends on the beach. Rats. TURN THE BIKE AROUND! On the way back, we find a little spur trail and check it out. HOLY SHIT! It’s the most perfect secluded beautiful campsite you’ve ever seen. It’s a meadow full of blooming flowers! There’s a picnic table and a fire ring and a tree swing! There is no way in hell we’re going anywhere else.

Headwinds and pavement and castle ruins

The campsite is breezy, which means we get to pack up a perfectly dry tent in the morning. We are pretty tired, and the paved cycling route to Dunbar is brutal. Ugly. Industrial. Next to the highway. The headwind is mentally excruciating. It’s hot but cold. It’s sunny and windy. We get to town and have coffee and express our certainty that we would have cried if we’d tried to do this ride yesterday. Every choice we’ve made is the best possible choice. We eat some food, and then push hard back inland on pavement. We’ve got to get out of this wind. We’ve got to get off the pavement. This feels like a penalty day for our follies yesterday. Morale is low, even though we’ve turned onto some narrow beautiful flower-lined roads. And suddenly, when we can’t take it anymore, we are at the Hailes Castle ruin, and we have mountain bikes, so we ride down the stairs and into the castle. This is the fucking best.

The last few miles to the town of Gifford are less windy, and the hills are bigger rollers. We realize we've forgotten to eat enough, thinking only of the relatively short distance and not of the effort required to ride into a headwind all day. We eat a thousand snacks once we get to town, and get a room at the Goblin Ha’ Hotel, because if there’s a hotel called Goblin Ha’ … who would not stay here? It’s the whole reason we decided to stop at this particular town! We take glorious hot showers and lay around. I wonder what the story is behind the hotel name.

Summon the goblin army

Oh, the story of the Goblin Ha' is better than I could have hoped. Yester Castle was built by Sir Hugo de Gifford, who was something of a necromancer or alchemist or practitioner of the dark arts, and the story goes that he summoned an army of goblins to build a hall of his castle, and there’s maybe also a portal to hell. I mean, the goblins have to come from somewhere, so the portal makes sense to me. We must go there. Obviously.

We ask the woman who runs the village store for directions. She walks with me out to the street and points at the farthest building in our line of sight. “Go past that building, and cut through the opening in the fence. It’ll bring you through some houses, and then you duck off to a deer path on the right. You’ll know you’re going the right way when you pass some Highland cattle. You’ll go over a bridge with a sign that says ‘unsafe structure’ but it’s fine, we all use the bridge. You go down a steep hill and back up the other side, and you’ll see it. I don’t know if it’s the best way, but it’s better than the road, anyway.” These are the best directions I’ve ever been given in my life. We find the ruins, and immediately Adam finds a skeleton key in a cubby on the wall. Maybe it opens the portal to hell, I don’t know, I’m too scared to even look for a lock. We climb all over, enjoying the serendipity of happening upon something so terrific. What luck, what serendipity. The woods are full of blooming forget-me-nots.

We cut through a farm to get back to our original route, and get a proper scolding from a farmer who has had too many frustrating experiences with hikers to want to deal with us. It is probably pretty irritating to live next to a famous ruin, and have a bunch of people bothering your livestock and not closing your gates. I tell her I am sorry to have added to her frustration, and she softens. She directs us back to the road, past this little fenced in building. What is it? It’s a dovecot. What’s that? It’s a building full of little cubbies, for raising pigeons. It’s pronounced ducat. “You’ll get beat up if you say dove cot,” she says, and then tells us that we’ll get beat up if we try to pay for things in euros. It cracks me up, because nobody has even been a little bit salty with us on this trip. I apologize again for the trespass, and mention that it’s hard for me to tell, because where I am from, there would be private property and no trespassing signs all over. “Nobody wants to put up signs!” she protests. Well.

We head out onto the road past the dovecot and realize after a mile or two that we’ve gone the wrong direction. TURN THE BIKE AROUND. We find some pavement that turns into a great dirt road that turns into great singletrack that turns into an overgrown patch of stinging nettle and hurts our legs very much, and then suddenly a perfect little stone tower appears in the middle of the nettle. We get closer and see that it has a door. We nerve ourselves up and try it. It opens! God damn if it isn’t another dovecot, and now we know what it is and what it’s called and I laugh out loud. I would never have known if we hadn’t accidentally trespassed on Lucy’s farm. Thanks Lucy, and sorry, again.

We zigzag across some beautiful luminous golden fields of rapeseed and onto some fast pavement, and then duck through a hole in a stone wall onto an estate where Mary, Queen of Scots surrendered in 1567, and where there is a network of purpose-built mountain bike trails. How much magic is in Scotland if we’ve found so much in such a small area?

We are getting pretty close to the end of the route and it will either be some semi-urban camping, or an earlier finish than we want, so we stop in a small town and fill up our water, eat some ice cream, and re-route again: let’s go back to the Pentlands. It’s so beautiful there, and I want to go back! We cut west on a cycling route, and it’s a little hard to follow and not that fun and we are tired. It’s our biggest mileage day yet. But we make it just fine, and have a picnic dinner in the sun. Adam knows just where we should camp, and leads us to the little patch of woods I’d noticed on our first day of riding -- I’d commented “that looks like a great campsite for a quick overnighter from town!” Confirmed! It’s a great campsite! We find a flat spot among the trees, set up camp, watch sheep tv from the tent, and chatter into the night.

Sleep in among the sheep 

I sleep hard, and wake up as usual at 4:15 when it first starts to get light out. The other days, I’ve just rolled back over and gone back to sleep, but this morning I get up out of the tent and am stunned by a vivid red sunrise. I pause to enjoy it a while before climbing back into the tent and sacking out for a few more hours. There’s no rush. We make breakfast and noodle around the hills. The wind picks up and my body is exhausted. It starts to rain lightly, and we call it a day and head home. Back in college, Adam and I formed the Piss Poor Bike Gang. I put gold foil star stickers on our helmets. I think the only “rule” of the gang was that you had to wear a helmet. I was trying to learn to be more confident riding in the city. Adam was working on learning to ride clipped in. Our cooler, more bike-savvy friends guided us on easy local rides. We fell over slowly. We ate a lot of snacks. I could not have known then that we were setting the stage for a grand adventure all these years later, but looking back, it’s plain as day.

[alphacrone]

MAGIC TOWN SAMWELL AU

Based loosely on this older post of mine.

When the charm shop went in next door, Jack was wary. But plenty of his tomes still had the residue of charms and spells lingering in the dust between their pages, seeped into their cracked spines, and Jack managed well enough. Still, an entire store devoted to mood charms and luck potions – the idea of it alone made his skin itch.

When a sign went up above the cheerful, red awning declaring the shop “Peachy Keen,” Jack was skeptical. The name indicated to Jack that it was probably some gimmicky chain store, pretending to be quaint and local while really forcing out actual local businesses. But the sign itself looked genuinely hand-painted – it was either a very clever marketing tactic, or Jack was wrong in his assumptions.

When the shop’s owner came by to introduce himself, wearing a pastel pink button-down shirt and smiling like he’d just won the lottery, Jack knew he was utterly, totally fucked.

Jack and Bittle – “Eric Bittle but my friends call me Bitty oh is that cookbook I love old cookbooks my moomaw has a dozen-” – didn’t speak much after that initial introduction. Their respective shops kept them busy, and Jack tended not to go out with the other shopkeepers from the square when they had their weekly pub crawls. Bittle, from what Jack could tell, was bubbly and outgoing and almost as talkative as Shitty.

Jack was...not.

It had been maybe two or three weeks since Peachy Keen opened its doors when Jack came to work only to find a pie sitting on his stoop. It smelled heavenly, of nutmeg and cloves, apple and lemon, and seemed to still be piping hot. There was no note, but Samwell was a safe and friendly hamlet; Jack assumed it was from one of the older ladies who ran the butcher’s shop, or maybe even Shitty, learning to bake while baked. Jack was a little wary to eat anything that had seen the inside of Shitty’s apartment, but it smelled so good he couldn’t resist.

That turned out to be a huge mistake.

Thanks to some very creative hand gestures and the suspiciously intelligent crow who roosted in Jack’s chimney, Jack managed to get his medication before the bright purple welts on his arms and face got too horrific. A trip to the nearest urgent care center later, and Jack was perched behind the counter at Shitty’s nursery, Weeds n’ Things, glaring daggers at his laughing friend.

“Someone tried to poison you with pie?” Shitty asked incredulously. “Really? That’s your theory?”

Jack shrugged, feeling a little defensive. His father was a famous Necromancer, and while he had many fans, Bad Bob also had many enemies. It had been one of the numerous things that had plagued Jack’s anxiety as a child, knowing that there were people who wanted his father dead.

“Jack,” Shitty said, face softening. “I’m pretty sure that pie’s from Bits.”

“Who?” Jack frowned.

“Bitty?” Shitty sighed. “Bittle- you know, cute as shit, owns Peachy Keen. His whole schtick is charms and spells that aren’t disgusting – infused in desserts, snacks, drinks. Pie is, like, his forte, man.”

“Oh,” Jack said, feeling a mixture of relief, embarrassment, and irritation. “It’s sort of rude to just give someone an infused pie without telling them what it is.”

“Yeah, you got me there,” Shitty said, scratching at his jaw. “That doesn’t seem like Bits at all. Want me to talk to him about it?”

Jack thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I don’t want to make him feel bad for almost killing me.”

Shitty laughed again and slapped Jack on the back. “You’re not that allergic, dude. But I gotta ask – how was the pie? What flavor was it?”

With a long-suffering sigh, Jack said, “Aside from the hives all over my skin, it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” Shitty gave him a wide, knowing grin. “And apple. The pie was apple.”

“Hmm, good fortune,” Shitty said. “That’s usually what he puts in those.”

Jack snorted. “I guess from a certain perspective,” he said. “I was pretty damn fortunate.”

“That’s the spirit, brah,” Shitty said, nudging Jack with his elbow. “Now come help me water the herbs. Those babies have missed you.”

When Jack got home that evening, the chimney crow was waiting for him outside the shop. In its beak it held a small, torn note. Hesitantly, Jack reached out and took it. The crow gave him an appraising look and flew off, leaving Jack feeling very nervous as he unfolded the cheerful, yellow paper.

Everyone in the square’s tried a pie but you! Hope you like apple & fortune – it’s one of my best. See you around, neighbor :) - Bittle

Despite himself, Jack smiled. So Bittle had sent a note – and that damn chimney crow had nicked it. The grudge he’d been harboring towards the man lessened in intensity; the grudge he now bore for the crow doubled.

“You’ll be lucky if I don’t call an exterminator,” he called up at the roof where the crow’s nest hid. “I mean it.”

The crow did not respond, but Jack hadn’t really expected it to. He sighed and tucked the note into his pocket, ready to collapse face-first into his bed and sleep off the terrible day.

He wouldn’t remember how it happened in the morning, but the note was stuck to his refrigerator, right next to the ice maker. It stayed there for a long time.

It quickly became evident that, for the first time in his loud, obnoxious life, Shitty Knight had not intervened in Jack’s business.

Unfortunately, this meant another pie appeared on Jack’s stoop a week after his trip to the hospital.

The note taped to the tin was intact this time, written on light orange paper. Jack wondered idly how many colors of paper Bittle had in his shop, then realized he had never even seen the inside of Peachy Keen. The whole place could be covered in different shades of colored paper, and Jack wouldn’t have the faintest clue.

He was almost certain the air in that shop alone would be enough to break him out, which he definitely wanted to avoid in front of the cute baker.

Strawberries, cream, & focus, the note read. Mr. Crappy at the nursery buys a slice every time he needs to focus on paperwork. Of course, you don’t seem to need the help in that department! Hope you enjoy, and stop by soon! -ERB

Careful not to touch the crust, Jack picked up the pie and deposited it on the first flat surface in his store – the front counter. He didn’t want to just throw it out, but being near the thing, so chock full of pixie dust, was making Jack uneasy.

Though not all magic came from pixie dust, it was a large component in most Western spells, charms, and potions. It was potent, cheap to produce, and incredibly flexible in use.

And Jack Zimmermann was allergic to it.

Pixie dust allergies were not unheard of, but they were pretty rare. In his studies, Jack had found they occurred more frequently in East Asian and Southern African countries, where pixies were not native and their dust less commonly used. As a child he’d dreamt of running away to Antarctica, where it was too cold for pixies to survive, and he could live totally free from the fear of reaction with the penguins and the seals.

Jack sighed and glanced at the pie, tucking the note into his wallet so it wouldn’t get lost. He had a few minutes this morning before he needed to start his opening routine, so Jack grabbed the pie again and decided he'd take it over to Ransom and Holster, who ran the popular bar and grill, the Haus. They were also the leaders of Samwell’s very own werewolf pack, and therefore ate...a lot. As did their pack mates. The pie wouldn't last five minutes at their place.

Hesitation tugged at the back of Jack’s mind. It felt rude just getting rid of a pie specially made for Jack, but he certainly couldn't eat it. He needed to express gratitude somehow.

A small collection of antique cookbooks caught Jack’s eye. They weren't big sellers, not when Jack had colonial spellbooks and first edition grimoires on his shelves, but Bittle had noticed them right away that day he came in.

Shifting the pie to one hand, Jack grabbed one of the cookbooks with the other and slipped back out of the shop, not bothering to lock up behind him.

Ransom and Holster accepted the pie with as much gusto as Jack had expected.

(“Bro! How’d you get Bits to make you personal pie? That's dope!”

“I propose to him every other day or so, just so I can have that pie in my life forever. He thinks I'm kidding but I'm not.”)

Half of the pie was gone by the time he was back out of the door, and Jack breathed easier with its hauntingly delicious aroma far behind him. His anxiety spiked again as he remembered the book in his hand, and Jack scrambled to pull a piece of scrap paper – the back of a Jiffy Lube receipt – and scrawl out a quick note: Thanks for the pie. -JZ

Jack left the book and the note leaning up against the door of Peachy Keen and sped-walked away. He’d already diverted from his opening routine too much today; getting caught in conversation with Bittle was out of the question.

It wasn’t until he was back in his shop that Jack let himself breathe easy. He let out a deep sigh and began organizing the displays and cleaning up paperwork, readying himself for the day. Nursey, his assistant and one of the calmer members of Ransom and Holster’s pack, slipped behind the register with two minutes to spare, nose stuck in a well-worn book. Jack nodded at him in greeting, somehow still surprised when Nurse managed to nod back without taking his eyes off the page.

“I’ll take the register today,” Jack said as he flipped the sign in the window to say OPEN. “We got a restoration order in yesterday, seventeenth century French herbiary. Thought you’d like to take the reins on this one.”

Nursey looked up, surprised. “Really? By myself?”

Jack shrugged, shooing Nurse away from the register. “You’re one of the fastest learning conservators I’ve ever met. I have faith in you. I’ll be here if you have any questions.”

“Chill,” Nursey said, face still blank with confusion, but a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll, uh. I’ll be in the back.”

Jack grinned at Nursey’s retreating back, and steeled himself as the door opened. He wasn’t the best with customers – even Nurse, as laconic as he could be in conversation, had an ease and charm about him that enticed patrons of the shop – but Jack could answer questions and handle the register as well as any awkward teenager working their first job.

Around noon, just as Jack’s stomach began to rumble, he was pulled away from the counter by a customer who couldn’t reach the twentieth-century wizard’s almanacs. (Why anyone in Massachusetts needed a 1957 almanac for Prince Edward Island was a mystery to him, but, hey, it paid the bills.)

When Jack returned to the register, a pie was sitting on the counter, still steaming. There was a hot pink note attached to this one, but no sign of Bittle.

Found your gift this morning and HAD to put one of the recipes to use! Buttermilk pie with Comfort. Glad you liked the last one. <3 ERB

Jack sighed, heart fluttering uncomfortably in his chest. This feeling was like anxiety, gnawing at his diaphragm like acid, but something in it made his limbs and heart light. Bittle loved his gift. He loved it so much that he used it immediately...and had given Jack another pie he couldn’t possibly eat.

“Where’s Nurse?”

Jack looked up from the pie to see Dex and Chowder, Nursey’s friends and packmates. Dex was the Haus’ handyman and least flirty bartender; Chowder, however, had left his job at the butcher’s shop to apprentice at Peachy Keen. From what Jack had heard, Bittle adored Chowder. Something a little too close to jealousy stirred in Jack at that thought, so he tamped it down and gestured at the pie.

“He’s restoring. You two want pie?”

“Is that one of Bitty’s?” Dex asked, eyeing it carefully. Jack snatched the note away from the tin before either man could read it, stuffing it into the pages of his ledger.

“Yeah. He dropped it off while I was in the back,” Jack said. “You two want it?”

“Chyeah we want it,” Nursey said, coming up behind Jack. His reading glasses were dangerously low on his nose and his hair was tousled, but he seemed in high spirits. Jack assumed the restoration was going well. “Takin’ my lunch break, boss. Bitty Pie Lunch is the best lunch.”

Jack scowled. “Try to eat something with a bit more protein,” he said sternly. “You’ll crash by three if you just eat sugar.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Z,” Nurse said, waving him off. “Be back in thirty.”

“I can’t believe you call him Mr. Z,” Dex scolded as they walked away. “He’s a Zimmermann, don’t you think you should be a little politer?”

Chowder was clearly, willfully ignoring the fight that was about to erupt. “Guys, I can’t believe we get free Bitty Pie! I don’t even get that and I work for him!”

Jack knew his face was flushing horribly as the boys left the shop, but he schooled his features as he put up the BACK AT 1 sign in the window and grabbed his lunch – and another cookbook – and all but ran to Weeds n’ Things.

“Two pies in a day? Jacques,” Shitty said as they ate their lunches among the perennials. “Go into that shop and talk to that man. You know how many pies he’s made me? One. To introduce himself. And he made me share it with the Taddies.” Shitty jerked his head at the couple of kids he’d hired after Ollie and Wicks left the nursery to open their own store. “He clearly wants to get to know you, which is not easy seeing as you’ve decided to be the token hermit of Samwell.”

Jack ducked his head, concentrating on his sandwich. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to get to know Bittle, but he knew stepping foot in Peachy Keen was out of the question. “I hate Ransom and Holster’s pub crawl nights, though.”

Shitty patted him on the back. “I know, bud. But Bits is, like, the most outgoing person I know. You’ll be able to talk with him as long as you try to leave your cave every once and awhile.”

“If you say so,” Jack mumbled into his PB&J. “Is he always so cheerful? He seems really...chipper.”

“Chipper?” Shitty snorted. “We’re in America, speak American, Jack.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “I can’t understand you, your accent is so foreign to my sensitive, Canadian ears.”

Shitty snorted again and elbowed Jack in the ribs. “See? When you hide away from the world, I’m the only one who gets to see how funny you are. And, to answer your questions, yes, Bits is the chipper-est person I’ve ever met. He’s, like, the opposite of you,” he added with a teasing grin. “He’s great, really, I think you guys’d really get on.”

Jack nodded, getting lost in memories of Bittle smiling and waving at him across the square as they went about their days. He seemed so bright, so sunny, that Jack always wondered what kind of glamours he used, or if the way he shone was all in Jack’s imagination.

“I’m gonna ask Chowder to drop off this book for him, after lunch,” he said eventually, patting the cookbook by his lunch sack. Shitty beamed at him, (probably) unaware of the spinach stuck to his mustache.

“You beautiful fucker,” Shitty sound through a mouthful of salad. “Wooing Bitty Bits with books. You guys are gonna get married and have twelve thousand sparkly nerd babies. I love it.”

“Shut up,” Jack muttered with no real heat. “He likes cookbooks.”

“So cute,” Shitty said, batting his eyelashes. “Mushy cute. I’m gonna ralph.”

“So Lardo’s been hanging around a lot,” Jack said casually, taking a bite of sandwich. “That’s interesting.”

“She needs herbs for the apothecary,” Shitty said, a little too defensively. “Apparently it’s salve season.”

Jack grinned. “Sure, Shits.”

“Oh, shut up, you big book wooer,” Shitty grumbled. Jack laughed so loud that the Taddies all jumped, and the one named Tango tripped over a flower pot.

Jack returned to his shop that afternoon in higher spirits and with one less cookbook in his inventory.

Jack and Bitty traded pies and books for almost a week without actually speaking in person. Jack could never manage to catch Bitty outside of Peachy Keen, and the chimney crow was always making a ruckus in the back whenever Bitty dropped by the bookshop. Nurse thought it was all too amusing, and had started calling the bird Johnson, just because “it suits him, man.”

“It’s because Johnson is a euphemism for dick,” Lardo said when Jack told her. “‘Cause that bird sounds like a fucking dick.”

“Okay,” had been Jack’s only response, because, really, what was he supposed to say to that?

It was Friday evening when Jack was just locking up the store that he finally got his chance to speak with Bittle. As he headed down the steps to the sidewalk, a bright, cheerful voice called his name. “Jack!” Bittle jogged down the sidewalk, waving with one hand, carrying a pie in the other. “So glad I caught you! I was gonna stop by earlier but we were packed all day, then this disoriented crow flew smack dab into the window of the shop and I had to rush the poor critter to the Falconer’s Lodge – I know he’s not a falcon but I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be able to heal a bird! So George – have you met Georgia Martin? She’s delightful! – George managed to patch the silly old thing up in no time, and then the thing just flew off! So I had to run back to the shop – poor Chowder had to close up himself, I felt so bad – and grab this pie to thank you for the last book you sent! I’ve really been so interested in incorporating more herbs in my baking, they have such wonderful properties that come out in cooking, but I’ve never had time to study them! Anyway, sorry for rambling, I’m just so glad I caught you – and in person this time! I hope you like key lime and cheer.”

Bittle all but shoved the pie into Jack’s hands, and he took it hesitantly, careful not to touch the crust, just in case. Brow furrowing, Bittle seemed to notice Jack’s caution.

“Do you not like key lime?” He asked, wringing his hands together. “Oh, goodness, you don’t, I should’ve gone with pecan, I just couldn’t decide-”

“Bittle,” Jack said softly, cutting him off. “I...I really appreciate all the pies, but. But, I can’t eat them.”

“Why?” Bittle asked, tilting his head. “Are you on some sort of diet? Are you gluten free?” He gasped. “I should've asked if you had celiac or were lactose intolerant or-”

“It’s the pixie dust,” Jack said, feeling his cheeks burn against his will. “I’m allergic.”

Bittle’s eyes widened. “You’re...allergic to pixie dust?”

“Yes.”

“But your dad is Bad Bob-”

“I’m aware.”

“Wow.” Bittle carefully took the pie out of Jack’s hands, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Gosh, Jack, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you could eat these- oh! Please tell me they haven’t affected you!”

Jack knew his face was probably bright red, but he soldiered on. “I, uh. Did have to go to urgent care after the first one. It was delicious,” he added, scratching the back of his neck. “But, uh…”

“Oh, my Lord!” Bitty shrieked, dropping the pie to cover his mouth. “Oh, Jack, oh, gosh- Let me pay your medical bills- I can help out at your shop, too, I’m real handy with cleaning without any pixie dust, I promise-”

“Bittle,” Jack interrupted, holding up his hands. “It’s okay. I have insurance, the urgent care bill isn’t going to force me into debt, I promise. It’s not the first time this has happened nor will it be the last.”

Jack was stunned to see tear – actual tears – in Bittle’s eyes. “Jack, I could’ve killed you.”

“It’s okay-” Bitte scoffed, wiping at his eyes. “No, seriously, I’m not deathly allergic, I promise. And do you know how hard it is to navigate life in America when you’re allergic to pixie dust? I had so many incidents growing up my mother seriously considered putting me in a bubble.”

“I shouldn’t have assumed,” Bitty insisted, wrapping his arms around himself. “I just wanted to talk to you so bad, but you seemed so cool and standoffish-”

Jack snorted, against his better judgement. “You are the only person who thinks I’m cool.”

“Please let me make it up to you,” Bitty pleaded. “I’ll clean your shop, wash your car, anything-”

“You wanna get dinner?” Jack asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I know a great, little Thai place. No pixie dust,” he joked, nudging Bitty’s arm with his elbow.

Bittle sniffed, but gave Jack a small smile. “Okay, but it’s my treat.”

“Sure, Bittle,” Jack said. “This time.”

Bittle pursed his lips but took Jack’s proffered arm, leaning in to Jack’s space to chat as they wandered down the street. Behind them, a suspiciously intelligent, happily meddlesome crow pecked at the remains of the pie that were splattered across the sidewalk.  

Monday morning, Jack arrived at his shop to find another pie sitting on the stoop. The note on top was robin’s egg blue and read: Sterilized my kitchen. Bought all new utensils. There is not a speck of pixie dust in this pie. I hope you enjoy blackberry, Mr. Zimmermann.

Jack smiled to himself and picked up the pie, breathing in its scent.  Even without pixie dust, everything about it smelled magical.

Careful not to drop it, Jack unlocked the door with his free hand and shouldered his way into the store. He went straight back to his small, personal office and stowed the pie inside. This was one treat he would not be sharing.

#omgcp fic #check please! #zimbits #zimbits fic #magic au #writing tag #mine #pre-relationship #otp: hit me like a ray of sun #anna writes things

[stillkickingalex]

Off Roading, Part 2

After finding the blockade on the main road, we doubled back and headed down towards Green Mountain National Forest. Nick directed me around the Ranger’s Station and we found trail access off of the backroads. I hoped no one had decided to hike the trails today as I pat the dashboard and encouraged Bessie to take the gravel gently. We slipped off into the forest and started working our way over the border into Vermont. “Ah, shit, okay, follow this over the hill… okay now take the right fork here,” Nick was navigating. “Wait, is that… slow down. Yeah, okay, that’s right, this is the way we want to go.” Raylan was in back, legs curled up on the seat with her as she watched the trees and brush go by. If we weren’t outrunning some kind of strange zombie bacteria virus thing, this might actually be kind of fun. Pushing my old car’s suspension, mudding our way through the trails. I looked over at Nick, grinning a little. “Yeehaw!” Nick gave me a funny look, then barked out a laugh. “Extreme off-roading, dude!” he laughed. I glanced in the mirror, and snorted so loud when I saw the expression on Raylan’s face. She was looking at us like we were crazy. “You guys are nuts,” she said. “Come on, lil lady,” I drawled at her. “Pretend you’re riding that bull and hang on cuz we’re about to get buck wild crazy!” She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the laughter that escaped afterwards. Nick was cheering like a rodeo cowboy next to me, and I joined in, all of us yipping and hollering as we made our way up hills, down into shallow creeks, and squeezed our way through the trees. I was lucky the trail was wide enough for my car to pass, although if I could have, I would have tucked in my side mirrors first. A deer stared at us as we passed, frozen at the sight of an old Buick pushing past the brush. Squirrels and birds scattered out of the way as we approached. I swear I saw a Yeti lift up his arms in one big hair WUT THE FUQ? I laughed, hard. Truly laughed. We all did. It had been such a treacherous few days, fleeing college, the police banging down our door… We needed a release from all the stress. Nick barely managed to point the way as we hooted and howled. And then… it we saw it. I slowed suddenly, our jovial jocking coming quieting down to nothing. There was a pedestrian bridge over some water, and it was a tad too narrow for the likes of my Buick. I put the car in park and sat back in thought. Do we try to drive through the water? Or chance the bridge? I popped the locks and climbed out of the car, Nick and Raylan joining me down near the edge. “What do you think?” I asked. “Water doesn’t look too deep,” Nick said. “That bridge looks kinda old and rickety,” Raylan added. I scratched at the top of my skull, frowning in thought. I stepped down to the water line, trying to see how deep the water go in the middle. There was no way to be sure. The current was moving, but it didn’t appear to be a strong one. I looked over at the bridge, peering under it. How much weight did pedestrian bridges need to be able to hold? If a bunch of people all stood on the bridge, would that equal the weight of a vehicle? They’d all have to crowd together, I’d bet. And then roll slowly… shit. “Let’s go for it,” I heard Nick’s voice behind me. I turned, meeting his gaze. He smiled wide at me, throwing an arm around Raylan and tugging her into his side. “Come on, Valentine,” Nick gave me his best southern twang. “Gotta ride the big bull if you want the prize money.” I felt my lips tug up into a grin again. I trudged up next to them and looked at Raylan. She shook her head and sighed. “Get er done, Valentine.” I felt like we were recreating that scene from Road Trip, one of my favorite old movies. I backed up the car a fair distance back, lined it up as we buckled our safety belts, and then started a slow and steady track towards the bridge. Windows stayed cracked in case the worst happened. But I had to believe it wouldn’t. Failure wasn’t an option. We hit the ramp and all the planks started to groan, clunk-clunk-clunk as we passed over them. I kept the wheel steady, Bessie rolling across the bridge, my mirrors grazing the handrails. “Come on, Bessie.” I tried not to hold my breath as we made our way across the bridge, the wooden boards getting louder as we continued. I heard a few sharp cracks. “Shit shit shit…” I gave it a little bit more gas. More sharp splintering below us. “SHIT SHIT SHIT.” I gunned it. Fuck this. I wasn’t gonna drop through a bridge and into waters I had no knowledge of depth or otherwise. Raylan and Nick held on tight as we took off. I didn’t dare a glance in the rear view mirror, just kept my foot pushed to the floor, the Buick shooting off over the declining ramp and landing on the dirt with a loud crunch and a bit of swerving. I regained traction and control, slowing us down to a stop and putting the car in park. I got out and looked back at the bridge. It was falling apart, planks of rotted wood--now that was much more obvious than it had been before--splintered and sticking up and out in all directions. The one handrail had completely separated and tipped, hanging half into the water. I spun back to my car and assessed the damage. One of my side mirrors was hanging down by a cord. And my rear driver side tire looked low. I glanced up, Nick hanging out the window looking at me. “We’ll need air for my tire soon. As soon as we hit town.” Nick held up his phone. “I’ll get us there in a jiffy.” I climbed in next to him and we slowly resumed our trek. Light chuckles kept escaping my mouth. Nick’s eyes flickered my way every now and then, but I couldn’t stop. “What?” he asked finally. I burst into laughter, shaking my head. “Who says ‘In a jiffy’?” Nick smirked over at me and tipped his fake cowboy hat. “It’s my southern charm, partner.” #OffRoadingPart2 #TheOutbreak