#was in the middle of a building when it exploded? still alive
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No ghost DP AU where everything is perfectly normal. No alternate dimensions, no supernatural creatures messing everything up, the world is perfectly mundane.
...Except Danny is inexplicably immortal. He almost dies every other month from the stupidest accidents, but every time he’s assumed dead he shows up a week later all ‘Hey what did I miss’. His family stopped holding funerals after the third time.
#implausible deniability#if it doesn't happen on screen it didn't happen#fell off a boat in the middle of the ocean? still alive#was in the middle of a building when it exploded? still alive#was stabbed and his corpse found?#i don't know if 'it was a secret twin' or 'it was a clone' would be better#the latter would make any future 'deaths' even more impossible to prove#danny phantom#what if
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Summary: You thought that dying of exposure was the worst thing that could happen to you out in the desert. You were wrong.
Pairing: Mechanic!Bucky x y/n
Word Count: 6k
Warnings: Language, some very PG 13 smut
Author’s Note: Yes this oneshot was partially inspired by Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood and yes, I'm British so I had to Google what a slugger was. Everyday's a school day folks. It was also partially inspired by that one photo from a movie I've never seen that I used in the banner okthanksbye.
There was nothing coming. Not a single other vehicle had passed since you broke down over two hours ago. The roof of your car was getting pretty unbearably hot now, even through the layers of clothes you were using as a makeshift picnic blanket you could feel it starting to burn your legs. You considered trying to sit inside for a while again, but you had to give up last time because it became like a fucking sauna, and at least up here you were clearly visible to anyone passing.
---
This isn’t how you thought you were going to die. Granted, you’d never actually spent a great deal of time considering it before, but there wasn’t much else to occupy your mind while you slowly baked underneath the midday sun. You looked up and down the road once more, still only able to see a few feet clearly before the rising hot air started to blur and obscure the view. The brown, cracked landscape stretched on and on before bending over the horizon and disappearing out of sight.
You checked your phone once more but, unsurprisingly, service had not magically descended upon you. Glancing over your shoulder at the bonnet, propped open and somehow still smoking, you wondered whether it was a bad idea to be this close to an engine that could probably explode at any second. At least a quick death would be less painful than slowly being cooked alive.
Leaning your head back and squeezing your eyes closed, a new sound caught your attention. Something whirring in the distance. Your head snapped towards it, eyes straining at the horizon, heart jumping when it came into view. A pickup truck.
A sudden burst of energy hit and you scrambled onto your feet, balancing precariously and frantically waving your arms above your head. As it moved closer you started to smile to yourself, overjoyed thinking that you’d soon be somewhere with shade and cold water, somewhere with air conditioning.
Your face dropped, however, when you realised that it wasn’t slowing down. You waved your arms faster. Nothing. You started to jump up and down, shouting as loud as you could.
“Hey! Stop, I need help!”
Your voice cracked as it drew closer. Your arms dropped and you watched, helplessly, as it sped past, too fast for you to even make out the face of the driver. Jumping down to the ground and running into the middle of the road, you screamed after it.
“Fuck you, motherfucker! ”
Bursting with anger, you pathetically kicked a rock, barely managing to muster the energy to move it more than a few feet. That was it, your one chance at rescue, gone. You squatted down, needing to rest but knowing the asphalt would be hot enough to fry an egg. You could feel the sunburn starting to prickle on your arms.
There was nothing else for it now, you’d have to walk. Either you’d come across civilization eventually or you’d just die, both were better options than being found out here as a sun-bleached skeleton in three weeks' time. You grabbed your backpack and all of your remaining water from the car, setting off in the direction you’d been heading before the breakdown. You knew there was nothing for miles in the direction you’d come from, so this was your best bet.
You’d been walking for over an hour when the vague shape of a building appeared on the horizon. You were half-convinced it was a mirage but, once you picked up your pace, the blurred outline started becoming clearer. The rusty old roadside sign eventually came into view and you saw that it was a baseball themed diner called The Slugger’s Dugout . You looked around, there wasn’t a blade of grass in sight. Strange place to play baseball.
You practically ran the final stretch towards it, the taste of dry baked earth caking your throat and tongue as you kicked up clouds of dust. You stopped dead, however, when you reached the edge of the parking lot and noticed that there was just one car sitting outside. The fucking pickup truck. This would be interesting.
You burst through the door and threw yourself at the counter, making the elderly server jump out of her skin and almost drop a pot of steaming coffee.
“Are you alright, dear?”
“I broke down,” your throat was so dry that your words were coming out horse and sticky, “do you have a phone? And water?”
She kicked into gear a lot faster than you’d expected after hearing that. She filled a tall glass with tap water and placed it in front of you, patiently waiting for you to gulp it down before reaching three quarters out of the tip jar and pointing out the payphone on the far wall.
“There’s a card over there for a towing company, they should be able to help you out.”
You thanked her profusely, returning the glass and sliding the change into your palm.
You only then realised that, in all the excitement around finally quenching your thirst, you’d briefly forgotten that the person you now hated most in the world was somewhere inside this building. Was it the elderly server who’d abandoned you on the side of the road? Well, the door said they opened at 8am and she was the only employee here, so either she’d been very late for her shift or there was someone else skulking around.
You gave her a suspicious side-eye while you wandered towards the phone but you instantly felt bad about it. The coins clinked as you dropped them into the slot, the dial tone sounding through the receiver. You pressed in the number from the faded business card taped up on the wall. A lady with a thick accent answered the call and, as you were explaining your situation to her, you spotted someone walk out of the bathroom and take a seat in one of the booths.
He looked like a fucking pickup truck driver. Flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, old blue jeans, dirty brown hair slicked back. You could feel anger rising in your stomach as you watched him begin to eat. You were so distracted giving him daggers that you almost missed the lady on the other end of the phone telling you that they wouldn’t be with you until 7pm.
That was the final straw.
You slammed down the receiver, making the poor server jump once again, and marched over to his table, bracing yourself against the seat opposite him.
“Thanks for the help back there, asshole.”
He looked up from his plate and eyed you calmly, staying silent. That just riled you up even more.
“Seriously? I could’ve fucking died out there, you couldn’t have stopped for just a few minutes? What, were you in a rush to get to the bacon pancakes before they sold out? Were you late for the ignorant cunt convention?”
“No.” There was a clatter as he dropped his fork on the table.
“There was another incredibly good reason then, was there?”
“Yeah, actually, cause the last time I picked up a hitchhiker she started smoking crack in the passenger seat then robbed me.”
“I'm not a fucking hitchhiker. My car broke down, did you not see the tower of smoke?”
“No.”
He was lying, the piece of shit was definitely lying.
“Fuck you.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you got yourself into a situation you weren’t prepared for, sweetheart. Play with fire, get burned.”
You sucked your teeth in frustration and began to storm out, but got distracted by something just beside the door. It was a little area designed for kids to take pictures in, with a backdrop of a baseball field and a wooden bat propped up against the wall. The sign above it read:
Take a swing and make a memory at The Slugger’s Dugout!
Well, if they insisted.
You casually picked up the bat and pushed the door open, waltzing over to the lovely shiny pickup truck glinting under the sun.
Batter up.
With one swift movement, you connected the end of the weapon with one of the tail lights, shattering the glass and watching it splinter onto the floor. It was gloriously fucking satisfying. You heard the sound of the door swinging open behind you almost immediately.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
You twisted around, pointed the baseball bat at him with a smile and winked. “Play with fire, get burned asshole.”
He started yelling wildly but you tuned out, dragging the bat across the floor as you walked away, preparing yourself for the hour-long trek back to the car.
At least you’d be in a better mood for this one.
---
You could only have been walking for ten minutes when you heard a sputtering engine approaching from behind. You didn’t turn to look, you knew exactly who it would be. Your hand tightened around the weapon you were still holding.
The truck pulled up beside you and the passenger window slid down, but you didn’t break stride, walking straight past it without so much as a sideways glance. Out the corner of your eye you saw it begin to slowly roll forwards, eventually matching your pace and cruising beside you
“Hey, Babe Ruth.” You ignored him. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I should’a helped. Can I give you a ride?”
Well, that wasn’t what you were expecting. You stopped abruptly and turned towards the window, prompting him to slam on the brakes.
“You really shouldn't be driving with a tail light out, y’know. It’s dangerous.”
“You shouldn't be messing with strange men out in the desert.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No,” a hint of a smirk crept over his mouth, “but there's bigger assholes than me out here.”
“Doubt it.”
You considered for a second. On the one hand, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of accepting his help but, on the other, it’d be pretty fucking stupid to decline when there was still a slim chance you could die out here. The sun was searing hot now, sweat rolling down your forehead and aches starting in all your joints.
With the bat still gripped firmly in your hand, you reluctantly swung the door open and climbed in. The blasting air-con was annoyingly refreshing. A candy wrapper crunched under your foot as you got comfortable, the faint smell of stale cigarettes mixed with cheap aftershave seeping out of the seat beside you. He offered you a bottle of water, which you eagerly accepted, finishing off half of it without taking a breath.
As the truck rolled away, he turned towards you.
“I’m Bucky, by the way.” You nodded. “So where you headed?”
“Let's not small talk.”
“Suit yourself.”
He reached over to the centre console and switched on the radio, turning the volume up offensively loud when he heard whatever generic, god-awful country song was playing. You lost it when he started tapping along on the steering wheel.
“This is worse.”
“You just keep gettin’ burned today, don’t you?”
You rolled your eyes. You had to sit through three whole banjo-plucking, pickup-trucking, cousin-fucking slow jams before you saw your poor little car approaching in the distance. It had stopped smoking, at least, but you had no idea if that was a good sign.
Your driver pulled off the road and parked up directly in front of the wreckage, giving it a dubious frown.
“How long did they say for a tow truck?”
“Six hours.”
He burst out laughing and opened his door, climbing out of the car. You sat for a few seconds and watched him approaching the open bonnet, very confused, before following suit and exiting the truck.
“Can I help you?”
“No,” he flashed you a smile, “but I can help you.”
After properly securing the hood, he leaned over the front of the car and started tinkering with god knows what, tutting occasionally. You loitered behind him and watched suspiciously. It looked like he knew what he was doing but you didn’t trust him at all.
"You wanna back off a little? I can feel you breathing down my neck."
“What are you doing?”
“Look, I can stand here and try to explain it or I can try to fix it, your choice.”
"Fine," you slinked backwards, "but if this is some kind of eye for an eye, car for a car revenge plan you've hatched, I will fucking come for you."
"That a promise?"
His unexpectedly flirty tone caught you off guard for a second. You tried to think of a witty retort, but all attempts just seemed to die on your tongue. That had never happened before.
It only occurred to you then that, in your new position standing a few feet behind him, you'd gained a pretty impressive view. You tilted your head slightly. Those blue jeans were really working overtime.
"Everything alright back there?"
You snapped out of your daze. "Yeah, what, why?"
"You haven't insulted me in over a minute, thought you might've fainted or somethin'." He stood up and turned towards you with a smile, wiping his hands down the front of his shirt. "You wanna make yourself useful and try to start her up?"
With a brief scowl in his direction, you climbed into the driver's seat and tried the ignition. A slightly smug smile settled on your face when it sputtered for a few seconds and died.
"Try again."
"Might be time to admit defeat my guy." You turned the key once more, it worked. "Holy shit."
"Not bad, huh?"
You were actually incredibly impressed, but there was no way in hell he was going to find that out.
"That depends, will it last?"
He strolled over and leaned over the open driver's side door, shrugging. "Would help if I knew how far you were going."
"About two hundred more miles."
He laughed. "Not a chance."
"Brilliant."
You didn't care. As long as he'd done enough to get you off this godforsaken stretch of road, that was enough. You jumped out and retrieved your backpack and weapon from his truck, pleased that you’d taken a gamble and accepted his help, but even more pleased that you could now drive away and never have to see him again.
Why did god have to give such great asses to such awful people? What a waste.
"Here," he stopped you before you got back into your car and pulled out his wallet, grabbing a slip of paper and holding it towards you, "stop at this workshop. They'll help you out."
"I don’t have any money."
"Well, maybe just tell 'em that after they’ve fixed it up."
"Alright."
You plucked it from his fingers, climbed in behind the steering wheel and slammed the door, so ready for this shit chapter to be behind you. Asshole only moved out of the way after you revved at him a few times, holding his arms out in annoyance and shouting.
"You're welcome!"
You ignored him and drove off. He'd helped you out but, after the shit he'd pulled earlier, you figured this just made you even. No need for thanks.
---
You pulled into The Slugger's Dugout on your way past, intending to apologise, return the bat and pick up the broken glass you'd left scattered in the parking lot. When you got out of the car, however, you couldn't seem to find a single piece of it. He must’ve beat you to it. That explains why it took him ten fucking minutes to come pick you up.
A car horn blared from the road and you looked up to see the hick truck whiz past, probably too fast to clock the middle finger you stuck up at it.
You pulled the stolen baseball bat out of your car and timidly wandered inside, unsurprised at the hostile look that the poor old dear behind the counter greeted you with.
"Just… returning this."
You placed it back where you found it and gave her an awkward smile. Before you could escape, however, she leaned over the counter looking like she was ready to unleash a verbal thrashing.
"Now you look here, miss. I understand that you were upset, I would be too, but he is a good man and he didn't deserve that."
You winced slightly, trying not to come across too argumentative. "A good man who left me on the side of the road to die?"
"I'm sure he had his reasons."
You nodded, too intimidated by her strict demeanour to argue back anymore. Why was she so much scarier than the broad-chested tower of a man you just spent the last hour laying into?
"Do you know him?"
"Not very well, but he used to come in here every single Sunday with his father. Every week I watched him help that old man out of the car and to a table, watched them talk and laugh together for hours. I don't think I've ever seen someone of his age look so happy," her expression changed, "but I haven't seen the two of them for months now. That was the first time he's ever been here alone, I didn’t like to ask what happened."
You nodded again, figuring both of you could guess exactly what happened. If she was trying to make you feel like a guilty piece of shit then she was doing a cracking job.
Personal tragedy aside, however, he still acted like an ass.
After thanking her again for her help earlier, you headed out. There wasn't much more you needed to know about a guy you were probably never going to see again.
---
The garage you’d been recommended was just over an hour away, there was weak service outside the diner so you managed to scope it out on maps. To your great relief, as you drove, the stretching desert started to gradually give way to actual civilization, a small, dilapidated town springing up around you. It seemed like the kind of place where people were born, lived and died without ever leaving. You dreaded how they’d react to a broke stranger turning up and begging for free help.
Eventually reaching your destination, you pulled up into the forecourt, cringing at the sound your engine made as it powered down. There was no way in hell that any self-respecting mechanic would come near this thing without a hefty down payment. Still, all you could do was try.
You left the rustbucket and wandered through the open shutter, looking around for any signs of life, preferably someone in coveralls who looked easily manipulated. There was only one person inside. You couldn’t believe it.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
He spun round, a clang sounding when he dropped whatever complicated tool he was holding onto a nearby table. “Hey, firecracker. I thought you’d ignored some great advice there for a second.”
“And I thought I’d finally got rid of you,” you scanned your eyes around desperately for anyone else who looked vaguely useful, “but hey, at least one of us is happy.”
“It’s just me here, darlin’. The other guys are on lunch.”
“Fantastic.”
He met your unimpressed scowl with a wink as he strolled past. “The shitbox out front?”
“Mhmm.”
You weren’t too sure what was happening here. He already knew you couldn’t pay, and he knew how much work that fucking thing needed, so what was his plan? There was very little you could do to repay any kind of debt to him, and even less that you were actually willing to do. You wondered how easy it would be to just do a runner with the car once it was back in working order.
He opened up the bonnet again but barely even glanced over it before turning back towards you.
“It’s gonna be a few hours at least. There’s a bar just around the corner,” he pointed down the street, “if you wait there I’ll come find you when it’s done.”
“Look, when I said I had no money, I wasn’t exaggerating. Apart from a little gas money I think I’ve got about fifteen dollars to my name right now. A beer would cost me over a third of my net worth.”
You were half-expecting him to slam the hood down and tell you to get lost after that, but he didn’t. He just chuckled and shook his head.
“Start a tab, give ���em my name. They know I’m good for it.”
“That’s a risky offer.”
“Nah,” he pulled a dirty rag from his back pocket and used it to wipe down his hands, “surely the crazy broad who called me a cunt and busted my tail light can’t also have a drinking problem, right?”
You shrugged.
---
The door to the bar was unexpectedly heavy, almost tugging your shoulder out of its socket when you tried to yank it open. You felt a little embarrassed when you noticed a couple heads turning in the direction of the pathetic stranger wrestling with the slab of wood. Once inside, you apprehensively looked around, forcing down a dry gulp. This place was seedy as hell, maybe Bucky really did want you dead.
His idea worked, though, and you managed to set up a tab without any qualms. He must send ladies in here with that line all the time.
You decided to settle yourself on a stool at the end of the bar, reasoning that it might be marginally safer to stick as close as you could to the only staff member in the building. The hours passed slowly. It was almost five thirty when Bucky eventually trudged through the door and planted himself on the stool beside you.
He pointed to your glass. “What’re you drinking?”
“Just soda water, got a long drive tonight.”
“No you don't,” he hailed the bartender, “two double scotches, no ice.”
“What?”
“That thing ain’t gonna be ready ‘till at least tomorrow, midday.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
“Nope. Your suspension is more rust than metal.”
“Where the fuck am I supposed to sleep, then?”
He shrugged, picking up one of the glasses that the bartender had deposited in front of you and taking a quick nip. You leaned forward and let your head collapse onto the bar as a wave of hopelessness passed over you.
“Bucky, I am so exhausted. I’ve slept in my car for over a week and I haven’t had a proper shower in twice that.” Your words started to crack as tears welled in your eyes. “I don’t think I can handle this.”
“Woah, hey, don’t cry. It’ll be alright.”
“How? In what fucking world is it going to be alright?”
“Look, you can stay at my place tonight.”
You lifted your head to shoot daggers at him, in disbelief at how he was trying to engineer this situation. “You can’t be serious.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll sleep on the couch, you can take the bed.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Cause then we’d be even, right? Surely a smashed tail light, a fixed-up car and a place to stay balances out leaving you to die in the desert?” You raised an eyebrow in faint agreement. “Plus I can’t handle it when women cry, if this’ll make you stop then it’s worth it.”
You smiled at him, which was a new experience. Grabbing your glass of golden liquid from the bar, you drank it all down in one, immediately regretting your decision when it kicked you in the back of the throat like a pissed off mule. Bucky laughed at you before standing up gesturing for you to follow him out.
The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes before he hesitantly piped up.
“So, you gonna tell me why the hell you’re driving through the desert on your own, or am I still in the doghouse?”
“You’re still in the doghouse.” A prompting look in your direction somehow swayed you a little, you were getting too soft. “It’s really not exciting, I just got kicked out of my apartment. I used to have some family out here but we lost touch, now tracking them down is my only shot at avoiding living in my car full-time.”
“I wondered why there was so much crap piled in the back of that thing.”
“Mhmm, everything I own in the world is in that car. Had to sell most of my stuff for gas money, though.”
“That sucks.”
“Yep.” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, for some reason now experiencing some pangs of curiosity about your host. “How about you?”
“Me? What d’you mean?”
“Well, the lady at that diner said she used to see you with your dad a lot, but that you hadn’t been in for a while.”
“You two were talking about me?”
“She was talking at me, trying to convince me that I was the asshole.”
“I always liked her.” He smirked slightly, but it faded as he carried on. “My dad died a few months back. It was pretty hard, he was a good guy, helped me out a lot. More than I deserved, anyway."
“Go on.”
“Well, I was kind of an idiot a few years back. I let some shitty friends talk me into some stupid ideas and wound up inside for a few months.”
“Shit.”
“It was, I pretty much lost everything. When I got out I was pretty depressed, so all I wanted to do was get high and sleep, but he didn’t let me. He got me the job at the garage and gave me enough money for a couple month’s rent, to be honest I’d probably be dead now without him.”
“He sounds great.” The two of you exchanged warm glances for a second, but you didn’t want to give him any untoward ideas about the evening, so you continued. “It’s nice when people don’t leave others to die.”
“You have to let that go at some point.”
“I really don’t.”
When the two of you reached his apartment, you jumped straight into the shower, triple checking that the ensuite door was firmly locked before doing so. The place wasn’t nearly as dirty or bachelor pad-esque as you’d expected. Yeah, it was half-empty and hardly decorated, but that was to be expected of any man living on his own. At least it didn’t smell like ass.
Bucky was already knocked out on the couch when you came out of the bathroom, his neck folded in half and his feet dangling over the edge. It was his own fault for only buying a two-seater.
You changed into the t-shirt and gym shorts he’d left out for you, just hoping to god they were clean, and jumped into bed. It was far from perfect but, compared to the backseat of your car, it could’ve been a five star hotel. You drifted off almost instantly.
---
You were woken by a few loud raps on the bedroom door. It took you a few seconds of panic to remember where the hell you were, your head falling back into the pillow once you did so.
“What?”
“Are you all covered and stuff?” The low voice came through the wood. “I really need to pee.”
You let out a groggy laugh. “Go ahead.”
Bucky burst into the room and sprinted over to the bathroom, holding onto his junk like a child about to pee their pants. You would’ve laughed even harder at that sight, but you found yourself a little distracted by the fact that he was also shirtless. You only got a brief glance but, fucking hell, he was build like a brick wall. Suddenly you were wide awake.
You could hear him pissing like a firehose through the bathroom door and sighing audibly when he was finished. He wandered back through after a minute and paused at the foot of the bed.
“How’d you sleep?”
You were trying your very best to stay composed under the circumstances. “Mhmm, good, thanks.”
“Were the clothes I left out okay?”
“Yeah, yep, all good.”
“You alright?”
“Fine. Why?”
“You’re acting weird. Did something happen?” He grabbed a fistful of the duvet and tried to yank it out of your grip. “Did you piss the bed?”
“No I didn’t piss the fucking bed, Jesus.”
“What’s up then?”
You sat up, looking from his face, down to his chest, then back up to his face with a confused expression. He quickly cottoned on to what you were getting at.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I made myself a coffee but spilled it down my shirt, and all my clothes are in here.”
He gestured over to the chest of drawers. You weren’t super convinced by that explanation, it sounded like he was making it up on the spot, but you nodded anyway.
“It’s fine.”
“It is?”
“Mhmm.”
“Good.”
His expression changed. Your heart started thudding, the look he was giving you making you start to break out in a sweat, your toes curling under the covers.
Reaching down, he grabbed hold of the duvet again but, this time, he tore it away and dropped it onto the floor with one swift movement. Moving slowly, cautiously, he climbed onto the bed on his knees, making his way forwards and carefully lowering himself down over you.
Well, you certainly hadn’t expected this. Just a few minutes later the two of you were tangled together so closely that you didn’t know where his body stopped and yours began. The skin on his face and hands felt rough as it grazed over yours, the sensation making you gasp each time you felt it, the deep chuckle that sounded right beside your ear in response making your stomach flutter wildly. As he panted, his warm breath spread over the side of your neck, sending an electric tingle all the way down your spine. This felt good, really fucking good. This might’ve been exactly what you needed.
What felt like hours later, he rolled over and landed with a thud on the mattress beside you, both of your chests rapidly rising and falling in unison. Lulling his head in your direction, he gave you a smile.
“Y’know,” he pushed his words out between deep breaths, “you could stay here for a while, if you wanted to. While you figure things out.”
“Was it that good?”
“Hell yeah it was.”
You laughed at his corny ass. “So, what you’re saying is that you’d be willing to give me a place to stay in exchange for sex? Sounds dangerously close to prostitution.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He rolled onto his side, resting his head on his hand so he could look you in the face. “You can stay with or without sex, I just like your company. No point sleeping in a crappy car when there’s a perfectly good bed right here.”
You gave him a smile. “I’ll think about it.”
---
After breakfast, Bucky gave you a ride to the garage in the pickup truck, now complete with a duct tape covered tail light. He said he could finish off the final touches on your car while you waited in the office, apparently the bar wasn’t open this early and there was nothing else to do in town apart from a shitty cafe and a gun range.
The two of you ducked under the half-open shutter and he headed into the back, telling you to wait by your car for a few minutes while he tidied up. The place was pretty small, just one other car being worked on aside from yours. You wondered how Bucky’s dad got him the job here, whether he had an in with the owner or whether he was just that easy a guy to trust. Running your fingers over the tools lined up on the workbench, you thought that maybe you could be happy with a life here, maybe it was exactly what you’d been looking for.
You almost jumped out of your skin when an older, grey-bearded man in coveralls suddenly appeared beside you. He gestured toward the rustbucket.
“This yours?” You nodded politely. “Here.”
He was trying to hand you the keys, eyes glued to the clipboard he was holding.
“Oh, Bucky said it still needed some work.”
He looked confused. “This one? Nah, this was ready to go yesterday. He said you were out of town or something.”
“He said what?”
Grey beard replied but you didn’t hear it, too busy piecing together the events of last night and becoming increasingly more pissed off as you did so. Bucky had lied to you for a quick lay, of course he fucking had. You felt like such an idiot. You snatched the keys and asked the now very puzzled looking man to open the shutter for you, climbing in and firing up the engine as he did so.
Bucky appeared at your window. “What are you doing?”
“Ask your friend over there.”
You gestured over to the other employee, who just shrugged while yanking on the shutter chain, and a wave of realisation washed over Bucky’s face.
“Let me explain.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
He banged his hand on the side of the car in frustration, quickly moving round to stand between it and its route to freedom.
You honked the horn. “Move, asshole.”
“Not until you hear me out.”
“Why should I? I don’t fucking know you, I don’t owe you shit.”
“Right.” Moving at a lightning pace, Bucky somehow managed to sprint around the side of the car, yank open your door and pull the keys from the ignition before you could even register what was happening. “Get out.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
With a frustrated sigh, he hurled the keys as hard as he could out onto the forecourt. “What’s your plan now, huh?”
You grunted loudly, narrowed your eyes at him and stepped out, marching straight past him and heading outside. He caught your arm before you reached the keys.
“Just stop for a second.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Tough shit. I’m going to talk and you’re going to fucking listen, alright?” His firm tone shocked you a little, it was enough to make you relent just for a second. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have lied. I just wanted to spend some more time with you.”
“Well you pulled that off, so congrats, but now that you’ve had what you were after I’d like to go.”
“It wasn’t like that, I wanted more than that.” He rubbed his forehead. “I want more than that.”
“I’ve heard it all before, Buck. You barely even know me, just let me leave and we can both move on.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Cause you’re the only fucking thing that hasn’t depressed or bored me since I lost my dad, alright? I know it sounds stupid, but watching you take out my tail light was the first time I’d actually felt alive in months,” he slid his grip on your arm down, taking your hand in his, “and, maybe I’m out of line here, but I think you feel the same.”
You thought back.
Jesus, he was right. That was the first time you’d actually been in a good mood since leaving your apartment. Surely it can’t be healthy to base any kind of relationship on the joy you get from destroying each other’s property and screaming at each other, though? Can it?
In all fairness, he was the only person you’d even met that actually kept you on your toes, and you quite liked that. Usually people just responded to your insults with offence or tears.
“I don’t know. I mean, I guess, but I’m just not sure that-”
Your train of thought derailed completely when his mouth crashed against yours, your words getting swallowed as all of the breath left your lungs at once. You were hesitant at first, but you soon relented, relaxing, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling against him, which he reciprocated.
He pulled away, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “So that’s how to shut you up.”
“Won’t work every time.”
“Worth a try, though.”
---
#bucky#bucky x you#bucky x reader#bucky x y/n#bucky fanfic#bucky fic#bucky fanfiction#bucky fluff#bucky one shot#bucky oneshot#Bucky Barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fic#buckybarnes#buckybarnesxreader#buckybarnes x reader#buckybarnes x you#buckybarnes x y/n#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes au#BUCKY AU#mechanic!bucky
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Shatter
@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "you never cared"
Cw: anger, sensory overload, alcohol
Rome, 41 AD
Crowley had, somewhat naively, hoped that things were looking up. He’d always enjoyed spending time with Aziraphale, after all. An evening of oysters and alcohol sounded like just the thing to fix whatever was wrong with him.
Only, it hadn’t fixed it. Sure, for about five minutes he was closer to happy as they talked and drank together. But then the storm clouds rolled back in, and the bristling tension inside him had only gotten worse.
He tried taking deep breaths. He tried getting even more drunk. He tried telling himself that he was being ridiculous, and should just relax and enjoy having someone who would put up with him when he was this irritable.
It didn’t work. Instead of getting less irritable, he was getting more. A lot more. More to the point where he wasn’t sure he could keep it in anymore.
And Aziraphale. Kept. Talking.
Normally, that was fine. He liked listening to Aziraphale talking. Enthusiasm was great, and no one did enthusiasm like Aziraphale. Normally, it made him feel less alone.
Today, Crowley wanted Aziraphale, the other diners, and the whole of Earth to shut the fuck up and let him have two seconds of fucking peace.
A steady march of profanity had started up in his head a while ago. He couldn’t manage to switch it off. It didn’t help with the overload, except that it did in some way. Like it was releasing a little bit of the pressure.
But not enough. The pressure was still building, an explosion of panicked rage burning in his chest. Every single noise stoked the flames higher, pushed him further towards a supernova.
The clamor of the other diners rose, laughter from another group.
Crowley twitched. It was fine, nothing to get upset about…
“Oh, and then,” Aziraphale started, “the man said—”
“I don’t care,” Crowley snapped.
He hadn’t meant to say it. But his whole body shook with the overload. Everything needed to stop.
Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “You don’t care?”
“No.” Dizzy, Crowley shoved to his feet. The whole restaurant pressed in, crushing him. “Just… stop. I can’t handle you talking more.”
The furrows in Aziraphale’s brow deepened. “You never cared. About me taking before, I mean. You always seemed to like—”
“Just…” Quaking, Crowley held up a hand. “Just shut up! Give me two fucking seconds of quiet!”
Then, before he could blow up, he fled. The quaking was only getting worse, agitation eating him alive. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t stop the mounting explosion.
No amount of steady breaths or calm self-talk helped. He just kept heating up, reaching the boiling point.
It was overflowing now, no matter how hard he tried to choke it back under control. He couldn’t see, couldn’t think.
Gritting his teeth, he paused in the middle of an alley, clenched his fists, closed his eyes. It didn’t help. Nothing helped, and he’d probably pissed off the only person who ever cared about him even slightly.
The overload got worse and worse, a building helpless fury that tumbled out in smoke. He let out a howl, wordless distress.
Lightning exploded around him. Crashing into the buildings, the ground, shooting up into the sky.
It died down with a rumble, smoke still billowing from him, and he snarled as he shook himself off. The anger hadn’t died down, not even with the release.
It never died down.
“Oh my,” a voice said from behind him. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
Crowley whipped around, shaking. He would be shaking for hours at this rate. “What the deuce are you doing here? Why are you following me?”
“Well, you’re quite clearly…” Biting his lip, Aziraphale hesitated. “Struggling, shall we say?”
That was an understatement. But the gentle concern in his voice brought tears to Crowley’s eyes.
The dark glasses weren’t enough to hide the tears. He twisted around, stomped off.
Aziraphale fell in step beside him.
They walked down narrow alleys, through the forum, back into alleys. Crowley was still smoldering, still didn’t trust himself to speak. If he spoke, he might blow up again, and it was bad enough that he’d done it once.
Gradually, though, his strength failed. The tears rose again, and he couldn’t choke them back. He couldn’t push himself, not anymore. He’d run out of energy.
Exhausted, he crumpled to the ground and pulled himself to lean against a building. Aziraphale, who had been walking silently beside him the whole time, vanished.
Crowley couldn’t blame him. After all, who would want to be around someone who got angry enough to blow up?
“Here, I brought you some more wine. I-I thought it might help.”
Startled, Crowley looked up. Aziraphale hovered nearby, a jug in hand. “Why’d you come back?”
Aziraphale’s eyebrow lifted. “Because… I thought it might help? You seem to be having a particularly awful day.”
Crowley opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. He pushed his sunglasses up, wiped his eyes, took a deep breath.
“Awful week,” he finally managed, almost burst into tears. “It’s been an awful week. Sorry, I didn’t mean…”
He exhaled in a gust, worn out. Didn’t have the energy to put it in words.
Aziraphale sat beside him, holding out the jug. “It’s okay. And you don’t have to explain to me, if it’s too hard. We can just share a drink, silently.”
Choked up, Crowley took the jug. Maybe later, he could try to articulate what the helpless anger at existence was like, especially when it surged out of control. But for now, drinking silently with Aziraphale sounded damn good.
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for the AU 5+ headcanons ask game, Cisco takes a leap of faith and tells Barry he's in love with him somewhere in the middle or second half of season 1. i hope it's a prompt that works for you?
I do love a good Barrisco headcanon. This'll be cute. ^_^
So Cisco tags along to karaoke night with Barry and Caitlin and instead of Linda showing up to hit on Barry, Cisco takes the opportunity while Caitlin is singing to tell Barry how he feels. And Barry is surprised - not necessary blind sided, but he's definitely having a 're-evaluating events' moment. Caitlin calls them up to sing with her before Barry can really respond. So Cisco just kinda assumes that they're gonna leave things as friends and be a little awkward about it at first.
However, Barry is aware that being left hanging sucks and so as soon as they've squared away drunken Caitlin on Cisco's couch for the night, he asks Cisco on a date. And apologizes for not responding earlier. He was surprised and taking care of their drunk friend was kinda the priority, but he likes Cisco a lot and the idea of going on a date with Cisco is giving him all the butterflies, so... Cisco cuts him off with a chaste kiss before Barry can get too into rambling mode and agrees to the date.
Their first date they start off both trying a bit too hard because they're nervous but once they realize that's why things are a bit stilted, they both laugh and unwind and it's a wonderful date.
Barry realizes that something is up with Cisco with regards to Hartley and it's more than just Hartley being a jerk to Cisco in the past. So Cisco loops Barry into the whole thing about Ronnie maybe being alive and how guilty Cisco feels about being the one who closed Ronnie into the pipeline in the first place. So Barry gets to be a supportive BF both in helping Cisco deal with his survivor's guilt and with getting info out of Hartley regarding what really happened to Ronnie the night the accelerator exploded. Hartley still winds up escaping somehow but Cisco doesn't have to bear that weight alone this time.
I think Barry would turn down the bowling double date here, citing that it's still early in his relationship with Cisco and he wants their date that evening to be just the two of them. Since Cisco is well aware of Barry's feelings for Iris, Barry wants to make sure Cisco feels secure in their relationship before doing any double dates with Iris.
During the day that wasn't, Barry and Iris do not kiss (hate that kiss anyway, any reason to throw it out) but Barry does call Cisco for help with the oncoming storm problem that's poised to decimate both Central City and Keystone. Only EoWells answers Cisco's phone because, um... Cisco cannot come to the phone right now. Barry doesn't think hard on it at the time because DANGER ahead is more pressing. But after resetting time it definitely sticks out to him as strange.
Lisa does not manage to honey trap Cisco because Cisco is flattered, but not interested and this is his boyfriend right here, isn't he so cute? Which means that the Snarts + Rory go with plan b which is kidnapping both Cisco and Barry. Cisco stalls for time until they're down to just Mick watching them and when Mick isn't paying attention Barry knocks him out and rescues Cisco and Dante. Dante comes out of the ordeal shaken but otherwise unscathed and impressed with his brother's courage. It's the first step towards mending their relationship and moving them more towards being the close & supportive brothers Cisco and Dante are in the comics.
Somehow Len does figure out Barry's identity from this (hidden camera?) and thus Barry does still have to make his deal with Len. But Len's outta luck if he wants Cisco to build him new guns. Good thing Len made blueprints off the original guns in case he had to make new ones the hard way. (Barry - that is not in any way a good thing >_<)
The experience is still traumatic enough for Cisco that it triggers his nightmares/early manifestation of his vibes of the timeline where he died. Good thing Barry is there in bed with Cisco to hold him after startling awake from that. Barry soothes Cisco back to being calm and listens to Cisco talk about the nightmare afterwards and while he doesn't know what to make of Cisco's subconscious associating Dr. Wells with the Reverse Flash, he does know that the idea of losing Cisco terrifies him. And, huh, for some reason he's reminded of how weird it was for Dr. Wells to answer Cisco's phone in the day that wasn't...
Being with Cisco mellows out Barry's 'don't tell Iris' reflex so when Eddie finds out about Barry being the Flash and wants to tell Iris the truth, Barry agrees over Joe's protests, noting that keeping her in the dark hasn't actually protected Iris the way Joe insisted it would. So the whole situation actually makes Iris & Eddie closer instead of causing the relationship drama from canon.
Finding out that Cisco's nightmare actually happened for real? Infuriates Barry. Cisco has to talk Barry down from going after Wells immediately, but Barry is just done with Wells taking away the people he loves. Killing his mom, framing his father, and now killing Cisco in another timeline? Which might also be when Barry realizes that he's fallen in love with Cisco and doesn't want to be without him.
The Iris West-Allen newspaper byline is explained by Gideon to be from the OG timeline, but it still shakes Cisco, who doesn't quite realize Barry is relieved that's not from this timeline. Eddie questions his decision to propose to Iris afterwards, but Barry pushes him to go forward regardless of what Joe might think. That timeline is gone and they should focus on living their lives for themselves, not live up to the destinies of people who lived entirely different lives from them.
Eobard still tries to break up Iris and Eddie while he has Eddie kidnapped, but Gideon nonchalantly updates the by line to West-Thawne and Eobard takes the psychic damage instead.
Eobard tries dangling the whole 'save your mother, reset to the real timeline' carrot in front of Barry but Barry talks things over with his dad and admits he doesn't want to give up the life he's building with Cisco for the life he could have had with Iris, but he wants to save his mom so much... Henry is able to talk Barry out of the time travel this time.
Cisco is of course very surprised when Barry comes back from Iron Heights and puts an end to any time ship building. They're not helping Eobard Thawne in any way. They wind up talking through everything and Barry tells Cisco he loves him.
Cisco - *heart eyes* I love you too, Barry.
Eobard escapes and tries to force Barry to cooperate anyway, but Cisco uses his vibe blasts instinctively to protect Barry. Eobard swears he'll be back, but he's concerned about risking Cisco accidentally severing him from his speed entirely - made easier by Eobard's speed still being so unstable - so he hoofs it out of town, faking his death in the process. The Harrison Wells identity is well and truly burned, so he might as well give Barry something he wants. That way it'll hurt all the more the next time Eobard takes something - someone - away from him.
Thus Ronnie and Eddie survive the S1 finale, but there's a lead in for a Rogues centered S2 with Snart getting the gang together - not just the metas from the pipeline that he rescues from Team Flash, but Hartley as well - pushing the Earth-2/Zoom story line to Season 3.
#thanks for asking ^_^#kitkatt0430 answers#the flash#fanfiction#fic ideas#cisco ramon#barry allen#barry x cisco
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let’s talk about hawks
mini headcannons of the good, the bad and the sexy
special thanks to the biggest hawks simp i know for helping me out @gardenofdreams ❥
the good
❥ the best medicine: with hawks’ natural ability to be flirty, witty and charming, you often find yourself in laughter when being blessed by his presence. whether it be a borderline dad joke or a highly intellectual one, hawks’ never fails to place a smile on your face. it’s an added bonus for you, always catching his bright smile and cheery eyes. both of you aren’t strangers to literal laughing pains and the unfortunate second hand embarrassment of onlookers when they have no idea why both you manage to sound like dying hyenas in the middle of public. even on your worst of days, it’s extremely difficult to stay mad or in sorrow when your favorite bird brings you utter goofiness.
❥ by land, air or sea: the commission has hawks on a tight rope when it comes to work as being comfortable with traveling and sometimes covering at different agencies are mandatory. with that though, hawk’s has become accustomed (and frankly spoiled) when it comes to traveling. on both of your off days, he’s quick to snatch you up and take you somewhere new. could be a new restaurant, a new city, old park to pick up some nostalgia, or even a light walk around the block. he’s always in motion and if you can, he adores it when you’re able to experience it with him. while you won’t always be allowed to take a picture for memories, you and hawks both enjoy little keep sakes. while you mostly have the shrine of memories in your own home quarters, hawks likes to have his scattered around, always finding the perfect memory whenever he looks within his home.
❥ pathetic but cute romantic: as much as a smooth talker hawks is, he really doesn’t know how to make the lovey dovey moves. he just simply struggles on every aspect that isn’t clear and cut. but however, that does not stop his determination on the matter. occasionally, you’ll both have to air out the kitchen from him leaving the chicken in the oven for too long and deciding to stick with takeout. more frequently, you’ll have to remind him that while you appreciate the flowers, him adding too much flower food to the water actually kills the flowers faster rather than keeps them alive for longer. and unfortunately, to enjoy a bubble bath with candles and wine, floating wine glasses only works when he doesn’t flap his wings within the water, making the floor a slip and slide. as mentioned, pathetic.. but the effort on his part will never die just like his love for you.
the bad
❥ workaholic: a driven and hard working man is attractive and will never not be. but there comes a point to where it can be an obsession, unhealthy, and dangerously addicting. it stresses and scares you, let alone hawks himself. he knows he has an issue but with the commission ingraining the work load into every fiber of his being, no one, not even himself, can stop hawks. one of the worst days of both of your lives was you waiting up until 4am in your bed, terrified of the news. a massive bombing in the inner city, taking out multiple buildings and destroying countless streets. your heart exploded with every update the news and social media gave. it almost seemed hopeless. but with hawks finally walking through the door, covered in ashe, tattered clothes and that almost war zone look, and saying he just had to stay and help.. it made you question whether he even cared about his safety at all. hawks may be a hero, but unfortunately will never be able to save himself from disarray.
❥ self care: due to hawks’ workaholic ways, basic self care and hygiene can slip his mind easily. unlike him knowing he has a work problem, still to this imaginary day, knowing when his funk is lingering doesn’t process in his brain. you really try your best to tell him lightly. suggesting a shower together, offering some gum in the middle of the day, asking which fragrance of yours he enjoys the most by subtly spraying more than one. this issue really does hurt the both of you. you know deep down that everyone can struggle with this issue, and seeing your love go through it constantly can put a damper in your mood.
❥ family struggles: whether you want children or not, hawks mindset on the topic is troubling. for the readers that have a functional uterus, this might hurt you the most. if you ever find yourself pregnant, you know you have to let hawks know. he’s overall a reasonable man and having the knowledge would make him happy. it just becomes concerning to you that when you do tell him, he simply has no words. he’s stuck on what to say and how to act. but eventually he does something. and what is that exact thing? he takes time to himself and flies into the city to clear his head. that absolutely breaks your heart into a plethora of pieces knowing that could have ended your relationship. hawks does come back to his senses and returns to you to talk it out, but would you still be in love with him when his first instinct is to run?
the sexy
❥ foreplay: foreplay is a majorly overlooked thing in the realm of sex. but honestly? it can be just as good as an orgasm and when it’s good, you may even have an orgasm before the real fun begins. hawks’ favorite type of foreplay is long makeout sessions and mutual masturbation. both of you on your knees on the bed, lightly fighting to stay risen up while attacking each others lips with your hands edging and toying with each other’s sex? it’s truly an ode to the younger teenage years, just desperate for feeling each other in the closest way without going all the way.
❥ sensory play: feathers are everyone’s first idea when it comes to hawks, it’s only natural when he holds hundreds of them on his luscious body. but other options are more favorites of his, especially blindfolds. if the blindfold is on you, he gets thrilled over huffing hot air around your limbs and neck. seeing your squirm and not know where it’s coming from next. if hawks has the blindfold on, he loves the feeling of hot wax. hawks has always had the idea of temperature play, but anything too hot or cold would ruffle his feathers in the worst way. wax gives him a good middle ground to explore and be free.
❥ the spring rut: in fanon lore, ‘spring hawks’ or ‘rutting season hawks’ is when hawks has the unnerving urge to heavily breed once spring begins, since he is part bird. if you don’t think about the actual science of birds and how off putting it can be, there is a some truth to how accurate it could be. being in a full rut would disturb his work flow entirely but the idea of him being more sensual during the season changes would be apparent. you would get all the blush worthy texts during work, never a moment alone with your home, and evenings out to dinner would have to take place more in the bathroom or car.
❥ begging: one of hawks’ guilty pleasures is hearing you beg. he won’t admit it but it fuels his hero hunger ego. knowing that you need him desperately in anyway possible? the man could cum alone just hearing your whimpers for him to touch you, your pleads for him to make love or fuck, any words really. hawks will never not love whatever you have to say… or moan senselessly.
masterlist // hawks’ feather pile
#hawks#bnha hawks#hawks x reader#mha hawks#hawks smut#my hero academia#my hero headcanons#boku no hero academia#boko no hero academia#boku no hero imagines#keigo imagine#keigo tamaki headcannons#keigo tamaki#keigo x reader#keigo tamaki x reader#mha x reader#bnha x reader#mha keigo takami#mha takami keigo#mha fluff#mha smut#mha angst#hurt/comfort
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a new beginning
Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader
CW(s): canon-typical violence, angst, minor off-screen death
Word Count: 3610
This idea came to me in a dream about a week ago, so I finally wrote about it. Sorry that it’s a little sad, it has a happy ending I promise!
---
You were exhausted, grime smeared across your face as your team paused to take a breath inside a small abandoned barn. Formerly, you were in a group of eight, but the number had dwindled to five within the past forty-eight hours of your mission. Your heart ached for the three lost agents, one of them was a newbie, and the other two were trying to save him. The rest of you barely made it out of the hoard alive.
Leon, your squad leader, seemed quite distressed as he surveyed the last surviving members of his squad. It was obvious he was trying to hide his biased concern towards you, as he checked the wounds of the other agents before you. You understood why, since it would be considered unprofessional if he had shown an unequal amount of concern for his romantic partner, compared to the rest of the agents in the group.
Disturbing growls could be heard right outside the barn door, which had been haphazardly barricaded with a heavy oak chest. You were seated on a wworn-outrocking chair, taking in your surroundings. It was obvious that the barn was used for some sort of shelter for previous survivors. You could see canned food scattered across the hay-littered floor, as well as other signs of life hidden amongst the clutter.
You rose to your feet, and a familiar pain in your chest exploded from your heart as you limped over to the small pile of straw. In the center of the sandy yellow grass, a small firetruck sat in the middle The paint was a brilliant glossy red, as well as a ladder was mounted on top of the toy. You crouch down, picking up the toy, feeling nauseated with grief.
There was a child hiding in here, most likely with their family as they attempted to ride out the horde of infected. You exhale deeply, trying to keep yourself together. This was a part of your job, from countless missions of infected cities across the world, you had seen scenes like this time and time again. You wouldn’t forget the girl in Raccoon City, and the desperation in her father’s voice as he begged Ada not to shoot his daughter.
You hated Umbrella for putting innocent people through such pain.
The sound of your name tugged you from your thoughts, you look up at Leon, eyes wet with tears. He frowned at the object at your hands, putting the pieces together.
“A family was here.” You whisper, trying to hide the sob that was building in your voice. “This probably belonged to a little boy.”
You hand the firetruck over to Leon, who took it quietly. You had known the man since you were both trapped in Raccoon City together. He had rescued you from the gas station alongside Claire. You still remember him from that night, many years ago, when his empty azure eyes had light still within them.
He blankly looked over the ruby red truck in his hands, jaw tight as he ran his fingers over the smooth metal of the toy. Years of this job had eroded what was left of his soul, leaving gaping holes and cracks that would be difficult to heal.
To an outsider, your partner might look cold and unfriendly. However, in your shared moments of silence together, you knew he felt the same pain as you did. His heart ached for the innocent lives that were affected by Umbrella the same way it affected yours. It was the reason why you both kept fighting, putting your lives at risk.
“I hope they’re alright,” was all the blonde could say as he gently placed the toy back in the spot where it sat before.
You nod solemnly, turning your attention to the small farm house that sat across the cornfields. It was surprising that the glass window wasn’t busted, but you weren’t complaining. Leon rests a strong hand on your shoulder, and used the other one to pull your attention away from the scenery.
“Are you okay?” He asks, voice hushed.
Your shoulders shrug slightly, meeting his eyes. “Physically? Besides some bruises I’m fine.” You look back at the truck by your feet. “Mentally? Check back later.”
Leon nods empathically, squeezing your shoulder, and continuing to cup your cheek. “We’re going to stay here for tonight, we had a heavy loss to our squad today. I’m going to page Hunningan to see what our next moves are. Do you want to take the first watch?”
You mull the option over in your head, the ache in your muscles screamed for some rest. However, you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep yet, a couple hours on guard duty wouldn’t hurt you.
“That’s fine, I can go on the first watch.” You gesture to the loft above your head. “I’ll sit up there with my gun, I can keep guard over the perimeter, it looks like there is a window up there.”
Your squad leader nods, his greasy blonde hair moving with his head. “Alright.” He pauses, hands falling back to his sides. “I love you.” His voice is barely audible, but loud enough for you to hear.
It makes you smile, even just the slightest bit. “I love you too, Leon. Go get some rest.”
Once the agent walks away, you grab the small toy truck and climb up the ladder to the loft. To your surprise, the loft is quite spacious, with enough room for you to comfortably stand. You sit by the window, which overlooked most of the perimeter of the barn. Most of the window panes were busted, but you should be safe from the height you were at.
You roll the truck forwards and backward as you look out towards the horizon. The sun had vanished from the sky, leaving the Earth in a shroud of darkness. You look back at the farmhouse, which was situated about one hundred feet away.
From the distance you were at, it seemed like the ranch-style house was still in decent shape. Besides the entirety of the windows on the first floor being busted, as well as the abundance of infected roaming the area, you would assume the white house was totally normal.
You study the outside of the building, lazily glancing over the sage-green painted shutters and black tile roof before something catches your attention. A golden glow came from one of the windows of the second floor, and a black figure standing in the center.
You gasp, digging through your utility belt for the tiny pair of binoculars that you kept on you at all times. You use them to peer closer at the window, hands trembling as you investigate the scene. You see a young boy, no older than six, looking back out the window.
His hand is pressed against the glass, brown eyes peering down at the zombies below fearfully, his cheeks stained red from countless hours of crying. What stops your heart is the tiny baby in his other arm. You scramble back down the ladder, completely neglecting the binoculars and truck.
You drop your backpack, fishing out your flashlight, and made sure you have enough ammo to fend off the undead surrounding you. The loud jumbling of objects must have woken up your fellow agents, who were all light sleepers. Leon is the one who approaches you, an expression of confusion drawn across his face.
“What are you doing?” He questions, crossing his arms, dark eyebrows furrowed. The sheer contrast of his brown eyebrows and bright blue eyes was intimidating.
“I saw survivors.” You respond simply, finding your favorite automatic weapon in your bag. “A small boy and an infant. I can’t leave them there to die.”
“You’re not going out there, not now.” The blonde’s voice is urgent, with the slightest hint of panic lurking somewhere in his tone.
“It’s dark, and there’s a fuck ton of zombies out there. What if there is a Tyrant or Lickers out there as well? Three of my squad members died today, I’m not losing one more.” Leon continues, desperation shaking his voice a bit.
You rise to your feet from your kneeling position, automatic weapon tight in your hands. “You can’t stop me, Leon. I’m not leaving those two kids out there to die!” You shout, gesturing to the general direction of the white farmhouse. “I’d be dammed if I let them die.”
Your partner frowns at you, before reaching to grab your wrist, pulling one of your hands off of your gun. “You’re not going, going out there right now is a death wish.” He swallows deeply, Adam’s apple bopping in his throat. “I’m not going to lose you.”
You pull your wrist from his grip, taking a few steps away from him. “I’m sorry, I have to.” You respond, your words felt like bile in your mouth. It hurt you to defy your boyfriend, it hurt to defy the man you had loved for years.
“It’s a risk I have to take.” You step closer to the oak barricade, preparing to push it open. Your supervisor takes another step towards you, blue eyes pleading.
“Please, I can’t-”
You tear your gaze away from him, using all of your strength to shove the chest away from the door. Before anyone can grab you, you rush out of the door, running as fast as you can for the farmhouse. You ignore their protests as you dash out, already exhausted muscles burned as your legs moved.
Zombies grabbed at you as you ran, a few stepped on your path and you shot them down. Your lungs begged for oxygen by the time you reached to the hoard right outside of the house. They turned your attention towards you, with their glowing, empty, blood eyes. You shoot the ones who were guarding the door, watching as their lifeless bodies fall to the ground.
You kick the door down with little hesitation, catching more attention from the undead who were roaming around the first floor. They start to follow you as you make a beeline to the stairs. You groan in pain as your ankle catches one of the steps, and one of the undead grabs your heel. It mercilessly squeezes your limb, as it attempts to drag itself up the stairs with you.
You twist your body around, shooting a bullet through its skull, watching it fall back down the remainder of the steps. You grunt and continue running up your stairs. Your ankle shoots with pain every single time you step your right foot down, as you limp as fast as you can. You eye each door of the second story, trying to remember what floor you saw the child in.
You frantically look down the hallway, before spotting a door. Three zombies were clawing desperately, which was enough evidence that the boy was in that room. Without hesitation, you shoot down the remaining undead, dragging your injured foot behind you.
You shake the door handle, panic setting in for a moment once you realize the door is locked. You knock at the pastel pink painted door, hissing in pain as the adrenaline begins to wear off. “Please, let me in, I’m here to save you.”
A couple moments passed and zombies had tracked you down, limping over to your location. You smile painfully to yourself, aiming your sleek weapon at the incoming crowd. Maybe Leon was right, maybe you did just walk into your own demise. Right as your finger begins to pull the trigger, the door cracks open.
The young boy looks up at you, hands trembling violently. You quickly slide into the room, slamming the door behind you and locking it. You almost immediately fall to your ass, crying out in pain at the stabbing sensation in your ankle.
The child’s umber eyes are wide and watery as he takes in the sight of you. It must have been a few days since he had seen a fellow surviving human being, based on his expression of pure shock. You ignore your pain as you gently introduce yourself to the tiny boy, then ask for his name.
“My name is Michael…” He mumbles, before gesturing to the swaddle of blankets in the wooden crib in the corner of the room. “That is my baby sister, Poppy.”
You nod, putting your gun down and giving the child a friendly smile. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you know where your mommy and daddy are?” You try to speak as softly as possible, but you knew that the damage had been done to Michael.
It was evident in his once-innocent, brown eyes, that he had seen the carnage that no human should see. Especially not at his age.
Michael is quiet for a moment, before pointing at the door behind you, a single tear streaking down his chubby rosy cheek. “Gone.”
You already knew what his answer would be, but hearing the sheer emptiness of his voice made you want to rip off the head of whatever monster did this to this child. Your stomach churns as your feel your eyes burn with salty tears.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper, trying to keep yourself together, for the sake of the children. “I’m here to save you.”
The pounding at the door makes your promise seem quite empty, you know you can run back to the barn. Not with your sprained ankle, not with a six-year-old boy, and not with a young infant in your arms. The hope that you would make it out alive dwindled with every single second.
You hoped Leon would rescue you, or anyone, really. Not for yourself, but for the two innocent souls before you.
Michael doesn’t say anything to you, instead, he simply nods and sits on the floor. You open your mouth to speak again, but a weak babble from the crib silences you.
The six-year-old rose to his feet, walking over to the crib, having to stand on his toes to look inside it. You limp over to it as well, as the baby swaddled in pink blankets looks up at you. She has wide, untarnished blue eyes, that remind you of Leon’s own eyes.
It makes you smile, but it also makes you cry. Hot tears cut across your skin like a knife as you lost all of your control. You grip onto the wooden crib, falling to your knees with sobs. “I’m so sorry.”
You press your face against the bars of the crib, as Poppy reaches toward you. You tremble a bit at your own grief as you struggle to smile back at her. You had discussed having children with Leon prior, about a year ago. You were open to the idea, but your partner had shot down the concept almost instantly.
You understood, in fact, you agreed with him. Both of you led lives that wouldn’t work with you two being parents. It just wasn’t possible with both of you working your dangerous jobs. However, seeing the infant before you made you yearn for that life you could’ve had with Leon.
A life you would’ve led if the world wasn’t so unfair.
You are so stuck in your own grief, that you don’t hear the gunshots from just outside of the farmhouse. Michael shakes your shoulder, but you are too lost to the world to be rescued. Your eyes are focused on nothing as you feel the universe crumble around you.
It wasn’t easy to keep yourself together when you were so sure that you were going to die.
Leon kicks open the door to the bedroom, which succeeds in making Poppy cry. He whips his gun around the room, fully prepared to shoot at any monsters that lurked within. The weapon instantly lowers as soon as he sees your sobbing form, as well as the small boy beside you, clinging onto you fearfully.
He calls your name, signaling to the agents behind him to clear the area with a small gesture. Slowly, he approaches you, hands up in surrender. Michael shakes your shoulder again, repeating your name.
It isn’t until Leon rests his own hand on your spine that you reconnect with reality. You look over at your boyfriend, breathing and picking up as soon as you recognize the features of his handsome face.
Square face shape.
High cheekbones
Full, pink lips.
A few moles on his cheeks, chin, and one below his left eye.
And most importantly, those bright azure eyes.
You exhale softly, reaching out to touch his filthy face, smiling slightly. “Leon.”
He nods, bringing you into a hug, and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m here, you’re alright.”
You cling onto the back of his tactical vest, burying your face into the crook of his neck as you shake against him. He shushes your apologies and kisses your cheek. He holds you until you can finally speak normally again, smiling affectionately at you as you fully come back to him.
Michael stares at you both, Poppy held tight in his arms. You gesture to the two children, holding one of Leon’s hands for stability. “This is Michael, and his baby sister Poppy. They’re the survivors I spotted.”
Your boyfriend nods, smiling at them. “I’m sorry that I scared you two. I’m Leon Kennedy, I’m her boyfriend.” He gestures to you, by squeezing your hand tightly in assurance.
The brunette boy nods, sniffing loudly. “Is okay.”
Leon glances at you, clearing his throat. “I paged in Hunnigan, they’re sending helicopters now. They’re considering this mission a bust.” He sighs deeply. “They’re extracting us from here.”
You numbly nod at his information, your brain still spinning from the adrenaline crash. The pain in your ankle begins to rear its face again. You didn’t have the energy to speak anymore, fully emotionally and physically drained.
Leon seems to understand this through, years of being your partner were enough for him to know everything about you. He lets you sit in silence as he talks to Michael. You lean your head on his shoulder as he tells the boy a sanitized story about how he “rescued” you in Raccoon City.
What shocked you the most, was when your blonde boyfriend reached into this backpack and pulls out a familiar scarlet red object. The boy’s eyes light up, and he exchanges his sister Poppy for the truck in an instant. Leon holds the baby close to him as Michael excitedly reunited with his lost toy.
Only a few more minutes pass before the familiar hum of the government helicopters sounds outside, you sigh in relief. Evac from the house doesn’t take long, your fellow agents gawk over the young survivors. Praising Michael for being brave and protecting his baby sister.
You rest your head on Leon’s broad shoulder, watching as the boy excitedly told your co-workers about his firetruck. It seemed that he had a bit more of the life left in him than you had thought, which was a wonderful thing. A nurse was busy wrapping your bruised ankle as you watched the commotion. Poppy was a bit malnourished and was airlifted to a nearby hospital for more immediate treatment.
You pursed your lips, a new concern coming to mind. What would happen to Michael and Poppy? Would they be separated? Fostered? Adopted?
Your heart ached at the thought of the two children being put in separate homes, and it especially hurt for the boy. It was obvious he would have some degree of trauma for the rest of his life, something that a lot of parents would struggle to handle. This made you frown, trying to come up with a solution in your head.
“I think you were right,” Leon speaks, catching you from your thoughts.
“Huh?” You mumble, looking up at him, a bit confused. “What do you mean, Leon?”
“About a family.” Your partner responds with blue eyes focused on Michael. “Our job definitely prevents us from having a typical life, but maybe it’s about time we step down from it. Live the life we were supposed to have.”
You furrow your brows at him, heart pounding in your ears. “What?”
“Let’s adopt Michael and Poppy.” The agent finally says, chest heaving with a sharp inhale. “We can quit our jobs, find something less dangerous. Give those kids the life they deserve.”
“Leon-”
He shushes you.
“Let’s get married too, I’ve been dragging you along with no ring on your finger for far too long.” The blonde continues, which makes your cheeks flush. “When you ran off to rescue the children, I was so sure I would never see you again. I couldn’t bear the idea of my life without you, and I’ve realized that we deserve so much more than this life we’ve lived so far.
Leon pauses, breathing in deeply, in preparation.
Your eyes widen as he sinks to one knee beside you, which captures the attention of almost everyone in the jet. He says your full name, both of his hands clasping one of your smaller ones. “Will you marry me?”
Your eyes water a bit, but you have cried enough tears within the past hours. Instead, you laugh. Not a mocking laugh, nor a cruel one. You smile at Leon and nod. “Of course, I will.”
The man before you smiles as well, for a second, you could see a glimpse of the man he was. Before years of bloodshed eroded his soul, before he had been traumatized by the countless tragedies of his lifetime. He presses a kiss to your hand, looking up at you happily.
“As soon as we land in DC, our new life together begins.”
#leon kennedy#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy x you#resident evil#resident evil x reader#leon kennedy angst#this was a lot longer than i planned#but enjoy#hurt with a happy ending yay#bone apple teeth
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One word prompt— Q with “puppy” 🙏🏼
Ohohohoho! Thank you for this one!!! It was an absolute delight to fill! You can read it below or on AO3.
Enjoy! 💖
puppy.
It’s eight am, and Q isn’t nearly awake enough for this.
Bond’s in a warehouse in Hamburg, retrieving an enemy hard drive. As usual, he’s only listening to Q’s instructions with half an ear. Though, admittedly, that's still half an ear more than some of the other agents.
“007, I said left.”
“I know what you said,” snaps Bond under the heavy rat-tat-tat of bullets. “I’m taking a shortcut.”
“A deadly one, by the sounds of it,” sighs Q. “All right. I’m mapping you a new exit route.”
“Hang on a minute. There’s something I need to take a look at.”
Q flicks his eyes to the timestamp on his screen. “What part of ‘this building will explode in ten minutes’ did you not understand?”
“The part where I’m meant to ignore innocent lives trapped in it.”
“Oh! Is there—? Shit. I’m not reading anyone else nearby. Hang on, why can’t I read anyone else?”
Most of the cameras inside the building have been shot out, either deliberately or through collateral damage. Q is flying blind at the moment, and he hates it. He listens greedily to any sounds that make their way down the line, and wishes fervently that he'd sent Bond in with some sort of heat-seeking technology to give them more information. As it is, all Q can hear is some frantic rustling and another hail of bullets, thankfully further away than the last. A moment later, he hears Bond shushing someone, telling them everything will be all right.
Despite himself, Q can feel his chest warming in the way it often does when Bond’s kindness shines through. He smiles briefly, though he stops when he catches some of his staff looking a bit moony-eyed over the whole encounter.
“We have an agent in the middle of a delicate extraction,” Q says to the room, briefly muting his end of the comms line. The last thing any agent needs is the ego boost of knowing he’s distracted the whole branch. “I’d appreciate everyone’s full attention on the task at hand.”
“Yes, Sir,” comes the responding chorus.
“Good.”
“In your own time, Q,” interrupts Bond, finally ready to move and sounding half amused, half exasperated.
Q’s tempted to keep Bond hanging just for that, but the sound of bullets is growing both louder and more insistent now. Besides, there’s a casualty to contend with, and they don’t deserve to be caught up in one of his and Bond’s usual competitive nonsense. He scans the building's blueprints and Bond’s location as quickly as he can.
“Got it. Thirty meters straight ahead, left and then the second right. If you make it out the correct exit, you should find your new car waiting for you.”
“The DB10?”
“Jaguar F-Type. I’m afraid you blew the year’s budget for anything higher-end while you were in La Paz.”
“It’s only August.”
“Ah, so you've heard about the concept of a financial year. And yet, you destroyed the car anyway.” Q stabs the return key with more force than intended. “Take it up with Accounting.”
Bond huffs in discontent, then groans in a worrying way.
“Bond. Are you quite all right?”
“Bloody marvellous,” he grunts.
“Not too bloody, I hope.”
Bond doesn’t answer. Over the next few minutes, it’s only because of his occasional ragged breathing that Q is aware he’s alive at all.
Q fixes his eyes on the screen showing the door at the end of Bond’s exit route. Every second that ticks by without Bond emerging scrapes against his nerves. His heart rate will be through the roof by the end of this, and he daren’t think about his blood pressure.
Actually, it’s probably in no small part due to Bond that Q found a grey hair at his temple the other day. He’s sure he'll find a few more after today's antics. It's always Bond's missions that do him in like this. He'd spend more time questioning why his other agents' missions don't seem nearly as stressful, but he already knows the answer to that.
(At least Bond, for now, seems blissfully unaware of the regard in which Q holds him. Though worryingly, he might be the only one who's unaware of it.)
“Four minutes and counting, Sir,” calls one of his techs behind him.
“Bond?” calls Q. “Where are you? I needn’t remind you time is of the — oh. There you are.”
“Here I am,” replies Bond, sliding into the car. Q can see his cheeky, roguish smile even through the terrible quality of the CCTV.
For a moment, he’s so relieved to see Bond alive with no blood trail behind him that he doesn’t register the bundle in Bond’s left arm. When he does, it renders him speechless until Bond has safely driven away. By the time he’s himself again, Q’s whole department has cottoned onto what’s happening, and they’re cooing at the soft sounds coming through the room’s microphone.
“007. If you’re about to tell me that you risked your life and the safety of that hard drive to pick up a dog—”
Bond scoffs. “I wasn’t about to tell you anything. I’m well aware you can judge the situation for yourself. And there are two of them, by the way.” In a voice that’s far too soft for Q’s frayed nerves, he says, “They’re only pups.”
The whispers around Q increase in volume, and there’s an undignified squeak from somewhere at the back of the room. Not for the first time in this job, he wishes he had a mute button for his technicians.
“You could have been killed,” hisses Q, glaring at the blue symbol representing Bond's tracker.
“I had the situation in hand. If those bastards wanted rid of me, they’d have needed to try much harder than that.”
“Your faith in yourself is certainly admirable,” says Q, waspishly, “But you’re not indestructible, Bond.” During Bond’s rather petulant-sounding lack of response, another thought occurs to Q. It's one that has him imagining murdering Bond himself. “By the way, that Jaguar you’re sitting in is brand new. If you get back and it’s covered in dog hair…or worse—”
“It’ll be the least destructive thing I’ve done to a car in years.”
Q sighs, knowing full well that’s true. He shoots a withering look at the group of engineers who have pulled up a still from some earlier CCTV shots, showing Bond holding a rifle in one hand and two puppies in the other.
For heaven’s sake. At least Q knows who he’ll be putting on clean-up duty.
“Right. You clearly have no more need for my assistance, so I’ll leave you to it.”
He pauses, trying to refrain from giving his usual praise lest it sends the message he endorses this sort of life-endangering, stray-rescuing behaviour. Unfortunately, just as he can never exit a set of bus doors without thanking the driver, he can’t hang up on an unscathed, victorious agent without saying congratulations on a job well done.
“Well done, Bond. You have our thanks for saving the world once again.”
“My pleasure."
In the background, one of the puppies yips. Against all his instincts — he’s known widely around the office as a cat person, after all — Q smiles. His curiosity gets the better of him.
“Are you, erm...are you going to name them?”
Bond hums, and Q can hear the tease in it. “I was thinking Winston and Maggie.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Q groans. “You’re as bad as M.”
“Thank you, Q.”
Q doesn’t give him any further encouragement. He hangs up and shoos his staff away from admiring more of Bond's angles. It's hardly the first time he's had to break up a gossiping pack of staff after Bond's done something miraculous, or charming, or particularly tantalising. But today, horrifyingly, he hears someone mention a charity calendar and a fireman’s uniform.
Christ he needs a nap. Or a drink. A pay rise, definitely.
In the end, he simply gets back to work.
Bond, however, isn’t quite finished with him for the day. During Q’s lunch hour, he receives a message with a picture containing two German Shepherd puppies. Their disproportionately large ears sit at a jaunty angle on their heads, which are cocked adorably to the side. Behind them stretches a verdant, bright apple orchard, so they’re most likely enjoying some time in the Altes Land. Unbelievably, they seem to have acquired harnesses and collars in the three hours since Q glimpsed them last, and Bond seems to have acquired some new gear too. To the side of the picture is a cut-off shot of Bond’s hand, which is holding a neon orange ball.
How about Jeeves and Woofster? reads the text on his phone.
If Q smiles wider and laughs louder than he has all morning, well…he’s in the privacy of his own office. No one needs to know he's not just a cat person.
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Sometimes I think about my ideal Batman story, in which the Joker is killed by some nameless random Gothamite in the middle of a scheme with no build-up whatsoever, no mystique, just some henchman who he's turning on just saying "fuck it" and shooting him or some hostage managing to get free and then hit him repeatedly with their own chair until he doesn't get back up. It's quick. No one stops them. They're all too shocked it's working to stop them, and at the end of the day, EVERYONE wants that clown gone. That's the first action sequence and it's done by the end of issue one, preferably even at the three-quarters mark. (As far as I can tell he is considered dead at the moment, but it was climactic and showy and while he presumably exploded we all know he'll be back and probably be revealed to have never died at all somehow, and I want him dying in the most anticlimactic way possible.)
The rest of the arc's just dealing with the fallout. We see his body at the coroner's and confirm it is disposed of (thoroughly and in secret, so there's nowhere for assholes to visit or necromancers to try and resurrect.) People across Gotham throw parties. Some people OUTSIDE Gotham throw parties. Batman is in the cave making sure literally every means of resurrection is NOT available to the Joker, thank you VERY much, because he gets to be JUST shy of fourth wall-aware and therefore recognizes this is never going to stick and he'll be back as soon as the next writer comes on. No alternate universe versions are able to come through. There is no DNA from which to clone him. It wasn't a body double, a Doombot, or an elaborate illusion. He has been 100% confirmed to be 100% dead like three times in this issue alone. No time traveling Jokers to account for. Everyone else thinks Bruce is overreacting but when the Joker does inevitably come back ideally Bruce does get a scene being utterly unsurprised because on some level he understands that he is stuck with this fucking clown forever no matter what he does.
We get a mention that the random Gothamite IS put on trial for murder but it's unanimously ruled self-defense. This is the one circumstance where I'm willing to give this Gothamite a name. It is important to me they never appear again after this. They are here to kill the Joker and then recede back into the crowd.
Because the point is that the Joker dies like a fucking loser, because he's not some unkillable mastermind force of chaos, he's just a clown whose biggest win was killing a twelve-year-old, a feat he only got away with at the time because of an incredibly convoluted and even MORE incredibly racist plot point about him somehow getting named an Iranian ambassador. (No, seriously. That happened. It is every bit as terrible as you're thinking. There's a reason why adaptations cut it, but it's TELLING that the writers felt the need to come up with this contrived reason for why the Joker could kill Robin and live to tell the tale so they wouldn't have to utterly BREAK Batman as a character whether he breaks the rule or not.) Jason Todd is alive again. His second biggest win was shooting someone I'm pretty sure he didn't know was a superheroine, which was entirely incidental to his desire to torture her father which was ITSELF incidental to his desire to prove a point to Batman. And I have the DEEPLY mixed feelings of a disabled person who thinks Barbara Gordon's treatment in TKJ and especially editorial's approach to it was atrocious but who still deeply appreciates Oracle as a wheelchair user and such a nontraditional superhero, but ultimately: Yeah that's no longer a win for him, either.
So the Joker dies, it's made entirely clear that he is dead, he dies in a way that underlines how fundamentally pathetic he is and how fundamentally RIDICULOUS it is no one in Gotham did it before that point (because if you're going to die either way, why not go down swinging?), everyone celebrates, eventually even Batman's hypervigilance is appeased enough to eat some cake, and we get a good few years without that fucking clown everywhere until he inevitably returns. Hopefully by that point, everyone in reality considers how absolutely BORED they are of the Joker as some Ultimate Evil Super Successful Murder Clown of Doom, and when he does come back it's a version who's much more funny than scary.
Yes, my favorite episode of BTAS is Joker's Favor, but I don't think that changes the fact that the clown is overplayed and that having villains around who routinely kill is just narratively and objectively a bad choice to put with a character who you're defining by "does not kill". Like, you as the writer are weakening your own central thesis and then you have to come up with elaborate justifications why Batman Not Killing is right (because these comics are nominally still being sold to children, and also editorial will never let you ACTUALLY do it) when you could just solve the problem by not having the villains Batman fights routinely kill people. Knock it off. Yeah it's unrealistic but superheroes are inherently unrealistic, and yes, I'm including Batman, do you KNOW how much any given injury writers consider routine ACTUALLY fucks you up long-term?
Don't even get me started on Victor Zsasz.
Anyway I saw DC's doing a Joker Year One next year and just wanted to get that off my chest. Carry on.
#long post#racism#swearing#death#batman#the joker#dc comics#I don't even go here really I understand the fundamental nature of the Big Two as entities#I just feel very strongly that the Joker should die a death lacking any and all narrative gravitas#and then stay on the shelf along with all Joker-alikes for a minimum of five to seven years after#because writers are too invested in him as scary and iconic and The Ultimate Big Bad of the DC Universe and no. Fuck that noise. Kill him.#the endless escalation doesn't make him seem cooler it just undercuts your entire point. Also it's gotten old.#go play with all the other toys in the box for a while.
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You come to. Your vision is murky and the lights are dim. You can smell smoke. Sparks fly randomly from panels on the walls. You barely manage to lift your head and look around. The monitors have either exploded or shattered from the impact. Panels are hanging loose and wires are dangling and sparking. You fumble around with your seatbelt and unclip it, then promptly tumble into the floor. Your head hurts, and so does your body. You feel lucky to be alive at all. Steadily, you're able to drag yourself up, propping yourself against the wall, and turn the wheel on the door. You press against it, but it won't open. You groan and put more of your weight against it. No give. You rear back and shove against it and finally it flies open, and so do you.
Luckily, you catch yourself and your arms take the brunt of the fall rather than your face. As you crawl out of the burning wreckage you steadily creep out of delirium and manage to stand up. You turn around and look at the rocket. It's an absolute disaster. The entire hull is bent out of shape and covered in pockmarks, exposing bare metal and shattered ceramic underneath. Smoke and flames billow out of the thrusters even after the crash. You limp your way away as fast as your rattled body can manage. As you do, you notice that it seems like the flames are growing, and with it an intense whirring. You do your best to pick up the pace, but before you can get much further a violent explosion knocks you flat, throwing you through the air several feet. You look back. The entire thing is engulfed in a massive fire, brighter than anything you've ever seen. The hull has completely exploded and torn open. If you hadn't tried to leave moments ago, you would have died. The existential terror crosses your mind for a moment, but you pull yourself together the best you can and continue to limp forward.
The longer you walk the more you recover, at least physically. The shock has left you wandering in a daze. You don't even know where you're going, just that it needs to be away from where you were.
As you come to your senses more you develop more of an awareness of your surroundings. The rocket crashed in the middle of some kind of clearing, and you've wandered into a city. It's infinitely larger than your humble little neighborhood. The crumbling buildings stand high like spires in almost every direction. Many have collapsed in on themselves, leaving only the concrete and rebar frames standing ominously. The few that haven't are still severely overgrown and don't have even one window intact. The roads are overgrown but still relatively clear. They're massive and wide. Cars sit completely rusted away and overtaken by dirt and plant life. It feels like the corpse of a world far too large for you. You weren't meant to be here. Despite the huge amount of empty space, you feel a heavy pressure against you, and you hunch your shoulders and wrap your arms around yourself as you walk.
Daylight creeps in more and more over the horizon and you cover your eyes. You find a crumbling overpass and sit down on the ground under it, with your back against one of the supports. Looking up at it, you consider everything that's happened to you so far. Even if you truly did have to come here, how are you going to find Heresy? It's something you hadn't really thought about. You suppose you had just assumed the course was going to be smooth and you would land just fine. But that was probably unrealistic from the start. Of course the rocket couldn't land, it's like you hadn't seen the state of the Apollo facilities on Luna. And Earth doesn't even have a megastructure to maintain the electronics….at least you don't think it does? You stand back up and kick at small rocks and pebbles on the ground. You're annoyed, and frustrated, but above all else tired. When exactly is all of this going to make sense, when are you going to return to some sense of normalcy, when can you even rest?
As you pace around taking out your frustration on small clumps of dirt and gravel, you hear something. It sounds like shifting stones and pebbles. You look around, trying to identify them. The sounds get closer, and you stare hearing them coming from multiple directions. You nervously start walking backwards, doing your best to move slowly instead of giving into your fear and bolting. "Heresy," you ask, "is that you?" Your voice quivers.
And then you see them.
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Boomerang (Monkey Wars)
The boomerang monkeys, started to train new ways to use the boomerangs, or their abilities. They achived 6 new ways, with three special cases:
Top Path:
The Glaive Lords were divided in two groups, one tried a new techinic, and the toher re-learned an old one:
Size Lords - This lords tried using their telekinesis in a different way, instead of only levitating three boomerangs, they would use to increase the size of one, and it worked, they can make boomerangs bigger than cars, but they can only use one at a time.
Light Lords - A long time ago, a special type of Boomerang Monkey existed, they used a light weapon, too powerful to be holded by any other troop, it's ways were lost with time and no one has seen one in ages. With this in mind, the boomerangs started to research a way get that knoledge back, and they were successful. The Light Lords use their light sabers to cut through metal, but only have one.
The special case happened after in incident. In a trainament area for Size Lords, a rip through time and space was open and bloons came out of there, they were quickly dealt with, but the rip was still open, so they needed to close it, but they didn't even know what made it open in the first place. A young Size Lord wanted to test his theory, he believed that the reason the rip was open, was because of the force the Lords were using, so if they could replicate the same feat, it should close. Everyone agreed that it made sense, but their efforts were in vain. The young boy however, decided to train on his own, and achieved great results. He is the only boomerang that can use his force to open and close rips between space and time, cutting travel time and helping with important stuff, but he does not use boomerangs anymore.
Middle Path:
The Perma Charges wanted to increase their fire power, but nedded energy to do so, so they created new things:
Double Perma - They were able to make the Perma Chargers even stronger, able to withstand the power of two Perma Charges.
Energy Charges - These are robots created by the Boomerangs to, instead of throwing boomerangs, they create and throw energy, so they were locked in a place where that energy would be used. None of them are truly alive.
The special case for this path came from 3 Energy Charges who, from an excess of energy, were able to create their own councioness. When the Boomerang saw this, they took them off that place and introduced them to their society. They can throw an energy blast that can be a concetrated one or spread to various places.
Bottom Path:
The M.O.A.B Domination had to create new uses for them, as MOAB's weren't athreat anymore, so they focused on other things:
Place Dominators - They can throw boomerangs that get stuck in one place, even in tha air if the user wants it to. It will explode in contact, but after it was placed somewhere, not even the thrower can take it off. They are mostly used to make traps and build temporary walls.
Area Dominators - They throw their boomerang somewhere, when it reaches it destination, it will explode, leaving behind a virus that can either knock some one out, or kill them if their sick. The virus does not understand the concept of allie, so they are not used much.
The special case from this path is currently under arrest, she tried to make a boomerang that would create the explosion of a nuclear bomb, and she achieved it, but nearly destroyed a city with this and tried to escape the cops, so she has been arrested.
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Mumlow is crying over Ghost!Rumlow's grave.
The dust had settled and the Avengers had been destroyed- Not in the way Brock would have preferred. But, hell- There was not much he could do about it then, could he?
He stopped following the conflict once it had reached US soil- Knowing his time in it had passed. And he had to move on.
But- Where? Where did you ‘move on to’ if you were a fucking ghost stuck to wander? Brock knew his family had rallied to bury what little they could find of him. Some teeth and shards of bone.
So he went there- Wandering through the winding paths of graves at Calvary, muttering the names to himself as he went— Finally getting to his and-
“Aw, hell- Ma’…” He hadn’t seen her in ages- Had to be, what? Over two years, for sure. Brock remembers the phone call clearly- Him brushing off an invite to dinner because he was too busy and he was about to help change the world. She was bubbly and excited— Confident and proud in her SHIELD-Agent son.
He was proud, too— So proud and so fucking naive.
Brock wondered, now that he was standing on dying grass watching his own mother, alone, mourn over her only child. He wondered what her reaction would have been, watching the helicarriers topple buildings and being horrified but hopeful that her son would make it out— Horrified as the news plastered his face all over the screen and bared his truth to the world. HYDRA. Terrorist. Traitor.
He wondered if she cried then, too. He wondered if the tears were bitter, or if they were relieved. Was she still proud?
When the news broke that he was alive- Scarred and ruined, on a selfish rampage to settle his scores. Did she cry? Or did she sit there, blood draining from her face as his own flashed across the screen. Did she even recognize him under all that melted flesh. Through all the hate, the anger, the rage.
Did her shoulders wrack with sobs as she watched him fight and fight and lose- “You’re not going to win every fight you pick, dear- You got to learn to make sacrifices.” He wondered if that phrase, every time he came home with a busted lip and bloody knuckles, echoed through her mind as she watched him explode into flames.
And.. Now. Here she was- Blotting away tears with her sleeve as she lay a small bundle of flowers on the headstone. She stepped back, lowering her head for a few moments before walking straight for him. Walking straight through him. He stood- Stunned. If he could feel, and fuck he wished he could still feel— He’d be cold and empty and sick.
Brock approached the grave, brushing his fingers over the name- His own name- engraved into stone, the dates etched underneath it.. And that was it. Nothing more.
The bouquet was neither the prettiest or the most extravagant- But an array of random flowers, and that just fit his mother so well. Buttercups lay nestled among red and yellow carnations, interwoven with ivy vines and verbena. And, in the middle— A single full-bloom red rose.
Brock grit his teeth and dug the heel of his boot into the ground, the pebbles not shifting beneath his movements.
Fuck. Fuck! Why did he come here? Closure? He found none- Nothing.
There was nothing.
#what happened here idk#cringe honestly but I had fun#Not re reading or editing so good luck#[Mumlow]#[ghostlow]
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I’m now finished four chapters of former heroes who quit too late (aka the third and final part of the ‘(almost) everybody has powers’ AU)! Have a tiny sample to celebrate my finally making it to chapter five!
...
Joyce isn’t sure what woke her. What got her up, in the middle of the night, to wander into the hall in nothing but her robe. But whatever it was that woke her, it’s a good thing it did.
Because the house is on fire.
The walls are engulfed in columns of flame. The edges of the ceiling are outlined in searching orange tongues, licking up and over her head. The hall is dark with choking smoke. The window at the end of the hall explodes, as Joyce watches, warped in a heat she knows must be immense but somehow can’t quite feel. The fire lets out a dull roar as it consumes – everything.
The panic, when it comes, is as sharp as Joyce’s movements are sluggish. The hall seems a million miles long, her legs heavy as lead, the boys’ bedroom doors always a few feet ahead of her no matter how she tries to run. She knows, with a hazy, terrified certainty, that Will and Jonathan are both sleeping soundly, unaware of the flames. That El’s tucked into her bunk in Will’s room and just as dead asleep. But Joyce can’t seem to get to them to warn them, to get them out – and every scream stays stuck, silent, in her throat –
“Joyce?”
The voice that says her name is so familiar, the relief that the sound sends flooding through her almost overwhelming. But the dread comes creeping back in when she spins and sees Hopper leaning against the burning frame of her bedroom door, like he hasn’t even noticed the flames. “What’s going on?”
Joyce stares.
“Fire,” she manages, at last. Her screams are still strangling themselves out in her throat.
Hopper looks around, like he’s just now realising they’re in a burning building. He doesn’t seem to feel any of the panic clawing at Joyce’s ribs, any more than he seems to feel the sparks catching in his chest hair. Doesn’t seem concerned at all. “Yeah, it’s on fire. You coming back to bed?”
He takes in the look Joyce is giving him and immediately gets defensive. “I don’t know why you’re making a big deal out of this. Look at yourself.”
Joyce frowns at him, confused. Hopper just nods, wordlessly, towards her.
Joyce looks down.
Her robe is gone – maybe burnt away, maybe just gone – leaving her naked as the day she was born. And every inch of her is wreathed in blazing, blackening fire. The arms she raises in front of her horrified eyes are twisted and withering to ash as she watches, as the greedy flames leap higher and higher, devouring her alive –
Joyce wakes up with a choked-off shriek, sitting bolt upright in bed.
She can smell smoke. It takes her a second to realise it’s not lingering from her nightmare, or bleeding from the walls. It’s coming from the handful of blankets she’s gripping tight in both fists.
Joyce drops the blankets with a gasp, but the damage is already done. Two irregularly charred circles stand out against the faded colour of the bedspread, still smoking slightly. Joyce bites her lip and stares down at them with her hands raised, too scared to move, to touch anything, in case she makes it worse. She can’t put a word to how she feels. She just knows she doesn’t like it.
Beside her, Bob stirs, rolling over to look up at her. “Joyce? Are you all right?”
He takes one look at Joyce’s face, and sits up, too, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his chest. She wants to relax into the warmth of him, but she can’t seem to untense, even as he rubs soothing circles into her back. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”
He pauses for a second before he asks, “Another nightmare?”
Joyce nods into his shoulder, shutting her eyes.
#this is mary's fic tag#stranger things#this is a victory i was stuck in chapter four for AGES#i wrote about thirty thousand words of vampire au fic just to get unstuck#anyway i have fourteen chapters planned for this fic#we'll see if I can stick to that#the hawkins indiana psychic baby boom#former heroes who quit too late
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But Lea, they're dogs, how does a dog fulfill Flight?
I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED!!!
(I was about to toss it into my own inbox and joke about having to send myself asks about my oupies no one likes lmao)
SO-
You definitely already know this, but as a refresher to everyone else: Team Cerberus is a set of three biological siblings. Brutus the Bulldog is the oldest (he would be 18 if he were in the games), Dinah the Spaniel is the middle child (she would be 16 in game), and we have the baby, who might be the crowd favorite, Carlisle the Terrier (who would be 12 in game).
Carlisle is not an archaeologist like his siblings, but he does use his skills to assist them. He is an inventor, but his older siblings might call him a "mad scientist" depending on how the day's going. He'd describe himself as being a Lucius Fox or a Tony Stark (because he's cringe lmao), if those names mean anything to you. He likes to build gadgets, gizmos, weapons, any sort of electronic contraption. Everything can use more lasers and flamethrowers (including people, he wants to strap lasers to Sonic!), and everything he builds comes with a chance of sudden fiery explosion.
Also recall this portion of the doodle @infififi did of my oupies?
Sometimes Carlisle just builds stuff and he has NO clue what it does. He just grabbed random bits and bobs floating around his "lair" (he turned the basement of his siblings' childhood home into his "secret lair" that everyone knows about and knows where it is lmao) and just starts welding. When he's done he'll switch it on right there and then to see what happens, safety precautions be damned. And now we loop back to my comment about sudden fiery explosion, lmao. It's a wonder this kid's still alive, but honestly the same could be said for all of Team Cerberus.
"What does this have to do with Flight types in Sonic Heroes?" You now might be wondering. I needed to make sure we all understood what an absolute health and safety hazard Carlisle's inventing is before we move on. (And that's JUST the inventing specific health and safety hazards, we haven't even discussed the state of his coveralls OR the infamous Piss Hole in the floor of the lair)
Carlisle the Terrier is Team Cerberus's Flight type, and he accomplishes this with a jetpack he built out of random garbage floating around his lair one afternoon when he was bored.
And his siblings, because "personal health and safety be damned" sadly runs in this family, took one look at this haphazardly slapped together jetpack that is DEFINITELY going to overheat and explode at some point, and went "Yeah we'll dangle from your ankles down by the rocket exhausts as you fly around with that thing!"
So now we all know far too much about Carlisle and how the hell he is a Flight type character. 😈
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“EVERYTHING HE TAUGHT YOU... you’ll be better off if you let your mind start to forget it.” her voice was light, cautious, but somehow still direct. strong, commanding. the same tone she had always used when training cat back those years ago. alone in a room or a clearing, sweat beading them both, BRUISES blooming across pale exposures of flesh, gazes sharp and challenging. sweetie back then had been a woman of few words, so she corrected the younger’s movements with firm grasps or repeated demonstrations. these days, in this place... she spoke more. and it seemed she s t i l l had advice to give in a world outside the ring.
the brunette tilted her attention up. sweetie was on the smaller size, but she was still taller than the teenager. cat grimaced, clenching her teeth, inhaling, then releasing. allowing her mind to ponder the words, mull them over, turning in her brain like an object to inspect... and feeling repulsed. “...why? shitty as it all was, it’s kept me alive.”
“you’re alive, but you’re miserable and angry and on the verge of exploding any day now.”
a statement that cut with the sheer truth of it. cat flinched, pulling away and folding her arms. closing off, trying to restore the barrier around her that had crumbled to a shattered mess at her feet. hackett had broken a c o u p l e things that not too long ago night. hues of green scanned the carpeted floor below. this place was strange... a house. a home? sort of. not her home. she felt like a chewed up piece of gum spat on the middle of a marble floor. out of place, hideous, unwanted. sweetie didn’t force her into anything, but that only made cat feel less apart of it.
elder woman maneuvered around her, slow and calm, stepping back into line of sight. “you’re allowed to hurt. to be scared and angry. you’re allowed to feel things. the world isn’t going to condemn you in the way you think.”
“it already did! what do you call running int’that FUCKER. i let my guard down, i stopped being on top of it and in control of things like copper said... it’s how i got arrested, it’s how vinnie... it’s how that man... it’s why i’m here, practically begging you for help because i don’t know what t’do anymore!” words spilled faster than she could comprehend. too much too much- she was still so vulnerable, and it was going to land her in misery again. had to get it together, had to. despite the fact throat felt raw, eyes stung. she swallowed and breathed, but dry sobs slipped. her entire body burned.
“if i just... go back t’what i learned, i’ll be fine. i can’t keep being weak. look at me.”
“you look like a teenager who went through hell.”
arms thrust down by cat’s side, a foot stomped below her, frustration energized. “and it’ll get worse if i don’t get myself back together! i CAN’T do this. i can’t be here, i can’t be anywhere, i have one skill and one use and one bit of value. being a thief... being a criminal. it’s all he made me t’be.” scratchy, shallow, chest heaving faster and faster. anxiety, fury, fingernails dug into the skin of her palms. dug, dug, dug. stinging, feeling, focusing. concentrating. another inhale. then it all came to a pause. bottled up, a volcano, her eruption now trapped behind closed lips pressing together. keep it together like you were taught. maybe she could survive.
“you’re a girl. with hopes and dreams and feelings and needs. you’re just scared of the possibility... of being outside what you know. it’s easier to sit back and let that feel like all it can be. because if you’re alone and angry and doing b a d things... then you can’t be hurt. because then you think you deserve anything negative. i know, cat. i felt that way before. it took a lot time before i found that i could have...” sweetie’s calm expression would look all around, taking in the room, the building, the freedom... “more. and you can, too. it’ll be scary and hard, but if you don’t try-”
“i don’t... want... to try. even if... something good happens... it will never last. not for me.”
attention returned to the younger. sweetie finally dared to reach out, but cat twisted away from her, as though the touch would be acid against her scared and ragged skin. she shrunk. a child, she was only a child. sweetie’s hands paused, hovering in the air just before her old mentee. “this place can last... if you want to stay. i’ll take care of you. like i used to but... healthier.”
cat dodged around her, hurried steps carrying her to the entryway. no intention to fully leave just yet, but she needed to split from the presence of her companion. sweetie’s words were true but terrifying, and cat r e c o i l e d in a fear she had already admitted. wouldn’t speak to anymore. instead. crumbling tone, shaky limbs. “it won’t last. it can’t last.”
quick pace a flurry; she left.
sweetie once more examined the empty room, a reflection of the barren spot she knew was left in cat’s chest.
#&&. drabble ( scratches leave scars )#from her time with sweetie in the house...#hoping this gets my writing zone going#uhh.... let me know if i need to tag anything ???#long post //
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Secrets and Sacrifices
Buck/Eddie
Rating: Mature
Word count: 6807
Read on A03
An incident on a routine call has Eddie making some decisions about his and Buck's relationship. The same incident triggers a much-needed conversation between Buck and Chimney.
++++++++
He isn’t aware of his surroundings.
Not because he’s distracted; he can’t be distracted when people’s lives are in his hands. He learnt that pretty quickly when he was patching up wounds in the middle of the desert, gunfire whizzing past his ear and surface-to-air missiles exploding a little too close to comfort.
Then and now, his job is to stay focused on the matter at hand. Keep the person on the ground alive. He has to make sure his patient’s blood pressure doesn’t drop before another ambulance arrives. It’s a few minutes away, he’s told via radio, and he reassures his unconscious patient that help is coming.
He has to be focused. Their life is completely in his hands.
He can’t see what’s about to happen thirty feet behind him.
Buck and Chimney have been tasked with reopening the far right lane. The other lanes are still filled with the wreckage from the five-car pile-up and what feels like every emergency vehicle in a ten-mile radius.
It’s late enough in the day for the sun to have set, but the closed road has led to a steady build-up of traffic all evening. By now, the traffic had to be backed up for a few miles at least, and Eddie would much rather kneel on the road, his knees digging into the sharp gravel, than be stuck in that jam.
Clearing the lane and getting traffic going again is a fairly easy job. You make sure there’s no wreckage left on the road that could cause another accident, brush away any large shards of glass, throw sand down on any oil spillages, and put down cones to keep the cars going down the one lane.
They’ve all done it a thousand times.
His back is turned; he doesn’t see what’s happening…not until he hears Hen scream Chimney’s name and the high-pitched screech of tires skidding on tarmac.
Eddie looks round just as Buck’s body slams into the bonnet of a car with a sickening thud.
KEEP READING
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What We Must do to Face Danger
People in his town laughed at him. They threw rocks at him. He felt their anger towards him and his family searing his memories. While he can’t remember their faces, he can surely remember their hatred and hostility. The boy rose from his knees, wiping blood from his face, and stood proudly declaring: “I’ll be back when you least expect it. And hell? Hell’s coming with me! You’ll regret shaming me!”
“Blasted boy! You know nothing of what happened, what you did. You ain’t welcome here no more, boy! Get the hell outta my town!” The head leader of the village yelled.
The little boy walked out of the village, holding his arms, and his head held high. He could feel the sneering faces on his back. The villagers continued to throw things at the boy; rocks, rotten fruits and vegetables, stinking poop and still warm pee was thrown on him. His wounds were bound to get infected, but that was a problem for the future, boy.
By the time the boy had found a place that was safe enough, he was dehydrated and yearning for the taste and smell of anything else other than pee and rotting fruits. The stench of himself made him physically retch. Soon the boy collapsed on the cold, hard ground from exhaustion and the multiple cuts on his body had gotten infected because he hadn’t taken care of them. They were bleeding and puss spewed out of them. He was in horrendous shape. No one would ever look at him with love in their eyes, nor anything but disgust. But soon he found that was different for some. The perfect mother and father took him and looked after. Every thing was perfect again. He had found peace, and he would not let the voices of his tormentors keep him from living a happy life.
He ended up going to the town at the bottom of the valley. It was summer, and the sun scorched his already beaten up skin. He didn’t feel it anymore. The pain was just a minor sting at this point. His tears of sorrow dried as the day he escaped this place. He just wanted to get this done and over with. Burn the town to the ground to escape the voices. That was all he wanted. He was grown up. He knew what needed to happen and how to make it a reality.
So he went into the village as the twilight hours had just happen upon the valley. Everything was quiet. There were a few bird calls here and there. And the village’s black magic “Priestess” was out and enjoying a keg of ale. It was beyond expire, but she sat there happily drinking away, getting drunk off of the alcohol and sorrows of the people she snatched lives from. The boy, now a man, was boiling with rage at this sight. He grabbed a hold of his gun and pulled it out of the holster. He loaded the gun, he could barely hear the click of the gun getting ready to be pulled, the ringing in his ears made it impossible to think clearly. He could only feel rage and the urge to pull the trigger and watch her head explode. But he couldn’t. He lowered the gun away from her head and unloaded it. And he returned it to its polished holster. He would kill her a bit later. Now was the time to set fire to the village. He would deal with the stragglers and people still alive.
After he has poured gasoline on every house in that valley town, he ran through and threw several lighters on each puddle. The lighters made a splish sound every time they fell into the puddles of gasoline. Then the fire caught onto the buildings. Every single person in that village was going to be burnt alive tonight. They were going to suffer as he had for many years. They were going to feel his pain.
He went to where the priestess was sitting still to get drunk and being happy. He walked right behind her and grabbed the back of her neck and dragged her to the tree in the middle of the town. There was a rope already ready to hang the so-called priestess on the tree. She was screaming and kicking and punching the air in meaningless protest that wouldn’t help with her escape. When they finally get to the tree, everything was burning. The village was long gone. The people were dead by the time the fire reached the front of the house. The man looked at the lady, who had collapsed and was crying.
“Well, priestess,” the man said with venom. “This is the end for you. I’ll tell the Devil to keep your soul longer than anyone else's.” The woman just cried in return.
He pulled her up and made her stand on a stump of a much smaller tree and tugged the noose ‘round her neck. The stump she was balancing on was quite loose and unstable. All it would take for the noose to tighten was a slight kick, and she would be dead.
“Goodbye Magdalina, let you die a painful death.” The man said as he kicked the stump. and all she saw was black.
The man watched the town burn to ashes and then left. He never returned, and he got his revenge.
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