#Ship: Bulletproof

[sylaurin]

Kabniel [She/They]

A'vyra [He/She/They] (@cindernet-exploded)

[sylaurin]

Yessss! A spectacular view~

Bike Maintenance

[ft. @sylaurin's Kabniel] [He/She/They for A'vyra]

Matching PFPs for you and the bestie:

[midnightshindig]

Hellooo, love ya fanfics, is really impressive how fast you write them and still make such a lovely and well written work. I know it's a weird request but can you write Bulletproof x Rex Splode (kinda of a crackpair I konew.) or Rex Splode x Shrinking Rae. No need for smut but I would really like it. <3

Rex Splode X Bulletproof hcs

this might be a little short but that's solely because there's like fuck all on Bulletproof as a character rn

Thank you for the ask I absolutely loved writing it!

Hcs below the cut!

These two bond by bickering

"You did that pushup wrong, your forms all fucked up."

Rex, deeply insulted "uh- Dude. I know how to do a fucking pushup!"

then Zandale has to show him the right way to do a pushup

Rex is the first person Bulletproof shares his "secret" identity with

"My real name is Zandale, and yours?"

"....Rex? Duh?"

"Oh my god you're serious."

It's a long LONG road to them actually getting together, mostly through numerous battles fought alongside each other, where Rex learns to accept when he's wrong and Zandale learns to be more forgiving with him, and to treat Rex like the capable superhero he is

Them getting together is a shockingly blase affair

At the gym together (as they often are) and Zandale is spotting Rex, whose trying to beat his personal record

"So, you wanna go out some time?"

"What?"

"Boy don't make me drop this weight on your ass. Do you want to go out sometime or not?"

"Wha-" he stops himself, before nodding "Yeah! Fuck- get this thing off of me-!" he successfully lifts it up, placing the barbell back onto its hold

(if anyone corrects me about weightlifting ill die.)

Rex sits up on the bench and smiles at Bulletproof

He's got this cheeky son of a bitch grin

"I knew you liked me"

"Shut up."

"You liiiiike meeeeeee"

"Man I said shut up!"

they continue to bicker before agreeing to get breakfast the next morning

"Is that black coffee?" Rex asks with an inquisitive, teasing tone

"Is that fucking ice cream?" Zandale responds, equally teasing

Rex smiles smugly, taking a long sip from the mug "It's affogato, jackass. It's good. wanna try?"

and so he does, getting ice cream all over his upper lip

"Ah-" Rex blurts out "you've got a little-" He reaches over and swipes the cream from Zandale's upper lip

ooooo the romantic tension is palpable

Silence passes between them, this being new territory for the both of them

The rest of the date goes well, with them getting into a friendly argument about Black Samson's name

"he can't be Black Samson without the hair, the hair was Samson's whole thing. I don't know why Markus does it" Bulletproof sipped his black coffee

Rex paused "wait wait wait his name isn't actually Samson?"

"No bitch- his name is not actually Samson- what the hell?"

Sometimes it amazes Zandale how stupid Rex can be

"So why is his name Samson?"

Hoh boy

They go on all types of dates after that, it's like the most normal part of either of their lives

The Immortal would be pissed if not for both their increased productivity

Hoes be at the gym what can I say?

Neither of them is any good at emotional intimacy or vulnerability, but they're teaching each other slowly over time

They're learning lol <3

The immortal has to cope with latent leftover homophobia and it's a little funny for everyone involved bc he's just such a grandpa douchebag

[ya-killin-me-smalls]

Sanmos divorce arc

one of many of the bad endings that I'd considered for Defective but ultimately didn't make the final cut

under the break :)

“Can I talk to you?” He’d tried to sound as assertive as he could, but his voice felt flat and sounded small. It was enough to stop Sanford on his way out the door, Deimos’s stomach twisting in knots. Silence stretched between them, Deimos staring at his partner’s back and wringing his hands anxiously.

Sanford sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Make it quick,” he said as he turned to face him, leaning against the doorway.

Deimos had to swallow the lump that formed in his throat now that he could see Sanford’s face. He looked tired. Irritated. Angry. He was mad at him and he wasn’t trying to hide it. “It’s uh- It’s about the uh- the other day-“ he fumbled, feeling like he was physically shrinking under Sanford’s gaze. “I just- I wish you’d stop avoiding me.“

“Yeah, and I wish I had a partner that planned on sticking around. We’ve been over this, Deimos. I want space.” Sanford turned to leave once again, Deimos rushing forwards to stop him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Would you quit being such an asshole and fucking listen to me?” he hissed. “You can go be mad at the desert in a minute, but there’s something I need to say to you.”

Sanford shoved his hand away. “Fucking what, Deimos? There isn’t a lot to talk about. You made yourself clear and so did I, so unless you’ve magically changed your mind, I don’t wanna hear it.”

That did it. Deimos’s eyes stung as he took a step back. “You know what? Forget it. I’m done.”

“Deimos-“

“No! You don’t get to do this to me!” He yelled, backing up further when Sanford reached out towards him. “You don’t get to up and fucking ditch me when I need you just because you’re mad! I had days to live and you left me there on my goddamn deathbed for hours because I was scared and you left me.” His voice broke, the tears starting to fall. “And fucking- Now I find out that I’ve got thirty years and knowing Doc’s estimates it’s a quarter of that and what do you do? You tell me you need space and disappear for several days. You go and beat the shit out of everything you come across because you can’t put your hands on me.”

“Deimos, it’s not like that and you know it-“

“Then what is it?!” He yelled it loud enough to make Sanford flinch, running his hands through his hair and gripping at the strands. “Do you even fucking care about me? Do you?! Because it feels like you’re just mad that you won’t have somewhere to stick your dick in a few years.”

“Shut your mouth,” Sanford snarled, fists clenching at his sides. “What makes you think- Do you really-“ He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, his voice low and dangerous. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

He wanted to scream. Deimos’s breath hitched on a bit-back sob and he had to spend several seconds steadying his voice before speaking again. “I spent four goddamn months dying alone because I knew this is what would happen if I didn’t keep you out of the loop. I’m saying that I’m tired of you walking out on me when I need you. I’m saying that you don’t respect the fact that I don’t wanna live through eight million transplants. I’m saying that you don’t care about how this shit makes me feel. I’m saying that you don’t fucking love me and I’m tired of you pretending that you do.”

Sanford stared him down, silent, and Deimos had never felt more ashamed of himself, shivering with adrenaline and hiccupping pathetically. It took everything in him to not fall to his knees and cry like the baby that he was, unable to meet his partner’s gaze. He was mad. There was no way he wasn’t after that. The silence was killing him but he dreaded hearing his voice again.

It felt like forever and a half before footsteps started to slowly approach and instinct had Deimos shrinking back automatically.

“Deimos…” Sanford said, his voice quiet and gentle, a stark contrast to just a few minutes ago. He reached out, hesitating only a moment, and cupped Deimos’s cheek.

Deimos closed his eyes, trying his hardest to stop crying as Sanford’s thumb brushed over his skin, sinking into the warm hand. “I can’t keep- keep doing this with you-“ he managed, a second hand resting on the other side of his face. “I don’t want this- I swear I- I don’t. But I’d rather die alo- alone than do this.” He took a second to just breathe, gripping Sanford’s wrists before reluctantly pulling away from his touch. “I might not make it another year, San, and you’re either with me in this or you’re not, but I want a fucking answer. Do you love me?”

Sanford tilted his head back and sighed out through his nose, hands falling to his sides.

Hesitating.

“I guess not.”

And with that, Sanford left.

Deimos felt stupid for ever hoping otherwise.

[flibbertygigget]

McCoy-Centric Fic Rec List

Long as hell and split into slightly nonsensical sections because I have too many bookmarks :/

Episode/Movie-Centric Codas/AUs

Lots of "Mirror, Mirror"/"The Empath"/Post-TSFS stuff in here for Obvious Reasons.

Fal-Tor-Pan or: How to Accidentally Get Married on Vulcan by mymetalphantom - 5.7k, Spones. Lighter than the usual Post-Fal-tor-pan fic, very silly premise and excellent execution.

Oh, sinners, let's go down by raven (singlecrow) - 4.7k, Gen. The best Post-Fal-tor-pan angst I've ever read, bar none. Angst with a bittersweet, ambiguously hopeful ending.

Seven Times by SwissArmyKnife - 2k, Gen. Seven times McCoy got telepathically violated and it's all canon 😭

For This Space Would Be Hollow If You Were Gone by releni - 4k, Pre-Slash Spones. FTWIH has SUCH great angst potential, and this fic takes full advantage of that.

The Cause is Sufficient by Cirth - 2.5k, Spones. They're talking about the whole katra deal! They're talking about the whole martyr complex! They're kissing!

bad luck and broken soul by Rev (apathetic_revenant) - 12k, Gen. There are SO MANY Post-"Mirror, Mirror" fics, but this one is hands down one of my favorites.

Memories Are Made of This by GenuineSnoof - 6.5k, Gen. Another post-"Mirror, Mirror" fic, I really like how creative the reveal part is in this one.

Evasive Action by kcscribbler - 2k, Gen. "Space Seed" episode coda with some wonderful hurt-and-kinda-grumpy-about-it McCoy.

Incubation by SwissArmyKnife - 9k, Gen. Post-"The City on the Edge of Forever", featuring McCoy working through illness and really going through it and Spock being worried and protective.

something bright, traveling fast by inkatesbush - 7.5k, Spones. Mostly a Spock character study post-Fal-tor-pan, but when McCoy gets there his parts are really, really good.

Plotty/Case Fic (mostly McCoy Getting Hurt And Being Awesome)

I won't say these genuinely resemble actual ST episode plots but they're plot-centric ig.

40 Miles From The Sun by slash4femme - 10k, Spones. Didn't know whether to put this here or in the shipfic section, but it's mostly the BEST rape recovery fic in the fandom and only very slowly Spones. Excellent fic.

The Dogs Days Are Most Certainly NOT Over by ThatSassyCaptain - 35k, Gen. Pure episode-style casefic and a great one. Get adopted, idiot 😆

Rate of Exchange by scioscribe - 9k, Gen. Bulletproof premise of "get captured by Mysterious Bad Guys, get forced to hurt each other, get out and have Feelings about it". Perfect.

all in by milostollbooth - 13.5k, Spones. Spock gets to be in charge of the Enterprise and things Get Complicated. Like 50% casefic and 50% developing Spones.

A Hippocratic Proof by stillwaters01 - 5k, Gen. Less plotty, more of a friendship fic. McCoy doubts his abilities and Spock goes about reassuring him in the most logical way possible 🥰

it ends or it doesn't by Muir_Wolf - 28.5k, McSpirk. Bones being a martyr! Time loop shenanigans! The complicated process of getting together when you're also under an insane amount of pressure! I love them your honor.

Mudd in Your Eye by Avirra - 61k, Gen. Ok, it's an alternate take on "Space Seed", but it does its own thing so effectively that i'm putting it under plotty fic. Really big fan of how competent Bones is and his relationships with the various OCs in this one.

Shipping-Centric (mostly Spones)

Some McSpirk as well ig. There's some overlap with the previous two categories, but these are more shipping than plot.

Surgeon's Mate by belmanoir - 4.5k, Spones. It's the most-kudos'd Spones fic for a reason, and that reason is an EXCELLENT Spock POV with impeccable characterization.

Holocene by greenbloodedcomputer - 4.5k, Spones. Old Married Spones on Vulcan dealing with the in-laws :)

Traditions of Intimacy by swimmingwolf59 - 8.5k, Spones. Spock and McCoy sharing meals and slowly getting closer to each other. Just fantastic.

First Impressions by swimmingwolf59 - 16.5k, Spones. Y'all KNOW I love Sarek and McCoy being awkward buddies, and this fic has an emphasis on the AWKWARD. Love it!

Two Thirds of a Whole by sleepymccoy - 18.5k, Spones. Alternate universe Spock is such a sweetie and Prime Universe Spock is UNHINGED near the end, this whole premise is excellent and the Spones is immaculate.

Courtship Rituals by fangirlandiknowit - 30k, McSpirk. I love love love fake relationship shenanigans that become way too real partway through.

wish i was a better liar by Muir_Wolf - 17.5k, McSpirk with an emphasis on the McKirk. Uhhh, "The Enemy Within" dubcon threesome. Also Spock's there and being protective. Also it's HOT.

Symbiosis by weekend_conspiracy_theorist - 6.5k, Spones. Diplomatic function fake relationship! That very, very quickly becomes less fake lol, Spock's kind of a mess emotionally in this one.

i've seen time tell tales by Rusoe - 1.5k, Spones. Old Married Spones my beloved. Domestic fluff with a hint of angst.

Off-Beat/Stuff I Can't Fit Anywhere Else

For all your confused-by-how-the-author-got-there fanfic needs.

Bones - A Biography by Spock Grayson by AlyssiaInWonderland - 4k, McKirk and Spones. Early First Contact AU where Vulcan first interacts with Earth during WWI. The premise is excellent and the whole vibe of it is heartbreaking, I honestly wish this were longer because I want to live in this universe for like 100k words.

Nothing Unreal Exists by eigenvectrix - 16k, Gen. EXCELLENT fic. Transfem Spock, lots of examination of Vulcan culture, McCoy being both competent as a doctor and generally trying his best during difficult conversations as a friend. 10/10, it made me give up on the trans Spock fic I was kicking around in my head because tbh I could never live up to this.

AOS

I don't even like the characterization in the AOS movies, but these fics are great :)

Lessons by madwriter223 - 1.5k, Spones. Honestly, I always forget this is an AOS fic. Love Spock being so methodical in his romantic intentions/techniques.

Honorable Enemies by Zauzat - 24k, Spones. McCoy being sad, war being hell, Spock being surprisingly emotionally astute in his own way. Gets plotty in the last third. What more do you need from a fic?

Now the Sons Look For Their Fathers/ But Their Fathers Are All Gone by Straight_Outta_Hobbiton - 30.5k, Gen. McCoy taking care of Vulcan kids post-Star Trek (2009). Has great versions of Sybok and T'Pring for the Kelvinverse.

Fortunate Son by mardia - 50.7k, McKirk. I'm usually not a fan of putting anyone except Kirk on Tarsus, but it sometimes works with AOS since we don't get anything on that whatsoever. This is easily the best "McCoy on Tarsus" fic out there!

The Tribunal of Lieutenant Commander Leonard H. McCoy, MD PhD by stealthestars - 3.5k, slight McSpirk. I love fics where everyone's being all official while internally freaking out ♥️

This Must Be The Place by therev - 38k, Spones. A really sweet, existential look at the absolute mindfuck of finding out just what alternate universe you was getting up to and slowly realizing you want something somewhat like that as well.

Shameless Self-Recs

Just a couple of my fics that I'm personally very fond of. Because I'm shameless lmao.

some people crash to earth three times (and then learn from their mistakes) - 8k, Gen. Dropping TOS characters into a shortly post-First Contact scenario for shits and giggles. I loved writing street medic McCoy and his teenage bullshit.

the wind counts lost goodbyes - 2.8k, Gen. Look, give me an opportunity to write some Vulcan culture and angst and I'm bound to go all in. MCD warning.

sing for the damage we've done (and the worse things that we'll do) (2k, Gen) and i speak in smoke signals (and you answer in code) (6k, Gen) - Uhhh, the inherent limitations of the Prime Directive, Federation politics, McCoy being ride or die for his patients, Spock being ride or die for his friends.

strike another match (let's start anew) (3k, Spones) and hearing a voice i'd known (a couple of lightyears ago) (4.7k, Gen) - These are both post-Fal-tor-pan AUs where it, like, Goes Wrong in different ways. I love doing a little fal-tor-pan AU, mostly because I don't think it was given nearly enough focus in canon.

[ginnsbaker]

Bulletproof

Summary: You're the only Avenger who sleeps in a cell. | Series Masterlist

Word count: 2.9k+ | Tags: Mild Angst, Fluff, Sharing A Bed, Enemies to Lovers

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Requested by anon:

could i maybe request wanda x r where the whole team kinda mistreats them and wanda is especially bad. & r saving wanda on a mission, with this: wanda: “How'd you know you were bulletproof?" r: "I didn't. I just knew that you weren't."

Author's note: Thank you to the anon who requested this :) Not sure if this is exactly how you wanted it, but I had fun writing the battle (my first time!) Hope you don't mind I took some liberties ;) Takes place before Civil War.

--

“You don’t have to be so mean to them,” Natasha tells her. 

Wanda's eyes narrow as she continues to fixate on you, her glare seemingly willing the daggers to find their mark. You can sense the energy of her powers tingling in the air, but she maintains control, stopping the daggers just short of their target.

“They need to know what they’re up against,” Wanda retorts, her accent slipping through in a rare moment. “If they’re going to be one of us, they have to prove themselves.”

Natasha moves to stand between you and Wanda, her body language calm but assertive. “They will, in time. But not like this.”

You can feel your heart pounding, but you refuse to let Wanda see any fear in your eyes. Your choice to leave your former life and join this team wasn't made lightly, and you won't be intimidated.

“I'm right here,” you say, stepping forward. “And I'm not going anywhere. If you want to test me, do it properly.”

Wanda smirks, and the daggers drop to the floor, clattering loudly in the silence. “Impressive,” she says, almost as an afterthought.

Steve Rogers, observing from the sidelines, steps in to defuse the situation. His authoritative presence commands respect, and his voice is steady and even. “That's enough for today. We're a team, and we need to start acting like one.”

He looks at you, his eyes filled with understanding but also a hint of caution. “However,” he continues, his tone shifting, “You'll still be sleeping in the cells.”

Your heart plummets, each word from Steve feeling like a blade to your chest. Being sent back to that room, devoid of windows, with only a tiny bed and a comforter too thin to ward off the chill, feels like a betrayal every time. You've spent nights there, shivering and reflecting on your decision to join this team, yet still, you find yourself confined.

“After several months of captivity, even cooking your dinner, you still don't trust me?” you ask, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice.

Steve's expression softens, but his resolve remains firm. “It's not about trust,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a weight of experience and pain. “We've been crossed so many times before, mostly by former HYDRA agents.”

Like you, he doesn’t need to say.

You understand the logic, but it doesn't make the reality any easier to swallow. The sense of being an outsider, the cold isolation of the cells—it wears on you.

Wanda, who had been silent up to this point, suddenly speaks up. “Maybe you should just leave then. If it's so unbearable, why stay?”

The room goes quiet. 

A thousand retorts spring to your mind, but you swallow them down, unwilling to escalate the situation further. The temptation to throw back that it's rich coming from her, considering she's also a former footsoldier of HYDRA, is strong, but you bite your tongue. 

You look at her, stunned by the bluntness of her suggestion, but also recognizing the challenge in her eyes. 

Her words strike deeper than she may realize. Leaving isn't an option you've entertained, mainly because there's nowhere for you to go. No one left in your life to turn to. This makeshift “family” despite their reservation and distance, is all you have.

-

The days that follow are marked by a subtle but relentless isolation. 

In the training room, Wanda's partnership becomes more aggressive than usual. Her powers lash out without warning, her critiques sharp and cutting. You hold your own, but the lack of camaraderie is palpable. Each comment she makes stings, and with every barb, you feel more and more alone.

At meal times, the rest of the Avengers seem to be in their own world, deep in conversation, sharing stories, laughing. You sit at the end of the table, your presence barely acknowledged, a shadow among them. Your attempts to join in are met with curt replies or indifference. You try to brush it off, believing that you should be used to rejection by now. But no matter how much you tell yourself that you're accustomed to it, that you've developed a thick skin, the pain is still there, raw and fresh.

Mission briefings are no better. Your opinions and insights are consistently overlooked. You contribute where you can, but your ideas are dismissed without consideration. You are a tool, a means to an end, not a part of the team. The realization gnaws at you, festering in the pit of your stomach.

Casual encounters with the team become equally disheartening. Tony passes you in the hallway without so much as a glance. Natasha avoids eye contact. Bruce mumbles something noncommittal when you try to engage him in conversation. Steve's assignments are devoid of the warmth or encouragement he shows to everyone else.

Your cell becomes a constant reminder of your status, metaphor for how the entire team treats you. 

You’re both just a weapon and a first-aid kit at their disposal.

Wanda is relentless, her words sharp and her gaze cold. You have no idea why she treats you worse than any of them, why her manner towards you has turned so hostile. You don't understand why you get under her skin without even trying, why she seems to target you with a venom that feels deeply personal.

You were expecting that Wanda would be the one to understand what it feels like to be an outsider, given that you both share a common history as former HYDRA agents. 

As the days turn into weeks, the isolation wears you down. The walls of your cell seem to close in, and a growing determination to prove yourself begins to take hold. 

You'll show them all that you're more than just a disposable weapon.

But underlying that determination is a gnawing doubt, a fear that no matter what you do, it will never be enough to earn their respect, their trust, or their friendship. It's a lonely road, and for the first time, you begin to wonder if Wanda's earlier suggestion might hold some truth.

Perhaps it would be easier to leave.

-

It’s not like you know the extent of your abilities, but they bring you along the most dangerous missions for one thing:

Your healing ability.

On top of your martial arts training, you provide a sense of security to your teammates, knowing that you'll be there to heal them if they get hurt.

Now, you find yourself on one such mission, infiltrating a den of underground supers. These aren't ordinary criminals; they're mercenaries hired to carry out the dirty work of high-ranking government officials. It's a treacherous job, one filled with unknown risks, and you've been paired with Wanda for the operation.

As you and Wanda are attempting to escape, things take a turn for the worse. You find yourselves cornered in an alley, your escape route cut off by a group of armed thugs and a few individuals displaying unnerving superpowers.

Wanda takes on those with special abilities, her eyes glowing red as she unleashes her powers in a flurry of attacks. You, on the other hand, focus on the armed assailants, wielding two-handed pistols with expert precision. Bullets fly, and bodies fall as you both fight for your lives.

But in the midst of the chaos, you notice something that sends a chill down your spine. Snipers, perched on a nearby rooftop, taking aim at Wanda. Even with your healing abilities, you know that a precise shot to the head would be fatal.

“Wanda, get down!” you shout, but she's too engrossed in her battle to hear you. Your mind races, knowing that you have only seconds to act. 

Without a second thought, you turn and run towards Wanda, your body moving on pure instinct. Bullets whiz by your ear, but you keep going, your focus solely on reaching her before it's too late.

You leap into the air, positioning yourself between Wanda and the snipers just as they pull the trigger. 

You hear the distant release of the bullet, muted but deadly.

The world seems to slow down as you brace for the impact, only to feel the bullets bounce off your skin.

You land, unscathed, your mind reeling from the realization that you're bulletproof. But there's no time to dwell on it.

Wanda looks at you, her eyes wide with shock but also gratitude. “How did you–”

“No time!” you cut her off, urging her to keep fighting. “We have to get out of here!”

Wanda's eyes flare with a vivid scarlet as she zeroes in on the snipers in the vicinity. With a flourish of her hands, she uses her powers to locate each of their positions. A pulse of energy emanates from her fingertips, reaching out to the snipers' weapons, and within moments, the firearms disintegrate into dust, leaving the men defenseless.

Seeing an opening, you reach for Wanda's arm, your grip firm but not rough. There's no time to waste, and you start pulling her towards the exit, half running, half dragging her to safety. Her breath is warm on your neck, her body close to yours, as you weave through the maze of alleyways, your heart pounding in your chest.

Once you're at a safe distance, Wanda turns to you. “How'd you know you were bulletproof?”

“I didn't,” you admit, still in disbelief, and much to Wanda’s horror that you almost got yourself killed for her sake. “I just knew you weren't. And if those bullets got to you, I wouldn't be able to heal someone who's already dead.”

Wanda stares at you, her eyes searching your face as if she's trying to see something… deeper. Her lips part, like she wants to say something more, something that's just on the tip of her tongue but won't come out.

That's when you realize that you're still holding her arm, your bodies so close that you can feel her heartbeat. A flush of embarrassment washes over you as you become aware of the intimate proximity. Wanda clears her throat, a delicate, almost shy sound, and you immediately let go of her arm.

The silence that follows your sudden step back is heavy and awkward. You can't help but glance at the spot where your hand had been moments ago, still feeling the ghostly sensation of her arm beneath your fingers.

You look at Wanda, and she's looking back at you, her eyes wide and filled with something you can't quite name. 

And then, without warning, Wanda starts to laugh.

It's a soft, bubbling sound at first, almost as if she's surprised by it herself. Her laughter grows, becoming louder and more contagious, and you can't help but stare at her, your mouth agape, wondering if she's lost her mind.

“What's so funny?” you finally manage to ask.

Wanda wipes a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “I was just thinking,” she says, her nose scrunching, something you haven’t seen on her and you find it quite… adorable. “You're like a shield now. As effective as Steve's vibranium one, maybe even more so.”

The absurdity of the statement causes you to finally join in her laugh, and your heart seems to flutter at the sound of Wanda's glee.

“I don't know about that,” you say, trying to sound modest but unable to keep the smile off your face. “Steve's shield has a bit more style.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Wanda teases, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “There's something quite stylish about being bulletproof. And practical too.”

Was that a compliment?

You shake your head, still smiling, your previous awkwardness forgotten. You're not only pleased at the first light banter you've shared with a teammate but also smiling at something else, something that stirs deep inside you and that you're not quite ready to confront.

Your crush on Wanda Maximoff.

-

The toll of the day's event is weighing down on you and Wanda, but like every mission, you're required to report the details of the mission–successful or not. Your muscles are sore, your mind is weary, but the mission was a success, and you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

Arriving back at the Avengers compound, you follow Wanda into the debriefing room where Steve is waiting. Wanda explains what happened, how you discovered your newfound ability, and saved her life. Her voice is filled with respect and something more, something warmer, as she recounts your bravery.

Steve's face lights up with pride. “You both did well today. I'm proud of how you handled yourselves out there.”

You exchange a glance with Wanda, waiting for something more, perhaps some acknowledgment of your change in status within the team, or even an upgrade to your sleeping quarters. But instead, Steve simply nods, his face turning serious. “Dismissed.”

Wanda's face falls, and you feel a sharp pang of disappointment. You start to retreat towards your cell, the cold, windowless room that's been your home for months, but Wanda's voice stops you in your tracks.

“Wait a minute, Steve,” she protests. “After all that's happened, after all Y/N has done for us, don't you think it's time for a change? A real room, perhaps?”

Steve looks between you and Wanda. You hold your breath, hoping for a reprieve from the isolation you've been feeling.

Finally, Steve sighs, his face softening. “Wanda, if it were up to me, Y/N would have their own room already. But it's not that simple,” he explains, his voice strained. “I still need to place an official request with Tony. He's the one who approves these things.”

You can hear the frustration in Steve's voice, and you realize that he's fighting for you, in his own way.

“Fine,” Wanda says, crossing her arms. “But this needs to be done quickly, Steve. It's not right.”

“I agree. I'll talk to Tony first thing tomorrow.”

As you turn to leave and retreat back to your cell, Wanda's hand on your arm stops you, and you look back at her, surprised by the action.

“Come with me,” she says. Without another word, she leads you towards her quarters. 

Your heart quickens at her words, and you follow her, trying to process what's happening. 

Is she really inviting you to stay in her room?

Once inside her quarters, the reality of the situation sinks in, and a nervous tension takes hold. Her room is filled with personal touches–little trinkets, photographs, her clothes all over the place–that provide glimpses into a life you've only seen from a distance. You feel like an intruder, momentarily paralyzed as you take in the intimacy of her space.

Wanda seems to pick up on your hesitation, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. A smirk plays on her lips as she teases, “Don't look so terrified. I won't bite.”

You chuckle at her remark. “Well, that's a relief.”

Wanda's eyes sparkle with amusement, and she moves further into the room, gesturing for you to follow. “Make yourself at home,” she says. She then goes to the closet and begins to pull out a spare pillow and blanket. “You'll be staying here with me until we sort out a room for you,” she says.

“Thanks, Wanda,” you say softly.

Without further comment, you move to make your bed on the floor, your movements deliberate and slow as you try to give her space and respect her privacy.

“What are you doing?” Wanda asks, her eyes widening as she realizes your intention.

“I'm just getting ready to sleep,” you explain, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I'm quite tired.”

“No, what are you doing on the floor?” she clarifies, a hint of disbelief in her voice. “You're sharing the bed with me.”

“I wouldn't want to impose,” you say, though the offer is tempting.

“You're not imposing,” Wanda assures you, her eyes sincere. “You've earned a proper bed, and I trust you.”

The word 'trust' hits you like a wave, and you feel tears pricking at the back of your eyes. 

Blinking them back, your voice cracks a little as you reply, “Thank you, Wanda. That means more to me than you know.”

“Good night, Y/N,” Wanda whispers, turning on her side to face you.

“Good night, Wanda,” you say, just as softly.

You both settle on the bed, and with a flick of her wrist, Wanda uses her powers to switch off the light.

The softness of Wanda's bed is worlds away from the harsh, unforgiving mattress in your cell. You find yourself sinking into the plush comfort, every muscle in your body releasing the tension from the dangerous mission earlier. The scent of Wanda on the pillows only adds to the incomparable comfort they provide. The difference is staggering, and it contributes to you falling asleep much more quickly than you have in a long time.

In the middle of the night, you're stirred awake by the feeling of Wanda rolling closer to you. Her arm finds its way over your stomach, and her soft snores fill the room. Being ever alert, the small action wakes you, but as soon as you realize it's just Wanda, a smile forms on your face.

You lie there for a moment, taking in the warmth and the gentle pressure of her hand. A soft blush creeps up your cheeks as you place your hand over hers to keep it there.

You've become more than just teammates.

You've become friends.

And maybe, just maybe, something more.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 49

a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Minors DNI. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

49. consequences

“Throw your gun over,” Dante demands, poking you hard again. 

Is this thin jacket really bulletproof at point blank range? You’ve heard the stories but you find you’re reluctant to test it just yet, with a weapon of unknown caliber jabbing into your side, and you do as you’re told. 

“Be smart for once, Dante. If you kill me you’re really not getting out alive,” you warn him. “If I were you, I’d jump ship and swim.” 

He spits at this idea, grabbing you roughly while holding the gun to your side. “This is my boat, and I will be leaving on it.” 

There’s an explosion down below, and the yacht lurches in the water, making you both stumble. 

John. 

“Merda!” snarls Dante, but you don’t waste time gloating. You shift to grab his gun, deciding you have to take the chance. It goes off, and you feel as though you were hit in the ribs with a sledgehammer.

So that's what it feels like to get shot.

The utter shock of it paralyzes you for a crucial few seconds, stealing your breath away. Dante grabs you viciously by the arm, dragging you to the gunwale like he intends to throw you over while you struggle to regain control of your limbs. Your side is on fire, and you can't tell if the bullet went through the coat or not. Thinking you incapacitated, he’s not careful, and you finally muster yourself to grab his gun hand, slamming it into the metal railing. 

He lets go with a sharp curse, dropping it into the black water below. You throw an elbow, catching him in the face, and the two of you go after each other like wild dogs, punching and kicking and scratching and snarling. You hate to admit it because he seemed like such a useless pretty boy, but the mafia prince actually does know how to fight. He has no problem hitting a girl either; when he gets the chance he lets you have it, and you fall to the ground, half certain he’s cracked your orbital bone. 

“Fine,” he snarls, and you’re a little satisfied to see blood streaming from his once flawless cheek, courtesy of your diamond on your finger again. “I’ll kill you with my bare hands.” He lunges for you, knocking you onto your back as he straddles you, going for your throat. 

You struggle as he chokes you, kicking your legs to no avail. You cannot budge his hands, so you dig your fingers into the nerve-rich flesh under his arms, pinching and twisting as hard as you can. He screams, letting go of your throat to control your hands. You gasp for breath–and startle at a loud and close bang, his left shoulder erupting with a splatter of blood. 

The momentum of the bullet knocks him off of you, and instinctively you roll in the direction from where the shot came. John is standing there with the gun in his hand, for all the world resembling Death’s own dark emissary come to visit this now sinking boat in the Caribbean. You feel the yacht listing slowly, and know that explosion must have blown a hole below the waterline.

“Wait,” pleads Dante, holding up his bloodied hands. “We can make a deal!” 

John says nothing, regarding him coldly, completely unmoved by anything the young man says. He methodically aims and shoots off Dante’s finger, and more screams fill the night as the brat prince clutches his bloody appendage to his chest. 

“You sonofabitch! Why can’t you just die, old man!?”

In answer, John shoots him in the knee, and you watch this morbid spectacle while curled at your fiancé’s feet, relearning how to breathe. 

“What do you think, sweetheart? Should we let the sharks finish him?” 

Of course you knew your lover was an efficient killer, but you never knew deep down John could have a sadistic streak–but then you suppose Dante has a way of bringing that out in people. Either that, or you do.

With a sigh you rest your head against the solid pillar of John’s thigh, closing your eyes. Everything hurts. You’re exhausted, beat up, wrung out, and you think you must be crashing from your high. “Just finish it, baby.” 

You do not watch, but you jump from the close concussion, as you hear the last shot you just know it went between Dante’s eyes. 

At last, you pray, it’s over.

“Are you alright?” John helps you to your feet, and you wince as his frantic hands run over your body.

“Ow,” you say as he touches your ribs. “Am I bleeding?”

“No.”

“Wow. Remind me to thank your tailor?” you wheeze. He searches the coat, finding the mushroomed piece of metal buried in the fabric. The way he frowns at the tiny piece of lead should vaporize it in his fingers.

“I killed him too quickly.”

You’re dizzy from the last hit you took to your head. He reaches up to touch your brow, coming away with blood on his fingers, and you think you've finally reached the end of your reserves.

“John? Can we go home now?”

“Yeah, baby. I promise I’m going to make this up to you.”

You guess you're not in trouble anymore. 

“You’ve got a boat?” 

“Yeah. Let’s get Caine and go.” 

John winces too, when you loop your arm around his middle. “Shit, are you ok?” Your hand comes away smeared with blood from his side, and you stare at it with wide eyes, terrified. 

“I’m fine,” he tells you through gritted teeth. You realize something got him–because he gave his jacket to you. 

“Fuck. John, I’m sorry. Let me see.” 

However, he waves you off. “It’s ok. No time. Come on.” 

He’s limping now too, and you help each other as you gimp away down the deck, walking around Dante’s prone body without sparing him a second glance. 

The two of you must make a sorry picture as you come upon Caine at the prow of the boat, the deck littered with dead bodies at his feet. He is pulling his sword-cane out of someone’s chest as you approach. There’s blood on his crisp white shirt. Some of it might be his, but you doubt it. 

“I’d say we’re even, John.” You realize he’s been guarding your escape route. A black rubber zodiac raft with a motor bobs on the waves below. 

“Sure,” agrees John absently, stiffly climbing over the gunwale, reaching down for the hidden knot of the rope staked to the boat. The yacht is starting to sit at an odd angle as it's slowly sinking, the front lifting higher out of the water. Maybe Dante managed to give you a concussion. You are in a daze as you watch John, admiring his movements even through his obvious exhaustion and pain, his impressive balance as he hangs off the side of the boat in the midst of all this chaos.

He is the most incredible man you will ever know.  

Something must catch his eye from the top deck above. He draws his gun and fires, and a body falls down, crashing to the deck with a sickening thunk. 

Meanwhile, you feel something cold press at your temple. Confused, you try to turn, but you realize Caine is holding a gun to your head. 

“John?” Your voice sounds distant, and so small. After all this? It feels too surreal for words. You’re so close. It can’t end this way. 

Your paramour looks up, frowning thunderously. “Caine?” he growls between gritted teeth. “What the fuck?” 

“You never asked me how my daughter is, John.” 

You can see the fury rising up behind John’s eyes, as he senses some doublecross he never foresaw, and doesn’t understand. 

“Do we have to do this right now?” 

“Ask me.” Caine’s voice is cold, clinical. You suspect it masks something very bad lurking beneath. 

“How is your daughter, Caine?” John grinds out. 

“She’s dead, John. Akira killed her. Because of you.” 

“Me? I didn’t–” 

“Consequences, John. You never think about the consequences. You just kill. I’m sorry I have to teach you this last lesson, but none of us gets a happy ending. Your curse on us all ends tonight.”

John holds out his mangled hand, his dark eyes panicked and imploring. “Please. Not her.” 

Caine tilts his head. “A life for a life, John. But because we’re old friends…I’ll give you a choice. Her, or you?”

John doesn’t hesitate even a fraction of a moment before answering: “Me.” 

It all happens so fast, and yet somehow it takes an eternity.

You scream as Caine shifts his aim to John in a smooth motion and shoots him three times. His body jerks. 

Blood sprays.

John looks to you, his lips parting as though to say something, blood a bright stain at the corner of his mouth, but there are no words. There are only his eyes, those soulful dark orbs that could always convey volumes with just a look. In that moment you see his regret, his unyielding love for you, the one thing left to him worth living and dying for–and just maybe, his relief that it was him, and not you.  

The boat lurches violently. You watch in horror as John’s fingers slip from the railing, and he falls backwards, into the black water below–and your heart goes with him. 

You scream like a banshee, whirling on Caine. But he did not stumble with the motion of the boat; he still has the gun on you, pointed right at your head. “Don’t,” he warns you unhappily. “Live.” 

“Why? Why would you do that?” you screech, your voice hardly resembling anything human in your rage.

“I don’t expect you to understand. But this is our world. There are rules, and consequences.” 

You sway on your feet, shaking with the maelstrom of emotion churning within you, your vision blurred from the tears in your eyes. Shock, disbelief, fury, pain, loss. You buckle under the crushing agony of your heart breaking, imploding like a star to leave nothing but a yawning blackhole in your chest. 

You have nothing without John Wick. This howling emptiness spreads to the depths of your soul, to the very marrow of your bones, and suddenly you don’t care if Caine shoots you. A part of you hopes he will, as you turn to launch yourself over the side, hoping to find John in the water, needing to hold him. 

You do not see it, as Caine hits you in the back of the head with the gun, rendering you unconscious.

TBC...

-----

all chapters

[midnightshindig]

Besides being a fan of character X reader, is there any other Invincible ships you like? Like, Mark X Eve, Mark X Rex, Monster Girl X Rudy, Cecil X Donald, Cecil X Debbie, Nolan X Allen?

I’m a passive shipper, I guess? I don’t care for Rae X Rex purely for plot reasons, it’s a drag on the pacing and I wish Rex just. Had female friends? Or any friends?

I wasn’t aware Cecil X Debbie OR Nolan X Allen were things until just now, and uh fuck yeah sure why not absolutely. They sound like they have interesting dynamics im on board

My biggest hot take is I don’t care for Eve x Mark RIGHT NOW. I fear their relationship is watering down the things I love most about each of them. Idk why but Eve’s character takes a backseat when she’s supporting Mark. I can feeeeeeel her becoming a supporting character and not one of the main cast like ugh fuck me iove Eve so much I cannot see her be relegated to the girlfriend role- even if she’s a kickass girlfriend

That being said, their date montage was cute.

I want Amanda X Rudy because I’m selfish and want them to be happy and I just want good things to happen to them. No deeper meaning the heart wants what the heart wants.

I can’t back Donald X Cecil solely because I kinda hate the “right hand man” dynamic. It. I get Hamilton war flashbacks to Hamilton X Aaron Burr? I’m sorry that’s solely a me issue I don’t mind if you ship it

Rex X Mark is silly or wtv, it gives Mark something interesting to do but it begs the question: is he coming out as gay/queer? I refuse to believe William didn’t know before Mark did. Fine! Present me the queer Mark agenda, I’m all for it! But you HAVE to give me “William snobbishly pulling an ‘I knew all along’l shtick or else I don’t care much. Rex reminds me of Alex from sdv in this regard, evil gay men rights ftw

That being said, I’m not terribly into writing for ships UNLESS a compelling ship and prompt is delivered to me. Don’t be afraid to request a ship, but don’t be surprised if I don’t do it.

Bonus: my favorite crackship/rare pair is D.A. Sinclair x Darkwing II. They seem about the same age and I think it would be hilarious. Chaotic neutral X Lawful Evil ftw

[circusgoth-dotcom]

i rewatched shrek forever after recently and couldn't stop thinking about an au with a similar premise;

something sets off wade to wish he never existed in the first place, he gets his wish and ends up in an alternate timeline where things went to shit because he didn't meet my s/i, and in his regret he must figure out how to put things back to the way they once were

very "we're together/meant to be in every universe" vibes

gabriel in this timeline on the left, he's become one of the most dangerous mutants on earth and recently broke out of containment when wade ended up in his timeline

wade on the right, the only physical thing he retained from his timeline is a necklace of his and gabriel's wedding rings

[planetarylen]

BULLETPROOF HEART (Bunny Bomb and Vamp Venom) 30 second 24 hr turnaround animatic. Drawn all in my sketchbook and scanned in/tweened on ibispaint. Finalized in CapCut.

REPOSTS ARE SO APPRECIATED

LORE:

Bunny and Vamp are both killjoys but stand for entirely different things, Vamp hates Bunny with a passion and has since they were relatively young. This is not toxic yaoi it’s just toxic I’m begging for them to not get shipped. There’s a lot of lore I’m cutting out but I’m willing to go more in depth another time. Bunny works at Tommy Chow’s and Vamp is a vagabond.

Vamp becomes a “follower” of the Phoenix Witch, believing that the fact he is blind brings him closer to her and therefore he can translate her word (cough cough cult leader cough cough) and Bunny believes that the killjoy movement on its own can stand up to BLI (he is a weaponsmith). Basically, it becomes Bunny’s divine duty to kill Vamp.

Here are their fully colored designs I’ve done in the past :]

[touchtheinvisiblestars]

Imagine Spencer looking after you when you get hurt on a stakeout

You'd been paired with a local officer, tasked with a night stakeout at a farm. The pair of you were supposed to watch for any activity, and report back any movement.

Which of course went pear shaped when the young, ambitious man you'd been placed with identified a missing person being led out of the main building. Faster than you could react to stop him, he'd thrown himself out the door, gun raised and ready and attempted to subdue the men.

Instead of impulsively running after him, you chose to stay back and call for help. Simultaneously pressing the distress button on the device Garcia had rather ingeniously insisted you all carry.

It pinged your location to all members of the team, and alerted them that whoever pressed it was in trouble.

Reaching the sheriff's department, you reported the activity and the officers mistake. Watching as they turned on him, you let out a gasp when one of the suspects didn't wait for him to finish the rest of his demands. Instead in the blink of an eye shot him, three times.

"Agent? Agent? Can you hear me, what's going on there?" The Detective who'd answered the phone asked you.

"They just killed him." You breathed, watching as they dragged his body away, the missing boy cowering against the side of the house. Before another one of the suspects grabbed onto him and dragged him away.

"Have they seen you? Are you compromised?"

"Maybe... I don't know. They-" you were cut off by the passenger door opening, revealing one of the men you'd been watching earlier that night.

Before you could reach for your gun, which was stupidly placed on the dashboard, he grabbed you by your hair and dragged you out of the car. Slamming you down onto the ground roughly, even your kevlar vest couldn't stop the air being knocked out of you.

Promptly followed by a hard kick to your stomach, making your chest go into spasm. Gasping in air, you could barely focus on where the next hit was coming from.

***

After what seemed like an eternity he finally let up, shoving you back into the gravel of the driveway and stalking off. Barking orders at the other men who had appeared from the shadows.

"Let's go boys, we need to ship out to location Tango. Got it?.. Let's go then. Her buddies will be here any moment." He called out, sparing a glance back to you.

Feeling entirely too conscious, you dared not move, not fancying another punch to the face.

Multiple cars started up and disappeared over the hills to the back of the property.

You curled onto your side, and tried to breathe in some even breaths. Trying to not focus on the pain all over, you managed to get yourself on all fours. Realising at some point he pulled your bulletproof vest off.

Maneuvering yourself so you were slowly leaning back against the tyre of the truck you were doing the stakeout in. The light from the houses and extra that had been switched on gave you a good look around. And also at yourself. Seeing there were blood splatters on your shirt. You tried not to imagine what you looked like.

Closing your eyes for a moment, taking slow deep breaths in to try and calm your racing heart.

Hearing the sound of gravel under tyres, you instantly panicked. A unexpected wave of adrenaline coarsed through you, giving you the energy needed to get yourself off the floor and in a better position to defend yourself in.

"Y/n?" Hotch's concerned shout fell of deaf ears as you scrambled to get into the car and grab your gun.

"Hey, no, no, no. It's us, calm down." A familiar voice soothed. Intercepting you and stopping your hand before it could pick up your weapon, that you hadn't had the chance to grab.

You hissed and winced as he touched you left wrist, a sickeningly sharp pain shooting up your arm.

"I'm sorry. What hurts?"

"Spence?" Seeing his face relaxed you instantly, "we need to be quick, they literally just left. Over that ridge up there. If we go now we could catch up with them."

Leaning down to get a look at you, some of his wild hair falling out of place as he fussed over you.

"You're not going anywhere, okay? You need to be seen to, what the hell happened? We got the distress ping and ran out the door."

He intercepted your attempt to grab the keys in the ignition. Taking them from you and putting them in his coat pocket.

"That stupid boy got himself killed. He ran over there, gun out, demanding they gave up the boy and that they were under arrest... There were three of them! To one of him, he was never going to subdue all of them."

"You did everything right, okay? He should never have tried to go after them. This group is far too organised for that."

"But I just sat here. I watched it happen, I-"

"Stop. I won't let you do this to yourself. Did you see the person who attacked you?"

"Yeah, he was young. Green eyes, bit of a beard. Around six-five. Probably mid thirties. Um- he was wearing a yellow plaid shirt with a puffer vest jacket. He had.." You trailed off, a piercing headache making you double over.

"That's amazing, y/n. Come on, the ambulance is over here." He said, curling his arm around your waist and helped you out of the car.

Spying Hotch looking over a map, you pulled away from Spencer and limped over to him. Spencer following close behind holding onto your wrist.

You looked at the map to get your bearings, finding the circled area you were in. You pointed at the hills behind the house.

"Y/n, have you seen a medic?" Aaron asked, frowning at you, one of the few facial expressions he had.

"No she hasn-" Spencer started, but you cut him off.

"They went over this ridge," you paused, steadying yourself on the bonnet of the truck, "if we leave now we could catch them."

"Okay, but you aren't going anywhere until you've been checked out. Reid. Make sure she gets medical attention." Hotch spoke to you and then to Spencer who was hovering worriedly.

"Hotch, please. We might not get another chance like this again." You tried, refusing to move from the car.

"Y/n that's not a suggestion. It's an order. Go." Hotch finalised, nodding to Spencer who supported you as he lightly pulled you back.

The medics met you halfway and started asking you an endless list of questions.

A suspected cracked rib and multiple bones in your wrist, concussion, and bruising all over. You were told to visit the hospital once you were back in the city. They strapped you up and gave you some painkillers.

"Where's Hotch?" You asked as Spencer helped you get down from the ambulance, "I've been checked out, I want to help."

"They've headed back to the station. We can't just go roaming across the hills looking for people in the dark. Y/n, it's too dangerous."

"Spencer, come on. We won't get another chance like this."

"We will, okay? I promise you they won't get away. You think any of us will let you go out like this? You need x-rays, anti-inflammatory medication, potentially a CT scan, and most of all rest. Hotch wants you on two weeks leave, after you leave the hospital."

"No," you exclaimed exasperated, "I need you to do a cognitive interview on me."

"Okay. But not now." He spoke softly, brows furrowed as he looked down at you.

"Why not now?"

"Because you've spent the last ten minutes digging your nails into your palm. And you only do that when you're in pain."

You instantly released your clenched fist. Not realising you'd even being doing it.

Releasing a deep breath, you were finally ready to admit defeat. Nodding, you let him lead you back to the car you'd come in.

The drive back was comfortably silent, Spencer looking over to check on you occasionally. You sighed on arriving at the closest hospital.

"I know okay. But do you really want me lecturing you about all the reasons you should follow the medics advice and get to the hospital immediately?"

Shaking your head, you sent a small smile his way.

[winged-self-indulgence]

First Ray and now Nik, I am once again under attack by a hot blonde yandere with superpowers. I was inspired by all the asks about people shipping Oracle and Chronos and I had to write something @criminallyyoursvn CW for Nik being a horny flirt, the internet being horny in general, and also guns.

"I don't know why you're so mad, Oracle," Chronos said, tilting his head to avoid the roundhouse kick you had aimed at his face. Your leg sailed gracefully through the air, dipping into a sweeping kick that he avoided with just as much ease. "If anything I did this city a service."

"You blew up a person's car! What kind of service is that?!"

"First of all, I thought we all agreed that billionaires aren't people," he caught the punch coming for his face, and then the next one, and all the ones after that. It was infuriating how easily he seemed to read you and respond in turn. "Second, it's not like anyone got hurt. Well, anyone important. Don't I deserve a reward for my hard work?"

"You deserve to be locked up in chains!"

"Oooh, kinky," Chronos's modulated voice purred, and you could almost hear the feral grin under the mask. "I'd let you lock me up any time baby, just say when. I'll even bring my own handcuffs."

"For fuck's sake!" Does this man have an off switch?! Your mother was right, you should have known better than to continue quipping with the villain, but you couldn't help it. The smugness rolling off his broad shoulders was aggravating. It needled you, made you want to have him on his knees begging for mercy.

Suddenly his head twitched, gaze slipping to something behind you. Not missing a second, you took advantage of his distraction and lunged.

"Get down!" To your surprise, the villain grabbed your hand and pulled you into his arms, dipping you smoothly into a ballroom-worthy move.

Compounding your surprise was the sound of gunshots colliding with the tarmac. Your neck dropped backwards and you caught sight of a police officer clutching a gun that was still pointed at the two of you.

"What are you doing?!" You weren't sure who you were talking to at that moment, especially when Chronos twirled you up and out of the way until his body was squarely between you and the pistol. One arm wrapped around your waist while the hand of the other flung something at the panicked officer who began to scream and convulse as heavy volts of electricity shot through him.

"Looks like the party's over Oracle." His voice sounded forced, something gritty and dark bubbling beneath the usual grandiosity. "Until next time honey."

"Don't you dare-!" Before you could grab him, Chronos released you into a spin and vanished over the edge of the building. By the time you'd sprinted to the edge the villain had vanished into thin air.

Damn it.

You woke to the warmth of sunlight on your cheeks and flashes of your office space in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, focusing on the vision forming behind tired eyelids. It used to be such a disorienting experience, "seeing" in what should be abject darkness, but you'd gotten used to it.

The day's vision seemed rather innocuous: you presumably seated at your cubicle while several members of the office stood gathered around someone's else's a few feet away. Without sound you couldn't tell what they were talking about but you could see smiles and laughter. A birthday perhaps? Party planning?

Nik's not there. Instantly your cheeks heated at the realization that you'd been hoping to catch a peek of the gorgeous blonde in the vision. Your hands flew to your face with a groan before you finally rolled out of bed and forced your mind to turn to more important things. No vision of your arch-nemesis, so hopefully today would be perfectly normal.

A frustrated groan left your lips. You were still smarting from last night's failure, especially after almost getting shot by the same people who were supposed to be on your side! The Oracle suit was bulletproof to an extent, but not getting shot was preferable.

Breakfast with your mother, a lecture that turned into fussing and rant about police incompetence, and then you were out the door. At work, you were surprised to hear music coming from somewhere in the room. A look around quickly revealed the source.

A tiny vintage radio sat on one of the desk tables, the dulcet lyrics of Smooth Operator pouring from silver speaker flanked by spinning knobs and dials all set in a smooth wooden body. Save for a few signs of modern flare it looked like something your mom would have owned.

Curiosity drove you closer, fingertips itching to play with something new and unexpected.

"You like it?"

"Nik!" You spun around, belatedly realizing that this was his desk.

"Good morning," he grinned down at you, that heart-stopping smile that never failed to send the butterflies in your stomach into a veritable frenzy. "So?"

"Huh? Oh," you glanced back at the radio. "I do! It's cool. I didn't know they still sold things like this."

"They don't. Not really," Nik smirked at you conspiratorially. "Got it at an auction for a steal and fixed it myself. Modified it too, these older models can't pick up new FM signals above 88MHz. Ah, sorry. Am I boring you?"

"No!" Truthfully you could have listened to him read out the list of ingredients at a grocery store for hours. God, how was he so perfect? Perfect face, perfect body, perfect memory, smart, and good with his hands too? Nikolaos was so out of your league it was criminal. "Uh, so why'd you bring it in? I feel like Dick is gonna make a stink about 'workplace distractions'."

"Well, I wasn't planning to use it all day," Nik fingered the dial, tuning through static until he found what sounded like a talk show. "I figured it looked nice. It's a little embarrassing to admit, but I kinda wanted to show it off a little."

You shook your head, utterly endeared. "It's not embarrassing! Like I said, it's really cool. You deserve to feel proud. I can't even fix my own plumbing, let alone a 70 year old radio."

"Yeah?" Nik smiled at you, the corners of those mismatched eyes creasing sweetly and revealing those charming dimples that you wanted to kiss so badly. "Well, if you ever have trouble, feel free to give me a call. I'll be happy to clean out the pipes for you."

You giggled, cheeks heating up as your mind went sailing into the gutter before you immediately dragged it back out. You retreated back to your cubicle, berating yourself all the way. Get a grip you pervert! He obviously didn't mean it like that!

Clearing your mind, you flew through your tasks for the day before deciding to take a break. In the distance you heard other employees moving through the office, many stopping by Nik's desk to admire the radio and ask questions. His low laughter settled your mind as you casually navigated to another screen to check the most recent hero news for the day.

Then nearly choked on your saliva when the headlines flashed before your eyes.

Caught in the Crossfire...or His Arms? Tension Heats Up Between Oracle and Chronos! Does Oracle Have a Type? Sources Say It's "Tall, Blonde, and Criminal!" City's Favorite Hero Playing Both Sides? Caught Red-Handed (And Red-Faced!) If Loving Him is a Crime, Arrest Us Too: Why the Internet Can't Get Enough of This Forbidden Duo!

What the actual fuck?! You stared at the trashy, sensationalist, borderline fanfiction-esque titles with mounting dread, and the pictures only made your stomach sink further. You, Oracle, wrapped in Chronos's arms like the leading lady of some 90s romantic drama. Whoever had taken the picture had cropped out the police and neatly edited out most of the debris, leaving the two of you alone in the shot; bodies pressed together chest to thighs, gazing into each others eyes with your figures framed by the night sky.

It was damning, so damning that - had you not been right there - you would have been left wondering as well. Sheer willpower kept you from digging your hands into your hair and tearing the strands out.

"Oracle and Chronos, huh?" You shot up straight, taken aback for the second time in the day by Nik. The man leaned over the back of your chair, lips quirked as he scanned the headlines. "Now there's a pairing I wasn't expecting the press to go for."

"It's ridiculous, right?" You scoffed, heart beating quick from a combination of nerves and annoyance. "I mean, a man died last night and all these reporters care about is shipping clickbait? Like, he's a villain!"

"Well, you know what they say. Sex sells," Nik chuckled. "Don't pay too much attention to the gossip rags, they'll say anything to get views."

"Well it must be working because its all over my front page!" You pulled up your social media and grimaced at the flood of edits, fanart, and heart emojis between eyes and triangles that was all over your page.

Nik whistled lowly. "Oh wow. People really love this."

"Can't imagine why," you scoffed, balking at a detailed piece depicting Oracle bound in rope while Chronos loomed behind behind, a hand tilting their chin up. Lava bubbled under your skin as you nearly broke the button turning it off. "For fuck's sake, this is unhinged! As if Oracle would ever let themself be tied up by a villain. If anything, they would be the one tying him up!"

"Uh huh," Nik was still staring at your phone with a dazed expression. It disappeared in a blink, replaced by a wry smile and shrug. "Don't worry so much. It'll blow over soon enough once the internet finds some other scandal to froth over."

Not soon enough, you thought darkly. "I hope so," you said aloud, just as a burst of static cut through the air. You turned to see a sight that was only familiar because you had seen it that morning: a small crowd gathered around the radio on Nik's desk. Even Dick was among them, equally susceptible to the allure of retro electronics.

"Up next we've got something for all you brand new TimeGazers out there! From Definitely Not Chronos - what a name! - this one's 'Like You Mean It'."

TimeGazers? You mouthed the name bemusedly just as the rough, Latin twang of a man's voice began to drip from the speakers. One of your coworkers gasped, clearly recognizing the lyrics. You swayed to the piano and horns, sharing a glance with Nik who met it with a shrug and his own grin.

Yours quickly dropped from your face when the chorus roared through the office.

"Fuck me like you mean it (like you mean it)! Make me believe it (me believe it)! Walk the wire, it's alright!"

Several hands lunged for the radio, scrabbling to turn it off or turn it down. One of the dials popped clean off, but in the end the room was blessedly silent.

No one spoke for a long second, only the sound of shuffling feet and the clicking of keyboards. Finally Dick coughed and handed Nik the broken dial with a brusque nod and a clap on the shoulder before power-walking back to his own closed office.

Nik glanced down at the broken piece with a wry smile. "Well, there goes that. At least it's not too serious."

"I, uh," you fiddled with your phone. "You were telling me about how you fixed it earlier. I'd like to hear more about that, if that's okay. Only if you want to!"

"Yeah, I do." The butterflies resurrected, fanning themselves into a tornado when he sat down by your desk, knees touching yours under the table. "I'd love to."

[odinsblog]

DURING THE CYBERTRUCK'S unveiling in 2019, Tesla CEO Elon Musk claimed that the electric vehicle's “ultra-hard stainless steel” body might be “literally bulletproof.” However, the Tesla truck's exterior panels appear to be defenseless against water pistols. They apparently rust, as some owners claim.

Posting on the Cybertruck Owners Club forum, a user named Raxar risked the wrath of the Tesla faithful—already exercised by the Cybertruck's numerous alleged design flaws—by stating that when they collected the $61,000 truck, “the advisor specifically mentioned the Cybertrucks develop orange rust marks in the rain.”

In a separate thread, the user vertigo3pc reported that “corrosion was forming on the metal” of his Cybertruck after it spent 11 days in the rain in Los Angeles.

Raxar, who also lives in California, posted what appeared to be close-up, rust-flecked images of his truck after driving it for two days in rain.

The Cybertruck does not ship with clear coat, that outermost layer of transparent paint that comes as standard on almost every new motor vehicle on the planet. Instead, each Cybertruck owner has the option to purchase a $5,000 urethane-based film to “wrap your Cybertruck in our premium satin clear paint films. Only available through Tesla.”

Who knew untreated stainless steel might not be such a good idea for the exterior of a motor vehicle, especially considering that cars typically get left sitting outside in all weather for 95 percent of their lives? The whole automotive industry, that's who.

Aside from the 1980s DMC DeLorean and a shiny 1960s Porsche, car companies have long steered clear of stainless steel panels. The material is heavy, relatively expensive, and hard to work with. It's also stiff, which makes it potentially more lethal to anybody unlucky enough to be struck by a vehicle built with the stuff.

(continue reading)

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - A Cake in the Sky - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Meanwhile, in Timebomb land...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"It's..." she stops, "...complicated."

"Big word."

"Uh-huh. Lots of corners to catch yourself on."

"Or paint yourself into."

Jinx smiles. His sense of humor's still the easygoing kind you fall backwards into. "I'm good at climbing outta corners. No fingerprints. No tracks. Not a hair outta place."

"So: a crime-scene?"

"Not yet."

Her cheek's still cradled his chest. She feels his heartbeat quicken. His breath, held in. Then he lets it go, and encircles an arm around her waist.

"We're already a crime scene," he says matter-of-factly. "Question is: do we have an alibi ready, if they find us?"

"We do."

"Yeah?"

"A bulletproof one." Jinx's smile sneaks wider. "See, I'm not really here."

"Where are you then? Safe in bed with six dozen bombshells, catching your beauty sleep?"

"Nope. In a ship docked at the harbor. Celebrating my Big Nineteeth by getting frisky with two smugglers from Bilgewater."

"Simultaneously?"

"Yep." She stretches languorously. Her patented style: flirtation, with talons bared. "They're both major hotties. One's a redhead with a wicked right hook and a gift for knifeplay. The other's a slickster with raven locks and a thing for corsets and rope. I'll have 'em both at gunpoint—that is, until they turn the tables on me. Then we'll see who gets tied down."

"Sounds..." Ekko clears his throat, "...raunchy."

"The best cover stories always are."

From under her bangs, Jinx dares a peek. Starlight dapples Ekko's profile. His stare is both half-lidded and slow-burning. This isn't a game, but he's a pro at keeping a pokerface. For her sake, she sometimes thinks. So he doesn't have to lament the hand they've both been dealt.

Jinx laments for him: a hundred regrets condensed into a single sigh.

"I wish it were true," she says.

"What? Getting railed by a couple of pirates?"

"Not that." Well, maybe a little. "Being somewhere else. Someone else. Doing anything. Or everything. The whole world under my wingspan, and nothing holding me back."

"I think we both know nothing could stop you," Ekko says. "You'd blow a hole through the sky just to keep going."

"Yeah." A dreamy smile. "It'd be such a big hole, too. Like a blue moon. Or a big ol’ cake. I'd take a big bite out of it. Pick the crumbs of Enlightenment outta my teeth. Though I doubt it'd taste better than The Sugarplum Fairy's newfangled cannoli-olee-ohs."

"Cannoli-olee-ohs?"

"You haven’t tried ‘em? They’re neat-o! All whipped cream and powdered sugar. Kinda like an éclair, but crunchy. Though if you eat too many, you'll get the runs. Also: coconut-flavored burps. Which is weird, 'cuz coconut's not listed in the ingredients. Guess the chef just couldn't resist the ol' exotic twist."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Trust me—I’m a connoisseur." She tips a wink. "That's East Demacian for cake slut."

"And how'd you get so, uh, experienced?"

"That's classified." Jinx sucks her cheeks in; mock-zips her mouth shut. "But I'll give ya a hint. Pre-Siege, Topside's local constabulary were confounded by a string of disappearances involving high-end patisseries. Always, at the stroke of midnight, their kitchens would be broken into. All the morning's stock—apricot turnovers, strawberry mille-feuilles, triple-layer buttercream sponge—gone without a trace. Well, nearly without a trace. Mostly crumbs scattered round the sidewalk. And a suspicious amount of melted ganache."

"Wack." The corners of Ekko’s eyes crinkle. "Was it a baker's cult?"

"It was me breaking curfew."

"Midnight munchies?"

"Better." Jinx grins, dimples biting into her cheekbones. "My quest to track down the bundtest bundt cake in Runeterra. Had a three-page list of contenders. Started small: backdoor bakers, cinnabon stalls, doughnut shops. Worked my way up to upscale eateries. Word spread. Rumormongers dubbed me The Sugarplum Fairy."

"After your favorite pastry shop?"

"The shop's name came after. Totally coincidentally! But yeah. Seems the owner was a fan of yours truly's handiwork." A lazy shrug. "Now I pop in at least once a week. For the cannoli-olee-ohs, naturally. But also 'cuz the gals there cut me the sweetest deals. Next time I'm in their neck of the woods, I'll snag ya a boxful, gratis."

A chuckle vibrates through Ekko's ribs. Jinx feels each note: mellowness unbottled. She wants to drink it down to the last chord.

"The notorious Jinx," he says. "Thief of pastries."

"Meh. I prefer confection connoisseur."

"Why'd you quit?"

"Folks started putting out saucers of milk. Like I was a real fey, and a dumb one to boot! Dumb enough to trade lava cake for lactose. One guy left out a shotglass with a swizzle-stick in it. And a note: 'You can steal my creme horns, so long as I can cream you.' Along with his address. In red ink." She huffs, bangs wisping off her forehead. "Perv, much?"

"And what became of him?"

"Got what was coming: a nice box of guano right on his doorstep. Pudding in the mailbox, too."

"And by pudding you mean...?"

"Pureed crow shit. Hand-squeezed."

A grimace crimps Ekko's grin. "Did you wash your hands after?"

"Duh. Didn't wanna ruin my manicure." Sighing, Jinx nibbles on a hangnail. "The whole thing took the wind outta my sails, though. Not to mention: Topside began suspecting it was Fissurefolk doing it. They already blamed us for everything from burned porridge to smashed windowpanes to dead cats. Didn't take long for Enforcers to start dragging anyone with candy in their pockets to the pokey."

"So you dropped the act."

"Uh-huh."

"For the good of the masses."

"Something like that." Jinx's sigh, this time, comes loaded. "Being an icon's not all it's cracked up to be."

Silence spreads, an echo-chamber reverberating with a lifetime of unfinished fights. Chief among them: their differing definition of Icon. To Ekko, it's a girl who turned herself into a lightning rod for every flavor of vice Piltover could sling the Undercity's way—mischief-maker; murderess; harbinger.

But to Jinx?

It is her own identity stripped to the studs of its contradictions. Her end eked out as slowly and surely as Zaun's emancipation: step-by-step, layer-by-layer. From freedom fighter to funhouse mirror to firebrand, until she holds no shape beyond the perceptions of others. No room to carve her niche; no space to break free of the rubble her birth-city's buried her under. Only more boxes waiting to be filled; more scripts needing filling-in.

And on and on, ad infinitum, until perfection wrings her mortal coil dry. Until fate and choice unite in one indivisible line, as inescapable as the bullet.

Until she is erased for good.

An ache blooms in Jinx's sternum. Grows branches between her ribs, where the cicatrix from Silco's knife remains. Once she'd loved the touch; taken pleasure in the proof of possession. Now the mark's as suffocating as steel bars, and the only key's the secret shape burnt into her shoulderblades, where wings beg to erupt.

It's a moment before Ekko breaks the quiet.

"So," he says, "a big cake in the sky. That's what you want for your Name Day?"

Jinx cracks a laugh. It's not a pretty sound: all jagged melody and rough-cut lyrics. But that's only the first wave. Her funny-bone, rusty from disuse, getting a tune-up. The second wave's sweeter. The ghost of the little girl she'd been. The one who'd believed in anything, and everything.

Everything except herself.

Ekko's embrace tightens. Always, he braces himself against the first sharp edge. Then it melts, and so does he: into a moment that's as near to harmony as either has known.

"Yeah," Jinx says, as the mirth subsides. "A cake in the sky. That's it."

[twooftheluckyones]

Howdy. Hope y'all are doing well. Have to say it was great to see Flinky and Ratau included in the Valentine's Day art. That's been a ship in the community that sort of crept up on me and I had never thought of it before but it makes a lot of sense honestly. Therefore, I had some lore questions. Where do Flinky and Ratau fit in your world? How did they first meet and what made them get together? What were some moments they shared? Difficulties? Hobbies (Outside of Knucklebones that is)? Where are they at now? Finally, are they immortal or have they long since died? Thanks again for the great work you both do.

Thank you! It's been a ship that dug into our brain on a whim too! I have to give credit to rabiesram for drawing it and really getting me into the idea of the "Ratau cult", along with a few fics I've read.

That being said, Ratau was never a super great cult leader, even if he was very devoted. He struggled with his own issues, and had a bad habit of gambling away the cult coffers. It didn't help that he knew he was fated to never win and he would eventually be replaced as per the prophecy. Ratau could never really keep a cult together due to the bishops counter-attacks and his own poor leadership, but he was a crafty bandit prior to his service and knew how to get away with things and survive in the shadows. Flinky, Klunko, and Shrumy were members of their band, and the three eventually became Ratau's disciples and close confidants. Time and time again they would be raided and forced to flee, only to pop up somewhere else, ambushing supply convoys, burning important locations, and doing anything to mess with the bishops.

The comradery between them was and still is bulletproof, but Ratau and Flinky drifted closer over the years. One night, while playing a game of drink or dare, Klunko dared them to "stop beating around the fucking bush already." They both decided to drink, much to the laughter of their friends. But that night, they talked, and by the end they were sharing a bedroll in their squalid little camp.

This was all ages ago, now they are nothing but old wizened ex-bandits, enjoying their glory years. It is true they are hundreds of years old, but being a patron of the god of death has its perks. Ratau never hated Narinder, he was and still is devoted to the god, but Narinder was a harsh god for many decades, and their relationship is rocky to say the least. Una certainly enjoys Ratau for his support and aid, and sees him like a fun uncle. They will play knucklebones for hours!

They're fond of gambling, yes, but also hunting, fishing, brewing beer, and they love to participate in Heket's fight club. They may be old dogs, but they still know how to bite!

[limeinaltime]

I've got a bulletproof heart, you've got a hollow-point smile 💜💛

Uzi and N get to hold the title of First Canon Ship To Make Me Invested Enough To Make Actual Fanart, and I don't think I'll ever fall out of love with them even after my interest in MD inevitably falls into the backburner. These sillies did things to my brain chemistry that can never be reversed, no one's doing it like them.

After some consideration and cooling down (Ep. 8 had the misfortune of coming out on a day where I was very high-strung and stressed due to college so my opinions were very... explosive at the time), I've come to find that while I was left wanting a lot more from episode 8, it means a lot to me that a show that's given me so much in so many ways was able to end on its own terms. There has not been a piece of art that has touched my soul the same way Murder Drones has since Gravity Falls, and for all its flaws, I am so glad that I got to see this journey to the end, and the way it has allowed me to grow as an artist is nothing to sneeze at, either. I will be drawing Murder Drones stuff for a while, and maybe I'll drift away from it, maybe I won't, but I'll always love the show and its characters and it'll be a core memory of mine for the rest of my life.