#Ship: Bulletproof

[cindernet-exploded]

Where did those maids get off to..?

#Kabniel shaking his hand#just because we're maids doesn't mean we have to clean#i think he should put it on again @sylaurin

[ft. sylaurin's Kab] [A'vyra uses he/she/they]

[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

[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.

[cloudyvulpine]

what if i sang "I will" by Mitski to Blitzø while we cuddle together what then

[sstvar]

Now I am curious how Bendy managed to get married.

the clinginess came in clutch ONCE

[painted-piggy-ships-archive]

Credit to deadpool.tony on tiktok

SHZGAHZHASHAZH ME TOO TOBEY ME TOO...

[boosterrs]

tag dump

[rahbid]

tamar was jezebel's first love as a teenager in the convent, her childhood sweetheart.

jezebel "dated" eli from about 20-24ish. they were never "official" and he didn't care about her small flings here and there. during this time, she had tension with her teammate wren, briefly dated a witch named agnes and took her neighbor/dog sitter, maya, on a few dates and was actually quite committed to her before realizing that her life would put maya in too much danger.

she's known gio for a good awhile, met him maybe around 16/17 and they'd been friends.

at first, she sought out the priest father ezra and attempted to seduce him, but he quickly knew she was just coping with elijah's death and his own vows and rejected her.

dated trout almost immediately after, this only lasted for 6 months before they broke up. still, it was a pretty intense six months. it was actually gio that sat her down and pointed out that her treatment of trout was unfair. at this intervention, jezebel officially broke up with trout for his own well being, started therapy again and began dating gio not too long thereafter.

gio had been a fixture in her life for a very long time and their romance was literally whirlwind. they dated for maybe a year before getting married and conceived their child literally on their honeymoon night.

[cindernet-exploded]

The full preamble to This Last Pose over on my Blue Sky

[@sylaurin]

[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.

[circusgoth-dotcom]

happy release day!! can't wait to see deadpool & wolverine tomorrow!

💛Reblogs Highly Appreciated!!❤️

[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.

[achromatophoric]

Wenclairtober 2024, Day 5 - Vision

The gang, despite missing Wednesday and Enid, has just foiled the latest nefarious plot targeting Nevermore. They now encircle the mastermind, a psychic who had infiltrated the Nightshades under the guise of friendship.

Villain: How did you know it was me? What gave me away?

Bianca: It was pretty obvious from the start.

Ajax: Yeah dude, even I could tell something was up.

Villain: Impossible! Everything was perfect. The intel on all of you was absolute. My identity was bulletproof!

Yoko: Wenid.

The Nightshades collectively snicker.

Villain: What?

Divina: Enid and Wednesday. You kept calling them Wenid. Nobody calls them that. It’s Wenclair.

Villain: And?

Kent: For serious? That’s like shipping Becca and Chloe from Pitch Perfect and calling them Chloecca instead of Bechloe.

Villain: *sputters* W-Well, you may have saved the school, but you didn’t save your precious Wenclair!

Wednesday: They didn’t need to.

Everyone startles as the seer steps out of the shadows, followed by a brightly smiling Enid.

Enid: Hey all! Good job!

Color drains from the mastermind’s face. They stare wide-eyed at the newcomers, jaw dropped in horrified confusion.

Villain: How are you here?! You should both be trying to prevent her vision from coming true!

Villain: *snarls and points* Addams should be mad from paranoia by now! And you—

Enid: *beams*

Villain: — should be heartbroken and desperate!

Wednesday: While I admire the intent, your execution was hopelessly flawed.

Villain: How?!

Wednesday: The false vision you inflicted upon me of my tragic and inevitable death by my fiancée’s claws. It had a single mistake that was beyond obvious.

Villain: *twitches* What was it?

Wednesday: My tombstone. It read Wednesday Friday—

Enid: Sinclair! Wednesday Friday SINCLAIR!!

A brief silence follows, to be broken by the gang’s descent into hysterical laughter. The antagonist looks around in shock as their spirit visibly crumbles.

Divina: Oh. Oh wow. You thought— *giggles* You thought she’d take Enid’s last name?! I can’t even!

Villain: B-But—

Bianca: No. Fucking. Way. Holy shit you dumbass!

Ajax/Kent: DUDE!!/BRUH!!

Yoko: L-O-FUCKING-L! You absolute LOSER!

Villain: 😭

Villain: *takes eMOtional DAmage!*

Villain: 😵

Bianca: That was easy. So what now?

Enid: Ya guys wanna watch Pitch Perfect?

The Nightshades answer with unanimous cries of approval.

Enid: How about you, future Wednesday Friday Sinclair?

Wednesday: *snorts* I suppose I can tolerate some Bechloe.

Enid: Aca-awesome!

[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)

[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.

[painted-piggy-ships-archive]