#bullet man

[wonderjanga]

Are You a Homosexual?

The other members of the Squadron of Justice notice how Captain Marvel doesn’t really care for women. Like any time he’s flirted with, he immediately looks like he doesn’t want to be there.

Marvel: *saves some lady and puts her down*

Lady: *flirts with him and gives him her number*

Marvel: *immediately looks weirded out and scurries off to the other Squadron members*

Spy Smasher: *rubbing his chin* “Hmmmm…”

or

Marvel: *dodges a woman’s kiss and floats behind Bulletman and uses him as a human shield*

Woman: *tries to round Bulletman so she can get to him*

Marvel: *moves Bulletman so he can block her again*

Bulletman: *rubs his chin like Spy Smasher* “Hmm…”

Unfortunately, they drew some conclusions of their own. Like, Minute-man proposed that he was afraid of women. Pinky proposed that it’s a cultural thing. He mostly said that because they all weren’t quite sure Marvel was a human and were like fifty percent sure he was an alien. Eventually though, they all reached a consensus. So, they sat Marvel down at a bar, and decided to have a chat.

Mr. Scarlet: “Cap, buddy, you know you can tell us anything, right?”

Marvel: “Uh… Yeah?” *sipping a virgin piña colada*

Bulletman: “Great. Great. And you know we wouldn’t judge you, right? I mean, it’s 1952. We’re in modern times for Christ’s sake.”

Marvel: “I guess?” *sounds confused*

Spy Smasher: “Wonderful so… we’re gonna ask you something. And you gotta promise not to freak out, okay? Because remember. We will accept you no matter what.”

Marvel: “Okay?” *sip on his drink*

Mr. Scarlet: “Greaaaaaat. So…” *is wondering how to phrase this, but just decides to rip off the Band-Aid* “Are you a homosexual?”

Marvel: *chokes on his own spit* “WHAT?” *looks so confused*

Bulletman: “Calm down. Calm down. Remember, we said we wouldn’t judge.”

Marvel: *speechless, trying to find words* “I- NO???”

Spy Smasher: “Marvel, you don’t have to lie. We see the way you act around women.” *pats his shoulder*

Marvel: “Wha- I-” *feels blindsided* “So?? That doesn’t mean I like dudes!”

Bulletman: “Marvel, are you really gonna look us in our eyes and tell us that you’ve felt romantic attraction toward women?”

Marvel: “No! I don’t like them, but I don’t like men either!”

Spy Smasher: “What so you don’t like anyone? I find that hard to believe.”

Marvel: “Well, I don’t care if hard to believe! Believe it! Thinking about being in a relationship with a man or woman…” *shakes his head* “…It’s off putting.”

Mr. Scarlet: “Off putting…?”

Then, fast forward sixty or so years. The suspendium bubble pops and people are in the present.

Minute-Man: “Cap, I think I finally know what’s wrong with you.”

Marvel: “Wrong with me?”

Minute-Man: “Yeah, you know how you don’t like women or men and think they’re icky?”

Marvel: “Okay… I’ve never said they’re icky but sure.”

Minute-Man: “Yeah, so I know what you are now. You’re an AroAce.” *does a little hand wave at the word* “Someone gave me a pin for it.” *hands Marvel a little pin*

Marvel: “Thanks?” *looks at the pin in confusion*

[silveragelovechild]

Were the helmets to make them aerodynamic?

Were the helmets to prevent head injuries when landing?

Or were the helmets purely decorative?

[gijoe-forever]

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

Thinking of that post of “What if Billy was adopted by other Fawcett heroes?” And how I responded to that with some ideas, including Billy being adopted by the Kent-Barr’s

Now I wanna draw Billy in a Bullet man costume calling himself Bullet Bill and Mary in her own costume as “The Hail Mary”

[homkamiro]

The day before the 7th comic came out I was thinking about one day making a sniperscout fankid for shits and giggles. Imagine my surprise when valve did my work themselves

[lygma-nygma]

I miss the pre-New 52 Tim and Jason dynamic so much. It was basically Jason beating the fuck out of Tim well being all "nothing personal kid I just hate everything about you, your existence and the fact you're breathing right now" and Tim spitting up blood going "what if your mother was a whore, kill yourself" and Jason just deciding right then and there that this kid is his favourite person. Then it just turned into a Tom and Jerry hunt across the city where Jason keeps hitting Tim with the "join me, be my robin" and Tim kicks him in the balls.

[sunderwight]

What if the peak lords concluded that the most likely answer to the mystery of Shen Qingqiu's behavior is not that he's possessed now (because they checked and all the tests came out negative), but that he must have actually been possessed before?

No one thought to check him before, after all. They just figured he was an asshole. But then he suffers a qi deviation, almost dies, but comes back nicer. Only slightly lacking in context for his own past behavior and lifestyle, too.

It fits remarkably well, doesn't it? All this time the real Shen Qingqiu must have been trying to free himself from a demonic spirit that took possession of him in his youth! It was the demon who was the asshole, dragging his poor host to brothels, alienating his sect siblings so that they wouldn't investigate him too closely, abusing his disciples and probably weakening the sect from within as part of some nefarious plot!

But then the real Shen Qingqiu finally managed to beat back the demon himself, even being gracious enough not to point out what happened to his martial siblings and so save the sect's face. What a guy.

[k-meanzzz-better]

It was funny in my mind, I swear! It's just Spy with his sudden overprotectiveness of Scout and wide imagination...

Didn't finish last page, jeez, so let's just imagine it:

Scout hears Spy's scream "NOO! You will not __ my son, you animal!!!" through the door, shrugs and walks away humming a tune

[seilnakyle]

PRAYING for Bruce 😭…

[multimandy6]

Now he is in a safe place

This dummy has only 4 bucks but in love there are no small things!!¡

[maliinka]

who up shu'ing their ake

[silveragelovechild]

[gijoe-forever]

[blakellyl]

ok.

[toris-madness]

Shipz to see on this blog

[stellewriites]

marrying johnny was an easy choice, in that you had no choice at all.

he needed a wife and you were too old to stay at home any longer, already well past the average age other women in your town got married. the wild west wasn’t kind to young women, so it made sense to cling to the offer johnny made even if you knew his heart wasn’t in it. it was unlikely you’d find a better option in your town, no one interested was as young or as handsome.

it didn’t matter the rumours that spread about him. in fact they fell in your favour.

you barely had the chance to get to know him; told on your first night to keep house, left with his set of rules and chores to occupy you while he rode off with his tall masked friend.

it could be days, weeks even, between the morns you saw him. you didn’t ask where he went or what he did when he didn’t come back home. you didn’t care, happy to take advantage of the empty bed.

and for months, crossing paths only a handful of times, it worked for you both. you kept your horse fed and brushed, used it to travel into town for your perishables each week and made sure the space out back was kept neat for if johnny arrived back on his own mare.

it worked. you were happy. but then johnny was shot; part of a train robbery gone wrong, the sheriff had told you stiffly.

he apologised for your loss, but you could tell he didn’t mean it. he told you if you had any clue who johnny’s partner could be then it’d be wise to turn him in sooner rather than later before leaving you to organise the funeral. closed casket, he’d advised wryly, in fact just ask the undertaker to seal him in a box and pay him direct. save yourself some time.

watching johnny’s casket get lowered into the ground you couldn’t help but think about how you’d never even kissed. husband and wife, though a true sham of it behind the walls of your home. not that you’d admit it so.

you stand next to his friends, people you hadn’t gotten to meet, and watch them grieve at his funeral. the tall man, his lower face still masked, seemed beholden with his grief; shaking with anger as his wet eyes stayed firm on the casket as it was lowered to the dirt.

you once again deigned not to think of where johnny may have been staying when he wasn’t nipping back home to you or how likely his partner in crime may have also been his partner in life. you’d let johnny keep his secrets.

you take the deed to his house - now your house - and shake and cry yourself to sleep that evening. it wasn’t grief that kept you awake though, but guilt. guilt over feeling thankful for his death since it brought with it your freedom, no strings attached.

johnny’s gentle, if not disinterested, countenance towards you had been reassuring, but not a guaranteed permanence. this however, was.

you continue to keep house, visit the stores in town and generally continue on as before for months after. you don’t see his tall friend and you don’t hear from anyone else that had been present at the funeral throughout the entire time. in fact, it’s almost a year later to the day of his death when you’re disturbed in your home.

steps crunching along the dry mud out back, irregular scratching at the windowsills and knocks on the doors inside the house.

when you think you see a man in your mirror you finally go to one of johnny’s friends still living in town and ask about your late husband, if they’ve seen or heard anything, but they just look at you pityingly.

you leave before they can get a doctor involved, blame it on a bad night’s sleep and a lonely heart - the horse wouldn’t settle for the wind and it is close to the anniversary as you know - and wave them off when they offer to come to the house. instead you buy a peashooter from a condescending clerk at the hardware store and hope for the best. hope to god it’s just big rats.

but you should’ve accepted their offer.

you should’ve moved out as soon as the noises started because finally one night when you’ve been kept up for hours and frozen still by the noises and movement in your house, you shakily take the gun and drag yourself downstairs. you follow the sound to the front door and sling it open.

you gasp at the sight before you. johnny sat on his horse, wearing the same clothes as he was a year ago when he was lowered into the ground; but dirtier, dustier, and his horse’s front leg has too many bends in it to be natural, its jaw hangs too low, its eyes too cloudy.

you daren’t look at johnny’s face beneath his hat, tilted low until your shaky breaths register and he looks up with a growing grin. grim and broken and hollow. his eyes are a cold grey, no longer blue, but clear and seeing unlike his horse. he stares at you as you take in the blood staining his chest, the unnatural, sporadic twitch in his hand as he removes his hat. you gasp a second time, shudder with it, when you finally see the wound that killed him.

a hole in his temple, gaping and splitting out into minute cracks and bruises across his forehead and down his cheek. hairline fractures and ruptured blood cells reaching out like tree roots.

his smile didn’t reach as high on that side but you tried not to dwell. you didn’t understand what he had to smile about in the first place.

“johnny…?”

“in the flesh, hen. come give yer husband a kiss, eh?”

“i don’t— i don’t understand. this can’t— you died. i saw them bury you.”

“aye. ye let them bury me.”

“i didn’t— i didn’t know—”

“ah ken, ah ken. i forgive ye. or i will, if ye let me in.”

you swallow thickly. there was a heaviness to his words that suggested you’d be doing more than just letting this… man, your husband, back into your home. you know he meant more than that.

“it’s late, johnny.”

“all the more reason not to dawdle. ne’er thought you were one to waste time even if ye were skittish.” he eyes your gun, held in shaking hands but still aimed higher than the steps before you, not fully dropped yet. “ah see ye’ve gotten past that in my absence.”

“it’s late.”

johnny huffed through his nose like a bull. angry like one too.

“so ye’ve said an’ ahm well aware. hen, let me in, before dawn comes knockin’. now, c’mon.”

you frown, clear your throat even as it felt full of cotton.

“what— what did you say to me on my first morning here after we woke up together?”

he squints at you, clenching his jaw tight before letting his unnatural smile stretch back across his lips. “forgive me if mah memory’s spotty but ah think ah said ‘good morning’.”

you raise the gun and point it towards him. “me and johnny never shared a bed. he left me alone here that first full week and he took the chair downstairs when he did stay. always.”

johnny’s grin turned mean in front of you, the cracks splintering further across his face.

“i was happy to try an’ do this the nice way, but now…” he threatens, twisting to drop off his horse.

you shoot him in the chest when his feet his the ground but the bullet doesn’t stop his even pace, doesn’t even startle his horse, and you feel dread finally rise above your adrenaline and chill you to the bone.

“shouldnae a done that.”

fanvid by serastonins