chrome plating

…Though that chrome-plated trooper suit is, by now, firmly a part of the Star Wars iconography, this portfolio is the first time Gwendoline Christie’s Captain Phasma has shown her face. “I think a big part of the allure of her character was just wondering what might be underneath,” Hidalgo explains of keeping the Game of Thrones star helmeted in the first film of the current trilogy. “It was only relatively recently that we wanted to commit to the idea that there was a human under there. The Force Awakens left that question, but as we got further into Last Jedi, as well as some other stories we’re thinking about with Phasma, we had to ask ourselves, ‘All right, do we agree there’s a human under there?’ ”

The definitely human Phasma is also sporting a slick new weapon which, Hidalgo says, “doesn’t have a fancy name yet.” (But it will—these things always do.) Unlike the weapons we’re used to seeing in Star Wars—lightsabers and blasters—Phasma’s accessory is a retractable pole arm that collapses into a smaller, easy to carry form should she ever find herself shoved down a trash compactor again. This weapon, Hidalgo says, has a strong connection to Phasma’s history, which will be explored in a comic-book series out in September. “Her background,” Hidalgo hints, “is more low-tech than many would assume.” [x]

I Trust Her

Word Count: 3,803

Summary: Castiel asks you to go back in time to visit some familiar faces. Will knowing who you are change everything? 

A/N: I really hope you like this one! It’s something I’ve been wanting to write for a really long time. Feedback is always appreciated, drop a message my way! And a big shout out to @thefangirllifeismine for always reading over my writing and making sure you will all love it! 

Song: Flashlight - Jessie J 

The waitress eyed the two of you warily, deciding if she should approach and interrupt the conversation with fresh coffee, or leave you be.

“Why now?” You asked quietly, fingers finding the edge of your napkin.

He sighed heavily, “There’s a lot going on in their life.”

You looked up at him, noticing that the wrinkles around his eyes weren’t there on his younger vessel. He had a stronger jaw and brighter eyes.

“Cas…” You trailed off, but you already knew that you wouldn’t say no. His big blue eyes were begging you.

“They don’t know who you are, do not worry. If anything happens, pray to me and I will take you back to this time.” He reasoned with you and you nodded.

“Alright.” You agreed and he gave you a small smile. You left the diner after dropping a twenty on the table, and walked around back.

“Are you ready?” He asked, his hand already raising.

“Do it.” You shut your eyes and felt his fingers press to your forehead. The warmth only lasted for a second until you were whisked away, insides turning.

Once you opened your eyes, all you saw was green grass for miles. God, it smelled the same. Like dew and summer’s sweat. Walking, you searched for the familiar door. It felt odd having to knock, but you did nonetheless. When a few minutes had passed, you knocked again, louder this time.

“Who are you?” A face you knew as well as your own spoke.

“A hunter.” You stated, and the gun he was holding nearly lowered. “You’re Sam Winchester, right?”

He furrowed his brows and clenched his jaw. “If you’re a hunter then you know I’ve got to test you.”

“Bring it on.” You said with a smile, and he nearly smiled himself. With his gun still half-cocked, he moved over to allow you inside the bunker.

“What’s your name?” He asked, “And how do you know about this place?”

You walked down the stairs slowly, taking in the looks of the place.

“Y/N. I’ve heard about it from someone, and I got lost in the area.” You explained, “So, I figured you would help a fellow hunter out.”

He nodded, taking in what you were saying, before pulling out a silver blade. You exhaled deeply and grabbed it, pressing the cool metal flush against your skin.

He tilted his head and began unscrewing a flask, and suddenly you were drenched.

“Overkill, much?” You spit out some water.

“Had to be sure.” He shrugged.

You followed him through the war room, the library, then finally down the steps into kitchen. When you made yourself comfortable on the stool by the island counter, he finally gave you a glass of water.

“So, what exactly are you hunting here?” He asked. “We would’ve known-”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” You cut Sam off, “It was a complete wild goose chase. Turns out, what looked like omens, were actually just nature this time.” Bullshit poured out from between your lips so well you were nearly proud of yourself.

“Sammy!” A familiar voice shouted and then you heard footsteps come nearer. When he came inside, immediately his eyes were on you.

“Who the hell is this?” He asked, senses rising.

“I’m Y/N.” You smiled, “A hunter who got herself in a bit of a mess.”

He looked at his brother, as if to make sure you weren’t lying.

“I tested her, Dean. She’s clean.” Sam motioned towards the blade and flask which lay astray on the table.

He raised his chin and crossed his arms. You hadn’t noticed that you were staring at him. He was so amazingly young. His forehead was clear of the thick scar you were so used to, and his eyes were brighter; there was so much more hope lying underneath that familiar green.

Dean turned and opened the fridge while Sam began discussing different cases with you. You told him of the ones you had been on, and listened as he told you about the latest ones they had both solved. What distracted you though, was the giant burger that Dean began to grill.

When he saw you eyeing it, he motioned to make you another one. You nodded hungrily.

Despite just having eaten with Cas, you discovered that time travel makes you extremely hungry.

“I like her.” Dean raised his brows, eliciting a laugh from you. Sam rolled his eyes and continued on with his story of the werewolf he and Dean had found by accident.

“We were actually going to check out a case today. We could use some extra hands.” Dean stated as he plated the two burgers.

“Really? I wouldn’t be imposing?” You asked, some part of you excited to finally be able to see how they hunted when they were younger.

“How good of a shot are you?”

You gave a cocky smile, proud of your skills. “Bullseye every time.”

“Then, you’re hired!” He joked and took a bite of his burger. You followed suit, nearly moaning at the taste. You’ve had practically every burger out there, but nothing beat this one.

You and Dean both lifted up the top of the bun and re-adjusted the toppings before popping a pickle from on top into your mouth, while Sam watched, completely bemused. When you and Dean both reached for the same soda bottle, he nearly choked.

“You could be twins.” Sam observed.

– – – –

“So,” Dean asked from the driver’s seat of the car. “How’d you get into this life?”

You shrugged, “Kinda just… grew up in it.”

Dean reached for the knob and lowered the music, “How old are you, anyhow?” He looked at you through the rear-view mirror, suddenly aware you couldn’t be anywhere near their age.

“Twenty-two.”

Dean glanced at his brother who asked, “And you’re hunting?”

“Weren’t you the same age when you started hunting?” You asked, not realizing what you had let slip.

“I mean- How did you-” Sam began to speak when you cut him off, salvaging what was left of this conversation.

“You’re famous hunters, of course you’ve been hunting since the same age as me.” You said quickly.

Sam nodded, but you could tell he knew something was off.

“Let’s go over the plan one more time.” He decided to re-explain exactly how the afternoon would go.

In response, Dean made the music louder, cutting off anything Sam was about to say.

“Really?” His younger brother stared at him.

“You told us a hundred times, Sammy!” Dean exclaimed. We go in, find the vamps, and kill ‘em.”

You chuckled into your water bottle, taking another long drag of it.

It was another two hours until Dean finally drove the Impala into the parking lot of a motel. You watched the two of them joke around while they took their things out of the trunk, and wondered why Castiel was begging you to go back in time for them. They seemed perfectly fine. Either way, what could *you* do for them?

“Y/N?” Sam asked, snapping your attention towards him. “Where’s all your stuff?”

“My duffel is back at the motel I was staying at.” You lied, “Doesn’t matter, all I need is this-” You explained and pulled a gun out of the back of your jeans. When both brothers stared at it as if it were alien, you regretted it immediately.

“Huh.” Dean stated, taking his gun out and holding it up to yours. They were identical except for a few added scratches on your own.

The customized detailing that Dean got on the chrome plating of his gun made him narrow his eyes at your weapon, which held the same exact design.

“Must’ve been the same guy detailing it.” You shrugged and shoved it back in your jeans as quickly as you could.

“Must have been.” Dean stared at you. You could practically see the gears turning in his head.

Sam walked inside and began making room arrangements with the motel manager. You followed him inside and felt Dean’s gaze burning into the back of your skull as you walked.

“Here.” Sam passed you a set of keys. “You’re in the room right across from ours.”

“Thanks.” You smiled and gripped the keys, following him and Dean down the hall.

Sam began unlocking his door, “Meet in the lobby in an hour?” He asked.

“Sounds good.” You agreed and stared up at you door number. 17C was hammered into the wood. When you finally locked the door behind yourself, you pressed your back against it and shut your eyes.

“Fuck.” You whispered, tossing your keys onto the table. You should have never come here. They were already suspicious of you, and the gun had to have been the final straw. What the hell did Castiel need you for anywhow? The brothers always had issues. What would your presence help with?

You walked into the bathroom and began running the shower water.

– – – –

“You’re telling me that’s not weird?” Sam asked, tossing his duffel bag onto the bed.

“No, it’s weird alright.” Dean was still gripping his gun, passing it between his hands. “I just…”

Sam crossed his arms, “Just what, Dean? Are you telling me you still trust her?”

“You’re the one who told me she was clean!” He shouted back. “And yeah.” He sighed. “I still… I still trust her.”

Sam tilted his head and let out an exasperated sigh, “You trust her?”

“Yeah, Sammy. I don’t know why, just a- just a gut feeling.” He placed the gun down on the table and began stripping out from his flannel.

Sam kept his eyes trained on his brother. “So what? We just go on a hunt with this girl we just met?”

“Pretty much.” Dean pulled on a fresh t-shirt.

“Dean.”

“What?”

“She knows things about us. She knew about the bunker, for one thing. Somehow she knew how old I was when we went looking for Dad- I mean! Seriously.” Sam began to question everything you had told them, “No one just stumbles upon our bunker.”

“I trust her.” Dean stated again.

– – – –

“Ready?” Dean pressed a machete into your palm.

You nodded then looked over at Sam, who had remained quiet for the entire car ride.

“Then let’s go.” Dean motioned to move forward into the house.

When you entered the house, all you saw was darkness. Sam found a light switch and flicked it on, but it only turned on one light bulb. You noticed the other three were shattered on the ground.

“What the hell?” You whispered. The three of you looked at one another. The vampires should have already sensed you and begun to attack, but it was silent.

“Are you sure this is the right house?” Dean asked Sam, who nodded.

You gripped your blade tighter. “Let’s go downstairs.”

Sam gripped the doorknob and swung open the door. You followed closely behind him.

Dean was about to go down the stairs as well when he was knocked down to the floor with a crash. As you and Sam scrambled to get back upstairs, the basement door was slammed shut and you were left banging on it.

“Fuck!” You shouted. Dean yelled out in pain and then you heard another crash.

“Let me try.” Sam got in front of you and began to throw his weight against the door, but something was blocking it.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flashlight before shining it around the basement.

“Find something to knock this thing down.” He passed you the flashlight and you went to work. At the bottom of the stairs there was a table with a few tools and a crowbar. You grabbed it and tossed it up to Sam who tried breaking the door down with it.

“Come on, come on!” You begged. Sam glanced at you. He was trying to understand why you were so upset over a man you had just met.

“Please, Sam.” You begged, swallowing down the sob that threatened to leave your throat. “He can’t get hurt!”

He turned to you, chest heaving. Grunting and shouting could be heard on the other side, it was messing with your head. He took the flashlight from your hands and shone it in your direction so he could see you better.

“I don’t think they’re going to let us up anytime soon.” He stated the obvious. But there was nothing else to do about it.

“Please!” You banged your fist against the door one more time. Your body was shaking as you realized that it was your suggestion to go down here in the first place, and now Dean was getting hurt on the other side of this door.

“You need to calm down!” Sam shouted, trying to ground the situation as much as possible.

“How can I possibly calm down when my dad is on the other side of that door?!” You shouted, fists hitting the wood until it began to splinter.

Sam swallowed thickly, “W-What?” He managed to exhale.

“That’s my dad out there.” You steadied your breath before wiping away another stray tear. When his eyes met your green ones, his lips parted. He hadn’t paid closer attention earlier to see that he was looking into his brother’s eyes.

“Okay.” Sam seemed to reassure himself more than you, “Okay.”

He passed you the flashlight, and you were relieved by his sudden calm. He grabbed his gun from his jeans and began shooting at the door knob. It took four shots, but you finally heard something drop to the floor. Whoever was blocking the door jumped back from the sound and Sam was able to push it open.

Immediately, you were thrown into action. A vamp tackled you from the side and you raised your knee, landing a swift kick to the gut. He grabbed your throat and began tightening his grip when Sam kicked him off, allowing you to roll on top and slice his head clean off.

You caught your breath and began to look for your dad.

“Dean!” You shouted, but no response came.

“Let’s go.” Sam gripped your hand and pulled, and you ran behind him.

When you finally got outside he began to speak.

“I saw them taking him into the storm cellar before I got jumped.” He explained. You nodded and exhaled.

“Then why aren’t we moving?” You asked, looking up at your uncle.

He was staring at you, not noticing that he hadn’t replied yet.

“Sam?” You waved your hand in front of him.

“You look just like him. Why didn’t we-” Shock was taking over the rational part of his brain which would tell him to get to Dean first.

“Uncle Sam!” You shouted over his voice. “We gotta move.”

He agreed and led you to the cellar. “I’m going in. Wait out here.”

“Hell no!” You shouted, gripping the handle that opens the cellar.

“I can’t let you get hurt!”

“Two minutes ago you didn’t know who I was!”

He clenched his jaw as he realized he wouldn’t win this fight.

“Stay behind me.” He commanded.

When you finally dropped down into it, the first thing you saw was your father tied up to a chair with a vampire holding a blade to his neck.

Sam stepped back, reaching out his arm to hold you back as well.

“Winchesters.” The vampire smiled, “You must have the best blood out there.”

“Let him go.” Sam stated, machete ready to go in his other hand.

Dean’s mouth was gagged but his eyes were trained on the both of you.

You had never seen him in such a weak position and frankly, it scared the living shit out of you.

“Why would we let a Winchester get away?” He laughed and it made your stomach churn.

“Because I’m going to kill you.” You pushed out of Sam’s hold and towards the monster.

“Y/N!” Sam shouted but you were already too far gone. You slashed at the vamp but he sidestepped and landed a punch to your side.

“Son of a bitch!” You shouted.

Before you could attack him again, Sam was already on it.

“Get Dean!” He shouted and you listened, dropping down to your knees to begin untying him.

“Are you alright?” You asked, pulling the gag from out of his mouth.

“Peachy.” He muttered and began trying to wriggle his ankles out from the rope. You grabbed your blade and sliced at it until the knots gave out and the rope fell loose at his feet.

“Thanks.” He gave a half smile and stood up, only to come crashing back down and into your arms.

“Come on.” You heaved his arm over your shoulders to balance him. Sam finally killed the vamp and lugged Dean over himself instead.

When they finally got to the car, Sam took the wheel while Dean pulled himself into the passenger seat.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Dean finally spoke after a few minutes of driving.

“What?” You asked from the back seat.

“You could’ve gotten hurt.” He said and began rubbing the back of his neck.

You sighed, “Good to know some things don’t change.”  You whispered to yourself, having heard those words a hundred times before.

“Huh?” Dean asked from the front seat.

“You two should talk.” Sam said suddenly.

Sam met your eyes in the rear-view mirror and you sighed.

“How about we get some food first?” You asked, and Dean finally seemed happy about something.

Next thing you knew, you were sliding into a booth with both men seated across from you.

You watched as your dad picked up a menu, drooling over the many food options as usual.

“You did good out there.” Sam said after he ordered himself a sandwich. “You got guts.”

“I learned from the best.” You said in a way that told Sam that you learned from him.

He smiled and took a sip of his drink.

“Thanks for saving my ass back there, by the way.” Dean said while taking a bite of his food.

“I thought you were pissed about that.” You stuck your fork into your waffle.

He shook his head, “I would’ve done the same thing.”

Sam rolled his eyes, waiting for Dean to realize who you were.  

“Oh, yeah.” Dean picked up a handful of fries and shoved them into his mouth, “What were you saying back in the car?” He asked Sam, with a fry hanging out of his mouth.

Sam simply replied with, “Look at her.”

Your heart began to race. Dean turned to you with his brow raised, trying to find something – anything on your face that would explain what Sam was saying.

“Dean.” Sam pushed, “Really, look at her.”

There you sat. Staring at your father who didn’t even know who you were. You watched as his eyes traveled over your face, then stopped at your eyes.

“Hey, Dad.” Slipped your lips.

The smile that had remained on his lips from earlier, faded. Sam looked over at his brother only to see him toss his napkin into his plate and leave the restaurant.

You stared at your uncle, wide eyed. “He- he hates me.”

“No!” Sam shouted, then lowered his voice. “No, he doesn’t. He- I’m going to go check on him.”

“Uncle Sam?” You grabbed the edge of his jacket before he could walk past.

“Yeah?”

“I can call Cas. I can go, right now if that’s what he wants.” You said and his eyes softened.

“Don’t. Please, don’t.” He begged, “I’ll be right back. Don’t call Cas.”

You nodded your head and busied yourself with your drink, sipping at it absentmindedly until there was nothing left.

Back outside, Sam found Dean leaning against the Impala.

“What the hell was that?” He raised his voice at his older brother.

“You’re telling me, Y/N is my kid?” He clenched his jaw, “And a hunter?”

Sam sighed, “That strong girl sitting in there is your daughter. My niece.”

“A hunter.” Dean reiterated.

“A reason to keep going.” Sam stated simply, and Dean considered it.

“Meaning?”

“All we’re doing, all the nights we spend- we spend totally wasted or nearly dead, well something great is going to come out of it.” Sam motioned towards the diner where you were waiting. “And the way that you just walked out on her tells me she’s about to call Castiel to take her back.”

“Leaving?” Dean peeled himself off of the car, “She wouldn’t-” He started, then sprinted towards the entrance of the diner.

You bumped into him as he nearly tore the door open.

“Y/N.” He breathed out.

“I should go, really.” You pushed past him and towards the parking lot.

“No!” He exclaimed and grabbed your arm. You turned around and looked up at him. He stared at you, seeing his own eyes looking back, and pulled you into a tight hug. You pressed your head against his familiar chest and smiled.

“So, you’re okay with me?” You asked.

“What?” He pulled you off of him, “Look at you.”

Sam walked up to the both of you and gave you the familiar smile you were so used to seeing.

Dean beamed at you, “Seriously. You’re the only good thing to come out of this life. Everything about you. I saw your strength and smarts today. You’re more than just okay. You’re fucking perfect.”

You smiled up at them, loving the compliment, “You’re pretty cool when you’re young.”

He scoffed, “When I’m young?”

“You get kinda cranky.” You shrugged.

“He’s always cranky.” Sam rolled his eyes, sending you into a fit of laughter.

Dean crossed his arms and scoffed.

“I’ll go grab our leftovers.” You said and started towards the diner.

“That’s my daughter!” Dean exclaimed with a smile, then suddenly turned to Sam.

“Daughter.” He repeated, realizing what he just said.

“Yeah.” Sam nodded.

“Huh.” Dean swung the car keys around his finger, “Daughter.”

“And a damn good one.” Sam said, causing Dean to smile.

He looked at his younger brother, then pulled him into a tight hug.

“I got a daughter, Sammy!” He exclaimed, “Ha!”

Sam began to laugh, pulling away from his older brothers grip.

You watched and listened from the door, careful not to interrupt. Right there, you saw exactly why Castiel sent you here. They just needed something to look forward to, and that’s where you came in. Cas knew that knowing you would make Dean realize that he wasn’t all bad, and that Sam would eventually get the family he always wanted. Your lip quirked upwards as you looked on. 

A familiar rustling of feather sounded behind you.

“I think you’re done here.” Castiel spoke from behind you.

You exhaled and looked at the boys beaming faces. “I am.”

Suddenly, you were back in your bedroom at the bunker.

You’re My Mission [BuckyxReader]

Summary: The Winter Soldier has been implanted into your life. Why?

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: drinking in dive-bars

Word Count: 783

A/N: A new semester means a new series. Obviously. I mean…priorities, amirite? This should be interesting. How far it goes depends entirely on your feedback. So. Validate me. Please? Anything in directional quotes is translated from Russian.

Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8; Part 9; Part 10; Part 11


Originally posted by led-lite


«Are you certain there isn’t anyone else we can use?»
«The mission is too important. We have no other choice.»

Keep reading

3

Probably the same car with a new hood. It’s a 1934 Packard Twelve Convertible Victoria complete with Pilot Rays by Dietrich . 142 inch wheelbase and a 445.5 cu in V12 giving 160 bhp at a very casual 3,200 rpm. The Eights had chrome plated radiator surrounds but the Twelves had painted surrounds.

4:56 PM, Monday Afternoon at the Monsieur Valjean Household

ao3

Valjean walked into the kitchen. His feet were hurting, and all he wanted to do was pop open a Copa di Vino and curl up next to their fireplace that was made entirely of amethyst crystals (it opened up the room, Javert had told him, when telling him how much the project would cost and how much labor Jean, himself, would have to do) whilst reading a book, or catching up on Outlanders. 

Instead, he was greeted with the displeased face of his husband, Javert, standing in front of the fridge with his arms crossed over his chest. The redness of his angry cheeks bounced colorfully off the Apple-Green lime colored walls.

Jean stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in confusion. “Are you alright, honey?” 

“Am I- Am.” Javert huffed, and looked away, as though he was astounded that Valjean could ever ask that question. “Am I alright? You tell me. Do I like alright?” He was wearing his Sperry-brand boat shoes, with the blue button-up that he seemed to reserve for his most… Well. What Jean could only describe as his most ‘high-maintenance’ days. 

“…No. I’m just not certain why. It would help if you told me.” Maybe he would be forced to add ‘one hit from the pocket vape’ on his itinerary for the night.

Javert’s stance only tightened, his lips squeezing in the way that meant he was about to launch into yet another of his tirades. “You tell me.” With a flourish, he opened their chrome-plated, double-door fridge, complete with the pull-out freezer, and produced… A bag of Kraft cheese? 

“…Cheese.” Jean said. Javert merely stood there with the cheese in hand, offering no explanation and, indeed, no inclination to move, or progress the conversation, apparently. “It, uh,” Valjean said, after a moment, at a loss for words and resorting to the only thing he did know; taste in food. “It tastes good in quesadillas.”

“It tastes good in HELL!” Javert screeched, and threw the bag of cheese at Valjean to catch. He did catch the bag, of course, and Javert’s eyes were clearly momentarily distracted by the brief flex of muscle that was hinted at under his Calvin Klein green blazer.

Valjean sniffed, and said ominously, “You do not know of hell, Javert.” 

Javert blinked, and waited for an explanation. Without recieving one, he continued, “You bought Kraft™*. Cheddar cheese. To my house. To MY HOUSE.”

It’s just cheese, sweetheart!” Ah. He knew where this was going now. There was no avoiding it now. And… Here it was. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I married Mansanto!” Javert’s voice could be grating on a good day. Standing here, in front of the open fridge, while he screeched at Valjean, it was just about unbearable. As though a 1980′s leather daddy had decided ASMR was his next big breakthrough. 

Valjean sighed, and dutifully turned around to throw the bag of shredded cheese into the garbage. He turned back to his husband. “There. See, Javert? All gone now. No more quesadillas for me.” 

Javert’s gaze went from the garbage can, to Valjean, to the garbage can again, before he said, “Just confer with me on these things. You know Kraft™ is the devil-”

Before he could finish his thought, one of their many children happened to walk by. Enjorlas. The one Valjean worried the most about and the one Javert doted on more than the rest. He seemed to have heard the tail-end of the conversation, for he marched into the room in his bio-degradable and earth-friendly sandles with all the confidence of a Victoria’s Secret model. “Did I hear you say something about Kraft™? Funnily enough, I was reading-”

Fuck. Valjean loved them both so very much, and held both of them dearly in his heart, but there was no possible way on this godly earth that he was going to get subjected to an Enjorlas Soapbox special, likely to last at least an hour, maybe more, if Javert was heated enough to get involved, as well. 

He gave both his husband and adopted son a borderline apologetic look before he snuck behind Javert, grabbed a Chobani Greek Yogurt (his second of his allotted two yogurts per-day) and his can of Copa di Vino, and hightailed it out of the kitchen. 

He’s let one of the other kids deal with the fiasco in the kitchen. He was having a dinner date with The Daily Show with Trevor Noah and going to bed.

*[AN: Both Javert and Enjorlas pronounce the ( tm ) portion of the brand name out lout.]

The Purge:Avengers Assemble *Avengers*

Originally posted by ujustneedbrave

Summary: The Purge, a night where for 12hrs all crime is legal. A night where people are allowed to do as they please. A group of unlikely individuals end up battling for their lives in a billionaire’s mansion.
Steve and Bucky, a pair who go out on Purge night to help citizens. Natasha and Clint, a pair who came together one Purge night and now are hired to assassinate on that night. Tony a billionaire who makes weapons for that night. Bruce, an unlucky man with a shitty car. And Thor, a man with an unfortunate brother situation. 
Warnings: Violence, blood, implied smut, talk of sex, implied rape scenes. 
Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Thor & Loki, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Brock Rumlow, Wanda Maximoff(sequel), Pietro Maximoff(sequel), The Howling Commandos, Darcy Lewis, Jane Foster, T’Challa and Peter Parker (Sequel)

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Steve Rogers (unsure if I should add reader insert, let me know. May do WinterWitch> Bucky x Wanda, if not, I can add reader and maybe put her with Bucky)


Tony 5 Hours Before Purging

“Mr Stark, do you have any thoughts on the latest weapon you have issued out for Purge night?” one female news reporter asked.

Tony stood in front of many press, news reporters and journalists. This was his life, making new weapons every year for normal people to use on purge night, a lot of people like him make money from this… distasteful night. Only he makes the most. Every year Tony Stark releases a new weapon, limited to that year of Purge.

“Well, this year’s weapon is very unique, nothing like I have made previously.” He spoke clearly into the microphone, signature Stark smirk upon his lips, “this year’s weapon is called the Mark XXIV or Tank is what I like to call it, only the daring will use it. Beautifully plated chrome and gold, it’s around the same size of a .500 S&W Magnum. Not a revolver, works like a standard handgun.” Pictures popping up of his limited Purge gun of the year, “of course my own little twist is added, electromagnet was added to give it that extra… push in the modern age of purging.”

Besides being known for making money from the Purge night, Tony also deals with clean energy, two very different fields and completely trumping every and all other companies in both. Which is why Tony doesn’t participate in Purge night, he’s been a target since taking over Stark Industries from his father. His parents were both purged when he was only a teen. This often has people wondering why he went into the business of making weapons specifically for Purge night.

“Will you not be participating in this year’s Purge, Mr Stark?” Another spoke up causing Tony to chuckle lightly.

He shakes his head, “No, I will not be participating this year. I do hope however that the people purging like the weapon this year, it will be selling at gun stores as of right now, and remember if you don’t get one you can always purge for one.”

He smiled and nodded to his team before being escorted away back to his lockdown mansion.

Steve 4.5 Hours Before Purging

Originally posted by james-barnes

Steve double checked every bag was equipped and every gun was loaded, causing his friends to all groan with annoyance from the dining table they all sat playing Poker around. He simply chuckled and threw the last gun into a green duffle and zipping it up.

“You’ll be thanking me for all this double checking,” Steve smiled and pulled out a chair, his friends all chuckling or rolling their eyes in response.

Dum Dum Dugan, loudly laughing as a cigar stuck out the left side of his mouth, “in your dreams Rogers. The day I say thank you is the day someone knifes me on Purge night.”

Steve simply rolled his eyes and took a drink from Gabe; he had met all these men when serving for his country, he and his best friend Bucky went into line of action. They all went onto special ops, forming their own small team before they served their time, now they all live relatively normal lives.

Except when its Purge night. They band together and patrol the streets of Brooklyn, sometimes venturing as far as New York, only to help stranded civilians. Help families who can’t protect themselves, they’ve also been known to steal from shops also but they are relatively good people on Purge night.

“Hey, Punk, did you see the new limited weapon from Stark?” a voice called from behind Steve, he craned his neck and see his best friend since childhood walk into the room, cigarette dangling from behind his left ear and denim jacket was thrown carelessly over one shoulder. “It’s a whopper of a gag, chrome gold and scarlet red.”

Steve rolls his eyes, Bucky had never been fond of Mr Stark’s limited weapons for Purge Night, not that Steve was but he couldn’t help but Marvel at some. “Why do you get so angsty over him?”

“I do not,” Bucky places a hand on the back of his chair, looking down at Jacques cards and offering a word of advice between his yearly rant. “He just is really promoting this bullshit thing, despite what happened, you’d think he’d show some sympathy for others who had lost their parents, innocently, to purge night.”

“Okay, Jerk but you totally get angsty over him every year; even the guys agree.” Bucky looked at his friends who all nodded, Dum Dum laughing almost choking on his own cigar at Bucky’s face.

He pulls the cigarette from behind his ear, lighting it with a sour expression causing Steve to chuckle, earning a smack upside the head from Buck. He turned and frowned at Bucky, who smirked and earned a middle finger.

Natasha & Clint 3 Hours Before Purging

Originally posted by spiderandhawk

“Let’s filler her up on gas, also get some snacks,” Clint called as Natasha exited the passenger’s seat, rolling her green eyes lazily at her best friend, nodding once before walking towards the gas station shop as Clint pulled the pump from the gas tank.

Natasha walked into the store, nodding once at the owner, an elderly man with a perky smile and it was that smile that made Natasha feels slightly queasy. People don’t just go out and murder in cold blood on purge night, no, people are kidnapped and…raped throughout the 12 hours. Something Natasha has witnessed first-hand.

She scanned the shelves for some potato chips, grabbing beers also just because it will take the edge off; she shut the fridge door and turned bumping into somebody. Looking up she jumped slightly, staring back at her wasn’t a normal face but one covered by a mask, specifically a clown like one made from plastic.

She sighed, “purge isn’t for another three hours, loser, get in line for the queue willing to kill me.” She stepped around the man, who just watched her, rolling her eyes and walking to the counter where she paid for the snacks and beer; giving her blessing for a good purge night before leaving the store and walking back to the car.

“Well, don’t they look friendly,” Natasha looked up as she reached the car to see Clint nod his head across the car park.

Originally posted by begavet

Sure enough, there was the same guy, head tilted to the side as he looked right back at the pair. Only this time, there were others crowding him, all masks on and holding various weapons. Holding Skateboards in one of their hands, that must be how they’re travelling around, Natasha thought to herself. A young group of teens, probably participating in their first purge night.

They got in their car, Natasha’s eyes still staring back at the group; a part of her knew she’d be seeing them later as Purge night starts. A horrible settling feeling in her gut, she didn’t often feel this unsettled by this night but she did this time, a part of her knows she maybe should have had pleaded Clint to stay in tonight.

“You okay, Nat?” Clint asked glancing back at her before going back to the road, pulling on his purple sunshades, Natasha rolled her green eyes at her best friend.

“Fine, they just creeped me out,” she shrugged gently her eyes drifted to the mirror a saw a figure in the distance come into view. Her breath caught in her throat even from here she knew.

Thor 2 Hours Before Purging

Originally posted by casisnotinfire

Thor watched as the window shutters came down earlier than usual. Thick metal creating a shadow as they keep anyone from coming in and especially anyone getting out.  His brow furrowed, they never come down this early, and he turned out of his room and down to the living area.

His family are respected in the neighbourhood; they’ve also been a respected family for hosting Purge parties, something Thor isn’t fully behind. He’s watched his family purge innocent people, unfortunately, lower class people who offer their lives for money for their families, different circumstances but still the horrible conclusion.

His mother and father sat in the living room, TV playing the countdown news channel to purge night; he coughed lightly earning their attention.

“The shutters?” he simply asked eyebrows furrowing as his mother just sighed, giving her husband a look for him to answer.

His father looked at him, he lost an eye during one unfortunate purge night, “I’ve closed the shutters early because we are not purging this year. None of us, a few trustworthy people have been telling me that someone is after my boys.” Thor frowned deeply.

“Let them come, let them figure out what a mistake they’ve made.” Thor burst earning his brother to come into the room, holding a book in hand he looked between Thor and their dad. Loki was adopted, taken in when his family was killed on Purge night, by Thor’s family and it was the least they could do for the young boy.

Their father shakes his head, “this isn’t up for discussion, and you have less than two hours to tell your friends that you can’t be part of their plans, this house is going under locked down for the first time in ten years.”

Thor leaves in a huff, walking through the halls once again to his room and sitting on his bed. It’s not that he likes to purge but it’s a way to let off the steam that is built. That’s what purging is meant for, letting your inner demons out for that one night.

He doesn’t know how long he sat there for but he gets up, hearing his parents down the hall talking amongst themselves, deciding he should talk his brother Loki he ventures further down the halls. He accepted Loki as his brother straight away; he hates what his family did to his family, partly why he hates purge night also.

He hears light murmurs coming from his brother’s room, the door a creak open and Thor shouldn’t snoop but he does. He looks through the slither; Loki is on the phone, talking quietly in hushed, cautious tones.

“No, my family has this place on locked down, it’s gonna be even more difficult to take him out than before.” Loki mutters down the phone, “he won’t be on the streets; you’ll have to come in and kill him from in here, killing him will be easy enough. Once that is done, you have what I want?” Thor can’t hear the other end but the conversation doesn’t sound too good, “if anyone gets in your way you have my permission to cut them down, trust me, it’s madness I know but killing Thor and his family will be a blessing for us both.”

Thor’s eyes widen, he steps away from the door and frowns, turning around abruptly he debates on telling his parents. His mind swarming as he walks down the hallways, mind reeling on this information, his brother wants him dead? For what reason, he does not know but he felt sick. He couldn’t tell their parents, whoever it is just wants him, if he leaves Frigga and Odin won’t be killed because of him.

He grabs his coat and pulls on some shoes, opening the front door quietly and leaves. He had to get to his friends before the Purging begins.

Bruce 30 Minutes Before Purging

“No, no, please no.” Bruce cries from inside his car, pushing his glasses up his nose as he tries the gas again… nothing. “Shit.” He opens the car door and scratches his hair, no one was gonna let him use their phone or hide out, especially on a night like this.

He was miles from his safe house, he had no way of getting help, and he was well and truly fucked. Any other night, any other night this could have happened but nope had to be tonight. He leant against the car and pulled his glasses off if he was gonna be killed might as well be able to see them through his glasses without smudge marks.

If he walked through the city it would take an hour, only the city is always crawling with purgers, people not caring if he was left out by accident. This night is about survival. Bruce isn’t good at surviving, despite being known for having a temper, often told to go out and purge that anger out himself… he can’t. Something about taking another’s life isn’t something he likes the idea of.

Originally posted by eoneanz

He pulls his bag from the car, taking his keys out; he probably won’t see this car again. Keep to the backstreets and move as quickly as he can. He opened his bag and pulled his tablet out, opening the case an odd looking card was stored there, frowning Bruce picked it up and examined it closely. 

A playing card, a Joker on the front. He flipped it over and on the back of the card in black marker was the words, ‘You Angry Yet?’. Someone set this up. 

‘Twenty Minute till Purge Night’, he heard the faint warning sign from the city ahead. Fuck!

Purge Begins

Steve

Originally posted by tomshardy

“You guys ready?” Steve asked turning to his friends, each one nodding and walking out the door with him.

The Brooklyn streets were deathly silent as the siren quietens down, leaving nothing but the realisation that it would be a long twelve hours of survival, something Steve still gets a kick out of since leaving the force. The adrenaline slowly pumping through his veins.

The click of a lighter fills the silence; Steve turns his head to watch Dum Dum and Gabe light a cigar each, he chuckled lightly before going back to surveying the area. Blue eyes piercing any shadows and ears listening for anyone watching them.

“You heard back from Rumlow?” Bucky walked up beside Steve’s side, looking at his best friend who was full focused on looking for any unwanted attention, “cause he seemed pretty pissed that you didn’t want to join his squad tonight.”

“He’ll get over it, he knows how I feel about purging, he couldn’t have thought I’d join his crusade to pillage houses for… women and murder.” Steve winced at his words which were true beyond the belief.

Bucky chuckled slightly, “pillage? Steve, it isn’t counted as murder tonight, remember? Maybe you should join Rumlow, you got a heck of a lot of demons tonight.” He offered lightly.

“So, just because the laws are gone for twelve hours it doesn’t count? Lives are still lost in cold, hard blood. Nothing is changed just the fact that the government is looking the other way. You won’t catch me doing what any of those other groups do,” Bucky stared at his friend’s profile for a moment before nodding.

“Gee’ you got a heck of an opinion,” Bucky clapped Steve’s shoulder before nodding to the others to walk further into Brooklyn.

Steve knew Brock didn’t like him declining him, in fact, he had told him to watch his back on that purge night. Steve glanced behind them, staring down the street, almost willing Rumlow to come round the corner to confirm his threat. His name is called by James Falsworth; he turns to the British friend who just offers a smile.

“You okay Rogers?” he nods once, offering a confident smirk and the two jog to catch up with the others.

**

“Shit!” Steve yelled from behind a wall, gun raised and panting heavily from beside Dum Dum, who was yelling about how he dropped his cigar. “How many do you think there are?”

“Too Goddamn many, Cap” was yelled gruffly in his ear, his friends always brought up the nickname on this day, it used to irk him but now he has grown accustomed to the name.- mostly cause it makes him remember his army days.

Steve sighed harshly and peeked out from the corner, a gun goes off and a bullet skims past his face by a few inches, Dum Dum pulls Steve back by the collar and laughs.

“Hey, his face is all he has going for him,” he yells over the roaring of gunshots causing Steve to chuckle.

“We are on their turf.” Steve yelled back, smirk settling on his face as Dum Dum made a grunting noise, cocking his gun and lightening another cigar, “plus they have those limited edition guns and let’s be honest, they’re pretty darn good’.” Dum Dum sighed and nodded in agreement, tipping his hat as he looked over Steve’s shoulder.

“Who the hell is that idiot?”

Steve turned with a frown and sure enough, there was a man wondering on the Brooklyn Street, in what Steve has called ‘no man’s land’, between him and the other Purgers. Doesn’t this dude know what night it is? He’s walking around no weapon, looking lost and as if he has nothing to worry about.

“Call the guys for back up, I’mma have to go in and get that idiot outta the street.” Steve sighed and placed his gun sling around his shoulder, rubbing his fingerless, leather clad gloves together.

Natasha & Clint

“I really don’t think we should be stopping, Clint” Natasha muttered to her friend who just shrugged his shoulders.

She felt jittery, she hadn’t felt this jittery since her first purge night and that was years ago, she was a child and her father forced her to take part. The streets were dark, illuminated by street lamps and all she could hear was silence.

“What’s got you so tense?”

“Those idiots back at the gas station,” she muttered and Clint frowned gently, “I don’t know, I just have a weird feeling something bad is gonna happen tonight, I haven’t felt like this since the purge night I met you.” She admitted with a small frown, looking out the car window.

Clint nodded lightly and sighed, “Listen, we got this. We’ve been doing this as a team for years. If anyone can handle those hooligans it’s us, even you on your own.” Natasha chuckled and nodded.

“We need to lose the car anyway,” Clint tells her opening his door, Natasha frowned and followed him to the trunk where he pulled out the duffle bag and his bow and arrows.

Clint was very particular with how he purged, he used to do archery as a child and decided to incorporate that skill to his purging. Natasha marvelled at his artistic skill and hawk-eye but she didn’t understand why he’d always prefer a bow over a gun.

“We are being tracked.”

“What? By who?” she looked behind them and watched the street they had just driven down, deep down she knew by who but she just wanted Clint’s confirmation, his assurances that she hasn’t been going insane during their car journey.

“Those guys from the gas station, I didn’t want to say anything till I was sure and then you confirmed the odd feelings I’ve been getting since we left that place,” he sighed gently and she chuckled pulling two guns from the duffle.

Placing them in her thigh holsters, pulling on her leather jacket and placing a blue baseball cap over her red hair; as if that somehow helped her keep a low profile. Clint zipped up a bomber jacket and slung his arrows carrier over his shoulder, holding his custom made quiver and looked at Nat as he shut the boot and threw the keys over his shoulder.

“We need an up high area,” he looked around pulling his shades off and looking around.

“Do you hear that?” Natasha asked stepping around her friend and listening. There in the distance a round of bullets being fired, “someone’s having a fun night.” She grinned over her shoulder.

“And we have a job remember? Over twenty grand is on this,” he sighed as Natasha walked towards the noise and Clint groaned before following after her, something in the distance caught Natasha’s eye and she made the mistake of looking.

Sure enough, there was the group from the gas station skating down the road towards them. Clint grabbed Nat’s hand.

“Let’s hope whoever is firing will help us take these punks out,” he whispered and pulled her along as they ran up the street.

Bruce

He had figured out he was in Brooklyn, he knew to keep away from Queens, some purger is known as Spiderman. No one knew who that person was because he wore a mask, like most, only from stories the mask is terrifying. 

He was near Prospect Park from signs when bullets started to fly at him. He ducked and hid behind a lone car, people yelling and firing at his cover, not even two hours into Purge and he’s already gonna die. Brilliant, just what he needed his car to break down and now this, to be fired at and killed in Brooklyn?

“HEY!” Bruce looked up and sees a very tall, muscular man staring at him from behind a corner. Army gear on, rugged looking face and a gun firing bullets at the people firing at him, “DON’T YOU KNOW WHAT NIGHT IT IS?”

“YEAH, MY CAR BROKE DOWN. I’M STUCK MILES FROM MY SAFE HOUSE.” Why was Bruce telling the man this? He just had a good guy vibe about him. Bruce watched as the man talked to the guy beside him, also in army greens, bowler hat and cigar hanging from the man’s mouth, they talked before that guy got in position to cover him.

Bruce watched as the mystery man ran, full on ran whilst being shot at to Bruce and ended up skidding, sliding and stopping beside Bruce. This guy was serious. Probably actually from a military background, no wonder he is out on purge night.

“Don’t worry we aren’t actually purging,” Bruce raised his eyebrows and nods, “I’m Steve Rogers, got a name?”

“Bruce Banner,” Steve frowned, “Yeah, that scientist guy who raged on live TV at a world peace ceremony.” Steve chuckled.

“Nicknamed the Hulk cause of that,” Bruce sighed and nodded, “kinda like Jekyll and Hyde thing. People call your rage side Hulk, yeah; my boys showed me the YouTube video.” Bruce groaned and that made Steve chuckle.

“Listen, all I care about is getting you to safety, Doctor.” Bruce smiled and nodded, watching as Steve peaked over the car, “when I say run, run towards Dum Dum.” Bruce sucked in a breath and nodded and after a few seconds, “RUN.”

Bruce got up and ran towards the man who was covering them both, Steve turned and started to shoot at the other purgers hitting three before getting to safety himself, he nodded for them to meet up with the others.
*

Originally posted by sikanapanele

“Rogers,” the three stopped and he sighed as a group of well-armed men walked towards them “good to see you purging, where are your other boys?” Steve locked his jaw and glanced at Dum Dum who held his gun tighter.

Bruce counted ten men including the one talking; they couldn’t take them, especially with himself so unequipped.

“Back at our place, I see you’ve already started and it’s not even into hour two, Rumlow,” Steve mentioned stiffly to the burning house just a few yards from them and Rumlow grinned cockily at that.

“Just doing what this night is about, you should let loose Cap, you are looking a little bit screwed too tight,” Rumlow smirked.

Rumlow was a tanned, tall and dark haired man. Almost as well built as Steve but somehow Bruce knew that if it came to it, Rumlow could easily take down Steve, he had a very uneasy feeling about this group. Especially with their smirks, clearly, they’re doing more than going around shooting people on purge night.

“Recruiting are we?” Bruce looked at Rumlow who was smiling at him, a chill ran through him as he pushed his glasses up, “please tell me you aren’t going around taking people’s purges, Rogers?”

“He’s a friend; we should get going, happy purging Rumlow,” Steve tells him and that makes Rumlow smile.

“Keep an eye on your men, Rogers. If they stop any of my team from purging tonight, we all won’t hesitate to shoot.” Rumlow calls.

“Neither will us.” Steve shot back before watching Rumlow leave round the corner with his men, “we gotta find the others and get you a weapon.” Bruce sighs and follows the two men.

( Happy Halloween. Let me know what you think. I’m kind of making the storylines in Marvel fit the Purge AU, also let me know if I did reader insert, who should I pair reader with. Kind of don’t want Steve x Reader, but give me feedback. Anything you want to happen? this is just the first part and it’s over 4,000 words. - Rosalee)

1995-2005 Dubbed “The Body Kit Era” is an interesting time in tuner history. I got into the car scene right near the end of it, and its been an interesting evolution from then till now.

So much money I feel used to be wasted on cosmetics rather than performance although there were always exceptions of clean non-ricer tuners that had amazing builds during that era.

Body kits, clear or altezza/euro lights, shiny chrome rims, crooked licence plates molded into the trunk or bumper, bright paint jobs with ice flakes, shaved door handles / moldings / bumpers, CONVERSIONS, large spoilers and loud mufflers are just some of the trends common then. Some never really went away either, for sure mufflers.

Anyway enjoy this throwback Thursday of “The Body Kit Era” !

4

Matt Bellamy’s Manson guitar Bomber was used for three years from 2003 to 2006, notably during the 2004 Absolution Tour, and made its last debut at Werchter in 2006. Bomber is also featured in music videos of Hysteria (US version) and Starlight.

Bomber is decorated with airplane rivets (from a scrap yard, presumably from the Second World War) to cover some faults in the chrome plate as the guitar needed to be done incredibly quickly, in only a few weeks time, to use it during touring. Hugh Manson commented on the guitar; “I was trying to make it look like a sort of burnt wing of a B52 bomber, I suppose. Luckily it turned out amazingly and it sounds awesome. It’s funny how something that starts out being a good project, goes through this potential disaster stage and comes round to being a massive success.”

when you’re going through #GameOfThrones withdrawals and you’re design reminds you of #dragonEggs 🤔😅🐉 // used: chrome pigment from Bornprettystore , stamping plate 005 by héhé 💅🏼

https://instagram.com/p/BJWM4R1gRnz/

2

This is a Pebble Beach winner in 2013 and it won Best in Show award. It’s a 1934 Packard 1108 Twelve Convertible Victoria by the man himself Ray Dietrich. This one’s had the radiator surround chrome plated. It must have been a factory option as these Concours cars have to have absolutely original specification to win prizes.

10

First Look: The New Mazda MX-5 Arctic

Mazda is hoping for things to turn a little Arctic this winter with the launch of the latest special edition version of the award-winning MX-5 convertible. On sale next February, the new Mazda MX-5 Arctic aims to brighten winter days with its Blue Reflex Metallic paint and contrasting bright silver design cues.

Based on the 1.5-litre 131ps SE-L Nav, the MX-5 Arctic’s striking silver details contrast attractively against the icy blue paint. With 16-inch alloy wheels, a silver windscreen surround, silver wing mirrors and silver headrest hoops the Arctic has the distinctive look you’d expect of an MX-5 and continues the trend of offering sports car customers a striking car at an affordable price.

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2

Vladimir Tatlin was a leader of the Russian Constructivist movement, and the Tatlin is the only existing chair from this period.

Tatlin" chair, designed 1927

Chrome-plated steel, leather. 31 in. (78.7 cm) high. Manufactured by Nikol Internazionale, Italy.

4

M16 Woes in Vietnam,

Invented by Eugene Stone in 1959, the M16 series and it’s variants serve as the bread and butter infantry weapon of the US Military. Adopted in 1964, it was meant as a replacement of the M14 battle rifle. It had several advantages over the older M14. With its polymer furniture it was much lighter. It fired a much smaller caliber cartridge (5.56 NATO whereas the M14 was 7.62 NATO) allowing the soldier to carry more ammunition. It had a lighter recoil, was easier to control firing in fully automatic mode, was exceptional accurate, had a very high muzzle velocity (3,000+ feet per second) and had good range.

Initial trial runs with special forces and American advisers in Vietnam showed that the M16 preformed well. However, once the M16 was commonly issued to common grunts, serious problems began to emerge. The new rifle gained a reputation for being completely unreliable, and horror stories spread of dead American soldiers being found with jammed rifles or rifles being dismantled in the process of clearing the jam. The most common malfunction was the failure to extract, where the empty casing would remain jammed within the action after firing. Other malfunctions including slam firing, light striking, and excessive wear and breakages of parts.

Due to reports of its unreliability, a Congressional investigation chaired by Rep. Richard Ichord was conducted in 1967 to identify and solve the problem. The investigation found that the M16 in it’s current usage had a malfunction rate of around 2 per 1,000 rounds. During the investigation, a Marine rifleman testified,

We left with 72 men in our platoon and came back with 19, Believe it or not, you know what killed most of us? Our own rifle. Practically every one of our dead was found with his (M16) torn down next to him where he had been trying to fix it.

The Ichord Committee  found several problems with the new M16. At the time US Military small arms had a chrome plated bore to protect it from corrosion, fouling, dirt, mud, and moisture. Chrome plating was a lesson learned in World War II and Korea, and by 1957 was standard military ordnance protocol. However, it was decided not to chrome the M16, the decision made by none other than the staff of Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, who micromanaged M16 development and the Vietnam War in general. They reasoned that because the original Stoner design lacked a chromed barrel, it was not necessary.

Originally the M16 was tested using 5.56 NATO cartridges with DuPont IMR8208M stick gunpowder. To increase production of ammunition, Olin Mathieson WC846 ball powder was used instead. This gunpowder caused more residue and fowling, which increased chances of a malfunction.

By far the biggest issue was the erroneous belief  that the M16 was a “self cleaning” rifle which did not require regular cleaning and maintenance. This myth was perpetration by the manufacturer, Colt, by Robert McNamara, and the military.  Soldiers were even told that cleaning was unnecessary. Cleaning kits were not issued as the military actually had no cleaning kits for 5.56 caliber. Some veteran soldiers who saw through the bullshit used .22 caliber cleaning kits commonly used for small game civilian hunting rifles. It is my personal belief that the military and administration didn’t necessarily believe the M16 was such a wonder rifle, but were simply negligent, rolling the dice and hoping that nothing bad would happen due to the lack of cleaning kits.

The results of the Ichord Committee brought about several changes.  First, several improvements were made to the M16, resulting in the M16A1.  The M16A1 featured a chromed bore and chamber, as well as a forward assist to aid the user in clearing a jam.  More importantly, appropriate cleaning kits were issued, and soldiers were trained in how to properly maintain their rifles. Special comic books were even printed making the process easy to understand.

As a result, the incidence of malfunctions dropped dramatically, and the M16 earned a reputation as a reliable weapon. A survey conducted by the military in 1968 found that 85% of combat troops preferred the M16 over the M14.  The rest is military history.

veuve-lilac  asked:

"Do you need some help with your faceplate ?" -she was concerned to see the omnic showing the artificial eyeballs with his faceplate open-

“I should be fine.” Zenyatta said as he fiddled with some wires behind his faceplate. Stupid things had gotten tangled, and he had to optimise his vision, recalibrate it manually, but the button for that was behind the protective plate of chrome.

Eventually, with a soft hiss, the plate shifted back into place, making Zenyatta whole again. He made a ‘ta-dah’ motion with his hands, chuckling lightly. “But your concern is appreciated, as was the offer. I apologize you had to see that.”

#mobile

scootsaboot  asked:

good luck on your move I hope everything goes well!! and I'd love to see a little rhack domestic au ficlet if you're up for it :)

i’m always a slut for domestic au. /trolls through Lego’s tags for inspiration.

Ah, okay, how about something I alluded to ages ago.

Once upon a time, Rhys almost worked for another company. It was years ago now, but when he’d just gotten out of school with his degree, he was a pretty impressive prospective employee for Hyperion or Atlas. Both of them were big names in the game, and Rhys was courted for both. Having a thesis project on programming hueristic artificial intelligences was a boon for him.

Hyperion had two things going for them: one, that Vaughn had picked Hyperion for his career path, and two, they were willing to give him an arm.

At the time, Rhys had a… decent hybrid arm. It worked, it was fine and got the job done. Having his custom keyboard that let him type one handed was always the faster option, though.

When Rhys told the headhunter that he was torn between Hyperion and another company, the woman had looked him in the eye and said, “We can give you something Atlas can’t. Our new line of myoelectric arms will enter beta testing in two months. Come to Hyperion, and I’ll put you at the top of the waiting list.”

There are such things as offers you cannot refuse. Even if the Hyperion arm was a little gaudy and yellow, it was an arm with enough articulation to type and write and–

Rhys learned his loyalty could be bought early, and felt zero guilt about it.

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