Made a protective hazmat suit for Tobias who exists in @yes-this-is-brony‘s NuclearAU. A full coverage air tight suit made mostly of of waterproof Cuben fiber and waterproof lead lined military grade Kevlar. The suit is lightweight and flexible but still provides great physical protection. It has its own SCBA which can carry around 24 hours of clean oxygen.

anonymous asked:

You are the best, most positive, least clickbaity youtuber i have ever seen and for that, i love you. Yt has too much negativity

Im just havin fun goofin around here!!

Punch Drunk - Cait/Vi Fic Drabble

This fic goes out to the lovely anon whose birthday was yesterday and requested a drabble. Happy birthday, friend, and thanks for being a reader!


It’s familiar.

The cold, geometric press of the chain link at her back, the taste of whiskey at the back of her tongue and the taste of blood at the corner of her lip.

Some people say they love the scream of the crowd. Vi doesn’t even hear them.

She hears the sweep of her bare feet against the polished concrete, the throb of her heart in her ears, and the answering echo of her opponent’s feet.

Loose, ready, relaxed, tensed.

Her shoulders easy, her core and lower back coiled tight.

Elbows down, fists loosely curled.

He advances.

She keeps her breathing calm.

His blow comes, wide and sloppy. She deflects, pops him hard in the nose, dances away.

Vi licks her lips, feels the promise of bruising, tastes the coppery, sweaty sting of the split.

Doesn’t matter.

Doesn’t matter as long as she wins.

Calm, easy. Here he comes. Angry now – faster and sloppier.

He goes for a big hit. Vi takes his momentum, pivots on her hip, and flips him.

She doesn’t hear the roar of the drunken fans.

Just the gasping wheeze of the air leaving his lungs.

He’s done. That was a hard fall.


The boys at the office don’t question the split lip, the shiner over her left eye. They might have tried, when she first started, but they know she plays it off with a laugh and then goes cold if they keep pushing. She’s got the uniforms trained not to probe.

Her Detective, though. Detectives like to probe.

She skulks, on days when she knows the marks are visible. Stay on the beat, make sure to be hunched over paperwork between 10:15 – 10:20 when the Sheriff goes to the kitchen for her first tea of the day, be in the bathroom between 3:25 – 3:30 when she goes for the second.

Like perfectly aligned gears in an elegant hextech mechanism, Vi contrives to avoid Caitlyn during the days after a fight like this one.

But the damn woman has been paying more attention, lately.

Mind, she’s always paid attention to Vi.


Professional, responsible, uncertain at first – gotta make sure that reformed crook isn’t taking advantage of her shiny new badge, yeah? Yeah. Makes sense.

But now Vi’s made the mistake of making herself noticeable, let slip that she’s smarter than the average bruiser. It’s nice that the Sheriff respects her, it really is, but it makes it a lot harder to keep her boss at arm’s length – and her quiet hum of hunger for her boss at arm’s length – when she keeps coming to her for advice on cases, and then actually listening.

So of course today Cait wants to talk about the background of gang, the layout of a crime scene, the intricacies of Zaun-Piltover street thug peace treaties – and damn, but there’s no way to avoid it.

The boss takes one look at her face and then drags Vi into the privacy of her office, commands her there with a soft but non-negotiable invitation that Vi wishes she could harness to a rickshaw and ride off into the horizon, never to be seen again.

“You didn’t file a report about any sort of physical altercation,” Caitlyn says.

“This?” Vi squeaks, like she hasn’t been extremely aware of the state of her face for the last four hours. “Oh, it’s nothin’. Didn’t happen on the job. Nothin’ to worry about, boss, nobody’s gonna sue ya.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Caitlyn says evenly, and damn her gay little heart for doing that fucking hopeful fluttery thing at the thought of Cait worrying about her. “Was it a boyfriend?” Vi’s incredulity at the absurd question is probably as obvious as her shiner. “Girlfriend?” Not any closer, but less of a stupid question.

“I’m fine,” Vi insists, slapping on her best grin, slathering on insincere sincerity like a sandwich shop hiding day old fish in their over-liberal application of spicy mayo. “Just some rough’n tumble with an old friend. Got a little more rough than tumble. No harm, no foul, yeah?”

The Sheriff is not convinced. She scrutinizes Vi’s face, and whether she’s searching for evidence of injury or evidence of falsehood, it makes Vi’s heart hammer.

“If you’re in trouble, you tell me,” Caitlyn says, finally. “When I hired you, we talked about – “

“Associations with criminal elements,” Vi says, parroting back Caitlyn’s own words at her exactly from six months ago. “I promise I didn’t get jumped by a knucklebreaker. It was just – just goofin’ around, is all. It won’t impact my work. I can see through it just fine – I forgot it was even there.”

Caitlyn very, very reluctantly drops it. Vi promises herself she’ll resist the call of the fighting ring from now on.

Of course, quitting an addiction is never quite as simple as a single well-meant promise.