protective vest

teenage superheros wearing outfits they threw together from all the shit they have in their closets.  Looking badass but its all aesthetic and up close they have no armor or protective gear and if they do its like biking knee/elbow pads… maybe a protective vest for extreme sports but thats it. and teens wearing steel toed boots that hurt when they kick someone but don’t offer the right kind of supports for running away when they have to. and teens having bruises and scrapes where their clothing rips cause its not made to hold up like this. and teens scrambling to find things to wear in bargain bins and goodwill. and older heroes noticing and helping out. and telling them where to go for better gear. some just straight up giving them their own stuff cause they can get more and the teens can’t. older heroes getting invested in making sure teen heroes know where to go when they get hurt. and just. some teens can’t even wear their own style cause they have to rely on their parents to get clothes and teen heroes defiantly would have issues getting what they need. not that its gonna stop them from saving the day. 

The “Just the thought of Team Cap walking all over Tony makes me want to trash my room, I just want unashamed, biased, pro-Tony quality content, is that too much to ask??” inspired ficlet I’ve been holding back for a while:

Bitterness ahead, guys. Not Team Cap friendly. Nor is it particularly deep or rational. I just wanted to get a couple of thoughts out of my head. Basically Tony is done being the team’s sugar daddy, only it comes to light in a very roundabout way. 


“When are my arrows gonna be fixed anyways?” Clint grumbles, rubs a hand over his sore shoulder. The one that wouldn’t have gotten injured, had his shot hit the target it was supposed to. Which it should have, his aim had been fine. The problem were the arrows. Someone must have screwed up somewhere in the production because they weren’t perfectly balanced.

They’re sitting in the conference room at the (mostly) restored compound. Tony is tapping away on his StarkPad, not even bothering to look up. He must have felt the questioning glances and noticed the silence, but he still doesn’t react.

Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes. He doesn’t want to encourage the tension between them, things are bad enough as it is. If only Tony would put in some effort as well, instead of going out of his way to antagonise them, maybe they could make some actual progress.

“Yo, Stark!” Clint snaps, voice reaching that biting sharpness he reserves specially for the billionaire. “I’m talking to you!”

Tony shows no outward reaction, which is strange to see. Back when they first came back, he used to move at all times, sharp and erratic, never staying still. Steve shakes his head at their unnecessary power play.

Tony answers before he has the chance to reprimand them though. “How would I know?” he asks, a brief frown flittering across his face as he scribbles something down onto the tablet.

The outraged look on Clint’s face tells everyone present that this meeting won’t get back on track any time soon. It’s understandable, really. Clint has been forced to fight three battles with faulty equipment and frankly, the lack of concern Tony is showing for his team mates’ safety is nothing short of callous. Steve knows things haven’t been good between them but this is the first time he wonders if things could really be so bad, that Tony would hold necessary equipment back on purpose.

It’s a terrible thought, but try as he might, Steve isn’t able to shake it off.

At least the rising tension finally causes Tony to look up and meet Clint’s glare. He’s wearing sunglasses even though they’re inside, like he always does. Steve doesn’t like it. Makes it harder to read Tony, to tell what he’s really thinking. Absently, he admits that this is probably why Tony wears them so religiously.

“What do you mean ‘how would you know’?!” Clint snarls, enraged. “My arrows have been acting up for weeks and you still don’t know how to fix it?!”

Tony stares at Clint, the expression on his face unreadable. Then, after a long, long moment of heavy silence, the answer.

“I’m not fixing your equipment.”

For a moment, it’s deadly quiet, as Steve struggles to process the meaning of what Tony has just said.

“Tony,” Steve hastily inserts himself as soon as he finds his voice again, before Clint can throw himself across the room and deck him, “I know there are still some issues we all have to work through, but that’s not an excuse to-”

“Hold it right there, Rogers,” Tony interrupts. It’s never Cap, always Rogers these days. The pain the distinction causes still catches Steve by surprise more often than not. “I’m not sure where you get this from but I’m not your mechanic. I don’t work for you. So if Barton here has an issue with his weapons, he needs to take it up with the people in charge. Considering how often you remind me that it’s not me, you’d think you’d have figured that part out already.”

“But it’s not working!”

Tony sighs. The deep, heavy sort of sigh you usually expect from an exhausted parent after their insistent child asks, “Are we there yet?” for the 34th time. “Then take it up with the quartermaster. Or Agent Hudson. Or one of the techies. Seriously, Barton, you signed the Revision. Who’s responsible for what is right in there, section 12 to 17. Besides-” he pauses.

“What are you waiting for? Go on!” Clint demands between gritted teeth, hands curled into tight fists. Thankfully, he’s not throwing anything. Yet. “Don’t get shy with me now!”

Tony straightens in his seat. Steve inwardly sighs. That man has never been able to let a challenge go unanswered.

Besides,” Tony continues, voice still surprisingly even, “chances are they’re working just fine.”

“You think I can’t tell when my bow isn’t fucking working the way it should?” Clint bristles.

The words actually cause Tony to lower his sunglasses for a moment, just to make sure there is no doubt about how stupid he believes Clint to be. “I’m saying you’re operating with a standard bow, Barton. The fabric and the construction limit the performance quality. Something I’m sure an experienced archer like yourself has picked up on.”

And yes, things are definitely getting ugly. That level of glacial cold in Tony’s voice is rarely achieved, even now.

“The why the fuck did you build a subpar bow?”

Tony sighs again. “You’re missing the point. Seriously, I can not believe we’re even having this conversation. I did not build that bow, Barton.”

And that’s–that’s a surprise.

Tony’s gaze trails over them all, taking in their confused, shocked expressions. “Really?” he asks, exasperation dripping from every syllable. “Did any of you even read the Revision? The Avengers’ are an official unit. Their weapons and uniforms can’t be provided by a private party, especially not one who is part of the team. Have you ever heard the term conflict of interest?”

“What about Stark Industries?” Natasha asks. From the furrow in her brows though, Steve suspects she already knows the answer–and doesn’t like it one bit.

“I’m not sure if you noticed,” and now there’s no mistaking the mocking in Tony’s tone, “but SI doesn’t sell weapons anymore. It was kind of a big thing, couple of years back.”

“But- But yours are better!” Clint splutters. It sounds plaintive and weak, even in Steve’s ears, but at the same time he knows what Clint’s struggling to say. It’s not about getting your toys taken away. It’s about their safety and efficiency in the field. On bad days, it’s about the survival of their entire planet.

“I can’t believe you would risk the teams’ lives and safety like this because of a petty argument,” Steve says, unable to keep quiet any longer, nor bothering to hide the honest disappointment.

Tony, unimpressed as always, simply snorts. “You’re an official unit, but before that you’ve been working for SHIELD for years. Did you ever have the very best equipment mankind was capable of providing at the time? No,” he answers his own question in a breeze, “you didn’t. Why? Because you’re agents, soldiers. And sure, the government wants to protect us, wants to keep us alive and make sure our missions succeed. But they have limited funding, which means everyone has to deal with the best cost-efficient option available. If you’ve got the right connections to get something more, then lucky you, but that makes you an exception, not a rule.”

“You don’t need to explain real life to me!” Clint snaps aggravated.

“Then why do you feel entitled to something better?” That question, sharp and cutting, makes the archer still, his mouth open but with no retort forthcoming. Tony is blinking at him now, head tilted sideways in child-like curiosity.

“Of course, if I, as a private citizen, decided to build something that doesn’t violate any laws and give it to a friend as a gift, that would be something else, wouldn’t it?” Tony continues after a moment, voice softer now, but no less cutting. His eyes are fixated on Clint, sunglasses pushed back, eyes dark and unmoved. “The average update would take me what, a week or two? That’s a lot of time to invest into a single project, especially when the ultimate use is so limited. How many people can possibly profit from improved protective vest versus how many people improve from an exploding arrow is a really fascinating comparison to make.”

“So you see, Barton, even if I could improve your bow, there’s no logical reason why I should waste my time like this.”

“Tony!” Steve interrupts, scandalised. “Clint’s life depend on his aim! Our lives depend on it! How can you justify not providing him with the most basic necessities.”

Tony doesn’t even try and look abashed, instead he throws his head back and laughs. “This is how you want to play it, Rogers? Because I’m rich and a genius, I owe it to you to devote my time, attention and money to bettering your lives? What about the seven billion other people on this world? Don’t they deserve the same consideration, hm? What makes you so special that I should put your needs before anything else?”

Steve opens his mouth, but Tony doesn’t give him a chance to speak.

“I tell you what this is: this is you realising I’m no longer spoiling you rotten because you are in fact not my kids and I can cut you off whenever the fuck I want. And you don’t like it. Because guess what, I may be privileged, but so are you! You’re heroes, most of the time, as far as the world is concerned. You’ve been living off my money and resources on top of that. You’ve always gotten special treatment and you like that. You’re as far detached from the ‘ordinary man on the street’ as I am, you just don’t have the self-awareness to fucking notice!”

Tony sends them a sardonic smile that does in no way take the sting out of his words. “Don’t worry,” he says, “you’ll still be special. It’s just no longer my name footing that bill. Because we’re not friends. And as a business man, I’m not at all sorry to tell you that you simply aren’t worth investing into.”

And with that he stands, all blinding press smile, sweeps around dramatically, and strides purposefully out of the room. The automatic door closes noiselessly behind him, but he might have as well slammed it shut for all the difference it would’ve made.

It’s likely not a coincidence, that on their next mission Spiderman, Vision and Miss Marvel all showcase new, incredibly features and weapons that can’t have been created by anyone else. And it’s impossible to know for sure, what with the mask on, but Steve is one hundred per cent certain that Spiderman is smirking at them.

He is not wrong.


Let me know what you think? And please excuse any mistakes, I’ll re-read this tomorrow. Also this is the last post for today. I’m tiredtiredtired now and think I’ve spread enough bitterness for the day. And spammed your dashes with enough endless posts probably…oops.

White privilege is being a 21-year-old loser who plots and kills 9 people in their church and when you are confronted by the police, armed, you survive without incident. Later, when you’re escorted to the police station, you have a bulletproof vest for protection. Meanwhile, the media is already infantilizing you and blaming your actions on anything other than you, even though you planned this attack for 6 months. No one is asking why White men are so violent when 87% of mass killings in America have been committed by White men and nobody’s calling you a terrorist when your very intent was to cause terror.

Riverdale Dating Sweet Pea Headcanons

- Late night motorcycle rides

- Proudly wearing his serpent jacket or vest

- Fiercely protective. Mercy to whoever messes with you

- Him being constantly worried about your safety, no matter where you are

- If you go to Riverdale High, he feels better knowing you’ll be safe. But that doesn’t mean he trusts everyone openly *cough* *cough* Dark Archie

- If you go to Southside High, you best believe he’s on watch 25/7. Arm around your shoulders or waist, glaring at any Ghoulie or person who even dares look in your direction

- This also does include him not want you anywhere near the Serpents. 

- Being close with some of the younger serpents. Toni and Fang being the ones that are constantly around you

- He probably has your Pop’s order memorized. Swoon

- Princess or Baby girl being the go-to nicknames. Cause to him, you’re a princess

- SP would 10000% support you in whatever you do. So long as you’re not in any danger

- Enjoys spending time with you, even if you come back from a late night shift at Pop’s and you pass out in his arms, he’s happy just to have you there

- If you’re into it, he will suck it up and watch any movie you would like. Yes, this includes Disney

- Knowing he has a short temper and being able to easily calm him by caressing his neck or looking him in the eyes

-Lowkey has to be touching you in some way, shape, form or fashion

- Whether holding your hand, throwing an arm around your shoulders or waist, resting a hand on your thigh, you name it

- He may not be as loving in a public setting, but get him behind closed doors and this boy is *insert heart eyes*

- Kisses can range from soft and sweet to dominant and rough

- The wall will be your new best friend

- Both of you sporting some good Post Intense Makeout Hair

-  Hickeys

- Him knowing you have limits and constantly asks for your consent before anything moves on

- Loving him unconditionally and for who he is as a person

- Him loving you just as much

The Adventures of Spidey-Prom!

Seriously it’s probably not healthy how much I love Spiderman!Prompto! I didn’t know I needed it until @destiny-islanders drew the freaking CUTEST art for it. Please check it out. It’s good for the soul, trust me.

Anyway, enjoy this little bit inspired by their art! :D HOPE YOU ENJOY!


This is your costume?”

Ignis’ voice rang almost shrilly in the small apartment complex, but Prompto was far too busy checking out the newest wounds to his body to pay much attention to what the man was saying - instead, he puffed out his chest and propped his hands on his hips, admiring the new slim and toned muscles that stood out starkly in the bad lighting.

“It sure is!” Prompto replied boldly, eyes squinting as pride welled in his chest.

So what if those thugs had landed a few hits and made him look like a bruised potato - he’d totally won in the end.

“It’s a cotton sweatshirt.” Ignis replied flatly, his widened eyes were evidence of his complete horror of the aspect as he held up the tattered garment of clothing.

“It’s not just a sweatshirt,” The blond replied, a small pout forming on his face as spun on his feet to swipe away the bloody clothes. “It’s my identity. Every superhero needs one.” He explained readily, ruffling out the sweater to examine the newest tears and ruffles. “It’s a part of me now.” He dramatically hugged the cloth to his chest, a small smirk forming on the edge of his lips as he thought about his most recent venture -

…that…hadn’t gone…exactly as planned…

But he’d still won!

Prompto could visibly see Ignis roll his eyes from the side, the older man reaching up a hand to adjust his glasses in an exasperated show of exhaustion. “Prompto, do you believe the police simply roll out of bed in the morning and seek out the local gangs in a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt? Their attire consists of at least some sort of protection - a bullet proof vest -”

“Pah -” Prompto interrupted with a scoff, waving a hand in front of him. “Last time I checked, cops can’t climb up freaking walls and lift a car without breakin’ a sweat.” The blond propped his hands on his hips and shot Ignis a wink, which the man returned with a twitch of his eyebrow that Prompto had quickly come to realize was onset to a migraine. “‘Sides,” he waved a hand as he tossed back the article of clothing, “I need my costume to be flexible, ya know - gotta make way for these babies.”

Another eye twitch followed when Prompto flexed his arms in the white tank top he was now donning, though he let out a sharp hiss of pain as he grabbed at his newly bandaged arm.

“How formidable.” Ignis replied dully, shaking his head as he stared down at the sweater.

“So are ya gonna sew it or not? I’m probably gonna need it by tomorrow. Duty calls, ya know.”

Ignis’s hands flopped down in front of him as he stared deadpan at the younger man. “You’re not seriously going to do this again -” Ignis cut himself off as he slapped a hand to his forehead before scrubbing it dramatically down his face. “Prompto - you’ve barely a grasp on your abilities, why on earth you are so eager to get yourself killed!?”

“‘Cause a superhero’s work is never done! It’s like Cor said -” He cleared his throat and straightened up to mimic the man, “With great power comes great responsibility. And uh - I’ve got great power now - so might as well be greatly responsible with it and kick some bad guy butt!”

The sound of the buzzing cars outside the tiny apartment complex was the only sound audible as Ignis’s green eyes bore holes into Prompto’s own, and the young man couldn’t help but fidget nervously under the gaze.

After a moment a long, very Ignis-y sigh escaped from the older man’s mouth, the glasses on his face sliding down slightly as he once again stared at the sweater that might as well have been a piece of trash for all the way that he regarded it.

“I cannot believe you’ve worn this for the last three months and survived.” Green-eyes flashed up to Prompto as he held up the sweater. “You’re either brilliant and sufficient, or incredibly stupid and lucky. My bet is on the ladder.” Almond lips pressed together as he made his way over to the small dresser drawer that held various needles and thread.

“Orrr - just super awesome -”

“Or perhaps an utter moron -”

“Could a moron do this!?

“Do - WHA -”

Ignis’s voice was immediately cut off when Prompto skipped over to where he was and effortlessly braced a hand under his back and on his thighs, effortlessly pushing against them to  lift the man above his head with a loud laugh.

“Howd’ya like that - eh, Ignis!?”

PROMPTO! Put me down this INSTANT!” Was his friend’s immediate retort, the struggle that he was giving against him making Prompto’s arms quiver slightly - but not nearly enough to undo his hold.

Prompto barked out another laugh, keeping his arms locked even as Ignis squirmed above him. “Not such a moron now, huh?”

“Prompto Argentum, I swear to the Astrals if you do not set me down in two seconds -!”

“Alright, alright -”

Prompto heard Ignis yelp slightly when the younger man released his grip entirely, stepping back just enough so that he could catch Ignis in his waiting arms, dodging a swipe to his head before he set the man back down on his feet.

“You ever do such a thing again…” Ignis huffed, shooting him a vicious glare as he straightened out his ruffled sleeves.

The blond chuckled, stepping his way back over to the mirror, “So how’s about it - gonna help me? Wanna be my sidekick?” Prompto chippered as if he hadn’t just lifted the taller, more muscular man like a dumbbell. He rubbed his arm slightly as the slight strain had flared the ache in his bruised muscles.

A scoff followed the remark, “I’ll have to pass, thank you.” Ignis replied with a knowing glare in his direction, but, regardless, proceeded to pick up the needle and thread that was situated on the dresser.

“Whelp - position is open if you ever wanna apply!” Prompto replied with a happy smile, turning back to face the mirror.

He wish he could say that the muscles that he now admired in the mirror before him were from the months of hard work, and to be honest, he had been working hard to improve himself for a while now, but this type of improvement wasn’t exactly his doing.

Three months ago was when everything changed. Everything.

He’d been a scrawny kid three months ago - lacking confidence to approach anyone…especially a certain prince-like classmate of his that he’d admired since grade school. It’s not as though they hadn’t known about each other, and Prompto had managed to muster the courage to say hello and introduce himself on the first day of high school, but it was only recently that he’d felt that they’d made significant strides in their relationship when Prompto finally gained the confidence to make it a point to become his friend - and it was going very well.

Prompto was suddenly very glad that Ignis was focused on sewing the sweatshirt as a noticeable flush crawled up the blond’s neck and face - no wait - his entire body.

He’d decided to return the favor the gods had, for some reason, chosen to give him and fight evil in the world in repayment for this new life he was living - and well…yeah that part needed some work, but he was doing his best! Just tonight he’d managed to stop a robbery of a sweet older lady. The thugs hadn’t seen him coming at all - but, unfortunately, Prompto was still a bit shabby when it came to the fighting…so he’d taken home a few bruises and cuts as souvenirs, but he’d still beat their asses, called the cops, and saved the day.

Though, if it wasn’t for Ignis he probably would be in way worse shape - the man was pretty good at dressing his wounds. Ignis had found out about a week ago who he truly was…how the man was able to see through him he’d never know. Prompto still wasn’t sure he believed Ignis’s reasoning of “you’ve been behaving oddly. It seemed the most likely conclusion” - it was like he just knew. Maybe Ignis had his own spidey-sense - either way, despite that, tonight was the first night that Ignis had seen his outfit -

Psh. Who cared what he thought. His outfit was awesome. And…yeah no one would know that was him…right?

If he kept up like this, trained himself a bit - he was certain he’d become an awesome comic book superhero in no time - how hard could it be?

He shook his head, smiling to himself.

He couldn’t believe he was actually having these thoughts.

Three months ago…yeah - everything had changed.

~

Three months ago:

Prompto’s hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the large city around him, eyes squinting slightly at the morning sun that shone brightly down upon the research facility. The group of his high school classmates milled around the entrance to the building, waiting for instruction from their teacher, Mr. Weskham, to allow them in to begin the tour of the arachnid center they were about to visit.

To be honest, he didn’t really care too much about that, he was just hoping that a certain friend of his didn’t over sleep the field trip today.

He adjusted his glasses with his hand as he looked around, bouncing excitedly on his feet as the anticipation to get inside chewed at him.

He loved this stuff. He didn’t like spiders too much…but the tech inside was going to blow his mind - he could feel it. Maybe he’d even get a chance to browse one of their computers - maybe log away a few notes for the one that he was currently building himself.

Psh. Noct was right. He really was a technophile.

Ah, speak of the devil.

Prompto chuckled to himself as he briefly saw what must have been a knowing exchange between him and his father as they talked behind the windows of the flashy car, and a second later the door opened and out stepped Noct - also known as the Prince of Insomnia Inc. He saw the young man toss his dad a look over his shoulder as he straightened out his backpack, and it was with a roll of his eyes that he turned back to make his way up the stairs and away from the car.

Prompto was satisfied to see Noct’s face noticeably morph into something softer and - well - less annoyed as he trotted up the stairs. Prompto tossed him a happy wave which Noct returned with a nod.

“Heyaz!” The blond piped cheerily, his heart thudding in a familiar sense of excitement at the sight of the handsome face.

“Hey.” Noct responded with an easy smile, the typical mellowness of his tone somehow sending another spike of adrenaline through his heart.

“Ready to check out some creepy crawlies?” Prompto wiggled his fingers at the dark-haired teen’s face before he adjusted the camera strap around his neck, falling into a steady pace beside Noct as they walked up the stairs.

“I’m more ready to take a nap.”

“Dude, the lecture hasn’t even started yet.”

Noct let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms out on either side of him. “Exactly.”

Prompto chuckled, pausing slightly as he lifted the camera up to his face to snap a picture of the large building.

Field trip day was always interesting, especially when it involved checking out the nastiest things on earth - Prompto hated bugs, hated them. But he couldn’t deny that he was somewhat fascinated by them as well. Just because they were ugly didn’t mean they couldn’t be interesting, and besides, he was more interested in the technology they were bound to see in the research facility.

~

“Dude…this is the most advanced electron microscope on the Eastern Seaboard…” Prompto’s voice dripped with awe as he stared wide-eyed at the giant device in front of him, his hands fumbling with the camera to snap a few pictures.

“Wow.” Noct mumbled from beside him, clearly disinterested as they followed the voice of the woman ahead of them.

“For example, the delena spider, family sparassidae, has the ability to jump to catch its prey.”

“Eww…” Noct whispered, though his disgust clearly gave way to his curiosity as he leaned forward to observe the spider that the woman was talking about, head tilting as he noticed the little bug do exactly what she described as it jumped from one small twig to the next in its cage.

Prompto chuckled, though he stepped up next to Noct and lifted his camera to his face.

“For the school paper?” Prompto asked, eyes questioning as he looked up at the lecturer.

She offered him a side smile and nodded in permission.

He angled the camera so that he was able to zoom in on the little arachnid - but he grunted when he felt himself shoved from behind, the picture he was about to take snapped a lovely, blurry picture of the small hide instead of the spider.

Prompto furrowed his brows as he looked behind him, noting the obviously satisfied sneer of the blond that stood behind him.

Loqi.

“Leave him alone.” Noct snarled, glaring vehemently at the other blond.

“Or what?” One of Loqi’s lackeys lip curled in challenge.

“Or his father will fire your father.” Loqi sneered, shoving Noct slightly as he got into his face. “What’s daddy gonna do - sue me?”

Prompto almost jumped forward when he noticed Noct’s fist twitch at his side - but he was saved the trouble of holding him back when the dirty-blond was suddenly grabbed by the arm as Mr. Weskham pulled him back, shooting the both of them a harsh glare.

What is going on?” He hissed, glaring at all four of them. When no one answered, his voice darkened in seriousness. “The next person who talks will fail this course. Understood?”  

The four remained silent, but Prompto’s heart skipped a beat when Noct reached behind him and grabbed his arm, pulling him forward and away from the small scene.

“Tsch.” The dark-haired teen scoffed, releasing Prompto’s arm as they made their way around the shelves.

“Those guys are jerks.” Prompto mumbled from beside him, earning a very Noct-like smile in return.

He loved those smiles.

“Yeah.” He mumbled, taking a breath as he looked around them.

Prompto watched as Noct milled around in front of him, bending slightly to look at the small collection of spiders that were neatly stacked in the plastic caging. “Yuuuucckkk…”

Prompto chuckled at the noise, but lifted his camera regardless. “Hey -”

Noct turned to face him, eyebrow quirking when he noticed the camera.

“I need one with a student in it.” Violet-blue eyes sparkled when Noct smiled, making a show of adjusting his tie.

“Don’t make me look ugly.” Noct said, eyes half-lidded with a small smirk as he propped an arm up on the small shelf.

Prompto could feel the heat bloom in his cheeks as he chuckled smally, looking shyly down at his camera as he readied it. “Oh, that’s impossible.” He almost hoped Noct hadn’t heard him, but the smile that his friend gave was evidence enough that he had. “Alrighty…” The blond stepped back slightly, angling the camera by his blushing face so that he captured a good view of the microscope and various arachnids with Noct by the side.

Prompto chuckled as Noct smiled easily for the shot, and he clicked the camera several times to snap the picture. “Alriiigghhhttt -” The blond’s face lit up in another bright smile as Noct posed again, pointing to the various spiders next to him. He knew the pictures he was taking now weren’t necessarily of the spiders or microscope…

Heh. These ones didn’t necessarily have to be in the school paper…

“Argentum! Caelum!”

Prompto and Noct’s head whipped over to where Weshkham stood, arms folded against his chest. They could see the rest of the class a good distance ahead of them.

Noct shot Prompto a look before he reluctantly moved ahead, and Prompto rapidly scrambled to put the cover back on the lens before he made to follow -

“YEEOW!”

The liquid fire pain that shot through Prompto’s hand in that instant was enough to send him stumbling back as his hand whipped back from the sudden, intense pain that tore through it. His face contorted into shock as he grasped at his hand, looking down to see a red circle surrounding white, blotchy skin - with two small dots in the center. His heart beat rapidly as he looked down at the ground - just in time to see a tiny spot of an oddly colored spider scramble away underneath a nearby shelf.

“Shit…” He breathed, brows pinching as the pain circling the bite mark dulled to something hot and numb.

“Chop, chop, Prompto!”

The blond’s head whipped up as he saw Noct a small ways away from him, waving him over with a patient smile.

He waved his hand once, hoping that it would alleviate some of the pain, but Noct’s smile was drawing him forward, and he donned an easy smile as he skipped his way towards his friend -

Doing his very best to ignore the sickening feeling pooling in his stomach and the small pain that was trickling up his arm.

Little did he know that from that moment on, his destiny had completely changed.


Hope you guys enjoyed! I LOVED WRITING THIS! SO MUCH FUN - thank you again to @destiny-islanders for making such awesome art - really made my day. :D

Stay tuned for more adventures with Spidey-Prom! :D

Vintage Jacksepticeye Sentence Starters

  • “That felt so good that I want to do it a lot more.”
  • “Sorry I lied, someone is definitely going to hit you from there.”
  • “Look how dead you look.”
  • “He wasn’t supposed to see me. Neither was he.”
  • “Have a grenade!”
  • “Let me love you… with grenades.”
  • “Your vest can protect from bullets and grenades, but not my badass knife.”
  • “Think I can safely say that I qualify as a full-on ninja.”
  • “Hey, hey, what is shaking boys and girls?”
  • “Oh yeah, you’re one badass fucker, aren’t you?”
  • “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disgruntle you.”
  • “There’s the dude I’ve got to get with the knife.”
  • “That’s not ninja. That’s getting spotted. That’s the opposite of ninja.”
  • “That is a lot of blood. You’re about to add to it.”
  • “Time to get out of here.”
  • “I bring shame to the ninja clan.”
  • “So someone is here in a chopper to either kill me or help me.”
  • “We gotta band together in this dark world.”
  • “You can’t hit me, you can’t hit me.”
  • “Yeah, so THAT just happened.”
  • “You might as well be swinging at the air.”
  • “This is your house and I just came in and ruined everything, didn’t I?”
  • “Jesus, how unprofessional of me.”
  • “That could’ve gone so wrong.”
  • “It’s the greed that’ll kill you.”
  • “That could’ve been lights out right there.”
  • “Moral of the story: don’t miss.”
  • “I’m just farming for souls right now, to get up my strength.”
  • “I sold it to fund my gaming pc.”
  • “I turned Dark Souls into Farmville.”
  • “Oh god, I’m heavy as fuck now.”
  • “Wow, you guys are slipping up.”
  • “Those skeletons will kick my fucking ass.”
  • “Let’s go back up my sexy elevator.”
  • “But it’s not about the performance. It’s about the journey, the experience.”
  • “On their own they’re weak as shit, but there’s like fifty of them.”
  • “You know when you meet those people and they feel like something? He felt like a Greg.”
  • “Fight Mr. Stabby Stabby here.”
  • “You ain’t got no reward for me.”
  • “You know what Christmas means: presents!”
  • “You can distract while I kick some ass.”

OKAY but does everyone see how when Derek says “Without us?” Stiles starts that same little eyeroll he does whENEVER DEREK STEALS HIS THUNDER

I CAN’T WAIT FOR STILES TO BE A LITTLE SHIT ABOUT ALL OF THIS

Like yes, sure, all the angst has been fun these past few seasons (not) but tHIS IS THE STILES THAT DEREK BRINGS

THIS IS THE SARCASTIC STILES THAT BANTERS AND LITERALLY HAS THE BEST CHEMISTRY WITH DEREK AND REALLY THIS IS WHAT MY FANFIC DREAMS ARE MADE OF

So yes, bring me Stiles being a little shit and Derek huffing and being mildly grumpy but really he’s just happy to be trusted and so happy to be back and “stiles that doesn’t make me a dork alright, you’re the dork here now shut up and put on the FBI vest before i kiss you”

Murder Strut

Glow Cloud @nursedarry had a rough day, and lovely @micromarvel had a prompt, so…

Originally posted by peterparkher


The enemy hits the wall with what should have been a loud sickening crunch of bones, but the protective vest he’s wearing does its job as he only slumps down against it, looking mildly disoriented. That is, up until Bucky reaches him and finishes the job by planting a metal fist in his face. Seconds later, Steve is grabbing Bucky by the same arm to spin him around in order to plant his lips on Bucky’s face in a swift, ardent, and very much promising kiss, before returning to the still-raging battle once more. Bucky doesn’t give it much thought, even as he raises his rifle to take aim at a new target, smiling with the taste of his patriotic lover still fresh on his lips.

Bucky kicks aimlessly at one of the mercenaries lying on the ground, and the soldier grunts when he’s turned over onto his back by the bloodied tip of Bucky’s boot.

“Amateurs…” Bucky mutters dryly.

“Bucky.”

He gives the now-unconscious body another nonchalant kick with his heel, and turns around.

“You good?” Steve asks, and Bucky scoffs while tucking his knife back into the sheath strapped around his thigh. There’s sweat forming on his brow, but it’s the good kind of sweat – the kind that makes you feel like you’ve actually been productive.

“Of course,” he says. He tries not to make it sound like he’s smug about it. He might be, though.

“Good,” Steve says, smirking while he pulls Bucky in by the hip, and Bucky lets him, humming when Steve mouths at his jaw. “You looked hot,” Steve murmurs. Bucky frowns a little, but decides not to comment on the cryptic praise when Steve begins to nip at his bottom lip.

Another fight; another incompetent enemy. Bucky snorts as he watches their unrefined technique while they flail around, trying to land a hit on him. It’s ridiculous. Three steps, and he’s got five of them down, the sixth and final one staggering back with eyes nearly bulging out of his head when Bucky turns his gaze on him. One, two, three, four steps, followed by the muted thud as the stock of Bucky’s gun connects with the asshole’s face. It all goes ludicrously quick, and by the time Bucky turns around, the rest of the fight is already over.

Steve is heading his way, striding towards him with that look on his face. Bucky braces himself, because that face could mean that he’s about to get the biggest scolding of his life, or kissed within an inch of it.

Turns out it’s the latter, and Bucky groans with surprise when Steve drops his shield to the ground by their feet to cup Bucky’s face with both hands, mashing their lips together with a low snarl that travels all the way down to Bucky’s toes.

Slowly, Bucky begins to sense a pattern.

It’s ten minutes past midnight, the warehouse is nearly pitch black apart from the flickering fluorescent lights above their heads, and Bucky is pissed off. As the target makes a break for it, running down the narrow hallway leading towards the loading docks out back, Bucky is already looking forward to the punch he’s going to land on the bastard’s face when he gets to him. He’s not even going to use his enhanced arm.

That had been Bucky’s good gun, dammit! He spent days tuning that thing, and now it’s gone, all thanks to this bastard!

Up ahead, the man throws a panicked stare over his shoulder just as he slams against the door leading to the loading docks out back. The door remains firmly closed, and Bucky’s lip pulls up in a snarl as he stomps his way forward, boots beating hard against the concrete floor.

“No!” the man wheezes. “No, no, please!”

Bucky doesn’t listen. The man cowers when Bucky’s hand clasps around the back of his neck, hauling him up and throwing him back the same way they’d come. The coward lands on his back, sliding over the floor like a shuffleboard piece. “I’m sorry!” he wails when Bucky stalks after him, although Bucky knows he has no idea what he’s apologizing for. It’s a wild chance, a final resort, and for some reason that makes Bucky’s anger flare up in a blazing rage, only to die out just as fast. He looks down at the human being huddled up into a ball on the floor, shaking like a child while Bucky looms over him, and slowly, Bucky uncurls his fists by his sides.

“You’re pathetic,” he hisses. Then he gives the guy a swift kick to the face, and the man goes out like a light.

Bucky straightens up, lifting his gaze, and he’s already expecting it when he sees Steve standing there at the end of the corridor, looking at him. Steve’s eyes are dark, his breathing rapid, and Bucky decides that it’s time to put his theory to the test.

He pulls his shoulders up, canting his head down, and walks. Firm, determined steps, eyes on the target. He puts his entire body into the motion, using it to put additional weight to his gait, and he can see the effect it has reflected on Steve’s face, clear as glass.

When he stops, his chest is just an inch shy from Steve’s own, and he doesn’t have to wait long before Steve’s hands are grabbing around his shoulders and shoving him squarely up against the wall behind them. It knocks the breath out of Bucky’s lungs in the best of ways, and Bucky gasps when Steve’s mouth lands on his with a predatory growl.

The kiss is rough, fierce, and Bucky melts into it with a moan, like butter in a frying pan.  

“You jerk,” Steve breathes against his lips. “You know I love it when you strut like that.”

Bucky grins, gasping a little when Steve moves down to suck a bruising kiss over the skin of his neck. “I sure do…” he pants, closing his eyes.

He tries not to sound smug about it.

He might be, though.

Sledgehammer

Chapter Three

Previous Chapter

Paring: Steve Rogers x Reader   |   Word Count: 3769

Warnings: Language    |     Song for the Chapter: The Snake by Al Wilson


“Nope, not happening!” Clint barked. “We’re swapping teams.”

Gritting your teeth together, hating yourself for what you were about to do, you sucked it up and did what Steve would. “No. We’re leaving them as they are.”

“Brat!” Clint hissed.

Glaring at Garry, his too smug face begging for a fist, you shook your head. “Gotta happen sooner or later. Let’s just get on with it.”

Low key murmurs were coming from the rest of the newbies, and, while you didn’t have Cap or Bucky’s hearing, you weren’t stupid.

Everyone here was a team. If you couldn’t play nice with the agent you most wanted to beat the living shit out of, how were you to expect them to get along with each other? You were a big girl. You could handle Garry.

Turning back to the group, you called out, “Everyone ready?” An affirmative sound ran through them. “Alrighty then. Designated rescuers, you’ll get your Intel from Clint, everyone else… brace yourselves.” With a cheeky grin you held up your hand.

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anonymous asked:

How much protection would a bulletproof vest offer from someone shooting from the roof of a nearby building? Would the ribs still potentially crack, or would there be mostly just bruising instead? Thank you for running this blog!!

Hey there nonny! This question is best answered by @howtofightwrite

However, I’ll give you my take on it.  Keep in mind that these are my best guest and I am not a Gun Person by any stretch of the imagination.

Ballistics vs Vests: Physics

Originally posted by tacticalnorwegian

There are little guns (i.e. low-powered) and there are big guns (i.e. high-powered). 

Vests are also rated to certain protection levels. Each vest has been rated – I, IIa, II, III are the commonest ones, and I believe most officers wear Level II or III vests. 

Distance does affect impact velocity (and thus force of impact), but unless this rooftop is Quite Some Way Away, it’s not all that big a difference. What makes a difference is the mass of the bullet and, far more importantly, its speed. 

[Formula: Kinetic Energy = mass x (velocity ^ 2)]

The real difference is the rating of the vest vs the munition. The vest is designed to prevent penetration of the bullet (up to its rating), but it can’t stop the energy of the impact. You’re absolutely right that someone shot with a vest on will likely have broken ribs, and  may have contusions (bruises) of the lungs or the heart. 

Your character’s day will still suck, but they will live. 

If the vest is rated for higher caliber or velocity rounds than the bullet that hits it, I would absolutely still believe cracked ribs. 

If the bullet isn’t what the vest was designed to stop, the likelihood is actually that they’ll be shot in the chest.  

Also keep in mind that most ballistic protection (available in the civilian-or-regular-cop world) is, to my knowledge, rated for handguns. But shooting from a rooftop to the street, the likelihood is that they’ll be using a rifle, which typically means a higher velocity round. Body armor that will protect against rifle rounds are generally very bulky and heavy and obvious, and are typically worn only by officers in specialized tactical units or in military teams. 

A handgun shot from a roof will most likely miss. A rifle shot from a roof might penetrate the armor. In fact, it most likely will. I just watched a YouTube experiment where a shooter decided to test how many plates of Level IIIa body armor it takes to stop a rifle bullet. (The things I do for you guy! <3

The answer was, depending on the round, 1, or 5. As in, the bullet would go through 2 people and stop at the body armor of the third. 

However, I have a pair of scenarios that could work for you. 

1) The shooter is using a really low caliber rifle, like .22LR . The bullet hits the vest. It penetrates the vest but is stopped by a rib. The bullet lodges in the bone. The surgery to remove it would be brief, and there would still be the rib fracture to deal with. 

2) The shooter is using anything stronger, such as a hunting rifle or, worse, a bullet intended for warfare, like a .223 (M-16), 5.56mm (AR-15) or 7.62mm (AK-47) type rifle round. The bullet goes through the armor, through the character, out the back side of the chest protection, and also through the person standing behind them. And possibly through the person standing behind them. 

Rifle bullets are scary shit y’all. Typical police bullet resistant vests are rated against handguns. Rifles are a Whole Nother Level of Bad Idea. 

I hope this helps you out! 

PS: if Michi and Starke decide to chime in on this, listen to them, they’re smarter than me by a long shot :) 

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

[disclaimer

[Maim Your Characters: How Injuries Work in Fiction

The Night Ahead (Part 7)

summary: bucky came out of cryostasis after just a few months. with the help of steve, he’s trying to piece the fractions of his mind back together. while flipping through old HYDRA files, he remembers something from his days as the winter soldier: you.

pairing: bucky x reader (sort of?? it’s complicated)

series contains: angsty angst, sadness, bucky reliving memories as the Winter Soldier, violence, people die a lot, bucky trying to cope, really awful translations of German, Russian, and Romanian (thanks to google translate i apologize in advance)

a/n: so sorry you all had to wait so long for the next part. work has been kicking my butt lately, and this part is a little longer than the others. once again, big thanks to @dreamtravelerme for german translations in this part!!  MASTER LIST

Originally posted by marvelandassociates

1963

“ Ist das Haus bereits geräumt? (Is the house cleared yet)?” Parker demanded.

I frowned at the annoying cackle in my ear. Even though his words were barely above a whisper in my ear, it felt way too loud in the quiet house. Darkness cloaked the home like a blanket, even heavier shadows seemed to lurk in the corners. Like they were lying in wait with the silence. Even the white curtains hanging from the open window above the kitchen sink were still.

I grabbed the walkie-talkie from my belt, holding it next to my mouth as I pressed the button. “Ich hab dir gesagt, dass ich daran arbeite. Zieh jeden raus und ich werde dich in ein paar Minuten treffen. (I told you I’m on it. Pull everyone out and I will meet up in a few minutes).” I didn’t bother to hide my annoyance. We were beyond the stage of pretending to be civil to one another.

I stood with my back against the wall just outside the kitchen, which led to the sizable living room. The refrigerator hummed quietly behind me. I leaned over a little bit, glancing behind me. “Du musst dich beeilen. (You need to hurry).”

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anonymous asked:

What inspired Lempo's outfit because it's fabulous and tbh I kinda wanna wear it ;w;

  • Wide brim hats and a black linen maxi skirt I found from a local recycling center!
  • Poet blouse is a standard clothing I put on every fantasy themed character when I have not came up with anything else yet, combined with tight fitting pants.
  • I couldn’t let them walk around without a proper protection, so that vest and armbands/sleeves serve as a leather armoring (I originally thought about them having a “demon armor“ , if not on the top, then under all the layers as a little surprise).
  • In general I love strega fashion, everything that has witchcrafty vibes. Easiest and quickest way was to influence the design with my own personal tastes and particular accessories I liked, so I went with it.
  • Simplicity, from animation/comic perspective. That hat is hell to draw though. I was wrong. So wrong. As long as I don’t have to draw it,  it’s cool :’–D

The skirt in question, I like how raw and rough the texture looks and feels like. It always reminds me of Finnish summer cottages’ decorations and sauna.

The Rest of Our Lives

Hello everyone! I found the inspiration for this prompt while searching around Tumblr this morning. The prompt includes the following statement: “I want to love you the rest of my life. Why won’t you let me.” I thought that this perfectly describes Omelia’s situation right now. I really believe that they are still in love with each other, but one of them is hesitant to say it. This prompt includes moments from 14x07 and then becomes an AU of sort. I hope you all enjoy it :)


It’s been over two weeks since we exchanged our rings back but I can’t help feeling that it was a mistake. Sure our situation is complicated, but I’m sure that we can fix it. It’s not about how to fix it, it’s more of a should we fix it situation.

Work becomes a little more complicated as we don’t know how to act around each other. It wasn’t nearly this awkward before our separation. Consults and surgery are two different things. Consults become more tense and awkward than ever before. Especially the one afternoon there was a mass casualty at a local fair. Amelia and I ended up working on the same case, which included a middle aged man with both abdominal and head injuries. Interestingly enough we have been working on more cases together ever since we decided to separate. I have a gut feeling that this case will be different however.

I begin an abdominal ultrasound while Amelia is performing a routine neurological exam. After a moment, she informs me that he has all function and movement. “Okay, let’s get him up to the OR then,” I announce to the interns around me. “Wait! I want a head CT,” Amelia interjects suddenly. “Amelia, there is no indication that he needs one, and you cleared him. Why do you think he needs one?” I question. “I have a feeling that there is something wrong.” Amelia responds to Owen’s question. “We don’t have time to run a head CT Amelia, he needs to go to surgery now.” Owen responds with slight annoyance. “Fine, have it your way Owen. Don’t page me when he suddenly starts to code.” Amelia replies while meeting Owen’s eyes with a deadly glare.

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For the Love of a Jacket and a Communion with Nature

Somewhere along the timeline between 2015 and 2017, I developed a fondness for jackets.  I wouldn’t say there’s anything in particular that I’m looking for, but I’ve really enjoyed the feeling of NEEDING something when I’m out in the elements, and the rewarding feeling of HAVING something to immediately protect myself with.  

I’ve worn all kinds of protection, bulletproof vests, flack vests with steel plates, customized Kevlar armor, etc., and those each provide a specific level of protection for a specific situation, depending on how obvious you want to make your readiness level apparent to others around you, in your commune with man.  Feeling bulletproof is a very cool feeling.  But what I mean by this recent fondness for jackets represents something else, something more emotionally simple, a way to commune with nature.

When I was about ten years old, my father took my scout pack for a ski trip in our van.  There were six boys and we were on our way down from the mountains when the snow became so bad that my father decided to stop and put the chains on the tires.  He got out in a short sleeved shirt and a windbreaker, and he worked for two hours in the snow, fighting a set of chains that he just couldn’t get to go around the tires of that stupid van!  I remember sitting by the side window, above him as I witnessed his hands turn blue, his torso soaked through, and yet he toiled terribly in a battle with those links of steel, to force them to fit.  The boys were restless, yelling, and playing in the van, while I was glued to that window worried about my father, so ill prepared for the snow and the battle he hadn’t anticipated.  My father loved windbreakers, it was his thing, a light throwover, but I think he regretted it that day.  When he finally got into the van, he looked terrible.  He was gaunt and utterly exhausted, and then he had to drive down the mountain.  On the way down, we got going a bit too fast and he sideswiped a pole, exploding the big mirror that hung outside of the passenger door where I was sitting.  I saw my life flash before my eyes as that pole went within inches of my face!  The whole van got silent after that.  It scared all of us so badly, that I remember it to this day, so frightfully!

This year I took a road trip to Yosemite, and I knew it was going to snow, so I panned ahead and bought all the gear I might need.  In California, one rarely needs chains if you aren’t in the mountains, and I had never used them on my new car before.  I practiced putting them on before I left.  Sure enough, one evening, the whole of Yosemite Valley erupted in dark clouds and gusty winds before a blizzard of snow fell thickly from the sky.  The whole park was empty in fifteen minutes as everyone streamed out through one exit road.  On my way out, they closed the road, because hundred of cars were stuck in the snow five miles ahead.  Everyone had gotten stuck and a single tow truck was pulling them out one by one!  I had to take a back road, ninety miles around the other side of the mountain, first in snow going down, then through sheets of rain, for four hours, and then again through thick snow on the way back up the mountain.  

When the car simply wouldn’t go up the grade anymore, I skidded it off the road and slid to a stop, with almost no control.  Nobody was around for miles.  I zipped my Arc'teryx jacket up to my nose, pulled the hood down to my brow, strapped a headlamp over my hood, slipped my gloves on, and with a brilliant blast of white light beaming from my forehead, I stepped out into the winter for battle.  The snow was thick and fell with thumping sounds all around me.  I rolled the chains out in front of each tire, inched the car forward a bit, got back out, and fixed the clasps.  It took me about ten minutes!  I was warm.  I was dry.  I was elated!  I though about my father and his battle with the snow, and how much it had taught me to be prepared.  I drove the remaining four miles to the lodge at a crawling pace, with full control, and it was so much fun!  I loved it, I absolutely loved it!  I had the best hiking experience in that jacket!

Now I go everywhere with my Arc'teryx jacket, whether it’s travel or outdoors adventures.  I get around the world fairly quickly, and I never know what kind of weather I’m going to drop into, and situations change when the sun goes down and the sea air overtakes the land.  Sea, air, land, I never know where I might end up.  Arc'teryx represents some of the most expensive adventure gear, but I have to admit, that when you need something for protection from the elements, and you have it because you’ve planned for it, trained for it, spent for it, and earned the opportunity to commune with nature on nature’s level, there’s a feeling so rewarding when you can actually use it effectively and make that communion a pleasurable and memorable experience.  

If there’s anything I could wish for now, it’s that I could buy one for my father and give it to him, with a down liner, on that day when he worked so hard in the snow to protect six boys.  I would give my jacket to anyone I love, to better protect them, or to simply offer them a more favorable experience when they meet nature head on, as I often do, in the most unexpected and most natural ways.  I want everyone I love to feel like they can be bulletproof when it comes to their communion with nature.