#riot gear helmet

[0wwtacital]

What does riot armor protect against?

What does riot armor protect against?

Riot armor, also known as riot gear, is a type of personal protective equipment (PPE) that is designed to protect the wearer from projectiles and blunt force trauma. It is typically used by law enforcement officers and military personnel who are likely to be exposed to violent protests or riots. We'll take a closer look at what riot armor is and how it works. Riot armor is designed to protect against a variety of projectiles and blunt force trauma. The most common type of riot armor is a ballistic vest, which is made to protect against shrapnel, bullets, and other high-velocity projectiles. Ballistic vests are usually supplemented with additional protection for the head, neck, groin, and legs.

[la-pou-belle]

Earlier today Columbia issued shelter in place orders and reportedly told parents to get their kids from campus. ~2 hours ago NYPD moved to retake Hind Hall. CBS livestreamed the event in full, complete with live commentary (like watching a sports game), including reporting that police went in with guns drawn... But later praising their lack of violence, wearing only helmets and not riot gear, and not using chemical weapons. They were praised for being specific in their arrests and telling students to stay inside dorms, despite constant yelling "Shame on you."

WKCR, Columbia's student radio, also had live coverage with 3+ reporters on the ground. They reported smelling the use of teargas inside of the building, as well as at least one student unconscious in front of Hind Hall. They reported everyone, including non protestors, getting swept in arrests.

I'm sharing this because I recommend all of you look for archived recording of student coverage and be aware that whitewashing of this event happened in real time.

[worldwidetacticalgear]

What is considered riot gear?

Riot gear is a term used to describe a wide range of gear and equipment that is used by law enforcement and military personnel to protect them from harm during riots and protests. The term riot gear can encompass everything from helmets and shields to batons and tear-gas grenades. Law enforcement and military personnel use riot gear to defend themselves from missiles, projectiles, and other objects that may be thrown at them during a riot or protest.

[hookhausenschips]

Let Death Be Kinder Than Man

500 Follower Special!!!

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Summary: Y/N is the new driver for Redbull and is fighting for the championship in 2024. One fateful lap in Imola changes her destiny forever.

Taglist

Warnings: Character death, graphic scenes, funeral, sad themes, life flashes, depiction of heaven, sights of deceased people from the past

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The morning sun cast a golden glow over the Imola circuit as Y/N made her way through the paddock, her footsteps echoing against the asphalt. She felt a sense of reverence as she approached the Ayrton Senna memorial statue, a towering tribute to the legendary driver whose life had been tragically cut short at this very track. Ronald Ratzenberger's memorial stood nearby, a poignant reminder of the dangers that loomed over the world of motorsport.

Y/N paused before the statue, her eyes tracing the contours of Senna's face, his expression frozen in eternal determination. She had always felt a deep connection to the Brazilian driver, his passion for the sport mirroring her own. She bowed her head in silent tribute, a gesture of respect for the man who had inspired generations of racers.

As she made her way back to the Red Bull Racing garage, Y/N's mind was consumed with thoughts of the championship battle that loomed ahead. She had worked tirelessly to reach this moment, each race a testament to her skill and determination. The championship title was within her grasp, but she knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges.

In the quiet moments before the race, Y/N's mind was a whirlwind of emotions. She ran through her pre-race rituals, each one a comforting routine that helped calm her nerves. She checked her gear with meticulous care, ensuring that every piece was in its rightful place. Her helmet, adorned with tributes to Senna and Ratzenberger, was a constant reminder of the sacrifices made in the pursuit of greatness.

The atmosphere at Imola was electric, the air buzzing with anticipation. Fans from all over the world had gathered to witness the spectacle of F1 racing, their cheers and chants filling the air. The stands were a riot of color, with flags and banners waving in the breeze. Y/N felt a surge of pride as she looked out at the sea of faces, each one a testament to the passion and dedication of the fans.

In the garage, Y/N shared a moment with her car, a sleek and powerful machine that had carried her to victory countless times before. She ran her hand lovingly over the curves of the chassis, feeling a deep bond with the engineering marvel. The Red Bull Racing team bustled around her, their energy infectious as they made final adjustments to the car. They were more than just colleagues; they were a family united by a common goal.

As she prepared to take to the track, Y/N's mind was focused on the task ahead. The championship battle weighed heavily on her shoulders, but she refused to let the pressure get to her. She had trained her whole life for this moment, and she was determined to seize it with both hands. With a final glance at the Senna memorial, Y/N climbed into her car, her heart racing with anticipation for the race that lay ahead.

The anticipation before the start of the Italy E Del'Emilia-Romagna Grand Prix was palpable, the air thick with excitement and tension. Y/N stood on the grid, her Red Bull Racing car gleaming under the bright Italian sun. The roar of the engines reverberated through her body, a symphony of power and adrenaline. She felt a surge of energy course through her veins as the lights went out, signaling the start of the race.

The first few laps were a blur of motion and noise as the cars jostled for position. Y/N's focus was unwavering as she navigated the twists and turns of the circuit, her eyes fixed on the cars ahead. The pack was tightly bunched, with rivals jockeying for position at every corner. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she pushed her car to the limit, her instincts honed from years of racing guiding her every move.

As the race settled into a rhythm, Y/N found herself locked in a fierce battle for the lead. Her rival, a seasoned competitor from a rival team, was determined to thwart her every move. The two drivers traded blows, each refusing to give an inch. The tension on the track was palpable, the spectators holding their breath as they watched the duel unfold.

Y/N's thoughts were a whirlwind of strategy and determination. She analyzed her rival's weaknesses, searching for an opportunity to make her move. The radio crackled with updates from her team, their voices calm and reassuring amidst the chaos of the race. Y/N listened intently, their words a lifeline as she fought for every inch of track.

The camaraderie among the drivers was evident, even in the heat of battle. Rivals acknowledged each other's skills with respectful nods, knowing that their battles pushed them to their limits. Y/N felt a sense of unity with her fellow competitors, each of them bound by a shared love for the sport and a desire to prove themselves on the world stage.

As the laps ticked by, Y/N's determination grew stronger. She could taste victory on the horizon, her dream of becoming champion within reach. But she knew that the road ahead would not be easy. The Imola circuit was unforgiving, its twists and turns testing her skills to the limit. She gritted her teeth and pushed on, her focus unwavering as she chased her ultimate goal.

The intensity of the race was relentless, each corner a test of skill and nerve. Y/N's heart raced as she pushed her car to its limits, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She could feel the eyes of the world upon her, their hopes and dreams riding on her shoulders. But she refused to let the pressure get to her, drawing strength from the support of her team and the love of her fans.

On the fateful lap, Y/N's determination was unwavering. She was in a fierce battle for the lead, her car responding to her every command. As she approached the notorious Tamburello corner, her mind was a blend of focus and instinct. The moment before impact stretched into eternity. A slight miscalculation, a split-second too late on the brakes, and her car veered off the racing line.

Y/N felt the car twitch beneath her as she lost grip on the track. The rear end stepped out, and in an instant, she was off the racing line, headed towards the barriers at an unforgiving speed. The initial impact was jarring, the front of her car smashing into the concrete wall with a force that sent shockwaves through her body. Her helmet snapped forward, the straps straining to keep it in place. The barrier crumpled but held, absorbing some of the energy but not enough to prevent the severe consequences.

In the cockpit, Y/N's world became a blur of movement and noise. The car ricocheted off the barrier, spinning across the gravel trap in a cloud of dust and debris. Her body was thrown against the restraints, the violent motion bruising her ribs and straining her neck. The second impact, as the car came to a rest against a tire wall, was less forceful but equally jarring, leaving her dazed and struggling to catch her breath.

The safety cell had done its job, but the sheer force of the crash had taken its toll. Y/N's vision blurred, and a sharp pain shot through her chest. She fought to stay conscious, aware that every second counted. Her team’s voices crackled over the radio, desperate calls for her to respond. She could hear them, but forming words felt impossible. The world outside the cockpit seemed distant, the roar of engines and the cheers of the crowd fading into a muffled background.

The medical team arrived swiftly, their faces a mix of concern and professionalism. They worked urgently to stabilize her, their voices a distant echo in her fading consciousness. Y/N's vision blurred, the world around her dissolving into a surreal haze. She was aware of the chaos, the frantic efforts to save her, but her mind began to drift, slipping into a dreamlike state.

Inside the car, the paramedics worked with practiced efficiency. They immobilized her neck and carefully extracted her from the mangled wreckage, placing her onto a stretcher. Y/N felt a mixture of pain and numbness, her body struggling to respond to the trauma it had endured. Her surroundings grew more abstract, and the faces of the medics became indistinct shapes as her vision dimmed.

The sounds around her began to fade, replaced by a profound silence. She was dimly aware of being loaded into the medical vehicle, the urgency in the medics' movements clear. Y/N's thoughts drifted to her family, her team, and the fans who had cheered her on. She hoped they knew she had fought with everything she had, that she had given her all for the sport she loved.

As the medical vehicle sped towards the hospital, Y/N's consciousness continued to wane. She felt herself slipping into a different state, a place where the pain and chaos of the crash seemed far away. In this in-between world, she found herself surrounded by images from the poem that had always resonated with her. The deer, the moths, the mice—each appeared before her, symbols of peace and transition.

The vivid imagery of the crash, the sounds, the sensations—all began to meld into this dreamlike tapestry. Y/N felt a sense of calm wash over her, a quiet acceptance of whatever lay ahead. She knew that she had pushed herself to the limit, and in that moment, she found peace.

Y/N's consciousness flickered in and out, her mind a tapestry of memories and visions. The pain in her body was a distant echo as she found herself in a tranquil meadow, the soft grass beneath her feet a stark contrast to the harsh asphalt of the track. The air was warm, filled with the sweet scent of flowers, and a gentle breeze brushed against her skin. This dreamscape blended with the poem’s imagery, each line coming to life around her. She saw deer grazing peacefully, their eyes reflecting a serene acceptance. They moved gracefully, embodying the calm and freedom she had always sought in her racing.

As she walked through the meadow, she noticed a group of moths fluttering around her, their wings shimmering in the light of a thousand suns. Each sun seemed to taste like sugar, and as the moths danced and played, they were swallowed whole, disappearing into the light with a sense of joyous surrender. This imagery reminded her of the countless nights she had spent under the glaring lights of the racetrack, each race a moment of pure, fleeting beauty.

Her career flashed before her eyes, a montage of victories and defeats, of the camaraderie and rivalries that defined her journey. She saw herself on the podium, the champagne spray mixing with her tears of joy. She heard the roar of the crowd, felt the weight of the trophy in her hands. Y/N remembered the late-night strategy sessions, the laughter shared with her team, and the quiet moments of doubt she had overcome. Each memory was vivid, a testament to the life she had lived with passion and purpose.

Y/N's thoughts drifted to the mice in the poem, creatures often overlooked and trapped in oil and glue. She imagined them in a warm, safe place with dry fur and full bellies, their struggles behind them. This vision resonated deeply with her, symbolizing the struggles and sacrifices she and her fellow drivers faced on and off the track. She felt a profound peace wash over her, an acceptance of whatever lay ahead. She knew she had given everything to the sport she loved, and that was enough.

On the grid, the reaction to her crash was one of horror and disbelief. Fellow drivers and team members watched in stunned silence as the medics worked. The race continued, but the spirit of competition was overshadowed by concern for Y/N. The camaraderie that bound the grid was now a shared grief, a collective holding of breath as they awaited news. The commentators spoke in hushed tones, their usual excitement replaced by solemnity. 

In the medical center, Y/N's condition was critical. Doctors and nurses worked tirelessly to stabilize her, their faces etched with concentration. The team back in the paddock waited anxiously for updates, their hope mingled with fear. The fans, who had cheered her every lap, now held their breath, united in a collective prayer for her recovery. Social media was flooded with messages of support, a testament to the impact Y/N had on the world of F1.

As her consciousness continued to wane, Y/N found herself in a new vision. She was no longer in the meadow but on a racetrack in the sky. The track was lined with ethereal figures, all the legends she had admired, their faces welcoming and full of encouragement. Ayrton Senna and Ronald Ratzenberger stood at the front, their presence a comforting reminder that she was not alone. She felt the weight of her injuries lift, replaced by a sense of lightness and freedom.

Y/N's car was there, pristine and ready, its engine purring with a familiar warmth. She climbed into the cockpit, her hands steady on the wheel. The track ahead was endless, a ribbon of light stretching into eternity. She knew this was her place, where she belonged. As she accelerated, the roar of the engine filled her ears, a symphony of power and grace. The pain and fear of her final moments on the track were gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated joy.

As Y/N's spirit soared, she felt a deep sense of peace. She knew that she had left an indelible mark on the world of F1, that her memory would live on in the hearts of those who loved her. The racetrack in the sky was her new home, a place of endless possibility and eternal speed. She was free, at last, to race without limits, her spirit forever entwined with the sport she had given her life to.

The announcement from the hospital came as a devastating blow: Y/N had succumbed to her injuries. The world of F1 was plunged into mourning. Her team, her fans, and her fellow drivers were united in their sorrow. Tributes poured in from every corner of the globe, each one a testament to Y/N's impact on the sport and those who loved her.

In the real world, the grid stood united in their grief. The news broke as the race resumed, a somber tone enveloping the track. The Red Bull Racing team was visibly shaken, their faces etched with grief. Mechanics and engineers who had worked tirelessly to give Y/N the best car possible stood together, their heads bowed in sorrow. Christian Horner, the team principal, fought back tears as he addressed the media, his voice heavy with emotion. "Y/N was not just a remarkable driver but an incredible person. Her spirit and dedication will be sorely missed."

Red Bull Racing honored her spirit with a moving tribute. Her car, draped in black, was pushed to the front of the garage, surrounded by flowers and messages from fans. A moment of silence was observed before the race restarted, the grid standing together in a poignant tribute to their fallen comrade. The fans, who had cheered her every lap, now gathered in silence, their banners and flags a sea of tears. The atmosphere was one of reverence and respect, a community united in grief.

Fellow drivers shared their memories of Y/N, recounting tales of her bravery, her kindness, and her unwavering passion for racing. Lewis Hamilton, a long-time friend and rival, spoke of her tenacity on the track and her warmth off it. "Y/N was a fierce competitor but always had a smile and a kind word for everyone. She brought a unique spirit to the paddock, and her legacy will live on in all of us." Sebastian Vettel echoed these sentiments, recalling the times they had spent discussing their love for the sport. "She had a heart of gold and a passion that was unmatched. The track will never be the same without her."

Y/N's family and friends gathered in the paddock, their faces a mix of sorrow and pride. They knew that she had lived her dream, that she had pushed the boundaries of what was possible. Her legacy was secure, her place in the annals of F1 history assured. The fans, too, mourned her loss, their grief a testament to the connection they felt with her. She had been more than just a driver; she had been an inspiration, a beacon of hope and determination.

Social media was flooded with tributes from fans, celebrities, and fellow athletes. Hashtags like #RIPYN and #ForeverInOurHearts trended worldwide. Videos of her greatest moments, from her breathtaking overtakes to her joyful celebrations on the podium, were shared millions of times. Her impact on the sport was evident, not just in her achievements but in the way she had touched the lives of so many.

Y/N's metaphoric transition to her 'heaven' was a vision of a racetrack in the skies. She found herself behind the wheel once more, the engine's roar a familiar and comforting sound. The track was lined with all those she had admired and competed against, their smiles welcoming her to this eternal race. Ayrton Senna stood at the forefront, his presence a comforting reminder that she was not alone. He nodded at her, a silent acknowledgment of their shared destiny. It was a place of peace, of sweet reunion, where the spirit of competition lived on in harmony.

Her funeral procession was a poignant farewell, a celebration of her life and legacy. The world watched as her family, friends, and fans came together to honor her memory. The streets were lined with mourners, holding candles and waving flags in Red Bull's colors. The procession moved slowly through the city, her car leading the way, now a symbol of her indomitable spirit. The outpouring of love and respect was overwhelming, a fitting tribute to a driver who had touched so many lives.

At the funeral service, her family spoke of her unyielding determination and her love for life. Her father, voice breaking, shared stories of her childhood, her early fascination with speed, and the relentless drive that had propelled her to the pinnacle of motorsport. "She lived her life with passion and courage. She chased her dreams fearlessly, and we are incredibly proud of all she achieved." Her teammates and close friends shared their memories, painting a picture of a woman who was as compassionate as she was competitive.

The service ended with a final lap of honor, a parade of F1 cars following her hearse. The roar of the engines was a fitting tribute, a final salute to a beloved driver who had left an indelible mark on the sport. As the cars completed their lap, the crowd erupted into applause, a spontaneous and heartfelt farewell.

From the afterlife, Y/N watched over the sport she loved, her spirit soaring high above the circuits she had once conquered. She observed the teams bustling in the paddock, the drivers preparing for their next races, and the fans filling the stands, their excitement palpable. Each race weekend was a bittersweet symphony, a blend of the past she cherished and the future that was being shaped by those she had left behind.

She saw the future races, the new champions rising, and the spirit of competition thriving. Young drivers, inspired by her legacy, pushed themselves to the limit, their determination mirroring her own. She felt a sense of pride as she watched them, knowing that her influence had paved the way for a new generation of racers. These new champions carried a piece of her with them, their successes a continuation of the journey she had started.

Her presence was felt in every corner of the track, a guiding force for those who followed in her footsteps. During qualifying sessions, moments of intense concentration, and the crucial decisions in the heat of the race, drivers often spoke of feeling a calming presence, a sense of reassurance that seemed to come from nowhere. They would later attribute these moments to Y/N, believing that she was watching over them, guiding them through their toughest challenges.

She was a guardian of the sport, her spirit living on in the hearts of fans and drivers alike. The paddock, once filled with her laughter and fierce determination, now held an aura of reverence for her memory. Photos of her iconic moments adorned the walls of the Red Bull Racing garage, a constant reminder of her contributions to the team. Engineers and mechanics often found themselves drawing strength from her legacy, pushing themselves to achieve excellence in her honor.

The beauty of F1, with its blend of danger and exhilaration, was a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Y/N's story was a reminder of the sacrifices made in pursuit of greatness, and the indomitable will that drove her and others like her. Her name became synonymous with bravery and dedication, her career a shining example of what it meant to pursue one’s dreams relentlessly.

Her legacy was not just in her victories, but in the way she lived her life, with passion, courage, and a love for the sport that transcended the boundaries of life and death. Tributes continued to pour in, from fans who had never met her but felt a deep connection to her journey, to fellow drivers who had been inspired by her tenacity. Every social media post, every tribute video, every tearful fan at the track was a testament to the profound impact she had made.

In the end, Y/N found peace in knowing that she had lived her dream, and that her spirit would continue to inspire those who dared to chase theirs. The world of F1 would never forget her, and in every race, her memory would fuel the hearts of those who raced towards the horizon, chasing the thrill of speed and the glory of victory. She was there in every tight corner, every daring overtake, every triumph and heartbreak on the track. Her spirit was the whisper in the wind as the cars roared past, the flicker of light in the eyes of every driver who looked up to the skies for guidance.

The final races of the season saw many tributes in her honor. A special commemorative logo featuring her initials and a stylized angelic wing was added to the cars and helmets of many drivers. Fans held candlelight vigils, creating a sea of light and warmth in her memory. The FIA introduced an annual award in her name, celebrating the driver who best embodied the sportsmanship, courage, and dedication that Y/N had exemplified.

In the quiet moments before dawn at the circuits, when the world was still and the air was thick with anticipation, some claimed they could almost see her—an ethereal figure standing at the edge of the track, her eyes filled with a calm, knowing light. She watched over the sport she had loved so deeply, a silent guardian ensuring that the spirit of racing remained as vibrant and passionate as ever.

Y/N's story became a legend, a tale told to aspiring drivers and fans alike. It was a story of passion, sacrifice, and the unbreakable bond between a racer and their machine. Her life, though tragically cut short, had been a testament to the human spirit’s capacity for greatness. And as the engines roared and the cars sped by, Y/N's legacy lived on, forever racing towards the horizon, where dreams and reality met in a blur of speed and glory.

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F1 Taglist: @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @evie-119, @dhanihamidi, @leclercdior

[armyskinhead1977]

Some very hot riot gear. Love the helmets, gloves and boots

[spicypepperjack]

In Fallout Season 2, all I'm hoping for is that the Courier is living their best life.

If they do show up though, I'd be frothing-at-the-mouth hyped if they showed up dripped out in the Elite Riot Gear. It'd be hilarious if they don't take off the helmet ever, like the Master Chief in the Halo games.

[domesticandlovingmonsters]

Rescue AfterMath

Request: Chapter 2 of Rescue Mission Word Count: 3k Notes: SFW, fluff, Albert Wesker x Reader

The roar of the helicopter was deafening in the metal machine. Even with the headset that covered your ears and static radio crackling through the speakers couldn’t drown out the hideous noise. You were leaning against Wesker’s arm. Not finding the strength to sit up straight after what you went through. Even if you didn’t see many zombies or were in that much danger, it was the potential behind the outbreak. Knowing what could have gone down. After seeing it all unfold on tv in other cities, only for it to happen just outside your home. You felt exhausted. Like the fear you had felt during your time on the ground had drained you. 

Wesker was a statue beside you. Keeping his hand gently on your knee. Offering what little comfort he could give by resting his gloved hand there. As if to keep you beside him. 

In his other hand, he held his phone and you watched as the screen flicked between emails and messages. Reports of survivors and the number of outbreaks that his teams had eradicated. You tried not to read it. But the words; Retreat. Too many casualties. Quarantine breached. Mutated B.O.W’s sighted. 

It was all keeping you on edge. You didn’t want to imagine the type of carnage that was happening on the ground, just outside your home. 

Then you felt the helicopter begin to descend. The sudden motion made you grip Wesker’s arm, and he soothed you with a gentle rub of his thumb against your knee. You looked up at him as he turned his head away from his phone. 

“It’s alright. We’re here.” He said. And the helicopter landed with a jolt and the engines were cut off, allowing the thunderous whirling to cease into quiet. 

“Where are we?” You asked. Leaning away from Wesker as he stood from his seat and pulled on the door. It slid open smoothly, and Wesker stepped out onto a concrete platform. He turned and offered you his hand. And you took it as you climbed out of the helicopter. Taking a moment to look around as Wesker slammed the door shut on the machine. It looked like a campus. Possibly an Umbrella campus of some sort. A cluster of large buildings that were surrounded by a high concrete fence. You glimpsed guards posted in watch towers and a heavy, chain link gate, set at the front of the facility. 

“We’re somewhere safe.” Wesker said. His hand slid down to the small of your back, and he gently guided you off the landing platform and into the adjacent building. To you, it looked like a large office building. Through the doors, you were led past an empty receptionist desk. However, the room had armed officers by each of the doors. Their faces were covered behind tinted riot helmets and the matching gear bore the Umbrella symbol. Wesker walked past each of them without acknowledging their presence. And at each door, Wesker had to flash an ID card across a small lit up pad. And then, as you were led into a main structure, the ID scanner glowed green, but a small device poked out from the wall, directed towards Wesker. 

Without taking his hand from your back, Wesker removed his sunglasses and lined his right eye with the lens of the scanner. A moment later, the scanner retracted back into the wall, and the heavy set doors opened up into an elevator. You stepped inside and Wesker pressed a button at the top of the selection. Indicating that you were being taken to the highest point in the building. The amount of security in this building eased some part of your rattled self. The amount of armed forces and heavy set windows would hold back even a city sized horde of infected. 

“You will be staying in my suite until the outbreak is under control.” Wesker informed you as he slid his sunglasses back over his eyes. “This is the safest place for you. I promise.” 

You nodded. Watching the numbers at the top of the door reach its final destination and the elevator slid open. Revealing a luxurious living room with wide windows and a large couch facing a massive tv. The suite was possibly bigger than your entire house. And the tiles were so spotless you were almost afraid to step on them. 

“Are you staying?” You asked Wesker, in a voice that was much softer than you intended. You didn’t want to be left alone right now. But you also knew that Wesker would be needed to deal with the outbreak. He was their best operative. 

You stepped out of the elevator but Wesker stayed behind. His dark glasses reflected your face as he looked at you. You didn’t realize that you were half hugging yourself, like you were cold. But then he shook his head. Holding open the doors as they tried to shut between the two of you. 

“I need to go find out what happened.” Wesker said. And you felt your chest fall at his words. A moment stretched between you, and then Wesker stepped forward and allowed the doors to close behind him. “But I think they can manage without me for a little white.” 

The relief you felt almost made you feel guilty. People were possibly in great danger and here was their best chance at containing the outbreak. Taking off his coat to hang it over the back of a chair and gesture towards the bathroom. 

“You’ll want a bath after being in the contaminated area. Even if you’re clean of infection, the smell hangs around just as stubbornly.” 

He wasn’t wrong. The entire walk into the building you had been smelling the foul stench of the zombie you got close too. Though, you didn’t touch it nor did any of its blood splatter on you; the smell of the infection clung to your senses like a…well..like a bad smell.

A bath would do you good. Or a really hot shower. It might even relax you and sooth the unease that still had its claws in you. You needed to scrub it off. Get some fresh clothes and cleanse your nose with something better than rotten flesh and sickness. Wesker opened the door for you and you were blinded by white tiles and the strong scent of disinfectant.

The bathroom was just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment. It had a large, pool-like bath and a shower that hung from the ceiling in a wide square head. Crisp white towels lined the walls and the sinks were stocked with various soaps and body-safe chemicals. That was one thing you’d give credit to Umbrella for, everything would be spotless and would provide only the best ways to clean yourself. Not a single germ would survive the cleaning service of this place. 

“Is this where you usually go in between meetings?” You asked, knowing full well Wesker does nothing but work. If it wasn’t secret missions, it was meetings. If it wasn’t meetings, it was a mission sending him into other countries that he was unable to talk to you about. You never actually asked if he had a home to go to. Or if he just brooded behind a desk until given a directive. 

There was a hint of a smile on the corner of Wesker’s lips. But he shook his head. 

“No. This is a temporary facility to help deal with the outbreak. It was the closest I could take you without Umbrella getting suspicious.” He flicked on the tap and adjusted it until steam rolled out of the white basin. You touched the water, feeling it was a little too cold and flicked the hot tap on more. 

You then grabbed the strongest disinfectant you thought your skin could handle and handed it to him. He gave you a look over the edge of his glasses, but said nothing as he added it to the water. You wanted to be clean. But not burnt to the last layer of flesh, clean. You would use the nice smelling soap once the chemicals removed the stench off your body. “Umbrella doesn’t know you pulled me out of the outbreak?” You asked, with an air of surprise to your tone. 

“They know.” He corrected you. “But they don’t want any witnesses or possible Infected leaving a certain radius. The only reason I was able to bring you here is because they can keep a better eye on you.” That harshness returned to his voice. Like he didn’t agree with his orders. But you were grateful nonetheless with this place. Even if you were still within range of the virus, it was better than the homes you would be huddled up in. Or the quarantine camps you’ve seen on tv. 

“I’m honestly surprised they approved my rescue.” You said, sitting on the side of the tub as you watched the water rise. 

“They know the consequences if they had rejected the rescue.” Wesker said. His glasses started to fog and you smiled in amusement as he briefly wiped them with the edge of his shirt. 

“It's ok, you can keep them off.” You assured him. But he merely cocked a small smile and slid them back into place. You didn’t push the subject. Instead busied yourself with touching the water and turning off the taps once the water was at the right height. 

“Do you want me to leave while you get undressed?” There it was. That cocky smirk of his that matched the smooth smug voice. You felt your body flush with heat but you felt your expression neutral, with only a hint of a small smile. 

You didn’t know what the two of you were. You have never gone on a date or even as much as held his hand. But Wesker came straight into the middle of a zombie outbreak to rescue you. You spoke almost every night and it was rare to never go more than a few days without a message from him. But you didn’t think you were ready to share such an intimate moment of displaying your naked body to him right after you witnessed brains being splattered all over your bedroom. But you knew you couldn’t handle being alone right now. “Turn around and I’ll wear a towel or something in the bath,” If there was a hint of disappointment, you didn’t catch it. But he turned his back to you and you undressed quickly, wrapping a towel around your torso before slipping into the hot water. You almost felt dizzy with the smell of chemicals and steam coming out of the bath. And the sensation of wet fabric against your skin felt a little itchy, but it was washed away as you sunk deep into the bath until only your head remained above water. 

“Alright, I’m decent again.” You said, and Wesker chuckled. Turning back around to sit beside you on the bath edge.

“You know, you undressed right in front of the mirrors.” He smirked down at you. And you stared up at him in a mixture of embarrassment and a flustered gasp. 

“You did not.” 

“It's hard not too.” He looked over your submerged body and his smirk deepened. “You and I both know this was going to happen eventually.” 

“What? That you were going to play hero and have me half naked in a bath?” You said. “I thought it would go kinda differently. But…by all means, you can join me.” Wesker laughed and shook his head. Even with the sunglasses, you could see the discomfort on his face. “Do you not like baths?” 

“No. Hot water is uncomfortable for Uroborus.” He explained. And it shocked you how casually he spoke about the infection. “It can survive in hot water, it just starts to hurt if I’m in there for too long.” He moved his gloved hand to hover above the surface of the water. Like he was testing to see just how much discomfort he could manage before pulling his arm away. “As much as I would love to join you, I’ll sit this one out.” You nodded. Unsure how to take this new information. Wesker rarely spoke about Uroborus. Keeping it to himself for professional and safety reasons. ‘The less you know, the better’ was always his reasoning for never sharing information. And you understood. It was his creation after all. 

“Could you hand me the soap then?” You asked, and then mimicked his smirk with your own. “Make yourself useful.” 

The chuckle came from deep in his chest, but he retrieved the bar of soap for you. But didn’t hand it to you. Instead, he bit the fabric of his gloved finger and pulled the glove from his hand. Discarding it to the side and doing the same with the other, all without taking his eyes off you. You couldn’t hold his gaze for long. The seering look behind those glasses was causing all sorts of warmth through your body. 

He offered you his bare hand and you hesitantly laid your wet hand in his. And gently, Wesker started to massage your arm and shoulders with the bar of soap. Occasionally submerging the bar into the water to lather you better with the scent. You leaned forward a little. Allowing him better access to your back and neck. You shivered as his fingers caressed along your shoulder blades and down your spine. Tenderly rubbing the pads of his fingers into the base of your neck and along your collarbone. You could feel the restraint behind each movement. The strength that delicately moved his fingers along your body to leave you feeling relaxed and smelling sweet. You let your eyes fall close and you felt the soap leave his fingers. His palms molded against the curves of your shoulders. Fingers teasingly brushing against your neck and you suppressed a pleasant humm that came to your lips. Tilting your head back a little as he massaged down your arms and worked the palm of your hand with his fingers. It was surprisingly comforting to feel your fingers in his. 

And then, you felt a softness against your lips. And you finally allowed that pleased hum to fall from your chest as Wesker kissed you. At first, it felt fleeting, like he was testing your reaction to the touch. But when you didn’t pull away, he pushed his lips harder against yours. And your fingers gripped his shirt as his tongue dipped between your lips. Begging for entrance and Wesker moaned roughly as you let him in. His fingers held the back of your neck, keeping you close until you pulled away, gasping for a breath. 

His smile was almost predatory. A hungry gleam sparking behind those tinted sunglasses. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” His thumb slid along your cheek to rest against your shoulder. Kneading the tense muscle as he smirked down at you. “But we’ve never had a chance like this.” 

Your heart was beating so hard against your chest you were sure he could feel it against his hand. You smiled up at him, letting your hand slide over the fingers that touched your shoulder. He intertwined them together. Lifting them up to kiss the back of your palm. 

“We’ve never actually spent a lot of alone time together.” You said. On the days you and he had met up, there were always other operatives, soldiers, in the vicinity. Even when Wesker came by your house for a visit, Umbrella was always watching. “We should do this more often.”

Another soft chuckle and Wesker pushed a strand of semi-wet hair away from your neck. 

“I can have that arranged. Pull a few strings. Threaten some people.” The smirk was light hearted but you could see the truth behind it. You ignored him. “Wash yourself off. The soap will begin to dry.” 

You almost didn’t care about the irritable sensation of the soap on your skin. 

You were adoring this moment with him. Finally allowing that little piece of adoration shine through and get giddy as his touch lingered on you. But he drew away when you sat up and splashed the water over your skin. Ridding the small bubbles and leaving your skin smelling strongly of a flowered fragrance. 

You stood from the water, and the towel around you dropped heavily with water. You chuckled, giving Albert a look as you clung to the towel around you. He was sliding his gloves back on when he noticed your stare. He smirked, giving you an obvious head-to-toe glance. 

“I’ve already seen.” He said. But you held your stance firm until he sighed and turned his back. This time you made sure his glasses were facing away from the mirror, before dropping the wet towel and sliding on a bathrobe that hung from one of the hooks. He turned when you touched his arm and Albert stepped forward to slide his hands along your hips. That eager, hungry, smile stretching over his lips again. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked. And you couldn’t meet his stare again. Those words dripped with enough warm honey that it sent your mind racing. But you nodded. Licking your lips as one hand slid from your hips to take your hand in his. “I’ll order something for you. But… I’m going to have to leave you for a few hours.” 

Your eyes widened. A mixture of shock and disappointment rolled through you as he drew you closer. His warm breath tickled your skin as he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

“We’ll continue this later. I am sorry I can’t discuss this…in length, right now.” There was a heavy irritation to his voice. But as the quiet stretched between you, you distinctly heard the phone in his pocket ring violently. Obviously put on silent for this occasion. You sighed. For a moment you forgot about what was happening outside. All you wanted was Albert. In this moment, he was all your mind focused on. And the relaxed sensation his hands left you in, was eradicated the moment the memories flooded back. 

But you nodded. Taking a step back but didn’t let your hand part with his. 

“I understand. Talk about this later, then?” You asked. And Albert nodded, tugging you back to him and wrapping his free arm around your waist. The kiss was almost desperate. A plea in his own way to stay with you right now. And the arm that held you crushed you against his chest almost painfully. But you endured. Letting that giddy side of you flourish in his arms until he pulled away. He swallowed heavily and gave one last smile before storming out of the bathroom.  Like if he didn’t leave now. He’d never be able to tear himself away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[pr4ktical]

Don't Move.

Your callsign is "Echo." Your fathers name is "Cade Brooks." König is apart of Task Force 141. Your middle and last name is “Lyla Brooks.” There was apart of me writing this where I was listening to fine line so I wrote angst (SORRY)

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader WARNINGS: angst, smut, blood and violence, p in v sex, oral SUMMARY: You have been assigned a mission to defend your father due to the sudden intrusion happening from a gang called “The Ghosts" but something happens on the way.

“10-33, all units needed we have a breach.” 

Your dispatchers voice rang through your earpiece. You  and your team were in one of the debriefing rooms before we got the message. Everyone started running out to grab their gear, you did as well. Throwing your black long-sleeve jacket over your t-shirt before grabbing your vest and securing it tightly. You already had your cargos on, grabbing your helmet and gun and bolting. 

You met up with your team, consisting of some of your closest partners. But there was the one that was one of your best friends, Arrow. You were always expected to join your fathers defense team, she promised you when you were younger that she would join as well. You have had off and ons before but this experience has brought you closer together, almost like sisters. Anyway, your squad leader, Fang, start talking after taking a head count. “Alright, Easy, Payback, Vix, and Dallas - Y’all take the southern side of the building. Baja, Riot, Dodger, and Horizon - Y’all take the western side. Chaos, Whiskey, Spitfire, and Keeper - Y’all take the northern side. Trigger, Pyro, Wildcat, and Thorn - Y’all take the east side.” Fang listed off a few more members, there were about 35 members there, including yourself. “Echo, Arrow, Patriot, and Blister. All of you will be in a group with me, we will be defending Mr. Brooks as he waits for a chopper to pick him up.” He gestured to you and your new team. You did get nervous for a bit, your whole team was full of your closest partners and you had to keep your father safe? All of the pressure was on you. “Move out!” Fang yelled out, snapping you out of your thoughts. Everyone hustled out of the room and went to their assigned places. There were more soldiers out of the group that you met with, your group was “ Task Force 78”, The south assigned group plus some was “Task Force 135” , the north assigned group plus some was “Task Force 83” , the west assigned group plus some was “Task Force 32” , and the east assigned group plus some was “Task Force 252” . Each group had 8 members, besides your own. You only had five to defend your father.

There were multiple floors to this building of your fathers, around maybe 4 different floors. Four group members from Task Force 135 and 83 were on the front lines, the first floor. The other four were on the second floor, spread out all over. All eight members of Task Force 32 were on the third floor, accompanied by four of Task Force 252’s members. The other four from 252 were on the fourth floor, with my group. They were farther away from your group, standing closer to the stairs. Enough about the lineup, the enemies were approaching, and fast. “Fuck.. can the heli get here any slower?” You muttered under your breath, pulling up your sleeve to check your watch. You looked back at your father, pacing around in his bright navy blue suit, then back to your team. Patriot and Blister stood outside the doors and would let us know if they heard or saw any movement nearby. Arrow, Fang, and yourself were in the room with your father. Fang and Arrow were talking, your dad was pacing around while checking his computers ever so often. Before you knew it, you heard it. There were multiple gunshots fired downstairs. It had begun.

“11 Bravo, 83 is down.” All three of us heard it in our earpieces, you could see the shock in Fang’s face. He looked at both you and Arrow before speaking, “Lima Charlie, continue as planned.” He walked over to the computer screens by my fathers desk. He slammed his hands on the desk before turning around and dragging his hands down his face and groaning. You and Arrow looked at eachother, then back at him. “When will the chopper be here?” You asked, tilting your head a bit. “Not for at least another..” He looked down and checked his watch, “20-ish minutes.” You shook your head, smiling. “Well, I’m sure we can kill a couple of guys quicker than that, ay?”

It had been around 15 minutes, it consisted of listening closely downstairs to see if the shots had been progressing closer or stayed the same. For the most part they stayed the same but it got closer for a minute. 

Now 18 minutes passed, we got the note that the chopper was close to the base. The gunshots had been progressively getting closer, and closer. Task Force 83, 135, and 32 had been wiped out completely. Task Force 252 had four members injured and the other four dead. The enemies had made their way up to the fourth floor, where you were. Fang eventually went outside with Patriot and Blister to help them defend, leaving Arrow, yourself, and your father in a room together. You heard the gunshots from outside the door, it has started once again. You got the ping that the chopper was here, you looked up to Arrow. You could see tears start to well up in her eyes. She ran up to you and gave you a tight hug. “I love you so much, don’t ever forget it.” You felt the tears start to stream down your cheek before she let go. “Save yourself, and your father.” She whispered, voice broken as she gave a small kiss to your forehead. She saluted you, smiling brightly as a tear fell down her cheek, before running out the door into battle. You quickly turned around to your father, latching an arm around him and rushing him up the steps to the roof where the chopper lay. There were soldiers that you handed him off to, before running back downstairs to help your partners. You were too late.

You ran down the steps as fast as you could, pushing yourself through the steel door and running down the hall where Fang said that they would be. It was silent. There was no one around. You scanned around the dark room, looking for any sight of life, or death. You heard a small, weak cough. You had enough hope, whipping yourself over to where you heard it. There she sat. Face shattered with blood and dirt all over, you could see at least 2 bullet wounds and a stab in the shoulder. One bullet wound was on her leg, and one on her chest. You immediately broke down in tears.

You bent down next to her, cupping her face. You heard her gasping for air, gasping for her life. Her eyes were still, barely shining with life. “E-Echo?” She called out, her vocal chords squeaking through her small speeches. You shushed her, letting a tear fall down onto her. “I- l-love you k-kid.” She said quietly before coughing roughly. “I love you too, Mae.” You could see the shock on her face from using her real name, yet a warm smile on her face appeared. You tucked some of her black strands of hair behind her ear that stuck to her face. She reached a weak hand up to yours, holding her hand in yours. She looked you in the eyes, giving you a weak smile as a single tear rolled down her bloodied, dirt covered face. Her eyes went gray as her grasp went limp. You wailed out, burying your face into her chest, hand still gripping hers tightly. 

It took a couple minutes for you to finally pull away, you gave her a small kiss on the forehead as a tear rolled down your cheek. You stood up, wiped your tears away and gave her a salute. You grabbed her knife and guns, a MP5 and AK-47. You doubted that the enemy went away, they were probably making sure my fellow soldiers had died. Checking the building for any other clues of where your father could be headed. You quickly yet quietly made your way through the big dark building. 

You made it to what seemed to be the second floor. You stopped in your tracks as you heard voices throughout the opposite room from you. “I’m not seeing anything, Price.” It sounded like a ..Scottish man? “Keep lookin, you may find something Soap.” There was a scoff after what the other man said. Eventually, it sounded like they moved on. You moved to where the two men just were, clinging to the walls as you scooted your way through the building. You finally made it to the steps, which led to the first floor. You saw light come in with a black shadow behind it, making you scramble away from the steps. Before you could get far away, you bumped into something. It felt as tough as a wall so you assumed it was a wall, before feeling it grab you. Whoever this was, was a man. He grabbed you by the arm, chest behind your back. He pulled your wrist out behind you before pressing his strong hand into the socket of your shoulder. You wiggled around, trying to get out from his grasp, and that only made him grip you harder. You groaned out in pain, this man could break you at any moment. You could feel him shift behind you, he was leaning in towards you. You could feel what seemed to be a mask brush against your ear before hearing, “Move an inch, this pretty li’l shoulder gets dislocated. Cooperate with me, won’t you?” 

Before you knew it, you had been knocked out.

You woke up to a small dripping noise, fluttering your eyelashes open before squinting in the lit room.  You looked down at yourself, wiggling around before discovering you had zip ties around your wrists and ankles, digging painfully into your skin. You got a bit startled when you woke up, obviously in a new setting but quickly got used to it. The room had a concrete ground, with dark gray tiled walls. There were no windows in the room, the only source of light was the bright, dingy leds hanging above you. There was a steel door, no window with no lock on the inside. You assumed the lock would be outside of the door. There was a metal table in the center of the room and a couple of metal chairs with it. Everytime you tried to move, the zip ties dug into your skin making it red raw. You sat awkwardly upright on one of the cold metal chairs. Your ankles had been crossed together and your hands had been tied together, placed in your lap. You still had your regular outfit on, cargos and all but your gear was taken away for obvious reasons. You were obviously kidnapped and taken into an interrogation room. 

You had no idea where you were, you were knocked out cold when they transported you here. As you sat in silence in the chair, your mind kept racing about what happened back at your fathers business tower, most of all the death of your whole team…and to the mystery man who had almost dislocated your shoulder. You tried to distract yourself from thinking back to that situation. If the people who brought you here came into the room to see you sobbing, that would be very embarrassing and awkward. Your thoughts had been interrupted by hearing the steel door open, the horrific sound of it squeaking along the concrete. You could hear three sets of heavy combat boots walk in, closing the door behind them. You didn’t give them the luxury of you looking up to them. One of these men called your name, it sounded just like what you heard in the building. “..Lyla Brooks, callsign ‘Echo’.” You could hear him striding closer, the others seemed to stay in the same spot. “Daughter of one ‘Cade Brooks’, right?” He reached out for your jaw, gripping it tightly in his hand. You could see him much more clearly now. He had mutton chops, bright blue eyes, and a bucket hat. He had on dark green cargo pants, and a dark gray jacket on. On top of the jacket, he still had on a dark green bulletproof vest with Britain's flag etched on it. You looked over to the side of his chest, his name was also etched on it, PRICE. “Where is your father headed?” He let go of your chin, before striding over to lean against the table. You looked over to the other two men in the room, one had a mask on with a skull on it, the other had a dirtied cloth that hung over his face but they were both wearing the same as the British man. You smirked, shrugging your shoulders. You could feel the frustration start to boil in the room. “Don’t fuck about. Where is he.” The man in the mask yelled out, getting more impatient. All this did was fire you up more as the man with the cloth over his face reached a hand over the other man’s chest. “I told you, I don’t know…” You said, sounding more whiny than you intended while giving them your best big doe eyed glare. 

After a grueling 15 minutes of interrogation the British man, “Price”, said “Fuck it, Ghost take care of the lass.” Before leaving the room. The man with the cloth over his face had left too. The steel door creaked closed, it was only you and this man, “Ghost”, in the room now. He had stalked you in the corner, cracking his knuckles through his gloves. He stepped into the light, you could see him much more clearly now. He was huge, much bigger than your frame. “Now,” He started, big clunk ’s filled the room, heavy strides from his combat boots. He got close to you, kneeling down before flicking his dark eyes to you. That sent a shiver down your spine, what the hell? Were you getting turned on by this shit? “Don’t try anything, love.” He said, turning his attention down to your restraints. He reached back, grabbing a sharp knife from his gun belt before bringing it up to your ankles. You sucked in a breath as he quickly freed your ankles from the binding. You stood up before landing a kick straight to his stomach and running for the door. He groaned in pain, grabbing his stomach. Shit, I should’ve known. The door was locked. How fucking stupid was you?? He stood up, you felt as small as ever when he faced you. His eyes had grown darker, full of rage. He strided closer to you, slowly. He gripped your shoulders before tossing you into the wall. You hit the cold, tiled wall with a thud as a moan escaped from your lips. Ghost quickly pursued, grabbing onto your neck as he started to choke you. A small smirk trickled to your face. He slapped you, busting out a small groan from you. You laughed to the best of your ability from the tightening grip on your neck. “The fuck you laughin’ at? I was not gonna do anything to you but, you chose this, love.” You could feel your thighs clench from hearing his dark words, and seeing his arm flexing as he choked you out. What the fuck..You were actually getting off at this. You gave out a small grunt, as your eyes started to flutter closed. Your mind raced at what could happen right now. You just met this guy, and he took you here to interrogate you yet you were getting off at his methods? Christ. A dark chuckle broke your thoughts. 

You opened your eyes, feeling his grip lessen. He looked me up and down, “You're getting off to this, aren’t you love?” You could feel your face redden instantly, his cocky attitude only grew larger after that. He completely let go of your throat, moving his large hand down to your hands as he dragged you near the table. He forcefully pushed you down, making you bend over the cold table. He positioned himself right behind you, his clothed crotch painfully close to yours. He leaned into your ear, rock hard cock pressed into your ass. “Aren’t you something? Getting off at your kidnappers huh?” He gripped your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. They were clouded with lust. “What would your father have to say about this?” He slowly started to grind his hips into your ass, making you gasp. He smiled cockily at this noise from you. “What a slut. Offering yourself to me, though you’ve never met me. Do you do this with everyone? I bet if Price was in ‘ere you’d been doing the same.” He said darkly before pulling away. There was a pause for a moment, but then.. SMACK . You moaned out, he slapped your ass, and hard. “You're lucky this room doesn’t have cameras yet..or would you like that? Huh? Letting everyone see me having my way with you?” He kneaded your asscheek in his hand before giving another smack, causing you to jump forward and moan out. “Please, sir…” You whined out, putting your head down onto the cold table as your hips bucked. All this did was earn a deep chuckle from the man behind you. “How pathetic.. Already begging for me, huh?”

“Lift your hands up for me, love.” And you did, lifting your restraints above your head for him. You could hear him shifting around, but eventually he cut them off. Gasping in relief, you rubbed my wrists though they were numb from the pain. You could feel his fingers start to come around your waist. He undid your belt buckle with fast fingers, quickly unbuttoning them and latching onto the elastic. “Are you sure you want to do this love, once we start I am not going easy on you.” He asked, making you nod your head quickly. “Use your words, baby.” He said, kneading your ass in his hand again. “I am sure. Do whatever you want with me.” You smiled wickedly, biting your lip as you heard him groan behind you. He basically ripped your cargos off, leaving you in your panties. You went ahead and worked on your shirt, successfully getting it off. You felt cold hands on your back, he unhooked your bra. Slipping it off quickly before grasping your tits in his hand, his cold, beat up, leather gloves against your soft, perky tits felt heavenly. 

He moved his attention to your soaked panties, putting a finger right next to your heat. He fucking groaned at the feeling. “Look at how fucking wet you are for me, and I can tell even through the glove. All this from a little choking. What a slut!” He growled out before latching onto your panties and jerking them down your legs. The cold air against your hot core made you buck up, whining out for Ghost. He grabbed your panties, inhaling them and letting out a small moan. He put them in his pocket, earning a smirk from you. There was rustling behind you, Ghost had taken off his shirt, gloves, and gun belt. He grabbed your waist, flipping you over and hiking you up on the table. He got closer, gripping onto your knees and forcefully spreading them out. He stepped in between them, covering your eyes. He had hiked his mask up, gripping your chin and smashing his lips against your own. He dropped his hand from your eyes down to your tits. He pushed his tongue through your lips, swirling it around yours as he played with your tit in his hand. You reached a hand up to his jaw, you could feel scars and a small stubble on his jaw. He dragged his other hand down to your thigh, dangerously close to your core. He eventually snaked his way up your thigh again, planting a hand onto your clit earning a gasp from you. He quickly rubbed circles around it, making you moan out his callsign. He stopped for a moment, “Simon, my name is Simon, darling.” And you nodded. He pulled away from your lips, dragging them down to your neck and eventually down to your nipple. You gasped, “Please..” you bucked against his hand. He pulled away from your nipple again, pulling his mask down again. He took you over by the steel chairs, making him take a seat on one. “Get on your knees, whore.” And you did. He grabbed your jaw again, leaning down to your face. “You can’t expect me to do all the work. I want to see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.” He smiled wickedly under his mask, shifting in the chair. He looked down at you, you could see the obvious tent in his pants. He gestured to you, making your hands fly to his belt. You undid his belt, pulling it out from his waist and throwing it on the floor next to you. You took your extra hair tie on your wrist and quickly threw your hair up in a ponytail. You unbuttoned his buttons, before smiling. You slowly got closer to his crotch, latching your teeth onto the zipper of his pants. He watched your movements attentively, as you looked up at him with doe eyes. He shifted in his seat once again, making you smile. You slowly pulled the zipper down all the way before letting go. He picked his lower half up, pulling his pants and boxers down halfway.

His thick cock sprung out, making it hit his abdomen with a small slap noise. You watched it hungrily, licking your lips as you felt your core get even hotter. You looked up to Simon, eyes asking for permission as he nodded. You scooched closer to him, placing yourself right in between his spread legs. You wrapped your hands around the thick base of his cock. You tried to plan this out before going in, he was very lengthy and very thick. Your hand barely wrapped around it. Oh well! You started slowly pumping it before looking up to his lust covered eyes. You spat on his cock before opening your mouth and swallowing his tip. You swirled your tongue around his tip, pressing it on the slit for a minute. You eventually got enough courage to take half of him in your mouth, you didn’t think you could physically take anymore in your mouth. You bobbed your head quickly while double handing the rest of his shaft. You hollowed out your cheeks for him. He groaned out before snaking a hand onto your hair. You stopped and looked up to him, You could see the smirk on his face. He bunched up your hair before slamming his cock down your obedient throat while grunting with every thrust. “Such a good fucking girl..” He grunted out, this only lit a fire inside you. The mix of praise and degradation he was giving you with that hot ass voice of his was overwhelming. He pumped harder into your throat, the sound of your chokes and the warmth of your wet throat almost sent him off the edge. He eventually pulled out after the assault on your throat. He pulled his pants back up, buttoning them again.

He took you back over to the table. “Get up there, now.” You felt courageous, facing him and leaning on the table with a wicked smirk on your face. “I suggest you do it now, Echo. If not, you’ll regret it.” You eventually gave in. You slowly hopped up on the cold metal table. It felt like you were in a predator prey situation, and you loved every second of it. You stretched your legs wide open for him when you sat down.

He groaned loudly at the sight of you, the sight of you splayed out for him with your aching hole on display was absolutely irresistible. You looked at him, gripping onto the table as best as you could. The sound of clunks from his heavy boots came back into your ears, his presence was directly in front of you now. Gasping out as you felt two of his cold, calloused fingers drag from your clit down to your opening. “Just from one little drag of my fingers and they are already drenched. Aren’t you just aching for me?” He hissed, rubbing in between your folds. “Mmm..p-please..” You said through sharp gasps, eyes screwed shut as Simon played with your cunt. Your body threw itself backwards, feeling his palm give a slap to your wet pussy making a very lewd sound. “Such a little fucking slut.” He muttered under his breath before pinching your clit, making you whine. You threw your head back as he lightly pushed his middle finger against your opening. Your hips bucked against it, “Can you just fuck me already! Stop teasing!” You groaned out, having enough of this game of teasing. You quickly regretted your outburst when quickly plunged two fingers into you with his thumb rubbing your clit. 

“Do you really think that you are in a position to be making demands now?” He growled out, fingering and rubbing you at a much more grueling pace. “N-no sir!” You whined out, hips bucking wildly at the new stimulation. You couldn’t help the moans that started to pour out of your mouth when he curled his fingers on that spot that made you see stars. “Nothin’ but a little moanin’ slut for me that I got my fingers in ya.” He eventually withdrew his fingers, making you whine at the feeling. He looked up at you before bending down to crotch level, making you bite your lip to suppress moans that threatened to pour out. He hooked his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the table. He pulled his mask up to expose his mouth once again, finally letting you see him. You let your head roll back as his mouth made contact with your clit. Your hands flew to his head, pushing him closer and guiding him to your most sensitive spots. “Quiet baby, don’t want the others to hear you.” His fingers punctuating your thighs, eating you out like a starved man and you were a feast sitting right in front of him. Seeing the way the veins in his hands popped out, and the way his muscles flexed when he was holding you down in place only makes you wetter. His lips sealed tightly around your clit, sucking and lapping at it basically unhinging his jaw. A purpose driven man, when he dips his tongue into your cunt, your mind goes automatically blank. Your legs shake and stretch deliciously and you can’t not scratch at his balaclava when he gives you quick, yet timed plunges with his tongue. His thick arm leaves your plush thigh to tease your entrance. You can feel him smiling against your clit when he pushes it in, giving you a small smack to your ass with his other hand. He pulls away from your clit to spit on it, then goes back in. He adds another finger to the mix, pushing them all the way in. He nips at your clit and violently shakes his head back and forth as he’s pumping his thick fingers inside and out of you. “S-Simon I’m gonna-” He completely stops everything. He pulls both fingers out of you and his face. 

He gives you a smack to the ass, “You really think I was gonna let you off that easy, love?” Smiling wickedly as he pulls his mask down once again. He stands up straight, pulling you up to him. “Stand up and bend over this fucking table.” You followed his order, standing up and slowly turning around. You slowly yet seductively bent down until you felt your elbows hit the cold metal, giving him a whole show. You heard the soft sound of his zipper being opened once again. He nudged the tip of his cock against your clit, making you gasp. He watched how your cunt started to flutter around nothing, it made him want you even more. He eased the tip of his cock inside your drenched slit, making you gasp at how much he stretched you. “Gonna fill you up so good..” He suddenly thrusted his whole length into you, making you moan particularly loud before his hand flew to your mouth. “As much as I would love to hear you scream for me, these walls aren’t that thick so keep quiet for me baby.” He rasped in your ear, you swore you felt his cock twitch inside you. He grunted when your pussy tightened even more on him. Ghost started with a brutal pace immediately, not backing down on his promise from earlier. He put your arms behind you, slipping an arm between them to have leverage as he pounded into you. Your hips kept rocking against the cold table painfully due to the position you were in. You arched your back to look up at him, making him grunt in your ear. His balls slapping your wet clit with every thrust only made you closer to your orgasm. You swore with every powerful thrust you thought he was gonna split you in half. He eventually let go of your arms and snaked one hand to your hair, the other down to your clit. Your face was blown out with pleasure, trying your best to suppress your moans but fell unsuccessful. “You look so pretty around my cock, love.” He choked out, letting go of your hair and snaking his hand to your throat and leaning back to take quick glances at your fucked out pussy. “So..fucking..tight for me..” Your pussy was practically choking him, and you could feel it. “P-please..so..close..” You choked out, grasping behind you for his torso. “Beg for it, slut.” He growled, he let go of your throat. He pushed you down onto the cold table, making you cry out. “I need it! Please, please!” You cried out, gripping onto the table until your knuckles go white. He smiled with pride, “C’mon, cum all over my cock.” He slammed into you even harder, making the knot in your stomach release. You came down hard, legs shaking hard as your toes began to lift up. He thrusted hard into you as he chased his own orgasm, the sound of wet skin slapping against each other filled the room. “Too..fucking..tight..” A thrust for every word, one last slam into you before he came in you when he said “tight.” You both sat there for a minute before he pulled out, making you whine at the feeling of not being full anymore. You tightened your walls, not letting any of his cum slip out when you stood up. You turned around to him, face red with your makeup smudged. “Now, I’m gonna need to know where your father is going.. Maybe we could do this again sometime if I see you on duty again.” He smiled, and so did you.

You gave him where your father was going, you couldn’t wait to run into him again.

[rebelandrichgirl]

Lützerath

I thought about not writing this to save my nerves but in this corner of the internet we ramble on about THE REBELLION 24 hours a day and German police in full riot gear wear white helmets that makes them look scaringly like stormtroopers, so I feel like this belongs here.

The village of Lützerath in Germany close to the German/Dutch/Belgian border is supposed to make way for brown coal open cast mining.

It’s the company RWE (Rheinisch-Westfälisches-Elektrizitätswerk) who wants to do this. The legal basis for this is that you get the permit to resettle whole towns and villages if it’s necessary to reach natural resources and brown coal is considered to be that.

The RWE needs the brown coal to burn it in their power plants, however it’s a long standing decision that Germany wants to fade out the use of coal for electricity anyway since there are alternatives and using coal (especially brown coal) actually needs to be highly subsidised to be cost-effective. Aside from the obvious CO2-problem.

The RWE just wants to use the last years where they are even allowed to do this to make as much money as possible before they have to close down anyway.

The original inhabitants of Lützerath have already been resettled. The village is currently occupied by climate activists. Their eviction seems to be starting soon.

I grew up kind of in the region and was there during Christmas. I have actually thought about going there, but I have obligatory stuff at uni, missing that would basically lead to me losing a year… So well… Reality check of my finances… I went back to my university… (Yes, I do feel the need to justify why I’m not there…)

I don’t think there is a realistic chance that they actually will succeed against the massive police forces that will get there. It’s just a question of how long it takes, how violent it gets and how much PUBLICITY it will create…

There is a lot you can do even if you don’t want to freeze your ass off and get dragged away by the police in the end.

Take a look at https://www.alle-doerfer-bleiben.de/ and at Instagram https://www.instagram.com/luetzibleibt/

When I looked for English information about this, I discovered that there is hardly anything. Except for the English language sections on the links above.

The only thing in foreign press I found was the “Photos of the week” of CNN, which actually has one picture from Lützrath and a two sentence caption.

If you happen to have an uncle or something who’s working for a newspaper or news channel somewhere… Wouldn’t this be a cool story…?

If you happen to live in North-Rhine-Westphalia ask your friends and family which company they get their electricity from. Many people in the region actually do have contracts with RWE. Make them change their electricity provider.

And no, they are not cheaper than other companies! Coal is fucking ineffective these days! Even money isn’t a reason anymore to stick to that company!

And yes, I know, compared to the struggle in Iran and a lot of other stuff going on on this world, this might seem like a joke, but this just hits close to home for me.

And in the end it's part of the fight against climate change which will decide whether or not we will be able to still live on this planet on the long run, so maybe it's not a joke after all...

Thanks for reading!

[0wwtacital]

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[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Things that come in my head as I play through Diasomnia's chapter (chp 38-55):

[Potential spoilers below darlings, proceed with caution!]

Am I ready for this? Hell no. Do I know I will regret everything? Yes. Am I still gonna try to finish everything in one day? Yep. Let's go!

Ortho??? Calling from RSA??? Is this Idia's dream? Malleus?! Cute to see him taking care of Drago but like the tiny details showing that its actually a dream? And Idia's catching on! Slowly but hey, progress is still progress! It's also nice to see how things could be different if og Ortho was still around.

Where are we? Why are there terrifying ghost like things on the windows? Is this Ramshackle dorm before it became, well, Ramshackle as we know it now? I am so confused now lol– Wait we're in Mickey's room?! How'd we get on the other side of the mirror? We're all having an out of body experience... I dunno how to feel about that tbh.

Silver! My baby's here! And we get to see his UM!

Have I ever told you guys how much I like Malleus' humming? Cause I like it very much. But anyways... we're in cyberspace now...? Oh Ortho! Ortho's awake! Poor baby's trying so hard to wake up his brother.

It's kinda scary seeing how powerful Malleus is. Like, to the point where he can force even Styx issued gear into shut down mode, he's seriously overpowered. Can't wait to see Idia continue the trend and become the hero in this tale, but there's a lot of heart ache we need to go through before we reach that point so, best of luck to all our poor hearts.

I wonder if there's any particular significance to the fact that the time is stopped at 9:18.

So we finally meet Idia's dad, huh? His helmet reminds me of Hades' Helm of Darkness. And we meet his mom as well. A lot of technical stuff and lore drop that went a bit over my head, but it's fine! We'll be fine!

Seems like eccentricity is the middle name of the Shroud family. Then again all geniuses are a bit eccentric. Poor idia, his mom definitely snooped through password protected folders. I would riot if my parents ever snooped through my laptop, so I can't wait for him to wake up and proceed to lose his shit over it lmao

Ortho's Cerberos gear and the two support droids are so cool! The little family moment is cute, but I hope this isn't a death flag for poor Ortho because I've seen too much of that trope– Now we're back with the Prefect! Ngl, Silver's kinda hot when he orders us around.

Dreams are a very tricky subject, so I don't blame Silver for not knowing much about how his UM works. That being said, I'm ready to learn a little more about Sebek, now that we're in his dream. I'm not his biggest fan atm, but... let's see. I'm hoping my perspective on him changes because he seems like a fun character to explore.

.... Something about the way he calls us human just pisses me off lmao. But we will be keeping an open mind. I will come to love you Sebek (yes it is a threat)

I feel terrible for Silver. Imagine looking at people you've known your entire life, two of them people you look up to and one you've trained alongside, and seeing strangers. Strangers who live in a fairy tale, who want you to join them and live happily ever after, sacrificing your freedom and responsibilities of the real world for an ideal ending. Who wouldn't want to take that chance? Making the choice to go against them, for their own good, is the most difficult thing to do in this situation. Raising your weapon against the one you trained your whole life to protect, fighting against someone who was once your comrade-in-arms.... it's terribly heartbreaking. But, hey, at least we got Sebek to wake up.

EHY IS MALLEUS SO FUCKING OP DIFVDHDGDJSVDVDJD B DHFDUSJDHS?!?!?!?!?

We... we're in Lilia's dream now.... brb, gotta get some tissues and get ready for emotional damage–

It's nice to see Silver taking the lead and being the dependable one. Also, General Lilia!! Been waiting for him since I got spoilers back when I was stuck in Ignihyde's book. I love how his hair transitions from being long and having red streaks to short and cute with pink streaks. Long hair is often associated, at least in my culture, with maturity and a sense of responsibility, while short hair is more fun and child-like. Similarly, red is an intense colour, while pink could technically be seen as a softer, gentler cousin to it. It shows Lilia's change from a warrior to caregiver and I think it's really neat. I just wish he could have seen him in a more adult-like form in the past.

[dispatchesfromtheclasswar]

I won't back down: The tense moment a riot cop tries to put fear in the eyes of a protester

You are armed to the teeth with ashpyxiating gas grenades, flash-bang grenades, a baton, a gun with bullets, a helmet, a shield and all the other protective and offensive gear. And you have the power by the State to commit crimes against people with no repercussions. To inflict pain on them and deprive them of their freedom. And behind you there are dozens just like you, with all their lethal gear and all the power to turn a peaceful protest into bloodshed. And despite of all that power and the gear that makes you feel invincible, you are so arrogant that you to try to intimidate a protester "armed" with just his hands and voice. Do you know why you have already lost? Because that unarmed protester you are trying to put fear into his eyes needs no armor. The only thing he needs is an idea. This striking footage has been shot by Kostas Papantoniou today (Wednesday 14 September 2022) in Athens, Greece during a student protest against the right wing government's unprecedented plan to establish police stations inside universities campuses all over Greece. Few blocks away, the student protest was indeed attacked by the greek riot police at least 3 times for absolutely no reason or provocation, simply just cause they were protesting. Because this is actually what democracy looks like!

[worldwidetacticalgear]

Do police need riot gear?

There's been a lot of discussions lately about whether or not police need riot gear. On one hand, it's understandable that police would want to be prepared for any possible scenario. On the other hand, it seems like riot gear is often used more to intimidate people than to protect officers. Those who say that police do not need riot gear argue that such equipment only serves to escalate tensions and contribute to the cycle of violence.

[sixhours]

Chapter 21 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

You’re startled out of a drifting sleep by the loud thud of an explosion. The faint commotion outside, voices yelling. You wait for the sounds of gunfire.

There’s another explosion, closer this time. You feel it in your stomach, raining dust and debris down from the rotting cell ceiling.

You wince, heart thudding in your chest as you slide off your mattress and attempt to stand. Your muscles are weak from lack of food, and every inch of your body screams at you for the effort, but you’re intent on getting to the door.

More shouting, further away, then–

Two rapid-fire gunshots down the hall.

You hate your treacherous survivor’s heart, the way it panics, looks for a way out, a way to hide, to fight.

A FEDRA soldier in riot gear creeps to your cell and peers in. You gasp when he trains a rifle on you, sinking into the corner of your cot. You close your eyes, waiting for the crack of the gunshot.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, he paws at his belt, pulling out a keychain. He fumbles the first key into the lock but it doesn’t turn.

“W-what are you doing?” you stammer, pressing your back into the corner as if you could merge with the wall.

He doesn’t answer. The next key doesn’t fit.

“Please…”

He looks over his shoulder and mutters under his breath as he pulls the third key. “C’mon, c’mon.”

You blink slowly, wondering if you’ve misheard. 

That voice.

The key twists and the bars swing open. Joel pulls the tactical helmet off his head, glaring at you from beneath a mop of sweaty curls.

“Let’s go.”

“How did you–”

“We don’t have time,” he snaps. “Get up, let’s go.”

“My ankle is broken. I can’t walk–”

He huffs a soft “fuck” under his breath, strides toward you, and picks you up roughly, one arm under your legs, the other at your back. The sudden movement shoots a fire through your ankle as the bones grind together and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood.

He carries you back down the hall. You see two bodies, your guards, slumped in a corner.

“How did you–”

“Not now,” he growls. The exit is ahead. You can feel Joel’s heart beating at his throat, against your cheek, wild and scared.

Outside your cell, you see that the place you thought was a compound is hardly a compound at all. There are no barbed wire fences and no visible guard posts. Just an old, run-down street with a couple of FEDRA tanks on either end.

 “Stop or I’ll shoot,” a voice yells from behind you.

Joel freezes and slowly turns. You feel the muscles in his jaw twitch. A lone soldier is pointing a gun at you. He can’t hold you and fire his weapon at the same time. 

“I have orders to take her,” he says evenly.

The woman cocks her head. “Orders from who?”

“Colonel Waller,” you whisper in his ear. He repeats this verbatim.

The woman huffs but lowers the gun, reaching for the com at her shoulder.

“Hold on,” he whispers roughly, and you find yourself falling, sagging against him as he lets you go. You put your good foot down to try to catch the brunt of your weight as he draws the rifle up and fires point-blank into the woman’s chest.

Without pausing, you’re scooped up again, and now he runs, ducking into torn alleys and down side streets.

Somewhere behind you, another bomb explodes.

~*~

Joel’s steps fall heavier as you get further from the outpost. He finds a house on the outskirts of town with a basement entrance at the back and a forest beyond. Busting off the rusty padlock with the butt of his rifle, he opens the door and carries you down the stairs into a damp cellar, setting you down roughly on the packed dirt floor.

“Where are we?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Joel–”

“South of Salt Lake City,” he grunts.

“How did you find me?”

He scowls, ignoring this, looking around for something to secure the cellar door. Finally, he breaks off a length of PVC pipe from the house’s underside and shoves it between the door handles, rattling it a few times to ensure it will hold.

Then he sinks to the dirt floor, exhausted. 

“Joel, how did–”

His eyes snap to yours, furious. “If it were up to me, I’d have left you back in that cell.”

“Then why didn’t you?” you ask, adrenaline giving way to despair.

He grits his teeth but doesn’t answer, ducking his head. “We’re gonna lie low until night. Should be able to sneak outta town. They’ll be busy for a while.”

“Do you think they’ll track us?”

“You tell me,” he shoots back. “They’re your people, not mine.”

“They’re not my…I…I…they were going to either kill me or leave me for dead.”

“Then prob’ly not.”

Suddenly you remember the colonel, what he told you.

“Joel–Jackson–FEDRA’s going to–”

“I know.”

You blink. “How?”

“We saw FEDRA encampments on the outskirts of our patrol routes. They’re the reason the hordes are moving. They’re driving ‘em like cattle.”

“They…they told me Jackson was already gone.”

“Not yet,” Joel sighs, rubbing a palm over his face. He tips his head back, eyes closed. “The council’s working on something. There’s a plan.”

“Then…why are you here?”

There’s a long pause; you can almost feel the anger radiating off him, blurring the air around him like a heat mirage.

“Askin’ myself the same thing,” he says softly. His head dips to the side as he hands you the gun. “Take the rifle. Wake me when it’s dark. I gotta sleep.”

You curl into your jacket, trying to ignore the throb in your leg from all the jostling. Joel’s eyes remain closed and after a few minutes, you think you can hear him snore. 

~*~

You watch the light fade through the cracks in the cellar door, listening for the sound of footsteps, but they don’t come. When the crawl space is almost pitch black, you wake Joel. He comes out of sleep easily, ready to move.

But first, your ankle.

Joel pulls a clean shirt out of his pack and begins tearing it into strips. You hiss when he picks up your foot, but he doesn’t apologize. 

“This is gonna hurt,” he says flatly.

It does. The pressure of the wrap feels awful, then almost comforting as the bones are secured into place, unable to move around beneath the skin.

“I’m not carryin’ you,” he says, eyeing the underside of the house again. He yanks hard on another length of pipe, this one much longer and made of copper. Eventually, it pulls free, and he uses one foot to hold down the short end, slowly pulling on the long end to bend it into an L shape. 

He hands the makeshift crutch to you and helps you up. “Think that’ll hold?”

You tuck the small L piece under your shoulder on the bad leg, letting it take half your weight. You practice a couple of tentative steps, but the crawl space is too short; you can’t stand up fully. “I think so.”

“We can follow the mountain ‘til we get to Salt Lake City. Then we’ll need to go around. Should have enough cover in the woods to avoid attracting attention.”

You manage to make it up the stairs and outside using the crutch. You find a rhythm–good foot down, crutch out, pull forward–but it’s painfully slow, and nothing can make the constant movement of your bad leg painless.

Joel blazes the path ahead of you and you struggle to keep up. You walk like this for what feels like hours, tripping over roots and ditches, scratched by scruffy pines and branches. When you fall for the second time, you can’t find the strength to pick yourself back up.

“I just need to rest for a minute,” you whisper, barely able to catch your breath. Your arm has gone numb from the pressure of the crutch and you’re so fucking weak you’re shaking.

He kneels beside you and wordlessly hands you a canteen and a piece of jerky. You realize you haven’t eaten since…well, you can’t remember. The jerky is like salted cardboard, but it stokes a gnawing in your stomach you haven’t felt in days.

You manage to get off the ground with Joel’s help, but you only make it a few yards before you’re stumbling over yourself, falling, struggling to stand.

“I’m trying,” you groan, fighting off tears. You wish he had left you in the cell.

“Then fuckin’ try harder,” he says blandly.

Anger rips through you and gives strength to ask the question to which you’re not sure you want the answer. “Why? Why are you here, Joel? I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want a…a fucking rescue.”

He shoots you a look black as death, and a voice in the back of your head pleads with you to shut the fuck up, but you can’t stop the words now, they’re coming out all on their own.

“After everything I did, after what I did to–to you …why would you come all this way? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“You were gonna fuckin’ die–”

“Yeah, and so what?” you spit. “You should have let me.”

“I made a promise,” he snarls.

“What? To who?”

“She…she said she’d never forgive me if you–if I didn’t–” he swallows hard, can’t finish the thought.

You stare at him for a long time.

“So you’re gonna get up, and you’re gonna walk, because I need to get back to her.”

He’s rougher than he needs to be, but he gets you on your feet, and you keep going.

[cpericardium]

you make fun of the helmet (tbh kinda right) but at least theres something something faceless institution going on. I will stand on my hill that her tower motif is lame as hell. Its just so goofy.

To be clear I'm making fun of the helmet being canonically intended as a 'spartan-style' helmet. Cyrix attempted to paint it according to Wildbow's specifications and it only looks good because Cyrix is an amazing artist.

EVEN IF a helmet could be pulled off, it feels really wrong for her. All the possible interpretations based on just canon text, the unapproachable riot gear face plate/the scary spartan one/the straight up bullet-looking thing… they're all ugly and bad for a hero! If she wants to be intimidating, she should just go back to the visor. Her head tanks artillery shells. Regarding the tower, it IS lame!!! @xbritomartx insists that the emblem is the Pharos lighthouse (without the base), so that's how I'm sworn to draw it. But I always draw it with the base because without it it looks like a telescoping dildo. My all-time favourite interpretation of the tower is depresso42's.