it was just shrapnel

So I’ve rewatched this episode a few times at this point, and each time I noticed new things about this scene. As more pieces fell together, we get a clear picture as to just how brutal Lars’ death was.

And this specific screenshot says it all.

Why? Because LARS IS CLEARLY STILL ALIVE AT THIS MOMENT. (Look at how tense his facial features are. There is no way that Lars could make this face if he was dead right now.)

Why is that important? Look at what happened seconds before, and what happens shortly after.

1) The explosion.
The robanoid had just exploded, and Lars was physically on top of it when it happened. At this point-blank range, and without any sort of protection, Lars was exposed to the full force of the blast. Just imagine being blown up at point-blank. All the fire, all the force, and whatever shrapnel would have been flying around, that’s what Lars was exposed to. AND HE WAS STILL ALIVE TO FEEL ALL OF IT.

2) The impact.
This happens a fraction of a second after this screenshot, but is still well worth noting. When Lars hit the wall, we could clearly hear a definite ‘crack’ noise. Judging by how he hit the wall, he most likely broke not just his neck, but probably his spine and skull, as well as several other bones, like his ribs or his arms. Along with this, there’s also a good chance that some of his organs may have been ruptured, such as his heart or his lungs. (Especially since the edge of the gem hole would likely have somewhat impaled him on impact.)

This is definitely the moment Lars died, as shown by how his face and body goes completely limp afterwards. But it’s still very likely he felt the agony of the impact for the split second before his death.

3) Lars’ scar.
This is probably the most brutal part of all of this.
As first said by the lovely @bedknees , the fact that Lars’ scarred eye was specifically covered by his hair before resurrection makes it very likely that his head was split open in that spot.

And I completely agree with this.

But how could this have happened? Shrapnel.

One of the reasons bombs are so deadly is not just because of the explosion, but also the resulting shrapnel that would be launched in all directions at anything in range. With Lars being at point-blank range of the explosion, he could’ve easily been exposed to this. And that’s exactly what I think happened.

Why? Because Lars’ scar doesn’t just slice through his cheek and forehead like skimming across a rocky surface may do. Lars’ scar also goes over his eyelid, which is shown whenever he blinks after his resurrection.

So how would’ve this gone down?

I think that a piece of the robanoid’s outer layer, probably sheetlike in shape, was shot through Lars’ head in a fraction of a second, cutting through this eye, skull, and brain, and launching out the other side. AND HE WAS STILL ALIVE TO FEEL THIS.(His hair deliberately covers his eye in this screenshot, in this moment where he is still alive, which probably proves this.)


And you can clearly see Lars’ face twisted in AGONY in the fraction of a second prior to his death.


Lars’ death was not a long, drawn out one, but was still a torturous one. To see just how violent and brutal his death was, it shows just how tragic this moment really is.

Bonus: Other possible scenarios

1) The shrapnel could’ve stopped partway into Lars’ skull, ultimately altering his brain function. (Steven’s magic likely wouldn’t be able to heal where the shrapnel would still be in)
(Although I think this is incredibly unlikely, since Lars is shown to act and function in the same way both before and after death. The areas of the brain that would’ve been affected would impair his speech, his perception of the environment, his motor abilities, his judgement, his emotional reactions, and his sense of self. This would result in a vastly different Lars than the one we know.)
(A similar injury has happened in real life; Phineas Gage. I suggest Googling him)
2) If the shrapnel had been much bigger, it would’ve cleanly cut off a large chunk of Lars’ head in a Mortal Kombat style death.

So I just Saw Wonder Woman

And it was the perfect marriage of my two favorite genres, the superhero movie and the war movie. So I’m going to nerd out for a minute.

- Diana kicks so much ass in this movie, she is unquestionably the star and her fight scenes are so cool. Just beautifully choreographed and stunning.

- The sound design on this movie is really good, every time the Wonder Woman theme played I got chills. And there is one moment where the German general touches Dr. Poison’s face implants and it makes the sound that ceramic makes and it was such a small detail but it stuck out to me.

- Steve Trevor is perfect. I have nothing else to say I’m just in love with him.

- The side characters all had very small roles but they were so memorable. Like I got enough of what I wanted from all of them and I really liked them. They all had a moment, the Amazons, Etta, Steve’s squad, but they never took over the movie for me nor were they superfluous.

- Diana deserves to be happy and I love her so much.

On note of some of the War stuff that I loved so so much:

- They use grenades correctly!!!!!!!!!!
• Which is so huge they never do that in moves but when they actually want to use bombs they use bombs and not grenades that just happen to explode fire and not shrapnel.

- The bunkers were so cool and the no mans land scene was amazing!!! It looked so perfect.
• I had moment when they took over a village that this worked perfectly as a war movie, like it fit with say Band of Brothers. The way it was filmed was so fitting.

- I truly believe that this was a war fought with normal people trying their best that just happened to have a superhero dropped into it.

- This movie really understands WW1. Like the way people felt and acted about and in the war. The environment, the weapons, the politics, and, most importantly, the changing understanding of war. It felt like it respected the conflict.

- Which, as much as I love that movie and I do, is something captain America the first avenger didn’t do. It got the comic book part, but not the actual war. It understood the cheesy, obvious aspects of WWII, punching nazis and fighting for good and freedom, but the larger conflict the larger moral lessons and feeling of that war was left unexplored. Which is not something I begrudge. They made a superhero movie for my favorite marvel hero which I loved. But Wonder Woman actually made a war movie. And I love and respect that so much. 

 - CONCLUSION: WONDER WOMAN is so great. It’s spectacular and I love it and I’m gonna see it a thousand more times. It’s the kind of movie I can watch over and over again and if this is DC going forward I want to see more! Go see Wonder Woman!!!

bvb: maybe we should be given more time to recover since we’ve just survived three bomb explosions and are still literally pulling shrapnels out of our players bodies 

uefa: but did u die 

Suffocation: Loki Laufeyson (AU)

Prompt: Soulmate!AU where you feel the same physical feelings as your soulmate.

WC: 2,048

   The compound was continuing business as usual. Some of the Avengers had schedules while others lounged in the rec room. I loved the new compound, mostly because my new room was three times the size of my last.

   For the past four months, it has been loud as ever and the explanation was that the gods were staying with us. Thor was constantly finding ways to consume alcohol and sweet treats (Namely, beer and cinnamon rolls). It almost made me sick watching the amount of food he could consume.

   On the other hand, his brother was nearly the opposite. Loki was clean, quiet, and kept to himself. I had developed a strange attraction towards him that I knew I needed to keep to myself. He always gave me strange glances and generally wouldn’t say much except for ‘Hello’s and ‘How are you’s. All out of courtesy of course. Even though we didn’t talk much he would hang around me while I played video games or watched movies. It was kind of like an unmentioned friendship.

   That’s what I thought the third week.


   Tonight was ‘Game Night’, the night literally every Avenger dreaded, but still partook in. By the end of it, we all had fun, it was just a very badly planned event. You could only imagine the amount of bickering and whining there was with us fifteen super-humans and the occasional god. 

   “What are we playing tonight?” Bruce called as he ventured in from the kitchen to sit on the rec room floor. We all sat in a circle, in no particular order. I had pulled the ottoman over and was laying on top of it, watching everyone from a foot higher. Scott and Steven sat on either side of me.

   “Hey boys.” I drawled, waiting to hear what we were playing.

   “I say we play Spin the Bottle!” Clint shouted. “Of course, I’m excused since I have a wife.”

   “You’re so stupid,” Nat said, clearly unamused. I laughed quietly and placed my phone on the floor next to my water. Tony strutted in with a pennies in hand and quieted everyone down.

   “Alright everyone, we’re going to play-”

   Tony’s sentence was interrupted by a muffled explosion on the main floor. Everyone’s brows creased and they looked to each other for answers. I sipped a bit of my water and picked my phone up, retreating to my room. 

   “I’ll go check it out! ” I called to the group. I tossed my phone onto my bed and retrieved my staff. Like Steven, I had learned quite a bit of sorcery, but I was not as widely practiced as he was. I was good at creating shields and harnessing a small amount of energy. 

   I returned to the living room and looked at Tony, “It’s probably just a malfunction in the hangar or something. But I will alert FRIDAY if something is up.”

   Tony nodded and sat back down. He wasn’t at ease, but he realized that I was probably right. My socks made contact with the cold floor, sending shivers up my spine. I pulled my hoodie farther down my sleeves, trying to shield myself from the chilly halls. 

   I heard the light clicking of boots behind me, instantly suspicious, I snapped around ready to swing at whoever was there. It was Loki, dressed in his normal outfit, an active long sleeve and some of his Asgardian pants. 

   “You scared the hell out of me,” I said as I lowered my staff. He awkwardly smiled and apologized. 

   “I couldn’t let you go alone.” He claimed. I muttered some thanks and continued on down a long set of stairs. He followed close behind as I pushed through the hangar doors. Smoke was billowing out in a constant stream from where the helicopter usually was. Four men emerged from the doors a few feet from the fire and were fully equipped with guns and armor. 

   I concentrated some energy onto my staff, creating a shield. “FRIDAY! Alert Tony that there is a threat!” 

   They didn’t seem to have much of a plan, so I took the chance to attack. I charged forward and dropped onto my hip, sliding in between two of them. I quickly stood and knocked one of them down successfully. He sat up giving me a clear hit to the back of his head. The other had come up behind me and kicked my lower back, send me onto the floor.

   I heard Loki groan as he punched another man down, taking his gun.  Two down, two to go. I rolled over quickly and jabbed him in the stomach with the end of my staff. He doubled over in pain while Loki quickly shot down the third intruder.

   My back was searing in pain, it had been thrown out of place. I pushed myself backward with my feet, trying to give myself time to get up. Instead, he kicked my staff from my hands, leaving me nearly defenseless. His thick hands wrapped around my neck as he sat on top of me. Shock set into my body as his fingers dug into my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Loki staggering towards me with the gun pointed at the man.

   Despite the burning in my chest, I concentrated on sending energy through him, to stun him. His hands loosened and gave the god a chance to shoot. The man collapsed on top of me and he was heavy which made it extremely hard to push him off.  After a few moments of extreme struggling, I was able to break free.

   “Get my staff, the helicopter’s engine is going to explode any second now!” I shouted, panic overtook his features and he rushed towards it. I sat up and jerked my back into place. Loki tossed my staff, and I caught it quickly. I hit it to the ground creating a shield once more and crawled to my feet. His black hair swayed as he ran towards me, helping me get as far from the burning helicopter as we could. By now, Cap, Tony, and Bucky were all pushing through the door.

   “Get back!” Cap yelled and seconds later the engine gave in and exploded, sending shrapnel directly at us. I raised the shield just enough to cover most of us, but my calf peeked out, ultimately getting a shard of metal lodged in it.

   “My god!” Loki retracted his right leg as did I. I looked over at him with knitted brows his black hair. I dragged us both into the hall. Tony looked at us with confusion and concern.

   “Get to the medical bay. We can handle it from here.” He ordered. I nodded gratefully.

   “Are you okay?” I asked, stopping us a fair way down the corridors. I leaned on my staff, not exhausted, but in pain. He leaned against the wall, a cold sweat dripping down his temple. His chest rose and fell steadily as he leaned against the wall. He had some bruising around his neck, I cringed at the blue marks that stuck out against his pale skin. He shook his head before opening his eyes.

   “Come here,” I ordered. Cold air would soothe the bruises.  I turned him around and gathered his hair into a bun and tied it up. “Let’s go.”

   We arrived at the station rather quickly. The large room was a variety of grays, successfully producing the sterile hospital vibe. I pulled my dirty hoodie closer to my skin in the cold environment. We had been placed on beds opposite of each other. The nurses attended to him first since he didn’t have any open wounds and it would be quick. Helen rushed to me and pulled a large pair of what looked to be tweezers. I sighed and laid back, ready to feel another excruciating amount of pain. 

   Loki stood up and walked to the end of my bed, watching Helen pull the metal out. I hissed in pain and gripped onto my legging clad thighs. I distracted myself by watching the god stare. His pale blue eyes glowed under the led lights that were directed at my body. His hair was messily pulled into a bun from minutes ago, showing off his stunning jaw complex.

   “Careful.” He scolded. She looked up at him with fear laced in her eyes. He glowered at her with no mercy. He moved closer to me with his arms crossed and I placed my hand on him gently. His sleeves were pushed up in an act of restlessness.

   “Hey, it’s okay.”

   “It’s not,” He grimaced as she pulled the shard free. It was covered in a thick layer of blood. My leggings were rolled up to my knees and blood was everywhere, dripping onto my white socks and onto the white sheets. Helen was working on finding supplies, but Loki was not having it. He rushed to the other side of the bed and found the medical tape and gauze. 

   Carefully, he began wrapping, his cold fingers brushing my skin. they moved skillfully as hey layered the white bandage. A sharp breath was taken when he fully rested his hand on my ankle, the cold skin giving me goose bumps.

   “Brother!” Thor’s pounding voice boomed through the room. Loki’s hands quickly retracted and rested behind his back. He glanced at me once more and refocused his attention on his brother. With one hand, he reached behind his head and pulled the hair tie out. 

   “What is it that you want?” Loki asked, maintaining his composure. Thor looked at him, then me, and his smile dropped. He kept repeating the process of looking at him and then me.

   “It’s her?” Thor asked, a smile peeking onto his face once more. Loki looked like a deer in headlights. He fidgeted uncomfortably with my eyes on him.

   “I’m what?” I asked, instantly curious. Thor let a loud laugh free and clapped his brother on the back.

   “His Promised.” He said, clearly happy out of his mind. 

   “What is a ‘Promised’?” I questioned. I was Loki’s what?

   “I believe you humans call them soul mates.” Thor clarified. My eyes shot to Loki. My heart was pounding and my stomach twisting.

   “How is that possible? I mean, I’m not complaining because you’re pretty attractive, but how?” I nearly choked on my words. Things were flying through my mind a thousand miles a minute. I couldn’t gather my thoughts clearly enough to piece the whole situation together.

   “Thor please leave,” Loki said, but it was clearly a demand. Thor did as told and wished me a good rest of my day, however, I kept my attention on the man in front of me.

   “On Asgard, we go through a ceremony, and during this ceremony, we are appointed a ‘Promise’, or someone who we will undoubtedly be attracted to, forever. The way you can identify them is by physically observing them. You and I have a connection, whatever you physically feel, I do too. For example, the metal shard in your leg.”

   “Wow, I’m sorry you got stuck with me.” I laughed awkwardly. Loki looked at me defensively.

   “Do not say that. I am perfectly happy with this.” He countered. A warm blush spread across my cheeks.

   “Okay.”

   “Now let’s get back to the rec room.” He said as he helped me up, I nodded and used my upper body strength to push myself up. My back was still in pain, but it was manageable. Loki lifted his hand and looked at me. “I’m going to cool your back down.”

   His fingertips turned a deep blue and drenched the rest of his hand in the same color. He slipped the cold hand under the back of my sweater, settling it on my skin.


   The new couple laid on the rec room couch. Y/N’s head rested in the crook of the god’s neck, and his arm remained on her spine. Her wounded leg laid atop his slender ones. Loki’s free arm hung off the couch where Y’N’s staff laid below.

   “Oh my god.” Natasha gushed as she and Clint passed through. They admired the two laying together, sound asleep.

   “You bought a Polaroid camera right?” Clint asked and Natasha nodded. “Go get it.”

you know i can’t say i’m all about that pepperony but any couple that gives each other heartfelt gifts that are made out of materials that were slowly killing one half of said couple is okay in my book.

game grumps ask meme.

“Dude, just… just pity laugh, at least!”
“I don’t wanna kill anybody, I’m a pacifist. Ooops, killed six people.”
“Six is the number of Def Leppard members, almost.”
“Did you know I’m a professional joke? My life is a joke.”
“Why do you enjoy watching me suffer so?”
“Remember kids, if you wanna defeat the evil power, you better fucking find the nearest sharpest sword and run as fast as you can.”
“I don’t judge you when you steal children, so I’ll thank you to show me that same courtesy.”
“Having a great time being in immeasurable pain.”
“Yes, have you ever heard of brapnel? That’s baby shrapnel.”
“Wait, mechanical bird is plane. I just realized.”
“Crazy how dead you are, I mean like, wow.”
“I didn’t have any problem at all after I died twice.”
“Such a nice man we ripped off there.”
“I’ll never put on pants.”
“Checkers would be better with badgers.”
“HEY LADIES. I’M TOM JONES. LEADER OF THE TOM JONES CULT. MY NAME’S TOM JONES. GIMME THIRTY APPLES. …TWENTY-FIVE APPLES”
“She’s adorable! Until she turns into a hideous undead monster creature, then ya gotta hit her with the lead pipe.”
“Stop dancing at me!”
“I have some very important masturbating to do.”
“You make me have to pee, always.”
“Whales are just Earth’s way of taking a shit.”
“I like it when Luigi’s happy. It makes me smile.”
“You know when you get high, and you start floating five feet off the ground, and gain a Spanish accent?”
“Whenever you talk about being high, it always just shows how much you’ve clearly never gotten high before.”
“Dude, what if hell was up?!”
“I will raise that chicken as if it were my own daughter… who I turned into chicken fingers.”
“‘Becky with the good hair’ sounds too much like ‘caramel corn’?”
“I! WANT! MURDER!”
“Even 90s rock won’t make me feel good about this!”
“This might be the drugs talking, but I love drugs.”
“That’s one boopity you shouldn’t have shmoopled.”
“Am I nude right now?”
“It’d be weird to sleep amongst your dead friends.”
“Are you here to repent for your chins?”
“Why am I not eating ice cream for every meal?”
“This taxi is bae.”
“The world is full of magic. Horrible, horrible magic.”
“Jesus is my drug.”
“I don’t know anything about memes.”
“You would say that, no matter what, me from another dimension that runs a porn ring.”
“I’m a milk-based life form.”
“I fucked a cantaloupe once.”
“Awww babe, look at us, we have our own cam girl operation.”
“Everyone who works for us gradually becomes more gay in their interactions because… we are always getting… weirdly gay with each other.”
“Shut up, ya tweezer!”
“And Half-Life 3, I don’t know anything about Half-Life 3, other than that everyone says it’s confirmed.”
“Good thing you’ve got fingers and wrists of steel, from that straight jacking.”
“I’ve learned the importance of being cuddled.”
“Hi, I’m a musician with a huge penis. Do you know where I can find guitars and Magnum condoms?”
“Baths are amazing, especially when you bring a friend.”
“Jesus, you gotta wine and dine me first. You can’t just open up with that shit.”
“We’ve broken several laws.”
“What, you wanna try diplomacy? He’s a fucking crab!”
“I’M READY TO BREED!”
“‘Bonfire’ is made up of two words: ‘bonf’ and ‘ire.’”
“These balls are coming at me fast and furious. It’s like that movie, ‘Speed.’”
“As I was about to say, revenge is a dish best served fuck you.”
“When someone says ‘just fuck me up’ on the internet that means have sex with me in a rough, passionate manner, correct?”
“If there’s one thing I can be totally honest about, it’s that I would happily lie to your face.”
“Just get abducted! We are your saviors, we’re flying in the sky- treat us as your new gods.”
“If I can’t be the best, I sure as hell can be the worst!”
“Water is just… air juice.”
“Uh… Doctor, could you put tits on my thumbs?”
“We hang out… we touch each other…”
“Does anyone have a paper bag I can hyperventilate into?”
“2016 is the year of the butt.”
“If I took pole-dancing, I would be worried that it would be too erotic for everybody else.”
“You make another joke like that, and I’m gonna have to beat you to death with your own shoes.”
“Whoa, look at this trapezoid-headed Funyon ring!”
“I have to take off my jacket because I’m getting hot because this sucks so bad.”
“He died as he lived: covered in mayonnaise.”
“Who wears pants anymore? So 2015.”
“What took you so long, you butt plug?!”
“Look, you tell a couple jokes as a dad and suddenly everyone’s like ‘you’re making dad jokes.’”
“Could you imagine if you unlocked outfits in real life? Like, “Congratulations you wiped your ass, here’s a new shirt.””
“As long as I live, I will never stop loving your random bursts of outrage.”
“Like I would kill a friend… without watching.”
“With your Phd and my also being here, we can solve any problem.”
“I love watching you guys suffer.”
“Man, the void of nothingness is kinda lame.”
“Sometimes you gotta take time and smell the roses. And sometimes you’re gonna be a guy jacking yourself off while you’re rubbing a girl in a video game.”
“I can’t prove that someone ISN’T a reptilian.”
“Oh my god, do we have to kill him while he’s asleep?”
“I feel dead inside, but at least I had pie.”
“This is nice. We’re all bathing in the warm glow of murder.”
“The tears are bittersweet but the pie is delicious.”
“Murder is a spectator sport.”
“Today’s been a day. A day full of tasty, tasty murder.”
“Man, I wish anime was human history.”
“99 red balloons… Something- something- German song.”
“If you wanna have sex you don’t have to make a little song about it, like just come right out and ask.”
“If only I could have sex with my own brain. That would be a mind-fuck.”
“I am not nature. I am nurture.”
“Wouldn’t it be hilarious if they died?”
“Tell me what you’re gonna do to me.”
“Taco Bell cures diabetes.”
“Rule number one of babysitting? DON’T STEP ON THE BABY!”
“Play for my amusement, child.”
“How does a ghost enter a skeleton? And I don’t mean that in a sexy way.”
“You’re locked the closet with the dildo!”
“Yeah, I’ve been drunk on pot before. What of it?”
“You are the worst son ever.”
“Shut up, this is my moment of time shine!”
“Bro, can I be honest with you guys right now? I love defiling things.”
“I wanna touch everything with my boner, including my boner!”
“When you’re married, you can announce your boners everywhere.”
“I am enjoying my pot! Take that out of context.”
“Dude, what if you were next to a supernova when it supernovaed?”
“…and she’s like COVERED in butter.”
“I do apologize for my actions, even though they were totally and completely justified.”
“What are the animals crossing, exactly?”
“I’m a firm believer in ‘if you’re going to fail, you might as well fail spectacularly.’”
“And you know what? We’re tied right now, like brothers… only one brother is significantly smarter and more handsome than the other and has like 15 years more life experience.”
“Frick to the 30th power!”
“My eyebrows are slippery and slimy. I grease them.”
“This is literally just elementary hydrodynamics, I can’t believe you can’t grasp this.”
“Well look the important thing that I’m having fun and other people aren’t.”
“I would fuck everything on the screen including the animals and the bicycle.”
“How dare you know stuff about things. I’m gonna beat you up with my fists… that are made of stuff and things.”
“Spyyyder Loops™ cereal…. made with… spiders.”
“I’m a bottom kind of guy.”
“Can you see my labia in this fucking costume?”
“Just bros bein’ bros…”
“I never feel quite as alone as I do when I play Burger Time.”
“If you do this… I’m gonna be mildly impressed with you.”
“I don’t know how to be interesting, could you give me advice?”
“I BIRTHED YOU FROM MY BRAIN VAGINA.”
“I’m kind of amazing at everything I do.”
“I’LL FUCKING STAB YOUR PARENTS!”
“I would get a photo-realistic tattoo of your face on my inner thigh.”
“Do you think I came out the pussy drawing fucking Mozart?!”
“Follow your stupid fucking dreams.”
“Everyone does crack at some point in their lives. It’s pretty much a rite of passage.”
“I wanna know where Luigi is!”
“Nothin’ wrong with that. Get clean, get clean with the lord.”
“You’re on page 2, and I’m on page…uh, furiously concentrating on not throwing up from this Nutella situation.”
“I wish you could jump inside my skin and know what I know, and feel what I feel.”
“I’m feeling fly for a caucasian man.”
“I will actually strangle you with my bare hands and feet.”
“Don’t call me “bro” in an accusatory tone!”
“This is a good yiff right here.”
“My friends! I love killing my friends.”
“Now I am the one who is bitch.”
“He died as he lived: eating chicken McNuggets.”
“Well, thank you so much, that’s so nice of you to say, but I don’t believe you and you’re a liar.”
“DIE! DIE YOU SICK SON OF A BITCH!”
“I could tell by his briefly angry eyebrows that he’s someone we should be stabbing.”
“A blunt is a maridujuana.”
“If you can’t beat em, Shoot ‘em with a gun!”
“Getting kicked in the nuts is not an event, it’s a process.”
“My goal is to pee in every major body of water on earth.”
“Man, Club Penguin’s gotten weird.”
“Aw jimminey-jillakers. Gee-whiz Batman. Aw frick. Oh jeezum.”
“And you have ten thousand and seven hundred grams of mardujuana.”
“My style is old, nasty t-shirt and rapidly disintegrating pants.”
“If you ever run into me in the wild, we’ll hug it out.”
“I think the noodles are going to kill me!”
“I’m sorry, your son is an anthropomorphic cheese melt.”
“Wait, but, also shut up.”

“Just for you dollface”

Fandom: Marvel

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: War period (WWII), war injuries, fear of loved ones dying.

Word Count: 1,144

Author’s Note: I’m weirdly obsessed with Soldier!Bucky x Nurse!Reader, so I wrote a thing for it. Also, I have no idea what it’s like to be in the war (obviously) so if anything seems incorrect then I’m sorry and I hope I didn’t offend anyone. This is obviously set in the 40′s by the way.

Y/N =Your (first) name  Y/L/N = Your last name

Originally posted by complete-fandom-trashhh

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anonymous asked:

The Tony is immortal story is my headcanon for why Tony is called "The Invincible Iron Man" HE JUST CANT DIE

BITCH IT’S 100% TRUE FACT ? TONY STARK DOES NOT KNOW DEATH REMEMBER THIS WAS THE MAN WHO FACED OPEN HEART SURGERY IN A DIRTY CAVE AND WALKED OUT IN A METAL SUIT OF ARMOR AND A KICKASS NEW ATTITUDE? THIS WAS THE GUY WHO SLAMMED INTO A WALL AND THEN FELL13 FEET TO THE GROUND AND JUST PUT AN ICEPACK ON HIS HEAD TO SORT IT ALL OUT? BLOWN UP IN HIS HOME BY A MISSLE? NAH IT’S CHILL FAM HE’LL JUST HANG ON TO THE FALLING SHRAPNEL AND AVOID MACHINE GUN FIRE UNTIL HE CAN GET TO HIS SUIT. THAT MAN DOES NOT KNOW DEATH. INVINCIBLE IRON MAN INDEED

I survived the Columbine High School Shooting

I survived the Columbine High School shooting By Melissa Miller

A student shares her terrifying story

From Scope

Melissa Miller, 15, hid behind a truck while seniors Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold sprayed bullets and threw pipe bombs into the parking lot of Columbine High School. On that tragic afternoon last April, Eric, 18, and Dylan, 17, killed 12 students and a teacher, wounded 23 students, and then killed themselves. Many have said that Eric and In seventh and eighth grade, kids called me names, pushed me against the lockers, and snapped pennies at my head. I was miserable and lonely. Every night, I cried and begged my mom to let me go to another school.

So, I understand what it’s like to be picked on. But I can’t understand why anyone would turn to guns. Guns are not the answer. I learned that on April 20, 1999. That day was definitely the worst day of my life.

Not a Prank

I was in the Columbine parking lot when I heard the first explosion. I thought it had to be a firecracker—some kind of senior prank. Then, I looked up and saw the backs of two guys in black trench coats. They were standing at the top of the hill near the rear entrance to the school. It was Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. I didn’t know their names then, but I’d seen them around. My friends and I would move out of their way in the halls. They scared us.

As Eric and Dylan turned around, I saw that they had guns. I still thought it was a prank. I figured the rifles had to be paintball guns. Eric and Dylan had no expressions on their faces. They showed no emotion—not anger, not hatred.

Then, they opened fire. Bullets struck students on the sidewalk, in the parking lot, and on the hill. My friend Anne Marie was standing on the sidewalk right below them. It looked like they shot her in the stomach. She doubled over and then fell on her back. Her knees flipped to the side. She didn’t get up. She just stayed crumpled on the ground. That was what made me realize–oh, my God!–it was no joke. It wasn’t red paint on the ground. It was blood. Dylan were trying to get back at students who had mocked and bullied them during their four years at the Littleton, Colorado, high school. Below, Melissa—who knows how it feels to be picked on—shares her ideas for how students who feel alienated can turn things around without violence. She also tells the dramatic story of her escape from the shooting.

I was terrified. I quickly ducked behind a white truck. I did not dare look up. Crouched behind a tire, I was scared to move an inch.

Then, a silver cylinder landed about five feet from me. I could smell the burning and see smoke coming out of both ends, so I covered my head with my hands. I didn’t know it then, but it was a pipe bomb. In seconds, the bomb exploded and shrapnel rained down on the pavement around me. Somehow I didn’t get hit with any shrapnel. Just a few seconds later, there was another pipe bomb, and it came even closer to me. Again, by some miracle, I wasn’t hit at all.

Eric and Dylan opened fire again. It didn’t sound the way gunfire sounds in the movies. Each shot was like a dart hitting a dartboard. Nothing sounded the way you’d expect. No one was screaming or yelling at them to stop. It was actually really quiet.

A boy who’d been shot in the leg (I don’t know his name) got up and ran away. Blood spurted through his fingers as he held onto his wound. Before he reached safety, he looked back over his shoulder at the gunmen. His eyes were so large, and filled with pure terror and pain.

The look on his face will haunt me for the rest of my life. I just hope it’s a look that no one has to see or give ever again.

Eric and Dylan had stopped shooting. They’d gone inside. I started to run away. Then, I hesitated. Should I try to help Anne Marie? She was lying there, still not moving. I decided that the best thing would be to get real help.

As the gunshots rang out inside the school, I ran across the soccer field. At the same time, this unbelievable stream of people, of panic, came out of the cafeteria. That’s when the screaming started. Everyone was screaming. To get off of school grounds, I had to make it over a tall chain link fence. Somehow—don’t ask me how—I just sailed over it. I was like Xena. The best way I can describe it is that I was on a mission. I was running so fast that I could barely breathe. I thought my heart was going to pop.

Finally, I saw a house with an open garage. I ran in. There was a phone, so I called 911. The house belonged to an elderly couple who let me in and helped me contact my parents.

As I waited to be picked up, I watched the news. I cried and cried as ambulances took my friends, including Anne Marie, away. (For days, I didn’t know if Anne Marie was alive or dead.) On TV, I could see my bookbag lying in the parking lot where I’d left it.

Memorial items for Columbine: wreath with angel Beanie Babies, and book made by a first grade class I didn’t get my bookbag back until June. When I did, it brought back all of my fear. My bag had been trampled on as students ran for their lives. My hairbrush was broken, and all of my books were damaged.

A Place to Belong

Eric and Dylan ruined so many lives. They were outcasts, but violence is never a solution. In junior high, I was tortured. I didn’t wear the right clothes, and I didn’t have the right hair. I had zero friends. But when I started at Columbine, I changed my situation. I joined the marching band and made tons of friends. Now the people that were so mean to me in junior high are signing my yearbook and giving me hugs in the hall.

I found a place to belong. If you’re an outcast, you don’t have to resort to violence. Join a club. Columbine offers clubs like the outdoors club, the Bible club, the chess club. There are tons of activities that you don’t have to be an athlete or the smartest person in the world to participate in. High school doesn’t have to be so terrible.

If Eric and Dylan had tried to turn their lives around, maybe 12 of my peers wouldn’t be dead maybe Anne Marie wouldn’t be learning to walk again.

saying i love you

Ronan says it first. He’s somewhat surprised, because he thought that those words in that order got stuck permanently inside his ribcage when his family was beaten to pieces and scattered away. He’s not surprised at all, because he grew up with those words. They were constant dwellers in the Barns, three particles that bound the unreal realm together. I love you had been breathed in as a child and there they stay, in his chest.

They are easy to give to Adam because those three words have been pushing to get out for quite some time now.

For the same reason, Ronan understands why Adam can’t say it back just then. All that’s been living in his chest is pressure and exhaustion and you’re not good enough. There’s more there too, but it’s put aside and hidden away. A small part that Adam Parrish has captured and cultivated and protected all on his own. It’s the chip that makes Adam shield all of them, make him look for any exit out of the danger, make sure they come out on top . Makes him give away his watch. And drives him to sleep next to Ronan in the BMW.

Lately Adam has been more at ease, like the coils that have been around his neck since childhood are finally unwinding. The fucker still works like there are only tomorrows, sleeps too litte, excels brightly at school. But the good days that they got together are getting to Adam. And the chip obviously begins to grow in his chest.

So Ronan doesn’t need those three words yet. He wants Adam to hold onto them and let them smother all the shrapnels that were lodged in him. Just like Ronan knows he won’t ask Adam to stay, he knows he won’t ask for i love you. He wants Adam to say them to himself first, time and time again. So that Adam never has to look so stunned when someone runs for him. So that it becomes self-evident to Adam. Even if it means that there won’t be enough words left for Ronan.

The looks are enough. Adam’s warm weight next to him in the bed. That Adam stays with him through the terrible year, when he struggles with everything from waking up to sleeping to alcohol. Adam’s angry insistence that he learned how to run a farm instead of just fucking around. Adam coming back every time. Adam’s hands, their hands together. Morning coffees and nervous first times. All that instead of those three words


Adam says i love you after a few years. He’s somewhat surprised how easy saying it is, because those words are so small compared to what’s moving inside of him. He’s not surprised at all, because with Ronan, with Opal, i love you has been reverbarating in the whole of him. Like it has filled him to the brim and this is the logical outcome. And he says it again, he says it again.

Ronan’s lips are hard and hot and so familiar against his.

9

Shimadacest Week. Day 2 - AU / Mythology

Oni Shimada Brothers.

Hanzo can disguise as a human… Meanwhile, Genji lost most of his demonic features after cyberization when Mercy thought he was human and fixed his face as human-looking as possible–

– are those broken horns? Nah, can’t be, those are just shrapnel stuck in his skull. Maybe…?

Had this idea for months now. Glad I was able to finally draw it out and got to use it for this event!ヽ(´▽`)/♪
Unmasked

You’d been partners with Reaper for a little over a year now, working as bountyhunters.  Between your contacts for getting high paying jobs, military training, and his…..ability, to become a literal phantom, the two of you were an unstoppable team.  You got the job done, got paid, and moved on.  Of course, there were times when one or both of you would want a break, or need one to heal up.  The two of you were good, but neither of you were invincible, although Reaper seemed pretty darned close.  However you’d learned he was at least somewhat human when after a particularly violent fight he’d started bleeding actual blood.  It had freaked you out a lot, but he recovered quickly in the days following.  There had been a few other rare instances, but all in all you could count the number of times you’d seen Reaper bleed on one hand.  Although this incident may make it two.  The bounty was surprisingly an object rather than a person, but the security system was far more powerful than either of you had anticipated.  Reaper had taken practically all the hits while you found a way to disarm it.  

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Arc Reactor (Tony X Wife!Reader)

Characters: Tony Stark X Wife!Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers, Iron Man

Warnings: Operation

ANGST

Request: Can i request this Imagine on Being The Reader Tony’s wife and being with Tony when he gets the arc reactor removed and their being minor complications when the Reactor is removed but he pulls through and the reader and their teenage daughter is with him when he comes out and his daughter   being super worried about him after thinking her dad wasn’t going to make it.


Originally posted by fuckyeahtonystark

You were terrified, and honestly you had every right to be.

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Blue-sky thinking

Sometimes, I think it has to be more than just coincidence that my building is practically indistinguishable from the county prison. The first time I saw it all those years ago, back when I was a lowly intern with a five year plan, I thought it must be one of those concrete monstrosities left over from the ‘60s, when Communist chic was all the rage and minimalism was in with miniskirts. Nowadays, I’m not so sure. 

No, I am sure. This is how it happened. Some bloke way up the foodchain in management – some guy named John or David, some guy with oily brown hair and a trophy wife and a nuclear family and a pedigree dog and an illegal nanny-cum-mistress – had a serious brainwave of design during a spontaneous session of corporate blue-sky thinking. He was sitting at his desk, one of those overwrought and over-designed glass ones with metal legs and curves in all the wrong places - you know the ones, where your whole office is all desk and no practicality. Yes, he was just sitting there, looking over important things like Annual Budgetary Reports and Capital Gains and saucy emails from his illegal nanny-cum-mistress when the idea came to him, like manna from Heaven. 

This building, whether we like it or not; it’s a goddamn prison. It always has been. Ever since they hung that sign out the front, the one that says Napoleon Insurance in some generic Serif font next to a hideously stylised cartoon of an even more generic Colonial era admiral, this building has been a ball and chain around all of our feet. Every day, we trudge through those glass double doors under that omniscient sign, its goofy cartoon eyes watching us unrelentingly like the fucking Eye of Sauron - are you eating at your desk? I’m afraid we have a no food policy, you’ll have to finish it up later. No, I don’t care if you’re medically excused: do you want to pay to have the carpets cleaned? - and we don’t leave again until the requisite eight hours of community service have gone by and we’ve had enough of dealing with the dregs of humanity for the day. We eat lunch at our desks under the watchful Eye of Sauron, risking life and limb, because if we left to buy a sandwich, we probably wouldn’t come back.

The man at his overwrought desk would have steepled his fingers under his chin as he met the eye of the pudgy man two floors his junior, and told him about his plans. Make the place a prison, he’d have said. Make the fuckers think they can’t leave. And the pudgy man would have swallowed, eyes darting around a room full of desk, thinking am I one of them? Can I leave? Am I a prisoner too? before beaming and shaking the first guy’s hand, then taking the plans straight to the Architectural department, leaving Guy #1 to bask in his own glory at the comfort of his enormous fucking desk.

He probably got a promotion. Fuck him.

It goes like this: every day, the same slew of people, gushing through the doors like sewage from a burst pipe, stinking and reeking of ineptitude like they’ve smoked it all morning and it’s clung to their clothes, and we have to try and clear up their shit as best we can. People crying because they built their house on a sinkhole and their floors caved in. People ranting because they left the gate unlocked and someone stole their grandma. I don’t think we offer insurance policies on brains, but if we did, I don’t reckon the premiums would be too high for the people we see in here.

I used to want to be something. I used to think I’d travel the world, write a novel, fall in love with a bearded male model and fuck him self-awarely on bourgeois futons all over Europe, smoking clove cigarettes and arguing caustically about philosophy before making pretentious love for hours. That was before I realised that cigarettes didn’t agree with me and I didn’t want to sleep with men, self-awarely or otherwise. You can’t fuck women on futons across Europe. It’s too much like the plot of an indie film. It’s too close to the edge. I never wanted to be close to the edge; only as far from the centre as I could get, somewhere without a picket fence and not surrounded by retirement homes.

I live in the suburbs now, but I fucked a girl on my futon in Swindon last year. We fell off. You can’t win them all.

The chairs in the waiting area, where we let our esteemed clients sit for a few hours in the hope that they’ll fester and drop off like gangrenous limbs, are all steel and straight lines. They’re so perfectly aligned that they remind me a little of soldiers at roll call, standing to attention and readying for battle. There’s always a battle to follow, although it’s usually between me and a white middle class, middle-aged woman called Linda, who wants to know why we won’t insure her toaster, and there’s not usually any bloodshed in these wars, as much as I wish there could be. They’re parallel, those chairs, lined up in four rows of eleven and nailed to the floor. The prime number in each row annoys me sometimes, but there are forty-four chairs in total and that’s divisible by four, so I’ll take what I can get. You have to in this place. 

I came here for the first time when I was eighteen, so it’s been ten years. I still remember the first time I darkened these doors. My mother wanted advice on renewing her car insurance, and we ended up sitting for half an hour with a guy called Barry, just chewing the fat. Barry wore a big red tie, like a tongue, and only had hair above his temples; thin little wisps like light brown cirrus clouds, only greasy and lank. When he turned around in his swivel chair to fetch a file from the cabinet behind him, I could see the rolls of his neck escaping his pinstripe shirt collar. It was all shiny, like lard melting in a pan, and I shuddered. I wondered why Barry didn’t seem to give a shit. I wondered how he could turn up to work every day with his cheap suit and his tongue-tie and his big fat neck, and just not give half a fuck about how he presented himself to the world.

Barry works on the sixth floor now, and I haven’t washed my hair in four days. There’s no point. Barry’s worked here for fifteen years and we serve the scourge of humanity every day, and Barry wanted to be a teacher once. But still, he’s on the sixth floor. In fifteen years, he’s moved up five floors. That’s three years per floor. If he keeps it up, he’ll be right at the pearly gates themselves by the time he’s ready to retire. I bet he’s excited.

We have a joke here – and it’s not a very funny joke, but everything becomes hysterical when you’ve spent all day clicking pens and pushing paper – that the floor you work on is directly linked to your salary. You work on the sixth floor, you get six figures. You work on the fifth, you get five figures. You work on the fourth, you get four, and so on. The joke, of course, is that most of us work on the first floor.

It’s funny, right?

I’ve worked on the first floor for five years. I’d probably be more pissed off about it if I had a mortgage, but I don’t. I don’t really have anything. Nothing I couldn’t live without, anyway. And nothing insurable. Fuck that. I’d rather lose everything I have than be forced to file a claim with people like me. Although even our lives are insurable these days, aren’t they? Slap a figure on an existence, measure it by the girth of its wallet and the fatness of its payslip, and that’s what it’s worth. That’s what other people get if it fucks up.

When I die, my mum’s going to get a mangy cat and a huge funeral bill. That’s the way it should be. Who knows what I’ll get when she goes? Some crockery, perhaps. Maybe her wedding china.

I don’t want to think about that.

There was a time when I would have thought about things like that – big things, things that stretch the threads of your imagination and stitch them to other things like a big patchwork tapestry of intangible things – but not any more. Sometimes, I think about whether or not I should move my stationery pot to the other side of my desk, so it’s not in the way of the keyboard. Sometimes, I think about whether I should walk to the other side of the communal office and get a Go Ahead bar from the vending machine, just for the hell of it. And sometimes, I think about whether or not I should go and visit Barry on the sixth floor, just for old time’s sake, and jump right out of his fucking window. But usually, it’s just the stationery pot and the vending machine.

I still remember all the big thoughts I’ve had, though. Sometimes, I think you don’t ever really meet people; just facets of them, and you never know any more than what they want to get across. That was one of mine. Copyright Me: My Diary, edition 1. One of the great philosophies of our time. And war is just big men with big guns and lots of shrapnel. That’s another one of mine. A regular Nietzsche, teenage me. Only more optimistic. Not that that’s hard.

I could leave, couldn’t I? Any day now, I could hand in my resignation, tip over my desk and scream a big fuck you to Debbie at the desk in front of me, who always scratches the back of her neck until it’s red and then acts irritated because it hurts. To Mick on the third floor, who’s technically my boss but has at least six bosses himself, and he gives Christmas cards to every single one of them. Even to Barry, just for being so high up when his ties are still so awful and he has even less hair than he did that first time I met him. Mostly, I think I want to scream a big fuck you to the guy at that first corporate blue-sky thinking meeting, the guy who made this building a prison and forgot to put the bars on the windows, so we can still see what we’re missing in the outside world as we sit here in our discount office wear and tap through our carpal tunnel on company issued keyboards.

But I won’t leave. I won’t. I won’t travel the world, won’t write a novel or fuck girls on futons across Europe, because leaving is too close to the edge. I’ve never been one for the precipice. Too scared of heights; not just of falling, but of looking down and feeling small, or perhaps feeling too big; staring down at the people below, like ants building castles.

No, I won’t leave. I’ll come in again tomorrow, look up at that great big sign with the jovial cartoon admiral, the words Napoleon Insurance, and I’ll talk to someone called John Smith, who wants to know why we won’t pay for him to get the carpets of his house replaced because he built his house on a floodplain and it rained a lot in January, and then I’ll eat my lunch at my desk while the Eye of Sauron roams, and I won’t even think about leaving, not once, and then I’ll ask Barry what he thinks I should do about John Smith, and I’ll do it, and I’ll go home. And I’ll come in the next day, and I still won’t leave, and John Smith might get his carpets replaced, or he might not, and Barry will still have a neck like lard, and Debbie will still pick her skin until it bleeds, and I will still look at that sign and rue it, fucking rue it, and I’ll stay. Chained to my desk by the need to pay my rent and not fail, because choosing to stay is better than failing to leave. Choosing to stand still in purgatory is better than jumping and ending up in Hell.

Napoleon Insurance: It’s a price and a promise. That’s the slogan. That’s the truth.

How’s that for blue-sky thinking?

Risks

Originally posted by matthewdaddorkio

(Not my gif but can you understand my Scotty feels?)
Pairing: Montgomery Scott x Reader
Word Count: 1,117
Warnings: Not so gentle swearing, some alcohol
A/N: Welcome to the Scotty trashcan, I will be your guide. I’ve been experimenting with writing in the Scottish dialect so let me know if you have any opinion of it. Don’t forget to follow me for more fics if you like! Enjoy my loves xx

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the fisher king

Originally posted by furriosa

summary: this is my submission for @reidoneshots “rach copying off of everyone else and making a challenge, challenge”. essentially, its just a snippet from the episode “the fisher king”, except the reader is shot, rather than elle greenaway. this is a platonic reid x reader, at least at this point

words: 1340

warnings: so many holy shit, graphic violence, home invasion, talk of death

a/n: idk whats going on here!!! i haven’t slept in 839204893028 hours and I have multiple displaced ribs!! if anyone wants a part two please message me and also like let me know if you’d like things to remain platonic between spence and reader or not!!

also btw the type of gun the reader is shot with leaves a shrapnel type wound which is why its not just described as a bullet hole 

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Spencer x Reader - Non-BAU Reader
  • In the majority of these stories, the reader was specifically noted as something else other than a member of the BAU.

Promise Me ** Never Without You ** The Most Unlikely of Meetings ** Unexplained ** New Horizon ** Operation: Make Spencer Feel Better ** A Night Out ** Why is This Even an Issue? ** How Did We End Up Here? **Caffeine and Cuss Words ** Swish and Flick ** Particular Insecurity ** A Big Commitment **A Work of Art ** What You Deserve ** An Immediate Rapport ** Worth the Wait ** Fear and Desperation ** Looking Good ** Uncanny Similarities ** A Doctor and Her Patient ** Spencer’s Not-So-Little Secret ** A Day in The Life ** Never-Ending Obsession ** A Promising Start ** Mixed Feelings ** An Ace Up His Sleeve ** Bring It ** Up Close ** A Rush of Inspiration ** Privilege ** Quite the Impression ** For the Love of Donuts ** It’s All Behind Us Now ** Everything You Do and Say and Are ** Outward Appearances ** An Enjoyable Vulnerability ** My Danny ** Encore ** Frequent Passerby ** You Choose Not To ** The Beauty in the Library ** It Still Burns ** It Spikes and It Dips ** Love in The Bloom Room ** Fate Brought You a Bullet ** Color, Movement, Emotion ** Sard! ** Mental Shrapnel ** Just Not Ready ** Cutting Strings ** This Is It ** Way More Than Enough ** Repeating History ** Hard Weeks and Soft Sheets (slight smut)** My Beautiful Canvas ** 

veliseraptor  asked:

top five Steve Rogers Moments

1) “On va voir” - my panties hit the floor every time.

2) Jumping on the training grenade. That skinny Steve is so willing to die to save others, that his instinct is to leap on what he thinks is a live grenade to use his body to shield others from shrapnel, just makes me fall in love with him even more every time I see it. 

3) The sad smile when he looks at Peggy right after she’s ‘reset’ in the nursing home. I CRY. STEEEB.

4) “Does anyone want to get out?” / The whole elevator scene and fucking JUMPING OUT OF A SKYSCRAPER STEVE WTFFFF

5) “This isn’t freedom, this is fear.” It’s such a great line but also so relevant with Steve standing counter to the military industrial complex that dominates American politics right now. 

mayday

you explode–
the shrapnel lingers
in my guts, acidic and acute;
just a normal thursday night

we’ve been through this–
have I not begged you?
fallen to my knees,
scraped my pride and patience
beyond reparation

I implode–
the sheets devour my skin,
oozing desperation,
mailing pleas to your doorstep;
why can’t you learn?

you rest, content,
while I bathe in suffering– how?
I cut myself up in thirds
to find the piece
that best fits the narrative

hijacked–
I crash into the ground,
the scenery ignites,
street signs ablaze,
the flora charred;
and you? you keep on
watering your crops,
fast asleep

I am scattered.
I have nothing more.
this cause is no longer
worth fighting for.