running man have the best effect

rowana-renee-deactivated  asked:

How many cookies would it take to bribe you into telling me a story, Bucky? They're homemade, and any story will do.

all of them. i will tell you the story while i wait for all of the cookies.

once upon a time, a little shit decided to go fight nazis. 

usually when i start a story that way, its a steve story. but this time its a me story.

i too fought nazis, my friend, and it was not fun at all.  it turns out nazis dont like being fought, and will fight back. this caused us a great deal of stress and trenchfoot. 

as you may or may not know, my nazi fighting buddies were called the howling commandoes. we had a reputation as being ‘howling mad’ which most people assumed is where our name came from. 

it is not.

so shortly after we’d signed up as steves unit, we got sent out on a sort of breaking-in mission. it was supposed to be a pretty routine just-behind-enemy-lines gig, mostly to see how we’d do as a team. at that point, we were the first ‘integrated’ squad under american command, so they wanted to be sure we were up to snuff. basically they sent us a few miles into a relatively lightly-fortified occupied area to blow up a few supply trucks. it went pretty smoothly. we were still getting to know each other, a bit. we’d met in the hydra camp in austria and bonded pretty well there but it wasnt like we were sitting around doing icebreaker questions. so on that first mission we spent a lot of time chatting, getting a better feel for each other as people. like summer camp, but with more potential for death, and shooting of nazis, explosions, and overgrown science experiments in spangly pants. 

so maybe not like summer camp at all.  i wouldnt know, i never went to summer camp. 

anyways, we blew up the supply trucks and we were headed back towards base when we came across a nice little stream. most of us were pretty dirty, so we agreed to take a few minutes, strip down and wash up. the area we were in was supposed to be secure; it was a slightly disputed border area, but it had been safely in allied hands for months. probably it wasn’t the smartest call, but sometimes you get dirt places you never wanted dirt and are willing to literally risk death to get rid of that dirt. 

we left our gear in a little stand of trees on the far side of the stream and washed up. 

at this point, dumdum dougan was establishing his reputation as the Toughest Guy Ever, which was a rough gig when one of your squadmates is captain america, who literally walks off bullet wounds like a moron. nevertheless, dumdum had the mustache and was determined to be the manliest man around, so when the rest of us got in, clean, and back out as fast as we could manage, because the water was freezing, dumdum decided to prove how macho he was by pretending he wasnt cold at all, and the rest of us were wimps. 

naturally, the rest of us thought he was ridiculous. we were all pretty much dressed and good to go, and dumdum was still sitting in an ice-cold stream in april, bragging about how tough he was. i, being a little shit, covertly suggested we play a little prank. 

so the rest of us finished gearing up, then grabbed his things and started running. his pack, his gun, his boots…all his clothes except his hat, which was hanging off the handle of a knife he’d stuck in the tree. we knew he’d stop to get the hat, and that gave us a head start.

as soon as we started running, dumdum came out of the stream after us, and as expected, stopped to get his hat and knife. we had a decent head start, and he was yelling at the top of his lungs after us. we were all laughing our heads off, because he looked like a complete idiot, running after us brandishing a knife, in nothing but a bowler hat. 

unbeknownst to us, a nazi squad had been sneaking through the woods ahead of us, and were setting up an ambush on one of our transport trucks. they were all tucked away in the underbrush, waiting for the transport to get close enough, and had just popped out of the shrubbery and fired their first couple shots.

which was approximately when a ragtag-looking, still-wet group of cackling maniacs led by the bastard child of paul bunyan and lady liberty burst out of the treeline, being chased by an angry naked man in a bowler hat with a knife. 

there was a very long moment when everyone stopped shooting at everyone else and stared at us. 

and then everyone went back to shooting at everyone else.  but the ambush was angled to ensnare the transport coming up the road. we came from behind them, and they had pretty much no cover from our angle. as soon as we realized we’d run into a combat zone, we dropped the gear and started shooting. steve used the dinner platter of justice and cleared out about four nazis at once, and dumdum got the worlds unluckiest nazi with his knife. poor guy. there’s not a whole lot worse than your last sight on earth being a naked dumdum dougan.

 we’d unintentionally provided a perfect distraction, and the transport had time to regroup and return fire. between us, the ambush was taken care of in a few minutes. 

but the thing was, we’d broken protocol by stopping to wash up, and as a shiny new unit still on probation, the last thing we wanted was to tell anyone what had actually happened. 

so instead we told them that we’d known about the ambush and had decided to provide a distraction, and were just crazy enough that we thought the best way to do that was run howling straight into it. dumdum’s nudity was explained as a personal preference: the man just likes fighting nazis naked, sir, and you cant say it wasnt effective??

naturally, the story went everywhere and got bigger each time it was told. probably we should have gotten in tons of trouble but the story was such a morale booster that they let it slide. 

and thats why we were called the howling commandoes. 

I'm home.

“Dude! It’s only 9 o clock, what do you mean you have to leave?! We’re just getting started” Archie Andrews threw his arms in the air dramatically, the six beers he had consumed were in full effect and he was desperately trying to convince his best friend to stay at the run down bar with Reggie Moose and himself.

Jughead tugged his worn in leather jacket over his shoulders and slid the half finished beer bottle across the bar, slapping a hand to his red headed friends shoulder

“Not tonight Buddy, I’ve gotta get home.”

Archie sighed a little too loud and slammed his shot glass back on the table
“Man, who knew you’d turn into such a dud.”

About six years ago that would have bothered Jughead, maybe he would’ve made a scene, shoved a wobbling Archie off the bar stool, or maybe he would’ve stayed just to prove a point, but at 26 years old his clearly drunk best friends words did nothing but make him laugh.

“Get home safe bud, don’t forget.. I have your car keys, you can pick them up in the morning, we’ll have breakfast” the dark haired boy tapped his pocket, he’d learned a hard lesson from his father about allowing people to drive drunk, it wasn’t something he wanted to see repeated in his best friend.

Archie turned away angrily, clearly frustrated that his “brother” wasn’t entertaining his antics, he called for Reggie and the two adults began another round of shots. Jughead took that as his cue to leave, no reason sticking around, he was tired and he hated going out, he rarely ever did but tonight was the 10 year anniversary of Fred Andrews death and it seemed like Archie could use the release.

With a heavy sigh and crack of his neck, Jughead navigated his way out of the bar, scrunching his nose as he pushed through the gray clouds of smoke and ash, stale beer and sweat filling his nose. If this is what he was missing, he was plenty happy to just stay home. Jugheads motorcycle was parked front and center, not a soul dared park next to it, it really was a beauty. An Original Harley Davidson, black chrome and high handle bars, it had been his first huge splurge when he had sold the rights to his first novel “Riverdale- a Blossom in Time” his time in the Serpents hadn’t done much but he was grateful for the older gang members who helped him learn to ride, it was an all time passion of his now, a release almost.

No one had expected Jughead to stay in Riverdale, hell, Jughead hadn’t expected himself to still be living in Riverdale. It had been carved into him since the day he was born
“Get out of Riverdale, there’s nothing here for you, people like us don’t belong in this town.”
And maybe that was true, his father had never fit in, he was a gang leader but he hated it, he lost everything to the gang and therefore would forever hate Riverdale because of it. But not Jughead.

Riverdale was his home. He loved everything about the tiny town, the deep seeded mysteries, the perfect families turned savage, he had grown up in the story that was Riverdale and it would forever be the place he called home.

Speaking of home, Jughead pulled into the drive way, stopping halfway down and walking his bike the rest of the way. Jughead Jones bike was famous in Riverdale for its obnoxiously loud noises.

By the time Jughead had parked his bike and pulled off his leather jacket, he was tiptoeing through the front door and chucking his keys in the decorative bowl right beside the shoe rack. But then he heard it, a smile instantly forming on his lips as he followed the noise.

“Mommas gonna buy you a mockingbird and if that mocking bird don’t sing, daddy’s gonna buy you a diamond ring”

There, in the soft pastel yellow nursery, was his entire world.

His wife was cradling their daughter in her arms, the soft lullaby floating through her lips as the baby slowly eased off to sleep, her bright green eyes fluttering up at her mother with complete adoration, tiny fingers clenching a piece of her moms honey blonde hair.

“Time for bed Ella. Mommy loves you more than the stars and the moon.”

Jughead couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene, she was the perfect mother, patient and attentive, Soft and warm. Everything Jughead had been missing from his own mother was played out in front of his eyes daily, and he wasn’t a horrible father, he loved his baby girl more than anything in this world. He read to her, took her to the park, changed her diapers and rocked her to sleep, there was nothing better in this world than seeing his five month old daughter laugh in unrestrained delight because of something he had done.

His wife turned around slowly after gently depositing Ella into her crib and turning on the mobile. Okay so maybe the look in her eyes when she caught side of her husband leaning casually against the door, love and happiness shining through, yeah that came in a close second.

“Hey Betts” he whispered.

Betty smiled again and grabbed his hand, tugging him out of the bedroom as he closed the door behind them.

“She go down easy?” He questioned wrapping his arms around her tiny waist.

“Mmm, she was an angel, just like every night. How was your night? How was Archie?” Her voice was filled with maternal concern over her best friend.

Jughead sighed, tilting his head back to catch her eyes
“Same as every year. He has to pick up his keys tommorow, I invited him over for breakfast.”

Betty pulled away and giggled, Jughead quirked a brow
“What’s so funny Mrs.Jones?”

Betty laughed again and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Jugheads lips before walking ahead of him

“Nothing. I’m just glad I bought enough pancake mix because I invited your dad over for breakfast tommorow too.” She looked over her shoulder towards Jughead with the most devious smile he had ever seen… damn it was sexy.

Speeding up a bit, Jughead scooped up his wife, tucking his arms under her bare legs, finally noticing she was in nothing but his flannel. Betty squealed and wrapped her arms around His neck.

“I’m gonna have to punish you young lady, what have I told you about inviting my dad over without telling me?” Her silly husband asked, a playful stern look on his face.

Betty bit her lip innocently
“I don’t know.” She shrugged.

Jughead smiled this time, a wicked glint in his eyes.
“I guess I’m just going to have to remind you.”

Betty bent down, her mouth right over his ear
“I guess so….daddy.”

Within seconds flat Jughead was running down the hall towards their bedroom.

Who needed dirty bars and smoked out bathrooms, he had his drug of choice right underneath him.

“Finding the center of strength within ourselves is in the long run the best contribution we can make to our fellow men. … One person with indigenous inner strength exercises a great calming effect on panic among people around him. This is what our society needs — not new ideas and inventions; important as these are, and not geniuses and supermen, but persons who can “be”, that is, persons who have a center of strength within themselves.”  

moonbelowsea  asked:

hey! I was linked your excellent Yuri on Ice HP AU headcanons (I LOVE HP AUs tbh. so much), and I wondered if you'd thought of assigning Viktor and Yuuri their wands? I recently did the Pottermore wand test for them (and Yurio) and Yuuri gave me like seven possible results, the impossible man. I wondered what someone who, like you, seems to have such a great grasp of their character would think!


Yurio: Dragon heartstring core, because it produces the most powerful spells and is also the most temperamental. It creates strong bonds with the owner, which to me says it runs high on intense emotion, i.e. everything this small angry child does. His wood is acacia, which according to Pottermore: “creates tricky wands that often refuse to produce magic for any but their owner, and also withhold their best effects from all but those most gifted.” His wand is lethal in the wrong hands, and sometimes even he has trouble when he doesn’t RESPECT THE INSTRUMENT. He needs to meditate and treat his things better, i.e. don’t throw your goddamn wand around when you get mad Yurio. He has a normal sized wand, around 9ish inches. And it’s rigid, has to be mastered, but that’s how he likes it because what’s magic without a little fight.

Yuuri: Wishes he had unicorn hair because it is the easiest wandcore out of the three most common ones, but he also as Dragon heart string. This is combined with cherry wood, which is traditional in Japan, but also makes a REALLY extremely powerful wand. He doesn’t think he is powerful enough to control it (he is, but lacks self-confidence) and tried to give it back lmao but the wand chooses the wielder and all that. It feels the most natural when he’s doing intricate spellwork, which is why he gravitates towards charms and transfiguration. His wand is a little longer than average at 12—very elegant, flexible, and tapers at the end to a fine point.

Viktor: Has a ridiculous fucking wand I bet. Like, the feather of a firebird at its core, which is “both a blessing and a bringer of doom to its captor” according to Wikipedia. And his wood is aspen, made for “revolutionaries” according to Pottermore. He had to have it specially commissioned, because his first one fried itself out when he was younger and reaching his peak—it was phoenix feather and aspen. Ridiculous and powerful and extra, just like him. It’s like a little longer than average, 11ish, shorter than Yuuri’s and less flexible though it is still springy! Sturdier because he’s better with offensive magic.

Looking for a penpal!


Hello! My name is Jade, I’m 21 and I live in the UK with my fiance and 2 beautiful cats. I am looking for a penpal to share in my experiences and to talk about our common interests. I am a vegan, Buddhist and animal rights activist. I attend saves and vigils for animals heading into slaughterhouses and abattoirs to collect footage of their final moments and show them some love on their final journey. Although please be aware, I am not here to convert people to veganism, but if you have any questions, please feel free to ask! 

I have a lot of interests, so we’ll never run out of things to talk about! They include yoga, veganism (vegan for a year and a half!), Ayurveda, Buddhism, mindfulness, journalling, knitting, crochet (currently learning to crochet), crystals, tea, reading, travelling and one-man dance parties.

My music preferences are very varied, but the majority is usually indie/folk/acoustic. Bands-wise, the best ones to describe my overall taste would be Josephs, Silversun Pickups and Sundara Karma. But, I am open to pretty much anything!

I am also quite a big fan of anime and gaming, which I like to do in my spare time. My favourite game series’ have to be Mass Effect, Final Fantasy and Legend of Zelda. My anime preferences are pretty basic, however. I have seen most sports anime (HQ, Free, Yowapeda, Daiya no Ace) and two of the ‘Big 3’ (Bleach and Naruto). If you have any recommendations though, let me know! 

I would like to say I am quite an open person, although I can become distant on occasion due to some recurring mental health issues I am still recovering from. If that happens though, I will always try my best to let you know. I would like someone who has an understanding of/experiences with mental health issues who can be supportive in my time of need, and in return I shall do the same. 

I am a gentle soul, an ambivert with more introvert characteristics, a slytherclaw, INFP, Leo sun, Sagg moon and Libra rising. I love sunsets, and the sea is my home. I am fully besotted with the sea, any large body of water where I can see, hear, feel and smell the freshness of the outdoors. I could never live inland, or somewhere landlocked. I would feel very claustrophobic without the sea at my side. I love to be a tourist, exploring the nooks and crannies, the independent stores selling ‘junk’. I pride myself on my intellect and would like to think I am well read and well spoken, but I’m not arrogant about it. I love to learn and expand my knowledge, so I always have my nose in some form of book or article. 

My ideal pen-pal would be someone similar to myself. Enjoys the simple things in life - a good book, a gentle walk across the beach, the first sip of a hot cup of tea, the feel of a cool, gentle breeze, the feel of a deep breath whilst laying in Shavasana after a long yoga practice. I would like someone who can challenge me to expand my mind and my soul. A kindred spirit who understands who I am as a person. Ideally I would like to expand to snailmail with whomever, but I would like to get to know you through IM first to find if we’re suited to one another. 

I dislike people who are judgemental, support any form of 'sport’ hunting, horse racing/riding or against LBGTQI+. I will not tolerate any form of discrimination, racism or xenophobia. 

I would prefer someone between the ages of 20-35; LGBTQI+ status or ethnicity doesn’t matter to me. If you’re human, you’re welcome. Location-wise, someone in the UK, States, Canada or Europe would be preferred due to postage costs, but if we make a connection, then location is no issue. 

If you feel I am a good fit, then please drop me a message. I am very active on social media, so you wont be waiting long for a reply. My preferred contact methods are:
Tumblr: hey–jae 
instagram: hey__jae
e-mail: jade . johnson . 1995 (@) hotmail . com

I look forward to receiving any responses! 

anonymous asked:

Can I have a scenario of the El Masters praising their child who's taken over their place as the next generation of El Masters?

“You’re doing great, kiddos.”

Solace’s daughter looks up with a smirk. “Dad, are you… Crying?”

“Am not,” Solace protests. “I’m just… Sweating from my eyeballs.”

“Admit it, Dad, we’re just too awesome,” his son chuckles. “Don’t worry. We got it.”

“I’ve got it, you’re the one who caused global warming!”

“And who’s the one who fixed the global warming after he caused it?”

Between his two kids manning the Sun El, Solace can only feel happiness and pride. His kids have finally grown up, and they’re both strong co-El Masters of the Sun.

They are his greatest achievement.

“Are you feeling nauseous? Is your temperature rising?” Ebalon frets, rushing around his son as he fans himself off. “Ahhhh, I remember what it was like, the first time I went through the new moon.”

“I’ll be okay, Father,” the boy mutters, trying his best to stay still while Ebalon runs in circles around him. “I’m only starting to get in tune with the Moon El. I don’t think I’m feeling the full effects yet.”

“Alright.” Ebalon grabs his son’s shoulders. “You’re doing much better than I did at your age. I’m really proud of you, son. Keep it up.”

His son smiles. “I’ll do my best.”

And then he goes green and hurls up his lunch onto Ebalon’s robes.

After all, the first new moon is always the most torturous.


“Look, wyrmling, you need to-”

“Out, Dad,” says Denif’s daughter, her tail flickering impatiently. “I can handle myself, and I can handle the others.”

“Yes, but the point of the job is that you have to handle the El!” Denif exclaims, exasperated. “Just let me-”

“I know you’re worried, but seriously, I’m a grown dragon, I know what I’m doing,” she replies, eyes softening. “I love you to bits and pieces, Dad, but you can’t treat me like a hatchling forever.”

Denif is silent for a moment. “I guess,” he concedes. “You’re doing a great job, I just… I’m not used to being a dad, I guess.”

“I think you’re doing a good job of it,” his daughter muses. “Now, I have a job to get to.”

And then Denif’s shut out of the room, but hey, at least he has a smile on his face.

“And this,” Ventus screams over the winds, “is how you surf the winds!”

Beside him, his twins scream in delight. “This is fantastic,” his son whoops. “Are we going to fall?”

“No, dummy, as long as we’re connected to the wind El, we’re not going to fall,” his daughter yells.

“That’s right, extend your arms and drift in the wind,” Ventus coaches. “You’re not falling, and you have complete control. You know what that means?”

“We’re not going to die?”

“… That too,” Ventus says. “But it means you have mastered your connection to the wind El! I’m so proud of you two!”


Ventus drops a foot out of the air out of sheer shock. “Dammit, Lincy must have told Denif,” he mutters. “Alright kids, flying session cancelled, now let’s get back before your uncle Denif has an aneurysm.”

Denif lectures Ventus, and his daughter lectures the twins, but it’s effective team bonding, and a good (albeit dangerous) way of testing their link to the wind El.

Oh, and it’s great fun too.

Inktober Day 7: The Woodsman

Okay, okay, I MAY have taken liberties with the interpretation of the prompt. He’s a man who lives in the woods. That counts, right? :’D

A piper! The pied piper? Not as malicious as his fairytale (or potentially real) counterpart, at least. This one looks like cross between him and Robin Hood. I guess he messes around with the residents. Somehow on the good side of the fae because of his flute, but just… barely. :’D

My fine pen is running out of ink, so this isn’t quite as detailed as the other ones. Hopefully the pen will hold out until I grab a new one!

Inktober Day 1: The Old Man
Inktober Day 2: The Forest Witch
Inktober Day 3: The Dryads

Inktober Day 4: The Ancient Wizard
Inktober Day 5: The Lost Girls
Inktober Day 6: The Ancient Robot
Inktober Day 8: The Dreamer


The following is a guest article and in no way represents the opinions of the Orrator or its staff. We also recommend to our readers to limit the use of the “bleach” hair dye kits because it seems to have adverse effects on people.




11. Captive Heart, Captive Mind

Bucky X Reader

Summary: Reader had been imprisoned for over five years and cut off from her powers for most of that time. She is ready to give up when she is given one more mission by the mysterious group she has been captured by.

Author’s Note: A lot of big things are about to start happening. This story line is getting a bit out of hand. Don’t hate me. I’m totally prepared to just never stop writing this story. UGH. I’m conflicted about the vision. Let me know what you think, give me some honesty. (tbh kinda want to write a threesome but why would it ever happen???? I hate myself)

Warnings: T/W Rape/Sexual Assault History. Jealousy…. light smut.

Tags are open!

TAGS: @iwillendyourlifeslut @sergeant-angel @thesalsafic @bxtchybrie @beccaanne814-blog @hellomissmabel @kaatniss @oliviaadamswrites @finallybreathee @marvel-lucy @chrixa @iamtal @nikkitia7 @mitra-k-w @unpredictable-firecracker @sgt-jbb-107 @melonberri @sammedrano

“Agghhhh” I screamed, involuntarily thrashing on my bed. Bucky was holding me down, but my body was fighting him. I may not have been able to control my movement, but the nerves in my body were controlling them for me.

I wasn’t sure how, but after our souls connected, my body slowly started to regain feeling and my powers were expanding. Fast. I couldn’t move anything on my own yet, but my nerves were coming back to life. And it was painful. Very, very fucking painful.

Keep reading

STORY: SF Medic Packs Wound with Insurgent's own Testicles

I don’t even remember the flight or the infill. The first shots that rang out on the objective startled me awake. Ah, there is my nightly adrenaline fix! I’ve got my feet under me now and me and my boys from second squad are chasing a couple of guys through a fig orchard. The UH6 “little bird” helicopters are circling above giving us a play by play on the direction that the two squirters were headed. They started doing gun runs on those poor bastards. There really isn’t much that you can do when those guns open up, the 160th pilots are the most accurate in the world. They are the reason why a lot of special operations guys that I know are still on this earth.

For all you would be terrorists out there, just a heads up, hiding in the dark is easier when you’re not wearing a body length white tunic. We spot one guy laying on the ground to our right. Nick’s fire team goes straight for him, pouncing like a pride of lions on a fucking zebra. Joe and I advance past toward the second target. His hands are up and both of our rifle barrels are locked on his center mass. We are both at a full sprint at this point, moving toward him with the knowledge that the violence of action is the only thing that can keep us alive. I knew that Joe had him covered. In a full sprint, I dropped my rifle down to my side by way of the sling and struck that man with such force that he literally went feet over head nearly completing a full back flip. The best part was thanks to the technique that I recently learned at that tactical fighting school in Chicago it didn’t hurt my hand one bit. Thanks again Vanguard!

Joe covers me while I zip tie the man. Meanwhile one of Nick’s guys who was securing the first squirter tells him, “Sargent, my hands are all wet.” We avoided using white lights on missions because they have a tendency to make a quick target out of the person holding it. A quick check would reveal that the gun runs being made by the little bird pilots were effective. The man had a softball size exit wound on his inner left thigh. That gaping hole made it tough for him to walk all the way back to the initial target house but that was his fucking problem. None of our guys were going to carry him. Not after the reports came in from the other squads that were clearing the house letting us know that the house that they had just fled from was full of bomb making materials and pictures of high value U.S. targets. No, this shit head gets to walk. You may think that is inhumane but then again, you’ve probably never been blown up by a suicide bomber or watched as a group of your friends are erased by one.

When we got into the house I was able to see the extent of his injuries. That man’s scrotum was torn open and his left testicle had completely unraveled as a result of that helicopter raining down hate from the sky. All I could think at that moment was, holy shit that was a good shot! The man was screaming in agony by this point as I stood over him. Empathy? What the fuck is that? I had none at this point. I was perfectly content to watch that man roll around in agony until we ex-filled. He had a tourniquet on to stop any major hemorrhage but I hadn’t made any effort to pack the wound or help with pain management.

The company commander must have heard the screams from the other room. He came in and asked what the situation was. He was former Special Forces so he frequently considered the “hearts and minds” as being an important part of every mission. I’m not going to get into the dynamic of how each faction of special operations works but I will say that Green Berets in special forces typically have a slightly lighter touch than their Ranger counterparts. He told me to administer morphine to the man and pack his wounds. Now this man outranked me by a lot but not when it comes to patient treatment. On the ground the medic is the authority on all things medical. He was right though, I couldn’t just leave the guys nut dangling out and someone might trip over it. I calmly explained to the CO that I don’t carry enough morphine for him and you both so maybe I should hold on to the narcotics that I have in case one of our guys get laced open tonight.

As I knelt down over the man I wasn’t quite sure how to treat an uncoiled testicle. For all of the crazy scenarios that were drilled into us in SOMC, oddly enough, this one never came up. I decided that I would use it to help pack the wound in his leg. I can’t imagine how that must have felt packing that thing into his open wound with Kerlix then wrapping it with a trauma dressing without any morphine. A testicle when uncoiled is actually quite long. It took almost a minute to pack the entire thing into his open wound.

Just as I was finishing up I was told that there was three more squirters in the orchard that we needed to secure. We formed a small element to track them down. With the air assets that we had circling overhead we figured that it would be a quick game of hide and seek but in reality it took most of the night. We trudged through uneven muddy fields for hours taking direction from the guys overhead until we were exhausted. One by one we found all three men and they were not happy when we did, mainly because we weren’t happy that we had gone on a three hour death march to locate them.

I’m not going to sugar coat it, I punched one of them in the dick. Hard. Then placed my thumb in the wound that was created by one of our service dogs and used it like a joystick while we looked for his other two buddies. This isn’t something that I’m proud of but it isn’t something that I’m ashamed of either. It is simply the way that war is, it’s how it makes you and if you haven’t been there then you can keep your humanitarian opinion to your damn self. By the time we got back to the cluster of target houses we realized that we weren’t the only one’s putting in a nights work.

Apparently a pretty significant fire-fight went down in one of the houses. One of the snipers engaged an enemy target through the window of the house. It was an absolutely amazing shot. He was on the rooftop across the street and saw the figure running toward the front door that one of our fire teams was about to make entry on holding a rifle. One shot, straight through the neck. When I examined the person I could tell pretty quickly that, one, it was a woman and two, she was pregnant. When I informed the sniper that made the kill shot of this detail it didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest. In fact, he grinned the same grin that he did in that hangar in Balad when I handed him that atropine injector.

We piled up all of the bomb making materials and weapons and disposed of them with an incendiary grenade outside in the courtyard. We had a haul of prisoners and information that would likely lead us to the next mission, the next target house filled with people that want us to die. Nearly every night for over three straight months we punched the time card and went to work.

After the mandatory After Action Review (AAR) we headed back to our tents. It was 10am by this point and the desert sun was just starting to seep through the transparent tent ceiling. There isn’t even a point to lying down. I escape to the gym in an attempt to burn through this adrenaline. My tiny silk shorts and plain brown t-shirt would make me stick out like a sore thumb in the regular Army gym filled with squads of vibrant, well rested military personnel in their grey Army PT uniforms, complete with reflective belt and bad haircut. I get even more dirty looks as I am the sole gym occupant doing Olympic lifts and muscle ups in the corner in an attempt to cope with all that had transpired. It would be another full week and a half dozen more missions before I slept.

its-a-comic-relief  asked:

Mr Wheaton, do you have any interest at all in running for political office yourself in the future? I've been following you for years on tumblr and you are a man whose beliefs i would vote for.

I’ve thought about it, but I don’t think I’d ever get elected, because I have no patience for bullshit. At this time in my life, I think I could be more effective on the outside, helping support good people when they run for office, applying pressure via civil rights organizations when they get elected, and doing my best to change things that way.

Arrow Fic: Take It Off

[This is a TOTAL crack fic–seriously, irredeemable and nonsensical ridiculousness. Inspired by a conversation with Bre in which we asked the important questions, like: “Why isn’t the Green Arrow suit just a loincloth and a hood?” and “Why can’t he fight a clothes-melting meta?” And here we are. This is why we can’t have nice things… ;P]


The first time he returns from a fight with the meta, Felicity has to throw both hands over her mouth to hold back the laughter she nearly chokes on—while trying to appear concerned. Okay, she is concerned, because the meta landed several blows with his form of heat vision and then escaped, leaving her team to crawl back to the lair in defeat. Oliver took most of those blows himself.

They just had an… unusual effect.

“Are you okay?” she asks, the words punctuated with little puffs of restrained laughter, and he just glares at her.

The effectiveness of the glare is somewhat diminished by the state of him—his leather suit hanging in shredded tatters from the bared skin of his torso, revealing vast expanses of densely muscled flesh and the jagged scars crossing the solid lines of his body. His pants are mostly intact, other than the pant leg missing from below his left knee.

Despite looking like he’d barely escaped from a bout with a lion’s claws, the flesh beneath is whole and unmarred (well, it’s not any more marred than it already was).

He stomps off to the changing area as she calls out after him, “I’ll have Cisco-” And then the door is slamming shut.

She and the others wait about one second before bursting into laughter.

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Life with the Ishigamis – The Policeman’s Ball – Part 1

Written in honor of Hideki’s Birthday Extravaganza!!

Featuring cameos by chiapeto skybluehimawari letstalklikefangirls sillyredqueen and littlehevn

Rated PG 

The powder puff in Amy’s hand tapped jauntily along her nose in time to the lively beat of Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood,” the big band swing song played perfectly by the orchestra in the ballroom of the Keio Plaza Tokyo Hotel. Though she and her friends Chia Goto and Kat Ichiyanagi were huddled in front of the mirror in the ladies lounge for both grooming and gossip, the notes of the familiar tune danced easily through the thin walls, adding to the festive atmosphere.  The annual Public Safety Division Policeman’s Ball was always a treat for the three girls, who rarely got to attend any gala events together. While Kat and Subaru were often invited to many celebrations due to being relatives of Superintendent Ichiyanagi, Amy and Chia only had this annual event in which to dress up and dance with their grumpy, introverted husbands who would both rather be at home with a good book if given the choice – which in this case, they most definitely were not.

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