#Glock 12

[hauntsthenarrative]

harry potter would be awesome if he was american

[kramlabs]

No matter what Tucker Carlson* told Joe Rogan, everything can be explained as advanced technology and black projects and can find its roots in post WW2 Germany.

*is Tucker playing a role again, this time for the disclosure narrative?

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][childhood friends][semi-public][cowgirl][oral (f! receiving][female orgasm][reunited][he's got anxiety][romantic][raw][fingering][implied facial][suggested creampie, if that's even a tag]

Jason's not the type of man to get giddy.

Not by a longshot.

In fact, he's not even the type of man to look in the direction of a woman, just because he knows that he'd need to find a girl who's big backed enough to carry his emotional baggage and he's not ready to burden someone with that.

Clearing away his thoughts, Jason takes a step into the one part of Gotham he wouldn't deem as a total shitshow.

The public library.

Walls are strewn with red paper hearts on string, tablecloths are changed to heart prints and there's a gigantic, glittery Cupid cutout right above the librarian's desk. And with each breeze, it dangles and Jason can't hide the amusement in his eyes when the flying baby spins, arrow in his direction. And he scoffs under his breath.

Before moving towards the front desk and he feels the way his breath stutters in his chest at the sight of you.

"Where's Beatrice? Old, short lady, curlers, mole with the hair?" He's damn near frantic. He's not prepared for this.

Pretty hair framing your face, a bright red bow in your hair and sparkling eyes that stare up at him, and your pretty, pouty lips curl at the corners.

"Oh, she's out for a few months. She got her hip surgery, so I'm her temporary replacement." You give him the sweetest smile, staring at him from beneath long, luxurious lashes that could almost rival Bruce's and Jason swallows, nodding his head.

"I—uh— I'm...— excuse me."

Jason leaves through the same door he came in, muscular hands braced on his hips and he lets out laboured breaths. If someone were to accuse him of being a blushing mess, he wouldn't even be able to deny it, instead, only being able to empty his Glock.

Because no one accuses the Red Hood of feeling feelings.

Carding muscular fingers through his hair, Jason tries to hype himself up, trying to give a pep talk that doesn't involve internal screaming and a potential panic attack.

He doesn't understand why HIS Selina Kyle needs to be working at the library he frequents. It seems like a sick joke.

Especially because you probably don't even remember him. Because not only was he like, 10, but he was also, masked whenever you two came across each other.

Quite literally, his first everything.

First solo save.

First crush.

First Valentine.

First kiss.

First fantasy.

First boner.

Jason steps back into the library, his boots heavy on the carpeted floorboards and he steps to the front desk, his chest puffed and a purpose in his voice.

"I'm Jason." He introduces. "I read to the kids on Wednesdays and Fridays."

He watches you glance towards the clipboard in front of you, glossy lips pursed before you nod your head, giving him that exact smile that used to be painted on the forefront of his brain for majority of his adolescence.

"Yeah, Beatrice told me about you." Your head tilts, and you give him that sweet, lovely leer you've always had.

"You're 'tall fella'." And you introduce yourself, before handing him the pen to sign in. A pretty fountain pen, patterned with hearts and he signs the notepad, adding the exact time as well. 12:13pm.

Jason passes into the library, immediately met with the excited squeals of kids no higher than his hip, and he glances at the multiple tables, colourful chairs occupied by excitement incarnate.

"Okay, okay." Jason hums, before sitting on his seat. A bright red wingback, although, the back of it is covered in snowy lace, undoubtedly for the occasion and he places his hands on his knees.

"What books are on today's list?"

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

Jason's halfway through his 9th 'happily ever after' before he glances towards the doorway, your form leaning against the doorframe as you listen intently. Although your attention isn't as much on him, as it is on the children scattered in front of him, wide-eyed stares as though they've never heard the fairy tales before.

The softest and most gentle smile remains planted on your lips, cheeks rosy and brows relaxed, and your arms are crossed over your chest. Before you glance towards him.

Overing him an even sweeter smile.

And Jason stumbles over his words, before his lips purse, and he feels the way his ears burn with embarassment.

"Oooooh, he's shy." A tiny voice calls out and is immediately followed by a flurry of 'ooh's.

And they're right. He is shy.

But he also cannot empty his Glock.

And Jason glances towards you, or at least attempts to, because right above your head, there's another fucking Cupid pointing an arrow at him. And his fist clenches in annoyance at the convenience of the smirking infant, ruddy cheeks and tiny wings that, speaking aerodynamically, should definitely not be able to lift that chubby body higher than a foot or two.

Jason lets out a deep, controlled breath before lowering his gaze to meet yours, pretty doe eyes stare at him with the intensity of a thousand suns and his compression shirt seems a bit too stuffy right now. But he doesn't tear his gaze away.

At least not immediately, because once your pretty lashes flutter when you blink, he looks away. To the complete opposite direction of you.

"You've been reading for a while, so I wanted to ask if you want a juice box?" You offer him sweetly and God, he feels like a pervert because he wants your juice box.

Your sweet, tantalizing and snug juice box.

"Please." He damn near breathes out the word, and you nod your head, carrying in a tray with multiple juice boxes, as well as snacks. Sliced fruit in labelled bowls, incase something isn't immediately identifiable, chips, raisins, cookies.

And Jason looks at the juice box you place in his hand.

Pineapple.

He doesn't know if he's being paranoid, but it's a bit on the nose, but he slides the straw into the hole, unable to hide the snicker that tumbles from his lips at the sight.

And you let out a snort. "Perv."

God.

You even laugh the same.

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

When the library empties out, you're left all alone with Jason, golden light streams into the library, although, it's dimmed by the frosted glass windows, and Jason clears his throat.

"Shouldn't you be heading home?" He questions you softly, absentmindedly picking up books that have been scattered across the tables and he sets them back into their places on the shelves. The actions so practiced and familiar, that it leads you to believe he's reading to these kids for far longer than you originally thought.

"I still need to update the system as to which books were taken, so, that'll take a bit." You respond with a sweet hum, clearing out the bowls and empty juice boxes from the tables and wiping them down.

You're methodical.

He likes that.

You've always been methodical. When it came to putting bandaids on his scuffed and knobby knees, when it came to speedily mending his cape before Bruce could find out.

Although looking back on it, Bruce could probably tell.

The lime green thread wasn't too difficult to spot against the shade of his cape, but he just never mentioned it.

"You don't have Valentine's Day plans?" You question him this time, glancing at Jason over your shoulder as you begin to take down the bulk of the worst of the decorations. Mainly the Cupid's. And the origami flowers that dangle from the corners of the room and he shakes his head.

"Not a big fan of Valentine's Day."

"You've never had a good Valentine's Day?" You hum softly, pausing your motions to stare at Jason while he continues to reorganize the shelves, and you get the honour of watching the muscles of his back flex and move with every motion.

"I had like, one." He hums softly. "When I was younger."

"You wanna have another one?"

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

There's something so stupidly romantic about the way the two of you are seated next to each other, a packet of chocolate chip cookies between and conversation flowing like water from a river.

And Jason doesn't know if it's the way the flame of the scented candle reflects in your iris, or if it's the way you thumb away the crumbs from the corner of his mouth or if it's even the way you compliment the colour of his eyes.

But he leans in, impulsive and stupid, but he leans in, his lips ghosting over yours in a sweet peck.

And you stare up at him, eyes wide and brows raised in surprise before a smile spreads across your face. Wide and dimpled, before you place a manicured hand on the side of his face, leaning in and you whisper so softly, just before your lips meet his.

"If it isn't the Boy Wonder."

Jason wastes no time in pulling you into his lap, your thighs pressed against his waist as your hands cradle his face so sweetly, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones as his hands find your waist. Warm, rough palms pressed against the skin of your waist and he pulls you closer.

He doesn't need to say he missed you. He doesn't need to say that you were the only person he wanted to see after the Lazarus pit.

Jason pulls away, pressing soft, sweet kisses along the curve of your jaw, lingering on your erratic pulse and your nails scratch at his scalp, carding through thick, wavy locks. Your head tips back, trying to give him the maximum amount of access to the sensitive flesh as your hips roll needily.

And your lips part to let out a shaky breath, lashes flutter and you whine softly, glossy lips letting out sweet moans that fill his ears, just like that sweet, lingering perfume on your skin fills his nose.

It's all too much.

Too much and not enough.

The way you grind against the bulge in his pants does nothing to sate that burning feeling in the pit of his belly, but the way your thighs press against his waist, as if you're trying to pull him closer.

That.

That does it for him.

It feels like a fucking dream when you hop up on the table, thighs parted and he watches the way your slick forces your pretty panties clinging to your cunt. Outlining the pretty folds and puffy lips, and he groans under his breath, his head moving to rest against the plush flesh of your thigh.

"You're so perfect." He breathes out. "Can I?"

Jason asks you softly, even as his fingers hook around the soaked gusset of your panties, pulling it to the side and clingy gossamers of your slick snap against his fingertips. And he whines when you lift your skirt better, thighs moving to rest on his broad shoulders and his face is nestled between your thighs.

Jason's tongue drags through your slippery folds, wet muscle gathering the stickiness of your slick before he groans at the taste, lunging the glob at the hood of your clit, before he circles the sensitive nub with mastered precision.

He feels the way your pillowy thighs press against his blazing ears, sweet sounds slipping past your lips as your nails scratch at his scalp, fingers massaging his head as your hips lift to meet the curls and flicks of his tongue.

Meaty hands paw at your thighs, and Jason pulls away occasionally, just to press sloppy, wet kisses against your skin, glancing up at you through his lashes as you push his hair out of your face. Right at that snowy tuft, and all the way to the nape of his neck, and Jason could fucking paint the inside of his pants when your nails dig into the flesh of his neck, pulling his face back to your cunt.

"You taste so fucking good..."

One of your hands support your weight on the surface of the table, your head tipped back and hickeys littered across the expanse of your neck and your eyes are half-lidded, moans falling from your lips with the kind of ease that only comes with unbridled and unfiltered lust.

But Jason knows it's not lust.

And if he didn't know it before, he definitely knows it when you pull him away from your cunt, his chin and lips glistening with slick and you lean down, pressing a sweet yet sloppy kiss against his lips.

Before you usher him back below your skirt.

And he sucks at your needy clit, feeling the way your hips buck and twitch, slick coating his lips, his tongue as well as his chin. And thick fingers dig into the fat of your thighs as he laps at whatever trickles from your sloppy hole.

And Jason brings up a hand, pushing your thigh further from his ear, before sliding two fingers into your drooling cunt, feeling the way you spasm around his digits, your belly caving inward and you whine.

"You're so tight..." Jason breathes out, tongue flicking against your overstimulated clit, just as his fingers curl against that spongy spot that makes your eyes flutter shut. "And you're so warm..."

You whine, your body breaking out in goosebumps and you can barely give a warning before you're coming on Jason's fingers, feeling the way he keeps sucking on your clit, coaxing a damn near screaming orgasm from you and your thighs wrap around his head.

And only when you let him up, does he let out panting breaths, before slumping back in his seat, carding his fingers through his hair. And he looks up to you with hazy green eyes.

And you barely wait before you're fiddling with his belt buckle, trying to unzip his charcoal coloured cargo pants, and he lets out a hoarse laugh, before helping you undo the loop and he shifts, just enough to pull his cock out.

And it's so pretty.

Long, thick, beads of precum trickling down that pretty upward curve and pooling just above his cock, flushed red tip weeping and twitching.

And you swallow.

Wrapping a hand around the base of him, and you give Jason a few slow, tentative pumps, watching the way deep breaths escape his lips.

"Ride me." Jason sighs, a soft whimper leaving him. "Please ride me."

Jason whines when your hips meet his, his cock nestled so firmly in your gooey walls, your cunt pulsing around his cock, your arms wrapping around his neck and your face tucked in the crook of his shoulder.

And his hands bracket your hips, fingers kneading the fatty globes of your ass, as his hips tilt upwards, rotund tip pressing against your cervix so sweetly. And he groans, pressing the sweetest kiss against your temple.

And he whines when your hips roll against his.

The air is thick with tension, the scent of cinnamon from that candle that's still casts a pretty gold glow and the smell of his cologne.

Earthy, smoky and so, so intoxicating that it makes your eyes roll back in your head, your nails digging into the back of his neck.

Your hips roll, the plumpness of your ass meeting his thighs in rhythmic movements and Jason's pretty sure the Lazarus pit was bullshit and he's actually dead right now.

Because you're so fucking heavenly.

The sluttiest squelchy sounds ring out from your pretty cunt, and you keep slobbering around his cock, as he bullies your insides so eagerly. Each of his hips move to meet your sloppy movements and Jason's hands massage at your hips.

He savours the way you feel in his hands.

The last time he had you on his lap was exactly 12 days before he died. You had placed the sweetest kiss on his lips, giving him the prettiest little doe eyed gaze.

And you're doing the exact same fucking thing right now.

Bleary eyes staring up at Jason, your lips parting to let out the prettiest, sluttiest little sounds while he fucks up into you. Each ridge and each vein drags against your sloppy walls, and watching the way your brows knit into the cutest little frown.

You look so pretty.

"So fucking pretty..." Jason whines, his face buried in your neck as he moves your hips, harder, faster, meaner but so, so sweetly.

"Shit, can I come inside?" He begs softly. "Please, please, please."

He begs so prettily, his blunt nails leaving indentations in the fat of your ass, his face hidden and you can only murmur a weak 'uh-huh' as you pummels into you so...

Meanly.

Hips snapping vigorously while he keeps cooing, kissing your neck and wrapping his arms around your waist so tightly, he might break one of your ribs. His muscles bulge underneath his already tight shirt, his brows bunch and his hips still.

Jason edges himself just a bit, before whispering.

"No..."

He needs to fulfill his fantasy. He owes it to himself.

"I wanna come on your face."

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@jasontoddswhitestreak 🌸

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@allycat4458 🪻

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

@titchx0 🦆

[satrs]

A/N; working on alll of ur requests rn sweeties!!! It's gonna take me a good while tho, so here is a lil sum sum I wrote abt the guys sum time ago ^^ Hope u enjoy my late night yapping and plzzzz be patient with meeee, I didn't forget ur requests my lovelys!!!

Random/unpopular headcanons of Weird stuff they do! (MDNI! SFW ans NSFW)

ZAYNE

SFW

Drink his coffee HORENDOUSLY. It looks like a brew straight out of hell. Honestly, it’s closer to motor oil than anything drinkable.

Eats like a pregnant woman with the wildest cravings. I’m convinced he mixes sweets with damn near everything, pickles with ice cream, shit like that.

Uhhh, I also think he’s messy??? Like, his house looks tidy at first glance— floors clean, dishes done, nothing crazy. But if you actually live with him, you realize he doesn’t have time to handle allat!!! There’s always clothes flying around, jackets tossed over chairs, hoodies crumpled on the couch, random socks disappearing into the void. Not necessarily dirty clothes, just... clothes littered across the house. It's like he tries to stay organized, but life moves too fast and the laundry pile moves faster.

NSFW

Tries to optimize things. It's kinda weird but also hot??? "What if we adjust the angle by 12 degrees—oh. Oh, that's better."

One time, he came with one hand on the wall like a man in mourning and didn't say a word, just stood there. (Post-nut trauma pose lmaooo)

Looses track of time when he's with u. You've been at it for 3 hours with barely any break before he realized that he has 2 hours of sleep left before he has to get up for work. But he'll worry about that in the morning.

He's giving you a clinical review when you ride him. "Your pelvic tilt just now was exceptional. Ten out of ten."

SYLUS

Bro im ngl… i feel like he's a hoarder. Antique stuff probs like old pennies from 1500s or sum shi.

Props a history nerd on the low. Knows every event ever happening around the word from the stone age to modern times. (Rants to you about them sometimes)

Caffeine Dependency, But in odddd forms.He refuses to drink normal coffee so, instead, he's obsessed with fancy stuff like matcha lattes, cold brew espresso, or even herbal teas that are supposed to enhance mental focus. If you catch him on a "bad caffeine day," you'll see him get irritated if he had to settle for a drink that doesn't meet his exacting standards (He's gonna pull out the glock ain't he).

NSFW

Discovered his wax kink one time when candle wax happend to drip on him turing sexy time, and he moaned so loud it scared you. That's when you both began to involve wax as a main actor during the act more often.

Oh he's soooo horny when you patch him up after a deal gone wrong. Grows soooo hard when you're shocked self runs up to his all bloodied form:(( Just such big baby and a suckerrr for your nursing skills!!!

Guns are everywhere. Like, casually. Sometimes there's one just sitting on the nightstand, loaded, of course— the barrel practically staring at you while he's fucking you. It's kinda terrifying if you think about it too hard.

Okay, hear me out!!!! When he's really exhausted, like dead-on-his-feet exhausted, he comes home, takes a quick, half-awake shower, then just slumps onto the bed, still wet, still half-dressed, a lit cigar hanging from his lips as you ride him. He's barely doing anything, just lying there with this lazy, heavy-lidded look, letting you use him however you want. Smoke curling up toward the ceiling, his body all warm and loose under your hands. It’s messy, raw, and honestly addicting if you admit.

CALEB

SFW

Constantly challenges himself to do backflips in inappropriate places. "Bet I can flip off this railing" No, Caleb. You can't. But he does it anyway(urghhh). It's even grown to a point that he makes a quick backflip when you two meet up as agreeting mane. It's sooo embarrassing when the bystanders eye him but he thinks it's soooo cold LMAOOO

Caleb still doesn't know how to use a lot of things properly. He'll try to fix things around the house and end up breaking them worse than they were. You'll catch him watching YouTube tutorials, struggling with the basics of cooking, or just trying to figure out how something works.

NSFW

Tries to make you laugh mid-stroke. Literally says stuff like "What would you do if I'd start moonwalking right now?" You're crying laughing while he's still inside you.

He high fives you after sex. Every damn time. Yep. Its canon bc i said so!

Treats you on top as if he's ur personal trainer. "Yeahhh, get those megan-kness working. One, two, three— heyheyhey you gotta put your legs into it!“

XAVIER

SFW

Despite him sleeping so damn much, I feel like hes a light sleeper. If you move away slightly his eyes shoot open bruh. (They also glow in the dark and scare the shit out of you when ypu come back to the room after taking a piss)

Incredible memory for faces, but not names. He can remember every single detail about a person's face—the way they looked when they smiled, the exact way they tilted their head during conversation—but when it comes to their names? Not a clue. He js couldn't give less of a fuck.

Always late for your dates. At least half an hour. Not bc he's been sleeping but because he's so slowww man! You're so mad bc you can't teleport like a certain someone cough cough, but still manage to show up on time!!! And when he shows up he acts so innocent and clueless as if you didn't wait for him for half an hour.

NSFW

Thinks it's soooo sexy when you scold him. Say his full name with force and he's rock solidddd 'm tellin youuuu!!!

Always insists on so much foreplay it's frustrating. Don't get me wrong it's sexy! ....until it's been 45 minutes and you’re still begging for him to finally put it in.

Has a thing for u playing with his hair, especially if you pull it when he's eatin you out. But even if you just genuinely move it out of his face after a heated make-out shesh, he whines as if you got his dick in a headlock (you do).

RAFAYEL

Props has a journal and draws little doodles of you next to his entry of the day!! When he's feeling espacially romantic, he'll begin with a small doodle but get lost in it end end up drawing the most breathtaking portrait of you. He hides the journal too, a bit too embarrassed to show you his rambles of how much in love he is with you. Yeahhh for his eyes only!

Rafayel is full of bizarre superstitions. He's the type to refuse to walk under a ladder, always carries a lucky charm, and insists that everything happens for a reason. If you spill salt, you're definitely going to have to throw it over your left shoulder. Was a literal sea god but bad luck are the most of his worries ig...

His desk is a mess, but somehow everything is in its right place. Papers are scattered everywhere, but you can not touch them. He has his own chaotic filing system, and God help you if you try to reorganize anything.

NSFW

Sucker for you when ur in heels. I dare you to step on his foot by accident in heels!!(he almost came in his pants). Loves to fuck you in heels from that point onwards.

Ok so this is ridiculous but I have this headcanon that you both made out in the ocean once and got so into it that you didn't notice rafayel turned into a merman until his fishtail grazed your legs and you fucking screamed for your life. He had to make it up with some sloppy toppy head underwater ofc!!!

Will literally stop mid stroke to get his sketchbook and sketch you when he has the urge to capture your beautiful form splawed out for him. Like, this is for him, like.... oh my godddd yu're so perfect???

[diebie164]

Natalie Lynn ´´Samantha´´ Rupnow infopost, an analysis by Diebie164

Natalie Lynn ´´Samantha´´ Rupnow was a 15 year old girl who´s the perperator of the Abundant Life Christian School (ALCS) shooting on December 16, 2024 c. 10:57 – 11:05 a.m. where 3 people died (including Samantha Rupnow). I'll use the initials NLR for Natalie and JR for jeffrey Rupnow in this post sometimes. Included in this post is a picture of stuff of NLR they found in her room and 2 pictures of her face.

CHILDHOOD AND PARENTS OF NLR

NLR is the daughter of Melissa and Jeffrey Rupnow, they first married in 2011, 2 years after the birth of their daughter. Natalie, who recently began using the name Samantha, was caught in their turbulent relationship. The couple divorced in 2014 and agreed to share custody of their daughter. She primarily resided with her mother. Then they remarried in 2017. But the cycle of separation and reconciliation continued. The couple divorced for the second time in 2020. This time, they arranged an alternating custody schedule, with NLR spending two days with her father, two days with her mother, and so on. They married again for the third time, only to separate and divorce months later. The court instructed the couple not to marry again, though they would share custody of NLR. This time, she mainly lived with her father. By 2022, NLR, then 12, was undergoing therapy to help determine which parent she would live with. The court also ordered the couple to share joint custody again. Jeff Rupnow often posted on social media about his daughter's accomplishments, including her achievements in karate. One of her friends told police that NLR had referred to her father as a "drinker" and that he frequently verbally abused his daughter. NLR lived in the Madison metropolitan area for the entirety of her life.

MENTAL HEALTH OF NLR

Interview with JR: According to JR, NLR would sometimes make suicidal statements and had to lock up every knife in the house ''during the cutting phase''. JR would never take the suicidal statements seriously and said ''she's just looking for attention when she talks like that''. JR described finding a small item in the room of NLR that she used to cut herself with. According to JR, NLR had a therapist who recommended drawing with a marker instead of cutting herself, She would draw ''anything and everything'' according to JR. JR stated, the therapist never had a ''serious'' concern about NLR. According to JR, NLR never made any ''serious'' comments about hurting somebody, even though one of the texts he send out to someone named ''annie'' said ''yeah, my kid would shoot me if I left the fun safe open now''. In chain text messages between JR and NLR, NLR stated multiple times that she didn't want to go to school on certain days. She messaged many times about wanting to get out of school, JR about punishing NLR with screen time. According to JR, NLR would spend most of her time in her room. NLR has not been diagnosed with a mental health condition nor used any medication. NLR had a profile on Watch People Die, which is a site that features gore.

NLR went to therapy at psychotherapy center at Waunakee and had a total of 46 sessions between 10/21/2021 - 6/14/2024

EQUIPMENT USED IN THE SHOOTING

NLR was equipped with 2 handguns (9mm Glock 19 and .22 caliber Sig Sauer P322) during the shooting, but only used one of them. Five 9mm magazines, three .22-caliber magazines, and a box containing 50 rounds of 9mm ammunition. She wore a black T-shirt inscribed with a bullseye. She got access to these guns by either knowing his social security number (JR told NLR that the code was his social security number but backwards, in case of emergancy) Or by watching his father put in the code.

THE (DAY OF THE) SHOOTING

JR stated he got notified by apple track on his Phone that NLR still hasn't left the house and she was late for school. JR facedtimed NLR and she eventually went to school by uber.

10:39:37 was the time she entered the school through door #1 (Probably the main entry), she first went to the student services office, then she goes towards the break room on the first floor and after that the second floor and snapped a picture of her doing the ''okay'' sign which is used by various white supremacist mass shooters. She would upload a document in google drive to X (Twitter), however it was locked with a password so no one could access it. She sended her manifesto and last words to her eboyfriend, after that she exists the break room and went to Room C218 with a gun and shot various students and a teacher. She shot 8 people in total before turning the gun on herself. NLR killed 3 people including herself and wounded 6 others.

R.I.P to all the victims, including Samantha Rupnow

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 3: The Ones Who Died Without A Name]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from:��“Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Holiday” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

The Tahoe runs out of gas just west of Ashland, Ohio, coasting to a stop along the shoulder of State Route 96, sapphire skies and cotton ball cumulus clouds, emerald fields of Swiss chard and beets slowly being nibbled bare by deer and rabbits, the inheritors of an abandoned earth.

“Well, that’s it,” Baela says, offhand, blasé, as if it’s not a disaster. You’ve sorted this out, it didn’t take long: there are people who aren’t allowed to panic. If they do, it’ll be like a dam crumbling, and the flood will burst through to drown everything, like when Noah’s wrathful God decided it was time for the world to start over. Baela can’t panic. Aemond can’t panic. And maybe you can’t either. Rio gives you a skeptical look—Are we really about to walk to Oregon?—and you slap his thigh encouragingly as you climb over him and out of the Tahoe.

“Everyone gets a gun,” Aemond says as he starts distributing them: Rugers for Rhaena, Baela, and Helaena (although she winces as she obediently takes the revolver, immediately tucking it away into her burlap messenger bag), .22s for Daeron and Aegon, Remington 12 gauges for Jace and Rio, who gives you his M9. You’re better with it anyway. Aemond’s Glock 20 is in a handmade leather holster he took from the cellar of the house back in Distant, Pennsylvania. Luke, still a potential zombie, will not be armed; but Aemond slings the strap of a .22 over his own shoulder for in case Luke recovers.

“Safeties on, right kids?” Rio goes down the line checking everyone’s gun. “Remember what we practiced, use your sights, don’t go pointing the barrel at anyone unless you’re okay with blowing a hole in them. The noise is risky, but getting bit is worse, so use your best judgment.”

“I don’t have any of that,” Aegon says, grinning.

Rio grabs Aegon’s sunburned face roughly and smacks a kiss onto his cheek. “I know, Honey Bun. Don’t you worry. Stick close and I’ll do your thinking for you.”

You spy it up the road a ways on the right, half-obscured by tree limbs: a white and orange sign, a logo shaped like a diamond. “Oh my God. It’s a Stewart’s.”

“A what?” Aemond asks, squinting at the sign. It’s late afternoon, and soon the sun will be sinking into the west like a drowning man through deep water, and like all prey animals you are restless without the promise of shelter.

“A Stewart’s Root Beer. They used to sell hot dogs and barbeque and all these neat soda flavors like key lime and black cherry. We had one where I grew up. That was the fancy place. You knew it was a good day if you ended up at Stewart’s for dinner.”

Aemond considers you, that subtle ceaseless curiosity. “We can stay the night there.”

“I thought we didn’t want to waste any daylight, Aemond,” Jace jabs as he helps Luke—miserable but presently human—out of the Tahoe. “That’s what you said when I wanted to check out that Barnes & Noble, Aemond.”

“What the hell do you need books for?” Aegon says. He’s grabbing clear CD cases out of the center console of the Tahoe. He pounds on the eject button and then punches the CD player when he realizes he won’t be getting that particular disk back. “Oh, you bitch! I had Shakira on there!”

“I would like to preserve my ability to read at higher than a fifth-grade level. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I was going to work for Sullivan & Cromwell, you know.”

“And now you’re a jobless loser just like me. Isn’t life funny?”

“You can’t be serious,” Baela says to Aegon, his arms full of CD cases. “You’re going to carry all those to California? You don’t even have a way to listen to them.”

“I’m not leaving my mixtapes.” Aegon shoves them into a U.S. Army backpack he found at Fort Indiantown Gap and then hoists it onto his back with a grunt.

Aemond tells Jace: “We only have a few hours until the sun starts going down. We don’t know what’s up ahead. We should take advantage of a safe place to sleep if it’s available. Getting caught out in the open after dark is the worst case scenario.”

“Whatever, Aemond. It’s your call. Everything is your fucking call.” Then Jace plods out into a field of rabbit-ravaged Swiss chard to relieve himself semi-privately, his back to the Tahoe.

“Hey, Chips Ahoy,” Aegon says, taking the folded-up map out of the pocket of his shorts, mint green plaid. “Want to tell me if there are any nuclear power plants near our route so we can steer clear of them and not get irradiated?”

“Uh, well, I don’t exactly have them all memorized…” You examine the map, hoping the black-ink cities will jog your memory, trivia you catalogued years ago, snippets you’ve heard from your fellow seamen. “Perry’s in Cleveland. We won’t be anywhere near that one. Fermi is up by Detroit.” You hesitate as your fingertips skate past Chicago. “Braidwood, LaSalle, and Byron are someplace between Chicago and Peoria, but I’m not sure where. And then there are a few others around the border of Illinois and Iowa. West of that, I don’t know. Rio?”

“Cooper’s in Nebraska, dead east of Lincoln. That’s all I got.”

Aegon is nodding, making notes on his map with a glittery forest green gel pen. “Cool, cool. If I don’t end up eaten or a zombie, I can look forward to being a sterile, glow-in-the-dark mutant.”

Luke frets: “What if we accidentally drink contaminated water or something?”

“Then you die an agonizing death, kiddo,” Rio says. “Your cells dissolve and you turn into human Jello and there’s nothing anybody can do about it.”

Luke swallows noisily. “Awesome.”

“You might just get cancer if the dose is small enough,” you tell him. Luke does not seem pacified. Rhaena gives him a sip of warm Coca-Cola from a plastic bottle from the Wawa.

Jace comes trudging back to the road, zipping up his khaki chino shorts. “Alright, are we ready?”

Helaena is gazing solemnly out over the fields of green leaves, red roots that grow like arteries into the soil. “We should try to find antivenom.”

“Antivenom?” Aemond asks, distracted as he makes sure nothing of importance was left in the Tahoe. The keys are still dangling from the ignition; you won’t need them. There’s no breathing the Tahoe back to life. There’s no returning to Aemond’s house back in Boston. There is only the West, beckoning you to cross rivers and plains and mountains to join her, and to do it as people did two hundred years ago, no cars, no phones, no escape hatches. The only way out is through.

“For the snakes,” Helaena says.

Aemond stares at her. The stitches in his face are dissolving as the flesh weaves back together, jagged maroon scar tissue, beautiful savage ruins, landscapes of improbable survival. “Helaena, antivenom has to be refrigerated. Even if we miraculously found some, it wouldn’t be useable.”

She nods, eyes wide and glazed, still peering into the fields, into the earth.

~~~~~~~~~~

A hand brushing the loose strands of hair out of your face, a whisper through the dissipating indigo of sleep: “Guess what today is.”

You startle awake and yelp as you bolt from your assailant. Aegon is watching you without any shame whatsoever. People are laughing as they gather up supplies so you all can get moving again, brushing teeth, arranging hair, drinking glass bottles of Stewart’s soda found last night in crates in the storeroom, snacking on bags of Utz chips. Sunlight is streaming in through the windows; specks of dust glimmer in the air like comets through the inhospitable void of outer space.

Luke says from where he is sitting on the floor, his arms and legs tethered: “Hopefully the day when somebody’s going to untie me.”

“It’s my birthday!” Aegon announces.

You’re still blinking at him, disoriented. “What…?”

“Aegon, I told you,” Aemond says, sipping a bottle of Stewart’s key lime soda. “It’s not your birthday. It’s not the 23rd.”

“It’s the 20th, right?” Rhaena says.

Rio looks to you, bewildered. “Isn’t it like the 25th?”

“We’re still in June?” Luke says. Now Aemond is hacking through his ropes with a hunting knife from the cellar in Distant, Pennsylvania.

“Your hand is healing up. Your color is good, your temperature is normal. I guess we can officially declare you human for the foreseeable future.”

“I knew it,” Jace says, combative so no one will see the desperate relief underneath.

Aemond examines your hands next, calloused over where the heat of the transmission tower burned the skin. There is no pretext for needing to tend to them any longer, no antiseptic or ointment or gauze. Aemond nods somberly at your palms, as if he isn’t entirely happy to pronounce them cured. His hands linger on yours for slow, unnecessary seconds.

“So what are we going to do special for my birthday?” Aegon presses eagerly.

“We’re going to walk between ten and twenty miles towards California,” Baela says.

“That’s not a birthday activity!”

Daeron groans as he inspects the screws and bolts of his compound bow. “Aegon, it’s not your birthday!”

“Shut up. You can’t even apply to get a credit card.”

“No one can get a credit card now! Currency is worthless!”

Rio offers you a cherries and cream soda. You take it and say: “Aegon, how old are you? On today, your alleged birthday?”

He hesitates. “That’s not the important part.”

Aemond smiles as he tells you, mock-whispering: “He’s thirty.”

“Thirty?!” Rio exclaims. “That’s like, an actual adult age. Marriage and a mortgage, shit like that. What were you doing before everything went insane?”

Aegon gestures vaguely. “I was considering a number of opportunities.”

“He was living on my couch,” Aemond says.

Rio shakes his head, grinning. “No job? No school? No nothing?”

“I wasn’t doing nothing. I played a lot of golf.”

“He was totally doing nothing,” Jace says. “I was in my third year of law school at Harvard, Baela was getting a master’s in Aeronautics and Astronautics at MIT, Rhaena just started an Anthropology PhD, Luke was getting a master’s in Screenwriting at Boston University—he was going to be very sad and very broke, but still, he had a plan—and Aegon was doing…nothing.”

“I’ve never had a real birthday party before,” Aegon tells you; and there is something in his murky blue eyes that is tremendously sad, wounded, childlike. “I might not get another chance.”

“What do you want to do?” Now people are alarmed, skittish glances and mouths open to object. You are encouraging him.

“I don’t know yet,” Aegon says. But he’s glad you bothered to ask. You can see it on his face.

It’s not until several hours later—after noon, the sun high and blazing, everyone’s unpracticed feet aching and blistering in their shoes—that Aegon experiences a revelation like the angel Gabriel appearing to the Virgin Mary or Sir Isaac Newton extrapolating gravity from an apple falling on his head. Aegon’s epiphany appears in the form of a bowling alley in Shenandoah, Ohio called Luxury Lanes. It is remarkably unluxurious, a nondescript black rectangular building with a few doors in the front, one small tinted window on each, and no other openings. To Aegon, it is an oasis in a desert.

“I want to go bowling!”

“Aegon, we’re not going bowling,” Baela says, breathing heavily but trying to hide it, her hands massaging the small of her back. Aemond is watching her worriedly. Baela is the only person not burdened with carrying any supplies beyond her hammer and shiny new Ruger—and she resisted this accommodation at first—but still, she suffers more than anyone.

“Once again, it is my birthday—”

“Aren’t bowling allies soundproofed?” Rio asks Aemond. “You know, so they don’t get noise complaints?”

“Uh, I guess so…?”

“It’s kind of a fortress, isn’t it?” Rio continues. “Not many ways in or out. We wouldn’t be seen or heard. Might be a good place to stop for the night. ”

“Yeah!” Aegon says. “Right, Aemond?”

Aemond looks at you. It takes you a moment to figure out why. “I think the bowling alley is a good idea,” you tell him. “It’ll be safe, assuming we can clear it. And Aegon can have his party.”

Aemond is skeptical. “A party?”

“Survival isn’t just about not dying. It’s also about holding onto the things that make us human.”

“Like bowling!” Rhaena says excitedly. “It’s preserving a tradition! And I used to be so good at bowling. I bowled a 250 game once.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Aegon says, still delighted to have her on his side.

“There’s a sign for a Walmart maybe half a mile up the road,” Daeron points out. “We could search it for supplies and then double back here.”

Aemond polls the audience. Everyone agrees.

Shenandoah is tiny, rural, religious, and out of the way from the major highways. The Walmart doors are chained shut with padlocks, and amazingly no one has taken that as an invitation to drive their car through them or otherwise shatter the glass yet. Rio is honored to be the first. He takes the butt of his Remington shotgun and punches through the glass of the locked doors, kicks away loose shards, whistles and shouts to lure out any zombies. A dozen of them come reeling out of the aisles and towards the doorway. Daeron shoots down most of them with his compound bow. Rio kills two with the butt of his Remington, his new favorite toy. Aegon, the birthday boy, uses his golf club to beat in the skull of a teenager who is still wearing glittery pink nail polish and fake eyelashes. According to her nametag, her friends and family once called her Raelynn.

Inside the Walmart, Jace and Aemond take one side of the store, you and Rio the other, doing a quick sweep to make sure you didn’t miss any undead employees or customers waiting for the chance to sink their teeth into you. And when that’s done, you begin shopping.

The shelves are probably two-thirds empty, but there are still treasures to be found. You push carts through the aisles and fill them with candles, lighters, Chef Boyardee, Doritos, canned soup, fruit snacks, tuna pouches, 5 gum, bottles of Snapple, socks and underwear, hair ties, t-shirts and shorts, Kleenex tissues, pads and tampons, toilet paper. Baela finds some cute maternity dresses. Helaena picks through the pharmacy for useful medications, Aemond shadowing her with a baseball bat in his hands and his Glock at his waist.

“Chips, they got Cheddar Whales!” Rio exclaims, tossing several boxes into your cart.

“I miss grocery stores,” Rhaena says as she climbs the shelves to get the last box of Teddy Grahams.

“I miss going to the mall and getting Auntie Anne’s pretzel nuggets,” Aegon commiserates. Then he stumbles upon the liquor aisle and his eyes light up like high beams. “Aemond!”

Aemond appears—perhaps a bit flustered—and deliberates for a while as he browses the selection, Aegon waiting anxiously, before he decides: “Since it is allegedly your birthday, you can drink tonight. And you can pick one other person to drink with you. But only one.”

“Rio,” Aegon says immediately.

“Come on!” Daeron whines.

Aegon is already putting bottles of Captain Morgan rum into a cart. “Sorry. Illegal. Underage.”

“I’ve helped you butcher countless zombies, but I can’t drink?!”

“Just Say No, as Nancy Reagan would tell an innocent child such as yourself.”

Jace strides over, sly and playful, gnawing on a Twizzler. “Aemond, were you over there rummaging through the medicine aisles again? What do you keep looking for? Condoms?”

There is an awkward silence, an extremely awkward silence. Aemond glares at Jace. Jace’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, I, uh…I was definitely joking. But…congrats on the possible future sex!”

“I already checked,” Luke tells Aemond apologetically. “You know condoms were the first thing to get bought up or looted everywhere.”

“Okay, great,” Aemond says quickly, willing the conversation to be over. There is blood, hot and mortified, flaring in his cheeks. He was thinking of you, he had to be; the only other single woman here is his sister, and obviously that’s not an option.

Jace takes another bite of his Twizzler. “Just pull out, man.”

Baela, incredulous, gestures to her belly. “Because that worked out super well for us.”

“I told you to stop riding me!”

“Yeah, a whole two seconds before you impregnated me with your super-swimmer Michael Phelps sperm.”

“Please don’t make me listen to this,” Luke begs. “I’m starting to wish I really was bitten.”

“Don’t you know all the tricks to not getting someone pregnant, Aemond?” Jace says. “Wasn’t that going to be your specialty? You wanted to be a vagina doctor? So don’t you know all the mysteries of the vagina, Aemond?”

“He was going to be an OB/GYN,” Baela says, unamused.

“Really?” Rio turns to Aemond. “Why would you want to do that?”

“So he gets to look at pussies all day,” Aegon says morosely, as if heartbroken that such a path is inaccessible to him.

“That’s not why,” Aemond insists, mostly to you.

You smile. “I didn’t think so. What’s the actual reason?”

“Interns do rotations in different departments so we can figure out what we enjoy and what we’re best suited for. I knew within two days of my OB/GYN rotation that that’s where I wanted to be. Giving birth is the only life-threatening trauma that is necessary for humanity to continue. I wanted to help people get through it as safely and painlessly as possible.” Then his gaze darts to Baela. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound worse—”

“No, it’s okay, I’m very much aware. It hurts like hell, people die. Believe me, I’d be thinking about that even if you hadn’t said it. I think about it all the time.”

“I have an idea you’re not going to like.”

“What?” Baela says. Aemond nods to the nearest shopping cart. “No way. You’re not going to push me around in one of those.”

“I believe it’s an adequate solution until an alternative appears.”

She sighs. “I’ve lost my body, my career, my society, my parents…must I lose my dignity too?”

Aemond winks. “Only when you’re too tired to walk.”

“Alright, Aemond. I realize you’re under the impression that this is a favor. So thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Let me give you a favor in return.” Then Baela begins shooing everyone except you and Aemond out of the liquor aisle. “Grab anything else you want, we’re leaving in five minutes! Jace, come look at the baby clothes with me…”

When the two of you are alone, Aemond says: “I really hope that didn’t make you feel too weird. I’m not someone who gets uncomfortable about the…um…the subject matter in general. But I wouldn’t want you to think that I was trying to…I don’t know. Assume anything or pressure you into something that you weren’t already open to. Obviously I like…um…I mean, enthusiastic consent is essential, and I just…I would never try to convince anybody or…you know what, I’m just going to stop talking now. Okay?”

“Aemond, I’m fine. I didn’t think it was weird.”

“It’s a compliment,” he confesses, flushing pink again, touching his chin, perspiration gleaming at his temples.

Now you have to show interest so he knows you’re on the same page. You’ve never had to think this way before, you’ve never liked anyone enough to play the game. “So hypothetically, if someone didn’t want to get pregnant but there were no condoms, pills, etcetera…what are the options?”

He looks at you, pleasantly surprised. “Well, there’s the rhythm method. It’s not perfect, but it’s been around forever and is reasonably reliable if done correctly.”

You are only vaguely familiar. “We didn’t get a lot of sex ed down in Kentucky.”

Aemond chuckles then leans in, a mischievous curl of his lips, a craving in the crystalline river blue of his eye. He grips the shelf above your head, his arm a canopy. His voice is hushed. The front windows of the Walmart face west where the sun is setting; golden light floods in to illuminate the store. “Is your cycle regular?”

“It is, actually.” This should be embarrassing, but it’s not; it’s exhilarating. You’re imagining him seeing you, touching you, unearthing secrets you’ve never been tempted to share with anyone else.

“So if we imagine it like a circle…” He draws one on the back of your hand, invisible, mesmerizing, blue-white lightning crackling up the path of your metacarpals, wrist, ulna and radius, humerus and clavicle, descending ribs like the rungs of a ladder to jolt the sinus rhythm of your heart. “The start of your period would be Day One.”

“Okay,” you say, hypnotized as his fingerprint skates in an arc across the bumps of your knuckles.

“Ovulation doesn’t happen until around Day Fourteen. You might have noticed some increased arousal and…wetness. Clear in color, elastic consistency.”

Your eyes are trapped in his face, smooth skin, jagged scar tissue. You tease him back, stepping closer. You can hear people snickering in the next aisle as they eavesdrop. You don’t care about them, and neither does Aemond anymore. “Now that you mention it…”

“That’s nature trying to trick you into reproducing. Day Fourteen is crunch time. Once ovulation occurs, the egg is only good for up to twenty-four hours. And then the rest of the cycle you’re effectively useless, as far as making miniature humans is concerned.”

“Wait, you’re telling me people can only get pregnant one day a month?” This seems improbable. “How has the species managed to survive this long?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Aemond admits. “Depending on the health of the specimens, sperm can survive up to five days inside a woman’s body. And it’s difficult to tell exactly when ovulation occurs. So, in practice, there’s basically one week a month when you’d want to avoid a man…completing the act, if you will.” He’s still smiling, taunting, famished, imagining the same scenes you are. You know this with a categorical certainty, as if you’re reading his thoughts like stark stripes of distance on a measuring tape. “And that’s also the week when your hormones are demanding you have sex, inspiring you to make all sorts of impulsive yet extremely consequential decisions.”

“Don’t I know it,” Baela laments from the next aisle, and there is a rupture of wild giggles.

“Anyway.” Aemond lifts his finger from the back of your hand and you have to stop yourself from reaching for him as he recedes from you. “There’s a basic overview.”

“It was very educational.” You follow him out of the liquor aisle.

“I’ve used the rhythm method for years,” Rhaena says as everyone makes their way towards the front of the store with their carts. “Clearly that’s just anecdotal, so don’t think I’m officially endorsing it. When I’m in my fertile week we add condoms. Well…we used to. Back when we could get them.”

“Ugh, I hate condoms,” Baela grumbles.

“We can tell,” Aegon says.

“I hate the way they feel, I hate the way they smell…”

“They’ve never bothered me,” Rhaena says. “I don’t notice that much of a difference. And it can be fun to try different kinds.”

“Are you on drugs?” Baela whirls to you. “Seriously, what is wrong with her? I’m right, aren’t I? Condoms are awful.”

Rio gives you a cautious look, uncharacteristically reticent. He’s not going to be the one to reveal it. He doesn’t know if it’s something you’re willing to share. But if anything is going to happen with Aemond—and you want it to, already you know you want him—then it’s something you think you should be honest about. You want him to know about you. You don’t want to have to create some false version of yourself to wear like a pelt, heavy, smothering, something that will inevitably need to be taken off.

“I am regretfully not qualified to say.”

“You’ve never used condoms?” Baela asks, a bit dubious.

“I’ve never done any of it.”

Everyone freezes at the defunct checkout counters and turns to gawk at you. “No sex?” Jace says. “No nothing?”

You shrug, smiling a little self-consciously. “I made out with a guy once.”

“The Marine from Corpus Christi?” Baela asks. They’re obsessed with him, they’re convinced there’s some lore to be excavated, translated, displayed like a relic in a museum. There isn’t. Sometimes people pass in and out of your life as seamlessly as shadows or sunlight, no weight, no indentations, nothing to recall or relay. He existed and then he didn’t. He was an airplane drawing contrails in the sky that faded before the blood red fire of dusk filled the horizon.

“No. Someone from home. Just a guy, not even worth mentioning.”

“Girl, you gotta fix that, soon, pronto, like yesterday.” Jace seems genuinely horrified. “You can’t die a virgin.”

“You really can’t,” Daeron adds, and Aegon pretends to be distraught over the loss of his youngest brother’s virtue.

“That’s what I’m always telling her!” Rio says.

“Not everybody wants to have sex,” Helaena murmurs as she records today’s findings in her spider notebook.

“True,” Jace concedes. “And that is totally legit. Mother Teresa, Queen Elizabeth, Jesus Christ, Buddha, Joan of Arc, Sir Isaac Newton, Nikola Tesla, the Jonas Brothers for a while, all great people. But Chips is not celibate by choice, correct?”

“Buddha had a wife and son,” Aemond says, preoccupied. He isn’t looking at you now, which is concerning; he’s peering down at where his hands grip his shopping cart, his brow creased with…what is that? Unease, disapproval, concern, thoughtfulness, fear?

“It’s not some big thing,” you backpedal. “I don’t have a hangup about it, I just never met a guy I liked enough, and enlisted men, they’re…well, a lot of them are taken, or cheaters, or idiots. Or all three.”

“Not to worry, Chipper.” Aegon claps a hand on your shoulder; and you aren’t sure if it is his purpose to break the tension, but he seems to have that effect regardless. “If you ever wish to be initiated into the art of lovemaking by a slightly below average and entirely unintimidating penis, I’d be thrilled to assist you. I love condoms. But in their absence, I am the king of pulling out. 100% success rate. Zero bastard children running around to my knowledge.”

“You should give Jace lessons,” Baela says.

And the last thing Aegon takes from the Walmart is a green battery-powered Toshiba CD player so he can blast to his mixtapes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Flickering candles lining the middle lane, drinks and snacks strewn across the tables, Rio’s Moonbeam propped up so it’s aimed at the disco ball still hanging from the ceiling from a time before the dead started devouring the living. Daeron is at the end of the lanes to reset the pins after each player’s turn. Helaena is keeping score in her notebook; Rhaena is currently in the lead by a massive 80 points. Aegon is wasted, dancing on a table and crunching Cool Ranch Doritos beneath his bare feet, his blonde hair flopping. Each time it’s his turn to bowl, Aegon has to roll the ball down the lane with two hands like a child. Rio, several shots deep but unable to feel much shy of half a bottle, is singing along with him to Cruise by Florida Georgia Line, but it’s really more like shouting, each sentence an off-key monstrosity that makes you laugh.

“Baby, you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise!

Down a back road, blowin’ stop signs through the middle, every little farm town with you!

And this brand new Chevy with a lift kit, would look a hell of a lot better with you up in it!

So baby, you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise!”

You cleared Luxury Lanes easily; the only difficult part was figuring out how to get into the area called the pit where, in normal times, felled pins were mechanically collected and sorted. There were two former employees roaming around back there in their tattered uniforms, snarling and drooling blood. Both were rapidly neutralized.

Someone always has to be by the front doors, watching through the small tinted windows for signs of trouble, whether from zombies or living humans. Aemond is currently on guard, nursing a Snapple. According to the bottle, the flavor is called Takes 2 To Mango. You grab your own Snapple—plain and simple Lemon Tea, no charming gimmicks—and walk over to join him.

“So now I guess it’s my turn to say I hope that conversation didn’t make you feel weird.”

He smiles politely, glancing out the window. “No, I’m completely fine.”

“Good. Because I don’t want you to look at me differently than you would any other girl, like I’m better than them, or worse than them, or like there’s anything wrong with me, because it really isn’t something I consider to be paramount to my identity, and people always seem to get all twisted up about it, but it’s a pretty boring story, I just…”

“You’ve never liked someone enough to take the risk. I get it. I don’t think you’re a freak or anything.”

“Okay. Good.” The next song on Aegon’s mixtape is Shaboozey’s A Bar Song. Jace is dancing with Baela, spinning her around as she giggles. With Rhaena’s coaching, Luke bowls his first strike. You rest your head on the door as you gaze up at Aemond, the phantom of a smile on your lips. “I might like you enough.”

And he says as if it’s the worst thing in the world, a plague, an infection, an apocalypse: “You’d fall in love with me.”

It hurts, of course it does, this flippant rejection. He burns you, he cuts you, he stitches you up with no anesthetic. You try not to show it. “You’re…confident.”

“No, I don’t mean because of anything specific I would do, it’s just…it’s natural to form a certain…attachment. To the first person you’re with. It leaves an impression.” Not an impression like a first judgment, superficial and swift; an impression like an imprint, a hollow, a prehistoric fossil that is preserved through eons. “That was already true before. And everything is more intense now, because life is so…” Aemond takes a while to settle on a word. “Precarious.”

You say like a challenge: “Are you still in love with the first girl you slept with?”

A shadow that ripples through his face, a flinching he tries to hide. You shouldn’t have asked. Still, you feel like you need to know, like you’ll run out of oxygen if you don’t. “I think I’ve gotten enough distance from it to realize that she wasn’t…wasn’t good for me in a lot of ways. It was an unconventional situation. But I still carry all these pieces of her around with me, yes. I don’t think that will ever go away.”

“Aemond,” you say gently. “Who was she?”

He is evasive, smirking. “It’s a cliché.”

“Was she a patient? That’s very Grey’s Anatomy of you.”

“No. She was my professor.”

An older woman, wise and experienced and captivating and sophisticated. He’s cut you again, a blade slicing effortlessly through veins like soft butter. “Oh. From med school?”

“Undergrad.”

“You were really young,” you say, a little startled.

He nods. “I was eighteen when it started. I was this shy, insecure, friendless freshman, she was married with two kids around my age. And it was off and on, but there was never anyone else for me, she took up too much space in my head, in my chest, like I couldn’t breathe unless I knew we were okay.”

“It went on for seven years?”

This seems to stun him, hearing how much of his existence she bottled like a terrarium. “I guess so.”

Is she dead? Missing? Safe somewhere with her husband and kids? “Is she…gone?”

His gaze drops to the floor. “Yeah.”

“Did you see it happen?”

“I was the one who killed her when she turned.”

It’s indescribably horrible; you don’t know what to say. “Aemond, I’m…I’m really sorry…”

He is abruptly nonchalant, the blue of his eye cool and dispassionate. “Look, I’m not prepared for this to be anything more than casual. And I don’t think casual is really in the cards for us. So it’s probably best to leave it alone.”

“Right,” you agree numbly, not meaning it.

“We’re headed different places, I’m going to California, you’re planning to end up in Oregon, it’s just…a bad idea to muddy the waters, I think.”

“Because I haven’t done this before.”

He shrugs ambiguously. “It’s a contributing factor.”

“Well you seemed pretty interested before you found that out, so.”

“I don’t mean to offend you.”

“You aren’t offending me. You’re disappointing me.”

Now Aemond is offended. “By trying to protect us?”

“No, by saying you don’t think I’m a freak when you clearly do, and by having some savior complex, or a whore-Madonna complex, or whatever’s going on in your head, it’s always such a mystery to everyone else.”

He downs the rest of his Snapple and shoves the bottle into the nearest trash can. You hear it thump against the bottom, no garbage bag. “Alright. This was fun.”

“Maybe you’re afraid of making a mistake, just like I always was.”

“Maybe I don’t want to have to teach you how to do everything,” Aemond snaps.

“I taught you how to shoot.”

“The fact that you don’t realize how wildly different those two situations are proves you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, bye. Sorry about your zombie girlfriend.”

Aemond glares at you, shocked, furious. “That was so fucking low.”

It was. You regret it. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him that. You flee to the far end of the bowling alley and sit alone at a table draped in shadows. After a while, Rio notices and ventures over to see what’s wrong, a bottle of Captain Morgan swinging from one hand. He’s tipsy now.

Rio sighs as he takes a seat beside you, reaching over to rub your back. His hands are large and indelicate; what he means to be comforting is more like getting manhandled. Sometimes he leaves bruises, but it’s not his fault. Nature gave Rio the body of a killer. If anyone is going to survive the zombie apocalypse, it’s him. “What’s going on, Chips?”

Your voice breaks as you say it; tears sting in your eyes. “I hate caring about people.”

He bursts out laughing. “Yeah, it’s the worst, isn’t it? But once in a while it works out.”

“Bryan.”

And now he knows you’re serious. You have his full attention, large dark eyes fixed on your face, lines etching into his brow beneath the artificial starlight of the disco ball. “What are you asking me?”

“We can’t leave them and walk to the West Coast ourselves, can we?”

“I mean, technically we could, but it would be really stupid. Everything’s so much easier with ten people. And also I think I’d have to kidnap Aegon and take him with us, I love that little dude. Why? Do you really want to leave them?”

“No.”

“I figured.” He offers you the half-empty bottle of Captain Morgan.

“I’m not drinking that.”

“Come on. It’ll take the edge off.”

You look at him. Rio looks back, smiling now.

“I’ll watch out for you,” he says. “And if you get bit I’ll shoot you dead, no hesitation, swear to God. I remember our promise. I won’t let you die alone.”

“You’re a good guy.”

“I know.” He nudges your arm with the bottle of Captain Morgan. “A few swigs won’t hurt. It’ll help you sleep.”

You take the bottle, twist off the cap, drink down amber-gold poison that burns like gasoline, like fire.

[liver-f4ilure]

The Charleston Church Shooting: Dylann Roof

*NOTE! This is a repost! And it will look familiar CAUSE IVE POSTED IT ON ANOTHER ACCOUNT!! Is it the best? No.*

—

Early life/ Prior convictions

Dylann was born April 3rd 1994 to mother Amelia and father Franklin with 2 sisters Amber and Morgan. During early childhood his parents would divorce and his father would later remarry. His stepmother accused his father of abuse. He would beg his step mother to let him live with her but she wasn’t able to. Dylann would be described to have obsessive compulsive tendencies with germs. In middle school he would stop caring about school and started smoking weed and drinking vodka. In nine years he would have attended seven schools. In 2010 he would drop out of Highschool and continue playing video games and smoking weed and drinking.

(The Roofs home)

In 2015 he was caught with an invalid prescription for suboxone at a mall to which he was banned from for a year. Later that year he was caught loitering in the mall to which they searched his car finding a forearm grip for a AR-15 semiautomatic rifle and six unloaded magazines capable of holding 40 rounds each but was let off it was legal in the state. Roofs Suboxone charge was mishandled and a system error took it as a misdemeanour instead of a felony. Which would have possibly prohibited him from purchasing the firearm.

(The flag of Rhodesia)

Later Dylann would look into the Trayvon Martin case and from an unknown article concluded Zimmerman was in the right. He then fell down a rabbit hole of black on white crime and misinformation. He then found 4chan and would find even more misinformation and hard right ideologies Dylann states he hasn’t been the same since that day. Which leads to his manifesto titled ‘The last Rhodesian’ Rhodesia being the African state founded in 1965 ran by primary Europeans and a white supremacy ideology before being abolished in 1979. The term now sticks with white supremac!sts like Dylann had became, as he also used the flag on his jacket. In preparation before the attack he looked up black churches and found the Emanuel Methodist Episcopal Church and would scout the area and ask around about mass times.

The shooting

(The Emanuel Methodist Episcopal Church)

June 15th 2015 somewhere around 8:00pm Dylann entered the church, once he did he was greeted by Rev.Pinckney and given a bible to study with. Roof was sat next to Pinckney as the study continued. As the study closed and the ending pray started Roof stood up and pulled out his Glock 41 .45 calibre handgun and began shooting. Killing Pinckney first. Then 26 year old Tywanza Sanders stood up to plead with Dylann before he said ‘I have to do it. You rape our women and you’re taking over our country and you have to go’ he then shot and k!lled Sharonda Singleton, Dr. Daniel L. Simmons, Ethel Lee Lance, Cynthia Hurd, Myra Tompson and Tywanza Sanders. Dylann would reload 5 times that day. Polly Shepherd was spared when he asked her if he shot her yet to which she replied no he then told her ‘good cause we need someone to survive because I’m gonna shoot myself and you’ll be the only survivor. He then turned the gun on himself realizing he was out of ammo. He then left the church to the surprise there wasn’t anyone outside. The next day the police confirmed the gunman was 21 year old Dylann Roof with witnesses reporting they saw him drive towards Shelby, a town close to Charleston. At 10:44am Roof was arrested at a traffic stop in Shelby where it was then confirmed he worked alone.

(The victims)

The Trial

Five days after the shooting the grand jury announced that Roof was being indicted for 33 federal charges.

12 counts hate crime against black people

12 counts obstructing the exercise of religion

9 counts murder using a firearm.

On June 6th Roof reportedly did not want to be trialed by jury and instead let the judge decide if he was guilty and if the death penalty was reasonable. August 23rd Roofs lawyers called the motion of death penalty unconstitutional and asked to reject the motion. On September 1st an on camera hearing was held in case of outbursts. December 7th 2016 the trial started. During a survivor statement Roofs mom collapsed as she had a heart attack. After 3 days of the trial FBI played a video on which he admitted to laughing and drinking while describing to friends how he’d shoot the church. To which his friend didn’t report to police and said he was drunk and took his keys and Glock that was on him. After 2 hours the jury found him guilty on all 33 charges. Roof wanting to plead guilty but told not to by lawyers.

(Roof at his video hearing)

January 10th 2017 Roof was sentenced to the death penalty,death by lethal injection.

[lymmielove]

fairy tail headcanons bc why not

Natsu has the neatest handwriting out of the kids the grew up in Fairy Tail (Gray, Erza, Cana, Levy, etc..), Erza has the worst one.

Romeo's last name is actually Rose. His Dad and His Mom divorced, and he chose to have his Mom's last name since she raised him better anyways. So, his full name's Romeo Rose. Wendy told him his name was pretty. He blushed with pink fire coming out of his nose

Speaking of Romeo and Wendy, they're besties. They be gossiping about guild drama behind all they backs. Wendy knows about shit she shouldn't because Romeo was both literally and figuratively born in the guild

Lucy has Aquarius. Yukino has Scorpio. The two wizards are straight pen pals bc of it

Loke and Aries are dating. Ophiuchus was the only Zodiac to know.

Rogue cannot handle alcohol. He drinks mocktails

When the Barbie Movie came out, The kids who grew up in Fairy Tail dressed up in extravagant pink. Gajeel, Lucy, and Juvia went to go see Oppenheimer.

Romeo, Wendy, and Sherria are the friends you wouldnt expect to be friends

During when the gang was gone for seven years, Romeo got all of their clothes from when they were kids. He keeps them in his room. The gang knows, but doesn't comment on it seeing as they practically raised the kid.

Romeo's mom is a member of Quatro Cerberus. She was banished from Magnolia on something she didn't commit. After The GMG, she was allowed back. The Fairy Kid gang calls her "Auntie Enno"

Levy is the most "like that" out of the Fairy Kids. She has a glock and everything. When she was younger she always wanted the smoke.

Freed is the most "like that" out of the Thunder Legion. The Wizard Saints fear him. The Council fears him. Laxus loves him.

Bickslow's babies have deemed Lisanna as they mama. Bickslow doesn't mind.

Lisanna came back to the guild and immediately turned bi. Too many hot ladies and pretty men.

Yukino's first kiss was Minerva when they were like 12. Yukino didn't know it was Minerva until she met her in Sabertooth.

Minerva, Sting, Rogue, Orga, Rufus, and Yukino all had a plan to try and off Jiemma. Sting just snapped enough to get him early.

Yukino actually constantly compares herself to Lucy a lot. Yukino's dream was to get all 13 zodiac keys, but Lucy has them, so she backed off. She came very close to breaking all her contracts even after when she had her convo with Lucy. Her and Ophiuchus had a very heartfelt convo afterwards.

All dragons have a "dragon thing." Wendy can stop storms in their tracks several countries away. Gajeel's a human metal detector and magnet. Sting's a human glowstick. Rogue can bend rooms to his will if they're pitch black. Natsu has the highest spice tolerance in all of Earthland, AND he sheds scales regularly that can be mini-bombs if used correctly.

All dragon slayers (THAT HAD DRAGON PARENTS) are 85% dragon and 15% human. I didn't make the rules. They all have tails and horns and visible scales.

Dragon Slayers have a hoard network where they share treasures (i'll elaborate on this later)

[dollielliot]

♬ ྀ ㅤ🧾 ㅤ⬚͒ Elliot Rodger's purchases leading up to the isla vista shooting ✉͟️͟

Elliot Rodger used a Chase debit card to make most of his purchases. The debit card was linked to a Chase checking account that was only in his name. He received a monthly allowance of $500 per month from Peter. The suspect also received additional monetary deposits into his checking account from other family members.

Elliot Rodger's Chase checking account included the following transactions of interest:

( 12/4/12 ) ⤷　 　$755.57 — Goleta Valley Gun & Supply, a firearms dealer in Goleta, CA'63

( 3/12/13, 3/13/13 ) ⤷　 　$1,179.48 — Gun World, a firearms dealer in Burbank, CA 164 + ⤷　 　$460.00 — Botach Tactical, a tactical equipment dealer in Los Angeles, CA 165

( 3/29/13, 1/17/14, 2/14/14, 2/22/14, 2/22/14 ) ⤷　 　$92.60 — The Target Range, a shooting range in Van Nuys, CA + ⤷　 　$32.51 — Goleta Valley Gun & Supply + ⤷　 　$109.09 — The Target Range + ⤷　 　$1,132.00 — B&G Guns, a firearms dealer in Oxnard, CA 166 + ⤷　 　$121.48 — Shooter's Paradise, a shooting range in Oxnard, CA l67 + SBSO case 14-7595, supplement 0238 + SBSO case 14-7595, supplement 0234

Financial records from ( 8/26/09 to 5/23/14 ) were examined

Purchase of 9mm Glock 34 semi-automatic pistol + Purchase of 9mm Sig Sauer P226R semi-automatic pistol + Purchase of ten Sig Sauer P226 9mm magazines (10 round capacity) + 16 Purchase of 9mm Sig Sauer P226R semi-automatic pistol + 167 Purchase of pistol cleaning kit + Cold Steel Boar Hunter knife

[zeroannn]

CALL OF DUTY OC: Eliza "Badger" Juárez💙

Alright, this hyperfixation is getting a little over my head and I just wanted to share the biography of my beloved OC to you all so you can know her better.

If you would like to know more, you can always interact with this post and ask me. <3

BIOGRAPHY

Name: Eliza Juárez

Callsign: “BADGER”

Nationality: Mexican

Date of Birth: 23 October, 1998

Place of Birth: Medan - Indonesia

Gender: Female

Eye Color: Dark Brown

Hair Color: Brunette (Original), Blue (Colored)

Height: 162 cm (5'3 ft)

Weight: 65 kg (145 pounds)

Build: Lean Muscular

Blood Type: O-

Spoken Language(s):

Spanish (Native)

English (Fluent)

Indonesian (Native)

Russian (Basic)

Arabic (Learning)

Alias: 

“La Tejóna” (by Mexican Special Forces)

“Pain in the ass” (by Ghost)

Relatives:

Alejo Domingo Juárez (Father)

Amira Simanjuntak Juárez (Mother)

Diego Juárez (Brother)

Rank: Sergeant

Status: Alive

ROLE IN THE SPECIAL FORCES : Undercover & Covert Operations Specialties

Undercover Military – Works with foreign governments, guerrilla fighters, and rebel groups to support military objectives.

Cartel Infiltration – Agents pose as criminals to gather intel.

High-Value Target (HVT) Tracking – Surveillance of drug lords and terrorists.

Counterterrorism & Espionage – Covertly preventing organized crime threats.

Covert Raids & Intelligence Gathering – Secret operations to dismantle cartels.

ASSAULT SPECIALIST

Rapid Assault & Raids – Conducts surprise attacks on enemy positions, including hostage rescues.

Urban & Hostage Rescue Operations – Specializes in building entry, room clearing, and anti-terrorism tactics.

PREFERABLE WEAPONARY:

Assault Rifle: AK-12

Sub-Machinegun: P90

Sidearms Opt 1: Glock G19

Sidearms Opt 2: Revolver

Note:

She hides a beloved folding pocket knife inside her right boot. She has carried it since she was a child when she worked as a courier for the cartel. 

Song related to her service: Teen Mortage - S.W.A.S.

“Trust is a bargain with a price.”

- Badger

🎵🎶BADGER's Mixtape #1 🎶🎵

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/23nq4pUMBmHdHsahntyETn?si=v5W7dWO6RA6gi95I6iZoZQ

Face Claim:

At the moment, I don't find any of the celebrities to have the exact similar look to Badger, but there is someone who closely looked like Badger. It's Gracie Abrams, an American singer-songwriter. Although, Gracie has a dominant European features, while Badger is more of a mix of South American and South East Asian features.

EARLY LIFE

Born in Belawan town, Medan, Badger was familiar with the sunny weather and light breeze of the ocean. She lived near the docks, just a few meters away from the shore. She lived with a loving mother and a caring father. They live a great life for a good time, but good things don’t last forever.

Her Father, who was a cartel leader on the run, was found by those who searched for him and was taken back to Mexico when Badger was four years old. By that time, her mother was having another child in her womb, her brother Diego.

Two years after her father disappeared, Badger, her mother and the two-year-old baby brother were also captured by the enemy cartel of the father as a hostage to prove the loyalty of the father to the cartel. Only then her mother knew who the father really was and what he did was not accountable. Afterwards, they were finally freed but still on a tight watch of the cartel.

Forced to live in a new environment was a tough challenge for her family, especially when they had never been to the country nor knew how to speak the language. Badger was only six, and she had to adjust herself to her surroundings. Learning a new language (Spanish) and struggling to communicate with people around her. Hence confined her to only have little interactions with other kids. Most of the time she was quiet, observing other kids while trying to understand them. 

Even after a year being taken to the foreign country, Badger was distant with the others, but one of a curious kind. Leading her to be taken advantage of by the teens. Wrongful teens that was. They began to use her as a courier to deliver illegal packages. Drugs, Marijuana, Narcotics, you name it. But she still got her share, not as much but it was quite a lot for a kid like her. Best of it yet, no one, not even the police, would suspect a thing from an innocent little girl.

After years of becoming a secret courier and getting the paycheck for the packages, her mom began to suspect where all her money came from. When she discovered the truth, her mother was disappointed. Telling her how dangerous the cartel could be. But she denied. Knowing how well the paycheck could help them survive the economy and stay afloat.

THE LIFE OF THE CARTEL

At the age of 13, Badger left her mother and now 9-year-old baby brother to fully join the cartel. Becoming more than just a courier. Making her one of the youngest female members in the group.

A couple years in, she found out about the legendary Juárez who disappeared years ago. Through all the gossip and rumors tweeting around the base, she found out that her father was actually a cartel too. And there was a possibility that her father was still alive. Badger worked herself twice as hard, climbing the ladder to get to the position where she could find information regarding her father.

Years after years Badger continues her search for her father’s whereabouts. In one faithful day, she was sent for another smuggle operation with the cartel. But it had become a terrible moment for her. Badger finally meets with her father in the midst of operation, with a painful truth that her father was in the opposite group of her cartel. An enemy if you have to describe it. Although Badger tried to connect with him, explaining how she is his daughter and how the family had struggled for all these years without a figure of a father, he denied. Pretending that he never knew her and confuting any affiliations with her.

Badger was wrecked, broken beyond repair with the revelation of how her own blood father didn’t know her nor didn’t want to admit her. The operation went south as the two opposing cartels began to open fire. Guns started blazing everywhere. It ended with Badger and her father engaging in a one-on-one standoff.  Both pointing their guns to each other's head. 

She hesitated to pull the trigger. Not wanting to end the life of someone she fought hard to find for years of her life. The father, on the other hand, knew that his cartel members were watching and he didn’t hesitate to shoot her. Leaving a bullet pierced to her skin just above her heart. But thankfully, he missed the vital organ.

Badger survived the bullet, her cartel mates came to rescue her as the father got shot on his right leg, leaving him injured for the rest of his life. She lived. But the pain that was caused by the shotfire, left a deep bruise to her heart, realizing that her own blood father had the gut to shoot his own blood daughter.

ENLISTING TO SPECIAL FORCES

After the faithful day, Badger began to question her own purpose in the cartel. As if the goals and ambitions were lost along with the trust she had for anyone around her. A year after the incident, she was assigned for another smuggling operation. It was no surprise, she was always a courier all her life. But it was another bad luck for her as the operation was ambushed by the Mexican Special Forces and her group was captured by the military.

Given only two options, cooperate or live forever behind bars. And of course, she refused, giving a spit to the officer. But after a couple months rolled, she had enough of her life as a courier for those hazy people she could barely even trust. 

At the age of 19, Badger gave in to the military and was enlisted to the Mexican Special Forces, accepted to a unit under the lead of Colonel Alejandro Vargas, where she would infiltrate, espionage, and become undercover operator for any cartel search and missions.

FIRST YEAR IN THE MILITARY

Badger’s first year in the military was far from easy. She had to face hindrance after hindrance, not to mention the difficulty she had to go through, the judgments in people’s eyes of her criminal background, Making it harder for her to connect with other task force members. Not that she wanted to anyway. And it wasn’t the first time she had to be a lone wolf. It was just the same as how her childhood went. 

And of course, a lot of the team members always looked down on her for being a criminal. So many people had called her names and everything. Leading her to advance aggressive behavior for the team. And not to mention that she always got in a fight. A lot. Especially with those who always tease her for her past and how small she is compared to all her teammates.

She took a handful of beating for some time of her life. Until she dedicated herself to getting stronger and finally able to beat the shit out of those who dare to look down on her. Resulting her getting the callsign “La Tejóna” or “Badger” if translated to English. Aggressive little thing who can take up on something even bigger than her. She worked her way up through her career. Making her yet again, the most feared woman and respected in the task force. No one dared enough to be in her way anymore.

[faxxmodem]

that one post abt how chainshipping could never happen outside the context of the trap is also how i feel about pintshipping. you cannot sell me on a normal meet-cute. these two meet in public because mallick runs into brit's ankle with a shopping cart in line at the kroger and before he can mumble an apology brit's whipping out her glock, her lawyer's business card, and her cruelest insults. mallick makes it out alive but stops at hte liquor store afterwards and drives home listening to sing the sorrow wondering how she knew he wet his bed until he was 12. if he saw her at a bus stop and tried to say hello she would mace him. if she ran a red light and t-boned his car it would somehow still be his fault.

[liver-f4ilure]

2023 Prague Shootings

(NOTE: I’m working on the Academy Maniacs post I promise!)

—

David Kozák was born August 12th 1999 in Hostouň, Czech Republic. Little is known about his early life.

After graduating high school Kozák started studying at the Charles University in Prague, specifically studying the history of Poland. He graduated with a bachelor’s degree and successfully defended his thesis, earning an excellent grade from his professor, František Stellner.

—

According to Czech police chief, Martin Vondrášek, Kozák had a gun license and owned 8 firearms at the time of the shooting. In the Czech Republic in order to obtain a gun license one must get a medical examination, amongst other things. Kozák’s friend, only named ‘Alice’, had become concerned with Kozáks mental state in summer of 2022. Due to this, Kozák underwent 4 psychiatric visits. During which he stated his suicidal tendencies before later stating his murderous thoughts aimed towards his parents and unassuming people. By the Psychiatrists advisory, Kozák visited the Psychologist once in December of 2022. In Czech Republic, psychiatrists must forward their reports to the patients general practitioner, if it is known to them, however Kozák did not disclose it, so no report was issued.

With this lack of knowledge, Kozák was able to obtain a gun license with the only rule being that he must wear glasses.

Police stated that Kozák had been planning the shooting for a while. On his search history was research about mass killers, including the ‘Forest Killer’ a spree killer in Prague who killed 3 people. He had also researched the teaching schedules of classes on the fourth floor and downloaded the schools layout and other surrounding buildings. Lastly, he made note about the possible amount of students in each classroom.

Kozák had told multiple friends about his gun purchases, especially Alice whom he told about undergoing shooting practices and his plans to start exercising saying that he’ll need to lift heavy bags in 2-3 months. Kozák also received a gift of CZK 300,000 (13,000 USD) from his grandmother and withdrew CZK 400,000 (17,000 USD) from his savings account. Both of which he used to purchase ammunition and other related equipment.

—

On December 15th 2023, Kozák was believed to have murdered a 32-year-old man and his 2 month old daughter in the Klánovice forest. He was one of many suspects in the case but it has not been confirmed.

On December 21st 2023 Kozák murdered his father, Stanislav Kozák, at their home in Hostouň, accomplishing his ideas of murdering his parents. Kozák then drove to Faculty of Arts, Charles University. He entered the main building and began shooting at students and teachers, he killed 14 people and wounded 22 others. Kozák also fired at police and bystanders from the fourth floors balcony, like he had planned. The attack lasted 20 minutes before Kozák shot and killed himself on the balcony.

His (used) weapons were 9mm semiautomatic pistol (Klánovice forest) .380 ACP Škorpion semi automatic pistol (Hostouň) 9mm Glock 47 semiautomatic pistol, Sig Sauer semi automatic pistol (classrooms) .308 ZEV AR-10 semiautomatic rifle (balcony) and a 12 gauge Francolin Guardian pump action shotgun (suicide/balcony)

—

In the aftermath, Kozáks home was searched and there police found a letter confessing to the murders in the forest, as well as improvised explosives. In a post- Mortem examination Kozáks personality was found to be “schizoid with narcissistic and antisocial traits and a very solid IQ”. Police determined the motive was simply that he felt misunderstood and that the attack was revenge to society.

—

As of today the shooting has been the deadliest shooting in Czech history.

—

-Vivi

[sethshead]

Investigators singled out one post as the basis for the charges against him in the report. “If everyone just started shooting Jews at there (sic) synagogues all this can stop over night,” Scouras allegedly wrote.

[…]

When police searched his room, they found a Nazi flag, a 9 mm Glock “ghost gun,” six boxes of ammunition, three large-capacity rifles, 11 lower receivers for rifles, scopes, pistol frames, rifle stocks, a jig used for drilling holes into pistol handles, and other firearm parts, Beverly police said. They also found more than $70,000 in cash, which police believe is proceeds of illegal firearm sales.

“But you see, it’s just anti-Zionism, not antisemitism. Jews really need to decenter themselves. All this paranoia about victimization is just the entitlement of their white privilege speaking. Also, Anne Frank was a Karen who deserved what she got because she was complicit in European imperialism.”

[sturnzsblog]

Not worth it 6

Summary: Y/N never planned on falling in love with a gangster — until she met Matt. Mysterious, dangerous, and fiercely loyal, he drags her into a world of crime, secrets, and bloodshed. What starts as passion turns into obsession, violence, and survival.

warnings: Violence & gun use, Murder / blood / graphic scenes, Kidnapping / captivity, Torture / psychological manipulation, Mentions of death, trauma, & PTSD, Toxic relationship dynamics, Jealousy / possessive behavior,Alcohol / drug mentions,Language / explicit content (sexual & violent),Loss / grief, Mental health struggles (depression, anxiety, dissociation),References to past abuse (implied),Emotional manipulation / codependency

The first thing I noticed was the cold.

Matt’s side of the bed — empty. His hoodie? Gone. No scent of him left on the pillow, like he hadn’t slept beside me at all.

The silence was louder than the morning traffic beyond the penthouse windows. No low hum of the espresso machine downstairs. No creaking floorboards. No whispered “you awake, sweetheart?” against my shoulder.

Nothing.

I sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from my eyes, reaching for my phone. 6:27 AM. No texts. No missed calls.

My stomach dropped.

“Matt?” I called softly, climbing out of bed. I peeked into the bathroom — still dark, untouched. I opened the closet. His leather jacket was missing. His Glock. His burner phone.

No note. No message.

Just gone.

⸻

7:53 AM

I made two cups of coffee. One for me, one for him. Hopeful.

The hope died around the third cup.

⸻

10:12 AM

“You seen Matt?” I asked Chris, who was leaning against the island in the kitchen, scrolling through his phone.

He didn’t even look up. “He’ll be back.”

“You said that two hours ago.”

Chris finally glanced up, squinting. “I don’t know, Y/N. He’s probably handling something.”

“Why didn’t he take me with him? Why didn’t he say anything?”

Chris sighed, chewing his gum like it annoyed him. “Sometimes he doesn’t. You know how he is.”

I pressed harder. “Does this have anything to do with last night?”

Nick and Nate walked in just then. Their conversation stopped mid-sentence when they saw me. Saw the worry on my face.

The kind of silence that meant they knew something. Something I didn’t.

I clenched my jaw. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Nick scratched the back of his neck. “Y/N, you know he always comes back.”

“But this time, he didn’t even kiss me goodbye,” I said. My voice cracked.

⸻

Flashback — 6 Months Ago

It was just after a mission. We were sprawled out on the couch, me curled into his chest. His heartbeat was still uneven. I had my fingers laced with his.

“You ever gonna shut me out like that again?” I whispered.

Matt pressed a kiss into my temple. “Never. No matter how bad things get, I’ll never shut you out.”

I believed him.

⸻

Present — 9:41 PM

I was curled up on the couch, wearing his hoodie, holding my phone like it might ring if I gripped it hard enough.

The sun was gone. The city was glowing.

And still, Matt was nowhere.

Chris came into the room, paused when he saw me.

“You want me to make you something?” he asked, voice gentler now.

I shook my head. My throat was tight. “No. I’m fine.”

But I wasn’t. I was scared.

⸻

10:03 PM

The lock clicked.

I jumped to my feet.

The door creaked open — and there he was.

Matt.

Covered in blood.

His white shirt soaked and dark. Knuckles raw and split open. His face scratched. Eyes… vacant. Like whatever he did drained his soul out through his skin.

“Matt?” I whispered, frozen.

He didn’t speak.

He just walked past me.

Like I wasn’t even there.

“Matt!” I chased after him, grabbing his arm. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Don’t,” he said quietly. Not harsh. Not cold. Just… dead.

“Don’t what?” I demanded. “Don’t ask why the man I love walked into our home looking like a massacre? Don’t ask what you had to do?”

He flinched — the words hit something.

“I said don’t ask,” he snapped louder now.

“No,” I said. “No, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to leave me panicking for hours and then come back acting like I’m the problem for caring.”

His eyes darkened. “You said you wanted this life, didn’t you?”

That hit harder than a slap.

“I wanted you, Matt,” I whispered. “You promised me—”

“I did what I had to do!” he roared suddenly, punching the nearest wall. I jumped back.

“You act like I wanted to disappear, like I enjoyed doing what I fucking did tonight. I didn’t, Y/N! But you don’t understand the kind of shit we’re in!”

My voice trembled. “Then tell me! Let me understand!”

He exhaled hard, raking both hands through his bloody hair.

“I can’t.”

My chest tightened so hard I thought I’d collapse. “Why not?”

Matt’s eyes were glassy now, but he blinked fast, refusing to cry.

“Because if I tell you… you’ll look at me different.”

“Matt!” I chased after him, grabbing his arm. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Don’t,” he said quietly. Not harsh. Not cold. Just… dead.

“Don’t what?” I demanded. “Don’t ask why the man I love walked into our home looking like a massacre? Don’t ask what you had to do?”

He flinched — the words hit something.

“I said don’t ask,” he snapped louder now.

“No,” I said. “No, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to leave me panicking for hours and then come back acting like I’m the problem for caring.”

His eyes darkened. “You said you wanted this life, didn’t you?”

That hit harder than a slap.

“I wanted you, Matt,” I whispered. “You promised me—”

“I did what I had to do!” he roared suddenly, punching the nearest wall. I jumped back.

“You act like I wanted to disappear, like I enjoyed doing what I fucking did tonight. I didn’t, Y/N! But you don’t understand the kind of shit we’re in!”

My voice trembled. “Then tell me! Let me understand!”

He exhaled hard, raking both hands through his bloody hair.

“I can’t.”

My chest tightened so hard I thought I’d collapse. “Why not?”

Matt’s eyes were glassy now, but he blinked fast, refusing to cry.

“Because if I tell you… you’ll look at me different.”

He showered in silence. I heard the water running endlessly, like he was trying to erase something deeper than blood.

I sat on the bed, knees to my chest. My phone buzzed.

Skye 💋

You okay?

I hadn’t even messaged her yet.

Me

No. I think something broke in him tonight. And I don’t know how to fix it.

⸻

11:13 PM

He came out in fresh clothes. No blood. Just Matt. But also… not him at all.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked to the bed, crawled in, turned away.

I moved closer.

“Matt…” I whispered.

He didn’t move.

“You said you’d always tell me.”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached behind him, found my hand. Held it for a second. Then let go.

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling.

His back faced me. His silence screamed louder than any words.

I didn’t sleep.

This is the first night I didn’t feel safe next to him.

Not because I thought he’d hurt me… but because I knew something already had.

taglist 💋

@n00dl3zzz @pip4444chris @sturnzzlovee @bernardmatthews @xsturnkay @katiebae333 @dummyslut00 @eszt1 @kalel2005 @nessaisabelartemas333 @sturnxvibes @jaybirdie34 @izzylovesmatt @sturnxluvv @courta13 @kitty-meow-meow44

[reallyromealone]

Hi! I was wondering if we could get a part 12 to the bontens fortune teller series?

So I have a bit of the final chapter, I am gonna be finishing it eventually but here it is so far

Fortune Teller 12

X

(Name) sat between Koko and Mochi, the make-up felt heavy and nerves high "you look like a little doll ~" Rindō said from across, grinning and eyeing (name) up and down much to (name)s discomfort, he swore he heard Naoto.... God he hoped naoto was near.

"They're following" the driver said simply and Sanzu hissed in annoyance "lose them." Before pulling out his phone dialing a number "were executing plan Natto"" he said simply and the car started speeding up, (name) looking started as Mochi held him close "nosey cops want to get in the way" he said into (name)s ear "but we won't let them get in the way, this is practically our honeymoon~" (name) felt sick at this notion and realized how he was dressed... He was dressed like a bride almost.

Awful.

Absolutely awful.

Naoto hissed out as the black SUVs sped up and clearly tried to loose him, turning on his sirens to force any traffic out of the way "this is officer Naoto tachibana, ID number "449860-12 I'm in the middle of a high speed chase with a possible kidnap victim"

"What's your location?" The operator asked calmly and Naoto gave the exact location "were sending backup"

"Thank you" he breathed as he sped up to keep up with them much to bontens annoyance.

(Name)s heart was racing in his throat at this point, Bonten seemed annoyed but not to phased by it all as if this was something they knew would happen.

"We got you so many things at the new location, all the entertainment you could want and a nice bed that's durable~" (name) wanted to gag at their delusional behavior but kept quiet as they went off about things.

SLAM

(name) fell to the floor of the SUV as a car slammed into the trunk "shit--" Sanzu pulled out his glock as the car struggled to get back into the lane as Rindō pulled (name) up as sirens could be heard.

Gunshots could be heard and (name)s head felt dizzy as he looked around for anything to make sense.

Another SUV pulled up and opened to see Kakucho "BRING HIM HERE"

(name) could barely process himself being tossed to the other SUV and caught in Mikey's arms, clothes torn and shaking "put these on" Mikey commanded as he handed (name) gloves, he didn't need (name) freezing up if things got ugly. (Name)

[mrs-weasley-reid]

hiyya loveliesss still on hiatus BUT i wanted to share a lil thing i did today cuz i think only peeps here will appreciate it🤭

went on a shooting range for the first time and per the instructor's words "damn, she did best than most of you guys" and i will never be the sameeeee

aftermath of 12 shots from glock and 2 shots from shotgun