#tw shooting

[delicris]

today has been a devastating day for czech people all over the country. 14 people dead and 25 injured, 10 of them seriously, in today's school shooting at the faculty of arts, charles university, prague. the gunman shot himself half an hour after starting the killing.

this happened nine and a half hours ago. as of right now, there's no official info about the victims and the people missing. the only pieces of information available come from other students who took on compiling lists of names and the current state of those individuals and sharing those on social media in hopes of being able to help. the news coverage is constant, but poor.

there are many terrifying testimonies and photos from the ones present at the faculty at that time. there are also many disgusting photos and videos of the gunman circulating on social media even after the police department urged not to share those out of respect to the victims and to prevent the rising panic.

there would've been way more victims had the police not acted as quickly as they did. still, there were mistakes made and i hope the department will be able to recognize them and act on them.

school shootings and shootings in general are not a thing here, they don't happen, people often haven't been given proper instructions on how to act in case of an active shooting in years. i still remember a mass shooting that took place in a hospital in ostrava. that was five years ago, 7 people dead.

this mass shooting is by far the worst one in czech history.

a national day of mourning has been scheduled for tomorrow, december 23rd, 2023. a minute of silence for the victims, the injured and their loved ones at noon, UTC+1 time. flags flying at half-mast. the victims will never go back home for christmas, they'll never see their loved ones again. this is the crushing reality of massacres like this one.

[moonstruckme]

Hi!! Could you do a Bodyguard!James Potter x reader where he is guarding her during a high profile event and something happens? With a bit of angst to fluff? If you’re comfortable of course! I hope you have a wonderful day, i’m new to your page and ADORED your bodyguard james. <3

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: guns, shooting

bodyguard!James x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You shift your stance a bit and have to bite down on a whimper. 

“I’m going to have to throw these shoes out after this,” you mutter to James. “I’m pretty sure there’s blood pooling around my toes.” 

“You wanna take them off?” he murmurs back, lips barely moving as he keeps his face in a mask of businesslike impassivity. 

You sigh. “I wish.” 

“You could. Just step out of them, no one’s looking over here.” 

It’s true. Every camera in the chamber is pointed to where your mom stands on the podium, her right hand raised as she takes her oath. As much as you hate coming to these things, you can’t ignore the kernel of pride shining behind your sternum. She’s waited so long for this day, dealt with so much opposition, and now she’s finally going to be able to enact some real change. You can keep up appearances for her. 

“I’d better not risk it,” you tell James. “With my luck, the second I do—” 

You’re on the ground before you even register the sound of glass shattering. James’ grip on your shoulder is harsh, almost painful, but the noise that follows has enough adrenaline spiking your bloodstream to forget about that. The loud, rapid popping of gunfire fills the chamber. 

James’ hand moves to clasp around your elbow, but you tear away from him, headed in the opposite direction. The podium is empty. Where’s your mom? Did they get her already? Is she hurt? Did she—

You’re not fast enough to outpace James, definitely not limping around in your heels, and he gets an arm around your waist, hauling you away from the center aisle. You can’t tell where the gunfire is coming from—who has the guns?—but he pushes your head down before you can look. A low buzzing burrows into your ears. You try again to go to where you last saw your mom, but James yanks you back to his side, a cutting “Stop” hissing past his lips. Any other time, a tone like that would have you stilling like a frightened bunny, but you know he’s not the danger here. 

When you don’t listen, he lifts you off the ground. The crowd is swarming, frantic and disorganized, but James maneuvers through it expertly, running down the hall until he finds an unlocked door. The bathroom door swings open for you, and James sets you down quickly, locking it before you have a second to recover. 

You lunge for the door anyway, only for twin bands to wrap around your middle. They pin your arms to your sides and press you securely to James’ front. 

“Stop. Stop it.” His tone is as hard as his grip, dispassionate to your struggling. “You cannot fight me when you’re in danger, understand?” 

“They’re not here for me,” you plead. Your voice is scratchy with desperation. 

“No, but I am. I’m here for you.” His hold tightens, but now it’s less a restraint than a comfort. You can feel his heavy breaths tickling past your ear. “Your mom has her own detail, okay? She made it out before we did, they probably have her somewhere safe.” 

Now you can hear your breathing too. Short, stilted pants that wheeze in and out of you. You think you might be shaking. 

“That’s enough,” James says gently, starting to lower you both to the ground. Your knees give easily, relinquishing your weight to his hold until he settles you both on the tiled floor. “That’s enough, alright? Can I let you go now?” 

You’re not sure you want him to anymore, but you nod. He slips out from behind you, checking the lock on the bathroom door and then removing his gun from the holster at his hip. The sight of it makes your trembling worsen. He checks something with it while murmuring to the people on the other end of his earpiece, convoluted jargon you’ve long since ceased paying attention to. 

“She’s fine,” he says after a minute. “Your mom. They got her into an office, and now we’re all just waiting for security to clear the building before we can go.” 

You drop your head to your knees, relief like a tidal wave washing over you. You hear James’ footsteps move back toward you before his big hand lands on your head. It smooths down your hair as he squats next to you. When you glance at his gun balanced on his knee, he catches the look. 

“I have to keep this out for now,” he says, looking you in your eyes like he’s making a promise, “but the safety’s staying on unless someone tries to come in here. Okay?” 

“Yeah.” You nod, still trying to get your breathing under control. 

James strokes your head again, his touch weighty and reassuring. The noise outside of the bathroom seems to be lessening, but you’re not sure how much sound is blocked by the door. There could be shooting still happening just past it, people hurt or dying in the halls. 

“I’m sorry for fighting you so hard,” you say quietly. 

James blows out a breath. “I get it,” he admits. “In those situations, it’s natural to freak out and head toward the person you want to keep safe.” He flashes you a little smile. “I’m lucky it’s already my job to do that.” You grimace back, but his expression grows serious again when he says, “You just have to keep your head, though, you know? The whole reason you and your mom have protection is to make sure someone else is already looking out for you. You don’t need to worry about her, you just need to trust me.” 

You look at him. His body is still taut, ready for a fight if one comes to him, but his expression is gentle. It’s easy to forget it’s his job to take care of you when he seems to do it so naturally. Caring emanates from James like it’s the core component of his soul. 

“I do trust you,” you tell him. 

His mouth slants, expression unbearably fond. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll work on those instincts, okay? I get that it’s not an easy adjustment to make.” 

“Have you ever had to do that? Run away from the person you cared about the most?” 

He shakes his head. “Like I said, I’m lucky. I always get to run towards you.”

[sadpanda]

life comes at you fast

[tobisaw]

I made this in ten minutes

[ifaunic]

I want everyone to be very careful with the words they use to describe my state and the situation that is occurring at the moment.

Maine is a rural state, and people are used to driving long distances to see people and even just to go to work. Cities that are about an hour from Lewiston are cancelling events and classes because an hour drive isn’t that long for a Mainer.

This also isn’t a teenager with little to no gun experience getting his hands on a weapon of war. Robert Card is trained former military, highly dangerous, and knows how to aim a gun, shoot properly, reload quickly, change weapons, and unjam a weapon.

There is a large immigrant and refugee population in Lewiston. You will see people mentioning that this could be the fault of “gangs.” It is not. Robert Card is a racist, transphobic, white man who shot at children and families during a bowling league competition. Lewiston’s immigrant and refugee population had absolutely nothing to do with this attack.

Follow news sources, not social media.

And for the love of god, it’s LEWIS-TIN. NOT LEWISTOWN.

[itsaspectrumcomic]

I was doing some research asking if autistic people can be on the swat team. This is what I found.

Probably not. The reason is the word “liability.”

In the world of law enforcement, the word liability gets thrown around more than brickbats at a Democrat-led riot in a Democrat controlled city just before election time.

If you were even on the edge of any police involved shooting at all, if some private practice attorney found out that you had autism of any kind, he would use that autism like a sledgehammer on you, the police agency that hired you and against the public/prosecutor’s office. He would beat you into the ground with your autism like it was a weapon. Trust me on this next one, any police officer who gets involved in a shooting gets put under a microscope long before a trial. Before you testify, anywhere in a court the defense will know things about you that your mom doesn’t know. Hell, they’ll make up stuff about you and use it against you just to make you and your agency look bad.

What I’m trying to alert you to is that while you have high functioning autism, and that’s a good thing, you could hurt a police agency in ways that you don’t understand if somebody finds out about it.

Good job I have no intention of ever joining the police then

[sulietsexual]

make me choose anonymous asked the good place or the great

[oscarwilds]

[salome-c]

*Paris Hilton voice* That's hot.

[koenigsbleachedshirt]

Please I need some emotions...I need how all three would react to finding YN beat up or something. The emotions, the angst, the possessive and protectiveness....PLS I BEG OF YOU

Bet 🙏🏻

TW: graphic violence, fighting, shooting

y/cs = your callsign

initial situation -> you were out on a mission with your team to deal with a no-name terrorist group. Everything had gone well until the last standing member managed to slam the butt of his gun against the back of your head. You toppled to the ground in pain, vision peppered with black spots. "Fuck... you piece of shit." You hiss when he gets you on your back and starts beating down on you.

Ghost

He hadn't seen or heard of you after calling through the comms, so he grew worried. "Cap', y/cs hasn't responded to my inquiries, I'mma go 'ave a look." Ghost informs Price, who nods in return.

He was decently close with you, so it left a bitter taste in his mouth when you didn't respond. What if someone had managed to mortally injure you and you were laying somewhere and bleeding out?

Ghost hurried through the rooms of the mostly cleared building and came to a stop when he spotted one of the terrorists on top of you, his fists continuously beating down on your, by now unconscious, body. Then he saw red.

Simon ran towards the fucker who dared to touch you yanked him up by his vest, literally throwing him a few feet away from you before proceeding to punch his living daylights out. "Ya fuckin' dare to hurt one of our mates?! I'm gonna fuckin' kill ya, damn cunt!"

He doesn't stop bashing his face in until it's a bloody mess, his fists dripping with the man's blood. He doesn't spare him another glance before going to check on you, blood running cold when he sees the state you're in. Simon's heart is beating out of his chest at the sight; your lip is busted and still slightly bleeding. There's also a laceration on your cheekbone and a nasty bruise forming around it, and not to forget the black eye you're starting to get.

Ghost exhales a shaky breath and gently scoops you up into his arms, careful not to hurt you any further. That bastard has probably beaten more places than just your face.

And he's going to kill them all by himself if he has to.

König

He had just finished absolutely obliterating five of the terrorists in another room and was about to check up on his team when he heard your pained cries from across the hall. König didn't waste any time, running to the source of the sound and kicking open the slightly ajar door.

The man was sitting on your stomach, violently beating you up; you try your best to kick him off, but he's too big. All you can do is try to shield your face, but it doesn't do much because he still got a few good hits on you.

But then you see your Colonel behind your attacker, distracting you enough to catch a fist to the jaw, and suddenly, you're out cold.

The giant colonel did not enjoy that. He picks the asshole up by the back of his collar and puts him in a chokehold. "You made a giant mistake here, du kleiner Bastard." König says into the terrorist's ear, sounding almost demonic, before he manhandles him around.

And then he breaks his back, like a stick that's being snapped over his knee. The man screams bloody murder, but König isn't done. Next, he breaks the arm he used to beat you up with, snapping it so hard the bone broke through the skin. And then the man went limp, either fell unconscious due to the pain, or straight up died.

He couldn't care less, though, as he tossed him aside and moved to kneel down next to your knocked out form. A pang of panic went through him as he hurriedly picked you up to evacuate and get you to a medic as soon as possible.

König is not going to lose you. Not when he finally found a new purpose.

Keegan

He witnessed it all through the scope of his sniper rifle, jaw clenched tightly. How dare this terrorist scum hurt you?

"Sergeant Russ here, I'm going in." He says into the comms before quickly making his way to where this man decided to touch something that wasn't his.

When Keegan arrived, you were already knocked out, his blood running cold. "You dare hurt my y/cs? Oh, you've made a grave mistake there." He says, voice dangerously low as he raises his assault rifle.

The terrorist on top of you freezes, arm raised back for another punch, but not plowing down again. "Get the fuck off of them, hands in the air."

The man does what he's told, but right when he's back on his feet, he moves to take out his gun, probably trying to shoot Keegan.

But instead, he aims it at you. Keegan's eyes widen, and without thinking, he shoots the terrorist straight through the forehead. The man's aim falters but still pulls the trigger, and the bullet lands inches from your face on the ground.

Keegan drops his rifle from the shock; that fucking man almost killed you right in front of him. His whole body is shaking as he flops down next to you, one hand gently caressing your cheek. "You're safe now. Let's go back to base." He says before slinging his rifle around himself and then picking you up and carrying you out of the building.

[destielmemenews]

"Jennifer Crumbley took the stand in her own defense. She testified that her son was generally worried about his future after high school and was "depressed," but that his mental health never alarmed her enough that she felt he needed to see a professional.

She acknowledged that she could have taken him home on the day of the shooting, but also didn't believe he was capable of committing such violence. More than two years after the shooting, she told the jury she "wouldn't have" done anything differently.

"I don't think I’m a failure as a parent," she said."

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[jaybybyby]

So anybody gonna talk about how Aiden Hale's pronouns are he/him, and how every article I've read on the shooting says this, and then proceeds to use she/her and his deadname, Audrey? I don't care what a person does, using their correct pronouns is not just a privilege you take away. Use his correct pronouns.

Also hey before you make any comments or send me any asks about this, please read this ask I responded to since I'm tired of clarifying myself

Since this post ended up in radfem spaces no more reblogs ❤️

[hiroharii]

It's finished! hope you like it. Voiced by myself and Deinonychus Justizia, follow them on Instagram and youtube and all the places.

[burningchandelier]

I am Jewish and I survived a shooting by a white supremacist terrorist group.

When it happened, a targeted harassment and character assassination campaign had left me basically friendless. People who I once partied with, worked with, volunteered with, casually knew, and even didn't know had been roped into believing that I was an irredeemable, terrible person who should be exiled from all community events. I was fired on a Jewish holiday.

This was based on an internet rumor. Understandably, talking about this online is incredibly scary for me.

When the shooting happened, I imagined I would finally receive some support. My friends, coworkers, and former allies would see that all the lies about me had been part of a hate campaign, right? The people who I worked with for years and years would remember all the times that I stuck my neck out (sometimes physically) for them and their safety, wouldn't they?

No. They didn't.

I am heartbroken to see that the larger Jewish community is now experiencing what I learned years ago.

The people who accepted my friendship when it was fun, who worked with me when I was helpful, who laughed and danced with me when I could laugh and dance, were not there for me when I was attacked.

The resounding message that I received from my community after the shooting was, "Good. You deserved it."

There was no wake-up call, no moment of understanding, no end to their hatred. At best, I received silence.

More than 400 people actively expressed hate toward me. I filed more than ten restraining orders. Five shots were fired.

12 people supported me when I fled.

One person offered me shelter.

This is what it is like to be a Jew in America.

[boysborntodie]

Dally's so real because if my sweetheart S/O who always chose to be kind despite constantly suffered from systemic abuse and being hurt their entire life, making me believe that the cruel world was just a little good because of their existence, got severely injured because they chose to save some kids, and then died right in front my eyes despite my begging and pleading, and I felt it was my fault they died, I too would break down in front of a 14 year old and then rob a store before pulling out an empty gun in front of a bunch of cops, letting them shoot me til I bled out under streetlights.

[prosperdemeter2]

WIP Wednesday - watermark

I had NO IDEA what to post for this pls 🙏 all I have is angst, please forgive me @wildlife4life

Eddie’s hand fumbled to the side, like Athena’s voice had knocked a thought into his head, his fingers failing to grab onto whatever he was trying to grab a hold of. He reached up, finally, like it pained him to do so and then slapped his hand clumsily against the side of Buck’s face. “Are you hurt?” 

“Trauma team has been alerted.” Dispatch reassured. 

“No,” Buck answered and then looked down at himself as if to verify if he actually was. “No, no, no.” He was. Athena could see it all down his arm, a piece of glass stuck into his wrist and blood trailing lazily down to pool in the fabric of his shirt. Mehta tried to yank it away from where he was pressing into Eddie’s wound like if he held on tight enough Eddie wouldn’t fade beneath his fingers. There were probably other injuries too, at least a dozen mental ones that Athena couldn’t make better, but Buck was good at ignoring his own pain in order to focus on what was in front of him. It was probably a survival instinct. Athena didn’t like to think about what it was born out of, about how much pain he must have been in throughout his life to be able to push a piece of glass stabbing through his arm to the back of his mind. “I’m f-okay. I’m okay. You just… you just have to stay with me, okay? Just… no, no, no, no, babe, no.” Eddie didn’t listen. Athena couldn’t blame him for it. The imperative, for him, would always be to make sure Buck was okay. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, the hand that was cupping Buck’s cheek falling to hit against his thigh and… “Eddie, please.” His voice broke into a wail on the way out.

Athena was never going to unhear it. If Eddie survived this and they got married one day, Buck would say Eddie, I do and she’d hear the way his voice sounded when he was begging him to stay alive instead. He was destroyed. It was worse than when Maddie had gone missing. It was worse than finding him and Christopher after the tsunami. It was worse. She wondered if he knew he was crying. 

Whoever was driving, slammed onto the brakes and parked haphazardly outside of the emergency room doors and Athena was the first one out, allowing a doctor to replace her body with his, the trauma team, indeed, responding like a well oiled machine. “He’s thirty-four,” Mehta repeated, hefting him up in a team lift and placing him messily on the gurney. “Name’s Eddie Diaz.” 

“We have a son.” Buck said it like it was imperative to how Eddie would be treated. Athena was pretty sure it was just how Buck always introduced him - his name’s Eddie Diaz, we have a son. “He - he’s allergic to iodine.” 

“Sir, you have to let go.” A nurse ordered without a hint of sympathy in her voice and Athena almost snapped at her for it before she remembered that the woman was just doing her job. Trying to save Eddie’s life. 

Athena grabbed the back of Buck’s arm and held him in place as they wheeled Eddie away, the arm that Eddie had wrapped around Buck’s leg falling lifeless to the side. 

They stayed. 

Mehta breathed out and doubled forward, hands on his knees and adrenaline rushing out of his body. Athena rested her shoulders against the engine and tried to calm her own rapidly beating heart. There was glass in her hair, she had a small cut from it on her cheek, Mehta had several in his palms. 

Buck stood. 

He didn’t move. In fact, if Athena couldn’t see the way his chest moved up and down, she would say he wasn’t breathing at all. He had Eddie’s blood on his face, smudges of it in the shape of Eddie’s fingers, the front of his shirt and pants were destroyed, and he was dripping blood at a sluggish pace onto his own shoes. Athena wished her husband was there, for Buck but mostly for herself. She didn’t know how to triage, how to take care of her own whirling thoughts and the lack of them that seemed to be filtering into Buck’s vacant expression. 

A tear disrupted the space Eddie had touched against the side of Buck’s face, curled down his chin and dripped onto his shirt, leaving an oddly clean line of skin in its wake and then he was shaking himself, visibly blinking back into his body and stumbling, hard, backwards into Athena’s foot. “Sorry.” He muttered halfheartedly, reaching out to steady her and scraping the skin of her arm with the glass that was still sticking out of his. “Shit, sorry.” He let go and Athena caught him around the wrist when his knee gave out. When his legs gave out, Mehta surging forward beside her as if to hold him up. Thankfully, a nurse had already been there, meeting them with a wheelchair for him to fall back into. 

“Okay.” The nurse commanded, flitting his eyes between the two of them that were still standing. “The group of you needs to get checked out. Does anyone else need a chair?” 

Athena wondered if they had been prepared for Buck to collapse backwards before, or if this particular nurse had a multitude of wheelchairs that he could make appear out of thin air. It was an absurd thought, but it was one she had anyway. She needed to call Bobby. Needed to let him know that one of his own had been gravely injured, that Buck was his and Eddie was Buck’s and that made them both, tangentially, hers. Buck looked up at her, his eyes wide and blue and petrified from where she still held onto his wrist, her fingers pressing into the wet skin coated in his own blood. “Athena.” He wasn’t even thirty, yet. He was twenty-nine. Barely even old enough to be an adult. He was so young and Athena was so old and if he couldn’t have Bobby at that moment, he would very well have her. 

She set her jaw in determination. “It’s going to be okay, Buck.” She promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”