#cw mention of gun use

[starified-lizzy]

VERY SERIOUS AND PERSONAL POST BELOW. DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT.

Do not EVER call your impulsive thoughts “intrusive.” Especially around me.

Why?

Well, as stated in the SS above, if you actually acted on REAL intrusive thoughts, then you’d be a criminal.

I know this one post won’t change public perception of the damned “trend”, but if I can enlighten some people that having Intrusive Thoughts is an actual mental illness (most commonly associated with OCD) and not a silly little thought you had one day, then I’ll be happier than a pig in shit.

I want everyone to be aware of a few things:

1) yes, everyone gets genuine intrusive thoughts from time to time. However, the difference between just one random Intrusive thought to someone suffering from it, is how repetitive, and insistent they are. If- for example, someone pisses you off and you just *really* want to strangle that person that day, that’s normal, everyone gets that way from time to time. But if the thoughts keep reappearing and won’t go away no matter how much you try to distract yourself… *that’s* when someone’s suffering from it. Obviously, I am not a doctor, so I don’t know how intrusive thoughts are actually diagnosed, this is all my personal interpretation of it as someone who *does* suffer from this.

2) Having/suffering from intrusive thoughts *DOES NOT* make you, or anyone else, a bad person. The only time it does, is when you or someone else *ACTS* on those thoughts or intentionally fantasizes about doing it, if it wasn’t illegal.

Onto ways that- I have learned and believe- differentiates Impulsive thoughts from Intrusive thoughts.

Warning for mentions of murdering and using guns but only because it’s for an example on the difference between intrusive and impulsive thoughts. Dead dove; do not eat.

To discern what the difference between the two types are, I have these few simple questions to answer;

Will you get hurt/die if you act on it?

Will someone else get hurt/die if you act on it?

How severe of trouble will you be in with the law if you act on it?

Can you *seriously* see yourself doing this?

By your religious/moral standards/rules, will you still be holy/a good person if you act on this?

If the answers to those questions look something like:

No

No

None

Yes

Yes

Then those are IMPULSIVE thoughts.

If the answers look something like:

Yes

Yes

Extreme

No

No

Then those are INTRUSIVE thoughts.

Content examples of the differences between the two-

Impulsive:

I should dye my hair

I should get a tattoo

I should throw this egg at the wall

I should paint my walls a piss yellow color for shits and giggles

I should get a motorcycle license.

Intrusive (they will be in 2nd POV as this is typically how they sound- in words- to me)

You should kill that person.

You should take a gun and shoot that (living being).

You should run those people over.

What if you drove into a ditch?

You should (do unspeakable act) against that person.

!!!!Intrusive thoughts are not a trend. They are a genuine mental illness that people suffer from, and could get someone (or you) seriously hurt if you actually “let the intrusive thoughts win.”!!!!!!

!!!!Having/suffering from Intrusive thoughts DOES NOT make you a bad person. It’s ONLY when you ACT on them, or intentionally fantasize about them that makes you a bad person!!!!

[breannasfluff]

“Tony’s Pizza delivery!” Danny knocks on a door and stands back slightly, waiting for the answer. Silence. He knocks again. “Pizza order! For…” he checks the box, “Rob!”

There’s the thud of footsteps behind the door, but it doesn’t open. It’s like someone walked right up to it and is waiting. The house itself has blacked-out windows and piles of trash on the lawn. Something about the situation feels…off.

Danny pulls out the taser, which he usually keeps in his pocket. The other hand tightens slightly on the pizza box. He doesn’t go intangible, not yet, but his powers bubble around his core, ready at a moment’s notice.

The door swings open. There’s a gun pointed at his face. 

Acting on instinct more than thought, Danny snaps the taser forward and presses the button when it meets the man’s arm. There’s a roar of pain and the gun is dropped. 

Keeping a hold of the taser, Danny drops the pizza box on the steps. “You owe us payment next time you order thank you goodbye!”

He bolts, grabbing the bike and wheeling it next to him instead of jumping on it. Pulling on intangibility it spreads to the bike as well. As soon as he’s around the corner, Danny goes invisible. His heart is hammering against his chest and all he wants to do is curl into himself. 

Still, he keeps a hold of the bike–no good if it suddenly pops into existence–and breathes through his panic. The taser worked. Sure, he didn’t get paid, but he also didn’t get shot. If Tony’s upset, Danny will ask him to take the cost out of his wages. 

After another few minutes of breathing exercises–thank you Jazz–he’s settled enough to flicker back to visibility and bike back to the shop. 

Tony glances up at him when he enters and does a double take. “What happened, kid?”

“Didn’t get payment for the pizza. Sorry.”

The owner’s eyes narrow. “This wouldn't happen to be because someone pointed a gun at you, would it?”

“Er…”

Laughter is not what he expects. Tony just grins at him. “Kid, I just got a call saying the delivery boy had a taser he wasn’t afraid to use and skedaddled without payment.”

Danny winces, waiting for the beratement. 

“Rob gave you a five-star review. Said it’s the smartest move he’s seen in a while. Paid over the phone for once. You’re good, kid.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Do people often answer the door for pizza while holding a gun?”

A shoulder shrug. “Around here, it’s more common than you’d think. But if you think you’re in danger, you act to protect yourself, got it? The pizza shop will recover if someone decides to order elsewhere. Besides,” and Tony’s grin edges on feral, “they don’t get many other choices.”

Crime Alley residents, Danny decides, are a rare breed of people.

Read the rest here!

[starry-bi-sky]

What would a mother not do for her child What lengths would a mother not go There's a bond that exists between mother and child With no end to how strong it can grow It's a promise for life between mother and child It begins from the moment of birth.

================

She is six years old, and standing on the porch at her Auntie Alicia’s cabin. She is six years old, and holding an old rifle in her hands, standing at the railing and pointing the nozzle at a large target a couple feet away. There’s a pair of old ear muffs covering her ears. Behind her is her daddy and her sister, and Auntie Alicia. She can’t see them. 

Danielle Martha Fenton is six years old, and her momma has her arms wrapped warmly around her, keeping the gun steady for her. It’s heavy and the butt digs into her shoulder uncomfortably, and she feels nothing but determined. And nervous. 

Her momma was teaching her and Jazzy how to shoot, and they’re down in Arkansas to visit Auntie Alicia for her second “Divorce-iversary” as Auntie calls it. She keeps a hunting rifle in her gun safe for the rabbits that like to nibble on her garden. She mostly grows rhubarb, which goes untouched. But her carrots and greens and other veggies like to be tempting snacks for the game. 

Regardless, she is six years old and learning how to shoot. Her momma and her daddy (mostly her daddy) have been banned from every shooting range outside of Amity Park in a hundred mile radius. So Auntie is the best place to learn, or so momma says. 

Danny thinks it's just an excuse to see her sister, not that she's complaining. She loves visiting Auntie.  

She’s already seen Jazzy do this, her momma told her before the muffs went on to shoot when ready. No use trying to fire when you’re not; you can’t afford to miss when shooting ghosts. 

Danny breathes out steady, just like momma taught her, and quells her trembling little fingers. She focuses down the barrel, and pulls the trigger. 

Immediately, the recoil throws her off, the side of the gun that her cheek was resting on knocks against her skin, harsh enough to bruise if it weren’t for her momma’s steady hands holding onto her. The bang of the gun startles her more than she thought it would, and her heart leaps up and runs a jackrabbit through her chest. 

The gun is carefully slipped out of her hands, and Danny lets it go easily, her cheek smarting in pain and her eyes wide and following up to momma. Momma turns the safety on, and with a gentle hand, pushes against her chest. Danny takes a few steps back, and slips the ear muffs off her head. 

Mommy is smiling big at her, something that Danny can’t help but replicate on her own face as her heart swells. “Did I get it, momma?” She asks, watching as she passes the gun off to Auntie Alicia, who steps over to take it.

“I’m going to go see, sweetie, but I think you did.” Momma coos, before planting both her hands on the porch railing and, in a single leap, vaults over the side and onto the grass. She’s dressed all comfortable for the summer heat, with her hair all tied back and in shorts and a tank top and nice boots. Danny’s ribs swell hopefully, and she stands on her tiptoes to watch her walk over.

“I’ll be hard-pressed to believe if you didn’t, Martha Mae,” Auntie tells her, grinning like a cat, “that was a damn good shot.” 

‘Martha Mae Knight’ was Danny’s granny’s name. Auntie Alicia calls her that because of her middle name — and because, by her words, she has her momma’s weird-shaped eyebrows and piercing blue eyes. The kind that could scare a hawk into singing like a robin. It was Danny’s favorite nickname ever.

Daddy laughs brightly, the sound painful on her ears but twice as nice, and despite the distance, Momma whirls her head around to shoot Auntie a glare; “Language, Alicia. Not around my girls.” She warns. Her accent always comes through when they’re around Auntie. It’s Danny’s favorite thing to listen to. 

“Do you think so, auntie?” Danny says, bright-eyed and ever-optimistic. Auntie Alicia nods fiercely as Momma finally reaches the target and searches for the bullet hole. Daddy then comes up behind her, still laughing, and claps a hand onto her shoulder so hard that it makes her knees hurt.

“Of course she did!” Dad boasts, as bright as the sun and twice as warm. He shakes Danny affectionately, wobbling her on her feet and pulling her straight into his side. She goes so willingly with a burble of giggles. “She’s got the eyes of a Fenton! And our family are darn good shots.”

Auntie eyes him up and down, her smile immediately fading off into a pressed line. “I’m sure you mean she’s got the eyes of a Knight. You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn at twenty paces, Jack Fenton.” 

Jazzy holds back giggles from where she’s standing by the door, her ear muffs in hand, and Danny watches her Daddy’s dark eyes immediately narrow. Just like Auntie’s, his smile tapers off into a frown. 

Before he can say anything, there’s a cheer from the yard, and they all turn to Momma clapping her hands in delight. 

Danny immediately pricks her ears up, and would’ve darn near rushed over to the railing if it weren’t for her Daddy’s hand on her shoulder. She yells instead, excitement thrumming like a hummingbird against her ribs, “Did I hit it, momma?!” 

Momma beams at her with all the pride in the world, “You sure did, Danny!” And she turns to press her finger against the target, right on the inside red ring of the battered old bag. “Right here, sweet girl!” 

There are cheers from all around, and Danny’s heart bursts inside her lungs with shiny, sunshine glee. She puffs her chest out big, and smiles so wide it hurts the cheek where the gun smacked her. Her Daddy shakes again, squeezing her tight against his side in a hug that Danny happily reciprocates. 

“What’d I tell you, Martha Mae?” Auntie tells with a big wink and a wide grin, the gun still gripped tight in her hands as Momma makes her way back over. “You got a Knight’s eye.” 

When Momma makes it back over the railing, she hugs Danny tight and praises her shot. Danny looks her in the eyes and chases the feeling, and asks to shoot again.

[anderperries]

i hate to be negative as we all celebrate but. this really worries me. because now he and the rest of his freak crowd will be able to use this for fodder for years to come. i honestly think it might win him the election. and that’s scary as fuck.

[abc04]

[Image Description: Six circle icons of Ethan Winters from Resident Evil over the dissociative regressor flag. His face is obscured or blocked in some way in all of them. /end ID]

dissociative regressor ethan winters icons 🍼🎮

inspired by a conversation we had with @bunnelbaby! ethan is The dissociative regressor ever <3

[lesbianwyllravengard]

Jesus fucking christ I hate the US south

[liquidlycan]

lalalala jake english -🖊️

JAKE ENGLISH - HOMESTUCK THEMED STIMBOARD

with themes of guns, nature, and adventure!

cw guns, explosions

requested by anon 🖊️

x | x | x x | x | x x | x | x

[nonbinary-wyvern]

You can get away with murder at the movies. The action on the screen can mask the gunshot and the screams. Isn't that so interesting? I find that interesting.

[lily-janus]

I Want To Kiss- Kill... I Want To Kill You

Summary: Janus is a cold hearted assassin. No attachments, no emotion. Only guns and targets. Until one beautiful stranger messss it all up. Or - Janus gets gay-panic on a plane and can't seem to shake it off.

Pairing: pre-romantic Roceit

Warnings: guns, mentions of killing and death, assassins, kissing, making out, sorta enemies to lovers I guess. Let me know if I missed any.

Word count: 2,216

For @roceit2023 day 2 - assassin

----------------------------------------------------------

Don't get attached.

That's the first rule for being an assassin.

At least, that's the first rule Janus' father taught him. When Janus asked why that was the first rule, he told him that a few months after he was born, he was ordered to kill Janus' mom. They were short of money so his dad couldn't afford to turn down a job. He lost his edge after that mission, never being able to kill again.

Which is why Janus was tasked with keeping their family's reputation.

And keeping it he did.

Janus was a master at not getting attached, not letting his missions and his growing number of body count affect him in any way. Emotion had no part to play in his lifestyle.

Suffice to say, Janus was one of the top assassins in the business. With his cold and calculating demeanor and his sharp shooting, there wasn't a target beyond his abilities.

Until one flight changed it all.

----------------------------------------------------------

He got on a flight to his next target's location. Janus was pleased to find no one else sitting in his row when he got on. No screaming children or strangers falling asleep on his shoulder this time.

He put on his headphones and relaxed back into his chair, humming along to the music. Then, someone decided to tap his shoulder.

Reluctantly, he took off his headphones and turned to look at the stranger. He gulped a little when he met eyes with the cutest guy he ever laid eyes on.

He had short, brown hair with bangs that fell neatly on his forehead, drawing attention to his green eyes with a touch of blue in them. He was smiling at Janus, showing perfect, white teeth and unnaturally soft lips.

"Hey there! My seat is on this row too, do you mind letting me pass through to the window seat?" Asked the pretty stranger.

Don't get attached.

Echoed in his mind as all Janus could do was nod and get up to let him pass. He was about to put his headphones back, desperately trying to keep his cheeks from burning bright red, when the stranger decided to engage in small talk.

"So why are you going to London?" The stranger asked, still smiling.

"Why, to meet the queen of course." Janus snarked in response.

The stranger snorted, the sound making Janus smile a little as well. "Are you now? Am I required to bow to you?"

Janus raised an eyebrow, "I wouldn't be opposed." The stranger laughed.

"I'm Roman." Roman said, stretching out his hand in greeting.

Don't get attached

Echoed faintly in his mind as he shook Roman's hand. "I'm Janus." He introduced himself, "what is your business in London?"

Roman shrugged, "just personal stuff I need to take care of." He said dismissively.

…too dismissively.

The kind of dismissive tone Janus himself used at times when he bumped into nosey strangers during his missions. It was an effective way to help you seem both uninteresting and interesting enough that makes the stranger's curiosity sated enough to leave you alone.

Janus met Roman's eyes and they both shared a flash of understanding.

Well, that was an interesting development. It's not often that you meet other assassins in this business, but Janus supposes it's not impossible.

Janus smirked, "I see, good luck with your personal stuff, then."

Roman smiled, "thank you, I do hope luck is on my side for this one."

Then, a thought struck Janus. "You don't think your personal stuff is similar to mine, do you?"

Roman shrugged again, "I don't think so, my situation is pretty unique, crazy family stuff I really don't feel like getting into right now."

Janus relaxed a little, "oh, good."

…

"I'm in position." He said into his earpiece.

He was lying on his belly on a building's rooftop, his sniper rifle positioned directly at the edge. It was the latest model, his dad got it for him after his last mission, a brand new M40A5. He was waiting to test this baby out.

"Good, our info says the target should enter the building any second now, it can't make it through the door." His dad replied in his ear.

"I know, dad." Janus rolled his eyes.

"Be careful, Jan, this target is known to be tricky-"

"I got it, dad, this isn't my first rodeo." Janus cut him off with a huff. "I got this."

He heard his father sigh, "knock 'em dead, son."

Janus smirked, "I always do."

After a few minutes, he spotted a figure walking towards the building in front of him.

"Target sighted." Janus said into his earpiece, adjusting his position and aiming his rifle, squinting his eye to look through the crosshairs of it, directing the + directly to the target's head. "Taking aim."

He took a steadying breath and held it in to keep his chest from rising and falling. His trigger finger started slowly putting pressure on the trigger when-

Footsteps coming up to the roof.

They were faint, any normal person wouldn't have heard them. But Janus' instincts were sharp.

He had to act quickly.

He repositioned, aiming to shoot the target before dealing with whoever's coming, but before he can pull the trigger, a warning shot went just past his left ear.

He cursed, he wasn't quick enough.

"Jan? What was that? Is everything okay?"

"I've got company, I'll call you back." He tapped his earpiece to hung up the conversation before his dad can protest.

He stood up, taking out his hand-gun from the hidden holster underneath his clothes, and shot at where he estimated his little guest was from the warning shot earlier.

"Come out, come out wherever you are." Janus tried teasing them out of hiding. Holding his gun in front of him, he walked towards the entrance to the roof, senses on high alert and heart beating in his chest. "These are your final moments anyway, don't go out like a coward."

He heard a faint laugh at that and aimed his gun towards the sound.

"You're the one to talk." A figure holding a gun emerged from the shadows and into the faint moonlight.

Janus recognized that voice.

"Roman?" Now that he can see his opponent's face, it was clear. Roman made him fail the mission, and he was going to try and kill him.

"Hello, Janus." He spat the name like it was a curse, all the pleasantness gone from his voice. 

"You did have the same target as me, I knew it." Janus accused Roman.

Roman laughed again, "not quite, The Slither, my target… is you." He said, using Janus' assassin nickname that he took from his father. "Or rather, not you personally but we were informed about an assassination attempt on my brother so of course, he asked me to help him."

"Aww the target's hiding behind his dear brother, how cute. How very noble of you to help him, even though it's entirely his fault for getting mixed up with the wrong people." Janus said, stepping cautiously closer to Roman, "this has nothing to do with you and I have a reputation to keep so how about we-"

He was cut off by another warning shot, narrowly missing his shoulder. "You talk too much."

"You love it." Janus teased, ignoring his racing heart that had nothing to do with the dangerous situation, he was no stranger to those. But Roman was still so goddamn beautiful, so unfair.

Don't get attached

"Oh, so your ego is as big as they say." Roman said, a light smirk tagging on his lips and damn that smirk sent Janus' brain to a spiral.

What was with him today? He's been attracted to random men before but never like this! He knows better than that… doesn't he?

"Do you always clean up after your brother's mess?" Janus ignored Roman's comment. Neither of them tried shooting the other yet. They both had their guns pointed and were waiting for an opening.

The question seemed to have struck a nerve as Roman's shoulders slacked ever so slightly, gun still pointed directly at Janus. "What do you know? You're from a family of killers. I kill to protect my only family, you do it for money and reputation." Roman said, obviously avoiding answering Janus' question.

"Is your brother the only reason you became an assassin?" Janus asked with a raised eyebrow, "did he rope you into his mess? Doesn't seem like he deserves your protection to me."

"Good thing I didn't ask for your opinion then." Roman growled.

It then occurred to Janus, even if he gets his opening to shoot Roman… he's not sure he would. 

He sighed. "Look, my window closed, I failed the mission, I'm not going to get anything from killing your brother anymore, there's no reason for you to kill me, you did your job." Janus said truthfully.

Roman barked a laugh, "sorry, I don't trust Slithers."

Then, Janus did the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life, he let his guard down… literally. He lowered his gun and dropped it on the ground, kicking it towards Roman. "Kill me then." He challenged.

"W-what? What the hell are you doing?!" Roman yelled in surprise.

"Um… surrendering? Wasn't that obvious?" Janus said, sitting down on the roof.

Roman squinted his eyes at him, "do you have another hidden gun or something?"

He laid down on his back on the cold roof, putting his hands under his head, "nope."

"What game are you playing here?" Roman asked, desperately trying to figure out what was happening.

"No games, Pretty Boy, you can kill me… if you want to." Janus said, looking up at Roman and winking at him.

It was hard to tell with just the moonlight being the only light source, but Janus thought he saw Roman's cheeks flush a little. "I… Of course I want to! I have to, that's the only reason I'm here!" Roman said, although it sounded more like he was talking to himself rather than Janus.

Janus shrugged, "then do it, nothing's stopping you."

Roman took a deep breath and aimed his gun again. Janus braced himself as he heard him click the safety off… but nothing happened.

"Ugh what's wrong with me today?! I've done this enough times! It shouldn't be so hard!" Roman groaned, lowering his gun and sitting down next to Janus.

Janus let out a sigh, "you and me both, pretty boy."

"Would you stop calling me that? You should be long dead, you know. You're lucky you're so…" he trailed off, looking away from him.

Janus smirked, "so… what? So charming? So handsome? So funny? So smart?"

"Annoying, is what I was going to say." Roman said, though he didn't sound much annoyed.

Janus snickered, "right, of course."

There was a long moment of silence before Roman spoke up.

"Sometimes… sometimes I wonder how I got here." He said, sounding tired. He then laughed softly, "I thought I was going to be an actor."

"So what happened?" Janus asked curiously.

"My parents died… and Remus needed me. He had his own ways of coping… not legal ones but he wouldn't listen to me. One thing led to another and… here we are." Roman said, sounding sad and regretful.

"That's why being an only child rules." Janus said, attempting to lighten the mood.

Roman snorted despite himself, "are you incapable of being serious?"

Janus shrugged, "no, I'm just uncomfortable with it so I use sarcasm to deflect, made you laugh though."

Roman laughed, "can't argue with that."

Another moment of silence in which Roman switched from sitting next to Janus, to lying next to him, mimicking his position. They both stared at the dark blue sky for a while.

"What are we going to do now?" Roman asked softly as if trying to maintain the peaceful moment.

Janus rolled to his side to face Roman and he did the same. 

"I guess… we go on with our lives… right?"

Their eyes met, Roman's eyes glittering in the moonlight, making him look even more unreasonably beautiful.

Don't. Get. Attached.

The voice in his head insisted. But, for the first time in his life, Janus ignored it. 

He leaned in closer, testing. When Roman didn't pull away, he took his hand and used it to tag him closer until their lips met in a hesitant kiss that grew more bold as neither of them pulled away.

They broke to catch their breaths. 

"This… this is crazy, right? I mean… just minutes ago we were trying to kill each other! You're only here because you were going to kill my brother!" Roman said, trying to process how fast they were moving.

"Romantic, isn't it?" Janus teased and Roman snorted again. Janus was starting to get addicted to the sound. "You've liked me since our flight, haven't you, Romeo?" 

Roman was definitely blushing now. "...no."

"Liar." Janus smirked, pressing their lips together again in a quick peck.

But, before he could pull away, Roman cupped the back of his head and pulled him closer to a hungry kiss that never seemed to end.

Soon, they'll be forced to figure out how they'll move on from here. But, for now, they get to enjoy each other's company.

[magdaclaire]

you ever get waves of rage reading your biological father's obit

[pastel-junkyard]

Some Ninalotte Headcanons,

because now that I finally have a break I cannot stop thinking about Them, and they need more content!

Series

• Lotte fell for Nina the same way she fell for Karl (or thought she did, depending on your headcanon) - it began as an anthropological fascination based on surface features and was able to progress deeper thanks to their friendship and acceptance, having a "click" moment some time in where she looked at them differently. As seen in the show, she quickly gets invested in both of their stories and tries her best to help them - that'd be her love language.

• Nina was very slow to fall for Lotte by contrast - she struggled to see herself as someone worth loving in that way, fearing that it may be dangerous for anyone who gets too close to her. (In general, I believe she is inexperienced with romance and never really connected with the few she accepted a date from in school.) I believe she only accepted it or was able to express it fully after the events of the series.

• That said, Nina ended up staying over at Lotte's house after the dance party fiasco, so she ended up meeting her parents and seeing Lotte's bedroom before insisting on taking the couch to sleep on.

• The sound of Lotte's voice and her scent are a source of comfort that helps Nina ground herself in the present moment. It all started in the hypnotism sessions and was something she only really realised in Prague.

(More under the cut...)

• Lotte found the gun and bullets when searching through Nina's bag for new clothes to leave the hospital with, but it was only when she walked in on Nina cleaning it that she dared to ask anything.

• Despite all her efforts to separate from everyone at the second departure from Munich, Nina still had a little thing (not sure what yet) Lotte gave her that day when she left. She couldn't bring herself to throw it, so it ended up at the bottom of her travel bag instead and maybe got a little smile out of her on the way back to Munich.

• Lotte was understandably worried at every point of the series, especially at the above point and Rühenheim. She had trouble concentrating on her work with all the new developments and so had to get help from the lecturers and perhaps an in-house counsellor like Dr Geitel. Your mileage may vary on the extent of this, but I think she may have used religion as a coping mechanism for the uncertainty, praying for Nina's safety and for her to not have to use her gun. (Really just extrapolating from the references to God she makes in ep. 32/ch. 61 here. But certainly by Rühenheim I can see even a more secular Lotte making an appeal to the Divine.)

Post-Series:

• Long-distance relationship for a good while, with plenty of carefully-worded letters and emails updating each other on events in Munich and Heidelberg. They take turns visiting each other's cities and are trying to figure out a way to live together while still paying homage to their regional identities. (That's apparently fairly important in Germany, as people who may travel a lot may still want to bring up their kids and end their days in their home region. Well, it may be less so now. Anyway--)

• Phone calls are where they feel most free to be affectionate when not face-to-face - no paper trace means no snoop can go through their (more likely Nina's) bins for an exclusive. They are still somewhat careful not to let anyone overhear, so prefer to call in the evening or night.

• They both like sending little gifts with their letters and pictures with their emails (when that becomes a thing). Nina likes sending brochures and article clippings of things relevant to Lotte's interests, like medieval history or cultural exchange events. Lotte sends pressed flowers and leaves, as well as little doodles of her original characters.

...that's all I've got for now.

[oculusxcaro]

Khare does not know how to use a gun. She snatched the one belonging to her cell guard upon knocking him out but had no idea how to use it, eventually leaving it behind back in the mountains. Cindy on the other hand is very well-practised when it comes to using firearms, learning self-defence after getting kidnapped by the Mad Hatter. Jerry once worked as heavy muscle for Scarface and has no problems using guns but rarely needs to pull one out, being six and a half feet tall and weighing almost 300lbs of solid muscle.

[drewybear]

You are given a gun, with one bullet in it.

You can shoot anyone, including yourself.

Who do you kill?

Uh, this took a dark turn.

No. I refuse. I take out the bullet. No murder here.

[underestimated-heroine]

I think it's wild how many of these right-wing politicians are staunchly "anti-kink" (read: homophobic, transphobic, fascist, ✨AND✨ anti-kink) when they so openly and shamelessly have gun fetishes. I'm not even saying that to try to be smug anywhere near as much as you'd think. Politicians like Boebert need to take their hoplophilia to a subreddit or a BDSM group instead of the fucking capitol.

[cassiuspr]

I dint think i’ve shot a revolver before my parents might have one but idk i mainly just shoot a 22 when we go to the shooting range

I should go to the shooting range more often TBH. All these moving targets are getting a little boring to shoot at!

[slow-drowned-angels]

Saw a post about guns (talking about the morality of shooting someone who is stealing from your house, a typical gun rights/gun ownership argument).

Maybe it’s because I’m brainweird or that I know (?) that statistically having a gun in the house leads to a higher chance of being killed by said gun (fact check this! I’m just going off of memory and stats are… complicated)… but I do not trust myself or anyone I know in the same house as a gun.

I have Constantly Scared For My Life disorder and also various Emotional Dysregulations and neither would be helped by knowing that I or anyone else in my immediate vicinity can have a deadly weapon at a moments notice.