#gun violence mention -

[brieflie]

[ppace762]

Come watch the QSMP we have:

-Gay sex

-Child death

-Transgender eggs

-Grieving parents

-An interesting portrayal of Jesus

-Dancing cockroaches

-Gun violence

[seraphic-sapphic-safehaven]

I cannot believe that the same man I protested alongside for BLM during the summer of 2020 got elected to be a state representative.... just for other lawmakers to put in a formal request for him and 2 others to be removed this year. Why do they want him removed, you ask? BECAUSE HE PROTESTED WITH 10,000+ STUDENTS YESTERDAY FOR BETTER GUN LEGISLATION, THEIR RIGHT TO FEEL SAFE IN SCHOOL, AND MORE!!

Representative Justin Jones, also known as Brother Jones to many of us here in TN, does not deserve this. He's a fantastic organizer and now state legislator who has repeatedly put his body, mental health, and life on the line for countless people. And the other two Reps., Gloria Johnson and Justin Pearson, don't deserve it either. Especially not for joining people they're meant to represent in a fight for their safety and rights.

If you wanna help them, please call Speaker Cameron Sexton's office at +1-615-741-2343 and leave a voicemail demanding they not unlawfully remove Reps. Jones, Johnson, and Pearson from their rightfully-elected positions. You can leave a name, real or not, and number if you want, but you don't have to. You can also email Speaker Sexton at speaker.cameron.sexton@capitol.tn.gov.

PLEASE REBLOG THIS IF YOU SEE IT, AND PLEASE HELP IF YOU'RE WILLING AND ABLE TO!

[ebenrosetaylor]

My students when I tell them not to make animations of people shooting at each other with guns and then getting hit by a train with blood everywhere:

[little-ghost-little-ghost]

*Holds a gun to your head*

[comic-art-showcase]

Spider-Man by Jim Cheung

you can bid on this piece in the comment section of Cheung's Instagram post

Funds from the campaign will go to the Monterey Park Lunar New Year Victims Fund

[hylianengineer]

Goddamn it, I have either triggered the Dairy-Allergy-Induced-Anxiety, or I am simply incapable of calming down after this chaotic day. Maybe both.

Also I keep hearing noises I really hope are fireworks... but who sets off fireworks on Halloween? Isn't that illegal? Which isn't to say people don't do it...

I'm really Not Over the sulfuric acid incident at work today. I'm physically completely unharmed but emotionally very shaken up. I've never had a real lab accident before that required reporting or medical advice or anything. This one might not have technically required it either, but the MSDS (material safety data sheet - records we keep on every chemical we use that hold safety and first aid information) said to get medical attention. So I called Poison Control. I'm not even sure why I decided that was the correct people to call - it was very much not an emergency situation since there were no visible injurjes, and who else knows about chemical exposure? Maybe the University EHS department, whose phone number is on the lab door, but really, I don't know who they are or what they do beyond picking up our haz waste. I'm told I made the right call but I feel really self concious about it - why did I call Poison Control, aren't they supposed to deal with small children putting weird things in their mouths, not lab techs with chemical spills? They seemed totally unphased though. And it worked out, they knew what to do, I didn't actually get hurt, I took all the precautions.

After I got off the phone with Poison Control - but before I knew for sure everything was ok, because apparently acid burns don't always develop immediately and they said they'd call me back in an hour - I went upstairs to the grad students' office hoping against hope my favorite PhD student would be there. For emotional support and to have someone around slightly more experienced in Lab Stuff than me. She was not there. However, the PI and a couple other people were having a meeting in the conference room across the hall, and noticed me, and asked if I needed something - I do not generally come to that part of the building. I told her the whole story, and she looked at my not-burn (it seemed completely normal) and told me I did all the right things and it seemed like everything would be fine and asked if I needed anything. Then I went back to the lab, panicked some more, and waited for the Poison Control people to call me back. Which they did 45 minutes late, but I guess they're busy and this was low priority. Fair.

I feel so... ugh. That I was never taught who you call about stuff like this. I know to run acid-affected skin under running water for fifteen minutes. (I even know WHY you're not supposed to neutralize an acid burn with a base: acid+base=water+HEAT.) I know - in theory - how safety showers and chemical spill kits work (I'm so glad I didn't have to test THOSE!). But as for who to call afterwards? It was always assumed someone who knew more than me would be around to handle it. I was the only person in the lab today, and I didn't even know there were other lab members in the building. If I needed help but it wasn't 911 levels of bad, what the hell was I supposed to do? Fucking improvise? If I could've left the lab I could've gone to the office where I know some people - but I was kinda trapped at the sink running my arm under water for a minimum of fifteen minutes. And what the hell do the office folks know about chemical spills anyways?

Is this what being an adult is always like? Constantly figuring things out alone even though you feel like there should be someone older and more experienced and more Trained For This Shit around to handle it?

We used to have a lab manager who I assumed would be around to help if anything like this ever happened. She left six months ago and I've been doing half her job ever since. I'm not trained for this. And on Friday I have to go back to work and keep doing shit I wasn't trained for - this time attempting to repair the ion chromatograph.

Part of me feels like I freaked out over nothing. One drop of acid on one inch of exposed skin. Part of me feels angry that I feel like that. It was fine. It WAS fine. But how was I supposed to know that? I just did what the best information I had at the time - the MSDS - told me to do. Kind of. In the only way I could figure out how to do it. I'm kind of starting to think the MSDS writers need to take a chill pill - I swear every time I end up really needing one, it says something really scary, I act accordingly, and then I feel like an idiot afterwards. (Long story.)

[mxshr0mz]

Yes! let’s focus on banning tiktok and continue to ignore homeless, gun violence and stagnant wages. I sure am glad our government cares so much about us.

[urlocallesbiab]

ok the initial post for brotzly fake couple's therapy au has already gotten way too long, so i take this as a sign i should start posting things separately and establish a new navigation tag

so, either way, a lil background on the characters

todd: exactly the same shit as canon, just imagine that instead of the seer-of-universal-truths syndrome there's some regular non-magical neurological disease running in the brotzman family.

farah: mostly similar to canon, just a bit toned down. she's not exactly an one-woman army, but she is freakishly physically fit, combat-ready, and proficient with common types of firearms — significantly more than you would expect any random person to be; she had always wanted to become a part of the police force like her brothers and father, but never passed the screenings due to debilitating anxiety, ocd and autism (never tried to join the fbi or the military tho; both her skills and her family expectations aren't That high).

her father had gotten terminally sick when she was a teen, and that significantly cut their income and added to their spendings, usa healthcare system be damned; old family friend, successful enterpreneur patrick spring, had stepped in to support them both financially and morally. farah ended up being halfway raised by him, always hanging out at his house and playing with lydia; out of all her family, save for her father, farah was the closest to patrick.

some time before the main timeline events, maybe half a year or a year ago, farah, patrick and lydia were having a nice family outing — up until patrick had been shot to death in broad daylight. his history of rising to success hadn’t been exactly pretty, you see, and the organized crime eventually took what was due. farah still blames herself for letting that happen despite her training and her worrying habit of never leaving the house without her gun; but if you asked her, really asked her how would she go about preventing that, she wouldn't be able to give you a good answer — it's just that one second he was alive, and the next he was not.

lydia, as both the key witness and the fortune's inheritor, had been taken into the witness protection program; farah hasn't heard from her since. she misses her like crazy, possible even more than patrick. therapy was meant to help her cope with the ruinous ptsd from those events, and she's been slowly, slowly making progress. that day she was having an especially Bad One — after which she and dirk got shit-faced — was soon after her father's death.

dirk: he grew up in the foster care system, and as a pre-teen was adopted by a kind and soft-bellied, if a little strict, ex-military man on a good pension, scott riggins. dirk had always been a bright kid, fascinated by complex mathematics (oh, the patterns! the beauty chaos and order! the language of the universe!) and some strains of physics (especially quantum studies; it all started with an article on shrodinger's cat and went downhill from there), quickly picking up on underlying logic within numbers (way quicker than his little undiagnosed autistic brain picked up on most social cues); teachers always promised him a bright future, even with the chronic lack of resources. scott had made sure dirk would get access to the best education possible, be taught by best tutors available, enroll into the best school imaginable; he gave dirk everything, and all the boy had to do is put in some effort. and he tried, oh god did he try; but he didn't do it hard enough. the new schoolwork load was multiple times bigger and harder than the worst he had ever experienced before, and he would often grow exhausted, distracted, unfocused and loose-minded (the adhd never got diagnosed either). some days a new and curious configuration would catch his attention and he would crack down on it with fervor, but some days he would just sit there and chew on the same three problems for hours on end to no avail. on those bright days scott saw his potential, his true and exciting and wonderful potential, and wanted the kid to live up to it; on the brain-foggy days, when he failed to do so, scott grew dissappointed. and whenever he felt disappointed, dirk felt it tenfolds on his skin. scott wasn't violent, godforbid, he's not a monster — just a little strict: it's just that he frowned, and tutted, and shook his head, and told dirk off, and didn't kiss him, and said things that dirk deserved to hear no matter how it felt, and took his books away (if there was anything the kid loved as much as math, it was thrilling detective stories, and sci-fi, ans fantasy, preferably all at once, read in one sitting) so that he wouldn't get distracted, and sometimes wouldn't call dirk down for dinner until he was done with the homework.

it hurt terribly to have the only person who'd ever cared about dirk, who had chosen him out of everyone else, who had chosen him and stuck by him, the only person in the world who loved him, be upset with dirk. for the longest time, dirk was convinced that he simply was lazy, and awful, and ungrateful, and hopeless, and the worst person to ever live, with how he let his father down time after time. but over the years, his self-hatred got so large he couldn't carry it anymore, and it spilled onto the mental image of scott, just so that he could breathe again; over the years, he grew bitter and disillusioned. as a young adult, he still couldn't tell if scott's demands and ambitions were fueled by simple materialistic hopes of fame and monetary grants, or a vain desire for glory, or some weird roundabout way of achieving personal fulfillment, but he knew for sure: scott riggins wanted himself a pet boy genius, not a son.

when the time came to attend college, dirk picked cambridge over harward, mostly because he would take any excuse to get an ocean away from scott. and he passed the exams — with flying colors! he was, after all, exceptionally smart. the teachers were delighted to have him; three months later he got booted because he missed half the classes and didn’t do any homework: drunk on the newfound freedom, stressed out by a trans-atlantic move, and lacking the only accountability system (however flawed) he'd ever had. he didn't tell scott, of course — he wasn't ready to go back home, he would do anything to avoid going there. so he took the college-student-allowance his foster father kept sending him, none the wiser, and set out backpacking across britain and then the rest of europe. soon it turned out that travelling cross-country is slightly more costly than living at the dorms, and there were only so many plausible excuses he could use to cajole more money out of scott, and coming clean about his strategical-omissal-of-crucial-information-that-wasn't-tecnhically-outright-lying was out of the question, so dirk had to cut some costs: skip a meal here, sleep on a train station bench there, get chased out by foreign policemen once or twice, a few times of staying overnight at some shady moldy place with some shady people whose language he didn't speak too well — nothing any other travelling young person hasn't seen, truly. he was coping alright. eventually scott caught wind anyway, and dirk, not that dirty and scrawny, had been forcibly dragged home. from there it's been a steep decline in the relationship: more harsh demands and more desperate pleading, more affection followed by more coldness, threats and promises from scott, and a few failed attempts at coninued education, a few move-outs followed by a few move-back-ins, plus a few ultimately abandoned career choices from dirk, who never seemed to grow out of whatever it was that was wrong with him, even as a decade slowly passed and gave way to another one.

when todd meets dirk for the first time and asks the inevitable "so what do you do for a living?", dirk introduces himself as a writer, which, combined with his rather frivolous spending habits and impressive disposable income, leads todd to assume that dirk must be some literary genius, top-nyt-bestseller, author-of-future-classics madly successful type of guy — but in reality, he sits on his arse and writes experimental-storytelling-style sci-fi/fantasy/whodunnit fusions that no agency interested in commercial success wants to look at, he's been published only once by a tiny indie house that paid him jack shit and a penny in royalties, and half his money still comes from scott. that financial dependence is the main reason dirk's in the us at the moment — he's been pulled from his latest bout of doing volunteer work for a queer nonprofit in eastern europe by the threat of cutting his whole goddamn allowance off. as a compromise, he returned to the country but not to the city, claiming that he needed fresh scenery to inspire his creativity and maybe actually write a profitable book for once; really, he just hadn't been mentally ready yet to be in the same town as scott so soon. so, settle, washington it is, why the hell not.

by the way, "dirk gently" is his pen name — legally, he's still dirk riggins. also, in the skype calls he's sometimes talked into having, dirk still calls him "father", but behind his back it's been "scott" for almost two decades now: at some point growing up he felt the need to put some mental space between himself and that man in order to stay sane.

after his fateful Big Talk with todd, where dirk admitted the less pleasant parts of his childhood and youth in most detail he had ever did in his whole life, todd convinces him to start looking for a better job to support himself, change his legal name, and someday cut riggins off for good. also get some therapy, for fuck's sake, god.

[magnetothemagnificent]

Make up your mind lmaoooooo

Also it's "dumb as hell", not "dumb ass hell".

[id in alt]

[dragonomatopoeia]

actually while i'm lobcorp posting i should show off the poster silv made for me to hang on the fridge of the corporation's breakroom

[jackalopescruff]

stressing the fuck out bc i have work today which isnt normally a big deal but literally the last 3 consecutive days there has been a shooting within half a block of the store I have to work today and i am a lone trans person who works in the early morning and it's scary and i'm freaking the fuck out.

[sunflowerseraph]

Tw for Gun violence, School shooting.

I know I made a post about this before but I can't find it so I'm making another one! There's a movie about a school shooting, and the ads keep running on YouTube. The first five seconds are unskippable and feature blood, and a panic inducing moment of this girl trying to stop a young man from getting shot. It also features the gunman shouting and pointing his weapon at the man when he's found. The movie is called "Run Hide Fight". Here's the first second of it. Cw for Blood on the walls / Implied death / Implied violence.

[seraphic-sapphic-safehaven]

I just saw someone say that a trans woman was the shooter at that private school in Nashville, TN (not far from me) today. And I'm just hoping and praying that's not fucking true. It's not like it's unexpected for my fellow Tennesseeans to make shit up like that for the sake of being transphobic, but so little is known right now that I can't disprove it. They didn't even give the name of the shooter until like an hour ago. If it is a lie, though, I just.... I know they hate us this much, but jfc I can't believe they hate us this fucking much.

[sol1loqu1st]

saw a post seriously advocating that trans ppl Need To Get A Gun And Learn How To Use It in response to anti-trans policies like are you fucking kidding me right now. great idea let's give all the trans people the fastest easiest most impulsive means of suicide like what are you going to do, shoot a transphobe and get arrested??? are we for gun control or not????? you sound like a fucking libertarian. grow up

[wetchickenbreast]

one time there was an active shooter threat at my apartment complex and to calm myself down while i was waiting for it to be over i watched this one tomgreg edit thing to Off to the Races by lana del rey on loop and that song is kinda permanently ruined for me now