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The article, written by Will Dabbs, MD, and published on "The Armory Life," provides a detailed explanation about semi-automatic firearms, making it accessible to readers who may be unfamiliar with the terminology. It differentiates semi-automatic firearms from fully automatic ones by explaining that semi-automatic firearms self-load and fire one round per trigger pull without manual cycling between shots. The article traces the historical development of man-portable firearms from early fire lances in 10th century China to modern semi-automatic rifles, handguns, and shotguns. It explains the mechanics behind various gun designs, such as bolt-action and pump-action, highlighting how semi-automatic firearms uniquely harness firing energy for reloading, enabling quicker successive firing. Popular firearms like the Springfield Armory M1911 and AR-15-style rifles are examined for their efficiency in both defense and sport, while emphasizing the advantages of modern metallurgy and design in making these firearms versatile for various applications. Finally, the article notes that semi-automatic firearms require maintenance and skill to operate effectively and remain reliable.
#Semi-automatic firearm#Springfield Armory#ammunition#cartridges#magazine#chamber#recoil energy#trigger mechanism#slide#bolt#gas system#hammer#firing pin#disconnector#extractor#ejection port#double-action#single-action#striker-fired#sear engagement#cycling process#semi-automatic pistol#semi-automatic rifle#safety mechanisms#firearm enthusiasts#gun owner responsibilities#legal regulations#Second Amendment rights#shooting sports#hunting
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Winchester Wildcat, 22. LR at the range.
#winchester#winchester firearms#america#gunshot#firearm history#firearms#hunting rifle#rabbit hunting#range day#gun range#22. lR#22 long rifle#semi automatic#small arms#dont tread on me#gun play
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Valentina Safronova armĂ©e d'un fusil semi-automatique Tokarev SVT-40 â 1940's
Valentina Safronova est une partisane soviétique et une agente des renseignements qui s'est engagée dans la reconnaissance et le sabotage jusqu'à sa capture et sa mort par la Gestapo le 1er mai 1943.
#WWII#WW2#armée soviétique#soviet army#armée rouge#red army#valentina safronova#armes d'infanterie#infantry weapon#fusil semi-automatique#semi-automatic rifle#tokarev svt-40#svt-40#1940's#1940s
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A Shooting I Don't See Many People Talk About.
Michael Peter Slobodian, 16, from Brampton, Ontario, Canada. He died by suicide on May 28th, 1975 after injuring 13 people and killing 2 at Brampton Centennial Secondary School.
He used a .444-caliber lever-action rifle and a .22-caliber semi-automatic rifle during his rampage.

Photo of Michael ^
One of his suicide notes read:
"To whom it may concern, my life is now gone to pot. I am going to eliminate certain people from this world. Those people are:
Mrs. Wright
Mr. Bronson
And any other sucker who gets in my way. I am then going to kill myself so as not to be imprisoned. I am not insane but just strictly fed up of life. I am not getting myself anywhere and it's my fault.
I love my parents and my family and I know that they love me.
Michael Peter Slobodian."
He also wrote:
"When I die, I hope to find a little peace upon my mind."
#tcc tumblr#tccblr#tcc fandom#teeceecee#true cringe community#true crume#truecrime#truecrimecommunity
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Part 2!
Finally finished moving house so hopefully Iâll be updating semi-regularly again.
Content: brief and non-descriptive explanation of Rasputinâs backstory (injury and illness)
Agatha is over again.
You donât know why. She doesnât like you, your cats, or anything as far as you can tell. It seems her primary motivation for talking to you at all is to exercise her role as neighborhood matriarch. She âkeeps tabsâ on everyone, but especially you - the unmarried woman living alone that keeps odd hours.
A rebellious part of you wants to roll your eyes and make snarky comments whenever she sniffs at your life choices. The same part of you that would make scenes at holiday dinners or slam doors when you were a teenager. That girl has long been smoothed and polished - or maybe just worn down. Itâs so much effort to make rude, nosy, traditionalists clutch their pearls. Much easier to smile in their face and do what you want anyway.
Still, that part of you itches at the surface sometimes. Makes your eye twitch.
âI know your generation is different but thatâs just not the type of neighborhood we live in,â sheâs saying.
Youâre a bit foggy from a late night patching plotholes and havenât registered much of anything sheâs said. You really just want to go inside and stare at the TV until words make sense again.
âWhat do you mean?â you ask, for once not feigning your confusion. But of course this is the one time she doesnât buy it.
She looks down her frail little nose at you, cornflower blue eyes baleful. You donât feel scolded, but you sense that youâre supposed to.
âNow you know just what I mean. People will talk.â
People always talk, itâs an unfortunate byproduct of the human condition. Like a deaf bird, youâve never understood all the chatter.
âTalk about⊠the buttercups?â you wonder, pointing at the blossoms. Youâre quite proud of them actually.
Agatha puffs up and hisses out a breath. âYou ought to keep to this side of the street. Away from those men.â
You blink. Men�
A bang comes from across the street, followed by rough German cursing. (At least you think itâs cursing.)
Ah. Those men.
âI was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.â
It comes out of your mouth automatically, innocent excuses for something you remind yourself you donât need to justify.
âIâd rather they didnât feel welcome,â she snips. âBetter they sell that awful house and go somewhere else.â
You flick your eyes over her bony shoulder. Konig passes by a window, massive biceps on display as he lifts something outside of view.
âTheyâre nice,â you say. Nice to look at. Kruegerâs face alone quite makes up for his conversational shortcomings.
âThe only reason men like that act nice is because they want something,â Agatha snaps. âThis is a respectable neighborhood.â
Yeah, soooo respectable when Bertram rifles through your mail or Lisa looks into your backyard.
âWell,â you muse, âbetter to be on good terms with them, I think. They're not the type you want to piss off.â
That defiant streak lights up at the way her face sours. If only she knew what sort of words you use when itâs just you and the cats.
âYouâve just proven my point. Those are not the type of men young ladies should associating themselves with.â
You have to try very hard not to scrunch up your face. One blessed day, people will stop referring to you as âyoung ladyâ in that insufferably condescending tone. You canât wait for that day.
Some of your mounting irritation must show on your face because she takes on a sickly sweet âteachingâ tone.
âNeighborhoods are like gardens. Everything grows best when the rows are kept separate. Thatâs why the farmers plant them that way.â
You glance pointedly at your own yard, where the flowers are blooming in haphazard sprigs wherever you tossed the seeds. Agathaâs lips get thin.
âBest that you stay on this side of the street, missy. Thatâs the last Iâll hear of it.â
She spins on her heel and stalks off like a particularly drab bird. You stand on your porch for a second longer, face contorted in annoyed confusion. You donât even have strong feelings about the three men; the simple act of someone - Agatha of all people - labeling them as âOff Limitsâ makes them instantly more appealing.
Maybe you should see someone about that or something. Then the pathetic cries of Guy through the window lure you back inside.
Itâs nearly sundown when thereâs a knock at your door. Still agitated from your talk with Agatha, you puff up like Shithead when Rasputin sits on her favorite toy. March up to the door, fling it open - and come up short when you see the three men looming on your doorstep.
Before you can recover, a little gray blob scrambles past your ankles, crying like the sky is falling.
âOh!â Konig gasps in pleasant surprise. âHallo, Bubchen!â
And all 6-foot-plus of Austrian instantly folds to scoop Guy up. Youâve barely managed a now-useless shout of alarm when Shithead wedges her fat head between your calves. Behind you, Rasputin politely screeches his little chainsmoker call.
And somehow, in the chaos of fumbling for furballs, you end up with all three men in your foyer.
Guy is purring away in Konigâs thick arms. Shithead is attempting to scale Kruegerâs tight cargo pants. And Rasputin is pawing the air at Nikto, visibly calculating the jump to his wide shoulders.
Which leaves you with the clean serving platter you dropped off just yesterday. You blink at it for a moment, then glance at them.
âSo⊠the cookies were good then?â
âVery good!â Konig rushes to say. Krueger and Nikto each nod, almost comically solemn.
âWe have no baking or cooking skills,â Krueger continues, âso tell us what needs fixing.â
It takes you a moment to understand what he means. The house. He wants to fix your house. Itâs surprisingly sweet, and you laugh a bit, shaking your head. âYou donât need to do that, I was just-â
âIs custom,â Nikto interrupts.
Konig nods with all the enthusiasm of a bobblehead as Krueger crosses his arms. (Whatever effect heâs going for is ruined by Shithead clinging to his pocket and screaming.)
âIn our country, we bring gifts as guests. Our gift is repairs,â he explains.
You arch your brows playfully. âI donât remember inviting you to be guests.â
He arches his brows right back. âWe did not invite you either.â
Well shit.
âOkay, okay. I guess thereâs a couple thingsâŠâ
Konig perks up. âWe would be happy to help, Biene!â
Itâs strange having men in the house. You think you should be more nervous about it, canât remember the last non-family man allowed into your space. Especially alone.
Thereâs a sharp awareness, of course. Hard not to be aware of them. Itâs not just that theyâre big, dwarfing all of your you-sized furniture. Thereâs a presence to them, something felt but not seen by your untrained eye. Maybe itâs in the set of their shoulders, the way they stand with both boots firmly planted. Maybe itâs the precise way they speak and move, not just separately but as a unit. Acting more like a collective consciousness than as individuals.
Whatever it is, you couldnât ignore them if you tried. And youâre definitely not trying.
You set Krueger to work on the kitchen cabinet youâve been meaning to replace. He clicks his tongue at the tape-and-lean method youâve been using to keep the old one in place. Shithead immediately sets to work helping by gnawing at his shoelaces.
Konig is stationed in the guest bathroom, where the sink doesnât run right. Guy comes mewing into your arms when heâs set down, effectively tattling that his new friend is mean and awful for withholding affection for even a moment.
You try not to visibly hesitate when you corner yourself in your own laundry room. Nikto has followed you right in, seemingly unaware that heâs invading your personal space. Heâs not even looking at you though, eyes zeroed in on the dryer you point to.
âItâs not heating up, so the clothes stay wet or take forever to dry,â you explain.
He grunts in acknowledgement, then nods to Rasputin, who has taken up residence on the washer. His one golden eye blinks slow and serene at the two of you.
âWhat happened?â he asks.
You hum, softening in pleasant surprise at the question.
âIâm not sure how he lost his eye. It was infected when I found him. But I know for sure the tail and leg are from getting hit by a car.â
You sigh, scratching at Rasputinâs chin. A rusty purr starts up as he tilts his head, revealing some nasty scars around his throat.
âThe vet said that thatâs probably from a fight with another cat,â you add.
Guy steps from your arms to cuddle up to Rasputin, shoving his face into his ragged ear. Grooming time, then. Thatâs as good an indication as any that Niktoâs probably safe enough.
âI ran down from an office building to save him.â You blink hard, eyes stinging just from the memory. âBut anyway, he gets to rest and be pampered now.â
When you glance up from Rasputinâs happy little face, you almost startle at the sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. Your face feels warm, even though youâre not embarrassed.
âIâll, um, get out of the way,â you say, clearing your throat. âKeep an eye on things, Ras.â
With the men occupied, you find yourself once again at loose ends. You drift towards the den, but it feels awkward to sit on your ass watching TV while your neighbors fix your house.
You check the time on your phone - ignoring the text from your mother - and figure itâs not too early to start dinner.
âWill I be in the way if I start cooking?â you ask Krueger.
He flicks you a dimissive glance. âA little thing like you?â
You scoff and cross to the fridge. âYou could have just said no.â
âNein,â he snorts.
Rude bastard, you think - though not without fondness, unfortunately. The surly attitude is already growing on you.
Thereâs meat and spare boxes of pasta and veggies - thatâll work. You start tugging out ingredients, mentally doubling portions for your guests. They look like they work out even beyond the construction labor, hopefully youâll have enough to satisfy their appetites.
âSo whatâs the plan with the house?â you ask as you get to work. âJust fixing it up to sell orâŠ?â
âWe will live there, the three of us,â Krueger answers. He swipes a screwdriver from Shitheadâs batting paws. âSomewhere to stay when we are not working.â
You hum, biting back the next obvious question, loathe to become as nosy as the rest of your neighbors. Still⊠getting to know people, right?
It sounds like they expect to travel a lot. You canât imagine them as business types - not in the traditional sense anyway. Though the image of Konig sitting in a tiny cubicle does make you smile a bit. Between their statures, their clothes, their shoes, and the occasional nasty scar, you take a guess.
âAre you guys military?â
âContractor,â Krueger corrects.
You perk up. âWait, really?â
He scowls. âDoes it sound like a joke?â
You huff and turn back to the veggies youâre cutting. âNo, no. I just - you know about guns and knives and things, then?â
He pauses. You shoot him a curious glance, only to quickly look away at the intense scrutiny directed your way.
âYes,â he answers slowly.
âThen⊠could you maybe answer some questionsâŠ?â
His eyes narrow. âQuestions?â
You keep your gaze on the cutting board. âOkay, wait, it's not suspicious. Iâm a writer and itâs hard to google very specific questions sometimes. Itâs just easier to ask an expert in person.â
Never mind that majority of your readers would never know the difference. It bothers you when things arenât accurate.
He makes a considering noise. âA writer?â
You flush. âThatâs what I do. Why Iâm always home? I publish fiction.â
He stands, brushing his hands off on his pants. You peek his way, shocked to see a task youâve been putting off for weeks already done. Hell, it looks sturdier than the rest of the cabinet doors, too.
âAnd your fiction requires knowledge of guns and knives and âthingsâ?â he asks.
Your face feels like itâs on fire. âSometimesâŠâ
ïżœïżœïżœFine. I will answer your questions,â he allows.
You beam. âThank you!â
He grunts, snatches a slice of pepper and pops it into his mouth.
âWhat else needs doing?â
Dinner ends up much more pleasant than expected. Nikto abstains from eating, you assume because he doesnât feel comfortable removing his ever-present mask, but he sits at the table with Rasputin in his lap. He speaks little, and has that intense gaze that prickles at your freeze instinct, but you grow used to it as the meal progresses.
Konig, however, becomes chattier with food in his belly. Heâs much more forthcoming when he answers your polite and totally casual questions - though you notice Krueger kick him under the table once or twice.
You suppose he gets you back by effectively announcing to the others what your career is. Which just kicks off the usual line of questioning about how and why you got into writing. Still, thereâs no judgment from these men that make their living in labors of blood and sacrifice, where you expected censure. You only find genuine curiosity and intrigue, good-natured questions. Not even Krueger makes backhanded comments about it not being a ârealâ job.
Before you know it, the moon is high and youâre sending the three of them off, bellies full and a little friendlier than before. Nikto nods to you (and Rasputin) as he leaves, a big Tupperware of his dinner portion in hand.
You tell yourself itâs not anticipation that goes through you, knowing theyâll be back with it soon.
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Masterlist
#cod#my writing#fanfiction#reader fic#dark fic#cod krueger#sebastian krueger#konig#konig cod#cod nikto#polyamory#bad neighbours#men at work
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messed up to prefer semi-automatic rifles over bolt-action. like. grow up. what, are you mad about cycling the ammo by deftly and lovingly pulling on your rifle's... no i shant say it. but you need to grow up. do you feel threatened by her? you want her to censor herself? you don't want to see her thing, you dont want to touch it and pull it and tug on it? and you dont want to top the chamber off to make sure youre ready to take the next shot? you dont want to see her like this, to hear the sound? once again... grow up. let her speak. think about it. really thinjk about it then get back to me.
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The difference between Democrats and Republicans:
Gus Walz, at age 17, saw his Dad, Tim Walz, up on stage, ready to accept his party's nomination for vice president. Gus was so overwhelmed with emotions that he gave his father a standing ovation as he wept. Gus made no attempt to hide or hinder his great joy, pride and love he has for his father.
Democrats celebrated Gus' reaction as a wonderful expression of the close-knit family values in the Walz household. Republicans, however, chose to publicly mock and ridicule the teenager, who is a special needs kid.

Kyle Rittenhouse, at age 17, heard about a Black Lives Matter protest regarding a police shooting in Wisconsin and drove all the way from his home in Illinois with a military-style semi-automatic rifle (the kind often used in mass shootings) to confront the protesters.
As he was threatening people with his assault rifle, brave BLM protesters tried to disarm the gunman. Kyle Rittenhouse killed two unarmed men that night, and by claiming self-defense âhe got away with it.
Now, Rittenhouse is a celebrated speaker at Republican events, describing him as a "hero to millions." They give him standing ovations while chanting his name.



To review: Republicans tried to humiliate a teenager with disabilities because he openly expressed the love he has for his family. But, they praise another teenager for shooting to death two unarmed people who would be alive today if Kyle had just left his f*cking assault rifle at home.
The deranged, upside-down "values" of Trump's Republican Party are not just weird, not just perverse âthey're dangerous.
#Gus Walz#kyle rittenhouse#republicans#politics#government#us politics#America#USA#vote#voting#democracy#beauty-funny-trippy#democrats#news#aesthetic#donald trump#trump#black lives matter#BLM#black tumblr#marjorie taylor greene#MTG#Tim Walz#dnc#gun control#gun violence#assault weapons ban#police#January 6
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On the 35th anniversary of The Ăcole Polytechnique massacre never forget the 14 women who were killed for being women in science
The Ăcole Polytechnique massacre (French: tuerie de l'Ăcole polytechnique), also known as the Montreal massacre, was an antifeminist mass shooting that occurred on December 6, 1989 at the Ăcole Polytechnique de MontrĂ©al in Montreal, Quebec. Fourteen women were murdered; another ten women and four men were injured.
Perpetrator Marc LĂ©pine, armed with a legally obtained Ruger Mini-14 semi-automatic rifle and hunting knife, entered a mechanical engineering class at the Ăcole Polytechnique. He ordered the women to one side of the classroom, and instructed the men to leave. After claiming that he was "fighting feminism", he shot all nine women in the room, killing six. The shooter then moved through corridors, the cafeteria, and another classroom, specifically targeting women, for just under 20 minutes. He killed eight more women before ending his own life. In total, 14 women were killed, and 14 others were injured.
The massacre is now widely regarded as an anti-feminist attack and representative of wider societal violence against women; the anniversary of the massacre is commemorated as the National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women. After the attack, Canadians debated various interpretations of the events, their significance, and the shooter's motives. Other interpretations emphasized the shooter's abuse as a child or suggested that the massacre was the isolated act of a madman, unrelated to larger social issues
The incident led to more stringent gun control laws in Canada, and increased action to end violence against women. It also resulted in changes in emergency services protocols to shootings, including immediate, active intervention by police. These changes were later credited with minimizing casualties during incidents in Montreal and elsewhere. The massacre remained the deadliest mass shooting in Canada until the 2020 Nova Scotia attacks over 30 years later.[4]
Contents
Timeline
Sometime after 4 p.m. on December 6, 1989, Marc LĂ©pine arrived at the building housing the Ăcole Polytechnique, an engineering school affiliated with the UniversitĂ© de MontrĂ©al, armed with a Ruger Mini-14 rifle and a hunting knife.[5] He had purchased the gun less than a month earlier on November 21 in a Checkmate Sports store in Montreal. He had told the clerk that he was going to use it to hunt small game.[6] He had been in and around the Ăcole Polytechnique building at least seven times in the weeks leading up to December 6.[5]
The perpetrator first sat in the office of the registrar on the second floor for a while, where he was seen rummaging through a plastic bag. He did not speak to anyone, even when a staff member asked if she could help him.[2] He then left the office and was seen in other parts of the building before entering a second-floor mechanical engineering class of about sixty students at about 5:10 p.m.[7] After approaching the student giving a presentation, he asked everyone to stop everything and ordered the women and men to opposite sides of the classroom. No one moved at first, believing it to be a joke until he fired a shot into the ceiling.[8][9]
LĂ©pine then separated the nine women from the approximately fifty men and ordered the men to leave.[10][9] He asked the women whether they knew why they were there; instead of replying, a student asked who he was. He answered that he was fighting feminism.[9][11] One of the students, Nathalie Provost, protested that they were women studying engineering, not feminists fighting against men or marching to prove that they were better. He responded by opening fire on the students from left to right, killing sixâHĂ©lĂšne Colgan, Nathalie Croteau, Barbara Daigneault, Anne-Marie Lemay, Sonia Pelletier, and Annie St-Arneaultâand wounding three others, including Provost.[9][11] Before leaving the room, he wrote the word "shit" twice on a student project.[10]
The gunman continued into the second-floor corridor and wounded three students before entering another room where he twice attempted to shoot a female student. When his weapon failed to fire, he entered the emergency staircase where he was seen reloading his gun. He returned to the room he had just left, but the students had locked the door; he failed to unlock it with three shots fired into the door. Moving along the corridor, he shot at others, wounding one, before moving towards the financial services office, where he shot and killed Maryse LaganiĂšre through the window of the door she had just locked.[12][11]
The perpetrator next went down to the first-floor cafeteria, in which about 100 people were gathered. He shot nursing student Barbara Maria Klucznick near the kitchens and wounded another student, and the crowd scattered. Entering an unlocked storage area at the end of the cafeteria, the gunman shot and killed Anne-Marie Edward and GeneviĂšve Bergeron, who were hiding there. He told a male and female student to come out from under a table; they complied and were not shot.[13]:â30â[11]
The shooter then walked up an escalator to the third floor where he shot and wounded one female and two male students in the corridor. He entered another classroom and told the men to "get out", shooting and wounding Maryse Leclair, who was standing on the low platform at the front of the classroom, giving a presentation.[13]:â26â27â He fired on students in the front row and then killed Maud Haviernick and MichĂšle Richard who were trying to escape the room, while other students dived under their desks.[11][13]:â30â31â The killer moved towards some of the female students, wounding three of them and killing Annie Turcotte. He changed the magazine in his weapon and moved to the front of the class, shooting in all directions. At this point, the wounded Leclair asked for help; the gunman unsheathed his hunting knife and stabbed her three times, killing her. He took off his cap, wrapped his coat around his rifle, exclaimed, "Oh shit", and then killed himself with a shot to the head, 20 minutes after having begun his attack.[14][13]:â31â32â About 60 unfired cartridges remained in the boxes he carried with him.[14][13]:â26â27â
After briefing reporters outside, Montreal Police director of public relations Pierre Leclair entered the building and found his daughter Maryse's stabbed body.[15][16]
The Quebec and Montreal governments declared three days of mourning.[15] A joint funeral for nine of the women was held at Notre-Dame Basilica on December 11, 1989, and was attended by Governor General Jeanne Sauvé, Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, Quebec premier Robert Bourassa, and Montreal mayor Jean Doré, along with thousands of other mourners.
The Victims
GeneviĂšve Bergeron (born 1968), civil engineering student
HĂ©lĂšne Colgan (born 1966), mechanical engineering student
Nathalie Croteau (born 1966), mechanical engineering student
Barbara Daigneault (born 1967), mechanical engineering student
Anne-Marie Edward (born 1968), chemical engineering student
Maud Haviernick (born 1960), materials engineering student
Maryse LaganiĂšre (born 1964), budget clerk in the Ăcole Polytechnique's finance department
Maryse Leclair (born 1966), materials engineering student
Anne-Marie Lemay (born 1967), mechanical engineering student
Sonia Pelletier (born 1961), mechanical engineering student
MichĂšle Richard (born 1968), materials engineering student
Annie St-Arneault (born 1966), mechanical engineering student
Annie Turcotte (born 1969), materials engineering student
Barbara Klucznik-Widajewicz (born 1958), nursing student
#December 6 1989#The Ăcole Polytechnique massacre (French: tuerie de l'Ăcole polytechnique)#The Montreal massacre#Canada#Quebec#Montreal#the National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women#Gun violence#Make violence#Gun control#Men claim to protect women#But the men just obeyed and left their classmates in the hands of a gunman#GeneviĂšve Bergeron (born 1968) civil engineering student#Barbara Daigneault (born 1967) mechanical engineering student#Anne-Marie Edward (born 1968) chemical engineering student#Maryse LaganiĂšre (born 1964) budget clerk in the Ăcole Polytechnique's finance department#Maryse Leclair (born 1966) materials engineering student#Anne-Marie Lemay (born 1967) mechanical engineering student#Sonia Pelletier (born 1961) mechanical engineering student#Barbara Klucznik-Widajewicz (born 1958) nursing student#Annie Turcotte (born 1969) materials engineering student#HĂ©lĂšne Colgan (born 1966) mechanical engineering student#MichĂšle Richard (born 1968) materials engineering student#Annie St-Arneault (born 1966) mechanical engineering student#Nathalie Croteau (born 1966) mechanical engineering student#Maud Haviernick (born 1960) materials engineering student
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how big is it đ€
how big is it? my M107 semi-automatic long range sniper rifle? it has an overall length of 57 inches, a barrel length of 29 inches, and weighs 28.5 pounds unloaded. thanks for asking.
#call of duty#cod mw2#ghost#ghost riley#rp ask blog#cod modern warfare#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#rp blog#simon riley
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Hi gun identifier! I don't know if you do asks like these, feel free to ignore, but I'm a writer and I have two characters who wield guns and having specific models for them from the gun identifier sounds like a dream
One of them uses a Shotgun, I was going for something that was quick and very damaging in close range.
The other one uses a Sniper Rifle, as I was going for a more "distance" combat type of thing.
If this were you, what specific gun would you choose for these two characters?
well it's gonna depend on what time period this is happening in, what sort of aesthetic you want, whether you want the gun to be from a specific region of the world, etc.
for the shotgun, immediately, quick and close range, you've got a serbu super shorty.

Now this is a modified, not entirely practical, low capacity shotgun. If you want something more tactically reasonable, you can take a mossberg 500 series shotgun, for example the 500 cruiser

or an ithaca 37 "stakeout"

or one of many variants of a remington 870


if you're looking for semi automatic shotgun, look at any of the Benelli M super 90 series, like the M4 (this one has a retractable stock!)

that is, of course, a short SHORT list of what kind of shotgun a character could be represented with. There are many more, but like i said, depends on what sort of vibe you want. Do they want something classic, something more technologically advanced, do they modify their own guns, is this a standard issue gun, etc etc.
same for a sniper rifle! want something old and classic? Remington 700! even older and more classicer? a mosin nagant! something that's way more powerful? how about a .338 lapua magnum arctic warfare magnum! not powerful enough? AX50! Cheytac M200 Intervention! capable of long range but still compact and modern? Q The Fix! semi auto? SVD! PSG-1! G28!
(and yes here's all the pictures in order)









again, same thing, what time period, what region, what vibe. Feel free to come ask more questions, i'll help no problem!
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Some of Anders Behring Breiviks Guns.
A Benelli Nova Pump Shotgun, a Glock 34 Semi-automatic pistol and a Storm Ruger Mini-14 Semi-automatic rifle
He took the rifle and pistol onto UtĂžya, while leaving the shotgun in his van.
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Robert hawkins:

On december 5th, 2005 19 year old robert hawkins entered a mall in omaha, nebraska, he would end up shooting eight people, 5 injured. Then ultimately, taking a self-inflicted wound to the head.
robert was heavily failed by the system, there were early sighs that he was troubled from the very beginning pubescent in elementary school, where he acted violently toward students, I feel like they viewed Robert as a lost cause for being unfit to behave and work a standard job well, keep a job
Therefore, they didnt see the point In trying to help him, because he would just relapse again. I can understand that to some extent, as in the frustration toward Robert. But I dont see why they kept denying him, the community should have come together and taught this troubled boy since he needed the encouragement. It is quite discouraging to see how Robert turned out, I tried to study his motive and life prior to the shooting, but it's a little tricky to have a complete verdict or assumptions. I hadn't seen any influences or a history with firearms, it's like it was a moment of repulsion. I watched the security footage of where he entered the mall, he came in about 5 minutesbeofre and stalked out of the place. Before returning with his automatic semi-rifle
I guess all I can really say is that he was looking for a way out, he had no hope for an exceeded future, and needed some incentives, oh and infamy, I remember in writing he did, he stated something about how he was gonna be well-known for something he was gonna do. Maybe this was the best decision for him, he seemed to like violence, and then on top of that, he was terribly depressed.
When hope is lost, humanitarian thought is to act out or however that goes.
All I can really say is, that he was gone awry and seen as âunimportantâ due to his inability to cooperate.
#tcc tumblr#smiggles#tccblr#teeceecee#true cringe community#tcctwt#tcc fandom#tc community#tcc columbine#adam tcc#robert hawkins
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Moonlight by the Docks (And They Say Romance is Dead) - Slade Wilson
Hi. It's been a while. But guess fucking what babes, I'm pulling all the stops to be forgiven. It's been more than a YEAR in the making, and mark my word it probably won't happen again so take it all in, but here is the Deathstroke smut a LOT of you have been wanting. Y'all, this is the long awaited sequel to Tango Ă Deux. Please forgive me?
(it's technically a sequel but can be read as a standalone if you accept that batsis and Slade already know each other)
Also, enjoy!
Pairing: Slade Wilson x Nightshade!Batsis
Word count: 4721
Warnings: violence, death/killing unnamed NPC, porn with plot, dirty talk (lots of it), unprotected sex, p in v, batsis and deathstroke fighting for dominance (NO classic dom/sub dynamics bc that's a pass for me), more dirty talk, body fluid, kinky shit, creampie, biting, rubbing, rough sex, reference to voyeurism, major praise kink, everything is extremely consenting and willing by both ADULT parties, might have missed something but I think if you made it this far you're into it.
Have fun ;)
âNightshade, statusâ
You barely heard Batman's hushed check in as you barrelled into a boarded up window, breaking the moulding wood with your shoulders and rolling out of the building as bullets rained over you. You wasted no time getting back on your feet, starting to sprint away from the semi automatic rifles rapid firing in your direction.
âNightshade, status?â
âJUST A MINUTEâ You yelled as you dived behind a large container, flinching at the sound of the bullets hitting the metal and ringing loud into your head. âFucking fuck shitâ
âWhat's going on?â Batman's voice grew agitated despite remaining a low hiss. âTalk to me Nightshadeâ
âWrong fucking intel!â You replied as you jumped on your feet again, taking advantage of the opportunity window their reloading gave you to run across the dockyard to find better cover. âIt's happening now! There's at least twenty guys here, all trained and armed to the teeth. And they're all on my ass right nowâ
What was supposed to be a simple recon mission with a possibility of stealth takedown op turned into a giant mess at the first opportunity. The second you slipped into the warehouse, you quickly realized that the three guards on shift that you had been briefed about was, in fact, a small militia that was ready to be deployed on some combat mission, or that's what you believed was being said before you got made.Â
You would have also liked to know in advance that the building was littered with state of the art tripwires, movement detectors and heat sensors. Alas, you had gone in believing it was just a normal warehouse, and you had realized a moment too late you had triggered pretty much every alarm on the upper floor and very much alerted the militia of your presence.Â
 âTell me your position, I'm comingâ
Your eyes went to the containers around you, taking as much information as you could without slowing down. Going into the maze of old containers was a great idea until you had to describe your surroundings. âI'm westbound, but those crates all look the same, Bâ
âOn my wayâ
You ducked as much as you could to make yourself smaller as the symphony of bullets bouncing on the metal caught up to you. You took a hard left, trying to remember which way was more likely to not end up with a dead end, then went to your right. You could hear them shout, not giving up the chase, but you still tempted a look over your shoulder. They weren't on you yet. You faced forward and picked up some speed, rounding the corner towards the darkest and narrowest path to the left.
Before your eyes could even adjust to the shadows cast by the containers, your feet lifted off the ground and a large gloved hand was slapped tight on your mouth. On instinct, you began trashing to get away before your back was pulled flush against a hard armoured chest with a strong arm locking your waist against it.Â
âQuiet, little birdâ
The militia paused at the crossroad, then after a string of barked orders, turned right. At the same time, your brain took in the orange and dark grey of the armour around you and pieced it with that voice you couldnât mistake for anyone else's. You stopped struggling, yet, he didnât release you. His hand was still firmly cupping your jaw while you could feel his other arm flex around your waist.Â
He tsked as the echoes of the yells grew more distant. âOnce again getting in my way. What will I do with you now?â
You replied something, but it was muffled by his glove. You reached up and pulled his hand down, but he still let it linger on your neck once your mouth was free. You felt a bit weak in the knees and cursed yourself for getting turned on so easily, and even more for your next words. âHopefully finish what you started last time if youâre not a cowardâ
Oh, that was so not the thing to say right now. You felt his hand around your neck tighten enough to be noticeable, but still loose enough for you to weigh your next words carefully. The yells once again grew closer, telling you the militia found a dead end and were backtracking towards your position.Â
âDo you really want to do this right now?â His voice was so close to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. As much as pouncing on him right there and then was generating divine images in your brain, you were still being hunted down by an enemy whoâd be on you much sooner than later. And well, if you died riding Deathstroke, Bruce would bring you back to life just to kill you himself, his own code be damned.Â
âAs much as I wanna say yes,â You breathed back. âThis bunch of angry men want me dead, so I believe the smart thing would be to deal with them firstâ
He released you. âAlright then. Iâll be hereâ
Your feet were fully back on the ground and you turned around to face him. Wow. You had been so right in your assumption that his other suitânamely, the one he was currently wearingâwould be hotter on him. Even in the dark, he looked positively glorious and mighty delicious in all that armour, and with a small armoury worth of weapons strapped all over his, big, strong, menacing bodyâÂ
You forced yourself to calm your thoughts down. âA little help would be appreciatedâ
âWhy?â You couldnât see his face, but you just knew it was full of smug arrogance. âIâve got my own mission here. Who says they're part of it?â
You glanced in the direction of the ever growing noise, then back to him. âC'mon, I'm literally about to have sex with you, the least you could do is make sure I'm alive for itâ
He sighed loudly. âI suppose you make a compelling pointâ
The militia rounded the corner and spotted you as Slade stepped between their fire and you. In one swift movement, he pulled out his sword and twirled it in his hand, as if provoking the armed men in front of him. For a moment, he just stood there, shielding you from the onslaught of bullets suddenly incoming your way. They all bounced on the front of Sladeâs armour, painting him off as some kind of god of war, and you couldnât help but gawk at the sight. You were so caught onto just how hot he looked that you almost didnât register him springing into action and starting to cut through the group.Â
You reached for your karambit blades in your thigh straps and followed him in, making sure not to stray too far from his shadow to keep your cover from the fire.Â
You waited for the reload to duck under his arm, sliding on your knees in a spin and slicing the tendons of two men. That sent them straight into the path of Slade's swords, adding to the bloodshed. You swiftly returned behind him as another round of bullet was fired, but by the sound alone, the number of gunmen was plummeting.Â
The next reload came and you once again stepped away from him as he brought his two swords down onto some poor son of a bitch. You noticed a knife coming down and aiming for the small opening between his suit and his mask, so you sprung into action.Â
Literally.
You used his propped up knee to propel yourself up and jump onto the guys' shoulders, gripping onto him by squeezing your thighs around his skull. He tried to get you off of him by spinning and thrashing like a mechanical bull, but you held on tight. He was getting desperate to throw you off as pressure grew around his head, lifting his knife in the air to stab your leg. You were faster however, reacting on instinct and plunging your karambits into his neck.Â
He began sputtering as he tried to claw at his throat, blood squirting out of his artery and onto your suit. He dropped down to his knees and you got off, only then noticing he had been the last one standing. Key word, had been. He fell down on the floor in a puddle of his own blood as you observed him. Then, you felt like you were being watched intensely.Â
You trailed your gaze up to see Slade on his feet and unmoving among the carnage he had mostly caused. You couldn't help the thoughts that flashed into your mind, or the way your body reacted to it. You closed your eyes and let out a sigh, wondering what the hell was wrong with you.
Because somehow, you found it fucking hot.
And the fact that he did all of that just to get a taste of you? Yeah that did it. You completely switched your brain off as your feet took determined steps to him, quickly closing the distance to him and paying no mind to the bodies littering the floor. The second you were in front of him, you ripped his mask off and kissed him hard.Â
And he was ready for you. Without a single after thought of hesitation, his gloved hand yanked your hood back and cupped your neck, dragging you back in the shadows with him.Â
Just like the first time you sneaked out in a quiet place to make out, his lips were rough and insistent on yours. His hands were busy mapping your body, gripping your hips tight as he pushed you back onto the metal of the container. Like a reflex, his fingers seeked your back for a zipper, but found none. He kept searching for the proper way to undo your suit, until he pulled back with a glare of frustration.
You rolled your eyes. âI'll take care of mine, take care of yoursâ
Of course it was hard to figure out, it was made as such. But telling him that would only push him to try and get it and you weren't nearly patient enough right now to nurse his ego.Â
In practiced motions, you undid your belt and unclasped several buckles that held the top part of your suit to the bottom. You barely had the time to pop off the button of the waistband that you were pushed once again on the cold metal, a much larger hand quickly replacing yours.Â
Your pants were quickly undone and his hand slid down your stomach, reaching their destination with haste. You gasped as his calloused fingers began working on your clit, rubbing it in circles at a pace that was both tortuously slow and absolutely fantastic. His free hand slapped on your mouth just as you let out a moan that would have definitely bounced around the whole shipyard.Â
He tsked. âAs much as I would like to hear you, I'd rather not get interrupted by another armed militia. You'd agree, wouldn't you?â
Your breath shuddered and you nodded. Still, his hand didn't go away.Â
He gave you a smug smirk. âI'll keep it there just in caseâ
You didn't even think about arguing, instead, you squeezed his forearm to encourage him to keep going. His fingers expertly worked you, alternating between pressure and friction and making your eyes roll back into your skull. Your hips followed his movements, chasing more friction from the fabric of his glove. You were greedy for him, for his hands, for his body. All you wanted to do is take, take and take, and luckily for you, he seemed more than happy to give it all to you and more.Â
âThat's it little bird, fly for meâ
His hand moved just right with his words, and you couldn't do anything else to obey his command. You let go and came harder than you had in years, your vision going completely white for a second. Good thing his hand was muffling your voice, otherwise you were sure the whole city would have heard your scream bouncing from the dock.Â
When he was certain your whimpers had quieted to an acceptable level, he took off his hand from your mouth and caressed the side of your head. âI think I like you like thisâ He hummed. âBeing a good girl for meâ
You were already half coherent from your orgasm, but him calling you a good girl like this, even if it was most likely condescending, was definitely getting you worked up for round two. âFuck, if this is what you give me every time, I'll be whatever you wantâ
Oh yeah, you were NOT thinking with your brain at the moment.Â
And the groan coming from him did not help calm down your heartbeat. And judging by how his entire body flexed along, you could only figure out those words of your equally turned him on, creating a feedback loop that threatened to keep you here with him until well past sunrise.Â
Like a man starved, he shoved you back into the wall with his whole body, pinning your naked hips with his. You took in a sharp breath when his hard cock rubbed against your sensitive clit, spreading your orgasm all over his pants. Before you can make any more noises, his lips were on yours, reclaiming back with interest his dues from the previous ride. The grinding of his hips against yours drove you delirious and made you forget everything that wasn't about him right now.Â
He reached between his body and yours and pulled out his cock, letting it bounce on his chest piece and stand proud, already glistening with precum. Just like the rest of him, he was huge. Good thing you had a whole waterpark going down there, otherwise he would never have fitted. He snaked his arms around your thighs and put his hands on your ass, then hoisted you up like you weighed nothing more than a feather. Â
âNot one drop on this suitâ You warned breathlessly as he lined himself with you.
âWhat, no more ruining your clothes?â He raised a teasing eyebrow.Â
âThat dress was worth pocket change compared to thisâ You replied, eyelids half open as you forced the moment of clarity. âBuying me a new one would have you file for bankruptcyâ
âFine, no stain whatsoeverâ He drawled out, leaning into your space once again and ghosting his lips on your ear. âWill you be my good girl and take it all inside then?â
The spell you had broken returned tenfold over you as your knees buckled. It took you several seconds to find your voice and prepare an answer that wouldn't be an embarrassingly loud moan. âIf I say yes, will you get going?â
The pressure from his tip at your entrance alone made you whimper in absolute delight. This is what had been peeking more and more often in your naughty dreams ever since you met, and more often than not they ended with your hand doing what you now knew was a mediocre impression of his.
Slowly, he lowered you into him until you couldn't go further down. You were so full of him it was literally impossible to think about anything other than the pressure between your legs and the massive cock impaling you. That too, had been greatly underestimated by your imagination. Nothing would have done the real thing justice. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him just a little bit deeper, and it took all of his restraint not to start fucking you like an animal after that.Â
âFuck little bird,â He said, his voice low and rough. You hadn't started moving yet, but a quick squeeze around him made him let out a low grunt that you would definitely replay in your head later on. âYou always take âem that easy?â
âI think that's only you,â Feeling bold at how much he tried to act tough about it, you decided to return the favour. You snaked your arms around his neck and pulled yourself closer, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses up until you reached his ear. âMaybe your little bird has just been dreaming about getting railed by the big bad wolf one night too many to give him any resistanceâ
He switched his hands from your ass to your waist and pushed you back roughly on the wall. The angle changed and stars flashed in your vision for a moment.Â
âWhy don't you tell me about those dreams?â His words were demands and he started moving inside of you, hips thrusting forward in a tortuously slow movement. Yet, it made your body sing along, meeting him halfway.Â
âIt always starts with you dragging me off to a dark secluded place after I said some shit to get you hardâ You smiled as he kept hitting the right spot. Your focus on his questing was a lifeline you gripped with all you had not to just become some fucked out doll for him. You intended to make him work a little more before getting to this point.Â
He gave you a particular hard thrust that made you gasp for air. âKeep going on, little birdâ He grunted in your ear.
âAnd thenâ Fuckâ You threw your head back on the wall. He wasted no time claiming your open neck, grazing his teeth on the skin. âNo marks eitherâ
You could practically feel him rolling his eyes, but he backed off with the teeth and kept going on with his lips. âAnd then what?â
âAnd then we rile each other up properlyâ You smirked as you threaded your hand in his hair and gripped hard. The low reverberating moan that came out of him combined with the very obvious twitching of his dick inside of you nearly made you finish right here and there. âYour head between my legs, taking good care of meâŠâ
His thrusts definitely picked up speed as your words hit their mark. He did nip your neck at the moment, but it was light enough that you let it fly.Â
âThen when you show that you know how to warm me up, I'd get down on my kneesââ That made his hips jut forward and hit a deep spot in you that made you moan like a whore. âMaybeâ Maybe even let you fuck my face if your tongue made me cum hard enoughââ
âFuck, who knew Gotham's little princess had such a dirty mouth on her, huh?â He straightened up and returned his glove to your oversensitive clit, brushing it hard enough to catch your voice in your throat. âWhat would everybody think if they saw you so eager to be my good little fuck toy?â
That would be a proper scandal indeed.Â
âI don't care what they'd thinkâ You managed to mumble. It was getting harder to keep your mind sharp now that he had begun rubbing you again. âThey can even watch, as long as they don't interruptâ
You should have kept your damn mouth shut, you realized seconds later. You had obviously called irony upon yourself just by speaking the words.
âNightshade?â
It was like you were suddenly doused with a bucket of ice water. You grew rigid as your earpiece came to life with probably the last voice you wanted to hear right now. Your eyes slowly widened as you remembered that your father was on his way to be your backup. And him walking in on you and Slade wouldn't be as low key as it had been with your brothers. There would be bloodshed.Â
Slade obviously noticed your change of attitude and paused his thrusts. You dreadfully raised your hand to your comm and double tapped it to turn on the mic.Â
âB?â
It took a few seconds for Slade to understand what was going on, and the shit eating grin he gave you told you he definitely wouldn't make the next step easy. With his good eye never leaving your face, he began thrusting again, challenging your murderous glare.
âI got delayed by another armed group in the shipyard,â He explained. âIâm on my way now. Where are you?â
You thanked whatever divine intervention that put obstacles on his way, because you had totally forgotten about him once you had caught sight of Slade. You were in an uncomfortable situation, but not as much as if he had walked on you. You took a moment to come up with a good enough excuse to keep him away just a little bit longer for you to get out of this mess. In the meanwhile, Slade still kept at it, obviously trying to make you slip. âUm, Iââ You coughed to hide a gasp as he hit you deep.
âFuck youâ you mouthed to Slade, which he replied in the same fashion, âAlready amâ. That fucker.
âNightshade, whatâs going on?â
You could have killed him right there if he hadnât been doing it so right.Â
âNightshade?â
âYep, uh,â You took a deep breath and got a hold of yourself. Batman was getting impatient and you had to start being credible. You made a show of coughing exaggeratedly before speaking your next words, your eyes never leaving Slade's. âJust got sucker punched. It's fine though, it just took me by surprise. T'was nothing but a weak shotâ
Sladeâs smug expression faltered just a little, and you gave him your own version of the shit eating grin he was no longer giving you.
âOk, where are you now?â
âI've backtracked and now Northbound, but Iâve got it under controlâ You took the opportunity of your previous lie to breathe deeply and counter some of the absolutely not family-friendly noises that were threatening to come out of your mouth instead of words. âBut Iâm not the only one hereââ Deep breath. âI was being chased, and then I wasnât. Only a couple of guys kept my trail⊠Somebody is picking out targets here. I think it would be smarter to fall back on the meetup point and reconâ
â... Are you sure?â
âPositiveâ The word came out short and dry. âI think they might have done the sameâ
âAlright, Iâll rerouteâ
âIâll catch up to youâ You managed to say without tripping. âNightshade outâ
You made sure your comm was definitely off before hitting Slade on the chest. He only let out a quiet chuckle at what most likely felt like a breeze to him. âAssholeâ
He leaned forward and rested his whole forearm on the container behind you, then thrust up. The new angle had you rolling your eyes in your skull, seeing black and orange stars in the blur of your vision. âGotta make you pay somehow for all that work you made me doâ
âAs if you havenât enjoyed itâ ohâ
He resumed his pace from before the untimely interruption, effectively cutting off your train of thoughts. âNow little bird, I believe you have somewhere else to be. Such a shame I don't have time to make you beg for itâ
âMhhfp, fineâ You muttered as your arms went back around his neck. âJust because you have been quite compliant with my demandsââ
He seemed confused for a second, until you pulled yourself up and nuzzled against his neck, letting out your prettiest little moans every time his hips hit yours. With your voice low enough just for him to hear, you gave him what he wanted.Â
âPlease Slade, I need itâ The out of rhythm thrusts and the low grunt that you felt through his chest told you everything you needed to know. âI need your cum inside of me, fuck your cum into your good girlâ
He slapped a hand on the wall behind you and wrapped his other arm around your waist, moving you faster up and down with his own thrusts forward. He grunted louder and louder in your ear, getting closer to his release. You had no idea if it was the begging or his reaction to it that turned you on, but you were getting pretty close as well.Â
âFuck, little birdâ His voice was rough and low, and you couldn't help the nip to his throat instead of something louder. âI'll ruin youâ I'll fucking ruin youâ
âPlease ruin meâ You whined, feeling the familiar crescendo of your orgasm build. âOh fuck, oh fuck, please, I'm so close, please don't stopâ
âC'mon, be a good girl and cum for meâÂ
He drove you into the wall with his hips and the friction of his belt on your clit drove you to the edge. You had expected it, but holy shit, your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your walls clenched around him hard and you pulled him deeper into you with your legs, holding onto him with everything you got. Your vision fully went white and your teeth bit into his neck like they had a mind of their own.Â
After a string of swears, he completely lost his rhythm and stilled, his hips sputtering forward and spilling inside of you with a low moan that almost got you ready for another round.Â
You didn't move for a moment, focusing on catching your breath. Your eyes were half closed, glazed over, watching sweat pearl over Slade's exposed skin and your bite mark slowly disappearing on his neck.Â
âSomething interesting about my neck, miss Nightshade?â
A genuine smile curved up your lips at his comment; the same he had made all those weeks ago when you were waltzing around the dance floor. âJust admiring the view, that's allâ You signed, content. âWhy, are you afraid I will bite it off?â
He shook his head, looking up at the sky in a failed attempt to appear annoyed that you also remembered exactly what you replied.
âHuh, I guess you were into it after allâ You mumbled as you slowly let yourself slide off of him and fell back on your feet.Â
He took a good look at the mess he had made, seeming satisfied at how your knees slightly buckled as you hit the ground. Without a word, he pulled himself back in his trousers and readjusted his belt.
You then started to pull back on your suit, the rough material now sitting uncomfortably on your sweaty skin. âThat's gonna be a bitch to cleanâŠâ You thought aloud, realizing tonight's run was far from over and the many body fluids would have time to nicely settle in the fabric.
âYou said not a drop on the outsideâ Slade commented, then pointed at the clearly not soiled outside layer of the suit. âAnd none there isâ
You couldn't help but laugh as your eyes subconsciously went to his own suit, where the glistening on his thigh guards extended to darker spots on his trousers. Anybody catching a glimpse of it would know exactly what caused the wet spot, and nobody would mistake it for him soiling himself. âCan't say the same for youâ
He looked down, then frowned in what you could only describe as a cartoonish way. âHm. This is upsetting. Whatever will I doâ
Both of your eyebrows shot up as you let out a short laugh of disbelief. âWhat that⊠a joke?â
He only gave you a stern look that didnât quite reach his good eye as he put back his mask on.Â
âOh, he has a sense of humour now? Who would have knownâ Despite your half dizzy state, your brain still found enough drive to tease him about it. Considering he was rearranging your guts minutes ago, you believed it was now fair game.Â
He pointed a warning finger at you after he finished making sure everything was strapped correctly on his armour. âYouâre lucky Iâm in a good moodâ
You rolled your eyes as you flipped back your hood on. âYeah I fucking bet. âCan say thank you Nightshade about itâ
As expected, he elected not to comment on that. He only turned around and looked over his shoulder. âUntil next time, little birdâ
You did gratuitously check out his ass as he walked away, then prepared a damn good reason to give Batman to explain your dishevelled state.
#slade wilson x f!reader#slade wilson x batsis!reader#slade wilson x reader#deathstroke x reader#deathstroke x f!reader#deathstroke x batsis!reader#dc fic#dc writing#dcu#DCU fic
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Do you hate guns and want them out of your life for good? I have decided to take a stand and help out in the only way I know how. If you or your friends have a pistol, revolver, shotgun, or rifle looking to be removed, I will take it (permanently) and ensure that it ends up in a safe place. I would normally charge for this kind of service, but I am willing to waive my fees because I care. Free pick-up service is also available within a 150 mile radius.
Let me help you so that your home can be a gun safe zone. I will give $10 gift cards to Starbucks (they are also gun free) for semi-automatics, pre-WWII military firearms, and pre-1964 Winchesters. As a final safety precaution, I will take the ammo as well.
Thank you, and be safe out there!
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Youâre Alive (Gaz x GN!Reader)
gaz masterlist - gazfest 2023 @glitterypirateduck
PROMPTS: âOne-shotâ + âSafe Houseâ + âLet Me See Youâ
SUMMARY: After receiving a facial scar, you have been jumpyâKyle is here to show you thatâs itâs all okay.
A/N: Honestly, Iâm not the happiest with this but I decided to stop being picky with it!! So I hope my contribution to gazfest is satisfactory <3
[WARNINGS: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, moderate descriptions of gore, allusion to PTSD.]

Your leg kept bouncing like whatever gnawing feeling in your gut wasnât going to stop unless your leg was going a million miles per minute. The clock on the wall ticked every second oh so quietly, and it was overall silent aside from the ticking and your body squeaking. You felt like a live wire attached to a brick of dynamite, ready to explode at any given timeâready to kill whoever holds the brick. Despite it being an hour or two since you and Kyle arrived at the safehouse, you remain at the only window in the entire building. In your arms rests your rifle with your safety switched to âsemiâ for semi-automatic, like youâre expecting someone to come barreling in through the door, or come through the tree line.
Kyle doesnât blame you for the way you have been acting, honestly. He knows youâve been different since you got your facial scar a few months backâyou were required to go through a psychological evaluation to be deemed fit for duty, and itâs moments like this where Kyleâguiltilyâwonders how you passed âwith flying colorsâ, so the doctor said. He doesnât understand how the Captain hasnât see your behavior either, or if he has, he hasnât done anything about it. Kyle means well about all of this, too. Heâs worried about you. Heâs seen the way your eyes scan every room, the way youâre too ready to raise your weapon to kill, the way you snarl at anyone who is casually holding a knife outside of combat.. Thereâs so many signs pointing to something, a deeper problem, that he is wondering how the psychologist still has a job.
Youâve begun to wear a mask that obscures your face from your nose down.
You offered to take first watchâhe notes that youâre like Ghost in that regard, you canât calm down after a highly intense situation, so you gotta do what you gotta do, right? But the way youâre so.. jumpy, you keep jolting and looking at Kyle every time he shifts, making a slight noise?âthatâs concerning. Heâs used to Ghostâs incredible alertness, the way he doesnât like his back faced to the door of the rooms he enters, Kyle is used to when Ghost sits in the far corner so he can see every inch of the roomâbut he was terrified when you began to do it, too. Youâve always been vigilant, sure, but youâre.. Something is very wrong.
Kyle watches from his spot on the ragged, torn couch that had to be taken from the curb in a nearby neighborhood. His own rifle is propped up against the couch, his pistol resting on the coffee table in front of himself. He watches the way your eyes flicker across the skyline, the puffy eyebags you have almost seem like theyâre worsening by the moment. Kyle is also exhaustedâyou two have been traveling from safehouse to safehouse for about a week, trying to meet up with the rest of the task force.. With no support, of course.
He calls your name, and he makes a mental note of how your finger twitches closer to the trigger than before. âYou need to rest.â He grunts out, pushing himself off of the couch. Kyle turns and grabs his rifle, holding the hefty weapon to his chest as he naturally copies your perfectly practiced pose. He looks up and looks at youâand you havenât moved a muscle. âHey, yâhear me?â Kyle voice is laced with concern as he takes his steps towards you, and he makes the mistake of tapping your shoulderâbecause suddenly heâs facing the silencer of your semi-automatic rifle. Cold panic shoots through his veins and his gut, his muscles going rigid as if heâs a deer in headlights. His eyes search for yours, locking eyes; and youâre out of it. He knew something was wrong.
âOi,â Kyle speaks with the softest tone he can manage with a gun nearly pressing into the bridge of his nose. âOi, itâs me. Gaz, mate. Itâs Kyle.â Your eyes search his face desperately, and heâs silently begging for you to speak. The tension in his stomach is twisting and turning, threatening to snapâyou show no signs of any recognization of him, someone who you have trusted for years by this point, someone who was the one to get your guts inside of your abdomen after an ambush, the one who held your face together after the attackâ
Kyle does things before he thinks about it sometimes, and it seems to happen a lot more often with you than anyone else, so heâs silently cursing himself out when he slowly raises a hand to your cheekâhis heart pounding against his rib cage, like itâs screeching to escape and run away. He has a rifle pressing against his nose, nearly right between his eyes, and what does he do? Kyle holds your covered cheek, his gloved hand cradling it just like how he did when he found you. Your eyebrow muscles punch inwards for a moment, your eyelids fluttering from the touch.
He watches the way your eyes scan his face, the way youâre trying to decipher whether heâs friend or foeâand he sees it when you know itâs him. Your eyes widen every so slightly and your rifle trembles in your grasp, lowering it and you flip the safety back on. âGaz, I..â You croak for a moment, taking a small step back. Kyle letâs out a breath he didnât he was holding, along with all of that tension holding up in body. He reaches for you again as you pinch the bridge of your nose, one of his hands swiftly taking the rifle from you, the other gently cradling your cheek again. âShh, itâs alright,â He murmurs, his stomach tightening with anxiety. Your eyes fall closed for a moment as Kyle lets your rifle drop to the ground next to where both of you stand.
âItâs alright.â Kyle repeats, his other hand coming up to cradle your other cheek. You ever so slightly flinch in his touch, but you donât pull away. Your hands come up to cover his own, a choked noise leaving your throat. âBreathe, sweetheart. Breathe.â His lips are next to your ear now, voice dripping like honey into your eardrums, trickling down your spine with a warmth only heâs been able to provide for you. You can borderline feel his heat from beneath his gloves, seeping into your skin from on top of your mask, too. It grounds you enough for you to take a wonderfully oxygen filled breath.
âThere yâgo, yeah..â Kyle praises you softly, the air from between his lips brushing against your ear and causing you get goosebumps. You inhale once again, slower and deeperâand you get the comforting scent of Kyle, mixed in with the sweat and dirt. Nonetheless, itâs something you find extreme comfort in. As Kyle brings you down from your panicked feelings, heâs swaying you ever so slightly. After you let out a soft shuddering breath, he pulls away from your ear. âLet me see you,â He whispers, causing your eyes to shoot open, scanning his face with panic. You begin to shake your head but his hands remain in place. Kyleâs hands donât move to remove your mask, as heâs always been good with your boundariesâbut his eyes are pleading you.
âPlease.â You lock eye contact with him as you debate this; you havenât showed your face willingly since you were in the hospital, right? You began to cover your face as soon as you could without medical repercussions. You keep scanning his eyes, his muscles in his face, and then it hits youâKyle doesnât beg you of anythingâthe last time he saw your face, was when it was split in two, when he was holding your face in place. You know the attack fucked with him, too. Your barracks were next to his, and after the attack, you were hyper-vigilant. You woke up from every noise, and every nightâyou heard him stumble out of his room, always at night. Panicked.
You take a slow, deep breathâand you nod. You close your eyes, trying to give yourself some comfort. You feel his fingers hook into the soft material of your mask, and he pulls it down to under your chin. You donât open your eyes just yet, but you canât help the small flinch when you feel his gloved thumb trace part of your pink scar thatâs deep in your lip. Your heart is hammering in your throat as his finger continues to slowly follow the scarâs path, from your bottom lip trailing to your nose, rearing a gory right, a deeper part of the scar scaling through your right cheek, and taking a harsh upwards turn, just narrowly missing your eye, but cutting deep into your eyebrow.
âThere you are.â He whispers, his voice barely steady. Your eyes flutter open and you look at Kyle, and your eyebrows raise ever so slightly at the sight of tears brimming in his own eyes, pure relief all over his expression. âThought I lost you forever, huh?â Kyle tries to laugh, but his voice cracks, causing a rare laugh to be pulled out of your chest. You reach up and your breath hitches as you wipe away a tear that had begun to slide down his cheek. âIâm.. Iâm okay, Kyle.â You respond and he shakes his head, sniffling for a moment, his eyes tracing every part of your face, like youâll disappear again. âYou arenât,â He confirms. âAnd thatâs alright. Youâre alive, and here with me, thatâs enough for now.â
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Ed Luce: It is not just Donald Trump who dodged a bullet. Half an inch to the left and the cartridge that grazed Trumpâs ear would have turned him into a martyr. There is no telling what his death would have unleashed. As it is, the reprehensible attempted assassination of Trump will have profound reverberations for US democracy. Within seconds of being blanketed by secret service agents, Trump was yelling âfight, fight, fightâ to the crowd. The instantly ubiquitous photo of him pumping his fist against the backdrop of the stars and stripes will become the emblem of his campaign.
A high-trust society would have awaited the facts of the shooting before leaping to conclusions. By that yardstick, America is close to the edge. Two of the Republicans auditioning to be Trumpâs vice-presidential running mate blamed Democrats for inciting hatred of Trump. The favourite, Ohio senator JD Vance, said the Biden campaignâs rhetoric âled directly to President Trumpâs attempted assassinationâ. Tim Scott, the South Carolina senator, said Democratsâ âinflammatory rhetoric puts lives at riskâ. Elon Musk, owner of the site, X, on which these statements were posted, was quick to weigh in on a conspiracy about how the shooter could have got so close: âEither extreme incompetence or it was deliberate,â Musk wrote.
Many on the left were equally quick to claim that the shooting was a staged or false flag operation to boost Trumpâs election prospects. It is notable, however, that no senior Democratic official has yet fanned those rumours. The identity of the suspected shooter, a 20-year-old man called Thomas Matthew Crooks, offered little help. Though he was a registered Republican and an enthusiastic gun owner, he had made a small donation to a pro-Democratic group. It is plausible that like most US assassins, Crooks was acting alone and delusional. That will not stop political entrepreneurs from blaming the shooting on their ideological enemies.
The biggest question is what Trump will do with it. No honest accounting of Americaâs fetid climate can ignore the fact that the former president himself is the countryâs most influential exponent of political violence. He described those who stormed Capitol Hill with knives and nooses on January 6 2021 as âunbelievable patriotsâ. He mocked an attack on Paul Pelosi, husband of former Democratic speaker, Nancy Pelosi, after one of his own supporters smashed his head with a hammer. And he encouraged extremist militias to âstand byâ shortly before the 2020 election. In calmer democracies, an incident as lethal as the near murder of a party leader with a AR-15-type semi-automatic rifle would lead to bipartisan calls for gun control. There is no chance Trumpâs party will change its mind on that subject. The number of AR-15s in America has been estimated to be as high as 44mn, which puts comparisons with earlier periods of US political violence into perspective.
Whether Trump gets a lasting sympathy boost remains to be seen. But three conclusions can already be drawn. The first is that the Republican national convention in Milwaukee this week will be dominated by his near miss. Trumpâs campaign is enormously skilled at choreographing optics to enhance his message. The iconic fist-pumping imagery of the candidate rising courageously from his near death will suffuse the convention stage. Trump is expected to name his running mate in the next two days â probably on Monday. Expect the nation to be riveted by admiration or dread at the use to which Republicans put Trumpâs near martyrdom. At Trumpâs first presidential convention in Cleveland in 2016, the streets around the main hall teemed with private militias brandishing arms. Policing the streets of Milwaukee this week will be an unusually fraught challenge, even by Americaâs standards.
[Financial Times]
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