The other big thing from last night was Percy’s thing with Scanlan and that’s also definitely worth talking about.
The main takeaway from it for me was that Percy has officially disowned Scanlan as part of his family. His reasons for this are twofold, I think.
The first reason is what Percy more or less directly told Vex: Percy knows that Scanlan doesn’t actually believe the things he yelled at them. Scanlan was just saying things that were hurtful in order to burn bridges and leave the party. There were a few bits and pieces of true things buried in what Scanlan was yelling about, but most of it was simply aimed to hurt and Percy is much more aware of that than the rest of Vox Machina, who have mostly taken it at face value.
Scanlan hurt the rest of them to make himself feel better and Percy’s main associations with that are his abusers and himself - none of which are people Percy is inclined to forgive.
The second reason is what Percy has never said out loud and it’s that he can’t stand the idea of somebody abandoning their family. The idea of just leaving a group of people who need you is abhorrent to Percy. Why? Because he did that. He ran and he left Cass behind and he left Whitestone behind and he kept running for five years and he hates himself for it. Percy considers himself a massive coward for his actions back then and now Scanlan is repeating them - and let’s not forget that Scanlan wasn’t originally going to leave with Kaylie. He was just going to leave everyone behind and Percy is Not Impressed by Scanlan copying the thing that is the source of Percy’s deepest self-loathing.
As for Percy’s actions, Percy said he wanted his things back, but the two things he mentioned were the Gatestone and the earring of whispers, neither of which are inherently Percy’s. They are, however, inherently Vox Machina’s. The Gatestones and the earrings were never intended for specific people but rather were for group usage. As far as Percy is concerned, if Scanlan doesn’t want to be part of the group anymore then he shouldn’t have group property - especially property they need. We saw how obnoxious it was that Tary didn’t have an earring and the Gatestones are hugely useful items. I don’t believe Percy actually knew Vex gave one to Scanlan (he was told Scanlan had it later but he had already left the room when Vex convinced Scanlan to take one of the stones) and he probably assumed Scanlan had it before and just left with it.
Now Scanlan actually does have a piece of property that is definitely Percy’s by rights - Scanlan still has one of the guns they confiscated on Glintshore and 15 rounds of ammunition. Percy is not aware that Scanlan has this and if he found out, his reaction would be pretty bad and Scanlan is well aware of that which is why he’s been hiding it from Percy since he took it.
Here’s the biggest problem with all of it:
Despite what Percy says and what he wants to feel, and despite the fact that he has bitterly crossed Scanlan off his family tree - he still cares.
Percy conned Keyleth out of the Scrying Eye by pretending to be a pervert and he did it because he cared where Scanlan was and how he was doing, and he knew the rest of the party wouldn’t agree to scry on him. But Percy is always willing to play the bad guy for everyone’s benefit and you can’t tell me Vex wasn’t relieved to hear Scanlan was fine when Percy told her. The whole party wants to know but they know it’d be intruding to check, so Percy checked for them.
The spy is the same thing. Percy doesn’t think for even half a second that Scanlan is going to do anything that’s worth his time to know about. He’s just traveling, having stilted conversations with his daughter, and entertaining farmers. Percy sent a spy so that if Scanlan gets into some shit or ends up dead, VM will know about it ASAP and they can get to the location to do something about it. That’s pretty much it. That spy is either going to be incredibly entertained or insanely bored for the next year.
Or, y’know, Kaylie or Scanlan will notice said spy and send him back home with a rudely worded message and a kick in the ass, but Scanlan’s perception is trash so that’s probably gonna be on Kaylie to catch him.
At any rate, the long and the short of it is that nobody takes betrayal quite as poorly as Percival de Rolo, nobody holds a grudge as stubbornly, and nobody loves their family quite as fiercely and as violently. And that’s why I can’t wait for Scanlan to come back to the group in a year’s time and for Percy to spend three months hissing and snarling at him like a scorned cat.
Drunk sketching round two! It’s been a…long day. A big announcement at work led to department drinks…and here I am, crawling home at midnight like everything Cinderella isn’t.
Today’s page is dedicated to @starsabovethekat on their birthday, because they put up with everything I throw at them and encourage me at every turn (whether I’m rambling about fic or some bizarre AU idea I had while they were asleep) and I appreciate it very much <3
so i’ve been making monthly fic recs for a full year now! that’s so insane to think about honestly. thanks for all the support! my first monthly fic rec was for april 2016 and it had 10 fics on it. now they have upwards of almost 30 fics. that’s character development. anyway…
here are a bunch of fics I’ve enjoyed and loved reading throughout the month of march. I recommend that you read these great fics in april, if you haven’t already.
(all fics with a star are my favorites and if there are two stars then it was a favorite favorite)
What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding.
What happens when all you had, all you loved, all you held dear is viciously ripped away from you? When your inner core, once filled with love and hope and light, blackens to raw, dark hatred?
What happens when your soul is hopelessly consumed and no matter how hard you try, no matter how hard you attempt to shake yourself out, to rid your tormented mind of the opaque feelings that plague you, all you can see, all you can feel, all you can want is…
A modern adaption of The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. A tragic tale of timeless undying love, merciless revenge, and selfless sacrifice.
Manufactured by Inland Manufacturing Division of General Motors, scope by American Optical Co. c.1944 - serial number 345402.
7.62×33mm/.30 Carbine 15-round removable box magazine, gas operated semi-automatic, 20k Volt infrared light with 175m range infrared scope, additional foregrip. Developed at the end of WW2, but also used in the subsequent conflicts involving America, the M3 scope resulted in one of the very first nigh-vision firearm with the German StG44 Vampir system. As far as I understand it wasn’t mounted on the M1 Garand because of its limited range being better suited to its carbine counterpart.
She opened up the cloth bound journal. The journal that she had picked up from the stationary store on her walk the day after her lunch with Jenny.
A gratitude journal.
Jenny had suggested she write just five things a day for which she was thankful. The only stipulation was that she had to write one thing about Jamie. In the beginning it had been difficult, but after a while, she was able to see all the things he did do for her around the house, all the attentions he paid her. They were small, but nonetheless, they were there.
One entry mentioned the dinner he had brought home unexpectedly. Another noted the three loads of laundry he did one Sunday while she napped with the baby. Today she would write down how Jamie had held her after dinner. There was no particular reason. He had come up behind her, turned her in his arms, and held her, swaying slightly.
It was helping. Claire felt less like a maid, and more like a partner. She felt less jealous, and more supported.
Claire was falling in love with her husband all over again.
Now she needed to work on the next part of her plan.
Jamie trudged through the door on a Friday afternoon, exhausted. All he wanted was dinner, some time with his family, a cold beer and a rugby match on the telly. He dropped his backpack by the front door, then thought better of it. He knew clutter seemed to bother Claire now, so he picked it up and took it down the hall to his office.
Heading back into the kitchen he skidded to a stop.
“Jesus. God, Claire.”
Her jeans were skin tight. Her black top, form fitting. Jamie was an ass man, but her figure these days was downright sinful. Because she was nursing her breasts were nothing short of spectacular. For the first time in a long time her hair was down, the soft curls bouncing around her face, shiny and thick.
She took his breath away.
“Hi! How was your day?” She came toward him, smile bright, while Bree kicked her little legs in anticipation of seeing her Da.
He was helpless at the sight of her moving towards him, hips subtly swaying. “Wow, Sassenach. You look gorgeous.”
Claire’s steps faltered just a little with surprise, and she felt her face get red. She giggled, eyes downcast, lifting Bree up to him. Except he didn’t take her. He was still mesmerized by his wife, and instead of taking the baby he ran his fingers up her throat, and gently forced her chin up with his thumbs toward his waiting mouth. He inhaled deeply as he kissed her.
“We have a babysitter coming,” Claire whispered against his lips.
“What? When? Who is it?” Jamie snapped to attention and finally took hold of his daughter.
“Any minute.” Claire spun around towards the kitchen. His groin reacted at the sight of how those jeans hugged her arse. “And it’s your sister.”
“Jenny? Really? Why?” Jamie was genuinely confused.
“We’re going on a date, Fraser.” And with that, the buzzer sounded.
“I want to talk to you about something.” They’d had a nice meal with relaxed conversation. It was time. Claire’s hands were clasped tight in her lap.
Jamie could not believe the change in Claire. Slowly, over a matter of weeks his wife had seemed to come back to him. She seemed less tense, more willing to accept help, and more affectionate. Dinner was at her favourite little Italian restaurant close to their house. They had walked there on this crisp, clear night with the moon a giant ball of shimmering light. They walked close together, just as they had in the early days of dating and marriage with her hand slipped into his back pocket, and his long arm draped around her shoulders. The idea of a night out alone with his wife was enough to give him a second wind and banish the thought that Bree was too young for a babysitter.
“Something wrong, mo neighean donn?”
“No. Nothing’s wrong. It’s just….I want to go back to work.” Claire rushed through the next part of her prepared speech. “I know it’s sooner than I need to, and I know it’s sooner than you hoped, but when Bree is six months old, I want to go back at least two days a week. I want to talk to Dr. Gowan and see if that’s a possibility. I think it would be good for me.”
Jamie took a sip of his wine. He didn’t want to think about this yet. “Ye seem in better spirits lately, Claire. Is this why? Because yer thinking of going to work?”
Before, Claire would have been angry at his response. Now, she tried to take his comment in the spirit for which she hoped it was intended. Claire knew she didn’t have a hidden agenda, and that Jamie was dreading this moment. “No. I’ve been really trying. The walks help.”
“Walks?” Jamie leaned forward, elbows on the table, so he could look her fully in the face. “When do ye walk?”
Claire laughed. “I walk every morning, Jamie. With Bree.” She didn’t understand his surprise. If Alec knew, Jamie must know.
“Where do ye walk?” Jamie was pleasantly surprised by this information. Clearly that’s how she had gotten her figure back so soon.
“We have our favourites. The Museum. The Castle. The Library.”
“What?” Jamie reared back against his chair. “Christ, Claire, some of those are 15 kilometers round trip! With Bree?”
“No, Jamie, I leave Bree at home to do the washing up.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course with Bree! Sometimes I get on the tram for a bit, then walk. Depends on my mood, and the weather.”
Jamie was stunned. How did he not know this? “What about her feedings? And her naps?”
“Some days I take the pram. Some days I wear the baby carrier. And she naps just fine. As for feeding her, it’s still very portable.” Claire gestured to her breasts. Jamie glanced down and subconsciously licked his lips.
“I stop in some familiar spots. One of them is a great little bistro on the other side of Dean’s Village near the Gallery. The people know us there.” Claire sat back in her chair, mildly annoyed but trying to keep her anxiety at bay.
“Come on, Jamie. Are you telling me you didn’t send Alec out to keep watch? Because he knows about my walks.”
“He DOES?” Jamie sat bolt upright while his voice rose in shock and indignation. Claire leaned forward and laid a hand on his arm, shushing him.
“Are you seriously angry, Jamie? Because you can see Bree is growing well, and she’s fine. And I can’t tell you how much it’s helped me.”
Jamie took a deep breath. This was not the point of this conversation. She had asked him about work, so he tried his best to refocus. I’ll be havin’ a long conversation with Alec in the mornin’ however.
“No. Not angry, Sassenach. Just embarrassed at how much I’ve no’ paid attention to what ye do all day. I’m sorry for that,” he offered.
Claire smiled. And there it was. The entry for her gratitude journal tonight.
“Talk to Dr. Gowan, Claire. See what he says first. Then, when we ken what yer schedule might be we’ll talk about the next step.” He reached over, and pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear. “I dinna mean to ruin anything. I’m havin’ the grandest time tonight, mo ghraidh.”
“Good, because we’re off to Deacon Brodie’s.”
Jamie laughed and picked up his glass to drain it. “Snooker?” He leaned in close, his lips almost touching hers. Claire closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss. Instead she heard him whisper, “I’ll mop the floor with ye.”
Jamie turned away for about the dozenth time that night and tried to readjust his jeans to get comfortable. Claire wasn’t the best at pool but the woman wasn’t bad either. She kept telling him it was really just Geometry, and that she was good at math. Of course, when he was young and single he had spent a lot of time in snooker halls. He loved the game. But how the hell was he to concentrate when she would bend over the table and that perfectly round arse would rest there in front of him?
Ifrinn, the fantasies she aroused. He’d have her right there if he could. And the vixen knew it.
The third time she leaned over and sunk a ball, she’d looked back over her shoulder leaving her arse right where it was. Oh, she knew.
So he’d moved to stand in front of her when she took her shots. That idea was even worse because then he was privy to the way the tips of her breasts would brush the green felt when she leaned down to sight the ball.
His body reacted like a 23 year old virgin.
He drained his Tennent’s lager and motioned for another. Two could play at that game.
When she bent down again, he walked up and pressed himself against her bottom. She gasped at his hardness, the length of him revealing his arousal. Claire flinched so much that her cue hit the felt and popped the white ball up and over the edge of the table. She stood quickly. “Jamie,” she whispered furiously, “What in hell are you doing?”
Jamie spoke softly next to her ear, all the while pressing her against the length of himself, his arm around her waist. “Lettin’ ye know that if you win this game it’s only because I’m thinking of later, when yer naked ow’er top of me with my tongue on yer breasts and my cock - OOF!”
Claire elbowed him in the stomach.
Jamie staggered back a step, taking deep breaths. The look he fixed on her when he regained his breath showed no interest in any more games, sexy or otherwise.
“That was yer shot, Lass. Now, step away.”
Claire watched as Jamie proceeded to run the table, sinking coloured ball, then red ball, then another coloured ball. He moved quickly and decisively, like a big cat sighting it’s prey. Once in a while he’d spare her a glance full of simmering heat and banked desire while he took a sip of his lager, or surveyed the table. Then, he’d set down the glass, and the run was on again.
When he sank the last ball he put his cue in the rack, drained his glass and turned a lustful gaze on Claire. “I’ve had enough, mo neighean donn. Get yer things. We’re leavin’.”
Jenny was bouncing a fussy Bree when he opened the door. “I told ye Mummy would be here soon,” she said, and kissed Bree’s chubby cheek. The baby squealed and wriggled in her aunt’s arms at the sight of her parents.
Jamie watched as Claire hugged Jenny and thanked her for giving them this evening together. She took Bree and disappeared up the stairs. Jamie helped Jenny on with her coat, then walked her down the stairs to her car, both sharing details of their evenings.
“Jenny,” Jamie said, holding the car door open for her. “I canna thank ye enough. Tonight was the most fun we’ve had in months. Thank ye for watching Bree. Truly.”
“Och, Brother, ye’ve watched my bairns enough time. I’m excited to be able to return the favour.” Jenny raised an eyebrow, “Now get inside, lad. That child was hungry and tired. She won’t be long to bed.”
She paused a moment and said, “And by the looks of you and Claire, ye won’t be either.”
“Wheesht, Jenny. Dinna embarrass me,” but his grin implied anything but embarrassment as he closed the door.
Claire met him in the corridor as he hit the top of the stairs. Without stopping he took three strides and grabbed the waistband of her jeans. Her hands had already been there though, popping the button and sliding down the zipper. In one smooth move he peeled off the denim, then lifted her up, one hand around her waist, the other under her thigh. She wound her legs around his hips and tangled her hands in his hair.
Their kisses were hot, open mouthed, and desperate.
He moved toward the wall, oblivious to the fact they were steps from Bree’s room. As he walked Claire stripped off her top and tossed it. Jamie groaned at the sight before him. A Dhia, her breasts were plump and soft, straining to be free of the bra. He lifted her higher, and bent his head, kissing the tops, tongue tracing the edge of the fabric, then dipping under to reach a nipple.
“Talk to me,” Claire breathed. She grabbed his head tighter forcing him to look at her. “Tell me you love me,” she whispered against his lips.
“More than my own life, Claire.” His tongue licked her upper lip before he kissed her.
“More than anyone?” She pulled at his curls, harder now.
He paused and looked deep into her topaz eyes. He saw lust, to be sure, and love. He knew Claire, knew her well, and he saw insecurities as well. What demon was she facing now?
She bit her lip, waiting, panting, hoping he would say the right thing.
“Are ye suggesting I’ve played ye false? Because no, mo graidh, never.”
He caught the barest flicker of her eyes towards Bree’s room.
Holy Mother of God and all the Saints before Her. I’m throbbing for her, and she thinks…I love her less than Brianna?
Jamie pressed her back against the wall as one hand came up to cup the side of her face.
“Nèamhan, Sassenach. All I have comes from you. Our marriage. Our family. Yer my one and only. Mo graidh. Yer face is my heart, Sassenach, and the love of you is my soul.”
Claire whimpered, and kissed him again, fiercely, almost violently.
Jamie grabbed her hair and forced her head back. “I love Bree with all my heart. But I love Bree because she has so much of you. She has yer smile. She has that way of taking her wee fingers and stroking my neck like ye do. Like yer doin’ now.”
Claire’s fingers stilled and she breathed a small laugh in reply.
She kissed him again, his jaw, behind his ear. She ground herself against him. “Help me.”
“Help ye what?” God how he wanted her. Jamie reached down and undid his belt and jeans. He shifted Claire so that he was poised, ready to enter her.
She moved restlessly, trying to hurry him, to get closer to him, as close as possible.
“Help ye what, Claire? Tell me.” Claire groaned and twisted her head from side to side. Jamie had never seen her like this.
“I hate feeling jealous,” she said, between gritted teeth. “I hate myself for it. I want to be free of it.”
There she’d said it. Out loud. For a moment she watched his eyes go wide, and then narrow like the cat’s eyes they were.
Then he was in her. With one solid thrust, he filled her. Claire arched her back, and let her legs slide down to encircle his thighs.
“Now ye listen to me, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp,” he said, driving into her slowly and steadily, his mouth next to her ear, “Jealous, is it? Did ye no’ see those men in the pub? Eyein’ my wife. My sexy…” he pushed into her, “beautiful…” then out, then in again, “strong wife.” Every word was punctuated by his body.
His breathing was heavy, his words measured. “Ye’ve no idea the nights I sit up watching over ye. Yer in my dreams, asleep and waking.” He kissed her then, his tongue finding hers in a lover’s dance.
“I will never love anyone the way I love you. I think of no one else when I’m with ye.”
Claire could feel the pleasure building. His voice was raspy, and rough, cleansing her, washing away the darkness in her mind. The sweat between them made their bodies slick. God, he felt so good. She risked a look and saw that his eyes were as dark as the ocean during a storm, heavy-lidded and sultry.
His words washed over her like holy water, forgiving her sin.
“I just want to be the Claire you fell in love with.”
Jamie ground his body into her again. “Nay, lass. That Claire is gone. But this Claire. A Dhia, this Claire is more seasoned, more fiery, more…” Speech was getting hard for him. His body was screaming for release.
“More of everything….GOD. CLAIRE!”
He felt her legs shake, felt her shudder around him, felt her nails bite his flesh. Felt the groan that tore from her chest.
Felt himself get lost in her.
Later, in the wee hours before dawn he woke to her touch, as she climbed back in bed. A light stroking on his back, tracing his scars. Her mouth soft on his shoulder.
“Tell me again,” she whispered.
Jamie smiled sleepily and rolled over on top of his wife, coaxing her to open her legs.
“Well folks, today was a very important day in the history of R. Today, along with Vodka and someone who I wont name, we went downtown and purchased the following; a double barrel 12ga. shotgun, a pump action 12ga. shotgun, a 9mm carbine, 250 9mm rounds, 15 12ga. slugs, 40 shotgun shells, 2 switch blade knives, and a total of 4-10 round clips for the carbine…we……..have….GUNS! we fucking got em you sons of bitches! HA! HAHAHA! neener! Booga, booga. heh, it’s all over now, this capped it off, the point of no return.”
Headshot Commission Sale - Round 3! + Hello Stormblood Sale!
My queue has finally shrunk down to a manageable size once more, so I am once again open for commissions, and one final round of $15 headshots! After this month, I will be raising the price / offering something a little different! (All funds raised from these are going to help me fund my trip to NC in August to see someone v. special to me!)
In addition, I am offering $5 off the first three colored commissions this month featuring Red Mage or a Samurai, to celebrate the release of FFXIV’s Stormblood!
I will also be offering my first ever summer-themed YCH. I’ll be posting it this week!
Manufactured by Winchester repeating Arms c.1873-1919, this particular one c.1886. .38-40 Winchester 15-round tubular magazine, lever action repeater, folding buckhorn rear sights, blued 24″ octagonal barrel, case hardened receiver and fittings. The famous “gun that won the west” in its fanciest attire. If looks could kill it would be superfluous because it’s a fucking gun already.
Thanks for helping me out with my 15-Minute “Masterpiece” (round 2) prompt! (For those of you unfamiliar with my 15-Minute Masterpieces, they are one-shots I write for at least 15 minutes, with no beta, and light editing. Basically a brain dump to help get my writing wheels turning again.)
Kath, I bet you didn’t think I would go in this direction…
Here’s a little Captain Charming for you because it’s Friday! (Rated PG, ~745 words)
Look At Your Mate
“What’s this?” Killian asked, a look of amused suspicion on his face.
David had just thrust a small package into his hand and nodded at it, then stood back a pace, folding his arms over his chest.
“What’s it look like?” David asked with a huff.
The baby giggled from where he was tossing blocks out of his play pen at his father’s feet. David took the opportunity to avoid looking directly at Killian who stood there, eyebrow raised.
“It’s not my birthday.”
“Not so far as you remember anyway.” David shot back with a snort.
Shrugging, Killian chuckled. “Fair point. Maybe it is my birthday.”
“Just open it already,” David muttered, rolling his eyes.
Using his hook, Killian pulled the tape away from what was a rolled up paper bag and then gently shook it open to reveal a red box and a citrusy, musky scent wafting up at him.
Killian pulled the box out and tossed the bag on the table, all the while perplexed as he read the label. “Soap… on a rope?” he asked.
“Yeah!” David said, his enthusiastic grin sliding away in exchange for a nonchalant shrug. “I saw it at the drugstore and thought you might like it.” David tapped the box with his finger. “Look, there’s a ship on the label. Thought it kinda looked like The Jolly Roger.”
“Aye, mate, I noticed.” Killian read aloud from the box and shook his head in disbelief. “‘Old Spice?’ Are you disparaging my age or the way I smell?” he laughed.
David sighed. “No. Neither! I was just trying… you know what?” He reached over and snatched the box of soap out of Killian’s hand. “Nevermind. I’ll keep it for—”
“No, no, no, no, no,” Killian interrupted, holding his hand up to stop David from continuing. “It was a lovely gesture, and I am flattered you thought of me when you saw this…soap. On a…rope.”
Retrieving his gift back from David, Killian wedged the box between his left bicep and his chest and opened it, fishing out the cream-colored round of soap. He hung the rope from his finger and gave it a little twirl. “I look forward to using it,” he said with a nod. “Thank you.”
David slapped Killian on the shoulder. “Don’t mention it.”
A few days later, the two men were helping Emma wrangle three rowdy and inebriated former Musketeers into the squad car to return them to their lodgings after a particularly raucous gathering at the Rabbit Hole. They weren’t belligerent so much as unruly, and at one point, David lost his balance when Porthos attempted to put Aramis into a friendly headlock, sending the two of them careening toward Killian who had been keeping Aramis mostly upright.
“Son of a bitch!”
Killian managed to right David after he awkwardly dodged the burly Porthos, who toppled over onto Aramis. The sheriff and the pirate let the two swordsmen sort themselves out and finally spill into the backseat of the squad car where a drowsy Athos was waiting, his head pressed against the glass, and a glare directed at them like the point of a rapier.
Emma was coming around the back of the cruiser, making sure everyone was ok when Killian caught the look of confusion on her face.
“Dad? What are… Are you sniffing Killian?”
Killian glanced behind him to catch David, eyes closed, and in the middle of a deep inhale.
Chuckling, Killian asked, “So, which is it, mate? Do I smell old or spicy?”
David grinned. “Spicy.”
Emma said with a soft snort, “You two are weird. I’ll take my chances with Huey, Dewey, and Louie over there.” She walked back over to the driver’s side and opened the door.
“Aye, but they won’t smell as good as I do, love.”
Nodding in agreement, David called out “It’s true!”
Emma rolled her eyes and got into the car, turning on the flashing lights as she revved the engine.
“What kind of soap do you think would be good for me?” David asked, as he and Killian walked toward the squad car.
“Sheep dip,” Killian responded, not missing a beat.
David opened the passenger door and gave Killian a shove. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”
“Aye, funny and fragrant,” Killian said, sliding into the front seat next to Emma, leaving just enough room for David.
On Saturday, April 29, 2017 at/or about 11:00 PM an unidentified Balch Springs police officer, allegedly responding to a disturbance call, fired multiple rounds into a motor vehicle occupied by five teenage boys. At least one of the rounds struck 15 year old Jordan Edwards in the head killing him. Jordan had attended a community party with dozens of other youth and was leaving the scene at the time he was fatally shot. It’s been reported that as officers arrived, attendees began to disperse, including Edwards and his companions. They hurried into the car and began to maneuver out of the parking space when they heard someone shout profanity at them. The unidentified person shouting at them was holding a flashlight and appeared to be a police officer. Before the driver could respond the unidentified police officer fired multiple shots at the vehicle. The driver sped away from the gun fire only to discover Edwards had been struck in the head. He stopped the car and flagged down the nearest emergency vehicle. Edwards was transported to Baylor Hospital where he was later pronounced dead.
Jordan Edwards was a straight “A” freshman at Mesquite High School. He was a student athlete who was loved by his family and peers alike. The family is truly devastated by this senseless killing and is calling on a thorough investigation, which should lead to the termination of the officer and criminal charges filed against him for his reckless conduct and disregard for life. Based on witness accounts of the incident, there simply was no justifiable and/or lawful reason for the officer to fire at an occupied vehicle.
As the family struggles to deal with the pointless murder of their child they now have to face false claims of under-age drinking and fabrications about “aggressive" behavior. The Balch Springs PD has offered a familiar narrative in the absence of weapons or any indication of actual danger to the officer and any other person. The claim that the vehicle that Edwards occupied when he was shot “moved in an aggressive way toward an officer” is transparently contrived in order to justify a defenseless act of murder. The facts will bear out the truth and on behalf of the family we demand transparency with all facts and evidence involved. The family is calling on the community to stand with them, resolute in the demand for justice. Civil Rights Attorneys, Lee Merritt, Jasmine Crockett and Daryl Washington, are reviewing the evidence and actively talking to individuals who may have witnessed the incident. They are calling on officials to release the name and identity of the officer involved in the deadly shooting.
Manufactured by Winchester Reapeating Arms c.1888 and modified by a Great Plains American native. .32-20 15-round tubular magazine, lever action repeating rifle, tack decorated, painted, beads and leatherwork holster. I like me some rifle holsters.
From the same company that makes the double barreled pump-action shotgun, the DP-12, the SKO is a semi-automatic magazines fed 12 GA shotgun. Fed from your choice of a 2, 5, 9 or 15 round mag, it has the ergonomic control set up of an AR-15. There is also a bullpup version of the SKO for those who a compact option. MSRP is about $1,000~ for the standard model, $1,299 for the bullpup. (GRH)
Designed by Joaquín De La Calzada-Bayo at La Coruna weapon factory in Spain c.1943. 7,92x40mm proprietary cartridge 15-rounds removable box magazine, gas-operated select fire. Another Spanish assault rifle prototype designed in parallel with Germany’s adoption of the Sturmgewehr 44. These very clunky rifle projects were abandonned for the CETME series, which were design with German help after WW2.
Sauce : Forgotten Weapons, with the Spanish Ministry of Defense.
The FOBCC is back with a special challenge! We’re switching things up this month by doing 5 days of challenges instead of one prompt for the month! This challenge will take place NEXT WEEK, August 14-18.
HOW THIS MONTH WILL WORK:
Below you will find there are 5 days with 5 different prompts. You can choose to do as many or few days as you’d like. The point of this challenge is to be like a quick-hit and encourage creating every day.
Monday 14th: Pre-hiatus or Post-hiatus?
Tuesday 15th: First FOB song you heard
Wednesday 16th: An underrated song
Thursday 17th: Lyrics that describe your favorite member
Friday 18th: M A N I A inspired
WHO CAN PARTICIPATE?
Anyone! New and returning participants are welcome to join!
Entires include, but are not limited to: edits, fan art, gif sets, fanfic, lyric edits, audio edits, song covers, videos, any kind of original creation!
HOW TO PARTICIPATE:
Reblog this post ANYTIME from now until the 17th.
You DO NOT have to send an ask saying you’re participating
The date on the prompt is the deadline
Post your work by the deadlines and put #fobcc in the first 5 tags
Martin John Bryant, born May 7, 1967 is known as Australia’s worst mass murderer. He is the perpetrator of the Port Arthur massacre, which took place in Tasmania, Australia. He was charged with the murder of 35 people after pleading guilty. He currently resides in Risdon Prison. He is currently serving 35 life sentences and 1035 years without parole.
As a kid, Martin had always broken his toys and his mother, Carleen Bryant described him as an “annoying” or “different” child compared to those of his age. Teachers described him as unemotional. During school hours, he was a victim of bullying and was disruptive to other children’s learning.
During high school, he was transferred to the special education unit. Whilst in high school, he was noted as possibly having an “intellectual disability”. After an IQ test, he was revealed to have an IQ of 66, the equivalent to that of an eleven-year-old. After being arrested, he was further tested and was shown to have an IQ of 64 verbally, and cognitive functioning and non-verbal reasoning IQ of 68.
On April 28, 1996, Martin had shot dead the owners he had held a grudge against of the guesthouse known as Seascape. Once killing them, he decided he’d go to the Port Arthur historical site. Once he got there, he got a meal. After eating it and returning the tray, he set down a duffel bag containing a Colt AR-15 with a 30-round magazine. That’s when he fired the gun rapidly and shot dead 12 people in the span of approximately 15-30 seconds. Once at the gift shop, Martin fired the AR-15 again at multiple people, killing 10 more, putting the total body count up to 22 people.
During the chaos, some people had escaped into the car park. After Martin had finished shooting up the cafe, he made his way out into the car park, where he fired at scared escapees, and made his way to the coaches, where he shot at more people. Now, he’d killed a total of 26.
Martin got back into his car and made his way to the toll booth. After shooting at more afraid civilians, he had shot dead 33 in total.
At a service station, he shot dead his 34th victim, Zoe Hall after hijacking a car and locking Zoe’s boyfriend in the boot. Martin had gone back to the Seascape house, and handcuffed Glenn Pears, Zoe’s boyfriend, to a railing in the house. During the police stand-off, Martin had killed Glenn, his final victim. He was eventually captured after attempting to set himself on fire and running out of the house.
After being arrested, Bryant was evaluated and was diagnosed with Asperger’s, with symptoms of conduct disorder and ADHD.